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: Another chapter of mostly talk, I'm afraid. Well, the story wouldn't work otherwise. By the way, for the purposes of this fic, Theodred is on a long holiday somewhere or something like that. Thanks as ever to all my readers. I presume there're some of you out there somewhere.
I'm so sorry this chapter is late! I've just been snowed under with work. Next week's chapter is also likely to be late, I'm afraid. But after that it should get better. Sorry all, though no one complained.
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Chapter 7. The Council of War
Greenleaf and Aragorn arrived in Edoras in time for a late lunch. Grima was waiting for them at the gate, fidgeting with his handkerchief in one spindly hand. He coughed as the pair trotted past.
"Good day," Greenleaf greeted, feeling oddly cheerful.
"Good?" the advisor muttered, making phlegmy sounds in his throat. "We thought you'd be back last night."
"Oh, I decided to stay overnight," Greenleaf said with a smile, "Saruman was a most gracious host."
Ignoring Grima's poisonous look, he and Aragorn headed to the stables to sort out the horses.
"Who's that?" the Man asked as he removed his bags from his horse's back.
"Grima, King Theoden's advisor," Greenleaf told him, "he's a real worm."
"Looks it," Aragorn agreed, "but, say, who's that?" He looked across the courtyard to where a figure in a white dress was heading their way.
"King Theoden's niece, Eowyn," Greenleaf said, noting the man's interested gaze. He wouldn't get far if he was that transparent, far too easy to see what he was thinking. In this line of business, emotions were useless baggage. Emotions were dangerous. They could get you killed.
"Legolas! You're safe!" Eowyn burst into the stable. "I was, that is, we were worried when you weren't back last night." Then she saw the other person standing by Greenleaf. "Oh. You, uh, brought a friend. How nice."
"Eowyn, meet Aragorn. He's from Rivendell. Aragorn, Lady Eowyn." Introductions made, Greenleaf stepped back.
It wasn't like he cared in anyway. He didn't care that they were staring at each other in tongue-tied silence. No attachments; that was one of Greenleaf's primary rules for life. She was pretty, yes, but still just a woman. A woman. They had their uses, but he wanted none of it. Immortals didn't fall in love with mortals; the consequences were too well-known. The tale of Beren and Luthien always came to mind. Deciding that it would be a good thing -and fine by him- to leave the two alone, Greenleaf left the stable.
He hadn't gone far when he met King Theoden, striding out of the Golden Hall, Grima at his heels.
"Greenleaf, glad to see you back. Anything we need to know?"
"Plenty, your majesty," Greenleaf said, admiring the king's direct manner. It got things done, no faffing around. "Might I suggest a meeting in about half an hour?"
"Fine," the King responded, "in the map room. We'll see you then."
He continued on, Grima following. The advisor looked back over his shoulder, giving the Elf a contemptuous look. Greenleaf stayed expressionless. He was a professional. It would take more than a look to get a rise out of him. He wasn't scared of that ineffectual little man.
It didn't take him long to wash and change, removing any traces of his experiences last night and that morning. The splash of cold water pushed away the vestiges of the drug that Saruman had given him. He had known the risks when he had accepted the wizard's invitation. He hadn't walked in blindly. His cover had been all previously worked out, and Greenleaf trusted in his abilities to get himself out of a tight spot, as had been proved. He had been in and out, discovering in the process what Saruman was hiding under Isengard. But he'd still have to return, to find the ring that he'd let slip from his fingers once already. It wouldn't happen again.
Half and hour later, he was in the map room, along with King Theoden, Grima, Aragorn, Eowyn, and Eomer, Eowyn's brother. Greenleaf didn't approve of the woman's presence, but said nothing. A large map lay across the table, showing the area between Edoras and Isengard. The men were all standing as the Elf entered, while Eowyn sat in a chair by the head of the table. King Theoden smiled, gesturing for everyone else to sit and for Greenleaf to stand by him.
"Now," he said, "tell us what you have found out." He sat himself, leaving the talking to the secret agent.
Greenleaf began with a little background. "As most of you probably know, rumours have been heard to say that Saruman has been building himself an army. Until now, no one knew how he had been doing this. But I discovered this morning that he has, in fact, been breeding one." Gasps arose from around the table at this, and Greenleaf continued. "His army consists of Uruk-Hai, crossbreed orcs who can fight far better and do not have to wait for dark. Underneath the very ground of Isengard is at least one great cavern, where these creatures are bred, trained and equipped for warfare."
Everyone in the room looked shocked, apart from Grima. "Surely," the advisor said, as if he were explaining it to a child, "our spies would have seen all this?"
Greenleaf's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Saruman has powerful enchantments on the place," he explained, "you only see what he wants you to see, even though you stand in the grounds. There is also a silencing spell to mask the sounds of his army."
The advisor was about to speak again, but King Theoden cut him off. "Grima, hush. This is indeed worrying news. What do you suggest we do, Greenleaf?"
"For my part, I shall do the job I was sent in to do," Greenleaf told him, "the ring he stole must not be allowed to fall into Sauron's hands."
"Sauron?" Eomer interrupted. "Who is he and what is he to do with it?" He was a young man with honey-blond hair and a tidy beard. He looked somewhat impulsive.
"We have information to say that Saruman is working for him. The ring is part of Sauron's plan."
"And his plan is?" Eomer asked, leaning forward in his chair.
"Middle Earth domination, naturally," Greenleaf said, with the barest hint of humour, "either that or utter annihilation. You get one like him every age or so."
"I suppose you remember them all," Grima commented, his eyes icy though his tone was apparently light.
"You'd be surprised," was all that the Elf said. He never spoke of his age to anyone. It was part of being a secret agent; you told nobody anything, and everybody nothing. "Anyway," he said, moving to the map, "I need to get back inside, and the only way is through the gate. The circle of Isengard is a wall of sheer rock. The guards seem to be fairly stupid, or perhaps they may be easily bribed. Saruman may, of course, have strengthened his security, though I saw few humans and stationing orcs would compromise any secrecy he still believes he has. However, I find it highly likely that he will expect me to return."
"But you will be alone," Aragorn said, "I was sent to assist you, and I shall not shirk the task."
Greenleaf nodded slowly. "He will not be expecting two of us. But we shall have to use all the stealth available to us. I trust you are up to it?"
"I am." The man's answer was tense.
"We can provide backup, if needed," Eomer said, "my Riders can be concealed near Isengard, if you wish. We will provide you with your escape should you be discovered."
"Thank you," Greenelaf accepted the offer, "it may be needed. Searching Orthanc for such a tiny object may take some time and be hazardous."
"I shall be with you, brother," Eowyn stated, "with my sword and shield."
"No," Greenleaf told her. Her uncle was equally adamant, echoing the Elf's sentiment.
"I can fight as well as any man," she said, "I have been trained to all my life. I will fight!"
"No," Greenleaf repeated, and then, realising that he would have to use some form of explanation, "we cannot have everyone at Isengard. Supposing we were defeated, then what of Edoras? Would you leave your people, Lady Eowyn, to the orc-blades?"
"But, uncle, you will remain here, won't you?"
Before King Theoden could speak, Greenleaf continued. "If we fail, word must be sent to Rivendell. A good messenger would be needed." Though Valar forbid that it be a woman who does it, he added silently. There was a short pause.
"Very well," Eowyn said with a sigh, though Greenleaf thought she was giving up far too easily.
"When do you wish to move?" the King asked.
"Tonight," Greenleaf decided, "we don't want to give Saruman anymore time than we have to. If we leave here this afternoon, we should reach Isengard at around dusk. Secrecy is key to this mission. We can't afford to be seen."
"I shall tell my men," Eomer said, "but first we must discuss details. Where should we wait?"
The discussion continued apace. All through, Grima, the King's advisor, sat silent, listening intently. His handkerchief was twisted this way and that between his long fingers, while a sly grin slid across his pasty white features. It was most unpleasant to look at.
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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: Another chapter of mostly talk, I'm afraid. Well, the story wouldn't work otherwise. By the way, for the purposes of this fic, Theodred is on a long holiday somewhere or something like that. Thanks as ever to all my readers. I presume there're some of you out there somewhere.
I'm so sorry this chapter is late! I've just been snowed under with work. Next week's chapter is also likely to be late, I'm afraid. But after that it should get better. Sorry all, though no one complained.
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Chapter 7. The Council of War
Greenleaf and Aragorn arrived in Edoras in time for a late lunch. Grima was waiting for them at the gate, fidgeting with his handkerchief in one spindly hand. He coughed as the pair trotted past.
"Good day," Greenleaf greeted, feeling oddly cheerful.
"Good?" the advisor muttered, making phlegmy sounds in his throat. "We thought you'd be back last night."
"Oh, I decided to stay overnight," Greenleaf said with a smile, "Saruman was a most gracious host."
Ignoring Grima's poisonous look, he and Aragorn headed to the stables to sort out the horses.
"Who's that?" the Man asked as he removed his bags from his horse's back.
"Grima, King Theoden's advisor," Greenleaf told him, "he's a real worm."
"Looks it," Aragorn agreed, "but, say, who's that?" He looked across the courtyard to where a figure in a white dress was heading their way.
"King Theoden's niece, Eowyn," Greenleaf said, noting the man's interested gaze. He wouldn't get far if he was that transparent, far too easy to see what he was thinking. In this line of business, emotions were useless baggage. Emotions were dangerous. They could get you killed.
"Legolas! You're safe!" Eowyn burst into the stable. "I was, that is, we were worried when you weren't back last night." Then she saw the other person standing by Greenleaf. "Oh. You, uh, brought a friend. How nice."
"Eowyn, meet Aragorn. He's from Rivendell. Aragorn, Lady Eowyn." Introductions made, Greenleaf stepped back.
It wasn't like he cared in anyway. He didn't care that they were staring at each other in tongue-tied silence. No attachments; that was one of Greenleaf's primary rules for life. She was pretty, yes, but still just a woman. A woman. They had their uses, but he wanted none of it. Immortals didn't fall in love with mortals; the consequences were too well-known. The tale of Beren and Luthien always came to mind. Deciding that it would be a good thing -and fine by him- to leave the two alone, Greenleaf left the stable.
He hadn't gone far when he met King Theoden, striding out of the Golden Hall, Grima at his heels.
"Greenleaf, glad to see you back. Anything we need to know?"
"Plenty, your majesty," Greenleaf said, admiring the king's direct manner. It got things done, no faffing around. "Might I suggest a meeting in about half an hour?"
"Fine," the King responded, "in the map room. We'll see you then."
He continued on, Grima following. The advisor looked back over his shoulder, giving the Elf a contemptuous look. Greenleaf stayed expressionless. He was a professional. It would take more than a look to get a rise out of him. He wasn't scared of that ineffectual little man.
It didn't take him long to wash and change, removing any traces of his experiences last night and that morning. The splash of cold water pushed away the vestiges of the drug that Saruman had given him. He had known the risks when he had accepted the wizard's invitation. He hadn't walked in blindly. His cover had been all previously worked out, and Greenleaf trusted in his abilities to get himself out of a tight spot, as had been proved. He had been in and out, discovering in the process what Saruman was hiding under Isengard. But he'd still have to return, to find the ring that he'd let slip from his fingers once already. It wouldn't happen again.
Half and hour later, he was in the map room, along with King Theoden, Grima, Aragorn, Eowyn, and Eomer, Eowyn's brother. Greenleaf didn't approve of the woman's presence, but said nothing. A large map lay across the table, showing the area between Edoras and Isengard. The men were all standing as the Elf entered, while Eowyn sat in a chair by the head of the table. King Theoden smiled, gesturing for everyone else to sit and for Greenleaf to stand by him.
"Now," he said, "tell us what you have found out." He sat himself, leaving the talking to the secret agent.
Greenleaf began with a little background. "As most of you probably know, rumours have been heard to say that Saruman has been building himself an army. Until now, no one knew how he had been doing this. But I discovered this morning that he has, in fact, been breeding one." Gasps arose from around the table at this, and Greenleaf continued. "His army consists of Uruk-Hai, crossbreed orcs who can fight far better and do not have to wait for dark. Underneath the very ground of Isengard is at least one great cavern, where these creatures are bred, trained and equipped for warfare."
Everyone in the room looked shocked, apart from Grima. "Surely," the advisor said, as if he were explaining it to a child, "our spies would have seen all this?"
Greenleaf's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Saruman has powerful enchantments on the place," he explained, "you only see what he wants you to see, even though you stand in the grounds. There is also a silencing spell to mask the sounds of his army."
The advisor was about to speak again, but King Theoden cut him off. "Grima, hush. This is indeed worrying news. What do you suggest we do, Greenleaf?"
"For my part, I shall do the job I was sent in to do," Greenleaf told him, "the ring he stole must not be allowed to fall into Sauron's hands."
"Sauron?" Eomer interrupted. "Who is he and what is he to do with it?" He was a young man with honey-blond hair and a tidy beard. He looked somewhat impulsive.
"We have information to say that Saruman is working for him. The ring is part of Sauron's plan."
"And his plan is?" Eomer asked, leaning forward in his chair.
"Middle Earth domination, naturally," Greenleaf said, with the barest hint of humour, "either that or utter annihilation. You get one like him every age or so."
"I suppose you remember them all," Grima commented, his eyes icy though his tone was apparently light.
"You'd be surprised," was all that the Elf said. He never spoke of his age to anyone. It was part of being a secret agent; you told nobody anything, and everybody nothing. "Anyway," he said, moving to the map, "I need to get back inside, and the only way is through the gate. The circle of Isengard is a wall of sheer rock. The guards seem to be fairly stupid, or perhaps they may be easily bribed. Saruman may, of course, have strengthened his security, though I saw few humans and stationing orcs would compromise any secrecy he still believes he has. However, I find it highly likely that he will expect me to return."
"But you will be alone," Aragorn said, "I was sent to assist you, and I shall not shirk the task."
Greenleaf nodded slowly. "He will not be expecting two of us. But we shall have to use all the stealth available to us. I trust you are up to it?"
"I am." The man's answer was tense.
"We can provide backup, if needed," Eomer said, "my Riders can be concealed near Isengard, if you wish. We will provide you with your escape should you be discovered."
"Thank you," Greenelaf accepted the offer, "it may be needed. Searching Orthanc for such a tiny object may take some time and be hazardous."
"I shall be with you, brother," Eowyn stated, "with my sword and shield."
"No," Greenleaf told her. Her uncle was equally adamant, echoing the Elf's sentiment.
"I can fight as well as any man," she said, "I have been trained to all my life. I will fight!"
"No," Greenleaf repeated, and then, realising that he would have to use some form of explanation, "we cannot have everyone at Isengard. Supposing we were defeated, then what of Edoras? Would you leave your people, Lady Eowyn, to the orc-blades?"
"But, uncle, you will remain here, won't you?"
Before King Theoden could speak, Greenleaf continued. "If we fail, word must be sent to Rivendell. A good messenger would be needed." Though Valar forbid that it be a woman who does it, he added silently. There was a short pause.
"Very well," Eowyn said with a sigh, though Greenleaf thought she was giving up far too easily.
"When do you wish to move?" the King asked.
"Tonight," Greenleaf decided, "we don't want to give Saruman anymore time than we have to. If we leave here this afternoon, we should reach Isengard at around dusk. Secrecy is key to this mission. We can't afford to be seen."
"I shall tell my men," Eomer said, "but first we must discuss details. Where should we wait?"
The discussion continued apace. All through, Grima, the King's advisor, sat silent, listening intently. His handkerchief was twisted this way and that between his long fingers, while a sly grin slid across his pasty white features. It was most unpleasant to look at.
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