Chapter 9        Calm before the storm

Dar was in shock. 

Legolas could see it plainly in the young man’s eyes as Dar stared unblinkingly down the hall in the direction that Aragorn had just disappeared with Arwen.  The lad stood stiffly just inside the main door to the House of Healing, his chest heaving, as if he had just run a long distance.  He was soaking wet, but did not even seem to notice his sodden tunic, nor the growing puddle of water accumulating at his boots.  His hands hung limply at his side, not even rising to brush away the wet strands of hair plastered to his face. He looked lost and confused. 

Of course, Dar was not the only one who appeared to be in shock.  A few steps away from Legolas, Faramir and Eowyn stood side by side, their faces frozen in a mask of disbelief and horror. 

‘And what about me?’ Legolas thought numbly.  Shocked seemed an appropriate word to describe his own feelings at the moment.  When he had heard Aragorn’s cry of alarm, he had immediately feared the worst.  Yet nothing had prepared him for the sight that had greeted him as he had stepped from Gimli’s room.  If he had not seen for himself the slight rise and fall of Arwen’s chest as Aragorn had rushed past him, he would not have believed her still alive.  The sight of her battered face would haunt him for a long time to come.  The grief he felt was almost painful, and he could only imagine the torment Aragorn must be in.

Only a few minutes had passed since Aragorn had disappeared into a room with a group of healers, yet to Legolas, it seemed much longer.  Everyone seemed frozen in place, captured by the dark shadow that lay heavily within the hall, unable to break free from its black spell.  None wanted to believe what they had just seen, their minds refusing to accept the full horror of the situation.

A crack of thunder sounded outside, nearly drowning out the sound of Eowyn’s choked sob.  The soft sound of distress seemed to at last break through the shock.  Dar blinked, Legolas shifted, and Faramir took a step closer to his wife, pulling her into the comforting circle of his arms as more silent sobs shook her slim frame.

Legolas winced and quickly turned away from the scene of grief.  His eyes fell on Dar, the lad’s gaze still fixed down the hallway.

“Dar?” he called softly, slowly approaching the young man.

He had to repeat the call twice and actually reach out to touch the lad’s shoulder before Dar responded, slowly blinking several times, his gaze shifting to lock onto Legolas.

“I am so sorry, Legolas,” he choked out, his voice rough and uneven as he obviously fought for control over his emotions.  “If only I had gotten there earlier…” he trailed off, swallowing hard as bright tears filled his eyes.

Legolas reached up and gently smoothed away the wet strands of hair from Dar’s face.  “You must tell us what happened,” he said softly, “But first, we need to get you someplace warm where you can begin to dry.”  Dar was beginning to shake, and though Legolas guessed it was as much the shock wearing off as his wet clothes, he knew the lad would be better prepared to answer their questions once he was dry and warm.

Dar nodded numbly, and Legolas forced himself to smile at him reassuringly.  The smile faded, however, when he noticed the slowly growing red stain spreading down Dar’s left tunic sleeve. 

“You are hurt.”  It was not a question, but a statement, as Legolas stepped closer to examine the injury. 

Dar blinked in surprise, then glanced down at his shoulder, as if just remembering the wound.  “It is not too bad,” he replied with a slight grimace.

Legolas frowned, but did not respond, carefully separating the torn edges of Dar’s tunic so he could better inspect the cut.  Dar was right, the wound was not deep, but it was long and bleeding heavily. 

Legolas glanced over his shoulder and met Faramir’s gaze.  Eowyn was still cradled protectively in his embrace, but the sobs no longer shook her frame.  Faramir’s gaze was unreadable, but he nodded slightly to Legolas, then motioned with his head toward the door to Gimli’s room. 

Legolas nodded, understanding the unspoken message.  There was a fire in Gimli’s room, and they would be able to have quiet and privacy while questioning Dar about what had happened.  Placing his hand softly on Dar’s back, Legolas gently led him forward down the hall.

The first thing he noticed as he entered the small room, was Gimli.  The dwarf was struggling to rise from his bed, his face deathly pale, yet his expression one of intense determination.  He had managed to push himself to the edge of the bed, and was in the process of attempting to get to his feet. 

“Gimli!” Legolas said sharply, leaving Dar to rush over to the bedside.  “What are you doing?”

Gimli shot Legolas one of his fiercest glares.  “What does it look like I am doing?” he snapped back, though he had given up on his attempts to rise and actually looked somewhat relieved at Legolas’ arrival.

Legolas returned Gimli’s glare with a fierce one of his own, even as he tried to maneuver the uncooperative dwarf back fully onto the bed.

Gimli impatiently batted his hands away, his scowl deepening.  “First, Aragorn lets out a shout to chill an orc’s blood, and then everyone goes running out into the hall, leaving me sitting here wondering what is wrong!  Quit pushing at me, elf!  I will lay back down just as soon as you tell me what has happened, and not a moment before!”

Legolas took a small step back and let out a frustrated sigh.  Once Gimli made up his mind about something, he could be as hard headed as the rock his people mined.  He was acutely aware of Dar, Faramir, and Eowyn standing behind him, watching, and the last thing he wanted to do was make an even bigger scene.  The best thing would be to give the dwarf what he wanted.

“Arwen was attacked,” he said simply, watching as what little color left in Gimli’s face drained away.  “We do not know how, or by whom, but we hope that Dar will have some answers for us.  Aragorn and the healers are seeing to her now.  That is all I know at the moment, friend.  Now will you please lie back down?”

Gimli’s eyes flickered past Legolas to Dar, still standing where Legolas had left him.  He nodded slowly, then began inching carefully back into the bed.  Legolas stepped forward to assist him, and this time, Gimli accepted his help and did not try to push him away.

“I should not have insisted that she return to the palace,” Eowyn whispered brokenly into the silence as Legolas adjusted the tangled blankets around Gimli.

“Do not blame yourself, love,” Faramir responded quietly,  “For none are to blame but the animals who have done this, and they shall pay for their crime, be assured of that.”

“Yet if I had not insisted she return, this would not have happened,” Eowyn argued, her voice filled with guilt.

Legolas turned from the bed, shaking his head slightly.  “I am not so certain of that, my lady.  Whoever has done this seems intent upon hurting Aragorn.  If Arwen had not been attacked tonight, they merely would have found another opportunity later on.  This is no fault of yours.”

Faramir nodded, tipping his wife’s chin up so that she was looking at him.  “Legolas is right,” he said softly.  “Let it go.”

Eowyn nodded slowly, though her face was still troubled.

Legolas moved the chair from beside the bed and positioned it directly before the fire, then motioned for Dar to sit down.  The lad hesitated, then obeyed slowly, sinking into the chair with a weary sigh.  Legolas used some strips of cloth to tightly bind Dar’s shoulder until it could be looked at more closely by a healer.

Faramir moved from beside Eowyn and knelt down in front of the chair, one hand resting on Dar’s knee.  “Tell us what happened,” he ordered kindly, his gaze locked on Dar’s.  “Start from the beginning, and leave nothing out.”

******

The fire was burning low, casting eerie shadows along the wall, the low crackle of the flames blending in with the sound of the steady rain pounding against the windowpane.  Brief flashes of lightening still occasionally lit up the room, but the sound of thunder was muted and growing distant.

Gimli lay back in bed, his gaze locked on the glowing embers in the hearth, his hands idly twisting through his beard. He was weary, yet sleep refused to come as his mind mulled over all the events of the day.  He had rejected the sleeping draught Legolas had offered him, and surprisingly, his friend had not insisted.  Now, he was alone with his thoughts but for Dar, sprawled sound asleep in the large chair in front of the fire.

Faramir had left shortly after Dar had finished his story, wanting to inspect the scene of attack for himself as well as take care of the two dead soldiers.  Eowyn had left with him, hoping to find an empty room nearby where she could find some sleep.  Legolas had remained with Dar and Gimli until a healer had arrived to care for Dar’s injured shoulder, then he had quietly slipped from the room.  He had yet to return, and Gimli was growing impatient.

He hated being confined to bed.  He hated feeling weak.  Especially with the current events.  He was a dwarf of action, and accepting the limits imposed by his injured body was not easy.  He wanted to help with the investigation.  He wanted to aide Aragorn through the tough battle ahead of the King. But mostly, he wanted to find the ones responsible for hurting Arwen and pound them into indistinguishable piles of dust!

Gimli sighed, frustrated.  Brooding over his current position helped nothing, so he attempted to force his thoughts to a different matter.

His gaze drifted to the sleeping figure of Dar, and his face softened.  The lad looked extremely young, relaxed in sleep, his hair curling slightly around his face as it dried.  Fast asleep in the chair, with his mouth hanging slightly open, he hardly looked like the brave young soldier who had just rescued his queen.  Gimli doubted Dar even truly realized what it was that he had accomplished.  Kenson would be extremely proud of his son when he found out.

Gimli was aware of the close relationship between father and son.  He had watched the two interact, and was continually amazed at how well Kenson had raised his son, especially considering that he had no wife to assist him.  Gimli had learned from Kenson that Dar’s mother had died from an illness when Dar was still a baby.  Kenson had not only raised and protected Dar through his childhood, he had also been a solid and reliable friend for the growing boy, and the friendship between them had only grown stronger as the years passed.

Gimli thought about his own father.  When he had been young, he had practically worshipped Gloin, following the elder dwarf around wherever he went.  He had admired and respected his father, and though that had not completely faded, something in their relationship had changed over the years.  Now, he always felt tense and somewhat strained when in Gloin’s presence.  He knew almost exactly when the change had begun, just as he knew what had most likely triggered that change. Legolas.

His father distrusted and disliked the elves with a passion, and Gimli’s newfound relationship with the Prince of Mirkwood had been an extremely unwelcome shock to him.  He and his father had both endured numerous discussions—which usually ended as shouting matches—on the topic of elves in general, and Legolas in particular.  Both had attempted to change the other’s way of thinking, and when neither of them had succeeded, they had at last fallen into a stony silence concerning the subject.  His father had refused to concede that his prejudices concerning all elves might be even the least bit erroneous, and Gimli had refused to give up his friendship with Legolas, which had merely grown stronger as his relationship with his father deteriorated.

Gimli sighed as his thoughts turned toward his friend.  He was worried about Legolas, just as he was worried about Faramir, Eowyn, and even Dar.  Whoever was striking out at Aragorn, they were using those closest to the King to make their point.  It was only a matter of time before another attack came, and Gimli feared the possibility that he might lose one of his friends.  It was becoming desperately important that they find the one responsible.

‘Who hates Aragorn so fiercely  that they are willing to risk so much in order to hurt him?’

It was a question he had been mulling over all evening.  The facts they had were few, and they all led to inconclusive answers.  They only real evidence they had was the description of the scar faced man given by both the boy who had delivered the letter, and now, by Dar.  He was their only true link, and Gimli had little doubt that Aragorn and Faramir would turn the city inside out in the search for him if necessary. 

Yet finding Scar Face would most likely end up being only the first step.  The man had not acted alone in either his attack on Gimli, or his attack on Arwen.  There were others involved, a group of men with a distinct leader directing their actions.  Scar Face was possibly that leader, yet both Legolas and Faramir seemed doubtful of that, and Gimli found that he had to agree.  Someone else was masterminding all this.  But who? Why? and what would be his next course of action?

Gimli shifted impatiently, hardly noticing the nagging pain in his back.  He could feel a storm brewing, and not the kind that presently raged outside his window.  This was a different storm, and Gimli found himself dreading the moment it would break.  Everything was happening for a reason, building up to something yet unseen, and Gimli felt himself dreading what that ‘something’ might be.

Gimli let out a frustrated sigh and sank back further against the pillows supporting his back.  He glanced to the washstand next to his bed, where Legolas had left the goblet containing the sleeping draught.  His was getting nowhere with his present thoughts, yet his troubled mind refused to let him sleep.  Yet sleep was exactly what he needed the most if he wished to recover quickly so that he might be of aide to his friends during the coming storm.  Gimli reached for the goblet.

He downed the bitter liquid in three swallows, then sank back down into the bed, gritting his teeth against the fire in his back.  Slowly, he closed his eyes and allowed his body to relax.  Perhaps his dreams would yield some desperately needed answers.  Gimli could only hope so, for he somehow feared that they were all quickly running out of time.

*******

The halls of the House of Healing lay quiet and subdued, the dim lights giving the long corridors a gloomy appearance.  The only sounds that could be heard were the distant rumbles of thunder and the occasional muted sound of voices coming from behind the closed doors.  Every now and then, a Healer would appear and move about from room to room, checking on patients, yet besides them, the halls remained empty.

Legolas leaned against the wall outside the room where Aragorn had taken Arwen, his relaxed posture hiding the tenseness he was presently feeling.  He could hear the healers moving about in the room, could make out the sound of hushed voices, though even his sharp ears could not pick out what was being said. 

He remained motionless as the door finally opened and three healers stepped out, their faces grim and tired.  They glanced toward him, curious, but Legolas ignored them, his eyes locked on the door as it silently swung shut behind them   The healers moved past him, walking slowly down the hall with a couple backward glances.  Legolas continued to ignore them, his attention focused on the room in front of him.  It was silent now, and Legolas guessed that Aragorn was finally alone with Arwen.

He remained leaning against the wall for a couple more minutes, preparing himself.  Finally, he pushed forward, moving toward the door and tapping lightly.  There was no response, yet he had not really expected one.  He quietly pushed open the door and entered the room.

He had expected to find Aragorn sitting in the chair beside the bed, yet instead he found the man standing motionless before the room’s only window, his back turned to Legolas, his gaze locked out in the night.  He did not turn at Legolas’ entrance, did not even acknowledged his presence. 

The room was dark, the only light coming from a small fire flickering in the stone hearth.  The dim light cast the room in heavy shadows, yet even had it been brightly lit, Legolas would have still felt the darkness.  He suppressed a heavy shudder.

A few feet to his left, Arwen lay motionless in the room’s only bed, a heavy blanket pulled up beneath her chin, the thick material hiding all but the bruises on her face.   Legolas felt his heart wrench painfully at the sight of her pale features.  He glanced again toward Aragorn, but his friend still had not turned from the window. 

Sighing heavily, Legolas moved over to the bed and placed a light hand on Arwen’s brow, whispering soft words of comfort in his own tongue.  He smoothed away the stray strands of hair on her forehead, being careful of the heavy bruises.  Looking down at her still form, he had to fight off a tidal wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.  When he finally glanced up, he found Aragorn watching him.

Legolas had not known what to expect from Aragorn when he had entered the room.  He had been half fearful that he would find his friend overcome with grief and despair.  Aragorn’s original actions when Legolas had first entered the room had certainly hinted toward this type of reaction.  Legolas had not known how to proceed, wanting to help his friend, yet unsure how.  Yet despite all this, he had been determined to try.   Now, however, Legolas realized that he had misjudged his friend.  There was no sign of despair on Aragorn’s face, only a hot, burning rage, so fierce in its intensity that Legolas found himself taking a small step back before he even realized it.

“Tell me what happened,” Aragorn ordered softly, his voice hard as steel.

Legolas studied him for a second before answering. “It was Scar Face again.  He was waiting outside the House of Healing for her along with at least five other men.  They have undoubtedly been watching this place for the last several days, waiting for an opportunity to act.”  Legolas continued on to tell Aragorn everything that he had learned from Dar.  When he reached the part where Dar had stepped in to save Arwen, Aragorn’s features softened slightly, the first hint of emotions slipping through his mask of anger.  When Legolas finally finished, Aragorn merely nodded, then turned once more to face the window.

“Faramir is out there now, looking for clues that might help us,” Legolas stated quietly, once again receiving only a slight nod as an answer.

Legolas shifted slightly, suddenly uncomfortable with the silence.  He glanced down at Arwen again, then back at Aragorn, his jaw clenching slightly.  Despite the iron mask Aragorn had placed over his emotions, Legolas knew that his friend was hurting badly.  He had been friends with Aragorn long enough that he could see the pain buried deep in the King’s eyes.

“Aragorn…” Legolas began hesitantly, dreading the question he was about to ask, but needing to know the answer.  “What about the baby?”

Aragorn’s entire body stiffened, and he did not answer right away.  When he at last turned, the anger was gone from his expression, replaced by a pain so sharp that Legolas had to look away.  It was all the answer he needed.

“Arwen does not know,” Aragorn whispered, his voice rough with pain.  “It will kill her when she finds out.”

Legolas did not know what to say.  He wanted to comfort Aragorn, yet knew any words he chose to speak now would only sound hollow to the grieving man.  Instead, he moved across the room and placed a hand on Aragorn’s shoulder, squeezing tightly.  He met Aragorn’s eyes with his own, his expression speaking more than any words he could ever say. 

Aragorn swallowed hard, then closed his eyes, relaxing slightly beneath Legolas’ hand, excepting the comfort that was being offered.

“I am glad that you are here, Legolas,” Aragorn finally said softly, his eyes still closed, his head bowed.  “I know that it is crazy, especially since everyone close to me seems to be a target.”

Legolas shook his head, even though Aragorn was not looking at him.  “No, it is not crazy,” he answered quietly.  “I am your friend, Aragorn, and I will remain beside you until this is over.  We will get through this.”

Aragorn at last lifted his head, opening his eyes and meeting Legolas’ gaze.  He straightened, his posture once more becoming erect and proud.  “Yes we will,” he answered firmly.

Legolas smiled, despite the heaviness that had settled over him.  He gave Aragorn’s shoulder one last squeeze before he dropped his hand to his side.  The two stood quietly then, neither speaking but no words needed as they both rested in the comfortable silence of close friends.

TBC