"Shall we call for Aderthron?" Lord Curmudgeon says, drumming his fingers on the table. I do not know his name in truth but that is what I shall call him. How dare he suggest I question my Father's training of me. How dare he! He is a curmudgeon and so he can put up with being called one . . . At least by me.
Faramir glances towards me.
"That is not protocol. I would have to send Eldarion out and then recall him since we have not finished our questioning."
"Let the boy stay." Curmudgeon shrugs his shoulders. "I would like to hear whatever fairytale Aderthron wishes to tell us while the prince's explanation is fresh in my mind."
"Perhaps it is the prince who tells the fairytale?" Lord Aderthron's friend replies sharply.
"Perhaps, Gostoron," Lord Curmudgeon replies, "But if so Aderthron will make mincemeat of him. Are you afraid for the boy to stay? I would have thought you might enjoy seeing that happen."
"I am not afraid, Arveldir. Let him stay and watch his words used against him as the truth comes out. You are fools if you cannot see the danger right in front of us."
"I do not think I want to stay," I mutter, so low no-one but Erynion can hear me.
"Tell them that." He whispers back.
But Faramir turns instead to my Father.
"Aragorn?" I do not know if he asks his permission as a King or a Father.
My Father looks at me. He pauses for a long time and I wonder what it is he is trying to see. I think he wishes to send me from the room. I hope he does.
In the end he asks me.
"Eldarion? Do you wish to stay or go?"
"Stay." The word is out of my mouth before I have even stopped to think. I have let him down so badly already. The thought of him standing here admitting he has failed me is horrifying. I do not want to look weak. I want to look like a strong prince for him—a capable one.
And beside me Erynion sighs,
"That is not really telling them you wish to go."
I stare at my hands; what can I say.
Lord Aderthron enters the room with confidence. While I stumbled and crept in the picture of reluctance, he strides; head held high. Briefly his eyebrows raise when he sees me but then he smiles .. . A predatory smile that makes me feel like game he hunts to kill. It causes Faramir to scowl with displeasure but my Father is implacable, his face does not move a muscle. He is calm and unperturbed.
It is clear nothing worries Lord Aderthron. He obviously thinks he has nothing to fear while I, in contrast, was terrified.
"You have no objections if Eldarion remains?" Faramir asks him, and that smile widens.
"Certainly not," He demurs. "He is welcome."
"Perhaps we could begin with the concerning amount of time you have been spending with the Prince, Aderthron?" Lord Curmudgeon begins his questions as promptly, as unexpectedly, as he did my mine.
"Concerning? I saw a troubled boy and I sought to help him, Arveldir. How is that concerning?"
"And what made you believe he was troubled?"
Lord Aderthron turns to face my father who returns his gaze, his face expressionless.
"I heard word from my household of concerns. Things they heard the Prince saying to his friends and to men on the streets. Antagonism against the elves, against his own father. Forgive me My Lord, for not coming to you first," he says to my father, "but I thought it simply the natural rebellion and resentment of a young man. I thought I could help."
"That is not true!" I gasp to Erynion. "I did not do that."
"Hush," He shushes me under his breath.
"So you took it upon yourself to step in and help where the King could not?" Lord Curmudgeon's question is doused in sarcasm and I wonder. . . Just whose side is he on?
"Exactly!" Either Lord Aderthron did not hear that sarcastic tone or he chooses to ignore it. "I gave the boy my friendship, talked to him over dinners, tried to turn his mind from his rebellious path. My aim was to get him to see sense .. . To see the good the elves bring to Gondor and the undoubted skill of his father."
"And when you did not succeed, as we must presume you did not . . . Why did you not go to the King then?" Faramir says.
"To go to the King and accuse his son of sedition? It is not an easy thing to do." He bows his head in apparent woe. "I had to be sure before I made such accusations and I felt I just needed more time. I was not quite sure enough. That my delay caused injury to the Lord of Ithilien causes me pain."
Erynion, beside me, fails to cover his splutter of disbelief and receives a frown from my father for his troubles. So much for telling me to be quiet.
"So what happened that evening then Aderthron?" Lord Arveldir—Curmudgeon says. "Enlighten us."
"The Prince left early," he states calmly "and shortly thereafter I received a very concerning message about a ruckus on the streets he was involved in. Of course I went straight away to intervene. To save him from himself."
"Let me get this straight," Lord Curmudgeon leans in closer. "The Prince left first and you followed?"
"That is right." He says it with so much surety and confidence I cannot help myself.
"That is not true!"
"Eldarion-" my father sends me a warning. "You must be quiet."
"That is not true. It did not happen as he says!"
"Quiet! Or I shall have to remove you." It is his fiercest, Do as I tell you, gaze he sends me. I have no choice but to subside into resentful silence while I listen to Lord Aderthron spin lies about the entire incident. He is confident and sure. I was stumbling and uneasy. It is as clear as day who they will believe and it is not going to be me.
"So you found the Prince, then—" Lord Curmudgeon continues after his own stern look in my direction, "with the men who attacked Lord Legolas? You are saying he actively participated in that attack?"
"He was there when I arrived; hiding in the dark." Lord Aderthron can barely conceal the glee on his face as he looks directly at me. "Of course I cannot say what role he took during the attack. I did not see it. Lord Legolas was tied and bound and bloodied by the time I got there."
I cannot even breathe.
The banging of the door as it is thrust open startles us all.
"My Lords!" I hear Daegal cry outside, "The council is in session. You cannot just—" and my father rises to his feet.
All eyes are upon the door when Legolas and Elrohir stride in.
Elrohir glowers. He radiates ferocity as he sweeps his gaze around the room letting his eyes pause upon Lord Aderthron and then myself. I cannot meet them. I drop my own to avoid his steely elven gaze.
And Legolas . . . He leaves me speechless for he is magnificent.
Is he taller than he normally is or it just his splendour that makes him seem so? Legolas is not particularly tall for an elf—not compared to my uncles—he is more my father's size, but today . . . Today he seems to tower over us. He is stern, beautiful to the point of being breathtaking, and glorious. Even my Father's eyes open wide. The other Lords are speechless.
"What does he think he is doing?" Erynion mutters beside me, "Channeling Thranduil?"
A look towards Lord Aderthron tells me his face has drained white . . . All cockiness gone, melted into dust.
"May we join you?" It is Elrohir who speaks—Legolas says not a word—and it is a tone that will not be argued with. He does not expect to be told no.
"Objections, Aderthron?" Father barks the question. He is displeased, I can tell. I am an expert in knowing when my father is unimpressed and right now he is especially unimpressed with both Legolas and Elrohir.
Lord Aderthron looks like a man who desperately wants to object.
"No."
His voice is little more than a squeak. He strangles himself on that word.
"Very well." Father waves Elrohir and Legolas to sit and Elrohir smiles. A small, very unnerving, smile.
"Carry on then Aderthron," Lord Alverdir the curmudgeon says. "Tell us more about the Prince hiding in the dark while you saved the Lord Legolas single handed."
One of Legolas' elegant eyebrows reaches for the sky in surprise but still;
He says nothing.
"There is not much else to say." Lord Aderthron stammers trying to collect his equilibrium and I enjoy watching his discomfort.
"Aderthron—" Lord Gostoron, Aderthron's friend joins in to prompt him, "What of the men? How did they get away? Tell us that."
The gleam returns to Aderthron's eye with that though he darts a few nervous glances towards Legolas.
"Prince Eldarion sent them from the city!" He announces it triumphantly.
"Well the Prince has already confessed to that," Curmudgeon says impatiently, "and explained it."
"Did he tell you he gave them leave to escape?" Lord Aderthron's enthusiasm for slandering me has returned in spades. "Did he tell you he specifically directed them to get as far away from the city as possible to escape his father's wrath and that he gave them time to do it?"
I glance towards Elrohir and Legolas. What do they think of this? Of course Legolas did not hear me send the men from the city. He was unconscious on the ground. For all he knows this could be true. From where they sit Elrohir's glare intensifies. He sends Lord Aderthron one which could burn his very soul, but Legolas stays calm and composed. He moves not a muscle but for one finger which taps on the table in front of him. Tap, tap, tap, it goes.
"Hold it together, Legolas," Erynion whispers to himself beside me. "If you are going to do this temper will get you nowhere."
"And where were you when he did that?" Lord Alverdir snaps back. "Did you just stand aside?"
"I was one man amongst many!" Lord Aderthron cries defensively. "There was nothing I could do."
"Why did you not go for help? Daegal found Prince Eldarion and Lord Legolas alone in the streets? Where were you? When the King searched for you, you had already left the city."
"I feared for my life!" Lord Aderthron replies. "I knew too much. I had to flee."
"Your story is littered with holes." Lord Alverdir says dismissively.
"My story is the truth." Aderthron will not back down. "Does the Prince's stand up to inspection any more than mine? Can his be corroborated?"
"You know very well it cannot as there was only the two of you present, since we can not locate the men!"
Both Lord Alverdir and Lord Aderthron's voices are raised in anger now as they shout at each other, and Faramir is about to intervene . . . About to say something . . .
When Legolas' chair scrapes across the flagstones as he stands.