Author's notes: This wasn't meant to have a part two. It was supposed to be a one-shot deal. But Legolas wanted closure. Unfortunately he won't get it until part 3.
And All Hope Fled (Part 2)
The torture continued for seven straight nights. Grima, true to his word, alternated between torturing the elf and the dwarf. And although they were both made to endure suffering beyond words, it was clear to everyone that the elf received the worst punishment. This was not a personal choice on Grima's part. It had more to do with practicality than anything else. The elf was of the Eldar, and therefore could sustain more serious injury than the dwarf. In fact any injuries he sustained during his sessions were almost completely healed by the next morning.
Tonight it was the elf's turn once again.
Grima smiled as he entered the torture chamber, pleased to see that everything was already prepared. The dwarf was tied securely to the stone chair in the middle of the room. The elf was a few yards away from him, on his knees, his hands chained to a steel bolt imbedded in the floor in front of him.
"Well, well," Grima began as he walked to stand between them. "Here we are again."
Both Legolas and Gimli stared at him, their eyes blazing with hatred. Grima returned their stares with an aloof coolness. "I must admit, that while this was entertaining at first, it is now getting a bit . . . shall we say . . . tiresome? After all, I do have an entire world to run, I cannot spend all my nights down in this pit waiting for you to come to your senses and talk." His voice, which had started out being soft and composed, was now loud and full of venom.
He paused a moment, forcing himself to calm down, then he looked at Legolas. "So, I thought that tonight we might try something . . . different. What do you say, elf? Shall we try something different?"
Legolas stared at him, saying nothing. His eyes betrayed none of the fear that was stirring in his heart. It had been there from the beginning, a small kernel of fear that had been growing steadily. He was afraid for Gimli, he was afraid for the rebellion that was still so new, and finally, he was afraid for himself. He was not invulnerable to emotions, despite what many seemed to think. He did not want to die.
Grima continued to speak. "I went to my men and asked for volunteers. When I asked about you, dwarf," he said as he turned toward Gimli, "there weren't many who were interested. Not surprising. You are quite hideous."
"You on the other hand elf, drew many volunteers. Again not surprising. You are very beautiful." Grima walked over to Legolas and bent down to stroke his cheek gently. Legolas made a noise of disgust and turned his head away.
Grima drew his hand away and clutched it to his chest. He looked amused. "I have to admit, I believe this will be most pleasurable to watch."
He then straightened and walked to the northern wall of the chamber where he could easily see both of his captives. "So, have you figured out what the torment will be for tonight?" he asked as he leaned against the cool stones. "You are both intelligent; surely you must see it by now." He glanced over at Gimli and saw that he knew what was coming. The look of horror on his face was unmistakable.
Grima was most pleased by the dwarf's reaction. He turned toward the man standing closest to him and addressed him. "Would you like to be first?" he asked.
The man smiled and nodded. "Yes sir."
"Then go, take him," Grima said.
The man had taken a few steps toward Legolas when Grima suddenly shouted, "Wait!" The man stopped and looked at him questioningly. Surely his king had not changed his mind? Grima reached inside his robes and pulled out a lean dagger. He threw it at the man, who caught it effortlessly.
"Do not be gentle," he said with a smile.
"Yes, my lord."
Legolas watched the man as he came toward him. He kept his gaze steady, determined not to show his fear. He was no fool, he had realized what was going to happen to him long before Gimli had.
The man reached Legolas and knelt down behind him. Using the dagger given to him, he sliced Legolas' shirt in two. He then parted the torn fabric to expose the elf's back. His eyes widened in appreciation as he looked down upon the smooth, pale skin. He ran a trembling hand down the length of his back, relishing the softness. Gods, no woman's skin had ever been this soft. He pulled his hand away reluctantly and once more used the dagger, this time to cut the elf's leggings off of his body. He was not gentle and the steel blade cut into Legolas' skin as often as it cut into cloth.
When the man finished with the clothing, he set the dagger down on the floor with great care, as if it were very fragile. Then he leaned over the elf and began to do what his king had bidden him to do; what he himself had wanted to do ever since he set eyes upon the beautiful creature.
Legolas shuddered involuntarily. The man's hands were all over him, touching him as one would touch a willing lover. He wanted to twist away from them but there was nowhere to go. If only his hands were free, he could stand up and . . . ah but that kind of thinking was useless now. He was not free and he could not stop what was about to happen to him.
The hands moved to his lower body, parting his legs slightly, then they were on his backside, kneading his flesh hungrily. He could feel the man's wet mouth on the back of his neck and his shoulder, planting eager kisses and bestowing small bites.
Legolas raised his head and looked at Gimli. His friend's face was deathly pale but a light of determination shone brightly in his eyes. Legolas continued to look at him, drawing strength from his presence. It was only when the man entered him that he finally shut his eyes. This he would have to endure alone.
He clenched his fists tightly and willed his mind to focus on something other than what was being done to him. He tried to lose himself in sweet memories of the past or in positive images of the future, but the pain kept bringing him back. Yet it was not the physical pain that affected him so, it was the pain he felt in his heart. The humiliation, the sense of helplessness; those things were what kept him anchored to his present reality.
Legolas did not open his eyes again until it was over and the man had pulled away from him. He unclenched his fists and allowed his body to relax. He felt a stinging sensation on his bottom lip and was surprised to find that he bitten through it during the assault. His ran his tongue gingerly over the spot and tasted his own blood. His stomach lurched from nausea.
Nearing footsteps alerted him to the fact that Grima was walking toward him. He lifted his eyes and watched as the man gathered his robes to crouch down in front of him.
Grima lifted Legolas' chin with his hand and softly asked, "What do you say, elf? Would you like to speak now?"
Legolas tried to talk, but found that his throat was too dry to allow words to form. He swallowed painfully and tried again. "...nothing to say to you . . . "
Grima turned his head and asked the dwarf, "And you, would you like to speak now?"
Gimli's voice was cold and hollow, the voice of a dead man, as he answered. "I will see you dead, Grima Wormtongue. I swear by the Valar, I will see you dead for this."
"Yes, yes . . . more threats. They get old dwarf." Grima stood. "Well, since neither of you has anything of interest to tell me, let us proceed. Who is next?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Five men had taken their turn at the elf, and still neither he nor the dwarf had broken. They appeared to be close to it; Legolas' sounds of restrained anguish continuously echoed through the chamber and Gimli wept openly at his friend's plight. But still neither had broken.
Finally growing impatient and bored, Grima motioned for one of his men to come to him, then he whispered something in his ear. The man left, his departure going unnoticed by almost everyone in the room. When he returned, he held a great bow in one hand and an axe in the other.
"Do you recognize this, elf?" Grima asked as he took the bow from the man and held it aloft. Legolas wearily lifted his head and tried to focus. It was difficult, sweat kept trickling into his eyes, causing them to sting and water, yet when he saw what Grima held, his eyes opened wide.
"Yes, I see you do," Grima said. "It is your bow, of course. A beauty . . . such craftsmanship. This was a gift was it not? I believe it was." He dropped the bow, and it clattering noisily onto the stone floor. He turned to Gimli. "And you dwarf? Do you recognize your trusty axe? "
Without waiting for an answer, he took the axe from the man and brought it down with a strength that few would have thought he possessed. It sliced through the air and landed heavily on the center of the bow. The sturdy wood splintered but did not break. He lifted the axe and brought it down again on the exact same spot. It still did not break.
Once again the axe came whistling through the air. This time the bow split in two.
He dropped the axe carelessly and picked up half of the bow. "I will do this myself," he announced as he began to move toward Legolas.
"I believe this will be a first for you, elf. To be speared by your own weapon?"
Legolas again closed his eyes and clenched his fists, trying to prepare himself for what was to come. The edge of the bow was jagged. It would hurt, it would hurt unlike anything he had ever experienced. And he knew it was very likely that he would not survive. Softly, in Elvish, he began to pray.
Without another word Grima stepped behind Legolas and placed a steadying hand on his bare back. With the other hand he gripped the bow tightly and lifted it into the air.
"Wait, stop! I will tell you what you wish you know!" Gimli shouted.
Gimli's words broke the stillness that had settled so heavily in the air. The men in the room looked at him, their eyes blinking slowly as if they were awakening from a dream. Grima froze, his hand still holding the bow in the air. Legolas was the first to recover. "Gimli, no!" he shouted hoarsely.
Gimli turned desperate eyes toward his friend. "Shut your mouth, Legolas!"
Legolas stared at him for a long moment, disbelief and hurt warring for dominance in his features. Finally he dropped his eyes and exhaled softly in defeat. Gimli would tell them what they wanted to know, and he could do nothing to stop him. It was all over.
This had all been for nothing.
Grima dropped the bow with a flourish. He had not been expecting this. He had been fully prepared to skewer the elf and watch him die. And he had been fully prepared to enjoy it. But this was much better. Winning was so much better. "So tell me," he said, his voice practically singing with triumph.
"I will. But on one condition."
"You are in no position to bargain," Grima said.
"What I ask for is a small trifle. It will not affect you in any way."
Grima was quiet for a moment, as if considering. Finally he said, "Name it."
"I wish to be placed in the same cell as my friend. That is all I ask."
A smile broke across Grima's face. "Fine. That can be done. Now tell me."
Gimli closed his eyes and dropped his head to his chest. His voice shook as if it pained him to speak. "They are in the forest of Rivenna. At the south end near the White River."
Legolas looked up sharply, although his face betrayed no surprise at Gimli's words. Gimli's head continued to stay down. He looked the perfect picture of misery and defeat.
Grima clapped his hands together and laughed. "Finally! Now that wasn't so hard, was it? Was it dwarf?"
Gimli lifted his head and stared at him, saying nothing.
"Well then! It is time for me to assemble my armies, so that they may crush this rebellion of yours."
Grima gathered his robes around his body and began to walk toward the door that lead from the dungeons. He stopped when he reached Gimli and placed a hand on his shoulder in an almost paternal gesture. "You did the right thing. You saved him a great deal of pain."
Gimli merely grunted, wanting nothing more than for the snake to take his vile touch away.
He almost sighed in relief when Grima lifted his hand and continued to make his way outside.
At the entrance to the chamber he paused briefly to say, "Put them in the same cell," and then he was gone.
Gimli observed the men's faces as they followed their king outside. Some of them looked frustrated at not having gotten their turn with the elf. The five that had gotten their turn looked sated and pleased. Besides the Wormtongue himself, Gimli had never hated anyone as much as he hated those men.
Soon the only ones left in the room were the two guards that took them back to their cells every night. Gimli watched as they undid Legolas' bonds. He winced as he watched him slump to the floor heavily. One of the guards grabbed him by the arm and roughly hoisted him to his feet. Legolas, ever proud, tried to stand, but his legs would not support him. He would have fallen back to the stone floor if not for the man's quick movements. The guards, seeing that the elf would not be able to walk on his own, stood on each side of him and firmly grasped his arms. Then they half-dragged, half-pulled him from the torture chamber.
It was after they had placed Legolas in his cell that the guards came back for Gimli. They undid his bindings carefully, making certain that weapons were pointed at him at all times. As if he would really try anything. He didn't have the strength. Not after all the torture. Not after seeing Legolas tortured. He didn't have the strength, nor the spirit.
He let himself be escorted to the prison cells, walking docilely next to the guards. They stopped at what he could only guess was Legolas' cell.
The steel door was opened and one of the guards made a motion that indicated he was to enter. He walked in, jumping slightly when the door clanged shut behind him. He looked around the dimly lit cell until he found Legolas, curled up on his side against the far wall.
Gimli moved closer and noticed that Legolas' shoulders shook uncontrollably and that his breaths were coming raggedly and unevenly. He appeared to be sobbing. Gimli had never before seen his friend weep.
Just the thought of it made his heart ache.
He quickly knelt down beside him and reached out his hand.
Legolas, sensing the touch coming, flinched violently. "Do not touch me!" he screamed.
Gimli pulled his hand back. "Legolas . . . I only meant to comfort you," he said.
Legolas shook his head and raised it. Gimli could see that he had not been weeping after all. A wave of admiration and pride swept through the dwarf.
"Do not touch me, Gimli," Legolas said. "I am unclean."
"What? How can you say that?" Gimli asked in disbelief.
"You saw what they did to me. How can you possibly think otherwise?"
"I did see what they did to you. But it does not make you unclean. It changes nothing about you," Gimli said.
"It changes everything," Legolas said fiercely.
"Legolas . . . " he started to say but trailed off. Words were failing him. How could he possibly convey to his friend that he did not see him any differently? That if anything he saw him as being braver, stronger than he had before? And that the more these men tried to tarnish him, the brighter he shone?
He felt all of these things so strongly, but he could not seem to find the right words to make Legolas believe what he believed. So he sat silently and listened to Legolas' labored breathing, and he swore to himself that someday soon he would be able to tell his friend what he needed to hear.
They sat without speaking until Legolas' breathing evened out to something resembling normal. Then the elf spoke, breaking the uneasy silence. "Why did you lie to them?" he asked quietly.
"I sought to buy some time," Gimli answered.
"They will know soon, and then it will be worse for us both."
"Perhaps," Gimli admitted. He knew that Legolas spoke the truth, but what else could he do? Watch as his friend was run through with his own weapon? He had already been witness to so much of his pain. He could not have withstood that. So he had lied. He had lied and told Grima that the rebels were in the forest of Rivenna knowing full well that it would only buy them a few days at the most.
The sound of footsteps on the stone floor caused both Gimli and Legolas to still. They listened as the footsteps drew nearer to them until they stopped abruptly right outside their cell door. Gimli stared through the gloom to see that a man now stood outside their cell.
"Master Dwarf," the man whispered.
"What?" Gimli asked gruffly.
"I must speak with you," the man answered, still whispering.
"Go away," Gimli said. He didn't care that he might possibly be angering one of his enemies. He had had enough of these animals.
The man's voice held a note of pleading and urgency. "Please, I do not have much time."
Gimli looked down at Legolas and gave him a questioning look. Legolas nodded, silently telling Gimli to go. Gimli stood up and walked over to where the man was waiting.
"What is it?" he asked.
"I have some things for the Prince. They are not much, but they are the best we could do."
Gimli wondered who "we" was, but he stayed silent and waited for the man to continue.
"This is salve for his wounds. It will help with the pain," he said as he passed a small vial through the bars. Gimli took it. "And this is a blanket to help keep him warm."
He passed that through the bars as well. Gimli took it and looked down at what he held in his hands. "Why would you give these to us?" he asked.
The man ignored the question. "You must hide them when the guards come. They cannot see them."
"Yes, but, why give these to us?" Gimli persisted.
A noise from the far end of the hall caused the man to turn his head sharply. He waited a moment, his head cocked to one side listening for any other sound. When none came, he turned back toward Gimli.
"Just remember this. Do not give up on Hope."
"What does that mean? Who are you?" Gimli asked, but the man was already turning to leave.
Gimli watched him go, then he walked back to where his friend lay. He sat down on the ground next to him and gently placed the blanket over his body. "He said . . . "
"I heard," Legolas interrupted.
"Do not give up on hope. What do you think he meant by that?"
"Estel, perhaps," Legolas said softly.
"Aragorn? He is as good as dead," he said bitterly.
"But he is not dead, Gimli. Not yet. And whatever the meaning of the message, at least we know we have allies here. That alone is worth much."
Gimli nodded. The elf was right. He very often was.
He looked down at the vial he held in his hands. "Well, I suppose I should put this on you now. Maybe it will help you rest."
"I can do it myself."
Gimli smiled, knowing the elf would have it no other way. He handed him the vial and then turned his head to give him a measure of privacy.
After a few minutes he heard Legolas sigh and say, "I am done."
He looked to see that Legolas was still laying on his side with the blanket wrapped protectively around him like a cocoon. His hands gripped its frayed fabric so hard that his knuckles were white.
"Come elf, lay your head on my lap. It is more comfortable than a stone floor," Gimli said.
Legolas looked at him uncertainly. Gimli knew what he was thinking. It was as if he could read the elf's mind. He still believed himself to be unclean; unworthy of comfort. Gimli forced a smile onto his face, hoping it didn't look too false. "Come on, you stubborn elf. Are you going to make me drag you over here?"
Legolas gave a choked, little laugh then he lifted his head slightly, just enough to allow Gimli to slip under him.
"Are you in much pain?" he asked softly.
"Yes," Legolas answered simply. "But already it begins to recede."
Gimli leaned back against the stone wall and looked down at his friend. His hair was in disarray and it fell all around his face like waves of spun gold. He was tempted to run his hands through it, to comfort him and soothe him, but he was afraid to touch too much. Afraid that he would cause Legolas to pull away from him.
So instead he sat quietly and offered a few tentative touches in the near-dark. And as he sat there, he mulled over the man's mysterious words.
Do not give up on hope . . .
Could he really hold on to hope here, in this place of pain and fear?
He looked down at Legolas and noticed that he had fallen asleep. He looked young, innocent, at peace.
Perhaps he could hold on to hope after all.
