Here is Chapter Three. For story stats, see Chapter One. I still don't own anything but my original characters and the plot.
Thank you Air Druggy for reviewing my first two chapters.
[A/N] I don't know the exact fears of the Elves that Men had, but the Hobbits thought Galadriel knew magic, so I am assuming that Men thought she did, too.
-- CHAPTER THREE --
Narndil, son of Narnsel, sat before the smoldering fire in his small, dirty home on the outskirts of Minas Tirith. The fire seemed to dance for him as he glared into its depths, his black eyes mirrors that reflected the fire's strength. Dark hair framed his taunt face, making his pointed nose seem to stick out even further. His thin lips were pursed together in a straight line, evidence of his strain as he scribbled on the numerous sheets of paper that fluttered around the room. A few of the unlucky sheets had found themselves crumpled and tossed into the fire, feeding its fury and filling the room with thick smoke.
Narndil moved for the first time in nearly half an hour, to pick up one of the sheets, only to fall back into his previous slump. This time his dark eyes reflected his own handwriting as he detailed the arrangements that would lead to his being instated as Steward of Gondor. He would not take the position of King, though he would still rule all of the lands. No, to be King would bring upon him the hate of many who adored Elessar. Let Telberth claim the throne and face the wrath of the free peoples of Gondor. Narndil would simply rule through him.
The most concerning problem facing his plan was that Elessar was greatly loved by his people. Who wouldn't love the man who single-handedly defeated Saruman and helped destroy the One Ring? The man who had brought peace and prosperity to the land. The man who made it a point to know each of his soldiers by name, and something about them as well. Yes, Elessar would be a tough king to follow, but Narndil had one thing that Elessar didn't, and that was a proper upbringing.
Elessar had been raised in Rivendell by the elves. Particularly, by Elrond, who had fought in the Last Alliance of Men and Elves, and had been with Isildur when he brought about his own downfall. Elessar also had married Elrond's daughter, a bewitching beauty who could probably turn a man into a newt with her icy stare alone. Finally, Elessar kept close confidence with an elf and a dwarf, both unnatural creatures who were more than likely trying to claim a piece of Gondor for their own.
Narndil smiled darkly. It was well known that the people of Gondor feared the elves. Strange, mystical creatures who lived forever and made evil magic to enslave their mortal kin. One elf could kill a dozen trained warriors, and would do so whenever given the chance. It was the elves who lead thousands of men to fight against Sauron and sacrificed their lives, while only a small percentage of the Firstborn had perished.
This fear, this ancient grudge the mortals had towards the elves, was the key to his overthrow. Combined with the lock that was mankind's gossiping and distrustful nature, his plan was secure. The only obstacle was the actual act of forcing Elessar to resign. It would be simple enough to just kill the man, after having, of course, gotten through his guards, but that would turn more ill favor upon the usurpers. No, Elessar had to resign, and in doing so, look weak in the face of his people. A bad sovereign. Elessar would not resign easily though, as his strength and honor were nearly unbeatable upon the coming of the Fourth Age. Likewise, was his loyalty, but that worked more in Narndil's favor than the king's. How long could Elessar refuse to sign his resignation when the life of his son was in danger? A king with no heir is weak anyway, so not only would Elessar be faced with the loss of his title, but also the loss of the boy.
Mhrenel had confirmed the night before that Elessar was protective of his only son. Narndil's most trusted employee had watched the king sneak from his castle in the guise of a ranger and disappear into the woods, returning shortly with his son cradled in his arms and the strange elf from the Northern lands. Smiling, Narndil wrote this down on his parchment as well: 'Elessar entrusts his son to an elf.'
There was a sharp knock on the door. Narndil frowned, annoyed to be interrupted. Nevertheless, he shuffled his remaining papers into a pile and called out for the person to enter. The door opened and Mhrenel stepped inside, followed by another of the guards.
"Gnanthor has returned from the Tharbad[1] bridge. They were successful in waylaying the trading group heading towards Bree."
Narndil perked up slightly at this good news. "Any survivors?"
"Nay, all perished."
"The goods?"
"Being transferred to your store rooms as we speak."
"Evidence that it was Gnanthor?"
"No, all has been taken care of."
"Good. Spread the word that it was a group of elves from Rivendell that attacked the envoy."
"Will do. Anything else?"
"No, that is all." Narndil waved his hand and Mhrenel and the guard parted, closing the door securely behind them. Narndil leaned back in his chair, a ghost of a smile on his taunt face. Soon it would be time to capture the Crown Prince, and his plan would be in motion.
*
Two dark haired men in worn traveling clothes were seated at the table behind Gimli. The noise of drunk and drinking patrons in the small tavern was loud, but the dwarf was still able to catch snatches of the men's conversation. It had not been his intent to eavesdrop, but they spoke loudly, almost as if they wanted to be heard. When the word 'elf' was mentioned, Gimli listened in attentively. Anything he could use as ammunition against Legolas in their verbal sparing matches was well worth eavesdropping for.
Every once and while, a drunk would put out a loud yell, drowning out the words of the two men behind Gimli. Still, the conversation of the men was easy to decipher, and Gimli's eyes widened when he clearly heard one of them say, "Yeah, it was those scheming elves from Rivendell that attacked the traders. Left none alive and stole all the goods. Even killed a few of the horses."
Rivendell? There were hardly any elves left in the fabled refuge, and they were well provided for by the bountiful forest around them. They had no reason to be attacking humans for supplies. If they were in need of help, they were on friendly terms with Gondor and Aragorn would gladly send provisions to his foster brothers. These men were clearly mistaken.
"Excuse me, good sir, but I couldn't help but overhear parts of your conversation," a young barmaid interrupted the dark strangers. "It is true that the elves attacked traders from Gondor?"
"Aye, little lady. And it ain't been the first time, either. The elves have been attacking numerous caravans."
"Truly? But my brother is a trader," the girl gasped.
"May his passage be safe, then," one man said, and Gimli noted it was laced with fake sympathy. "Make sure you watch out for 'em. It wouldn't surprise me if they started attacking Gondor herself!"
Elves attack Gondor? These men were dislusional! Gimli thought heatedly.
"Me either," the other man replied. "Those Rivendell elves might look sweet and innocent with their blue eyes and blonde hair, but they aren't anything of the sort! Their dark minds are always conniving to come up with ways to weaken men."
"Hold your tongue, evil snake oil!" Gimli roared, standing up from his seat and gripping his axe. "Ye spread false tales to scare the womenfolk. Ain't never been an elf to attack Gondor!"
The two men jumped up as well, first in shock at the loud accusation, but secondly in anger. "Hold your tongue Master Dwarf. You're not in your own territory here," one of the men threatened.
"I shall hold nothing by my axe handle, while its imbedded in your stinking skull!"
"I doubt your axe could even reach my head, as your stature is less than uplifting," the other man taunted.
"I've heard worse threats from the King of Rohan, simple fool," Gimli shot back, not at all intimidated by their words or height. He had, after-all, fought Uruk-hai and Wargs.
"Please," came the frantic voice of the tavern owner. "I'll have no bloodshed inside my establishment. Take your concerns outside."
"Gladly," Gimli glowered. The two men nodded as well, but as soon as they had passed the threshold of the door, they took off running down the street. Gimli laughed at them, and then turned back to the tavern. The windows and door were full of curious and somewhat frightened patrons, trying to see what the dwarf would do. Gimli shook his head and then decided to head back to the palace and inform Aragorn of the 'blonde' elves from Rivendell.
*
"… and the sorry cowards took of running down the alley," Gimli finished his tale proudly. He looked at the faces of his four listeners, and was dismayed to see identical looks of distress on all of their faces. "What?" he asked.
"I daresay that now the people of Gondor will have more to say about the anger of the dwarves than the magic of the elves," Legolas jested, but it was weak and no humor was behind it. Arwen reached over from her seat next to him and took his hand. Both elves felt heavy burdens were placed on their shoulders from the false rumors of the elves' maundering. Arwen felt it especially, as she hailed from Rivendell.
"Let them talk!" Gimli roared, anger turning his face red.
"I think we have more important things to worry about," Aragorn interjected. "Like, who is actually behind these attacks and why blame the elves?"
"Is it possible that the elves were from Lothlorien, or even Eryn Lasgalen[2]?" Faramir asked. "The fair elves there have blonde hair."
"No, it is entirely IMpossible," Legolas snapped. "There are even less elves in Lorien than in Rivendell, hardly enough to successfully launch a raid. Eryn Lasgalen is too far away, and the elves there don't venture past the borders. IF Thranduil were to order a raid, it would be directed at the dwarves in the Misty Mountains, not some random traders half way across Arda!" His blue eyes were heated with anger that he had to defend his people. Arwen tightened her hold on his hand and Aragorn sent him a look that clearly said, I know your feelings but do not take them out on Faramir.
"Forgive my misguided concerns," Faramir replied tersely.
"No," Legolas sighed. "I should offer you my apologizes, for you did not deserve my anger. I am merely frustrated that my people are so feared and hated."
"Accepted, my friend," Faramir replied, smiling slightly. Legolas nodded.
"Though spoken in anger, Legolas' words are true," Aragorn entered the conversation again. "This attack was not the doing of elves. We must figure out who initiated it."
"Estel," Arwen said softly. "These men made false the participation of the elves in the raid. Perhaps, then, it is possible that the whole raid was fabricated. It seems their intent was purely to cause more hatred in the hearts of men for the elves."
"I did not think of that," Gimli said, leaning back in his chair.
"Nor I," Aragorn added, "and it is a good point. I shall look into that, and see if a recent trading party was waylaid en route to Bree. Still, however, the question remains as to why someone would want to disgrace the elves."
"No good will come of it," Faramir spoke. "For the most part, all the elves are leaving Middle Earth anyway. If it is the land they want, they do not need to take it by force. Soon it will be uninhabited." Arwen looked sad, as she imagined her beautiful home ransacked by men. She hoped it would be after her passing.
"And we do not know if that is the reason for their deceit," Aragorn argued. "It could be something completely different."
"And what that is, we may never know," Gimli said gloomily.
From his hiding spot under the long table, covered by a cloth that reached the floor, Eldarion pressed his lips together in a frown. He, too, was confused as to why someone would want to hurt the elves. Legolas had never been anything but kind to him and his sisters, and was one of his father's best friends. Besides that, his own mother was half-elven.
tbc…
[1] The Tharbad bridge crosses the Gwathló River on the North-South Road that runs through Enedwaith from Rohan to the Shire, and branches off towards Bree.
[2] Celeborn and Thranduil met after the War of the Ring, and after Dol Guldor had been destroyed, to rename Mirkwood Eryn Lasgalen, meaning 'The Wood of Greenleaves.'