Legolas lay on a bed of moss, with Gimli at his side. They were in Lórien again. Legolas was trying to construct a new scene from a collection of memories, building off them to create a life outside the confines of his small cell. He wanted to spend the rest of time with Gimli. Of course, Gimli was mortal, but Legolas could imagine that away too. Maybe Gimli would be like Tuor of old who was said to be granted the immortality of Elves – though whether this was actually Tuor's fate, Legolas did not know. He had never been to Valinor, and no one in Middle-earth seemed to know for sure. Not even Elrond who was Tuor's grandson.

Legolas would probably never know now, so he was just going to take legend as truth. He and Gimli would live out long years together. They would swim in blue pools and play in golden leaves. Legolas would make Gimli crowns of woodland flowers. And everything would be wonderful. No sorrow would ever cross their path.

Sometimes Legolas would awake from these fantasies to Orcs and pain and long hours of questions, but most of the time he was allowed to sleep and dream. Even sometimes when they came, he was there in body only – with his mind far, far away. What words he said when he wasn't there, he did not know, but the Orcs never seemed satisfied.

When Legolas was awake and aware, he was tired. He thought maybe he should just kill himself. Gimli was going to die. Eventually the dwarf would escape this existence, and he would leave Legolas behind. It was sad to think about, being alone in the dark forever. Though maybe in time, the Orcs would break Legolas, make him into another Orc, or some other such creature under Sauron's control. The thought of this made Legolas's stomach twist. He did not want to be wrecked and hideous, only feeling hatred. That was no life.

Legolas did not know the hour or the day when the doors of his cell opened, and he was told he was being released. He thought it another dream. He did not get up from his pallet on the floor. A guard had to drag him up, and he was carried to his father's waiting arms.

'Legolas my child,' Thranduil whispered.

Legolas smiled at him, but did not believe he was there.

Thranduil stroked his cheek. 'Did they hurt you terribly?'

'I'm all right,' Legolas said.

Thranduil held him close, pressed his cheek against his son's. There were salty tears on his skin.

Legolas felt the tears, and moved his face away. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing,' Thranduil said. 'It's nothing. Come, we can go home.'

'Not without Gimli,' Legolas said.

'Gimli?'

'Gimli!' Legolas said. 'Gloin's son. He is my…friend.'

'Legolas,' Thranduil said, 'I'll see what I can do about your…Gimli, but you must return home. You're not well.'

Legolas shook his head vehemently. 'No! I can't leave without him! It-it'd be wrong.'

'Legolas, please, you have to come home to your family. I already gave in. You have to come home.'

'No! No! No! Not without Gimli!'

Thranduil scooped Legolas up, held him still. 'Shush. We're going home. I'll see what I can do afterwards, but you are going home.'

Legolas wriggled, but he was weak. He could not fight his father.

'Take him,' Thranduil said, handing Legolas off to Saeldur. 'And take him home. I will return after the talks.'

'But father,' Saeldur said, 'what if He doesn't let you go?'

'Then you must maintain order,' Thranduil said, 'and keep our people safe.'

Saeldur nodded. 'Yes, father.'