Deeper than breathing

Disclaimer: Not mine. Just mucking about in my id.

The original is less mucky and slashy, but still slash. This is hotted up version for the discerning readers of this site. Original beta'd by the truly remarkable Anrien/Ithilen/ Anarithilen. Any mistakes here are mine- let me know please.


Chapter 2: In the cells

Eomer slept that night. He thought it must be night because the torch was spent and had not been rekindled, that was all. He felt his long limbs heavy with sleep and peace. His dreams were all long grass and huge empty skies. Horses' hooves drumming on the sun baked earth. When he awoke he stretched languorously. And smiled. It was like he had … well, he suddenly squashed that thought and almost blushed.

A squeal and a crunch brought him awake suddenly and aware. He glanced over to the next cell. The elf was standing, looking at something in his hand. He held the tail of a rat dangling. He turned his face slightly towards Eomer in the dim light that told him it was day, and smiled –showing his teeth. 'It is not true,' he said 'that elves love all Yavannah's creation.' He threw the rat carcass away from his cell.' I do not like being nibbled upon'. Wiping his hands fastidiously, he turned away sharply.

'Ah.' he said simply. 'They come.'

Eomer was on his feet in an instant; his hand automatically went to his hip and felt empty. Grasping the bars he watched as the thin shaft of daylight pierced the gloom and the shapes of his hated enemies emerged. Instantly his hatred flared and his muscles tensed. 'They will torture you,' he said, anxiety bubbling in his stomach. 'How can you resist? He will force you to say things that are not true and then he will kill you. Legolas.' He turned his anguished face towards the elf. 'I am sorry. I am sorry I brought you here.'

'Eomer, I will see the king.' Legolas whispered. 'Do not fear. There is time enough for this to turn…have faith. The Song changes.' And then, he laughed – a ridiculously bright and merry sound to be in this cold place. Eomer thought for the second time, he had gone mad. He and the elf both- he had no choice really but to do as he was bid. The other way was unbearable. So he laughed too- a sort of choked hysteria, he thought.

Lamplight warmed the cold cells and long shadows threw themselves against the walls and disappeared into the dark. Rough voices, voices not of riders but of Grima's servants- bitter, mean spirited men who would never have been warriors of the Mark, who previously eked out an existence on the fringes of the kingdom, who had no place …but now had power.

They had obviously been bolstering each other with proud boasts of their prowess –for they approached the cells boldly and with loud voices, hard and rough, drawing swords and knives, cudgels and pikes. They were tense with the anticipation of violence, lustful with it. The guard turned the key in the lock and the lock clicked. Grima stood to one side, watching, his thin lips stretched in anticipation. Imperceptibly, the air seemed to shift slightly, like a shimmer of heat and was gone. But swords, cudgels wavered and stilled.

Within the cell's dark and narrow walls, the elf warrior stood. Alert, poised and muscles tense. Breathing relaxed and steady.

Eomer could see the men ringed around the cell, wanting to but yet fearing to go in. He looked at them, and picked out the nearest of Grima's henchmen to him, he thought that he could reach around and throttle the man, grab his weapon and…the door scraped open grudgingly. Nervously, the henchmen filtered in, swords, weapons, pike at the ready- a forest of steel pointed at the elf.

'I have so looked forward to this,' Grima rubbed his thin hands together. 'You have no idea!' He bared his teeth. And Legolas bared his back.

'Please…do come this way,' with exaggerated courtesy, the councillor swept his hand before Legolas, indicating the dark corridor. Eomer waited, hands itching to grab the marked henchman and wrest his knife. But Legolas breathed slowly out and walked out of the cell. Eomer gaped.

The henchmen fell nervously back, weapons brandished and crouched slightly. Grima simply smiled unpleasantly. ''I have here a confession from you.'

'Really.' Legolas seemed politely interested.' And what am I confessing?'

'Oh, you are a spy of the Witch,' Grima waved his hand dismissively. 'You seek to enthral the king, to lead the men of Rohan into a foolish alliance with the Witch, and to lead them into a reckless charge against our ally, Saruman.'

Legolas held out his hand for the pen. 'Change but a few words, and I will sign this' he said. 'For it is all true.'

Grima narrowed his eyes. 'It is true? Are you so brazen?'

The elf shrugged. 'Why would I deny what is true? Take me before your king, charge me with whatever you intend to charge me with and let him decide.'

Grima paused to consider. This could be a useful demonstration of his power over Théoden, to bring the elf before the king and have him publicly denounce him as a spy. There had to be a catch. He looked at the tall elf, standing before him.

And was suddenly caught in the strange fey gaze, that stripped him to the bone, that saw his shrivelled heart and his fear. Yes, his fear. And understood him. He opened his eyes wide and for a moment, he remembered something, long ago, when he was young and believed he could be the man he wanted to be. He could almost believe… and then the Voice stirred within him, and he recoiled, clenching his fists. He stepped back as if struck; how he had yearned to be as his father was, and the sore wounds of his failure. Then, the Voice uncoiled and hissed deep in his chest.

'Stop! Stop him!' He shook his head suddenly. He raised his fist to strike the elf but his wrist was caught by an iron grip. For a minute, everything seemed frozen.

Eomer had seen his hated enemy stare at the elf, his eyes widening first in fear, then in recognition, then suddenly pain had flickered across Grima's face and he raised his fist screaming. The elf had caught Grima's hand as he struck, and suddenly pandemonium. A cudgel was brought heavily down on Legolas' arm, a punch in his stomach winded him and a sword scraped from its sheath and suddenly there was cold steel against Eomer's neck.

'Move but an inch and the Traitor dies,' Grima's voice crept from his throat like a sibilant hiss.

Instantly the elf's hands dropped to his side and he stepped back from the men.

'Bind him, use those chains ….' And then Grima added in a low voice, 'strip him first.'

There was a pause and the elf's golden head turned to stare, his strange green eyes wide. Eomer cried out a useless warning and the knife pricked him. He felt a warm trickle ease down his neck.

The henchmen surged forwards suddenly brave, and one unbuckled the thick leather belt and another ripped the green suede surcoat from the elf and threw it on the ground. They stilled for a moment and in the yellow light he stood, tall, impossibly beautiful and Grima licked his thin lips.

'And the shirt,' he instructed breathlessly. One man lurched forwards and the fine linen tore and was pulled from the elf's lean body.

Yellow lamplight bathed his warm skin and picked out the swirls and patterns inked onto his skin beneath his long, pale gold hair. For a moment the henchmen fell back to stare at the alien beauty that was Legolas.

'Chains…' whispered Grima hoarsely and as if mesmerised, two men dragged the heavy chains from the wall and wrapped the thick links around the elf's wrists, over and over until Eomer could no longer see his hands or wrists. They looped the chain around his lean hips, and crossed them over his chest.

Heavy, no man could bear them and still be erect, Eomer thought, how they must crush him.

But the elf only wavered slightly and the men, laughing and jeering, pushed him to his knees. He crashed down onto the stone floor and struggled to rise, but could not.

Eomer heard Grima swallow and gasp, and he felt too, his own cock stir slightly at the erotic sight.

'Now leave.' Grima said and the men fell back resentfully, glancing at their proud captive, and muttering between themselves but when Grima turned and glared at them, they ceased and one or two looked suddenly afraid.

'Wait outside' he said as an afterthought, and then he looked at the elf sharply. 'He may yet be trouble.'

The door scraped shut and no longer could Eomer hear the mutterings of Grima's henchmen. He opened his mouth to speak but Grima still had the knife against his throat. The Worm put his lips close to Eomer's cheek, so close he could feel his hot breath, smell the rancid stink of his breath.

'What I will do I will do. But you may choose…either him… or your sister…'

'My sister!' Eomer turned and as he did so, felt the long scratch of the the blade against his skin and the pulse in his neck surged a little. 'If you ever touch my sister, I swear I will kill you.'

The pale, rheumy eyes that stared at him Eomer thought weak. But he could see now that this weakness had led him into viciousness and a lust for power. It was this that led him to seek out Eowyn, his wish to dominate her, to subdue her.. and it was this same lust that degraded the elf who knelt still and silent in the dust of the prison.

'You are in no position to threaten me,' sneered the Worm. Eomer clenched his fists, seeing the truth of it. 'So, choose. Him. Or her.'

Eomer chewed his lip and spat, 'Neither. Leave both.'

'If you say both, I will take that as meaning, both' Grima drew back his lips and Eomer saw the yellowed teeth were sharp, his tongue flickered over his thin lips and drew back into a grimace that Eomer thought was meant to be a threatening smile.

'You will do as you will anyway,' he snarled back,' And I will kill you anyway.' But Eomer felt a horrid rush of fear for the bright elf whom he had brought to Edoras and put into such danger. It was his fault… but how could he say instead take my sister?

'Then I had better make it worth it, had I not?' Grima let the knife follow Eomer's pulse down his neck and stepped away suddenly. Eomer was aware the the elf had tensed, had glanced as far as he could over his shoulder to where Grima stood close to the cell bars, whispering to Eomer. Eomer saw the patterned swirls seem to dance over the elf's skin as if they were not fixed but slid and undulated as his muscles bunched and strained against the heavy chains. Eomer felt his mouth open as he stared, aware that Grima too stood transfixed.

And then the Worm stepped closer to Legolas, reached out his hand to his hair and hovered there without touching. Eomer gripped the bars appalled and watched Grima lick his thin lips nervously as one finger stroked along the long silk of hair and let it sift and slide through his fingers.

The yellow lamplight shone through the gold and Grima shifted and paused in front of the elf, the long strands still tangled in his fingers. He lifted his hand and stared, hunger in his eyes like the miser's hunger for gold. Suddenly plunging both hands into that bright hair, he buried his face in it with a groan.

Eomer saw how Legolas turned his head away from where the man's hips now came too close to his face, and he swayed and adjusted his stance, trying to keep upright beneath the loaded, heavy chins that kept him immobilised and still.

Steel glinted in the lamplight, Grima still clasped the knife in one hand. He brought that hand up to grasp the long hair and pulled the elf's head back so he had no choice but to look up at the Worm.

'Not so proud now.' he hissed and pulled the elf's head even more.

There was a low cry from the elf and he arched his back trying to lessen the pain and this made his chest graze against the man's thigh. Grima's mouth opened and lascivious pleasure and Eomer saw saliva dribble from one corner of his mouth and he leaned over the elf to press his lips against the elf's.

Legolas struggled briefly and shook his head but Grima had such a grip on him. Eomer could hear the muffled protest as Grima forced his tongue into the elf's unwilling mouth. Eomer was horrified at the twitch and surge in his own cock and thought he should turn away, but could not.

Suddenly Grima leapt away, holding his mouth and cursing.

'Never touch me again!' Legolas was shouting and he leaned forward and spat.

For a moment there was stillness as Grima brought his hand away from his mouth and the transfixed Eomer saw a wet gleam of red on his fingers.

Legolas had bitten Grima.

Ah, and Eomer loved him for it but a terrible fear surged in his chest. He knew what Grima was capable of and Legolas was at his mercy.

And as he thought, Grima glared at the elf, and still clutching his knife hand to his cheek, he suddenly drew his other hand back and hit Legolas hard across the face so the elf's head whipped round, long hair spilling round his shoulders. 'You forget where you are.' Grima leaned in and grabbed the elf's hair once again, dragging his head right back so he he had to arch still further. To Eomer it looked as though he were offering himself to Grima were it not for the vicious fist in his hair.

'I would rather die than let you touch me again,' Legolas could barely grind out the words, breath rasping in pain.

'No.' whispered Eomer but Grima had brought the shining blade around and in a terrible arc of silver catching in the lamplight, sliced the air and across the elf. Eomer could not see what Grima had done but here was a hiss of breath and Legolas leaned forwards in pain.

'Think about that while you rot in here, all but forgotten.' Snatching up the elf's own discarded shirt, Grima wiped the blade clean and then balled up the shirt once more and threw it into the corner. 'There is only one who will not forget you…' And he leaned in and grasped the elf's chin, forcing him to look upwards. 'Me. I have not finished with you.'

Striding through the dark as though he had not need of light, Grima went quickly to the heavy barred door and threw it open.

'You!' he cried to his henchmen, still lurking without. ' Get in here and throw the elf in the cell with the other traitor. He can look after him.' There was a shuffling of feet and clash of blades. From the darkness, Grima's voice called out, disembodied and strangely eerie. 'See he doesn't die. He is no good to me dead. Not yet.'

tbc