Persuasion

Persuasion

Chapter 4
Author: Frosty the Linebacker
Rated: NC-17
Codes: Elrond, Legolas, Haldir, Arwen, OC, NC, AU, Darkfic
Summary: Long ago, Sauron got ahold of the one ring. After a long war, and the subsequent falling of the Dark Lord, the Elves are all who live. They were not im, th, though, to the darkness that spread during the long years of Sauron's reign. Instead of talking things out, they decide busting heads is the best solution to their differences. Can't argue with that!
Notes: Elvish translations are at the end of the story.


*

Elrond appeared pleased with his sons. Looking out the window into the mid-afternoon sky, he seemed relaxed. This was despite the conversation.

"Do you believe she is correct?" asked Legolas as he stood watching the Lord of Rivendell. "Celeborn would know by now what we have done. Do you think he will retaliate?"

Pursing his lips, Elrond sighed softly but did not look anxious. "If Lorien does retaliate, it will not be immediate. They will wait, for they do not know if we have taken their people for the simple plan of setting a trap. Celeborn is too careful to act so rash."

Legolas was not satisfied. "Eventually, though, they will realize there is no trap."

Turning his dark eyes to the young elf, Elrond smiled gently. "Then you must hurry and retrieve the information we require."

Nodding and taking his leave, Legolas closed the door to Elrond's room and exhaled a deep, agitated breath. The Lorien elves would retaliate, he was sure of that. As he made his way to the dungeons, he thought about how he d bed best gain the information needed in the swiftest way. The experience Legolas had gained through these torture sessions, with many different elves, had caused him to think of the practice as something akin to art. He took great pride in his abilities, and did not appreciate having to rush things.

A smile played on his lips as he thought about what awaited him. The Marchwarden would be a simple task, but the female...Legolas rarely had the pleasure of working with an elf-maiden. He felt it a shame he would have to work so quickly.

He pulled open the door to the dungeons and made his way to the cells. Upon his arrival, though, his interest increased.

The Marchwarden was still unconscious, sprawled across the dirty floor. A tray of food had been placed outside his cell, but it had not been touched. For a moment Legolas wondered if the elf was dead, but he quickly noticed a soft, rhythmic breathing. Thinking carefully, he flickered his eyes to the elf-maiden watching him from the adjoining cell. Of the two of them, the Marchwarden would most likely be the one with the information they required. He, however, was not awake. She was.

"Stand, please," he said, walking to the wall and taking a set of keys. He smiled when the dark-haired elf did as she was told, but did so with a stern and angry look upon her face.

He unlocked the cell door and tossed the keys to the table in the centre of the room. They hit the metal tools, and Legolas noticed the quiet flinch of the girl in the cell.

"Step out." He knew eventually pride would overtake Ellaire, and she would refuse to submit to his orders. There was no surprise when she stood in the centre of the small cell, unmoving. "I will come in to retrieve you, my dear. There is no point in disobeying me."

He watched her closely as she took a deep breath and glared at him. Her bright eyes were fierce with hatred and intensity. He expected no less.

Sighing when she did not speak, he also grew irritated when her eyes left his and stared straight ahead, effectively ignoring him. Women were very different from men, that was definite. If this was a male elf, Legolas knew he would have the man beaten down by now, shackled and in pain. Any other elf would have tried for freedom by now, or tried to kill him. The maiden, though, only stood her ground.

"Your dignity has been maintained," he said with admiration, "I knew when you first came in woulwould not be easy to break." Stepping into the cell, looking down into her now focused eyes, he quieted his voice, "But I will break you. And I will enjoy it."

He could the the anger in her eyes, and the fear. "Do what you will," she growled, "I will tell you nothing."

Legolas smirked then, and surprised her when he roughly grabbed her arm and threw her out of the cell and into the centre of the large room. Stalking up to her, he yanked hold of her hair before she could stand and jerked her neck upward. "You will tell me what I want to know," he breathed, "Or I will mark up that pretty face of yours."

She grit her teeth and tried pulling from him, but he was too strong. The grip on her hair only tightened. He saw she was afraid. Instead of speaking, though, instead of disputing, she simply spit upon his boots.

A quiet, dark laugh erupted from his lips. Letting go of her hair and wrapping his hand around her bicep, he dragged her to her feet and threw her against the wall. Dust fell from the crumbling stone as she fell to her feet.

"You leave me no alternative, love," he said, pulling her up by the arm and shackling her wrists to the manacles. Ellaire coughed from the force of being shoved into the wall, too short of breath to fight off what he was doing. Her legs held her up when he was finished, and she was chained to the wall.

"I expected nothing less than torture from filth like your kind," she said, gaining her breath, "Do your worst, for I will say nothing, if I even have the information you seek."

Legolas smirked, stepping back and tilting his head at her. It was a pleasing sight, having a beautiful young elf at his mercy. "I will take infinite pleasure in finding out if you have what I seek," he said softly. Turning his eyes to the wooden table, he picked up a small blade from the edge of it and approached Ellaire. It glinted in the candlelight, even as small as it was. "I hope you are strong in mind as well as body, for the longer you last, the more enjoyment I will take."

He could feel her body tense as he drew closer. Legolas could see her try to remain steady, but her eyes grew wide when he touched the knife to her face, brushing it gently along her cheek. Ellaire's eyes blinked nervously as the blade trailed to her neck and rested on the soft skin of her throat.

"Elleth o Lorien," he breathed, bringing his face close to hers, "Broniale innas arnediad naeg. Broniale innas enni."

He nicked her throat then, causing her to whimper in response. Ellaire's eyes closed and Legolas smiled at the fear coming off her. It was tangible.

"Legolas?"

The elf turned swiftly at the voice, surprised and annoyed at the interruption. Arwen stood watching him, her face calm and patient.

"Why are you here, Arwen?" he growled, striding across the room, dropping the knife to the table on his way by. "I am busy, and I do not appreciate the interruption."

She did not appear remorseful. Instead, she looked slightly angry. "I thought I could be of help," she said softly, looking past him to Ellaire. "Why are you working on her? Did my father not say the Marchwarden would be the better target?"

Legolas clenched his jaw and turned, making his way back to the table. "The Marchwarden is still unconscious," he said, picking up what appeared to be a sharp, metal stick. He narrowed his eyes and admired it in the light, then turned his attention to Ellaire. She was watching the exchange with interest. Listening. Learning.

He smiled.

Walking by him, Arwen approached the elf chained to the wall. Legolas became instantly attentive, taking notice of the princess' movements. She occasionally had a tendency of violence to a degree that would render the captured dead.

Legolas inhaled softly when Arwen turned without touching or speaking to Ellaire. He noticed the Lorien elf relax as Elrond's daughter walked away. "Wake the Marchwarden," said Arwen quietly as she passed by Legolas, "Or risk more than you know."

Frowning, the blonde elf kept his eyes on her until she had left the room. When the door past the hallway closed, he looked up at Ellaire. Arwen often spoke of things that no one could understand, but on occasion a filtered vision of the future would appear to her. The same gift her father and grandmother had, but less intense.

Never did he know whether she spoke truth or fiction.

Sighing heavily, he walked back towards Ellaire and smiled down on her. "Forgive the princess," he said, reaching up with the metal rod and holding the tip over the candle flame, "She does not make the best first impression."

He noticed Ellaire's eyes trail up his arm to the weapon he held over the fire. As he turned it in the flame she became tense again, her gaze shifting from his hand to his face. "What are you doing?"

She was frightened. "I am continuing what we started."

Legolas lowered his hand and regarded the now-glowing red metal with shining eyes. The smell of heated metal burned his nostrils as he held it close to her face. "Please don't," she breathed, staring at the rod. The heat radiated off it, reddening her skin.

"Tell me what I want to know," he whispered, resting a hand on the wall and leaning over her, "Tell me about Lorien's plans for us."

Her scared eyes flickered between the weapon and his face. For a moment he thought she might give in and tell him what he wished to know, but quickly she regained her strength and forced herself to deny him. "I will tell you nothing," she said, looking away from the weapon.

"Thehavehave no other choice." Without allowing her to prepare, Legolas gripped her neck, wrapping a hand around her throat and pinned her to the wall. As she struggled, he pressed his body against hers, holding her immobile. "This might sting a little."

She screamed then, and Legolas could not hold back a smile. The hot metal scorched her, burning the skin at the corner of her neck. He watched her face closely as she clenched her eyes shut, causing tears to stream down her face.

The only thing he didn't like was the smell of charred flesh.

Ellaire pulled at the manacles, but Legolas was tight against her. After a few moments, when her screams turned to cries, he pulled the rod back from her throat and released her. She hissed in a breath and tried to fall to the ground, but the chains held her up.

"It gives me no pleasure to disfigure you," he said, setting down the now-cooled rod, "Though it pleases me, to know that I have marked you for eternity."

She whimpered softly, and he wasn't even sure if she heard him. Looking to the table again, fingering through the weapons, he did not notice the Marchwarden's awakening until he spoke.

"Deleb Sindar. Le del enni."

Legolas glanced up, smirking at the elf's glare. "I hold no doubt that I do," he replied, picking up a hooked weapon.

"She knows nothing. Leave her, and try that with me."

Biting his lip, Legolas walked over to the cell and stood an arm's reach away from Haldir. "In time. To be honest, I prefer her screams to yours."

Anger filled the Marchwarden's eyes, but before he could respond another entered the room. "Legolas."

Closing his eyes in irritation before turning to the voice, Legolas gripped the weapon in his hand hard and looked inquisitively at the visitor. "Lord Elrond," he said, bowing, "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

The dark elf's eyes moved over everything in the room, holding steady contact with each of the prisoners for a few moments. When his gaze lingered on Ellaire, Legolas grit his teeth in anger.

"There may be a problem. I would have a word with you," said Elrond, motioning for Legolas to follow. Resigned, the archer set down the weapon, glanced once more at the captives, and followed the Lord out.

*

TBC

Elf-Talk:

Elleth o Lorien. Broniale innas arnediad naeg. Broniale innas enni. - Elf of Lorien. You will endure endless pain. You will endure me.
Deleb Sindar. Le del enni. - Abominable Sindar. You disgust me.