Chapter 5
"Lord Aragorn, if it was that would ask my council," Faramir said as he stared at the King, lost deep in thought.
"I ask no council of any," he said shortly. "Only a little peace in which to consider the matters at hand." Faramir turned to leave the throne room, but he halted.
"My lord please, for the sake of all people of Minas Tirith, do not let emotions cloud your clear sight." With that, he departed, leaving the King in pensive silence.
Aragorn sighed and rested his hands on his knees, his head in his palms. If there was ever a time he could do that, it would be now, but little chance there was of that. Was he in denial? Did Legolas take his hate to that level? Surely not, but the possibility remained.
He felt tears creeping into his eyes. He knew whom he should hand it off to, but he could not bring himself to condemn Legolas, not now, not ever.
"Bring me Faramir, and Lord Elrond," he whispered to darkness. "I summon them."
"I cannot continue this way," he muttered when they were in the room.
"You want us to pass judgment on Legolas' fate," Elrond stated. "I understand." Aragorn looked up and felt the weight of those words.
"The people will not be pleased of their King failing like this," Faramir said. "Should we pass the word under your name...?"
"Decide what you will! I have no care for image!" he shouted, rising. "Make you decision quickly, for Legolas should not be held here anymore. By nightfall, I want word of the verdict." He left, intent on wandering through the woods on his mind where he could leave his pain behind.
***
"By order of the King, Legolas son of Thranduil, you are hereby summoned to the throne room for the final judgment," a messenger called from behind the closed door. Legolas rose elegantly his head clear as he opened the door. The messenger smiled darkly at him and beckoned down the hall. Legolas let him lead him to the room, even though he already knew where it lay.
The wide doors opened to reveal the room, halfway lit; the day was cloudy, and the lamps did not provide enough light. Aragorn sat on the throne, and even in the gloom Legolas saw the hint of tears on his cheeks. Beside him were the solemn figures of Elrond and Faramir. Both were emotionless masks, though a hint of anger and pity flashed before Elrond's eyes.
"My Lord, I bring you Legolas of Mirkwood," the messenger announced before backing out of the hall. It was to be a private meeting.
***
Haldir wandered aimlessly through one of the gardens in the palace of Minas Tirith, sometimes running his hand along a tree trunk, sometimes humming to himself. His head was light, despite the dark appearance of the royal home. A cloud of sorrow hung about it, but Haldir pierced it without a care, striding into its midst and smiling around him.
That smile faded when his thoughts turned to Legolas. Just a comforting gesture, a loving hand extended to him, but the elf refused. Haldir paused and sent an involuntary glare to the center of the palace. To hurt Legolas so, and then, he still loved the man...
"Where is Legolas anyhow?" Haldir wondered. He said he would meet Haldir in one of the gardens; maybe he was at the wrong one. Haldir made to leave for the next garden, but before he could, he heard a cry of anguish. He paused, but he suspected its cause. Without a pause, Haldir began to walk briskly to the throne chambers of the King himself.
***
Legolas could not hear, his eyes would not see. Around him was a buzz of noise, yet there was no sound in the silent room. His body was numb and cold, and he did not feel his own shaking. His mind blanked; every sensation was like the last, a movement suspended in time for all to see. Someone spoke, but he did not hear. Movements, shifting, but there was nothing to move. His legs froze, and his vision clouded. Somewhere out there, he saw a small glimmer, but it faded. All his strength left him, but he did not fall. The void of emptiness quickly covered him, and he did not strain against its grasp. The anguish, or what it anguish? What plagued his mind? Was it happiness? Was it sick elation? Did he feel pain? Was there pain left to feel?
Words came back to him, the unwavering judgment of Elrond. His voice was flat, but in it, Legolas heard hesitations, regret, and loss. Legolas gulped to prepare himself as the words sunk in yet again.
"Legolas, by the judgment and wisdom of Lord Faramir and me, Lord Elrond, we hereby condemn you for the brutal death of Lady Arwen. The law of Gondor will put you to death in exactly one week from this day. Forthwith, you shall be removed to the quarters of those awaiting their death, apart from the city..."
Suddenly, painful reality returned. Legolas and sunk to the ground, shaking uncontrollably. Aragorn was in front of him, upon his kingly throne, sitting still as stone, just as shocked as Legolas was by the news. His eyes did not move from staring at a point above the door to the throne room. Faramir gulped nervously as silence ensued. Elrond, too, shifted his weight.
"Why do you wait a week?" Legolas asked in a hushed voice. Elrond turned to him now, startled. "Kill me now, if you wish to convict me of this crime. End it all! You have already done enough harm!" He rose, and turning, made to walk out of the hall.
"If you leave, Legolas Price of Mirkwood, guards would kill you," Elrond warned. Legolas paused, tilting his head towards the sound.
"Give me no pity; I deserve none." He shoved open one of the large doors, letting in a torrent of rain. He stepped out into the storm outside, letting the water fall along him as he stood in the threshold.
And he let out a great cry.
It was the cry an elf made when torn between happiness and anger, fear and courage, anguish and love, pity and selfishness. It was the cry of an elf near to death, an elf near to finding a way to make their end. It was the cry of outrage, at those behind him. Legolas took a breath, only to spin sharply around and glare at those within.
"If this was the society in which I was to live when wed to Lord Aragorn, then I thank fate for choosing this road. I would have killed Arwen once, tenfold, if it would have brought such an end as this." He closed his eyes and stormed off into the rain.
***
Haldir found the golden prince huddled beneath a tree, a small ball of wet clothing and hair. He ran to Legolas, lifting up the unconscious head. He gasped at the pallor of Legolas' face and quickly lifted him up to carry him inside. Held tightly even as he was, Haldir barely felt a pulse. He quickened his step to his room.
"Haldir, why do you keep on forcing me to live?" Legolas whispered suddenly. Haldir started after dozing off in the Elvish dream world in the chair beside the bed. Legolas had sat up, and he was staring at Haldir with listless eyes. "What more is there for me to live for? I would not live long as it is."
"Go to Valinor. You have a magnificent life ahead of you. We can leave once you are looking better..."
"What good would it do? They would track me down and kill me. Haldir, death, its so close. I am an immortal elf, immune to aging. Why is death here? I shouldn't be brought down so easily." Bile collected in Haldir throat, and he gulped it down.
"They..."
"Yes," Legolas muttered. Haldir reached forward and took the elf's hand, cradling it in his own. Legolas did not bother to flinch, but even in Haldir's heart, he found this little joy.
"Legolas, you speak false words, you must." He pulled Legolas, and felt that the elf was near to breakdown, but he could not cry. His grief was that beyond any human tears. Haldir cradled him now, rocking him back and forth, holding back his own torrent of fear. He ran his hand along the golden hair, then down Legolas' cheek. Legolas looked up at him with pleading eyes and mouthed the word 'stop'. Haldir let his hand fall, but he did not relinquish his embrace.
"We will escape," Haldir vowed to the dark of the storm that day. "I will get you to the ships, and you will find Valinor, and you will live far from the vile and grief of the mortal realm." His eyes glowed with determination as he shifted; resting Legolas back onto the bed more. Legolas gasped.
"Haldir, tonight—" Legolas tried hard to control the traitor's words, but it was too much. "Stay with me." Aragorn, he moaned, his heart stopping as Haldir smiled, halfway through standing, and sat back down on the chair.
"Legolas, I will be here for you, always," he comforted, taking his hand as Legolas closed his eyes to a fitful sleep.
***
The people of Minas Tirith were in a mixed state. Finally, there was someone to lay the blame on for the death of such a fair elfin maiden, yet now, there was an upcoming execution. The people were not allowed to these events; they were quite private and quiet, a person slipping away by the executioners blade or by the noose, depending on what might be the crime.
Little they had seen of their King, even the servants of the castle. He remained locked away in his room, contemplating many matters. Sometimes, he would consult with Elrond or Faramir, but those rows always ended with shouting and a throwing of a person and some furniture out of one of four doors.
"I accidentally walked in on one of their conversations," Mlina said as she gathered with some of the other servant women. She was proud of this accomplishment, knowing that many of the other women often fell in on important conversations, though she had never before. "I felt very nervous though, and thought that the King was going to take a sword to me." She shivered, and another maid gasped and put her arm around her.
"Dear, that happened to me before, so I understand. He is very irritable now," the woman comforted. Mlina hardened and pulled from under her thin arm.
"Can you give us a gist of the conversation?" a young girl asked. Mlina shook her head, smiling as she recalled the moments that she spent asking the same questions.
"I was sworn to secrecy," she intoned, as the older servant women did; she was one of them now.
At sixteen, she was the youngest of a fleet of serving women and maids for the King. She often provided him with food nowadays, since he did not budge from his room. Every day, she held herself a little straighter when she entered, carried the tray with more confidence.
"And by secrecy I will swear if words you can utter," another girl, one of Mlina's friends who was only a year younger than her, Even a humble servant though knew when not to overstep their bounds.
"On any given day, I would spend the evening talking if I could, but not this time. My friend, understand, but these matters are far too close to my Lord the King's heart." Her friend hung her head and sighed.
"You can at least tell us who the conversation was with, right?" she suddenly asked, her face brightening. Mlina smiled mischievously.
"I do not believe so." She smirked, and despite her friend's pleading, she would not budge.
Though she enjoyed her position of power, Mlina found the burden of her knowledge tiring and so tempting. Her mouth could journey the length of Middle-Earth if she let in, before sundown, while doing all her chores, and to her, it was too much to keep it shut over a matter. She could keep a secret if not egged, but constant nagging only weakened already soft walls.
"When you take this position, Mlina, you take on the oath never to repeat any information your questing ears may hear; naturally, you want to know what the King discusses, but it may never leak into the open." The words at her initiation rang true. Sure, it was just an initiation invented by her fellow servants, but it was an initiation all the same.
Actually, what Mlina heard that afternoon was too much for even her to consider. The words shocked her and disgusted her, slowly letting her trust in their King fail.
"What have you done to Legolas?" Haldir ranted, his face reddening as stared at Aragorn's cold face. "What damage did you do to his mind...and his body at that? He shies from me every time I even try to touch him!"
"The appropriate question should in fact be asked by me at the present point in time, and it should be: what have you done to scar Legolas? When I saw him, I could tell that something went wrong, and not only by—what did you do to him?"
"Legolas...will...die!" With those words, Aragorn sprung up, though from Mlina's hiding place in a small servant niche in the wall she could not see this.
"Do you not think I mourn his death? Do you not think I wish for the past to reverse itself, that I had taken him as my husband? Damn your Lady and her prophecies! They mean nothing!"
"You resigned Legolas to this fate. Of course you do not mourn." Aragorn laughed then, a broken, fragmented, crazed man's laugh.
"I did what? Did you claim that I would dare wish my dear mela, my golden price Legolas any harm? I have done enough as it is. To harm him further would cause my own death. I already question it even now. I have a blade with me, Haldir. It is a calming blade, and it has many uses, not all of which are to slay foes in combat."
"But..."
"But what?" he interrupted. "But what, Haldir, my friend?" Haldir backed away. "I am powerless now in my control. I have every right to control, but in these matters, I passed them into other hands."
With that, Mlina entered, carrying swiftly the tray of food for the king. She bowed her head and hurried out of the room, her face crimson as she bolted out of the room.
Mlina turned to the window, seeing the setting sun. She sighed and turned towards her room, her thoughts heavy as she contemplated the King and his truths.
***
The quarters were those of someone doomed to die: plain, simple, inelegant. It was a waste of time to make them comfortable. The bed was no more than a pallet, dust covered every corner of the room, there was a small table and chair, but nothing was at the least presentable. Legolas observed this with cold indifference.
"Aragorn," he whispered longingly. If only he could see his lover again before the end. He had no lover though, so he shook that thought from his mind. Even Haldir was nothing to him now. The colorless world swirled around him, but he was still, immobile, unable to catch up. He was the outsider, unable to enter it, unable to walk away.
He spent most of his life with Aragorn. They knew each other as children even, and he could not forget the man who swept his young heart away. He would give his life for Aragorn if he had to.
He was. Aragorn wished him dead.
"I will do this for you, Aragorn. I will die for you." He whispered to the darkness as he finally resigned himself to his fate.
***
I was swept away by you the first moment our eyes met. You with your long, unkempt hair, even then, your blue eyes glowing in the starlight as you rode to the fair gates of my home. I waited in the boughs of a great tree, watching the line of Elves from Rivendell. Even as young as you were and small, I could tell you from the rest of the ranks. I traced your every step as you wound around the corner
I could not understand the feeling I had since that day, a strange mix of emotion all tangled up in my heart, threatening to choke out all life. I grasped it but found it full of thorns, though the thorns were made of silk. I fell away, and I was gone, thrall to the fickle feeling called love.
The first time I talked to you, I thought I would burst from the sudden flow of passion. I could not control myself as I laughed at your voice. You laughed too, young and innocence. Those days were utopias, tucked in the fair trees of Mirkwood, running laughing, playing.
Maybe it was that I was too naïve to consider the possibility you may turn me down, but that day in the glen I could not hold back any longer. I gave you the only gesture I knew, a small kiss on the cheek, the peck my mother once gave to me long, long ago, when she was alive. As I scampered out, I prayed to every holy force of the Realms across the Sea that you would follow. You did. There, I met love.
I suppose I was not as young as it sounds; I was only innocent, sheltered by Ada, his fear of me leaving him great. I knew I was the only link to the woman he would never see again, and I tolerated his sheltering. But when you lips met mine, I was lost to wild abandon. I never wanted that moment to end; you were so soft, so delicate. Your lips were kind; even if we both fumbled with how it was we should kiss.
From then on, we were inseparable. I never dreamed of a day apart from you, never.
Until now, love, and now, I can only hope I shall please your cold heart, for no matter how cruel you may be, I cannot deny that I still love you. I will love you and shall never let that go, my one and only lover.
***
Aragorn put his head in his hands and kept back the sobs. The sun shone painfully through his window, and he cursed and drew the drapes across it. Legolas awaited his end, less than twenty four hours from now.
He had to get out.
Haldir disappeared sometime earlier in the week, a passing shadow in an even greater dark. Aragorn did not mourn his parting, for now, when he would occasionally pass by the secluded room of Legolas, the elf's face almost seemed brighter, like that burden left him be. Still, the elf never moved from either sitting or lying on the bed, staring listlessly ahead, sometimes humming to himself, but always oblivious to the world. Aragorn knew that it was hard on him, but this was not the expected response.
Still, now was no time to consider that. He had other plans and other matters to sort out.
Firstly, he rose, stretching, and strode to his wardrobe. Hidden behind all the finery of his royal clothing was his traveling gear. He pulled it out of hiding and shook it out. The smell of the unwashed clothing was welcoming to him, compared to the stiffness of his normal attire. He slipped easily into his garments. He fastened his oldest sword belt, the one he had before becoming king, around him, and slipped Narsil out of its decorative sheath and into this disguise. Throwing on the cloak, he admired himself in the mirror, looking once as he did those years ago when he was naught but a Dúnedain of the North.
He slipped quietly out the back way from his quarters, past many servants, who gave him odd looks. No one stopped him in the hall though, for which he was thankful. Mainly, this was not because of his clothing but for the fact that he used rarely traversed passages to get to the stables.
Once there, he walked along the rows of stalls. Kingly horses there were, but none of these pleased Aragorn. Still, back, tucked away in a dark corner, was a shaggy mare, her chestnut coat unkempt and her mane and tail tangled. Her eyes though glowed with life, and her ears stood erect even as her head hung from the weight of being forgotten. She was well muscled and very strong, but rarely was she ridden now, used only if there was dire need.
"Hello, Alara," Aragorn whispered to her. She perked at her name, snorting as she saw Aragorn. He held out his hand, stroking her neck as he unclasped the stall door. There was no tack for her, long categorized as old and thrown out like she almost was, but Aragorn did not need it. He sprang onto the horse, not as gracefully as Legolas (cursing himself at thinking the name), but he managed. He turned her from the stable and trotted out into the afternoon sun, through the man rings of the city and out into the great field of Pelennor, in the outermost ring of the City. To one side, halfway inside and halfway not, lay a forest, small, but beautiful. That was Aragorn's destination, and he spurred Alara into a canter as he crossed this distance of the plain.
The boughs of the trees sheltered Aragorn from the harsh light, and he slowed Alara to a walk, dismounting from her to make the way through the tight knit trunks easier. She neighed in disapproval, even her tired back still calling for the lost rider. Aragorn rubbed her nose and shook his head, comforting her with apologies.
"At least I can apologize to someone," he said despondently as he led her through the forest. Legolas...
"Now is not the time to be caught up with my emotions. I mourn for the elf, I shall always mourn for the elf, and I...love him. If all goes well..." He gulped and quickened his stride.
The glen was deep in the heart of the forest, not yet to the wall yet but near to it. Soft grass grew in it, springy and fresh even this close to winter. There was a covering of brown leaves around its edges. Aragorn went to the center and put down his gear, shrugging off his pack and letting it fall with a clank. Alara jumped at the sound, but after calming, she busied herself with picking at the lush grasses.
Aragorn plopped down on the ground, running a hand through his shoulder length hair. The breeze blew, and leaves dislodged from their branches. A brown, crinkled leaf passed his head, and he held out his hand for it. It settled in his palm, and he listened to it rustle a moment before letting it free.
There was much he had to do before tomorrow. He looked around, knowing that would only be a temporary hiding place. There was little food in the pack for the upcoming journey, and so he began a search through the forest for edible plants for the long trek ahead of him.
***
It was there to jeer at him again, the sun of men. Legolas shielded his eyes from its burning rays as he rolled over in the bed. The sheets were wet from crying again. It felt like the tears never stopped, when Legolas had no control of his mind and body. No tears could fill his wounds now though.
They would not have the chance. Legolas had not counted the days until—then—but the heaviness in the air and the choking anticipation alerted Legolas to the time. The monotony of the days locked away, the dullness of his mind and soul: all was to end now.
There was no more time for regrets. His life was his life; no matter how many times he looked back, no matter how many times he cried for the past, it was past. There was no chance to make amends for any mistakes, no time to say words unsaid, do actions undone; everything ended here and now.
The hard pounding on his door pulled Legolas out of his self-pity. He gulped as the burly guard threw it open, or at least, Legolas expected it to be the burly guard. Instead, it was Elrond. His face was stone, and his mouth was a thin line incapable of speech. Legolas took a deep breath and exited the room with Elrond shutting the door behind him.
They walked through the silent halls alone, up a set of stairs Legolas did not know existed. They were rough and cracked, the large stone blocks crumbling with age. There were torches burning along the walls, but they were at long intervals from each other; hangers sat in the walls, but the wood had long rotted out from those.
The stairs even into a open space, far above the City. It was actually part of the mountain above it, secluded, away from every shred of civilization. The steep, winding path led up to a cave. With his keen eyesight, Legolas discerned two armed guards of the palace standing at either entrance of the cave. They held long spears, which blocked the entrance.
The excruciatingly long walk finally ended, and Legolas stood before the two men. One sneered at him; there was the burly guard that brought him food and often teased and tormented him, jeering and calling at him as much as possible.
"I bring the prisoner, prince Legolas," Elrond recited huskily. He cleared his throat, coughing a little while the guards lifted their spears to allow them passage. Legolas stepped between them, and he felt the spears fall only inches from him as he entered the dark of the cave. The men behind him snickered.
What appeared to be a cave was in fact only a passageway, leading to a peculiar opening. It was still within the mountain, yet somehow, a large crack had formed in the top of the mountain, letting in sunlight to one large area. The crack, over time, expanded, and now, it was like a sun opening, letting in light. Sparse grasses grew in the area, and rock shrubs peeked up through cracks in the ground. There was also another tunnel in front of him, light at the end, leading to the other side of the mountain.
A man stepped out from behind a shadowed hiding niche in the wall. He was thin and meager looking, under the black cloak which he wore. His eyes glimmered with malice, and in his hand he carried an axe, the edge catching the light and reflecting it into the elf's eyes. The man nodded to Elrond, who removed himself from the room; he could not stand the sight which would take place inside.
In the center of the cave was a block, made of ebony colored wood. It was shaped to fit to Legolas' neck, indented in the center. The man waved to it, and when Legolas did not move, he gave him a little shove to it, harshly kicking him to the ground. He rested his head in the groove.
"You should feel lucky, elf," the man sneered. His voice was high and squeaky, somewhat distant as he moved to a sharpening wheel to perfect his axe. "Most prisoners come to me all bound up and gagged. They must really trust you to come all like you are. I doubt you could put up a fight in your state anyway." He laughed to himself. "I always believed elves were a high race, strong, able to take down most any man. Are you going to respond to me, huh, elf? Are you just going to sit there and die? Well, really, you will in fact die either way." He squealed with laughter.
Legolas squeezed his eyes shut, clearing his mind as he waited for the finishing blow. He did not feel burning tears come to him, of which he was thankful. The mourning was over.
He vaguely had a thought, an image of a man's face, in the back of his mind. The face smiled at him, equal with his height.
The face had its eyes closed, and the eyes of the observer also closed as he fell into the love of the kiss.
The face kissed his neck, cheeks, lips, ears with fiery passion. His hands ran across the observer's body, sending red-hot fire through his bones.
"Any last words?" the man asked. Legolas barely kept the final vision contained, but it too slipped away in the darkness, leaving him alone and untouched. He did not respond.
"Well then—" The man shuffled to the block and lifted up the axe, bringing it down with a whoosh of air. Legolas braced himself, clenching his jaw as he prepared for his final blow.
Cliffhanger!
Please, give me as much constructive criticism as you wish.
Oh, yes, a note that is bugging me and I must say: in chapter 1, Aragorn says a lot of elvish stuff. As I have found out now, that is wrong. I am very sorry! I found some other information about elvish, and many of those words are not used in Quenya. I guess I found a faulty translator. Sorry! *bows in apology* I will get it right next time I must use a lot of elvish though. I WILL!
Thanks for reading! I never really expected this story would get anywhere, so I am happy!