Chapter Text
It had taken Thranduil and Idhrenon several weeks to reach the Bay of Belfalas. During this time Thranduil had started to teach the younger Elf how to wield and fight with a sword, but quickly the Elvenking realized how unsuited he was to be a teacher. This afternoon was no better, he gritted his teeth in annoyance when Idhrenon failed to imitate his stance, and Thranduil’s patience was quickly wearing thin.
“Enough! This is getting us nowhere!” he barked harshly, aggravated by his apprentice’s clumsiness and his own inability to teach him better.
The younger Elf made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Forgive me, my Lord. I know that I am awful at this”.
“You are,” admitted Thranduil, but seeing the devastated expression on his follower’s face, he added: “But that is not altogether your fault. I know that you are not this clumsy by nature, I have been observing you during our travel and I know that you are as graceful as any Elda… At least, as long as you are not wielding a blade. With enough time and effort this might be subject to change, but for now at least you will not be able to defend yourself in case of attack.”
Idhrenon looked downtrodden at that, but he knew that this was an accurate description of his skills, so he didn’t say anything else on the topic.
* * *
When they finally reached the point where the City of Umbar was at the sighting distance, Thranduil ordered Idhrenon to stay put and guard the horses. As expected, his order was met with hurt defiance.
“How can you ask me to abandon you here, on the foreign land, with no guards no less? I cannot, I will not!” the younger Elf protested vehemently after a couple of minutes of a heated argument.
Well, no one ever said that patience was Thranduil’s strong suit.
“Listen to me, and listen to me carefully,” he hissed menacingly. “The Umbarians hate the Eldar with a passion and they will stop at nothing to bring one of us down. The only feeling that is even stronger than their hate, is their fear of us. As you proved yourself to be as unthreatening as can be, if we go there together, we will be killed on spot if we are lucky. If we are less fortunate, we can count on a couple of hours of merciless torture before death. Now, if you wish to avoid this less than wondrous prospect, I suggest you stop this temper tantrum of yours and actually follow. My. Orders!”
Idhrenon blanched and asked quietly: “But what if you don’t come back, my liege? What will become of me?”
Thranduil sighed, feeling weary all of a sudden. “If I don’t come back within two days time, go back to my father and tell him of my fate. I will not have him wondering for years what became of me. And tell him that you tried to change my mind, so he knows that this is all on my head, not yours.”
“Sire… Why do you need to go there at all?”
Thranduil look turned wistful for a split second.
“Because while the Umbarians are our enemies, if all goes along to the plan, they may become our greatest allies.”
For a moment he remembered Ulbar and his reluctance to give his loyalty to Thranduil, and his unwavering devotion once he finally did. Getting the Umbarians to submit to him will be one hell of a challenge, he knew that, but the potential reward was too enticing to pass on.
* * *
As soon as Thranduil approached the city gates, he was accosted by a group of militia and before he even had a chance to speak, he was brutally pushed to the ground, chained and gagged, and then manhandled all the way to the keep. While, once upon a time, Thranduil the Elvenking would be mortified to find himself in such an undignified position, Thranduil the Dark Mage was rather unfazed by the whole ordeal, as long as it got him where he wanted to be, and that was inside the city, the closer to lord Herumor, the better.
Unfortunately, for the time being that meant being shoved to a small, stinking prison cell and awaiting in complete darkness for whatever these Umbarians had in store for him. He used that time well, meditating and gathering his strength, both physical and magical alike.
All too soon, he heard the heavy cell doors being opened and the dungeon was lit by a couple of torches held by olive-skinned guards. After them, a noble-looking man came in, his face impassive on the surface, but whose eyes held a malicious glint that did not sit well with Thranduil.
“I wonder what made an elven spy approach my city gates so boldly,” the man stated coldly. “Were you so sure of your alleged superiority that you thought you would be able to defeat my men singlehandedly?”
Thranduil only raised his brow and mentioned his gag, showing that he was unable to speak.
“This is what you want, isn’t it? To have the gag removed so that you can bespell me using your elven witchcraft. Well, not this time, filth. Your accursed gods have recently flooded my homeland so I will not hear a word from you. Guards! You and you,” the lord motioned two of his men. “Take him to the halls of torture and give him a good whipping, for a start. Let us see how this white demon enjoys Umbarian hospitality,” he ordered with a vindictive sneer. “Once he is cowed enough, bring him to the audience hall. I want my court to enjoy the sight of an Elf beaten to a pulp.”
Once again, Thranduil was manhandled and shoved around until they reached a vast hall with various torture devices and wickedly-looking accessories. There, he was bound tightly to a pillar and his clothes were ripped from his back, exposing the unblemished skin underneath. While the older guard went to pick up a whip, the younger one grinned wickedly as he caressed Thranduil’s white skin with almost tender care.
“Such a beauty… Not much longer, though,” he said in a heavily accented common language.
Thranduil bit his gag forcefully once the first lash landed on his back. Before he was able to gather his bearings, he was hit again, his whole body shaking from the impact. After twelve hits he lost his resolve to remain silent and he moaned loudly. The sound was muffled by the gag in his mouth, but the guards apparently heard him still, as they laughed uproariously at him.
“Not so high and mighty anymore, is he?” the younger guard taunted in Adûnaic. “I like how he moans, better than a whore in a brothel!” He came closer and made a move to remove the rag from Thranduil’s mouth, but the older guard’s words stopped him:
“Stop, Irpân! You heard lord Herumor, we should leave the gag lest he curses us.”
“I ain’t afraid of a bound and whipped Elf!” snapped the younger guard and removed the gag forcefully. “Now, make him moan!”
As the next lash landed on Thanduil’s back, he groaned loudly, a plan forming in his mind. The guard called Irpân started to message his crotch with vigor, apparently enjoying the show. Thranduil faked a sob and let a couple of tears to escape his eyes. Emboldened by the prisoner’s apparent vulnerability, the heavily aroused guard came closer and obscenely licked at the tears. This was what the Elvenking was waiting for: fast as lightning he bit the guard on the ear, hard enough to draw blood. The guard howled with pain and jumped back, clutching at his ear.
The older guard roared with laughter. “You had it coming, Irpân!”
Thranduil licked his lips and smiled widely, showing his bloodied teeth. “You both had your fun,” he said in fluent Adûnaic, thankful for the language lessons with Ulbar. “Now, I will have mine,” he purred, feeling the flow of magic sourced from the blood forcibly taken. Oh, he will surely pay for this influx of power in a couple of hours. But now… Now he had a city to take.