Legolas Greenleaf: Agent of MESS
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Disclaimer: Legolas Greenleaf and associated characters belong to JRR Tolkien. Legolas' appearance belongs to Orlando Bloom in a wig. The James Bond concept was created, or at least best used by Ian Fleming. A few odd characters and moments belong elsewhere.
Author's Notes: Oddly, this chapter is twice as long as most of the others. Also included in this chapter here are two characters that definitely belong elsewhere. Brownie points to those who know who and where. I'll just quote "With slightly different uniforms and much better dialogue they'd be right out of Shakespeare". And I've used another of his lines here. And finally, don't worry about Greenleaf's opinions on parsley. It's a bit of personal bee in my bonnet.
Thanks to all my readers! Even if you didn't review. And, yes, thank you, Lana, I know what you mean. Har-dee-har.
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Chapter 5. The Warg's Lair
"I'm afraid you'll have to leave yer weapons, sir," the gate guard said, following the visitor through and shutting the gates.
"Will they be safe?" Greenleaf asked, dismounting gracefully and handing Shadowfax's bridle to the small, rather repulsive man who was Nobby, the groom. It was the only tack the horse wore.
"Oh yes," the guard replied, "I'll sit and watch 'em very carefully, sir, y'can be sure of that."
"And I'll look after this 'orse, sir," the groom piped up, "'e's a beauty, in't 'e, Fred? Lor' lummee, 'e's gorgeous."
"Aye, that he is, Nobby," Fred the guard replied, "he's a rare one."
Greenleaf passed his bow, quiver and knife to Fred, who looked them over admiringly, then appeared faintly bashful.
"And the one on yer boot, sir," he said, "sorry, but everyone always thinks you won't realise they got one hidden there."
With a smile, Greenleaf handed it over. "I see that nothing gets past you," he said, wondering whether the guard would ask about the knife strapped to the inside of his thigh, or the tiny one under his hair, or indeed any of the others about his person.
Fred didn't, and soon Greenleaf was being escorted by a servant into the presence of the wizard Saruman.
The room he was in was impressive in itself. Its walls were the circumference of the tower, save for the steps between, making for a wide, circular space. They were black but highly reflective, and hung with various artworks in paint and tapestry. A few chaise-lounges were around the edge of the room, and it was on one of these that Saruman reclined. He rose courteously as his guest entered, bowing slightly and receiving a bow in return.
"Do take a seat," he said, indicating to the one beside his own, "and you must be thirsty. Wine!"
The servant scurried off at his command, returning very soon after with two glasses and a bottle. He opened the bottle in a professional manner, and then left the room, bowing as he went. Saruman filled the crystal glasses and handed one to Greenleaf.
"A toast," he suggested, "to your land, and mine."
"Indeed," Greenelaf replied, inwardly raising an eyebrow. He clinked his glass against the wizard's, and sipped the liquid. It was a fairly good wine -a full-bodied Rohan '84- though not what he would have chosen as an appetiser to a meal. He made no comment, deciding that it would be rather rude.
"So," Saruman said, "what brings an Elven Prince this far? We seldom see your kind here."
Time for the old excuse, Greenleaf thought. "I wanted to travel," he explained aloud, "and see more of Middle Earth than I have previously. I have not visited many places south of Mirkwood, I am sad to say."
"I hope you like this area," the wizard said with a smile, "I trust it does not disappoint."
"Oh, indeed not! The scenery is wonderful, even if there are fewer trees than I am accustomed to." This comment drew a chuckle from the wizard. Greenleaf decided to go for the 'slightly haughty prince' demeanour. "The people in Edoras are charming," he continued, "so fond of their horses. They're very friendly, making my stay very pleasant. Do you spend much time there?"
Saruman sighed. "Not as much as I would like to. My work here keeps me busy for the most part."
"Oh, what work do you do?" The question was asked innocently enough, but Greenleaf was very interested to hear the answer.
"I do a lot of recording," Saruman said, waving a hand airily, "I get information from all over Middle Earth via messengers, and I collate it here. There are many scrolls here that I have written and collected over the years.
Greenleaf let his eyes widen. Sometimes being a blond was good; you could be seen as a bimbo. "What kind of information?"
"All sorts," Saruman explained, "mostly events and histories. I have some on Mirkwood somewhere."
"We do keep our own records, but I didn't know that any others did. I wonder if it would be possible to see them?"
The wizard put on a disappointed look. "I'm afraid not," he said, "the entire Mirkwood collection has just been sent off to be rebound. One of my foolish servants damaged the volumes, so I had to get them sorted. I don't have the facilities to mend them here."
"That's a pity," Greenleaf said. But convenient for you, he continued in his mind. He wondered exactly what sort of information Saruman had collected. Obviously not the sort of thing he wanted people to know he knew, judging by his vague answers and excuses.
"Maybe you'd like to see more of Orthanc, Prince Legolas? There is a pleasing prospect from the top of the tower."
"Of course," Greenleaf smiled, "nothing would please me more. I have heard of your tower and its height."
"There are many steps to climb," Saruman said, standing and taking up his staff, holding it in his left hand.
"I shall be fine," Greenleaf assured him, "but tell me," he continued as they walked across the room, "do you always carry your staff?"
Saruman laughed. "But of course," he said, "it's like they say. A wizard and his staff are seldom parted."
And they also say that a wizard's staff has a knob on the end, Greenleaf thought. More compensation, I believe. These types are all the same.
There were a lot of steps, all cut regularly out of the dark stone and winding up and around the tower. Neither the wizard nor the Elf spoke much as they ascended, the only sounds being the heavy tread of Saruman and the light step of Greenleaf. A Man might have found the height dizzying, but the wizard was well-used to it and the Elf determined. A small door stood at the head of the stairs, opening onto the flat top of the tower. It banged shut after them.
"The breeze," Saruman offered by way of explanation, catching Greenleaf's quick look at it.
It was perfectly possible, Greenleaf knew, that Saruman suspected him and would use this opportunity to get rid of him if needed. An accidental slip would be a blameless death. Greenleaf would have to be very careful, in both his words and his steps. Not showing any of his apprehensions, he walked across the smooth floor to stand by the unprotected edge, his back to the wizard. Below him -and it was a long way below- was the glittering River Isen, winding down from the steep mountains. The dark green just visible to the North East was Fangorn, the ancient forest. Directly to the East were the plains of Rohan. The way he had come from Edoras was behind him, the Golden Hall hidden behind mountains whose shadows lengthened with the slowly setting sun.
"It is a beautiful view," Saruman said softly, stepping up behind the Elf.
"It is," Greenleaf agreed, not particularly comfortable in his position between the wizard and a very steep drop.
The sun coated everything with a reddish-gold sheen, lending warmth to the cold stone exterior. Greenleaf forced himself to look straight down onto Isengard, ignoring Saruman's breath near his ear. The garden looked exactly as he expected it to; grass, trees and bushed. But something was wrong, Greenleaf realised with a jolt that he immediately masked. He couldn't hear the trees. In fact, they weren't really there. Squinting slightly, Greenleaf stared hard; looking through the enchantments that he knew must be there. The bleak reality was harsh, stripped brown earth. He would have examined it longer but, not wishing to raise Saruman's suspicions, he looked around at the scenery again. Picture postcard pretty, he decided. He almost started when Saruman's hand settled on his shoulder. Almost.
"You have no buildings like this in Mirkwood, I believe," the wizard said.
"No," Greenleaf answered, "we keep our dwellings below the level of the trees." He was loath to reveal any more details of his home, not trusting the wizard's intentions.
"Other Elf-homes have magnificent buildings though," Saruman commented airily.
"Oh, indeed," Greenelaf said, noting the subtle slur on Mirkwood, "though such would seem out of place in our wood."
"But your father is a King. Surely his royal status calls for magnificence."
Inside, Greenleaf was angry, though outwardly he was cool and emotionless. "We have magnificence," he said simply, "but we do not flaunt it."
"Of course," Saruman said, his fingers moving ever so slightly on Greenleaf's shoulder, reminding the Elf of his precarious position.
"I have been to the Rivendell Halls," Greenleaf said casually. He was flirting with the danger now, uncaring. It gave him a thrill, the knowledge that death was only seconds away should he say the wrong thing. He thrived on these situations. He felt the wizard's fingers move again, and had to stop himself smirking. "Though not for some time."
"I too have been there," Saruman said, not revealing if Greenleaf's statement had affected him at all, "the halls are fantastic."
"Why did you go?" Greenleaf asked conversationally. The fingers, which had relaxed, tightened again minutely. "I went to visit friends," he continued.
"For the gambling, to an extent," the wizard said calmly enough, though Greenleaf could detect a guarded tone to his voice, "and the hospitality."
"It is indeed excellent," Greenleaf agreed, nodding his head. His hair fluttered in the light breeze. Not enough of a breeze to slam a door shut, Greenleaf rationalised, and forced himself to stay relaxed, not to tense up. A bell boomed up from below, muffled by the stone of the tower. It was the only sound Greenleaf could hear, or had heard since being on the top of the tower. No birds, he realised, nothing. Some sort of spell perhaps? And if so, why?
"That is the bell for dinner," Saruman said. He walked across the tower top. Greenleaf took one last look around before following. The wizard held the door for him, gesturing for him to go first. Greenleaf did so, but was aware, even more so than on the way up, that the stairs had no rail or banister. The inside of the upper part of the tower was hollow, and the stairs narrow. The thought of Saruman directly behind him would have made a weaker-willed creature nervous, but Greenleaf knew that if the wizard had wanted to kill him, he would have done it already. For now, he was safe.
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Dinner was served in a room lower down, one which was again the width of the tower. In this room though, approximately a quarter was taken up by a curved glass tank filled with water. Greenleaf walked up to it, staring at the creatures that swam within. They were, at first glance, large fish, about twice the size of a human head, though closer scrutiny revealed other features. Their scales were dark and looked hard, more like a carapace. The edges of the fins were sharp, and slashes along the sides of several of the creatures bore testimony to this. Their teeth, occasionally revealed as one or another opened their mouth, were long and sharp, leaving no doubt that they were carnivores.
"One of my hobbies," Saruman said from behind Greenleaf, "cross-breeding fish."
"With what?" Greenleaf asked, repressing a shudder. The look in the creatures' eyes was disturbing to say the least.
"Goblins, mostly. It makes for a most fascinating experiment."
"I'm sure." There was more than Saruman was saying, Greenleaf was even more sure. There was orc in that mix somewhere.
"Don't worry," the wizard said cheerily, "I won't serve you any for dinner."
Greenleaf laughed politely and allowed him to lead him to his seat. The tablecloth was deep blue, decorated at points with tiny silver beads. The cutlery was properly set up and gleaming. Even as Greenleaf sat there, a steaming bowl of soup was set in front of him in a white bowl. The soup was a rich tomato, with a small sprig of parsley floating in the centre. Greenleaf regarded it askance. What was the point of parsley? It gave no class to a meal. Any common person could stick a sprig on top of a meal and think it looked posh, while better people -or those who regarded themselves as better- used a finer garnish. Ignoring the issue for now, Greenleaf sipped the soup from his spoon.
The meal passed, on the whole, quietly. Any talk was generally small and unimportant; the weather, the state of the country, the history of the Elves. Saruman knew quite a lot about the other, and dessert -a delicate soufflé- was passed discussing genealogies and events. The servant, always the same one, hurried back and forth silently, bringing food or removing plates. When the meal was finally finished, he stood respectfully by the door and cleared his throat.
"My lords, drinks are in the library."
Saruman stood immediately, moving round the table to help Greenleaf from his chair. He's treating me like a damn woman, the Elf realised with a sudden irritation that he didn't show. They went down a floor to the library, another large room, edged with tall bookcases all full of richly- bound books. One, Greenleaf noticed, was a collection of Elven histories, the golden script on their spines seeming to be shining. A clink behind him signalled that Saruman was pouring two measures of brandy. The wizard handed one to Greenleaf before pulling a long pipe out of his robes and filling it with pipeweed.
"Do you smoke?" he asked.
Greenleaf shook his head. It was one of the habits he had never picked up, associating it with Men and Hobbits. He sipped at the brandy as Saruman puffed aromatic curling grey smoke into the air. There were no windows in this room, the light being provided by candles. They burned ever brighter in Greenleaf's eyes as the glass slipped from his fingers. He opened his mouth to apologise, but nothing came out. The smoke was suddenly pressing in on him and Saruman was grabbing his arm and his face was only inches away and Greenleaf was suddenly very hot.
"Why are you really here?" the wizard hissed, but although he was so close, he was very far away. "Why?" he repeated, voice coming from a very long way away.
Greenleaf could only gasp as the room grew darker and he fell to the carpeted floor. He passed out.
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Disclaimer: Legolas Greenleaf and associated characters belong to JRR Tolkien. Legolas' appearance belongs to Orlando Bloom in a wig. The James Bond concept was created, or at least best used by Ian Fleming. A few odd characters and moments belong elsewhere.
Author's Notes: Oddly, this chapter is twice as long as most of the others. Also included in this chapter here are two characters that definitely belong elsewhere. Brownie points to those who know who and where. I'll just quote "With slightly different uniforms and much better dialogue they'd be right out of Shakespeare". And I've used another of his lines here. And finally, don't worry about Greenleaf's opinions on parsley. It's a bit of personal bee in my bonnet.
Thanks to all my readers! Even if you didn't review. And, yes, thank you, Lana, I know what you mean. Har-dee-har.
:::::::::::::::::::
Chapter 5. The Warg's Lair
"I'm afraid you'll have to leave yer weapons, sir," the gate guard said, following the visitor through and shutting the gates.
"Will they be safe?" Greenleaf asked, dismounting gracefully and handing Shadowfax's bridle to the small, rather repulsive man who was Nobby, the groom. It was the only tack the horse wore.
"Oh yes," the guard replied, "I'll sit and watch 'em very carefully, sir, y'can be sure of that."
"And I'll look after this 'orse, sir," the groom piped up, "'e's a beauty, in't 'e, Fred? Lor' lummee, 'e's gorgeous."
"Aye, that he is, Nobby," Fred the guard replied, "he's a rare one."
Greenleaf passed his bow, quiver and knife to Fred, who looked them over admiringly, then appeared faintly bashful.
"And the one on yer boot, sir," he said, "sorry, but everyone always thinks you won't realise they got one hidden there."
With a smile, Greenleaf handed it over. "I see that nothing gets past you," he said, wondering whether the guard would ask about the knife strapped to the inside of his thigh, or the tiny one under his hair, or indeed any of the others about his person.
Fred didn't, and soon Greenleaf was being escorted by a servant into the presence of the wizard Saruman.
The room he was in was impressive in itself. Its walls were the circumference of the tower, save for the steps between, making for a wide, circular space. They were black but highly reflective, and hung with various artworks in paint and tapestry. A few chaise-lounges were around the edge of the room, and it was on one of these that Saruman reclined. He rose courteously as his guest entered, bowing slightly and receiving a bow in return.
"Do take a seat," he said, indicating to the one beside his own, "and you must be thirsty. Wine!"
The servant scurried off at his command, returning very soon after with two glasses and a bottle. He opened the bottle in a professional manner, and then left the room, bowing as he went. Saruman filled the crystal glasses and handed one to Greenleaf.
"A toast," he suggested, "to your land, and mine."
"Indeed," Greenelaf replied, inwardly raising an eyebrow. He clinked his glass against the wizard's, and sipped the liquid. It was a fairly good wine -a full-bodied Rohan '84- though not what he would have chosen as an appetiser to a meal. He made no comment, deciding that it would be rather rude.
"So," Saruman said, "what brings an Elven Prince this far? We seldom see your kind here."
Time for the old excuse, Greenleaf thought. "I wanted to travel," he explained aloud, "and see more of Middle Earth than I have previously. I have not visited many places south of Mirkwood, I am sad to say."
"I hope you like this area," the wizard said with a smile, "I trust it does not disappoint."
"Oh, indeed not! The scenery is wonderful, even if there are fewer trees than I am accustomed to." This comment drew a chuckle from the wizard. Greenleaf decided to go for the 'slightly haughty prince' demeanour. "The people in Edoras are charming," he continued, "so fond of their horses. They're very friendly, making my stay very pleasant. Do you spend much time there?"
Saruman sighed. "Not as much as I would like to. My work here keeps me busy for the most part."
"Oh, what work do you do?" The question was asked innocently enough, but Greenleaf was very interested to hear the answer.
"I do a lot of recording," Saruman said, waving a hand airily, "I get information from all over Middle Earth via messengers, and I collate it here. There are many scrolls here that I have written and collected over the years.
Greenleaf let his eyes widen. Sometimes being a blond was good; you could be seen as a bimbo. "What kind of information?"
"All sorts," Saruman explained, "mostly events and histories. I have some on Mirkwood somewhere."
"We do keep our own records, but I didn't know that any others did. I wonder if it would be possible to see them?"
The wizard put on a disappointed look. "I'm afraid not," he said, "the entire Mirkwood collection has just been sent off to be rebound. One of my foolish servants damaged the volumes, so I had to get them sorted. I don't have the facilities to mend them here."
"That's a pity," Greenleaf said. But convenient for you, he continued in his mind. He wondered exactly what sort of information Saruman had collected. Obviously not the sort of thing he wanted people to know he knew, judging by his vague answers and excuses.
"Maybe you'd like to see more of Orthanc, Prince Legolas? There is a pleasing prospect from the top of the tower."
"Of course," Greenleaf smiled, "nothing would please me more. I have heard of your tower and its height."
"There are many steps to climb," Saruman said, standing and taking up his staff, holding it in his left hand.
"I shall be fine," Greenleaf assured him, "but tell me," he continued as they walked across the room, "do you always carry your staff?"
Saruman laughed. "But of course," he said, "it's like they say. A wizard and his staff are seldom parted."
And they also say that a wizard's staff has a knob on the end, Greenleaf thought. More compensation, I believe. These types are all the same.
There were a lot of steps, all cut regularly out of the dark stone and winding up and around the tower. Neither the wizard nor the Elf spoke much as they ascended, the only sounds being the heavy tread of Saruman and the light step of Greenleaf. A Man might have found the height dizzying, but the wizard was well-used to it and the Elf determined. A small door stood at the head of the stairs, opening onto the flat top of the tower. It banged shut after them.
"The breeze," Saruman offered by way of explanation, catching Greenleaf's quick look at it.
It was perfectly possible, Greenleaf knew, that Saruman suspected him and would use this opportunity to get rid of him if needed. An accidental slip would be a blameless death. Greenleaf would have to be very careful, in both his words and his steps. Not showing any of his apprehensions, he walked across the smooth floor to stand by the unprotected edge, his back to the wizard. Below him -and it was a long way below- was the glittering River Isen, winding down from the steep mountains. The dark green just visible to the North East was Fangorn, the ancient forest. Directly to the East were the plains of Rohan. The way he had come from Edoras was behind him, the Golden Hall hidden behind mountains whose shadows lengthened with the slowly setting sun.
"It is a beautiful view," Saruman said softly, stepping up behind the Elf.
"It is," Greenleaf agreed, not particularly comfortable in his position between the wizard and a very steep drop.
The sun coated everything with a reddish-gold sheen, lending warmth to the cold stone exterior. Greenleaf forced himself to look straight down onto Isengard, ignoring Saruman's breath near his ear. The garden looked exactly as he expected it to; grass, trees and bushed. But something was wrong, Greenleaf realised with a jolt that he immediately masked. He couldn't hear the trees. In fact, they weren't really there. Squinting slightly, Greenleaf stared hard; looking through the enchantments that he knew must be there. The bleak reality was harsh, stripped brown earth. He would have examined it longer but, not wishing to raise Saruman's suspicions, he looked around at the scenery again. Picture postcard pretty, he decided. He almost started when Saruman's hand settled on his shoulder. Almost.
"You have no buildings like this in Mirkwood, I believe," the wizard said.
"No," Greenleaf answered, "we keep our dwellings below the level of the trees." He was loath to reveal any more details of his home, not trusting the wizard's intentions.
"Other Elf-homes have magnificent buildings though," Saruman commented airily.
"Oh, indeed," Greenelaf said, noting the subtle slur on Mirkwood, "though such would seem out of place in our wood."
"But your father is a King. Surely his royal status calls for magnificence."
Inside, Greenleaf was angry, though outwardly he was cool and emotionless. "We have magnificence," he said simply, "but we do not flaunt it."
"Of course," Saruman said, his fingers moving ever so slightly on Greenleaf's shoulder, reminding the Elf of his precarious position.
"I have been to the Rivendell Halls," Greenleaf said casually. He was flirting with the danger now, uncaring. It gave him a thrill, the knowledge that death was only seconds away should he say the wrong thing. He thrived on these situations. He felt the wizard's fingers move again, and had to stop himself smirking. "Though not for some time."
"I too have been there," Saruman said, not revealing if Greenleaf's statement had affected him at all, "the halls are fantastic."
"Why did you go?" Greenleaf asked conversationally. The fingers, which had relaxed, tightened again minutely. "I went to visit friends," he continued.
"For the gambling, to an extent," the wizard said calmly enough, though Greenleaf could detect a guarded tone to his voice, "and the hospitality."
"It is indeed excellent," Greenleaf agreed, nodding his head. His hair fluttered in the light breeze. Not enough of a breeze to slam a door shut, Greenleaf rationalised, and forced himself to stay relaxed, not to tense up. A bell boomed up from below, muffled by the stone of the tower. It was the only sound Greenleaf could hear, or had heard since being on the top of the tower. No birds, he realised, nothing. Some sort of spell perhaps? And if so, why?
"That is the bell for dinner," Saruman said. He walked across the tower top. Greenleaf took one last look around before following. The wizard held the door for him, gesturing for him to go first. Greenleaf did so, but was aware, even more so than on the way up, that the stairs had no rail or banister. The inside of the upper part of the tower was hollow, and the stairs narrow. The thought of Saruman directly behind him would have made a weaker-willed creature nervous, but Greenleaf knew that if the wizard had wanted to kill him, he would have done it already. For now, he was safe.
:::::::::::::::::::
Dinner was served in a room lower down, one which was again the width of the tower. In this room though, approximately a quarter was taken up by a curved glass tank filled with water. Greenleaf walked up to it, staring at the creatures that swam within. They were, at first glance, large fish, about twice the size of a human head, though closer scrutiny revealed other features. Their scales were dark and looked hard, more like a carapace. The edges of the fins were sharp, and slashes along the sides of several of the creatures bore testimony to this. Their teeth, occasionally revealed as one or another opened their mouth, were long and sharp, leaving no doubt that they were carnivores.
"One of my hobbies," Saruman said from behind Greenleaf, "cross-breeding fish."
"With what?" Greenleaf asked, repressing a shudder. The look in the creatures' eyes was disturbing to say the least.
"Goblins, mostly. It makes for a most fascinating experiment."
"I'm sure." There was more than Saruman was saying, Greenleaf was even more sure. There was orc in that mix somewhere.
"Don't worry," the wizard said cheerily, "I won't serve you any for dinner."
Greenleaf laughed politely and allowed him to lead him to his seat. The tablecloth was deep blue, decorated at points with tiny silver beads. The cutlery was properly set up and gleaming. Even as Greenleaf sat there, a steaming bowl of soup was set in front of him in a white bowl. The soup was a rich tomato, with a small sprig of parsley floating in the centre. Greenleaf regarded it askance. What was the point of parsley? It gave no class to a meal. Any common person could stick a sprig on top of a meal and think it looked posh, while better people -or those who regarded themselves as better- used a finer garnish. Ignoring the issue for now, Greenleaf sipped the soup from his spoon.
The meal passed, on the whole, quietly. Any talk was generally small and unimportant; the weather, the state of the country, the history of the Elves. Saruman knew quite a lot about the other, and dessert -a delicate soufflé- was passed discussing genealogies and events. The servant, always the same one, hurried back and forth silently, bringing food or removing plates. When the meal was finally finished, he stood respectfully by the door and cleared his throat.
"My lords, drinks are in the library."
Saruman stood immediately, moving round the table to help Greenleaf from his chair. He's treating me like a damn woman, the Elf realised with a sudden irritation that he didn't show. They went down a floor to the library, another large room, edged with tall bookcases all full of richly- bound books. One, Greenleaf noticed, was a collection of Elven histories, the golden script on their spines seeming to be shining. A clink behind him signalled that Saruman was pouring two measures of brandy. The wizard handed one to Greenleaf before pulling a long pipe out of his robes and filling it with pipeweed.
"Do you smoke?" he asked.
Greenleaf shook his head. It was one of the habits he had never picked up, associating it with Men and Hobbits. He sipped at the brandy as Saruman puffed aromatic curling grey smoke into the air. There were no windows in this room, the light being provided by candles. They burned ever brighter in Greenleaf's eyes as the glass slipped from his fingers. He opened his mouth to apologise, but nothing came out. The smoke was suddenly pressing in on him and Saruman was grabbing his arm and his face was only inches away and Greenleaf was suddenly very hot.
"Why are you really here?" the wizard hissed, but although he was so close, he was very far away. "Why?" he repeated, voice coming from a very long way away.
Greenleaf could only gasp as the room grew darker and he fell to the carpeted floor. He passed out.
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