Author's Note: The excerpt in italics here is from The Bible, Psalm 91. Obviously, I don't own that, nor did I write it! LOL

Legolas leaned his head back against the tree, eyes closed, chest hurting. He was very ill indeed. It was still dark yet, dawn only an hour or less off; he could tell by the lightening of the sky. He felt dizzy, feverish, and his cough was much worse than it had been a few hours ago. Terribly worried about Enguina, he could not find sleep though he wished he could lie down. What had Bragolaur meant by it, taking her to the river? What did that mean? It made him sick to think of Enguina, completely alone, with three frighteningly burly men. After everything that had happened to her in the last few months, he could do nothing to protect her now. Just the thought of Bragolaur striking her across the face made his blood boil...and his head hurt.

Tilting this way and that, he carefully made the ropes rub and grind against the tree. Perhaps, and he did not know if this would work, but perhaps he could somehow get loose without them knowing; then, at the opportune moment, he would strike Bragolaur and kill him. If he could do that, cut off the serpent's head, they would be shocked and leaderless. It was not going to be easy, but it kept his mind from dwelling on what could possibly be happening to Enguina that he could do nothing about.

He prayed softly, under his breath. He needed to trust Ilúvatar now, more than ever. He knew that there was a plan in here somewhere, but once again, he had no idea what it was. He prayed for Aragorn to reach them. Was he coming? He needed patience, peace...and both of them were slow in coming. Patience was not one of his strongest virtues; in fact, he would be happy to say he even had a very little of it. His mother had all the patience, his father none...he supposed a little was better than none.

There was quite a loud ruckus on the other side of the dwindling camp. It appeared that the three men who had taken Enguina...what were their names? Mifer, Hrigow, and...the third and biggest man were standing near Gimli...and they were harassing him. He was a dwarf, and Legolas could see, even from this distance, that they were yanking his beard. Legolas's hearing was so diminished that he could not quite catch what they were saying.

Suddenly, he heard a yell and then Gimli's voice, loud and clear, shouting, "Ya sons of Melkor himself! I'll hew yer heads clean off, ya spineless lot!" There was some raucous laughter, and then a moment of silence before a snapping sound. Gimli began cursing at the top of his voice, and it was only when Legolas saw Hrigow step back that he saw they were breaking the dwarf's fingers.

"What are you doing!?" he yelled at the top of his voice, angrier than he could have ever imagined himself. "Stop! Stop it now!" He lunged at the ropes; they tightened like a noose across his chest and his voice cut out as he broke into a fit of coughing.

"Stetlan! What are you doing to him?" It was Vilyath's voice that was heard, and then Stetlan's laughter. Hrigow did not answer her, but Mifer did.

"You are not in charge here, nursemaid. Go see to the elf; he was hollering at us, last I heard."

"You do not have any right to tell me what to do either, and you have no right to torture the captives!"

"Take it up with Bragolaur," interrupted Hrigow. "I hear he's got a thing for you ladies." Legolas opened his eyes and looked over to where the foursome was arguing around Gimli. He was surprised to see Vilyath, who had seemed to be the leader all along, stepping back from them. These three had joined the group in Londeglai, and they had clearly been with Bragolaur the longest.

"You have no right—" she began, and Stetlan stepped up to her, a bully if Legolas ever saw one. Hrigow moved to take his place near Gimli's fingers, but Vilyath took another step back to stay out of his reach.

"I've got every right," he said a bit menacingly. "I know exactly what the man's about. He enjoys playing with you; likes to roughhouse with you, listen to you whimper, cry out. Oh yeah, I know that. You think we can't hear it when he takes you? Arouses the rest of us something fierce!"

"Stop it!"

"Come to think of it, Stetlan," said Hrigow with a wicked grin, "I'm pretty aroused still from that river trip. Think the Master'd mind if we had a bit of fun with his whore?"

Stetlan reached forward suddenly and grabbed Vilyath by the arm, tugging her back against him. Holding her tightly, he pressed their hips together and ground himself against her. "If he'd let us have you for an hour, I'd show you what screaming's really about." She elbowed him in the stomach, and when he released her she darted forward out of his grasp. But he laughed instead of being angry.

Swallowing hard, she stared back at him. "You disgust me."

"That's funny, Vilyath, but I bet you'd enjoy it. You'll have to move on anyway. Once he uses you up, he'll find the next pretty thing. Besides, there's two of you in the camp now, so I'm sure he'll have to divvy up his time."

Mifer laughed as well. "Yeah, he always preferred blondes anyway."

"Killed a few of them by accident over the years in his fits of passion," sneered Hrigow.

Stetlan nodded to her. "Now run along, Vilyath; Hrigow has fingers to break."

Even among the dishonest there were disagreements and squabbles, Legolas knew this very well. He watched as Vilyath turned away without another argument and began making her way to him with some water. Most of the other men in the camp were asleep at the moment; trying to get some last bit of shut eye before dawn. Looking up as Vilyath neared him, he was grateful for the water-especially when all he tasted was metallic, rusty...he hoped his lungs were not filling with fluid.

"Do you never rest?" he asked softly, and he was surprised to see tears on her face. He did not mention them yet, as she was clearly trying to rub them away with a sleeve, but she crouched down to give him a drink.

"I do," she murmured, "but not tonight." She leaned in a bit closer and studied his face, then she lifted a hand to touch his forehead. "Lord Above, you are burning up. I do not have anything to give you."

He chuckled softly and ended up coughing for a few minutes. After taking another drink from her, he said, "I do not think it will matter much, and I am hoping I will not be here much longer."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you know something I do not?"

"I certainly hope so," he replied with a smile. "I should thank you, for the water and your defense of Gimli."

There was a snap, another bout of dwarvish cursing, and a scowl from her. "Do not thank me; they are still doing it." There was nothing Legolas could do for Gimli, but...

"You could free me," he stated. Honesty was his strength; perhaps she would help him.

"No, I could not," she replied softly. "Do not ask it of me, Legolas." He was silent for a moment, thinking of how much he could press her...but she was too loyal and far too close to Bragolaur.

"Did..." He cleared his throat, trying to speak around the illness. "Did what they say hurt you? Is this not something you knew about the man?"

She was silent for a moment. "I thought he loved me," she said with misery in her tone. "I thought that he did what he did because he loved passionately, because he lost control. But he has forgotten me. He barely remembers me now that he sees her."

"Her? Enguina?" Legolas asked, now very worried. "Where is she?" At that moment exactly, there was a soft scream that came a few hundred yards away from the camp over in the woods. Legolas picked up his head immediately. "Enguina?!" He would have known that cry anywhere; he knew that it was her. Staring into the woods, he tried to pick up her trail but there was no way to see her. "Enguina!" he called again, much more urgently.

"There is no use calling to her," she said. "She cannot answer you if she is with him...she may not be able to hear you."

He looked to her, his expression pained. "Vilyath, what is his plan for her?"

"I do not know," she answered honestly, trying not to think about it herself.

"Please, I beg you, is there nothing I can say to convince him—"

"Legolas," she said softly, "Bragolaur is not the sort of man you can convince of anything. If he chooses to do something, he is going to do it." He gave her a look of pure helplessness, and then closed his eyes, resting his head against the back of the tree. She watched him a moment. "What are you doing?"

"Praying...for her, and for peace. I am afraid."

She stared at him. "Prince, you have been a captive for nearly a week, and yet you have never appeared afraid. Now you are?"

A cry for help echoed through his consciousness so desperately that he flinched and gritted his teeth against the wave of fear that washed over him. It pierced him, convicted him, and he began to drag the ropes back and forth against the tree again, even in front of Vilyath. Through clenched teeth, he replied, "Terrified. I am terrified for her."

"What—what are you doing?" she asked again, and this time, she could see that he was grinding the ropes slightly. "You cannot—"

"Do not look if you feel responsible for me, or if you cannot help me," he said. "I must rescue her."

"That is impossible."

"Ilúvatar can make the impossible, possible," he struggled to say as he pulled. "He gave me Guin; he will not take her from me now. If you cannot help, then leave me be."

She was struck by his faith; she knew that he was trying to free himself, and she knew that if anyone found out that she had known, she would be killed. But something in her told her to leave him alone, so she did. Standing, she turned her back to him, and as she walked away back toward the fire, the sleeping men, and the broken-fingered dwarf, she saw the figure of Bragolaur.

It was Legolas though, who saw what it was he was bearing in his arms as he came through the trees. It was a horrifying sight, even with his eyes diminished. He saw Enguina was bleeding from the head in numerous places: her forehead, her cheek, her upper lip was even split. Her tunic was bloodied near the shoulder and across her ribs. Her face was terribly bruised. If Legolas had thought he was angry when he had seen what the men had done to Gimli, the patience and peace he had prayed for were completely lost now. Furious, terrified that she was dead because she was so still, he lost his mind.

"May the God of the Earth smite you, Bragolaur!" he roared, and even Vilyath was stunned by his volume as she knew he was so ill. No one was left asleep in the camp at his yelling. "Curse you, you bastard, what have you done to her?! What have you done?"

"Not what you expected, Legolas?" Bragolaur asked with a sneer as he dumped her on the ground not three meters from the tree. She fell from his arms and rolled to a stop, her back against a rock, clearly unconscious.

Legolas launched himself against the ropes yearning to get his hands on Bragolaur's neck. He did not care what he tore, what he broke, if he could breathe at all; all he wanted was to kill him and rescue her. "You foul—you evil—" Bragolaur laughed, watching Legolas's hands clench and unclench as he struggled against the ropes. Now that Enguina was lying on the ground, he could see that her hair was wet...and that led him to noticing that she was wearing much different clothes. He glared at Bragolaur, horror on his face. "What have you done to her? Is she all right?"

"She got what she deserved," he replied, staring at Legolas and watching him making sure Enguina was breathing, "a lesson in obedience." The elf looked up and caught sight of Bragolaur's eyes; there was wildness and madness to them, with something even more evil and shocking lurking behind. Legolas was terrified for Enguina; she had been beaten, half-drowned, abused, and he had no idea what else Bragolaur was intending to do to them…to her.

"Please," he said, closing his eyes, trying to calm down and be reasonable. His chest ached and his head was pounding with the stress and strain of being so helpless. "Please, just tie her up again to the tree. I swear she will not try to escape, that she will stay still. Neither of us will try to escape again."

"Oh, I have already taken care of that, Prince," Bragolaur laughed softly. "She will most certainly not try to escape again. Besides, you and I need to have a...bit of a chat."

Legolas lifted his head again, and noticed that several of Bragolaur's men were beginning to pack up and get ready to travel. Vilyath and several others stood motionless nearby. "A chat?" Legolas asked nastily, turning his gaze back to the elf. "What could you and I possibly have to talk about, you evil scheming son of an orc—" Bragolaur lifted his foot and set it down hard on Enguina's ribs, her body jerking sickly, and Legolas paled, lunging against the ropes again. "No, no! Stop!"

"Temper, Prince, or there will be more trouble," he threatened as Legolas was gasping, his eyes fixed on Enguina.

"For the love of Ilúvatar…" Legolas whispered, his breath catching.

"Now, what was it that I wanted to ask you? Hmmm..."

"My Lord," Vilyath began softly from nearby, staring down at Enguina's battered face, "I think the girl has had enough."

He turned and snarled at her, lifting his hand as though to strike her. "I will say when she has had enough!" Turning back to Enguina, Bragolaur reached down and took her tied hands in his. Once again, Legolas lunged for him and was prevented by the ropes.

"Stop, please! Stop touching her..."

"Is it bothering you?" he said with a laugh, stroking her hands with his own.

"Why have you done that to her? Why did you hurt her? You had no right! What did you ask of her?" Legolas was asking questions and receiving no answers; he was so frustrated that he began working more urgently on the ropes. Rescue by Aragorn, or even the very Hand of Ilúvatar, could not come more quickly!

"You will see," the elf said softly, and then twisted Enguina's arms up above her head. She groaned, her head swimming; she had finally come to...quite painfully.

"Guin!" Legolas called, and Bragolaur began laughing again, maniacally.

"Guin! Guin!" he mocked, and then laughed again, leaning down close to her face where she flinched immediately and tried to roll away from him. "Oh, do not go anywhere, fair love. In fact, I think you need to stay right where you are." And with those words, he drew a dagger from the sheath at his hip and plunged it down through the palms of both of her hands, driving it into the ground with brute strength. A gut-wrenching scream of pain tore from her throat, and Legolas saw white.

"No!" Legolas cried, beginning to yank against the ropes so hard he was tearing at his own skin. "Enguina! Enguina!"

Enguina wailed in pain, writhing as she tried to pull her arms free, unable to be brave, unable to collect herself, unable to find a sense of anything but agony and terror. She brought her leg up swiftly and kicked Bragolaur in the ribcage with one bare foot, trying desperately to launch herself away and roll onto her side. He flew into a frenzy against her then, kicking her roughly with booted feet; it was only seconds before a crack was heard. It was a full ten seconds before she could breathe again.

"Bragolaur, please! Please stop! I will do whatever you want! Just stop, stop!" Legolas begged, choking on fear; how could he protect her? How?

Enguina felt his hands on her ankles. Terror, full-on terror rushed through her and she lashed out with both feet; hearing cursing in Sindarin as she struggled, her pain was a memory compared to the fear encompassing her heart. One foot caught Bragolaur in the chin, and he elbowed her hard in the stomach as Legolas continued to yell at him. Still, she fought, and when he could not get the other ankle, he grabbed her throat in his vice-like fist. Unable to breathe, it did not take him long to wrestle her ankles together, throw his weight over her and bind them.

The fight had nearly left her; how could she fight him? She laid still for half-a-moment, trying to catch her breath, her fingers trembling with pain, her shoulders trembling with exhaustion. She could not hear anything, could not see anything but Bragolaur's face, making its way toward her, inching up to press down near her ear and whisper into it.

"You remember this quite well, do you not?"

How could she forget? That hill, the way he had looked at her, the way he had touched her, lunged at her, knocked her down, landed on top of her, his weight crushing her as they rolled over and over to the base of that hill; the way he had torn her dress, his hands everywhere bringing her pain and torment. The way his lips and hands had bruised her skin, the way those bruises had remained for weeks; how he had forced the dagger through the rope in her hands, how he had lashed her ankles together and then forced her legs apart brutally and fell between them...her whole body was shuddering with the remembrance of what he had done to her. No, she would never forget; he would never let her.

"Now," Bragolaur whispered, "lie still while I tell your lover a story."

"Please...god, please..." she whimpered. There was no denying her fear now, no hiding it. She could not, even for Legolas's benefit; she heard him say her name, but she could not bear to look at him, her face burning with shame. She was terrified of what she knew was to come; and she prayed for death before she would lose everything...especially the elf whose love she knew she could not live a day without. "Please…"

"It is a bit late for begging, do you not think?" he suddenly snarled, reaching down to slap her across the face.

"Ilúvatar! Bragolaur, you bastard, stop!" Legolas cried again, straining against the ropes, scratching them against the tree as fast as he could. Getting to his feet, Bragolaur rested his foot upon Enguina's ribs.

"I can easily break another one," he threatened, and she wrenched her eyes closed, tears and sweat pouring down her face. The sun was beginning to rise, and the men in the camp who had gathered around were waiting to head out. Mifer, Stetlan, and Hrigow stood not far from where Legolas was tied, Vilyath not far from them; all of them still watching.

"I am begging you," Legolas said, and he poured every ounce of pleading into his tone, fear for her choking him. "Please stop hurting her...please...have you no mercy, no decency?"

"Mercy?" he snarled, and he moved to Legolas's side and shoved his face into his. "Was there any mercy when someone did this to me? No! And there shall be no mercy for her either!" He leaned back and returned to Enguina's side.

"Let...l-l-let me g-go," Enguina pleaded, her body shaking so badly she could barely speak. Bragolaur laughed at her.

"I will let you go...after I tell a story and bestow my wedding present to the happy couple." By the end of his words, he sneered, and then he turned back to Legolas.

"My Lord, please," Vilyath said from off to the side, "it is nearly dawn; we should be—"

"Silence!" he shouted. "We will leave when I say we will leave!" He turned back to Legolas. "I am going to finally answer your question, Prince. I am going to tell you the tale of how I received these scars."

Once again, Legolas launched himself forward, grunting with pain. "You filthy son of Morgoth! You are out of your mind!" Desperate now, the bark was tearing the skin from his arms as he struggled to separate himself from the ropes that were preventing him from tearing out the elf's throat. He was going to do it...he could picture himself doing it, blood everywhere...

"No, Bragolaur," Enguina whispered, beginning to cry softly. Do not allow Legolas to hear the truth! Please, not this nightmare that I have borne for so long! Bragolaur kicked her in the side again, and she had no choice but to become quiet; the pain was excruciating.

"Stop hurting her," Legolas gasped, but Bragolaur began as if he had not been interrupted at all.

"It was a summer morning, near a dawn much like this one," he said, much amused. "I was engaged in speaking to an elf on a very fair hill in my home, the woods of Lothlórien...you may know of it—Cerin Amroth. Well, this particular elf decided that she wanted nothing to do with me, even after I had asked for her hand. You see, she had led me to believe that she loved me; that she wanted my love and affection and that there was nothing in the world that she could ever want that I could not give her. So that morning, when she refused me, I decided that I would simply take what I wanted."

"Legolas...please do not listen," Enguina begged, and Bragolaur lunged around. In one swift move, he tore the left sleeve from her tunic, causing her to cry out in pain with the jerking of the now very serious wounds in her hands, and grabbed her jaw in his hand. She tried to wrench away from him, but any struggle was useless as he jammed the fabric in her mouth, effectively silencing her.

"Quiet now…I am speaking," he hissed at her, leaning back to look at the elf. He stayed kneeling beside her.

"Bragolaur, talk to me and leave her out of it!" Legolas yelled. Enguina's tears were too much for him. She was breaking in front of his eyes, and he was so helpless. God, please...please Ilúvatar in heaven, where is Aragorn? He could hear Gimli shouting across the camp, unintelligible things, but still shouting.

"Oh, but do you not understand, Prince?" he said, a bit wickedly, a strange gleam in his eye, and he dragged a lazy hand along her face as she tried to turn away. "I cannot leave her out of it; she is the elf. Enguina is my fair love, the one who was supposed to marry me. Instead, she toyed with me and twisted our love into a supposed fantasy...and so I took from her what I could get."

The sickness in Legolas's stomach threatened to overwhelm him. "W-what?"

"She would not give herself to me; she would not give me what I wanted, what I was due, so I took it...and I have never been kind in the taking." He gave a wicked smile, "Ask Vilyath." He glanced down at Enguina and nudged her broken ribs with his boot, toeing her until she opened her eyes in pain, gasping for breath, tears pouring down her face. "Now, where have I seen this before? Could it have been Cerin Amroth, at the base of that hill, with all the elanor and nephredil the ground could burst forth with, all around your beautiful golden hair?" He reached down and laid his hands on her chest, groping her breasts…and not-too-gently. Her back dug into the rock as she tried to writhe away.

Legolas's shock turned white once more. "You sick—you perverted maggot!" Wrenching himself against the tree, blood now pouring down his arms, he ignored the pain and fought; he had to save her. He had to! "Stop touching her! Stop! I will tear you limb from limb!" His face was burning, his stomach turning in his disgust and anger. "Enguina, hold on! Hold on, love!" He had not even realized he was crying until that moment.

This was the reason for all of her nightmares, all of the moments he had held her, all of the times she cried out in heart-wrenching grief, when she vomited from her pain, tearing wounds in her arms, gripping his tunic for dear life. The pain she had carried all of this time, that had caused her to distrust him, that had grieved her for so many nights, that had brought her running to Arwen and Aragorn more than it had to him...he, this wretched animal,was responsible for it. This bastard who stood before him, touching his Guin, was the one who had wronged her so harshly. Never had he wanted to see someone die so horribly for what he had done. Whatever the worst punishment was that could be imagined, it should happen to the elf that stood in front of him.

Legolas remembered her words, there are worse things than death. How she could not even speak to him about it...but he had never imagined this. He had never thought that someone had touched her this way, had gone so far to hurt her. He wanted to hold her, to comfort her closely, to tell her that he loved her so much, and yet he could do none of those things.

"You did not love her," Legolas choked angrily, tears on his face. "You cannot even say that you loved her when you caused her so much suffering, hurt her so badly. You are a monster, and you will suffer endlessly for what you have done to such an innocent life."

"Innocent?" he laughed. "Ah, Legolas, you are such a fool! What did I tell you? Do you remember my words? When you place your hands on a woman, you know where they belong. Did I not say that to you?" He grinned as Enguina's chest heaved under his hands. "Have you touched her yet? I was always completely enthralled by her breasts. She is…so beautiful." Legolas forced back a sob as Bragolaur ran his hand down to her waist, her hips, and she was desperate to wrench away, her worst nightmares becoming reality again, that familiar pain spreading across her abdomen. Terror, agony, flooded her mind...and Legolas...he was there, he could see. She did not want him to see…

"Bragolaur, you must stop this," ordered Vilyath, moving closer, and holding out her hands peacefully. "This was not the plan. The horses, the men are ready; let us move on to Thranduil and be done with—"

Bragolaur lunged off the ground so fast he was in her face before she even had time to blink, his fist hitting her in the chin, snapping her head up. She stumbled back, but he caught her arm and dragged her back to his fist that plowed roughly into her stomach. It was followed by an elbow to the back, which drove her to her knees. She stayed there on all fours, gasping for breath, trying to prevent herself from vomiting. Bragolaur straightened, breathing heavily.

"There is nothing but this, until my word," he stated, quiet as death. "Do you understand me?" Vilyath did not move, could not respond, and he reached down and slapped her hard. "Do you understand me?" She nodded, and he raised his head and stared around at the others. "Do you understand me!?" he then screamed out lout, and many of his men nodded solemnly, while some simply stood watching.

Bragolaur turned back to Vilyath. "You see, Prince?" he said, reaching down and taking her chin in his hand and raising her head enough to see her face. "Submission. That is what makes a woman desirable; and once she has submitted, you take her again and again. There is no fight, no complaint." He released her face and her head hung, neck aching, jaw fractured, one arm wrapped around her throbbing stomach. Turning back to Legolas, Bragolaur bobbed at the waist. "And that, Prince, is my gift to you. A submissive bitch, to do with as you please, broken and tamed—"

"I do not want that! Stop, Bragolaur, please!" Legolas begged. Bragolaur returned to Enguina and straddled her body, settling his weight directly over her pelvis as Legolas's cries became louder. The horrifying display became more obscene as he ground himself against her several times, and Enguina began sobbing and gagging, her stomach heaving.

"You filthy Mordor rat! You scum from the depths of the pit!" Legolas screamed, now sobbing himself, the tree covered with the skin of his arms and back, his blood, what was left of the sides of his tunic soaked with it as he wrenched, desperate to reach her. "I will kill you! I will kill you!"

Ignoring him, Bragolaur leered down at Enguina. "You remember that do you not?" He reached down and stroked her neck, watching her flinch and recoil. "I own you; I have since that day on Cerin Amroth. No one can do to you what I can with just one finger. You are mine, Enguina." A whimper escaped her lips as he began tracing the outline of her breasts with one of his hands, the other trailing along her lovely neck. He leaned in close as he heard Legolas shouting behind him, cursing him, speaking words he never thought would come out of a civilized mouth like the Prince's.

But again, Bragolaur brushed those words aside to focus on the woman before him. Leaning close down to her face, she turned away from him, but that was exactly what he wanted. He caught the end of her ear in his mouth and began sucking on the end of it before biting it, leaving teeth marks and a trail of bruises all the way to the place where her tunic met her shoulder. By the time he reached the sensitive part of her throat, she was squealing in pain, frantic to free herself, to be rid of him…but there was nowhere to go. So he continued, Legolas half-sobbing, half-screaming, behind him, lunging at him against the ropes, tearing himself apart to reach her.

"You heathen of all that is holy! How dare you touch her?! How dare you lay your filthy hands on her?! Get away from her! Stop! Stop!"

Bragolaur moved back to her ear. "I am going to take you now," he whispered so that only she could hear him. Fresh tears fell on her face and she whimpered again in terror and agony; it made him smile. He pressed himself down against her, his hips pushing hard against hers as she began trembling from head to toe. "And I intend to finish this time…inside you." Leaning down, he bit the skin above her collarbone, and she thrashed her head, hitting his in her pain. It was an uncontrolled move, but it incited his anger and he belted her twice across the face before he lowered his mouth to her throat again and left more bruising.

She squealed again, her chest heaving under his hand with her sobs, and Legolas shouted as he watched Bragolaur reach back with a free hand for his second knife. "Ilúvatar, no! God, please…Bragolaur, Bragolaur, I will do anything! Anything! Just, please! Please, you sick…you evil…you spawn of Morgoth…" he muttered. "Stop this…please…" He was so close…not even five feet from him she was laid on the ground. Five feet more and he could hold her, comfort her, shield her with his body. Shredding his tunic, the rope, his very skin on the tree, he jerked back and forth without ceasing. Weeping, he tried again, watching Bragolaur's lips bruise her skin was eating him alive. "Stop, you bastard!"

Bragolaur lifted his head and turned it towards Legolas. "She will have a bit of fun before the wedding," he sneered. "Consider it a…physical test, to see if she is suitable to be your wife. I will try her first, and then give her back to you."

"Guin…Guin…" Legolas moaned, but Bragolaur moved with his knife, and with dexterity, he sliced open the front of her tunic from chest to navel, set the knife down beside her, and then tore the tunic the rest of the way, exposing her to the skin and displaying her upper body for the world. He stared at her for a full minute as she writhed beneath the iron grip of his legs, trying to free herself. She could not open her eyes, but it did not matter what she saw; she knew what every other person in the camp was seeing…what Legolas was seeing. Her heart was shattering, breaking under the strain.

"I have waited far too long for this…" Bragolaur whispered aloud.

"Please…please…do not—" Legolas began, but Bragolaur leaned forward and planted a kiss directly on her sternum between her breasts, touching her skin with his tongue. Her head thrashed from side to side, her body still trying to wriggle away, and as one hand fell to her left breast, the other reached up and tugged down on her wounded hands. Squealing and sobbing, the knife making the wounds bigger, Bragolaur's mouth moved on her; her whole body was shuddering under his touch.

"Enjoy it, fair love…" he whispered, "just enjoy it." He lifted his head and looked at Legolas, his eyes overloaded with lust. "See how she trembles?"

But Legolas was not looking at him. "Guin, Guin," he cried, "Guin, look at me!" He begged her, but she could not; if there was something she could not do, it was look into Legolas's eyes ever again. She would never, ever again be worthy; she wanted to die. If she had a knife in her hand, she would have plunged it through her own heart if it were possible, such was her grief, her pain.

"Stop writhing around," Bragolaur suddenly growled, running out of patience with her. He lifted the knife and pressed the thin steel of the blade against her ribs, allowing her to cut herself on it. But how could she lie still? Slashes were forming on her skin as his mouth moved on her and she thrashed about beneath him, twisting and turning. At this, Legolas began screaming at him again, cursing him, and there was a faint snapping in the ropes holding him as he wrestled forward.

"I will kill you!" he cried aloud, sobbing. "For every touch, I will bring it back on you a thousand-fold!"

Some of the men had begun to turn away; hearing the dwarf swearing and cursing in the filthiest language of his kin. But this was far too much of a scene for Vilyath. Bragolaur had always been rough with her, but this was torture and assault in a way she had never seen him. Had he lost his mind? She could not possibly stand there and allow him to do something this despicable to another human being. Kidnapping was one thing, but agony, terror, and abuse in this way was not part of their arrangement…it was not in the plan!

It was one thing for Vilyath to have given herself over to Bragolaur, let him use her, abuse her and force himself on her at moments of his choosing. This was something else entirely; this elf had done nothing, had shown up to save Legolas through a battle with Girith, for goodness sake, and she was being assaulted, violated. Enguina had not asked for this; her terror was plain, her anguish was real. And the suffering between the two of them, she and Legolas, between the horror and the grief…it was tearing her apart! She was drowning in their pain; she was an elf, for goodness sake! It could not be endured! It should not! How could she stand here and allow this to go on!?

There was only one answer to that; and it made her lunge forward and race to Enguina's side, snatching Bragolaur's arm and trying to drag him back from her.

"That is enough, Bragolaur! Enough! My gods, what do you plan to—" Her last word was cut off in a gurgle, shock spreading across her wide eyes, as Bragolaur slashed her deep across the throat with the knife he held. Her blood sprayed out as she clutched her neck and staggered backwards a few feet before losing her balance and dropping to her knees, dead almost the moment she hit the ground.

"Vilyath!" Legolas cried out, horrified at the senseless carnage. Omarom rushed forward as Bragolaur immediately turned back to Enguina. Now he was in a frenzy, his hands racing over her, pressing, prodding, pinching; his lips and teeth, biting, cutting, kissing. There was no pleasure in this at all for her; it was pure domination. He wanted her and he was taking her.

"You killed her!" Omarom cried, lifting her body part-way into his lap. "You killed her." Bragolaur's men stared, dumb-founded at what had happened, but he ignored them, so focused in his lust for Enguina that Vilyath mattered next-to-nothing. His hands began sliding downwards, his mouth still focused on her chest, and he slipped a hand down between her legs.

All hope was lost, if there ever had been any hope. Enguina's lungs were frozen; she could not breathe. Every last one of her nightmares was brought to fruition in this: she could feel his fingers on her thighs, the way he squeezed and touched and forced himself and his weight down on her again, thrusting gently against her hips. The phantom pain inside her began to build and the fear overcame her. Her stomach tightened and she began retching.

Bragolaur reached up and yanked the cloth out of her mouth, and slapped her face to the side, cheek to the ground as she vomited. He held her there until he thought she was done and then continued moving his other hand on her thighs.

"I think it is time to remove the rest of these clothes," he whispered, and her teeth began chattering together.

"Please," she begged, her voice barely audible over her weeping, "not in front of—"

"Oh yes, on display for him!"

Legolas began to yell then, a prayer so loud it was heard by every soul in the camp, even if they pretended they could not hear him. With every breath he had left in his lungs he was yanking and tearing and begging and fighting towards her. He had promised her, sworn to her, that as long as he lived he would not let the darkness of her dreams find her, own her. He saw Bragolaur touching her in ways and places that were beyond comprehension; she was sobbing in his head, crying out for him whether she knew it or not. He had never felt such agony; it was tearing him apart from the inside out. His arms were pouring blood now, and he was nearly delirious with grief, but he wailed his prayer to Ilúvatar, begging for aid in ways beyond words:

See, O Father! How distressed I am!

I am in torment within and my heart is disturbed!

My groans are many and my heart is faint!

He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty

I will shout unto the Lord, "He is my refuge and my fortress! My God in whom I trust!"

Surely he will save us from the fowler's snare, and from the deadly pestilence

He will cover us with His feathers and under His wings we will find refuge;

His faithfulness will be our shield and rampart!

We will not fear the terror of night, nor the arrow that flies by day,

Nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness, nor the plague that destroys at midday.

A thousand may fall at our side, ten thousand at our right hands,

But it will not come near us!

For the Lord looks down from the Heavens and sees

I called on His name from the depths of the pit and he heard my cry,

He came near when I called to him, and he said, "Do not fear!"

RIP! Enguina whimpered, cried; Bragolaur laughed; and Legolas could not open his eyes to look. He knew where Bragolaur's hands had been, what he had been touching…what clothes Enguina had left, what the ripping sound was. He had to get free to stop him, to punish him, to save her. He fought harder as he cried out the words. He dragged the ropes back and forth, any tunic between him and the tree completely shredded and the skin of his back burning in pain. But he did not care; he could not! So he struggled on, and repeated his wailing. No one moved to stop him or silence him. Five feet and he could tear Bragolaur's throat out with his bare hands, five feet and he could hold Guin in his arms, five feet and all of this would be over…he could almost feel the snapping of Bragolaur's neck, the hot blood pouring over his fingers as he wrenched and broke the elf's body until all that was left were unrecognizable pieces. Five feet and two inches of rope were all that stood between him and her salvation…

Ilúvatar, help me…help me!…just five feet…five...feet!