"What time do you think it is?" Gimli asked. It wasn't a question of time though. He just wanted to hear Legolas's reply, so he could know that the Elf was still there and living. It was too dark in the cell for them to see each other. The only time there was any light was when the Orcs came, bearing torches and food but no tidings.
"I don't know," said Legolas. His manacles creaked, as he attempted to stretch. His hands were over his head chained to the stonewall, but at least he did not have an iron collar around his neck like Gimli did.
"I wonder how long we've been here," Gimli said. He shifted a leg to keep it from falling asleep.
"Three weeks at the most," said Legolas. They were silent for a while. Gimli leant against the wall. The stone felt hard against his back, but he was used to hardness. He was even getting used to the weight of the iron collar. Dwarves were enduring folk. They were designed to endure: pain, war, unkind words, their own condition. Everything.
It was Legolas Gimli was worried about. Legolas was an Elf, and Elves were breakable. They were weakling beauties, designed for a soft life. They had been given an island in the West where there was no pain or death, and those Elves who had refused to go to it or to remain there had suffered the penalty of living in a brutal world not meant for their brittleness. Dwarves had never been given the choice of living in Valinor, but at least their maker had fashioned them sturdily from stone, long, long ago, before he had grown bored with them and turned his head away.
It had been years since Gimli had thought about Mahal the master – Aulë, the Elves called him, the great smith of the Valar. In his childhood, Gimli had been taught to revere Mahal, but as the years passed, he came to doubt that Mahal cared about his reverence, so he gave up on it. Gimli did not hate Mahal or doubt his existence. It was just easier not to think about him. Now Gimli was thinking about Mahal, but only, he reassured himself, because there were so many unfilled hours. Gimli was not going to hope for a miracle. Dwarves were never given miracles. Death was death, and if you really wanted something you had to work for it, fight for it, spill sweat and blood over it. That was the Dwarven Creed.
It had always been like that. Gimli was not complaining. In fact he was glad his life had been rough and the lives of his ancestors rougher. It had made him strong, so that he could face whatever miseries lay ahead of him. It was Legolas he was worried about.
Sometimes Gimli would wake in the night to hear Legolas speaking Sindarin. He muttered the name Elbereth again and again. Gimli didn't know what Legolas was praying for – escape, death, the deliverance of Middle-earth. He didn't know if Elbereth heard him on her island far away. He didn't know if she cared, but it was too dark to be cynical. Gimli hoped Legolas would get his wish, whatever it was.
"Gimli?" said Legolas. His manacles were shifting again. "Do you love me?"
"What?" Gimli said.
"Do you love me?" Legolas repeated. Gimli could hear Legolas breath out and in. The Elf's breath was usually too soft for his hearing, even though the cell was stifling. Gimli imagined he could hear Legolas's heart beating fast as well.
"We're going to die," said Gimli. "They're going to torture us, and then we're going to die."
"I know," said Legolas. "Do you love me?"
"All our feelings can be used against us," said Gimli. "It would be better if we didn't – "
"I love you."
Gimli frowned. Legolas was being emotional. Gimli hoped he wouldn't start crying. Gimli didn't know what he would do if Legolas started crying. He couldn't touch him and couldn't think of anything comforting to say.
"I love you too," Gimli said gruffly.
Legolas gave a long sigh of relief. Minutes passed. Gimli listened, but Legolas's breathing must have gone back to normal, because Gimli couldn't hear it anymore.
"It stinks in here," said Legolas.
"Yes," said Gimli. Of course, it stunk. There was no ventilation. The air was stale and smelt of urine and feces. Twice a day they were unlocked and allowed to empty their bladder and bowels into a pit in the corner, while Orc guards kept careful watch. Any attempt to escape was met with the lash of a whip.
"I think I'll sleep now," said Legolas.
"All right." Gimli closed his eyes. Sleep was the only good thing left. Sometimes he would have pleasant dreams, sometimes nothingness, never nightmares. Perhaps there was someone up high who cared for him after all. Except that when he woke, reality seemed twice as dreadful. He wished he could fall asleep and never wake up.
He did wake though, to hands shaking him and yellow eyes gloating in his face. He did not know how much time had passed, only that he had been dreaming about the jewelled walls of Helm's Deeps and then there were Orcs again.
"Wake up," one hissed. Its breath reeked of rotten gums. "You can't sleep all day."
Gimli stirred slightly, but the collar kept him from moving his head.
"Stupid dwarf." the Orc laughed. "Thinks he's going somewhere."
Gimli was quiet. He wanted to smash the Orc's head against the wall, but it would not polite or wise to say so.
"Are you hungry, Dwarf?" another Orc mocked. "We have soup. Would you like some?"
Gimli could see the Orcs' hideous bodies by the light of the torches they carried. Their legs were bowed and their arms so long they ended at their knees. Their skin was covered in coarse, dark hair, and their faces were the worst. Their features were both like a man's and like a beast's but off either way and overwhelmingly ugly.
"Well, would you like some?" The second Orc kicked him hard in the shin.
Gimli did not flinch. "Yes," he said.
"Then you must beg," said the Orc. Its comrades tittered.
Gimli kept his mouth firmly shut. He would rather starve than plead with the monsters.
"I see you aren't cooperating," said the first Orc. Its yellow eyes turned to Legolas. "What about you? Are you hungry, lovely locks?"
Legolas also said nothing. He looked past the Orcs towards the door, peering at the tunnel outside.
"We're not thinking of escaping are we?" First Orc said. Gimli guessed it was probably a leader, though it looked the same as the others, maybe a little taller.
"I don't know what you're thinking about," said Legolas. Gimli groaned inwardly. The Elf was bound to get himself in trouble again.
"Believe me, sweetheart," First Orc said. "You're safer in here." It reached out and grabbed a fistful of Legolas's hair, pulling his face close. "There's only death and misery through that door." Legolas jerked away, his hands wriggling in their chains. Gimli could see his face, glowing gold in the torchlight. There was a venomous glint in his eyes.
"Let go of me," Legolas said. He kicked at the Orc, but it only laughed.
"You think you're too dear for us," it said. It ran its fingers across Legolas's chest, playing with the soft cloth of his tunic. "You think you're so precious. That your father will come rescue you or yield his country for a lost son? I think not."
The Orc pressed its body against Legolas's. The Elf squirmed and kicked, but the Orc seemed to enjoy that. Gimli hated watching, but he could not bring himself to look away.
"You're so beautiful, aren't you?" the Orc said softly. A long tongue shot out of its mouth and licked the tip of Legolas's ear. "And that's why you think you're special, but you're not special. You'll die like the rest of them, ratting out your friends."
The tongue moved inside Legolas's ear. Legolas flung his head to one side and managed to bite the Orc on the cheek. It howled and jumped back. The other Orcs laughed.
"He's got spirit, that one," said the Second Orc. First Orc gave no reply. He took his whip off his belt and lashed at Legolas's legs until his trousers were torn and his knees and calves were bleeding. Though Legolas had only cried out twice, Gimli could see tears in the Elf's eyes. It would be easy to break Legolas, too easy. He had a lively spirit, but he didn't know how to endure.
