The next day dawned bright and cold. Legolas awoke to the sound of voices outside of his cell.
"Was the message delivered?"
"Yes, my lord. Thranduil received the message last evening. I shot one of the guards with an arrow – he was a tall elf, silver haired and from the looks of it, of high importance. He was alone and I left the bundle there upon his breast. From my hiding place, I saw the king come out from his home, speaking with several others, and together they stumbled across the body. There Thranduil received your message, for I saw him read it, and stumble backwards as though wounded."
"Excellent work. If he is smart, he will answer my demands immediately."
Legolas' mind was reeling. The elf that the evil creature had slain was almost certainly Telos, a goodly elf, ever loyal to Thranduil, and who Legolas had been extremely close with, as the older elf had taken care of him the few times that his father was abroad during Legolas' youth.
"Yes my lord," responded the foul creature. "The plan is well underway. Thranduil set out from Mirkwood that very hour."
"Very good. Thranduil knows that if he wants to see his son alive again, he will not hesitate to meet with me. And when he comes…Mirkwood will be mine."
So that is the answer to this riddle! Legolas thought. It is the kingdom that they are after. I am but a bargaining chip to them.
But now he listened more intently, for the lesser minion was speaking again.
"…and when he comes, the boys and I will kill Thranduil and his son. You will take over Mirkwood, and the Master's plan will be secured. The other elven strongholds will fall, the elves enslaved, and then no other kingdom shall dare resist us, not even the mighty Gondor."
"FOOL!" roared the leader. "Speak no more!"
Legolas heard a knife being drawn from its' sheath and the hard thud of a body hitting the floor. Footsteps came towards the cell door. Legolas panicked. He shut his eyes and did not move. With any luck, his captor would think him asleep or unconscious. The lock clicked. The door creaked open. Footsteps came ever closer.
Legolas was kicked hard in the ribs. His eyes flew open.
"Fool, did you think you could trick me? I knew you were awake and know that you have heard every word that was spoken. For you see, I have dealt with elves before, and know that they do not sleep with their eyes closed, nor was there any reason for you to be anything but conscious."
"I heard nothing," Legolas protested before he could stop himself.
"Ah, but you have I am afraid. What shall we do about that? Oh, I do not worry about you getting the message out to your father. No, I fear rather that you shall do something rash when you are brought, bound and gagged, before him – that you might act on some ridiculous spark of heroism to try and save his life. You see, I knew you well, my young prince. You would gladly die in order that your friends and family live. And I…I am going to prevent that from happening."
"Your plan will fail," Legolas responded, a rush of anger and boldness rising strangely within him.
The figure before him laughed a little, seemingly amused. "I think not. Your father is already on his way. And now, now I shall punish you for your insolence. Guards! Take the prisoner back to the Screaming Room, and see to it that no food or water is given to him. The weaker he gets, the easier it will be to control him."
The guards came into the cell as soon as the command was given. Once again, Legolas was released from his chains, only to be brought back into the Screaming Room. As he passed through the prison room, he took note of the guard that lay dead upon the floor, a black pool of blood staining the floor. The hood of the creature was thrown back, and Legolas could clearly see what lay beneath the somber robes of brown.
In build, it was quite like an urak-hai solider. Cruel and muscular looking it seemed, much like the uraks that Legolas was used to seeing, but slender and agile looking as an orc would be. And somehow, in the back of his mind, Legolas knew that this creature had been some sort of combination of the two, the creation of either the Dark Lord or of Saruman the White. Which it had been in truth, he could not say.
But for the moment, he had other issues to deal with. He was dragged into the Screaming Room, and strapped back into the apparatus from the day before. The whip was brought out, and an endless succession of blows was rained down upon him, always seeking new and untouched flesh to bite into. Back, legs, arms, and chest were all subjected to the metal tipped teeth of the long leather whip. And when the black robed leader tired of the whip, he gave a word and a new device was brought out. Barbed metal chains were taken down from hooks on the walls behind Legolas, and their bite was ten times as painful and damaging as the whip had been.
Yet through all of this, the elf never once cried out in pain. He felt as if he were being shattered; his ribs were almost certainly cracked or broken, and it hurt even to breathe now.
Time drew on mercilessly slow. An hour or two had passed since he'd been brought in. A word of halt came from the leader, and the guards stopped their punishment of the elf prince. He was released from his torture and was brought back to his cell, locked up again to the wall. He was torn and bleeding, and could barely see straight from the pain. Left alone in his cell, he lay down on the floor and quickly succumbed to the dark realm of unconsciousness.
