Disclaimer: The Lord of the Rings does not belong to me…for now…. *evil laughter*
AN: Yes! I did it! Two chapters in one month! (Sure, I realize that's a pathetic achievement, but it's really great for me!) This one's a little shorter, but still just as good as the last chapters. Enjoy!
Oh, and I should mention, there's a little (unwilling on one side, albeit) slash in this chapter. It's not much at all, but if you get really really disturbed by that type of stuff, you shouldn't read my stories! (LOL- right Aki?). Seriously, I don't want any reviews complaining, so I give you fair warning. And don't worry, its not going anywhere, its just another of Gorthaur's twisted ways. There'll still be A/L.
*****************
Estel could hardly believe it. He had come all this way, had wasted all this time, to beg for Arwen's help, and now she had abandoned him with nary an explanation. By now, Legolas could be dying….
He cursed, one of the foulest curse words that he had picked up from the Orcs of the Misty Mountains, and began to run after her, fully entering the golden wood for the first time. Its elven inhabitants stared at him as he passed by, but he paid them no heed and continued to run in the direction that the lady had fled, kicking the fallen golden leaves in a trail behind him.
"Where are you going?" a teasing voice called from behind him, and low and behold, there stood Arwen, dressed for travel in a divided riding skirt.
"I thought you had left me!" accused Estel.
"Of course I had not left you, but I couldn't very well make the journey in a dress, now could I?" she said, a smile playing at her lips as she strapped a sword to her side.
Estel grinned back, relieved. "But you said that you could not leave…"
Arwen leapt at him, covering his mouth with her hand.
"Shush!" she ordered him quietly, staring around them to see if any of the elves had overheard. "Indeed I am forbidden, but they do not know that!"
"Sorry," he murmured.
"Now, we must slip out quietly before my Grandmother…"
Before Arwen could finish her sentence, a strong and powerful voice rocked the forest. "Arwen!" it cried.
"Oh, no," sighed Arwen, rolling her eyes. "So much for that."
Estel gasped in admiration, amazed that so powerful a sound had originated from such a small woman that was approaching them. She was slender and graceful, with hair that fell like molten gold to her waist. Estel had never seen a woman so ancient, nor so beautiful. She exuded such a calm and power that Estel was suddenly cowed. Arwen, however, did not look discouraged in the least.
"Grandmother," she said sweetly.
"You are planning to leave, granddaughter," she said with an edge to her voice, "and as I recall it, you are forbidden." Galadriel had stopped only a few feet in front of the two.
"Father still sees me as a little girl," Arwen spat. "I am fully capable of making my own decisions."
"Are you?" Galadriel questioned, raising an eyebrow. Arwen fell quiet, staring at her. "I must warn you, Arwen, that if you leave now you will not only put your own life, but Estel, Isilya, and Legolas's life in peril as well. I have foreseen that one of you will die on this journey."
Estel's eyes widened, frightened by the elf woman's prophecies.
"I have prevented you from leaving this place only to protect you, little one. The path you choose to take now will be one full of danger. Are you aware of this?"
Arwen looked rather scared for a moment, but she drew herself up and answered "I must save Legolas. He needs me, grandmother."
Galadriel nodded solemnly. "Very well, then. I wish you luck."
"You are not mad?"
"It is your decision, Arwen. I will not prevent you."
Arwen nodded, turned, and took Estel's hand in her own, walking away without looking back. She hadn't even said goodbye.
Estel turned to see the elf woman's reaction, afraid that she might be angry with them. But, to his surprise, she met his gaze and smiled beautifully. Then, he heard her voice in his mind: Good luck, my Prince Estel. Do not be afraid; we shall meet again.
"Come along, Estel," said Arwen gently, tugging him along the path out of Lothlorien. "It will not be long now. We will rescue Legolas!"
*****************
"Adar! Adar! Le ueth im? Adar!"(1) The elf's anguished voice pierced the still, heavy air of Dol Guldur.
"He cries in his sleep again," grumbled one of the Orc guards, banging on the cell door behind him in annoyance as the vociferation disturbed his peace.
"The master was hard on him," commented his companion, tipping an old rusted helmet over his eyes. "The master hates elves, especially elves who put up fights. Like *him.*"
"I don't care if he was hard on him. I just wish he would shut up!"
"Adariel! Adariel! Le ueth im? Adariel!" The prisoner cried again, breaking off into a whimper. "Adariel…."
"I always get stuck with the worst jobs," sighed the Orc, sinking slowly to the ground, hands over his ears.
"Mother," cried the prisoner again, curled in much the same position on his cell floor. "Please, help me, please. It hurts."
Legolas had long since given up hope that anyone would find him in this place, but still he continued his pleas. It was the only thing that took his mind off the pain.
And sometimes, such as now, he would also remember a girl, a woman, with long dark hair and smiling eyes, and this would comfort him as well. She spoke to him in loving, lilting whispers of happiness and joy, and they warmed his heart.
He sighed as she grinned at him, opening her arms wide and calling to him, though he could never decipher the name she called him by. Bruised fingers reached and circled around the thin chain of gold he wore, which Gorthaur, for all his cruelty, had not taken. Warmth flowed through him, and laughter touched his mind again.
"Oh, how you suffer. I cannot bear it. No, 'tis too much." Said someone, but not the girl.
Legolas wrenched open his eyes and was confronted by a woman in long, golden robes. Her hair fell rippling to the floor, woven with ripened berries and crowned by a rich harvest wreath. She was crying, tears glimmering like crystal against her fair cheek.
"Who are you?" he whispered, enthralled.
"But you know me," she countered, kneeling at his side and pushing a stray lock of his hair into place. "I have always been with you."
"You have?"
"Yes. I am your mother."
He tried to comprehend, but could not think clearly. "Then please, please help me. I must get away before he returns."
"I would take you all the way to Valinor if such power was granted to me. But I cannot operate within the physical realm."
His heart fell, and she looked at him with such pity, with those tear-filled eyes. He must look revolting, he thought, Gorthaur must have terribly disfigured him for her to be so upset.
"I cannot take you from this place; and yet I have still helped you, though you may not know it, my son. I have told you that I would always be with you, and so I am. It was my will that held your spirit in tact. You will not flee broken to the Havens as Celebrian had."
"Celebrian? I do not understand…"
The woman smiled sadly and kissed him on the forehead. "You will, in time. For now, do not lose the necklace," she whispered, and then the whole chamber was filled with white light, emanating from her. Her appearance became soft and transparent, and wings sprouted from her back.
He blinked twice, and in her stead was another woman with long, silver hair. She, too, was crying, tears tracing down her stern face and into cupped hands. Strangely, though, she was dressed in the garb of his captors.
"Who are you?" he cried, attempting in vain to sit up. "What happened to the other woman?" He was utterly bewildered now; and also disappointed, for neither of the women had been the dark-haired one of his dreams.
She shook her head. "There was no other woman, young one. You must have been dreaming. Hush, and lay back down."
He studied her warily, but he need not have wasted the effort, for this was our own Isilya, who had disguised herself in order to enter. No one had stopped her; for all its ominous appearance, Dol Guldur's security was lax. Sauron in such a state as he was did not have time or care to discipline his Orcs.
It did not surprise Isilya that Legolas was hallucinating with such wounds. She was especially skilled at healing and the old magick; she held it within her power to heal him; but, she feared that Sauron might suspect. These were poisoned wounds that the boy had received, and even the elven ability to heal would not work as fast as overnight.
So she took her tears and spread them gently over his bruised and broken face, murmuring one of the healing spells, and restored to him his beauty, but nothing else.
"I cannot help you any more, Legolas. I am truly sorry."
His eyes widened and he nearly leapt at her. "What did you call me?" he cried.
"Quiet! You'll give me away!" snapped Isilya, forcing him back to the floor. "And you shouldn't move so fast with such wounds."
"But what did you call me?"
"I called you your name: I called you Legolas."
A serene smile spread over his face. "So that *is* my name," he sighed.
Realization dawned upon Isilya. "Do you not remember your name?"
"I do not remember anything, but a girl, a beautiful girl, with long dark hair. Do you know her?" he asked curiously now.
"I do know her; she is my Lady, Arwen. She is your lover."
"Ah," he said dreamily, happily.
"Do not worry about your memory, however, Legolas. That will return with time. You must have lost it when the Orcs assaulted you," murmured Isilya. "However, it is most important that you do not defy Gorthaur, understand? You must make him think he has broken you in order to make it out alive, with or without your memory."
"But-" Legolas cut off abruptly, frozen in fear as he heard the dark, musical voice again outside his cell door. Isilya froze as well, listening intently.
"He does nothing but make noise," whined one of the Orcs to his master.
"Excellent," Gorthaur answered, sounding pleased. "He is broken, then. I can utilize him to my own purposes. And do not complain about any of the duties I give to you."
A cry and a crash resounded in the dirt hallway, and the door began to open again of its own accord. Isilya pulled the rough, dark wool about herself and leapt with considerable agility to the ceiling, hauling herself up onto one of the supports as Legolas lay back down quickly.
"So, my beautiful one. Am I still a 'deranged coward who happened upon magick'?" grinned Gorthaur, still darkly handsome, of that decayed nature. He knelt and pulled Legolas roughly to him by the forelock, pressing his lips to the elf's.
Legolas wanted to cry out, but did not, remembering the warning Isilya had given him. Gorthaur's lips tasted like death.
"Well?" demanded Sauron, pulling him roughly away again.
"No," Legolas answered in a dry whisper, turning his face away.
"Good." Gorthaur looked into the hallway and commanded the other guard who stood there "Prepare a room. He is sufficiently obedient."
The guard nodded curtly and ran away, straightening his rusty helmet.
Gorthaur pulled a flask from his robes and put it to Legolas's mouth. "Drink," he ordered.
The liquid burned as it went down Legolas's throat, and he gagged. But as it spread through his system, a warmth filled him and his wounds began to heal miraculously, skin slowly knitting together.
"As long as you remain loyal to me, you will be treated as I am. The moment you defy me, you will be put back in this cell and made to suffer. Do you understand?"
Slowly, Legolas nodded.
"You don't want to be hurt again, do you?"
"No," answered Legolas quickly.
Gorthaur smiled cruelly and pulled Legolas to his feet. "From now on, we will be spending much more time together," he said, leading him out the door.
Isilya dropped to the ground behind them. The situation had just become more dangerous than she originally thought, for Gorthaur had claimed Legolas as his own, just as he had claimed Celebrimbor. (2)
*****************
"'Tis too dark to see," sighed Arwen. "We will have to stop for the night."
Estel could hear the impatience in her tone. She was just as anxious to reach Legolas as he was.
"Perhaps we should make a fire for the night?" suggested Estel, scanning the plain. There was plenty here to burn.
Arwen nodded, and the two gathered wood silently, side by side. Night had fallen fully upon the plain at the foot of the misty mountains.
Finally, as Arwen labored to create a flame, Estel asked the question that had been on his mind the entire length of their journey.
"Are you not afraid of your grandmother's prophecy?"
Arwen silently blew on the tiny flame, fanning it into a fully burning fire. Her face was pristine in the flickering light.
"Of course I am," she answered after a while, sitting next to Estel and brushing off her hands. "Her warnings are not to take lightly."
"Then why do you go on?"
"Because," she answered slowly, "I will not give up Legolas without a fight. You will find, Estel, that you will come to a point in your life where you will have to make a decision. I committed myself to him, and I do not take my commitments lightly; so it is that my decision is to attempt to free Legolas until either he or I die trying."
Estel fell silent, staring into the dancing flames.
"Are you afraid, Prince?" she asked quietly.
"I am not afraid to die," he answered her defiantly. "I am not afraid."
But he was not entirely sure of this conviction, for he often wondered where it was that people go when they die, or even if they go anywhere. The dark abyss that was death frightened him, although really it was just another adventure.
Arwen looked at him with those knowing eyes, and Estel realized that she saw right through him. "I can assure you, Estel, that whoever it is that meets their doom in these coming days, it will not be you. You still have work to do in Middle Earth, important work, before you depart this life."
"But I don't want any of us to die!" cried Estel. "I don't know what I'd do if you or Legolas die. I love you both."
"But you must go on!" answered Arwen desperately, reaching out and gripping his biceps so hard that it hurt. "Promise me that whatever happens, you will go on, little one!"
"I-I promise!" he answered her. "I promise I will go on."
Apparently satisfied, Arwen dropped her hands to her side and lapsed into silence. No more of a word was spoken that night, and later Estel fell asleep in her lap as the coals of the fire lay dying.
*****************
flashback
*****************
"Please, beloved, please tell me why you suffer! I will do everything in my power to alleviate it!" Thranduil pleaded, kneeling at his wife's bedside, his hands clasped reverently over her own emaciated grip. The healers had given her only a few more hours, at most, to live: she was dying of a broken heart.
"I know you would, my husband, I do know; but you cannot help me," she answered him soothingly, reaching out to him with a trembling hand and twining it in his hair lovingly.
"How can you say so when I do not even know the cause of your pain?" he cried, his green eyes flashing through the tears. "Is it our wood? Is it our people? We can move! Why do you die of sorrow? Is it I? Then I would leave you, if only you would live."
She smiled gently. "Did I just not tell you, that I know you would do anything for me? But it is not within your power. It is the will of the high one that I should die now." She knew now the reason why those dreams had been visiting her, and what they meant. She knew why her forest was being flooded by darkness.
"Then truly there is no high one, if he would have you die," Thranduil said, dropping his head. "I will not be able to go on, if you die. If you die, a part of my soul shall die as well."
"Do not speak so! You must go on."
When he did not reply, she called her son over to her. He was standing in the corner of the room, small and frightened in the hand of a nursemaid, not understanding what was happening except that it was bad.
"Mother?" he whispered to her, climbing up onto the bed by her pillow. "What's wrong mother?" His large, innocent emerald eyes looked to her for guidance, just as they always had. He had seen her less and less the last few months, and every time he saw her she looked more and more sick. He didn't understand what was happening to her, and knew only that she would be all right eventually, because she was his mother and nothing bad could happen to her.
"I am…leaving, Legolas. I am going away for a while," she told him, careful not to cry because she knew it would upset him.
"Oh. But will you come back?"
"No. No, I will not come back." She fumbled for her necklace, the gold one that had been wrought by some of the most talented elven-smiths on Middle Earth. "But I want you to have this," she told him, slipping it easily over his small head. "Keep this, and I will always be with you."
He nodded mutely, clutching it to him with a tiny fist, just as the last of the life left his mother. Her back arched and her body tensed, a silent cry escaping her lips, and then she fell back onto the bed, peaceful at last.
A golden light filled the room, perhaps her soul leaving the world. But then it concentrated, and in a swirl of sparks it went into the necklace, and the metal burned in Legolas's hand. He dropped it quickly, and whispered "Goodbye, mother."
His father only sat there, silent tears tracing down his face.
*****************
end flashback
*****************
It surprised Legolas, but he found the new chamber he was assigned actually quite nice, not at all like the cell. This room was exceptionally large, with its own bath and a great bed that took up most of the room. There was not even a lock upon his door. Apparently, when Sauron 'broke' someone, they were even too codependent to leave the room on their own.
His blood quickened for a moment as he planned an escape, but then he realized that he did not know where to go after he left the room in any case. He also reminded himself that he must make it look as if Gorthaur had defeated him, so he deferred and stripped himself of clothes, getting into the bath and drawing the curtains around it. The necklace, however, he kept on as he bathed, and the memories of the girl still haunted him.
Where was she now? Was she happy? Did she even miss him? If she missed him, then was she looking for him? He missed her dearly, although really he knew her not. He longed for her so much that it had become a physical pain over the past few hours as he endured Gorthaur's presence.
When finally he finished, he found his own clothes gone and replaced black robes, smooth to the touch.
"Your old travelling clothes were ruined, so I took the liberty of replacing them."
Gorthaur was sitting in the corner, openly admiring the naked Legolas.
Anger seethed through him, but he quickly tamped it down and dressed as speedily as possible. "Thank you," he said, not mentioning that the real reason why his clothes were ruined was because of Gorthaur.
The same cruel smile crept onto Gorthaur's features. "But you should have kept them off longer," he said, striding toward Legolas and pinning him to the chamber wall. "My, you *are* a beautiful creature. Though Morgoth never understood it, I have always admired elven beauty. I find it- amusing."
Disgust and loathing at once filled Legolas. I must not defy him. I must not fight back. He told himself. If only for her.
Gorthaur was pressing even closer now, his breath against Legolas's cheek, and Legolas could hardly bear it. The only thing that kept him from snapping was the image of her. Yes, think of her…
"The morning feast is prepared, master," interrupted a low, rasping voice from the doorway. It was one of Sauron's servants, hooded in black.
Gorthaur sighed. "Very well," he said, backing away. "Come along," he told Legolas.
Legolas followed reluctantly behind, reaching up to the necklace once more for comfort. The servant waited in the doorway for them to pass. But as they did, Legolas glanced quickly under the hood, and realization dawned upon him: that this was Isilya.
She smiled at him, and he smiled back, grateful for her interruption. He had only to hold on a little longer.
*****************
(1) Elvish is so fun! I was playing with it for these few sentences, but they probably aren't right…Anyway, translated "Adar" means father, and "Adariel" is the female form of father, which is, of course, mother. 'Le ueth im' litearally translates "You not-out I", or "Why won't you let me out/ rescue me?" Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.
(2) Most of you are probably familiar with the story of Celebrimbor, but for those of you who aren't, he was the elf who helped Sauron make the rings (not the one ring, though). He took them and handed them out in secret, and Sauron eventually took him and tortured him to death for the location of the rings. He never gave away the possessors of the three elven rings, however.
*Notes for the chapter*: Maybe you didn't make the connection, so just in case you didn't, Thranduil's wife was the dreamer from the last chapter. If you go back and read the section, it'll make more sense.
That's about it. Have a good time watching the movie this week (I know I will)!
And thank you for the reviews, again. You guys are so sweet. JastaElf, thanks for your reviews; I always enjoy reading them. And JediKnightBalthasar saidmy story was like a favorite book that got swept under the bed and rediscovered! That makes me happy. But I should update more, I guess…TTFN.