Chapter 7. Thanks again to everyone who's reviewed. You guys absolutely make my day.
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When he left Legolas, Mercia made directly for the King's chambers, knocking softly on the carven door and listening for a reply. Slipping inside the room, he waited for the King to speak. When he did, it was not in the strong, commanding tones that Mercia had grown so used to. The King sounded worried, scared, and almost old. His voice had held a rich, deep, modulated wisdom born of age for as long as Mercia could remember, but never before had he sounded old.
"What ails my son?" he asked.
"My Liege, it is strange," Mercia confessed.
"Please," Thranduil interrupted, pulling out a chair. "Sit."
Gratefully, Mercia sank into the chair. Inwardly, he admired the way that Thranduil had moved the chair in a manner that seemed simply gracious but was really a practised motion to let him hear where the chair was. The King had been kind and generous to Mercia before he lost his sight and afterwards, his behaviour had not changed at all.
"Thank you," Mercia said, turning his face towards where he knew the King to be. "I can find no trace of deceit in your son's mind. He tells no lies that he is aware of and from what I can ascertain, is under no spell."
"But..." The King began.
"But," Mercia interrupted, aware that he was one of a very few woodland elves who could interrupt their King without repercussions, "there is certainly something strange. There is something new stirring in Legolas' mind and he will not yet speak of it."
"You said he had not lied to you," Thranduil reminded Mercia.
"Indeed," Mercia agreed. "I do not believe he did. For how can you lie about that whose existence you are not aware of?"
"Mercia, you are my dear and trusted friend," Thranduil said softly. "You are skilled and wise beyond any in my realm and it is you that I charge with this task: Please, Mercia, learn what this man has done to my son. Tell me what curse, what affliction has been placed upon my youngest child."
"My Lord, I will endeavour to do so," Mercia said. "You know that Legolas is dear to me and has been for many years. I think that I know what I must do to uncover the truth, or at least to get closer to it."
"What do you require?" Thranduil asked, eager to grant any request that would free his son of this mental slavery.
"I need to speak to Aragorn, and I need to do so alone."
There was a resounding, ringing silence in the chamber after Mercia had spoken. In the soundless room, Mercia listened carefully for any change in the King's breathing that would betray his feelings. There was none. Thranduil stared at Mercia's determined, honest face for a long moment and then looked away with a sigh.
"I will risk no more hurt to my people," he said gravely.
"My Lord," Mercia said softly, "with respect, it may help Legolas. If I can only speak to the man, he may give something away in his tone, some hint or clue that would tell me what I need to know in order to cure your son."
"Mercia," Thranduil breathed, clearly torn between a desire to solve the mystery of his son's behaviour and the need to protect Mercia.
"I will be safe," Mercia assured the King. "I have ways of sheltering my mind from those who wish to intrude upon it and I will know if he tries to cast some spell upon me with his voice."
"Very well," the King said warily. "But Mercia, he is cunning. You must be careful. Show no weakness before him."
"I will not, my Lord," Mercia assured him, knowing that Thranduil was referring to the potential harm that Aragorn would be able to inflict on him if he learned of Mercia's blindness.
"It is agreed. I will send three warriors with you. They will wait for you outside, far enough away that you may have privacy."
"My Liege, I thank you."
"But Mercia," the King said hurriedly, "all you will need to do is raise your voice and they will come to your aid."
Mercia nodded and left the room in the company of Thranduil who gestured to three tall elves waiting nearby. Together, Mercia and the warriors descended through the hallways to Aragorn's cell. As they drew near, Mercia turned to the warriors.
"Wait here for me," he instructed. "One of you may come to the cell and unlock the door for me. Then you must lock it behind me and rejoin your companions." The tallest elf stepped forward to Mercia's side and they walked together to the door of the cell. The warrior unlocked the door and Mercia slipped inside, the door shutting with a resounding click before Aragorn even had time to stand. For a long moment, the tall elven warrior listened to his conscience and his orders war with one another. Finally, he locked the door, turned his back on the cell and returned to the others.
Inside the cell, Mercia stood silently, his ears carefully listening to every sound in the cell, to the human's deep, even breathing, to the soft sound of the wind coming in through the narrow, high windows.
"Aragorn," he said softly.
"My name is Estel," Aragorn said stubbornly, "and if you are an emissary from King Thranduil, then I have nothing to say to you."
"I did seek Thranduil's leave to speak with you, but I come on behalf of another. I wish to talk to you about Legolas."
"I have cast no spell upon him," Aragorn sneered. "I have done nothing!"
"Lower your voice," Mercia said urgently. "There are three warriors outside and all they need is to hear one sound they deem threatening and they will come in here and this chance will be gone."
Aragorn looked for a moment at where the elf stood in shadow, a frown touching his face.
"What chance is that?" he asked finally, wary of some trap.
"The chance for you to put your own side of the story to an impartial listener," Mercia told him. Then, directly ignoring his King's words for the first time in his long life, Mercia stepped forward. Silver moonlight slanted across his face and he turned his blank eyes towards the sound of Aragorn's voice.
For a long moment, Aragorn stared in confusion, aware that he was being told something without words, but not able to make it out. Then he noticed and recognised the blank stare in the elf's eyes, the clear depths that went on forever and then collided with a solid wall of darkness and shadow.
"You are blind?" Aragorn asked quietly.
"Yes," Mercia said. "I am no threat to you. Now please. Will you allow me to speak with you?"
"How did you lose your sight?" Aragorn asked and then shook his head at his own impertinence. His question had been drawn from him without consideration, so inflamed was his natural curiosity. "My apologies. It is simply that I have lived all my life among the fair folk and never seen one with..."
"A flaw such as this?" Mercia finished for him, smiling softly. "It is rare, yes, but it can happen. But that is not what I wish to speak of now. One day, perhaps, I will tell you the full tale, but now, we must speak of Legolas."
"What of him?" Aragorn asked.
"Wait," Mercia muttered. "Is there anything to sit on in here?"
"A bench," Aragorn said.
"Where is it?" Mercia asked. "Could you guide me there?"
Aragorn stood and took Mercia's arm, leading him to the bench. The elf sat down gratefully, smiling at Aragorn. Both knew that they could have harmed the other while they were so close. That they had chosen not to had established between them a tentative respect.
"Thank you," Mercia nodded, hearing Aragorn join him on the bench, a few feet to the elf's left. "Now," he said in a hushed tone. "Tell me, Aragorn, what think you of Legolas?"
"Why does this have any relevance? What I think of him is of no consequence."
"It is to me," Mercia assured him. "Please."
"Very well," Aragorn sighed, shifting slightly. "You have been only the second being here to treat me with anything even remotely approaching respect and friendship, so to you, I will be honest as I was not to your King." He thought for a moment and then began to speak softly. "When I first saw him, I had no thought in my mind other than to help a fellow being escape from the Orcs. And then, when I fought by his side, I admired his battle skills but I could not help noticing that although his style was superb, it seemed too clean, like a warrior who has learned how to fight but has not yet had opportunity to prove his worth in the field of battle. He spoke to me and walked with me as an equal, although his status in this land or in any is far greater than my own. I noted his love for his land and for his people and my respect for him continued to grow in such a short period of time. And then, when I was able to look at him properly, in the cold moonlight, it seemed to me that all of the beauty of Middle Earth had been distilled somehow into one form. The innocence of little known races far beyond your realm is in him, the cold beauty of the elves, the passion of the men of the south, the unrestrained wildness of the Easterlings, all in one person.
"I was stunned, I will admit freely. I had never seen a sight so wondrous, not even Arwen Undomiel, the image of Luthien gracing Middle Earth once more. No sight has moved me more, nor do I think will any I shall see in the future. His reaction to Thranduil's judgement upon me further affected me and I confess that my only sorrow upon being escorted from Mirkwood was that I should never again look upon such pure, innocent beauty. When I awoke to find him near me again, I knew that he should not have been there and I tried to make him leave but a large part of me wished to stay there with him, to talk to him, to hear his voice, such a soft melody." Aragorn fell silent, somewhat embarrassed at having laid his heart so bare before a stranger.
Mercia, however, was smiling gently, his head tilted slightly to one side inquisitively, to better hear Aragorn's heartfelt words.
"Tell me, Aragorn, what happened when Legolas found you out in the wilds?" Mercia asked, displaying an unnerving talent for knowing the deep parts of someone's character, the parts they kept hidden from all others.
"I do not wish to say," Aragorn said.
"It could be very important," Mercia prompted him.
"It would do Legolas a disservice to mention it without his express permission," Aragorn said softly.
Much to Aragorn's relief, Mercia stayed silent for a long moment after that. Together, they sat on the cold bench like equals, not like a prisoner and his interrogator. Finally, Mercia moved, turning his body towards Aragorn and capturing the man's hand in both of his. Aragorn recoiled slightly but Mercia tightened his grip on the man's hand and Aragorn fell still, staring down at the two hands clasped around one of his own. Closing his blank eyes, Mercia stroked over the rough calluses on Aragorn's hands, a powerful image of those hands holding the sword of the rightful King of Gondor coming into his mind. He saw the blade burning with a white light, turning aside all that stood against it.
"You have been judged as Isildur's heir. Allow me to judge you now as a man. You have more honour than you have been given credit for. You have a heart that loves beauty, that does not begrudge or desire it, but simply draws strength from its existence," Mercia said softly, touching his lips briefly to Aragorn's fingertips. "I believe you," he finished simply, standing up and releasing Aragorn's hand before he turned to the door and rapped on it sharply, calling to the warriors outside.
"What will you do?" Aragorn asked, half rising from the bench.
"All that I can," Mercia assured him. "Now, peace, Estel."
Mere moments later, the heavy door open and Mercia left, the sound of the key turning in the lock replaying in his preoccupied mind as he gratefully left the claustrophobic underground surroundings and emerged into the forest again, hearing the sound of the trees and feeling the starlight on his skin like a thousand gentle hands.
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tbc
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When he left Legolas, Mercia made directly for the King's chambers, knocking softly on the carven door and listening for a reply. Slipping inside the room, he waited for the King to speak. When he did, it was not in the strong, commanding tones that Mercia had grown so used to. The King sounded worried, scared, and almost old. His voice had held a rich, deep, modulated wisdom born of age for as long as Mercia could remember, but never before had he sounded old.
"What ails my son?" he asked.
"My Liege, it is strange," Mercia confessed.
"Please," Thranduil interrupted, pulling out a chair. "Sit."
Gratefully, Mercia sank into the chair. Inwardly, he admired the way that Thranduil had moved the chair in a manner that seemed simply gracious but was really a practised motion to let him hear where the chair was. The King had been kind and generous to Mercia before he lost his sight and afterwards, his behaviour had not changed at all.
"Thank you," Mercia said, turning his face towards where he knew the King to be. "I can find no trace of deceit in your son's mind. He tells no lies that he is aware of and from what I can ascertain, is under no spell."
"But..." The King began.
"But," Mercia interrupted, aware that he was one of a very few woodland elves who could interrupt their King without repercussions, "there is certainly something strange. There is something new stirring in Legolas' mind and he will not yet speak of it."
"You said he had not lied to you," Thranduil reminded Mercia.
"Indeed," Mercia agreed. "I do not believe he did. For how can you lie about that whose existence you are not aware of?"
"Mercia, you are my dear and trusted friend," Thranduil said softly. "You are skilled and wise beyond any in my realm and it is you that I charge with this task: Please, Mercia, learn what this man has done to my son. Tell me what curse, what affliction has been placed upon my youngest child."
"My Lord, I will endeavour to do so," Mercia said. "You know that Legolas is dear to me and has been for many years. I think that I know what I must do to uncover the truth, or at least to get closer to it."
"What do you require?" Thranduil asked, eager to grant any request that would free his son of this mental slavery.
"I need to speak to Aragorn, and I need to do so alone."
There was a resounding, ringing silence in the chamber after Mercia had spoken. In the soundless room, Mercia listened carefully for any change in the King's breathing that would betray his feelings. There was none. Thranduil stared at Mercia's determined, honest face for a long moment and then looked away with a sigh.
"I will risk no more hurt to my people," he said gravely.
"My Lord," Mercia said softly, "with respect, it may help Legolas. If I can only speak to the man, he may give something away in his tone, some hint or clue that would tell me what I need to know in order to cure your son."
"Mercia," Thranduil breathed, clearly torn between a desire to solve the mystery of his son's behaviour and the need to protect Mercia.
"I will be safe," Mercia assured the King. "I have ways of sheltering my mind from those who wish to intrude upon it and I will know if he tries to cast some spell upon me with his voice."
"Very well," the King said warily. "But Mercia, he is cunning. You must be careful. Show no weakness before him."
"I will not, my Lord," Mercia assured him, knowing that Thranduil was referring to the potential harm that Aragorn would be able to inflict on him if he learned of Mercia's blindness.
"It is agreed. I will send three warriors with you. They will wait for you outside, far enough away that you may have privacy."
"My Liege, I thank you."
"But Mercia," the King said hurriedly, "all you will need to do is raise your voice and they will come to your aid."
Mercia nodded and left the room in the company of Thranduil who gestured to three tall elves waiting nearby. Together, Mercia and the warriors descended through the hallways to Aragorn's cell. As they drew near, Mercia turned to the warriors.
"Wait here for me," he instructed. "One of you may come to the cell and unlock the door for me. Then you must lock it behind me and rejoin your companions." The tallest elf stepped forward to Mercia's side and they walked together to the door of the cell. The warrior unlocked the door and Mercia slipped inside, the door shutting with a resounding click before Aragorn even had time to stand. For a long moment, the tall elven warrior listened to his conscience and his orders war with one another. Finally, he locked the door, turned his back on the cell and returned to the others.
Inside the cell, Mercia stood silently, his ears carefully listening to every sound in the cell, to the human's deep, even breathing, to the soft sound of the wind coming in through the narrow, high windows.
"Aragorn," he said softly.
"My name is Estel," Aragorn said stubbornly, "and if you are an emissary from King Thranduil, then I have nothing to say to you."
"I did seek Thranduil's leave to speak with you, but I come on behalf of another. I wish to talk to you about Legolas."
"I have cast no spell upon him," Aragorn sneered. "I have done nothing!"
"Lower your voice," Mercia said urgently. "There are three warriors outside and all they need is to hear one sound they deem threatening and they will come in here and this chance will be gone."
Aragorn looked for a moment at where the elf stood in shadow, a frown touching his face.
"What chance is that?" he asked finally, wary of some trap.
"The chance for you to put your own side of the story to an impartial listener," Mercia told him. Then, directly ignoring his King's words for the first time in his long life, Mercia stepped forward. Silver moonlight slanted across his face and he turned his blank eyes towards the sound of Aragorn's voice.
For a long moment, Aragorn stared in confusion, aware that he was being told something without words, but not able to make it out. Then he noticed and recognised the blank stare in the elf's eyes, the clear depths that went on forever and then collided with a solid wall of darkness and shadow.
"You are blind?" Aragorn asked quietly.
"Yes," Mercia said. "I am no threat to you. Now please. Will you allow me to speak with you?"
"How did you lose your sight?" Aragorn asked and then shook his head at his own impertinence. His question had been drawn from him without consideration, so inflamed was his natural curiosity. "My apologies. It is simply that I have lived all my life among the fair folk and never seen one with..."
"A flaw such as this?" Mercia finished for him, smiling softly. "It is rare, yes, but it can happen. But that is not what I wish to speak of now. One day, perhaps, I will tell you the full tale, but now, we must speak of Legolas."
"What of him?" Aragorn asked.
"Wait," Mercia muttered. "Is there anything to sit on in here?"
"A bench," Aragorn said.
"Where is it?" Mercia asked. "Could you guide me there?"
Aragorn stood and took Mercia's arm, leading him to the bench. The elf sat down gratefully, smiling at Aragorn. Both knew that they could have harmed the other while they were so close. That they had chosen not to had established between them a tentative respect.
"Thank you," Mercia nodded, hearing Aragorn join him on the bench, a few feet to the elf's left. "Now," he said in a hushed tone. "Tell me, Aragorn, what think you of Legolas?"
"Why does this have any relevance? What I think of him is of no consequence."
"It is to me," Mercia assured him. "Please."
"Very well," Aragorn sighed, shifting slightly. "You have been only the second being here to treat me with anything even remotely approaching respect and friendship, so to you, I will be honest as I was not to your King." He thought for a moment and then began to speak softly. "When I first saw him, I had no thought in my mind other than to help a fellow being escape from the Orcs. And then, when I fought by his side, I admired his battle skills but I could not help noticing that although his style was superb, it seemed too clean, like a warrior who has learned how to fight but has not yet had opportunity to prove his worth in the field of battle. He spoke to me and walked with me as an equal, although his status in this land or in any is far greater than my own. I noted his love for his land and for his people and my respect for him continued to grow in such a short period of time. And then, when I was able to look at him properly, in the cold moonlight, it seemed to me that all of the beauty of Middle Earth had been distilled somehow into one form. The innocence of little known races far beyond your realm is in him, the cold beauty of the elves, the passion of the men of the south, the unrestrained wildness of the Easterlings, all in one person.
"I was stunned, I will admit freely. I had never seen a sight so wondrous, not even Arwen Undomiel, the image of Luthien gracing Middle Earth once more. No sight has moved me more, nor do I think will any I shall see in the future. His reaction to Thranduil's judgement upon me further affected me and I confess that my only sorrow upon being escorted from Mirkwood was that I should never again look upon such pure, innocent beauty. When I awoke to find him near me again, I knew that he should not have been there and I tried to make him leave but a large part of me wished to stay there with him, to talk to him, to hear his voice, such a soft melody." Aragorn fell silent, somewhat embarrassed at having laid his heart so bare before a stranger.
Mercia, however, was smiling gently, his head tilted slightly to one side inquisitively, to better hear Aragorn's heartfelt words.
"Tell me, Aragorn, what happened when Legolas found you out in the wilds?" Mercia asked, displaying an unnerving talent for knowing the deep parts of someone's character, the parts they kept hidden from all others.
"I do not wish to say," Aragorn said.
"It could be very important," Mercia prompted him.
"It would do Legolas a disservice to mention it without his express permission," Aragorn said softly.
Much to Aragorn's relief, Mercia stayed silent for a long moment after that. Together, they sat on the cold bench like equals, not like a prisoner and his interrogator. Finally, Mercia moved, turning his body towards Aragorn and capturing the man's hand in both of his. Aragorn recoiled slightly but Mercia tightened his grip on the man's hand and Aragorn fell still, staring down at the two hands clasped around one of his own. Closing his blank eyes, Mercia stroked over the rough calluses on Aragorn's hands, a powerful image of those hands holding the sword of the rightful King of Gondor coming into his mind. He saw the blade burning with a white light, turning aside all that stood against it.
"You have been judged as Isildur's heir. Allow me to judge you now as a man. You have more honour than you have been given credit for. You have a heart that loves beauty, that does not begrudge or desire it, but simply draws strength from its existence," Mercia said softly, touching his lips briefly to Aragorn's fingertips. "I believe you," he finished simply, standing up and releasing Aragorn's hand before he turned to the door and rapped on it sharply, calling to the warriors outside.
"What will you do?" Aragorn asked, half rising from the bench.
"All that I can," Mercia assured him. "Now, peace, Estel."
Mere moments later, the heavy door open and Mercia left, the sound of the key turning in the lock replaying in his preoccupied mind as he gratefully left the claustrophobic underground surroundings and emerged into the forest again, hearing the sound of the trees and feeling the starlight on his skin like a thousand gentle hands.
---
tbc