Legolas lay motionless and quiet, listening.  The darkness still surrounded him, yet he could see shadows and traces of images darker than the blackness.  The unnerving sound was faint and distant, but growing ever stronger; a low, moaning susurration through the caverns, yet he felt no air currents caressing his face.  He strained his ears, trying to identify this new threat, for he knew it was no naturally occurring wind.  And then they were all around him, whistling and screeching.  The darkness prevented his eyes from seeing the wraiths, but he could feel them as they slid over his prone body and slithered around his bare head; their icy hands touching his skin and their splintering howls and wails piercing his brain.  The pain of their shrieks was excruciating as it ripped through his skull and his hypersensitive ears rang with the shattering sound of glass breaking.  His body writhed and jerked with spasms of torment as he fought against his bonds, twisting and thrashing, until he could stand the pain no longer.  He screamed in sheer agony and his anguished cry echoed throughout the cavernous chamber.

          Through the unrelenting waves of torture, his vision began to blur, then turn blood red until finally, darkness overtook him and he sank into oblivion.  His body ceased its movement and he lay still and limp upon the silvery strands of his silken trap.   All around him, the shrieking wraiths dove and flitted over and around his helpless form, their bony fingers prodding his chest, snatching at his hair, and tearing at his clothes.  The sudden and unexpected appearance of torch light and flame interrupted their hideous games, banishing the Shriekers to the darker recesses of the caves, their shrill howls reverberating through the tunnels as they fled.

          Behind the torch loomed the great hulking figure of the Olog-hai, Aslhûg.  His gray-green flesh mirrored the color of the surrounding stones making him appear a part of the cave come to life, a monstrous, lumbering rock beast.  His ponderous feet stomped through the passageway as he made his way to the spider’s web and its bound and defenseless prey.  As he neared the web, the inky black spider skittered down the cave wall bringing the unlight with her as she moved.  The utter blackness blanketed the cave leaving only the meager flames of the torch untouched.

          “Stay back, Ulkûrzlûb!” the beast ordered.  As if to enforce his command, he brought his pike forward and pointed its deadly curved blade toward the spider’s bulbous body.  The arachnid halted, mandibles clicking with anger and obvious agitation, her black, spindly legs tapping a staccato against the rocks.  The Olog-hai watched the spider closely as he lowered his torch into a jagged crevice between two boulders and then clasped the pike with both his massive, boxy hands.

          Satisfied that she would come no closer, he continued.  “Master is pleased with Ulkûrzlûb,” he rumbled.  “You have caught the Elf brat.”

          The spider chittered hungrily.  “Yeesssssh.  Fooood for weee.”

          Her front legs slithered forward along the webbing and the hill-troll lunged forward with his pike, forcing her to scurry back up the web.

          “No food,” he stated.  “Master wants this one.  You have food aplenty.”

          Ulkûrzlûb’s body shook with frustration and the unlight deepened around her, edging along the web toward the ensnared Elf, as she spit and hissed, but she moved no closer.  His watchful stare never leaving the spider, Aslhûg, withdrew a large knife from his belt.  The dull, black metal of the blade gave off no glint in the torch’s light and no images reflected off its flat surface.  He slid the knife under the Elf’s foot and began sawing at the ropelike fibers holding Legolas’ body secure.   As each limb was freed, Ulkûrzlûb hissed her displeasure at seeing her meal being taken from her, but the sharp point of the Olog-hai’s pike never wavered from her thorax and she wisely held her place.

          Replacing his knife, the giant hill-troll edged closer to the web and began pulling away the silken threads that covered the Elf’s torso, raking his stubby fingers through Legolas’ long hair, ripping the wispy strands of spider filament from his head.  Once he had released his quarry from Ulkûrzlûb’s sticky bonds, he slid his bulky arm under the prince’s back and lifted him from the webbing.  He tossed Legolas’ limp frame over his brawny shoulder and placed a steadying hand upon the small of the Elf’s back, balancing and settling his burden firmly in place.  Legolas’ arms and head dangled loosely against Aslhûg’s broad back.   Waves of long, blond hair cascaded down over his pointed ears, obscuring his pale face and just brushing the ground at the troll’s feet.   The Olog-hai crossed his huge arm over Legolas’ slender legs where they fell against his massive chest, and retrieving his torch, he cast one last look at the giant spider.

          “Guard the entrance, Ulkûrzlûb,” he commanded.  “Let no one pass.”

          The shiny black arachnid shivered and scuttled down upon her web, as if hoping the troll would relent and return her pilfered meal to her, but Aslhûg moved away, his pike still menacingly pointed in her direction.  “Watch weeee,” she hissed.  “No passssh weee.”

          The Olog-hai grunted and turned away from Ulkûrzlûb, heading back down through the dark tunnels of the mountain hill.  The Elf’s body jounced and jostled across his shoulder as he trudged through the lower passages, taking no special care not to slam Legolas’ head along the walls as he squeezed through the tight channels, delving deeper and deeper into the rocky caverns and grottos.

          When he came to the deep, underground pool, the Olog-hai halted and knelt down beside the water’s edge.  He dropped his weapon along the rim of the pool and dunked his free hand into the icy swirls, scooping up a handful of the crystal clear water.  Slowly, he brought it to his mouth and drank deeply of the cooling liquid.

          Drifting through a semi-conscious haze of pain and dull gray shadows, Legolas eventually became aware that the irritating bouncing, swaying motion had stopped, and for that he was eternally grateful.  The wrenching movement only exaggerated the hammering spikes of pain that were still shooting through his head, pounding behind his eyes and making them feel as if they would pop out of his skull at any moment.  Cautiously he chanced opening one eye and as his vision cleared, he looked upon a greenish-gray mound that he could not associate with anything he knew.

          His sensitive nostrils flared and he gagged as the foul, fleshy stench assaulted his nose.  Ahhhhh, he choked, even dead orcs do not smell this bad.  He tried to turn his head away from the odor, but found the movement caused an unpleasantness far worse than the reeking smell and he let his head fall back against the warm, rough skin; for skin it surely was, but whose?  He tried holding his breath, but was soon forced to gulp in air, as his lungs refused to cooperate and began to ache within his chest.

          A new pain made itself known, gouging into his stomach and he opened wide both eyes, trying to determine exactly where he was.  All he could see was a wall of rock colored flesh and his golden hair.  He surmised that he was somehow hanging upside down and lifting his head forward he could indeed see a stone pathway a little over a foot from his chin.  He could also see a massive leg and a fat, stubby and extremely grimy three-toed foot.

          Troll! his mind shouted with fear and alarm.  I’ve been captured by a troll!  He started to squirm and twist his body in an effort to escape but the resulting movement only served to alert the Olog-hai to his awakening and distract the troll from drinking his fill.  The hill-troll grunted and dumped Legolas to the pathway with a careless toss of his hand.  The Elf crashed to the stones in a crumpled heap, his back slamming into the rocky wall of the passageway.  Groaning with pain, Legolas tried to rise up on an elbow.

          “So yer awake,” the hill-troll rumbled.  “Then ye can walk.”

          He prodded Legolas with the tip of his nasty weapon and the Elf slid back against the wall, his gaze fixed on the edge of the pike’s blade; it was hovering inches from his stomach.  Slowly he raised his head and looked up at the monstrous beast wielding the pike.  It was indeed a troll, but unlike any troll he had ever seen before.  It was hideously ugly, with wart-like protuberances upon its face and body, and heavy bone ridges above its eyes.  Its skin was actually a mottled grayish-green with darker spots and as it stood against the cavern wall, its flesh blended in with the stones making it almost invisible.

          The pike jabbed at his abdomen again, and Legolas shrank back against the stones, pushing his hands against the rock and slowly easing his back up along the wall, pushing his knees under him until he was able to stand.  The troll motioned for him to move down the dark passage, but Legolas paid him no heed as he stared longingly at the cool water lapping at the sides of the pool.  He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was until the fresh smell of the water had reached him.  When he failed to comply with the troll’s order, Aslhûg gave Legolas a hefty shove causing the Elf to stumble forward down the tunnel for several feet.

          “Keep moving,” Aslhûg ordered as he fell into step behind Legolas, his weapon aimed between the Elf’s shoulder blades.

          Legolas walked forward, picking his way among the loose rocks and stones of the narrow path.  His keen eyes darted here and there, desperately searching for a means of escape, but nothing presented itself so he kept moving, the troll close behind and ever vigilant.  Eventually they came to a fork in the passageway and the hill-troll gestured for him to continue to the right.  As he did so, he could see a line of carved cells hewn out of the rocks.   Heavy, rusted iron grates covered the openings of each small dungeon.

          “In there,” Aslhûg prodded Legolas, driving him into the first of the cells.  When he balked at the command, the troll shoved Legolas forward and he fell to his hands and knees, landing hard upon the rock floor.  The iron grating clanged shut behind his back and a loud click sounded as the troll engaged the formidable locking mechanism.  Without another word, and taking the torch with him, the troll turned back toward the entrance and left Legolas alone in the darkness.

          The Elf prince rose painfully to his feet, his knees protesting greatly and the heels of his palms smarting from the scrapes and bruises recently acquired from the fall.  He limped toward the grating and grasped the iron bars, shaking them to test their strength.  Although rusty and old, they were no less strong and he could not move or bend them.  Disheartened, he moved back away from the grate and sank down to the cold rock floor of the cell.  He leaned his back against the stone wall and drew his knees up to his chest.  Slowly he folded his arms over the tops of his knees and pressed his forehead into his arms, sighing with weary fatigue and aching pain.

          After a time he lifted his head and looked around his dark cell.  His weakened Elf glow barely emitted a shimmering halo about his body that did little to illuminate his place of confinement.  With saddened eyes and a heavy heart, he leaned his head back against the walls and tried to imagine the star-filled skies that he knew existed far above him.

          Ai, Elbereth! he thought miserably, eyes closing with grief and sorrow.   I shall die in this place if I cannot find some means to escape.  But how can I do that when I do not even know where I am?

          He slowly brought his head forward and brushed away a strand of hair from his face.  He tried to think through what had happened from the time he and Strider were separated, but the pain and exhaustion were taking their toll as was the lack of food and water and he could not think clearly.  Deciding to let his body rest instead, he lowered his shoulders onto the stone floor and stretched out his legs. He clasped his hands under his head and stared up at the stone ceiling of his prison.  He was asleep within minutes, but his slumber was filled with disturbing dreams.

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          Legolas was standing alone in the dark forest, the bright stars shining overhead.  A full, round moon cast a blue-white light upon the trees and bathed the small clearing in which he stood with a soft glow.  There was no sound emanating from the forest and he could smell no musky woodland scents that he knew should be present.  His gaze swung to the left as a slight movement within the trees caught his eye.  Walking toward him through the darkness and the shadows of the trees was a tall, thin woman.

          As she entered the moonlight, he could see that she was of ancient age.  Legolas had seen a few elderly humans, and of course, Mithrandir was extremely old, but this woman by comparison seemed older than time itself.  Her long hair was thick and fell to her waist in a silver-blue waterfall.  Rows of intricate braids entwined with beads and shells framed her wrinkled face and a great necklace of bones, teeth and shell hung from her neck to her waist.  She appeared to be wearing the hides of some animal – deer Legolas guessed.  The garment was tooled and tapered in layers and came down past her knees revealing her thin legs and bare feet.  Exotic tattoos adorned her face, upper arms and swirled around her thin wrists.  Her skin was a creamy white, but not as white as the orbs of her sightless eyes, yet she walked through the trees without hesitation and without the aid of cane or staff.

          She came up to Legolas and stopped in front of him.  As he looked upon her face he noted that old as she was now, there was still evidence upon her visage that once she had been beautiful and he realized that she was equally as tall as he.  Her blind, dead eyes gazed into his and slowly her hand rose to touch his cheek.  He started at the warmth of her bony fingers upon his skin, for he could indeed feel her fingertips upon his flesh.  Her lips parted and her low, husky voice whispered into the night.

          “A great evil had been set loose upon the earth.  You are in great danger, Firstborn.  The Nameless One covets your body for its ageless strength and beauty.  You must never allow this.”

          Her hand dropped from his face and she sought his hand with her own, turning the palm of his right hand face up.  She stared down at his hand, tracing her fingers over the smooth pale skin.  Legolas felt a tingling sensation as her fingers moved over his palm and he found he was holding his breath.  She looked back up at his face and spoke again.

          “In Its present form It is only thought.  It can command the lesser creatures and simple minds, bending them to Its will.  It draws the evil creatures of Mordor and those of the Dark Forces to Its side.  They feed off Its energy.  Those who resist meet death, or worse, madness.  It will torment you to insanity; weakening you, crushing your spirit, until It forces your soul to flee from this shell.  Then It will take this body for Its own.”

          Images of the screaming wraiths filled his mind and she nodded.  “Yes, the Shriekers, the undead.  They have already begun.  It sends them to you to torture your mind.”

          She dropped his hand and slowly backed away from him.  “Do not give in to Its madness, Firstborn.  We are coming for you.  I have called the wizard and the warrior.  You must not despair.”

          She faded deeper and deeper into the shadows and Legolas moved forward after her.  “Wait!” he called.  “I must know what this thing is?  How am I to fight It?

          But the strange forest woman was gone and he was once again alone in the darkness, but her words echoed within his mind. They were coming for him.  She had said a wizard and a warrior were coming and the smallest glimmer of hope returned to the Elf.

          “Estel,” he whispered.  “Estel is coming.”