Chapter Six
Arwen watched the dark sky as the sun began to creep up from its sleep. She usually found the changing of the day beautiful and soothing, but today it seemed more to her as if a dangerous fire was growing to consume the night. Granted, it had been grievously less than peaceful, but something told the Elven queen that the day could well prove worse. She shivered, although she was not cold, and drew her robes more securely about her shoulders.
"Arwen," a soft voice from behind her broke her dark reverie.
She turned and smiled at her brother. "Elrohir," she spoke as quietly as he had, sure that he could hear her as well as she could him, a feeling that she experienced rarely among her new people. "How fares Beregond?"
"Elladan and Aragorn are caring for him. We have much mended him, and this long-delayed rest has done much good, perhaps more even than our medicines. By the time the sun is fully risen, I doubt little but that he will have forced himself from his bed out of fear for his prince."
Arwen nodded. "He cares deeply for Faramir."
Elrohir nodded, but his attention was not on the wounded man. "And you, my sister?" he asked softly, switching to Sindarin. "How do you fare?"
Arwen looked at the distant sunrise again. "I am troubled," she replied honestly. "Some darkness threatens us all, but what it is, none can say."
"None can say but those who control it," the other Elf answered darkly. His deep gray eyes were heavily shadowed. "I feel the same foreboding you do, my sister," he said after a moment. "And yet I can place it no more than you. Elladan feels the same, and I suspect that Aragorn is likewise frustrated by this lack of clear knowledge."
Arwen nodded. "He is troubled," she said quietly in the Westron tongue. "His foresight is as silent as mine," she continued in her native speech. "And yet he feels the darkness as clearly as I do—or perchance I should say, as ill-clearly, for therein lies the difficulty." She fell silent, staring sightlessly into the sunrise, as if hoping that the rising sun would likewise illuminate the shadows in her thoughts.
Elrohir stepped closer and put an arm around her shoulders. "All things pass," he reminded her gently.
"I know," she whispered back, "but one thing I have learned amongst mortals is that some things pass far better than others do."
"That is not restricted to mortals alone," he corrected her. "Often, it is those who see the passing longest that find the deepest sorrow in it." He fell silent, and Arwen could hear his unspoken question.
"I have made my choice," she told him, "and I do not regret it."
"I know," her brother answered her, "but I do."
They stood together in silence as the sun slowly climbed the sky, banishing the deep night and dancing stars with red flames overhead.
…………….
The sky had but the faintest tint of color in it. Legolas judged that he had just enough time, if he acted quickly, before the camp stirred for the day. The last sentry of the night was drooping tiredly, and the others had yet to wake. The Elf had lain still for the entire night, pretending to sleep as mortals do. Gimli had looked at him questioningly the first night he had done so, but had been contented when Legolas explained that their captors would be less than amenable to letting him wander aimlessly around the camp lost in Elvish dreams while they slept, as was his traditional nightly routine. Keeping his eyes closed had been the most difficult part of it, for he could only watch the stars dance when the guards looked in other directions. Now he made certain to keep them tightly shut, for the first pale strains of day were only moments away from illuminating the camp. Still, he had figured that this would be the time when their guards would be the least alert, for the night was over and the day of travel had not yet begun.
Carefully, the Elvish prince slowly twisted his hands so that his slim fingers could reach the knots in his bonds. Moving with agonizing slowness—even for someone with the patience of immortality—Legolas softly tugged at the ropes. It would never do for his bonds to seem loose when the men checked them in the morning, and yet he would get no better opportunity to undo them—and he judged that soon it would be too late for him to act as was needed. Their captors were getting increasingly anxious, and his falling stunt, while necessary to prevent word from going ahead of them, had only added to their nervousness.
Legolas wished that he could fully tell his plans to Gimli and Éowyn, but he knew of no opportunity to do so. Gimli had a decent grasp of the simpler concepts of Sindarin, but even if the Dwarf could understand enough, speaking thusly would let their captors know that there was something planned. No, sharing anything in Elvish would be far too suspicious, and besides, Éowyn knew few words of the Elvish tongue. The Common language was no help, as the men were all fluent in it, and anyway, speaking together for any length of time would be, the Elf was certain, highly frowned upon. Neither he nor Gimli knew much of Rohan's speech, although the Dwarf had picked up more than the Elf had, spending time as he did in Aglarond. At any rate, that still left them with the same problem as Sindarin.
But perhaps the problem with Sindarin was not as bad as it had at first appeared. Legolas mentally berated himself for being so slow to think of the solution. He put it down to being too concerned over Éowyn, but knew that there was no excuse for this failing. At the least, he could share his basic plan with Gimli—although the guards might well command him to be silent before he could do so in entirety. Ah, well; if he was careful, he was likely to get much of his point across before they stopped him. At any rate, it would do no good not to attempt it.
His next act fell into much the same vein of thinking. This was slightly more risky, but even more necessary. If the worst should come to pass, he knew he could count on Gimli and Éowyn to react much the way he wanted them to—especially Gimli, for the Dwarf was chaffing at the captivity more than either of the other two companions.
Their captors roused them, none too gently, for their ride. They were permitted a brief repast which was, Gimli loudly assured them ever day, barely enough to keep a bird alive, let alone fortify them for a long day of hard travel. By this the third day of the journey, the men were visibly growing less and less tolerant of the Dwarf's grumbling and curses, but Legolas saw no reason to restrain his friend. While their captors might be unschooled enough in the manner of Dwarves not to be aware, Legolas knew that it was far preferable to give Gimli an outlet for him temper than to attempt to restrain it. Restraining a Dwarf was easier said than done, and it was difficult enough to keep Gimli from outright attacking them right now. Let him grumble and threaten and curse; it was far less than they deserved to receive at the Dwarf's hands.
Besides, right now it kept their attention focused on him. Legolas was free to slip from their awareness. He was still pretending to be unable to walk without assistance—a ruse which he had made use of to partially loosen the bonds tied around Gimli's hands when the Dwarf had given it to him, although his friend had been too busy grumbling to notice—but he was as light on his feet as ever. He was also as talented at disappearing from the awareness of unfriendly eyes as any Elf of the realm once called Mirkwood.
"Dartho," he whispered to Windfola and Holdwyn, cautioning the horses to be silent. They stopped grazing and held still while Legolas's quick hands darted into one of the packs by their hooves. Something thin and sharp vanished inside the Elf's tunic, and he quickly secured the flap on the bag again. He then gave a cry and dropped to the ground, as if he had tried to mount Holdwyn on his own and, due to his injured ankle, had been unable to do so.
There was instant uproar among the men. Legolas knew that their yells at him for daring to go near the horses unsupervised were nothing compared to the violent oaths the leader would later shower on his men for losing sight of the Elf. He apologized and timidly hung his head, careful to keep his lips from twitching into the smile that would give him away.
…………….
Aragorn was fastening his cloak when he realized he was not alone. He turned to the doorway to see his wife watching him, something unreadable in her gray eyes. "Arwen?" he asked softly.
"The preparations have been made, my lord," she replied, which was no answer. "The soldiers will have the correct rumors well-spread by noontime, and the head of the Healing Houses is already here, although displeased at being kept in the dark as to the truth of our purpose."
Aragorn knew that the occasionally necessary deceptions of the politics of men sat ill with her, but he also knew that she was accustomed to them. Something more was bothering her. "Is your brother well, then?" he asked, giving her the opportunity without pressing her.
She smiled, sensing instantly what he was doing. "Elrohir does not think that I have made the correct decision," she answered. "Our inevitable parting will be hard for him."
"Then he has made his decision? He will travel to Valinor?" Aragorn asked, still neatly avoiding the heart of the subject.
"Not yet," Arwen said as she moved into the room and began packing the things Aragorn had searched through back into their trunk. "But I know what their decision will be, as do they. Although none of us will discuss it, I believe that they will depart 'ere much time has passed."
Knowing that to the Elves, "much time" could be anywhere from two months to fifty years or longer, Aragorn did not ask for clarification. Elladan had alluded to as much in the night when their conversation had wandered, although he also had said nothing of certainty. The twins were loath to leave their sister, but no more could they bear to be parted from Elrond and Celebrían and the rest of their kin for all eternity. For the Elves, there is no such thing as a happy ending; only the bittersweet.
Arwen smiled at him, seeing the pain for her in his eyes. "Fear not, my love; I do not regret my choice. The joy I have far outweighs my sorrow. Such is all that the Elves can hope for, for we understand sorrow well. I will be saddened to see them leave, but I would not trade this life for that." She moved to his side and spoke softly in Sindarin. "Gerich veleth nîn, meltha." They held each other for a brief moment, but duty ever calls in Gondor, and the king had a journey to begin.
Dressed in garb that had seen little use since he took the throne, Elessar Telcontar once more looked like the man that had first received the name of Strider. He joined two others garbed in similar rough clothes, and a slimmer figure in a gray cloak that matched his own. They mounted horses with no spoken word, and prepared to depart. Aragorn looked back at Arwen and Elladan as they watched. Elvish eyes spoke clearly to mortal ones, and then he turned his steed and rode out of the gate, followed by an Elf and two men, little more than shadows in the pale light of dawn.
…………….
At last they set off, although their captors were now seething as well as antsy. Perhaps Legolas had pushed his luck as far as he should today, but he had one task yet that needed to be done. He began humming, too quietly for anyone to hear at first, then gradually growing louder. The two men walking by Holdwyn's nose tensed at first, but soon relaxed with the gentle melody. Gradually, Legolas built words into the tune; it began as one of the songs about Beren and Luthien, but as he increased volume so that the others—particularly Gimli—could make out what he said, he deviated from the traditional wording. The Dwarf, who had been nodding along softly to the music—although he would vehemently deny such a thing if he were asked—paused a moment, but his guard did not seem to notice the brief hesitation.
Perhaps Legolas was simply not skilled enough at blending new words to the old music, or perhaps the man simply remembered himself, but the leader started and turned around. "Be silent!" he ordered the Elf harshly.
Legolas complied, and was gratified to notice that at least two of their captors were less than pleased with the cessation of the song's lifting notes. It had helped to make the miles they had to travel slip by more easily, lost as they had been in the Elvish tune. Legolas smiled softly to himself. So far, everything had gone quite well. As long as he could keep Gimli under control, the Elf began to be confident that they could handle their escape with little problem.
…………….
The citizens of Gondor were antsy. First their King and his trusted Steward had argued, nearly coming to blows. Then there was rumor that some of their fellows were flouting Elessar's authority in their trading enterprises. And now, their beloved King—the first one in eons—had fallen ill. Everyone maintained that it was nothing serious, more overwork than actual illness, easily cured by rest, but they did not believe it. If all he needed was rest, why did not King Aragorn tell them so himself? Why was he hidden within his chambers with the drapes pulled, and messengers running to and fro from the Houses of Healing, bringing medicines and lore? Why did their beautiful Queen Arwen walk with pale, drawn face, and stare into the West? Why were the queen's brothers needed to help maintain order, if the King's illness was nothing serious? How long would he be ill, that the Elven twins had come to aid their sister?
The citizens of Gondor loved their queen far too much to ever think ill of the Elves, but there were those who wondered in their distant thoughts if the Elves might not be looking to the power of Gondor and finding it too great to exist without stricter Elvish control. Not even those who nearly formed these ideas consciously would ever believe that anyone kin to Queen Arwen would deliberately harm their King, but why could the Elves not take advantage of his illness to install their own powers within the White City?
No, the citizens of Gondor loved their queen far too much to think so ill of her people, but then, these ideas did not originate with them. They came slow and slippery from the mouths of men not of Gondor, from careful hints and insinuations of the very spies that Aragorn had been so careful to deceive. It was from the servants of the shadow spreading from Ostad that these dark thoughts came; from the very shadow that Aragorn was even now riding into…
Reviewer Responses:
Susan W – Yay, a lured-out lurker! Happy ewok dance! But…more about Faramir? Like, how he's doing, where he is, what's going on, that sort of thing? Hmm…nope! You'll just have to wait just like poor Éowyn to find out what's going on with dear Faramir. Hey, what kind of Mistress of Evil would I be if I told you? Oh, and Gimli would like to mention that he cannot wait as well and he'd be willing to practice with a certain authoress and…okay, moving on while I still have my head…
Deana – Well, I still don't know where the link is, but you've seen it now. Anyone else, I'd be glad to send you a copy, too, but I don't want to put it up anywhere as it's not mine and I can't properly credit the artist. If anyone knows the link, though, feel free to share:)
Elenhin – Yay! That makes me very happy. Characters, however—I'm not storing it under anyone yet, as I'm not really sure who I ought to choose. Maybe when I get further along someone will have stolen a large enough role that I'll be able to, but as it is, no one yet. But thank you very, very much! Kind regards to you as well.
Jebb – Great, I've made another Nuzgûl… ;P You keep that up for me; if I ever need an idea, I'll come to you, oh keeper of the potential plot nunnys:D
Avalon – I love putting humor in where the tension's high. And…oh dear. Be vewy, vewy quiet, Avie's hunting Elveses…heh. And scaring me a bit, but that's a good thing. ;) Legolas says thank you. And it's definitely true about other males; unless they have pointy ears—or big impressive bushy beards don't hurt me put the axe down!—they're pretty dumb. Which, I suppose, explains your Elf-hunting…lol
Slayer3 – Orlando Bloomses calendar, huh? Hmm, well, I'll see what I can do about that. Maybe I can make one magically fall through a plot-hole to land in your lap… Okaaaaay there Sméagol, you go ahead and pokes their eyeses out, just be prepared for Gimli to complain that he wanted to lope off their heads (or knees) first.
ForeverFaramir – Wow. That's cool, because I have absolutely no idea where this is going. However, that is an interesting idea…hmmm… Mwuahahaha, do not give the author ideas, she may use them! Heh. Oh yes, definitely, he's such a meek little Elf—put down the arrows! Down!
Aranna – You bet they are. ;) Hmm, now I have two people giving me ideas for evilness…we'll see… Oh yeah, these Elves, what can we say, perceptive creatures…we'll see what happens there, too. I think the pic was somewhere on Deviant Art, but where…? I dunno. Maybe someone will be helpful and tell me…
Lyn – Hee, yes, most likely. The best however is when it's not even real Tolkien Elvish…I think I have nightmares that I'm going to put in Grey Company Elvish sometime… And, wow. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Just…thank you. From the depths of my now-beaming heart.
Lil Pippin Padfoot – Hello to Andrew, how are you? Gimli's in agreement, he thinks that's the reason too. Lazy Elves. However, it may be a little late to not hurt Faramir. But I'll keep it in mind. ;) Thank Andrew, thanks Pip!
flowerbee1 – Aw, have a hug yourself. But…men? Up to something? Why would they be up to something? I mean, it's not like the author is devious or anything…
Quiet Infinity – You are now entering…The Twilight Zone. Cue theme-music. Oh yes, lots of shadows about poor little Faramir. Why? Because I am evil. Heh heh heh.
East Coastie – That's okay, I won't hit him for awhile. Mainly because he'll be gone for a while, but whatever…
Laiquendi – Ooh yes, let us cackle and rub our hands together! Mwuahahaha. And—oh crap, here comes Earendil…run! The stars are falling!
Templa Otmena – Thank you! Gotta love that Tension-O-Meter, right? Twins are more than foreboding though, Twins are DOOM. And I'm quite glad that I could give you a nice visual. ;) And yes, Gimli thinks they're too tall as well. And…voila, update! Your wish is my et cetera…
And that's it for this week's installment of insanity and banter. And unfortunately, I have nothing witty to say here. Sorry. Must go paint now—pointillism, augh. Much time-consumption there. But don't worry, the update will be here next week-end, never fear! ;)