The hut might have been snug and comfortable, once upon a time. The footprint of its stone walls covered as much ground as a guard cave back in Eryn Lasgalen, though only two walls of that footprint still stood in their entirety; the walls remaining were strong though, and in their prime would have held out much wind and weather. Of the other two, one was completely gone save for a line of stones in the ground, half grown over with moss and grass, while the third was broken in places, the window long gone and lintel-less, a fate it shared with the space where the door had once been. But there was a hearth, and the broken remnant of a table, and in one corner, a low and dirty bedstead, its mattress flat and rough, its ropes incongruously new by comparison.

Orcs swarmed into the hut, several of them crowding under the three-quarter remains of a thatched roof to escape the sun. The remaining warriors of their party scrambled into the darkness of the wood to hide beneath bracken and leaf and up into the trees themselves, to be safe and watchful until sunset came and they could continue on their way. The Orc captain had long since handed over their captive to another of his band, claiming he could not stand the Elf-stink of the child; that Orc, wrinkling what passed for a nose and making grunts of disgust, now unceremoniously dumped the trussed Elf face-down on the filthy bed, glad to be shut of him for a moment, and ambled off to relieve himself in the woods.

Legolas' fastidious Elven nature shrank from the stench of the mattress - dirt, urine, remains of long-gone couplings, and gods knew what else - but he was grateful to be anywhere, almost, than slung over the shoulder of an Orc. He had done his best throughout the waning hours of the night to distance himself from his predicament; so far, so good. He had remained still and uncomplaining, gaze focused into nothingness until the Orcs simply left him alone, content so long as he was no trouble. Whenever Legolas realized there was no one watching, he had shortened his gaze to the track behind them as they fled, and paid attention to the trees, the ground, the angle of light from the sky as it leaned toward dawn, the position of the moon - of the stars, when he could see them.

Ithil was waxing gibbous; the light had been both pure and comforting, in a distant sort of way. Not as many stars could be seen through the trees owing to the moonlight, but Legolas could see enough to guess they were traveling approximately south-east. Then as they passed deeper under the trees, the child realized that if this was indeed Southern Mirkwood, he would have fewer and fewer hope of allies - for the Silvan folk had long since made their way northerly, as Orcish incursions and goblin raids made this region of the Realm an unsafe place for any Elven-Kin. There might be some chance of a lucky raid out of Lothlorien, which was not too many leagues distant, but Legolas dared not hope that anyone had yet been able to alert the Lord Celeborn of what had transpired north of his borders on the previous day.

He drifted in and out of coherence as the Orcs settled down to eat raw meat and gabble at one another in their vile tongue. Given that it was dawn, it was no more than a day past the events of the battle, unless he had been unconscious longer than he knew. His wounded right shoulder ached abominably, and every time he tried to flex it even a little in some attempt to ease his sore arms, a nauseating spike of agony shot from the wound through every nerve ending in his body to explode at the base of his skull with fire. Legolas was also very thirsty, and hunger was beginning to gnaw at his belly.

Some time later - he had no idea how long - Legolas felt something digging about in his hair, and realized someone was untying the leather wrapped about his mouth and chin. He felt hands at his waist and ankles; then Legolas was roughly turned onto his back. His legs dropped flat to the bed, leaden, without sensation for several moments, then pins and needles as feeling returned.

So - they had partly untied him. Stupid Orcs. He gagged reflexively as an Orc hand, clawed and filthy, forced his mouth open and scrabbled about inside, removing the thick wad of cloth that had been under his tongue like a bit on a horse. The painful ministrations brought him to a level of consciousness where he could no longer feign insensibility; he coughed and gagged, fortunately had nothing to bring up, and lay there gasping like a fish out of water. The Orc laughed, finding the entire thing quite amusing. Stupid Orcs...

Legolas was not pleased when the Orc did not release his arms from where they were pinioned to his sides, but he supposed he was not surprised. He felt hot blood in his cheeks and humiliation, though, when the Orc pulled him up onto its lap and shoved something up to his mouth.

"Food, Elf. You eat now, and no sass from you or I'll beat you 'til your pretty skin looks like an Orc baby's," the creature hissed at him. Legolas started to say something in retort, but the Orc simply stuffed whatever this "food" was into his mouth. His hands curled into protesting fists, helpless to fight; the stuff was vile, practically raw, something of meat and berries and other ingredients Legolas could not identify, all pounded together into a kind of slimy paste.

Nostrils flaring, he reared back as if to expel the disgusting stuff, but the Orc was ready for him. It clamped one massive paw over the young Elf's face, covering his mouth and blocking his nose; the Orc's other hand clasped loosely at his neck, and neither hand was removed until he felt Legolas' throat work in helpless swallowing motions. It was swallow or suffocate, and the maneuver was repeated four times, until the Orc was satisfied his captive had consumed at least enough to keep him alive. Then just as efficiently, the Orc made him drink brackish water mixed with some fiery liquid that burned all the way down, roiling in Legolas' stomach like a serpent.

"You have to piss, you're on your own, tree-rat," the Orc chuckled, sounding like he was gargling fire. He dropped the boy back down onto the bed. "It can only improve the smell if you foul your own nest."

The creature then checked to make certain Legolas' ankles were still tightly bound, and the rope that had hog-tied him all that long night was curled up atop his chest as he lay there. The young Elf carefully watched every move the Orc made. It took a large hammer and nailed a great spike into the wall beside Legolas' head, then hauled on the spike to make certain it was seated well. The spike did not budge. The Orc gave his captive a significant look - if I can't haul it out, neither can you - and tightly tied the rope to the spike. He pulled hard on the end anchored to the collar about Legolas' throat, which made the Elf's head snap painfully to one side, and surprised a smothered yelp out of the boy.

"You'll be goin' nowhere, tree-rat," he announced, and tossed a cloak over him as a blanket. "Don't let me hear a peep out of you - and none of that sky-cursed singing at the stars or trees, you hear me?"

Legolas solemnly nodded, and said in Silvan: "Die, stinking bag of Orc guts." The Orc did not understand, and could only interpret based on his prisoner's calm expression and nod of comprehension; it assumed the boy would cooperate.

"Whatever you said. That's a good little tree-rat."

Tree-rat indeed. I'll "tree-rat" you, given half a chance, you pig of an Orc...

Though it was now fully daytime, Legolas drifted off into troubled sleep from pure exhaustion and physical abuse. It was not the normal sleep of the Elves, where the eyes remained open while the mind went out to play, but the sleep such as Men and Dwarves needed every day, eyes closed, consciousness completely sublimated to weariness and the need to regain strength. Elves did not need to sleep so more than once or twice a week, if that week happened to be particularly rough on them. Now seemed as good a time as any to the wearied lad.

His sleep, however, was plagued with dreams and portents; Legolas kept seeing the faces of loved ones, and of Elven-kin he did not recognize. In particular, he saw the slender, powerful features of a male Elf with ancient, knowing eyes of a deep, twilight-coloured greyish blue, and dark hair caught away from the severe handsomeness of his face by slender braids. He had no idea who this Elf could be, but the sensation of power, of great knowledge and experience, beckoned to Legolas through the fog of pain that seemed to hold him motionless in a landscape otherwise beset with mists and half-seen threats. The generous though grave mouth did not move, but he could still hear words, in a soft, strong voice accustomed to command: Never give up. Never give in, Legolas, remember who you are, and what you are. We are coming... be brave, we are coming!

Legolas wanted to tell him he was being as brave as he could, but he could not speak, and could not seem to reply without speech, as the elder Elf had done. In his dream, he was unbound but could not move, other than to lift his hands toward the Elder, beseeching. He wanted to tell this powerful being that he would cling to the Way of his people and make his father proud - but even as he struggled to make himself understood, the Elder was gone, and in his place there was an enormous, fell horse, black and limned in dark light and blood.

Atop the horse was a figure, as big or bigger than Elf or Man, cloaked head to armored toe in thick, swirling black. The creature beckoned to Legolas, hissing and insinuating, commanding him to come and take the cup it carried. The child refused, covering his face, but then he heard the sound of pounding hooves. Horror was in his eyes as he stared between his fingers. The horse bore down on him; clawlike hands, skeletal and pale, caught him up and threw him across the saddle. He fought like a demon to get free, clawing his way up the black figure toward red, glittering eyes within the hood - but there was nothing within save the two red eyes, glowing and suspended in the blackness. With a silent scream of terror, the son of Thranduil fell into that blackness, to be swept away from all the world and kin...