This is The Sick Story, as drawn on Morima's website and ripped to shreds twice on Livejournal's Deleterius, -- rewritten. Full title: The Sick Story rewritten. Author: I. Skard. Rating: R for weed-smoking and questionable content. Canon characters: Saruman, partly Gríma. WIP, slightly AU, crosses over with PhoenixFlame's Realm of the Vampyre (to be read on my website). This is not a run-of-the-mill LotR fanfiction! Do not read if you are a rabid Legolas fangirl! May contain Mary-Sues, and it certainly contains originality. Enjoy!
CHAPTER I of Grease, Filth and Gate Guards
Sick slipped off the horseback and flumped like a sack of potatoes to the ground.
The animal nuzzled her neck while she came to her senses, lying in front of the monumental steel gates. Inhaling the morning air she felt relief of finally having arrived … to what seemed to be her destination. A long groan escaped her upon noticing the rancid smell she emitted: a nasty mixture of horse and filthy Elf.
She started from the noise of a hatch opening in the gate above, and forced herself up on her feet. A pair of squinting eyes peered out.
Sick watched as the hatch closed with a snap. A few moments later the gates creaked open, and two armoured Men appeared -- staring in surprise.
«Uh,» the Elf moaned.
The guards stared.
This Elf had no notion of how long she had been travelling. Where she had departed from in the first place was lost to her, and even the origin of the horse was a mystery. It was as if she'd been dropped down from the heavens.
She regained her consciousness on some sort of bed. Sensation of damp hay under her fingers and the smell of filthy Men discussing excitedly caught her attention immediately, but from sheer unease she refused to let them know she was awake, and listened in to their conversation for a moment.
«… Don't worry 'bout it,» she heard one say, «a visitor of his wouldn't arrive in a state like that! Haven't you noticed; 'cept the Worm they always arrive in companies. If he ever has'em!»
«Right,» another shot in. «And this one's a woman. He doesn't expect women. As far as I know he never had female visitors. We don't need ta turn her in at all! Do we?» The four Men shouted their agreement or disapproval simultaneously, making them appear a flock of excited apes, -- until a fifth person entered the conversation and cut through:
«Quiet! You'd better shut your faces before she even wakes, chaps! Whatever happens to her if rejected is our concern. Before that, she's a visitor of the wizard's, and don't expect nothing, boys. This isn't even a human female. They don't come and go just like that. Bert. You alert them up at the tower. Off ya go.»
Bert grunted and exited the gate chamber.
Sick opened her eyes and was nauseated. She was in a filthy room, walls of stone, roof low, smelly, and situated inside something only slightly more than a niche in the walls, closed off with black bars: a small prison. Four guards stared from outside the enclosement.
Sick sat up and exclaimed angrily: «My!»
«Careful,» said the fifth guard behind the others. «Before we know for certain that you got business here, you'd better be polite, little lady. I need ta ask ya some questions.»
She sat silent.
«First. What do you want from the Lord of Isengard?»
«I don't want anything from him,» says she. «It's he who wants something from me.»
«What would that be?» said the guard. He waved the other three out of the way and set a pair of narrowed eyes in her. Suddenly he produced a small bundle packed in brown cloth and held it up. «This little thing?»
«What nerve!» cried Sick. «Give it here!» She rose, approached swiftly, and tried to snatch it back between the vertical bars, but the Man closed his large hand around the package and drew back. «You need ta tell me what this is, little lady.»
«I don't know that,» said Sick. «As I said. It is property of Saruman the White. Obviously I never opened it.»
«I'll deliver it to the Lord myself, then,» said the guard and ventured to turn.
«You certainly do not,» snapped Sick. «I have information for your Lord.»
The Man stared solemnly at her.
«Who sent you,» he asked, but it sounded like a statement, as if he wasn't expecting an answer.
Sick remained quiet. In actual fact, she didn't remember. The guard eyed her under thick eyebrows (even these were greasy).
Then he broke a snide grin. Standing up, he muttered: «I don't believe this.» He tucked the package in his pocket and said: «The wizard will have last word with you, but don't expect his hospitality! He's not fond of either uninvited or unexpected guests, -- you being both!»
Sick didn't reply, just propped herself up against the rough wall. Now what. Because she basically knew nothing about anything, she assumed there would be something about the package this Saruman-creature would need or appreciate. If it wasn't, then well, she had better try this option than starve in the wilderness. What else was there to do? Why else would she be here? This was her destination point, Isengard, -- suddenly she knew that for a fact; the information was obvious in her mind.
She waited. Within the hour Bert returned, informing the interrogator guard that Saruman indeed would see her, but at the gate, -- and at his own time. At first Sick was afraid that the wizard wanted to see her off, but on further conversation between the guards she understood that he was interested in the package after all. She hoped he had reason to.
The guards barely spoke to her as hours dragged by. The gate chamber had no windows and was lit only by candles and a small fireplace, so occasionally Sick would ask the guards of the time. They answered curtly, and most of the time she didn't even catch what they said. What a stink they gave off; even worse than her own. That reminded her. The wizard would get a bad impression indeed with her stinking like a man.
«Um, excuse me?» she ventured towards the gang of Men now sitting around the large wooden table, absorbed in some kind of betting games. «Excuse me!» she shouted.
They fell silent and turned their heads.
«Is there any soap and water?»
They stared at her, bewildered.
Sick sighed and shrugged. «Didn't think so.»
When night -- according to Sicks internal clock -- fell, she began to worry: How busy could a wizard living alone in a black tower be? She must've waited the entire day. What courtesy.
But just as she'd finished the line of thought three heavy knocks resounded from the door. Another Man, apparently a higher-ranked guard, entered. After speaking quietly with the head gate guard they exited together.
Sick stared and stood up from the bed. The gate guard re-entered the room, -- and Sick recognised with puzzlement that he seemed pale as he approached. He grabbed one of the bars and put a key in the lock, and with a click the door opened.
Immediately he took hold of her arm. «The wizard will see you,» he mumbled and led her towards the exit.
Finally. Sick felt a mingle of excitement and worry when she at long last got out. She entered a dimly lit hall; its ceiling was arched and it seemed to be a tunnel. She noticed the iron gates and realized she was inside the very walls of Isengard. Turning the other way she saw the wizard.
The Elf didn't know what she'd envisioned, but certainly not this. He was extremely tall. Basically everything about him was white, except his eyes. They were black and hard and direct set on her. In the semi-darkness behind him she noticed the nicely clad guard, standing stiff as a pole, an ornamented spear in his one hand. He had a beautiful pointed helmet on his head.
Sick was completely perplexed. «Hello,» she said and waved nervouosly to the wizard, trying to sound cheerful, failing miserably.
«Explain yourself,» he demanded.
For the first time Sick got intimidated. This person was unpleasant and unfriendly by his very nature. And that deep voice was, although not at all disagreeable, brimming with hostility.
«Er …--» she began. «… ummm …» she went. He maintained that stern stare, -- perhaps seeming a bit incredulous. «Oh. Yes!» she managed. «I had a package. It is for you, … my Lord.» She wanted to appear respectful and stood still, glancing and the package which she had noticed in Saruman's hands. The guard must've given it to him.
He took a few steps towards her, his steps resounding in the hall. What; was he wearing high-heeled shoes? Sick couldn't wrap her mind around this curious creature. Saruman held up the package, and she noticed that even his nails were long and white. Valar. What a variety of beings you would find in blessed Middle-Earth! Sick thought with some irony.
The wizard said: «Tell me who sent you.»
«I'm sorry I can't be more helpful,» she replied. «I don't know.»
Saruman surprised her when he stretched out his arm and gave her the package. «As you understand,» he said, a dryness to his voice, «I would not accept unexpected deliverances from a person refusing to tell who sent it. I bid you be off unless you can be more informative.»
«I'm not lying!» she exclaimed. «Look. I don't even know what's in here.» She tossed the package back to Saruman, and with an expression of disbelief he caught it. «Open it and see if you want it or not, my Lord, whatever it is. It's a strange thing. … It glows at night,» she continued, -- remembering in a flash that the object lights up from within the brown cloths at every sundown.
Suddenly there was another strange flash of memories speeding through her mind, or rather a flash of knowledge: she had another notion and went with it:
«I'm sure it's no less a treasure than your … your black stone, my Lord.»
Saruman froze.
His stare became very uncomfortable.
«… What?» said Sick.
The next thing she knew was Saruman's iron grip around her upper arm as he forcibly led her towards the gates, -- the inner gates. Would you look at that! Sick was astonished. He was apparently not pleased, but was he ever? Most importantly; he would apparently accommodate her. Sick realized that notions could be a good thing when her memory didn't do its job.