Legolas stared at the orc leader, defiance and anger mixed with the gut-wrenching pain in his eyes. Bolg seemed amused by his glare.
"You still do not believe you'll fall, elf," he chortled. Legolas glared back, trying to ignore the slight trembling of his hands. It was pain, not fear, which caused the trembling; no, Legolas could not find it within himself to fear what would come.
After all, his mother had faced worse. His brother had faced worse. They wouldn't have had to, had he been quicker, more careful, stronger…
Instead, he'd been weak, and their souls died. He hoped the Havens had healed them, saved them when he could not. Legolas had promised himself that he would not let another under his protection be hurt like they had.
Well, he had kept his promise. After all, it was he that failed at preventing the pain the first time, so it made sense that it was he to feel the pain the second time.
It seemed like a twisted, poetic justice.
His hands shook with pain. Every forced step caused half-formed scabs the grate and peel against each other, pulling in the worst ways. Legolas could feel the shreds of his tunic sticking in the wounds, dried blood covering the rags. His tunic would be difficult to remove, he thought, his head slightly fuzzy, drunk and confused from the tortured he had received mere hours before.
Legolas looked up as he was man-handled into Dol Guldur. He watched the sun rise, among small gray clouds but outshining them, making them look less important, less noticeable. The sun always had seemed harsh and arrogant, hiding the stars with its too-bright light.
As Legolas watched, one of the gray clouds drifted in front of the sun, covering it and casting the land into shadow. The arrogant sun had been covered. Its light still shone, but not nearly as brightly. Now, the cloud was obvious and noticeable in the sky. The sun shone on, unseen but not forgotten. Just as the stars do by day.
Then Bolg pulled him into one of the shadowy buildings, and he lost sight of the sky altogether. The shadows seemed to rush at him, thick stone closing in on him. He swallowed hard. Elves were meant for open spaces, and he could not stand small areas. He knew, however, that the area he was being held in was the least of his problems.
"Master," Bolg called, quiet, not calling the being forth but asking if he would show. Legolas saw the shadows deepen, drowning him in them, causing even is elven glow to seem less bright.
"Bolg," the voice said, echoing around him. Legolas looked around with horror. He could not see the one Bolg addressed, and the voice seemed to come from every direction.
"Master, the dwarves have left Laketown and entered Erebor. We could not prevent them from leaving."
"And tell me," the master growled, not seeming surprised that they had failed. "How do twelve weaponless, defenseless dwarves overcome a group of orcs under yourself, Bolg?"
"Two elves fought for them, master. I have captured this one for your plans."
"Wood elves, you say?" the voice hissed. "Tell me, elf, what is your name?"
Legolas was silent, still shaking in front of the blackness of the Necromancer. He had believed the evil being was human, but it was clear that he had been mistaken. No human could control light and shadow like this being could. He was stronger, his presence more terrible, more breathtaking and magnificent then any human's could hope to be.
With all the danger, Legolas suddenly realized that he was standing before one of the most powerful being's he had ever come across. Only Lady Galadriel could rival the Necromancer's power. It was intoxicating as it was dark, corrupting and vile but beckoning to him… calling to him.
Legolas shook his head, denying the call and declining to answer the Necromancer's question. He could feel the Necromancer's power pulse with anger at his refusal. Panic blossomed within him, but still, he refused to give in without a fight.
But he would give in. Even as one of the Eldar, even as a prince, he could not hope to stand alone against such a powerful, terrible being. His presence attacked Legolas' mind already, tearing at his will. He was weaker… drowning in the power… losing his will…
But he would go down fighting. The Necromancer would have to force him into submission. He would not be corrupted as mere orcs were, would not be turned willingly (more or less) into a slave.
He had too much pride to just give in, even if that foolish pride could cause his own death.
The Necromancer's ire exploded in a burst of power. Legolas bit his lip to avoid crying out as the power actually scorched his face with its immense heat. It surrounded him, burning him, probing him harshly with its influence and telling him of its command.
"Your name, elf!"
Legolas stared at the shadows, darker than night, dripping of strength and force. He could not win this fight. He would fail, and he knew that.
True, he did not accept it, but there was little he could do. It was better to save his strength for greater fights, right?
Surely, his name, in the end, would not matter.
"Legolas of Mirkwood," he said proudly, holding his head high, staring into the shadow. He did not say he was a prince, nor did he say who his father was. That was not needed, and he doubted the Necromancer would recognize him by name alone.
Then, the monster chuckled.
"Legolas of Mirkwood," Bolg said, shaking his head with pleasure. "I met your brother, princeling, son of Thranduil." The Necromancer sniggered as well.
"This is the famed elf that rescued his family too late and was injured too badly to be of true help? Son of Thranduil? You will serve me well, son of Thranduil, and, when fulfilling my duties, you will not fail as you have before."
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Tauriel awoke from fitful sleep the minute the sun rose above the horizon. She stood, silent, waiting for Bard. As expected, he came soon after the dawn. Tauriel awoke the dwarves, noting that Kili looked much better. He would awaken today.
Bard had gotten the horses, but he had only found make-shift weapons for the dwarves. Tauriel, loathe as she was to have to do so, gave the dwarves Legolas' weapons. His bow and arrows could not be used until Kili was awake and battle-ready, and Tauriel debated if she should give a dwarf, of all beings, Legolas' bow.
She had been with him as he made it. His old bow had been shattered while he attempted to rescue his family. He had made another out of an oak branch not long after he returned to civilization. Legolas had not spoken to her, but they had felt a brief connection. Tauriel had had to hang onto that connection for weeks before any words were spoken between them.
It seemed horrid and betraying to give Legolas' weapons to anyone, but she knew that it would be worse if they failed due to improper weapons.
So she brought the bow and arrows along. She and the dwarves – Bofur, Ӧin, Fili, and Kili – climbed onto the horses. Fili rode with Kili before him. Kili still slept on, but he was near waking, making small sounds and muttering words. He would be healed soon.
Tauriel knew they had set out late. The orcs rode wargs, which were naturally faster than horses. They were either nearing Dol Guldur or already there. She felt too late and wondered, once again, how much of Legolas would she rescue.
But she knew she had to try, of course, and she would rescue him with the dwarves. It meant a lot to her that the dwarves were willing to help.
"Thank you," Tauriel said quietly, breaking the thick silence.
"For what?" Fili said, gritting his teeth as he tried to control the horse and keep Kili upright as he shifted.
"For putting aside your prejudice to help an elf that gave you no reason to care about his capture," Tauriel said, meeting his eyes for a brief moment.
"Then thank you," Fili said. "For putting aside your prejudice to help a dwarf that gave you no reason to care about his blight."
"Not many would attempt what we are, you know," Fili continued.
"Dwarves and elves fighting on the same side?" Tauriel asked, slightly amused.
"No," Fili said seriously. "Raiding Dol Guldur and escaping with one of their prisoners. We saw its poison in Mirkwood. The forest was sick, and the Necromancer is the cause of all."
"He is but one human," Tauriel said stubbornly.
"Or is he?" Fili said. "The orc we faced, the leader, he was not a mere orc about to be controlled with bribes. No, he was created to lead, to destroy, and kill. Already, we dwarves knew that someone hunted to kill Thorin. I believe the Necromancer is behind all of it."
"Then you call our quest hopeless?" Tauriel asked.
"Hopeless?" Fili echoed. "No. No quest is hopeless unless you do not set out to accomplish it. Balin told us that escape was hopeless out of Mirkwood, and I think we managed it pretty well." Tauriel smiled at Fili and snorted.
"Pretty well?" she jested. "You escaped out of pure luck! The orcs showed up at just the right second for you to escape!"
"What's life without a little luck?" Fili asked. Tauriel looked at him, sitting holding his brother still as he began to wake.
"Is that why Kili carries the talisman? For the luck to return to his mother?"
"How do you know of that?" Fili asked, looking at her with sudden mistrust. Tauriel looked away, not liking the kind-hearted dwarf's steely gaze focused on her.
"He told me of it. What does it say?" Fili stared for another moment, then nodded, seeming to accept her answer.
"Are you sure you wish to know? For if anyone other than a dwarf were to read the words, then they would be cursed forevermore."
"But only if you believe in legends," Tauriel added. Fili laughed.
"Kili never did believe in those tales. It says "Come back to me" in our native tongue. Do not tell me that, with all of your years and wisdom, you have not learned it?" Fili joked.
"Alas, there was little literature on dwarves in Mirkwood that spoke of your kind as intelligent beings, let alone spoke of your language."
"You jest, my lady!" Fili exclaimed.
"Nay, I was taught as an elfling that your language consists of grunts and growls, and you are driven by nothing more than greed for gold."
"What made you second guess your lessons?" Fili asked.
"A certain promise," Tauriel said with a meaningful glance at Kili.
"Of course, my lady. Kili does have a tendency to go past expectations."
"That he does," Tauriel agreed fondly. "He also has quite a knack for the unexpected. Now, as you jest over my knowledge, would you teach me some of your dwarvish, Fili?"
"Perhaps," Fili said. "If you would teach me elvish?"
"I am afraid I do not speak elvish, master dwarf, but Quenya."
"Nor do I speak dwarvish, my lady. I speak Khuzdul and sign Iglishmêk," Fili said with a grin.
"Forgive me, master dwarf, for not knowing the ways of dwarves."
"Only if you forgive me, my lady, for not knowing of the elvish customs."
Tauriel looked at Fili, smiling and joking with him. Her thoughts of Legolas were not forgotten. No, they would be on her mind until he was safe. However, she now knew that she was not alone in her company of five. She had at least one person to talk to and trust.
Suddenly, it seemed a great burden was lifted from her shoulders.
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Hey, guys!
Woohoo! Two chapters in a single day, and a long chapter to boot! Be proud of me and enjoy!
Tell me what you think of my more lighthearted part. Please review!
Thanks to all my readers!
Dislcaimer: Tolkien owns all!