Chapter 19    Evil Unveiled

~Aragorn son of Arathorn, King of Gondor knelt silently in the blood stained snow, his head bowed.  His normally proud set shoulders sagged wearily with the untold weight of grief and pain, and at his sides both his hands were clenched into tight fists.  Blood marred his rich tunic in several places, yet he seemed completely oblivious to the dark stains, his gaze fixed on a patch of crimson snow directly before him.

“You killed them,” he whispered softly, the sound of his voice filled with unimaginable anguish.  “Everyone I ever loved…you killed them all.”

 His body swayed then, as if in denial of his words, and a loud moan tore from his lips.  For a moment it seemed he would topple forward into the snow, but it was as if invisible bonds gripped him and held him steady, refusing to allow him to fall.

Servius sneered down at the King kneeling at his feet, his dark eyes burning brightly with malicious triumph.  In his right hand he gripped the hilt of a long, sharp dagger, the weapon’s fine blade stained with blood.  The thick red liquid dripped from the point of the dagger in a slow stream of small droplets that hit the snow with a soft hissing sound.

“Yes I killed them,” he mocked the broken man before him.  “It was a pleasure to kill them.  And they all died the same, begging and pleading to be spared. The elf, the dwarf…your precious little wife!  You could have saved them, you know.”  His voice suddenly lost its mocking tone, switching instead to something low and filled with hate.  “And yet, the great and powerful King of Gondor failed!  Your friends are dead, and it is because of you that they have perished.”

Aragorn shook his head, as if desperately attempting to deny Servius’ words.  “No, no, no,” he whispered continually, as if the constant diatribe would somehow protect him from the truth of the words.

“Yes!” Servius snapped back.  “You were too weak to save them!  Now, I have taken everything from you, just as you once took everything from me.  Now I am at last free to kill you as I have desired for so long.”

Aragorn at last looked up, and the expression on his face was one never before seen on the proud man’s countenance; complete and utter defeat.  “Yes,” he choked out brokenly, before once more dropping his gaze to the stained snow.

Servius laughed, feelings of glee and triumph bursting throughout his body.  Still laughing, he stepped forward, his dagger rising.  He reached out and grasped a handful of dark hair, jerking Aragorn’s head back.  Looking into his hated enemies eyes one last time, he plunged the dagger home…~

Servius jerked awake, his eyes flying open.  He flung upright in his bed, trying desperately to peer into the pitch dark of his room.  Deep, ragged breaths tore from his lungs, a mixture of wild euphoria from his dream and a deep, unexplainable terror. 

Something had woken him.

With hurried, jerky movements, Servius plunged his hand beneath his pillow, finding the familiar comfort of the hilt of his dagger.  Yanking the weapon free, he whirled around, breathing hard, his eyes wide in the darkness.   His blood was pounding in his ears, almost deafening him as he listened intently, trying to pick up whatever noise had woken him.

‘Someone is in my room!’ 

As soon as the panicky thought registered, Servius shook his head and dismissed it, trying to mentally force himself to calm.  The door to his room was heavily locked, with two guards posted outside at all times.  No one would have been able to pass them without Servius being alerted.  His room had no windows, for they were too difficult to guard and offered easy access to assassins and thieves.  Not even the smallest of rats would be able to enter the room without him first knowing it.  No, it was impossible for anyone to be in his room.

‘Yet something pulled me from my dreams.  What was it?’

As if in answer to his silent question there came a soft knock on the door to his room, followed by a somewhat timid call drifting through the heavy oak.

Servius cursed beneath his breath, twisting around in the bed to carefully replace the dagger beneath his pillow.  Pulling his legs from beneath the covers, he hesitated for a moment before swinging them to the cool, wooden floor.

‘What am I afraid of?  That some nameless monster will leap from beneath the bed and attack me?’ He thought sarcastically.

A thin stream of light filtered in from the crack beneath the door, and Servius’ eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness.  Despite his best effort not to, he could not help running his eyes carefully around the room, searching each dark corner for anything out of place.  When he was at last certain that everything was as it should be, and that he was indeed alone, he stalked angrily to the door, throwing the heavy lock and swinging the door open with a loud bang.

“You had best have a good reason from disturbing my rest, Fanchon,” he growled darkly, glaring up into the startled expression of his advisor.

Fanchon had automatically taken a step back at Servius’ abrupt appearance, but now he moved forward, a look of excitement clouding his features.  “They are here, sir!  Tervanis has returned!”

*****

It was snowing, large, wet flakes drifting down heavily from an iron gray sky, swirling and twisting wildly.  The storm, which had started out as only a few little flurries, had quickly intensified into a full blown blizzard, a dazzling sheet of writhing white which hid from view anything more than a few paces away.  The sun had set several hours earlier, barely noticed beneath the heavy blanket of dark clouds.  No hint of stars or moon could be seen, and yet the night was anything but dark.  A strange glow enveloped everything, seeming to both emanate and reflect from the thousands of whirling snowflakes.  It seemed almost as if each flake carried within its cold depths a tiny flicker of light, a miniature candle which served to brighten up the land in its own immeasurable way.  A deep silence settled over everything, a profound stillness that made even the slightest of noises seem eerie and out of place.

Legolas tilted his head back and closed his eyes, reveling in the snows’ soft caress against his face.  For a single moment in time he was able to forget his present troubles; his hands firmly bound behind him, the burning pain in his shoulders and back, the sick feeling of nausea in his stomach, the sharp ache in his left thigh.  All of these things were slowly swallowed up in the quiet peacefulness of the land.  Even the soft thud of the horses’ hooves was muted, muffled by the raging, silent storm.

Legolas jerked upright in the saddle, his eyes flying open and every muscle in his body tensing painfully as the silence was abruptly shattered by a distant, piercing scream.  It was a woman’s scream, filled with terror and pain, and slowly rising in pitch and volume until, suddenly, just as quickly as it had begun, it was sharply cut off.  The silence slammed back down, but the peacefulness was now completely gone, swallowed up in the echoes of that brief, horrible, cry.

A low chuckle sounded to Legolas’ left. “Welcome home, boys,” Kiesco called out cheerfully, his voice drifting out from the heavy folds of the cloak he had wrapped about him to ward off the cold, biting wind.  “We might not be able to see it yet through all this sludge, but we sure can hear it!”

Coarse laughter followed this pronouncement, and Legolas felt himself tensing even further, his jaw clenched tightly in anger.  He, of course, could both hear and see the town of Norvil, it lights flickering eerily from atop the crest of a small rise only a hundred yards away.  The intensity of the storm was so fierce that Legolas doubted the men would be able to see the lights at all until they were practically on top of them.  Still, they seemed to know clearly where they were going, never swerving off course in the slightest, though any path to the town was hidden under several inches of snow.  It seemed almost as if some force drew them on, an unearthly bond between themselves and the sprawling town.

‘The fatal attraction of evil to evil,’ Legolas thought solemnly.  ‘This is not a place I would have ever hoped to visit.’  Still, he found that he had to admit he was at least somewhat relieved that the long journey was at last over. After crossing the Poros river, they had traveled steadily east for three days, riding within the dark shadow of the Ephal Duath.  Those three days were nothing but a nightmare memory for Legolas, and even now his mind shied away from the pain and grief.  The shock of losing Dar, combined with the horrors of the drug Svellon had caused the days to pass in a blur, while the nights seemed never to end.  At the end of each day, as the men prepared camp, Tervanis would force some of the drug down Legolas’ throat, and each night his reaction to it was different.  One night he was burning, his flesh feeling as if at any moment it would shrivel up and turn to ash.  The next night it had been hallucinations of terrible monsters with sharp claws, and though the monsters had not been real, the pain of them tearing into his flesh had been.  And so it had gone on, each night something different, the horror of not knowing what new agony awaited him a torture in and of itself.  Even after the drug wore off, he felt weak and sick, pain a constant companion.

‘Yet that is all over now,’ Legolas told himself firmly, suppressing a deep shudder.  ‘We have reached our destination, and soon Tervanis will be turning me over to Servius, whoever he might be.  Whatever tortures he might have in store for me cannot be much worse that what I have already endured.  I will learn his plans, find out what he wants with me, and more importantly, with Aragorn, and then I shall find a way to stop him!’

Legolas pulled himself from his thoughts as the group of horsemen entered the town, the squat, gray shapes of building drifting slowly past them as they moved down what was obviously the main road.  Legolas looked sharply about him, marking each little detail and memorizing the path they were taking.  The weather seemed to have chased most of the inhabitants of Norvil indoors, yet here and there an occasional group of men could be seen hanging about the entrances to dark alleys or the brightly painted doors of loud taverns.  They were all wrapped in heavy cloaks, with their swords or daggers firmly displayed around their waists, easily within reach.  Legolas noted that none of the men stood alone, but were also within groups of at least three others.  They stared at the riders as they past, their eyes lingering especially on Legolas, who was the only one who rode without a cloak to protect him from the cold.  His long golden hair and sharp elven features must have been somewhat blurred from the men by the steadily falling snow, yet it was still obvious enough that he was a foreigner.

Legolas’ gaze moved forward to where Tervanis rode at the front of the group.  He was firmly swathed in a dark green traveling cloak, yet he kept the hood down, his features open for everyone to see.  And the men on the streets did see, Legolas noted, and many of them backed away, or lowed their heads in a gesture of submission.  ‘It seems the assassin is well known here,’ Legolas thought darkly.  ‘And feared as well.’

Tervanis led them down the road for several minutes before turning onto a smaller, narrower side street.  About halfway down the lane he stopped at the entrance to a dark alley and dismounted.  The rest of the men dismounted as well, and Kiesco moved forward to roughly yank Legolas out of the saddle.

“Kiesco, bring the elf here,” Tervanis called from the mouth of the alley, “The rest of you remain here with the horses.  Kiesco will return with your money shortly.”

Kiesco grabbed Legolas roughly by the back of his tunic and pushed him forward, laughing wickedly when Legolas gasped in pain as his injured leg was jarred painfully.  The arrow wound was healing, but slowly.  Much more slowly than Legolas had expected.  Most likely it had something to do with Svellon, yet Legolas tried hard not to think of what side effects the drug might have that were still, as yet, unknown to him.

Tervanis had already disappeared into the alley, and Kiesco quickly followed, one hand firmly grasping Legolas by the crook of his elbow.  Legolas was beginning to feel slightly nauseated, but he choke back the sick feeling and concentrated on memorizing his surrounding.

The alley was long and narrow, smelling of dirty refuse and unwashed bodies.  Cold eyes stared out at them from the shadows on either side, but no one moved forward to intercept them as they quickly made their way toward a short, squat building nestled at the very end of the narrow passage.  All the visible windows of the building were carefully boarded up, the only entrance appearing to be a wide iron door, with steps that led directly down into the alley.  Two men dressed as beggars huddled forlornly on the front steps of the building, their dark eyes studying the three approaching forms with cold disinterest.

Tervanis completely ignored them, mounting the steps in three short leaps, Kiesco and Legolas directly behind him.  He strode boldly up to the door—which appeared to have no outside latch—and quickly tapped out a cadence of soft knocks, followed by two loud, then another series of soft.  The door swung soundlessly open, and without a single glance back Tervanis strode in, followed warily by Legolas and Kiesco.

A large man, with thick, corded muscles stood directly inside the door, eying the three newcomers with the same disinterest as the two men outside.

“This is Garish, Kiesco,” Tervanis stated coolly.  “He will have your money.”  The assassin reached back and grabbed Legolas’ arm, yanking him forward and out of Kiesco’s startled grasp.  “Where is Servius?” he demanded of the silent guard.

The large man pointed silently down the hall while simultaneously pulling out a large, jangling bag from a pocket in his cloak and shoving it in Kiesco’s direction.

“But…” Kiesco began, but Tervanis was already moving away down the hall in the direction the guard had pointed, dragging Legolas along behind him.

“Take the money and go, Kiesco,” he called over his shoulder, not bothering to slow his quick pace.  “I have no more need of you tonight.”

Legolas wasn’t too happy about being yanked and dragged around like some pet dog, yet there was little he could do to stop it.  He was feeling more weak and sick with each passing moment, and he was sure that any struggle he put up now could be squelched with little to no effort on Tervanis’ part.  So instead he followed along complacently, trying to ignore the twisting sensation in the pit of his stomach.

Tervanis appeared to be heading toward a wide set of stairs leading upward at the far end of the hall.  However, once they reached the stairs, instead of going up them as Legolas had expected, Tervanis moved around them.  A small niche at the back of the stairs revealed a heavy oak door that Tervanis swung open and stalked through without so much as a knock, still dragging Legolas along beside him.

The room they entered appeared to be some kind of dining room, with a single, long plain table set in exactly the center.  Ten chairs were set about the table at regular intervals, and three large candleholders, each holding a thick white candle sat in the middle of the table.  The room contained four small windows, but just like the front of the house, they were each tightly boarded up.  It was extremely dim with only the three candles for light, and the smell of pipe smoke filled the air.  Legolas unconsciously wrinkled his nose and shook his head in distaste.

“Well done, Tervanis,” a voice floated from out of the shadows at the end of the room.  “Very well done!”

Tervanis grunted in reply, then tugged at Legolas’ arm, trying to herd him toward the other end of the room.  Legolas did not notice however.  So great was his shock he did not even feel it.  He was busy staring into the shadows from which the voice had come, his elven features flooded with a sick recognition, eyes wide with shock and disbelief. 

“Welcome to my home, Prince Legolas.”  Servius stepped from the shadows and gave a short, mocking bow.  “So kind of you to come and visit an old friend.  I trust your stay will be an enjoyable one.”

“You know each other?” Tervanis demanded sharply, glancing back and forth between the frozen elf and his employer.

“Of course we know each other,” Servius crooned, cocking his head  to one side to study Legolas with a cold grin.  “In fact, I believe he was there the day I was cast from my home, banished from my own city by his dear friend, King Elessar.  Isn’t that right, my prince?”  Merton paused briefly, as if waiting for Legolas to speak, but when the elf said nothing he went on. “Of course, you knew me by a different name then.  Merton, wasn’t it?  Merton Fallow Candywell III?”

Legolas still said nothing.  In truth he was still suffering from the shock of finding that Servius was really Merton Fallow Candywell III.  Of all the people Legolas might have suspected of being behind all this, Merton would have been at the very bottom of the list.  In fact, he wasn’t sure the ex-mayor of Calembel would have been on the list at all!  The man was soft and weak, not to mention a coward.  He had always struck Legolas as pompous and proud, lacking anything even remotely resembling intelligence.   Yet here he stood before him, definitely the same man, but changed in more than just appearance.  Merton had lost weight, his hands no longer appeared plump and soft, and his eyes now held a cold slyness.  Still, it was hard to imagine him as the person who had orchestrated all that had transpired within the last couple of weeks.

“Sit down,” Merton ordered coldly when it became obvious that Legolas was going to say nothing.

Tervanis firmly jerked Legolas forward, forcing him into one of the hard, high back chairs.

Merton watched calmly from his position at the head of the table, shaking his head in mock dismay.  “My my, Prince Legolas,” he said softly, “It appears as if the journey here has been somewhat hard on you.  You look a little worse for the wear, my friend.  Perhaps we can make you more comfortable.  Tervanis, release his hand.”

The assassin hesitated, and Merton’s eyes flashed with anger.  “Do as I say!” he bellowed in a sudden show of temper.

Tervanis shrugged dismissively, drawing his knife and nonchalantly slicing the rope binding Legolas’ hands.

Legolas gratefully rubbed his raw wrists, feeling the blood flowing back into his hands.  He glanced at Tervanis curiously, wondering why the man had backed down so easily to Merton’s show of rage.  The assassin’s face was completely devoid of expression, and he met Legolas’ gaze without so much as a blink.  Legolas turned back to find Merton studying him in much the same way he had been studying Tervanis.

“I am somewhat surprised that you recognized me so easily, my friend,” Merton commented lightly, all hint of his earlier anger once more replaced by cold calmness.  “I have changed quite a bit since we last met.  But come, tell me about my dear friend King Elessar.  Is he still moving about the countryside, casting out innocent people from their homes and stealing their riches all for his…”

“Aragorn cast you out because you were a simpering coward who abandoned your people when they needed you most,” Legolas cut in sharply, his eyes narrowing in anger.  Now that he was getting over his shock, he was beginning to feel quite angry.  The man before him was the one responsible for ordering the attack on both Gimli and Arwen, as well as his own abduction, however impossible it might seem.  There was no way Legolas was going to sit back idly and allow Merton to insult Aragorn, however pettily.  “And do not call me friend, for I am no friend of yours, nor shall I ever be!”

Merton’s eyes widened slightly in anger, but Legolas got the strangest feeling that the man was more angry at being interrupted than he was at Legolas’ insult.  He raised his hand sharply, whipping it in toward Legolas’ face in an open palmed slap.  The blow never landed, however, for Legolas was faster, his own hand darting upward to catch Merton’s wrist in an iron grip.  Merton’s hand came to an abrupt halt several inches short of its target, and the man’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

Legolas sensed Tervanis shift slightly by his side, but to his surprise the assassin made no move to free his employer.

Legolas and Merton stared at each other for what seemed an eternity, Legolas’ gaze hard and unyielding, while Merton seemed caught between rage and panic.  The man’s eyes kept flickering toward Tervanis, but still the assassin made no move to help him.  At last, with a shrill cry of rage, Merton jerked back, ripping his arm free from Legolas’ grasp.

Legolas let him go, releasing the man’s wrist at the exact same moment Merton jerked back.  The man toppled backwards, nearly tripping on a chair and tumbling to the ground.  At the last moment he managed to catch his balance and whirl back around to face Legolas, his face a lurid purple.

“Bind him!” he screamed at Tervanis, a large vein in his forehead throbbing wildly.

Legolas sighed inwardly as he felt the cold brush of steel against his neck.  Tervanis grasped each of his wrist and obediently rebound them, though it seemed to Legolas that the knots where much looser than they had been before.

As soon as Legolas’ hands were bound once more, Merton moved forward and ruthlessly slammed his heavy fist into the helpless elf’s face; once, twice, then a third time.  Legolas accepted the blows stoically, his head rocking violently to the side with each strike.  As soon as Merton realized his slaps were gaining little response, he backed away, his eyes narrowing.  A wild light had entered his eyes, and gazing at him, Legolas felt slightly taken aback.  He was staring at a man whom he remembered as nothing but a simpering coward, pompous and petty.  Now, however, there was a mad gleam in Merton’s eyes, a cold darkness that enfolded him like a black shroud.  Legolas knew it was more than just some mask the man put on, but something that went much deeper.  If Merton had not already admitted his identity, Legolas was not sure he would believe he was looking at the same man who had fled Calembel six years ago under penalty of death, so drastic was the sudden change before him.

As if to punctuate the complete and total transformation of his previous being, Merton stepped forward once more, his eyes fixed on Legolas. “You have made a foolish mistake, my prince!” he rasped out hoarsely.  “You are no longer in Gondor!  Here, it is I that has the power.  You would do well to learn some respect!”

“I offer my respect only to those who have earned it, Candywell,” Legolas responded coldly.

“SERVIUS!!”  Merton bellowed, taking another step forward and raising his hand as if to strike Legolas once more.  “My name is SERVIUS!  Merton Fallow Candywell III no longer exists!  Perhaps you need something to remind you of this.  Tervanis, give me your knife!”

Legolas sensed Tervanis’ reluctance as the assassin slowly drew his knife and handed it to Merton.  He wondered at it, but was not given much time to contemplate the strange behavior.

“I see the marks from my blows are already beginning to fade,” Merton said slyly.  “Perhaps I should mark you in a way that won’t so easily be forgotten.”

Legolas drew back slightly in alarm, but there was nowhere to go.  With two quick, precise flicks of his wrist, Merton drew first one slash, then a second down both of Legolas’ cheeks, the cuts shallow but long.  Legolas grimaced in pain, but made no sound.  The cuts burned fiercely, and he could already feel the slow flow of blood down his face, but he kept his gaze firmly locked on Merton, refusing to back down to the man’s evil.

“Why have you brought me here,” he asked simply, tired of playing the man’s games and intent on learning the purpose behind why he had been taken  “It is obvious that it is Aragorn whom you hate, and yet your men left him and took me.  Why?”

“Why?” Merton sneered, impatiently thrusting the knife back to Tervanis.  “I’ll tell you why!   Because for six long years I have dreamed and planned my revenge on King Elessar.  I wanted him to lose everything, just as I lost everything.  I wanted him to suffer, as I suffered, only greater.  I wanted to be the one to take the things he cared about most from him, and then, in the end, take his very life from him as well!  I have wanted it so badly, for so long, and now, finally, I shall know victory over him.”

“That still does not explain why you have brought me here,” Legolas said softly, somewhat taken aback by the mad light in Merton’s eyes.  It was true that Aragorn had cast Merton from his home, banishing him from the city he had governed for several years.  Still, it seemed to Legolas like such a small thing, barely deserving of the unbridled hate he sensed flowing through Merton like an uncontrollable flood.

 ‘Hate is such a strange thing,’ he thought wryly, ‘Fed and nurtured it can turn into an wild demon, destroying all reason and causing even small, imagined wrongs, to become things of reality.  It appears as if Merton has carried his hate and bitterness toward Aragorn for too long, and now it has taken control of him and driven him mad.  He is a prisoner of it, a hostage to his own hate.’  It occurred to Legolas that he too was a hostage to this same hate, a pawn being used to get revenge on Aragorn.  The thought made him feel somewhat sick.

“I could have had my men capture King Elessar and bring him to me,” Merton admitted lightly, some of his cold calmness returning. “Yet that would have been too easy.  Elessar is King, and when he says come, people come, and when he says go, they go.  Not this time, however.  This time it is I who summons him!  If he wishes to see you alive, he has no choice but to come to me.  You, my dear Legolas, are merely my means for bringing him to me, and then controlling him once he is here.”

“And what do you intend on doing once he arrives?” Legolas asked, “It is obvious you have more in mind than merely capturing and killing him.”

Merton laughed shortly.  “Much more,” he assured dryly.  “I will dance the King upon my strings like a puppet, and he will be able to do nothing for fear of harm to you!  And when the time comes, I will cut my little puppet’s strings, and leave him for the wolves!”

“You might find controlling Aragorn harder than you believe,” Legolas warned Merton softly, though he knew the man would not listen.

Merton’s eyes gleamed.  “Let me tell you a story, Legolas,” he murmured softly.  “It is a story I heard shortly after arriving in Khand, and after hearing it, I knew exactly what it was I was going to do!  It is a story about love, and about hate!  You see, there once lived a very rich man, and his very beautiful daughter.  The two had everything they could ever desire; a big house, find foods, many servants.  They were happy together, and it seemed nothing could spoil their nice little world!  But then one day, the daughter met a young man.  He was not a particularly rich man, nor was he terribly handsome, and yet the girl fell in love with him, and he with her.  He went to the father and asked for the girl’s hand in marriage.  The father, however, afraid of losing his daughter’s love denied him.  Yet the boy was very persistent, and at last the father realized he would not be dissuaded.  He told the boy that should he accomplish three tasks and prove himself, then he would allow him to marry his daughter.  The boy, being young and foolish, and in love, agreed.  The first task was a test of his strength and courage, and he passed it without much difficulty.  The second task tested his knowledge and wit, and he once more passed seemingly with ease.  The father was growing desperate, fearing that the boy would succeed in the third task and take his daughter away from him.  And so, for the final task, he ordered the boy to go out into the wilderness and slay a wild oliphant with no weapon but a small hunting dagger.  The last test was seemingly impossible, and all the boy’s friends pleaded with him not to attempt it.  However, he was in love and could not be dissuaded.  He went into the wilderness, and with an amazing show of strength and bravery, he managed to bring down the oliphant.  However, as the creature was falling, it caught the young man with one of its horns, and tore him asunder.”  Merton ended the story with a dramatic flare, his eyes burning, as if he could picture the gory scene clearly in his mind.  “You see, you dear Legolas, represent the pretty daughter, waiting desperately for your hero to come and rescue you.  King Elessar is the foolish boy, blinded by his love and loyalty to you.  He will come to save you.  Yet here I come into the game, for I am the evil father, here to make sure that he fails!”

“You intend to test him,” Legolas said softly, though he already knew the answer.  “You will give him certain tasks to accomplish in order to free me.”

“Exactly!” Merton shouted excitedly.  “And just as the boy failed in his task, so shall he!  I will make certain he fails! Then I shall be forced to kill you, dear Legolas.  I will cast your body at his feet, along with the certain knowledge that it was his failure that killed you.”  Merton laughed gleefully, clapping his hands together like some excited child offered a new toy.  “Then I will see him bow at my feet! The high and mighty, great and powerful King of Gondor completely destroyed!  Then, and only then will I be free to kill him!”

The crazed light had returned to Merton’s eyes, blazing strongly, his face flushed a dark red.  Watching him, Legolas felt the oddest sense of pity for the man.  “You are wrong,” he said softly, causing Merton’s gaze to snap to his own.  “Even if you should kill me and cast my body at Aragorn’s feet, you will not have destroyed him.  He will be grieved for me, yes, yet he will not meekly kneel at your feet and surrender.  You may very well find that it will be you who is destroyed in the end!”

Merton’s face darkened in anger, and for a moment Legolas thought he would attack him again.  “We shall see!” the man spat.  “Tervanis, take our royal guest to his sleeping quarters!  It appears as if he might need some rest after his long journey.

Legolas had almost forgotten Tervanis’ presence, so quiet had the assassin been.  Now he allowed the man to reach down and pull him to his feet, turning him and leading him toward the door.

“Sleep well, Legolas,” Merton called out mockingly, as the two left the room.

Tervanis firmly led Legolas back down the hall they had come up, stopping at the last door before the one leading out into the street.  “Garish!” he called out sharply, and the large man appeared as if by magic.  He reached out and unlocked the door, revealing a narrow stairwell leading steeply downward.  The stairs were lit by a single lantern, which Tervanis grabbed from its hook to light their way as they moved forward.  The stairs were long and winding, seeming to go on forever before at last ending at a large, iron door.  Garish once more moved forward to unlock the door, and the three of them moved into what appeared to be a large cellar.  Sitting at the far end of the cellar was a small, iron-barred cage, five feet long, three feet wide, and four feet tall.  Legolas immediately drew back, staring at the small cage in horror.

“I thought you had learned not to fight me, Legolas,” Tervanis said calmly, speaking up for the first time since calling Garish.  “You know it just goes harder on you when you do.”

As if to punctuate his words, Garish moved up beside Legolas, moving swiftly for a man of his girth.  One large, meaty hand reached out to grasp Legolas’ neck, squeezing painfully.  Legolas suddenly felt week and dizzy, all strength fleeing from his limbs as dark dots danced in front of his vision.  He felt himself being dragged toward the small cage, and he tried to resist, but the hand on his neck only tightened, sending his senses spinning.  For a horrible moment he thought he was going to black out.  Then suddenly the hand on his neck disappeared and he was roughly shoved into the small cage.  He lay on his side, gasping, his neck burning painfully, as the heavy iron door was slammed shut and locked.  Legolas barely had room to move, and immediately a sense of panic rushed over him.  He did NOT like small, enclosed spaces.

Forcing himself to breath evenly, he watched as Tervanis and Garith marched back across the cellar towards the door, taking the meager light of the lantern with them.

Legolas had the strongest urge to call out to them, to somehow make them stay or at least leave the light.  If there was anything he disliked more than small spaces, it was being trapped in small spaces in pitch-blackness.  Resolutely he clenched his jaw shut, refusing to call out.

At the last minute Tervanis turned, regarding Legolas solemnly. 

Legolas felt a surge of relief, glad the light would be staying, however briefly.

“He did not finish the story, you know,” the assassin said softly.

Legolas blinked, attempting to push away the jumble of thoughts and emotions that kept clouding his mind.  “What?” he asked simply, not sure what Tervanis was speaking of.  The assassin was looking at him with the oddest of expressions.

“The man and his daughter,” Tervanis said simply.  “Servius did not finish the story.  The boy did indeed perish on the third task, and the father thought he had won.  The girl, however, overcome with grief, hung herself from the balcony in her room the very next day.  So even though he won, he also lost.”  Without another word, Tervanis turned and strode from the room, the large iron door swinging shut with a loud bang behind him.

The room was plunged into darkness, and Legolas was left alone, lost deep in thought.

TBC