Darkest Before Dawn

NOTE: Because aff.net has proved so unreliable lately, I have created my own website to archive all of my fiction, general and slash, g and NC17. It isn't completely functional yet, but most of it should be working now: http://www.angelfire.com/rings/blossomwitch

Darkest Before Dawn, Chapter Four
Author: Blossomwitch
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Am I Tolkien? No. Do I want to be? Yes. Any questions?
Beta: Stephanie and Rei. Thanks, guys!
A/N: This chapter is from Legolas's POV. If you don't want to know what's happening to him just skip straight to the next one, which will pick up with Gimli again. The first refs to torture and rape show up in this chapter as well; please be gentle in your reviews, this is my first try at writing this darkly. Also, in Legolas's thoughts he continually refers to the Greenwood; this was the name of Mirkwood before Sauron moved into Dol Guldur and polluted it. I am assuming Legolas is old enough to remember the Greenwood and is thinking of happier times. Also, Finmal translates as golden hair. (looks back at length of author's note) Okay, I think I'm done now.

Darkest Before Dawn, Chapter Four

The door opening--it was a sound that had long ago gained the power to awaken Legolas, no matter how deeply he was asleep. Sometimes the sudden snap from running free and contented through the Greenwood to finding himself back in this hated room, this cell, could be physically painful. But no matter how much Legolas would have liked to let his spirit stay disconnected from his body while they did things to him, centuries of training as a warrior insisted that he be present, that he use any opportunity to fight or resist. Not that those were common these days, not now, not after...however long it had been.

Legolas was unable to turn his head to see who had entered. His whole body tensed in anticipation of a painful touch or invasion. But the person came around, not touching him, to where he could see her. A woman--no, a girl. Girls didn't mean trouble, usually. She was holding something in her hands, a bowl that gave off steam. Legolas tried to think if he had seen her before.

The girl knelt before Legolas and clumsily tried to feed him what was in the bowl. Legolas felt the hot liquid dribbling out the corners of his mouth. The girl had a yeasty smell on her. She didn't smell or feel like danger, and that was as far as Legolas could make himself be aware of. He knew he ought to know her, but he didn't.

"Please eat," the girl whispered. "Please swallow." Legolas swallowed automatically for a few mouthfuls, but lost interest quickly. Eating usually meant throwing up. And since he was usually chained into place these days, he could not clean up after himself when he did. It could be hours before someone came into his room and cleaned the mess away. And if it was a customer who found it they would sometimes be so offended they would withdraw their business. For a little while Legolas had tried deliberately throwing up, but soon enough the punishment had begun to outweigh any momentary reprieve he might gain for himself. It just wasn't worth it. Lately eating, too, had become not worth it.

"Come on, Finmal," the girl said, a hint of desperation in her voice. "Just swallow."

Finmal--that was what they called him here. Not the men, not the abusers. The men just called him "Elf," as though he was the only Elf that had ever existed. The other captives, though--they all gave each other nicknames that they could speak when no one else was around. One of them spoke the elder tongues and had given Legolas a nickname in his own language. Legolas tried to remember what they called the girl feeding him, but all he could seem to think of was the soup, sort of runny and tasting of carrots. Thinking about it made him swallow a few more times, though, and the girl seemed pleased.

Why was she the one feeding him? It must be morning, or early afternoon. Yes, there was light creeping into the room, filtering through the dust motes. Light usually meant safety, but not always. Not always.

Legolas' thoughts drifted away again. If they didn't, he would find himself thinking about what had happened last night, or about what was going to happen tonight. Sometimes he thought it didn't happen every night, and sometimes he did, and sometimes he wasn't sure. But it happened enough.

It was bad enough to live through it; he couldn't endure to think about it for long. Vaguely, vaguely he seemed to remember fighting harder at the beginning, nearly dying. He occasionally wondered if he had died, or why he hadn't, but would lose his train of thought before he could get very far. All he knew now was that cold metal meant he didn't need to fight.

When there was metal circling his wrists and ankles and neck, or when there was an iron bar forcing his legs apart, or a harness around his shoulders and waist. Then it was time to hang limp, somewhat relieved that it was over, that he wasn't responsible for what was happening anymore. Then it was time to disappear to the Greenwood with the knowledge that he had done his best to fight it. But when there was no metal, that was when he became angry. Who did these people think they were? When there was no restraint, he would strike out in any way he could. He thought he could remember killing some at at one point. In the beginning, it must have been, before they learned. Even now they would sometimes try to take him without restraining him first. Legolas made sure they always regretted it.

Except--except for that time, a while ago, not too long. Without being tied down but so many men he couldn't...had it happened more than once? He couldn't remember.

That had been the worst. Without restraints he fought, but it was like they became human restraints. Someone holding his arms and someone holding each leg while someone entered him, then they would switch, and he would be twisting and fighting beneath it but it was never enough, too much. And then a voice, "See, I told you he'd fight us this way." Smug. At some point it had occurred to Legolas that they wanted him to fight them, that he had only been provoked into acting in a way that gave them even more pleasure.

The thought made him wince, even now, and the girl pulled the spoon out of his mouth. "Do you have a sore, Finmal?" she asked kindly. Sometimes the captives got sores in their mouths from biting their lips to keep from screaming, or from stretching their lips too wide or from something the men had put in. This girl had dried blood in the corners of her mouth. "Show me where it is and I'll stay away from it." Legolas did not have a sore, so he did nothing. After a moment, the girl sighed and resumed spooning the liquid into his mouth.

Legolas could not recall how long it had been since the world had stopped making sense. In some part of his brain he was vaguely aware that something was different, that his whole spirit was not residing in his body--only vaguely. Everything was vague these days.

And maybe it was better that way.

"Please," the girl said, and Legolas realized the warm carroty liquid was spilling out his mouth and down his front again. "Just swallow. Just a few more swallows."

Swallow--something about swallowing, and this girl. No, not swallowing, swallows. Swallow, lark, thrush, dove. Dove. That was what they called her.

Legolas smiled at her, relieved that he could remember. He tried to speak, which he didn't do much anymore. "Cugu," he said softly.

Dove smiled weakly back at him. She didn't understand that he had just spoken her name in Sindarin. It wasn't her, then, that had given him the name Finmal. Legolas stirred restlessly, trying to make himself understood, trying to let her know he remembered her. "Cugu, mur murmured again. Even though he knew the Westron word, his lips would not form it.

Dove smiled again, and then she reached out to caress his hair. Legolas reacted instinctively. His hands were chained to either side of his head and he didn't have great reach with his arms, but Dove was close enough for him to strike the side of her head. She was light enough that the clumsy blow sent her heavily to the ground; the bowl went flying and the rest of the soup slopped out onto the rushes.

Legolas felt remorse when he saw what he had done. Even the remorse, though, was distant, as though he was viewing a stranger's mourning. She should not have touched him, it was true, not in his situation. But he should not have struck her, either. "Forgive me," he murmured as Dove lifted herself up, dashing quick tears from her .
.

Dove smiled at him, and this time the smile was a little more genuine, not quite so broken. "That's the first Westron you've spoken in months, you know," she said. "It gives me hope."

Legolas did not like the word hope. It reminded him of someone, though he couldn't think who or why. Easier to forget it, now. Dove was looking at the floor with sadness in her large dark eyes. "Now you've gone and spilled dinner, Finmal." She spoke in a sing-song voice, as one speaks to a babe, trying to interest but not really expecting an answer. "And I don't know where I'll find more for you. But you've got to eat more than you do. Please try not to spill it next time," she finished sadly.

Legolas tried to tell her that he was not interested in eating, it made him throw up. But the words got lost in between his thoughts and his tongue. At first it had just been the mistreatment of his body that had made his stomach rebel so; then, when he lost his strength, the morning sickness had begun.

"Finmal," Dove said again, looking at him with pleading eyes. "Please. Your baby needs you to eat. You need to be strong for that baby."

//What need has this baby to come into the world?// Legolas thought sadly. //What welcome would it find from these men? I have betrayed it by conceiving it. Better if I don't eat. Better if this child can return to Eru before its spirit has joined its body.//

Dove went back to the door. "I'll come back after the customers tonight," she said, voice shaking slightly on the word 'customers.' "I think I can find you some bread. Please don't kick anybody tonight, Finmal. You know they beat us all when you do that."

Yes, Legolas knew. Dove shut the door. Legolas found himself back in the Greenwood, enjoying the sunlight filtering down through the leaves. These days it felt like he wasn't just wandering without aim but rather was searching for someone, someone he had lost. Someone who was looking for him also. He wondered if they would ever find each other, here under the Greenwood. Wondered if he would ever take his hand and go running through the forests together, take him to the forests, wasn't there a forest I was supposed to show you?

But he could never find the other. No matter what he did, he never saw who it was that wandered in his dreams, that was trying to find him. And as time went by he found himself caring less and less, whether they would ever find one another or not. Whether their paths would cross, or they would continue in parallel circles until he finally lost all his strength and laid down by a crystal pool, aware that the other was near, so near. But unable to reach him; unable to cry out to him, to touch him, to see him and finally know his face.
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*ADDING CH. 5 HERE* I've been unable to upload a new chapter, so I'm trying to put the next part ine. He. Hope it works.

Darkest Before Dawn, Chapter Five
Author: Blossomwitch
Disclaimer: Am I Tolkien? No.I waI want to be? Yes. Any questions?
A/N: Long break = long chapter. Thank you Ro for suggesting the idea of how Gimli gets into the brothel. I obviously took it to heart. It didn't turn out very clear, so I will add here that Cindy is Dove. Dove is a name only the other prisoners use; Cindy is what the men of the brothel call her, so naturally it is the name she gives to Gimli.


Chapter Five

Gimli sat in a dark corner of the Cat and Cheese Inn, staring moodily at his target. The man the innkeeper had identified as Chezner was of medium height and scrawny build; his hair was sparse and graying, and his face bore a toughened scar above the left eye. Chezner was currently sitting at a table on the opposite end of the inn with three men. Two were burly types sitting opposite him, obviously doing some kind of business--Gimli did not like to think what kind--and the third was a boy, also thin but looking very menacing, who had not yet left Chezner's side. It was clear that his purpose was to act as a bodyguard, and it was that which had given Gimli his idea.

Now he was simply waiting for a chance to speak. As soon as Chezner had entered the inn's common room several men had gone up to speak with him, and the two with him now had been there for some time. They were exchanging dour glances with each other and were clearly unhappy with the way things were going. Chezner, by contrast, was the classic picture of confidence, leaning back with his arms spread and looking aloofly down his nose at his companions.

Gimli shifted restlessly, wishing that they would hurry up. The sun was setting outside, and he wished to get Legolas out of here this night. Finally, when his patience was wearthinthin, the men shook hands with Chezner and left the table, looking unsatisfied. Gimli wasted no time. He got to his feet, bringing his tankard of ale with him, and crossed the room.

He sat down across the table from Chezner without preamble, or any attempt to introduce himself. Intimidation was a big factor in the game he was now playing, and he mustn't seem unsure of himself.

Chezner blinked at him, lazily. "Yes?"

Gimli was fighting a strong desire to remove the man's fingernails, individually, followed by his vital organs'm l'm looking for work," he said bluntly.

Chezner blinked again, looking like nothing so much as an over-grown, over-confident cat. "And what makes bel believe I can help you, dwarf?"

It would be so easy--to reach across the table and wring his neck. Later, Gimli promised himself. "I know what kind of business you run," Gimli said in a low voice. "The, ah 'wares from Berkand' not withstanding. I can understand how a man in your position might sometimes have trouble keeping those wares in line. Or by chance you get an unruly customer one night." Gimli placed his hands around his ale mug, making sure his biceps were displayed as he did so. "I can help you there. Certainly better than the scrawny lad you've got guarding your back right now." The boy narrowed his eyes to slits. *Yes, and I'll be coming back for you too, letting this go on,* Gimli thought, and returned the stare impassively.

Chezner pursed his lips, and ran one spidery hand along the stubble decorating hhin.hin. "Where did you hear of my wares?" he asked.

"A friend," Gimli replied. "A man of some position. I'm sure you'll understand if I don't reveal his name."

ner ner nodded. "I understand. Well, Master Dwarf, there may be work for you. What kind of a wage would you expect?"

*Don't tell me it's this easy,* Gimli thought dizzily. He named some figure off the top of his head, much too high. Chezner raised his eyebrows and countered with a sum barely enough to see to a goat's living needs, much less a dwarf's. Well aware Chezner would cease to regard him as worthwhile if he didn't argue, Gimli frowned and bickered and eventually made to get up and walk away from the table, sweating as he did so.

Fortunately, Chezner stopped him a h a hand on his arm, and became more amenable; soon after they settled on a wage. Not that Gimli intended to be there to collect any of it, but it was important Chezner believed he was doing it for the money. Chezner offered his hand to seal the agreement, and Gimli ground his teeth together to avoid flinching as he took it. Perhaps he squeezed a little harder than was necessary.

Chezner then glanced around the room. "Well, Blain, it doesn't look as if there's anything here that requires my immediate attention. Stay here and direct anyone who comes this evening, and I'll go show our newrf arf around the establishment."

Blain nodded, clearly displeased to be left behind. Chezner rose and Gimli followed him; the man put a companionable arm around his companion's shoulders as they exited the inn into the gathering dusk. Gimli fought hard not to flinch. The touch sent shivers of revulsion down his spine.

"Have you worked in an establishment such as mine before?" Chezner queried as they headed down the dusty road.

Gimli answered evasively. "I've done a little bit of every kind of work under the sun in my life. This work is certainly not strange to me."

Chezner seemed pleased with this answer. "Well, you've come across me at an advantageous time, dwarf," he said. It occurred to Gimli that Chezner had not yet asked for his name, nor did he seem to intend to. "One of my bully boys got into a nasty fight with a customer ek aek ago and broke his leg. Damned useless. So I'm giving you a break, but I'm telling you straight out--this job isn't license to play around with the girls. You'll pay for it like any other customer if you want to sample the wares."

Gimli gathered up all his loathing for this man and spat onto the road. "Dwarves have no lust for any other than their own kind," he rumbled, bitterly aware of the irony of making that claim when it was his love for Legolas that had brought him here. "I won't be giving you any trouble."

"Glad to hear it. Here we are." Chezner lead Gimli up to a medium-sized, two story building. Even though dusk had just barely fallen, a few men were already going in and out the door. The curtains were all tightly drawn.

Inside the front door, Gimli found himself in a sleazy excuse for a parlor. Numerous couches lined the walls, with several girls and one boy in various states of undress on them, who looked up and then away with disinterest when they realized Gimli was an employee and not a customer. "This is where the girls hook 'em," Chezner announced blandly, then with a wink and a nod he added, "Boys too. I got something for every taste."

Gimli swallowed firmly against everything he wanted to say to that, and managed a noncommital nod. Hand still on his Gimli's shoulder, Chezner propelled him across the room and opened a door which proved to lead into a dim hallway with three doors on each side of it. "Those are the fucking rooms," Chezner said, looking at Gimli out of the corner of his Gim Gimli did not react to the coarse language.

Chezner led Gimli to a second door from the main parlor, and into a smallish room that Gimli could only assume was the center of operation for the whores and bullymen who lived and worked there. It seemed to be part kitchen, part dressing room, and part smoking den. There was a rickety staircase disappearing through the ceiling in one corner. A large man was leaning against the far wall, smoking a pipe and looking at Gimli from under hooded lids. A girl was huddled in another corner, using tiny fingers to repair one of the lavish costumes the prostitutes wore. Chezner snarled at her, and with a pout she got up and disappeared into the front room.

Chezner showed Gimli a cabinet on the north wall, which when opened proved to hold seven keys of various sizes and metals. "These are for the pets," he said. "You know, the 'wares from Berkand,'" he added with a leer.

Gimli nodded, his fingers clenching like they would around his axe.

"When a customer wants a go with one of those," Chezner said, "you get me or Faron there to find the right key and open the door up for 'em. When you've proved yourself trustworthy, I'll show you which key goes with which pet so you can do it yourself," he added, smiling condescendingly. "We keep them upstairs."

Gimli broke out into a sweat. He immediately lost track of what Chezner was saying. Right now, right above his head--Legolas. His head was buzzing. After all this time and all his searching, to be so close they were breathing the same air. Gimli could almost swear he could feel the Elf's presence, tangible and real, right above him.

His attention was brought back to the outside world by a girl coming down the stairs. She was terribly frail, and her eyes were wide in her bony face. She was carrying a wooden bowl and spoon carefully in her hands. She looked up as she came in, and Gimli did not miss the flinch of fear on her face when she saw Chezner.

"Did he eat?" Chezner asked brusquely.

The girl nodded, and quickly siddled past Chezner to get a rag to clean the bowl with, trembling. "That's one of my pets right there," Chezner said proudly to Gimli. Gimli felt his blood begin to boil. "Now, she and one of the other girl-pets are the only ones allowed to move around. The other one's no bigger than a mouse, looks like she'll break apart any second, so you'll recognize her when you see her. The rest of them harrass the customers or try to run off if we let them free, so we keep them locked in their rooms. You won't need to interact with 'em much at first. Just know if you see any of the others out of their rooms, something's wrong."

Gimli nodded, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. He hadn't realized--well, he supposed it had crossed his mind but he hadn't allowed it to really sink in--that there were other victims here, that it wasn't just Legolas who needed rescuing. Looking at the poor big-eyed girl made Gimli hate Chezner all over again. They all deserved to be rescued, and yet there was no way he could get them all out by stealth. Even if he managed to free them enough to fight, if this girl was anything to go by they would never be able to fight their way past Chezner's bully boys and the prostitutes. Gimli's stomach cramped again as he wondered how much muscle Legolas might have lost while he was in here, how weak his love might have become.

Chezner, he realized, had been talking again, and he had not been paying attention. He managed to grasp the last bit-- "Faron and I will be out front tonight. You just watch and try to get the hang of things, and I'll find you a spot tomorrow."

Gimli nodded dumbly, and the big man tapped out his pipe and followed Chezner back into the parlor. Gimli was left alone with the girl.

"What's your name, lass?" he asked gently.

The girl only stared at him, eyes almost dead but with a hint of malice lurking inside them. She looked at him blankly for a moment, then resumed washing the dish.

"Please, I don't want to hurt you," Gimli said. All his thoughts had suddenly narrowed down to one--this girl might know which door Legolas was behind, which key would free him. He had to get her to trust him. "What do they call you?"

"That's a different question," the girl said in a clipped tone. "They call me Cindy, or at least the men do. I don't tell my real name to people like you."

The accusation of those simple words cut cleanly through Gimli, and he found himself leaning forward, wanting to touch the girl but knowing it would be anything but comforting if he did. "Listen," he said in a hoarse whisper. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. An elf, a beautiful golden elf. Somebody told me I could find him here. I want to take him away from this place."

There was a brief shimmer of shock in Cindy's eyes as Gimli spoke, but it had been replaced by contempt by the time he uttered the last word. "Oh, you're really something," she snarled low in her throat. "You just want to have him without having to pay Chezner for it, and you think I'm going to let you into the room." She turned her back furiously.

Gimli controlled his instinct to reach out and shake her. "No, please, you must believe me. He's a friend of mine, from before the war. His name is Legolas."

Cindy did not turn around, but her furious cleansing motions slowed. "I don't know his real name," she admitted hesitantly.

"Legolas Thranduilion. Ask him. Ask him anything," Gimli pleaded desperately. "He knows me."

The girl looked at him over her shoulder, and the look she gave him was half contempt and half sadness. "Ask him?" she repeated softly. "It wouldn't do any good."

A hole began to open in Gimli's heart. "Why not?"

"He doesn't speak anymore," the girl said bitterly. "Or at least not in words I can understand. He left a long time ago. Only his body remains."

Grief poured into the hole in Gimli, but instead of filling it the girl's words only made it bigger. "Take me to him," he whispered brokenly.

Cindy shook her head firmly. "You can't do anything." There was an edge of contempt in her voice.

Anger now filled the pit, boiling hot. Gimli restrained himself from attacking the girl--it was not her fault, she was a victim too--but his voice became low and savage. "Listen," he hissed. "I am going to find my friend. You can make it easier; you can give me the key to his room, or I can chop it down. But I'm telling you, I will not let him stay here another single night. I'm going to get him out of here whether you help me or not."

"What are you going to do, take on all the men in the town single-handedly?" she demanded.

"If I have to. Death is certainly preferrable to what Legolas is enduring."

"And what about you?"

"Death is preferable to knowing what Legolas is enduring."

The girl studied him seriously. Gimli felt he was close to winning her over. "What can I do to make you believe me?"

There was a pause; then Cindy spoke in a quiet, solemn voice. "If you were truly Finmal's friend...how close were you?"

"Very close," Gimli said hoarsely.

"Can you describe the scar he has on his back to me?"

"There is a scar along his spine about a handsbreadth above his waist," Gimli replied. "It goes diagonally across the spine from left to right. He got it in a spider hunt," he added, trailing off. She had not asked that.

"And the other one?"

Gimli frowned. "There is no other on his back."

The girl let out a deep breath. "There was no other one, you mean," she corrected softly. "Before he came here. But if you were trying to deceive me for some reason, if someone had given you a description, you wouldn't have known that." She looked at him, her forehead crinkling. "How did you ever find him?"

Gimli could not think what to say; relief was sweeping through him, making him shake so badly he wanted to sit down. "I never gave up hope," he finally managed.

Cindy glanced at the door leading to the parlor; there was urgency in her face and in her voice when she spoke. "Go upstairs; there's a back stairwell that leads directly outside. Take him out through that. I'll give you a few minutes, then I'll create a distraction in the other room to give you some time."

Gimli looked at her with wonder. "I wish--" he started hesitantly. "If there was a way to get you all out, I--"

Cindy shook her head briskly. "No, it's not possible. If one of us can get out I'm glad it's Finmal. You must hurry to get him to safety; I think he's dying." She walked quickly to the cabinet and, opening it, selected a small gold key and pressed it into Gimli's hand. "Second door on the right."

Gimli closed his hand over hers when she would have withdrawn it. "I'll come back," he said. "When Legolas is safe. I will bring my friends back with me and we will put an end to this, I swear to you."

For the first time in their conversation, tears glistened in the girl's eyes. "Don't swear," she whispered. "It only makes it worse. Now go, save your friend." She gave him a push towards the stairs, and smiled a little broken smile. "Two minutes."

Swallowing, Gimli grasped the tiny key in his palm firmly and began to ascend the rickety staircase, which wound in a circle to reach the upper floor. He tried not to think about what Cindy might have to do to create a distraction; he just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.

The upstairs was dimly lit by sconces in the walls; a narrow hallway had doors on either side of it like below, only these doors stared accusingly at Gimli. He went straight to the second door on the right and fit the key into the lock.

The room was much darker than in the hallway, and for a moment Gimli could not see anything. He hastily closed the door behind him. Directly in front of him his eyes began to make out a low couch, empty except for a small bit of cloth. Then he heard low, steady breathing coming from his right.

He turned, and his search was at an end.

A figure barely recognizable as Legolas was kneeling in the corner, naked, his back to Gimli. His wrists were bound with manacles attached to ropes that stretched up to the ceiling, pulling his arms taut above his head. There were also manacles on his ankles, but they were unattached to anything. The elf was not given quite enough slack on the ropes to be able to kneel comfortably on the ground, but he had drawn his legs up tightly underneath him and had managed to take some of the tension off his arms. Legolas's head was resting against one arm, his golden hair a tangled mess across his back. His skin was pale and marred with many angry red marks, and stretched tightly over his bones. If it had not been for the steady breathing that had attracted his attention in the first place, Gimli would not have been certain he was alive.

"Legolas," he whispered hoarsely. There was no movement.

Remembering what the girl had said about his soul having departed, Gimli lurched forward. He saw Legolas's shoulders tense slightly, and realized the elf was at least aware someone was in the room with him. "Legolas, it's me." He gingerly laid one hand on the elf's shoulder, trembling at the longed-for contact. Legolas did not react. "Legolas, it's Gimli. I've come to get you out."

TBC

A/N: I know, I'm evil. Futhermore I'll be out of town for a week so the update won't be quick. I figure this cliffhanger will keep your imaginations occupied while I'm gone. :)