Gimli sat there for several moments looking at me in disbelief. For my part, I could not long hold his gaze and turned my head so that I faced the fire. I sat there staring at the dancing flames as if they had suddenly become the most interesting things in all of Middle Earth. At length, Gimli spoke.
"Legolas, I am so sorry. I can't believe that they are dead."
"Nor I. But I swear, I will not rest until I find the murderers who stole my family from me, though there are few clues to their identity."
"Then we must go to Aragorn at once and inform him. He may be able to find some clues to bring their assailants to justice."
I nodded. "Perhaps you are right, Gimli. Aragorn may yet offer some hope. But the hour is growing late."
"Never mind the hour. I trust you have some steed with you. Get him from the stables and leave the talking to me when we get to the palace."
I could not help but smile inwardly at my friend, for I could see in his eyes that my battle was now his own. It was somewhat comforting, knowing that I was not alone; that I had such a friend who would stand by me in my greatest hour of need. With these thoughts, I turned and headed back out of the tavern. The rain had stopped, but a heavy fog hung over the land. But Firebrand knew the way to the palace as soon he was taking Gimli and I by the fastest route. It was not long before we came to the front gate to the palace where Aragorn and his family now lived. Farnwor was the name man standing guard. He knew Gimli and I well and let us past with no questions, though the night was growing old.
Oddly enough, we found Aragorn standing outside of the palace in the courtyard. He was off to the left side, staring down into the fog that covered the city. As we came closer, Gimli greeted him and he turned to face us. As he came closer we could see that he, though he was confused to see us there, was glad to see the two of us. But soon his expression changed, as he let his eyes take in the sight of us, especially me.
"Please, come inside. The night is chill and you look in need of a warm fire."
"More than that I'm afraid," Gimli mumbled, but he turned and followed Aragorn in side, and I trailed them both.
Together we walked in silence to the informal meeting room that Aragorn enjoyed holding conversations in, for it was richly furnished and was one of the more comfortable places to hold counsel in. Here he stoked the fire for both warmth and light by which to see. He motioned for us to sit and we took our places on large overly plush chairs.
After throwing a few more pieces of wood into the flickering flames, Aragorn sat, his face grim.
"We are sorry to disturb you at this late hour, Aragorn," I began but he shook his head.
"No apology needed, my friend. I can tell by looking at you that something is amiss. Tell me, what is it that presses so hard upon you?"
I drew a deep breath before speaking. It had been hard telling Gimli of my family's death; speaking those vile words aloud. Now I had to do it all over again. I cleared my throat, the images of my murdered family flashing before my eyes.
"Aragorn, I do not know how I should say this to you, for the very thought sickens my heart and soul. When I returned to my home from taking counsel with you about the kingdom to the south, I found my house in a state of disarray. But that is not why I am here. I come becauseā¦becauseā¦," the words began to stick in my throat and I all but forced myself to continue, "I found my family all laying murdered where they had once stood. They are dead, Aragorn, Elen and Anoron, and little Aragorn."
To this Aragorn made no quick reply, but looked instead as if I had told him that the Dark Lord had suddenly made a reappearance in Middle Earth.
"By the Valar! I am so sorry, my friend," he stammered once he found his voice again. "Is there anything that I might do to help you?"
"That is why I have come," I answered. "I had hoped you might be able to find such clues as you can to bring justice to their murderers."
"Of course," he replied immediately, he said as he put a protective, firm hand on my shoulder. "Do you think you can tell me more of what you saw?"
I nodded, forcing down the lump that had risen in my throat and fighting back the well of tears that threatened to break through. Once I had regained what composure I could, I began to tell him about all that I had seen, from the broken front door to the puncture wounds to the gashes across each of their fair necks. I told him of not being able to bring myself to burying them and of being born by chance to Minas Tirith and of meeting up with Gimli. By the end, the dam I had fought so hard to build before my eyes burst and the tears rolled down my cheeks unchecked.
When my story was complete, Aragorn looked thoughtful and sat silently by my side, his arm around me much as a father might do to a dejected child.
"Tomorrow we will ride out to your estate," he said softly, "and see what we may find. Rest now, for you have had a hard day and trust that they are comfortable in the halls of your ancestors."
Too weary in both body and mind, I could not help but to comply with his instructions and soon the blissful world of sleep took me.
