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: Continuing the torture, though (I hope) with a little more imagination. The chapter also contains a very old joke. Rabbit of Iron; recycling puns for the masses.
Nemo Returning: Indeed, Greenleaf and Gríma. Hope this doesn't disappoint.
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Chapter 10. A Worm In The Apple
It didn't take Eowyn long to reach the gates, as all the attention was directed towards Greenleaf and Aragorn. The orcs wouldn't be looking for her; if they knew anything of the plans then they would only be expecting two. But even so, Eowyn was glad of the cloak. It helped her go unseen to the casual glances of any watching. The gates still stood open and she was soon through them. The makeshift bag had already begun to dig into the shoulder she had slung it over. Only a short distance away stood a group of three horses: Shadowfax, Hasufel and Windfola, Eowyn's horse.
"Come, Windfola," she whispered, taking hold of his bridle, "we must find my brother."
She mounted the grey horse and set him galloping towards the West, to the foothills where Eomer and the riders waited. The other two horses remained obediently where they were, occasionally cropping the grass. The moon above was thin, barely illuminating the area.
Windfola was a swift steed, and soon he had carried Eowyn away from Orthanc, to the place where the riders were concealed. I'll show them that I can do something, Eowyn thought, gritting her teeth. Being a woman is such a limitation, despite the fact that generations of the women in my family have been warriors. Damn chivalry! No one will hold me back, not even Legolas. I will show him that I am worthy of his esteem!
"Hail, brother," she called as she approached. Eomer looked surprised.
"Eowyn! Why are you here?" he asked. "We left you in Edoras."
"No time for that," she told him, "Legolas and Aragorn have been discovered in Isengard. Legolas sent you a message: 'The river! The dam!'. I don't know what he meant."
"What dam?" one of the riders asked.
"The one blocking the river, that Saruman constructed and concealed," Eomer said, "though I don't know how that helps. What have you there, sister?"
"Oh, Legolas sent me with it." She pulled out one of the small sacks. "He said it was blasting powder."
Eomer frowned and scratched his chin, rustling his beard. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. "You know," he said, "I think I know what he meant. How much of that have you got?"
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"So, when did you become a traitor, Gríma?" Greenleaf hissed, twisting on the chair against the ropes to stare at the man.
"When I decided that it was worth my while," the advisor answered, smirking.
"What's he promised you, then?" Greenleaf asked. "Money? Power? Women? None would go for you willingly. Or maybe you prefer men?"
Angry, Gríma hit the Elf on the back of the head. "That's none of your business!"
Greenleaf laughed. "Whatever he's said, you won't get it. He's only interested in himself."
Gríma was silent for a moment, an intense scowl on his face. "You're very cocky, Elf," he said finally, walking away behind the chair again, "you don't seem to realise what a bad position you're in. You're not going to escape. You'll be kept here until Saruman decides to kill you, and that'll be a long time yet."
As he spoke, he walked back and chuckled wheezily in Greenleaf's ear. "A long time," he continued, "full of pain."
A sharp stinging sensation began to creep its way along one of the whipmarks on Greenleaf's back. Then fingers pressed along, pushing a gritty substance into the wound. The stinging grew, making Greenleaf's eyes water. He squirmed, trying to move away but the ropes held him tightly.
"Hurts, doesn't it, Elf?" Gríma's fingers rubbed harder, re-awakening the pain. "It's salt. Such a simple thing, but so effective when used properly, as I'm sure you'll agree."
"Why are you doing it?" Greenleaf asked, clenching his jaw tightly. "I won't tell you a thing."
Gríma laughed. "Oh no. I leave that to Saruman. He'll have you singing prettily soon, don't you worry." He sprinkled more salt on Greenleaf's back. "I just enjoy this."
"You're sick," Greenleaf told him, earning him another laugh. He set his jaw, determined to ignore the advisor. He'd met his type before, the ones who got off on causing pain and torture. The ones who delighted in drawing out death as long as possible, turning confident, well-trained professional into broken messes, begging for death. They'd never get him like that. He wouldn't be hanging around long enough if he could help it. And if it came to it, he would die by his own hands, no one else's. But it wouldn't come to it. Idly, he wondered where Aragorn was. The man had to be somewhere in the tower.
"I'm getting a good deal for this," Gríma continued, as the burning on Greenleaf's back became excruciating, "power, yes, and money. But do you know the best part, Elf? The most important part for me? I get the beautiful Lady Eowyn. For my wife, whore, whatever. To be always at my beck and call." He laughed harshly.
"Bastard!" Greenleaf said. He turned his head right and spat in Gríma's face. "Nobody deserves that!"
A slap from Gríma sent his head facing front again, but even as it did so he caught a quick glimpse of movement outside the door. All he could discern was a brief flash of a grey cloak. Then Gríma's hand came down across the back of his head again.
"She does," the advisor said bitterly, "she repulses all my advances, spurns me even. And she prefers outsiders like you."
"Do you blame her?" Greenleaf asked sarcastically. He turned towards the right again, hoping that Gríma would move round. "I mean, look at you."
"What's wrong with me?" Gríma said in a low voice, facing Greenleaf. "We're not all wondrously fair beings like you holier-than-thou Elves." He gripped the Elf's face between his hands. "Just because you're so perfect, the rest of us have to try and match up."
"Oh," Greenleaf replied, sounding nonchalant, "nothing to do with your tendency to support the bad guys, then."
Gríma's grip tightened. "You. . ." he spat, but got no further. A fist connected with his head and sent him to the ground.
"I was waiting for him to turn his back to the door," Aragorn said, with a grin.
"I know," Greenleaf said, "good timing though. Any earlier and you'd have had to have dealt with Saruman too."
"I know," Aragorn answered, "he was on his way down as I was coming up." He moved behind the Elf to untie his bonds. "Ouch. That looks bad."
"It's all right," Greenleaf passed over the subject. "How'd you get out?"
"They stuck me in the same cell you were in last night. I managed to explode the lock with the blasting powder I still had under my fingernails. It's potent stuff, all right. The orc on guard came straight through the door, stupid thing. I tripped it up and chopped its head off with its own sword."
"Good job," Greenleaf said, standing up. He gasped, catching the back of his chair for balance as his head span. "I'm fine," he told Aragorn, who made as if to support him. "We need to get after Saruman. He's got the ring."
"What about this?" the man asked, pointing to Gríma, who was crawling towards the door.
Greenleaf strode over and hauled the advisor up by his collar, holding him up so his toes were just above the floor. Gríma's pale face was whiter than usual, and sweating. He trembled, grasping uselessly at the Elf's hand.
"Please," he pleaded, "you don't want to hurt me."
"Yes, I do," Greenleaf said, "give me a hand, Aragorn."
Together, the man and the Elf dragged Gríma across the room. With a quick heave and a push, they dropped him into the large fish tank. He had enough time for a quick scream before being pulled under by Saruman's pet 'fish'. The creatures were quick to begin ripping him apart with large, sharp teeth.
"You know what's worth than finding a worm in your apple?" Greenleaf said conversationally. "Finding half a worm."
Aragorn agreed, and they watched the advisor thrashing around in the tank for a little longer. Soon, he was still, his eyes bulging sightlessly before they were torn out and eaten.
"It's almost sad really," Aragorn commented, "his ultimate purpose in life was to become fishfood."
Greenleaf smiled. "And that's all the jokes we can get out of that."
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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: Continuing the torture, though (I hope) with a little more imagination. The chapter also contains a very old joke. Rabbit of Iron; recycling puns for the masses.
Nemo Returning: Indeed, Greenleaf and Gríma. Hope this doesn't disappoint.
:::::::::::::::::::
Chapter 10. A Worm In The Apple
It didn't take Eowyn long to reach the gates, as all the attention was directed towards Greenleaf and Aragorn. The orcs wouldn't be looking for her; if they knew anything of the plans then they would only be expecting two. But even so, Eowyn was glad of the cloak. It helped her go unseen to the casual glances of any watching. The gates still stood open and she was soon through them. The makeshift bag had already begun to dig into the shoulder she had slung it over. Only a short distance away stood a group of three horses: Shadowfax, Hasufel and Windfola, Eowyn's horse.
"Come, Windfola," she whispered, taking hold of his bridle, "we must find my brother."
She mounted the grey horse and set him galloping towards the West, to the foothills where Eomer and the riders waited. The other two horses remained obediently where they were, occasionally cropping the grass. The moon above was thin, barely illuminating the area.
Windfola was a swift steed, and soon he had carried Eowyn away from Orthanc, to the place where the riders were concealed. I'll show them that I can do something, Eowyn thought, gritting her teeth. Being a woman is such a limitation, despite the fact that generations of the women in my family have been warriors. Damn chivalry! No one will hold me back, not even Legolas. I will show him that I am worthy of his esteem!
"Hail, brother," she called as she approached. Eomer looked surprised.
"Eowyn! Why are you here?" he asked. "We left you in Edoras."
"No time for that," she told him, "Legolas and Aragorn have been discovered in Isengard. Legolas sent you a message: 'The river! The dam!'. I don't know what he meant."
"What dam?" one of the riders asked.
"The one blocking the river, that Saruman constructed and concealed," Eomer said, "though I don't know how that helps. What have you there, sister?"
"Oh, Legolas sent me with it." She pulled out one of the small sacks. "He said it was blasting powder."
Eomer frowned and scratched his chin, rustling his beard. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled. "You know," he said, "I think I know what he meant. How much of that have you got?"
:::::::::::::::::::
"So, when did you become a traitor, Gríma?" Greenleaf hissed, twisting on the chair against the ropes to stare at the man.
"When I decided that it was worth my while," the advisor answered, smirking.
"What's he promised you, then?" Greenleaf asked. "Money? Power? Women? None would go for you willingly. Or maybe you prefer men?"
Angry, Gríma hit the Elf on the back of the head. "That's none of your business!"
Greenleaf laughed. "Whatever he's said, you won't get it. He's only interested in himself."
Gríma was silent for a moment, an intense scowl on his face. "You're very cocky, Elf," he said finally, walking away behind the chair again, "you don't seem to realise what a bad position you're in. You're not going to escape. You'll be kept here until Saruman decides to kill you, and that'll be a long time yet."
As he spoke, he walked back and chuckled wheezily in Greenleaf's ear. "A long time," he continued, "full of pain."
A sharp stinging sensation began to creep its way along one of the whipmarks on Greenleaf's back. Then fingers pressed along, pushing a gritty substance into the wound. The stinging grew, making Greenleaf's eyes water. He squirmed, trying to move away but the ropes held him tightly.
"Hurts, doesn't it, Elf?" Gríma's fingers rubbed harder, re-awakening the pain. "It's salt. Such a simple thing, but so effective when used properly, as I'm sure you'll agree."
"Why are you doing it?" Greenleaf asked, clenching his jaw tightly. "I won't tell you a thing."
Gríma laughed. "Oh no. I leave that to Saruman. He'll have you singing prettily soon, don't you worry." He sprinkled more salt on Greenleaf's back. "I just enjoy this."
"You're sick," Greenleaf told him, earning him another laugh. He set his jaw, determined to ignore the advisor. He'd met his type before, the ones who got off on causing pain and torture. The ones who delighted in drawing out death as long as possible, turning confident, well-trained professional into broken messes, begging for death. They'd never get him like that. He wouldn't be hanging around long enough if he could help it. And if it came to it, he would die by his own hands, no one else's. But it wouldn't come to it. Idly, he wondered where Aragorn was. The man had to be somewhere in the tower.
"I'm getting a good deal for this," Gríma continued, as the burning on Greenleaf's back became excruciating, "power, yes, and money. But do you know the best part, Elf? The most important part for me? I get the beautiful Lady Eowyn. For my wife, whore, whatever. To be always at my beck and call." He laughed harshly.
"Bastard!" Greenleaf said. He turned his head right and spat in Gríma's face. "Nobody deserves that!"
A slap from Gríma sent his head facing front again, but even as it did so he caught a quick glimpse of movement outside the door. All he could discern was a brief flash of a grey cloak. Then Gríma's hand came down across the back of his head again.
"She does," the advisor said bitterly, "she repulses all my advances, spurns me even. And she prefers outsiders like you."
"Do you blame her?" Greenleaf asked sarcastically. He turned towards the right again, hoping that Gríma would move round. "I mean, look at you."
"What's wrong with me?" Gríma said in a low voice, facing Greenleaf. "We're not all wondrously fair beings like you holier-than-thou Elves." He gripped the Elf's face between his hands. "Just because you're so perfect, the rest of us have to try and match up."
"Oh," Greenleaf replied, sounding nonchalant, "nothing to do with your tendency to support the bad guys, then."
Gríma's grip tightened. "You. . ." he spat, but got no further. A fist connected with his head and sent him to the ground.
"I was waiting for him to turn his back to the door," Aragorn said, with a grin.
"I know," Greenleaf said, "good timing though. Any earlier and you'd have had to have dealt with Saruman too."
"I know," Aragorn answered, "he was on his way down as I was coming up." He moved behind the Elf to untie his bonds. "Ouch. That looks bad."
"It's all right," Greenleaf passed over the subject. "How'd you get out?"
"They stuck me in the same cell you were in last night. I managed to explode the lock with the blasting powder I still had under my fingernails. It's potent stuff, all right. The orc on guard came straight through the door, stupid thing. I tripped it up and chopped its head off with its own sword."
"Good job," Greenleaf said, standing up. He gasped, catching the back of his chair for balance as his head span. "I'm fine," he told Aragorn, who made as if to support him. "We need to get after Saruman. He's got the ring."
"What about this?" the man asked, pointing to Gríma, who was crawling towards the door.
Greenleaf strode over and hauled the advisor up by his collar, holding him up so his toes were just above the floor. Gríma's pale face was whiter than usual, and sweating. He trembled, grasping uselessly at the Elf's hand.
"Please," he pleaded, "you don't want to hurt me."
"Yes, I do," Greenleaf said, "give me a hand, Aragorn."
Together, the man and the Elf dragged Gríma across the room. With a quick heave and a push, they dropped him into the large fish tank. He had enough time for a quick scream before being pulled under by Saruman's pet 'fish'. The creatures were quick to begin ripping him apart with large, sharp teeth.
"You know what's worth than finding a worm in your apple?" Greenleaf said conversationally. "Finding half a worm."
Aragorn agreed, and they watched the advisor thrashing around in the tank for a little longer. Soon, he was still, his eyes bulging sightlessly before they were torn out and eaten.
"It's almost sad really," Aragorn commented, "his ultimate purpose in life was to become fishfood."
Greenleaf smiled. "And that's all the jokes we can get out of that."
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