Disclaimer: I own nothing!
A/N: Okay, I am sooooooooooooo sorry for the long wait! But I had a brief writers block for a while, along with being impeccably busy with stuff. SO HERE IT IS, FINALLY! Longer, for your reading pleasure, and for my apologies!
* * *
The great tower of Orthanc loomed up in the distance. Like a shadow of black menace it ascended into the pale blue sky, tainting the landscape with a foreboding of evil. Silent footsteps left no trace on the landscape, and only the trees remembered their passing. Whispers drifted quietly among the branches and leaves, wondering, encouraging the runners on, seeing their desperation.
Go, run, the trees seemed to say, go whither you are needed; do not let small matters hinder you. And the runners took heed, and as their determined eyes set sight upon Isenguard, their pace quickened, and the trees whisked them onwards.
* * *
A boot in the stomach awoke Legolas from the dreary havens of unconsciousness. He sucked in air and tried to slow his whirring mind.
"Are you thirsty, little elf?" Saruman shoved a bowl into Legolas' face. It was filled with water. "Do you want a drink?"
Legolas looked suspiciously at the water, then looked away. It was probably poisoned.
"Come now, I don't want my little elf to die of thirst on me."
Legolas thought for a moment. Then again, maybe it wasn't tainted. Saruman didn't want him dead; he wanted him alive . . .even if just barely so. And much longer without water, Legolas would surely perish.
Do not drink it. Nothing good can come of Saruman's bidding.
But I will die without it.
Then die! End the suffering here! Just die, just die!
I still have a task to finish.
Legolas took the bowl of water grudgingly from Saruman's hands and placed the wooden surface against his mouth. The water graced his lips, and he swallowed, the refreshing liquid tasting better than the finest of mixtures he had tasted ever before.
Suddenly, Saruman knocked the bowl from Legolas' grasp ere he could finish it all. The water spilt over his front and dripped down his back. All of a sudden all of Legolas' wounds began burning. He hissed in surprise, and tried to brush away all traces of the water.
It was tainted. I told you, but you did not listen, you fool.
The burning pain intensified. Legolas clawed at his body madly, blindly scratching at his skin. It spread, uncontrollable, throughout his body, searing every inch, every corner reachable. He cried out, almost oblivious to everything that he was doing, to what was going on around him. He golden hair whipped wildly about his face, contorted in agony.
Saruman grabbed Legolas by his hair, roughly yanking his twisted face upwards. Legolas ' eyes were shut tight, his breathing rapid and panicked. Saruman spoke in a dark, deep voice, a threatening whisper.
"Stay alive, little elf. Do not think death will save you."
He tossed Legolas to the side, and strode out from the room, as a man would come from his own home on any normal day.
Legolas moaned softly. He rolled to the side, and vomited onto the ground.
You fool. Why did you take the water? Of course it was poisoned. What else would it have been?
I would die within a day without it.
Yet you shall only grow weaker now . . .
Be silent. There are worse things that could have happened.
"Legolas. Legolas! Are you alright?" Nifien called across in a hushed voice, hoping there were no guards about, or no Saruman.
Legolas laughed weakly to himself. Did he sound alright? Did he look alright? "Not in the best condition, no."
"Listen, you need to rest . . .Saruman has something planned, he said something about visitors, get some rest, Legolas."
His body convulsed, and more vomit spilt from his lips. He groaned to himself. Surely there was no content in his stomach. How long would the poison keep it's affect?
Legolas dragged himself towards the jagged wall, but merely lay on the floor. He would try to rest. But it didn't matter what happened. It didn't matter what Saruman had planned for him.
Because he was going to die anyways, right here; in the dungeons of Isenguard. There was nothing left this elf had to live for.
So end it now, pass away before it can get worse.
And Legolas did not reply to his thought, for it began to make perfect sense. He lifted his head to stare into the dark, shrouded ceiling, far above his head. The scars and open wounds on his body throbbed painfully, but he put his suffering out of his mind. He slowed his breathing, and let his body relax.
Slowly, Legolas walked over the rugged earth, carefully avoiding roots. Roots that belonged to no living thing; they merely sprouted from the earth every now and again, like some determined conspiracy to trip the passer-bys. His feet continued to manoeuvre through the scatterings of dead leaves and branches without his control. Around him the trees were merely stumps, the sky a dreary grey, and the ground evict of all grass. Before him lay a great body of water, vast as the entire horizon, and deep as the earth itself. He stopped where the waves lapped up on the rough, gritty sand. This was not the ocean. The water was black, and it seemed hollow. No gulls cried, and the waves made no sound. It was reaching; reaching for Legolas, beckoning him to immerse himself in the water. He stepped hesitantly forward. The water was calling him, calling him. No gull cried, it was not the sea-longing. But he walked forward. He dipped his foot into the water. It was icy, and the waves bit into his skin, but he continued to walk forward. The water was hollow. His feet began to numb; then his legs.
I am stronger than this.
Legolas snapped his eyes open. How had he become so weak? How had he come so lost that he would answer willingly to death's call? He knew he could be stronger than this.
But then, at the time of his capture, he had not been himself. He had been foolish and selfish, and weak. All that had happened since was merely worsening it. Evil had come at a bad time.
Not that any time was a good time, but still.
The soft padding of footsteps resounded softly in the dungeons. Legolas let his head fall back.
He's back already . . .?
He could see the tall figure of Saruman looming out of the distant shadows. He had spoken of "visitors". Half of him wanted to see whom it was who had come, and the other half dreaded it.
"Come, little elf." Saruman's voice drifted over to him, dripping with the same malice that shone in those deep, dark tunnels of eyes. "Your visitors have nearly arrived." There was the sound of metal sliding over stone, as the chamber door was opened. Saruman beckoned Legolas to him with his hand.
I can be stronger.
Legolas lifted himself from the ground, and clutched his stomach as he felt another spell of vomiting coming on. But he held it back. He walked forward, slowly and shakily, yet determined to hold his ground. A spark of surprise lit up in Saruman's eyes, but he smothered it in emotionless shadow. Legolas arrived before Saruman, still clutching his stomach, but his face cloaked in a mask of hatred that betrayed nothing of his inner turmoil.
"Follow me."
Saruman turned and walked away, not even looking to see if Legolas would follow. He knew he would. Curiosity would lead him.
Legolas lagged behind Saruman, his tired feet refusing to carry his starved body at a normal pace. The pain in his stomach was growing, stabbing him again and again with an invisible dagger. He could feel Nifien's eyes on his hunched back. It shamed him that she had seen him so weak and so irrational. But he could change. He would be different now.
A great, steep, spiralling staircase came before him, and he could hear Saruman's padding steps high above. Grudgingly he set his foot on the first step, and heaved the rest of his body up behind him. Then the next step. And stair and stair after that. It took him far too long to climb the staircase, and he knew inwardly that his body was not fit to handle it, but he had to do it.
At last he arrived at the peak of the stairs, where Saruman was waiting, a pleased look on his face. Legolas felt like collapsing then. He could hardly breathe. How could it take that much effort to merely climb a staircase? How could that exhaust him so, when he once could leap through the trees for hours and hours on end.
"It's about time, little elf. Now, come, there is still a ways to go." And Saruman turned, and walked briskly onwards, following a labyrinth of stairs and corridors. Legolas did his best to keep up, but he could not help but stop now and again and catch his breath. His body was defeated, this he knew.
Oh, yes, he knew it.
He refused to believe it.
* * *
Their final destination was a room, with several sets of doors. The walls were high and jagged, made of black material. The floor seemed almost to reflect the elf and wizard. Against one wall was a large, black throne with a tall back. The only light was that of several torches.
Suddenly, Saruman had a staff in his hand, and was quickly advancing on Legolas. "I must go greet your visitors now." He lunged the staff forward, hitting Legolas with an unfathomable force in the stomach. He skidded across the room, coming to rest on his side against the wall. He gulped in air, shutting his eyes tight, feeling the presence of Saruman looming over him. He expected Saruman to beat him with his staff, but instead, he turned and walked briskly away.
"Wait here, little elf. I'll be back soon."
As soon as Saruman was gone, Legolas gasped desperately, trying to breathe properly. He felt he could barely keep himself awake. It must have been at least three days now that Legolas had been here. That's three days with no food and only a small portion of water. Just enough to keep him alive. Three days of ruthless, cruel torment. Three hellish days.
Only three.
Still an eternity to go.
Legolas rolled to face the wall. He vomited onto the floor. Nothing but liquid. But still his stomach convulsed, but there was nothing left. Nothing left but a burning, miserable agony.
Time passed slowly, yet inevitably. Legolas remained facing the wall, not wanting anyone to see his face contorted in pain and torment. His breathing had become continually more rapid and shorter. He wanted to cry. He wanted to break down and cry. He wanted someone to comfort him; to tell him everything was going to be all right. He wanted that more than anything.
But everything wasn't going to be all right.
No one was going to come and hold him. No one was going to come to comfort him.
And so he did not weep; it was pointless.
Eventually, Legolas heard the thump of heavy footsteps approaching. He huddled closer against the wall.
The doors to his left opened and two orcs entered. They shoved Legolas roughly away from his protective position, and bound his hands tight. Legolas complied, only because he wished no additional trouble. The orcs then looped the rope over a high mounted latch that probably was the usual perch for a torch or lantern. They sulked off into the shadows, snickering and whispering to each other. One of them clasped the loose end of the rope.
Soon, Legolas could hear voices muffled by the surrounding walls. Their footsteps were quiet. He listened anxiously as they came closer and closer.
Suddenly the doors across from Legolas flew open. One voice rose above the muffled sounds.
"What is it you wa--"
Legolas whipped his head around at the familiar voice, just as the orcs tugged on the rope and heaved Legolas to his feet, arms suspending overhead. There was no time to hide his shock.
Haldir stopped short as Thranduil cut himself off. He stared in horror at the delicate figure of his friend, his body decorated with dried blood and both fresh wounds and healing scars, dotted with large and small bruises. But this was not the elf he knew. The spark of life was vacant from his stormy eyes, his face no longer glowed, now paler than ever. His skin stretched tightly over his bones.
Haldir tried to comprehend the terror on Legolas' face, but he was not looking at Haldir. His eyes were fixed on his father.
Those two had one of the strongest relationships Haldir had seen between father and son. The King loved his son beyond all else. Though Haldir was torn at the sight of his dear friend, he couldn't begin to imagine what Thranduil was feeling. *~* Thranduil locked eyes with his son. He tried to think . . .tried to think rationally . . .tried to speak. But that was too much to ask. All time seemed to stand still. He could hear his own heart pounding; he could hear Legolas' rapid, panicked, laboured breathing. Every little rustle of clothing, every little breath . . .it all seemed to stand out.
"How . . .dare . . .you," he breathed, just barely above a whisper. Fire burned a loathing light in his eyes. He could keep his composure, in every other case. Not now.
Saruman grinned. "I have something, I believe, of great value to you." He smirked. "I ask for an exchange."
"What is the price?" Haldir spoke in place of Thranduil. He knew how hard this was for him.
"Your land, in stead for his freedom, and life." He motioned to Legolas.
"You shall not have it," Legolas growled. Haldir nearly started at the sound of his voice. Why, he didn't know; he did not expect him not to speak.
Saruman turned slowly on Legolas. He reached up, and put his hand around Legolas' hand, and squeezed.
Haldir stared in horror. Legolas' hand was broken, this he could tell. But how cold hearted do you have to be to cause one so innocent to suffer.
Saruman relented. He growled, "It was not your question."
He turned to Thranduil. "What is your answer?"
* * *
HAHAHAHAHA! CLIFFHANGER! Once again, sorry for the long update, I am being rushed, so there will be no reviewer replies this time, but next chapter I'll reply to both of your reviews, I promise! Thank you to all for waiting, even if you do want to kill me. BRING ON THE DEATH THREATS! Please be kind and review!
~Searcher of Souls~
A/N: Okay, I am sooooooooooooo sorry for the long wait! But I had a brief writers block for a while, along with being impeccably busy with stuff. SO HERE IT IS, FINALLY! Longer, for your reading pleasure, and for my apologies!
* * *
The great tower of Orthanc loomed up in the distance. Like a shadow of black menace it ascended into the pale blue sky, tainting the landscape with a foreboding of evil. Silent footsteps left no trace on the landscape, and only the trees remembered their passing. Whispers drifted quietly among the branches and leaves, wondering, encouraging the runners on, seeing their desperation.
Go, run, the trees seemed to say, go whither you are needed; do not let small matters hinder you. And the runners took heed, and as their determined eyes set sight upon Isenguard, their pace quickened, and the trees whisked them onwards.
* * *
A boot in the stomach awoke Legolas from the dreary havens of unconsciousness. He sucked in air and tried to slow his whirring mind.
"Are you thirsty, little elf?" Saruman shoved a bowl into Legolas' face. It was filled with water. "Do you want a drink?"
Legolas looked suspiciously at the water, then looked away. It was probably poisoned.
"Come now, I don't want my little elf to die of thirst on me."
Legolas thought for a moment. Then again, maybe it wasn't tainted. Saruman didn't want him dead; he wanted him alive . . .even if just barely so. And much longer without water, Legolas would surely perish.
Do not drink it. Nothing good can come of Saruman's bidding.
But I will die without it.
Then die! End the suffering here! Just die, just die!
I still have a task to finish.
Legolas took the bowl of water grudgingly from Saruman's hands and placed the wooden surface against his mouth. The water graced his lips, and he swallowed, the refreshing liquid tasting better than the finest of mixtures he had tasted ever before.
Suddenly, Saruman knocked the bowl from Legolas' grasp ere he could finish it all. The water spilt over his front and dripped down his back. All of a sudden all of Legolas' wounds began burning. He hissed in surprise, and tried to brush away all traces of the water.
It was tainted. I told you, but you did not listen, you fool.
The burning pain intensified. Legolas clawed at his body madly, blindly scratching at his skin. It spread, uncontrollable, throughout his body, searing every inch, every corner reachable. He cried out, almost oblivious to everything that he was doing, to what was going on around him. He golden hair whipped wildly about his face, contorted in agony.
Saruman grabbed Legolas by his hair, roughly yanking his twisted face upwards. Legolas ' eyes were shut tight, his breathing rapid and panicked. Saruman spoke in a dark, deep voice, a threatening whisper.
"Stay alive, little elf. Do not think death will save you."
He tossed Legolas to the side, and strode out from the room, as a man would come from his own home on any normal day.
Legolas moaned softly. He rolled to the side, and vomited onto the ground.
You fool. Why did you take the water? Of course it was poisoned. What else would it have been?
I would die within a day without it.
Yet you shall only grow weaker now . . .
Be silent. There are worse things that could have happened.
"Legolas. Legolas! Are you alright?" Nifien called across in a hushed voice, hoping there were no guards about, or no Saruman.
Legolas laughed weakly to himself. Did he sound alright? Did he look alright? "Not in the best condition, no."
"Listen, you need to rest . . .Saruman has something planned, he said something about visitors, get some rest, Legolas."
His body convulsed, and more vomit spilt from his lips. He groaned to himself. Surely there was no content in his stomach. How long would the poison keep it's affect?
Legolas dragged himself towards the jagged wall, but merely lay on the floor. He would try to rest. But it didn't matter what happened. It didn't matter what Saruman had planned for him.
Because he was going to die anyways, right here; in the dungeons of Isenguard. There was nothing left this elf had to live for.
So end it now, pass away before it can get worse.
And Legolas did not reply to his thought, for it began to make perfect sense. He lifted his head to stare into the dark, shrouded ceiling, far above his head. The scars and open wounds on his body throbbed painfully, but he put his suffering out of his mind. He slowed his breathing, and let his body relax.
Slowly, Legolas walked over the rugged earth, carefully avoiding roots. Roots that belonged to no living thing; they merely sprouted from the earth every now and again, like some determined conspiracy to trip the passer-bys. His feet continued to manoeuvre through the scatterings of dead leaves and branches without his control. Around him the trees were merely stumps, the sky a dreary grey, and the ground evict of all grass. Before him lay a great body of water, vast as the entire horizon, and deep as the earth itself. He stopped where the waves lapped up on the rough, gritty sand. This was not the ocean. The water was black, and it seemed hollow. No gulls cried, and the waves made no sound. It was reaching; reaching for Legolas, beckoning him to immerse himself in the water. He stepped hesitantly forward. The water was calling him, calling him. No gull cried, it was not the sea-longing. But he walked forward. He dipped his foot into the water. It was icy, and the waves bit into his skin, but he continued to walk forward. The water was hollow. His feet began to numb; then his legs.
I am stronger than this.
Legolas snapped his eyes open. How had he become so weak? How had he come so lost that he would answer willingly to death's call? He knew he could be stronger than this.
But then, at the time of his capture, he had not been himself. He had been foolish and selfish, and weak. All that had happened since was merely worsening it. Evil had come at a bad time.
Not that any time was a good time, but still.
The soft padding of footsteps resounded softly in the dungeons. Legolas let his head fall back.
He's back already . . .?
He could see the tall figure of Saruman looming out of the distant shadows. He had spoken of "visitors". Half of him wanted to see whom it was who had come, and the other half dreaded it.
"Come, little elf." Saruman's voice drifted over to him, dripping with the same malice that shone in those deep, dark tunnels of eyes. "Your visitors have nearly arrived." There was the sound of metal sliding over stone, as the chamber door was opened. Saruman beckoned Legolas to him with his hand.
I can be stronger.
Legolas lifted himself from the ground, and clutched his stomach as he felt another spell of vomiting coming on. But he held it back. He walked forward, slowly and shakily, yet determined to hold his ground. A spark of surprise lit up in Saruman's eyes, but he smothered it in emotionless shadow. Legolas arrived before Saruman, still clutching his stomach, but his face cloaked in a mask of hatred that betrayed nothing of his inner turmoil.
"Follow me."
Saruman turned and walked away, not even looking to see if Legolas would follow. He knew he would. Curiosity would lead him.
Legolas lagged behind Saruman, his tired feet refusing to carry his starved body at a normal pace. The pain in his stomach was growing, stabbing him again and again with an invisible dagger. He could feel Nifien's eyes on his hunched back. It shamed him that she had seen him so weak and so irrational. But he could change. He would be different now.
A great, steep, spiralling staircase came before him, and he could hear Saruman's padding steps high above. Grudgingly he set his foot on the first step, and heaved the rest of his body up behind him. Then the next step. And stair and stair after that. It took him far too long to climb the staircase, and he knew inwardly that his body was not fit to handle it, but he had to do it.
At last he arrived at the peak of the stairs, where Saruman was waiting, a pleased look on his face. Legolas felt like collapsing then. He could hardly breathe. How could it take that much effort to merely climb a staircase? How could that exhaust him so, when he once could leap through the trees for hours and hours on end.
"It's about time, little elf. Now, come, there is still a ways to go." And Saruman turned, and walked briskly onwards, following a labyrinth of stairs and corridors. Legolas did his best to keep up, but he could not help but stop now and again and catch his breath. His body was defeated, this he knew.
Oh, yes, he knew it.
He refused to believe it.
* * *
Their final destination was a room, with several sets of doors. The walls were high and jagged, made of black material. The floor seemed almost to reflect the elf and wizard. Against one wall was a large, black throne with a tall back. The only light was that of several torches.
Suddenly, Saruman had a staff in his hand, and was quickly advancing on Legolas. "I must go greet your visitors now." He lunged the staff forward, hitting Legolas with an unfathomable force in the stomach. He skidded across the room, coming to rest on his side against the wall. He gulped in air, shutting his eyes tight, feeling the presence of Saruman looming over him. He expected Saruman to beat him with his staff, but instead, he turned and walked briskly away.
"Wait here, little elf. I'll be back soon."
As soon as Saruman was gone, Legolas gasped desperately, trying to breathe properly. He felt he could barely keep himself awake. It must have been at least three days now that Legolas had been here. That's three days with no food and only a small portion of water. Just enough to keep him alive. Three days of ruthless, cruel torment. Three hellish days.
Only three.
Still an eternity to go.
Legolas rolled to face the wall. He vomited onto the floor. Nothing but liquid. But still his stomach convulsed, but there was nothing left. Nothing left but a burning, miserable agony.
Time passed slowly, yet inevitably. Legolas remained facing the wall, not wanting anyone to see his face contorted in pain and torment. His breathing had become continually more rapid and shorter. He wanted to cry. He wanted to break down and cry. He wanted someone to comfort him; to tell him everything was going to be all right. He wanted that more than anything.
But everything wasn't going to be all right.
No one was going to come and hold him. No one was going to come to comfort him.
And so he did not weep; it was pointless.
Eventually, Legolas heard the thump of heavy footsteps approaching. He huddled closer against the wall.
The doors to his left opened and two orcs entered. They shoved Legolas roughly away from his protective position, and bound his hands tight. Legolas complied, only because he wished no additional trouble. The orcs then looped the rope over a high mounted latch that probably was the usual perch for a torch or lantern. They sulked off into the shadows, snickering and whispering to each other. One of them clasped the loose end of the rope.
Soon, Legolas could hear voices muffled by the surrounding walls. Their footsteps were quiet. He listened anxiously as they came closer and closer.
Suddenly the doors across from Legolas flew open. One voice rose above the muffled sounds.
"What is it you wa--"
Legolas whipped his head around at the familiar voice, just as the orcs tugged on the rope and heaved Legolas to his feet, arms suspending overhead. There was no time to hide his shock.
Haldir stopped short as Thranduil cut himself off. He stared in horror at the delicate figure of his friend, his body decorated with dried blood and both fresh wounds and healing scars, dotted with large and small bruises. But this was not the elf he knew. The spark of life was vacant from his stormy eyes, his face no longer glowed, now paler than ever. His skin stretched tightly over his bones.
Haldir tried to comprehend the terror on Legolas' face, but he was not looking at Haldir. His eyes were fixed on his father.
Those two had one of the strongest relationships Haldir had seen between father and son. The King loved his son beyond all else. Though Haldir was torn at the sight of his dear friend, he couldn't begin to imagine what Thranduil was feeling. *~* Thranduil locked eyes with his son. He tried to think . . .tried to think rationally . . .tried to speak. But that was too much to ask. All time seemed to stand still. He could hear his own heart pounding; he could hear Legolas' rapid, panicked, laboured breathing. Every little rustle of clothing, every little breath . . .it all seemed to stand out.
"How . . .dare . . .you," he breathed, just barely above a whisper. Fire burned a loathing light in his eyes. He could keep his composure, in every other case. Not now.
Saruman grinned. "I have something, I believe, of great value to you." He smirked. "I ask for an exchange."
"What is the price?" Haldir spoke in place of Thranduil. He knew how hard this was for him.
"Your land, in stead for his freedom, and life." He motioned to Legolas.
"You shall not have it," Legolas growled. Haldir nearly started at the sound of his voice. Why, he didn't know; he did not expect him not to speak.
Saruman turned slowly on Legolas. He reached up, and put his hand around Legolas' hand, and squeezed.
Haldir stared in horror. Legolas' hand was broken, this he could tell. But how cold hearted do you have to be to cause one so innocent to suffer.
Saruman relented. He growled, "It was not your question."
He turned to Thranduil. "What is your answer?"
* * *
HAHAHAHAHA! CLIFFHANGER! Once again, sorry for the long update, I am being rushed, so there will be no reviewer replies this time, but next chapter I'll reply to both of your reviews, I promise! Thank you to all for waiting, even if you do want to kill me. BRING ON THE DEATH THREATS! Please be kind and review!
~Searcher of Souls~