Chapter Fourteen

The footsteps of the guards had long died away before Aragorn turned from the door. He took a step toward the bench, intending to sit down. ‘And do what?’ he asked himself. ‘Sit and wring my hands?’ Instead, the ranger leaned back against the cold iron that was the first in a long line of obstacles that now separated him from Legolas.

He had been quite serious, when he had been willing to be taken again to spare Legolas. He still hadn’t remembered what Allaura did to him. All he had was his suspicions based on a few sparse clues: kissing Allaura, even though the thought of it made him shudder; his burned shoulder; what Legolas told him about retuning in the trance-like state. Even loss of the memory of what happened told him she had done something to him he would never have done if left to his own choice.

Now he had to stay down here and imagine the same thing happening to Legolas, who was by his very nature, more sensitive to things like that.

Elves did not take sex lightly. Not like men, who often thought nothing of having a one-nighter with a woman just because they found her physically attractive. No emotions need be involved.

Elves were not sexually cold, of course, quite the opposite in fact, but making love for them truly involved the word love. It was a commitment far beyond any casual implications.

Aragorn had no idea how damaging this encounter could be to Legolas’s emotional state, if Allaura forced herself on him. He couldn’t believe Legolas would emerge unscathed, even though the elf would in no way be to blame.

Another thought intruded into the man’s troubled thoughts. What if she did something even worse to Legolas? He couldn’t imagine what that might be, and to be honest, he didn’t want to try. However, that didn’t stop the horrible possibilities from swirling around in his head.

With his back still firmly against the door, the ranger put his head into his hands in a gesture of complete helplessness. There was nothing he could do to help his friend or to stop what he feared was about to happen.

*~*~*~*

Two massive, iron double doors stood at one end of a huge stone chamber deep under Ravenlore. A matching pair of doors stood on the other side of the thick wall. The outer ones opened into the passageway beyond and the inner ones opened into the chamber.

The clang of metal resounded through the stone chamber, as first one of the outer doors and then an inner one opened. Only an arm and a hand was visible, as a large tray piled high with raw meat was pushed into the room.

As soon as the one delivering the tray judged that it had cleared the path of the inner door, the arm was quickly withdrawn and the door was pulled shut.

Even before the outer door could be closed, a white-hot flame shot out toward it. The roaring flames fanned out across both inner doors.

When the flames receded, the iron glowed red but did not melt nor even warp. They cooled quickly and returned to their former impenetrable state. The charred stone around them was the only evidence of what had just happened.

The dragon responsible for the flames narrowed his eyes in anger, as he growled, “I must find out what spell that witch has put on those doors. No ordinary iron could withstand my flame.” It was a lament the creature made every time the doors failed to be reduced to a puddle of molten metal. He was not used to being defeated, and it galled him.

Treco had been in this awful place for almost two weeks now, ever since he had been on his way back from his journey to meet the elf and the human who had helped mend his broken wing.

The dragon thought back to that day.

~~He had been flying north and grumbling about the fact that, despite his better judgment, he had taken the time to go to the meeting place. And then those beings had not even shown up.

The dragon had never had many dealings with the other sentient races of Middle-earth. Any such encounters had been unavoidable accidents, as this one had been.

The fact that an elf was involved had given Treco a measure of hope that this encounter would be different. He hated to admit that the two beings he had met had actually helped him, which was why he had been willing to meet them again. But of course, they had disappointed him, as deep down he believed they would.
‘Stick to your own kind’, he had been told more times than he cared to think about. But a young dragon, at least this young dragon, had been curious. ‘Serves you right’, he had told himself, when the meeting failed to materialize, and he had flown off with a vow never again to trust anyone not a dragon.

No one, however, had ever warned him not to fly over this cursed valley and certainly not over this fortress. Such places had never posed a problem for him before. Nothing built by other races had ever worried him much, even when those creatures had fired their puny projectiles at him. This place had proven to be different.
He had been hit hard with some kind of force that knocked him out of the air. He was lucky he hadn’t broken his neck or another wing. Much to his chagrin, he had been netted and then he - a dragon of all things! - had been dragged into this chamber through a huge tunnel. He had been somewhat groggy and was never quite able to figure out how that had been done or by whom.

Now he was secured to the wall with a chain that was so thick and heavy, even he could not break its links. He suspected that the same spell cast on the doors to keep them from melting had been put on the chain to keep him from breaking loose. He had pulled with all of his might but never was able to force the bolt holding the chain out of the wall. Another spell, he supposed.

Not wanting to be fried to a crisp, no one wanted to go inside the chamber and give him water, so a small spigot in the wall constantly dripped water into a trough. He would drink it dry, and by the time he was thirsty again, it had refilled enough to keep him satisfied. He was being fed regularly. Treco couldn’t figure out why he was here.

Only once had someone come into the chamber far enough to talk to him. Allaura, she called herself. Witch is what he called her, though he had no idea if that’s what she really was.

She had told him he might as well resign himself to his fate, because he was now hers.

“What fate?” he had asked her.

“I have very special plans for you,” had been her cool answer. She had stood silently then, not bothering to explain and not showing the slightest fear.

Without warning, Treco had fired a flame at her. She was engulfed by the searing fire, so much so that Treco couldn’t even see her. He continued like that until his breath almost gave out. Thinking her no more than ashes, he withdrew the flame.

Allaura stood in front of him, completely unscathed, and smiled at him. “You cannot kill me, dragon. Do not try. I may need you, but I will not tolerate insubordination.” Then as a clear warning, she said, “There have been other dragons, and there can be more still.”

“What do you mean ‘there have been other dragons’?”

“Surely you do not think that you are the first. I have had others of your kind in my service.”

Then Treco had suddenly remembered the story that his father told him of his uncle, who had vanished in this same part of the world long before Treco was born. A rumor had circulated that the formidable dragon had been taken and killed by a witch. His father had refused to believe it, but the rumor had persisted. Now it looked as if the story could be true.

Furious, Treco had been sorely tempted to shoot another flame at the woman, but if she had withstood the first assault, she would most likely be able to withstand another. And if she could do that, she could kill him, too, and probably would just to show him who was in charge. He had roared and stomped his foot in frustration but did nothing more.

Allaura had laughed.

Treco did not take well to being laughed at. He was a dragon, after all, but what could he do? He had cringed, glad that none of his kin could see him now, although he would have been willing to endure the humiliation, if only one of them would come and rescue him. He was sure being laughed at would have become a large part of his life after that, but at least he’d be free. He was proving that dragons and dungeons did not mix very well.~~

With a sigh that brought little tendrils of smoke floating out of his nostrils, Treco turned his thoughts back to the present. Looking backward was not going to help him in his current situation.

Treco advanced on the tray of meat. As usual, he was barely able to reach it by leaning forward as far as he could, his chained leg stretched out behind him. Gripping the tray with his mouth, he pulled it back to a position that allowed him to settle himself on the floor and eat at his leisure.

The large red creature tried to push everything else out of his mind. The food was good, and right now, that was all he allowed to matter.

*~*~*~*

The instant Legolas saw the blue stone in front of him, he closed his eyes. He silently thanked Aragorn for telling him what had happened to him, otherwise he would have done the same thing the unsuspecting ranger had done and stared at it.

“Open your eyes,” Allaura demanded, though her voice was low.

Legolas did not obey. The woman’s hand was still firmly gripping his chin, so he couldn’t move his head away again, but he didn’t think she would be able to force his eyelids up with both hands occupied.

“I am in no hurry,” she told him, speaking slowly, as if to emphasize her words.

Legolas was sure Allaura knew about the lifespan of elves, but he thought he’d offer a reminder. “I am immortal.”

The laugh that escaped Allaura’s lips was chilling. “So am I,” she said. “But the ranger is not.” The woman paused to watch the misery that clearly showed on the elf’s face. Then she continued. “Shall we engage in a battle of wills for who knows how long, while he rots away below? A few words from me to my guards, and he will not be fed or given water. He will die a slow, painful and lonely death in a dark stone vault deep underground where no one will ever find his body or know what became of him. Could you live with that, knowing it came as the price for your stubborn elven pride?”

Legolas wanted her to shut up, but he couldn’t risk telling her so. He couldn’t gamble with Aragorn’s life like that just to demonstrate his defiance. Allaura could do what she said just for spite, to punish him for his impertinence.

Even though the elf kept his eyes closed a little while longer, the look of utter defeat on his face made Allaura smile, because she knew she had won. “Smart elf.”

When the archer did finally open his eyes, the necklace had not moved. It still hung at eye level only a few inches from his face.

Hoping that any punishment for Aragorn would be no more than a missed meal in the dark, the elf was fully resigned to whatever was going to happen next. Believing that he was saving the ranger’s very life, Legolas now stared hard into the blue stone.

The fiery gem filled the elf’s vision, making all else fade into nothingness. Its sparkles mesmerized him in a way that both sucked the life out of him and gave him life at the same time. He felt the back and forth pull but didn’t understand what it meant.

The soft part of the light floated through his consciousness like a fog, swirling in intricate patterns just out of the reach of what was left of his probing mind and kept him from pinning down its composition and its source.

The sharper shafts of light were different from the swirls. They shot like an arrow into his heart, then into his very soul. It was a sensation like nothing he had ever experienced before. It was hot and cold, light and dark, painful and yet offered pleasure beyond reckoning.

Legolas soon became so enamored of it that he couldn’t remember a time it hadn’t existed. And worse, he couldn’t imagine a time he wanted to be without it.

The blue light so filled his entire being that he was not aware of what his body was doing. He didn’t care what it was doing. He didn’t care if he even had a body. Legolas was like someone so hooked on a dangerous drug that the rest of the world ceased to exist and only the drug mattered.

Allaura saw the look on the elf’s face and knew she had him. He was even more lost than the ranger had been. This one would cause no trouble, she was sure. She could hand him a knife and turn her back and know that she would be perfectly safe, as long as she had the blue stone to entrance him. This one would be hers forever.

Briefly the woman toyed with the idea of doing away with the ranger all together. He was not really needed now. She had her immortal elf. But then she reconsidered, thinking that the human could prove to be a nice, amusing diversion from time to time.

As she led Legolas toward her bed, she momentarily turned away from him. When the blue light vanished from his sight, the elf screamed from the agony of the separation.

In desperation, he reached out, grabbed Allaura’s shoulder and spun her around to face him. He then grabbed the necklace and held it up to his eyes.

Startled, Allaura gripped the chain to keep the elf from breaking it and taking the necklace. But she soon realized that there was no pull on the chain. He was not trying to take it; he was merely trying to look at it again. Allaura relaxed.

Legolas held the necklace in his cupped hands and stared at it, savoring the feeling, as it once again filled his being with its perfect light. His mind felt at ease once more. All was right with his world.

Allaura had never seen anyone react this way before, but then she had never had an elf as her captive before. “So this is how it will be,” she mused, though she couldn’t be sure he even heard her.

Legolas stood totally transfixed by the stone. He was now its prisoner far more than he was Allaura’s.

TBC