The prickling sensation that crept into Legolas's hands startled him. It had been long since he had felt them. As his fingers awoke, pain followed the tingling. Pain was less alarming. He had grown accustomed to pain. His arms felt strange, as if bent unnaturally. He thought he felt hard stone beneath him. That would mean he was off his chains. It seemed ages since last the orcs had taken Legolas down for their recreation, but he did not trust his sense of time.

Suddenly, he was swung up in the air as something pressed around his arms. A rancid smell signaled an orc was near. Cracking open an eyelid confirmed it. Even with bleary sight, he knew an orc.

Legolas realized the orc was speaking. Did the orc speak to him? The orcs enjoyed offering details of their plans for him. Yes, more plans. He closed his eyes.

"I'm looking forward to doing what I want, now that Saruman has gone..."

Saruman has gone? If Saruman had left, then what of the others? Gimli did not seem to be nearby. And Aragorn? Merry? Pippin? Were they yet in the Tower, or was he the only one left to the whims of these creatures? Only Saruman's word had spared his life and kept the orcs from doing their worst, for why would Saruman need him if he could not talk? Now, if this orc spoke truly, the orcs could do as they would. And they would. For as long as they wished, as long as he endured. Legolas felt a shiver of the fear he had until now deeply buried.

The orc sniffed deeply, then chortled loudly as he called to another orc. "You smell that? Smell him!" Legolas forbade himself to pull away as the second orc closed in and inhaled. "Hand over your payments, boys! That's the scent of fear!"

The second orc looked at the first suspiciously. "What you do to him?"

"Hah! You think I'm gonna give away my secrets!"

The second orc frowned, but then offered a toothy grin. "All bets are off, now."

"Except for the one I won!" He called to more orcs and goblins, all the while holding Legolas up by one arm like a prize he wished to show off. Legolas willed himself still, trying to calm the tendrils of panic rising within him. The orc barked at him suddenly. "Open your eyes!"

"Don't tell him to do that! I hate it when they look at you." The second orc reduced his voice to a whisper. "They give you that evil eye—" now he turned to Legolas "—but soon you'll have no eyes to look with!"

Legolas shuddered. Now more clear-headed, he realized his situation was a truly dangerous one. He ached from the tips of his ears to his toes; his limbs trembled from lack of water and food. Among his many bruises were wounds that still bled; and the pain he felt when he breathed told him he had more injuries than he could see. He was in no state to make an escape, even if he could find one.

And escape he needed. Cuffs yet bound his wrists, so the orcs could chain him to a wall once more, but that might prove pointless. The orc that held Legolas was surrounded by enough of his own kind to keep him just where they wanted him.

But there had been more of them. Saruman had truly left and taken his orcs with him. These must be the remnants of the horde. The wizard had left him to these beasts in this rock of shadow and flame.

The orcs spoke of no others, and he wondered if Saruman had taken Gimli with him. Legolas could not remember when he last had seen the dwarf. Perhaps Gimli had been pushed beyond his incredible endurance. A new pang of fear clenched Legolas's heart.

I am alone with these beasts. Filled with dread, he tried to gather his strength and his courage but found he had little of the former, which threatened to deplete what he had of the latter. If only Gimli were by his side. The dwarf's presence would give him the will to persevere. Now Legolas singly faced an army of orcs hungry for sport. And he was the game.

The din in the cavern grew deafening, and Legolas began to look about, desperate for flight. In every direction, there was an orc or goblin leering or jeering at him. If he made his way past one, there was another behind. Yet he could not relinquish himself without a fight, no matter how futile. His press for freedom would be a laughable effort. But he knew no other way to die.

His face slammed into the ground, and the air rushed out of his chest. Pain flooded his torso and greyed his vision. Rough hands grabbed his shoulders and turned him onto his back, as others grabbed his arms and legs, crushing bruises and wounds. He tried to remain as still as he could bear, shutting his eyes to the scene about him. First were the kicks and punches. Then he felt the first blade pierce his side and then another slice him across the chest.

"I wanna taste elf blood!" The call jolted Legolas from his concentration. Suddenly a leathery hand drew up his shoulder and a gritty tongue dragged across a wound. He shivered. Yells and shrieks focused into a chant: "Elf blood!" Legolas relinquished his attempt at calm and writhed and squirmed in resistance, despite knowing it would only thrill his attackers more.

"I've got a hankering for elf meat!" an orc screamed and for an eternal moment all was still. Then chaos broke out and more hands took hold of Legolas as the creatures pushed each other out of the way to reach the prize.

He felt another mouth on him. Only, instead of a tongue, he felt sharp pricks that could only be teeth as the beast began to gnaw at his leg. Another began to chew on his arm.

Legolas could barely comprehend what was happening. The orcs meant to eat him, as he was, alive. The panic he had earlier quieted blossomed fully. He could possibly endure torture, beatings, starvation. But he would not be food for these creatures.

With all that was left of his will, he forced himself to be still for a moment, then all at once thrashed wildly and threw his remaining strength into breaking the grip of the hands that held him. One hand slipped, then another, and he arched his back, pushing himself up, kicking at faces, throwing his cuffed wrists into noses, then his elbows into bared throats, creating more mayhem.

He was hidden from view of most of the orcs that stood behind those that had held him. Two that had stood at his head fell into each other. They bellowed as their heads knocked together and they brought their blows upon each other.

More orcs began fighting with each other, yelling as one lost sight of him, ordering another to grab him. He dove down to the floor as two more orcs entangled in fisticuffs above him, and slithering beneath them, he pushed and pulled himself through the throng, rolling on occasion to avoid legs and arms that were suddenly everywhere.

He was beyond the mass before they realized they had lost him. Without looking back, Legolas crawled then forced himself to his feet. He staggered the first few steps, the pain of standing blinding, but he steadied as he moved along and simply refused to stand still.

Moving aimlessly at first, he found himself in a dark passageway. Groping his way as his eyes adjusted, he breathed his gratitude to the Valar when he saw the stairs. Not daring to stop to see if he was pursued, he began the painful upwards trek, knowing to stop would be to end.

He continued up and up, encouraged by the increasing light, diminishing heat, and fresher air. He came suddenly to a landing that opened onto a large round room with light streaming in from small windows above. Unbearably bright, he refused to look away, drinking in the sight.

Only when he pulled his eyes from the windows to the dark niches encircling him did he recognize his surroundings. It was the room they had been brought to upon their arrival. How much time had passed since then? A few passes of the sun? Of the moon? Or whole seasons? He could not say.

A far-off cry rose up from below. The orcs had yet to find his trail. Mayhap he could remain here. No one seemed to inhabit this level. Saruman had taken them all with him.

His legs began to tremble wildly, then buckled, and so he crawled on his forearms, his fingers throbbing from their injuries. If hiding was the only avenue open to him, then hide he must, mayhap in a dark nook.

Then he saw the balcony. Fresh air called to him and he pushed himself the remaining distance. Throwing himself out onto the balcony, he lay on his back, gasping at the sight of the open blue sky.

Hearing sounds that may have been echoes of his pursuers, he dragged himself to the end of the balcony, beyond the doorway. They would find him, but he was outside, and he would not surrender such a prize. Mayhap he would throw himself over the edge rather than face what came for him. He trembled as he thought of it again. He was going to be eaten by orcs. Yes, he would jump to his death rather than that.

He heard once more the deep echo of footsteps but now thought perhaps it was something else. It sounded as if it came from without the tower. Squinting in the bright sunlight he had not seen in so long, he looked at the scene below through the balustrade. Stumps of trees dotted the ground and occasional spouts of steam emerged from the many holes in the earth, all continuing to the walls of Isengard where the forest began.

He heard the thud again, and although it had the rhythm of steps, they were too heavy even for orcs. He turned to look beyond the balcony. His mouth dropped open as he was met with a sight he had not beheld in all his long years.