Chapter 3
Mirkwood was a several days journey from Minas Tirith and Aragorn did not expect a reply to come as quickly as it did. But what shocked him even more so than the rapidity of the response was the curt dismissal, couched in formal language, from the court recorder of Mirkwood’s Palace.
“We offer our solicitations and facilitations in response to your missive. The concerns of the Woodland realm need not travel past our borders. We are grateful for your offer of assistance, although it is unnecessary. We will hold it dear to our hearts that our Human allies have not forgotten the Elves of Mirkwood. We must advise, however, that until our domestic concerns are dealt with no further messengers be sent into our realm as we cannot guarantee their safety.”
Aragorn read it over for the fiftieth time. His fury grew with each rereading, as he searched between the lines for the hidden messages. “We hold it dear to our hearts that our Human allies have not forgotten the Elves of Mirkwood.” He read the line over again, not realizing he had spoken aloud.
“Is that from Legolas, then?” asked a simpering voice from the balcony.
He started. He had not noticed that he was not alone. Crumpling the formal parchment into his hands as though caught with an illicit love letter, he whirled around to see his Queen’s silhouette against the fading light of the setting sun. She was looking out at the courtyard below, humming serenely under her breath.
“Well?” she asked, again more loudly. Aragorn gritted his teeth. In his youthful fascination with the Evenstar he would never had believed it possible that she was capable of playing so cruelly with people’s emotions. But maturity had made him wise to many things and Aragorn knew now when he was being toyed with.
“Mithrandir had sensed a possible threat in Mirkwood. The Istari has not yet returned from his visit with your grandmother to tell us what is the news. This is a response from Mirkwood’s court saying there is a problem but it does not say much else.” He approached the balcony, but she did not turn to face him.
“Hm. That is odd,” she said in a light voice that sounded somewhat like tinker bells at Yule Time.
“Have you sensed anything from Galadriel, Arwen?” he asked, trying to hold back the desperation from creeping into his voice. Would she tell him, if she had sensed something? He truly did not know.
“No,” she said in her sing-song fashion, after a long moment of deliberation. “No, I don’t think I have. But, surely, Legolas would tell you, if there was a problem. Would he not?”
Still she had not turned to face her spouse, but if she had she would have seen with satisfaction, that her words had hit their target. She knew it, anyway. Her green gown of dragon scales glittered in the starlight as she moved further into the shadows. Red lips curled into a cruel smile.
Aragorn, backed away from her as if suddenly stung by an invisible missile. He turned, stonily, and walked out of the room, with slumped shoulders.
The King stalked down the grand hall, without seeing the courtiers who bowed to him as he passed. He blindly rounded a corner and ran head long into Gandalf the White. The old wizard almost fell into the wall and clutched onto his staff to right himself. He glared at the King in indignation but he was met with a seething look of rage that made him decide to keep his silence for a change.
“Where in the Fires of Mordor have you been?” growled an enraged King. “I have waited all these days thinking to receive some word. Finally I sent a messenger to Mirkwood, myself!”
“You did! And, Aragorn, what does Legolas say? Quickly tell me! When do we leave?”
Aragorn stared at him, worry replacing his anger instantly, at the Wizard’s barrage of questions. He wordlessly handed the stiff crumpled parchment to the Istari. The pale blue eyes scanned it quickly. The Wizard’s brows furrowed and he read it through a second time before clutching it angrily, much as Aragorn had done.
“That fool!” he muttered.
“Gandalf, please tell me what did you learn?” Aragorn now knew things were bad. He took the Wizard by the elbow and led their steps hurriedly towards his personal chambers. When he reached the archway, he summoned one of his personal guards. “Go and fetch Lord Faramir at once.”
They entered the King’s rooms and Gandalf seated himself in front of the roaring fire. Aragorn poured the Mage a drink to warm his old bones and seated himself opposite the Wizard.
“Gandalf? What did she say?” Aragorn leaned toward the old man, the worried lines of his face looking dark and heavy in the flickering firelight.
At that moment, Faramir entered the King’s chambers. Aragorn waved him forward and motioned to a chair.
Gandalf looked up at the young advisor who nodded his greeting to the Mage, as he seated himself close to the other two men. The Mage took another swallow of the warm liquor and looked into the fire. “Galadriel, Aragorn, almost died as she looked into her mirror.” He raised a forestalling hand as the two men gasped at the news. “She became lost in the vision of the creatures that have taken root in the deepest and most inhospitable parts of the forest. It almost killed her, so real had the vision become. She will be well, but…it was close, Aragorn.” The Wizard looked shaken as he recalled the horrifying event. To lose Galadriel was unthinkable.
The King of Gondor now stood up and walked by the large marble fireplace. He gazed into the flames before turning to the Wizard.
“What is this new menace, Gandalf?”
“I wish I knew. She described it as a creature ‘not of our lands or our oceans,’ one that feeds on others, and multiplies like locusts. It is vicious and cunning. At present their numbers are few, but…Aragorn, if it is not stopped now, it may consume not only all of Mirkwood , but spread to the realms of Men, Dwarves, the rest of the Elves, …everyone.”
Aragorn looked at the old Mage for a moment longer then turned to Faramir. Without a word, the soldier stood and faced his King. “I will tell the Captains to prepare the men, my Liege. I assume we leave tomorrow.”
Aragorn nodded with a smile at his dependable second in command. “As soon as possible, Faramir.”
When the young soldier left the room, Gandalf looked at Aragorn. “Celeborn has already sent warriors from Lothlorien to Legolas. Although judging by this…” The Mage shook his head again, “That young Elf is as stubborn and proud as Thranduil himself. I never would have believed it…”
Seeing the sudden cringe at the mention of the Elf King’s name, the Mage stopped and stared at the Human for a few moments. Taking a deep breath, he stood and walked over to the Man. Leaning a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder, he said heavily, “My friend, it is time we speak openly about this situation with you and Legolas, is it not?”
Aragorn shook off the Mage’s friendly hand, angrily, and paced about the room. “What is it that you would have me say, Gandalf?” he said at long last, finally throwing attempts at subterfuge to the winds. “That I lost my wits five years ago in a foolish affair of the heart? That I have failed as a King and as a husband because I cannot rid myself of…these feelings?” The Man stared into the fire, summoning the image of the Elf that had stolen his heart. Damn it. Had he not made enough sacrifices in his life? What more did Gandalf expect of him? Must he now deny his heart as well? He raised defiant eyes to the Istari. “Do you want to hear me admit all my mistakes? Is that it? How everything you and Elrond set in motion has been thwarted because of my love for a male Elf?”
“Nay,” said the Mage, quietly. “Lets talk instead about the fact that the person you love is now in Mirkwood, in danger and in need of your help.”
Aragorn looked stricken by the words, instantly losing the fire in his eyes. “I do love him, Gandalf. Is that so bad?”
The old man walked over to him, and with a fatherly shake of his head, looked deeply into the King’s beseeching eyes. “Love, my boy, is never a mistake. You have not failed Aragorn. And if I have not said it before,” he said, drawing closer to the Man as he leaned on his staff, “let me say it now. I could not be more proud of you, my boy. Elrond and I could not be more proud of all you have achieved.”
The King’s eyes misted over. He had not realized, until that very moment, how he had longed to hear those words spoken to him. Aragorn stared at the Istari in wonder, not quite sure how to receive the praise.
The old man turned to stand by the fire and continued, “If there was a mistake made, Aragorn, it was in my failure to see the truth.” He looked at the Man apologetically, “I would not have allowed you to marry the Evenstar had I known your heart truly lay elsewhere. I would never have condemned you to this unhappiness.”
Aragorn lowered his head, silently, in acknowledgement of the Wizard’s admission. “I didn’t have the courage to stand up for our love, Gandalf. Not in the way Legolas was prepared to do with Thranduil.”
“He did tell Thranduil,” said the Istari. Aragorn looked up in amazement. He had never heard this before. Gandalf nodded with a sigh. “Yes, he told Thranduil that he loved you. When he returned to Mirkwood, …” Gandalf hesitated, obviously thinking how best to reveal this to the already agitated King. “Legolas became ill, Aragorn. He began to fade. Thranduil was afraid that he would lose his son to grief.”
Aragorn groaned and sank into his chair. Gandalf walked over to him and looked at the Man guiltily. “I am sorry, Aragorn. Thranduil told me this, months after the wedding. He summoned me to advise him on what to do for Legolas.”
“And you never told me? Why?” demanded the King, but his face was drawn and the fight looked to have been knocked out of him from the shock of this new devastating revelation.
“Thranduil asked me not to speak to you about it. He…blamed you for seducing his son into a relationship that would put his life in peril when you would be forced to eventually marry the daughter of Elrond.” Gandalf looked on the Man with obvious worry at how this news would be taken. Guilt and anger warred with each other on the Man’s face.
“Do not judge Thranduil too harshly, Aragorn. He was a father, after all, trying to protect his only child.” Gandalf continued, “We felt it was time to try something drastic. Knowing how Legolas takes his duty so seriously, Thranduil announced he was going to leave for Valinor, leaving Legolas to rule Mirkwood. It worked. That young Elf pulled himself out of his despair to serve as King to his people”
“But…Legolas never wanted to be King!” protested Aragorn in a stricken voice.
“No, but he would not abandon his Kingdom and leave them without a leader,” responded Gandalf. “His loyalty to duty kept him alive. Although not very happy, I’m afraid.”
Dropping his head into his hands, Aragorn did not speak for a long while. Then, almost inaudibly, he whispered, “Legolas, what have I done to you?”
“Do not blame yourself so harshly, Aragorn. Legolas lives, after all, and where love exists there is always hope.”
Aragorn looked up, tears of bitterness glistening in his gray eyes. “What hope is there now for me and for Legolas?”
“That I cannot say, only that hope still exists. You have fulfilled your destiny Aragorn, at least the better part of it. Let us leave off from further prophecies. You are free, Aragorn, to carve your own path.”
At the Man’s blank look, the old Wizard leaned forward as he sat into his chair across from Aragorn. Holding the King’s gaze, he said, “When we go to Mirkwood, I think you and a certain stubborn Elf need to sit and have a talk. I do believe the vibrant King Thranduil would be happy to return from Valinor to reclaim his throne, if he knew his precious son was back in the arms of his true love.”
The King of Men gaped at the Wizard, heedless of the tears that now ran copiously down his cheeks. Finally, he looked at the benevolent face of the Istari and smiled, “Thank you, Gandalf.”
Gandalf smiled around the pipe that had found its way to his mouth. He puffed and stared at the glowing embers for a time. At last he said, in a somber tone, “Let us pray, Aragorn, that this new threat will be snuffed out quickly. After that, you can count on me to help …set things right.”
“We offer our solicitations and facilitations in response to your missive. The concerns of the Woodland realm need not travel past our borders. We are grateful for your offer of assistance, although it is unnecessary. We will hold it dear to our hearts that our Human allies have not forgotten the Elves of Mirkwood. We must advise, however, that until our domestic concerns are dealt with no further messengers be sent into our realm as we cannot guarantee their safety.”
Aragorn read it over for the fiftieth time. His fury grew with each rereading, as he searched between the lines for the hidden messages. “We hold it dear to our hearts that our Human allies have not forgotten the Elves of Mirkwood.” He read the line over again, not realizing he had spoken aloud.
“Is that from Legolas, then?” asked a simpering voice from the balcony.
He started. He had not noticed that he was not alone. Crumpling the formal parchment into his hands as though caught with an illicit love letter, he whirled around to see his Queen’s silhouette against the fading light of the setting sun. She was looking out at the courtyard below, humming serenely under her breath.
“Well?” she asked, again more loudly. Aragorn gritted his teeth. In his youthful fascination with the Evenstar he would never had believed it possible that she was capable of playing so cruelly with people’s emotions. But maturity had made him wise to many things and Aragorn knew now when he was being toyed with.
“Mithrandir had sensed a possible threat in Mirkwood. The Istari has not yet returned from his visit with your grandmother to tell us what is the news. This is a response from Mirkwood’s court saying there is a problem but it does not say much else.” He approached the balcony, but she did not turn to face him.
“Hm. That is odd,” she said in a light voice that sounded somewhat like tinker bells at Yule Time.
“Have you sensed anything from Galadriel, Arwen?” he asked, trying to hold back the desperation from creeping into his voice. Would she tell him, if she had sensed something? He truly did not know.
“No,” she said in her sing-song fashion, after a long moment of deliberation. “No, I don’t think I have. But, surely, Legolas would tell you, if there was a problem. Would he not?”
Still she had not turned to face her spouse, but if she had she would have seen with satisfaction, that her words had hit their target. She knew it, anyway. Her green gown of dragon scales glittered in the starlight as she moved further into the shadows. Red lips curled into a cruel smile.
Aragorn, backed away from her as if suddenly stung by an invisible missile. He turned, stonily, and walked out of the room, with slumped shoulders.
The King stalked down the grand hall, without seeing the courtiers who bowed to him as he passed. He blindly rounded a corner and ran head long into Gandalf the White. The old wizard almost fell into the wall and clutched onto his staff to right himself. He glared at the King in indignation but he was met with a seething look of rage that made him decide to keep his silence for a change.
“Where in the Fires of Mordor have you been?” growled an enraged King. “I have waited all these days thinking to receive some word. Finally I sent a messenger to Mirkwood, myself!”
“You did! And, Aragorn, what does Legolas say? Quickly tell me! When do we leave?”
Aragorn stared at him, worry replacing his anger instantly, at the Wizard’s barrage of questions. He wordlessly handed the stiff crumpled parchment to the Istari. The pale blue eyes scanned it quickly. The Wizard’s brows furrowed and he read it through a second time before clutching it angrily, much as Aragorn had done.
“That fool!” he muttered.
“Gandalf, please tell me what did you learn?” Aragorn now knew things were bad. He took the Wizard by the elbow and led their steps hurriedly towards his personal chambers. When he reached the archway, he summoned one of his personal guards. “Go and fetch Lord Faramir at once.”
They entered the King’s rooms and Gandalf seated himself in front of the roaring fire. Aragorn poured the Mage a drink to warm his old bones and seated himself opposite the Wizard.
“Gandalf? What did she say?” Aragorn leaned toward the old man, the worried lines of his face looking dark and heavy in the flickering firelight.
At that moment, Faramir entered the King’s chambers. Aragorn waved him forward and motioned to a chair.
Gandalf looked up at the young advisor who nodded his greeting to the Mage, as he seated himself close to the other two men. The Mage took another swallow of the warm liquor and looked into the fire. “Galadriel, Aragorn, almost died as she looked into her mirror.” He raised a forestalling hand as the two men gasped at the news. “She became lost in the vision of the creatures that have taken root in the deepest and most inhospitable parts of the forest. It almost killed her, so real had the vision become. She will be well, but…it was close, Aragorn.” The Wizard looked shaken as he recalled the horrifying event. To lose Galadriel was unthinkable.
The King of Gondor now stood up and walked by the large marble fireplace. He gazed into the flames before turning to the Wizard.
“What is this new menace, Gandalf?”
“I wish I knew. She described it as a creature ‘not of our lands or our oceans,’ one that feeds on others, and multiplies like locusts. It is vicious and cunning. At present their numbers are few, but…Aragorn, if it is not stopped now, it may consume not only all of Mirkwood , but spread to the realms of Men, Dwarves, the rest of the Elves, …everyone.”
Aragorn looked at the old Mage for a moment longer then turned to Faramir. Without a word, the soldier stood and faced his King. “I will tell the Captains to prepare the men, my Liege. I assume we leave tomorrow.”
Aragorn nodded with a smile at his dependable second in command. “As soon as possible, Faramir.”
When the young soldier left the room, Gandalf looked at Aragorn. “Celeborn has already sent warriors from Lothlorien to Legolas. Although judging by this…” The Mage shook his head again, “That young Elf is as stubborn and proud as Thranduil himself. I never would have believed it…”
Seeing the sudden cringe at the mention of the Elf King’s name, the Mage stopped and stared at the Human for a few moments. Taking a deep breath, he stood and walked over to the Man. Leaning a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder, he said heavily, “My friend, it is time we speak openly about this situation with you and Legolas, is it not?”
Aragorn shook off the Mage’s friendly hand, angrily, and paced about the room. “What is it that you would have me say, Gandalf?” he said at long last, finally throwing attempts at subterfuge to the winds. “That I lost my wits five years ago in a foolish affair of the heart? That I have failed as a King and as a husband because I cannot rid myself of…these feelings?” The Man stared into the fire, summoning the image of the Elf that had stolen his heart. Damn it. Had he not made enough sacrifices in his life? What more did Gandalf expect of him? Must he now deny his heart as well? He raised defiant eyes to the Istari. “Do you want to hear me admit all my mistakes? Is that it? How everything you and Elrond set in motion has been thwarted because of my love for a male Elf?”
“Nay,” said the Mage, quietly. “Lets talk instead about the fact that the person you love is now in Mirkwood, in danger and in need of your help.”
Aragorn looked stricken by the words, instantly losing the fire in his eyes. “I do love him, Gandalf. Is that so bad?”
The old man walked over to him, and with a fatherly shake of his head, looked deeply into the King’s beseeching eyes. “Love, my boy, is never a mistake. You have not failed Aragorn. And if I have not said it before,” he said, drawing closer to the Man as he leaned on his staff, “let me say it now. I could not be more proud of you, my boy. Elrond and I could not be more proud of all you have achieved.”
The King’s eyes misted over. He had not realized, until that very moment, how he had longed to hear those words spoken to him. Aragorn stared at the Istari in wonder, not quite sure how to receive the praise.
The old man turned to stand by the fire and continued, “If there was a mistake made, Aragorn, it was in my failure to see the truth.” He looked at the Man apologetically, “I would not have allowed you to marry the Evenstar had I known your heart truly lay elsewhere. I would never have condemned you to this unhappiness.”
Aragorn lowered his head, silently, in acknowledgement of the Wizard’s admission. “I didn’t have the courage to stand up for our love, Gandalf. Not in the way Legolas was prepared to do with Thranduil.”
“He did tell Thranduil,” said the Istari. Aragorn looked up in amazement. He had never heard this before. Gandalf nodded with a sigh. “Yes, he told Thranduil that he loved you. When he returned to Mirkwood, …” Gandalf hesitated, obviously thinking how best to reveal this to the already agitated King. “Legolas became ill, Aragorn. He began to fade. Thranduil was afraid that he would lose his son to grief.”
Aragorn groaned and sank into his chair. Gandalf walked over to him and looked at the Man guiltily. “I am sorry, Aragorn. Thranduil told me this, months after the wedding. He summoned me to advise him on what to do for Legolas.”
“And you never told me? Why?” demanded the King, but his face was drawn and the fight looked to have been knocked out of him from the shock of this new devastating revelation.
“Thranduil asked me not to speak to you about it. He…blamed you for seducing his son into a relationship that would put his life in peril when you would be forced to eventually marry the daughter of Elrond.” Gandalf looked on the Man with obvious worry at how this news would be taken. Guilt and anger warred with each other on the Man’s face.
“Do not judge Thranduil too harshly, Aragorn. He was a father, after all, trying to protect his only child.” Gandalf continued, “We felt it was time to try something drastic. Knowing how Legolas takes his duty so seriously, Thranduil announced he was going to leave for Valinor, leaving Legolas to rule Mirkwood. It worked. That young Elf pulled himself out of his despair to serve as King to his people”
“But…Legolas never wanted to be King!” protested Aragorn in a stricken voice.
“No, but he would not abandon his Kingdom and leave them without a leader,” responded Gandalf. “His loyalty to duty kept him alive. Although not very happy, I’m afraid.”
Dropping his head into his hands, Aragorn did not speak for a long while. Then, almost inaudibly, he whispered, “Legolas, what have I done to you?”
“Do not blame yourself so harshly, Aragorn. Legolas lives, after all, and where love exists there is always hope.”
Aragorn looked up, tears of bitterness glistening in his gray eyes. “What hope is there now for me and for Legolas?”
“That I cannot say, only that hope still exists. You have fulfilled your destiny Aragorn, at least the better part of it. Let us leave off from further prophecies. You are free, Aragorn, to carve your own path.”
At the Man’s blank look, the old Wizard leaned forward as he sat into his chair across from Aragorn. Holding the King’s gaze, he said, “When we go to Mirkwood, I think you and a certain stubborn Elf need to sit and have a talk. I do believe the vibrant King Thranduil would be happy to return from Valinor to reclaim his throne, if he knew his precious son was back in the arms of his true love.”
The King of Men gaped at the Wizard, heedless of the tears that now ran copiously down his cheeks. Finally, he looked at the benevolent face of the Istari and smiled, “Thank you, Gandalf.”
Gandalf smiled around the pipe that had found its way to his mouth. He puffed and stared at the glowing embers for a time. At last he said, in a somber tone, “Let us pray, Aragorn, that this new threat will be snuffed out quickly. After that, you can count on me to help …set things right.”
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