Tol-in-Gaurhoth LXIII: The Cottage of Lost Play

[satansaloser2005]

"All right," said Rikae, "so I guess you both kill each other?"

"Unless you want to kill us both," said Nogrod.

Rikae shook her head.

"Then what if only one of us dies?" said Lalaith. "We're not exactly the same build."

"You'll have no choice," said Nog. "Of course, you could be the last wolf yourself--in which case, my humble congratulations--in which case you'll be more than glad to do the dirty work when it comes to that."

"And if the wolf's already dead? You want an innocent's blood on Rikae's hands?"

"Look, this is the only fair way I can see us doing this!"

"Yes, because 'fair' means 'everybody loses.' Look, there's a better way of doing this. We flip a coin. If I lose, you kill me; if you lose, I kill you. Then if it turns out the loser was a wolf, we have two innocents who walk free. If the loser was an innocent, Rikae kills the other and wins--no matter who or what she is."

"Hey," said Rikae, "that isn't fair. I never even voted for anybody!"

"It's a one in two chance you'll have to kill someone. If we left it up to combat it'd probably be less than that."

Nogrod nodded. "It does seem to be the right way to go. Rikae, you should flip the coin; it's only right." He found nearby a silver penny; it had elvish writing on it and a tree on the back. He handed it to her. "Who's calling it?" he said.

"You can," said Lalaith.

"Right. Heads I die first; tails Lal does."

Rikae threw the coin into the air; it spun and caught the red sunlight as it came in through the window. It landed on its side, rolled, and finally settled. Rikae bent over it; it showed the face of a fair woman in profile. She beckoned the others to see.

"I'm sorry, Nog," said Rikae.

"It's not your fault," he said. "But when you get out of this..."

Rikae nodded. "I'll tell them."

Lalaith walked over to the bar. "Any last requests?"

"Something strong, I hope."

Lalaith rummaged around in the back. "Does something with the label '1420' sound good?"

"Depends on what it is."

She came back out with a small, bulging bottle. "I think it's brandy," she said. She looked at the label. "Made in Buckland, if you can believe it."

"Well," said Nogrod with a faint smile, "everything from that year was supposed to be good, wasn't it?"

Lalaith opened the bottle and handed it to him. He took a swig, all propriety discarded. He nodded and returned it. "You should have some," he said. "I don't envy you your task, though perhaps you won't mind it yourself."

Lalaith took a sip. "You know," she said, "you'll make this easier if you transform now. I'm not afraid to hurt you to make it happen."

Nogrod laughed. "Wouldn't I just overpower you?"

"You wouldn't be human, that's what. And that way we'd know that we'd be free."

"I'm not doing it. I can't."

"Aren't you now?" Lalaith put his eye out.

"What are you doing?" said Rikae.

"He isn't putting up a fight. He won't. He thinks he'll be able to strike at our conscience that way, by not fighting. But if he's hurt, he'll get angry, transform--we can fight him, and he'll already be weakened that way." She looked down at Nogrod, who was clutching at his eye. She put the other one out.

"Why isn't he fighting back yet?" said Rikae.

"I don't know. If you want, you can help--"

Rikae shook her head. "I'm having nothing to do with this. Call me when you're done, or if you're in danger."

"As you wish."

Rikae walked away, but she could still hear the cries of pain as Nogrod was brutally put to death. There was a moment of silence, then Lalaith's voice came quavering. "You can kill me now," she said.

Rikae came back. Nogrod's body lay on the floor. Nearby were his hands, feet, and head: cut off one by one. "What have you done?" she said.

Lalaith looked at her, blood all over her front. "What I had to," she said.

"So, he didn't transform after all."

"Maybe I was wrong."

"We should check the front door to make sure."

They did. It was still locked.

"So that means the last wolf..." said Rikae

"...is one of us."

Rikae reached down and picked up a knife.

[Mnemosyne]

"Oh, right," said Lalaith with a grin. "That'd be me." Standing up and stretching, she felt her muscles expand and the fur sprout out of her flesh as she transformed into the last wolf.

Rikae backed away, clutching the knife in her hands. "Get away from me! I'm not afraid to kill you!"

"Yes you are," said Lalaith. "You were too afraid to vote and too afraid to make sure both of us would die at the same time according to your precious plan."

"You're supposed to die! That's the rules!"

"No, the rules are that when there are as many of you as there are of me, I win. The end."

"Her game, maybe. But we don't have to play by her rules. We could still try to get out of here!"

"Hmm, one human and a wolf versus this place. And you think we'll be able to get out even better than when I still had my brother and sister? Don't think we didn't try breaking free! Don't you see? There's no escape unless we play by her rules!" She took a swipe at Rikae. Rikae struck out with the knife and slashed at Lalaith's chest.

"Oh, fighting, are we?" said Lalaith. "Might as well make it a good show, I suppose! Now, shall we make this like Tol Sirion?" Suddenly their surroundings shifted and they were in an old dungeon.

"Yes," said Lalaith, "that's a little more like it. Although if we want to go for real historical accuracy, you shouldn't be armed..." Rikae's knife vanished.

"That--that's not fair!"

"I know; isn't it marvelous?"

Lalaith leaped upon Rikae and tore her heart out. As she bit into the succulent meat and felt the warm blood course down her throat, she could not help but let out a long, glorious laugh of victory.

[Mnemosyne]

The Cottage of Lost Play rang with the sound of fell laughter. Had any been around to hear it, it would have chilled the bone, the curious blend of man and beast that made up the Werewolf.

Rikae's body was mauled viciously, and there was blood all over the floor of the dungeons of Tol-in-Gaurhoth. Lalaith's fur was soaked in it from her rolling on the floor in glee.

At last the fit of laughter passed and she shrank, changing back into her natural form. She looked down at her skin, slick with blood, and then over at the body nearby.

"Oh, God," she said.

She staggered over to a nearby corner to vomit. Flesh--human flesh--came up, mixed in with the bile and blood. She was shaking, but whether from the shock, from rage, or from shame, she could not say.

A hand rested on her shoulder, delicate and red. "Drink?"

Lalaith spun around. Leaning against the dungeon wall with careless ease was someone similar to the lady in black, and yet different.

Her hair was loose, wild and matted with blood, and she still bore a few scratches on her face. She was dressed in a warrior's garb, and though her hands and forearms were still red it was not due to gloves. They seemed to have been permanently stained--but whether with blood or wine Lalaith could not say. But the light in her eyes was if anything keener and more unsettling.

"You!" said Lalaith! "We killed you; I saw--"

"Indeed you did. It was a pleasantly painful death, although I must say it was rather unoriginal. Your craft improved over time."

"Then how are you--"

"--still alive? As soon as I saw what you were going to do I fled my fána and watched from behind the scenes. Far better to watch you comport yourselves without your knowing my presence. Drink?" She snapped her fingers and a wineglass, filled with a dark red, appeared in Lalaith's hands.

"Absolutely not! After last time--"

"Oh, surely you won't reject one of my special brew? I assure you, Lalaith, I have no further games for you in mind. Your spirits simply seemed in need of lifting."

Reluctantly Lalaith took a sip. As she did new life coursed through her veins. She set the drink down. "Who are you?"

"Haven't you guessed?"

"You shouldn't be able to do this, so you must be one of the Powers, but if I've read of you I surely can't remember it."

The lady's eyes blazed in fire. "Precisely." A spear appeared in one of her hands. "Take your time if you must."

Slowly the light of comprehension dawned in Lalaith's eyes. "He dropped you, didn't he? Tolkien wrote about you, but decided he didn't need you, so he..." She thought a moment. "You're one of the M ones, a brother and a sister--"

"Meássë," the lady said. "Brought into existence by one of the greatest minds of the century and then left to rot because he decided he didn't need me. Should've made me a little nicer if he was going to do that."

"And the person who met us at first, that was Ælfwine?"

"And Gilfanon. And Trotter. There are a few others."

"And what of your brother?"

"Makar? He made this place. When we were dropped he took our house, and poured all the energy he could into making it what it is today. I maintain it, and use it to exact our revenge."

"But we haven't done anything wrong!"

"Of course you haven't. But you, the thinking, living, breathing fans, who were so touched by your Professor's work, are very dear to the one who did."

"Then just kill me already and finish what you've started."

Meássë laughed, a cold, bone-chilling laugh. "You think that's what this is about, even after all this time? I'm not interested in killing you. I'm interested in keeping you alive, weighted down with the guilt of those very deaths, going about the world on your wearying business knowing exactly what you've done. There's a certain beauty in a broken soul, wouldn't you agree? That's why the tale of Frodo touches us so."

"But it's not my fault! You made me do it!"

"Did I? I told you you'd have to kill or die, day and night, but did you ever stop to find out? No, you were too afraid. What if I were to tell you that you could have slept through each night with your strange condition, killed no one, and you all would have been released?"

"You're lying!"

"Am I? I'll never tell you. But late at night, in very early hours you'll stay awake, and wonder, and wonder, and wonder, and never learn. And years later you'll die, a broken old woman, and when you reach whatever place is prepared for you beyond the circles of the world you'll see him and tell him exactly what his creation did to you."

"You--" With a strangled cry Lalaith wrested the spear from Meássë's hand and thrust it at her heart. The spear curved from its path and snapped right back into its original position.

"I only allow myself to be killed when I'm in the mood for it, Lalaith. I'm not in the mood for it at the moment." She snapped her fingers and they were in the dining room from the first night. "I'd suggest a shower and a change of clothes before you leave. You look absolutely filthy at the moment." She paused. "In fact, so do I. And so with your pardon I must leave you. You'll find the carriage awaiting you here within the hour. And don't try to stay around or kill me or anyone again, because it won't work. Farewell." She turned and disappeared through a side door.

Lalaith did as she was told, though she never remembered much of it. When she was ready she found the front door, already healed of its scratches, sitting open into the sunlight of the real world. It almost burned her eyes.

* * *

"Well, that went well, didn't it?"

"I'll say--we got down to one!"

"And it was a wolf. They usually come out so much more scarred afterwards."

"Good. When's the next batch coming in?"

"Twenty-four hours, if we can get everything in order by then."

"I daresay I should."

"Excellent. Now, Trotter, this time you'll be getting Ms. Flieger, Mr. Shippey, and Mr. Rateliff..."

FIN