Author: Mirrordance
Title: For Every Evil
Summary: Legolas is a policeman in 2004. His colleagues start to wonder why the 10-yr veteran doesn't age & more trouble ahead after he runs across the Fellowship & some friends in modern incarnations, resurrected along with a new world-threatening peril.
40: One Life
The Sundeck,
The Amazona,
The Black Sea,
Mid-2004
"It is this blasted, cursed life, you see. Can I not simply say I was made thus, just as you were made to be a hero? Can we not all simply blame the cursed gods for putting us here? I feel so thrown. And this life must be absurd. You could have been me, and I could have been you. We both live on the whim of someone else. Can I change the fates? I doubt. After I've recovered my memories, I realized I was trudging the same goddamn path. But I cannot not try to move away from it. That last life was not so great…
"…Curious, this life. Truly. Do you not think so, Elessar? Can I change destiny, I wonder. Can you? Can anyone? Does this mean that the choices we make along the course of our lives stand for nothing, because one way or another, we are headed a certain way? Were you therefore born good, and myself born evil? I sound melodramatic but it must be plain to see that it seems unfair…"
Eowyn, having one of the comm. links on her ears, heard what Grima Wormtongue said clearly enough. He's always been nothing but poison to her. A traitor, a saboteur, a blight upon the face of the land. And yet she listened with some sympathy, and found herself wondering if her heart could one day understand, if not out rightly forgive, after all.
How will the night unfold, she wondered. It seemed so long. So many things have changed, that even the way she looked upon one of the men she truly considered as a great foe was changed too.
There was no excuse for villainy, there never was. But the helpless feeling was no stranger to her, that thrownness, the absurdity. Perhaps… perhaps one life is not enough to understand it all. She was certainly learning new things, even though she's been through all of this at least once before. Grima, he might just learn too.
Her eyes drifted to Legolas of Mirkwood. The immortal certainly understands that the years will always bring about new learning, past all the things we think we know. She's watched him, wondering what it was like, and certainly not wanting to find out first hand—that is, by harsh experience—as he has.
Elves are a wonder, they always have been. Some men envy them for living forever, and some of them, perhaps even the prince himself, envied men for having a definitive end. She's watched him. He looked upon all of them with great love and likely some inalienable annoyance too. As if he wasn't quite sure what to do with the lot of them. As if he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.
The elven prince, at the moment, was contemplating a more pressing problem, however. He looked rather bedraggled standing out in the ironically named sundeck in the midst of the persistent rain. His eyes were burning with both steely determination and inextricable, almost petty annoyance, as he wondered why in all of Arda were things never simple.
The deck was indeed cleverly wired with explosives. And yes, the movies were lying when they claimed it was just a matter of cutting through the red wire or the blue wire or whatever new colored wire they were thinking of. The work on the bombs aboard the Amazona was almost intricate, all these multi-colored wires lining the railings, unabashedly threatening, their cruel maker not even bothering to conceal them.
"We must abandon ship," the Captain of the Amazona, standing beside Legolas, gasped.
"No," the elf insisted, "Let us not be hasty."
"Hasty?!" the Captain exclaimed, incredulous, as he followed the detective who was dragging himself over to the nearest lifeboat. Legolas slowly lowered himself to a knee, and peered below the lifeboat. He grimaced, even as he already knew what he would find there. He motioned for the Captain to do the same, pointing to a small, concealed mine sitting pertly along the side of the lifeboat.
"The explosives on the sundeck are meant to kill us," said Legolas, "These… these are meant to kill us sooner, if we are not careful."
The Captain grumbled in agreement, unused to being wrong. The old man rose to his feet swiftly, saying he will arrange for the entire deck to be vacated and guarded, not to be touched. Legolas watched him go, still on one knee on the ground, wondering how in the world he was going to get up. His body felt as if it was not his at all. The mind was doing flip-flops, but the flesh that encased it was being very uncooperative.
Emmett beside him offered him a hand, and hauled him up without ceremony. "I don't suppose," the man said to the elf, "You'd count diffusing bombs as one amongst your multitude of talents."
"I'm sorry," Legolas said wryly, "No, not this one. But my life is long, it was next on my list. The mines I tried during the wars but…" he glanced at his trembling hands, "I am not at all so steady at the moment."
"Well," Eowyn said, "We'd best try and make that life a bit longer, don't you think, my lord? You are apparently helpless in remedying this situation, you might as well come with me below decks to Sick Bay, where my husband is."
"Justly so," agreed Legolas grudgingly, "Haldir's teams will arrive soon, and I have no plans of looking quite so…" he looked down upon his soiled clothes with dismay, "… in need of medical attention."
Indeed, he could not afford their invasive procedures, with his identity to protect. The way he looked at it, all he needed was a rag to clean up the blood, some fresh clothes, someone to dig out the slug from his leg and suture it, and he'd look… well, he'd look…
Just about as good or bad as anyone else here tonight, he mused, for Eowyn's bruised face was peering at him worriedly, and Emmett did not look so sharp either. They all looked like a bunch of drowned rats, he thought, and he had a distinct feeling he fit right in.
Another Commandeered Putt-Putt,
The Black Sea
The storms and the waves were making such fantastic noises that it was only by virtue of the sharpness of elven hearing that Elladan and Elrohir knew that company was coming; a helicopter was descending over their borrowed ship.
"They are right above you," Anatalia said after a beat, speaking with Elladan on his cellphone. They've left their comm. links behind, for the devices have outlived their purpose since Grima managed to keep one for himself. Ana, from the laptop she manned in the hotel room in Sinop, therefore tracked only the comm. link that was with Grima Wormtongue to see where he was.
"Are you ready, old friend?" Elrohir asked the pensive young Finn Baggins, who was standing beside him on the bridge and staring out at the world that lay beyond the glass of the view port. In his hands he clutched the source of all their troubles, the Black Sea Ankh. Elrohir's brows creased in worry, seeing that the young man's ring finger was inserted quite comfortably in the broken loop that topped the tau of death. He looked up at Gandalf, who was standing on Finn's other side, and the wizard stared back at him with clouded, thoughtful eyes.
"Does it not call to you?" Finn asked suddenly, quietly.
"Well…" Elrohir considered, looking down at the Ankh, "It's certainly very well-crafted. But I wouldn't say so, no."
"Is it not supposed to?" Finn asked, "That's how the tale goes, isn't it?"
"Well," Elrohir replied, smiling a bit, "I guess I was never quite… single-minded enough to know what to do with it, so I guess you can say having all that power never had so great an appeal…" his voice trailed off, noticing he could not court a smile from the serious young fellow. "It is indeed supposed to."
"That's what I thought," Finn said, taking a deep breath.
"The call is not always so strong or discernable," said Pippin from somewhere behind them, "At the start. Save for… certain folk."
"I never thought I'd say this along the course of my life," said Gandalf heavily, "But Peregrin Took is right."
The hobbit in question grinned. "Your approval has always been my life's mission, Gandalf."
"You've always known it for its power," Finn said to the wizard, "Am I right? Does it call to you at all, then?"
The wizard pondered the question, pondered the young man beside him. "No, it does not."
"Does it call to you?" Sam Granger asked suddenly, grave voice heavy with unconscious history, unconscious knowing. It was clear to whom the question was addressed, just as it was clear to those who knew the story precisely why Sam should ask this of Frodo. There was some defeat there, some loss of hope, the loss of the most admirable attributes of a much-beloved friend. It came with a hideously long and trying journey, and at last standing at the very precipice of either a stunning victory, or a heartbreaking defeat. And then a choice was made, and it was an unexpected, disappointing one. Tonight… tonight perhaps a choice of similar relevance was being made too.
"I only wish to be rid of it," Finn said quietly, determinedly.
Gandalf looked at the pair with some thought, narrowing his eyes, and wondering what all of this was beginning to mean. The Ankh did not call upon a wielder's single-minded desire as the One Ring did. Yes, Grima pursued it, but it was only because he perceived them to be one and the same. Yes, the scholars pursued it, but it was difficult to set the line between the madness of lethal wanting and the quest of their ambition and academic genius. Perhaps… perhaps… perhaps the Ankh was not all what they thought it was…
"It's a combination or development of the t-shaped cross—a tau-- which symbolizes death," said Bilbo just earlier that night, "attached to the sign of re-birth. So the ankh, in its wide range of meanings, not just indicates life; it specifically symbolizes life after death. Because it is often held by the gods in the manner of one holding a key, you can say it is they Key between Life and Death."
"But it looks broken," someone pointed out.
And indeed it was, as Gandalf stared at the loop of the Ankh, wound about Finn Baggins' ring finger as he clutched the artifact tightly.
"'Tis not broken," Bob Baggins said evenly, "It was unfinished, it seems. The lines are smooth and gradual, but this material cannot be melted because of its strength, and if it was indeed broken or snapped, the years could not have tempered the edges at the points where it broke because we found this in the anoxic layer of the Black Sea, where nothing decays. And so we have concluded that the work is unfinished. As if a master artist was interrupted, or halted…
An unfinished work, the wizard reflected, suddenly finding the heart to smile, An unfinished work…
He pressed an assuring palm upon Finn Baggins' shoulder, "Well then, my clever boy. Do as you will. Do as you will!"
A Helicopter,
Over the Black Sea
Grima Wormtongue was giddy with anticipation. It was that sick smile upon that pallid, pasty face. He rubbed his hands together greedily, hungrily. "Here we are," he said again, "Here we are."
Aragorn watched him, wordless and silent. They sat across from each other, Aragorn between two burly mercenaries that made for a rather tight ride, and Grima solely and indulgently occupying the bench across.
The helicopter was not a particularly large one. Black and sleek, it carried roundabouts of eight men, this one in particular bearing just six; the pilot and co-pilot at the bridge, and Wormtongue, Aragorn, and the two most imposing of the mercenaries flanking him inside the cabin. The compact aircraft made for a shaky ride with the winds of the storm, but it pressed on hardily, with little indication of-- as Aragorn fleetingly hoped for a few moments ago—any trouble handling the skies and crashing down and killing all of them…
He sighed inwardly, quietly. Since that was unfortunately not an option, he raked his mind for some other way of removing himself and the other hostages as a lever to be used against Frodo's considerable heart.
He watched, as one of the mercenaries pulled open the cabin door, letting in sheets of the rain and the wind. The vessel beneath them was a small one, and there was no possibility of landing atop it. And so a rope ladder was lowered, and the helicopter began to descend as low as they dared.
Another Commandeered Putt-Putt,
The Black Sea
Save for the bridge-bound Elladan who was controlling the ship, all of them waited on the vessel's sundeck. They looked up at the helicopter defying the winds above them, slowly descending toward the ship, with a rope ladder from her cabin trying to find its way to the deck.
"I can see Aragorn from here," Elrohir said with some relief, "He seems well. He looks…"
And here's where 'some relief' ends and where my more familiar life as a mischief-maker's loving and overburdened brother begins, he thought nervously, saying, "He looks… he looks like he's up to something."
"Aragorn will never let the Ring or its like be bartered for his life," Gandalf said.
"But the Black Sea Ankh is harmless, isn't it?" said Pippin, "Grima can have it. He can eat it, for all we should care."
"He doesn't know that," Elrohir pointed out gravely, watching his brother's taut, determined face.
The Sundeck,
The Amazona,
The Black Sea
Legolas, Jimmy Goran and the Captain of the Amazona flanked Agent Horace Harding of Interpol, and miscellaneous activity moved about all around them. A multi-racial, multi-functional force of paramedics, policemen, soldiers, bomb squads and various other classifications of staff has taken over the Amazona.
A group handled the disarming of the mines, as another worked on diffusing the bombs. A contingent of soldiers raked the barge to ensure there it was emptied below decks, and to check if there was other traps aboard. And then another group supervised evacuation, herding the skeleton crew of the barge into helicopters, and some into ships that anchored beside the Amazona precisely to rescue passengers and take them away from the ticking time-bomb of a ship.
The Captain of the Amazona was her official chief, and following the tradition he was staunchly unwilling to compromise, he was set to be the last man to abandon her. But for all intents and purposes, outside of the fact that he could not convince the Captain to evacuate, it was Horace Harding of Interpol who was running the show.
Haldir watched the events unfold before him, and at his bidding coolly, so calm and controlled he was almost detached. Every once in awhile, he'd spot someone doing something he did not approve of, and he'd bark an order in the language of the dissident-- no small feat, since the Amazona's rescue teams comprised of Turks, Romanians, Bulgarians, Polish, even some Russians from the surrounding countries of the Black Sea.
'And you,' Haldir said at last to Legolas beside him, in Elvish of course, for he was a dissident of some other language of his own, 'Should get the hell away from here. You're looking very tidy, my prince, but do not think I've missed the limping and the wincing.'
The Mirkwood elf frowned. Yes, Doctor Yavi, Eowyn, Emmett and Faramir did a good job of making him look presentable. Indeed, by the time he stepped out of Sick Bay to greet Haldir and Goran and the troops they bore with them to secure the Amazona, he looked no worse (or no better!) than his other bruised and battered friends. But there was never any fooling with Haldir of Lothlorien.
'If you can get the dwarf away, I'll follow,' Legolas replied, challenging, knowing that even a formidable Haldir was sticks and stones to a stubbornness in Gimli Son of Gloin (and therefore, within Jimmy Goran as well) that was not just by virtue of being a dwarf, but was actually an ingrained aspect of his character no one knows the origins of, or no one really knows what to do with.
Haldir glanced at the burly hacker and kept his mouth shut, knowing to pick his battles.
Emmett Rigare walked toward them, standing with them. He looked over the activities on the sundeck for a long moment, and then his gaze turned beyond it and toward the seas. It was too dark and turbulent to see what lay there, but he imagined Aragorn, and Wormtongue, and their other friends so clearly it was as if their outlines were just there.
"I suppose you can say the battle here is over," he said wistfully, "And another is about to begin."
Legolas glanced at him, said nothing. It was true; the Amazona was by now relatively safe. Evacuations were well in order, and the bomb squads were making good progress too. Now if anything untoward should happen, should the bomb squads fail, the Amazona stood in the middle of the sea, and as long as she was empty of people, held no real threat to anybody.
Now, he wondered how the others were faring. It's been so long, since he's come into battles blind, not knowing what his comrades were up to, not knowing if they were even still alive. This latest misadventure of his pressed him back to the insane worries of those dark days. But if he's been taught one thing in this particular misadventure, it was to trust. Not to trust that his friends will do their jobs; he's always trusted them to do the right thing. What he truly learned was to trust in the hands of the gods. Fate brought them together, and fate can tear them apart. But he hoped not so soon, not this night, not after everything.
"How's Brad?" Goran asked suddenly, wresting him from his reverie. "You said he'll survive?"
"Yes," Legolas replied with a bewildered smile, for the realization was warming and mildly surprising. He never thought he'd ever stand at the very door of victory and have Boromir, in a sense, stand with him. There was danger afoot still, of course, but the barest possibility was exhilarating him.
"He's been evacuated," said Emmett, "I was just there. Fred refused to be taken from his side, and my sister refused to be torn from his side. And I'm here because I'm just the frowning, disapproving older brother and they ran out of space for me in the helicopter. I don't care who they think they once were, they're not yet married in this life, damn it."
"I'd want to attend a wedding in the spring," Haldir murmured gamely, not shy about adding fire to the flame. Emmett, ever-protective of his sister, held no personal grudges against Faramir and was apparently annoyed only out of principle.
"Yes well," breathed Legolas, "Let us see tonight through first."
A Helicopter,
Over the Black Sea
Aragorn's eyes raked over Wormtongue's form.
He saw the switch to the bombs on their way to the helicopter earlier, when they were departing the Amazona. When he fought against his captors, so irked was he over the deception that in afterthought should not have been a surprise after all, he was subdued and hurt and dazed, such that he lost track of where it was.
His eyes searched for the switch hungrily. Because he was who he was, naturally Aragorn had something else up his sleeve, aside from simply hoping the helicopter would come to a crash. He'd never risk that the Ankh would be given up just for his life to be saved. He'd die first.
The waters and the waves were churning below them, and he knew that he just might…
But he cannot jump, and take himself out of the equation, remove himself as a lever against Frodo, without bringing that switch to the bombs aboard the Amazona down with him and away from Grima's grasp. Because to die without it was useless, since Grima had more hostages to peg against the Ankh.
The light aboard the cabin was dim. They were beginning to descend. His time was running out. Where was that blasted switch?
He stared as Grima anxiously prepared to disembark. His dark, wet clothes rustled and bustled with his impatient, excited movements. He was eager to have his prize. Aragorn won't let him have it, but his time was running out…
A wink of light from beneath Grima's sleeve, as if something silver caught the barest illumination from the dim cabin bulb above their heads. Aragorn found his prize at last. The switch was on a Velcro strap tied to Wormtongue's wrist.
With little other thought, Aragorn dove forward and made to grasp it, his fingers tangling on Grima's clothes, the villain's hair, the wire of the comm. link on the man's ear, along the course of this effort.
He felt the surprise of the mercenaries beside him as he shot out of his seat, but they won't be fast enough to act upon the realization that he was going to foil their plans.
He grasped the switch by the strap and tore it from Wormtongue's wrist as he threw himself out of the cabin door opening, threw himself out into the mercies of the winds and the waters.
The sounds were raging all around him, his heart thundered in his ears, but the screech of the Velcro was unmistakable, and the strap that he gripped in his hands told him he's succeeded, almost as much as the horrified, angry face of Grima Wormtongue did from above him; the villain looked down and watched him plunge into the black churning waters with surprise, realization, anger and then unmistakable anguish.
Elessar successfully took all of Grima's hopes of victory down with him to the inky, turbulent Black Sea below.
Irrecoverably.
Another Commandeered Putt Putt,
The Black Sea
"Estel!" Elrohir exclaimed, shooting forward by instinct, as if he could catch his brother. His body met the ship's railing, as his brother's body plunged into the Sea and vanished beneath its angry churning. "No!" he yelled, eyes pinned to the spot where his brother fell, waiting for him to struggle to the surface.
"Estel!" he screamed over the din of the storm, eyes still stuck to where Aragorn vanished, and because the seas were wild and the blackness of the storm was consuming, his panicked mind and aching heart wondered if the place where he set his eyes was still even the right one at all. Where in bloody hell was that mischief-maker?!
The helicopter hovered over their heads uncertainly, undoubtedly as undecided over the next course of action as its master was. Those aboard the rickety ship, however, were less at a loss as to what next to do.
Elrohir felt the shift in direction, as Elladan maneuvered the ship toward where he thought Aragorn could be. Beside him, Elrohir saw that Mark Brandy and Pippin were brandishing powerful flashlights toward the water, looking for any sign of Aragorn. But the winds were whipping, the sheets of rain stubbornly fell all around them, and the waves were devouring any possible sight of their beloved friend, and in this way devouring too, all of their hopes. The streaks of light grazed across the inky blackness, yielding nothing.
Steely-eyed Finn Baggins felt his heart tug at the possibility that they had lost a comrade and dear friend. Angrily, defiantly, he looked up at the helicopter that still strayed over them in uncertainty. Beside him, Sam Granger was watching his face.
"What now, Finn?" he asked of his friend quietly.
A Helicopter,
Over the Black Sea
"Give me that," Grima growled, wresting an automatic from the mercenaries across from him.
"What are you doing?" the man asked, having yielded the weapon to his apparently demented boss.
"I'm going down there," Grima muttered, contemplating the best grip on the rope ladder before him.
"That's insane," one of the mercenaries said, "You can't expect to get down there, point a gun at them and ask for what you want. You'd have to get down that ladder first, with your back open. You'd be a sitting duck if they had weapons!"
"I appreciate the concern," Grima said sarcastically, knowing perhaps the man was just worried that he won't get paid if the employer dies, or maybe it was simply the illogical strategy that was gnawing at the mercenary's ordered mind.
"But I'll see this done," Grima said, eyes manic, as he gripped the rope ladder in his hands and began to descend along its length.
"What the hell, man," one mercenary said to the other, "Crazy bastard."
"What do we do?" the co-pilot asked, looking back at them.
"Let him get down there," replied a man, "Then we get out of here. He's good as gone."
"Crazy-ass," marveled another, shaking his head in dismay, "He was long-gone when we met him."
Another Commandeered Putt-Putt,
The Black Sea
"Keep looking," Elrohir breathed to Mark Brandy and Peregrin Took, as he noted that Grima Wormtongue was descending from his aircraft and down upon their boat. His heart longed to stay with the search for Estel, but there were other things to do…
He unholstered his gun, and aimed it upon the man who's been the cause of all their grief these days past, as his booted feet touched the wooden deck of their humble ship.
"Put that thrice-damned weapon on the bloody ground, Wormtongue," seethed Elrohir.
The villain took his time, slouched back before them all, each shaky breath making his shoulders quake. He barely noticed the rope ladder he descended from ascend once again, as he was abandoned by the helicopter that brought him where he was.
"I cannot," he said at last, spitting out the words as if they hurt him, as he turned to face them, "I cannot."
Elladan lowered the anchor of their ship, and watched the events unfold from the view port of the bridge. Wormtongue was there before them, at last, their distant enemy now face to face with them. There was a gun in his hand, a hand thankfully lowered on his side. Elrohir stood about a meter away from him, a gun trained on his body, ready for any final, desperate streaks of action from Wormtongue. To his right were Merry and Pippin, flashlights raking across the surface of the wild sea, searching for Aragorn. Beside them was Mithrandir, tightly gripping a lifesaver tied with a rope, hoping to find some indication of where to throw it. And then there was Finn Baggins and Sam Granger, commandeering their own corner of the sundeck, next to the railing. It was almost as if they were oblivious to the drama unfolding so close to them, so focused was Finn on the ankh in his hands and so focused was Sam on his friend. The older scholars Bob Baggins and Sean Malcolm stood warily on the outskirts of the action, seemingly torn with which place to go, where to lend aid, if at all to do so.
Elladan grabbed his cellphone, and speed-dialed Anatalia.
"Elladan," she answered coolly, halfway through the first ring.
"Wormtongue is on the ship," Elladan informed her, first calmly, and then more and more quickly as he escalated into the gravest of worries, "Outgunned and outnumbered, but truly desperate at this point. I believe we can handle him, but Aragorn, he fell. Or he jumped from the blasted helicopter. Either way, he's in the waters, we cannot find him. It's these cursed seas, the waves, the dark…"
"I will contact Agent Harding right away," said Ana, "Maybe the coast guard, the navy… they can lend you more aid. Elladan, we'll find him."
The Sundeck,
The Amazona,
The Black Sea
"Disarmed," the head of the bomb squad declared, and a collective breath of relief seemed to have been released in that one instance among those who remained aboard the barge.
"Thank the gods," said Legolas, wearily running a hand across his face, "Ai, Haldir, now I do long to be away from this ship and upon solid ground."
"In moments, my friend," the Interpol Agent said with a bit of a smile, "Not too long now. We'll be using smaller, faster ships to get to the Sinop shore. I do not want the Amazona near the city in case we missed some sort of a trap, at least not until we have Wormtongue in our custody." His cellphone rang, and he excused himself momentarily and stepped away from the group to receive the call. It registered as coming from Anatalia, and while naturally he kept no secrets from Legolas, Emmett or Jimmy Goran, the Captain of the Amazona stood with them.
"Ana," he said in a low voice, glancing up at Legolas. The Mirkwood elf could of course, still hear him from where he stood, and was watching him even more warily after he greeted the woman on the other end of the line.
"Wormtongue is with them now," she said.
"Detained?" Haldir inquired.
"Not just yet," replied Ana, "but outnumbered and outgunned. It is only a matter of time. Our attentions are required elsewhere. Aragorn fell. They cannot find him."
"Fell?" Haldir asked, and noted that Legolas was staring at him more and more intently.
"From the helicopters," answered Ana, "They can't find him. I'll send you their coordinates, I suppose you can begin a search radius from there. You have more resources for a more expansive effort."
"All right," Haldir said, before ending the call. In bare moments he received her text message, and then he abruptly called upon the head of the coast guard.
Who fell, damn it…
Haldir was busying himself with another urgent call, though his gaze never strayed from Legolas' stare, since the Mirkwood elf will never relinquish his hold until he discovered what it was that he wanted to know.
But who else could fall, his mind whirred, that will make Haldir's face so taut, and his look upon me almost uncharacteristically nervous and apologetic?
"Aragorn," Goran said suddenly, and Legolas tore his gaze from the Interpol Agent and wondered if he's been musing aloud.
"Excuse me?" he murmured to his companion.
"Aragorn," the hacker said, a bit brokenly, eyes boring into the elf's, "He fell."
"I'm sorry," Legolas said, blinking, confused, "And… and you know this how?"
"It's all over your face," the hacker said, "All over it, like it's going to break you apart. It… it makes me sad too, suddenly. I mean I can't explain it. It's just so strangely familiar."
Just as the hacker's words were familiar, said to him aboard the plane that brought them to Sinop, Turkey in a mad rush. Legolas remembered that he thought it was funny the dwarf should remember this look of all things. And then he changed his mind and decided that in afterthought, if anyone would have seen much of that look of his, then that would indeed be Gimli the dwarf— he who was there when Gandalf fell, when Boromir died, when all the folk they loved died all around them, when Aragorn died… likely, Gimli even saw the same look when Legolas said goodbye to him, when the dwarf himself died all those ages ago…
The dwarf's death made the paradise of Valinor a prison. There was never any escaping himself, far though he may have removed himself from the world.
Gimli aged before him in a slow death that was, while all at once defiant, also streaked toward its ultimate and destined end. As the dwarf grew older, the elf pretended not to take it into account, just as the dwarf pretended the elf did not notice. The silent, loving game dared at the ages to try and change their minds, tear them from their paradise. But then it was always fate who won out, and there was theoretically supposed to be little surprise. And then it was time for goodbye, as if their extended years were but a blink of the eye. And then Gimli was dead, Legolas' mournful face likely the last thing he's ever seen.
Legolas said nothing, found relief from Jimmy Goran's stare only when Haldir stepped back toward them.
Haldir looked at their faces a long time, knowing they knew who it was who 'fell.'
"They will find him," he said to them quietly, and Haldir of Lothlorien found he had very little else to say of that.
Another Commandeered Putt-Putt,
The Black Sea
"Give it to me," Grima seethed, slowly raising his gun toward Finn Baggins, "It is mine!"
"Grima, put that weapon down!" exclaimed Elrohir, shifting anxiously though his warrior's sharp eyes and calm hands never let that aim waver from their target.
Finn was just as calm. He removed his ring finger from its place within the unfinished loop that symbolized life after death. And then he held the ankh securely for a long moment, giving it a bit of a squeeze, before he held it in an almost casually lax manner.
"Give it to me!" Grima yelled, shaking his gun at Finn insistently.
The young man looked up at him determinedly. Wormtongue was unsure, but in that brief moment, he had a feeling he was the first to see Frodo Baggins awaken in this day and age…
Frodo gripped the ankh tightly again, as if to say goodbye. And then he stepped back to give himself leverage, and he raised his arm up over his head, and threw the ankh out to sea with all of his strength, all of his heart, all of himself.
A gunshot broke through the stunned calm, and Frodo noticed that Sam Granger had instinctively stepped before his friend in an effort to shield him from harm. But the effort, though brave and warm, was unnecessary.
The shot was not fired from Wormtongue's gun, trained upon Frodo Baggins. The shot came from Elrohir's weapon, firing upon Grima's hand. The villain's weapon clattered uselessly to the ground. The Rivendell elf then stalked toward the man and pulled his hands behind his back, and pressed him to the ground. Wormtongue offered no resistance at all, eyes wide in shock, and anger, and undeniable defeat.
"You should have just killed me," Wormtongue muttered at Elrohir.
"While it would have given me much joy," Elrohir grunted as he shifted his grip in a more secure hold on the man, "I find my heart could not."
"Why is that?" sneered Grima, "Because you are a good fellow, you are not like me, you never will be, all that crap?"
"No," Elrohir replied, "It's just that… After all these years, Grima. After all these lives. NO one should have to die for it anymore."
Frodo glanced away from them, toward Sean Malcolm. The man surprisingly did not stop the disposal of the ankh. He stared back at the young man and nodded a little, as if they understood each other at last.
The Black Sea
There was no great rumble, no great ripple that changed the face of the land that accompanied the loss of the ankh.
It fell to the sea, eaten up by the waters, tossed by the waves almost absently, as if it's not given so much grief and hardship these last few days.
It was like a toy of the gods of the waves, tossed, turned, flipped. It danced and it jumped, as if freed. And then it descended, and down to where the rains and the storms no longer stirred the waters. It fell as if forever, down into blackness, down to that place where nothing lived, down to where the sun or any form of light never shone, down to where it would be forgotten.
It was not destroyed.
It didn't need to be.
It simply… rested.
At the last.
Elsewhere, a man was not quite so giving to the god of the sea.
He too was tossed and turned, flipped and spun. He was hurting and weary, but ceaselessly defiant, as he always was along the course of his life. He fought, almost absently, almost without thought. He was simply made this way, perhaps, sturdy and unyielding.
He fought to keep his head above the water, fought with the cold, fought with the waves that rose high over his head and plunged him into the empty blackness below. He fought his own bodily weakness, and he fought with the hopelessness that would once or twice dance across his mind. He simply fought, for he knew that others were fighting for him as well.
Hotel Room,
Sinop, Turkey
"We have him, Ana," said Elladan, "Grima Wormtongue. We have him at last."
Anatalia breathed in relief, stared at the laptop screen she's been manning for hours. She ran a hand over her eyes, and settled her gaze on the comm. link blip that showed her where Grima Wormtongue was, for the man had stolen one of the devices earlier that night.
"You caught him in the water?" she asked.
"No," replied Elladan, "On the ship. He is there, lying on the ground with Elrohir sitting on top of him."
She frowned. "He had one of our comm. links with him, didn't he? That comm. link is out over sea, about two miles away from you and being taken further."
"He did have one of those with him earlier in the night," said Elladan, "But he is here, on the ship with us. He certainly doesn't have it anymore. Perhaps he left it on the chopper he came in."
"But that chopper left you long ago," Ana pointed out, not quite sure of where she was going either, "It should be further away than two miles. And last I checked from Agent Harding, they were being detained already."
"Where is this going, Ana?" Elladan asked.
"Maybe he dropped it over the water," she said, "Or maybe it… maybe it fell—"
"—with my brother," Elladan finished breathlessly, thinking: oh dear gods, he loved this woman.
Another Commandeered Putt Putt,
The Black Sea
Anatalia Craxi sent them the coordinates, and as Elladan maneuvered their boat to the spot she told him of, he knew from the sudden bustle of his companions on the sundeck that Aragorn had indeed been found at last.
He set up anchor in a mad rush, and then ran out of the bridge and tried to bully his way past those who crowded around his adoptive brother. Aragorn was on his side on the wooden deck, coughing and hacking up water, his body shaking with merciless cold and the tremble of weariness. Elladan pressed a warm palm on his back, massaging it in smooth circles.
"You're all right," he said, soothingly, "You're all right."
"All right?!" Elrohir's voice called up incredulously from somewhere in the background. Charged with securing Wormtongue, he was unable to step toward their recovered Estel. "Oh, oh, not for long, Estel, I'm going to bonk your head for that stunt! You're much older now, you're supposed to be above those things--"
"Later," Aragorn gasped, struggling with sitting up. Rolling back his eyes in consternation, Elladan found no other option but to aid him; there was never any stopping this man.
"Bombs," Aragorn gasped, coughing as he regained his breath, "Amazona." He raised up a shaking hand and amidst the tangle of the wires of the comm. link that had saved his life, was Grima Wormtongue's switch.
Elladan smiled at him. "It's been taken care of, brother. Victory, Estel. At last I can say it. We were only waiting for you."
The Docks,
The Black Sea Region,
Sinop, Turkey
The moment the call came through that the troublemaker was once again saved from himself and was alive and awake, the profound weariness that's been calling to Legolas' attention for seemingly days now was making itself well-known and hard to defy. But rest was a long road ahead, for he found himself fielding questions at the shores of Sinop.
As far as the world was concerned, the incident aboard the Amazona was a terrorist threat that was successfully neutralized. It was the story the media was given privy to, and one Anatalia Craxi would keep even from her own networks.
Interpol shuffled Agent Horace Harding away, their very own 007 superhero. They kept him from the eyes of the press, so as not to compromise his identity for his future covert efforts. It was not so strange that Jimmy Goran, whom Interpol was by now obviously courting into membership, was shuffled away and hidden along with him. They were not as kind to Leland Greene and Emmett Rigare, whom they perceived as harmless, hapless witnesses and basically left them up to their own devices in dealing with the press. After all, Interpol cannot just leave the media out in the cold. Lack of transparency created fear and suspicion.
Because Boromir, Eowyn and Faramir were at the hospital, they were not ashore to be greeted by the flashes of cameras and the prying questions of the reporters at the docks. Neither were Elrohir, Elladan, Mithrandir, Aragorn, or the four young brits and Bob Baggins and Sean Malcolm, who were ushered to a smaller dock because Interpol wanted to arrest Grima Wormtongue in quiet.
"What's your name?" he was asked.
"Leland Greene," he replied, finding no other recourse but to answer. Besides, it was a fact that would be known soon enough. He reflected that once again, Montes and the boss would not be very pleased with him at all.
"Mr. Greene, you're English?" asked another reporter, noting his accent.
He was half-awake, being dragged past the throng by Emmett Rigare, who was much more used to the attention.
"By birth," Emmett replied for him, "But he's a detective in L.A., has been for years."
"Does the U.S. government have anything to do with this then?" asked another reporter, "And Mr. Rigare—" of course one of the world's most eligible bachelors was known to the press— "How do you fit into this picture?"
"The U.S. government has nothing whatsoever to do with the Amazona," said Emmett quickly, lying easily, "Detective Greene is here on personal leave. So am I. We met in Sicily on vacation, and with friends, heard about the expedition of Dr. Baggins. Since we had shared interest in the science, we flew in as a group. It was all just a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time."
They ducked into an awaiting rental car, to go back to the hotel. More will have to be said, and certainly, more information will be discovered in the future. But in the meantime, the basic cover-up story was good enough, and Legolas sighed as he sank against the passenger seat gratefully.
"I don't know how you do it," he said to Emmett.
"You all right?" the man asked him.
"Yes," Legolas said, smiling as he closed his eyes, "I've never been better, actually."
"So they just threw the ankh away, hm?" said Emmett.
"That's what Elladan said to Haldir over the phone," said Legolas, "that's what he told me."
"And the rationale is," said Emmett, "that it presented no real danger after all?"
"Yes," Legolas replied, "We should have noted it sooner. The loop of life after death was unfinished."
"So our young Brit basically, simply, tossed out a priceless artifact of great historical significance?" asked Emmett, "And not some sort of evil tool?"
Legolas found it strangely funny he opened his eyes, and they crinkled with light and laughter. "Simply put, yes."
"Well," said Emmett wistfully, "All this, ultimately for nothing. And yet… I feel my time was not wasted."
Legolas' gaze softened all the more. "I do not think it was for nothing. I have a feeling… The gods did not put us here to stem some terrible trouble, as if the world needed us. They put us here because we needed each other. It was only ultimately a question of wisely using your second chance. They are merciful still as you've likely noted."
"I do not remember enough to know for certain," said Emmett, "But I have a feeling I know what you mean. I don't need to reclaim older memories to understand the idea of divine providence."
Legolas smirked, "I prefer to call it divine damage control."
A Hotel Room,
Sinop, Turkey
Horace Harding was away, both for debriefing and tying up the loose ends of the situation. Jimmy Goran, not just yet an official member of the agency, was released to do as he wished, and he wished only for a bed and to sleep away what few hours were left of the night. He felt as if he hasn't stopped moving in days.
Once at the hotel, he discovered that more arrangements were made, such that they didn't all have to squeeze into the two rooms as if they were a bunch of refugees.
Anatalia Craxi shared a room with Elladan, no surprise there. Mark Brandy and Pip Took were together, as were Frodo Baggins and Sam Granger. Another room held Gandalf and old friend Bob Baggins. No surprise there either. These roommate preferences, however, basically left Sean Malcolm with no choice but to grudgingly sleep in the same room with Dean Malcolm, who arrived after having been evacuated from the Amazona. This in turn, left the hapless Elrohir of Rivendell to grudgingly camp out on their floor in case of any untoward incidents between the two cousins. With Eowyn and Faramir sharing a room, and Boromir recovering well in the hospital, it left for him the choice between sleeping in one empty bedroom with a pair of unused beds, and one room in which a sleeping Aragorn rested.
Jimmy Goran stood by the door. The man was deeply asleep, it seemed, his back to the hacker rising and falling. The sight was strangely warming, and though the dwarf felt he should sleep in the empty bedroom instead and leave this room of Aragorn's for Legolas to share for when the elf returns later, he could not leave either. At first it was in want of that warmth, the man's assuring sight before him. And then he realized he also wanted to one-up the elf for some reason…
He was weary, and certainly the two reasons were compelling enough. He kicked off his boots and settled on the bed for the night.
Unbeknownst to the dwarf, Legolas of Mirkwood would stand in that same place by the door, barely an hour later. Emmett Rigare stood behind him, as he watched his two friends in peaceful sleep.
"I shall retire," Emmett said quietly, and Legolas turned to see him smiling gently, with understanding. "They are well, you see? When you tire of standing there and trying to convince yourself that we are all indeed here and now and safe and well, the door to the room left to us is unlocked, and a warm bed awaits you."
"Good night, Eomer," Legolas said to him, "I'll stay here a bit longer, I think."
"I know," the man said, before he walked away.
Legolas took a deep breath, smiling irrepressibly to himself that they were victors, yes, but more than anything, they were indeed all together at last.
He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. Slowly, both because he was relishing the moment and wanted to remember it forever, and then also because he wanted to assure himself that this was no dream, he stepped toward his friends, and sat on the slim rugged space between the two beds.
First he looked gleefully upon the sleeping Gimli. Dwarf always slept soundly. It was good too that the snoring, after all these years, died down at last. He felt a bit silly, like a mother watching over her sleeping children; some love, some pride, and then there was that almost uncontrollable urge to wake them up with a hug or start pinching cheeks. He was almost irrationally happy just watching his friends, though they did nothing remarkable outside of just being with him.
Then, he turned his attention upon Aragorn. The man was on his side, back to the elf. So the Legolas had to rise up on his haunches a little, almost forgetting about the wound on his leg and almost yelping with surprise at the pain of the exertion and the reminder. He stifled a cry and dulled it further by pressing a hand over his mouth, and he landed on his backside on the floor with a barely audible thump.
Unglamorous, he thought with a wince, rubbing at his leg. When he next looked up at Aragorn, he found the man smiling at him sleepily.
"You're late and you look terrible," Aragorn said in a single breath, making the elf laugh out in surprise.
"You're supposed to say 'You're late,'" Legolas said in a hushed tone, "And let me say the other part."
"I'm not in a generous mood," the adan grinned, pushing himself to a sitting position and regarding the elf thoughtfully. "Can you believe this?"
"No," Legolas admitted, smiling ruefully, meeting the man's light gaze and then letting his eyes stray to Jimmy Goran. "Can you?"
"I'm trying," Aragorn replied, "We are all here. We are all well." He added wryly, looking pointedly at his friend's hand still absently rubbing his sore thigh, "More or less."
Legolas just smirked up at him. Casually, Aragorn scooted over on the medium sized bed, making space for his friend. Legolas pushed himself up to his feet and laid down on his stomach, smiling at the feel of the mattress sinking beneath him.
"Oh dear gods," he breathed, "An honest to goodness bed."
Aragorn chuckled, and pried the blanket from beneath the elf, who carelessly laid over it in his heavy weariness.
"You've gained weight," the man grunted.
"You've lost your edge," Legolas pointed out sleepily, as Aragorn threw the blanket over the two of them.
"I bet you've got such tales to tell," Aragorn breathed, as he settled down to sleep as well, "And we've got all these things to do that we've never ever done together."
"Indeed," murmured Legolas.
"Watch movies," Aragorn began, "Karaoke."
"Karaoke," Legolas repeated, chuckling.
"We can travel to Asia," said the adan, "See these new places."
"Bungee jumping," Legolas said wryly, "Oh but wait. You've jumped off cliffs and other high places before."
"Don't be snide," Aragorn reprimanded him mock-gravely, "I've never tried it with a rope."
They drifted off to sleep, the both of them, mumbling strange, funny things. Jimmy Goran listened because he couldn't stand not to. The voices were comforting. These are voices his heart knew.
He was profoundly weary, but now he could not seem to find the heart to sleep, for he was excited too. Fire was coursing through his veins, warming him, and warning him that Gimli Son of Gloin was going to burst forth from him at any time now. It was good to be with old friends. It was invigorating.
He kept his eyes open and his mind awake, as those two voices permeated memory after memory that danced across his thinking. He wanted to be awake, he wanted to feel that exact moment when all that he knew, all of himself was reclaimed and at last complete, as complete as he felt long ago, blazing through life side by side with a friend…
Gimli was coming back. And he knew he was himself again and at last, when he felt his heart hammer with excitement at the prospect of looming over the elf when Legolas wakes up, and greeting him good morning just before he says, Ha! Look it here, lad. I'm taller than you.
TO BE CONCLUDED IN AN EPILOGUE…
Hey guys!!! Thanks so much for the super supportive c&c's. Keep 'em coming if you can and I really hope FEE didn't disappoint. Watch out for the Epilogue, which I will release in a few days along with my usual NOTES and THANKS in the After word. 'Til then!!!