Chapter 3: Responsibility.

"Adar won't like you for doing this."

"Legolas, I am coming whether you like it or not."

"Gîlorn…"

"Don't try and stop me Legolas. He's my brother too."

Legolas sighed as he mounted his horse. "He's out there, he'll see you."

"I'll just stay to the back, and if he does see me, I'll gallop away as fast as possible. Ok?"

"I know nothing of this, understand? If Adar found out I was letting you come, he'd forbid me to go. After everything I did to actually allow me to go in the first place…"

"Don't worry, all the blame weighs entirely on my shoulders." He mounted his own stallion. "Shall we go?"

"Yes, let's." They walked their horses out the stables into the courtyard where King Thranduil, his wife, and other children were waiting. Legolas winked at Lothriel.

He looked at each of his brothers and sisters carefully. Little Lothriel, the youngest at just 10. Nauralad, the second youngest at 115. "And," Legolas thought to himself, smiling at her, "growing more beautiful by the day."

The youngest son, Hithaer, just coming up to his 250th birthday. Then another daughter, Esgalloth, 400 this summer. Then the eldest daughter, Sîladiel, 583.

8 children in all. Legolas felt responsibility weight heavily on him. He glanced over his shoulder at Gîlorn, hiding near the back of the scout. He was younger than Sîladiel, only 512. Legolas didn't want him to come, but nothing was going to stop the stubborn Elf.

He looked back at his mother, Aurêl, the most beautiful of them all. She was smiling at him, but he could see it was strained. She feared for him, and for Ladrenîl. Her two eldest, out in the wild. She had a right to be worried.

"Sŷl vain," Thranduil said the small group. A tear trickled down the Queen's face. "No Aran síla am râdel." He sighed. "Galu." (Fair winds. May the Sun shine upon your path. Good luck.)

"Nallon or vadedel," Aurêl whispered so that only Legolas heard. He lowered his gaze as he bowed his head to them. (I cry upon your leaving.)

"Navaer," he said simply, then galloped out of the courtyard, his company of 8 following. He saw Gîlorn creep up the left side so as not to be seen by their parents.

Then they were out on the forest path, and galloping off to save their brother.

Aurêl sighed and looked round at her large family. She frowned. There was one missing…

"Thranduil, there's one of our children missing," she said.

Thranduil looked over. Discounting Legolas and Ladrenîl, he did a quick head count. "Lothriel?"

"Here Adar."

"Nauralad?"

"Yes Adar."

"Hithaer?"

"Yes Adar."

"Esgalloth?"

"Here Adar."

"Gîlorn?"

Silence.

"Gîlorn!"

"I'll check to see if his horse is here Adar," Hithaer said, hurrying into the stables.

He was soon back, his face grim. "Rofain is gone Adar."

Thranduil cursed under his breath. "Legolas let him go with him!"

"No," Aurêl said calmly, staring at the path the riders had taken. "He would never have let his younger brother go. Gîlorn must have snuck into the party without Legolas seeing."

"He'll probably send him back Adar," Esgalloth told her father, touching his arm gently.

"He better," Thranduil growled, storming back into the palace.

The Queen sighed. "Come on you lot, inside." She ushered her children in, giving the forest path one last look as she stepped in behind them.

"You are in so much trouble Gîlorn."

"Legolas, I feel exactly how you do. Surely you understand why I had to come?"

"But you're too young! I should send you back right now."

"Are you joking? Adar will kill me."

"It's no more than you deserve."

"Legolas…"

"No, be quiet Gîlorn. It would not be wise of you to not increase my temper any higher." He urged his horse back to the front of the group.

Gîlorn sighed to himself. He was as worried about Ladrenîl as everyone else, and wanted to help in any way possible. He would give Legolas time to cool down. He wasn't normally this stressed, but things were clearly starting to get to him. Give him a few hours, he'd be fine.

They rode along in silence. Legolas reached into his pocket and drew out the compass Sîladiel had given him that morning. He studied it closely.

"Follow the Northern Arrow as normal," she told him. "However, it does not lead north. It will lead you to Ladrenîl."

"Sîladiel, I don't understand…"

"Just trust me Legolas." She closed his hands over the tiny compass. "Follow the Northern Arrow in whichever direction it leads you."

What did Sîladiel know that he and everyone else didn't? And where had she gotten this compass? He hadn't had time to ask her. He made a mental note to ask when he returned.

If I return…

How long have I been here? It feels like years, but it can be no more than just over a week. I'm still shackled to the wall; still have chains round my ankles.

The Orcs finally gave me some water, just as I was about to collapse from dehydration. They realised I needed it to stay alive and they need me to stay alive for some unknown reason. They probably want to beat me some more, few more punches, kicks, whippings…

And I've had some food. Dry bread, they call it. Not sure what it really is, but at least it was something. When they gave me a drink, I was just considering getting the water trickling down the walls, trying to lick it off. I was getting that desperate.

My door's opening. It's Meagereg. He's grinning at me. I grin back, then regret it as he gives me a sharp backhand. "Don't be cheeky!" he growls.

He unlocks the chains around my ankles and releases my arms from the wall, but leaves my wrists locked together. He pulls me to my feet by my hair, and drags me out the cell.

He leads me to the left, down the corridor. We're going further underground. I can smell hundreds of different stenches. Blood, death, sweat, tears, fear. That is the strongest smell of all – fear. It pours from every pore of the place, leaking into your clothes, your skin until you smell of it yourself, even if you are not afraid as others are.

I glance in some cells we pass, and see other people, chained to the wall, gazing at me with empty eyes as I am dragged along. Some are Elves, there are humans mostly, but I also see a couple of Dwarves. How did they get Dwarves into this place?

The Elves call out to me in Sindarin. They know who I am. I answer as best I can, but for each sentence, I get a severe kick in the back of my knees. But these are my people! They need my reassurance.

"Avobresto!" I yell as loud as I can. "Garo estel ned nin mellynnen. Tôrnen will come for us!" I switched from Elvish to Common, just to aggravate the Orcs. (Don't worry! Have faith in me my friends. My brother will come for us!)

I was seriously paying for my ignorance as we walked along. I got slaps round the head and a few punches in my side. But it was worth it. I had spoken to my people. They knew I was here, and we would be strong together.

I see Glînvara and Balamrûn in adjacent cells. I call out some random phrase to them and they yell it straight back. I was given a swift kick in the side of my thigh then, and stayed quiet until we reached our destination.

A huge hall. There is a stone table in the centre, and it is full of Orcs. A huge fireplace is on one wall, and a fire burns away merrily, reminding me of home. I look up, and cannot see the ceiling. We are in the main hall of the tower.

There are skeletons all round the walls, and I realise this is where they take the prisoners to be tortured. This is where I have both screaming and laughter coming from.

I am pushed down onto the table, and I struggle. But they chain me down. The chain binding my hands together is broken, but then each hand is cuffed to the table either side of me. My ankles are given the same treatment, and a long chain is wrapped over my abdomen and locked to the stone.

"You will pay for your shoutin'," Meagereg tells me, looming over my face and dangling a whip in front of my eyes. "Oh yes, you will pay Prince. You'll wish you had never even opened your mouth!"

The whip comes down, straight over my chest. But not a sound leaves my lips. I hear growls from around me, and brace myself for the next blow.

It comes. Again and again and again. Whiplash after whiplash. But each time, I keep my mouth firmly closed. My tunic is ripped to shreds, and I can feel blood trickling down my arms onto my hands. My blood.

They finally work out that the whip isn't going to get a sound out of me, so they drop it. Silence for a moment. I can feel the tension in the air. Everyone in his or her cell is waiting, waiting to see if I cry out. I know they are supporting me. Even though they remain silent, I can really feel their encouragement. I can hold on.

A blade flashes in the firelight, and Seregrúth appears in my vision, holding a scimitar. "You won't cry out," he mocks, drawing the blade across my cheek. I feel the blood trickling down my skin. I can feel everything. "I'll make you scream till your throat goes hoarse," he threatens, moving the blade down to nip my collarbone.

This carries on for ages. He draws thin lines all over my body, taking care to let blood leak out every time. They sting more than anything, and I can feel a moan rising in my throat. But I swallow it, and remain silent.

Suddenly, a shout echoes throughout the place. "Go on 'Ren! You can do it!"

Then more join in. The Orcs are confused, looking round to try and discover what is going on.

"Go 'Ren!"

"We're standing by you!"

"Don't let them break you!"

"Hold on for us 'Ren!"

"Go 'Ren!"

That shout comes out loud and clear above al the others, and I recognise the voice as Glînvara's. It gives me more strength, and I glare triumphantly at Seregrúth. "You won't break me!" I yell. "No matter what you do to me, I won't scream!"

I hear cheering echoing through the hallways, and the Orcs yelling, trying to shut everyone up. Seregrúth chucks the blade aside and has the whip in his hand again. He brings it down.

Right across my face.

Oh dear...

Faerlain