TRYING TO PUSH THE PAST AWAY
BOOK ONE
DISCLAIMER: I do not own „Lord Of The Rings". Whole recognizable belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien. Written only for fun, no money made.
WARNINGS: Hard slash themes, including *RAPE SCENE!* Please heed the warning! Leave or read at your discretion. You have been warned.
In these chapters feedback is very important to me. Please, even if you read the story usually and just do not review because you don't want to involve in painstaking reviewing these long chapters PLEASE this time just write a few words about THIS chapter. I want to hear your opinions about this part.
Chapter 14: LEGOLAS' STORY – PART TWO: HATRED
/*/
Moreth was sitting near the small and dirty dispatch made from blankets and hay, placed near the wall in the quiet corner of the slaves' quarters in Mirkwood Fortress. His beloved was lying there, very pale and burning with fever, moaning silently from time to time. Moreth wetted the cloth on her forehead again, but there was nothing more he could do. She has been ill from two days and her state was only worsening. Without medicines and care only death awaited her, especially if they moved her to the lower cellar to separate the sick from the others.
Moreth refused to acknowledge that possibility. This tiny, crumpled figure on the floor was his whole world. Her death would positively mean his own passing. And yet: would not death be gentler than this living hell? Moreth's fists clenched and he desperately fought to conceal a pained, horrified scream.
The slave cellar was placed underground. The hall was long and its far away end was always hidden in darkness, no matter the time of day. The walls were rarely adorned with smoky torches, filling the air with humid stink of burning rags. The breath almost stuck to their lungs each time they forced themselves to inhale. The restless crowd of people sleeping, waiting, walking in circles, praying or slurring was only intensifying the feeling. Moreth wished he could reach to the small granted window under the ceiling and catch some fresh air. More likely, bring some to his love, if that was possible.
The guards were sleeping. The small room attached to the hall was opened and the floggers always ready, but the two muscled guards slept soundly, concluding that there is no need to watch over broken spirits having no other place to go. An empty bottle of sloppy wine emptied earlier that day with a sour face, lay under the older guard's bed.
A shadow sneaked near the soldiers' office and entered the hall.
It passed the sleeping figures, avoided empty, glass eyes of his fellow slaves and their asking faces, never stopping on its way. It quickly approached Moreth where he was kneeling near the wall and hid in the crowd, becoming invisible again. Moreth recognized his friend.
"Legolas, where were you? Are you out of your mind?" he asked.
"Take it," Legolas muttered, putting a small pack on his lap. "Give Silcan this for the fever, and later this – for the illness," he said, giving him two jars filled with some liquids. "And here is the food for you and your mother. You need to be strong," he added, putting another bundle aside and laying a hand on the girl's forehead.
"You… you stole it?" Moreth asked, terrified.
"No. I borrowed." Legolas mocked, looking his friend in the eye, as if borrowing would be even possible.
"You mad Elf! Do you not know what they would do to you for this? Legolas!" Moreth exclaimed in a hushed, choked voice. If somebody noticed the theft, they would all be lost, not only Legolas.
"Nobody saw me. Just give it to her. That way she will stay with you," Legolas whispered urgently. "They cannot possibly know what they keep in the medicine store, it's incredible mess in there."
"You don't know what are you saying. And this is folly." Moreth shook his head slowly. Both his hands with healing concoctions were trembling visibly, clenched on the glass phials desperately.
"Give it to her," Legolas commanded. After just a second of hesitation Moreth obeyed; even if his eyes were darting to the sides in unhidden fear, his hands were precise as he measured the amount of each drug for his beloved girl.
"I have a bad feeling about this, I'm telling you," Moreth hissed.
"What would you have me do, watch you both suffer? Listen, they cannot threat or blackmail me. I have no family, thus I'm not afraid of their lives and well being like you. I am not afraid of death. They will not break me, Moreth. Do not worry about me, just focus on her." He pointed the girl.
Moreth did not look at him. They sat in a tense silence for a few hours, watching over the feverish maiden and saying nothing, anticipating the change in her state. The lights had gone out and the night drew in steadily, bringing sudden cold and chill wracking them to the bone.
Finally, closer to the dawn, Silcan awoke and smiled wearily at them. Her eyes were at least clearer. In her fatigue she fell asleep almost immediately after drinking a little water; but this short awakening restored Moreth's heart.
"You are my best friend, you know?" Moreth whispered to his friend, squeezed his forearm in a thankful gesture.
"Of course I am," Legolas answered with a little, sad smile.
The rest of the night they spent cuddling close to each other; that was the best way to keep warmth. The Spring was lazy this year. Cellars like this one: stinky, cold and wet, were the most unbearable in the whole fortress.
Moreth's sleep was unsteady. He was getting up and checking on Silcan many times. The fever faded considerably, and she stopped shaking; maybe there was still hope for her.
The next day Silcan opened her eyes for a few moments, before drifting into another reverie again. She said few words only, thanking them both for help, before incoherence claimed her. But Moreth was smiling; sight of her speaking was everything to him. Now he was sure she had a chance to survive. He embraced Legolas tightly, relieved beyond measure.
"You saved her life," he whispered. "You saved her life, my friend."
Legolas simply returned the embrace. It was much too early to diminish Moreth's happiness with dark thoughts of worry.
/*/
As always at five in the morning the guards led the slaves up from their wet and dirty quarters to the higher levels of the fortress. There they were divided into various destinations and summoned to work until late evening hours. Woken before dawn and exploited through the whole day these Elves were under a big strain and when returning back to the hall they were really exhausted.
Legolas and Moreth had been working in many places before. Currently both Elves were working at the upstairs levels, mostly tidying the rooms, tending to the general organization of the royal places of living, cleaning the floors and serving meals to the Mirkwood royalty and their guests. It wasn't the worst fate, so they did not dare to complain even for a moment. Occasional blows, debasement and curses were normal and could be easily endured through most of the time. Only sometimes Legolas ended down in the dungeons for a punishment arranged by an annoyed councilor. Moreth had never been treated thus; having Legolas close had this advantage the two friends were always bitterly joking about. The blond Elf was simply the favorite prey to send to the dungeon for a whipping to blow off some steam.
That day was not different from others, having the same dull and tiring pattern. The arrival of the Merchant the previous day messed the usual scheme slightly, but apart of more commotion and twelve special rooms to prepare nothing abnormal happened. The thankful sigh of peace was almost palpable in the servants' attitude, for the Merchant, the main slave trader of Mirkwood, was a malicious creature. Now the slaves were bustling about breakfasts, bathes and bedsheets, so that all was ready for the waking of the guests. Legolas' heart clenched painfully when he was taking a new set of bedsheets for the main merchant room; serving this Man was making him shudder. It was him who hunted and brought Elves and Men into slavery in the fortress. Of course there had to be a reason, of course they deserved that fate. But to tend to their own kidnapper was worse than physical torture.
'The merchandise', as Petrel the trader laughed with the King himself, was a sight to behold this time. The long lines of shackled Elves and Men: adults, children, men and women of all nationalities was still standing on the courtyard, waiting for the King's scrutiny. They were given no shelter nor place to rest. They slept a little during the night, cuddling to each other for warmth on the ground stones of the pavement, but now were roughly waken by the guards. Many children could not stand up. There were several dead bodies on the pavement. More would surely die before the King shall end the morning bath and indulgingly choose two hundred of new slaves out of those presented to him.
From all men coming and going into the fortress, Petrel the Merchant was hated the most among slaves in Mirkwood. He was immune though: the best guards never left his side and he recently employed a group of four skilled bodyguards, usually walking around him like faithful, bloodthirsty dogs around their master. Petrel was too important to be lost; the King used to make good business with him every year. More slaves to work were always needed. Building the walls around the Mirkwood fortress was really hard, many of the slaves were simply dying from exhaustion. Dark whispers spreading about the lowest level of the dungeons must have been true also – since Lathronios himself liked to pick up young and beautiful women and slender boys to serve there as pleasure slaves. It was not a long death, there in the brothel; when the King and the royals got bored with someone, death was coming quickly. But it was a kind of death terrifying even for the bravest.
Legolas turned his head away from the window. He preferred not to imagine how hard it must have been to get used to Mirkwood. He had never had such a problem, he was born here. Born to be a slave. How dreadful his sins must have been if he was not given even a few years of freedom? Sighing heavily, Legolas went down the corridor, carrying a huge stash of dirty clothes and linens to the laundry. That was when the door on the left creaked open; one of the newcomers stood there, clothed in a bathrobe, staring on the servant Elf.
"You, come here" the man called and as soon as Legolas approached he grabbed a fistful of his blond locks to pull him down on his knees. Legolas yelped; the heap of fabric fell scattered on the floor.
"See, there is your place, low beneath your betters," the man laughed. His hand left Legolas' hair and trailed a line of his jaw. "What fascinating creatures you are. Too bad I have not the luxury of a personal slave in my homeland… That's why I like so much to come here with Petrel."
Legolas was stiffen with fear, for such talks always ended in a disaster; he dared not to raise his eyes nor move. When the man sat on his heels in front of the kneeling slave, Legolas' heart jumped; what did he want?
"You are lovely, blondie," the man said and raised his hand again; this time he did not deliver a blow, though, only stroked down the length of Legolas' matted hair lovingly. "Tell me," he started conversationally, "where do you sleep?"
Legolas opened his mouth as if to speak, but no sound could come forth.
"Answer me. It was a question."
"In… the cellars," Legolas said.
"Oh, must be cold? Yes? No? Say something." the man kept asking, and Legolas nodded, confused and terrified by this strange behavior. "And when have you last eaten?"
"Yesterday," the Elf whispered. He had given his portion to Moreth's mother when his friend wasn't looking.
"Oh, my… and what was that? Something tasty?" the man asked again, sweetening his tone to the point Legolas was sure it was a trap. Still, he had to give an answer.
"Bread," he closed his eyes. "And a soup."
The man shook his head and smiled. He slowly brushed Legolas' hair out of the way and bared his neck; then he did the most unexpected thing, for he reached out and enveloped the Elf in a bone-crashing hug. Legolas could not struggle free, being an underfed, smaller person. The man laughed hard at these tries as they only served his purpose; Legolas was pressed to his chest fiercely with both his hands trapped and in his fight he quickly met a piece of hardening flesh between the Man's legs. Legolas gasped in fright and froze, unable to think.
"Aha, gotcha," the man laughed again. "Do not worry, though beautiful you are, I shall not take advantage of you now. I know you would be punished for being so lazy about your chores to stop by for a small make out." The man nuzzled the crook of Legolas' neck. Suddenly he sighed.
"But then… let's pretend for a moment that you may stop by." The man said, his tone going dreamy. "Wouldn't you want to take a bath? Clean yourself in warm water with a real soap? Yes… that would be nice. And then, you could jump into a real bed, soft with all those blankets and duvets, shielding you from cold. You do feel cold, don't you?... You would be given a meal also. I would give you some food, so that you could sate the never-ending hunger you must endure. And… wouldn't the price for it be just… small?" he glanced at the trembling figure in his arms. "I would be gentle. I would take the time. If you decide to come to me… you may spare yourself many hurts. Just remember this, when the time comes. This night Petrel will have some fun… why wouldn't his workmates also? And trust me, you would prefer me over him."
The man let Legolas go, and the Elf immediately crawled back, unable to stand on his own, but trying to put some distance between them. As the man talked, all images he was creating came alive to Legolas' imagination and he felt his eyes water at such pictures. He thought he would do anything for an evening like this, but what the man was suggesting was too disgusting to consider. In his fright Legolas did not think much about the hidden warning.
"Bring me some tea. I shall forego breakfast this morning." The man said, standing up. "Don't look at me like that, little pet. You would really enjoy an evening with me." He smiled. "Go now, or else I will hug you again."
Legolas dashed to collect the scattered clothes and bedsheets, grabbed the bundle and sprinted down the corridor, stumbling and never looking back. The man was laughing sweetly behind him.
/*/
Lathronios assessed the long lines of slaves with a bored and unpleasant expression.
"Well, I cannot pay you that much. They are barely standing, what use will I have of them?" he asked the main Merchant, pointing one Elf by his finger. He was swaying on his feet, dried blood sticking to his eyelashes, so that he could not see a lot.
"Do not exaggerate. Look at this one. So young, so pretty. And still a virgin," Petrel answered, grabbing a young girl by her elbow and pulling close to Lathronios. She almost fainted from sudden panic, huge red stains immediately appearing on her neck and face. Lathronios rolled his eyes.
"I don't like virgins. Too much crying and screams." he responded dryly.
"I can deprive her of that quickly, if you want." Both men laughed in a cruel manner, observing the girl whimper and struggle against the hold at her forearm.
"Half of your price at the most. I won't pay more," said the Mirkwood King, walking further along the line and assessing his future workers. "You must try harder the next time and bring me more suitable, stronger workers. Don't make me believe you have lost your assessment." He smirked. "Maybe you shall get something extra if you find me a really beautiful dam. Fair haired, preferably. Oh, and one of my counselors wanted me to find him someone new… he got bored with the last one."
"A boy in that case? As usual?"
"As usual… oh, that one." The King said, touching the arm of a slender, young child with his hair black like a raven wing. The human boy could be twelve at the most. He looked at the richly dressed King with his huge eyes, understanding not what shall await him, but his mother, standing behind, started screaming and protesting with an unstoppable cry. She yelled curses and pleas in turn, trying to reach for her child, but succeeded not; under the precise hit of a gloved hand she fell silent, losing her consciousness and sliding down to the cold stones of the pavement.
"Hysteria can be cured," Petrel commented. "My King, let's make a deal. You give half of the price, accommodatingfor me and my assistants for the night, the dinner and someone to warm our beds. We shall choose." He said.
Lathronios shrugged; he knew that it would be hard to bargain with the merchant further, and his presence was not very drudging, so he agreed.
"I agree. That two hundred I chose and the special two; one boy and the woman you promised," he said. "Take them away! Take care of their preparing" he said to the coming servants and guards. "And you, Petrel, tell your people to make their choice and pick someone yourself."
"Thank you, my King. Well, what about this silent pet you always keep close?" The Merchant started evasively, "That blond one. He had served me during breakfast."
"Legolas…?" the King asked slowly, stopping.
"Whatever his name is, doesn't matter. Blue-eyed, slender blonde from the kitchens."
"You want me to give you my most favorite toy?" Lathronios snorted. "He is not one of the whores. Choose one of them. Once you take him, he will be too spoiled, he will have to stay down in the dungeon. It's a waste!"
"I promise not to damage him… overly," the Merchant said with a nasty smile. "And it is your choice whether you send him down or not. You may keep him for yourself."
"You anger me, human. I am to use something you tainted first?"
"I meant no disrespect, your Highness. I only believe that in your wisdom you will find a way to use him further, should you want to avoid wasting him."
The King gave his Merchant a long stare.
"Your pleasure slave will depend on the girl you find for me."
"Then I am absolutely calm." Petrel smirked.
"In that case, come with me. I want you to tell me about latest happenings in the Middle Earth during the dinner. I suppose you come back from Rohan's territory? There were rumors about a small group of Elves who settled there lately." Lathronios turned to the fortress, taking the main merchant with him.
"And here they are," Petrel chuckled. "It was not difficult to rout them."
"You don't want to say that you attacked them with your few lazy assistants, right?" Lathronios laughed.
"Of course not. My boys are staying in the nearest village. It's their job. I don't kill or capture them, violence disgusts me," he smiled ironically and Lathronios started to laugh. "Your guards had securely escorted me to you, and they will escort me back, it is all arranged. If I don't return in two days time, boys are to arrive immediately," the merchant smirked. "I have to take care of my safety, you understand…"
They disappeared inside the fortress, still talking. The guards followed; the two hundred of new slaves left on the pavement were shivering in the cold, broken and terrified, watching their fellow captives being taken back to the wooden carriages.
/*/
It was a private supper, one of the very few the King wished to have. It wasn't often someone came to Mirkwood and the King invited him for a private supper. Normally no one was allowed to disturb the perfect loneliness and silence of Lathronios' quarters. Yet the Merchant was ensured of everything he wanted; in this realm he was a special guest and had special rights. Legolas and Moreth were serving during dinner on a special request; they went in the chamber where the King and the Merchant were already waiting and knelt before them.
The room was luxurious. It was small, but convenient one of the King's private chambers. The Merchant was sitting in front of Lathronios, playing with a silver spoon, curling it in his fingers. Lathronios was talking when Legolas and Moreth carried the meal in; the King gestured to Moreth to come closer to him, so it was obvious Legolas had to serve the Merchant. He did so, approaching on weak legs, barely controlling the will to flee. The Merchant was obviously ogling him. Legolas' stomach churned painfully, nausea threatening his senses. Why am I reacting so? He asked himself. A terrifying feeling that something bad will happen was intensifying.
Petrel was short and fat. He had almost bald head, with hair only at the sides; it was dark grey and greasy. His eyes were rather small and the white of his eyes seemed yellow in the candle light, just as his teeth. He was wearing rich, long robes and his short fingers were decorated with awful signet rings. Legolas did not allow disgust to show on his features; he only stood behind Petrel, ready to fulfill orders, but he could not stop the assault of panicked thoughts, only intensified with the Merchant's repulsive appearance. He only hoped to be left alone. He prayed for it with every ounce of his soul.
The Merchant slowly glanced over his arm at the blond creature. His smile was so oily that Legolas took a step back; one angry word from Lathronios grounded him in place. Petrel reached a hand and fiercely grabbed Legolas' forearm, pulling him closer. He stared through a long moment, making notes to himself about slender figure, beautiful face, golden hair. Even if in rags, even if dirty and neglected Legolas was beautiful.
"Your majesty," Petrel said. "Order him to take a bath and go to my chambers, please." Legolas wrenched his hand out, moved back and stared at the merchant with outrage mixed with fright.
"No!" he called desperately, feeling as his limbs are going numb from overwhelming panic. Moreth made a move as if he wanted to come closer to his friend, but Lathronios clamped a hand on his elbow with an iron force.
"You heard the Merchant," Lathronios said, amused. "You will go now to my majordomo. For speaking without permission you shall be chastised later."
Legolas went pale; he swayed on his feet and in a minute of complete, helpless fright turned his eyes to his only friend, standing there as if turned into stone.
"I told you he is not experienced at all, Petrel," the King said, pointing his empty glass. Moreth poured the wine with trembling hands, not taking his eyes off Legolas. "You see yourself how muddle-headed he appears."
"Oh, he will be good enough," the main merchant said, smiling at the sight of Legolas, who stood there, torn between outrage and panic, not knowing what to do. "He will be good enough."
"Had you gone deaf?" Lathronios asked maliciously. "Go now."
"N-no…" Legolas whispered, shaking his head slowly from side to side. "No… no, no…"
"Guards!" Lathronios clapped his hands twice and two Elves came into the room. "Take him away to Kelfran."
"No!" Legolas screamed, now with full might, realizing suddenly what exactly will happen. "NO! NO, LEAVE ME ALOOONE!"
When touched by the first guard, Legolas struggled and was hit hardly in the stomach. He stumbled forward and bent over, losing his balance; he was lifted roughly and marched out.
"He will quiet later," Petrel muttered to Lathronios, observing the struggling, panicked Elf with an amused grin. "Although it's always a pity to quiet someone so beautifully vocal."
Laughter mixed with Legolas' screams when he was being dragged out of the room. Moreth could not do anything, still held by the King and paralyzed with shock; he only looked in his friend's begging eyes and hated himself. Legolas was strangely quiet and tense all day, clearly suspecting something. Now, when he hoped for help, his friend could not do anything.
/*/
He trashed wildly when being led to Lathronios' majordomo, Kelfran. This Elf was known from his mean character and sadistic preferences. Legolas felt cold shivers on his back; he fought against the guards with all his might, screaming the panicked 'no' over and over in a frightened denial. Not in a million years, Legolas thought, I will never go to this man's room, I will never! He managed to wrench his hand out, but the guards immediately caught him again and the blows fell on his head, back, legs and stomach. They dragged him further, wringing his hands on his back.
Kelfran opened the door to his chamber without waiting for knocking, because he heard the noise on the corridor. He glanced at Legolas coldly.
"Why are you leading him to me?" he asked.
"Our majesty's orders," the guard replied.
"Oh. I know already. I have to prepare him and take to the Merchant's room," he said calmly looking at Legolas, who was fighting with himself to not spit into Kelfran's face. "Follow me," he ordered the guards and started walking.
He led them to the bath chambers a few levels lower. Legolas was all the way struggling and trying to escape, trying to trip the guard over on the stairs, but he achieved only more bruises. They pushed him into the chamber with a huge bathtub. Kelfran followed a few steps away, preparing new clothes.
"Undress and get in there," he ordered, but Legolas did not move.
"No," he said loudly.
"No?" Kelfran asked. "I'm giving you one last chance to obey. Otherwise it may hurt."
"No!" Legolas screamed. Kelfran gestured at the guards, and Legolas was once again captured and stripped off his clothes despite his desperate fight. They threw him into the cold water and held beneath the surface.
Legolas' lungs screamed for air; his skin burned and itched from cold. He was pulled out by his hair, then immersed again. Strong arms held him down on the edge of the tub, while someone poured on his head a bucketful of suds. Legolas's skin started to burn furiously, but he did not utter even a softest whimper. Then he was pulled out of the tub, and to the ache in his scrubbed skin the pain of thousands of hair ripped out of his head was added. It made Legolas bite his lips and draw blood not to scream in pain.
"Put this on," Kelfran ordered, throwing in his direction some clothes. Legolas took them and dressed quickly, obeying this time. He did not want to stay naked in front of the guard's looks, which were stinging him. Legolas was getting frightened again. He realized he will not escape his fate, no matter how much he will try.
"To the Petrel's room," Kelfran ordered the guards, pushing Legolas into their grip. "And chain him to the bed."
Legolas gasped; chain him to the bed? Valar, I will never be able to escape…! Now the real panic befell him and he fought desperately, hot tears of fear spilling down his cheeks, but the guards' patience ended. After a precise hit to the head he barely remained conscious.
Legolas felt that he is being dragged somewhere, but the pain overwhelmed him for a moment and he wasn't able to move a single limb. He heard the door opening and a second later he was thrown on the bed. One heavy shackle was attached to his left ankle and secured solidly to the bed leg with a long chain.
As he could not move, Legolas only waited for the guards to leave and for the door to be shut.
He was left alone with his thoughts and with his pain. Slowly, very slowly he moved one hand; then he changed the position of his head, because he could feel the throbbing in his neck. After a few minutes he sat on the bed, fighting with the dizziness and upcoming nausea.
His situation was terrible. He was already beaten, and walking or standing up was causing pain. He checked the chain attached to his ankle. It was far too strong to break it or try to wrench the leg out. The lock was sturdy, and he had nothing what could serve as a skeleton key. He felt trapped.
I need to fight, he repeated to himself. I cannot let him have his way with me. Never. I have to defend, he thought scanning the room. He searched for anything what could be at least similar to a weapon. He found nothing. He could not escape, he had nothing to defend himself; he could not even hope for a rescue, because no one would want to sacrifice his life, and maybe the lives of his family members to rescue him. He recalled and understood that when he thought about Moreth. No. His friend could not help him and should not help him. Legolas was alone.
He nibbled on the edge of his shirt nervously. He could only wait, and waiting was consuming him. With every passing minute he was getting more frightened, and when he finally heard the heavy footsteps on the corridor, he felt the blood in his veins freeze. Only a fat man could move like this. Petrel the Merchant was coming back to his room.
The steps were slow, as if the Merchant knew what a torment it is to hear them and cannot do anything. It drove Legolas mad, it increased his fear to the point of suffocating.
The door knob moved and the Merchant entered; behind him Legolas spotted Moreth.
"You may go now," the Merchant told him. Moreth bowed and reluctantly walked away, stealing a glance in Legolas' terrified eyes. The door closed and he lost the sight of his friend.
Moreth considered the situation for a moment. If he didn't come back to the cellars he could risk a punishment, plus he wanted to come back to his ill girlfriend all day. But inside this chamber his best friend would be brutally raped in a minute and there would be no one to take care of him later. Moreth decided to stay. He sat near the wall, listening intently to every sound from the room.
"What is your name?"
Legolas didn't respond, only looked at the Merchant with defiant eyes. He promised to himself that he will be as uncooperative as possible.
"I asked you about something, slave." The Merchant slowly shrugged the rich robe off and stayed in a thin shirt and leggings only. Legolas shuddered with disgust.
"Unresponsive, are we?" He asked again. "You will learn to answer me soon. What is your name?"
Legolas said nothing. In one quick movement Petrel grabbed his belt and hit the Elf hard; with lightning speed Legolas moved away, so the belt missed its target, which was the arm, and fell on his thigh. Legolas did not know if that was better. Another blow fell and this time the Merchant aimed well, so Legolas could only cover his head by one arm.
"What…is…your…name?" the Merchant asked once again, accenting each word with a painful stroke of the belt.
"Legolas!" the fair Elf shouted finally. The blows stopped and the Merchant smiled with satisfaction.
"See? Was that so hard?" he asked Legolas ironically and affectionately ruffled his hair. Legolas pushed the hand aside violently.
"Don't you touch me!" he screamed.
"What did you say?" Petrel said. "How dare you, slave!" and he struck him once again with the leather belt. This time it was so hard that Legolas shouted out loud; the Merchant smiled at the sound.
"See? Pain is the best teacher. Now, undress, Legolas. Time to play." He said in a hoarse voice and moved away from the bed.
Legolas felt his stomach curl, but did not let fear overwhelm him. When the Merchant saw he wasn't going to obey, he approached the bed and backhanded Legolas in the face. The Elf felt adrenaline rush through his body at this assault. He knew only one thing: he had to get away from this room, from this man. He did the only thing which appeared in his head: he attacked the Merchant, pushing him aside, fighting his way to the door. Petrel fell on the floor cursing horribly and Legolas wrenched out from his hold. To the door, to the door quickly! He almost succeeded, but he forgot about one thing.
The chain.
Legolas felt a strong pull and the white-hot pain shooting up his left ankle. He fell over as the chain tensioned and the leg bent in a strange angle. Petrel grasped the chain and pulled fiercely; he was a strong man, and Legolas was underfed and overworked, so the Merchant easily made the thin body move through the floor. Legolas screamed the loudest he could, feeling as if his foot was being literally torn out of its socket; the pull has dislocated or broken the ankle. Petrel took advantage of the situation and rose to his feet, while Legolas was lying on the floor and clasping both his hands on the leg, unable to catch a breath under the force of the pain. Petrel angrily kicked the Elf, aiming between his legs. He hit well. Legolas rolled, moaning pitifully.
"You have to be shown your place, slave," the Merchant panted, kicking him in the same place three more times. He took the belt again; he played with it for a while, allowing Legolas to see it and anticipate the next attack. A fearful light in the blue, teary orbs was exciting and beautiful to his sadistic mind.
He did not swing the belt again, only leaned and wringed both Legolas' hands on his back, where he tied them with the sturdy leather. He pulled the clamp tight enough to stop circulation. The Elf squirmed beneath him, what only turned Petrel on more; he rose once more and kicked Legolas in his ribs, then again and again.
Moreth heard his friend scream totally unlike him when the first rib broke. He pressed his ear to the door, unable to move, feeling tears well in his eyes. Hearing his best friend screaming and not being able to do anything about it was horrible. He deeply wanted to go in there and at least do something. He could swear he was able to attack the Merchant with his bare fists now; in the same time Moreth knew it would only get things worse. Dispirited and frustrated, the Elf hit the floor with his fist, holding back the tears.
Completely exhausted from pain and fear, Legolas lay on the floor, shaking as if lying on ice. Petrel was already tired with the fight too. He wanted to finally get his prize, his payment. This beautiful Elf on the floor was his to take. He leaned forward and systematically torn the clothes off Legolas, even if the Elf was still fighting: he managed to kick Petrel a few times and his teeth plunged into his forearm before he was lying naked on the rags which once were his clothing.
"I wonder, why are you still fighting?" the Merchant panted into Legolas' ear. His breath stank. "What, you have never done this before? You don't know how pleasant it can be?" Legolas turned his head away. One more stinky breath and he would vomit.
The Merchant laughed and rose, pulling Legolas up by the hair and throwing him on the bed once again.
"Oh yes, virginity… well, no longer." Petrel clamped his hand on Legolas' neck and pressed the fair head to the pillow. His face buried in a pillow so deep and hard that after a few minutes he was struggling for air, trying to wrench out in order not to suffocate.
"Hold... still! Hold still, slave!" Petrel shouted.
A hard blow struck Legolas' backside. A hand, so awfully plump and cold, slipped down his back in one purpose. Legolas tried to roll away and fall on the other side of the bed, but was hit strongly again; his vision was blurred and it started to dance in front of his eyes. And that pain, Valar, how it hurt... the ribs, the ankle, the crotch, each place where the belt had hit him. Legolas felt an icy cold hand touching places where he had never been touched before. It was so awful that his stomach rolled as if it was about to throw up everything it had inside. Stop it, stop it, don't! Legolas was screaming in his mind, as his voice was muffled with the pillow. Petrel's hand was rapidly squeezing one pale buttock, then moved to another one, pinching the inside of Legolas' thigh, which made him thrash violently. But the Elf was unable to escape.
Maniacal laughter was Petrel's only reaction. Suddenly, without any warning or preparation, a blunt finger found its way to the Elf's insides. Legolas screamed piercingly as the sharp edge of one of the rings on the digit cut him deeply and sliced open his tight channel when being pulled out. His thrashing did only more damage and caused the wound to deepen; Legolas thought he is losing his senses, it hurt so much and the Merchant's words were meant only to debase him.
"You'd better get used to this, Elf. From this night it will be a routine," he mocked and put more pressure on the Elf's slender neck, pushing the finger in and out in quick, forceful thrusts, as the passage was slick with dark red blood. The touch was unbearable, it was too much to endure, and only one panicked thought stayed in Legolas' mind: stop it, stop, enough, stop!
But still, that wasn't the worst. Petrel was choking him and the lack of air slowly made him swoon. He focused only at breathing, but it was no use. Shudders went through his body, he has never struggled as much before… Only a little more and he may breathe again, only a little…
But it was already too late. Darkness embraced him and he stopped moving.
The Merchant busy with something else entirely paid no attention at first, but the limp body beneath him made him stop. He called the Elf's name first, but when he was answered by silence and not even a stir, he turned him on his back. Legolas had his eyes closed and his mouth half opened. His face was red and wet from tears. A narrow stream of saliva flowed down his chin.
Petrel realized that he was choking the Elf with the pillow. He put too much pressure on the slender neck, where the violet prints of his fingers were already appearing.
"Help…" he said quietly, adjusting his pants. He abandoned the body on his bed to reach for the door, stumbling. "HELP!" he screamed. "I killed him, I think I… killed him…" he said in total shock, running out on the corridor. Moreth immediately jumped on his feet and burst into the room. When he saw his friend, he thought he will faint.
"Legolas, open your eyes!" he screamed, checking the pulse. He found none. "No, no, don't do this to me! Hear me?" he unfastened the belt and laid Legolas flat on his back, then rapidly pressed the thin, fractured chest a few times, leaning to fill Legolas' mouth and lungs with air. He repeated the operation five times, shaky, frightened and with trembling hands.
Finally Legolas' chest rose and fell on his own and his heart started to beat again in the well known, albeit strained rhythm. Moreth sighed with relief, kneeling near his friend and laying his head on his shoulder.
"Legolas… live, please… live," he whispered, wiping the tears away. Then he recalled that the Merchant is still standing on the corridor and watching him in a panicked stupor. Anger burst within him, but he had to behave to save his friend.
"Give me the key to the chain, Sir. I need to free him," he said as calmly as he could, but his voice was trembling with fury. The Merchant was in total shock and obediently handed the key over. Moreth quickly unlocked the chain and wrapped a blanket around the limp body of his unconscious friend. He carried him out of the room, without even a glance in the Merchant's direction.
/*/
Moreth carried Legolas to the corner of the slave cellar to store him on the dispatch near Silcan. She was awake, but very weak. She opened her eyes and saw Moreth carrying a limp bundle. Legolas looked terrible.
"Moreth…?" she said quietly, trying to sit on the bed.
"Don't get up, please," he said, laying Legolas down beside her. "You need rest. Oh, Valar…" he sighed, assessing Legolas' injuries.
"What happened?" she asked, looking down at the limp Elf.
"That son of a bitch Merchant… Lathronios did not pay him the whole price for the new slaves, so he demanded a dinner and a slave for the night… We were serving dinner to them when he took Legolas' hand and ordered to lead him to his chamber. He raped him, and he almost killed him, he… choked him and…" Moreth's voice stayed put in his throat as he buried his face in his hands. Silcan sat upright with some difficulty and embraced him.
"Don't cry, beloved, we have to take care of him. He is not out of danger yet," she said quietly. Moreth nodded and leaned forward to recline Legolas better; Silcan put more hay beneath his head to act like a cushion.
"Thank you, Silcan," Moreth said to his beloved. Soon she had to lie down because she had not the strength to sit for too long. Moreth kissed her forehead and returned to Legolas.
He was beaten severely. From the bruises on his chest Moreth could suspect he had some broken ribs. His ankle was not broken, but in a very bad state. He was bleeding on his back, and the forming bruises on the swollen areas of flesh told Moreth that the sounds he heard were the sounds of whipping with a belt. Legolas' wrists were torn and bloodstained, because he was trying to wrench them out all the time. And what pained Moreth the most was that his crotch was smeared with crimson blood. He had to have some internal wounds.
He cleaned the accessible wounds with some water, but he had nothing to dress them or nurse the ankle. The bruises, still fresh and barely seen, would cover the most part of Legolas' body. His skin was torn in some places and Moreth was afraid of the shallow breathing. Legolas' lungs might have been damaged.
He lay unmoving until dawn. Moreth tried to bring some warmth to the stiffen muscles by delicate rubbing Legolas' arms and back, but he wasn't sure if that helped. He lifted Legolas up to inspect the wounds on his back again and saw huge bruises, now totally formed, purple and blue, on his back, chest, legs and hands. There was a handprint on his cheek and the marks of the fingers on his slender neck. Legolas didn't wake up; he was unresponsive and oblivious to the painful world around him. For that, at least, Moreth was thankful.
Soon the guards opened the locked door and summoned the slaves to work. Silcan was awake by that time.
"Will you take care of him if he wakes?" Moreth asked her.
"She will not have to," a hoarse voice from behind spoke. Moreth turned to it immediately and rose, forbidding access to his friend. Three guards stood before him. "We are taking him, move away."
"I won't! He is unconscious, he will not…" but one of the guards pushed him aside so hard that he fell on the nearest wall, hitting his head painfully. The soldiers took out their weapons.
"Take him away," one of them spoke. "You, don't even move or I'll stab the girl."
Moreth did not move. They dragged Legolas away; his head hung defenselessly on his chest. They dragged him naked through the corridors and Moreth could only look. He hated them, he hated Lathronios, he hated the Merchant.
And he hated himself.