Chapter Nine
Aragorn had sent for them, Legolas wondered if he was imagining the change in tone from friend to king. Faramir's rangers were ready within an hour and they left the hidden caves, joining the west road before midday.
"No tidings?" asked Faramir as his horse fell into step beside Arod.
"None." If Yarna made good time she should have reached his father's Halls already. Legolas would have expected her to send word, if just to let him know that she was safe.
"Messages take time." Faramir had enough letters from Edoras to fill his pillow twice over, each one replied to the same day. Legolas wondered if somewhere, perhaps Isengard or Imladris, there was a stash of his letters. Not that they were anything to marvel at, rarely did he pass the five line mark.
Faramir fell back into silence. He was not Gimli by any means, he did not prattle on endlessly about everything under the sun. Legolas found himself missing the irritating dwarf, his back felt exposed without his friend seated behind him. There were no offhand sly remarks from Yarna either, and in the polite silence Legolas realised how isolated he was, so far away from any friends as he waited for them to play out his moves in this game on his behalf.
Faramir set a fast pace and they reached Osgiliath within a day. The city was still scarred, Aragorn's limited resources could not be spared to rebuild it anytime soon. Minas Tirith rose up before them out of the mountains, its walls speckled with smoke marks and holes made by enemy trebuchets. Legolas kept his eyes firmly ahead, refusing to look at the blackened mounds that had once been Oliphants or piles of carcasses. The gate to the city opened automatically before them, people scattering as the horses came through.
The throne room was empty, Legolas saw how Faramir stopped short at that. He doubted that the Stewards ever left the hall disused. A dark patch of marble showed where the Stewards' chair had stood for centuries. Even Legolas' footsteps threatened to echo in the empty air.
"Come," Legolas called gently. "Aragorn is not here." Faramir was very far from over his father's death. They left the long silent hall for the twisting corridors flanked with tapestries of events Legolas could remember himself.
Aragorn had retreated to a solar, with his back to them in his new-found finery he could have been an impersonation of Elrond. Except Legolas had never known the Loremaster to jump around with a grin so readily.
"Legolas! Mae govanenn, Mellon nin." They clasped shoulders, Legolas beaming at the pleasantly clean Estel in front of him. It was a distinct improvement on the Ranger from the North. "I am sorry, my friend," Aragorn added after a moment. "Yarna shared the news before she left." Legolas was still swallowing his guilt at his brother's death, and his relief. It sat uneasily on him, never occupying as much of his thoughts as it should, yet never leaving him fully.
"Mandos will judge him," replied Legolas simply. What else could he say? Perhaps his father was in mourning, the court in black and a hidden rage let on his younger siblings. Or, and Legolas hoped this was the case, Matlar and Yarna had quelled the storm, if there had ever been one.
They stood in silence, Aragorn giving him a moment to mourn perhaps before turning to Faramir.
"I have a letter here from Edoras, Éomer requests that we sent someone to help destroy any objects of power left in Isengard." Aragorn handed a paper over along with an unopened envelope. "I thought to send you."
"Of course, your Grace." Legolas could barely hide his smirk as Faramir took his leave, opening the letter from Éowyn on his way out.
"There has never been a man more obviously in love," Aragorn murmured with a chuckle.
"I seem to recall a young Dunedain who met an elleth in Lórien, he was worse." Legolas grinned at the blush that appeared on his friend's neck. At least Aragorn went on believing the lies spun around him.
"It is on that subject that I called you back, among other things. Sit down." Legolas humoured him, perching on the edge of the long seat as Aragorn went back to his chair. "Arwen told me yesterday-" There was a familiar flush in Aragorn's smile, some excitement Legolas had seen on another face years before. His own. "She is with child. By next autumn I shall be a father." For Aragorn's sake he smiled warmly. Inside, Legolas could feel his stomach clench, tightening around the unhealed wound that sat just below his heart. Aragorn never knew, he could never know what his words had done to his friend. The painful twisting knife in his body, ripping the air out of him.
"I am pleased for you, Mellon nin." In his joy Aragorn never noticed the hard line of Legolas' jaw as he set it firmly to stop any emotion leaking out. He had never had his father's cold face, Matlar and Hestlean copied that. Instead he masked himself with smiles and happiness, for that was never questioned in an elf. "I must go and give my congratulations to Arwen."
"She is in the gardens." Legolas beamed again and promised he would come back as soon as he had seen her. Out of necessity he kept his sunny demeanour up as he stalked through the citadel. Yarna had known, Arwen would have told her before she left, and in her innocence she would have wished her false friend well, any sorrow banished as envy. Legolas had given up on innocence, it was a useful mask but nothing more. He knew the truth and he would not let Arwen dwell in happiness when she had stolen it from them.
She was surrounded by her ladies, and a few young lords in the fashion of the courts of Men. Legolas remembered his mother's entourage, made up of as many generals and counsellors as empty heads. Arwen appeared to have surrounded herself with what beauty Gondor could boast and none of the conversation.
"Prince Legolas, your Grace," one of the obligatory guards announced. Arwen stood immediately, her smile pressed into place after a fraction of a second. Legolas' bow was as small as he could manage without appearing to give offence.
"My Lady," he murmured, refusing to call her Queen when Aragorn was not there.
"Leave us," she commanded with the loftiness that had always sat so well with her but had never with the elves of Imladris. The Lords of Gondor bowed and retreated in a way Erestor and Glorfindel never would have. "Yarna left two weeks ago, anyone would believe that-"
"Did she know?" he demanded harshly, his façade slipping as soon as they were alone. Arwen's sickly smile stayed in place as she picked at the flowers around her coyly.
"I may have mentioned my suspicions as she mounted up." Something to think about on the journey, Legolas muse bitterly. "The customary response now is that you are most happy for me, Legolas."
"Do you expect me to say that to you?" he spat, stepping around her. She was taller than Yarna, certainly, but not as strong and she knew it as she backed away from him towards the wall. "You stole my child from me, Arwen, you poisoned them before they saw the light of day." His voice was barely more than a whisper, it did not have to be any louder. "Sindar do not forget. When this gift you have been given lightens your world as you doomed mine to shadow, I will snatch it from you and you shall never know its joy." He said the threat before he even knew what he meant. Never would he stoop so low as to do what Arwen had done, he could not do that to Aragorn. He could hurt her though, he meant neither the child nor the father harm. Just her.
"It is no wonder your brother turned traitor, you are all alike," she hissed at him in return.
"And you are Fëanor's kin indeed." That stung, as he knew it would. She shied away from him, as skittish as a doe. Her insults could not hurt him, they hardly even grazed the surface. She had paled a few shades, matching the whitish grey stone of the wall behind her. Legolas turned to face the Pelennor, looking out over the plains as the little garden backed into the citadel and rock face. "Good day, Arwen." He left her there to wipe the shocked look from her face and deal with her courtiers.
