Standard Disclaimer: I own nothing. I own no one. I am a hack, writing
in someone else's world.
I know it's been a while, and in between my life and FF.net blowing up pretty much in sequence, it's been interesting.
The story continues….. Loyalties are shifting, rearranging. And who do you think will get stuck in the middle?
I promise the next chapter will not be this long in coming! Sorry.
Notes:
Good reads: Besides Jastaelf's "Dark Leaf", of course…. Try Treehugger's "In the Hall of the Wood Elf King." Legs in pink. Nuff said. Also Ithilien's "The Hunting Trip" .. Freaky-deaky stuff coming there….
Also, for a really good read, well written, and enjoyable try Nebride's "The Road to Isengard" and "The Caverns of Mirkwood"
And I have to admit quite a liking for "Ends of the Earth" by Kungfuqueen. Elrond's twins don't get much non incest (shudder) fiction on ff.net, but this is actually pretty charming, and had me rolling on the floor with the visual of Galadrial as the punishing grandma. I haven't finished it yet, but I'm enjoying it.
The bow felt like a long forgotten lover to his fingers. The wood was silky and smooth but the string was rough. The blisters that had formed on his fingers seemed almost as if the bow was taking vengeance from being scorned for so long.
With a sigh, the elf raised his bow and took careful aim at the target on the far side of the field. ::Steady. Aim. Breathe in. Breathe out and release:: The bowstring sang a deadly note as the arrow shot towards its destination. He could feel his mouth turning down in a frown as he watched the arrow bury itself in the butt. ::Left again. It seems I must relearn my stance as well as toughen my fingers and muscles.::
He absently rubbed the area on his left breast where the bowstring had snapped him the first time he'd shot. The sensation had been so incredibly painful that it only took one mishap for him to learn to adjust his posture, but now his aim and balance had suffered. When one has done something the same way for years uncounted it is near impossible to change that way in the course of days or weeks. That did not mean that Legolas had not tried his best to do so, however.
He raised a sore arm over his head, trying to stretch out the ache of overtired muscles and then looked at his now bloodied fingers. ::It is probably time to stop now:: At least he could draw the bow now, although not as easily as he would have liked. It took him many days of straining effort to have that victory, and then more days of practice to come near his former prowess.
With another sigh he began to trudge towards the butts to collect his arrows. It allowed him time to reflect upon the many meanings of freedom. He was now free. Free to come and go as he wished. The bars had been removed from the windows, the locks from his doors, the guards from his path. But he still remained bound to a body that was not his, bound to a child he should not be bearing, and bound to a man that he alternated between feeling friendship and antipathy towards.
He hissed in pain as he wrapped his fingers around the wooden shafts and pulled them from the target. The short walk across the field had been enough for the nerves in his fingers to remember that they were no longer numbed with constant activity and remind him that he had severely abused them.
Task done, he then turned and checked the sky. It would be dark soon. Time to head back to the palace.
He pursed his lips and gave a low whistle. With a spirited whinny, Arod crested the hill and ran forward, eager to carry his elf wherever he was asked. With a snuffle, the horse nuzzled into the waiting hand and encountered the wounds there. The horse snorted his disapproval and then nudged his elf towards his strong back.
Legolas patted Arod lovingly with his good hand, and then turned to unstring his bow. Bow securely stowed on his back next to his white handled knives, he then lightly leapt onto the waiting horse and then looked behind him for the ever present guard that watched over his every move.
Bryn waited for him on the far side of the range, unobtrusive as usual. Aragorn had insisted that the guard was for his safety, not for any other reason, and certainly not to curtail his movements or freedom in any way. It helped that the guard was Bryn, who was to marry Lanelese. Along with Clotild she had chosen to stay in Legolas' service, albeit now as newly ennobled women. At least on paper Bryn seemed to be the most innocuous of guards available because of that connection. However, in the shifting sea of loyalties and politics that was the ruling class of Gondor, anything was possible.
Legolas twitched the loose, faded tunic he wore over his stomach while he waited for Bryn to catch up. The waist of the leggings was a little tight but would still be bearable for a while longer.
When his clothing had been returned it became distressingly clear that he would be unable to pull his leggings up over his stomach, or close any of his shirts over his chest. It was with some embarrassment that he'd turned to Valda and asked if he could borrow any of Arnlaug's old clothing. The tunics hung on him and the pants were baggy everywhere except the stomach, but they were comfortable for the moment.
With a toss of his head, Arod started towards the palace. The archery fields were several levels down the city behind the guard barracks and were reachable only by going through the city. Together the guard and elf passed the sentry at the grounds entry and moved into the city proper.
The end of the day was near and the streets were crowded. The smell of cooking food filled the air with spicy and savory smells, and the sound of music swelled from numerous pubs and taverns on the wayside. The people in the street moved to one side to allow the horses room to pass when they saw who was in their midst.
The chatter of the crowd was cheerful and made Legolas smile despite himself. The people of Gondor were overall a goodhearted folk, made strong by adversity. Aragorn loved them and would do anything for them, and the people reciprocated this to their king and now to their queen.
Legolas knew he made a sight that would make the council cringe. Sweaty, dirty, in oversized old clothing, carrying weapons openly and riding bareback down the main thoroughfare of the white city. Yet this same sight endeared him to the people of Minas Tirith. They smiled and waved, and some of the bolder ones reached out to touch an outstretched hand, or to stroke Arod on the flank as he passed.
Legolas' smile turned sheepish as the sound of a now too familiar song wafted up from one of the bigger taverns. A heroic ballad of epic length, it extolled the virtues of the three brave women who defeated the evil mage and freed their king from his bondage. Even when he ignored that the facts were completely inaccurate, the extravagant language, the discordant melody and the constant references to him as "The fairest flower that e'er grew in the gardens in Minas Tirith" or "The brightest gem that ever shone in Gondor's crown" or "The King's beauty made of sunlight and stars" set his teeth on edge.
But it made the people happy. They sang it and bellowed it and danced to it. They drank their wine and celebrated the elevation of two of their number in the form of the brave maids and talked in warm, fond tones about their elven queen. So much warmer and so much more accessible than Arwen. Always willing to smile and wave to even the most humble person. And now, even willing to stop and speak for a moment or two on the way to or from the archery fields. Not at all arrogant, or afraid of the populace like other noble ladies, they would sniff to themselves.
Legolas smiled at the memory of the expression on Valda and Arnlaug's faces when he announced that he was going to the fields to take up his bow again. He was told that women did not do such things in Gondor, especially noble women with children in the offing. Nor did noble women go to the stables each morn and care for their mounts with their own hands, nor did they wear old leggings and tunics, nor did they do much of anything, it seemed. But Aragorn, either from respect for his friend or more likely guilt, forbade Legolas nothing.
Legolas found it even more gratifying to shock Arnlaug with the revelation that he intended to go also to the sparring fields during the guard's practice and practice his knifework. Aragorn had laughed at his chancellor's discomfiture and then said quietly, "No. I do not think you will do that, my friend. I have no objection to the archery, but there will be no sparring."
Legolas had fixed Aragorn with a cold stare that showed his displeasure. "Do you forbid me this?"
The king shook his head. "No. I forbid you nothing. But I do forbid any in my kingdom from fighting with you. You will find no opponent here." He made as though to clap the elf on a shoulder but then stopped his hand suddenly, remembering that there was no consent given for even the most casual of touches.
Legolas' thoughts were drawn back to the present again when Arod stopped in front of the stables. The elf blinked and then lightly leapt down and walked inside, Arod close behind.
Summer was fading and the cool nights of autumn had come. The stables were still warm and cloying with the earthy smell of horse and all that came with it. Legolas wrinkled his nose and then moved to brush and feed his equine friend.
As the horse munched his way though his grain, Legolas then turned his footsteps towards his daily destination.
An old shed in the main gardens had been converted to serve the purpose of holding Davyn, and would have been considered pleasant to any but him. The stone building had been fitted with wood floors and wood paneling. The open wood beams of the ceiling remained open, allowing fresh air to move through the bars of ironwood that had been placed in the windows and across half of the living area. There was not an ounce of metal, a single nail, or an exposed surface of stone used in the construction of this prison. The wood had been pegged or neatly dovetailed together with a master craftsman's eye for detail. Truly, it was a work of art.
Even his furnishings were of wood, leather, and rope. The wood bedstead with the straw ticking and the wooden chairs with the leather seats or even the wooden table with its boiled leather candle holder were all held together with a woodworker's skill. The wood paneling gleamed in the candlelight, reflecting a rich gleam into the rest of the room.
The windows were fitted with glass, but the ironwood bars made even that beyond the mage's reach. There was nothing that was not once alive that he could lay his hands upon.
Legolas nodded to the guard that sat in the open side of the shed. It was his custom to come here every evening and inspect this prison himself. Each evening every ironwood bar received a yank, each floorboard a close inspection, each piece of paneling a deep scrutiny. He still did not sleep nights, but it seemed to settle his unease a little to check everything.
Legolas walked close to the bars and tugged first on one and then another, slowly walking his way down the length of the room. The first few times that he had done this, the mage had raced to the bars and tried to touch the blue stone that still resided the base of his throat. Legolas had easily ducked and the guard had been less than gentle in the use of his cudgel. It had not taken long for an uneasy truce to be called between mage and elf.
After Legolas assured himself that the mage was safely ensconced he then strolled over to the remaining chair at the guard's table, turned it and then straddled it so that his chin rested upon his folded hands on the back. He was able to watch Davyn easily that way.
The guard reached down and brought forth a cloth bundle and slowly opened it to show a wedge of hard cheese. He diffidently pushed it to rest on the table in front of the elf. He well knew that Legolas did not eat nearly as much as a breeding woman should, and it showed in the painfully thin arms and wrists. He also well knew it was because the elf avoided all communal meals that would have required taking company with the king. Such things were well known by many.
Legolas shifted his gaze from the captive mage down to the cheese and then over to guard. After a moment he shook his head and spoke softly. "Thank you, Arick. You don't have to do such things. I've told you that my people do not require as much to eat as yours do."
Arick merely raised his eyebrow and nodded towards the cheese.
With a slight smile and a slow shake of his head, Legolas broke off a small piece and nibbled at it delicately. The sharp flavor was enough to interest him to eat a bigger bite than he initially thought he wanted. He then turned his attention back to Davyn.
For a long moment the elf and the mage regarded each other through the bars. The mage was dressed in a rough woolen robe that was similar to the blankets on the bed. The mage's true face was revealed, lines and scars visible where once there was the illusion of youth, and his eyes glittered in the candlelight.
After a moment Legolas turned to Arick and nodded. Ponderously the guard stood, his large frame making him seem bearlike in the darkening room, and lumbered to the door with a silent gesture at the prisoner with his cudgel. Davyn gave a low, mocking laugh in the back of his throat and then returned his attention to the elf. After the guard was around the corner, he lifted the book he had been reading and spoke. "You smell of horse. I cannot bear the smell of horse. It sickens me."
"Good." Legolas picked up another piece of cheese. His appetite was returning despite the company.
Davyn tried again. "Your sadistic maids have been put in charge of my reading material, it seems. Could you ask them to provide me with something besides light romances and bodice rippers? Or perhaps I should just ask to be flogged now?"
An involuntary smirk found its way to Legolas' face. It appeared that Clotild and Lanelese enjoyed their responsibilities laced with a touch of cruelty. "I will talk to them. I would suspect that you might end up with recipe books instead, however."
The mage solemnly nodded. "That would be a drastic improvement over the adventures of Lady Alfreada and her heaving bosoms."
There was silence as they regarded each other through the bars again. After a moment Davyn spoke again. "Are things as unsettled in the court as I suspect they are?"
Legolas raised an eyebrow. "It is my understanding that there is much contention over who will be my replacement. Lord Kelsig has a daughter who appears to be the front runner in the broodmare sweepstakes."
Davyn grunted. "Kelsig's daughter is just the right age. But her father has many enemies in court. I would expect that there would be many people unhappy with this development." He paused for a moment, flipping the pages in the book absently. "Of course, no one they could choose would be as acceptable to everyone as you or Arwen were. Everyone else has alliances or blood ties that could confuse even a master plotter such as me."
"It matters little enough to me. I will do what I have promised and then leave. What goes on after I have left I cannot control." Legolas stretched, attempting to ease some of the soreness from his lower back.
"It should matter greatly to you what happens." Davyn placed the book on the floor with an audible thump. "Do you forget what you will leave behind?" The mage shifted forward to stare at the elf. "Infants die every day in Gondor. They are small and weak and tend to fail easily. No one would think it odd if even a royal babe should die if there is another one soon on the way to replace it."
Legolas recoiled at the thought. "What kind of creatures are Men that they would even consider such a thing?" Disgust was thick in his voice.
"Men are not Elves. Men breed wantonly and with great abandon. And their children are as tools to them, to be used and sometimes to be cast aside. If you are not here to defend the child, it is not outside the realm of possibility." If anything, Davyn's eyes glittered even more in the gloom. The silence deepened between the two of them, and then the mage spoke again. "They will betray you. You know this."
"Who?" Legolas furrowed his brow in confusion at the change in subject.
"Those you trust. Those with whom you are friendly, but not friends." Davyn's voice went lower, as if he were afraid of being overheard. "The council. I know them well. Trust me on this."
"Why should I believe anything that you say? I have no reason to trust you." Scorn filled the elf's voice.
"Because of all the things I have done, I have never lied to you. Not once." Brown eyes met blue across the room with a frightening intensity.
"Aragorn would never allow them to betray me. He is a man of honor." The words fell from Legolas' lips before he could catch them.
Davyn stood and walked to the bars and stared down at the elf. "No? Look at yourself and then repeat that."
"He was your creature. He would never have countenanced this otherwise." Legolas remained seated, but glared at the mage before him.
Mocking laughter emerged from the cell. "I created nothing in that man. I merely took what was hidden, albeit deeply, and brought it to the surface." The mage then lounged against the bars and continued, his voice a low hiss. "He was given the choice of others, and he chose you. He leapt at the chance to have you, not the others. He has always wanted you in some deep, hidden part of his mind that he didn't even realize existed." The grin turned almost predatory. "And when took you for the first time, he thanked me. And he thanked me every night after that for making his elven dream come to life."
Legolas stood and walked to the cell, fists clenched. "Why do you share this with me? What good does it do you?" His blue eyes burned with anger.
Davyn smiled again, wrinkles drawing his face up into dark mirth. "For the same reasons you come see me every night." He paused and then sighed. "This is the age of Man now, little elf. Our time in this world is coming to a close, and soon there will be nothing like you or I left here. The two of us are closer to each other because of this than we will ever be to them. You know this, I know this. And that is why you come here each night, and why we torment each other. Our little confidences to each other are all that we have left."
With a sudden lunge, Davyn threw himself against the bars, hand flailing at the blue stone that glowed softly at Legolas' throat. Legolas leaned back out of reach and shook his head sadly.
The mage tried for a moment more and then straightened. "I had to try." His voice was smooth reason again.
The elf smiled despite his best instincts. "I know." Without another word, he turned and left the small shed. Once again, there would be no rest tonight.
Dawn broke the next morn and found Legolas sitting by the fire. His eyes stared blankly into the ashes as his fingers traced the whorls and knots of the collar around his neck. It was in this position that Clotild and Lanelese found him, the same as he was when they left him the night before. They looked at each other with some concern and then Clotild cleared her throat.
He pulled himself from his thoughts and then turned to Clotild. "Davyn takes exception to the choice of reading material he has been provided. He asks if you can find him something more palatable than the adventures of some woman's heaving bosoms."
Clotild smiled evilly. "I have just the thing for him, Lady. I chanced upon a fascinating dissertation on cheese making from the second age when I was cleaning out the back of the librarian's office. Surely a few pages of that will make him regret complaining about Lanelese's choice in reading materials."
Lanelese gave only an offended sniff in response. In her mind her taste in anything was beyond reproach. If anything, the fault was with the receiver and never with her. With another offended sniff, she passed a small note to Legolas.
Eyebrow up in curiosity, the elf slowly turned the note to see the wax seal. His eyes widened at the sight of the royal seal of Gondor and he stiffened. He passed the note back to Lanelese as if it burned his skin. "Open it and read it to me, please." He looked up and noticed the shocked expression on her face. "I like the sound of your voice. Please, just read it."
Lanelese glanced at Clotild again. The two of them had become used to the fact that Legolas wanted as little to do with the king as possible. And how could they place any blame for that, really? But to not even accept what was obviously a private note? And then to ask that one of them read it? But then, her voice was melodious, even she had to admit.
With a delicate look of disapproval, Lanelese broke the seal on the letter and scanned the contents quickly. She gave a sigh of relief and then announced, "It appears we have a new maid of honor joining our household. You have been requested, read ordered, to take on Disa, daughter of Lord Kelsig as a maid of your chamber. She will be here tonight. He says that he will discuss his reasons with you privately later today."
Legolas felt his eyebrow climb even higher. "Disa? But I thought…"
Clotild nodded. "I thought so too. All indications point to her."
"Perhaps they wish her to pick up some unbecoming habits so that she is no longer suitable." Lanelese chimed in with an evil smile.
"Well, I can think of no better place for that than here, Ladies." Legolas smiled. "Speaking of which, where are my pants? The day is young, but it waits for no one."
Legolas furrowed his brow in concentration. Pull, exhale, release. The string sang and the arrow flew towards the target and landed with a dull thud in the center. He finally allowed himself to smile grimly.
"Nice." He credited himself that he did not jump when Aragorn spoke. His concentration had been so deep that he had not heard the approach of the king.
With a nod to the target, Aragorn continued. "I see you've been working on your stance and balance." The king was dressed in old dark tunic and leggings, and carried his old bow. Several yards behind him, two young pages in royal livery stood and waited. Legolas looked from the king to the pages and pondered whether a rapid exit would be in order. It was too easy to fall into the old patterns of friendship and acceptance. The less he saw of his old friend, the less the temptation.
Aragorn strung his bow and talked softly as he adjusted his bracers. "I came out here because we could talk without being overheard." He pulled the bowstring back to his cheek, testing the feel of the wood. "Did you get my note?"
Legolas nocked another arrow and slowly drew back, taking careful aim at the target. "Yes." He said the single word and then released the arrow which flew at a satisfyingly straight angle. "I understand that your future wife is to be moved into my household, such as it is. I don't understand why."
The king winced. "If I have any say in it, she will not be my wife. Have you met Disa?" The king pulled out an arrow and carefully inspected the fletching.
"No. I seem to recall most of my time spent in Minas Tirith has been of a solitary sort. I didn't get out much." Legolas stepped back from the line, waiting for Aragorn to shoot.
"Disa is as dull as the dagger you tried to kill me with on our wedding night." Aragorn's string sang as his arrow flew towards the target. Bullseye, but to the right.
Legolas winced. That was dull. Very dull. "And?" He stepped forward to the firing line and nocked another arrow.
"She's very young, not very smart, and has been raised as a 'proper' woman." Aragorn stepped back to watch Legolas shoot. "I'm not fond of 'proper' women."
The elf took another deep breath and drew the bow, ignoring the sting of muscles in his shoulders. "This does not answer why she is now in my care." With smooth exhalation, he released the string. Left again. He was getting tired.
"Disa is also part of a very influential family that has made many enemies. Gilby has uncovered threads of a plot to kill the poor girl before she ever becomes a serious contender for Queen, which I personally don't want her as."
Legolas snorted under his breath. At the sound, Aragorn continued as he made a show of carefully choosing his next arrow. "Arnlaug favors her because her father is a friend of his. The common thought is that her father can use her as a conduit to me, and gain prominence for himself and others of his family using her influence. That would make him more powerful than his rivals, and his rivals do not want that." He nocked his arrow and smoothly drew his bow, and then looked sideways at the elf. "Do you think you might want to try shooting with a lighter bow until you build your strength up? I can tell that your arms are tired." He turned his attention back to the target and did not see the seething look Legolas shot him. The string sang and the arrow buried itself in the center of the target.
The pages clapped lightly behind them and the sound was carried by the wind.
Legolas picked up his last arrow, and then bowed with a flourish to Aragorn. "I suppose I should be relieved that this is my last arrow then, Oh Great King." With ease he nocked it and stepped to the line. "So why do you tell me this, and why have you put dear dull Disa with me? If she's as you say, Lanelese and Clotild will have her in tears within moments of her arrival." Pull, exhale, release. The arrow hit center next to the king's. More applause drifted down to them.
Aragorn took the remainder of his arrows and punched them into the grass, point down in a row. Shooting slowly, deliberately, one by one, he spoke. "I want to keep an eye on her. She'd be safer there than anyplace I can think of. No one will poison your food or anything you come in contact with for fear of hurting you or what you bear. Plus her father thinks it a great honor to have her serving you. Nor does he know all the scandalous things you do with him living so far out in the country." He shot his final arrow and sighed. "Ideally, the perfect solution would be to have either Arwen back or you stay. Neither of you have any connections that could offend any of the factions that I've discovered lurking here."
Bow clutched in his crossed arms across his chest, Legolas asked softly, "What is it you want? After all, it is your future we're bandying about here." He wasn't quite sure why he cared what Aragorn wanted, but he did.
The king sighed. "I want Arwen back." He turned saddened eyes upon the one who was once his friend.
"She cannot come back, Aragorn. She has gone forever." Legolas shook his head sadly. "Once it was possible to come back and forth between there and here, but now there is no return." He turned his head towards the targets, not willing to see Aragorn's pain any longer. "After all this is done and I go, I will carry a message from you if you like. I promise that I will give it to her with my own hands. I will tell her what has passed and tell her that it was not you who did this."
The king nodded. "I would like that. I know I will never know if she forgives me or not, but at least she will know why this happened." He made as if to clasp Legolas' shoulder and then stopped his hand mere inches from the elf. Legolas turned cold eyes upon the almost offending hand and then deliberately stepped towards the butts.
"Wait. That's why I brought them." The king then turned to the pages and indicated the target with one hand. The smaller of the pages, a small blonde boy not more than seven years old, ran forward and across the field to collect the arrows.
Legolas turned scornful eyes to the king. "Too tired to collect your own arrows?"
The king smiled wickedly in response. "Not at all. I brought him for you. You waddle when you walk across the field. It's better to just send him."
It was despite himself that Legolas laughed. It was so easy at times to recapture the easy feeling of friendship with this man, the easy banter between comrades. It was almost easy to forget what had passed between them. Almost.
Aragorn shifted his attention to the boy still pulling arrows from the butt. "I almost forgot. I am in need of a glittering elf queen to attend a feast tonight in honor of new diplomatic and trade envoys from the east. Do you know where I could find one?"
"I have absolutely no clue. Sorry." Legolas also turned his attention to the boy.
"Hmmmm. I suppose I'll have to make do with you instead." The king looked sideways at the elf. "At least then I can watch you and make sure you'll eat something. You are entirely too thin."
"And I suppose I will have to sit next to you and stare adoringly at you the entire meal?" Legolas jested.
Aragorn thought for a moment and then replied, "No. I will settle for you not burying a knife in my chest during the main course."
"I can do that."
"Good. You have just enough time to get ready if you leave now and don't stop to stick pins in Davyn tonight."
Legolas shook his head as he whistled for Arod. It was far too easy to fall into the old relationship.
The feast proceeded with stately leisure and Legolas sipped his watered wine. The food had been excellent, and the company was even better, if it were possible. The cook, a stocky woman with a permanently reddened complexion, had set aside the finest confections and dainties for his personal consumption, and Aragorn had sat and watched intently as the elf had eaten them one by one. Finally satisfied that the mother of his child had eaten enough for one night, the king then turned to his own plate and then to the envoy on his right.
Legolas looked across the hall and found Disa again. Her retinue had arrived in the beginning of the feast and the girl was escorted to a seat with the rest of Legolas' household. He had not realized how young the girl was until he saw her. She was perhaps thirteen years old, with dark brown hair and eyes. She was pretty in a human way, but her attitude was not a happy one. Even now she wore a sullen look as she sat at the table and waited to be introduced to the queen.
Legolas turned his attention to the man on his left and nodded attentively. Synan was a trader who had been many places in his short (at least to Legolas' mind) life. The stories of his journeys were fascinating, and if the man had even a fraction of the influence in the merchant's arena as Legolas suspected, then the possibilities for a mutually lucrative and successful treaty were very favorable.
Even though the man's robes were lush and ornate, his skin was brown and weather-beaten. His white hair and beard stood out in sharp contrast against his tan. The robes themselves were a wonder of craftsmanship, woven in such a way that the material turned one color when viewed this way, and another when viewed that way, and then heavily embroidered with pictures and symbols that told the story of his life. This was a man who was involved intimately with every aspect of his trade. He rode with the caravans, and negotiated each deal individually before turning it over to one of his many children. And he was enchanted by Legolas.
"In all my travels, I have never encountered such a creature of grace and beauty as you, Majesty." His tongue was honeyed as the candied dates he had offered as a dessert for the table. Legolas allowed himself to smile at the man, turning the charms he knew he now had on him with reckless abandon. He could hear Aragorn behind him speaking of borders and maps, of treaties and embassies.
"You flatter me, Synan. One would almost think that you were trying to curry favor." He knew his eyes flashed playfully at the man. He shifted in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position for his lower back. It seemed the hard, straight chairs in the hall did nothing to help the pain.
"Oh, but I do, Majesty. I am trying to charm a treaty right out of you." The man raised his goblet of wine and saluted the elf. "Shall we hammer out details now?"
Legolas blinked in surprise and then recovered. "Is it your custom to talk of such things at such occasions?" He asked curiously.
Synan laughed heartily, white teeth flashing in the dark face. "Of course, My Lady. When better? We have eaten together of each other's food. You have not poisoned me, and I have not poisoned you. What better footing to start a relationship on?"
The elf threw his head back and laughed. What a telling statement about his people's customs, although it did not seem too out of keeping with the upper classes of Gondor. "And have you any objections with discussing this with one such as me?" He said, indicating himself as a female.
"Lady, my wife can drive a harder bargain than I could ever dream of. I have no problems dealing with a woman." He paused and smiled. "Especially one as beautiful and charming as you."
Legolas smiled back. With an apologetic nod he turned briefly to Aragorn. After a moment's hesitation, he placed a feather light touch on the back of the king's wrist to catch his attention. The grey eyes turned to him and Legolas spoke quietly in Sindarian. "What do you want from him and what are you willing to accept? What do you want to give, and what is the most you are willing to give, and how much leeway do you want to give me on any of that?"
The grey eyes widened fractionally as they looked from the blonde elf to the brown man sitting down the table from him. "I want full trading relations, caravans with spices, gemstones, and raw materials. I'll take the caravans if we can get a concession to renegotiate the rest in two years. I'll offer one year without tariff or taxes, I'll give up to three. I'll provide protection within our borders. I trust you to do as you will." The man's answer was in the same language and swiftly spoken with no doubt in the skills of the elf.
Legolas turned back to Synan, his eyes glittering. He could not count how many times he'd negotiated agreements with the men of Laketown and Dale for his father, and had learned to enjoy the art of the haggle. The pain in his back was soon forgotten as they began to dicker in earnest.
Near the fire, the chancellor of Gondor drank sparingly of his mulled wine and watched as the feast goers mingled and socialized. His eyes kept returning to the high table where the king was in deep conversation with the new envoy. It appeared that their customs allowed them to talk business at the dinner table, something that he always considered to be crass and rude.
He then looked to Legolas and saw that the elf was just as deeply immersed in conversation as the king was. Slender hands flew in gestures like birds taking wing, and high cheekbones were flushed with some unknown emotion. The dark man that Legolas was so deeply in conversation with then threw his head back and clutched his hands to his chest as if he had been mortally wounded. The elf looked singularly unimpressed and the man put his hands down in his lap with a small smile and leaned back into the fray. If anything, the conversation became even more intense.
"They're negotiating a new trade agreement." Gilby's voice was quiet, smooth. "If anything, I pity the man who tangles with our elf. I would hesitate to stand in the way of such a will."
"Our elf?" Arnlaug raised an eyebrow in question.
Gilby moved from behind Arnlaug to smoothly drape his long limbs into the adjacent chair. With Davyn defeated the limp that had plagued him for so long has also disappeared. With a flip of hair that was still colorless by firelight, he answered. "Why shouldn't I call her that? The people openly adore her and claim her as such. Why shouldn't we?"
Arnlaug knew that his expression was dubious at best. "Because SHE is not willing to be 'our elf'" Because SHE is a HE inside, and HE wishes to leave as soon as possible. For which I cannot blame him."
With a languid motion, Gilby indicated the high table. "Look at that. Is it not beautiful? They are working together for common goals, each one using their skills for the good of our people. They compliment each other. They belong together." The hand then moved to indicate a small, sullen face on the other side of the hall. "I cannot believe you would support THAT over what we have now. That slip of a child will never be even a fraction of what we already have. I sincerely doubt she would ever be able to negotiate a treaty, for example."
"I thought you were a traditionalist, old friend. Women aren't supposed to get involved in the workings of our government, much less negotiate with foreigners." Arnlaug made a sweeping motion with one hand.
There was a soft laugh from next to him. "But as you've just pointed out, old friend, SHE is not really a woman." There was a pause and then Gilby continued. "But if we could just get her to show a touch more decorum." The pale man shifted and then leaned in closer. "But you lead me away from my point, Arnlaug. I think it is in our best interests for things to stay as they are. My people are hearing many disturbing things from many disturbing places."
"Your people always hear disturbing things from disturbing places. It's their job. You wouldn't pay them if they heard only pleasant things."
Gilby laughed for a moment and then went silent. "True. But when they all hear the same things from different places, I begin to give them some credence. And what they say bothers me."
Arnlaug thought, his fingers drumming absently on the arm of his chair. After a long moment he shook his head. "You make it sound as though we have a choice that we don't have. Legolas has already said that he will not stay. I certainly don't see much use in trying to convince him to linger."
"He won't stay. There's nothing you could offer him to make him want to stay." Valda walked up to her husband and touched his hand before sitting on his other side. "He swore to bear the heir, and he'll keep his promise. Once that is done, I doubt anything could hold him here."
Gilby leaned close in and hissed to Valda. "What if the child is a girl? A female cannot be the heir. You know this."
Valda leaned over her husband and hissed back to Gilby, "He swore to bear the heir. He'll keep his word."
Clearing his throat, Arnlaug looked pointedly down at the two who were intently staring at each other across his stomach. His wife was the first to retreat into her own chair, turning her back to the men with a flounce. Gilby was much slower, sliding backwards smoothly into his previous position. After they had retreated, he continued. "The king will not hold his friend to that oath. You already know that."
Valda turned back, arms across her chest and glared at Gilby. "What do you propose, Gilby? Would you have him locked up again, this time for the rest of our lives? Would you have the locks and bars back up and the guards still on the walls? Would you have him raped again for your satisfaction? I think we can ask for no more."
The pale man half lidded his eyes and spoke softly. "I merely put forward that I think the council could be looking into ways to convince the elf to stay." He gestured towards the group at the high table, each deeply involved in their conversations. "Have you seen how he watches her? His eyes never leave her when she's in the room. He is so very careful not to touch or lay a hand on her, but you can see what it costs him from just his eyes."
Arnlaug turned his eyes to the tableau at the high table and rubbed his chin, deep in thought. After a moment, he shook his head slowly. "We could try to convince the king to attempt to persuade him to stay. I think that would be a waste of time, however."
Gilby nodded. "I agree. We should still try, however. There are other… avenues we could explore as well."
"Gilby, you are a wonder." Valda stood up and faced the man, speaking softly so that she would not be overheard. "Do you have an infinite number of knives that you use to stab people in the back, or do you simply reuse the one that you have over and over?"
The man bowed slightly from the waist. "My lady, I am a thrifty man. I find that one well honed blade serves me well, and serves my kingdom better." He smiled grimly. "My loyalty to the crown and to my realm is unswerving."
Valda shook her head, fixed her husband with a meaningful look and then turned her back on the two of them. Her stride was stiff and full of purpose and her steps took her towards the young girl still waiting in the back of the hall.
Gilby turned towards Arnlaug with a raised eyebrow, and the chancellor merely shrugged in response. They both turned to gaze at the high table again, this time with calculation in their eyes.
After a time, Arnlaug spoke. "The king would never permit it. He is an honorable man."
Shifting slightly and taking a drink of his previously forgotten wine, Gilby responded, "Sometimes I think that he has too much honor for his own good."
The chancellor shook his head. "No king can ever have too much honor. Kings MUST have honor. It is essential to their character." He paused and then turned to Gilby. "But sometimes the situation calls for extreme measures, and that is what he has us for, dear friend."
I know it's been a while, and in between my life and FF.net blowing up pretty much in sequence, it's been interesting.
The story continues….. Loyalties are shifting, rearranging. And who do you think will get stuck in the middle?
I promise the next chapter will not be this long in coming! Sorry.
Notes:
Good reads: Besides Jastaelf's "Dark Leaf", of course…. Try Treehugger's "In the Hall of the Wood Elf King." Legs in pink. Nuff said. Also Ithilien's "The Hunting Trip" .. Freaky-deaky stuff coming there….
Also, for a really good read, well written, and enjoyable try Nebride's "The Road to Isengard" and "The Caverns of Mirkwood"
And I have to admit quite a liking for "Ends of the Earth" by Kungfuqueen. Elrond's twins don't get much non incest (shudder) fiction on ff.net, but this is actually pretty charming, and had me rolling on the floor with the visual of Galadrial as the punishing grandma. I haven't finished it yet, but I'm enjoying it.
The bow felt like a long forgotten lover to his fingers. The wood was silky and smooth but the string was rough. The blisters that had formed on his fingers seemed almost as if the bow was taking vengeance from being scorned for so long.
With a sigh, the elf raised his bow and took careful aim at the target on the far side of the field. ::Steady. Aim. Breathe in. Breathe out and release:: The bowstring sang a deadly note as the arrow shot towards its destination. He could feel his mouth turning down in a frown as he watched the arrow bury itself in the butt. ::Left again. It seems I must relearn my stance as well as toughen my fingers and muscles.::
He absently rubbed the area on his left breast where the bowstring had snapped him the first time he'd shot. The sensation had been so incredibly painful that it only took one mishap for him to learn to adjust his posture, but now his aim and balance had suffered. When one has done something the same way for years uncounted it is near impossible to change that way in the course of days or weeks. That did not mean that Legolas had not tried his best to do so, however.
He raised a sore arm over his head, trying to stretch out the ache of overtired muscles and then looked at his now bloodied fingers. ::It is probably time to stop now:: At least he could draw the bow now, although not as easily as he would have liked. It took him many days of straining effort to have that victory, and then more days of practice to come near his former prowess.
With another sigh he began to trudge towards the butts to collect his arrows. It allowed him time to reflect upon the many meanings of freedom. He was now free. Free to come and go as he wished. The bars had been removed from the windows, the locks from his doors, the guards from his path. But he still remained bound to a body that was not his, bound to a child he should not be bearing, and bound to a man that he alternated between feeling friendship and antipathy towards.
He hissed in pain as he wrapped his fingers around the wooden shafts and pulled them from the target. The short walk across the field had been enough for the nerves in his fingers to remember that they were no longer numbed with constant activity and remind him that he had severely abused them.
Task done, he then turned and checked the sky. It would be dark soon. Time to head back to the palace.
He pursed his lips and gave a low whistle. With a spirited whinny, Arod crested the hill and ran forward, eager to carry his elf wherever he was asked. With a snuffle, the horse nuzzled into the waiting hand and encountered the wounds there. The horse snorted his disapproval and then nudged his elf towards his strong back.
Legolas patted Arod lovingly with his good hand, and then turned to unstring his bow. Bow securely stowed on his back next to his white handled knives, he then lightly leapt onto the waiting horse and then looked behind him for the ever present guard that watched over his every move.
Bryn waited for him on the far side of the range, unobtrusive as usual. Aragorn had insisted that the guard was for his safety, not for any other reason, and certainly not to curtail his movements or freedom in any way. It helped that the guard was Bryn, who was to marry Lanelese. Along with Clotild she had chosen to stay in Legolas' service, albeit now as newly ennobled women. At least on paper Bryn seemed to be the most innocuous of guards available because of that connection. However, in the shifting sea of loyalties and politics that was the ruling class of Gondor, anything was possible.
Legolas twitched the loose, faded tunic he wore over his stomach while he waited for Bryn to catch up. The waist of the leggings was a little tight but would still be bearable for a while longer.
When his clothing had been returned it became distressingly clear that he would be unable to pull his leggings up over his stomach, or close any of his shirts over his chest. It was with some embarrassment that he'd turned to Valda and asked if he could borrow any of Arnlaug's old clothing. The tunics hung on him and the pants were baggy everywhere except the stomach, but they were comfortable for the moment.
With a toss of his head, Arod started towards the palace. The archery fields were several levels down the city behind the guard barracks and were reachable only by going through the city. Together the guard and elf passed the sentry at the grounds entry and moved into the city proper.
The end of the day was near and the streets were crowded. The smell of cooking food filled the air with spicy and savory smells, and the sound of music swelled from numerous pubs and taverns on the wayside. The people in the street moved to one side to allow the horses room to pass when they saw who was in their midst.
The chatter of the crowd was cheerful and made Legolas smile despite himself. The people of Gondor were overall a goodhearted folk, made strong by adversity. Aragorn loved them and would do anything for them, and the people reciprocated this to their king and now to their queen.
Legolas knew he made a sight that would make the council cringe. Sweaty, dirty, in oversized old clothing, carrying weapons openly and riding bareback down the main thoroughfare of the white city. Yet this same sight endeared him to the people of Minas Tirith. They smiled and waved, and some of the bolder ones reached out to touch an outstretched hand, or to stroke Arod on the flank as he passed.
Legolas' smile turned sheepish as the sound of a now too familiar song wafted up from one of the bigger taverns. A heroic ballad of epic length, it extolled the virtues of the three brave women who defeated the evil mage and freed their king from his bondage. Even when he ignored that the facts were completely inaccurate, the extravagant language, the discordant melody and the constant references to him as "The fairest flower that e'er grew in the gardens in Minas Tirith" or "The brightest gem that ever shone in Gondor's crown" or "The King's beauty made of sunlight and stars" set his teeth on edge.
But it made the people happy. They sang it and bellowed it and danced to it. They drank their wine and celebrated the elevation of two of their number in the form of the brave maids and talked in warm, fond tones about their elven queen. So much warmer and so much more accessible than Arwen. Always willing to smile and wave to even the most humble person. And now, even willing to stop and speak for a moment or two on the way to or from the archery fields. Not at all arrogant, or afraid of the populace like other noble ladies, they would sniff to themselves.
Legolas smiled at the memory of the expression on Valda and Arnlaug's faces when he announced that he was going to the fields to take up his bow again. He was told that women did not do such things in Gondor, especially noble women with children in the offing. Nor did noble women go to the stables each morn and care for their mounts with their own hands, nor did they wear old leggings and tunics, nor did they do much of anything, it seemed. But Aragorn, either from respect for his friend or more likely guilt, forbade Legolas nothing.
Legolas found it even more gratifying to shock Arnlaug with the revelation that he intended to go also to the sparring fields during the guard's practice and practice his knifework. Aragorn had laughed at his chancellor's discomfiture and then said quietly, "No. I do not think you will do that, my friend. I have no objection to the archery, but there will be no sparring."
Legolas had fixed Aragorn with a cold stare that showed his displeasure. "Do you forbid me this?"
The king shook his head. "No. I forbid you nothing. But I do forbid any in my kingdom from fighting with you. You will find no opponent here." He made as though to clap the elf on a shoulder but then stopped his hand suddenly, remembering that there was no consent given for even the most casual of touches.
Legolas' thoughts were drawn back to the present again when Arod stopped in front of the stables. The elf blinked and then lightly leapt down and walked inside, Arod close behind.
Summer was fading and the cool nights of autumn had come. The stables were still warm and cloying with the earthy smell of horse and all that came with it. Legolas wrinkled his nose and then moved to brush and feed his equine friend.
As the horse munched his way though his grain, Legolas then turned his footsteps towards his daily destination.
An old shed in the main gardens had been converted to serve the purpose of holding Davyn, and would have been considered pleasant to any but him. The stone building had been fitted with wood floors and wood paneling. The open wood beams of the ceiling remained open, allowing fresh air to move through the bars of ironwood that had been placed in the windows and across half of the living area. There was not an ounce of metal, a single nail, or an exposed surface of stone used in the construction of this prison. The wood had been pegged or neatly dovetailed together with a master craftsman's eye for detail. Truly, it was a work of art.
Even his furnishings were of wood, leather, and rope. The wood bedstead with the straw ticking and the wooden chairs with the leather seats or even the wooden table with its boiled leather candle holder were all held together with a woodworker's skill. The wood paneling gleamed in the candlelight, reflecting a rich gleam into the rest of the room.
The windows were fitted with glass, but the ironwood bars made even that beyond the mage's reach. There was nothing that was not once alive that he could lay his hands upon.
Legolas nodded to the guard that sat in the open side of the shed. It was his custom to come here every evening and inspect this prison himself. Each evening every ironwood bar received a yank, each floorboard a close inspection, each piece of paneling a deep scrutiny. He still did not sleep nights, but it seemed to settle his unease a little to check everything.
Legolas walked close to the bars and tugged first on one and then another, slowly walking his way down the length of the room. The first few times that he had done this, the mage had raced to the bars and tried to touch the blue stone that still resided the base of his throat. Legolas had easily ducked and the guard had been less than gentle in the use of his cudgel. It had not taken long for an uneasy truce to be called between mage and elf.
After Legolas assured himself that the mage was safely ensconced he then strolled over to the remaining chair at the guard's table, turned it and then straddled it so that his chin rested upon his folded hands on the back. He was able to watch Davyn easily that way.
The guard reached down and brought forth a cloth bundle and slowly opened it to show a wedge of hard cheese. He diffidently pushed it to rest on the table in front of the elf. He well knew that Legolas did not eat nearly as much as a breeding woman should, and it showed in the painfully thin arms and wrists. He also well knew it was because the elf avoided all communal meals that would have required taking company with the king. Such things were well known by many.
Legolas shifted his gaze from the captive mage down to the cheese and then over to guard. After a moment he shook his head and spoke softly. "Thank you, Arick. You don't have to do such things. I've told you that my people do not require as much to eat as yours do."
Arick merely raised his eyebrow and nodded towards the cheese.
With a slight smile and a slow shake of his head, Legolas broke off a small piece and nibbled at it delicately. The sharp flavor was enough to interest him to eat a bigger bite than he initially thought he wanted. He then turned his attention back to Davyn.
For a long moment the elf and the mage regarded each other through the bars. The mage was dressed in a rough woolen robe that was similar to the blankets on the bed. The mage's true face was revealed, lines and scars visible where once there was the illusion of youth, and his eyes glittered in the candlelight.
After a moment Legolas turned to Arick and nodded. Ponderously the guard stood, his large frame making him seem bearlike in the darkening room, and lumbered to the door with a silent gesture at the prisoner with his cudgel. Davyn gave a low, mocking laugh in the back of his throat and then returned his attention to the elf. After the guard was around the corner, he lifted the book he had been reading and spoke. "You smell of horse. I cannot bear the smell of horse. It sickens me."
"Good." Legolas picked up another piece of cheese. His appetite was returning despite the company.
Davyn tried again. "Your sadistic maids have been put in charge of my reading material, it seems. Could you ask them to provide me with something besides light romances and bodice rippers? Or perhaps I should just ask to be flogged now?"
An involuntary smirk found its way to Legolas' face. It appeared that Clotild and Lanelese enjoyed their responsibilities laced with a touch of cruelty. "I will talk to them. I would suspect that you might end up with recipe books instead, however."
The mage solemnly nodded. "That would be a drastic improvement over the adventures of Lady Alfreada and her heaving bosoms."
There was silence as they regarded each other through the bars again. After a moment Davyn spoke again. "Are things as unsettled in the court as I suspect they are?"
Legolas raised an eyebrow. "It is my understanding that there is much contention over who will be my replacement. Lord Kelsig has a daughter who appears to be the front runner in the broodmare sweepstakes."
Davyn grunted. "Kelsig's daughter is just the right age. But her father has many enemies in court. I would expect that there would be many people unhappy with this development." He paused for a moment, flipping the pages in the book absently. "Of course, no one they could choose would be as acceptable to everyone as you or Arwen were. Everyone else has alliances or blood ties that could confuse even a master plotter such as me."
"It matters little enough to me. I will do what I have promised and then leave. What goes on after I have left I cannot control." Legolas stretched, attempting to ease some of the soreness from his lower back.
"It should matter greatly to you what happens." Davyn placed the book on the floor with an audible thump. "Do you forget what you will leave behind?" The mage shifted forward to stare at the elf. "Infants die every day in Gondor. They are small and weak and tend to fail easily. No one would think it odd if even a royal babe should die if there is another one soon on the way to replace it."
Legolas recoiled at the thought. "What kind of creatures are Men that they would even consider such a thing?" Disgust was thick in his voice.
"Men are not Elves. Men breed wantonly and with great abandon. And their children are as tools to them, to be used and sometimes to be cast aside. If you are not here to defend the child, it is not outside the realm of possibility." If anything, Davyn's eyes glittered even more in the gloom. The silence deepened between the two of them, and then the mage spoke again. "They will betray you. You know this."
"Who?" Legolas furrowed his brow in confusion at the change in subject.
"Those you trust. Those with whom you are friendly, but not friends." Davyn's voice went lower, as if he were afraid of being overheard. "The council. I know them well. Trust me on this."
"Why should I believe anything that you say? I have no reason to trust you." Scorn filled the elf's voice.
"Because of all the things I have done, I have never lied to you. Not once." Brown eyes met blue across the room with a frightening intensity.
"Aragorn would never allow them to betray me. He is a man of honor." The words fell from Legolas' lips before he could catch them.
Davyn stood and walked to the bars and stared down at the elf. "No? Look at yourself and then repeat that."
"He was your creature. He would never have countenanced this otherwise." Legolas remained seated, but glared at the mage before him.
Mocking laughter emerged from the cell. "I created nothing in that man. I merely took what was hidden, albeit deeply, and brought it to the surface." The mage then lounged against the bars and continued, his voice a low hiss. "He was given the choice of others, and he chose you. He leapt at the chance to have you, not the others. He has always wanted you in some deep, hidden part of his mind that he didn't even realize existed." The grin turned almost predatory. "And when took you for the first time, he thanked me. And he thanked me every night after that for making his elven dream come to life."
Legolas stood and walked to the cell, fists clenched. "Why do you share this with me? What good does it do you?" His blue eyes burned with anger.
Davyn smiled again, wrinkles drawing his face up into dark mirth. "For the same reasons you come see me every night." He paused and then sighed. "This is the age of Man now, little elf. Our time in this world is coming to a close, and soon there will be nothing like you or I left here. The two of us are closer to each other because of this than we will ever be to them. You know this, I know this. And that is why you come here each night, and why we torment each other. Our little confidences to each other are all that we have left."
With a sudden lunge, Davyn threw himself against the bars, hand flailing at the blue stone that glowed softly at Legolas' throat. Legolas leaned back out of reach and shook his head sadly.
The mage tried for a moment more and then straightened. "I had to try." His voice was smooth reason again.
The elf smiled despite his best instincts. "I know." Without another word, he turned and left the small shed. Once again, there would be no rest tonight.
Dawn broke the next morn and found Legolas sitting by the fire. His eyes stared blankly into the ashes as his fingers traced the whorls and knots of the collar around his neck. It was in this position that Clotild and Lanelese found him, the same as he was when they left him the night before. They looked at each other with some concern and then Clotild cleared her throat.
He pulled himself from his thoughts and then turned to Clotild. "Davyn takes exception to the choice of reading material he has been provided. He asks if you can find him something more palatable than the adventures of some woman's heaving bosoms."
Clotild smiled evilly. "I have just the thing for him, Lady. I chanced upon a fascinating dissertation on cheese making from the second age when I was cleaning out the back of the librarian's office. Surely a few pages of that will make him regret complaining about Lanelese's choice in reading materials."
Lanelese gave only an offended sniff in response. In her mind her taste in anything was beyond reproach. If anything, the fault was with the receiver and never with her. With another offended sniff, she passed a small note to Legolas.
Eyebrow up in curiosity, the elf slowly turned the note to see the wax seal. His eyes widened at the sight of the royal seal of Gondor and he stiffened. He passed the note back to Lanelese as if it burned his skin. "Open it and read it to me, please." He looked up and noticed the shocked expression on her face. "I like the sound of your voice. Please, just read it."
Lanelese glanced at Clotild again. The two of them had become used to the fact that Legolas wanted as little to do with the king as possible. And how could they place any blame for that, really? But to not even accept what was obviously a private note? And then to ask that one of them read it? But then, her voice was melodious, even she had to admit.
With a delicate look of disapproval, Lanelese broke the seal on the letter and scanned the contents quickly. She gave a sigh of relief and then announced, "It appears we have a new maid of honor joining our household. You have been requested, read ordered, to take on Disa, daughter of Lord Kelsig as a maid of your chamber. She will be here tonight. He says that he will discuss his reasons with you privately later today."
Legolas felt his eyebrow climb even higher. "Disa? But I thought…"
Clotild nodded. "I thought so too. All indications point to her."
"Perhaps they wish her to pick up some unbecoming habits so that she is no longer suitable." Lanelese chimed in with an evil smile.
"Well, I can think of no better place for that than here, Ladies." Legolas smiled. "Speaking of which, where are my pants? The day is young, but it waits for no one."
Legolas furrowed his brow in concentration. Pull, exhale, release. The string sang and the arrow flew towards the target and landed with a dull thud in the center. He finally allowed himself to smile grimly.
"Nice." He credited himself that he did not jump when Aragorn spoke. His concentration had been so deep that he had not heard the approach of the king.
With a nod to the target, Aragorn continued. "I see you've been working on your stance and balance." The king was dressed in old dark tunic and leggings, and carried his old bow. Several yards behind him, two young pages in royal livery stood and waited. Legolas looked from the king to the pages and pondered whether a rapid exit would be in order. It was too easy to fall into the old patterns of friendship and acceptance. The less he saw of his old friend, the less the temptation.
Aragorn strung his bow and talked softly as he adjusted his bracers. "I came out here because we could talk without being overheard." He pulled the bowstring back to his cheek, testing the feel of the wood. "Did you get my note?"
Legolas nocked another arrow and slowly drew back, taking careful aim at the target. "Yes." He said the single word and then released the arrow which flew at a satisfyingly straight angle. "I understand that your future wife is to be moved into my household, such as it is. I don't understand why."
The king winced. "If I have any say in it, she will not be my wife. Have you met Disa?" The king pulled out an arrow and carefully inspected the fletching.
"No. I seem to recall most of my time spent in Minas Tirith has been of a solitary sort. I didn't get out much." Legolas stepped back from the line, waiting for Aragorn to shoot.
"Disa is as dull as the dagger you tried to kill me with on our wedding night." Aragorn's string sang as his arrow flew towards the target. Bullseye, but to the right.
Legolas winced. That was dull. Very dull. "And?" He stepped forward to the firing line and nocked another arrow.
"She's very young, not very smart, and has been raised as a 'proper' woman." Aragorn stepped back to watch Legolas shoot. "I'm not fond of 'proper' women."
The elf took another deep breath and drew the bow, ignoring the sting of muscles in his shoulders. "This does not answer why she is now in my care." With smooth exhalation, he released the string. Left again. He was getting tired.
"Disa is also part of a very influential family that has made many enemies. Gilby has uncovered threads of a plot to kill the poor girl before she ever becomes a serious contender for Queen, which I personally don't want her as."
Legolas snorted under his breath. At the sound, Aragorn continued as he made a show of carefully choosing his next arrow. "Arnlaug favors her because her father is a friend of his. The common thought is that her father can use her as a conduit to me, and gain prominence for himself and others of his family using her influence. That would make him more powerful than his rivals, and his rivals do not want that." He nocked his arrow and smoothly drew his bow, and then looked sideways at the elf. "Do you think you might want to try shooting with a lighter bow until you build your strength up? I can tell that your arms are tired." He turned his attention back to the target and did not see the seething look Legolas shot him. The string sang and the arrow buried itself in the center of the target.
The pages clapped lightly behind them and the sound was carried by the wind.
Legolas picked up his last arrow, and then bowed with a flourish to Aragorn. "I suppose I should be relieved that this is my last arrow then, Oh Great King." With ease he nocked it and stepped to the line. "So why do you tell me this, and why have you put dear dull Disa with me? If she's as you say, Lanelese and Clotild will have her in tears within moments of her arrival." Pull, exhale, release. The arrow hit center next to the king's. More applause drifted down to them.
Aragorn took the remainder of his arrows and punched them into the grass, point down in a row. Shooting slowly, deliberately, one by one, he spoke. "I want to keep an eye on her. She'd be safer there than anyplace I can think of. No one will poison your food or anything you come in contact with for fear of hurting you or what you bear. Plus her father thinks it a great honor to have her serving you. Nor does he know all the scandalous things you do with him living so far out in the country." He shot his final arrow and sighed. "Ideally, the perfect solution would be to have either Arwen back or you stay. Neither of you have any connections that could offend any of the factions that I've discovered lurking here."
Bow clutched in his crossed arms across his chest, Legolas asked softly, "What is it you want? After all, it is your future we're bandying about here." He wasn't quite sure why he cared what Aragorn wanted, but he did.
The king sighed. "I want Arwen back." He turned saddened eyes upon the one who was once his friend.
"She cannot come back, Aragorn. She has gone forever." Legolas shook his head sadly. "Once it was possible to come back and forth between there and here, but now there is no return." He turned his head towards the targets, not willing to see Aragorn's pain any longer. "After all this is done and I go, I will carry a message from you if you like. I promise that I will give it to her with my own hands. I will tell her what has passed and tell her that it was not you who did this."
The king nodded. "I would like that. I know I will never know if she forgives me or not, but at least she will know why this happened." He made as if to clasp Legolas' shoulder and then stopped his hand mere inches from the elf. Legolas turned cold eyes upon the almost offending hand and then deliberately stepped towards the butts.
"Wait. That's why I brought them." The king then turned to the pages and indicated the target with one hand. The smaller of the pages, a small blonde boy not more than seven years old, ran forward and across the field to collect the arrows.
Legolas turned scornful eyes to the king. "Too tired to collect your own arrows?"
The king smiled wickedly in response. "Not at all. I brought him for you. You waddle when you walk across the field. It's better to just send him."
It was despite himself that Legolas laughed. It was so easy at times to recapture the easy feeling of friendship with this man, the easy banter between comrades. It was almost easy to forget what had passed between them. Almost.
Aragorn shifted his attention to the boy still pulling arrows from the butt. "I almost forgot. I am in need of a glittering elf queen to attend a feast tonight in honor of new diplomatic and trade envoys from the east. Do you know where I could find one?"
"I have absolutely no clue. Sorry." Legolas also turned his attention to the boy.
"Hmmmm. I suppose I'll have to make do with you instead." The king looked sideways at the elf. "At least then I can watch you and make sure you'll eat something. You are entirely too thin."
"And I suppose I will have to sit next to you and stare adoringly at you the entire meal?" Legolas jested.
Aragorn thought for a moment and then replied, "No. I will settle for you not burying a knife in my chest during the main course."
"I can do that."
"Good. You have just enough time to get ready if you leave now and don't stop to stick pins in Davyn tonight."
Legolas shook his head as he whistled for Arod. It was far too easy to fall into the old relationship.
The feast proceeded with stately leisure and Legolas sipped his watered wine. The food had been excellent, and the company was even better, if it were possible. The cook, a stocky woman with a permanently reddened complexion, had set aside the finest confections and dainties for his personal consumption, and Aragorn had sat and watched intently as the elf had eaten them one by one. Finally satisfied that the mother of his child had eaten enough for one night, the king then turned to his own plate and then to the envoy on his right.
Legolas looked across the hall and found Disa again. Her retinue had arrived in the beginning of the feast and the girl was escorted to a seat with the rest of Legolas' household. He had not realized how young the girl was until he saw her. She was perhaps thirteen years old, with dark brown hair and eyes. She was pretty in a human way, but her attitude was not a happy one. Even now she wore a sullen look as she sat at the table and waited to be introduced to the queen.
Legolas turned his attention to the man on his left and nodded attentively. Synan was a trader who had been many places in his short (at least to Legolas' mind) life. The stories of his journeys were fascinating, and if the man had even a fraction of the influence in the merchant's arena as Legolas suspected, then the possibilities for a mutually lucrative and successful treaty were very favorable.
Even though the man's robes were lush and ornate, his skin was brown and weather-beaten. His white hair and beard stood out in sharp contrast against his tan. The robes themselves were a wonder of craftsmanship, woven in such a way that the material turned one color when viewed this way, and another when viewed that way, and then heavily embroidered with pictures and symbols that told the story of his life. This was a man who was involved intimately with every aspect of his trade. He rode with the caravans, and negotiated each deal individually before turning it over to one of his many children. And he was enchanted by Legolas.
"In all my travels, I have never encountered such a creature of grace and beauty as you, Majesty." His tongue was honeyed as the candied dates he had offered as a dessert for the table. Legolas allowed himself to smile at the man, turning the charms he knew he now had on him with reckless abandon. He could hear Aragorn behind him speaking of borders and maps, of treaties and embassies.
"You flatter me, Synan. One would almost think that you were trying to curry favor." He knew his eyes flashed playfully at the man. He shifted in his seat, trying to find a more comfortable position for his lower back. It seemed the hard, straight chairs in the hall did nothing to help the pain.
"Oh, but I do, Majesty. I am trying to charm a treaty right out of you." The man raised his goblet of wine and saluted the elf. "Shall we hammer out details now?"
Legolas blinked in surprise and then recovered. "Is it your custom to talk of such things at such occasions?" He asked curiously.
Synan laughed heartily, white teeth flashing in the dark face. "Of course, My Lady. When better? We have eaten together of each other's food. You have not poisoned me, and I have not poisoned you. What better footing to start a relationship on?"
The elf threw his head back and laughed. What a telling statement about his people's customs, although it did not seem too out of keeping with the upper classes of Gondor. "And have you any objections with discussing this with one such as me?" He said, indicating himself as a female.
"Lady, my wife can drive a harder bargain than I could ever dream of. I have no problems dealing with a woman." He paused and smiled. "Especially one as beautiful and charming as you."
Legolas smiled back. With an apologetic nod he turned briefly to Aragorn. After a moment's hesitation, he placed a feather light touch on the back of the king's wrist to catch his attention. The grey eyes turned to him and Legolas spoke quietly in Sindarian. "What do you want from him and what are you willing to accept? What do you want to give, and what is the most you are willing to give, and how much leeway do you want to give me on any of that?"
The grey eyes widened fractionally as they looked from the blonde elf to the brown man sitting down the table from him. "I want full trading relations, caravans with spices, gemstones, and raw materials. I'll take the caravans if we can get a concession to renegotiate the rest in two years. I'll offer one year without tariff or taxes, I'll give up to three. I'll provide protection within our borders. I trust you to do as you will." The man's answer was in the same language and swiftly spoken with no doubt in the skills of the elf.
Legolas turned back to Synan, his eyes glittering. He could not count how many times he'd negotiated agreements with the men of Laketown and Dale for his father, and had learned to enjoy the art of the haggle. The pain in his back was soon forgotten as they began to dicker in earnest.
Near the fire, the chancellor of Gondor drank sparingly of his mulled wine and watched as the feast goers mingled and socialized. His eyes kept returning to the high table where the king was in deep conversation with the new envoy. It appeared that their customs allowed them to talk business at the dinner table, something that he always considered to be crass and rude.
He then looked to Legolas and saw that the elf was just as deeply immersed in conversation as the king was. Slender hands flew in gestures like birds taking wing, and high cheekbones were flushed with some unknown emotion. The dark man that Legolas was so deeply in conversation with then threw his head back and clutched his hands to his chest as if he had been mortally wounded. The elf looked singularly unimpressed and the man put his hands down in his lap with a small smile and leaned back into the fray. If anything, the conversation became even more intense.
"They're negotiating a new trade agreement." Gilby's voice was quiet, smooth. "If anything, I pity the man who tangles with our elf. I would hesitate to stand in the way of such a will."
"Our elf?" Arnlaug raised an eyebrow in question.
Gilby moved from behind Arnlaug to smoothly drape his long limbs into the adjacent chair. With Davyn defeated the limp that had plagued him for so long has also disappeared. With a flip of hair that was still colorless by firelight, he answered. "Why shouldn't I call her that? The people openly adore her and claim her as such. Why shouldn't we?"
Arnlaug knew that his expression was dubious at best. "Because SHE is not willing to be 'our elf'" Because SHE is a HE inside, and HE wishes to leave as soon as possible. For which I cannot blame him."
With a languid motion, Gilby indicated the high table. "Look at that. Is it not beautiful? They are working together for common goals, each one using their skills for the good of our people. They compliment each other. They belong together." The hand then moved to indicate a small, sullen face on the other side of the hall. "I cannot believe you would support THAT over what we have now. That slip of a child will never be even a fraction of what we already have. I sincerely doubt she would ever be able to negotiate a treaty, for example."
"I thought you were a traditionalist, old friend. Women aren't supposed to get involved in the workings of our government, much less negotiate with foreigners." Arnlaug made a sweeping motion with one hand.
There was a soft laugh from next to him. "But as you've just pointed out, old friend, SHE is not really a woman." There was a pause and then Gilby continued. "But if we could just get her to show a touch more decorum." The pale man shifted and then leaned in closer. "But you lead me away from my point, Arnlaug. I think it is in our best interests for things to stay as they are. My people are hearing many disturbing things from many disturbing places."
"Your people always hear disturbing things from disturbing places. It's their job. You wouldn't pay them if they heard only pleasant things."
Gilby laughed for a moment and then went silent. "True. But when they all hear the same things from different places, I begin to give them some credence. And what they say bothers me."
Arnlaug thought, his fingers drumming absently on the arm of his chair. After a long moment he shook his head. "You make it sound as though we have a choice that we don't have. Legolas has already said that he will not stay. I certainly don't see much use in trying to convince him to linger."
"He won't stay. There's nothing you could offer him to make him want to stay." Valda walked up to her husband and touched his hand before sitting on his other side. "He swore to bear the heir, and he'll keep his promise. Once that is done, I doubt anything could hold him here."
Gilby leaned close in and hissed to Valda. "What if the child is a girl? A female cannot be the heir. You know this."
Valda leaned over her husband and hissed back to Gilby, "He swore to bear the heir. He'll keep his word."
Clearing his throat, Arnlaug looked pointedly down at the two who were intently staring at each other across his stomach. His wife was the first to retreat into her own chair, turning her back to the men with a flounce. Gilby was much slower, sliding backwards smoothly into his previous position. After they had retreated, he continued. "The king will not hold his friend to that oath. You already know that."
Valda turned back, arms across her chest and glared at Gilby. "What do you propose, Gilby? Would you have him locked up again, this time for the rest of our lives? Would you have the locks and bars back up and the guards still on the walls? Would you have him raped again for your satisfaction? I think we can ask for no more."
The pale man half lidded his eyes and spoke softly. "I merely put forward that I think the council could be looking into ways to convince the elf to stay." He gestured towards the group at the high table, each deeply involved in their conversations. "Have you seen how he watches her? His eyes never leave her when she's in the room. He is so very careful not to touch or lay a hand on her, but you can see what it costs him from just his eyes."
Arnlaug turned his eyes to the tableau at the high table and rubbed his chin, deep in thought. After a moment, he shook his head slowly. "We could try to convince the king to attempt to persuade him to stay. I think that would be a waste of time, however."
Gilby nodded. "I agree. We should still try, however. There are other… avenues we could explore as well."
"Gilby, you are a wonder." Valda stood up and faced the man, speaking softly so that she would not be overheard. "Do you have an infinite number of knives that you use to stab people in the back, or do you simply reuse the one that you have over and over?"
The man bowed slightly from the waist. "My lady, I am a thrifty man. I find that one well honed blade serves me well, and serves my kingdom better." He smiled grimly. "My loyalty to the crown and to my realm is unswerving."
Valda shook her head, fixed her husband with a meaningful look and then turned her back on the two of them. Her stride was stiff and full of purpose and her steps took her towards the young girl still waiting in the back of the hall.
Gilby turned towards Arnlaug with a raised eyebrow, and the chancellor merely shrugged in response. They both turned to gaze at the high table again, this time with calculation in their eyes.
After a time, Arnlaug spoke. "The king would never permit it. He is an honorable man."
Shifting slightly and taking a drink of his previously forgotten wine, Gilby responded, "Sometimes I think that he has too much honor for his own good."
The chancellor shook his head. "No king can ever have too much honor. Kings MUST have honor. It is essential to their character." He paused and then turned to Gilby. "But sometimes the situation calls for extreme measures, and that is what he has us for, dear friend."