Chapter 9: Torment

Aragorn was hardly conscious of where he was walking. He put one foot in front of the other, vaguely aware that he was going downhill, retracing the route he had taken to get to the grove of trees high above the camp. In the crook of one elbow, held snugly against his chest, was the object of his hate at the moment, swathed in thick, rough cloth.

Light, dark, grass, stone… they seemed all the same tonight. He could see nothing except the last two scenes he had witnessed in the Stone, he could hear nothing except what he knew Rumil had asked, what Legolas had answered, and Gandalf's declarartion: The Stone does not lie. He could feel nothing except hot tears, pain in his heart – dull and sharp in turn – and anger.

I wish I could have remained Estel, he thought bitterly. I wish I had never become –

"Aragorn!" came the sound of his name uttered by the sweetest voice he could imagine.

His head snapped up and saw the beautiful face and slender figure that went with the voice a few yards downhill from where he was. The fair face was breathtaking in the moonlight, and the look of relief on it made him weak. Blind to all else, he moved immediately towards it: the angelic face that seemed to dispel the disturbing visions he had seen.

"What in tarnation have you done!" another voice interjected loudly, breaking the magic spell. A furious Gandalf appeared soon after Legolas – and behind him – the Lothlorien elf whose presence Aragorn could feel no pleasure over. An irrational anger began to simmer in him again.

Reaching the Ranger, Legolas placed a hand on his arm and studied the pale, drawn face of the man with concern. "What has happened, Aragorn?" he asked softly. "Are you well?"

Aragorn gazed at Legolas, truly not knowing what to answer. He started to reach for the elf's face, but stopped when Rumil and Gandalf drew up alongside them. The wizard glared at Aragorn for a moment before his features softened and he sighed.

"Did you?" the wizened figure asked, raising an eyebrow before focusing his eyes on the bundle in Aragorn's arms. Perplexed, Rumil and Legolas looked from the wizard to Aragorn to the cloth-covered object.

"Did he what, Gandalf?" Legolas asked, the look of worry on his face deepening. Rumil noticed it and moved to the elf's side, which irritated Aragorn further.

Cease this, the man told himself, feeling a little ashamed. He means well. The Ranger spoke quickly to shake free of unwanted thoughts.

"I have looked into the accursed Stone of Orthanc, my friends," he said a little shakily. "It was a long struggle, and I saw things…" His face took on a pained expression before he continued, "but I have wrested the Stone to my will."

Both Gandalf and Legolas sighed deeply, and the wizard shook his head sadly.

"The same things Pippin saw?" the old man asked.

Aragorn nodded tiredly. "Those… and others."

The hesitation in his answer told his listeners that he had held something back, but none of them felt this was the time for an interrogation; the man seemed spent and fatigued. Perhaps he would speak of them later.

"But why did you look into the Stone at all, Estel?" Legolas enquired gently.

"To draw Sauron's attention away from Frodo and the true Quest," the man answered tiredly. "I wanted him to feel challenged, to know that the heir of Isildur lives. That might make him desperate… he may panic and strike too quickly…"

"And the swift stroke often goes astray," Rumil spoke up, nodding his head in agreement. "That was a bold move, Aragorn, and it may well prove to be pivotal to the success of the Quest."

Aragorn's steely eyes shot Rumil a hard look, but when he realized how generously the elf had complimented him, he swallowed his pride and nodded.

"Well, it had to happen sooner or later," the old man said. "You are, after all, the rightful master of the Stone, but let us hope your encounter with… him…brings about the right consequences."

Aragorn nodded again, his face still grim.

"Would you like me to take care of it for you?" Gandalf asked, reaching out for the Stone.

"No!" the Ranger said sharply, startling his friends. He pulled the Stone closer to his body, and a dark, brooding look came into his eyes. "It… it is a dangerous thing, as you say, and it is my responsibility now. I do not want to risk anyone else falling prey to it."

Gandalf's eyebrows knitted at those words. And have you? he wondered silently. His hands fell back to his sides, and he decided to keep his misgivings for the moment. But he would watch Aragorn closely.

"How do you feel now, Estel?" Legolas questioned, the look of anxiety never leaving his face.

Aragorn turned in his direction, and when he saw the two elves standing together, a strange combination of frustration, anger, and sorrow stirred in him. At that moment, he could see nothing but their closeness, their shared beauty and immortality, and his own inability to give Legolas the happiness he deserved. A sense of dejection and despair came over him, and his voice reflected his emotions.

"I am weary," he declared. "I just wish to be alone."

And without waiting for anyone, he brushed past them and resumed his downward journey back to the camp below. He missed the three expressions of surprised confusion he left behind, and a hint of hurt on the face of the golden elf who watched his abrupt departure speechlessly. But Rumil did not miss it, and he placed a comforting hand on Legolas' shoulder.

"Perhaps it is best he has some time to himself," he said consolingly. "Come, let us return to the camp as well." And he kept an arm around the elven shoulders, feeling the warmth of the elf he desired. Legolas' mind, however, was only on the figure distancing himself from them at a surprising speed.

"Will he be all right, Mithrandir?" Legolas asked Gandalf quietly so that Aragorn would not hear them.

The old wizard sighed. "We shall see, young prince," he replied. "Let us hope so."

But the droop of his shoulders did not send Legolas a sense of hope.

--xx00xx--

"Are you awake, Aragorn?" Gandalf called softly, his head appearing just inside the tent where Aragorn had lain down.

The man did not move from his position on the make-shift bed, where he lay with his back facing the flap of the tent. It was an unwise position to take in these times, but his mind was too preoccupied to bother about it; besides, he was surrounded by Rohirrim and he thought he could afford to let his guard down for tonight at least, so that he could a little time to think about what he had seen, and where his life was going.

But he found that he could not be left alone for long, at least not by Gandalf.

"Yes," he said in answer to the wizard's question, and turned around only when he heard the wizard enter. He pushed himself up slowly, and wrapped his arms around his knees when the Maia sat on the edge of his bed.

Gandalf studied the man's face, noting the shadows under his eyes, and the grimness that had not left them. He also sensed that the Ranger had something he wished to get off his mind, but could not bring himself to talk about it, so he tried to make it easier for him.

"Something troubles you, my friend," the wizard said kindly, "and it will consume you till you confront it. Is it something you saw in the Stone?"

Aragorn kept an obstinate silence, refusing to look at the old man. Gandalf frowned, and he looked around the tent as discreetly as he could, trying to locate the object that may have brought on this strange behavior from Aragorn. His eyes stopped roaming when he saw it in a corner of the tent – still wrapped securely in its cloth cocoon. With some relief, he turned back to the sullen man in front of him.

"Aragorn, if it has something to do with the fate of Middle-earth, it would be wise to tell me now," Gandalf continued in a persuasive tone. "What have you seen?"

"Will they really occur, Gandalf?" the Ranger asked suddenly, looking up with angry eyes and surprising the wizard. "What the Stone shows – do the events really take place?"

The white bushy eyebrows knitted above concerned eyes that looked closely at the face of the Ranger. "The Stone does not lie, as I have told you," the wizard replied carefully. "It shows only things that will happen – or are happening."

Aragorn visibly stiffened at those words, and his hands fisted. The old wizard quickly placed a comforting hand on his forearm.

"But I have also warned you that what you see may not be a complete picture," he continued. "It shows much, but it is a poor guide to follow in determining what action to take. You should not make decisions based solely on what you see."

At Aragorn's continued silence, the wizard pressed on. "Perhaps, too, the Stone – before you wrested it to your will – showed you only what it wished you to see."

Aragorn's head swam. Why would it wish for me to see Legolas promising himself to Rumil? he wondered bitterly. To torment me with what I cannot have? Why?

"What you cannot have?" Gandalf asked, puzzled, and only then did Aragorn realize that he had spoken the last part of his thoughts aloud. "What do you mean?" the wizard demanded. "Was it the Ring, Aragorn? Were you challenging Sauron for the Ring? Tell me!"

"No!" the Ranger denied vehemently. His tone left no doubt in the listener's mind that he was telling the truth, and the wizard sighed in relief.

"Good, good," he breathed, "for if you, too, were in danger of falling to its power, then Middle-earth is lost." Gandalf looked deep into Aragorn's blazing eyes. "Gondor needs her king."

"No one needs to remind me of that!" the Ranger spat, alarming the wizard. "That is all I have been thinking about – and the reason I cannot have what I want!"

The fury in his voice took the wizard aback. "What in Arda are you talking about, Aragorn?" he demanded. "Speak plainly so I can understand!"

"No one can understand!" Aragorn hissed in frustration. His blue-grey eyes glared at Gandalf for long moments before they softened, and he bent his head and placed it on his knees. "No one can do anything about it," he added sadly.

Gandalf studied him for a few moments, a suspicion forming in his mind.

"Perhaps you should talk to someone else – someone who is closer to you," he suggested slyly. "I could ask Legolas to come…"

"Don't!" Aragorn protested firmly, whipping his head up and inadvertently confirming Gandalf's guess. "Do not tell Legolas!"

The wizard raised one eyebrow and cocked his head. "Why not?" he probed.

The two men locked eyes as one waited for an answer and the other struggled to word it, one wondering how much he would find out and the other how much he should reveal. Neither would hurry – so they waited.

--xx00xx--

Legolas sat staring at the fire, ignoring the banter between Merry and Pippin near him, focusing on the crackle and spit of the flames as they leapt. Occasionally, his eyes would travel to Aragorn's tent and remain fixed on it for long moments before they returned to the fire.

I just wish to be alone, the man had said, shutting everyone out – everyone including him.

Something was wrong with Aragorn, and the elf wished he knew what it was, and how he could help the man who meant so much to him. It pained him to think that Estel of Imladris would have confided in him, come to him for comfort – but Aragorn, heir of Isildur, merely pushed him aside.

"The way you stared at that fire, elf, one would think you could find answers there," Gimli remarked gruffly, breaking into his thoughts. Legolas looked up to see the dwarf hovering near him, standing smugly with his hands on his hips. The sturdy figure motioned his head towards Aragorn's tent. "What is eating him, eh?"

Legolas gave a most un-elf-like snort. "If I knew, Gimli, I would not be sitting here looking to the fire for answers," he answered wryly.

The dwarf grunted at the elf's quick return. "Well, he'd better sort it out quickly. The war will not wait, much as I would like it to slow down – or not start at all. He's our leader, and he needs to be whole. He can't be sitting in there moping – or going crackers – or whatever it is he is doing."

Legolas did not know whether to be angry at Gimli, or to reassure him. Although the dwarf's tone sounded disparaging, the elf knew he was really worried about the Ranger as well. No one was closer to Aragorn at this point than the members of the Fellowship, and they all cared a great deal about each other. Finally, he decided to be kind.

"He has had a confrontation with Sauron, Gimli, and that could not have been easy," the elf explained patiently. "I suppose he just needs time… and to be alone for a while."

Gimli grumbled nonetheless. "Men and elves," he muttered, turning away to find his pipe. "Can never understand them…" and he walked away mumbling something about "strange ways."

Legolas shook his head and could not help the small grin that curved his lips. He turned his head towards Aragorn's tent again, tempted to cross the fifty yards that separated them and ask the man to tell him what was troubling him. It could not be just the fact that he had confronted Sauron, he guessed, despite what he had told Gimli. Something else had disturbed the Ranger, and if he could only find the courage to approach the tent and –

"The flap will not open just because you stare at it," came a gentle voice in his ear, and even without turning around, Legolas knew it was Rumil. He groaned slightly – how similar a comment it was to the one Gimli had just made!

Rumil's smiling face appeared before his suddenly as the Lorien elf came to kneel lithely before him. Legolas returned the smile, thinking what a good friend Rumil was; he could not bear to see Legolas unhappy.

"Dear Legolas," the handsome elf said gently, "if you are worried about the adan, go to him. Unless there is some magic about, the tent will not come to you."

Legolas laughed lightly and placed a grateful hand on Rumil's shoulder. "You are a good person, Rumil," he said sincerely. "A good friend – "

"And perhaps more than a friend some day," the elf cut in. He grabbed Legolas' hand that was on his shoulder and brought it to his lips, kissing it. "I am fast falling in lo – "

"Shhh, do not say it," Legolas pleaded, placing his slender fingers on the elf's lips. "Nay, say it not, Rumil. Not yet – for I am in no position to return it – and it would not be fair on you."

Rumil smiled crookedly, and nodded resignedly. "Very well, my prince – "

"I am not your prince," Legolas protested, frowning.

"You are a prince in my eyes, fair Legolas," Rumil insisted. "And if the one you desire cannot find the courage to claim such a treasure – I will, if you will have me."

Legolas sucked in a breath and moved back a few inches, withdrawing his hand from Rumil's grasp. "What kind of talk is this, Rumil?" he asked with wide, disturbed blue eyes. "What – what are you saying?"

The Lorien elf's eyes glittered. "You deserve happiness, Legolas, from someone who places you above all else," he declared firmly. But when he saw the tempest in the blue eyes of the elf prince, he softened his tone, and reached out slowly to trace the prince's soft lips with one finger. "But I shall bow to what you wish, and will not rush you," he said courteously. "For I understand that your heart still needs to settle."

Legolas felt tears gather in his eyes. Rumil had shown nothing but kindness and respect towards him, and now he was saying that he would wait patiently till things were sorted out between Aragorn and him – if they ever could.

If they ever could. That thought jolted him. What was there to sort out anyway? He loved the man, and the man – well, the man desired him, that he knew with certainty. And they felt so right when they were together. But – did Aragorn love him? He had never heard the Ranger profess anything… To be fair to Aragorn, perhaps it was because he could not... he dared not…

But what does it matter, Legolas asked himself. There is Gondor. Those words had come from Aragorn's own lips – and they would always stand between them like an invisible barrier. He himself had reminded Aragorn of it once…

Legolas, stop this! He chastised himself suddenly. Here he was, thinking about whether Aragorn loved him, when the man was in his tent – miserable from whatever it was that had assailed him in the grove of trees. Whatever else might matter, Aragorn was the leader of the Quest and the only one who could challenge Sauron – and his welfare had to come first. The future of Middle-earth stood in the balance, and – Gimli was right – Aragorn had to be whole.

I am part of the Fellowship, Legolas reminded himself. I must help Aragorn, and that has to be uppermost in my mind. With that serious resolve, he got up suddenly and stood facing Aragorn's tent.

"I have to… I…" he began, trying to explain to Rumil what he needed to do.

"I know," the elf replied with a smile. "Did I not ask you to do so? Come, I will walk there with you – and you can see him alone after that if you wish."

Legolas threw Rumil a grateful smile; he really was an understanding person, and he would make someone a wonderful companion.

They walked the fifty yards in a comfortable silence, but as they neared the opening of the tent, they heard voices from within. The elves looked at each other, silently communicating a common desire to not intrude – till Legolas heard the tone of frustration – and his own name – in Aragorn's raised voice, and he could not make himself turn away.

"Don't!" Legolas heard Aragorn say firmly. "Do not tell Legolas!"

The wizard's voice came next – calm and probing. "Why not?"

Silence reigned while Legolas and Rumil stood transfixed, waiting just as Gandalf did. Then the answer came, hitting the golden elf like a sledgehammer:

"Because Legolas is the problem!" the Ranger's voice declared, and the elf listening outside went pale.

--xx00xx--

In the tent, Gandalf reeled a little from the bitterness of the Ranger's tone; he now knew the cause of Aragorn's grief. Although he did not know how it related to Aragorn's encounter with Sauron through the Stone, he understood that the man's feelings for the elf were what caused him to say he could not have what he wanted because of Gondor.

The old wizard sighed. "Aragorn…" he began, placing a hand on the man's shoulder. He was shocked when the man shook it off roughly.

"I do not need your pity, old man!" the Ranger said scornfully, hardly aware of what he was saying. He felt he wanted to shout out his frustration, but it seemed too much to explain, and there did not seem to be any point in it. "I know what I need: I need to focus on the Quest, I need to focus on what comes after. I do not need to be distracted by…" As the words of Lord Elrond came back to him, he blurted out: "…by passing fancies."

"And Legolas – ?"

"He is a passing fancy! He can never be more than just a passing fancy to me. He is better off finding another. Now leave me alone!"

The Ranger was too immersed in the torment of the visions in his memory to catch the small cry of grief that came from outside the tent and the sound of footsteps scurrying away. But Gandalf did not miss them. There was much the wizard wanted to say to Aragorn, but one look at the dark anger in the Ranger's face suggested that he should perhaps return at a later time – and there was an elf he needed to talk to in the meantime.

"Very well, Aragorn, I will leave you alone for now," he said calmly. "I will be back later. You are weary, as you said – and some sleep will do you good."

He got up from the bed and walked towards the tent opening. With one hand on the flap, he paused and looked back at the Ranger. He saw him uncurl himself from his sitting position and lie down, stretching himself out. The wizard caught just a brief glimpse of the man's face before he placed his forearm over his eyes – and it was full of anguish.

But he could not hear the thoughts running through the man's mind:

Who am I trying to deceive? I want Legolas. I do not want him bonded to another! I want him, I need him! Oh cruel Stone! Do not take him from me! Do not let the visions come to pass!

With a heavy sigh, the old Maia stepped outside and closed the flap, leaving the future king of Gondor to the torture of his own thoughts.