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*~*~*~*
Bound and Torn
*~*~*~*
Part One - Capture
As he neared a clearing just outside of the borders of the Blue Mountains,
Legolas sensed that he had lost the humans far back in the woods. Their
cursed shouts that was spoken in the Westron tongue of man was faint and
distant. Glancing over his shoulder, the Elven-Prince saw that the humans
were too far away to catch up to him in time, but that hadn't meant anything
to the Elf. He knew that the foul-smelling mortals wouldn't have given up so
easily. They never knew defeat.
He rode faster across the meadow of high grass and small bushes. There was
no tree in sight for at least five leagues. Without the aid of the forest,
Legolas had no other way of escape if it had come to that solution. There
were no branches to climb up on out of man's reach.
His keen senses were alert as he pushed his horse to ride faster through the
grass plains. And not a moment later, he picked up the sound of horse
gallops and shouts closing in behind him, and to the left and to the right.
He looked every which way as men coming in from all directions surrounded
him. Legolas feared that he wouldn't clear the meadow in time to seek refuge
in the woods that lay ahead.
The men were nearing at a more prudent pace than what was expected. They
brandished whips, bows and arrows and swords, waving the weapons in the air
as though they were readying themselves for war. But the son of King
Thranduil of Mirkwood knew better.
"Get him!"
"Don't let the Elf get away!"
They were closing in on the Elf and fast, forming a large circle around him.
He had nowhere to go, but he refused to stop. He rode on, instructing his
companion in Elvish tongue to ride faster. The horse obeyed and drove all of
its strength into reaching the forest just ahead of them.
As hope had begun to seep through Legolas' mind, it had faltered instantly
when an arrow grazed his left upper arm, making him grimace from the sudden
attack of pain. It ripped the sleeve of his velvet green tunic and he felt
the warmth of blood seep from the deep groove and down the length of his
arm.
They will not give up, Legolas realized with a sudden feeling of dread
reaching his heart. He wasn't afraid to die, but the unexpected realization
of being captured was something no Elf wanted to endure.
The next arrow that was fired hit Legolas' horse, injuring the creature and
surprising the Prince riding it. It whinnied in agony as it bucked from the
sharp pain in its side and threw the Elf from its back. He ducked and
rolled, relaxing his muscles for the impact. The Prince landed gracefully on
his feet in a crouched position. That wasn't the case for his companion,
though. The horse had collapsed from the pain and sudden exhaustion of the
chase and lay there on its side, breathing in shallow and painful intervals.
As the men were approaching fast, Legolas fisted his bow and an arrow, and
fired at the first man in his line of sight. It sung through the crisp
morning air and the mortal fell from his horse, dead from the impact of the
arrow going cleanly through his skull. He grabbed another arrow and stood,
aiming at another man to his right, and then another to his left, and
another. Eventually, he had killed many of the hunters, and soon found that
his quiver was empty. There were too many of them boring down onto the
Prince and he knew that he was trapped. But he refused to go without a
fight, and he still had much left inside of him. He dropped the bow and
unsheathed his Elven-knives, twirling them in his hands. Numerous men jumped
from their saddles and with swords and whips ready, they charged the Elf
full speed.
He crouched, ready to pounce as two men came forward with swords. Still
twirling the knives, he spun on his heels, his long hair flying about him as
he ducked low and sliced the men cleanly across their midsections just as
they thought they had the upper hand. They were injured terribly, but not
yet dead as Legolas went for the next group of men. As they neared, two men
on horseback behind Legolas wielding whips lashed out at the Elf as his arms
raised in the air to attack. The rough leather of the whips encircled his
wrists and threw him off balance, forcing him to drop the knives. The Elf
gasped as the men behind the whips pulled back on them sharply, yanking the
Prince off his feet and onto his back, knocking the air out of his lungs.
Men were on him in an instant, but he continued to struggle even without the
aid of his weapons or arms. He kicked and thrashed about as hands descended
on his body, struggling to hold him down. A swift punch to his stomach,
making the Elf double over as much as he could to regain his breath, created
a diversion for enough time to tie his wrists behind his back and ankles
painfully with thick leather straps. Even under restraints the Elf writhed
his body against the men holding him down.
"Release your hands from him!" A voice roared above all the shouts of the
men that surrounded Legolas like a pack of hungry wolves. "Let him be!"
The crowd of men dispersed immediately as the crown Prince of Galador came
forward to see his prize capture. He was tall and stood proud, arrogant
amongst his men. Which wasn't unknown in the house of royalty in any vast
corner of Middle Earth. Even Legolas, Elven-Prince of Mirkwood had shown
arrogance from the cause of his stature amongst his kind and others.
"You have given us a good chase, Prince Legolas," the mortal said with a
grin forming on his handsome face. He crouched down to the Elf's level,
where he remained lying on his back. "I was beginning to have doubts about
catching you."
"You should have given up, Prince Gerian," Legolas countered. Blood of the
fallen men and dirt clung to his face, making his hair cling to him. "Even
in bounds I will not subject to your orders. I will kill you when the time
comes. I give you my word."
"Aye, and Elves never go back on their word." Prince Gerian smiled,
revealing beautiful white teeth. He unsheathed a small dagger from the
leather belt around his waist and brought it up so that it was in front of
Legolas' face; the gleaming blade glistening in the elf's furious eyes. "I
am looking forward to that day fair Prince. For we shall see who will defeat
the other." With one swift motion of his hand, Gerian sliced a small lock of
golden hair from the Elf's beautiful mane.
Hard silver eyes met blue ones. "Yes, we shall see."
The Prince of Galador stood slowly, his eyes never leaving the Elf's. One of
his men came forward as Gerian handed the delicate lock of hair to the
servant. "King Thranduil will be very distraught to know that his only son
has been defeated by mere mortals. And once he comes to know the intentions
of your capture the entire land of Mirkwood will be under our power."
"You will not succeed, Prince Gerian. I will succumb to the torment of death
before I allow my home to be overpowered by men."
The man simply laughed as he bent down to grab the clasp holding the Elven
cloak over the Prince's shoulders. He admired the intricate leaf design -
made of the finest metals of the earth - with frank interest. "These
trinkets will give enough resourceful evidence for Thranduil to know that
you have been taken." Without looking away from the Elf on the ground at his
mercy, he handed the clasp to the same man who held the lock of hair and
instructed him to take the weeklong journey to Mirkwood with the message and
gifts. The man left immediately.
With a nod of Gerian's head, a man stepped forward and pulled the
Elven-prince up from the ground. The large hunter hoisted the Elf over his
shoulder and carried him to his horse. The bindings around Legolas' ankles
were cut for him to easily straddle the horse. The large man placed him on
the saddle and climbed up, sitting behind him. Strong, meaty arms encircled
his slim waist and held tightly as the hunting group returned home. Legolas
glanced back at his trusty companion that lay forgotten to die in the open
field and the Prince felt his heart weep for the unfortunate soul.
*~*~*~*
The kingdom of Galador was beautiful, but evil nonetheless. It lay far in
the west just at the depths of the Blue Mountains, surrounded by vast
forestry and hills. It was a secluded habitation, and for hundreds of years
no threat had befallen the small kingdom. But a message had been relayed to
Mirkwood that an unknown evil spreading throughout western Middle Earth
endangered Galador. Since the beginning of the Alliance of Men and Elves,
Mirkwood and Galador remained strong in trusting the other kingdom.
King Thranduil had responded to the message immediately and sent his son and
five of his best warriors as envoys to meet with Feirmar, the ruler of
Galador. But once the Elves had arrived, treachery had befallen the
innocents unexpectedly. All, save for Legolas, had perished by the hands of
Feirmar's men. The Prince of Mirkwood had barely escaped with his life
intact, but only to be captured again.
The hunters that had caught their prey now dragged the Elf into the great
throne room of the castle where the King of Galador sat amongst his servants
and beloved hunting dogs. Gerian went to stand beside his father at the
throne, his strong arms folded across his armor-clad chest. The aging man
grinned victoriously at the sight of the captured Elf and congratulated his
son in succeeding. Again, he turned his eyes to the Elf as he stood,
extending his arms out to the sides as if to embrace Legolas invitingly.
"Welcome again fair Prince of Mirkwood."
Legolas' legs were kicked from underneath him and he fell to his knees
roughly. He glared hotly at Feirmar and snarled. "Your greetings are not
kindly accepted." A hard kick to his side made the Elf grimace, but his
proud gaze never faltered. Never would he allow them to see the fear that he
felt in his heart. A cold, blank stare was all that they received.
"Why such hatred? I have given you such a warm welcome into my kingdom and
this is what I receive in return? I would've expected someone of your
stature to-"
"No welcome such as this is pleasing. My people trusted you," Legolas
interrupted coldly. "You will pay for your betrayal."
King Feirmar stepped forward and backhanded the Elf across the face. His
head snapped to the side and blood from a cut on his cheek trickled down the
Elf's gaunt face. Slowly he turned his eyes back to the King just as the man
wiped the blood off his golden, jewel-encrusted ring on Legolas' tunic.
"In time you will learn to hold your tongue in my presence!"
"AELIS!" <Never>
The Elf sprang up from his kneeling position and pushed Feirmar down with
his shoulder. The King fell to the marbled floor with a cry of agony as his
right arm had caught most of the impact. Even with his hands tightly bound
behind his back, Legolas put up a fight and never lost his pristine balance.
He kicked and pushed his way towards the large windows at the far right side
of the great room. With cat-like precision the Elf jumped up onto a ledge
and looked down at the courtyard below. It was a good three-stories down,
but that hadn't prevented the young Prince from jumping to his escape before
the hands of men were able to grasp his tunic or hair.
"Seize him," Gerian ordered in a furious uproar.
The drop seemed an endless descent as he fell to the ground, his hair
flowing like a golden waterfall behind him. In order not to injure his legs
or ankles, Legolas bounced off the heels of his feet and rolled once he
landed on the hard stone ground. Once he had found his footing, the Wood-Elf
ran towards the open gates that led out of the stone fortress of Galador.
But he knew that his escape wouldn't have been as easy as he had wanted.
Guards from all directions of the castle were approaching the Elf,
surrounding him just like they had in the meadow earlier. Distraction and
inward fear of Galador's twisted betrayal and intentions had smothered his
most acute senses, and he hadn't noticed the archer approaching from behind.
Without warning, the man fired upon his target, and Legolas suddenly halted
in his steps with a gasp, staggering forward. A white-feathered arrow buried
deep into his back, dripped fresh blood and the Elf felt strength
evaporating slowly from his body. Faces pressed close, and the Elf was
desperate to flee from such peril. He whirled around only to find himself
outnumbered and surrounded. The mob surged forward, casting themselves upon
the helpless Prince.
But Legolas felt and heard nothing.
To be continued...
________________________
Part Two - Look of Innocence
Gerian approached his guards hastily - that were gathered in the courtyard -
with fire boiling in his veins. That was the second time the Elf had tried
to escape. He was becoming more of a nuisance, and Gerian was ready to rid
himself of this burden, but he knew that if he had placed harm upon the
prisoner his father would make him pay for his wrongdoing. The Elf was worth
more to them alive than dead.
As the Prince of Galador leaned in close to study the unconscious Elf, his
infuriation reached its peak and he whirled on the man responsible for
shooting the Prince of Mirkwood. "What have you done?"
The archer stumbled backward as Gerian came upon him like a tiger attacking
its prey. "I-I...had t-to stop him, your majesty."
Suddenly, the Prince held his composure and smiled at the guard. "Of course
you did." He patted the man on the shoulder as he unsheathed his sword and
without question or remorse he stabbed the guard in the stomach. The blade
sung as it had gone completely through muscle and bone, now protruding out
from his back.
The man convulsed as the pain ravaged his body. Blood spat out from between
his lips, tainting his teeth, chin and tunic in the deep crimson color. The
last thing his wide, frightful eyes saw before he had given in to death was
the Prince's malicious grin stretching across his handsome face.
Gerian retracted his sword from the dead man's body and sheathed it with the
blood still dripping from the blade. He quickly turned his attention to the
other guards. "May this be a lesson to all of you! Know what will become of
you if you shall harm the prisoner!" The Prince of Galador looked down at
the guard kneeling before the fallen Elf. "Bring him to my quarters and
summon a healer for his wounds." With that said, he stalked off.
*~*~*~*
The crown Prince of Galador entered his quarters briskly with an exasperated
sigh. He waved his servants out of the room so that he may have privacy. The
healer had already finished his task of cleaning and bandaging the Elf's
wounds, and informed the Prince of his condition.
"The arrow wound was deep, but he should heal fine," the healer said. "Elves
are extraordinary fast healers, but he will experience enough pain to keep
him in bed for a few days."
The Prince of Galador nodded solemnly and excused the healer from his
chambers. He entered the main room, which was heavily guarded with men
posted on either side of the large wooden double doors. The strong scent of
healing salve entered his nostrils the moment he had crossed the threshold.
His attention was immediately directed to the prisoner that lay unconscious
amongst the fine velvets and lavish fabrics. The upper part of his tunic had
been taken off and all that he wore was his leggings. He was indeed
magnificent, Gerian had realized. He had never taken the time to study the
Elf until now.
The look of young innocence, he told himself as he tilted his head in
admiration. Although he knew that the Elf was at least hundreds or even
thousands of years older than his twenty-five years. The one puzzling
question that had always kept the young prince intrigued.
The Elf's half-naked body was lean and strong in the dim light of early
evening. His face, despite the obvious hatred he held in his eyes earlier,
looked angelic. His skin was smooth, pale and unmarred. The bounds that had
constricted his hands so painfully behind his back had been cut for comfort,
although Gerian hadn't known why he gave the prisoner such accommodations.
He deserved nothing better than a cold, stone cellar with nothing but his
solitude to keep him company. But the Prince felt the need to provide even a
small ounce of hospitality while the prisoner healed from his injuries that
had been brought upon by the foolish actions of Gerian's men. Why? He had no
clue.
The mortal stood beside the enormous, king-sized four-post bed and watched
the Elf's bare chest rise and fall steadily. He had heard that Elves slept
with their eyes open, but that wasn't the case for the prisoner. His eyes
were closed, tightly as if he was desperately trying to seek refuge in his
dreams to drown out the pain that he was obviously experiencing.
Just enough for Gerian to see more than his profile, the Elf's head was
turned a little to the left, his lips parted ever so slightly. His hands lay
limply to his sides; the skin on his wrists was raw and had bled from the
tightness of the ropes. The thick clear salve had been applied around them
to better ease the irritation.
The only thing that was out of place was the long silver chain locked around
the Elf's ankle and to one of the posts on the bed, preventing him from
escaping even under painful circumstances. A sudden twinge of guilt surfaced
in Gerian's heart, but was quickly blocked by anger toward the immortal
creature. Twice the Elf had given him trouble, and without a doubt he knew
that it wasn't the last.
Suddenly, the doors to the Prince's room were thrown open with such force
that it startled him. He turned to face the new presence, knowing it was his
father for the King was the only person allowed such an entrance.
"Where is the Elf," the King demanded bitterly. His right arm hung limply at
his side for it was too painful to move. "I heard of his recapture in the
courtyard."
"He is here, father."
King Feirmar approached the bed and twisted his face in enraged hatred
toward the unconscious creature. "Why is he here? He should be thrown in the
dungeons for his foolish actions."
"Leave him be, father. He deserves rest, for he is still royalty and should
be treated in such a way," Gerian insisted without thought of the
consequences his words would fall upon him. He knew better than to speak in
such a manner toward his father, the King of Galador. He didn't know what he
was thinking at the time, but defending the prisoner was what first came to
mind.
Fury flashed in the older man's eyes, but he held back from striking at his
son. "Once he has healed, bring him to me. I shall bring forth the
punishments myself." Without another word, Feirmar left the room in an
angered hurry.
Closing his eyes slowly, Gerian brought his hand up to his face and covered
it warily. "What has become of me," he wondered aloud, shaking his head as
he allowed his hand to fall from his face. His eyes opened and landed on the
beautiful features of his prisoner. "Your innocence and beauty has made me
weak, fair Elf. Even in dreams, you seem to pull a cloak over my eyes,
blinding me. How can this be?"
Knowing he wouldn't have received an answer, the young Prince retreated to a
large, plush chair in the far corner of the room where he would have a clear
view of the Elf for when he'd awaken. He leaned back, interlaced his fingers
behind his head, and exhaled, waiting.
Hours had passed, and the sun had long ago set in the horizon beyond the
mountains. The kingdom and the small village surrounding its stone fortress
were silent; all had befallen to the throws of dreamful sleep. The Prince of
Galador had also succumbed to the fog-like haze of his dreams, but when he
had sensed movement caused by the chain-link, his eyes snapped open and he
was suddenly alert of his surroundings as though he had never fallen asleep.
In the darkness, he could barely see, but the glint of gold caught his
attention and he directed his gaze towards the bed. As his eyes slowly
adjusted, he saw the Elf struggling to free his ankle from the chain but to
no avail. It had been welded shut, and only the crafts of a locksmith and a
key could release the Elf from the heavy burden.
Gerian made no effort to alert the Elf that he had woken and remained
motionless, watching the fair creature in frank interest. He realized that
the Elf knew of his presence in the room, but made no attempt to acknowledge
him.
Such a beautiful being, he thought to himself as the Elf's blond mane
spilled over his shoulders and concealed part of his strong jaw line and
high cheekbones. Long ago, the braid holding much of the Elf's hair away
from his face had been undone so that all of his beautiful golden locks may
fall freely.
After a few more frustrated moments fidgeting with the chain, the Elf
finally brought his eyes up to meet Gerian's thoughtful gaze. The silver
orbs gleamed in the moonlight and hatred immediately surfaced in the depths
of the gray and blue specks.
"Why do you stare at me so," the Elf asked.
"I am watching you," Gerian corrected.
"Same difference." He averted his eyes toward the window where only the eyes
of an Elf could see the first rays of sunlight stretching its fingers over
the horizon. "What do want of me that you haven't already taken?"
Gerian didn't answer and stood slowly, approaching the bed. He sensed the
Elf's tension, but ignored it. His eyes roamed over the prisoner's
well-shaped form, taking in every inch of him, including the bandage wrapped
around his upper torso and back. Without thinking of his actions, the Prince
raised his hand to the Elf's face. Before he could touch the smooth, pale
skin the Elf's hand shot out with lightning fast speed and clutched Gerian's
hand in his own preventing him from touching his face.
Silver eyes glared icily at the man, warning him.
Gerian simply smiled and allowed the Elf to glare at him a moment longer.
"Do you mock me?"
The Prince laughed. "You are truly a magnificent creature, Prince Legolas.
Such agility and mystifying beauty fascinates me."
Dark, perfectly formed brows creased at Gerian's words. "Why do you speak
such words to me?" His grip on the man's hand tightened, and one more spasm
in his strong muscles could crush the mortal's hand in one snap. "How dare
you speak to me with fine compliments, though you keep me chained as a
prisoner."
He didn't even flinch from the death-grip that the Elf held on his hand. "I
can easily provide you with lesser accommodations if you'd like," Gerian
replied sardonically, raising his other hand to run through the soft hair on
the Elf's head, not minding the small threat that the prisoner had on his
other hand. "Or you can obey my simple commands..." His fingertips grazed
the soft tendrils, but the Elf snapped his head away, and reeled his fist
towards Gerian's nose.
The Prince dodged the blow and with the arm that the Elf held so tightly, he
twisted it until he had heard the faint snap of a dislocated joint. The Elf
gasped from the unexpected pain and out of instinct released his grasp on
Gerian's hand. As the feeling came back into the Prince's throbbing fingers,
with his other hand he grabbed a fistful of the golden hair, pulling the
Elf's head backward sharply. The pale, delicate skin of his throat was
exposed and his lips parted slightly as he breathed heavily through his
mouth. All the while, his eyes never wavered from the human standing before
him.
"Release your vile hands from me," the Elf demanded bitterly through
clenched teeth.
Gerian's smile broadened. He was teasing the Elf and loving every minute of
it. He enjoyed taunting him to no apparent end just to irritate the fair,
but deadly creature. "You will obey me, prisoner. For that chain around your
ankle should be a daily reminder of where you stand in the presence of
royalty of Galador." The words he had spoken to his father earlier had been
completely forgotten.
Snarling the Elven-Prince replied, "Aelis." <Never> A hard slap across his
cheek sent the Elf's head to the right; his hair still grasped tightly
between the Prince's strong, slender fingers. "Never will I bow down to
mere, useless mortals who have betrayed my people. You are nothing to me but
a burden that I must step over."
Gerian's mouth twitched as he narrowed his eyes at the Elf. With one swift
motion of his arm, the Prince sent the Elf crumbling to the floor by his
feet when he had yanked him by the hair. The chain rattled loudly from the
unexpected fall. "Such a graceful thing you are, but now that doesn't seem
to be so."
On his hands and knees, the Elf's hair spilled over his shoulders and his
face was completely covered under the veil that seemed to have been spun of
pure gold. His breathing was labored from the tightness in his chest and
back from the arrow wound. The metal tip must've pierced a lung for he could
barely breath without feeling sharp pain constricting inside his chest.
"Amin aelis lava lle." <I will never yield to you> the Elf said lowly, as he
leisurely raised his head to look the Prince in the eyes.
Those eyes; so dark and filled with rage pierced Gerian's soul, forcing him
to stumble a few steps back. He felt numb as if the prisoner's gaze held him
under some type of spell, but he knew otherwise. Why was the Elf affecting
him so? Why couldn't he control himself? This angered the Prince and he felt
the need to punish the Elf for pulling an even thicker cloak over his eyes,
distracting him from any rational thought.
With the metal tip of his boot, Gerian kicked the Elf bitterly in the jaw,
dislocating it. The Elven-Prince was thrown back from the force of the kick
and collapsed on his stomach, his right cheek slamming into the hard, stone
floor. Not a sound escaped his lips. "I will teach you a lesson, slave. One
you will never forget."
Before the Elf could raise himself up, again, Gerian unsheathed his sword
and hit the prisoner against his temple with the blunt hilt of the deadly
weapon. Rockets of pain exploded behind his eyeballs. His tunnel of vision
blurred and had begun to shrink as blackness closed in around it. Gerian
struck him a second time and it suddenly disappeared altogether.
To be continued....
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