Beautiful Stranger
Prequel to Silent words, Comfort me
Author's note: hmm, this is turning into quite a departure from my regular fluff. Hope it's in a good way though…
Standard disclaimers apply.
Chapter 2
It must have been dawn when they took him away, but no light reached the depths of the slave holds, so Legolas could only guess. The guards piled the bodies onto the wagon - women and children and men that had died during the night or the day before.
He should have felt something when they tossed Gwain's corpse unceremoniously with the rest, but a distant fury had filled his mind and permeated his very being, so that the eyes which surveyed the wretched scene glowed with a cold beyond ice.
A child knelt weeping over a still figure in a corner, a young dark-haired boy who could not have been more than eight. One of the guards moved to drag the male corpse from his side, and the boy clutched it fiercely to him, baring small white teeth at the stranger.
The guard's contemptuous laugh turned into a curse of pain as the boy bit down hard on the offending hands. "You little…" he snarled, stretching his arm backwards to deliver a blow. Legolas stepped smoothly forward to intercept it; the chains that bound him to the wall had been released minutes earlier.
Turning his attention to the impudent slave, the guard made ready to deliver a scathing tongue-lashing, but at that frozen glare, the words died unsaid. Stammering badly, he managed to force out a phrase or two of reprimand before ripping the body from the boy's grasp and hurrying back to his compatriots as fast as was seemly.
The child cried out and reached for his dead father, but Legolas held him back. "Let him go," he whispered, as much to himself as to the boy, "he is where pain cannot touch him." He glanced a little more carefully at the young one in his arms. Mattius. A cousin of Gwain's, and one of the twenty-odd that remained from a clan of over a hundred just a month before.
He had just managed to still the boy's tears and send him to his duties, when a liveried servant of some rank moved purposely towards him, a kerchief to his nose as though he feared slavery contagious. Legolas straightened and watched him come, wondering which foolish noble or 'honored guest' it was now that wished to see elf magic performed.
The servant paused two paces away and gestured condescendingly at the elf. "You," he said haughtily, "your presence is required before the master." He did not wait to see if the elf would follow before sauntering back up the staircase from which he had come, oblivious to the hate-filled eyes drilling holes in his back.
~
"My lord Thorongil," the retainer waited politely for the man to respond, "My lord, we have arrived."
Aragorn snapped quickly out of his reverie; lulled by the sound of horse's hooves, he had come close to falling asleep. Idiot, he told himself sternly, as if you haven't learned better than that after all this time.
The imposing gates to the fort of the Duke of Wold stood before him, immense oak timbers which rose to ten times the height of a man. At his retainer's knock, a tiny slit appeared in the wooden doors and a voice requested their names and business.
"The lord Thorongil, advisor to King Thengel of Rohan, and his entourage," his man replied proudly, handing the edict to the sentry, "In the King's name, the Duke must receive us." After a brief consultation, a shout to the tower above precluded the whine and drum of opening gates.
Aragorn slid off his mount and took it by the bridle to lead it through. For a deserted holding on the outskirts of Rohan, the compounds of the Duke's fort bustled with activity. A tiny child ran right into him, but backed away quickly, his huge brown eyes wide with fear. When Aragorn reached down to reassure him, the boy danced out of reach, all but groveling as he scurried away.
"Wait!" Aragorn chased after the fleeing child, who ducked through the legs of smiths and tanners and assorted workers who toiled in the courtyard. Dashing desperately about, the boy finally crashed into a golden-haired figure that had just stepped out of a door, and wrapped his arms tightly about its legs.
Aragorn stopped a distance away, not wanting to scare the boy further. He watched the figure bend down to stroke the child's hair, murmuring words of comfort. As it straightened, the man started in disbelief as silken hair was pushed back to reveal ears topped with delicate pointed tips.
Aragorn's sense of unreality deepened when a cuff from the servant walking just ahead of him sent the elf reeling. He took an involuntary step towards the three of them, but the sudden appearance of a breathless squire cut him short. "My lord," he said, panting heavily, "if you will follow me to the anteroom …the Duke will see you shortly…"
"But…" Aragorn protested as he was carefully herded away. He fell silent when he realised that he was not going to get an answer, but thought instead of his purpose in this place, and the questions he had to ask.
"There's a conspiracy about, Thorongil," the King muttered irritably, "And half the nobles are in on it."
Aragorn bowed slightly, and awaited further instructions.
"I need to know what it is," Thengel continued, pointing a bony figure at the man before him, "And you are going to find out for me,"
Aragorn, son of Arathorn, known to the Rohirrim as the Royal Advisor Thorongil, watched as the irate King walked behind the study table, and smoothly caught the map that the King tossed to him.
"Start there," Thengel said, indicating the holdings marked in red, "They have the most to gain from a rebellion."
And so Aragorn had journeyed through nine holdings located throughout Rohan, including the present one, in little more than two months. Thus far, there had been no signs of a plot against the throne, but for all that King Thengel was pushing sixty, his mind was as sharp as ever, and the presence of concurring evidence gave Aragorn no reason to doubt him.
Now, in the fort of a Duke who had no love for his King, surrounded by nervous servants who had too much to hide, and barely a body length away from a captive elf, the whispers of treachery began to take on a solid shape.
~
Legolas spared a glance at the strange dark haired man who was the source of Mattius' fear, then a familiar pain across his face brought the elf's attention back to his own situation. He glared at the Duke's steward, but the man had turned away, and did not notice.
After some persuasion, Mattius released his death grip on the elf's legs, but refused to leave his side. Left without a choice, Legolas took one small hand in his, and together they made their way before Harad.
The Duke of Wold had been pacing anxiously across the carpet before their arrival; the elf read his impatience in the freshly bent lines of thread. Upon their entrance, the stocky man looked up, and smiled ubiquitously.
"Over here, make yourself comfortable" Harad said, waving for Legolas to take a seat, "Friends should not be so formal in each other's presence."
The elf's face hardened, and he cut the man off, saying harshly, "Get to the point. What do you want?"
Harad's smile disappeared, and his expression grew cold. "Very well," he said, "If that's the way you're going to be…I have a proposition."
Legolas waited, disdain showing in every line of his posture.
"I have…a problem," he continued, pacing towards the elf, "You see, the King has sent a man to my keep, one who is apt to meddle in business not his, and some of my business is…sensitive."
The elf barked a laugh. "You mean the King has realised you're a treacherous bastard and sent his spy to get proof," he said.
The backhand that caught him across the head was almost absent-minded. Legolas stumbled, and spat out blood.
Harad waited for him to right himself, then said, "Put it that way if you wish. The point is, I want him removed. Discreetly of course, and in such a way that it cannot be linked back to me." He watched the elf dispassionately. "Make it happen, and I will let all of you go."
"All of who?" Legolas asked suspiciously.
Harad gestured expansively to the toiling slaves both within the room and outside. "Them," he said, "Your…friends."
Legolas remained silent. Was it possible? After all these months, could the amrod gwaith finally regain their freedom? But at what cost… If only you could have waited Gwain, he thought bitterly, if you could have hung on for just a few more days…
The Duke scratched at his balding pate while the elf struggled with his inner demons. "To prove my good will," he said, "Should you agree to my terms, I will release them beforehand."
The elf stared in disbelief.
"Tashid," Harad called to his steward, "Let them go."
"Your Grace…" the steward protested.
"Let them go now."
The steward bowed and shot the elf a look of pure hatred before backing out of the room. Harad cocked a questioning eyebrow at Legolas.
Long buried hope rose to the surface in the elf's mind. If Gwain's people were free, it did not matter what happened to him. Once he need worry no longer about possible repercussions, he could find a way to resolve all things honorably.
Breathing a sigh of relief, he nodded. "I'll do it," he said.
"Good, good," Harad said happily, rubbing his hands in glee, "Of course, you don't mind if I arrange a little…guarantee?" A guard came running at the snap of his fingers. "Take the child," he said, pointing at Mattius, "Keep him somewhere safe."
"You!" Legolas reached helplessly for the boy, who struggled and wailed in the guard's arms, "You promised!"
"And I will let him go too," Harad said, "As long as you fulfill your end of the bargain. You have two days. The man will be placed in the corner guest room on the second floor of the left wing." He dismissed the elf with a wave of his hand, "Now if you will excuse me, I have a diplomat to lie to."
Legolas watched in hapless fury as Harad and Mattius exited the room. By Valar, he swore at the Duke's departing back, this is not over yet.
© ai 2003
Sigh, war and SARS…what is the world coming to? If this took your mind off decadent reality for just five minutes, it's served its purpose. :)
