My workstation is a mess due to the renovation that is still going on. But I manage to sneak into my boss's office and use his PC to post this chapter. Unfortunately, I can't stay here for long so I would be unable to reply all the wonderful reviews. I promise to do it next time.
Okay, got to go!
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Aragorn instantly jerked awake in his bed, his heart beating rapidly as if he had been running hard for leagues. Disoriented, he irritably rubbed his eyes and struggled to a sitting position. To his surprise, he found that his cheeks were wet with tears.
Beside him, Arwen began to stir. Slightly alarmed, the queen of Gondor rose slightly to touch her husband's back. He was trembling like a leaf in a storm.
"Estel? What's the matter? Are you well?"
Aragorn quickly wiped his face before he turned around, forcing a smile on his lips. "I'm fine, my beloved. Nothing to worry about."
Arwen didn't fully believe him because under the glare of the night candles she could see the great distress so evident on his handsome features. The light in his eyes was dull, and there was a kind of paleness on his skin that was unnatural for a strong, healthy man like him. There was also a tightening around his mouth that was never there before.
Her own eyes tearing, she sat fully upright and embraced him. "Bad dreams again, my love?"
"Yes. Sort of." Aragorn sighed, hugging her tight. He could never hide anything from his observant wife.
She pulled back and gazed at his drawn face. Her tender hands brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. "Want to talk about it?"
Aragorn looked highly chagrined. "It's…it was a just silly dream."
"But I can see that it still disturbs you."
"Yes, it does." He nodded, looking down at their joined hands. "I dreamed that we'd found Darion, only that he was already dead, killed by a pack of savages outside the city. I was screaming like a madman in the middle of Pelennor Field, holding our son's battered body in my arms, when suddenly I woke up."
The man raised his pain-filled eyes to look straight into his wife's. "I felt that I'd greatly failed him then. As his father and as his king, I've failed. What kind of a father I am that can't keep his own son safe? What kind of a king I am that can't protect what's his?"
"Shh…" She placed her fingertips against his lips. "You are a good father and king, Estel, you know that. Besides, it was just a dream, so stop showering yourself with guilt, it does not become you. Darion is alive. Somewhere, he's out there, having the adventure of his life. I can feel his soul soaring in my heart. Trust me, I will know when he's dead."
He passionately kissed her fingers before he cradled them against his chest. His other hand gently cupped her cheek. "You are to me what an anchor is to a ship. You keep me at berth and won't let me go astray, even though I'm being pulled into different directions by vicious, angry wind."
She softly chuckled and kissed his lips. "Why, my love, you are such a poet!"
"Some of Legolas' eloquence might have rubbed off into me, I guess." Aragorn grinned. "He has such incredible flair with words."
"Speaking of Legolas, do you think he's all right?" Arwen frowned slightly. "He and Kel acted somewhat peculiar this evening. They kept jumping down each other's throat for no apparent reason."
Aragorn's grin grew wider. Unlike Arwen, he had already figured out the real matter that was bothering the two brothers. "Don't mind them, Arwen. They are just having some problems with their wives, that's all."
"Oh?" She was completely intrigued. "What kind of problems? What's wrong with Nara and Aislinn? And where on earth are you going?"
Laughing, Aragorn scrambled off the bed. He snatched his robe and put it on, putting his feet into his slippers. "Look, I can't tell you what's bothering them. It's none of my affair. But I'm going to check on them now. The last I saw, those two were still in my study, studying the list that the gate officers have given us."
After giving his wife a brief peck on the cheek, Aragorn swiveled around and hastily took off, much to his wife's exasperation.
"Estel! Come back here! I'm not finish talking with you!" Arwen cried out, glaring at the door closing behind her husband. She shook her head when the door remained close. Aragorn had made good his escape.
"Ai. Silly man," she grumbled. And then she smiled as she thought about the two elven brothers who were working hard to find her runaway son. She had known them for a very long time, enough for her to understand that they would do anything in their power to get Eldarion back. She fully believed that those two were going to succeed. With the Mirkwood brothers' help, Eldarion would return to his family.
With a soft sigh, Arwen settled back into her pillows. Closing her eyes, she painted Eldarion's face in her mind. She touched her throat where the pendant of the Evenstar had once graced. It was now hanging by a chain around her son's neck.
"Sleep well, my dear Darion," she whispered. "Wherever you are, I hope the spirit of Eärendil is watching over you."
The spirit of Eärendil was indeed watching over her son. But little did she know that the spirit of her son's great-grandfather witnessed how badly the boy was sleeping.
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As Aragorn neared his study, he could hear the sound of active murmurings coming through the opened doorway. He peered inside and smiled to see the brothers' heads close together as they bent over the gates' log books.
"I was right, then. You two are still wide awake, working on your research."
At the man's quiet voice, they elves sprang apart as if hit by lightning.
"Estel, you idiot!" Legolas scowled. "Don't surprise us like that again."
"Speak for yourself, brat. I was not surprise at all when he came in," Keldarion said with a smirk, trying to hide his own embarrassment. Aragorn's footsteps were so light that even his elven senses was late to detect the man's presence, which was to be expected because the king of Gondor had been reared by a great elven lord since his birth. Naturally, the man had inherited some of the elven stealth and gracefulness.
"But, Kel, you jumped as high as I did," Legolas disagreed with narrowed eyes.
"You are delirious. Go take a break like I told you to and don't come back until you feel sane enough to speak coherently," the elder prince easily responded before he turned to their friend. "So, what brings you down here so late at night?"
"Well, I…uh…" Aragorn hid back a smile when he saw the ferocious glare that Legolas was sending Keldarion's way. Not appreciating his brother's gibe, Legolas was bristling like an angry cat!
"I can't sleep," the man said shortly as he sat next to Keldarion. "What have you two found out so far?"
"So far, we both think you have various kinds of interesting people coming in and out of the city these last few days. You would be terribly rich if you start collecting toll money at the gate," said Legolas. He snatched the list from his brother's hands. "Now look at this for instance—we counted more than twenty merchant wagons, several groups of foreign delegacies, squadrons of Gondorian knights, hordes of travelers, hunters, mercenaries, as well as a fun-carnival troupe."
Keldarion jerked back the list out of Legolas' grasp. "Based on the estimated time of Darion's disappearance, we have narrowed down the list to five merchant wagons, a delegacy from Haradwaith, and the carnival troupe. Now that you're here, we need to hear your opinion on which party that your son tended to merge with."
Aragorn was silence for several moments as he perused the list, thinking it over. He then asked, "How did you come out with the shortlist, and on what basis—other than Darion's time of disappearance?"
Legolas excitedly answered, "Well, it's like this, Estel. Look at these five merchant wagons. Two of them were loaded with bolts of fabric, while the other two with crates of wine. As for the other, it carried an assortment of staple and grocery. Darion is very resourceful. He would improvise and squeeze into any available spaces among the goods to hide himself."
"What about the rest of the wagons?"
"Most of them were empty when they went through the gate, and several of them were near to overflowing which was not possible for Darion to steal in," Keldarion replied. "And there's a certain wagon that we are completely sure he did not dare approach."
"What wagon is that?"
"The one loaded with cow manure."
Aragorn blinked and broke up laughing. "Right, of course not."
He then pointed at the list that Keldarion gave him. "What about the Haradrim delegates?"
"You know how some of the Haradrims are dressed." Keldarion shrugged. "They wear a turban that covers most of their face. It would be a perfect disguise for Darion if he doesn't want anyone to recognize him, unless someone from the delegation tries to engage him in a conversation. Darion can't speak Harad to save his own skin."
"And the carnival troupe?"
"Now that is the interesting part," Legolas was smiling with anticipation. "You see, because the troupe consists of fascinating traveling performers, the gate officer gave them extra attention when they came into the city a month ago. He noticed that—apart from a married couple, which is the owners—the troupe consist of seven dance girls, five acrobats, two jugglers, a show archer, a monkey, and a jester. But when the troupe passed through the gate two days ago, there were two jesters performing alongside their wagons. The new jester was totally unrecognizable because he wore colorful paints all over his face and a big silly hat on his head. Now, who is it in your family that has the talent and charm as an entertainer?"
Aragorn sat up straighter, his eyes shining bright with hope. "Darion, of course. He likes to put on plays for the entire family. He always makes us all roaring with laughter with his jokes and pantomimes."
The king tightened his grip on the list, staring hard at it as if his son's face would pop out of the paper. "He's with the carnival troupe, my heart can feel it," he said, excitedly. "This would be the kind of camouflage I would choose if I were him."
When the carnival first arrived in the city, Darion had been unwilling to take his sisters to see the performers, thinking that it was a dull occasion only suitable for children. But, after much cajoling and whining from little Enelya, he had given in and escorted the three princesses out of the citadel into the public square near the market place, where a large tent and platforms had been assembled for the show. Strangely, though, Darion had seemed a little preoccupied when they all returned from the carnival. Then Aragorn had received reports from various sources which told him that his son had visited the carnival for three consecutive times afterwards—without his sisters. Something about the performers might have caught the prince's high interest.
"I won't be surprised if the wench in the stable turns out to be one of the troupe members. A dance girl, perhaps," the king said out loud, still staring at the list.
"If that's indeed the story, do you think Darion is eloping with her?" Legolas suggested, only half joking.
Aragorn was instantly horrified. "Not if I have my say on it! Go find him now before he does anything stupid!"
"Relax, Estel." Scowling at his brother, Keldarion placed a comforting hand on the man's shoulder. "We will find him. We promise you this."
"We will return Darion to you, completely unscathed and still a bachelor," Legolas said. He then added with a grin, "And still a virgin, I hope. Knowing Darion, he is at the ripe age where his blood burns with the urge to…"
Aragorn groaned at that, burying his face in his hands. Wordlessly, Keldarion raised his arm and, none too gently, slapped the back of his younger brother's head to shut him up.
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Sitting with his back against the rough bark of a tree, Eldarion stared with growing dismay at the smooth flowing water of the River Anduin. His hope to be rescued was steadily diminishing with each league they put between them and Minas Tirith. His family didn't even know where he was, and he had no one else to blame for that but himself. Running away from home was definitely a stupid thing to do, especially when it had not settle anything but put him in more trouble than he already was.
Grunting a little, he continued working at his bonds. His chafed wrists were already stinging with his perspiration. But he ignored the pain as this would be his only chance to escape, for his captors' attention was focused elsewhere. When they crossed the river, he would be in unknown territory. From there, he was not sure he how he would find his way back—back to Minas Tirith, back towards home and family.
They had reached this small dock—about twenty leagues north-east of the port of Pelargir—right after dawn following hours of hard riding. After they had dumped their captive in one corner, the robbers started to make preparations to cross the river. All their stolen goods were packed securely in bundles and tied to the pack horses. Amid shouts and curses, the men led the anxious animals onto the raft that would take them across. Patch-eye, the head of the robbers, was seen haggling and arguing with the boat master over the raft fare.
Finally losing his patience, Patch-eye unsheathed his sword and placed the blade against the boat master's throat. "All right, old man, we do it my way. You take us across and we'll let you live. That's my last price. Shall we agree on that, or would you rather have my blade inside your windpipe as a mortgage?"
The boat master gulped in fear, but was braved enough to reply, "You won't dare kill me because you still need me to steer the raft."
"Oh, don't be too confident, old man." Patch-eye's grin was alarming. "Steering that stupid raft is a no-brainer. We can easily manage it ourselves if we put our mind to it. But if you choose to die rather than give us a favor, I am more than willing to…"
"All right, all right!" the boat master cried out, shrinking with his arms upraised as if to stop the falling blade. "I'll take you across. No need to pay me."
"Ah…" Patch-eye smiled and pulled the boat master upright. "Why was that so hard to say?"
Darion had been watching this exchange with mixed reactions. He had high hopes that the boat master would raise the alarm after seeing him securely bound and gagged like this, totally at the mercy of the ruffians. At the same time, he also felt dejected that the boat master didn't seem to know who Darion really was. In fact, the old man didn't really care to know about him right now. All he cared about was his raft!
A sudden kick to his side caused Eldarion to cry out in surprise pain.
"What do you think you're doing?" One of the men had come close to glower down at the prince. "Trying to escape, boy?"
Eldarion frantically shook his head, struggling to hide the loosening ropes on his wrists. The ruffian crouched over him and checked the bonds, grumbling with displeasure. Then, to the prince's utter dismay, the man brought out a fresh coil of rope. He roughly tied it around Eldarion's already abused wrists, causing the boy to wince from this manhandling.
Eldarion's captor was still grumbling when he gave the same treatment to the boy's feet. "Don't try to run from us, you hear me, boy? There's no where you can go that we can't follow."
Awash with fury, Eldarion instantly exploded. He jerked his legs to his chest before launching a swift kick into the man's face. Caught by surprise, the man could not avoid it in time and went sprawling onto his back with blood dribbling out of his cut lips.
Eldarion would not stop attacking. His arms still bound behind him, he rose gingerly to his feet and took a leap, tucking in his feet behind him so that the sharp point of his knees hit the supine man smack in his sternum.
Something cracked from the force. Eldarion went stumbling to the ground. Growling with anger, the boy made a move to rise once again but several strong hands were grabbing him to hold him still. A moment later, Patch-eye came into view. The ugly man was grinning.
"Well, well, well. The meek puppy has turned into a vicious wolf!" Patch-eye exclaimed, sneering into Eldarion's face. "Very impressive, boy. Very impressive. If you were my son, I would be very proud of you."
Unable to reply due to the gag in his mouth, Eldarion just glared, his chest heaving from his recent exertion.
"He broke my ribs," the fallen man complained, hugging an arm close to his chest to still the pain.
Patch-eye gave him a dark look. "That's your fault, you imbecile! He is just a boy and yet you let him kick your ass!"
"But he…"
"Enough!" Patch-eye shouted, not wanting another argument. "Get back on your feet and gather your stuff. We are crossing now."
Eldarion shivered slightly as the man he'd injured gave him a menacing glare before striding towards the raft. The other ruffians also dispersed until Patch-eye was the only one left with their captive. The head robber was staring at the boy with keen interest.
"Who are you really, I wonder?" the man mused, holding his chin as if deep in thought. "You are more of a warrior than a carnival performer—that is obvious."
Eldarion met his gaze head on, giving no outward response.
Shaking himself back to awareness, Patch-eye grabbed the boy by his collar and slung him over one massive shoulder. Eldarion started to struggle anew.
"Stop kicking me, you idiot!" Patch-eye growled, slapping hard at Eldarion's bottom, much to the prince's mortification. "You may have thrashed one of my men but don't ever think that you can do the same to me! I will watch you like a hawk, boy. And if you make even the slightest move to fight us and escape, I swear I'll kill you!"
TBC…