"Bleeding"
by Beryll
The sound was coming only at long intervals now. Just a low dripping now and then. Each time he heard a drop hit the floor, a small shiver ran down his spine. A shiver of so many mixed emotions that he was still trying to take stock of them.
There was excitement and a slight sexual thrill though that had faded quickly like it always did. There was a fearful aspect of pity. He still was not sure if for the other or for himself. And there was pain. The same low, throbbing pain, that was now his constant companion. Mostly ignored, mostly suppressed, but it had been part of that shiver.
There was more of course. Things, he had not yet been able to identify. Why else would he still continue doing this? There had to be a good reason. A reason that he could accept. A reason beside the fact that he had to keep up appearances. A way to deal with the self-loathing.
The alcohol coursing through his veins was the only thing that even allowed him to face these facts. Mostly the mask had become his true face, sticking to him like a second skin. Right now he was not even sure, if he would ever be able to completely shed it again. Maybe it was better this way? Maybe the pain would go away once he became like the others.
The crystal goblet he had lazily been turning in his fingers shattered as his hand involuntarily clenched around it at this thought. The myriad shards fell to the floor like a glittering rain, some of them red with wine, some red with blood. His own blood seeping from cuts that now made his fingers ache. But this pain was a friend as it dulled that other pain he so desperately wanted to forget.
His eyes were drawn back to the figure still chained to the footposts of his bed by a low moan.
It was surprising that the human was still alive considering how much blood he had lost. The long blonde hair hanging down his ripped back was matted with drying blood. His head had sagged forward. His suffering was still immense though his consciousness had nearly fled.
Haldir got up from his chair by the window and walked over towards the limp figure. A slight tremble ran through the ruined body, making new blood flow. It would not be long now till he died. Haldir let his fingers trail through the blood on the back lovingly, trying to convince himself that this was somebody else.
But it was not and he knew. The color of the hair was too dark, the body too strong, the voice not fair enough to belong to the elf, who had robbed him of the one thing that might have been his salvation.
But still he had to do this again and again - the dark stains at the foot of his bed silent testimony to this fact.
Because Legolas was forever beyond his reach. Because Legolas was beyond pain, beyond punishment. So he went out and selected those humans closest in appearance to his `friend´.
His hatred boiled up in him and his nails dug into the exposed flesh of the human. There was no response and Haldir realized that the slave had escaped. Escaped at last into death.
Silently Haldir rested his head against the bloody shoulder, trying in vain to stop the tears slowly leaking from his eyes.
Again he had killed. Again he had given in to his dark emotions. Again he had become what he so hated. And again there was no Legolas to fault. The blame lay with him alone.
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