A huge thanks to my reviewers! I emailed replies to those I could and some I could not get a hold of and I will reply to in the next chapter! Those who leave email addresses will get a thank-you every two or so chapters.
Another thanks to my beta, seeing-spots.
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Legolas awoke several hours after his capture. His head was still spinning madly, and he could barely remember what had just happened.
He was lying on his side in a musty, dark, dirty tent. His hands were bound very firmly behind his back; when he tried to move his fingers, he could not. Far different were they than before, for now instead of feeling jelly-like and watery, they were stiff and unbending. He supposed the circulation must have been cut off for so many hours that his fingers had lost feeling.
A sharp pain in his side reminded him that unfortunately, he did have feeling in the rest of his body, and now the spider sting had started to ache and give him pain.
He tried to sit up, and immediately regretted it as a wave of nausea swept over him. Fire raced up and down his entire body as the spider wound protested. He groaned.
That was strange, Legolas thought, lying quickly back down and closing his eyes. Spider bites were not supposed to give one nausea. Nor did they usually give so much pain upon movement. He had been stung before and the pain had always been relatively minor, although then again the spider that had gotten him had indeed been one of the largest he'd ever seen.
I must make mention of this to Father when I get back, he though woozily as nausea threatened to overtake him again. Aragorn and I will have quite a report to—Aragorn!
He had almost forgotten about the Man. He almost sat up again before remembering that this was a bad idea. His mind raced. Where could the human be? He twisted around to see if he had somehow missed the other in the tent, but he found he was quite alone.
He had probably been taken to another tent. The orcs had probably feared to put them together, in case they were allies, and thus they were separated.
He only hoped that the orcs had not actually carried out their 'fun' yet, and that he and Aragorn would be able to escape before they did. It would be difficult enough to escápé (kind of like 'escape') as it was without added injury. He knew entirely too well the reputation of the orcs, however, and with a mental sigh figured he was probably being optimistic if he thought that they would get out unscathed. Still, it did no harm to at least try. His first goal would be to find Aragorn and make sure the human was unharmed, or at least well enough to walk on his own. Unfortunately, this would involve getting out of his own bonds before even attempting to plan an escape and rescue, and, try as he might he could not get to loosen in the least. In fact, whenever he moved at all a wave of dizziness threatened to blind him, and this proved to be more than irritating, as he could not even twist around without spots flashing in front of his eyes. Any motion at all made the world spin and gave him a momentary headache that he thought ought to be eligible for some kind of hall of fame.
Contemplating this problem, he rolled painfully onto one side, away from the door. Shutting his eyes tightly, he failed to notice the door being opened and two orcs stepping in until a sharp boot dug itself into his back.
"Wake up, you," grunted the orc, who Legolas recognized upon turning over as Lux.
Legolas didn't respond, waiting to see what would happen, and the orc reached down and roughly grabbed Legolas's shoulder, pulling him up. The elf's lip curled in disgust, and his first thought was to tell the orc off for touching him, but as he opened his mouth to speak the words, the only thing that came out was, "Uhhhhh…" as the world spun out of control once again. Hating himself for the weakness, he did his very best to stand upright unaided, but succeeded only in a wobbly position, leaning heavily against a support beam of the tent. He would have fallen entirely if Lux's strong grasp around his upper arm had not held him so firmly in place.
"Wos' the matter with you?" demanded Lux, looking puzzled. "You ain't been hurt too bad yet…speak up!" He slapped Legolas hard across the face. The elf stumbled backward, his vision blurring once again, and he fell onto the floor. He made a valiant effort at getting up, but the nausea returned and he felt a horrible tug at his stomach, the overwhelming urge to vomit. He clamped his lips firmly shut, determined that, even if the orcs had to see him in this terribly undignified fashion, at least he could keep from throwing up his breakfast in front of them. He closed his eyes. All he really needed was to rest…he felt tremors begin to run through his body as his stomach demanded to be emptied but his mind refused.
"Wos' with 'im?" Lux said, staring fiercely at the trembling Elf. "We ain't done nothin' to him…not yet, leastways…
"It's the bite," the second orc said suddenly. "Spider poison, that is. They don't react nicely to it, Elves…last one died of it 'fore we could give 'im the antidote. Couldn't even stand proper on his own. Kept twitchin' and spittin' up before he died. Eventually spit up most' his own blood, didn't have nothin' left in the stomach to throw up."
Another thing to mention to his father, Legolas thought woozily. He had no idea what evil possessed these spiders that they could do this to an elf, but it was definitely worth making note of to Thranduil.
Lux snickered evilly. "Well, we'll just have to give 'im the antidote, eh? See to it that he doesn't die 'fore the boss has his fun wit' 'im."
It might be kinder to leave me die rather than let them have their 'fun', Legolas thought darkly, though orcs were hardly known for their sensitivity or kindness.
"Stay here," ordered Lux. "Watch him while I explain the situation and all to Ugbúz…get the elf the antidote."
He shoved Legolas onto the floor and exited the tent, leaving the other orc standing over the prince, leering.
Legolas thought this might be a good time to question the orc, muddied as his brain felt. Sitting up, forcing himself not to look as though this dizzied him, he made himself look directly at the orc.
"Whaddya want, elf?" growled the orc, seeing his glance.
"Answers to a few questions," replied the elf coolly. "Orch."
The orc slapped him hard, jerking his head to the side. Legolas felt blood running down his chin, but he ignored it.
"I'm called Gezúk," growled Gezúk. "And I ain't answerin' none of your questions."
"Why am I here?" asked Legolas, ignoring this. Gezúk strode over and kicked the elf hard in the ribs. Legolas winced slightly, but gave no other appearance of pain.
"I said, no questions!"
"Where is my friend?" Legolas persisted. Another kick.
"What are you—" this time, his query was cut off by a large fist being closed around his throat. Legolas had the opportunity to witness a very large orc face, angry and malicious, throw itself directly into his face, so close he could smell its foul breath and hear its low hisses.
"When I say no questions—" the fist tightened, Legolas struggled to breathe "—I mean no questions. Else—" he tightened his fist even further. The elf's windpipe was entirely cut off; he began to black out, and in the dimness of reality he felt his stomach begin to erupt again. "You understand?"
Realizing dimly that it wouldn't do him or Aragorn, or their fathers, or brothers, or their kingdoms, or anyone, much good if he died, Legolas relented. He nodded and sighed in relief as the fist relaxed and slid entirely from his throat. Though the nausea and dizziness still lingered, at least he didn't have to worry about breathing for the time being.
"And make sure you remember it," growled Gezúk, stepping away from his prisoner. At that moment the tent flap opened, revealing Lux holding a container of some sort.
"Hold him up, Gezúk," he ordered, a wicked smile on his face. He held up a wineskin, though Legolas was sure it contained the last thing from wine. "Open up wide, elf…"
Naturally, Legolas refused. Gezúk hauled him up and held him there by the waist as Lux roughly grabbed the elf's lower jaw and forced him to drink.
The liquid was some of the foulest he'd ever tasted—something like extraordinarily sour citrus, blood and pond slime, all mixed into one. He choked, but Lux now clamped his mouth shut and tipped his head back, forcing him to either swallow or choke. Legolas chose to swallow, figuring he had a better chance of escaping if he was alive.
The stuff was awful, and burned his insides the entire way down. It felt like he was downing a glass of bloody fire. Seconds later, however, the burning stopped. His head cleared, his vision was no longer shaky, and all traces of nausea were gone. He could think properly, and was able to stand up easily on his own.
"Better now?" said Lux approvingly. He didn't wait for an answer, and instead pulled the elf roughly outside. Legolas blinked. His eyes, which had grown accustomed the dank interior of the tent, were seeing the sunlight for the first time in many hours. It was like coming out of a dark, deep tunnel.
Legolas looked around, keen eyes searching for an escape route, or any place Aragorn might be held. Lux saw him looking and grabbed the back of Legolas's long hair like a rudder, making him look straight ahead.
"We aren't that dumb, y'know," he said quietly to the elf. "Don't try anything stupid, and if you answer all boss's questions right, you may jest get outta here alive."
Legolas wanted to ask how their boss would know if he gave the right answer, but refrained from doing so in light of the fact that the orc had a long, sharp-looking dagger in his hand that was already stained crimson from…well, Legolas supposed, past victims.
Lux lead him to the largest tent in the center of the camp. He pushed the elf forward roughly inside.
"Prisoner here, as requested, fully alert and ready," he grunted to the orc already inside, the one called Ugbúz, whom Legolas recognized from yesterday. He didn't like the implications 'ready' held.
"Good," replied Ugbúz. "Wait outside now in case he causes trouble. I'll call ye if yer needed."
"Yessir, boss," answered Lux, bowing his way out of the tent.
This left Legolas alone with Ugbúz and another, smaller orc, whom Legolas assumed was a servant of some kind.
Deciding he wanted to have control of the situation as best he could, he made the choice to speak first, hoping to distract Ugbúz from whatever he was going to do.
"Why I am being held here?" he asked. The orc eyed him with disgust and punched him hard in the stomach. Legolas was sincerely glad that he no longer felt any nausea, as he was certain he would not have been able to keep his stomach in check after the blow.
"You ain't askin' the questions," Ugbúz told him in a low voice. "It's me doing that, and if you wanna get outta here alive, you better answer." He threw another fist into Legolas's face, and the elf, unable to balance because of his bound hands, stumbled slightly and fell. He was about to get up but Ugbúz came over and planted a large, muddy boot on his chest, preventing any movement. He could feel his left cheek smarting and swelling from the punch he'd just received, and figured that before long he'd have a handsome purple-black bruise to show off.
"You understand?" growled the orc. Feeling that he had most definitely lost control of the situation, Legolas was forced to give a nod, though haughty and brief it was.
"Good."
"Lasto lalaith nin," Legolas added quietly. "Gurth a chyth-in-edhil. Le fuia-im, orch."
Ugbúz's eyes narrowed. Though he did not understand what the elf was saying, he knew from his tone that he was being mocked. He also recognized the last word, orch, and knew it meant orc. Elves only used the word in reference to something very foul. It made him angry. Motioning to his servant Grak, he held out his hand for something that Legolas could not see. Its meaning became clear several seconds later when the orc turned back to the elf, holding a cruel nine-thonged leather whip. He allowed the whip to unwind, its long straps dangling over Legolas's face tauntingly. He gave the whip a sudden flick, and Legolas hissed at the unexpected pain as it cut across his face. Ugbúz laughed, delighted that he had gotten a reaction out of his victim already.
Blood dripped into the prince's eyes and he blinked it away angrily, furious with himself for making any note of the pain. He vowed that he would not show weakness like that again.
Ugbúz removed his foot from Legolas's chest, looking happier.
"Now we do questions," he said. "Don't answer, get this." He slapped Legolas with the whip again to demonstrate. This time, Legolas didn't flinch or make a noise.
Ugbúz scowled, disappointed at the lack of reaction. "Fine, then. Ye'll just make it harder on yourself. Turn him on his stomach, Grak."
The other orc did so, kicking Legolas until the elf was flipped onto his stomach.
"First question: what's yer name?"
Legolas pondered whether to lie or simply remain silent. Obviously he would not tell who he actually was, but he was unsure whether it would be better to give a false name or merely give the orc no satisfaction of an answer. If he told a lie, Ugbúz would probably either not believe him or pretend not to, just to give him an excuse to use his whip. If he remained silent, Ugbúz would definitely use the whip, and then probably continue beating the elf until he gave an answer. Legolas decided it amounted to the same thing either way, and thus it didn't much matter.
"I am called Finlas," he said carefully, quickly thinking of the name of one of his father's advisors. "I am a soldier. I serve the king of Mirkwood." This, at least, was partially true, for while he was certainly not a soldier, he did serve his father. Ugbúz didn't need to know that the king was his father, though, he decided. He didn't expect the orc to believe him, and was thus surprised when his captor gave a grunt of satisfaction and accepted the answer without question.
"What's yer business in our territory?" was the next question.
Legolas felt a hot prick of anger. "It is not your territory, orc," he spat. "It is part of Mirkwood, and belongs to her king. Foul creatures like yourself have little right within its borders, and even less right to call it your own."
Predictably, he was rewarded for his cheek with the downward slash of the whip onto his back. His arms were still bound behind him, getting part of the blow as well. He ignored it.
"My name is Ugbúz," the orc told him. Legolas didn't feel the need to point out that he already knew this. "You'll call me that—or 'my lord' or 'master' will do."
At this Legolas actually turned his head and spit at the orc, a look of absolute hatred on his face. "Never," he ground out. "I may reward you with your name, but as for 'master'—none shall ever claim that title over me again. You are a beast, undeserving of even a name, much less that title."
"Why, you little—" Ugbúz growled. He placed a foot on the back of Legolas's neck and shoved the elf's face into the ground while he brought the whip down over his shoulders.
Nine times Legolas was hit with the cruel instrument before his captor stopped. The elf gave no reaction, and Ugbúz glared furiously at him for it.
"I'm done answering your questions," Legolas said quietly. "Ask me no more, for nothing more than silence shall you receive."
"Then I suppose nothing more than a bloodied body you shall receive," snarled Ugbúz, mocking his prisoner's eloquent language and still infuriated by the elf's utter lack of emotion. "I'm gonna give you one chance to answer my questions again. Ye'll regret it if yeh don't. Last chance. What were you doin' around our land?"
Legolas ignored him. He was ready for whatever they would throw at him. He would not give up any useful information if it cost him his life.
"Do your worst," he hissed. "I shall take it."
Smack.
The heavy thongs landed on his back and arms again.
He kept his face blank, devoid of any emotion whatsoever.
Thwack.
Thwack.
Thwack.
"Wos' the matter with you?" demanded Ugbúz furiously. It never took his victims this long to crack. Little did he know that Legolas was nowhere near breaking.
Knowing it would further infuriate the orc, Legolas twisted his head around and smiled at him, ignoring the shooting pain, pretending he didn't feel it.
Ugbúz swore and kicked the elf's head back around. If the stupid thing wanted to smile, he could smile at the ground. "If that's the way you want it…" He motioned to Grak. "Tie him to the rack."
Legolas was heaved roughly onto his feet. The bonds on his arms were cut, though his wrists remained locked in Grak's tight grasp. He was dragged over to a large wooden frame, forced to kneel and then his upper body was stretched unceremoniously over it, his hands bound over his head to the top of the frame.
"Take his shirt off," ordered Ugbúz.
Legolas felt rough hands tearing bloody scraps of what used to be his tunic from his back. He resisted the urge to make a face as the orc's dirty, grimy nails clawed over his skin, taking no care to be gentle with the long cuts already marking his back.
He could sense Ugbúz grinning at his prisoner's helpless form and wished he could heartily slap the orc. Actually, a good knife through the stomach might be good as well, and would probably prove more efficient, but as he could do neither he settled himself with glaring at the floor from his humiliating position on the frame.
"Now we'll see what you're really made of, elf," growled the foul creature, emphasizing his words with flicks of his whip.
Legolas prepared himself mentally. He knew he could handle this, he knew he could withstand the torments of the orc. He had been hurt with instruments far worse than whips before. He knew what they felt like, and knew the pain they caused. He had been through enough to harden him against this torture.
But just because he would not crack did not mean that he did not feel fear or pain. He had been tortured before, and each time he had felt the familiar curl of fear in his stomach, the prickling nervousness that came from experience. He knew it would hurt, and the pain would be terrible. Simply because he was an Elven warrior did not mean he did not wish that the pain would go away.
So he steeled himself, bracing his mind and body for the trials they were about to be put through, and as the whip flew down and ravaged his flesh with its stinging cruelty, he silently concentrated on anything but the pain.
He had underestimated the orc's determination, however. As the whip came singing down time after time, Legolas thought, surely it is nearly finished, but after ten minutes of continual beating, the orc was showing no signs of letting up, and was only infuriated by the elf's complete lack of reaction.
Smack.
Smack.
His back was in bloody shreds now. Blood poured freely from the open wounds and mingled with the dirt and grime. He could feel a pool of his own blood forming around his knees, soaking his trousers.
Smack.
His breath caught in his throat. He was beginning to black out. He bit his lip hard, drawing blood—anything to stay awake and emotionless.
I will not give in. I will not give in. The darkness shall not take me, he swore silently to himself, gritting his teeth
Ugbúz flicked the whip hard, letting it curl around Legolas's torso, before snapping it hard back up, so the elf now bore the mark around his entire body.
Legolas leaned his head against the frame and closed his eyes, willing himself to remain stoic and conscious. He would not give up. He would not let this foul creature have his way.
On and on it went, and for many minutes there was only the cruel snapping sound of the whip ripping into the prince's skin, and the wet sound it made when it came into contact with the shredded, blood-soaked flesh.
Legolas clenched his teeth as the thongs tore into his back, but suddenly the torment stopped.
He nearly breathed a sigh of relief, thinking it was over, when out of nowhere a pain greater than anything he'd experienced yet at the hands of his current captor exploded in his afflicted back. Fire more powerful than a furnace tore his abused backside up.
He could no longer hold his pain in. Though still not close to shattering, he let out a dry gasp of pain that shook his whole body.
What was it? He wondered weakly. What were they trying to torment him with now?
Then he smelled it on the air.
Salt.
He felt hands, rough hands, rubbing the fire into his sores. Every nerve he had screamed in protest and he moaned out loud. He could barely stand it anymore. He would still never give up, but the pain…it had to stop…
"Stop," he said suddenly, forcing himself to sound strong. "I—I cannot—"
"Shut up," snarled Ugbúz, grinning in sadistic pleasure that he had finally gotten a reaction out of the stoic elf. " 'Do your worst, I can take it', that's what you said, innit? Well, we ain't even got around to the worst yet, elf, so you better get used to it…"
And he began with the whip again.
This time, a gasp issued from the tortured being after every lash, and though Legolas's determination was still strong, his body was getting weaker. The body could not cope with what the mind insisted it must.
The fire raged.
The blood ran.
Legolas Greenleaf knew no more.