Lessons of Life
A Friend in Need
Chapter 1
Stories
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All Edoras breathed easier with the sundering of Saruman’s influence
over King Theoden, though an evil presence lingered subtly in shadows
and dark corners, reluctant to retreat entirely. It had previously
focused through the King’s personal advisor Grima Wormtongue, revealed
by Gandalf’s magic as the sinister puppet he truly was. With Aragorn,
Legolas and Gimli, along with Theoden’s men as witnesses, the King’s
now ex-advisor was given the choice of fighting beside his king against
Saruman, or exile from Rohan. Not unexpectedly to any, the miserable
man fled, cursing all as he went. A guard hastily followed, assuring,
“I shall see that he is well away.” The others left the task to the
fellow, supposing the departing former counselor to be of no further
serious concern.
As the day progressed, Theoden renewed himself with his people and
kingdom. It was a joyous occasion tempered with foreboding, for as
those who had been earlier sent away by Grima’s influence now began to
return, they brought with them tales of the measure of Saruman’s plans
to conquer and destroy. Most worrisome were the rumors of a vast Orc
army advancing on the Horselords’ domain.
Aragorn, along with Gandalf, were closeted with Theoden and his warrior
leaders planning battle strategies. Gimli and Legolas, having given
their advice and opinions, were for a time free to amuse themselves as
they would. Although each of the two beings was only one of his kind
among the great number of Men, the dwarf was generally feeling quite at
home among the Rohan people, admiring the architecture of the buildings
as he roamed, chatting and jesting with the various inhabitants as he
met them. Gimli’s brusqueness was considered ‘earthy’ and the dwarf
found most of his current companions appreciated and even shared his
sense of humor.
On the other hand, the elf felt isolated, viewed in awe and as being
unapproachable; it did not help that his first meeting with the
Rohirrim had been of such testy nature, though he and the humans had
since tolerated each other for at least being of a same resistance to
the encroaching Darkness. Legolas wondered curiously at the uneasy
regard growing between Men and Elves in this Age. Yet Estel and I have been best of friends
nearly all his life and a goodly portion of mine. Human that he is, he
is also as true ‘family’ as any blood kin to Elrond…as close as like to
all Imladris, I may surely affirm. The elf’s lips twitched in a
small grin at his next thoughts. Though
Aragorn would not be ‘brother’ to Arwen, nor she ‘sister’ to him, if
either has voice in that council.
His cheery countenance at that reflection brought even more than the
usual amount of furtive glances; upon noticing, the elf sighed
silently, his grin slipping away. He considered doing so himself to
relax in the guest room he and his company had been given, yet worried
it would only create rumors he was too ‘highborn’ to mingle with mere
mortals. An earlier attempt to help in the stables had been rebuffed,
for the nervous stablehands had feared Elven influence would
‘contaminate’ all their charges as Arod – into resisting Human riding
trappings – so Legolas had retreated back into the stone confines of
the Golden Hall. As the elf wandered, he hummed or sang softly, for
music always lifted his spirit; yet even this effort of comfort was
diminished, for often the singing attracted attentions in the form of
unnerving stares or gossiping whispers.
Frustrated, he decided to settle in an small hide-away alcove where he
could be out of mainstream activity yet available if anyone should
actually want or need him. Legolas’ frustration increased upon nearing
the alcove, for he realized it to be already occupied when his
excellent hearing discerned two low-pitched male voices within. He
leaned, arms crossed, against the wall by the alcove entry, intending
to briefly listen only to ascertain whether the men seemed likely to
stay awhile or leave soon.
“More men returning to duty now, and yet I get fewer breaks like this
than before,” one man was complaining to the other.
“Strange times we’re having lately. Strange folks too! At least we
won’t draw dungeon duty anymore; since the King’s return to health, the
cells have been emptied of the poor wretches falsely imprisoned,” the
second man replied.
Legolas was vaguely amused at Snarl and Growl, as he privately labeled
the men. I and my friends must be
the ‘strange folks’ spoken of; at least I am of a company this time
instead of a singular strangeness. He decided to search for
another place to rest himself when the men’s next subject of
conversation caught his attention.
I heard there’s one old fellow still there…some wasted soul with no
family, friends or otherwise any reason to be looked for; a ‘practice
victim’ used by Grima for his spells and whatever else he used against
the King and others.” The man’s voice was even lower than before, but
Legolas’ acute hearing picked up every word clearly.
“Why would anyone stay down there if he didn’t have to?” Growl scoffed.
“Well, he’s sick. Gone mad, likely, he has…thinks everybody else is in
league with the enemy, and out to get him. Been down there so long he
actually feels safer below, I guess.”
“Surprised we haven’t been sent to drag him out then. Wonder why not?”
“Dolt!” Snarl sounded annoyed. “In case it escaped your notice, we’ve
more drastic worries. Like I said, this person has no family; he’s no
soldier, or healer, or anyone important; he just isn’t a priority.
Since he survived this long, maybe he’ll last another week…or month…or
longer. All I care about right now is my own survival.”
“I agree with you on that. I think it would be in our best interests,
then, to get back to the troop soon and hear what news they have.”
Legolas moved from the alcove area in a near daze, aghast at what he
had heard; he did not waste effort feeling guilty over eavesdropping.
His whole concentration was on the unidentified person supposedly
wandering the dungeon, locked in a double prison of an ill mind’s
making.
Unimportant? How can they speak so
about one of their own kind? To leave anyone to such a fate, and
especially a sick, elder human… Legolas was absolutely certain
that, if such were possible, an elf fell ill (though Elves don’t get sick like Humans,
we suffer similar symptoms and effects from spider and Orc poisons)
or became weak with age (Elves age,
of course, long beyond Men; we just don’t become feeble of it – I shall
never understand why any race be designed with such burden),
other healthy young elves would take good and proper care of the
invalid.
Legolas watched the two guards leave the alcove, presumably to return
to their duty. The elf then glanced around at the general bustle of
people intent in their various tasks. He realized all would likely know
nothing of the dungeon dweller’s predicament. Truly, even if informed, who of them could
spare time to attend an ‘unimportant’ man? Who among them does not
think to have a hundred and more other things to do already?
A slight tingle ran through him, and he blinked. Fool of an elf! I have not a hundred
things to do, nay, not even one at this time. Why cannot I attend to
this matter? Yes, I will do this. Enthused with his plan,
Legolas decided to make a brief stop at his room before facing the
dungeon.
A double set of eyes watched the elf depart. The men from the alcove
had not gone back to their troop; in fact, they had no troop to return
to. Making sure none overheard them now, Growl whispered to the other,
“How did you know he was there? I didn’t hear him approach.”
Snarl whispered back, “You never will, if he doesn’t want you to. I saw
his ‘glow’ by the doorway.”
The other man mulled that over. Still unsatisfied, he questioned again,
“How can you be sure he heard what we said? We were talking so low…”
His partner scowled. “Have you not noticed his ears? He heard us.” He
took another look into the room they had vacated – there was no elf to
be seen. “I don’t know how much time we have now; we should get down
there and get ready.”
Growl nodded, yet persisted in his worries while they made their way as
casually as possible towards the entry to the dungeon stairs. “What if
he doesn’t repeat the story to the Ranger? What if he tells the wizard
instead?”
Snarl paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Well, that could be…bad.
But we made our ‘old man’ just sick, not possessed. The Ranger is
supposed to be some high-level healer, but he doesn’t use magic – the
wizard won’t get himself involved, I’m sure.”
The man’s certainty convinced his colleague, and they took the first
opportunity to pass unnoticed into the dungeon, to further prepare for
their expected visitor.
In the privacy of his room, Legolas reconsidered his plan, though still
determined to go through with it. He debated the merits of telling
someone or leaving a note to explain his absence, and was disinclined
to both actions. Aragorn and Gandalf
are still in meetings, I will not interrupt them for this. Gimli is I
know not where, and I should not waste more time hunting him down; he
would only insist to come with me, and facing a noisome dwarf bearing a
great axe would likely cause a frail, ailing human’s heart to fail. I
wish to save the poor man to this life, not rush his passing into the
next! Hopefully, I shall be able to find and collect him before I am
missed.
That decision made, the elf was faced with another. Before first
entering Meduseld, Legolas and his companions had been forced to give
up their weapons; excepting Gandalf, who had cunningly managed to keep
his staff in his clutches. When the evil presence infesting the keep
was subsequently expelled by magic means, the elf felt no need to have
bow or blade at constant hand. He had stashed those treasured objects,
as well as the armor gifted from the newly-revived King, in the guest
room, confident of the items’ safety there. Now he fingered one of the
weapons, a long-knife, but after a moments hesitation, replaced it
carefully back in the special compartment of his quiver. I will not take up arms against the one I
seek, and so to carry one at all would be doubly risky; seeing it, he
might fear harm despite any reassurance, or he might manage to steal it
away…and cause himself some harsh injury trying to protect against me.
That will never do!
Having resolved that issue, Legolas left the room and returned to the
place he had overheard the two soldiers talking. It suddenly occurred
to him that he had no idea how to get to the dungeon, and to outright
ask where it was would seem no doubt peculiar. He recalled the earlier
defense discussions describing a general layout of the Golden Hall and
its surrounding courtyard, and knew at least which doors did not lead
to where he wished to go. He proceeded to give studious observation to
others as he came upon them, and eventually saw one that seemed a good
possibility – it alone of all the doors seen so far had no elaborate
carvings or markings.
His attempt at an unnoticed approach went awry as a young boy spied the
elf and jogged up, having heard of the ‘special’ guests and eager to
meet this exotic being. “Hello, m’lord. I’ve been appointed Head
Fetcher today.” The boy sounded quite proud of the title. “Anything I
can get for you, sir?”
Legolas grinned at the friendly child. “An answer to a question.” He
knelt down to be at eye level with the puzzled lad. “I am still
learning my way around. Where does that door lead?” He nodded to the
shadowed object behind him.
The boy’s eyes widened. “Oh, you don’t want to go there! That’s where
prisoners go. There’s not any now, but it’s not a nice place. You’d
like it much better if you was to go…there,” he pointed in an opposite
direction, “…or yonder.” The finger pointed in yet another direction as
the boy seriously gave what he considered to be much better options.
Legolas was touched at the child’s concern and replied in a serious
manner. “I appreciate your helpfulness. I will be certain to see both
places you have recommended.” He rose and dismissed the pleased boy. “I
do not wish to keep you further from your other errands. I am sure your
services are much in demand by many.” The smile the boy flashed before
scurrying off gave the elf a keen satisfaction. He held tightly to the
warm feeling as he again prepared to enter what would surely be a
woefully dreary environment.
A second attempt at sneaking through the door was successful. The soft
click as it shut behind him seemed to propel the elf into another
world. He could barely repress a shudder as he moved deeper into the
dungeon, keeping careful account of his whereabouts to find the way
back out once his mission was accomplished. The passageways were cool
and musty; what few sounds could be occasionally heard – dripping
moisture, skittering insects or rodents, faint whispers of tiny air
currents – were muted and difficult to track. Though there were some
torches left lit, their brightness was minimal – the flickering small
flames gave false life to the shadows, insubstantial predators trying
to swallow any prey that happened by.
Legolas’ glow was a bit stronger than usual, thought it still did not
dispel the surrounding gloom. He hummed or sang softly, partly to
relieve his own uneasiness, and hopefully also to soothe the heart and
mind of the human he sought. It
would be well he become gently aware of me first, and mayhap the music
will have him more curious than afraid when we meet face to face.
He progressed in this fashion for some distance, finding signs of
recent traffic in the place, yet nothing to prove his quarry was
currently at hand. Just as he was having serious doubts about the
outcome of his venture, a new noise sounded around a nearby corner. The
wheezing coughs made Legolas wince, the elf knowing from experiences
with Aragorn just how miserable a sick Human could feel. He brightened
his glow a bit more, and called out softly yet clearly. “I have come to
help; you need fear no harm from me, or any other.”
The next bout of coughing was mingled with whimpered words, but even
Legolas’ excellent hearing could not decipher what the ailing man said.
The elf moved up to and around the corner, making an effort at being
noisy so as not to shock the man by suddenly being close to him. The
other, meanwhile, was making plenty of racket as he shuffled and
lurched about, apparently unsure whether to come forward or flee.
As the two beings came in clear view of each other, Legolas stopped and
silently waited, dimming his glow and holding his arms out, hands open
to show he carried no weapon. The human neither approached nor
retreated, only shuffling in place and muttering unintelligibly.
Legolas noted how the hunched man shivered, yet even so did not appear
particularly frail. If he were to
stand straight, he would be of a height to my own, and he has mayhap a
heavier weight; though that might appear so due to the bulk of garment
he wears…tis hard to be sure. The elf berated himself for his
brief suspicion as the man had another attack of harsh coughs. Grima would more likely have used one
strong at the start so as to last through whatever experimentations
were done. Just because the subject has not wasted to a wisp does not
make him less deserving of aid.
“Come with me, please,” Legolas invited in his most soothing tone. “I
can take you where there is warmth and light. I will guard you from any
crush of people; only a few healers will I allow near till you are
ready for other visitors.”
After a moment, the man nodded agreement. Legolas moved carefully
toward him; almost immediately the man backed away and the elf froze,
speaking reassurances. “I only wish to offer support should your step
falter along the way. Will you bear my touch if I deem it needed?”
Again the man nodded, yet again backed away. Legolas puzzled over these
reactions. Which of us is not
understanding the other? Mayhap instead of smuggling this one upstairs,
I should convince him to stay in this spot, and go commandeer a healer
to return with me. Just then, the man turned and staggered down
the corridor, leaning often against the wall but determined in his
progress.
“Wait,” the elf called, keeping his voice clear of the exasperation he
felt. “We should be taking the opposite direction.” The man lurched
onward, giving a feeble ‘follow me’ gesture. Legolas reluctantly
obeyed, keeping the same distance but ready to quickly close the gap if
the man should actually start to collapse.
The next corridor held several cells, their emptiness dimly echoing the
man’s coughs. Legolas heartily wished himself and the one he pursued
out of the dismal place. Why does he
retreat here? Could he seek some item he wishes not to leave
behind…some trinket giving comfort during his suffering? As he
considered, the elf fingered a leaf-shaped gemwood pin on his tunic;
the contact immediately brought to mind the visage of Aragorn gifting
the trinket to Legolas. The elf felt a new surge of compassion for the
ailing man he followed. A few extra
moments here shall make no discernible difference; I shall not begrudge
him his solace of that which brings happy memory.
The man entered one of the cells; some moments passed with no sign of
his intent to exit. Cautiously, Legolas approached and peered in the
doorway. The darkness within was barely illuminated by a torch against
the opposite corridor wall and his own glow, yet the elf’s eyes could
easily discern the few details. The small room was surprisingly (to
him) clean, and extremely frugal in furnishings – one small table with
a stool in a corner, and a cot in the center of the room. The cot now
contained the ailing human, curled up on his side with his back to the
elf.
Poor sad soul. To think one would
consider this a haven when a true one is so near at hand.
Legolas moved close to the man, purposely making noise as he went. Is his lack of reaction because he is too
sick to be aware now of me, or is he finally at ease with my presence?
Seeing the man’s shivering intensify, a new worry attached to the elf’s
many others. Legolas bent over, reaching his hand slowly across to the
man’s head, kept hidden within his tattered cloak’s hood. “Have you a
fever now?”
“No, but I do have myself an elf.” As he spoke, the man rolled onto his
back; his hand shot out, grabbing Legolas’ wrist and yanking the
elf off-balance against him to be pinned by the man’s other arm.
Legolas could only stare at his first good view of the grinning face,
one the elf recognized along with the voice. Tis one of the guards I overheard telling
the tale that brought me here! His initial shock gave way
to irritation and embarrassment, as several thoughts stampeded rapidly
through his head. This is some grand
jest, then? Naught but an elaborate prank on me…aye, and well played, I
must admit. Within the depths of his ire was a tiny kernel of
admiration for the execution of the scheme, one worthy of even supreme
pranksters Elladan and Elrohir. The
Twins are not here, though, so why was I chosen for this ‘honor’? Who
else besides them would know my dislike for underground places and yet
how to coax me here? Aahhh, who else indeed. If I discover a certain
dwarf is the culprit, I shall hang him by his beard in the courtyard as
target for my archery practice!
In the short time of his reflections, Legolas had made only a token
effort at escape, but the man would not relinquish his hold. However,
even an Elf’s patience runs out, and Legolas at that moment reached the
end of his. He turned the full force of his glare on the human and was
gratified to see the face below him pale and its grin falter. “Fine.
Enough.” He snapped out the words. “You may truthfully brag to your
cronies that you have managed to best an elf; now I tire of this game.
I have other duties to attend to, as I am sure you must also. Release
me.”
The grin returned, but there was no jest in the guard’s voice. “This is
no game, elf, and you are going nowhere just yet.”
Irritation turned to alarm, and Legolas began fighting in earnest to
get away. In the ensuing struggle, the elf, at a maneuvering
disadvantage from his awkward position, still exhibited a strength of a
match to the man’s.
The guard was unpleasantly surprised, not expecting such resistance.
Where does his strength come from? He
is so light; and I find I have most wrongly thought him delicate.
Barely managing to keep his grip on the thrashing elf, the man wondered
desperately where his cohort was. He
should be helping me! If the elf escapes…
Both combatants at the same time became aware, the guard by sight and
the elf by sound, of a
third figure in the room. Before Legolas could turn to see if the
newcomer was friend or foe, a hard blunt object struck the back of his
head. Dazed by the pain, he fell limply forward, only to be shoved onto
the stone floor, landing on his back. To his dismay, Legolas found his
limbs would not obey his rather muddled mental commands. His blurry
vision made out a form coming towards him, and he strained to move.
Just able to raise up on his elbows, the elf heard a ‘swoosh’ and the
object that had struck before now connected above his brow. Knocked
back to the floor, his head unfortunately impacted on the same spot as
the original blow. The twin explosions of pain sent Legolas into black
oblivion.
The newcomer prepared to strike again, but the other man snatched the
fire poker away. “What are you doing, Morfran? We were told not to
cause more damage than necessary.”
“We were also told to capture the Ranger, yet we have the elf instead.”
Morfran growled back. “Besides, looked to me like he was about to get
the better of you. Anyway, what do we do now, Cadell?”
“Proceed as if we had caught the right one. One of us guards the
prisoner, the other informs the Master of the situation,” Cadell
replied blandly, though inwardly he did not relish bearing that
message. The Master may see it
simply as failure, and he does not accept that well. “Since I am
the more diplomatic of us, I will go make explanations while you stay.”
He turned to leave, still carrying the iron rod. “And I’ll take this to
avoid any ‘accidents’ here while I’m gone.”
Morfran was unappreciative of his partner’s sarcasm and his own
vulnerability. “I might need that! What if he wakes before I get him
restrained?”
“He’s out cold, don’t worry about it…though…he did surprise me before…”
The man debated giving back the poker, but decided the other was not to
be trusted with it. Besides, I owe
him for waiting until the last minute to help me out earlier. “I
suggest you stop whining and get him tied up quickly.” Cadell then
walked out on the blustering man. After another wary glare at the
unconscious elf, Morfran hurried to retrieve the ropes stashed in a
nearby cell.
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