Pairing: Legolas/Aragorn
Rating: PG
Warnings: AU (meaning I have taken liberty to change timelines, history, geography, language etc. etc.)
Summary: Aragorn confronts the Elf…
Notes: PLEASE HEED WARNINGS. Single quotation marks depict Elvish conversations (translated into English) where ever applicable.
Author's Notes: Decided to continue writing after all. Thanks so much for the feedbacks! I thought this story wasn't going as I planned (my first time writing something so tame) but your reviews inspired me. Keep them coming! *smiles*
The Confrontation
The morning came quickly, and the castle began to buzz with activity. In a corner of the hall, guards and maid servants were going frantic with worry. Loud commotions were heard reverberating off the walls of the corridor, the noise carrying all the way up to the King's quarters. There was a flurry of movements… the guards barging into a room to gain control of the situation only to be hurled bodily out of the door whence they came in from. Finally when all else failed, they had shut the door behind them, hoping that their guest would calm down, if only for a moment.
The Elf, of course, had awakened… and he was very much displeased to have found himself being a prisoner of the strange place he woke up in.
"What is this infernal racket?" snarled Denethor, his eyes flashing with anger as he hurried down towards the end of the hall. Even through the thick barrier of the door, he could hear the yelling, each syllable as clear as crystal but its meaning lost for the Elf was speaking once more in his own tongue.
"It's the Elf, my lord. He is awake," Grisworth said, blubbering a little as he carefully massaged the bridge of his nose. The Elf had previously thrown a punch in his direction and had hit him neatly between his eyes, hence incurring a minor, but no less painful injury.
"Fool! Why did you not put more laudanum into his wine?" Denethor growled again, coldly regarding the snivelling figure before him.
"The King did not give instructions to do so! Forgive me, my lord," Grisworth whined, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot while the King's advisor shook his head in disgust.
There was another flurry of motions as the maid servants saw the King descending the staircase, heading towards their direction. His eyes settled reproachfully upon Grisworth as his swift stride brought him closer to his guard in a matter of seconds.
"How now, Grisworth. Why is our guest upset?" he asked shortly before he went straight to the door with the intention of opening it.
"No! Do not open it, my lord," cried Oden, another of the King's guard, "He is far too dangerous to come near!"
But the King ignored him and opened the door, only to pause in shock at seeing the Elf with both wrists shackled and chained to the bed. He was straining against his bonds; one foot planted upon the floor while the other folded awkwardly beneath him as he fought to get off the bed. The chains were fixed firmly around one corner of the iron bedposts, thus making it impossible for the Elf to free himself until his face was flushed red with his efforts to escape. When he saw the King, he bared his teeth in rage, crying out in his strange language.
"Weeala edain! Faiin amin!" he cried, his voice laced with contempt and unbridled fury.
The King turned a reproachful look over his shoulder.
"Under whose order was it to have our guest chained to his bed like a dog?" the King said, his eyes blazing with anger. The men became silent, eyes focused steadfastly to the ground.
"Answer me!" he said, his voice stern and terrible while he turned his reproachful gaze to each of the men in turn.
"Lord, you told me to have him secured… so I… so I took the liberty of securing him… yes lord… securing him so that he might not escape," Grisworth stuttered while the others nodded their heads in mute agreement.
"Fool," the King said not too kindly, but without much heat for he could not stay angry for long, "The Elf is not a prisoner. Now leave and be sure you bring Gandalf hither post-haste. Do not fail me now Grisworth!"
With a click of his heels and a smart salute, the guard scampered off while the King looked after him, shaking his head.
"If I may say so, my liege," Denethor began to say, speaking as clearly as he could over the Elf's loud, vocal expression of his anger. "We should not unchain the Elf yet for fear that he will bring harm to us, or to the people in the castle."
The King paused for a moment to think, before nodding his head.
"Perhaps you are right. Leave me now for I wish to be with the Elf alone," he said before entering the Elf's chamber, closing the door firmly behind him. He stood before his guest for the longest moment, silent and contemplative, while he patiently waited for the Elf to calm down and cease to struggle.
"Faiin amin! Faiin amin!" he kept saying, fiercely rattling his chains as he tried to pry away the shackles from his wrists. But the King remained silent, proceeding to drag a chair towards the foot of the Elf's bed and sat down upon it while the Elf regarded him in bewilderment. Again and again the Elf trashed about, once grasping one end of the chain with both hands and tugged at it in obvious hope of breaking away from his restraints only to meet stubborn resistance and the strange silence that the King held.
When he finally gave up, the Elf looked upon him with unfriendly eyes, silent now although every line of his body screamed with tension; his lean muscles coiling under his flesh, ready to spring into action.
"Did you sleep well?" Aragorn asked, his tone deliberately mild while his eyes were fixed upon the pitcher of wine on the table next to the Elf. But now, it was the Elf who remained silent, the room filled only with the soft clinking of the metal chains rubbing against each other as he retreated carefully onto the bed to put as much distance between him and the King as possible.
The Elf watched Aragorn as the King stood and moved towards the Elf's bedside, his gaze unnervingly intense. Aragorn flicked a glance at the wary Elf, noting that the creature was wearing one of his night shirts, the neck of the material partly opened to reveal pale flesh while the hem of the shirt reached all the way down to the Elf's knees.
"I trust the clothing suits you, Master Elf?" the King continued as he poured some wine into a goblet, "It is different from yours, as you can see. It is strange to see a shirt like yours in Gondor… all shiny and silver in hue. Perhaps one day you will be able to tell me what it is made of… then I can fashion a tunic that looks just like your own so that I may wear it."
He held out the goblet towards the Elf in offering. The Elf snarled and made as if to strike out at the King, his hand swiping out in an attempt to knock the goblet over.
Incredibly, the King laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling merrily.
"Fear not, Master Elf. It is not laced with laudanum and thus will not put you to sleep," he chuckled, before drinking some of the wine to prove his point. The Elf watched the King carefully as sweet liquid moistened Aragorn's lips and unconsciously licked his own lips. He was thirsty.
"Come, drink. I told you that it was not my desire to hurt you. I will not do so now," Aragorn murmured, flashing a reassuring smile while he refilled the goblet to the brim before handing it over to the Elf once more. Eagerly he grasped it from the King's hands, whispered some soft words ("hannon lle") and proceeded to drink it, his throat working as he gulped down the sweet wine.
He paused to look curiously at the King, watching the peculiar smile widening upon the King's lips before he continued to drink again, all the while those blue eyes fixing upon the King's face in distrust. When he was done, he sat the goblet down upon the bed and turned a reproachful look towards Aragorn.
"Faiin amin," he said again, impatiently holding out his manacled hands, rattling the chains to get his message across.
The King made as if to answer, but before he could, the door opened and an old man appeared at the doorway, leaning heavily upon his walking stick.
"Gandalf," the King said in greeting while the Elf became wary once more.
"Lord Aragorn, I come as you bid me to. What do you wish to ask of me?" the old man asked, his eyes twinkling merrily before the smile on his face faltered as he turned towards the figure sitting upon the bed.
"An Elf!" he exclaimed, his brows snapping together in bewilderment, "So it is true then, what many are saying… that you have brought one of the Fair Folks back to the City. How did you find him?"
"In the Firien Forest," Aragorn replied, reaching out to take the goblet that lay by the Elf's side and placed it back on the side table. "He had been following us and when we chanced to kill a deer, he attacked. We overpowered him and brought him home with us. Perhaps you can speak to him and find out what you can about the Elf."
"What would you have me ask him?" Gandalf asked, his eyes still fixed upon the Elf who was watching him with equal fascination.
"Ask him for his name… his family… his home. Anything. I will wait outside while you speak to him," Aragorn said and with a parting smile, he left the room, shutting the door tightly behind him.
The old man and Elf stared at each other for a moment before Gandalf pulled the chair closer towards the Elf and sat upon it. Already his heart carried the first hints of misgivings – his heart telling him that the King had made a grave mistake and the Elf should never have been brought back to Minas Tirith. But what was done could not be undone. And with a deep breath, Gandalf began to speak in halting but coherent Elvish.
'I hope that you are not angered by Gondor's lack of hospitality, Master Elf. It had been so long since any of us have seen one of your kinds here, but hopefully not long enough to not know how to treat our guests kindly. Will you not forgive us?'
The Elf's eyes grew round with surprise before he burst out in excitement.
'You speak Elvish! This is most fortunate! For two days have I had to bear the misery of not being able to understand why I had been abused as such and why the Men kept me within these walls against my will! You must ask them to release me at once!'
Gandalf raised a hand to stem the rush of words that the Elf poured forth.
'It is not for me to decide. You are under the protection of the Lord Aragorn, King of Gondor. It is up to him to determine whether you should stay or leave.'
'Then I am a prisoner,' the Elf said bitterly, 'What use can the Men of Gondor have for an Elf? I am prince in my homeland and my people need me. The darkness had grown in the forest of Mirkwood where I hailed from. Orcs had multiplied and goblins arrived by the droves from the direction of your City. How shall I warn my people?'
'You are prince! It is most unfortunate for the Lord Aragorn to keep a member of royalty here against his will. Still you say that you come from Mirkwood? Is all not fair in the Green Woods of old?'
The Elf shook his head sadly.
'We did not know whence came the foul creatures so my father sent me to find out. And now I know – your King and his men had driven them towards our beloved home – unknowingly it seems. You must tell your King to cease at once! Already the Elf race is dying out… Lorien had been constantly under siege by the dark forces and many had lost their lives defending their home. The last of the occupants in Rivendell had long since left the shores when the Ring was lost…'
'The Ring?' Gandalf said, his voice sharp with worry, 'The Ring was lost?'
The Elf gave a start at the old man's interruption but answered the question.
'No, not lost. I did not mean lost. Hidden. The Great Elves of old defeated the Dark Lord and took his ring, thus marking the end of the Dark Age. Yet, they fought amongst themselves; their desire to own the Ring feeding to their hate. Our High King Gil-Galad was slain and thus the Alliance of the Elves was broken and the three great Elven Cities began to fall apart. Fathers fought against their sons. Brothers against brothers. None were spared from the Evil. It was the end of the Dark Age, and yet it felt like the beginning of even darker times.'
Here the Elf paused to catch his breath, cocking his head to one side in an attempt to recollect his thoughts.
'Yes… yes… it was the beginning of the end and we still fought. We fought against each other until one day, Lord Elrond of Rivendell took the Ring and together with the Lord Glorfindel and Lord Erestor, hid it deep in the heart of Mordor. The Dark Lord never awakened, but his spirit still lived in the Ring, slowly poisoning the very air around us. The Lord of Rivendell became corrupted by the power of the Ring, and he came to yearn for the feel of it upon his skin. But he left and was spared. He left for the fair lands of the West with all of his people. There are none left save the few Elves in Lorien and the Elves of Mirkwood.'
'How many of you are there?' Gandalf asked.
'Some thousands, but the numbers are decreasing.'
The Elf fell silent, fixing a brooding look out of the window, noting the bright sun that had risen and marvelling at it for the moment.
'This is a bleak picture that you speak of. But why should the King release you? You had attempted to kill him in the forest. It is fitting that you serve under his command until you have atoned for your actions,' Gandalf said, casting a thoughtful look at the sudden surge of anger that came to the Elf's eyes.
'He killed an innocent creature!' the Elf cried out as twin spots of colour highlighted his cheekbones, 'He killed a harmless deer whose only sin was to come across him at the most inopportune time! She was with child! I had to protect her!'
Impatiently the Elf rattled his chains once more.
'And I have to go back to my people! They need me! The King of Gondor has no right to keep me here like an animal!'
'Peace, Master Elf. I will do what I can to have the King agree to release you. But what name do you go by?'
The Elf straightened his back importantly, his chin tilted towards the old man, pride lining his features despite being imprisoned.
'I am Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, son of King Thranduil, Lord of the Green Woods, and the last remaining High Elves of the North. Have your King release me at once for my father's retribution will be swift if you but keep his youngest son here as an unwilling prisoner.'
Gandalf nodded his head once before getting to his feet.
'As you wish, my prince,' he murmured, bowing before Legolas. And then he left the room to speak with the King.
to be continued…
Rating: PG
Warnings: AU (meaning I have taken liberty to change timelines, history, geography, language etc. etc.)
Summary: Aragorn confronts the Elf…
Notes: PLEASE HEED WARNINGS. Single quotation marks depict Elvish conversations (translated into English) where ever applicable.
Author's Notes: Decided to continue writing after all. Thanks so much for the feedbacks! I thought this story wasn't going as I planned (my first time writing something so tame) but your reviews inspired me. Keep them coming! *smiles*
The Confrontation
The morning came quickly, and the castle began to buzz with activity. In a corner of the hall, guards and maid servants were going frantic with worry. Loud commotions were heard reverberating off the walls of the corridor, the noise carrying all the way up to the King's quarters. There was a flurry of movements… the guards barging into a room to gain control of the situation only to be hurled bodily out of the door whence they came in from. Finally when all else failed, they had shut the door behind them, hoping that their guest would calm down, if only for a moment.
The Elf, of course, had awakened… and he was very much displeased to have found himself being a prisoner of the strange place he woke up in.
"What is this infernal racket?" snarled Denethor, his eyes flashing with anger as he hurried down towards the end of the hall. Even through the thick barrier of the door, he could hear the yelling, each syllable as clear as crystal but its meaning lost for the Elf was speaking once more in his own tongue.
"It's the Elf, my lord. He is awake," Grisworth said, blubbering a little as he carefully massaged the bridge of his nose. The Elf had previously thrown a punch in his direction and had hit him neatly between his eyes, hence incurring a minor, but no less painful injury.
"Fool! Why did you not put more laudanum into his wine?" Denethor growled again, coldly regarding the snivelling figure before him.
"The King did not give instructions to do so! Forgive me, my lord," Grisworth whined, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot while the King's advisor shook his head in disgust.
There was another flurry of motions as the maid servants saw the King descending the staircase, heading towards their direction. His eyes settled reproachfully upon Grisworth as his swift stride brought him closer to his guard in a matter of seconds.
"How now, Grisworth. Why is our guest upset?" he asked shortly before he went straight to the door with the intention of opening it.
"No! Do not open it, my lord," cried Oden, another of the King's guard, "He is far too dangerous to come near!"
But the King ignored him and opened the door, only to pause in shock at seeing the Elf with both wrists shackled and chained to the bed. He was straining against his bonds; one foot planted upon the floor while the other folded awkwardly beneath him as he fought to get off the bed. The chains were fixed firmly around one corner of the iron bedposts, thus making it impossible for the Elf to free himself until his face was flushed red with his efforts to escape. When he saw the King, he bared his teeth in rage, crying out in his strange language.
"Weeala edain! Faiin amin!" he cried, his voice laced with contempt and unbridled fury.
The King turned a reproachful look over his shoulder.
"Under whose order was it to have our guest chained to his bed like a dog?" the King said, his eyes blazing with anger. The men became silent, eyes focused steadfastly to the ground.
"Answer me!" he said, his voice stern and terrible while he turned his reproachful gaze to each of the men in turn.
"Lord, you told me to have him secured… so I… so I took the liberty of securing him… yes lord… securing him so that he might not escape," Grisworth stuttered while the others nodded their heads in mute agreement.
"Fool," the King said not too kindly, but without much heat for he could not stay angry for long, "The Elf is not a prisoner. Now leave and be sure you bring Gandalf hither post-haste. Do not fail me now Grisworth!"
With a click of his heels and a smart salute, the guard scampered off while the King looked after him, shaking his head.
"If I may say so, my liege," Denethor began to say, speaking as clearly as he could over the Elf's loud, vocal expression of his anger. "We should not unchain the Elf yet for fear that he will bring harm to us, or to the people in the castle."
The King paused for a moment to think, before nodding his head.
"Perhaps you are right. Leave me now for I wish to be with the Elf alone," he said before entering the Elf's chamber, closing the door firmly behind him. He stood before his guest for the longest moment, silent and contemplative, while he patiently waited for the Elf to calm down and cease to struggle.
"Faiin amin! Faiin amin!" he kept saying, fiercely rattling his chains as he tried to pry away the shackles from his wrists. But the King remained silent, proceeding to drag a chair towards the foot of the Elf's bed and sat down upon it while the Elf regarded him in bewilderment. Again and again the Elf trashed about, once grasping one end of the chain with both hands and tugged at it in obvious hope of breaking away from his restraints only to meet stubborn resistance and the strange silence that the King held.
When he finally gave up, the Elf looked upon him with unfriendly eyes, silent now although every line of his body screamed with tension; his lean muscles coiling under his flesh, ready to spring into action.
"Did you sleep well?" Aragorn asked, his tone deliberately mild while his eyes were fixed upon the pitcher of wine on the table next to the Elf. But now, it was the Elf who remained silent, the room filled only with the soft clinking of the metal chains rubbing against each other as he retreated carefully onto the bed to put as much distance between him and the King as possible.
The Elf watched Aragorn as the King stood and moved towards the Elf's bedside, his gaze unnervingly intense. Aragorn flicked a glance at the wary Elf, noting that the creature was wearing one of his night shirts, the neck of the material partly opened to reveal pale flesh while the hem of the shirt reached all the way down to the Elf's knees.
"I trust the clothing suits you, Master Elf?" the King continued as he poured some wine into a goblet, "It is different from yours, as you can see. It is strange to see a shirt like yours in Gondor… all shiny and silver in hue. Perhaps one day you will be able to tell me what it is made of… then I can fashion a tunic that looks just like your own so that I may wear it."
He held out the goblet towards the Elf in offering. The Elf snarled and made as if to strike out at the King, his hand swiping out in an attempt to knock the goblet over.
Incredibly, the King laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling merrily.
"Fear not, Master Elf. It is not laced with laudanum and thus will not put you to sleep," he chuckled, before drinking some of the wine to prove his point. The Elf watched the King carefully as sweet liquid moistened Aragorn's lips and unconsciously licked his own lips. He was thirsty.
"Come, drink. I told you that it was not my desire to hurt you. I will not do so now," Aragorn murmured, flashing a reassuring smile while he refilled the goblet to the brim before handing it over to the Elf once more. Eagerly he grasped it from the King's hands, whispered some soft words ("hannon lle") and proceeded to drink it, his throat working as he gulped down the sweet wine.
He paused to look curiously at the King, watching the peculiar smile widening upon the King's lips before he continued to drink again, all the while those blue eyes fixing upon the King's face in distrust. When he was done, he sat the goblet down upon the bed and turned a reproachful look towards Aragorn.
"Faiin amin," he said again, impatiently holding out his manacled hands, rattling the chains to get his message across.
The King made as if to answer, but before he could, the door opened and an old man appeared at the doorway, leaning heavily upon his walking stick.
"Gandalf," the King said in greeting while the Elf became wary once more.
"Lord Aragorn, I come as you bid me to. What do you wish to ask of me?" the old man asked, his eyes twinkling merrily before the smile on his face faltered as he turned towards the figure sitting upon the bed.
"An Elf!" he exclaimed, his brows snapping together in bewilderment, "So it is true then, what many are saying… that you have brought one of the Fair Folks back to the City. How did you find him?"
"In the Firien Forest," Aragorn replied, reaching out to take the goblet that lay by the Elf's side and placed it back on the side table. "He had been following us and when we chanced to kill a deer, he attacked. We overpowered him and brought him home with us. Perhaps you can speak to him and find out what you can about the Elf."
"What would you have me ask him?" Gandalf asked, his eyes still fixed upon the Elf who was watching him with equal fascination.
"Ask him for his name… his family… his home. Anything. I will wait outside while you speak to him," Aragorn said and with a parting smile, he left the room, shutting the door tightly behind him.
The old man and Elf stared at each other for a moment before Gandalf pulled the chair closer towards the Elf and sat upon it. Already his heart carried the first hints of misgivings – his heart telling him that the King had made a grave mistake and the Elf should never have been brought back to Minas Tirith. But what was done could not be undone. And with a deep breath, Gandalf began to speak in halting but coherent Elvish.
'I hope that you are not angered by Gondor's lack of hospitality, Master Elf. It had been so long since any of us have seen one of your kinds here, but hopefully not long enough to not know how to treat our guests kindly. Will you not forgive us?'
The Elf's eyes grew round with surprise before he burst out in excitement.
'You speak Elvish! This is most fortunate! For two days have I had to bear the misery of not being able to understand why I had been abused as such and why the Men kept me within these walls against my will! You must ask them to release me at once!'
Gandalf raised a hand to stem the rush of words that the Elf poured forth.
'It is not for me to decide. You are under the protection of the Lord Aragorn, King of Gondor. It is up to him to determine whether you should stay or leave.'
'Then I am a prisoner,' the Elf said bitterly, 'What use can the Men of Gondor have for an Elf? I am prince in my homeland and my people need me. The darkness had grown in the forest of Mirkwood where I hailed from. Orcs had multiplied and goblins arrived by the droves from the direction of your City. How shall I warn my people?'
'You are prince! It is most unfortunate for the Lord Aragorn to keep a member of royalty here against his will. Still you say that you come from Mirkwood? Is all not fair in the Green Woods of old?'
The Elf shook his head sadly.
'We did not know whence came the foul creatures so my father sent me to find out. And now I know – your King and his men had driven them towards our beloved home – unknowingly it seems. You must tell your King to cease at once! Already the Elf race is dying out… Lorien had been constantly under siege by the dark forces and many had lost their lives defending their home. The last of the occupants in Rivendell had long since left the shores when the Ring was lost…'
'The Ring?' Gandalf said, his voice sharp with worry, 'The Ring was lost?'
The Elf gave a start at the old man's interruption but answered the question.
'No, not lost. I did not mean lost. Hidden. The Great Elves of old defeated the Dark Lord and took his ring, thus marking the end of the Dark Age. Yet, they fought amongst themselves; their desire to own the Ring feeding to their hate. Our High King Gil-Galad was slain and thus the Alliance of the Elves was broken and the three great Elven Cities began to fall apart. Fathers fought against their sons. Brothers against brothers. None were spared from the Evil. It was the end of the Dark Age, and yet it felt like the beginning of even darker times.'
Here the Elf paused to catch his breath, cocking his head to one side in an attempt to recollect his thoughts.
'Yes… yes… it was the beginning of the end and we still fought. We fought against each other until one day, Lord Elrond of Rivendell took the Ring and together with the Lord Glorfindel and Lord Erestor, hid it deep in the heart of Mordor. The Dark Lord never awakened, but his spirit still lived in the Ring, slowly poisoning the very air around us. The Lord of Rivendell became corrupted by the power of the Ring, and he came to yearn for the feel of it upon his skin. But he left and was spared. He left for the fair lands of the West with all of his people. There are none left save the few Elves in Lorien and the Elves of Mirkwood.'
'How many of you are there?' Gandalf asked.
'Some thousands, but the numbers are decreasing.'
The Elf fell silent, fixing a brooding look out of the window, noting the bright sun that had risen and marvelling at it for the moment.
'This is a bleak picture that you speak of. But why should the King release you? You had attempted to kill him in the forest. It is fitting that you serve under his command until you have atoned for your actions,' Gandalf said, casting a thoughtful look at the sudden surge of anger that came to the Elf's eyes.
'He killed an innocent creature!' the Elf cried out as twin spots of colour highlighted his cheekbones, 'He killed a harmless deer whose only sin was to come across him at the most inopportune time! She was with child! I had to protect her!'
Impatiently the Elf rattled his chains once more.
'And I have to go back to my people! They need me! The King of Gondor has no right to keep me here like an animal!'
'Peace, Master Elf. I will do what I can to have the King agree to release you. But what name do you go by?'
The Elf straightened his back importantly, his chin tilted towards the old man, pride lining his features despite being imprisoned.
'I am Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, son of King Thranduil, Lord of the Green Woods, and the last remaining High Elves of the North. Have your King release me at once for my father's retribution will be swift if you but keep his youngest son here as an unwilling prisoner.'
Gandalf nodded his head once before getting to his feet.
'As you wish, my prince,' he murmured, bowing before Legolas. And then he left the room to speak with the King.
to be continued…