Through Bitter Chains, Chapter Two
by Rhysenn
Rating: R
Pairings: Aragorn/Legolas, Boromir/Legolas
Category: Semi-AU, First-Time, Romance, Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Slave-fic
Summary: The elf learns about his place in this strange city of Men; and we meet Aragorn, the steward of the house.
"An Elf?" Aragorn repeated in amazement, after he had heard the brief tale his old friend had to tell. "The king gave those barbarians leave to dwell in Ithilien, in exchange for an Elf?"
Gandalf tilted his head, looking thoughtfully at Aragorn from under his bushy eyebrows. "You seem astounded that an Elf would warrant an exchange such as the lease of Ithilien."
"No," Aragorn replied tersely. "Rather, I am astounded that the king would trade with those travelling marauders, especially when the possession in question is an Elf, and the price is permitting foreign claim over land that is rightfully ours."
In his voice flashed a deep hatred for the 'hunters,' as they called themselves — for Aragorn himself was one of the true Dúnedain of the North, and he loathed any association with such cruel, ruthless pillagers.
"But how came they to overpower an elf?" Aragorn asked. "For although it has been long since I walked among those fair folk, I know that they are deft and nimble, skilled in self-defence at the least."
"That I know not, either," Gandalf admitted. "I too was surprised, for Elves rarely move about alone, as among their kindred they find solidarity and strength. Perhaps this one was caught unawares; they bore him a great distance, for in the forests of Mirkwood they waylaid him."
Aragorn's brow furrowed. "Do you approve, Gandalf?"
Gandalf sighed. "An Elf, above all kindred, should not be reckoned so lightly; and his freedom is naught for anyone else to barter for personal gain."
"I think likewise," Aragorn agreed. "It is one thing to command a slave of one's own race; but it is altogether different to strive to control one of the Elder Kindred."
"I fear it is more complicated than that." Gandalf's eyes clouded with storm. "My heart misgives that King Boromir's interest in the elf goes beyond what meets the eye."
Before Aragorn could ask Gandalf to elaborate, the doors to the palace opened, and in marched the guards; between them was a slender figure, upright and proud despite the slight slump of the shoulders, weighed with fatigue. The chains that bound his ankles clinked on the marble floor as he moved, graceful even while he was restrained. He walked with a perceptible limp; and although he did not resist the guidance of the guards, yet he would not endure being physically led.
Aragorn's eyes settled on the elf as the guards drew him to a halt; the elf looked straight back at him, prevailing dignity evident in his unflinching gaze. He stood silently before Aragorn, the chains pooled around his feet, and his arms still bound behind his back.
"King Boromir bade us tell you to ready this slave ere the dinner feast this evening," the chief guard informed Aragorn. "He is an Elf, and the king just purchased him from the hunters; they warn you to be careful, for they say this slave is not obedient or willing to be commanded."
"As few free people ever are," Aragorn remarked succinctly; Gandalf shot him a quelling look. Aragorn nodded towards the guard. "Very well. I will take him from here; you are dismissed."
The guard bowed. "We commit him to your care, my lord." They left the elf's side, and exited the hall.
Aragorn barely noticed the guards' departure; he was too absorbed in studying the elf. He had always been fond of elves, as one would love a tender childhood memory, like a strain of forgotten music. It had been a long time since he dwelt with the elves, or had any dealings with them; seeing this elf rekindled his affection for the fair kindred, and Aragorn had to remind himself that this elf was not a guest of the house, but rather, a slave.
Aragorn was accustomed to overseeing slaves that worked in the palace; ever since slavery had been legalised in Gondor, the taking of slaves by the wealthy was common, and had become a symbol of affluence. But this elf was different from any other slave he had dealt with.
There was something special about the elf — perhaps it was his unwavering dignity in the face of subjugation, or the way he still wore his freedom like a protective cloak, even when he had been cruelly sold for a tenure of soil.
Or maybe it was something else, altogether.
Finally, Aragorn spoke.
"What is your name?" he asked. "The name you formerly went by."
"My name is Legolas Greenleaf," the elf answered; his voice was strong and mellifluous. "And it remains my name, as it will always be."
"That may not be so," Aragorn told him. "For the king will give you a name that pleases him, and it shall be your new name."
"I will answer to none other name than my own," the elf replied, in a tone of implicit defiance.
"It is not your choice." Aragorn said firmly; he masked his own misgivings, and wore a stern face that demanded respect and obedience. "The king owns you now, and you have no say in matters even pertaining to yourself. That you would do well to understand, and get accustomed to." Through it all Aragorn never spoke the word 'slave.'
"Legolas is the name my father bestowed upon me, ere I was born." The elf raised his eyes to level Aragorn's, and in them there was no fear or hesitancy. "I may have been taken far away from my homeland and brought here against my will, but I will never cast aside my heritage — most precious of which is my name."
The elf's words struck a deep chord within Aragorn. He was without a reply for a long moment, lost in his own poignant memories of the meaning of lineage and patrimony. When he looked once again upon the elf standing before him, there was a different light in Aragorn's eyes — softer, as if born of a new understanding.
"Very well," he said quietly. "Legolas shall be your name, unless the king says otherwise."
Aragorn expected Legolas to thank him, for this was an uncommon show of consideration towards a slave; but the elf made no answer except for his even, unwavering gaze. Aragorn paused, and pushed the unbidden memories of the past to the fringes of his mind; there were matters at hand that needed tending. Briskly he laid down the standard rules of the household, which Legolas had to abide by. The elf listened, and then bowed his head in silent acknowledgement.
"The afternoon swiftly wears away," Aragorn finally said. "The king desires to see you at the grand dinner feast this evening. You look tired; you must have travelled many leagues with little rest. When did you depart from Mirkwood?"
A look of supreme astonishment crossed Legolas's face.
"How knew you that I am from the woodland realm?" he asked, an eagerness in his voice like one who in a foreign country hears the song of his own land; for Legolas knew the guards had not mentioned his origin to Aragorn, and he had not perceived that Gandalf, who was standing by unobtrusively, had been among the crowd earlier.
Aragorn gave Legolas an appraising look; it became clear to him now that he could recognise the elf's origin, even if Gandalf had not told him before.
"Your raiment is of the Wood-elves, who dwell far north beneath the trees of Mirkwood," Aragorn answered. "And your accent and manner of speech are distinctly Sindarin."
"You are acquainted with our folk?" Legolas asked, once more breaking the rule that slaves never ask questions, and only speak when they are first spoken to. Had there been guards in the hall with them, Aragorn would have had to rebuke the elf; but something now moved him to let it pass, since they were alone save for Gandalf.
"I have been in your land, many years ago," he told Legolas. "And I have heard tales of the gladness that lived beneath the oak and beech of Greenwood the Great, ere the darkness fell upon that forest. Joyful tales, of a time when the shade under the branches gave no fear but only relief to those who passed through..."
Aragorn broke off, extricating himself from bittersweet memories once again. Legolas was gazing at him with rapt attention, and there was a shimmer of forgotten joy in the elf's bright eyes as he heard the fair recollections of his homeland.
"But no longer." Aragorn forced himself to regain his formal composure; he had already said too much of what he felt. "The darkness settled upon the land; days of light and beauty have long passed. They are no more."
The tentative spark in Legolas's eyes wavered at Aragorn's cold withdrawal; the elf dropped his gaze to the floor, and the sadness returned to his demeanour.
Aragorn made a concerted effort to return to his task. "You have not yet answered my question, Legolas: when were you brought hence from your dwelling?"
"I do not know." Legolas's voice was soft, almost painfully so. "I cannot remember, for they frequently emptied vials of foul concoctions down my throat to subdue me. I drifted in and out of consciousness, and I am not certain how many days or nights have since passed. I have eaten little, and my head aches."
"You will be fed, and clothed with fresh garments." Aragorn felt a twinge of sympathy for Legolas; not pity, for the elf was too proud for that. "Then you may rest to regain your strength before the feast."
Gandalf's voice now spoke.
"Perhaps it would also be well to remove his bonds, if he gives his word not to struggle with you or attempt flight." At Gandalf's words, both Aragorn and Legolas turned towards him; and there was a brief flicker of gratitude in Legolas's eyes.
Aragorn turned his attention to Legolas's chains. True enough, they were cruel and too tight for comfort, and bit into the soft flesh around the elf's ankles. He resolved to free Legolas from them; but first, he needed assurance that it would not be folly to do so.
"If I rid you of your bonds," Aragorn said to Legolas, who listened attentively. "Do you promise not to fight back, or hazard escape the moment you are liberated?"
"I give you my word," Legolas answered decisively; as if the word of a slave still held worth, other than in his own eyes.
Aragorn approached him, drawing his sword as he went; Legolas watched the blade with keen eyes, but did not recoil. Going behind him, Aragorn laid a palm on Legolas's hands, holding them down as he deftly sliced the leather bands with an upward flick of the sword. The bands fell in shreds to the floor, and Legolas drew his arms forward, rubbing his wrists ruefully.
Then Aragorn knelt to inspect the chains around Legolas's ankles — they were thick and sturdy, but the locks that secured them were not. With a sharp strike with the blunt edge of his sword, he broke each lock to pieces without jarring Legolas on impact.
Carefully Aragorn removed the chains, and saw that the flesh beneath was reddened and sore. He straightened; as he stepped back, he caught the elf's soft voice, on the wings of a barely audible whisper.
"Thank you."
Aragorn nodded, and signalled for Legolas to follow him; and Legolas did, without having to be told again. Aragorn bade farewell to Gandalf, and his old friend went forth from the hall. Aragorn would probably not see him for the rest of the day, since Gandalf never attended feasts with the officials of Minas Tirith. But Gandalf always had a knack of appearing just when he was needed, at precisely the right time.
Presently Aragorn brought Legolas into the bath house — as with the rest of the palace it was a grand chamber, lit with candles white as ivory, which never seemed to burn down. Inside, it was separated into two chambers: on the right were the cubicles for the officials. Each held a bath tub carved out of a block of solid black marble veined with pearl, ornately decorated with designs etched in gold. A curtain, which looked delicate and translucent as thin silk yet was made of waterproof material, could be drawn around the tub.
In the left chamber were smaller cubicles meant for the servants. The tubs were small and plain, with no surrounding curtain, and the baths did not have the luxury of hot water. A guard watched the servants' bath chamber.
Aragorn turned to Legolas, and beckoned him towards one of the cubicles. The elf hesitated briefly.
"May I be allowed to bathe alone?" he asked respectfully, in a low voice so the guard was not able to overhear him.
This was not the traditional way with new slaves — they were not permitted to bathe unassisted, in case they might, in their wild desperation, attempt to drown themselves in the tub. Aragorn considered the elf's request; there seemed no harm in allowing it. And it was something he actually wanted to do for Legolas.
Aragorn turned to the guard on duty. "Bring clean garments for the elf," he commanded. "He is to be properly arrayed for the feast tonight."
As the guard left to carry out his task, Aragorn cast a meaningful glance at Legolas. The elf nodded gratefully; then he lowered his eyes, and turned away.
Aragorn found himself slightly reluctant as he withdrew to give Legolas some privacy. He lingered just outside the chamber; and he could still see the silhouette of Legolas's slender form, against the flickering candlelight that played across the smooth wet walls of the bath house.
The guard returned bearing fresh garments, and Aragorn left them just inside the chamber. Shortly later Legolas emerged, and Aragorn had to fight to contain his amazement — for although Legolas had been attractive clad in his stained, dark green raiment of Mirkwood, now dressed in finer robes he looked stunning.
Legolas wore a simple tunic of pale-white — it would have been modest, except that it was too short on him. And because he was slim, it was suggestively loose, sliding about his lean shoulders. The collar stood apart, revealing his graceful neck. Legolas also wore tight-fitting black leggings that reached down to his ankles, hiding his injuries; and the way these enhanced his legs pushed the boundaries of decency. Aragorn wondered if the robes were too splendid for the elf to wear — but he soon realised that it was Legolas who added beauty to the fabrics that arrayed him, and not vice versa.
Moreover, slaves were never called to be in attendance as guests at grand feasts; and Aragorn wanted to make sure Legolas was aptly attired for the occasion. Even now it had almost slipped Aragorn's mind that Legolas was actually a slave. Aragorn set him in no bonds, although he did not give Legolas a belt to gird around his waist, as was customary for guests of the king's feast.
"You look splendid," Aragorn said simply.
Legolas looked up; the sincerity in Aragorn's voice made the edges of his lips lift ever so slightly, in a quick, somewhat sad smile. Then it was gone, like a shimmer of moonlight on still waters.
Aragorn led Legolas away from the bath house. He had some food brought before the elf, who seemed weak from hunger. It was quail's meat — more special than the usual fare, since it was part of leftover samples from the spread for the feast.
However, when the elf saw the dish set before him, he looked dismayed and shook his head.
"I cannot eat this," he told Aragorn earnestly. "In the forests of Mirkwood birds are our friends, especially those who roost in the branches of the trees and do us no harm. The flesh of friendly birds we do not eat; and the meat of evil birds we do not touch. That is our way of life."
Aragorn now realised the folly of his kindness towards Legolas — for it now seemed that Legolas had become comfortable in his presence, and treated him more as an equal than a superior. In Minas Tirith slaves were not accorded such luxury of choice; and as far as Aragorn could see Legolas was clearly a 'slave,' though he was loath to use that term. Such behaviour could not be tolerated — it would be interpreted as impudence, and an insolent slave would be punished until he learnt his lesson.
"And this is our way of life," Aragorn said firmly, pushing the plate of quail's meat in front of Legolas, who regarded it with revulsion. "You will do well to forget your old way of life, Legolas, because that has passed. It does not matter if you accept it, or not — you shall have to live with it."
"No," Legolas said in a tortured whisper; his eyes hazed over with pain and sadness. "I do not wish to live like this."
"You cannot speak in such a manner!" Aragorn hissed fiercely, standing up with an abruptness that startled even Legolas, who looked up at him with eyes that shone liquid silver. "Do you not understand? You will suffer greatly if you do not relinquish this stubborn attitude! Do not speak that way in front of me again!"
Legolas subsided, and said nothing for a long while. Aragorn gazed at him, and wondered how he had allowed himself to develop such an affection for this elf in such a short span of time.
Finally, Legolas spoke; his voice was quiet, subdued. "I never saw you before, when you walked the paths of Mirkwood."
"Perhaps you did, but could not recognise that it was me." Aragorn gave him a veiled look.
"Nay," Legolas said, with a small shrug. "We would have noticed you without delay; for Men move recklessly when sometimes there is need for stealth. The rustle of the grasses as they pass through often gives them away." He paused. "Men are sometimes aimless, and lack purpose; that is their undoing."
"Pay close attention, Legolas," Aragorn said severely. "For I will give you some counsel that you shall do well to heed — for your own good."
"What will your counsel be?" Legolas asked.
"Words are treacherous," Aragorn answered; he held Legolas's gaze. "Here they will bring you no comfort or relief; only suffering and punishment. Do not ask any questions; some things are better left unanswered. For your pride will be your undoing."
"You do not understand," Legolas said; there was a desperate intensity in his eyes. "I have lost everything that has meaning in my life — my home, my happiness, my freedom. My pride is all I have."
"And you possess it to your own ruin," Aragorn said; he rose to his feet, for the time of the dinner feast was drawing near. With a sweeping turn he strode towards the feasting hall; Legolas paused a moment, and then followed him. The plate of quail's meat remained on the table, untouched.
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