A scant three hours after his encounter Gimli was on the road leading away from Edoras, armed with only the shakiest knowledge of where he was going or what he would do once he got there. His anger and grief were clouding his brain too greatly for him to be able to think properly; he was just acting on instinct.
After releasing Billy from their table with the assurance that if they ever met again it would not be to Billy's advantage, Gimli had sat alone in the dwindling light for some time, too numb with shock to even move. Then he had suddenly lurched to his feet, gathering irritated looks from the people he shoved past as he walked single-mindedly towards his quarters. He had gathered his things automatically, barely aware of what he was putting into his travel pack. Then his rational mind had interceded long enough for him to scrawl a quick note to Aragorn explaining where he had gone, though he wasn't sure if it was comprehensible or not. Some jumble of words about Legolas and a town and a lot of swearing--Aragorn would probably think Gimli had lost his mind. Gimli handed the note to a page with terse instructions to get it to the King and then he was off.
Eomer had already offered Gimli the use, any time he should wish it, of the pony Merry had ridden alongside King Theoden. It was sized for little people to be comfortable with, but Gimli had not taken it. It was one thing to consign his fate to a four-legged beast when Legolas was controlling it, but Dwarves as a rule were at their best with their own two feet planted firmly on the ground. Besides, while Stybba could get him to Herthdale, the pony was not large enough to bear Legolas out of that hated place. So in the end the pony would not be of use.
Gimli didn't allow himself to consider any possible course of events that didn't end with him finding Legolas and removing him from danger. If Legolas did not leave the town of Herthdale, then neither would Gimli. It was that simple.
The empty stretches of land between Edoras and Gimli's goal seemed interminable. He would have undertaken without hesitation any journey, over any distance and through any perils to find Legolas. To have it be so close, so attainable--and yet to be held to the pace of his own two stubby feet. Before long Gimli was regretting the decision, still formed in his anger, to leave Stybba behind. Dwarves might be best on their feet, but Stybba could have considerably lessened the time it took Gimli to reach Herthdale. What might be happening there, what was Legolas enduring, while Gimli walked these roads?
That night Gimli dreamed of Legolas. In his dreams the elf he loved was curled up on a low couch, arms wrapped around his knees like an unloved child, whimpering. Gimli tried to reach out to him but Legolas struck at him, reaching out and clawing his garments with fingernails grown more like claws. The dream-Legolas was bright as a star and terrible to look at, yet he insisted Gimli do so while he gave voice to all the hideous claims of Gimli's conscious. "Look at me," the elf cried, raining down accusations upon the dwarf's head. "If you had only come after me. If you had only gotten here a day sooner, this wouldn't have happened to me!" And he cast himself down dead upon the couch.
Gimli woke weeping and shuddering long before dawn had touched the sky. He was several miles further along in his journey by the time the sun finally cleared the tips of the hills and poured light into the valley.
********************
It took Gimli five days to get to Herthdale, and each night when he stopped he had those dreams. By the time he finally arrived someplace he recognized from Billy's description, he was decidedly the worse for wear. He worried that if it came to a fight, he wouldn't be able to defend Legolas.
At first, in his anger, Gimli had assumed that he would simply charge the brothel and break Legolas out of there. He would fling his axes at anyone stupid enough to get in his way, making a path of dead slave owners straight for his friend's door. But while his anger had not cooled, time and weariness had forced him to rethink. Even if he could easily find the brothel Chezner owned, there was no reason to think he kept his illegal slaves in the same place. And Gimli would be outnumbered. As much as he felt that Legolas deserved an all-out attack with the dwarven battle cry ringing in the air, his common sense insisted that stealth would serve him best in this matter.
In the end, what made the decision was what was most likely to aide Legolas. Gimli had a dwarf's pride, which resented any course of action that would not lead to a full-fledged battle with this scum. But he also had a dwarf's heart, which once committed could never act in any way but for the good of his beloved. In the end it was this that won out. Dying gloriously in battle would not save Legolas.
And, Gimli consoled himself, he could always come back to seek vengeance later, after Legolas was out of harm's way and with an army behind him. He was certain Eomer would be enraged to hear what had been taking place on the borders of his lands, and Aragorn would not be keen on the operation either. All Gimli had to do was lead them to this place to see that justice would be served.
But that still left Gimli with the problem of finding the right place and getting his elf out. Every fiber of his being rebelled against the thought of playing a potential customer, yet he could think of no better way to infiltrate the careful security Chezner seemed to have created around his operation. In the end he decided to go to the inn Billy had told him about and take a look around before deciding on a course of action.
Herthdale was a much larger town than Gimli would have anticipated, here in the Dunlands as it was. Even so, the sight of a dwarf was not sufficiently common to prevent people from staring at him as he clumped down the road. Gimli ignored their stares; he found himself instead surreptitiously scanning the buildings around him, looking at their upper floors and basements, wondering; could Legolas be inside one of these buildings? Was he walking past him right now?
Wherever you are, I'll find you, he thought grimly. I won't leave here without you.
Chapter Four
The door opening--it was a sound that had long ago gained the power to awaken Legolas, no matter how deeply he was asleep. Sometimes the sudden snap from running free and contented through the Greenwood to finding himself back in this hated room, this cell, could be physically painful. But no matter how much Legolas would have liked to let his spirit stay disconnected from his body while they did things to him, centuries of training as a warrior insisted that he be present, that he use any opportunity to fight or resist. Not that those were common these days, not now, not after...however long it had been.
Legolas was unable to turn his head to see who had entered. His whole body tensed in anticipation of a painful touch or invasion. But the person came around, not touching him, to where he could see her. A woman--no, a girl. Girls didn't mean trouble, usually. She was holding something in her hands, a bowl that gave off steam. Legolas tried to think if he had seen her before.
The girl knelt before Legolas and clumsily tried to feed him what was in the bowl. Legolas felt the hot liquid dribbling out the corners of his mouth. The girl had a yeasty smell on her. She didn't smell or feel like danger, and that was as far as Legolas could make himself be aware of. He knew he ought to know her, but he didn't.
"Please eat," the girl whispered. "Please swallow." Legolas swallowed automatically for a few mouthfuls, but lost interest quickly. Eating usually meant throwing up. And since he was usually chained into place these days, he could not clean up after himself when he did. It could be hours before someone came into his room and cleaned the mess away. And if it was a customer who found it they would sometimes be so offended they would withdraw their business. For a little while Legolas had tried deliberately throwing up, but soon enough the punishment had begun to outweigh any momentary reprieve he might gain for himself. It just wasn't worth it. Lately eating, too, had become not worth it.
"Come on, Finmal," the girl said, a hint of desperation in her voice. "Just swallow."
Finmal--that was what they called him here. Not the men, not the abusers. The men just called him "Elf," as though he was the only Elf that had ever existed. The other captives, though--they all gave each other nicknames that they could speak when no one else was around. One of them spoke the elder tongues and had given Legolas a nickname in his own language. Legolas tried to remember what they called the girl feeding him, but all he could seem to think of was the soup, sort of runny and tasting of carrots. Thinking about it made him swallow a few more times, though, and the girl seemed pleased.
Why was she the one feeding him? It must be morning, or early afternoon. Yes, there was light creeping into the room, filtering through the dust motes. Light usually meant safety, but not always. Not always.
Legolas' thoughts drifted away again. If they didn't, he would find himself thinking about what had happened last night, or about what was going to happen tonight. Sometimes he thought it didn't happen every night, and sometimes he did, and sometimes he wasn't sure. But it happened enough.
It was bad enough to live through it; he couldn't endure to think about it for long. Vaguely, vaguely he seemed to remember fighting harder at the beginning, nearly dying. He occasionally wondered if he had died, or why he hadn't, but would lose his train of thought before he could get very far. All he knew now was that cold metal meant he didn't need to fight.
When there was metal circling his wrists and ankles and neck, or when there was an iron bar forcing his legs apart, or a harness around his shoulders and waist. Then it was time to hang limp, somewhat relieved that it was over, that he wasn't responsible for what was happening anymore. Then it was time to disappear to the Greenwood with the knowledge that he had done his best to fight it. But when there was no metal, that was when he became angry. Who did these people think they were? When there was no restraint, he would strike out in any way he could. He thought he could remember killing someone, at one point. In the beginning, it must have been, before they learned. Even now they would sometimes try to take him without restraining him first. Legolas made sure they always regretted it.
Except--except for that time, a while ago, not too long. Without being tied down but so many men he couldn't...had it happened more than once? He couldn't remember.
That had been the worst. Without restraints he fought, but it was like they became human restraints. Someone holding his arms and someone holding each leg while someone entered him, then they would switch, and he would be twisting and fighting beneath it but it was never enough, too much. And then a voice, "See, I told you he'd fight us this way." Smug. At some point it had occurred to Legolas that they wanted him to fight them, that he had only been provoked into acting in a way that gave them even more pleasure.
The thought made him wince, even now, and the girl pulled the spoon out of his mouth. "Do you have a sore, Finmal?" she asked kindly. Sometimes the captives got sores in their mouths from biting their lips to keep from screaming, or from stretching their lips too wide or from something the men had put in. This girl had dried blood in the corners of her mouth. "Show me where it is and I'll stay away from it." Legolas did not have a sore, so he did nothing. After a moment, the girl sighed and resumed spooning the liquid into his mouth.
Legolas could not recall how long it had been since the world had stopped making sense. In some part of his brain he was vaguely aware that something was different, that his whole spirit was not residing in his body--only vaguely. Everything was vague these days.
And maybe it was better that way.
"Please," the girl said, and Legolas realized the warm carroty liquid was spilling out his mouth and down his front again. "Just swallow. Just a few more swallows."
Swallow--something about swallowing, and this girl. No, not swallowing, swallows. Swallow, lark, thrush, dove. Dove. That was what they called her.
Legolas smiled at her, relieved that he could remember. He tried to speak, which he didn't do much anymore. "Cugu," he said softly.
Dove smiled weakly back at him. She didn't understand that he had just spoken her name in Sindarin. It wasn't her, then, that had given him the name Finmal. Legolas stirred restlessly, trying to make himself understood, trying to let her know he remembered her. "Cugu," he murmured again. Even though he knew the Westron word, his lips would not form it.
Dove smiled again, and then she reached out to caress his hair. Legolas reacted instinctively. His hands were chained to either side of his head and he didn't have great reach with his arms, but Dove was close enough for him to strike the side of her head. She was light enough that the clumsy blow sent her heavily to the ground; the bowl went flying and the rest of the soup slopped out onto the rushes.
Legolas felt remorse when he saw what he had done. Even the remorse, though, was distant, as though he was viewing a stranger's mourning. She should not have touched him, it was true, not in his situation. But he should not have struck her, either. "Forgive me," he murmured as Dove lifted herself up, dashing quick tears from her eyes.
Dove smiled at him, and this time the smile was a little more genuine, not quite so broken. "That's the first Westron you've spoken in months, you know," she said. "It gives me hope."
Legolas did not like the word hope. It reminded him of someone, though he couldn't think who or why. Easier to forget it, now. Dove was looking at the floor with sadness in her large dark eyes. "Now you've gone and spilled dinner, Finmal." She spoke in a sing-song voice, as one speaks to a babe, trying to interest but not really expecting an answer. "And I don't know where I'll find more for you. But you've got to eat more than you do. Please try not to spill it next time," she finished sadly.
Legolas tried to tell her that he was not interested in eating, it made him throw up. But the words got lost in between his thoughts and his tongue. At first it had just been the mistreatment of his body that had made his stomach rebel so; then, when he lost his strength, the morning sickness had begun.
"Finmal," Dove said again, looking at him with pleading eyes. "Please. Your baby needs you to eat. You need to be strong for that baby."
What need has this baby to come into the world? Legolas thought sadly. What welcome would it find from these men? I have betrayed it by conceiving it. Better if I don't eat. Better if this child can return to Eru before its spirit has joined its body.
Dove went back to the door. "I'll come back after the customers tonight," she said, voice shaking slightly on the word 'customers.' "I think I can find you some bread. Please don't kick anybody tonight, Finmal. You know they beat us all when you do that."
Yes, Legolas knew. Dove shut the door. Legolas found himself back in the Greenwood, enjoying the sunlight filtering down through the leaves. These days it felt like he wasn't just wandering without aim but rather was searching for someone, someone he had lost. Someone who was looking for him also. He wondered if they would ever find each other, here under the Greenwood. Wondered if he would ever take his hand and go running through the forests together, take him to the forests, wasn't there a forest I was supposed to show you?
But he could never find the other. No matter what he did, he never saw who it was that wandered in his dreams, that was trying to find him. And as time went by he found himself caring less and less, whether they would ever find one another or not. Whether their paths would cross, or they would continue in parallel circles until he finally lost all his strength and laid down by a crystal pool, aware that the other was near, so near. But unable to reach him; unable to cry out to him, to touch him, to see him and finally know his face.
