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: Well, unfortunately this is unbeta'd, as, well, it's a busy time of year. I would have posted this this morning, but I went to see Harry Potter instead. It was great! (Apart from the mistakes, the changes in plot, the irritating way that werewolf-Lupin looked like Gollum gone psycho).
Review replies: theinklesspen: definitely a cavern there. You had me worried for a sec. I kind of got the idea for the vents from the film of Dr. No. And to an extent the book of Live and Let Die. It was fun to write.
Nemo Returning: you didn't like the cliffhanger? Oh dear. You're really going to kick me at the end of this one. (Have you seen Harry Potter yet? Not enough Snape! And Draco's turned into a whining wussy!)
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Chapter 12. Black and White
This was getting to be a habit. That was what clicked through Greenleaf's mind as he made the painful approach to consciousness. It was a clichéd thought, but he had woken up too many times recently with a sore head and an uneasy feeling that something was rather wrong. All he could see was blackness, and he realized eventually that it was because his eyes were closed. Not wanting to open them for a moment he remained still, deciding to take stock of his surroundings first.
There was a faint breeze blowing across, though it was still rather hot; he must still be inside the volcano. Stone was hard against his back, and he was lying on a flat surface. He pulled at his arms gently in a move that should have been imperceptible to any observer, should there be any. He didn't want to look and see if there was anyone just yet. His arms wouldn't move, and Greenleaf could feel something against his wrists and also his ankles. It seemed that he was pinned down; not a particularly comforting idea.
And there was also the other fact that he had deduced: that he was naked. It wasn't good, it made him vulnerable, spread out unable to fend for himself, at the mercy of whoever it was who had put him here –he had a pretty good idea who. It wasn't that he was shy about his body –indeed, he had no reason to be- but he wasn't prepared to show it off to everyone. There was a name for people like that. It was the sort of name that even now Greenleaf was silently directing at his captors. He kept his face impassive though, still feigning unconsciousness. It seemed to be the most sensible course of action for now, at least until he knew where he was and what was going on. Someone had wanted him to 'escape' from the cell and had sent him through a gauntlet of trials, all apparently designed to hurt or kill him. But, he realised with a smug feeling, they had obviously expected him to get through, and thus had left the welcome at the other end in the form of a knock on the head. And whoever had delivered that welcome was most likely still around. Greenleaf, even with his eyes closed, could feel the presence of someone else in the room with him and knew that someone, not a nice someone, was there. He didn't have to wait long to find out who it was.
"I know you're awake, little Elf," a voice hissed. It was a horrible voice, causing a shudder to wriggle down Greenleaf's spine. He couldn't prevent it; the voice would have made a Balrog look over its shoulder uneasily. Every syllable recalled dark days of an age before, and it was confident of its power. There was an unpleasant, mocking laugh, and Greenleaf knew that his bluff had been called. He opened his eyes, already guessing who would be there.
He had seen pictures of Sauron, of course, but not even the most skilful of artists could capture the sheer presence of the Dark Lord. Ink lines on paper could never convey the sickening feeling that anyone meeting Sauron would experience. Faced with that gaze, Greenleaf got the definite impression that he was no better than something an orc had discarded. The Dark Lord was tall, far taller than any Man or Elf, though Greenleaf had a few sceptical thoughts on the effect his current, horizontal position had on this. Sauron seemed to be dressed entirely in black armour, with nothing else visible. He defied description beyond that. It was paralysing, the evil that Greenleaf could feel from the Dark Lord. He had never met anyone or anything that was so much part of the darkness. Maybe that was one of the reasons that G hadn't wanted to send him, he realised, and an awkward feeling began growing inside him. He had never faced anyone this powerful, and his present position was hardly the best for the job. He didn't know what he could do.
Not that he had much choice as to what to do at that particular moment. He lay on what seemed to be a cut stone slab, arms pulled above his head and secured –he couldn't see how- and his feet held down similarly at the other end. It was undignified, Greenleaf decided, and the nudity was unnecessary in his opinion. Just some whim of Sauron's, he supposed, some entertainment for him. Not that there was anything to laugh at, obviously. But there probably was a deeper, crueller meaning to it; a fundamental example of who was in charge in this situation. Greenleaf knew quite well, without that little reminder, exactly who was superior at that point, and he sincerely wished that it were otherwise. Sauron was watching him silently and intently, drinking in and enjoying the fear that the Elf refused to show.
"So, little Elf," the Dark Lord said eventually, and Greenleaf was hard put not to jump like a startled rabbit. "Why exactly has the Lady of the Golden Wood sent you here?"
Greenleaf said nothing. He would die before he spoke and anyway, he wasn't quite sure what Sauron meant. Surely he knew why he was there?
As if realising this, Sauron continued. "Not your reason for being here: my defeat and ultimate destruction and all that. I know that. I want to know why she sent you, rather than anyone else. You're not exactly the obvious choice, are you? The young Prince of Mirkwood. You're hardly striking fear into my 'black' heart."
He rested a gauntleted hand on Greenleaf's stomach, and the Elf flinched. The Dark Lord's speech was drawing on all the doubts festering in Greenleaf's mind. Why had he insisted that he be sent? He had thought too much of himself, that much was obvious, and he was paying for it now. If he got out –no, damn it, make that when, or he might just as well give up now- when he got out, he would probably be so full of himself that being humble would be the furthest thing from his mind. Which would be a pity, humbleness was good on occasions. But that sort of thought was distracting from the situation, which demanded all of his attention. Sauron was leaning over the Elf, the torchlight throwing odd shadows over his helmet.
"Unless you are a decoy, of course," he continued, "an unknowing, sacrificial lamb thrown down to throw me off the scent. Is that it, little Elf?"
Greenleaf still didn't speak, but he was unnerved by the Dark Lord's suggestions. Supposing G had sent him for that very reason? But no, she would never do that. She wouldn't, not ever. Greenleaf suppressed that fear, but couldn't stop the others. Sauron's eyes, though not visible, bored into his, as if he was reading every one of the Elf's thoughts. The hand on his stomach seemed to burn against his flesh, though it was probably that his acuity was heightened by dry-mouthed fear.
"No," Sauron said, seeming to be pulling the answer straight from Greenleaf's head, "she wouldn't do that. She's too honourable." He spat the word out. "So you're the wonderful agent she has sent to get me, along with that stunted hairy creature you've dragged here with you. Well, I'm not very impressed." His hand twitched on Greenleaf's stomach, and the Elf tensed.
"Don't worry, we'll get hold of him soon. Though I must say it is rather odd, an Elf and a Dwarf working together." The Dark Lord gave another of his harsh laughs. "I suppose I should be honoured. You're that determined to get rid of me. It's such a pity it's all been in vain."
Greenleaf's eyes narrowed. "You might kill us," he said, as quietly and calmly as he could, "but that won't stop what's going to happen to you. You won't win. You'll be brought down, just wait and see."
Sauron chuckled, a spine-contracting sound. "Not "might" kill you: definitely will kill you. But that's just by the by, nothing important. Your precious Service won't stop me, not at all. And I want you to realise that before you die. I want you to know that everything you've done has been completely in vain. You haven't achieved anything, little Elf, anything at all."
"On the contrary," Greenleaf countered, angered, "no matter what you do now, it won't make any difference, except maybe make it worse fro you."
Without warning, Sauron's fist lifted and slammed down on Greenleaf's unprotected stomach. The Elf tried to double over in reflex, but the restraints held him and he just had to lie there gasping.
"Now I'd love to stay and talk," Sauron said, standing hugely tall over his captive, "but I have death and destruction to deal out. The usual sort of stuff, you understand? It's been amusing talking to you, and I just wanted to say one more thing." His finger drew a line up Greenleaf's chest and stopped at the Elf's chin, pushing his head back.
"You only live forever, little Elf, and forever is coming to an end."
He laughed raucously; a grating, cawing noise. "We won't see each other again, of course," he continued, "not alive, at any rate. But never fear, I leave you in trusted hands. I'll send him along shortly. I know you'll get on famously, he's an old friend of yours."
Greenleaf looked at him. "How far are you planning to go?" he asked suddenly. "You'll never be content with just killing everyone, will you?"
"Middle Earth is not enough." Sauron strode across the chamber and paused in the doorway. "Goodbye, little Elf. It's been such a pleasure." And with that he was gone.
Greenleaf was left alone with his thoughts, none of which were particularly pleasant. It looked depressingly like being the end of the road for him. Sauron seemed, for the moment, to have won. Greenleaf could do nothing from where he was, and no matter how hard he pulled he could not break the restraints. He slumped against them. He was helpless, and despite his endurance he was tired. There was no denying it. All that he had been through already had wearied him near to the point of exhaustion. Bruises, burns and cuts all pained him, and even with the volcano's heat his still damp body was chilled. He could feel himself trembling slightly. His head ached from the two times he'd been knocked unconscious. He closed his eyes momentarily, feeling the ache spread through his limbs. It was quiet in the chamber, away from the noise of the orcs. The thick stone all around insulated it as well. Thick, heavy stone. Greenleaf sighed wearily. It was always caves on this mission, wasn't it? Great deep caves far underground, just the way he hated them. He'd almost rather be in Isengard. At least that place had windows.
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Gimli's first impression of the cavern was its huge size, the way its roof simply curved upwards and vanished into shadow. But while this was all very well and impressive, the Dwarf's attention was drawn to something else. Some things, to be precise. Huge black shapes stood on the cavern floor, and Gimli recognised them immediately.
They were Sauron's war machines; great monsters of iron sitting in silent menace. It was eerie how quiet it was, compared to the earlier noise-filled caves. Gimli was reminded horribly of a graveyard, though these machines had never been alive and hopefully never would be. They looked so much worse in physical reality than they ever could in the plans. Looking directly at them it was all too easy to see how brave warriors could be rolled over into insignificance under the huge wheels. Swords, axes or arrows; none would be any use against such a weapon. The hugest army could not withstand attack from these, not even on horseback. They were the ultimate weapon.
Gimli walked slowly out among the mute monstrosities, examining them with heightening anger. Such weapons should have no place in warfare, he thought, fists clenching vehemently. I would name this one Widow-maker, and this Son-killer; here is Orphaner and his twin Bereaver! They would change the face of war for good, if they were allowed to be used. No one could defeat them unless they built their own and used the same tactics, and that was something that Gimli couldn't see the Elves doing willingly. Despite his long-held opinions of them, he now knew enough to know their respect for life. Not willing would they be to use such weapons; these machines that had one purpose. There was only one thing they could do: kill. Wars fought between armies of these monsters could never have a victor. No one could win once they'd had so many warriors killed.
The metal hulks rose high above the Dwarf as he went along. To all intents and purposes they were identical, all constructed of the same pieces put together in the same manner. The entrance was at the back of each, up a ramp that obviously pulled up to shut and make the machine impregnable. The ramps were down so Gimli, after a quick check round, crept up one to have a look. The interior was fairly simple. Slits in the sides allowed for archers to shoot out, while flaps could be lifted to fight anyone outside, though Gimli decided that there would not be much call to use them. The machines' main use would most likely be to roll forward and literally flatten the enemy. However, there did seem to be a few areas that could cause problems. The vehicles could only travel in straight lines, with no apparent method for steering it in other directions. But for now they would not need to; the very sight of them approaching would terrify any army.
A sudden noise caught Gimli by surprise, and he shrank into the shadows. A pair of orcs had entered cavern, talking to each other.
"Can't make his bleedin' mind up, can he?" one was saying. "First he has them open for 'inspection', now he wants them shut. And who's got to do the donkeywork? Us, of course."
"We've got intruders, haven't we?" The second orc sniffed. "I'd call him a miserable bastard at this point, but he was looking rather pleased, rather than miserable, when he gave the order. As much as anyone can tell."
"Don't see why we couldn't get to play with the Elf though," the first one said petulantly, "blatant favouritism if you ask me."
"I didn't ask you," the second said. "Get on the other side, will you? Ready? Right –hup!" There was a loud clang, and Gimli realised with a shock that they were closing the ramps.
"Funny though," the orc continued, "you wouldn't have expected that he'd be in the Dark Lord's good books, would you? After that shambles..."
"Ours not to question him," his companion said, "come on, let's get this done so we can get a bite to eat."
They appeared in the entrance of the machine that Gimli was in, but luckily didn't even glance inside. They heaved the heavy metal ramp up, cursing occasionally, until it clicked into place. Gimli had no chance to escape, and was now trapped inside the metal machine. Another echoing slam signalled the closing of another ramp. Gimli took a step towards one of the slits to watch for when the orcs left, but stopped abruptly when his heavy boot clanked on the floor. He held himself perfectly still and waited.
"What was that?" the first orc asked.
"Probably just the metal settling or something technical like that," the second answered irritably, "don't be so jumpy, will you?"
"All right, all right."
The orcs carried on with their task. Gimli let out the breath he had been holding and walked much more carefully across the metal floor, lifting his feet and placing them down again with much more caution. He reached one of the long slits and peered through it. More slams rang out as the two orcs completed their job.
"Is that all of them?" one of them asked. On receiving confirmation, he continued. "Come on then. These things give me the creeps, I can tell you."
They left the cavern. Gimli waited for a couple of minutes before giving the raised ramp and experimental push. It didn't move. He pushed harder, but it still wouldn't give. Must be some form of locking mechanism, he deduced, or more likely some form of catch, judging by the way the ramp had clicked shut when pushed together with the side of the machine. If there was one thing that Gimli knew as well as caves then it was locks. He squinted upwards. There was hardly any light –only a little peeked through the slits in the side- but it was just enough and fell in the right place for him to see what he needed to. It was a simple catch, one that could be opened easily with a push. And therein lay the problem fro the Dwarf. He was too short to reach.
It didn't take him long to work out a solution. Holding his axe by the end of the shaft, he held it up, reaching towards the catch. It was quite high, and his arm wobbled as he strained upwards. He had to go onto his toes but he finally touched the catch with the tip of his axe. With a last effort he knocked the catch open and the effect was instantaneous. The ramp fell back, slowly at first but then faster until it crashed onto the floor with a huge clang. The echoes reverberated round for quite some time, but Gimli didn't stay to listen.
He ran out of the war machine before the ramp even stopped shuddering, sprinting away from it as fast as he could. The noise would undoubtedly bring orcs to investigate and he didn't plan on meeting them. He took one of the corridors ob the opposite to where he had come in. It was just beside a long pool of magma –the hot, melted rock that was always, unsurprisingly, turning up in the caves. Gimli heard orcs entering the cavern behind him as he concealed himself in the shadow. He looked back briefly. It was, as far as he could tell, the same two as earlier.
"Look at that," one of them said, "you obviously didn't push it up far enough!"
"You mean you didn't," the other argued, "don't try and blame me, you big lump!"
"Don't you call me a big lump," the first replied, "at least I haven't got turds for brains."
"I'll call you what I want," the second shot back, "dung breath."
Not particularly interested in their bickering, Gimli moved on. He fixed the location of the cavern in his mind, and took care to remember exactly the route he was taking from it. Those machines would be of paramount importance to be destroyed. Nothing like them should be allowed to exist. He would have to go back there later to destroy them, but for now he had another task to do. He had to find that Elf. It would probably be rather difficult, being as he didn't know where he was, but he would find him.
"Damn you, Elf," he muttered, "why'd you have to get yourself captured?" He marched on down the corridor, axe in hand.
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Greenleaf pulled half-heartedly at his restraints. It didn't help, only made little lights flash in the corners of his eyes, which were still shut. The only thing he could do now was wait until whoever it was turned up. His stomach ached from where Sauron had punched him, not to mention his other injuries. The pain was threatening to distract him from his situation, and he opened his eyes. All he had to look at was the cave roof, which wasn't particularly enthralling. Greenleaf soon got tired of counting stalactites.
His eyes began to drift closed again. He was very tired. He allowed his breathing to slow a little, but didn't go to sleep. He couldn't let himself do that, but the rest was welcome. He would need all his strength for whatever was going to happen. The sound of steps entering the cave caused him to stiffen slightly. The person Sauron had promised had arrived. Greenleaf raised his head a little, opening his eyes. They widened in surprise as he saw the other person.
By the Valar, he thought, I was sure that...
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A/n: [rubs hands together evilly] Well, wouldn't you like to know who that is? Or have you guessed already? There's been enough hints.
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: Well, unfortunately this is unbeta'd, as, well, it's a busy time of year. I would have posted this this morning, but I went to see Harry Potter instead. It was great! (Apart from the mistakes, the changes in plot, the irritating way that werewolf-Lupin looked like Gollum gone psycho).
Review replies: theinklesspen: definitely a cavern there. You had me worried for a sec. I kind of got the idea for the vents from the film of Dr. No. And to an extent the book of Live and Let Die. It was fun to write.
Nemo Returning: you didn't like the cliffhanger? Oh dear. You're really going to kick me at the end of this one. (Have you seen Harry Potter yet? Not enough Snape! And Draco's turned into a whining wussy!)
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Chapter 12. Black and White
This was getting to be a habit. That was what clicked through Greenleaf's mind as he made the painful approach to consciousness. It was a clichéd thought, but he had woken up too many times recently with a sore head and an uneasy feeling that something was rather wrong. All he could see was blackness, and he realized eventually that it was because his eyes were closed. Not wanting to open them for a moment he remained still, deciding to take stock of his surroundings first.
There was a faint breeze blowing across, though it was still rather hot; he must still be inside the volcano. Stone was hard against his back, and he was lying on a flat surface. He pulled at his arms gently in a move that should have been imperceptible to any observer, should there be any. He didn't want to look and see if there was anyone just yet. His arms wouldn't move, and Greenleaf could feel something against his wrists and also his ankles. It seemed that he was pinned down; not a particularly comforting idea.
And there was also the other fact that he had deduced: that he was naked. It wasn't good, it made him vulnerable, spread out unable to fend for himself, at the mercy of whoever it was who had put him here –he had a pretty good idea who. It wasn't that he was shy about his body –indeed, he had no reason to be- but he wasn't prepared to show it off to everyone. There was a name for people like that. It was the sort of name that even now Greenleaf was silently directing at his captors. He kept his face impassive though, still feigning unconsciousness. It seemed to be the most sensible course of action for now, at least until he knew where he was and what was going on. Someone had wanted him to 'escape' from the cell and had sent him through a gauntlet of trials, all apparently designed to hurt or kill him. But, he realised with a smug feeling, they had obviously expected him to get through, and thus had left the welcome at the other end in the form of a knock on the head. And whoever had delivered that welcome was most likely still around. Greenleaf, even with his eyes closed, could feel the presence of someone else in the room with him and knew that someone, not a nice someone, was there. He didn't have to wait long to find out who it was.
"I know you're awake, little Elf," a voice hissed. It was a horrible voice, causing a shudder to wriggle down Greenleaf's spine. He couldn't prevent it; the voice would have made a Balrog look over its shoulder uneasily. Every syllable recalled dark days of an age before, and it was confident of its power. There was an unpleasant, mocking laugh, and Greenleaf knew that his bluff had been called. He opened his eyes, already guessing who would be there.
He had seen pictures of Sauron, of course, but not even the most skilful of artists could capture the sheer presence of the Dark Lord. Ink lines on paper could never convey the sickening feeling that anyone meeting Sauron would experience. Faced with that gaze, Greenleaf got the definite impression that he was no better than something an orc had discarded. The Dark Lord was tall, far taller than any Man or Elf, though Greenleaf had a few sceptical thoughts on the effect his current, horizontal position had on this. Sauron seemed to be dressed entirely in black armour, with nothing else visible. He defied description beyond that. It was paralysing, the evil that Greenleaf could feel from the Dark Lord. He had never met anyone or anything that was so much part of the darkness. Maybe that was one of the reasons that G hadn't wanted to send him, he realised, and an awkward feeling began growing inside him. He had never faced anyone this powerful, and his present position was hardly the best for the job. He didn't know what he could do.
Not that he had much choice as to what to do at that particular moment. He lay on what seemed to be a cut stone slab, arms pulled above his head and secured –he couldn't see how- and his feet held down similarly at the other end. It was undignified, Greenleaf decided, and the nudity was unnecessary in his opinion. Just some whim of Sauron's, he supposed, some entertainment for him. Not that there was anything to laugh at, obviously. But there probably was a deeper, crueller meaning to it; a fundamental example of who was in charge in this situation. Greenleaf knew quite well, without that little reminder, exactly who was superior at that point, and he sincerely wished that it were otherwise. Sauron was watching him silently and intently, drinking in and enjoying the fear that the Elf refused to show.
"So, little Elf," the Dark Lord said eventually, and Greenleaf was hard put not to jump like a startled rabbit. "Why exactly has the Lady of the Golden Wood sent you here?"
Greenleaf said nothing. He would die before he spoke and anyway, he wasn't quite sure what Sauron meant. Surely he knew why he was there?
As if realising this, Sauron continued. "Not your reason for being here: my defeat and ultimate destruction and all that. I know that. I want to know why she sent you, rather than anyone else. You're not exactly the obvious choice, are you? The young Prince of Mirkwood. You're hardly striking fear into my 'black' heart."
He rested a gauntleted hand on Greenleaf's stomach, and the Elf flinched. The Dark Lord's speech was drawing on all the doubts festering in Greenleaf's mind. Why had he insisted that he be sent? He had thought too much of himself, that much was obvious, and he was paying for it now. If he got out –no, damn it, make that when, or he might just as well give up now- when he got out, he would probably be so full of himself that being humble would be the furthest thing from his mind. Which would be a pity, humbleness was good on occasions. But that sort of thought was distracting from the situation, which demanded all of his attention. Sauron was leaning over the Elf, the torchlight throwing odd shadows over his helmet.
"Unless you are a decoy, of course," he continued, "an unknowing, sacrificial lamb thrown down to throw me off the scent. Is that it, little Elf?"
Greenleaf still didn't speak, but he was unnerved by the Dark Lord's suggestions. Supposing G had sent him for that very reason? But no, she would never do that. She wouldn't, not ever. Greenleaf suppressed that fear, but couldn't stop the others. Sauron's eyes, though not visible, bored into his, as if he was reading every one of the Elf's thoughts. The hand on his stomach seemed to burn against his flesh, though it was probably that his acuity was heightened by dry-mouthed fear.
"No," Sauron said, seeming to be pulling the answer straight from Greenleaf's head, "she wouldn't do that. She's too honourable." He spat the word out. "So you're the wonderful agent she has sent to get me, along with that stunted hairy creature you've dragged here with you. Well, I'm not very impressed." His hand twitched on Greenleaf's stomach, and the Elf tensed.
"Don't worry, we'll get hold of him soon. Though I must say it is rather odd, an Elf and a Dwarf working together." The Dark Lord gave another of his harsh laughs. "I suppose I should be honoured. You're that determined to get rid of me. It's such a pity it's all been in vain."
Greenleaf's eyes narrowed. "You might kill us," he said, as quietly and calmly as he could, "but that won't stop what's going to happen to you. You won't win. You'll be brought down, just wait and see."
Sauron chuckled, a spine-contracting sound. "Not "might" kill you: definitely will kill you. But that's just by the by, nothing important. Your precious Service won't stop me, not at all. And I want you to realise that before you die. I want you to know that everything you've done has been completely in vain. You haven't achieved anything, little Elf, anything at all."
"On the contrary," Greenleaf countered, angered, "no matter what you do now, it won't make any difference, except maybe make it worse fro you."
Without warning, Sauron's fist lifted and slammed down on Greenleaf's unprotected stomach. The Elf tried to double over in reflex, but the restraints held him and he just had to lie there gasping.
"Now I'd love to stay and talk," Sauron said, standing hugely tall over his captive, "but I have death and destruction to deal out. The usual sort of stuff, you understand? It's been amusing talking to you, and I just wanted to say one more thing." His finger drew a line up Greenleaf's chest and stopped at the Elf's chin, pushing his head back.
"You only live forever, little Elf, and forever is coming to an end."
He laughed raucously; a grating, cawing noise. "We won't see each other again, of course," he continued, "not alive, at any rate. But never fear, I leave you in trusted hands. I'll send him along shortly. I know you'll get on famously, he's an old friend of yours."
Greenleaf looked at him. "How far are you planning to go?" he asked suddenly. "You'll never be content with just killing everyone, will you?"
"Middle Earth is not enough." Sauron strode across the chamber and paused in the doorway. "Goodbye, little Elf. It's been such a pleasure." And with that he was gone.
Greenleaf was left alone with his thoughts, none of which were particularly pleasant. It looked depressingly like being the end of the road for him. Sauron seemed, for the moment, to have won. Greenleaf could do nothing from where he was, and no matter how hard he pulled he could not break the restraints. He slumped against them. He was helpless, and despite his endurance he was tired. There was no denying it. All that he had been through already had wearied him near to the point of exhaustion. Bruises, burns and cuts all pained him, and even with the volcano's heat his still damp body was chilled. He could feel himself trembling slightly. His head ached from the two times he'd been knocked unconscious. He closed his eyes momentarily, feeling the ache spread through his limbs. It was quiet in the chamber, away from the noise of the orcs. The thick stone all around insulated it as well. Thick, heavy stone. Greenleaf sighed wearily. It was always caves on this mission, wasn't it? Great deep caves far underground, just the way he hated them. He'd almost rather be in Isengard. At least that place had windows.
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Gimli's first impression of the cavern was its huge size, the way its roof simply curved upwards and vanished into shadow. But while this was all very well and impressive, the Dwarf's attention was drawn to something else. Some things, to be precise. Huge black shapes stood on the cavern floor, and Gimli recognised them immediately.
They were Sauron's war machines; great monsters of iron sitting in silent menace. It was eerie how quiet it was, compared to the earlier noise-filled caves. Gimli was reminded horribly of a graveyard, though these machines had never been alive and hopefully never would be. They looked so much worse in physical reality than they ever could in the plans. Looking directly at them it was all too easy to see how brave warriors could be rolled over into insignificance under the huge wheels. Swords, axes or arrows; none would be any use against such a weapon. The hugest army could not withstand attack from these, not even on horseback. They were the ultimate weapon.
Gimli walked slowly out among the mute monstrosities, examining them with heightening anger. Such weapons should have no place in warfare, he thought, fists clenching vehemently. I would name this one Widow-maker, and this Son-killer; here is Orphaner and his twin Bereaver! They would change the face of war for good, if they were allowed to be used. No one could defeat them unless they built their own and used the same tactics, and that was something that Gimli couldn't see the Elves doing willingly. Despite his long-held opinions of them, he now knew enough to know their respect for life. Not willing would they be to use such weapons; these machines that had one purpose. There was only one thing they could do: kill. Wars fought between armies of these monsters could never have a victor. No one could win once they'd had so many warriors killed.
The metal hulks rose high above the Dwarf as he went along. To all intents and purposes they were identical, all constructed of the same pieces put together in the same manner. The entrance was at the back of each, up a ramp that obviously pulled up to shut and make the machine impregnable. The ramps were down so Gimli, after a quick check round, crept up one to have a look. The interior was fairly simple. Slits in the sides allowed for archers to shoot out, while flaps could be lifted to fight anyone outside, though Gimli decided that there would not be much call to use them. The machines' main use would most likely be to roll forward and literally flatten the enemy. However, there did seem to be a few areas that could cause problems. The vehicles could only travel in straight lines, with no apparent method for steering it in other directions. But for now they would not need to; the very sight of them approaching would terrify any army.
A sudden noise caught Gimli by surprise, and he shrank into the shadows. A pair of orcs had entered cavern, talking to each other.
"Can't make his bleedin' mind up, can he?" one was saying. "First he has them open for 'inspection', now he wants them shut. And who's got to do the donkeywork? Us, of course."
"We've got intruders, haven't we?" The second orc sniffed. "I'd call him a miserable bastard at this point, but he was looking rather pleased, rather than miserable, when he gave the order. As much as anyone can tell."
"Don't see why we couldn't get to play with the Elf though," the first one said petulantly, "blatant favouritism if you ask me."
"I didn't ask you," the second said. "Get on the other side, will you? Ready? Right –hup!" There was a loud clang, and Gimli realised with a shock that they were closing the ramps.
"Funny though," the orc continued, "you wouldn't have expected that he'd be in the Dark Lord's good books, would you? After that shambles..."
"Ours not to question him," his companion said, "come on, let's get this done so we can get a bite to eat."
They appeared in the entrance of the machine that Gimli was in, but luckily didn't even glance inside. They heaved the heavy metal ramp up, cursing occasionally, until it clicked into place. Gimli had no chance to escape, and was now trapped inside the metal machine. Another echoing slam signalled the closing of another ramp. Gimli took a step towards one of the slits to watch for when the orcs left, but stopped abruptly when his heavy boot clanked on the floor. He held himself perfectly still and waited.
"What was that?" the first orc asked.
"Probably just the metal settling or something technical like that," the second answered irritably, "don't be so jumpy, will you?"
"All right, all right."
The orcs carried on with their task. Gimli let out the breath he had been holding and walked much more carefully across the metal floor, lifting his feet and placing them down again with much more caution. He reached one of the long slits and peered through it. More slams rang out as the two orcs completed their job.
"Is that all of them?" one of them asked. On receiving confirmation, he continued. "Come on then. These things give me the creeps, I can tell you."
They left the cavern. Gimli waited for a couple of minutes before giving the raised ramp and experimental push. It didn't move. He pushed harder, but it still wouldn't give. Must be some form of locking mechanism, he deduced, or more likely some form of catch, judging by the way the ramp had clicked shut when pushed together with the side of the machine. If there was one thing that Gimli knew as well as caves then it was locks. He squinted upwards. There was hardly any light –only a little peeked through the slits in the side- but it was just enough and fell in the right place for him to see what he needed to. It was a simple catch, one that could be opened easily with a push. And therein lay the problem fro the Dwarf. He was too short to reach.
It didn't take him long to work out a solution. Holding his axe by the end of the shaft, he held it up, reaching towards the catch. It was quite high, and his arm wobbled as he strained upwards. He had to go onto his toes but he finally touched the catch with the tip of his axe. With a last effort he knocked the catch open and the effect was instantaneous. The ramp fell back, slowly at first but then faster until it crashed onto the floor with a huge clang. The echoes reverberated round for quite some time, but Gimli didn't stay to listen.
He ran out of the war machine before the ramp even stopped shuddering, sprinting away from it as fast as he could. The noise would undoubtedly bring orcs to investigate and he didn't plan on meeting them. He took one of the corridors ob the opposite to where he had come in. It was just beside a long pool of magma –the hot, melted rock that was always, unsurprisingly, turning up in the caves. Gimli heard orcs entering the cavern behind him as he concealed himself in the shadow. He looked back briefly. It was, as far as he could tell, the same two as earlier.
"Look at that," one of them said, "you obviously didn't push it up far enough!"
"You mean you didn't," the other argued, "don't try and blame me, you big lump!"
"Don't you call me a big lump," the first replied, "at least I haven't got turds for brains."
"I'll call you what I want," the second shot back, "dung breath."
Not particularly interested in their bickering, Gimli moved on. He fixed the location of the cavern in his mind, and took care to remember exactly the route he was taking from it. Those machines would be of paramount importance to be destroyed. Nothing like them should be allowed to exist. He would have to go back there later to destroy them, but for now he had another task to do. He had to find that Elf. It would probably be rather difficult, being as he didn't know where he was, but he would find him.
"Damn you, Elf," he muttered, "why'd you have to get yourself captured?" He marched on down the corridor, axe in hand.
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Greenleaf pulled half-heartedly at his restraints. It didn't help, only made little lights flash in the corners of his eyes, which were still shut. The only thing he could do now was wait until whoever it was turned up. His stomach ached from where Sauron had punched him, not to mention his other injuries. The pain was threatening to distract him from his situation, and he opened his eyes. All he had to look at was the cave roof, which wasn't particularly enthralling. Greenleaf soon got tired of counting stalactites.
His eyes began to drift closed again. He was very tired. He allowed his breathing to slow a little, but didn't go to sleep. He couldn't let himself do that, but the rest was welcome. He would need all his strength for whatever was going to happen. The sound of steps entering the cave caused him to stiffen slightly. The person Sauron had promised had arrived. Greenleaf raised his head a little, opening his eyes. They widened in surprise as he saw the other person.
By the Valar, he thought, I was sure that...
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A/n: [rubs hands together evilly] Well, wouldn't you like to know who that is? Or have you guessed already? There's been enough hints.