IV

Aragorn did not know how long he ran without stopping. When he passed a town, he immediately searched out a stable, and begged a horse from the stableman, promising payment later. At last, after Aragorn unknowingly had shed tears of desperation, rolling down his face unnoticed, the stable keeper agreed to the bargain, though figuring that he would never see the dirty, desperate man again.

All the terrain began to look the same after the first few days. He pushed himself more than he ever would have before; going through icy cold rain, trudging through mud, and climbing mountains. When his mount grew tired, he went to another stable and bargained to trade for a fresh mount. And with a new steed, he quickly made his way towards Imladris, stopping for nothing. All his thoughts were focused upon his friend, who had sacrificed all for him to have freedom. So focused was he, upon arriving in Imladris, that he did not realize he was driving himself to the point of exhaustion.

Any wounds that he had acquired while within the grasp of the Uruk-hai were forgotten. The burning red-yellow sun beat down upon his back and irritated his injuries, but he paid no heed. When he stumbled he would merely stand up once again, and the next moment he would forget that he had even fallen. He knew his horse must be just as weary as himself, and he often praised the horse, and gave him his own meals.

His stomach ached and begged for food, but he would usually have no more than a piece of dried meat or dried fruit for an entire day. There would be times when he simply wished to fall down and sleep, but he forced himself to continue on, thinking of Legolas, and how he would be faring even worse than himself. And with that thought in his mind, he rapidly made his way to the one place he called home.

When Aragorn first saw the gates of Imladris, he nearly fell off his mount with relief and fatigue. He hastily made his way through the winding road that led to the Last Homely House and wearily half fell off his horse when he arrived in the courtyard. At once, elves hurried around, calling to get Mithrandir and Hir Elrond to the courtyard with no delay.

Aragorn leaned on his horse, half conscious and half in the realm of sleep. The horse snorted and nudged Aragorn softly as first came Elrond from a doorway and following closely behind him, Mithrandir. Elrond hurried over to him with a concerned look in his grey eyes. His keen gaze swept over his son's battered body and flicked back up to his eyes.

"Mani marte?" he asked. "Man le carel sí? Mas ha Legolas?"

"We were captured. He was taken. He's gone. They took him."

And yet all hope is not yet lost.

"Ú-Chenion," said Elrond, confusion marring his fair features and clouding his eyes. "Man? Manen?"

"They ambushed us. There was no hope for our victory. On the second night, Legolas created a diversion. I escaped and came here."

Aragorn's voice was strangely flat as he told his tale.

Elrond stared at Aragorn with an odd feeling that Aagorn was leaving something out. Something vital.

"Aragorn." Elrond said his son's name slowly, using his true name. "What is it? What are you not telling me?"

Aragorn brought his own stormy grey-green, deadened eyes up to meet those of his foster fathers and suddenly, Elrond understood. "Where are they taking him?" he asked, though he already knew and hated the answer.

His son's eyes told him what words did not.

Mordor. Where the Shadows lie; Where all are condemned to die.

Gandalf understood as well, though if one were to look upon him they would not realize. His aged face and icy blue ices betrayed no emotion.

"Mar bedithach?" asked Aragorn.

Elrond stared at him. "On the morrow; at first light."

Aragorn inclined his head. "Very well, I shall be there." He turned to leave, but Elrond grabbed his arm. "You can barely walk! How can you expect to continue to ride with no rest? You are no good to anyone half-dead!"

"Exactly as I did before," the ranger replied shortly. Then switching to Elvish, he continued, "Mas bedithach? You need me. Besides that, I shall not abandon my friend to death. Or worse. He as good as gave his life for me. I coming whether it be your will or not."

For a brief moment, they were locked in a battle of wills before Elrond threw up his hands in a exasperated gesture. "I concede, nin-ion! You shall come, but at least let me see to your wounds before we begin our trek."

Aragorn had no choice, for as he took a step back, he fell unconscious.

__

Darkness; voices. Cruel whips and pain.

"Drag'm over, maggot!"

Poisonous fumes. Shadows. Nightmares.

"'E's awake, make'm run, fool!"

Immortality. Is. A. Curse.

"Elves don't die easy. Don't worry 'bout killing him. 'E's survived this long, 'hasn't 'e?"

Is my heart broken? Am I to be denied the one thing I crave: death? Must I survive?

"Through'm in the cell!"

Yes.

A stifling quiet. The prisoner in the dark cell seemed to hear noting but his own ragged breathing. The black fumes that surrounded him seemed to suffocate him. For a moment, the captive not only forgot why he was here, but also his own name. When awoken to the stifling darkness, his first thought had been that he had always been there, and his thoughts were evil. But then, he had remembered.

I am a noble born prince.

From the silence around him, Legolas judged he was alone. Which meant Aragorn had escaped. Then he corrected himself; Strider had escaped. He knew not what evils thrived here, but for Aragorn's and Middle-earth's sakes, he would not even think of Isildur's heir for fear that Sauron could enter his mind. As he realized what would no doubt befall him here, a sort of cold sorrow clutched at his heart. No one would ever save him here.

An man harthach? he asked himself. To which he replied, because that is his name.

He clenched his teeth. Every movement pained him so greatly that there would have been no difference if ten cruel Orcs, all whipping and beating him, surrounded him. The air was dense with sweat, blood and evil. He took in ragged breaths, determined not to let any tears fall. Yet, just as Estel inspired hope, Mordor inspired death and hopelessness. He would be doomed to perish here, though whether by becoming an Orc or finally getting the death he wished for, he did not know and what he had no control over, frightened him.

His blond tresses hung in clumps of blood and his entire body screamed with pain. Though a black despair hung around him and smothered his heart, somewhere, he knew, that he still hoped. Which was no doubt a folly for one captured in Mordor. But his thoughts clashed as he realized that even his hope seemed bleak. Yet even his hope seemed black. But he would stay strong for his friend, who was no doubt the reason Legolas was here. He must have been foolish enough to mention his name freely while within the vicinity of Orcs while in his home.

Suddenly Legolas jerked his head up.

Voices; distant at first but slowly growing louder. As they drew ever nearer, he decided that they were arguing. But then again, thought Legolas, wryly, when do they ever not argue?

At that moment, a door burst open, and though Mordor is a very dark place, it seemed brilliantly bright for a single heartbeat. This was only because Legolas had been in the pitch-black darkness. Now, however, the light of Mordor seemed even worse than the blackness of his cell because of the ominous dimness that seemed to penetrate the very air he breathed.

"Get up, elf!" snarled an Orc.

Legolas stayed kneeling on the ground with his head lowered. But as the Orc drew nearer, his bright silver eyes flicked up to meet the ugly, twisted eyes of the Orc who was called by the name of: "Drôkdush". For a moment, Drôkdush halted, locked in a tormented gaze with Legolas.

In those few moments as he stared into his prisoner's eyes, he almost remembered what it was like to not be the monster that he had become, but the next moment, he had forgotten that he had even had such thoughts. He growled with hatred at the prisoner before him. Then, grinning with pleasure at the thought of causing pain to the fair creature before him, he viciously grabbed the elf by his hair and yanked him up.

"Do as I tell you, creature!" he growled. "You will not like the consequences."

Legolas stumbled out from his cell. He was weak from the abuse that had rained upon him during the trek to Mordor and now even weaker from the very essence of evil which hovered around him.

Who wants to live forever?

"Get moving, elf! There'll be no procrastinating!"

Not I.

"You'll get no where by standing there. MOVE!"

Yet does anyone ever really have a choice? Is one ever allowed to simply choose death? Mortality? Fatality?

Somehow, Legolas kept pace with the Orcs, who drove him ruthlessly, though with more than the occasional kick. And unquestionably more than the occasional curse.

Nay.

"Where are you leading me?" Legolas half-growled at the Orcs. He had finally grown accustomed enough to the foul air to find the strength to speak without choking. He had spent most of the trek from his cell to his unknown destination finding the strength to merely breathe without coughing up his lungs. Or at least, that was how he felt. His entire body screamed with pain and disgust as he struggled to keep pace with his revolting captors. He hated feeling so weak and yet his body refused to respond to his mind. Every breath was a battle, and at every moment he felt he might die. Yet, to die meant release and life, and Legolas knew he would not be allowed such gifts for a long time yet.

"The Great Eye wishes to speak with you," Drôkdush snapped.

Despite the dead seriousness of the situation, Legolas grinned crookedly and remarked, "Mayhap one can speak to an eye, but I am curious as to how it replies. Where does the eye speak out of? And for that matter, how does It listen? One would think it would simply be the same as speaking to a wall?" Then, noting how Drôkdush had no reply, he continued, "Or with you..." Legolas struggled to keep the cocky grin on his face, determined not to let the Orcs know how much pain it was causing him. He clenched his fists as beads of sweat formed upon his brow.

Though deep in his heart Drôkdush held nothing but the deepest loathing for his Master, he took the insult personally because his prisoner was laughing at him.

"You'll find out how, elf!" he spat, saying the word elf as an epithet of the deepest hatred and scorn. "And I can guarantee that you will not enjoy it, let alone survive it!"

At this, the levity of the situation finally hit Legolas and his grin slipped off his face. He was going to speak with the "Great Eye". The "Great Eye" was Sauron.

Legolas was going to speak with the same Dark Lord who had taken over Middle-earth and was planning to do so again. The same Dark Lord who was trained by Morgoth. The same Sauron who was once called Gorthaur the Cruel. The same evil being who helped torture and mutilate Elves to become Orcs. Drôkdush suddenly thrust him into a large dark chamber. The doors slammed shut behind him.

Who waits forever anyway?

__

Mani marte? - What happened?
Man le carel sí? - What are you doing here?
Mas ha Legolas? - Where is Legolas?
Ú-Chenion - I do not understand
Man? - When?
Manen? - How?
Mar bedithach? - When will you go?
Mas bedithach? - Where will you go?
An man harthach? - Why do you still hope?