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The Last Wood Elf	By : Mel99Moe Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 4551 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters or places. No money is being made from this story.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
Chapter 15 - Part of the Plan

Warm summer nights gave way to cool autumn evenings on the open plains of Rohan. The old men in the city had made their predictions for the winter season. Some based it on the year’s crops or certain types and amounts of insects that had been seen about the area. Others based their findings on the aches and pains of their joints. Whatever they used to determine the coming season, they all seemed to agree upon to the same conclusion. This year would be unseasonably cold, even for this part of the world.

Legolas was hardly fazed by the temperature difference, having a high tolerance for extreme highs and lows. Still, an unusually cold winter would mean less activity at the borders, and more time to spend with friends. The orcs did not fare well in the cold, so it was expected that there would be little trouble, at least for a few months. Théodred and Eomer would be back in the city for longer amounts of time. It would be good to stir up some trouble once again.

Lúta’s job would become more demanding, however. The horses would need extra attention, especially during those freezing nights when the wind howled through the wooden walls of Edoras’ stables. Lúta worried that she would not see Legolas as much as she would like, but he reassured her that he would meet her as often as he could spare. Unfortunately, it also meant a constant flow of people in the stable and no private time, but they would just have to make do under the circumstances.

To anyone with a keen eye, it was not hard to figure out that Legolas and Lúta were more than friends. For the past two years, they tried to keep their relationship a secret, but there was no mistaking the stolen glances, blushing smiles or brush of a hand as they worked together training Arod. Most people ignored them and kept to themselves, or smiled at the thought of young love. There was one person, however, who watched and observed.

* * *

Grima was becoming increasingly unlikeable to the residents of Edoras. He spent most of his time locked away in Meduseld, hovering about King Théoden and giving him advice. Those who noticed his odd behavior gave him a nickname. Wormtongue they called him, for he seemed to slither through the darkened halls. No one took counsel with Théoden without Grima being present. Grima’s influence was becoming more prominent, but on the rare occasion that he and Théoden disagreed, Wormtongue always backed down first. It was a slow process, ruining the King of Rohan, but the reward would be well worth all the trouble. He was promised a jewel so precious, that he thought it was worth more than all the mithril hidden beneath the ground.

She was such a lonely and sad child when she first came to Rohan, orphaned along with her brother. Now she was transforming into a young woman, and Grima could not help but notice her beauty and strength. Saruman had promised Wormtongue anything he desired in exchange for loyalty, and there was only one thing Grima longed for … Eowyn.

The White Wizard played on Grima’s infatuation with Eowyn, filling his head with promises of what an allegiance to the White Hand of Isengard could bring him. This became Grima’s only reward, the only thing he wanted most, and with the destruction of Théoden and Rohan, Eowyn would be his.

There were a few barriers to cross before he could accomplish his goal, and one was the elf. Grima did not trust him or any elf for that matter. Saruman had filled the man’s head with lies about elves and the manipulative magic that they performed. When Grima had returned to the city and informed Saruman about Théoden’s recent decision to adopt Legolas, the White Wizard convinced Wormtongue that the elf would learn of their deceit, and that he must get rid of Legolas in any way possible. When Saruman learned that Legolas was an elf of Mirkwood, he became unreasonable, and told Grima to dispose of him quickly. Grima listened as the wizard mumbled something about all of the wood elves being destroyed, but they hadn’t all been destroyed. There was at least one left, and one was too many.

Grima made the argument that he couldn’t just kill Legolas, and that the King was very protective of the elf, as if he were his own flesh and blood. Saruman told Wormtongue to start with the King. The only way to dispose of the elf was to convince Théoden that Legolas was a danger to Rohan. So far, Grima hadn’t been able to do that.

Grima had discussed Legolas a few times with Théoden, but even under the influence of the poison, the King would not tolerate any misjudgment of the fair-skinned elf. There had to be another way to convince Théoden that Legolas was a danger. Could he ruin his reputation, make the elf untrustworthy? It would be a long and difficult process, not unlike what he was doing to Théoden, but with perseverance, it could be done.

Grima watched Legolas from the shadows, learning his routines, and examining the company he kept. That’s when he discovered the secret romance between the elf and the stable girl, Lúta. Grima began to devise a plan that would not only weaken Rohan’s defenses, it would be a distraction for Legolas too, and what better way than to strike at an elf’s heart.

* * *

Grima was close to the stables, watching people come and go. He did not particularly like going there. The horses sensed his evil intent, and they always became rather irritated in his presence. He was nervous around them, especially after almost being trampled by one as a boy. Where the Horse Lords thought of them as an extension of their soul, Grima found them to be conniving beasts, always staring at him with their large peering eyes. He simply did not trust them, and neither did the horses trust him.

As he set to eavesdropping, he noticed Legolas and Lúta exit the stable doors, and walk around to the back. When they thought no one was looking, they kissed, hands roaming over each other with greed. It came to an abrupt end when someone from inside called for Lúta’s assistance. One more passionate kiss, one more forbidden touch, and the couple separated. Grima rubbed his eyes, pushing hard enough until everything turned black and tiny stars popped in the darkness. He hoped it would be enough to cleanse his mind of the exchange he just witnessed.

“Filthy elves think they can just seduce our women,” he muttered to himself. He suddenly thought of Eowyn. She was the same age as Legolas. What if the elf decided that Lúta was not enough to satisfy him? Eowyn lived under the same roof. How easy it would be for them to—

Grima wiped the idea from his mind. No, she was very protective of her innocence. She would not give that away so easily, not even to the elf, he hoped.

It was the end of the workday, and most of the stable hands had gone home. Lúta was always the last to leave, and today was no different.

Grima waited until Legolas disappeared up the path leading to the Golden Hall, and then he carefully made his way into the stables. His long thin fingers reached for the door, slowly opening it as he slunk inside. Right away, the horse closest to the front began to whicker and stomp its front hooves in the clean hay. Grima looked like a symbol of death as he made the long walk through the building. His black tattered robes looked like raven feather trailing behind in his wake. Every stall he walked past initiated the horse inside to complain nervously. Grima, though he hid it well, felt just as nervous, thinking that any moment some large stallion would break free of its hold and come charging at him. He continued walking until he found Lúta in the very back, checking on the last of the horses before she went home for the evening.

Lúta was busy shaking out blankets and seeing that all the horse equipment was put in its proper place, when she had an overwhelming sense of a cold fog spreading across the floor. Gooseflesh broke out over her body, making the hair on her neck stand up.

“Good eve, my lady,” Grima drawled, his words spoken slowly.

Lúta jumped, spooked by the sudden awareness of Grima Wormtongue standing only a few feet from her. She gasped and dropped the headpiece in her hands, the metal bit making a clunk on the wood floor where the hay was thinly strewn about. The horse snorted feeling uneasy with Grima so close. Lúta observed the equestrian’s behavior, and decided it was best to stay close to the mare. Grima did not come into the stall, deciding to keep plenty of room between him and the horse. Besides, he only wanted to speak with Lúta, and this did not require him to be close to her to do so.

“Grima, it is a surprise to see you here. Is there something you need?” she asked with caution.

“Actually, I am here on behalf of King Théoden. He asked that I come in his stead, and make a report on the wellbeing of the young horses.” He attempted a smile, but he looked more like a Barrow-wight come to haggle for her soul.

“At this hour?” she asked nervously.

Grima never dropped his gaze from her, nor did his sickening smile falter, “He had a busy day, and he is rather worn.”

Slightly confused and overly suspicious, Lúta answered, “Oh . . . well alright then. All of the foals are in good health. We are seeing to it that the stables will be well prepared for the upcoming winter. Are there any particular horses he inquires about?”

Grima was unclear as to how such an inspection was performed, “Actually, he did not say. I suppose he wants to know the well-being of them all.”

Lúta forced a smile, and reluctantly left the safety of the horse as she exited the stall. Grima’s black robes brushed against her arm as she edged past him. The material seemed to cling to her skin, and she had the sensation that if she touched it too long it might adhere to her like oil. The feeling made her rub her arm where the material made contact, and she checked to see that nothing was left behind.

Lúta led him half way through the stable and stopped at the first foal’s stall, “This is Turca, Fram’s young horse.” She opened the top half of the stall door, and allowed Grima to look in. Oddly, the man did not go too close to the door, and peered in from where he stood.

“Ah yes, very clean and he looks fit,” Grima replied, making his observations.

“Do you not want to do a more thorough examination?” she asked as a challenge.

“No, I will take your word for it. If you say he’s in good condition then he must be.” Grima looked past her to the stall across the way. He pointed, his long thin ivory finger easing out of his sleeve, “Is that Legolas’ horse?”

Lúta’s brow crinkled, “Yes, his colt is housed in that stall.” She put emphasis on the corrected word for the young dapple-grey male. Why was Grima here, she wondered. He had not a clue about horses.

Grima smiled again, making Lúta feel very uneasy in his presence, “I guess there’s no hiding it is there?” He pretended to be embarrassed by his lack of knowledge, “I admit I do not know much about this kind of thing. I tried to explain that to Théoden, but he insisted.” He turned his attention back to Arod, “How long before this one starts its training?”

“Arod is very enthusiastic. He has been training for a while now,” she informed him.

Grima took a step closer to Lúta. “I understand that Legolas and the horse, ah . . . colt have a special bond.”

“Yes, they connected the moment he was born it seems. I have never witnessed anything like it before.” Lúta smiled to herself as she remembered that night.

“And you do not find this a little odd? Do you not feel it is his elvish heritage that seems to hold sway over the creature? He seems to have that effect doesn’t he?”

“I find your line of questioning odd, Grima,” she accused.

Grima got closer still, using his grey eyes to steady her attention, “Come now, Lúta. Everyone knows how the girls attract to him like moths to candlelight, present company included.”

“What business is it of yours?” She wanted to run from him, to fly from the stables, and get as far from him as she could, but something about the rhythm of his voice held her in place, as a veil of doubt fogged her mind.

“It is none of my business, of course, but I cannot help wonder why? You try to keep your secrets, and you may have succeeded as far as your family is concerned, but I have seen the both of you. It is obvious he has you ensnared by his magic.” Grima’s words hung in the air, flowing together like a long hiss.

“There is no magic. I go to him of my own free will.” Why was she discussing this with him? Why couldn’t she escape from his accusations?

“You have not thought things through have you, Lúta? What do you think will come of this? He is an elf. You are a human. He will live forever, his youth and beauty never fading while you will continue to age, grow old and die. Why would he want to endure this kind of punishment?” Grima dropped his gaze for a moment to allow his eyes to roam over her body, “You are so young and supple. I see the attraction, but it will not last. Legolas will tire of you, and find another young body to claim once your youth is spent. Immortality has its advantages. So, if you think he loves you, remember that it is only temporary. He can give you no kind of certainty in your life.”

Lúta had not given it much thought. Legolas was so kind and charming. They had admitted their love for each other, and had been each other’s firsts in many things. She hadn’t considered his immortality or her unchangeable right to death. Why hadn’t she thought of this before?

Grima could see her contemplating and smiled, knowing he was influencing her, “He can promise you the world, Lúta, but it will come with a price. Just look into his eyes, and you will understand what I speak of.”

She had looked into those genuine blue eyes on numerous occasions. They had made her feel trapped, just as she was now, but by love instead of Grima’s doubt. She liked the feeling of being consumed by Legolas’ gaze, where no one else existed but her. How long would it last though? Every year, every hour … every minute she was growing older. Legolas would never change, or it would go unnoticed over the centuries. Maybe Grima was right. This could not last between them. Legolas would eventually move on when her youth was spent.

Why was she entertaining these thoughts, she wondered. If she had questions, she should be discussing them with Legolas, not this slithering worm of a man. Lúta was repulsed, and wanted to tell Grima to leave, but she could not find her voice. Her struggle was short lived, as a giant wave crashed upon her, drowning her in doubt and despair. Had she been fooling herself into thinking that Legolas could give her any kind of a normal future? Or had Legolas been fooling her? Tears came to her eyes as she silently conceded to her faltering thoughts.

Grima felt her despondency and it strengthened him. To know he could bring her under control with only his words, to lock her in his malicious spell, was feeding his newfound power. He grew stronger as she grew weaker, taking him at his word and believing his lies. Saruman was right. There was nothing more satisfying than this need for control. He felt as though he could drain her soul, consume her discouraged heart, and strengthen himself with her convictions until he had gorged himself into a drunken stupor. How far could he take this? He didn’t want it to end. Oh, how tempting this power was, but he had to tread lightly at this early stage in his game. He only wanted to implant doubt into her mind, not scare her away from the elf completely. Slow and steady was the pace he needed to keep, otherwise his plans would be for naught.

Grima reached out and captured the tear that slowly traveled down Lúta’s cheek. His steely grey eyes held hers once more, softening and giving her pity, “Oh, my dear, I did not mean to upset you. I only wanted to protect you, make you see what you have not realized yet. I can see how much you love him, but that is not your fault. Keep wary is all I am saying. The next time you find yourself transfixed by his words, remember what I have told you tonight.” He pulled his hand back and blinked his eyes rapidly, reluctantly breaking the spell. Grima stepped away from her, his knobby hands disappearing into his long black sleeves.

As Grima receded from her, so did the foggy veil surrounding Lúta’s mind, along with her confusing thoughts. It was as if she had never spoken of such things with Grima. She could not rid herself of a residual feeling of doubt, but the subject of such thoughts had escaped her. She shook her head to clear her mind and was overcome by dizziness. What just happened?

Grima gave her a concerned look, the snake gone, replaced by the usual eccentric advisor, “Are you well? You look a little pale.”

“I . . . I think so.” She looked around the room, confused by the underlying dread in her heart, “What … what were you saying?”

Grima could see she was desperately trying to remember what just took place and quickly worked to repair the situation, “You were telling me about Arod’s training,” he reminded her.

She knitted her brows, touching her fingers to the bridge of her nose. Why did her head hurt suddenly? “Oh yes . . . Arod.” She tried desperately to collect her thoughts.

“Perhaps we should get you home. You seem a little stretched,” he continued with the charade, “I will report my findings to Théoden, and inform him that everything is well and in order. Shall I walk you to your house?”

“I just need a moment,” she said and swayed slightly. She put a hand out, and caught herself with the stable door.

Just as Grima was about to insist he see her home, Lúta’s father entered the stable. Grima recoiled away from her.

Instantly, her father could see she was distressed and went to her, “Lúta, are you alright?” When she didn’t answer, he gave Grima a hardened look, “What has happen to her?”

“I’m a bit baffled myself,” Grima answered mockingly, “We were discussing the well-being and training of the horses, when she became weak-kneed. I was just about to help her home.” Any trace of Grima’s dark magic disappeared and turned to concern.

“Lúta?” her father started to ask, his suspicions falling away for a moment.

“I will be fine. I think … it’s just been a long day. I’m tired is all,” she answered.

“Let’s get you home then,” her father said, wrapping his cloak around her shoulders. As he led her past Grima, he gave the man accusatory glare, but did not speak a word to the little worm. Grima waited until they were gone, then he too left, satisfied with the beginnings of his plan.

* * *

A few days later, Lúta was walking to the farrier to have shoes made for some of the horses. She had felt rather dazed lately, as she tried to remember what happened to her the night Grima paid her a visit. She remembered their conversation about the horses, and feeling nervous in his presence, but it felt as if a piece of that night went missing from her memory. The sudden fatigue and roaring headache was something she had never experienced before. She had been very busy lately, as winter seemed to be settling in early this year. Maybe that was all it was.

She hadn’t seen Legolas since earlier that same odd day. He was on guard duty, staying at the barracks. She did not see him on the days he was on patrol. He was very dedicated to his work. However, she received an early morning delivery, a note sealed with Legolas’ personal emblem upon it, the outline of a leaf. When she had a quiet moment alone, she snuck away and read it. There was nothing much in the letter. He just stated that his duties were done for a few days, and asked to see her later, when she had finished with her own duties in the stable. He asked to walk her home, his usual reason for sending correspondence. Lúta smiled and felt content while reading, and the eloquent elvish rune signed at the bottom made her heart leap. Not every letter had one, but this one did.

Legolas and Lúta had to keep their relationship as quiet as possible, and so he came up with a sort of code, something that only she would recognize. The rune at the bottom was his way of telling her that she needed to leave the stable early. On these special occasions, she would come up with an excuse, leave before the end of the day, and meet Legolas behind the storerooms at the south end of the city. From there, they would disappear to their hideaway, a small stand of trees not far from the city, outside of the protective walls.

Théodred had told Legolas about a section of the wall that had been compromised. A few of the wooden posts had rotted near the bottom and pushed aside far enough for someone to squeeze through. There were no guard posts close to the area, and they could sneak out unnoticed. Théodred used to use it when he and his shield maiden lover wanted spend some private time alone together. Being a prince had its downfalls, especially when the townspeople had their eyes trained on him, wondering when he would take someone to be his princess. Eomer was the only other one to know about this secret escape along the wall, though he had less use for it. Legolas and Lúta needed this refuge for their own reasons, mainly secrecy from her family. The trees made a perfect sanctuary for them, and Lúta could not wait. Suddenly her headache subsided, and she began counting the hours until she would see Legolas again. She had missed him more than usual.

* * *

Legolas was sitting on a couch inside the great hall, knees bent and legs crisscrossed. He was reading his book, the one that Elhadron had given to him, and one of the only things he owned that came from his begetting place. It was a book about elves … languages, races, histories. The pages were yellowed and worn on the edges from use. He had read it so many times that he could recite it word for word without needing to open it. Everything he knew about his heritage was in this book. Reading it gave him a sense of belonging, not that he felt a like an outcast amongst the Rohirrim, but they were not his kin.

While he was reading, Eowyn walked into the hall. She saw Legolas sitting in his favorite spot next to the sunken hearth in the middle of Meduseld and smiled. Leaning down, she took off her soft slippers, the cold of the stone floor a shock to her bare feet. She tiptoed towards him, out of his line of sight, and after only a few steps, Legolas smiled as his eyes remained focused on his book.

“Hello Eowyn,” he called and lifted his head, turning to look over his shoulder.

Eowyn sighed and rolled her eyes, tossing her slippers onto the ground and slipping her feet into them. She walked over to the couch and sat next to Legolas, who gave an airy laugh through his nose. “One of these days I am going to catch you off guard,” she complained, “When did you know I was there?”

“I heard you in the hallway,” he smiled, never glancing up from his book.

Eowyn huffed, disappointed that once again she could not sneak up on him. Then she leaned over and looked at the page he was reading. It was filled with runes that she did not understand, but it was beautiful to look at. “Is everything about the elves so elegant?”

Legolas didn’t speak, but shrugged one shoulder as he took the book from his lap and handed it to her. The leather was soft against her fingertips and it smelled like an old musty forest, “It looks very old,” she said.

“It is very old,” he replied, as he watched her carefully turn the page. He laughed at how cautious she was being. “It is alright to touch it.”

“But it looks as if it will fall apart in my hands.” Eowyn turned another page, careful not to tear the edges any more than they already were.

“It was made by the elves, Eowyn, and they only make things that are meant to last through the ages.”

She gave him a peculiar side-glance. “They,” she repeated, “You speak as if the elves were different from you.”

“It feels that way sometimes. I’ve lived amongst humans longer than I have elves. This is why I read all the time, to remind myself that I am just like them.”

“Don’t you wonder, Legolas, about the other elven realms? Don’t you ever want to go there and be with them? I know you are the last of your kind, but they are of the same race as you. It would be as if Eomer and I went to live with the elves after we were orphaned, knowing that there were lands filled with men and women just like us.”

“I do think about it from time to time,” Legolas admitted, “When the Woodsmen brought me to Rohan, we traveled past Lothlorien, across the Anduin. Off in the distance, I saw them, the Noldorin elves. They were magnificent to behold, even from a distance. I’ve never told anyone this, but I longed to go to them, to brave the current of the Great River and see them up close. Then I thought of Elhadron and what he told me about their beliefs, and I know I am not like them. I realized that I felt more connected to the men I traveled with than those elves.”

Eowyn wrapped her arm around his, and laid her head on his shoulder, “I for one am glad you are here with us.” She suddenly sniffed the air, lifted her head and sniffed again, “You have recently bathed ... and you have used Eomer’s special oils,” she accused, “You are going to see Lúta aren’t you?” His ears tinged pink, and he looked away from Eowyn. She shook her head, “You are going to get caught one day, Legolas.” He gave her a mischievous grin and they both started laughing.

Unaware that his laughter faded to silence, Eowyn was still smiling as her giggling slowed. Legolas was distracted, his narrowed eyes perusing the back of the hall where the King’s throne sat. To the left of the dais was a darkened entrance, a hallway that led to Théoden’s private sitting quarters as well as some other vacant rooms. Eowyn’s smile faded quickly as she noticed Legolas’ sudden watchfulness. She turned to see what diverted his attention away from their playful conversation. From the shadows of the dark hallway emerged Grima, his robes chasing after him like a sinister haze folding onto itself. As he passed in front of the dais, he kept his head down, seemingly deep in thought. Then he stopped abruptly and slowly turned his head towards them. Eowyn never liked Grima, but recently she had begun to feel extremely uneasy in his presence, and she remained hidden behind Legolas. She felt his body tense as Legolas and Grima regarded each other at a distance. He must have felt the same disquiet as she did. Eowyn moved slightly so that she could glance at Grima from behind the safety of Legolas’ shoulder. They were staring intently at each other, as if preparing for a duel. Wormtongue’s grey eyes held undeniable malice within them, directed towards the elf.

Grima’s sight shifted, and he became acutely aware of Eowyn’s presence. As quick as blowing out a flame, his countenance changed from animosity to yearning, and she no longer felt safe, not even with Legolas sitting next to her. The elf sensed this sudden deviation in Grima’s mannerisms, and it became clear . . . this man was a threat. He felt Eowyn’s hand fall upon his shoulder and she shivered, but not from the chill in the hall. Legolas stood from the couch and leered at Grima. He could be just as threatening. The man’s eyes darted back to the elf, narrowing instantly. Then he pulled his robes tightly around him and left the hall in a hurry.

The moment had passed, but the residual energy left behind was quite unnerving. Eowyn got up and stood behind Legolas, feeling as if Grima might return, “He is not the same man since he came back to Edoras,” she whispered.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” Legolas answered, still watching the hallway where Grima disappeared.

“I don’t think he likes you either,” Eowyn admitted, “Why, Legolas? No one else treats you in such a manner.”

“It is a mystery to me too. I’ve never even spoken to the man, but when he regards me I feel his wrath and hatred.” Legolas turned to Eowyn. She looked shaken. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I think so, but I agree with you. I don’t trust him. This is not the first time I have caught him ogling me.”

“Does Eomer or Théodred know about this?”

Eowyn shook her head, “I have never told anyone about these exchanges. I wanted to, but my nerves stifle me, and I’m afraid no one will believe me. Besides, Grima has never advanced upon me. A man cannot be persecuted for looking at someone. Unless he physically threatens me, there is nothing to prove.” She wrapped her arm around his, “I am glad you were here to sense this. Now I know it is not just an overactive imagination.”

“You should not be alone when he is here. Come on, let’s go for a walk.” Legolas tucked his book under his arm, and started to lead her from the hall.

Eowyn stopped him, “What about Lúta? Isn’t she waiting for you?”

Legolas smiled warmly, “I have some time before I am to meet her.” He pushed a lock of her hair from her face, “The sunshine and open air will do us both some good right about now.”
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The Last Wood Elf