Author's note: Yuck! Nasty, horrible colds. We hates them, Preciousss, we
hates them.
***
Sal had insisted on checking Elessar's wounds thoroughly before they moved on any further. There had been a look of concern on his face as he did so, and Elessar began to worry his wounds were more serious than he had first thought. They were painful enough, but not life threatening.
The concerned look didn't diminish as the days passed, and the shallow cuts were healing well. Elessar asked what was wrong several times, but Sal always avoided his eyes and said he was fine. He would just have to wait until Sal decided to open up, but that didn't seem to be coming and Elessar was worried for him.
There was no sign of chase or anyone tracking them as they moved onwards. The three began to relax. Or rather, Parlond and Elessar relaxed. Sal remained tense, and seemed locked in his own thoughts for most of the time. Every time someone spoke to him he jumped and looked startled. For a Ranger he had certainly become very unobservant recently. At least the nightmares had stopped. Or so he thought.
He was woken from sleep one night by Sal calling out. It took him a moment to realise it wasn't an attack, but that Sal was still trapped in dreams. Parlond had come over from where he was keeping watch, but it was Elessar who placed his hands on Sal's shoulders and tried to calm him.
"No! No!" Sal cried, "I won't let you!" Then he sat up, crying "NO!" and waking himself with his shouting. But he wasn't fully awake, he felt Elessar's hands on his shoulders and fought against him. Elessar gasped and doubled over as a fist struck him in the stomach, and the sharp movement caused the wounds on his back to tear open again.
"I'm sorry," said Sal, the instant he was fully awake.
"It's not your fault," Elessar replied, "you didn't know what you were doing."
"And does that make it hurt any less?" Elessar had to admit it didn't. His stomach was sore and his back was agony. The healing the past few days had helped bring about was undone in a few moments.
"I'm sorry," Sal apologised again.
***
If anything Sal became worse over the next few days, quieter. He barely spoke two words together, and if he did it was an apology for not listening. Finally Elessar had had enough. He waited until the evening when they had made camp. Parlond was preparing the meal today, cooking some rabbits Elessar had caught. Sal stood and walked away from the camp.
Elessar waited a moment then stood himself. He glanced back at Parlond, who was watching, and then walked after Sal.
"I want to be alone," Sal said when Elessar stepped up behind him.
"You've been alone too much recently."
"What are you talking about? I've spent all my time with you and Parlond."
"You haven't. I don't know where your mind's been, but its not been with us. Tell me what's wrong."
Sal sank to the ground. He leaned back against a tree in something between crouching and sitting, resting on his heels, but ready to leap up. The stance of someone not fully willing to relax.
"What's the worst thing you could imagine?" he asked. A little surprised by the question, Elessar crouched beside him, thinking.
"Something happening to Arwen or the children." Sal shook his head.
"There are worse things." There was a pause, and Elessar tried to imagine something worse. At last Sal continued. "Can you imagine what it must feel like to be the one responsible for those things happening?"
"What do you mean?"
"Can you imagine what it would feel like. . . to kill them? To see your own sword, your own hand, pierce their hearts?"
"What are you talking about, Sal?"
"Oh you don't understand!" Sal was on his feet, and Elessar rose immediately after him.
"Of course I don't understand if you don't tell me."
"So you think you can just order me to tell you everything! You're the king so that makes you perfect! Everyone should have to bare their souls to you on a whim, until you get bored and decide you've had enough! I've lived my life on your orders for seventeen years! You tell me to go to Mordor, so I go! You tell me to go into exile, so I go! You tell me to save your son, so I do! Did you ever once think about me, what I want, what I feel? Did you even think of the consequences when you turned me into a tool?"
Sal's eyes were filled with an anger Elessar had never seen in them. It was as if every fury at every injustice he had seen in his life was being directed at him. But to Elessar's shock there was more than just anger there. There was hate.
***
Elessar sat, staring into the fire, wondering which was more painful, the wounds in his back or the pain inside his heart. Sal had been his closest friend for years, the one he could turn to with a problem, the one who would turn to him as well. He'd never thought of Sal as a tool, and he'd always valued his opinion. He would never have made Sal do any of those things if he thought he'd been unwilling.
What had he done to make Sal hate him? He tried to think of anything over the past days or weeks, but found nothing. When had Sal started acting coldly towards him? He had been acting distantly since this trip had begun, but on his last visit to Minas Tirith he had been the same Sal Elessar cared so much about.
Had he said something on that visit? No, he didn't think so. Sal had left in as good cheer as he had arrived. So something must have happened between that visit and now.
Elessar sighed, and looked at the stewed rabbit that lay untouched at his feet. He needed to eat something, so he picked up the bowl and took a few slow mouthfuls. He was about half-way through when Sal returned, his face pale. Elessar thought he could make out streaks down his face in the dim firelight, but any tears had dried out long before.
"I'm sorry," Sal said quietly, "I shouldn't have spoken to you the way I did, you'd done nothing to deserve it." There was no anger in his eyes now, just sorrow.
"Have something to eat," Elessar said softly, gesturing at the third bowl of stew that was cold by now.
"Thank you." Sal sat down and took the bowl.
"Parlond's the one who cooked it."
"Good," Sal said, a hint of a smile beginning to form on his lips, "It's good to know that I shall not die from poison in the night."
"If you are that worried about your cooking perhaps I should prepare each meal," Elessar responded, a smile forming on his own face. It was a simple beginning, just a few teasing words, but it was a start. The Sal Elessar knew so well was returning.
***
Author's note: Wow, I'm actually ending on a cheerful note. Or worrying depending on the way you look at it. I'll leave it up to you, since the reader plays as great a part as the writer in the subtext of a story. I think that's the only thing I've learned in all those English lit lessons when everyone in the class seemed to have a different idea of what the author of a particular novel was trying to say.
***
Sal had insisted on checking Elessar's wounds thoroughly before they moved on any further. There had been a look of concern on his face as he did so, and Elessar began to worry his wounds were more serious than he had first thought. They were painful enough, but not life threatening.
The concerned look didn't diminish as the days passed, and the shallow cuts were healing well. Elessar asked what was wrong several times, but Sal always avoided his eyes and said he was fine. He would just have to wait until Sal decided to open up, but that didn't seem to be coming and Elessar was worried for him.
There was no sign of chase or anyone tracking them as they moved onwards. The three began to relax. Or rather, Parlond and Elessar relaxed. Sal remained tense, and seemed locked in his own thoughts for most of the time. Every time someone spoke to him he jumped and looked startled. For a Ranger he had certainly become very unobservant recently. At least the nightmares had stopped. Or so he thought.
He was woken from sleep one night by Sal calling out. It took him a moment to realise it wasn't an attack, but that Sal was still trapped in dreams. Parlond had come over from where he was keeping watch, but it was Elessar who placed his hands on Sal's shoulders and tried to calm him.
"No! No!" Sal cried, "I won't let you!" Then he sat up, crying "NO!" and waking himself with his shouting. But he wasn't fully awake, he felt Elessar's hands on his shoulders and fought against him. Elessar gasped and doubled over as a fist struck him in the stomach, and the sharp movement caused the wounds on his back to tear open again.
"I'm sorry," said Sal, the instant he was fully awake.
"It's not your fault," Elessar replied, "you didn't know what you were doing."
"And does that make it hurt any less?" Elessar had to admit it didn't. His stomach was sore and his back was agony. The healing the past few days had helped bring about was undone in a few moments.
"I'm sorry," Sal apologised again.
***
If anything Sal became worse over the next few days, quieter. He barely spoke two words together, and if he did it was an apology for not listening. Finally Elessar had had enough. He waited until the evening when they had made camp. Parlond was preparing the meal today, cooking some rabbits Elessar had caught. Sal stood and walked away from the camp.
Elessar waited a moment then stood himself. He glanced back at Parlond, who was watching, and then walked after Sal.
"I want to be alone," Sal said when Elessar stepped up behind him.
"You've been alone too much recently."
"What are you talking about? I've spent all my time with you and Parlond."
"You haven't. I don't know where your mind's been, but its not been with us. Tell me what's wrong."
Sal sank to the ground. He leaned back against a tree in something between crouching and sitting, resting on his heels, but ready to leap up. The stance of someone not fully willing to relax.
"What's the worst thing you could imagine?" he asked. A little surprised by the question, Elessar crouched beside him, thinking.
"Something happening to Arwen or the children." Sal shook his head.
"There are worse things." There was a pause, and Elessar tried to imagine something worse. At last Sal continued. "Can you imagine what it must feel like to be the one responsible for those things happening?"
"What do you mean?"
"Can you imagine what it would feel like. . . to kill them? To see your own sword, your own hand, pierce their hearts?"
"What are you talking about, Sal?"
"Oh you don't understand!" Sal was on his feet, and Elessar rose immediately after him.
"Of course I don't understand if you don't tell me."
"So you think you can just order me to tell you everything! You're the king so that makes you perfect! Everyone should have to bare their souls to you on a whim, until you get bored and decide you've had enough! I've lived my life on your orders for seventeen years! You tell me to go to Mordor, so I go! You tell me to go into exile, so I go! You tell me to save your son, so I do! Did you ever once think about me, what I want, what I feel? Did you even think of the consequences when you turned me into a tool?"
Sal's eyes were filled with an anger Elessar had never seen in them. It was as if every fury at every injustice he had seen in his life was being directed at him. But to Elessar's shock there was more than just anger there. There was hate.
***
Elessar sat, staring into the fire, wondering which was more painful, the wounds in his back or the pain inside his heart. Sal had been his closest friend for years, the one he could turn to with a problem, the one who would turn to him as well. He'd never thought of Sal as a tool, and he'd always valued his opinion. He would never have made Sal do any of those things if he thought he'd been unwilling.
What had he done to make Sal hate him? He tried to think of anything over the past days or weeks, but found nothing. When had Sal started acting coldly towards him? He had been acting distantly since this trip had begun, but on his last visit to Minas Tirith he had been the same Sal Elessar cared so much about.
Had he said something on that visit? No, he didn't think so. Sal had left in as good cheer as he had arrived. So something must have happened between that visit and now.
Elessar sighed, and looked at the stewed rabbit that lay untouched at his feet. He needed to eat something, so he picked up the bowl and took a few slow mouthfuls. He was about half-way through when Sal returned, his face pale. Elessar thought he could make out streaks down his face in the dim firelight, but any tears had dried out long before.
"I'm sorry," Sal said quietly, "I shouldn't have spoken to you the way I did, you'd done nothing to deserve it." There was no anger in his eyes now, just sorrow.
"Have something to eat," Elessar said softly, gesturing at the third bowl of stew that was cold by now.
"Thank you." Sal sat down and took the bowl.
"Parlond's the one who cooked it."
"Good," Sal said, a hint of a smile beginning to form on his lips, "It's good to know that I shall not die from poison in the night."
"If you are that worried about your cooking perhaps I should prepare each meal," Elessar responded, a smile forming on his own face. It was a simple beginning, just a few teasing words, but it was a start. The Sal Elessar knew so well was returning.
***
Author's note: Wow, I'm actually ending on a cheerful note. Or worrying depending on the way you look at it. I'll leave it up to you, since the reader plays as great a part as the writer in the subtext of a story. I think that's the only thing I've learned in all those English lit lessons when everyone in the class seemed to have a different idea of what the author of a particular novel was trying to say.