Legolas Greenleaf, Agent of MESS, in

You Only Live Forever

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Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction, which is why I am posting it on this site. Legolas and associated characters were created by JRR Tolkien. James Bond was created by Ian Fleming. Legolas' appearance belongs to Orlando Bloom in a wig.

Author's Notes: I think I got most of my inspiration for this one from 'Live and Let Die', though I could be wrong. Oh, wait, a lot came from the film of 'Dr. No' as well. I haven't seen that one in far too long.

Review replies: theinklesspen: multiple rings? Ah, no. I'm pretty sure I mentioned that somewhere, maybe in this chapter. And if you think I was evil before, just you wait...

Nemo Returning: who's talking about ends? There're another four chapters after this one! And he has to get captured, it's what secret agents seem to do the whole time (well, Bond always does). And maybe I'm a little mean to dear old Greenleaf. It's only because I love him so.

Idlewild: damn good way to get a screen name, I say. Yes, I have a weakness for old jokes. I didn't actually think of the whole Tolkien-hating-mechanisation thing. I've been studying various wars lately and that's where they came from. (And I am so proud of that chapter title!)

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Chapter 11. Running the Gauntlet

Greenleaf's first thought on waking was "I've got to stop doing this". Returning to consciousness in a cell was not one of his favourite moments in life, particularly when his head felt as if a cave troll was dancing in it. He sat up slowly, almost falling straight back as light exploded behind his eyes. He put his hand up to his head gingerly. The back of it felt sticky, and in the dim light Greenleaf saw that a dark substance, probably blood, had come away on his fingers. With a groan, he pulled himself to his feet and went to the door.

There was no window in it; the only light came from round the edges. There was no handle, and Greenleaf felt all the way round the door before concluding that there was no keyhole on his side either. He pulled at the edges but the door was definitely locked, and his fingers would not fit properly into the gap. He sighed and sat down again on the floor, leaning his back against the wall. With his knees drawn up to his chest he rested his aching head on them and considered his position.

He was locked in a small cell, from which there seemed to be no way out –the door being impassable. But running in his mind –besides the cave troll, who now seemed to have invited friends- was an old axiom: "never build a dungeon you cannot get out of". Sauron was surely too crafty to ignore that. Therefore there had to be a way out, but it was too dark to see it properly, or at all.

Greenleaf unfolded himself and lay across the centre of the floor, spreading his arms wide. The stone was cold against his back, but he ignored it. He lay perfectly still, until he pinpointed a draught over his right hand, from the side opposite to the door. He rose and crouched by the wall, touching it with his hands, feeling across the stones. He moved slowly and methodically up the wall, covering every inch and finally stopping when his fingertips felt the cold metal of a grate.

He pulled at it, but the frame wouldn't give. Tracing the edge, he found that there were only four screws holding it in place. He took out a small flat piece of metal from his tunic, glad that they hadn't removed that from him. His weapons were gone, which was only to be expected. Working fast, he removed the screws, holding the grate with one hand as he did and easing it to the floor, keeping it as quiet as possible. He felt the floor of the vent and found that it was horizontal. Deciding that anything was better than sitting around, it was a simple move for Greenleaf to pull himself up and in. In doing so though, he failed to notice the red eye that appeared for an instant in a corner then vanished again.

Once up, he crawled along the vent, wanting to be as far from the cell as possible by the time somebody came to see him and he found out the reason why he was wanted alive. He was fairly sure it wouldn't be a pleasant reason, and that he was well out of it. The vent was made of metal, cold beneath his hands and knees. He crawled on, following the vent as it twisted and turned but always stayed on the level. There was always the possibility, he realised, that his captors wanted him to do this and would be waiting at the other end, but he would rather be up and moving than sitting like a rat in a trap.

The change beneath him was imperceptible at first, changing so gradually that it was unnoticeable until the metal beneath Greenleaf's hands grew too hot to touch. He cursed quietly and crouched back on his heels, hurriedly stripping off his tunic and using it to wrap around his hands as protection. He moved on quickly before the soles of his boots began to melt or similar. The heat grew more intense as he went along, and the way narrower. His knees felt as if they were burning, so he went on hands and feet, bent over extremely uncomfortably. He was even beginning to sweat, unusually for him. He blinked it out of his eyes in irritation. It wasn't long before the vent was too narrow to get through without most of his body touching the sides. His back, now bare, scraped against the burning metal. His crawl became agonisingly slow and seemed to go on forever.

Forever that was until the passage began mercifully to widen again, and a loud rumbling sound came from behind Greenleaf. He turned his head, not stopping due to the heat, but was unable to see what it was. The curve of the vent shielded his view and his hair now fell in his face, as he had no free hand to push it back. Soon though it was painfully obvious.

A great rush of water hit him full force, and there was no resisting it. His breath knocked out of him, Greenleaf was carried along the vent, buffeted and spun by the water. The coolness was a respite from the former blistering heat, but even the water had begun to heat up, though not yet enough to be painful. It was still cool on his burns, which tingled unpleasantly.

It must be the volcano's heat, Greenleaf realised, but it shouldn't get hot enough to boil the water. That sort of heat would melt the vent, surely. At least, he hoped he was right on that.

He had lost any sense of direction he might have had. Even if he had known where the cell was in the first place, it probably wouldn't have helped. Caves this deep underground were not his speciality. Since leaving the cell the vent had gone in several directions, and now, dragged along by the water, he had no hope of even remembering the turns. At every corner he was slammed jarringly into the side. He was going to end up with some lovely bruises to go with the burns he had gained earlier. He would also get himself knocked out if he wasn't careful, and that would only lead to him getting drowned or something, a most ignoble end.

Quickly stretching out his legs, he pressed his back to the side and tried to jam himself against the walls of the vent. They were cooler now, and he managed to stop his progress. The water still rushed by, pulling hard at his resisting body. The flow seemed to have become stronger, or perhaps it was just his legs not being able to take the strain. It had to end soon, but the torrent seemed constant. Greenleaf gritted his teeth, pressing all the harder with his legs, but gradually he was sliding along, unable to stop. His body gave way with weariness and he was yanked along again by the speeding water.

His headlong rush was brought to a halt abruptly at a large metal grate, set square across the vent. The water poured through, pinning Greenleaf to it with the sheer weight. He couldn't catch his breath as it all pounded against him. Stars began to appear at the edge of his vision as the water kept coming.

And then it stopped. The water lessened and Greenleaf dropped to the floor as the last trickles escaped. His breathing was shallow and rapid, and his body trembled as he got to his knees. He felt horribly weak after the onslaught; not a feeling he relished. The vent he had been following was at an end, with a metal wall in which the grate was set. Nothing was visible beyond, only darkness. At each side, only just visible in the dim light, there was another vent. Greenleaf sank back on his heels, squeezing the water out of his hair.

Hope that wasn't bathwater or anything like that, he thought. Now where?

He weighed up his options, which were, to all observations, identical. It was too dark to see down either vent, so the choice essentially boiled down to left or right. Still suspicious of his apparent escape route, Greenleaf tried to decide which way he would be expected to go. Most people favoured their right hands, so his automatic response would be expected to be to turn right, particularly if he was disorientated.

Taking that into account he took the left hand vent, crawling along it and wondering if there would be any more traps. His whole body ached, and his knees stung as they pressed against the floor. His chosen passage seemed normal enough as he continued along, but he was ever on the alert. Then the vent ended abruptly in a blank metal wall. Greenleaf bumped right into it, unable to see it in the dark. He stopped and rubbed his cheek where he had hit it. Using his fingers, he felt the wall in his way. It was clear that he couldn't get through. Turning, he made his way back, hoping that the other way wasn't the same. If he had to crawl all the way back to the cell then he was certain that someone, or something, would be waiting for him. And that would just be too humiliating.

He was almost back at the end of the second vent when something made him stop. There was a faint light ahead –he presumed it to be coming from a gap, or maybe the grate- and it showed him a crouching black shape in the vent before him. There was only enough time for a fleeting impression of teeth and claws before it was on him. It was small but fast. Its claws seized his shoulders as the force of its leap pushed the Elf to the floor. Greenleaf grabbed at the creature, determined not to allow it to reach his neck with its teeth. He flung it away down the vent, rolling to his feet after in an easy movement. He crouched, completely still, uneasily waiting for the next attack that he wouldn't be able to see in the dark.

A faint scuttling was the only clue before the creature pounced again. Its teeth bit into his side, forcing a cry from the Elf. He grabbed at it again, hissing as its claws sliced his hands. He didn't know what it was, but was more concerned with getting it off of him. He hauled it up, feeling his skin tear as its teeth were pulled out of his flesh and slammed it hard against the wall. It squeaked then attacked his hand with renewed ferocity. Wanting to get rid of it fast he bashed it into the wall again and again, ignoring the pain in his hand. Finally, after what seemed like far too long, it went limp. Greenleaf knocked it on the side a few more times for good measure, and then dropped it to the floor.

He examined it as best he could for a moment then carried on. It was no creature that he recognised, and for some reason it reminded him of the fish-like creatures that Saruman had kept in a tank in Orthanc, probably due to its unrecognisable shape, sharp bits and general viciousness. He crawled back along the vent, feeling blood running over his hand. Without pausing he crossed the main vent, where there was still water on the floor, and entered the right hand vent, extra wary for any nasty beasties being sent his way. He was now convinced that Sauron knew exactly where he was and what he was doing, and this made him even more cautious. The different traps weren't coincidental, and even if they were it didn't hurt to be a little paranoid. It had never done him any harm in the past.

So when the vent began to slope downwards he wasn't really surprised, but was still concerned. The metal was smooth and his hands were beginning to slide, lubricated by water and blood. He held his arms out to the side, holding himself steady by bracing them against the walls as best he could. Slowly and carefully he began to work his way onwards as the gradient became increasingly steeper. Eventually it became vertical, and Greenleaf paused for a moment as he changed his position. He pressed his back against one side and his feet on the other, and kept his hands against the other two sides. It was hard going, lowering himself down bit by bit, and a great strain on his already over-tasked legs. They shook uncontrollably at one point, forcing him to stop and rest. It was tense and awkward, but he couldn't just let himself drop. He didn't know what was at the bottom.

Step by step he continued his way down, willing his legs not to shake further or give way. He was, effectively, walking backwards in small steps, sliding his back as he went. The remains of his tunic had been washed away earlier and the burns on his back rubbed against the metal sides. The soaking he had received had made his breeches cling to his skin, chilling his skin despite his usual impervious nature to such feeling. His boots slipped, giving him a heart-stopping moment before he caught himself, stopping his fall by pressing his arms hard against the sides before getting his legs back up. He paused, breathing heavily and trying to control his near panic. Come on, he scolded himself, get a hold on yourself. You can do this, just keep going. It can't be much further. He dropped his head for a moment, shutting his eyes. At least he could be sure that he wasn't making his way down into some lava-filled area of Orodruin. He'd be feeling the heat already by now if he were.

He opened his eyes, and realised that he had slid someway down the vent. The metal sides were coated in some slippery substance, and no matter how hard he pushed against them he couldn't stop himself. His feet skidded downwards, and it was too late to do anything. He fell down the vent.

His fall gathered speed. His hair whipped into his face and he knocked into the sides on the way down. A brief moment of panic flashed into his mind, but he pushed it away. Steeling his resolve, he abruptly jammed his arms and legs outwards, attempting to halt his descent. But immediately he pulled them back in, unable to stop a choked scream. Sharp blades had been set into the walls and they had sliced cruelly into his skin. He fell faster and faster, his fall accelerating. He kept hitting the sides, cutting his skin each time. The vent suddenly curved beneath him and he crashed into the curve. His momentum sent him tumbling on.

Greenleaf landed hard on a rocky floor, again having the breath knocked out of him. He sprawled, unable to control his tired limbs and body as he hit the ground. He only saw that he was in a cave –no surprise there- before he was knocked on the head from behind. Not again, he thought before passing out.

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"Go!" the Elf had shouted at him, but Gimli hadn't wanted to comply. It would have meant leaving Greenleaf behind to the orcs. But as Gimli saw his companion being pulled down he realised why. The orcs actually wanted him dead, whereas they were just trying to capture the Elf. Greenleaf was trying to get the Dwarf out, obviously having seen that they'd never both get out. He was prepared to face capture to stop Gimli getting killed, and that wasn't something that the Dwarf could refuse.

Sending off a wave of orcs with an axe swing, he ran for the edge of the cavern. An orc lunged at him, but he cut it down in mid-stride, avoiding its falling body as he ran. He reached the end of one corridor and paused to look back. He saw Greenleaf just vanishing beneath a group of orcs, and had to fight his sudden urge to run back in and fight. He couldn't achieve anything alone. Cursing, he ran on, hearing the sounds of pursuit behind him. Damn that Elf! He didn't want to feel guilty about leaving him behind.

Roars and grunts echoed at his back. The orcs were after him and gaining fast. Gimli heightened his pace, wishing that he had longer legs. The corridor seemed to go on forever, with blank walls on both sides, and it was fairly well lit. Abruptly, there was a curve and just beyond it was a fork, which Gimli welcomed. Pausing only momentarily, he took the left fork, the badly illuminated one. He held his axe still on his belt as he went, trying to ensure that he went as quietly as possible. Behind, the orcs halted, unsure at first of which way to take. The curve in the passage had hidden their view of the Dwarf and consequently they hadn't seen which way he had taken.

"Where'd 'e go?" one of them hissed, squinting first down one way and then the other. "I want to get that hairy little newt!"

The other orcs were all equally confused, and spent precious time dithering around. It took the arrival of one of the Uruk-hai to goad them into action.

"Get on with it, you horrible lot!" it yelled, kicking one. "Split up, idiots! There's enough of you to cover both tunnels!"

But by the time they got going again, Gimli was long gone. He had taken several more turns and any pursuers would now find it very difficult to find him. He had memorised his route as he went. Not that it would help him find the Elf, he thought glumly. If they had caught him then they'd probably dragged him off somewhere. He decided that the best thing would be to hunt around as much as he could. He stopped for a minute in a niche, running through the way he had taken in his mind. Having counted up turns and estimated distances, he deduced that he was somewhere on the Northeastern side of the mountain, taking the curvature into account.

He thought for a moment, brow creased, and then continued along the corridor he was on. At the next junction he went right; the way that he hoped led further into the volcano. His flight had taken him fairly close to the outer edge, which Gimli could tell partially from the chill air, rather than the heat closer to the centre. The outer passages were emptier, more devoid of any activity. If he were to find anything then it would be further in.

Continuing on, he kept thinking about what had happened. Why had they –whomever it was who had given that order- wanted the Elf anyway? It didn't figure that it would be for anything good. And why hadn't they wanted him? It couldn't be that he hadn't been seen; the surveillance system couldn't have missed him, despite his short stature. Perhaps they just didn't really care about what happened to a lowly Dwarf, or didn't deign him to be important enough. That would be the most likely. Typical of the taller races, thought Gimli with a scowl. But despite his disdain for such "tall folks", Gimli found himself worrying about his companion, and becoming more firmly resolved to find him.

The corridor he was following met with four others at a junction. Two obviously were part of the same path and were lit quite well. Gimli avoided these not wanting to be spotted. He took the right most of the two. Any watcher would only have seen a dark shape dart across the junction and vanish into the darkness again. Dwarves, though not renowned for it, could be surreptitious and unseen when they wished it, particularly when in their natural element: caves. Not to mention deadly over short distances.

It was only a short distance before the corridor opened out into a cavern. When Gimli saw what it contained, his jaw dropped open.

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(Note: It's an orc. I know that "there's" is wrong, but orcs don't good grammar have. Savvy?)