CHAPTER 15: THE DAWN OF TRUTH

Aragorn tossed and turned all night after what they had learnt from the prisoner hours earlier, and Arwen was hardly able to get any rest either.

The worst storm Minas Tirith had seen in years had lashed its fury on the city for two hours, and then rained steadily for two more, making it impossible for anyone to attempt venturing outdoors, let alone ride anywhere in it in the dark. After much discussion, the King, the Queen, and the Steward had all decided reluctantly to obtain what rest they could for the rest of the night. But even before first light, the king was up, washed and dressed, ready to leave for Ithilien.

After a light, hurried breakfast, he and Arwen went into Eldarion’s room where he placed a quiet kiss on his son’s forehead. Then he kissed Arwen goodbye in their bedchamber, and he left the shelter of the palace.

As usual, Aragorn took in the smell of a freshly washed land as he walked to the stables in the chill left by the storm. The same stable lad whom he had terrified two nights ago greeted him at the stables, having been woken up from a sound sleep in a warm bed by a guard of the Citadel. Seeing the youth shiver a little despite being wrapped up in a cloak, Aragorn smiled kindly on him. The king walked to his horse and patted the smooth skin of the well-groomed chestnut stallion that Legolas himself had trained for him. He had been riding it for six months now, but he suspected that the animal still felt closer to his elf trainer than to his master. Such was the love elves developed between themselves and the creatures they tamed.

“Quel amrun, Rallias,” Aragorn greeted the beautiful animal, although it was not quite a good morning yet. The horse nickered softly. 

Faramir appeared beside him, sleep still heavy on his face. Aragorn was quietly grateful to his faithful Steward to whom he entrusted the care of the city and family each time he left. The previous night, Faramir had insisted that at least two guards accompany Aragorn on his visit, since Aragorn would not agree to more, and Aragorn had acquiesced, only for the peace of mind of his Steward. Fleetingly, he recalled how Arwen had sent back her own guards from Ithilien and, for a moment, he understood how she must have felt. 

“I know you will take care of them,” he said quietly to Faramir, certain that the gentle Steward knew to whom he was referring. “I may not be long in Ithilien, but I do not yet know what I will find there, or what will happen. But I – I have to make things right first, and then, I do not know what he will decide – ” he was lost for words for a moment as he pondered the situation they found themselves in.

“I understand, Elessar,” Faramir said with a smile. “Take the time you need. Arwen and Eldarion will be safe here. Please tell Legolas… tell him… you know… ”

It was Aragorn who smiled now. “I will, Faramir.” He turned to go, but suddenly turned back and queried, “The riders, have you arranged for them – ”

“Yes, worry not. They will leave today, as early as I can manage it. I have given them your message. They will ride with all haste.”

With a final nod, the king mounted his horse and rode off, with two rather sleepy guards behind him, unaware that the reason for his going to the woods would, in a little while, be waking up himself, and departing from the place before long.

Legolas came awake from his elven reverie in his talan, in that small breath of time before Ithil graciously left the skies and Anor traced her own path into it to herald a new dawn. He lay still for a few minutes with his eyes closed and listened for the first bird call, the first flutter of wings, the first sound of a woodland creature’s feet to welcome the birth of a new day in Arda.

What would each new day be like in Valinor? Tranquil, restful… The thought came from nowhere, unbidden, surprising him.

Shaking off the thought, he sat up quickly. He dressed in a light shirt, a thicker tunic and strong leggings. Travel clothes, he mused. He had prepared his pack and equipment, and checked his weapons the previous night, and they lay ready at the door.

I hope I will be able to leave without suspicion, he said to himself.The elves, he knew, would not let him go alone if they realized where he was headed.

The previous night, he had spent two hours thinking through what he was about to do. If it took Brûyn two to three weeks to walk from Adhûn, it would take them just a few days on horseback if conditions were right and they could ride fast. But having to remain unseen might slow them down; they would have to keep to the cover of forests during the day. Still, all he wanted was to know the route, and as soon as they were close enough to the vicinity, they would turn back.

If all goes well, I will be back here in little more than a week, he had determined. He would give his friends the impression that he was taking the prisoner to Minas Tirith. Now would be a good time for the absence of visitors from the City, for if they come, they will know I have not been there… and then…and then…

He had been suddenly nervous. They will reach the conclusion that I have gone towards Adhûn. What if they attempt to follow me? That is not what I wish.

Dismay had overwhelmed him, but after a few moments, he had remembered that Brûyn would no longer be here. Without a guide, they would not know where to go. By the time someone came from the City – if at all anyone did – and by the time they could guess his route, he would already be on his way back, and no one would need to go further. With those hopeful thoughts – and reluctance to consider whether or not they were truly rational – the elf had fallen into a light sleep.

Now, wide awake and ready to proceed, he walked over to the window and looked out, breathing in the cool morning air and watching the last of Varya’s lamps twinkle out in the dark sky.

Arwen’s note from the basket last evening had given him a tiny measure of solace, a spark of hope that his friendship with his human friend was not as damaged as he had feared, that the man’s trust in him was not dead and that they had not grown too far apart. But still, he had not heard it from Aragorn’s own lips. It might have been Arwen’s mistaken perception, or her own way of making him feel better.

He sighed. There was no point in musing over this now. He would have to get going.

A light mist covered the landscape of the woods, dissipating the light of Ithil so that Ithilien seemed like a place of magic. Walking silently over the dew-covered grass, he made his way over to where the prisoner was. Lanwil had cleaned him and given him fresh clothes as Legolas had asked him to. Hannon le, Lanwil, he thought silently. This will make it less unpleasant to have him in front of me on the horse.

At Legolas’ approach, the elf on guard dropped lightly to the ground from where he had been resting in the branches of the tree to which the prisoner was tied. Brûyn, lying on a blanket spread on the grass, with another blanket over his body, stirred in his sleep.

“Heru nin,” the elf addressed Legolas, who nodded.

“Fứillin, would you prepare Aérodel for me, please?” the elf prince requested, casting his eyes briefly in the direction of the stables. “I will need a saddle today.”

Like all elves, Legolas rode bareback. But Brûyn would not be able to, and he did not want to take an extra horse on the journey and run the risk of the man riding off on his own if something should happen. The request made the other elf look at his prince in surprise, a curious expression on his face and a question on the tip of his tongue.

Legolas was prepared for this. He had pondered on what he would say to the others if they asked. He would give answers that contained truth, but which would not tell them exactly where he himself would be going. He now pointed to the sleeping form on the ground.

“The interrogators at the White City would be delighted with another informant,” he answered vaguely, trying hard not to give any sign of his discomfort at hiding his true intentions.

Legolas kept his voice hushed, not for the sake of the sleeping prisoner, whom he would be waking soon, but so that no other elves would be drawn to what was going on. The recuperating elves would be asleep and the others on guard at the fringes of the woods. The previous night, he had taken care to post as many as he could on duty away from the main area of the elf settlement, suppressing a feeling of guilt as he did so. He had made some excuse for them to train their attention to the south and south east, and away from where they would be headed.

“You leave now, heru nin?” Fứillin enquired.

“Yes.”

“It is very early,” the elf could not help remarking, still hesitant to leave for the stables.

“I have matters to settle,” came the immediate – and truthful – reply.

“Will you not take someone with you?” the elf persisted.

Legolas controlled a rising impatience, not at the elf, but out of an anxious need to depart before his true plans were revealed. “There is no need. He is just one man, and he will be bound.”

The elf was still a little puzzled, and his eyes went briefly to the things in Legolas’ hands. The bow, quiver and knives his prince carried did not merit interest, for the elves always carried their weapons whenever they left Ithilien. It was the pack that aroused his curiosity, but then, he was not about to question his prince on what it contained or what he was going to do with it. Perhaps they were just supplies for a longer stay in the White City.

“Saes, Fứillin, please,” Legolas said, looking him in the eye, “and be quiet. Let us not disturb our sleeping friends. They still recover.” The other elf bowed slightly, turned and walked into the darkness under the trees to do as he had been bidden.

Legolas breathed a small sigh of relief after he left, and turned to the task of waking up the prisoner. Brûyn looked dazed at being awakened so early.

“We leave now,” Legolas whispered, releasing him from the tree and tying his hands securely behind his back. 

The man yawned and tried to stretch himself. This time, Legolas’ impatience was at him.

“Get up and move quickly,” he hissed. Then he grabbed the man’s shoulders and stared him hard in the eyes. “Remember, breathe not a word of where we are going to anyone, or you taste the blade of my knife.”

Even in his sleepy state, Brûyn could not ignore the deliberate coldness in the elven eyes, and he nodded, swallowing.

Dawn was not far off but had not yet broken by the time they were both mounted on Aérodel, Brûyn seated sideways on the horse before the elf. As instructed, Fứillin had tied the man’s legs with a short piece of rope so that they were not bound together but it would still be difficult for him to run or even walk should he attempt escape. The man was all but delighted with this arrangement, and neither did Aérodel seem particularly happy at having been saddled. Along with the slightly nervous elf who would be traveling with them both, they made a despondent little threesome. But Legolas had spoken softly to Aérodel, calming him so that he stood obedient and willing as Legolas tied his pack to the saddle. The elf’s weapons were, as usual, strapped to his back.

Legolas was glad that none of the other elves had been drawn to the stables. Except for the small snorts of the equine creature, they had been quiet enough.

“Will you be gone long?” Fứillin asked, looking up at the elf on the horse.

“I will return as soon as I can, when matters have been settled. It may take several days,” was the vague and carefully worded reply.

Fứillin nodded. “Namárië, Bridhon nin,” he said in farewell.

“Namárië,” Legolas said in return, giving him a warm smile. “Please tell Hamille to watch over things in my absence.”

With a click of his tongue and a last look at the landscape behind him, the Woodland prince guided his horse and his prisoner out of the clearing, melting into the chill mists of Ithilien. Legolas was glad for the mists, for when they came to the fringe of the woods, they would make it easier for him to evade the eyes of the elf guards in the trees when they had to seek the route to the north and east, in the opposite direction to the White City.

All through the journey, Aragorn thought about what he would say to his friend, how to convey to him all that needed to be conveyed. He could think of no easy way.

He and his escort moved slowly in the dark, for the clouds covered the moon, and the horses trod more cautiously than usual. The riders followed the route more from memory than from clear sight, for none of them carried a torch. If anyone were after them right now, a torch would announce their position as clearly as a blast from a horn would. As they left the City behind, the clouds gradually lessened, and the dawn came to paint the sky before them with reds and pinks and golds, slowly revealing the well-trod paths before them.

They rode faster as the sun rose advanced, and Aragorn saw that the previous night’s storm had hardly touched this part of the country. The paths were not nearly as muddy as they had been leading out of the City. By late morning, they were approaching the eaves of Ithilien.

Aragorn found himself relaxing, breathing in the scent of the trees and flowers that Legolas and the elves of the Greenwood had lovingly nurtured back to life. Pines and beeches and oaks stood proudly, and the songs of joyous birds flying free greeted him. White and yellow blossoms floated down from the trees, and butterflies chased them in a dance choreographed by the wind. The serenity of the scene soothed him into weakness, and the purity of the colors – blues and greens and whites and golds and yellows – blessed it with a newness that left him with a sense of speechless awe he had not felt in many, many months. His heart ached as he thought back to the life he had lived in Imladris, the elven home he had grown up a lifetime ago, and to Lothlorien where he had first beheld and fallen in love with the beauty of Arwen. His breath hitched as he recalled his Ranger days when he had been so much more at liberty to travel the lands, as far as Legolas’ home in Mirkwood and beyond. A picture of his friend’s warm and breathtaking smile filled his mind.

It has been too long since I came here, he thought with a tear in his eye. Too long. How could I have lost touch with this part of Legolas that he loves so deeply, with everything he is? He demands nothing, he gives so much, and he waits for me to come back.    

With those thoughts, he spurred his horse on, eager to see once more the elven light in his friend’s fair face, to embrace his company and listen to his songs.

He was greeted by Hamille, Lanwil and several other elves as he turned into the clearing where the elves held most of their social activities. It was a small group, but many months, almost a year had it been since Aragorn saw this many elves gathered under the beauty of trees in woods so green. He looked admiringly at the fair faces, slender figures and flowing hair that matched every fluid move they made as they came to him, expressing both delighted surprise and puzzlement at his unexpected visit. Even as he dismounted, he noticed Hamille’s eyes searching for something behind him. Aragorn lapsed into Sindarin as was customary whenever he was in the company of the elves. Politely giving the elvish greeting, he asked for Legolas immediately, expecting that the elf would offer to inform his prince about their arrival. But he was taken aback at the response he received.

“But my lord, he left early this morning,” Hamille said as his friend took the horse’s reins from Aragorn to lead the animal and the king’s guards to the stables.

Aragorn stopped in his tracks, a note of anxiety and dismay in his voice. “Left? Left for where?” 

Hamille and the other elves exchanged a puzzled look before Hamille answered: “For the White City, with the man we held captive. Did you not pass him?”

“You held someone captive?” The note of surprise in the king’s voice was loud.

“Yes, one of the attackers. We caught him later that night, after Prince Legolas left for Minas Tirith,” Lanwil explained. “I rode there to tell him the next day, and he came back here with me. He wanted the man held here for questioning.”

Aragorn felt a rising sense of urgency but still needed to place events in sequence in his head. He was trying to remember when, if at all, he had heard about this other captive, when Hamille interrupted his reflections. “The prince learnt about it after he left the healing room,” he offered softly, fixing his gaze on the king.

Aragorn looked into the eyes of the elf and read the hidden meaning and knowledge there. He flinched a little as he realized that Hamille had known all along. Did Legolas – ? 

“He told no one, it was I who heard,” Hamille intercepted in a voice barely above a whisper, reading Aragorn’s mind. “He defended you to the end.”

Aragorn swallowed and his eyes glistened. “I know he would have, and deep has been my regret over my careless words since. This is why I came, as I said I would,” he whispered back. “There is no nobler friend than your prince, I have none truer.”

Hamille seemed appeased at the sincerity in the man’s voice, and his elvish smile was one of forgiveness. The other elves watched them, uncomprehending, unable to follow the tangent on which they had departed.

Fứillin’s voice brought them back to the subject they had been on:  “He left before dawn this morning.”

At those words, Aragorn’s heart sank, and a sudden fear gripped him. “We departed from the City before dawn as well, and if he had been riding in that direction, we would have crossed paths. We saw no one. Is there any reason he would have proceeded on any course other than the usual one?”

The elves looked at each other and shook their heads. “We can think of no reason for it,” Hamille replied. “There is only one path we all take, the well-traversed one.” 

Aragorn nodded. “That is why I do not think he went to the City.”

The elves now looked even more bewildered, and worry crept into their eyes as well.  Hamille turned to face Fứillin, asking an unspoken question.

“That is where he said he was going,” the latter said, then paused as he tried to recall the exact conversation he had exchanged with the elf prince. “Or perhaps not exactly…”

Apprehension gripped Aragorn like a cold claw as he asked Fứillin in alarm: “What exactly did he say?”

Within minutes, Fứillin had narrated the whole conversation, at the end of which the faces of Aragorn, Hamille and the other elves were noticeably even more anxious. Aragorn closed his eyes as he realized how cleverly Legolas had evaded telling Fứillin the truth and avoided telling a lie at the same time.

He is not a good liar, he thought. He must have been planning this.

“I did think it a little strange that he was going alone, but he would not let me question him about it,” Fứillin finished unhappily, “and he would not let me wake anyone.”

“This may have some bearing on the mystery of where he has gone,” Lanwil spoke up suddenly. “I, too, thought it strange that he should have chosen to speak to the prisoner alone last night. He let no one hear what they said to each other. I wonder now if… if he had been set on some purpose even then.”

“What did you find out from the one you held captive?” Aragorn enquired.

Lanwil told him what they knew of Sarambaq and his halls in Adhûn.

Aragorn’s thoughts suddenly flew to what Legolas had said that night after his own outburst: “I will go now to make amends, to redress the wrong that has been committed, as best as I can…”

To make amends, redress the wrong…

And then he knew.

When he looked at Hamille with wide eyes, he saw that the elf had guessed as well. Legolas must be going east with the prisoner. Aragorn’s heart sank even further and his hands shook as he ran them through his dark hair. His voice, when he spoke again, was equally shaky and full of remorse.

“I rue my careless words even more deeply now, Hamille, for I fear they may have been the reason he set off in the first place.”

“I am not surprised that he should want to try and find your enemy, my lord, for he would do anything to aid you, though I cannot help but wish he had been less hasty, or at least invited some company.”

“No, he would not want any of you to go, for he cannot know what lies ahead. He would spare all of us the danger; that is his way.” Aragorn shook his head. “Neither have I known him to act in haste, yet his heart must have been restless, due in no small part to my own failing.” His pain and self-reproach was plain for all to see, even if no one but Hamille understood exactly to what he referred.

“Alas that I did not get here sooner, but I could not, and the news that I bring now, we only learnt last night,” he continued to lament in distress. “But for the storm, I would have come straight away, and little did I suspect that he had these plans. Ai, Legolas!”

Most of the Ithilien elves were gathered there by now, listening to the exchange. Aragorn’s guards also stood close by, listening but understanding nothing.

“Saes, heru nin,” Hamille pressed him. “Please, my lord, tell us what this news is.”

Aragorn first needed to know how much they already knew. “This man you captured,” Aragorn asked the elves. “Did he tell you of his master’s intentions and plans?”

They all looked at the elf who had questioned the prisoner.

”Nay,” he responded. “He said he did not know as much as the one we sent to the White City, for that one was one of their leaders.”

Aragorn nodded. “Indeed, we learnt more from the one in our dungeons, and I have no reason to believe he is not telling the truth, but my heart is heavy in telling you what we now know.” Under his breath, he breathed a message to one who was absent: “Had I the wings of an eagle, my friend, I would be bearing you back here on the swiftest wind this moment.”

The elves waited for him to speak again. Hamille pressed him, “Tell us, my lord.”

There was no easy way, so Aragorn stated it plainly: “They did not come here for my son, Eldarion.”

The elves gasped. “What do you mean, my lord? I heard them myself,” Lishian spoke up for the first time. “They asked for the king’s son, and that is what they shouted to each other.”

Aragorn cleared his throat. “Yes, you heard truly. They were after the king’s son,” he said slowly, “but it was not Eldarion they sought…”

Hamille’s eyes, and the eyes of several others, widened as a thought began to take form.

“Saes, speak plainly, please, King Elessar,” he pleaded in a shaky voice, not wanting but needing to hear it confirmed.

“They – they were after the son of a different king, Hamille.”

A cold, uneasy feeling crept into the elves’ hearts. A different king. 

Their minds replayed the events that had shattered the peace of Ithilien three days ago, and as suddenly as realization had dawned upon the prisoner in the White City the night before, they all knew now how different eyes had looked upon the same truth and seen different meanings.

“It was the King of Mirkwood they were talking about,” Aragorn drove the thought home for them. “Your king, Thranduil. The son they sought to capture was your prince – Legolas.”