The rest of the day passed and Legolas was freed from the tent, not out of mercy but to assist other elves in fortifying the inner defenses of the metal walls that surrounded the compound. He was weary and his scarcely healed wounds screamed at every movement, but he silently forged on, ever mindful of the orcs that paraded up and down the wall, whips in hand, ready to spring should any elf falter in his task. Still, he did feel somewhat fortunate, as he always did after surviving a torture session. He had been able to get back his own clothing, and that meant the ring was still in his care. It always unnerved him to think how easy it would be for the enemy to reclaim it, for all they had to do was to search his clothing. Yet for all of his fear, Legolas did not trust to leave the ring elsewhere. Sometimes the best place to hide something was right out in the open, he mused to himself. Surely if anyone had the ring, they would not be still within the prison camp walls, or leave it in a place so open. And so, he still had hope.
Still, hope could do little to improve his current situation, so he grit his teeth and continued at the task set before him. Night came swiftly to Ithilien, for the land was close to the gates of Mordor. The land was shrouded in darkness and the wearied elven laborers were given such respite as their captors would allow them, while others were forced to pick up their work and labor by firelight.
Tired almost beyond the point of thought, Legolas stumbled back to the place were he slept, though it was little more than a ragged tent that he shared with a dozen other elves. There he cast himself upon his bedroll, not even caring to tend to his wounds, and entered into a troubled sleep.
It was just after midnight when he awoke suddenly from his dreams. He stood, trying to make sense of what had occurred. Then he heard the sounds of a battle coming from across the compound. An orc, Wormgut, and one of the urak-hai (Legolas could not be certain but it sounded like it was perhaps Rattooth) were arguing over something, perhaps the torture method being used against some poor elf. Intrigued, Legolas cautiously poked his head out from the tent. In the darkness of the night, the darkest one that he had yet witnessed, he could barely discern the group of foul creatures where they stood fighting. Apparently the two leaders' fight had sparked an even greater one and others had joined the fray. His heart in his mouth, Legolas ventured a look towards the gates of the compound. They were still guarded, but now only two sleepy guards stood to the left of the gate, looking away towards the fight and shouting such insults as they could in their own tongue.
This was his chance, Legolas immediately realized, for he did not know when fortune would next smile upon him. True, he was not as prepared to begin his quest as he would have liked, but there was no telling when the time would come when such an opportunity would be made available to him. He had to set out now, or risk the chance of never beginning the quest.
Hastily, he pulled aside his bedroll, dirty and matted with dried blood, and dug around for a moment in the loosely packed soil until he pulled out a cloak of green and a worn brown leather pouch that contained his store of provisions for the road ahead of him. Putting them to one side, he dug around in a second area for his wineskin, now filled with water, and a crude orcish dagger that he filched from a supply room days before. This he hid in his boot and he noted how good it felt to once again have a blade upon his body. He felt safer now, protected from those creatures who had too often tortured the free folk of Middle Earth.
He slipped on the cloak also, drawing the hood over his head. It was the cloak that the elves of Lothlorien had bestowed upon him whilst he had traveled with the Fellowship. Legolas smiled to himself as he recalled the words of the Lord and Lady of that fair wood and how they had offered their hopes that the elven spun material would shield the wearers from unfriendly eyes. For the fulfillment of these words, Legolas sent his silent plea to the Valar, for if ever he needed to walk as one that is invisible, it would be now, the first and possibly most crucial step of his journey.
All around him, the other elves lay in sleep, unaware of his preparations. It was better this way, he reasoned to himself, for once his absence became noticed, the orcs would torment anyone that they suspected of knowing even the slightest morsel of information. This way, with Legolas slipping off unannounced, he could not only spare the others, but also protect his own mission.
Now he exited the tent, keeping silent and in the deepest shadows that he could find. It was true that orcs could see well in the dark, but even the keenest eyed among them would have had trouble spotting the prince in the blackest shadows of the evil night. But then there was the problem of the gate, which was always lighted by large fires for both light and warmth. Here Legolas could not hope to slink by unnoticed in the shadows. However lightly guarded, it would be most difficult to pass through the gates unmarked. He would need to find some way to pass amongst the orcs without being seen.
Legolas stood alone in the shadows, mulling the situation over in his mind. He had thought about the very same problem for many a night, and now his heart beat with the urgency of his quest. He had to find some way out of the compound and could risk no margin for error. Above him, on the wall, he could hear the booted feet of the archers as they paced back and forth on guard. He scanned the compound itself. The fight between the servants of the enemy was not yet subsided, a fact Legolas was silently thankful for. Then it was, perhaps for the second time that night that luck smiled upon him.
A cart bearing away the dead stopped by one of the makeshift tents. Two stout orcs jumped down from the driver's bench and went into the tent, ready to add whatever elves had perished to the load that they had collected thus far that evening. There were not many bodies in the cart, perhaps maybe a dozen or so, and once Legolas was sure that the orcs were gone and the cart unwatched, he climbed up into the back. With a deep breath to steady himself, Legolas picked his way into the center of the mound of flesh, entwining his limbs with those of the dead, and he lay as still as he could, making his breathing shallow.
A tense minute or two passed and the orcs reemerged from the tent, bearing the broken body of a small elf child. The boy was not even half grown and Legolas' heart filled with rage, disgust, and sadness. But he restrained himself from making any motion and the body of the elfling was thrown onto the top of the pile. The orcs climbed back into the front of the cart and took the reins. Two nearly skeletal ponies whinnied and took off at as fast a trot they could muster, heading ever in the direction of the gate.
"Halt there!" called one of the guards as the wagon came close to the gate. "What is your business?"
"Dumping the worm fodder," replied the orc with the reins in his gnarled heads.
"Orders are to check everything that passes," said the guard, and Legolas guessed that the driver of the cart must have been new to the camp.
The driver made no reply and the two guards approached either side of the wagon and surveyed the pile of lifeless bodies. Then they unsheathed their swords and plunged them into the heap, stabbing here and there with force meant to ferret out any living soul that might stowaway. A few times the swords made contact with Legolas' skin, but he was buried far enough under the other bodies that the thrusts did little hurt to him.
"What's this? Blood?" asked the shorter guard and Legolas felt the first twinge of panic rising within him.
"Leave off!" the orc driver said, sounding annoyed. "One of the scum is dead less than half an hour. Blood is to be expected."
Whether or not the guard was satisfied, Legolas could not tell and the time seemed to freeze to a standstill while the two creatures eyed one another. Then, mercifully, the elf felt the cart move once more, through the gateway and out into the wilderness.
Long moments passed; Legolas could not rightly keep track of how long it had been. Less than an hour, perhaps, came to pass when suddenly the horses were halted. The orcs jumped from the cart and opened a latch, pushing the dead from the cart and into a pit filled with half rotten corpses. Legolas lay as he had fallen and in the darkness the enemy thought him for dead. The back of the wagon was closed once more and the orcs drove the horses back towards the camp. Still, Legolas did not move until he was positive that the creatures were too far to catch him. Then he carefully climbed out from the shallow pit, checked to ensure that the ring was still with him, and slipped into the shadows of dead trees. Reaching one ringed by high brown weeds, for the first time in his long life, Legolas got sick. When he was able to compose himself, Legolas took in his surroundings.
As far as he could tell, he was somewhat north and east of the prison camp, meaning that the orcs had unwittingly born him closer to his destination of Mordor. He decided to continue in the same direction and traveled several miles before stopping for the night. So far, he thought to himself, the path had been easy enough. Though the terrain was rocky and desolate, his light feet had born him faster than he could have hoped for, despite the wounds of his body and the unrelenting fatigue that had always gnawed at him while in the camp. But finally he could go no further and the break of the bleak day was not far off. He hid himself in a patch of thorny dried bushes and passed the first day of his freedom.