AN: This chapter has been revised. I hope it reads better than the other one.

Duels and Schemes

     Aragorn woke hours after the sun had risen, consequently hours after the Elves had partaken of breakfast.  He satisfied himself with a piece of fruit that he ate on his way to the training grounds.  He hoped to find someone to spar with.  If no one was willing, he would practice with his bow.

     A crowd had gathered on the training grounds.  At the center of the crowd, Glorfindel and Legolas dueled, each wielding a broad sword with infinite grace.  Aragorn felt his mouth slide open in awe.  Never had he seen such an exhibition of deadly grace and skill, so raw, yet so controlled.  They were two whirling, golden creatures.  Every move was calculated and perfect. 

     Legolas made a mistake.  The crowd gasped as he swung too far to the left.  Glorfindel ducked and drove his hilt into Legolas’s forearm with enough force to make Aragorn wince.  Legolas jumped backwards out of reach not a moment later.

     “Is that your best, leaflet?” taunted Glorfindel, bouncing on his toes as he waited for the perfect moment to attack.  Legolas snarled at the comment and lunged, sword swinging for Glorfindel’s right side.  At the last moment, he changed the direction of his swing with strength that amazed Aragorn.  Glorfindel barely blocked it.  They fought evenly for several minutes. 

     Lo!  Legolas made the same mistake as before.  This time Glorfindel felled his opponent to the ground and stood over him, tip of his blade touching Legolas’s neck.

     “I won,” said Glorfindel, sheathing his blade.

     “Only the round!” cried Legolas, jumping to his feet and glaring.  “There are still two rounds left.” 

     Glorfindel handed his sword to an onlooker.  “Would you like a breather before the next round, leaflet, or are you able to continue?” he asked as Legolas gave his blade to Gildae. 

     “Hand-to-hand or archery.  You may pick which you want to lose first,” said Legolas heatedly, ignoring Glorfindel’s last comment.

     “Hand-to-hand, then, Master Legolas,” replied Glorfindel.  He stripped his tunic off.  Legolas did the same.

     “Very well, Glamfindel¹.  Let us begin.”

     Here the warriors forgot their Elven grace.  Caught up in passion, Legolas leapt at Glorfindel.  It quickly turned into a wrestling match, more ferocious than when the twin sons of Elrond went at each other.  Aragorn surmised that the stronger of the two—which appeared to be Legolas—would win.  They rolled on the grass and dirt, a tangle of golden hair and flailing limbs.

     With a howl, Legolas flipped Glorfindel and pinned him face down into the grass.  The Elves watching began counting.  Glorfindel kicked and squirmed, but Legolas’s grip would not be broken.  The Wood-elf won the match.

     They both rose slowly.  Glorfindel’s right eye was already big and puffy.  He wore the same sulk that Legolas had shown after the sword fighting.  For his part, Legolas smirked at Glorfindel, ignoring his own bloody nose. 

     “We are tied now,” said Legolas.  “There is only one more round.”  Glorfindel glared at him.  “Would you like a breather, my old friend?”

     “Give me my bow!” snapped Glorfindel.  A spectator hastily placed said weapon in his outstretched hand.  Legolas called for his bow.  The two stalked to the archery range, oblivious to how their carriages mimicked each other.  The crowd of Elves followed them.

     They were in the midst of choosing their targets, when Lossenfân, one of Arwen’s maiden friends, came along side of Aragorn and drew him away.  “Arwen greatly desires to speak with you, Estel,” she said softly.  She led him to the same bench from where he had watched the Wood-elves arrive.  Arwen sat there, a book in hand.  Lossenfân left them alone.  Arwen beckoned him to sit beside her.  He did so and waited for her to speak.

     “Estel, I have no right to ask this of you,” said she, “yet I feel you are the only one that can help me.  Many things have been said about asking Elves for counsel, and I have found it all to be true.  You and I are nearly brother and sister.  I do not fear asking your counsel.”

     Her words smote his heart, but he hid it.  “Anything you wish, lady.”

     “How much do you know of Legolas, Estel?” she asked, closing her book.  Her grey eyes searched his face.

     “I know nothing of him, beyond that he is a lord of Taur e-Ndaedelos.”  Her question puzzled him. 

     She kept her gaze on his face.  “I have known him almost all of my life.  His adar is Thranduil, the Wood-elf king.  Legolas’s naneth and mine grew up together in Lórien.  Our parents always wished that one day we would wed.”

     Aragorn felt as though someone had struck him.  He tried desperately to hide his reaction from the maiden that he had no claim on.  “Will you?  Wed, I mean.”

    “I have always loved Legolas, but only as a brother,” she replied.  “  I do not know what to do.  My adar says that given time we would come to love each other in the way that a husband and wife should.”

     No, you would not!  Aragorn cried inwardly.  He could never love you the way I do!

    “That is the reason for his visit.  My adar brought us together last night in his study.  I fear that this time I may give in.”  She lowered her head.  Aragorn thought he saw tears shining in her eyes.

     “If you do not love him, do not marry him,” he said simply.

     “It is not so simple,” she sighed.  “My adar spoke with me this morning.  He said that the Wood-elves are losing reasons to fight.  Slowly they are succumbing to the Shadow.  The Nazgûl have retaken Dol Guldur.  More and more are journeying to the Grey Havens.  This marriage would bring hope, something to look to.”

     “That is not your responsibility.  They have no claim upon you.  If the warriors cannot fight the Shadow, then it is better for the Elves to leave before needless lives are spent.”  I love you!  His heart hammered so loud he wondered if she could hear it.

     She reclaimed eye contact.  “What would you do?  If you knew that marriage could end or save lives?”

     He met her gaze evenly.  “I would follow my heart.”

     The debate raged in her eyes.  Yet, she nodded and rose.  “I thank you, Estel.  Your words have given me something to ponder over.”  She laughed ruefully.  “I fear I shall have to explain to King Thranduil why I refused his son yet again.”

    His heart soared as he watched her take her book and walk, nay, float to the house.  He sat and pondered on this Wood-elf prince, this Legolas, that sought to claim Arwen Undómiel hand.  Yet again, she had said.  Legolas obviously did not give up easily.  Valar, Aragorn could not believe that Legolas and Elrond tried to guilt Arwen into the marriage.  That they would stoop to such a mean device enraged Aragorn. 

     Perhaps it was time he bettered his acquaintance with this Prince Legolas.

     He arrived on the training field just as Legolas won the archery competition with a truly impressive shot.  The Wood-elves began to sing of the bow of Legolas as Glorfindel stared in amazement a the target being drawn near.  Indeed, his own silver-fletched arrow lodged in the innermost ring but one.  Legolas’s green and brown arrow (Does the dratted Elf employ any other color? Aragorn wondered.) proudly pierced the centermost spot of the smallest ring.

     “You won,” Glorfindel stated in a surprised voice, to the delight of Legolas, whose nose still bled.  “You have improved with your bow, leaflet.”

     Legolas laughed.  Victory obviously suited him.  “So you say as if I have never beaten you with my bow.  You forget, my old friend, that you have yet to beat me in archery.”

     Glorfindel laughed also, accepting his defeat with good grace.  “Ai, you are right.  But you have gotten stronger.  You put up more of a fight with the battle-ax than ever before.”

     Battle-ax? Aragorn wondered.  How many ‘rounds’ did they have?

     “Yes, and you have improved your horsemanship.  Come,” said Legolas, throwing his arm around Glorfindel’s shoulders.  “I am famished.  Mayhap it is time for luncheon.”

     The two set off for the House of Elrond.  Aragorn followed, anxious to learn more of both the duel and its victor.  Elrond met them at the door.

     “Absolutely not,” said Elrond, refusing them admittance to the dining hall.  “You are both covered in filth.  I could smell you from the fields.  Legolas, you have blood all over your face.  I suppose he broke your nose again.”  He sighed.  “Tidy yourself up, then come see me.  I shall do what I can.  Luncheon will not be served for almost an hour.”

     Legolas sang as he walked to his chamber.  Adar will at least be happy with me for defeating Glorfindel, he thought to himself.  Once in his rooms, Legolas ran a bath and peeled off his soiled clothing.  He bathed quickly, rinsing his skin of sweat and dirt.  His nose had stopped bleeding.  He quickly dressed himself.  When he bent to pull his boots on, he saw crimson spots drop onto the carpet.  He clasped his hand to his nose only to catch a handful of blood.  “Valar,” he growled.  “That is the third time he has broken my nose!”  With his free hand he grabbed an under tunic and used it to soak up the blood.

    With the tunic to his face, he made his way to the healing rooms.  Elrond waited in one of the rooms for him.  Legolas sat on one of the high pallets and let Elrond pull away the tunic. 

     “Cudgel?” Elrond guessed.

     “Fist,” said Legolas around a wince as Elrond touched the poor nose.

     “My advice: refrain from this duel in the future, or he will hit your nose so hard it relocates.”

     “I shall consider it.”

     “Have you considered what we discussed last night?”

     Legolas winced again.  Elrond did not know if it was from his ministrations or the topic.  “Yes, my lord.”

     Elrond avoided the grey eyes that followed his face intently.  “Estel, my mortal son, loves Arwen.  He does not speak of it, but it is in his eyes.  And now it is in hers.  She will die a mortal’s death, like Lúthien, if a stop is not put to it.  She does not yet love him wholly.  But she will if you do not save her.”

     “I save her?” repeated Legolas, ashen with the news.

     “Take her as your wife.  If she is bound to you, she will not give her heart to a mortal.  Her honor and her respect for you will prevent her from going any further down that road which only leads to bitterness.”  Elrond caught Legolas’s gaze.  “She will die, Legolas.”  He took scraps of cloth and handed them to the Wood-elf.  “Put them in your nose.  You know how by now.”  Legolas obeyed.  “Think on what I have told you.  Now, it is time for luncheon.”

     They walked in silence towards the dining hall.  Legolas’s mind raced.  Arwen to love a mortal man and to die a mortal death?  It did not seem possible.  None of the things Elrond had just spoken made sense. 

     Arwen already sat at the table.  His eyes immediately found her, searched her for evidence of what he had just been told.  She was pale, he saw, and she would not look at him.  He felt the Dúnadan’s eyes on him, as well as Elrond’s.  The tension nearly strangled him.  He looked across the table to Glorfindel for help. 

     “My friend Aerhos and I had a pleasant conversation last night, dear Legolas,” said Glorfindel.  “He told me a charming story about two Elves and the Enchanted River.”

     Legolas feigned laughter.  “Aerhos tells many stories, none of which can be believed.  It is not his fault, poor Elf.  His father is a tutor and tells many stories himself.  It is my belief that the trait was passed down.”

     “It is a shame that a tutor should have memory problems the way Aerhos’s poor father does,” Glorfindel said, continuing the last night’s conversation.  “It must be very inconvenient.”

     “Memory problems?” Elrond asked.  “Of what sort?”

     “I have actually found his problems convenient from time to time,” laughed Legolas, not answering Elrond. 

     “Perhaps it is not his memory that ails him, but his eyesight,” Glorfindel suggested.  Elrond caught on and returned to silence. 

     “Perhaps you are right,” replied Legolas.  “And perhaps Aerhos’s problems are simply explained by insanity.”  Estel still glared at him.  He resisted the urge to twitch.

     “Either way, his story of the two Elves and the River was quite amusing.”

     “Indeed?  I should like to hear it.”

     “Really?”  Glorfindel smirked.  “I was under the impression that you already knew it.  Or perhaps you are the one with the memory problems.  I have heard that the Enchanted River causes memory blanks.”

     Legolas tried to eat, but his appetite failed him.  His fork made it half way to his mouth, then fell back to his plate.  Glorfindel noticed and began his story to draw attention to himself.

     “As Aerhos told it to me, two Elves, brothers who were by millennia old enough to know better, had a contest one day.  They were to climb a tree whose limbs hung over the Enchanted River and swing themselves to the other side.  The first Elf did so without mishap.  But when the second Elf was in a branch right over the middle of the river, the branch, being barely more than a twig, could not stand the strain and broke, plunging the Elf into the River.”

     Legolas could not bear Estel’s eyes on him any more.  He looked up and sent a glare at the Man who was killing Arwen.  Estel looked surprised but did not look away.  Legolas returned his frustrated his gaze to his own full plate.  The food on it looked revolting.

     Glorfindel’s story droned on, but no one listened to it.  It may be doubted whether Glorfindel himself listened to it.  Legolas nearly sagged in relief when the meal ended.  Estel disappeared down the hall.  Legolas was not sorry to see him and his scrutinizing eyes go.  Elrond requested Glorfindel to accompany him to see to some matter of state.  Alone with Arwen, Legolas found himself grow shy.

     For the first time that afternoon, she raised her eyes to him, only to find his downcast.  “You did not eat,” she said softly. 

     “I found I was not so hungry as I thought,” he replied. 

     “Legolas, tell me truthfully as an old friend, what is the situation like in your home?”

     He sought her eyes.  “It grows desperate.  With the return of the Nazgûl, my people are fleeing to the Havens.  The Shadow seeks to overcome our warriors until they cannot function.  Even so, I have faith that we will overcome.  We love our land and want it more than the Enemy ever could, and so we will win.”

     “And do your people think as you do?”

     “Ay.  They find things of hope and cling to them.  They draw their strength from the things of light and beauty.  As long as there is beauty in Arda, we will prevail.”

     She stood and smiled.  Her beauty struck him again.  Could he let her die when he had a chance of preventing it? 

     “Thank you for speaking the truth to me, dear Legolas,” she said.  Then, almost shyly, “I hope you know that I do love and respect you.”

     He did not know how to answer.

     “Please excuse me.  I must speak with my adar.”

     He offered her his arm.  “As do I.  May I walk with you?”

***

     In the time before the afternoon meal, Aragorn betook himself to his mother’s chambers, for she enjoyed his visits when he was in Imladris.  Since learning of his heritage several months ago, he had ridden with the twin sons of Elrond and the Rangers frequently.  The twins had gone without him on their current forage, for he had been recovering from a particularly severe cold when they left. 

     As he sat with and talked to Gilraen, his thoughts frequented to Arwen and the disclosure she had made to him.  He wished that Elrohir and Elladan were at home, for he was sure they would never allow their beloved sister to marry for any reason less than pure love. Gilraen soon perceived that her son’s thoughts strayed, and to what object those thoughts strayed to, she believed (and rightly so) that she knew.  Not wanting to pain him, she remained silent on the subject.

     At the time for luncheon, he went by himself to the dining hall, for his mother preferred to eat in her own chambers.  When he arrived, Glorfindel and Arwen had preceded him.  They arrived just as he took his seat.  Legolas had bits of material stuck in his nostrils.  His face was drawn and very pale.

     Aragorn noticed over the course of the meal that Legolas’s glance constantly flickered to Arwen as if he were searching for something.  She also seemed pale and adverted her eyes to avoid his gaze.

     It was an awkward meal.  Elrond and Arwen were nearly completely silent.  Glorfindel and Legolas tried to make up for their silence by being very gay, but it did not work.  Aragorn noticed that today Legolas barely ate more than a few bites, despite having claimed to be famished not so long ago.

     Legolas caught Aragorn looking at him and sent a glare back.  It took Aragorn by surprise, for he knew of nothing he had done that would deserve the Wood-elf’s anger.  Had Legolas found out of Arwen’s consulting him earlier?

     All were relieved when enough time had passed for it to be polite to end the meal.  Aragorn collected his weapons from his chambers, intending to collect his thoughts on the training field.  The archery field was empty.  He spent a good deal of time shooting at the targets he imagined were the Prince Legolas’s head.  He had sufficiently calmed down when Lossenfân ran towards him. 

     “Have you heard?” she cried.  “Arwen and Legolas are betrothed!”

***

¹Glamfindel - orc-haired elf