8. Chapter Eight
Legolas walked to where Gandalf was putting together the last of his provisions- and he now wore his Elven blade, along with bow and quiver. He also carried a strangely shaped long dagger.
Gandalf smiled at the young Elf- “Yes, Legolas?”
Legolas paused, choosing his words very carefully- “Mithrandir- there are some things I would like to- ah- mention-”
Gandalf nodded: “Please, continue, then.”
Legolas spoke very gently, then, and begin to tell Gandalf the things he wished he did not have to know.
“Very well. This-” he held up the long, startlingly sharp dagger, curved slightly at one point- “This is what you will use if- the sword does not- complete the task. It is curved in a certain fashion, to hasten death- it will sever the carotid artery very swiftly, and death will follow within a matter of moments, due to vast blood-loss. You must handle it with extreme care, it is sharper than any blade you will ever carry! If the sword thrust goes awry, or if he simply does not fall to it- you will bring this up to his throat quickly, and slash deeply across- the blade will do the rest, as it was created to do.”
Gandalf shuddered. He had been in many battles, but sitting down and discussing this- as if they were preparing to slaughter a sheep- gave him the horrors.
Legolas smiled kindly. “Are you alright, Mithrandir? I know you do not enjoy this, and nor do I- my people loathe killing- but when it must be done- we do it well- and cleanly.”
Gandalf nodded, somewhat pale.
He continued, as Saruman listened impassively, untroubled.
“I do not need to tutor you on the use of Glamdring, I know you could put me to shame! But I will only add, that if you do indeed strike him from behind, you must take care to angle it correctly- or you will only hit a lung- and that will be- ” –he frowned- “That will not be what you want to have happen.”
Gandalf looked down, and murmured in a soft voice: “I- I do not wish to cut his throat…”
Saruman frowned darkly.
Legolas shook his head. “It will not be as you fear, Mithrandir, it is very different with an Elven blade such as this. It will not be a ghastly horror, it will be clean, and swift beyond measure- but there will be a great deal of blood. Perhaps you will not have to do it, but if you do- it will be very, very fast. And you will have to… you will have to finish him, Mithrandir- the only cruel act would be to fail to do so. ”
Gandalf nodded, looking rather ill.
Legolas straightened, uneasy.
“If you are fortunate enough- for all of you! – to strike cleanly and surely, you will not need to do more. The sword will finish him.”
Saruman shook his head, and spoke for the first time: “Nay, do not be so sure! Sauron spoke to me of his forming body. He had already begun it. It is powerful, far beyond what a normal mortal body consists of. I do not expect this to be- swift.”
Gandalf sighed, and Legolas frowned again.
Aragorn approached, and he was followed by Gimli.
Legolas looked at Saruman, watching him. What if this were simply an elaborate trap, laid by Saruman, and Sauron himself, to snare Gandalf? The ancient Istar had shown no sign of emotion whatsoever as they had discussed the blade, and its applications.
Legolas supposed it simply did not disturb him.
And yet, he was suspicious.
Aragorn drew his sword, and looked at it. Legolas and Gimli exchanged glances, amused at some private joke.
Saruman spoke suddenly: “Has anyone given any thought to how we may breach the hold at Barad-Dur?”
“A distraction.” Aragorn said, calmly. “We shall create a distraction, and that will give the two of you- ” he nodded to the Istari- “Time to enter- or so we shall pray.”
They all looked at one another, the realization of the vast danger of what they were about to attempt, finally sinking in- and they all fell utterly silent.
And in the Black Tower- Sauron knitted his long slanted brows, glowering into the Palantir, watching, and hearing.
“Treachery!” he growled, the youthful beauty of his newly formed face- so like the one he was used to- so like the one in the very beginning- twisted in rage.
He tossed back his long shimmering hair, and scowled into the crystal orb.
“Damn you, Curumo! You shall pay in fire and torment! Aye- I shall remind you what Gorthaur means!”
He turned away, and went to the large mirror- he stared into it, appraising his long, beautiful body. His hand went down between his golden thighs, without even a moment’s hesitation.
“So fair! So fair…” he murmured, with great love.
He closed his eyes, stroking himself slowly, aroused. And then he stopped, frustrated. It was not enough.
He stalked back to the Palantir, and hissed into it : “Coming to kill me, are you! Come then! Come, and be reminded of who I am – and what I am capable of!”
And then he strode back to the mirror again, and grudgingly resumed his self-love.
I need…more…he thought, dreamily. More…
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.