"My lord is not my lord; nor should I know him,

were he in favor as in humor altered."

– William Shakespeare, Othello

Chapter 3: Bonds May Break

Arwen stiffened at once, pulling from the embrace, but Legolas did not move. He knew that Aragorn was there – he heard the door open, felt the draft of cool air at his back, heard the sharp intake of his friend's breath. But the bulk of his attention was given to the lady in his arms as he sought to comfort her. And even when Arwen broke away he continued to hum softly, keeping the tone of his faer in resonance with hers, seeking to give assurance despite the discord of her fear.

So it was that Legolas failed to realize the danger of that moment. Despite Arwen's warning and the disquiet of his own heart, he yet believed that Estel was not truly lost to them. He thought that there would be time, after Arwen's tears had dried, to greet his old friend, to make right whatever had gone so wrong. He thought that Aragorn would understand.

He was wrong.

With a strangled oath the King crossed to them in two strides. He seized the shoulder of Legolas' tunic and yanked him back. Caught completely by surprise, Legolas was jerked nearly off his feet. His thin boots skidded on the stone flags and he leaped up, instinctively twisting in mid-air to keep his balance. He broke Aragorn's grip and landed in a defensive crouch, his throwing blades drawn and ready in his hands.

Aragorn stumbled at the sudden movement, but swiftly regaining his balance he stood with feet planted and his long knife trained unwaveringly upon Legolas. They faced each other, unmoving, frozen by the flash of lamplight upon steel. Time and trust suspended upon the blades between them, and the silence was broken only by Arwen's high, swift breathing and the frightened whispers of the servants at the door.

Then Aragorn spoke. "Do you draw weapons against your King, Legolas?" His voice was dangerously soft, his grey eyes clear and hard.

Legolas looked up the length of Aragorn's blade to meet his gaze, his own short knives poised defensively before him. "I have never had need to, my lord," he answered. "The Elvenking is not in the habit of attacking his warriors from behind."

The King's hand tightened upon his knife hilt. "Then, Lord of Ithilien, do you draw weapons against me, your liege lord and protector?"

"No," Legolas said. "No more so than I would draw blade against my friend." Slowly he rose from his crouch. The tip of Aragorn's knife lifted with him, in line with the base of his throat, but Aragorn made no other move. His weight was set back on his heels, and his arm was fully extended and locked. Satisfied that he could react before the Man could attack again, Legolas slipped his blades back into the holders concealed beneath his vambraces and calmly faced him, his hands at his sides.

Aragorn held his stance a moment longer, and then returned his knife to the sheath at his hip. "Your friend," he said. There was an ironic lilt to his voice that Legolas did not understand. "Tell me, friend, how long were you with my wife before I entered? What honor remains to the Queen of Gondor?"

Arwen moved then, her skirts flying behind her as she crossed to the chamber door in swift, determined strides. "Out," she ordered the servants who crowded wide-eyed in the entrance. "Get to the scullery, and prepare hot water for the bath in Lord Legolas' chambers." They hesitated, and Arwen's lips thinned. "Now."

In a flurry of muslin and muttered acknowledgements they went, and Arwen shut the door in their wake. Legolas could see the trembling of her hands, but she held her head high and her back was straight as she faced her husband. "The Queen's honor is inviolate, my lord. You interrupted nothing."

Aragorn shot her a dark look. "Do you imagine me a fool, my lady? Will you then deny the evidence of my own eyes?"

Legolas looked from one to the other in confusion. He could sense Arwen's fear through the lingering resonance of the connection that they had shared, and Aragorn's rage was clear to see in every line of his body. But he could see no reason for it. "Elessar," he said uncertainly. "I was told that you wished to see me in your chambers. Therefore I waited for you here."

The King glared at him. "With the door closed, Legolas? Without even a maid as chaperone?"

Understanding dawned like sunrise through the haze, and Legolas nearly laughed aloud. "Arwen is bonded, Aragorn." There was a pause. "To you," he added when the silence had stretched too long.

"An astute observation," Aragorn said dryly. "And to think, Legolas, you had only the clue of having witnessed the wedding to assist you."

"My lord," Arwen began, but Legolas was faster. "The wedding?" he repeated. "Nay, Aragorn. All the speeches and all the ceremonies of all the noblemen in Gondor could not change that which lies between you and the lady Undómiel – that which you pledged upon Cerin Amroth. Merely to look at you . . . there is not an Elf in Ennor1 who would not know it!"

A dark flush suffused Aragorn's face. Whirling suddenly upon Arwen, he snapped, "Leave us, my lady."

The Queen was very pale, but she lifted her chin and did not move. "My lord," she began again, but Aragorn caught her arm in a bruising grip.

"I said," he propelled her to the door in swift, jerking steps, "leave us." Legolas sprang forward, but Aragorn was already at the entranceway. His voice was a snarl of muted fury as he pulled the heavy door open and pushed her through. "Go."

He had scarcely slammed the door behind her when Legolas grabbed his arm, pulling him around to face him. "What are you doing?"

He held Aragorn fast, staring at him in shock. His fingers sank into the rich material of the King's doublet, and he felt the fine-wired tension that ran through him. He searched the Man's face for some sign, some reason that he could understand: why his friend had done this. But there was nothing. And so Legolas said, hearing his own voice lowered with deadly purpose, "You will not touch the Evenstar thus, Elessar."

Aragorn jerked his arm free, breathing hard, and there was a black glitter in his eyes to match the intensity of Legolas' stare. "And you will not lay hands upon the King, Elf. Nor will you command him in his own house."

Legolas stepped back in disbelief. This was wrong. Everything that had happened since he first received Aragorn's summons – the demand that he come without escort, the guards, Arwen's warning – had served to intensify his own sense of foreboding. And now he looked into Aragorn's eyes and he could not pierce their depths.

Aragorn would never speak to him like this. But he did. Aragorn would die before he suffered hurt to Arwen. But he had. You have not lived with him, the Queen had said. But Legolas had journeyed with this Man for months on end, had saved his life and been saved in return countless times, had fought both with him and beside him, had bickered and teased and loved him for over seventy years, and the bond of Elven friendship ran deeper than blood.

He had seen Elessar just last summer, and the King had not been like this then. He knew it. Aragorn had been strained; with weariness that was plain to Legolas' eyes, though the Man had tried to hide it. At the time he had let it pass unmentioned, assuming it to be the newfound burden of kingship that weighed upon his friend.

But now the lines that had been mere traces eight months ago were cut deep about the King's mouth and eyes, and dark shadows hollowed his cheeks. Something was grievously wrong, and Legolas felt it as a brooding shadow cast between them. And so he stared into eyes gone cold and dark as winter rain, and tried again to reach his friend.

"I command nothing, my lord," he said. "Nor have I ever done so. But I tell you now: none shall lay hands upon the Lady Arwen. Not while I draw breath."

Aragorn's mouth tightened in a bitter grimace. "Do not presume to lecture me, Legolas. I know how to protect my wife."

"Indeed?" Legolas asked coolly. The shock was fading, and in the wake of disbelief his own anger hummed dangerously close to the surface. "And how many bruises does she now bear as witness to your protection?"

Aragorn's hand flew to the knife-hilt at his side, but he did not draw it. "You dare!" he said. "You dare suggest that I – that Arwen – Valar, Legolas! I love her!"

The honest horror in his voice struck Legolas to the core, and in that moment he felt the shadow lift. He reacted instantly, casting aside every consideration for mortal comfort and focusing all his Elven concentration upon his friend. He stared with piercing intensity into the King's eyes, and he saw Estel looking back at him.

Then Aragorn broke away. He stumbled to the window and leaned a moment upon the lintel, his ragged fingernails digging between the stones as he closed his eyes. Legolas hesitated, watching in the dim reflection as Aragorn's brow furrowed, his jaw clenched as though in pain.

But when at last the King spoke his voice was as hard and cold as the mirrored glass. "You will not see the lady Undómiel again, Legolas."

Legolas gritted his teeth. So close! He could have taken Aragorn by the neck and shaken him, but instead he drew a deep breath and counted to six. In Quenyan.

"Aragorn. Arwen is bonded to you. No Elf could look upon her without seeing it. No Elf could touch her without feeling it." He searched Aragorn's reflection for some sign of understanding, but the King's face was set and expressionless, distorted by the uneven glass. "Elbereth, Aragorn!" he cried at last. "You were raised in Rivendell! Can you not know what that means?"

Finally Aragorn turned to face him. "But we are not in Rivendell, Legolas," he said softly. "And there are no Elves here. You are in a country of Men, and you will obey the laws of Men."

Twelve this time. But though the King's voice was cold to match the haughtiness of his words, it was still Aragorn's voice. And though the King's eyes were wintry as river ice, they were still Aragorn's eyes. And so Legolas bit back the flaring of his pride, and spoke as calmly as he could. "That is true, Your Majesty. And I have come here at your summons, to aid you if I am able. So tell me if you will, why am I here? What would you ask of me?"

Something dark flickered in Aragorn's eyes. He lifted his chin slightly, and a smile played at the corners of his lips. "What would you give, Legolas?"

Legolas frowned. His patience for this game was wearing very thin. "I do not understand."

"No?" Aragorn walked toward him with measured steps, his boot heels clicking a tattoo upon the flags. "I summoned you, Legolas, because I require the aid of a friend. I need someone I can trust implicitly, someone whose loyalty is beyond question."

"I will aid you in any way I can, Aragorn. You know that."

"Do I?" The King was close to him now, so that Legolas could smell the tang of pipeweed on his clothes. "I thought I did, once."

"We have been through this, Aragorn!" Legolas snapped. "I have told you twice now, and Arwen has told you –" he broke off. Aragorn was studying him avidly, his eyes flicking back and forth and his lips slightly parted. But the fury was gone from his voice, and his accusation lacked heat. Instead he was intent, questioning . . . testing?

"This is not about Arwen," Legolas said slowly, searching his friend's eyes. "Not anymore. You know Elven custom too well for that, Aragorn. What do you truly seek?"

The Man smiled suddenly, carelessly, and turned away. With studied casualness he walked to the table, examining the cold meats laid upon it. "You've always been perceptive, Legolas," he said, not looking up. "But you're not quite to your usual standard today. Of course this is about Arwen." He picked up a thin slice of lamb, turning it in his fingers. "It has always been about Arwen."

He met the Elf's gaze then, and the heavy shadows beneath his eyes were cast in stark relief. "Gondor is in danger, Legolas. Arwen is in danger. The greatest power of the Fourth Age is growing, and it is coming here. Already spies have infiltrated Minas Tirith. It is only a matter of time before they penetrate here, into the citadel itself."

Legolas hesitated. Aragorn had never been one to leap to rash conclusions. He would not say such a thing unless it were true. But the Aragorn he knew would never hurt Arwen, either.

"What proof have you that –"

Aragorn dropped the meat back onto its plate. "You doubt me?"

Legolas shook his head. "No, my lord. But I have seen nothing of this power of which you speak. The enemies of Gondor were destroyed in the War. There are none left to oppose you."

"Not all," Aragorn said. "Not all were destroyed. Not completely." He laughed, a harsh, bitter sound so unlike his usual low chuckle that Legolas stared at him in shock. "I offered them clemency, and see how they have repaid me! I showed them mercy, and they conspire against me!"

He stilled then, and his voice grew deadly soft. "Their power is great, Legolas. There is no knowing how far their network of spies extends, nor who has been swayed to their service. I have called all of Gondor's allies to the Council, Ithilien and Dol Amroth and Roha n, to join forces against this threat. None knew the other was coming, so that the enemy could not anticipate us. But even that may not be enough. If they have reached Éomer or Imrahil or even Faramir… one of those at the Council tomorrow will betray us."

Legolas' head was beginning to ache. The conviction in Aragorn's voice could not be denied, and neither could his long years of experience in deducing the schemes of the Enemy before the War. But to suspect treachery in the lords who had aided Gondor all their lives . . . it was madness. And if he doubted even Faramir . . .

"Then what of me?"

The King walked toward him, slowly circling behind him as Legolas held himself still. "That depends, my lord Elf." He came to face him, and stopped. "With your abilities, you can find them before they hurt us. You can watch those at the Council tomorrow, and you will know when they are true, and when they are false. But where does your loyalty lie?"

Legolas met his eyes. "With you, my lord, as always. You know that."

"Do I?" Aragorn sighed. He passed a hand over his face, rubbing at the stubble, and his shoulders slumped. "I want to believe it, Legolas. I need you. Gondor needs you. I… I cannot do this alone."

The icy mask of arrogance had slipped away, and suddenly he seemed fragile, vulnerable as Legolas had rarely known him. It hurt to see him thus, this Man who had always tried so hard to be strong, who would conceal his own doubts and fears from all, but had never been able to fool Legolas. He stepped forward and grasped the King's shoulder. "I am here, Aragorn," he said. "I will always be here. You can trust me."

Aragorn lifted his head then, and his eyes were blank, pitiless and shining as silver coins. "Can I, Legolas?" He smiled. "Prove it."


1 Ennor: The Sindarin name for Middle-earth.