Gilraen: You are right. The 'Rash, Legolas, too rash' comes straight from The Pirates of the Caribbean. As for hurting Legolas, in my stories I never do any permanent damage to him. Will that do? ^_^
A Sly Fan: Um, do you mean what do I mean by the title or what do I mean by the final paragraph? Or do you mean what do I mean by something else? *~*
Silver badger: The story that launched this whole series was "The Nameless One," which is still posted under my pen name of Elf Eye. In that story Legolas, under the name Anomen, is brought to Isengard by Treebeard, who found him hiding from Orcs in Fangorn Forest. As we know, Saruman views anyone who draws near as a potential tool and promptly tries to corrupt Anomen. At one point he carries Anomen to the top of Orthanc, and he grabs hold of Anomen's wrist under the guise of helping him keep his balance. Anomen does not react well to the feeling of being trapped. So grabbing Anomen's wrist was absolutely the last thing Thranduil should have done. Unfortunately, the King had no way of knowing this.
Joee: Horrible place to leave you, eh? Yes, I do seem to be getting the hang of the cliffie ending, don't I? Mwah hah hah!
Dragonfly: Well, if it's any consolation, you won't find out what happened to Legolas in this installment.
Athena Diagon Cat: Sorry, I'm not going to answer that question just yet. It's the sadistic streak in me coming out.
Karri: Yes, considering what he could have done to Tawarmaenas, I don't think Thranduil did half badly.
"Elrond," said Glorfindel when they paused to rest the horses, "once we deliver our message to the Rohirrim, will we join the Riders in searching Rohan for any trace of Mithrandir and his captor?"
Elrond shook his head.
"No, we will hasten back north as fast as we may. I am convinced that captor and captive did not precede us to Fangorn. If we hurry, we may yet be present for Mithrandir's rescue. I am sure Saruman's servants must be good fighters, else he would not retain them, but I would feel much more secure if I knew that my sword and yours were raised in defense of our friend."
Glorfindel nodded.
"I agree. I do not like leaving matters up to Saruman, worthy wizard though he may be. Even though Mithrandir and the Lord of Isengard are of the same order, it is we who are Mithrandir's friends."
"You are right," said Elrond, wondering at the fact that he had never realized this before. Mithrandir had the greatest of respect for the White Wizard and went often to him for counsel, but it was the Elves to whom Mithrandir gravitated for comfort and mirth. The Elves and the Hobbits. Even among Men and Dwarves Mithrandir was more at ease than he was in the presence of Saruman the Wise. The White Wizard had been gifted with cunning, thought Elrond, but not with liveliness and joy. No doubt this was why he was the Lord of Isengard and not the lesser wizard. Mithrandir could have commanded no Man after the fashion of Saruman. Yet Men and Elves, Dwarves and Hobbits, would obey him. He was a leader who commanded no followers yet had many.
Elrond shook off his musings. The horses were rested; it was time to mount up once more and ride relentlessly toward the Gap of Rohan, where they were sure to meet Riders patrolling that region against any trespassers.
A few more hours of riding and they found what they sought. Riders galloped across the plain toward them, spears lowered. As the Riders drew near, however, their leader perceived that the strangers were Elves and he raised his hand, slowing his troop. Cantering now, and with spears in their rests, the Rohirrim rode up to the Elves. Elrond hailed the leader as he drew near.
"Thengel! Well met! Well met, indeed!"
"Welcome, Elrond. 'Tis not often you ride out from Rivendell."
"Great need compels me. Mithrandir has been seized and may be carried south—may have already been carried south."
"It needs must have been a fell creature to have gotten the better of the Grey Pilgrim."
"Aye, no doubt. Have you seen aught of such a creature?"
"A dark horseman on a black steed rode through here not so long ago. He came from the south. Our horses grew wild as he neared, and we could scarce manage them. He spurned our challenges and evaded us. Rohirrim from all corners of the land have been raised against his return. By the horn of Helm Hammerhand, he shall not be allowed to pass back this way bearing any prisoner."
"And he has not yet made the attempt?"
"No sign of him has been seen since he first rode through, and it is impossible that he should have been missed. Behind every hillock a Rider has been lying in wait. As you yourself have seen, your party was challenged as soon as it had entered our territory."
Elrond nodded, grateful for the vigilance of the Rohirrim.
"Your words give me hope, Thengel. A force lies at the edge of Fangorn Forest waiting to ambush the fell creature, but should he evade them, he will not escape the Riders of Rohan! We will return north at once bearing this good news."
Elrond respectfully saluted the Rohan leader, who bowed in return. Then the Elf and his companions wheeled their horses about and rode for the north at a pace only a little slower than the one they had maintained as they galloped south.
The pace of captor and captive had meanwhile slowed to the proverbial crawl. Gandalf had recovered both his strength and his spirits and had once again begun to exercise his tongue. He did not do so heedlessly, however. He was mindful of three facts. First, his captor did not want to kill him—that was to come later, he was sure, and at another's hands. Be that as it may, since the creature did not want to kill him, he would only go so far toward injuring him. He would hurt the wizard, but he would not slay him. Second, if the wizard were hurt or ill, they could not travel as quickly as if he were whole. Third, if they could not travel quickly and the journey were to be dragged out, there would be more opportunities for Gandalf to either escape or be rescued. Given these facts, Gandalf had decided that it would be worth his while to provoke his captor into striking out at him. And so he had become quite chatty as they rode along—with predictable consequences.
Just at the moment the wizard was writhing about on the ground trying to congratulate himself upon the success of his plan.
"Must have done well," he gasped to himself, "for he certainly unleashed his powers upon me that time. Didn't like being told that he was a cold fish, I gather. Brrrr. Must have ice water in his veins. Yes, that's it. Ice water."
Fittingly, and unfortunately, at this moment his captor chose to 'throw ice water' upon the wizard's plans. The temperature plummeted as the creature knelt by Gandalf and forced a gag into his mouth. That put a stop to both his mouth and his stratagem.
Still, Gandalf had gained himself some time, for his captor did make camp, briefly removing the gag from the wizard's mouth so that he might take some sustenance and then thoroughly trussing him for the night. Mouth stopped, wrists and ankles tied, the only thing Gandalf could make use of was his mind.
"I cannot see my captor," he mused, "but I always know where he is because he carries winter with him wherever he goes."
Gandalf lay still a very long time, and then he groaned into his gag and thrashed a little, as if in great pain. As a result he ended up just a trifle further from the coldness that emanated from his captor. The creature did not come to check upon him. Apparently the wizard had not moved far enough to arouse his suspicion. Gandalf groaned and tossed a little more. Still no reaction from his captor. Now Gandalf lay very still, as if he at last slumbered. He gradually grew warm. Did his captor ever slumber, he wondered. And if he did so, did he no longer radiate, as it were, an icy chill. Or was he gone—hunting, perhaps? Gandalf had not heard any footfalls. But then he never had. Nor had he ever heard the sound of his captor eating or drinking. It was as if his captor, for all his strength, was immaterial and insubstantial.
"He is either asleep or gone," Gandalf decided.
With all his might, the wizard strained at the ropes securing his wrists. Perhaps because the creature had thought him ill and had been careless, the bonds seemed looser than usual. Gandalf slipped his hands free and then once again lay very still. The air about him still felt warm. Cautiously, he raised his hands to his face and pulled off the blindfold. Looking about, he blanched. The creature sat facing him. Gandalf could not see its face, for a hood covered it, but the creature did not move. Gandalf did not bother about the gag but immediately freed his feet. He found he could not stand, but carefully he crawled away from his captor. Once he had put several trees between himself and the creature, he stopped to pull the gag from his mouth and to massage his legs a little. He winced as the feeling returned to his limbs, but as soon as he could feel them, he pulled himself to his feet and began to limp as rapidly as he could deeper into the forest. Quite deliberately, he scrambled into the most tangled bramble thickets he could find, for he knew that such vegetation would prevent his former captor from coming after him on his horse.
"I'll deprive him of that advantage at least," he thought grimly.
Suddenly a horrible, high pitched shriek arose from the place whence he had just fled. Gandalf felt as if his own blood had turned to ice.
"It seems my friend misses me," muttered Gandalf when he had recovered himself a bit. With that, he struggled even further into the forest, not minding the thorns that were tearing his robe to shreds (and doing considerable damage to his skin as well). He wouldn't have been quite so urgent at this point if he had known that his captor could not in fact have seen him. The creature lacked mortal vision and had been relying upon the eyes of his horse, and his horse was now of no use to him. True, the creature could have smelled him and would have been drawn by his warmth, but Gandalf was far enough away so that the creature could make no use of either odor or body heat. For the time being, Gandalf was safe.
The wizard was not to know this until later, however, and he continued deeper and deeper into the forest that grew upon the western slopes of the Misty Mountains.
"I wonder how far south I am," he thought. "If this is Fangorn and I continue to travel south, I would reach Isengard at length. I should be safe there. Or would Lórien be nearer? Should I head somewhat to the north? Or mayhap I should cross the Misty Mountains and make for Rivendell. It is summer, so the passage should not be too difficult. Wish I had my pipe, for I should like to smoke on it. No! Drat that pipe. Shouldn't have been carried off in the first place if it hadn't been for my fondness for pipeweed. Don't know why I didn't find it odd to feel cold creeping over me, and then to let myself to be knocked upon the head like that! How could I have thought that uncanny chill to have been a freak of weather? I shall never hear the end of it from Elrond, I am sure! Though, just at the moment, I should like to be chaffed by Elrond, for that would put me in his company. Oh, yes, I should be delighted to see him right now, no matter the cost to my dignity. Although, given this shredded robe, I have very little dignity left to lose!"
At that very moment, Elrond and his companions were in sight of Fangorn Forest and much closer to Gandalf than the wizard would have dared hope. The approach of the Elves had thrown the half-goblins into a panic. They knew what to do if a fell creature bearing a captive approached. They were to slay his mount and seize the captive. But what to do about these five Elves? The goblins' gut reaction was to riddle them with arrows as they rode up, but had not five Elves been guests of Saruman? Perchance they were allies of the White Wizard. If so, shooting them would be a fatal mistake for not only the Elves but also the half-goblins. Fortunately for the latter, Saruman, impatient for news, had chosen that moment to sally forth from his stronghold.
"Fall back," he hissed to the half-goblins, "you and the Orcs both. Send up the Men in your stead. See that they are equipped with swords and bows so that they may pass for warriors."
By the time Elrond, Glorfindel, and the others had galloped up, no sign remained of the half-goblins and their Orc underlings.
"You have returned," said Saruman, somewhat unnecessarily.
"Aye," answered Elrond, "and we bring good news. Mithrandir has surely not been carried across Rohan. He is yet to the north of us, and so we have good hopes of recovering him."
"Ah, that is good," said Saruman. He was in fact honest when he said that, for he truly did not wish Gandalf to fall into the hands of the Dark Lord—although not for any love that he bore the Grey Wizard.
"We hastened back so that we could assist in his rescue," Elrond continued.
"Excellent," replied Saruman, this time lying, of course. He would have much rather relied upon his half-goblins and Orcs, for he knew they were better fighters than his Men. With the Elves as witnesses, however, he had no choice but to make use of his inferior servants. Moreover, he would now have no opportunity to drug and question a blindfolded Mithrandir before returning him to his friends. Well, he would have to make the best of the situation. The Elves would no doubt be grateful for his aid. He must make use of their gratitude; no doubt word of the part he would play in Mithrandir's rescue would come to the ears of Galadriel and perhaps lull her suspicions. Mayhap the tale would even permit him to someday work his magic upon Legolas, who was at least as suspicious as Galadriel, if not more so. Mithrandir, too, would feel gratitude and would express it in some fashion. Perhaps, mused Saruman, his gratitude would be such that he might be encouraged to open his heart to his superior and reveal whatever it was that he had hitherto kept hidden—for Saruman was sure that, for all Mithrandir's deference in his presence, the wizard was not telling him all that lay behind his frequent visits to that uncouth land where the little people scrabbled about in the soil.
"Excellent," said Saruman again. "Let us discuss where best to position you so that your skills will be used to maximum advantage."
"We wish to take up positions as far north as possible," Glorfindel said promptly, "so that we can lead the attack. Meaning no disrespect, Lord Saruman, but your Men, no matter how experienced, cannot hope to match the fighting prowess of Elves who have engaged in battle for centuries."
"No disrespect taken, Lord Glorfindel," Saruman replied. "It would be disrespectful on my part to suggest that any Man could be your equal, and I would not deny you the honor of a position in the vanguard."
Privately, Saruman was pleased that the Elves wished to be in the front line. He had expected that it would be their desire, and it meant that his Men would be less exposed to danger. He cared not for the lives of his Men, but saw no reason to cast aside tools that were still serviceable. Let the Elves be noble, and Mordor take them!
Mithrandir, meanwhile, oblivious to the plans that were being laid on his behalf, was still scrambling through the forest. He had neither heard nor seen any sight of pursuit, and at last, panting, he leaned against a tree. Birds sang, squirrels chattered, and somewhere near by water splashed in a rill.
"I do believe," he said aloud, "that I have given my friend the slip. Now if I could just find my way to that rill—I am very thirsty!"
Before he could take a step, however, someone or something powerful seized him by the back of his robe and lifted him straight off the ground. Gandalf yelped—a most unwizardly sound, you may be sure.
"A bit tetchy, today, aren't we?"
"You try being bound root and branch for several days, and see how you like it," Gandalf replied angrily.
"Hoooom." Treebeard raised a mossy eyebrow. "Bound root and branch. No doubt that accounts for your extraordinarily disheveled appearance—rough even for you, Mithrandir. That and your purple garb kept me from recognizing you at first. Thought you were some enormous purple flower come to life."
"Mauve," said Gandalf huffily.
"What's that?"
"The robe—it's mauve."
"Purple, mauve. There is hardly enough of it left to make out the color properly. Would you like me to fetch you some fig leaves?"
"I would not," replied Gandalf with as much dignity as he could muster, which, truth be told, was not much at all. No boots. No hat. No staff. Hardly any robe. He truly was a pitiable sight.
"I would appreciate it, however," the wizard went on a little more calmly, "if you would carry me to Isengard. If I have found you, I cannot be far from that place."
"Your pardon, young Master Mithrandir, but I believe I found you."
"Well, well," said Gandalf, something like his usual good humor rapidly returning, "I cannot argue with you there, my old friend."
Treebeard settled the wizard upon one of his shoulders but did not make for Isengard.
"I but lately saw Saruman hastening in the direction of the western border," the Ent explained to the wizard. "It would be better if I take you there, for it may be that there is no one at Isengard to receive you."
Gandalf willingly assented to this plan, as also to a side excursion to a spring at which he was at last able to quench his thirst. That being done, the Ent strode rapidly toward the western border, and the Elves were hardly aware of him before he was upon them with his cargo of wizard.
Elrond was not given to gaping—it was not in keeping with his position as Lord of Imladris—but this was one occasion when he could not keep control of his face. So gape he did—as did Glorfindel, Elrohir, Elladan, Thoron, and, yes, even Saruman. Mithrandir could not help but laugh.
"You are going to get mouthfuls of midges," he teased, "unless you close your mouths forthwith."
The Elves burst into laughter, but Saruman closed his mouth and ground his teeth. Now he would get no credit for rescuing Mithrandir. That meddling tree herder, always getting his roots into everything—ow! Saruman had bitten down so hard that he had broken a molar. Tears came to his eyes. Elrond noticed and was touched.
"I did not think," the Elf said to himself, "that Saruman was susceptible to much in the way of feelings, but I see I was wrong. He weeps with joy at finding that Mithrandir has escaped."
Aloud he said, "It is fortunate that you arrive thus safe, for Saruman was about to venture his Men on your behalf."
"Was he!?" exclaimed Gandalf. "How very kind!"
"Oh," Saruman assured him, "I would have done anything to secure you."
Gandalf beamed at him.
"Thank you, Saruman. I shall remember that."
Saruman's spirits improved. He would salvage something out of the situation. At least he had shown himself willing to rescue Mithrandir, even though his would-be efforts had proved unnecessary. That would be talked about amongst the Elves no doubt.
"Come," he said expansively, "you must be weary and hungry, and you are in need of clothes. Let us away to Isengard so that your needs may be tended to."
Glorfindel spoke then.
"What of his captor? Does he still live? Is it likely that he may still pass this place?"
"I doubt," said Gandalf, "that such forces that are at hand will be able to bring him down. That was a Ringwraith, or I am no wizard."
All gasped, even Saruman. This was very bad news indeed, although they did not all have the same reasons for thinking so.
"He was mounted?" said Elrond.
"Aye."
"Then at least he should be discomfited. His steed should be destroyed."
"My archers will see to it," Saruman declared. He did not want Sauron to steal a march on him. Destroying the horse would force the creature to return to Mordor on foot. Whatever Sauron had planned, that would force a delay, and Saruman would use the time gained to full advantage, spying out Mithrandir's comings and goings, mayhap winning him over, if that could be managed. Yes, it would suit his purposes to assail this creature of Mordor, even if he could not slay it outright.
Having settled that, Elves and wizards set out for Isengard at a slow pace. Saruman was on foot, and walking beside him was Elrond, who had insisted that Gandalf ride upon his horse. Gandalf had gladly accepted Elrond's mount, as well as the offer of the elf-lord's cloak. The wizard was also well supplied with as much lembas as he could stomach, which turned out to be quite a number of the wafers.
As they journeyed, Saruman passed the time ingratiating himself with Elrond, as he had once tried to do with Legolas. He inquired minutely after the doings of all in Elrond's household, not even excepting the human fosterling whom Saruman knew to be living there. Indeed, Saruman had lately become curious about this boy, who had twice thwarted his plans, once in the matter of Legolas, and again in the case of Erestor.
"Estel—is that not his name?" Saruman said to Elrond. "Who was his father?"
"A Man," replied Elrond vaguely.
Saruman forced himself to laugh.
"I would have thought that obvious, my friend. But what was his father's name?"
"His father's name has been lost to memory," Elrond answered, "as has the lad's name."
"But surely you must know something of his father!"
Elrond shrugged.
"He was a Man of the north, but, really, Saruman, I should have taken him in no matter his parentage."
This was true. Elrond would have given Estel sanctuary even if his mother had not been Gilraen, his father Arathorn. Just so he had taken in Legolas at the behest of Gandalf before realizing that his father was Thranduil, King of Greenwood.
Stymied, Saruman let the matter drop, but not before unwittingly undoing the favorable impression that he had earlier created in the mind of Elrond. The elf-lord had wondered at his own reluctance to confide the truth to Saruman. He had been drawn to Saruman only a short while again. Why was he now on his guard? Glancing aslant at the wizard, for a moment he thought Saruman's eyes hooded, as if he had the second, and transparent, eyelid of a lizard or a snake. Elrond shuddered and looked away. After a moment, he looked back. He could see nothing untoward, but he fancied there was a coldness in the wizard's eyes that showed them akin to those of a cold-blooded reptile.
"But I am being unfair," he scolded himself. "It is true that Saruman lacks the warmth of Mithrandir, but these two have taken upon themselves the form of Men, who are not all alike. Some Men are personable; some less so. Indeed, not all Elves are alike in that respect. Erestor seems rigid and inflexible, whilst Glorfindel's appears to more tolerant and has an easy manner. Yet they are both worthy Elves."
Occupying himself with these thoughts, Elrond walked on until he and all his friends arrived at Isengard and came beneath the shadow of the great tower of Orthanc.