Unlikely Rescue

Chapter 9 - Trust

Thank you to everyone who reads this story, and especially EstelElfstone who DEVOURS it! I'm glad you're hungry for more, so here it is:

Thranduil had... left. He'd just gone, left partway through his 'punishment'. Legolas knew from experience that he wouldn't just go that soon.

Whatever the reason, the elfling was intensely grateful that the King had left, even if a nagging suspicion warned him that he would probably be back soon. It was a nagging suspicion he tried to ignore.

Crawling back into the corner of the cell and pulling the sleeveless grey tunic, which was newly ripped from another outburst of Thranduil's rage, closer to him, Legolas wondered if the torture would kill him. On some days, this one included, he felt as though he would die if one more blow was delivered.

But of course, that blow always fell, and, despite his wishes, he was still alive, still suffering through the misery of daily life in this horrible cell.

If only I could get out...

But he knew it was impossible. He was doomed to live out the remainder of his life in this cycle of misery and torment. And, deep down, he knew he deserved it. The voice told him so every day. Told him he was worthless, deserving of his punishments. It reminded him constantly of the terrible thing he had done. That he was a killer. A monster.

A murderer.

A low, insuppressible whimper slipped from his lips and echoed mournfully down the empty corridor. He was so horribly, utterly alone. So lonely. He often wished for the feeling of kindness, the taste of love. What was love even like, anyway? He supposed he'd never know the true feeling of happiness, of contentment.

Only the hard, cold lump of fear he felt every day. Every time he heard those soft, ominous footsteps in the corridor beyond the barred door.

Slipping into a light, troubled and uneasy sleep, Legolas dreamt of those footsteps, approaching him, coming to exact vengeance upon him for his crime. It didn't matter how many times he said he was sorry, how many times he wept, screamed, apologised.

Thranduil was unfazed. Still he kept coming. Those footsteps kept coming, getting louder and louder...

Only today the footsteps were different. They were more cautiously placed, slower, as though his father was trying to avoid detection, but by whom, Legolas couldn't guess. It was only a dream, anyway. Those footsteps were still unmistakably Thranduil's; only he walked softly enough to be so quiet. To the untrained ear, he was silent.

Then Thranduil's face appeared, swimming before Legolas in a haze, with one word echoing through his head.

Murderer.

Legolas woke in a jerk, sitting up quickly then immediately wishing he hadn't as a pounding headache formed behind his eyes. He began to wonder how long he had slept for, but froze, all thought ceasing, at the sound of footsteps in the hallway.

And what was truly strange was that they were the same footsteps from his dream. Soft, carefully placed...

Legolas watched the barred window with a mixture of intrigue and overwhelming fear. Fear won, and he buried his face in his hands, sobbing quietly.

He tried to gulp back his tears; they would only increase his punishment if Thranduil heard. He glanced fearfully up when the footsteps stopped and yet.... the door remained closed. Wha-

It was him. The same silver-eyed human from before. Only this time, he didn't seem to be content to stay outside, much to the elf's dismay, because he was fumbling with the lock on the door. What, had he never used a key before? But then again, Legolas was one to talk; he hadn't either.