CHAPTER IV – RECOLLECTION OF HELL

Legolas bit his lower lip and gazed apologetically into his brother's eyes. This had been the tenth time he had been forced to watch this. Isilme was being held up roughly by two Orcs, one on either side of him. The third held a knife, though it preferred to use its bare hands to inflict pain upon its victim. It slashed across Isilme's torso with its claws. Legolas could hear Ithil cursing and crying.

"Naar ar' gurth e' Mordor! burn and die in Mordor!" He sobbed, trying to escape the grip of the Orcs that held him back. "Gurth!! Die!!"

That was a rather useless threat seeing as how they were in the very heart of Mordor, shadowed by the peaks of Mount Doom.

There was a swift crack of a whip and Ithil fell to his knees. Legolas glanced at his brother, then back at the other. Isilme was fading fast. His pale skin was red, black, and blue. The Orc kneed him hard in the stomach and Legolas could hear the faint sound of his brother's ribs cracking. He clamped his eyes shut. He prayed again for this all to be just a nightmare and he would wake up to the cheerful faces of his brothers, laughing at him because of the odd things he tended to say in his sleep.

Legolas woke up on the dungeon floor. He must've passed out earlier. He managed to regain his keen Elven vision and saw, in the dim, orange candlelight, three figures. Two were kneeling and one was lying perfectly prostrate. Legolas crawled over to them. Isilme had survived the torture of the Orcs, but just barely. Ithil was holding his twin's hand, crying silently. Swallowing hard, Legolas noticed that some of Isilme's ribs were indeed broken. Thin streams of blood trickled out of the cuts across his upper body. Calen, Legolas' oldest brother, was deep in thought.

"What are you thinking about?" Legolas asked. When they spoke to each other, the princes usually used the Common Tongue because the Orcs couldn't understand it; if they intended for the Orcs to hear it, the spoke in Elvish because some of the Orcs couldn't remember their native language.

"If we don't bind his ribs and dress the wounds, he'll die," replied the eldest prince.

Ithil choked on his tears. Legolas and Calen felt their hearts wrench. They all shared a strong relationship with their brother, but because Ithil and Isilme were twins, they had a bond that couldn't be matched by anything. If Isilme died, which (though they didn't want to admit it) he probably would, their number would dwindle down to three.

Fourteen strong they had been at one point. Then they became twelve with the death of Taure, then eleven after Mallorn was killed, then ten when Anar had been tortured to death, after Ilmen killed himself they became nine. As days passed they were picked off one by one; Aranorn, Redome, Carad, Tiri, Menel, and Amonlasse. And now they were but four and would soon be the only three living Mirkwood princes. That is, if they lived. It's not that the three of them weren't't injured. For months they had endured every pain the Orcs put them through. Legolas had almost died had Calen not sucked the poison out of his blood. They were all extremely bruised and bloody and scarred, physically and mentally. There was most likeliness that none of them would get home alive.

"You cannot stay here," Isilme managed to say. "You must… escape…"

"No. I'm not going without you. I'm not going without him," Ithil said to Calen, looking him dead in the eye.

"Too late," Calen said so quietly that almost no one had heard him.

Isilme was dead.

Ithil stopped breathing and his eyes widened; all he could do was cry. Calen turned his head and closed his eyes. Legolas stared at the body of another dead brother. Tears stung in his eyes, but did not fall. Death had become a sick normality now. Just at that moment, the door of their cell opened. An Orc grabbed Calen roughly by the arm. With new- found hatred, Calen turned around and punched the beast hard in the face. He then managed to grad its sword and stabbed it in the chest. It didn't even scream. Calen turned to the remaining two, but just as he opened his mouth, more Orcs entered. They all grabbed the princes harshly and pulled them away, leaving the body of their brother.

"Calen!!"

Legolas didn't see where the Orcs had taken Calen and Ithil. He was in a small room, all by himself. He didn't know how long he sat there before someone came. Legolas stood, ready to fight, but it was not an Orc that had opened the door. It was a Human.

The man was rather thin and looked older that he should have; his eyes were young and sparkled dangerously, but there was fear behind them. He was dressed all in black; no armour or weapons.

"Come with me," he said flatly, grabbing the prince's wrist. The man was stronger than he looked, for Legolas couldn't find the strength to fight against him. He was dragged down a dark hall and up many steps. He fell twice in his fatigue, giving him more bruises and cuts and perhaps a broken bone. As they ascended the stairs, Legolas could feel the air getting warmer. Until he was sure that he would die if he had to take another step, they reached a door. The man through Legolas bodily into the room then slammed the door behind him.

Legolas could feel the darkness on his shoulders. There were no candles or windows. Though the room was stifling warm, he shivered. This place touched a part of his heart that caused fear to erupt in him. Legolas held his shoulders, feeling somewhat exposed. There were sounds all around him, yet it was silent. Legolas was truly afraid.

"Welcome, Prince of Mirkwood," something breathed. There was amusement and cruelty in that voice.

Legolas felt something brush against him and he recoiled. "Who are you?"

The voice didn't reply. Though it was dark, Legolas could see its tall, menacing silhouette and the fear grew inside of him. It started as a cold ball in the bottom of his stomach, but had grown up into his chest. He had never been so cold in his life. Even as he felt the shadow inch nearer, he couldn't make himself move. It grabbed his shoulder and Legolas felt it freeze along with the pain of a thousand knives pierce his arm. He stifled a cry. Suddenly the shadow was behind him. It placed its palm on his back, but it was not cold. Legolas knew that feeling, he knew it well from all the times the Orcs had tortured him with hot pokers. It was like lava was being poured into his bloodstream and he lurched forward. The shadow was in front of him again, gazing happily at the pathetic form cowering before it, and it laughed. Legolas couldn't do anything but shiver and live in the fear that this thing was inflicting upon him.

"Who are you?" he repeated, fighting back tears. He was now wholly miserable and terrified. There was nothing in him but cold and fear and hate, and that's all there would ever be in the rest of his long life.

It cackled again then lunged forward. As it passed through him, Legolas felt every fibre of his being go numb with terror and then he knew no more.

When Legolas woke up, the memory of the shadow was still fresh in his mind. He didn't know how long he had been unconscious, but he guessed it had been a while, maybe a day. However long it had been, he was no longer in that room in the tower, he was back in his damp stone cell. He shivered against the cold air. The torch offered very little heat, though it gave more light than usual. Legolas cradled his forehead in his head and tried to stop himself from being sick. The frightening dark feeling was still creeping in the prince's insides. There was the dull sound of someone coming down the stairs and Legolas looked up. He crept into the corner and drew his knees up to his chest. There was a cry of pain and something that sounded like someone collapsing.

"Legolas? Legolas, manke naa lle? Legolas, where are you?" whispered a hoarse voice.

Legolas was still quite disoriented and didn't make any great effort to try and tell who the voice belonged to. All he could say was, "Sinome. Here." He realized that that was by no means the most specific direction, but if it was another Elf who was speaking he would have no trouble trying to find where Legolas was judging by which direction his voice had come from.

"Legolas!" exclaimed the Elf when he found the prince. He gasped. Legolas looked absolutely pathetic. He had lost a lot of weight even though there hadn't been much there to begin with; he was scarred and bruised and cut on almost every section of his upper body; and he looked very frightened.

"Haldir…" Legolas said, smiling weakly.

Haldir took out the key that he had taken from the Orc Legolas had heard him kill a moment ago and opened the cell door. He ran in to Legolas' side and lifted him into his arms, rightly guessing that the prince had total unwillingness to stand, let alone walk. Legolas fell limp in his arms and Haldir carried him out into the corridor. In the cell right next to Legolas's was Ithil.

"Orophin," Haldir called quietly. Immediately his brother was standing next to him. "Could you carry Ithil please?" Orophin nodded and hoisted the unconscious Elf onto his back. They checked the rest of the cells, hoping to find eleven more princes, but they didn't. Haldir was deeply grieved and he could already imagine how Thranduil would react when he told them they had been too late. Swallowing hard, Haldir led the way back up the staircase and through the hall, stepping over numerous Orc carcasses as he went. He and Orophin were met by the rest of the archers Haldir had brought with him to rescue the princes. He laid Legolas (who was now unconscious) in front of him when he mounted his horse then rode as quickly as he could out of Mordor.

Haldir grew worried as the days slipped passed. Neither Legolas nor Ithil showed any signs of waking and Haldir could feel them slipping away. His endless prayers had caused him to not realize that they were very close to Rohan. Perhaps they should stop now so he could see how the princes were faring. He raised his hand and the riders behind him halted promptly. He dismounted and took Legolas off of Anoron. Laying the young prince on the grass, he removed his cloak and draped it over him.

There had been no need to inspect the wounds; Haldir could see their full extent at a glance. He had never seen Legolas in such a horrible state. It was wretched to even imagine the kind of pain his companion was in. There wasn't really anything he could do for the princes now, except get them back to Lothlórien as quick as possible. He stood up from where he had been kneeling and turned to face the other Elves. They looked rather tired, as did their horses. Haldir picked Legolas back up and put him back on Anoron. The other archers moved to mount their horses, but Haldir put up his hand.

"You are all tired. Stay here for a night or so if you like. I only ask that Orophin accompany me. I will see the rest of you in Lothlórien." As he kicked Anoron into a gallop, he added, "Pray for them."