Insert standard disclaimer. I don't own any of the people portrayed here.
I don't own Middle earth. I do own my original characters, and they amuse
me to no end…. Sometimes too much, actually.
Notes: No. I am not a Psych major, or involved in that industry at all. I am just a sick individual. That's all. ::snickers::
Ayod: Well, he means business. You'll see. He gets the first blow in here.
Nuniel: Yes, they were friends, but they weren't "Friends" in a wink wink nudge nudge say no more gov'ner way, if that's what you mean. Of course, how hard would it be for you to restrain yourself from beating a "friend" who was basically raping you every night?
Nancing Elf: Thank you! I really appreciate your comments. I hope I can keep it up for you and make you happy. (Boy, that sounded bad, didn't it?)
Treehugger: I'm glad that Jasta and I have this going too. I am so totally blown away by her skill and talent. I want to be her when I grow up. Until then, I'll just have to keep plugging away at this….
Jastaelf… ::slaps down cards:: I'll see your Chapter 7 and raise you one. Please feel free to blow me away with Chapter 8 of "Dark Leaf". (If you haven't read her stuff, go now!!!!)
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Morning dawned, clear and while not warm, not as cold as it had been. Spring was not yet here, but there was a slight promise of her coming in the air. Legolas felt the creature stir next to him, throwing an arm around his waist and drawing him closer. He closed his eyes and steeled himself for the creature's affections, not wanting to think about what had come to pass the night before.
However today, at least for the creature, was not a day to be wasted on such things. With a quick nuzzle to the back of the neck and the daily pat on the head, the creature rolled out of the bed and strode heavily into his chambers, yelling for his riding leathers. Legolas could hear the footsteps of his menservants, running to obey his every command. Anyone who lingered would feel the wrath of the king, and possibly the back of his hand. He had garnered a reputation in the past months of mercurial moods as well as swift and cruel punishments.
Legolas waited silently for the chaos next door to cease. There was much talk and laughter, so he doubted that they could hear anything he did, but he wanted no attention drawn to him at all this day. It would suit him well if they all forgot he existed.
When it was at last quiet, he climbed out of the bed and slowly walked to the mirror. His eyes fell the base and then slowly to the legs of the woman there. His eyes traveled up to where his hand touched hers, and then he wrenched his gaze from the scene in front of him and to the door. "I'm sorry", he said to her, not wanting to hurt her more than she had already been, "but I cannot look at you. I am afraid I will only see myself, and I think that would finish me."
He glided swiftly to the door to the sitting room, not looking back to the woman that he knew watched him with a sad countenance. With a soft rap on the door, he summoned a maid.
The door flew open and Clotild bustled in, carrying fresh clothing.
He grabbed the maid's shoulders as she tried to push past and made her meet his eyes. "Clotild. I need your help. There is something I must do. Urgently."
Clotild froze, and looked back over her shoulder. With the heel of her foot she deftly reached behind her and closed the door to the sitting room so that they were alone. "What would you have of me, Lady?" He had never noticed how lovely she was before, with her curling hair and eyes that snapped with sharp intelligence.
"I need to get into Davyn's workshop. I…" His tongue froze and his expression became pained. With a deep breath, he tried again. "I cannot tell you why, but I must get in there. There is something I must do."
The maid met his eyes and held them, not queen to servant, but soul to soul, searching for something. After a long moment Clotild spoke in the barest whisper. "I know that you are not happy here. I see it in your eyes. But if I help you escape, my life is forfeit."
Legolas whispered back, hearing activity behind the closed door. They had only a few moments of privacy left. "I promise you, the only thing I am trying to escape is this." He fingered the collar around his neck as he spoke. "I will not betray you. But I must do this."
Clotild searched his eyes again as she pondered, and then turned back to the door, taking the clothing with her. He could hear her speak sharply to the lesser servants. "The queen is indisposed, and will be returning to bed to rest. She has no need of any of you. Leave us." There was a confused chattering, and then slowly silence.
He held tight to the back of the chair and waited, and when the door opened again to admit Clotild and Lanelese, their faces were serious and grim. Clotild held in her hand a dress of rough homespun, and Lanelese a hooded cloak. His knees went weak in relief as he realized that they would help him.
Lanelese quietly walked behind Legolas, and gently brushed and braided his hair into a long plait down his back. She spoke quietly as she did this, her voice subdued. "They are down in the main courtyard now, preparing to go forth to ride. I will go now and find out, if I can, how long they will be gone, and if Davyn is with them." She paused while she bound the end of the plait with a scrap of leather. "I'm sure he is. He never stays behind." With this, the small blonde woman ran to the door, looked carefully around it before she opened it fully, and then disappeared.
Clotilde helped him put the rough dress on, and laced it firmly. It was ill fitting, but most servants' garb was.
"Do you know where Davyn's room is?" Legolas asked her quietly.
Clotild looked nervous, but nodded. "He has rooms and a workshop in the next wing. There is only one guard in between here and there, and I think we can get by him easily enough."
Lanelese ran into the room, her pale skin flushed from running. "They have gone. I watched them all mount their horses and ride towards the gates. There is every indication they will be gone for hours. The day is pleasant and bright, and they took food with them. The mage is with them."
Things were going very well. "Is Valda still with Arnlaug?" Legolas asked.
Clotild nodded, grief evident in the way her head moved. "Yes. He is failing, and she has yet to leave his side. Few knew that they had such affection for each other. They hid it so well."
Legolas shook his head. "He is a good man, and they both deserve to be happy with each other."
The maids simply nodded, their tension visible in the way they held their bodies.
Clotild held out the cloak and wrapped Legolas in it, pulling the hood over the blonde hair. "We shall try to simply walk past the guard, My Lady. He often sees Lanelese and myself walking together, so perhaps he will think that you are just another servant out with me." She adjusted plain and unremarkable dress, and then the cloak. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes. I must. I cannot tell you why, but I must."
Clotild nodded. "Lanelese will stay here and guard your chambers. If anyone comes, she will tell them you are sleeping and send them away."
The blonde maid nodded vigorously. "I will wait here for you, My Lady. Good luck for whatever it is you do."
Legolas touched palms with the little maid. "Thank you", he said. And then he and Clotild slipped from the main door into the hallway.
It had been weeks since he had been allowed outside of his rooms, and the hallway loomed large before them. Clotild grabbed his hand and started walking briskly. "Keep your head down. Do not look around or make eye contact with anyone we might meet. Remember, you are a servant on an important errand."
Legolas said nothing, but kept his eyes on the floor as they swiftly approached the guard.
"Hello, Clotild", a male voice suddenly rang out. "Where's your pretty little friend? And who's this?"
The maid slowed, but kept walking. "We're on an important errand, Bryn, what with the chancellor being so ill and the Countess staying with him. Lanelese is still tending the queen, and this is Kristiana. We can't stop right now, but I promise I'll send Lanelese out here to keep you company for a few minutes when I return."
The smile in the guard's voice was unmistakable. "You do that. I so miss her company."
With a quick wave, Clotild began walking briskly again, nearly dragging Legolas with her. "She seems to have a beau in every hallway lately", the maid said quietly as an aside. "I suspect she gives them nothing but smiles and sweet words, yet they still flock to her."
Their steps led down a small staircase, and then into another hall. They moved down to the end of the hallway and stopped before a solid oak door with a large iron lock. Clotild looked carefully to the left, and then to the right, and pulled a pick from her bodice. With practiced skill, she began to manipulate the tumblers in the lock, humming quietly to herself as she did so. Legolas made a mental note to ask her where she had learned to do such a thing.
With an audible "clink" the lock was defeated and she slowly opened the door, hinges sofly creaking. "My Lady", whispered Clotild, "this is where I leave you. They cannot punish you if they find you here. Me…." She left the sentence unfinished and Legolas nodded.
"I understand. Go, and thank you." He touched palms with her briefly, and then watched as the maid made a gesture of luck and then silently padded back down the hall. Legolas took a deep breath and ducked into the room, closing the door behind him.
It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the gloom before he found himself in a sitting room much like his own. A quick inspection of the room showed nothing untoward in its furnishings. The next door revealed a bedchamber, plainly decorated.
Partially hidden behind a tapestry, there was another doorway, this one of heavy oak. He tugged on the handle a few times, but the door was locked. Eyes shut in thought, he wished that he had told Clotild to wait in the hallway. Surely she could have picked this lock as well.
He opened his eyes and looked around the room, deep in thought. ::He thinks that he has defeated us all, and that he is so much smarter than the rest of us. If he had a key to this room here, he would hide it in plain sight, all the better to spite us::
His gaze rested upon tapestry next to the door. ::The key would be hidden in plain sight:: With a shaking hand he felt the edge of the tapestry, feeling the folded back edge of the fabric, and the small area between the woven scene and the backing. He felt down the edge, all the way to the floor, before his hand finally encountered something solid and unyielding. ::There we are.::
He drew the key out of a gap in the seams and placed it into the lock. It turned slowly, ponderously, yet it still turned, until the lock slipped free with a soft click. With a soft push, the door swung opened silently on well-oiled hinges.
The room was circular, and large with high ceilings. This was obviously one of the towers and had been converted for just this usage. Opaque glass filled the high windows, giving privacy, but still allowing the light to filter down into the workshop.
The walls were lined with workbenches, strewn with pieces of metal and stone, and other things. Bookshelves were on the far wall, and in the fireplace there was a small forge, such as jewelers would use. There were other tools for the working of metal and stone hung neatly upon the wall as well.
Above his head hung a contraption of gold wire and crystals. It swung and dipped in the air currents of the room, and seemed to be almost an artwork. But there was something strange about it. Standing on tiptoe, Legolas put out a cautious hand to touch one of the crystals as it slowly danced by.
Pain. Fear. Agony. Confusion. The elf's eyes widened as he jerked his hand back as though it had been burned. The impressions were sharp and clear in his mind.
Forehead drawn up in confusion, he touched another crystal, this time with a more delicate contact. Fire. Fear. Pain. Fear. Loss. Fear. A child crying.
He drew back from the thing and studied it. ::This means something. This is a clue to the riddle. But what is it?::
He drew off the cloak and hood and laid it across the end of the workbench. Walking softly, his steps took him to the center of the room where a large round table stood. A high stool was tucked up underneath it.
In the center of the table was an apparatus that drew his attention. A beautifully worked likeness of a man lay on its back, head and feet resting on two small supports that hung from the ceiling, the middle part of its body hanging over the opening between them. Under the doll rested a bowl of a foul black liquid.
Legolas moved closer, and realized whom the manikin represented. The stocky build and strong muscles of the body that were so finely wrought in gold were set off by hair and features done in silver. "Arnlaug." The name fell from his lips, and the sound of his voice in the silence caused him to start.
Over the doll had been draped what appeared to be long threads of silk with heavy stones attached on either end. Each stone bore a glyph in some strange language. There were so many stones with such weight hanging from the small likeness of the chancellor that the soft metal had bent and the doll teetered upon the edges of its supports. It was as if it was hanging on with a tenacity that was mirrored by the one whom it represented.
A few more stones lay on the table, obviously waiting to be piled onto the waiting doll and send it plummeting into the basin. ::Trinkets and toys, indeed. I would fear the children who would play with such as this::
He reached out a tentative hand, and then drew back. ::I may cause more harm than good by touching this::
The worktable was covered with other items as well. There was intricately wrought jewelry, daggers, and other things that he knew not what they were, but one thing in particular caught his eye. It was a golden collar, exactly the same as the one he wore on his own neck, but much smaller. ::It is as if it is for a child:: He fingered the collar around his own neck unconsciously as his blood turned to ice. ::If I had no reason before, this would give me all the reason I need to kill him in cold blood. I will never let him have any child to control, much less one of my body. I would rather my child raised by orcs than under the influence of this monster::
The elf stood there for a moment longer, and then turned and moved to the bookshelf. Scanning the spines, he was shocked to see some tomes that appeared to be written in Quenya, some in Westron, and several in some unknown script. He allowed his finger to touch each book as he tried to read the titles.
The Elvish books would not hold what he needed. It was not in his people's nature to make such dark magics, nor to do them with such materials as metal and stone. The Westron gave him pause, but he continued on. ::The only ones I think who would know of such arts would be the Dwarves, but they do not embrace the dark magics either.:: He paused for a moment, hand still on the tome when he was saddened. ::I wish Gimli were here. He could help me ferret out this secret, and his presence would make this easier to bear.::
With a sad shake of his head, the elf returned to his search. The next several books were in some arcane language, and unreadable. He had almost turned away when his eyes were drawn to a small book, half hidden behind the others.
It was no bigger than his spread out hand, and bound in leather that was more the color of dried blood than anything else. But the most disturbing thing was that it was cold to the touch. The evil and malice that dwelt in the torc that rested around Aragorn's neck was similar in feel to this book.
Legolas wrapped his hands with the rough fabric of his skirt and using nothing but his fingertips, took the book from the shelf. He carried it quickly to the worktable in the middle of the room, tossed it down and regarded it as he would a poisonous snake.
His eyes looked again to the doll suspended above his unhappy fate, and then to the small golden collar, and then back to the book. Wrapping his hand again in the skirt, he looked around the table and picked up a small dagger that was lying there. He used the point of the dagger to gingerly open the cover of the book, but still winced when the cold traveled up the metal of the dagger and through the material, into his bones.
The writing within was a strange, painful language, and Legolas had seen it before. "The Black Speech." The sound of his voice echoed in the empty room, and made him start despite himself.
After a quick look around to the room to confirm he was alone, he turned his attention back to the book in front of him. While he could not read most of the script therein, he did determine that it bore a shocking similarity to Elvish. A word or two could be discerned, but not enough to make any sense. Using the tip of the dagger, he turned the pages and studied the pictures that were there. One was chillingly familiar, showing much the same scene as the small doll in front of him.
He used the dagger to trace out the words on the picture and then turned his eyes back to the stones that weighed the small metal body down. ::Age and sickness. That is what the glyphs spell out. Age and sickness will bear him down into his death, and look completely natural:: He lifted his hand to the dangling stones, but stopped. ::Anything I do may change the balance and cause him to plummet into the darkness, but I can think of no other way to save him:: He looked back into the book, but there were no answers forthcoming.
He turned another page, and then another, trying to find anything of value, but he was unable to make any sense of the vast majority of it.
It was as he was so engrossed in his search for answers that he did not hear the soft step of another in the outer rooms, or the sound of the door softly opening into the room.
"Did no one ever teach you that you should not touch what does not belong to you?"
Legolas looked up in shock, and saw Davyn standing in the doorway. He then checked the position of the sunlight that shone through the windows. It had not even been an hour since he had left. "You are back early, My Lord Mage", he said quietly.
"Indeed. It seems that I have come in just in time. Perhaps my horse should throw a shoe more often." The mage walked to stand at the table next to Legolas. With a quick movement he snatched up the book, closed it firmly and then walked to the bookshelf.
"You are from Mordor." The words escaped the elf's lips unbidden and hung in the air between the two of them, a statement of fact and an accusation.
The mage placed the book back into its original place and then turned to face Legolas. His brown eyes were cold. "No. If you must know, I'm from farther east, but my people served Mordor."
"You told Aragorn that your people were killed in the war." Legolas stood straight and met the cold eyes.
The mage walked back to the table and stood next to the elf. "My people WERE killed in the war. I just never said which side killed them." Davyn ran his finger under a single thread of silk and lifted a pair of stones from the tabletop.
With a swift motion, Legolas snatched the stones from the finger and hurled them across the room.
The mage laughed silently, but his eyes did not smile. "Why are you here? Did you think you could come upon me unawares and kill me? Or were you looking for some way to defeat me?"
"Perhaps." Legolas watched the mage closely.
"Then you are a fool. Even if you could find something, what could you do? You cannot act against me, nor can you tell anyone. Of all those I count as dangerous to my plans, you are nothing. You are less than nothing, actually." The mage barked a laugh and leaned against the table, crossing his arms in front of him. "In fact, if I were looking for a confidant, you would be the perfect choice. You would never be able to tell anyone what I was planning." He chuckled at his own great humor.
The elf remained still and silent, waiting. Perhaps Davyn would let something slip as he gloated.
The mage continued after a moment "I have you bound so tightly that you could never do anything to me. You know this, you feel it." He looked closely at the elf, and then smirked even more. "And now this body has imprisoned you even more than I."
"I know not of what you speak." Legolas felt the words leave his mouth, and fall flat in the air.
"I thought elves were the type to look into themselves and see clearly what lay there. Perhaps you do not do so because you do not wish to see the truth." Davyn looked positively feral now. "The king tells me everything about you. How your skin feels, how your mouth tastes, how your hair smells. I'm rather sick of it. But when he told me about last night, I was amused."
Legolas felt his eyes narrow and his grip tighten on the dagger that had been forgotten in his grasp. "I'm glad my distress amuses you."
"Distress?" The mage leaned in closer. "I doubt it was distress that made you react the way you did. Did you not enjoy putting those scratches into his back? Was it distress that made you cry out his name or wrap your legs around him?"
He smiled even wider when Legolas closed his eyes in shame, and continued. "And the most wonderful thing about it all is that as much as you hate enjoying what he does to you, he hates enjoying doing it to you. His innermost self cringes every time his body touches you. His soul is tormented by what he does, but he cannot stop it." The mage leaned back again. "And that is my perfect revenge. To turn him into something so perverted and twisted that he cannot bear himself. To hear his soul weep in pain as he realizes what I have made him become. For him to realize that I will do the same to his children, and live off of them for many years after he dies."
"You hate with such vigor, Davyn. Why?" Legolas whispered the words through his own shock.
"I have nothing left but hate, little elf. It consumes my days." He paused and then continued. "I need you in order to stay alive, I did not lie about that, but the fire of my hatred would keep me going for quite a while without you, I think."
Legolas narrowed his eyes and spoke in a voice that would have frozen anyone else with fear. "I will stop you and I will kill you. Your blood will fall on bare stone and be wasted. In your death, nothing will find life, and your essence will cease to be."
Davyn threw his head back and laughed. The sound rang off the stone walls, causing echoes to rain back down upon them. "You can try. In fact, you can try now with that dagger you have in your hand." The mage pulled open his robe to expose his chest. Legolas was surprised to see that the tattoos that covered Davyn's arms appeared to crawl upon his torso as well. "Come now, little one. That dagger in your hand I made myself, and the edge is as keen as any elven blade. Hurt me, little one. Kill me. Make me feel pain, if you can."
His hands wavering, Legolas raised the dagger and stared at the chest in front of him. He could see the pulse in the mage's neck, the soft area between the ribs where he could slip his blade and stop a beating heart. But he already knew he would be unable to do anything to the mage who stood before him and laughed.
With a swift motion, Legolas then turned and slashed the blade across the worktable, across the silk threads on the heavy stones that drained the life from the Chancellor of Gondor. The blade was indeed as keen as an elven blade, and the threads gave no resistance, but parted neatly and without effort causing the stones to fall into the basin below. The little man swayed for a second, but remained on his platforms, and seemed to straighten in front of Legolas' eyes.
The mage let out a roar of anger, and Legolas turned to see the young face with the curly brown hair and large brown eyes so transformed with rage that it was unrecognizable. The eyes blazed red, and the mouth was drawn up into a snarl of anger. The skin was no longer youthful or smooth, but wrinkled and grey with age.
He was so distracted by the sudden change in the Davyn's appearance that he did not see the hand that swung around until it hit him with such force as to knock him to the floor.
"Do you", raged the mage as he bent over the elf, "know how much of my energy I put into that spell?"
Legolas licked a trickle of blood from his lip. "I have an idea."
The mage straddled the elf, and raised his hand to the blue stone on the pale neck, and then paused. The face had returned almost to its previous state. "I will enjoy killing you, you know. When I kill him, I will kill you as well. I will take all your life, all your magic, all your essence at once, and leave you there limp and dead beside him, and then I will tell everyone that you died of grief. He will die knowing he was a monster, and you will die knowing that you were unable to help him." The smile the mage gave was almost sweet. "I look forward to it." And then he touched the stone.
Blue. The world was blue again, and he was himself again. It was almost a foreign sensation to look down and see his male body after all this time, but it was a relief as well. ::I am still here:: he thought.
His breath came in ragged pants as he braced himself for what was to come, and then he noticed it. There within him was a spark. It appeared to be almost a faint star, glowing with an energy that belied its smallness.
Instinctively, he grasped it and pulled it deep inside, giving protection against the wind that swirled around him and sent icy fingers into his heart, and pulled the life away from him.. It had taken him days to recover from the last time this happened, but he had no intention of allowing the innocent inside to come to harm.
He pushed it even deeper inside as his limbs went numb and he fell to the blue sands, and then curled himself around it, shielding it.
He was aware of Davyn leaning backwards, a grim smile on his once again youthful face. For once the smile extended to the eyes. Then the world went black.
He was unaware when the mage carefully picked him up and carried him from the workshop, through the empty halls and back to the Queen's chambers.
Nor was he aware when Lanelese opened the door to his chambers and saw the mage holding the limp elf. Her blue eyes went large and round, and she held her hand to her mouth and gasped.
"I think you have lost something." Davyn smiled down at the small maid. "I would suggest you keep a tighter hold on the King's possessions lest you lose your own life in the process."
Clotild ran up behind the blonde maid. "Is she alright? What happened?"
The mage smiled grimly. "Nothing happened." He fixed the brunette with a steely gaze. "Nothing happened at all. Breeding women swoon all the time. Let her rest and she will be fine."
He walked across the room and placed the limp body into one of the chairs. "The child simply drains her. She'll be fine in a few days."
The maids looked at each other in confusion as he left the room, chuckling to himself all the while.
Notes: No. I am not a Psych major, or involved in that industry at all. I am just a sick individual. That's all. ::snickers::
Ayod: Well, he means business. You'll see. He gets the first blow in here.
Nuniel: Yes, they were friends, but they weren't "Friends" in a wink wink nudge nudge say no more gov'ner way, if that's what you mean. Of course, how hard would it be for you to restrain yourself from beating a "friend" who was basically raping you every night?
Nancing Elf: Thank you! I really appreciate your comments. I hope I can keep it up for you and make you happy. (Boy, that sounded bad, didn't it?)
Treehugger: I'm glad that Jasta and I have this going too. I am so totally blown away by her skill and talent. I want to be her when I grow up. Until then, I'll just have to keep plugging away at this….
Jastaelf… ::slaps down cards:: I'll see your Chapter 7 and raise you one. Please feel free to blow me away with Chapter 8 of "Dark Leaf". (If you haven't read her stuff, go now!!!!)
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Morning dawned, clear and while not warm, not as cold as it had been. Spring was not yet here, but there was a slight promise of her coming in the air. Legolas felt the creature stir next to him, throwing an arm around his waist and drawing him closer. He closed his eyes and steeled himself for the creature's affections, not wanting to think about what had come to pass the night before.
However today, at least for the creature, was not a day to be wasted on such things. With a quick nuzzle to the back of the neck and the daily pat on the head, the creature rolled out of the bed and strode heavily into his chambers, yelling for his riding leathers. Legolas could hear the footsteps of his menservants, running to obey his every command. Anyone who lingered would feel the wrath of the king, and possibly the back of his hand. He had garnered a reputation in the past months of mercurial moods as well as swift and cruel punishments.
Legolas waited silently for the chaos next door to cease. There was much talk and laughter, so he doubted that they could hear anything he did, but he wanted no attention drawn to him at all this day. It would suit him well if they all forgot he existed.
When it was at last quiet, he climbed out of the bed and slowly walked to the mirror. His eyes fell the base and then slowly to the legs of the woman there. His eyes traveled up to where his hand touched hers, and then he wrenched his gaze from the scene in front of him and to the door. "I'm sorry", he said to her, not wanting to hurt her more than she had already been, "but I cannot look at you. I am afraid I will only see myself, and I think that would finish me."
He glided swiftly to the door to the sitting room, not looking back to the woman that he knew watched him with a sad countenance. With a soft rap on the door, he summoned a maid.
The door flew open and Clotild bustled in, carrying fresh clothing.
He grabbed the maid's shoulders as she tried to push past and made her meet his eyes. "Clotild. I need your help. There is something I must do. Urgently."
Clotild froze, and looked back over her shoulder. With the heel of her foot she deftly reached behind her and closed the door to the sitting room so that they were alone. "What would you have of me, Lady?" He had never noticed how lovely she was before, with her curling hair and eyes that snapped with sharp intelligence.
"I need to get into Davyn's workshop. I…" His tongue froze and his expression became pained. With a deep breath, he tried again. "I cannot tell you why, but I must get in there. There is something I must do."
The maid met his eyes and held them, not queen to servant, but soul to soul, searching for something. After a long moment Clotild spoke in the barest whisper. "I know that you are not happy here. I see it in your eyes. But if I help you escape, my life is forfeit."
Legolas whispered back, hearing activity behind the closed door. They had only a few moments of privacy left. "I promise you, the only thing I am trying to escape is this." He fingered the collar around his neck as he spoke. "I will not betray you. But I must do this."
Clotild searched his eyes again as she pondered, and then turned back to the door, taking the clothing with her. He could hear her speak sharply to the lesser servants. "The queen is indisposed, and will be returning to bed to rest. She has no need of any of you. Leave us." There was a confused chattering, and then slowly silence.
He held tight to the back of the chair and waited, and when the door opened again to admit Clotild and Lanelese, their faces were serious and grim. Clotild held in her hand a dress of rough homespun, and Lanelese a hooded cloak. His knees went weak in relief as he realized that they would help him.
Lanelese quietly walked behind Legolas, and gently brushed and braided his hair into a long plait down his back. She spoke quietly as she did this, her voice subdued. "They are down in the main courtyard now, preparing to go forth to ride. I will go now and find out, if I can, how long they will be gone, and if Davyn is with them." She paused while she bound the end of the plait with a scrap of leather. "I'm sure he is. He never stays behind." With this, the small blonde woman ran to the door, looked carefully around it before she opened it fully, and then disappeared.
Clotilde helped him put the rough dress on, and laced it firmly. It was ill fitting, but most servants' garb was.
"Do you know where Davyn's room is?" Legolas asked her quietly.
Clotild looked nervous, but nodded. "He has rooms and a workshop in the next wing. There is only one guard in between here and there, and I think we can get by him easily enough."
Lanelese ran into the room, her pale skin flushed from running. "They have gone. I watched them all mount their horses and ride towards the gates. There is every indication they will be gone for hours. The day is pleasant and bright, and they took food with them. The mage is with them."
Things were going very well. "Is Valda still with Arnlaug?" Legolas asked.
Clotild nodded, grief evident in the way her head moved. "Yes. He is failing, and she has yet to leave his side. Few knew that they had such affection for each other. They hid it so well."
Legolas shook his head. "He is a good man, and they both deserve to be happy with each other."
The maids simply nodded, their tension visible in the way they held their bodies.
Clotild held out the cloak and wrapped Legolas in it, pulling the hood over the blonde hair. "We shall try to simply walk past the guard, My Lady. He often sees Lanelese and myself walking together, so perhaps he will think that you are just another servant out with me." She adjusted plain and unremarkable dress, and then the cloak. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Yes. I must. I cannot tell you why, but I must."
Clotild nodded. "Lanelese will stay here and guard your chambers. If anyone comes, she will tell them you are sleeping and send them away."
The blonde maid nodded vigorously. "I will wait here for you, My Lady. Good luck for whatever it is you do."
Legolas touched palms with the little maid. "Thank you", he said. And then he and Clotild slipped from the main door into the hallway.
It had been weeks since he had been allowed outside of his rooms, and the hallway loomed large before them. Clotild grabbed his hand and started walking briskly. "Keep your head down. Do not look around or make eye contact with anyone we might meet. Remember, you are a servant on an important errand."
Legolas said nothing, but kept his eyes on the floor as they swiftly approached the guard.
"Hello, Clotild", a male voice suddenly rang out. "Where's your pretty little friend? And who's this?"
The maid slowed, but kept walking. "We're on an important errand, Bryn, what with the chancellor being so ill and the Countess staying with him. Lanelese is still tending the queen, and this is Kristiana. We can't stop right now, but I promise I'll send Lanelese out here to keep you company for a few minutes when I return."
The smile in the guard's voice was unmistakable. "You do that. I so miss her company."
With a quick wave, Clotild began walking briskly again, nearly dragging Legolas with her. "She seems to have a beau in every hallway lately", the maid said quietly as an aside. "I suspect she gives them nothing but smiles and sweet words, yet they still flock to her."
Their steps led down a small staircase, and then into another hall. They moved down to the end of the hallway and stopped before a solid oak door with a large iron lock. Clotild looked carefully to the left, and then to the right, and pulled a pick from her bodice. With practiced skill, she began to manipulate the tumblers in the lock, humming quietly to herself as she did so. Legolas made a mental note to ask her where she had learned to do such a thing.
With an audible "clink" the lock was defeated and she slowly opened the door, hinges sofly creaking. "My Lady", whispered Clotild, "this is where I leave you. They cannot punish you if they find you here. Me…." She left the sentence unfinished and Legolas nodded.
"I understand. Go, and thank you." He touched palms with her briefly, and then watched as the maid made a gesture of luck and then silently padded back down the hall. Legolas took a deep breath and ducked into the room, closing the door behind him.
It took a few moments for his eyes to adjust to the gloom before he found himself in a sitting room much like his own. A quick inspection of the room showed nothing untoward in its furnishings. The next door revealed a bedchamber, plainly decorated.
Partially hidden behind a tapestry, there was another doorway, this one of heavy oak. He tugged on the handle a few times, but the door was locked. Eyes shut in thought, he wished that he had told Clotild to wait in the hallway. Surely she could have picked this lock as well.
He opened his eyes and looked around the room, deep in thought. ::He thinks that he has defeated us all, and that he is so much smarter than the rest of us. If he had a key to this room here, he would hide it in plain sight, all the better to spite us::
His gaze rested upon tapestry next to the door. ::The key would be hidden in plain sight:: With a shaking hand he felt the edge of the tapestry, feeling the folded back edge of the fabric, and the small area between the woven scene and the backing. He felt down the edge, all the way to the floor, before his hand finally encountered something solid and unyielding. ::There we are.::
He drew the key out of a gap in the seams and placed it into the lock. It turned slowly, ponderously, yet it still turned, until the lock slipped free with a soft click. With a soft push, the door swung opened silently on well-oiled hinges.
The room was circular, and large with high ceilings. This was obviously one of the towers and had been converted for just this usage. Opaque glass filled the high windows, giving privacy, but still allowing the light to filter down into the workshop.
The walls were lined with workbenches, strewn with pieces of metal and stone, and other things. Bookshelves were on the far wall, and in the fireplace there was a small forge, such as jewelers would use. There were other tools for the working of metal and stone hung neatly upon the wall as well.
Above his head hung a contraption of gold wire and crystals. It swung and dipped in the air currents of the room, and seemed to be almost an artwork. But there was something strange about it. Standing on tiptoe, Legolas put out a cautious hand to touch one of the crystals as it slowly danced by.
Pain. Fear. Agony. Confusion. The elf's eyes widened as he jerked his hand back as though it had been burned. The impressions were sharp and clear in his mind.
Forehead drawn up in confusion, he touched another crystal, this time with a more delicate contact. Fire. Fear. Pain. Fear. Loss. Fear. A child crying.
He drew back from the thing and studied it. ::This means something. This is a clue to the riddle. But what is it?::
He drew off the cloak and hood and laid it across the end of the workbench. Walking softly, his steps took him to the center of the room where a large round table stood. A high stool was tucked up underneath it.
In the center of the table was an apparatus that drew his attention. A beautifully worked likeness of a man lay on its back, head and feet resting on two small supports that hung from the ceiling, the middle part of its body hanging over the opening between them. Under the doll rested a bowl of a foul black liquid.
Legolas moved closer, and realized whom the manikin represented. The stocky build and strong muscles of the body that were so finely wrought in gold were set off by hair and features done in silver. "Arnlaug." The name fell from his lips, and the sound of his voice in the silence caused him to start.
Over the doll had been draped what appeared to be long threads of silk with heavy stones attached on either end. Each stone bore a glyph in some strange language. There were so many stones with such weight hanging from the small likeness of the chancellor that the soft metal had bent and the doll teetered upon the edges of its supports. It was as if it was hanging on with a tenacity that was mirrored by the one whom it represented.
A few more stones lay on the table, obviously waiting to be piled onto the waiting doll and send it plummeting into the basin. ::Trinkets and toys, indeed. I would fear the children who would play with such as this::
He reached out a tentative hand, and then drew back. ::I may cause more harm than good by touching this::
The worktable was covered with other items as well. There was intricately wrought jewelry, daggers, and other things that he knew not what they were, but one thing in particular caught his eye. It was a golden collar, exactly the same as the one he wore on his own neck, but much smaller. ::It is as if it is for a child:: He fingered the collar around his own neck unconsciously as his blood turned to ice. ::If I had no reason before, this would give me all the reason I need to kill him in cold blood. I will never let him have any child to control, much less one of my body. I would rather my child raised by orcs than under the influence of this monster::
The elf stood there for a moment longer, and then turned and moved to the bookshelf. Scanning the spines, he was shocked to see some tomes that appeared to be written in Quenya, some in Westron, and several in some unknown script. He allowed his finger to touch each book as he tried to read the titles.
The Elvish books would not hold what he needed. It was not in his people's nature to make such dark magics, nor to do them with such materials as metal and stone. The Westron gave him pause, but he continued on. ::The only ones I think who would know of such arts would be the Dwarves, but they do not embrace the dark magics either.:: He paused for a moment, hand still on the tome when he was saddened. ::I wish Gimli were here. He could help me ferret out this secret, and his presence would make this easier to bear.::
With a sad shake of his head, the elf returned to his search. The next several books were in some arcane language, and unreadable. He had almost turned away when his eyes were drawn to a small book, half hidden behind the others.
It was no bigger than his spread out hand, and bound in leather that was more the color of dried blood than anything else. But the most disturbing thing was that it was cold to the touch. The evil and malice that dwelt in the torc that rested around Aragorn's neck was similar in feel to this book.
Legolas wrapped his hands with the rough fabric of his skirt and using nothing but his fingertips, took the book from the shelf. He carried it quickly to the worktable in the middle of the room, tossed it down and regarded it as he would a poisonous snake.
His eyes looked again to the doll suspended above his unhappy fate, and then to the small golden collar, and then back to the book. Wrapping his hand again in the skirt, he looked around the table and picked up a small dagger that was lying there. He used the point of the dagger to gingerly open the cover of the book, but still winced when the cold traveled up the metal of the dagger and through the material, into his bones.
The writing within was a strange, painful language, and Legolas had seen it before. "The Black Speech." The sound of his voice echoed in the empty room, and made him start despite himself.
After a quick look around to the room to confirm he was alone, he turned his attention back to the book in front of him. While he could not read most of the script therein, he did determine that it bore a shocking similarity to Elvish. A word or two could be discerned, but not enough to make any sense. Using the tip of the dagger, he turned the pages and studied the pictures that were there. One was chillingly familiar, showing much the same scene as the small doll in front of him.
He used the dagger to trace out the words on the picture and then turned his eyes back to the stones that weighed the small metal body down. ::Age and sickness. That is what the glyphs spell out. Age and sickness will bear him down into his death, and look completely natural:: He lifted his hand to the dangling stones, but stopped. ::Anything I do may change the balance and cause him to plummet into the darkness, but I can think of no other way to save him:: He looked back into the book, but there were no answers forthcoming.
He turned another page, and then another, trying to find anything of value, but he was unable to make any sense of the vast majority of it.
It was as he was so engrossed in his search for answers that he did not hear the soft step of another in the outer rooms, or the sound of the door softly opening into the room.
"Did no one ever teach you that you should not touch what does not belong to you?"
Legolas looked up in shock, and saw Davyn standing in the doorway. He then checked the position of the sunlight that shone through the windows. It had not even been an hour since he had left. "You are back early, My Lord Mage", he said quietly.
"Indeed. It seems that I have come in just in time. Perhaps my horse should throw a shoe more often." The mage walked to stand at the table next to Legolas. With a quick movement he snatched up the book, closed it firmly and then walked to the bookshelf.
"You are from Mordor." The words escaped the elf's lips unbidden and hung in the air between the two of them, a statement of fact and an accusation.
The mage placed the book back into its original place and then turned to face Legolas. His brown eyes were cold. "No. If you must know, I'm from farther east, but my people served Mordor."
"You told Aragorn that your people were killed in the war." Legolas stood straight and met the cold eyes.
The mage walked back to the table and stood next to the elf. "My people WERE killed in the war. I just never said which side killed them." Davyn ran his finger under a single thread of silk and lifted a pair of stones from the tabletop.
With a swift motion, Legolas snatched the stones from the finger and hurled them across the room.
The mage laughed silently, but his eyes did not smile. "Why are you here? Did you think you could come upon me unawares and kill me? Or were you looking for some way to defeat me?"
"Perhaps." Legolas watched the mage closely.
"Then you are a fool. Even if you could find something, what could you do? You cannot act against me, nor can you tell anyone. Of all those I count as dangerous to my plans, you are nothing. You are less than nothing, actually." The mage barked a laugh and leaned against the table, crossing his arms in front of him. "In fact, if I were looking for a confidant, you would be the perfect choice. You would never be able to tell anyone what I was planning." He chuckled at his own great humor.
The elf remained still and silent, waiting. Perhaps Davyn would let something slip as he gloated.
The mage continued after a moment "I have you bound so tightly that you could never do anything to me. You know this, you feel it." He looked closely at the elf, and then smirked even more. "And now this body has imprisoned you even more than I."
"I know not of what you speak." Legolas felt the words leave his mouth, and fall flat in the air.
"I thought elves were the type to look into themselves and see clearly what lay there. Perhaps you do not do so because you do not wish to see the truth." Davyn looked positively feral now. "The king tells me everything about you. How your skin feels, how your mouth tastes, how your hair smells. I'm rather sick of it. But when he told me about last night, I was amused."
Legolas felt his eyes narrow and his grip tighten on the dagger that had been forgotten in his grasp. "I'm glad my distress amuses you."
"Distress?" The mage leaned in closer. "I doubt it was distress that made you react the way you did. Did you not enjoy putting those scratches into his back? Was it distress that made you cry out his name or wrap your legs around him?"
He smiled even wider when Legolas closed his eyes in shame, and continued. "And the most wonderful thing about it all is that as much as you hate enjoying what he does to you, he hates enjoying doing it to you. His innermost self cringes every time his body touches you. His soul is tormented by what he does, but he cannot stop it." The mage leaned back again. "And that is my perfect revenge. To turn him into something so perverted and twisted that he cannot bear himself. To hear his soul weep in pain as he realizes what I have made him become. For him to realize that I will do the same to his children, and live off of them for many years after he dies."
"You hate with such vigor, Davyn. Why?" Legolas whispered the words through his own shock.
"I have nothing left but hate, little elf. It consumes my days." He paused and then continued. "I need you in order to stay alive, I did not lie about that, but the fire of my hatred would keep me going for quite a while without you, I think."
Legolas narrowed his eyes and spoke in a voice that would have frozen anyone else with fear. "I will stop you and I will kill you. Your blood will fall on bare stone and be wasted. In your death, nothing will find life, and your essence will cease to be."
Davyn threw his head back and laughed. The sound rang off the stone walls, causing echoes to rain back down upon them. "You can try. In fact, you can try now with that dagger you have in your hand." The mage pulled open his robe to expose his chest. Legolas was surprised to see that the tattoos that covered Davyn's arms appeared to crawl upon his torso as well. "Come now, little one. That dagger in your hand I made myself, and the edge is as keen as any elven blade. Hurt me, little one. Kill me. Make me feel pain, if you can."
His hands wavering, Legolas raised the dagger and stared at the chest in front of him. He could see the pulse in the mage's neck, the soft area between the ribs where he could slip his blade and stop a beating heart. But he already knew he would be unable to do anything to the mage who stood before him and laughed.
With a swift motion, Legolas then turned and slashed the blade across the worktable, across the silk threads on the heavy stones that drained the life from the Chancellor of Gondor. The blade was indeed as keen as an elven blade, and the threads gave no resistance, but parted neatly and without effort causing the stones to fall into the basin below. The little man swayed for a second, but remained on his platforms, and seemed to straighten in front of Legolas' eyes.
The mage let out a roar of anger, and Legolas turned to see the young face with the curly brown hair and large brown eyes so transformed with rage that it was unrecognizable. The eyes blazed red, and the mouth was drawn up into a snarl of anger. The skin was no longer youthful or smooth, but wrinkled and grey with age.
He was so distracted by the sudden change in the Davyn's appearance that he did not see the hand that swung around until it hit him with such force as to knock him to the floor.
"Do you", raged the mage as he bent over the elf, "know how much of my energy I put into that spell?"
Legolas licked a trickle of blood from his lip. "I have an idea."
The mage straddled the elf, and raised his hand to the blue stone on the pale neck, and then paused. The face had returned almost to its previous state. "I will enjoy killing you, you know. When I kill him, I will kill you as well. I will take all your life, all your magic, all your essence at once, and leave you there limp and dead beside him, and then I will tell everyone that you died of grief. He will die knowing he was a monster, and you will die knowing that you were unable to help him." The smile the mage gave was almost sweet. "I look forward to it." And then he touched the stone.
Blue. The world was blue again, and he was himself again. It was almost a foreign sensation to look down and see his male body after all this time, but it was a relief as well. ::I am still here:: he thought.
His breath came in ragged pants as he braced himself for what was to come, and then he noticed it. There within him was a spark. It appeared to be almost a faint star, glowing with an energy that belied its smallness.
Instinctively, he grasped it and pulled it deep inside, giving protection against the wind that swirled around him and sent icy fingers into his heart, and pulled the life away from him.. It had taken him days to recover from the last time this happened, but he had no intention of allowing the innocent inside to come to harm.
He pushed it even deeper inside as his limbs went numb and he fell to the blue sands, and then curled himself around it, shielding it.
He was aware of Davyn leaning backwards, a grim smile on his once again youthful face. For once the smile extended to the eyes. Then the world went black.
He was unaware when the mage carefully picked him up and carried him from the workshop, through the empty halls and back to the Queen's chambers.
Nor was he aware when Lanelese opened the door to his chambers and saw the mage holding the limp elf. Her blue eyes went large and round, and she held her hand to her mouth and gasped.
"I think you have lost something." Davyn smiled down at the small maid. "I would suggest you keep a tighter hold on the King's possessions lest you lose your own life in the process."
Clotild ran up behind the blonde maid. "Is she alright? What happened?"
The mage smiled grimly. "Nothing happened." He fixed the brunette with a steely gaze. "Nothing happened at all. Breeding women swoon all the time. Let her rest and she will be fine."
He walked across the room and placed the limp body into one of the chairs. "The child simply drains her. She'll be fine in a few days."
The maids looked at each other in confusion as he left the room, chuckling to himself all the while.