Author: Mirrordance

Title: Broken Alliances

Summary: A man kills an elf and starts a chain of revenge-killings, resulting in a war between the races.  Now, Aragorn and Legolas must face the only enemy that could make them fall in battle: each other.

* * *

Part 3: Breakdown

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Mirkwood

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      This one will break, Thranduil thought coldly, looking upon young Tristan.  Thranduil took a deep breath, eager to begin the interrogation.  His son's hair was tucked reverently against his breast pocket, and he treated it like an anchor.  This is why he must not fail.  This is why he must be prepared to do all that he could.  Thranduil imagined there to be some warmth that emanated from the strands-- a reminder of his son, because he would not allow it to be an already fading memory. 

      "Where is Legolas?" Thranduil asked Tristan.

      "Dead," the young man replied harshly, "like my first brother who was killed by an elf.  Like Leon, who is rotting in the next room.  Your son is dead."

      "How many of your brothers would you want me to kill in front of you," Thranduil asked him coolly, "before you become more accommodating to me?"

      "You will do no such thing…" Tristan hesitated.

      "Where is Legolas?" Thranduil asked him again.

      "Dead," Tristan answered quickly, harshly.

      Thranduil's eyes narrowed in irritation, "This could be so easy, young man.  Truly."

      "Your son is dead," Tristan spat out, "You have sealed his fate."

      Thranduil let a highly-charged silence fall between them.  The dungeon was dank and dim, and deathly quiet. 

      "Bring out the oldest one," Thranduil told one of the guards who were watching them.  Thranduil spoke in the tongue that the human could understand, and watched his face as he openly feared.

      Three soldiers pulled Sisto, who was struggling madly, until they shackled him on the wall across from the one where Tristan was bound.

      "They will try to break us," Sisto told his younger brother, "No matter what happens, do not tell them anything.  We have already lost so much at their hands.  Do not give them back their fair Prince."

      Tristan's eyes were wild and fearsome, but he nodded at his brother's command.

      Thranduil drew his sword, and let the shining blade rest upon Sisto's neck.  He looked at Tristan pointedly.

      "Where is Legolas?" he asked, his voice low and lethal.

      "Tell him nothing!" Sisto said.

      Thranduil pressed the blade against Sisto's throat, drawing a thin line of blood.

      "How deep this goes, young Tristan," said Thranduil, "Is entirely up to you."

      Tears began to well in the young man's stricken eyes.  "No…"

      "Now where is my son?" Thranduil asked him.

      Tristan stared at Sisto's eyes.

      "He is dead," Sisto said flatly.

      "He is dead," Tristan repeated.

      Thranduil pressed the blade deeper against Sisto's throat, and watched Tristan's face contort in anger and grief, and his body try to surge forward towards his brother, helplessly bound to the wall.

      "Sisto!" Tristan yelled, crying, "Sisto!"

      "Watch him die," Thranduil told him harshly, "He dies slowly this way.  I moved the blade just-so.  Watch him, young Tristan.  And think.  How many brothers do you have left at this point? How many will I make you watch as they perish slowly and painfully before your eyes? How many can you save by answering my question?"

      "Your son is dead," Tristan screamed, "And I'll tell you how, I'll tell you he suffered greatly! Bound and gagged and drowning in freezing cold mud-water! He hung by his wrists for days, as the water crept slowly up his ankles, up his legs, up his chest, to his face.  And it rose and rose, up to his eyes and he thrashed and tried to breathe but could not.  He may have frozen to death before he drowned.  Or he died swallowing that thick cold water until he choked on it.  He died slowly.  He suffered the cold, the water, and the anguish of awaiting his own cruel death.  You can do nothing to us that could equal your son's pain.  He is dead!"

      Thranduil's eyes flared as Tristan spoke.  Were they truth? Were they lies? Were they lies unfolding into truth?

      "On the contrary," Thranduil told him maliciously, "I can do things to you that could go beyond that pain and anguish.  We will call forward another of your brothers now."

      "It doesn't matter," Tristan lied, "We've taken from you your greatest prize.  You have nothing."

      Thranduil will not let that be, and he was ready to be as brutal and unforgiving as necessary to reclaim his son.

* * *

      The long ride to Mirkwood had been awkward and uncomfortable.  Stirrings of great anger had risen in Legolas since he had been rescued, but he had fallen into a despairing silence since the company passed the gravesite of the slain elf soldiers.

      Aragorn was almost wishing that he would say the harsh things he had been saying, instead of this burdensome silence that carried so much meaning in its stillness, unreleased by the triviality of words.

      The group had been allowed entrance into the borders of the kingdom, and an elf-rider who was on patrol rode ahead of them, surely to inform the King Thranduil that his son had returned safely back.

      "If you wish to leave," Legolas murmured to Aragorn, "You may go, I am already safe here, and our soldiers can take me the rest of the way."

      It was his first words in hours, and as in the other times he had spoken before, it was only out of necessity.  The Prince had lost his light and sparkle, and Aragorn was beginning to feel that it was not just a matter of time before he recovered; perhaps he was truly drifting away.

      "I feel the need to speak with your father," Aragorn told him quietly, also falling into words and conversations that did not really say what he was feeling.  He could not encase his fears in words, and even if he could, he felt his heart could not bear for Legolas to tell him expressly, as he had done the last time, that the elf despised humanity, and this race unfortunately included its King and greatest Servant.

      The King of Mirkwood was awaiting them at the stables, and embraced his son even as he was just dismounting.

      ~Legolas,~ the Thranduil said fervently, ~You have come home.~

      Legolas told him shakily, ~I lost our men…~

      ~I know,~ Thranduil said softly, ~It pains me greatly as well, but you have been restored to us, and this gives us joy.~

      ~Ada…~ Legolas whispered, ~Blood.~

      Thranduil pulled back from his son, who was looking at his bloodied robes and hands.

      ~Your torturers have paid for their mistakes,~ Thranduil told him, before turning to face Aragorn.  ~Elessar.  As usual, your grace can be depended upon.  I thank you.~

      ~The torturers have paid for their mistakes?~ Aragorn asked, dismounting from his horse, ~I fear to ask what this means.~

      ~I never knew you for much fear,~ Thranduil said to Aragorn, ~We will speak of this matter later,~ turning to one of his aides, he said, ~Humans may not presently rest in our great favor, but I expect King Ellessar's men to be treated as the greatest of guests.  Make sure this is known by all.  It is they who have restored our Prince.~

      ~They have been kind to me,~ Legolas added quietly, almost begrudgingly.  His father was right; though humans did not rest in their great favor in these trying times, his better self would not allow the memory of their kindness to be buried in his anger.

      Thranduil looked at his son worriedly, noting the bruises around his neck, on his pale, drawn face.  He moved stiffly, and seemed haggard and weary.

      ~Seek the healer,~ Thranduil commanded him.

      ~I have no need--~ Legolas was saying.

      ~I've heard this before,~ snapped Thranduil, ~Follow your king, if not your father.~

      Legolas glanced at Aragorn, and acquiesced wordlessly, turning away from the two mighty rulers.

      "Walk with me to my hall," Thranduil said to Aragorn.

      "Of course," Aragorn said, as the two of them moved deeper through the palace.

      "If you are wondering what fate had befallen your foolish young humans," Thranduil said, "Most of them are dead.  All but two, actually.  And they would have been killed as well, if I were not alerted to your arrival."

      "What becomes of them now?" Aragorn asked.

      "My son's safety," replied Thranduil, "though important to me, is merely incidental to their case.  They committed the crime, and whether they succeeded or not is of no consequence.  The sentence must carry.  However… this chain of violence between our races must come to an end."

      "I too, wish this peace," agreed Aragorn, "Elves and men have always had an alliance.  Trivialities of our citizens, their personal grudges, must not escalate into a full-fledged hatred that encompasses our kingdoms."

      "As a sign of our good will," said Thranduil, "I am willing to release these last two fools into your custody.  To punish or set free, to do with as you will.  You need not prove your good will to me, as I know you have always been a friend to my son, and have even restored him to us.  This is more than sign enough."

      "I accept, sire," Aragorn said politely, "Perhaps this violence will now come to an end."

      "I certainly hope so," said Thranduil, "Now that this vile business is over, you are my guest.  And we will dine, and you will rest, before I let you leave my kingdom."

* * *

      The doors to the dungeons were pushed open, and for the first time since he had been left by them to die in the caves, Legolas set his eyes upon Tristan and another brother of his, shackled to the walls and surrounded by the corpses of their other brothers.

      The healer had been a fountain of information, and Legolas felt somehow compelled to pay his former captors a visit, once he learned about what had been done to them.  To what end, he was unsure.  The only certainty in his heart was that he had to see them.

      "You live…" Tristan said, his voice hoarse as he looked at Legolas in awe.

      Legolas glanced at the reeking corpses spread around them.  And so his father has done this misdeed, to gather information.  A sign of desperate love to be found deep within an unmistakable brutality.  His father was a paradox, knowing how to love and how to hate with great definitiveness.

      "You did not yield, did you?" asked Legolas.

      "They took everything from us," whispered Tristan, "I could not let them have you."

      "He left the corpses with you so that you may think about your options," observed Legolas, "And what have you concluded?"

      "We will die with our secrets," said Tristan, "But now you return, bruised but otherwise well, as if fate was mocking me.  You have everything, we have nothing."

      --

      "How did it feel to see them die before your eyes?" Legolas asked him bitterly.

      --

      "Like I was being torn inside out," Tristan answered, trembling, "Like I would die from grief and yet I could not."

      --

      "You look at me with this vindictive rage in your eyes," Tristan whispered, "So satisfied are you that you have shared this loss, this burning anguish with me."

      "How could I not feel satisfied?" snapped Legolas, "How could you blame me my pleasure at your punishment, after what you had done to me and my soldiers?"

      "Then you musn't begrudge me our initial desire for vengeance," retorted Tristan, "because you have tasted it in your own heart, you are tasting it now."

      "Then all is well and good," said Legolas harshly, "We understand each other at last.  You deserve all this.  All your actions brought you here.  My men did nothing but try to spare your lives," Legolas stepped back from the dungeon, willing so much to leave.  He nodded to the guard he was with, before turning towards Tristan for his farewell, "I wish you have a good night with all your corpses."

      "How could you lend yourself to this?" Tristan asked him achingly, "You are a good man."

      "I was never a man," Legolas told him coldly, as the door was shut between them with a resounding slam.

      Legolas and his guard-escort walked out of the dungeons silently.  As step by step took him further from the reeking dungeon, the anger in his heart was overrun by… was it pity?, and he contrasted the bitterness he had earlier shown Tristan and said to the guard, "By my order, take those bodies out of there.  Give the remaining prisoners food, and clean clothes.  Prepare the bodies for burial and lend them the respect they did not give our soldiers.  This ridiculous violence ends here."

      It was not forgiveness.  No, he was too enraged and broken to afford that much.  But he needed that touch of compassion in himself, that least effort to keep his heart, as he used to know it.  And it was for Aragorn.  The King would come to visit the fool-brothers later, for certain.  And he shouldn't have to see his people like that, and feel a potent rage for their mistreatment, and a gnawing, aching helplessness that he could not have done better by them.

      No, it was not for those fools that he showed them this kindness.  If anything, they truly deserved whatever they got.

* * *

      Elves barely slept, much less slept for too long, but it seemed that his weary body meant to make its own rules.

      When Legolas fully awoke, the sun was high upon the sky, and it was past mid-morning.  He had lain in bed the evening before, not really intending to sleep although it seemed that it had claimed him.  He dressed hurriedly and went to look for Aragorn, only to find him gone, already having left to return to his own kingdom.

      Legolas had missed dinner the night before, and now had even missed saying farewell to Aragorn.  He regretted this deeply, although he also met this with some relief.  For the first time since the first moments he had met Aragorn years ago, he was at a loss as to what to say to him.  The past days have been awkward since he expressed his desire to leave the human world for awhile, but it was only his anger talking.  Although he could not say that his anger had ebbed, or even slightly dulled, he did not want his best friend to leave without his best wishes.

      He headed for the receiving hall of his father, only to find it once again in a closed-door session.  His brows furrowed in worry, as he ordered for the doors to be opened for him.

      Inside, he found his father scolding a group of soldiers, all still in their armor, all bloodied and grimy from some strange misadventure.

      It felt like déjà vu, except the last time things had this air of nervous energy and foreboding, he had been looking at a grimy human who had murdered six elves…

      ~What happened?~ Legolas whispered.

      ~Later,~ his father retorted, turning to the other soldiers in the room, ~See them locked up.  We will have a court martial as soon as I get my head together as to what to do about these rogue fools.  And prepare the stables.  I can see Elessar returning here as soon as he discovers what has been done.~

      The hall soon emptied, save for father and son.  Legolas watched his father's face intently.

      ~What's been done?~ he asked softly.

      ~The soldiers you have just seen,~ replied Thranduil, ~come from the same contingent of soldiers as the men whom I've sent with you to Gondor.  I did not tell you, because at the time I felt it unnecessary to do so, but when the human brothers came to my hall to tell me of your ransom, as an added threat, they brought the decapitated heads of your comrades.  Our soldiers did not take it well, and razed the nearest human towns they could find.  Without my leave, or knowledge.~

      Legolas' jaw set.  If the towns were nearest to Mirkwood, and Aragorn had left hours ago, he would find them in no time, and see what has been done to his people.  The rogue elves had hit towns.  That meant women, and children.

      ~They've begun a war,~ Legolas said.

      ~It's been coming,~ Thranduil sighed, ~We could not stem it.  Elessar will return soon and will most likely have a quarrel with me.  I wish that he would understand that this is the work of a few individuals, and in no way should it have a bearing on the entire race.~

      ~He might understand,~ said Legolas, ~But his people will not.  He is a fair King, not a dictator.  He will serve them, and it may be no less than a war that they will ask of him.~

      ~I hope not,~ said Thranduil fervently, ~I sincerely hope not.~

* * *

      By evening, Aragorn and his troop had returned to the palace stables with their eyes bloodshot.  They had rode furiously, and without rest.

      Dismounting his horse, Aragorn was immediately confronted by Legolas, who had been waiting at the stables for hours for this return.

      ~We had nothing to do with it,~ Legolas told him at once, not mincing words.

      "Than who did?" Aragorn snapped, not even bothering to speak in Elvish, "I found one of my towns in ashes.  Ashes!"

      "The soldiers responsible did this without my father's command," Legolas said, trying to calm him, "This is the work of individuals, not of the elves as a race.  They had been angry at the loss of their comrades—"

      "There is no excuse," Aragorn told him darkly, "Where is your hypocritical King?"

      "You will not speak of my father this way," Legolas warned him.

      "And how else should I speak of him?" Aragorn asked, "He welcomed me here as a guest.  He played the role of a gracious host.  He expressed to me his deep desire for peace.  He released his human captives as a sign of good will.  And all this time, all this while that I have been here, my people were being murdered, and my towns being burned.  Tell me, Legolas, how else should I speak of him?"

      "I know you are angry," Legolas said, curbing his own temper, "But do not do or say anything rash--"

      "Where is your father?" Aragorn cut him off, "It is his authority that I seek, and not your reasoning."

      "Why do you dismiss me so?" Legolas retorted, "I did not burn your human towns.  I had nothing to do with this.  You know me! Your doubting sends a knife to my heart."

      "I know you, yes," Aragorn's voice grated, "And I know you enough to recognize the coarse hate and the burning in your eyes when you had looked at us after we rescued you.  I know you and I know you were in your deepest anger.  What I do not know, is where you were last night.  And I do not know where you were this morning.  All I know is that at the time you were gone, some of my towns burned to the ground!"
      Legolas stepped back from Aragorn, stung by his suspicion.

      ~Then you do not know me at all,~ Legolas told him darkly in Elvish, ~I know you are hurting, and angry.  And I wish I could bring myself to understand that these are the only reasons why you would say such vile things to me.  But I'm too tired trying to comprehend this ridiculous situation.  I'm too tired to have to do anything with you, or your kind.~

      "We were headed this way," Aragorn said tightly, "As you had told me before, 'one learns that in the end, you just really have to be one among your own kind and content with it, or face the grief of constant loss and wandering.'  It seems we have both learned this at last."

      --

      ~I will summon my father for you,~ Legolas told him softly, beginning to turn to leave.  A few steps away, though, he paused and looked at Aragorn sorrowfully.

      ~Farewell, Estel,~ Legolas told him quietly, achingly thinking, If things do not go well between you and my father tonight, the next I see you will be at the other end of a bloody field.

TO BE CONTINUED…