Chapter Thirty-Four: Fates Sealed
May this year be better than the previous. May it bring victory, liberty, peace and prosperity to all the oppressed around the world.
This chapter was edited by Grammarly.
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The sentencing day had finally come.
Legolas took a deep breath as he stared back at his reflection in the mirror. The past week had been the hardest on him. His thoughts were a tangled web of grief, anger, and uncertainty, and he still hadn't come to terms with the fate that awaited Vanëanis and her son, Ohtar.
He adjusted his formal attire, his hands shaking slightly as he ran his fingers over the delicate fabric. His heart felt heavy, and his mind was unsettled. He had fought alongside Aragorn through wars and battles, witnessing the darkest and lightest parts of Middle-Earth. Still, nothing had prepared him for this—an event where justice and mercy seemed to be at odds, where the decisions made would shape the future of more than just the guilty. His thoughts kept circling back to Vanëanis and her son. The weight of their fate bore down on him like a physical burden. How could they be punished for another's crimes?
With one last glance at his reflection, Legolas closed his eyes and steadied himself. He knew today would be a test—not just for those sentenced, but for his own resolve. He had to be present no matter how much he dreaded the proceedings.
When he opened his eyes, they were filled with determination. He would not let himself falter, not now.
Legolas turned away from the mirror and left his chambers, heading towards the grand hall where the sentencing would be announced. He moved through the corridors in silence, his steps slow and deliberate as if the day's weight was pressing down on him with every stride. The halls were quiet, save for the occasional guard or servant rushing to prepare for the day's solemn proceedings.
As Legolas approached the entrance to the hall, he saw Faramir waiting, his face drawn with the same tension that Legolas felt. The Steward of Gondor had been a steady presence throughout these trials, but even he seemed worn by the events leading up to this day. He gave Legolas a slight, acknowledging nod as he approached.
"Your Highness," Faramir said softly, his voice laced with understanding. "How are you feeling?"
"Faramir," Legolas replied, his voice tight with emotion. "It feels like a nightmare that won't end."
Faramir nodded gravely.
"I wish things were different. But today, we must see it through."
Legolas sighed, his gaze falling to the floor momentarily before looking up again.
"I fear for her, Faramir. I fear what this will do to her and her son. How can she bear this? How can we bear it?"
Faramir placed a hand on Legolas' shoulder, offering what little comfort he could.
"We must trust that justice will be tempered with mercy. Trust that His Majesty will do what is right, even if it doesn't feel like it now."
Legolas wanted to believe him, but doubt still gnawed at the edges of his mind. He nodded stiffly and entered the hall, his heart heavy with the weight of the sentencing that was about to unfold.
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Once Aragorn, Legolas, Faramir, and the Councillors took their seats, and the Elven Elders and select courtiers, including Turundo and his son, settled in the spectators' dais, the heavy atmosphere of the Judgment Hall deepened. The room, grand and formal, seemed to reverberate with the gravity of the day. Tall stone pillars lined the hall, and banners bearing the sigils of Gondor and Ithilien fluttered softly in the still air. It was a solemn gathering, a day where the fates of many would be decided, and the weight of centuries-old laws hung in the silence.
The large doors at the far end of the hall creaked open, and the accused, along with their families, were led inside. The accused Lords walked with their heads lowered, their faces drawn with resignation and shame. They were followed by Orophin and the servants who aided them. Behind them, the families of Mortardur and Bonirun followed. Among them were Vanëanis and her son, Ohtar.
Vanëanis walked with a fragile grace, her hand tightly clutching her child's, though her eyes were vacant as if she had already resigned herself to her fate.
Legolas' heart clenched at the sight of her. She looked more like a ghost than the woman he had known—a mother struggling to shield her child from the cruel fate that awaited them both. More than anything, he wished he could rush to her side and offer her comfort, but duty and decorum bound him to his seat beside Aragorn.
Standing tall, Faramir, the Steward of Gondor, rose to his feet and signalled for the hall to come to order. His voice, clear and steady, echoed through the vast chamber.
"We gather today to fulfil the laws of Gondor and to see justice carried out," Faramir announced, his tone formal but firm. "These proceedings are the final step in determining the fate of those connected to the treason of Mortardur and Bonirun and the conspiracies that have shaken the peace of our kingdom."
The councillors and Elders murmured agreement. The silence that followed felt heavy, as though the air in the hall had thickened with the collective anticipation of what was to come.
"The full measure of the law has judged those who stand accused today," Faramir continued, "weighed against their involvement—or lack thereof—in the treachery that sought to destabilize our realm. As well as the sentences of Mortardur's family, Bonirun's kin, and all others who are bound by blood or by oath to the traitors." His gaze shifted toward Aragorn, who sat with a grim expression, his posture straight, his Crown gleaming under the soft light of the hall. The weight of kingship pressed heavily upon him today as he faced the difficult balance between justice and mercy. "The Councillors have deliberated, and the sentences have been determined," Faramir continued, "but before the sentences are passed, His Majesty King Elessar will speak."
All eyes turned toward Aragorn as he sat on his throne. His tall posture radiates authority. His face is composed, but his eyes show a glint of sorrow. He looks over the hall, briefly resting on Vanëanis and Ohtar before addressing the court.
"Today is not a day of triumph but a day of solemn duty," he began, his voice carrying the full weight of his title. "The laws of Gondor are clear, and the burden of justice cannot be taken lightly. The treachery we have faced has wounded our Kingdom deeply and almost caused distrust between the Men and Elven races. Thus, we must ensure that such betrayal is met with the full measure of the law. But even in our pursuit of justice, we must not lose sight of mercy, for it is the balance between these two that sustains the peace of Gondor." His eyes, now burning with the moment's intensity, scanned the room. "Let it be known that those who conspired against the Crown will face the consequences of their actions, but their families, innocent of these crimes, will not be held to the same account. The law demands justice, but justice does not demand cruelty. I will not allow innocent people to be punished."
Legolas felt his chest tighten as Aragorn spoke, sensing the inner conflict in his husband's words. He had seen firsthand how difficult it had been for Aragorn to reconcile the law with his own desire for mercy.
"The sentences have been decided," Aragorn continued, his gaze now focused on the accused. "Each family will be placed under the custody of trusted households, ensuring they can live with dignity but away from the centre of power." He glanced at Turundo, hoping the man would change his mind and agree to take in his daughter. However, the Lord's eyes showed no emotion or compassion. It was clear that the Lord wouldn't change his mind.
"To those who have served the realm faithfully," Aragorn continued. "and whose only crime is their kinship to those who betrayed us, I offer you this: live honourably, and let the weight of your ancestors' actions not define your future."
With that, Aragorn nodded to the crowd, the finality of his words echoing through the hall. Vanëanis' eyes flickered with a faint glimmer of hope—hope that she and her son would be spared the fate everyone knew they would face. Her eyes looked at her father and brother, hoping to catch their gazes, but neither looked in her direction.
Faramir stepped forward once more, his expression resolute.
"The sentences will now be declared."
The hall held its breath as the formal reading of the sentences began. Each name was called, and each punishment was read aloud.
The sentences started with the servants, each sentenced to seven years of hard labour in the quarries of the White Mountains. As the sentences were announced, Aragorn glanced at Faramir, who nodded, answering his King's silent question. Under the King's orders, the Steward had already arranged with the Lords who would take over Mortardur and Bonirun's lands to provide for the servants' families during their imprisonment.
"As for Orophin," Faramir said. "since the accused is an Elf who had committed crimes against his kin, Lord Celeborn, Lord of Lothlórien, will announce his sentence."
Faramir's voice rang clear across the Judgment Hall, and a hush fell over the room. All eyes turned toward Celeborn, who sat with a heavy, pained expression. His face was impassive, but there was a profound sadness in his eyes that betrayed the burden he bore.
Celeborn stood slowly, his silver hair gleaming in the soft light of the hall. Though always commanding, his presence seemed weighed down by the enormity of the moment. He gazed at Orophin, his former subject, his kin, and the hall felt even more silent, the air thick with the tension of unspoken grief.
"Orophin of Lothlórien," Celeborn began, his voice steady but heavy with sorrow. "You were once a brother to Haldir, a loyal Captain of our land, a trusted guardian of our realm and a Hero who gave up his life for Mirddle-Earth." His eyes flickered with the memories of those long-forgotten days, but they hardened as he continued. "Yet, you chose the path of betrayal, deceit, and cruelty. You conspired against those who trusted you most and called you kin."
The words fell like stones in the silent hall. Orophin remained still, his face unreadable, though no defiance was left in his eyes—only resignation.
Celeborn's gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, then he paused, glancing at the assembled Elven Lords as if drawing strength from their silent presence. Finally, he spoke again, his voice quieter but filled with even greater weight.
"I am the Lord of Lothlórien, and by right, this sentence should fall to me," he said, his voice laced with sorrow. "But the depth of your treachery, Orophin, reaches beyond the realm of Lothlórien. It is a stain upon the Elves of Middle-Earth and the bonds we have long kept with the peoples of this world." A deep breath followed as Celeborn turned toward Galadriel, who had remained silent and still beside him, her gaze unwavering. "Lady Galadriel," he said quietly, almost reverently, "you, who have seen the ages pass and whose wisdom far surpasses mine, are more suited than I to render this final judgment. You have led us through our darkest times and seen the nature of all things, both light and shadow."
The hall seemed to hold its breath as Galadriel rose from her seat, her presence like a light illuminating the heavy air in the room. She stood with an otherworldly grace, her golden hair catching the light. As she rose, the atmosphere in the hall shifted. Her presence, usually a calming force, now felt charged with a simmering intensity. Her pale features remained composed, but a fierce, almost chilling energy lay beneath her serene exterior. The air around her seemed to hum as though even nature itself recoiled at the weight of her barely restrained fury.
"Orophin of Lothlórien," she began, her voice deceptively soft yet imbued with an undercurrent of power that sent a shiver through the hall. It was the voice of an immortal who had witnessed the rise and fall of kingdoms, one who had walked in the presence of both light and shadow. "Once, you were counted among the faithful, a guardian of our people and a protector of the Golden Woods. You stood with us in battles that shaped the fate of Middle-earth. But now, you stand here, not as a defender, but as one who has brought death and darkness upon your kin."
Her words were a quiet storm, and her gaze, once gentle, now cut through Orophin like a blade. Her sorrow was palpable, but it was tempered by an iron will, a determination to deliver justice for the lives he had shattered. Her expression did not allow for sympathy, only a cold acknowledgement of his betrayal.
"You have spilled the blood of your kin and betrayed the very trust of the Elven people. You have allied yourself with darkness, and for that, there can be no leniency." Her voice sharpened, each word slicing through the air like a lash. The cold fury in her tone was undeniable—Galadriel did not need to shout or rage. Her anger was far more terrifying in its restraint, an unshakable force that resonated deeply within everyone present.
As she paused, the hall's silence grew oppressive. No one dared move, breathe, or even blink. The weight of her words pressed down like the icy breath of a coming storm.
"For your crimes, you shall be exiled," she continued, her voice colder now, like the wind sweeping Mordor's barren, forsaken lands. "Not to the lands of the West, where healing and peace await those who seek redemption. No—your fate shall be to live out your remaining days in the very land you helped bring ruin upon. You will be exiled to Mordor, the land of shadow and death, a fitting punishment for one who has betrayed the light."
The severity of the sentence hung in the air, sinking into the hearts of all who heard it. Even those who had expected Orophin's punishment could not help but feel the gravity of what Galadriel had decreed. Her eyes, once filled with light, now blazed with a controlled, cold fury that left no room for doubt—there would be no escape from this judgment.
"Mordor will be your prison," she declared, her voice as unforgiving as the land to which she condemned him. "There, in the ashes and ruins left by the Dark Lord's fall, you will dwell, alone and forsaken, until the end of your days. You will be cut off from the lands of the living, the beauty of the forests, and the light of the stars. You shall know nothing but shadow and desolation."
Her gaze locked onto Orophin, and time seemed to freeze for a moment. Her eyes, so ancient and wise, were now piercing and merciless, reflecting the full weight of her wrath. It was not a wrath born of hatred but of justice—a fury that came from a deep sense of betrayal and sorrow that could only be felt by an immortal who had seen so much loss. Yet, this was more personal.
"You have made your choices, Orophin, and now you must live with them," she finished, her words final and absolute.
The hall remained deathly silent as the last of her sentence echoed through the room. The weight of her judgment pressed on everyone present, and even the air seemed to grow colder. Galadriel's anger was not the wild, uncontrolled fury of mortals—it was a more profound, more terrifying rage rooted in the timeless wisdom of ages and the profound pain of betrayal.
Orophin remained unmoved outwardly, but the slow realization of his fate etched itself into his eyes. There was no redemption for him, no mercy. Galadriel had seen into the very core of his soul, and what she found there had sealed his fate.
With a final, graceful movement, Galadriel bowed her head, her presence still commanding but now imbued with the weight of grief and fury. She stepped back, returning to her seat beside Celeborn, who remained solemn and silent, sharing in the sorrow of his wife's decision but knowing that justice had been served.
Watching from his place, Legolas felt the force of Galadriel's fury pass through him like a cold wind, a reminder of the depths to which Orophin had fallen. The thought of exile to Mordor—once a land of unspeakable evil—sent a shudder down his spine. As Galadriel took her seat, the finality of the judgment settled like a heavy cloak over the room. There had been no outburst, no violent display of anger, yet everyone understood that what had transpired was far more powerful.
At that moment, Legolas realized that Galadriel's fury was not in loud words or threats—it was in her ability to pass such a sentence with calm resolve, her inner wrath an unbreakable force that would carry through the ages. Legolas saw Aragorn shift slightly in his seat. The King of Gondor, who had witnessed countless sentences in his lifetime, looked both troubled and resigned. Aragorn's eyes met Legolas', and in that brief exchange, Legolas could see the shared burden of their mutual grief and disappointment. But it was not only Aragorn who carried the weight of the moment. Legolas felt it deep in his bones—the sorrow for what Orophin had become, the pain of betrayal, and the sadness of a life lost to darkness.
Orophin's shoulders slumped ever so slightly, though his face remained emotionless. No defiance was left in him, only the silent acceptance of his fate. The hall seemed to exhale collectively as if the weight of Galadriel's words had left everyone breathless. At that moment, the actual weight of the sentence became clear. There was no need for shouting, raised voices or uncontrolled fury. The cold, measured justice of Lady Galadriel had spoken more loudly than any outburst could have.
Standing from his seat, Faramir resumed announcing the sentences. The atmosphere in the hall grew taut with anticipation, and all eyes focused on him. It was the moment everyone had been waiting for: Mortardur and Bonirun's sentencing.
"Mortardur and Bonirun," Faramir said, his voice ringing with authority, "after careful deliberation, during which eyewitnesses were heard and evidence gathered against you, you have been found guilty of High Treason against the King's Consort, Prince Legolas, and the murder of the King's daughter, Princess Míreth Gilrean." The weight of the words hung in the air, and the hall seemed to hold its breath. "As such, you have been sentenced to be executed," Faramir continued, his voice unwavering, "your titles stripped from your immediate families, and your lands confiscated." A heavy pause followed as Faramir drew a deep breath before proceeding with the next part of the judgment. "Regarding your immediate families, the laws of Gondor stipulate that they would be subjected to servitude. However, in his mercy, King Elessar has ordered that your family members be placed under the supervision and care of trusted and loyal Gondorian noble families. Therefore, Bonirun's family will be entrusted to Lord Moripilin, Lord of Erech." Faramir paused, glancing at Aragorn, whose posture had become tense.
The King sat upright, fully aware of the weight of the words to follow. His shoulders stiffened, and his heart clenched as the moment he dared finally arrive.
Sensing his King's tension, Faramir took another deep breath, steeling himself for the challenging announcement.
"As for Mortardur's family," he began slowly, his tone sombre. "Lady Vanëanis and her son, Ohtar...I regret to say that no family has consented to take them in, not even her father, Lord Turundo. Thus, with profound regret, the Councillors have no choice but to condemn them to servitude."
The words fell like a hammer in the hall, heavy and irrevocable, as the collective weight of the decision sank into the hearts of all present. The somberness of the sentencing hung in the air, echoing with finality and sorrow.
Legolas closed his eyes, willing himself to remain composed, though his heart ached with profound sorrow. His unshed tears pressed against his eyelids, but he forced them back, his breath shallow and strained. His hands clenched into fists so tight that his nails dug into his flesh, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the storm of emotions swirling within him—grief, anger, helplessness.
The image of Vanëanis and her son condemned to a life of servitude tore at him, and the bitterness of it all left a hollow ache in his chest. He could feel Aragorn's gaze on him but could not look back. Not yet. All Legolas could do was hold on to the hope that there was still some way, somehow, to ease their fate. But for now, the weight of this injustice pressed down on him like a boulder on his chest. He glanced at Aragorn, whose face was a mask of composure, but Legolas knew his husband's struggle as the cost of justice weighed heavily on them both.
Vanëanis, on the other hand, remained still, her face an unreadable mask, betraying little of the storm that might have brewed within. When the sentence for her husband and the fate awaiting her and her son was announced, her body barely stirred. She had braced herself ever since Orophin's damning testimony, preparing for this inevitable outcome. It was as if she had sealed her heart against the pain, unwilling to allow herself to feel the full weight of it. Yes, there had been a flicker of hope, a fragile ember, when the King spoke of sparing the families and placing them in the care of trusted nobles. For a moment, she had allowed herself to imagine that perhaps her son, at least, would be spared from a life of servitude. But Vanëanis had not let that hope rise too far. When she heard the news that no family—least of all her own—would take them in, the blow did not surprise her. She had learned long ago not to expect sympathy from her father, Lord Turundo. Even now, with the full weight of her misfortune before him, she had known better than to hope for any softening in his cold heart. She knew her father too well that his refusal to take her in didn't come as a surprise, though her heart still hoped for her son's sake, at least. Her gaze remained distant and resigned. It wasn't defiance but a deep, wearied acceptance. For her, the battle was already lost.
With the last sentence announced, a heavy silence descended upon the hall. The weight of finality hung in the air as if even the walls were absorbing the gravity of the moment. For a brief time, there was no movement, no sound—just the stillness of realization settling over everyone present. As the echo of Faramir's voice faded into the distance, the hall seemed to hold its breath collectively. The end had come, the judgments had been spoken, and now, the lives of the condemned and the spared alike would move forward, shaped forever by this moment.
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Legolas strode purposefully through the citadel halls, his steps light but charged with determination. The trial and sentencing were over, yet the storm inside him had not abated. He needed to confront the man who had so callously abandoned his own daughter and grandson. He found Lord Turundo standing alone in one of the quieter courtyards, his back to the entrance, gazing at the meticulously tended garden. The tranquil setting only heightened Legolas' indignation. The Elf's presence was unmistakable, his graceful yet commanding approach impossible to ignore.
Turundo turned, his expression unreadable but his posture stiffening as their eyes met.
"Prince Legolas," Turundo greeted with a slight nod, his voice calm and formal. "What brings you here?"
Legolas stepped closer, his gaze sharp and unrelenting.
"I came to speak with you, Lord Turundo," he said, his tone steady yet edged with steel. "About your daughter."
Turundo's expression darkened slightly, but he remained composed.
"Vanëanis has made her choices, and the consequences of those choices have been rendered. There is little else to discuss."
"It is not her choices that bring me here, but yours," Legolas countered, his voice rising slightly as he closed the distance between them. "You stood in that chamber, silent, while your daughter and grandson were condemned to servitude. You, who should have been her defender and protector, turned away. Tell me, Lord Turundo—does your blood run so cold that you can forsake your own kin without remorse?"
Turundo's jaw tightened, his hands clasping behind his back.
"You presume much, Prince Legolas. My actions were necessary to preserve the integrity of my house and Gondor's stability. Vanëanis' connection to Mortardur has brought shame and suspicion upon my family. To shield what remains, I had no choice but to distance myself."
"No choice?" Legolas' voice sharpened, anger lacing his words. "You speak of honour, yet there is no honour in abandoning a helpless woman and an innocent child. Vanëanis has been condemned by association, and you—her father—should have been the first to stand for her, not against her."
Turundo's composure cracked slightly, and his shoulders tensed as frustration flared in his eyes.
"You speak of standing for her as if the world is so simple," he hissed. "Do you think I relish this? Do you think I feel no pain? But I must navigate the politics of Gondor. My position is precarious enough without inviting further scandal by aligning myself with her and her husband."
"She is not her husband," Legolas snapped, his voice cutting like a blade. "And neither is her son. You let fear dictate your actions and call it wisdom. But fear is not wisdom, Lord Turundo. It is cowardice."
The words struck like a blow, and Turundo's face faltered before hardening again.
"Cowardice?" he hissed. "You, who live beyond time, untouched by the fragility of mortal lives, dare to speak of cowardice? You do not understand the choices we mortals must make, the sacrifices we endure to preserve what little we have. You think my actions cruel, but I acted to save what I could…house, sons, family honour and reputation and lands!"
Legolas hesitated momentarily, surprised by the rawness in Turundo's tone. But his resolve remained unshaken.
"You think this fear excuses abandoning those who depend on you? Mortality is no justification for cruelty or cowardice. There are men in Gondor who face death daily yet still find the courage to stand for what is right. Your excuses dishonour them."
Turundo's lips pressed into a thin line, his gaze hardening as he turned fully toward Legolas.
"Do not presume to understand the burden of mortal men, Prince Legolas. Our lives are fleeting, and the weight of legacy is heavier than you can fathom. My ancestors fought and bled for this house, for the name that I now protect. Aligning myself with Vanëanis would not save her—it would destroy everything they built."
"Your ancestors may have fought for your name," Legolas countered, his voice quieter but no less firm, "but you dishonour their sacrifices by valuing reputation over love, pride over duty. True legacy is not in the titles you hold or the land you keep—it is in the courage you show and the lives you touch."
Turundo's gaze wavered for the first time, a flicker of doubt crossing his features. He turned away, his shoulders slumping slightly as he stared at the garden once more.
"You speak as if the choice was simple," he murmured. "But what would you have done, Prince Legolas, if you faced the ruin of your people?"
Legolas paused, his own voice softening.
"I have faced ruin, Lord Turundo. I have seen my people fight and fall, our forests burned, and our kin lost to darkness. And yet, even in those moments, we did not turn our backs on each other. We held fast, not out of strength but out of love and loyalty."
Turundo said nothing, his silence heavy with unspoken conflict. Legolas took a step closer, his gaze piercing.
"Your choices may protect your house for now," the Elf continued, his voice filled with quiet resolve. "But they will haunt you, Lord Turundo. When the weight of your decisions becomes unbearable, remember this moment. You had the chance to stand for your daughter and grandson but chose to kneel to fear instead."
For a long moment, neither spoke. Turundo remained motionless, his face unreadable as he stared into the distance. Legolas lingered, his heart heavy with disappointment and sorrow. At last, he turned and walked away, leaving Turundo alone with his thoughts—and the burden of the choice he could never undo.
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The soft murmur of the servants had long since faded as Faramir and Legolas made their way through the castle halls to the small chamber where Vanëanis and her son had been placed under temporary watch. The weight of the day lingered on Legolas' shoulders, but his steps were light, as though propelled by the resolve burning within him. When he reached the door, he paused, taking a moment to compose himself. Then, with a soft knock, he entered. Legolas froze at the doorway of the small chamber in the servants' quarters. The dim light illuminated Vanëanis, who sat on a small bed with her son sleeping beside her, her figure draped in a simple grey dress. The sight that greeted him struck him like a physical blow, a stark difference from her usual elegant appearance.
She turned slowly, her eyes meeting his with resignation and sorrow. Yet, despite her evident pain, her posture had a quiet dignity as she stood up.
"My Lord," she greeted, her voice soft yet formal. "You shouldn't be here. This isn't a place meant for someone of your station."
Her words only deepened Legolas' chest ache. His composure cracked as he stepped closer, and his heart broke anew at the sight of her.
"I had to see you," he said earnestly. "Vanëanis, I am so sorry. I failed you, failed Ohtar. I couldn't stop this injustice. Please, forgive me."
Vanëanis' eyes widened slightly, and before he could say more, she closed the distance between them, gently grasping his hands in her own.
"On the contrary, my Lord," she said, her tone steady but tinged with sadness. "Lord Faramir explained everything to me. He told me how much you fought for us, how hard you and King Elessar tried to spare me and my son this fate. I know you did all you could."
"It wasn't enough," Legolas shook his head, his voice filled with self-reproach. "I should have done more and found another way. Anything to keep you from this."
Vanëanis offered a sad smile and released his hands, stepping back slightly.
"You gave us something few others would have, my Lord—compassion. You and the King fought for us when others would have left us to the Council's mercies. For that, I am grateful." —Her words, though meant to comfort, felt hollow to Legolas. The image of her bound to this life—of Ohtar growing up under the same cruel shadow—was a wound that refused to heal— "Mortardur left me no choice," Vanëanis continued quietly, sensing his turmoil. "He knew the risks of his betrayal. He knew what it would mean for me and our son, yet he went through with his schemes. He lied to and manipulated me for his own ambitions. And he was willing to pay this price, even if I was not."
Legolas' fists clenched at her words, a surge of anger mingling with his sorrow.
"But you shouldn't have to pay for his treachery," he said fiercely. "You are blameless, Vanëanis. You and Ohtar deserve better."
Vanëanis glanced at Faramir, who stood silently near the door before returning to Legolas. She gave a faint, bittersweet smile.
"Perhaps this is better than what awaited us if my father had taken us in," she said softly. "I know Lord Turundo and the life he would have given us—living under the weight of Mortardur's betrayal, treated as pariahs in his household. Here, at least, we can fade into the background. My son will not be reminded daily of his father's sins."
Her quiet acceptance deeply pierced Legolas. He opened his mouth to protest, but Faramir finally spoke, his voice calm yet firm.
"Vanëanis and her son will not be forgotten, Your Highness," the Steward said, stepping forward. "I've made arrangements to ensure their well-being. They will have food, shelter, and fair treatment. I will personally ensure they are safe and cared for."
Vanëanis nodded, her gratitude evident in her expression.
"Lord Faramir has been kind. He has given me hope that even in this life, my son and I can find some measure of peace."
Legolas turned to Faramir, his eyes filled with silent thanks before returning to Vanëanis.
"I need to see you regularly," he said earnestly. "Promise me, Vanëanis, that you will let me visit. I must know that you and Ohtar are safe."
Vanëanis hesitated, glancing at Faramir as though seeking permission. The Steward sighed, then gave a slight nod.
"I will ensure it is arranged," Faramir said.
Vanëanis looked back at Legolas, her voice soft yet resolute.
"You have my promise, my Lord."
Legolas stepped closer once more, his hand resting briefly on her shoulder.
"You are not alone," he said. "No matter what the Council has decreed, you have allies. We will not abandon you."
"Thank you," Vanëanis whispered as her eyes glistened with unshed tears.
As Legolas left the chamber, his heart was heavy but determined. The chains of fate that bound Vanëanis and her son were cruel, but he would do everything to ensure their dignity and hope remained unbroken.
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Aragorn looked up from his book and smiled as Legolas entered their bedroom. The warmth in his eyes faltered slightly when he saw the weariness etched into his husband's features.
"Good evening," he greeted softly, closing the book and setting it aside. "How are Lady Vanëanis and her son?"
Legolas blinked in surprise as he settled beside Aragorn on the couch.
"Faramir told you already?" he asked.
"No," Aragorn replied, his tone gentle. "I guessed. You disappeared after the trial. Knowing you, I thought you would confront Lord Turundo and then go see Lady Vanëanis and her son."
Legolas offered a faint smile.
"You know me too well, My Lord," he said teasingly.
Aragorn leaned forward, pressing a tender kiss to Legolas' lips before pulling back slightly, his expression softening.
"Did you vent your anger on him?" he asked.
"Not enough," Legolas admitted, his smile fading into a contemplative expression. "Turundo is...unyielding. He spoke of duty and survival, claiming his actions were necessary to protect his name and house. But all I saw was a father willing to abandon his own daughter to save his pride."
Aragorn's gaze softened as he placed a comforting hand on Legolas' arm.
"It is difficult for some to see beyond themselves, especially when fear takes hold."
Legolas sighed, leaning back against the couch as his gaze drifted to the fire crackling in the hearth.
"He told me that I," he whispered. "as an immortal, could never understand the fear or burdens of mortal men—their fleeting lives, their fragile legacies."
Aragorn was silent for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly as he considered Legolas' words.
"Do you think he was right?" he asked quietly.
Legolas hesitated before answering, his tone thoughtful.
"Perhaps he was, in part. But it is not fear itself that I cannot comprehend—it is how some let it consume them, blinding them to their responsibilities to those they love." He turned to Aragorn, his expression both tender and reflective. "And yet, you bear the same fears and burdens as Turundo, but you do not let them rule you." —Aragorn opened his mouth to respond, but Legolas continued, his voice steady but tinged with emotion— "Today, in that chamber, I realized more than ever how heavy the weight of Gondor rests on your shoulders. I have always admired your strength and your resolve, but I did not truly see—until now—the impossible choices you must make every day. Choices that cost you a piece of yourself each time."
Aragorn's expression tightened, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together. He stared into the fire for a long moment before speaking, his voice low.
"It is not easy, Legolas," he admitted. "Every decision I make feels like a battle between my heart and my duty. But I made a vow to my people. I swore to protect them, even if it means making choices that go against everything I hold dear."
Legolas shifted closer, his hand resting gently on Aragorn's shoulder.
"I know, Aragorn. And that is what sets you apart. You carry this burden with such grace, even when it threatens to break you. I see it every day, and I marvel at your strength."
Aragorn turned his gaze to Legolas, his grey eyes shimmering with emotion.
"And yet, there are days when I feel I have failed you—failed us," he said passionately, conveying his inner pain. "Today was one of those days. I fought for Vanëanis and her son with all my strength, but it wasn't enough. I fear I have let them—and you—down."
"You have not failed," Legolas said firmly, his voice filled with conviction. He cupped Aragorn's face, his thumb brushing against his cheek. "You carry burdens no one else can, and yet you still fight for justice, even when the odds are against you. I see that now more clearly than ever. I am proud to stand beside you as your husband and as your friend."
Aragorn closed his eyes briefly, letting the weight of Legolas' words settle over him like a balm. When he opened them, they shone with gratitude and love.
"Your faith in me is my strength, Legolas," he whispered. "You remind me why I fight hard for what is right, even when it feels impossible. I will not let you—or them—down."
Legolas leaned into him, resting his head on Aragorn's shoulder.
"You never have," he murmured.
They sat together in silence for a while, their hearts beating as one. Despite the trials of the day, the warmth of their bond reminded them that even the heaviest burdens could be borne when shared.
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To Be Continued…
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Only one chapter left!
I didn't think I would actually finish this story...ever!
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