Chapter 4

Legolas woke up slowly, his entire body aching – something he'd never experienced before. Even after a battle, his body covered in the slices of axes and punctures of arrows, muscles ripped from exertion, he'd always healed overnight and been fine the next day.

Now however, he could feel the heavy shadow of pain all over him, the pain in his hips from countless, severe intrusions, his jaw ached from being constantly open and full, even his stomach hurt...perhaps this is what starving felt like, he'd never before felt the sensation of hunger.

Food was necessary for an elf's body, though it did not require much. One meal would suffice for a week since elven metabolisms were slow, but he had not had a morsel to eat for…a month? A year? He no longer knew. The eternal sun outside made his world constant, dreadful day.

He thought perhaps he would be permitted a day off today, after all he went through yesterday, Saruman may take pity on him…or just not be interested in using someone so very used. He hoped.

He was lying on his stone bed, pretending it was a mattress and pillow of goose down and Aragorn was beside him, when the door opened. He didn't open his eyes, clinging to some stupid thought in his starved delusion that if he couldn't see them, they couldn't see him, they couldn't touch him.

"Up, Elf." A snarling, screeching voice cried, making him flinch, his eyes opening on instinct. The orc with the face of a grotesque bird was there, along with one that vaguely resembled a warthog. When Legolas did not rise, the hog faced one grabbed his arm hard enough to bruise and pulled him to his feet.

His legs were too weak to support him and he fell, caught only after hitting his head on the stone of his cot. His vision swam at the impact and he felt himself pulled over a large, firm shoulder and carried out.

He found himself on the floor of Saruman's chamber once again, the hot, thick trickle of blood making its way down to his way, the corner of his bed having made short work of the skin just below his hair line.

"Why is he bleeding?" Saruman asked in a bored voice, looking at the pig orc.

"He must have fallen." he replied, his voice barely even resembling a voice at all, twisted and thick with Black Speech. Saruman sighed and waved them out, standing up.

"Are you dizzy, Legolas?" he asked, tilting his head back to inspect the wound. Legolas closed his eyes as the world swung like a pendulum in front of him and he nodded, gritting his teeth. If he had anything of interest in his stomach, he would have emptied it out onto Saruman's satin slippers there and then. "Ah, not a problem…it may even help." He said. Legolas, even in his concussed state, picked up on that. What fresh hell was he planning for him today?

"Please, M-Master…I cannot take any more…"

"Silence." He barked and Legolas obeyed, tears welling in his eyes.

"I am curious about you, Legolas, about your body… I've never been well acquainted with Elves, besides those pompous fouls on the White Council. Wood Elves…the fascinate me. Your bodies, your skill, your strength…I wish to know more about it. I wish to challenge you." Legolas did not dare open his eyes, lest the world crumble away from him entirely, so he lowered his head.

"What do you wish me to do, Master?" he asked, his words feeling like acid on his tongue. Saruman chuckled.

"I want to test your Elven healing powers, Legolas. See how much you can withstand, since there's no worry of you dying.." Legolas looked at his master with wide eyes, his stomach rolling as the wizard's face mutated to his eyes, like he was looking at him through disturbed water. "Does that frighten you?" the blue eyes looked down again, he heard chuckling before talon-like hands wretched his chin back up. "Come now, little elf, answer your Master's question." He said, holding his chin still.

Legolas glared at him defiantly so Saruman grinned and nodded. Legolas suddenly felt a burning hot pain across his back. He screamed.

"Lady Galadriel, I beg you…find Legolas. You are my last hope, please…" Aragorn begged, the knees of his breeches dirtied from kneeling before her. She peered down at him with her piercing stare, his blood chilled at the feeling.

"Very well…I will help you. But I cannot promise you pleasant results." She warned and he nodded, thanking her profusely. She sighed and turn away from them, gliding towards the large looking glass which seemed to grow from the very wall.

She stared into the pane, her fingers very slowly stirring the water in the basin beside her. Aragorn and Faramir stood as still as they could, not wishing to disturb her as she searched for Legolas.

They watched, anxious and excited, as her eyes began to glow an icy blue, ethereal light beaming from her skin like sun rays. She muttered in a language neither of them knew, it certainly was no form of Elvish they were familiar with, nor did it sound like Elvish: it was harsher, angrier, demanding.

Suddenly, the Lady Galadriel cried out, her body crumpling to the floor. Aragorn leapt to help her but Faramir held him back, shaking his head, his eyes fixed on the she-elf. She was panting harshly, her voice escaping her in pained, shivering gasps that had no amiable place on anyone's lips.

"Aragorn…" she whispered in her native tongue. Aragorn snatched his arm from his companion's grasp and approached her, taking her outstretching and shaking hand. Her other hand was clenched in a fist so hard he could see blood running down her wrist.

"My Lady-"

"He is near…so very near…so much pain…!" her voice was barely more than a whisper now, tears rolling down her luminous cheeks.

"Where, my Lady? Please, tell me where he is!"

"The sun…it burns always… Such pain and fear…the stench…orcs…!" Aragorn frowned at the fragments of information. "The Eye…" she whispered finally before collapsing against him, her face serene again. Celeborn ran in at this point, rushing to his wife's side.

"I…I don't know what happened.." Aragorn said.

"It is alright, Your Highness, she just needs to rest… Was it of help to you?" he asked, his voice edged slightly with resentment as he lifted his wife up in his arms as if she were nothing but a child.

"Yes…I think so. We must be leaving, please give her m most sincerest of apologies and thank her for assistance." He said with a bow before leaving.

"Well? Do you know where he is?" Faramir asked his king, having to run slightly to catch up to Aragorn's long purposeful stride. His eyes were bright with life and excitement.

"Sauron…" he hissed. "We must send word to the troops. We will war if we must."

Legolas could not scream anymore. He was more exhausted than he imagined anyone had even been, yet Saruman and his team of torturers showed no signs of lag.

Blood dripped or clung, dried, to every part of his shivering body, the smell making him nauseous. Electric sparks carried their spasms through his veins, his limps ached from constant suspension and manipulation. The burns on his skin were healing buts slowly and so very painfully he felt faint if he thought about it too much.

"Interesting…" Saruman's voice cut through his pounding head like an axe. He would have preferred an axe. "I can see you are healing but it is so slow…could it be that exhaustion slows down your ability to regenerate?" he asked, obviously expecting an answer as he stood in front of the elf, one long pointed nail pressed into the underside of his chin so he was looking up at him. "Poor dear…can you even hear me?" he asked, not even a trace of sympathy in his baritone mocking.

Legolas tried to reply but he couldn't even move his face, just stare up at him, helpless.