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Post by Recommended on Dec 3, 2006 11:53:12 GMT -5
Admin Note: This work is being posted by the site admin as a Novice Writers Recommended story. Links will be provided at the end of every chapter to where you may review this story. Please do so. The author would appreciate your feedback. For the Love of the Lord of the White Tree
by Legolass Q My first fanfic. Thank you for reading, and reviews are most welcome. Disclaimer: All characters, events and places in my story that can be found in Tolkien's books are his; I am merely borrowing them. Everything else has sprung from my own imagination, or has been inspired by other writers’ stories, particularly Tinnuial, Shaan Lien and Nightwing. To all these writers, I express my thanks. This disclaimer applies to every chapter in this story. Summary: The greatest of kings can be overwhlemed by the weight of responsibility. The greatest of friendships can be threatened by an unexpected challenge emerging from the shadows of the past. And Aragorn and Leoglas face both. Please r & r. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- CHAPTER 1: A MATTER OF TRUST Legolas found himself hovering in the air above everyone at the Council. It seemed he could see the tops of the tall trees of Imladris and the gossamer woven on the bushes surrounding the porch where the Council was being held. In the distance, the ford of Bruinen sang a mournful song.
But Legolas only had eyes for the members of the Council.
He saw Elrond, lord of Imladris, Galdor of the Havens, Erestor and Glorfindel and the other elves of Imladris, elven light in their features, looking tall and regal even when they were seated; he saw the Istari Mithrandir with a grave look in his wizened eyes, half-hidden beneath thick eyebrows, his lips unsmiling behind the white beard; there, too, were the hobbit Bilbo Baggins who had visited Mirkwood long ago, and Frodo his nephew, looking entranced and bewildered with what was going on; and there was the hobbit Sam with his curly brown mop of hair, hidden behind a bush, hoping to hear but not be seen.
Legolas’ eyes fell on Gloin, his son Gimli and their fellow dwarves, seated with their stout legs apart and their thick beards hanging in between, looking impatient. Boromir, too, he saw, broad-shouldered Man of Gondor, with a grim expression.
Another Man was there: Aragorn, dark, dour Ranger of the North; heir of Isildur; future King of Gondor. Legolas’ eyes rested on the serious face that hid a thousand emotions, and he felt only a sense of love and loyalty for this Man.
His eyes moved again and finally alighted on… himself, sent here by his father Thranduil, King of Mirkwood, with a message for Lord Elrond. He was sitting next to elves in green and brown who had accompanied him from the Realm.
No one saw him but he could see them all. For some reason, he was not surprised that he could see himself, as if it was the most natural thing to be able to look at himself from a distance. But he had been through this before… had he not? He knew exactly what would transpire next. They had been talking about the creature Gollum, who was desperately trying to seek and reclaim the One Ring of the Dark Lord that had been in his greedy little hands before he lost it to Bilbo, and how Aragorn and Mithrandir had captured the creature and left him in the hands of the elves of Mirkwood, who were asked to keep him captive .
“Alas! Alas!” Legolas heard his seated self cry, turning every face in the Council to where he was seated. In his face there was great distress. “The tidings that I was sent to bring must now be told. They are not good, but only here have I learnt how evil they may seem to this company.” Everyone’s attention was riveted on him now. It seemed like embarrassment was written all over his face as he declared to the whole group, “Smeagol, who is now called Gollum, has escaped.”
There were loud gasps from almost everyone. Floating above them, Legolas watched as the elves exchanged looks and spoke quietly with furrowed brows; the dwarves sat up straighter, casting smug looks at the elves. Boromir looked curious, Mithrandir pursed his lips and Lord Elrond stared at Legolas without blinking. But Legolas focused on the look of dismay painted on the face of Aragorn, the Man for whom Legolas held only the highest regard, even hovering at a distance above him.
“Escaped?” cried the Ranger, looking incredulously at the seated Legolas. “That is ill news, indeed. We shall all rue it bitterly, I fear.” Then came the line Legolas hated: “How came the folk of Thranduil to fail in their trust?”
There it was again, the accusing tone of the future King of Gondor thrown in the direction of the Mirkwood prince. Legolas, floating above, felt his seated self both wince with pain at the harsh words and bristle at the bluntness of the question, nay – it was not a question, it was a blatant pronouncement of utter disappointment in the elves of Mirkwood. He saw himself try to explain that they had not foreseen the cunning of Sauron, who had orchestrated Gollum’s escape through an orc attack that left the creature’s guards slain or taken.
Can you not understand? Legolas found himself empathizing with his seated self at the Council. We did not ask for the care of the Gollum. You brought him to us and asked us to keep him, and we did even though we wearied of the task. You did not tell us why it was so important to lock him up, we did not even know he was called Gollum – you told us his name was Smeagol. We did not know his part in the tale of the One Ring. We merely took pity on him, having shut him up in dark dungeons. Yes, dwarf Gloin, we locked you up too, but only for a few weeks, and we would not have kept you in the dark for long either. Smeagol had been in the dungeon for almost a year! The orcs must have watched our movements, taking him out each day. They planned it.
And have you forgotten? My friends – elves I knew and liked and was close to – were killed or brought away, no doubt to the South, to be tortured by the Necromancer in Dol Guldur. They died because Smeagol, Gollum, was there, at your bidding. My friends, my kin, died doing their duty.
Floating above everyone, Legolas tried to lend a voice, but could not. His self at the Council continued to tell them that they tried to find the creature, going further and further into the forest south of their realm. “But ere long, it escaped our skill, and we dared not continue the hunt; for we were drawing nigh to Dol Guldur, and that is still a very evil place, we do not go that way.”
Aragorn did not look placated. But Mithrandir said, “Well, well, he is gone,” adding that they had no time to look for him now; since he had escaped, Gollum would do what he would. But the foresight of the Istari pressed him to remind the Council, “he may yet play a part that neither he nor Sauron have foreseen.”
Yes, yes, he did, Legolas wanted to shout out as he hovered above the group. I’ve been through the Quest, to the end. If Gollum had not been alive at the Cracks of Doom, he would not have taken the Ring from Frodo. Frodo was already overcome, he refused to throw the Ring into the consuming fire; Gollum, in his greed, took it and gloated and in his careless joy, blindly stepped over the edge and fell into the river of fire. Ask Sam, he saw it! Aragorn, Mithrandir, Frodo – you know this! There was a reason why Gollum lived – destiny knew.
No one heard him as he hovered above them. No one paid attention to him. Except for Aragorn, heir of Isildur. Slowly, almost eerily, the Man slowly turned his face up to fix steely grey eyes on him, and his face was at once dark with rage and bitter with disappointment. The future King of Gondor sent a message to him, with his mind rather than his voice: “But you failed. No matter the outcome, you failed to keep Gollum though I entrusted him to you. I entrusted him to you.”
Then – without understanding why, it seemed like this had happened a hundred times before – Legolas felt his frustration turn to shame. Deep shame and disgrace. Aye, I concede. Aye, I have let you down. My respect and loyalty for you knows no bounds, but I have let you down. I wish I could turn back Time and make things different. We would not have brought Gollum out into the sunshine, we would not have let him climb the trees, we would not have let him be snatched from our hands.
But there was no turning back.
The Man now used his voice, enunciating the words over and over again, and the words turned into a spear of fire which he hurled at Legolas:
How came the folk of Thranduil to fail in their trust? The folk of Thranduil… fail in their trust, fail in their trust, fail, fail, fail…
The burning spear, moving slowly and in a blur, came closer and closer toward him, and Legolas, with a cry of anguish, fled, pulling away higher and higher. All of a sudden, he stopped in mid-air and started to fall. Faster and faster he fell, and he tried to grasp at something, but there was nothing… nothing. Faster and faster and faster… ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To review this chapter please follow one of these links to do so. They go directly to review pages for this story. Please take the time. The author would appreciate it. FanFiction.net www.fanfiction.net/secure/review.php?storyid=2231205&chapter=1&storytextid=6254022Stories of Arda www.storiesofarda.com/review.asp?SID=3394&CID=12905
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Post by Recommended on Dec 3, 2006 12:35:59 GMT -5
CHAPTER 2: WATER-COLORED MEMORIES Legolas came awake with a start, eyes wide and heart pounding so hard in his chest he felt he could hear it. His hands were clutching the grass beneath him so tightly his knuckles had turned white. He leaned his head back against something, and after taking a few deep breaths, he closed his eyes. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Slowly now. He reopened his eyes when he felt calmer, reminding himself where he was. He was in South Ithilien. The sun was shining, he was sitting against a tree, and he had been assaulted by the nightmare – again. Why did they call it a nightmare when one could dream it in broad daylight, he wondered wryly. He was not in Imladris and he certainly had not been floating. The Council of Imladris had taken place eleven years ago. The Quest was over, Gollum had died, and Aragorn was now in the tenth year of his reign as King of Gondor. Legolas sighed again. The embarrassment and regret he had felt at the Council had plagued him in nightmares throughout the Quest when he pondered on the possible consequences of Gollum’s escape. After all, Aragorn had lamented, “We shall all rue it.” Although part of him still argued that he and his friends had done their best, Aragorn’s words still haunted him: “How came the folk of Thranduil to fail in their trust?” For a long time, Legolas wondered if Aragorn would ever trust him or the elves of Mirkwood again. After Sam told them about the part Gollum had played in the destruction of the ring, Legolas’ guilt had been assuaged. Mithrandir was right – Gollum’s escape had resulted in his playing a part, a critical part, in the downfall of Sauron. Sometimes things are meant to be for a reason, even if the reason is not clearly shown to us. And so the nightmares stopped. But they had resurfaced with fresh vigour to plague him for several weeks now, and he did not understand why. Was it trying to tell him something, to expect something? Finding no answers, Legolas shook his head and looked around him. It was peaceful here, so beautiful he felt the shadows of the unpleasant dream being chased away by the bright rays of the sun filtering through the leaves of the tall oaks and beeches around him. The trees reminded him of his other home, Mirkwood. His other home, he mused. Well, the forests there were not so murky any more, he thought. After Lord Celeborn and his father had rid Dol Guldur of Sauron’s darkness, they had renamed it Eryn Lasgalen, the Greenwood. Much better. But Ithilien in Gondor was his home now, North Ithilien at least – since he had brought elves there to restore the woods to the fair place they had once been before Sauron’s evil had filled them with sickness. His father had not been too pleased that his son would settle so far from him, but Thranduil had not given a direct command not to leave. So Legolas had left, for he had made a promise to help Aragorn restore Gondor, and he was willing to endure the displeasure of his father for the friend he had learned to cherish more than he thought possible. He would bring living things to Minas Tirith “for the love of the Lord of the White Tree”, he mused; those were his words to the hobbits ten years ago, as they sat contemplating what would happen after the Quest should Aragorn successfully reclaim the throne. And North Ithilien had indeed flourished again under the loving hands of the elves. Sitting almost at the doorstep of the city of Minas Tirith where the King and Queen dwelt, its life and breath seemed to flow even to the stone city that Gimli the dwarf had, on his part, helped restore. The thought of a living, growing forest, filled with gentle creatures and joyful trees filled Legolas with pleasure and delight. He had then turned his eyes to South Ithilien, desiring to do for it what he had done for the northern area. South Ithilien held promise. It was further from the city, and they had to reach it by crossing the Anduin on a ferry or boat from the city of Pelargir on the northern shore, so he had to spend longer periods away from the Royal family. He missed seeing them, and they him, but it could not be helped if he wished to accomplish anything. He and his Elves had been here several months now, scouting the area and working on clearing dead and rotting things left behind by orcs and Men who had worked for Sauron; they had had no love for beautiful things, they destroyed rather than nourished. Legolas and the elves had to plant new trees and coax the sick ones back to life, singing and talking to them, surrounding them with blossoms and filling their long-empty branches with birds, butterflies and golden dragonflies. Bit by bit, the elves lovingly cleaned the choked streams and created paths into glades and clearings long hidden by ugly weeds. Huge areas further south still remained to be worked on, and one day, they too would be fair again, he determined, either by his hands or those of other elves. But his mind was on something else at the moment, two tasks he needed to finish. Briefly, he cast his mind to a place about an hour’s trek from where he was, and then to Pelargir on the banks of the Anduin. Yes, I will finish them, he resolved. Legolas ceased his musing and stood up, stretching his long, slender limbs as he did so. His eyes swept the scene around him. He had come across this beautiful spot one day, quickly claiming it in his heart as his haven in South Ithilien. He came here to rest and seek the quiet company of trees and water, when he wanted to get away from his labours and the stares of humans in Pelargir, who, in their ignorance of races other than Men, tolerated the presence of the elves only because their Lord was their King’s closest friend. Legolas did not blame them, for the Elves were fading or leaving Middle Earth, and not many remained to walk freely among humans, so the Men were little exposed to the fair race. Men could not help admiring the agility and grace of the fair beings, and were entranced by their singing, but he could tell that they were still wary of them. Still, Legolas had to deal with them for supplies and food, though their conversations wearied him, and it was tiring to talk with people with whom he shared so little interest. So this spot was his sanctuary. The elves of Mirkwood, now of Ithilien, quietly and willingly granted their prince his desire for some private moments. They loved their soft-spoken prince, for he was a fair leader and did not demand much for his own comfort, and so they discreetly kept away if they knew he had come here. Legolas was glad of that. Perhaps he was being a little selfish, he told himself candidly, but this was the one privilege he wanted for himself for as long as he could. It was truly an unusual place. Before him was a pool with water as clear as glass, its water fed by a little waterfall tumbling down gently from some white rocks. The pool was wide enough to swim in, and deep enough where the waterfall met it, for diving. Surrounding the pool were tall oak and beech, which never seemed to lack for nightingales. The trees themselves seemed to sing sonorous songs about the earth and wind and ages past, and their leaves appeared a deeper green than anywhere else in South Ithilien. There was shadow and light here, playing in ever-changing hues. There was a raw beauty to this place that Legolas did not desire to disturb. He would not even create a clear path to this spot so that it would not be easily approached, preferring to access it by climbing a tall tree one hundred yards to the north from which he could see the spot, just as he did the first time he spied it, then jumping from tree to tree till he reached it. Yes, it was the perfect hideaway, he thought, smiling. What he loved best about it was that a tall oak hung one strong branch right above the deep end of the pool, and from there, he could dive fifteen feet into the cool, fresh water, down, down, down into the glassy depths before turning and kicking his way back up to laugh an exultant laugh that only the trees would share. He cast off his clothes and scaled the tree now, agile as a cat, and reached the diving branch with hardly any effort. He stood with outstretched arms for a moment, breathing deeply of the fresh air, and the nightingales watching saw a slender, lithe body the colour of ivory and porcelain, with lean muscles that belied their strength. His golden hair billowed behind him in the breeze and his fair face was a picture of contentment, long lashes fringing his closed eyes. Then the sparkling blue eyes opened and he dove in a graceful arc, entering the water with hardly a splash, slicing cleanly through the water of the glass pool, to emerge like a golden water nymph, his long hair neatly plastered to his shapely head and water streaming off his smiling face. He laughed a gentle laugh as he usually did, sharing his delight with the birds. The elf floated on his back, watching the clouds float by in the azure sky, enjoying the sight of a few leaves floating down from the trees. He hummed softly a song of trees and wind, thinking of nothing unpleasant. Legolas sighed. If there were anyone he would want to share this place with… A sudden thought entered his mind, a memory of another breathtaking place like this one, with a crystal-clear pool hidden curtained by tall trees, in the forests of Mirkwood. There was a high ledge from which he could dive into it. He had swum in it for hundreds of years of his life, the pool seeming to get smaller and smaller as the years went by, but in reality, he was the one growing. Fondly, he recalled taking Aragorn there some sixty years ago, the second time the young Ranger had visited. “My father will be back this evening, Aragorn, and you will need to meet him for the evening meal,” Legolas reminded him. Aragorn had arrived two hours ago and they had spent them sparring first, then – dressed only in their leggings – they wrestled on the grass, showing each other new moves amidst joyous laughter as only youthful bodies and good friends can. Legolas wrinkled his nose at the Ranger’s disastrously disheveled hair, grimy face and torso speckled with dried mud. He knew he needed to clean up too, but not as desperately as Aragorn, to whom clung four days’ worth of sweat and grime from his usual forage into the Wilds of the North. “You – we – will need to – um – make ourselves presentable first. A bath?”
“But I just got here,” his friend protested, a look of dismay on his face. “Do I have to? So soon?”
“You look scruffy enough to be a doormat,” Legolas stated with a laugh. “He will notice it, believe me.”
“It’s too soon for a bath, and I’m tired,” Aragorn grumbled stubbornly.
Legolas sighed, cocking his head to one side and looking at his friend in exasperation. “All right then, doormat, if you wish for him to wipe his feet on you, so be it. But are you too tired now to accompany me to my secret spot?”
“Outdoors?”
“In the forest. You will not regret it.”
In five minutes, they were mounted on horses, still clad only in their leggings, leaving several elves staring at their youngest prince as he sped off with the human close behind. They rode at a fast pace, the Ranger in high spirits and letting the elf leading him whither he would. The elf kept them on the trail that led directly to the ledge above the pool which Aragorn had never visited.
As soon as they reached the start of the slope, a few yards from the edge, Legolas jumped down from his horse and yanked Aragorn down from his. Infected by the excitement of the elf, the Ranger felt a thrill as Legolas issued a challenge: “Race you to the top!” and sped off up the ledge, the Ranger close on his heels. Without stopping, the elf ran to the edge and turned around for an instant, just long enough to grab the wrist of his friend, then jumped right off with a whoop of delight so loud that it could not be drowned out by the Ranger’s equally loud squawk of shock and fear. The Ranger took one look at where they were headed and barely had time to pinch his nose shut before the two landed feet first in the water with a loud splash, Legolas still holding on to Aragorn’s wrist so that he could pull him out in case the jump had scared him senseless.
The two emerged from the water, Legolas laughing in insane delight and Aragorn sputtering, looking like a drowned rat. He shook his hand free of the elf’s grasp and wiped the water off his face, catching his breath while trying to work out the quickest way to end the elf’s life. But as soon as he had taken three breaths, Legolas dove under and yanked him down again by the feet, this time running his elven hands quickly through the Ranger’s hair to wash the sweat and grime out and effectively keeping the struggling Ranger under at the same time. Aragorn kicked one leg out, attempting to connect with any part of the elf he could reach, he did not care which, his mind bent on killing or maiming. But the elf was too fast for him, dodging him easily and swimming three yards away before surfacing. Aragorn surfaced a moment later and spun around to look for the elf, murder in his eyes. He was in time to see a flash of gold disappearing beneath the water, and before he could even remember his own name, Legolas had come beneath him, between his legs. The elf grabbed them, placing them astride his shoulders before he kicked hard against the water and used his strong arms to hoist Aragorn a foot above the water at the same time. He gave the Ranger a moment to prepare for what he knew the Ranger was sure to expect, before tipping the helpless human yelling “Legolaaaaaa…” backward into the water, and swimming away to a safe distance across the pool.
Legolas watched Aragorn emerge, wiping the water from his face that went from red to deep magenta with rage. Treading water and forced to catch his breath yet again, Aragorn glared at the elf, who was laughing so hard he was struggling to stay afloat. “You sneaky woodland vermin!” he cried, and with a growl of rage, kicked out with strong strokes towards Legolas, without any doubt that he would strangle the elven neck as soon as he got his hands around it.
By this time, Legolas was so bent and weak with laughter that all he could do was hold up his hands in defeat and beg breathlessly through his laughter, “Peace, peace!” Aragorn was beyond appeasing by this time, and with a war cry, pounced on the elf, pushing him under and going beneath the surface himself. He felt the elf slip from his hands as he resurfaced. He treaded water as he waited for the elf to come up sputtering so that he could gloat. He pushed his hair out of his eyes and pushed it back from his face, a grin of satisfaction on his face.
His breathing calmed as he looked around to see where the elf would resurface, but felt uneasy as the moments went by and Legolas still did not emerge. He peered into the water, suddenly feeling afraid. “Legolas!” he called, then dove under to search for his friend below, swimming underwater across half the pool. He could not see the elf anywhere. Coming up again, he called desperately “Legolas!”
“You seek me?” he heard a cool voice ask behind him and he spun around to see the elf treading water with calm strokes a few yards away, a cheeky grin on his beautiful face.
“How did you – ? Where were you – ?” Aragorn spluttered. The elf raised his delicate eyebrows and shrugged. Aragorn could do nothing but stare dumbfounded at the elusive elf, lost for words, struggling with conflicting feelings of disbelief, irritation and relief. Then, with a groan of exasperation, he shook his head and laughed. Legolas, the grin still on his face, swam over to a shallower part of the pool and climbed onto a broad rock, signaling to Aragorn to join him. When he had given his friend a hand up, the elf lay back to bask in the sun. The Ranger did likewise, still chuckling. His chest rose and fell as he lay beside his friend.
Legolas turned to give him a smug look. “Ah, the doormat has been cleaned,” he reminded the Ranger. Aragorn punched the elf’s arm, a broad grin on his face, now free of the grime that had been on it before their swim. The two friends turned their faces back to the sky, closing their eyes and talking quietly.
“Ahhh, Aragorn. It’s wonderful here.”
“Mmm.”
“Do you feel at peace?”
“Mmmmmmmmmmmm.”
“Aragorn?”
“Mmm?”
“Years from now, when you are King…”
“Mmm???””
“You know you will be. When you are busy being King of Gondor, will you still wish for a time like this?”
“Mmmmmmm.”
“Would you wish for a place like this?”
“Mmmmmmm.”
“I hope there will still be places in Arda like this by that time.”
“Mmmm.”
“Aragorn?”
“Mmm?”
“Would we still be friends?”
“Would water still be wet? Foolish question.”
The two friends lay in a companionable silence till the sun began to slide down the western sky.
“Aragorn?”
“Mmm?”
“It’s time to go home.”
Groan…
And the two companions returned side by side to the palace of the Woodland King, in time to dress and sit at the evening meal, faces as clean and shining as twice-polished brass. Floating on his back in the South Ithilien pool, Legolas smiled. Yes, if there were anyone he would want to share this place with, it would be Aragorn. But only if he would come, Legolas thought with a sudden twinge of wistfulness. After the Quest, their friends Frodo, Mithrandir and Elrond had sailed West along with many elves of Imladris and Lothlorien. Sam and the other hobbits were far away in the Shire, and Gimli was founding his own little niche in the Glittering Caves of Helm’s Deep; he met with Eomer more easily than he did Aragorn or himself. Only he and Aragorn remained in Gondor, visits between Minas Tirith and Ithilien as frequent as once every two or three weeks. Their friendship had grown so deep that Aragorn loved Legolas as dearly as he did Arwen and Eldarion. The people of the city could no longer envision their king without his closest companion. But kings, even the greater ones, can be bowed with labour, and the King of Gondor seemed more distant than he had ever been. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Note: Getting Aragorn clean by dunking him in a pond was an idea inspired by an episode in Nightwing's story To See A World. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To submit a review for this chapter please click on one of the below links. FanFiction.net www.fanfiction.net/secure/review.php?storyid=2231205&chapter=2&storytextid=6254060Stories of Arda www.storiesofarda.com/review.asp?SID=3394&CID=12906
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Post by Recommended on Dec 3, 2006 12:43:56 GMT -5
CHAPTER 3: THE LORD OF THE WHITE TREE In a settlement mid-way between Rohan and Minas Tirith, Aragorn gave his final orders to the officers he entrusted with the security of this new settlement under Gondor’s protection. He had spent the last three days there, meeting with villagers whose lives and homes had been plundered by the remnants of dissatisfied Men whose minds had once been under the spell of the wizard Saruman. Even though the wizard had fallen from grace and was long dead, the men remained outlaws, hating both the kingdoms of Gondor and Rohan. What saddened Aragorn most was that three villagers who put up a fight had died at their filthy hands, including a child of nine. She had been Eldarion’s age, a thought that deepened his sorrow, and he prayed that his son was safe back home. “See that no more harm befalls the villagers. I leave them in your care.” With those words, he nodded and left with his royal escort to begin the long ride back to the White City and his family. For the past three months, he had had to settle more land disputes and hunting rights than he cared to remember, but uppermost had been the security problems. It worried him that desperate outlaws were becoming more daring, more reckless, and more cold-blooded in their assaults. After ten years, it distressed him that the safety of Gondor’s lands was once again a cause for concern. Aragorn felt weary and bowed with care, longing only to go home to his wife and son, a hot bath and his own bed. He had left the care of the White City and his loved ones in the capable hands of his Steward, Faramir. He did not know if Legolas was there or in the woods. He hoped the elf would be there; they could enjoy some of the good wine from the cellars of the palace. He truly missed his friend, but duties demanded so much time. Ai, Valar, I could do without troubles for a spell, he thought hopefully. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Aragorn was always occupied with his duties now, Legolas reflected. He must have been gone from Minas Tirith for … more than three months now? After ten years of the peaceful restoration of Gondor, some problems were cropping up in some of the smaller fiefs on the borders. Robberies, stray outlaws terrorizing villagers, small skirmishes over land – all these needed looking into. Over the last year, Aragorn was often annoyed that the officers he had appointed in these places had not been as effective as he had hoped. He felt he had to visit these fiefs personally to determine what needed to be done; besides, the villagers needed to see their King in person from time to time for their morale. Yes, he has been away more than three months now, Legolas thought. And before that, it had been another tiring two-month tour of the provinces. He himself had left for South Ithilien in between Aragorn’s departures and returns to Minas Tirith, Legolas recalled a little sadly. All in all, he had not seen his friend for close to seven months now, and he missed him. To an elf, that length of time was but the mere beginning of a breath, but since his close companionship with mortals, Legolas sometimes found himself viewing time as a mortal would – as a limited commodity – and seven months gone was seven months out of a limited lifetime. He thus missed the days he could not spend with his closest and dearest friend, the Lord of the White Tree. Legolas sighed. Aragorn was a good king, just and kind and devoted to his people. But putting back the broken pieces of Gondor was taking its toll on him, and his temper would flare uncharacteristically as the weight of the problems overwhelmed him. He seemed more distant now, Legolas realized with a twist of sadness. The feeling continued as he remembered that he had been the brunt of Aragorn’s outbursts as well, several times now in the past one and a half years. When Legolas consulted him on matters involving the use of funds from the Treasury or the hiring of staff for restoration work, for which he felt he needed the King’s approval, Aragorn happened to be in a fey mood and carelessly asked if Legolas could not be trusted to make the decisions himself. On another occasion, Legolas had accompanied him to an important meeting with a landowner who was being hard on the poorer villagers, and Aragorn was trying to bring about an amicable solution. But when Legolas saw on the landowner’s walls huge trophies of the heads of deer and other animals killed for sport, which the pompous man readily boasted about, the usually polite elf had been so nauseated he was unable to eat any of the meat served at dinner. He would, under normal circumstances, never show his disgust openly, and particularly as they were the guests of the landowner, but Lord Eigen’s swaggering talk and blatant disregard for the animals had violated the elf’s inherent love of nature so much that he was barely able to keep his words to the landowner civil. Legolas recalled what had taken place: “Do elves not find pleasure in meat?” the pompous man had asked him, a mocking tone in his voice. “Does the fare not meet your approval?”
The elf controlled his voice as he replied in his usual soft tones, “Nay, sir, it is not my place to judge the quality of your fare. I consume meat when I need to, for sustenance, but I find it hard to do so with the heads and eyes of the creatures staring at me.”
Aragorn’s fork paused in mid-air and one of the King’s aides stopped chewing. Lord Eigen’s eyes widened as if they would pop out of his round face. “Strange are the sentiments of elves, to be unmoved by such fine trophies. Have you no appreciation of hunting skills, Master Elf? Aaah, the thrill of a chase invigorates me.”
“Then I must be strange indeed, Lord Eigen, for I use my hunting skills only to serve me in times of need. At other times, I reserve them for the pursuit of creatures that would seek to kill other creatures only for pleasure or sport,” Legolas replied, thinly veiling his contempt even in his soft tones.
The landowner went red in the face, Aragorn cleared his throat rather loudly, his aide choked, and several looks of displeasure from Aragorn’s company were shot in Legolas’ direction. Aragorn, who would at any other time sided with the elf, felt annoyed at his inopportune coldness toward Lord Eigen, worried that it would jeapordise the negotiations.
Fortunately, an acceptable agreement was reached nevertheless, but Aragorn’s annoyance radiated through the silence he kept during much of the next day’s ride on their way home to Minas Tirith. It had made Legolas ask himself if he had acted unreasonably, and he had approached Aragorn with an apology.
“I am sorry, Aragorn. Perhaps I was too harsh in my judgement of Lord Eigen. Forgive me,” he ventured quietly.
There was at first only a tense look from Aragorn in response. He understood what had angered the elf: instead of being returned with respect to the earth, parts of the dead animals had been displayed to satisfy a hunter’s vain need for others to flatter his hunting skills. It had sickened Aragorn as well, but at that point in time, he had needed the cooperation of the landowner. “There is a time and place, Legolas,” he said at last, somewhat tersely.
The right time to respect living things was always, and the right place was everywhere, the elf thought stubbornly. But this was perhaps not the right time and place for that argument, so he repeated, “I am sorry.”
“I should not have asked you to come with me,” Aragorn responded shortly, and spoke no more on the matter for the remainder of the day. The king was reflecting on how difficult it must have been for the elf to see the horror reflected in the glass eyes of the animal heads, but perhaps it was weariness that made him keep these thoughts to himself and not voice them to his elf companion, and he did not realize how brusque his words had sounded.
The king’s anxiety was understood by the elf, but even so, Aragorn’s statement still stung like a slap in the face. As he swallowed his pride, Legolas could not help thinking: the son of Thranduil fails again in his trust.
The following day, Legolas approached Aragorn and unexpectedly begged leave to depart from the King’s company so that he could turn north-east to visit his father in the Greenwood. Aragorn was already feeling contrite over what had transpired between them the previous day, but he had no right to stop the elf from visiting his family. With as much of a smile as he could muster, he said, “Send your father my regards, Legolas. And – please do not take to heart my earlier words – ”
“As you say, there is a time and place,” Legolas interrupted with a small smile, but sadness was in his gentle eyes. “It is I who spoke rashly in the presence of Lord Eigen, an elf still unused to the thinking of Men, perhaps. Worry not, Aragorn, I shall not repeat my error.” Before Aragorn could utter a protest, the elf briefly placed his hand on his heart and swept it gracefully forward and down, saying, “I wish you a safe journey home, Aragorn,” and left, leaving the King of Gondor feeling strangely empty. If such tense exchanges occurred when they were in Minas Tirith, the elf would get on his horse to ride away, feeling his hurt burn him as he spurred his horse down the seven levels of the city. But by the time he reached the lowest level and the Great Gates of the city, he would wonder if it was his fault after all, and if he had indeed failed Aragorn. He was never sure, and when he felt it was not his fault, he told himself that even kings could be bowed under the weight of his burdens – after all, he had seen his own father lose his temper many times. In the end, it was always his love for the Lord of Gondor that overcame his own hurt. He knew that if he rode off, Aragorn himself might feel wretched. So each time, he would stop his horse before he left the city, and he would turn back, riding up to the seventh level slowly so that his own anger would cool by the time he faced Aragorn again. Sometimes, he would delay seeing the King, retiring instead to the room Aragorn and Arwen always kept ready for his use. The following day, Aragorn’s anger would usually have dissipated, and they would act as if nothing had happened. Legolas continued to hope that things would improve for the King. Arwen often witnessed these incidents, feeling a little sad that these two friends who would die for each other could drift apart, for a night or a week or a month, over such trivial matters. She once caught Aragorn standing in the shadows of their bedroom balcony, looking miserably at the figure of the friend he loved best riding away from him. The balcony was located in a part of the palace that let them see what went on at the Great Gates. When Legolas stopped at the Gates as he invariably did, the king held his breath as he waited to see if the rider would turn back. Only when he turned did the king exhale and his shoulders sag in relief. He saw Arwen then, and no words were necessary as she enveloped him in her comforting arms, letting him sink his head into her hair. She knew, as he did, that he did not mean his outbursts and that Legolas would understand. “Estel,” she addressed him by the Elvish name he had been given by her father, Elrond. “He knows your heart, my love. Take care of his too,” were the only words of counsel she gave him that night. Two days later, she told Legolas what she had seen, and the elf’s eyes had softened when she said what he already knew: “Estel needs you, Legolas, even if he does not see it himself. Forgive him.” So Legolas had always returned to his friend, knowing the true tenderness that lay beneath the hardened exterior of the king. Legolas’ attention returned to the present. Aye, I miss you my friend. Reflecting on how distant Aragorn felt now, the melancholy caused by his earlier dream returned, and he sighed. He wondered briefly if the dreams had come back because of those incidents with Aragorn. Alas, he thought, even great kings are sometimes compelled to do things that do not please everyone. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Many miles from the White City, a dark figure sat in his dark room, brooding and planning. He seethed with the anger and hate he had nursed in his black heart for over nine years, since the end of the Ringbearer’s Quest and the fall of Sauron. As he had every day since then, he swore vengeance on the king for the pain he had caused. You took away the light of my life, he said bitterly to a king that could not hear him, but I swear upon the memory of the dead – you shall taste the same grief. He had been waiting. Watching and waiting. Weeks ago, his spies had finally returned with some good news, though nothing truly seemed good any more, not since… not since THEN. He ground his teeth as the painful memory hit him again. It had taken him a few years to recover and put together the broken pieces of his miserable life again in the years afterward, but the desire for vengeance that consumed his every thought had kept him going. And now, it seemed like the opportunity was going to arrive, when the situation was most favorable. He had told his minions to wait for just the right time. Oh yes, it is time for the king to pay. All he had to do now was wait. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was getting late, so Legolas shook off his thoughts and left his secret spot, by way of the trees. Tomorrow, he would have to return to North Ithilien. He needed to check on security, for his guards had seen furtive shadows at the edge of the woods that did not belong to orcs or four-legged beasts. Unfortunately, half the elf residents were here with him in South Ithilien now, helping him restore these forests. They were needed here as well, so he would have to rely on those who were left. He considered the possibility of stopping by the city to see Aragorn’s son and Arwen, whom he loved as family, and the thought lightened his heart as he trekked back to the ferry which took him across the Anduin back to Pelargir. The sights and sounds of the riverside town jarred his senses, in sharp contrast with the serene peacefulness he had just left. But some irritations had to be borne if one wanted to function within the world of Men, he realized. There, he met with the other elves who were working on what he had been assigned them with. He looked at the progress with approval as he ran his long fingers over the woodwork. The elves noted that while their prince’s eyes shone with pleasure, there was also longing tinged with sadness. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To submit a review for this chapter please follow one of the following links: FanFiction.net www.fanfiction.net/secure/review.php?storyid=2231205&chapter=3&storytextid=6259921Stories of Arda www.storiesofarda.com/review.asp?SID=3394&CID=12907
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Post by Recommended on Dec 3, 2006 12:50:05 GMT -5
CHAPTER 4: SON OF THE KING “Arwen? Eldarion!” Legolas called out their names in surprise, as he dismounted quickly. He had ridden hard from Pelargir, as he wanted to reach his home in North Ithilien before nightfall. Some of his kin in Pelargir would be returning tomorrow as well, but something – he knew not what – had moved him to return today instead of riding with them. However, he had hardly expected to see the Queen and her son in North Ithilien, waiting for him. “How came you to be here? When – ?” “Legolas!” the little prince cried excitedly, cutting off the elf’s question as he ran into the arms of his father’s friend who had been close to him since his birth. Legolas picked him up and swung him around in delight before hugging him warmly. “You are getting too big to be picked up, prince of Gondor!” the elf declared before setting him down, kneeling and gently sandwiching the fresh young face between his long hands. “Let me look at you.” He studied Eldarion’s handsome face. He had his mother’s delicate mouth and long dark lashes, but everything else bespoke of his father – from the strong brow and serious grey eyes to the firm chin. Even the way he set his jaw whenever he was determined was the mark of the king of Gondor. “You truly are the Son of the King,” Legolas said lovingly. “You’ve been away too long,” Eldarion complained, furrowing his eyes a little and looking even more like his father. “I’ve lost one tooth and sprouted a new one since. See?” And the young prince opened his mouth wide and without embarrassment to offer proof of his claim to the elf. Arwen had walked over by then and she looked on in amusement as Legolas bent his golden head and pretended to examine the cavern of the mouth studiously, holding back laughter. “Why yes, Eldarion, it’s a fine tooth, and one that would bite with ferocity as befits a strong young man,” Legolas pronounced seriously. Eldarion beamed with pride. “You will teach me to shoot arrows tomorrow? I’ve forgotten some of the things you taught, you should not stay away too long. Can I stay in the talan tonight? Can I climb the tree? Oh, there’s your horse! Can I get on him?” Before the elf could answer any one of the child’s rapidly fired questions, the boy had run to where an elf was leading Legolas’ horse away, asking to ride him. Legolas watched him with a tender look in his eyes before turning to Arwen and letting her kiss him on the cheek. “I did not expect you to be here, Arwen. Is something the matter? Who accompanied you here?” he queried in a rush, realizing with a blush that he must have sounded like Eldarion. Arwen laughed lightly. “Nothing is wrong, my dear Legolas. Eladrion was simply too bored in the city and pleaded for a visit here. We expect Aragorn to be back in two or three days, but Eldarion would not wait. Four of the royal guards rode alongside, and my maid came with us in the carriage. Faramir saw to everything. I believe that answers all your questions?” Legolas grinned. “You are always welcome, that you know. But I would have wished to set more guards around the borders before you came. I am glad you reached safely.” A look of concern crossed the Queen’s face. “Are there problems? I thought Ithilien was safe.” “It is, Arwen,” Legolas assured her after a slight hesitation. “Only… in the last few weeks, my guards have reported seeing shadows near the borders. They have never actually entered these woods so we know not whether they pose a threat. I simply wished to be cautious.” He did not voice his concern that half his elves were away, and that was half as many that he wished to be here while she and Eldarion were around. “I must take my leave briefly now to see to those arrangements. Where are your guards now?” “I – um – I sent them back.” At the look of shock and apprehension on Legolas’ face, she quickly added, “But they will be back here the morning after tomorrow, to escort us back.” “But why did you send them away?” Legolas could not hide the note of concern in his voice now. “Eldarion is not the only one who chafes within the confines of the palace, Legolas,” she said in a huff, and her next words came in a rush as her voice rose. “So do I at times. Once in a while, I wish to remind myself that I, too, have elvish blood in my veins and that I grew up surrounded by the beauty of Imladris. Ithilien is the only place that can offer me that solace now, and for a day or two, I do not wish to be watched by the hawk eyes of the royal guard. I do not want to be on a leash in woods that are akin to my own elven home!” Legolas drew a deep breath and kept quiet, allowing Arwen to compose herself again. Her head was lowered and he knew she was controlling her emotions. He certainly understood what it meant to an elf to be in the woods, for he too could not stay within the walls of any stone city for long periods of time. “Surely you can understand, Legolas?” Arwen said in a small voice. Legolas sighed. “Of course I can, Arwen. You are both welcome here anytime, you must know that.” But I wish you had not sent the guards back, he said only to himself. He could not help a small grin; only Eru knew what threats the queen must have used to pressure the guards into leaving, for they would not have left willingly. Well, it is done, and I must provide what safety I can with what I have. I hope the elves will return from Pelargir tomorrow as they planned. Arwen’s smile and the shouts of delight from Eldarion atop his horse strengthened his resolve to make their stay as pleasant as he could manage it. “Have you and Eldarion – ?” “Yes, we have made sleeping arrangements in the talan with the rope ladder – yes, I know you will not let me climb the tree,” she replied with mock frustration, “and I have brought food from the palace for the evening meal, which my maid laid out before she – ah – she left with the others.” For a moment, she studied Legolas’ face for a reaction to what she said last, but he hid whatever it was he felt. “So, as soon as you are refreshed…” Legolas chuckled. “Who is the host and who is the guest now, Arwen? You put us to shame,” he jested, “but foolish is he who declines a meal prepared by the cooks of Arwen’s royal kitchen. I will join you as soon as I can.” With a slight nod and another look to where Eldarion was still playing with the elvish horse, he stepped away to speak to the other elves. ------------------------- The day had begun hot and bright, and Eldarion had been given archery lessons in the morning till the young prince tired. Arwen and he were taking lunch with Legolas as they sat beside a stream in a clearing. Trees surrounded them but did not crowd them in. Eldarion was soon splashing about in the water, cooling himself and trying to wet his mother and Legolas as well. The elf would have happily joined him but he wanted to talk with Arwen. “He is so happy here, Legolas. I’m glad this place can take his mind off how much he misses his father,” Arwen said, looking fondly at the squealing child who was trying to catch the silvery fish that could be found in the stream. Turning to the elf, she asked, “How is your work in South Ithilien progressing?” “It is hard work, but very rewarding,” he replied. “The forests will breathe again, that is what my friends and I pledge. Aragorn and you will see South Ithilien as fair and green as they once were in the songs of our people, Arwen.” There was a hint of sadness in his voice as he said ‘our people’, for he was reminded that Arwen had given up her immortal life for Aragorn and that her husband, too, would die one day, while the elf lived on to mourn them. “You are a good friend, Legolas, even if he is too busy to tell you so,” Arwen said softly. Legolas turned his beautiful eyes towards the stream as if embarrassed by her remark. Eldarion was out of the stream and chasing after a hare now. “My time too has been devoted to the woods south.” I miss Aragorn, he thought, but quickly reminded himself that duty often demanded sacrifice. “He returns soon, you say?” “In two days, perhaps three,” she affirmed with a smile, brightening at the thought. “So Eldarion and I must return tomorrow. He will be tired again, I expect, and glad to be home. You will come for dinner then, Legolas?” “I will come,” he promised, waving his hand to Eldarion as the boy called to him and proudly held up the hare he had managed to catch. Legolas took a moment to sweep his eyes across the trees around them. He knew that guards, unseen and unheard, were hidden in the foliage, and that they would be by his side in an instant should he call. He still felt a little uneasy about the shadows that had been spotted, and felt the need to be even more alert with Aragorn’s family here. There were too few elves, and Legolas had no choice but to get them to patrol a smaller perimeter, further in than the actual fringes of the woods. “He will want to see you. Perhaps you could stay for a while.” Arwen’s voice brought him back to the conversation. It was more of a request than an invitation. She was concerned about her husband and afraid that, under the weight of his responsibilities, he would lose sight of the things he held precious. Legolas read her mind and smiled a little sadly but said nothing. “The welfare of Gondor rests on his shoulders, and caring for it is what makes him a good king, but even a good king needs some respite,” she continued. “I wish… well, my mind would be more at ease if you traveled with him sometimes, Legolas.” The elf could not help giving a small laugh at that, shaking his head in disagreement. “After what happened with Lord Eigen? It would be wiser for me to distance myself from such dealings.” “Distance is what the two of you do not need more of,” Arwen disputed, a note of frustration creeping into her voice. She placed a hand on the elf’s arm. “Please, Legolas, spend some time with him.” “Gladly, my dear Arwen,” Legolas assented, but added, “if that is what he wishes. But if he does not desire that, then I must find another way to give him respite.” “He needs you,” Arwen reiterated firmly. Legolas looked at her for a long moment, then sighed and looked at the sky. “Lo, it darkens, Arwen,” he said, noting the rain clouds. “We should return to the talan. Does Eldarion not need to nap?” The Queen laughed. “He is older now, Legolas and may not want to. But you speak true, we should return. He will not be happy to sit quietly in the talan. I must find something for him to do. Help me, Legolas, or we shall have a child in a fey mood by nightfall!” The two of them called to Eldarion, who reluctantly let the hare go, and followed the grown-ups back to where Legolas and his elves had their homes in trees. The Shadows watched everything and waited. Soon, their chief said. Very soon. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To submit a review for this chapter please follow one of these links. FanFiction.net www.fanfiction.net/secure/review.php?storyid=2231205&chapter=4&storytextid=6261028Stories of Arda www.fanfiction.net/secure/review.php?storyid=2231205&chapter=4&storytextid=6261028
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Post by Recommended on Dec 3, 2006 12:55:38 GMT -5
CHAPTER 5: THEY COME “Firm downward strokes,” Legolas reminded the young prince, as the child used a small knife to whittle the point of a short arrow. “And remember to keep the point of the arrow on the floor.” That way, the boy would move the knife away from himself. Placing the arrow against the floor was not the way adults would make evenly balanced arrows, and the knife he had given the boy was not even very sharp, but the elf just wanted to keep the young prince occupied. It was late afternoon, but heavy rain had darkened the day early, and the candles around them cast shadows on the walls of the wooden tree-house where they sat. It was not where the queen and her son slept; it was a play-house with a rope ladder, nestled securely in the strong arms of a tall oak. Legolas had built it for the young prince a year ago, and it was one of Eldarion’s favourite places in Ithilien. “Handle the knife carefully, Eldarion.” Head bent over the arrow in his hands, Eldarion’s attention was focused intently on the task at hand and forgot to grumble about the rain as he had done earlier. “When you finish this one, you can do another, and soon you will have half a quiver to show your father. Only young men with new teeth can accomplish such a feat!” Legolas quipped, and the boy beamed before returning his full attention to the task. “ Hannon le,” Arwen mouthed her thanks to the elf when he looked across at her. Legolas smiled and nodded. He vaguely recalled when he was an elfling himself and his caretaker had let him whittle. He knew Eldarion would enjoy making his own arrows as well, even if they were not anywhere as fine as the ones made by elves. “ Bridhon nin!” a voice called urgently from below the talan. Legolas got up immediately from where he was seated in front of Eldarion and moved quickly to look over the low wall of the tree-house. Even without his exceptional eyesight, he would have made out the elves standing below in the rain. One was breathing a little faster than normal, as if he had run a distance at great speed. “Galean?” Legolas addressed the young elf who was not breathing as fast. The worry was visible on Galean’s’ face even though a slender hand shaded his eyes from the rain, his whole body tensed for action. “ Bridhon nin, my prince!” Galean said again and immediately pointed towards the darkness on the eastern fringes of the wood. Legolas’ own concern mounted as he enquired what it was they had seen. “ Man cenich?” “The shadows,” the other elf, Lishian, replied tersely. “They move to surround us. Fast.” Legolas could hear the noises now, and his heart sank. Oh Valar, of all times for them to be short of elves. “I came from there, my Lord,” said the elf. “They surrounded us, asking for the son of the king! I escaped and came back to warn you.” At his words, Legolas’ heart sank again, his thoughts going immediately to the young prince in the corner. His ears picked up a gasp from Arwen; she had heard. “Ground or trees?” he asked. “They walk.” Legolas lost no time. He did not know what the Shadows were, but had to think first of Arwen and Eldarion’s safety. He made a quick decision. In one swift movement, he had reached Eldarion, removed the arrow and knife from his hands and picked him up. The suddenness of the movement brought forth a look of alarm from Arwen and a stare from the boy. In two strides, Legolas had placed the boy on the floor in the darkest corner of the talan. He motioned for Arwen to come over and went on one knee before them. Looking steadily into the wide grey eyes of the boy, he said as calmly as he could, “Listen, Eldarion. I want you to stay with your naneth in this corner. Do not move from there until I or one of my elves come and get you. Do you understand?” The boy did not blink but nodded. To Arwen, he said urgently, “Someone is coming here for – ” and caught himself before he could say the name. Not in front of the child, he decided. “There is no time to get to the horses.” There was a look of fear in Arwen’s eyes. She nodded as she quickly wrapped her arms around her son. He grasped her arm reassuringly. “I will be back.” Turning to Eldarion, Legolas grasped the boy’s chin and looked into his eyes again. “Stay quiet,” he stressed, and turned away. He blew out all the candles and was about to descend from the tree-house, when he suddenly stepped back to where the arrow and knife lay. In another swift movement, he picked up the knife and was back at Arwen’s side again. It was but a small one, but it would have to do as there was no other. In the dim light, his bright blue eyes looked directly into the mother’s, and he placed the knife quietly by her side, willing her to read the meaning of his action. Arwen swallowed her fear, staring back with wide eyes that started to glisten, and nodded wordlessly. Then he was gone. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To submit a review for this chapter please follow one of these links. FanFiction.net www.fanfiction.net/secure/review.php?storyid=2231205&chapter=5&storytextid=6266436Stories of Arda www.storiesofarda.com/review.asp?SID=3394&CID=12909
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Post by Recommended on Dec 3, 2006 13:03:59 GMT -5
CHAPTER 6: SHADOWS FROM THE EAST Arwen and Eldarion had not moved from the corner after Legolas left. They sat hunched in fear, listening to the rain. Their fear was made even more acute because they knew not what was happening below. They gasped when a form suddenly appeared at the door of the talan, dripping with rain. But they breathed when they saw it was an elf, Galean, followed immediately by another elf. The other elf knelt by the door, peering out into the night, while Galean approached the two huddled figures and spoke quietly to them. “Do not fear. The prince wants us to stay here with you,” he informed them and moved to join his friend, but Arwen caught his arm. She spoke in Sindarin, hoping that Eldarion’s own halting knowledge of the language would filter much of the information from him, in case it was too frightening. “What is happening?” she whispered. “The shadows we saw, they are here. Many men.” “Who are they?” “They came from the east.” “Where is Legolas? Is he all right?” “The fighting has not begun. He leads us.” There was nothing more he could tell her. He spun around and joined his friend at the door, whispering in hushed voices barely audible above the rain. Eldarion turned to her with frightened eyes as if to ask what was happening, and she whispered words of comfort to him, trying not to show her own fear. “Legolas is taking care of the problem, my darling, we must wait here. Be brave.” During the wait, Arwen’s thoughts raced. She had heard the voice of Lishian earlier as he told Legolas: “They surrounded us, asking for the son of the king.” She began to talk to herself: why did they want Eldarion? How did they know he was there? They must have been following his movements and her own. Minas Tirith was too difficult to infiltrate; they must have waited, biding their time. And their visit to Ithilien, with its open spaces, provided that opportunity. But why did they want him? For ransom? As leverage, to force the King into doing something he would not otherwise condone? She could find no answers. But her thoughts went to Aragron, wishing he were here. A tear streaked down her cheek and she quickly wiped it away. After what seemed ages to Arwen and Eldarion, the rain began to lighten. And still they waited, clutching each other. Then, as if, an order had been given to break the silence, they heard yells and sounds of fighting a short distance away. The fair voices of the elves were hardly audible, but there were other blood-curdling yells as metal clashed against metal, and bows sang. The two elves in the talan stood, looking in the direction of the sounds. One had moved to the wall opposite while one guarded the door. Arwen could sense the tension in their slender bodies and the anxiety in their faces as they looked into the darkness. She knew they would have wished to be fighting alongside Legolas, but she was glad of their presence here, for she had a young son to protect. She knew the elves would die before they even thought of disobeying Legolas’ orders and leaving them. And she would die before she allowed anyone to take her son. After many minutes, there seemed to be fighting in two places – in the distance, the fighting seemed less intense, but there were also sounds getting closer. A shout, like a question, was heard from below – was it from Legolas? – and Galean replied, “Yes, my lord, they are safe.” Then the elf shouted a warning to Legolas: “They come after you! Lishian, draw your bow!” “No!” Arwen heard Legolas shout in Sindarin a little distance from the tree. “Stay hidden!” And she understood that he did not want the attackers to know that they were in the talan. She stifled a sob of fear as she heard the clash of knives below, then a cry of pain in an Elvish voice, and her heart missed a beat. Eldarion whimpered, tears running down his cheeks. Galean uttered an Elvish curse and pulled his friend down so that they would not be seen. “So many, so many,” he mumbled in anguish. Then he turned to the two figures in the corner and gave an order in a hushed voice: “Stay in front of them!” Lishian immediately moved to position himself in front of the two figures in the corner, while Galean remained at the door. Suddenly, Galean stood and ran to the low wall. Without a sound, he fitted an arrow and drew his bow in one smooth motion and fired at something below. There was a horrible cry as something died. Eldarion screamed and placed his hands over his ears. The next series of events took place very quickly, almost in a blur in the dark. As soon as Eldarion screamed, Lishian whipped around and Arwen closed her hand over her son’s mouth. A footstep landed on the floor of the talan to their left, and Arwen swung around, grasping the small knife at her side and swinging it in arc as she did so. Her forearm was quickly stayed by a strong wet hand: Legolas’. Arwen sobbed in relief. She saw the blood on his tunic, streaming slowly from what must have been a deep gash on his shoulder, and the long knife in his other hand, dripping with rainwater and blood. At the sight of the blood, Eldarion gave a loud whimper of fear, but Arwen had no time to react to it herself, for Legolas pushed her and Eldarion even further back into the corner. He then ran back to the door and pulled up the rope ladder swiftly before returning to crouch in front of them alongside Lishian. He was breathing heavily. “Where is he!” a rough yell came from the ground below. “Elbereth!” an Elvish voice cried, before it ended in a loud, pitiful cry of pain. At the cry, Eldarion screamed again. Then a second later, the rough voice shouted, “Up! Up!” Galean cried, “They hear!” and drew his bow again, aiming now at things moving up the tree. He shot and drew and shot again. Lishian ran to his side at the low wall, and his bow sang with Galean’s. The two elves furiously fired arrow after arrow while dodging arrows being fired at them as well. Lishian gave a cry as an arrow pierced deep into his shoulder and he dropped his bow before he staggered back against the wooden wall to the right. Legolas immediately dropped his knife and dashed to pick up the bow, pulling the two remaining arrows from the quiver strapped to Lishian’s back. But instead of firing in the direction Galean was facing, he turned toward the door and shot at the first of the tall, foul-looking men who had managed to climb the tree even without the ladder. The man dropped but another, who had been behind him, jumped over the body to land near Arwen. Arwen cried out and pulled Eldarion to her as he screamed again. Peering around him in the dim light, he seemed undecided as to whom to lunge for, but as he took a hesitant step towards the sound of Arwen’s cry, the mother, with a fierce yell, suddenly swung her arm at him, holding him at bay with the small knife. Legolas, a hiss of pain escaping his lips as he drew his bow, immediately shot the last arrow, which sank into the man’s bicep as he twisted to dodge it, and in the next instant, the elf dived back toward his knife at Arwen’s feet. In one smooth motion, he had righted himself on one knee, his knife in his hands. He lunged at the man again, slashing deep into his thigh. The man gave a roar of pain and fell back, clutching at the wound. Before the elf could move to finish him off, Galean gave a cry and fell backward from an arrow in his chest. A black shape came over the low wall, a raised arm clutching a knife, and rushed at Legolas. Legolas plunged his knife into his chest but was knocked over himself, falling right in front of Eldarion, who was crying loudly in his mother’s shivering arms. Another dark shape climbed over the low wall and made to lunge at the three figures on the floor with a long knife and a loud yell, but another voice – Legolas could not tell from where – shouted: “The king’s son! Take him alive!” As he was turning, he saw another dark shape emerge over the low wall, with a long object in its mouth, aimed directly at them. Legolas widened his eyes in horror and twisted to place his body around Eldarion’s. He heard two a sharp exhalation as something – a dart? – hit the wall where he had been before he moved. A second exhalation quickly following the first, and a dart flew from the long object and found the space between Legolas’ arm and his torso, ripping through part of his tunic before lodging into soft, young flesh. In the immediate confusion that followed, more footsteps were heard approaching the talan. Another yell came, this time from an Elvish voice, as elves from Pelargir and South Ithilien poured into the tree-house, slashing at the man who had sent the dart and at other dark shapes that rushed to climb back over the wall. Legolas saw an arrow drawn and pointed at the fallen man with the wounded thigh, accompanied by a harsh command to stay still. “Keep him alive!” Legolas commanded. Someone called “My lord!” and rushed to Legolas’ side, trying to staunch the flow of blood from his shoulder and frantically searching him for other injuries, and others crouched over the still forms of Lishian and Galean. Ignoring the pain from the wound in his shoulder, Legolas threw a quick question at one of the elves, who replied, “Most are dead, but we pursue the rest.” He took a few moments to grasp what else was happening before him, closing his eyes in sorrow at the sight of Galean and Lishian, before turning an anxious face back to Arwen and Eldarion. Arwen was crying openly now, holding on to her son, still in shock. The boy seemed to have quietened down. His head was half-hidden in his mother’s grasp, and he was whimpering softly. Legolas could see that his eyes were swollen from crying, his lids heavy. “Eldarion?” Legolas called gently, seeking to comfort the child. “Eldarion, it’s me. It’s over now, you’re safe.” He took the boy’s hand and squeezed it. The only response from the boy was a weak whimper. “Eldarion?” he called again. He peered at the child’s eyes; they were closed. Legolas felt a sudden terrible sense of unease. “Eldarion, speak to me!” he said louder. No response. “Arwen, is he hurt? Call him!” his voice was filled with a growing fear. Arwen gasped and took her son’s face in her hands. “Eldarion, can you hear me? Eldarion!” The boy had gone limp and cold. She shook him gently, but he remained motionless. Arwen gave a cry of anguish, her eyes wide with fear. “Oh, dear Eru! No, no!” “Light the candles!” Legolas yelled to the elves around him, and turned back to run his trembling hands over the limp body of the prince, saying a silent prayer. Someone brought a candle, then two more, and Legolas ordered them held so that he could examine Eldarion. Arwen looked at him with wide, pleading eyes. There was nothing on the boy’s arms and chest and abdomen, but as Legolas’ probing fingers reached the top of the little thigh, he froze. He found the long thin dart, half- embedded in the tender flesh, and his heart sank. Arwen gave a gasp of fear when she saw it, and felt her heart stop as Legolas grasped it firmly and pulled it out, leaving a tiny entrance wound. Legolas held the dart between his finger and sniffed. His lips pursed as he handed it to one of the elves and told him calmly and tersely, “Keep it safe for the healers.” Then he closed the thumb and index fingers of both hands around the entrance wound and squeezed so that blood emerged from the puncture point. He had no certainty that he was doing the right thing, but he felt that if at all the dart was poisoned, he should try to remove as much as he could before the poison went further into the body. He prayed he was not causing Eldarion further harm. When he had squeezed out as much as he could, he placed his hand over Arwen’s and said gently, “Only half the dart went in, we must hope it did not do much damage, but we have to get him to the healers without delay.” He turned to the elf holding the dart and said, “Get horses. Three ride to Minas Tirith with us.” He would leave the elves to determine which three. “Bring the injured who need the help of healers.” Looking with contempt in the direction of the man he had asked to keep alive, he added, “And bring him. Bind his wounds.” Several elves moved off at once. Turning back to the queen, who was now almost hysterical, Legolas held her eyes as he spoke in a controlled voice, hoping his carefully chosen words held the truth. “Arwen, listen to me. I do not think the dart is poisoned, at least not enough to cause great harm.” He could hear her sharp intake of breath. “They wanted him alive. They would not have used a poisoned dart. I think… I think the dart was meant to make him fall asleep quickly.” Hope flooded Arwen’s expression at his words, and her crying grew less intense. “He’s just a child,” she whispered, pouring the grief of a mother into those words. Her words stabbed Legolas’ own heart, but consolation had to wait. His first priority was to get Eldarion to safety and healing. They needed to help the injured elves as well, and – and see to the ones who have been killed, he thought sadly. Only then could they attempt to understand what had happened, and why. He told an elf to help the queen and the young prince off the talan, then straightened himself and stood. He was tired, but there were elves awaiting further orders at the foot of the tree. He took a deep breath, descended, and issued them. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- That evening, the king of Gondor had fallen asleep early after another day’s hard ride on his way home. But hardly had the moon risen low in the sky before he awoke with a start, his heart thumping. Something was wrong back home. Two minutes later, his surprised aides stood in front of their king and heard the order: “We ride for Minas Tirith now.” --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To submit a review for this chapter please follow one of these links. FanFiction.net www.fanfiction.net/secure/review.php?storyid=2231205&chapter=6&storytextid=6269678Stories of Arda www.storiesofarda.com/review.asp?SID=3394&CID=12910
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Post by Recommended on Dec 3, 2006 13:14:04 GMT -5
CHAPTER 7: AND WE WAIT The Elves rode as fast they could in the darkness of the road to the White City, hampered in their speed only by the elves who possessed varying degrees of injury, and the unconscious young prince, for they had to be supported by riders who were forced to ride one-handed. A number of elves remained in the woods to tend to six of their kin who lay dead and to those who had not sustained heavy injuries. Eldarion lay motionless against Legolas’ chest while his anxious mother rode alongside, her features taut with worry. The elf’s shoulder ached dreadfully from his wound which one of the elves had bound roughly, but he would suffer no one else to take the child. It may have been his imagination, but it seemed that the child’s body had turned from being cold to a emitting a feverish heat. He wished they could make greater haste. The man who had been captured in the talan was bound hand and foot, and his foul protests that had plagued elven ears at the beginning of the journey ended when a gag around his sneering mouth was added to the constraints. He was now unceremoniously draped over a horse on his stomach. At first sight, his long, dark, unkempt hair and scowling features reminded Legolas of the Wild men of Dunland that had plundered the homes of the Rohan folk at the time of the Quest, yet they were somehow different. Whoever they were, the elf was seething with rage at what the man’s companion had done to Eldarion, and longed to find out their purpose as soon as he could. Midway on their journey, to their surprise and relief, they met the four guards who had been sent home by the queen, riding towards them. Faramir’s hair had nearly turned white when he heard what Arwen had done, and had insisted that the guards return to Ithilien tonight rather than wait till morning. Legolas was glad for the added security, however minimal, in case they were attacked again on their way to the city. He immediately instructed one of the guards to turn back to Minas Tirtih, to ride ahead of the group and inform Faramir and the healers about the approaching party. They arrived shortly before midnight, and from then on the healers at Minas Tirith were kept busy. The young prince had indeed developed a fever, and the healers quickly worked to cool his head and body with wet cloths and herb solutions. Intermittently over many hours, they held his upper body upright to feed him water little by little so that it would go down his throat without choking him, for he could not swallow in his unconscious state. Eldarion remained unconscious, while the healers worked to determine what the dart had been coated with. Arwen would not leave her son’s side, and neither would Legolas. His shoulder was attended to as he sat a little distance from the bed where Eldarion lay. The wound was deep and would bleed for a while yet, but he hardly paid it any attention, so focused was he on Eldarion and the other elves who had received worse injuries. His kinsmen were being looked after in a separate room in the Houses of Healing. After Faramir had ascertained that the young prince and elves were receiving the proper attention, he spoke with Legolas, who narrated the whole affair to him. “We know not their purpose, but it is most likely that they wished to hold Eldarion ransom. To what end is beyond our knowing.” “We will find out soon enough,” Faramir said with a hard edge to his voice, his mind going to the prisoner who had been dragged to a cell for questioning. He had assigned the palace’s most experienced interrogator the task of finding out whatever information could be extracted out of the prisoner. His immediate concern, as was everyone’s, was Eldarion. But he turned to Legolas again, and seeing the blood that had seeped through even the fresh bandage, enquired, “How is your shoulder?” “It will mend,” came the simple and expected reply. Since the Quest, the elf had been known for making light of any injuries he sustained, counting on his innate elven ability to heal faster than humans. He refused a sling but he limited the movements of the arm, allowing Faramir to help him put on a clean tunic an attendant had retrieved from his own drawers in his room at the palace, so that the bloody bandage could not be seen. It occurred to Faramir that he was glad Eowyn and their children were visiting her brother Eomer in Rohan; at least he did not have to worry about them at this troubling time. They continued to wait. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Leagues from the city, the King of Gondor and his company proceeded as fast as they could in the darkness. Their ride on plains had to be slow, illuminated only by ghostly moonlight. When they had to walk through woods, only the feeble glow of torches held high by tired arms was their guide and protection against wild creatures. Their weary feet crunched on twigs and dry leaves and tripped over gnarled roots of trees. More than one member of the company questioned the urgency of the return to Minas Tirith, but none spoke of it to the king. How could they question a leader who had fought and survived more wars, tribulations, councils and quests than ten or twenty of the men put together? How could they challenge a Dunedain who had lived longer than most of the men and still possessed the strength of youth? How could they dispute the wisdom of one who had lived in both human and elven worlds, challenged the Dark Lord himself, and gained the respect of wizards, elves, men and halflings? Who in the company could fathom what his mind perceived? None could, so they simply followed his command and his lead. Unknown to them, Aragorn himself was uncertain why his heart was heavy. Had that been Arwen’s voice calling him softly in his restless dream? Had that been his son reaching out to him for the safety of a father’s arms? Had that been a friend, dearer than friend, who had murmured a painful plea for him to hurry home? Were they waiting for him? Or was it the toil of the past months – the numerous and varied problems and troubles of his people – that made him imagine a plight where there was none? No answers came, none had any to give him. He only knew they would not rest this night or the next day till the miles had flown by and he stepped once more on the threshold of the White City. To see what he would see. To know what he would know. With a wry grin meant only for himself, he pondered on whether it is always worse for those who wait, or for those who are awaited. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- In the moonlit passage of a small stone fort, a dark figure paced up and down. He could find no sleep either, so intense was the thrill he felt as he envisioned the fulfillment of his desires, so sharp the taste of vengeance on his tongue. Would they be back tonight? Or tomorrow? Or the next day? Would they bring back what he wanted? Had they hit at the right moment? Ah, this accursed waiting, he mumbled, his fists clenched. I might have gone myself. But no, that was precisely what he had not wanted to do. Besides revenge, self-preservation was important to him too. He did not want to be caught or killed. He would train others and send them to do the dangerous deed. If they failed, he would still live to try again till he succeeded. He owed it to him, he convinced himself, twisting at the pain of that memory. The crooked smile on his hate-filled face was eerie in the moonlight. I will not go to get him, I want him to be brought to me. I want his father to seek me and beg for my mercy. This time, I will be the king. And with that thought, he continued to pace and wait. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The red, pink and gold fingers of dawn were just creeping over the treetops outside the windows of the healing room when one of the healers who had been tending to Eldarion spoke quietly to his mother. Legolas saw her breathe a deep sigh of relief and allow a brief smile to quiver on her lips. With moist eyes, red and heavy from worry and sleeplessness, she turned to his approaching figure and said shakily, “His fever has broken.” Legolas felt his own shoulders lose some of their tension as he breathed a silent prayer of thanks. Eldarion still lay unmoving, however. His face remained flushed face, and a faint sheen of perspiration on his forehead and above his upper lip. The immediate danger seemed past, but they still needed to see what else might happen. “Hurry back, Estel,” Arwen whispered tearfully and lay her head on the covers near her child’s waist, falling asleep from exhaustion at last, with one gentle hand on her son’s small one. The healer left the room, but another watchful one sat in a chair nearby, fighting off yawns, still keeping vigil. Legolas stood gazing at the child for some time; although the boy looked for the most part peacefully asleep, the elf could not forget how frightened he had been in the talan, and wished he could have been spared the ordeal. The wound from the dart had closed to nothing more than a small bluish puncture mark, but the young one had yet to wake. At length, Legolas planted a gentle kiss on the damp forehead and returned to his chair across the room. “Will you not sleep?” Faramir’s voice startled him, as the man approached quietly, studying the elf’s rather pale face. The steward had heard from the healer about the change in the young prince’s condition. “I will sleep when he ceases to,” came the reply. “I also need to see how my kin are faring.” “They are well. All have been tended to, and they rest.” Faramir reassured him, drawing a nod of gratitude from the elf. “As should you. Take some food and drink, if you will not sleep.” He pointed to some bread and wine that had been brought in some hours ago. They had remained untouched. In their anxiety over Eldarion’s condition, neither Arwen nor Legolas had even noticed hunger or thirst. “I will eat when Eldarion can,” the elf insisted, and Faramir sighed in defeat. Legolas’ eyes turned hard as he asked, “Has the prisoner revealed anything?” “No, but he will break soon, we hope. We placed him in the coldest cell without any respite from the chill of stone and darkness, and withhold food and drink from him. If that does not loosen his tongue, we will employ less gentle means of encouragement. But I hope it will not come to that.” With that, Faramir excused himself and left. Legolas knew that “less gentle means” referred to physical torture, but he knew that Aragorn made sure his people used it only as a last resort and in direst need. He wondered fleetingly whether Eldarion’s safety would meet the criteria. Aragorn was firm, but deep down, he had a merciful heart, Legolas mused. The elf held faithfully to his belief in the king’s kindness. Aragorn would be infuriated at the attack and the ordeal his wife and son were going through, and rightfully so, but it would only be at the end of his tether that he would condone the physical torment of the prisoner, any prisoner. You know not how fortunate you are, Legolas silently addressed the prisoner being held somewhere below the stone floors of the palace. After a while, he got up and walked in the direction of the rooms where his injured kin lay. They too would be in need of comfort this day. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- To submit a review for this chapter follow one of these links. FanFiction.net www.fanfiction.net/secure/review.php?storyid=2231205&chapter=7&storytextid=6278126Stories of Arda www.storiesofarda.com/review.asp?SID=3394&CID=12911
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