Unlikely Rescue

Chapter 23 - Old Fears Renewed

Hello! Please enjoy this next update (or don't, depending on whether or not you want Legolas to be happy). Quick warning: graphic depictions of violence ahead!

Also I drew the picture for this chapter (and wrote the poem at the start) so sorry if they're not great. Enjoy:

I can feel the familiar feeling,
A terror too deep to escape,
That leaves my whole body reeling,
'Cause by now it's already too late.

My senses drowned in fear long suppressed,
A dark I can't elude,
Old wounds reopened and left undressed,
And old fears renewed.

~ ghostofwolves

The first thing that Legolas knew when he woke was that he hurt. His head pounded unbearably and his whole body was terribly bruised and scraped. He felt the sting of tears in his eyes as a familiar terror swept over him, but forced himself to push back the rising emotions and show no signs of them on the outside. He didn't know who may be watching.

Still, despite all efforts, he couldn't help flinching when a horrendously familiar voice spoke softly, right in his ear.

"Awake already, my pretty? Remarkable, your strength. But I shouldn't be surprised, should I? It was the same last time. And it will be the same again."

The young elf jerked back as much as the tight bonds around him would allow, which wasn't far given that they trapped him securely against the trunk of a tree, his scarred and injured back digging painfully into the rough bark. Legolas gritted his teeth; he wouldn't give these people the satisfaction of knowing just how much they were already hurting him. No doubt there was a lot more pain coming, and now that he knew who his captor was, he dreaded the upcoming cruelty even more than he had before.

Instead of looking up into the face of his nightmares, the young elf brought his knees up to his chest and buried his face into his arms, which now rested on his bent legs. Swallowing the questions which surged towards him was difficult around the seemingly immovable lump in his throat. His breathing was ragged and shallow, partly from fear and party from pain. Deep inside, the child knew that these elves wouldn't kill him, which, he decided, only made it worse.

Taking a deep breath, Legolas held back the tears, closing his eyes. He was wrong: it would not be the same again. Everything had changed. Everything! He wasn't in the same, cold cell, wasn't blaming himself as much for his mother's death and yet... Aragorn's death was his fault. Something had made him freeze, something more than just fear. And because of it, Aragorn had taken the arrow for him. Because of it, Aragorn had died.

But would Aragorn want him to give in? To despair? To let his father win? No.

Legolas drew a deep breath, and when he opened his eyes once more, the strong defiance and determination in the blue irises made his captor take a tiny, almost imperceptible step back. It wasn't the same. He wasn't a murderer. And he wasn't going to let Thranduil get to him. He wasn't going to let Thranduil win.

Anger swelled behind the startling blue of the elfling's eyes, and he snarled viciously into his father's face. He said no words, but the message was clear.

I'm not giving in to you. This time, you're going to have to work for it.

The King stood tall, gazing down at his son, bound to a tree and looking half-dead already, and yet this was the most life he had ever seen in Legolas. It was life. Life was resistance. And he would not tolerate resistance.

Smiling coldly down at the child, he spoke sarcastically. "What a warm welcome. I'm glad you've missed me."

Legolas growled back, curling his lip.  "Auta miqula orqu!"