CHAPTER 3: THE LORD OF THE WHITE TREE

In a settlement mid-way between Rohan and Minas Tirith, Aragorn gave his final orders to the officers he entrusted with the security of this new settlement under Gondor’s protection. He had spent the last three days there, meeting with villagers whose lives and homes had been plundered by the remnants of dissatisfied Men whose minds had once been under the spell of the wizard Saruman. Even though the wizard had fallen from grace and was long dead, the men remained outlaws, hating both the kingdoms of Gondor and Rohan. What saddened Aragorn most was that three villagers who put up a fight had died at their filthy hands, including a child of nine. She had been Eldarion’s age, a thought that deepened his sorrow, and he prayed that his son was safe back home. 

“See that no more harm befalls the villagers. I leave them in your care.” With those words, he nodded and left with his royal escort to begin the long ride back to the White City and his family. For the past three months, he had had to settle more land disputes and hunting rights than he cared to remember, but uppermost had been the security problems. It worried him that desperate outlaws were becoming more daring, more reckless, and more cold-blooded in their assaults. After ten years, it distressed him that the safety of Gondor’s lands was once again a cause for concern.

Aragorn felt weary and bowed with care, longing only to go home to his wife and son, a hot bath and his own bed. He had left the care of the White City and his loved ones in the capable hands of his Steward, Faramir. He did not know if Legolas was there or in the woods. He hoped the elf would be there; they could enjoy some of the good wine from the cellars of the palace. He truly missed his friend, but duties demanded so much time. 

Ai, Valar, I could do without troubles for a spell, he thought hopefully.

Aragorn was always occupied with his duties now, Legolas reflected. He must have been gone from Minas Tirith for … more than three months now?  After ten years of the peaceful restoration of Gondor, some problems were cropping up in some of the smaller fiefs on the borders. Robberies, stray outlaws terrorizing villagers, small skirmishes over land – all these needed looking into. Over the last year, Aragorn was often annoyed that the officers he had appointed in these places had not been as effective as he had hoped. He felt he had to visit these fiefs personally to determine what needed to be done; besides, the villagers needed to see their King in person from time to time for their morale.

Yes, he has been away more than three months now, Legolas thought. And before that, it had been another tiring two-month tour of the provinces. He himself had left for South Ithilien in between Aragorn’s departures and returns to Minas Tirith, Legolas recalled a little sadly. All in all, he had not seen his friend for close to seven months now, and he missed him. To an elf, that length of time was but the mere beginning of a breath, but since his close companionship with mortals, Legolas sometimes found himself viewing time as a mortal would – as a limited commodity – and seven months gone was seven months out of a limited lifetime. He thus missed the days he could not spend with his closest and dearest friend, the Lord of the White Tree.   

Legolas sighed. Aragorn was a good king, just and kind and devoted to his people. But putting back the broken pieces of Gondor was taking its toll on him, and his temper would flare uncharacteristically as the weight of the problems overwhelmed him. He seemed more distant now, Legolas realized with a twist of sadness.

The feeling continued as he remembered that he had been the brunt of Aragorn’s outbursts as well, several times now in the past one and a half years.  When Legolas consulted him on matters involving the use of funds from the Treasury or the hiring of staff for restoration work, for which he felt he needed the King’s approval, Aragorn happened to be in a fey mood and carelessly asked if Legolas could not be trusted to make the decisions himself.

On another occasion, Legolas had accompanied him to an important meeting with a landowner who was being hard on the poorer villagers, and Aragorn was trying to bring about an amicable solution. But when Legolas saw on the landowner’s walls huge trophies of the heads of deer and other animals killed for sport, which the pompous man readily boasted about, the usually polite elf had been so nauseated he was unable to eat any of the meat served at dinner. He would, under normal circumstances, never show his disgust openly, and particularly as they were the guests of the landowner, but Lord Eigen’s swaggering talk and blatant disregard for the animals had violated the elf’s inherent love of nature so much that he was barely able to keep his words to the landowner civil.

Legolas recalled what had taken place:

“Do elves not find pleasure in meat?” the pompous man had asked him, a mocking tone in his voice. “Does the fare not meet your approval?”

The elf controlled his voice as he replied in his usual soft tones, “Nay, sir, it is not my place to judge the quality of your fare. I consume meat when I need to, for sustenance, but I find it hard to do so with the heads and eyes of the creatures staring at me.” 

Aragorn’s fork paused in mid-air and one of the King’s aides stopped chewing. Lord Eigen’s eyes widened as if they would pop out of his round face. “Strange are the sentiments of elves, to be unmoved by such fine trophies. Have you no appreciation of hunting skills, Master Elf? Aaah, the thrill of a chase invigorates me.”  

“Then I must be strange indeed, Lord Eigen, for I use my hunting skills only to serve me in times of need. At other times, I reserve them for the pursuit of creatures that would seek to kill other creatures only for pleasure or sport,” Legolas replied, thinly veiling his contempt even in his soft tones.

The landowner went red in the face, Aragorn cleared his throat rather loudly, his aide choked, and several looks of displeasure from Aragorn’s company were shot in Legolas’ direction. Aragorn, who would at any other time sided with the elf, felt annoyed at his inopportune coldness toward Lord Eigen, worried that it would jeapordise the negotiations.

Fortunately, an acceptable agreement was reached nevertheless, but Aragorn’s annoyance radiated through the silence he kept during much of the next day’s ride on their way home to Minas Tirith. It had made Legolas ask himself if he had acted unreasonably, and he had approached Aragorn with an apology.

“I am sorry, Aragorn. Perhaps I was too harsh in my judgement of Lord Eigen. Forgive me,” he ventured quietly.   

There was at first only a tense look from Aragorn in response. He understood what had angered the elf: instead of being returned with respect to the earth, parts of the dead animals had been displayed to satisfy a hunter’s vain need for others to flatter his hunting skills. It had sickened Aragorn as well, but at that point in time, he had needed the cooperation of the landowner. “There is a time and place, Legolas,” he said at last, somewhat tersely.  

The right time to respect living things was always, and the right place was everywhere, the elf thought stubbornly. But this was perhaps not the right time and place for that argument, so he repeated, “I am sorry.”

“I should not have asked you to come with me,” Aragorn responded shortly, and spoke no more on the matter for the remainder of the day. The king was reflecting on how difficult it must have been for the elf to see the horror reflected in the glass eyes of the animal heads, but perhaps it was weariness that made him keep these thoughts to himself and not voice them to his elf companion, and he did not realize how brusque his words had sounded.

The king’s anxiety was understood by the elf, but even so, Aragorn’s statement still stung like a slap in the face. As he swallowed his pride, Legolas could not help thinking: the son of Thranduil fails again in his trust.   

The following day, Legolas approached Aragorn and unexpectedly begged leave to depart from the King’s company so that he could turn north-east to visit his father in the Greenwood. Aragorn was already feeling contrite over what had transpired between them the previous day, but he had no right to stop the elf from visiting his family. With as much of a smile as he could muster, he said, “Send your father my regards, Legolas. And – please do not take to heart my earlier words – ”

“As you say, there is a time and place,” Legolas interrupted with a small smile, but sadness was in his gentle eyes. “It is I who spoke rashly in the presence of Lord Eigen, an elf still unused to the thinking of Men, perhaps. Worry not, Aragorn, I shall not repeat my error.” Before Aragorn could utter a protest, the elf briefly placed his hand on his heart and swept it gracefully forward and down, saying, “I wish you a safe journey home, Aragorn,” and left, leaving the King of Gondor feeling strangely empty.

If such tense exchanges occurred when they were in Minas Tirith, the elf would get on his horse to ride away, feeling his hurt burn him as he spurred his horse down the seven levels of the city. But by the time he reached the lowest level and the Great Gates of the city, he would wonder if it was his fault after all, and if he had indeed failed Aragorn. He was never sure, and when he felt it was not his fault, he told himself that even kings could be bowed under the weight of his burdens – after all, he had seen his own father lose his temper many times. In the end, it was always his love for the Lord of Gondor that overcame his own hurt. He knew that if he rode off, Aragorn himself might feel wretched. So each time, he would stop his horse before he left the city, and he would turn back, riding up to the seventh level slowly so that his own anger would cool by the time he faced Aragorn again. Sometimes, he would delay seeing the King, retiring instead to the room Aragorn and Arwen always kept ready for his use. The following day, Aragorn’s anger would usually have dissipated, and they would act as if nothing had happened. Legolas continued to hope that things would improve for the King.

Arwen often witnessed these incidents, feeling a little sad that these two friends who would die for each other could drift apart, for a night or a week or a month, over such trivial matters. She once caught Aragorn standing in the shadows of their bedroom balcony, looking miserably at the figure of the friend he loved best riding away from him. The balcony was located in a part of the palace that let them see what went on at the Great Gates. When Legolas stopped at the Gates as he invariably did, the king held his breath as he waited to see if the rider would turn back. Only when he turned did the king exhale and his shoulders sag in relief. He saw Arwen then, and no words were necessary as she enveloped him in her comforting arms, letting him sink his head into her hair. She knew, as he did, that he did not mean his outbursts and that Legolas would understand. 

“Estel,” she addressed him by the Elvish name he had been given by her father, Elrond. “He knows your heart, my love. Take care of his too,” were the only words of counsel she gave him that night.

Two days later, she told Legolas what she had seen, and the elf’s eyes had softened when she said what he already knew: “Estel needs you, Legolas, even if he does not see it himself. Forgive him.” 

So Legolas had always returned to his friend, knowing the true tenderness that lay beneath the hardened exterior of the king.

Legolas’ attention returned to the present. Aye, I miss you my friend. Reflecting on how distant Aragorn felt now, the melancholy caused by his earlier dream returned, and he sighed. He wondered briefly if the dreams had come back because of those incidents with Aragorn. 

Alas, he thought, even great kings are sometimes compelled to do things that do not please everyone.

Many miles from the White City, a dark figure sat in his dark room, brooding and planning. He seethed with the anger and hate he had nursed in his black heart for over nine years, since the end of the Ringbearer’s Quest and the fall of Sauron. As he had every day since then, he swore vengeance on the king for the pain he had caused.  

You took away the light of my life, he said bitterly to a king that could not hear him, but I swear upon the memory of the dead – you shall taste the same grief.

He had been waiting. Watching and waiting. Weeks ago, his spies had finally returned with some good news, though nothing truly seemed good any more, not since… not since THEN. He ground his teeth as the painful memory hit him again. It had taken him a few years to recover and put together the broken pieces of his miserable life again in the years afterward, but the desire for vengeance that consumed his every thought had kept him going.

And now, it seemed like the opportunity was going to arrive, when the situation was most favorable. He had told his minions to wait for just the right time.

Oh yes, it is time for the king to pay.

All he had to do now was wait.

It was getting late, so Legolas shook off his thoughts and left his secret spot, by way of the trees. Tomorrow, he would have to return to North Ithilien. He needed to check on security, for his guards had seen furtive shadows at the edge of the woods that did not belong to orcs or four-legged beasts. Unfortunately, half the elf residents were here with him in South Ithilien now, helping him restore these forests. They were needed here as well, so he would have to rely on those who were left. He considered the possibility of stopping by the city to see Aragorn’s son and Arwen, whom he loved as family, and the thought lightened his heart as he trekked back to the ferry which took him across the Anduin back to Pelargir.

The sights and sounds of the riverside town jarred his senses, in sharp contrast with the serene peacefulness he had just left. But some irritations had to be borne if one wanted to function within the world of Men, he realized. There, he met with the other elves who were working on what he had been assigned them with. He looked at the progress with approval as he ran his long fingers over the woodwork. The elves noted that while their prince’s eyes shone with pleasure, there was also longing tinged with sadness.