A/N Thank you to all my readers once again. Less Legomace in this ch I know I know I'm sorry, but it'll come just not yet.
When I awoke I was curled in the fetal position wrapped tightly in a cloak, I felt like a swaddled baby. It took several moments for me to wriggle like a worm and unwind myself. The sun hadn't risen yet but everyone else was also awake and slowly getting ready for the day ahead. It didn't take me long to understand whose cloak I was wrapped in and it caused me to scowl. Daft Elf! Does he think that's all it will take for me to forgive him?
I stretched and stood to my feet my thighs weren't quite so painful but the soreness persisted. The wadded-up garment was the only barrier between Legolas and I as I approached him.
"Thank you Legolas," I stared at his tunic intently refusing to look up at his face as I extended my arms toward him.
He was hesitant to accept it, "Keep it my Lady," he held his palms out.
I huffed in annoyance tossing the garment at him, "I'm not a weak child."
He caught it and quickly tossed it back into my still-open hands, "You are cold." He stated matter-of-factly.
"Piss off," I shrieked tossing the cloak with more force into his hands.
He again threw it back before I had time to back away. I looked up at his face anger coursing through me; his face was a mirror of my own frustration. His brows were furrowed, his breath was slow, deliberate, the cloud of his hot breath was visible. He was clearly cold himself, yet he wanted to treat me as a child. Always tell me what to do. He is the worst Elf.
My arms sagged holding the cloak as I stared at him, I felt as though I was peering into the very heart of Middle-earth. The wilderness, the beauty, and the ancient wisdom of the land seemed to reside in the depths of his gaze. But also the wildness, the unpredictability that Mirkwood Elves were known for.
We held each other's gaze for longer than was appropriate, it was only broken when Aragorn brought the horses and Gandalf announced we would set off again. I forgot my anger, I forgot I was holding a cloak, and when Aragorn went to help me mount the beast I foolishly put the cloak on as if it were my own.
Nestled atop a great hill, the city was a sight to behold, and I again wished to not be on a horse. I held back a groan seeing such uneven terrain. Edoras was encircled by a circular wall of pale stone, which gleamed in the sunlight like a crown upon the hill. The wall was adorned with intricate carvings and symbols, each one a tribute to the horse lords of Rohan. At the city's gate, a massive arch, richly decorated with banners and flags, welcomed visitors into the heart of the city.
The gate creaked eerily as we trotted through as if it rarely welcomed visitors.
"Be careful what you say. Do not look for welcome here." Gandalf spoke from the head of our pack.
Rising above the stone wall was the glittering golden hall of Meduseld, the great hall of the King of Rohan. Its tall, golden spires seemed to touch the sky, and the sunlight played upon its surfaces. It appeared as the sun itself as the morning was cloudy and the sun hid its face from us.
We passed by many people, and I became thankful for the cloak Legolas had forced on me and quickly pulled the hood up and covered as much of my body as possible.
Their attire was humble, and their faces bore the weathered lines of lives spent in the open fields and under the Rohan sun, but their eyes were the same, they all held a distinct judgment and distrust. In the heart of the city, we passed by a lively marketplace where merchants and traders from all corners of Rohan had gathered.
"Fine leather goods for the discerning traveler!" one merchant proclaimed, displaying an array of finely crafted saddles and harnesses.
Stallholders displayed a rich array of goods, from fresh produce to beautifully crafted horseshoes and intricate tapestries. However, their jubilant conversations and haggling quickly turned into hushed conversations and turned backs as we passed by. It reminded me of home, many didn't know how to react when they saw someone like me, so many, awkwardly tried to ignore me, or talked about me as if I wasn't present as they were now.
"Relax," Aragorn bent low to whisper in my ear.
Young Rohirrim, their laughter filling the air, played with wooden swords and practiced their riding skills on makeshift hobbyhorses. These youngsters, the future of the horse lords, displayed their boundless energy and enthusiasm for all things equestrian.
"Defend the city walls!" one young boy called out, his voice filled with youthful enthusiasm. He swung his wooden sword in wide arcs, emulating the heroic knights of Rohan.
A girl with a crown of wildflowers in her hair giggled and responded, "I'm Lady Éowyn, and I'll protect us from the orcs!" She held her stick with determination, bringing her other hand up to her mouth as she giggled.
Another child, pretending to be a mighty orc, roared playfully, "We're coming for you, Rohirrim!" His laughter and exaggerated gestures added a touch of innocence to the mock battle.
All stopped as we came into view, their wide smiles turned into frowns and they abandoned their swords and ran for the alleys. I was hideous. I could never live anywhere I wasn't treated a certain way for my appearance. Here they run from me! They rather play as orcs than see another human with an autoimmune disease.
"You'll find more cheer in a graveyard," Gimli muttered as Legolas picked up his pace and now rode next to us, I could feel his gaze on me even without looking, and pulled the hood down even further. I felt like a vacuum, the people would talk and laugh even but as they caught sight of me it was as if I sucked it out of them, and as we passed by they were empty and cleaned out of any emotion.
The entrance to Meduseld was marked by a grand archway, richly adorned with the banners and flags of Rohan. Flanked by guards who bore the emblems of the King, the archway was a testament to the pride and strength of the Rohirrim.
Aragorn dismounted and extended a hand to help me, which I definitely needed, not only for my bowleggedness but also my lack of vision from practically wearing a blanket on my head.
We walked carefully up the steps; I could feel the Rohirrim crowding around us, guards and peasant folk alike all watching the ugly calico.
"I cannot allow you before Théoden King so armed, Gandalf Greyhame. By order of Gríma Wormtongue."
The guards themselves were tall, stalwart figures, each one a reflection of the honor and loyalty that defined the warriors of Rohan. They wore armor and held their weapons with a sense of duty and readiness. They didn't look as polished as the wardens of the Golden Wood but they definitely looked as fierce.
I felt an arm pulling me back and my hood came up as a result, I kept my eyes down knowing what their reactions would be already.
"Stay behind me," Legolas who held my arm captive, whispered in my direction. I yanked my arm out of his hold with force and glared at the ground. Now everyone saw, if I pulled the cloak back up I'd only draw more attention to myself.
Gandalf nodded toward the group and I heard the clanks of swords and axes hitting the ground and couldn't help but wince.
"Your staff." The guard pointed.
"Hmmm," Gandalf hunched his body slightly, "You would not part an old man from his walking stick would you?"
I looked up in time to see Legolas walk passed me and extend his arm for the old man to hold onto. I felt myself flush thinking about the last time I had clutched onto that same arm for support. The doors to the hall were pushed open and all of my companions stepped forward but me. I felt all of the eyes, none from the remaining Fellowship of course they all walked into the hall, but the peasants, the people, the guards. I felt suffocated and I couldn't will my feet forward.
"My lady, do you request an audience as well?" The guard had asked hesitantly, and when I looked up I noticed he was staring at me as if he wasn't quite sure I was even a lady let alone human. Of course, he felt the need to ask, I didn't look like I belonged with them, I was weak, and unsure.
"No, no thank you, I think I'll just sit if that's alright, we rode long and hard I'm sure you understand." I gave him a shy smile which he returned and nodded gesturing to the steps before him.
I took my seat at the base of the stairs pressed against the railing. The tension in my thighs and calves, which resulted from gripping the horse's sides, was beginning to dissipate. I let out a sigh of relief.
Is that how Legolas sees me? A burdensome child?
"I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound." I heard Gandalf bellow from inside the hall.
I shook my head at myself, I don't belong here. I need to go back to my time; I need to go back to the Golden Wood where at least I can help.
"You did not kill me...you will not kill him."
I nodded to myself glancing once then twice at the horses and shook my head before I began walking blindly down the city of Edoras.
"The King's favor upon you." A woman a few paces in front of me bowed to another in greeting.
Middle-Earth maps are tiny; I remember that much from Dargan's obsession before we came here. It shouldn't be hard to find my way; I was able to come here for a reason, wasn't I?
"May your steed find swift and sure footing." A man hugged a woman tightly before hopping into his saddle and traveling in the same direction I was.
"Get out of my way!" A greasy man ran past me, and I knew I was supposed to follow him. Whoever he was, wherever his bad attitude stemmed from, he would help me to reach my home.
"Hail, Théoden King!" The voices could be heard echoing from the hall as I made my way through the gate and continued following the greasy man.
His complexion was sallow, like a man who had long been deprived of the vitality that graced the people of Rohan. His skin seemed as though it had rarely seen the sun, giving him a sickly pallor that hinted at an unhealthy existence. He walked with a hunch which made his already short stature seem to shrink in on itself.
I was a few yards away from him still when he finally turned to me and shrieked, "Go away!"
I didn't have time to react, why was I even following him? He didn't seem friendly or likable, and he didn't seem as if he would help me go back. His eyes, were perhaps the most disconcerting aspect of his appearance. They were shifty, constantly darting and avoiding direct contact.
But when they roved my form he smiled, his claw-like hand extended and caressed my cheek, "The White Hand," he murmured as his fingers brushed over the discolored skin on my cheek.
I swallowed unsure what to say, how do you politely tell someone to not touch you? Or politely ask someone to take you home when you have nothing to offer in return?
"Gríma Wormtongue," there was a cloying and fawning quality to his speech, as he bowed deeply and became transformed in front of me. No longer was he hunched and full of an awful attitude, he became friendly.
What could you say to make him do as you bid Calli? Could I do the same thing Gandalf did?
"Come along, we are already late," I spoke with confidence, walking passed him.
It worked, the grass beneath our feet swayed in the breeze, a sea of green and gold that whispered secrets carried on the wind. In the distance, the Rohirrim rode gracefully, their powerful horses bearing them with a sense of purpose and strength, a stark contrast to the frail Gríma next to me.
He was much like the Elves in regard to my appearance, treating me with almost a reverence. He mumbled to himself like a patient from the psych ward, but we all have our faults. If Gríma was to take me to the Golden Wood, I would need to be just as confident as Gandalf had been when he all but kidnapped me.
"He did not tell me he could make them so beautiful," he said again reaching a hand out to touch me then pulling away as if to restrain himself. "A far better prize than Éowyn."
I would always reply in the same vague manner Gandalf had with me and it seemed to work, we were walking out into the plains and soon I would be home. "We must hurry," I would dismiss.
"Come now we are late," I said another time.
Dark, hooded figures emerged on the horizon, their ominous silhouettes moving like specters across the land. The sight of them sent shivers down my spine, and I was instantly overcome by an almost paralyzing fear.
"Ah, our ride has arrived." Gríma clasped his hands.
Their long, tattered cloaks billowed in the wind, obscuring their forms and revealing nothing but an empty, shadowy void beneath the hoods. It was as if they were the embodiment of darkness itself, and the world around them seemed to dim in response. The chilling aura that radiated from them felt like a physical weight pressing down on my chest, making it difficult to breathe.
And what they rode, wasn't like anything I have ever seen. Their bodies a grotesque fusion of dragon-like features and vulture-like characteristics. Their forms are twisted and monstrous, with leathery, scaled skin and bony protrusions that create a grotesque and intimidating silhouette. Fellbeasts.
Gríma began walking toward them, extending his arms out as if to embrace them. My feet refused to move, all I could do was stand paralyzed as they drew closer. The Fellbeasts possess wings that are like great, shadowy membranes, reminiscent of a bat's wings. These wings stretch out wide, casting a chilling shadow as they soar through the sky. The sound of the wings beating is a haunting, unnatural noise, like the rustling of death itself.
I willed myself to speak, but could only stutter and whimper incoherent noises.
The first one swooped down and scooped Gríma up in its large claws, while the other two that followed had their eyes on me. I tried to blink, to squeeze my eyes shut, protect myself from the trauma, but even my eyes were immobile in fear. The screech the beast emitted when it reached me was high-pitched, piercing, and filled with an otherworldly quality. It carries a sense of torment and suffering, as though the creature itself is trapped in a never-ending nightmare. The sound is inharmonious, a discordant symphony of anguish and malice that reverberates in the air, making it impossible to ignore or dismiss. So as its claws wrapped around my waist and lifted me into the air I did the only logical thing. I fainted.
My first thought when we landed wasn't 'I'm dead' or 'Oh my God that Gríma guy probably wasn't the one you should have followed," it was 'Ah hell,'
I am ashamed of how much profanity has spewed from my lips and infiltrated my mind. I was crumbled on a balcony, the fellbeasts had long flown away but the fear didn't leave with them. Gríma was almost gleeful as he came to help me to my feet. The dark stone beneath my feet was cool and smooth, reflecting the towering strength and impenetrability of the tower itself.
"What news do you bring me," A voice boomed behind us.
The view from the balcony was a study in contrasts. To the north, the ancient trees of Fangorn Forest stretched out before me, their dense canopy a place of mystery and enchantment. To the south, the desolate plains of Isengard lay spread out, a testament to the industrial might that Saruman had harnessed. I was not supposed to be here. The air was quiet and almost peaceful.
"My Lord, they fear what they do not understand." Gríma's voice held the same fawning it held with me, disgusting.
I took small steps to overlook the edge, as a masochist would of course. The crenelated parapets that enclosed the balcony conveyed both protection and military authority. They were sharp and angular; it was a stark contrast to the railless Golden Wood.
I continued looking around for an escape, the door leading onto the balcony was behind the wizard. It was tall and wide, without any decorative elements, it was clearly designed for security rather than aesthetics.
"-Gandalf the White. Gandalf the Fool! Does he seek to humble me with his newfound piety?" Saruman bellowed.
Calli you fool! How are you going to get out of here?
"There were three who followed the wizard. An Elf, a Dwarf, and a Man." Saruman began to pace, and Gríma followed after him like an obedient little mouse.
He paused his step and looked up, his long hair remained motionless in the breeze, "What have you brought me?"
Think quickly Calli.
He took long strides toward me until he stood in front of me, "She bears your mark," Gríma pointed at my white patches.
Middle-Earth lacks all manner of discretion, I wish desperately to introduce cancel culture to the plains of Rohan.
"My Lord, I've been sent from Barad-dûr," I hesitantly spoke trying desperately to remember all I could from Dargan's rants.
"The Ruler is pleased with you, " I took a deep breath trying to calm my nerves, "Gandalf must be stopped. I made haste but was not quick enough to stop him from bewitching Théoden King," My voice grew in volume and confidence as I noticed how both were hanging onto every one of my words.
"The ruler commands we wait, we hold off all attacks and wait, he also requests two thousand Uruk-hai from your forces to accompany me back on my return journey to the black gate." I turned and faced the horizon, "We must make haste, the Ruler doesn't take well to delays or insubordination."
"Why has he not told me this before?" Saruman spoke from behind me, his voice just as sly as Gríma's.
"He sent me bearing your mark; he did not have time to tell you himself, my Lord." I couldn't turn around and face him as I lied; I continued speaking into the horizon.
"Gandalf will beguile them all into their demise we cannot play into his hand my Lord, he is expecting an attack, the Ruler commands we wait." My voice didn't sound like my own as I lied it went up an octave and by the end of my sentence, it was a squeak.
"It matters not. The world of Men shall fall. It will begin at Edoras." Saruman spoke causing me to turn to him.
"You dare disobey the Great Sauron?" I gaped at him.
He laughed, at first it was a small bubbling but soon turned into a cackle. "Your lies look so pretty coming out of your lips, Temptress of the White Mark."
My eyes widened as he continued cackling, Gríma too widened his eyes in disbelief. "Not many are brave enough to attempt deception on a wizard such as myself, so I will spare your life." I let out a breath I was holding.
"I doubt the Rohirrim will, however, with you marching on the front lines bearing my mark…"
I paled. Calli you foolish rat you always make a mess of things.
"Gríma take your toy inside and wash that filth off," he waved a hand, "I mean really," he gestured toward my face, "you didn't even try."
Gríma's slimy hands encircled my arm and dragged me through the large imposing door and inside the Orthanc. The inside was so dark I stumbled into every wall and doorway, guaranteeing myself a slew of bumps and bruises. The black stone walls, cool and unyielding to the touch, seemed to absorb the very light that filtered in from the narrow windows. It was as though the tower itself was a fortress of shadows, guarding its secrets and dark ambitions.
Gríma took me into a small room after several flights of stairs and a sharp left turn. The narrow windows that occasionally broke the monotony of the walls provided only a faint glimpse of the outside world. They cast long, dim shafts of light that pierced the darkness, but the view beyond was always obscured, leaving me with a sense of isolation and uncertainty.
The room looked like a bedroom, a small cot, a side table, a basin and pitcher, and a chamber pot. Gríma led me to the cot eagerly and began lighting candles I hadn't even seen or noticed.
While his back was turned I booked it, I raced out of the room shoving him aside, and raced down the steps. My foot slipped on the cold, smooth surface, and suddenly, I lost my footing. The world seemed to blur as I tumbled downward, the echoes of my own surprised gasp and the clattering of my body against the stone walls echoing in the confined space. The fall felt endless, a chaotic and disorienting descent into darkness. My heart pounded with fear and adrenaline as I desperately reached out for something to grasp, but there was nothing to hold onto. When I finally paused my descent I landed with a groan and was quickly apprehended by Gríma again who was far less gentle this time as he dragged my now limping and bloodied body back up the stairs.
I didn't fight him this time, though he took it upon himself to push the side table in front of the door.
I was completely numb when he poured the water from the pitcher into the basin and began wiping at my skin with a questionable rag. At first, it was an unnerving touch, so gentle, but it quickly became aggressive scrubbing.
The door opened then and Saruman entered he let out a huff as he shoved the side table out of the way, "Now let's see what the face of the Temptress really looks like." He took long strides toward me on the bed and grabbed my chin with his hand holding my face up in the light, "What enchantment did you use?" He demanded.
"I've told you all already," I summoned my courage. "The Ruler will already be greatly displeased with my treatment here," Saruman took the rag from Gríma and began his own aggressive scrubbing.
"Tell me how he did it. How did Gandalf mark you?" Saruman roared in frustration, spit flying from his mouth onto my inflamed skin.
"I told you who sent me, why do you not trust the King of Kings? Are you disloyal to our cause?" I roared back surprising even myself with the ferocity of my voice. "You Saruman the wise his chiefest commander, greater than Khamûl or the Chief of the Nine, or even I, you Saruman, who the Ruler chose to request his aid from and send his messenger."
I stood to my feet holding back a wince, "It seems we might have gotten off on the wrong foot," I narrowed my eyes at him, "My name is Calliope, Decimus Meridius, commander of the Armies of the North, General of the Felix Legions and loyal servant to the true Ruler, Mairon Annatar."
Come on Calli make it convincing. "Two thousand Uruk-hai my lord," I bowed my head not out of reverence but to hide my flush. I was never a good liar, and lying made me nauseous.
"I wasn't aware there were any commanders in the north," Saruman's voice held speculation.
"Forochel," I answered in reply holding my gaze to the floor focusing with all my might to remember every rant Dargan spouted.
"A woman commander…" He pondered.
"It is an honor to be in your presence my lord, I have looked up to you for years, please we must not delay further I have orders." I lifted my gaze and met his eyes.
He grabbed my temples with both of his hands and stared intently at my forehead. If Dargan were here he would have muttered, 'Awkward'.
I tried to keep my mind blank, or think only of my fabricated story, knowing he was attempting to fish in my mind.
Galadriel told me once "I say to you, Lady Calliope, that even as I speak to you, I perceive the Dark Lord and know his mind, or all of his mind that concerns the Elves. And he gropes ever to see me and my thoughts. But still, the door is closed!"
Show him what you want him to see Calliope.
So I did, I thought up my imagined life, visions of me commanding bands of men in snowy landscapes, riding here on horseback, bowing before Sauron, leading armies into burnt-down villages.
His brows furrowed in concentration and I felt him then, it was like a tickle in the back of one's throat except it was in my mind and I desperately wished to rip my skull off to itch it. It was a disconcerting and invasive sensation, one that left me feeling as though I had no defenses, no secrets of my own. But I continued my guise.
I remembered the weight of the armor, the sound of clashing swords, and the thunder of horses' hooves as we charged into the fray. The battlefield, with its chaos and determination, was a place where I had made decisions that had determined the course of battles and the fates of nations.
"Commander, we've been marching through this snow for hours. It's harsh, and the men are exhausted." A man spoke to me.
"Exhaustion is for the weak, soldier. Our enemy won't wait for us to rest. Now, steel yourselves and keep moving. We will not falter." I had answered.
I named them, the imagined faces that perished under my command. I felt their pain. I recalled the faces of the soldiers who had followed my orders, their loyalty and trust evident in their eyes. They had looked to me for guidance and leadership, and I had strived to be worthy of their confidence.
"Commander, I've noticed some of the men showing signs of frostbite. They're in pain." A man said.
"Pain is the price of glory, soldier. Tell those with frostbite to grit their teeth and keep moving. We don't have time for weakness." I had answered with a frown.
I recalled the dread in the eyes of those who opposed us, the knowledge that they faced not just a formidable enemy, but a malevolent power that sought to dominate and enslave all who stood in its path.
"Commander, we've lost contact with the scouts we sent ahead. I fear something might have happened." A man said.
"The Scouts knew the risks. Our path is forward, now march!" I replied.
My role as a commander had been to execute Sauron's will without question, to quell any resistance with ruthless efficiency.
By the time Saruman pulled away I had half gaslit myself of this fabricated history. "Two thousand Urk-hai," he muttered to himself taking a step back, his hands were still extended as if he forgot to drop them to his side as he backed away.
"Commander, forgive me," he turned and faced a Gríma who stood awkwardly shifting his weight between his feet, he looked like an NPC.
"Gríma attend to Miss Meridius while I ready the fleet,"
Gríma attempted to clean me once more with the rag, "Enough," I roared holding my hand up to cease him, "leave me." I dismissed.