Once the guards had been left far enough behind, Legolas began to take in his surroundings. Mordor was not quite what the elf expected. He had thought perhaps that that land would be barren, a long stretch of wasteland from the gates to Mount Doom. But the sight that greeted him was so very different. Although the land was essentially a wasteland, unfit for proper life, there was much sign of life and activity. Everywhere, orcs and other foul creatures moved to and from their various tasks. Forges and furnaces stood here and there among the throngs of orcs. Every so often, Legolas could see rows of chained dwarves and men laboring away, feeding the fires or pounding heated metal into the shapes of cruel weapons – weapons that would be turned against them in an instant if ever they failed to please the orc slave masters. Trolls lumbered from one place to another, driven by orcs. Legolas could see the ropes and chains fastened to the trolls as they dragged supplies to where they were needed. In the distance, black smoke rose from the very mountain he was trying to get to.

"Come," Legolas said to Gimli. "Let us press onward."

"I grow weary," the dwarf admitted. "Let us find a place to rest a little, if we may."

Legolas nodded his head, but said nothing. It was unlikely that they would be fortunate enough find shelter where they could rest without fear of discovery. He continued to walk forward, his eyes making silent evaluations about his current situation. He kept Gimli walking ahead of him and did not let the stern, dominant attitude leave his outward appearance. His ruse must have been working well, he realized, for not a single creature hindered his path, though many orcs passed him by going in either direction. For an hour or two, he kept up the pace, and the soles of his feet began to ache dully in protest. He was weary from lack of food and proper rest, and did not know how much longer it would be that he would be able to press on.

At length, the two came to an encampment, the dirty tents dotting the mostly flat ground here and there, leaving the sight looking quite disorderly. Several urak-hai soldiers stood about one of the campfires, talking idly. Legolas pushed Gimli forward. To his left, he saw an elf who looked as if he were in the direct middle of his transformation into an orc. Legolas cringed inwardly. He approached the warriors and spoke.

"Can a weary traveler rest here before continuing his journey?" he asked. "I am to bring this dwarf to his new station, but I must rest before I can go further."

The creatures turned to gaze upon the elf, who did his best to look as cruel and cunning as they did. He was frightfully aware of the need to compensate for his lack of psychical orcish deformities.

"It is not time for resting," replied the leader, whose hand rested on the hilt of the broadsword that hung at his side.

"I know," Legolas replied, "but I have traveled all night with this creature after he escaped from the others in my regiment."

The leader eyed him a moment before making his reply. "Bring the scum to his new station. Then you may rest."

Legolas shook his head. "No," he said defiantly. "I will rest first. Show me where I may stay."

The leader laughed and took a step forward. He must have been one of the slave masters, Legolas realized, for at his side hung a whip and a spiked club. "You forget who you are speaking to," he said threateningly. "Such bold words from one who is not yet fully one of us. Fine, rest if you like. I will take the dwarf to where he is needed."

"No," Legolas said once more. "He is my responsibility. I will take him. I will not risk the wrath of the eight, nor should you," he added with a warning in his voice. "Now, which tent?"

The leader looked at the elf with wonder in his eyes. Surely whichever camp this elf had come from was doing a fine job, for the creature before him seemed to be a true orc, regardless of his outward appearance. He pointed to a series of tents towards the outer ring of the deformed circle of tents. "Take one of them."

Legolas said nothing, but pushed Gimli ahead of him. "Get moving," he ordered the dwarf. "The sooner I rest, the sooner your torment begins."

As they moved off, the leader cracked a satisfied smile. Yes, the prison camps were steadily becoming more effective in their work. If all elves were as easy to break as the one leading the dwarf onwards, it would not take long before all life in Middle Earth would be under Sauron's control.

Legolas and Gimli picked their way through the tents, carefully navigating their path so that they would have the least contact with other orcs as possible. It was, perhaps, a fortunate thing that they were traveling through the camp during the "daylight" hours, for the camp was mostly empty and quiet as the orcs attended to their various tasks. Legolas chose a tent close to the ridge of mountain walls that surrounded Mordor, for the camp was close to them. Here, the tents were utterly deserted and Legolas felt confidant enough to leave Gimli in the tent while he searched the neighboring tents for supplies. He did not have to travel far until he found a supply tent. Silent as a thief, Legolas eased himself inside, slipping between the folds of animal hides and fabric.

There was not much to speak of in the way of food. Piles of half stale bread and dried meats of who knew what animals were all that he found. He looked around for something to carry the food in and found a forsaken cloth bag lying in a corner. It was probably one of the bags that the traveling orcs used to carry food in, Legolas reasoned, and he grabbed it up. With a few quick shakes he cleared the dust from it and then set about his task to fill it as much as he could before he was discovered. Though the bread was somewhat hard, he took a few small loaves, knowing that he had a day or two before they would become completely inedible. What Legolas was most concerned with was the meat, for the provisions that he had carried with him from the Ithilien camp would only last one meager meal more. Their water supply too, was a concern, but Legolas saw no well, no water supply of any kind where he could hope to refill the wineskins.

But now he could risk discovery no longer and he tied the bag at the open end. He slipped back out of the tent, first cautiously poking his head outside and scanning the area with his keen eyes. He saw no orcs close by and he left the supply tent behind. He cautiously made his way back to the one where he and Gimli were resting and was relieved to see that Gimli was still there, unattended, for it meant that none of Sauron's servants had been by. Legolas sat cross legged on the floor, putting the sack between Gimli and himself.

"Here," he said as he undid the knot. "Let us eat to regain our strength." His voice was low, just barely a whisper.

Gimli's eyes lit up as hope came back to him, for he had spent the better part of Legolas' absence contemplating dark thoughts of all that could possibly go wrong. But with food and shelter in their possession, some of his bleak thoughts lifted. He took up some meat and a half a loaf of bread.

"Let us be sparing, my friend," Legolas said. "I do not think I will be able to make a second run to the supply tent where I got this food from. What we have here must last us for the remainder of the journey."

Gimli frowned. Even in the best of circumstances, the food looked as if it would only just barely last until they arrived that the Cracks of Doom.

"Once it becomes dark, we will make as if we are headed to the far furnaces," Legolas continued. "Only when it becomes utterly dark will we change our course."

He shifted his body and stretched out on the floor. Almost immediately, sleep took him. Gimli packed the rest of the provisions and followed the elf's lead. Neither the elf nor the dwarf stirred until after the sun had set and, once they were ready, they slipped out of the tent and headed into the deep darkness of Mordor.