Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies – not mine, no money, just for fun. First LOTR fic and I'm far from an expert on the subject matter so please be kind.
Thanks to my wonderful beta Sarah – I know this was an awful chapter - the next should be better, both for accuracy and content, I swear it! Thanks for not giving up on me and having amazing patience and fortitude!!
And thanks so much too to those of you who are reading and special thanks to those who take the time to review – I'm having fun writing this but knowing you are out there and reading makes my fun turn to joy – you are the greatest!!!
CHAPTER 20
At the Side of a Friend
Arwen had at last drifted off into a fitful sleep when a ruckus at the door threatened to wake her. "Please, keep an eye on her," Aragorn asked Nienna who had not left the queen's side since the attack, before hurrying to see what was happening. He could already hear Gimli's voice booming through the thick plank door. He flung it open, and the guard barring the entrance nearly toppled over on him. He righted the man and hissed "Gimli, cease this at once!" his voice not more than a tight whisper, yet still managing to convey the same intensity as a shout. The dwarf ceased fighting, for that was what he had been doing, Aragorn realized at once; he stood, feet spread, his axe heaved over one shoulder and a wild look in his eye, a look like nothing Aragorn had ever seen on that face before, not in the mines of Moria, at Helm's deep, not even at the very gates of Mordor.
Aragorn shut the door behind him and motioned for both guards to stand down. He stepped forward so that he was planted firmly in front of Gimli and bowed slightly from the waist to be sure that the dwarf could see his own anger, understand that he would not allow Arwen to be awakened and upset, not for any reason. He opened his mouth to say this to Gimli, in no uncertain terms, but the dwarf dropped his axe from his shoulder, tossed it carelessly away from him, sending it clattering to the ground (Aragorn had never seen him treat his weapon so) and then launched immediately into his own breathless speech.
"Aragorn, I know you are angry with him. And you have a right to be, with him and with me. Yes, I believe myself to be at fault as well. He told me of his worries, his fears and I made light of them. I can't help but believe that my reaction had as much to do with his holding back from you as, as that other reason that I have surmised. He did not mean harm to come to Arwen. He could not have known…"
Aragorn felt the anger that he had held in check explode within him like a fireball. His eyes blazed as he sliced through Gimli's excuses, still managing to keep his voice level. "Whatever he may or may not have known, he did not tell me the truth when I asked, Gimli; he held back precious information that might have saved her from this. And why? Why I ask you? Because he was jealous of my reliance on Faramir. No, I do not think he intended for harm to come to my family. But he knew of the danger to them all and to spite me, to punish me for my attention to another, he withheld that knowledge from me. You wish for me to forgive him, Gimli. I say to you: may the Valar forgive him, for I cannot."
"He is sick -"
"There are skilled healers in this place. Legolas is in good hands."
"There is no other with your skill; you know this to be true!"
There was no doubt that Gimli believed Legolas needed help; fear shone in his dark eyes and the dwarf made no attempt to hide it. Yet Aragorn had questioned the healers personally and all had confirmed that Legolas bore no injury save an arrow wound to the shoulder, a wound that already showed signs of healing. And although the healers believed Legolas suffered from some trick of the mind, Aragorn knew better, the Elf was grasping for attention, once again, that was all.
"I will not come, Gimli! Let it be!" Aragorn's voice had risen higher than he had intended, his emotions finally getting the best of him. He forced himself to breath deeply, the moment giving Gimli another chance at a plea.
"You have known him a long time Aragorn, you know what kind of soul he has. He would not harm you on purpose, he would never do that!" Aragorn took another deep breath before answering, mastering the volume of his voice in the interim, yet still it quavered from the struggle to hold himself in check.
"Aye. I do know him very well Gimli, better than even you know him. I know what he is capable of, the anger, the resentment he has felt for others. He can be selfish and wilful at times, and I have always felt it was with good reason. But this! This is not good reason Gimli! He has allowed these childish emotions to control him at the expense of one who is most precious to me. He does not deserve my care or concern for he gave me none. Aragorn felt a sudden exhaustion engulf him. He was weary beyond anything he had ever felt before and there had been many exhausting times in his life. The anger that had commanded him stilled, pushed out by that weariness. He wanted nothing more than to return to his wife's side and begin to think about how he would deal with their loss, to pass what little strength he had left to Arwen for her recovery. He needed to end this conversation now. But Gimli took a step closer to him, tilting his head up so that his eyes remained locked on the king's. He grasped Aragorn's forearms, each with a hand and pleaded, his voice suddenly clear and unshaken.
"You must believe this - if you believe nothing else I have said, or will ever say to you Aragorn, you must believe this. Without your help, he is going to do die. Just as you cannot find it in your heart to forgive him now for what he has done to you, you will spend a lifetime unable to forgive yourself if you allow this to happen. I beg of you. I have never begged anything of you in my life but I do so now. Please, help him. Please!"
A single, fat tear slipped from Gimli's dark eye, rolled down his weathered cheek and melted into his beard. That tear was like a dagger driving into the ice that had formed around Aragorn's feelings for the Elf. Before such unashamed and deeply felt love, he felt small and petty. But it wasn't small and petty to be angry with Legolas for endangering his wife, he argued with himself, for allowing the death of his child . Surely this was all more of Gimli's theatrics, just like the time he thought Legolas had jumped from that tree because he was jealous. Legolas was an Elf; it would take more than a simple arrow wound to the shoulder to kill him. But Gimli stood wretchedly before him, his fingers like talons digging into the skin of his arms.
When had it happened? When had a dwarf chosen an Elf as his closest, dearest friend? Had it been a gradual thing, happening over the course of their months together, over the many battles they fought against a common enemy? Had they come to respect one another's abilities over time, knew that they could trust the other to cover their back and gradually, grudgingly given up their prejudices and embraced the things they could appreciate one about the other? Or had it happened at a particular moment, an instant when one had looked to the other and said, we are friends, you and I and what has stood between us is forgotten.
Had it been on the walls of Helm's Deep or perhaps the time when Éomer had threatened the dwarf and Legolas, impossibly outnumbered and facing certain death if he so much as blinked, had nevertheless nocked an arrow to defend his comrade? Or had it taken all the way to the very gates of Mordor when they both thought that death was imminent and they realized that they would die one beside the other? Gimli had commented, somewhat wryly, that he never thought he would meet his end at the side of an Elf, only to have Legolas ask if he might better accept that he would be meeting his end at the side of a friend. Gimli had agreed to that with a simple "Aye".
It mattered not the when. Now it was sufficient to recognize that the one who might once have hated the other with a passion reserved for orcs and ring wraiths was now willing to lose all manner of self control and pride to save him. And he, Aragorn, the Elf's friend for years of experience that could not be measured by time alone, stood, frozen in heart and mind, unable or unwilling to do more than stare dumbly at the wretched creature before him.
Could the healers be wrong? Sudden panic gripped him as he considered even the possibility of the rest of his life without Legolas in it. His heart began to race and he felt his throat constrict as if a hand had wrapped around his windpipe and was squeezing the breath from his body. How meaningless would be any words that he might speak of friendship, commitment or love from this day forward! How could he talk of such things when he had turned his back on all of that and walked away when the one he called friend had failed him? Even as close to perfection as Legolas might be, he was after all, not. He was instead, capable of feelings that clouded his judgment and governed his actions. Friendship demanded that Aragorn understand and forgive, if not today then someday after enough time had passed and he could see past his grief. Over time he would come to see that Legolas had not wished for Arwen or his unborn child to be harmed. Over time he could come to accept that fact and would be able to achieve understanding and offer forgiveness.
But, what if Gimli was right? There was no time, then, if that were true and right or wrong, that was not a chance Aragorn was willing to take. He swallowed heavily, choking back his grief and his anger. Legolas had made a terrible mistake and by standing here, doing nothing, Aragorn was making yet another. He peeled Gimli's hands from his arms, one at a time and clasping them tightly in his own said, "If you will stay here with Arwen, I will go at once, Gimli. I…I cannot believe that he is in such dire straits but I will go and I will see for myself. And if there is anything I can do to help him, I will. You have my word." He saw a look of relief followed quickly by panic cross the dwarf's face.
"Stay here? But Aragorn, he needs me…"
Aragorn leaned forward to whisper softly in his ear, "I too need you my friend. I need someone I can trust to look after my wife. I trust none but you." He stood back again and this time Gimli dropped his arms and bent down to retrieve his axe. Taking it in both hands, he stood rod straight and resolute. This time, his head snapped in agreement. Aragorn re-entered the living quarters, Gimli close behind. He quickly showed Gimli what to do should Arwen awake, the potion he should talk her into drinking and grabbing his bag of medicines and herbs he headed quickly for the Houses of Healing.
He arrived to find Legolas unconscious and pale, lying on the bed, surrounded by a sea of open books. Ingold brushed in behind him carrying another stack, which he deposited at the foot of Legolas' bed. He grabbed the one on top and began at once to fan through its pages. Faramir, seated beside the bed, already held a book in one hand, which he immediately passed off to Aragorn while acknowledging the king's arrival with a bow.
"Legoas was bitten by a snake, my lord," the Steward remarked, drawing one of the books on the bed to him and flipping it open. "That is the poison that is killing him, I'm sure of it. Now we must find what kind of snake in order to choose the cure. I am searching for descriptions, pictures, something we can show him or tell him that will help us find out…" he paused midstream, his eyes straying to the still figure on the bed. "Although, unless we can wake him it will be for naught."
"Snake? I thought…but he has…It is an arrow wound to his shoulder is it not," Aragorn stuttered, bewildered by Faramir's words. "What is this talk of a snake bite?"
"No, the arrow wound is nothing, it has almost completely healed. He was bitten by a snake, a poisonous snake of some kind." He abandoned the book, leaning over the patient to push damp tendrils of hair from the Elf's obviously fevered brow. "Gimli should be here, Aragorn. Legolas is going to die and I know not how to prevent it."
Aragorn moved quickly to the other side of the bed, noting Ingold's grim face as he passed. "I have left him guarding Arwen," he answered. "I needed someone whom I trusted." Fear sent a shudder through him, as he took in the sheet-white pallor of Legolas' skin. Elves were immune to most illnesses and healed quickly but there were still poisons and potions that could affect them. Most caused only suffering and a lingering malaise that might last for months but a few could lead to death, especially if not treated. Aragorn collected himself, knowing that luck was on his side. It was a rare snake indeed that could best an Elf.
"Let us trust to hope, Faramir," he said. "I can help to wake him I think. But first, I need to check him and see this bite." With obvious relief, Faramir took the Elf's hand again and turned it over. Aragorn examined it carefully. He then placed it gently on Legolas' chest and touched a finger to his neck. He stood perfectly still, his brows knitted at first in concentration followed quickly by despair. "His heartbeat is erratic. He is so weak!" he cried softly. Faramir nodded silently beside him.
"Yes, this poison has been wreaking havoc in his body for a week now," Faramir answered. "I'm sure that has much to do with his behaviour of late; a snake's venom can cause one to be paranoid and fearful. Any mortal would be long dead ere now and unless we can identify the snake and devise a cure, assuming there is one, I fear Legolas will suffer the same fate. I thank you for coming, my lord." Aragorn felt shame flush his face.
"You thank me for coming? I should have been here from the start. I am his friend."
"No, your place was with your wife. She needed you."
"But I had no right…" He touched a hand to Legolas' fevered brow, his momentary confidence fading fast, replaced by a hard thumping in his chest. "…no right to turn him away." Aragorn remembered the times Legolas had tried to talk with him. If he'd listened, perhaps all of this could have been avoided. "Did Legolas tell you anything about the snake that bit him?"
"He did not see the one that bit him, he did not even realize that he had been bitten. It was hidden in the desk and when he put his hand in a drawer, it struck. Legolas thought that his finger had been impaled on a nail. But there was another in the room that he did see. It was grey with markings on its back. We can only hope that whoever placed the snakes there had two that were the same."
"Placed them where? What desk?"
"In Legolas' office in the garden."
"The men!" Aragorn said. "The men that were supposed to be helping Legolas could have done this, could they not?" He glanced back and forth between Faramir and Ingold. The captain of the guard nodded his head slowly but Faramir instead, narrowed his eyes and averted his gaze.
"We should question them," Ingold said, latching onto the idea.
"One moment," Aragorn said as he stepped over to the pack he had brought with him. "I need to fix a potion, something that will wake the prince. You go ahead and gather the men. We will see what we can find out while it works, then come back and show Legolas the drawings you have found to see if he recognizes any of them; or have him produce one of his own. There are cures for most poisonous bites." Ingold headed at once for the door, pausing there, his hand holding it open while turning to look back at Faramir. The steward was gazing out of the open window, his back to the room. He made no indication that he had heard what Aragorn had said. "Faramir? Time is of the essence. Is there anything wrong?" Faramir jerked as if startled and turned suddenly, his face fixed in a tight frown.
"Nay, my lord, of course not. I'll gather the men at once." He bowed his head slightly and headed toward the door not glancing once at Legolas. Aragorn frowned too, wondering at the man's sudden reluctance. Surely he was conscious of how little time they had? Without further delay, Aragorn pulled pouches from his bag and with a sweep of his hand, cleared a small table next to the bed, sending everything on it to the floor. He carefully measured out small doses from each pouch into a small bowl and began to mash the contents together.
He poured the resulting powder into a goblet and added water from a pitcher sitting on a nearby table. He seated himself on the bed, lifting the limp body of the Elf against his chest. He took the goblet in one hand while using the other to open his friend's mouth. He tilted Legolas' head back and dribbled the potion through the Elf's parched lips, tilting it further until the throat constricted and he knew that some of the liquid had managed to trickle down. He repeated the process until satisfied that Legolas had taken enough of the mixture to ensure that the Elf would awaken. He gave further instructions to the healers before heading for the garden, sparing a last look for the pale, still figure on the bed. Time was indeed of the essence.
The afternoon sun was just touching the top of the palace walls when Aragorn reached the greenhouses. The men were gathered, sitting or milling about while a few were still spreading mulch around freshly planted flowers along the path. Faramir stood near the shed that Legolas used as an office, deep in conversation with a thin, gaunt looking man. They quieted as soon as Aragorn approached, the latter backing away after giving a stiff bow that was clearly directed more toward Faramir than toward his king.
"The men are here, my lord," Faramir said, moving away from the shadow of the shed. Ingold clapped his hands and those men still at work dropped their shovels and joined the rest before the greenhouses. Aragorn studied their faces as they stood before him, folding their arms across their chests or nervously toeing the ground. A few were sweaty and dirty, having spent a day hard at work while most were merely flushed from basking in the sun. He focused at first on the dirty ones, recognizing that these were more than likely not his targets; they had worked even though there had been no one to oversee them. But they would also be the ones that he might have a hope of getting the truth from.
"A week ago, Prince Legolas was bitten by a snake that had been hidden away here in this building behind me," Aragorn said, motioning to the shed with his hand. "The snake was put there by someone who wanted him dead. Not injured, not frightened, but dead. I need to know what kind of snake bit him. I can cure him if I can find that out. Who here will tell me what I need to know? You have my word that I will not ask more from you than this one bit of information. My only concern now is to save the life of my friend." His words were greeted with silence. The men dropped their heads to gaze at the ground, or stared off into the gathering dusk.
He searched their faces, committing them to memory, wondering if one or many of them were guilty of Legolas' present condition. He forced back any thought about what had been done to Arwen; if he considered the possibility that one of these men had been responsible, he would not be able to stand here and quietly ask these questions. No one would look him in the eye and despite his best efforts, he felt his fear turn to anger. These men had work because of Legolas. They had money to spend and food to eat thanks to him. And this was all they could do in return?
"We have your word now, my lord," A gruff voice from the back of the group spoke up, "But what about after?" The same man who had been in conversation with Faramir on Aragorn's arrival began picking his way carefully to the front. His was one of the clean faces, clean and smug Aragorn noted as the man made his way forward. "When your friend is safe, what then? If we tell you what you want to know, then you will assume, won't you, that we had something to do with it?You would have no other choice." He came to a stop directly in front of Aragorn, his lips curling into a smirk. Aragorn could see no trace of fear on his face. His only purpose it was clear, was to ensure that any of the others that might consider helping were frightened into maintaining their silence.
"What is your name?" Aragorn demanded, the smirk feeding his anger and growing frustration.
The man straightened his sloping shoulders and thrust out his chin as he answered, "Durkin, your highness," he said, flashing a black toothed smile. He swooped his hat from his head and gave an exaggerated bow, flourishing his hand in a gesture that could be construed as being deep devotion to his king but given the man's behaviour thus far and the smirk still firmly planted on his face Aragorn was certain that he meant nothing of the kind
Ingold must have surmised the same and moved at once to Aragorn's side, "Mind yourself, you oaf," he snarled. "You forget to whom you speak." Aragorn put out a hand to stop him however and stepped closer to Durkin, locking eyes with him as he straightened up.
"Durkin, I have given my word. And that is enough. If you come forward and tell me what you know, no harm will befall you or any of yours. I want only to save my friend. As for the reasons behind what has happened here, I will work to better understand, to do whatever is necessary to fix what has caused this, this break in trust. I cannot pretend that I understand it now, for I do not. But also I do not wish to have innocent people hurt nor do I wish for anyone to be suffering." No one moved and once again eyes darted around the clearing or stared at the ground but none would look him in the eye.
In frustration, he turned away and strode back to stand before Faramir, who had remained in front of the greenhouses, silently observing. "What now?" he whispered to his second in command. Faramir shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. Aragorn wondered briefly what Faramir had been discussing with the loathsome creature he had just been conversing with and if indeed they knew each other, perhaps his steward might hold some sway with the man who seemed to be a leader or at least held the power to control the group, if only through fear. He had opened his mouth to ask when suddenly Faramir smiled.
"My lord, it appears your words have not fallen on deaf ears," he said, nodding his head toward the men behind Aragorn. Aragorn spun around to find that a rather large man, in fact an incredibly large man had pushed through the ranks and now stood alone before the group. His face was grimy and his shirt was soaked with sweat.
"My name is Sael, my lord," the man said, nervously wringing two extremely large hands.
Aragorn stepped forward again but this time softening his gaze. He reached out and stilled the man's hands with a touch. "Master Sael. Please, can you help us?" he asked. The man sighed deeply, casting his eyes about the yard, looking anywhere but at the king. Aragorn remained silent, waiting, steeling himself to show none of the panic that climbed his insides. Each passing moment brought Legolas closer to death. At last, the man began to speak, his voice amazingly gentle for one so large.
"At first, I wanted to believe what the others did, like I had been taught. I did not intend to like your Elven friend, my lord. But he weren't like what they were saying, not at all. He didn't expect us to do everything while he rode a white horse around and snapped a whip. Why, even when most of us did nothing, he worked, sunrise to sundown and oftentimes afterwards. Everything you see here was done by his hand and with just a little help from the rest of us. But he never got angry, even after the bad things happened. He didn't try and hurt us none or call us names, to punish us for what happened. He would just pick up and go on, a little more disappointed, a little less hopeful. It was sad to see…"
The man stopped and his eyes shied away from Aragorn's gaze. Aragorn fought to restrain his feelings of frustration and desperation. He was tempted to grab hold of this man and shake him, to scream at the men standing silent and sullen in the lengthening shadows. He needed an answer. Now. He had no time for personal revelations, justified though they may be. He felt a hand on his shoulder though, Faramir's steadying hand and once again, he willed his body to relax. At last, Sael began again to speak, his voice suddenly strong and resolute as though he had come to a decision. "He never did no harm to any of us, sir. And I can't imagine how anyone could want to hurt him. If anyone has hurt him, they ought to come forward, now. They should come forward and help someone who don't deserve to die, not like this." Sael was no longer speaking to him alone, Aragorn realized but was addressing instead the group. Silence greeted Sael's declaration. Not one word was whispered among the men. Their eyes stared vacantly at the ground. This was going nowhere.
"Tell me what I want to know," Aragorn demanded, pulling away from Faramir's hand on his shoulder and stepping past the large man before him, all of his anger and frustration at last boiling to the top. Heads snapped up and he saw fear on more than one face. If kindness would not reach these men, if pleas from their own held no sway then he would appeal to their sense of self preservation. "Tell me what I want to know or you will pay a price, a price that none of you can afford, I assure you!" Again he felt Faramir's hand on his shoulder, as if in warning. This time he tried to shake it off, but Faramir held tight and before he could say anymore, the steward's voice sounded loud and clear.
"Go, think about what has been said here as you consume the food and drink you have bought thanks to Prince Legolas' help. Go and consider this well." Without hesitation the men all began to move rapidly up the path toward the gates of the Citadel and freedom.
"Halt!" Aragorn commanded, once again pulling away from Faramir's restraining hand. "Come back here at once!" The men stopped in their tracks and returned slowly, grudgingly to stand once more before him. Again he examined their sullen, angry faces. He couldn't frighten them and he found himself at a lost for what to do next. They felt no kindness or mercy toward Legolas, no fear of what he might do to them. What then could he do to get what he so desperately needed? The answer was easy, too easy. He knew the hearts of men well. He would appeal to the one thing that all humans understood.
"I will pay you a great sum for any information you have; 50 mithril coins. I give you my word that you will suffer no ill consequences for whatever information you choose to disclose. You may convey this information to me in any way you wish, but it must be soon, the prince is very ill. There is no time for you to tarry." He paused a moment to let his words sink in before finishing. "I swear to you that you will pay dearly if you do not tell me what I want to know. Now, you are dismissed." The men left again. He could feel Faramir at his back once more but there was no comforting hand on his shoulder this time.
He turned to Ingold. "See that they leave. I don't want any to remain within the Citadel walls. And speak to the guards at the gate. They are not to be allowed back in, not any of them, unless they ask to speak to me in person."
"At once, milord." Ingold bowed slightly and headed up the path after the men.
"This is not the way, my lord," Faramir said quietly. "Please, try to understand." Aragorn was incredulous. He whipped around to face the man, his eyes flashing with anger.
"Understand? Have you lost your mind? That man there, Sael, he knows the truth. He could save Legolas yet he chooses to do nothing. He speaks pretty words, but they are meaningless. Surely he knows who shot Arwen! All of them know the truth and you ask me to understand?"
"Please, Aragorn, you must listen. You are asking them to give up their kinsmen, maybe a father, a brother, an uncle, at the very least a life-long comrade."
"If he has done wrong then he should be given up!"
"That is true, my lord, but for these men, things may not be that simple."
"You sound as if you are protecting them."
"Not protecting, just understanding."
"You understand how they can allow a murderer to live freely among them? My child is dead. Legolas soon will be dead as well and yet you understand," Aragorn said. "Perhaps you understand better than I understand because you sympathize with these killers?"
Faramir's face paled and he took a step back. Aragorn felt a flutter inside, thoughts that would on any other occasion never have entered his mind began to push back all logical thought in his head. Legolas had overheard the men talking. They believed Faramir to be on their side. Why? They must have had a reason. And Faramir knew these men, their fathers, their uncles, their brothers. He had spent his life among them. And he was willing to let them all just walk away while Legolas slowly perished.
Faramir had calmed himself and said, speaking in slow, even tones, "I know these men, my king and I know that you will not find out what you seek from them in this way. They are dedicated to their cause - "
"Their cause? What do you know of their cause?" Aragorn demanded, taking a step forward. Faramir swallowed deeply but stood his ground.
"I know only what you know."
"Are you certain that is all you know?" Faramir breathed heavily and clenched his jaw, his gaze casting over Aragorn's shoulder after the retreating backs of the men.
"I have my suspicions but that is all they are, suspicions. Nothing of value to you I assure you or I would share it. When I do know something, you will know it too." Aragorn's eyes narrowed.
"I would hear these suspicions. Let me judge whether they have merit." Faramir bowed his head.
"I will tell you whatever you wish to know, but believe me, there is nothing I can tell you now that will shed any light on the snake that bit Legolas. We should return at once to see if he has awakened and perhaps he can help himself."
Aragorn turned and headed quickly up the path not waiting to see if Faramir followed. Dusk had settled over the gardens and the shadows had all but melted into blackness. His head was swirling with anger and disappointment and despair. After all that Legolas had done for these men, had tried to do, this was how he was repaid. And for reasons that he was not sure of and did not care to examine, so deep was his anger and hurt, Aragorn allowed himself to wonder about the man who had been his advisor, his right hand since he had become king. Something had been bothering him greatly since Faramir had told him what had happened to Legolas. How had the snake gotten into Legolas' office?
In his haste to question the men he had forgotten that Legolas kept it locked always and kept the only key hidden away in Aragorn's personal study. How then had one of these men managed to get a hold of it to hide the snakes? Only someone who knew where the key was kept and had access to it would have been able to accomplish this feat. Only members of the royal family or close friends would have any idea of its location. Certainly not one of the men working in the garden. Of those who knew then, who would be the most logical choice if he could manage to work logic back into his swirling thoughts?
Faramir. The man had never once given him the feeling that he was unhappy that Aragorn had come to power. He had in fact supported the return of the king in every way possible; as far as Aragorn had known, that is. He had done whatever had been asked of him. He was a statesman, a diplomat, a uniter, not a divider. And he seemed to be as far removed from Denethor's or Boromir's ambitious desires as Legolas was from his own brother's and father's wishes for his future. Was it possible though that deep down, the man harboured hidden resentment, wants and desires that were every bit as powerful as anything Denethor had displayed?
As quickly as the thoughts had infiltrated his mind, Aragorn's heart pushed them out. No. His advisor was and always had been honourable, beyond trustworthy and dedicated to his country and his king. Aragorn had no doubt of that. There had to be another answer as to how the snakes ended up in Legolas' office and once he had time to think about it and discuss it openly with his advisor, he would come up with an answer.
Aragorn stopped abruptly, every one of his senses suddenly alert. The hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up and his skin began to tingle as it did when lightening was about to strike. He darted quickly to his right, off the path. Three shadows converged at once where only seconds before he had been standing. He dropped at once to his knees and rolled, feeling the swish of arrows so close to his head that they lifted his hair. He rolled again, this time to his left but one of the shadows must have tracked his movement, even in the darkness; the next arrow met flesh, not air, piercing the calf of his leg. He stifled a scream as he grabbed his leg and rolled yet again this time once, then twice until he was beneath the shelter of several small bushes.
He had no weapon being within the walls of the Citadel, he had never considered the possibility that assassins would attack him here, and until now, they had been after Elves, not the king. Until now. Aragorn peered from his place beneath the bushes. The shadows broke apart again and disappeared, mixing with the newly planted foliage that lined the pathway. Gritting his teeth, he reached down and yanked the arrow from his leg. Luckily, it had not imbedded itself deeply and although the flesh inevitably tore as he pulled it out, no muscle or artery seemed to be affected. He yanked the sash that circled his waist and quickly bound his wound. He had no time though to attempt anything intricate, knowing that the shadows had a very good idea where he was, and he could feel blood already soaking the bandage. Keeping low, he crawled along beneath the bushes, parallel to the path, listening intently for any sounds that might help him locate his enemies.
He could hear footsteps coming from the garden. Faramir appeared, walking quickly, his head down, studying the path intently. Aragorn waited until he was directly opposite before jumping to his feet and with a flying leap, knocking the man off into the grassy area on the other side of the path. At first, Faramir struggled beneath him, until Aragorn hissed in his ear, "stop it, they will hear you!" Faramir stilled at once.
"Who, what?"
"I was just attacked by three men. Shh." He released him and Faramir rolled immediately to his knees. Instinctively, they crouched with their backs one to the other as they scanned the darkness for movement. All was still and silent. Aragorn wondered if he might hope that whoever had been tracking them had been scared off by the arrival of Faramir. Or. He turned his head slightly so that he could see the man's hunched silhouette at his back. Maybe their fear had nothing to do with what Faramir would do to them but rather their fear that come harm might befall their chosen leader if they continued to fire arrows in the dark.
"Attacked? How attacked?" the man whispered over his shoulder.
"I was shot with an arrow." Faramir turned, looking Aragorn up and down quickly before swivelling back around again.
"Are you alright?"
Warm blood had completely soaked the bandage by now but Aragorn didn't feel weak or woozy. But how long would he last?
"We should try and make it back to the King's House or better yet, to the Houses of Healing in case there is also a threat to Legolas. I have left him unguarded," he said, the thought sending a wave of panic through him that pushed out any weakness his wound might have caused.
"Or stay here until we can summon help."
What help would there be to summon? The guards would not be coming back into the gardens. They had orders to patrol only the palace itself and the walls surrounding it. There would be no reason to suspect that anything had got past them. Waiting here would only give the men stalking him another chance to succeed where they had failed before. And with each pulse of his heart pushing more blood from his wound, time would only weaken him and make him an easier target. "No," he answered sharply. "We need to get back."
"You are wounded. Let me attend to your wound first."
"No, it isn't bad and we haven't time. We need to get back to the Houses of Healing, I can't be sure they won't attack again. Even with you here." Aragorn felt although he could not see Faramir's eyes upon him. He wondered if the man had ever considered his role in this plot against the king. Surely he had to know that he would be at its centre, willing or no? Aragorn rose quickly and began to jog toward the main gate, his keen gaze sweeping back and forth among the shadows. He stayed off of the path, choosing to duck in and out of the foliage that lined it, hoping that he could keep himself a poor target. He clutched the arrow that he had pulled from his leg in his hand; it would be a serviceable weapon if someone were to attempt to accost him at close range. He could hear Faramir following along behind.
>
Durkin waited impatiently in the backroom of the alehouse for his men to return from their assignment. Things were not at all going smoothly by his estimation. The move against the queen had been an unprecedented failure. He had not been consulted about it or he would have been able to tell those involved that not only did the attack fail to accomplish anything toward their goal but it would no doubt end up in the tide of public opinion turning against them the likes of which they could not survive. The people loved their queen, regardless her race. They were in awe of her.
He had stated from the start that they would have to use those feelings in their favour, tread very slowly along a carefully laid out path. He had spent countless hours spreading story upon story, rumour upon rumour about her. She was a witch, she used magic that caused sicknesses and damaged crops. She could twist a man's body in agony with the twitch of a finger. She did not hesitate to use her magic against unborn children or tiny babies causing them to wither in the womb or fall from illness before they'd had a chance to live. Hours and hours of relaying these tales, showing the gossips proof of the queen's terrible deeds had been set back to nothing when that arrow had ripped through her stomach. Their faction had been so careful, so smart until now. It was impatience that made them take chances, chances that might get them all killed.
He paced back and forth across the small backroom. The alehouse itself was full of men; he could hear them talking and singing, boisterous and loud. But it wasn't drink that sounded in their voices, rather fear. Once the three returned from their assignment, they would all be going on another. And this might well be their last. Durkin had begged those in charge to wait, just a little while, to assess the damage done to their movement by the attack on the queen but those at the centre were greedy and tired of waiting, tired of careful planning. Durkin was wise beyond what his lot in life would have led one to think. He knew they played a dangerous game and he had no desire for this to be his last. His pacing slowed as he heard a cheer go up in the outer room. Moments later the door burst open and his three men appeared, dark hoods in hand, smiles on their faces. It was time to go.