Disclaimer: I own nothing Tolkien created.
**
Sold Into Ruin
**
Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed. Please keep letting me know what you think.
Chapter 12 ~ Jasmine
"Hello," a small, timid voice came from behind Legolas. He spun around and looked down. There was a young boy standing behind him, dressed in the same prison clothes as everyone else, a number painted on the front and back. The child looked just as neglected as the adults; far thinner than any child – Human or Elven - Legolas had ever seen. His skin was covered in dirt but underneath it was a pale grey colour, certainly not healthy. He could not have been more than eleven years old, although his parents were nowhere in sight and none of the other adults seemed to be taking too much notice of him.
"Hello," Legolas smiled, putting his hand to his heart in a traditional Elvish greeting. The boy instantly cheered up, apparently never having been greeted so politely before and perhaps a little afraid of the strange being towering above him.
"Are you an immortal?" he asked bluntly. Legolas smiled at the child's innocent question and turned to Aragorn, who was watching the exchange in interest.
"I am an Elf - an immortal, as you call us," Legolas replied, a faint smile gracing his fair features at this name.
"You don't look so evil," the boy mused, boldly looking Legolas up and down, checking for possible danger.
"That's because I am not evil. Elves are not naturally violent beings. We live quiet and peaceful lives usually." This truth seemed to startle the child and he looked up at Legolas with a wonder the Elf had rarely seen. So far he had been greeted with only suspicion and fear yet this child showed neither. There was only a keen interest in his eyes. There was also an innocence there that Legolas had not expected to see in such a dismal place.
"Are you really immortal? 'Nothing lasts forever', that's what Jadan says," the boy continued.
"Maybe Jadan is wrong," Legolas said, his smile growing broader at the child's curiosity. Aragorn laughed and the child looked suddenly angry at being challenged, crossing his arms over his chest and tapping his foot against the floor in anger.
"So, exactly how old are you?" he asked, trying not to sound overly interested. Legolas laughed again and smiled down at the child.
"How old do you think I am?" he asked.
The boy shrugged. "Eighty?" he suggested, unconvinced he was correct.
Legolas laughed at the guess. "Not even close."
"Well, how old then?" the boy asked again, getting frustrated at not being told the truth.
"I'll tell you what, you keep guessing and I'll tell you when you're getting close." Legolas smiled down at him but the boy was clearly not at all impressed. He was about to voice his displeasure when Jadan, the man who had tried to start a fight with Aragorn earlier, pushed his way through the people and positioned himself in between Legolas and the boy.
"You would be wise to leave him alone unless you wish to end up like him." He pointed to a man who was curled up in the corner, blood oozing out of numerous cuts on his hands and face. Legolas knew that chances were this had been done by one of their kidnappers rather than Jadan but still the warning was real enough and Jadan didn't look like someone who would go back on his word. He held up his hands in a sign of surrender and took a step backwards and Aragorn did the same thing not wanting another confrontation. "Wise move, immortal," he spat the last word out as though it were poison.
Thankfully, this particular confrontation was over quickly and Legolas breathed a sigh of relief. He could easily fight Jadan and win, he knew that. He had already proven a formidable opponent against Men but with so many others close by and a child in between them it was not a good idea, something Aragorn entirely agreed with now he was in a more rational state of mind. He got the impression that too many encounters with this particular man could seriously damage your health.
The woman who had earlier broken up the fight between Aragorn and Jadan now came up to them, lying a comforting hand on Legolas' shoulder to get his attention, which had wandered to watching Jadan lead the small child away from them.
"Come on, you'll need to rest before tomorrow." She led them through the crowd that parted nervously and ushered them to the far end of the building. They sat down on one of the benches and realised how hard they really were. It was difficult to believe anyone could sleep on them.
"What's happening tomorrow?" Aragorn asked, trying to get comfortable on the cold stone.
"You'll be put to work properly, unless Kallon has some higher duty for you," she said, glancing down at her swollen stomach. Aragorn and Legolas instantly caught the meaning. It made sense that the men in charge were impregnating the women, using any method to keep them under control and getting something more physical out of it too: children. Children they could bring up learning the nature of their cause. Legolas had heard of this sort of thing happening many, many years ago but never to such a degree. It was shocking to say the least.
"They'll probably want to use you for something more than hauling rocks," she continued, pointing to Legolas. "A real immortal; he wouldn't want to damage you I shouldn't think."
"Hauling rocks? So, this is a mining facility?" Aragorn asked, leaning forward. Finally beginning to understand what was happening did nothing to lift his unease. They weren't just prisoners, they were slaves.
"Mining facility? I suppose so, if that's what you want to call it. They send us down, hundreds at a time, to chip the rock off the walls and bring it above ground."
"What do they mine?" Legolas asked, wanting to find out as much as possible about this place before anything bad – or rather worse – happened to them. He needed something he could use, anything that could give them an advantage.
"Mithril, precious stones, anything they can find that might have some value."
"And they use you to do it?" Legolas asked, already knowing the terrible answer.
"Why pay employees when you can force people to do it for free? Working all day, making bags of money and not having to spend anything; it's simply too good to pass up. The cheaper the slave the better. People never get rich by throwing their money away," she sighed sadly.
"That's terrible," Legolas said to himself, his blue eyes sweeping over the room, taking in the prisoners.
"And illegal. I remember when the Steward of Gondor learned about some of these places; he ordered them all to be torn down, all the people freed and compensated for their suffering. I can't imagine Gondor over-looking this one," Aragorn added, remembering when the news of these slave camps had reached Imladris. Elrond had been absolutely furious and had immediately dispatched his own soldiers to help the effected areas. It had been a small but much appreciated gesture of good faith towards the communities of Men.
"The rumour is that the Master has powerful connections within the Council of Gondor. Convincing the Steward to overlook one or two camps here and there was no difficult feat. They ignore certain aspects of what happens here…"
"And in return get a generous cut of the profits," Aragorn finished and she nodded sadly.
"That's terrible," Legolas repeated to no one in particular. He had never heard of anything like this before; his father had little interest in what happened in the world of Men, staying as far away as possible from them was all he cared about. This kind of thing simply didn't happen in the Elven realms. The Elves' regard for life was far too high for anyone to even contemplate doing anything like this. It had never really occurred to Legolas that Men should be capable of anything so awful. It was hard for any Elf to understand death as it was something with which they had very little experience, most choosing to sail West before death could claim them. Their immortality meant that they could never grow old and being immune to sickness never let death become an issue. In fact, the only ways they could die were if slain in battle or fade from a broken heart. The latter was very rare, the former unfortunately not so.
"Yes and no one can do anything about it," the woman said, looking forlornly down at her stomach.
"Haven't you ever tried to escape?" Legolas asked, seeing Aragorn wanted to know the same thing, desperately hoping she would know a way.
The woman smiled as though the question was a joke rather than a serious enquiry. "Of course there have been people who thought about escaping; truthfully we all do every day. There are even some who have tried." She pointed over to the men with their hands chained to the walls. "That's what happens if you even contemplate escape. They always know, somehow. No one has ever come back after getting caught actually trying to escape and no one has ever gotten beyond the far fences alive. I don't know what they do to you when you get caught but I can't imagine it's anything good. There have been rumours that they torture you until you confess how you managed to get as far as you did and then they simply kill you for setting a bad example."
"That's exactly right," an old man said from the bench next to them. He was chained to the wall in a very uncomfortable position; his head was hung as if he was too weak to lift it even when he spoke. His voice was gravelly like he hadn't used it in a long while – or had screamed too much. "They throw you in a cold, empty room all by yourself until you start imagining the most awful things. That'll happen without water and food, you know? Delirium, I think they call it. Then, just when you think you're about ready to end it all yourself, they pin you to a torture table and ask you all manner of questions, anything that'll give them a reason to kill you. You're so weak and delirious that you'll tell them everything you've ever done wrong in a last ditch attempt at forgiveness. But it doesn't help. They whip you and torture you and finally, after you've begged them a million times to let you die, they finally put you out of your misery and you can't pass on any secrets of escape you might have learned."
"Don't be so dramatic. You don't know anyone who has come back so how do you know what happens to them?" the woman asked, looking doubtfully at the man, whose number identified him as 6616.
"How would you know what I saw?" 6616 grumbled grumpily. "I used to work down in that place, you know? Making weapons for those vile men. Making the very weapons used to hurt us. Ironic isn't it? That I should make the tools that killed my friends. I've seen what these men can do with a metal sword. It's amazing really, the ingenuity of men when pressed into improvisation." He seemed to drift off then, mumbling something about the values of men being torn apart by an evil few.
"Just ignore him," the woman said, rolling her eyes. "He's spent too many years down in the mines. It messes with your mind after a while."
"What are the numbers for?" Legolas asked suddenly; he had heard very little of the previous conversation.
"Identification. It allows our records to be kept without having to write any names down," she answered, pointing to her number: 6931.
"It also robs people of their identity, allows them to blend into the crowd without connecting to anyone else. Diminished self awareness helps with control. They lose their sense of self and rely on their captors to give them a purpose," Aragorn added, remembering when Elrond had explained about disadvantages of using numbers in regard to patients in the healing halls of Imladris instead of names.
"Well, my name is Legolas and this is Estel and that's what we're going to be called. Our only chance of survival in this place is by remembering who we are. So long as we keep our identities we have a chance of standing up to our captors. What's your name?" he asked the woman.
She looked unsure for a moment, as though she was having a hard time recalling her real name. "Jasmine," she whispered after a few seconds' thought.
Legolas smiled gently. "Jasmine."
TBC…
A/N: I know there's a lot of exposition in this chapter but it really was needed. Hoped you liked it and please review.
**