Evensong

Set in the same non-slash universe as Adagio, Mayflies and Cadenza. About ten years after the events in Cadenza FA 110

L/G A/A ensemble OC’s

Beta by Theresa Green with my most grateful thanks.

Chapter5

Arwen sat at her dressing table by the window, brushing her ebony hair and singing descant to Legolas’ disembodied tenor. Her friend would be perched somewhere on the citadel’s roof.  Aragorn’s guard had long despaired of ever keeping the tiles free of elvenkind. Duilin, ever eager to ensure his liege lord’s security, had not managed to block every access that Legolas used to reach his much loved heights, although, Arwen thought, the long fought strategy game had barred the rooftops to all but the most determined of her kin. To Duilin’s satisfaction no mortal had managed to penetrate his closely monitored security for more than fifteen years. Even now, loyal Duilin would be in his accustomed position guarding the doors of the royal suite. Arwen permitted herself the indulgence of imagining him peering balefully at the ceiling, looking like one of the palace cats swearing vilely at blackbirds that taunted from near but too far branches. She knew it was wrong to make fun of his twitches so, even in the privacy of her mind. Aragorn was ever mindful of his guard’s appalling history and tolerated no teasing. With an effort Arwen virtuously directed her thoughts elsewhere.

Arwen looked beyond her reflection into the candlelit room behind her. Aragorn lay in their shared vast bed, asleep to the lullaby of her singing, without losing his grip on the scroll of Quenya poetry he was determined to translate. Arwen thought the poem not worth the effort in any language; songs of unrequited passion seemed somehow irrelevant given the doom that was approaching her inexorably. She looked at herself in the mirror again, met her own dark eyes.

A wicked breeze probed round the room like a finger in a jar.

Legolas’ song halted mid-phrase and Arwen saw herself shrink into morbid old age, wrinkled and white-haired, her doom upon and past her leaving her a winter leaf crackled and frail, her husband dead on the mattress behind, the world empty of her kin.

The silver-backed brush clattered to the floor as she buried the vision in the cup of her hands with a moan. Taking a deep breath she looked up again, and then screamed long and full-throated at the image she saw in the mirror.

Aragorn, startled from sleep, leapt from his bed groping for Anduril’s hilt. Duilin burst into the anteroom and then into the royal bedroom like an arrow loosened, he skidded to a halt by his lady’s side casting around for the enemy. Legolas swung into the balcony and landed with bone-handled knife in hand only to be almost skewered by Duilin’s instinctive thrust. Aragorn’s timely arrival with sword in hand knocked his guard’s blow aside and the scimitar only opened a finger length cut on the side of the elf’s cheekbone. Legolas touched his face and looked at the guard and then his friend, wide-eyed.

“Hold!” Aragorn bellowed, short of breath suddenly with the tension and fright. “Duilin, it is Legolas.”

A soft sob from Arwen broke the tension. Aragorn lowered Anduril, put down Duilin’s now wavering sword with his hand and turned to his now sobbing wife.

“Arwen?” Aragorn knelt and gathered her in his arms. “Arwen, love. What is it?”

Two more black and silver-clad hall guards advanced cautiously into the bedchamber. “Captain? Sire? Is all well?”

Duilin passed a shaking hand over his face and then peered suspiciously at the elf. His face fell into despair. “My Lord, I saw… I thought I saw… some grey skinned… no it is too strange. My lord, I am sorry.”

Legolas swiped at the trickle of blood, glanced at it on his fingers, then wiped his hand on his leggings. “Some fell spirit blew into this room, Captain. The Queen felt it I felt it, even, it appears, you felt it.”

The elf spun on his heel and closed the double-doors, and then pulled the thick velvet curtains shut over the glass-shrouded night. The room suddenly felt cosy instead of cold.

Duilin finally sheathed his sword and then glanced at his men. Catching the unspoken command they left and took up station again in the hallway.

“Sire?” Duilin addressed his King.

Aragorn glanced up at him, and then looked at Legolas. The elf looked back blandly, clearly not wanting to take offence despite his injury.

“Keep sharp, Captain. You did well. Double the guard tonight, aye?”

Duilin bowed to his King and left.

Arwen stilled against her husband’s shoulder. Legolas dropped to one knee beside the royal couple.

“What was it, Undόmiel? I smelt the foul breath, but you it touched.”

Arwen lifted a fall of hair away from her face and looked at her friend. “In the mirror, Legolas. What do you see in my mirror?’

 Legolas looked long into the reflection, the silence stretched. Legolas noted how the silver in Aragorn’s hair stood out when his head was held in such close contact with his wife’s, the pang that took him was a familiar friend.

“I see the back of your head, the back of Aragorn’s head, my own face, this cut which does not seem to want to stop bleeding.” The elf leaned into the mirror a little and placed a finger on the mark to staunch the flow. “ The bedroom, Arwen. What did you see?”

Arwen dared a peek at the mirror, from the safety of her husband’s shoulder, and, when nothing malign appeared gathered herself and sat up, turning her back on the treacherous glass. Aragorn stood beside her, a hand on her shoulder, Legolas sat cross-legged on the floor at her feet.

“I saw a doom, Legolas. Mine, in old age and solitude, my love’s in death. The world’s in decay and darkness, all the good and bright things drained leaving swamps and foul mires. I saw a blue stone and an ancient being, drawing all to itself, until the earth is drained.” Tears brimmed in Arwen’s eyes and blinking she looked up at the ceiling, struggling for control. Master of herself again she looked down, and then frowned. “Legolas, that cut is bleeding again.”

Aragorn looked sharply at his friend and crouched down to look at the slice, indeed it had sprung open and wept blood. The King took the elf’s hand and placed his fingers carefully along its length. “Hold that there, Legolas, until I dress it.”

The elf held his friend’s eye. “Why has it not sealed, Aragorn? Surely it is not so long nor deep that it is not closed already?”

Aragorn smiled a little. “Only for elvenkind, my friend. The rest of us suffer more for our slips. Perhaps it is all part of this weird night and you will carry a scar to impress the march warden at your next feast day.”

Legolas looked at his friend eyes full of annoyance at his teasing. “She will no doubt give me a matching one to pay me back for being so careless with my face. She does like things just so, Minuial.”

Aragorn and Arwen both laughed a little and the last lingering feeling of doom fled the room. Aragorn left to find a healing poultice for his friend’s cheek and Arwen opened a sandalwood chest, drew out a shawl and then draped it over the mirror.

“Gimli’s vision seems more compelling this eve, Arwen.” Legolas sat on the end of the royal bed, obediently pressing on the cut. “Do you mind lending Aragorn to us?”

Arwen drifted over and sat on the bed beside her friend. “ I mind every day he is not in my company, but it will be so good for him to be away from all this.” She waved an encompassing hand at the city. “He pines for action and suppresses it so ruthlessly that I swear it makes him ill. Eldarion likes to rule, and Cirion does most of the work anyway. Take him, Legolas. Would I could ride with you.”

Legolas took his hand away from his cut and bowed to the Queen. “Come with us, my lady. A company of elves we would make, and hold back any fell airs with our singing.”

Arwen smiled at him and picked up his hand to replace it firmly on his cheek. “Just as our singing repelled those selfsame foul airs tonight. Be sensible Legolas. I want him to enjoy himself a little, not be worried all the time about looking after me. I will visit with our daughter Seregon at Pelargir and frighten our grandchildren into obedience again.”

Legolas smiled at such an unlikely outcome, and felt the tug in his wounded cheek; at least he now shared Gimli’s sense of urgency concerning his vision. Not that he had discounted his friend’s words but this disturbance in Middle-earth’s soul was reminiscent of the foul taste the minions of darkness had left on the path of dreams. It lay on his spirit like soot.

He rose to Aragorn’s beckoning from the anteroom. “Think of me, during your visit, sister. And I will keep your husband safe so that he too can disturb his grandchildren’s dreams with tales of his adventures, on his return.”

Arwen pushed him towards the door. “Go, I will see you tomorrow before you leave. Go and get your beauty mended, we have had enough excitement for several small children’s dreams tonight. I hope your trip is less eventful.”

00000

Gimli dropped off Ascallon’s back into the lush grass of the water meadow bordering the Mering stream. The Fenmarch, that marked Rohan’s east boundary, bumped gently away to the north, smoothing itself in the far distance into a counterpane of green and silver, the braided mouths of the river Entwash. To the south the snow capped peak of Halifirien pierced the afternoon sky like a tooth.

In a flurry of hooves Earnulf’s patrol wheeled in beside Gimli and the Captain dismounted lightly, for such a large human, beside the dwarf.

The young man closed his eyes briefly and breathed in, and then turned a grin devoid of all guile towards Gimli.

“Ah, my Lord. Home. How sweet the grass of Rohan, and look, at last we can see the sky.” Earnulf waved at the immense blue dome that took up three quarters of the world.

“All the sky requires is a flexible neck, lad.” Gimli preferred to be enclosed, and was minded to be grumpy. “Or wings.” A flight of agitated ducks clattered out of hiding and into the air as Aragorn and his guards arrived at the campsite. Gimli eyed Ascallon with disfavour; the white nag was leaning into its elf as he unloaded the light saddlebags that contained all the trail provisions the much-travelled pair ever carried. “I fancy that beast forgets sometimes that he is not so endowed.”

The sudden singing of Legolas’ bow sharpened his attention, and dropped Earnulf’s hand to his sword. But all that fell were two of the unfortunate waterfowl.

Gimli caught the elf’s eye with a raised eyebrow.

“Dinner.” Legolas was unrepentant.

“Show off,” grumbled Gimli.

Gimli glanced around; almost all of the company were occupied in unloading and caring for the horses. He needed to stretch his legs after bumping for most of the day on the back of that demon, so he set off towards the spot he had automatically marked as the birds’ landing place.

The sweet meadow grass in its summer growth almost reached his waist, and the land swelled and dipped deceptively beneath its waving hair. Gimli kept his eye on the end of a fletched arrow and finally reached the first of the birds. He tramped around in a spiral for a moment and found the other, the second arrow was broken.

Gimli looked around in his little trampled oasis of grass-walled privacy, and decided to occupy himself dressing the birds right where he was, the cook would not grudge him the mindless chore, of that he was sure.

Legolas finally missed him hours later as the sun dipped behind Ered Nimrais and the birds of the grassland set up their evening chorus.

“Aragorn?” The elf melted into solidity at the King’s side as he sat outside his pavilion enjoying the outrageously vulgar sunset. Aragorn’s two guards started and dropped their hands to their swords, before relaxing, embarrassed by the elf’s habitual stealth. Legolas ignored them. “Has Gimli been keeping you company?”

“Nay. Is he not with you?” Legolas shook his head, a frown marring his forehead.

Another figure loomed out of the gathering dark, causing the guards to challenge.

“It is I, Earnulf.” The Rohirrim approached the elf, something swinging from his hand. “I found these, my lord, Sire, but no sign of my lord Gimli. Have you had more luck?” Earnulf held up the dressed carcasses of two ducks.

The men and the elf eyed each other in dismay, Gimli’s great age and chancy health crossing more than one mind in that instant.

Aragorn stood and beckoned to his guard.

“Organise a search to the south. Earnulf, will you and your men search from where you found those? Legolas we will follow the stream north,” at a choked sound from his bodyguard he sighed. “I will take three of your guard Duilin, to assist.”

He looked around the frozen tableau. “Go.” He clapped his hands and suited action to words. “The light is failing, Go!”

TBC

Rose Sared