Something Evil This Way Comes

Disclaimer/Author's Notes: I own nothing but the Original Characters and their adventures. Everything else belongs to JRR Tolkien, the Tolkien Estate, New Line Cinema/Peter Jackson, et. al. This was done purely for entertainment and as an exercise in creativity.

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Legolas was aware of darkness, cold and pain. He opened his eyes and at first could see nothing. Eventually, he was able to discern a ceiling high above him with barred windows near the top of the walls, although there was no light coming in. He could feel chill winds blowing over his body and realized he had been stripped. He sat up slowly, aware of pain in his head and various other parts of his body, as if he had been repeatedly kicked and beaten. He shook the cobwebs from his brain and tried to remember what had happened.

He had sensed the disturbance in the night and had left his wife sleeping as he followed it through the house. It had led him deep into the forest, though he had not seen anything. He knew it was there though. Suddenly, he had been attacked, by what he did not know; beasts of some sort, huge and violent. He’d managed to shoot several of them and vaguely recalled members of the watch coming to his aid. He couldn’t remember much else; just pain.

Reaching up, he gingerly touched some of the sorest parts of his body. He felt a wound on his right shoulder. From the feel of it, some kind of animal had bitten him. He could feel other cuts and wounds on various parts of his body. He wished he could remember what happened.

He was resting on a cold, damp, stone floor, and as his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw the cell was empty except for some chains attached to the walls. He was grateful he was not secured and could move about at will, even though there was nowhere to go. He managed to stand and made his way over to the door. It was securely locked and there was no window he could see. Likely, there was a sliding panel for observation somewhere.

He sat in the darkness for hours attempting a healing trance. It was difficult because of the lack of sunlight and fresh air; the Woodland Elves drew strength from the trees, sky, and nature, and when imprisoned away from these things, their spirits were stifled. Although he did not fear the gloom, it was natural for the Firstborn to feel discomfort and unease in dark enclosed places such as his current prison, shut away from the light of the sun, moon and stars. Legolas sought his wife through their bond and felt her, distant, but strong. He did not know where he was, and so he did not know how far away she was. He held on to the light of her love and felt himself beginning to calm and heal.

He became aware of a soft sound, coming from outside his cell, muffled, as though behind several walls. He finally identified it as a female crying quietly. He pulled himself up to the door and called out.

“Are you alright?”

The sound stopped and a tremulous voice asked, “Who … who is that?”

He recognized the voice. “Charika? It is Legolas. Are you alright?” How did she get to this place?

“I think so. I am cold and it is very dark. I think I cut myself somehow. I can feel a wound on my leg.”

“Are you locked in somewhere?”

“I am in a small room with … with a high ceiling, I think. It is so very cold in here.” He could hear the shiver in her tone. If he was cold, and he was an Elf, he could only imagine how the mortal woman must feel.

“Have you tried to open the door?”

“Yes. It is locked.” He could hear tears in her voice. “I am frightened, Legolas. There are … things here.”

He felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of his surroundings.

“What kind of things, Charika?”

She was quiet for a moment, then her voice came, lower, as if she did not want to be overheard. “Dark things.”

Trying to keep his voice calm, Legolas spoke to her reassuringly. “We will get out of here, my lady. Do not let yourself be troubled. Even now, our friends are looking for us.” He could feel Alexandra in his heart; she would not abandon either of them. “Just remain calm and try to rest. Do you know where we are?”

“No,” she said. She was definitely crying, now. “I was asleep, then something grabbed me and dragged me out of the bed. It hurt. I was so afraid, but I could not scream; it was as though I was smothered. The next thing I remember is waking up here. Someone took my clothes.” She sobbed unashamedly.

Legolas’ heart ached for the woman. She was bright and sweet, but quite timid and easily frightened. He did not know why she chose to live in Ithilien, being so afraid of Elves. Yet, she had come when Alex had invited her; had actually traveled to Ithilien in the company of a group of Elven warriors. And she had made herself at home, albeit at a distance from the rest of the main living areas. Still, she dwelt with his people, and even had Rumil as her lover and champion. He admired her willingness to try new things, even things that scared her.

“Everything will be alright, Charika,” Legolas said in a soothing voice. “Do not surrender to fear. Think of those who love you and who are even now looking for you. Rumil will not leave you to the dark, and neither will I.”

“Th-thank you, Legolas,” she said, as she tried to get control over her emotions. Still, it was so cold and so dark and she was so scared. “I will be fine, my lord. You worry about getting yourself out of here. You can do much more if you are free than I can.”

He bowed his head and asked the Valar for their peace for the woman. People like Charika should not have to face the terrors that sometimes moved in the night. They were such easy prey, and his strong protective instincts were moved by her plight. It was his duty as the Lord of the Elves of Ithilien, as the husband of her friend, and the friend of her lover, to protect her with his life. He knew his friends were watching over Alexandra; he could do no less for Charika.

The woman fell silent and Legolas once again sat on the hard, cold floor, alone in the darkness.

“You still cling to your bond with the mortal woman?” The voice was soft and pleasant and at first, he was unsure if he actually heard it or if it were only in his head.

“She is my wife,” he answered.

“Of course she is. But why do you insist on holding onto something false? She is faithless, you know. Mortals do not bind like Elf-kind.”

“You lie. I know you. You have tried to tempt me before with your lies.”

“You do not believe me? Even now, she is drowning her sorrows in the arms of the one you call Orophin. He has always been there to see to her desires when you were away.”

Legolas laughed. “You think I would believe anything you say? You lost your chance with me a long time ago, Morgoth. I know your words are false.”

“Are they? Do you not remember how familiar the smiths were with your wife in the camp during the war with the Eastern Alliance? You saw it then, but you ignored what your heart told you. Just like you ignored the son of Elrond when he touched her, kissed her---in your own tent! Right in front of you! They know you would never suspect them; you would write it off to friendship. But your mortal wife has developed quite a taste for the Firstborn. She is unworthy of your time and effort. My mistake was in offering you immortality for her. You turned me down because even then, you knew she was false. You knew that she had lain with your so-called friends. The sons of Elrond shared her body before you bound with her. You know what they are capable of---you have bedded enough females with them.”

Legolas ignored the voice. It was all lies. He knew Alex was true to him. He could feel her in his heart and her love was pure. The voice fell silent and he resumed his meditation. But the darkness was constant; was there no dawn in this place?

“Legolas?” He could not tell how long it had been since last he’d spoken with Charika. Time became meaningless in the dark.

“Yes?” He made his way to the door, although he did not know if it were truly any closer to her than where he sat in his cell.

“There is someone here.” He felt fear at her words. Fear for her.

“Where, Charika?” He kept his voice calm.

“In the room outside of where I am. They are scratching at the door.” He could hear panic edging into her voice.

He could sense nothing in the place with him. Maybe it was aimed only at the woman.

“Do you have anything to use as a weapon?”

“No! It is dark and I cannot see anything and it is coming for me, Legolas, help me---!” Her voice choked off and he could hear nothing---not even his Elven hearing could pick up any sounds from outside of his cell.

“Charika!” he called out. “Charika!” No answer.

“Leave her alone, you coward!” He was frustrated and angry and very frightened for the woman’s safety. Worst of all, had been her pleas to him for help and his inability to do anything. He could not even help himself. Self-loathing washed over him and he leaned against the wall, sliding down until he sat on the floor, his head resting on his knees. He had never felt so helpless when it came to trying to take action. Yes, when Alex had been abused by Goroth and his nuruil, he had been at a complete loss as to how to help her heal. But still, he had been able to do something, even if it was just to hold her and give her his love and support. But now, he was unable to do anything to help the woman who had begged for his aid.

Time passed slowly, even for an Elf. He felt as though he had been in his prison for days and had heard no more from Charika. He’d had no food or water and he was beginning to feel odd. A weakness was beginning to creep in and his wounds were not healing as fast as he had hoped. Without fresh air or sunlight, nourishment or drink, he was slowly diminishing.

The worst part, though, was the voice of Morgoth. Every time he thought he was about to get some rest, that soft, insidious voice would begin. It told him absurd things: how Alex had taken lovers from among his friends; even that she had lain with his father while in Mirkwood. He knew the words were lies, but in the darkness and solitude, he began to welcome the visits. At least it was some form of contact. His bond with Alex was growing tenuous and he could not remember when it had first begun to weaken. He could not focus on maintaining it.

He did remember her drifting away from him, as if she were leaving this plain. He felt momentary panic; she was dying. He reached out to her and tried to hold her, but she was becoming so weak, and in his own state, he did not have the strength to spare.

“The bond grows weaker, does it not?”

That got his attention. How did he know?

The voice laughed, almost sadly. “I know her heart. She was out hunting for you with your friends and even now, as her life fades, they lie with her.”

“You lie,” Legolas whispered.

“It hurts, does it not, young prince? The bitter taste of betrayal is one you will never forget; especially betrayal by one you loved so much. But she is mortal; what can you expect? She is easily tempted by the beauty of the Eldar. It is a common failing of Men. They will always weaken. It is how your grandfather Oropher lost his life, and the lives of two-thirds of your kin; the weakness of Men. It is how your mother lost her life; had mortals not entered the Greenwood, she would still be with you now.

“Why do you still put your faith in Men? You should have sailed into the west a long time ago. You do not need to remain in Middle Earth. Look what it has done to your friends. Elves, willingly lying with the bonded wife of their kinsman. Men have corrupted the purity of your race. They will be lucky if the Valar ever allow them out of the Halls of Waiting. They have broken a sacred bond.”

“I do not believe you. I will never believe my wife has betrayed me, so you may as well leave that tack. And what have you done with Charika?”

The voice of Morgoth laughed and the sound was chilling. “I? I have done nothing with Rumil’s whore. She is of no concern to me. In fact, I had nothing to do with her presence here. You think I engineered this?” Again, that repulsive, yet seductive laugh. “No, young prince. My visit to you is simply an opportunity taken. My servants may have had a hand in the woman’s plight, and you were simply an unexpected prize. What brought you here was no grand design of my own.”

“Then free the woman. If they are servants of yours, you have the power to make them let her go. You have me to torment. Haven’t I been your target these past few years?”

“How noble! Legolas Thranduilion certainly lives up to his reputation as a brave, heroic Elf. I am certain your father must be quite proud of you. I wonder, did your wife compare him to you as he sated his lust in her body?”

“I will not listen to you! My wife has not betrayed me. Cease your lies and free Charika. Keep me and do with me as you will, but let the woman go.”

“I told you,” his tempter sighed, “I have nothing to do with the Haradrim woman’s fate. But I must admit, she is quite ripe for the plucking. Have you lain with her yet? Her body is lush and full, soft; quite different from the woman you bound yourself to. She is also schooled in all forms of pleasuring---Rumil is quite the fortunate Elf to have her skills at his disposal. Here, you could taste them yourself and none would be the wiser. She would give herself to you willingly, for your protection.”

“You are disgusting,” Legolas said, revulsion washing over him. “I would not betray my bond with Alexandra, nor what lies between my friend and his mate. I certainly would not take advantage of one who came to me for help. Temptations of the flesh may work on mortals, but they are not the best means to use against Elf-kind.”

“I have been corrupting generations of the Firstborn since the Great Awakening, elfling. Do not presume to tell me anything about the desires of Elves.” Once again, the voice became soothing, that of an old friend. “Let her go, Legolas. The wife you loved is gone. You can feel it---your bond has practically vanished.”

Legolas tried to shut out the voice, but he was so tired; he had no strength---without the bond of his beloved Alexandra, he had nothing on which to draw. She had faded. Was she dead? If so, he would give up his own life.

“Go into the next room. There is food, water, a place to bathe your wounds. You must regain your strength.”

“Why? Is this not what you wanted? I am going to Mandos.”

“No, young friend. I am not your enemy. I have sought only what is best for you. I tried to give you immortality for your wife, but you resisted. She became corrupted as all mortals do, and has now betrayed you. But she is now Mandos’ problem and her fate is no longer your concern. You must start anew. Go now, cleanse your wounds, eat, drink, take your pleasure.”

Legolas looked toward the door of his prison. Strange, he had not noticed that it had been opened. But there it stood, a crack visible with a soft glow beyond it. He tried to stand and found his legs would not support him; so he crawled across the cold, damp stone floor and pulled the door open. Candles cast a soft glow in the room where a steaming tub stood, a table next to it laden with fruit, cheese, bread, meat and wine. He cried out his need and dragged himself to the tub. Using the last of his waning strength, he pulled himself up and fell into the warm, welcoming water. At first, he thought of remaining under the water, letting it take him to Mandos’ Halls. But there was some reason he needed to be here. He could not remember it right now. His thoughts were confused and he was so tired.

He pulled himself up and leaned back against the tub. Reaching over, he picked up a hunk of cheese and took a bite. It tasted good and he followed it with a goblet of wine; as fine a vintage as he’d ever had from his father’s cellars. A soft sound caught his attention and he noticed, for the first time, cushions in the far corner. On those cushions rested a female form. A naked female form. He looked at her, puzzled. Where had she come from? She was certainly quiet.

He finished washing himself, then stood, stepping out of the tub. It was amazing how his strength had returned after a warm bath and some food. He picked up a cloth and dried himself, though there were no clothes to be found. He stopped and poured himself another goblet of wine and walked over to the cushions. The female was lying face down, pillows under her belly presenting her nicely rounded bottom; her legs spread and her arms stretched over her head. Her face was hidden in her arms and by her mass of dark curls.

Legolas sat next to her. Her skin was smooth and had a faint golden sheen. He reached out and tentatively laid his hand on her back. She flinched at his touch and he heard her whimper softly.

“What do you fear, lady?” he asked. Surely, she was not afraid of him. His fingertips trailed lightly over her flesh to wrap themselves in her hair. “Come, do not hide. You have nothing to worry about. I will not harm you.” He gently forced her to look at him and was shocked to see Charika’s tear-filled eyes gazing up at him in abject terror. A cruel leather ball of some sort was forced into her mouth and secured about her head, gagging her so she could only whimper and groan. At the same time he realized her legs and arms were bound.

“Sweet Eru!” he whispered. He felt sick; had the servants of Morgoth done this as well? He looked for something to remove her bonds, but they were metal manacles secured with heavy chains. There were no keys in the room and the doors along the rounded walls led only to empty cells with the exception of one, and it was locked.

He took the cloth he had used to dry his body and placed it over her, giving her some modicum of modesty. He managed to work the knots holding the gag free and pulled the uncomfortable device from her mouth, throwing it across the room.

She was crying and he lay next to her, his arms around her, murmuring words of comfort. He could feel her terror and wanted only to calm her. His head rested against hers and he stroked her hair and kissed her forehead.

“It is alright, lady. Do not weep. There is no one here but us at this moment. Do not think of anything else. Only you and I are in this room right now; no one can hurt you.” Her tears finally subsided into the occasional hiccoughing sob.

“I am sorry, my lord,” she managed to gasp, between shuddering breaths.

“Sorry for what, my lady?”

“You would not be here if I had not gone to your realm to live. I did not … did not know h-he was even a-alive. I should have known h-h-he would find me.” She broke down into uncontrolled tears again.

“Who? Who has found you?”

“Her rightful master,” came an arrogant voice, speaking heavily accented Sindarin.

Legolas whirled around, springing to his feet. A man stood in the open doorway which had been locked earlier. He was tall, somewhat Elvish in his build, but definitely mortal---at least, mostly mortal. His skin was the same deep honey color as Charika’s, with black hair which fell in loose waves down his back. His face had an almost delicate appearance, again hinting at Elven blood, his eyes a rich amber, flecked with gold. He was actually quite handsome. But there was something cruel and malevolent about him. His mouth was perfectly shaped, but looked as though it never smiled except in malice. He wore dark greenish leggings, black leather boots, and a pale green tunic, so light as to almost be white, open at the throat so his finely muscled chest could be seen.

“And you would be?” Legolas was not unsettled, although the man certainly had presence. Still, Legolas was an Elven prince, with millennia of experience in arrogance himself; no one could intimidate him.

“I am Lastharos of Khand.” The prince was surprised. Very little was known about the people who dwelt in the land directly east of Mordor. They had fought for Sauron in the Battle of the Pelennor, but otherwise had no dealings with the people of the west.

“And are you responsible for bringing the lady and me to this place?” Legolas noticed there were two of the winged creatures flanking Lastharos. They were tall, with dark grey, almost black skin, and their wings were furled about them, looking for all the world like cloaks. Their vivid green, glowing eyes, however, were fixed on the Elf with looks that could only be described as … hungry.

“The female, yes. You, I am afraid, were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. My servants were looking for a woman, and, apparently, you have one in your house. It is unfortunate for you that you awoke when they were looking for Charika. If you had simply stayed in bed and made love to your woman instead of following them into the forest, you would not be here now.”

“And what do you want with Charika? She dwells in my realm, under my protection and that of the Prince of Ithilien and the King of Gondor.”

Lastharos raised an elegant brow. “Indeed. Well, she is my property, bought and paid for before the War of the Ring. Her former lord took her before he went to fight and hid her in some backwater town somewhere along Gondor’s borders. I have been looking for her since the war ended. Then that stupid, ill-advised action by the Rhunians and Haradrim interrupted my search again. Finally, I discovered she had gone west with a group of Elves. Imagine my surprise. Little Charika was always terrified of the Firstborn.”

“Charika is no one’s property,” Legolas said, matter-of-factly.

“Ah, but she is. Ask her yourself.” The Khandun walked over to the table and picked up a goblet, pouring himself a portion.

Legolas looked back at Charika’s tearstained face. She shook her head.

“I know nothing about being sold. My lord simply told me I was to accompany him west for the war. He said he wanted me to be someplace safe.”

“Oh, come, little whore. You knew I had made a deal with your lord. He simply reneged at the last minute.” Lastharos laughed, but there was no humor in the sound.

“I remember you, my lord. But, I swear, I did not know I was meant to go to you.” Legolas could hear resignation and desperation in her tone.

“Regardless, you are here now, and I must say, you had better be worth the trouble I have gone through to obtain you.” Legolas did not like the man’s tone.

“You stole her from a free realm. You do not own her anymore. She does not live in Harad or Khand. She is a resident of Gondor and is free.” He would not give up the woman without a fight.

“Careful, Elf. I can make your stay here most unpleasant before sending you to the Halls of Waiting.” The two winged creatures watched the Elven prince with ill-concealed craving. Lastharos smiled faintly. “My trusted servants have a taste for Elf-flesh, acquired through centuries in Sauron’s service.” He walked over to Legolas and looked him over appraisingly, then leaned close and whispered, “And their yearning for your kind is not simply as food.”

Legolas felt his skin crawl at the implication, but did not let his disgust show.

“If you intend to kill me anyway, why did you not do it immediately?”

“I suppose I just wanted to see you. We do not have many of your kind in Khand. Actually, we have none of your kind in my land. I believe there are some in Rhun, though they are not at all like you and your western kin.” He walked around Legolas and the prince could feel the man’s eyes moving over his body. He forced himself to remain still when he felt the man’s delicate fingers lightly trail over his back and brush the tight muscles of his backside.

“No, the Elves of Rhun are nothing like you,” Lastharos said with an appreciative nod. “Bind him,” he ordered and the two evil-looking beings darted forward incredibly fast, latching on to Legolas’ arms with vise-like grips. He struggled with them, but their strength was immense and he found himself on his knees, his arms tied cruelly behind his back and secured to his ankles, which were also bound together. As they forced him into position and tightened the leather straps which fixed him in an uncomfortable position, their clawed fingers openly caressed his body, stroking, pinching, and squeezing him in a manner that would have been pleasant had it been Alexandra doing it.

Lastharos squatted in front of the securely bound Elf, studying him intensely.

“I can see why so many lust after your kind. You are beautiful. Are all Elves so fair?”

“Beauty does not lie on the surface,” Legolas answered.

His captor laughed. “Spoken like a true Firstborn. Evade the answer. I suppose I will find out, if I am still here when your friends arrive---I am sure they will come for you; the bitch is not that important. I should like very much to see more of your people. You would bring a great price in my land.” He reached out and lifted a silky lock of Legolas’ blonde hair. “Yes, quite a price. Perhaps I will not kill you, but take you with me.” The Elf met his eyes without fear and Lastharos leaned closer. “Watch and learn, Elf. Your fate may be similar, depending on if I decide to keep you, sell you or kill you.” He brushed Legolas’ lips with his own, then stood and walked over to where Charika was bound and helpless.

“Now, little half-breed whore. Where should I begin?”