Chapter Six: Discovered

Legolas woke a few hours later, his mind automatically noting that the sun had set, as the room's small window now let in no light. True to his word, Obren had moved the elf and ranger to a small room with two cots and brought up healing supplies, including many buckets of water.

Aragorn had gently washed the dirt and blood off his friend's body, using herbal compounds to treat the worst of the wounds. He had then bandaged most of the elf's body and helped him change into clothes that Obren had left. They belonged to one of the bandits, and so were a bit too large for Legolas but they were clean and warm. Then, much to his chagrin (he seemed to be sleeping a lot lately), Legolas had fallen asleep.

"Do you feel any better?" Aragorn asked softly, seeing that his friend was awake.

"Aye," Legolas whispered. He shivered as his mind flashed back to the beating he'd endured, and willed himself not to think of it.

"Do you think you could eat something? Obren left some bread..."

Legolas shook his head, instantly regretting it when it left him dizzy. "Water?" he asked.

Aragorn gently lifted the elf's head, helping him drink out of a tin cup. "I'm not sure what to make of this," the ranger admitted, sitting down crossed-legged on the floor, facing Legolas. "There is more going on here than we know."

The elf barely nodded in agreement. Dormian's animosity...Lothram's questions...Obren's concern...he just wished he knew what was really happening.

"I don't suppose you're ready to go back to sleep yet," Aragorn said, a note of mischief in his voice.

Legolas groaned. "It seems I've spent the last day and night sleeping."

"That or unconscious," Aragorn agreed. "Hard to believe that it was just last night that Dormian tried to pick your pocket."

"Don't remind me," Legolas said with a sigh. "If I had left it alone we wouldn't have gotten into this mess," he added, a touch of self-reproval in his voice.

"It's not your fault," the ranger said gently, scooting closer to the cot to lay one hand on the elf's arm. "You did not know of the danger he presented or you would have left him alone."

The blonde being sighed again. Hard to believe that such a small thing could cause so much trouble. "I am never going to an inn with you again," he said.

Aragorn laughed. "Oh, but I've heard the Prancing Pony is such a nice place to visit."

"Strider," Legolas complained.

"I know, Legolas," the ranger said gently, patting his friend's arm. "I am glad you're feeling better."

Legolas felt the same. The rest and his friend's care had helped to restore some of his strength...now if he could just will himself to eat something (his bruised stomach hurt too much to think about it now). "How long was I asleep?"

"Three hours, maybe four," the human said with a shrug. "I took a nap myself," he added as Legolas speared him with a look. "Really, Legolas, I'm fine."

The elf shifted around, pleasantly surprised that the motion didn't send waves of agony through his body, even if it was still painful. He knew this was only a brief reprieve, that even if Obren didn't have them beaten or worse that Lothram would grow impatient and reassign them to someone less merciful in the company.

Quiet footsteps approached, and Legolas figured it was Obren. The bandit knocked on the door, and elf and ranger heard a key turn in the lock before the door opened and Obren stepped in. He slipped the key into his pocket, but Legolas thought he saw something else hidden in the man's hand.

"I came to see how you were doing," Obren said, as though he hadn't seen them in a day rather than an hour or two.

"Better, thank you," Aragorn replied, rising just enough to sit on the edge of the elf's cot.

Obren nodded distractedly, wandering over to the window to glance out. "It's almost midnight," he observed. "Lothram left this evening with a company of men to conduct business. I suppose that means I'm in charge," he added with a rueful smile.

Legolas and Aragorn exchanged glances, neither quite understanding what the man was saying.

"Did you know," Obren said suddenly, sitting on the opposite cot, "that my mother used to tell me the old stories? Stories about the Last Alliance, and about King Isildur?"

The glances the friends exchanged were now slightly wary. "What did she tell you?" Aragorn asked, his voice studiously careless.

Obren shrugged. "She claimed one of her ancestors had been with the king the day he was killed. He barely escaped with his life, and brought back the tale of Isildur to his people. My father never thought the stories held much merit, but my mother always hoped they would come true some day. She always told me that the king would one day return to take the throne, and then we would have peace."

The bandit sighed and smiled sadly. "She died last winter, still hoping she'd live to see the king."

"I'm sorry," Aragorn murmured.

"She died in hope," Obren replied. "And she kept that hope alive for our entire village...though she turned the stories of the line of kings into legends, mixing them with other tales until they became something different. But a few things always remained constant. She always said that the king would bring peace to the land, that he would be a wise and just man, and that he would be known by three tokens: a crown, a sword...and a ring."

Legolas started inwardly. He thought he caught a glimpse of metal in the bandit's hand, but thought it couldn't be. Their packs were in Lothram's possession.

Obren seemed to have read the elf's mind. "I searched your packs after Lothram left," he said casually. "He would have looked chiefly for valuables and information...but there was none in your packs. At least, nothing visible."

The bandit stood and paced, his brow furrowed in concentration. He stopped at the window, looking out again. "I really should tell the stableboy to remember to lock the barn. One never knows who might walk up and steal the horse...but I suppose that can wait until morning."

He shifted around, looking back at the friends as they stared in puzzlement. "I have told the guards that we are expecting danger from the north, but the roads seem clear south of this place. I do hope I have made a wise decision," he added in a voice so soft that he could barely be heard.

Obren walked swiftly to the door, pausing with his hand on the knob. "The rangers are not the only ones who remember," he said quietly, setting something on the small table that was over-loaded with herbs. The door closed behind the bandit, and Aragorn was up in an instant, pushing herbs aside to see what Obren had left.

Legolas heard his friend gasp, and Aragorn turned back with a shocked expression on his face. "Legolas..." he whispered, crouching beside the cot and holding something in his cupped hands.

It was the Ring of Barahir.

The elf stared at the ring, then up at his friend. "He knows?" he asked incredulously.

Aragorn shook his head in disbelief. "That knowledge was lost nearly three thousand years ago...and yet."

"Someone remembered," Legolas said in wonderment.

Almost reverently, Aragorn slid the ring back into its place on his finger. "Now what?" he asked.

Legolas knew the ranger was not expecting a response, but something else had been bothering him since Obren had left. Something he heard or didn't hear... "The door," he said suddenly, struggling to sit up with Aragorn's help.

"What about it?" Aragorn asked.

"He didn't lock the door."

The human's eyes widened in shock, and he sprinted over to the door, pulling it open with ease. "I don't believe it."

Legolas replied with a happy smile, throwing the blankets off and rising unsteadily to his feet. "What are we waiting for?"

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