The King's Heart (Thranduil Fanfiction)

Chapter 22

(Rhovanel)

The hours passed and my plan began to take shape. It hinged on several events, but I had a feeling that all would come to pass.

Thranduil and I sat back to back, our ropes held by ten orcs. They did not pay any attention to our conversations though.

"You have a plan?" Thranduil whispers. His voice is full of desperate hope. I can't blame him, if I had never been in this situation, I would cling to any hope I could too.

"You think I would be sitting here quietly if I did not?" I grin. "I made a promise to your son, and I will keep it at all costs." Thranduil relaxes a fraction. He leans his head back onto my shoulder, trying to look at me. I can just barley see his face out of the corner of my eye, but I try to smile in a reassuring way. If things go according to plan, our situation is going to get worse before it gets better.

When the big orc returns, I hear a guard call him Rogan. I feel like I have heard that name before, but I can not place it.

He grabs the rope that was around my neck and drags me away. Thranduil starts struggling against his restraints, yelling for them to take him instead, but Rogan only laughed and jerked the rope more. I would have walked without resistance, but I think the brute liked seeing my face turn red. I was led into the forest and tied at the waist to a thin tree. My legs are not bound. The sun was on the western horizon, I hadn't realized how much time had passed in the tent.

"Where is the hoard?" Rogan asked cruelly. The hoard? The treasury? That was what these orcs were after? Why do they need Elven jewels?

"How should I know? I am not of the woodland realm, nor am I entrusted with its secrets," I return.

"Honestly," Rogan said, leaning down to be even with my eyes, "I know you know more than nothing. You have the heart of the king, you must know something. At least where his son sleeps at night." I felt my jaw drop. What did he just say?

"The king's heart does not belong to me, nor will it ever," I spit, trying to convince myself as much as Rogan. "I would never tell you anything that would bring harm to the royal family, so you might as well cut my throat and be done with it."

"I am sure you would do anything for the King, I just want to know if he will do the same for you." Then he moves out of my face to reveal a rather bloody Thranduil tied to a tree a few meters from mine. When did they drag him here? I hadn't planned for Thranduil to be tied to a tree. That would complicate the plan.

Rogan is swinging a small mace, one intended to be excruciatingly painful, but not to kill. I can see the needle points on it, jutting out in a hundred different angles, painful when it hits flesh and when pulled out of it.

Thranduil's head is slumped forward, but I can see his chest rising and falling. Blood drips from a cut above his eye and from his shoulder.

"Look alive! It is time to play my favorite game: who dies first?" Rogan proclaims. I have never met an Orc that acts like Rogan, optimistic and playful, even though the game is one of death. Thranduil looks at me and I shake my head slightly at him, do not say a word.

"No one wants to join me? Then I guess we shall just have to do this the old fashioned way," he snarls, flinging the mace into my stomach. It hurts more than the medicine hurt last night. A hundred needles just below my rib cage is the best way I could have imagined this torture. Most of my other theories involved the severance of fingers first, so this really is an improvement.

Thranduil's lips tighten into a snarl and I can see the fiery rage in his eyes. The mace is swung again, this time burying itself in my upper leg. I look down at my stomach. The blood is minimal, almost nonexistent. The same is true of my leg. This continues for another ten minutes, but when Rogan starts swinging harder, Thranduil cries out.

"What do you want?!"

"Where is your hoard?" Rogan snarls.

"You have done all this for jewels?! You could have killed her!" Thranduil screams.

"And I still might. Tell me where to find your treasury and I will be merciful," Rogan replies.

"Say nothing!" I scream at Thranduil. The orcs will not stop at the treasury, they will destroy everything in their path, Thranduil knows that.

"Quiet!" Rogan roars, throwing the mace into my arm. I gasp briefly in pain before shaking my head viciously at Thranduil again. I could not wait any longer to enact my plan.

While Rogan was towering over Thranduil, I slide my blades from my sleeves. Their size makes it hard for most everyone to feel them as blades instead of a normal part of anatomy or clothing, depending on the race. They glow red and I slice through the ropes that hold me to the tree. Rogan whips around to see me leap into the air, flying over his head and to Thranduil. I cut his bindings and hand him a blade. It glows brighter at his touch, fueled by his anger and pain.

"You are a fool to yell at a pair of elves with blades," I threaten. Rogan reaches for his own blade, but finds his scabbard empty. Thranduil smirks. Those nimble fingers are quite light. His eyes fill with fear, and we advance.