Chapter 27    Revelations

Gimli’s prediction that Aragorn’s injuries would feel worse come morning turned out to be not far from the truth.  Gimli could see his friend’s discomfort in his pale face and slightly tensed jaw, but he knew Aragorn too well to expect his friend to complain.  Aragorn would suffer in silence, downplaying his pain and leaving Gimli guessing as to the true extent of his injuries.  In this manner, Aragorn was much like Legolas. 

When they had returned to the inn, Gimli had done his best to play healer and tend to Aragorn’s wounds.  He had cleaned and bandaged the gash on the side of Aragorn’s head, clumsily examined the man’s ribs, washed his swollen and cut up knuckles, then ordered him to bed. 

Aragorn had patiently tolerated the dwarf’s fumbling efforts to help until Gimli’s last order.  Then he had arched a cool eyebrow, muttered something about bossy dwarves, and then moved over to sit on one of the chests near the window.   He showed no signs of obeying the order to go to bed, and after several minutes of useless arguing, Gimli had given in.  Aragorn had insisted that he only needed a few moments of peace and quiet in which to think. 

Gimli was not exactly sure when he had drifted to sleep, but when he woke the following morning, he found Aragorn still perched upon the edge of the trunk, his gaze distant as he stared out the window.  Gimli rolled from the bed and sprang to his feet, feeling a flash of annoyance.  “By the Valar, Aragorn, have you been up all night?!”  he demanded in a near shout.

Aragorn gave a slight start at Gimli’s bellowed question, turning toward the dwarf in surprise.  His eyes looked slightly glazed, though Gimli was uncertain whether this was due to exhaustion or simply because the man had been jarred from deep thought.  He scowled at Gimli in obvious displeasure at the dwarf’s surly tone, then offered a simple shrug in reply to Gimli’s question.

It was not enough of an answer for Gimli.  Not at all intimidated by Aragorn’s frown, he crossed his arms over his broad chest and then commenced in letting his friend know exactly what he thought of his foolish behavior.  Aragorn was clearly exhausted, and in his weakened state, rest was what he needed more than anything else.  Gimli knew that the man was determined to come up with a way to free Legolas, and stubborn enough to set aside his own discomforts in order to accomplish this goal.  Still, today they would learn their second task, and if Aragorn was not prepared…

Aragorn had to wait until Gimli was forced to pause his tirade in order to draw a breath before he could speak.  “I was thinking, Gimli,” he explained simply, shrugging once again to show that he thought the matter inconsequential. 

Gimli let out a low growl of frustration.  Arwen had once told him that when Aragorn was in a truly thoughtful mood he could walk through an avalanche, earthquake, or flood without ever realizing it.  Gimli had laughed at the ludicrous notion, yet now he wasn’t so certain that the Queen hadn’t been serious.

“And do you have anything to show for your hours of thought?!” he demanded sourly.

Aragorn let out a mirthless laugh.  “A sore backside?” he offered dryly.

Gimli was not amused.  “Aragorn, things cannot continue on as they have!” he exclaimed in frustration.

“No, Gimli, they can’t,” Aragorn answered softy.

Gimli peered at him suspiciously.  From the distant look in Aragorn’s eyes and the determination in his voice, Gimli suspected his friend was speaking of an entirely different matter.  With a loud sigh, he decided to let it go.  He was still worried about Aragorn, but he knew the King was strong, and yelling at the man now was not going to bring back the lost hours of the night.  In truth, Gimli was more angry with himself than his friend.  While he had been sleeping, Aragorn had at least been trying to come up with a plan.  Gimli had never considered himself a great strategist, but he could have at least made an attempt.  Legolas’ life hung in the balance, after all.

Thoughts of Legolas filled his mind then, and he found himself wondering how the elf fared this morning.  He had looked ill the previous night, a fact which served to upset Gimli no small amount.  Legolas was never ill, and he dreaded to think what his friend had gone through to make him look so pale and weak.  He swore that as soon as he found out, he would find those responsible and make them pay dearly!

“So you have been unable to come up with any plan yet?” he asked glumly, sinking back down onto the edge of the bed.

Aragorn sighed and shook his head.  “Servius had been very clever in this game he plays with us.  Look at the men he has sent to guard this inn?  Five watch the front, while still more guard the back.” he waved a hand toward the window.  “How many more men do you suppose he has guarding his Guild.  Still, I would not hesitate to take on a whole legion of soldiers if there was some way we could assure Legolas’ safety!  Yet if we so much as set foot outside of this inn, his men will know it.  Even if we manage to sneak past them, there is no guarantee that we will be able to get past the men guarding the Guild without detection.  Servius may panic to learn we are so close, and I doubt he will hesitate at all in killing Legolas.  I simply cannot risk his life in such a manner.”

Gimli nodded in understanding, hiding his disappointment.  “So we continue to do things Servius’ way,” he muttered darkly, detesting the idea.

“Perhaps,” Aragorn answered softly.

“Perhaps?” Gimli countered.  “Then you do have some sort of plan?”

Aragorn shook his head as he slowly rose from his position on the chest.  “I am still working on that,” he answered softly.  He grimaced in pain then, his arm cradling his ribs gingerly.

Gimli frowned in concern.  “Are you sure those ribs are not broken, Aragorn?” he asked worriedly.

“I am sure,” Aragorn answered firmly, “They are merely bruised and will cause me some discomfort for a few days, but nothing that will hinder me too greatly.  Now come, Gimli, we only have a few more hours before Servius’ sends his messenger.  Let us go downstairs and find some breakfast.”

Gimli liked that idea, and he and Aragorn quietly left their room and made their way downstairs to the common room.  Both wore their cloaks, but Gimli kept his hood down.  After the previous night, the majority of the city already knew of his presence and he no longer felt the need to hide.

The morning seemed to crawl by slowly, and Gimli soon found himself growing impatient.  Aragorn, as usual, seemed completely calm, a fact which served to annoy Gimli all the further.  He attempted to put the extra time to good use and come up with a plan, but all his ideas seemed to contain a single, critical flaw; they all ended up with Legolas being killed.  He desperately hoped Aragorn was having more luck than he, but all it took was a single look at the bleak expression on the King’s face to prove otherwise. 

Just when Gimli thought he could handle the tension no longer, the white haired messenger from the previous evening strode through the door and into the common room.  He spotted Aragorn and Gimli and quickly made his way over to their table.  He didn’t bother sitting, and it was obvious from his stance that he intended to make the meeting as short as possible.

“My master sends me with instructions for your next task,” he offered by way of greeting.

Aragorn nodded.  “And what is to be my next task?” he asked softly.

The man shrugged.  “My master wishes for you to retrieve an item for him.  It is an item of extreme worth and beauty, and he would have it for his own,” he explained.

Gimli snorted in disgust, not at all surprised that Servius was motivated by greed. “What is this item?” he demanded.

“It is a silver medallion,” the man informed them, “With precious stones inlaid about its edges.  It is in the shape of a crescent, and has intricate scrollwork surrounding the stones.”

“And Aragorn is to find and buy this medallion for your Master?” Gimli asked, casting a worried look toward his friend.  Neither he or Aragorn had brought much gold with them, and certainly not enough to purchase such an item as the man had just described.

The white haired messenger remained expressionless as he replied, “You may try to purchase the medallion if you choose, yet it is unlikely its current owner will wish to part with it.”

“Someone already owns this medallion?” Aragorn demanded sharply.

The man nodded.  “It is the prized possession of Thorbis the Black, master of the Thieves Guild.  It is said he keeps the treasure locked within a secret compartment in his private office.”

Gimli gawked at the messenger, disbelief and anger building up within him.  “Are you saying that Aragorn must steal this medallion from the master of thieves?” he demanded.

The white haired man merely shrugged.  “My master does not care how you acquire the prize, only that you do.  You have until midnight tonight to achieve your mission and bring the medallion back here.  A man will be waiting to take it from you.  Should you fail, your friend dies.”  With these ominous words, the messenger turned and strode from the common room, leaving a speechless Gimli behind.

All the tension within Gimli suddenly erupted.  Jumping to his feet, he slammed his fist down on the table hard enough to crack the wood.  “Aragorn, this is insane!  A few simple tasks?  Ha! Try impossible!  I am beginning to believe this Servius wants you to fail.  He cannot possibly expect you to succeed in this.  Delran told us the Thieves Guild was one of the most powerful Guilds in all of Norvil. To go against them would be madness!”

“You are right, Gimli,” Aragorn agreed, much to the dwarf’s surprise. “I do believe Servius does want me to fail in this task.”

Gimli blinked, then slowly sank back to his seat.  “Then why go to all this trouble?” he muttered in confusion.  “If he truly only wishes you to fail, then why give you all these tasks in the first place?”

“He is toying with me,” Aragorn replied, his voice deceptively soft but laced with a burning anger.  “He hurts those closest to me, then draws me here simply so he can play his little games.  I am sure he is enjoying having me dance upon his strings.  It will not matter whether I succeed in this task or not, for he will continue to give me more impossible duties until I eventually fail.  Then he will kill Legolas, and use his death as another blow against me.  It all makes perfect sense to me now, Gimli, and I curse myself for a fool for not seeing it earlier!”

Gimli shook his head, still not quite understanding.

“He doesn’t plan on releasing Legolas,” Aragorn explained patiently.  “He intends to kill him, and is merely using these tasks as a way to place the blame upon me.  He must think the guilt will make me easier to destroy, or perhaps he simply does this out of hate.”

Gimli stared at Aragorn, realizing the man’s words made sense.  He felt such a tidal wave of different emotions racing through him he could barely make sense of his own thoughts.  He was so angry he wanted only to find Servius and strangle the man.  Yet he was also afraid.  Afraid for Legolas, and afraid for Aragorn.  For the first time since he and Aragorn had arrived in Norvil, he felt completely useless, like a silent observer watching a drama unfold from the safety of the sidelines.  Servius was interested only in Aragorn, and he was using Legolas as a tool to force the King to play his twisted games.  No matter what course of action Aragorn chose, Legolas’ life was in jeopardy.  Aragorn was trying to save Legolas, while Gimli desperately wanted to help both of them.  And yet he knew he could not.  Legolas’ life was out of his hands.  All he could do was support Aragorn and try to keep the man alive long enough that they might come up with a plan to free Legolas.

Gimli realized that there was a strong chance they might not be able to save Legolas, and that possibility caused his chest to tighten painfully with fear and desperation.  He knew deep inside that if the elf were to die, a part of himself would die also.  Every time he was around Legolas, his life seemed somehow richer, more complete, and he could not even fathom what life would be like without his friend. They were constantly arguing, tossing insults back and forth, and yet he supposed it was just another way they had of showing their affection for one another.  Gimli knew without a doubt that he would willingly give up his own life in order to protect Legolas, just as he knew the elf would do the same for him.  They were more than just close friends, for in their hearts, they were brothers. 

“Then what do we do?” he whispered, surprised by the despair he heard in his own voice.  “We have already decided that we cannot risk attacking Servius outright.  Yet we cannot continue on playing his games either.” 

“No, we cannot,” Aragorn said softly, his voice as hard as steel, his dark eyes burning with anger.  “Games,” he muttered darkly, “This whole city plays them!  Servius plays them even now with us.  Yet perhaps we can turn his own game against him…”

Gimli watched Aragorn intently, recognizing the strange glint in his friend’s eyes.  Aragorn was formulating a plan.  Gimli felt a flare of hope ignite within him. He did not ask what his friend had in mind, for it was plain that Aragorn still had not completely worked it out himself.  The King’s eyes were glazed with thought, and Gimli could almost see the wheels of his mind turning over the different options available to them.

“The Guildmasters are the key to this,” Aragorn finally murmured after several long minutes of silence had passed by.  “They manage to stay in power because they don’t trust anyone.  They are constantly fighting amongst themselves, and their hatred and suspicion of one another has made them wary.  Perhaps we can use this against them.”

Gimli was not exactly sure what Aragorn was saying, but he had complete faith in the King.  Whatever Aragorn’s plan was, Gimli was more than ready to help in whatever way he could.  One thing was for certain; they were no longer going to be doing things Servius’ way.

****

 “Aragorn, this is madness.”

Aragorn glanced over at Gimli as the two made their way down the street from the Sleeping Dragon.  “Do you have a better idea?” he asked lightly, flipping the side of his cloak behind him so he would have quick and easy access to the hilt of his sword.  He didn’t expect to have to use the weapon, however, for it was only mid-afternoon, and the streets were mostly deserted

Gimli snorted, then glared fiercely at a passing merchant, causing the man to let out a soft gasp before hurrying on his way in the opposite direction from the two companions.  “Of course I don’t,” he grumbled, “But that doesn’t mean I have to like this one.”

“It can work, Gimli,” Aragorn insisted.

“Aye, it may work,” Gimli admitted, “Or we may both be walking to our deaths!”

Aragorn sighed, but said nothing.  He knew he really had Gimli’s complete support, no matter how much grumbling the dwarf did.  They had both been over the plan repeatedly so as to reduce the chance of error, and Aragorn truly believed they had a strong chance of success. It was true, many things could go wrong, yet Aragorn still felt sure in his chosen path.  After all, they really had no other choice.

They walked on in silence for several long minutes, before Gimli finally spoke.  “How many are following us?” he asked quietly.

“I believe only three,” Aragorn answered calmly.

“So when do we get rid of them?”

Aragorn glanced around him, then motioned to the opening to a small, dark alley that split off from their main path.  “That looks as good a place as any.  We must be quick, though.”

Gimli nodded, a small grin of anticipation lighting his face.  “You know, Aragorn, this is the only part of your plan I expect to enjoy.”

Aragorn laughed as they rounded the corner then flattened themselves against the shadowy walls of the alley.  “The first one is only a few yards behind us,” he quietly informed Gimli.  “The other two follow at a greater distance.”

“The first one is mine!” Gimli declared, “We can share the other two.”

Aragorn nodded, amused by Gimli’s eagerness.  They were both in desperate need of releasing some of the tension that had built up over the last several hours, and this seemed as good a way as any.  The men following them would surely report their activity back to Servius, and Aragorn could not risk the Guildmaster knowing what he and Gimli were up to.  “Make it quick, Gimli,” he ordered softly, “I know how much you are itching for a fight, but I would be done with this deed as swiftly as possible.  We have much to do before nightfall.”

Gimli looked slightly disappointed, but he did nod in agreement.  A moment later the first man rounded the corner and entered the alley, completely oblivious to the danger before him.  He was making no attempt at caution, obviously believing Aragorn and Gimli would never dare do anything to risk the wrath of his master.  He strode forward boldly, his gaze fixed before him.

He noticed Gimli only a scant second before the dwarf reached out and grabbed a handful of his tunic, jerking him forward.  Struggling wildly, he opened his mouth to let out a shout, obviously hoping to warn his companions of the danger.  Aragorn acted quickly, moving forward to land a vicious chop to the back of the man’s neck before he could cry out and rendering him instantly unconscious.

Gimli looked disappointed.  “I thought you were going to let me have him,” he muttered grumpily.

“And I thought you were going to be more quick about it,” Aragorn replied evenly.  “He was about to cry out, and his shout would have surely warned his companions.”

Gimli grunted, then reached down and grasped the unconscious man’s shoulders, hauling him further back into the shadows of the alley.  He had barely finished the task when Aragorn signaled the approach of the other two men. Gimli hurried back into position.

As soon as the men rounded the corner, Aragorn attacked, dimly aware of Gimli launching himself from the shadows opposite him.  Both men were rather large, but they were caught by surprise by the unexpected ambush, and were no match for Gimli’s strength and Aragorn’s speed. 

Aragorn felt a slight twinge of pain from his battered ribs as he slammed his fist into the throat of the man closest to him, but he ignored the discomfort.  His hand, however, began throbbing so fiercely he could not hold back a hiss of pain.  He watched with a frown of annoyance as the man he had hit sank to the ground, gasping for air.  A second later the man fell unconscious, the imprint of Aragorn’s boot on the side of his head.

Gimli had already dispatched his own opponent and was dusting off his hands, looking smug.  His grin faded quickly, however, when Aragorn suggested they be on their way.  Muttering darkly to himself he followed Aragorn out of the alley and back onto the main street.

Aragorn made certain that they were not being followed by any more of Servius’ men before he led the way to their destination.  He moved quickly, anxious now that he was nearing the most critical—and most dangerous—part of his plan.  He sensed Gimli moving soundlessly behind him and was comforted by the dwarf’s silent support. 

At last he came to a stop at the edge of a wide courtyard, his gaze fixed on the large building rising ominously before him. He knew that within a few precious minutes he would face the man who would be responsible for either the failure or success of his plan.  If it failed, it was likely that neither he nor Gimli would live to see the sun set. 

With this grim thought to keep him company, he silently moved forward into the shadow of the Thieves Guild.

TBC