Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

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
- 22
- 23
- 24
Chapter 23 - From Darkness and Into Flight

Eowyn had come to see Legolas on three separate occasions, but it had been several days since her last visit to the jail, and Legolas worried that something had happened to her. Thoughts of Grima’s plans to do away with him, as well as Théodred and Eomer, plagued his mind. Without any of them to protect her, Grima would be able to force her into marriage and assume the throne. What would he do if his friends were already murdered? Legolas decided that if he could get free of his cell, he would protect Eowyn at all costs. There wasn’t much he could to for the King, at least not now. There wasn’t anything he could do for anyone as long as he was locked up.
The problem had to do with getting out of this dirty cell. There was no way out just yet, but his mind went to work devising a plan, should the guards ever bring him out into the light, even if it was to take him to the gallows.
Some of his strength had returned, but he was still a bit anemic from lack of nutrition. Grima’s guards brought him food and water once a day—sometimes skipping a day— if food was what you could call it. He was thankful for the darkness. The gruel they brought him smelled foul, and was full of pieces of grizzle and bits of bone. He was afraid to think what animal they had belonged to.
“Blessed Valar, let it not be my own horse that they feed me,” he prayed each time he was brought the disgusting stew. Still, it was food and he ate it.
Legolas wondered where Grima was, and what he was up to. The coward hadn’t come back to the jail, not since they released him from his shackles. Legolas had sensed the worm’s fear many times. Even now, Grima stayed clear of him, sending guards to deal with his care instead. He would see him soon enough, he hoped. It was not over. Legolas would see Grima cast down and exposed for his treachery.
One night, Legolas was roused from his slumber when he heard an argument at the jail’s main door. He could make out a distinct womanly voice, demanding entry. Eowyn, he thought. It must be that guard she had spoken of, that was on duty this evening. She had some bit of information on him, and she was blackmailing him into letting her in to see Legolas. Tonight, the guard sounded defiant, though.
“We had an agreement,” Eowyn demanded, and Legolas could just imagine how she looked at the moment. The guard would be smart to let her pass.
“In which I let you the amount of times we agreed upon. I did not say I would do it any more than that,” the guard argued.
“Well, then maybe you would like to explain to Moldred how his wife is with child, and he at the borders.”
There was a moment of silence, and Legolas feared that the guard might have done something to keep Eowyn from talking. The elf held his breath and waited for any sound.
“You have no proof,” the guard said, his voice coming across as an anxious whisper.
“I have his wife’s word,” Eowyn answered.
“I’ll deny it.”
“Moldred’s wife is in love with you. She will not deny it in the least,” Eowyn shot back, and there was a brief silence from either one.
“How … how do you … know all of … this?” the guard stuttered.
“I keep my mouth shut and my ears open,” Eowyn said arrogantly, “Now let me pass, and I’ll give another consideration to the thought of tightening my lips.”
Another bout of silence had Legolas hopeful that at any moment, Eowyn would come in through the jail door, but she hadn’t.
“I cannot let you in,” the guard said definitely.
“Don’t test me,” Eowyn growled back with venom in her words.
“My lady,” the guard said, sounding very sure of what he was about to say, “You can tell Moldred, and he will surely beat me within an inch of my life, but he is a loyal soldier, as well as a Rider of the Mark, and he will let me live. But should Grima find out that I have let you in to see the prisoner, especially you being who you are … and he being who he is, I have no doubt that death for me will come swiftly. I’ll take my chances with Moldred.” The guard quieted a moment to let his words register before he continued, “As I said, I cannot let you in.”
Legolas waited to hear how Eowyn would respond, but it seemed she was no longer at an advantage. He felt a piece of him wither, knowing she was his only link, and that she might have possibly put herself in danger. “No,” he whispered to himself, feeling hapless. Then a voice floated down the corridor, one that made his skin crawl and his heart sink.
“Lady Eowyn, what might you be doing here … and at this late hour?”
Grima, Legolas thought, rage building, and his fingers curling into fists. His blood began to race, making his ears ring, but he had to maintain control so he could hear what was happening just outside of the jail.
“It is none of your business what I am doing here, Wormtongue,” she fired back.
“She requested visitation to the prisoner,” the guard said, coward that he was, “but was denied, Sir.”
“Why you—,” Eowyn snarled, “He has allowed me access to the cells before.”
“Is this true?” asked Grima, his voice threatening and oily.
“Perhaps another guard, Sir. I have my orders.”
“You sniveling rat!” Eowyn accused.
More footsteps approached the door, more guards. Grima waited until they were close, “You, see that the Lady Eowyn is escorted back to her quarters. I suggest that my lady keeps clear of the jail, unless she wants to find herself locked in her rooms.”
Legolas heard Eowyn give a resigning huff before she was silently led away. Then he heard Grima speak to the cowardly door guard, “You, inside, and you … come. I need to have a word with the elf.”
Keys rattled and the door opened. No light streamed in, but for that from the moon. Legolas felt the yearning of his woodland blood as he wished to bathe in that pale yellowish light, but he drew in his thoughts as Grima and two guards approached. The hunched over robed figure stopped outside of his cell. Thin white hands protruded from long black sleeves, lifted and drew back the hood from his head. Grima wore a sickly smile, as though he had won some game, “Still standing I see,” he said, “I had hoped you might not have the strength.”
“Where’s Eowyn?” Legolas asked. He was standing in the middle of his cell, hands at his sides, fists clenched as well as his jaw, and his eyes narrowed like two blue shards of a shattered gem.
“She is on her way back to her rooms where she will undoubtedly stay until I call for her. I could have her severely reprimanded, if I so choose.”
Legolas jumped at the bars of his cell, reaching his arms through as far as he could. Grima jumped back as the two guards raised their spears and pointed them at Legolas. “If you so much as lay a finger on her, I swear I’ll—”
“I don’t think you are in any position to be threating me. As a matter of fact, I think there needs to be more restrictions on you. No doubt you had something to do with summoning Eowyn.” Grima looked to the cowardly guard, “Chain him.”
“Me?” he quavered.
“Now!” Grima demanded, and the guard fidgeted with his keys as he unlocked the cell door.
The second guard stepped close to the open door, and thrust his spear at Legolas, but the elf did not move an inch, even with the sharp tip pressing into his chest. Both guards entered the cell. The second guard, who was much taller and broader than the first, kept a sharp eye on Legolas, ready to plunge his spear into the elf’s heart if he decided to make any sudden moves. The guards backed Legolas up against the back wall of the cell, where the chains and shackles hung. And all the while, Grima stood by with his gray eyes scanning the elf, watching to see what he would do. The cowardly guard fixed the metal cuffs onto Legolas’ wrists, checking them twice to make sure they were secure. Then he hurried away, stepping out of the small cell, and leaving the taller guard with his spear still in place awaiting orders from Grima.
“Is he secure?” Grima whispered to the door guard, and the man nodded. Then Grima straightened himself and walked into the cell, stopping next to the tall armed guard. The advisor leered at Legolas before he spoke, “Eowyn is so much like her brother, don’t you think? Neither one can obey a direct order, whether it is from the King or not. Those who do not comply must be punished.”
“Don’t you dare touch her,” Legolas seethed.
“What do you take me for? I would not harm a hair on her precious head, not when there are others who would take the punishment for her.” At this, Grima pulled a short whip from inside his long sleeve, shaking out the multiple knotted thongs. Nine tails, Legolas had heard the men call this type of whip. It was used for punishment, though he had never seen anyone in Rohan use one. The Southrons of the desert lands were quite fond of this kind of discipline, or so he had heard. Legolas wondered how Grima came to own such a whip.
As Grima approached, the tall guard pushed the spear further into Legolas’ chest. The elf could feel a drop of warm blood travel down his smooth skin. His shirt hung open as though offering his chest to the guard. Then he heard the low rumble of an evil laugh emanate from Grima, as his arm lifted the whip. It came swooping down onto Legolas’ chest.
Legolas would not give Grima the pleasure of knowing just how badly the nine tails stung. He barely flinched as the whip cut through his skin a second time and a third. Each stroke of the knotted throngs felt like fire as they produced red welts across his chest and stomach, crisscrossing in bloody lines. By the sixth stroke, though, Legolas could no longer deny the pain, and his knees buckled beneath him. He fell to the floor, only his shackled wrists kept him from completely collapsing.
The metallic smell of fresh blood touched his senses, and Legolas finally submitted as his face contorted in pain. Grima had stopped the flogging, and stood over Legolas, “You’ll not see her again.” He spun on his heel and left the cell, his black robes trailing behind him. The tall guard was the last to leave the cell, and the door guard locked the door; the sound of the deadbolt sliding into place seemed like one final blow of the whip.
Legolas was alone in the dark, chained to the wall. His open wounds bled and stung horribly. Each beat of his heart made the raw skin pulse with pain, and there were many, many wounds sliced across his chest and stomach. He hung his head as he sat on the floor, his arms extended upwards, and his wrists reminded of their earlier wounds. It wouldn’t take much for the pink scars to reopen, adding to his pain. How many days would he stay like this? How many days with no food or water to speak of? Eowyn, dear sweet Eowyn, he prayed she would be untouched. Théodred … Eomer … were they alright? Did they know what was happening in Edoras?
“Béma, see them all safe, even if it means my soul for theirs,” Legolas prayed silently before sleep took him, and for a time, he forgot about the pain.
* * *
Three days—at least he thought it was that long—and there was not a single person allowed into the jail. Legolas could hear the faint whispers of the door guards, but he could not make out what they said. He had no food or water during that time. There was no light, no fresh air, nothing but the musty smell of his cell and his own reek. Béma hadn’t intervened, and Legolas was alive, but weakened. Still, he held on to every ounce of energy, willing it towards his wounds in hopes of fast healing. He put the thought of food and water out of his mind, and merely thought of an escape plan. No one would come, he thought, until they came to hang him. That would be his only chance, and he would need everything within him to overpower the guards. One man, he knew he could handle. Two would be more difficult, but if he took the first one out quickly, perhaps he’d have just enough power to subdue the second. But should there be three or possibly more guards to escort him from the jail, his chance of escape would nearly be void.
As he sat, thinking to himself, the door of the jail creaked open. Legolas almost hadn’t heard it, so deep in thought he had been. Actually, it was the light beam that streamed in through the door that captured his attention first. Someone was coming, guards no doubt. Was this it? Were they coming to hang him already? Legolas could tell by the muted light, that it was early morning. Was that when hangings occurred?
Legolas lifted his head, and saw two armed figures standing outside of his cell, one very tall and the other shorter than the first. They were both dressed in full uniform, even wearing their helms with the horsehair plumes that flowed like a golden mane down the back. The shorter man flexed his gloved fingers, and danced back and forth from foot to foot. He seemed anxious about something. The tall man with the very broad shoulders, stood straight as a stone column, and seemed rather in control of his emotions. Legolas was most curious about the taller of the two. What was he playing at? There was something suspicious about the way he carried himself.
The shorter man looked Legolas over from outside of the cell, “Let’s get on with it then,” he said, and unlocked the door, “Grima said to make sure you don’t kill him, just beat him into submission. Got to keep him weakened, you know.”
The large guard lifted his hand, and with it, a thick wooden baton of some kind. He smacked it several times into the palm of his hand, as if testing its weight.
“I say you hit him in the knees first. That way he won’t try anything funny,” said the shorter man. He stood to the side, allowing room for the man with the weapon to come forward.
Legolas watched the broad shouldered guard, never lowering his eyes from the man. Neither one looked away as they locked stares. The guard grasped the baton firmly with both hands, and brought the weapon up, ready to swing at Legolas’ knees. Legolas was thinking quickly, trying to come up with a strategy or a move that would allow him to jump out of the way and avoid the hit, but the chains were hindering him.
The tall guard let out a low rumble of a laugh and, to Legolas’ surprise, gave the elf a wink. What was that about, he asked himself, and the guard swung the baton at him. Instead hitting Legolas, the baton swished past his legs and continued its path towards the other man, who was not paying attention. The weapon landed with a thud across the smaller guard’s stomach. He doubled over, in shock, as the breath escaped his lungs. Legolas was stunned, and watched the scene play out in front of him.
The shorter guard, coughed and wheezed as air filled his lungs again. He started to straighten himself and asked, “What do you think you’re—”
The big guard brought the baton over his head and swung it down onto the back of the other man’s neck, right at the base of his skull. The little weasel of a man fell to the floor, limp as a rag. Legolas peeled his eyes from the unconscious man and looked at the other, who was reaching for his helm. He pulled it from his head and revealed his identity. Legolas looked at him in disbelief.
“Gamling?”
“I might be an old man, but I’ve still got a strong swing, don’t you think?” Gamling said as he bent down and retrieved a set of keys from the man lying on the floor. He stood up straight and smiled at Legolas, “How are ye?”
“I’ve been better,” answered Legolas dryly, while Gamling removed the metal shackles. Legolas rubbed his wrists and looked Gamling over disbelievingly.
“Eowyn sent me, since she couldn’t come herself. We’re getting you out of here.” Gamling looked at Legolas’ chest and shook his head, “Whose handiwork was that?”
“Wormtongue,” Legolas said, and his tone was filled with vengeance.
“Those are some angry looking lashes, but I’m sure the lady will have something you can put on them. We won’t have much time to linger in the city though, so you’ll have to tend to your wounds on the run,” said Gamling observantly, “First things first though. We need to get you out of your clothes and into his.”
Legolas looked at the man on the floor and cocked a brow, “It may be a bit of a challenge,” he commented, noticing the man’s size.
“Unfortunately, I didn’t have my pick. It’ll have to do until I get you out of here. Eowyn is waiting for you, and then she’ll lead you out of the city.” As Gamling spoke, he started striping the other guard of his uniform.
Legolas didn’t like the sound of this plan, “Eowyn should not be involved in this. If someone catches her—”
Gamling laughed, “And you don’t think I tried to tell her that? Stubborn that one is. Just like Eomer, and both of them taking after their father. But they are good people, and I’d follow either of them into the fires of Mount Doom if they asked it of me.”
Legolas shrugged the shreds of his shirt off, wincing as he did. Gamling tossed him the guard’s undershirt and leather chest plates, a pair of boots and finally the metal helm. Legolas dressed as quickly as he could, but in the struggle to get the ill-fitting clothes on, some of his deeper wounds opened and started bleeding. Gamling came to his side and helped him into the armor, allowing Legolas to use him as support.
“What are they saying about me, Gamling?” Legolas asked.
Gamling was quiet at first. He had helped Legolas to sit on the cot and was trying to get the elf’s foot into a boot. Then he shook his head in disgust, “You won’t like it, but it is as ye might think. Not all of them believe, though. The Rohir are not persuaded so easily, and more than a few of us distrusted the woman that accused you of this mess. It’s the ones that fear Grima to be worried about, and most of them, I don’t think, aren’t Eorlingas.” Gamling paused, stopped what he was doing, and looked up at Legolas, “And I believe ye.”
“Thank you, Gamling.” said Legolas with relief.
He finished dressing, though the clothes were a bit small. It was good enough to get them out of the jail though. Legolas helped Gamling dress the unconscious guard in his old clothes, and then they shackled him to the wall. The man hung limp with his head lolled to one side. In the dark of the cell, no one could tell who he was at first, just in case someone checked. They hoped it would be enough to allow Legolas time to leave the city, and he wondered how they planned to manage that.
Gamling had been wearing his green cloak, and he took it off, wrapping around Legolas to help hide his appearance. They had to walk past two door guards just outside the jail’s entrance. Before they left, Gamling nodded as he looked Legolas over, “It’ll do. Now, let me do all the talking if we must. And walk a bit hunched over, just to compensate for the other man’s height.”
“Where are we going?” Legolas asked, pulling the cloak tight around his shoulders, and adjusting his helm.
“Eowyn said she’d be at the royal stables. I don’t know what she has planned. She wouldn’t tell me, and I was only supposed to get you out of the jail.”
They were lucky to make it past the two door guards, and as they were walking down the path that led to the royal stables, they came upon another guard. Legolas put his head down and shrunk into his borrowed cape. He felt himself panic as the guard stopped in the middle of the path, and waited for them to approach. Legolas thought Gamling would change course to avoid the man, but they kept walking. This was a dangerous move, the elf thought. If this guard had any suspicions—
“Thank you, Gamling,” the guard said in an odd voice.
Gamling nodded and turned to the disguised elf, “Good luck, Legolas.” With that, Gamling separated and went on his way.
Legolas eyed his new guard, whispering, “Eowyn, is that you?”
“Yes,” she said. Then making her voice lower and gruffer she said, “You can call me Dernhelm.”
“Where did you get the uniform?”
“It’s mine. I made it myself. Well, I made a few alterations to someone’s old uniform,” she smiled beneath her helm, and led Legolas further down the path toward the royal stables. She looked around to make sure no one was close. “Now, I’ve got your things all gathered, your long knives and bow, your elvish clothes, food for a few days travel, a water skin,” she said as she checked off her mental list, “Oh, and Arod is waiting just outside of the city wall … you know, where the loose boards are behind the storage barns. He’s packed and ready. Gamling is going right now, to distract the wall guards in that area so that you can ride out. Head for that stand of trees first. It will help keep you out of sight. Then head for Aldburg where Eomer is stationed and—”
Legolas stopped walking. His head was swimming with everything Eowyn was telling him, “Wait, Eowyn, I can’t just leave you here. I swore to look after you.”
Eowyn gave him a cynical look, “I’ve been on my own ever since you were locked up. I can handle myself, Legolas. Besides, you cannot possibly stay here, and I will not leave my uncle in Wormtongue’s greasy hands.” As she spoke, she couldn’t help noticing red blotches spreading out from the edges of Legolas’ leather vest. The vest was not fastened in the front, and she reached out and moved it aside, seeing blood on his undershirt, “Oh Legolas, you’re hurt!” He started to protest but she waved a hand at him, “We must get out of the public eye. Let’s get to the stables, and then I’ll fetch some bandages and salve.”
“You can’t go walking around Edoras like this. You do realize you are a bit smaller than the average guard,” Legolas said as they hurried to the stables. Meduseld was just behind them. He thought he could easily sneak in, find some healing supplies and sneak out again.
They arrived at the royal stables and went inside. It was quiet at this time of day. The morning chores were taken care of, and most of the horses were either with their riders or out in the fields. Eowyn pulled her helm from her head, her hair a wild mess. Legolas laughed, “I think you’d have a much better chance of not raising suspicions with the helmet on.”
Eowyn gave him a good once over, now that they were alone. She pointed to the sleeves of his shirt that only came part way to his wrists, “You look like your clothes were left boiling in the laundry kettles a little too long.”
Legolas could see she was going to be difficult about this, and quickly devised a plan, “You said you retrieved my weapons, clothes and food. Did you happen to get my book?”
“What book?”
“My elvish book, the one I showed you.” he answered.
“There wasn’t enough time. I could only get so much before someone saw me in your rooms.”
“I cannot leave without it. It is very important to me. It’s all I have of my home, of my family and Elhadron,” he said.
“Where is it then? I’ll get it while I’m fetching medicine.”
Legolas shook his head and glanced out of the stable door towards Meduseld, “I must get it myself. It will take you too long. You get the medicine and I’ll sneak into my room and get my book.”
“Leave the book, Legolas. We haven’t time. In case you haven’t noticed, you have escaped from the cells. It won’t take them long to figured that out,” Eowyn argued.
There was no use continuing their dispute. Legolas knew Eowyn would not budge on the matter. He needed to create a diversion. “I cannot just leave that behind. I don’t know when I’ll be able to come back and—” He stopped and peered over her shoulder.
Eowyn stood stiff as a board, her eyes trained on Legolas, “What? What is it? Is someone coming?”
“I don’t know. I thought I heard something at the back of the stable. Quick, put your helmet back on,” Legolas demanded.
Eowyn started fumbling with her helm, trying to get it on in a hurry. While she did, Legolas darted out of the stable towards Meduseld. He could just imagine the look she would give him when he came back, but he just couldn’t let her get any more involved than she already was. Legolas felt bad that she had done what she did so far. Wounds would heal, but Eowyn’s safety was most important. And he was serious about his book too. He just couldn’t leave it behind. It was all he had of his elvishness.
Legolas was already well out of sight when he heard the stable door close, but he did not look back. He snuck around to the side door that he, Eomer and Théodred used to use after spending an evening at the mead hall. He would miss those days, and now he realized that he might never see those times again. He might not ever return to Edoras, or make things right and clear his name.
While these things ran through his mind, Legolas quietly slipped through the darkened corridors of the Golden Hall, taking extra care to stay clear of Grima’s quarters. They were on the other side of the hall, though, and Legolas was still dressed in uniform, should he come across someone. The door to his room was not locked and he slid inside, closing it behind him.
Everything looked the same. He had been afraid of what he might find. The door to his closet was slightly ajar, but he could see where some of his clothes were missing, the ones Eowyn packed for him. His brown legging, suede jerkin, and boots were not there. A few white undershirts were gone too. Legolas smiled to himself, thinking of the care Eowyn took in choosing all things elvish. Did she mean for him to not come back to Rohan? Perhaps she was only being cautious.
Behind the tall wooden closet, that’s where he’d hid his book. He was always very careful not to leave it out. It was very old, though sturdily made, but he did not want Grima or any of his henchmen getting a hold of it and destroying it. He squat down on his knees and reached an arm behind the wardrobe. Ah, right where he had left it, he thought, as his fingers brushed over the smooth leather. Legolas pulled it free and thumbed through it quickly. Just the sight of the elvish runes cured his ails, though it would take more than that to heal the deep lashes across his chest. They hurt terribly, but he ignored the pain as best he could. There would be time later to tend himself.
Legolas stood by his bed and traced a finger along the post at the corner. Thick wooden columns reached to the ceiling, each one with a horse’s head carved at the top. Rohan, he would miss it dearly. If only it hadn’t come to this. If only he had stayed clear of … of Róta. While in his cell, he had managed to put her and that night out of his head, but suddenly he was back in her room with the smell of burning lanterns and sweaty bodies, the aura of urgent sex and the sound of bones cracking. He remembered wanting to throw her off him, but his animalistic desire ruled his body, calling forth his seed, spilled into her as she cried out in pain … the pain he’d caused when he hit her. Had she really liked it or had she only used him for her purpose. Something told him it was a bit of both. Never again, he told himself, never would he let himself become so sexually crazed with an unhealthy lust. It would only lead to trouble.
Legolas was pulled from his thoughts when he heard voices coming down the hallway, women’s voices, as they chatted. It must be the servants, he thought. If they came into his room and saw him here—
The room was small and there was nowhere to hide. There was only one place to go, and he couldn’t do that while wearing his leather vest. He quickly shrugged the thick leatherwear from his body and slid it beneath his bed. He looked down to see several bloody patches on his shirt where his wounds had broken open. He would definitely need that salve, fearing infection. No time to think about that now, Legolas went to the window in his room, opened it and hopped out onto the ledge. He left the window open just a crack, in order to get back in once the servants left. He wondered why they would come to his room, knowing that he was not there. They had no business being in his personal quarters.
“So this is it?” said one of the servants. Legolas recognized her voice, though he did not know her personally. Hallfrid was one of Meduseld’s servers, usually tending to Théoden, at least she used to before the King became ill.
“We can’t stay in here for very long, Hallfrid,” said the other servant. Legolas knew her quite well. In fact, this voice belonged to Audwyn.
“Calm yourself. I only wanted to know what his room looked like,” Hallfrid said as she walked around touching things, picking them up and setting them back down, “Doesn’t look like the room of a rapist.”
“I still refuse to believe it’s true. Legolas would never have done anything so vile,” Audwyn defended.
“You should know, shouldn’t you? So how many times did you lay with him?” Hallfrid asked.
“That’s a rather bold question. I don’t know. I did not keep count,” Audwyn answered sounding slightly perturbed.
“Did he ever … you know … do anything … rough?”
Audwyn gave an audible huff, “I didn’t bring you here to ask me about my personal business. You wanted to see his room so here you are and . . . Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”
Legolas dared to peek into the window and saw the two women standing beside his bed. His book, he had left it lying there. His heart began to pound as Hallfrid picked it up and started carelessly turning the pages, “What’s this, elvish writing perhaps? I’ve never seen the like. It is quite elegant, is it not?”
“I’ve seen that book once before. I saw him reading it to the Lady Eowyn,” Audwyn informed her nosey friend.
“Do you think it has any great value?” Hallfrid asked.
“Doubtful. The elves have many books,” Audwyn looked at her curiously, “Why do you ask?”
“You really have no idea why we are here, do you?” Hallfrid said as if she pitied her friend, “What do you think they do with someone’s possessions after they are gone, especially someone with no family? I’m here to collect what I can before anyone else gets to it. All of this,” she said looking around the room, “will be scavenged when they come to empty the room. I want what I feel I am owed. Ever since the King has fallen ill, there has been no work for me, and now the city is falling into ruin. I’ve come to compensate myself before the rest of the wretches get to it, and then I’m leaving Edoras to start a new life somewhere else.”
Audwyn looked at her friend as though she were a stranger, “But it is not yours to take. It belongs to Legolas.”
“And he will be dead in the morning. He won’t be needing it any longer, so why let it go to waste?” Hallfrid took Audwyn’s hands and squeezed with concern, “You were his maid, as well as other things. Have you given no thought to your welfare once Legolas is hung? I’ll tell you what, I will share my bounty with you. You can come with me if you like. We’ll start over somewhere new together.” Hallfrid stopped talking when something caught her eye, a shiny silver belt hung by the wardrobe. She dropped Audwyn’s hands and rushed to the flashing object, “Do you think this is mithril? I bet it would fetch a fat purse.”
Audwyn snatched the belt from Hallfrid’s hands, “This is wrong, and I will not take part in it.”
Hallfrid’s countenance changed from awe to irritation, “You still pine for the elf, don’t you? That will do you no good when he is dead. And besides, you must know that nothing would have come from this. You were no more than his bed warmer. You lay with him, and Béma knows that in itself must have been a notable gift, but it wouldn’t have kept a roof over your head. Women like us won’t get ahead unless we take such opportunities as this.”
“You speak as though he were already in the grave. No, this is immoral and I will not let you—”
Hallfrid gasped, interrupting Audwyn, “Someone is coming!”
Legolas moved away from the open window, clinging to the ledge. Thankfully, someone had cut short their meddling. At least Audwyn tried to defend him, though he wasn’t completely convinced that she believed his innocence. As for his belongings, he wasn’t much concerned about anything but his book, and they had abandoned that.
The voices inside the room were gone now, and he hoped the women were too. He dared another peek, finding it empty, and the door closed, but his mithril belt was missing. Legolas stole back inside his room, carefully navigating the table beneath the window. He picked up his book, tucked it under his arm and—after carefully checking to see that the hallway was clear—left his private quarters, probably for the last time.
Whoever the women heard was long gone and so were they. Legolas walked cautiously, his ears attuned to any noises. He exited the hallway, and was about to make his was back to the side entrance, when he heard a muffled voice speaking. It sounded like a one way conversation, and he was curious of the strange tone the person took. Legolas knew he should leave and get back to the stable where he hoped Eowyn still waited for him, but he could not help himself, finding his feet leading him along the back wall of the throne room towards the hall that housed Théodred’s rooms, as well as King Théoden’s. The voice was coming from the King’s private quarters, but it was not Théoden’s voice. No one had heard the King speak in quite some time. There was no mistaking whom the voice belonged to … Grima. Legolas thought his beating heart would give him away, and took a few deep breaths to calm himself.
As an elfling, he had been scared of the orcs who invaded his home, the spider and the warg that attacked him and Elhadron. As a youth the bear man had terrified him as it came barreling down upon him. But hearing Grima’s scaly hiss evoked nothing but anger. He could feel his wounds throbbing, as though the leather throngs had just cut his flesh. This man had done it with satisfaction, had flogged him for a crime he was not guilty of, meant to end his life, and harm those who had become his family over the years.
Legolas looked into the crack of the door, and found Grima with his back turned, standing by a table pouring a glass of something amber, the King’s brandy. Théoden must be there also, though he was not in Legolas’ line of sight. Grima laughed low in his throat as he held the glass up to a candle flame and swirled the rich drink.
“Yes, my lord, the elf is taken care of. The other two have not returned to the city, though. I should like to see their faces as the guards take them to the cells,” Grima said.
Legolas wondered who he was talking to. Surely, Théoden would not possibly agree to such treatment of his son and sister-son. There came an elderly weakened moan from somewhere in the room, and Legolas was shocked to find it was coming from the King, but it was not his. The door pushed open a bit more so the elf could see for himself. It was Théoden, but it was not. He could see that the decrepit old man showed signs of being the King, but he was merely a vessel now, the spirit of the Rohirrim King absent from the body that sat slumped in the chair.
“It is almost done, Grima. The Isengarders will strike at the Fords of Isen where the King’s son patrols. As for Eomer, he does not stay in one place for very long, but he’ll be found.” This voice was unfamiliar to Legolas, though the tone was that of a very old Théoden. The words were not that of the King, but like those of someone speaking through him. There was a sickly moan, and the voice spoke again, “Hurry, man, before he comes around. Keep him in a fog and let me take over his mind.”
Legolas watched as Grima brought his right hand up, and held it over the glass of brandy. There was a ring on the index finger, a horse’s head with red gems for eyes. Grima circled the ring with the thumb of his opposite hand, and slid the horse head to the side. Then he tilted the hand and white powder dropped into the drink. Grima slid the horse head back into place, rubbed the ring again and picked up the glass, giving it a swirl to dissolve the powder.
Théoden moaned and tried to sit himself up a little more. Legolas could see the light return to his eyes, the soul coming into focus briefly, as he looked at Grima. Wormtongue smiled slightly, carrying the glass to the King, “Drink this, and you will feel much better.” He held the glass to Théoden’s lips and tilted it until the liquid touched them. The King had no choice but to drink, or have it spill down his chin. Théoden was given too much too fast and choked, his lungs wheezing as he tried to catch his breath.
“Very good, Sire. Your favorite brandy, just the thing, don’t you think?” Grima said, and took the drained glass away. He went back towards the table that held the decanter, but paused at a shelf, his gray eyes directed to a familiar object laying upon it … the dagger that Róta had shown to the soldiers at the mead hall.
Legolas memory came racing back. He had forgotten this one piece of the puzzle. Róta was hired to make a collection piece for King Théoden, though Legolas never knew the Rohirric King to own any such thing. The only weapons the Rohirrim owned where those that they used in battle, which they took great pride in. This was only a dagger, though quite extravagant at that. He had eyed it before, in the tavern, but hadn’t concentrated on it. Now Legolas could see that it had runes on the blade, but not elvish ones. These were runes of the black speech, and certainly nothing that King Théoden would allow into his city, let alone collect. Legolas was unfamiliar with this language, written or spoken, but he memorized a few of the runes from the blade, hoping to find out what they meant.
Legolas almost forgot that he was standing in the doorway and quickly ducked out of sight as Grima turned to replace the glass on the table. The man’s steps stilled, and Legolas felt him staring at the threshold. The glass was set down rather hard, as if in annoyance. The elf realized that he must pass the doorway in order to exit the hall, or risk being caught spying, not to mention jailbreak. There was no time to waste, and Legolas reached for his cloak, remembering he was not wearing one. Looking down, panic struck him when he saw that he had left the leather vest of his uniform hidden beneath the bed in his room. He cursed himself for his carelessness, held his breath, and dashed past the doorway in a flash of gold. He hoped Grima hadn’t been looking in that direction, as he hurried down the hallway. He reached the corner and dared a glance over his shoulder, seeing the dark outline of a black cloak silhouetted against the doorframe. Shit, he thought, the old worm had seen him.
Grima had felt the sensation of being watched, but he thought it was connected to the oddness of Saruman’s visit. The old wizard had only performed this magic twice before, channeling Théoden’s mind to speak to Grima. The man felt very uncomfortable with these visits. Théoden looked like a corpse returned from the dead, and his voice was not his own. Even his features seemed to contort and take on those of Saruman’s. It was a very disturbing thing to witness, and dangerous if someone should walk in on them. But Saruman had retreated from the King’s body, and the awkwardness of the black magic had left with him. Whatever Grima had sensed was something different, something worth looking into. When he looked out into the hall, he thought he had seen a shadow disappear at the corner of the corridor. Someone had been there though, and he meant to find out whom, and quickly. He rushed down the hallway that opened into the Golden hall. No one was at the dais or in the gathering hall, but movement caught his eye, and he thought he saw one of the guards leaving through the side entrance.
“You there, guard, your assistance is needed,” Grima called out, but no one came back through the slowly closing door. The man narrowed his eyes in suspicion, and walked quickly to the main doors, calling upon his henchmen, “You, go and check around the side. See if you find anyone. And you, search the rooms for anything that might be out of place. I think we have a spy in our midst.”
The door guards split up and went off to perform their duties, while Grima went back to Théoden. Nothing was amiss, and whoever had been here had obviously left. Had they seen or heard anything? He waited, pacing the floor at the bottom of the dais, anxious for the guards to return. The side door opened, and the first guard returned with no news. Then the second guard came rushing from the hallway where the King’s family resided, holding a red leather uniform vest in his hands, “Mi lord, I found this in the elf’s room, the corner of it sticking out from beneath the bed.”
Grima snatched it from the guard’s hands and examined it quickly, “Whose is this, do you know?”
The first guard looked it over carefully, “I believe that belongs to Ardis, Sir.”
Flustered, Grima hadn’t recognized the name at first, not until the guard reminded him, “You sent him to the cells to … interrogate … the prisoner … Sir,” he said cautiously.
Nothing worse could have happened, lest the gods themselves had come down and crushed Rohan and Grima along with it. A sense of urgency and anger built up, and color rose in the man’s normally pale complexion. He threw the vest at the guard, and shook his fisted hands, “The elf, damn him … go to the cells at once,” he bellowed, his menacing voice ringing in the Golden hall.
The guards took off immediately, while Grima followed at his own pace, his tattered black robe fluttering and curling as it chased after him. He walked the short distance to the stairs that led beneath Meduseld, descended into the darkness through the open door and into the jail. The door guards were already there, standing at the locked cell where Legolas had been held, but it was not the elf that Grima found chained to the wall.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” Ardis said in a mousy voice, “I was tricked.”
“And you’ll be dead if the elf has escaped the city,” Grima spat. Then he turned to his henchmen and commanded, “Go now! What are you waiting for? Seal all the gates. No one goes in or out. And if you find that immortal scum, kill him on sight.”
The guards were already out the door before Grima could finish his orders. Grima was trailing towards the door himself, when Ardis called from the cell, “Might you release me, my lord, to help with the search?”
“You’ll stay right where you are. I’ll come back for you … with a noose for your scrawny little neck.” Grima slammed the jail door behind him, and marched off hoping Legolas hadn’t left the city yet, “I’ll chase him to the ends of the earth if I have to. He’s seen things he should not have seen, and heard things he had no business hearing. Damn the elves! Damn them all!”
- 22
- 23
- 24
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Last Wood Elf