In These Arms

In These Arms

Posted: April 27, 2007
Title: In These Arms
Author: Enide
Type: FCS
Characters: Grima/Legolas
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Naturally none.
Warning: Squicky pairing.
Author's Note: I have always felt a bit sorry for Gríma. Had he been good looking, the story might have turned out a bit like Paris – Helena in Troy.

Summary: Legolas and Gríma find unexpected common ground and share a single night of tenderness.

*****

The broad, dark leaves of Fangorn forest weaved an intricate, alluring pattern just a few inches over Legolas head as he was laying on his back on a tree bought almost as wide as his shoulders.

A smell of ancient trees surrounded him, comforted him, and an almost undetectable wind brought the sound of trees mumbling sleepily to one another. And, the sound of crying.

Surprised at this interruption of peace, Legolas sat up and frowned.

Yes, it was crying. Sobbing and coughing. Who else might dare the woods wrath after what happened outside Helm's Depth? Another elf?

It certainly did not sound like that.

Wary, the wood elf climbed down the tree and landed soundlessly at the ground where he had left his weapons. Quickly he donned them, feeling the comfortable weight over his shoulders again. The trees here were well capable of looking after themselves, but Treebeard and the other Ents were far away, and if he could help in any way, he would. These woods had given him the most peace he had ever found since after the royal wedding, after all. Even if he had not loved it as he did, he would still have owned it a lot.

Carefully he approached the sound of snivelling and sobbing. It could not be an orc nor an uruk-hai, because the trees were still, and, he felt, at peace. Not an elf either, then.

He crouched down and approached the last few yards in absolute silence.

A pitiful creature was huddled together in the grass between the trees. His clothing was ragged, torn, and stank of filthy water and sweat. Dark, lank hair smeared against a pale, oily face.

Stunned, Legolas reared back. He knew this Man, although he had never expected to see him again, and never here. The last time he had been seen was at Isengard, as Saruman's spy and servant. Gríma Wormtongue.

The endless, pathetic crying was starting to get at the elf's nerves. He forced himself to remember the pity in Gandalf's words, and indeed, Frodo's actions. They had shown pity against an even more wretched creature. After all, Gríma was probably as much a victim as a perpetrator to the events in Rohan. The least he could do was to see if the Man was hurt, and show him the way out of Fangorn.

With a sigh, Legolas stepped out between the trees, taking care to let his approach be audible.

Gríma looked up at the sound of footsteps, pale, mismatched eyes staring up at the elven warrior. With a croaked cry he scrambled backwards on his hands and knees, his puffy face distorted by fear.

When his back hit a tree trunk, he crumbled down, wrapping his arms around his head. The spasmodic sobbing started again.

Appalled, Legolas looked down at the creature grovelling at his feet. Clenching his jaws against the stink of the Man, he sat down and reached out a hand.

"I am not going to hurt you," he said softly and put a hand on Gríma's shoulder to stop his obsessive rocking from side to side. The Man immediately stopped moving, but the sobbing continued. Fighting down a wave of repulsion, Legolas tried to feel pity.

"Are you hungry? I have some food." Relieved to be allowed to let go of the greasy cloth under his fingers, Legolas opened his backpack and took out some bread and fruit. Out of the corner of his eye, he could sense the man observing his every move, frightened almost senseless.

When the elf held out the bread and fruit, he pulled his arms even tighter around his body, and the high pitched crying started over again.

Anger hit Legolas with an almost uncontrollable urge. Did the Man think he was going to be poisoned? After he had given his word not to harm him? He barely noticed that he had raised his arm for a strike, but forced it down again. Frodo, he forced himself to think, Frodo endured worse than this.

"I swear you have nothing to fear from me. I want to help you." Slowly, the sobbing died away. Without a word Legolas held out a wet piece of cloth for the Man to dry his face, but Gríma didn't even look at it. Instead, his ghostly eyes fixed the elf's face with an almost frightening focus.

When Gríma reached out a dirty hand towards Legolas face, the elf had to force himself to immobility.

"I once loved a woman with hair almost as golden as this," he Man whispered hoarsely, pulling his grimy fingers through the fair tresses. Legolas eyes got large with surprise. This was the last thing he had expected.

"Her skin almost as fair," fingers touched his cheek softly as butterfly wings.

"Lips so soft," a brushing over his mouth that made his lips part. Eyes like a summer sky," Legolas closed his eyes as the fingers caressed over his brow.

Now pity and softness welled up inside him as he opened his eyes again. The Man before him had become a traitor of his own people because of love, a love that could never be answered. It was the irony of fate; had Gríma been born with grace and good looks, he might never have fallen like this. And if he had, well, his might well have been a tragic, romantic tale of a Man whom would sacrifice all for the sake of love.

But now he was a traitor, and this was the truth he had to live with every day of his life. Was it so strange that he was crying? And then to face punishment for his failure at Sarumans hands. No wonder he was frightened.

With a slow, unthreatening movement, Legolas unbuckled his weapons and let them fall to the ground. Gríma's pale eyes followed every move. Behind the fear, love and yearning still burned in his eyes, but it was hidden deep. Very deep.

Legolas took the hand that had caressed him in a loose grip not to frighten the Man more. Leaning his head to the side, he gently kissed the fingers.

"I am not a woman," he said softly, " and can not love you as one. But, there are other ways…"

Gríma's eyes got huge with fear, and he pulled back his hand with force. Crawling to get away, he shook his head frantically, the memories of pain clouding his eyes.

"No! No more pain! Please!" Falling over himself he started rocking from side to side again, begging and pleading.

Shocked Legolas stared at him until the obvious answer occurred.

Saruman. The wizard's punishment for failure.

"No pain. I swear it. I would never hurt you. Please, listen to me! You have to believe me." Cradling the distraught man in his arms, Legolas slowly felt him relax. It might have been resignation, an apathy born from being helpless in the elf's strong arms, but when Gríma looked up, he surprised Legolas again.

"Have you ever loved?" So many feelings flooded Legolas at that simple question that he had to look away, not daring to meet the Mans eyes. Although this soft- bodied, broken-down creature was as far from Aragorn as the sun from the stars, they where still of the same kind.

"I have loved." He could feel two tears falling down his own cheeks. "But he choose someone else." A hand caressed the tears away. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend it was Aragorn's.

Slowly, hesitantly he bent his head down with his eyes still closed.

Cold, thin lips met his, not the warm and strong ones he was yearning for. But then again, he was barely the one Gríma sought either.

His hand slipped down the Mans shirt, caressing over a sunken in, hairless chest, over a soft belly and nipples that grew hard under his touch. Hands where roaming his own body, searching for softness but finding strength, wanting love and finding but comfort.

Perhaps, Legolas reflected as they fell down on the grass together, if comfort was all that was offered, then it was better than nothing at all.

They fell a sleep after lovemaking, and when Gríma carefully moved out of the embrace, Legolas pretended not to waken. The Man got dressed and looked around until he found the food that had been offered him before. Clumsy in the falling dusk, he disappeared into the woods.

Legolas lay still, looking up at the leaves and the stars beyond them. He had reached for such a star, once, and now he had been given a leaf. It was all he would ever get, but his heart would never stop reaching higher and higher until it found its goal – or plunged to its death.

*****

THE END

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