A/N—Hey everyone!  Ok, before we get started, there have been some questions  asked regarding Tervanis and Servius that I would like to address before I go on.  There has been some confusion regarding these characters, and I would like to clear it up.

First, Tervanis is not the one seeking revenge against Aragorn.  He is merely a tool that Servius is using to accomplish his goals.  He does not know the fellowship other than what he has observed since arriving in Minas Tirith, and his actions are following a plan laid out for him by Servius, not his own ideas.  In short, for the most part, he is doing what he was told to do.

As for Servius, we do not know much about his character yet.  We do not know who he is (except for a few rather observant readers)), or what his beef with Aragorn is.  We also don’t know how well he knows the fellowship, what his ultimate plan is, or what his final goals are.  I guess we will just have to wait and find out!!!

Another thing—I had some people asking why Tervanis managed to miss Gimli when he obviously is supposed to be so good at his job.  Shouldn’t he have been able to hit his target despite Shandarell?  Well, as I mentioned in a previous chapter, Tervanis is skilled in almost any weapon, but the bow is probably his least favorite.  He prefers to confront his prey in one on one battle.  If he were to make a mistake, the bow would be the weapon most likely for this, as he does not use it very often. 

Finally, briefly mentioned in this chapter is Malek—Evil creature in ‘Dark Horizons,’ who basically gave the Fellowship (especially Legolas) a REALLY bad time! 

Chapter 5        An act of War

Legolas was scared.

Many times in his long life he could remember instances of fear: hunting his first warg when still only an elfling, getting lost within the deep caverns of his father’s palace, witnessing the slow corruption of his beloved home by spiders and other evil creatures, hearing of the return of the One Ring, facing the dreaded Balrog within the depths of Moria, and lying helpless before the corruption of the creature Malek.  These were only a few of his memories of his encounters with fear, yet they all dimmed when compared to the horror of the present.

Gimli was dying.  His best friend was slipping away from him, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.  He could see it on his friend’s pale features, hear it in the labored breathing, and feel it in the warm blood that soaked his hands as he tried desperately to stem the flow of lifeblood from Gimli’s body.   And all the while the fear pressed down on him like some living, malevolent creature intent upon destruction.

“Valar, help me!” Legolas whispered brokenly, his voice lost beneath the heavy pounding of Shandarell’s hooves. 

Their mad dash up the city streets to the House of Healing took only a few minutes, but to Legolas, it seemed an eternity.  He did not even wait until Shandarell had come to a complete stop before flinging himself from the horse’s back and racing toward the building’s front doors, Gimli cradled protectively in his arms. 

He was calling for help even before he crashed through the doors, his eyes immediately searching for the nearest healer.  An elderly man with thick gray hair and bushy eyebrows that reminded Legolas somewhat of Gandalf started toward him, his apparel and stature indicating that he was one of the healers.

“My friend needs help,” Legolas stated, surprised at how strong and steady his voice was despite his fear.  “He has an arrow in his back and is fading quickly.”

“Follow me,” the healer responded simply, turning and hurrying a short way down the hall before pushing a door open.  “In here,” the man ordered, holding the door open as Legolas stepped passed him and carried Gimli to the bed.

He laid his friend down gently, then remained leaning over him, pressing down on the cloth around the arrow as the healer began shouting orders down the hallway.  A few seconds later, another healer appeared, followed by two women, one carrying an armload of bandages, the other a basin of steaming water.

The first woman moved up beside him and gently nudged his hands away from the wound, taking the blood soaked cloth and replacing it with a new one.  She looked up at him and smiled encouragingly, but Legolas barely noticed, too intent on Gimli.

“How long ago did this happen?”  The second healer was much younger than the first, with intent blue eyes, which he now leveled at Legolas.

“Only a few minutes ago,” Legolas responded, once again startled by the calmness in his voice.  He didn’t feel calm at all.

The healer nodded, then turned and motioned to the second woman, who promptly lowered the basin to a small stand and headed toward Legolas.  Before he even realized what was happening, she grasped his arm and propelled him gently but firmly toward the door.  “This may take the healers a while,” she explained quickly.  “I suggest that you wait outside while we care for your friend.”  With these words, Legolas felt himself half pushed out into the hallway.  He turned with a frown, opening his mouth to protest, but was met with only the solid wood of the door as it clicked firmly shut behind him.

He had just been kicked out.

Legolas wasn’t quite sure how to react to this fact.  He could not recall a single time in his long life when he had been so efficiently banished from a room, like a small child dismissed from his parent’s chambers so they could speak in private. He wasn’t sure what upset him more; the fact that they had just thrown him out, or the fact that they had done it so easily.  It was a testimony to how upset he truly was that he had not seen it coming and reacted earlier.

Legolas took a step toward the door, intending to force his way back in, but at the last moment he stopped. 

However much he would like to be with Giml right now, he would only be in the way.  He had done what he could for his friend, and now, as much as it hurt, he had to trust Gimli to the care of the healers.  He knew this, and yet it did not make it any easier as he stepped back from the doors. 

He glanced down at the blood staining his hands and was unable to repress a shudder.  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to get back some of the calm detachment he had felt earlier.  When he opened his eyes again, nothing had changed.  The blood still stained his hands and tunic, the door still remained firmly shut, and Gimli still continued to fight for his life on the other side of those doors.

Legolas sighed and shook his head.  He knew he could not remain here, waiting idly in the hall while the healers worked on Gimli.  It would drive him mad if he tried.  Yet at the same time, the thought of leaving and having something possibly go wrong while he was away was almost too terrifying to consider.  Yet what should he do?

Aragorn. 

He should go to Aragorn.  His friend needed to be informed of what had happened.

With a last long look toward the door, Legolas turned and slowly made his way down the hall, each step tearing at him painfully.  He hoped that he could find Aragorn quickly and return here, just as he hoped that the king might have some desperately needed answers for him.

****

Aragorn was having a miserable day.  It was only a little past midmorning, and he was already desperately wishing that the day were over.  Every minute seemed to drag by incredibly slowly, and he was finding it hard to keep his attention on the seemingly endless number of petitions and petty arguments brought before him.  His normally abundant supply of patience was running dangerously low, and he wondered how many more hours it would take before he went mad. 

His concentration should have been on the needs of his people, yet he continually found his thoughts drifting back to the anonymous letter he had received at breakfast.  It was not the first threat he had received since becoming king, and he doubted it would be the last, but for some reason, this particular note troubled him.  He was not able to explain why, but something about the words and tone of the letter had immediately grabbed his attention and refused to let it go. 

Faramir was presently out scouring the city in search of any information on the possible author of the letter, and Aragorn wished that he could accompany his friend.  Instead, he was sitting alone within the large audience hall, waiting to hear the argument between two farmers over a piece of land that neither of them used, or needed.

“Bring them in,” he finally ordered the attendant who stood patiently next to the large doors leading out into the waiting hall.   The man bowed, then slipped quickly from the room to retrieve the two farmers.

Aragorn sighed and shifted in the large chair, forcing his mind to the matter at hand.  He already knew the basic details behind the two men’s argument, and knew the next few minutes were not likely to be pretty.  The farmers had been arguing for years, and Aragorn guessed that he would most likely be refereeing a shouting match between the two before this was all over.  He grimaced slightly.  It was these types of court audiences that he hated the most.

The large doors swung open, and Aragorn quickly wiped all emotion from his face, straightening in his chair and preparing to greet the farmers.  He was surprised when, instead of the two men, Faramir strode through the doors, the expression on his face immediately alerting Aragorn that something was wrong.

He frowned and rose from his chair, walking forward to meet Faramir.  It felt good to stand up and move.

“You have returned early,” he remarked casually.  “Have you found something?” 

“I have found many ‘somethings,’ all of which have turned out to be nothing.” Faramir replied grimly.  “Whoever sent you the message this morning did an admirable job hiding his trail.”

Aragorn nodded, then waited patiently for Faramir to continue, knowing that his friend must have some news that would explain his early return and interruption.

“Have Legolas and Gimli returned to the palace yet?”

The question took Aragorn somewhat by surprise, and he frowned at the trace of worry he detected in Faramir’s voice.

“I know not,” he replied slowly, eying Faramir for some clue as to why he had asked.  “I have been holding court since leaving you early this morning, and if they have returned, I have not been informed of it.  Why do you ask?”

Faramir shook his head.  “There are rumors on the street that they were attacked this morning.  The rumors are vague and sketchy at best, but I thought it best to return and find out for myself.”

“Have you asked the guards at the gate if they were seen returning?” Aragorn asked sharply, feeling a sense of alarm creeping over him at Faramir’s report.

“Aye,” Faramir answered.  “They had not seen them, but then they had just changed guards, and it is possible they slipped in before hand.  I could have searched for them myself, but I felt it best to inform you first.”

“I am glad that you did,” Aragorn answered.  “We shall search for them together.”  He turned and faced the attendant who had slipped in silently after Faramir.  “Tell those waiting outside that they will have to return some other time.  Something has come up that requires my immediate attention.”

The attendant bowed, then once more slipped soundlessly from the room.

“Do you think this has anything to do with the letter this morning?” Faramir asked quietly as they strode toward a small door to the side of the audience hall.

“We cannot dismiss the possibility,” Aragorn answered gravely.  “I think it is too much of a coincidence that this has happened now.  The note said, ‘my war with you begins today.’”  Aragorn shuddered slightly.

“Should we try and find Arwen and Eowyn to help with the search?” Faramir asked.

Aragorn thought about it, then shook his head.  Arwen and Eowyn had decided to spend the day together, doing whatever it was that females did when they had a free minute.  He did not want to ruin the day for either of them until he had more information.

“If they have returned to the castle, it should be easy enough to find out,” he replied.   “Let us go and talk to the guards at the gate once more and find out who held the watch before them.”

Faramir nodded his agreement, and the two walked in silence for a short while, each lost in his own thoughts.  They reached the courtyard quickly, and were halfway across when they spotted Legolas striding through the gates.

Aragorn felt a flood of relief that lasted only long enough for him to get a good look at Legolas’ features.  The elf princes’ expression was a mask of tightly controlled rage, mixed with something else.  Fear.  His posture was strictly erect, and his fists were clenched into tightly curled balls at his side.  When he saw Faramir and Aragorn, he began walking quickly in their direction, his gray eyes showing a grim intenseness that sent a chill through Aragorn.  Then, he saw the blood.

Aragorn began to run toward Legolas, his eyes searching for the source of the dark stains marring his friend’s tunic.  Legolas was not acting as if he was injured, but the amount of blood…

“I am unharmed, Aragorn,” Legolas said stiffly as Aragorn raced up to him, Faramir only a step behind.

“What happened?” Aragorn demanded, continuing to look Legolas up and down in spite of the elf’s statement.

“Someone shot Gimli,” Legolas stated flatly, causing Aragorn to jerk his gaze up to meet the elf’s.  Legolas’ eyes were smoldering pools of anger.

“Who?” Faramir gasped, as Aragorn tried to digest what he had been told.  Legolas’ simple statement had struck him like a hard blow to the stomach.

Legolas’ jaw clenched as he shook his head.  “I know not, Faramir.  Whoever it was, they struck from afar and I did not get a chance to see who it was.”

“Is Gimli…?” Aragorn started to ask, but Legolas cut him off with a quick shake of his head.

“I took him to the House of Healing.  They are working on removing the arrow now, but it does not look good, Aragorn.”  For a brief second, Legolas’ angry mask faded to be replaced by one of hurt and confusion, and Aragorn felt his heart wrench in pain for his friend.

“I guess we no longer have to wonder if this has something to do with the letter,” Faramir commented to Aragorn, his face grim.

“What letter?” Legolas demanded, his face hardening once more to hide the true emotions Aragorn knew must be ripping through him at the moment.

“Tell me all that happened,” Aragorn commanded, grabbing Legolas’ arm and turning him back the direction he had come.  “I must know everything.”

“What letter, Aragorn?” Legolas demanded a second time, ignoring Aragorn’s command.  “If you know something of who did this…”

“We do not know who did this, Legolas,” Faramir answered quickly.  “But we shall find out, I promise you that.”

Legolas glanced from Faramir back to Aragorn, his face a determined mask. 

Aragorn sighed.  He knew that he would not get anything from Legolas until the elf got his answer.  He reached into his tunic pocket and brought out the folded note, handing it to his friend.

Legolas scanned over it quickly, his fair features twisting into a scowl.  He looked up at Aragorn.  “So, whoever this is, attacked Gimli in order to get to you?”

“It appears that way,” Aragorn answered wearily, rubbing a tired hand across his eyes.  “I am sorry, Legolas.  I should have sent out a warning to you the minute I received this.”  He reached out and retrieved the letter from Legolas.

Legolas shook his head, his features softening slightly.  “You could not have known that Gimli would be a target.  I do not hold you responsible, Aragorn.  If anything, I am to blame.”

Aragorn frowned.  “Why do you say that?” he asked.

“Because I sensed that we were being watched and yet I took no precautions.  If I had, perhaps all this could have been averted.”

Aragorn shook his head.  “As you told me, you could not have known.  As it is, now is not the time for ‘what if’s’ and self-recriminations.  Take me to Gimli, and I will see what I can do to help him.  You can tell me what happened as we walk.”

******

“Well, Son, how was your first day as a soldier of Gondor?”

Dar smiled wearily at his father as he sunk down in one of the large chairs in Kenson’s room.  He let out a loud sigh and closed his eyes, arching his back as if to ease aching muscles.

“Busy,” he finally mumbled.  “Very, very, busy.”

Kenson grinned at his son before sitting down in a chair facing Dar.  “Are you going to tell me about it?” he asked, eyeing his son carefully.  Dar looked tired, but content, and Kenson was pleased.

“Well,” Dar said slowly, “my captain is really nice.  I pretty much followed him around all day so I could get an idea of what will be expected of me in the days to come.  Nothing much exciting, but it sure wore me out!”

Kenson chuckled in understanding, remembering his own first days as a new merchant guard.  That time seemed ages ago now, but he still had plenty of memories.  “You’ll get used to it,” he assured his son with a wink.

“I hope so,” Dar mumbled, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes again.

Kenson watched his son for several seconds, his smile slowly fading.  He treasured these quiet moments spent with Dar, and the knowledge that he would soon be leaving his son cut through him like a knife.

“I have decided to return home tomorrow.”  Kenson at last broke the silence, his voice so low it was almost a whisper.

Dar shifted in his chair, opening his eyes to look at his father.  “So soon?” he asked simply.  “I was expecting you to stay at least a few days longer.”

Kenson shook his head.  “I need to return home.  The longer I am away from Calembel, the more work piles up for me to do upon my return.” ‘And the longer I am here with you, the less I will want to go home,’ he added silently, glancing away from his son so Dar would not read the sadness in his expression.  He was shocked when he glanced back and saw bright tears glistening in Dar’s eyes.

Dar reached up and wiped the moisture away impatiently, dropping his eyes down to his lap.  “I will miss you, father,” he whispered.

“And I’ll miss you,” Kenson answered quietly, finding it hard to speak past the heavy lump in his throat.  For a second, he saw his son as a little boy again, relying totally upon his father’s love.  He had to forcefully remind himself that Dar was now a man, and it was time that Kenson let him loose to find his own way.  Still, he felt a strong urge to reach over and pull Dar into a tight embrace and never let go.

Dar looked up and met his gaze again.  “Let’s not talk about this tonight, Father,” he begged.  “Tomorrow will come soon enough, and we can face it then, but tonight, let’s just relax and enjoy each other’s company.”

“Good idea,” Kenson replied, forcing a smile onto his face.

“So,” Dar straightened in his chair, “anything interesting happen while I was out learning to be a soldier?”

Kenson’s smile slipped, and he quickly glanced away from his son.  “You have not heard?” he asked.

Dar frowned.  “Heard what?”

Kenson rose from his chair and began to slowly pace around the room.  Dar watched him with a worried frown.  At last, Kenson turned back to face his son.

“Someone shot Gimli this afternoon.”

“What?” Dar gasped, jerking upright in his chair.  “Is he alright?”

Kenson shrugged.  “He is at the House of Healing right now.  Aragorn, Arwen, and Legolas are with him.  I guess the healers were able to remove the arrow with relative ease, but he lost a lot of blood.”

“Do you think this has anything to do with the letter this morning?” Dar asked worriedly, rising also and taking over his father’s pacing.

“Aragorn thinks so,” Kenson replied simply.

“And you are still planning to leave tomorrow?” Dar’s voice was slightly accusing as he turned to face his father.

“Upon Aragorn’s insistence,” Kenson replied calmly.

“He wants you to leave?” Dar asked, obviously confused.

“Not quite in the way you make it sound,” Kenson replied dryly.  “He just does not want me to stay because of what happened.  Faramir, Legolas, and Aragorn are so angry that whoever did this does not stand a chance.  They don’t need me hanging around, and the last thing Aragorn is going to need to worry about these next couple of days is a houseguest.  It will be easier for him if I were gone.”

Dar slowly nodded, then returned to sink back into his chair.  He looked toward the door, his hands idly twisting the edges of his tunic.  “Why does evil always go after the good people?” he asked softly, his voice heavy with sadness.

“Perhaps because the good people are the only ones who stand up against such evil,”  Kenson replied softly, knowing his answer was simplistic, yet unable to come up with anything better to offer Dar.

Several minutes of silence passed, then, without looking at Kenson, Dar whispered, “I want to be one of the good people some day.”

Kenson smiled softly.  “Despite all the trouble it brings?” he asked dryly.

Dar turned and gave him a half smile.  “You seem to have handled it alright.”

Kenson was unsure what to say in the face of his son’s compliment, so he only smiled and reached forward to grip Dar’s shoulder tightly.

“You grew up on me, son,” he said softly, his voice filled with admiration.  “Come on, let’s find us a nice tavern in the city, and forget for tonight that we are one of the ‘good people.’

Dar returned his father’s smile, then rose from his chair.  “That sounds great!”

****

Tervanis sat casually against the far wall of the tavern, his attention apparently focused on the mug of ale held in his hands.  He kept his eyes downcast except for the occasional glance to sweep the room with his gaze.  He had discovered long ago that a tavern was perhaps the best place to find information, and after over two hours of sitting patiently, he had learned all that he needed to.

The dwarf was alive.  At least, in most of the rumors—the ones he believed—he was.  Tervanis had already reconciled himself to the fact that he had made a mistake, and was now trying to decide how he would best make up for it.  He had considered sneaking into the House of Healing and finishing the job, but he knew the risks were too great. Finally, he had decided to wait it out.  Perhaps another opportunity would come to him, but if not, he would just continue on with the plan as if nothing had happened.

With this decision made, Tervanis relaxed his thoughts and began to truly enjoy the evening.  If he was to follow Servius’ plan, it may be quite a while before an opportunity presented itself to strike again.  He had to wait and watch and be constantly ready to act when such an opportunity presented itself.  He would not make a mistake a second time.

TBC