The Vigil: Part Fourteen
An LotR a/u rated PG13
These wonderful characters belong to Tolkien.
My thanks to Lady Jean.
::::=\V/=:::
“Lord Elrond.”
“Lady Galadriel,” Rivendell’s ruler inclined his head to she that Elfkind called Queen in their hearts. “It is long since I walked beneath the mallorns in bloom.”
“I hope you may do so in more than spirit one day soon,” Galadriel gazed at Elrond’s seeming upon the smooth surface of the water. “So few of us are able to speak mind to mind in these latter days.”
“We are a diminishing folk, but that is the natural order of things, which I need not tell you. What matter is of such importance that you would risk the attention of the Enemy by communicating thus?”
“My Mirror has shown me only ill doings. The Queen of Gondor and one of Gondor’s great captains struck down by the Shadow. Fleets with black sails on the Anduin. My visions of the Heir are clouded by some great turmoil of spirit. Is there naught you may do?”
“I received a message requesting my aid in Minas Tirith, but I may not leave Rivendell just now. I will send advice to the Healers, and such herbs as might be useful.”
“I fear that will not be enough.”
“I cannot go.”
“Is there none you may send?”
Elrond closed his eyes for a moment. There was one in Rivendell that was nearly his equal in the healing arts, and Galadriel knew this. She knew also that Elrond alone had the power to send this emissary, and how reluctant he was to give the order.
“Gondor must not fall,” Galadriel said gently.
Elrond nodded as his semblance faded from the Lady’s Mirror.
:::=v=:::
Aragorn paced beside Faramir on another circuit of the blighted Tree speaking of the news the Steward had delivered at the morning audience. The Heir tried and failed to keep his mind on the serious topic and his eyes from straying to the three Elves standing upon the edge of the parapet. The wind that always blew upon these heights made sable and silver banners of their long hair, drawing Aragorn’s gaze and capturing it with hypnotic beauty. Faramir noticed his friend’s distraction and could not forbear to comment.
“They have no equal,” the Steward’s son murmured.
“Your pardon?”
“The Vigil and the Elven brothers,” Faramir elaborated. “They are so beautiful, like wild creatures that have strayed into a farmyard, stags among the cattle.”
Aragorn’s forehead puckered in a small frown. “They are the fairest of the earth’s children, but they are not as I imagined when I read the tales of old.”
Faramir stopped, as far from earshot of the Citadel guards as was possible. “Indeed they are. They are at once more innocent and more sophisticated than I ever thought. I did not look for humor in them, but they are filled with the slyest wit. Though they revere all life, I have never seen fiercer warriors.”
“As always, you know my mind before I do.”
“You were alone with the Vigil for some time,” Faramir said, sliding a sideways glance at Aragorn. “Would you care to tell me what you think of him now?”
“He is all that you said, and much more besides. There are depths to him, Faramir, that I think I shall never plumb, and I find myself wishing…”
“What do you wish, brother of my heart?”
Aragorn leaned against the sun-warmed stone of the Tower and closed his eyes. Faramir saw the Vigil’s head turn, automatically checking the Heir’s position while listening to Elladan. There was more in the Elf’s gaze than watchfulness, but Legolas turned away before Faramir could puzzle out what it was. The young Man’s interest was piqued and he made a conscious decision to be more observant of the bodyguard.
Aragorn sighed heavily. “I have had such dreams,” he whispered.
“What sort of dreams?”
“The sort that soil the sheets.”
Faramir smiled. “Ah, those sorts of dreams. I find them quite pleasant. Why should they trouble you so?”
Aragorn shook his head, his eyes flicking toward the trio of Sindar. “I wish I could speak with my mother.”
“Since my birth, we have been companions,” Faramir said, moving closer to the Heir. “I have seen you in all moods from best to worst. What bothers you that you cannot reveal to me?”
“I fear that you will no longer call me friend when you hear my shame.”
“You speak of shame? You? I do not know a better man, begging my brother’s pardon. It isn’t possible for you to do anything shameful.”
“Failing my people is not cause for shame?”
Faramir glanced over his shoulder and saw Legolas watching them. There was a tension in the Elf’s posture that suggested he was on the point of coming over. It was uncanny how attuned the Vigil was to Aragorn’s emotional state. The Elf’s gaze moved to Faramir and their eyes met briefly. With a small nod, Legolas turned back to the twins.
“How have you failed?” Faramir asked gently.
“I learned more of myself than I wish to know on our journey to Umbar. I knew I was but an indifferent warrior, but it did not concern me until I found myself facing another man’s blade in earnest. And it was not only my life at stake, but also that of my mother, and still I had to be goaded into the fray. I killed a man, ‘Mir. I ran him through, but I felt none of the exultation of the heroes in the books. I felt scared, and in danger of heaving my guts; I did in fact. One of my titles is Defender of Gondor; tell me how I shall fulfill it.”
“Is that all?”
Aragorn gave his friend an incredulous look. “Is it not enough?”
“Boromir puked himself dizzy after his first kill,” Faramir said. “A fact known to few, but one with which he comforted me when I spoke to him as you are speaking to me now.”
“In truth?”
Faramir put his palm on the Tree stitched in silver over Aragorn’s heart. “I swear on that which is most precious.”
Aragorn put his hand over Faramir’s. “Steadfast heart, no truer friend, will you always be here to catch me when I start to slip my moorings?”
“I certainly hope so,” Faramir said. “It was not me that hied off in the middle of the night with only a Wood Elf for company.”
Aragorn smiled ruefully and opened his mouth to speak, but the high, clear winding of a horn broke on the morning air and all that heard it fell silent in hope of hearing it again. Warriors heard a trumpet calling them to glory. Travelers heard a bell welcoming them home. Those with evil in their hearts heard the baying of the hounds of justice. Faramir and Aragorn joined the Elves at the rail as Elrohir pointed to a cloud of dust on the road.
“Can you see who it is?” the Heir asked.
“I do not need to see,” Elrohir said. “It is the Lady Arwen.”
“Our sister,” Elladan added.
:::=v=:::
“We shall be overrun with these savages,” Denethor hissed at Aragorn, as the doors of the audience chamber swung inward. “The two my younger son has seen fit to befriend were the cause of your sire’s death.”
Aragorn flinched and pretended to straighten his shoulders, lifting his brows in an attempt to ease the weight of the crown. The Vigil stood to the right of the throne; Denethor was on the left, one hand on the arm of the chair, as he leaned in to speak again. Aragorn held up a hand for silence as the troop of Elves marched down the middle of the hall. With ill grace, the Steward subsided and contented himself with glaring at the Elvish envoys. The Heir could not take his gaze from she that walked at the head of the short column.
Arwen Undomiel wore the same uniform as the warriors at her back, but it could not disguise the fact that she was sculpted with a more generous hand. Hair as inky dark as that of her brothers’ flowed over her shoulders and the ripe swell of her breasts. A weapon belt incised with a running pattern of vines cinched a waist that looked slender enough to fit between a Man’s hands. Finely woven leggings the color of moss molded to the elegant curves of her long legs as she strode confidently forward. Aragorn’s gaze rose to the Elf maiden’s face and he knew he had seen the fairest of her gender. She was night to the Vigil’s day, but no less lovely.
“Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Prince and Heir of Gondor, I bring greetings from Lord Elrond of Rivendell. I have the honor to be his daughter, called Arwen, and if I may aid you, I will.”
Aragorn rose and came down the steps of the dais with Legolas on his heels. “Lady Arwen,” he said, holding out his hand. “You are most welcome to this court.”
Arwen’s eyes met his, a vivid blue violet that Aragorn had never seen before. “Am I?” she said in a low voice. “Yon minister looks not so welcoming to me.”
“Steward,” Aragorn said without turning. “Will you see to quarters for our guests?”
Denethor’s features froze in an expression of affront as the Vigil fixed him with a warning look. Swallowing a spate of angry words, the Steward hurried from the chamber. The Heir grew more rebellious by the day, and these Elves encouraged the young Man’s disrespect for his oldest advisor. It could not be tolerated much longer, but as long as Denethor held the reins of power, he could be patient.
:::=v=:::
Aragorn watched Lady Arwen bend over the bed where Queen Gilraen lay in her long slumber. Slim white fingers rested for a moment on Gilraen’s forehead before Arwen rose and passed out of that chamber into the next one. Boromir was quiet under the influence of soothing herbs, but his limbs were still bound with soft restraints. When he was wakeful, the powerful warrior raged against Umbar and the Shadow and was a danger to himself, as well as to others. Arwen laid her hand on his brow, a frown marring her perfect face.
“For the Queen, I can do nothing but ease her dreams,” the Elf maiden said. “She is not under the Shadow and I cannot sense the drug that quells her spirit. This warrior has felt the hand of him we do not name lightly. If I may have a place and privacy to perform a cleansing ritual, I will try to wipe the stain of Darkness from your captain’s soul.”
“I would be most grateful,” Aragorn said, his heart sinking that she could not help his mother. “What sort of place would be best for your ritual?”
“I must be surrounded by growing, living things, and there should be water, running water, not a pool. Some cloth to dry myself on would not be unwelcome.”
“Shall we assist you?” Elladan asked.
Arwen raised one eyebrow. “Find me food that I can eat and whatever drink seems good to you. You have been longer among Men and knowing what slaves you are to your appetites, I am certain you can do this. Do you still stand gaping? I hunger, brothers.”
Legolas’s impassive mask was in place, but Aragorn thought he saw the corners of the Vigil’s mouth curve slightly up as the twins left hastily with Faramir trailing them. The incipient smile faded away as Arwen turned to the Vigil.
“Prince of Mirkwood, I have had no chance to greet you until now. I have recently visited the borders of your land. You will be pleased to know we left the lifeless bodies of many Orcs to replenish the earth.”
“It is Thranduil’s kingdom,” Legolas said. “But I rejoice to hear of dead Orcs.”
Castamir stood a few paces behind Legolas, waiting to be noticed, and Arwen let her gaze play over the Umbarans appealing form. “What is this? I did not know the rulers of Gondor kept concubines.”
Aragorn blushed. “Castamir is not my concubine. He is my mother’s nurse.”
“He looks more like a pleasure slave,” the Elf maiden said flatly. “But the Queen seems very well cared for, so I will believe you.”
A page in black and silver livery entered and gave Aragorn a message from the Steward. “Forgive me, Lady Arwen, I must attend a meeting,” the Heir said. “Faramir will return soon and you may rely on him to supply all your needs.”
Arwen flashed a look at Legolas, both Elves suppressing a smile at the young Man’s unintended humor. “Thank you,” she said. “I will do what I may for your mother and your captain. I will be weary afterward, and hope I may be excused from any formalities.”
Aragorn looked puzzled for a moment and then offered her a tentative smile. “I believe I understand. Though you would be the shining star of any courtly firmament, formal social gatherings are not to your taste.”
“I would sooner be on horseback riding toward a new sunrise… However, I have made my sire and grandmother a promise and I will keep it.”
Aragorn bowed to her and walked away with the Vigil close behind. Castamir wavered and then spoke before the Heir could reach the door. “I would like to help the Lady if I may.”
Legolas cocked an eyebrow at Arwen and she nodded. “An extra pair of skilful hands would be welcome,” she said, as the Heir and his bodyguard left. “Come, Castamir. Tell me what you know of the Queen’s malady.”
:::=v=:::
“I told you, did I not?” Denethor waved the dispatch in his right hand. “A fleet of black ships! They probably set sail before Umbar ever declared war. Eastron devils!”
Aragorn frowned, looking around for the Umbaran boy and remembering he was with the Queen. “Indeed, you did tell me, and more than once. I hope you are deriving your proper due of satisfaction from being correct. Now that we have given the Steward credit for foreseeing this attack, perhaps we can talk of defending against it.”
The Steward saw amusement at his expense flicker in the Vigil’s eyes. “It is that creature that stands at your shoulder that has turned you against the good counsel of your own kind. Can you not see, Aragorn? The Elves are immortal; what do they care if you or I were to die? Or if this city were to fall? They have seen many lifetimes of Men and we are as insects to them.”
“I hear one buzzing now,” Legolas said. “A poisonous fly with a painful sting.”
“You dare insult me in this Council Chamber?”
“Aye, and in any chamber you wish to occupy, Steward. You know in what regard I hold you. Why do you continue to be outraged when I speak against you? Surely it is expected.”
“Tell me how you have gained this hold over the Heir,” Denethor leaned across the table. “How have you bewitched him into turning his back on those that have loved him from the cradle? What have you done to put him thus in your thrall?”
Legolas leaped onto the polished wood and off the other side. Raising his right hand, he pushed it into Denethor’s face. A shaft of sunlight from a high window kindled fire in the jewel set in the Vigil’s ring. “You speak of what you do not know,” the Elf said. “I know what it is to be in thrall, to be always aware of the presence of my ward and of my responsibility toward him, always aware of the eternal despair that awaits should I fail him. You are an old man fearful of losing his power, but you do not see that it is your very fears that have caused this loss. Do not speak to me again of spells or enslavement until you have suffered them yourself.”
“I will not stay and be threatened in this hallowed chamber,” Denethor said, stepping away from the Elf. “Aragorn, if you still care about Gondor’s fate, you will attend me in my quarters as soon as you have leisure.”
Aragorn’s other ministers pretended to have only now regained their hearing as the Heir dismissed them to their duties. The Gondorian fleet was already on the river and blockades were set. The Knights were on alert, ready to don armor and ride to the riverbank at the sound of the trumpet. An answer had been dispatched to the King of Umbar. There was little else to be done here. Rising, Aragorn made his way to where he truly wished to be, in the domain of the Healers.
“You were very harsh with the Steward,” Aragorn said to the Vigil as they strode along.
“The Man has a talent for making me lose my temper. It was unseemly.”
“Indeed it was, but I suppose it was only the truth,” Aragorn said, as he walked through the gate of the gardens that surrounded the Houses. “You are in thrall to me.”
“To your blood,” the Vigil corrected.
“Yes, of course. How could I have forgotten? You only care because I am Isildur’s Heir.”
Legolas hurt the raw pain in his charge’s voice, but could not divine a cause for it. He caught up with Aragorn and stopped him, but the Heir looked past his shoulder, eyes wide. The Vigil turned and beheld a sight to stop any Man in his tracks.
tbc
These wonderful characters belong to Tolkien.
My thanks to Lady Jean.
::::=\V/=:::
“Lord Elrond.”
“Lady Galadriel,” Rivendell’s ruler inclined his head to she that Elfkind called Queen in their hearts. “It is long since I walked beneath the mallorns in bloom.”
“I hope you may do so in more than spirit one day soon,” Galadriel gazed at Elrond’s seeming upon the smooth surface of the water. “So few of us are able to speak mind to mind in these latter days.”
“We are a diminishing folk, but that is the natural order of things, which I need not tell you. What matter is of such importance that you would risk the attention of the Enemy by communicating thus?”
“My Mirror has shown me only ill doings. The Queen of Gondor and one of Gondor’s great captains struck down by the Shadow. Fleets with black sails on the Anduin. My visions of the Heir are clouded by some great turmoil of spirit. Is there naught you may do?”
“I received a message requesting my aid in Minas Tirith, but I may not leave Rivendell just now. I will send advice to the Healers, and such herbs as might be useful.”
“I fear that will not be enough.”
“I cannot go.”
“Is there none you may send?”
Elrond closed his eyes for a moment. There was one in Rivendell that was nearly his equal in the healing arts, and Galadriel knew this. She knew also that Elrond alone had the power to send this emissary, and how reluctant he was to give the order.
“Gondor must not fall,” Galadriel said gently.
Elrond nodded as his semblance faded from the Lady’s Mirror.
:::=v=:::
Aragorn paced beside Faramir on another circuit of the blighted Tree speaking of the news the Steward had delivered at the morning audience. The Heir tried and failed to keep his mind on the serious topic and his eyes from straying to the three Elves standing upon the edge of the parapet. The wind that always blew upon these heights made sable and silver banners of their long hair, drawing Aragorn’s gaze and capturing it with hypnotic beauty. Faramir noticed his friend’s distraction and could not forbear to comment.
“They have no equal,” the Steward’s son murmured.
“Your pardon?”
“The Vigil and the Elven brothers,” Faramir elaborated. “They are so beautiful, like wild creatures that have strayed into a farmyard, stags among the cattle.”
Aragorn’s forehead puckered in a small frown. “They are the fairest of the earth’s children, but they are not as I imagined when I read the tales of old.”
Faramir stopped, as far from earshot of the Citadel guards as was possible. “Indeed they are. They are at once more innocent and more sophisticated than I ever thought. I did not look for humor in them, but they are filled with the slyest wit. Though they revere all life, I have never seen fiercer warriors.”
“As always, you know my mind before I do.”
“You were alone with the Vigil for some time,” Faramir said, sliding a sideways glance at Aragorn. “Would you care to tell me what you think of him now?”
“He is all that you said, and much more besides. There are depths to him, Faramir, that I think I shall never plumb, and I find myself wishing…”
“What do you wish, brother of my heart?”
Aragorn leaned against the sun-warmed stone of the Tower and closed his eyes. Faramir saw the Vigil’s head turn, automatically checking the Heir’s position while listening to Elladan. There was more in the Elf’s gaze than watchfulness, but Legolas turned away before Faramir could puzzle out what it was. The young Man’s interest was piqued and he made a conscious decision to be more observant of the bodyguard.
Aragorn sighed heavily. “I have had such dreams,” he whispered.
“What sort of dreams?”
“The sort that soil the sheets.”
Faramir smiled. “Ah, those sorts of dreams. I find them quite pleasant. Why should they trouble you so?”
Aragorn shook his head, his eyes flicking toward the trio of Sindar. “I wish I could speak with my mother.”
“Since my birth, we have been companions,” Faramir said, moving closer to the Heir. “I have seen you in all moods from best to worst. What bothers you that you cannot reveal to me?”
“I fear that you will no longer call me friend when you hear my shame.”
“You speak of shame? You? I do not know a better man, begging my brother’s pardon. It isn’t possible for you to do anything shameful.”
“Failing my people is not cause for shame?”
Faramir glanced over his shoulder and saw Legolas watching them. There was a tension in the Elf’s posture that suggested he was on the point of coming over. It was uncanny how attuned the Vigil was to Aragorn’s emotional state. The Elf’s gaze moved to Faramir and their eyes met briefly. With a small nod, Legolas turned back to the twins.
“How have you failed?” Faramir asked gently.
“I learned more of myself than I wish to know on our journey to Umbar. I knew I was but an indifferent warrior, but it did not concern me until I found myself facing another man’s blade in earnest. And it was not only my life at stake, but also that of my mother, and still I had to be goaded into the fray. I killed a man, ‘Mir. I ran him through, but I felt none of the exultation of the heroes in the books. I felt scared, and in danger of heaving my guts; I did in fact. One of my titles is Defender of Gondor; tell me how I shall fulfill it.”
“Is that all?”
Aragorn gave his friend an incredulous look. “Is it not enough?”
“Boromir puked himself dizzy after his first kill,” Faramir said. “A fact known to few, but one with which he comforted me when I spoke to him as you are speaking to me now.”
“In truth?”
Faramir put his palm on the Tree stitched in silver over Aragorn’s heart. “I swear on that which is most precious.”
Aragorn put his hand over Faramir’s. “Steadfast heart, no truer friend, will you always be here to catch me when I start to slip my moorings?”
“I certainly hope so,” Faramir said. “It was not me that hied off in the middle of the night with only a Wood Elf for company.”
Aragorn smiled ruefully and opened his mouth to speak, but the high, clear winding of a horn broke on the morning air and all that heard it fell silent in hope of hearing it again. Warriors heard a trumpet calling them to glory. Travelers heard a bell welcoming them home. Those with evil in their hearts heard the baying of the hounds of justice. Faramir and Aragorn joined the Elves at the rail as Elrohir pointed to a cloud of dust on the road.
“Can you see who it is?” the Heir asked.
“I do not need to see,” Elrohir said. “It is the Lady Arwen.”
“Our sister,” Elladan added.
:::=v=:::
“We shall be overrun with these savages,” Denethor hissed at Aragorn, as the doors of the audience chamber swung inward. “The two my younger son has seen fit to befriend were the cause of your sire’s death.”
Aragorn flinched and pretended to straighten his shoulders, lifting his brows in an attempt to ease the weight of the crown. The Vigil stood to the right of the throne; Denethor was on the left, one hand on the arm of the chair, as he leaned in to speak again. Aragorn held up a hand for silence as the troop of Elves marched down the middle of the hall. With ill grace, the Steward subsided and contented himself with glaring at the Elvish envoys. The Heir could not take his gaze from she that walked at the head of the short column.
Arwen Undomiel wore the same uniform as the warriors at her back, but it could not disguise the fact that she was sculpted with a more generous hand. Hair as inky dark as that of her brothers’ flowed over her shoulders and the ripe swell of her breasts. A weapon belt incised with a running pattern of vines cinched a waist that looked slender enough to fit between a Man’s hands. Finely woven leggings the color of moss molded to the elegant curves of her long legs as she strode confidently forward. Aragorn’s gaze rose to the Elf maiden’s face and he knew he had seen the fairest of her gender. She was night to the Vigil’s day, but no less lovely.
“Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Prince and Heir of Gondor, I bring greetings from Lord Elrond of Rivendell. I have the honor to be his daughter, called Arwen, and if I may aid you, I will.”
Aragorn rose and came down the steps of the dais with Legolas on his heels. “Lady Arwen,” he said, holding out his hand. “You are most welcome to this court.”
Arwen’s eyes met his, a vivid blue violet that Aragorn had never seen before. “Am I?” she said in a low voice. “Yon minister looks not so welcoming to me.”
“Steward,” Aragorn said without turning. “Will you see to quarters for our guests?”
Denethor’s features froze in an expression of affront as the Vigil fixed him with a warning look. Swallowing a spate of angry words, the Steward hurried from the chamber. The Heir grew more rebellious by the day, and these Elves encouraged the young Man’s disrespect for his oldest advisor. It could not be tolerated much longer, but as long as Denethor held the reins of power, he could be patient.
:::=v=:::
Aragorn watched Lady Arwen bend over the bed where Queen Gilraen lay in her long slumber. Slim white fingers rested for a moment on Gilraen’s forehead before Arwen rose and passed out of that chamber into the next one. Boromir was quiet under the influence of soothing herbs, but his limbs were still bound with soft restraints. When he was wakeful, the powerful warrior raged against Umbar and the Shadow and was a danger to himself, as well as to others. Arwen laid her hand on his brow, a frown marring her perfect face.
“For the Queen, I can do nothing but ease her dreams,” the Elf maiden said. “She is not under the Shadow and I cannot sense the drug that quells her spirit. This warrior has felt the hand of him we do not name lightly. If I may have a place and privacy to perform a cleansing ritual, I will try to wipe the stain of Darkness from your captain’s soul.”
“I would be most grateful,” Aragorn said, his heart sinking that she could not help his mother. “What sort of place would be best for your ritual?”
“I must be surrounded by growing, living things, and there should be water, running water, not a pool. Some cloth to dry myself on would not be unwelcome.”
“Shall we assist you?” Elladan asked.
Arwen raised one eyebrow. “Find me food that I can eat and whatever drink seems good to you. You have been longer among Men and knowing what slaves you are to your appetites, I am certain you can do this. Do you still stand gaping? I hunger, brothers.”
Legolas’s impassive mask was in place, but Aragorn thought he saw the corners of the Vigil’s mouth curve slightly up as the twins left hastily with Faramir trailing them. The incipient smile faded away as Arwen turned to the Vigil.
“Prince of Mirkwood, I have had no chance to greet you until now. I have recently visited the borders of your land. You will be pleased to know we left the lifeless bodies of many Orcs to replenish the earth.”
“It is Thranduil’s kingdom,” Legolas said. “But I rejoice to hear of dead Orcs.”
Castamir stood a few paces behind Legolas, waiting to be noticed, and Arwen let her gaze play over the Umbarans appealing form. “What is this? I did not know the rulers of Gondor kept concubines.”
Aragorn blushed. “Castamir is not my concubine. He is my mother’s nurse.”
“He looks more like a pleasure slave,” the Elf maiden said flatly. “But the Queen seems very well cared for, so I will believe you.”
A page in black and silver livery entered and gave Aragorn a message from the Steward. “Forgive me, Lady Arwen, I must attend a meeting,” the Heir said. “Faramir will return soon and you may rely on him to supply all your needs.”
Arwen flashed a look at Legolas, both Elves suppressing a smile at the young Man’s unintended humor. “Thank you,” she said. “I will do what I may for your mother and your captain. I will be weary afterward, and hope I may be excused from any formalities.”
Aragorn looked puzzled for a moment and then offered her a tentative smile. “I believe I understand. Though you would be the shining star of any courtly firmament, formal social gatherings are not to your taste.”
“I would sooner be on horseback riding toward a new sunrise… However, I have made my sire and grandmother a promise and I will keep it.”
Aragorn bowed to her and walked away with the Vigil close behind. Castamir wavered and then spoke before the Heir could reach the door. “I would like to help the Lady if I may.”
Legolas cocked an eyebrow at Arwen and she nodded. “An extra pair of skilful hands would be welcome,” she said, as the Heir and his bodyguard left. “Come, Castamir. Tell me what you know of the Queen’s malady.”
:::=v=:::
“I told you, did I not?” Denethor waved the dispatch in his right hand. “A fleet of black ships! They probably set sail before Umbar ever declared war. Eastron devils!”
Aragorn frowned, looking around for the Umbaran boy and remembering he was with the Queen. “Indeed, you did tell me, and more than once. I hope you are deriving your proper due of satisfaction from being correct. Now that we have given the Steward credit for foreseeing this attack, perhaps we can talk of defending against it.”
The Steward saw amusement at his expense flicker in the Vigil’s eyes. “It is that creature that stands at your shoulder that has turned you against the good counsel of your own kind. Can you not see, Aragorn? The Elves are immortal; what do they care if you or I were to die? Or if this city were to fall? They have seen many lifetimes of Men and we are as insects to them.”
“I hear one buzzing now,” Legolas said. “A poisonous fly with a painful sting.”
“You dare insult me in this Council Chamber?”
“Aye, and in any chamber you wish to occupy, Steward. You know in what regard I hold you. Why do you continue to be outraged when I speak against you? Surely it is expected.”
“Tell me how you have gained this hold over the Heir,” Denethor leaned across the table. “How have you bewitched him into turning his back on those that have loved him from the cradle? What have you done to put him thus in your thrall?”
Legolas leaped onto the polished wood and off the other side. Raising his right hand, he pushed it into Denethor’s face. A shaft of sunlight from a high window kindled fire in the jewel set in the Vigil’s ring. “You speak of what you do not know,” the Elf said. “I know what it is to be in thrall, to be always aware of the presence of my ward and of my responsibility toward him, always aware of the eternal despair that awaits should I fail him. You are an old man fearful of losing his power, but you do not see that it is your very fears that have caused this loss. Do not speak to me again of spells or enslavement until you have suffered them yourself.”
“I will not stay and be threatened in this hallowed chamber,” Denethor said, stepping away from the Elf. “Aragorn, if you still care about Gondor’s fate, you will attend me in my quarters as soon as you have leisure.”
Aragorn’s other ministers pretended to have only now regained their hearing as the Heir dismissed them to their duties. The Gondorian fleet was already on the river and blockades were set. The Knights were on alert, ready to don armor and ride to the riverbank at the sound of the trumpet. An answer had been dispatched to the King of Umbar. There was little else to be done here. Rising, Aragorn made his way to where he truly wished to be, in the domain of the Healers.
“You were very harsh with the Steward,” Aragorn said to the Vigil as they strode along.
“The Man has a talent for making me lose my temper. It was unseemly.”
“Indeed it was, but I suppose it was only the truth,” Aragorn said, as he walked through the gate of the gardens that surrounded the Houses. “You are in thrall to me.”
“To your blood,” the Vigil corrected.
“Yes, of course. How could I have forgotten? You only care because I am Isildur’s Heir.”
Legolas hurt the raw pain in his charge’s voice, but could not divine a cause for it. He caught up with Aragorn and stopped him, but the Heir looked past his shoulder, eyes wide. The Vigil turned and beheld a sight to stop any Man in his tracks.
tbc