CHAPTER 7
CONSPIRING
Both groups laid their troubles and burdens down for the rest of that day. Gondor's army lifted up camp, while the sovereigns spent their time together, doing what can be only considered as "catching up" with each other, and forgetting but for a while about the duties on their shoulders. They filled up their water skins in a sweet, singing stream revealed by the tracking skills of Rúmil the Galadhrim, and sat on a small, emerald green grassland near the stream's bank to chat about shared memories and simpler times, about old friends and their whereabouts.
Aragorn was saddened to discover that his elven friend had no longer communication with Gimli Elf-friend, though he was well informed of the dwarf's dwelling in Aglarond, down to details such as how many battling axes he could summon in a day's time. Apparently, Ithilien's scouts had spread all over Middle Earth, unnoticed as they could be, and kept Aramarth well informed about every important matter taking place as far as Buckland.
By the late afternoon, however, their minds and concerns came back to the current conflict with the Easterlings, mostly because of Hadathor's constant lobbying.
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Hadathor exposed his position of attacking first and asking questions afterwards, deeming that Brodda's display was a direct challenge to the Kingdom. Meanwhile, Aragorn replied that he had not come to wage war but to clarify things with the Eastern Ruler, and that the strength of arms would be used only if conversations proved any intentions from them to violate the sovereignty of either Gondor or Ithilien.
While the King and General were engaged in this discussion, Aramarth sat on a nearby log, barely listening to them, concentrating more in smoothing the soft fur on Mithgor's ears. The wolf was, as always, seated by his side, the massive head rested on the elven King's lap.
As if bothered by the elven King's peacefulness, and of the sudden, Hadathor came near them, earning a low growl from the always-watchful beast.
"Still!" came the immediate command of the Elf to his friend, and Mithgor lowered to the ground, barely containing himself. Legolas then stood, and reluctantly joined the discussion circle.
"We would like to know your position on this matter... your majesty," Hadathor said, sarcasm obvious in every syllable spoken.
"Position? Why should I have a position?" The elf's words earned a couple of frowns from those gathered.
Aragorn hesitated a bit before carefully answering, "Well, friend, your opinion would be greatly appreciated; it's your land and safety as well."
Aramarth smiled sincerely at Aragorn's politeness and respectfulness, and yet his response baffled the attending even more. "My people's lands are not at stake here," he said coolly, without a bit of concern showing in his voice. "I don't see why the big commotion."
"Commotion?! Thousands of barbaric hordes are at this moment gathered at YOUR borders, and you disdain Gondor's council? Your elders had to be drunk when they ordained you, you..."
"Hadathor!" shouted Aragorn, fearing Aramarth was going to gracefully slice off the head of the outraged General for his outburst. And yet, the elf's face remained impassive, his lips curved in a slight, yet smug smile. The ability of the elven King to retain composure was uncanny, most likely well taught by the always-serene Celeborn of Lorien.
"I apologize for this, Aramarth, but I think this matter should not be taken so lightly," Aragorn said, while gently but firmly, he pulled Hadathor by his shoulder, signaling him to step back.
The General struggled against his king's grip, blinded by his own pride, and enraged beyond himself by the unnatural serenity of the Elf. "Will you not give your support to Gondor then?" he bellowed, his face twisted with anger. "Will you not stand with Elessar in this war?!"
"What war?" answered the Elf, as calm as a spring breeze. "Brodda will not dare cross the River Poros; if he does not cross the border, then there is no reason for war."
Aragorn forcefully pulled Hadathor back and behind him, ordering him to stay still with the mere authority of his bright gray eyes. Yet then, the king approached Legolas determinedly. "And what if he does?" he said with soft voice, his mere presence commanding obedience and respect. He would not be weighted down or distraught by the elven King's presence, for he was a great king as well.
Aramarth's face changed at once, smugness whipped away from his face, and replaced by a cold, hard expression that spoke volumes about his seriousness about the matter. "If Brodda dares crossing the river, he will be fought and forced back by my very arm. He will never advance more than a few paces inside Ithilien; he will never go within 50 leagues of Minas Tirith."
The elven King's hand came to rest upon Aragorn's troubled shoulder. "You need not to worry about this, friend," he said, his tone as secure and comforting as that of a father chasing away a child's imaginary ghouls. "My scouts are constantly watching over Brodda's every movement, ever since he started his advance. I've measured his army's strength, and my swords and bows are good enough to stop him. The moment he sets one foot on this land, he will be driven away." Aragorn looked up the Elf's eyes, knowing for a fact that every word just said was as true as the existence of the moon and the stars.
"But let us not argue about this any more," Aramarth said, looking around to the ones gathered there; his eyes lingering for a moment in the dark, brooding shape of Neithan, who stood only steps away from the circle, listening to every word said. "Let us be wise and do something everybody will be satisfied with, for I tire with all this quarrelling. It is senseless to me."
Everybody stood still and silent, anxiously waiting for the Elf's proposition; those who did not know him expected the unpredicted and another outrage.
"I will not wage war," Legolas began, his eyes fixed upon the blood-lustful General of Gondor. "My people will not charge into a battle unless it is absolutely needed. If Gondor decides to strike before the time and without a reason, Ithilien will not carry injustice by supporting such deed. However, if the brother realm of Gondor sees it proper, I and the riders that stand with me here, will swiftly go to meet the Emperor, and will question him of his intentions. In the meantime, you have my permission to keep on advancing to the south. Then, my riders will race back to meet you with word of what's to come. That will save you a couple of days of anxiety. Agreed?"
"An excellent scheme," Aragorn said, after brief consideration. "I wish this to be solved as soon as possible, and by dialogue, not violence. Your decision sounds as wise as it can be, and I'm sure you have enough power in your words as to dissuade this Brodda."
Hadathor could do nothing but wish he could bite into his own fist; but he was forced to remain silent, keeping his wiles and retorts to himself; powerless and tongue-tied by the kings' mutual agreement.
Aramarth turned around, instantly disregarding the whole matter. "Then come, forget about this. You gain nothing by fretting before due time. Instead let us enjoy this meeting. Your lovely wife appears to be awfully bored and lonely. And I, for one, will not bear such thing to go on for one more minute." With that, the elf left the circle and strode swiftly towards the distant shape of Arwen, who had walked away from the debate, and was contemplating the growing shadows of the last lights of the day that appeared to wake twice the life and sounds inside the forest.
"You look just the same as the first time I saw you," the elf said to the thoughtful Queen, who was seated on soft grass, rested against a sturdy tree, not at all bored but delighted in the shrill crescendo of voices from crickets, frogs and cicadas that marked the fickle triumph of darkness.
Arwen smiled candidly at his arrival, and the smile deepened still when she saw how closely Mithgor had followed him, such a loyal shadow. Legolas seated beside her, close enough so she could feel the warmth of his body, but not enough for an incidental touch between the two. She regarded him silently, while Mithgor found a comfortable spot for a short nap. For Arwen's amusement, the wolf came to slouch next to her instead of his master.
No word passed between them for several minutes, since they both settled with basking in each other's mere presence. The minutes were becoming precious for them both, until it was the elven King who broke the growing spell with a soft whisper, intended only for her ears. "Do you remember the first time we met?"
She closed her eyes, allowing the return of the memories that seemed long gone to her now, yet for an elf were not at all distant. "Of course, but it was dawn then, not dusk."
"I must say, evening suits you even better." His eyes became spellbound to the silhouette of her face against the light of the just-rising moon. Even though her eyes were shut, Arwen felt the warm tinge of the elven King's eyes rapt onto her, finding herself enjoying his utter attention, as she had enjoyed it the first time they had met. So much had changed since then. They both had changed, and the whole world had changed; but she was glad that the flattering feelings he evoked with his mere gaze onto her had remained the same.
A slight sway of Mithgor's attentive ears snapped Aramarth out of his enthralled reverie, and he turned his head to see Aragorn approaching them. "Finally, you decide to come join our much more pleasant gathering here, Elessar," Aramarth said, welcoming the man into the mystic moment he was sharing with the Evenstar. Arwen opened her eyes at last, greeting her beloved as well.
"Are you feeling better?" Aragorn asked, eyeing her with adoration.
"Yes. Now that I know the motive of my discomforts, they seem to be fading to joy," she answered, gently rubbing over her own belly. "Now that I am aware of his existence, I can feel it with every fiber of my soul. I can't believe I did not feel it before."
Aragorn seated on the mossy ground before her, cradling her legs upon his lap. He started caressing over her navel as well, his large hand joining her delicate one in the symbolic caress to the fruit of their love. "All I want is for him to be born amid peace and joy. I wish I would be able to give all of my time to him... and to you."
Aramarth stood up quickly, suddenly finding himself one too many in the small forest refuge Arwen had created with her mere presence. And yet he was peculiarly happy, for he had been able to share it with her at least for a while.
"You will leave us now?" Aragorn asked. "You are more than welcome to stay with us for a time."
"No, I will go off to wander the forest, to talk to the trees and find my peace in the loud quietness of the night," the elf said, a tinge of loneliness in his voice. Mithgor stood to follow him, but a single glance from his master told him otherwise, and the wolf settled next to the royal couple again; he would guard them for the night.
Aramarth smiled at the obedient beast wistfully, knowing that no harm would come near the King and Queen while his most loyal and strong vassal was watching over them. He then turned to leave.
"Legolas?" came the soft call of the Queen, stopping him at once.
"Mi lady," he answered, without even turning to face her.
"Goodnight, and thank you... for everything."
"Goodnight; and be at peace, both of you. I will see that Aragorn's wish is fulfilled; this I pledge to you." And with that, he disappeared into the night, leaving the royal couple in their much-deserved privacy, feeling safe, warm and buoyant about their future.
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He looked up at the strong branches of a mighty oak. The walk through the forest had been long and refreshing, and now all he wanted was a place to settle and spend what was left of the night. The treetop was perfect, secluded and a natural watch post from where he could keep an eye on the encampment.
After asking for the proper consent from his brother tree, he climbed its robust trunk, and up to the lofty branches. Quick and nimble he was of course, but rather noisy as well, he thought, for he was still fully armored. But once he settled upon the base of a branch, fondly remembering how he used to spend many a night in such fashion when he was back in Greenwood, he became completely undetectable, soundless and invisible in the midst of the thick foliage.
The elven King felt weary in more than one way, but he did not need sleep, nor did he allow the lull of elven dreams to coax him. In truth, he could go entire months without rest, and not only because he chose to, but because a growing unease had settled in his chest of late. He could never afford to lower his guard now, much less that night when he felt it nearer and stronger than ever.
So when a twig snapped some distance below from his watch post, his archer's eyes found their mark and settled on the peace-disturber at once. In the long shadows of the night, it took him some time to discern the shape of General Hadathor, alone, silently making his way out of the camp, heading north and into the thick of the forest.
Suspicion rose at once in Aramarth's mind. What business could the Gondor general have so far from camp? Surely he would not venture as far-off for a physical urge, specially when he was still moving away, and now that he was passing right below him, his whole carriage revealed a definite unease about the man and whatever errand he was out to do.
Hmm... aren't we sly tonight? Aramarth thought, his gaze fastened to the general's retreating shadow. He determined he would find out the meaning behind the man's mysterious behavior, already feeling the thrill of a good stalk in his veins. He patiently waited, still perched upon his chosen branch, knowing that he could not just follow the general, and cursing his noisy armor for it. He had to estimate when he was out of the man's earshot to be able to drop to the ground unnoticed, and so eternal minutes went by before he even made a move.
When he thought it safe, he first let his legs hang from the branch; then, he dislodged the rest of his body from said branch, grasping it with his long hands at the end to slow down the fall. Just when he was about to release his grip and finally drop to the ground, the mere whisper of a sound below made his fingers curl back around the limb in an almost convulsive reflex. Breath caught in his chest when he saw a tall and dark shadow, moving hastily across the forest ground, some distance to his left. The elven King hung frozen from the providential branch, stunned by the way this shadow stealthily moved, barely touching the lower foliage, making no actual sound, almost unnatural.
Regardless of himself, Aramarth was filled with fear, and could do nothing but hang limply, unable to move, to breathe or to even think straight. Thick air seemed to surround him, turning his nimble body into a heavy and weary burden. A fine bead of sweat formed upon his noble brow, more from fret than from strain, and his fingers clutched the branch spasmodically, until every muscle of his forearm burned with ache. From his precarious position, he could not tell who or what it was that was moving so near him, and could only hope that "it" would not notice him.
Finally, the shadow disappeared into darkness, heading northeast, and Aramarth dared to draw in a slight breath. Still, he did not let himself fall from the tree, not for a full quarter of an hour; such was the dread this shadow had instigated in him. Something in the back of his mind told him that the hearing of this creature was far sharper than a man's. This thought held his mind as he at last uncurled his numb fingers and hit the ground with a relieved thud. Whatever the shadow was, it did not move like a man, and certainly did not feel like an elf.
His eyes roamed the forest, strong fists clenched so tightly that the veins in his arms started to protrude from his smooth skin. He fought back the many curses menacing to come out from his mouth, still in disbelief. Never had he felt so vulnerable and startled, never had he been caught so unwary. He was tempted to spring out to the darkness and try to find either Hadathor's or the shadow's tracks; but his noble instincts drove him otherwise, and he chose to return to camp, at once calling to double up the sharp-eyed elven guard for the night. He himself spent the rest of the dark hours sword in hand, Gondor's royal quarter never out of his sight.
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"You are late," spoke a deep, slithering voice from the shadows. Hadathor let out a soft yelp, his bones almost jumping out of his skin from startle.
"Curse you!" he hissed under his breath. "I would appreciate if you'd stop trying to start me to death. I have a weak heart, you know."
A malicious chuckle made the general's skin chill. He had not grown used to the dark one's unsettling presence. "Such uneasiness is only found in men with a very regretful and faulty conscience, Hadathor. Are you starting to have second thoughts about our... deal?"
"No," replied the general, almost too emphatically. "I cannot bear to be under someone else's shadow any longer. Our deed goes to whatever end."
A lengthy, elegant, and dark figure seemed to materialize out of the shadows, as if he himself had been a part of the darkness. "I don't trust you, general; I never have. But I do like the bitterness in your voice; it was your motivation that drove me to seek your alliance."
Hadathor lowered his head, unwilling to look at the bright, frightful eyes he had only once briefly gazed upon. "You choose your allies well, for we want the same things, Morier. But I begin to doubt the infallibility of your plot. The most important step of it remains still unaccomplished, and now it seems more unlikely than ever."
"Yes, the Queen still lives. It is an unfortunate setback to our plan, and a terrible waste of my crafts, I must say. It was not easy to steer her mind as I did," Morier said unworriedly, pacing around the crest-fallen general.
"My patience grows thin, sire," Hadathor retorted, the calmness in his voice more due to fear than reverence. "The wench should have been dead by now. The King should be already blind and witless with grief, his commands easily steered and bent to our will! Now the near-death of the Queen has made everyone much more wary. Every eye is set upon her, guarding her from any harm. And now... this elf King comes forth, showing off his crown and his 'invincible' committee of ridiculous warriors. The watch upon the elf-witch has tripled over, and the elf's dull 'I am too wise' counsel to Elessar is nothing but a hindrance to our goals."
"Stop! Hadathor, your ramble is going to deepen my headache." Morier said with mirth. "Haste not, for our plans are part of a greater plan, one that cannot be stopped by mortal or immortal means. It is destiny; it is inevitable. The turns of events may even be beneficial to our final aim. Do not fear this boastful King of elves; he, too, will be tangled in our web, and will serve his purpose for our gain in due time. Trust me, he won't even know whom he is working for."
Hadathor's face brightened a bit, delighted in the prospect of deceiving and manipulating Aramarth as well as his own King. Then a sudden memory cast a frown upon his features. "And what about the other newcomer? The scruffy drifter? The King has taken quite a fondness for him. If I am supposed to be the one to hold all of Elessar's trust, he should be out of my way. I'll be happy to vanish him, if you find it appropriate."
"Do not even dare to bother, much less touch Neithan. Understand?" Morier's words were spoken in a low, menacing growl, and his long, icy fingers came to painfully clutch the general's shoulder, as if to further stress his warning. Hadathor's breath caught in his throat in a hoarse gasp, and he could do nothing but nod his agreement to Morier's demand.
The dark one gave no explanation for his protectiveness towards the drifter, and Hadathor in his fear did not ask for one. All the general was capable to ask was, "Then, what happens now, my lord?"
"Tomorrow will define everything," Morier responded, finally letting go of the general's bruised shoulder. "The pieces are already in motion, since yester-night. Here is your part in the design, so at the end of the day you will come out a hero, and Elessar's puppet master at last."
The forest was the only witness to the hushed whispers of the new conspiracy being unraveled to the ears of the covetous general of Gondor. Even the trees took a vow of silence, too horrified by the words as to taint their language by repeating them.
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When Hadathor walked away from Morier, after all the explaining was done, it was all he could do not to rub his hands together in excitement; marveled as he was by the genius of the Dark one's mastermind. His merry walk was stopped by the same warning voice he had heard earlier.
"Remember, Hadathor: stay clear of Neithan's way," Morier spoke from afar, the steel of his voice enough to drain all joy from the General's countenance.
"Yes, yes; whatever you say, my lord." And with that, the snaky man disappeared into a hasty sprint.
The Dark one turned to see the tall shape coming out from behind a willow tree.
"Is he truly going to come out the hero tomorrow?" asked the tall, young man, coming to kneel before his lord.
A mocking laughter escaped the Dark elf. "Don't be silly, child. Hadathor is but a puppet in the threading of your destiny, a mindless peon, nothing more."
"He called you 'Morier'; my lord, is that your name? You have never told me your name," Neithan said, looking up to the only father he'd ever known.
The Dark elf managed a condescending smile. "No, child. I just needed a name for that jester to know me by. My real name shall not be revealed until the time for wrath and vengeance is accomplished.
"It starts tomorrow, with the death of the Queen, and the rise of spiteful war. And after tomorrow, you will start to gain over the power of Gondor's throne, and if my thoughts come to be as I expect, maybe even Ithilien's crown will start falling under your rule."
Neithan nodded, smile-less unlike his Lord; something akin to nausea stirring inside of him at the thought of Arwen dying.
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All I can say is sorry, sorry for the extensive delay; it was due to situations completely out of my control. I am back though, and expect to be updating more often.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter; things start to heat up a bit from now and on.
Thanks for reading.
Elwe
CONSPIRING
Both groups laid their troubles and burdens down for the rest of that day. Gondor's army lifted up camp, while the sovereigns spent their time together, doing what can be only considered as "catching up" with each other, and forgetting but for a while about the duties on their shoulders. They filled up their water skins in a sweet, singing stream revealed by the tracking skills of Rúmil the Galadhrim, and sat on a small, emerald green grassland near the stream's bank to chat about shared memories and simpler times, about old friends and their whereabouts.
Aragorn was saddened to discover that his elven friend had no longer communication with Gimli Elf-friend, though he was well informed of the dwarf's dwelling in Aglarond, down to details such as how many battling axes he could summon in a day's time. Apparently, Ithilien's scouts had spread all over Middle Earth, unnoticed as they could be, and kept Aramarth well informed about every important matter taking place as far as Buckland.
By the late afternoon, however, their minds and concerns came back to the current conflict with the Easterlings, mostly because of Hadathor's constant lobbying.
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Hadathor exposed his position of attacking first and asking questions afterwards, deeming that Brodda's display was a direct challenge to the Kingdom. Meanwhile, Aragorn replied that he had not come to wage war but to clarify things with the Eastern Ruler, and that the strength of arms would be used only if conversations proved any intentions from them to violate the sovereignty of either Gondor or Ithilien.
While the King and General were engaged in this discussion, Aramarth sat on a nearby log, barely listening to them, concentrating more in smoothing the soft fur on Mithgor's ears. The wolf was, as always, seated by his side, the massive head rested on the elven King's lap.
As if bothered by the elven King's peacefulness, and of the sudden, Hadathor came near them, earning a low growl from the always-watchful beast.
"Still!" came the immediate command of the Elf to his friend, and Mithgor lowered to the ground, barely containing himself. Legolas then stood, and reluctantly joined the discussion circle.
"We would like to know your position on this matter... your majesty," Hadathor said, sarcasm obvious in every syllable spoken.
"Position? Why should I have a position?" The elf's words earned a couple of frowns from those gathered.
Aragorn hesitated a bit before carefully answering, "Well, friend, your opinion would be greatly appreciated; it's your land and safety as well."
Aramarth smiled sincerely at Aragorn's politeness and respectfulness, and yet his response baffled the attending even more. "My people's lands are not at stake here," he said coolly, without a bit of concern showing in his voice. "I don't see why the big commotion."
"Commotion?! Thousands of barbaric hordes are at this moment gathered at YOUR borders, and you disdain Gondor's council? Your elders had to be drunk when they ordained you, you..."
"Hadathor!" shouted Aragorn, fearing Aramarth was going to gracefully slice off the head of the outraged General for his outburst. And yet, the elf's face remained impassive, his lips curved in a slight, yet smug smile. The ability of the elven King to retain composure was uncanny, most likely well taught by the always-serene Celeborn of Lorien.
"I apologize for this, Aramarth, but I think this matter should not be taken so lightly," Aragorn said, while gently but firmly, he pulled Hadathor by his shoulder, signaling him to step back.
The General struggled against his king's grip, blinded by his own pride, and enraged beyond himself by the unnatural serenity of the Elf. "Will you not give your support to Gondor then?" he bellowed, his face twisted with anger. "Will you not stand with Elessar in this war?!"
"What war?" answered the Elf, as calm as a spring breeze. "Brodda will not dare cross the River Poros; if he does not cross the border, then there is no reason for war."
Aragorn forcefully pulled Hadathor back and behind him, ordering him to stay still with the mere authority of his bright gray eyes. Yet then, the king approached Legolas determinedly. "And what if he does?" he said with soft voice, his mere presence commanding obedience and respect. He would not be weighted down or distraught by the elven King's presence, for he was a great king as well.
Aramarth's face changed at once, smugness whipped away from his face, and replaced by a cold, hard expression that spoke volumes about his seriousness about the matter. "If Brodda dares crossing the river, he will be fought and forced back by my very arm. He will never advance more than a few paces inside Ithilien; he will never go within 50 leagues of Minas Tirith."
The elven King's hand came to rest upon Aragorn's troubled shoulder. "You need not to worry about this, friend," he said, his tone as secure and comforting as that of a father chasing away a child's imaginary ghouls. "My scouts are constantly watching over Brodda's every movement, ever since he started his advance. I've measured his army's strength, and my swords and bows are good enough to stop him. The moment he sets one foot on this land, he will be driven away." Aragorn looked up the Elf's eyes, knowing for a fact that every word just said was as true as the existence of the moon and the stars.
"But let us not argue about this any more," Aramarth said, looking around to the ones gathered there; his eyes lingering for a moment in the dark, brooding shape of Neithan, who stood only steps away from the circle, listening to every word said. "Let us be wise and do something everybody will be satisfied with, for I tire with all this quarrelling. It is senseless to me."
Everybody stood still and silent, anxiously waiting for the Elf's proposition; those who did not know him expected the unpredicted and another outrage.
"I will not wage war," Legolas began, his eyes fixed upon the blood-lustful General of Gondor. "My people will not charge into a battle unless it is absolutely needed. If Gondor decides to strike before the time and without a reason, Ithilien will not carry injustice by supporting such deed. However, if the brother realm of Gondor sees it proper, I and the riders that stand with me here, will swiftly go to meet the Emperor, and will question him of his intentions. In the meantime, you have my permission to keep on advancing to the south. Then, my riders will race back to meet you with word of what's to come. That will save you a couple of days of anxiety. Agreed?"
"An excellent scheme," Aragorn said, after brief consideration. "I wish this to be solved as soon as possible, and by dialogue, not violence. Your decision sounds as wise as it can be, and I'm sure you have enough power in your words as to dissuade this Brodda."
Hadathor could do nothing but wish he could bite into his own fist; but he was forced to remain silent, keeping his wiles and retorts to himself; powerless and tongue-tied by the kings' mutual agreement.
Aramarth turned around, instantly disregarding the whole matter. "Then come, forget about this. You gain nothing by fretting before due time. Instead let us enjoy this meeting. Your lovely wife appears to be awfully bored and lonely. And I, for one, will not bear such thing to go on for one more minute." With that, the elf left the circle and strode swiftly towards the distant shape of Arwen, who had walked away from the debate, and was contemplating the growing shadows of the last lights of the day that appeared to wake twice the life and sounds inside the forest.
"You look just the same as the first time I saw you," the elf said to the thoughtful Queen, who was seated on soft grass, rested against a sturdy tree, not at all bored but delighted in the shrill crescendo of voices from crickets, frogs and cicadas that marked the fickle triumph of darkness.
Arwen smiled candidly at his arrival, and the smile deepened still when she saw how closely Mithgor had followed him, such a loyal shadow. Legolas seated beside her, close enough so she could feel the warmth of his body, but not enough for an incidental touch between the two. She regarded him silently, while Mithgor found a comfortable spot for a short nap. For Arwen's amusement, the wolf came to slouch next to her instead of his master.
No word passed between them for several minutes, since they both settled with basking in each other's mere presence. The minutes were becoming precious for them both, until it was the elven King who broke the growing spell with a soft whisper, intended only for her ears. "Do you remember the first time we met?"
She closed her eyes, allowing the return of the memories that seemed long gone to her now, yet for an elf were not at all distant. "Of course, but it was dawn then, not dusk."
"I must say, evening suits you even better." His eyes became spellbound to the silhouette of her face against the light of the just-rising moon. Even though her eyes were shut, Arwen felt the warm tinge of the elven King's eyes rapt onto her, finding herself enjoying his utter attention, as she had enjoyed it the first time they had met. So much had changed since then. They both had changed, and the whole world had changed; but she was glad that the flattering feelings he evoked with his mere gaze onto her had remained the same.
A slight sway of Mithgor's attentive ears snapped Aramarth out of his enthralled reverie, and he turned his head to see Aragorn approaching them. "Finally, you decide to come join our much more pleasant gathering here, Elessar," Aramarth said, welcoming the man into the mystic moment he was sharing with the Evenstar. Arwen opened her eyes at last, greeting her beloved as well.
"Are you feeling better?" Aragorn asked, eyeing her with adoration.
"Yes. Now that I know the motive of my discomforts, they seem to be fading to joy," she answered, gently rubbing over her own belly. "Now that I am aware of his existence, I can feel it with every fiber of my soul. I can't believe I did not feel it before."
Aragorn seated on the mossy ground before her, cradling her legs upon his lap. He started caressing over her navel as well, his large hand joining her delicate one in the symbolic caress to the fruit of their love. "All I want is for him to be born amid peace and joy. I wish I would be able to give all of my time to him... and to you."
Aramarth stood up quickly, suddenly finding himself one too many in the small forest refuge Arwen had created with her mere presence. And yet he was peculiarly happy, for he had been able to share it with her at least for a while.
"You will leave us now?" Aragorn asked. "You are more than welcome to stay with us for a time."
"No, I will go off to wander the forest, to talk to the trees and find my peace in the loud quietness of the night," the elf said, a tinge of loneliness in his voice. Mithgor stood to follow him, but a single glance from his master told him otherwise, and the wolf settled next to the royal couple again; he would guard them for the night.
Aramarth smiled at the obedient beast wistfully, knowing that no harm would come near the King and Queen while his most loyal and strong vassal was watching over them. He then turned to leave.
"Legolas?" came the soft call of the Queen, stopping him at once.
"Mi lady," he answered, without even turning to face her.
"Goodnight, and thank you... for everything."
"Goodnight; and be at peace, both of you. I will see that Aragorn's wish is fulfilled; this I pledge to you." And with that, he disappeared into the night, leaving the royal couple in their much-deserved privacy, feeling safe, warm and buoyant about their future.
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He looked up at the strong branches of a mighty oak. The walk through the forest had been long and refreshing, and now all he wanted was a place to settle and spend what was left of the night. The treetop was perfect, secluded and a natural watch post from where he could keep an eye on the encampment.
After asking for the proper consent from his brother tree, he climbed its robust trunk, and up to the lofty branches. Quick and nimble he was of course, but rather noisy as well, he thought, for he was still fully armored. But once he settled upon the base of a branch, fondly remembering how he used to spend many a night in such fashion when he was back in Greenwood, he became completely undetectable, soundless and invisible in the midst of the thick foliage.
The elven King felt weary in more than one way, but he did not need sleep, nor did he allow the lull of elven dreams to coax him. In truth, he could go entire months without rest, and not only because he chose to, but because a growing unease had settled in his chest of late. He could never afford to lower his guard now, much less that night when he felt it nearer and stronger than ever.
So when a twig snapped some distance below from his watch post, his archer's eyes found their mark and settled on the peace-disturber at once. In the long shadows of the night, it took him some time to discern the shape of General Hadathor, alone, silently making his way out of the camp, heading north and into the thick of the forest.
Suspicion rose at once in Aramarth's mind. What business could the Gondor general have so far from camp? Surely he would not venture as far-off for a physical urge, specially when he was still moving away, and now that he was passing right below him, his whole carriage revealed a definite unease about the man and whatever errand he was out to do.
Hmm... aren't we sly tonight? Aramarth thought, his gaze fastened to the general's retreating shadow. He determined he would find out the meaning behind the man's mysterious behavior, already feeling the thrill of a good stalk in his veins. He patiently waited, still perched upon his chosen branch, knowing that he could not just follow the general, and cursing his noisy armor for it. He had to estimate when he was out of the man's earshot to be able to drop to the ground unnoticed, and so eternal minutes went by before he even made a move.
When he thought it safe, he first let his legs hang from the branch; then, he dislodged the rest of his body from said branch, grasping it with his long hands at the end to slow down the fall. Just when he was about to release his grip and finally drop to the ground, the mere whisper of a sound below made his fingers curl back around the limb in an almost convulsive reflex. Breath caught in his chest when he saw a tall and dark shadow, moving hastily across the forest ground, some distance to his left. The elven King hung frozen from the providential branch, stunned by the way this shadow stealthily moved, barely touching the lower foliage, making no actual sound, almost unnatural.
Regardless of himself, Aramarth was filled with fear, and could do nothing but hang limply, unable to move, to breathe or to even think straight. Thick air seemed to surround him, turning his nimble body into a heavy and weary burden. A fine bead of sweat formed upon his noble brow, more from fret than from strain, and his fingers clutched the branch spasmodically, until every muscle of his forearm burned with ache. From his precarious position, he could not tell who or what it was that was moving so near him, and could only hope that "it" would not notice him.
Finally, the shadow disappeared into darkness, heading northeast, and Aramarth dared to draw in a slight breath. Still, he did not let himself fall from the tree, not for a full quarter of an hour; such was the dread this shadow had instigated in him. Something in the back of his mind told him that the hearing of this creature was far sharper than a man's. This thought held his mind as he at last uncurled his numb fingers and hit the ground with a relieved thud. Whatever the shadow was, it did not move like a man, and certainly did not feel like an elf.
His eyes roamed the forest, strong fists clenched so tightly that the veins in his arms started to protrude from his smooth skin. He fought back the many curses menacing to come out from his mouth, still in disbelief. Never had he felt so vulnerable and startled, never had he been caught so unwary. He was tempted to spring out to the darkness and try to find either Hadathor's or the shadow's tracks; but his noble instincts drove him otherwise, and he chose to return to camp, at once calling to double up the sharp-eyed elven guard for the night. He himself spent the rest of the dark hours sword in hand, Gondor's royal quarter never out of his sight.
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"You are late," spoke a deep, slithering voice from the shadows. Hadathor let out a soft yelp, his bones almost jumping out of his skin from startle.
"Curse you!" he hissed under his breath. "I would appreciate if you'd stop trying to start me to death. I have a weak heart, you know."
A malicious chuckle made the general's skin chill. He had not grown used to the dark one's unsettling presence. "Such uneasiness is only found in men with a very regretful and faulty conscience, Hadathor. Are you starting to have second thoughts about our... deal?"
"No," replied the general, almost too emphatically. "I cannot bear to be under someone else's shadow any longer. Our deed goes to whatever end."
A lengthy, elegant, and dark figure seemed to materialize out of the shadows, as if he himself had been a part of the darkness. "I don't trust you, general; I never have. But I do like the bitterness in your voice; it was your motivation that drove me to seek your alliance."
Hadathor lowered his head, unwilling to look at the bright, frightful eyes he had only once briefly gazed upon. "You choose your allies well, for we want the same things, Morier. But I begin to doubt the infallibility of your plot. The most important step of it remains still unaccomplished, and now it seems more unlikely than ever."
"Yes, the Queen still lives. It is an unfortunate setback to our plan, and a terrible waste of my crafts, I must say. It was not easy to steer her mind as I did," Morier said unworriedly, pacing around the crest-fallen general.
"My patience grows thin, sire," Hadathor retorted, the calmness in his voice more due to fear than reverence. "The wench should have been dead by now. The King should be already blind and witless with grief, his commands easily steered and bent to our will! Now the near-death of the Queen has made everyone much more wary. Every eye is set upon her, guarding her from any harm. And now... this elf King comes forth, showing off his crown and his 'invincible' committee of ridiculous warriors. The watch upon the elf-witch has tripled over, and the elf's dull 'I am too wise' counsel to Elessar is nothing but a hindrance to our goals."
"Stop! Hadathor, your ramble is going to deepen my headache." Morier said with mirth. "Haste not, for our plans are part of a greater plan, one that cannot be stopped by mortal or immortal means. It is destiny; it is inevitable. The turns of events may even be beneficial to our final aim. Do not fear this boastful King of elves; he, too, will be tangled in our web, and will serve his purpose for our gain in due time. Trust me, he won't even know whom he is working for."
Hadathor's face brightened a bit, delighted in the prospect of deceiving and manipulating Aramarth as well as his own King. Then a sudden memory cast a frown upon his features. "And what about the other newcomer? The scruffy drifter? The King has taken quite a fondness for him. If I am supposed to be the one to hold all of Elessar's trust, he should be out of my way. I'll be happy to vanish him, if you find it appropriate."
"Do not even dare to bother, much less touch Neithan. Understand?" Morier's words were spoken in a low, menacing growl, and his long, icy fingers came to painfully clutch the general's shoulder, as if to further stress his warning. Hadathor's breath caught in his throat in a hoarse gasp, and he could do nothing but nod his agreement to Morier's demand.
The dark one gave no explanation for his protectiveness towards the drifter, and Hadathor in his fear did not ask for one. All the general was capable to ask was, "Then, what happens now, my lord?"
"Tomorrow will define everything," Morier responded, finally letting go of the general's bruised shoulder. "The pieces are already in motion, since yester-night. Here is your part in the design, so at the end of the day you will come out a hero, and Elessar's puppet master at last."
The forest was the only witness to the hushed whispers of the new conspiracy being unraveled to the ears of the covetous general of Gondor. Even the trees took a vow of silence, too horrified by the words as to taint their language by repeating them.
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When Hadathor walked away from Morier, after all the explaining was done, it was all he could do not to rub his hands together in excitement; marveled as he was by the genius of the Dark one's mastermind. His merry walk was stopped by the same warning voice he had heard earlier.
"Remember, Hadathor: stay clear of Neithan's way," Morier spoke from afar, the steel of his voice enough to drain all joy from the General's countenance.
"Yes, yes; whatever you say, my lord." And with that, the snaky man disappeared into a hasty sprint.
The Dark one turned to see the tall shape coming out from behind a willow tree.
"Is he truly going to come out the hero tomorrow?" asked the tall, young man, coming to kneel before his lord.
A mocking laughter escaped the Dark elf. "Don't be silly, child. Hadathor is but a puppet in the threading of your destiny, a mindless peon, nothing more."
"He called you 'Morier'; my lord, is that your name? You have never told me your name," Neithan said, looking up to the only father he'd ever known.
The Dark elf managed a condescending smile. "No, child. I just needed a name for that jester to know me by. My real name shall not be revealed until the time for wrath and vengeance is accomplished.
"It starts tomorrow, with the death of the Queen, and the rise of spiteful war. And after tomorrow, you will start to gain over the power of Gondor's throne, and if my thoughts come to be as I expect, maybe even Ithilien's crown will start falling under your rule."
Neithan nodded, smile-less unlike his Lord; something akin to nausea stirring inside of him at the thought of Arwen dying.
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All I can say is sorry, sorry for the extensive delay; it was due to situations completely out of my control. I am back though, and expect to be updating more often.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter; things start to heat up a bit from now and on.
Thanks for reading.
Elwe