Chapter 40 - Mediation

Vezely could only minimally adjust her position when she heard the zing of the fated arrow's release before it hit her in the left shoulder, sending her one foot back inadvertently to brace the impact of the metal tip sinking into the joint aside her collar bone. But before another arrow could be strung, her men crowded around her, shielding her from any possible onslaught from above as they peered up towards the Steward in defiance.

"We are finished here, Steward!" Vez yelled a moment later, her form hidden behind a wall of protection. She then gritted her teeth and ripped the arrow from her, caring not of the added pain such an act issued forth; pain was an afterthought to the painful mess she now found herself in. "My men and I are better prepared to leave Minas Tirith united," she added proudly after.

Faramir remained utterly confused by what he had witnessed the tail end of. By his side, Derufin quietly translated to him the brief conversation Vezely had with the man before she defied his orders and slashed his throat with a look of satisfaction on her face. Though perplexed by what a challenge even was, as Derufin had called the match such, he did prompt his guard to lower his bow; after which the three left for the lower gate.

His exit prompted the Captain to call out loudly, "All hail, General Vezely!" causing the men who encircled her to step one pace back, place their hands to their chest and bow their heads in honor of her keeping her title.

Vezely bowed her head, and then looked at the man yet beneath her feet, paying her final respects, "And all hail Yaban of the house of Yarukzu. May yours be the last Rhunic blood spilt on Western soil."

The entry gate was unlatched and Faramir marched in toward them, himself also protected by four armed guards who stood in front and behind him; each had their hands on the hilts of the side swords. "Stand aside," Faramir commanded the prisoners that yet stood between him and their general; one they would protect to the death if need be. "Stand aside or face punishment," Faramir stated again undeterred, his hand also going to his sword's hilt. Derufin, who stalled after walking a few steps into the entry gate, translated these words to them with an attempt to mimic the Steward's forceful tone.

"Let me through," Vezely responded in their language, not wanting any others to come to harm on her account. The Captain, who remained standing in front of her, looked at her hesitantly, but she provided him silent assurance in her gaze before he would allow himself to also step away. She walked towards Faramir, her demeanor cool, the dagger yet gripped in her right hand, the blood tipped arrow in her left, and her own blood leaking down her bare arm and dripping off her finger tips, courtesy of the wound it inflicted.

The Steward's eyes briefly narrowed on what she held, uncertain if they remained weapons to be wielded; his grip noticeably tightened on his sword's hilt. But when she stopped a meter in front of him, she released some of the anger she held for the man by breaking the arrow's shaft on her knee, despite momentarily desiring to sink it into his chest for shooting her. Then taking the two halves and the bloodied dagger in one hand, she outstretched them towards him as an act of submission.

Faramir ordered the guard to his left to take the weapons; sending another to check on the man who was hit on the head by the Captain; yet laying motionless on the side of the courtyard. The guard turned him over and confirmed he was still alive, though his head wound severe; with another guard he was carried from the prison to be treated. As she watched him be lifted, Vezely could not help but think even if the man survived he would not be gifted of life long, for his deed deemed it so. Two other guards then went to retrieve Yaban's limp form, and Faramir watched Vezely's reaction closely, his eyes unwavering as she held her head high and proud as the body passed, seeing in her no remorse for the deed she had done.

"Bring her," Faramir then ordered his guards, his tone noticeably disgusted by what transpired.

"Let me walk out of here unhanded, Steward," Vezely spoke sternly as caution before she was touched, for she did not desire to be man-handled in front of her men, "And if you are willing to listen, I will explain what happened. There is honorable intent in his death."

Honorable intent, Faramir replayed the words in his mind, fearing she held madness alongside her barbarity; for it was certainly a sight to see an Elf-woman slit a man's throat with what he deduced as emotions of pleasure and assuredness. Though he held pause, suddenly remembering the last time he wrongly took her away in cuffs, and the grievousness it caused him with her friends, Lord Aragorn especially. Thinking twice, he withdrew his guards; stepping aside in order to allow her to walk out the gate unhindered.

Before she left, Remi approached her side with her black jacket outstretched in his hand, "General," he nodded politely in reverence. Vezely's icy stare reminded him that she knew he had brought the dagger into the prison, but she could not deal with that now. Saying nothing, she swiped her jacket from him with her right hand and put it on as she walked out, with Faramir and his men following; gritting her teeth to hide the pain of moving her left arm into it...

"He should be burned, as is custom," Vez stated stoically, looking down the corridor where they took Yaban's body. The screech and latch of the prison gate closing prompted her to turn her eyes upon Faramir's, who simply observed her, his hand yet holding the hilt of his sheathed sword. Vez suspected he was contemplating how to deal with this situation, forming the words in his mind before committing them to his tongue. She smirked slightly knowing he was hesitant; then she casually stepped up to the guard at the gate, requesting the return of her sai with outstretched hands.

"He will keep them," Faramir finally spoke as the guard was about to place the weapons into her hands, causing her to spin around and face him, her eyes narrowing, waiting for the words he held back. Faramir breathed in deeply, while exhaling through his nostrils, settling his anger and desire to throw her behind bars. "The prisoners' well-being is my responsibility, and now one is dead and another on the verge of death because of your honorable intent. If it was up to me, I would throw you behind bars, but since you are a guest of our soon to be crowned king, I will defer to his opinion on what is to be done."

She nodded politely to accept his decision; realizing the Steward perhaps learned his lesson from the last time he wrongly accused her of misdeeds. It also deferred her from having to explain herself to one less inclined to listen.

Instead of calling Aragorn down to the prisons, Faramir decided to bring his problem to him and attempt to hold brief council with Vezely in private up on the sixth level. He felt a request for his attendance, if made, would not only take Aragorn away from his duties, but bear unnecessary suspicion of prison dealings amongst the ambassadors. In this rare instance, both Vezely and Faramir hoped for the same thing, discreetness in dealing with these matters.

Vezely would ride her own horse to the sixth level, but guards rode behind her and her horse was roped and held to by another in front of her. While Faramir did not believe she would run, he also felt she had earned the treatment. Their horses would be taken to the stables for them, and Vezely would be escorted through the guest villa to the meeting rooms on the far side. It was yet before lunch break so all the ambassadors would still be in the meeting hall, so Faramir felt unconcerned about getting her through the villa unseen.

Legolas exited the council hall optimistic of the day ahead. The morning's meeting ended earlier than expected, and all were grateful to head over to courtyard prior lunch to enjoy the perfect weather they were experiencing. His hand casually slipped into his robe's side pocket, finding there the carved wooden box which held the ancient betrothal rings. He knew they were forged in the halls of Menegroth during a time of relative peace; before Morgoth brought his treachery to those lands. Once his mother had showed them to him long ago, after she acquiesced to his plan to forgo partnership; telling him she yet desired them to be his one day, to wear for the year of betrothal and then to keep long after. She even mentioned her hopes of passing them on to his own children, when they decided to embark on the same path. His own children, he thought back to his mother's soft voice while saying these words, and how they stirred him and made him wonder of such a future. Yet it was only a passing thought, for he was content with the decision to not seek companionship. Similar thoughts had not returned to him until recently; during the vision he beheld of Vezely a few nights ago - when he heard over the patter of the rain, the sound of a child. He did not know her thoughts on children, nor if he dared seek them out in these few days they still had together, but he enjoyed having these thoughts himself. And his father's gesture, providing him these precious family heirlooms when he knew he did not fully accept his relationship, did much to mend his concerns over making an announcement.

"You are looking cheerful, my friend," Thalion clapped a hand on Legolas's shoulder, as they walked towards the central courtyard for lunch, then adding in jest, "Even if you did lose the possibility of sharing life with a certain beautiful lady of Lorien."

He looked toward his friend with a pleased smile, "My heart sings more than you can know."

Thalion now returned a curious look, "And what matters of the heart do you speak? Surely tending the forests of Ithilien and afterward seeing the blessed shores of Valinor stir the heart, but not to the tune I was thinking."

He stopped and placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, confiding sincerely, "Of that tune, my heart stirs as well."

"Son. Thalion," Thranduil rounded near his side, taking Legolas's attention away from Thalion's, who stood perplexed by his friend's words before greeting the Elvenking; who simply joined them in small talk on their walk to the central courtyard. There the ambassadors enjoyed the warmth of the late spring sun and cordial conversation, having had a successful morning council, despite the topic of territorial claims having all possibilities of being contentious.

It was then that Faramir with Derufin at his side marched around the corner into the covered corridor that lined the eastern side of the central courtyard. Vezely walked behind him with four armed guards stationed at her sides; their positions and stance, with hands upon the hilts of their side swords, appeared as if they were escorting a prisoner. Vezely's peered out the corner of her eye, while keeping her head straight, realizing as did Faramir that the ambassador's lunch started earlier than expected. Their sudden presence was unavoidable, despite Faramir's desire to continue walking unhindered.

Aragorn had been curious as to the Steward's business when he was called away during the morning's council meeting, and thus he left Elrond's side to attend him. Legolas also knew of Vezely's business at the prisons that morning, and as he looked warily upon the scene, he tried to access what had happened, soaking in details from the guards' position around her, her sai hooked in the belt of one of them, the way she diverted her eyes, clenched her fists, and was that blood?

As if knowing he was about to step forward and follow Aragorn, Thranduil calmly placed a hand on his shoulder which stalled him and turned his gaze. Thranduil shook his head, silently telling his son to not interfere, for he also read the signs that something was amiss. But Legolas did not heed his father's advice and went to Aragorn's side.

Upon Aragorn's approach, Faramir halted, and turned his stance to address him. The four guards properly followed suit, as did Vez, but she turned reluctantly, her brow furled and eyes diverted from those now looking upon them.

Aragorn kept his voice low, "What is the meaning of this?"

Faramir stiffened, but replied calmly, "There was an incident at the prison," handing him the parchment on which Derufin transcribed the event.

Legolas investigated her closer, since her averted gaze forbid him from gaining any personal understanding. Her black jacket covered her shoulder wound and though blood soaked her inner shirt and ran down her torso to her pants, the black color helped camouflage it. Yet her hands were stained, and some blood appeared on the corner of her lips.

Aragorn skimmed through Derufin's report, and looking up from the parchment at Vezely, he remarked in recognition, "You were challenged;" remembering the Easterling leadership rite she discussed the evening after their company left Isengard.

"And you are hurt," Legolas exclaimed a second later with concern in his voice, but as he stepped towards her, the guards blocked his path, causing him to look sternly at Faramir for an explanation.

"She disobeyed orders," Faramir defended his position holding his head high, "Even under threat of death, she slit the man's throat. Now one prisoner is dead and another close to it because of this challenge, which should not have taken place to begin with."

Vezely could feel their eyes; the keen eyes of the Eldar who stood in that courtyard. Undoubtedly they would see her face; every detail of her emotions. And their adept ears would hear everything, despite the attempts by the men to keep their voices low. It was useless to hide; to remain silent and submissive in hope that this ordeal would be swept away to a discreet corner of the villa. She needed to defend herself. Slowly she lifted her strained eyes, and they inadvertently focused on Legolas's, who returned only a concerned stare; her well-being was his number one priority. It filled her with regret for her actions causing this display in front of their kindred. But she pushed her loathing aside and regained her composure, turning to address Aragorn, she explained steadily, "Know I did not desire a challenge to be made on prison grounds, though I have been expecting Yaban to do so since I took leadership of the men. The injury I provided him that day was partially to bide time." Her gaze then shifted to Faramir, and her voice grew stern as she responded to his accusation with bitterness, "But under threat of death I could not refuse a challenge once made nor disrespect the man who initiated it by staying my hand at his end; regardless of your arrow cast down from above. In death Yaban regained the honor he lost in defeat on the fields below, and I keep their respect as leader. My men are united now, which spells less worry for their release."

"Honor? Respect?" Faramir mocked in disbelief over the use of these words, and undeterred by her gaze, he questioned, "You take pride in killing your own men and deem it honorable?"

"It is our culture," she proclaimed angrily, clenching her fists, "I did what was right by the men of Rhun."

"Of course, killing is right to you, a past time to be enjoyed," Faramir blurted condescendingly, noticeably gripping his sword's hilt tighter.

"Don't tempt me, Steward," she retorted threateningly, his gesture instinctively making Vezely cautious of where her sai were located, tucked in the left guard's side belt; only two swift movements away from impaling the man's chest with one, she thought darkly.

Their heated exchange caused Aragorn to let out a deep sign, before addressing them, "Vez, I believe you," his voice turning their attention away from each other. "But you should have informed us about the possibility of being challenged, so we could have assisted you in some way. And Faramir, it is of good fortune that Vez yet stands, though injured by your rash ultimatum," for having had clenched her fist tighter, sizeable drips of blood began running off her left knuckles onto the courtyard's polished tile, and blood soaked through her jacket at the shoulder, "And a decision I have no doubt was sparked by your distrust in her. I do not ask for you two to form friendship, for now any bond that may have been sewn is far placed asunder. But in these days before Vez's departure, maintain civility, as is the hope of all who have traveled to Minas Tirith to see through this transition." Wise words from a wise man, were the thoughts of those who heard this speech; Aragorn proving again his aptitude for kingship.

Faramir nodded briefly in deference to the king, his demeanor trying to maintain some dignity from this mild chastisement in front of other leaders. Though undoubtedly most of them felt the Steward was justified in his actions due to what they knew of the Easterling-Elf's past, and what little they understood about the estranged culture of Rhun. Vez also tilted her head down but upon raising it she kept her eyes diverted, again finding the stares of her Elven kin demoralizing.

"Please Vez, go and have your injury mended," Aragorn then added concerned, hoping to send her off to the Houses of Healing and away from this display.

Appreciation was an understatement for Vezely, for she desired nothing more than to leave that courtyard freely; and though she attempted not to, her eyes accidentally glanced over and met his concerned gaze. Vezely's anger always unsettled Legolas, fearing she could easily lash out at the wrong individual, and bring herself harsh repercussions. But today Faramir unnecessarily pushed her buttons, making him feel anger towards the man; even more so when realizing he had targeted her and caused her injury. In that brief moment of eye contact, Legolas read her apology alongside worry for what would be the ongoing repercussions of the morning's actions.

But determined not to leave with any appearance of weakness, Vez did not let her gaze on him linger, and instead tilted her chin back up and reinstated her harsh demeanor. "I'll take those back now," she remarked sternly to the guard who held her sai on his belt, putting her hands on their handles before he could respond, and abruptly pulling them from him without resistance. She re-holstered them in the side straps of her boots as one with skill quickly sheathes a blade. "Move," she then ordered the two guards at her right, and they parted for her. She would march past Faramir, neither acknowledging the other.

Legolas, who felt mired in a mix of emotions, placed a hand on Aragorn's shoulder, his eyes showing gratitude for how he handled the situation before leaving to follow her. He knew she would have preferred he stay; to have maintained his distance and disassociation, but again he cared more for her than for his reputation.

"Vezely," he called to her after turning into the next corner. His voice halting her march, but she did not turn to face him. Instead she lowered her head, wishing he had not come. As he came to her side, she yet could not look at him, but her gaze appeared pained by his presence. He carefully peeled back the collar of her jacket, finding the mess the arrow made of her shoulder underneath; heaviness hit him the moment he realized how close it was to her heart. He then gently placed a hand on the side of her face; the warmth and comfort of which prompted a closure of her eyes and a returned steadiness in her breath.

She murmured almost imperceptibly, "I am so sorry. I never desired for this to happen. Not now. Not when we were..."

He kissed her forehead softly, calming her anguish, whispering as he hovered by her face, "Vezely, I know. It will be alright."

She looked at him searchingly, and when finding only concern reflected in his gaze, the part of her that yet disbelieved he could love her so wholeheartedly returned and gnawed at her insides. Her meek response tried to turn him away, "You should return," her eyes swooped past him in the direction he came, "There is no need to tend my side."

"You still have not learned," he admonished her softly, "You cannot always get what you want;" he was pleased when his sarcasm brought a faint though perceptible smile to her face. He placed a hand on the small of her back, "Let's get you mended," prompting her to walk aside him to the Houses of Healing; a place neither ever desired to see again.

A young healer led the two Elves to a private healing room, instructing Vezely to remove the necessary layers of garments and sit down on the bench while she retrieved what was needed to address her wound. The white room was simple in adornment; high backed wooden chairs, a table full of elixir and herb-filled glass jars, stacks of fresh dressing linens, and a wall of wooden shuttered windows, through which the noonday sun blared brightly.

Legolas assisted Vez in taking her jacket off. Her wound was tender and she gritted her teeth while getting off the one sleeve.

"You are a mess," he remarked when seeing the amount of blood that soaked her inner tunic and arm.

"Worse than that courtyard display?" she replied attempting a sarcastic tone but failing.

"Faramir crossed the line," Legolas confirmed his belief on the incident as he brought a chair over to where she sat, grabbing a pair of scissors after; and sitting before her he cut the left shoulder seam of her tunic which would allow access to the wound. "He should not have said what he did about you or your culture and then not expect such a response." She pursed her lips together, foregoing responding as she observed him while he worked. "It hit right at the joint," he stated dryly getting a closer look at it, knowing it was an uncomfortable wound that could take time to heal.

"Good thing I moved," she responded again with weak sarcasm, meeting his now turned gaze; but such a remark did not provide the levity intended. He took and clasped her right hand in his, ignoring the blood which stained it, caring not whether it belonged to her or Yaban. He breathed in deeply, settling a tremble of fear for what could have happened. "I'm sorry," she whispered in response to his inner turmoil, "The decision I made, to kill him," her voice wavered, "I did not think it through as I should have. I called his bluff, but..."

He shook his head, "What is done is done. And you are yet of this earth," Legolas replied carefully, his breath finding its proper rhythm as he soaked in her wary gaze.

A slight intentional cough from the doorway alerted them to a visitor, but instead of it being the healer who told of her swift return, there stood Lord Elrond, regally cloaked in burgundy and gold robes, a bronze circlet upon his brow, and in his hands he held a shallow ceramic basin; one which healers used to hold the water to clean wounds.

The split second after realizing his presence prompted Vezely to remove her hand from Legolas's, soon finding it gripping the bench's ledge she sat upon, as her slightly widened eyes stared down at the floor's tiles.

Legolas shot up from his chair a second later, "Lord Elrond," he greeted him courteously, his standing form unintentionally shielding Vezely from his view behind him, where she sat clenching her jaw, utter discomfort consuming her.

"I sent the young healer on another errand, hoping I could instead be of assistance," he told Legolas politely, walking from the doorway towards them.

"That is kind of you, my lord," Legolas replied appreciatively stepping aside; knowing well that Elrond was a skilled healer, and one of the most well-known of the Eldar

Vez hesitantly looked at the Elf Lord; and though his demeanor appeared kind and non-judgmental, she felt herself unworthy of his aid, "It is a wound not worth sullying your hands over."

"Indeed, though I have sullied my hands so much so that such a task will be nothing more than routine," he replied undeterred coming aside her. Elrond then nodded to Legolas; silently exchanging his desire to be alone with her. Legolas took the hint, bowing his head politely, but before stepping out he provided Vez a brief glance and she knew he wouldn't stray far. Elrond set up what he needed on the side table, pulling several linens from the nearby shelf and placing several herbs in a mortar; the silence making her uncomfortable.

Sitting down where Legolas had sat, he inspected her wound while she kept her eyes diverted. His unexpected words finally broke the awkward silence, "You two complement each other."

"My lord?" Vez finally turned her gaze onto his, following his grey eyes inquisitively as he dipped a sheet of linen into the basin's water and rung it out.

"His concern for you at Dunharrow. It ran deeper than I admit to having expected. I now know he is the one who grounds your purpose, and guides you," he considered, remembering the exact words she spoke the evening before about her heart keeping her on her path. She swallowed the spit in her mouth, desiring to break from it words that denied his assumptions, but she kept silent. Noting her discomfort did not come from tending her wound, he added, "It is understandable why you desire to keep it hidden."

She breathed in and kept her eyes from his, confirming with only, "It is." Her demeanor displaying she did not desire to discuss the topic with him.

He furled his brow, considering the reasons behind her guardedness as he prepared to stitch her wound. Hoping to ease her into talking more freely with him, he decidedly changed the topic, querying, "These are interesting markings," for tattoos were unheard of upon the skin of Elves, and appearing of Rhunic script, a language he was only minimally versed in, he wondered of their meaning.

Vez ignored the sharp pain of the needle now pressing into her; hardened by centuries of wounds that the sickening feeling had gotten familiar. And for the change in topic, she was grateful. "Some are words of my clan, others hold symbolic meaning to episodes in my life history, and the characters on this arm are names of past challengers. The man I killed today, Yaban of the house of Yarukzu, will be added when I return to Rhun; as will the name of his leader, Öldür, who I slayed on the fields below in retribution for his treason against me. The challenge is not an act of barbarism, but provides a means for order in warrior society. These markings stand as a reminder that leadership is not to be taken for granted."

Elrond breathed in deeply, still curious by his miscomprehension, especially since there was little his wise mind didn't understand, "Tell me, why did you risk your life to slay this man?"

"Honor," she offered up this one word proudly as explanation, though she knew her understanding of it did not translate well, "Not only for myself, but for the man who requested in his last words that I not stay my hand. As the only member of the Variag elite forces to survive, he sought to regain his honor by challenging me for leadership. And it would have been an even greater dishonor for him, after being knowingly defeated, to have survived. Though now," she stalled her words and gripped the bench ledge with her right hand as the needle dug in again, "I do regret the consequences of my actions."

"Though not the action itself," he raised an eyebrow.

"Do not lecture me on what others might perceive as my pleasure in dealing death," she remarked with suspicion that he was referring to Faramir's words, "I know what is right and wrong."

"I do not assume otherwise," he verified calmly, tilting his chin up and finding her defense revealing; adding for her to consider, "Though I also believe you understand there are more often gray areas, forcing you to make decisions where all possible consequences are not known at the time of action." Having finished stitching, Elrond rinsed his hands of her blood and went to crush the herbs and leaves he had placed in the mortar. He then emptied its contents into another bowl of water, bringing it back over to where she sat to wait for the liquid to soak in their newly released oils. "I believe," he thought a moment before saying cautiously, "You made this decision as a general beholden to her men, not as an Elf attempting to improve her reputation. And that is why it causes you pause now."

She smirked, uncomfortably amused by his observation, responding, "Leaving the West with my reputation unchanged bothers me not, but," she shifted in her seat slightly and diverted her eyes, "It is for another's I fear."

"He may find you more important than his reputation," Elrond replied astutely while straining the oil-laced water through a meshed cloth; he understood well the meaning behind her words. "He proved that today, did he not?"

She smiled slightly while considering this truth, but felt dejected, replying bluntly, "And I again proved my estrangement."

He smiled consolingly, informing her of his task, "This will sting," and she winced slightly as he pressed the soaked linen onto her wound, confirming after, "But it will speed recovery."

"Gratitude," she breathed out, realizing she should consider herself incredibly fortunate to be tended to by him.

As he finished wrapping her wound, he stood up and looked down upon her, waiting for her attention in hopes to show her the sincerity of his considered reply to her previous comment of estrangement. Only when she looked at him, did he speak, "Love only proves you less distant, Vezely. You may be surprised what understanding it can give." Even for Elrond, the knowledge of her partnership with Legolas gained him more insight of her being than he had expected.

Legolas stood in the hallway outside of the healing room in his usual, Woodland guard-like fashion; his Elven ears unintentionally hearing the conversation within. And when Elrond exited and saw him there, he knew this. The learned Elf cupped a hand on his shoulder, saying encouragingly, "Spend time with her today, as your days together grow short." And when Legolas was about to provide several reasons why this was a poor idea, Elrond quickly interjected, "I will justify it to your father, and explain to any others who might ask of your absence at the council this afternoon."

"Lord Elrond, I..." he stumbled on his words, not sure whether to express gratitude for getting his desired day alone with her or worry over this task Elrond appointed to himself.

But Elrond would not let him do either; adding appreciatively before he left, "I am glad she has you."

A/N: I know I might have *evil* cliffhangers, but at least I try and update weekly! Give me props for that at least. ;)

And if any are curious to what Vez might look like with long hair, please go to the tumblr (vezely . tumblr . com) to see lika-143's amusing drawing of "his preference."