Nin Chronicles: My Greenleaf

Pain

Thranduil's eyes swam back into focus. Legolas lay asleep in his lap. Celebrail and Landion were snuggled together against the wall. Lairceil's eyes were closed as she slept, slumped against her shackles. His ears pricked up, catching snatches of the conversation between the guards outside the cell door.

"—Seem right," said a young voice. "He is only a child. Lord Katar has gone to far. I know he knocked the boy around a little back at home but he never did this—did he?"

"He came close to it," replied a deeper voice. "We have no choice but to follow his orders, Rueben. You will do better to obey him or you will die."

"If he orders me to hold the boy down again, I would rather die," said the young voice of Rueben. A young face encased in a helmet peeked into the cell. He froze as his eyes met Thranduil's icy blue ones. "Mordor, he heard us! What will we do? If Lord Katar learns of this . . ."

"Fool," scoffed Rueben's companion. "Elves sleep with their eyes open."

Rueben shuddered and looked away from Thranduil. Thranduil let his lips curve into a smile. Foolish human.

OoOoOoOoOo

The cell door clanged. Lord Katar strode into the cave. With his whip he pointed to Thranduil and Lairceil. "Bring me those two."

Four guards slid past Lord Katar. Two of them approached Thranduil and unchained him. They dragged him into the center of the room and fastened his wrists into the shackles hanging from the ceiling. Lairceil stumbled to her feet, pale and dizzy. Her guards shoved her into the center of the room. Lord Katar shoved his whip into Lairceil's hand, his lips drawn back over grinning teeth. He pointed to Thranduil, "Whip him."

Lairceil cast a desperate glance in Thranduil's direction. "Forgive me, my lord. Never would I do this willingly." Her eyes were empty, her spirit broken. She took a step toward Thranduil, then whirled and attacked Lord Katar with the whip. The whip struck Lord Katar's face, slicing the skin. Blood oozed down the man's face. Lord Katar let out a scream of pain, his hand flying to the hilt of his sword. Lairceil's body jerked as the blade plunged through her chest.

"Useless elf!" Lord Katar snarled, ripping his blade from the elf's chest. She fell to the floor, blood pooling on her bosom. Turning, the human laid into Thranduil with the whip. Thranduil gasped as the searing agony shocked his nerves, the whiplashes spreading fire through his body. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to think of things beside the pain. But the pain held him in a tight grasp, tormenting his mind. Thranduil clenched his hands into fists, enduring the short but intense flogging in silence. Lord Katar soon ran out of breath.

Doubling over, Lord Katar gasped for breath, leaning his hands on his knees. The whip dripped blood to the floor. He straightened with a grin. Blood stained his teeth, trickling from the cut on his face. As he departed from the cell, he said, "The worst is yet to come for this is but the beginning."

Thranduil swallowed. What could be worst then this? His heart ached for the murdered elf lying at his feet, her pale face shattered. His heart throbbed with fear for Legolas. He wished to die and leave this harsh reality behind. With a small sigh, he slumped against the chains pulling at his wrists.

For two days lord Katar let his prisoners dwell in growing dread. Their pain grew with each passing hour. The anticipation of the next torture was a crushing weight squeezing the life from each elf. Lairceil lay and bled her blood into the dirt floor until not a drop remained. Thranduil tried to rest but he found it hard to sleep standing upright.

Thranduil jerked awake as the cell door creaked. Despair filled his eyes as Lord Katar walked into the cell, the angry red welt on his face inflamed with anger. Behind him came the young guard known as Rueben walked, carrying a bronze bowl of hot coals. In it rested three branding irons. Lord Katar pointed without a word to Landion. Two guards moved past him and grabbed the cowering boy, tearing him from his weeping mother's grasp. Brining him to Lord Katar, the humans wrestled the screaming elfling to the floor.

Lord Katar hummed to himself as he reached a gloved hand toward the handle of the closest branding iron and removed it from the bowl. He held up the red hot circle of hot iron at the end of the handle with a pleased expression. Circling Landion, he pounced, bringing the hot iron down on Landion's back. He held it, pressing it down. Landion writhed beneath the pain, the cloth of his shirt burning away. The hot metal pressed into his flesh, creating unbearable pain within him. Hazy colors ran before his eyes. The pressure on his back faded and he sobbed with relief. His relief turned to horror as another hot iron came down on his back. He screamed, twisting. Lord Katar's boots stood by his face, hateful imprints of the cruel man standing above him. Landion moaned. Lord Katar finished the job with the last branding iron. His strength gone, he emitted pathetic sounds that were music to Lord Katar's ears. Lord Katar's boots walked away.