CHAPTER 25. NO COMFORT

"Estel? Oh, Estel!"

Aragorn scarcely had time to whip around at the sound of his Elvish name than a figure collided with him, knocking the wind from his chest as he was pulled into a tight embrace. Without even a glance he knew who it was. The subtle, floral scent that enveloped him told of peace, and of home.

"Arwen." he murmured, returning the embrace.

She clung to him as though she were drowning and he was the only thing keeping her afloat. Her breaths were ragged and uneven, and he could feel her quickened heartbeats against his own chest.

He did not push her away, but let her cling to him for a moment, her hasty, nervous breaths fluttering against his skin. When she finally released him from her embrace, it was only to stare him up and down anxiously. Some of the blood on his cloak had smeared onto her gown, and she started at the sight of it.

"Where are you hurt, Estel?" she asked fretfully, eyes scanning for an idle physician. "Nurse! Nurse, please, he will need to be –"

"Arwen, my love, I am fine. I am not hurt." he replied soothingly, waving away the confused nurse. "Please, do not work yourself into a state."

The queen glared at him for a moment, before adding indignantly:

"Well, you should be lying down, in any case. You look dead on your feet."

Aragorn gave a low chuckle and leant down to kiss her on the forehead.

"I have missed you, my love." he murmured gently. She made no reply but to glance at him, her eyes the pure grey of a winter sky. He always marveled at the way she made such a cold color radiate warmth, but then, everything about her was warm – her manner, her touch.

He was so glad to be home.

"I thought Faramir had requested that you stay away from the infirmary." Aragorn asked, breaking the silence.

"He did." she concurred, with a nonchalant expression. "But I have been patient enough in the past weeks, do you not think?"

Aragorn smiled halfheartedly, guilt tugging at his stomach. He began to apologize, but she cut him off quickly.

"No, no, it is not important. I could wait a hundred years if it meant that Legolas was safe; you are not the only one here that he is dear to, after all." she said matter-of-factly. A wave of sickness rose in Aragorn's chest, and he could feel a thick lump in this throat.

"Arwen, love, we should go. We are only in the way here." he said, gently hooking an arm around her and attempting to steer her towards the door. She shook it off at once.

"But I have not even greeted Legolas yet!" she protested. "Where is he?"

"I do not think it best that – " Aragorn began, but his wife had already pushed past him. No longer shielded from her view, she caught sight of the bedridden figure in a moment, a cry of shock escaping her before she could stop it.

He was not the Legolas she knew, in any sense. There was no sign of the graceful, dignified prince – the body on the bed was sprawled clumsily, a mass of battered limbs and tangled hair and blood. The healers had removed his clothes in order to bind his wounds, and though a sheet served to protect his modesty, a stray arm showed a lacing of smalls lacerations and dark bruises that Arwen did not doubt covered the whole of his body. His face was deathly pale, making the blood smudged across his cheeks stand out, as if it were upon snow.

"Who did this to him?" she uttered softly, her brow drawn in horror as she turned back to face her husband.

"I will tell you everything, but not here." Aragorn pleaded, but Arwen refused to be drawn away.

"We cannot simply leave him, what if he awakens whilst – "

"He is not going to awaken, Arwen." Aragorn stated flatly.

She recoiled as though she had been struck.

"Have you so easily lost hope?" she whispered, frowning with disgust. "I did not think that you would give up on him so easily – "

"I am not giving up on him!" Aragorn snapped. "But it is folly to expect him to awaken so swiftly, Arwen, you must realize that."

The queen looked close to tears, and feebly attempted to hide the fact by turning away from him, but the slight shaking of her shoulders gave her away.

"He would not want you to see him in such a state." Aragorn stated, but gently now, reaching out to grasp her hand. "Nor would he want you to fret by his bedside. Please, let us find somewhere private, that I might tell you how all this came to pass."

Arwen glanced back at her husband, and back at her kinsmen she loved as dearly as if he were her brother. Silently, she bowed her head, and followed Aragorn out of the bustling infirmary and into the empty corridors of the Tower.

It did not take long for the king and queen to find an empty chamber. As soon as Aragorn had shut the door behind them, questions began to fly.

"Who did that to him, Aragorn? And more to the point, why?"

Aragorn took a moment to steady himself, and then began to speak. He withheld information, and left no question unanswered. He told her of everything: of how he had journeyed to the White Mountains, of being taken prisoner himself, of finding Legolas in the dark labyrinth of the caves, and their desperate bid to escape. As he told of Legolas' fall off the cliff face, Arwen clapped a hand to her mouth, horrorstruck.

"Oh, my love, I am so sorry." she murmured, pulling him into her embrace. "I have been thinking only of my own distress, but I cannot even conceive your sorrow, having to see such harm inflicted on him."

"Any sorrow I feel is a result of my own actions." Aragorn replied, pulling away. "Please, grant me no sympathy, for I deserve none."

"I do not see how this is – "

"Of course it is my fault, Arwen! Do you not see?" he snapped impatiently, jumping to his feet and pacing back and forth furiously. "Every danger that has befallen Legolas has been a result of my errors, every single one. Not only was it my thoughtlessness that sent him from the city, but I am also the one responsible for the madman that dealt him harm!"

"You judge yourself too harshly." Arwen replied gently. "What was it that Mithrandir once said? 'Even the very wise cannot see all ends'. You could not have known what would come of your actions."

"It changes little." Aragorn said dismissively. "For these many years, he has been able to save me – but when it mattered most, I could not save him."

His chest trembled like thunder.

~~~{###}~~~

On Faramir's orders, two horses flew from the city gates that day.

The first was set for the Woodland Realm, an Elven King, and the last hope for a dear friend trapped in a limbo of life and death. The second horse bore a similar message, though for a different recipient.

Hastily scrawled by the Steward and tucked into the belt of its messenger was a letter to Éomer. He decided to send the second without discussion with Aragorn – he had more than enough on his mind. In it, he detailed not only the location of the rogues, but all that had transpired there, the identity of their leader, and every other detail he could manage. This, he hoped, would be enough to guarantee their capture and immediate transportation to Minas Tirith.

While he knew that Éomer had been unwilling to risk his soldiers' lives on an uncertain cause, Faramir help the hope that the Men of Rohan could help bring Aragorn the last solace available, a comfort he was too grief-stricken to yet address: justice.

Though his heart wished sorely that Legolas might come through the ordeal alive, Faramir had seen his state, and a seed of doubt had begun to grow, weed-like, in his mind. But no matter how fate chose to unravel in that regard, eventually the time would come when answers and justice would be sought. The Steward merely meant to quicken that process.

He has suffered enough already, Faramir reasoned, thinking of Aragorn's drained face, his lifeless eyes. He need not suffer through knowing that the man who inflicted this on us all is free and without punishment.

He waited for the horsemen to disappear from sight before he turned back towards the Tower to prepare for the long, impatient days that lay ahead.