TORMENTED FOOL 4: VOWS SHATTERED

At last, thoroughly spent, the golden-haired Elf could no longer stand much more and threw her arms up with an enraged growl, storming away to the nearest tree. It had been almost three weeks now since she first began her journey, and she was not accustomed to such hard toil and effort; the dark-haired Elf beside her was equally exhausted, for their supplies were quickly depleting – yet in a desert land such as the one in which they were currently battling for their lives, there was almost no way the provisions could be restored. Therefore now the fair-haired and hot-tempered Lady was slowly beginning to starve and thirst; but worst of all, especially for her companion, her murderous disposition was quickly worsening with every moment that passed.

'I can withstand this no more!' she cried, throwing her back onto the tree. 'My only desire is to return to my own kingdom – but I cannot; we have journeyed this far already and cannot go back anyway, because of those good-for-nothing traitors that stole the land from us! I may be the Lady of the Sands, but even I need refreshment. Please, Faunel, please, take me to a city—'

'We will find one, my Lady. I pray you, do not despair,' the male Elf replied quickly, coming to her once more. 'I am not entirely sure – but if I am not mistaken, Gondor is only a few more leagues north. If you are weary, sweet one, then rest against this tree while you may; but remember that we cannot linger, lest we wish to end up starved…'

The female Elf looked into the eyes of her companion, sighed, and lowered her head.

'How much will you give me?'

'One week,' he firmly answered. 'I will take you to Gondor in that time – or you will have the right to punish me for breaking that word.'

The golden-haired Lady laughed, and tenderly wrapped her arms around her companion who returned the gesture swiftly. 'I will not punish you, Faunel. You have never broken your word to me, and therefore you will not break your word this time – giving me no need to lay penalty on you. You are right! Ai! We crossed the river yesterday, did we not? That means the desert is soon ending, and Minas Tirith is near.'

'…And Minas Tirith is such a large city. We will go there, and do whatever we need to do,' Faunel laughed with restored hope as he kissed the flaxen-haired beauty in his arms.

...

Legolas awoke to harsh sunlight in his eyes. A strange, sweet flavor was in his mouth, like the taste of a potent honey-wine; aside from that, his throat and his heart felt moderately hot. And when the milky hue in his eyes cleared to the ever-brilliant blue, the first thing that came to his sight was the wideness of the grey stone walls, with the open window releasing the caresses of the sun upon the bed in which he lay.

After that, he turned his head to see Aragorn beautifully sleeping beside him; Legolas smiled, and leaning over he tenderly kissed the Man on the mouth just mildly enough to prevent him from waking. It seemed ironic that he felt he had woken up in a dream, for at that moment his heart was so filled with love; Aragorn stirred a little at the contact of the kiss, and formed upon his face what seemed to be the small hint of a smile. Grinning, the Elf carefully climbed out of the bed and slid on his breeches and his soft shirt; and just as he did his eyes came to the large heavy door, slightly open…

A Elbereth!

'Aragorn! Wake! Wake!' Legolas suddenly cried with a panic, frantically running over and shaking the shoulders of the King. 'Did we not close the door? Come on, Estel, speak to me! Did we not lock the door, Estel?'

'…What?' Aragorn yawned, rubbing his eyes. 'O, this spinning in my head—'

'Did you close the door last night – no; did you lock the door?' the Prince repeated quickly.

'I cannot understand what you are speaking of, Legolas; I do not really think I am in the shape to understand, either,' the Man slurred, and turned his body away wearily. 'Will you not let me sleep a little while longer? After that, I will answer whatever you wish to know…'

And suddenly, as Aragorn resumed his deep breath and calm stillness, it hit Legolas. Estel did not remember! He did not understand because he was drunken the night before! Legolas was so sure the door had been closed last night; and if the servants of Minas Tirith were loyal and respectful to the King and Queen, the only person who could have opened the door to the Royal Bedchamber – other than Aragorn who was already in the room—

…Was Undómiel.

Valar! I could sink no lower! Eru Ilúvatar…

At this thought, the fullness of how much panic could hit Legolas suddenly filled his heart. Pressing his hands to his cheeks in alarm, he suddenly prayed to Ilúvatar that Arwen had not caught them, that the night they had spent together would be destroyed permanently only in the memory of Legolas and in the body of Aragorn, who did not even seem to remember. It was something that only the King of Gondor and the Prince of Mirkwood had shared, and the Elf hoped beyond hope that such a private encounter had not been stolen by the eyes of another, especially not the Evenstar; for if so, he would be called a whore and beheaded or, worse, banished, so he would never—

'No!'

Legolas bolted out of the room, his heart stinging in his chest. Overtaken by grief, he realized that unless Aragorn released him from his sudden position as Chief Advisor, he could not flee from Gondor; not yet. It would be a dangerous attempt, for there was no way of knowing yet whether the declaration was remembered by the King even through his drunkenness. And in that moment Legolas wished Aragorn and Arwen had never been wedded; he wished he had never come to Gondor; he wished he had been strong enough not to surrender to his desire so that the previous evening would never have occurred…

I wish I had never fallen in love with you.

...

Lady Galadriel sighed as she touched the dark hair of her granddaughter, who was propped up on a chair with her hand on her heart. It seemed so melodramatic, Arwen's sudden condition, that to some it actually seemed slightly hilarious; clutching at her chest, the Elf looked quite theatrical in her mixed emotions. However, all knew that an unfaithful King was not something even close to hilarious, let alone the fact that the secret strumpet he had taken to bed was his best friend – who was not even female.

'I never thought I would understand what torment is like… and yet now I do,' Arwen suddenly whispered, her voice caught with grief. Galadriel stroked her hair sorrowfully.

'It is not your fault, Arwen.'

'—I am but a grievous fool… and now not even my lover would be able to deny it. Has the love withered from our bond? Is this why he could have done such a thing?'

Gandalf sighed. 'No, Arwen. Listen to me—'

'AND WITH LEGOLAS!' she yelled at last, snapping forward suddenly in her seat as her face twisted into an expression of hideousness and disgust. 'O, Grandmother, my heart is failing. The very thought of it sends my mind into an uproar. When we wedded, Grandmother – when my lover and I wedded he pledged to me his everlasting love and faithfulness. This is only the morning after our wedding – and already he has bedded another! But you know, perhaps this is not Estel's work. Legolas was drunk; I saw the wine and the chalice on the feast table yesternight. He forced Estel, Mithrandir; he seduced my beloved and lured him into bed, Grandmother, and I am so sure of it. How dare he! That whore! To think that he used to be a friend of Aragorn and I; now I believe I will never see him the same way again.'

'And what of Aragorn, child?' Galadriel answered pointedly. 'He did have an equal part in this. My heart tells me that it is not entirely his fault, but if Legolas and Aragorn had chosen this, then I do not doubt that they both desired it. Do not blame one or the other, Undómiel; you have no idea of what you speak.'

And at that firm remark, the Queen of Gondor bowed her head. She clutched the arm of the chair in which she was sitting, cursing the world and everything in it for all the bad luck that she had thus far been forced to endure. Dark locks fell over her face, and cast a shadow over the pain that was openly unleashed in her eyes… and little did she know, that at the moment her head was lowered, her husband far away began to wake…

...

Legolas slammed the doors open, startling the young Prince who was already standing in front of them with his eyes gazing upon the serene land. But even though the sun shone and the flowers of the White Tree bloomed with a soft fragrance pleasing to those who sensed it, the golden-haired Elf could find no solace in the comfort that it gave. Finally, unable to retain any shred of composure that was left in him, he fell upon his knees and wept for all the misery that he himself had caused, his head buried in the cold and trembling impurity of his hands… tainted hands that had touched another's husband, unclean hands that gave in easily to lechery and temptation and that could never again be washed untarnished. The Human Prince who stood there was moved by the genuine sadness of the Elf and, bending down, lightly touched the lean shoulder with care.

'What is the matter, son of Thranduil? Never have I seen you in such a state,' he said. 'Come, I was hoping for someone to speak to anyway, and I am more than willing to give you comfort. Pray tell, what ails you?'

'I do not wish to speak of this, Lord Faramir,' the Elf-Prince replied, barely looking up at the Human.

'Come now, Prince Legolas. I shall not be staying here for long; for I am now wedded to the fair Lady Éowyn – and she wishes to settle. You know quite well that I am very willing to stay beside you in your troubled times, especially whilst I am still here, and have not yet moved out into Ithilien. Why would you not use the chance whilst it is present?'

Legolas sighed, stood and leaned his back against a nearby column, which was tall and white in the bright sun. Faramir felt a touch of sympathy stream through his heart and, coming to the Mirkwood Prince, embraced him and whispered words of comfort; for although the sky was blue and all trace of milky fog was gone with the dawn, a fog indeed seemed to cloud the mind and soul of the golden-haired Elf. Stroking the soft head, the Human Prince looked out into the wide realms beyond the city and seemed to spy a dark speckle beneath the trees, like a lone figure far away heading for the White Tower outside of which he now stood.

...

In sleep, one always experiences beautiful dreams or horrifying nightmares. But as Aragorn stirred in the disordered bedsheets, he came to wake with the stirring in his heart and a fear in his soul to know that he had experienced both.

At first, when he opened his eyes and saw the icy pale roof above his head, he felt very ill and could remember nothing. Staggering out of bed, he clumsily stumbled to the floor, reaching for his bedside for support. There were circles spinning in his head and cobwebs floating in his eyes. Strongest of all was the taste of honey-wine bittersweet in his mouth and hot in his throat; the haunting liquor that he had wanted to drink and yet should have not, the lingering flavor which gave him these dreams of pleasure and these nightmares of terror.

Feeling as though he was going to be violently ill, he laid his head against the softness of his bed and swallowed hard. Something was pulling at him, something that he did not understand. He did not truly know for sure, but at the same time, he knew.

Something had happened that night.

But whatever it was, he could not quite pluck it out of his mind, which was too busy trying to prevent him from being unwell in his own chambers. All he could think of was a bleary face, a cloudy occurrence, and disgorging. Placing a hand on his heart, he swallowed hard again, trying to sweep the nausea out of mind. And it was then that he felt a mark in his chest, a circular imprint that was uncomfortable to touch; looking down, he saw for himself that there was indeed a circle engraved on his chest – like a mark of possession that had been inscribed, in a time blurred with creamy mist…

May I take off the ring? It presses against me.

Nay, I cannot be parted from it; not now… not yet.

Suddenly, Aragorn lifted his head. Thoroughly forgetting about the unpleasant queasiness which warred in his stomach and in his heart, he quickly slid on his breeches and his wrinkled shirt, then bolted with all speed downstairs with the likeness of prey being chased, knowing that doom is coming.

(Flashback)

Smiling, Legolas wrapped his arms around the Man who clearly did not have to be told of what he wanted: the Elf felt everything now that he could have ever dreamed of, and Aragorn was fulfilling it willingly… the Elf still felt bad that his dearest friend was drunk and not himself, but his mind was still distracted by Aragorn's willingness, or perhaps even his desire to do this.

Aragorn held him close, held the lithe Elven body to him. Legolas was happy, for he felt that the Man also felt as much pleasure coming from this as he did. Responding to the tender kisses, he felt his soft shirt being slid utterly from his shoulders; his heart was beating quickly, but at the same time, the minutes seemed to slow down. Aragorn touched him so gently, but so closely, as though he were something to be treasured… the sadness and warmth warring in Legolas' heart was indescribable. Aragorn probably had no idea how much the Elf had wanted this. He had wanted this so much.

…And Estel was giving it to him.

Aragorn had also quickly removed the Elf-Prince's breeches, and Legolas hoped for everything now, for happiness and longing, for pleasure and fulfillment. But before the Man did anything else, he stared into the eyes of his fortune, a harmless expression upon his face.

'May I take off the ring?' he asked, pointing at the Mithril treasure that hung from a chain around the Elf's slender throat. 'It presses against me. It is uncomfortable.'

Legolas stopped.

'Nay, I cannot be parted from it,' Legolas whispered. 'Not now… not yet.'

'But will it not leave a mark? I can sense that it is no ordinary ring.'

The Elf-Prince, touched, looked back into the bright brown eyes. They were filled with innocence, with a naïvety of one who did not truly know what he was doing. They spun, too, and could not for more than an inch of time concentrate upon the brilliant blue, and upon the fair face and the golden hair that cascaded like a river of honey upon the feather pillow. Filled with sympathy, the Prince embraced him, kissing his rough cheek tenderly, and urged him to continue.

'Then it will leave a mark,' Legolas whispered. 'For a time, you will bear my mark.'

(End Flashback)

Aragorn ran down the many flights of stairs, the memories flooding back to him. He did not know what to make of the stirring in his soul; to imagine the voice and the face of Legolas now made the blood burn back to his heart. He was confused, and he did not understand at the same time that he understood; this one night with the Mirkwood Prince had brought him more pleasure than an age with his dark-haired lover.

What have I done! He cursed himself, remembering suddenly that he had denied answer to Legolas' question concerning the closing of the door. Everything was beginning to make sense now; fortunately for the King, he was quite accustomed to a lot of drinking, so the potent honey-wine was enough to cloud his memories… but not diminish it.

Valar. What on Middle-Earth will he think of me? I have ruined this friendship!

And with this sudden thought, Aragorn ran faster. He had to speak to the Elf of all this madness. He had betrayed his wife, but he knew that a desperate race was now being run; he was shocked at himself upon realizing that he could not bear to lose Legolas, but hardly cared that he had just committed adultery against the lover who had been by his side for as long as he could remember. Even though he felt horrible to have performed such treachery, he knew that if he was not fast to find the golden-haired Prince, he would dearly regret it; with the rushed beating of his heart, the circular imprint on his chest seemed to flare with heat and pain, as though it had been burned there.

But something stopped him halfway down the stairs, a heart-numbing sight which he had dreaded seeing even from his innocent youth.

Arwen stood less than fifteen steps below, her arms crossed and her eyes dark with rage. Her slender fist was clenched tight, so tight that her nails dug into the softness of her skin, and her lower lip quivered as though chanting a dark Elvish spell of anger. Her skin had turned pale, paler than what could be considered beautiful, and her long dark hair fell before her eyes, hanging limply in front of her shoulders, overshadowing what was the exquisiteness of her face. Lifting an arm to reach out to him, Aragorn noticed that she had turned somewhat thin, her fingers trembling, long nails and white knuckles protruding.

'Come hither, Aragorn,' she stated darkly. 'I wish to speak with you.'

But he was frightened by this sudden change in his lover, and did not move save for another slow step forward. When it seemed clear to the Elf-Queen that he was not willing to draw any closer, she cried, 'COME!'

'I am searching for Legolas,' he said hesitantly, ignoring her plea. 'It is very urgent, so I cannot speak now. Have you seen him?'

'I would certainly hope not!' she yelled, and her voice shuddered with wrath. 'How dare he cleave to my husband, that fool? He will pay dearly; the fury of Arwen Undómiel is terrible and great. He will be tormented, if he chooses to touch you again! And how could you consent to his advances, Estel? Now it is not only Legolas who has betrayed me as a friend; but you have betrayed me as my lover!'

Aragorn bowed his head, for he knew and did not have to be told of this. Suddenly he understood why Legolas had been so anxious about the open door in the morning, and was sorry he had been too ill at that time to understand what the Elf was trying to say. Guilt suddenly filled the Man.

'I was drunken, Undómiel. I am sorry. I could not have helped what I was doing – I did not understand at the time. It was not his error.'

'So YOU were drunken!' she bellowed, abandoning all her dignity and grace. 'And that is supposed to mean something more to me? I thought that he was intoxicated, but your claim does nothing to comfort me. It only tells me that you were senseless enough to take powerful drink that had the potency to knock out a horse, and turn a dignified man into a lust-driven fool!'

The King sighed. 'Arwen… I—'

'What has he done to you?' she demanded, her voice deepening with darkness. 'Did he influence you to drink the honey-wine? He seduced you, the whore, the night that you and I were wedded! He had crossed against me and come between us on the night that we had become husband and wife! How could he even consider taking you from me? He will mean nothing more to me, the treacherous one, he is no longer a friend to me – as he does not even care enough to act as one. And as for you – how could I ever love you again? Tell me how, Estel!'

Aragorn suddenly felt as though his heart had been ripped out of his chest.

'What?' he choked out, almost spluttering. 'But I love you!'

'Obviously not enough!' Arwen cried angrily. Her voice broke and her eyes unleashed the grief within her; it was so raw, so real, that it hurt the King immensely just to see it. She trembled, and he wanted to hold her, take care of her, and make everything as it once was… but he had a sudden feeling that the right to touch her in such a way was no longer his. It made him feel cold and awful.

'Arwen—'

'What happened to us, Estel?' she whispered, her voice hoarse. 'Does he interest you more than me? I thought I was everything to you.'

'But you were,' answered Aragorn automatically; but seeing the expression that crossed her face as he said this, he realized his error.

The Queen's eyes flared.

'Though not anymore, I am guessing,' she uttered, and before Aragorn could say anything, her wrath exploded. 'You are unbelievable, Aragorn. You are not sorry at all! You and that accursed Elf really do deserve each other – treacherous, uncaring, hateful beings. I have had enough. You understand now, Estel, that I could never again love you the same way!'

The Man was almost ready to cower. He had never, in the most terrible of nightmares, thought that he and Arwen would come to such a plight. His heart ached because of it. But Legolas had now run off somewhere, and a bond of friendship was at stake; although it hurt him utterly, he knew what he had to say to the Evenstar. He sighed.

'I am sorry if you do not love me anymore, Arwen. But if I still have a chance to regain the friendship of he who had been so dear to me all my life, then I will not hesitate to grasp it,' Aragorn said hurriedly, finally finding the courage to move once more and push past her. 'I must find Legolas at once.'

And with those words he was gone like smoke.

Arwen looked at him in bewilderment, raced a few steps down to chase after him, then realized it was futile. Consumed by grief, she sat upon the stair and wept, her face buried in her hands, long dark hair strewn over steps like a stream of black. She had expected him to condemn Legolas to exile, apologize, and once more return to her side as her faithful lover and forget all that had occurred on the wedding night. But when Aragorn had said that he understood if she could not love him in the same way anymore, she knew from the confusion in his voice that he felt exactly the same way.

Legolas had found his heart at last.

(To be continued)