The Blood Of The Innocent


Minka
MinkaGreenleaf@aol.com 



DISCLAMER: ready for the shock of the century? I own NOTHING!!!! And 
personally I find having to do this silly and ridiculous as everyone 
KNOWS that I don't own anything!!!!!!

*Pulls out Ithilien (a great writer on this site so go check out her 
stuff!)* Everyone, bow down to her greatness! For she has agreed to 
take on the tiring and ever stressful job of editing my work! THANKYOU 
THANKYOU THANKYOU!!!


Part One -
Ed ned i Calad (Out of the Light)

 Darkness crept upon the land, a darkness that strangled the very 
light of the sun to the point that it could no longer be seen in the 
sky. As the dark snuck forth, stretching out like the hands of a 
hungry child, it devoured everything in its path. Trees fell, plants 
withered and people fled in fear. The stench of death hung heavily in 
the air as armies marched against each other in the last stand of the 
people against the approaching evil.

An evil thought lost for years, one that had lain dormant in the very 
scrolls of time and history came forth. It was a power so strong that 
people had pushed it out of their minds, afraid of the thought of such 
a menace.

And so it had stayed, hidden away in the deep shadows of the East, 
feared to the point of being almost forgotten. But not by all, some 
still remembered, not many, but enough to try and stop it if the Dark 
One ever came hither once more. Alas, what those few didn't know was 
that the very thing that would summon forth this power was already 
loose.

It had been thought destroyed or at least lost for all time, but it 
was not. For it was unhindered for thousands of years, and it was 
found.

It was once a thing of the light, the being that found it, but slowly, 
ever so slowly, its heart and head became corrupted and it slipped 
from the light without a second thought, without so much as a 
backwards glance.

As the darkness of its possession called to him, he became more and 
more foul, twisted in a way beyond all belief. And there they 
remained, the caller and the called, lost and forgotten in both time 
and space. The name Smaégol cast into the wind, Gollum on his twisted 
lips.

Until one day, one fateful day that would set the course of history, 
opening all possibilities for the evil and closing doors for the good. 
Thus leaving it up to both the living and the perished to decide, to 
set the path for each side to follow.

And as the Dark One's object changed bearers, the strings of the 
universe's fate was plucked, sending a deep and disturbing note 
throughout the binding song of the world. Yet all that was to happen, 
had only just began as the source of power was to change keepers 
again, thus its call was once more sent to its Dark Lord, upon his 
throne in the shadows.

This time its call could not be refused and the Lord sent forth his 
riders. Nine riders, once men, in this world but not of it, neither 
living nor dead, to bring back the source of power.

It was here that the true change occurred in the world, for while not 
known to most, it did indeed change. It was then that four companions, 
as close as brothers, set out to save the fate of Middle-earth. 
Unlikely? Indeed they were, but their hearts were good and true, and 
reflected a light and innocence secondary only to the Elves.

Hope was high in their troubled hearts when they met a Ranger. But he 
was no mere Ranger. He was the true and rightful heir to the throne of 
Gondor. Aragorn.

He led them to the Elven City of Rivendell where a Fellowship was 
formed. "Nine walkers to match the nine riders." The Fellowship, two 
valiant men of Gondor, the Ranger included, a great and powerful 
wizard, the four hobbits, one noble elf and the brave dwarf. The 
Fellowship. The group was chosen to set out on a heroic quest - to 
destroy the power of the Dark Lord, the power of the ring, held by a 
young hobbit. And so it began, the quest of the fellowship of the 
ring, skilled as they were, yet not aware of the shadow of doom over 
them.

Alas, they soon became aware of their doom and their hopes did not 
last long, as one by one, slowly, they fell. Starting with the wizard, 
in a brave and courageous fight to the death, he fell into shadows. 
Next came the man of Gondor, corrupted by the call and beckoned to the 
dark power, and he too fell. And on that day, blood stained the ground 
red. It spilled forth creating a river that washed away their hopes 
and dreams, as well as they themselves.

The nine, once so proud, were scattered. Scattered upon the winds of 
the plains of dead, never to return. The hobbits, ring bearer 
included, were all slaughtered brutally. The men of Gondor fell at the 
hands of Orcs. The dwarf too was dead. His blood seeped into the 
ground, a stain that served as a reminder of what they once were.

All perished that day, all bar one. And in the darkness he was held, 
away from the sun that he so loved, twisted in pain and fear. Legolas, 
the Elven prince of Mirkwood once strong and beautiful, noble and 
proud, now held by the very thing that he had fought against, the very 
thing that had sent his friends to the world after life, to the world 
of the dead.

He opened his eyes and saw only darkness. A darkness that could cloak 
the very rays of the sun. His body ached and his mind throbbed from 
some form of dark torment.

"I Anor!" Legolas moaned as sharp pains returned to his body, the 
reminders of previous tortures. "Tírad i Anor, i daw menel a i 
elenath. Tírad i aglar ned i taur, Mirkwood!" he cried out. He would 
give up or do anything to walk under the trees of his home, to see the 
stars that he loved so much. Alas, with each passing torture at the 
hands of his capturer, he slowly lost hope of ever seeing them again.

The things that kept him alive, kept him going were his memories, but 
even they could betray him. Although nothing could take away the 
memories of his friends, Legolas' torturer had tried many times, in 
hopes of breaking the elf's spirits. Yet it was to no prevail. His 
memories were the one thing that would remain true to him through this 
terror. Even in death, friends shall not be separated.

At this last thought, the door to his cell opened again, and a mixture 
of fear and pride filled his heart at the sight of his tormentor: 
Saruman.

----

Part Two

The Blood of the Innocent
Part two. 

I Romru ned Laug Agar. (The Sound of Warm Blood.)

Legolas walked under the shining green leaves of the trees of 
Mirkwood. The sun was warm on his face and the wind gently blew his 
long hair across his noble features. His heart was light and trouble 
free, as if he were in love. The prince had never been in love, but he 
felt that this is how it should feel. A feeling of weightlessness and 
belonging, to have a purpose to live as one arose in the morning. 
Something you can get lost in, a place within yourself where even time 
does not apply.

This is how he felt so often while wandering through his homeland. It 
was a place of happiness, of freedom and light.

Suddenly a scream pierced his delicate ears. A shrill pain-filled 
scream that came from his own lips, one that dragged him back to the 
darkness that now constantly surrounded him.

A sharp pain tore along his right side and blood spilled forth, 
coating his already stained tunic with a fresh stickiness. Saruman 
removed the small blade from the Elf's side with a pleased tug, 
ripping more flesh in the
process. All the while a twisted smile played across his lips, his 
face alive with pleasure.

The wizard dropped his supporting grip on the prince's throat and 
Legolas crumpled to the floor in an ungraceful heap. He cursed himself 
for crying out but the pain was so great, so hard to bear, even for 
him.

"What do you say now Elf?" Saruman demanded, eyeing the blood that 
dripped from the point of the blade with a glint of excitement in his 
eye. "Are you still daft enough to refuse?"

Legolas lifted his head and glared at the captor, and despite the 
pain, he pulled himself to his feet, to look eye to eye with Saruman. 
The Elf stood slightly bent, pain forbidding him to stand straight, 
but he still had a noble and wise air about him. When he spoke, his 
voice did not waver. "I will never submit to your darkness." He stated 
valiantly, "Not now, not ever!"

"You are more simple than I gave you credit for. You WILL join to me 
or you WILL die!" yelled Saruman, while using his staff to send 
Legolas flying against the far wall of his cell.

Legolas hit hard, pain jarring through his body, but he did not cry 
out again, he would not allow himself to show how much he hurt. Deep 
down he knew that the more he hid it, the more the torture would 
increase, and even though he had lost everything that was precious to 
him, he had not lost his pride. No matter how bad the torture became 
he would not submit. As he slowly fell to the floor, his mind flashed 
to the last time he saw all his friends together. How was it that they 
did not sense what was about to happen? I felt it, a shadow and a 
threat, I felt it's presence, but I did nothing to stop it. NO! I did, 
I warned Aragorn, but something happened, something I can't seem to 
recall, the ring bearer was--his thoughts were cut short as he felt 
himself being hurled across the floor by an invisible presence. His 
head connected with the far wall and he felt his vision blur.

I knew. I let them down. I cost them their lives. Dark thoughts raced 
through his head as he was lifted off the ground. There he hovered for 
awhile, unable to move, his breathing restructured from his wound in 
his back. How did I get that? What happened that day and why can't I 
remember it? A fire burned in his chest, like a hand reaching in and 
tearing out his heart. Legolas gasped but would not cry out. He would 
never give in.

"Come on, Elf. Scream! Release the pain and anger. Yell my name and I 
will release you from this torment." Saruman's voice filled his ears 
with temptation. All he had to do was say a name, one simple name and 
he would
be free of this pain.

But it was a black name, one of fear and terror and even as Saruman 
thrust the knife into Legolas' upper leg, he would not think it. The 
wizard pushed the blade in further and pulled it up the prince's left 
leg, and yet Legolas still suppressed his cries of pain that rang in 
his head. I mustn't give in; I must stay true to the Fellowship. But 
they are dead; they all perished because of my unreliability. The 
unknown burning in his back again came to him and yet he could 
remember it not. It was something purged from his mind, pushed out by 
a thing unnatural, something that didn't belong. They are all dead. I 
am the only one left of the fellowship, they died because of me. I 
failed them, not Boromir. Legolas saw Saruman looking into his face, 
his eyes danced with pleasure, his mouth twisted to reveal his
enjoyment.

"I will never bow to you!" Legolas spat, full of hate. To this Saruman 
laughed maniacally.

"You still don't understand, you shall not bow down to me, you shall 
stand by me. Together we shall rule all of Middle-earth; we will have 
the power to take what we want! Do you not want to see the sun again? 
To bask in its
rays and feel the breeze. This is your chance Elf. I am offering you a 
chance to be equal. Not a server but an equal. An equal to me." His 
voice raised at the end words, sending Legolas hurtling into the back 
corner of the room, into a crumpled mess.

Pain surged through him and his mind raced. Something was amiss in his 
head, but he could not pinpoint what it was. I failed them, not 
Boromir. Why did that come to me? Why not Boromir? The Elven prince 
carefully drew
him arms around his knees, willing the pain to leave his body and 
trying to stop the bleeding. He could feel himself growing weaker and 
weaker, and his heart was heavy and burned from the black sorcery to 
which he had been
subjected.

His tormentor walked towards him and knelt down in front of Legolas, 
hands still resting on his staff. "Come, Elf. Take my hand if you are 
too weak to speak." He said tauntingly, extending his right hand to 
the Elf. "Take my
hand and I will see you healed, and give you the strength to at least 
talk. You have failed your race. You have fallen like a mortal, a 
useless man, one that can only hide and whimper. You show none of the 
Elder blood that runs through your veins, only weakness and 
foolishness."

Legolas looked at Saruman with eyes that showed his soul, his pain and 
his shattered hopes. He wanted it all to stop, to see the stars and 
the joys of the world. I elenath…gell, a an pada lain di i taur. But 
how can I? I'd be evil, a fell beast one no longer joined with nature. 
Sarumans' eyes squinted and Legolas felt the tearing at his heart once 
again, his mouth opened in pain, yet he made no sound.

"TAKE MY HAND LEGOLAS! FREE YOURSELF OF THIS TORMENT!" the wizard 
commanded.

Legolas felt himself leaning forward, forward towards Saruman's 
outstretched hand. No, do not do it! He told himself, while forcing 
his back against the cold stone. The burning in his chest continued 
and he weakened more, almost to the point of sliding down the wall. 
Summoning all his will power he opened his mouth and spoke: "I will 
never," he gasped as the wizards grip tightened on his heart, and a 
new pressure threatened to crush his throat though the wizard laid not 
a finger on him, "ever…join with you. I would rather die! And you…you 
go back to the darkness from which you crawled from!" he shouted the 
latter, while using the small amount of strength left in him to draw 
up his legs. He drew himself back, and using the wall as a brace 
kicked the crouching figure in the chest with both legs, sending him 
crashing to the other side of the gloomy cell.

Saruman, taken aback by the Elf's newly found strength, crashed 
heavily into the far wall. His back cracked and he felt blood seep 
from a gash on his back, caused by the rough walls. He let out a cry 
of surprise as he fell from the side of the wall to the stone floor, 
face down, his staff no longer in his hands.

Legolas pulled himself up and while using the wall for support headed 
for the door. He was only a few paces away, but his hand searched 
frantically. He'd lost more blood than he had suspected for his vision 
blurred. He couldn't define one shape from the other and his head 
spun, but he dragged himself on in the direction of the door. Yes! He 
had it, the doorknob, held safely in his grasp. He wrenched it open, 
pulled the door inwards and felt the stale, yet cooler, breeze caress 
his bruised face. As he let go of the door and blindly took a step 
forward, his legs failed him, and he collapsed. His cheek hit against 
the cold floor, sending pain through his face and neck, and as Legolas 
tried to stand he saw the world spin. He pushed up using his hands and 
felt himself falling backwards. Surely I couldn't have misjudged my 
strength to that extent. Legolas then realised that he was going 
backwards, flying backwards. Saruman.

Saruman reached his staff and used it to throw the prince to the back 
of the cell, away from the door. Legolas hit the jagged wall hard, 
feeling the rough surface bite into his flesh and his warm blood drip 
down his back. Saruman approached where Legolas was suspended, and 
with a smile and a flick of his staff, he sent the Elven prince 
hurtling across the room to come into contact with a wall. A sickening 
crack filled the air as Legolas' head hit hard. He fell lifeless to 
the floor, a slight groan the only indication of his life.

I failed them, not Boromir!

*****
Two figures shadowed by the sinking sun ran on.
"Hurry, we have much need for haste!" the lead one said, turning his 
head to his following companion.
"Aye! We do indeed!" came a grunted reply.

*****
And for those who missed it at the top, here are the Sindarin 
translations:

He wanted it all to stop, to see the stars and the joys of the world. 
The stars…joy, and to walk free under the forests. But how can I? I’d 
be evil, a fell beast, one no longer joined with nature.


-----

Part Three

  The Blood of the Innocent. 

Part three.

I Vamath ned i Fern (The Voices of the Dead) 

**********

Time passes us all by, sometimes a minute seems to last forever and 
sometimes forever seems to be only a fleeting moment. But no matter 
it’s speed, time takes its toll, and slowly, ever so slowly, the past 
disappears like mist…but sometimes, just sometimes, time can bring the 
past flooding back. 

******

I failed them, not Boromir.

As Legolas slowly came back to his senses one thought held tightly to 
his mind. I failed them, not Boromir. Why? The prince let his eyes 
flutter open, seeing only darkness. His entire body ached and 
throbbed, and as he tried to raise himself from the stone floor the 
pain caused him to cry out.

"Elbereth beria nin!" his strength once again failed him and he 
collapsed back to the floor, pain surging through his side and leg. 
The mysterious wound in his back stung and his heart ached from both 
the black sorcery and despair.

With a great sigh he again attempted to stand, succeeding only with 
the aid of the wall. His clothes, while clinging to his wounds held by 
the fresh seeping blood, were stiff, caked thickly with dried blood. 
Legolas could feel that his once shinning hair was mattered together 
and a warm flow of blood trickled from a painful spot on the top of 
his head.

With tender fingers he felt his skull and even with that small amount 
of pressure it caused him to swoon and seek the safety and aid of the 
wall. His left leg was almost completely unmovable and his right side 
and back hurt with every breath.

It was with terrifying realization that Legolas knew what Saruman had 
done; the elf could barely move. All of Sarumans’ attacks had a deeper 
and more sinister purpose, to completely incapacitate him, to prevent 
his escape, to make Legolas weak and defenseless. Thus taking away any 
chance of defeating the guard Orcs in either flight or battle. 

Then all hope is truly lost! Legolas limped over to the door of his 
cell and peered out. The hall was dark and no light shone in the 
corridor. As his Elven eyes started to adjust to the lack of light he 
noted four Orc guards, standing around his door and armed to the 
teeth. No chance of overpowering them, or taking them by surprise! He 
leaned back against the wall and drew in a rugged breath his eyes 
continued to survey the small room. No way out. No way to the stars or 
sunlight. 

His wounds continued to burn and cause his flesh to sting, and as his 
head started to grow light his eyes fluttering slightly. With a great 
amount of agony and difficulty, he slowly lowered himself back to the 
floor in a sitting position, his left leg out-stretched. The cool 
stone was a welcome relief against his torn and bruised back, and 
subsided the pain slightly. Legolas then set himself to checking his 
wounds. His wound in his side was deep and long, revealing the white 
gleam of bone through the red flesh and his leg was in the same 
condition. He ripped a bit of his stained tunic and tied it gingerly 
around his leg, to try to counteract the flow of blood, but it gave 
little result. His head pounded and he knew, that no matter how much 
he tried he could not heal that, or even make it hurt less.

His entire body screamed at him as he tried to shift himself into a 
more comfortable position, and he wearily gave up, and let himself 
rest. His mind floated back to the day of his friend’s death, that day 
that was consumed by darkness. He saw them, getting out of small boats 
and resting on the shore. Boats? Where did we get the boats? Question 
raced through his head, yet no answers would come. Why is it so hazy? 
I can remember much before that, but why can’t I remember that day?

His mind wandered to when he was a child, playing among the trees of 
Mirkwood. His friends, a young boy and a slightly older girl ran 
around and concealed themselves from his view. Cynes and Sehael, I 
could not forget them. But why do I forget my new friends? Their 
deaths must not be in vain, they must be remembered! As Legolas 
recalled his past he carefully cleaned some of his lesser wounds, 
trying not to focus on the pain his touch caused. He was aware of a 
large gash on his right cheek, which stretched to just below his eye 
and to the corner of his mouth, and it stung as he felt it for any 
shards of whatever caused it. The wound was clean and he returned his 
attention to his back. 

This was the thing that worried him most, how did he get it? Legolas 
gingerly felt around the wound, wincing in pain as he did so. It was a 
small hole, rough at the opposing ends, creating two long cuts from 
the middle of the wound. The shape Legolas recognized immediately. An 
arrow! I was shot with and arrow, and it has been roughly removed. 
How, and when? How did I get here? Legolas could barely keep hold of 
one thought as they whizzed through his head, each and every one 
unanswered. How long have I been here? I failed them, not Boromir! How 
did they all die, and why wasn’t I killed with them, with my 
companions and friends? 

With all his will and might the prince searched his memory for some 
clue as to why he was here, why he was alive and why he couldn’t 
remember his friends’ death. Maybe I was unconscious. Nay, for then I 
would not know that they were indeed dead. They are dead aren’t they? 

Slowly, ever so slowly, the activities of that fateful day returned to 
him, but they were hazy and unclear. He recalled them getting out of 
their boats and pulling them on to the bank. They had been rowing down 
the Great River; they had been for days ever since their departure 
from Lothlórien. When they had reached Sarn Gebir, past the Argonath, 
the pillars of the Kings and they were safely on shore, they started 
to talk, and the more Legolas concentrated the more he remembered.

"We cross at nightfall, hide the boats and continue on foot. We 
approach Mordor from the north." Aragorn had told us.

"Oh? Just a simple matter of finding our way across Emyn Muil, an 
impassable labyrinth of razor-sharp rocks! And then it gets even 
better! Festering, stinking marshlands as far as the eye can see!" 
Gimli replied, not at all happy with the path that Strider had chosen 
for us to take.

"That is our road, sir dwarf. Perhaps you should take some rest, and 
recover your strength." 

"Recover my...!"

Then I said something, I wanted to stop them from truly quarrelling: 
"We should leave now."

"No. Orcs patrol the Eastern Shore. We must wait for the cover of 
darkness." Came Aragorns’ reply, as if he had not fathomed my meaning.

"It is not the Eastern Shore that worries me. A shadow and a threat 
has been growing in my mind. Something draws near, I can feel it." I 
knew then. I had known all along that something was wrong, but why did 
I not say anything beforehand? And why had I been ignored. For we did 
not leave, we stayed. We set up camp, preparing to stay the night, but 
we didn’t. Why?

Merry! He noticed that Frodo was missing, as was Boromir. I failed 
them, not Boromir! 

At this point the prince could remember no more, the last thought 
etched deeply in his mind. I failed them, not Boromir. In frustration 
he beat his right fist against the floor, and straight away regretted 
it, feeling pain shoot up his arm. He groaned and breathed hard, which 
aggravated his back further. Why can I not recollect what happened 
that day? He felt useless, his friends, cast to the world of the dead 
and he could not even reflect on how they passed. 


A sudden voice cut into his hopeless thoughts, the voice of an Orc. 
Black Speech filled his ears and Legolas felt himself cower back 
slightly. It was such a horrible and dark form of speech, one created 
by evil, one the elf would never understand let alone grow to like, to 
not shrink at its sound. All elves feared it, feared the darkness that 
spilled forth from the mouths of such foul creatures, to the point of 
belief that it hurt their ears.

The Orc was answering someone, someone of importance. Legolas could 
tell by it’s tone, not respectful but as if it feared who it talked 
to. The prince raised himself up and fought against the outcry of his 
body telling him not to move. But he had to. He limped over to the 
door and once again looked out of the small square window, closed in 
by bars. Nothing. He could see nothing, not even the guard Orcs were 
there. Something is amiss! 

He rattled the door, testing the lock and hinges and was quite 
surprised to find that the door moved quite freely. Using all his 
strength he pushed against the door and it busted at the lock and 
swung open with a slight creak. 

Legolas hesitated, not knowing what to do. I can not run like this! I 
can’t even fight so what chance do I stand? He asked himself. But I 
can not stay here! But what if I am seen, or worse, smelt. Orcs smell 
blood. Nay, I must try, for my sake as well as for Middle-earth and 
the memory of the fellowship. And with that decided he pulled himself 
along the wall and out of the door, into the dark corridor. 

******

A sole figure sat watching, ever watching, for both friend or foe. His 
companion lay at his side sleeping, twitching slightly every now and 
again as his dreams haunted his sleep. The figure looked at his 
friend. He seems to be tiring more and more, with each passing day, 
hour even. He is weakened by his loss, and I fear for him in what we 
may find. 

Suddenly, with a shout his friend awakened, leaping to his feet and 
calling out a name. A name that sent shivers of guilt through his own 
mind, a name never forgotten, a name belonging to a person that they 
so desperately tried to find. A friend so great, yet one that they had 
lost, one taken from them and plunged into darkness.

"Legolas!"

******

Legolas limped up the hallway slowly, and all the while he felt as if 
he was not getting anywhere. His body called at him to stop as the 
pain was unbearable, and something deep inside of him also told him to 
stop, to turn back. But on he went, he had to go on, he had to escape.

The prince came to a staircase, a long and steep flight of stairs 
leading up. With a sigh he pulled himself along and placed one foot in 
front of the other, his left leg screaming in pain as blood flowed 
steadily down to the floor. His side felt as if it were on fire, 
burning with an invisible flame, one that ate through to his very 
soul. As he slowly neared the top of the staircase he knew that this 
was not such a good idea. The pain was too strong, and the loss of 
blood was affecting his sight and movement, along with his wounds.

He finally reached the top of the flight of stairs and fought to keep 
himself from collapsing in a heap on the floor. It was then that he 
became aware of a moving shadow a little way up the hall. Legolas 
lifted his eyes to see hell itself.

There stood Saruman and over thirty Orcs, all armed and with snarls on 
their lips.

"It took you long enough elf!" Saruman replied calmly, while lifting 
his staff and pointing it at Legolas.

Legolas felt himself get sent backwards. Flying through the air and 
with a sickening realization he knew that he was falling down the 
stairs that he had just climbed.

Falling, forever falling, away from the light and into the darkness.

******

Memories are but a shadow, a shadow of what we once were, what was 
once so true. But as time passes us by, the things we remember are 
altered, changed by the influence of the world, and the people around 
us. Truth becomes myth and myth becomes legend, new truths emerge; yet 
not our truth, they are formed, created and false. And as the shadows 
of memory pass into the darkness that is found in everyone’s mind, 
they are forgotten, never to be reached again, never to be able to be 
parted from the choking darkness.

**********

All strange little quotes at the beginning and end are written and 
created by me! Let me know if you like them!! Umm, that’s all I have 
to do—no wait, translations:

"Elbereth protect me!" his strength once again failed him and he 
collapsed back to the floor, pain surging through his side and leg.

Legolas’ friends names I got from an Elven name generator.

Sehael means soft, great.

Cynes means Oxen Heart. (Thanks to Rei Swiftwood for that link and the 
help in understanding it!!! ;])

 

---------

  The Blood of the Innocent.

Part Four.

Maetha i Dagor dan Um. (To Fight the War against Evil.)

**********

As pain steals the light, the Innocent fade away and they leave this 
world behind. But some are strong; some will stay and fight the battle 
against evil that must be fought. These are the true immortals; they 
shine above the rest, mortal and immortal alike and they triumph over 
the evils of the world. But what happens when they stand and fight 
alone? When they slowly give up hope of victory? They to fade, that’s 
what! They will pass into the world to the dead only to be remembered 
in songs and poems. 

******

He wanted to give up, wanted everything to stop. To let the life fade 
out of him and pass on, leaving this world of darkness and fear behind 
him, far behind.

But he stayed. He would not let himself die, of his own accord or from 
this torture. I must stay true to the memory of the fellowship! No 
matter what happens, I must never give in. Never! But with each 
passing hour, which dragged into days, and for all he knew weeks, it 
became harder and harder to stay true to his promise. 

His body was weak and getting worse and as he felt this happen, he 
also sensed his ties with the world stretch. Even though he had no 
real idea as to how long he had been in this darkness, how long he had 
been without the comfort of the wonders of nature, he knew that he 
could not endure it much longer. For one so in touch with the world, 
so entwined and one with nature itself, it was a horribly fate to 
suffer. And with each new technique Saruman tested on him, with each 
new way of attempting to turn him, his bonds with the world stretched, 
almost to the point of snapping. Once snapped, once broken, there was 
no hope for the elf. No hope or chance for survival and he would fade 
out of existence. 

But Legolas would not let it come to that. He had to fight it, fight 
it as hard as he could, for his sake and for the well being of all 
that dwelt in Middle-earth under the rising shadow and threat. 

The Elven prince was shocked that after his fall he seemed to remember 
all that had happened within the days before. He remembered the days 
of imprisonment and torment, followed by his attempt to escape and his 
fateful run in with Saruman on the stairs. Yet still anything before 
that was a blur of broken memories and thoughts overrun by pain. All 
he could recall was pain, both physical and emotional. They are all 
dead. I let them down. I failed them, not Boromir. Pain that took his 
breath away each and every time he moved, yet deep down he knew it was 
just beginning. 

His side, once though bad, was worse. It burned into him like a flame, 
scorching all with a sharp and constant throbbing. His leg was sore 
and hard to move, and he knew that his muscles had tensed up due to 
the lack of movement.

Legolas was currently shackled to a wall, it’s rough surface cutting 
into his back. His arms were suspended above his head and his feet 
were held closely to the wall yet he was a foot off the cold stone 
floor. The position pulled at his arms and tore at the healing flesh 
of his side and back—which he could still not recall receiving. Blood 
thickly mattered his golden hair together and a warm trickle of 
glistening red ran from both his nose and the corner of his mouth.

And there he was, left in the darkness, not even a hint of light from 
flame or sun illuminated the cell. His eyes had long since adjusted to 
the overpowering blackness of his surroundings, but still he kept them 
tightly shut in order to keep out the gloom and keep in the pain. 

Pain made him keep still, fear made him silent but pride overruled 
all. Pride kept his head held high and his body from failing. 

Pride? He thought, a slight but painful smile crossed his lips. I know 
what Gimli would say to that ‘a plague on the stiff necks of the 
Elves!’

Legolas’ reflection of his friends was suddenly interrupted by the 
sound of footsteps coming down the hall. Footsteps full of purpose, 
ones he recognized all to well. The door swung open with a loud creak 
and a harsh light flooded the dark room. And there, standing in the 
doorway…was Saruman.

The wizard took a few steps towards where Legolas was chained, a 
slight smile twisted at the corners of his face. A smile that revealed 
the pleasure in the thought of what he would soon put the elf through, 
all the pain he would cause him.

Legolas glared at him defiantly and did the best he could to keep 
himself straight within his restraints. At this Sarumans’ smile spread 
even further across his face, as in his eyes, Legolas looked weak and 
scared, not at all like an elf.

With a flick of the wizards’ staff, Legolas once again felt the 
burning sensation in his heart, like a clawed hand was tearing at it, 
trying to rip his heart out and into shreds. Legolas clamped his jaw 
shut tightly to conceal the shrieks of pain he felt rising in his 
throat. 

When the elf didn’t cry out, Saruman put more pressure and force into 
his attack. He watched as his prisoner struggled within himself, the 
elfs’ pride not permitting the cries of pain he felt inside him to 
escape his mouth. 

As his heart tore more and more, Legolas felt himself start to black 
out and it took all of his strength to stop it from happening. But it 
turned out that he could only delay what was inevitable, and, as 
darkness overtook his mind, the only sounds to escape his lips were 
the muttered words: "I’ll never give in."

******

Time wise it was a risk, but they could not pass up on the opportunity 
to find a vital clue of who they searched for.

Leaving the dead straight path that they had originally set was a hard 
choice, but they had found nothing to say that the beings they pursued 
had even passed the way they followed. This was the only other 
direction that they could think of, even if it had only been used as a 
detour. But it all came down to one thing, and that was the fact that 
they needed a sign, anything, just something to say that they were 
right in their suspicions and had cause for their fears.

They would search on, no matter what. They could not desert one so 
true of heart and innocent to such darkness and evil. They would find 
him, no matter what the outcome. 

******

Legolas winced in pain as he was stabbed through the leg with a 
red-hot iron. His skin burned and blistered at its’ touch and tore as 
it was removed. Yet still he did not cry out.

He had been submitted to this torture for just under an hour, but like 
usual it was only the beginning. It would get worse, it always did. 
Although the techniques were different, they were always conducted in 
the same format. It would begin with Sarumans’ hold on his heart, 
forever trying to steal his innocence, trying to pollute his heart 
with evil. And like always Legolas fought it so hard that he could no 
longer stay conscious. 

But that was the wizards intention, it aid him in the movement of the 
elf so he could carry out his torture, as he knew that no matter how 
weak Legolas was, he would always try to fight. He had proven this the 
day he organized the chance for the elf to escape. It had proven 
Legolas’ loyalty to his friends and people and showed Saruman that he 
was stronger then the wizard had originally thought. The elf lived in 
the dream world of his people and he found strength there, strength 
that even Saruman couldn’t match. 

The poker was thrust into Legolas’ right shoulder and his face 
crumpled in agony while he gasped for air. A soft groan escaped his 
lips as the poker was ripped out tearing away flesh with it. The 
torturer looked pleased at this and looked over his shoulder to 
Saruman, and with a wave of the wizards’ hand the Orc left the room, 
snickering to himself.

"So? Do you want it all to end elf?" Saruman inquired, testing the 
elfs’ resolve. "As I said before you foolishly tried to escape, it can 
be over, you just have to say a name. Submit yourself to darkness with 
me and it will all end."

"And as I have previously said, I will never cross over to you and 
your darkness." Legolas replied boldly, his voice full of spite. 

"Then you truly are daft." He said angrily. With that, he reached for 
a small pot sitting on the nearby stone bench and threw the contents 
over the restrained elf. A thick, black and hot substance splattered 
against his chest, burning through his bloodstained tunic. As the oil 
came in contact with his skin Legolas let go of his pride and cried 
out while withering in pain. The oil burned into his skin, and the 
blisters that were no sooner caused, burst from the dripping black 
goo.

Saruman stood and watched as the elf twisted in agony, crying out in 
his own tongue. But far to soon for the wizards’ liking Legolas gained 
control of himself and ceased to yell and squirm.

Legolas’ heart beat faster and faster, the pain taking over his mind 
and ability to make a rational thought. He realized to late that he 
had panicked and cried out, doing exactly what Saruman wanted him to 
do, but as soon as he did he was quick to control his emotions and 
fears. Don’t show him how much you hurt Legolas! He sternly told 
himself.

He looked around and he realized that his cries had called the 
attention of the Orcs that guarded the room. They all looked at him, 
their faces mirrored their enjoyment of his screams. Their eyes sent 
shivers through Legolas’ spine and a new fear rose within him when one 
spoke in the Black Speech to the wizard before him. A smile danced 
across Sarumans’ face as he slowly turned his head to face Legolas. 

The elf gulped but held the glare of the eyes that were fixed on him. 
Saruman beckoned the Orcs forward and they gathered near Legolas, 
teeth revealed in deadly yet excited smiles, and with a word from the 
wizard they roughly grabbed hold of Legolas, loosening him from his 
chains and carried him forward.

He struggled valiantly trying to escape, but there were to many of 
them, to many hands held him and aggravated his wounds.

They lead him to the far side of the room where a rope hung from the 
ceiling with a hock attached to the end. The Orc that had previously 
spoken grabbed both of Legolas’ arms and wrenched them behind the 
princes’ back, binding his hands tightly to the point of cutting into 
the skin. 

As the Orcs stood around restless they started to quarrel amongst 
themselves, their gruff voices rising in their terrible language. Some 
started to push at each other and throw punches while the main guard 
tried to calm them down.

In the mists of all this, the Orc that had bound Legolas’ hands stood 
there and held him painfully by his burnt and torn shoulder. Suddenly 
one of the fighting Orcs ran at Legolas and his guard, a knife held in 
his hand, and, pushing the guard aside grabbed the elf by the throat. 
With a movement quick for one of his race he ran the blade through 
Legolas’ hair, shearing it off ruggedly at the elfs shoulders. 

This action caused the Orcs to stop fighting each other and laugh at 
the shocked elf. The Orc released his grip on Legolas and he fell to 
the floor, his shoulder jarring at the force of the impact. Thoughts 
rushed through his head as the Orcs snickered at him lying helpless on 
the floor.

A voice cut through the rabble, the voice of Saruman. "Silence!" he 
yelled and the room fell dead quiet. He walked over to Legolas and 
looked him in the face as he addressed him. "They believed you too 
pretty even in your hurt. They hate the beauty of the Elves and as far 
as they are concerned, you reflect a lot of that beauty." He said 
while gesturing to one of the Orcs to pick him off the ground while he 
bent to take up a lock of Legolas shorn off golden hair, "they wished 
to take it from you, and as you can see they have found away." Turning 
to the two Orcs that held him on his feet he said with a smile, "you 
know what to do with him."

Legolas felt himself getting dragged over to the rope and the bonds on 
his hands getting attached to the hook and the end of the cord. This 
caused his arms to lift behind his back, causing pain in all his 
wounds, but he held back any cries. They may have taken my ‘beauty’ 
but they shall never take my pride! I am stronger than they are, and I 
will survive this! I will see the forests that I love and the bright 
Elenath in the sky. And I shall avenge the deaths of the fellowship…my 
friends, you shall not pass on un-avenged. 

"Tell me elf?" Sarumans’ voice cut into his thoughts, dragging him 
back to reality, "are you familiar with the term Squassation?" He 
asked and when Legolas gave no reply he continued, "Well, you soon 
will be!"

******

As two weary companions dropped their belongings to the ground the sun 
sunk lowly in the west reflecting their grief. Yet another day had 
passed and still there was no sign of what they sort and both started 
to wonder in they were even going in the right direction, the 
direction they were so sure about so long ago.

A week had passed since they had last seen him, the one that they 
sort, but it would have been a long week indeed for their missing 
friend. A lot can happen in a single day, as they had seen a week ago. 
But a week? Could anyone survive that? 

But if they should continue on their journey was never a question. 
They would not stop until they had recovered what was lost, for good 
or for bad. Neither was willing to let the thought of death slip into 
their heads, but neither held much hope.

"Rest now friend, for we must not tarry long, not while one of us in 
such danger." Came the voice of the leader, "I shall take first 
watch."

With that said he strolled over to sit with his back resting on a tree 
while thoughts darkened his mind.

******

"Common people retreat from the world to country houses, the seashore, 
or the mountains. But it is always in your power to retreat into 
yourself, give yourself to this retreat and renew and cleanse your 
soul completely."

Marcus Aurelius

**********

-----


The Blood of the Innocent
Part Five
Elbereth, anna enni Bellas an Bronia. (Varda, give me the Strength to 
Endure.)

**********

The spirit is the strongest asset of a being, whether human or 
not-either immortal or mortal. It is what makes someone who they are; 
it creates them and holds them together. The spirit anchors itself to 
the plains of the living, while acting as a bridge to the realms of 
the dead. It is their strength, their will, and their ability to fight 
and resist what they do not seek. Some are stronger than others, some 
will fail at the very thought of what scares them while others will 
hold on, will fight with everything that they have. But the more of a 
struggle the spirit participates in, the weaker it gets, and the more 
horrors it witnesses the easier it becomes to slip away across the 
bridge to the lands of the dead.

******

Naeg a achas echad pân dreda ned an dúath a dae! [Pain and fear make 
all flee into darkness and shadow!] Legolas recalled the words he had 
been told so many years ago by Elrond. Those were the words of a 
Half-Elf grieving for the departure of his wife and that was all to 
which Legolas had attributed it. The want for a treasured loved one to 
be close, the need for light and joy to surround oneself, and the 
unquenchable urge to survive no matter what happened next was what he 
thought it had meant.

Never did Legolas think it would happen to him.

The loss of the fellowship and now this endless torment was becoming 
harder and harder to bear as time progressed. Time heals all wounds! 
Whoever said that obviously had never experienced such horrors, such 
tragedies. He thought.

But before he could contemplate his situation further, his 
concentration was brought back to Saruman, as the wizard was again 
speaking. Legolas turned his head away from his captor to show his 
defiance and the fact that he was not afraid. But I am! How much more 
can I take? He questioned himself, but he quickly pushed such thoughts 
of failure out of his head. As long as I have to, I must never give 
in! he told himself sternly.

"After this Elf-look at me when I speak to you!" Saruman yelled, and 
when Legolas did not look up the wizard roughly grabbed him by the 
chin, his long nails biting into the Elf's skin. "You will tell me all 
I wish to know and you will submit to me or you will die!" the wizard 
laughed. Legolas looked in to his eyes and let his inner will take 
over him.

The two glared at each other for what seemed like years, their two 
wills struggling to surpass the others. Legolas concentrated hard, 
putting all the strength he had left into his fight. It was almost as 
if he could feel the wizard's presence in his mind, trying to take 
apart everything he held dear, everything he cared about. He fought as 
hard as he could, and as the battle of wills continued, something 
subconsciously came to him. What if he has already done this? What if 
he has already been in my mind and destroyed memories I need; memories 
I love that are full of friends? At this Legolas could not help but 
notice a slight look of discomfort pass across Saruman's face and the 
Elf once again felt the full assault of the wizard's energy sweep over 
him. It was as if the being in front of him was able to read his mind, 
to see his thoughts and control what he believed. With this going 
through his head, the prince let his guard down slightly and Legolas 
found that Saruman was somehow inflicting physical pain within his 
mind. The Elf gasped as the world around him started to go blank and 
yet he fought it as hard as he could, releasing himself to an inner 
power of which he had no comprehension.

Saruman was tiring, feeling the elf's strength for the first time. He 
had thought that the prince was worn down and would not be able to put 
up a fight, so when his prisoner's will had challenged him in more 
ways then just a glance he was taken aback and unaware. But the wizard 
was determined to win. No other thought occupied his mind but the one 
bent on the destruction of this Elf. This Elf was proving to be 
stronger than any he had encountered and deceived. It was as if the 
Elf had a power in him, one that no other possessed, one that even 
Saruman the White could not conquer. Legolas gave himself up to the 
feeling rising within him, letting it take over and control his 
actions. He had no way of knowing if it was truly one from him-one of 
good, or if it was something false and created by the darkness that 
Saruman had turned to. All he knew was that it felt strong, and 
strength was all he needed at this moment. Not rational thought nor 
caution, just strength. With that having been decided he willingly 
allowed it to overcome him and fight the evil that was trying to crush 
him.

The two continued in their fray, their surroundings melting into the 
darkness and the pain that each felt. The Orcs were forgotten, as was 
the agony that screamed throughout every muscle of Legolas' body, yet 
on he fought, desperate to hold his own, to overpower the wizard.

Saruman was weakening and Legolas knew it, but at the same time he too 
was starting to feel more and more the pressures of this battle played 
out in their minds. In one last and final attempt, the young Elven 
prince called upon all the energy that was left in him. He knew that 
this was his last hope, and if it did not succeed, Saruman would win. 
It was a chance he would have to take.

After what seemed like forever, something happened. Witnesses would 
say that the Elf glowed, that he lit up like a silver flame, as all of 
a sudden there was a flash of light, bright and silver like that of 
the stars which netted the still sky. The light seemed to come from 
within him, exploding from his heart and spirit to fill the room, and 
with this explosion came a most unexpected affect.

Saruman was sent forcefully through the air to come into a bone 
shattering crash with the wall at the opposite side of the room. His 
hold on the Elf was broken completely from the moment that Legolas 
started to reflect the light, yet he could do nothing but wait.

The wizard was so sure that he had won -that he had conquered his 
victim - that he had let his guard down, having not expected much more 
resistance. Yet suddenly his mind was invaded beyond his comprehension 
and Legolas started to glow before his eyes. Once this happened, he 
felt his sway over the being slip, and he was subjected to a complete 
loss of control over the Elf's mind, as well as his own. With a 
sickening realization, he knew that the Elf before him had managed to 
infiltrate his own head and cause his loss of movement. Before he knew 
it, he was soaring backwards only to come into contact with a wall.

While Saruman slumped against the wall with a groan, Legolas also 
collapsed, being only held up by the rope attached to his bound hands. 
The prince was completely drained of all energy and had no idea how he 
had defeated Saruman. Yet his relief was soon cut short when he saw 
though squinted eyes the form of the wizard raising himself off the 
ground, hate and anger in his eyes. And as he slowly crossed the floor 
towards a reel on the left wall, Legolas knew that there was nothing 
more he could do.

******

A cloaking darkness fell upon the forests of Fangorn as yet another 
day set. The two companions had traveled all day in hopes of finding 
something of their friend, but to no prevail. Slowly so they would not 
miss any detail, they made their way southeast and out of the forest.

The detour had been in vain and revealed nothing, and while they 
tarried their friend may have been submitted to the worst of fates. 
This was what drove them on, their desperate need to aid one so close 
to their hearts, but they were only mortal and could no longer push 
themselves that night. So wearily they sat down to rest, neither one 
wanting to go to sleep in fear of the dreams that had been coming to 
both of them in recent days. Dreams of fear, pain and death; dreams of 
the suffering of their friend. These thoughts haunted them while awake 
yet they were stronger and much more visual in the time of 
unconsciousness that took them in sleep.

Sadly, even with this, it would be another two days, hard pressed on 
foot, in order to get to their destination, and they hoped that they 
would not be too late.

******

Saruman placed a bloodied hand on the reel, a smile crossing his face. 
He would enjoy this, enjoy watching this creature that had defeated 
him scream in pain. No one had ever beaten him in such a way before 
and he felt the entire idea preposterous. Slowly he started to turn 
the wheel and the look of surprise on Legolas' face was enough to make 
the smile widen.

Legolas, in a state of utter exhaustion had seen Saruman cross the 
room to the reel on the far wall, but it held no real meaning to him. 
So when he felt himself getting suddenly lifted into the air by his 
bound hands, a look of shock and terror spread across his fair face.

As Saruman turned the wheel the rope that was tied to the Elven 
prince's hands was wound in, hoisting the frail body of the powerless 
Elf into the air. Legolas gasped as his arms were pulled high up his 
back causing the shoulder joints to stretch.

The prince desperately struggled to free his hands from their bonds 
but to no avail. The movement just made the pain worse, and as his 
feet slowly left the safety of the ground he felt his shoulder joints 
stretch further. His booted feet scraped at the ground, searching for 
a foothold of some kind, anything that would aid him in stopping this 
pain. But none was to be found, and as the pain intensified he 
realized that there was nothing he could do in order to halt this 
torment.

So he clamped his jaw shut and allowed no screams of agony to escape 
his lips. Higher and higher he was drawn up and with that height came 
more and more pain, his arms stretching almost to the point of 
dislocation. At first he tried to lean forward to take the weight off 
his joints but soon even that relief was taken from him.

The only thing that Legolas could possibly try to do was to give 
himself up to the dreams that would comfort him. Elbereth Anna enni i 
ol! [Varda give me the dreams!] His mind screamed. Elbereth…im gar 
clannen nedh dae a mor. Car al tir lim enni ah din. Ahreddath nin o 
sen baul a anna enni i bellas an brinoa! Anna enni sidh! [Varda…I have 
fallen into shadow and darkness. Do not look on me with silence. Save 
me from this torment and give me the strength to endure! Give me 
peace!] But even that proved to be impossible as the soaring pain 
surged through his upper body.

Thankfully the hoisting stopped and Legolas let out a staggered 
breath.

Saruman walked over and stood under the suspended Elf. "How does that 
feel Elf?" he questioned. "Are you ready to give in yet? Are you going 
to tell me what I want to know? Tell me of what I seek and I will 
release you from this pain."


Legolas could say nothing, even if he had wanted to. The pain made him 
keep his mouth shut in fear of letting out a cry, so he neither 
accepted nor declined the wizard's offer.

"TELL ME! Either you are too daft to know or you think that playing 
hero will get you somewhere. Oh yes, it will get you somewhere, it 
will get you dead that is where!"

Legolas took a deep breath, and while every muscle in his body told 
him to cry out he managed to control himself. "And if you kill me you 
shall never know, will you?" he spat out at the wizard. "You shall not 
get anything out of me, so why do you waste your time? Even if I told 
you, you would just kill me anyway so get it over with."

"Time is not yet wasted young Elf, but it is running short and that 
means that so is your life. Now, tell me where the Ring is and I will 
make your death quick!" Saruman replied, his voice raising slightly in 
anger.

The pain was becoming unbearable. All Legolas wanted was an end, to be 
back on the ground, his arms at his side. But he would not submit, not 
while there was Elder blood in his veins. Elbereth ech nin thalion! 
[Varda make me strong!]

It was at this point that Legolas decided to take a gamble. It was a 
risk, but it was one he was willing to make given his circumstances. 
"Bring me back to the floor and I shall tell you all that you wish to 
know!" he said through clenched teeth. The pain was too much and he 
need to be rid of it, and it was clearly reflected by his voice. His 
whole body was shaking and as he spoke the words quivered and 
stuttered, showing his weakness.

Saruman thought on this for a moment. "Very well," he finally 
responded. "I am pleased to see that you have decided to come around." 
With this Saruman motioned for a watching Orc to release the prince 
back to the ground. As Legolas' feet came roughly in contact with the 
stone floor a slight sigh of relief passed through his lips, but he 
did not try to hide it. His arms dropped thankfully to his side, yet 
it did not stop the pain. Now they just throbbed with a dull and 
constant ache. "Now, enlighten me."

Legolas thought of a way to approach a question that had been eating 
at him for some time now, since the battle their wills had shared 
earlier. After much consideration, he decided just to ask and judge 
the wizard's reactions. "Not yet. First tell me how it happened. Tell 
me how they all died?"

"What?" came the wizard's concise reply, his face showing no sign that 
indicated what Legolas was asking.

"How did the fellowship die?" Legolas pushed, even though he was 
terrified of the answer. "How did your warriors kill them?"

"You expect me to tell you this when you deny me the knowledge of that 
which I seek!"

"Nay, I offer a trade. How my friends died in exchange for the 
location of the Ring."

The Elf started. Pain clearly reflected in his voice now and Saruman 
took pleasure knowing that he was slowly wearing the Elf down. "They 
are dead and that is all you must know for I fear to tell you more. 
You may chose to die on me, and believe me, I am far from done with 
you! Now, tell me where the Ring is."

"I could cut my ties with this world anytime I wished! For a wizard, 
you are not too bright, are you?"

"SILENCE!" Saruman yelled while lashing out and backhanding the prince 
across the face, drawing blood from his thin bottom lip.

Legolas snapped his head back up and glared with defiant eyes. A 
slight laugh escaped his lips. "You didn't, did you?" Legolas asked, 
"Then how did you do it? What sorcery did you use?" He laughed at the 
surprise of Saruman.

"What are you talking about Elf?" the enraged wizard demanded.

"You couldn't do it, could you? With all your power and Uruk-hai you 
still couldn't succeed!" the Elf laughed in his face.

Saruman's rage increased and he used his staff to strike the Elf in 
the stomach, causing him to double over.

Legolas would have fallen to the floor had his bonds permitted it, but 
instead he was left hanging there by his arms again. Let this work, 
please let me succeed in what I aim to do? He pleaded in his head. See 
me through this time of darkness!

"Now tell me where the Ring is, Elf. Or I'll have you begging me to 
take your life!" Saruman commanded from his position above the doubled 
over figure.

Without looking up Legolas replied with the last of his strength. 
"Should you not know? You killed them all, so should you not have it 
in your possession? Or did you somehow loose it?" he asked mockingly. 
The words caused him to cough, and with a sickening realization he 
felt blood, not from his lip, pass out of his mouth and drip to the 
floor. He could feel himself weakening beyond anything he had felt 
before, and he knew that soon, all hope would be lost.

Eleberth car û awartha nin ned sen anann ned baur! [Varda, do not 
abandon me in this time of need!]

**********

-----


 The Blood of the Innocent
Part Six
I Calad Firith im i Hûn! (The Light Fades within the Heart!)

**********

…I wanna know the truth,
Instead of wondering why.
I wanna know the answers,
No more lies.
I wanna shut the door,
And open up my mind. Linkin Park-Runaway.

******

Saruman saw the blood flow from his prisoner's mouth and knew that the 
Elf was close to dying. This-as much as he hated the thing suspended 
before him-was not what he wished. Not yet. The elf was still too 
important to his plans. Too important.

He lifted Legolas' head only to find that the prince had his eyes 
closed. His face was pale and blood made lines of glistering moisture 
across his fair features. Saruman shook Legolas' head roughly only to 
receive no response. At first the wizard thought that the prince had 
in fact cut his ties with the world, but he soon saw the Elf's lips 
moving faintly as he drew in ragged breath after ragged breath. The 
Elf had quietly slipped into unconsciousness.

"Take it away." Saruman commanded of the Orcs in the room. When they 
looked at their master, as if the Elf had some sway over his mind, 
Saruman screamed at them again. "Get it out of my sight unless you 
wish to take its place!" The Orcs quickly complied and removed Legolas 
from his chains, dragging him down the dark, barely lit hall towards 
his cell.

******

A figure walked through the trees, wind blowing his hair slightly. The 
soft musical notes of a waterfall drifted through the trees adding to 
the tranquil affect of the early evening. As the figure walked, he 
looked left to right, eyes darting around him constantly. He was 
uneasy, and he felt that something was amiss.

He climbed a slight hill and when he reached the crest, he saw a dark 
and menacing shape cutting into the dark sky. Tall rose the tower of 
Isengard, piercing the sky with its black walls and shadowed against 
the Misty Mountains.

It looked as it now was, a place of terror and torture, a place of 
darkness and evil. Orcs swarmed within the circle surrounding the 
tower, they were building a new army, one stronger and capable of 
walking in the sun. Others were pulling down the great Ents that 
surrounded the place of darkness and forging swords for the impending 
battle.

All this the figure watched with hollow eyes, for he knew of the 
events of Isengard. He knew of its betrayal to the people of 
Middle-earth and its owner's allegiance with the Dark Lord, Sauron.

But what greatly weighed upon his heart was the being that was held 
within the tower. Purest of all his people, he, and holding an 
innocence that most could not in such hard times. But he also held 
something else, somethingthat was forgotten, even to most of his 
people, something of which that the Elven prince himself had no 
comprehension. As the figure watched the dark tower, he was sure that 
the prince would soon find it within himself, if he had not already 
done so. And once found, it would not leave, and it would be the thing 
to overthrow such darkness. But until then, all the watching person 
could do was wait and hope that the Elf would survive long enough to 
discover himself.

******

Legolas groaned as he felt himself being pulled from the safety of 
dreams. His entire body ached, especially his arms and shoulders. The 
dark world in which he now lived in was coming into focus and, as he 
saw the black jagged walls of his cell. He rather wished he hadn't.

He tried to move his arms, but doing that proved to be much more 
painful then he had thought. His left shoulder throbbed, and his right 
felt as if it had been ripped out. Legolas looked over at it with 
sorrowful eyes. He could see that it was dislocated, and regrettably 
he would have to fix it. With a great sigh he pulled himself from the 
floor and leaned against the sharp wall. While leaning his back as 
close to the surface as he could, he wedged his right hand in the 
joint of where the floor met the wall. He pressed down with as much 
force as he could get out of his right hand and turned his head to the 
left so not to see what was about to happen. His shoulder had come 
forward due to the suspended position while his hands where behind his 
back, so he rested his left hand on the front of the dislocated limb. 
He dreaded what he had to do, but he knew it must be done or it would 
just cause him further injury.

With his teeth clenched together, Legolas mentally prepared himself 
for the pain. With one last sigh, he mustered all his strength and 
pushed back on his shoulder quickly and violently.

A loud pop echoed throughout the small cell, but it was soon lost in 
the shrill cry of pain that eventually grew into a scream.

His shoulder burned into him, threatening to plunge his world back 
into the darkness of unconscious sleep. Normally that would be 
something he would welcome gladly, but he felt that if he were to give 
into the dreams once more he might not come back. And that was not one 
of his wishes, especially now that he had something to live for, 
something other then revenge.

Legolas' cry of agony died down as quickly as it had come. He leaned 
against the wall with his head hanging down on his chest, gasping for 
air, and when he lifted his head the cell walls danced around him. He 
slowly slid down the wall and came to rest on the cold stone, shaking 
uncontrollably.

Legolas was never one to feel the cold or heat. It was a trait of his 
race, but as he lay there, he clearly felt the coolness of the stone 
and the surrounding air upon his skin. He shivered and moved his arms 
painfully around his body, trying to block out this new sensation.

I failed them, not Boromir. He tried to keep his thoughts on anything 
but the pain that tore through his body. He understood it now. It all 
made sense.

He hadn't failed them at all; at least he didn't think so. He closed 
his eyes and he concentrated hard, trying to remember all that had 
happened that day.

Legolas' mind was ablaze with thoughts, some useful, other not so. But 
he desperately sought one out, one that would answer everything, one 
that would reveal the way in which he was captured and the arrow wound 
in his
back. Slowly he willed himself into a sort of Dream State; a trance to 
find the answers to which he was seeking.

******

Saruman paced angrily back and forth in his chambers. He knew the elf 
was starting to remember what had really happened, and he knew that 
this could-and would-bring about the end of his plans. And as his 
encounter with the elf's strength had shown, it would take a lot to 
reinforce what he had previously done. All he knew was that he had to 
do it quickly and he had to do it right; otherwise his hold over the 
elf would be lost for good. And with the fact that the elf he held was 
The Elf it would not go down too well with Sauron if the prince 
defeated him, or even escaped.

With an angry tone he yelled out for the assistance of an Orc.

******

The sun rose in the sky and the two weary travelers awoke. Without a 
word spoken, they packed up their camp and took out a small amount of 
provisions to eat on the road.

They started off at a walking pace, while still awakening, yet as 
usual, they soon started to run. They hated the fact that they could 
not push themselves faster then what they had the last few days, but 
they were not like the elves who could go on at a cracking pace and 
keep it up, days on end.

Yet they would not let fatigue get the best of them. Not while their 
friend needed them so much.

Hold on Legolas. We are coming, just hold on until nightfall, for we 
shall be there. The leader kept trying to assure himself that his 
close friend was still alive. He knew that if Legolas had passed he 
would have felt it. He would have felt his presence leaving this world 
behind. Although Legolas was some two thousand years older then he, he 
had always felt that the Elf was fragile. Not weak-god knows not 
weak-just in need of protection occasionally. It was his appearance 
that brought on this sense of protectiveness. He was so thin and tall 
compared to a man, and looked as if he could snap. And his eyes. His 
eyes reflected such innocence, innocence like a child's if it were not 
for the glint of wisdom they also held.

But now his friend was captured and held in darkness and it was his 
entire fault. Legolas was facing far worse things then death and it 
was because of him. He was so distant, and the leader only hoped to 
bring him back. Hold on Legolas, please hold on.

******

Legolas stood there, watching the fellowship with interest as they got 
out of the boats. Sam, like the other three hobbits seemed to hate 
even the feel of the water and he quickly tiptoed through and onto the 
bank. Aragorn and Boromir both just walked through, unhindered at all 
by the liquid that lapped at their ankles, while Gimli found the water 
to be more shin deep and grunted as it filled his boots.

Suddenly the day progressed and the fellowship was siting around 
resting while Aragorn and Gimli were talking about what path to take 
next. The two were soon bickering, and Legolas felt himself opening 
his mouth to speak. "It is not the Eastern Shore that worries me. A 
shadow and a threat have been growing in my mind. Something draws 
near, I can feel it."

And then panic swept through him. Fear, terror and anticipation. They 
all went hand in hand. He was fighting, darting between Orcs, slashing 
them with his Elven Blades. Blood spilled forth onto his tunic but he 
paid no attention to it and he fought on. Gimli was near him, his 
friend's axe cleaving Orcs in two easily. And Aragorn. There was the 
ranger in front of him, the Flame of the West singing happily in his 
hands.

A sound came to him, the sound of Boromir's horn. Aragorn turned 
towards the sound, his mind distracted and he did not see his doom 
leering above him. But Legolas did. The Elf felt himself running, 
Aragorn's name on his lips.

And then pain overtook all other emotions. He vaguely heard his name 
from both the lips of Aragorn and Gimli as he felt himself sink to his 
knees.

Then rough hands seized him, pulling him to his feet, dragging him 
backward
away from the cries of his friends. The distraught sound of the fight 
growing more desperate filled his ears, Aragorn called to him 
frantically but he had not the strength to answer.

And then they were gone and he was alone in his fear and pain. Moving, 
forever moving, surrounded by darkness and the foulness of the Black 
Speech.

Legolas' eyes snapped open with a start, a gasp escaping his lips. 
Realization finally came to him, and he could see all that had 
happened. Saruman had tricked him from the start, forced to believe in 
something that was not true.

He had no idea as to how long he had been in his trance-like state, 
but he knew it was for the better half of the day or night, which ever 
it happened to be. Time seemed to travel slowly in this place, and he 
feared that maybe it truly did, that if he ever escaped, the world 
would be changed, that everything he held dear would be gone or 
destroyed. But he had his memory now and that was all that mattered 
for the time being.

A few things still remained a mystery, but the majority was solved and 
clear as day to the Elven archer. The arrow wound, the hazy darkness 
and the pain, and finally the feeling of invasion. The feeling that 
something was wrong in his mind, that something existed there that 
shouldn't have.

I failed them, not Boromir. He had not, and he knew it now.


Before he cold think on this further, the door of his small cell 
creaked open, revealing three Orcs. They moved into the room and 
without a single word, hoisted Legolas to his feet and lead him out of 
the cell.

******

The end of Saruman's staff collided with Legolas' face, snapping his 
head back. A large red mark started to form immediately on the 
prince's pale cheek, underneath his swollen eye. Legolas slowly moved 
his head so he could look directly into Saruman's face, his eyes 
holding the gaze of the wizard's. Pressing his lips together he 
waited, glaring the man down until he spat a mixture of saliva and 
blood into Saruman's face.

The wizard pulled back revolted, wiping the moisture from his face and 
slamming the staff into Legolas' stomach. The prince doubled over and 
crumpled to the floor, gasping for breath.

Saruman moved closer to the curled being that was lying on the floor. 
The prince looked nothing like an Elf anymore, much to the delight of 
the Orcs. His hair was roughly cut to above his shoulders and his face 
was swelled and bruised. His body lay broken and twisted, thickly 
coated in blood and his fine Elven clothes were ruined. But it was his 
eyes that they took pleasure in; they showed none of the light that 
they once had. They seemed almost constantly glazed over, clouded by 
darkness and pain, innocence lost in the shadows.

A smile played across Saruman's mouth as he looked down at his 
captive. It was laughable that this being was meant to be able to 
destroy him, to take away everything for which he had worked. This 
crumpled and wretched shadow of an elf was no match for him anymore. 
Yet the Elf still struggled as if he believed he could win this 
battle, as if he thought he would actually survive. Saruman had to 
give him credit for that, but it was the type of credit you would give 
to a fool, one that you only encouraged so you could destroy it 
further.

With this, the wizard saw the exposed bone of Legolas' side through 
torn flesh. With a slight laugh, he thrust his staff into the wound, 
hitting the revealed bone.

Legolas sucked air in hard, fighting the want and need to cry out in 
agony. Tears welled up in his eyes and he sank his teeth into his lip, 
drawing blood, in order to subside the screams that filled his head. 
Elbereth! "Elbereth ahreddath nin!" [Varda save me!] he gasped out to 
the amusement of the wizard above him. "Beria nin Elbereth, a heb nin 
band!" [Protect me Varda, and keep me safe.]

Saruman chuckled at the Elf's desperate pleas. "No one will help you, 
Elf. No one but me, and only if you tell me where the Ring is," he 
taunted.

"Aelis! Im ath aelis trenar le! [Never! I will never tell you!]

"Do not speak in that cured language again! Do you hear me?" Saruman 
roared at him.

"Car al trenar nin-" [Do not tell me--] he was silenced by the staff 
being struck into his stomach once again.

"Get him up!" Saruman yelled at the watching Orcs, who readily did 
what they were instructed. They hauled Legolas painfully to his feet 
and awaited their next instruction, which, with a wave of the wizard's 
hand, they
understood.

Legolas was dragged back to the rope that hung from the ceiling, his 
hands wrenched behind his back. They were tied together tightly and 
once again tied to the rope and hook. Horror was alive in his face and 
eyes and the Orcs laughed and sneered at its presence.

Saruman then instructed one of the Orcs to the reel and, with a 
gleeful smile he began to hoist the Elf into the air.

"I once asked you about Squassation Elf, now you shall have the 
pleasure of experiencing it first hand." He said slyly, "and do not be 
afraid to cry out. It *will* hurt!"

Legolas clenched his teeth together as he was raised into the air, the 
pain burned through his arms again. He felt his right shoulder start 
to give way, to come free of its socket, but he would not give them 
the satisfaction of his cries.

He was raised to the ceiling; his head resting next to the pulley. The 
pain was intense.

"How does that feel, my little prince?" Saruman questioned from the 
floor.

Legolas bit back the urge to reply, not wanting his voice to betray 
him.

"ANSWER ME!"

Yet, when no sound came from the elf's lips, Saruman motioned to the 
Orc at the reel. With a sick realization, Legolas worked out what this 
'Squassation' was.

The Orc allowed the rope to pass through the reel, and Legolas felt 
himself falling. He saw the ground rush up to meet him and he pressed 
his eyes closed in fear. But what came next was worse than hitting the 
ground. He was stopped with a jerk; the slacking of the falling rope 
being pulled tight, which kept him from coming into contact with the 
ground. His arms shook terribly, and with a final bounce of the rope 
he felt them become dislocated.

The pain roared through his body and he unwillingly cried out in 
exquisite agony. His stomach retched violently yet it held no content 
to pass. As he hung there, still suspended off the ground he felt his 
limbs tearing evenmore and his world fade into darkness.

Saruman watched with great pleasure as the elf that was meant to be 
his downfall jolted to a stop, only feet away from the floor. His 
cries were like a song to his ears. He had not heard this fair voice 
call out in pain nearly as much as he would have liked. That was all 
going to change soon. He saw Legolas retching and his eyes danced with 
happiness, but it was soon subsided by the knowledge that the elf was 
growing unconscious.

With a movement of his hand, Legolas was pulled back up in to the air, 
rousing the Elf from his slip into dreams.

A groan escaped the prince's lips as he felt himself being lifted once 
again. Once he reached the top, he waited painfully for the drop, but 
it didn't come. He closed his eyes, holding back the tears that he 
could feel welling up and continued to bite into his lower lip.

Saruman reached into his robes and, while pulling out a small blade, 
walked forward towards the suspended Elf. He beckoned for him to be 
brought down to a more reasonable height and Legolas was slowly 
lowered to just above the wizard's head.

An Orc came and grabbed hold of Legolas' feet as Saruman approached. 
With a slight smile at the thought of the screams to come, the wizard 
flicked the twisted dagger over the Elf's left foot, dragging a scream 
of pain from Legolas' suspended form. Again and again he sliced into 
the soft flesh of the delicate foot, until it was completely lacerated 
with cuts and blood. The wizard then reached for a small jar that sat 
on the stone table off to the left and unscrewed the lid. Pulling the 
foot to a vertical position he placed the jar at the top on the ankle 
and tipped it upside down.

Slowly a thick black and burning liquid flowed from it, dripping onto 
the torn flesh of Legolas' foot. The oil seeped into the torn skin and 
Legolas withered in pain as it scorched all that came into contact 
with it.

Legolas felt the oil slip over his foot, it burned him right down to 
the bone and the more he struggled the more his arms tore and pulled. 
It was hopeless to fight it, and he only prayed that the darkness of 
his dreams would soon take hold of him.

His cries echoed around the room, filling the Orc's with a sick 
pleasure and a roar of excitement rose from their twisted mouths as 
Saruman roughly grabbed Legolas' other foot.

The Elf used this as an advantage, and before the Orc could grab hold 
of his burnt left foot he sent it sailing into Saruman's face, where 
it connected painfully. Legolas' heel had come directly in contact 
with Saruman's left eye.

He then felt himself dropped to the floor, hitting hard, and as 
unconsciousness took him over, a smile played at the corners of his 
lips. Saruman grabbed his face in a yell, the hot oil scorching his 
left eye. He desperately clawed at his face, his nails slicing through 
his own skin, trying the wipe away the oil. But it held and continued 
to burn, his eye closing up from the swelling. With a swirl of his 
cloak and a barked word at the Orcs, he exited the room in a flight of 
panic.

The Orcs roughly dragged Legolas down the hall by his cut off hair and 
threw him in his cell to await their Master's return.

******

The moon started to rise in the east as the sun slowly sank in the 
opposite side of the sky. The two figures had been traveling all day 
at a breaking pace, not wanting to abandon their friend any longer.

They stood side by side on a hill, looking at the horrid glory of 
Isengard beneath them. Both knew it would be hard to try to break in, 
but they knew that they must try. Orcs patrolled the grounds, ever 
watching for foes, and the Ent would prove no help as they had all 
been destroyed. It was with solemn hearts that they knew that they 
must first rest before attempting anything, as they would be no good 
to Legolas if they were exhausted.

"Well, how did I know I would find you two here?" came a voice behind 
them and they whirled around to face the stranger.

**********

-----


 *****

The Blood of the Innocent

Part Eight

Nan Im Gwann! [Before I'm Dead]

*****

Saruman pushed Wormtongue out of his way as he approached the 
restrained Elf. For a split second, Legolas detected the sly man's 
eyes narrowing at the wizard in what could only be a sign of 
disrespect, and even possibly hate.

Legolas made a mental note to keep an eye on this man, for he might 
prove useful in the later confrontation that he knew was coming. For 
some reason this brought Legolas a glimmer of hope, that maybe, just 
maybe, this Wormtongue might cause the distraction that Legolas needed 
to try to gain his freedom. This hope was short lived as the man's 
face returned to normal and he made a slight bow to his master.

"How did you do it, Elf?" Saruman asked Legolas, and when the Elf made 
no move to reply, his anger doubled. "HOW DID YOU DO IT?" he yelled, 
"TELL ME HOW YOU DID IT!" The wizards face turned a dark red in his 
fury and his anger was made more obvious by his white hair and beard. 
For some strange reason, Legolas felt compelled to answer him.

"Do what?" he said in his best sugary tone, an innocent smile spread 
across his face. He looked the wizard square in the eyes and took 
pleasure in the anger that flared within the orbs.

It was at this point in time, this exact moment, that Legolas realized 
that he no longer feared the old man. And that was what he was, an old 
man, nothing more - just an old man, with a stick. Legolas didn't know 
how it was that he had lost his fear of the other, but he knew it was 
gone, cast into the wind like most of his memories, and probably never 
to return again. Something about that idea gave him comfort - that if 
he could not have the knowledge of his forgotten past, then Saruman 
could not have the pleasure of his fear. It all seemed ironic, that 
though so much was lost to him, just the smallest thing could give 
back so much. It was poetic justice. But no matter what it was, it was 
all Legolas needed to keep going, at least for now.

Legolas could see the spark of realization in Saruman's eyes as well, 
thus proving that the wizard picked up on his lack of fear, and 
subconsciously Legolas' innocent smile turned into a sly and 
triumphant one, matching how his feelings. In his mind he decided that 
if he were to die right there and then, Legolas knew on some degree he 
would be happy. Granted, it would not be even close to how happy he 
could have been if he were released to the wonders of the forest, or 
even if he could have his friends here with him, but at least he knew 
that he had - on a level - beaten his captor. And that satisfaction 
would stay with him for the rest of his life, no matter how long that 
was to actually be.

Saruman's next words cut through Legolas's trail of thought, yet they 
did not disturb him. "I should punish you for your impudence, little 
prince." The last of the words were said harshly, aimed to stir a 
fearful reaction in Legolas, and the Elf knew it.

Biting back the comment he wished to say, he simply smiled again and 
replied in a causal tone that was empty of all emotion, "And what 
would that consist of, old man?" he asked, adding his own slur on the 
being before him. "Have you not done everything yet? You have taken me 
from my quest and friends, dallied in the workings of my mind, and 
weakened my body. What else do you hope to achieve apart from death, 
Saruman?"

The wizard swallowed hard, hoping that the Elf would not notice. But 
nothing slipped past Legolas. "Thus proves my point," Legolas 
continued flatly, "You don't even know yourself. I have nothing left 
so you have nothing more to gain save the loss of my life." By now 
Saruman face was a dark red, knowing what the Elf's next words were to 
be and expected the slight chuckle that they were spoken with, "and 
you and I both know that you will not do that, will you? It would seem 
too easy for me, would you not say?"

Legolas' head snapped back as the sting of Saruman's backhand collided 
with it, numbing his cheek. Yet, Legolas lifted his head so he would 
be looking down at the wizard while his tongue flicked out and licked 
at the blood at the corner of his mouth. As the metallic taste clung 
to his palette and coated his throat, a smile again forced its way to 
his face. "Did I strike a nerve, old man?" he asked.

Saruman's face fell and his mouth opened, but it was not his voice 
that filled the air.

"Do not address him as such!" came the riled command of Wormtongue, 
his earlier flash of hate towards Saruman obviously forgotten.

"And if I do not comply?" Legolas asked, a sharp edge evident in his 
tone now. He had hoped the man would say nothing, proving his 
resentment of the wizard, but it was no so. Yet Legolas would not let 
himself get disarrayed by this display of loyalty for he had not 
imagined the tension between the two.

Wormtongue seemed to be a strong-willed man, even though he hid it. He 
did not seem like the type to just sit there and take orders from 
someone, especially someone who treated him like a worthless Orc, as 
Saruman did. Yet he allowed it, and this puzzled Legolas greatly. He 
could picture Wormtongue as someone who, while being corrupt, would 
want to do things for himself, to be able to influence people when he 
wanted and how he wanted. But most importantly, by himself.

Something inside told Legolas to be wary of this man, that he was 
capable of much more then he let on, and that he would not hesitate in 
carrying out what he wanted. He looked the type to be able to get away 
with almost anything, even if it meant receiving some form of 
punishment for his efforts - just so long as he had acquired what he 
craved.

When he spoke, Wormtongue demanded attention, which was yet another 
thing that Legolas found intriguing, and yet he held himself in the 
way of a sneak, someone who was not important at all. All Legolas 
could deduce from his survey was that while Wormtongue acted sly and 
submissive, he really craved leadership.

"If you do not comply we-" Wormtongue began, and with a harsh look for 
Saruman, he corrected himself, proving Legolas right in his 
suspicions. "He'll -" his voice trailed off as he realized that he did 
know what would happen to the Elf.

A strange silence hung heavy in the room. For the first time in 
however long Legolas had been there, he felt as if he were in control. 
He didn't know how, but the uncertainty of the two standing by made 
him feel powerful. From where this feeling of power came from he 
didn't know, but he did know that he liked it and vowed never to lose 
it.

As it turned out, it was this thought and this thought alone that 
prevented Legolas from jumping when the door to the room suddenly 
burst open, spilling Orcs into the darkened area.

At first, Legolas thought that it was some trick of Saruman's to get 
him to cease in his mimicry, but at the look of shock and frustration 
openly displayed on the wizard's face, he knew it not to be so. This 
was unknown to even Saruman.

One of the larger Orcs crossed the room, bowing before Saruman and 
speaking in the harsh Black Speech, causing Legolas in inwardly 
shudder. How he hated that sound, it was pure darkness just created in 
the depths of Udûn.

Much to Legolas's dismay, a large smile spread over Saruman's face as 
he listened intently to what the Orc was grumbling out between his 
large fang- like teeth. With a wave of his hand, Saruman dismissed the 
Orc, and all of them left the room, equally sneering and adding to 
Legolas's sudden discomfort.

Saruman approached the Elf once again, and though Legolas felt no 
fear, his heart was racing with nervous tension. The wizard looked him 
straight in the eye and then smiled - not a deadly smile full of 
deceit and lies, but a genuine smile full of happiness. It looked 
unnatural on Saruman's face, which was normally so full of frown lines 
and evil glares. Yet he was, smiling like a Cheshire Cat. If Legolas 
could have backed away, he would have, no matter who was watching. 
Something about this strange look tore at his heart, and for the first 
time he found himself listening to every word the evil wizard said.

"Legolas, my dear little princeling," he began, his smile still firmly 
in place, "I must admit that you were indeed right, and on two things"

No matter how hard Legolas tried, he could not get himself to reply to 
the wizard even though he wished to show him that he still did not 
fear him. Or did he? Legolas's courage, which had been blindly obvious 
only moments ago, had fled, leaving him abandoned and alone in the 
darkness. He identified this as hell.

"In response to some of your earlier questions that you so boldly 
demanded, yes, I did force images into your mind." He paused long 
enough for Legolas to get the full impact of his words. He had been 
right in his suspicions; Saruman had done something to his memories. 
Anger boiled up in the Elven prince, yet that look in Saruman's eye 
stopped him from expressing it. That look was terrorizing, and he 
dreaded what the wizard would tell him next.

"What you know, or at least what you think you know about your friends 
and how you came to be here is false. A result of an illusion 
incantation I stumbled upon - and I must admit, I had not expected it 
to works so well." He smiled at what Legolas could only think was 
self-appraisal ere he continued. "'Twas a stroke of luck really, that 
you were to become the recipient of an arrow not meant for you at 
Parth Galen." Legolas recalled the burning wound in his back that he 
had earlier identified as an arrow wound. "It was meant to hit that 
irritating ranger Strider - or should I say Aragorn, son of Arathorn, 
the soon-to-be-king of Gondor."

Legolas gasped slightly. He had not known that Saruman knew of 
Aragorn's identity let alone existence but as the wizard continued, he 
ran out of time to process that information.

"Admittedly, it would have seen the end to a lot of our troubles if 
Lurtz's arrow had hit the man and not you - not to mention that it 
would have saved me a lot of hassle." Inwardly Legolas smiled at that 
statement, while his gaze flew to the swollen eye and blood-covered 
face of Saruman.

"But no, you and your Elven loyalty had to get in the way. You spoiled 
everything. You do know you ruined everything, don't you? If it hadn't 
been for you then that ranger would have been dead, you all would have 
fallen and the ring would be mine, assuring me as Dark Lord, and not 
Sauron.

"And then you didn't even die from the wound, again making things more 
difficult then they had to be. The Orcs, useless creatures that they 
are, saw it fit to take you for their sport, and still you lived. That 
is how I came in possession of you."

Legolas hated the way he was telling this. Sure, it made him feel 
better that he had caused the other much annoyance, but the 
'possession' was enough to make his empty stomach retch. Finally, he 
found his voice and to his dismay, it had lost the calm, flat tone it 
had supported not that long ago.

"What was the second thing?"

"Silence!" Saruman commanded, anger in his voice and eyes, "Things 
have changed, little princeling. You will only speak when told to from 
now on. And besides," his voice lost its anger, and went back to an 
almost sing- song state, "I'm not done making you aware of the first 
quite yet. But to cut it short, your little friends are not in fact 
dead. They are still tramping around the countryside making each of my 
days worse then the last."

Legolas couldn't believe it, Aragorn was still alive, as was Gimli and 
the hobbits, and even Boromir. He had never been so relieve in his 
life and it felt as if a large weight was lifted off his shoulders.

"They are al-" he began.

"SILENCE!" Saruman yelled as he struck Legolas once again, and this 
time the Elf did not raise his head. It did not matter if he was 
beaten now, at least he knew that he had not fail his friends as 
Saruman had wanted him to believe. He had not cost them their lives as 
they still lived, they were still fighting the good fight, and they 
were still trying to destroy the ring.

"Now, for the second thing," Saruman continued though Legolas hardly 
listened. All that mattered was that his friends were alive and safe, 
and that hope still remained in the world.

Not once did the Elven prince think of questioning Saruman on why he 
had told him this, as he was too caught up in his happiness. This 
would be his downfall.

"The second thing," Saruman stated as he decided the best way to say 
what he wished, "is that you were right in saying that killing you 
would be too easy, a release even, and with this I agree. But, you 
still have one thing I can take." At this he motioned Wormtongue to 
the door while he himself grabbed Legolas's head roughly by the chin 
and forced him to look up at the door.

Wormtongue opened the door, and the Orcs that had come through a 
little while earlier reappeared, this time dragging something with 
them. Legolas watched absentmindedly, not really caring what Saruman 
had in stall for him. At least not until what he saw what the Orcs 
were dragging.

The Orcs lay them just in front of Legolas and Saruman before letting 
the figures drop cruelly on the ground. Saruman had continued to hold 
Legolas's head and guided his view, forever following the figures.

One of them stirred, lifting its head as it tried to pull itself to 
its knees, only to be shoved back down by an Orc.

But in that split second it had lifted its head, Legolas panicked and 
his heart leap into his mouth. All his past joy fled with the one 
movement of the figure.

"Aragorn?" he choked out while feeling the wizard's nails biting into 
his flesh for the speech.

"Ah, but what about their death?" Saruman asked triumphantly, "their 
life is the last thing for you to loose, is it not? Which is good for 
me too, as all three are completely expendable."

Legolas tried to block out the thoughts of the wizard and focused on 
Aragorn, and what he could only make out as Gimli and - Gandalf. His 
mind was abuzz with thoughts. How was Gandalf here? Where were the 
hobbits and Boromir? How did they get here? And where was the Ring?

"Aragorn!" Legolas again called, this time more desperate for a 
response from his friend. He ignored the slap that stung his cheek 
warning him to be quiet and kept calling out.

Upon hearing his name, Aragorn again lifted his head, this time to 
look directly into the eyes of Legolas.

The man half-squinted in his attempt to look at Legolas. He barely 
recognized the Elf he had known for so long a time. Legolas looked 
terrible, nothing short of a ghost of his former self. His face was 
covered in a mixture of blood and dirt, yet it did nothing to hide the 
blue-black bruises and red welts that were present on the normally 
soft skin. He was terribly thin and looked as if he had not eaten 
since he was taken - which Aragorn regarded as a strong possibility. 
His clothes were ripped and soaked in blood, both dry and fresh and it 
was through that sight that Aragorn saw the main wounds that Legolas 
supported. His right side had been torn open, exposing the bones 
within, as well as his left upper leg. He had many circular wounds 
that Aragorn could only guess were created by hot pokers or something 
of the like, and parts of his chest were visibly burned though his 
tattered tunic. Blood was dripping from his lip and newly made nail 
marks encircled his throat. Legolas's once long silky hair was 
mattered with blood and cut roughly at his shoulders, but through all 
that horror, Aragorn knew it was still his dear friend.

The thing that scared the man the most, beyond all other wounds, was 
his friends eyes. Although they held recognition they were not the 
same bright cerulean that they had been. They were filled with pain 
and fear, and above all a sense of hopelessness.

Aragorn hated himself for allowing this to happen. He felt that it was 
his fault, that Legolas had been wounded with the arrow meant for him. 
The Elf had been taken by the Orcs and he had suffered so much. The 
guilt ate at him Yet above all else, he felt bad that he could not 
carry out the promise that he had made to himself in this past week: 
that he would save his friend and take him out of this darkness. With 
the newest turn of events, it looked as if the young Elf would never 
see the sun again, and it was all the man's fault.

This pained him more than even the thought of dying himself. For 
himself he did not care. He cared about Legolas and the two 
unconscious beings that lay beside him, the four hobbits and the free 
people of Middle-Earth. But not for himself. Not this time.

"I'm sorry, Legolas," was all he could say while looking into his 
friend's distant eyes, "I failed."

Legolas looked at him, sadness turning his features to stone. To the 
Elf, Aragorn had not failed. The quest would not continue, but no one 
had truly failed. No one but him. Even though he now knew that his 
friends were

alive and that he had not indeed failed them in that sense, he still 
felt the pang of failure now that they were captured. They should not 
have come for him, they should have continued on the quest and left 
him here.

But they didn't, and now, as Legolas knew, all hell was about to break 
loose.

"Well, wasn't that touching!" Saruman spoke up for the first time, 
"Heart wrenching even." He motioned for Wormtongue to awaken the other 
two captives on the floor, and the sly man obeyed in a hurry.

Slowly both Gimli and Gandalf came to consciousness and took in their 
surroundings. It only took seconds for their eyes to fall upon Legolas 
tied up in the centre of the room, and their eyes showed the horror 
that they both felt.

Aragorn had not once taken his eyes off Legolas, trying to get his 
friend to look at him, but Legolas avoided eye contact for he could 
not take the pity in the gaze. He felt unworthy of such concern. After 
all, it was because of him that they were here, awaiting what Fate saw 
fit to deal them.

"So, now that we are all together and re-aquatinted, lets try this 
again," Saruman started to speak again, commanding attention. "Tell me 
where the Ring is Elf or I'll kill - " he reached down and grabbed 
Aragorn by the hair, "- this one."

Legolas shut his eyes tight, not knowing how this could be happening. 
He had no idea as to what to do, he knew he could not let his friends 
die this way, but how could he tell Saruman what he did not know?

"I have told you once and I will tell you again, I do not know where 
it is."

"You lie!" the wizard yelled as he jerked back on Aragorn's head, 
causing the man's face to scrunch into a silent hiss. Saruman reached 
into the folds of his robes and pulled out his twisted knife, pressing 
it to Aragorn's throat, "now tell me where it is or I'll kill him. 
It's a simple choice, little Elf!"

"How can I tell you what I don't know?" Legolas screamed at him as a 
small river of blood seeped from Aragorn's neck. The Elf's heart was 
racing, causing his breaths to come in short and shallow gasps. He 
struggled with as much strength as he could against his bonds, but it 
was useless, they were too tight and he was too weak.

The blade continued to slide into Aragorn's neck, yet the man, like 
the Elf, had made no noise of pain or even shock. He kept his jaw 
clamped tightly and his eyes focused on Legolas, much to the Elf's 
discomfort.

Gimli and Gandalf had also started to protest only to be silenced 
roughly by the Orcs.

"You know where it is and I want you to tell me!" Saruman was quickly

"I DON'T KNOW!" Legolas was panicking and felt utterly helpless as he 
watched his friends life being threatened. He almost wished that he 
knew the location of the Ring so he could help Aragorn, but no amount 
of wishing would bring that knowledge to him. "Saruman, why would I 
risk his life if I knew the answers to that which you seek?" he 
pleased, desperate to make the wizard understand that he was telling 
the truth. "Why would I know of its whereabouts, for if it has slipped 
your mind I have been in this light forsaken place since you lost it 
and its possessor."

"Don't you see," Saruman shot back, his lust for the Ring of power 
taking control of all of his senses. He had longed after it for so 
long now and he wanted to claim its power for his own purposes. When 
the chance came to aid Sauron in his quest to find it, he had seen it 
as the perfect opportunity to get what he wanted. It should rightfully 
be his. To lose it now would be too hard to bare, especially when his 
access to it had been held in his dungeons for the last week. "You do 
know where it is, don't you see that?" he yelled, "You *do* know, how 
else do you think you were able to use -"

"Nay, he doesn't know of that yet, Saruman." All eyes turned to the 
form of Gandalf on the floor, who was looking at his captor with calm 
eyes. "He knows not all that you know."

Saruman's eyes narrowed at this, before looking over to a baffled 
Legolas. "He doesn't know?" the distaste was evident in his voice at 
this new found discovery. "But he - how could he not know?"

"KNOW WHAT?" Legolas, burst out driven by his fear for Aragorn and the 
plain annoyance of what the two wizards were discussing surrounding 
him. "Someone tell me. What is it that everyone else seems to know 
that I do not?" He had forgotten his position and state, and now just 
wanted answers.

Saruman released Aragorn and the man fell to the floor, gasping for 
better breath. Slowly he lifted his head and watched the scene before 
him with interest and ignorance.

As Saruman approached Legolas, the Elf shot a glance at Aragorn and 
Gimli, and it became obvious that they too were just as confused as 
him. Saruman grabbed hold of Legolas' face and peered into his eyes as 
if looking into his soul. A shiver traveled its way up Legolas's spine 
at the wizard's gaze. He felt as if he could see his thoughts, read 
his mind and emotions and the thought frightened him more then he 
cared to admit.

After what seemed like hours, Saruman released Legolas' face and 
looked to Gandalf. "He doesn't know." He stated in shock. "Why doesn't 
he know?"

"KNOW WHAT?" Legolas yelled again.

"The time had not yet come to inform the young prince," Gandalf said 
simple, "and we had no proof that it was in fact him.

Legolas felt the anger that had built up inside of him grow stronger 
and he struggled to push it down and not to give into it. He was aware 
that Aragorn was trying to catch his eye but he was too caught up in 
the strange feeling inside of him to worry about this.

It was as if he were seeing things for a first time. As if he had not 
yet felt anger till this very moment, that all else had been nothing 
compared to this rising rage that made his heart pump faster and 
faster. He could feel his palms grow sweaty behind his back, and he 
sub-consciously started to pull at the bonds on his wrists.

His hearing was slightly off and as the two wizards conversed and he 
had trouble focusing on what they were saying, finding every word 
swirling into the other after it. It was the strangest sensation he 
had ever felt, and he hated it. It made no sense to him as he knew 
that it was this feeling that he had loved earlier - the feeling of 
control and power, of fearlessness and strength. And yet here it was 
again, and he despised it and wanted it gone.

He knew that this feeling had something to do with what Gandalf and 
Saruman were talking. Still, he was none the wiser as to what they 
knew and what this was. It was just anger - wasn't it?

*****