Chapter Six – Pit
Legolas' head was pounding. He couldn't tell where he was, if he was alive or dead, or how much time had passed since his last conscious thought.
The darkness was, if possible, even more dense than that of the cell. The floor was not stone, but more uneven than most of the rest of Mordor. He felt the ground, and realised that he didn't know what it was made of. The stench was unbelievable, and felt that he needed to see where he was.
The elf frisked himself desperately, looking for his light. Unfortunately, he couldn't find it, and was left to blunder around in the dark for something to guide his way. After a few steps, he tripped on the uneven floor and hit his head against a stone wall. The good news was that several large fragments fell off the rough wall. The bad news was that these fragments hit him on the head.
Ok, so he had two loose stones that could be struck together to make a spark. All he needed was something to light...
He tore off the sleeve of the shirt that had been ripped by the seventh balrog. He wrapped the end around his wrist, and struck the two stones together so that sparks ignited the fabric. Once his eyes had adjusted to the light, he saw what the floor was made of, and retched.
Bodies.
He could only see a small amount of the room, but didn't need to exercise his brain to realise that this was where Sauron stored all his dead foes. There were thousands upon thousands dead here. Legolas tried so hard not to be sick, and couldn't stop the tears flowing down his face. This was messed up...
He only just noticed a torch sticking out of one of the dead people's pockets before the fire went out. It wasn't very big, but it was safer than igniting a strip of fabric wrapped around his arm. He retrieved it and ignited it very quickly, using the embers of what had been his sleeve. It was only as it was lit did he realise who the previous owner had been, and choked back more tears.
Haldir of Lothlórien was dead. And lying just a few feet from him were the bodies of Frodo and Sam. Legolas went over to see them. They had both had their throats slit, and the elf didn't need to check their wrists to tell that they were dead, but he did so anyway, clinging vainly onto the hope that they might have survived. Sadly, that hope was extinguished very quickly. Muttering a short lament for them, he felt grief and shame crash over him.
He had failed them. If he hadn't risen to the bait that Sauron was so clearly offering him, they might have survived. Middle Earth might have been saved, and Haldir might have been spared. He couldn't prevent himself blaming his actions for all that was wrong with the world at the moment. Try as he might, he couldn't stop crying, both for the fallen hobbits and for the elf who had offered them compassion and kindness.
However, the elf knew that he had to get out, and warn the rest of the world that Sauron had the Ring. He looked around the room for the door.
Only there wasn't one.
It was only as he looked up that he noticed, two metres above his head, a wooden trapdoor. He was less than thrilled by this, as he had no means of getting up there. However, he noticed that he had hitherto overlooked the fact that Haldir, while dead, was also fully armed. The elf realised that the quiver was full, and (thankfully) the bow wasn't broken. Now all he had to do was find some rope.
The first place he looked was in Sam's pack. He felt terrible, picking over his friends' corpses like a thief in the night, but he also couldn't think of what else to do. Thankfully, the hobbit still had some in his pocket. Legolas could only assume that while Sauron was unafraid of pretty much anything, his servants were still afraid of elvish objects. Putting the torch between his teeth, he fired an arrow with the rope tied to the end at the trapdoor. It latched onto the doorframe and the elf put the bow back in Haldir's quiver. Then he started to climb the rope. He reached the top and pushed at the door, but that stayed firmly shut.
Of course. It would happen to be locked, wouldn't it?
The elf looked at the torch he still had between his teeth, and then back at the trapdoor. He suddenly knew how to get out.
Using one hand, he ignited the trapdoor, and when it had burnt to a crisp, he pushed at it. It broke, showering Legolas with charcoal. He pulled himself out of the pit, and as he climbed out, he marvelled at how the trapdoor was unguarded, until he heard the voices of orcs. He recognised one of them as Eglorz's, but couldn't make out the second one.
"...So anyway, seeing as how we've got a free shift-" Eglorz was saying, before he was interrupted by the second voice.
"We haven't, Eglorz. We've got to guard the death pit."
"Yeah, but there's no point. We've got no live in there."
Suddenly Legolas realised two things. One: this was the changeover of the guards. That's unusually convenient.
Two: the pit was not just a storage facility. It was also used for murder.
Just the thought of that made him sick. He ducked out of sight as the two orcs turned the corner. They both started at the sight of the charred remains of the trapdoor.
"If either of you raise the alarm, it will be the last thing you ever do."
The elf got to his feet and stared defiantly at the orcs as the stared, terrified, at the elf.
"No point guarding it, huh?" said the nameless orc. Eglorz glared at him.
Legolas silenced them with a look. "Now you two are going to play really nicely and tie yourselves up silently and jump down into that hole or else I will kill you."
"How?" Eglorz said furiously. "You have no weapon!"
Legolas glared at the orc and walked so his face was inches from Eglorz's. Without a word, he grabbed the orc's face and twisted it in a well-practised manoeuvre so that its neck broke.
"Like that," the elf said as Eglorz's body fell to the floor.
The nameless orc took a step back in fright, put his foot through the trapdoor and fell into the hole. Legolas unattached the rope and wound it around his wrist.
"Well you weren't tied up, but I guess it'll do." Legolas pulled free the dead orc's sword and walked away from the pit.
As Legolas walked of the tower, he left a merciless trail of destruction, including several stabbed orcs, dead men who had succumbed to the power of evil and more often than not, corridors that had been blown apart by fire and explosions. The merciless trail was partly out of need, but also partly out of vengeance. They had tormented him, killed his friends, thrown him in a cage with a balrog with no intentional way of defending himself, before tossing gis body into a pit. They had changed his mind, making him more likely to explode than a ticking time-bomb. They had made him this way. So really, it was all their fault that Legolas killed them. Or at least, that was the way the elf could live with himself.
Once outside the tower, things became a lot easier. He didn't know the way out of Mordor, but he had a means of finding out.
Legend had it that there was a horse who had roamed Arda since its creation. This horse was impossibly fast, and so white that some who looked upon her were blinded. This horse was called the ghost-horse, or in Sindarin, Demetreos. Most said that this horse didn't exist, but some millennia ago, Legolas had encountered this horse in Mirkwood. The horse had been very suspicious of the young elf, but Legolas had earned her trust over the course of the year, and learnt that the legends regarding her were true. Now the horse would only answer to his whistle, and only permit Legolas to ride her, unless there were very special circumstances. This horse knew every pass there was on the face of Middle Earth, and would find Legolas a safe passage out of Mordor. So Legolas whistled.
Unfortunately, the horse wasn't the only thing attracted by the whistle. An orc patrol heard him and came upon him. As one of them tried to goad him, the elf noticed a speck of white in the distance, getting larger by the second.
"I wouldn't be so cocky if I were you." Legolas' tone was conversational.
"Cocky!" hissed the orc. "You're one to talk about cocky!"
"Yes, but you see, I, unlike you, have a reason to be cocky."
"And what would that be?"
"That."
The white horse jumped over the line of orcs, and Legolas mounted her quickly.
"Nice knowing you!" he called, as Demetreos rode away.
The horse shot across the black desert towards the mountains. Legolas realised that she was bearing him to Ephel Dúath, or the Mountains of Shadow. There was a little known pass over these mountains that not even Sauron knew of. This pass would later become known as the Krebekan Pass. The elf looked around and saw that he was being pursued by the Nazgûl's new flying steeds, and urged Demetreos to run faster. They made it to the pass, but as they crossed, the stones started falling, and the ground gave way under the horse's feet. Soon the stones turned into a full-scale avalanche, and the elf was only saved by the fact that Demetreos had clearly been in situations like this one many times before, and jumped on the rocks as they fell. Within a few minutes, they had crossed the pass safely.
If I can just reach the Anduin before Sauron notices I'm gone, I might be safe.
He had no sooner thought this than an orcish arrow pierced his shoulder. He tried to ignore it, but couldn't block out the pain as blood seeped down his back. He had survived an attack by seven balrogs, he had survived Sauron's sword. It seemed ludicrous that after that, he would die due to an orc's arrow. He couldn't die, not now. Not now he was so close to freedom.
As Demetreos turned to run along the Anduin, the sun broke over the hills. Legolas, though, couldn't enjoy the sight, as he fought constantly against the gathering darkness on the edges of his mind. With every step, it became harder and harder to stay awake. Eventually, he couldn't fight any longer, and slid off Demetreos as darkness finally took him.
I'm not a fan of author's notes, but this chapter does require a bit of suspension of disbelief. I know that a lot of factors were VERY convenient, but hey, that's the beauty of stories.