–

Chapter Four

–

Aragorn said nothing for a very long while, long after Faramir was sure he had read the last line of the letter. He stared at his King and held his breath; doing so made him feel like a child. And though Aragorn was still, Faramir felt palpably the rage vibrating off of his friend. Rage so deep and vast that it made the hair on his arms raise. Aragorn was silent as he slid one hand across the letter, hesitating for a moment before gathering it sharply into his fist. The table creaked in the iron grip of his other hand.

Elrond stood motionless, hands clasped behind his back, watching the King closely as he leaned there. It seemed to Faramir as though everyone and everything held its breath. By all of the Valar, he wished he'd read it.

Elladan stepped suddenly forwards and took hold of Aragorn's arm. "Come," he said, "I must speak with you."

Aragorn turned to the Elf, blinking slowly. "I'm going–"

"We can do it there." Faramir could see Elladan tighten his grip as the Elf steadily returned the King's stare. "You need to know what I have to say."

Moving an incredulous glance toward Elrond, Faramir raised an automatic hand to object as Aragorn and both of Elrond's sons turned back down the hall and began to walk stiffly away. "My lord!" he called. Aragorn did not turn.

"Lord Faramir," Elrond said, stepping in front of him and meeting his eyes. "He will come to you when it is time."

He knew it was brash, but the bruising force of his fear and anger and confusion rose up and forced biting words past his lips. "It is time. We have a dead soldier. His family must be notified, his body must be taken care of, and we must be updated on the nature of the threat to the city. Who sent this? Is it the one who has attacked my lady and Lord Legolas?"

"I am not your King, thus I cannot be your informer," Elrond said. The undeterred tone of his voice was rivaled by the fire in his eyes. "I do not want to cross any lines, Lord Faramir."

"But you know who it is, don't you?" Faramir asked it quietly, and Elrond's face fell in silent acquiescence to the words before he had even spoken his own.

"Yes."

Faramir swallowed, trying to ignore the chill that ran down his spine. "What do I do, lord?"

"Make sure that every man who defends this city is aware that we are under threat." Elrond reached out, gently grabbing his shoulder. "They must constantly be at arms. Check and recheck provisions, walk the streets night and day. The King will tell you soon that this threat is unpredictable and that the best we can do is act as if under possibility of war. You love Gondor, Lord Faramir, and you have always defended her rightly – this you must do now."

With the final word Elrond turned on his heel and disappeared the same way his sons had. Faramir smelled something familiar and soothing on the Elf-lord's robes, but soon the slight caress of comfort to his heart was obliterated by the terror he was left to in the empty hall.

–

Only one guard had looked upon him with suspicion. Just one.

The rest seemed hardly to notice as he made his way past them into the first level of Minas Tirith. The streets were busy. It surprised him – truthfully he had assumed that the threat of possible attack and the death of the Queen would have turned all of the townsfolk into hermits becoming of their race. It had not. They went about their business as before. They, like the guards, paid him little mind as he walked slowly among their carts and homes. Elves were welcome in this city of men. It both thrilled and disgusted him.

He'd decided to wait in the people-lodgings, there in the first level. The Old Guesthouse it was called, and it had a clear view of the main road that connected all of the gates of the city. Standing on the porch, he would know when the horse bearing the dead soldier arrived, and he would know when he must follow their somber path to the Citadel.

He had not waited long. Cries of shock and fear accompanied the gruesome arrival, and the guards of the gate had immediately gone to work, removing their dead companion's body from the horse's back and rushing it up the road. He watched them go in detached amusement, leaning against a pillar next to a horrified man that hurried down the stairs to follow the somber procession. Many others did as well. It floored him. They were horrible little creatures, drawn to blood and pain and death, and he would never understand how anyone had ever been able to convince a single member of his kin otherwise.

A long and lonely hour dragged by in that place. He loathed it more than most of his path prior to the Guesthouse. He spent most of it on the porch, and once he was sure of the time he paid his tab, descended the stairs, and began to walk.

He was finally here. Finally. Near the moment he had dreamt of for years; imagined in thousands of different ways; imagined this way most often. He could not deny that his heart was in his throat as he made his way slowly through the sloping tunnel of the Seventh Gate of Minas Tirith. As soon as the first ray of light touched his shoulders he drew his hood up and over his head, grim at the familiar sight that met him in the court. The fountain sung gaily, the White Tree beside it standing tall and magnificent in the sun. He itched to set it aflame and watch it burn to ash on the ground. He ignored the thought and walked silently over the white stones towards the guards standing near the fountain. When he reached them he kept his head bowed so that they could not see the smile on his face, because indeed, in no way would he have been able to contain it.

"Hello, soldiers of Gondor. I am the end of your King."

–

"Have either of you seen Haythalm this day?"

The sound of his voice seemed to cut through a heaviness; a weight of grief laying across them all as they stared uselessly at Legolas' unmoving face. Aragorn had to cleave his tongue from the roof of his mouth to speak and he cleared his throat, blinking hard and sitting up straight. He felt like he was seeing the world through a constant haze now; a haze that he knew his mind had created to keep him from succumbing to this foe and to his own madness.

Elladan turned away, pretending to scan the fields below the window he stood at. "Not I."

"He was in the Citadel this morning." Elrohir spoke softly, standing from his own place at the desk and moving forward to sit on the bed opposite the King. Aragorn fought hard not to turn away from the sorrow in the Elf's eyes. "Aragorn, I think we need to talk about–"

"No." He said the word viciously, all of them knew it, but he could not find regret in him enough to keep him from standing swiftly to his feet and turning away. "We don't have time. You know this; there are things I must do first."

"Aragorn." Elrohir took a few steps towards him. "What do you need from us?"

His throat tightened with gratitude as he looked up into the Peredhel's cutting eyes and said, "I want all of my captains to the Citadel. I am ready to brief them in full."

"We will go ourselves." Aragorn did not miss how Elladan leaned over Legolas' pale form and rested a hand on the Elf's forehead, gazing sadly down at his friend before he stood to join them. "For reasons of urgency."

Aragorn's mouth tried and failed at a smile. "Thank you."

"Fear not, Aragorn," Elrohir said, grabbing the man's shoulder and squeezing it hard. "The snake is no match for the strength that backs you now in this city. We will dispose of him just as before."

"He was here," Aragorn said, his voice breathless. He could not deny that he felt nearly hysterical. From the very first words he'd read; now he relied soley on the self-control that Legolas and his people needed from him. "He was within these walls. He walked my streets; he touched him. He touched–"

"There will be time," Elladan softly interrupted, mimicking his twin and grabbing the man's other arm to give him a gentle shake. "Not now, Estel. We catch him first, yes?"

Aragorn gave a sharp nod. "He must be nearby. He will not have gone far."

"No," Elrohir said. "He will always be near the death. I fear it will not be long before–"

The Peredhel was interrupted when Faramir did not bother to knock and pushed in through the door, one hand on the sword at his belt and his gray eyes wild with fear. "My lord."

Turning in surprise, Aragorn pulled away from his brothers and walked towards his Steward. He stopped before speaking when he saw the cluster of guards behind him, all standing silent and attentive, some facing the outwards hall.

"An escort," Faramir said in somewhat of a calmer tone, though his entire form remained rigid. "There was a direct threat made against you."

Aragorn felt more than saw Elladan and Elrohir appear at each of his sides. "Who?"

"We have him in the throne hall." Faramir glanced over his shoulder, before looking back to them and quieting his voice. "He is one of the–"

"Aragorn."

He vaguely heard Elrohir say his name. Sharply. He ignored it. His feet pounded the floor of the hall as he sprinted down it in time with the fury pounding through his heart. He was past the silver blur of the guards before he felt a strong Elven hand catch him round his collar and pull him up short, slamming him against the wall. Their movements tore down a heavy silken banner that hung from the ceiling; it fluttered around them and pooled at their feet. Elladan ignored it all as he caught both of Aragorn's wrists in his other hand and pressed almost painfully hard into the man's ribs, holding him there like iron. "Aragorn, listen to me. Before you act you must think. Enough."

He kicked viciously out at his brother, his voice completely incensed and almost unrecognizable in his ears. "Let go of–"

"Stop now." Elladan was unfazed as he shook him, hard and short. "He will not have the antidote with him. He might have told your men something important. You must decide how you are going to get him to tell you where it is and after the rest of the plans he's claimed to lay. Focus, Aragorn. Enough."

Finally he relented, relaxing in Elladan's grasp. He was grateful the Elf continued to hold him up a moment as he sucked in several lungfuls of air and closed his eyes, trying to force away the fear that he'd felt since reading the letter. Within those several quiet moments in the hall he found that there was no way to come to terms with the absolute malice that had befallen his family and his realm. To come to terms with the fact that this evil that he believed had been defeated had returned. Had slithered into his beloved city, and taken ahold of beloved life.

"Aragorn," Elladan murmured, letting him go to instead push him lightly. He met his brother's eyes as he heard the soldiers coming up behind him again; Faramir and Elrohir soon at their side. "Remember. The best way to wound him is to refuse his attempt at wounding you. You must not show him weakness and you know this. I do not need to recall a single moment to–"

"No," the King quietly said, peeling himself away from the wall and back into his dignity. He ignored how his legs felt like they would soon simply buckle as he turned to face Faramir. "What did he tell you?"

"That he is the end of our King." He felt guilt tug at his heart at the fear he saw again in Faramir's eyes. "He's refused to say more until he has spoken with you. He is alone, my lord."

"I knew him," Aragorn said quietly. "Long ago."

"We'd believed him dead," Elladan said, his words clipped with fury. "I nearly did not believe the message was by his actual hand. Not 'til now."

Faramir quickly asked, "Are there more coming?"

Shame flashed through him and he reached out, squeezing the other man's shoulder. "I know not. Even after I speak to him I fear we will never know which words he says are true. Find Joln and Haythalm and tell them that the city is to be guarded as if under threat of attack. I want Haythalm at first point; Joln at tower."

Faramir did not say a word. He grabbed the King's arm and held it hard, nodding once before he turned and disappeared between the mass of soldiers. Aragorn watched him go before he turned almost numbly to begin the nauseating trek to the throne hall. It passed much quicker than he wished it to; for suddenly they were there, standing just behind the light spilling into the side hall from the towering white ceiling of the Citadel. Silent and still – he, his kin, and his men.

"How do I keep myself from killing him?" he quietly asked the sons of Elrond.

"Do not play as he does," Elladan whispered fiercely back. He stared at him. "He will try to destroy your mind, Estel. Forget him not. Make him tell you, and then return to this hall after you've ordered him to prison. We will move from there."

The new voice that snuck into the hall chilled three of its inhabitants to the bone. "You should come out with him. I have missed you all. Greatly."

Aragorn knew his eyes were ridiculously wide as memories of the devastation and destruction that came with the biting sound of that voice washed over him like blood. He kept them fixed on Elrohir. "Will you go to her?" he mouthed.

"Elrond did," the Elf mouthed back. Elladan had swiveled to motion all of the men in the hall to silence. He turned back to them now, his face as white as stone.

"Are you ready?"

Aragorn shook his head.

And then he walked without stopping out into the throne hall.

He did not look back.

–

TBC

A/N: And so here he is. Thanks for reading friends.