Something Evil This Way Comes.

Disclaimer/Author's Notes: I own nothing but the Original Characters and their adventures. Everything else belongs to JRR Tolkien, the Tolkien Estate, New Line Cinema/Peter Jackson, et. al. This was done purely for entertainment and as an exercise in creativity.

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The trail ended at what appeared to have been one of Morgoth or Sauron’s prisons. It was not overly large, for which they were thankful; less territory to cover in a search. It was well-hidden, however, and none of the Elves had ever known of its existence. The wolves guarded its grounds with the occasional winged creature---vampires, for lack of a better name---thrown in for good measure. No sign of the shadow figures on the outside of the building gave the searchers hope they might have seen the last of the beings. However, once the enemy was engaged, the foul entities made yet ano0ther appearance. Alex was conscious of quite a few Elvish curses muttered by her companions as the next battle began.


“They are here, Charika,” Legolas whispered to the unconscious woman. He could hear the sounds of Elves battling … something. Likely, they were fighting the same creatures that had attacked him in Ithilien. He heard a commotion in the hallway, then the door to his prison burst open and three of the large wolf-like creatures dashed into the room. He was vaguely aware of his wife fighting them and the sound of Elven arrows striking the beasts.

“Legolas!” Alex ripped her sword from the body of one of the creatures, pushing it aside as she ran to her husband. Her heart was full of joy at being reunited with him. But the sight of Charika’s bloody body in his arms caused her to stop and catch her breath. She said something in her native tongue that he did not understand, then dropped to her knees beside them.

“What happened? Legolas, are you hurt? Who did this?” She was torn between concern for her husband and that for her friend. She was ashamed that, even though she could see Legolas was in better shape than Charika, her first consideration was her husband.

“I am injured, but it is not serious. Charika, though, is …” He could not bring himself to say ‘dying’. He would not give up on her yet.

Alex tried to remember her emergency combat medical training. The knife was still in place. That was good. It needed to be stabilized, though. She thought through the basics: airway, breathing, circulation.

The blood crusting Charika’s nose was blocking her from taking in air except through her mouth. She used her fingers to clear away the dried blood, opening her nares as best she could.

“Lay her flat,” she instructed her husband, and she put her cheek near the woman’s mouth and nose, looking at her chest, seeing the faint rise and fall, feeling the delicate movement of air and hearing the slight wheeze as the air moved through the bloodied nose and dry mouth. Charika’s pulse was strong, so there was nothing left but to see to the knife.

Pulling off her cloak, Alex covered Charika. Leaving her there with her wounds exposed seemed, somehow, obscene. She started to ask Legolas if there were any cloths they could use to pack around the knife to hold it steady when she saw him look up, past her shoulder with an expression of such misery, her words died. Turning, she saw Rumil and Haldir at the door to the cell. While his elder brother maintained a neutral expression, the raw pain in Rumil’s eyes took her breath.

Alex stood as he walked slowly into the room, his gaze fixed on the woman lying so still on the floor of the cell. He knelt next to her and reached out, tentatively touching her face. He looked at Legolas questioningly.

“Someone from her past,” the prince told his friend. “He left just before your arrival. He would be heading east into Khand.”

Without another word, Rumil ran from the room, pushing past Glorfindel and Orophin as he raced to the tower. Orophin looked at Haldir, who indicated he should follow their youngest brother. Orophin spun around and sprinted after Rumil, who moved as though trying to outrun the Nazgul.

Glorfindel came and knelt next to Charika. He closed his eyes and, after a moment, looked at the others.

“She is badly injured and her spirit has not the will to remain on this plain. Rumil should be with her.”

“He has … business to attend,” Haldir answered, his eyes on his brother’s lover. He had not been around the woman much; she generally avoided the Elves, though he had occasion to see her with Rumil or sometimes when she visited with Alex. She seemed a pleasant enough creature, and he could see how her timidity might have aroused Rumil’s protective instincts. But, he also knew, she had brought his brother much contentment and he felt intense anger at whoever had done this to her.

“More important than being with Charika right now?” the Elf-Lord hissed.

“Yes,” the other two Elves answered simultaneously. They understood what had driven Rumil to the tower.

Glorfindel turned to Alex. “See what you can find to pack around the knife. It must be kept still so it can do no further damage before Rumil returns.” He did not know where Rumil had gone, Orophin close on his heels; but he could not imagine what would be more important than spending the final moments of his mortal lover’s life with her. Except---realization hit: he had gone after whoever had done this foul deed.

The Chief of the House of the Golden Flower understood the need for vengeance. He murmured a prayer to the Valar that they would be able to keep Charika alive, at least until Rumil could be with her.


The brothers raced to the top of the tower, emerging onto the platform which gave them a complete view in all directions. Rumil’s gaze turned to the east, his Elven eyes cutting through the sleet and snow. Orophin did not know what they were looking for, but he spotted a horseman in the distance, riding in an easterly direction at the same time Rumil fitted an arrow and drew his bow, letting the projectile fly with deadly accuracy, the Great Bow of the Galadhrim giving its flight power, and Rumil’s skill guaranteeing it would hit his target.

The two Elves watched as the figure tumbled from the horse and lay motionless on the ground. Rumil glanced at his brother and, wordlessly, they left the platform. Returning to the room leading to the cells where Charika and Legolas had been imprisoned, they found she had been moved to the cushions, Legolas, Haldir, Glorfindel and Saelbeth, who had joined them, lifting her gently so as not to cause further injury, and carrying her to the more comfortable setting. The chains did not escape the notice of the Elves and Alex, and Legolas’ wife felt horror; Goroth had used bonds in the same positions to hold her while he, and later his executioners, had raped her. She looked at her husband and saw confirmation in his eyes.

“Cover those,” she said. “Don’t let Rumil see them.” Her companions understood immediately and managed to throw items over them just before Rumil and Orophin arrived.

Rumil knelt next to Charika. She was so pale; her deep honey colored skin now ashen beneath her normal tan. He looked to Glorfindel, who shook his head.

“If we remove the knife, she could lose too much blood, too quickly.” Rumil nodded. He, too, was an archer, and knew well the dangers of impaled objects. Orophin leaned down and whispered something to his younger brother, who answered him, then lay next to Charika, gently taking her into his arms.

“I must stay with her,” he said. “Please, leave us a bit. She …” his voice broke, then he regained control. “She is afraid of Elves.”


The other Elves spread out with their brethren to seek out the remainder of the dark creatures that might be infesting the abandoned prison, giving the couple some privacy. Orophin and Haldir took some of the party and went to find the body of the rider shot by Rumil. Alex and Legolas, who she had wrapped in her cloak, once Charika had been moved and Glorfindel and Saelbeth had added their own cloaks to her cover, went through the rooms in the prison, looking for clothes.

They waited until they were out of sight of the others, slipping into an empty room and closing the door. Dropping all pretense of calm, they melted into each others’ arms. Tears of relief flowed freely from both as they clung to each other.

“Oh, my love,” Legolas whispered, “I thought I would never see you again.”

Alex kissed him passionately. “Oh, God, Legolas. I was so afraid---they said you were unarmed and those … things had you and … and … Don’t you ever go anywhere without me again! What were you thinking, going out in the middle of the night? Why didn’t you wake me to go with you?” She could barely speak, between crying and kissing her husband.

“Let me look at you---what happened?” She could see the gashes on his side, back, shoulders; bruises and an angry welt diagonally across his chest. She lightly touched his right nipple, which was reddened and he flinched.

“It is a long story,” he replied. “What I need is to get cleaned and dressed.” He laughed, somewhat self-consciously. “I must admit to feeling a bit vulnerable.”

She regarded him for a moment. “Actually, I rather like having you naked.” Then, she laughed. “Of course, you look good dressed or not. Come, my love; let’s get you cleaned up.”

They found a large room that appeared to have been Lastharos’ quarters during his stay. The remains of a fire smoldered, giving the room a bit of warmth, and a tub was in an alcove off from the main chamber. Alex went to find some of the other Elves and asked them to help her find a well for some water to heat, as Legolas stirred the fire back into a comfortable blaze.

When left alone, the full horror of what had happened to him, and more importantly, Charika closed in on him and he shuddered. He knew Rumil had gone to the tower to kill Lastharos, and he must have done something, because Haldir and Orophin departed shortly thereafter. His heart went out to his friend. He well knew the fear for one’s mate. Even though Rumil and Charika were not bound, he did not doubt the Lorien Warden’s love for the woman ran deep. He prayed that the Valar would ease both of them, Rumil and Charika, and grant them peace, whether the woman lived or died by their will.

“Would you like the means to heal the woman?” the old, familiar voice whispered in his mind.

“Leave me alone, Morgoth,” Legolas said, tiredly. “I am sick of your lies.”

“I am wounded, my prince,” the tempter said. “I offer you the chance to help your friends. Would you deny Rumil his lady’s life? Would you consign her to a painful death, your friend to the unending torment of watching his love die in his arms, her body torn and abused? Is that how much you love your friends?”

“I would have her whole and you out of our lives,” Legolas snapped. His head hurt where he had hit Lastharos.

“Let me help you, young prince,” Morgoth said, soothingly. “You are weary, your heart heavy with sorrow for your friends. Let me make amends for the grief I have caused you in the past. I was wrong to try to take advantage of your situation here. I held an unfair advantage. There was no sport involved. But, if you will but allow me to provide some assistance in this matter, I will do so freely. I have nothing against young Rumil or his lady.”

Legolas was so very tired and he knew Morgoth had to have an ulterior motive. But something in what the vile creature said held appeal.

“And what would you ask of me in return?” Legolas hated to ask, but he had to know.

“Nothing, my friend. As I said, I will help them as a gesture of apology for my past actions.”

“There is nothing I must do for you? You do not want me to kill someone for you? No slaughtering to be done in your name?”

Morgoth’s laugh was guileless. “No, princeling. You heard Lastharos yourself: he is no devotee of mine; he ignores all of the Valar. Why would I care to help him in any way? Millennia in the void give one time to reflect on one’s actions. Why should I allow such an arrogant whelp to do as he pleases without consequences?”

Legolas could feel himself wavering. “And I must do nothing? You will not harm my wife or my friends?”

“Nothing. And I never harm anyone. People harm each other or themselves. All I would ask is that you do not judge me too harshly. If I am ever to regain my place in Eru’s grace, I must begin to work on my redemption.”

The Elf thought on the fallen Vala’s words. He knew Alex believed Eru would forgive even the greatest sin. Why would he not forgive Morgoth, if the Vala did indeed repent of his evil?

“Help her,” he whispered. His heart was heavy with foreboding, but if it were possible for Charika to live …

“As you wish, my prince,” Morgoth’s voice sighed, then Legolas sensed he was once again alone.

“Ai, Elbereth! What have I done?” He closed his eyes and prayed he had not made a fatal mistake.

Alex returned with water and a large pot in which to heat it. Glorfindel and Saelbeth were among the Elves who helped her carry the water in and fill the tub. Legolas did not care that it was cold. He simply wanted to get the blood of the winged creature washed from his body. As he stood in the tub, Alex and Saelbeth poured warm water over him and Glorfindel examined his wounds.

“Quite nasty gashes,” the Elf-Lord commented. “They must be quite painful. And what happened to your head?” A bruise was visible just at the top of Legolas’ forehead, reaching back into his scalp.

“I hit him in the head with it,” he replied. The other Elves stared at him blankly and he shrugged. “I have seen Aragorn do it to great effect.”

“You head-butted him,” Alex said as she dug through the trunks in the room. She had found some … interesting items, piquing her curiosity about this Lastharos. Legolas had told them all he remembered from the time he had awakened in Ithilien until their arrival, glossing over the specifics of Charika’s rape at the hands of her captor. He left out the details of Charika’s past, telling them only that she had been abused by the Khandun before leaving for the border with her lord.

“What kind of man lets someone use his … whatever she was, then takes her with him to a war because he wants her ‘safe’?” Alex said with disgust. “If he cared so much about her, he would have never let that piece of sh---that man near her in the first place.”

Legolas raised a curious brow. “Are you not the one, my wife, who has often counseled me on the difference in the cultures of various lands, and how what is the norm for them seems strange to us?”

The other two Elves regarded her with interest. Legolas’ wife was known for embracing ‘cultural diversity’, as she called it.

She opened her mouth, then hesitated. Damn. He had her there. Still---“It’s still not the actions of someone who cares for someone else.”

“He did put her out of Lastharos’ reach,” Glorfindel said. “He could not have known he would die in the war. But even so, she was safe for a while.”

“But she came to live with us,” Alex said, and the Elves could hear the guilt in her voice. “She’d been safe all that time in that little village.”

“He would never have known she was in Ithilien if he had not already found her village,” Saelbeth said, soothingly. “Do not think she would have been safer there. At least we came looking for her---and found her. She was not alone in her suffering.” He glanced at Legolas and knew his young kinsman felt a great deal of guilt about being unable to protect the woman. “She would have been taken and no one would ever have known her fate.”

“And I believe she has been happy with Rumil. She has certainly made him so,” added Glorfindel.

Alex smiled. “Yes, she is very happy with him. Frankly, I was amazed. I mean, she was afraid of Legolas when she met him.” She handed her husband the black leather leggings she had found---and he looked at her in askance. “Believe me, these are the most … normal things I could find.” He shrugged and put them on. They were very form-fitting.

“Almost like they were made for you,” his wife said, appreciatively. She was going to have to make sure he kept them. Handing him a pair of black boots, she admired the figure he cut. The white shirt she gave him was looser than the ones the Elves typically wore, and did not fasten very high.

“At least you’ll have a cloak to keep you warm,” Saelbeth said. He noted how Legolas’ wife seemed to delight in the way the tight leggings outlined her husband’s every … attribute. The Elf in question met his eyes and he saw amused resignation in them.

“I’m going to check on Charika,” Alex said, once Legolas was dressed to her satisfaction. They followed her back through the winding corridors and down the stairs to the lower level of the prison. The others stayed back as she knocked lightly and entered the room.

“I could not protect her,” Legolas said, with infinite sadness. “Those … things were so quick and almost impossible to kill without any weapons.”

“It sounds as though you did well,” Glorfindel assured him. “Believe me, Saelbeth and I have both fought these things, long before you were born, and I don’t believe either of us have faced one, let alone two, unarmed.”

“It does not matter. He still abused her horribly.” Legolas shook his head. “I cannot believe he went to all this trouble just to torment one person because he thought she belonged to him.”

“Evil ways are not easy to understand,” Glorfindel said, and Legolas felt a start of guilt, remembering his acquiescence to Morgoth’s offer to help Charika. He knew that, somehow, that moment would come back to haunt him. Likely, the Evil One was just toying with him, building up a false hope.

The door to the room opened and Alex looked out. “Come here,” she ordered, motioning the three Elves inside. When they entered the room, they were greeted by the sight of Charika appearing much improved. She still looked horrible, but her breathing was much deeper and more even than when they had left her. Glorfindel knelt beside her and shook his head.

“She does not seem as weak. What happened?” He looked at Rumil, who seemed just as amazed as the rest.

“She slept, and I thought she was drifting into Mandos’ care; but her breathing gradually became less labored and she did not seem so cold. Perhaps it is a gift from the Valar.”

‘But which Vala?’ the prince thought. Aloud, he said, “I am certain many prayers were sent to them for her recovery.”

“There’s still the issue of the knife,” Alex reminded them. She and Rumil had discussed removing it. “There’s the chance that it missed anything major, and by pulling it out, all she’ll have is a wound that needs treating. But if it punctured a blood vessel, or a lung …” She left her sentence unfinished. She did not envy whoever had to make that decision; and that person was probably Rumil.

The Elves considered the risks. It was certain, the knife would have to come out, but none wished to make the decision that could lead to a quick death for the woman. Eventually, however, all eyes fell on the Lorien Warden. Although she was neither his bondmate nor his wife, he was her lover and protector and the closest thing she had to family. In her eyes, he was her lord. The decision on her treatment fell to him.

Rumil looked at her battered body. True, she seemed to be better than before. But she had also suffered horribly and to continue to draw out the agony was unfair. If removing the knife now hastened her death, then it was kinder than forcing her to remain in pain for hours, or even days, before death claimed her, either by poisoning or loss of blood.

He nodded and Glorfindel reached for the protruding hilt, but Rumil stayed his hand. The older Elf understood and sat back. Rumil leaned down and kissed her bloodied lips tenderly, then grasped the dagger and pulled it out steadily and in perfect reverse of its entry path.

The others held their collective breath as they waited for the blade to clear her flesh. But no bubbling of blood accompanied its exit. There was a small amount of seepage, but otherwise, it was as if the knife had managed to pierce her body without hitting any blood vessels at all. Alex looked at Glorfindel, who seemed as stunned as everyone.

“I … have never seen that before,” the Marshall of Rivendell said quietly. “There should be more blood than that.”

“Is she still breathing alright?” Alex knew there was a chance of pneumothorax and hemothorax in cases of traumatic injury to the chest---not that she knew much about either; but still she didn’t want Charika to miraculously survive her wounds only to be done in by a collapsed lung.

“There is no change,” Glorfindel answered, after listening carefully. He looked at Rumil, who still held the knife. “If the wound does not become poisoned, she should recover from it without difficulty.”

“What about her … other injuries,” the Lorien Elf asked softly.

Glorfindel started to say that her ribs would likely heal, but be painful for a while, and the swelling would eventually go down in her eyes, but realized his young friend was asking about the injuries she received from Lastharos’ brutal rapes. He shook his head.

“I do not know. She should be examined by a healer.”

“Since the knife has been removed, she should be able to travel,” Saelbeth said. “We should be able to build a litter for her with what is here, and carry her back.”

Glorfindel and Rumil looked to Legolas, who nodded. “The sooner we leave this accursed place, the better.”