Title: The Healer  (Part Two)

Author: Nightwing

Email: waabooz@chartermi.net   Feedback most welcome.

Rating: PG13. Violence, character torture, tense situations, implied rape (nothing graphic), mind control and more of that good stuff.

Disclaimer: Middle-earth and its characters were created by JRR Tolkien, and are owned by folks other than myself. Only the healer Luindar is mine. I am making no monetary profit from this story.

Summary of Part Two: While captive in Isengard, Legolas meets another prisoner, an elf upon whom the survival of Lothlorien depends.

Acknowledgements: My thanks to Cassia for her permission to explore the effects on Legolas’ personality after his experiences in her story “Captive of Darkness." This story continues the friendship established between Legolas and Aragorn in the Mellon Chronicles.

My heartfelt appreciation to Ithilien for offering to beta the reworking of this story. I am grateful.

Note: this story has been re-worked since its original posting in early 2003. I wanted to fix up some things that were bothering me. Reposted February 2004.

The Healer (Part Two)

The quiet murmur of voices penetrated the darkness that had settled on his mind. He turned his head slightly, trying to focus, but he felt cut adrift and could hold onto nothing. There was pain, a lot of it, so he realized he was not dead, but he could not think, nor could he speak. He gagged on the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Someone touched him, probing at his hurts, and he twisted, moaning softly as he tried to move away.

“Shhh… hold on,” a voice whispered. “I am sorry. Almost finished.”

He struck out with his hands, and they were grasped and restrained. Terror surged as he tried to pull away. Run! They have found you!

“Easy. Do not fight.”

“Hold him.”

It hurt too much. He let go with a gasp, willingly retreating into the shadows where thought and feeling were buried in the quiet darkness.

* * * *

There was a strange smell surrounding him, pungent and medicinal, and an odd taste in his mouth as well. He shook his head, not liking either, and tried to shift away. His breath came with difficulty. A tight band squeezed and pressed uncomfortably around his body, hindering him, and he ceased his moving. His forehead itched and he reached up, fingering the cloth wrapped around it and picking at it in confusion. His hands moved together oddly, and he frowned as he tried to turn his wrists and shift them freely. And then his hands were grasped and pushed down.

“Rest. Do not touch the bandages. Do not ruin our hard work,” a familiar voice said. A strong grip took hold of his arms and held him. Fear raced over him and he jerked, seeking to break the restraint. The hands withdrew.

“You are safe, Legolas. Come back to us and find yourself among friends again.”

The elf's heart quickened with joy as he recognized the voice and relief poured over his body in a wave. “Aragorn?” His lids fluttered heavily as he fought to find his friend, and it was a moment before he could open his eyes. He squinted, wincing as his vision cleared. The weary face of the ranger smiled down at him. Legolas' throat constricted, burning. “Do… do you have water? Please…  ”

The man acted quickly, slipping his arms under Legolas' shoulders and supporting him as he held the flask to the elf's lips. Legolas drank deeply, the cool liquid feeling wonderful as it slipped down his parched throat. But the sweetness of the water and the arms of his friend did not comfort him long, for the hurts of his body demanded he notice them, and he groaned softly as Aragorn helped him to lie back again. He looked up at the man, his sapphire eyes brilliant with tears. “I am glad to see you. I feared I might never again.” The elf frowned anxiously as memory nudged him. “Merry and Pippin, did they find their way to you?”

“We’re here, Legolas,” Merry’s voice spoke from his other side and the elf quickly turned his head to see the two hobbits kneeling beside him. Merry reached and embraced him gently. His small face was gaunt and dirty. “We're here, and we will not leave you again.”

“I am relieved to see you both safe,” Legolas whispered. “I feared for you when the orcs set off in pursuit.”

“They are slain,” Aragorn told him as Boromir drew near and knelt beside him. The elf shifted his blue-eyed gaze to the nobleman.

"Forgive me for missing our dinner engagement, son of Gondor. I was detained elsewhere, but I think I would have preferred your company." And Legolas smiled slightly as he wearily closed his eyes.

Boromir spoke softly. "There will be other opportunities for us to establish our friendship, Prince Legolas. For that, I am most grateful."

“Legolas,” Elladan's voice murmured, and a cool palm briefly touched the side of the Mirkwood elf’s face. Legolas' eyes flew open once more and he struggled to sit up.

“You must get back home, Elladan,” he said, his heart suddenly pulsing with anxiety. “Warn your father. The wizard… ” He half rose, but a sharp stab of pain jolted his injured ribs and he fell back with a gasp. Aragorn rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Easy, Legolas. Merry and Pippin have told us everything. We know what Saruman is planning.”

Exhausted, the elf settled back, raising his hands and rubbing them over his eyes wearily. He started then, studying the chains still wrapped around his lacerated wrists. His fingers flew to his neck, feeling the links there as well, and he turned incredulous eyes on Aragorn.

“What…?”

“I am sorry, Legolas. We could not get them off.”

"You must try."

"We have," the man said with a sigh.

“Try harder,” the elf said angrily. “They hurt.”

“We did, believe me. I snapped the tip off my favorite dagger trying to release the lock on your wrist restraints. I fear we can do no more until we reach Rivendell.”

Legolas stared upward, his breath accelerating with frustration. “I have nearly reached my limit with being chained up, Aragorn. It is going to drive me mad.” His tired eyes roamed his surroundings and widened in dismay. He turned again to the ranger. “Are we in a cave? Just to add to the fun?” he demanded.

Aragorn could not quite conceal a grin. “I am afraid so. It was the best place we could find to hide. Things could be worse, you know.”

Legolas felt a small flare of irritation spark through the ashes of his exhaustion. “Orcs have been dragging me across Middle-earth for days. I am in chains, within the confines of a cave, and I feel like a mountain has fallen on me. How could things possibly be worse?”

“Gimli could be here,” Aragorn said evenly. Legolas glared at the ranger for a moment, and a look of alarm came over the man’s face. He shifted away from the injured elf as if he expected to be struck, but Legolas recognized his friend’s attempts to cheer him, and a tired smile suddenly lit his pale features.

Aragorn leaned closer, grinning. “You are our prisoner now, elf,” he said severely, “but I promise we will keep you in more comfort than your previous captors.”

Legolas laughed aloud, and then broke off suddenly as his shoulder wound seared him and pain ricocheted down his limbs. He yelped and tried to curl up, choking on a sudden wave of nausea. Elladan jumped forward in concern, resting his hands on the elf-prince. “Easy now. Lay back, Legolas." The dark-haired elf turned on Aragorn with a scathing look. "Really, Estel,” he admonished.

“If you love me, Aragorn, do not make me laugh, I beg you,” Legolas pleaded. He groaned softly as he straightened his body again.

“I am sorry, Legolas,” the man said, worry obvious in his voice.

“No laughing for at least three days,” Elladan ordered. “We do not need your ribs shifting.”

“They will not shift. You have wrapped these strips around my body so tightly that I cannot breathe, Elladan, let alone move. And laughter is good for the soul, son of Elrond,” sighed Legolas, “but I will obey your command from this point on. I hurt, and that is no lie.” He investigated the strips binding his torso with his sensitive fingers and felt the bandage around his head again. He glanced at a white cloth wound around his upper left arm and turned toward the dark-haired elf. “Elladan, is there any part of my body that does not have a wrap on it?”

Elladan laughed. “Precious little,” he said. “You are pretty banged up. We nearly ran out of bandages.”

“In fact,” announced Pippin, “we came dangerously close to pulling out Boromir’s dice to help us determine if he would have to strip off his clothes for you.”

Legolas glanced at the nobleman, who smiled despite being the butt of the joke. The elf started to laugh again and thought better of it, cutting the reaction off with a gasp, but then recovered himself when he saw Boromir react with a flinch at his display of pain. He sought to ease the man's discomfort with a small smile. “I am extremely grateful it did not come to that. I think having to endure the sight of one of you unclothed would have been even worse than being in the company of the dwarf. I shall try to remember to count my blessings next time I complain.” His gaze wandered along the walls of the small cave and lighted on the entrance. “Where are we?”

“We found you early this morning,” Aragorn told him. “Merry and Pippin were leading us on when we discovered that you had come back up the trail. It was obvious you were badly hurt, and on the run, otherwise you would not have left such clear signs. We could see where you had turned off. Leave it to you to find the last group of trees within miles of that accursed tower.” The ranger turned his head, gazing at the entrance to their shelter. “We carried you some distance. I would like to be further from Isengard than we are, but I think we are well hidden here. Your injuries are such that we feared moving you. You need treatment and rest. Was it a boot that broke your ribs?”

“It was a club the first time. The boot came later. Kurzik had big feet, but he will never stand on them again.”

The companions stared at him, and Merry exclaimed, “What?! Legolas, you killed him? What about the others? We figured since seven came after us, three had remained with you.”

“They are dead,” Legolas said, and closed his eyes.

Boromir gasped, looking at the elf in amazement. “Bound with chains and severely injured, you slew your captors and fled over miles in the dark? How did you find the strength to do such a thing?”

“I expect it was the strength of desperation,” Aragorn murmured.

Legolas nodded. “I never imagined I could escape them, hurt as I was. I fought with the hope that they would kill me. I thought only thus could I avoid Isengard.” His eyes opened, moving again over the grey walls of the cave and resting on the small fire crackling nearby. “I was not going through those gates,” he whispered. “It would have meant the destruction of my people, and I feared the torments Saruman had devised for me. He showed me what he intended when he invaded my mind at night. A cell that was dark, cold and without air. I would spend the rest of my days there, with no hope of release. It filled me with terror, and still does.”

“Such imaginings would have stricken anyone with fear,” Aragorn told him.

Legolas caught Aragorn’s wrist. Apprehension pressed him. It seemed the visions were a part of the wizard's wicked plan, and the elf felt he must explain. In a tense voice he said, “No imaginings were these. They were not dream or nightmare. The wizard has found a way to come into my mind. I have never been in the presence of Saruman, but I tell you I know his face and his voice as well as I know yours. Each night was worse than the one before it. As we drew closer to Isengard, he showed me all manner of horrors. I saw myself within the walls of a great underground cavern, deep below the surface of the earth, in a small cell where no sight of sky or tree would ever be possible. I knelt there in chains, unable to move. I could raise only my head and scan the walls. They were wet,” he said, shuddering, “but it was not water that trickled down the cold stones. I could hear the far off screams of elves. As he cut me and took my blood, the wizard told me he would hold me captive until the last days of Middle-earth.” Legolas turned his face away, staring at the wall of the cave as a single tear escaped and slid slowly toward his temple.

The others were silent. Pippin and Merry had bowed their heads as they listened to the elf’s words. “You never told us it was that bad, Legolas,” Merry said after a moment. “I wish we could have helped you more.”

Legolas turned quickly to the hobbits. “You were more help than you know. It was of great comfort to me that I was not alone, although I wished with all my heart that you had been in a place of safety, and not with me in the hands of the orcs. I think… I think I might have gone mad, if not for your presence, and your voices.”

Aragorn spoke then. “I cannot imagine the horrors you have experienced, Legolas. The wizard meant to break you, and so paralyze you with pain and despair that you would offer no resistance when you reached Isengard, but instead you killed your captors and escaped. Saruman greatly underestimated you, my friend.”

“And now we must let Legolas sleep,” Elladan said. “We make for Imladris soon, but he needs to be a bit stronger before we set out.”

“We must not tarry here,” Legolas said anxiously, raising his head. “The wizard will send more orcs. Our people must be warned…”

“I know.” The dark-haired elf raised his hand, silencing him. “And they will be. We leave at first light tomorrow. Rest you, now.”

Legolas nodded and relaxed back, looking up at the people surrounding him. “Thank you for coming, my friends,” he whispered. “I owe you my life.” The small group broke apart then, pulling away to allow him some quiet. Only Aragorn remained, sitting beside him with his hand resting on his friend’s. The elf turned toward him, self-reproach and confusion dragging him more deeply into exhaustion.

“I am sorry,” Legolas murmured.

“For what?”

“This is hardly how the quest to destroy the Ring should begin. We should be preparing for our journey, but instead you had to rush out here and rescue me because I was foolish enough to get captured by orcs. I do not understand how it happened. I never sensed the peril, and I walked Merry and Pippin right into it.”

Aragorn shook his head. “You are not to blame for this. The wizard deceived you. You could not abandon the little ones, and they told me how you fought to protect them during your captivity. Lord Elrond has been deeply disturbed by reports of elves disappearing, and now we know who is behind it and can move to stop him.” The man hesitated, looking into the eyes of the elf. “The hobbits also told me of your cousin and your friends. I am sorry.”

Legolas nodded slightly, dropping his gaze. He could not speak of it. Not yet, or he knew he would lose the slippery hold he had on his self-control. And he needed it right now for the pain. He winced, pressing his hands against the bandage on his shoulder. “What is the time? Does nightfall draw near?”

“It is late afternoon. We will prepare some tea, Legolas, to bring your fever down and dull your pain. You must sleep.”

“I do not want to sleep,” the elf said quickly. His body was quaking, though the fire had warmed the small cave. He felt miserable. Frightened. “My shoulder hurts,” he whispered, so quietly that Aragorn was obliged to lean closer.

“It is an ugly wound, but it is well stitched and appears to be healing. Elladan laid a poultice over it to draw out any poison that lingers.” The ranger looked closely at Legolas, smiling encouragingly. “You fear the wizard will come to you again. I think his ability to do so will diminish. The potion the orcs forced on you no doubt enabled him to work his enchantments, but its effect should begin to lessen now that you are no longer in their hands.”

Legolas was silent, feeling the steady, hot pulsing deep inside his shoulder. He knew somehow that this night would be the worst yet. He turned his face to the wall again. Someone was watching him. Whispering to him. His eyes closed as he sought to defend himself and keep the invasion at bay.

* * * *

Aragorn sat quietly, leaning against the wall of the cave, occasionally feeding twigs to the small fire. Legolas lay beside him, eyes closed, resting, but not sleeping. After a brief argument the elf had accepted the tea, and the ranger watched in relief as his friend had gradually relaxed and breathed more easily as the herbs took effect and the pain was lessened. His wounds were considerable, and Aragorn had been hard pressed to conceal both his great concern and his terrible anger at the sight of the horrific bruising across the elf's back; the result of being beaten by a chain, Legolas had told him, and the gashes from the whip had distressed Aragorn more than he had thought possible, awakening within him a disquieting blend of guilt at the length of time it had taken him to find his friend, and profound sadness that the elf had once again endured torment at the hands others.

Legolas had rested well enough, it seemed, for a few hours, but as the night wore on he had grown increasingly uncomfortable, stirring often and murmuring. His chained hands moved frequently to hover over his wounded shoulder, and on his face was an expression of pain. “Easy, Legolas,” the ranger whispered, pulling the blanket more firmly around the elf’s shivering form.

The man glanced around him. Merry and Pippin slumbered soundly, worn out by their experience, wrapped in their cloaks near the entrance of the cave. Elladan lay on his back on the other side of the fire, his eyes half-lidded in a light doze that gave him rest but would enable him to awaken and be alert in an instant if need be. Beyond the mouth of the cave Boromir stood watch, silently facing the direction of the black tower. His hand was on his sword, but it was relaxed, resting on the pommel.

Legolas moaned and a grimace crossed his features. Aragorn frowned uneasily, reaching over to brush his friend’s damp hair away from his brow, hating to see the elf in pain.  Legolas' head felt fevered. Was this the start of one of the nightmares? The ranger held back, unwilling to disturb him, hoping Legolas could find sleep somewhere amongst his struggles. He was reaching for Elladan’s packet of healing herbs when the elf’s bound fists suddenly struck his knee.

“No… no. Away from me!” Legolas' hands shot out again and Aragorn caught them. The blue eyes flew open, meeting the man’s with a look of terror. “He is trying to take me,” he gasped.

Aragorn shook his head. “Not so. You are here with us. Another nightmare, nothing more.” Elladan was on his feet immediately and he knelt quickly beside the ranger, looking with concern at the woodland elf. Legolas’ eyes were wide, fixed on the ceiling of the cave.

“This is no dream,” Legolas said. “His image keeps growing in my mind. How is it he can come at me like this? Why will he not let me be?” His voice was desperate and he turned his body, pushing his hands against the floor as if seeking to rise.

Fear flooded Aragorn and his eyes met Elladan’s anxiously as they attempted to help their friend lie down once more. The Rivendell elf shook his head in bewilderment. The ranger clasped Legolas’ hands, willing himself to speak confidently to his friend. “It must be the lingering effects of the poisoned wound and the potion, Legolas. Their strength will fade in time. You are safe.”

“No,” the injured elf moaned. His body was shaking. “He draws me in. I cannot…” he broke off suddenly with a cry of pain and drove his fists into his shoulder, hitting at it, and he grasped at the bandage as if to tear it off. Aragorn caught his hands once more and forced them down.

“You will injure yourself further,” he warned.

“The pain of this wound torments me so. For days it has been an agony," Legolas whispered. “It increases now, worsening the more I try to fight him off.” He twisted his body suddenly and slammed the back of his head against the rocky floor of the cavern. Alarmed, Aragorn and Elladan sought to steady him, but Legolas cried out, thrashing in their arms.

“What foul enchantment is this?” the ranger gasped as Merry and Pippin, roused by the noise, rushed over to them and Boromir ran in from his position outside.

“What is happening to him?” the nobleman demanded, skidding to a stop and staring down at the elf struggling in Elladan’s grasp. Aragorn sat back, too stunned and bewildered to answer.

Merry looked grim. “This is far worse than what he experienced those nights with us.”

“He told me the white wizard is trying to take him,” said Aragorn. “What can we do? I would willingly draw my sword to protect him, but where do I strike? Alas, I am no sorcerer and cannot counter this spell.”

Elladan had released his grip on Legolas, lest he cause further injury by trying to restrain him, and the companions watched in horror as the blond elf struck out at the empty air as if he battled some unseen opponent. A moment later he seemed to react to blows striking him in return. His head snapped to the side and blood streamed from a cut on his lip. He gasped and rolled, curling up as if a boot had just driven home.

“Get your hands off me!” Legolas screamed. He sat up and lunged forward, and just as suddenly was thrown back again. He grasped at his throat, choking.

“What is happening here? He cannot breathe!” Elladan shouted. He pulled at the chains around the prince’s neck as the blond elf writhed and gagged.

Legolas’ struggles gradually grew weaker and he lay back, gasping. Then his breathing eased and he inhaled deeply.  “Aragorn… ”

“We are here,” the frantic ranger grasped his friend’s hands in his own, his heart hammering in his chest. “Legolas, hold on.” The elf’s head rolled, his eyes glazed and unfocused. Elladan leaned over him, looking intently into his face, watching the light that shines in all elven eyes dim a little in the sapphire ones of Legolas.

“Tell us what is happening to you,” the Rivendell elf said urgently. “Maybe it will help us.”

“I cannot see,” Legolas breathed. His voice was small and frightened. “I am sorry, I cannot fight this any longer. He has me.”

“No,” Boromir said firmly. “It is only the wizard’s trickery.”

Legolas shook his head. “My strength is gone.” He smiled slightly, his unfocused eyes lingering somewhere near the ceiling of the cave. “Strange, is it not, that I used the last of my energy to escape the orcs, and now I have nothing left to fight Saruman himself? I might as well have let them drag me into Isengard.”

“You are with us, not him. He does not hold you,” Aragorn said with all the confidence he could muster, but his pulse pounded in his ears and his throat had gone dry.

“They cut my leg,” the blond elf reached slowly, touching his thigh and rubbing his fingers together. He raised his hands, the digits wet with blood. “Do you believe me now?” he whispered, drawing a long shuddering breath and closing his eyes.

“Legolas, come back,” Elladan urged. “Where are you?” He slapped the Mirkwood elf lightly across the face and the blue eyes opened again, glassy, wandering past the faces of his friends.

Legolas shook his head slightly. "Cold…" he moaned. The companions leaned closer, hardly able to hear his voice. “It is so cold. I will try, Elladan. A cell. It is dark, but for a few candles. A flagstone floor, and the air is foul. Chains. I… I cannot move. Aragorn, do you still hold my hands? I cannot feel you.”

“I still hold them, Legolas.” Aragorn tightened his grip. “Stay with us, mellon nin.”

Legolas frowned, turning his head. “They are coming back,” he gasped. “Do not leave me, please. I fear this.”

“We are all here with you,” the ranger told him. “We will not abandon you.”

Elladan moved closer to the suffering elf and began singing softly. Legolas joined him, his voice a mere whisper, but after a few seconds it was choked off. He twisted his head as if he was trying to fend something off, and he struggled weakly for a moment. Then his body relaxed and his head settled back against the floor as his breathing slowed and his eyes closed.

“Legolas? Legolas!” Aragorn tried to rouse him, but there was no response. The ranger sat back in dismay and bowed his head.

“Is he dying?” Pippin lifted a stricken tear-streaked face to Elladan, who crouched over the prince, feeling for his pulse. The dark-haired elf lifted the closed lids, peering into Legolas' unseeing eyes.

“I do not think so, Pippin,” he said. “His heart beat and breathing are low, but they seem strong enough. He has been torn away from us, and where he is I cannot say. Perhaps Isengard, as he feared. How we can help him find his way back to us I do not know.” Elladan turned to Aragorn. “We must get him to my father as quickly as we can. I fear the passage of time.”

Boromir sat down heavily next to Merry, shaking his head in bewilderment. “Never before have I seen such a thing. What can we do?”

Merry did not look up, gazing intently at the unconscious elf. He reached over and brushed back a stray lock of golden hair. “Perhaps nothing, but we will stay with him as we promised, even if the waiting takes a lifetime.”

* * * *

The elf slowly became aware of his surroundings again, swimming up out of the mists of fatigue and pain. The pain brought him back, a tearing agony in his side and a cramping in his limbs. His back was on fire and his shoulder, always the shoulder, was burning with a horrible combination of both hot and cold. But had not Aragorn and Elladan treated his wounds and covered him with a warm cloak as he lay next to the fire? He was freezing now, and nothing covered his bare shoulders. The fire must have gone out. Why was it untended?

Confused, he tried to open his eyes. His lids were heavy and it took a few moments for him to focus as he tried to take in his surroundings. It was dark, almost completely so, save for the pale glimmer of several candles set on a low table. He stared at them without comprehension. Where was the cave? Where were his friends?

“Aragorn?” He tried to speak, but his mouth would not move properly. He bit down on what felt like cloth. His gaze shifted again, resting on the floor before him. Grey flagstones. His eyes widened… this was not the cave. Memory rushed back then, and with a shock of terror he tried to rise, straining against the heavy irons that held him down, kneeling on the cold stones. He wrenched violently at his restraints and lost his balance, falling hard against a chain that descended from the ceiling and connected to a collar around his neck, holding him up on his knees. It cut off his breath, and he fought his way upright again and spread his knees further apart, realizing that if he really fell and could not right himself, he would strangle.

The archer closed his eyes tightly and struggled to control his panic. He fully remembered now his last moments in the cave with Aragorn and the others, and the terror he had felt as he was pulled away from them. He had tried so hard to fight, but Saruman had won, and he choked as a terrible fear clutched at him. Was he parted forever from those he loved?

What is happening to me? How have I come here? Aragorn!

Eventually he was able to breathe more calmly and slow the racing of his heart, but the pain of his body increased. He tried without success to force the gag out of his mouth, the foul taste of the rag sickening him, and he methodically tested the chains, twisting his hands behind his back and pulling against the fetters around his ankles, but nothing would yield. In addition to the links around his neck that held him up on his knees, another one of shorter length was connected to a ring in the floor so that he was forced to lean over slightly and he could not straighten his body or rise. He yearned to move and ease the aching in his limbs and the cramping in his back, but it was impossible. The chains attached to his collar were taut, and the slightest shift in balance brought him up against them. 

He raised his head as much as he was able, blinking painfully as he looked around the small cell. It smelled dank and musty, unused for years. The air was heavy and he choked on it as he fought for breath. There was no window, only solid walls of stone that seemed to rise up and close around him, crushing him. Being unable to move, confined deep underground in such a small, dark place filled the elf with a claustrophobic horror that he was scarcely able to manage. He closed his eyes again as his mind spiraled into a black vortex of terror.

He wondered how much longer he could hold himself up on his knees, before he could endure no more and collapse against the ceiling chain. Even now, his energy faltered and he felt himself sway. Trembling, he clenched his teeth on the gag, fighting to remain upright and hold off exhaustion.

* * * *

When he heard a rattling sound behind him, he barely noticed it. His head drooped wearily and he rested lightly against the ceiling chain. The pressure against his throat was uncomfortable, but he no longer had the strength to keep the muscles in his aching back tensed at all times. He had adopted this method of easing his fatigue hours ago… leaning against the chain to rest his body, then pulling himself up again to release the constriction around his neck and breathe more easily. His body slowly rocked back and forth automatically as his mind wandered somewhere in a place of twilight, and he did not notice anything was happening until the sound of a heavy door opening, grating over the flagstones, brought him up with a start. A thin beam of light fell across the small chamber and widened.

The elf had wondered for a time if he had been forgotten. He knew that to be unlikely, but it seemed forever that he had knelt there on the hard stones. Now, with someone finally coming for him, his heart beat convulsively and the fear rose before him like a black wall. He did not try to raise his head, but kept his gaze fixed on the floor, watching the light from the open door. Shadows moved behind him and soft footfalls brought someone into his range of vision. The glimmer of a white and silver robe moved in front of him, and a waft of air, freezing, blew over his naked back.

“Welcome to Isengard. My name is Saruman.” The voice was silky, sinister, and horrifyingly familiar. The soft sound flooded the elf’s veins with ice and fear twisted in his entrails. He closed his eyes as if with sudden pain and turned his head away.

His gag was torn from his mouth and the voice of an orc hissed in his ear. “You will answer when my lord addresses you, and you will show him proper respect.” A heavy boot slammed into his left side, his injured side, and the elf cried out at the impact. The pain sickened him and a cold sweat started on his brow. He swallowed hard, fighting the bile that rose in his throat.

“Hold for now,” the smooth voice cautioned. “His defiance is admirable, though it will avail him little. He appears to be one who likes to learn his lessons the hard way.”

The wizard crouched down in front of his captive and grasped the elf’s face in his hand, forcing his head back around. A shock of horror struck Legolas as his eyes met those of Saruman the White. The wizard’s gaze was dark, hard and glittering like black diamonds, and the icy cruelty of it cut across the elf’s temples like an iron from a forge. Saruman regarded him for some moments in silence, then reached with his other hand and stroked Legolas’ long hair.

“You are beautiful,” he said in a soothing tone. “The most beautiful elf I have ever seen. What is your name?”

Legolas recognized the meaning in the wizard’s eyes and touch and recoiled in loathing, fighting to pull away. “Do not touch me,” he hissed.

The wizard rose to his feet, looking down at the elf, who now returned his gaze, eyes blazing. “It appears your journey here was not an easy one,” he commented, his glance sweeping over the prisoner’s body, tallying the injuries. “My warriors had orders to bring an elf to me alive, but they understood your kind could withstand much. They are bred to inflict pain. I could not entirely deny them their chief pleasure, and I did hear you were not very cooperative. You managed to kill them in the end, did you not? Which was just as well, for they had, which is their wont, gotten a bit carried away. When they smell the blood of the Firstborn it is not easy for them to control their desire to kill, but had they taken your life, I would have been most displeased. As it is, I think the warrior elf that had fallen in my hands for the improvement of my army is a good one.”

The wizard bent over Legolas. “I will treat you well, and house you in more comfort, if you wish it. I will keep you as one of my most treasured possessions if you agree to serve me. Would it not be better to be in the keeping of the most powerful lord in Middle-earth as my servant, rather than live out your days in this prison cell?”

“The most powerful lord in Middle-earth?” Legolas flung back angrily. “Is your goal to rival Sauron, then? You are his lackey, nothing more. Your arrogance is astonishing, considering the fact that you command only a motley assortment of orcs, and I question your ability to manage even that.” The elf’s gaze had not dropped as the wizard’s merciless eyes bore into his own, though his head ached fiercely. “Was not your original purpose long ago to help the people of Middle-earth against the Dark Lord? You have strayed far. I will not serve a traitor. And I will not serve a murderer.”

“Ah, yes. You speak of the elves from Mirkwood,” the wizard nodded. “Are you kin of those taken? They served me well, as you shall, willingly or not.” He drew close, his breath caressing the elf's ear. “Rivendell. I would know what goes on there, and how the little people are involved."

Legolas shifted his gaze to the cold walls and stared fixedly at them, trying to display only resolve, but a deep and terrible fear had gripped him at the wizard's words. How much did he know of Frodo, and of the decision of the Council? "You will learn nothing," he said quietly.

The wizard regarded him dispassionately. "I can see that you fear me, for all your bold words. Punishing you for your defiance will please me, but first I think you should see what the results of your rebellious attitude will be on another.”

The wizard turned to the orc guards who stood silently in the doorway. “Go next door and bring him here,” he commanded.

Legolas knitted his brow in confusion as the creatures departed. He heard the rattle of a key in a lock, and a heavy door scraped open, slamming against the wall. He glanced up at the wizard, but Saruman had turned away, watching the corridor. He gasped in dismay as he pondered the wizard’s words. “You have another elf?” he whispered. He tried to turn his head over his left shoulder as the foul curses of the orcs rang in his ears and he heard the scuffling of feet.

“He is no more cooperative than you,” Saruman commented dryly.

The orcs returned, dragging a figure with them that they threw to the floor in front of the sorcerer. Legolas caught only a blur of dark hair and black leggings as the newcomer regained his feet and lunged toward Saruman. The orcs were ready for him though, yanking on the chain fastened around his neck and forcing him to the floor. As the guards pulled him roughly to his knees the prisoner raised his head and his eyes widened as they settled on Legolas. The two elves stared at each other in astonishment.

The new elf was tall, with the lithe body of a dancer. His hair was black, falling over his shoulders, and his eyes were a dark brilliant green. His appearance was unusual, and Legolas cast his memory back to Rivendell, where most of the elves were dark-haired and grey-eyed, but he was sure he had never seen this elf before. Like Legolas, he was stripped to the waist, and his hands were also chained behind his back. His body bore the marks of recent abuse, and as the Mirkwood prince gazed at him with compassion he realized that he himself must look no better.

“Who… ?” the stranger began as he stared at Legolas, but he got no further.

“Silence him,” Saruman commanded.

The orcs thrust a gag into the dark-haired elf’s mouth, and although he resisted, trying to twist away and biting down hard on the cloth, they eventually succeeded in forcing his jaws apart and knotting it tightly behind his head. The emerald eyes glittered with rage, fixed on the wizard.

“What do you want with him?” Legolas demanded as Saruman turned to look at him. “Is not one elf enough for your plan?”

“I thought it might not be a bad thing to have more than one of your race. There is something unusual about him, though he tells me nothing. He hails from the Golden Wood. And I find his beauty uncommon. The two of you make an exquisite pair.”

Legolas met the dark elf’s eyes. “Lothlorien?” he asked, and the captive nodded. Legolas glared up at the wizard. “You are even a greater fool than I first thought,” he said in a hard voice. “How you managed to penetrate their borders and take one of their own I do not know, but you risk much in doing so. It is one thing to hold me captive, but in doing this, you have directly challenged the Lord and Lady of the Wood.”

“That was my intention,” Saruman said smoothly.

“The Lady Galadriel will destroy you. There is no elf in Middle-earth more powerful, and she remains here for our protection.”

“She will kneel in homage to me, as will all your people.”

The archer shook his head. “I know her not, though I am certain this elf has told you that will never happen. You have already sealed your doom. The wrath of every elf-lord this side of the seas will be turned on you.”

“We shall see,” the wizard said confidently. “The time will come, and I look forward to it, but now there is another matter to attend to. The matter of two prisoners who will not submit to authority.” He gestured to the black-haired elf, who stared defiantly at him. “He made his decision, when I offered him the same gift I extend to you. I ask you to consider my proposal once again. Accept, and you shall be released from this cell and housed elsewhere. Will you serve me and call me your master? Will you tell me that which I wish to know? If you refuse, it will not go well with him.”

“With him?” Legolas asked. He hesitated, unwilling to be the cause of another’s pain. He bowed his head, staring at the fine cracks in the flagstone floor beneath his knees. Why was he being forced to make such a choice? Cruelty. The wizard revels in this. The rattle of a chain brought him up again. The other elf had jerked against the guards restraining him, to draw his attention, and his eyes probed searchingly into the prince’s. Legolas paused, looking long into their brilliant green depths, their keen glance fixing his own, and he thought little could be hidden from that piercing gaze. The prisoner held himself straight, the proud face impassive as he looked at Legolas and shook his head almost imperceptibly.

It was what Legolas needed. He drew himself up as much as his shackles would permit and faced the enchanter. “If I accepted your proposal, it would be only until I could eventually find the means to bury a dagger in your heart. I will not serve you.”

Saruman’s features hardened. He stepped back and drew his robes around him. “Think you so?” he said to Legolas. Turning to the other elf, he raised his staff and pointed it at him. A blinding light flashed and the prisoner was thrown violently against the wall with a sickening thud before falling helplessly to the floor. His face contorted in agony and he cried out, the sound penetrating his gag. The light flared again and the elf arched against the pain, thrashing over and rolling in torment.

“No!” Legolas shouted, horrified, fighting with all his strength against the chains holding him. “No more!”

The chamber fell silent, except for the shuddering gasps of the tortured elf and Legolas’ own violent breathing.

"Your name," Saruman demanded.

"Legolas of Mirkwood," the prince hissed, his voice low and shaking with rage.

"And will you serve me?” The words came slowly, confidently, as he brought the tip of his staff level with the blond elf’s eyes.

Legolas watched, sick at heart, as the Lothlorien elf slowly dragged himself to his knees. He struggled to rise, the long black hair brushing the floor, and then he straightened to Legolas’ amazement and fixed him again with those eyes. They brimmed with pain and tears, but their message had not changed.

Tears started in the prince’s own eyes and he gazed up at Saruman. “I would know his name,” he murmured.

The wizard looked at him oddly. “His name is Luindar.”

Legolas turned back to his fellow prisoner, and he felt as though his heart would shatter as he forced the words from his lips. “Luindar, my brother, may the light of Earendil always shine on your spirit. I hope we meet again one day, somewhere far from this place.” He inhaled deeply as he turned back to the black eyes of Saruman. “My final answer, wizard, is no.”

A thunderbolt struck him and hurled his body backward. Pain tore through his bones, surging through his temples and spreading into his gut. As his hands knotted and convulsed behind his back black suns burst in his head and he choked, unable to draw breath. His body was flung back and forth with such savagery that he feared his neck would break as he was slammed against the chains connected to his collar. When air too long withheld finally rushed into his lungs he screamed as fire consumed every nerve in his body. Never had he felt anything like this, and he struggled to somehow escape, his muscles straining against his bonds to the point of tearing. Then it was over and he collapsed, dangling, choking on the chain until the orcs pulled him up and set him back on his knees. Shaking violently, it was some time before he was able to slowly lift his head, his breath coming in wracking sobs.

 The wizard’s gaze was exultant, drawing pleasure from the torment and fear he inflicted, and Legolas realized with a jolt of terror that he was the captive not only of the most powerful wizard in Middle-earth, but of a madman. He flinched as Saruman extended a bony hand, reaching for his injured shoulder. The throbbing intensified, burning and pounding within his arteries, crushing him down, and Legolas cried out in anguish. The hand was withdrawn. The elf desperately sought the green eyes of his fellow captive and clung to their clear gaze, finding in them both strength and compassion as he struggled with his pain.

“It has been an excellent way to control you, has it not?” Saruman crooned. “Measuring out pain and nightmares during your captivity by my orcs, until you were finally brought close enough to be drawn fully into my keeping.”

Legolas shook his head. “I do not understand. What is the nature of my wound that it can do this?” he gasped, scarcely able to speak the words clearly. His voice shook, and he coughed as he tried to raise himself. 

“A gemstone was placed within your wound,” the enchanter told him. “Ancient and of great power. To those who know how to wield the controlling stones, they are an effective means to guide both the waking hours and the sleep of him who bears one.”

“Pain during the day and nightmares in the dark,” the elf murmured. He fought to remain upright as his traumatized body shifted and he lost his balance for a moment. He looked up at his captor. “I do not understand how I came to be here. I had escaped.”

“That was also the doing of the stone. It has the power to transport someone from one place to another at my bidding. I worked long to uncover its secrets. You are my first experiment, and I think it goes well. The transference is not yet complete. It will take a few days yet. Your unconscious body lies in the wilderness with your friends, and they continue to hover over you, but you are more here than there now. Each hour that passes takes you further from them. Soon your removal will be complete and we can begin our work on my armies.”

Legolas’ eyes, wide with shock, met Luindar’s, whose expression mirrored his astonishment. The dark-haired elf, despite his pain, had apparently followed the wizard’s words closely.

“I do confess to being amazed at the resistance both you and this other elf possess. It took tremendous strength to kill my warriors and escape over the distance you covered. You nearly made it, my brave one, but for the sapphire of Isengard. This makes you all the more valuable to me, and more intriguing.” He turned to his guards. “Gag him well. He must not be permitted his voice when he is alone. He must not sing.”

Legolas stared up at the wizard, stunned. He tried to fight as the stinking cloth was forced between his teeth again, but he could not stop them. His fists clenched in frustration as the gag was knotted tightly behind his head.

“I leave you for now, my beautiful and courageous elf,” Saruman said, laying his hand on the side of the prince’s face briefly. “There is no way out for you. This is your life now, and you will submit to me eventually.”

Legolas watched, burning with anger, as the orcs dragged the dark-haired elf to his feet and followed the enchanter out of the cell, but as the heavy door grated shut and he heard the lock set in place, he faltered under the enormity of his helplessness. The nightmare he had feared had come to pass, and for just a moment he was grateful for the gag as he screamed his rage and terror into it as the laughter of the guards receded down the corridor.

* * * *

At dawn the companions made ready to leave the cave. Merry and Pippin had worked together through the night constructing a litter of wooden slats cut from nearby trees. Woven tightly together, the thin branches would bear Legolas, making it easier to transport him to Rivendell. Aragorn had not moved from his friend’s side, offering what comfort he could to the suffering elf and observing him closely, looking for some way to help, but Legolas did not seem to know he were there.

That he was locked in a struggle elsewhere was apparent. At times he had thrashed and cried out as if he were being tortured, and he had spoken words, slurred and difficult to understand, to someone unseen. Other moments were quieter, and at least once tears had fallen unchecked from his eyes. At dawn he fell silent, his fever rising, and he shivered as he moaned softly.

Aragorn knelt beside him, gripping the elf’s hands, a tight band of anxiety painfully squeezing his heart. He was frightened by what had happened, and terribly bewildered. “Legolas, hear my voice. You are strong. You must fight,” he pleaded, his voice catching in his throat. “So much lies before me. Decisions to be made, and I cannot make them without you. You are dear to my heart, and I need your friendship and wisdom.” He smiled softly. “We are much alike, you and I. A couple of misfits, as Elladan calls us. We have shared so much over our many years of friendship and I cannot lose you now. Do not answer the summons to Mandos, Legolas. Please, do not go.”

The others approached him quietly, ready to depart. Elladan helped Aragorn gently lift Legolas onto the carrier, wrapping him in a blanket and strapping him down. “It will take five or six days with little rest to reach Rivendell, my friends,” said the ranger as he peered out of the cave, gazing up at the plumes of smoke rising from Isengard. “I pray Legolas has strength enough to hold on until we arrive.”

Boromir slipped through the rope attached to the front of the litter, resting it across his broad chest, and started down the slope in front of the small cave. Elladan walked beside Legolas, to watch over him and to help lift him over any obstacles that might lie in their path. With the hobbits at his side, Aragorn followed, moving down into the cover of the forest.

* * * *

Time became meaningless. Eventually the candles, one by one, guttered and went out. Total darkness blanketed the elf then, and with it came an overwhelming sense of desolation. He had never felt so alone, and he prayed silently for strength before the wizard came for him again.

Numb with exhaustion, he was only vaguely aware of his guards finally releasing him from the ceiling chain. They did not free his hands. He was unable to catch himself as they let him fall hard onto his injured shoulder and his body contracted in pain, but so relieved was he, to finally rest and be free of the struggle to stay upright so he wouldn’t strangle, he considered it a small price to pay. Lying on the cold floor of the dungeon, fever swept over him as the hours passed. His head ached and phantoms crowded near as he shivered. Vaporous faces materialized before his eyes, changing and swirling away again. He tried to focus as images of Aragorn and Elladan came to him, singing, but he descended into nightmares in which he found himself fighting to help someone in danger. Sometimes it was his cousin Eldreth, or Luindar, or Aragorn, and he would cry out, desperately reaching again and again for hands that always twisted and fell out of reach, vanishing into shadows as he screamed in anguish.

 At times his captors entered his cell, and he tried to fight the hands that grasped at him, but he could find no strength for it. His gag was removed only when he was given water. His guards, though not gentle, did not abuse him, nor did they speak to him. He was gagged again and left alone.

* * * *

A soft sound drew his attention. He had been quietly banging his forehead against the floor in time with the pulsing in his shoulder, trying to force the burning, throbbing ache to take a less prominent role in his bodily sensations and finding an odd feeling of comfort in the methodical rhythm, but now he pulled his head up, scanning the dimly lit dungeon, unsure if the noise had been real. At some point his captors had placed new candles on the table, but they had already burned low again. They glowed steadily, no breeze or draft made them waver. Moving his eyes from corner to corner, Legolas expected to see a mouse or rat scuttling along the edges of his prison cell, but there was nothing. He could not suppress a sharp sound of pain as his ribs stabbed him when he shifted his body and tried to sit up. The chain connecting his collar to the floor was too short to permit that however, and he slowly turned onto his knees and rose as much as he was able, his head bowed and his long hair falling over his face. His hands were numb and his shoulders ached with the strain of having his arms chained behind his back, and he knelt quietly, drawing in a few deep breaths as he dealt with the discomfort of moving his body after lying on the floor for so long. As he inhaled his parched throat constricted and he coughed, the sound muffled by his gag.

A moment later he heard a quiet tapping sound coming from the wall on his right. The irons rattled as he whipped his head around, eyes wide. The other elf was being held in the cell next door, he was certain of it. Legolas struggled to reach the wall, lying on his back and pulling against the chain around his neck. Extending his body toward the stones, he drew his legs back and kicked several times as hard as he could. The sound was dull. He couldn’t be sure his boots penetrated the thickness of the wall, but a few seconds later Luindar kicked his side again. As a check, Legolas kicked three times, paused, and then kicked two more times. The same pattern was repeated back to him.

He used his feet to push himself away from the wall, needing to reduce the tension on the chain and ease his breathing. Rolling onto his good shoulder and off his lacerated back, he lay quietly, unsure of how he felt. Knowing that a friend was on the other side of the wall was comforting, but his heart was heavy at the thought of the Lothlorien elf held captive and suffering as he was. He did not want another to share his torment.

For what seemed the hundredth time, he tried to force the gag out of his mouth, working at it and scraping the sides of his face along the flagstones, trying to catch the cloth on a sharp edge, but whether it was held in place by sorcery or merely tightly and cunningly knotted, he was unable to shift it. He had long since given up struggling against the chains that held his arms and legs, as he had managed only to injure himself further, the sharp metal cutting more deeply into his skin as he strained against them. The wound in his shoulder, and the thing within it, gave him no rest, dragging him out of unconsciousness, pulsing hotly with each beat of his heart and burning his blood as it circulated through his body. I hurt.  Wearily he rested his aching forehead on the cool flagstones of his cell and closed his eyes. He turned his hazy thoughts to his friends, finding comfort in bringing their images to his mind. Their voices were singing again. He fixed his attention on his dearest friend, Aragorn, as he twisted his throbbing body again, seeking escape from his torment.

* * * *

The ranger leaned his back against a tree, gazing tiredly into the night. His senses, as always, were alert and keen, but he detected no pursuit, and so he allowed himself to relax for a moment. He was sick with worry about Legolas, and had pressed all speed from the group as they hastened back to Rivendell. In this they were more than willing, and had made good progress over the past three days since that terrible moment when their friend had been torn away by the wizard’s enchantment.

Three days, and Aragorn knew Legolas’ strength was failing. The elf lay, sometimes quietly, sometimes fighting violently when they touched him, and his fever continued. They did what they could to nourish and sustain his body; continuing to treat his wounds with herbs and managing to get water and teas into him, but it was not enough. The fever would not lessen, and Legolas could not eat. The hobbits had described how the orcs had starved him. Worse for Aragorn was the fear that the elf was slipping further away. His friends spoke to him, and sang, but he did not respond. His life force was ebbing.

The man glanced toward the crackling campfire, watching the companions. Each had done his best to be of help and they had worked together to return to Rivendell as quickly as possible. They rested no more than a few hours each night, and Aragorn could see the toll this took on the two young hobbits, already fatigued and traumatized by their recent experience, but Merry and Pippin were adamant in their desire to push on for Legolas’ sake.

They had stopped this night for a much needed rest. Boromir had taken a deer, which he quickly butchered and set to cook over the fire, but he was primarily occupied with making a broth from the meat, which he said was for Legolas. Aragorn smiled as he watched the nobleman crouch over the pot, grateful that he had thought to do this. Both the ranger and Elladan spent so much time with the injured elf that neither of them had thought of this way to help Legolas. The man’s glance shifted to his foster-brother, knowing he would be doing what they had done without ceasing since their race back to Rivendell had begun… trying to help the younger elf hang on. They did not know if this was futile. Perhaps Legolas had been pulled away from them completely, but as long as he continued to breathe they would not give up on him. Aragorn and Elladan took turns with him, singing and speaking to him, and they did not stop, though they grew exhausted with the effort. The blond elf fought them at times, crying out and twisting, and they had been forced to tie his chained hands down with a length of rope around his waist to prevent him tearing at the wound in his shoulder, or hitting at them in his delirium.

Elrond’s son knelt beside the injured elf, resting his forehead against Legolas’ and cradling his face in his hands. Eyes closed, he sang softly to him in Sindarin, his dark hair mingling with the golden hair of his friend. The singing seemed to calm the Prince of Mirkwood. In an hour Aragorn would take over, and he and Elladan would pass the night in this way. Even during the day as they moved along paths through forest and meadow, one of them would walk beside Legolas, holding his hands and singing to him, trying to keep him from drifting away entirely. Merry and Pippin often sat with the elf when they paused, offering what comfort they could. To the amazement of both Aragorn and Elladan, the two hobbits knew several simple songs in elvish, and they sang these together while they stroked their friend’s long hair.

Merry had looked up at Aragorn that first night when he and Pippin had begun singing to Legolas, noting the surprise on the man’s face. “He taught us these songs when we were captives of the orcs,” he explained. “They were hurting him. When he was in pain, or having nightmares, we sang to him. He said it helped, so we thought it might this time, too.”

“I have no doubt that it will, my friends,” Elladan had responded quietly, glancing at Aragorn, who had turned away with tears in his eyes.

Now the ranger pulled himself away from the tree and sat beside Elladan, and the Rivendell elf removed his hands from Legolas’ pale face and turned exhausted eyes on him.

“How does he seem?” asked Aragorn.

Elladan shook his head, deep worry etched into his handsome features. “I still cannot reach him Estel, as it has been since the beginning, but I sense he grows weaker. He is in pain. Do you remember how we thought he responded to us at first? Just a turn of his head or his hands clenching gave me hope, but he worsens. I do not know what is happening to him. The fever will not break. My skills as a healer do not match my father’s, and it is two more days before we reach home.” The weary elf dropped his head into his hands. Aragorn sat quietly, resting his hand on Elladan’s shoulder.

Boromir drew near, holding a cup. “Can we try to get this into him? I cooled it.”

“Yes,” Aragorn looked up, smiling. “Thank you for doing this, Boromir. It should help to strengthen him.”

Together the companions raised Legolas slightly, Aragorn cradling his burning head. “This is broth, my friend. Boromir made it for you. Drink.”

Very slowly, so the elf would not choke, he poured a small amount of the fragrant liquid into his mouth. Whether the prince understood his words Aragorn did not know, but as before, when he had administered water or tea, Legolas was able to swallow some of it. This time Boromir did not withdraw as he usually did. Instead he took up a damp cloth to wipe the elf's brow in an attempt to chase away the fever.

Softly, Aragorn heard the whisper of a song rising up from the throat of the nobleman, and he could not help noticing the saddened expression Boromir wore. The warrior did not look up, but merely continued the sorrowful tune as he helped to wipe the elf's lips after each sip of the broth. Aragorn was moved. He recognized the song from his many journeys, and looking down at the drowsing elf, he joined in the melody, lending his voice and giving the song more strength. He felt Boromir's eyes turn toward him, and he glanced up with a small nod.

Then Aragorn's eyes flashed back to the elf as Legolas moaned and turned away. It seemed enough. As they settled him back and tried to make him comfortable a sigh escaped his lips. It was the slightest of sounds, but it riveted their attention on him.

“Aragorn…”

The ranger gasped. "Legolas?"

He leaned over his friend, brushing the long hair back as he studied the elf’s face intently. “Talk to me!” But the unconscious elf said no more. Aragorn looked up, meeting Elladan’s eyes, which were wide with surprise. “He did say it, did he not? I did not imagine it?”

Elladan nodded, a smile breaking his tired face. “He said your name. He still fights to stay with us.”

Aragorn pressed his head against Legolas’ and began talking to him. Boromir gestured to Elladan. “Come, have some venison and take your ease now. The others have eaten, and the rest is for you.”

* * * *

Elladan stared at Legolas as he ate, and a feeling of failure gripped him. He was a healer, studying the art under the guidance of his father, but what had befallen his friend was beyond his skill to treat, and that angered and frightened him. If Legolas really began to fail, there would be nothing he could do for him out here in the wild.

Long had Elladan and Aragorn been friends with the Prince of Mirkwood. The archer spent increasing amounts of time in Rivendell, where he happily accepted and returned the love he was unable to find in his own home under the stern and forbidding shadow of his father, King Thranduil. Legolas’ gentle, sunny disposition and innocent sense of fun had endeared him to the children of Elrond, and over the years he had blended effortlessly with their close-knit family without any of them really realizing it was happening. Now he was just another brother, like Estel, who had formed an uncommonly close friendship with the golden-haired elf.  Aragorn and Legolas had bonded quickly, perhaps because they were both loners, and lonely as well. The young elf had, whenever possible, turned away from the confines of royal duty and the coldness of his father, preferring the freedom of roaming the woodlands, and the man, restless and burdened by his birthright, had readily joined the prince in his travels. Together, there were few places in Middle-earth they had left unexplored.

Elladan brushed his hands across his eyes, sighing deeply. He had lost his mother to the savagery of the orcs. Now he feared losing another person he loved. The tall elf sat silently, buried in heavy thoughts and worry, until he finally roused himself and approached the ranger. Aragorn waved him away.

“Sleep, Elladan. I will not rest this night.”

The Rivendell elf gazed down at his human brother, seeing the determination in the man’s face, and the fatigue. “Estel, do not wear yourself out. I shall take a turn. You need to sleep.”

Aragorn’s eyes were filled with anguish as he looked up. “He called out to me. He looks to me for help. It breaks my heart that he is suffering and there is nothing I can do to ease his torment. I have never felt so helpless. We cannot even get these chains off him.”

Elladan touched Legolas’ head briefly and checked his pulse. The twisting and murmuring had stopped, for now. “I think he is more comfortable. It must be that he heard you talking to him and did what he could to respond. Our work is not in vain. He knows we are with him, and it must in some way lessen his pain.”

“Two more days,” Aragorn murmured, staring out into the darkness of the forest. “I fear it will be too long.”

“We move on at first light,” said Elladan. “I will sleep, since you will not. You have but to call me.”

“I know,” the man said, looking into the tall elf’s grey eyes.  “Thank you, my brother.”

* * * *

The sound of something scraping, startling in the profound quiet, set Legolas’ nerves on edge. The door was being pushed open, and light fell across the stones. He recoiled, turning his eyes away. The candles had long since burned out again and he had been in impenetrable, intolerable darkness, his eyes unable to make out any shapes or shadows. He listened, but did not move, as footsteps entered his small cell.

“Get up,” an orc voice hissed. He felt a boot nudge his back.

Get up?  Legolas wondered how he would accomplish that when simply turning his head was all he seemed to have strength for. The long stretch of time spent alone in his cell had not helped him in his search for ease and rest. Sleep was impossible. The pain in his shoulder was too great, too constant, mercilessly anchoring him to awareness. He could only grind his teeth and count his breaths, pleading with the endless minutes to pass more quickly, and it had exhausted him. His temples throbbed as he slowly he drew his knees up and rolled onto them, fighting to keep his balance and pull his body higher. The short chain connecting his neck to the floor hindered him, and he tilted his head to the side to better look up at his guards. He had expected to see only orcs, and his heart leaped and pounded when he saw the wizard. Saruman’s black eyes were hard as jewels and they drew the elf’s gaze and fixed it. Legolas shuddered. He was too sick, in too much pain, to find the courage that was within him before.

Rough hands grasped at his gag, tearing it free, and the orcs yanked cruelly on his hair. He resisted, simply because he could not bring himself to submit to their touch, and was rewarded with a blow to the side of his face that sent him to the floor. They hauled him back up and he sank forward slowly, resting his forehead on his knees with a sigh.

“Is the young elf of Mirkwood broken at last?” The wizard’s voice was soft but had lost none of its cruelty. A tremor ran through the captive's body at the sound of it and he flinched as if he had been struck a physical blow. It took him a moment to collect himself, but as his vision cleared he raised his eyes to meet those of his tormenter.

“My body breaks,” he whispered. “You have nearly accomplished that, but my spirit will ever strive against you.”

The wizard’s thoughtful gaze lingered as the blond elf rested his head on his knees again, his shoulders trembling slightly. “You fear more pain. I can see that. Why put yourself through this? Submit to me and it will be different.”

Legolas squeezed his eyes shut as tears threatened to rush out of them. He did not know how much more of this he could endure and his soul felt ready to shatter at the realization that he might never leave his cell. Then he thought of Aragorn, of Frodo and Elrond, and of Luindar lying in chains on the other side of the wall, and he calmed himself. “No,” he murmured. “You seek to harm my friends. I will tell you nothing of them. Let me be.”

“Touching, your devotion to your loved ones," Saruman said in a hard voice. "And ultimately worthless. You have suffered much, little elf prince, and you will continue to suffer. Such is the price for defying me.” The point of the staff hovered before Legolas’ eyes, the gemstone set in its tip glowing eerily in the darkness of the dungeon, and the frightened elf rolled frantically, lashing out at the sorcerer with his feet. Saruman stumbled back but did not lose his footing, and with a shout of rage he struck at the captive with his staff, pinning him to the floor and driving the sharp tips into the wounded shoulder, the stone’s light growing to white-hot. Legolas cried out, fighting to break free. Twisting desperately on the floor, he struggled to dislodge the staff, unable to stop the sounds of pain being torn from his throat.

Saruman suddenly raised his hand, pulling the staff away. He turned his head with a frown, listening. A moment later Legolas, through his shuddering gasps, heard it, too. The black-haired elf in the cell next door was kicking at the wall.

“I did not realize the two of you had found a way to communicate with each other,” the wizard commented dryly. “We will need to remedy that.”

He watched impassively as the Mirkwood elf rolled onto his side and curled up, his labored breathing amplified in the small chamber. Finally the wizard spoke again. “Your resistance will avail you nothing. I already own you, so what is the point?”

“You do not own me,” Legolas gasped, gritting his teeth against the pain roaring through his shoulder. He choked on his nausea, swallowing the acrid taste. Sweet Elbereth, help me. Help me!

Saruman crouched, running his fingers through the elf’s golden hair. “You wish for death now, do you not, little one? You wish for anything that will deliver you from this place. I know that you are young, and full of love and adventure. You have only just begun to live, and what has come to you now? An elf-child who will never again see tree or sun. Never again will you feel the breeze in your hair and the rain on your face. Never again will you see your beloved stars shining in the midnight sky. Your freedom is gone and your dreams wither. You have many years left, and I know how to keep you alive forever.”

The words struck at Legolas’ heart like a dagger and he turned away in anguish, choking on his terror. "Broken now, child," Saruman whispered in his ear. The elf’s eyes snapped open then. Staring with hatred into the wizard's soulless gaze, he gathered his saliva and spat in his captor’s face. Saruman recoiled and slowly rose to his feet, drawing his sleeve over his withered cheeks.

“You will regret that. I have thought of another way to bend you to my will. You require more proof of my power. Once you fully realize the might I possess your courage will desert you. All hope that still remains within your heart will die.” He turned to his orcs. “We will take a little tour…  this one and the other. Flog him first, as punishment for what he did, and make sure he is gagged before he leaves this cell.”

The orcs bore down on Legolas as the wizard went through the door, and the young elf tried to pull away, but the neck chain brought him up and there was nowhere to go. He curled and braced himself as the first blow from the lash struck him, opening a bloody groove along his right scapula. Gasping, he twisted his body as they went to work on him in earnest, laying burning stripes across his already wounded back and bound arms. After a time he no longer had the energy to struggle and simply lay still, flinching slightly each time the lash fell. The pain was blinding, and he whimpered softly. It was a desolate sound, suffused with the hopeless realization that he could do nothing but endure it until they had finished with him. 

When they finally stopped, he was nearly unconscious. The orcs maintained a grip in his hair to keep him upright long enough to force the gag into his mouth again. Dazed, he could not fight as they knotted it behind his head. They removed his ankle restraints and detached the neck chain from the ring in the floor, pulling him to his feet. Legolas staggered to the wall and pressed his burning forehead against the cool stones. He choked as the orcs jerked on the leash, trying to propel him toward the portal, but his trembling legs could not support him and he collapsed, moaning softly around his gag. His guards picked him up and hurled him bodily through the doorway, slamming him into the far wall of the corridor. Legolas slid to the floor as his strength failed, his back leaving a smear of blood on the wall behind him. Through blurred eyes he saw the cell door next to his own swing open and the Lothlorien elf burst out, crossing the corridor in one leap and kneeling in front of him. Legolas saw again the penetrating green eyes looking deeply into his own, filled with concern.

The blond elf closed his eyes, groaning as a river of pain gushed from his shoulder and poured into the burning fire of his torn back. His body convulsed in agony. Am I dying? He felt Luindar’s forehead press against his own.

“Legolas, I heard your cries. Let me help you,” a voice, low and quiet, spoke to him without sound.

Legolas’ eyes opened wide in surprise. Luindar was bound and gagged as he was. How could he speak? Then he relaxed, understanding. Though he had never seen it himself, he knew that some of the enhanced elves of the West possessed a rare ability to communicate with the mind alone. Was Luindar one of these?

The orcs struck at the black-haired elf, dragging him back and breaking the connection. Luindar fought to return to Legolas’ side, pulling free and sitting quickly beside him once more. Leaning his back against the wall, he glared up at the orcs who stood over the two captives.

“We have to wait for Lord Saruman to return. Then we’ll get them up,” one of the creatures muttered to the others. He shot a warning glare at the elves. “Do not try anything,” he snarled.

Legolas, fixing his pain-blurred gaze on the brilliant eyes of the other elf, drew strength once more from the compassion he saw within them. Slowly he pulled himself up, propping his good shoulder against the wall. The dark-haired elf inclined his head until their brows touched once more. The orcs jeered at the sight of the two weary prisoners leaning on each other, but they saw no harm in it.

“They will want me to walk. I cannot do it,” Legolas shuddered as another spasm of agony shot through his body. “They have hurt me too much.”

“I am a healer. I can ease some of your pain,” Luindar told him.

“How? Your hands are bound as mine are.”

Luindar did not respond, but Legolas heard him draw a deep breath, and he felt the elf's body tense. Immediately he felt his own relax slightly and a soothing feeling coursed over him, as if a warm shower of water caressed his limbs, washing the tension and pain away. Strength slowly trickled into him and the throbbing in his shoulder lessened. The fiery bite of the whip was dulled. Legolas inhaled sharply in astonishment. “What…?”

He pulled back, startled, staring at the other elf. Luindar’s eyes were open, not looking at him but gazing beyond at something unseen, and it was as if Legolas could suddenly discern the universe in their sparkling green depths. Endless sweeps of time and luminous energy swirled and combined into a suggestion of power and knowledge the likes of which young archer had never seen before. The dark-haired elf’s eyes closed then, and he tilted his head back as a quiet smile lit his face in an expression of ecstasy. Legolas gazed at him in bewilderment. Who is he?

Luindar’s reverie broke off suddenly and he gasped. His brow knotted in pain as his body slumped against the wall. Legolas watched, frightened, but after a few moments the Lorien elf sighed and rested his head against him again.

“Forgive me for stopping. Your injuries are painful, and combined with my own it was too much. I will try again.”

“No, do not. It was enough. I shall be able to walk now. However you did it, I thank you.”

“You must try not to take further injury. You are not healing as well as you should. You are in fever and your ribs are not yet stable. And what has happened to your shoulder? A gem, the wizard said? Something is terribly wrong there. How it hurts you.”

Legolas gasped. “How can you know all this? It felt as if you were pulling my pain into your body. I have never heard of such a thing.”

Luindar shrugged. His breathing was still rapid, but came more easily now. “It is how I help the injured and sick. It is an unusual gift. I do not know how I came by it. I can remove pain from another by taking it into myself. I felt all the hurts of your body, right down to the cutting of the chains into your wrists and the broken toe on your left foot. Ordinarily I could do more for you, but not when I am hurt as well.”

“You helped me at great risk to yourself. Do not take on any more pain,” Legolas told him.

“The pain I take from others usually does not stay with me as my own does. It fades after a while, but it drains my energy.”

“Then you must rest, Luindar of Lorien, while we have a moment.”

The black-haired elf leaned more of his weight against Legolas. "Did I hear you say you are from Mirkwood?"

Legolas nodded. "Yes. But I was taken from Rivendell, where I had been visiting. If you are from Lothlorien, you must know the Lady Galadriel?”

“She is my teacher, and more. She has fostered me from infancy.”

“But who are your parents?”

“I do not know. The elves of Lothlorien found me on the western border of their forest when I was an infant. I had been abandoned, and although inquiries were made, my family could never be found. I grew up in Caras Galadon, and never have I journeyed beyond the borders of my home until now. And when it happened I was unwilling.”

Legolas frowned. “Does the wizard know of your healing abilities, and of your relationship with the Lady?”

“He does not. When they took me, I was gathering herbs. It is my hope that he continues to believe he has captured a Lorien warrior.”

“You do not look like the Lorien elves,” Legolas observed.

“No,” Luindar agreed, “but very few know of my abilities. We keep it a well-guarded secret. The wizard has tried to pry into my mind.” Luindar paused, and Legolas felt a slight shudder run through the healer's body. “He wants to learn what I can tell him about the Lady and her people, and about myself. I have been able to resist him thus far, but it grows more difficult to endure his methods. His voice… it sickens me.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Too long. Time is confused in my mind, but I think more than a fortnight. Perhaps three weeks. I never heard them bring you in. How is it you came here?”

Legolas shook his head slightly. “I cannot say. That is confused in my mind as well. I was captured by orcs, and they were bringing me here. I escaped, and my friends found me, or I thought they had. Now I wonder if they were real.” He paused, not sure how to go on, and Luindar waited patiently. “I think you heard what the wizard told me about the thing in my shoulder," the blond elf stated slowly, "and the power it has to move someone from one location to another. I remember being with my friends, and then I was torn away. I woke up in my cell, but have no memory of how I arrived." He frowned. "I think I hear them sing to me sometimes. It must be my mind playing tricks, but it… it comforts me nevertheless."

The Lorien elf's voice came back quickly, with a rushed question. "You can hear your friends singing?"

"Yes, sometimes. Though it cannot be real."

"Amazing. What can it mean?" the healer whispered. "Legolas, why did the wizard take you?"

Legolas shuddered. “There have been matters of import in Rivendell. He thinks to extract information from me. And he has interest in my fighting skills. He plans to strengthen his armies by taking blood from my body and blending it with the orcs he breeds, to enhance their abilities. I was told they will use my own memories in this way as well. He will attack our people and attempt to destroy them, and I do not know what I can do to stop him.”

Luindar recoiled slightly. “He is without mercy. I am sorry, my friend.” He sighed, and Legolas could sense the other elf’s exhaustion.

“Luindar, you are not alone now, though at present I fear I can be of little help.”

“That is where you are mistaken. The courage you displayed when you faced the wizard several days ago strengthened my own resolve to continue resisting him. When they hurt me, and when I lie alone in the dark, I remember that I have a friend on the other side of the wall. It helps. I will not let them break me.” 

“What are his plans for you? Has he told you anything?” Legolas asked.

“No, at least not in words,” Luindar paused, inhaling deeply. “He has an interest in both of us that concerns me. Do you understand my meaning?”

“Yes, I understand,” Legolas responded quietly. “I have seen it, too.”

“And he senses something unusual about me, but he does not know what it is. If he knew the full extent of my healing abilities… I dare not let him discover this about me. Legolas, I must get home. In me, he holds another way to destroy the elves. Lothlorien will fall if I cannot get free of this place.”

“What?” Legolas questioned, aghast. “How can that be?”

 A shout startled them then, and the elf prince turned his head in alarm, looking over his shoulder and straining his eyes to see down the dark corridor. The wizard was striding quickly toward them, his robes billowing behind him. His face was furious.

“Separate them, you fools!” Saruman commanded. Immediately the orcs clawed at Luindar and threw him against the opposite wall. The wizard whirled on his guards.
"The prisoners must not be allowed to touch each other, nor are they to be ungagged at the same time in each other’s presence. Is that understood?"

The creatures nodded, hanging their heads and shuffling their feet uncomfortably. Their fear of their master was apparent. Saruman turned his black gaze upon the elves. “Time enough for a nice chat?” he asked in a silky whisper that warned of danger. He leaned toward Legolas. "If you have knowledge about this elf, I will get it from you. Mark me. But first we will have our tour."

Prodded to their feet, the two prisoners were lead by the guards down the corridor, following the wizard. As they reached a heavy paneled door a great clamor could be heard beyond it. Saruman pointed his staff and the portal swung open. Stepping beyond it, he gestured to the captives. Legolas was pushed forward first, and he stepped up beside the sorcerer to find himself standing on a great platform which overlooked a massive underground chasm which dropped away far below them. The noise on this side of the door was deafening, a great clanging of metal mixed with the roar of fires and the shouts of orcs and men. A moment later Luindar was beside him, his green eyes narrowing as he took in the scene below him.

Recovering from his initial shock, Legolas observed as much as he could with his sharp eyes. Forges burned as orcs worked unceasingly over molten metal, quickly and efficiently producing weapons of all sorts. He glanced up as a tree fell from above and was dragged toward the furnaces, a gust of hot air from below blowing his hair back. He looked at the wizard.

“Shall we go down?” Saruman asked.

Rough steps had been hacked out of the rock and the elves were steered down them by the orcs, who kept a tight grip on their leashes. The heat and noise had grown almost unbearable by the time they reached the floor of the chasm, and the stench was revolting, making Legolas gag uncontrollably.

He followed the wizard into what appeared to be the center of a great workroom, noting the many narrow passageways coming off it that vanished into the shadows like the spokes of a wheel. Hundreds of orcs rushed about their work, and the elf was reminded of the many times he had studied anthills as a child, watching the tiny creatures scurrying busily. Looking up, he saw the clear blue autumn sky far above him, his first view of the outside in days. Luindar, too, gazed upward, and Legolas could see the longing in his eyes.

“No more of that, my beauties,” Saruman said, gesturing to the guards, who shoved the captives forward, guiding them toward one of the corridors. Legolas stopped short after taking several steps down the cramped passageway and tried to pull back. The horror emanating from that dark place was palpable and his breath caught in his throat. The reek came from here, and a wave of dread struck the elf. He resisted and was forcibly dragged the rest of the way until he and Luindar were shoved into a large chamber, dimly lit and filthy, the walls dripping with condensation. Torches flared, more smoke than light, throwing grotesque, writhing shadows around the room. A number of orcs turned to stare at the prisoners in surprise, but returned to their work when Saruman commanded them to go on.

It was one of the birthing rooms of the Uruk-hai. Legolas watched the heart-quelling scene through eyes that had gone hazy with shock. He strained against his guards, trying to back away as a great sac spilled out of a tunnel at his feet and was torn open, revealing a monster within, dripping with mucus and blood. Beside him, he heard Luindar exhale sharply.

Saruman reached over and grasped Legolas’ face, turning him until he could look into the young elf’s eyes. The fair being stared at the wizard, his features pale and his eyes brimming. He could not mask his terror, nor did he even think to try.

“This is where you come in, my elf warrior,” the voice crooned. “I think we shall be ready to begin tomorrow, once you have completely abandoned your friends in the forests near Rivendell.”

No! This cannot be happening! Any pretense of self-possession vanished as the blond elf threw himself backward, colliding with the orcs behind him. The creatures had him on the floor in an instant, but Legolas struggled wildly, panic-stricken, kicking out and knocking several guards down before restraints were wrapped around his ankles and the chain around his neck was twisted, cutting off his breath. He wept openly, tears coursing down his face, as he begged the Valar to take his life before the sorcerer could carry out his plan to mix his blood with these horrifying beasts for the sole purpose of destroying his world and those he loved. The wizard was right. This was what was needed to break the young elf. He cried out around his gag, fighting and thrashing until the orcs pulled him up and one of them slammed a fist against the back of his head.

* * * *

He was in his cell again, although he could not remember being returned to it, and he did not know how much time had passed. He lay on his side without moving, eyes wide, seeing nothing in the fathomless dark. He had no more tears. They had all been licked away and swallowed by the gaping mouth of his horror. Somewhere far in the shadows beyond his reach voices sang softly in elvish.  Aragorn? Elladan? How do I return to you?

As he listened to the song, he felt a small trickle of courage seep through the cracks of his despair. They are still with me. The wizard told me as much. My friends…

* * * *

Thick fingers wound into his hair and pulled him to his knees. As if from far away, he felt pain and heard the rattling of chains, but it was a few moments before he realized it was his pain, and that the irons were being fastened around his neck again from the ceiling. He automatically shifted his knees apart to help him keep his balance. His hair fell over his face as the gag was removed. He could not see who was in the cell with him, though he heard the footsteps of more than one person moving around.

A hand caressed his face then, pushing his hair back. The touch lingered, cold against his fevered brow, tracing the slope of his cheekbones and the line of his jaw, lightly brushing his lips. Something penetrated the fog surrounding Legolas’ mind then, and with a shudder of revulsion he strove to turn his head away. He understood the desire in the wizard’s eyes when he forced himself to look upon his tormentor.

“The time draws near for many things, my beautiful elf,” Saruman whispered as Legolas jerked convulsively, trying to shake off the cold stroking fingers. “Tomorrow we will begin work on strengthening my armies. You fade even more from your friends now, and your time with them is drawing to a close. Tonight, business and pleasure are on my agenda. Business first, unfortunately, but it should not take long, and in truth I find as much enjoyment in that activity as the other.”

Legolas raised his head then, and his tired gaze fell on the Lothlorien elf, kneeling on the floor with two orcs holding him down. Luindar's face was strained and pain lingered in the depths of his eyes, seeping out from under the anger as a wisp of smoke curls from beneath a fire. The archer studied his fellow prisoner. Do not give in to this nightmare. Strong as he is, this grows harder for him.

 “Why is he here?” he asked, turning to the wizard.

“You are to be brought to my chambers in the tower, young elf, where I can keep you closer to me. You both chose to reject the opportunity to be my willing servants, so you shall be my unwilling slaves. In truth, that appeals to me most. A prisoner who fights is always more interesting than one who submits.”

Legolas’ heart began beating in hard measured strokes as the enchanter caressed his face again, the full meaning of the words piercing his heart. He propelled himself backward as far as his fetters would allow, fear and loathing etched into his features. “If you touch either one of us, I will kill you,” he snarled.

“Bold words, but empty. You know you are helpless here.” Saruman turned to the orcs standing behind him. “Ready them, and bring them to the tower,” he commanded as he left the cell.

The creatures turned to Legolas, and to his astonishment they began washing the blood from his body and bathing his face with a sponge. The chains would not permit him to fight, and when they began yanking a comb through his tangled hair the bizarreness of the situation paralyzed him. Cold dread poured over him as he realized for what purpose he was being groomed, and the look in Luindar’s eyes told him the other elf fully understood the situation as well. Legolas watched silently as the Lothlorien elf was forced to endure the same treatment, and then the guards pulled the captives to their feet and dragged them out of the dungeon. 

Both elves fought as they were forced down the corridor, but the orcs twisted their neck chains until stars danced before their eyes and they fell to their knees, gasping for oxygen. At the end of the hallway a small door to the left of the great one they had passed through to reach the work cavern was opened and they were thrust into it. This passage was dark, little more than a narrow tunnel carved out of the earth, lit here and there by torches. Legolas shuddered at the closeness of the walls.  It sloped gradually upward as the orcs pushed the prisoners along, traveling the length of and paralleling the great work pit, leading to the black tower beyond. After about fifteen minutes they reached the end of the tunnel, and the orcs fumbled a moment with the lock on the door that blocked their way.

Legolas knew this must be an entrance to the tower itself, Orthanc, the dwelling place of Saruman. The tunnel was a direct link from it to the work caverns and dungeons below. The blond elf stood silently, looking around him as his heart pounded. He inhaled suddenly, noticing fresh air, and glanced up at what appeared to be a small opening in the ceiling, overlaid by a wooden trapdoor. Through the cracks he could discern traces of sky, fading as dusk descended, and he realized that the tunnel had brought them up to ground level beside the tower.

He glanced at Luindar standing beside him. He had noticed that the healer had stumbled several times as they had marched the length of the tunnel, and his face was pale. The blond elf looked at him with concern, worried that Luindar’s captivity was beginning to take a toll on his body and mind. The dark-haired elf was also looking up at the hatch, and he turned to Legolas, seeing the question in his eyes. He was still gagged, but an understanding passed between them, and Luindar suddenly threw himself against the orc standing nearest his companion and knocked him back as Legolas lunged at the one holding his leash, ramming his good shoulder into the creature’s solar plexus. As the guard doubled over, Legolas jumped onto his back and launched himself straight upward, smashing his head against the door and breaking it open. The force of his leap was enough to propel him more than halfway out of the opening, and he bent his body, trying to catch himself on the edge. The impact on his injured ribs forced a cry from him as he landed, twisting and trying to pull his legs up. He felt hands grasping his ankles and he kicked frantically to shake them off. For one precious moment he was outside, seeing the darkening sky and the black wall of the high tower only a few feet from his face, and then his captors got hold of the dangling neck chain again and hauled him back into the tunnel.

Luindar was forced to jump aside to avoid his hurtling body as Legolas fell back into the passageway, landing heavily on his side. Heedless of his pain, he was back on his feet in an instant, and he did his best to injure the orcs, spitting curses at them, kicking and slamming against them until the neck chain was twisted and he could no longer breathe. He slowly dropped to his knees, gasping, and then fell prone, his blood thundering in his ears. Panic raced through him as he realized the orcs were not letting up this time. His hands strained behind his back and he thrashed weakly in their grasp as he struggled for air, his eyesight grown hazy and yellow, funneling down to nothing. Then the pressure eased and he rolled away from a sudden commotion, coughing violently and drawing in great rasping breaths as he tried to clear his head. He pulled himself up as he realized the orcs were directing their attention on Luindar, pinning him against the wall and striking him with their fists. The Lothlorien elf dodged a blow and fought to look around the creatures, searching for Legolas, a desperate question in his eyes. The blond elf met his gaze and understood that the orcs had not intentionally freed him. Seeing what was happening, Luindar had attacked their guards in order to force them to turn on him and release the stranglehold on Legolas’ neck chain. Legolas managed to rise just as the dark-haired elf was beaten to his knees, and he pushed against the orcs, trying to insert his body between the creatures and his friend and take some of the blows upon himself.

The door suddenly slammed open and a blinding white light flashed, making both the elves and the orcs draw back and shield their eyes however they could. The fighting stopped abruptly. “I would have thought six of my guards would have been enough to deal with two prisoners with their hands chained behind their backs,” the wizard commented without expression. He looked up at the splintered hatch and then at the elves, his eyes eventually settling on the blood dripping from a gash on Legolas' head. “A worthy effort, Legolas. I would be disappointed if you did not try. We will be on our way now.”

Two orcs remained behind, sprawled unconscious in the doorway as the elves were pushed into the tower. A blast of freezing air hit Legolas and he drew back at the sight of black, polished marble all around him, as cold and pitiless as the eyes of Saruman himself. The leash was twisted slightly to remind him what would happen if he resisted again, and he walked forward. Torches flared along the glittering walls and he glanced around him, taking in what he could of the main entryway of Orthanc before he was forced through another small door and shoved toward a staircase. This was narrow, spiraling upward, and he realized this route would take him to the very top of the tower. The wizard had vanished, and the climb was long and arduous, particularly since the guards, once out of their master’s view, amused themselves by pushing the elves up a number of steps and then hauling on their chains, forcing them to lose their footing and tumble back down again. By the time they emerged from the stairway both captives were battered and breathing hard.

A serpentine maze of corridors greeted them, and the prisoners were propelled down one with many twists and turns until they reached a great door, ornately carved with figures of dragons. Beyond this hung a richly embroidered curtain, and they were thrust into a spacious chamber, decorated with tapestries and plush furniture. This was obviously the personal chamber of the wizard, and a cold rush of horror struck Legolas as he was lead through a portal in the far wall into an adjacent room. His gaze swept over it once and he halted abruptly, glancing at Luindar. The Lothlorien elf’s green eyes were wide as he looked around. The room was also elegantly dressed with velvets draped on the walls, but there was no furniture. At least not the sort of furniture either elf had ever seen before. Legolas drew in his breath sharply as he took in the chains on the walls and the collection of implements arrayed in a glass-encased cabinet. This was a torture chamber, and in an instant he recognized this room from his dreams. His cousin Eldreth had met his death here.

His eyes locked onto Luindar’s then, and both elves spun, ramming into the orcs and knocking them aside. One fell at Legolas’ feet and he jumped up, slamming his boots down with all his force on the creature’s neck, crushing the bones. He propelled himself out the door at Luindar’s heels and ran into the great chamber. They made for the curtain, but before they could reach it the fabric moved and the wizard stepped through. He shouted, and a dozen orcs poured into the room as the captives scrambled back.

“It is useless, my dear elves,” Saruman whispered.

Shoved again into the adjacent room, Legolas struggled violently as the orcs attempted to force him to the floor. They struck at him with their fists, and a particularly hard blow to the side of his head knocked him off balance and he dropped to one knee. Another orc stepped forward then and threw a punch directly into his injured shoulder with a savagery that drove the stunned elf to the hard flagstones, and he felt tight cords being pulled around his ankles. The chain fastened to his neck was attached to a ring in the floor. He watched out of the corner of his eye as Luindar was made to sit against the wall to his right and secured there, and Saruman then stepped in front of Legolas, who fought to pull himself onto his knees.

“Tomorrow we will begin work on my armies.” He turned, sweeping his hand toward the cabinet. “You see that amongst my other toys I have blood-letting equipment. You fade more from your friends now, even as they strive to return your unconscious body to Rivendell. In just another hour or two your transference will be complete, and you will vanish like mist before their eyes, never to be seen again. Right now, as I mentioned before, we must take care of some business. I want information about Rivendell. And I know the two of you had an opportunity to communicate with each other earlier. I mean to find out what this elf told you. I sense that there is something interesting about him, something different, but he has proven to be remarkably close-mouthed, although several methods have been employed to loosen his tongue. You will tell me what you have learned about him.”

Legolas turned his head, looking at Luindar, and for the first time he detected fear in the dark-haired elf’s usually calm gaze. He remembered what Luindar had told him… that somehow his healing abilities were tied in with the very survival of Lothlorien. The archer knew he was powerless to prevent the wizard’s plans, and he had resigned himself to the certainty that his own life was devoid of hope, but if he could protect the other elf and his secret he would. He drew a deep breath and faced his captor.

“Of himself, he told me little, except that his name is Luindar and that he was taken from the borders of Lothlorien several weeks ago. I spoke of myself then, and that is when you came upon us.”

“I do not believe you,” Saruman said blandly. “You will have to do better than that.” He made a sweeping motion with his staff, bringing the glowing gem down, hovering before Legolas’ eyes.

“I can tell you no more,” the blond elf said, keeping his voice steady, but a cold sweat had started on his body and his hands clenched apprehensively behind his back as he watched the eerie light grow brighter. Now the pain. He lowered his head as it spread slowly from his shoulder, creeping as poisoned tentacles toward his head and his body, wrapping around his entrails. The gradual, inexorable increase in his discomfort was more terrifying than being hit with it all at once, and he began rocking back and forth on his knees, moaning softly. He saw Luindar pulling against his fetters, the anguished emerald eyes locked on him as he slowly sank to the floor.

“Tell me about this elf,” the cold voice of the wizard commanded.

Legolas began trembling violently, but he shook his head silently in answer. The pain grew. In a relentless progression the fire edged along his body, licking and devouring as he twisted helplessly on the floor. “No. Please, no…” A moment later he screamed, and once he started he could not stop.

The enchanter watched his suffering prisoner with interest, and after several more agonizing minutes, when the elf’s voice had grown hoarse, he finally pulled the staff away. “Will you speak now, young one?”

Legolas turned himself with difficulty and tried to crawl away. 

“Enough,” the wizard said quietly. “Perhaps you know nothing, after all. We should give you time to recover, since I need you to regain some of your strength before I can make use of your blood. Rest, beautiful one. Your friend’s time is now.”

The white robe swirled in front of Legolas’ blurred eyes as Saruman turned away. The golden-haired elf felt himself slipping toward unconsciousness, and it was not an unwelcome sensation. He closed his eyes, begging the darkness to claim him and take him from this place, when a noise brought him back again. The sharp sound of a chain being jerked snapped in his ears, and a quick gasp of pain followed. He turned his head. Saruman was leaning over Luindar, looking at him intently, with desire, and several of the creatures leered cruelly behind their master. “Shall I let the orcs have a turn after I have finished with you, my green-eyed elf?”

No, not this. What will happen to Lothlorien if they break him? Legolas paused for a moment as his heartbeat thundered in his ears and a bleak terror clawed its way into his thoughts. How many more elves will perish? He turned his head and stared at the floor, gathering himself, and then, forcing back his pain and sickness, the Prince of Mirkwood pulled himself onto his knees.

“Let him be, Saruman.”

The enchanter turned in surprise and raised an eyebrow. The blond elf gazed at him, fevered eyes burning in his pale face. “I do not have the power to stay your hand, wizard, but touch him not, I beg you. I will go with you.”

Saruman took a step closer, regarding him. “You offer yourself in his place?” he whispered, his eyes intent.

“Yes.”

 Luindar stared at him with a stunned expression and shook his head. The wizard’s eyes remained locked on Legolas as he attached Luindar’s chain to the wall again. As he drew nearer the blond elf, Saruman turned and stepped behind him. Legolas did not move as he felt the cold fingers probing his back, tracing the pale scars.

“Under these new whip marks there are old ones, long healed,” Saruman said in a low voice. “Elves do not usually scar. The abuse must have been severe indeed to have left such a visible reminder behind. Tell me, young elf, were you hurt in other ways as well?”

Legolas did not respond. He watched silently as tears sprang into the black-haired elf’s eyes and Luindar bowed his head.

“Very well, I shall grant your request. Your friend gets a reprieve, for now. You need some time to recover. Rest now, but be assured I shall return for you shortly.”

Legolas waited until the wizard and his creatures had left the chamber before letting his pain and exhaustion drive him to the floor again, and he knew that he would not be able to rise again. The sorcerer’s torture had taken too much out of him, and he rolled onto his side, staring at the wall, his body shaking. He did not regret his decision to help Luindar, but the fear of what lay ahead was very real. He knew he was helpless against the power of his captor. Feeling as if he had been torn away from life and his memories were nothing but glass that had been cast down by the enchanter and shattered, he closed his eyes and tried to prepare himself for the inevitable.

Something slammed against the floor then, startling him, he turned his head. Luindar had pulled himself away from the wall as far as he was able and had kicked his boots against the hard stones to get his attention, straining to reach him and looking at him intently over the twisted cloth bound across his mouth. Legolas blinked painfully for a moment, unable to focus his eyesight, then he shifted his body and pulled against his chains until his feet rested against the other elf’s leg. It was all the contact the healer needed.

“Why does he keep you gagged when you are alone?”

The elf-prince shook his head, frowning, thinking the question odd. “I do not know. I do not remember,” he responded, closing his eyes again to combat the dizziness brought on by his pain.

“He does not do that to me. What did he say to you? That a part of you still remains with your friends, but your time with them is almost gone? The thing in your shoulder has nearly completed its work.”

The blond elf felt his head roll to the side. He began to slide away, and he reached eagerly for the darkness.

“Legolas!” Luindar’s voice shouted in his mind, jolting him. “Stay awake. Do not retreat into the shadows, that is not the way. There may be a real possibility of escape, but you must take it now. Sing.”

Legolas shook his head again, confused, and turned away, beginning to wander more deeply into a wilderness of fever and agony.

“Legolas, I cannot take your pain from you this time. I am failing.” Luindar’s voice was calm, but tinged with sorrow, and Legolas turned to him in a moment of clarity. “You must sing. Please try. They forgot to replace your gag, and your friends wait for you.”

The elf-prince stared at his companion, understanding beginning to dawn on him. He strove to collect himself as he gazed up at the ceiling. He chose a song he had often sung with his friends, both in Mirkwood and Rivendell, and he tried to keep his voice low, fearing the return of the wizard, but as the melody filled his anguished heart his voice burst out more strongly than he had intended, pushing his pain and fear back.

Aragorn’s face, hazy and wavering, drew near, and he heard the soft echo of the ranger’s voice alongside his own. They had sung this song together many times. Startled, Legolas stopped abruptly, and the image faded. He began again, and as he heard the other voice blending with his own, his heart pounded with a mixture of fear and hope. Was he somehow reaching his friend, or were these just the imaginings o