I find myself with a free afternoon, because there is little point in returning to the Rookery when it is just myself. I am also a trifle embarrassed at shouting at Hob and his men, and we are not due to dine for many hours yet. I would usually spend the time with Legolas, but since we are cross with one another I am blessed with a whole afternoon… entire hours, all to myself.
And I have nothing that I might do with them.
How did I spend my time before? What did I do with myself before I had Legolas to look after? I cannot recall it, I truly cannot, and so I think of all of the things I often wish I could do when I cannot.
I take a bath. A long one, with very hot water and oils and soap, and then I read a book. I write a letter to my father that he will not read, and then I write one to the Greenwood as well just to reassure them that Legolas is alive at this point in time. I take a walk, I get woefully lost, and when I find my way back I read again.
Eru, it is boring!
I toss the book onto my bed with a flick of my hand, and I huff through a beard scented with rose petals. I scratch at where my skin has been irritated by the soap, or perhaps by how unaccustomed I am to wearing clothes this soft and scented, and I scowl at the wall. I do not know what has become of me… I cannot spend just a few hours without doing something, anything, whether dangerous or not. I cannot fill an afternoon on my own, I cannot simply sit and read a book without getting itchy.
I am ruined. I am utterly and completely ruined.
I storm through into Legolas' chambers, unsurprised to see that he is not there. I go through his garden and onto his balcony, where the wind is cutting and screams past my ears, and where the sun is setting red across pale stone. I squint into the sharp light and I whistle into the sky – he will hear me wherever he is in the city – and I am frightened out of my skin when there is a whistle back from right above my head.
I make a noise, my knees buckle all by themselves, and I crouch and turn ready for a fight although I have no weapon on me. Legolas is sat on top of the glass roof – or rather braced against it, his backside wedged upon stone. My stomach lurches to see him up there, his hair tangling and knotting in the wind, because we are very high up and that it not a very secure seat. I scowl up at him, and he simply tilts his head. There is softness in his look, tentative and careful, and he hunches his shoulders like a boy, curled upon himself.
I wave at him to come down, and I go inside where it is warmer. He follows me just as I knew he would, but he does not come completely inside, not all of the way. I drag my favourite chair across the flagstone floor with a groaning and screeching of wood that makes his eyelid flicker, I set it to face him where he stands in the doorway, framed by the green. I fold my arms against my chest.
"Well," bite out. "Enough with this nonsense. I will come with you, because I am not a coward."
"I do not want you to come with me," he scowls, and I am doing this all wrong. He has gone from contrite and open to angry and stubborn again, instantly. "I am more than a battle broken archer, and I am not manipulative or completely mad. I do not need you to mind me because you feel guilty… I do not want you here at all if that is the only reason for it."
"I do not think that," I mutter, and this time my gaze drops and my arms fall away to my lap. I am finished with this argument. "That is not why I am here Legolas."
"And I do not think you a coward," he says back, his jaw set but his voice far softer. He glances at me furtively out of the corner of his eye. "You know that, I know that you do. I have said it often enough… you have seen that I do not think that about you... I never would."
"And you know full well that I am not here out of guilt."
"But you are acting out of guilt."
"Aye," I nod. "I am."
"We have spoken about this endlessly, my friend," he sighs, a whisper of sound, and the edges melt away from him completely until he is himself again. "I cannot take that guilt from you, and we cannot be so unbalanced the way that we are. We carry this together but you insist upon bearing the burden of what happened to us alone, and you are different around me now. I know that it is selfish, but I cannot come past this madness, I cannot fight the sea-longing… I cannot untangle myself from the Song or remember how I used to be if I am constantly worrying that you are worrying!"
I am quiet. He says that it is selfish, and he says that I carry the burden alone, but it is not true. I see what he carries and, I cannot help him bear the weight of it. Every day I see it in him.
Legolas is right – we have spoken about this endlessly – and we have been entirely honest with one another no matter how it has hurt, because it is a wound between us that will heal. Legolas has said that he has not yet forgiven me entirely, but it is what I did rather than why I did it. I took his greatest fear – the one thing he was terrified of down to his core – and I forced this damage upon him. I broke him, deep inside, and it was betrayal of the worst kind because I did it to keep him with me. Death is not the end for the elves, in fact it would have been a kindness to let him go. I saved his life, but it was for my own benefit rather than his, and I have admitted as such.
Even so, Legolas loves Arda as no other elf. He walks these lands still and he is grateful for that, and he has said that he might have done things the same had our positions been reversed. It makes no sense that he both forgives and blames me for the same thing. He has asked only for my patience, because we are both mired in conflict and hurt and we both know it – ai, we can even feel it from one another! But it will heal... I know it will heal.
I find a stray thread in my sleeve and I tug at it, picking it until it begins to unfurl.
"You feel the sea-longing?"
"I do," he exhales, as though all of his strength drains out of him in one breath. He comes into the room, sits near me. "I should have told you that. But I cannot be such a burden to you as I am now; I never have been before."
"You are not a burden to me," I scowl, still picking at my sleeves. He reaches over and stops my hands, and I focus on his – pale and long fingered, scarred and broken.
"Then do not treat me as if I am one, and treat me as you always have. I will not remember who I was if you act as though Legolas died, and I am someone else… someone far different to the elf that you first met."
"But you are not him," I raise my eyes. "Not entirely. It is difficult."
"And I must see it when you look at me, and I must watch you punish yourself constantly, and so we must both do something difficult." He narrows his eyes, and there is a slight smile that raises at the corner of his mouth. "This is not how grown warriors talk to one another, you realise. Perhaps we should braid one another's hair, since we are quarrelling like young girls."
"You could not even get a comb through your hair," I snort. He smiles, and Eru he burns all of the fight out of me with that smile of his. Faint and gentle and true… rare, when he means it, and it is the greatest weapon in his arsenal against me. I wonder if he realises how powerful that smile of his truly can be.
"I am still cross with you," I tell him, but I have lost almost all of the force behind my words. I say it simply because I am stubborn, and will not be manipulated just because an elf has smiled.
"You are not," he says certainly, and I have no response to that. He sits back further in his seat, and he looks relaxed and at peace for a while. He is clenching and unclenching his hands though, and it is a habit he has learned since last spring. At first it was because his hands ached, and now it is an unconscious gesture of what happens in his heart – like the twitching of a cat's tail when they are conflicted. He is thinking on something, and does not wish to speak first now that we are reconciled.
"Simply say it, Legolas," I sigh, and he looks at me out of the corner of his eye again. I make an exaggerated gesture, a prompt for him to speak, and he rolls his eyes.
"Are we going to the meeting, or are we not?" he bites out.
"We are going," I bite right back.
"Then that is settled," he finishes, and then does a very poor job of hiding his smile.
"But only because I wish to," I scowl at him. "You need not come."
I am an orc if I will let him have the last word on the matter, and he is sensible enough to let me have it.
~{O}~
"So I have seen a dead man, been almost eaten by a dog, and threatened by assassins today," I am saying to Aragorn and Arwen. "And now I go to a secret meeting in a tavern with the self-proclaimed Steward of the Second, and all I take with me is that thing…" I wave my hand vaguely toward Legolas, who scowls but does not look up. "This is meant to be a relaxing break with my friends."
"Would you really have skinned him?" Arwen crinkles her nose at Legolas, whose face falls studiously blank because I think he truly would have. He skirts the matter and reaches across the table for the potted strawberries, because the rest of the food might as well be invisible to him whilst they are there.
"You are being very restrained," Aragorn tells me, and he sounds a trifle accusatory. He is sat with his elbows upon the table – which is not very kingly of him – and his eyes are alight with interest. I have recounted the tale again for Arwen's benefit, and now he has time to pay it full attention. "I have been searching for this man for a long time, and you have only been here a day."
"I had every intention of being smug about it," I sigh sadly, "but it seems a petulant thing to do now."
"Gimli is above petulance," Legolas says airily, licking sweetness from his fingers. "He is far above all mortal weakness."
Aragorn reaches over and moves the tray of bread rolls before I can throw one, then my knife, and he gives Legolas a look that tells him to mind himself. We are still a little raw with one another, but the elfling has switched his moods yet again and has the wind in his heart. He is hard work when he is like this.
"I have told Hob Faengolen that we are meeting at ten bells rather than nine," Legolas says. "A small untruth, but it gives us an hour alone, and if anything goes awry then there will be others coming." I take a moment to translate what he has said. Faengolen… 'white cloak'. I roll my eyes.
"You cannot simply name people Legolas," I groan. He ignores me as though I have not spoken.
"It also means that we can report back straight away - he will be arriving just as we are leaving - and we will tell him what we have learned, and then we can be done with this. Gimli is right; this is not for us to become involved in."
I am stunned into silence. I think perhaps I would be kinder to him after that statement if he would stop being so antagonistic.
"You seem remarkably quiet on the matter," I turn to Aragorn. "I had expected you to insist upon us taking guards. I thought we might have to sneak out of a window."
The King of Gondor snorts like the ranger he truly is, since he is with his friends and need make no pretence at matters. He has nothing to say to that, and so Arwen takes over.
"My husband might be many things, friend Gimli," she smiles, amused, "but he is not an idiot. He knows you would both sneak out of a window, and our windows are rather high up. He has plans for the three of you once Faramir gets here and they do not involve broken legs."
"I would not break a leg climbing out of a window," Legolas sounds mortified. "I have climbed out of many windows."
"That might be true, mighty Prince of a Thousand Windows," Aragorn points at where Legolas has strawberry on his tunic, "but you are also guests here. It looks badly on me. Go to your meeting, and try not to skin anyone or start any fights, or get kidnapped or hurt at all, and come and find me afterward. I would be in disguise and coming with you if I had any choice in the matter; it is very exciting!"
"And dangerous and inappropriate," Arwen adds, her smile fixed and frozen and thick with warning. Aragorn deflates, makes a gesture that only partially agrees, but concedes in any case.
"Do nothing foolish," he instructs finally.
"I can promise only to try," I say quite seriously. Aragorn gives me a pained look and I smile, and when he turns to Legolas he is met with an innocent expression, as though the elfling has passed every one of his many days in complete danger avoidance. He shakes his head.
"Neither of you are worth all of this trouble," he sighs.
~{O}~
"This would be far more entertaining if we had needed to sneak out of a window," Legolas says with a mournful tone. "Going to a secret meeting but walking out of the front door does not feel right."
"You complain that no one believes you sensible," I point out. "You complain at great length about it, and then you say such things. We should be taking this seriously."
"I am taking it seriously," he gripes. "And we did not need to leave so early, it is only just past eight bells."
"It is halfway between eight and nine, and I refuse to arrive without any breath left to me. Besides, you might get to sneak around just as you wished."
By the gatehouse there is a gathering of men in cloaks, and – although they are not white – I recognise them easily enough.
"I do not think they believed your 'small untruth'," I grumble. "Perhaps we have a reputation."
"These edain are smarter than most," Legolas agrees with a disapproving tone. I cannot see him very well, but the moon is clear tonight and all elves have a strange pale light about them, as though moon and starlight seek them out. It makes it rather difficult to hide them at times, especially in a city with no bushes to leap into.
Luckily it is not the first time that either of us have had to sneak past men… it is not even the first time that we have had to sneak past this particular gatehouse. There is a low section of wall that is not guarded, and we make a line straight for it only to find more men stood there waiting.
"You are out walking late," comes a voice, and Legolas hisses in annoyance. "Or perhaps you are early. Ten bells is a way off yet."
"Captain Hob!" I turn, plastering on a falsely pleasant face as the elfling mutters something truly vile. "We thought to take the air before our meeting."
"Do me the dignity of speaking the truth," Hob tells me. "I have captained soldiers for years, and soldiers are more accomplished liars than you are."
Legolas snorts in agreement and I elbow him as discreetly as I can.
"You will not follow us," Legolas speaks up, and I cringe. He has finally broken his silence, and Hob looks at him with narrowed eyes.
"My Lord, you speak," he notes with feigned surprise. "I had thought perhaps you did not know the common tongue."
"Henion din," Legolas murmurs, soft and cold, and this time I turn and give him a very serious look. His gaze flickers to mine, softens, promises that he will behave. "I understand you well enough," he repeats, and there is a whole world of meaning there. He might like Hob, he has said it more than once, but he does not trust him. It will be a while, I think, before Legolas trusts men again.
"Either we go alone, or we do not go at all," I say. "Our violent little thief was rather clear on that."
"Then you do not go at all." Hob tells us.
Legolas turns obediently as if to leave. I grab his arm and turn him back around again.
"For what reason?" I am exasperated. "The King knows what we do, he has no concern about it!"
"With every respect due to my King, his job is to be King. Mine is the safety of this city, and you are a guest… you are not even a man. Do not presume to come here in the guise of advisor, and then lie to me in the course of one of my own investigations. It is rude and insulting."
"Faengolen is correct," Legolas turns to me. "We should go."
"What did he just call me?"
"Legolas," I grab his arm again, because I know… I know he is simply going to jump over a different section of wall. The elfling stops again, returns to my side again, sighs heavily at being hauled into position like a horse. I turn back to the scandalised captain, because we are starting to run short on time. "We apologise, we meant no disrespect; Legolas and I are accustomed to doing things on our own, and in our own way. We had every intention of handing this back to you after the meeting and having nothing further to do with it. We have had quite enough excitement of late."
Captain Hob narrows his eyes, glances at the elfling for confirmation but Legolas is being obstinate, and has gone back to being silent. It is better this way, perhaps. Hob seems mollified, and I push now that I can see a chance at success.
"They said they would be watching us from the fifth level – if you follow then we will simply be spending an evening in a tavern. I can drink far better ale in the King's House, and Legolas dislikes taverns, so if you wish for us to learn something then let us go. If you do not, speak now and save us a walk down five circles… I have done nothing but walk up and down this city today and I grow weary of it."
The captain thinks a while longer, long enough to have me itching for an answer, and I see the moment that he concedes. His shoulders drop just a fraction, and he inches to one side very slightly.
"We will leave the fifth at ten bells, no later," he tells us. "If you are murdered before then, it will be no fault but your own."
I nod my thanks just as Legolas barges right past, and I quicken my steps to catch up with him.
"Why must you antagonise him?" I ask once we are safely through. "You say that you like him."
"I do not think he likes elves very much," Legolas shrugs.
"You give him little reason to think otherwise!"
"I have known him only a day, it is hardly my fault; he disliked elves already. I am not here to form friendships with men who do not want them."
"Aye, but you do wish to play at constable Legolas, and for that you must have his respect. Or at the very least he must not hate you."
"I will consider it," he sniffs, and then he is silent again. Once we reach the fifth circle we both naturally fall into a slow run, and we make up the time we lost arguing with Hob. We slow again by the third, and we spend a while outside the Shod Cob simply watching.
It is a surprisingly large and well-constructed building, most certainly built during the reconstruction of the city. Someone with money has settled here, and the tavern stands independent of the stone that so many of these buildings are built into. I am sure that the foundations dig deeply, that there are rooms and cellars beneath where things are stored, but everything else stands proud of the mountain. It is large and brightly lit, there are even boxes of flowers outside, and there are somewhat rickety tables out here where some men brave the cold and sit with their drinks in the open air.
The men here are tradesmen and scholars, because this circle is of trade and learning. It is odd, to be only one circle above such darkness and poverty, but these are not rich men: their clothes are well patched and threadbare, although clean, and they have the look of men who have little, but are happy with what they have. They are fed, they have money for good ale, and they stand and talk and laugh with one another with no animosity. They are friends, neighbours. This is a good place. But it is well that we have stood to watch, because not every person here is the same.
There is one man on the outside of the light, nursing a cup of ale on his own. His hood is pulled too far over his face, he is too still, and because of it he stands out. There is another that leans against the gate post, and he has a pipe but he has not smoked it since we have been here. He also watches too closely, and he does not belong either. I see two more, and Legolas points out a third in the darkness of the alley where I cannot see as clearly.
The building is watched, and we are watched for, and as I hear the bells ringing out the ninth peal we cannot wait any longer. Either we go inside or we walk away, and I do not think that either of us are ready to walk now. Not after all of the grief we have given each another over it, and certainly not now that Hob will be questioning us. We are both too proud for such a thing, and perhaps therein lies our idiocy.
We walk from the shadows we have been hidden in – an elf and a dwarf, oddities in such a place – and although every set of eyes watches us, we do not flinch or waver for a moment. We stride toward the tavern as though we own it.
~{O}~
The inside of the tavern is just as bright and airy as it seemed from without. The ceiling is high and the windows open, the fire is well ventilated and although there are many men in here, it does not seem cramped or uncomfortable. There are lanterns rather than bare candles, with polished brass and waxed wood that make it seem warm and welcoming. We head toward the back of the room where there are a number of doors, and one has the same shadowy men sat at the tables all around it. They guard the door, although they are not blending in as well as they perhaps think.
Shutter meets us here as though we are old friends, unsurprised by our presence and just a little drunk. It is an act, because I can smell that he has not touched a drop of drink all night, but he looks for all the world like nothing more than a harmless young man enjoying his evening. He has no cloak on, and because of it there is no hint of shadow or darkness about him at all. If it were not for those sly and darting, quick eyes I might believe the lie of him.
His flair for dramatics goes a little far and he goes as if to embrace me, but Legolas snarls and Shutter remembers, and he flinches away at the last moment. He is wary of Legolas. I think I would be wary of Legolas if he had threatened to cripple me, too.
"I would ask you to leave your weapons behind," Shutter asks, "but I think I might save my breath."
"You are smarter than you seem," I nod. "But you seem unconcerned that we go in armed."
Shutter smiles again, and this time it is cool and dry and without any emotion behind his eyes. It is far better suited on him.
"I am not concerned about it at all."
And he opens the door, and ushers us in.
~{O}~
The man that we meet is quite a surprise, because she is no man at all.
The Steward of the Second is a woman, and I know that I have identified her correctly because every person in the room is seated as though they are the stars, and she is the moon. She could be sat anywhere, anywhere at all, and she would still be at the centre.
There are more shadowy men, each of them indistinguishable to the next, but there are also two other women that stand at either side of the steward and they are her guards, it is as plain as day. They could be sisters, perhaps – dark haired and dark eyed, long limbed and pale. They both wear their hair in a long braid, their blades on display, and everything about them speaks danger. I pay little attention to them, because it is the woman that we have come to meet that I cannot take my eyes from.
She all but spills out of her dress, her figure lush and curved. Her skin is pale, her hair midnight black, and she has painted her face with dark eyes and lips of blood red. She is very beautiful, but it is not simply her face that makes her beautiful… she is powerful, intimidating, a sense of self that burns from her like the afterglow of a fire. What a magnificent creature she is!
She stands as we enter, and I think that even Legolas feels her influence because he bows quite gracefully to her. She smiles in thanks, inclines her own head with a spill of ink black hair, and gestures toward two chairs that have been brought in for us. She sits, a Queen, and Legolas must clear his throat so that I finally move. I am embarrassing myself.
"Prince Legolas, Lord Gimli," she murmurs, and her voice is rich and deep. "Or perhaps you would prefer Durin and Galadriel."
"That depends on whether you are willing to give us a name," I say. "We have had quite enough of mysteries, I think."
"I have many names," she smiles, indulgent. "They call me the Twilight Lady in some parts, is that not awful? In this room I am Briar, and you may call me such, but only in this room. The Steward of the Second seems more fitting in other company, at least for now."
"Why such secrecy?" Legolas asks, and I am surprised; it is unusual for him to speak amongst strangers and I am not sure that I like the way she is looking at him. "The King has been looking for you. I am sure that you know it, and I am certain you have no need to hide this way."
"The King does not need to meet me," she tells him firmly. "I am loyal to him – utterly loyal – and I am a steward only. There will be no need of me one day, and I will go back to being simply Briar, but until then I keep the peace on the second. I look after the workhouses and the orphans, the wanton women, the thieves and the assassins and the desperate. I keep their businesses running smoothly and orderly, because there is need for them."
"The King would have them fed and housed and working," Legolas blinks, his tone careful. "Law abiding."
"My good Prince," she smiles, and I see a hint of the iron beneath. She leans forward, affording us a magnificent view, and touches his face with butterfly soft fingers. "Beautiful elf, these people would not know what to do with any charity given them. They would drink it, and gamble it, and lose it up some slattern's skirts and then be right back in the gutter again. For some it is all they have ever known – can you imagine these men as bakers or book-keepers?"
She leans back, comfortable in her skin the way so few are. She regards us through hooded eyes and holds one hand out to the side, expectantly. A book is placed in it, quickly and efficiently, and she runs her fingers along the leather cover. She is tactile and distracting and I am more than a little bit frightened of her, in all honesty. Only the elves have this air of self about them, this intensity, but the elves are controlled and cool whereas this woman burns like the sun.
"This is not why you are here," she tells us. "I am not here to explain to you why a city needs men and women who work in the shadows, and why they need stewarding rather than saving. That is not a conversation for today."
She holds the book out, and I take it without thinking. "We did not kill Wynn, and we did not burn Edgar's house. If we did then we would know where he is. This journal was left on Wynn's body – we only had enough time to remove it before Captain Hob and his men arrived – but it paints us as the culprits."
"Why do you give it to us if it incriminates you?" I ask curiously, flicking through the pages. It is filled with cramped handwriting, spidery and untidy, and I can feel an itch of a headache just thinking about reading it.
"I meant it when I said that I am loyal to the King," she tells me. "This is beyond us; there are none within my circle that would do this and my own investigations have proven fruitless. Someone is trying to cause trouble – this journal paints us as murderers and traitors, conspiring against the Crown. When the King comes down to my home with his City Guard and his Whitecloaks, he will destroy everything that I protect. Captain Hob is fair, and you have reputation all of your own. I place myself in your hands."
She smirks when she says that, giving her words a very obvious double meaning, and I feel my face flame red. It is quite a pretty speech and every word falls like a pebble in the stream, certain and strong and sure. Eru she could talk the birds from the sky if she had a mind to.
"And if this is a ruse?" Legolas asks, and either he is completely immune to this woman or he is enjoying himself immensely, I cannot tell. "If this is simply some way of causing trouble?"
"Well then," she smiles, insouciant and promising. She meets his eyes without a flinch or waver, she does not blink or show any sign at all that his gaze is bothering her. I think she might rather enjoy being so much the centre of his regard, and my cheeks burn even hotter just watching. "In that case, my beautiful elf, I shall look forward to our next meeting."
TBC
Hello again! So since we last saw one another things have been no less stressful, but the cause of the stress is a bit more manageable so I'm taking that as a win. Thanks to everyone for their well wishes and their reviews, and a special shout out goes to DaughterofThranduil1701 who has - in just two weeks - not only managed to read through my entire back catalogue, but also review almost every single chapter. This is quite the achievement, and has provided me with a wonderful deluge of emails that have made me very happy. Thanks love!
Lastly, this chapter has me asking a question which I have been discussing with a few of you, but I would like to pose to the whole room. Some of you think I'm being a bit mean to Gimli, because his actions in Silence were flawed but for good reasons. There is one camp that thinks Legolas is getting the sympathy and support, and poor Gims is being left to carry this alone. The other camp thinks he deserves to stew on this for a bit longer, because what he did to Legolas was pretty awful.
I'm not going to say too much on my views, because it should all be laid out in the story as it unfolds, but I am genuinely curious as to what you all think!
See you all again in two weeks (providing my countrymen don't make any more awful decisions) and I hope you all have a great weekend xx
MyselfOnly