Chapter 7

Next chapter! Thank you all for your lovely reviews so far, it really makes my day. :)

The vast majority of my exams are over now- I have three left, but it's one a week now, so it's alright. I had the most difficult one today, one of the maths exams, and I think it went sort of ok. As in, I understood most of it. I hope. But my brain is seriously fried, so please forgive any typos or slight inconsistencies.

Belhadron was quite fun to write for a little bit of this, so I hope you like that bit (you will know it when you see it). I also wanted to say that the language barrier shown throughout this with Belhadron is not me poking fun at anyone who has learnt a second language, especially if English is that language. I can't understand how some people have learnt English, because I swear it is the hardest language to learn sometimes, and I am English. So this is actually me pointing out how stupid the English language is. I mean, we have literally stolen any bits of language we have liked from people who we either invaded, or who invaded us (and for a small island, there's a remarkably long list).

Anyway, a bit of blood in this story, but not much. Legolas being stubborn, but there's nothing unusual about that.

Disclaimer: see Chapter 1

0-o-0-o-0

As soon as the horses clattered to a halt in the smaller courtyard outside the Houses of Healing, there were healers already coming out of the doorway bearing stretchers. Faramir slipped from his horse, carefully pulling the Ranger sat in front of him into his arms as soon as his feet had hit the ground. Two healers were already there with a stretcher and Faramir laid the man down carefully. He winced as the movement pulled at aching muscles and cuts he was only just beginning to notice now.

His men were doing the same with those they had been riding with. Across from him Belhadron had actually made Ascar kneel, the easier for him to pull off the unconscious Ranger without losing his balance. Healers came over with a stretcher, and then the man disappeared into the Houses.

Almost as soon as Belhadron had relinquished his charge he moved over to Arod and Legolas, who had let the Ranger Arod had been carrying slip down to another man. Belhadron put up one arm and Legolas shook his head, leaning forwards to dismount from Arod. Faramir watched as Belhadron swiftly muttered something, and caught Legolas as his feet hit the ground, preventing him from putting weight on his injured leg. Even then, Legolas' face whitened as he stumbled a little, a blinding throb of pain passing up from his leg.

Faramir gritted his teeth in sympathy. He had had a wound to the leg before, and it had taken him a week before he could walk without a rather heavy limp.

Stable hands came forwards to take the horses, two of them looking rather confused over Arod and Ascar with no tack, but both horses began to follow the hands and they headed off. Faramir made his way to Legolas and Belhadron, who were conversing quietly.

Belhadron looked up as Faramir joined them. "Estel?" he asked, before mentally cursing. "Aragorn."

"I will send someone to fetch him," said Faramir, looking around for a page or guard or anyone, really. "He is in council at the moment."

Belhadron shook his head. "I will go," he said. "It will be more fast."

"Quicker," murmured Legolas from where he was leaning against Belhadron, grinning slightly at the dark-haired elf. Belhadron merely rolled his eyes.

"It will be quicker," he repeated. He gently nudged Legolas and murmured something in Elvish. Legolas straightened, and Faramir was a little surprised at how pale his face was. His gaze flickered to the bandage around Legolas' leg, noticing it was now completely soaked through and nearly dripping.

"Fine," he said. "Legolas, someone needs to look at that leg." He placed a hand on Legolas' shoulder and then, with silent permission from Belhadron, took a little of the elf's weight as Belhadron stepped away.

Legolas took his own weight, mostly, though his wounded leg was trembling badly, and Belhadron, with one last unreadable glance at Legolas, turned and began to run up to the Citadel.

0-o-0-o-0

His head was throbbing, and his arm was beginning to ache rather fiercely, but Belhadron ignored it as he ran up the steps and reached the courtyard of the citadel. Knowing how quickly word could spread, he wasn't surprised that the guards didn't try and stop him, and that one of them was already holding open one of the side doors leading into the citadel.

"Aragorn?" he asked the guard, pausing momentarily as he entered. Aragorn had shown him around the city yesterday, between them arriving and the feast last night, but he was pretty sure the head wound was scrambling his thoughts a little, because he couldn't remember where to go at all.

"The King?" asked the guard, taking in Belhadron's rather fierce glare, not to mention the blood coating more than half of him, one way or another, and gulped. "Second door on the right," he said.

Belhadron nodded, and moved through the door without another word, striding down the corridor. The guard's mention of how the King was in council and was not to be disturbed died on his lips, because honestly even if he didn't think the elf had a very valid reason for interrupting the King, he wasn't about to argue with a being hundreds of years older than him who, admitted the guard to himself, was just a little terrifying.

Belhadron stalked down the corridor, his eyes on the second door on his left. There was a guard outside it, and he half-heartedly moved to stand in front of the door.

"King Elessar and the council are not to be disturbed," he said, his voice unfortunately coming out a little higher than he would have liked.

Belhadron didn't even bother speaking to the guard, merely reaching around him and opening the door. The guard attempted to step in front of him again, and actually impressed Belhadron a little with his determination. Still, it was a waste of time, and the elf merely ducked around him and went into the room.

A voice fell abruptly silent as Belhadron entered, and all eyes turned to the dark-haired elf stained with blood, with the slightly feral eyes. Aragorn, who was sitting at the head of the table, stood as Belhadron stalked towards him.

"Forty three men, in Ithilien," said Belhadron, not even considering translating into Westron for the benefit of the councillors. He knew Aragorn could understand him easily in SIndarin. "We were ambushed. Six of yours are badly wounded and here now with Faramir. Twenty-six of the Easterlings are still alive. Mablung and Beregond are bringing them back with the rest of the men Faramir rode with to aid us."

Aragorn merely nodded and came out from behind the table. "Legolas?" he asked as he came towards Belhadron. He knew that the blond elf would not be wounded badly, because otherwise Belhadron wouldn't be here talking to him, but he still wanted to make sure.

"He's alright," said Belhadron with a small shrug. "A painful gash to his leg, but then none of us with Mablung came away unharmed."

"No," said Aragorn, his gaze taking in the blood staining Belhadron's arm, the dried blood coating half his face. "I can see that. You are alright?"

"I am fine, Estel," said Belhadron. "But the healers may appreciate your skills." He didn't say the unspoken words that he knew Aragorn caught anyway, that he didn't exactly trust any of the healers here, not yet, and would rather like Aragorn to be the one to look at Legolas' leg. Old habits, like trying to keep your friend alive, died hard.

Aragorn nodded, and turned to his councillors. "You are dismissed," he said. "I will send word when I am next able to meet with you."

"But my Lord…" said one of them, rising to his feet. "We still have many matters that need our attention, and we do not know what is happening…" His gaze shifted pointedly to Belhadron.

Aragorn hesitated for a moment, before catching Belhadron's gaze and telling his councillors he would send someone to explain everything to them. Belhadron refrained from grabbing Aragorn's arm and pulling him out of the room, and the two of them turned to leave.

"My Lord!" cried one of the councillors again, and this time it was Aragorn's turn to grab Belhadron's arm as the elf turned and, to Aragorn's surprise, pretty much growled at the councillor, who abruptly sat down again. Without a single word, Belhadron turned around like nothing had happened and began to walk with Aragorn out of the room.

Aragorn let go of the elf's arm, and as soon as they were out of earshot of the guard outside the door, he turned to Belhadron.

"A word of advice," he said, unable to prevent a grin from spreading across his face. "If you want my councillors to cooperate in the long term, it is probably best not to growl at them."

Belhadron ducked his head with an abashed grin. "You know me," he said softly. "I can't stand politics, Estel."

0-o-0-o-0

As soon as Aragorn and Belhadron entered the Houses of Healing, their eyes adjusting quickly to the dimmer light inside, the small smiles fell from their faces, and both grew grim again. Aragorn felt a strange feeling stir within him as the scent of blood and healing herbs, part revulsion at having to smell it all again, and part weary acceptance of what was to come.

Ioreth met him just inside the door and was instantly talking, explaining how badly each of the men was hurt and what they were doing for them. Belhadron stopped listening as soon as he saw Faramir sitting across the room from him, next to a low bed. He was talking to someone lying on the bed, and though Faramir blocked Belhadron's view, he instantly guessed whom it was.

He hurried quickly across the room, weaving his way around low beds and tables, and when Faramir caught his gaze and only a small hint of a smile tugged at his lips, he only quickened his pace. Belhadron dropped to his knees beside the low bed, one hand already outstretched towards his friend.

"You look far worse than you did moments ago," he murmured, his hand hovering over the bloodied bandage. "Ai Valar, Legolas, you cannot stay away from trouble, can you?"

Legolas, sitting back on the bed, attempted a grin that ended up as more of a grimace. His face was pale, even paler than before, and his breathing was a little harsh.

"I'll be fine," Legolas murmured in Westron, glancing over at Faramir with a smile. "It's not that bad."

"The bandage is soaked through," Faramir pointed out. "And it really would have been better for the healer to have looked at it immediately." Belhadron found his liking of Faramir rise another notch at those words.

"There are more pressing injuries," said Legolas. "I am fine."

"You are not," came a new voice, and all three turned to see Aragorn approaching, a slight frown on his face. Belhadron moved to sit on the end of the bed and Aragorn sat down on the edge of the bed next to Legolas.

"How long ago was this?" asked Aragorn, slicing away the bandages around Legolas' leg.

Belhadron looked up. "And by that, he means how much more blood can you stand to lose before you pass out?" Aragorn snorted in amusement, and Legolas just rolled his eyes, murmuring a brief translation to Faramir.

"He should be good for now," murmured Belhadron to Aragorn. "The wound isn't threatening, he's just lost some blood." He glanced over at Legolas, who had closed his eyes as Aragorn pulled the bandages away from his leg. A hiss came from clenched teeth as Aragorn pulled away the last of the sodden cloth, and the wound started bleeding again.

A healer came bearing a tray of hot water, needle and thread and bandages, which she placed on the floor next to the bed. "Is there anything else needed, my Lord?" she asked, reaching out a hand and taking away the scraps of bloody cloth from the bed.

It was Aragorn who she directed the question to, but it was Legolas who opened his mouth and answered. "Yes, actually there is," he said, trying to turn his head without jarring his leg and failing as he winced. Legolas' gaze flickered over to Belhadron. "Even if he won't admit it, Belhadron is injured too. If there are no more pressing injuries, could you look at him?"

The healer nodded. "Of course, my Lord," she said. "Give me a moment to fetch some more supplies." Legolas nodded and let his head sink back against the wall. Belhadron shot him a swift glare, but there was no real heat behind it.

"Don't lie," murmured Legolas. "Your head has been troubling you ever since we left Ithilien." Belhadron's hand went up to the gash on his head, and he winced as he gently felt the length of it. His hand then went to his arm, and he unfastened the thicker suede tunic he wore over the top, rather like Legolas', slipping it off so he was only wearing a dark blue undershirt.

Aragorn shifted on the bed and reached down for something on the tray. Turning to Legolas, he held out a small cup. "Drink," he said. Legolas eyed it warily, and Aragorn sighed. "Drink, or Belhadron and I will force it down your throat."

"And you know we would," muttered Belhadron with a small grin, rolling up his left sleeve to look at the gash. Legolas reluctantly drank down the cup, grimacing at the foul taste. But at least he recognised the taste as something to dull the pain, not to send him to sleep. He hated any form of sleeping draught, and there was more than one memorable occasion where Belhadron had literally forced him to drink one down so he could rest.

There came the sudden pattering of light feet, and all of them, bar Aragorn who was focusing on threading the needle and beginning to sew, looked up to see Eowyn appear in the doorway. As soon as her eyes caught Faramir's she visibly relaxed, walking at a more sedate pace over to where the four of them were sat.

"Are you alright?" she asked as Faramir reached for her hand. One of her hands gently stroked the side of his face.

"I am fine," Faramir said with a soft smile. "I wasn't there for the most part." He gently squeezed Eowyn's hand in reassurance, understanding fully well the worry that his wife must have felt when reports of them bringing wounded back reached her. This wasn't meant to happen anymore, and Faramir knew that it would have dredged up old memories.

He stood from the chair, still holding onto Eowyn's hand, and turned to Aragorn. "If I am not needed, I will check on my men and then head up to the citadel," he said.

Aragorn paused in his work and looked over his shoulder at Faramir. "No, that's fine," he said, his mind only half on Faramir's words. "Will you speak to my councillors as well? They have no idea what is going on, and I won't make it back to them today." The sun was already beginning to fall down in the sky, and twilight wouldn't be too far away.

"Of course," said Faramir. He looked down at Legolas, who was breathing harshly through clenched teeth with his eyes closed, and briefly clasped his shoulder. Legolas opened his eyes and turned his head, smiling briefly when he saw Faramir there. Faramir nodded, turned and left.

Aragorn returned to his stitching, mopping up the steady trickle of blood from the gash before putting in another stitch. Legolas hissed as he did so, and Aragorn looked up.

"I can get you something more, if you want," he said.

Legolas shook his head. "It's fine," he muttered through clenched teeth. "Just keep going."

Aragorn smiled softly as Legolas grinned at him, and turned back to the wound. Just then, the healer came back carrying another tray. Belhadron sat up straighter, stretching his arms and grimacing as the gash in one arm protested at the movement.

"If my Lord would sit over here," said the healer; gesturing at the chair Faramir had left. "And tell me where you are hurt." Her voice, though soft, was still commanding, and it made Aragorn smile to see Belhadron immediately stand up and make his way over to the chair.

"My head and arm," he said, tilting his head to one side so the healer could see the gash on his temple, and shifting around to show the tear in his tunic's arm.

The healer nodded. "Any sickness or dizziness?" she asked, tilting Belhadron's head to look at the cut.

Belhadron paused, and his eyes flickered to Aragorn. Thankfully Aragorn caught the problem, and swiftly translated into Sindarin. Belhadron answered back in Sindarin, and then Aragorn turned to the healer. "A little dizziness, no sickness," he said. "But I doubt the gash has done much harm. He's an elf, after all."

The healer nodded, and turned back to Belhadron. "I'll clean your head wound first," she said, dipping a clean cloth in hot water and wringing it out. "Hold still."

Belhadron obligingly held still, his head tilted so the healer could clean the blood that had run down his face. Seeing as it had all dried hours ago, it took some determination on the part of the healer to get it off.

The room was near silent now, the healers working to tend to the wounds. Eventually Aragorn finished, wrapping Legolas' leg tightly in white bandages. Belhadron, his arm with two stitches and a bandage and the dried blood gone from his face, had pulled his knees up to his chest and almost curled up in the chair, looking a little like a large cat. He was absentmindedly fiddling with his knife, the one he had thrown at that man that Legolas had finally given back.

With a wince Legolas sat up, grabbing hold of Aragorn's hand that he offered to help out. It seemed an unspoken agreement that none of them would stay in the Houses of Healing any longer than they had to. Belhadron slipped the knife into a sheath at the back of his belt and stood, gathering up the assorted weapons that had become littered around the bed.

Legolas grimaced as he stood up, and Aragorn sighed, grinning as he slung Legolas' arm over his shoulders. "How is this still happening to us?" he asked.

Legolas chuckled, and shook his head. "If I knew, I would have told you. But I gave up on questioning it a long time ago."

0-o-0-o-0

It took far too long for Aragorn to placate his councillors, speak with Faramir to get a full report and do absolutely everything else a King was apparently meant to do in this situation.

Eventually, when night had long since settled over Gondor, Aragorn had finally had enough of councillors questioning him, of people continuously asking what was going to be done, when they were going to retaliate. After a half hour long debate between some people who probably shouldn't have even been involved, but seen fit to bring themselves into the room, Aragorn gave up.

"Enough," he said, raising his voice just enough so that he could be heard over the chatter around him, and pitching it so it sounded calm, but with an edge that he knew could make people nervous.

The talk died abruptly, and gazes turned to Aragorn as he stood from where he had been sitting, looking over a detailed map of Ithilien that had been drawn up by the Rangers a while back.

"This is enough for tonight," he said, glancing around the room to make sure he had everyone's attention, though he needn't bother. "We have forty men moved out to Osgiliath with horses to meet Mablung and Beregond with the captured Easterlings. More supplies have been sent out there as well. Unless anyone has any pressing concerns, we are finished for tonight." He pushed back his chair and waited for a moment, seeing if anyone would speak, before turning and leaving the room.

Aragorn held back the sigh until the door had swung shut behind him, and then he ran his hand through his hair. It was moments like this, when everyone's eyes were on him for exactly what to do, what it meant, constantly judging and watching, that made him foolishly wish to be a Ranger again.

But even as he thought that the feeling passed and he felt, once again, like he belonged here. This was his now, through it still took a little adjusting to at times.

He headed down the corridors of the Citadel a little quicker than usual, so hopefully nobody would intercept him and ask for yet another thing. Pushing open the doors to his and Arwen's living room, Aragorn stopped when he heard laughter coming from inside.

He recognised the tone of it, would have recognised it anywhere, and it made him smile. He walked in, his gaze going to where the two elves were seated in front of the fire.

Legolas was laughing at something Arwen had said, his wounded leg propped up in front of him. Aragorn supposed his wife liked to be able to catch up with the blond elf, given how she was surrounded by men in this city, and rarely saw another elf.

"You better not be laughing because my wife just told you yet another embarrassing story about me." Legolas looked over, and just chuckled, not saying anything. Aragorn sighed good-naturedly and dropped down to sit next to his wife.

"Where is Belhadron?" he asked.

"Habits die hard," said Legolas with a wry grin. "He's checking over Ascar and Arod, and then the weapons." He shifted in his chair, grimacing as it jarred his leg. "I told him where we would be." A log on the fire shifted and fell down with a crackle. Aragorn, who had been watching the fire and saw the log going, did nothing, but Legolas jumped ever so slightly at the sound, his head turning instantly towards the source.

Legolas held back a sigh as he tried to settle back into the chair. It was foolish, jumping at the sound of a crackling log, but he had allowed his mind to relax, the part of him that had kept him alive under Mirkwood's trees all those years settling down in the back of his mind. A sudden noise was just the thing to bring it jumping back.

Aragorn watched Legolas out of the corner of his eye, noting the slight tension in his shoulders, before the blond elf relaxed back into the chair again. He guessed, correctly, that it was something left over from the war. The Valar knew they all had them. Sometimes the bustle and crowded feel of the citadel had Aragorn on edge, trying not to jump at any sudden movement until he managed to escape or Arwen noticed and came up with excuses to allow him to get out.

He knew that if Arwen woke to find him not in their bed, she wouldn't rest until she physically had hold of him. Aragorn had taken to subtly waking his wife when he woke in the morning if she was still wandering in dreams, so she knew he was there.

Legolas glanced up from the fire, small crinkles forming around his eyes as he smiled at Aragorn. He looked tired, realised Aragorn. "How is your leg?" he asked.

"It's fine," answered Legolas automatically, his smile widening at Aragorn's exasperated sigh at the elf's answer. "It will heal." In a week he would only have a slight limp. In two it wouldn't be noticeable.

The door swung open, and the three of them looked up to see Belhadron walk in. By now both him and Legolas were clean of their bloody clothes, the dried blood washed from their skin and hair. Belhadron still had the gash across his temple, dark purple bruising shadowing it, but it was already closed over.

Legolas shot a quick glance towards Aragorn as Belhadron greeted them. He paused in front of the fire, and Aragorn noticed that his eyes couldn't seem to settle on it completely, jumping around the edge of the hearth.

"May I…?" he asked uncertainly, waving a hand at the fire. Aragorn noticed the slight ticking muscle in his jaw, which was clenched tight.

"By all means," he said, his voice even and light. Belhadron crouched down in front of the fire and drew out the poker to one side. With quick deft movements he knocked most of the burning logs away, forcing the fire to die down. He put the poker back carefully, with hands that were accustomed to handling something similar, if quite a bit sharper and far more deadly.

Legolas glanced over at Belhadron as he sat next to him, the tension leaving him as the fire died down. "Good?" he asked softly. Belhadron merely nodded.

Legolas remembered the first time Belhadron had done this, at least in front of him. It had been only a week since he had returned home after the War, and it had been raining heavily. He was in his rooms, attempting to dry out his sodden cloak, when Belhadron walked in. That in itself was nothing special: the elf used Legolas' rooms almost as much as his own.

What had been strange was when Belhadron instantly went to the fire Legolas had built up and threw a pitcher of water over it, putting it out. Legolas had paused and waited for an explanation. All Belhadron had said was that Mirkwood had burnt.

Legolas didn't question it again.

They stayed in that room for a while, talking softly. Nobody moved to put another log on the fire, but the small flames provided just enough light, with the help of a few candles. Eventually, though, they left, Aragorn and Arwen going to their rooms and Belhadron and Legolas heading their own way.

Belhadron had one hand discreetly hovering by Legolas' arm, just in case his leg did give way. At least, he did until Legolas rolled his eyes and batted his hand away. "I am able to walk to my room without falling over," he said, though a small grin came across his face.

Belhadron chuckled. "If you insist," he said softly, but he still stuck close to Legolas' side until they reached the door leading to Legolas' rooms. "Goodnight, mellon-nin," Belhadron said softly.

"I think it's more morning now," said Legolas with a smile. "But goodnight." He pushed open the door to his room and headed inside. The fire had already been lit, and the room was warm. With the day he had had, and the pain coming in sharp waves from his leg, it didn't take Legolas long to fall asleep on the bed, his eyes half lidded as he walked in dreams.

A little while later, a dark shadow appeared on the balcony of the room. It silently moved through the open doors, and resolutely kept its back to the fire in the hearth that was beginning to die down.

Belhadron paused at the foot of the bed, his sharp eyes reassuring him that Legolas was fine, that he was breathing still and asleep. He did nothing more other than stand there for a few minutes, watching the rise and fall of his friend's chest, and knowing that the blond elf would do exactly the same, if their positions were reversed.

Memories that the potency of he thought had worn off had surfaced in his mind, and he couldn't help wondering, just a small part of him, whether it was really over. It had to be over. The rational part of his mind knew that they had indeed won, though a heavy price had been paid. But still he could not be totally sure.

But even if he knew, completely and utterly, that it was really over, he thought he would still be standing here, watching, making sure that he hadn't lost his friend. The War had torn a lot away from a lot of people, and by the Valar, he deserved to make sure he held onto this.

To Be Continued...

A bit of angst, I know, but it's actually a longer chapter than I thought it was going to be, and at least it's not a cliffhanger (although judging by your reactions in reviews, angst is probably a good thing?) The fire thing with Belhadron is going to be expanded on a little more, by the way, but it's just one of the many marks left over by the War- hopefully what I'm managing to get across is how it is different for every single person.

Anyway, next chapter will be up on Tuesday. Hang tight until then! As always, reviews are very welcome. You guys are awesome :)