CHAP 26:  Plans

Aragorn awoke to a pale dawn and the faint sound of birds. He stretched and yawned, blinking away the cobwebs from his eyes, and immediately looked over to where his friend had lain sleeping.

He could not tell which part of him leapt more violently – his heart or his body – at the sight of the unoccupied spot.

Still befuddled with sleep, he raised himself and reached out to pat the cloak in which Legolas had been tucked, and instantly felt stupid when he found nothing in it. His eyes shot to the cave entrance and saw the two guards positioned as usual, but no elf. Before he could even panic, however, a voice behind him startled him:

“I am here, Aragorn.”

The Ranger swung around ungracefully on his behind, to see the elf seated against the wall of the cave, hands and feet still bound, watching him with an amused expression. Whether it was the hours of sleep he had had, or the copious amounts of tea he had been fed the previous day, or the elf’s own resilient spirit that had done it – perhaps all of them together – Legolas looked much more at ease this morning. The sight of him sitting, instead of lying helplessly, sent a ray of joy into the Ranger’s heart once it had found its way back into his chest.

“When you have finished delighting over my consternation, Elf, you might tell me how long you have been up,” the Ranger grumbled good-naturedly, making his way over to his friend. He added in a softer tone: “How do you feel today, Legolas?”

The elf noted the concerned but hopeful look on the face of the man who had again tended to him most of yesterday and part of the night till he dropped from exhaustion, and thought how fortunate he was to have this friend. For the sake of this man, because he knew it would ease his heart, the elf smiled.  

“Less like warg spit than I did yesterday,” he replied.

The healer chuckled and studied the elven face, warmed by the thought that here was a companion who could still share mirth with him even under such circumstances, and greatly comforted by the knowledge that there were no longer any unresolved matters between them.

“It is good to have you back, my friend,” he said softly, referring to more than the spot of color that had returned to the elf’s cheeks.

“You brought me back,” Legolas replied immediately, blue pools of gratitude shining from behind long lashes. A grin accompanied his next words: “I had no choice, Ranger, you would not leave me alone.”

“Never,” the Ranger affirmed with a grin of his own, “you do not get to escape my clutches so easily, Elf.”

He examined the red marks that the rope bindings were leaving on the fine elven skin around Legolas’ wrists and ankles and wished he could slash the bonds there and then. But those marks were the least of his concerns at the moment.

“Can you lie down again, Legolas? Just for a while, so I can check your wound,” he requested. When the elf grimaced in reluctance, Aragorn was again amused at the irony of his own reaction: the elven streak of recalcitrance was back, which pleased the Ranger but exasperated the healer. He repeated his earlier question.

“How long have you been awake? How did you move here by yourself?”

“Since dawn,” the elf replied as he allowed Aragorn to help him recline, “and very, very slowly. Movement was not easy, as you can see,” he added with a nod towards his legs. “But I felt like sitting up.”

“That is good,” the healer pronounced, lifting the shirt and removing the bandage slowly, a satisfied expression claiming his features. “Yes, and this is healing well, too. Praise Eru for whatever he put into immortal blood to help you mend so fast.” He said this from his heart, without a tinge of envy or thought for his own mortality. But the elf looked at him in concern.

“Does that mean we can leave today?” he asked expectantly, anxiety lacing his voice. “Your pretence cannot go unnoticed for long.”

It was then that the Ranger realized: the reason Legolas had been so determined to recover quickly was not first and foremost for himself, but to extricate his friend from the danger of being discovered, from the threat of the façade being unmasked. Aragorn paused in the midst of applying fresh linen and clamped a hand briefly over both of his friend’s bound ones.

“Yes, we will,” he replied. “I do not think we can afford to wait any longer; Sarambaq will be back for you tomorrow. I was not able to scout very far, but I think our best chance is to escape through the woods to the south. We have to wait till dark.”

“With Rallias?”

“Yes, I will try to make him understand where he needs to go to meet us,” the Ranger replied, then hesitated. “Do you think he will?”

“Understand?” the elf asked, raising his eyebrows. “Aragorn, Rohan raised him, and I trained him. If that horse could talk, he would.”

Aragorn chuckled. “You place much confidence in your skills, Elf,” he teased.

“My skills?” Genuine surprise was in the elf’s voice. “No, indeed, Aragorn. Rallias is descended from a noble line of beasts, and you are a sensitive master. I merely taught him to listen to your voice. If he understands you, it is because of your bond with him.”

Aragorn smiled and shook his head as he fastened Legolas’ tunic. The elf would never realize that elven skill and sensitivity reached beasts in ways that humans could never hope to do; the bond between horse and rider came so naturally to Legolas that he sometimes assumed it worked the same way for everyone. Still, if the elf trusted Rallias to understand what they needed, it would do well to listen to him.

The Ranger discreetly looked over to the two guards and saw that they were, as usual, not paying them much attention. One of them was yawning and the other threw them a casual glance before turning back to face the woods outside.

“Legolas, do you feel up to a walk to the woods now? We will tell them we need a bath,” Aragorn asked, lowering his voice even further.

“Which we do,” the elf said quickly. Despite the circumstances, his eyes lit up at the prospect of their cleaning off four days’ worth of dirt from themselves, the Ranger needing it decidedly more than he did, in his opinion.

Aragorn chuckled. “There is a spring not far from there. The fresh air will do you good, and I want to show you where you should head, in case we are separated for whatever reason.”

“My head does not swim so badly today.” The elf whispered back. “I will go.”

“That is good to know, for we may need to walk for some distance tonight. But for the rest of the day, though I know it may be difficult for you, can you act weaker than you feel? Just a little longer. Sarambaq obviously wants you on your feet, and we want Sarambaq to think you are still too weak for that.”

The elf nodded, and Aragorn quickly and quietly told him what he had planned.

At the end of his explanation, the elf nodded his agreement and prepared to sit up. But Aragorn placed a hand on his shoulder and looked at him, not knowing how to say what he feared to say.

“Legolas…” he began and stopped. The look on his face was almost apologetic. “This plan – ”

“Estel, I understand,” the elf interrupted him, sensing his difficulty. “There can be no certainty. We can but try.”

Aragorn sighed and nodded in agreement. “And try we will, my friend,” he said determinedly as he helped Legolas into a sitting position. Suddenly, the elf paused. It was now his turn to look uncomfortable, as if there was something he wanted to say but was hesitant to do so. When the Ranger looked into his eyes, he knew why. 

“Estel, I might slow you down – ”    

“We will not have that argument again,” Aragorn said firmly. “Whatever happens, we stay together, you stubborn elf. Now wait while I get the guards to loosen your bonds so you can walk.” The elf could only sigh resignedly.

Soon, they were in the woods, studying them silently and communicating without words while they washed themselves at the spring under the watchful eyes of the guards. Legolas knew he felt much improved but restrained his movements for the sake of appearances as Aragorn suggested.

The two friends spent the rest of the day much as they had the previous one, largely undisturbed except for another brief visit from Sarambaq and Närum, during which Legolas feigned sleep. The guards informed them that the elf had not been moving about much, and his bonds were still on him, so there was no cause for great concern or wariness.

“All is well so far, Legolas,” Aragorn told his friend in the late afternoon. “Let us hope they will continue to leave us alone till tonight. I have to leave to talk to Rallias now and to check on the men. I will return with food for dinner.”

“Then we wait?” the elf queried.

The Ranger nodded. “Then we wait, till the opportune moment.”

Aragorn left the cave and spent some time giving Rallias a brushing down. Ignoring the curious gazes around him, the Ranger sang softly in Sindarin to the horse so that the men who passed them, amused by the strange melody and sounds, would think it was an old folk song. Little did they know that into his song he wove his instructions to the horse, telling it what to do and where to go, trusting once again in the intelligence of the animal. When he had finished, he quietly loosened the knot holding Rallias’ reins to a tree, and went in search of food.  

It had been an uneventful day for everyone else at the Table, but for the Ranger and Elf,   a tension was in the air that they hoped no one else would feel, as they waited for sunset and nightfall. 

Faramir paced up and down the King’s office, his steps tracing the lines of orange on the floor from the rays of the late afternoon sun shining through long slats in the wall. As he ran a hand through his brown locks, he wondered how much more of his hair would remain on his head before King Elessar returned. An instant later, he could not help chuckling in disbelief at the gesture, for it was a habit of the very person he was thinking of.

There was a knock on the door, and it opened to reveal a guard; behind him stood Hamille and Lanwil, waiting to be admitted.

“My lord, Master Hamille and…”

“Come in, come in,” Faramir said, waving the guard away. 

“Faramir,” Hamille acknowledged him with a slight bow.

Faramir spoke without preamble, his restlessness apparent. “Hamille, four days now. It…”

“It is time, we can wait no more,” Hamille finished for him.

“Thank Eru you agree!” Faramir exhaled in relief, his face visibly relaxing. “I will have my men prepare. They will be ready to leave at first light tomorrow.”

Lanwil nodded. “As will we.” 

“It is agreed then, we ride at dawn, unless they return tonight. Come, we need to plan,” said the Steward, inviting the elves to seat themselves. He left them briefly to order refreshments, and when he returned, he proposed: “I believe one of you should lead the men, if it is agreeable to you.”

“Will you not?”

“Much as I wish I could, my duty is here while the King is absent. I am also aware that your tracking skills are considerably better than mine,” the Steward admitted modestly.

The elves nodded, accepting the acknowledgement without arrogance or ceremony. “Then I will go,” Hamille offered, “but you had best stay in Ithilien, Lanwil, to dissuade our Lord Thranduil from going after us in haste when he comes. I must beg your aid as well in this matter, Faramir.”

“I will do my best, Hamille, although I cannot hope to hold him any more than you can,” the Steward promised with a sympathetic grin. “But our riders will reach him tomorrow at the earliest, and it will surely take him as long to get there. You will in all likelihood return before he even arrives… at least, that is my fervent hope.”

At those words, Hamille and Lanwil exchanged a knowing look that the Steward did not miss. In response to Faramir’s expression of inquiry, Hamille said:

“With his son in enemy hands, and by the request of King Elessar, he may be here sooner than we think, my friend.”

Sarambaq sat in the shade of one of the few loose rocks on the flat top pf the Table, watching his beast gnaw on the ribs of some creature his men had hunted for a roast. The man was pleased that the arrow wounds were already healing well, for Darkil played a big part in his plans. It had to be strong enough.

The thought of what he had planned for Thranduil and his son filled him with a sense of bizarre satisfaction. He had already decided that the confrontation would be here, not in Adhûn, for he was unwilling to wait longer; the time was now ripe.

Sarambaq’s attention turned to the men milling about below. If everything went according to plan, the likelihood was great that he would not see any of them again, but they did not know that, save one whom he had told. In truth, he himself could not see very far into his own future beyond getting his revenge.

Much less still was his concern over his men. Only for a fleeting moment did he wonder what they would do after his plan had been executed. Many of them had served him for ten years since his departure from Dol Guldur, and he supposed they would have to return to fishing and husbandry.

Dol Guldur, he thought sleepily, the heat of late afternoon making him drowsy.

So much had happened in that place. His life had changed because of his service to the Dark Lord. He had suffered much and lost even more. As his thoughts dwelled on his dead son again, he savored the thought of the coming meeting with the elven king. This time, the elves would not have the victory. He wished he could let them all know that they could not win everything – not the king of Mirkwood, not the elf lord from across the mountains, not the White Wizard who had scoured Dol Guldur looking for the creature Gollum. The wizard thought they had not noticed him moving about, thinking he had been stealthy enough, but they had noticed… they just had not done anything because of his wizard’s power. A hazy vision of the grey figure played before his sleepy eyes, and he laughed mockingly at the memory of a powerful wizard hunting down the likes of a skulking, slimy creature...

Sarambaq suddenly jumped up as if he had sat on hot coals. His eyes shot wide open, fully alert now. His fists clenched as he strode to the edge of the Table, seeking something.

Then he yelled for Närum.

The cool and dark of twilight descended on the Table, and a guard lit once more the torches in the cave where the elf prince was held. As Aragorn had instructed, Legolas sat quietly in the shadows at the back of the cave, drawing little attention to himself.

Waiting in silent and tense anticipation for Aragorn’s return, Legolas mulled over their plans. Later in the night, when the guards were less watchful, they would overpower them and make for the woods. They would trek to a place beyond the spring, where they hoped Rallias would be waiting for them, and they would leave the area through those woods. Beyond that, they would have to go through the western woods once more and ride fast to reach the borders of Gondor. They would have Anduril, but Legolas’ bow and knives would have to be left behind, for they were in Sarambaq’s keeping.

Legolas could only hope that the stars would shine good fortune on them tonight.

Time passed slowly for the elf while he waited. He listened to the trickle of water as if they were playing a long overture, and each flicker of flame from the torches seemed to burn for an age, each breath of his was but one of a million that he had exhaled since twilight.

Hours passed, but there was still no sign of Aragorn.

Waiting in the darkness, Legolas felt his anxiety grow as he imagined dreadful possibilities, each worse than the last. This cave was too far away from the main cluster for him to hear anything that might be happening, and he was located too far in. There would be no point in asking the guards anything either, for they would offer no news.

After a while, he told himself to be more hopeful. Perhaps Aragorn was making final preparations; perhaps he was engaging the Adhûnians in conversation, putting them at ease so that they would not suspect a late-night escape. Yes, it was a tactic Legolas knew Aragorn could use. Perhaps…

It must have been around midnight when the elf heard the guards stir and speak in tones reflecting curiosity and puzzlement as they looked in the direction of the path leading to the cave. Legolas could see the light of an approaching torch, and his heartbeat quickened.

At last. Aragorn.

With a sense of tense excitement and a slight thrill of nervousness, he looked toward the front of the cave, ready to see a sign from the Ranger that the time for departure was not far away.

In the next instant, the floor dissolved beneath him as the figure of Sarambaq filled the cave entrance, his hard, furious eyes seeking and boring into those of the elf that abruptly lost their sparkle.

Hours later, in the deep of night, elf riders and elvish horses at the point of collapse gained urgent admittance past the elven king’s gates in the Greenwood forest.

They had traveled through the Greenwood at dangerous speeds, trusting their horses not to stumble over roots that would throw their riders into solid tree trunks, or gallop beneath low branches that could knock elf heads off their necks. They had made only a small detour in the stretch of forest that had been given to Ghận-Buri-Ghận and the Wildmen, taking care to keep to the specific path on the eastern side of the forest that had been kept open for occasional traffic between Thranduil’s realm in the north, Celeborn’s in the south, and Gondor and Ithilien further south. No other concession would the Wild folk make, and the elves observed it faithfully. Still, the elf riders of Ithilien arrived almost half a day earlier than expected, having pushed themselves to the limits of their endurance.

Within minutes, Thranduil was aroused from sleep and handed the document penned in Aragorn’s own hand. The shout of shock, fear and anger that erupted from the king did indeed rival that of a herd of raged oliphaunts as Hamille had predicted. The whole palace was aroused from their night’s reverie and thrown into an angry turmoil as the distressing news spread from mouth to mouth. And in another few minutes, a group of elves prepared for immediate departure to Gondor, riding their swiftest horses.

The Elf King, however, much as his heart wished to be in Ithilien that very instant, would not be going with them.

His advisors looked at him with wide eyes, their tones reflecting their disbelief. “Heru nin, my Lord, you will not go with them?”

Thranduil’s expression was grim.

“Nay,” he confirmed.

Despite their surprise, the elves were relieved. They had thought it would be impossible to keep their King here, where he would be safe. But their hopes were shattered at the sound of his next words.

“Nay,” Thranduil repeated. “I will follow, but I must first ride elsewhere.”

Thranduil of Greenwood never thought he would ever be called upon to obey any instruction of an Adan, even if he were a king. But this time, he would delay even his journey to his son to fulfill the instruction of Elessar of Gondor.

Note:  Aragorn's reaction to a missing Legolas upon waking  is inspired by an episode in Nightwing's To See A World.