Apologies for how long I have left this- I have had flu last week. But it's nothing compared with what poor Legolas has got coming.

Massive thanks to my beta: Anarithilien, who made this even more tortured!

Thank you to those great readers who drop a line to say they are reading this and enjoying it, who are encouraging and keep me posting: freddie, lotrfn, Raider-K, Annika Greenwood, Nako.

Chapter 27: Sacrifice.

In the cold dark, Legolas was slumped miserably against the iron bars. He had no idea how long he had been there for absolutely no light penetrated the darkness, unless you counted the eerie half light that glimmered sometimes in the Mirror…like Something hovered just out of sight, just beyond reach. Still hidden. Waiting.

It frightened him beyond reason.

There was something above the Mirror too: something metal clinked, but he did not want to go any closer, even to investigate. For a ghoulish face seemed to appear at times in the darkness of the Glass, insubstantial, dissipating quickly as if it could not hold itself together. It had appeared when he cut his finger, as if his blood had summoned it from the Darkness.

Some dark sorcery, he thought. Perhaps Bearos has cast some evil spell to make me imagine he is watching me from the Glass. He means me great harm, Legolas thought and bowed his head. And Aragorn too.

He was frightened for Aragorn too. Bearos had been close to Faramir and had used this to insinuate himself ever more closely to Aragorn. It was Bearos who had been entrusted by Faramir to negotiate with the Easterling chief, Kustîg. Bearos must have used the opportunity to plot the Easterling's escape, and to steal the Mirror so that in all the confusion, they had assumed that it was Kustîg who had stolen the Mirror and sent Gandalf and Gimli off on a wild goose chase.

He looked away, shaking his head at his own stupidity. His excitement when he received the note from Gimli was what had sent him racing off as blindly as they. He was certain now that Gimli had not sent the note- though it was unquestioningly Gimli's hand. And because of that, he thought that Gimli had been tricked into writing it.

It was over-elaborate, he thought. But the Ghoul's plan to lure him to Ioralas' body had been equally elaborate. Like a game..

It had killed Ioralas.

Legolas stared at the stone floor unseeing. Instead he saw Ioralas' white face, his broken body, desanguinated like his blood had been drained from his body.

Perhaps Gimli too, his dear friend, was either in as much danger as Legolas himself, or worse, already dead.

Eru. Please do not let that be Gimli's fate.

When Legolas had cut himself, the Ghoul had seemed to appear in the Glass as if summoned by his blood…That was the fate that awaited him now. Was that what it had done to Gimli? No. He could not believe that Gimli could ever be foolish enough to be tricked as he had been. Gimli was a rock, strength. He would not have been so easily deceived. Saruman could not deceive him. Bearos would be no match. And Gandalf was with Gimli…Eru, let that be true.

I still have my knives, he reminded himself over and over for he had not been disarmed by Bearos when he was imprisoned. And it is only my own fear that torments me. But it was hard to believe that here. In the dark beneath hard rock and stone it was harder to believe that he might yet escape than it had ever been in the South of the Wood.

Ah. Elrohir, I have only just found you to lose you.

A sob forced its way from somewhere deep inside and he clapped his hand over his mouth, glancing over towards the Glass in case his cry was heard by the thing that lurked on the other side of the Glass.

Down here, deep beneath the Houses of the Dead, it was utterly still. Utterly silent. But there was such heaviness in the air, pressure building, like a storm approached.

And then, far off, far away through and beyond the Glass, was a sound.

He flicked a frightened glance up towards the Glass.

Another sound. Like something was just out of sight. Just behind the Glass. As if something had awoken and was aware of him.

Eyes wide, Legolas slowly groped his way up the bars of the iron grille and climbed to his feet. He pressed his back against the iron bars, his feet slipping. Dimly, he could see that eerie green light shimmer over the Mirror and for one moment, he thought the Glass rippled and stretched, as if something on the other side of the Glass had pressed against it. He did not know, in the hysteria of his fear, whether this was real or imagined but it had him scrambling backwards towards the grille and clambering up the slippery rungs as if he might find some way out.

There was none.

He froze, clinging to the iron bars, his feet away from the floor, hardly breathing in case IT might hear him. Still and silent, not moving, barely breathing, he smothered his Song, determined he would not scream. He would not. He pressed his hand over his mouth.

In the Glass, the darkness seemed even more intense, even deeper. It seemed to roll outwards from the Mirror towards him. The hair of his scalp froze, his blood chilled and he held himself absolutely still, eyes wide and staring.

His fingertips of darkness eased beneath the Glass, oozed slowly across the floor, seemed to reach for him. A sudden breath of cold air swept out from the Glass and with it, a tinge of something else. Like a smell...like the emptiness of a tomb.

It was unmistakable to any who had grown up in the Forest or spent time patrolling the South.

Nazgûl.

His throat was suddenly dry, heart racing with fear, nerves jangling. He pulled his feet higher up off the floor and onto the slippery rungs of the iron gate. Squeezing his eyes shut, he drowned out all thoughts, pressed down his terror, stilled his wildly pounding heart, willed his blood to stop banging through his veins for they would smell him...smell his fear... That familiar, inexplicable fear drove a spike through his heart like a blade. He pressed against the cold iron bars, and did not move, forced his heartbeat to be slow and quiet, and suffocated his Song. Every hair on his body and head was stiff with fear.

The Glass shivered like the wind had breathed over a still pond. Slowly, the silk surface stretched like something on the other side were pressing against it once more, testing it.

And then slowly it stilled, and seemed to solidify once more.

Darkness settled in the Glass.

For an Age, he waited. Did not move. Barely breathed. Until at last he carefully let his foot drop to the stone floor.

Nothing. It was gone. No dark tendrils writhed about his feet. There was no smell. The air did not bend like looking into a sepia pond as it did in the South when the Nazgûl were close.

Slowly he sank onto the ground, made himself as small as he could and huddled as far from the Mirror as he could, and dropped his head on his arms in misery. He had his weapons still but they would do him no good against what slowly, silently approached. He knew it now.

Nazgûl.

They were not ended when Barad-dûr fell. That Ring that Bearos wore, Legolas knew now, was one of the Nine, and it sought to free its Brethren. They were there, behind the Glass.

0o00o0o

It was long time before he heard another sound. But this time, it was not from the Glass but from outside, beyond the heavy iron slab that had closed him into this prison.

He clambered to his feet and pressed himself against the grille, heart beating in fear and hope.

Yes. There was a distinctive sound. Someone was coming!

Perhaps someone had discovered he was missing and searched for him, finding a trail, finding clues? Maybe Aragorn, for he was the best tracker Legolas had ever known apart from Thalos, his brother. Or Gimli had realised what had happened and had come to find him. Oh, how he hoped that was true!

He glanced over his shoulder at the still Glass. Darkness had settled within and there was no sound. There had been nothing for an age. It was as if the Nazgûl had probed the darkness of his cell and found nothing. They had withdrawn but not gone. He thought for a moment whether he should simply stay small and silent, hoping he was hidden from its gaze, its awareness. But then, help may not find him and he would be trapped in here forever. Huddled in the dark to slowly starve.

He shook his head. No. He would rather risk the danger.

'Help!' he shouted with all his strength. 'Help! I am in here! Help me!' Please please please! he prayed with everything he had. He focused all his Song, concentrated on it so that permeated the air around him, eased beneath the heavy stone and iron of the door and let it ring through the dark. An Elf would find him. Perhaps a Man with elvish blood might just think it worth looking. A Dwarf might notice the change in the stone, in the air. The Nazgûl would certainly hear him but he no longer cared for he would be free if only he could make those who were beyond this heavy slab of iron hear him!

There was more sound outside, as if feet were pattering along the dark tunnel towards him. Did he hear voices?

'Help me! I'm in here!' he shouted again, casting a look over his shoulder at the Mirror. Hoping that the Nazgûl could not hear him. Had gone, drifting away in the Dark. Were too far away to stop him now.

'Eru! Please! Help me!' yes, he could hear them now. Voices.

'My lord Faramir!' he heard a voice say outside the door and almost wept with relief. Faramir was here! He heard a rumbling reply and thought that Faramir must be telling them to open the door.

Oh! And then the sound of someone outside the iron door and a frantic scrabbling in the lock as someone tried to open the door, a key sliding into the lock.

'Yes! I am here! Oh thank Elbereth, I am here!' He almost sobbed as the heavy iron door began to move and he saw a flicker of torchlight and voices.

He clung to iron bars in grateful relief, blinking away tears. Sudden light blinded him from the torches that bobbed about in the darkness. He made out the outline of three figures.

'Thank you, thank you!' he gasped in such gratitude he thought he would faint in relief. 'I thought I was trapped here forever…'

The light illuminated the figures suddenly. Three Men. Two hung back slightly, and one lurched forwards suddenly.

Bearos' unnatural, elongated face with its dropped jaw and gibbering smile and mad, wild eyes pressed between the bars.

Legolas cried out and fell back from the still locked grille, shaking his head. 'No! No!' Not Aragorn. But Bearos. His enemy. 'Where is Faramir?' he cried, desperately searching the dim tunnel behind them.

There was no one. 'Faramir!' he shouted in desperation. 'I am here! Come back!'

'Oh! He has gone! YES!' Bearos snapped his teeth. 'Yesyesyes!' His eyes glittered, the whites showed all around the edges of his eyes, and the eyeballs themselves seemed to bulge as if being pushed out from something inside his head. 'You see it now.'

Legolas stared past Bearos. Faramir could not have gone far, surely? 'Faramir!' he cried as loudly as he could, projecting all his Song into the cry. 'Please! Help me! I am here!'

But the two Men shuffled forward now and the torch light glowed red on their blank faces, reflected in their expressionless eyes. Their jaws were slack and movements stilted. It was the two Men Bearos had brought before, Maltök and Tyrises. Legolas fell back from the gate in horror. Faramir must have gone before they reached the iron barred gate, the heavy slab of iron..

But they were still only Men, he realised. And he was still armed. Surely Bearos had not forgotten? Surreptitiously he felt for his knives. If he could only reach the passageway, he could call again and Faramir might hear him.

Now the key clunked in the second lock and the grille door opened.

He waited. Pressed back against the wall as if he were afraid.

Maltök and Tyrises did not laugh or jeer however, their faces were blank and their mouths hung slackly open as if there were no thought or awareness in them. Bearos stood behind them, blocking the door.

The two henchmen lumbered in and Legolas allowed them to grab his arms for he wanted Bearos inside the cell first. That way Legolas could escape and shut them in their own prison. He could hardly breathe for trepidation. Bearos moved forwards. So slowly. Legolas made himself slump against the wall further as if exhausted and weak. Maltök seized his arms dully and Legolas made himself bow his head.

Bearos was inside the cell.

Legolas launched himself at the open gate, smashing it open with one foot so the door clanged against the wall. It was wide open. He ripped his knives from their sheath and slashed one down over Maltök's chest. He whirled and kicked out hard with his foot against Tyrises, bashed the hilt of his second knife into Bearos' grinning face and felt satisfaction as it crunched on gristle and bone, and slashed the knife upwards so it spilt his chest open. Maltök was still staggering back from the force of Legolas' blow when Legolas leapt forwards through the gateway, shouting at the top of his voice, 'Faramir! Help me!'

He was through! With a thump of his heart, he leapt elatedly towards the darkness of the tunnel. As he did, something shot out and grasped his ankle with an inhuman, iron grip, ripping him back through the open door and into the cell. At the same time, there was a terrific thump on the back of his head. He slumped face-first against the stone floor, dizzy with the force of the blow. One fist was grabbed and battered against the stone until he could no longer hold the knife. It flew from his grasp and slid towards the Glass. The other arm was forced up behind his back to breaking point.

These were Men. They could not be so strong…Maltök slammed into him, his dead weight grinding Legolas into the stone floor.

He could hear Bearos cackling. But Legolas had plunged his knife into Bearos' chest, ripped him open! Surely he should be dead?

Legolas bent his head forwards and then slammed it back into Maltök's face, heard the crunch of bone as the Man's nose broke. But Maltök did not let go and Legolas brought his remaining knife up so it plunged into flesh. Still Maltök did not let go and now Tyrises slammed into him too, pounding meaty fists into Legolas' face and belly. Legolas gasped and brought his own hands up, astounded by their inhuman and brutal strength, feeling his bones crunch and skin tear. He thought he might die. If only Faramir would come!

But there was no sound from the open door. Instead the two Men punched his belly, viciously kicked his thighs, his back, they pounded into him. In a last struggle, Legolas smashed his fist into the face of Tyrises who staggered a little and he wriggled out from under Maltök's heavy kicking. The door was wide open and again, he twisted away, struggled weakly to his feet and staggered forwards, shouting for Faramir. Something latched itself around his thighs and dragged him back, his feet went from under him and he kicked wildly.

A crunch on the back of his head ended everything. Blinding pain. He fell forwards. And then nothing.

0o0o0o

He was aware first of the pain like a vice around his head. It was more concentrated, he realised , at the back of his head, and that his head was bent forwards on his chest, his hair hanging around his face and shoulders. That was where someone, Bearos? had hit him and knocked him unconscious. And then there was the stickiness down his face that he thought must be dried blood. A dull thumping pain was in one eye and his ears buzzed. It was what he expected after the beating they had given him.

But the excruciating pain in his shoulders was not expected and he thought at first his shoulders had both been dislocated and his arms dragged upwards. Dizzily, nauseously from the blow to the back of his head, he realised that there was something biting into his wrists… and each arm was strained horribly, stretched beyond reason. He was hanging by his wrists. There was nothing beneath his feet. That was why his head was bent forwards too. It was hard to breathe.

He did not open his eyes at first, feeling the shock, slowly letting his senses catalogue each sensation; the burning pain in his shoulders, the sickening headache. Tearing pain all over, like his skin had been cut a hundred times…He was very cold. Naked. And there was something icy-cold that clung to his skin. Like wet silk.

Panicked, he tried to open his eyes. One would not open at all and he hoped it was just dried blood that had stuck it closed. At last he slowly blinked his other swollen eye open.

At first he could not comprehend what he saw and thought he had gone blind, but his gasp sucked in the thin silk that encased him so he felt he would suffocate. He pulled his head back in panic. The silk pulled away from his face and he gasped. Icy air rushed into his heaving lungs and he blinked; through the veil that clung to him, he saw a pale, bloody face, one eye closed, the other swollen and sticky with blood, arms stretched into darkness above, the glint of metal on chains, and tongues of fire flickered in the darkness…

And then the truth crept upon him. It was his own face he saw. His long hair gleamed in the eerie light, he saw his braids were loose from the beating Bearos' henchmen had given him but they were still recognisable. The tongues of flame were torches stuck into sconces in the cell behind him…but that could only mean that he was looking at his own reflection…But this clinging, viscous cocoon could not be the Glass? There must be something between him and the Mirror, he thought dully, for pain slowed his thoughts.

Perhaps he was hanging in a spider-silk cocoon, he thought heavily, looking through the grey silk. Perhaps what he had sensed in the Mirror had been some horrific spider, Ungoliant? His senses were slow, his thoughts ponderous and he felt so very cold. Something trickled along his arms and down his ribs: wet. And his other arm. Blood.

His blood.

And then he remembered how he had scrambled away from the Glass when it had seemed to stretch and yield, like a hand had pressed against it from the other side….

Oh Eru, oh Eru, he prayed. This was the Mirror. It was the Glass that clung to him like wet silk, smeared with his blood. He let his head fall back so his face was clear of it and saw the frame of it directly above him, the bronze elegantly inlaid with copper etching.

'Yeeessssss…. You see it now.' A voice hissed behind him and he felt hot breath on the back of his naked thighs as the Ghoul moved behind him. The horrid clack of the Ghoul's teeth startled him and he shuddered uncontrollably, thinking it might just start tearing into his thigh with its sharp and pointed teeth at any moment.

'You are helpless now.' There was nothing human left of Bearos now. Legolas saw its bony hand creeping over his naked thigh. A red jewel flashed in the torchlight and a dreadful memory surfaced. He had seen this before.

'Yesyesyesyes…..Now you ssseeeeee…. The Ghoul's hand grasped his thigh more firmly and trailed its bony fingers over his skin. A gleam of metal caught in the eerie light that was reflected from the torches held aloft. Cold metal touched his skin. Sliced him open, an incision in his thigh. He felt warm blood ooze down his leg and the Glass seemed to press itself against him.

Legolas squeezed his eyes closed in misery; he was being bled. Ioralas had been bled dry of blood. The Ghoul trailed its bony fingers through the blood, wrote patterns on his skin, words in runes Legolas had seen before. In Dol Guldûr. In Mordor.

I am going to die, he thought. And Elrohir will never know what has happened.

'You have seen this before. In the desire of your beloved Ravéyön.' This was indeed what he had seen in Elrohir's mind when the Nazgûl had tried to make Elrohir their new King. They had offered him Legolas, feeding his desire, corrupting it into something dark and sadistic, shown him Legolas stretched like this, hanging from chains in the dark, blood on his skin, a hand sweeping through the blood. A terrible rape.

The ghoul's shoulders shook and it yelped with mirth. 'I know what you think; that he is your beloved. But this is what he really wants from you.' The ghoul's face pressed itself against the back of his thighs and it slid its arms about his hips. 'He betrayed you, summoned the Brethren. He left you on that cold mountainside and they had you.'

Legolas pressed his mouth shut, trying to stop a scream that was forcing its way up from his belly. He thought of Elrohir taking the Black Web from Legolas to save him at the the cost of Elrohir's own life, of Elrohir riding gallantly to the Black Gate to thwart Sauron's trap for Aragorn, of Elrohir kneeling in submission at Legolas' command when they waited on the Cormallen Field. Love flared in his heart. 'He did not betray me,' he said with a courage he barely felt. He heard his own voice sounding weak and afraid but he said it anyway. 'He rescued me. He killed Khamûl. How is that a betrayal?'

That sent the ghoul into a horrible frenzy; it hurled itself from Legolas and lurched away, banging against the walls of the cells, and throwing itself against the bars of the grille, bashing and punching its fists against the iron gate like a frenzied baboon.

It suddenly turned on its heel and threw itself at Legolas, grabbing at his hips and twisting him in his chains so that he spun away from the Glass and towards the Ghoul. The Glass was at his back now and he faced the cell. Bearos' two henchmen were still standing as if they had no thought of their own, jaws slack, eyes empty. Fiery torchlight glowed in the sconces, lit up the Ghoul's face with a hellish glow. It shook Legolas in his chains, its jaw dropping like a scream.

'You cannot kill Khamûl!' it gibbered and spittle flew from its mouth. 'Khamûl is not slain! Khamûl is this.' Its maddened eyes bulged like they would burst and it thrust its thin bony hand up towards Legolas' face. On one finger was a ring, old gold. Worn thin. A deep red jewel glittered like a reptile's eye, cold, hard, alien.

'This is Khamûl. It alone survived.'

Legolas gasped. This Ring was one of the Nine!

At last Legolas understood. Elrohir had told him everything that had happened up there on the Mindolluin all those months ago, when Gandalf asked Legolas to seek out the Nazgûl, to allow himself to be captured so they might be persuaded that Merry had the Ring and that was how the hobbit had been able to defeat Angmar. Though all had gone wrong and Legolas had almost been lost, Elrohir had at least vanquished Khamûl, and Khamûl's ring lay unclaimed upon the cold mountainside.

'You….Bearos found it.' The words forced themselves from Legolas' mouth. 'He put on the ring.' He blinked his swollen eye and licked his dry lips. 'Has he …have you…become a Nazgûl? But there is only one of you,' he said defiantly, bravely. 'One, not Nine. And you cannot hold me forever.'

'There is only Khamûl here. But in there?' It turned its head towards the Mirror and Legolas knew then that its intention was to use him to draw the vanquished Nazgûl close. It was using his blood as a sacrifice.

'I will escape by death before you can achieve what you intend!' he cried. 'I will go to Mandos.'

'Oh?' The Ghoul chittered and laughed horribly. 'I think not,' it said suddenly serious and menacing. 'I think that this time we will have your rich, bright fëa, Legolas Thranduillion, child of Azganalo. The Brethren will eat your soul.' It slid its hands over the newly made cut on his thigh, spread the blood over his skin and then pressed its hand against the Glass.

Legolas felt the Glass shiver behind him and a sob forced itself from his throat.

'The last time the zigrun came and you escaped us. But not this time. This time, we will devour you. You will die more surely than the sons of Men. You will never come to the white shores. You will be consumed.'

The Ghoul drew back and its teeth rattled and clacked, a rictus of a smile stretched over its skeletal face. Its horrible gurgling chittering laugh frightened Legolas more than he had ever been in his long life. 'You begin to understand.' It cackled and rubbed its hands in glee. 'Yesyesyesyesyes! Devoured. Like your friend. Rhawion.'

Legolas gasped. Rhawion!

Rhawion, whom Legolas had tried to save but had been killed in the ruins of Phellanthir.

'But…Glorfindel said he was dead…'

'Yeeeessss.' The ghoul was sniggering, sneering up at him with mad, bright eyes that seemed to bulge even more in their sockets as if the eyeballs were being forced out by something from within. 'Your heroic lord lied when he said Rhawion was dead…His body was dead, but his fëa…oh, that was still very much alive. In the Brethren's hands… although it was forbidden. Yes… Forbidden. And delectable.' Bearos, the Ghoul, was terrifying. It was quite mad. It would devour Legolas. If he was lucky, he would be dead first. 'But now there is no one to forbid us.' The Ghoul trailed its cold, bony fingers over Legolas' belly, its deranged face close enough to his hips, his belly, his groin that he could feel its breath on his skin. It kept clacking its teeth as it tried to keep its jaw from dropping open but Legolas thought it might tear into him any moment, into his naked belly, thighs. His cock and balls had shrunk as if from cold alone, but the Ghoul's hand kept touching him, gliding through the blood and it stared, fascinated.

'I do not know what you mean.' Legolas found his mouth was numb, barely able to move, to form words. His tongue was thick in his mouth.

'Rhawion was devoured by the Brethren. His soul, his fëa, fluttered so prettily in the end. Such a brave little thing, like a butterfly in a serpent's jaws.' The Ghoul's teeth were close to Legolas' skin, his breath hot, rank. Its hand drifted down the curve of Legolas strong back, caressed the painted swirls of the dragon that curled protectively around his torso, his waist and hips and thigh. 'Oh, but we remember how it tasted, the feä of an Elf. So much more intense than Man. So delicate, such light, such intensity!' The bony hand followed the curl of paint and ancient ink, ran over Legolas' lean hips and followed the curl of the dragon around his thigh. 'And you will please us. Child of Azanaglo. I wish your father could hear your screams. We had forgotten since He forbade us…But now He is gone and there is only …. Us.'

Sharp nails more like talons, gripped his thigh, a knife dug into his skin so blood beaded beneath the blade The ghoul gibbered and grinned and lowered its head to lick the blood from Legolas' skin. He let his head drop forwards and unashamed, wept in fear.

o0o0o

tbc

Notes:

Spoiler alert for Through a Glass Darkly- brief reminder of the story re Phellanthir if you haven't read it and aren't going to, or have read it and forgotten this bit, which is important.

Before the Fellowship had set off on the Quest to destroy the Ring, Elrond had sent out many to search for signs of the Nazgûl. Legolas joined Glorfindel, Aragorn, Elrohir and Elladan and Gimli. There were two other elves too, one was Rhawion. Legolas and Rhawion found one of the Nazgûl hiding in the ruins of Phellanthir. It killed Rhawion. But Legolas was poisoned by an Orc's blade and in his fever, imagined that he had left Rhawion behind…The rest of the troop told him he was feverish and imagining it, but when Glorfindel and Erestor returned to Phellanthir, they found not only the other Mirror, but also one of the Nazgûl. It did indeed have Rhawion's fëa captive and was slowly devouring it, piece by piece. Glorfindel and Erestor attacked but Rhawion's fëa sacrificed itself to save Glorfindel. It was after this that they found the Mirror and witnessed the Balrog and Maedhros' battle. Angmar came upon them then and Elladan was wounded by a morgul blade. Elrohir fled with him whilst Erestor and Glorfindel tried to restrain the Balrog but Angmar came upon Elrohir and Elrohir offered himself to spare Elladan. It was here that Angmar cast his spell over Elrohir so that his memory of how he found his mother was corrupted and made something darker, more rapacious. Angmar mixed it with images of Legolas in chains.