Serpentine (Legolas x OC)

prologue.

The screams of her parents rang in the little girl's ears. She could feel her eyes moistening but kept her head high, hoping her death would be more merciful. But deep down she knew her hope was misplaced. Sauron was cruelty embodied. Why would he spare her above her betters? The hope was still there, though. Like a little bright spark inside of her. Maybe. . . Just maybe. . .

"Kill it. I have no use for such a pathetic creature."

And then that little spark died out, its fire quenched. Again, she felt hot tears well up in her eyes, and this time she let them spill over. She had reason to cry. Her family and way of life were gone forever.

She was nothing.

She was useless.

And what galled her most was that Sauron had won this round. Maybe he'd be defeated one day, but he had won for now, effectively letting her people die out. They hadn't wanted, to, like all people don't. But Sauron changed that. He'd simply. . . Sped up their inclination to die. A quick death was heaven over weeks of non-stop torture. But this Maiar delighted in the pain and misery of all those around him. That was why he created chaos where there had been peace. Roars where there was meant to be silence. Death where had previously been life.

And war. Always war.

Just kill me now. . . she silently prayed. Kill me now and have it over with.

She sensed amusement in the figure atop of the throne. "Make sure death comes slowly. I want to hear her screams from the highest towers."

She was dragged back into the torture rooms, now her fate was decided. The only word she could bring to her lips was, "No!"

Too late. . . she realised dimly. The impending fear of death was like a thousand rocks piled high over her. Then one thought played over and over in her head as they laid their tools out. I don't want to die.

No one did at the start, before the pain. Then they begged for death, for a repose that even Sauron could not break.

She cried out when the red hot iron were held to her hands, rendering them useless. Several fingers were damaged beyond even Elven healing. The jailers did their jobs thoroughly. No stone left unturned. The girl looked with pain-stricken eyes to the black knives.

«●»

By the end of an hour, her face was unrecognisable, with a deep cut down her left cheek, still oozing black pus, being the first thing to meet the eye. There were burn mark in stripes down her face, and her nose appeared to be broken. No one cared if it was. She had passed out ten minutes back, and it was merciful she done so.

Then a man walked in, swathed in a black cloak. His long black hair glinted with red wherever light caught it, creating an odd effect, and his face was stern. The jailers quickly scattered at his approach. Then he shook the girl gently. He could feel that several of her ribs were broken. Her eyes shot open and she wheezed, coughing and crying as the pain racked her body, rendering her unable to breath.

"Are you able to walk?" he asked, pushing a lock of hair out of his face. His skin was a pale porcelain colour.

She didn't respond, lying listlessly there on the torturer's rack. He sighed. "I'll interpret that as a no." He carefully picked her up and carried her out, walking slowly. The girl looked at his out of bleary eyes. One of them she could not see through, and the other had uncertain vision now.

She attempted to speak, but it hurt her ribs too much, not to mention her bleeding mouth.

"What is it?" he asked her. His voice was slightly harsh. This man could not be kind. He knew what it was already. "You are in pain." It was not a question.