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
- 35
- 36
- 37
Chapter 36 – An Act of Treason to the Master

The Tower of Orthanc rose from the earth, dark and formidable. It was black as coal with a sheen like polished onyx, extending considerably into the sky. Its four pointed spires on top resembled something wickedly clawed, and an unearthly sensation of dark magic still clung to the drifting patches of fog and smoke. Legolas was at once ill at ease with this place, and for good reason. Saruman, though defeated, was still capable of dealing damage to any who would sway to his words, or so Gandalf warned the company. The elf knew it to be true, and they hadn’t yet come to its steps.
Gandalf told Legolas how Orthanc had once stood at the center of a lush green lawn dotted with trees and plants. At one time there had been a river running alongside, but Saruman had it dammed, and the land slowly dried and withered. The trees were destroyed and used to fuel the fires that bore forth the armor and weapons for Saruman’s army. Now, the enormous tower sat in the middle of what looked like a lake. The area was flooded where the river took back its home and swallowed up the surrounding lands. Debris floated in the water, and the smell of rotting orc flesh was unmistakable. As the company rode forward, Legolas’ horse whinnied nervously.
“If he’s going to make a ruckus, I’d prefer not to be saddled on him anymore,” Gimli complained.
Legolas leaned forward and patted the grey horse’s neck, whispering elvish to him, “He’ll not throw either of us. Arod senses the darkness that still settles here, even upon the waters that washed most of it away. Do you not feel it also, Gimli? It is quite dreadful.”
“The only thing I feel right now is my stomach complaining that there has been no food yet today,” Gimli replied.
Legolas smiled briefly, but it was difficult to see any humor at the moment, not with the dark tower looming so close.
The company halted at the end of a path. Here stood a gate with a wall extending on either side, overgrown with dead vines. It looked to be the only way in, and Legolas wondered how they would get in if the gate was locked. But at closer examination, he noticed two small child sized figures sitting atop the wall, feet dangling over the edge, and singing some bawdy song. Pipe smoke hazed around their heads as they laughed and sang, barely aware of the company approaching.
Gimli, stiffened and let out a sharp cry, “Ho there! Is that who I think it is?”
Gandalf, who rode ahead of them, chuckled and called over his shoulder, “You see, Master Dwarf, I told you they were in good hands.”
Calariel had also seen them, and came up even with Legolas. “Are those… Halflings?” she asked astonished.
“They are, Lady Calariel,” Gimli answered, “And two of the most rascally hobbits you’ll ever meet.” He squirmed in the saddle impatiently, “Let me off this beast, Master Elf.”
“These must be the friends you and Aragorn were looking for,” Legolas said as he brought Arod to a halt.
“Indeed they are, and I’ve never been so glad to see them.” Gimli dismounted lacking any kind of grace, and went towards the gate.
Aragorn moved his horse next to Gandalf, smiled, and slowly shook his head from side to side, “I can’t say I’ve ever been so delighted to see these two.”
“I’ve never seen, let alone met a Halfling before,” Calariel whispered to Legolas.
“Neither have I, but they seem like sturdy folk for their size,” Legolas replied as he listened to the two hobbits thoroughly speak of their recent adventures. “And they are quite the storytellers too.”
Eomer joined Legolas and Calariel as they admired the small hobbits and listened to their tale. Gandalf interrupted their story to ask some questions of his own, and the three took counsel together. Meanwhile, Gimli came walking back to where the elves and Eomer waited, carrying something. He raised his hands in the air, displaying his plunder. Gimli chuckled in dwarf-like fashion, and tossed a couple red apples to Legolas. “Rabbit food for the elves,” he called. Then he tossed some kind of dried meat to Eomer, “And salted pork for the men.”
Eomer examined it, sniffed it, and looked down to where Gimli stood, “Where did this come from?”
“According to the hobbits, Saruman had stores of food, drink and pipe weed; enough to last a good long time,” Gimli answered. He pulled more salted pork from beneath his arm, ripped a bite off with his teeth, and chewed satisfactorily.
Calariel looked at the apple Legolas gave her, and then out over the distance of water, “Though they may be good at foraging for food, I doubt your friends could have been responsible for capturing the wizard.”
“Well now,” Gimli answered, “That feat must be credited to the—”
“Ents!” Eomer yelled, his eyes wide with amazement as he caught sight of them walking around the base of the tower.
“That’s Treebeard,” Calariel informed them, “The oldest of the tree shepherds. We met briefly while I was in Fangorn Forest.”
Eomer watched in astonishment, “I know you told me about meeting an Ent, Legolas, and I believed you, but I have never seen one with my own eyes.”
Legolas gave a quick thought to the forest that suddenly sprang up on the outer plains of Helm’s Deep, “Perhaps you have, Eomer, but you did not know it.”
Gandalf appeared, having finished speaking with the hobbits, “The Ents keep watch over the tower where they say Saruman is quarantined. King Théoden insists on speaking to him, so we will all go. Be aware that he is still powerful enough to see into your minds. Though he may speak as though with charity, there is nothing but malice behind his tongue. Do not believe anything he says, for he will try to sway you.” Gandalf turned to Legolas, “Especially you. He puts most of the blame on you for losing control of Rohan and Théoden. Close yourself off to him, and control your anger or he will use it against you. I have seen you at your wits end, Legolas. Do not let your animosity get the better of you.”
Legolas nodded and watched Gandalf go back to the gate, ready to lead the company into the flooded grounds of Isengard. He felt uneasy at the good wizard’s words. He remembered how badly he wanted to cut Gríma’s neck and end his miserable life. And if it wasn’t for Eowyn, he might have followed through with it.
“What happened in Rohan?” Calariel asked quietly as she rode next to Legolas.
Her soothing voice brought him out of his memories, “It is of no concern for now. I will not burden you with my past dilemmas.”
The company slowly made their way to the tower, being careful that their horses did not injure themselves on any of the debris. The water was not deep, which helped the riders see where their horses should step, but it was brown and murky, and full of hazards. They stopped once they reached the foot of Orthanc, shimmering perilously in the sunlight. There they met Treebeard.
“Saruman has caused great blasphemy against Fangorn Forest, killing the very trees that once welcomed him to walk beneath their boughs,” Treebeard conveyed, “We would have dealt him a swift punishment, but for Gandalf. So here he is, locked within his own tower.”
“Thank you, my friend,” Gandalf answered and bowed to the gnarled old tree being. Then he threw off his cloak, revealing his white robes, and held his staff before him, calling Saruman out to take counsel and answer for his crimes.
A door opened on a balcony far up the side of Orthanc, and out walked Saruman, looking somewhat disheveled and worn with worry. His once white raiment was now frayed and dulled to a dirty grey. He no longer projected knowledge and discernment. Hatred filled his black eyes, and Legolas could see Saruman the Wise was lost to the darkness that squeezed his now cruel heart. The wizard tried to hide this part of him, but the company had been prepared for his tricks.
King Théoden spoke first, calling upon Saruman to speak in response to the reasons for his negligent activities. Saruman answered as though honey coated his tongue, asking the King to find favor upon him. Théoden reminded the wizard that it was because of his treachery that Théodred was now lying amongst the barrows of his forefathers, as well as many soldiers and civilians.
Saruman seemed to strengthen with every ounce of hatred that Théoden cast towards him, but Gandalf intervened before things went too far. The two wizards exchanged words for a time. Legolas watched quietly from the back of the company, with Calariel by his side and Gimli saddled behind him.
Saruman’s anger was growing more dangerous with the war of words between the two wizards, when he finally saw his chance to strike. Lightening flew from his fingers as Saruman aimed to destroy all who stood below at the foot of Orthanc’s stairs. It happened so fast that no one amongst the company had time to flinch, let alone take some sort of cover. All would have perished to Saruman’s magic if it hadn’t been for Gandalf, who was only a split second quicker. He raised his white staff and created an invisible shield that protected the company from Saruman’s harmful curse. Saruman’s energy diminished quickly as he used every ounce of it against his bothersome guests. His hands fell to the railing of the balcony, catching himself before he slumped to his knees.
“Saruman, you have become more powerful than I could have imagined, but you use your power for evil, and I will not let you overcome me or my companions,” Gandalf called out. “Surrender now.”
What the company did not know was that Saruman had secretly placed his staff at his feet. It still held within it the ability to deliver the same dark magic as the wizard himself, who was now drained. He continued to look exhausted as he bent down to retrieve the staff.
“You think that I will give up so easily, Mithrandir? I guess from your point of view, it would seem the smart thing to do.” He stretched out his hand and grasped the staff, “But you would be foolish to think I’d ever give up all that I have created here.”
Saruman came back up with the staff swinging outwards, aiming it at Gandalf, but the good wizard closed his eyes and called, “By the spirits of the order of the Maiar, Saruman, your staff is broken!”
Everyone watched as Saruman’s staff exploded into millions of splinters. Saruman, too, was shocked to see that Gandalf had become more powerful than himself. Without the aid of his staff, he was weakened, at least for the moment. He still had a hidden power within his black halls… one of the missing Palantíri, a seeing stone. So far it had aided him in his accomplishments. Perhaps it could be of use to regain his power. But for now, he would have to surrender this round to Gandalf. As he stood defeated, thinking of the best way to resolve his problems, Gríma appeared.
Down below, Gimli was the first to notice Legolas tense as he removed an arrow from his quiver. Since he was quite stout in stature as compared to elves, Gimli had a difficult time seeing past Legolas’ back. He wriggled and leaned out until he could get a clear vision of what had made the elf stiffen. To his surprise, Gimli spotted Gríma slinking out onto the balcony and stand subserviently behind Saruman.
“Easy now, my princely friend,” Gimli said calmly.
Legolas eyed Gríma from the flooded yard. He did not raise his weapon, but he kept it in hand for his own piece of mind. Calariel watched the balcony, but she kept Legolas in her peripheral vision.
Saruman felt the presence behind him and swiveled to see Gríma, but the man searched the company below until his eyes fell upon Legolas, “It is because of him that all of Isengard is now drowned.”
Saruman looked down to where Legolas sat upon Arod and scowled, “Ah, and who have we here? Well, if it’s not the lost one. Such a shame that you have no land to claim as your own. Your title has been wasted on you… Prince,” Saruman said with hauteur.
“Don’t listen to him,” Gimli warned, “He is trying to get into your thoughts and provoke you for his own agenda.”
Legolas found it difficult to control his anger, but he could not let Saruman’s words go unanswered either. “My rancor, though you are my foe, is not solely with you. However, you choose to let that cold-blooded snake take refuge. You aided him with ill-fated charms, and you gifted him with some of your own mind-bending abilities in order to destroy Rohan.” Legolas’ hard stare settled on Gríma, “You are responsible for many crimes against the Rohirrim, but none more appalling than the death of my friend, my brother at arms, and the King’s only son, Théodred.”
“Legolas, don’t!” Gandalf warned, for he knew the elf’s anger was exactly the tool Saruman needed to recharge his power. “He is trying to provoke you. Do not give in to him.”
“No, please… allow him to speak, Mithrandir,” Saruman said kindly. Gandalf had been correct about Saruman’s plan. Dark magic thrived on hatred, and nothing could match the passionate hostility of an elf. Perhaps he could use this rift between Gríma and Legolas to his own advantage. Saruman stepped aside and allowed them to have their dispute.
Gríma stepped forward and took his place at the railing as he addressed Legolas, “You speak as though I delivered the final blow that took Théodred’s life. The truth is, Théodred disobeyed his father’s orders and fought a battle that could not be won.”
“He would not have been there if it weren’t for you and your spells,” Legolas countered. “He was acting in his father’s best interest. We all were once we found you out, Wormtongue.”
Gríma laughed, “And was your only concern for Théoden when you laid with Rota? Oh, how noble of you, to rape a woman in the name of the King.”
From behind, Legolas heard Gimli give a grumble of discontent, for he knew the truth behind the story. But Calariel had known nothing of the unfortunate situation between Legolas and the blacksmith, and she gave a gasp of surprise.
Gríma seemed pleased with her response and called her out on it. “I see the she-elf has not heard this story.”
Legolas glanced sidelong, but did not meet her eyes as he gave a brief explanation, “Rota admitted to her wickedness, and she named you as her collaborator. Just another way in which you tried to ruin me and have me cast out.”
Gríma’s hands grasped the railing as he leaned out and yelled in anger, “You should never have been allowed residence in Rohan in the first place. I should have had you killed as soon as I returned to Rohan. It would have saved everyone their troubles.” Gríma’s hands released the rail and disappeared into his robes. Legolas watched him carefully, bringing his bow in front of him and loosely fitting an arrow to it.
“Remember what I have told you, Legolas,” Gandalf warned. He closed his mind off to Saruman and whispered so soft that only Legolas could hear. “We still might have use for Gríma, if we can get him away from Saruman. He knows much in the way of the enemy and their workings.”
“He does not deserve another chance,” Legolas answered. “For too long I have yearned to get my hands stained with his blood. Death is all he is worthy of now.”
Meanwhile, Saruman was becoming intoxicated by the hatred that was emanating from the elf. He could feel his inner strength returning. The argument between Gríma and Legolas was the perfect distraction. As soon as he was capable, he would deliver another curse and destroy them all, leaving him with only the Ents to deal with, and they were dense and slow-moving.
Gríma could not hear what Gandalf was saying, but he could tell that the wizard was trying to talk Legolas down from doing anything foolish. Besides, he thought to himself, he was too far away for the elf to inflict any harm. Gríma would see him take aim before he could lose his arrow upon him. “I say you take Gandalf’s advice, as you have taken the advice of them all. They seem more than willing to let me live. Perhaps I have not fallen from their graces as you would like, Elf.”
Legolas’ eyes narrowed as he set them upon Gríma, “I regret not killing you when first I had my chance. What a sweet moment of revenge it was to feel my hands wrapped around your neck.” With that said, Legolas lost all control and raised his bow.
The company around Legolas mumbled, some telling him to shoot, others telling him not to. Gandalf was demanding that he lower his bow. Gimli was taunting him to shoot and be done with it. Legolas’ arm pulled back on the bowstring as he made his final decision.
Then, there was the soft touch of a feminine hand upon his shoulder, and all noise disappeared. All he heard now was Calariel’s sweet voice. “This is not our way, Laiqalassë. We respect life, even that of someone as ruined as Gríma. It is not up to you to decide. So please, my prince, do not do this out of revenge. The elves mustn’t use this emotion to aid them. It goes against all that we stand for.”
Legolas heard what she said, and he started to wonder. Was this why he had not killed Gríma yet? He’d had plenty of chances, but each time he had stopped. But the truth was, each time, he had been told to stop, and out of respect he had listened. Now, here he was again, faced with the same decision, and his mind was in a whirlwind.
“Are you so weak that you would submit to them?” said a new voice. It was Saruman, but he was not speaking from the balcony. He was inside Legolas’ mind. “You are not like any of them, remember. You are the last of your species… a wood elf of Mirkwood. You are a savage when it comes to revenge. Think of all that you have lost because no one was there to help save your people or your land. You think these companions here are any different? They beg you to save the one who has made your life miserable. Why? Because they are using you, Legolas.”
“No,” Legolas said defiantly to the voice in his head.
Saruman laughed, “And that is why you let Gríma survive. I wonder what things might be like if you had followed your instincts in the first place. Wormtongue would be dead, and perhaps Théodred would still be alive. Perhaps the Rohirric girl would be your mate instead of laying with another and bearing his children. Think of all the ways your life would be different. Now think of how you can take back what is owed to you. Shoot Gríma and revel in the hatred that you feel towards him. Take comfort in your vengeance. Shoot him!”
“No,” Legolas said again, finding it difficult to refuse such an enticing deed.
“Your father would have done it. Are you not the son of a King? Do it, Legolas. Kill Gríma! Avenge all those who have gone from your life,” Saruman commanded.
Legolas closed his eyes and tried to maintain himself, but all he could see was death and sorrow as Saruman played on his memories. Calariel’s words came back to him, ‘it is not our way.’ But was it his way? Could he truly consider himself the same as her, as all the other elves? He wanted nothing more than to kill Gríma. He always had. He had staked his claim on the worm, telling the others that Gríma was his to deal with. Let them have Saruman… Gríma was his and his alone.
Gríma, who hadn’t known the trickery that Saruman was using on Legolas, called down yet again, antagonizing the elf, “You’ll not kill me now, just as you couldn’t kill me in the past. You will let them choose for you, as you always have and always will.”
Legolas stilled his mind, making his decision at last, “No… no, I am not like other elves,” he uttered, “And now you die, Gríma Wormtongue.” He released the tension on the bowstring and let the arrow fly.
For the first time since becoming a soldier of Rohan, Legolas missed his target. Before freeing his arrow, Legolas’ arm shook uncontrollably, as though he suffered some internal conflict, and his shot went awry.
Gimli allowed a disappointing grunt. Calariel once again gasped in horror as she witnessed Legolas’ transformation from calm reserve to utter vengeance. Emotions were mixed amongst the rest of the company. Those who wished to see him successful were disappointed, and those who trusted that Legolas would be fair were shocked to see him give in to animosity.
Gríma had seen the look in the elf’s eyes just before his arrow flew, and he ducked down behind the railing. He also noticed that Saruman never flinched as the arrow bounced unsuccessfully off the wall of the tower, not but inches from Saruman’s head. He looked up to find the wizard’s eyes fixed on Legolas. He’d seen him like this before when he spoke through the seeing stone. It was a mind power that Saruman used, to speak without sound with the mind instead of the tongue. That’s when Gríma realized that the wizard had never been the target of Legolas’ attack. Was Saruman using Legolas to kill him? If that was the case, Gríma’s life was still in danger. Saruman would have no use for him now that Théoden had taken back Rohan. He quickly devised a plan, one in which he wished to use later rather than immediately.
Legolas looked confused and conflicted. How had he missed? For years he’d waited for this moment and he missed. There was no way to take another shot. The moment had passed. Gandalf moved so that he sat upon his steed in front of Legolas, blocking his aim. His bushy brows were drawn deep with disappointment, but he would not speak. Instead, he turned his horse and faced the tower, looking up at the balcony where Saruman stood, unmoving. Gríma slowly rose to his feet.
“Elf scum,” Gríma called down, “You dare try to kill me? You know not what you have started. You think you have helped save Rohan, when all you have done is aid its downfall. All of Middle-earth will bow once the new power has replaced the old.” Gríma picked something up from the hidden shadows in the corner of the balcony. To everyone’s shock, he lifted the Palantír before him, “With this, not even Sauron is immune.”
Saruman was horrified to see the Palantír in Gríma’s hands,” “What do you think you’re doing with that?” Saruman chided, daggers shooting from his black eyes, “You weak-minded clod! Take it back inside!”
“No, it’s time that they all knew what they were up against. I’ll not hide in your shadow anymore, Saruman,” said Gríma, feeling empowered, but he hadn’t known that the wizard regained partial power.
Saruman’s gnarled fingers darted out, aimed at Gríma, and a static charge hit the man hard enough to make him fall to the floor. The black stone rolled dangerously close to the edge of the balcony, stopping before it fell over, and Saruman was satisfied for the moment.
Gríma slowly came to and got to his hands and knees. But as he stood up straight again, Saruman kicked him hard in the stomach, making Gríma double in pain and fall to a fetal position. The wizard kicked him again in the ribs, then in the thighs, and once more for good measure.
No one cared much for Gríma, but no one could stand to see this simple misguided man be abused. Gandalf yelled, “Enough, Saruman. Your true colors are showing, even to your only loyal servant.”
Saruman stopped, only because he felt he’d administered enough punishment. He glared down at the pitiful heap on the balcony floor, “I should have known better than to think you could achieve any of the tasks I gave you. You are of the same blood as the rest of those horse-fucking degenerates. And now you will stand here and blame the wood elf for your failures,” Saruman scolded. He spit on Gríma, and then turned back to the company of Rohirrim below, anger still prominent in his eyes, “You can keep me hostage within my own home, but you’ll not vanquish me from this world. Go on and run back to your thatched halls, but the war has not ended. As you have seen, I harbor one of the ancient seeing stones, and that you’ll never get from me. Because of that, the Dark Lord will know what you have done here. An attack on Isengard is an attack against him, and he will answer with more powerful armies than you could ever have imagined.”
While Saruman made his threats, he had not seen Gríma slowly get to his feet. No one could have guessed what would happen next, for no one thought Wormtongue would ever perform such treachery against his own master. Even Gandalf was too focused on Saruman to know what Gríma was about to do.
Gríma’s face morphed into extreme hatred for Saruman, as he took slow careful steps towards him. Saruman did not notice and continued his threats. Legolas watched Gríma’s every move. The worm was up to something.
While they all watched to see what Gríma would do, Théoden began speaking to him in a kind and gentle tone, “Gríma, son of Gálmód, you were once a good and honest man like your father. It is not too late. You can still turn from Saruman and leave this place.”
Gríma’s eyes saddened, his anger pushing aside briefly, “But you cast me from your halls.”
“You were not yourself. You still aren’t, not as long as you stay here. Come, Gríma, put these dark days behind you, and take your life back. Rohan is where you belong,” Théoden said.
“He is not going anywhere,” said Saruman, “I own him. He is my servant, and here he shall remain, though he is a useless, weak-minded wretch.”
From behind Saruman, Gríma said through clenched teeth, “Ever have I served you, and I served you well, Master, only to be kicked and beaten like a stray dog. You promised me Rohan. You promised me a queen. I sacrificed everything for you and your cause, but that was not good enough.”
“I gave you all the tools you needed, and still you failed. You deserve to be treated like a dog. That’s the only thing you are good for now,” Saruman insulted. As he spoke, he hardly gave Gríma notice, speaking to him with only a glance over his shoulder, “Get back inside you witless dolt, and stop talking nonsense! You’ve done enough damage here as it is.”
Legolas could see Gríma’s lips moving, but he was too far up to hear his words. The look on his face gave him away though, and Legolas knew he was about to do something desperate. “Gandalf,” Legolas called out. He nodded in the direction of Gríma.
Gríma withdrew something from beneath his black robes. Legolas could tell he held something in his hand, and he focused his keen eyes upon it. There was a flash of silver, and he instantly recognized the weapon’s curved blade and runes.
Suddenly, Gríma’s arm jetted sharply forward towards Saruman’s back. A look of shock suddenly appeared on Saruman’s face. His mouth hung open and his body went rigid. Gríma pulled his arm back and jabbed it forward once again. Saruman let out a cry. The company was confused as to what was happening, but from Legolas’ position, he could see what it was. He brought his bow up once more and nocked an arrow, but Gandalf was still blocking his shot. “Step aside, Mithrandir. I will not miss this time.” He felt his confidence return, and he knew his aim would be true. It was different now. His mind was clear of Saruman’s treachery.
Gríma stabbed Saruman for a third time and began reciting the words of the black speech that would transform Saruman’s powers into Gríma as the wizard’s life faded.
Gandalf looked grim, but allowed Legolas his shot. The elf raised his bow, pulled back on the string, and set his sight on Gríma. Before he released the arrow, he whispered quietly, “For Théodred, my brother.” Then he released his shot. The arrow flew straight and true this time, entering Gríma’s side where it passed between his ribs and impaled his heart.
Gríma’s body went ridged and his hand let go of the dagger that was still embedded in Saruman’s back. He looked down at Legolas as his life left him. The elf, his most hated enemy, was the last thing he saw before he fell in a limp mass of black robes to the balcony floor. Saruman’s body slumped forward and draped over the railing. As he did, his foot nudged the Palantír. The black stone rolled over the edge and disappeared into the murky water below.
“And so ends the reign of Saruman,” Gandalf said quietly. This was not how he wished things to end. Saruman had much knowledge of the enemy. He could have been a useful resource, if Gandalf could have gotten him to talk. Gríma would have known something also. Now, both men were lost to death and despair, and Sauron’s scheme for dominance was still a mystery.
Eomer, who had been by his uncle’s side during all of this, came to Legolas, “It is done.” He may have been the only other person who knew the depth of hatred between Legolas and Gríma. Eomer was not untouched by Gríma’s betrayal either. It had been his uncle that man had put under his control, and it had been Eomer’s sister that Gríma’s greedy eyes followed throughout Edoras. Eomer was a glad to see him gone.
“May Théodred rest peacefully, now that the one responsible for his death has been vanquished. I can honestly say that I am glad it was done by my own hand,” Legolas admitted.
Eomer nodded in compliance, “If not by yours, then I would have seen it done.”
“It would have been much worse, had Gríma followed through with his plans, for I glimpsed the weapon that he used on Saruman,” Gimli said from behind Legolas.
Calariel had remained silent through all of this. She was shocked and confused by Legolas’ actions at first, but now she understood why he behaved as he did. There was no denying that Legolas was different from any elf in Middle-earth. He was greatly influenced by Men and their way of thinking, but he struggled sometimes with his elvishness. She had seen his conflict earlier, and knew why Legolas missed killing Gríma the first time. Perhaps she would speak to him about it later. Right now, she was curious about this weapon they spoke of.
“What of this blade, Gimli?” she asked.
“It has an anomaly,” Gimli answered. “Once the dagger spills blood, the power of its victim transfers to the wielder of the blade.”
“He meant to use it on King Théoden after Saruman was done using him to fell Rohan,” Eomer said, “Gríma wanted control of the Riddermark, as well as my sister, forcing her into marriage.”
“Well, Eowyn is safe now, and so is your uncle,” Legolas remarked.
“At least for now,” said Gimli. “There is still the matter of Mordor to contend with.”
“There is still the matter of Mirkwood also,” Calariel added.
Legolas heard something in her tone and turned to her. She was right, of course. It was not enough to rid Isengard of this evil, or even Mordor. Unless the darkness was destroyed from every realm, Middle-earth would always be in turmoil.
King Théoden gathered the company, after a brief discussion with Gandalf. “We will return to Edoras. Isengard is no longer a threat. Gandalf has informed me that the Ents will know what to do with the land and the tower. Let us take this time to rest and pay homage to those who have fallen. It is the least we can do for our brothers.”
The company prepared for the journey home, taking what supplies they could find. The two hobbits knew where the food stores were and showed the others. Legolas and Calariel refreshed their provisions also. It was during this time that Calariel pulled Legolas aside to speak to him alone.
“I suppose you will go back to Rohan now. It seems like they will need your talents, for war is not over. Sauron will want retribution for what happened here. I was just wondering where that leaves me. I’m not sure Rohan is where I should go. My father and the others will be expecting me to return soon, and no doubt I will have many questions to answer,” she said.
Legolas assumed Rohan would be his destination also, but he took this free moment to gather his thoughts. He glanced around the company, finding Eomer standing with Théoden, who was taking counsel with Gandalf. They were no doubt discussing their next moves. Aragorn and Gimli were reacquainting themselves with their friends the hobbits, Merry and Pippin. The other members of the company were eagerly awaiting their orders, anxious to return home, he supposed. Suddenly, Legolas got the notion that maybe they didn’t need him as he thought they did. “They all seem settled at the moment. They know their course and are prepared to follow it.”
Calariel looked around, seeing what Legolas was seeing, “It seems that you have accomplished what you set out to do. Théoden, Eomer… they are free, and they are well.”
Legolas looked out over the mountains and to the edge of Fangorn Forest, now partially destroyed because of Saruman. Calariel was right… war was far from over. The victory at Helm’s Deep and Isengard was miniscule compared to what lay ahead in Mordor. He could go with Rohan and follow them to wherever they decided to give aid. He and Eomer could battle side by side, cutting down the enemy, but that would only lead him further away from the reality that he must soon face… Mirkwood. It was time to come to terms with his real identity, to take up his role as the last wood elf, and prince of his ravaged home. How he would ever achieve this, he did not know. It seemed like an overwhelming task for one person, and he knew he could not do it alone. Eomer had always promised that he would join Legolas in his fight to overthrow the enemy, but his friend had a responsibility to Rohan. Not even Théoden would agree to send men to Mirkwood during these turbulent times. At this point, everyone needed to do their part. So, if aid could not be expected from Rohan that only left one other place, a place where he hadn’t felt welcome, a place where animosity was strong against him.
Legolas set his eyes upon Calariel, “I must speak with Théoden and Eomer before we leave.”
“We?” she questioned.
“Am I not welcomed to join you on your journey back to Lothlórien?”
“Well… no, I would not refuse your company,” she said, “I just thought you would remain with the Men. You seemed to have found your place amongst them.”
Legolas was surprised by her hesitancy. Calariel seemed skeptical about him, and why shouldn’t she be? Saruman and Gríma had revealed things about his past that he hadn’t shared with her, horrible, unthinkable things that was unheard of amongst the first born. He turned his eyes downward, “I understand if you wish to return alone. I do not want you to feel uncomfortable.”
She gently touched his arm, drawing his attention back to her face, “Why would you think that?”
“Surely you question the things you have heard today, and I would not blame you for thinking ill of me.”
“Legolas, if you think I would take the word of a demented wizard over yours, then you don’t know me well. Besides, I trust that you will tell me when you feel ready to share your past.”
Legolas smiled with relief, “I am glad you feel that way, Calariel, though I am not sure why you do.”
* * *
Legolas asked Calariel to go ahead of him so that he could speak with the members of the company before he set out for Lothlórien. Then he gathered his friends to him to tell them his plans. Aragorn, Eomer and Gimli stood waiting for the elf to speak.
“I have come to realize that my path does not lead me in the same direction as all of you,” he started.
“You’re not coming with us?” Eomer asked.
Legolas shook his head slowly from side to side, “My mind has been plagued with this decision for some time now. There are things I still do not know that I must discover. There are things that must be set right before I can even begin to contemplate my role as heir to an empty throne. I can’t help but feel that the recent discovery of my true identity has been a burden to me. I’m still not sure I believe what Gandalf has told me of my father. And so, I must use this time to sort out all of the things that stand before me. I am apprehensive about my decision, but I think the answers to my questions still lie within Lothlórien.”
Aragorn nodded, for he knew Legolas would find what he sought within the Golden Wood, “The Lady of Light will be instrumental to your search. I think it is a wise choice.”
“It is not Galadriel that I worry about,” Legolas said.
“If it is that pompous march warden that’s giving you trouble, perhaps I should join you. I still have a thing or two to say to that cocky, stiff-lipped elf,” Gimli grumbled.
“Thank you for your concern, but I believe I can handle Haldir on my own,” Legolas answered. “It is a long story, one that I have not the time to tell, but maybe we will come together again someday soon and I shall tell my tale. By then, I hope to have more to share.”
Aragorn stepped forward and extended his hand to the elf. They grasped forearms as Aragorn wished Legolas an uneventful journey to Lothlórien. Then, Gimli came up with heavy feet treading a path. He didn’t speak at first, but eyed the elf through his bushy brows.
“Though we did not see eye to eye when we met, I have come to discover that you are most admirable… for an elf, and I will ever be at your service. I shall speak kindly of you to those that I meet, especially to my own kind, and I will not deny that I am glad to call you friend,” Gimli acknowledged.
Legolas placed his hand over his heart and bowed, “I am proud to call you the same, Gimli son of Gloin, and I look forward to our next meeting.”
Gimli started to step away when he remembered something, “Oh, do not go before you take back the elvish book I’ve been holding for you. I’ve got it in my pack.”
“Maybe you can hold on to it just a while longer. I’ve no need of it for now.”
Gimli cocked a brow at him, “Now, why would I want to trek across Middle-earth carrying your things. I’ve enough to haul around as it is. And besides, I believe there are some things that should be revised, especially some of the descriptions of the Dwarves.”
“Have you been reading my book, Dwarf?” Legolas chided playfully.
“Only the parts that concern my people. So take back your belongings, for I am tired of keeping them safe for you,” said Gimli cleverly. Gimli saw Eomer out of the corner of his eye, and stepped aside.
Eomer stopped in front of Legolas, crossed his arms and cocked his head to one side, “I don’t think I really thought this day would come, at least not so soon. I wish you would come back to Rohan, if only for a short while.”
“I wish that too, Eomer, more than you would know. Rohan has been my home for a long time, and I hate to part ways,” said Legolas sincerely, “But order has been restored to the Riddermark. Théoden is strong once more, and Edoras has a new Marshal of the Mark.”
Eomer laughed, “I guess it would seem odd for an elf prince to be under the command of a Rohir Captain. It also explains why you were not very capable of taking orders.” They both shared in a laugh before Eomer’s disposition sobered. Then he continued, “I always thought we would to go Mirkwood together, but I see how impossible that would be at this time.”
“And I don’t expect you to come, though it would gladden my heart to have you beside me in battle. Alas, you have your people to keep safe, and Théoden and Eowyn as well.”
“True, though once I return without you, I might need protection from my sister. She will be expecting you, and she’ll worry when you do not show. No doubt it will be my fault too,” Eomer jested.
“Point well taken, my friend, but you do not give her enough credit. Watch over her, Eomer. I fear that she pines for one that she cannot have,” Legolas glanced at Aragorn. “He is more than worthy of your sister, but his heart is already promised to another.”
Eomer nodded, and then settled his attention upon Legolas once more. He shook his head in disbelief, “What will I ever do without out my adopted brother? We have been through so much that now I find it difficult to imagine going ahead without you.”
“I feel much the same. Even though I knew this day would come, I think a part of me dreaded it. And here we are at that day.” Legolas clasped a hand on Eomer’s shoulder, and Eomer did the same. “Stay safe,” Legolas said.
“Send word and do not hesitate to call upon Rohan for aid,” Eomer said in return.
“I will,” Legolas said as they released their grip on each other. Then, he went off to speak to Théoden before leaving.
Legolas found the king at the gate giving out a few last orders as the company prepared to leave. Legolas approached, bowed and looked to the king. Théoden smiled humbly, “I can tell by the look on your face that you have made your decision. So, you take to the road that leads to home, and not the home that you are most familiar with.”
“Yes, I’m afraid I must take my leave of Rohan. I just… It’s, well it’s not enough to just say farewell. I doesn’t seem proper to part like this, not after all that you have done for me. The Woodsmen were right to bring me to Rohan so long ago. They saw my potential, and they knew Rohan would be the best place to let me grow and learn.”
“And it has been a worthy experience to watch you come into your own, Legolas,” Théoden responded. “Eomer and Théodred,” he paused at the mention of his son, “They are all the better to have known you, to have grown with you, and to have fought beside you. I hope you know how you have enriched all of our lives.”
“As you have done for me also. I take a part of Rohan with me, for it is deeply embedded within my heart, and it will always feel like home,” Legolas bowed, but as he stood, Théoden embraced him.
“Then take this with you, Legolas, and know that no matter our differences, I am proud to call you son,” the king said softly as he took Legolas’ hand and put a small metal object into it.
Legolas separated from Théoden, and saw that the king was misty eyed. Before he could look and see what Théoden had given him, the king was calling out to his men to ready with the last of the preparations. He turned and went in search of his captains without another glance at Legolas, but the elf understood why. Such was the way of the kings of men.
Legolas finally opened his hand and discovered a brooch made of tarnished silver depicting two horses rearing, facing each other. He recognized it right away. It belonged to Théodred, a gift from his father when he had been appointed Second Marshal of the Mark. Théodred wore it into every battle and at every uniformed ceremony. Legolas hadn’t seen it since his friend last went off to war, thinking it was lost in battle, for it was not part of Théodred’s burial suit. Théoden must have kept it, one last thing to remind him of his late son. It was priceless, Legolas told himself, and something he would always treasure.
With his farewells finished, Legolas mounted Arod at last, and started down the path that led to Lothlórien with the confidence that he was ready to accept his new future.
* * *
Somewhere within the dark shadows of the tower of Orthanc, a cloaked figure stirred, making its way to the place where the bodies of Saruman and Gríma lay. With the Rohirric company distracted as they prepared to return home, no one noticed the mysterious stranger standing on the balcony considering the dead. The figure crouched down and pulled the dagger from Saruman’s back, wiped the blood on Gríma’s black robes and wrapped it in a cloth. Then, just as quickly as the stranger appeared, it was gone back into the dark halls whence it came… silent and unseen by anyone, as the new master of the cursed blade.
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The Last Wood Elf