"Here," laughed Stetlan, "your turn Hrigow!"

Enguina felt herself shoved mercilessly through the deep water, her arms clutched across her chest as she stumbled, gasping with paralyzing fear and disgust. Hrigow grabbed her by the arm and dragged the rough cloth over her stomach and then left hip. She tried to yank back and away from him, but he just laughed with Stetlan, reaching around to her backside. Lashing out with a foot, he snatched it before she could pull it away and she screamed as he released her arm and reached between her legs with the cloth.

"Whoa!" Stetlan yelled to him. "She didn't like that, boy!"

The foot that was held by Hrigow was pulled and she dropped backwards into the water before he released her, taking her tightly around the chest and dragging her upright and into him. Wrestling with him this time was nearly impossible; this struggle had taken every last bit of the strength she had. He slapped the cloth over the back of her neck even as she tried everything she could to hinder him and then down beneath her arms, shoving them out of the way to press against her breasts. She slipped and went under again, still thrashing, but he reached down to grab her.

"Now, go dry off, yesta," he laughed aloud.

Hrigow, that son of a bitch, drew her up out of the water by her hair and shoved her towards Mifer who stood on the bank, waiting for her. She stumbled through the chest-deep water, her legs barely functioning; she was freezing as she sputtered and gasped for breath. She slipped and went under twice more before she got her feet beneath her again. The terror of drowning outweighed her worry about what waited her on the bank, but she could not willingly go there—not now that she had her wits about her for half-a-moment. Once she cleared her eyes of water and flung her hair back, she turned and immediately began wading her way downriver—

Where strong-armed Stetlan, the biggest of the three grabbed her by the arm just as she thought she was past him. Enguina had not seen him, and now she was going to regret it. Oh god!

She squealed as he dragged her back against him; her naked back pressing to his shirtless chest. "Where do ya think yer goin', lass?" he laughed, and she barely had time to catch a breath before she went under, his big hand holding her head beneath the surface of the water. She struggled, trying to scratch him as she felt his big arm wrap around her waist, pinning her arms to her sides. He let her come up for a quick breath, where she barely heard Mifer over her gasping.

"All right now, Stetlan; get her up here bef—"

And then she was under again, sputtering, barely able this time to hold her breath as she struggled and fought; she was dying, blacking out—this man was going to kill her! He brought her up again as she thrashed.

"Enough!" That was Hrigow, snatching at her arms; she was wrestled over by the two men. Hrigow almost had her, but Stetlan yanked, and she went under again, this time forced to the bottom by their shoving, Mifer hollering in the background. Something hit her head…and things went dark…

She woke suddenly, vomiting water out of her mouth, her chest aching as though someone had been thumping on it with their fist. Someone rolled her onto her side and left her there, coughing and spitting up water; utterly exhausted and naked, she never even tried to make another escape…never even thought of it.

This had been her past hour; an hour spent at the river with these three large men who positively terrified her. She had no intention of doing anything they wanted; had no idea what they planned to do with her, what Bragolaur had planned to do with her. She fought with them, and they wrestled with her like three large dogs toying with a cat. But they could not seem to pin her down…not at least until they got her in the water.

They had held her head underwater, holding her arms and legs so she could not thrash away from them, at least six times before she was so distraught that she had begun to shiver and beg them to stop. They did it once more and she felt like she lost her mind, sputtering and crying for mercy, before they began removing her clothes. Terror had struck her then, and despite her bleeding wounds and exhaustion, she lashed out, trying to be free of them, desperate to be loose. They hit her a few times, Stetlan holding her shoulder wound so tight she thought they had removed her arm. She was screaming to be released, but they ignored her, dunking her again and removing her clothes while she was underwater.

They unceremoniously bathed her, then; every move they made she shied away from, humiliated and terrified by their actions. They laughed at her, jeered at her, as they had shoved her back and forth between them, cleaning her wounds and the dirt from her body and calling her all manner of inappropriate things and talking about her body. If she made any move to escape they would dunk her again viciously, and then drag her hands away that protectively covered herself and scrub her some more. She was helpless, at their mercy…and they had none for her, clearly following orders. Then, Mifer had gotten out and prepared a towel for her.

Enguina, trembling all over from the ordeal and the chill, her skin crawling, lay unmoving upon the grassy bank, trying to regain her strength. She was terrified, and the water on her face was not only from the river; she did not know what was going to happen to her…and she knew that this might only be the beginning. She felt a blanket or something cover her back and hands began to rub her dry. She tried to cover herself when he rolled her over, but he grabbed her hand and dragged it away from her chest so he could dry her.

"Do not flatter yourself; I am not going to touch you," Mifer snorted. "I can follow orders."

"Speak fer yerself!" laughed Hrigow as he slapped her on the thigh. "Bitch's gorgeous! I'd like a quick piece of that, if you take my meaning!" He reached down to slap her again, and she found a reserve of energy, lashing out with her foot, her toes catching him in the chin, snapping back his head.

"AGH!" he hollered. "That little bitch!" He leaned back, holding his jaw.

"Serves you right for disobeying the Master," Stetlan taunted. "Go get her clothes, you ass." He reached down and grabbed her ankles; Enguina reacted immediately, trying to gather the strength to break away. He reached down and slapped her in the stomach. "Stop your wriggling, or I'll do worse. I'm a hell of a lot bigger than him."

"You nearly killed her in the water, Stetlan," growled Mifer. "You can keep your hands off just as well."

"I also saved her life," he replied, jutting out his chin. "Argue with that, elf."

"I cannot," he agreed, shaking his head. He snapped in the other man's direction, "Get moving, Hrigow!"

They had something for her to put on; just a loose tunic and leggings for over her undergarments, and within minutes they had her dressed and sitting up on the bank, a blanket around her shoulders and no more comments from Hrigow. Stetlan stood guard while the other two stripped down and changed into dry clothes. She sat still, under his watchful eye, shivering, and she was not entirely sure it was because she was cold. She could still feel their hands crawling all over her body, and she pulled herself together even more tightly, tucking her arms around her and her knees to her chest. There was only a moment of good that had come of this: her wounds were clean and not paining her as they had been, not even her shoulder. At the moment, she felt as weak as a newborn lamb.

She could hear Hrigow grumbling about his jaw and then felt a hand on her arm. "Time to go," came Mifer's voice. "We must not keep the Master waiting."

Between the two of them, they forced her to her feet and made her walk as best she could. She was so exhausted she could hardly move, and the last thing she wanted was to head back towards camp. Thinking of another escape attempt, her plan was simple: break free, run through the woods until she got to Lómë and Firgenwine, race back to camp and break out Legolas and Gimli. It sounded great…but she figured she would be extremely lucky to make it past step one.

But she had to get a reputation for trying. So she scratched herself free from Mifer and bolted to her left as he hollered…and she ran straight into Bragolaur. Knocking into his chest, she had such a reaction that she fell back, her knees buckling from the impact and Stetlan caught her just as she was about to hit the ground.

"I see you have learned nothing from your experience at the river," he said coolly. Their eyes met, and she stared back into his, afraid to look away. He looked at his men, smiling. "I think I can take it from here, gentlemen," he said, and before Stetlan could even release her, he had her wrists bound and he sat her down against a tree, staring down at her.

The men disappeared into the trees, and she could hear they were not far from the camp, perhaps only a hundred yards or so. Legolas…Legolas…get to Legolas… She was desperate for him; to see him; to have him touch her arm, kiss her forehead, and tell her it was going to be all right. That it would be all right, even after these three men had touched her and Bragolaur had bound her hands…oh…in what world could this ever be all right?

"Wh-why?" she stuttered over the word and she cursed her own fear. "Why did you have them do that to me?" She was still trembling; as much as she tried not to show him, she was terribly afraid of him, and it was far worse being alone with him. Her hair was wet, and despite the spring heat, she was chilled to the bone…and she could still feel their hands on her.

"To teach you a lesson," he told her, crouching down in front of her; it made her want to tuck her knees up to her chest again, to hide from him. "You have been trying to escape at every turn, and I have no patience for that. And you have now killed what…thirteen of my men? You and the lousy dwarf? Legolas had not even killed so many. You, who have never been a warrior, have now killed a dozen men." He leaned in closer, and she steeled herself so she did not shrink away. "How does that make you feel?"

"Awful," she whispered, remembering her first kill that had been an accident. But this was different, she had been searching for Legolas, and she and Gimli would have been killed if they had not defended themselves and attacked Bragolaur's men…but that was an excuse and she knew it. It made her feel every bit as awful as she had said.

"You should," he stated. "You have just become a murderer."

"Stop it," she said, trying to pretend it was not true; still trying to control her fear.

"You know, the Prince is just as guilty as you are. He—"

"Legolas…" she whispered, her eyes closed as she breathed shallowly. "Is he all right? What have you done to him?"

"What have I done?" He shook his head. "No, my men did most of that…and the ones who did are dead now, thanks to you and the hideous dwarf." He snorted. "What in the hell are you doing with a dwarf? Despicable creatures. He will not be in the camp for long."

"Leave him alone," she said firmly, but he only laughed.

"You sound exhausted…but then again, you never were one for the water, were you?" He grinned. "Yes, I still remember you quite well." She lifted her head and rested it against the tree. Yes, let him think she was even weaker than she was…perhaps she could find a good time to strike at him then.

"I thought I was dying," she said with a shiver. "I nearly drowned."

"Perhaps you should have been more cooperative."

"It was cruel," she whispered, and then she looked at him, tucking her legs up against herself, feeling more unclean than she had before her dip in the river. "It was barbaric."

He laughed. "It was only a bath, fair love."

"Please…do not call me that."

Bragolaur was silent for a moment, and it gave him time to study her. Even wet, she was quite the beauty, her hair was beginning to dry, as long and golden as he remembered. Her slender throat and pale skin gave way to breasts that he longed to lay his hands on again. Her eyes closed, he could see her long lashes brushing her cheekbones, her full lips—gods, he wanted to taste them. He knew she was wounded, but the idea of her pain and the fact that she feared him excited him. He could not hide how attracted he was to her; he never could. He had always been completely taken with her…always. He wanted her; his obsession with her hand had never left him after all these years. When she had appeared again after so long, he felt that familiar stirring, and there would be no denying him...she just did not know that yet. But good things came to those who would wait for them, and he had waited far too long for this.

Bragolaur was the sort of man who had very little patience and wanted things his way and done quickly. It had been more than forty years since he had lain eyes on her, and he could see that the only way that she had changed was a few more lines around her eyes. She looked a bit older, if that were even possible. He wondered if he had been the cause of that change. If so, all for the better. He had told her, all those years ago, that she would ever forget him.

"It is good to see you again," he murmured. "I see you have not forgotten me, fair love."

Enguina suppressed a shudder. "I asked you to stop calling me that."

"It is what I have always called you," he replied, "and it is what you are."

"Not...not to you; not anymore," she stated, shaking her head as she saw his eyes flash. "And furthermore, you must have been living in the outskirts for too long," she continued softly. "Can you not remember that elves and dwarves have been living as friends for nearly seven years now? Gimli is well-known among our people as one of the Nine Walkers."

"Ah yes, that is right…the War of the Ring." He snorted. "If Sauron had won, then I would not have had to suffer ransoming someone for a home."

"If Sauron had won," she returned dryly, "we would all be looking for homes, or be dead. What do you need Legolas for?" She was confused. "Ransom?"

And then suddenly, it all made sense why they had taken her betrothed in the first place. Legolas was the bait for a trap set for Thranduil; of course. Bragolaur was clearly hoping to make a home in Eryn Lasgalen; he would have the King hand over part of his kingdom to rescue his son. Enguina did not know Thranduil at all though Legolas spoke of him from time to time. He was a kingly elf, and she had come to imagine him in her mind's eye a bit like Celeborn, whom she greatly missed. She could not imagine that a King, no matter what he was threatened with, could ever sacrifice so many lives for one. It infuriated her that Bragolaur would even ask for such a thing.

"You…you have changed so much," she whispered. "You were never cruel, heartless, and uncaring." She stared at him, horrified, "But perhaps I never really knew you. Perhaps this…this creature is the real thing, and it was hiding beneath your skin all along." She frowned deeply and swallowed hard; thinking of that time in Lórien always left a foul taste in her mouth. "I thought, when we last parted, that it was your passions controlling you, but…now I understand much better; this is you. You hid this man in Lórien. I guess I…never really knew you."

He scowled at her. "You have changed as well, fair love, keeping company with dwarves!" he spat, and then he seemed to rein in his anger and look back at her. "And how was fair Lórien when you left it? How many years ago was that?"

"Months, actually," she replied, her voice still soft. "Lothlórien is much changed, as well as we are. The Lady sailed, and so have many of the elves who I thought would remain. It is an empty shell now, full of reminders of what was, what has been. It makes me sad; it is a shadow of itself."

"I know your brother is dead," he said, and there was a note of sadness in his voice. "I regret that he is gone. What of Erumar and her children?"

"The loss of Haldir has all but killed her," she murmured sadly. "All her children but Aelin have sailed; even Hrivë, who I thought would remain to care for her in her grief, but she is gone as well. Erumar is alone now, with few friends left for company."

He frowned at her. "She is a fool for staying. There is nothing for her here."

"She has lost everything. I tried to speak to her, to get her to come with me, for I, myself, had decided to sail, but…" she hesitated, "Ilúvatar had other plans for me."

"Ah yes, the Great One. And now we come to it: The Prince," he said mockingly. "Is he all you ever dreamed of? All you ever wanted?"

She looked at him, saw the fire blazing in his eyes, and knew the reward she would receive whether she told a truth or a lie. Deciding upon truth, she lifted her chin slightly. "He is more than I ever imagined that I deserved."

Bragolaur stared at her, a mixture of emotions on his face. "And you love him?"

The question burned in her mind; she remembered him asking something so similar to her in Lórien, but it had been about himself. She did not want to answer, did not want to anger him, but he was waiting, and she would never have lied about something that meant so much to her.

"Yes," she whispered. "I love him."

The slap came; even though she had been expecting it, it still hurt. "Love," he snarled at her. "You say you love him. Was it any different when we were together? Was it any different when you told me you loved me?"

"I…never told you I loved you. I never told you I loved you at all," she replied honestly. "I could have never loved you like this, Bragolaur." As his name passed her lips, she felt her heart clench—it was the first time she had said his name aloud since Lórien, and she never thought she would be saying it to his face. No matter what the next few days brought, the nightmares would torture her ceaselessly.

"Oh I know," he snapped. "Because even though you agreed to marry me, you told me that you loved me like a brother, not a lover."

"You have a very poor memory," she said softly, not wanting to rile him. "I never said I would marry you; I said I would think about it, and that led to the honesty that I could not marry you. You asked, I answered. I am so sorry that I hurt you." She shook her head. "I have always been sorry for it." She hesitated, and then continued, "And I have always been sorry for the way you reacted to it."

"If you were sorry," he insisted, "you would have said yes."

"Then I would not have needed to be sorry," she replied. "I said yes to Legolas; he has rescued me from…from the sorrow of the past years." She shook her head. "I was alone until he found me; now we are one." He glared at her, and this close to her his scars made him seem all the more hideous. She could no longer prevent herself from asking the question.

"What…what happened—"

He slapped her across the face—hard—and snarled, "You dare to ask me where I received these scars! You, of all people, dare to ask me?" He moved to strike her again and she threw her hands up to block him; she was exhausted from being hit in the face. He yelled something unintelligible, and she felt his boot connect with her ribcage. Crying out, she fell to her side, and he snatched her arm and dragged her back to her knees before throwing her to the ground before him and kicking her repeatedly in the midsection.

Gasping for breath, and trying to block him with tied hands, she groaned out, "Stop, Bragolaur…please!" He pulled back his foot from her and then dragged her to her knees again, getting up in her face, his nose nearly touching hers.

"You know how I got these scars, Enguina?" he whispered, his voice low and threatening. She tried to concentrate on breathing instead of the pain spearing through her ribs and abdomen. "I received them the very same day that you denied me for the final time." She paled as he continued with a cruel smile. "Yes, I see you remember that day. I hope it has stayed with you every moment; I hope my phantom fingertips cling to your skin at night as you lay down your head." He reached up and stroked them across her forehead, making her flinch and try to turn her head away. "It was your rescuer…it was that wretched and accursed friend of yours who gave them to me with her claws. Like an eagle she came, tearing at my face, at my skin, and I suffered for weeks before they stopped festering and finally healed. Arwen," he sneered and spat on the ground at her feet. "I curse her to death for what she did that day."

Enguina wanted to spit in his face, but she settled for thrusting her tied hands into his chin; it was the only part she could reach. "How dare you slander her name!" she snapped back. "How dare you—"

"How dare I?" he shouted, twisting her hands over her head and pinning them back against the tree so that her body jutted out towards him.

"Nonono! No!" she cried out as he wrestled with her, holding her with one hand and moving the other to grip her face.

"How dare I? That little whore! Falling for a mortal and throwing herself at his feet! She ruined everything; my place in Lórien, my love of you, my best friend in the world…she took everything from me."

"You did that yourself!" she snarled out. "It is because of Arwen's mercy you live! If not for her mercy, you would be dead."

"Oh, do not fool yourself, fair love; she tried to kill me, she simply could not get the job done. But do not worry, if I ever see her again, I will finish the Ranger's bitch myself."

"If you just had reined yourself in, you could have had everything! Instead you have nothing!"

"Nothing?" he repeated, and there was suddenly a strange light in his eyes. "Nothing?" he asked again, and she felt him release her chin and lower his hand to her throat. Her breath cut off, and she suddenly could find no oxygen at all. "I think you know very well that I have something right now. I have Legolas, your lover, tied up in my camp…I have your little dwarvish friend who I intend to allow my men to have some fun with if they are not already having it…and I have you," he leered, dropping his hand to her right breast and rubbing his thumb along her tunic, "which I am going to take full advantage of."

Terror surged through her and she went completely into flight mode. Bringing her head forward as fast as she could, she smashed her forehead into his. To Bragolaur, this was completely unexpected, and when she collided with him, he released her arms and dropped back to his haunches, dazed. Pulling her arms back over her head, breathing hard, she thrust herself to her knees and then to her feet, where she was yanked back down to the ground by her ankle. The move was so reminiscent of her last encounter with him that she screamed aloud, fear flooding her as she desperately tried to pull away.

He was upon her, and so was his weight. His fist connected with the side of her head, three, four, five times. By the time he drew back for a sixth, her head was swimming and she barely had control of her body; the left hand side of her face and head felt bloody, her skin bruised and swelling. Yet she still tried to roll away from him, and he rolled her onto her back, straddling her body. Writhing beneath him, she began screaming, and he slapped her across the face again and again before tearing her tunic and shoving a part of the sleeve in her mouth. His fists began connecting with her body then, even as she tried to club him with her joined hands or toss him from her.

"You want to try and escape again? You want to try?!" he screamed at her as he pummeled every bit of her he could reach with his angry fists. No matter what she tried, she could not dislodge him; he was too heavy, and she was too weak. By the time he was finished, she felt there was no inch of her that had not been bruised. Her eyes tightly closed, she coughed against the rag in her mouth, her face bloodied. She could not scream if she wanted to; she could not even moan.

He yanked the cloth from her mouth and grabbed her chin in his hand, his fingers cutting into her cheeks as he held her in an iron fist. "Do not ever do that again, do you hear me?" She did not answer; she could not, and he shook her like a ragdoll before he got closer to her face. "Answer me!"

She nodded, barely able to move her head, but it satisfied him as he dropped her to the ground, crossed over her body and crouched beside her in the dirt. Coughing, her stomach seizing, the pain in her limbs and torso was extensive. She lay there, trying to get her breath back; it was so difficult.

"Being with him has made you arrogant," he hissed at her. "You would have listened better in those days; you did listen better." Looking at her, with her chest heaving, he stared, and she saw what he was looking at.

"I am who I was; it is you who have changed," she coughed, and her face ached so much she turned it away from him. "You have no patience of any kind; you maim and wound as you want to get what you want. That is all that matters to you-the wound."

He moved rapidly back to her side and placed his hands on either side of her ribs, pressing down on the wound. She winced and then once again tried to push him away, but he knocked her hands back. "You are right, fair love. I have no patience for being refused, and I enjoy the wound. I enjoy seeing how frightened you are and how you try to hide from me, but you cannot. So...I will ask you once, and it will only be once: will you submit yourself to me?"

Enguina stared at him. "What?" She asked, her ears still ringing. She could not have heard him; she would not believe he had asked such a question of her.

He lowered his voice and leaned in close to her ear, the edges of his thumbs brushing the bottom of her breasts. She squirmed beneath him as he murmured, "Submit yourself to me."

"Who are you?" she asked, horrified. "I do not even know you anymore! I used to tell myself that what happened between us, that what you did to me, was a mistake. That you...that you never meant to hurt me; that what you did was because you would not control yourself." She stared at him, her eyes wide, and he could see, full of fear. "I thought you were sorry. Arwen—"

He slapped her across the face again, and she grunted with pain. "Do not say her name! What happened between us was because you played the shy, innocent one," he sneered, beginning to maneuver his hands along her breasts, "and then you decided you did not want me anymore—"

"No, no!" she cried, both denying what he said and pleading with him to stop. She tried to shove him back with her hands, but this time he caught them with one of his and held her so she could not move them. "That is not true! It is not true! Please!"

"You thought to lead me on, and then I would be so full of desire for you that when I could not go back, you would set me free," he stated. She began to wrench back and forth, trying desperately to get away from him as his hand freely groped along her breast. Legolas, Legolas, please!

"Please!" she begged, and then he was straddling her again to make her still and she cried out in fear. She brought her knee up twice into his back before he slapped her across the face again. Grunting, her head fell to the side where he grabbed her throat, his fingers holding her jaw, and turned her face back towards him.

"I think, as much as you were hurt, that this is what you really want!" he said, and roughly pressed his lips over hers. She strained against him, unable to cry out, but as he began to lift his head, she spit squarely in his face. Two swift slaps to the face and three fists to the ribs later, she was no better off, and he kissed her hard again, and then twisted her head to the side by her chin and began brutally kissing her neck back towards her ear. She squirmed, crying out as he bit down hard against her neck. She thrust her hands upward but could get nowhere as he moved on to her ear, biting down deep and hard enough to draw blood. Gasping in pain, Enguina brought her knee up again as a last resort, and he yelled out loud and pressed down hard against her ribs-it took the wind out of her.

"Do you think of me at night, Enguina? Have you been living for this moment your entire life since your precious savior interrupted us? Come on, beg me!" He slapped her as tears began to spill over her bruised face. "Beg me for it!"

"I used to define my life by you," she groaned out, tasting blood, "but not anymore. I have something to live for and I will not let you take it from me!" He threw all of his weight down upon her to hold her tight and she let her breath out in pain. "Stop, please," she coughed.

"Give yourself to me!" he snarled and with fire in her eyes she lifted her head and shoved her face in his.

"No!" she snarled right back, and he gripped her hair in his fist then and held her head.

"Then I will take you." She felt sharp, searing pain across the back of her head.

The last things she remembered were his scarred face and wicked eyes.