11/12/2018 UPDATE: It was brought to my attention that there was a format problem with Chapter 2. That has been fixed. No clue what happened but thank you for letting me know!
**Author Note: Hello there! This is my first LOTR fanfic, so please be gentle, though helpful criticism is appreciated. I also would like to warn that it's rated M for a reason. Violence, torture, blood, PTSD flashbacks, and other things that I come up with along the way are bound to happen in here. So, please beware and don't read if that stuff may bother you.
Though I love LOTR and the Hobbit both books and movies, I am not—I repeat—am not, a Tolkien lore professional. I did my best to stay within the correct lore, but without doing some heavy research I admit I might have missed some things. So, I apologize for that.
This story takes place after the Hobbit, and before LOTR. It's a slightly altered universe in that after the Battle of the Five Armies, Tauriel and Legolas return to their posts in Mirkwood. Besides that I tried to remain in and around the movie's universe.
I really hope you like this. Please let me know what you think in a review 3
Chapter 1.
"So this is how it ends." The terrified elf whispered to himself.
"Keep faith Nordirion," Tauriel whispered, "We are not dead yet. There is still hope if you believe in it."
Legolas could feel the frightened elf shaking beside him, but he remained silent for he did not have the same gift as Tauriel did when it came to soothing those less strong. Instead, the prince scanned the area in hopes of finding a way out of their predicament.
None of them had foreseen the impromptu scouting mission going so horribly wrong. They had left Mirkwood with ten, and were now only four.
Tied to a large monolith out in the middle of the the grassy plains, Legolas's only landmark on where they were was the faint sound of rushing water he presumed was the River Celduin close by.
They had only been a few leagues from the Mirkwood's borders when they had come upon the band of orcs trudging along the forest's edge. A band of twenty-five, Legolas and Tauriel had silently agreed on the ambush, presuming it to be a regular day in clearing out the orc trash.
Once the fight had commenced, they were shocked and horrified to find crafty traps set up by the seemingly unsuspecting orcs.
The ground on which they attacked was set to explode at the lightest touch. Fire and metal shrapnel had burst forth, killing several of their party without a single orc blade falling.
The gleeful shrieks and hollers made by the orcs as they watched the elves demise with each exploding landmine still echoed in Legolas's ears and made his blood boil. The vile creatures had rejoiced as they watched their traps go off one by one across the line of wide-eyed elves.
Legolas could admit his pride was hurt as well as his heart, for he had never fallen to such trickery before.
The sound of the explosion flashed across his mind's eye. A mine had gone off to his right. The blast had sliced like daggers through his sensitive elf ear-drums causing him to be temporarily crippled by the pain searing through his skull.
One of his men who went by the name Ferion had stepped on the hidden explosive and had been ripped to shreds in the blink of an eye. Ferion's blood and bits of flesh and bone still clung to Legolas's clothing.
Tauriel had been beside an explosion on the other side of the line and the elf who had triggered the trap had perished instantly. But, Legolas had heard Tauriel scream from more than just surprise; a long, slender piece of metal shrapnel had embedded itself into her side.
At the time, Legolas had still expected them to turn the fight around; getting help for his friend in the aftermath. But between the multiple ground mines and well-prepared orcs, they had been unable to win, and only four of them remained.
An older elf by the name of Gadrion was tied to Legolas's left, while the quaking Nordirion was to his right. Tauriel was to his back on the other side of the large stone that they were all tied to.
"I don't want to die." Nordirion's voice trembled, "I didn't even say goodbye to my amil *mother* or nesa *sister* this morning, I expected we'd be back by the evening meal."
"You'll see your mother again." Tauriel whispered words of reassurance, "Be strong. Help will come soon"
But Legolas wasn't so sure of his Guard Captain's statement. After being thrown to the ground by one of the largest orcs he had ever encountered, the creatures had bound his hands and covered his face so that the distance traveled and landmarks along the way were completely hidden to him; he was almost positive it was the River Celduin that he was hearing in the distance, but that river ran a long and winding course through leagues and leagues of grassland, veering off and running to either the Iron Mountains to the north or ending in the Sea of Rhun to the south. If a search party was in fact coming to their rescue, he wasn't sure how long it would take for them to find them.
Twisting his wrists, Legolas discretely tested the ropes that held him. To his disappointment, they were painfully secure. The thick, scratchy rope they all shared around their chests was secured tightly as well.
Though they had attacked the band of orcs midday, night had now fallen and the autumn chill settled on the land. A clear night sky full of starlight brought some comfort to the captive elves, but the direness of their situation hung heavy on them all.
"Pick one for now." A large orc that was seated over by a campfire a few yards away ordered a smaller, hunched back orc.
"But we're starving." The smaller orc hissed. Legolas saw the putrid green and yellow eyes glance their way. "We've had nothing but rabbits and ground squirrels for weeks. Let us have two." The creature begged in a shrill voice.
The larger orc looked their way—small, pointed teeth could been seen as the creature stared at them, mouth agape and salivating at the thought of elven flesh.
"Oh Eru." Nordirion cried quietly to himself.
"Quiet!" Legolas hissed. A part of him felt guilty for chiding the scared elf for he knew he was young and inexperienced, but the prince also knew that if the orcs saw his weakness they'd likely pick him out of the group.
The orc stood from its seat on a toppled stone pillar and walked with the hunchback orc to where Legolas and the others were tied.
Nordirion was directly facing the camp and therefore could see as the two monsters walked towards them, hunger in their eyes.
Legolas closed his eyes as he felt the ropes around his chest tremble from Nordirion's fright. He tried to calm himself in the hopes of resonating the quiet to the shaking elf. A wave of calm washed over him and he knew Tauriel was doing the same on the other side.
A sludgy snort and cough came from the large orc as he and the smaller orc slowly walked around the monolith, examining all the prisoners.
Gadrion, an older elf with much more battlefield experience, remained stoic as the orc leaned into him and sniffed.
The hairs on Legolas's neck rose at the close proximity of the filthy creatures. Trying the ropes around his wrists again in hopes of some change, he was once again met with only disappointment.
"This one." The large orc smiled fiendishly while pointing at Nordirion, he's young and tender."
Legolas's heart fell heavy in his chest. From behind him he heard Tauriel's quiet gasp.
"I want to play with this one." The small orc to his left snickered.
"Don't touch me you vile creature." Tauriel snapped.
The thought of Tauriel being harmed in any way sent an icy dagger through Legolas's heart and he turned to his left as far as he could, "Do not touch her. Take me instead!"
The orc slithered it's way over to him and got within mere inches of the prince's face. Cocking its head, the vulture-looking creature sniffed again.
"Why should I listen to you?" The orc's jaw snapped twice like a snapping turtle.
"This, first." The larger orc interrupted. Waiving seven other orcs over to them, three lined themselves up face to face with the prisoners.
The orc now standing in front of Legolas was large and black with a short upturned snout and tight, cracked lips that displayed a row of pointed, yellow teeth.
The prince almost gagged as the creature exhaled in front of him. The smell of rotten flesh and dung was enough to send him hurling. But before he lost the contents of his stomach, the orc in front of Nordirion shouted a command and the creature in front of him slammed a large, rough hand against his throat, pinning him firmly to the stone.
"Take this one." Legolas heard the orc to his right order and the ropes around his chest loosened.
"No, Eru. Please. No." Nordirion pleaded as two orcs grabbed his arms and yanked the terrified elf towards the center of camp.
With the ropes loosened, Legolas strained to get free of the creature's grasp. Shaking side to side was not producing anything, so he went for a front kick that landed square in the creatures abdomen, causing it to cripple over in pain.
The hold on his throat released and Legolas dove to the ground and rolled, avoiding another orcs attempt to grab him.
Hands still tied behind his back, the prince nimbly leapt up from the ground and swung around, kicking an oncoming orc across the face and slamming the creature to the ground.
Just as he took a step toward the orcs dragging Nordirion towards the center of camp, something struck him hard from behind.
A splitting pain erupted in the back of his skull and he was thrown forward onto his knees. He tried to regain his stance. He tried to lift his head from it's bowed position, but the muscles spasmed in retaliation. Moving his eyes to look further in front of him caused the earth to swoosh back and forth in a sickening motion to where he lost his balance and fell on his side.
Trying to regain his equilibrium, Legolas felt a large hand at the back of his neck lift him off the ground and march him back toward his place on the stone.
There, he was shoved back to his original place. Slowly, his head cleared. He heard Noldorin scream, but he couldn't see him. His vision still swam slightly, and a dull, vibrating pain emanated from the wound on the back of his head.
"This should stop you from trying that again." The orc who he had kicked in the chest growled, and out of the corner of his eye Legolas saw a black form swish downward.
A mind shattering pain burst from the prince's left ankle as the orcs wooden mace slammed into the his leg.
The prince bit down hard on his tongue to prevent himself from yelling from the intense agony that filled his body. One of the first rules of battle was to never show weakness. Don't let the enemy know they're breaking you. And that's exactly what Legolas, Prince of the Woodland Realm did, though it took every ounce of strength he had.
The bones were shattered. Pain ran up his leg like electric tentacles, burning every muscle fiber and bone they met.
Through the haze of pain, Legolas heard more screams, but they were not his own. The blackness approached the corners of his vision and as he looked to his right, all he could see was the orange glow of the campfire against the darkness, and black figures moving in front of it.
The screams were rising in volume and length. Legolas's heartbeat slammed against his chest at the agonizing sound. He craned his stiff neck to try and see who the owner of the screams was, but the orc who he had assaulted punched him back—head cracking against the stone—where blackness overtook him.
The crackling of a fire was the first thing that met the prince's ears. Slow, steady popping, a log shifting as the fire ate away at it's fibrous bones. There was another sound that was less familiar, a crunching, moist movement he couldn't place.
Then, within the blackness came the pain, blooming forth from below, it crawled up to him from the void. His lower leg, that's where it was coming from. He vaguely remembered something happening to his leg, but couldn't quite bring the memory back from the fog. He tried to move his head and was met with a long, electric shock that started from the base of his skull and stretched into his shoulders. The ligaments of his neck had been stretched too long with his hanging head and now protested any movement.
The crunching, slurping sounds met his ears again and he felt his stomach churn.
Then, the smell hit him. Wood burning. Smoke. And, something else. Something wrong. Burnt. Charred. Blackened. He couldn't place what the smell was but it sickened him.
Lifting his head, the prince fought through his muscle's protests and leaned his head back gently against the cold, bumpy stone.
It was still dark, though he felt the dawn creeping towards the horizon; the stars had dwindled at their posts in the night sky.
From the corner of his eye he saw the fire. Glowing in it's fiery brilliance, the shadowy figures now huddled around it. That's where the gruesome noises were coming from, and that smell.
One darkened figure's head wrenched to the side, and Legolas saw something tear from the object it was holding.
Slurp. Chomp. Mash. The sounds were of something being eaten.
Moving his eyes from the fire, he tried to make sense of the darkened figures. Four orcs were hunched around the campfire eating. Two others orcs—whose faces he could see better as the firelight danced across their grotesque features—stood nearby eating at something as well.
Around the campfire were several large rocks, remnants of an old shrine of some sort. It now lay broken into chunks across the ground. There were things laid across some of the stones— tools, weapons—that was the best he could make out from where he was tied.
Then, as the prince continued to strain his eyes to focus, he saw something protruding upwards from a rock on the other side of the fire. An orc's body blocked most of his view.
The prince strained his blue eyes to make out what was on the rock. Something brown in color. It reminded him of long strands of wheat grass after it had been cut down for harvest. Just before the object disappeared behind the orc's back, he saw a lighter color, a pale color with a purple undertone.
The orc who's back faced him decided to get up from it's place at the fire, and what met Legolas's eyes made his insides twist.
It was a head. The object on the rock was a dismembered head. The slack jawed face was that of the young elf Nordirion, and the sounds of something being eaten was the young elf's corpse—his torso still skewered above the fire.
Legolas felt like he had been hit in the head again. His heart cried for the young elf and his demise; guilt clawed at him for his own inability to save Nordirion from such a unspeakable fate.
From behind him, Legolas heard a faint cry. Tauriel. She was quietly weeping; most likely having witnessed Nordirion's slaughter in its gruesome entirety.
Legolas yearned for words; any words that would offer her comfort, anything to mend her hurting heart. But, as usual—he had none. And from where he was tied he could not even offer his friend any form of physical comfort.
The light of dawn began to creep over the forest trees in the distance, the soft morning light gliding across each blade of grass in the field.
Watching the grasses sway in the gentle morning breeze only caused a sickness to rise in Legolas's stomach, for it only reminded him of the long strands of brown hair that still hung from Nordirion's severed head.