𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒 | 𝐥𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐧𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐟

𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐞

Your first thought was 'ow'.

You attempted to get to your feet, but collapsed halfway, and you ended up sitting instead, leaning against the wall behind you and panting. A quick swipe of your hand through your hair confirmed that your wound was no longer bleeding and had been bandaged.

Pulling a couple strands of the h/c mess in front of your face, you winced at the evident red streaked through the h/c.

Your battle armour had been stripped off, leaving you in a bloodstained tunic and leggings.

Where were you?

Finally looking around the room, you saw that you were leaning against a wall opposite the room's only exit - an iron-barred door that wouldn't gave with a simple kick or push (not that you had the strength to do either). The walls were stone, though most of the room was hiding in the shadows, and it was, very obviously, a cell.

You inhaled deeply and let the breath go, closing your eyes and trying to conjure up the image of your boyfriend, Prince Legolas Thranduilion. His long blond hair, his blue eyes, the way the light favoured him whenever he laughed, how he always looked beautiful and kind ...

That gentle reminder of who you were fighting for gave you the strength to stand up, though your knees buckled almost instantly, and you had to steady yourself against the wall so fiercely that your palms were scratched and bleeding.

Bracing yourself, you tried to scream, to cry out for help, anything to get out of this awful place and back to Legolas's warm arms, but nothing more than a whimper and a sob would come out of your mouth.

You wanted to be strong.

You wanted to live.

You wanted to fight.

But it was so hard to keep up appearances when there was no one to fool but yourself. Alone, in a cold cell, with the possibility that you would forever rot in here, your flesh decaying and falling from your bones as frost took everything.

You couldn't help it. It was too cold for you here. Unbearably hopeless.

Falling back the floor and pulling your knees up to your chest, you lowered your head and took deep breaths in and out.

Anything to ground you, to stop you from crying.

Everything will be okay.

But you could see straight through your own lie.

"Help me, please!" you tried to scream again, but instead it was a scratchy whisper. You bent over and coughed, looking away shakily when you saw that you had coughed up blood.

"You aren't getting any help in here, you worthless little rat."

The voice from beyond the door made you want to turn up your nose - it sounded perverse and wrong in every way.

"Excuse me," you called back, voice gradually getting louder and stronger, trying to carry yourself with as much dignity as one could have in a prison cell. "I'm not a rat."

"You keep believing that," the voice responded. It sounded like the kind of voice that a slug would use - disgusting, slimy, and with an owner you would gladly squash underfoot.

A loaf of moldy bread was tossed into the room, the door very quickly slamming open and shut to stop you from escaping (not that you had stamina to do so). In the flash of the place outside your cell, you saw a pallid face and stringy hair.

"Grima Wormtongue," you called. The footsteps that had been walking away from you stopped suddenly, and you knew you had his attention. "Tell your master, Saruman, to suck my nonexistent dick."

You smirked as you could hear a muffled curse from the other side of the door.

The smile fell from your face as the door groaned open, and you shot to your feet, wincing as your head spun.

Two Uruk-hai entered the cell, cracking their knuckles and growling something in the Black Speech that you really didn't want to understand.

You knew you didn't stand a chance in a direct fight, and so you backed up into a corner.

First mistake. There was nowhere else to go from there, and the creatures were taller than you by at least a foot, if not more.

You dodged out of the corner, but you weren't looking, instead running as fast as you can (which really wasn't that fast right now).

Second mistake. One of the Orcs stuck out its foot and you tripped straight over it, gashes now marring your arms.

You pushed yourself to your feet, wiping your bloody mouth and spitting onto the floor, hissing as the movement made the limited air in the cell rush over the open wounds.

Third mistake. Whilst you were occupied trying soothe the pain stinging all over your body, the Orcs attacked.

"If they don't come for you," Grima called. "Then I'm sure the Dunedain won't mind if we return their Queen a little ... battered. Hardly any way you could rule your people properly, besides."

You roared at that, anger making your face flush as you charged the Orcs.

Fatal mistake. They threw you to the side so easily you may well have been made of nothing. You flew into a stone wall, screaming in pain as you collapsed on the floor face first.

"Perhaps you will think harder next time before you antagonise the Orcs, Your Majesty."

You could practically hear the worm smirking.

"I'll ... never ... co-operate," you forced through your gritted teeth.

"You misunderstand," Wormtongue yelled, his voice quietening - he was walking away. "We don't need your co-operation. All we need is to drain that stupid 'Fellowship' to lose hope and organisation, one ... by ... one."

Before you could retort, a scaly hand picked you up by the back of your tunic, and prepared to throw you again.

Please, Legolas. I can't hold on forever.

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