Minib
Legolas was studying the pictures drawn to grotesque perfection on the pages of the ancient book. The drawings looked slightly different from the restraint-device Andoion had described; it was a simple girdle about the neck instead of a harness that encircled their heads. He pressed his fingertips lightly to the page, feeling the rise and the fall of the inkblots and writings, almost feeling the pain of the agony-stricken drawings.
"What is being done for her?" Legolas could not hide the concern in his voice; the pictures of the slaves seemed to jump into his mind with brutal vivacity.
"We have tried to speak with her but she merely wails when she awakens, the light is too much for her eyes. I cannot calm her enough to find out if she is intelligent or merely too damaged for any hope of response...
{The man with black eyes…She speaks the Westron tongue.}
"We have treated her wounds and tried to examine her ears to see if any damage was done to her hearing which might impair our communication with her."
"Yes…about her ears. Why did they do it? If she was indeed a woman of the race of Men, why mangle her ears so terribly?" Araorë shook his head slowly.
"We don't know Legolas. Punishment? Retribution? Simple humor- or anger? We cannot tell. I believe it was a way of marking her- marking her as their own and teaching her who she belonged to and where she stood." Legolas closed the book slowly and looked back up at Araorë, who was studying his face intently.
"I know what you are thinking, and I feel it would be best if you didn't see her again…I don't want her to become more confused than she already is by adding another unfamiliar face." Legolas nodded his head, though his thoughts had begun to drift again- back to those words she had so frantically whispered. Should he tell Araorë? His mind said yes, but his instincts were pulling him too strongly to be ignored. Why should he be hesitant to speak with his friend freely? Why could he not overcome the suspicion in his mind?
"What is it Legolas? Your brow has fallen so low it threatens to cover your eyes." Araorë smiled at his humor but did not loose the hint of earnestness in his voice.
{Perhaps he does care for the details of my meeting with Enberaidien more than he lets on.}
"Nothing." To this, Araorë's shoulders fell slightly and his smiled flinched again. He drew his tongue across his lips and Legolas noticed a small rise in his voice when next he spoke.
"Come now, you aren't being entirely truthful." An unmistakably forced laugh narrowed Legolas' eyes as he realized he had been deceived. The same Araorë that had been birthed with the arrival of the stranger was still inside, only covered by a clever façade. Legolas would no longer stand for it.
"I might add that you are not being quite so truthful yourself. What is it you really wanted to know Araorë? The friendliness is wearing thin and your smile no longer hides your truer motives." In an instant Araorë's face seemed to darken and the smile plastered across his face was released and fell into a scowl. He slowly fixed his eyes on Legolas and for an instant, they seemed terribly sad and confused.
"Why can you not help me? I ask only for your honesty and you deny it."
"And I ask for the friend I left in Mirkwood to return to me! What had happened to you Araorë? What has this stranger done to you?" Legolas put his hands on Araorë's shoulders as he spoke, only to have them shrugged off.
"She has done nothing to me! I am the same friend you left so long ago- I merely have a purpose and a puzzle I wish to solve on my own, without the interference of you and your father. Can I not have secrets? Can I not be allowed to do something without the watchful eyes of the court upon me?" Legolas was taken aback at Araorë's statements. He had not thought his friend to be so terribly unhappy with his company but now he was beginning to see the world through Araorë's eyes. Forever in the shadow of the monarchy, constantly overlooked and left quite alone to his books and studies. Legolas had always supposed that was how Araorë had wished it to be; he had never thought that his friend was who he was because he had no choice.
"Still," Legolas spoke slowly and uncertainly, knowing his position now in Araorë's eyes- the oppressor. "you cannot keep this woman secret- she is a stranger to the whole kingdom and if she poses a threat- it is well that all should know it." Araorë began to shuffle through the pile of papers in search of something.
"She will do no harm Legolas." The prince hugged the bandage about his arm- it was still sore and radiated a dull gnawing pain. Araorë stopped and noticed Legolas' actions.
"If you are thinking about your arm- you must realize that you frightened her terribly. She does not understand where she is or who we are. She is completely alone- and terrified."
{The man with black eyes.}
"She has spoken to me." Araorë's head shot up in an instant, his eyes wide and his lips trembling.
"What? What did she say? What language does she speak?" He reached quickly across the small table and grabbed a pot of ink and a ragged quill. Quickly producing a piece of paper from the stack, he stood in readiness for Legolas' explanation.
"She speaks in the Weston Tongue- an older form of it if I'm not mistaken." Araorë nodded excitedly and scribbled furiously. "She spoke only two sentences: 'The man with black eyes. The man with black eyes sees you.'" Araorë's quill stopped abruptly as his eyes widened and darted towards the large pile of volumes on the floor.
"I see…anything else?" He was no longer writing and his hands were shaking terribly.
"No, nothing else." Araorë dove his hand into the large pile of books and produced the small blue volume he had previously swept aside. Stuffing it quickly into the folds of the long gray robe he was wearing, he quickly stood and excused himself, walking stiffly away from Legolas.
The prince watched him leave through the labyrinth of bookshelves and wondered what he had said that had changed Araorë's mood so drastically. He simply didn't understand anything today, and he wasn't holding out much hope for the remainder of the morning.
~*~