"With Malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds."
– Abraham Lincoln
Chapter 50: Gathering the Pieces
Faramir was the last to leave. After the graves were filled the people gradually dispersed, trickling away in twos and threes down the hillside back to Dol Amroth. They lingered longest around the Prince's grave, but at last the strain proved too much for Gimli's wound and he departed, taking Legolas with him. Aragorn soon followed, after having first kissed Lothíriel and clasped arms with Faramir. At last even Lothíriel turned away, stumbling a little in her tears, with Éomer's strong arm wrapped around her for support.
As the sun sank down into the bank of clouds over the sea and the last of the mourners trailed away, Faramir was left alone. For a long time he stood silent, looking down at the rectangle of fresh turned ground while around him the shadows lengthened and the wind grew chill with the coming night.
Finally he knelt and touched the sunken earth. "There will be songs of your deeds," he said. "They will remember your valor and your wisdom for all the ages. I only hope –" the words choked off as his throat stuck. He swallowed hard. It was a moment before he could finish. "I hope that they will remember also your kindness."
He drew a steadying breath. "For myself there are no words," he said to the man who had been his uncle, his mentor, his friend – and, in the most secret imaginings of his childhood heart – his father. "Only . . . thank you."
He straightened quickly and turned away, and stopped. He was not alone after all. Lothíriel stood at the edge of the graveyard. She had sent Éomer and the others on ahead, but Imrahil's daughter stood waiting for him. She gave him a watery smile. He went to her and put his arm around her, his baby cousin who had had to grow up much too fast. For a long minute they simply leaned against each other in silence. Then together they went down the hill.
Behind them the wind caught and tugged briefly at a pale object left in the dark soil, a folded scrap of paper that should have been swept away but for the rock anchoring it in place.
It was a ship as light as air, with winged sails and a hull shaped like a swan.
*~*~*
Galemir was nervous. In truth he was absolutely terrified, but after a week of negotiations with the Gondorian court he had learned to hide it well. He stood in the center of the great throne room, feeling the eyes of the surrounding councilors upon him. They made his skin itch.
But they did not really matter. The oldest of them, a wizened man with watery blue eyes and trembling lips, sat with his hands folded on his stick and glared unblinkingly at Galemir each day as though imagining his head mounted above the city gate. But he did not really matter either.
All that really mattered in the world was the tall woman who sat upon the throne opposite Galemir and fixed him with a steady, penetrating gaze. She was Arwen Undómiel, Queen of Gondor and Arnor, and when Galemir had first laid eyes upon her he had thought that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
He had learned very quickly that behind her perfect face there lurked a rapier sharp mind, and if he was to survive long in these negotiations he would do well to ignore the former and concentrate entirely upon the latter.
It had been something of a shock to learn that their captors were serious about negotiating with them at all. After the Captain's death Galemir had simply assumed that the remaining Corsairs were all to be beheaded. If he had allowed himself to hope for any other fate it would have been to be sold as a slave in Gondor or Rohan.
But it seemed that the Gondorians did not keep slaves or perform executions without trial. Galemir found this hard to believe, that their historic enemies would go so far even as to allow them to defend themselves in a court of law, but it appeared to be true. The councilors had been universally incredulous when he had hinted that they might do otherwise, although some had appeared willing to consider the prospect.
Once he recovered from his initial surprise Galemir had seen a glimmer of light in their situation. If the Gondorians would not execute their captives in cold blood then they must find some other way of dealing with them. That meant that he had some leverage, however slight, in determining his people's fate. Galemir seized it.
He had not the quickest wit, he knew, nor was he gifted in speech. He had joined the Captain after Dragaer began gathering the army at the border of Harad and had risen to second in command because of his organizational skills more than anything else – someone had to find a way to feed, arm and shelter six thousand men at the edge of a desert, and Galemir had been the one to do it.
The Captain had trusted him because he was steady, methodical and, Galemir knew, no threat at all to Dragaer's power. Before joining the army he had owned a small ship with a three-man crew that more often engaged in fishing than in piracy. He had little ambition for anything else, seldom had any ideas of his own, and lacked both the ability and the desire to command men's allegiances.
But here he was, thrust into the midst of the lords of Gondor, appointed spokesman for all his people simply because there was no one else to do it. Under the circumstances he was determined to do the best that he could. He only wished that his knees did not quake so much.
"The Corsair ships will be placed under command of Dol Amroth," the head of the Council, Lord Gryer, was reading from his notes. "Corsair sailors upon swearing allegiance to Gondor may apply to serve on board for wages to be paid at the same rate as wages for non-Corsair sailors. Corsair crew may not number more than one-third of the total ship's complement. No Corsair may be promoted in rank above non-Corsair crew. No Corsair –"
"My lords, wait," Galemir said. "That is unfair."
The head of the Council stopped reading and looked at him with eyebrows raised. Galemir took a breath. "Our men are the better sailors. You cannot expect them to serve as midshipmen forever."
"They cannot be placed in command of men of Gondor!" said the old man, Garwick.
"Why not?" Galemir said. "If they have sworn loyalty to Gondor?"
"Oh yes, the oath of a pirate," sneered Garwick.
"You must put some trust in our oaths, else there is no reason for this negotiation," Galemir said. He felt rather proud of himself for this.
Queen Undómiel raised an eyebrow. "More to the point, they will be outnumbered and out-armed, regardless of their rank," she said. Galemir deflated a bit.
"Yes, Your Majesty," he said. "But truly it will accomplish nothing to let them work but give them no means of advancement, nothing for which to hope. They will be in the same position they were in before the Captain came to lead them."
"They should work and be grateful for it," one of the other Councilors said. "We could just as easily give them to the Elves – more easily, in fact."
The others were nodding in agreement. Galemir gulped. The Elves. They were the sword blade at his neck, the ocean beneath the gangplank on which he now balanced. In his worst nightmares he had never envisioned anything like the Elvenking's march through the city. Before Dragaer had captured the Elf Prince he had thought that they were a myth. But it turned out that they were horribly, terrifyingly real.
One of their commanders, a dark-haired Elf, had come to Galemir and told him to give him the names of the Men who had overcome the Elven captive that night in Dragaer's cabin. They would be brought to justice, he said. And if Galemir did not give him the names then they would consider every Corsair equally guilty for the attack on their Prince and they would respond accordingly.
Galemir had given him the names. What else could he do? Privately he had been appalled by the brutal assault on an unarmed captive. The Captain had his reasons, he was sure, but just as surely Dragaer had gained pleasure from it too. And the boasting of Amdir and the others afterward had frankly sickened him.
But the execution had frightened him. Hanging he would have understood. Beheading or even torture he might have expected. But the Elves had rounded up their prisoners with swift efficiency and then the Elvenking – one Elf – had fought and killed them all. Nine against one, all of them armed, and the odds had been against the Corsairs.
What could any Man do against that? It was incomprehensible, inhuman. Whatever else might come of them Galemir was resolved that the Corsairs' fate must not fall into the hands of the Elves.
"If you truly wish for reconciliation between our peoples then we must be given the means to advance," he said. "A man with no prospects has no reason for loyalty. With no future he is bound to rebel."
"Then he will be captured and punished," Garwick began, but Queen Undómiel raised her hand to stop him.
"The Corsairs will be permitted to rise as far as their abilities will take them," she said. "But they will be eligible for advancement only after three years of faithful service to Gondor. This will be the decree for all those men who fought in Dragaer's army. Their descendants will be subject to no such restrictions." She paused and looked at Galemir. "Will that satisfy your men?"
Galemir bowed. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"Good." the Queen nodded to the head of the Council. "Continue."
Lord Gryer had been scribbling frantically over his parchments. Now he cleared his throat. "Item six. No Corsair shall captain or otherwise command any ship or vessel."
"Until he has served Gondor for a period of not less than twelve years," Queen Undómiel inserted. "Again a restriction upon this generation only." She glanced at Galemir, who nodded.
Lord Gryer made a note of this. "Item seven . . ."
*~*~*
It was late afternoon when Arwen finally dismissed the court. She felt tired but invigorated, pleased with the day's progress. Leading the negotiations between Gondor's court and the Corsairs had turned out to be far easier than she had anticipated. It was child's play in comparison to the debates in the Hall of Fire back home – in fact she was reminded of the word games that she had played with Elladan and Elrohir as she had neared her majority: challenging enough to test her skill but making her victory all the sweeter for that.
She smiled to herself as she left the throne room. Had she known it would be this enjoyable she would have insisted that Aragorn include her in the Council's deliberations from the first day after their coronation. She had a good mind to lead a diplomatic envoy to Harad once she had finished with the Corsairs.
Behind her the Council members were trailing slowly out. The older men were leaning heavily on their sticks, their feet stumbling in their weariness. Even the younger men looked drained, for the Queen had a habit of turning suddenly to them for confirmation of the details of Gondor's history with Umbar, thus forcing them to remain constantly alert. Old Garwick was almost carried out, propped up by two man-servants. Only his pride kept him on his feet.
Galemir remained alone in the empty throne room, half-lying in the chair that they had brought for him near the end of the proceedings. His guards stood around him, ready to escort him back to his cell, but he was too shattered to move.
After a time he rolled his head along the chair's back to look up at one of the guards. He licked cracked lips and spoke. The guard had to lean down to catch his words. "Did you hear what that last point was?"
The guard straightened up. He was a grizzled veteran of the Steward's corps, with a slight paunch to his belly and white stubble on his cheeks, and he surveyed his prisoner with an air of amusement.
"Aye," he said. "Item twenty-six: the Corsairs will make reparations to Umbar and Minas Tirith for damages and loss of life. I believe that Her Majesty was going to impose a tax."
"Did I agree to that?"
"Aye, that you did, lad."
Galemir groaned. "Did they say what we would be discussing tomorrow?"
"The settlement of the Corsairs in Umbar and Dol Amroth, I think. That is the ones who'll swear fealty to Gondor, of course."
"Oh gods!" Galemir closed his eyes, rolling his head back to the center of the chair. "Please may I just surrender now? Tell them that we will live wherever they like and we will not trouble anyone. I promise."
The guards laughed. The veteran was about to speak when he stopped and turned his head, listening. Outside the hall the great bells of Minas Tirith were ringing. Distantly there came the excited sound of people's voices and the running of feet.
The guard smiled. "Ah," he said with satisfaction. "The King's come back."
*~*~*
Arwen hurried down the cobbled road to the stable yard. The crowd parted before her, encouraged in this courtesy by the escort of men-at-arms ahead and behind her. The yard was filled with a milling confusion of men and horses freshly returned from Dol Amroth. Aragorn was in the center of it all, his back to her as he stroked the nose of a large brown stallion.
"We rode at an easy pace, but even without a burden he was blowing hard," he was saying to the stable master as she approached. "Rub him down well and give him a good feed tonight, but no oats until the morrow. Someone will have to check that his joints do not swell, and exercise him during the night –"
"I'll do it, King Elessar," volunteered a nearby hand. He was a young man of middle height, round-shouldered and with a softness of belly and limb quite different from the battle-hardened soldiers around them. The stable master smiled.
"You can trust him with Cebril, Your Majesty. He's maybe a bit slow in his head, but he makes it up with his heart. He's grand with horses. He'll look after him all right."
"As you trained him, I am sure he will," Aragorn replied. "But even so I would appreciate your personal attention in this case. Hasufel has suffered already, and he means a great deal to me."
"Of course, Your Majesty," the man bowed. A touch belatedly the boy beside him did the same. Looking at his round face and his quiet, incurious eyes, Arwen thought that he did indeed look a bit slow. But he took Hasufel's bridle with calm assurance and his voice as he spoke to the horse was kind.
Aragorn stood looking after them for a few moments as they led the horse away. When he turned his face was weary. But on catching sight of Arwen his eyes lit and he came swiftly forward to take her hands. "Tinúviel," he murmured. "How I have missed you."
"I missed you too." Arwen reached up to kiss him. He returned the embrace fervently, catching her about the waist and pulling her tight with an ardor that left her breathless. Then suddenly he drew back, his brow furrowed with concern. "I forgot," he said. "The baby – I did not hurt you?"
"No," Arwen laughed. "No, my love, of course not. He is fine. He is happy to be with his father again, as I am."
She looked out over the crowded yard. In a far corner Faramir had his arms wrapped around Éowyn's waist, looking over her shoulder at the infant daughter she carried. Éomer stood a little apart from them, his helm tucked under his arm. He looked tired.
"Where is Lothíriel?" Arwen asked.
"She remained in Dol Amroth," Aragorn said. "The people need her now, and she also wished to abide for a time at home. Imrahil's sons have been in the Eastern marches this past year. It will be weeks yet before our messengers find them, and Lothíriel wished to be there to meet them when they return."
They were moving away from the stable yard, Aragorn's arm loosely around her waist as they walked. The soldiers lining the road on either side stood to rigid attention as they passed.
"I've some news for you as well," Arwen said. "I have made progress with the Corsairs."
Aragorn looked at her. "Have you? I shall look forward to hearing about that. I pity the poor Corsair who had to go up against you."
Arwen smiled back at him. "Now really, my lord. I took care for his pride, as you requested."
"Did you?"
"Yes," Arwen said with dignity. "I listened courteously to his arguments before I made my decisions."
"And he influenced your decisions, did he?"
"I allowed him to believe that he did."
Aragorn laughed and hugged her close to his side as they passed beneath the archway into the great courtyard. They had walked some twenty yards in silence and were nearing the White Tree when Arwen mustered her courage and finally broached the topic that was foremost on her mind.
"Legolas did not enter the city with you."
Aragorn sighed. "No. He turned aside when we passed through the Elvenking's camp. Gimli went with him."
Arwen released a slow breath, though whether from relief or some other emotion she did not know. "Then the sea-longing did not claim him at Dol Amroth."
"No," Aragorn said. "It did not. But I think sometimes it would have been better if it had."
Arwen looked at him in surprise but his face was dark, forbidding any further questions. She cast about for some other topic to engage him.
"You brought Hasufel back. You had left him with the scout in Dol Amroth, had you not?"
Aragorn's expression softened. "Yes," he said. "And I promised land and a title to the man who cared for him. I had thought him dead – no other horse save one of the Mearas could have made that run and survived. But he is alive, though his wind will probably not recover. I will have him put to pasture and let him sire many foals, and I will count myself well pleased if they possess even a fraction of his spirit."
They were passing the White Tree. Arwen paused, drawing Aragorn to a halt beside her. He cast her a surprised look and then followed her gaze to the Tree. The sapling had shed most of its blossoms now: they were piled in white drifts about its base and were scattered thickly across the surface of the reflecting pool. New leaves of pale green and silver rustled gently in the breeze. They caught the fading light so well that they seemed almost to glow with their own radiance, casting shifting patterns like dappled moonlight on the ground.
Aragorn frowned as he studied it. "The sentries ought to clear away those flowers," he said. "Otherwise they will rot and cloud the pool."
Arwen ignored this. "Look how strong it has grown," she said. She reached down to take Aragorn's hand. His calloused palm was warm against hers, his rough fingers gentle in her grasp. "It came close to failing this winter, but survived and grew greater than before. Now even in darkness it gives light – and it will endure whatever challenges are to come."
"Nevertheless they should tend it," Aragorn said.
*~*~*
Faramir watched as the King and Queen passed under the archway and out of view of the stable yard. They walked with their arms around each other and they seemed easier together, he thought, than they had been in over a year. He was glad of that, for Gondor's sake as much as for theirs. For the good of the country each of them had to make peace with all that had happened and move forward. Slowly it was happening, slowly they were coming together to mend the wounds that Dragaer had inflicted.
There were some yet that were too large to mend. Legolas was one. The Elf's injuries went deep, in mind and in spirit, and in talking with him, in watching him during the long journey home from Dol Amroth, Faramir could not conceive how he was ever to be healed. It seemed to him that it was a matter for the Eldar, beyond the ken of any Man, though Aragorn appeared determined to try.
And there was one other matter of which no one had yet spoken, but in the days following Imrahil's funeral it had preyed more and more upon Faramir's mind. At first it had seemed that there was no solution, but now as he watched the King and Queen together he began to see the glimmerings of a plan.
"What is it?" Éowyn was studying him, frowning a little. "You looked so intent just then."
"Just an idea," Faramir said. She was another one, he thought, who would be a long time healing. She had not forgotten what Elessar had done, or had threatened to do, when he arrested Faramir. And she did not easily forgive.
A small part of him was glad of that. He had known when he married her what Aragorn had meant to her, and he had known that as much as she might love him he would always be her second choice. He had accepted that as the price he paid for joining with this exciting, unpredictable, passionate woman, and he had counted himself well blessed despite it. But he also did not mind it if his wife now loved the King a little less.
"There is something that has been bothering me," he said to her. "A piece of a puzzle that I was trying to solve. But I think that I have found the solution now."
"What are you talking about?" she said. Her tone was sharp – she never liked it when he spoke in riddles.
Faramir smiled and slipped his arm around her shoulders to guide her back to the citadel. "I will tell you as we walk," he said. "I am anxious for your opinion."
And I think you will approve, he thought. Though I can only pray that the King will agree.
*~*~*
Éowyn did approve of Faramir's proposal, once she had thought it through and questioned him intently about it. In discussing it with her he clarified some points in his own mind until by the time he was ready to present it to the King it was no longer clear to him how much was his own idea and how much was Éowyn's.
It was mid-morning of the day after their return from Dol Amroth that he requested an audience with the King. Aragorn was at his desk reviewing a thick stack of parchments when Faramir entered. He rose to his feet to greet the Steward.
"My lord, welcome. Will you have some wine?" He motioned Faramir to a chair.
"No, thank you, Your Majesty." Faramir moved toward the chair but did not sit. There was a fluttering sensation in his stomach and his heart was pounding. He told himself that it was absurd to be nervous but he could not help it. It was the first time that he and Aragorn had been alone in a room together since the Tower.
It appeared that the King also was ill at ease. He poured himself a glass from the decanter on a side table and then left it behind as he paced the study. "I was just looking over the Queen's agreement with the Corsairs," he said, indicating the parchments on his desk. "She's laid it all out, even to the locations of the settlement camps along the coast. Reading it I almost believe that the plan for our peoples' re-integration might actually work."
"It was your plan to begin with, Your Majesty," Faramir pointed out.
"Yes," Aragorn said. "So I am all the more amazed that it is going so well."
That surprised a laugh from Faramir. Aragorn smiled and sat down, nodding for Faramir to do the same. "How is the Lady Éowyn? And your daughter?"
"Very well, thank you, my lord," Faramir said. He took a breath. "There is another matter about which I would speak with you."
Aragorn raised his eyebrows expectantly. "And that is?"
Faramir told him.
When he had finished Aragorn remained silent for several moments, frowning as he stared unseeingly at the carpet.
"The thought had occurred to me," he said at last. "But the risk . . ."
He rose to his feet and began to pace. Faramir made to rise but Aragorn motioned for him to remain seated. He crossed the room several times before halting at a window, his back to Faramir as he stared out over the courtyard.
"Have you spoken to the others of this?"
"No, Your Majesty. That is, I discussed it with the Lady Éowyn. No one else."
"I see." There was a long silence. Then Aragorn turned. "So we will tell them."
*~*~*
Faramir had anticipated Aragorn's reluctance. He had even anticipated Éomer's hesitation. What he did not anticipate, what he had no possible way of anticipating, was the Elvenking's reaction.
They were gathered together in the King's study: Faramir, Aragorn, Arwen, Éowyn, Éomer, Legolas, Gimli and Thranduil. It was the morning after his talk with Aragorn and the first time that Faramir had seen Legolas and Gimli set foot inside Minas Tirith. Upon entering the room Legolas bowed to the assembled lords and, on straightening, crossed directly to the large window behind the King's desk and opened it. He sat in the sill with one knee drawn up to his chest and the other leg dangling outside. It was a three-storey drop to the ground but he looked fully ready to exit that way if necessary. Gimli, following him, bowed to Arwen and Éowyn, nodded to Faramir and Éomer, ignored Aragorn completely and settled himself in a large armchair next to Legolas.
Thranduil was the last to arrive. He gave a courtly bow to them all and then stood silent, waiting to see what would happen next. Aragorn looked at Faramir. Following his gaze, the others did so as well. Éowyn nudged him forward.
Faramir took a deep breath. "Tomorrow the armies of Rohan and of Eryn Lasgalen will depart, and with our gratitude. Before that time, however, there is one matter yet which we must resolve. That is the palantír."
Arwen drew a sharp breath and looked at Aragorn. Éomer frowned. Thranduil looked from Faramir to Aragorn and back again, his brows drawn in concentration.
"There are three now in our possession," Faramir said. "The palantír of Orthanc, which Éomer King brought with him back from Harad and which is now locked in the citadel treasury. The palantír of Minas Tirith, which my father possessed and which rests on his tomb. And the palantír used by Captain Dragaer, which the Corsairs surrendered to us. What are we to do with them, my lords?"
"Destroy them," Gimli said before anyone else could answer. "Smash them all before anybody else gets hold of one."
"I am not certain we could destroy them even if we tried," Arwen said. "They were forged by Celebrimbor's followers, the same Noldor who made the Rings of Power. They were wrought with enchantments to make them impervious to any outside force. Even if we dropped them into Mount Doom it would be no guarantee of their destruction."
"Leave it to the Noldor to craft a weapon that no one can get rid of," Thranduil muttered.
Faramir shot him an amused look. "Even if we could destroy them it would not solve the problem," he said. "There were seven seeing stones brought from Númenor to Middle-earth. Assuming that the Dark Lord's was lost in the collapse of Barad-dûr, that still leaves three stones unaccounted for."
"But they're gone," Éomer interjected. "The stones of Arnor were lost when the line of Gondor's Kings was broken."
"We believe them to be lost," Faramir said. "But Sauron recovered one of them, at least, and gave it to Dragaer. Who is to say what happened to the others?" He paused. "Destroying the ones we have will not prevent an enemy acquiring another palantír, and if we lose ours then we will have no way to know if another is used against us."
Éomer shuddered. "You mean that someone could be watching us at any time."
"As I did," Aragorn said quietly. There was a silence.
Faramir cleared his throat. "I have a suggestion," he said. "There are three of them, and three great allies have come together to defeat the enemy which threatened Gondor. I propose that the palantíri be divided among us: one for Gondor, one for Rohan, and one for Eryn Lasgalen."
There was a briefer silence this time. "What is to prevent one of us from using it as Aragorn did?" Éomer said. "It took hold of him – it drove him mad."
"The madness was due to Dragaer's influence," Faramir said.
But Aragorn shook his head. "The Corsair used it to his advantage," he said. "But there is some . . . attraction . . . in the palantír for its own sake. The power it offers is seductive and should not be underestimated. I would not have anyone wield it alone."
"Then what do you suggest?" Arwen asked.
Aragorn looked at her. "That I not be alone," he said. "That if ever the palantír must be accessed it be done by the King, Queen and Steward together."
Arwen met his gaze, and Faramir saw the moisture in her eyes. She looked down, blinking rapidly. Aragorn took her hand.
"I still do not like it," Éomer said. "What is to prevent anyone else from getting to it – or one of you slipping away to use it alone?"
"I could build a door that'd keep them out," Gimli said. "Three locks, with three separate keys. By Durin, I could make you two doors and six different locks if you like – one set for the top of the tower and another for the bottom. That'd slow down anyone trying to get to it illegally."
"Though I dare say you could manage it, Master Dwarf, if you put your mind to it," Aragorn said.
Gimli met his eye and one corner of his mouth quirked before he looked quickly away again. Faramir stared. He would not have thought it possible, but he could have sworn that the Dwarf was blushing.
"In that case very well," Éomer said. "But there are no high towers with multiple locked doors in Edoras – and no one to guard me in its use in any case."
"What of Helm's Deep?" Éowyn said. Faramir shot her an approving look. This was a point that she had raised when he first told her of his plan, and she had conceived its solution. "There are towers and locked doors aplenty in the Hornburg, and Lothíriel could possess a second key."
Éomer looked thoughtful. "Perhaps . . ." he said slowly. Then he nodded. "Yes, I think it could work. If Lord Gimli will assist us with the arrangements it could be done."
"Excellent," Faramir said. "Then all that remains is Eryn Lasgalen –"
"No," Thranduil said.
Faramir blinked. "Forgive me, Your Majesty, but perhaps you misunderstand me. This is not a gift for which Eryn Lasgalen would be indebted. In your intervention and in the strength of your warriors you are deserving of honors far greater than we can give you. It is my hope that the palantíri might improve the communication and friendship between our peoples."
"I understood you perfectly," the Elvenking replied. "And my answer is no."
There was a pause. Then Aragorn spread his hands. "My lord, may we ask why?"
"The palantíri were gifted by the Noldor to Men," Thranduil said. "I do not cast judgment upon that gift, nor upon the decision of Men to accept it. But that was your choice, not mine. No device of the Noldor has ever resided in the Greenwood, and it will not do so now."
"But, Your Majesty," Faramir said. "The palantír is not evil in itself. It can be used to good purpose, to defend your land."
"And how long before we came to depend on that defense?" Thranduil answered. "No. The warriors of Greenwood have guarded us for the past two thousand years without the use of a Ring or stone or any other Noldor craft. They do not need one now."
"My lord," Legolas said.
Everyone turned. Faramir started: he had nearly forgotten that the Prince was there.
"The palantíri serve another purpose," Legolas said. "In the past they increased the contact and understanding between Men."
Thranduil snorted. "I believe that I have had all the contact with Men that I can stand," he said. Éomer blinked, clearly taken aback. Faramir exchanged a look with Aragorn. Arwen stifled a laugh and quickly covered her mouth with her hand.
"Nevertheless," Legolas said. "Adar, you asked me if I regretted the choices that I had made. I tell you now that I do have regrets . . . but if I had it to do again I would choose the same."
It was a long moment before anyone spoke. Aragorn was studying the floor with downcast eyes. Legolas remained exactly as he was, seated in the open window with head held high and eyes fixed upon his father. Gimli looked back and forth between them with narrowed eyes.
Then Thranduil smiled. It was not a friendly look. "Very well," he said. "If you believe that a palantír might increase our understanding then I shall have one. And I shall keep it in Aglarond."
"What?" Gimli said.
"With your permission, Lord Gimli, of course," Thranduil said smoothly. "My edict against Noldor devices in Eryn Lasgalen stands. And there is no one in the Greenwood to stand watch over me. But I think that you could craft a storeroom deep in your halls with two keys. You and your successors shall have charge of one. I shall keep the other."
He looked at Faramir. "I believe that one of the seeing stones has a . . . defect, so to speak. They say that it shows naught but the image of two burning hands, unless mastered by one of extraordinary will."
"I . . . yes, that is true," Faramir said. Involuntarily his gaze slipped aside to Legolas. The Prince's face was as smooth as a mask, betraying nothing of his inner thoughts. For his part Faramir was wondering just how extensive the Elvenking's spy network was.
"Then I shall take that palantír," Thranduil said. "I shall keep it deep in the hoard of Aglarond and I shall not use it save when in the company of one of Durin's folk, which will surely be only at the greatest need."
There was a long moment while they processed this. Aragorn recovered first. "Does that meet with your approval, Lord Gimli?"
Gimli's mouth was hanging open as he stared at the Elvenking. Now he closed it and straightened in his chair. "I . . . uh . . . yes. Yes. That sounds fine."
"Then that is settled," Thranduil looked pleased. "Now with your permission, my lords, I will take my leave. I have an army to prepare for our departure on the morrow, and now it seems I must make arrangements for the transport of a palantír as well. Fortunately Lord Gimli plans to accompany us, so we can stop by Aglarond on the way."
He bowed and the company hastened to bow to him in return. At the door he paused and looked back. "Prince Legolas, I will expect you in attendance this evening."
Now why did he say that? Faramir wondered as he straightened. Of course Legolas will return to the Elven camp tonight, so why say it in front of us all? And then he thought, So that Aragorn cannot command Legolas otherwise.
Aragorn was looking at Legolas, a crease drawn between his brows. "They depart tomorrow, and you go with them?"
Legolas avoided his eyes. "Yes, my lord."
"But . . ." Aragorn took a deep breath, as though struggling for control. "I have tried to honor your wishes. I have waited. But, Legolas, there is no time! If you go now –" his voice fractured.
"By your leave, my lord," Legolas said. His hand moved up to grasp the window frame and Faramir saw the edge of bandage peeking beneath the vambrace at his wrist.
"You said that if you had it to do again you would choose the same," Aragorn said. The raw pain in his voice made Faramir look away. He wished fervently that he were elsewhere.
"You must know that you did was not in vain. You made me whole again – let me help you. Please – Legolas wait! Wait! This is your life at stake!"
But Legolas had dropped through the open window and was gone, and only the empty draperies were left drifting slowly closed behind him.
For a long moment they all stared in silence. Then Gimli spoke.
"Mahal's Hammer," he said. "I wish he would stop doing that!"
