Disclaimer: Simon does not own Lord of the Rings or Legolas. I do not own this story; this is Simon's.

As the captive stood waiting for his captor's command, his anger flowed through his veins like the hot fire of Mordor, captured through deceit and treachery his will to do good was abandoning him fast. Instead burning passion for vengeance was overcoming him, clouding his judgment and lessening his great skill as a warrior. His eyes roved the dark room he was confined in. 'Is there any way out?' he wondered aloud. No. He could hear a faint roaring, something like what a crowd of massive size would do coming from somewhere.

Suddenly he could feel the wall behind of him pushing forward and then the wall in front of him flew up! And it its place dropped his weapons; a bow from the ancient realm of Lothlorien, a quiver of forty-eight arrows and two long silver hunting knives, with neither hilt nor handle guard.

The back wall pushed him into the bright sunlight, while she was putting his weapons on in their customary places. It was as if he could not see; the light from the sun blinded his eyes accustomed to the darkness of his cell which had so strangely pushed him into this place. He could hear a roar coming from around and above him, cheering and screaming such as he has never heard before. It was done wildly in a cursed and heathen tongue.

Now he could see that he was in a large arena, its walls tall and smooth, impossible for a man to climb. And above those walls sat a crown, so large that their number exceeded his ability to estimate their number. Then he sat on a gate on the far side of the arena, opposite of where he had come from, and a person standing in front of the gate, in the same manner he stood.

A single voice rang out from a stand. 'Welcome to the Greatest Gladiator Ring ever to be used, and to the greatest fights this arena has ever seen! Welcome Southrons! Welcome men and women of Harad! Now witness the greatest fights yet seen by your eyes! We have brought together a historical fight for you today, and elven prince against our great enemies! His opponent on this day is Legolas, prince of the Realm of Mirkwood. Or at least that is who he CLAIMS to be!'

At this the crowd erupts into laughter that tortured the captive great than any physical torture the crowd could ever devise; the merriment of people at others at the expense of another's honor enraged him. Once again he felt anger like fire course through his veins.

The crowd had stopped the cruel laughter and the announcer's voice rang out again. 'Will you fight to the death for the enjoyment of the crowd, Hakkad?'

And then the Southrons champion voice rang out, 'Yes and with joy. To be given the opportunity to slaughter this elf with all my people watching is an honor!' The crowd cheered wildly for their hero; finally it quieted down enough for the announcer's voice. 'Will you, Legolas, supposed Prince of Mirkwood, fight to the death, this Southron, for the enjoyment of the crowd?'

It was in this moment that Legolas realized at long last why he was here. He was there to fight and kill for the enjoyment of the masses. Anger now like blue fire ran through his body. To kill life for sport was terrible, disgusting, and not honorable. The more he thought the hotter his anger burned, until it became rage. His rage boiled over at last and in his rage he took up his bow and in the blink of an eye shot the announcer through the throat. The crown became silent; it was shocked and amazed; they had never seen something like that before! This was new and exciting and in a few moments their shock gave way to cheering.

At the sound of this cheering Legolas despaired. How can one win when the crowd cheers no matter who you kill? He now despaired in his heart. How can one keep his honor when your opponent causes you to become enraged until you do things you are ashamed of?

He slowly drew his hunting knives; he had failed to save his love from the Southrons when they were ambushed, had failed to keep from killing unarmed people. In short, he had failed. He wanted in that moment to be a man to be able to die from something except battle. He raised his knife to his throat and then cried out, 'I will never fight for your enjoyment, and I would rather kill myself.'

'Fine, the new announcer said. 'We will kill the woman we found when we captured you.'

At that moment Legolas saw them shove her forward.

'In fact,' said the announcer. 'We will give her to Hakkad to do with her as he pleases.'

At that moment they shoved her into the ring and she landed on the ground, bound hand and foot, her once beautiful gown ripped and torn. Legolas' eyes were wide with horror. Here was his love whom he thought was dead. He raced to her and gently turned her over. He reached for his knife to free her, but a shadow suddenly loomed over him.

'Get off my slave, elf,' Hakkad commanded.

At the thought of her being Hakkad's slave Legolas' rage came back and suddenly he hated his captor. The hate and rage took control of him. Slowly he drew his knives again till he pointed them both at Hakkad, the rage flowing through his veins like lava.

Hakkad smiled. 'So the little elf is now willing to die for his pretty little she-elf now, eh?' The tone of voice reeked with mockery and scorn. The crowd's laughter again tortured the elf. He swung his knife at the Southron, but the Southron's pike quickly came up and in one quick motion parried and trusted with his halberd. Legolas brought his second knife in action blocking the Southron's thrust with a resounding rush of steel on steel. The battled for minutes, both seeking an opening only to find their opponent's weapon close it with such equal skill it seemed impossible for one to triumph over the other.

Steel on steel, a battle of eye proportions was taking place. The crowd was silent in anticipation.

The Southron's heavier weapon began to wear out the lighter armed elf. The Southron backed off, and stood panting. They began to circle around like lions, waiting, preparing for the coming clash. Legolas charged forward. The Southron stepped forward and swung his halberd like and axe. The blow crashed through the elf's hunting knives, ripped into the flesh of shoulder. The blood began to drip from his shoulder. Hakkad's weapon had buried its blade into the ground after ripping the immortal elven flesh.

With one pained kick the elf snapped the halberd's handle of wood and ran his knife through his enemy's stomach. Dropping his other knife, he put both hands on the knife buried in his opponent's stomach. He pulled it up slowly till it pierced the Southron's heart and he died in the agony of a slow death.

Legolas fell backwards, pulling the knife out with him. He lay on the ground covered in the mortal Southron blood and his won immortal elven. He crawled hand over hand to his love and cut her free. As he hauled himself to his feet he whispered, 'I love you Gwen,' and fell backwards, dead.

~*~

My note in this story: Okay, Simon knows he is going to get several death threats from girls who are in love with Legolas! He has accepted this, but is still going through with posting this. In my opinion, it is very well written, and touching. Hope you liked it; please review!