Ringspell

Chapter 20.
Discipline...

**WARNING**
DARK chapter: VIOLENCE and RAPE

Legolas watched, in nervous silence as his king pushed the door closed behind the departing Ranger and turned to lay cold, unfeeling eyes upon him.

"**Is there something you wish to tell me, Legolas?**" Thranduil asked, his words tinged with poorly concealed malice.

Panic-stricken, Legolas hesitated, trying to bring his thoughts into order, searching for words that might curb his father's temper.

"**He... Aragorn... he stayed here, last night.**" The prince began, fighting to keep the fear from his voice. "**He was intoxicated. I mean, really... falling over. He came in for a drink and fell asleep on the lounge. I tried to wake him but...**" Legolas faltered, his words catching in his throat.

Slowly, the corners of Thranduil's mouth turned up in pitiless amusement and the prince's heart sank as he realised the truth; there was no explanation he could offer that would soften his Lord's vengeful heart. Thranduil had come only to satisfy his lust for violence - finding his son with Aragorn had been an unexpected bonus.

Despairing, Legolas knew there would be no mercy for him, this day.

"**Do not think me stupid, boy.**" Thranduil said deliberately, slowly advancing on the prince, hovering above him like a thunder cloud. "**Who knows better than I, the sinful pleasures you stir between your sheets?**" Thranduil raised his hand and turned his child's face up to his own, forcing the prince to meet his eyes. "**You reek of that mortal.**" He said, twisting his face up in disgust. "**I can smell his filth, all over you.**" He shoved Legolas, hard and the prince stumbled back towards the centre of the room. Thranduil followed, shoving the young elf again. "**How dare you let that Dunadain lay hands on you?**" Again the king drove Legolas back. "**You dirty little harlot!**" This time, Legolas landed hard against one of the pillars that supported the roof of the chamber, the force of the impact knocking the breath from his lungs.

Thranduil bore down on the young elf, forcing him back, trapping him against the pillar. With nowhere left to go, Legolas fixed his eyes on the ground at his feet and prayed silently for deliverance.

"**Did you let him take you? Hm?**"

Legolas shuddered violently as he felt the king's hand press against his belly, sliding, snakelike along his torso, lifting the gauzy material of his shirt, grossly massaging the soft flesh beneath.

"**Did you let him inside you?**"

Despite the hopelessness of the situation, Legolas tried, half-heartedly, to resist his foster father's advances, lifting his arms to fend off the unwanted contact, but Thranduil would not suffer defiance.

"**Answer me!**" The king growled and one hand flew up, to land a massive blow against his child's face. Legolas' head ricocheted off the stone behind him, reeling from the powerful hit. His knees buckled and he would have fallen, were he not trapped between the pillar and the hulking form of his king. He tasted blood. Trying to avoid another attack, the prince forced his shaky voice into action.

"**No, Ada. No. I swear.**" He said, knowing it would make no difference.

Grabbing Legolas roughly by the hair, Thranduil leaned his head down and breathed heavily into the prince's ear.

"**Liar.**" He whispered.

Legolas' fear surged to terror, at the quiet calm of his father's voice and he desperately renewed his futile struggles to escape.

"**Please, Ada. I would not lie to you. Please, let me go.**" He begged, to no avail.

Thranduil was immovable, like a rock he stood, his arms around the prince's body, laughing cruelly, at the child's attempts to free himself.

Finally, Legolas gave up the fight, surrendering to his Lord's size and strength.

"**Are you quite finished, boy?**" Thranduil asked, jokingly, a broad smile on his face.

The battle lost, the situation utterly hopeless, Legolas retreated behind the only defence he had. He sank down into himself, hiding behind a wall of indifference that stood, like an impenetrable fortress, in his mind. This he did easily, for it was not the first time he had run from Thranduil, in this manner. Slowly, as had happened so many times before, his senses dulled, sight and sound fading to distant light and a quiet murmur, as Legolas wrapped himself up in thick folds of black despair.

Through the darkness, Thranduil's voice reached him.

"**You will have to be punished.**" His Lord said. "**Go and get your whip.**"

The king took a step back, to allow him passage and Legolas moved, unthinking, to the foot of his bed. Reaching down between the end of the bed and the wooden chest, his fingers wrapped around the leather-bound hilt of a horse-whip. The whip was a solid cane, around four feet in length and about the thickness of a man's thumb, at the hilt. In truth, it was little more than a long, thin stick and it was, without question, Thranduil's preferred instrument of discipline.

Shaking uncontrollably, Legolas returned to the centre of the room and his waiting father, clutching the cruel device tightly in his trembling hands.

Thranduil held out his hand, expectantly.

"**Give it to me.**"

Legolas tried to obey but he could not move. He clung to the whip, white-knuckled, as though his very life depended upon it. Frustrated and impatient, Thranduil reached out and snatched the thing, tearing it from the prince's grasp. Legolas started at the sudden movement and several tears escaped his eyes, rolling unbidden down his cheeks, as his torment grew ever closer to realization.

"**Stop that pathetic weeping!**" Thranduil demanded and without warning, flicked the whip cruelly across the young elf's beautiful face. Cringing against the stinging pain, Legolas wiped fruitlessly at his eyes, willing the tears to stop.

"**Forgive me, Ada.**" He tried to say, but Thranduil was not listening. The king grabbed a fistful of silken hair and dragged the prince's head down towards the ground.

Helpless to resist, Legolas sank to his knees.

He felt cold air on his skin, as his father pulled at the flimsy shirt that covered his body. The king released his hair, for a moment, to yank the material up over his head. Before Legolas could take breath the whip came down hard across his back, the room filling with the sharp crack of the cane on his flesh.

A small, distressed sound escaped his quivering lips, as the scourge touched him again and he flinched beneath its sting.

"**Silence.**" Thranduil muttered, grabbing the golden hair again, to hold Legolas still while he administered the flogging.

Again and again the whip came down upon the young elf, each strike cutting thin, red welts into his sensitive flesh, until his body felt on fire with the pain. Lost in utter misery, Legolas gave up even trying to support his own weight, hanging like one half-dead from his father's grasp, his body collapsed, limp beneath the incessant lash. Though tears flowed, unchecked, down his face, the prince made no sound; it would serve him none and he could not be bothered.

Slowly, as minutes passed and the thrashing went on, the whip began to mean less and less to the broken prince; his mind could no longer discern one source of hurt from another. Eventually, the sharp, stinging pain in his back gave way to a steady, throbbing ache that got neither better nor worse as the chastisement continued. His awareness began to drift, back into the safety of his inner-fortress. Finally, the tears slowed, then stopped altogether; he could feel no more.

For how much longer his punishment had gone on, Legolas could not say. He did not notice that the flogging had stopped until he felt himself being hauled bodily off the floor and carried, the room flashing past his tired, hurting eyes in a blur. He felt himself falling and panicked momentarily, fearing the inevitable landing. The fear eased at first, when his fall was broken by something soft but when he realised where he was, terror shook his body to the core.

Scrambling to his hands and knees, Legolas lunged desperately for the edge of the bed, driven by pure, animal instinct to escape but Thranduil caught him around the waist, throwing the smaller elf onto his back, climbing over the top of him, smothering the young creature beneath his weight.

Without waiting for Legolas to react, the king reached for the lace that held his son's pants tight, pulling the knot and grabbing the leather at the young elf's hips, yanking the protective garment down to his knees. Desperately, the prince resisted, though he knew it to be hopeless. Tears flooded from his eyes again as unbridled horror overcame him. He fought and wept and pleaded with his Lord for mercy but his cries fell on deaf ears.

Thranduil did not care.

The king pushed his son's legs up, exposing the vulnerable, secret part of Legolas' body. He leaned heavily on the smaller elf, crushing his knees into his chest and Legolas struggled, as much for breath now as for freedom, pushing back weakly against his king, his own despairing sobs filling his awareness.

"**Ada, no. Please, stop Ada. Please.**" Legolas tried to scream the words but he was too weak and exhausted. Instead, his supplication tumbled from his lips uncontrollably and was lost amongst his pitiful, dejected weeping.

Thranduil spared a hand to his own tight leggings, pulling out his hard, eager member quickly, positioning himself at the entrance of his child's wildly trembling body.

Legolas jumped when he felt the proof of his Lord's intentions against his tight opening and terror fed him new strength, to thrash and struggle beneath Thranduil's oppressive weight. Though it was a noble battle, his fighting did not save him.

Without pause for preparation Thranduil impaled the young elf violently on his straining erection, pushing himself deep into his son's body, letting forth a low groan of satisfaction as he felt himself enveloped by the warmth inside.

Legolas screamed against the penetration, the sound forced out of him with his breath, as the king thrust hard, driving the offending organ up to the hilt inside him. Above him, his Lord's face hovered, lips curled back in a savage, beastly snarl, unreserved hatred shining out from the pale-blue eyes.

Utterly heartbroken, the young elf tried to reach through his legs, to clutch at the front of his father's clothes, but he could not. He tried to hold onto Thranduil's arms but his hands slipped from the smooth material that covered them. He wanted desperately, to beg for an end to the torment but his mouth would not form the words. Lost and wretched in his pain and humiliation, all Legolas could do, was close his eyes and wait for the sickening ordeal to be over.

Thranduil growled and moaned endlessly, as he fucked the boy, mercilessly ramming into the tight, young body beneath him, again and again, with incredible force. He placed one hand on each of the prince's shoulder's, to better hold him steady, against the onslaught.

Though it seemed, to Legolas, an Age of the Earth, it was but a few short minutes before Thranduil exploded inside the warmth of his victim, his lust roused more for the desolate weeping of his ward, than for the act of the rape itself.

With his seed spent, the king lingered for a moment, inside the young prince, watching with perverse satisfaction, as the boy continued to cry. He took hold of the prince's jaw, holding Legolas' head steady and leaned down, first kissing the young elf on the mouth, and then spitting obscenely on the pretty face.

Content, Thranduil crawled back off his young charge and stood beside the bed, slipping his softening member back into his pants. He watched with amusement, as Legolas rolled to his side, writhing around on the bed, in pain and inconsolable despair. He thought about saying something, some delicious parting blow, with which he could leave his child. In the end, the king of Mirkwood only laughed, before turning and striding calmly to the door, leaving the boy where he was, clutching at his pants and uttering pathetic little noises, while he rolled around like a whore in his sheets.

**********

Legolas did not hear his father leave; he was aware only of his own sorrow. His body trembled uncontrollably, and the searing pain in his back was equalled only by the thumping, wrenching hurt in his gut. Through his suffering, he reached down and tried to pull up his pants, desperate to salvage some small sense of dignity. But he had no strength, his fingers would not even grasp the material properly. He sank even deeper into despair, his heart clenching violently in his chest.

Wallowing, luxuriously in his heart-ache, the young prince slipped past the threshold of what his spirit could endure and he retreated to the world behind his elven eyes, drifting into a deep and troubled sleep even as his last tears fell.