Mirkwood Manor
Chapter 10
by Lacadiva
Once again I thank all of you for your kind comments, and apologize for the lengthy wait for this update. I know that Mirkwood Manor slips away from Master Tolkien's canon, but I hope you will stay with this story as we quickly approach the end. There will be two more chappies after this one. Enjoy!
From the previous chapter:
His hair unbraided and loose, his feet and back bare, wearing naught but pants, Legolas made his way quietly up the stairs, holding his wounded side. When he arrived at the top, he found a sight that made his Elven heart ache and beat harder with fear, anger and hatred.
Valgur stood with Tristan, holding the boy about the shoulders, a long knife to his throat.
"Legolas, dear cousin, I believe you and I have some unfinished business."
Charlita was fast behind Legolas. Her legs felt leaden and rubbery, as if they would at any moment cease to support her weight or speed. She could hear her heart beating loudly and irregularly in her own ears, and her breath came in short gasps. When finally she reached the top of the stairs and found her son tight in Valgur's grip, she let rip from her throat a cry of such great anguish that she thought she would lose consciousness. She reached out frantically but froze when she saw Valgur move the blade closer to Tristan's throat.
"Please!" she screamed, "Valgur, please! Don't hurt him! Don't hurt our son!"
"Charlita, go back down stairs!" demanded Legolas, stepping before Charlita to block her view of the danger, his own eyes never leaving Valgur's.
"NO! I won't leave my son!"
"Let me deal with Valgur. Tristan will be safe. I give you my word."
"How can you," asked Valgur, "when I am the one holding the blade to the boy's throat? Are you that sure of yourself? Are you that lithe, that quick, even in your injured state, dear cousin?"
"Cousin?" Charlita asked. "What does he mean?"
When Legolas did not answer, she took hold of his arm and spun him around to face her. Her eyes, red rimmed and pained, accusing, burned into his of bright silvery blue heightened by the Elvish equivalent of adrenaline.
"Why does he call you cousin?" she said through clenched teeth.
Valgur laughed. "He didn't tell you? Shame on you, keeping secrets. Tell her, Legolas."
"It is true," Legolas spat shamefully, "we share a bloodline, Valgur and I. We are kin…" Legolas looked spitefully over his shoulder at Valgur, "…but far less than kind."
"My cousin bears a grudge," Valgur teased, "that is several millennia old. That can't have made for a happy life. Legolas the pitiable. Legolas the melancholy. And now, Legolas the vanquished."
"DO NOT MOCK ME," warned Legolas.
"What are you going to do? Kill me?" Valgur smiled and pulled Tristan closer. "Try."
Legolas wanted nothing more than to leap upon Valgur and beat him mercilessly, yet the boy's life was still in severe jeopardy. He knew he must control his anger, as well as the situation.
Charlita's eyes were welling with tears. "Why didn't you tell me?" she begged of Legolas.
"Yes, Legolas," teased Valgur, "why didn't you tell her?"
"Now is NOT the time," Legolas said less gently than he intended to Charlita, then turned to fully face his kin and enemy again.
Tristan, who had kept his calm up to this point, let tears slip down his face.
"Mom…"
"I'm here, baby…" To Valgur, she pleaded again, "Please…he's just a boy…he's your son. Your flesh and blood. Don't you feel anything for him?"
"Let the boy go," Legolas echoed, hoping to find some place in Valgur that would feel a kind of pity for the boy. Then to challenge him, Legolas taunted, "It is me you really want."
"You flatter yourself. I actually do not want you at all. This house, however, I would not mind. I could be very happy here, for a time. Though I will say it is rather drab. After I kill you, and if I should ever return to the States, I think I shall claim this place. And then, I think I shall redecorate."
Legolas took a step closer, his fists clenching and unclenching. The Assassin in him begged to be released.
"To where do you plan to abscond this time? I imagine you're running out of places to hide."
"That may be true," Valgur confessed with a thin, weary smile. "But staying here may not be the wisest choice, considering."
It was then that Legolas noticed the panic in Valgur's eyes. Unshed tears rimmed his eyes. Until this moment, he had seen only Valgur's arrogance, his superciliousness, his bravado. But never had he seen panic, never fear. Never despair.
"Considering what?" Legolas asked, hoping Valgur's sudden onset of emotion would make him careless and loose-lipped.
"It seems the authorities are on to me again. They are idiots for the most part, but once in a while they have brief, fleeting moments of lucidity and illumination. Sadly, this is one of those moments. The Police have, through fortune or folly, stumbled onto my trail. They raided my hotel room. Confiscated…no, stole my guns. They are determined that I should finish serving out a life sentence. Life locked away, when you are an immortal, is an impossible thing to consider. And I am beginning to feel my age…I'm tired. I will not last a century in captivity. So, I must now depend on the love and protection of my…family…to help me hold fast to my freedom. Assist in getting me out of the country and as far away as possible."
"And where will you go, Valgur?"
"Oh, I haven't decided. England, maybe. Surely there is some statute of limitations for certain crimes. Perhaps the African continent. Astoundingly beautiful as I remember, when I wasn't running from the local tribal authorities. Or I was thinking…Australia. I haven't been back since that nasty little incident upon the Botany Bay. I'm sure all is long forgotten if not completely forgiven by now, wouldn't you think, cousin?"
Legolas cringed at hearing that most contemptuous word again. He hated the foul reminder of their shared lineage. But he would not let Valgur know his heart. He would feign helping until he could safely deliver Tristan from his grasp and into his mother's arms. And then he would make Valgur pay for all the suffering and misery he had caused so many throughout the ages.
"Australia," Legolas repeated. Is that where they are? The sons he bragged about?
"Why Australia?" Legolas ventured, hoping for some confirmation of his suspicion.
"Because," Valgur said, "one could easily be lost and never found, if that is what one wished. I like that."
"I can help you get there," said Legolas, "if you will just surrender Tristan to me."
"Oh no, no, no. I'm taking Tristan with me."
"NO!" Charlita cried. "Take me! Take me instead. I can be useful to you."
"On the contrary, dear wife, you haven't been particularly useful to me in a long, long time. Tristan, however, provides insurance. Insurance that you will not alert the authorities. Insurance that you will not come in search of me. Besides, a boy should be with his Father. Don't you agree, Legolas? Oh, I'm sorry, your father died quite long ago, didn't he? Good King Thranduil. Never quite made it to the ships, did he? I'm afraid that's a story I'll have to tell you another time."
"What do you know of my father's death?"
"What do you know?" Valgur said, drawing the words out slowly, letting the dark insinuation take purchase in Legolas' heart.
"There are those who say his death was not due to natural cause. That he was assassinated."
"Never proven. But quite true. Do you know by whom?"
"I know not."
"You do now."
Fire burned in Legolas' eyes. Fury burned deep within his soul.
"It was not by my hand directly," Valgur admitted, "though I often wished it were. It was not I who hired the assassins. I merely…consulted. Suggested. The plan was mine. As it also was with Aragorn. To kill a king is a serious matter. To kill two kings…is to rule with an iron fist. You may have thwarted the assassination of King Aragorn of Gondor, but I live with the satisfaction that your father, the mighty king of Mirkwood, was unseated – indirectly - by me. No hard feelings, though, please cousin. You and Daddy were never that close, as I remember."
"Enough!" Legolas cried out. He fought to keep control of his temper. Was this true? Or an attempt to thwart Legolas by preying upon his emotions with fabrications and lies? His flesh burned with pain from his wound, and his eyes were aflame with rage. He desired nothing else but revenge - to spill Valgur's blood, to beat him until his body was broken beyond possibility of repair and he breathed no more.
Valgur pulled Tristan closer, and placed the blade closer to the whimpering child's flesh.
Legolas took a nervous step back, fighting to calm himself, praying to the Valar that his own anger would not give Valgur pause to act upon his threat.
"My father has been dead six thousand years, and Aragorn longer still. My need for justice, for vengeance, has never grown cold. Yet, I make this oath to you, 'cousin,' because I cannot bear to see another die at your hand. Leave the boy, let him come to me, and I will help you. Let him and his mother go, and I will give you all that you require, and see to your safe conduct out of this country. You need money and access. I can arrange all that for you."
"Money, yes," Valgur said. His eyes took on a renewed excitement at the thought of money. Legolas swore he saw his cousin lick his lips at the very mention.
"How much are we talking about here?" Valgur asked.
"Fifty thousand. Cash."
"American?"
"Yes."
"It's a start. Where is it?"
"Here. And there's more, in a separate location. If you have need."
"Go on."
"I can provide falsified travel documents, transportation. You will have asylum in this house until you are ready to leave. All I ask is that you spare them. Let them go, let them leave this house, never bother them again, and for as long as I draw breath, I will do your bidding."
"Do my bidding?" Valgur laughed. "You're a terrible liar, Legolas. As soon as I release the boy you're going to try to kill me again. Not that I blame you. It's exactly what I would do, given the opportunity."
"I give you my word, and that is not a thing I do lightly. You know this."
"You would help me, knowing all that you know?"
"I would do whatever you say."
"You give up far too quickly and too easily, cousin," said Valgur. "I expected so much more from you. Combat, yes. Acquiescence, cooperation, not in several millennia. Do you not wish to continue our perpetual struggle? Has our feud lost its poetry? It's fire? Maybe the Valar will find favor with you this time, after…how long has it been? Poor Legolas, eternally unlucky in love, war, friendship…."
"Listen to me, Valgur, and listen well. All that I have, I give to you. I only ask that you keep your word and spare them. Let them go, and you may do with me as you will."
"You realize these two you have grown so fond of happen to be my wife and son."
"Ex-wife," Charlita reminded them.
There was a new evil twinkle in Valgur's dark eyes.
"Charlita, darling …should I be jealous? Have you fallen for my fair-haired relative? Tell me, cousin, do you fancy her? She is rather pretty. For a human. Those big, dark, soulful eyes. Skin like warm caramel. And she's so very trusting. I always found that the most useful and attractive trait in women. Do you find her attractive, cousin?"
"She is in my employ, and thus, under my protection. Her safety and welfare are my only concerns."
"Ah, the Prince of Mirkwood, chivalrous to the last. Leave it to Legolas to desire gallant responsibility to worldly pleasures of the flesh. It doesn't make you noble, cousin, only a singular fool. And a lonely one, at that."
"Enough," Legolas demanded. "Do we have a deal? My aid for Tristan's release?"
"You'll do anything I say?"
Legolas did not answer. He was apprehensive to say yes, equally apprehensive to deny.
"What if I should say, fall upon your knees before me. Would you do that to save Tristan?"
Elven pride swelled in Legolas' chest as he held his breath. Would Valgur heap such a tremendous and heavy insult upon him?
"You can't make him do that!" Charlita shouted. Even she had a faint understanding of the high price Valgur was setting.
"Shut up!" he spat at Charlita, and returned his dark attention back to Legolas.
"Would you?" Valgur asked again. The knife tip touched close to Tristan's flesh. Charlita gasped and trembled helplessly.
"Yes." Legolas said finally.
"Hmm…And would you give your very immortal life for these inferiors?"
"Yes," he said, firmer this time.
"You'd die for them?" Valgur asked incredulously. "Do you realize what you are saying?"
"Yes."
"Why?" Again, incredulously.
Legolas could find no words to adequately express what he felt in his heart. Words like honor, self-sacrifice, and righteousness were wasted on such creatures as Valgur.
"Your silence disturbs me cousin. This does not bode well for the re-forging of our relationship."
"Send Tristan to me now, and you have my word, I will do as you say, go where you wish."
"How the worm turns. The Prince of Mirkwood, heir to the throne, hero to the peoples of Middle Earth, bearing an oath as my servant? The boy means that much to you?"
"He has come to, yes."
"Then bow down on your knees. Swear before the boy. Before Charlita. Before Iluvatar!" Then darker, "BEFORE ME."
"Legolas…" Charlita whispered, closing her eyes as Legolas began to bend his knees, as he fought hard against his pride and hatred. She closed her eyes, not wanting to watch, but not daring to stop Legolas' act of sacrifice and obeisance.
Legolas knelt before Valgur.
"Swear to defend me, swear to protect my very life."
"I swear," was all that Legolas said. It was all that he could say.
Valgur laughed, a deep, throaty, satisfied laugh.
"In all my long life, I never thought I'd hear such a thing. Such a sweetness to my ears. I will therefore make this one concession. But if you cross me, cousin, the deal is revoked and I shall take my revenge on you and eviscerate these inferiors before your eyes. Rise, Legolas, servant of Valgur. You may have the boy."
Valgur gave Tristan a harsh shove forward. Legolas rose and quickly caught Tristan before he could hit the floor, and instantly passed the trembling boy into Charlita's waiting arms. She hugged Tristan so very hard Legolas imagined the boy would cry out. But he did not. He happily clung to his mother.
"Are you all right? Did he hurt you?" Charlita asked, checking the boy from head to toe, searching for abrasions or cuts or bruises but finding none, to her great relief.
"Mom, I'm fine. I'm fine," he pleaded, and threw his arms around her again.
"I hate to break up this happy little reunion," Valgur interrupted.
"Ah yes, the money," Legolas spat. "You shall have it. All that I have. It is in my closet, in a safe. Shall I tell you where it is, or shall I fetch it for you?"
"Shall you fetch it for me…sire."
"Shall I fetch it for you…sire," Legolas said with severe distaste, as if the very words were poison upon his lips.
"No, not you. Let Charlita get it. As she is in your employ, and so very trusted by you, I imagine she knows where you keep your valuables and currency. That was her job when we were married, you remember. You stay where I can see you. You may yet attempt some foolish act of heroic rebellion."
"Charlita," Legolas spoke gently, hating to separate her from her son.
A moment, and Charlita turned to him. Her face was wet with tears, some of fear, some of joy.
"Charlita, go to my closet. The one I showed you earlier. Do you remember?"
Her breath caught in her throat. Of course she remembered.
The War Room.
Legolas' arsenal of weapons – bows, arrows, knives.
The sword, Anduril.
She nodded, holding her breath, praying she would not give away the smallest hint of the plan that was being improvised right under Valgur's nose.
"You'll find a small safe hidden in the wall," Legolas continued. The combination is 12-17-3. You'll find fifty thousand U.S. cash dollars there. Take the money, all you can carry, and bring it to the library and wait for us there. Can you do this for me?"
She nodded and gestured to her son to follow her. Before the boy could take a step -
"Tristan stays here," said Valgur, "just in case you feel the need to betray me as well."
"No harm will come to him, on my life," Legolas promised Charlita in a whisper. "Go now. Please."
Charlita moved quickly down the hall, disappearing into the darkness.
Charlita nearly flew into Legolas' bedroom and felt along the dark walls, blindly and desperately searching for a light switch. She quickly remembered that when she had been in the room before, it had been bathed in candlelight. She reached out in search of the wooden chest of drawers, atop which sat the stumps of several fat white candles. She found wooden matches and struck one, bringing a brief explosion of brightness to the room. Her hands were shaking so severely she could hardly set flame to the wicks. Once the room was lit by soft amber light she raced to the closet and opened it. She pushed back the sparse clothing items hanging and found the false wall.
Where was the mechanism that opened the wall!
She felt for it and found it, quickly engaging it. The wall slid away with a grating sound of wood against metal. The room was dark, so she raced out quickly to take one of the candles and bring it in to shed a bit of light on things.
Anduril shone in its brilliant, handcrafted sheath before her, beckoning her to deliver it to Legolas' hands. At first she was mesmerized by it, nearly swooned when she saw it again. Her heart beat faster as she reached for it. When her hands touched it she was struck by fleeting images yet again – memories of the sword and its noble wielders, its noble history. She gasped and nearly dropped it, but held it to herself tightly, despite the oddness in her gut, despite the spinning of her head. She knew she needed this to save Tristan.
In a corner she found a quiver of arrows and an intricately carved bow, all so ancient and beautiful and precious. The archivist in her begged her to stop and observe this living museum, but the desperation of the hour would not allow it. There was no time. Her son's life was a stake, as was Legolas' and her own.
She leaned Anduril against the wall long enough to sling the heavy quiver over her shoulder along with the bow, and grab each of the two identical long knives and place them in the belt loops of her jeans. Taking up Anduril again, she turned to leave.
And then a thought struck her – was Legolas serious about the money in the safe? Did he truly intend to keep his promise to give all that he had to Valgur, or was it merely a ruse? Pandering to his greed? Surely these weapons were the true reason for sending her here. But she did not wish to risk the chance that she could be wrong. She circled about until she found the safe and quickly went to it. Her hands were shaking oddly as she reached for the old-styled combination lock. Partly from fear, partly from an anxiety to bring this evening to some kind of end, one that would mean freedom from Valgur forever.
As her fingers touched the lock dial, she froze. What was the combination?
Legolas knelt down to Tristan and opened his arms to the boy. Tristan did not protest but fell into Legolas' arms as a son would his true father's.
"Are you well?" Legolas asked, quickly pushing the boy away so that he could see for himself if there were any injuries Charlita might have missed. Mostly, for a warning sign that despair, so destructive to an Elven heart, had taken hold of the boy.
"I'm okay," said Tristan, and gave Legolas a half-hearted smile as he shamefully wiped away his drying tears.
"I'm very proud of you," said Legolas. "You were very brave."
"Brave? I cried like a baby."
"Your tears had little to do with fear for yourself. Your tears merely tell your heart's desire. To live to protect your mother. To save her from a lifetime of despair at seeing you die. A baby knows nothing of such deep, complex feelings. You do. Do not spare your tears for the sake of pride."
"What rubbish are you filling my son's head with now?" Valgur lashed out.
"What advice would you give your son?" Legolas asked.
Valgur moved to stand just behind Legolas, where he could not see him.
"I would tell him that crying is a weak, senseless, HUMAN reaction to things over which you have lost control. Rather than cry, do what I do. Achieve satisfaction through revenge."
And then the boy's eyes widened as he cried out, "Legolas! Watch out!"
Injury had so slowed Legolas' reflexes that he had no time to move before Valgur hauled back and stabbed his knife into Legolas' back.
Legolas arched backwards and let out a thin gasp as he felt his flesh tear open. Then, suddenly, the blade was pulled violently from him. Warm blood poured from his already battered body, pooling on the floor before him. He looked up into Tristan's shocked, tearing eyes.
"NO!" the boy cried out, then, to his father, "I hate you! I hate you!"
"Now that's my boy," Valgur said to Tristan. To Legolas, he spat, "Avo thano rûth vi gûr alfirin. Do not kindle anger in an immortal heart."
Shivering in pain, Legolas looked over his shoulder at Valgur holding the bloody knife, smiling victoriously.
"Avo dhago hain!" he pleaded, pushing Tristan behind him, still trying to protect the boy, "Don't kill them."
"I promise I won't, not until I'm safely out of the country, anyway. You, prince of Mirkwood, may die now."
Valgur gave Legolas a harsh kick, sending him to the floor.
Tristan was there in an instant, trying to pull Legolas back to his feet.
"Get up, Legolas! Please, get up."
"I am not yet ready to die," he whispered through clenched teeth to Tristan. "I will not die. I will not abandon you. Estelio nin, trust me."
"I'm sorry, cousin," Valgur said, stepping over Legolas' prone body to grab his son again, "but as much as I LOVE the idea of you being my servant, I'm accustomed to doing things my way. And my way says, trust no one but ME."
Legolas' face hit the floor hard as Valgur pulled Tristan away. He looked up to see the child struggling as Valgur held him by the back of his sweater.
"Yro! Delio!" Run, hide!
Tristan threw his arms up and slid out of his sweater, pulling away from Valgur and racing down the hall, into the dark.
Valgur tossed the sweater away and turned to give chase. He thought better of it, and turned back to Legolas, knife held high, prepared to deal his last deadly blow before going after the boy.
Legolas was gone.
All that was left upon the floor was a still warm pool of Legolas' blood.
"LEGOLAS!" Valgur cried out in frustration and fury, his voice reverberating through all of Mirkwood Manor.
"LEGOLASSSSS!"
End chapter 10
Eleven and twelve will be up in just a couple of days – if not sooner! Promise! Thanks for your kind attention. Please write and respond.