Chapter 3: Patience
As Legolas had said the visit to the dungeons had only brought up more questions. This angry, rebellious woman who had insulted them and enraged him with her words was a riddle in herself. Where had she come from? Who had taught her the dark arts? Why did she want to kill Aragorn? And how come she thought that Gandalf was Saruman the White?
But most importantly of all, the situation down there in dark and bleak prison of Minas-Tirith had challenged him. It had been a very long time that a person had been able to provoke his wrath the way this woman had done. He wondered whether he would react differently if he was faced with the same situation again.
The city was still celebrating Aragorn's crowning. Everybody wore a bright smile on their faces these days that washed away the lines of sorrow the war had left there. The news had arrived that some well wishers, among them Elrond and his beautiful daughter Arwen, would arrive in the next days. Though Legolas was among friends and the people of Minas-Tirith were more than kind and treated him with great respect, it couldn't change the fact that he was the only elf among hundreds of humans. He was looking forward to the arrival of others of his kind. He enjoyed the company of his friends greatly, but sometimes he felt a bit homesick.
He missed being outside. The liberating feeling of his swift feet running over the forest ground soundlessly until he was out of breath. Explore this world and its wonders. It was here that he had first seen the sea and discovered the desire to set sail on it for a new adventure. His heart longed for a freedom Minas-Tirith couldn't offer him. The whole city was surrounded by thick stone walls. Your view was always limited walking its the crowded streets. The horizon, that normally stretched out endlessly, was now in close reach, grey and made of granite. Minas-Tirith was the strongest fortress in Middle-Earth. It was surrounded by seven tiers and seemed to the elf like a complicated, but very effective cage. It kept attackers from outsight away, but also imprisoned those it protected. He had climbed the topmost point of the city, the White Tower and was now overlooking the scenery. In the distance he saw green plains meet the blue horizon. He exhaled in relief and felt some of the tension, he hadn't known he felt, fall away from him.
He heard the constant rhythm of footsteps on the stone stairs. He turned to greet the person who was arriving at the platform on top of the tower. Legolas didn't have to wait for long and Aragorn appeared from the stairway. The elf welcomed his friends with a smile and a brief nod. Then he turned back to his previous occupation, letting his eyes roam over the scenery that lay below them. The industrious city, busy as a bee hive and the peaceful endless of the land that stretched out behind it. Aragorn stepped next to him and the both stood there in comfortable silence for a few moments.
"What brings you here, my friend?" the elf asked after a few minutes with his melodious voice.
"I needed a minute of peace. Can you imagine what it feels like when suddenly everybody wants to talk to you about their problems? I give advises, announce verdicts, just to wonder afterwards if my decisions were right", the king said and tiredly massaged his forehead, remembering hours of sitting in his throne room listening patiently to the concern and wishes of his subjects.
"I am sure you are doing exceptionally well," Legolas answered with a friendly smile and patted his friend on the back. "Do not let your hearts be troubled by doubts. The travel you have undertook to arrive at this point was long and perilous, but you have overcome every obstacle on the way there. You have proven your incredible valour and your wisdom again and again. I am honoured and proud to be your friend, King Elessar," he said, using the name Elessar to emphasis his point and express his respect.
"Diola lle, mellonamin. /Thank you, my friend/", Aragorn threw his friend brief smile.
"But I fear not everybody shares your opinion. I heard you and Gandalf went to see the witch...", he let the sentence hang in the air.
"Yes, we did. I have never met a person more disagreeable and enraging in my entire life. She rudely ridiculed both of us without even flinching an eye and she also would not tell us anything as to why she attacked you or who send her," an angry expression was playing around the corners of his mouth when he uttered those words.
"I see, " Aragorn answered with a contemplative frown on his face.
"Will you talk to her again? I would do it myself, but I can hardly find time to take a breather in between my tight schedule."
That was exactly the question Legolas had asked himself all day long and hadn't been able to come up with a satisfying answer. Perhaps he should leave this arduous task to somebody else. After all he didn't have to concern himself with the fate of this rude prisoner. But if he just gave up now that would mean her insolent behaviour would have achieved its goal. He wasn't somebody who was afraid of a challenge so he accept it and announced his decision.
~
She sat in the twilight of her prison cell and wonder what time it was. It had to be day, because the room was not as pitch black as it had been by night. A narrow beam of light shone through the small chink between the door and the sill. Twice a day a guard showed up and gave her food and drink. He placed the tray on the stone floor, a few inches from the iron bars so that she could easily reach for it and then left hastily.
She had nothing she could occupy herself with except her thoughts, but they were not a very pleasant company. Self-reflection was something she usually avoided whenever she could and especially in times of trouble. But after all that was what captivity was invented for, wasn't it? It gives the prisoner the possibility to think about his deeds and eventually, in the best scenario imaginable, even regret them. No matter how long the would keep her in here, she would never feel any remorse because of what she did. She had only done what she thought was right. Everything that had been taught to her could not have been wrong.
Though she tried to be brave, sometimes doubts and fears were nagging at her. What would they do with her? After insulting Gandalf and the elf, she had probably signed her own death sentence, though every second of it had been worth it. The deceitful old wizard had deserved it. After all he had robbed her of her magical powers. If she only had them back, then she would be out of that bleak cell in the blink of an eye, rightfully punishing those who had locked her up in here. But that would not happen soon. She let out a sigh and continued starring into the dark.
When she was not sulking quietly in a corner of her cell, the witch was seized by incredible boredom. She was a very active person who never managed to sit still for long and was only happy when she could do something useful. Sitting in this depressing prison, without a task to occupy herself with, was to her the worst punishment imaginable. Not that she had expected a better treatment, after all she had tried to kill the king. They would probably let her rot to death in here. She let out a humourless snort. Then she would come back as a ghost and haunt them.
Then suddenly she heard the squeaking noise of the opening wood door. It had to be either a guard or a visitor. Her body tensed and she saw a ray of light fall into the darkness of her cell. Within seconds the whole cell was illuminated by the warm shine of a flickering torch. She rolled her eyes when she recognized the visitor who entered the room. It was that elf again. She had to give him credit for returning, because she wouldn't have expected him to do so.
"Well, well what do I spy with my little eye...the little puppy dog is back. Aren't you scared without your master to watch over you?", she asked mockingly.
"Greetings to you, too," he said dryly, determined to keep his calm this time and not let any of her comments get to him. "I will give you my name, so you will not have to resort to calling me puppy dog again. I am Legolas Greenleaf, son of King Thranduil of Mirkwood and who might you be?"
"You know that presenting yourself to a witch, means doing something very stupid. This could well turn out to be your death sentence, because in order to put a hex on someone you have to know his name. You should be more careful next time you want to brag about your title, Prince puppy dog," she raised a delicate eyebrow and looked at him pointedly.
"If I remember correctly, Gandalf took away your powers, 'Ksher /evil one/ " he answered totally unimpressed by her threat.
"Lucky for you," she muttered under her breath. "But just so I don't have to hear anymore elvish insults, I'm Arnaya."
He nodded at her briefly. The fact that she had given him her name was already a small step in the right direction. He would wait until she was ready to tell him more, but until then he had to win her trust.
Elves were by nature very curious, but also very patient. As they were immortal they often dedicated entire decades to finding out precisely what was the secret behind certain phenomena that had managed to arouse their interest. They would wait and observe carefully, so that nothing could escaped their keen eyes. Their patience, as Legolas had found out in the last years, was something that distinguished them greatly from the humans, who always wanted answers immediately after they had asked a question.
He was somebody who never gave up when obstacles blocked his way. When he had been a young elfling his father had sent him to archery lessons. At first it had been very disappointing. He had complained a lot, because he hadn't been able to hit the target and his arms hurt from the drawing the bow repeatedly. But he had stubbornly refused to give up and after a while his patience was rewarded. He had improved gradually until one day his teacher had walked up to him and had announced that there was nothing left for him to learn, because he had reached perfection. That had been one of the proudest moments in his life.
He intended to deal with this matter similarly, He would take one step after the next and with time he would reach his goal. He would get the information he wanted.
"How did you become so angry?" the elf asked suddenly, surprising her with his question. "Has fate dealt you such a bad hand?"
Arnaya cocked her head and squinted her eyes together. "Like you actually cared!"
He stepped closer to the bars and looked her straight in the eye. "If I did not care I would not be having this conversation with you right now and much less be standing here. Above our heads, there is a whole city celebrating and..."
"Fools! All of them!" she exclaimed angrily. "They don't know what they got themselves into. They cheer at somebody who will turn out to be a cruel despot."
" It runs in his blood he can do nothing against it. He's a Dùnedain, a descendant of the race of the people of Númenor. The last king of those people thought in his arrogance he could take on Sauron himself. He was seduce by the Dark Lord, which let to the downfall of an entire race. Later Isildur, who took the One Ring, was corrupted by its power. Aragorn, your 'friend' and his proud heir is no different. Hasn't he already killed the Steward's son Boromir?"
Legolas was shocked by her accusations. What had let her to believe that Aragorn was capable of cold-blooded murder? Obviously somebody had been telling her lies, describing to her a terrible enemy that only existed in the imagination of a hateful and twisted mind. That person had obviously been the very same who had sent her out to kill Aragorn.
"Do you honestly believe that this is the truth? Do you think Faramir would have given the crown to him, the murderer of his own brother? You have been lied to, Arnaya."
"Boromir died in battle, when he tried to protect the hobbits. I was there myself and witnessed everything. He fell by the hand of an Uruk-hai and Aragorn avenged his death," the elf explained her, fixing her with his intense gaze.
Arnaya shook her head stubbornly. "Why should I believe you? You can always judge a man, and in your chase an elf, by the company he keeps. Well, and yours is more than bad."
"I cannot force you to believe me," the elf shook his head sadly. "But at least think about the possibility that my words could be true. Then you would have tried to kill a brave and noble man who always puts the life and the needs of others first. Ask yourself if this is really what you want to do," he turned to leave, talking with him the flickering torch and with it the light that had illuminated the dark cell.
"I will do whatever I want to. Did you hear me?" she cried after him.
She saw him nod while he soundlessly walked towards the door. "And I will return tomorrow to ask you what the result of your considerations was."
As Legolas had said the visit to the dungeons had only brought up more questions. This angry, rebellious woman who had insulted them and enraged him with her words was a riddle in herself. Where had she come from? Who had taught her the dark arts? Why did she want to kill Aragorn? And how come she thought that Gandalf was Saruman the White?
But most importantly of all, the situation down there in dark and bleak prison of Minas-Tirith had challenged him. It had been a very long time that a person had been able to provoke his wrath the way this woman had done. He wondered whether he would react differently if he was faced with the same situation again.
The city was still celebrating Aragorn's crowning. Everybody wore a bright smile on their faces these days that washed away the lines of sorrow the war had left there. The news had arrived that some well wishers, among them Elrond and his beautiful daughter Arwen, would arrive in the next days. Though Legolas was among friends and the people of Minas-Tirith were more than kind and treated him with great respect, it couldn't change the fact that he was the only elf among hundreds of humans. He was looking forward to the arrival of others of his kind. He enjoyed the company of his friends greatly, but sometimes he felt a bit homesick.
He missed being outside. The liberating feeling of his swift feet running over the forest ground soundlessly until he was out of breath. Explore this world and its wonders. It was here that he had first seen the sea and discovered the desire to set sail on it for a new adventure. His heart longed for a freedom Minas-Tirith couldn't offer him. The whole city was surrounded by thick stone walls. Your view was always limited walking its the crowded streets. The horizon, that normally stretched out endlessly, was now in close reach, grey and made of granite. Minas-Tirith was the strongest fortress in Middle-Earth. It was surrounded by seven tiers and seemed to the elf like a complicated, but very effective cage. It kept attackers from outsight away, but also imprisoned those it protected. He had climbed the topmost point of the city, the White Tower and was now overlooking the scenery. In the distance he saw green plains meet the blue horizon. He exhaled in relief and felt some of the tension, he hadn't known he felt, fall away from him.
He heard the constant rhythm of footsteps on the stone stairs. He turned to greet the person who was arriving at the platform on top of the tower. Legolas didn't have to wait for long and Aragorn appeared from the stairway. The elf welcomed his friends with a smile and a brief nod. Then he turned back to his previous occupation, letting his eyes roam over the scenery that lay below them. The industrious city, busy as a bee hive and the peaceful endless of the land that stretched out behind it. Aragorn stepped next to him and the both stood there in comfortable silence for a few moments.
"What brings you here, my friend?" the elf asked after a few minutes with his melodious voice.
"I needed a minute of peace. Can you imagine what it feels like when suddenly everybody wants to talk to you about their problems? I give advises, announce verdicts, just to wonder afterwards if my decisions were right", the king said and tiredly massaged his forehead, remembering hours of sitting in his throne room listening patiently to the concern and wishes of his subjects.
"I am sure you are doing exceptionally well," Legolas answered with a friendly smile and patted his friend on the back. "Do not let your hearts be troubled by doubts. The travel you have undertook to arrive at this point was long and perilous, but you have overcome every obstacle on the way there. You have proven your incredible valour and your wisdom again and again. I am honoured and proud to be your friend, King Elessar," he said, using the name Elessar to emphasis his point and express his respect.
"Diola lle, mellonamin. /Thank you, my friend/", Aragorn threw his friend brief smile.
"But I fear not everybody shares your opinion. I heard you and Gandalf went to see the witch...", he let the sentence hang in the air.
"Yes, we did. I have never met a person more disagreeable and enraging in my entire life. She rudely ridiculed both of us without even flinching an eye and she also would not tell us anything as to why she attacked you or who send her," an angry expression was playing around the corners of his mouth when he uttered those words.
"I see, " Aragorn answered with a contemplative frown on his face.
"Will you talk to her again? I would do it myself, but I can hardly find time to take a breather in between my tight schedule."
That was exactly the question Legolas had asked himself all day long and hadn't been able to come up with a satisfying answer. Perhaps he should leave this arduous task to somebody else. After all he didn't have to concern himself with the fate of this rude prisoner. But if he just gave up now that would mean her insolent behaviour would have achieved its goal. He wasn't somebody who was afraid of a challenge so he accept it and announced his decision.
~
She sat in the twilight of her prison cell and wonder what time it was. It had to be day, because the room was not as pitch black as it had been by night. A narrow beam of light shone through the small chink between the door and the sill. Twice a day a guard showed up and gave her food and drink. He placed the tray on the stone floor, a few inches from the iron bars so that she could easily reach for it and then left hastily.
She had nothing she could occupy herself with except her thoughts, but they were not a very pleasant company. Self-reflection was something she usually avoided whenever she could and especially in times of trouble. But after all that was what captivity was invented for, wasn't it? It gives the prisoner the possibility to think about his deeds and eventually, in the best scenario imaginable, even regret them. No matter how long the would keep her in here, she would never feel any remorse because of what she did. She had only done what she thought was right. Everything that had been taught to her could not have been wrong.
Though she tried to be brave, sometimes doubts and fears were nagging at her. What would they do with her? After insulting Gandalf and the elf, she had probably signed her own death sentence, though every second of it had been worth it. The deceitful old wizard had deserved it. After all he had robbed her of her magical powers. If she only had them back, then she would be out of that bleak cell in the blink of an eye, rightfully punishing those who had locked her up in here. But that would not happen soon. She let out a sigh and continued starring into the dark.
When she was not sulking quietly in a corner of her cell, the witch was seized by incredible boredom. She was a very active person who never managed to sit still for long and was only happy when she could do something useful. Sitting in this depressing prison, without a task to occupy herself with, was to her the worst punishment imaginable. Not that she had expected a better treatment, after all she had tried to kill the king. They would probably let her rot to death in here. She let out a humourless snort. Then she would come back as a ghost and haunt them.
Then suddenly she heard the squeaking noise of the opening wood door. It had to be either a guard or a visitor. Her body tensed and she saw a ray of light fall into the darkness of her cell. Within seconds the whole cell was illuminated by the warm shine of a flickering torch. She rolled her eyes when she recognized the visitor who entered the room. It was that elf again. She had to give him credit for returning, because she wouldn't have expected him to do so.
"Well, well what do I spy with my little eye...the little puppy dog is back. Aren't you scared without your master to watch over you?", she asked mockingly.
"Greetings to you, too," he said dryly, determined to keep his calm this time and not let any of her comments get to him. "I will give you my name, so you will not have to resort to calling me puppy dog again. I am Legolas Greenleaf, son of King Thranduil of Mirkwood and who might you be?"
"You know that presenting yourself to a witch, means doing something very stupid. This could well turn out to be your death sentence, because in order to put a hex on someone you have to know his name. You should be more careful next time you want to brag about your title, Prince puppy dog," she raised a delicate eyebrow and looked at him pointedly.
"If I remember correctly, Gandalf took away your powers, 'Ksher /evil one/ " he answered totally unimpressed by her threat.
"Lucky for you," she muttered under her breath. "But just so I don't have to hear anymore elvish insults, I'm Arnaya."
He nodded at her briefly. The fact that she had given him her name was already a small step in the right direction. He would wait until she was ready to tell him more, but until then he had to win her trust.
Elves were by nature very curious, but also very patient. As they were immortal they often dedicated entire decades to finding out precisely what was the secret behind certain phenomena that had managed to arouse their interest. They would wait and observe carefully, so that nothing could escaped their keen eyes. Their patience, as Legolas had found out in the last years, was something that distinguished them greatly from the humans, who always wanted answers immediately after they had asked a question.
He was somebody who never gave up when obstacles blocked his way. When he had been a young elfling his father had sent him to archery lessons. At first it had been very disappointing. He had complained a lot, because he hadn't been able to hit the target and his arms hurt from the drawing the bow repeatedly. But he had stubbornly refused to give up and after a while his patience was rewarded. He had improved gradually until one day his teacher had walked up to him and had announced that there was nothing left for him to learn, because he had reached perfection. That had been one of the proudest moments in his life.
He intended to deal with this matter similarly, He would take one step after the next and with time he would reach his goal. He would get the information he wanted.
"How did you become so angry?" the elf asked suddenly, surprising her with his question. "Has fate dealt you such a bad hand?"
Arnaya cocked her head and squinted her eyes together. "Like you actually cared!"
He stepped closer to the bars and looked her straight in the eye. "If I did not care I would not be having this conversation with you right now and much less be standing here. Above our heads, there is a whole city celebrating and..."
"Fools! All of them!" she exclaimed angrily. "They don't know what they got themselves into. They cheer at somebody who will turn out to be a cruel despot."
" It runs in his blood he can do nothing against it. He's a Dùnedain, a descendant of the race of the people of Númenor. The last king of those people thought in his arrogance he could take on Sauron himself. He was seduce by the Dark Lord, which let to the downfall of an entire race. Later Isildur, who took the One Ring, was corrupted by its power. Aragorn, your 'friend' and his proud heir is no different. Hasn't he already killed the Steward's son Boromir?"
Legolas was shocked by her accusations. What had let her to believe that Aragorn was capable of cold-blooded murder? Obviously somebody had been telling her lies, describing to her a terrible enemy that only existed in the imagination of a hateful and twisted mind. That person had obviously been the very same who had sent her out to kill Aragorn.
"Do you honestly believe that this is the truth? Do you think Faramir would have given the crown to him, the murderer of his own brother? You have been lied to, Arnaya."
"Boromir died in battle, when he tried to protect the hobbits. I was there myself and witnessed everything. He fell by the hand of an Uruk-hai and Aragorn avenged his death," the elf explained her, fixing her with his intense gaze.
Arnaya shook her head stubbornly. "Why should I believe you? You can always judge a man, and in your chase an elf, by the company he keeps. Well, and yours is more than bad."
"I cannot force you to believe me," the elf shook his head sadly. "But at least think about the possibility that my words could be true. Then you would have tried to kill a brave and noble man who always puts the life and the needs of others first. Ask yourself if this is really what you want to do," he turned to leave, talking with him the flickering torch and with it the light that had illuminated the dark cell.
"I will do whatever I want to. Did you hear me?" she cried after him.
She saw him nod while he soundlessly walked towards the door. "And I will return tomorrow to ask you what the result of your considerations was."