Authors ~ Halo Son and Bill the Pony
Disclaimer ~ Bill and I do NOT own LOTR (which is a major bummer really…I think most of the world wishes they owned them…) and we do NOT own Dragon Heart or the principle for it either.
Rating ~ PG
Random Authors Jabbering ~ We have to give credit to "Yours Truly" who gave us the idea for the way we denote Aragorn's nasty thoughts. We highly suggest you go check her story "Master in Deceiving" out. Wonderful!
Bill: *Chortles and dances around Halo* I wrote faster than yooouuu, I wrote faster than yooouuu.
Halo: *Glowering* Oh shush.
Bill: *Still prancing*
Halo: *Launches Jello mold*
Bill: Ow…
Halo: *Big grin, walks of whistling*
Summary ~ A LOTR story with a twist from the film Dragon Heart. When Aragorn is wounded saving Legolas his only chance to live is to accept an offer from a dragon, but what are the consequences of his decision? When the King starts acting unlike himself, will anyone defy or go against him for the good of Gondor and its people?
The Lord Of The Rings
Dragon Heart
Chapter 4 – Living Nightmares
-
Dawn rose red on the horizon, staining the clouds crimson. As the morning drew on bloody clouds faded to gold, promising a new day of hope. Two nights had passed since the fateful events in the village. Two nights had Legolas sat by the bedside of the king, his friend, waiting patiently for him to wake. It had been a exhausting vigil, tiresome and trying to heart and mind. But on this the beginning of the third morning, Aragorn had awakened from his healing rest and risen to greet the morn.
Legolas, and Aragorn's dearest folk, watched with growing awe at the king's speedy recovery of strength. Even the healers, including Aragorn himself, were quite amazed. Within the span of a few hours, Aragorn had improved tremendously having taken a hearty meal and a short, but refreshing walk in the gardens with Arwen hovering at his shoulder.
So while Aragorn prepared to take on many of his former duties, with a contingent of healers hounding after him, Legolas was quickly succumbing to his inevitable exhaustion. No body, elvish or not, was meant to go sleepless for too many days after too much trial. That night, the third night, Legolas found his usual guest quarters and fell limply into bed, paying no heed to the frivolities of turning down the bed covers or changing from his soiled clothing. Under normal circumstances, the feel of three day old dirt mingled with blood against his skin when he could have easily cleansed himself would have drove him to near distraction. But these days were hardly normal.
The Elf lay himself down wearily, his hands clasped over his breast. Tight muscles loosened as the tension eased from his body, but his jumbled thoughts refused to leave him at peace. Aragorn would recover, he told himself repeatedly, all would return to normal. He had nothing to worry about now. Aragorn's life had been returned to him by the grace of Eru Ilúvitar, he should rejoice and be glad with all he had.
Then why did his heart nag him? Why, when his exhausted dreams take him, did they herald woe?
---
The fresh breeze of the new morning caught Aragorn's dark hair, now hinting streaks of grey. His damp mood rivaled the beauty of the bright sun. By all rights he knew he had no good cause to feel thus, but his patience was wearing painfully thin. He had had quite enough attention, expressions of concerns and badgering questions pertaining to his remarkable recovery and about what had happened that night.
What troubled him was not so much the questions and the concerns, but his own feelings. Annoyance was to be expected from an independent ranger turned king, but why did he feel anger towards any that dared to approach him? His mind seemed detached from his heart.
My heart, he thought darkly, is it really my heart? Nay, Legolas and Faramir explained what had happened that night. He would be lying if he were to say that he understood fully what had taken place as he expected everyone would. A dragon offering a portion of his own heart to a mortal man was not an easily comprehensible matter.
{Or, my king, you are ignorant and they try to keep you as such.}
Aragorn started at the voice, or rather, the thought. The idea seemed preposterous, surely Legolas would not be so deceitful.
{Are you sure?}
Of course he was sure! Legolas, nor any of his friends would do such…could they?
"Good morning, Aragorn!"
His head snapped around sharply, a frustrated breath escaping him in a rush to be free at the sight of his elven friend.
{Is he really a friend?} Pondered the voice innocently.
Aragorn hid his frown behind a smile. "Legolas, you startled me." He pulled his friend to sit beside him on the stone bench, eager to have some distraction for his troubled mind. "Did you finally give up your foolish pride and rest?"
Legolas sighed wearily, not bothering to cover his unrest. "Aye, but it did little to give any rest to either mind or body I fear."
"What was it that hindered your rest?"
The Elf normally would speak freely of his thoughts and concerns, but some warning held his tongue back. "My dreams were, troubled. Something ate at my heart that I cannot name."
Aragorn's brow pinched, naturally worried over any unease the Elf felt. Not easily did the elven race dream ill. He remained silent though, something in his heart, the new half, told him to not speak as well. He knew not why but he felt compelled to listen.
Legolas tore his attention away from his own selfish thoughts to look to his friend. "And how about you, Aragorn, how did you rest?"
Honestly, he had slept badly, but…
{Why should you tell him that? He will use it against you.}
{What do you mean? How could he use honesty against me?}There was no answer. Silent and snobbishly smug part of himself remained silent. {Tell me!}
"Aragorn? Are you well?" Legolas broke into his disturbing thoughts, he peered carefully at Aragorn's face.
"Yes, I am well," he said, though he did not feel it in the least.
---
Eldarion had been watching his father like a hawk ever since Gimli had torn – as fast as a Dwarf could hasten anywhere on their stout legs - into the common room he, Elladan, Elrohir and his mother had been lounging in, informing them hurriedly of the happenings in brief. Even more careful was his watch in his father's waking. The horror of the thought of loosing his dear father so early in his short life was enough to drive him to near madness.
It was his fear, and his love, that drove him to follow his father wherever he tread, no matter his father's bitter protests. But it was through his devoted hounding that he began to notice a subtle change in his father. A change that only a son could see.
The king was a good man, the best man that had ever lived in Eldarion's mind. A patient man with a fair temper, but with a strong hand. Yes, he did have a heavy hand at times, but it was because of his love for his son that he did not restrain correction. He was quick to laugh and easy to a smile.
Then why did he exude so much frustration? Or was it anger?
The prince of the Reunited Kingdom blew a heavy breath, looking down from the high balcony above where Legolas and Aragorn sat in the garden. Their voices were too soft to hear clearly, but from the tone of Legolas's voice, the Elf was worried, no, maybe simply weary. He hated to doubt his father's heart, but this feeling he emanated made Eldarion extremely uneasy.
"Spying, eh?"
Eldarion jumped slightly at the deep baritone sounding behind him. The Dwarf swaggered to the railing, shaggy brows diving into a frown. "Well of course," Gimli grumbled, "those fool men would have forgotten that the king might be entertaining dwarves when they built this railing."
Eldarion gave a cursory glance at the railing, not seeing anything particularly wrong with it. "I am sorry Gimli, but my eyes fail to see what is wrong with the construction of the rails," he apologized, not wishing to be dense.
Gimli grunted, making a motion with his hands gesturing something about his height. Eldarion figured it out then. Gimli stood a good three inches below the top intricate beam, subject to peer out of the railing bars like a caged beast, not the most adored prospect for a Dwarf.
They stood in silence, neither sure whether it was his turn to speak. Gimli took it upon himself to break their awkward silence. "You worry for your father, it is admirable, but you needn't fret over him so." Gimli laughed, turning to heft himself into a chair too large for his stout legs to reach the ground. "Legolas has taken care of the fretting for quite a few years now. Though the stubborn Elf would doubtless revoke me about fretting, saying that is quite an un-elvish trait." His great girth relaxed into the cushions, aged eyes winked at him, "Aragorn will recover, lad. Never fear about that. He always does and it matters little if it is as minor as a pricked finger to plain and simply dying."
Eldarion laughed for the first time in quite a few days, the Dwarf's easy one-sided argument bringing him to a better peace of mind, that was until an angered voice sounding distinctly like his father was lifted to their ears.
---
"No Legolas, you do not understand, nor could you or would you," he fumed. Far louder than need be for the Elf's ears to hear him clearly.
Legolas's high brow furrowed, unaccustomed to such vehemence directed towards him from the mouth of his friend. "Then, Aragorn, explain to me what I do not understand. I wish to help you Aragorn, but I cannot when you refuse to tell me what is eating at you," the Elf countered levelly.
Aragorn stood to his feet in a rush, his fists clenched. "Perhaps, dear Legolas, you would find it more convenient to leave me be and turn your badgering and attentions elsewhere." His cold voice turned strangely bitter. "Such as to honing your reflexes so that next time we find ourselves together in a mite of peril, I will not be struck down on your behalf again!"
The Elf's face tightened, a naked flinch twisting his face painfully. There was neither humor in the king's face nor any hint of apology for his harsh words. But in his ears he heard no harsh accusation made in anger – as the half-Elf and Dwarf above them - but a statement of truth. How it hurt to hear his own thoughts spoken aloud.
He blinked, stepping away from the bench. He hadn't even realized that he had risen when Aragorn's voice had turned ill. "Ai, Aragorn," he choked out softly, "I am sorry. Terribly sorry."
Half of Aragorn's heart gloated in smug satisfaction at the pain that so evidently crossed the Elf's face. {Look in his eyes and see his self-loathing, look at his guilt. Revel in it, my king, grasp it as a token of retribution for all the pain he has inflicted upon you.}
The other half of him, the real half, revolted at the horrible, hateful thought. Finally, his own – his first – heart won out. But the deed was done, and it was too late. His stony face fell, blinking as if waking from a dark dream. "Legolas, I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me, truly I am sorry…"
Legolas recoiled from his apology, not having the hope to believe that he was indeed innocent. He wasn't, he knew it, Aragorn had been right all along. "Nay, Aragorn, do not apologize," he shuddered, backing another step. "You're right, I know." He looked desperately for an escape, some reason to fly from this place. To fly like a criminal.
Part of the king's heart twisted with grief as his Elven friend fled with rushed paces down the cobblestone path, his shoulders ridged. What had ever possessed him to say those cruel words? What did possess him?
---
{Where is your strength, my king? Your people talk behind your back, they could turn on you one day if you do not lay down your fist now.} The voice was soft as fine silk cloth, as convincing as the eyes of a child. Curse this vile part of him that thought such! What madness had taken hold of him?
Aragorn turned his face to the open air, framed beyond his window, hoping with a vain wish that the clean scent of the wind would sweep away his dark thoughts. The laughter of children floating from the gardens below belayed the turmoil in his soul. He had fled to his high chambers, seeking out solace in the quiet of his study. But no peace was to be had. The sounds of merriment changed abruptly, good nature and joy twisting to scornful laughter. He almost could pick out the words of mocking treason.
He slammed an angry fist against the wall. Aragorn did not finch when pain burst in his hand as it connected with unyielding rock. He welcomed it. The pain told him that he was yet human, not the monster he felt he was. Clinching his teeth, he turned and tried to direct his thoughts to other things. But it was to no avail, even when he brought up the coming duties he would have to attend at court.
{Hmm, interesting. Do you think that you can really hold such an honored and powerful position while your subjects – yes, your subjects – run free without restraint?} So easy were his thoughts, so reasonable and so sultry they seemed to him. He pondered for a moment. Maybe his thoughts did not lead him astray? After all, it was a running rabble of men that had nearly succeeded in slaying him. Most likely, if he had had a harder fist then they would have been executed at their first upstart. Maybe, just maybe, there was nothing wrong with his aspiring thoughts after all…
{Yes, you think wisely. You are a king. I am a king. To be a king is to rule and conquer. To rule is to conquer, and you will never conquer until you rid your kingdom of free will.}
His thoughts – his own thoughts- had presumed too much about his state of mind. His hands gripped the edge of the window tightly, a growl lacing his throat. This evil voice would not take him so easily; he would not allow it. Aragorn bowed his head against the onslaught, resting his forehead against the cool stone. These thoughts of selfish gain were not natural to his mind. Something was terribly wrong.
TBC…