The Orc watched his prisoner carefully. Gagged and bound, she lay still. As far as he could remember, neither the lashes of the whip nor the singing of her flesh under the hot irons, had been able to mock a scream nor even a whimper from her. It was as if she were dead. Once or twice, his leader had gone to check, only to crawl away in search of his whip. Without that, he would not dare to stay in the same cell as her. A witch, he had said. She could use her magic to kill him. Not that she had ever done anything threatening. Like all elves before her, she had been desperate when she had arrived. Until that day.

Sauron had decided that physical torture was not enough for her. Calling upon the Wildmen of Dunland, he had unleashed them upon her, one after another. First, she had fought them, then she had begged and finally, she had submitted. Whipped, burnt and branded, Sauron had decided that she had been destroyed when they had finally heard her scream. Even the Orc had felt a churn in his stomach at the heart-wrenching anguish in her scream. Between her legs, the blood had flowed without stop. It had been the ending of a life, the slaying of a soul. It had been her last scream. She must have been a more hardened master than even Sauron, for whilst he had heard of elves escaping from even the former, this prisoner let none of her screams ever escape from her that day hence.

As years passed, her beautiful body, tall and willowed, had hunched. The skin upon her face, untouched by brands, knives or whips, paled. On the rest of her body, her skin looked like the floor of a treacherous pit, bumpy and scarred from deep, red welts. Her body bent, her spirit broken. And yet, she was not to be ignored. His Master was right, the Orc thought, elves were immortal. So too were their spirits. Broken they could be, but die, they would never. At least, not this elf's. Only his hand hurt from whipping her. She remained as dead as ever, only her eyes alive forever.

Year after year, Azog would bring her before the other Orcs and prisoners in Dol Guldur, where she would be stripped and made to kneel while he would shave off her hair. It had been a vile pleasure for him. He had laughed menacingly, even managed a cruel chuckle once in a while but the Orc knew better. His leader was scared and furious. For he had failed. Try as he had, even the depths of cruelty he had crawled to had not been enough to break this elf's spirit. Unbowed, unbent, unyielding. She was all that and more.

The sound of the horn broke the Orc's thoughts. He sighed. They were going to fight once again. Tiredly, he picked up his weapons. If he had a Creator, he would have prayed, prayed for death. But, Orcs were too worthless to pray. Nor did they have anyone to pray to. Sauron would just throw them away once they were dead. As all the Orcs trudged their way down the slopes, the Orc stopped by the elf's cell.

He was shocked by what he saw. It was her, wasn't it? She was looking around furtively as she hastened into a Wildman's armour. On the ground, lay a Wildman, a dagger wedged through his skull. The chaos of the outside must have prevented his screams from being heard. The Orc saw the prisoner pale as she spotted him. Quickly, he closed the gates of the cell. Taking the whip, he brought it down upon the air. The prisoner was looking at him in surprise. Even he was surprised. Why was he doing this?

Outside, he heard his leader. "Leave her alone now. We have greater spoils to seek. Come now, you fool." The Orc stopped, and looked at the prisoner. She still looked surprised. Quickly, he grabbed her hand and led her outside, locking the cell doors. A brief look passed between them as they joined the other Orcs and Wildmen. One victim to another. There was no hope for him but perhaps, he could give some to her.