Chapter Twenty-seven: The Killing Blow
“After all is said and done, more is said than done.” - Unknown
Aragorn’s palms cupped the warm cheeks as if the most precious gift in the world had been laid in his undeserving hands. Legolas snorted to himself with the realization – but he did nothing to pull away. “I am not fragile, Man. I never have been,” he said.
“You are not. But my heart is,” the Ranger assured him seriously. He leaned in once again and pressed his lips to the Elf’s mouth, speaking his next words into the kiss. “My life is not long enough to even begin to tell you of how I feel. I have seen so much loss and ruin in my short time...you give me hope where none can come of itself.”
“It is the grace of the Elves that you think of, not this particular Elf.”
“It is you.” He deepened the kiss, and Legolas let himself open to the touch. Despite his reservations, he allowed Aragorn access to the warmth of his mouth, to his body...to his immortal soul.
They made love under the desert stars, giving and receiving pleasure in a languid dance of passion. Legolas sang with a clear, strong voice, and the desert erupted in life all around them, bathed in the light of stars and waning moon. Cactus blossoms scented the cool air and animals paused in their usual pursuits to marvel at the unique grace being bestowed amongst sand and rock. The Elf’s voice was evidence enough that he was healing of the poison, and that he would recover fully. His love-making was proof of the recovery of his heart.
Nestled against the Ranger’s chest, Legolas was surprised to see tears wetting his lover’s cheeks. “What troubles you now, melethron?” he whispered.
“The Men of this time have so squandered the gifts given to them. This is a wondrous world, and they have so much and can do so much in this Age....”
“It has always been thus,” Legolas observed. “The Elves are little better, to say truth. We have had our share of wars and internal strife. My own father is one of the most stubborn beings alive, and he makes many choices with his heart instead of his head. In truth, he will probably be extremely displeased with me if I ever get a chance to see him again. It will take centuries to get back in his good graces.”
“For joining the Fellowship, or for loving a Man?”
“Ah!” the Elf laughed. “For being friends with a Dwarf! Kissing you is a minor crime. After all, I have caused your heart to stray from the Maid of Imladris...my father would approve.”
“I hope you’ll have a chance to pay penance to your King, Prince.”
“Oh, I will. In my fevered dreams I saw clear the path to our return.”
Aragorn sat up so suddenly that he spilled his beloved to the rough sand, where the Elf snorted in humor as he gazed up at now-familiar stars. “What?” the Man demanded. “What! Tell me what we’ve failed to see before now!”
“Saruman has always had the connection to return. He just didn’t know it, or he was unable to enact it. We must force his action.”
“What do you mean?” Aragorn begged.
“We must kill him.”
The Air Force Colonel shot Mason a dirty look and sighed, obviously thinking about at least twenty things he’d rather be doing than watching an empty house.
The Army Lieutenant swallowed, his throat dry, and went back to gazing through his binoculars at the tranquil bungalow, where nothing had moved since the coyotes they scared off when they pulled up through the scrub on this ridge two hours or more ago. The three Troopers they’d brought were playing cards in the shelter of their civilian vehicle, convinced that nothing exciting was going to happen that evening, or any other.
“You’re absolutely certain that the Air Force leaks are coming from this guy?” the Colonel asked for the forth time.
“I’m positive they are, Sir. But the outer space aliens rumor might be from another source.”
“Some bored nutcase drinking cheap hooch and reading Atomic Comics in his garage, most likely,” the Colonel sighed, taking off his cap to rub at thinning hair dank with sweat. “I wonder where he’s at. My information had Harumann leaving the base at three-thirty, and it’s not more than a twenty-minute drive. We should have put a tail on him.”
“He’ll come home,” Mason started, and at that moment a thin line of dust rose from the hill that obscured their view of Alamogordo. Everyone scrambled under cover, more out of boredom than from any real need to further conceal themselves. The big black sedan rumbled to a stop in the driveway of the house and a very tall, thin man unfolded himself from the seat. He surveyed the surrounded area cautiously, looking at the car parked on the ridge for a moment longer than the sight probably warranted, and then he retrieved his briefcase and ambled into the house, closing the door firmly behind him.
“What a creepy-looking fellow,” the Colonel observed.
“You got that right,” Mason seconded. “I’d like to get closer.”
“Affirmative,” the Colonel said, intrigued for the first time.
Saruman passed to remove his coat, draping it over a chair in the hallway carefully, smoothing the wrinkles in the shoulders. He set his case on the seat and ran a wrinkled palm through the slick tendrils of his white Brill-creamed hair. He turned toward the big living room area of his house and had almost reached his favorite recliner when he spotted the Indian bow laid on the low coffee table amid the scientific clutter of a bachelor academic. Hershey’s candy wrappers littered the surface and the Geiger counter was out of its box as well, not where he’d left it that morning.
He was turning toward the kitchen with a quip on his lips when a flying knife struck his shoulder with enough force to knock him back a step. This was immediately followed by another knife into the other shoulder, and he staggered back until he hit the glass of the big picture window that fronted the house. Saruman’s wide eyes locked on the Elf striding confidently toward him, another knife already balanced in his hand and ready to fly.
“You survived,” the Wizard stammered, wondering why he wasn’t dead already.
“No thanks to you,” Aragorn said coldly, coming from the shadows of the bedroom hallway. His sword was drawn, the tip pointed assuredly at Saruman’s heart, and he closed the distance between them quickly. The day’s late sunlight glittered along the edge of the Ranger’s weapon like a smattering of diamonds.
Colonel Mason saw the sudden motion inside the house as he slipped on the sandy hillside while they moved closer. “Wait! There’s someone inside the house!” He saw Harumann stagger back into the glass of the front window.
“Someone’s threatening him!” the Colonel yelped, pulling his sidearm.
“Don’t shoot!” Mason snapped. “You’ll hit the scientist!”
“You lied when you said that Gandalf would be coming after me.” Aragorn’s sword touched the Wizard’s chest. “It’s not me that has a connection with the White Wizard.”
Legolas reached the pair of them and locked incredibly strong fingers around Saruman’s shriveled throat. He clenched so hard and so suddenly that even the pain of the two knives imbedded in the Wizard’s shoulders was forgotten.
Saruman was desperately trying to think, to get some words out. But the time for talking had gone.
“Navaer,” the Elf said, tightening his grip. “Namárië, Evil One.”
“Wait!” Saruman gasped. Aragorn thrust upward with the sword, breaching the thin skin of the old man’s chest. Black blood burst from the wound, soaking into his white Oxford shirt rapidly.
The Ranger was grinning with gritted teeth. “I told you I would kill you,” he said in Elvish.
The knives in his shoulders made it almost impossible to raise his hands, but the Wizard tried anyway as his vision started to fade. He could feel the sword near his heart, and the metal seemed impossibly hot. The Elf and the Man pressed tight against him, sealing them all in an obscene dance of death. Something snapped in the Wizard’s mind, and his mouth opened to voice a scream that shot from the darkest corners of his soul.
Suddenly there was another voice crying out incantations, and firm arms reached around the Wizard from behind, grabbing him and pulling backwards INTO the glass of the window.
Mason’s jaw dropped as he watched the impossible happen. The scientist was suddenly swallowed up by the clear glass of the window, followed immediately by the two men who’d been attacking him – one of whom matched the description of the ‘alien’ they’d been trying to find. The three of them seemed to just melt into the surface of the glass, and then they were gone. They didn’t burst through into the air outside, and the glass never ruptured.
They all just...disappeared.
“Jesus H. Christ,” muttered the Colonel at his side. “Where’d they go?”
“You saw?” Mason whispered. “You saw it happen too?”
“I don’t know what I just saw,” the Air Force Officer muttered.
Bright blue energy crackled around the huge oval mirror set in the center of the darkened room within the Tower of Orthanc. Gandalf heaved mightily, backing away from the liquid surface of the mirror, hauling a dead weight within his extended arms. Saruman’s body fell limply outward and down, and two other forms came immediately behind, entwined in a parody of an embrace with the Evil Wizard.
“Master!” shrieked Gríma, seeing his Lord brought down so abruptly.
Legolas released his grip on the Wizard’s throat and rolled to one side, coming to his feet, reaching out with shaking hands toward the stone walls before him. Aragorn collapsed for a moment, his sword falling from his hands and clanking heavily to the floor beneath him. The stunned Ranger tried to pull himself off of the limp Wizard. King Theodén rushed forward to help the Ranger to his feet as Gandalf shuddered with the effect of the powerful spell he’d just cast.
“What has happened to you, laddie?” Gimli begged, seeing Legolas’ strange clothing and unfamiliar hair and demeanor.
The Elf looked around groggily, shaking his head at the sight of the dimly lit tower chamber. “You’re all still here? How...?”
“You only just went though the mirror!” Gimli explained. “Aragorn went after you, and then Gandalf started shouting out some powerful spell! He said that he could feel the lifeforce of the other Maia fleeing! It’s just been moments you’ve been gone!”
“You were right!” Aragorn shouted at Legolas, grinning. “They are connected!”
“What has happened?” Theodén begged.
Gandalf was trying to raise himself from his slump, obviously drained by the effort to reopen the portal. The mirror was already starting to re-solidify around the edges, the glass becoming hard again. It was that moment that Saurman surged back to life, coming up from the floor with a roar of impotent rage and a curse on his lips.
Legolas acted on instinct, his Elven reflexes moving faster than any of them had ever seen before. He jumped, using his powerful legs to knock Saruman backwards, propelling the Evil Wizard into, and through the mirror once again. Aragorn was nearly as fast, snatching the sword from Theodén’s scabbard and hurtling it tip first into the mirror just as the Wizard disappeared. The mirror closed with a snap and crackle of power; smoke curling from its scorched frame.
Gimli had realized what they were trying to do, and he finished the task admirably. The Dwarf hefted his axe easily and brought it into the side of the ornate mirror with a mighty swing. The glass and wood exploded into a shower of glittering shards and splinters.
No one spoke for a long moment. “Where have the two of you been?” Gandalf asked calmly, surveying the innumerable changes in his Fellows.
Legolas just smiled, and reached a hand out to the Ranger. Aragorn gathered the Elf into his arms and pressed his lips to the warm, welcoming mouth of his beloved friend and companion.
“Well, that’s something,” Gimli quipped.
Aragorn’s palms cupped the warm cheeks as if the most precious gift in the world had been laid in his undeserving hands. Legolas snorted to himself with the realization – but he did nothing to pull away. “I am not fragile, Man. I never have been,” he said.
“You are not. But my heart is,” the Ranger assured him seriously. He leaned in once again and pressed his lips to the Elf’s mouth, speaking his next words into the kiss. “My life is not long enough to even begin to tell you of how I feel. I have seen so much loss and ruin in my short time...you give me hope where none can come of itself.”
“It is the grace of the Elves that you think of, not this particular Elf.”
“It is you.” He deepened the kiss, and Legolas let himself open to the touch. Despite his reservations, he allowed Aragorn access to the warmth of his mouth, to his body...to his immortal soul.
They made love under the desert stars, giving and receiving pleasure in a languid dance of passion. Legolas sang with a clear, strong voice, and the desert erupted in life all around them, bathed in the light of stars and waning moon. Cactus blossoms scented the cool air and animals paused in their usual pursuits to marvel at the unique grace being bestowed amongst sand and rock. The Elf’s voice was evidence enough that he was healing of the poison, and that he would recover fully. His love-making was proof of the recovery of his heart.
Nestled against the Ranger’s chest, Legolas was surprised to see tears wetting his lover’s cheeks. “What troubles you now, melethron?” he whispered.
“The Men of this time have so squandered the gifts given to them. This is a wondrous world, and they have so much and can do so much in this Age....”
“It has always been thus,” Legolas observed. “The Elves are little better, to say truth. We have had our share of wars and internal strife. My own father is one of the most stubborn beings alive, and he makes many choices with his heart instead of his head. In truth, he will probably be extremely displeased with me if I ever get a chance to see him again. It will take centuries to get back in his good graces.”
“For joining the Fellowship, or for loving a Man?”
“Ah!” the Elf laughed. “For being friends with a Dwarf! Kissing you is a minor crime. After all, I have caused your heart to stray from the Maid of Imladris...my father would approve.”
“I hope you’ll have a chance to pay penance to your King, Prince.”
“Oh, I will. In my fevered dreams I saw clear the path to our return.”
Aragorn sat up so suddenly that he spilled his beloved to the rough sand, where the Elf snorted in humor as he gazed up at now-familiar stars. “What?” the Man demanded. “What! Tell me what we’ve failed to see before now!”
“Saruman has always had the connection to return. He just didn’t know it, or he was unable to enact it. We must force his action.”
“What do you mean?” Aragorn begged.
“We must kill him.”
The Air Force Colonel shot Mason a dirty look and sighed, obviously thinking about at least twenty things he’d rather be doing than watching an empty house.
The Army Lieutenant swallowed, his throat dry, and went back to gazing through his binoculars at the tranquil bungalow, where nothing had moved since the coyotes they scared off when they pulled up through the scrub on this ridge two hours or more ago. The three Troopers they’d brought were playing cards in the shelter of their civilian vehicle, convinced that nothing exciting was going to happen that evening, or any other.
“You’re absolutely certain that the Air Force leaks are coming from this guy?” the Colonel asked for the forth time.
“I’m positive they are, Sir. But the outer space aliens rumor might be from another source.”
“Some bored nutcase drinking cheap hooch and reading Atomic Comics in his garage, most likely,” the Colonel sighed, taking off his cap to rub at thinning hair dank with sweat. “I wonder where he’s at. My information had Harumann leaving the base at three-thirty, and it’s not more than a twenty-minute drive. We should have put a tail on him.”
“He’ll come home,” Mason started, and at that moment a thin line of dust rose from the hill that obscured their view of Alamogordo. Everyone scrambled under cover, more out of boredom than from any real need to further conceal themselves. The big black sedan rumbled to a stop in the driveway of the house and a very tall, thin man unfolded himself from the seat. He surveyed the surrounded area cautiously, looking at the car parked on the ridge for a moment longer than the sight probably warranted, and then he retrieved his briefcase and ambled into the house, closing the door firmly behind him.
“What a creepy-looking fellow,” the Colonel observed.
“You got that right,” Mason seconded. “I’d like to get closer.”
“Affirmative,” the Colonel said, intrigued for the first time.
Saruman passed to remove his coat, draping it over a chair in the hallway carefully, smoothing the wrinkles in the shoulders. He set his case on the seat and ran a wrinkled palm through the slick tendrils of his white Brill-creamed hair. He turned toward the big living room area of his house and had almost reached his favorite recliner when he spotted the Indian bow laid on the low coffee table amid the scientific clutter of a bachelor academic. Hershey’s candy wrappers littered the surface and the Geiger counter was out of its box as well, not where he’d left it that morning.
He was turning toward the kitchen with a quip on his lips when a flying knife struck his shoulder with enough force to knock him back a step. This was immediately followed by another knife into the other shoulder, and he staggered back until he hit the glass of the big picture window that fronted the house. Saruman’s wide eyes locked on the Elf striding confidently toward him, another knife already balanced in his hand and ready to fly.
“You survived,” the Wizard stammered, wondering why he wasn’t dead already.
“No thanks to you,” Aragorn said coldly, coming from the shadows of the bedroom hallway. His sword was drawn, the tip pointed assuredly at Saruman’s heart, and he closed the distance between them quickly. The day’s late sunlight glittered along the edge of the Ranger’s weapon like a smattering of diamonds.
Colonel Mason saw the sudden motion inside the house as he slipped on the sandy hillside while they moved closer. “Wait! There’s someone inside the house!” He saw Harumann stagger back into the glass of the front window.
“Someone’s threatening him!” the Colonel yelped, pulling his sidearm.
“Don’t shoot!” Mason snapped. “You’ll hit the scientist!”
“You lied when you said that Gandalf would be coming after me.” Aragorn’s sword touched the Wizard’s chest. “It’s not me that has a connection with the White Wizard.”
Legolas reached the pair of them and locked incredibly strong fingers around Saruman’s shriveled throat. He clenched so hard and so suddenly that even the pain of the two knives imbedded in the Wizard’s shoulders was forgotten.
Saruman was desperately trying to think, to get some words out. But the time for talking had gone.
“Navaer,” the Elf said, tightening his grip. “Namárië, Evil One.”
“Wait!” Saruman gasped. Aragorn thrust upward with the sword, breaching the thin skin of the old man’s chest. Black blood burst from the wound, soaking into his white Oxford shirt rapidly.
The Ranger was grinning with gritted teeth. “I told you I would kill you,” he said in Elvish.
The knives in his shoulders made it almost impossible to raise his hands, but the Wizard tried anyway as his vision started to fade. He could feel the sword near his heart, and the metal seemed impossibly hot. The Elf and the Man pressed tight against him, sealing them all in an obscene dance of death. Something snapped in the Wizard’s mind, and his mouth opened to voice a scream that shot from the darkest corners of his soul.
Suddenly there was another voice crying out incantations, and firm arms reached around the Wizard from behind, grabbing him and pulling backwards INTO the glass of the window.
Mason’s jaw dropped as he watched the impossible happen. The scientist was suddenly swallowed up by the clear glass of the window, followed immediately by the two men who’d been attacking him – one of whom matched the description of the ‘alien’ they’d been trying to find. The three of them seemed to just melt into the surface of the glass, and then they were gone. They didn’t burst through into the air outside, and the glass never ruptured.
They all just...disappeared.
“Jesus H. Christ,” muttered the Colonel at his side. “Where’d they go?”
“You saw?” Mason whispered. “You saw it happen too?”
“I don’t know what I just saw,” the Air Force Officer muttered.
Bright blue energy crackled around the huge oval mirror set in the center of the darkened room within the Tower of Orthanc. Gandalf heaved mightily, backing away from the liquid surface of the mirror, hauling a dead weight within his extended arms. Saruman’s body fell limply outward and down, and two other forms came immediately behind, entwined in a parody of an embrace with the Evil Wizard.
“Master!” shrieked Gríma, seeing his Lord brought down so abruptly.
Legolas released his grip on the Wizard’s throat and rolled to one side, coming to his feet, reaching out with shaking hands toward the stone walls before him. Aragorn collapsed for a moment, his sword falling from his hands and clanking heavily to the floor beneath him. The stunned Ranger tried to pull himself off of the limp Wizard. King Theodén rushed forward to help the Ranger to his feet as Gandalf shuddered with the effect of the powerful spell he’d just cast.
“What has happened to you, laddie?” Gimli begged, seeing Legolas’ strange clothing and unfamiliar hair and demeanor.
The Elf looked around groggily, shaking his head at the sight of the dimly lit tower chamber. “You’re all still here? How...?”
“You only just went though the mirror!” Gimli explained. “Aragorn went after you, and then Gandalf started shouting out some powerful spell! He said that he could feel the lifeforce of the other Maia fleeing! It’s just been moments you’ve been gone!”
“You were right!” Aragorn shouted at Legolas, grinning. “They are connected!”
“What has happened?” Theodén begged.
Gandalf was trying to raise himself from his slump, obviously drained by the effort to reopen the portal. The mirror was already starting to re-solidify around the edges, the glass becoming hard again. It was that moment that Saurman surged back to life, coming up from the floor with a roar of impotent rage and a curse on his lips.
Legolas acted on instinct, his Elven reflexes moving faster than any of them had ever seen before. He jumped, using his powerful legs to knock Saruman backwards, propelling the Evil Wizard into, and through the mirror once again. Aragorn was nearly as fast, snatching the sword from Theodén’s scabbard and hurtling it tip first into the mirror just as the Wizard disappeared. The mirror closed with a snap and crackle of power; smoke curling from its scorched frame.
Gimli had realized what they were trying to do, and he finished the task admirably. The Dwarf hefted his axe easily and brought it into the side of the ornate mirror with a mighty swing. The glass and wood exploded into a shower of glittering shards and splinters.
No one spoke for a long moment. “Where have the two of you been?” Gandalf asked calmly, surveying the innumerable changes in his Fellows.
Legolas just smiled, and reached a hand out to the Ranger. Aragorn gathered the Elf into his arms and pressed his lips to the warm, welcoming mouth of his beloved friend and companion.
“Well, that’s something,” Gimli quipped.
Subtitles
- Chapter One: The Leap
- Chapter Two: Landing on your Feet
- Chapter Three: All the wild Things
- Chapter Four: Funny Paper Heroes
- Chapter Five: Caught
- Chapter Six: Blitz
- Chapter Seven: Hitting the Road
- Chapter Eight: Being Wrong
- Chapter Nine: Assumptions
- Chapter Ten: Coffee and Hot Cross Buns
- Chapter Eleven: Fate of the Brave
- Chapter Twelve: The Forest for the Brave
- Chapter Thirteen: Arrow in the Dark
- Chapter Fourteen: Little Brown Birds
- Chapter Fifteen: Popcorn and Prize-winning Pumpkins
- Chapter Sixteen: The Distance Breeched
- Chapter Seventeen: A Song to Light the Dark
- Chapter Eighteen: The Meaning of Fellowship
- Chapter Nineteen: Meanings Behind Words.
- Chapter Twenty: If Elves were meant to fly
- Chapter Twenty-one: Across the Western Sea
- Chapter Twenty-two: Atcheson Topeka and the Santa Fe
- Chapter Twenty-three: Strange Feathers
- Chapter Twenty-four: A Bitter Fruit
- Chapter Twenty-five: Looking for the Exit
- Chapter Twenty-six: Tainted
- Chapter Twenty-seven: The Killing Blow
- Chapter 28: Epilogue