CHAPTER 34: SHADOW OF PAIN

Disturbed by what he had seen, Aragorn hurried after his friend, tracing the route the elf had taken out of the citadel.

The king knew instinctively where Legolas would have been heading, and his instincts proved to be correct when his eyes caught sight of his quarry in the distance. The elf was going beyond the gardens to the woods as he had anticipated, and he was about to call out to him when the golden hair disappeared behind some trees.

“Dratted elven speed,” the king muttered as he increased his pace and raced after his friend, but when he neared the spot where the tall oak tree stood beside a small lake – which he knew to be the elf’s usual retreat – Legolas was nowhere to be seen.

Aragorn ran the last ten yards to the oak and stopped a few feet from it, panting a little. Here was where the elf would sometimes sit and commune with the trees and birds and anything in the woods that would care to talk to him, and he could stay here for hours just listening to the tales of the wind. But no elf was in sight now.

The king looked around and debated whether to call out the name of his friend, feeling a little foolish in case he had mistakenly followed a phantom.

Then realization struck him as sharply as an acorn that had been playfully thrown at his head by one of his foster brothers when he had been a child.

Of course.

Legolas must be in the tree. The elf was probably sitting on one of the branches looking at him at this moment.

And perhaps he was in the tree because he wanted to be alone.

Aragorn hesitated now, rooted to the spot, feeling trapped. Should he seek the elf among the branches and urge him to descend and talk – or walk away and approach him later?

The king was still troubled by what he had seen, and his heart told him to stay. Ai, Legolas, he lamented inwardly, I know what ails you, my friend. Let me bear this with you.

But what if Legolas truly wanted to be alone at the moment? What if he did not wish to be found? What if he desired privacy more than he needed his friend?

Aragorn sighed. In the end, it was his respect for his friend that made the decision for him. Reluctantly – and with full knowledge that his every move was being watched by the elven eyes – he pursed his lips and forced his feet to turn in the direction from which he had come.

But before he had taken three steps, he heard several soft swishing sounds above him, and suddenly, Legolas was standing on the ground before him, a questioning look on his face. Aragorn knew at once that the elf had leapt from the tree – probably somersaulted once or twice – and landed as silently and sure-footedly as a cat. Yet it was without the slightest sign of breathlessness that the elf cocked his head and asked:

“Do you really wish to leave, Aragorn?”

The king’s eyes roved quickly over the elf’s face and frowned at the lack of a glow he had hoped to see return to his friend’s cheeks during this period of healing. He stood there for several heartbeats, considering his answer, while the elf looked back without blinking.

You beckoned to me, mellon nin, even if you did not know it, Aragorn responded voicelessly. I do not want to leave, but I do not wish to intrude.

“You are never an intrusion, Estel,” Legolas said before the king could utter anything.

In awe of the earnest blue eyes that had seen into his heart, Aragorn’s mouth fell open before the corners turned upward into a lopsided smile. But he noted with concern the pallor of the elven face… and something else there… something that disturbed him, that he could not quite name.

The question on the tip of his tongue was held back when Legolas touched his elbow and walked past him to the base of the oak tree, sitting down in an easy movement and looking up at the king in a silent invitation to join him.

“Have you completed your urgent task?” the elf enquired as Aragorn lowered himself to the grass, crossing his long legs so that the two friends faced each other.

“Yes, I have,” Aragorn replied with a note of satisfaction. “A large number of the older homesteads in Pelargir collapsed during a heavy storm…” The king paused, wondering why Legolas had started at the mention of the town. He continued warily, looking closely at the elven face. “I have dispatched medical supplies and treasury funds for new homes, and some of the City’s builders will be riding there in the next few days to lend aid as well.”

At the elf’s silence, Aragorn prompted: “Perhaps this news discomforts you because you have seen those homesteads? They were close to the river banks, the reports said,” Aragorn added, recalling that Legolas and his elves often had to ride the Pelargir ferry across to South Ithilien. “Or perhaps they were not obvious to you … since you were mostly in the woods across the river, were you not?”

“I may have seen them,” Legolas affirmed, but his tone sounded curiously evasive, and his eyes took on a faraway look, which kindled a spark of concern in Aragorn. But Legolas gave him a strange smile then, and said: “I am just glad you will not have to leave home again so soon after your return.”

A query still lingered in Aragorn’s mind, but he pushed the thought aside, for he had come after Legolas to speak about a piece of information he had received this morning that had nothing to do with the event in Pelargir – information that he felt Legolas should have shared with him days ago.

The king pulled his legs up and rested his forearms on his knees, studying the elf and waiting to see if he would continue or say something new. But no other speech came from the elven lips; only the woods spoke to Aragorn, whispering tales that none but Rangers and the Firstborn would understand.

“Now that I have settled that matter, Legolas… I have no other pressing matters for the rest of the afternoon,” he stated meaningfully, and waited again.

Still, Legolas would not speak. His eyes looked out over the small lake in front of them, following the dance of white blossoms from nearby trees as they waltzed their way to the rippled surface of the water, led by the music of a gentle breeze. Minutes drifted by while a melancholic peace settled quietly over the scene before him and seeped into his elven heart.

“When were you going to tell me, Legolas?” the question – soft and sad – came at last, disturbing the reverie.

The elf turned towards the king, surprise in his features. “Tell you what, Estel?”

The grey eyes of the man bored intensely into the blue elven ones, holding them.

Do not deny your pain, my friend, the king’s heart pleaded. Not to me, please – not to me.

The elf said nothing still, but he now understood what Aragorn was referring to. Seeing the futility of further concealment, he sighed, looking away from the king to stare at the ground beneath his feet.

“Forgive me, Legolas,” Aragorn continued quietly. “I have not examined your wounds for several days now, but I wish I had – ”

“No apology is needed, Aragorn,” the elf interrupted without lifting his head. “Your duties are more important.”

“No, not more important,” Aragorn countered firmly. “Perhaps more pressing, but never more important.” He kept an unflinchingly gaze on his friend till the elf looked up and smiled his acceptance of the king’s sentiments.

“I spoke with the healers this morning,” Aragorn continued, noting the slight fidget from the elf at those words. “They told me that the wounds on your chest are healing much too slowly, and more so for an elf.” His eyes were full of gentle sympathy as he asked: “That is why you are here, is it not?”

Legolas looked as if he could not decide whether to confirm or deny it. “The cuts were deep,” he offered in explanation, but it did not satisfy Aragorn.

The king kept his eyes on his friend, who had bent his head so that his long hair partially shielded his face. 

“May I?” Aragorn asked softly.

The elf whipped his head up, puzzled.

“May I do now what I should have done days ago?” the king asked again, his eyes indicating the site for which he was asking permission to view.

A refusal – prompted by obstinacy rather than displeasure – was on Legolas’ lips, but the piercing grey gaze changed his mind, and he sighed in resignation. Despite the polite request, Aragorn would not leave him alone till he relented, the elf knew. He hesitated a few moments, then began to unlace his shirt with nimble fingers. Soon, the junction of the crossed lines could be seen. Then the elven fingers froze, and Legolas dropped his hands to his knees, unwilling to go on.

Aragorn waited tactfully, but the elf kept his head lowered and made no further move. The concern of the healer took over now, and Aragorn pulled himself forward so that he was close enough to reach out and place his hands over the elf’s, letting his silent grasp express his love and beg acquiescence from Legolas.

When the elf gave no sign of objection, Aragorn took a deep breath and finished undoing the shirt, till he could see once again the awful mark of Sarambaq in its entirety. A fresh wave of anger and compassion swept the healer as his eyes noted that even after so many days, the wounds still looked raw in places, surrounded by a greenish tint as if they festered. Despite the presence of healing herbs, they were still crusted with blood that had not quite dried.

Legolas sucked in a breath and gritted his teeth as the king, trying not to hurt the elf, ran his fingers lightly over skin where the wounds appeared rawest. The elf had constantly felt the pain since Sarambaq first carved the mark on his skin, which was like the torturous sting of sharp talons raking across soft, vulnerable flesh. The intensity of the pain had abated, yet not quickly enough, and it remained long after such hurt should have departed with the ministration of herbs.

Aragorn almost choked on the bile that rose in his throat. “It was no ordinary blade he used, was it?” he asked bitterly.

Legolas kept his head down as he responded, clearly disturbed by the memories. “I could not tell. It was small and dark, but I sensed that it was... tainted somehow.” He paused before adding: “And he chanted something when he – he…”

Aragorn’s grey eyes widened in concern, and he tilted his head down to seek his friend’s face. “What did he chant?”

Silence.

“What was it he chanted, Legolas? Tell me – ”

“I did not understand it, Estel,” Legolas replied, looking up suddenly, and Aragorn saw that his eyes were pools of liquid sorrow and confusion. “But he was a servant of Mordor; who knows what he had been instructed in? He held Dol Guldur against the elves for so long, it cannot have been by physical might alone. Who knows what dark power he had been vested with when he was strong, and how much? The incantations he used on me – who can tell their purpose? Perhaps they were to weaken me further before the fight... perhaps… I know not. I only know that these marks on my chest have lasted because of them.”

Aragorn saw the agony in the elf’s eyes and clenched his fists, wishing Sarambaq were before him so that he could exact fitting punishment upon the villain that would be just as torturous as what he had inflicted upon this friend he so dearly loved.

Legolas immediately regretted the anguish that his revelation had wrought on the king’s face, and spoke again quickly. “But he is gone, Aragorn,” he said. “And so will whatever power he had over me… over us. It cannot last. Already the pain lessens. I cannot be certain when it will go away completely… but it lessens.”

Aragorn looked at him disbelievingly, and opened his mouth to voice his doubt.

“I speak the truth, Estel,” the elf claimed before one word could escape the king’s lips. “The hurt diminishes.”

“Not quickly enough.”

“No, but it is bearable.”

“It did not seem so bearable when you were fleeing the citadel earlier,” Aragorn challenged.

Legolas looked defeated. “There are… moments,” he admitted slowly, his shoulders sagging. “There are times when it overwhelms me… and the pain is not always a physical one.” He paused, and it seemed to Aragorn that he debated with himself whether to reveal more of his mind.

“I see his face taunting me,” he continued at last, sending a horrible chill up the listener’s spine. “The ghosts of Men have held no terror for me, Aragorn, not even on the Paths of the Dead, yet I recoil from the sight of this man’s face. It torments me, and it brings fresh pain where none should linger.”

Aragorn sighed in compassion at the sight of the turmoil that Legolas tried to hide, and he seethed with fury at Sarambaq, for the man was haunting them even after his departure.

“I wish I could remove this pain from you, my friend, so that it troubles you no longer,” he lamented from the depths of his heart. “I wish I could help you bear it; nay, I would bear it myself – ”

“I would die before I let such pain touch you, Estel!” Legolas swore with feeling and immediately regretted the startled anxiety his tone wrought on the man’s face. The elf hurriedly sought to assure him, grasping the clenched fists. “Nay, my friend, be at peace. The memory will not hold sway over me for long, I will not let it,” he said. “Let it not trouble you either. Saes, please, let him not have the victory.”

“But you should have told me earlier, Legolas,” the king said, a hint of frustration in his voice. “I would have offered healing. Or were you going to tell me at all? Does your father – ?”

“This is why I chose not to tell you yet, Estel,” Legolas replied, looking at him with moist eyes. “This is why I wished to wait till later, when I could talk about it without anguish appearing on my face… so that it does not appear on the faces of those who care about me.”

The elf’s confession took Aragorn aback, striking a strange and unexpected note of guilt in him, and he composed his expression immediately.

“Your decision was your right to make, Legolas,” the man conceded gently, “and I believe these wounds will mend even if the mending is slow, but I just wish I had known of your pain. Perhaps I could have – ”

“There are things you cannot help me bear, mellon nin,” the elf stated quietly, and the king’s speech failed. Aragorn wondered that words so softly delivered could silence him more powerfully than a chorus of shouts could.

In the same low voice, the elf added: “And as I said, Estel, my hurts are not always physical ones.”

A distant look returned to the elven eyes at these words, and Aragorn felt strangely shut out again. A discomforting sense of panic arose in him.  

“I thought… after our talk in the cave – there would be no more secrets between us?” he pressed.

Legolas looked away, as if he was thinking about something far removed from this time and space. The moments marched by, and Aragorn felt uneasy. Had he said something wrong, he wondered.

“No, Estel, there will be no secrets between us,” the elf said at last, turning back to Aragorn with assurance in his eyes. “To that agreement I hold.”

Just as Aragorn began to breathe more easily, the elf gave him a strange smile that was both secretive and sad, and added: “But there are some things that must be told only at the right time.” 

The king’s knitted brows reflected his puzzlement even as he mulled over the sensibility of that statement. Legolas noted the emotions warring within his friend and clasped his shoulder, locking the grey eyes with his own.

“You will know in the end, that I promise you, Estel.”

Aragorn sat there listening to the words meant to comfort him, but wondered instead what hidden meaning lay behind them. Again, there was that… something… in the elven countenance that disturbed him. What was Legolas not telling – ?

Before he could enquire further, a shout reached them.

“Ah, there you are, my elusive friends!” the jovial voice of Gimli called, and they turned to see the dwarf several yards away, striding stoutly towards them and finger wagging furiously in their direction. “Sneaking off to escape my stories, are you? You’d rather listen to trees and squirrels, would you? I’ll have you know, Elf, that your father found them most engaging, and he was loathe for me to stop, but the wine and the pipeweed had run out…”

Legolas grinned in response to the playful chastisement but quickly laced up his shirt, begging Aragorn with his eyes to conceal what he had seen. The king clasped his forearm and said quietly: “I will look at it again later.”

The elf began a whispered protest. “It will hea – ”

“I willlook at it later,” Aragorn repeated in a tone that would allow no further argument, and Legolas nodded with a sigh of submission before putting on a bright smile for the approaching dwarf.

“Come join us, Lord of the Caves,” he called out to Gimli, injecting cheer into his voice, “but I have neither pipeweed nor drink to offer you, though I would have thought you would have had enough of both since the mid-day meal.”

“Ah, those are problems easily remedied by your kitchen staff and a visit to your chambers, are they not, Aragorn?” Gimli countered, and the king laughed, inviting the dwarf to sit beside him.

“Indeed, we shall take care of those small troubles in a little while,” Aragorn assured him. “But first pray tell – where is your admiring audience?” 

“Off to their chambers, if I had to guess,” Gimli replied, plopping himself down, “although your father is looking for you, Legolas, so we had better not tarry long. Hamille wanted to come and get you, but I said I wanted the privilege of dragging you back there myself, if I could get you to stop talking to trees and beasts and things that you claim talk back to you. Have you not had enough of their boring accounts yet? After all, how far can trees move? What adventures do they go through? Now in the Glittering Caves – ”

“I was speaking with more than just the trees and squirrels, Gimli,” Legolas chimed in, grinning and casting Aragorn a meaningful glance. Then his face softened as he added: “And it is not possible to tire of conversation with any of them, for they reside ever in my heart, and how shall I tire of those that I choose to keep there?”

Aragorn heard the words and smiled. With his eyes and his nod, he sent the same message back to the elf.

“Well then, Elf,” the dwarf said, “for the sake of our friendship, let us hope you will not tire of my stories when we ride to Rohan tomorrow.” Legolas let out a mock groan, but the dwarf ignored it and pressed on. “I claim it is far better to listen to tales of mirth, my friends, than to dwell on darker memories – past or recent – would you not agree?”

Aragorn and Legolas drew back in surprise, for the dwarf’s statement and question, though delivered in a seemingly nonchalant manner, were pregnant with meaning. The elf and the king exchanged a swift glance before staring wordlessly at Gimli, who merely returned their looks with raised bushy eyebrows. Then his eyes moved to rest on the elf, saying a hundred silent words.

Slowly, Legolas smiled, wondering anew at the sensitivity and understanding in one so seemingly full of frivolous – even if entertaining – chatter. Gimli would not have known about the delayed healing of the wounds, the elf was certain, but he had apparently noticed his restlessness and had elected not to allude to it in the company of others. Too long had he been absent from this good friend’s company, Legolas thought with affection, but now he looked forward to the journey with him. 

“Indeed, my friend, you speak true,” the elf finally said with an appreciative smile. “You shall have my undivided attention on our ride, but on condition you mount your own horse, for how else shall I have the delight of witnessing your most entertaining expressions?”

“Ah, now you tease me, Elf,” the dwarf grunted in mock hurt. “No need to remind me that I am no longer welcome at your back. I will ride my own steed, and prove my worth as a rider of Rohan, for I now reside in their domain and have benefited from the instruction of the horse lords!”

His two friends laughed as they all rose slowly to their feet.

“That is good, Gimli, that is good. But come, I had better not keep Adar waiting,” Legolas said, starting to walk back to the citadel. “He seems most anxious to depart for the caves you have described so vividly for him, and he may have questions for me.” 

Gimli’s chest puffed out again as he strode, although he tried to hide his pleasure.

Aragorn’s voice, however, reflected concern and a tinge of glumness as he breathed a question into the elven ear: “Tomorrow, mellon nin – is it not too soon?”

Legolas turned to see a worried look on the face of the king, and he understood the meaning of the enquiry.

The elf hesitated a moment before he replied: “I will bring supplies, and the journey will help me forget.” After a moment, he added quietly: “I wish the City could spare you, Aragorn, but since it cannot, you will be with us in spirit – each step and every mile.”

With that, Legolas placed an arm around each of his friends, treasuring their company as they made their way back to the citadel, and Elf and dwarf were soon engaged in their usual exchange of taunts and insults that neither meant.

Aragorn shook his head in amusement as he listened to their banter, thinking how good it was to hear the elf laugh again. The past weeks had stolen so much of the elven spirit and buoyancy that lay beneath his soft-spoken demeanor, and the years of living in human lands before that could not have been easy on him either.

We have both had to work hard, my friend, the king thought, but no longer will I let too much time pass in which I miss the company of those who are dearest to me. Sarambaq is gone, your wounds will heal, and we will take time to ride and taste our lives again once you are returned from the Greenwood. Though I am mortal, my life stretches yet before me, and I would that you walked down the paths of my years with me once more. I would that your laugh ring through them all as it does now, even in the world of Men.

As if in answer to Aragorn’s resolve, a burst of mirth came from Legolas’ lips at a playful rejoinder from Gimli. At the sound of the silvery laughter, the feelings of disquiet Aragorn had felt earlier began to recede, and he recalled another pair of friends who were constantly bickering as well.

Ah, what a pair they were, Pippin and Merry, Aragorn thought fondly. Are Sam and Rosie well, I wonder? What does little Elanor look like now? How they must all miss Frodo…ah, Frodo… he would be with them still if he had not…

And suddenly, in the midst of the laughter from his friends, just as the heart of the king had begun to lighten with hope, a sharp chill gripped him, causing his step to falter.

Legolas spun around in surprise, causing Gimli to halt as well.

“Aragorn?” the elf enquired.

The king stared at his elven friend so hard that the elf knitted his brows in concern. The man parted his lips to utter something, but nothing issued forth.

“Aragorn!” Gimli thundered. “Have you been struck dumb, man? What is the matter?” 

The elven hand on Aragorn’s shoulder shook it gently, and the king snapped out of his stupor, although his eyes were still locked on Legolas’ puzzled face.

Can it be – ? Aragorn asked silently, as he gazed into the blue eyes. No, not now, not yet, he pleaded.

As soon as the thought had crossed his mind, he pushed it aside vehemently, unwilling to consider it, and muttered an explanation to hide his perturbation from his two companions. “I tripped,” he offered lamely. “My mind was preoccupied.”

Legolas looked at him doubtfully, seeing nothing on the ground near the king’s feet that would explain his claim, but Gimli merely snorted, hiding his affection for the man beneath his gruffness. “Your mind is too filled with stuffy trade agreements and court squabbles, Aragorn! You need a break. Too bad you cannot come with us tomorrow.”

The elf sensed something more than an unlikely stumble of a Ranger’s feet, but decided that this was not the time to enquire further, so he merely smiled and let Aragorn fall in step with them again before resuming their walk. Gimli soon demanded their attention again with an account of how he learned to ride on his own.

The king found himself moving forward in stride, and his ears took in Gimli’s spirited voice and Legolas’ light laughter, but his mind felt in a daze. He placed one foot in front of the other without really knowing where he was going, and his eyes saw nothing of what was before him, for all his thought was bent on a numbing realization:

He knew now what it was that had plagued him about Legolas’ countenance throughout their earlier conversation.

Discreetly, he studied the elven face that was at this moment smiling in merriment, but the king recalled how that face had worn a very different look just a while ago.

It was the look Frodo had had in the days following his return from Mount Doom – the look he tried to hide from the Fellowship, but which did not always escape the sharp eyes of Aragorn and Gandalf. The king remembered now: the Ringbearer had been stabbed by the blade of a servant of Sauron at Weathertop, and he had later been poisoned by the sting of Shelob; although he had recovered from them both, the pain and darkness had never really left him. Whenever the old throbbing from that blade returned, or the old illness took him, a shadow would cross the hobbit’s face.

It was such a shadow that Aragorn had seen flitting across the face of the elf prince this afternoon: a shadow of a pain that never really departs.

Aragorn felt his heart clench. Legolas’ laughter tinkled in his ears, but it was the elf’s earlier words that resounded with frightening insistence in his mind: 

There are some things that must be told only at the right time…You will know in the end.

The words returned now to haunt the man, and his mind gave them new meaning as he wove them with the memory of Frodo’s hurts, feeling an even deeper gloom settle upon his spirit. He found himself mouthing a silent plea.

Say not that it is time, for I am not ready to lose him yet. Eru, I am not ready…

Aragorn’s breath choked in his throat as he realized that the darkness that had stalked Frodo was now threatening the elven friend whose companionship he could not imagine being without for the remaining years of his life. Yet even now, he feared the early sting of bereavement, for the Shadow – that lasting gift from accursed Morgul servants – had already driven one victim to leave all that he loved in Middle-earth much sooner than he desired, on a final journey West to seek rest in the Undying Lands.