AN: In my mind the image of the Mouth of Sauron was not as Peter Jackson suggested, some disgusting, blind, mutilated thing not so easily differentiated from an orc. (this is the only thing I have ever disagreed with his vision on) In my mind he is simply a man, and a symbol of the evil of which all men are capable when offered power. The power of Sauron has kept him alive a lot longer than men should live, and so perhaps he is not a young man, nor a particularly handsome one (evil can destroy the beauty in anyone) But he is still a man.

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Italics are words spoken from a distance, 'single quotes' are words spoken in the mind, "double quotes" are normal speech.

You probably could have worked that out on your own, but just to clarify…

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Oh, and because this chapter ends with the most fabulous bribery material… Review please? Or I might suffer from review-withdrawal and not be able to type through the shivering.

Read on… Mwahaha… (where did THAT come from?)

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To wake in a cold dark cell with no window to speak of and a door that looks unreasonably solid is possibly one of the worst ways to regain consciousness. Perhaps worse was to wake in such surroundings accompanied by the echoes of the screams of other elves, for this indeed was how Elrohir woke.

"Can you hear them, my lovely?" An orc's face was suddenly pressed to the slot in the door at head height, his breath harsh to his ears in the ringing left behind the scream. "I know you can. It excites you, doesn't it? The thought of one of us with one of you." The orcs rapid breathing told just how excited he was at the thought.

"You sick depraved creature. The only thought that excites me here is the thought of your death. It will not be slow to come." Elrohir sneered groggily, his heart in his mouth at the first confirmation he had heard of what they were doing to the others in cells further along. The orc laughed coarsely and moved away, murmuring,

"Your time will come, pretty one. And I want to be the one. Maybe then you will fear us as your friends do." As the orc hurried away in a hobbling gait, Elrohir pressed his face to the open panel, left open by the orc.

"Elladan?" He called. "Can anyone hear me?" A heavy hand slammed the panel back in place, narrowly missing his face. Elrohir retreated to the corner of the room gripping his elbows to try and return some warmth to his body. Something about this place chilled him in a way no elf should be chilled.

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Guruz was looking proud of himself as he approached his master's avatar, and this was enough to make the once-man sigh. Something was always going wrong if the orcs were looking proud of themselves.

"What have you done now?" He asked harshly.

"We have a gift for the Master." Guruz answered, his eyes bright.

"Show me."

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The Mouth of Sauron was led through the dark corridors of Dol Guldur with the orc Captain dancing eagerly in front of him. Down they went, into the foundations of the great tower where Sauron had once kept dungeons and torture chambers when this had been his domain. Long had these rooms stood empty, for Sauron had tried to deceive prying eyes into thinking his power passed, but now it was obvious to the avatar that they had been re-opened. A line of six cell doors facing him were locked tight and from further down the hall - in the main torture chamber - a scream echoed suddenly in the silence. The flicker of a smile touched the once-man's face. He had missed this fun.

"Show me." He said again, and the orc led him towards the room. He opened the doors wide and stepped inside. The avatar was breath-taken. As though a mirror had been laid down the middle of the room, the scene before him was split in two. From chains above their heads two elves were hung by their wrists face to face - dark hair falling about their shoulders and gathering damply about bloody lashes across their backs. They had been stripped of everything save the soft leather riding leggings they had been wearing upon capture. Two pairs of grey eyes came up to meet his, and they were perfectly mirrored in each other. A purpling bruise across the left-hand face was all that separated them.

"Do you recognise them, my lord?" Guruz pressed. "Do you see the resemblance in their faces?" If it were possible he grinned even wider at the avatar's dazed look. "They are the sons of Elrond. Tell me now that this is no great gift for the Master." Shock rolled through the once-man and he reached out to Sauron over the distance, needing his council.

Mine, what would you have of me?

'I fear the orcs may have done something inexcusable.'

The orcs often do inexcusable things, Mine. It is their way. Came a reply in a tone too soft to have been connected to the speaker by any other listener.

'They have brought the sons of Elrond here. If they are followed, your riders may be exposed.' A flicker of panic along the connection.

It is too early. Not everything is in place. Anger mixed with the slightest hints of fear in the distant voice. Fear that only the avatar would ever hear, fear that only he would ever know.

'I know this. What would have me do?' There was a surge within him, as he surrendered control.

"Fools, Imbeciles." The avatar cast his eyes around the room, watching as the gathered orcs cringed away from his Master's channelled rage. "You would bring the wrath of the White Council down upon us once more, long before we are ready!" The avatar could feel his puppeteer fuming down their bond. Sauron did not like to have cause to be afraid.

'Master.' He half-whispered down their bond. 'Still this can be salvaged.'

Tell me, Mine. Tell me your thoughts. The once-man knew that his Master had no need to ask, he could simply take the thoughts from his mind, and much more with it. But there was a bond between them that called for more.

'Take their memories of this time, cast them back out into the wood and let them try to find their way home. If they die in the darkness of the wood it brings no suspicion. The Council already know of the orcs that inhabit this place.'

My power still cannot be projected over far, I am not yet strong enough. A flicker of uncertainty flowed through the thought-words, an emotion for the Mouth of Sauron only.

'You can channel through me, you have done it before.'

It is not always… safe. You know this. Things can change and turn when placed in the hands of others.

'I am strong enough. Have faith in me'

I do have faith in you, Mine. The tone was soft, conciliatory. This may be the only way. Their folk will miss them if they disappear, and this is a danger, much as I would prefer to have them destroyed.

'We will face them later and they will have no choice but to submit then. Have no fear.

I have no fear! He spat down their connection, suddenly furious. Only his avatar could have such an effect on him, no other would ever know of his hesitations, his… fears. Very well, bring them before me in the forest, away from this place and we will see what can be done.

"My Lord." The avatar looked up as Guruz approached him slowly, as though he were some kind of wild animal that might lash out at any moment.

"Speak." His voice was still filled with Sauron's power, but it was under his own control once more.

"There are… others. Those who accompanied these two and the group they came looking for."

"How many." He asked resignedly, feeling his Master withdraw.

"There were nine overall, My Lord." Guruz flinched and took a step back.

"And now?"

"We killed only two, My Lord." Guruz could not resist a smile. "We are good at what we do."

"Gather them."

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The remaining seven elves were piled ungracefully - none able to stand - in a group outside the boundaries of Dol Guldur. Gathering what strength they could muster, Elladan and Elrohir pulled each other to their feet to face the hoard that now surrounded them, profoundly glad to find one another again after their separations in the cells and the torture that had followed. Proudly, they watched as Túrith and Daefindir stood shakily beside them, clinging to each other for balance and support.

It was the first time the rescuers had chanced to see their lost friends up close, and though the sounds they had suffered through and their own treatment had given them something to go on, the sight that met them was painful. Minastir and Dîngor's absence was palpable, though none of them knew whether it had been Dîngor's wound that had taken his life or some other darkness. Some of the warriors were clothed; others were naked on the ground. Only Baranir, save Daefindir and Túrith, was conscious. He did not meet the eyes of any of the others, lost in his own world laid out upon the ground with nothing to cover him save his skin.

Legolas was one of the unconscious and though he now wore his britches, it was obvious that he had not been able to keep them on for the whole of his captivity. They were heavily bloodstained, as were those of the others, all save the twins who had seemingly been protected by the recognition of their status. The bloodstains matched the slightly dazed looks on their faces. Deep in his heart Elrohir knew that it would only be a matter of time before the numbness began to fade for those sad souls and they began to give in to the sickening darkness. The thought that Legolas was one of those made that thought too heavy for his heart to contemplate for long and he turned his attention back to the orcs and the man that led them.

It was likely they would not live beyond this noon anyway. It seemed inevitable that they would be killed here and now, far from Dol Guldur where their deaths could be traced back to this man who seemed to have so much power. It was not his power that made him shiver with chill though, and Elrohir's wandering mind pondered that mystery for a moment.

As they watched and waited for their doom to descend upon them, those conscious enough to think of such things began to seek any escape from this desperate situation. It was hopeless though. There was no way they would all be able to escape at once, and none were willing to abandon any of the others who were unable to run.

Elrohir took a deep breath and glanced at his brother. At least they were here together, it was a guilty thought that brought unreasonable relief. It was not that he wanted his brother's death, but quite selfishly, he did not want to die alone. A flicker of a smile was Elladan's response and, without thought they turned in unison to kneel at the side of their love, hearts faltering and eyes welling at the sight of what had been done to him during their capture. They lifted him so that he rested in their arms, and there they waited their fate.

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Mine. We must be ready.

'I am, My Lord. I await you.'

Show them to me. In some strange way it seemed to the Mouth that a second pair of eyes had opened within him, or that his eyes had opened again - though they had already been open. He focused on the pitiful group before him, and felt his master smile. Look at their pain… their fear. How I wish this were the old days, the house of Elrond would have paid dearly for this mistake.

'Soon, My Lord. We must have patience.'

Then let us continue. It felt as though a warm breath had been blown down his spine, as though his master now stood at his shoulder. He leant back into his touch, and swayed slightly when there was no physical form to lean against. Look upon them, Mine. He opened his eyes, realising he had closed them to concentrate on the feeling.

'I see their pitiful forms.' He was beginning to fill with power, a tingling of heat through his body. 'I hear their sad heart-beats.' His breathing quickened as the power flowed through him, filling him, bringing him. His half-focused gaze found one of the orc guards and very slowly he pulled that power out and stifled that steady beat. The orc dropped to the ground, dead.

Mine. Sauron admonished, his voice filled with soft humour. Channel the power, do not use it. It is not yours to control.

'Sorry, My Lord. I am a man, weak for power. It tempts me.'

I know this, but you must resist. Perhaps this is not…

'I am strong enough, My Lord. I take my strength from you. Let me continue.'

Then make them stand. The avatar moved to call the orcs forward, and was pulled to a stop by his Master's control. MAKE them stand. Sauron repeated, and this time the avatar understood. He turned his attention to the elves.

"Stand." He ordered. Those elves not already standing found themselves on their feet, though consciousness did not return for Legolas or Elanor. Elrohir gulped at this display of power; he had stood along with the others, his and Elladan's hands now grasped around Legolas' wrists instead of around his shoulders. Who was this man, to have such power? He was not Istari, he was nothing more than a man.

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Now. Sauron's voice continued in the avatar's mind. We clear their minds of all of this. His hand was reaching out to them, no longer under his own control, now completely channelling the will of his master. It seemed as though the energy spiked within him, suddenly painful and too bright - blinding him on the inside. This was the source of his Master's power, and he had seen it only once before. It was a white and pure thing, its origins far separated from its uses in Sauron's hands.

It was not so bright as it had been then—once it had driven him to his knees and into unconsciousness as soon as his Master had released him—but still, the power was near-overwhelming.

A voice whispered into his consciousness; softer, more sweet than usual, filled with light. Do not fight it, Mine. Let it flow through you. He opened his eyes again, focusing on the elves. He could see that the orcs cowered away and he wondered what external signs there were of his merging.

As though he has asked the question out loud, he was suddenly looking on himself through an orcs eyes. His body held some kind of glowing aura, almost too bright for orc eyes to look upon, and it seemed as though a shadow of someone taller, and more imposing, stood behind him, in the darkness cast by the glow. Do not be distracted, Mine. Else this will not go properly. Sauron's voice called him back to himself, and the hint of strain in his words reminded him how much effort this had to be costing his Master. He turned his attention on the elves.

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Elrohir felt the weight building in his mind as the man turned his attentions on them. His ears felt as though they needed to pop, and a pressure built behind his eyes until he felt he would collapse if not for the resounding command that still held him on his feet. He could hear moans around him, but they seemed distant and vertigo was beginning to swim up and spin him around. Unable to keep his balance, he staggered backwards.

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Catching sight of the elf that was trying to escape - or so it seemed - Guruz hefted the heavy orc sword and moved quickly to behind him, taking a good swing. As the blow came down it caught the attention of the avatar, thus distracting him from his task so suddenly that the power that had been building dispelled itself wildly across the clearing. Seven elves fell to the ground to remain there, completely still. Guruz had only a moment to realise that his blow had fallen true and celebrate another good kill before the residual power finally found its home in him. He was dead long before the various parts of him found their way to the ground.

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Sesshy: Thanks, as always for huge helps :D U'ra darling

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Trunk-kun: Thanks for the review! Here's the next one