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Warning: This chapter contains scenes of torture and implied torture, without being graphic.

Chapter 4

The Special Chamber

The chain was short and hardly allowed him to approach the straw and to lie down. They took his cloak away, which was rather annoying, as he could have used it as a blanket. There was a dirty loaf of bread and a wooden mug of water on the floor. They were too repulsive to even think about trying them.

The door opened with a cringe, but Thranduil did not look at the newcomer. Whoever it was, it was irrelevant.

"Enjoying your stay, Elvenking?" Hagob the Invincible said.

Thranduil did not answer.

"Do you require anything more from us?" the orc said. "A servant maybe? Or your favorite wine from Lake-town? Pity about Lake-town by the way. Do you think Dale would provide you with similarly good wine?"

There was still no answer.

"You don't feel like talking, I see." The orc's voice was becoming annoyed. "Follow them then." He pointed to two guards standing behind him. "I could say please but you really don't have any choice."

Indeed he did not. They unchained him and escorted along long intricate corridors. There were rats looking at him with their small dark eyes; they must have been hungry. The ground was wet; water was dropping from the ceilings but it hardly mattered now. Thranduil's hair was already in a state it had not been for hundreds of years, hanging lifelessly along his shoulders, all its glisten forgotten. He approached the familiar door and was pushed inside.

Hagob closed the door from behind, leaving sentinels outside without a doubt.

"Do you want some wine, Elvenking?" the orc said, approaching the cupboard.

Thranduil inclined his head. He took the glass full of red liquid, his hand firm, his eyes unblinking, and drank it at a gulp. The orc stood there, smiling.

"Aren't you afraid of being poisoned?" Hagob said.

"And why would you do it?" Thranduil shrugged his shoulders slightly. "You think you need me."

"I think? Does that mean I don't really need you?"

"Wait and see."

The orc approached the table and stood there, his hands behind his back.

"Elvenking Thranduil, I order you to join us, and to do what I tell you to do," Hagob said in a carefully controlled tone. "You must also become intermediate between orcs and elves and humans. You must serve us. Do this and we'll spare your life."

The corners of Thranduil's lips twisted, his eyebrows wiggling.

"Your sense of humor is even better than I have thought," the Elvenking said. "You order me? That was the best joke I have heard in thousands of years."

Hagob gave him a glance; the orc's eyes were cold, hard and flinty.

"If it's a joke, you may laugh," Hagob said. "While chained to a wall. Guards!" Two orcs entered the room. "Bring him back to his cell and chain him up to the wall in such a way that he would not move a single muscle. We'll talk again in a couple of days, Elvenking, once you've become more docile."

"Then we will never talk again," Thranduil said.

He did not resist the guards; it would have been hopeless and would only give Hagob the additional reason for being amused. They followed the orders literally; he indeed could not move a single muscle.

He did not know how much time had passed. Hours, maybe days, maybe even weeks. His muscles were getting strained, his throat was dry. When was the last time he had drunk water? The dusty mud was still there, mocking him with its wooden irregular surface.

When the door of his cell finally opened with a groan, his eyes were closed, and he was hanging on the wall lifelessly. He opened them with a start. An elf's eyes were not supposed to be closed. There was only one guard that time. The orc unchained him and dragged along the corridors once more, into the familiar room.

"More wine, Elvenking?" Hagob said. The orc was sitting in the armchair near the table. "Or maybe you prefer some water?"

He got up and stood near Thranduil. The king suppressed a flinch. He was not frightened in the slightest but hated someone invading his personal space, trying, at the same time, to be intimidating. Stepping back, however, was out of question.

"Have you, by any chance, changed your mind?" the orc said.

The Elvenking smiled and moved towards the orc, careful not to touch him. Now it was Thranduil's time to be intimidating.

"Was your mother as repulsive as you are?" Thranduil whispered into the orc's ear. "I find it difficult to imagine a female orc but they must exist, I suppose."

At the end, it was Hagob who stepped back.

"A visit to our special chamber will certainly make you politer, Elvenking," the orc said through clenched teeth, biting his nails into his own palms.

There were corridors and more corridors, all of them long, intricate and wet. Thranduil lost his step twice and had to lean on the wall not to fall. The special chamber. He already knew what it was. It had not been that difficult to guess.

It was not actually that special, just a normal torture chamber, with its instruments. He had seen such chambers before. There was none in his Halls in Mirkwood, though. It was one thing to have dungeons, but to torment your prisoners? He, the Elvenking Thranduil, could have been implacable – some would even call him cruel – but he had never been merciless.

Hagob the Invincible was already there; he must have arrived through another door.

"Lie him down." The orc pointed to the bed covered with leather.

Two other orcs dragged Thranduil and sat him on the bed. They were all armed and he - that had to be admitted - was weak; the resistance would still be futile. Yet Thranduil felt himself struggling. Soon he was tied to the bed by leather strips.

"For the last time, Elvenking," Hagob said, "do you agree to collaborate with us?"

"For the last time, dumb creature," Thranduil said, lifting himself on his left elbow as much as his bonds would allow him, "no."

"You will die then. Very slowly."

Hagob inclined his head and a new orc came into Thranduil's view; he was wearing a leather apron. The Elvenking's heartbeat rose and he started to feel dizzy. His face, however, was neutral, he was sure of it.

The new orc, who could only be qualified as executioner, held big pliers. Struggling would still be useless, now even more than before, and yet…

It took Thranduil some time to thankfully realize it was not he who had screamed, but an orc with pliers, who was covering his face with one hand, blood pouring through his fingers with black nails. Another two blows in the face and two other orcs rolled screaming on the floor. They had done a rather poor job while tying him, too. Who would have said it would be that easy?

Hagob the Invincible was staying at the threshold, the irreplaceable smile on his face.

"Good, Elvenking," the orc said. "You've finally stopped being boring. But it won't lead you anywhere, you know. There're others outside this very door."

"Others?" Thranduil said, breathing heavily. "Are there per chance more orcs on Gundabad? I thought you were the only ones."

Hagob opened his mouth with the clear intention of saying something, but the blow in the face stopped him dead. It was satisfying to realize that even exhausted, thirsty, hungry and with one hand enabled, even without his sword, he could still overcome them.

Despite Hagob's threats, there were no one outside the chamber, and Thranduil ran. Running away was silly, unregal and downright humiliating. It was a long time ago since he had last run from anyone; maybe he never really had. It was a strategic move, however, nothing more and nothing less. Once he was free, they would pay, all of them. There were more orcs on Gundabad, of course there were. He was neither naïve nor delusional enough to believe they were only four or five. And yet they were few and could be quickly killed by his army, waiting, as he had ordered them, on the Grey Mountains.

He ran and ran, his breathing coming out in short gasps. His head was spinning, and his feet slid on the wet ground. He needed to find the exit, needed to find it now. That opportunity was too good to waste.

He brusquely turned to the right, and then stopped. He could have also turned to the left, or continue running straight. There was nothing that would indicate him which way to go, not a single hint. Thranduil sighed heavily and could not help pounding his fist against the wet stone wall several times. Then he stopped, his muscles stiff – there were steps behind him. There was no time to lose, and he followed the path he had chosen.

He ran more and more, his breath sounding like a whistle now; and the more he ran, the closer the steps behind him sounded. He doubled his speed, the muscles of his legs groaning in protest. If only he could hide somewhere and wait till they had passed. He looked to the left and to the right; there was nothing apart from the wall, wet, grey and appereantly thick. And yet, there was a small hole at the base of it. He bent over and examined it closely. He removed one stone, and the ground crumbled under his fingers. He withdrew some more stones and soil. The hole was now almost big enough to let him pass through it. He removed another stones and more wet ground; then some more. It was still very thin but it was enough.

Now he had to crawl, ripping his fine clothes on the dirty ground, dragging his right arm lifelessly behind him. He was digging like a mole, trying to form an underground passage, removing all small or big stones on his way. His fingers were bleeding; he had soil inside his mouth. Worse even - he was lost. He could end up anywhere, even right in the orcs' hands. He could even be trapped there forever. Not forever, until he had died.

A huge stone stood in his way, and he pushed it with all his force – it was unmovable. He pushed once more, veins swelling on his forehead, and had to bite his lip to suppress a groan. The stone was still there, at exactly the same place as before. There were voices outside. They must have found the passage and were now thinking how to dig through it. It would be too thin for any of the orcs right now, but it would take them nothing to enlarge it and then… He pushed the stone once more, unable to suppress a groan that time. It was all useless.

Soon he heard a movement, as though some creature was crawling and panting right behind him. Thranduil was trapped. He left the stone alone. It would have been useless and would only waste his strength, the little strength he had left.

Thranduil knew the orc was there when he felt being dragged by his legs. Do not dare to touch me; I can go on my own, he was going to say, but did not. He would not belittle himself by asking anything to those creatures. Once he was out of the hole, he stood up on his own, and was immediately tied and dragged alongside the corridor, back to where he had run from. Back to the special chamber. Hagob was inside the chamber. There was blood on his nose and lips. He was not smiling anymore.

"It was a very useless and a very stupid thing to do, Elvenking," the orc said. "Tie him to the bed again. Use chains on the top of strips this time."

Two orcs grabbed Thranduil roughly, and tied and chained him to the bed. His right hand, which he tried to ignore before, was on fire now. His clothes were hanging from him like rags. Hagob came near and looked at him from above.

"I realize it would be futile, but will still be nice and ask you one more time," Hagob said. "Will you join me?"

Thranduil looked at him, hoping to concentrate all his disdain, all his contempt and despite in one look. It must have worked – the orc stepped back, something close to fear in his eyes. Then Hagob approached the smoking chimney, took a hot iron poker with red point, and came near the bed. The orc's smile had returned.

"You will join us," Hagob said. "Or you'll die here."

He applied the poker to Thranduil's bare shoulder.

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