"He went consenting, or else he was no King.

. . . It was no one's place to say to him, "It is time to make the offering."

– Mary Renault, The King Must Die

Chapter 20: Gimli's Choice

Supper that night was a quiet affair. The Great Hall was crowded as ever, but it lacked the festive atmosphere of the previous evening. Faramir's arrest had cast a pall over the court. Courtiers, lords, and ladies sat and talked quietly at the long tables, and the servants moved among them with a subdued air. A hush fell as the King entered, and the company rose to face west in silence. But Gimli could see the people exchange glances amongst themselves, and his neck prickled with tension.

He avoided Aragorn's gaze as they sat down again. They supped in silence, and at the end of the meal Gimli's plate was empty, though he could not remember what he had eaten. At his side Legolas ate sparingly, with the same swift grace he showed in everything he did. Now and again he would glance up, meeting the King's eyes, as if the simple act of dining together could somehow restore Aragorn to normalcy. Even the lady Éowyn ate, though with downcast eyes, and Gimli saw her slip some delicacies into her napkin, wrapping them away out of sight.

Arwen ate nothing.

Gimli was vaguely aware of this, as dishes were passed among the company and the Queen's plate remained empty. By the end of the meal Legolas' concerned gaze was turned as often upon her as upon her husband, and Gimli felt the Elf stir as if to speak, but she did not look at him.

She rose at last to bring the farewell cup to the King, and Aragorn stood to take it from her, addressing the assembled company before he drank. But Gimli had no ears for what he said. His eyes were locked on Arwen. He felt as if he was truly seeing the Queen for the first time since his arrival in Minas Tirith, and his breath came swift in the shock of recognition.

Arwen stood quietly, her head slightly bowed, a net of jewels binding her raven hair. She was beautiful, with the beauty of the Elves: enough to make any male alive stop for a closer look. But Gimli knew her as a friend. It was not mere beauty that held his gaze. There was nothing in particular to catch Gimli's attention, and yet . . .

Gimli had been raised in the mountain caverns of the Dwarves in exile, and spent most of his early life as a nomad, wandering with his clan from one small excavation to the next. Often they met other Dwarves and journeyed together for a time, a few months or a year before changing fortunes and lack of resources forced them to separate again.

In Dwarven culture the greatest treasures were hidden. History, artifacts, even language were secreted away, not spoken of outside the safety of the halls deep beneath the earth. And the most greatly treasured, and most closely guarded, were not possessions at all but the future of the Khazad.

Dwarf women did not often travel, but the demands of the exile gave little choice. When they did go upon the road they dressed in every way identically to their male counterparts, and were fierce and capable warriors in their own right. For a young Dwarf far from the halls of his ancestors, then, joining with another party of Dwarves offered the chance for companionship, but it was fraught with the potential for error and grave insult.

Dwarven courtship demanded close attention to particulars, and above all else was extremely discrete.

Gimli had an eye for detail, honed from youth to be attentive to female subtleties. A slight change in posture, the incline of a head, the curve of a neck and the soft texture of a beard . . . well, perhaps that one did not apply here. But his gaze was riveted as Arwen gave the cup into her husband's hands, and as she stepped back one white arm curled protectively over the slight swell of her belly, and he knew.

He shot a look at Legolas, to see if the Elf realized. Legolas met his gaze with eyes that were full and dark with meaning. He held Gimli's look for a long moment, and then glanced deliberately aside, to Aragorn, and back again. The warning was clear. Gimli subsided, his mind whirling with the implications of his discovery.

Arwen was with child. And Aragorn had said nothing of it, not to him, not to the court – did Aragorn even know? That could explain some of the King's protectiveness, but then why would Legolas warn Gimli against speaking of it? No, he'd do better to assume that Aragorn was ignorant.

Then the Queen had concealed it from him – why? Durin's beard, did he need to ask? He'd seen with his own eyes how Aragorn reacted to surprises these days. In his current frame of mind he'd likely accuse the Queen of treachery, and he might well see his future heir as a rival of which to be disposed.

Gimli shied away from that thought – this was Aragorn after all. He would never do such a thing. He could not. Still the doubt was there, growing in his mind: But what if he did?

Legolas jarred his elbow, and he blinked, focusing again on his surroundings. The others were raising their glasses, joining as Aragorn drank the cup of farewell. Gimli lifted his tankard to numb lips, but he did not taste it.

He remembered Arwen's despair the previous night, in the dungeons. There is darkness in him . . . I have seen it. Surely . . . surely it was not possible to force an Elf to conceive? Surely Aragorn had not . . .

His hand clenched so tightly upon his tankard that the tin flexed and gave in his grip. Mahal, this was Aragorn he was thinking of! Aragorn would never . . . but he could not finish the thought. For though Gimli's whole soul would deny that Aragorn could ever hurt a lady so, still he could not ignore the evidence before him.

Darkness filled Aragorn like a tide, drowning every trace of the friend that Gimli had known. He was changed, and though Gimli would once have scoffed at the notion that Aragorn could ever be capable of violence, much less rape, the truth was that now he simply did not know. He did not know, and that frightened him more than anything else.

Aragorn set the goblet down, bidding good night to the company. Gimli watched as the King and Queen withdrew, Arwen's hand resting on her husband's arm. He searched for some sign of tenderness between them; some hint that he was mistaken. But Arwen's eyes were downcast, avoiding the King's gaze. And Aragorn seemed distracted, scanning the crowd before he turned away, his eyes hooded and dark. They parted before they reached the door, Aragorn turning down a side passage while Arwen trailed alone toward the Royal Chambers.

Slowly the Hall began to empty in their wake. Gimli looked up as Legolas moved past him, and he caught the Elf's sleeve. "Where do you think you're off to?"

Legolas looked at him. "The army leaves at dawn, Gimli. It would be prudent to get some sleep."

Gimli was not fooled. He'd learned a few things about Elven wordplay over the years, and knew the signs. Legolas had not, after all, said that he intended to sleep. "You're going after him again, aren't you?"

Legolas glanced away for a moment, his fine lips compressed. "It is our last chance before the march, Master Dwarf. I must at least try."

Gimli sighed. "I know," he said. He smiled at Legolas' look of surprise. "Really, Legolas, did you think I'd tell you to let him go? I hope I care more for my friends than that!"

Legolas relaxed a little. "I know, elvellon," he said. "You would do the same for me, were I in Aragorn's place."

Gimli considered for a moment. "Nah," he said. "I'd let you fall. Far too much bother to be chasing after fool Wood-elves, you know."

That surprised a laugh from Legolas. Gimli chuckled in return, getting to his feet. It had been far too long since he'd heard his friend laugh properly. But the moment soon passed, and Legolas sobered.

He stepped back, starting to turn away, but Gimli moved his hand to the Elf's wrist, stopping him. He took a deep breath, meeting Legolas' questioning gaze.

"About Arwen . . ."

Legolas went very still. "She has told no one," he said. He looked directly into Gimli's eyes. "I would ask you to respect her wishes in that."

Gimli swallowed. "And Aragorn?"

Legolas closed his eyes briefly, as if in pain. "That is one of the matters I hope to correct, elvellon."

He moved again to pull away, but Gimli tightened his hold. Legolas sighed, opening his eyes. He could break the Dwarf's grip, Gimli knew, but for the moment he stayed.

"Did Aragorn," Gimli began, and stopped. His voice was hoarse. He licked his lips and tried again. "Has he . . . has he hurt her, Legolas?"

Legolas was silent, his head bowed, though he did not move away. For a long moment Gimli did not think he would answer. When at last he spoke his voice was very soft. "The shadow . . ."

"To Mordor with that," Gimli snarled. "I'm not interested in excuses, Legolas. Did Aragorn –"

"No." Legolas looked up. "He did not force her, Gimli. You would," he released a shaky breath, "you would know it if he had. But there are other forms of hurt, and many are not physical. I will not say that she is unharmed."

Gimli let go of Legolas' wrist, taking a step back. His leg bumped against the bench behind him. "You say that," he whispered. The force of his reaction, disgust and horror, surprised even him. He had expected Legolas to dismiss the suspicion out of hand. That the Elf would consider it shook him to the core.

"You think Aragorn capable of that . . . and you still believe that you can save him?"

Legolas drew a slow breath. "I will," he said. The words carried the force of an oath. "I must."

"And if you fail?" Gimli stared at him. "What then?"

He did not really expect an answer. Legolas had repeatedly denied the possibility that Aragorn was beyond saving. But Legolas was silent, and watching him Gimli saw all manner of emotions flicker through the Elf's expressive eyes. It seemed that even his stubborn loyalty could not deny the danger of his plan.

"That is why you must stay, Gimli," Legolas said at last.

Gimli started to protest, but Legolas raised a hand. "No, elvellon. Hear me. I know that you would come with us, and I have told you before why, for Aragorn's sake – for your own sake – you must not. But there is also another reason, of which I could not speak before. Imagine now what would happen if I should fail and Elessar return unchanged in three or six months time, and he finds Arwen waiting for him and heavy with child?"

A chill passed over Gimli, as though his veins were flooded with ice. It was a moment before he could speak. "I don't suppose that he'd break out pipeweed and ale in celebration?"

Legolas' lips curved in a thin smile. "We can hope, elvellon. I would believe it so, that at the last extreme Aragorn would overcome the darkness by his strength of will alone. But if I am wrong . . . I will not risk hurt to the Evenstar, nor to her child."

"But if I go with you –" Gimli began.

Legolas shook his head. "You would break your promise, and disobey the King's command. And Aragorn would see another friend turned spy against him, and you would be imprisoned, or exiled, or worse. You know this. And the city – and the Queen – would be defenseless."

Gimli fell silent, chewing at his mustache. He knew that Legolas was right, but it galled him to admit it. From the time he had come of age he had fought at the forefront of every battle, leading every charge. He had swallowed his pride and all but begged his father to recommend him for the Fellowship because he could not bear to stand aside and let others fight on his behalf. He was a warrior of the line of Durin, and he knew his duty.

Even if this battle could not be won with his axe, and his duty meant that he must stay behind, still he would not forsake it. But by Mahal it was hard!

He glowered up at Legolas. "Go on then," he said. "And – be careful."

To his credit Legolas did not smile. He nodded, once, and grasped Gimli's arm in salute. "Always, elvellon," he said.

Gimli returned the gesture, gripping Legolas' arm as if he could somehow hold the Elf here, and keep him safe. But all too soon Legolas slipped away.

Gimli watched as he followed the path Aragorn had taken from the Great Hall. Legolas moved with unconscious grace, as if every step were part of a dance of the Elf's own making. Gimli's heart beat a little faster at the sight. Legolas was a warrior to match any in Middle-earth. He knew that. If it came down to a fight, Aragorn could not defeat him. Gimli knew it. And yet Gimli feared for his friend. He feared for both of them, if Aragorn continued on this path.

Watching Legolas with the King was like seeing the Elf enter an unstable cavern: every instinct Gimli possessed cried warning. There was danger here, and it grew greater with every touch, every look, every time that Legolas pulled Aragorn back from the edge.

But Legolas was right. Gimli could not stop him, not unless he sat on the Elf to keep him leaving with Aragorn. And he would not do that. For all his fears, Gimli could not bring himself to believe that Aragorn was truly gone.

So he would stay. And because he was also a Dwarf, with a Dwarf's pragmatism, he would prepare for the worst even as he hoped for Aragorn's return to the friend that he loved. He would stay for Arwen, and he would protect her from a threat that he could not have imagined a month ago.

Gimli would protect her from her husband, the man who was his second closest friend. He would protect her from the wrath of a man who should have loved her, a man who was so twisted now that Gimli truly feared what he might do. And deep in the most secret heart of the Dwarves, a part of him wept that it was so.

*~*~*

Legolas moved swiftly down the passage after the King. There was little chance of stopping Aragorn now, he knew, but he had to try. Aragorn needed him. And he needed to stay away from that cursed palantír.

Legolas caught him halfway to the Tower. Indeed, Aragorn had stopped in a deserted corridor and was waiting for him. Legolas scarcely had time to wonder at this, however, for the King began speaking the moment he came into view.

"Finally. What kept you?"

Legolas blinked, approaching warily. "I was not aware that we had an appointment, my lord."

One side of Aragorn's mouth drew up in a half-smile. "We did not. But I would speak with you now, since you are here. I have grown . . . accustomed to your counsel."

His gaze lingered on the Elf as he said this. If Legolas had been human, he would have fidgeted. As it was, he returned Aragorn's stare with outward calm. "What do you wish to discuss?"

Aragorn sighed and turned away, pushing his hands into his hair. "Éomer. He wants 'assurances' that Faramir will have a fair trial. Assurances! As if I'm to answer to him! What business is it of his what I do in my own land?"

Legolas remained still, watching as Aragorn paced. "He is brother to the Steward's wife, and by the law of Gondor that makes him brother to Faramir as well."

Aragorn snorted. "Then he should regret those ties to traitors and conspirators. War threatens his lands, and he frets over the rights of one who betrayed him to the enemy!"

"We do not know that," Legolas said. "We have yet to hear what Faramir intended with the palantír, or what purpose he had in the Tower. He loves his country, Aragorn. I do not think he would betray her."

"Then you are deceived as well," Aragorn said. He sighed again. He looked weary to Legolas' eyes, weary almost to the point of sickness. The flickering torchlight cast deep shadows beneath his cheeks and eyes, and his skin was pale. "I had hoped that you at least might see . . . but the enemy is cunning. First Faramir, and now Éomer, and soon you too will turn against me."

Legolas stepped forward and laid a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "I will not," he said, wishing that he could draw the shadow aside and force the Man to believe him. His frustration carried into his voice, and he spoke with quiet vehemence. "I have been your friend for all of these years, Estel, and I have stood beside you through many dangers. I will not abandon you now."

Aragorn met his gaze, his grey eyes watchful. There was fear in his eyes, Legolas thought, but hope as well. Most of all, they were Aragorn's eyes. In that moment the shadow's power waned, and Legolas saw his friend clearly.

Then Aragorn's pupils dilated, the blackness filling his eyes like the spreading of a poisoned pool. "You were in the Tower, Legolas. You saw what he did."

Legolas fought down the urge to take a step back. Aragorn's look was intent, with some purpose that Legolas did not like. "I saw," he answered. "But there may be more that I did not see. It is no treason to seek the truth, Estel."

But though he called Aragorn by the old name he knew it was a falsity. The connection they shared had been fleeting, and it was now gone. The shadow waxed strong again.

"That may be," Elessar said. He lifted a hand to Legolas' face. His calloused fingers feathered along Legolas' jaw as his thumb brushed gently over one high cheekbone. Legolas repressed a shudder.

"Be careful, old friend," Aragorn said softly. His eyes were dreamy, as if looking through Legolas to something that only he could see. "There are dangers against which even you might not stand."

He stepped back, lowering his hand. Legolas released a pent-up breath as the knot in his stomach eased. But Aragorn was turning away, heading back toward the Tower. Instinctively, not daring to pause for thought, Legolas moved to stop him.

He caught Aragorn's wrist. "Wait."

Aragorn turned back, his eyes widening in surprise as his lips parted. "What are you –"

"It is the last night before the army marches," Legolas said. He met Aragorn's gaze, knowing that this was the last thing he had to offer, their last defense against the shadow, the uttermost appeal to Aragorn's heart. He could only hope that it would be enough.

"Your wife needs you, Aragorn," he said. "Please, go to her. Take this last night that you have together."

And stay away from that palantír, he added silently. Arwen carried Aragorn's child – a child that she had conceived with him in love, even if he did not know it. Legolas clung to that thought. She had trusted him, once. Once, he had been deserving of that trust.

Legolas had told Gimli that he would not risk hurt to the Evenstar, and that was true. For love of her he would stand guard outside the chamber, even as he sent Aragorn within. But for love of Aragorn he prayed that the watch would be unnecessary.

Aragorn frowned, a thin line drawing between his brows. He made as if to speak, and stopped. He was visibly torn, hesitant between the two paths before him. Legolas longed to do something more, to physically drag Aragorn away if that was what it took. But this choice must be made freely if it were to have any meaning.

Then Aragorn straightened. "I cannot," he said.

Legolas started to protest, but Aragorn shook his head. "The danger is too great," he said. "I have to . . . I cannot. Arwen understands."

Legolas watched him stride away. His hands clenched into fists. So close! Aragorn had been so close. He had seen him, had spoken to him. But the shadow had pulled him back, and Legolas had failed.

Aragorn went again to the Tower, to dwell in the dark dreams of the palantír. Already Legolas imagined that he could feel the slow thick power turning toward him, the weight of the palantír's gaze upon him. The shadow lapped coils of malice and fear about Aragorn, dragging him beyond Legolas' reach.

He swore under his breath. You shall not have him! The shadow had won this battle, but it was not the end. Aragorn was stronger than this. He was. And even if he was not, Legolas would fight for him. He would not let Aragorn fall.