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Greenleaf&Imladris 20-Calenlass: Heart of a Prince	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 4275 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter XII: Confrontations

The great hall of the White Tower rang with serious talk and muted laughter. Originally intended as a banquet honoring the Harad delegation, this subdued dinner was now held in thanksgiving that Gondor had not fallen victim to the Southrons’ machinations.

Legolas mingled quietly with the other guests, aware that the present warmth and kind demeanors of several were neither deep nor lasting. For now, they were grateful to him for his part in uncovering the Haradrim’s dark scheme. But time would temper this and they would eventually remember their envy and wariness of the Elf-prince.

And there were still those who did not treat him with much friendliness but were even more fearful and suspicious of him. The men of Gondor could be as superstitious as the Swertings and Legolas’ almost otherworldly means of interrogation with the Harad ambassador had served to confirm these long-standing beliefs about the Firstborn. Thus, there was quite a number who regarded him with caution and even veiled hostility.

But none openly showed disrespect or animosity. None dared while Elessar’s Elf-brother remained at his side.

Legolas considered Elrohir’s actions with equal parts gratitude and exasperation. He was all too aware that the twin stood between him and possible unpleasantness. Yet he also could not help feeling anxious that such obvious evidence of Elrohir’s high regard for him would only deepen the prevailing belief that he was too much the warrior’s confidante.

He was also discomfited by the Elf-knight’s behavior. Elrohir was reticent with him almost to the point of silence. He saw to his needs with typical thoughtfulness, responded to his questions or comments and acted as his shield against any guest spoiling for a fight. And considering the amount of wine and ale being consumed, there were many rendered intemperate enough to dare start one.

But he was overly restrained this evening. It was unlike him to be so quiet and unforthcoming. Legolas wondered at the twin’s strange mood. Eventually, however, he began to chafe at Elrohir’s constant vigilance. It was not as if he was a helpless child unable to fend for himself in less than friendly territory. Therefore, it was with relief that he saw Aragorn beckon to his brother to join him and Arwen for a spell.

Elrohir glanced at him with concern before left. “I will be quick,” he murmured.

“There is no need,” Legolas assured him. “Go. Do not keep them waiting.”

He waited for the twin to disappear into the throng before slipping out of the hall. Truth be told, the closeness and warmth within had been getting on his nerves and he felt a breath of fresh air would revive his rather tense spirits. And so he left the White Tower, slipped past the guards at the gate of the Citadel and walked down the dark, empty street beyond until he reached the sixth level of the city.

He walked aimlessly for a while until he came to a cul-de-sac surrounded by empty buildings. Though more than twenty years had passed since Aragorn’s ascension to the throne of Gondor, there were still patches of deserted structures in Minas Tirith, evidence of the population’s steep decline during the War. Many citizens had abandoned the Guarded City for the relative safety of lesser-known abodes and they were slow in returning to their former homes.

Misliking the melancholy of the place, he turned to retrace his steps. And came face to face with a group of men. Men who had had more drink than was good for them but were not intoxicated enough to take for granted. Men who eyed him with active dislike.

With a twinge of apprehension he recognized Lord Gethron as well as the king’s counsellor, Duindor. All the other faces were familiar, too. They belonged to a faction of vassals who sought greater power in court and incidentally envied and therefore hated Legolas for his intimacy with the royal family.

He swiftly surveyed their forms and frowned when he caught glimpses of battle-worn swords and knives concealed beneath their robes and mantles. Tradition and protocol demanded that only ceremonial weapons were worn at royal functions. Legolas himself bore only a simple jeweled dagger on his person. That these men had not only followed him out here but also risked flouting the rules meant they had come to the banquet with the intent of doing him harm. No doubt they would have devised some way to get him alone but he had made it even easier for them by leaving the great hall without telling anyone.

He did not visibly tense as they smilingly surrounded him. But within he was as wound up as a tightly coiled spring.

“Why, my lord prince, do you so disdain the company of men that you would leave the banquet so precipitately?” Gethron said with a smirk.

“‘Twas not to avoid anyone’s company that I left,” Legolas replied calmly. “I only desired a breath of fresh air.”

Duindor snorted disbelievingly. “Do not toy with us, Elf,” he growled. “We have seen how you look down upon us mere humans.”

“I do not look down on your race,” Legolas said pointedly. “If I did, I would not have troubled to befriend your king.”

“But ‘tis not our king with whom you spend your time, is it?” someone else said. “You are always in company with the Lord Elrohir.”

Legolas stiffened at the dangerously suggestive comment. “He and I have been friends for many centuries,” he retorted.

“Which makes it a simple matter to use him for your own purposes,” Gethron sneered. “‘Tis common knowledge that Elessar hearkens to his brother’s counsel in all things. No doubt you have much say in what Lord Elrohir tells the king!”

“That is an absurd notion, my Lord Gethron,” Legolas icily said. “If any desired to guide the king in his rule I warrant it would be you and your ilk. A pity you have no well-placed lackey of your own to aid you in your ambitions!”

His lightning swift parry of a treacherous charge from behind was all that saved him from a mortal wound to his back. His would-be opponent was taken aback by such an unexpectedly fast reaction from the archer. But this did not prevent him or the others from converging on the Elf with murderous intent.

They obviously expected a quick finish to their fiendish scheme. They were grievously disappointed. Not only did their quarry fend off their attacks, he also dealt some of them serious enough injuries to take them out of the running. And he did so with naught but his one knife.

It occurred to Legolas that these men had imbibed copious amounts of alcohol to bolster their courage to carry out an ambush on him. Well, the alcohol had indeed given them the needed courage to attack him but it had also rendered them less effective as fighters. Thank Eru for that, Legolas decided as he managed to evade a wicked arcing slash to his belly.

Nevertheless, he was outnumbered and even elven reflexes and skill could not forever protect him from multiple, near simultaneous assaults. He hissed when one blade penetrated his defenses, leaving a long gash on his forearm. It was then, when he was beginning to worry that he might not survive the fight, that circumstances changed once more.

Forced against the wall of a house, he savagely kicked one man in the groin and sent another’s dagger flying. Through the corner of his eye, he espied Gethron lunging at him, sword in upraised hand. A second later, the man screamed in agony, his weapon dropping to the ground as his hand was pinned to the wall of the house by a deftly flung long-bladed sigil.

Suddenly the small space was swarming with men in the black and mithril of the Guards of the Citadel and the uniforms of the soldiers of the White Company of Ithilien. In minutes, Legolas’ assailants were subdued.

The archer glanced up in time to see Elrohir striding towards the writhing Gethron whose hand remained impaled by the twin’s embedded knife. Directly behind the Elf-lord was Beregond, Captain of the White Company and Faramir’s most trusted officer.

Elrohir, with nary a word, yanked the knife out of wall and flesh. Gethron collapsed to his knees, clutching his bleeding hand, grimacing in pain. He was unceremoniously hauled to his feet by the Elf-warrior.

“You are grown overbold to dare so dastardly an act, Gethron,” he snarled.

“Mercy, lord!” the man gasped. “‘Tis not what you think—!”

“Save your explanations for the king!” Elrohir snapped. “I have no patience for cowardly dogs such as you.”

“My lord!” Duindor hurriedly interrupted. “We meant no harm! It seems we had too much to drink and it clouded our judgment!”

Legolas lay a frigid glare on him. “No harm?” he repeated, barely stifling the impulse to throttle the advisor.

Elrohir placed a soothing hand on his shoulder though he all but skewered the archer’s attackers with his stare.

“I find it hard to believe that you came after Prince Legolas because of mere intoxication,” he acidly remarked.

“But ‘tis the truth, my lord,” one of the other men insisted. “We did not realize what we were doing!”

“Indeed? Then how do you explain these?”

He flicked a finger across the hilt of one their swords, which along with their other weapons were now in Beregond’s custody. His sarcastic query left the prisoners quite mute. He shifted his gaze to settle solely on a cringing Gethron.

“You are careless with your correspondence, Gethron,” Elrohir informed him. “I found your behavior suspect during the talks with the Swertings. It seemed to me that you were overly familiar with them. And so I set a watch on you and your household.” He paused, letting the baron sweat a little more. “Your messenger was caught heading for the border carrying a letter to the Southrons. A letter of apology that also detailed our future plans pertaining to Harad. A letter bearing your signature and seal.” He smiled grimly when the man’s face whitened almost impossibly. “I wonder what the king will make of this treachery?” he remarked.

“Nay! ‘Tis not treachery!” Gethron cried vehemently.

“Then what do you call it?”

“We only desired to repair the damage done to our potential alliance with Harad!”

Elrohir raised sceptical eyebrows at the man. “Potential alliance?” he repeated. “You would persist in treating with a treacherous people after having witnessed the unveiling of their deceit? You are not only traitors but also fools as well!”

“‘Twas no unveiling, my lord!” Gethron objected. He looked at Legolas with mingled fear and loathing. “This Elf used enchantment on the Harad ambassador to get the result he wanted.”

Elrohir snorted. “And why, pray tell, would Prince Legolas wish to thwart a treaty with Harad other than to prevent mischief?”

“‘Twas at our behest that the Haradrim broached the treaty in the first place,” Duindor interjected excitedly. “Had it been signed and ratified, it would have elevated us in the king’s eyes being its chief instigators. Naturally, Prince Legolas would not desire such a thing for it would lessen his influence at court!”

Elrohir actually blinked at such convoluted reasoning. “Not just traitors and fools but hare-brained ones, too,” he remarked with some disbelief. “If I did not abide by the laws of this land, I would run you through this instant and rid the kingdom of your perilous stupidity once and for all!” He signed to Beregond. “Take them to the king. He must be told of their foul deeds.”

“Mercy!” howled Duindor. “My lord, Gethron spoke true. ‘Tis not treachery. We only desired the good of Gondor!”

“Spare me your worthless declarations. You colluded with this kingdom’s enemies then attacked a noble guest of the king. What is that if not treachery?”

“He bewitched the ambassador!” Gethron insisted, jabbing a finger at Legolas. “As he bewitches you!”

“Aye,” Duindor eagerly agreed. “You are verily in his company day and night. He works his magic on you without your knowledge and uses you to induce the king to do his bidding.”

“Prince Legolas is no warlock to engage in such dark practices,” Elrohir dismissed. “I have known him far longer than all the generations of your fleeting lines and I vouch for his integrity.”

“You trust him overmuch, my lord,” Duindor blurted out. “You do not realize how deeply he has ensorcelled you.”

Elrohir had to laugh at that. “‘Tis a measure of your opinion of me that you should think me easily ensorcelled by another Elf! Hardly flattering I must say.” Again, he signed to Beregond.

This time, the captain did not bother to wait out the prisoners’ fevered protests but had the guards and his own men take them away. Yet the captured men continued to proclaim their good intentions even as they hurled invectives at the Elven prince they deemed an obstacle to their ambitions.

When the last of Legolas’ assailants disappeared from sight, Elrohir turned to the prince. He frowned when he noticed the gash on Legolas’ arm. He reached for the injured limb and examined the wound carefully.

“‘Tis shallow and will heal swiftly,” he said with relief. Without hesitation, he ripped a length of silken fabric from the hem of his own shirt and used it to bind the wound.

Deeply shaken by the miasmic accusations thrown at him, Legolas shuddered. “This would not have happened had you been more reserved in your manner with me,” he said tersely, his voice unsteady.

Elrohir’s head snapped up; the darkling Elf stared at the archer. “Is that all you have to say?” he gasped.

Legolas looked at him and replied: “What else can I say when the reason for this attack is that which I had been trying to avoid for so long?”

For a tense, silent moment, the Elf-knight gazed at him, his dusky eyes darkening further with every passing second.

“So, your thoughts are finally revealed to me, ernil daur”—forest prince—Elrohir suddenly snapped.

“I do not know what you mean.”

“But it is clear, is it not? You call into question my actions, my words, my very being. Nothing I do pleases you now.”

“You exaggerate. I only wished that this did not come to pass. And it would not if you had taken more thought to your demeanor with me.”

“What would you have had me do then?”

“I cannot direct your actions, Elrohir, they are your own. But had Aragorn been in your place, he—”

“Has so strong a heart that it could endure its own breaking.”

Legolas gasped in shock as his own words were hurled back caustically at him. For the first time, he saw the unveiled pain in Elrohir’s eyes, realized the other had only been keeping a tight leash on his emotions.

The warrior continued with unrelenting harshness. “So strong while I am so weak that I hold you hostage to my needs,” he said, voice dripping with bitterness. “You are racking up all my mistakes and waiting to use them as reason enough to break with me. But I suppose that is a kindness for then you would not be feeding me false hopes.”

Legolas felt his heart sink like a stone. The twin had been there in the garden. Had heard every scornful, bludgeoning word he had uttered. Dismay and guilt rooted him to the ground.

“Elrohir,” he murmured. “Forgive me. ”

“For what?” Elrohir choked. “For breaking my heart? That was a possibility from the moment I loved you. A risk I took knowing you as I do. What I did not foresee was that you could be so ruthless. Be gentle, my sister asked of you. She did not know that I had already tasted your steel. And indeed I should salute you for it is obvious that you have bested me!”

He turned away and walked quickly into the shadows, refusing to heed the prince’s pleas for him to turn back.

Legolas stared up at the stars unseeingly. His relationship with Elrohir was all but riven. All that was needed was the formality of words to make the break as clean as possible. He was on the verge of freedom. It was what he wanted; what he’d striven for.

Why then did it feel so bleak?

***********************

Glossary:

sigil - knife or dagger

To be continued…
- 12
- 13
- 14
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Greenleaf&Imladris 20-Calenlass: Heart of a Prince