Chapter 6        Confessions

“Here, Gimli, try to drink some of this.”  Legolas lifted the silver goblet with one hand while he gently maneuvered Gimli into a semi-upright position with the other.

Gimli gritted his teeth and attempted to fight through the waves of pain radiating from his back.  Despite Legolas’ careful assistance, trying to raise himself up even the few inches required to take the drink left him feeling exhausted and weak.  Black dots danced across his vision, and he had to take several steadying breaths before he could sip carefully from the goblet held in Legolas’ hand. 

The water was cool, with a slightly bitter taste from the herbs Aragorn had put in it to help him sleep.  At first, Gimli only drank a few swallows, but upon Legolas’ quiet insistence, he managed to down about half of the liquid.  He was barely aware as Legolas carefully lowered him back to the bed and rearranged the blankets around him.

After several minutes of fighting through the pain and weariness, he managed to force his eyes open and meet Legolas’ concerned gaze.  “Don’t you ever sleep,” he mumbled softly, attempting to level Legolas with a firm gaze, but unable to put much strength behind the look.  The last several days were nothing but a blur as he had drifted in and out of consciousness, yet during his few moments of coherency, the elf had always been beside him, offering strength through his simple presence.  Gimli was grateful beyond words for his friend’s support, yet he grew worried that Legolas would wear himself out trying to care for him.

As if reading his mind, Legolas gave him a small smile and a short shake of his head.  “Do not worry for me, Gimli,” he admonished softly.  “I sleep.”

Gimli eyed him suspiciously for a moment, before giving a brief nod of his head.  He let his eyes drift shut then, unable to force them to remain open any longer.  He wondered if there would ever be a time again when he did not feel the great force of weariness weighing him down.  His mind began to slowly drift toward the blackness of unconsciousness, and he welcomed the journey, knowing that he would find at least some relief from the incessant, throbbing, pain in his back.

  “I am so sorry, Gimli.”

Gimli almost did not hear the softly whispered words as he drifted between the conscious world and the world of sleep.  However, as soon as his mind computed what had been said, he immediately began to fight against the exhaustion dragging him down.  The demands of his injured body and of whatever drug he had been given made it difficult, but he at last managed to drag himself enough out of his semi-conscious state to force his eyes open.  He turned a fierce glare on Legolas and attempted to clear his mind of the relentless cobwebs of sleep enough so he could speak.

“We have been over this before, elf,” he at last managed to growl, though his voice was so low and weak it came out more as a whisper.  “None of this was your fault, and I thought you had agreed not to blame yourself!”

“I apologize, Gimli,” Legolas replied sheepishly. “I had thought you asleep.”

“I almost was,” Gimli mumbled, attempting to shift into a more comfortable position without upsetting his back.  “I think I am building up some kind of resistance to whatever drug Aragorn has been giving me.”

Legolas frowned.  “I shall have to inform him of this.  Perhaps he can increase the dosage…”

Gimli stiffened and sent Legolas a look that caused the elf to slowly trail off.  “You will not tell him anything,” he growled.  “I am going to eventually want to wake up!  And do not try to change the subject, elf! 

Legolas smiled slightly at Gimli’s affronted tone, then shrugged helplessly.  “I am sorry, Gimli, yet I cannot help but feel that I should have done something to stop this from happening.”

“And what would you have done?” Gimli demanded, wincing slightly as he once again attempted to find a more comfortable position.

“Don’t move around so much,” Legolas ordered, noticing Gimli’s slight grimace and gasp of pain.

“Don’t change the subject!” Gimli retorted, sending his friend a disapproving glare.  “We are going to get to the bottom of this one way or another, Legolas.  I shall not sleep until you admit that this was not your fault.  What would you have done?”

Legolas sighed in frustration, sinking back in his chair and glancing away from Gimli’s piercing gaze.  “I am not sure,” he whispered so softly that Gimli had to strain to hear him.  “I guess I should have taken us both off of Shandarell the moment I sensed the watcher’s ill intent.  Perhaps then, his shot would have missed.”

Gimli stared at Legolas in consternation, not sure he had heard his friend correctly.  “Are you saying that you should have knocked us both off the horse?” he asked slowly, his voice filled with disbelief.  “And what if this watcher had chosen not to make his move?  A fine pair of fools we would have appeared.  You would not have had to worry about this watcher, for I would have killed you!”

Legolas grinned weakly.  “I suppose you would have,” he murmured softly.

“Then are we agreed that there was nothing you could have done, that it was not your fault?”

Legolas glanced at Gimli and gave a non-committal shrug, then laughed lightly as Gimli’s look hardened.  “Yes, Gimli,” he finally muttered.  “We are agreed.”

“Good!” Gimli stated.  “Now that this has been settled, I intend to go back to sleep, and I don’t want to hear another word spoken on the matter.  Between you and Aragorn…”

He cut off abruptly as a sharp flare of pain shot up his back.  He closed his eyes tightly, his hands clenching in the blankets.

“Gimli!”

Legolas sounded alarmed, and when Gimli opened his eyes, he found the elf hovering worriedly above him.

“I am fine,” he muttered, his voice cracking slightly.  “I just need to sleep now.”

“Would you like another sip of water before you do?” Legolas asked, reaching for the goblet.

“No,” Gimli replied, shaking his head slightly.  He did not think he had the strength to push himself upright in order to take the offered drink.  His mind was demanding that he sleep, and Gimli did not think he could ignore it any longer.

Legolas reluctantly released the goblet and helped him move into a more comfortable position. 

“If you need anything, I will be here,” Legolas whispered gently.

Gimli nodded and let his eyes drift shut.  “I know,” he replied simply.  He was tempted to urge Legolas to go and see to his own rest, but he knew it would be a waste of his breath to try.  Legolas would stay beside him, just as Gimli would have stayed beside the elf if their positions were reversed. 

He opened his mouth to speak again, but sleep had been denied for too long, and with a final sigh he allowed consciousness to flee and be replaced by a comforting oblivion.

******

Legolas watched Gimli silently for several long minutes, ensuring that his friend truly slept before he moved back to his chair and sank down wearily.  He dropped his head into his hands and slowly rubbed away the dull ache that had been growing behind his eyes.

The last three days had been pure torture for him.  He had barely left Gimli’s side at all since the healers had removed the arrow, and though he had dozed fitfully during his vigil, he still felt exhausted and frustrated.

Gimli was recovering, for which he was more than grateful, yet the dwarf seemed to be healing extremely slowly compared to what Legolas was used to.  It was hard for him to see his best friend in such pain, and he found himself wishing that he could take that pain upon himself in order to spare Gimli.  Despite what he had told his friend, he still felt at least partially responsible for what had happened, and he was determined to make it up to Gimli, even if it was only by finding the guilty party and bringing them to justice.

Yet even this had proven a difficult task.  He had gone with Faramir and Aragorn to examine the scene where the attack had taken place, but they had discovered little that would help them locate the one responsible.  They had found the rooftop where the archer had positioned himself, as well as his bow and quiver of arrows still lying where he had left them, but so far, this information had led nowhere.  Faramir had turned the city inside out looking for anyone who might have seen anything, yet the Steward had been unsuccessful in pulling in any clues as to who their new opponent might be.  Aragorn had also been unsuccessful in his attempts to think of who could be the author of the mysterious note.  Legolas was growing frustrated, and he knew that his friends must be as well.

The door to the little room opened, and Legolas turned as Aragorn entered with a basin of steaming water and fresh bandages.

“How is he?” Aragorn asked, motioning with his chin toward the bed.  “I thought I heard voices?”

“He woke a few minutes ago,” Legolas confirmed, watching as Aragorn moved to the far side of the bed and leaned over Gimli’s still form.  “He still seems extremely weak,” he added doubtfully, unable to conceal the worry in his voice.

“As he will be for some time to come,” Aragorn answered softly, raising his head to fix Legolas with his piercing eyes.  “You must be patient, Legolas.  I am afraid that dwarves do not heal as swiftly as elves.”

Legolas sighed and nodded, then watched as Aragorn gently shifted Gimli onto his side so he could inspect the arrow wound.  Legolas flinched slightly as Gimli groaned, but the dwarf did not wake as Aragorn carefully worked to clean and re-bandage the injury.

Legolas watched him work, grateful that Aragorn was supervising Gimli’s care.  It was not that he did not trust the healers; they had done a wonderful job removing the arrow.  He just felt better knowing that Aragorn, who had trained under perhaps the finest healer in all of Middle Earth, was seeing to his friend’s recovery.

“I believe that Gimli is building up some kind of resistance to your sleeping draught,” Legolas finally stated, breaking the silence.

Aragorn briefly lifted his eyes from his work, then shrugged.  “It is possible,” he said simply.  “We have been giving it to him every time he wakes, and after time, his body will automatically begin resisting.  I will increase the dosage for a time so that he might rest and recover.”

“I think that would be wise,” Legolas responded, then smiled tiredly.  “Just don’t let him know.  I don’t think he would be too happy with me.”

Aragorn returned the smile, and opened his mouth to reply, but the door suddenly opened and Arwen and Faramir entered the room, the Steward’s face alight with excitement.

“You have found something?” Legolas stated more than asked as he rose quickly from his chair.

Faramir nodded, his eyes shifting from Legolas to Aragorn.  “I have just been informed that the young child who delivered the message to the palace has been found.  He is being held at his home, and I intend to go and question him.”

“I will accompany you,” Aragorn stated, quickly tying off the fresh bandage and then moving to wash his hands in the basin of water.  “There are many questions I would ask this young man, and with luck, perhaps we can learn more of who it is that we are dealing with.”

Legolas felt a thrill of hope run through him.  Perhaps the boy would be able to lead them to whoever had shot Gimli.  If so, Legolas wanted to be part of tracking the guilty man down.

“Legolas, will you accompany us?” Aragorn asked as he moved around the bed and toward the door.

Legolas felt torn.  He had told Gimli that he would remain here, yet he desperately wanted to be a part of this search.

“You should go, Legolas,” Arwen stated softly, speaking up for the first time.  “It will do you some good to get out, and I promise you that Gimli will not be left alone.  I will be here with him if he has need of anything.”

Legolas nodded slowly, still reluctant to leave his friend’s side.

“I doubt he will wake again before you return,” Aragorn pointed out, moving over and giving Legolas a slight nudge toward the door.  “Besides, I would appreciate your presence when we question the boy.  Your senses are sharper than either Faramir or mine, and you might be able to notice something that we would miss.”

“I doubt very much that you would miss anything,” Legolas replied, giving Aragorn a sharp glance. “But I will accompany you all the same.  I want to catch whoever did this to Gimli and see that they are properly repaid!”

“Good enough,” Aragorn laughed, releasing Legolas’ shoulder and moving to follow Faramir through the door.  “Let us pray that this boy has some answers for us.”

Legolas nodded grimly, glanced a final time to the figure on the bed, then turned and followed his friends out of the room.

*****

The boy was scared.

It was the first thing that Aragorn noticed as he ducked into the small house located on the second level of the city.  The child was seated on a high stool, two of Aragorn’s soldiers standing on either side of him.  The lad’s cheeks were streaked with tears, and he looked as if he was ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

Behind the stool, a distraught looking woman, whom Aragorn could only assume was the boy’s mother, stood anxiously ringing her hands.  When she spotted Aragorn moving into the room, closely followed by Faramir and Legolas, her face drained of all color, and she swayed unsteadily on her feet, her eyes wide with horror.

Aragorn motioned to the soldier standing to the boy’s right.  “Find the lady a chair before she falls on the floor,” he ordered calmly, before turning his attention once more to the young man before him.

The boy looked to be around ten or eleven years old, and he was presently eyeing the now open path to the back door with longing.  Yet before he could make any move, Faramir casually moved to block the way, his arms folded across his chest, and his features firm.  The lad’s shoulders slumped, and he dropped his head down, his fingers idly fiddling with the hem of his tunic.

Aragorn moved forward and knelt before the boy, ignoring the gasp of horror from the now seated mother.  He reached out and gently but firmly lifted the lad’s chin, forcing the boy to look directly at him.

“What is your name, son?” he asked calmly, carefully keeping his voice relaxed so as not to frighten the boy any further.

“Se…Serjal,” the boy gulped.

“Well, Serjal, do you know why we are here?” Aragorn asked, his voice low and serious.

Serjal violently shook his head, his eyes darting around wildly as if in search of an escape.

“Do you know the consequences if you are caught lying to me?” Aragorn allowed his voice to harden slightly, and Serjal’s gaze snapped back to his as if drawn by some unnatural force.

“Tell them the truth, Serjal,” the boy’s mother commanded shrilly from her seat across the room.  “Answer whatever they ask you.”

The boy nodded slowly, and Aragorn repeated his question.  “Do you know why we are here?”

This time, after a slight hesitation, Serjal nodded.

“Then tell me why.” Aragorn ordered, sitting back on his heels but keeping his gaze firmly on the boy.

“Is it because I ran away from the palace guards?” Serjal asked, his voice barely a whisper.

Aragorn glanced up at Faramir and arched an eyebrow.  He received only a shrug in reply.

Aragorn returned his attention to the boy.  “It is more than that, Serjal,” he commented lightly.  “I would say the problem lies more with the contents of the note that you delivered that day.”

Serjal’s eyes widened, and he began shaking his head so violently that Aragorn half expected to hear his neck snap.  “The letter wasn’t mine,” the boy gasped out, his eyes seeming to grow wider and wider with each passing second.  “I swear it wasn’t mine.  I don’t even know what it says.  I can’t even read.  Please don’t throw me in the dungeons!”

“If the letter wasn’t yours, then who’s was it?  Who gave it to you, Serjal?” Aragorn asked, deciding for the moment to ignore the boy’s last statement.  Did the lad truly think he was going to be thrown into the dungeons?  Perhaps his fear would work in their favor.  At least he was answering Aragorn’s questions without hesitating anymore.

“I don’t know,” Serjal wailed, fresh tears filling his eyes and flowing down his cheeks.  “I’ve never owned any gold pieces before, and he offered me two if I delivered the message for him.  I had never seen him before in my life.  I swear it is true.”

“What did this man look like?” Legolas spoke up for the first time from where he stood behind Aragorn.  His voice was rough and hard, and his normally soft gray eyes appeared stormy with anger.  Aragorn knew that his friend’s rage was not directed toward Serjal, but towards the man who was responsible for shooting Gimli.  Unfortunately, Serjal did not know this, and the boy’s face went as white as a sheet at Legolas’ question.

“He was big,” the boy at last managed to gasp out past his fear.  “Very big, and he had scars all over his face.  I was afraid of him at first, but he told me that he was your friend,” his eyes flickered to Aragorn.  “He said he wanted to surprise you, and that is why he wanted me to deliver the message instead of doing it himself.”

“And why did you run from the guards when they tried to question you?” Faramir asked, his voice firm and disapproving. 

Serjal slumped back on the stool, his head drooping once more.  “He told me to,” he explained in a small voice.  “He said the King would question me and find out it was him, which would ruin the surprise.  He told me to just run away.  He promised I wouldn’t get in trouble.”  Serjal sniffled pitifully and raised his sleeve to wipe at his runny nose.

“I believe you, Serjal,” Aragorn said assuringly, attempting to ease the boy’s fears slightly.  “Yet I need you to describe this man to me as best you can.  Tell me everything you can remember about him.”

Serjal looked troubled, and he shrugged his shoulders helplessly.  “It was still early in the morning when I ran into him,” he explained.  “I was taking a short cut through an alleyway, and there were a lot of shadows.  I don’t really remember a lot about him except for the scars on his face, and how big he was.”

Aragorn reached out and pulled Serjal to his feet, rising with him until he stood over the boy.  “How big was he compared to me?” he asked, hoping to get a better idea of how large a man they were looking for than just the word ‘big’.

Serjal looked up at him, then shrugged.  “He was about as tall as you, but much wider.  He had arms the size of tree trunks, and his legs were as big as both of mine put together!”

“And what about his scars?” Aragorn asked.  “Can you describe his face a little better?”

Serjal thought for a moment, his brow crinkled in concentration.  “His face was really ugly, just like the drunk who lives down the street.  He looked like he had been in tons of fights, and probably won them too.  His biggest scar was right above his left eye, but he had lots of other scars also.”

“Is there anything else you can tell us about him?” Aragorn asked hopefully, but after Serjal thought about it, he only shook his head.

Aragorn sighed, then exchanged glances with Faramir and Legolas.  He sensed that the boy was telling the truth, just as he sensed that they had gotten all the information they could out of him.  He glanced back down at Serjal, his features firm and serious.

“I think that is all for now, Serjal.  If I have any more questions, I will send some soldiers  to ask you.  If so, I want you to tell them the truth just as if you were talking to me.  Do you understand?”

Serjal quickly nodded, his eyes wide with relief.  “You mean you are not going to throw me in the dungeons?” he exclaimed excitedly.

“Not this time,” Aragorn answered with a slight smile.  “But I hope that in the future you will think twice before agreeing to run errands for strangers.”

“Thank you, my lords,” Serjal’s mother gasped, jumping from her seat and moving to embrace her son.

Aragorn nodded, then turned and motioned Faramir and Legolas to follow him outside.

“Well, what do you think?” he asked as soon as they reached the street out in front of the house.

“I think that it is a good start,” Faramir replied, his gaze drifting back and forth between Legolas and Aragorn.  “Did the lad’s description bring forth any memories for you two?”

Both Aragorn and Legolas shook their heads, their faces showing their frustration.

“Then we might have a problem,” Faramir sighed.  “Step into any tavern in this city and you will probably see at least one man matching the lad’s description.  Big and scar faced doesn’t really give us much information.”

“It might give us more information than you think,” Legolas stated softly, causing both Aragorn and Faramir to look at him questioningly.  Legolas merely shrugged in response, his eyes distant.

“What are you thinking, Legolas?” Aragorn finally asked, eying his friend sharply.

Legolas paused before answering, his eyes shifting to meet Aragorn’s.  “At the baker’s shop, where we found the bow and quiver of arrows,” he finally began, “where did the archer climb onto the roof?”

Aragorn frowned.  “You already know where,” he answered slowly, unsure of where Legolas was headed with this question.  “In the back of the alley, where he was less likely to be spotted from the street, and where the bricks of the building were slightly misplaced, allowing for footholds and handholds.  We even found a few scuff marks to indicate his passing.”

Legolas nodded, his eyes still locked on Aragorn’s.  “We found a few scuff marks, Aragorn,” he stressed.  “On a steep wall that rose for perhaps eighteen feet.”

Aragorn stared at Legolas for a few seconds, and then his frown slowly disappeared as understanding began to dawn.

Faramir glanced between them both before letting out a small sigh.  “Well, it seems that Aragorn, at least, has come to understand you.  Yet I am afraid, Legolas, that I have been completely unable to follow your reasoning.  Perhaps you would care to explain to me in more detail?”

“Of course.” Legolas replied, giving Faramir a sympathetic smile.  “I was merely pointing out that if Scar Face is really as big as the boy describes, he would have had a hard time scaling that wall.  He could possibly do it, but not without leaving much more evidence of his passing than what we found.  As it is, I believe someone much smaller and agile scaled that wall and shot Gimli.”

 Faramir nodded slowly, then scowled.  “Do you think the boy was lying, then?”

“No, he was not lying,” Aragorn broke in, shaking his head.  “I am sure of that.”

“Then we are dealing with two men, not just one,” Faramir mused quietly.

“At least two,” Legolas agreed.  “Whoever shot Gimli would want someone to guard the entrance to the ally for him.  He would not want to chance someone wandering into the alley and discovering him.  My guess would be that this was Scar Face’s job.”

“It makes sense,” Aragorn commented.  “And I believe that the fact that he showed himself, even to the boy, indicates that he is not the mastermind behind it all.  Simply a hired hand, perhaps?”

Both Faramir and Legolas nodded in agreement.

“So what do we do now?” Faramir asked.

Aragorn glanced at the horizon where the sun was just beginning to set like a giant orange ball.  “I suggest that we return to the area where Gimli was attacked and question the store owners again.  Perhaps now that we have a description to give them, someone will be able to tell us if scar face was there or not.  We have already learned much today.  Perhaps there are even more answers awaiting us ere the night ends.”

TBC