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CHAPTER 10: NO TURNING BACK

Silence reigned for long moments after Legolas left, several pairs of eyes still trained on the door. Then Arwen swung round to face the king, blinking back tears.

“Estel,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief, momentarily at a loss for words. Then she spoke with a voice laced with sorrow, “Estel, you know he would give his life before he allowed Eldarion or me – you – any of us – to be hurt! How could you – how could you say what you said to him?”

The king remained silent, his face set in an expression that had frustration written all over it, but now there was distress as well. I did not mean it for him, he protested silently. I just meant… what did I mean? Whom was it meant for? Part of him wanted to go after Legolas, but part of him remained numb, rooting him to the spot.

Faramir studied him for a moment, thinking that he had been hard on Legolas, but realized that nothing like this had happened to his family before, and it was a difficult time for all. The Steward felt uncomfortable, sensing that this might be a good time to leave the royal couple alone, so he cleared his throat and excused himself, saying that he had to inform the councilors about Eldarion’s condition and to see to the interrogation of the prisoner. Aragorn barely nodded. Faramir signaled to the healers to leave the room with him, and soon the king was alone with his family.

In the silence of the healing room, the king and queen remained as immobile as their child on the bed. For a while, all they could hear was each other’s breath. Then Aragorn turned and walked over to the bed on which his son lay. He looked on the young face and touched his unmoving hand.

But he still felt numb inside. He could not think, he could not feel. He was just numb.

As Arwen studied him, she saw how weary and bowed with worry he looked. Now was not the time for an argument, not while they waited for their child to wake. “Estel,” she said gently, approaching him. “Sit, my love, and rest. You are exhausted.” After a pause, she added, knowing he would not need elaboration to understand: “It can be mended.” 

Aragorn removed his eyes from the figure on the bed then and looked at her with so much sadness it twisted her heart.

“I must go after him…” he began, and made to walk toward the door, but before he could take two steps, a weak murmur came to their ears, and a small voice uttered a word: “Nana…”

Both king and queen were bent over the child in an instant. “Eldarion,” they breathed in unison.

As the little sea-grey eyes of the child fluttered open, his parents smiled through tears as their felt their worries wash away like a cool waterfall. The child’s eyes fell on the figure he had not expected to see. “Father,” he whispered, just before the king broke into tears and gathered his child into his arms.

But for Aragorn, despite the huge wave of relief he felt, they were not all tears of joy.

Legolas felt as if a thousand daggers were piercing his heart as he walked out of the healing room and past the guards Faramir had posted. He had held his head high as he left, but as soon as he was beyond the door, he found himself trembling before he had taken ten steps. What just happened in there? He was shocked and confused, he did not know what to think, what to feel, unaware that his friend, the friend he loved more than his own life, was feeling the exact same way. All he knew at this moment was this reality that seemed to stab at the core of his being. He suddenly felt robbed of breath and held a hand out to the cold stone wall to steady himself.

A dozen lords and ladies of the court looked at him as he exited. They had heard the loud voice of the king within the room but could not make out the words uttered. At the look of torment on the elf’s fair face, they attributed it to some change in the young prince’s condition and whispered quietly among themselves. Most of them were sincerely concerned about Eldarion. Many of them also knew Legolas, but the distress in his face dispelled any thoughts of approaching him for news.

Legolas walked on as fast as he could to distance himself from them, not really cognizant of where he was headed. He heard light footsteps behind him and looked up as a fair elvish voice address him. “My lord?”

One of the Ithilien elves who had ridden to the city with him was standing before him now, eyeing his prince with concern. He held out a hand hesitantly, wondering if Legolas needed support. Legolas collected himself quickly.

“I am all right, Hamille,” he assured the other elf in the musical Sindarin language they shared, but did not trust himself to speak further. At the sight of the ashen face, Hamille’s features hardened a little.

“You endured the king’s ire,” the elf said very quietly so that no one else could hear, forgetting that the humans nearby would not have understood them anyway. It was a statement, not a question, and Legolas guessed then that Hamille must have heard what transpired in the room earlier. An elf’s hearing was much more acute that of human ears.

“You heard?” Legolas questioned in the same soft tones.

Hamille nodded, his bright elven eyes expressing dissatisfaction. “It should not have been thus.”

“What happened in Ithilien should not have been thus,” Legolas replied immediately.

“Yet it was not by your hands it came to pass,” Hamille retorted.

“Even so, there were no other hands that could have kept the prince from harm,” came the rejoinder. More gently, Legolas remarked, “I am not a father, Hamille, but I imagine that a father’s anguish is hard to bear.”

Hamille made as if to reply to that, but thought better of it. No matter what he said, he knew, his prince would counter it.

“Speak to no one else about this, please,” Legolas requested, and Hamille nodded. Satisfied, Legolas changed the subject. “You sought me? Is something the matter?”

“Lanwil has just arrived. He brings news,” Hamille replied a little more loudly now, piquing the interest of the people who had strayed close enough to see them and hear them talk but not comprehend their exchange. “They caught another one of the vile attackers before he could escape. He rode here immediately to inform you.”

Legolas straightened at once. “Is the man here?”

“No, he is being held in Ithilien. They were not sure whether to bring him here.”

That is good, Legolas thought. That is exactly what I need. “And Lanwil?”

“He is visiting the others in the healing rooms.”

Legolas had no time to think further on the incident with Aragorn in the healing room, although he knew the impact of it would be felt again as soon as he had a moment to reflect. Something more urgent had to be taken care of now. He placed his hand on his kinsman’s shoulder and the two elves walked quickly to the rooms, ignoring the stares of the people around them as they watched the graceful movements of the fair beings. 

Lanwil was sitting on a bed beside Lishian, whose deep shoulder wound was healing, but got up when Legolas entered the room. “Mae govannen, Bridhon nin,” he addressed his prince, placing a hand to his chest. Legolas returned the greeting and clasped the elf’s arm. Their conversation was entirely in Sindarin, so the healers could understand naught.

“You have the prisoner securely kept?” asked the elf prince.

“Aye, my lord,” replied Lanwil. “We await your return, or your orders to bring him here.”

“Hannon le,” Legolas thanked him. “You did well. I will return now and we can question him. The one who is here has not talked. How are our friends?”

Lanwil paused and thought, guessing that the elf prince was referring to the elves who had been injured but not brought to Minas Tirith. “They are well. They have been tended to. What of those here, my lord?”

Legolas looked around him at the elves in the room. “They will heal fast, as you know, and they will be able to leave soon. You must be tired. Have you eaten?”

“Aye, my lord,” Lanwil replied, his eyes traveling over Legolas’ face and body. “Have you?”

Legolas opened his mouth to answer and realized with a sudden jolt that he truly could not remember. He did not answer, for he did not wish to lie.

“And your wound, my lord?” Lanwil asked again, one eyebrow raised, almost accusingly.

Legolas smiled. “It has been taken care of,” he was glad he could respond honestly to this query at least. “Are you too tired to ride back with me?”

“No, I am ready.”

“Would you prepare our horses then? Hamille can stay with our friends here. I will speak with them. Wait for me at the stables.”

Lanwil bowed and left immediately. Legolas took a deep breath.

I have disappointed you, Aragorn, and perhaps I deserve the hurt I feel, he thought.

He closed his eyes as he realized that he had, against his will, admitted he was hurt. Torn inside. But not helpless.

Does our friendship mean less to you now than it did once, Estel? he wondered sadly. No matter. I will do this for you. I will find the one who hurt you and your family.

With that resolve, he opened his eyes and went to the elf closest to him. He took some time to give each elf words of encouragement and asked them to leave the White City as soon as they were able to, assigning Hamille the task of meeting with the king and expressing their thanks before they departed. Then he thanked the healers himself and left for the stables.

Once Eldarion had awakened and the healers had ascertained he was indeed out of danger and on the road to healing – he even took a little fruit juice – the king and queen could finally be persuaded to take some respite in their own chambers, leaving the child in the capable hands of their most trusted healers.

The thought of going after Legolas flitted across Aragorn’s mind, but the elf would have left the city by now, he thought sadly, and his child had just woken. What if he asked for his father? No, he could not leave him yet. Aragorn was also truly exhausted. He resigned himself to the need for rest and sleep.

A new dawn may bring new counsel, he told himself in a feeble attempt at self-comfort, recalling that, ironically, those had often been Legolas’ words during the Quest of the Ring, Legolas who had frequently buoyed his spirits with reminders that even in darkness, there still was – and always would be – hope.

While they waited for hot baths to be drawn for them, Aragorn and Arwen sat on comfortable chairs on the balcony outside their sleeping quarters. Dusk had descended on the city, adding to the gloom in Aragorn’s heart. But the fragrance of honeysuckle and lavender that Legolas and his elves had planted in the gardens wafted by on a fresh breeze, soothing them a little.

Arwen noted her husband’s silence and pained features and knew what – and who – occupied his thoughts. She had been shocked at her husband’s outburst at Legolas, but she was also certain enough about the depth of the love between the two to know that Aragorn would be hurting as much as his friend and that he would have regretted his words almost as soon as he had uttered them. His sigh only reinforced her belief. 

“I did not mean it, Arwen,” he said with his head bowed, knowing she would understand what he was referring to. “It was not his fault, but I know I made it sound as if it was. And now… he has left.”

His tone caught at her heart. “Estel… he will know this. He will understand.” But for the first time, her words held a little less confidence than they always had before. For some reason, her mind went back to the grimace of pain she had seen in the elf’s eyes when Aragorn had clutched his shoulder and instinctively whispered, “I hope it has healed.”

“What do you hope has healed?” Aragorn queried, and she started; he had heard her.

She said nothing, knowing that the knowledge of it would cause him even more remorse. There was no time to answer even if she had wanted to, for at that moment there came upon the wind a sound of horses riding, leaving the stables of the seventh level where they were. Aragorn’s head whipped up and he shot out of his chair, one long stride taking him to the wall of the balcony. He peered into the darkening surroundings.

He could just make out two horses riding downward, in the direction they would take to leave the city. Dark hair and golden hair glinting in the setting sun flowed behind the slender figures, and Aragorn gasped. “He is only just leaving!” he whispered. “I could have…” He felt like calling out the name of the friend he had loved and hurt, but he knew that at the speed they were riding, it would be no use. All he could do was watch helplessly, hoping, hoping that Legolas would, as he had in the past, pause at the Great Gates and turn around to ride back up.

He watched and waited, clutching at the stone wall till his knuckles were white, and Arwen waited with him. Gracefully, the two figures rode, onward they pressed. Now they were hidden, and now they reappeared briefly, as they descended each level.

The Great Gates were closed at dusk, as they were at this moment, but the guards must have seen the unmistakable elf forms approaching some way off and were even now opening them for the riders to go through. The elves slowed down a little and Aragorn held his breath. Legolas now approached the open gates at a canter. Aragorn’s eyes never left him.

“Turn,” Aragorn said under his breath, willing the elf to do so as he had done so many times before. “Please turn, my friend. Give me a chance to set things right.”

But the horse never broke the canter, and Legolas, not turning, not looking back, rode through, taking a large piece of Aragorn’s heart with him.