CHAP 30:  KINGS AND ALLIANCES

Dawn could not come fast enough for Thranduil the next day, for that was when he would leave for the Table with the three Adhûnian prisoners.

Late into the previous night – with the prisoners safely in the dungeons, much to their displeasure –two kings, a Steward, and elves of the Greenwood and Ithilien had convened to discuss options and make plans.

“I have little choice but to follow Sarambaq’s instructions,” Thranduil stated calmly. “I will ride there as he demands. What happens after…”

The sentence was left unfinished, for he could not foresee the ending; no one did, yet the possible conclusion weighed heavily on each of their minds.

Everyone in the room could only feel deep sympathy for King Thranduil, who was torn inside.

When they began, Thranduil, in his anguish and anger, could not help making slight reference to his belief that his son would not be in this predicament if he had not insisted on settling in Ithilien instead of remaining in their stronghold in the Greenwood, for Sarambaq would not have dared to launch any assault on their northern realm. Aragorn diplomatically chose to feign ignorance of that reference, both because he was more concerned with what they needed to do now rather than dwell on what could have been, and because he was also well aware of how he himself, when his son lay a helpless victim of a poisoned dart, had spoken with careless abandonment. And weighing a little on his heart, too, was a feeling of guilt, as he asked himself if there might be some truth in the elven king’s lament.

The more they talked, however, the more Thranduil saw the affection and care the Lord of Gondor obviously held for his son, and he was comforted and grateful, even in his grief. Neither could he ignore the fact that Aragorn had gone after his son, saved his life and stayed with him through the danger, leaving only when he had no other choice.

“I appreciate your thanks, my Lord, but I must in all honesty decline it,” Aragorn had responded graciously when the king voiced his gratitude. “Legolas would have done no less for me. Such matters should not count at all between us.”

The matter was indeed dropped immediately, for, ultimately, a greater concern for the rescue of Legolas overcame all other thought in the minds of Thranduil and Aragorn. At the moment, there was no higher priority for them than the safe return of the son and the friend they loved.

But for Thranduil’s subjects, the safety of their king – who had little choice other than to ride into certain danger – was of no less importance.

And for the Steward of Gondor, the survival of his own king – who would have had to be bound hand and foot in heavy chains to be stopped from returning to the Table – was his first concern.

All in all, everyone in the Council room at Minas Tirith was tense and worried, but determined not to sit idly by while the king and prince became victims of an obsessed mind bent on obtaining revenge at all costs. He wanted their deaths, they concluded, but they would do everything they could to prevent that.

It was ultimately the Lord of the White Tree who was most instrumental in crafting a strategy to bring aid to the father and son, for he alone had been into the predator’s den.

At the end of the discussions, a plan had been made and agreed upon, but now Aragorn turned to Thranduil with the same apologetic look that he had given Legolas the morning of the previous day, after the two companions had made their own plan of escape.

“My Lord…” Aragorn began as hesitantly as he had then, “our plan – ”

And just as the elf prince had done, so did his father now as the king stopped Aragorn and said in a tone of understanding and acceptance: “I know, Elessar, there can be no surety of its success, and I demand none. It is enough that we try. But know this – ” he paused to hold Aragorn’s eyes with his own, “ – as my son trusts you, so shall I.”

The king of Gondor felt a lump at his throat, for never before had the father of his friend made such a pronouncement of his faith in him. Even more keenly now did he feel the bitterness of his and Legolas’ foiled attempt to escape from the Table.

“I fear that your faith may be ill-placed, my Lord,” he said humbly, “for I failed to – ”

“No one can ask more of you than a sincere attempt, Lord Elessar,” Thranduil interjected kindly, “and I can place the life of my son in no better hands than those of the people who love him, as I know you do.”

“I would give my life for his,” Aragorn stated firmly.

The elf king nodded. “Then my faith is well placed,” he affirmed.

And with those words, they all retired with uneasy hearts to comfortless beds, to obtain a few hours’ rest before facing whatever the new day would bring.

Now, in the chilly dawn of a new day, a small crowd of elves and Gondorians gathered to bid a tense farewell to the golden-haired elven king, who waited beside a snow-white horse.

Thranduil stood straight and tall, his radiant hair lifting slightly in the misty breeze, looking every bit as regal and imposing as the human kings of old immortalized in the stone figures of the Argonath. But embodied within the lean, sturdy frame, and pulsing in the intense eyes of the Lord of Mirkwood, was the power of a living king illuminated by the light of elven dignity and wisdom – he who had lived during the splendour of Doriath, survived the rise and fall of the kingdom, and ruled over the forest realm for long years – so that all who looked on him could not help but be awed, and even intimidated, by his presence. The King of Gondor alone, with his own darker but no less resplendent stature, felt not the intimidation; yet, a quiet respect did he, too, pay to the sagacity and great age of the elf king who had seen and lived through tens of thousands more joys and sorrows than he ever would.

Side by side they now stood in the golden light of a Gondorian sunrise, composed expressions masking the anguish beneath, surrounded by nobles of the City and the largest group of fair, elvish figures to grace the courtyard of Minas Tirith since the wedding of Elessar Telcontar and Arwen Undomiel. Had Sarambaq himself witnessed this sight, and felt the cold morning air throb with the collective wrath of two kingdoms that his malicious actions had evoked, even he might have been a little daunted.   

It was this scene that greeted the three Adhûnians as they walked slowly into the courtyard, having been released from the dungeons amidst their complaints and without the courtesy of a meal to break their fast. When they saw the grave faces gathered there, looking at them in aversion, they grew silent and a little fearful despite their earlier confidence.

The crowd watched as the three men looked at each other nervously, each unwilling to be the one to voice the message that needed to be conveyed. But Pöras, regaining his arrogance, cleared his throat and spoke up at last:

“My master Sarambaq’s instructions were that the elven king must be bound when he approaches our camp.”

The other two Adhûnians cringed at the volume and intensity of the protest from the elves around there, and they stepped closer to Pöras, who tried to appear unfazed. The King of Gondor looked ready to behead all three of them as he stated with his most authoritative voice:

“Your master may dictate terms in his own domain, but King Thranduil is an honored guest in the White City, and he shall not leave it in any other manner save as a free person, unbound and unfettered.”

Pöras looked ready to throw in a warning when the voice of the elven king himself stopped him. Thranduil was livid, yet the venerable elf king pulled himself to his full height, maintaining his august deportment, and stated calmly in a manner that would bear no argument: 

“I know why your cowardly master would wish for me to be bound when we near your camp, for that is the only way a small mongrel would dare to face the dragon it is challenging. I am loathe to entertain such a cowardly being, yet I must…” he said this more for the sake of those who feared for his safety, rather than the three Adhûnians, “… for he holds in his filthy hands one whom I love more than my life. Therefore, I will agree to be bound when we near the approach to your camp. But till then, I am – as King Elessar has so kindly declared – still in the realm of Gondor, and I will not leave it as a captive.

“Those are my terms, my only terms. You can elect to abide by them and bring me to your master as he demands, or you can refuse them and die by my sword at this very spot, after which I would still ride to confront him. Now, choose swiftly, for I am eager to see my son.”

The three men did not need a second invitation to indicate their choice. Without another squeak from them, they mounted the two horses they had come on, with Brûyn and Ködil sharing a steed.

Hiding a grin he could not help, Aragorn approached Thranduil and bid him a silent farewell with a hand to his chest and a respectful lowering of his head. They needed no exchange of words, for all had been said the previous night. But through his eyes, Thranduil told the king and the Ranger that he was entrusting the success of their plan to him.

Hamille was the last to speak to his king before he departed. “We will meet again soon, Aran nin, my king,” he said in a slightly shaky voice, placing his hand on his chest and bowing low. “I beg you to take no unnecessary risks, and please greet our beloved prince for us.”

The king nodded, sweeping his eyes over the group of elves whose heads were all bowed in respect and sorrow. “May the Valar be with us all,” he said, his posture straight and stately despite the care he carried.

The rising sun lit the golden hair of the elf king with a dazzling radiance that lingered on him even after he became a small figure riding past the Great Gates of the City on a northern route to his destination and an uncertain conclusion.

Hamille turned to Faramir after the king had left. “Did I not tell you that he would be here sooner than you think?” he asked, forcing a smile. The two laughed to dispel the gloom they felt. “I would have expected him even sooner, truth be told, and I can imagine how hard it must have been for him to have had to wait till he could leave Mirkwood.”

“The other elves will arrive some time tomorrow, I guess?” Faramir enquired.

“Aye, and I would be grateful if you could brief them on all that is happening, my friend.”

“Indeed I will, and the citadel is open to them for as long as they need,” Faramir replied graciously. 

They walked away from the courtyard to another part of the grounds surrounding the citadel, where the rest of the elves had now gathered, and where they had kept hidden what they had not wanted the Adhûnians to see.  

Aragorn was already there, an unmovable resolve in his grey eyes. “Shall we?” he asked Hamille.

And with a nod from Hamille, they put into motion their plan. The time had come again for stealth.

Sarambaq watched with satisfaction as Dárkil landed in front of him and settled down to some fresh meat that had been placed on the Table as a reward. He was mending nicely, and his master was confident that it would be strong enough to carry out the last phase of his plan. The Adhûnian left his beast to enjoy its food, and looked out over the tops of trees.

With but one day and night left till he came face to face with the elven king he was luring to his stronghold, Sarambaq could almost see in his mind’s eye the approaching figure of a bound and humbled elven king, repentant, and eager to beg him for mercy.

He should be here by tomorrow, if the three oafs have carried out everything according to plan, he thought. It has been a long time in coming. He could hardly wait, pacing impatiently, and if the floor of the Rock had been able to speak, it would have protested the repeated scruff of his shoes against its surface.

His thoughts strayed to the elf prince in the cave. After their fight two days ago, the Adhûnian had been shocked, to say the least, to see how unrelenting in his will the elf had been, and how much strength he still called forth despite having been so sick before. The man had decided he could not afford to take risks, and as soon as the healer had left, he had ordered little food to be given to Legolas so that he would be weakened.

Now there remained just one more step he had to take.

In the depressing dimness of the cave where he stayed alone, Legolas sat with bowed head, singing softly to himself in a resolute attempt to keep his spirits up.

Two suns had risen since Aragorn left, and despite the elf’s courage and resilience, it had been torturous for him to pass the long hours with no knowledge of what was happening outside and no friendly faces to give him some reprieve from the cold company of the cave walls.

Ever so often during those long, empty hours, he thought about Aragorn and nursed the hope that his friend had returned safely to the City of his realm. He imagined the warm welcome the Ranger would have received upon his arrival, and his own elven heart lightened a little at the thought of his friend’s elation. He envisioned the smile on the face of a little boy as he greeted his father, and he felt comforted, even though his own smiles had long forsaken him. When he closed his eyes, he could see the light on the fair face of Arwen and hear the pure voices of his elven kin in Ithilien and the Greenwood, and his heart lifted in song with theirs as they sang a tribute to Earendil, to Elbereth and to her lamps in the sky. These were the memories, these were the visions that gave him strength in the darkness of the cave when all other lights went out.

But whenever the face of his father came into his mind, and the lordly countenance appeared before his closed eyes, full of love, but lined with care and anguish as it must be at the knowledge of his captivity, it was then that Legolas’ heart failed him and threatened to plunge into despair. It was then that the elf prince, whose clear voice had graced human ears with uplifting songs and silvery laughter even during the darkest hours of the Quest ten years ago, felt overwhelmed by the ominous fate which hovered above him and his father like a dark beast awaiting the right moment to strike. For he could not yet see a way out of this tight, deadly web that Sarambaq had woven, into which his father was being drawn.

Then, to dispel the gloom of his thoughts, Legolas would sing softly, trying to keep the sorrow out of his shaky voice and the dread from his heart. He sang of his home and of mountains and rivers and of beauty outside this cave which was now his prison, so that the melodies he wove would be his companions in the absence of his loved ones, and a soothing balm to the many hurts his body bore, when no healer’s hands were there to tend to them.   

The only person who had shown him any kindness during his lonely captivity was Närum, who freed his hands briefly when he needed to change his bandages, and then only at the most discreet of times. Seeking to keep his part of the bargain with a healer, the man stood guard over the cave at night instead of assigning the task to someone else so that he would have his eye on the elf as often as he could. No other aid could he offer the elf without raising suspicion, and so Legolas treated with his own hands those wounds he could reach, and the ones on his back that he could not reach he left untouched, bearing the pain with stoicism, and missing the gentle hands of the healer who had nursed them earlier.

By the evening of the second day after Aragorn’s departure, and the eve of his father’s expected arrival, he was hungry, cold and in great discomfort, for his bound hands and legs ached when they were not numb. It was at this time, near sunset, when he received his one and only visit from Sarambaq.

No one had expected his visit, least of all Legolas himself, and the elf was taken aback at the sight of the man at the cave entrance. As the figure walked over, towering over the bound and seated captive, Legolas felt rather than saw the intensity of the spite on the Adhûnian’s face, and his blood ran cold. When three other men came up silently behind him, one of them carrying something in his hands, the elf went weak, for in that moment, he knew what the Adhûnian had come to do.

By the time Närum returned to the cave after a quick meal, Sarambaq and the three men with him had finished the task, and they left without a word. It was from the two remaining guards that Närum learnt of Sarambaq’s deed, and though the men did not fully understand the intent behind it, even they shook their heads at the heartlessness of it. 

The elf prince sat alone again, head bowed once more in dejection, for in him now arose a suspicion of Sarambaq’s true purpose. He perceived an act of careful cunning born of reckless hate, and the depth of the man’s cruelty almost took away the last traces of his hope and spirit. Only the thoughts of his father and his friend kept him from falling into the depths of despair, and he held on, drawing strength from some unknown well as he waited for some suspected but yet unannounced fate.

A distance away, in a curious blood-red sea of light from the setting sun, Legolas’ father and his closest friend, through the strength of their bonds with one they loved, felt a sudden and great unease in their hearts. They knew not what had assailed Legolas, but they sensed deeply his anguish, and it spurred them on even as it threatened to crush their hopes.

Thranduil and his three guards had ridden ceaselessly through the day, for the elven king rode so fast on his white mount that the three men had no choice but to follow as closely as they could on their own steeds, cursing the whole way.

The Adhûnians, despite knowing that they now dictated the course of events, found it hard to bear the scathing remarks and scornful looks of an impatient, imposing Thranduil. Ködil had fought against him before and could not help being in awe of him even after all these years, and they rode as hard or as fast as the king wanted, at times no longer sure who was driving whom on.

But the closer they got to the stronghold of his master, the bolder Pöras grew, and when they came to the last stretch of forest before the plain leading to the Table, he called for a rest, for night had fallen, and Thranduil would not have known a way through the forest no matter how much he wished to go on.

Pöras now smugly reminded the king of their agreement, and this time, even Thranduil’s stern gaze was no longer a deterrent; he had to be bound, or he would not see his son. With a small sense of satisfaction over the king’s reluctance, they tied his hands and feet, and let him spend a sleepless night against the trunk of a tree with his hands behind him. And when morning came, they loosed only the ropes around his ankles so that he could ride, and they could not hide their surprise that even without the use of reins, the elf king could stay on his horse and guide it with just a word.

The thoughts of the three Adhûnians now turned to the coming encounter between the elven king and their master. They were aware of how long this meeting had been designed and looked forward to it with perverse glee.

Preoccupied with their anticipation of a thrilling scene, they never perceived the group of skilled men and elves, led by the King of Gondor, who rode silently less than a league behind them. And while Thranduil and his three guards penetrated the forest to reach the Table from the west and around the curve of the gully as was their habit, the small alliance of men and elves took a longer and unused route, staying in the trees and carefully out of sight to approach the Table through the thick woods in the south.

Neither were the Adhûnians aware of another small group of four elves – the best archers from Ithilien and Mirkwood, save their prince – who were also converging on the Table, but following yet another path. Ever in the archers’ minds were Aragorn’s specific instructions:

Watch and wait, and stay unseen – till the time is right.

Till the time was right.

A dangerous game designed by an obsessed mind – to be played by several parties, with and without the knowledge of the designer – was about to begin.

Note:

Next – the confrontation.

It will be a rather long chapter or two, so I recommend getting ready some coffee / brandy / heart meds.

See you then.