A/N: Special thanks this chap. to Ro for the suggestion of how Gimli gets into the brothel.
Gimli sat in a dark corner of the Cat and Cheese Inn, staring moodily at his target. The man the innkeeper had identified as Chezner was of medium height and scrawny build; his hair was sparse and graying, and his face bore a toughened scar above the left eye. Chezner was currently sitting at a table on the opposite end of the inn with three men. Two were burly types sitting opposite him, obviously doing some kind of business--Gimli did not like to think what kind--and the third was a boy, also thin but looking very menacing, who had not yet left Chezner's side. It was clear that his purpose was to act as a bodyguard, and it was that which had given Gimli his idea.
Now he was simply waiting for a chance to speak. As soon as Chezner had entered the inn's common room several men had gone up to speak with him, and the two with him now had been there for some time. They were exchanging dour glances with each other and were clearly unhappy with the way things were going. Chezner, by contrast, was the classic picture of confidence, leaning back with his arms spread and looking aloofly down his nose at his companions.
Gimli shifted restlessly, wishing that they would hurry up. The sun was setting outside, and he wished to get Legolas out of here this night. Finally, when his patience was wearing thin, the men shook hands with Chezner and left the table, looking unsatisfied. Gimli wasted no time. He got to his feet, bringing his tankard of ale with him, and crossed the room.
He sat down across the table from Chezner without preamble, or any attempt to introduce himself. Intimidation was a big factor in the game he was now playing, and he mustn't seem unsure of himself.
Chezner blinked at him, lazily. "Yes?"
Gimli was fighting a strong desire to remove the man's fingernails, individually, followed by his vital organs. "I'm looking for work," he said bluntly.
Chezner blinked again, looking like nothing so much as an over-grown, over-confident cat. "And what makes you believe I can help you, dwarf?"
It would be so easy--to reach across the table and wring his neck. Later, Gimli promised himself. "I know what kind of business you run," Gimli said in a low voice. "The, ah 'wares from Berkand' not withstanding. I can understand how a man in your position might sometimes have trouble keeping those wares in line. Or by chance you get an unruly customer one night." Gimli placed his hands around his ale mug, making sure his biceps were displayed as he did so. "I can help you there. Certainly better than the scrawny lad you've got guarding your back right now." The boy narrowed his eyes to slits. Yes, and I'll be coming back for you too, letting this go on, Gimli thought, and returned the stare impassively.
Chezner pursed his lips, and ran one spidery hand along the stubble decorating his chin. "Where did you hear of my wares?" he asked.
"A friend," Gimli replied. "A man of some position. I'm sure you'll understand if I don't reveal his name."
Chezner nodded. "I understand. Well, Master Dwarf, there may be work for you. What kind of a wage would you expect?"
Don't tell me it's this easy, Gimli thought dizzily. He named some figure off the top of his head, much too high. Chezner raised his eyebrows and countered with a sum barely enough to see to a goat's living needs, much less a dwarf's. Well aware Chezner would cease to regard him as worthwhile if he didn't argue, Gimli frowned and bickered and eventually made to get up and walk away from the table, sweating as he did so.
Fortunately, Chezner stopped him with a hand on his arm, and became more amenable; soon after they settled on a wage. Not that Gimli intended to be there to collect any of it, but it was important Chezner believed he was doing it for the money. Chezner offered his hand to seal the agreement, and Gimli ground his teeth together to avoid flinching as he took it. Perhaps he squeezed a little harder than was necessary.
Chezner then glanced around the room. "Well, Blain, it doesn't look as if there's anything here that requires my immediate attention. Stay here and direct anyone who comes this evening, and I'll go show our new dwarf around the establishment."
Blain nodded, clearly displeased to be left behind. Chezner rose and Gimli followed him; the man put a companionable arm around his companion's shoulders as they exited the inn into the gathering dusk. Gimli fought hard not to flinch. The touch sent shivers of revulsion down his spine.
"Have you worked in an establishment such as mine before?" Chezner queried as they headed down the dusty road.
Gimli answered evasively. "I've done a little bit of every kind of work under the sun in my life. This work is certainly not strange to me."
Chezner seemed pleased with this answer. "Well, you've come across me at an advantageous time, dwarf," he said. It occurred to Gimli that Chezner had not yet asked for his name, nor did he seem to intend to. "One of my bully boys got into a nasty fight with a customer a week ago and broke his leg. Damned useless. So I'm giving you a break, but I'm telling you straight out--this job isn't license to play around with the girls. You'll pay for it like any other customer if you want to sample the wares."
Gimli gathered up all his loathing for this man and spat onto the road. "Dwarves have no lust for any other than their own kind," he rumbled, bitterly aware of the irony of making that claim when it was his love for Legolas that had brought him here. "I won't be giving you any trouble."
"Glad to hear it. Here we are." Chezner lead Gimli up to a medium-sized, two story building. Even though dusk had just barely fallen, a few men were already going in and out the door. The curtains were all tightly drawn.
Inside the front door, Gimli found himself in a sleazy excuse for a parlor. Numerous couches lined the walls, with several girls and one boy in various states of undress on them, who looked up and then away with disinterest when they realized Gimli was an employee and not a customer. "This is where the girls hook 'em," Chezner announced blandly, then with a wink and a nod he added, "Boys too. I got something for every taste."
Gimli swallowed firmly against everything he wanted to say to that, and managed a noncommital nod. Hand still on his Gimli's shoulder, Chezner propelled him across the room and opened a door which proved to lead into a dim hallway with three doors on each side of it. "Those are the fucking rooms," Chezner said, looking at Gimli out of the corner of his eye. Gimli did not react to the coarse language.
Chezner led Gimli to a second door from the main parlor, and into a smallish room that Gimli could only assume was the center of operation for the whores and bullymen who lived and worked there. It seemed to be part kitchen, part dressing room, and part smoking den. There was a rickety staircase disappearing through the ceiling in one corner. A large man was leaning against the far wall, smoking a pipe and looking at Gimli from under hooded lids. A girl was huddled in another corner, using tiny fingers to repair one of the lavish costumes the prostitutes wore. Chezner snarled at her, and with a pout she got up and disappeared into the front room.
Chezner showed Gimli a cabinet on the north wall, which when opened proved to hold seven keys of various sizes and metals. "These are for the pets," he said. "You know, the 'wares from Berkand,'" he added with a leer.
Gimli nodded, his fingers clenching like they would around his axe.
"When a customer wants a go with one of those," Chezner said, "you get me or Faron there to find the right key and open the door up for 'em. When you've proved yourself trustworthy, I'll show you which key goes with which pet so you can do it yourself," he added, smiling condescendingly. "We keep them upstairs."
Gimli broke out into a sweat. He immediately lost track of what Chezner was saying. Right now, right above his head--Legolas. His head was buzzing. After all this time and all his searching, to be so close they were breathing the same air. Gimli could almost swear he could feel the Elf's presence, tangible and real, right above him.
His attention was brought back to the outside world by a girl coming down the stairs. She was terribly frail, and her eyes were wide in her bony face. She was carrying a wooden bowl and spoon carefully in her hands. She looked up as she came in, and Gimli did not miss the flinch of fear on her face when she saw Chezner.
"Did he eat?" Chezner asked brusquely.
The girl nodded, and quickly siddled past Chezner to get a rag to clean the bowl with, trembling. "That's one of my pets right there," Chezner said proudly to Gimli. Gimli felt his blood begin to boil. "Now, she and one of the other girl-pets are the only ones allowed to move around. The other one's no bigger than a mouse, looks like she'll break apart any second, so you'll recognize her when you see her. The rest of them harrass the customers or try to run off if we let them free, so we keep them locked in their rooms. You won't need to interact with 'em much at first. Just know if you see any of the others out of their rooms, something's wrong."
Gimli nodded, suddenly feeling sick to his stomach. He hadn't realized--well, he supposed it had crossed his mind but he hadn't allowed it to really sink in--that there were other victims here, that it wasn't just Legolas who needed rescuing. Looking at the poor big-eyed girl made Gimli hate Chezner all over again. They all deserved to be rescued, and yet there was no way he could get them all out by stealth. Even if he managed to free them enough to fight, if this girl was anything to go by they would never be able to fight their way past Chezner's bully boys and the prostitutes. Gimli's stomach cramped again as he wondered how much muscle Legolas might have lost while he was in here, how weak his love might have become.
Chezner, he realized, had been talking again, and he had not been paying attention. He managed to grasp the last bit-- "Faron and I will be out front tonight. You just watch and try to get the hang of things, and I'll find you a spot tomorrow."
Gimli nodded dumbly, and the big man tapped out his pipe and followed Chezner back into the parlor. Gimli was left alone with the girl.
"What's your name, lass?" he asked gently.
The girl only stared at him, eyes almost dead but with a hint of malice lurking inside them. She looked at him blankly for a moment, then resumed washing the dish.
"Please, I don't want to hurt you," Gimli said. All his thoughts had suddenly narrowed down to one--this girl might know which door Legolas was behind, which key would free him. He had to get her to trust him. "What do they call you?"
"That's a different question," the girl said in a clipped tone. "They call me Cindy, or at least the men do. I don't tell my real name to people like you."
The accusation of those simple words cut cleanly through Gimli, and he found himself leaning forward, wanting to touch the girl but knowing it would be anything but comforting if he did. "Listen," he said in a hoarse whisper. "I'm looking for a friend of mine. An elf, a beautiful golden elf. Somebody told me I could find him here. I want to take him away from this place."
There was a brief shimmer of shock in Cindy's eyes as Gimli spoke, but it had been replaced by contempt by the time he uttered the last word. "Oh, you're really something," she snarled low in her throat. "You just want to have him without having to pay Chezner for it, and you think I'm going to let you into the room." She turned her back furiously.
Gimli controlled his instinct to reach out and shake her. "No, please, you must believe me. He's a friend of mine, from before the war. His name is Legolas."
Cindy did not turn around, but her furious cleansing motions slowed. "I don't know his real name," she admitted hesitantly.
The girl looked at him over her shoulder, and the look she gave him was half contempt and half sadness. "Ask him?" she repeated softly. "It wouldn't do any good."
A hole began to open in Gimli's heart. "Why not?"
"He doesn't speak anymore," the girl said bitterly. "Or at least not in words I can understand. He left a long time ago. Only his body remains."
Grief poured into the hole in Gimli, but instead of filling it the girl's words only made it bigger. "Take me to him," he whispered brokenly.
Cindy shook her head firmly. "You can't do anything." There was an edge of contempt in her voice.
Anger now filled the pit, boiling hot. Gimli restrained himself from attacking the girl--it was not her fault, she was a victim too--but his voice became low and savage. "Listen," he hissed. "I am going to find my friend. You can make it easier; you can give me the key to his room, or I can chop it down. But I'm telling you, I will not let him stay here another single night. I'm going to get him out of here whether you help me or not."
"What are you going to do, take on all the men in the town single-handedly?" she demanded.
"If I have to. Death is certainly preferrable to what Legolas is enduring."
"And what about you?"
"Death is preferable to knowing what Legolas is enduring."
The girl studied him seriously. Gimli felt he was close to winning her over. "What can I do to make you believe me?"
There was a pause; then Cindy spoke in a quiet, solemn voice. "If you were truly Finmal's friend...how close were you?"
"Very close," Gimli said hoarsely.
"Can you describe the scar he has on his back to me?"
"There is a scar along his spine about a handsbreadth above his waist," Gimli replied. "It goes diagonally across the spine from left to right. He got it in a spider hunt," he added, trailing off. She had not asked that.
"And the other one?"
Gimli frowned. "There is no other on his back."
The girl let out a deep breath. "There was no other one, you mean," she corrected softly. "Before he came here. But if you were trying to deceive me for some reason, if someone had given you a description, you wouldn't have known that." She looked at him, her forehead crinkling. "How did you ever find him?"
Gimli could not think what to say; relief was sweeping through him, making him shake so badly he wanted to sit down. "I never gave up hope," he finally managed.
Cindy glanced at the door leading to the parlor; there was urgency in her face and in her voice when she spoke. "Go upstairs; there's a back stairwell that leads directly outside. Take him out through that. I'll give you a few minutes, then I'll create a distraction in the other room to give you some time."
Gimli looked at her with wonder. "I wish--" he started hesitantly. "If there was a way to get you all out, I--"
Cindy shook her head briskly. "No, it's not possible. If one of us can get out I'm glad it's Finmal. You must hurry to get him to safety; I think he's dying." She walked quickly to the cabinet and, opening it, selected a small gold key and pressed it into Gimli's hand. "Second door on the right."
Gimli closed his hand over hers when she would have withdrawn it. "I'll come back," he said. "When Legolas is safe. I will bring my friends back with me and we will put an end to this, I swear to you."
For the first time in their conversation, tears glistened in the girl's eyes. "Don't swear," she whispered. "It only makes it worse. Now go, save your friend." She gave him a push towards the stairs, and smiled a little broken smile. "Two minutes."
Swallowing, Gimli grasped the tiny key in his palm firmly and began to ascend the rickety staircase, which wound in a circle to reach the upper floor. He tried not to think about what Cindy might have to do to create a distraction; he just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other.
The upstairs was dimly lit by sconces in the walls; a narrow hallway had doors on either side of it like below, only these doors stared accusingly at Gimli. He went straight to the second door on the right and fit the key into the lock.
The room was much darker than in the hallway, and for a moment Gimli could not see anything. He hastily closed the door behind him. Directly in front of him his eyes began to make out a low couch, empty except for a small bit of cloth. Then he heard low, steady breathing coming from his right.
He turned, and his search was at an end.
A figure barely recognizable as Legolas was kneeling in the corner, naked, his back to Gimli. His wrists were bound with manacles attached to ropes that stretched up to the ceiling, pulling his arms taut above his head. There were also manacles on his ankles, but they were unattached to anything. The elf was not given quite enough slack on the ropes to be able to kneel comfortably on the ground, but he had drawn his legs up tightly underneath him and had managed to take some of the tension off his arms. Legolas's head was resting against one arm, his golden hair a tangled mess across his back. His skin was pale and marred with many angry red marks, and stretched tightly over his bones. If it had not been for the steady breathing that had attracted his attention in the first place, Gimli would not have been certain he was alive.
"Legolas," he whispered hoarsely. There was no movement.
Remembering what the girl had said about his soul having departed, Gimli lurched forward. He saw Legolas's shoulders tense slightly, and realized the elf was at least aware someone was in the room with him. "Legolas, it's me." He gingerly laid one hand on the elf's shoulder, trembling at the longed-for contact. Legolas did not react. "Legolas, it's Gimli. I've come to get you out."
Chapter Six
"Legolas, it's me." He gingerly laid one hand on the elf's shoulder, trembling at the longed-for contact. Legolas did not react. "Legolas. It's Gimli. I've come to get you out."
At last, a response. Slowly and stiffly, Legolas turned his head back, eyes dully searching until they came across Gimli's and their gazes locked.
The look in Legolas's eyes struck him cold with its similarity to the girl's downstairs. So many things radiated in that gaze: hostility and anger, fear and caution, and a cold sort of judging--a tenseness, the readiness to flee. All of it blanketed by the dim disinterest of someone who had seen too much. The only difference was that Legolas's eyes held a touch less fear and more hostility.
There was absolutely no sign that he recognized Gimli.
"Legolas, it's me," Gimli murmured in quiet despair, reaching out to touch Legolas's cheek.
Legolas's mobility was limited but he still reacted with Elven swiftness, moving as far away from Gimli's touch as was possible. Gimli realized his error instantly, and withdrew his hand. It was enough to break Gimli out of his slightly stunned state, and he remembered with sudden force that he had very little time. He fit the key into the manacle on Legolas's left wrist, talking as he worked it open. His words came spilling out faster and faster, filling the empty space where Legolas did not speak and did not recognize him. "Legolas, I'm going to get you out of here. It's okay. I'm going to take you back to Edoras and then they will come and destroy this place. You have friends there that will hunt these people down and murder them. You're not going to stay here another night, not now that I've found you."
Legolas's breathing grew quick and slightly ragged, but he remained comatose--he did not look at Gimli as the dwarf released his left arm and laid it gently on the Elf's lap, afraid Legolas would just let the limb drop. Gimli had freed the right arm and was reaching for the manacles on his friend's ankles when Legolas struck.
Gimli had trained as a warrior for years, and instinct completely took over when Legolas attacked him. His mind didn't catch up with his body until they were both on the ground, himself on top, pinning Legolas effectively to the ground. Threat neutralized, he looked blankly at the thin wrists his hands were encircling easily, wrists he could have held in one hand, and realized he never would have won that skirmish if Legolas had been in his full health. Legolas was breathing heavily and Gimli could feel a small, hard protrusion in Legolas' stomach, causing him frantic worry that his Elf was ill. "Legolas, it's me!" he hissed furiously, desperately. "We don't have time for this! I have to get you out of here."
Legolas stared up at him with that same veiled look, not struggling for the moment but hatred very clear in his eyes. Gimli wracked his brains for some way to make Legolas recognize him, at least to the point where he would stop attacking.
"Do you remember Lorien?" he asked in a harsh whisper. Maybe reminding Legolas of a time before this horror had taken place would help break through the confusion and fear between them. "Do you remember the Fellowship? Aragorn and Gandalf and Boromir, and all the little hobbits?" Saying names didn't seem to be helping, so Gimli tried a slightly different angle. "Do you remember us floating down the Anduin, you and me in the boat with all our gear and the others far ahead? Do you remember how we talked to each other then? Do you remember any of it?"
Legolas's breathing was slowing down. A glazed look was slowly replacing the hatred in his eyes; Gimli couldn't guess whether this was an improvement or not. "Remember, Legolas," he commanded softly, hoping that the repetition of the Elf's true name would jar Legolas out of this trance or daze or whatever it was that kept him from knowing Gimli.
Legolas blinked, his gaze suddenly focused clearly on Gimli. There was someone there. Not Legolas--not his friend, his love, the way he had been--but someone. Not an animal, a creature with no soul acting only in defense of a perceived threat.
"Legolas?" he asked softly.
Slowly, Legolas raised one hand. Gimli did not dare to breathe as Legolas gently touched the back of his hand to Gimli's cheek. "Gimli," he said softly.
The moment was broken by a crash and an uproar of male voices from the common room. Not daring to break eye contact, Gimli slowly released his pin on Legolas and held his hands out. With a vague look of wonder in his eyes, Legolas grasped the proffered hands and allowed Gimli to help him to his feet. Gimli glanced swiftly at the swelling low in the Elf's abdomen and frowned--but there was no time to worry about it now.
Gimli snatched the robe that was crumpled into one corner of the low couch and handed it to Legolas. It was made of a silky, flimsy material and wouldn't provide much shelter, but it was certainly better than nothing. While Legolas put it on with a easy, practiced movement Gimli undid the brooch on his Lothlorien cloak and handed it, too, to the Elf. Legolas took it with a look of wonder, fingering the fine Elven weave as he drew it on.
"Quickly," Gimli hissed, listening to the raised voices of the men downstairs. "We haven't much time." Fearful that Legolas would not follow of his own accord, he took the Elf's hand in his and drew him towards the door.
Legolas's hand was firm in Gimli's grasp and he did not resist the contact, but Gimli got the impression he would not have moved without aide. Once through the door Gimli took a precious moment to close and lock it behind them, hoping it would buy them time before their flight was discovered. Then he pulled the unresisting yet inactive Elf down the ominously dim hallway to a door at the end that could only lead to the outside stairwell Cindy had described to him.
He threw the door open and found himself looking down at a deserted street, almost completely shrouded in darkness now. Gimli instantly started down the none-too-stable staircase, but to his surprise he felt a resisting tug from his left arm. Legolas had stopped cold.
Legolas was staring back into the hallway they had just come from with a pained expression on his face. "Legolas, please, we must hurry!" Gimli pled in a whisper.
Legolas took three quick steps back into the hallway. Cursing whatever fey mood had grabbed the Elf, Gimli tightened his grip on Legolas's hand and prepared to dig his heels in.
Legolas came to a halt in front of one of the unassuming doorways, stroking the front with one hand. "Mellyn-nin," he said softly, his tone heartbreakingly sad.
Gimli recognized, from the password into Moria, that the elvish had something to do with friends. "Don't worry about them, Legolas," he whispered, trying to sound comforting and urgent at the same time. "We'll come back for them."
Legolas's reaction was violent. He turned swiftly to his companion, eyes widening in terror as he grabbed both of Gimli's hands in a grip like iron and shook his head frantically. He was trying to speak, but all that was coming out was a thick choking sound as the veins in his neck bulged.
"No, no, you don't have to come back," Gimli reassured him hastily, realizing his error. "You don't have to come back here. Never again. I only meant that when we get out of here we'll send people back to free the others. Aragorn and Eomer--only please hurry, Legolas. We don't have time." He pulled hard on Legolas's hand, but the Elf still resisted. "Legolas. I swear to you, they will be rescued. But if you don't come with me now you and I stand a good chance of being killed, and the others will remain here. Please."
That finally seemed to get through to him. Legolas turned and refocused his attention on Gimli, not even needing to be pulled to follow Gimli out the door and down the outside staircase.
From outside you could not tell if anything was amiss inside the brothel, and Gimli prayed Cindy's distraction was still going on. He started to run down the street, away from the center of town, but Legolas lagged behind. Gimli glanced back and saw that his friend was trying to keep up but struggling, wincing as his bare feet came into contact with rocks in the road.
Gimli swore under his breath. After hunting the hobbits across the plains of Rohan it had gotten into Gimli's head that Legolas could run like the wind, anytime, anywhere. But even an Elf couldn't be expected to make this kind of escape on bare feet; not a weak, exhausted, and degraded Elf, at any rate.
Another option immediately presented itself to the Dwarf's mind, and though he didn't care for it he also didn't have time to spare. "Legolas." He guided his friend towards an apparently abandoned building and made Legolas conceal himself in the shadows, grateful for the Lady Galadriel's cloak. Gimli paused; in this state of mind, could he trust Legolas not to run off? The Elf was clearly not completely present in the moment; his expression was so vague that Gimli wasn't sure if Legolas even understood anything that was said to him. "Legolas," he said firmly. "Legolas, look at me. I need you to stay here." He realized he was speaking to Legolas as he would to a child, and it frustrated him, but he didn't know what else to do. Legolas was looking at him steadily, but he did not nodd or make any other affirmative action. "Legolas? You must not move from this spot. Do you understand me?"
Legolas nodded, but Gimli was still unsure. "You'll be here when I get back? You won't make a sound?"
"I understand, Gimli," Legolas said in his own light, clear tone. "I will not move."
Warmth spread through Gimli when he heard Legolas speak so coherently. "Good." He found himself unable to leave, even for these few minutes, without some kind of physical contact; so he reached out and cupped Legolas's face in his palm. Some part of his brain dimly noted the stark contrast between his tan, weathered fingers and Legolas's moonlight skin. "I'll be back soon," he whispered. He took off down the street a run, not daring to look back, not daring to think wistfully that there had once been a time when Legolas had not recoiled from his touch like he had just done.
