Written by Lothlórien
Legolas winced again as the whip bit into his back. His tunic had long since been shredded and stained by his own blood.
But he would not cry out.
Thranduil, his father, was being forced to watch the torture of his son from beyond a cruel black fence of ebony spikes. He had been asked to come in order to negotiate a treaty with the Orcs of Dol Guldur, and instead found his youngest son being tortured.
But Legolas did not utter a sound. He simply stood to where he was bound, his arms shackled to the sides of a stone pillar. His face was held mere inches from the ugly black column, and its shininess reflected his eyes back to him.
"Stop!" The Orcish commander, an evil creature called Risnakh, turned to Thranduil and his two elvish guards, who stood on the other side of the fence. Risnakh smiled at the anguish on their faces, "So, Thranduil, will you leave Mirkwood?"
"No, he will not!" Legolas cried out angrily, "Father, I spill my blood happily to pay for the land of our heritage!"
"Shut up, you!" The whip master snapped him on the back again.
Thranduil was indecisive. His son's life? Or his kingdom?
"I will—" He began.
"NO!" Legolas cried.
"I will not give up Mirkwood to the likes of you," The Elf-King's eyes narrowed, "My son has spoken the words of a true warrior and of a martyr. All you do beyond now strengthens my people."
Risnakh smiled evilly, his pointed black teeth shining in the torch light. He stuck his face mere inches from that of the Elf-King.
"Then," He exhaled, his breath choking and foul, "You will watch him suffer."
Thranduil started forward in protest as Risnakh spun and waved at the whip master. The elven guards stood behind him, their own pain showing in their faces.
The first crack of the whip hit Legolas in the back of the neck, breaking open an older cut. But he did not move. All he did was merely stand and take the beating with all the dignity he had left.
Risnakh took the whip from the other orc and walked around the elven prince. He slashed down, catching him behind the knees. Legolas' legs nearly collapsed, but he stayed standing by holding onto the rings that he was shackled to.
The orc commander kicked him, felling him to his knees. The elf hissed in pain as the wounds on his back touched the dirty floor.
"A martyr, hmm?" Risnakh laughed. He reached down and pulled Legolas back up to his feet, "Perhaps standing and bleeding will be a better death."
The orc took the shackles from Legolas' wrists. He tossed them away and pulled a length of black rope that held shards of metal and glass woven into the strands. The whip master stepped forward and took the rope.
Three more orcs came into the room. One pressed hard against the elf's back, holding him against the ugly pillar, while the other two held his wrists through the two rigs that he had formerly used for support.
Risnakh laughed as the whip master bound Legolas' hands and wrists to the rings. Blood flowed from the many cuts that pierced the elf's skin.
"Stop this torture!" Thranduil demanded, "He is a prisoner of war! We do not do such things to the orcs we imprison!"
Risnakh just kept laughing and coiled the whip, rubbing his thick, meaty fingers over the shards of glass and metal that were embedded in the nine lengths of leather. Once the orcs had finished binding Legolas tightly to the pillar, he chuckled.
"What do you do, Elf-King?" He continued to chuckle, facing the King, "Coddle them? Feed them rich food and care for their wounds? Make their feather beds every morning?"
Thranduil began to turn red with anger, "We treat them as a prisoner should be treated."
"Like this?" Risnakh suddenly spun and released the whip onto the back of Thranduil's son. Many pieces of the metal and glass became embedded in Legolas' back, and each one tore skin and muscle when the whip was suddenly pulled away.
"Stop!" One of the elven guards could hold back no longer, "For the sake of my prince, leave him be!"
"Nithanien, quiet!" Thranduil commanded. He looked Risnakh straight in the eyes. Blue met yellow, a clean, bright soul met putrid and evil, "We leave this place of horrors. You have your answer, Risnakh."
"Good," The orc laughed loudly, "Grizgeg!"
The whip master stepped forward.
"Lord Thranduil, how old is your son?" The commander asked the King, his eyes glinting devilishly, "About two thousand years, I would think."
"Why do you care?" Thranduil demanded.
"Grizgeg, strike the elf once every second until the King answers my question."
"Aye," The torturer cackled evilly and drew back. He began to count.
One.
Thranduil watched his son's face.
Two.
Legolas bit his lip then simply clenched his teeth together.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Seven.
Eight.
Legolas began to cough, and a few sprinkles of blood spattered on the pillar.
Nine.
Ten.
Eleven.
Twelve.
Thirteen.
The chafing of the cruel rope had begun to rub his wrists raw.
Fourteen.
Fifteen.
Sixteen.
Seventeen.
Eighteen.
Nineteen.
Twenty.
Risnakh watched Thranduil's face.
Twenty-one.
Twenty-two.
Twenty-three.
Twenty-four.
Twenty-five.
Twenty-six.
Legolas coughed again, his body racking with pain. More blood splattered onto the pillar.
Twenty-seven.
Twenty-eight.
Twenty-nine…
"Stop!" Thranduil cried, "He is two thousand, eight hundred and seventy-two! Now, please, stop! I beg you for the life of my son!"
Risnakh looked at the elf with mock surprise, "I, myself, am only twenty three years since birth. Yet he looks younger than I. Such a curse."
"Release him! I will give you anything, save for the lives of my people!"
"Would you give me your life, Elf-King?" Risnakh taunted.
"Gladly."
"NO!" Legolas spun as far as he could and kicked Risnakh in the back, knocking him forward.
"Why you pathetic little—"
He dove for the elf's throat, but all he got was a boot in the face. He fell backwards as Grizgeg and the three other orcs dove onto Legolas.
The elf struggled with all his might, but being bound to a pillar did not allow him any room. He was subdued, and his face was pressed hard against the cold stone. He bit down hard on the hand that held his head.
Risnakh pulled all the other orcs away in rage and punched Legolas hard in the side. Breath whooshed out of the elf's lungs. He punched him again, and again. Ribs refused to break.
"Grizgeg," He said, panting from his sport, "Give this elf one lash for each year of his life."
"No!"
"If you lose count, start over."
Grizgeg looked confused, "Commander, I can count only to fifty without help."
"So much the better."
The whip master snarled in delight and coiled the fallen rope.
"Have you no soul?" Thranduil cried in anger and sorrow. His other sons had long since left Mirkwood for their own lives, and Legolas was the only one he had left to call his own, "I said that I would give my life for his!"
"I will take his life for the land of Mirkwood," Risnakh panted, "Consider your land bought by blood and tears, Elf-King. Your tears."
Thranduil had to be held back by his two guards as Grizgeg started. As if to torture them, he purposely 'forgot' after ten, then two, then twelve. Finally, he just quit counting.
"We leave. Now," Thranduil turned away and disappeared with his guards.
Legolas sighed in relief.
Three weeks later, Legolas still stood, as he had before. The wounds from the beginning had received no time to heal until now. They had left him to stand for ten days now, and his strength returned slowly.
There was no roof in this room, and it had rained beautiful, cleansing drops onto his face. There was mud and four inches of water on the floor now, but that only relieved the pain of his burning feet.
There was a rumble in the sky, telling him that it was going to rain again.
And rain it did.
The water in the room was to his chest before it began to slacken. There were drains in the room, set to the perfect height so that the water would never become high enough to drown the prisoner, releasing them from their fun.
Sadly, they could be plugged.
He rested his face against the pillar, so exhausted. His strength has left him, and it was far slower in returning.
He was so tired…
There was a splash that caught his attention.
He looked up and saw the end of a rope floating in the water. The rainstorm began to increase its fury as two elves slid down in to the room quietly.
He felt their knives cut the rope that bound his wrists. The rope had become melded with his flesh and the elf had to tear open old chaffing wounds in order to free him.
A woman elf held him up as his wrists were released. She took the knife from the first and sheathed it.
"Prince Legolas, can you hear me?" She leaned over him and pressed the back of her hand against his cheek, "My lord, we must away."
"I—I hear you, and I understand," Legolas stumbled, but he could barely keep his grip on the rope, "But I cannot climb. I have not the strength."
"Nithanien!" She hissed, "Throw down the other rope!"
Nithanien's face appeared over the edge as he dropped the rope, "Oi, there, Prince Legolas! Are you happy to see me?"
"Nithanien, I would be happy to see even your face after this," Legolas returned.
The young elf laughed.
The woman tied the rope around Legolas' waist. Nithanien pulled him up, out of the pit, with the help of another elf, who quickly introduced himself as Edredhel. The two elves down in the pit climbed quickly up joining them atop the large battlement.
"Tiranien and Mierawen await us at the base of that hill," The woman informed Legolas.
"What is your name?" He asked quietly.
"I am Imarades, and this is Merebrian," She gestured to the elf that had released the prince's wrists, "You already know Nithanien, and Edredhel."
Legolas nodded and followed them over the edge of the battlement. They snuck quietly past the guards and disappeared into the thick overgrowth that surrounded the fortress of Dol Guldur.
As true as Imarades' word, an elven man and woman, Tiranien and Mierawen stood ready with their hands full of horse reigns. Legolas mounted his faithful steed, Laiqua, with great relief.
Imarades led the way as they rode briskly to the North. It would be a long, hard ride through man miles of treacherous territory before they reached the safety of the true elven border.
They did not stop, for fear of discovery. The heavy rain slowed them down, but they trudged on.
"Nithanien, why would my father allow this?" Legolas asked, "And why is it that Dol Guldur was so quiet? The voices of orcs faded several days ago."
His childhood friend handed him a skin full of a healing drink, his face grim, "They, the orcs, did not taunt you?"
"With what?"
Nithanien looked at Imarades. She was tall and imposing, and the cloak covering her face made her mysterious. But Legolas remembered her as being an advisor to his father on many occasions.
"The orcs of Dol Guldur invaded Amon Thranduil two weeks ago," She intoned ominously, "Your father and many others fled. Mirkwood belongs completely to the orcs now, which is why we had to rescue you."
"I—I do not understand," Legolas was stunned, "How could this have happened?"
"Their forces to too powerful. We were still recovering from the Battle of the Five Armies so few months ago," Imarades sighed, "I wish your father had taken my advice and not allowed you to stay in Laketown."
"I helped rebuild the town," Legolas raised an eyebrow, "And I was captured on the way home. Nothing could have avoided that."
Mierawen laughed, her voice low but twinkling, "It is in the past, my friends. Let us ride to Ungol-Rhond."
"The Spider Cave," Legolas mused, "I have never heard of such a place. Why is it called thus?"
"It was were we—" Imarades gestured to their small group, "—had camped when a messenger came to us, telling us of the fall of Amon Thranduil. It has become a base for us, and it is also in a place where the orcs will not go."
"Where is that?"
"Deep inside the Amon Lhingraug," She sighed.
"The Hill of the Demon Web," Legolas whispered to himself. Such places were hardly spoken of anymore, for so long ago, they were the refuges of Sauron's hunted armies. Now they protected the Elves, "Fate, it seems, has a sense of humor."
They rode again, longer this time, avoiding speech. Mirkwood was lost, and only a few months after the great victory over the orcs at the Lonely Mountain. And there was nowhere to run.
Rivendell? Perhaps. Lothlórien? Again, a plausible place to retreat to, but those misplaced by this invasion would need a real home, somewhere to call their own.
"Imarades, what were you doing inside Amon Lhingraug?"
"Your father was having us prepare for an invasion," She sighed, "There were thirty-six more warriors hiding there when we left to retrieve you."
"Ah."
Four days later, they reached the foreboding mound that was Amon Lhingraug.
"I will never call this place Amon Lhingraug," Legolas said quietly, "For me, this shall always be Dolen-Gûr."
"The Hidden Death, very astute, young prince," Edredhel looked over at him, "For that is exactly what lies awaiting those gwaur yrch."
Two hidden guards waved them by quickly and they rode quietly underground.
Legolas met the leaders of the small resistance with open arms. All six of them were good, close friends. Risoniel, Gilharad, Celetaith, Mardir, Yelirawen, and Nythilaen all embraced their captured prince with tears of joy.
"Ah, young one, we thought you dead," Mardir was a warrior among Thranduil's personal ranks and an old elf indeed.
"Hardly, though I feel no younger," Legolas admitted, "My friends, tell me, what has happened? They told me that my father was forced to flee. How many died?"
"We are all that is left in Mirkwood," Yelirawen shook her head, "No prisoners were taken alive after Risnakh found that Lord Thranduil escaped. And, with him, perhaps seventy."
Legolas went pale. Only seventy free Mirkwood elves…We are being exterminated. No, we are exterminated…
Stunned beyond belief, Legolas stumbled from the room, despite the resistance from his friends. He walked out of the underground base. The guards tried to stop him, but he pushed through, disappearing into the trees, with no weapons.
He collapsed beside a small pond, tears burning his cheeks. Sadness washed over his body, and he felt his spirit fade with every sob that wracked his already tired body. His muscles ached as he wept, his hands covering his eyes. So many of his people lost…What could he have done to stop this carnage? How could he have prevented this?
"Legolas," A familiar, quiet whisper came from the trees across the pond, "Legolas, help me…"
"Adunólae!" He dove into the water and sloshed across, taking the partially hidden elf into his arms. His beloved, the one he had pledged his life to, was alive! "You live! Oh, thank the stars, you're alive!"
"I am hurt, but, yet, I live," Her bright blue eyes caught his, and she raised her hand to touch his cheek, "I thought you dead, my love. I had no hope left."
"Come, you need healing," He gathered her into his arms. Her moss green robes were torn and stained by blood, water, and grass, "How is it that you escaped? Why are you not with my father?"
"I ran to the east, to try and warn my father of the attack, but the orcs had already killed him," She leaned against his chest, "When I tried to escape to the Misty Mountain, I was attacked and forced back into the trees."
"You are lucky to be alive," Legolas smiled down at her as he strode quickly up the hill, towards the entrance to the place he called Dolen-Gûr, "You must be enchanted."
"We shall discover whether or not this is true," She looked up at him from bruised eyelids.
"I need a healer!" Legolas cried as he burst into the same room he had staggered from only moments ago. Gilharad, an elf with dark green eyes, recognized the injured woman.
"Lady Adunólae! Celetaith! Retrieve the healer!" He commanded the younger warrior, who disappeared with a nod, "Where did you find her?"
"At the pond to the east of here," Legolas released Adunólae into the arms of Nythilaen, a man who carried her out of the room, towards the healer's chambers, "I had to be alone."
"I understand how you feel, young prince," Gilharad said quietly. He was the only leader in the room now, for the others had left, "But we must speak of things unpleasant."
"I know my love lives," Legolas shrugged, "There is nowhere to go but up, towards the heavens, where my spirit soars even now. Speak, friend, and we shall laugh at these things you fear."
The older elf smiled widely, "I am old, Legolas, as are the others. Risoniel, he does not want to admit it, but the orcish poison that spreads through his blood is killing him. He will not survive the week."
"No," Legolas whispered.
"Yelirawen is with pains, from a wound sustained during her son's birth so many years ago. She bleeds inside and cannot fight," Gilharad sighed, "Mardir is enraged, and he cannot lead. Celetaith is grieving."
"And Nythilaen?"
"Nythilaen, as you know, is not one of our own," The old elf sighed, "He is an Eldarin, and his love is pregnant with their child, the first born to the elves in over two thousand years. He must go to her."
"You need me to lead," Legolas' eyes widened.
"Aye, and I will help you," Gilharad looked up, "Imarades will be your advisor."
The elven woman had entered the room quietly. She bowed, and then knelt at Legolas' feet, laying her long-knives, bow, and quiver at his feet.
"My lord, to you I pledge my life, skills, and weapons," She bowed her head, "I ask only that you accept my help."
"Rise, Imarades, and be accepted," Legolas took her hand and pulled her to a standing position. He embraced her gently, then turned back to Gilharad, "What of the others? Dolen-Gûr is no place for my lady Adunólae and the other leaders."
"Dolen-Gûr, is it?" Gilharad laughed, "We shall prepare an escape plan to carry them all to Rivendell, where your father dwells now, in the home of his friend."
"Then we fight," Imarades said coldly, "We have an army, and the means to use it. Let us drive the orcs from Amon Thranduil."
"Aye, Imarades, we shall fight to the bitter end," Gilharad stood straight and his eyes flared in excitement, "Even when there are only a handful and we ourselves are taken, we shall fight."
"Onward!" Imarades thrust her leather-bound wrist forward.
"Onward!" Gilharad placed his hand over her fist.
"Onward," Legolas grasped their hands with his, "I feel that this will be a long fight, my friends."
"So much more the glory when we win!" Gilharad laughed.
Legolas faltered, his eyes beginning to blur, "I think that I should retreat to bed. I was a prisoner only this morning…"
Gilharad laughed as he caught the quickly fading prince, "Rest, young Legolas! For our fight has only just begun."
Legolas could not resist.
"Daer." Great.
Then he fell into the waiting arms of an exhausted sleep.
And fight they did.
For sixty years they fought, losing battle after battle. Many died, including Gilharad, when an orcish sword took his light from Middle-Earth. Many of the leaders save for Nythilaen and Yelirawen, both of which left the forest, died the same way.
Adunólae waited patiently by the Elf-King Thranduil's side. Nythilaen, after finding his love, became the father of a healthy elven boy. His wife, Rhessani, went to Mirkwood soon after her son's birth, and returned with the injured.
Yelirawen died from internal bleeding soon after leaving Mirkwood because no proper medical help was available in time to save her life.
Legolas grew into a mighty warrior, and led his people to victory in a great campaign. They were able to recover Amon Thranduil for less than a day then were driven back into the forest.
Amon Lhingraug is now known as Dolen-Gûr. The Hidden Death was lost to the Mirkwood warriors thirty-two years after the initiation of the war. The warriors then lived in the trees, and came to call themselves the Tawar-Maethor, the Forest-Warriors, thus distancing them further and further from civilization.
In the whole years of the war, Legolas and his father communicated only once, when a letter was carried by Rhessani to the prince of Mirkwood, telling him that his brothers had come to Rivendell and were prepared to join him In the battle.
By this time, there were only twenty-some Tawar-Maethor left. Legolas refused his father and brothers' help, as they would become a 'burden' to his leadership.
In all his year of fighting, Legolas was struck down in battle only twice. Once, an arrow split his cheek and stunned him. The other was when he was impaled on a spear and pinned to the crumbling walls of the ruined palace.
But that's another story…
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No elves were harmed in the making of this or any other story by this author.
The Tawar-Maethor, TM-Universe Legolas, TM-Universe Thranduil, TM-Universe Mirkwood, Adunólae, Gilharad, Risnakh, Grizgeg, Nithanien, Imarades, Tiranien, Mierawen, Edredhel, Merebrian, Laiqua the horse, Risoniel, Gilharad, Celetaith, Mardir, Yelirawen, Nythilaen, Rhessani, Amon Lhingraug, Dolen-Gûr, Ungol-Rhond, and all other non-recognizable characters, places, or words are all © 2002 to S. L. Hickman.
Everything else belongs to the Tolkien Estate.
^_~