PART 9

Time flowed. Legolas knew that, but couldn't believe it. Sometimes someone moved through the corridor, leaving a retreating echo of footsteps and the smell of life. Steps went silent, the smell vanished. It was only beause of this that he knew minutes passed; hours. Nothing else changed. The Fire in the East was everpresent, bathing the desolate world in a cold light which, for some reason, veiled shapes in darkness. Shadows kept whirling in his blood. His body lived. Cold, empty, blasphemously hungry. Only despair slowly changed into a quiet, hollow, choking sorrow.
The elven prince squeezed his fingers around the chains on his wrists. The metal was cold, but in a completely different way than the Darkness. It was a normal, natural cold; one which could be felt when immersing a hand in snow, or in a mountain stream. It allowed him to see the walls of the dungeon, the corridor behind bars, the approaching orc. The chains holding him to the wall became an anchor, holding him on the surface of the realm of Wraiths. If Legolas could smile, he would have laughed at the irony.
He heard footsteps, felt the smell of life. Again. Time must have still been flowing.
"You still here? And they say that there is nothing impossible for a Sindar. Were the stories overrated?"
The orc's voice was low and wheezing. Legolas didn't even look his way.
"Of course," the orc laughed, "a dog like me is not worthy of an answer from Thranduil's bastard. You were more talkative when I led you to your master."
Legolas couldn't take it anymore and turned. He saw the ugly creature, from which a dim light of miserable life shone. Light which, compared to his own emptiness, was like a lantern.
"I have no master!" he ground out. "I serve the Forest Kingdom and nothing else!"
Only when the orc's face contorted in an ugly smile he understood it was precisely the answer it wanted to hear. "Who are you trying to deceive?" it asked with malice. "Me or yourself? I'm not stupid, elf. Even my misbegotten race has sons who can think. If you're so free and independent, why did you come here? Why did you allow Nazgûl's power to possess you? Blind me with your wisdom, elf."
Legolas felt an anger rising, one which he could not stop. The dark cell paled, desolate land to the east coming into focus. Shadows swirled in his gut, whispered, he should tear the troat of that insolent creature. He could not ignore them.
"Die!" the prince barked. "Die, worm!"
He jumped up, stretching his arms towards the orc. The chains held him once more. Once more reminded him that he was, wanted to be, of another world. But the dungeon disappeared. It was no longer there. There was only fire, primal pain and absolute loneliness. Legolas froze in terror. Where is the chain, he thought in panic. There was no chain. Even it had disappeared; the world was no more...
"This is too easy," an orcish voice said from somewhere in the distance. "All I gotta say is a bit of truth and you are so eager to finish the work of our master and fall into your anger. When you came, you called me a dirty abomination, remember? It's a shame you can't see yourself now. You're not even an animal. You're..."
Legolas lunged, searching for a wall. He found it, somewhere deep, at the bottom of consciousness. He felt the coldness of the chain, focused on it, hugged the stonework.
"You are a monster on a leash. Beautiful, pampered monster. You won't even notice when you'll kill. You're weak, elf. And you know it."
Legolas shut his eyes. He didn't want the orc to see his tears.
"Oh yes, you know it. Even the Sorcerer thought you would resist longer. Elves are creatures of the light, no? Noble, strong, almost disgustingly, and nauseatingly beautiful. But you left even the Nazgûl king in disbelief. Training is going really fast. Your will and resistance erode much easier than bones of a human child. You're trying to struggle, but you can't. You know why?"
"Go away," Legolas whispered. "Get out. Leave me alone."
"I'll tell you, elf. Because you never thought that in your soul there could be evil. Pride and disdain are flowing from you, elf. You deny the right to live to everything you deem not good enough, and still you think you are justice. You can fight evil, if it is not in you. You can't fight with your own soul. Because you never tried."
"Leave me alone!" Legolas screamed. "Leave me alone!"
The orc laughed. His throaty guffaws mixed with an echo of many footsteps. They were coming. There will be more of them. He didn't know why, he did not care. He wanted them to disappear, to stop laughing at him, to die, every last one of them. He wanted a miracle, for a light to come. Real, warm light that will cast away the shadows, save him from emptiness, hunger and blindness, bring him back to the real world...
Suddenly his prayers were answered. Darkness shuddered, paled. Slowly, the chains came back, then the walls, the bars, and the orc behind them. Light was approaching, compared to which the life of the orc seemed to smoulder like cooling ash. Hunger intensified. Legolas knew it was his only chance of salvation. He had to take this beautiful light, devour it, and then everything will be all right.
Shadows retreated, slowly giving him back his vision. He saw orcs opening the door of his cell and bringing the light inside. They were saying something, he could hear their rough, barking language, but it was unimportant. Legolas could not believe his luck. He lunged, arms outstretched, wanting to grab the light, take it, drink... And then the light spoke.
"My lord?"
With an awesome effort he stopped, retreated, covering his eyes with his hands. The bitterness of disappointment and fear muted him for a moment. This light was not salvation. It was something which he feared to see more than even Sauron himself.
The light was another elf.

~.oOo.~

For just a brief moment, Altharis forgot about the pain in the leg and fever. About the fear that Tauriel would not be able to find the blood trail he so painstackingly left to show her the way to the dungeon. About the painful hold of the orcs. When he heard that their leader wants them to take him to "the royal bastard", he thought that it could only be better from then on. That even if he dies, he will at least lead his captain to the prince and fulfill his duty. He understood his error only when the orcs threw him into Legolas' cell.
Something monstrous had happened to the prince. He was deathly pale. Only rarely single black veins shone through his skin, as if his red blood had turned into tar. His fangs had strangely enlongated, fingers seemed like talons, and formerely blue eyes became so unnaturally light, they almost melded with his whites. There was pain in them, such that Altharis had never seen before.
Suddenly, Legolas' worn face smoothed. The prince stretched out his arms and lunged at him. The sickly elf could make but a step back. "My lord!..." he shouted. he didn't finish. He could not find the words. Then Legolas jumped back, retreated, pressed his back to the far wall and hid his face in his hands. Only then Altharis noticed twin heavy chains coming from his wrists. Orcs said something in their language, but he did not pay them any heed.
"My lord," he repeated with dread, "what... what have they done to you?"
With great effort he made a step. Then another...
"Do not come closer!" Legolas cried out. "Get away from me!"
"My lord, it's me, Altharis!"
The prince dragged his hands from his face and, not opening his eyes, hugged himself as if he had just been punched in the gut; leaned fully forward. His scream turned into a howl. "Get away from me! Don't come any closer! It's an order, you hear me? Get away from here! RUN AWAY!"
Silence fell. Even the orcs stopped growling. Something was coming. Somewhere nearby dark fabric rustled. Altharis saw te hooded figure in an iron crown and froze in terror.
"Úlairi," he whispered.
The figure neared the bars and looked, Altharis knew it did, even though its face was wrapped in impenetrable darkness, at Legolas. And then the air was cut by its wheezy, terrible voice: "Stand, Morflot."
And Legolas stood. He opened the terribly light eyes and looked at Altharis. "Don't ask me to do this," he said in a shaky voice. "I beg of you!"
"Take his life, Morflot," the Sorcerer said. "Take it for yourself. Now." For the briefest of moments Altharis saw Legolas fighting himself. He was convulsing in some unseen pain, clenching the chains with his bony fingers, as if his very life depended on it. He tried turning away, thrashing, all to no avail. Finally, he looked at the other elf with monstrous, powerless look. "Kill him, Morflot."
Suddenly, the orcs took Altharis under arms and pushed him mightily right at legolas. The prince of Mirkwood grabbed the weakened elf in an icy grasp and for a second more tried to look him in the eyes. "Please," he whispered, "forgive me."
And with that he plunged his fangs into his prey's throat.
Light flowed into his soul. The emptiness started to fill and the world came back into focus. For the first time in so long he was warm, so warm... The shadows left, hid. They were still a part of him, lurked somewhere on the border of his consciousness, but they stopped veiling his sight. He no longer saw the desert, and the beautifully cold chain hung heavy like never before.
Legolas wanted more.