Thank you all for your reviews and for adding my story to the Story Alert or to the Favorite Stories list!

Chapter 3

The Choice

They locked him in a dungeon of a tower. The cell was surprisingly spacious – it did not have furniture to fill the space – and Thranduil paced inside it. To the left and to the right, then to the left again. He stopped in the middle and listened – nothing. Just some noises from afar, which was only to be expected, taking into account orcs had never been known for walking silently. He clenched his left fist and continued his pacing. He would have also clenched his right one, but his arm was so swollen by then, he could not move it at all. It was probably broken. It should have worried him but it was not. Legolas' whereabouts were much more important at the moment. The prince was still in Gundabad, but where exactly? There was always the option of asking his guards, but it was very doubtful they would be polite enough to answer.

The door opened, the metallic groan resonating all over the cell.

"The Master wants to see you," an orc said at the threshold. That one did not smile but grimaced like all of them.

"What Master?" said the Elvenking.

"The one that imprisoned you and your bastard."

The orc had hardly finished the sentence when Thranduil's left fist connected to his jaw.

"I will not kill you because I do not have my sword right now and do not wish to dirty my hands," Thranduil said, letting the orc fall to the ground.

"And also because your son will be killed if you do," another voice said.

The main orc, the one Thranduil had been trying to negotiate with at the gate – if that could be called negotiation – was standing at the door, holding a club.

"He will not be killed," said Thranduil, his head high. "You need him."

"We needed him to get you." The main orc shrugged his shoulders. "Now he is just a nice but not indispensable supporting feature. Follow me, Elvenking."

He did not want to, but there was little choice. The main orc stepped aside and six other orcs approached Thranduil and roughly grabbed him by the arms. Then they dragged him through the corridor and several spiral staircases, up and down, up and down. The air was suffocating. Their final stop was a large hall with a table in the middle; too civilized to belong to an orc (he did not even know they ever used tables).

The main orc leaned on the table, his arms crossed. He said:

"Let's talk, Elvenking. I am Hagob the Invincible, the new leader of the Gundabad orcs."

"Of what is left of the Gundabad orcs," Thranduil said. "From what I have seen, there are more trolls than orcs in Gundabad at the moment."

"This may or may not be so," the orc said, smiling again. He was as ugly as all of them, but clearly more intelligent, which, in the present circumstances, was a disadvantage. "You must do as I say or your son will be killed."

Thranduil looked him straight into the eyes. It was satisfying to see the orc's uneasiness.

"Go to Rivendell and to Lothlórien and tell them to leave the Master alone," the orc said. "You must also…"

"I must serve you and do as your master says. You have already told me that. Do you have anything to add? Do not waste my time and yours, go and kill someone of your kind instead and do the Middle Earth a favor."

Thranduil's pierced him with his glare once more and, that time, Hagob returned his gaze, his nostrils flaring, his teeth bare.

"You will live to regret your decision," the orc said, tilting his head to the side and pursing his lips. "Be prepared not to see your son ever again."

When Thranduil returned to his cell, it was equally big but much colder. He sat on the pile of straw, careful not to dirty himself. Be prepared not to see your son ever again. His head was turning around, and his pulse had quickened. It probably meant something, but it was irrelevant. All he needed was to put all the distractions aside and think, simply think, coldly and calmly, like he always did. He got up but had to sit down immediately, leaning on the wall. It was cold and, at the same time, suffocating. Be prepared not to see your son ever again. Maybe he should have agreed to go to Rivendell and Lothlórien? Just to gain some time, of course.

There was a noise to his left. It sounded as though someone were talking in a very low voice. Then the voice became louder, sounding like a distant and muffled cry. Thranduil got to his feet. His son's voice was unmistakable. The cry came again, louder and, his was sure of it, even more desperate than the first time. Thranduil approached the bars, his chest tightening.

"Call Hagob right now," he said.

The orc guard looked at him and moved away lazily. It took Hagob the Invincible about five minutes to arrive, five minutes during which Thranduil's pace was gradually increasing.

"Have you changed your mind, Elvenking?" Hagob said.

"Bring me to the prince right now."

"You will see him," Hagob said, smiling. "I can't promise you'll like the sight, though."

The cell Legolas was in was considerably smaller. It was also contiguous to his own cell. Legolas was lying on the stone floor, his head leaning on the wall, his eyes closed. Thranduil felt his vision clouding, his ears were pounding. There was blood on Legolas' face and clothes. It was irrelevant right now, he could think about it later. Except that he could not. It was relevant, very relevant, and had to be dealt with immediately.

"I want to talk with the prince alone," Thranduil said, moving slowly towards the orcs.

They hesitated. Hagob crossed his arms, took a step back and then gave a hesitant nod.

"Very well, Elvenking," the orc said. "Then we will resume our conversation."

They exited the cell. They would be near without a doubt, eager to come at the slightest noise, at the slightest move.

The king approached the prone figure and held him. Legolas opened his eyes very slowly. He was an elf; his eyes were not supposed to be closed.

"What were you thinking when you came here?" Thranduil said in a whisper. "I told you to go to the North, to find Strider. Since when have you been ignoring my orders?"

"It was not an order, just a simple recommendation," Legolas said even lower.

They stared at each other for some time, then the prince closed his eyes, and coughed, his whole body shaking. There was blood on his lips. Thranduil examined the cell; there was not even a drop of water in that accursed place.

"I needed answers to my questions," Legolas said, his eyes still closed.

"What questions?"

There was little need in asking, the answer was already clear. There was silence between them; it was not heavy but still uncomfortable. Then Legolas said:

"You are here because of me, and I am very sorry."

He did not ask what the king's plans were, if any. It was obvious that orcs would be listening. Thranduil looked at his son, scrutinizing his face. Even with his eyes closed Legolas managed to look resigned.

"You must go to your cell," a hoarse voice said.

Thranduil turned around. An orc guard was standing there alone, armed only with his sword. There was no one else at the corridor. He looked at Legolas; his head had fallen to his chest. It was now or never.

Even using only one hand, to disarm an orc had been easier than Thranduil had thought. The silly creature had been too surprised and even shocked to oppose resistance, and was soon on his knees in front of the Elvenking. That was the position Thranduil loved, that was what he needed – subordination. He approached Legolas, who was making a strange guttural sound while breathing. There were very good doctors in Thranduil's Halls in Mirkwood. And if they turned out not to be enough, he would call Elrond. He would hate to ask anything to the Lord of Rivendell, but he would, he most certainly would. He looked at the orc, lying half-stunned on the floor.

"Do you want to die?" Thranduil said. The orc shook his head. "Then do as I say, and I will spare your life. Lead us out of the prison right now."

"Others will see," the orc said, his eyes sparkling with hatred and fear.

"Then find the way where they will not."

That way indeed existed. It was underground, which meant going down hundreds of stairs. Legolas, who could hardly move his legs, had to be dragged. It was not difficult, or would not have been if Thranduil had been using his both hands. Anyway, it would all be over soon, they would be free.

"Here," the orc said, pointing to an interminable spiral staircase, illuminated by dim light. "Go up on your own."

"And you will call the others in the meantime," Thranduil said. "No. Go in front of us. Attempt something, and you are dead."

They climbed and climbed, and the light was still as dim as before. Legolas, thankfully, had recovered some of his strength and managed to climb on his own. His clothes were still wet with blood. Once they were out, his injuries would have to be tended immediately.

The Sun appeared unexpectedly, and Thranduil had to cover his eyes with his hand. They were out of the fortress, and the king's grip on the orc's filthy collar tightened.

"Lead us out of Gundabad," Thranduil said.

He could feel the creature trembling, with hatred or fear, or probably both. Then Thranduil heard the strident noise of something big and heavy falling to the ground. He looked around and saw trolls with catapults, throwing enormous stones into the air. His sight, as sharp as his hearing, distinguished birds, flying proudly above the mountain. Some of them had already been hit by the stones and were now lying motionless on the ground. They were eagles. Thranduil waved to them. He was still wearing his considerably dirtied but still bright red cloak. They would see him, had to.

He was indeed seen, not by the eagles, but by the two orcs commanding the trolls. They shouted something in their appalling language; one of them ran towards him and Legolas. Thranduil was still holding the orc's sword. He could kill two, three, four trolls, and much more orcs. But what then? He waved once more; the birds were now flying in circles, crying anxiously.

Several orcs were running towards them now. What then? Then they would kill him. Worse even – they would kill Legolas. One of the eagles was flying towards them, and just a second later the bird was near Thranduil. Now it was the question of speed. Thranduil dragged the already unconscious Legolas and put him on the eagle's back. The orc, whose collar the king was still holding, stretched his hand towards the prince, and, a second later, was silent forever – Thranduil had pierced him with his own sword. The orcs were just at several steps from them now. It was not reasonable, but Thranduil could almost feel their breath, distinguish their rotten teeth, their blood stained eyes. It was indeed unreasonable and therefore dangerous. He had to think clearly, there was no reason why he would not.

Thranduil put his leg over the eagle's back. The bird shook his head, and lifted his left wing; there was blood underneath it. The eagle looked at the king with his sad clever eyes. It was all perfectly clear. The bird had been injured by a stone, and could not carry them both; the weight would be too much for him.

Thranduil wished the decision had been easy to make, but it was not. He was the king, and his people needed him. Of course he also was not eager to die but it was irrelevant. What he wanted or did not want was unimportant; any desire, any emotion had to be ignored mercilessly. And yet he did not want his son to die. He frowned and bit his lip, staring down at the ground. He was the king and his people needed him, but he did not want his son to die. And that desire could not be ignored; it was neither unimportant nor irrelevant. Suddenly Thranduil felt calm and peaceful, strangely peaceful.

Legolas weakly attempted to move away from the eagle's back.

"Mount, quickly," Legolas said. "You must go away from here."

Thranduil stopped him, and there was a sparkle of understanding in Legolas' eyes, though he somehow seemed reluctant to believe it.

"Stay where you are," Thranduil said. "Hold on while you fly. The eagle is injured but I am sure he will not fall."

"No, you must leave, and I stay," Legolas said. "It was my fault after all. I went here to…" He coughed. "I went here to learn how my mother had died. You told me on Ravenhill she had loved me more than anyone, more than life. Yet, you have never talked about her. I wanted to know how…"

The orcs were almost there, and now Thranduil could indeed see his faces clearly, as though they were in one of his frequent nightmares.

"You are the king, your people need you," Legolas said. "I stay in Gundabad, and you must go."

The prince tried to move away, but was stopped by his father's iron grip once more.

"She died here, but you will not," Thranduil said. "You will not die here. This is my decision. Cling on this eagle. This is an order. Your king's order."

Thranduil nodded to the eagle and the bird straightened his wings with difficulty, the blood pouring from his left wing.

"Adar, baw!*" Legolas shouted, his voice muffled by the wind, he and the eagle already in the air.

"You will be a good king, ion nín," Thranduil whispered before repelling the first blow.

* Father, no, don't! (Sindarin)

Thank you very much for reading!