4: Rough Reunion
Aragorn is sent to assassinate an assassin sent to assassinate King Thengel while he visits Erebor. Keep in mind that Aragorn is only 26 or so here. Aragorn and Elrond. This is a reply to a plot gift from SerenLyall.
There is a long, awkward reason that the setting is the way it is. I try to explain the setting early on but if it's fuzzy to you… don't worry, it doesn't really matter anyways. Small details.
T.A 2957
"The Lonely Mountain," Havhem said solemnly. "Throne of the Longbeards. Kingdom under the Mountain. Seat of the Arkenstone." Aragorn, who rode next to the marshal, nodded respectfully. The sight of the mountain had been looming up at them as they rode closer, near the end of the train of horses. It had been a long ride from Edoras and Aragorn was very much looking forward to reaching their final destination and resting for a few days – and getting out of earshot from Havhem. Or rather, out of voiceshot. Havhem had barely stopped talking during the weeks they'd been on the move, and most of it had been recalling lore that Aragorn already knew rather well, though he wasn't about to tell that to King Thengel's marshal. The man was chatty but at least he was company.
Aragorn, who was not a seasoned wanderer yet – barely seven years out of Rivendell – was only now becoming familiar with the loneliness that came with the masking of one's identity. Many of the men they traveled with would know him as Thorongil, as he'd been riding with them for months beforehand, but under Havhem's orders, Aragorn had disguised himself for this particular trek. Havhem had approached Aragorn a week before King Thengel and his cohort had left for Erebor, telling him that Thengel himself had requested Aragorn's presence. They'd gotten word of a possible third-party assassination aimed at Thengel, to be executed during his stay with the dwarves of Erebor. The assassin and their party was reported to be one of the same bands that Aragorn and the Dúnedains had scuffled with in the Wilds years before – Havhem was concerned that they would realize who Aragorn was and attempt to kill him as well, so had asked Aragorn to stay subtle, just in case.
By 'subtle', Havhem apparently meant that Aragorn always wear a dark, encryptive cloak, a bandana over the lower half of his face, and not to speak without good reason. Aragorn was sure he looked more suspicious with these additions, but while Havhem may not have been as up on lore as Aragorn was, surely his years serving Rohan would have given him a better idea of how to conceal oneself.
Whatever the case, it wouldn't matter soon. They'd be under the mountain by nightfall, and darkness would be all around them. No doubt both he and this foreseen assassin would be naught but shadows to each other's eyes. If such an assassin would even be there. Aragorn was not completely convinced that there was a threat to King Thengel, actually, as only Havhem seemed to be worried. Havhem was touched by paranoia, that much Aragorn had gathered. Perhaps all for the better, though, for one of the King's marshals to be so careful.
King Thengel and his flags rode out front to be welcomed by Náin Ironfoot and his contingent. Havhem, in the meantime, regaled Aragorn with yet more stories from within the private politic of Edoras. Aragorn found he had more trouble paying attention, now that they were actually at the foot of the mountain. The dwarves, Havhem had told him, had invited Thengel to Erebor to discuss 'commercial and landshare opportunities', which everybody knew meant that the dwarves meant to investigate what lay behind Helm's Deep. Náin had stopped trying to be civil with Thengel's late father, Fengel, as most had during the latter years of the greedy king's reign. Now that a kinder king had taken up office, Náin meant to once again broach the subject. Aragorn admired the dwarf's tact in inviting Thengel to the mountain, rather than Náin inviting himself to Edoras, and he was grateful for the chance to explore this part of Middle-earth.
As soon as he could upon entering under the mountain, Aragorn extracted himself from Havhem and took it upon himself to get to know the layout of the city. He had seen many great cities in his young years already, and could not say that this was the cheeriest of dwellings, dark as it was, but it was grand, without a doubt – the imposing magnificence of the interior architecture, the buttresses and columns and keeps, kept his mouth on a loose hinge for quite a while – impossible to say how long, without the aid of the open sky. Dwarves trailed to and fro, the clamor of their ever-present mail and weaponry making them seem like the very rocks come alive. There were several main chambers that Aragorn struggled to situate into the map he was drawing in his mind, and they were all lit from above by majestic chandeliers that glittered with stones that captured hues he had never before seen. Torches lined every wall and pillar, and for all the stone that lay between them and the wind outside, there was enough light to make it bearable for a wandering man. He wagered even an elf could get by for a few days in such conditions.
The dwarves had prepared a great feast in honor of King Thengel's presence, and before Aragorn's eyes the stone tables were being set with fine cutlery and encrusted goblets above crimson table runners. Náin's throne was high at the head of the table, alongside the seat they'd prepared for Thengel, which was no less elaborate. Aragorn could smell the food that would soon be out.
"Thorongil," whispered a voice in his ear. Havhem was hanging over Aragorn's shoulder.
"Yes, marshal."
"Do you see that above this hall is a great rectangular dome?"
Aragorn nodded.
"Do you see that there are several floors above, one which connects to a gallery that runs along the perimeter of the open space above us?"
"Yes, marshal Havhem, I see that," Aragorn replied, trying to bite back sarcasm. The marshal had brought him here to keep his eyes peeled, hadn't he?
"That is where you must go. The assassin will likely throw or shoot something, and what better place to do it than from above?"
"And risk missing their mark? That is a fair ways up, sir. If the assassin is of the company that you suspect, the same company that I have fought with before this, we needn't be too concerned with their aim."
"And you would risk your king's life on that assumption?"
"… I would do as you recommend, sir."
"Good," Havhem said, and gave Aragorn a light shove towards a staircase. "I recommend the gallery. Signal if you see anything."
Havhem vaporized into the crowd before Aragorn could ask him what he'd meant by 'signal'. He shrugged it off and started up the stairs. Despite his doubtfulness, however, his footsteps lightened and his movements became more cautious as he came higher up the stairs; the torches were spaced further and the shadows grew longer and darker. Havhem was probably right in one sense – any good assassin would have made their way up to the gallery for the safety of darkness, if not for a clear shot.
Once at the top of the stairs, Aragorn kept to the shadows and crept to the stone rail, and leaned out as much as he dared. The people down in the hall were small now, but still he could pick out Thengel and Náin, talking jovially above what must have been cuts of roast pork. Dwarves and men littered the rest of the table, drinking and eating, their chatter filling the colossal chamber with the hive-like sound of a city. Havhem, Aragorn noted with slight concern, was talking with what looked to be considerable urgency to a host of his guards, and Aragorn wondered if the assassin had been spotted. The marshal pushed Thengel away from a conversation and towards the door of a sideroom. Aragorn watched Havhem closely, waiting for the marshal to look up and give him 'the signal', but this did not happen. Some of the guards slipped out of the hall and disappeared into one of the side corridors.
A shadow heaved in the corner of his eye. Sidesight was always more perceptive than what is seen straight ahead; Elrohir had taught Aragorn that much early on. Someone had joined him up in the gallery. Aragorn resisted the urge to spin around and fling his knife. Instead he backed further into the shadow, crouched, and tried to trace the shadow's movements.
It was difficult; at first it was as if there were two shadows, and then as if the shadow itself had a shadow, which made no sense given the lack of light up here. But the person was trying not to be seen, which was enough for Aragorn to fall into a sprint, knife in hand, towards the shadow. Curiously, the shadow was not approaching the railing so as to take aim at somebody; it was disappearing down a connecting corridor.
Aragorn knew he'd been spotted. Dark as the shadows were, they'd failed to hide him. He broke out into a dead run, his foot hit something, and his hands only barely caught himself as he smacked into the unyielding ground. Heart racing, hands scrabbling for the dropped knife, he groped the ground behind him until he found what it was that had obstructed him.
A body. Quick examination revealed the person to be freshly dead, cloaked, a dagger still sheathed in the belt. The shadow that had gone down the corridor had probably just committed this murder. Two competing assassins, then, he thought as he came to his feet and followed down the corridor. Two groups vying for the right to kill King Thengel. He could not guess as to who they were or why they wanted to assassinate Thengel, but he was grateful at least that one had already taken care of the other. Now it was his job to dispatch the second assassin before the second could dispatch their King.
The corridor grew dark; the torch arms were empty. The dwarves must have moved the torches meant for this corridor down into the main hall for the feast. Aragorn's night vision was much better than that of most men, though, so he ran on, guided by only the bright flares of the few remaining lights. No sign of the assassin; Aragorn knew he'd wasted time up in the gallery tripping on the body and finding out what it was. He pushed himself faster; this hall led down, which is where Thengel was. He would not let an assassination take place this night.
Up ahead a junction was illuminated; the branch to the right was dark, and the branch to the left was bright, and growing increasingly noisy. He slowed as he came to the branch – from the sounds of it, a group of armed men were running his way. Havhem's men, no doubt. They came into view within moments. Aragorn ran to meet them.
"Have you seen him?" he asked loudly, over their clamor. The uniformed men stopped immediately to stare at him. "Have you seen the assassin?" he asked again. "He was right in front of me, and came either this way or went down the other hall. Has he passed you?"
"Yes, he came this way," one of the men said, after a pause. "Just about ran smack into us. One of us got him with a blade but he turned tail and ran the other way…"
"He must be down the right side then. Follow me, we must catch him," Aragorn said over his shoulder, starting to sprint back to the other hallway.
"Wait now, who are you?" asked the soldiers behind him, who hesitated where they stood. Aragorn had forgotten he was wearing concealing clothing, of course they hadn't known him when they'd seen him.
"Thorongil," he called to them, using the name he kept in Rohan. "Quickly now!" This seemed to move them and he heard their steps catch to his. He thought he had walked this corridor earlier that day, or night, but now his heart was running in his feet and his mind was piqued to shadows and sounds, not the map in his head, so he couldn't be sure where this was leading. He could be sure, however, that the men behind him would be of no use; they fell behind already. No doubt they were having trouble navigating through the gloom. The torches they carried would only serve to blind them to anything save what lay a body's length in front of them.
A branch came ahead again, and Aragorn paused, sniffed, and asked the air. The branch to the right seemed disturbed. He considered waiting and sending the troops down the other but every second lost was counting against Thengel's life so he took to the right. Moments later another branch came and, acting on signals too small to register, he took the left and acknowledged to himself that he now had absolutely no clue as to where he was. He burst into what felt like a small chamber, very ill-lit, and paused, then stopped. Something in the air here –
There. In the gloom. There was the shadow, crouching in the corner. Aragorn didn't know what kind of weapon the assassin had, so he whipped his knife out of its sheath and drew his hand back to throw, hoping to end it all quickly, but in a second the assassin was no longer where Aragorn had aimed – it was coming at him, low and fast. Aragorn readjusted and whipped the knife, heard it hum briefly, and then it careened into the wall. The assassin had ducked and rolled, and now, unharmed, sprang catlike at Aragorn's chest. Aragorn dropped and twisted, rolled, and lunged for where he thought his knife was, noting the sudden stench of blood. Not unharmed, he remembered. The soldiers had hurt the assassin earlier. Aragorn was at an advantage.
Belatedly he realized the assassin had escaped his senses. Before he could act a pair of arms had come under his elbows, drew them up and back, and then hands slammed against his ears and latched onto his head. The assassin's body weight was driving into his back, forcing him down. I know this move, Aragorn thought – the assassin would try to snap his neck on impact with the ground. A split second of panic as Aragorn tried and failed to roll to the right, unable to disrupt the assassin's precise balance. Muscle memory saved him a moment before impact, his legs wrenching to the side and throwing his right shoulder down first. He rolled right as savagely as he could, forcing the assassin to abandon their hold on his head, but not before managing to twist a sharp pain into Aragorn's neck.
He had landed within reach of his knife, and now snatched it up and aimed a desperate stab at the assassin now half-below him, but the angle was impossible and his sight wasn't keeping up with the rapid movements of his foe, whose black cloak was doing nothing to make the situation more lucid – in fact the assassin's entire body was clothed in black from hands to face to foot. He stabbed at the assassin but the blade didn't go in far enough to damage. Aragorn tried to dodge a fist but he'd detected it too slowly and it deflected off his temple. Any more square of a hit, he knew, and he would have been dead. Still, his vision left him completely for a long second, during which he struggled wildly to immobilize the assassin, at least until his vision returned.
He had had the impression that assassins were mostly subtle hands and good shots, but crummy in outright face-to-face. It was clear to him that this man was not to be trifled with. Though the assassin drew no blade, he seemed not only to know exactly what it took to kill a person bare-handed, but also had quite enough strength and skill to do so.
The assassin refused to be immobilized, and his legs, which Aragorn should have accounted for, were suddenly pinching him around the waist and then his world flipped violently, and he was looking up once again at a fist. Aragorn raised his forearm in defense and the shock of the blow seemed to shatter the bones of his arm into his face, which was better than where he knew the blow had been intended – the bridge of his nose, which assuredly would have killed him.
He cursed with the sudden realization that he'd dropped his knife again – just out of reach to his left. He knew the assassin on top of him was about to aim another punch, and Aragorn's reach would not allow him to attack the assassin's face. A moment of foreboding blinded him and he was sure this was his end. He had failed Thengel, he had failed Havhem, and now –
And now his body decided to move of its own accord. Aragorn heaved up and to the side before twisting his torso, and the assassin made a snatch at his face – managing only to rip off the bandana – before being thrown off into a lopsided crouch. Aragorn kicked as hard as he could and the assassin hit the stone wall, and slumped down into a weak kneel, stunned and panting. Aragorn snatched up his knife, lunged towards the assassin, took a handful of cloakfront and started to haul him upright, and then something miraculous happened. The man underneath the cloak disappeared, and Aragorn was so shocked that for a critical second he could do nothing but stare at the cloak draped in his fist.
An abrupt, excruciating pressure on his shoulder caused his cloak-holding arm to drop to his side, where it was taken and wrenched behind his back. He had time to let out a sharp cry before he'd been whirled around and pushed against the stone wall. One hard punch and Aragorn's head would be broken between fist and stone. The assassin was not two feet from his face, and he knew that what happened in the next half-second would decide which one of them would live.
Several things occurred simultaneously. One was the assassin's fist on the drawback of a killing blow to Aragorn's nose. Another was Aragorn's blade hand thrusting up towards the assassin's throat. And finally, Aragorn's mind processed a new dynamic to their situation, which was light.
Suddenly, the assassin had a face, the assassin had eyes, the eyes were staring into Aragorn's, and the eyes of the assassin belonged to Elrond.
Aragorn's weapon hand jerked wildly to the side and the knife flew across the chamber, while the other's fist came to a stop before his nose, the gloved fingers uncurled, and then landed gently on the side of Aragorn's face.
"Goheno nin, Aragorn!" Elrond hissed. "I almost killed you! Are you alright?"
"Yes, but what are you – "
"Come," said Elrond tersely, grabbing up his cloak and dragging his newfound foster son behind him towards the far exit of the chamber. Aragorn's arm burned with pain and he bit back a grimace. "The men are almost upon us." Of course, Aragorn thought. The sudden light. Havhem's men had finally drawn near, and now their torchlight was getting stronger.
"They are after an assassin to Thengel, we needn't run," Aragorn protested, dragging the elf to a halt. Elrond was wheezing, now that their skirmish had ended, and he doubled over with his hands on his knees. "Are you well, my lord?"
Elrond straightened, still breathing hard, and pierced Aragorn with his gaze. Aragorn watched a realization manifest itself to Elrond, whose eyes narrowed suddenly. The elf once again grabbed Aragorn's wrist and started for the exit.
"Come. Quickly, Estel, they are not after Thengel."
"…Wait, what?" asked Aragorn, giving in and following the insistent elf with a stumble. Elrond had made a point of calling Aragorn by his true name after his identity had been revealed to him when he reached twenty years. The fact that Elrond had slipped just now and called him Estel showed how tangled his thoughts must have been. They were in the hallway again, and Aragorn could hear the soldiers behind, yelling now, and running. No doubt the soldiers could see their retreating backs and hear their labored footsteps.
"Trust me," gasped Elrond from in front, "they aim to kill you."
Aragorn almost stopped in his tracks in order to better judge if Elrond had a debilitating head wound, but Aragorn had never known Elrond to be someone not to trust, and so, despite his disbelief, he kept running.
"What? That makes – "
They had come to an intersection and Elrond wrenched them both careening around the corner. The gloom increased and Aragorn found that now, after his eyes had seen torchlight, he could see nothing at all, and had to trust Elrond's sight and guiding hand.
"That makes no sense," he finished through his breath, and Elrond didn't respond. The voices and footsteps behind them had risen in excitement but already they grew more faint. Elrond continued to swing around corners left and right, and they climbed one short flight of stairs (Aragorn tried valiantly not to trip, and failed on the last step), and descended again down a steep, chiseled slope. Here Elrond halted completely and put out a hand to still Aragorn, and they stood in the dark for a moment. Aragorn could hear little past their harsh tandem breathing and through the pulse in his ears, so he left the listening to Elrond.
"We've lost them," the elf whispered finally, "for now." He took Aragorn's hand and they started again at a brisk walk.
"How do you know they mean to kill me?" Aragorn asked, curiosity biting at his heels.
"Marshal Havhem is here, is he not?"
"Yes, it is he who recommended I come."
Aragorn took Elrond's silence as an affirmation, but to what, he could not guess. Begrudgingly he kept the questions within and did his best to follow and not stumble. There was simply no reason for Elrond to be here – disguised, nonetheless – and no reason that Aragorn could see that King Thengel would want Aragorn dead. Aragorn saw Thengel as someone he could place his values under and fight for, in fact. Briefly, Aragorn wondered if Elrond was the assassin Havhem had cautioned him about, but that made no sense. Unless Elrond was mistaken about the intentions of King Thengel, the elf would never raise a weapon in harm. And Aragorn knew that Elrond would not make such a mistake.
"Where are we going?" asked Aragorn, and noticed a faint glow ahead of them. Elrond dropped Aragorn's hand and made for the light.
"I hope that we head in the direction of the Great Hall." The glow was from a solitary torch, he saw.
"Why, when there are more soldiers there?"
"That is where the king is. He must be informed immediately of this breach in loyalty."
"What breach in loyalty?" Aragorn asked, frustrated. They had reached the torch now, and Elrond took the torch down from its holder. It trembled in his grasp and illuminated the grimace on the elf's face. Aragorn forgot about his question as he remembered that the soldiers behind them had said they'd hurt 'the assassin'. Indeed, a short, diagonal slice of tunic was hanging across Elrond's side, heavy with blood. With horror, Aragorn remembered what he'd done during their brief fight. The elf had turned to continue down the hallway but Aragorn caught his shoulder and stared at his torso, looking for damage.
"Oh, my lord, I stabbed you!"
"Bad stab. You hit bone."
"Your sternum stopped you from being skewered!" Aragorn cried, belatedly stifling his voice.
"Yes. That is its job, actually," Elrond wheezed. "Come."
"Your hand is shaking."
"There is nothing to be done about it," Elrond said, and walked. Aragorn followed, realizing that he was feeling none too well himself. The muscles down one side of his neck had gone numb and his head throbbed painfully. His right forearm felt as if it was afire and he hoped it wasn't broken into too many pieces. He knew he was lucky, though, to have lived through a fight with Elrond.
The corridor widened and the sides became more defined. It joined another far wider hallway, which seemed to be a main connecting path that lead to the dining hall. Elrond found an empty torch-arm and placed their flame against the wall. Soon they could hear the roar and buzz of the feast. The smell of food came sharply back to Aragorn, and ahead down the well-lit way several dwarves toted platters heaped with yet more to be passed. Elrond stopped then, and raised the hood of his cloak again to obscure his ears. His hair had been pulled behind his back into a braid, and his clothing was distinctly mannish.
"Why do you go undercover?" Aragorn asked.
"If the dwarves knew an elf had snuck into their mountain they would have a grand fit. Put your hood on – remember, you're a target. Bring us to Thengel, avoid the guards."
Luckily, most of the guards had made themselves scarce. Aragorn thought they must be tracking the catacombs for 'the assassin'. Havhem himself was nowhere to be seen. The dwarves and the men not under Havhem's command seemed to still be having a merry time and Aragorn slowed so as not to raise attention as they passed to be under the great vault under the mountain.
Thengel was no longer at the head of the table and Aragorn hesitated before remembering that Havhem had stowed the king away in the first sideroom before sending the soldiers out to search. He headed for that door, hoping that enough ale had already been consumed to make two passing cloaked figures seem unremarkable. All it would take would be one soldier to raise the alarm, he knew. Indeed he now saw several of them, standing guard for the main hallways, but the attentions of the guards were not aimed at them. The door of the room that he suspected held Thengel was, amazingly, unguarded, a matter which both angered and puzzled Aragorn up until the moment he put his hand forward, turned the latch, and pushed the door open.
Thengel, splendid under a small crown and a rich, embroidered tunic, turned slightly from his seat. He raised his eyebrows at the appearance of the two entering. Aragorn shut the door, latched it, and turned to his king. One of Thengel's eyebrows drooped in confusion.
"My lord, where is your guard?" Aragorn asked, at a loss for what else to say.
"I have asked for them to bring me an ale and a cut of pork. Havhem may have me quarantined in this cave all by myself but I shan't fail to enjoy the hospitality of Erebor. I say, is that you, Thorongil? Who is this other man? Did you just lock us in?"
Aragorn turned helplessly to Elrond, at a loss for what to say. Elrond had been taking the moment to breathe, and now went down on one knee and bowed his head.
"My lord Thengel," Elrond said.
"Are you hurt?" the king asked with alarm, and finally rose from his chair.
"Nothing that merits your concern."
"Well, I'm afraid I'm quite concerned now, against your wishes. Havhem has cautioned me of a possible attempt on my life and now before me I have a wounded man that I have never met, and Thorongil – Thorongil, what is your business here, anyways? I was told you rode west before we departed, on a scouting mission."
"My king, Havhem told me that you asked for me to come on this journey. I thought you knew of my presence here."
"If I may," Elrond interjected, and started to lower himself down to lean against the back wall. "I believe I can shed some light on our situation." Aragorn's worries were torn between the elf's health and the well-being of his king, and he wasn't at all sure of what kinds of things the king should be wary of at the moment. He reminded himself that if Elrond had made it this far with an injury, he was in little danger.
"Your marshal Havhem," started Elrond, "is power-starved. Have you noticed?"
The king did not respond right away. He looked taken aback that such a stranger would address him this way, but he considered the question.
"I have noticed that Havhem has more fire in his blood than my other marshals."
"And you know of his deeds under your late father, King Fengel?"
"My father brought out the worst in everybody he touched. I do not begrudge Havhem for doing what my father asked."
"Havhem has authored a proposal against Thorongil's life."
"This is a brave accusation," the king said, voice grave. His eyes flickered to Aragorn's, but Aragorn had the same questions that Thengel did. "Why would my marshal do such a thing?"
"You have given Thorongil much power already over your men and horses. Havhem would kill him so that he himself may have a chance to wield such power. Havhem ordered Thorongil to come under the pretense of protecting you, my lord, when in fact Havhem would have had the disguised Thorongil killed, called a common assassin, and then would have given himself the title of your savior."
"Havhem would have told me that he had killed the assassin… Thorongil?"
"He may not have attempted to convince you that it was Thorongil himself who had made an attempt on your life, but either way, he would have been polishing his image."
"And how," Thengel asked, eyes narrowing, "am I to know that you do not author your own plot against Havhem? In my eyes you yourself look the assassin. By what right do you know these things, and how can you expect my trust?"
Aragorn saw Elrond hesitate, no doubt torn between earning the king's trust by title alone or by some other clever means. The latter seemed far too complicated for this situation.
"This is Elrond Peredhel," Aragorn said, "Lord of Rivendell. You may trust my word on his fidelity, as I was raised in his house." Elrond reached to lower his hood, and King Thengel squinted across the room before coming forward a few steps.
"Le suilon, my lord," he said, "and pardon my not recognizing you."
"I believe we have met but once before this, aran," the elf replied with a small smile, "besides which I do not mean to be recognized by anybody. Even my own kin."
"I am ashamed of my poor hospitality. You are wounded, let me send for – "
"Please," said Elrond, "look first to the safety of Thorongil. He must be afforded safe passage from the mountain. I fear it will be a lengthy process to clean up this mess, and in the meantime perhaps it is best if Thorongil – and myself – be out of reach."
Aragorn almost protested, wanting to be around to confront Havhem himself, but he realized that Elrond's advice was logical. His rebelliousness was, in part, no doubt the remnants of his younger years, pushing back against the rules and advice of his father figure – usually to find out later why said rules and advice were given in the first place.
"It will be done," Thengel said. "I will send my personal guards, whom I trust, to secure a safe way out. I invite you both to stay outside of the mountain until things are in order and men have been put into their place. I would talk again with you both when time permits."
"As you wish," Elrond replied, and started to stand. As Aragorn helped him up the door to the chamber turned, then rattled. The king unlatched the door before an alarm could be called, and waved in the two guards who bore ale and food. Aragorn tensed, but saw that they were not wearing the red colors of Havhem's men. These were the aforementioned personal guards.
It was an admirably quick task for the guards to lead them unnoticed from the dinner hall and out under the mountain, and though it had only been a short while, Aragorn was relieved to see stars again. He judged it to be late still, as the morning star had not yet appeared. The weather was agreeable, though the mountain wind was carrying a chill, and the moon was almost full, hanging in the southern sky.
They made their way up above the entrance of the mountain, to keep an eye on who came and who went, and Elrond tried to insist on inspecting Aragorn's head, neck, and forearm. Aragorn refused to sit still until he had taken a look at the gash on Elrond's side. It had damaged only skin and muscle, and there was nothing Aragorn could do that Elrond could not. Aragorn then coerced Elrond into letting him make sure that the stab wound on the elf's chest was not of concern. Elrond protested mightily, saying it was not bothering him, but Aragorn's guilt at having stabbed him overrode Elrond's stubbornness. In the end, it was so small and shallow that both shared a laugh over it.
"I see where all my careful instruction has led you with the knife," Elrond teased, pulling his tunic back down.
"It was dark," Aragorn protested. "It was dark and your clothing was dark and you wouldn't hold still. I meant to stab upwards from below your ribs, just like you taught me."
"No doubt had you succeeded we would not now be laughing."
"Where did you find such clothing, anyway? I would not expect torn gloves and tattered boots to be privy to the wardrobe of an elf lord. You look very much a man."
"The boots and gloves are from long ago," the elf replied with a sly smile. "I was not gentle on clothing before this age. Celebrían wished for me to be rid of all those old cloaks and trousers, but I kept an outfit. I thought I might need them someday. Except the tunic, all my old tunics were shredded, completely useless. This one is yours."
"Without my permission?" Aragorn said in mock indignation.
"I did not expect to be seeing you here! Now come," Elrond said, and his buoyant tone turned somber. "I worry for your neck. I am so very sorry that I tried to snap it. Here, sit." Aragorn relented and lowered himself to sit in front of Elrond. The moment the elf's hands touched his neck Aragorn felt the wind grow warmer and more gentle against his skin. He closed his eyes as Elrond soothed the pulled muscles and put them back into order. His hands moved to rest on either side of Aragorn's head then – the same hand position that, with different applied pressure, would easily kill. The hands drew much of the hammering pain from his temple and replaced it with a cool haze that dampened what pain remained.
Aragorn did not track the position of the moon in the sky but though it felt as if Elrond's administrations lasted for a long stretch, it was probably a short time before the elf asked him to turn around again.
"Your arm," Elrond said, and Aragorn held back a sigh, rolling up his sleeve. No doubt this would not be as pleasant of a healing. The elf took the arm gently and immediately his face fell. "I am sorry," he murmured, and started to press gently on the muscle and ligaments. "I cringe to think I would be the one to afflict you such. Perhaps if I had known you would be present I would have recognized you earlier," he said, and Aragorn, who was doing his best to ignore what was being done to his arm, detected a bit of bitterness in the elf's voice.
"I don't understand how you came to be here in the first place," Aragorn said.
"I have few answers for you," Elrond replied, and considered the arm for a moment before continuing. "If anybody is to illuminate the situation, it would be Galadriel."
"Why am I not surprised?"
"Not many days ago she sent me her thoughts. She had just looked into her mirror. She told me she had seen for me a family tragedy. She said, I have seen Erebor. I see King Thengel. I see a shadow-cloaked assassin. That is all she had of details. I asked her what that had to do with my family, and she could not answer. I was curious – Elladan and Elrohir had recently gone west with some Rangers, Arwen is in Imladris, and the well-being of my in-laws was apparent. I had gotten word from you that you were heading west as well…" Elrond paused and glanced up at Aragorn for an explanation.
"Havhem," Aragorn said. "Havhem asked me to spread a false rumor. He said it was to ensure my own safety from the assassin, who he said would recognize me."
"And it was he who suggested your appearance be masked?"
"Yes."
"I am sure he told his men to kill the one who looked like an assassin, draped in a dark cloak and covering his face. And King Thengel would not have been the wiser."
"Yes," Aragorn said sheepishly. Havhem's requests did sound odd now, with hindsight.
"No matter," Elrond muttered, looking a bit sheepish himself for having brought more discomfort on Aragorn. "Now you know the consequences of false messages. Your foster father will try to kill you."
"Duly noted."
"We are lucky I only broke the bone once here…" Elrond said, leaning his face down to the arm and holding it firmly, as if he were listening to the bones themselves. "One solid break, but the bone is also bruised, as is the muscle and the tendon here. Please lay down, the blood will be good for your neck." Aragorn obliged, laying back across the stubble of the mountain grass. Elrond took his arm in his hands and simply held it; the sour, burning pain of the break began to ebb.
"I was concerned," Elrond said, "for the well-being of Thengel, of course, and wanted to send a party immediately. Galadriel encouraged me to act upon her vision, though why she was so adamant that I and I alone went instead of someone else, she could not say. I know the variability of what the mirror shows but I could not risk non-action. From her words, I came thinking to watch for an assassin who would kill King Thengel, and I thought perhaps Thengel's death would somehow come to cause harm to one of my kin.
"When I came to the mountain and saw that there was a great feast, I thought to first check the gallery above the hall, and I saw there two assassins – or what I assumed were two assassins, though I did not see the second one – I did not see you – until I had killed the first one… who I suppose was the one Havhem sent to murder you. Of course when you gave chase I thought you were another assassin.
"When I ran into Havhem's men – I still cannot believe I committed such a mistake – they immediately attacked, as we now know they had been told to kill the cloaked one, which I was. They called out the name Thorongil, which I thought odd at first, until they were almost upon us in that chamber. Then I realized why Galadriel had sent me here, and for what purpose."
"I ran into those same guards not a moment after you had," mused Aragorn. "They did look perplexed."
They both fell silent, and Aragorn closed his eyes. How strange that events had worked out just so and only one had died. How strange that the one being who could have forewarned of this event happened to be the mother-in-law of his own foster father, and how wonderful that he himself was included in her mirror's perception of Elrond's kin.
"Thank you," he murmured, and his voice came out quieter than he expected. His body had started to fall into sleep without him realizing it. He opened his eyes. Elrond sat, legs crossed, at his side, still holding his arm in his lap and drawing an aura of good energy about it. The elf, in his rough clothing and nondescript braid, stared down at Aragorn with a puzzled look on his face, and it might have been the after affects of too much adrenaline but Aragorn thought he'd never forget the image. The constellations scrawled their stories across the sky behind the elf and the moon set his skin with a grey radiance.
"For bringing me out of the mountain alive," Aragorn finished.
"Despite my best efforts," said Elrond sourly.
"Are you going to ask me to follow you back to Imladris for a while?"
"What a ridiculous question, Aragorn. We both know you have more important things to be doing than loafing about in Imladris with time-crusted elves." Elrond looked away after saying this, and the meaning of his words hit Aragorn with a sudden, yet familiar, weight. "Besides which I expect Thengel will want you around for Havhem's trial."
"Trial?" Aragorn asked, his mind following a few steps behind his ears.
"Of course. Havhem and his followers will be tried for deception and murderous intentions."
"Will Thengel send him to exile?"
"I expect that is what will be determined at the trial."
"Will all of Havhem's men be judged?"
"I do not know, Aragorn. Now please, stop talking, I am trying to put you asleep. Your head is addled and your arm needs stillness."
"…My apologies. I do feel heavy-eyed."
"Ever the iron will," Elrond sighed with a touch of irritation, but his eyes betrayed deep fondness. Aragorn wondered for just a moment if, after tonight's incident, Elrond thought less of him. Perhaps he now doubted Aragorn's ability to assume his place in the line of kings. But he finally closed his eyes and sifted down to the base of the question and found there were no roots reaching into the waking world, and even besides that…
A/N: I have a confession. I almost called this story "Errorgorn and Elwrong." But that would have been a bad use of my free will, so I didn't.