"What goes on?" I ask impatiently the moment Erynion steps foot in the room. I am stuck here and I hate it. I should be doing something . . . Anything to help Aragorn sort this mess out.
But Erynion only shrugs.
"Nothing," he says, "as far as I know anyway."
"Have you not seen Lord Arderthron? Has Faramir not said anything? Aragorn?"
"I have seen no-one. Faramir is in a meeting with that snake of a Lord. Elessar spoke with him last night but you know that already."
I know it only by rumour. It was Rhíwiel that told me. She seems to have drifted across to the palace as my surrogate healer. Arwen had ordered it, she says, to "keep me settled".
The problem with being here back in my room, out of the Healing Halls, with Erynion to watch me, is that of Aragorn I have seen nothing at all. It is so frustrating not knowing what goes on out there in the palace corridors.
"Be patient, Legolas," Erynion sighs as he folds himself up into the chair beside me. "Elessar or Faramir will tell you what goes on when there is something to say."
"But I could be helping. I could defend Eldarion. You know Arderthron will be spinning a web of lies to ensnare him."
"Do you want to defend Eldarion?"
"Of course! He is only a boy, Erynion. A boy I love."
But Erynion's face clouds over.
"A boy you love who may not love you. I did not like the story Elessar had to tell Faramir and I yesterday. He did not paint Eldarion in a good light . . . And he is his own son."
"He does love me." I will not listen to anyone who says otherwise.
"You want that to be true, Legolas, but is it? Where is he? Have you seen him?"
I have not seen him. Yet Rhíwiel who spends most of her time speaking of him has told me how sorry he is, how miserable, how many regrets he has.
"He got me out of there, Erynion. That has to count for something. He was on his own, he stood up to them, and he found me help."
It does not convince him, I can tell. His face is stern and disapproving. Erynion is always right about things. I do not want him to be right about this.
He does not know, of course, what I do about Eldarion and nor does Aragorn.
Perhaps I should not wait for Arwen? Perhaps I should tell Aragorn myself. It seems a trespass upon their relationship. I understand her worries about his present burdens and she is right—this will hurt him. It will disrupt him further . . . But he needs to know.
I do not know what to do.
As I think on it—the tangled mess where no option seems right and my mind is twisted in knots—my frustration at my inertia spills over.
"I need to get out of here." I leap to my feet and begin to pace. "Take me to the gardens, Erynion, since I am not trusted enough to take myself!"
"It is not about how trusted you are at all, Legolas and you know it." He sighs, "but if it will calm you down I will take you."
The guard outside my door steps in front of it when it opens and blocks the way. Not for the first time I feel as if I am the prisoner.
"We walk to the gardens," Erynion says to him before I can unleash my annoyance, "His Lord Elessar has given agreement to that."
He nods his head and steps aside but as we make our way down the corridor I realise he trails behind.
"Will they not let us alone!" I cry. "Seriously, does he have to follow us?"
"Yes." Erynion is short, to the point, and annoyed with me. It is nothing new, he often is.
"He does not! I am with you. Is that not enough? Aragorn may as well throw me in a cell."
"You are not in a cell, Legolas, when we can stroll to the gardens. I am sick of your complaining. I know it is frustrating. I know you burn to be more useful and you do not deal well with being trapped between four walls but you need to swallow it down and deal with this. It is what it needs to be."
"Aragorn over-reacts. This is ridiculous!"
"What would you do if you were in his position?" Erynion snaps back. "Imagine he had been attacked in Ithilien, in our settlement. Imagine that, Legolas."
"That would never happen!"
"It is extremely unlikely but what if it did. How would you feel? How would you protect him? I have spoken with Elessar about these restrictions on your movement and he has convinced me they are necessary. Stop thinking about yourself, Legolas and imagine what it is to be him." Once again Erynion decides to channel my father. The glare on his face as he lectures me could be from Thranduil himself.
And he is right. Were our positions reversed I would keep Aragorn so close and safe he would barely have room to breathe until I knew those responsible were under guard.
I do not answer Erynion. What can I say?
He takes my silence as an admission of guilt. He knows me well enough to do that. He knows me better than anyone.
Walking in to those gardens it is as if they shine a light upon my soul. I run . . . As far as I can run at all. I throw myself on the ground and tilt my face to the sky, letting the sun warm me. I trail my fingers across the bark of the tree next to me and listen to its stories. If Aragorn is determined to guard me perhaps I can convince him to move all those guards to the gardens and let me sleep here?
Who am I kidding. He will not do that.
Erynion is still angry with me. He retreats to the branches. I know he is there. I know he is ever watchful, but I cannot see him.
If I close my eyes I can imagine I am on my own.
I feel Elrohir before I see him.
Elrohir is fire.
He burns so brightly he can blind me. He sears through my sealonging and turns it to dust.
Today he is an inferno.
I open my eyes and pull myself up to sit just in time to see him stride into the gardens, almost knocking the poor guard, who could not sense him as I did—out of his way.
And then he is in front of me.
I have a quip ready on the tip of my tongue, something light-hearted to express the joy which spills over at the sight of him, but he gives me no chance. His intensity drowns me.
He says nothing— even my name—before his arms are around me and I am held tight.
In the end I must protest.
"Elrohir, I am a fragile wood-elf. Your half-elven strength crushes the breath out of me."
And he holds me back to look at me, lifting a hand to trace the fresh scar that runs across my forehead.
"What have they done to you?"
"Do you think it sets off my eyes?" I ask him with a smile but he does not smile back.
"It tears at my heart," is all he says.
"You got Aragorn's letter then?" I try my best to lighten him, to prise out a smile from that ferocious face. "What did he tell you that you arrive looking so fierce? You know he exaggerates appallingly."
"I got no letter from my brother. I knew nothing until we arrived here and Daegal told us at the Gate for he assumed I had heard also."
So that is why the passionate fierceness and anger. This whole mess has been dumped upon him moments ago. No time for Elladan to work his magic and soothe the rough edges—and the way he speaks of Aragorn suggests any meeting between them may have been beyond unpleasant. Perhaps, for Aragorn's sake, he came straight to me?
"Have you seen Aragorn? Has he explained things?" I have to know.
"I have seen him. Did he explain things? No. Did he have anything reasonable to say at all? No!"
So that did not go well then.
"I am well, Elrohir." What else is there I can say? "Look at me. I am on my feet and I am well."
There is the softest of thuds upon the grass behind me as Erynion drops to the ground.
"Elrohir." He nods his head in acknowledgement. "It is good to see you. Legolas could do with your company."
"And he has it, always."
"I will go." Erynion turns to me then. "I will leave you alone but stay with Elrohir." Does he have to speak to me as if I was a child? "He is to have someone with him at all times. The law according to Elessar," he tells Elrohir. "And only here or in his room."
"A shame Estel could not have more control earlier." Elrohir's voice makes me wince on Aragorn's behalf. I take his hands between mine as Erynion leaves us and hold them tight. I can not think what else to do but remind him I have survived this. It was unpleasant but I have survived.
"Do not blame Aragorn," I say. "He warned me there was trouble and the streets were not safe. I ignored him. I was upset with Eldarion and I went out regardless. I did not think. I assumed Aragorn overstated the danger. This is on me, Elrohir!"
"It is not on you! You should be safe. You should be able to walk where you wish, when you wish. What kind of city does Estel build here?"
Elrohir loves this city. It calls to his heart and he loves every inch of it. He shines as he walks through its streets. I know it must hurt him to see it twisted the way it has . . . To see it's people hate a part of him.
"And as for Eldarion!" He cries.
Elrohir loves Eldarion also, with all his heart. They were not always as close as they are now. Once Elrohir held himself apart. He has seen so many boys grow and die, Eldarion was one boy too far. But he reached out to him in the end, though it took courage, and they are inseparable now when he is here. Oh this will hurt him.
"He is but a child, Elrohir. Just a boy."
"He is not a boy, Legolas. Estel said as much when he spoke to us. He made no excuses for him."
"He is confused—"
"Do not you make excuses for him, Legolas!" He repeats then, what Erynion has just finished telling me. "I know you love him but you make yourself blind to the fact he has turned against you."
"He has not! He saved me Elrohir."
"The fact he did not wish to see you beaten to a pulp does not erase everything he has said and done." Wha does he know of what Eldarion has said and done? What has Aragorn told him?
This is not what I want, this anger from him. It is not what I need. I want his light. I want the calmness he brings me. The way he takes my jumbled thoughts and makes sense of them.
"Stop it," I tell him. "Stop it Elrohir. I know you are angry . . . As I was, as Erynion is, and Aragorn. But I am tired. My head hurts, words elude me, my thoughts dance around like fireflies, it is not easy. I need you. Please . . ."
He scoops me up at that and instantly I am bathed in his brightness. He is the barrier against the chaos my mind so often is. My sanctuary.
"Sorry," he whispers into my hair as he holds me, "You are right. You have me. You do."
It is such a relief.
And I relax too much.
"What did Eldarion say," he murmurs, "that so upset you it sent you into the streets?"
"That we corrupt him . . . All of them . . . Aragorn too . . . Foolish child. None of the people know of us anyway." I mumble it into his shoulder.
I should not have told him that.
"What!"
And he is gone. That all encompassing warmth is gone. I am cold and on my own.
"He said what? We corrupt them? He said that to you?"
"Elrohir, it does not matter."
"It does matter!"
"Elrohir . . ." I reach up to touch him, to cradle his cheek with my hand, to calm his soul, but that is a mistake also for as I do my sleeve drops back leaving the burn at my wrist for all to see.
He does not miss it.
"What is this?" He clasps his hand around my arm, his thumb brushing across the burn. "What is this, Legolas?"
"Nothing." I do not want him to see this . . .not now.
"They bound you." Quickly he takes hold of my other arm. He pushes the sleeve back and there it is. The telltale matching burn. He takes my arms and holds them side by side, the way they were when they were lashed with rope.
"They tied and bound you." His voice is stripped raw.
"How else would they hold me still enough to hurt me?" There is no point in denying what sits plainly before his eyes.
And he pulls his hands back as if I have burned him.
"I need to speak with Eldarion. Where is he?"
"No, Elrohir. You do not need to speak with him. Leave it." I do not want this raw and volatile Elrohir anywhere near Eldarion. For both their sakes.
"I will speak with him!"
"You will not." It is too late. Already he turns away from me, striding across the garden to torment the terrified guard.
"Where is Prince Eldarion?" He snaps at him.
The man's face drains white but to give him his due he does not move.
"The library, my lord."
"Elrohir, no!" I grab at his arm but he shoves me aside and is gone. I am left with the guard blocking my way so I cannot follow. "Let me through!" I cry but he will not and when I attempt to push past as I easily can he grabs my arm.
"You are not to roam the palace unaccompanied, my lord. The Kings orders."
"I am not unaccompanied. He would be with me! Elrohir."
"He is not here, my lord." The guard is right. Elrohir has disappeared around the corner of the corridor and is gone.
I could run. Even injured I am faster and stronger than this guard, but is it worth it? He would have an army on me in a second. Something about the way his hand grips my arm makes me queasy. I do not fancy being the target of a horde of men.
But I cannot leave Elrohir to confront Eldarion either.
I have only one choice then if the guard does not let me go.
"Take me to the King." I tell him. "Now; as quickly as you can. If you feel unable to let me walk the corridors on my own, then take me to Aragorn."