Title: Darkness and Words

Authors: Marie Noire and Iocane

Summary: WARNING - darkfic! That means this could get nasty people! Grima gets out of hand. Legolas gives him his just desserts. This is in response to a challenge... basically a non-consent Legolas/Grima fic.

Part 1

"Your son is dead."

The words echoed hollowly in Eowyn's mind as she remembered Theoden's face - so recently renewed - fall into a mask of sadness. She now lay on her bed, watching the curtains stir in the breeze from outside, blotted moonlight streaming through the thin cloth to cast shadows over her bed. Physically and emotionally exhausted, she could barely move, had not even had the strength to undress completely. Having to go through mourning Theodred's death a second time had wrung her out, tears drying on her white cheeks. Within seconds of closing her eyes, she was asleep, welcoming the dark forgetfulness.

Under cover of night, his face shrouded in the hood of his cloak, Grima Wormtongue stole through the dark halls of Meduseld, keeping to the shadows. The darkness welcomed him, ushering him through the familiar corridors, towards Eowyn's bower. It was late, and not many were awake in the palace. Those few who saw him dismissed him as a trick of the light. They told themselves that it wasn't him, it couldn't be him. Wormtongue had been banished by Theoden King himself, after his mind and body had returned.

Finding his way easily through the shadows, he arrived at the door of Eowyn's chambers. It was just slightly ajar, but he didn't have to look in to know she was almost certainly asleep. Grima knew well that she was seldom awake past midnight - even in the most trying of times. As if inviting him, the door was pushed open a little more by a draft, and Eowyn's sleeping face could be seen in the silvery moonlight. His breath caught at her beauty, and he stood entranced, as he had so many times before.

She lay now on her back, one arm at her side, one fair hand resting on her stomach. The arm at her side was bare from neck to wrist, a tantalizing curve near her shoulder casting a crescent shadow on her lily white skin. She had clearly begun to remove her dress, getting it loosened, and one arm freed before exhaustion overtook her.

His fingers twitched, aching to feel that softness that the moon so temptingly highlighted. The door opened a little farther, the faint squeak of the hinges thankfully not enough to wake Eowyn. Cloudy eyes traced over Eowyn's form. Her lithe body under plain clothes, every muscle trained for battle and, in Grima's mind, loving. Her face, as smooth and pale as the finest marble, was elegantly shaped. She was clearly of noble blood. The only sign of her training as a sheildmaiden was the delicately outlined mucles on her arms, and the stern set of her chin, even in sleep. Her sunray hair trailed on the floor where it fell off the edge of the bed.

As Grima approached, Eowyn stirred and he stopped, his blood chilling. She made a small sound and her brow furrowed, clearly troubled by her dreams. Grima's face became an unintended mockery of comfort as he almost reached out to her, wanting to smooth the worry from her beloved face. Stopping at the last moment, his hand hovered over her forehead, less than an inch from her skin. He could feel the gentle warmth radiating from her, seeping into his very bones.

After a long moment, his eyes flickered down her body, his hand moving from her forehead. He saw now the flesh that had so long been denied him. He had but to reach out and touch her - to claim her, and she would be his. If she would open herself to him, he could prove his worth to her. But she never did. The only looks she cast his way were ones of disgust and reproach. His breath quickened as his anger rose. She never let him show her, she never wanted to see how much ... he gasped as his fingers brushed her skin, tracing the curve at the side of her breast where her dress was off. He hadn't realized his hand was so close, but he was powerless now to forsake her touch.

As anger stirred within him, Grima felt the familiar tingles of passion that she always incited in him. His breath came quickly, and his hand flattened slowly on her skin, fingertips curling around her shoulder, sliding down her smooth arm. Just a little push, here, he fingered the collar of her dress, pushing it farther away from her shoulder, revealing more of her rounded breast. She stirred again and he snapped his hand away, certain his end had come.

Realizing it was again her troubling dreams, Grima decided she was not aware of his presence. His touch did not make her stir. An almost cruel smile curled his thin lips as his hand hovered over her, tracing her curves without touching her skin. Finally he reached her ankle, the thin slippers on her feet leaving her legs bare under the skirts.

His blood raced through his veins, gathering at his loins as he slowly - so slowly pushed the cloth up, revealing her legs to his hungry eyes. They were so smooth, so inviting, and his fingers traced all the little dips and curves of her muscles. A gentle pressure on her knee and her legs fell open. Grima frowned at this, wondering why it was that her legs parted so easily - even in her sleep.

Anger surged, and the familiar pang of jealousy. Had he misjudged her? He had watched her every move for years, and she showed no sign of having a lover, or even an interest in one. But to see her legs fall apart at the slightest touch-Grima's hands trembled with rage. Why had she denied him - he who loved her more than anything - in favor of some other? None could love her as he did. His lips curled into a sneer and his touch grew less gentle - he would be denied no longer. He hovered over her, his hand tugging her legs farther apart as he knelt on the bed.

Her skirt was now gathered about her waist, her legs parted, welcoming him. One knee on the bed, he fumbled at his garments. Pale skin flashed in the moonlight as his hand curled around his sex. Panting heavily, Grima climbed unto the bed, certain that Eowyn's dreams would keep her mind too occupied to notice him. Now he would show her the depth of his feelings, the force of his passion for her. Her scent surrounded him, making him dizzy with desire as he gazed down at her face. One hand caressed her cheek almost tenderly as he pushed forward, stopping abruptly when he reached her barrier.

Eowyn woke with a start, the feel of a heavy weight upon her scattering her already disoriented wits. Her heart soundly pounding in fear, she gasped when recognized cold hands holding her down ... a disturbing contrast to the hot flesh prodding where no one had touched her before. With a soft cry, she desperately tried to close her legs, locking him so he could get no further.
"Wormtongue!" she gasped when the moonlight glinted in his cold, blue eyes. "How dare you? Get off!!" Her fists beat on his shoulders, the adreneline in him damping the pain and growing bruises.

Grima hissed, one hand flying up to her mouth. "Shhh," he tried to calm her. "I just want to show you," his hips slid back, then pushed forward again, harder. He growled when her thighs tightened, holding him in place, denying him the fullness of her body. "You'll see," he panted, calling up his full strength, drawing back for another thrust, determined to claim her.

Eowyn growled under her breath and bit into the soft flesh of his palm, her teeth sinking in and coppery blood running over her lips. When his hand left her mouth, she screamed, desperately hoping someone was awake and close enough to hear her. For the first time, she wished she hadn't made her chambers so far from the others. Her isolation now sent chills through her body as she wondered if anyone heard her, as far as she was from the main halls. What had once meant solitude could now mean her doom.

Grima reared up, hissing like a snake. One hand on her shoulder, he backhanded her soundly, leaving a red mark on her cheek. "Bitch!" He looked around, grabbing at a sash on her bed, jamming it between her teeth to gag her, tying it around her head.

Eowyn cried out against the gag, but could not get away from Grima. Rage made him stronger than she and the blow to her head made her see stars. They still swirled in her vision in crazed, half-mad patterns.

When no one came after a moment, Grima chuckled coldly. "Now you'll see," he whispered into her ear, settling over her body, her flailing arms ineffective. "You'll see what I tried to show you so many times, but you never let me." He pried her legs apart, cold hands gripping her thighs as he made ready to enter her once again.

Eowyn turned her head away, unable to watch this unspeakable thing happen. Tears blurred her vision, but a shady silhouette bounded to the doorway, flinging the portal open. Moonlight gleaned on its pale, fair features, ice-blue eyes, and shining blonde hair. Though his _expression was empty as always, Eowyn thought she spied some shock and tried to call out to him through the gag.

Shock and disgust coursed through Legolas' body at the sight before him, paralyzing him for a split second. Barely thinking of who or what it was over the Lady, he rushed forward, pulling the black figure away and making way for Aragorn to follow.

Reaching around Eowyn's head to free her mouth, Aragorn explained their delay. "We were in the main hall, and Legolas heard you scream. It took us a minute to find your chambers." He covered her with a blanket and offered what comfort he could.

While his friend untied Eowyn's gag and comforted her, Legolas turned to the thing in his hand. The only change in his _expression when he saw Wormtongue was a tightening of his lips and a darkening of his eyes. The shriveled, dark clad man was held inches off the ground by Legolas, who seemed to consider his weight little more than a nuisance.

Grima snarled, fighting the slender limbs that held him, anger making him seriously consider that he might be able to beat the Elf. "Unhand me, you pointy-eared girl!" he spat, kicking at Legolas.

Legolas ignored Grima except to raise him a little higher off the ground, his fingers tightening around the man's hair and clothes. His voice was cold when he spoke. "What shall I do with this, Lady Eowyn?"

Eowyn shivered, cuddling against Aragorn and trying to hide her tears. "J-just... get rid of him..." he whimpered. Grima swallowed, hoping against hoping that he would simply be thrown out again.

"With all due respect, my lady," Legolas barely contained his disgust, keeping Grima as far from him as possible, his voice tightly controlled. "Banishment seems to mean little to him."

Aragorn wrapped a blanket tightly around Eowyn, covering her and guarding her against the chill. He recognized the frightening tone in Legolas' voice, but he doubted the others did. Whatever the elf had in mind, Grima would not forget it to his dying day.

"Then do whatever you want with him," Eowyn said softly, leaning on Aragorn.

Grima resumed his struggle at those words. He knew little of Elves, not enough to be certain of how to talk his way out of this. He would have to try everything before cold blade in the Elf's voice was unleashed against him.

With a curt nod, Legolas left Aragorn and Eowyn alone, closing the door firmly. His face finally betrayed a flicker of emotion as he turned his eyes to Grima. Hatred, disgust, and revulsion flowed off the elf in almost tangible waves, and were etched in the subtle lines of his face. Taking a torch from its sconce on the wall, Legolas carried Grima through the halls the man had so stealthily traversed earlier.

=================================

Part 2

Grima flinched at the light, trying to simultaneously hide in his cloak and dislodge himself from the Elf's grasp. "Please..." he hissed, trying to sound reasonable. "Just let me go... I'll not come back, I swear it."

Legolas ignored him, knowing the power of Grima's words, and his reliance on them. He pushed open the door leading down to the dungeon, his blood boiling. What Grima had tried to do - To force himself on another was ... it was beyond unthinkable. The hand carrying Grima began to tremble slightly, not with fatigue, but with a growing rage.

Grima gulped, starting to claw at the walls as they passed, trying to pull himself loose. "Show some compassion, Master Elf. I am no danger to you... not now. Please, Your Highness..." he said, drawing upon his sketchy knowledge of Elves. He recalled hearing somewhere that the slender braids over their ears often were a sign of station.

Grima's pleas fell on deaf ears, Legolas' only reaction to him being to push him against a corner when they rounded one. Reaching an empty, open cell, Legolas hurled Grima against the wall, kicking the door closed. One eye on the man, Legolas began lighting the torches set in the wall, bathing the room in a flickering, reddish orange light that effectively banished all shadows.

Grima huddled against the wall. The dungeons! Why had the Elf brought him here? He had expected to be thrown into the throne room to meet Theoden's wrath. The light made him nervous, not allowing him anyplace where he could hide or plan. He shrank back into his cloak, watching the Elf with fearful, wary eyes.

"Why have you brought me here? I am not yours to punish." he pointed out. Intimidation hadn't worked. Flattery hadn't worked. Perhaps the Elf had a sense of duty that he could work with.

"But you are, Wormtongue," Legolas purred, his voice like bitter honey as he circled the small room, eying Grima. His face took on the same lecherous gaze he was certain the man had cast on Eowyn. "Lady Eowyn has left your punishment to me. My sole discretion."

"You still do not have the prerogative to kill me... that rests with Theoden alone," he reminded the Elf. Shadows had already been chased away by the Elf's accursed torch... how he prayed that his words would serve him better.

"You are undeserving of death, and such is not my intent. My kind prefers punishment for criminals over death - For us, the punishment will last. Death does not." He paused, letting a heavy silence creep into the room. Turning, he approached Grima slowly, as one would a snake poised to strike.

Grima flattened himself against the wall, schooling his features into a snarl. "Then what will you do to me, little Elf? I thought your people were supposed to be kind and wise."

Legolas stood at his full height - a full head taller than Grima, making a mockery of being called 'little elf'. "Words are your friends, aren't they, Wormtongue?" Legolas said smoothly, his arms snapping out faster than sight and taking hold of Grima's wrists. "Words and darkness."

Grima swallowed tightly, eyes betraying the truth of Legolas' words. "Just... leave me be..." he whispered, fear glinting in his eyes. This Elf saw far too much, saw right through him... right through his words! He began to tremble slightly, silently begging for mercy.

"Hear my words, then, Grima, if you love words so much." Legolas voice took on the same cloyingly sweet persuasive tone that Grima had mastered. Dragging the man with little effort, Legolas held him in place as he reached up for a pair of shackles hanging from a ring set high in the wall. "What you have done to Lady Eowyn is unforgivable by any law, of any race, onto the Valar themselves."

Grima could feel his heart lodging in his throat, nearly cutting off his breath. "I did nothing to her... I only scared her." he whispered. "You stopped me... remember?"

Snapping the shackles around Grima's wrists, Legolas stood back, noting that the man's feet were several inches off the ground, his face pressed into the wall. "In the laws of the Eldar, as far back as our history reckons, there is one crime that is punishable above all others." Legolas' voice had turned cold and his hands began to roam Grima's body, circling his waist. Unbuckling Grima's belt, Legolas slid the sheathed knife from it, letting the belt fall to the floor. Tucking the scabbard into his belt, Legolas unsheathed the jeweled blade. "Kinslaying. To kill another of the firstborn. To slay one of the Eldar." His voice carried all the weight of his centuries, as did his cold blue gaze on Grima's dangling body.

Grima squirmed at the Elf's cool touch, unused to contact of any kind, particularly on that vulnerable part of his body. "What has that to do with me? I have killed no Elves!" he hissed, struggling at his bonds with renewed vigor. He had long ago learned to be wary of the sound of unsheathing steel.

Legolas turned Grima so he faced away from the wall, letting the man watch everything he did. "The Noldor, one of the five houses of our kind was forever tainted for this crime. They became known as the Kinslayers, though all who were guilty have long since passed from these lands." Slowly, cold steel brushing Grima's skin, Legolas began to cut his clothes away, using the man's own blade. "There was one kinslaying, however, that was considered justified."

Grima froze as the knife slid over him, slicing neatly through his clothing, cold metal grazing, but not breaking his skin. He shivered as the chill of the cell seeped in, cold air hitting his chest, stomach, and loins.

"Maeglin, son of Eol." Legolas continued his narration smoothly, cutting Grima's clothes off in little bits, leaving a pile of cloth and thread on the floor. "He was thrown from the walls of the great city of Gondolin because Tuor, who was raised by elves and counted now among the ranks of Eldar, believed Maeglin had raped his wife." Grima now hung naked before him, and Legolas slipped the man's knife into its sheath. "So you see now the seriousness of what you've done."

"Silence!" Grima hissed. "No more! I understand!" This was far more disconcerting than any stare Saruman had ever fixed upon him... and he had always thought those exposing. "Stop... just stop."

"Enough of the past." Legolas' eyes surveyed the now naked form of Grima, taking in his bruises, and the frailness of his frame. "It's time to face up to the present. You raped Lady Eowyn. This, to me, is unforgivable. The only way for you to understand the depth of your crime is to suffer it."

Grima swallowed past his heart, currently hammering in his throat. "No... you cannot possibly..." he whimpered. "I beg of you... please..." he pleaded, tugging at his bonds with renewed strength, adrenaline making him numb to pains of the body, and heightening pains of the mind.

Legolas stepped closer, the cloth of his tunic grazing Grima's skin. "How did it start?" he purred, his breath on Grima's cheek. "You watched her for a long, long time. Studying her. How often you must have had her in your mind."

A hint of color came to Grima's waxy cheeks. "As fair as she is, how can you blame me?" he trembled, whispering softly.

"I don't fault you your desire," Legolas purred. "Did you touch her like this?" Legolas' laid a hand on Grima's hip. "Is that how it began?" He slid his hand up Grima's side, his touch almost that of a lover. "Soft, her skin supple in your hand."

Grima sucked in a hissing breath, the Elf's almost sensual words and soft touch pooling heat through his veins. He had seldom been touched by anyone, let alone... caressed. His sex, having softened considerably since the Elf had pulled him from Eowyn, now began to fill again, rising from his body.

Legolas glanced down, his eyes turning cruel and icy cold. "She did not welcome your attentions as much as you seem to welcome mine."

Grima cringed at the touch, crying out involuntarily. "Yes... yes, her skin was soft!" he panted softly.

"How does it feel, Grima?" Legolas purred, his lips inches from Grima's face. "To have unwanted hands on your flesh? A body so close it makes your skin crawl?" Legolas moved his hands to Grima's thighs. "Do you think she enjoyed it?" He pulled the man's legs up, wrapping them about his waist. "Do *you* enjoy it?" Legolas pushed his hips forward, putting Grima in an approximation of the position in which Eowyn had been when they were found.

Grima shuddered. "No! Stop it!" he pleaded, starting to struggle again, trying to use his legs to shove the Elf away, much in the way Eowyn had done to him.

"What's the matter, Wormtongue?" Legolas hissed. "Am I not pretty enough for you? You cannot bear to have done to you what you did?" Legolas pushed Grima against the wall and stepped away. Gripping the man's arm, Legolas turned Grima so he was facing the wall, his naked backside exposed. The expanse of flesh from shoulder to thigh was covered with bruises of various colors, and scars both old and new.

Grima gasped when his hardness pressed against the cool, somewhat moist wall and he struggled to turn back around. Seeing what was coming was preferable to this uncertainty. "What are you going to do? Turn me around!" he half-pleaded and half-ordered, fear creeping into his voice.

"Now your punishment begins." Legolas' voice was cold and dangerous. Keeping the sheath on, Legolas removed Grima's knife from his belt and pressed the metal handle against the man's thigh. "The invader becomes the invaded. The taker becomes the taken." Cold metal and jewels cut into Grima's skin as the handle was dragged over his ass cheek.

A cold sweat broke out over Grima's body as it occurred to him what punishment the Elf had in mind. "You... you cannot mean to..." he stammered. "No! Do not! Please! I'll do anything!"

"I am certain Eowyn made similar pleas," Legolas hissed, fingers so recently tender now roughly prying apart the cheeks of Grima's ass. "Or would have, had you not gagged her." The icy metal pressed against Grima's puckered entrance for a moment before invading him. With a single push, Legolas buried the knife handle deep in Grima, tearing skin and stretching muscle painfully.

Grima screamed in agony, tears coming to his eyes as he felt hot blood start to trickle out of him, dripping down his legs and onto the floor. "I did not take her... I did not take her..." he whimpered in a broken voice.

"You were inside her when I found you. Her blood was upon you," Legolas punctuated each word with a movement of the knife, tearing Grima's body from within.

Grima was sobbing by the time Legolas had finished speaking. "No... I did not breech her maidenhead... she stopped me... didn't want to hurt her... love her..." he whimpered disjointedly, his body racked with pain.

"You claim to love her, yet you would have done to her what I just did to you," Legolas stepped away, leaving the knife handle pushed deeply into Grima. Only the blade and the guard showed as the leather wrap slithered off onto the floor.. "I will leave you now, to think on what you've done." Legolas began gathering the torches and putting them out, leaving just one.

Grima panted heavily, sobs of pain ripping themselves from his throat. Suddenly the dark seemed threatening. It had abandoned him to the Elf's mercy and now it was back to mock him, to render him unable to think of anything but the thick staff splitting him in two.

Legolas toed the pile of Grima's clothes a little away from his body so Grima could see it. Deliberately, he set them aflame, and then put out the final torch. Turning his back on Grima for the last time, he closed the door of the windowless cell.

"No..." Grima tried to call after him. He didn't want to be left like this... in a dark cell with only pain and the Elf's words echoing in his mind. Darkness and words... his two dearest friends had deserted him and become fatal enemies.

As his clothes turned to ashes and the fire burning them died, the silence faded as well. The skittering sound of rats attracted by the scent of blood filled his ears, Grima could only cry ... wishing that the Elf had just killed him instead.

As the last of the light burnt out, Grima felt something furry against the bottom of his foot.

Back to Slash Fiction