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The elf’s silver-blue eyes met the ranger’s with equal surprise.
He had come to Gondor looking for Aragorn, but this was not the way he
had intended, or wished to find him. The fact that Aragorn was
one of the two captains he was being brought before both stunned and
relieved him a little. However, if Aragorn had not shown that he
recognized the elf first, Legolas would not have let on that he knew
the human at all. Not until he knew whether knowing him would
endanger his friend’s position or not.
“Mae govannen, old friend,”
Legolas’ elvish greeting was soft. He did not call the ranger by
name since he could not be sure what name his friend was currently
using; Aragorn had so many, and it had been a long time since they were
last together.
“Thorongil, you know this elf?” Denethor looked questioningly at the
other captain. It was a development none of them had
expected.
Thorongil. Legolas stored that piece of information. A
small smile nearly touched his lips despite everything. So,
Aragorn was still using the name that Lord Elrond had given him many
years ago in Rohan.
“Yes, I do,” Aragorn nodded. “We have known one another a long
time. I am certain there has been some kind of mistake.”
“Because those we know never betray us?” Denethor’s look had a touch of
frost in it. He was obviously thinking of Mardil again.
Aragorn gathered his patience. “No, because Legolas has no reason
to betray us. He is
prince of the wood-elves of Mirkwood in the north, he has no ties to
Gondor, nothing to gain from our losses.”
“And yet it seems that some of our men are dead by what can only be his
hand.” Denethor’s set manner did not change.
Aragorn realized he was going to have to switch tactics on this.
Denethor was closing his mind to the possibility of Legolas’ innocence
simply because Thorongil supported it. Butting heads with
Denethor on the matter would get him nowhere, so instead Aragorn turned
back to the captive elf.
“Legolas, you have heard the charges against you,” Aragorn went down on
one knee so he was not standing over the elf. “Tell us your side
of the story.”
Legolas nodded slowly, his eyes remaining fixed on his friend. He
had told this story so many times; it was exhausting to go through it
again for ears that would not believe him. However, Aragorn at
least, he knew would believe him. So he would tell his story once
more for the ranger and ignore the other men present.
Denethor interrupted when they reached the part concerning the deaths
of Elan and Krit. “So even you don’t deny that you killed them,”
he remarked.
Legolas’ face tightened slightly and a glimmer of pain flickered in his
eyes. “I do not deny or confirm what I cannot be sure of.
The truth is I do not know.”
“You don’t know? That means you can think of some other plausible
explanation for why your arrows were found to be the sole cause of
their death,” Denethor kept his questioning from sounding too
accusatory, but the undertone was clear. He doubted the elf’s
story, and not just because he was a friend of Thorongil’s.
Mardil’s unexpected betrayal had made the Captain very wary.
“No, I cannot,” Legolas answered truthfully. “But if I am
responsible for their deaths, I swear to you by all the Valar that it
was an accident.”
“So now you probably did kill
them, but it was an accident. I don’t like the way your story
keeps changing, Legolas.” Denethor shook his head.
Legolas set his jaw. The captain was twisting his words, whether
deliberately or out of an over-active sense of suspicion hardly
mattered. “I am not changing what I said. I am simply saying that
I am unsure myself.”
“Just as you are unsure that you gave away their position to the
Corsairs?” Denethor raised an eyebrow.
Aragorn rose to his feet, ready to protest. Legolas however,
spoke first.
“Of that I am very sure. I tell you the truth, I am no
traitor. I have no reason to give you away to your enemies.
Someone did, whether an outside informant or someone inside I do not
know, but it was not I.” Legolas did not know how to say it any
more clearly.
“Denethor, he is right. He has no motive,” Aragorn pulled the
other captain aside a little ways and spoke softly so that the
conversation could remain between he and Denethor. “Surely you
must see that.”
“I see that you can be just as blinded by old friendships as I was,
Thorongil. How long has it been since you knew him? Five
years? Ten? Longer? How do you know what he has done
and who he has met in that time? People change. Friends
change. You aren’t always right about everything.” Denethor said
quietly.
Aragorn took a deep breath and forced himself to stay calm and
rational. “Is that it then? Is this about Legolas, or the
Corsair threat? Because I was right about them, then I have to be
wrong about him, is that it? Denethor... I would stake my life on
his honor. Don’t take out on him your dislike of me.”
“How dare you?” Denethor’s eyes flashed in disgust, but he continued to
keep the conversation from the ears of the troops. “How dare you
accuse me of letting my personal feelings interfere with the running of
my father’s kingdom! I suppose you think you could do a better
job, and there seem to be many even in my own house who agree, but I
have something to tell you: I am capable of doing things myself.
I don’t need you to tell me
what to do. I am sure you would like to be in charge of this, I
am sure you would like to be
in charge of everything. Well you are not. As head of this
mission the elf is my prisoner and I will deal with him in my
way.” Denethor’s stress levels were running unusually high after
discovering his worst fears true last night and that made him even more
quarrelsome and stubborn than usual.
Aragorn squelched his mounting frustration with some effort. The
very last thing he wanted was for Legolas to become embroiled in his
personal problems with the future steward. “That’s not what I’m
saying and not what I want. I know you are perfectly capable of
handling this yourself, I am just trying to give you more information
to work with. Denethor, Legolas is a prince. Think
carefully how you deal with him lest you garner the disfavor of the
elves and the wrath of his father. Gondor does not need any more
enemies.”
“Being royalty does not put one above the law. How can we know
where the loyalties of Mirkwood lie anyway? The enemy whose shadow
grows ever on our eastern border was there ere he came back to trouble
us. ‘Tis a dark place they say,” Denethor murmured.
“Yes, it is. But not
because of the elves,” Aragorn refuted.
“And I do not say it is so. Elves have ever been our allies, I do
not forget that.” Denethor did not really suspect the elves to
have turned against them, but they weren’t talking about elves in
general, they were talking about just one. “Nor do I insist that
this one is guilty; however, there is evidence here that cannot be
easily ignored and put aside at his word, or your word, alone.
Despite what you think, my diplomacy is not so feeble as may be
supposed. Besides, such talk is fruitless. His innocence or
guilt is not for us to determine, but my father... unless you would
like to place yourself above him too.”
With that Denethor turned away from Aragorn, walking back to the
soldiers who had been patiently waiting for their captains to conclude
their private conference. Only Legolas’ elven ears had heard what
passed between them, and he understood clearly that there was no
love-loss between Denethor and Aragorn.
“The evidence against the accused traitor is noted, as well as his plea
of innocence. By our laws all such matters must receive a fair
and impartial trial before the Steward of the City. We will
shortly be returning to Minas Tirith to bring Lord Ecthelion news of
the impending Corsair invasion, so the prisoner can be brought before
my father at that time. Until then he is to be kept safely and
without harm under our laws respecting prisoners of war. Treat
him well but keep him bound, as I do not want to risk any unexpected
trouble. You are all dismissed.” Denethor made his
announcement and left, seeking his own tent.
He had not slept since before they left to find the Corsair harbor
yesterday morning and the events of the past twenty-four hours had been
draining. He did not want to go back to his father with the news
of what the Corsairs were up to, much less that they had stolen the
Osgiliath weapons shipment with comparative ease. If he had
someone to present at that time as a possible guilty party then at
least he had done something of use. Whether the elf was found
innocent or guilty after that was up to his father, and the younger man
trusted that his father would make the right decision. That was
more than he could say for himself lately, since all he seemed able to
do was make or nearly make mistakes that cost people their lives.
Aragorn followed him. “Prisoner of war?” he questioned quietly,
making sure to keep any hint of disapproval out of his voice since the
other man was obviously already very on edge. In truth however he
did not like Legolas being kept prisoner under those terms. They
were far more vague, with less protection and more grey areas than the
laws concerning other types of prisoners.
“Yes, Thorongil. His case is connected with the Corsairs, and by
making that harbor on our lands they have opened hostilities. You
got your war. I hope you’re happy.” Denethor shoved aside
his tent flap and went inside, letting the flap fall down behind him in
a gesture that said the other captain was definitely not invited
inside.
Aragorn sighed, considering the closed tent flap before him for a
moment before turning away. He needed to speak with Tarcil and
some of his other men about last night's events and order the changing
of the camp guard and the rotation and placements of the border
sentries since Denethor had retired, obviously leaving all such duties
to him. First, however, he caught up with the soldiers who were
taking Legolas back to the guard tent.
The elf did not look good and it both worried and grieved the
ranger. He knew how hard this must be for the prince.
“Legolas.”
The guards stopped out of respect for the captain when Aragorn reached
out and touched Legolas’ arm.
Legolas looked up; his eyes weary and full of questions about his fate
and his future.
Aragorn knew the elf had probably heard everything he and Denethor said
earlier. He wished he could set his friend free now but he knew
that, in one thing at least, Denethor was right. Unless some
other exculpatory evidence showed itself, Legolas would have to stand
trial before Ecthelion. It was the law and he was bound to uphold
it. However, although the evidence against Legolas was
compelling, it was not so airtight that no holes could be found.
Ecthelion would be much more reasonable than Denethor in this matter,
especially knowing he held an elven prince. If Aragorn could just
keep Legolas safe between here and Minas Tirith, he hoped that all
would be well. However, from the prince’s drawn and somewhat
battered countenance, he doubted the elf had had an easy time of it so
far.
“You do believe me, Thorongil, don’t you?” The questioning gaze in
Legolas’ eyes was honest as he quietly asked what he most feared.
Aragorn had changed and he could see that. He looked older, his
face had grown graver and his manner of speaking and interacting with
these men was different. The elf had never really seen the effect
that a mere fifteen years could have on a mortal before, having never
taken an interest in any until his friendship with Aragorn. It
had actually taken him a moment to recognize his old friend and his
aching, weary heart desperately hoped that the closeness that had been
between them once had not faded with time. He knew it had not on
his side, but for Aragorn... he did not know.
“Of course I do,” the absolutely surprised look on Aragorn’s quickly
put the elf’s fears to rest. Obviously there had never been a
doubt in the ranger’s mind.
Looking into his eyes, Legolas could now see the same man he had always
seen there. His friend’s heart had not changed. The elf let
his breath out in a small, relieved sigh.
“It will be all right, Legolas, I promise you,” Aragorn assured
quietly. “Lord Ecthelion is a good and a just man. You will
receive a fair hearing and I will speak on your behalf. We will
get this sorted out...” a small smile touched his lips. “As you
did for me when I was in your home many years ago, yes?”
Legolas smiled slightly at the memory. If Aragorn said it would
be all right, then he would trust his friend. “But without the
spider part, all right?”
Aragorn laughed. “Yes Legolas, without
the spiders.”
The soldiers were totally lost, but did not comment. Their
captain’s business was none of their affair.
“Captain Thorongil? Captain Thorongil?” a voice called from
across camp and Aragorn grimaced slightly, he knew he had duties to
attend to, although he hated to leave Legolas. It had been so
long. He had missed his friend so much. The ranger gave his
friend’s arm one last squeeze.
“I have to go, I have things I have to take care of... Legolas...
I won’t let anyone harm you. It will be all right.” He
could tell the elf was still uncomfortable and apprehensive of his
situation.
Legolas nodded. “If you tell me it will be, mellon-nín, then I trust
you.”
Aragorn nodded back seriously, knowing the elf was placing his life in
his hands. He was determined not to fail his friend.
~*~
Legolas was seated in the center of the guard tent with his back
against the tent’s main support pole. His hands, still firmly
bound behind him, had also been tied to a stake which was driven
securely into the ground, making sure that he could not move more than
three feet in any given direction.
The elf was used to this arrangement by now and did not struggle with
his bonds. He leaned his head back against the pole behind him;
his gaze half-lidded and weary. The long journey and recent
events had taken their toll on him, but finding Aragorn here had at
least been a welcome development. He felt a bit better about his
prospects of getting a fair trial at any rate, since Aragorn said that
Ecthelion was a just man and now he also had a captain of Gondor on his
side.
Time moved by slowly, but he didn’t mark it much. Still, it was
well after noon when the midday meal was brought and left next to
Legolas as it usually was. The elf barely even looked at
it. They could do many things to him, but they couldn’t make him
an animal to eat out of their hands or off of the ground like their pet
dog.
A headache was slowly wrapping itself around the prince’s forehead from
behind and he sighed softly. He wondered if Aragorn would come to
see him when he was done with his duties or if that would be
politically dangerous for the ranger. Friendliness was not one of
the things that he had seen in Captain Denethor’s eyes when he looked
at the one he knew as Thorongil and from the conversation he had
overheard, it sounded as if there were trouble in the ranks.
A few moments later, as if in answer to his thoughts, the tent flap was
pulled back and Aragorn entered, along with the sentry who had been
standing guard outside, but now entered as well as he admitted the
senior officer.
“Everything has been taken care of, sir,” the guard saluted
Aragorn. “The prisoner has been secured and fed.”
Aragorn took in the scene before turning a cold glare on the
sentry. “I can see that he’s been secured, but as for fed... you
expect him to eat like that?”
“He can reach the food, sir, if he wants it,” the soldier replied
respectfully, obviously not having given the matter much thought at
all.
Aragorn’s face darkened a shade. Yes, he supposed that was true, if the proud elf consented to eat
like an animal and he knew Legolas well enough to know that the prince
would quite readily starve first. “He is a living being, not a
beast to keep chained up, Gariss.”
The young man shifted uncomfortably under his superior’s obvious
disapproval. “I’m just following Captain Denethor’s orders,
sir. Sir, he’s an elf, sir, untie him and he’s as good as
gone. It’s my head if a prisoner I’m guarding escapes,
sir.” Gariss’ nervousness was apparent in his slightly repetitive
speech. “The ones who brought him in said it was what they have
done thus far, sir,” he offered up as if to try to prove that no harm
was being done.
That information, however, only raised Aragorn’s blood pressure a few
notches higher. “I see,” he said quietly and there was no
mistaking the ice in his eyes. Stooping down on one knee the
captain pulled the dagger from his belt and deliberately cut the
knotted, twisted ropes that bound the elf’s wrists and held Legolas’
arms to the stake behind him.
“I take full responsibility for him,” the look on Aragorn’s face dared
the younger officer to say anything as he quickly cut and removed the
distasteful, knotted halter from around his friend’s shoulders, sliding
the remaining loops off over the elf’s head. “If Captain Denethor
is so worried, then I will personally guard him while he eats.”
The sentry looked about to protest but Aragorn cut him off. “Is
there a problem with that?”
“N-no, sir!” Gariss quickly shook his head, not about to question the
fiery look in his superior officer’s eyes.
“Good,” the Captain’s tone lost some of its harsh edge. “Then you
may go back to your post.”
“Yes, sir,” the younger man nodded, appearing to be only too glad to
quickly duck back out of the tent and take up his place outside the
entry once more.
Legolas rubbed his sore wrists and flexed his stiff, aching
fingers. He felt as if he had almost forgotten how to use
them. Still favoring his throbbing digits, the elf brushed the
loose hair out of his face and treated Aragorn to a somewhat wry
smile. “You frightened him,” he nodded at the entry to the tent
where the guard had recently exited.
Aragorn snorted softly as he seated himself on the ground next to
Legolas. “Thoughtlessness is not becoming of anyone. These
are good men but some of them have a lot to learn.” The ranger
took one of the elf’s hands in his, gently massaging feeling back into
fingers that were obviously still stiff and hurting.
Legolas drew his breath in slightly, but gave no other sign of
discomfort as he let the human rub his hands. Still, Aragorn
frowned because the elf’s slender fingers felt swollen and the pale
skin was beginning to flush hotly as blood rushed back to areas where
it had long been restricted.
“Legolas, how long have they kept you tied up this tight?” he glanced
disdainfully at the pile of cut ropes he had shoved into the
corner.
The elf shrugged with attempted indifference. “Since my arrest, a
little more than a month ago.” His hands were burning and
tingling but it was good to be free again.
Aragorn’s eyes flashed with concern and anger and his hands actually
stopped their automatic rubbing for a moment. “A month ago?” he echoed in
disbelief.
“The treachery I am accused of occurred near Dalthad, and our course
was changed in order to head to Minas Tirith. Bandits near
Hegdegon and a flood below Graveshead slowed our progress and changed
our course considerably.” Legolas pulled his hands away quietly from
Aragorn’s unintentionally tightening grip.
Yes, a month was definitely a slow journey time between Dalthad and
Lithaint, especially for soldiers on the march, but that wasn’t what
had frozen Aragorn’s thinking processes. With a gentle touch the
ranger traced the dark red impressions that the tight ropes had left
upon the soft flesh around Legolas’ wrists. The elf had been
bound and carted around in this manner for over a month? It made
the human’s ire rise hotly.
“And they treated you thus? As you have been treated here, the
whole time? Did they never release you?” Aragorn’s voice was
soft, and yet a little dangerous.
Legolas met his friend’s gaze with eyes tinged in shades of weary
sadness. He gave a short, tired nod to the affirmative.
“They are afraid of me, Estel,” he whispered quietly before catching
his mistake. “I’m sorry, Thorongil,” he amended quickly, resting
his face in one hand and pressing against his temples in an attempt to
clear the headache that was droning in the back of his skull. He
usually didn’t slip with Aragorn’s names like that and he hoped the
guard hadn’t heard. Not that it really would have made a
difference, but still... Everything was suddenly so hard to
concentrate on. His weariness overtook him as his vision blurred
nauseatingly.
The ranger was watching the elf closely when suddenly Legolas simply
fell forward and Aragorn was compelled to catch his friend to keep the
prince from slumping over face-first onto the ground.
“Legolas? Legolas!” Aragorn shook the elf’s shoulders gently as
he pulled his friend upright again, letting Legolas’ weight rest
against his body for the moment. There was surprisingly little
weight to worry about, even for an elf, and Aragorn noticed perhaps for
the first time how much thinner Legolas was from the last time he had
seen him. The prince had always been slender but at the moment he
seemed to be bordering on anorexia.
Legolas blinked slowly, his eyes gradually coming back into
focus. He looked up at Aragorn’s concerned face in
confusion. He flinched slightly at the strong grip on his bruised
shoulders. “W-what just happened?”
Aragorn’s smile was colored with concern as he released Legolas and let
the elf sit back up on his own. “You fainted, my friend.”
“Fainted?” Legolas protested mildly, shaking his head with a
grin. “I think not! I was just...” he seemed unable to come
up with an adequate explanation that his dignity could live with, so
Aragorn filled the gap for him with a wry glint.
“Resting your eyes for a moment perhaps? Trying to get better
acquainted with the ground? All right you passed out then if you
prefer it said that way, but the fact of it remains. And I want
to know why...” the human pressed the back of his hand to Legolas’
forehead, but of course the prince had no temperature, elves didn’t get
sick. “Has it happened to you before?”
“Maybe occasionally,” Legolas glared darkly at the human and pushed his
hand away. “Just this week.”
Instead of being put off Aragorn caught the elf’s hand and held it. The
prince’s fingers were trembling, if only very lightly. New
concern flashed through the ranger’s eyes. Legolas was far weaker
than he would like to admit.
“Legolas, when was the last time you ate?”
“I don’t know,” the elf shrugged the question off as easily as he had
the others. “I think since before I was arrested.” To
Legolas’ great dismay and consternation he found that he was not strong
enough to pull his arm free of Aragorn’s grip until the human eased up
and allowed him to do so.
Aragorn swore silently to himself, understanding what had
happened. Of course the soldiers would not have intentionally
starved their prisoner, but they had made the near fatal mistake of
believing that if Legolas truly got hungry enough, then he would eat
what was given him in whatever manner was necessary. What they
had not counted on was elven pride and a body nearly strong enough to
match. Nearly, but not quite.
“Slept?” the ranger continued quietly, noting his friend’s weary
appearance.
Legolas’ carelessness was uneasy. He was obviously trying to not
worry or anger his friend, but it was not working. “I sleep...
sometimes,” he hedged, looking away before giving up with a sigh.
It took too much energy to lie when Aragorn could see right through
him. “But not well, lately. I am tired, but sleep does not
come to me. I... I do not rest well in bonds,” the last part was
whispered so soft Aragorn almost couldn’t hear it.
“Legolas, you aren’t eating or sleeping, and you wonder why you’re
fainting? Excuse me, passing out?” Aragorn shook his head, unable
to help smiling at the glare his friend momentarily fixed on him.
“I fear your pride may be the death of you yet,” he murmured with
painful fondness. He couldn’t blame the elf for his sense of
dignity but, when it endangered his health like this, Aragorn wished
his friend were not quite so stubborn.
The ranger was trying hard not to be angry at the people who had done
this to Legolas, he was trying to convince himself that they had
thought they were doing the right thing... it wasn’t working. Not
at all.
Pushing the food that had been left a little earlier closer to where
Legolas was sitting, Aragorn nudged it towards him. “I’m sorry
I’ve kept you talking, I told the guard I was going to be with you
while you ate.”
Legolas looked at the food but surprisingly seemed to have little
interest. “Thorongil, I... I’m not hungry really... looking at it
makes me ill now.” He turned his head away. He didn’t
understand. For a while his hunger had been extreme, but now the
thought of food made him almost nauseous.
Aragorn fixed Legolas with a steady, commanding gaze. “Legolas,
you need to eat. You are far too thin, your body is burning
itself up with nothing else to run on. It has gone too far,
that’s why you don’t think you’re hungry anymore, but you need to eat.
Trust me, my friend, all right?”
Legolas nodded. He knew that. It just seemed to take so
much energy to get himself to do what he knew he needed to right
now. It was easier with Aragorn’s encouragement. He really
did think he was going to become ill, but he made himself start picking
at the food anyway.
While Legolas ate, Aragorn filled him in about the details of his life
and all that had happened since they last parted company in Rohan so
many years before. And somewhere between relating humorous
misadventures in his service first to Thengel and then to Ecthelion,
and reliving favorite memories from their past together, the spark of
light and happiness began to creep back into Legolas’ weary eyes and
his appetite returned. There was real color in his face by the
time he was done eating; most of it brought on by laughing at Aragorn’s
engaging story-telling skills.
Legolas still felt a little weak, but the headache and lightheadedness
that had been a constant companion for a long time now was finally
starting to ease and his smile was becoming more relaxed. A small
corner of his mind was relieved to find that it was almost as if no
time had passed at all between he and Aragorn.
“You know, this wasn’t exactly the circumstances I had in mind when I
set out to visit you, but still...” Legolas shrugged with a
half-grin. “Dinner, stories, talking with a dear friend...
perhaps I shan’t judge the hospitality of these people of yours so
poorly just yet.”
Aragorn laughed, but silently reflected to himself that in truth,
Legolas was handling their treatment of him thus far easier than
Aragorn was handling finding out about it. That was something of
a switch for them.
“Well don’t get too comfortable. When you’re done eating, I fully
intend to see why you flinch when I touch your shoulders and I will not
accept any arguments to the contrary.”
Legolas rolled his eyes as he finished the last of the food and washed
it down with water from the drinking horn Aragorn passed him.
“And now I feel as if I am back in Rivendell listening to one of Lord
Elrond’s lectures.” He grinned wryly but acquiesced without a
fight, undoing the ties down the front of his tunic and letting the
garment slide off his shoulders. In truth it felt good to get the
shirt off for a little after having been bound up in it for so
long. Some of the seams and creases were still wet. “Well,
since I could never prevail with him or
you, I won’t wear myself out trying.”
“Smart,” Aragorn treated the elf to an amused smile. His face
quickly sobered however when he took in the dark black and blue bruises
that circled the elf’s upper arms and wrapped around both his chest and
back. Bruises layered on top of bruises, some old, yellowed and
fading and some painfully fresh, marred the prince’s otherwise flawless
skin. It was obvious that they had come from the chest-halter
Aragorn had only recently freed Legolas from.
Aragorn ran his fingers lightly over the bruises, trying to push back
the heated flame rising near the surface of his emotions again.
“There isn’t anything you can do for them, Thorongil,” Legolas said
quietly, slipping his tunic back over his shoulders once more now that
he knew his friend’s concerned curiosity had been appeased. “They
just need time.”
Aragorn nodded slowly, trying to find his voice. Legolas’
matter-of-fact attitude was almost hard for him to deal with. He
was angry and he didn’t understand why Legolas didn’t seem to be.
“I’ll bring some liniment later, that may help a little,” he said at
last, before catching the prince’s gaze as Legolas carefully
re-fastened his tunic.
“Legolas... you know you don’t ever have to hide what you’re feeling
from me, don’t you?” he asked quietly. The prince had been taken
captive by humans and ill treated; Aragorn knew that had to have been
hard for his friend and hoped that Legolas did not think he had to hide
his heart from him because he somehow considered these to be Aragorn’s
people.
Legolas observed his friend’s latest bout of silent anger quietly and
saw the pain behind the ranger’s eyes, but it wasn’t what Aragorn
thought. As strange as it seemed, he did not hate the Gondorians
for the way they had treated him, not even Castamir... well... maybe almost him.
“I feel... weary,” Legolas dropped his eyes to his hands. “I’m
not angry or hiding anything from you, honestly I’m not, Strider.
I’m just... drained.” He could tell his friend did not understand
so he tried another tact. “Thorongil, tell me truly, did you hate
my father when he exiled us? When he could not refuse Sarcayul’s
request of blood rights on you because of lack of evidence?”
“I never hated your father, Legolas, you know that,” Aragorn shook his
head. He had not thought about those years in a long, long
time. “I may have... strongly disagreed with him,” he
smiled. “But I never hated him.”
“And I do not hate these men for thinking I am guilty when even I would
think so if I did not know better,” the elf said quietly. “And
they are not wholly wrong... I am no traitor, Thorongil,” he turned his
eyes on Aragorn, sad eyes full of guilt and pain. “But a
killer... I know not.”
Understanding hit Aragorn hard. “Legolas, you don’t know you killed those men, and if
you did it was an accident, you said so yourself.”
The elf’s eyes were layered with aching guilt, his voice was
vehement. “Does that excuse it? They were children Aragorn! They must
have been dragged into the woods as captives, but it was I who ended
their lives, I can see no other way around it! I am considered
one of the finest archers of my people, how could I make a mistake like
that? Accident though it be, it is inexcusable.” The prince
looked down, absently rubbing his chafed wrists. “I would not be
punished for a treachery I did not commit, but I do not protest paying
for my error or my carelessness,” Legolas whispered softly before
meeting his friend’s eyes again with an anguished gaze.
Aragorn’s heart twisted as he realized what his friend was telling
him. “I don’t care what you think, Legolas, you didn’t deserve
this,” he shook his head, understanding at last that Legolas accepted
what had happened as the price he paid for the accidental deaths of the
two young soldiers in the woods. Some part of the prince thought
he deserved it.
Legolas smiled wearily, resting his hand on Aragorn’s forearm.
“You’re a good friend, Thorongil. It eases my care to know that
you are here.”
Aragorn clasped Legolas’ arm back and squeezed reassuringly. “You
once helped me when everyone else thought I was guilty. I swear I will
be as true to you as you were to me. We’ll see this mess through
together, Legolas. I promise I will help you and the truth will come
out. Everything will be all right, I promise.”
Legolas’ smile brightened a few shades as he held his friend’s
eyes. “You’ve never broken a promise to me yet, Thorongil. I know
you won’t now. Thank you, my friend.”
“Captain Thorongil?” Gariss hesitantly poked his head back into the
tent. “Pardon me for interrupting, sir, but the scouts are
returning; you wanted to be notified.”
Aragorn nodded, giving Legolas a last squeeze and rising to his
feet. “I’m sorry, I have to go, but I’ll look in again before
bed-down tonight.”
Legolas nodded. He knew that Aragorn had many responsibilities as
a commander of these men.
Gariss looked visibly distressed as Aragorn started towards the
exit. “S-sir... the prisoner...”
“What?” Aragorn paused, his gaze not entirely friendly.
The younger man swallowed hard. “I-I have my orders sir, he has
to stay bound.”
Aragorn turned sharply on his heel so he was facing the guard.
“Well I am giving you new orders. You have his word and mine that he’s
not going to try anything. Leave him be.”
Gariss looked as if he wished the earth would swallow him whole.
“I can’t do that. M-my orders come from Lord Denethor. Unless he
says otherwise I am bound to obey. Please sir... he’ll have me
flogged if I start ignoring his directions.”
Aragorn clenched and unclenched his fists. He was going to have
to talk to Denethor about this, but as much as he hated it he knew
Gariss was right. They were both of them bound to obey the future
Steward’s commands, no matter how much the ranger hated it.
Kneeling back by Legolas’ side, Aragorn’s eyes begged for
forgiveness. “I’m sorry, Legolas, he’s right. I will speak
to Denethor about this first thing, but for right now...”
Legolas nodded slowly, understanding his friend’s predicament.
“Do what you have to do, Thorongil. It’s all right.”
Aragorn sighed heavily as the elf calmly extended his arms in front of
him. The ranger hated this. He would have given anything
not to have to do this.
Ripping a long strip of cloth out of his under tunic, Aragorn first
wrapped Legolas’ chafed wrists gently with the soft rag before lightly
coiling a short length of rope around his friend’s hands, over the
protective cloth. The knot he tied was barely tight enough to
hold anyone, let alone an elf if he really wanted to escape, but it
satisfied the security requirement for the present.
“Forgive me Legolas,” he whispered softly. “I will get this restriction changed
as soon as I can.”
Legolas shook his head; he could see the pain in his friend’s
eyes. “Thorongil, you haven’t hurt me. All soldiers must do
their duty. I understand that better than you may ever know. Go
now, you have work to do. I will be all right.”
Aragorn inclined his head, grateful and still ashamed all at the same
time. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Try to get some sleep
while I'm gone.”
Legolas just nodded.
“The prisoner is secured,” Aragorn said somewhat tartly to Gariss as he
exited the tent.
The younger man looked miserable. “It’s not my doing sir...” he
whispered softly.
Aragorn was silent for a moment before his voice softened
slightly. “I know, Gariss,” he touched the younger man’s shoulder
lightly to show that he was not truly angry with the guard. “I
know.”
The captain’s attention was suddenly distracted as a lone figure
stumbled into camp, calling for help from the soldiers.
“Gariss, make sure Legolas is not bothered. He needs to
rest.” Aragorn ordered quickly as he ran towards the center of
the disturbance. The man was a civilian and from the looks of his
clothing he must have traveled from Lithiant. He held his left
arm with his right hand, blood seeped through his fingers and the
broken haft of an arrow protruded from the wound he was holding.
As the soldiers gained his side he fell to his knees, breathing
heavily.
The man was frightened and speaking rapidly as Aragorn knelt next to
him and calmly spoke to him, quieting his fears. “Speak slowly,
tell me again. What happened?”
The townsman grabbed the front of Thorongil’s tunic pulling the
commander closer to him, as he repeated himself. Aragorn gently
wrapped his own hand about the one that held onto him so tightly.
The man was shaking, he was going into shock but his words quieted
under the touch of the Gondorian commander.
“They came back...” he gasped. “Corsairs!”
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