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". . . by slow arts of cruelty were they corrupted and enslaved; and thus did Melkor breed the hideous race of the Orcs in envy and mockery of the Elves. . . ." The Silmarillion p 50
Frodo strode from the buttery, but as he turned North, between the Tower and the King's House, his irritation abruptly ebbed. Would he forever hurt those he loved most? Almost he turned back to Sam, but his eye caught on the Eastern Wall of the Citadel. From thence he could look out across The Pelennor.
The Tower of Cirith Ungol had collapsed in the Fall of Mordor, but Frodo did not need to see it to know where it had been. Forever it stood behind his eyes, stark and menacing against the backdrop of remembrance.
He did not hear the light step behind him until the Elf spoke. "Do your wounds pain you, Frodo?"
Frodo did not turn. "Not the wounds on my body, Legolas."
"But your spirit continues to bleed, is it not so? Is it the memory of your Burden that is troubling you?"
Frodo's eyes were reluctant to leave the East. "Would that it were so simple. No, Legolas, the Burden fatigued me. The loss of the Ring has left an emptiness in my heart that will never be filled. I have been scored by knife, sting, and tooth. Yet these are not the wounds that torment me."
For several moments they stood silently. The Elf looked long at the diminutive figure at his side -- so small, yet so large in spirit. At length he asked quietly, "You were captured by the Orcs, were you not?"
Frodo stiffened. "Yes. And you're right, Legolas, those wounds are very deep."
"Elves do not usually survive rape," said Legolas. His voice was still serene.
Frodo whirled, eyes wide and startled. "What do you mean?"
"You know, do you not, that the immortality of the Elf has two conditions? As you have seen, an Elf can be killed in battle. Immortality does not defend against the arrow and the sword. But an Elf can also die of grief."
Legolas had Frodo's full attention now. His eyes were sapphire, dark and intent on the slender figure before him.
"The Firstborn were gifted with the Light of the Trees. For a timeless period they wandered the forests in perfect joy, but the changefulness of Mortal Lands affected them, and many sailed across the Sea to Eldamar. Those of my kindred who remain in Middle Earth have stilled the Sea-Longing, but it remains hidden deep in our hearts, an orifice of despair. When grief opens that portal to the Sea-Longing, an Elf may choose to cast himself into the chasm rather than bear it."
Frodo's brows contracted, his face twisting in horrified fascination.
"Rape is a grief that few Elves are able to bear. The well of grief overwhelms them, consumes them, and they drown in their own suffering."
Legolas' fair face was unlined, but his sea-blue eyes were soft with pity as he looked at the Ringbearer. He had perceived in this deceptively small Mortal a sense of desolation that resonated with the Sea-longing so recently woken in himself. He put out his hand to grasp Frodo's gently, and held it as they began to walk away from the Eastern wall.
Frodo did not ordinarily relish contact with his maimed right hand, but the Elf's slender fingers were cool and soothing. They walked, hand in hand, feeling the night breeze on their faces.
"You were short with Sam tonight," said Legolas. Frodo shot him a glance. The perceptive Elf had unerringly maneuvered Frodo to the most important issue. "It is unlike you to speak sharply to anyone, particularly Sam"
"You are right, Legolas," said Frodo. "It is unlike me. Or it is unlike the hobbit who once was me. I fear I am no longer the person I once was."
"And you fear you have become a lesser person?"
"Yes!" Frodo stopped and turned from the tall Elf, facing back towards the East. "I . . .I hurt now. I need hurt. I need to hurt. And most of all, I need to hurt Sam." Frodo trembled with the extremity of his anguish. "Do you know why that is, Legolas? Why does my pain cause me to inflict more pain on myself -- and on Sam? Sam, of all people!"
"Perhaps Sam is the mirror of the goodness you fear you have lost," replied Legolas.
Frodo's shoulders began to shake with sobs. Legolas sighed deeply.
"Do you know how the Orcs came into being?" Legolas' voice was still cool, but a tremor ran under it that raised the hair on Frodo's nape.
"They were Elves once. When the Firstborn awakened, Melkor send shadows and evil spirits to spy upon them and waylay them. If Elves strayed or walked alone, they would often vanish forever, captured by the Shadows.
"None living has ever returned from the pits of Utumno, nor understood the dark mind of Melkor. Yet the wise of Eressea believe that the vanished Elves were imprisoned by Melkor, and by slow cruelty were corrupted. Thus, by long torture, were the enslaved Elves made into the hideous race of Orcs."
Frodo had dropped the Elf's hand and was backing away, his face twisting in panic. "Do you mean that torture is what creates an Orc? I thought the Orcs were created by Sauron! Are you saying that Orcs -- Orcs! -- were not originally evil? That a tortured prisoner, even be he one of the Firstborn, will become as his tormentors?" Frodo's eyes swirled with dark shadows, and his lips drew back from his teeth in a rictus of horror. "Where then is my escape? Is the cycle of cruelty forever unbreakable? Ai! Am I then doomed to continue the brutality, even with those I love?"
Legolas was alarmed at the extremity of Frodo's terror. Obeying he knew not what consideration, mindful only to quell the rising hysteria, he drew back his arm and swiftly slapped Frodo.
Either his blow was harder than he intended, or Frodo was weaker than he realized. The hobbit was flung to the ground, his hair falling over his face in dark tangles. Alarmed and remorseful, Legolas swiftly stepped toward his fallen companion. But Frodo's eyes turned up to him, and what the Elf saw there froze him to the marrow.
The eyes were avid, shiny with an unclean lasciviousness. Quickly, they cleared and were again Frodo's eyes, but Legolas was rooted to the spot in horror and grief. Frodo gazed up at him for several moments. "So," he said quietly. "Now you see."
"Indeed," said Legolas softly. "Indeed, I see." He extended his hand to help the fallen hobbit rise, and kept the hand in his cool fingers as they resumed walking.
"It is the one thing -- the only thing -- that Sam cannot understand," said Frodo. "He hated Gollum with all the purity and simplicity that is Sam. How could I tell him that I was becoming. . . that I have become. . . like Gollum myself?
"As we traveled across the Dead Marshes, I grew to know Gollum much too deeply. I discerned his thoughts, and the ravenous yearning that drove him. I knew his mind. I read his heart. And I began to feel my own mind and heart being twisted into the same mould.
"Sam will never be able to understand, as I do, why Gollum betrayed us to Shelob. And Sam will never understand that it is Gollum, and not I, who fulfilled the Quest."
Frodo turned back to face the East. A smudge of darkness still marked the annihilation of Mordor. His voice was desolate. "I claimed the Ring, Legolas. In the end, I claimed it for my own. But for Gollum's attack, I would now be a wraith -- or worse.
"I became Gollum. Only Gollum prevented me from becoming the Dark Lord. And there is nothing preventing me from becoming an Orc."
The small shoulders were so tight and tense it seemed they would cut through the fabric of the Elven cloak. Legolas did not make the mistake of placing his hands on those shoulders. His eyes followed Frodo's to the East.
"At the Battle of the Hornburg, I massacred Orcs. Many fell to my bow, but I gloried most in slaying them with my knives. I was wet with Orc blood, and it was pure sensual pleasure. I slaughtered so many Orcs that my arms became weary. And I exulted in every death. I remember each Orc individually, separately, lovingly, as his black blood was spilt by my blades."
Legolas's ageless eyes found Frodo's. "Elves have a connection of souls. When an Elf dies, all Elves feel an emptiness. When the death is from grief, the emptiness is a paean of excommunication.
"But there is a special destitution that I feel within the Orc. I feel the abyss left by annihilation of their Elvishness; and I feel the foul anchorage of their Orc nature within that void."
Frodo stared at his companion. The fair Elvish face was more distressed than he had ever seen it, even on the Dimrill Dale after the Bridge of Khazad Dum. "What are you telling me, Legolas?" he whispered.
"I am telling you that in Helm's Deep I became an Orc. My soul hummed with hatred -- not hatred of them, but their hatred. I have tried to tell myself that I was killing them out of mercy, but I was not. I was killing them for the same reason that Orcs kill Elves. I was killing them out of lust for their blood."
"Yet -- you are no Orc," cried Frodo. "You are still an Elf, you are still of the Firstborn. You haven't lost your soul to them. You are still Legolas!"
"And are you not still Frodo?" asked the Elf tenderly.
Frodo went rigid. Legolas' face was serene again, cool and impassive and beautiful. He gazed calmly into Frodo's wide startled eyes, and held the gaze until Frodo's eyelashes began to flutter. Then the tall Elf took the Ringbearer gently into his arms. Frodo sagged against him, and Legolas held him for many minutes before he guided the exhausted hobbit back to the tower, to his bedchamber, to Sam.
the end
Through these fields of destruction
Baptisms of fire
I've witnessed your suffering
As the battle raged higherDire Straits Brothers in Arms