Starry Sky

A/N: After a rather long break (long for someone who isn't currently in classes and doesn't start again until the end of August), I have fin wri written chapter 6. Chapter 7 will come as soon as I get back into the swing of writing slash chapters; might even be able to finish this story by the end of May, the Valar willing.
Thanks to Siobhan for beta reading. ::hugs::

~~~~~~~~~~ denotes change in scene or POV.

Chapter 6: Nightmarish Sight
Summary: Unwanted thoughts flash through Elrohir’s mind as he awaits torture from his unseen captors. Will help come in time?

wokewoke slowly, and with a dull ache at the base of his skull. Elrohir shook his head to clear it, while blinking away the darkness. The inky black lingered, however, and the elf became aware of something covering his eyes. It was fastened on tightly; no amount of movement would loosen the blindfold. Likewise, his hands were bound behind him. Only Elrohir’s legs were left free, though the knowledge was of little comfort. He began to wonder how many had attacked Rumil and he as the sound of shuffling feet and hushed voices came to his ears. Elrohir listened intently, catg pig pieces of the conversation being spoken.

“What are we gonna to do with ‘em?” a gruff voice asked. He was answered by a snort and another voice, the owner standing right next to Elrohir‘s head.

“Dun know. Gonna have to be careful with ‘em, though. They’re quick, and can fight back. Had to knock ‘em both in the head before they killed us all.”

“They came from that cursed wood, didn’t they?” a third voice asked. This voice quivered as if in fear; if Elrohir had not been blindfolded, he would have observed the fear emanating from the man’s eyes. “They say evil spirits live there. Maybe you shouldn’t have taken them. We could become cursed, or worse! Who knows what’ll happen to us when the spirits have found out we took two of their own. We should take them back, right now.”

“Quit yer yappin’! We ain’t gonna get cursed, so pipe down.”

“Hey, one of ‘em is awake.” There came some shuffling from next to Elrohir; he could only assume Rumil had been laid beside him. Sounds of a struggle could be heard, as well as the murmured voice of Rumil speaking some elvish obscenities directed towards their captors. The guardian was fierce, and a resourceful fighter; he was in many ways like his brot and and the Galadhrim. Elrohir could only assume Rumil also had his hands bound, otherwise the men wouldn’t have stood much of a chance.

“Hold him still!” The struggle became more fierce as more men began to join in holding the single elf at bay. Rumil’s curses grew more frequent as he promised much fear and death upon the men.

“He’s a tough one to holon’ton’t stop squirmin’!” Fabric was torn away, the struggle between the elf and the men intensifying. Suddenly, a heavy blow was dealt, followed by someone gasping for air. “That should keep him still for a bit. Wake the other one.” A pair of rough hands hauled Elrohir off the floor in none-too-kind a fashion. The Peredhel lifted his knee instinctively, conneg ing instantly with a soft mound of flesh. A yelp was heard before the elf felt himself thrown against a table top.

“Let us go,” Elrohir hissed in the common tongue, suppressing the sound of pain he almost uttered as his arms crumpled beneath him.

“This one speaks our language. Ain’t that a surprise.” The elf moved to sit up, but the men were faster and quickly pinned him to the table. He moved his legs to kick the men off, but stopped when Elrohir felt the cool edge of a knife stroking the flesh just beneath his chin.

“Be a good boy, or else I’ll have to ruin that pretty skin of yours.” Elrohir cringed faintly at the voice murmuring so close to his ear; he could smell the mead on the man‘s breath. He bit down on his lower lip as the knife moved lower, skimming across his neck before resting at the neckline of his tunic.

“Elrohir!” Rumil’s voice suddenly sounded. He made a sound as if to move closer; Elrohir could only assume the guar was was no longer blindfolded and was being forced to watch what was going on.

“Holdt ont one!” the man who had spoken to Elrohir commanded. “I’ll deal with him later. I’m going to have a little fun with this one first.” The words sunk in as a rough hand grabbed the front of Elrohir’s tunic. He lashed out with his legs as the material was first cut then stripped away from his torso.

“Don’t touch me!” the Peredhel shouted as he felt calloused hands roam over the skin of his torso; shivers of disgust swept down his spine and over his skin at the coarse touches. He twisted away from the hands, but was roughly pulled back into position. A sharp slap was dealt to his face as if in punishment; the rough abuse stung the delicate skin and turned it a dull red. Chapped lips descended upon Elrohir’s neck, and coarse facial hair scraped against his pale skin. The hands never ceased their movement as they found their way down the elf’s sides and to the waist of his leggings. Elrohir fought harder to get away, but his struggle only caused the man to act more roughly towards him.

He tried focusing on something, anything than what was happening to him. He could hear Rumil, shouting his name and desperately fighting against the men who were holding him. Elrohir tried concentrating on sounds outside of where they were being held as the man’s lips descended onto his own, bruising them in their abuse. Alas, no sounds of comfort came from the outside night. In a desperate attempt to calm his rising terror, Elrohir’s mind fled to moments with Orophin. But, the memories of the Galadhrim’s gentle, soothing touch in comparison with the unseen man’s rough use only drove him deeper into despair.

“No!!” Once again Elrohir felt the knife edge against his skin; this time, the blade lingered over hidomedomen, just above the waistline of his leggings. He made another attempt to escape, but a pair of hands, belonging to another man Elrohir guessed, grabbed at the dark strands of his hair and forced him still. There was a quick swipe as his leggings were awayaway; a thin line of blood had marred the twin’s left thigh where the knife had cut a little too deeply. Elrohir swallowed hard, knowing what was coming next and dreading it.

“Don’t! Elrohir!” Rumil shouted, his voice choking as he too registered what was about to happen. Elrohir squeezed his eyes shut behind the blindfold, praying silently to the Valar for help. He felt the hands skim across his torso again before moving lower. Just as the hands brushed across his thighs, forcing them apart, a loud banging was heard followed by shouts of surprise and anger. Then, chaos insured.

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Elladan was woefully unprepared for the sight that presented itself once Haldir had forced the door of the human refuge open. The twin gasps he heard on either side of him said without words that Haldir and Orophin were equally unprepared, but also extremely angry. There, before them, was a sight Elladan wished he had never seen, one he wanted to wipe from his memory if only he had the power. He would need Legolas’ comforting words aaresaresses for many a night before the image would dim in his mind.

In the dark produced by the extinguishing of the candles were twelve forms. In one corner, four men struggled to hold down Rumil, who tried in vain efforts to move closer towards the center of the refuge. The brother of Haldir and Orophin was undamaged for the most part; a few still red bruises and disheveled hair indicated just how rough the men were in restraining him. Three other men stood in another corner, apparently observing what was going on in the center; they were also in charge of keeping watch out the windows, but had missed the approach of the elves.

The center of the room was the most horrifying sight to the elves. Elladan’s double laid across a wooden table, his hands bound behind him and his eyes blindfolded. Elrohir’s clothes had been cut from his body and discarded into a corner. One man held his shoulders firmly against the table; a second man had tangled his hands into the elf’s dark hair, also holding Elrohir down. A third man was…Elladan didn’t even want to think about what he was about to do. Just seeing the scene made his blood boil as he took a step closer, the silver blade of his sword flashing in the moonlight which streamed in through the windows. Elladan’s gray eyes glowed an eerie pale color in the dim light.

“You are unworthy to be counted among the Secondborn of this land,” he hissed, taking another menacing step forward. The men instantly backed away from the captured elves; they feared what they saw before them.

“I told you!” the smallest of the men shouted at his companions. There was great terror in his voice, as well as in his eyes as he stared wide-eyed at the elves. “I told you we shouldn’t have taken them. We are doomed to die now!” His words brought more fear into the men. Two tried in desperation to flee through the dobut but were stopped by the quick strokes of Orophin’s sword. The Galadhrim was just as angry as Elladan, if not more so. It was his youngest brother and to-be-bonded lover that had been taken; none would make it past him alive if he could help it.

The fight began with the first stroke of Orophin’s sword. Desperate to keep their lives, the remaining eight men grabbed whatever they could use as a weapon and flung themselves at the elves. Haldir made quick work of the three men who had laid hands on his brother as Elladan took care of a fourth and fifth. Seeing themselves woefully outnumbered, two of the remaining three men slipped past the elves and fled through the door. They didn’t get far, however, when a volley of arrows shot them down; the men had been unaware of Legolas and his brothers guarding the door.

Seeing his comrades fall before him, the last man was growing ever more fearful of the elves, and desperate to get away. Grabbing the knife he had used earlier, he pulled Elrohir to his feet, brandishing the knife against the elf’s neck. Elladan froze, as did Haldir upon the turn of events. Fear quaked within the man, but he held firm as he stared the elves down.

“Another step and I cut him a new smile,” the man threatened in a menacing voice. Elladan flinched as the knife was pressed further against his brother’s skin to prove the man’s voice. A drop of crimson marred the blade edge as Elrohir let out a small, choked hiss.

“Let him go,” Elladan demanded. “Your comrades are dead. You can’t leave here alive.”

“I will leave alive, or this one dies.” The elder twin’s gray eyes narrowed as he took a step forward. Growing more fearful from his life, the man attempted to carry out his threat as he pressed the knife further into Elrohir’s neck. Elladan moved to stop the man; he froze when he saw the man’s eyes roll back into his head. The knife dropped away harmlessly as the grip on Elrohir slackened, then fell away as the last man dropped dead. The hold on the elf released, the twin almost sank to his knees before another arm slipped about his waist. The touch was familiar, and the faint scent of sandalwood calmed him.

“Orophin,” Elrohir whispered as a warm cloak was laid across his shoulders.

“Aye, ‘tis I, lirimaer,” the Galadhrim replied, cutting away the bonds that imprisoned Elrohir’s wrists before removing the blindfold. Gray eyes blinked a few times, clearing blurry vision before they focused on a kind face framed in silvery hair. A deep sigh of relief washed over Elrohir as he melted into Orophin’s familiar and soothing embrace, feeling comforted now that he was safe.

“Diola lle, a’maelamin.” Elrohir turned briefly to his brother; he gave Elladan a small smile to reassure his twin that he was all right. Elladan closed his eyes, drawing in his own sigh of relief. A pair of slender arms wrapped themselves about his waist, and he gladly sank back into Legolas’ comforting embrace. The young prince kissed his lover’s brow, hugging Elladan tightly against his own slender form.

“How did you find us?” Rumil asked quietly as Haldir helped him to his feet and freed his hands.

“We tracked you, gwanur-nîn,” Haldir replied. “It took much of the night. But, at least we arrived in time.”

“Aye, it was a good thing we got here when we did,” Arondil replied, looking around the make-shift refuge as he ventured a step inside. “It is time we returned, I believe. I do not wish to stay in such a place any longer. I can only image how the two of you feel right now.” His blue gaze fell sympathetically upon both Elrohir and Rumil. Celeron patted his brother’s shoulder kindly, knowing what he was thinking and feeling the same.

“Let us go,” Orophin said. Elrohir nodded, allowing himself to be steered from the place. He leaned against Orophin more for comfort that balance. The sun was just beginning to rise as the elves made their journey back towards Lothlorien. Their hearts were lightened in knowing they had retrieved their companions without any harm done.

Glancing back once, Elrohir hoped the refuge would never been used again for such a purpose as it had been utilized for that night. He turned away, sinking deeper into his lover’bracbrace. Sensing the twin’s need for comfort, Orophin tightened his grip about Elrohir’s waist, now and then whispering comforts into the twin’s ear. They would be home soon; he hoped all would be well.

Translations:
Lirimaer-Lovely one
Diola lle, a’maelamin-Thank you, my beloved
Gwanur-nîn-My brother