runando ~ A Thranduil Story

Unable

Second Age, Year 1075

He was smiling.

Smiling?

How dare he?

He looked down upon my pain with joy?

I yelled out in a cross of pain and anger, flinging myself forward to try and attack him. Alas, one of my brothers held me back. Duvainion, ever the cherished child, was at his side, a heated dagger in his hand. My father, who I had recently taken to calling Sauron instead of any other name, turned to my brother and whispered in his ear. I looked a lot like him in a way, I do not see how many associate me with my mother instead of him. I suppose many have not seen his true form, though.

He gave me one last look, those flaming eyes that used to be associated with warmth to me were now only seen in relation to my pain and suffering. My father was gone, long dead. In his place rose a Dark Lord, one that would trample all under his feet, one that would once again rule alongside his master.

Unfaltering loyalty runs in the family.

He left and in his place stepped Duvainion. My brother behind me kicked me in the backs of my knees, forcing me to the ground. Now came the punishment. What did I do? I lost a practice sword fight against Duvainion. His prize? He would choose how I would be punished. Of course, he picked one of the most extreme punishments there was. He had been holding his dagger over the fire for a good twenty minutes before he retreated back to Sauron's side. And now, he stood before me with it.

Grabbing my face with his free hand, he smirked, his grip on the dagger tightening. He said something that I didn't hear, something I couldn't comprehend. The betrayal had already struck deep, my brother, the one I had grown up with, the one who mother held so dear to her, who she had so much faith in, was going to inflict such horrendous pain upon me I would likely never forgive him for it.

The Noldor do not forgive lightly, nor do they forget.

He seemed irritated that I didn't respond in any way, likely because I had given into my fate by this point, I didn't want to waste energy on spitting at him. He said something to my other brothers, two of them still holding me by either arm, the other stood on the far side of the dark room by a window, staring out of it. I smiled a little, he didn't like this, not at all. If anyone was going to help me, it would be him.

I was dropped completely, but Duvainion still had his hand tight around my chin and my cheeks. He pulled upwards so I was forced to look at him. Somewhat trusting me enough to not be a thorn in his side, he released my face but only so he could grasp my right arm instead. Here we go.

Because he wasn't nice enough to give me any warning, nor did he hold any sympathies towards me anymore, he just went straight for it with the dagger. It was horrific, I could not describe how intense that pain was but it was enough for me to wish death upon myself and everyone else in the room because of it. I could hear my skin almost steaming with the heat. The worst thing was that I could withstand such pain, the maiar are not forced into unconsciousness unless they are under the most extreme stress. That is what made it worse. I could feel the pain the whole time and there was absolutely nothing that was going to stop it.

Duvainion kept that burning knife to my arm until it went cold. My arm was wrecked, you could see right down to the muscle and bone. Satisfied with his work, he stepped backward and threw the dagger right past my ear, clipping it slightly. Just to make sure I was punished enough. He left, as did the two brothers who had kept me still the whole time. I stayed knelt on the harsh polished stone floor, the only light coming in from the few minuscule windows.

Once he was sure that we were alone, he rushed over, skidding on his knees to come in front of me. He gazed between my traumatized eyes and the ugly wound on my arm.