Chapter 6
Nights Of Elvan Observations
by Osiris Brackhaus
(Legolas POV)

 

Serene beauty in human cities is something an elf usually looks for in utter vain.

Too many humans.

But when they are gone, sleeping in their tiny cots, dreaming of something better than their tiny lifes, silence returns, if only for a brief visit.

It is the chilly hour before dawn, and the city at my feet is as dark and calm a place as my heart.
The moon is full, shining brightly from a star-studded sky, gracing this pale grey place with silvery light.

Right now, I could have admitted that there is something of beauty to be found among the things made by the hands of the human race, something to cherish born of this race of defilers.
I could have, had I been able to feel anything but this dreadful void within me where once my heart must have been.

Underneath my feet, I felt the grainy stone of the outcropping I was standing on, a decorative part of the roof of one of the palace's highest towers, just a few jumps away from the narrow ledge that led back to the window of the prince's chambers. The ornament's level top was just large enough to accommodate both my feet; but then, no more was necessary.
Here in this lofty height, I had found a place of solitude, without the confines of walls or roofs, where no human would seek me, let alone being able to follow.

Here, I was standing, surveying all of Minas Tirith from my lonely tower, bathed in moonlight, clad in nothing but one of the prince's creamy silken bedsheets I had wrapped around me.
The gentle, cool breeze of the night was tugging on the edges of the gleaming fabric, bringing fresh air from the mountains behind me, sheltering me from the odours of the people below.

Had I been able to do anything but stare at the emptiness within me, I'd have called this moment magical.
But it wasn't. It was dreadful. Frightening. Terrifying.
And I couldn't even panic.

So I kept on standing there, a lonely figure on one of the highest towers of Minas Tirith, motionless except for the gentle flapping of my makeshift robe.

Thinking.

Or maybe not thinking at all, for my thoughts didn't move, didn't get further than to one point ever again:

He was here. Aragorn.
My love.

They had brought him in around the mid of the day, and since then, I have hidden from him, hurt him, betrayed him. Made him endure being raped by the Butcher, only to ignore him afterwards.

And all I feel is ... nothing.
Void.

*

He didn't notice me when they brought him in, didn't see me sitting in the corner of the room he passed on his way to the prince's bed.

I watched the guards shove the love of my life into the room of Boromir the Butcher, watched the prince arrive mere moments later.

Shouldn't I have done anything?
But my mind didn't seem to get over the mere fact that he was here.
Aragorn. The man I love.

Then why didn't I feel joy? Relief of having him here with me, bringing an end to my loneliness?
Or dread about the sole hope of humanity being brought here, naked and chained, even further away from any chance of escape than I had ever been?

Why was I so calm, so detached?

I was still sitting on the very same bench when I heard a suppressed groan and the sounds of a falling man from inside the bedchamber.
Obviously, my lover was not so meek as it would befit a slave facing the Prince of Gondor. I could vividly imagine what had happened, and thoroughly agreed with Aragorn's treatment of our 'master'.
But no mirth touched me, neither my heart nor my face.

For all the world, I could haven been frozen, immobile as the stones that encased this hopeless place.

So I still sat there when they brought more chains, listened impassionately as they chained him to the bed, his body forced to the same immobility as my heart seemed to have chosen of it's own free will.

I knew what the Butcher would do to him.

Why was he here?
Had he been captured?
Had he come here to rescue me?
If so, he had failed flamboyantly.

The last hope of humanity, of all free people, the man I loved, was about to become just another victim of this epitome of mindless human brutality.

And it didn't move me one bit.

Nothing ever before had frightened me more than this simple fact.
Transfixed by fear like a rabbit in the stare of the snake I didn't even think of anything but dread; mesmerised by this abominable void within my soul I hardly remembered to breathe.

How could the suffering of my beloved not touch me?
How could the end of hope for humanity evoke nothing more but a raised eyebrow from me?
What had I become?

I clearly remembered my love to Aragorn, the days we spend as one. But these were the memories of someone else, of another life, it seemed to me.

Since I awoke in this place, I had lived in a subdued state, unreflecting, watching, waiting. Couldn't say for what.
I couldn't even remember how long I already stayed here; all days blurring into one dreamlike mist. All moments pale and ghostlike, except for the few occasions when Eomer –

Eomer.

Abruptly, I stood up, looking for the young human slave who shared his bed with me since I first awoke here. He was – alive, gentle, precious.
The boy was working perpetually, by all appearances; fetching, cleaning, mending for the prince. Far too much work for one person, but he did it anyway, and his reliability and diligence impressed me. He was calm and meek and shy, yet caring and adorable in a way I had never thought to be possibly found in any human.
He had turned into someone very precious to me since I awoke in his bed, the morning I came here.

I found Eomer in another room of the suite, sitting on the floor next to one of the windows, mending some of the prince's torn breeches. For the first time since I awoke here, I felt... something.
And miraculously, incomprehensibly, I felt contentment.

I, free and unbound Legolas Greenleaf of Mirkwood, felt utterly content with the fact of living as a slave in Minas Tirith, watching this young human slave in front of me, who had somehow turned so pivotal a person in my life. How strange. And how delightful at the same time.

It was that moment, when Eomer looked up from his task, with his eyes sparkling in the light of the late afternoon's sun, that I realised I was in love with him.
This cognition all but stopped my heart - never elvan emotions move that fast, nor do we give our love so lightly – yet my heart felt true, and as much as my mind did doubt, my love for him did not wane. Not at all.
I loved him.

He was such a gentle person, so caring, giving, undemanding. That such purity could still be found so close to the rotten heart of humanity was a miracle by itself, but on top of all, he truly seemed to have developed some kind of liking for me. Probably a child's infatuation with some exotic novelty, but maybe, maybe more.
He did not mind sharing his bed with me, I was pretty sure of that. Nothing ever had happened between the two of us that went beyond cuddling, but there was this certain kind of... agreement. This feeling of trust, that usually is only found together with mutually requited love.
I smiled at this thought, and though he did not understand, Eomer's face lit up in response. We watched each other for a moment, then he said, carefully:

"You are so beautiful when you smile."

His gentle words fell into my heart like the first sweet drops of rain after too long a drought, and it seemed to me as if the petrified shell around my soul softened just a bit when I knelt down next to him, touching Eomer's chest just above his heart, replying:

"Maybe. But in there, no living being is able to match the beauty you possess."

And I kissed his brow, lightly, as if not to scare him.
We watched each other for a moment longer, and I revelled in the glow of admiration that he sent into my direction, even more so as he was the one that had deserved all admiration I could think of.

There is beauty to be found in human cities, and it shows up in the most unexpected places. And sometimes even in the soul of a man.

"EOMER!"

The prince's shout shattered the moment's silent grace, pounding through its serenity like a raging beast.

"Eomer! Come here! Got a job for you!"

As in reflex, the blond human put away the cloth he had been working on, getting up with only the slightest hint of repulsion in his eyes, duty overruling any other thought.

But just as spontaneously, I jumped up to stand next to him, holding his arm, preventing him from leaving without a word. Eomer's head jerked around with startling alacrity, his almost crystalline grey eyes staring at me with surprise.

Surprise, yes, and irritation, annoyance, fear.

His brows furrowed questioningly, but before I could even begin to understand why I was trying to hold him, his face seemed to light up with understanding, and he said very softly:

"Do not worry. I have learned to enjoy this."

He was –

I had learned during my time in these quarters that Eomer did not only serve the prince in matters of clothing and cleaning, but also in bed. How could anybody be so unconcerned about being used in such a way? How could he just stand here, smiling gently, trying to tell me all were alright? The mere thought of the Butcher laying hand on Eomer made my heart turn to ice, my soul turn to blackest determination.

"I will not let him hurt you", I heard myself say, and the icy hate I heard in my voice made me shiver.

"He won't –", Eomer began, then stopped with a shrug and a sad smile. "What would you do anyway?"

"Kill him."

We both knew I would, and that he would suffer horribly on the way.

Eomer's expression grew grave, and he shook his head with calm sincerity.

"No. Don't do that. You'll make all of us unhappy."

But you getting raped by the Butcher will keep us happy? I could not stand still, I had to protect him! He was...
My Love.
I would rather offer myself than let the Butcher harm my Eomer.

"If he hurts you, I'll kill him", I said voicelessly, unable to think of any other solution.

"You won't." Eomer's voice was serious now, cutting like one of my knifes.
Where were they anyway?
I'll have to get weapons.

"Promise you won't", I heard Eomer say, his eyes still locked with mine.

"I –", I gasped, my frozen heart about to break. "You have no idea of what you ask of me."

"Promise me for tonight. Promise me that this one night, you will not interfere."

"I – cannot, I..."

But I could.
I only had to look into his eyes, see the flawless beauty of his heart, and I knew I could.
Tonight, and ever again.

There is nothing he could ask of me I would not give gladly.
He could even ask me to go and get my heart broken; it's not as if it were in a good condition anyway.

So I nodded, loosening the grip around his arm, freeing him to follow his master's call.

Eomer in return did not bolt away as I expected, but stayed a moment longer, just long enough to smile at me, and to kiss me with unsuspected grace.
Gently, gratefully, onto my lips.
A lover's kiss.

Then he left to get himself raped.

The jovial laughter Boromir welcomed his ever-obedient slave with drowned any sound my breaking heart might have made.
I still stood where he had left me, my right hand still raised where I had held his arm, choking on tears that never came.
Prince Boromir the Butcher might have chained my body, but it was Eomer who held my soul. And as long as he would serve his master loyally, I would have to as well. Once again, I had trapped myself by allowing myself to love.
It had brought me into captivity before, and now into obedience. I wished I could die.
But then Eomer would have no chance at all, with no one to protect him, with no one looking for a chance for him to escape.

And also, I knew I couldn't die. Not now.
I had already tried, and it had been Eomer's gentle voice that brought me back, his fear of being whipped and beaten for loosing such a precious slave as me.
Me, the invisible elf.

It was so perverse.
So heartwrenchingly cruel.
There was nowhere I could go, nowhere I could run, not even death would bring me peace, as not my body, but my soul was chained; with the strongest spell ever known to any race.
True love.

I gasped for air, desperately, as I still was unable to cry a single tear; choking on sobs I never voiced.
My soul felt like a pebble caught between two grindstones, pressed and mutilated, scratched and chipped, but unable to flee, unable to submit. In the last, fading light of day, I stood there, motionless, my soul ripped apart by a torrent of emotions, by a maelstrom of pain I could neither suppress nor end.
And still, I could not even cry.
There is no water in a dead well.

My helplessness, my fear, my desperate wish for all of this to end blended into simple agony, all within me praying, screaming for a way to get out of this killing deadlock, all this dread within me choking me.

It was only when bright, sharp pain silently, magnificently blossomed in my left hand, that I could breath again. Breathing heavily, I looked down, noting my clenched fist, watching bright red blood welling up between my fingers.

Pain.

I clenched my fist even harder, and more pain ran through my body, forcing my mind to focus on other, more immediate things than my mere, all-encompassing wish to end.

Physical pain was good.
Physical pain overrules any fear, any hurt.
Pain can save your life.

I pressed my fingers together one last time, noticing pieces of glass shattering within my hand, a soft, grinding sound, and even more blood trickled across my fingers in tiny streams, dripping off my hand, staining the floor's dark marble slabs.

Slowly I unclenched my fist, and in the low light of the early evening, I saw shards of bloodied glass and some needles dropping out of it.
I must have somehow gripped the small green and golden glassen tube in which Eomer stored his needles, and shattered it within my bare hand.

'What a shame', I thought while pulling a jagged shard out of my palm, 'it's been so precious to him.'

I would have to clean up this mess as quickly as possible, Eomer would be so upset if he noticed I had been hurt.
So I grabbed a rag, wiped away blood and shards, cleaned the needles and neatly stuck them in one of Boromir's breeches so none of them would get lost. Eomer for sure would get into trouble if he lost his needles.

Also, I washed the blood off my hand, which showed only a few deep cuts, and bandaged it with cloth I tore from one of the prince's shirts. No-one would notice anyway, except maybe Eomer, and he would understand.

And then, I noticed with a wave of dread, I had nothing more to do but think.
And listen.

In the relative silence of the evening, the noises coming from the prince's bedroom seemed painfully loud to me, and as much as I tried, I could not ignore Eomer's half-suppressed yelps of pain.

I would not break my word to Eomer. Never. But neither would I ignore what the Butcher did to him. I would remember, would make sure that one day, this monster in human guise would have to pay for every single thing.
Pay very, very dearly.

Like a sleepwalker, the sounds that came out of that room attracted me, and before I realised what I did, I found myself in front of the half-closed door, moving like a ghost, both afraid and fascinated of what was happening behind it.

The prince's room had been lit up by candles even before dusk, and a narrow strip of their golden light fell on floor just in front of my feet. Shunning this slab of light as if it might hurt me, [Lasto beth nîn, tolo dan na ngalad!] I slowly, soundlessly, moved into a position that allowed me to observe what was happening on the other side of the wooden door without being possibly seen myself.

It was as I had expected, and yet my fists clenched in rage at my sides, my heart pounding in my breast with the deep resonance of angry dwarven hammers. I saw Eomer, his face submerged in the prince's lap, labouring in his crotch, the prince himself grunting, sweating, cheering.
I wondered if he would still be so cheerful if I set his crotch on fire. Or while I skinned his most sensitive parts.
Probably not.
Not tonight, anyway. I will never break a promise I have given to my lover.

Still hidden in the shadows, I let my eyes wander through the prince's bedroom, only to find what I had tried so hard to ignore.
Aragorn.

He was still lying on the bed, his feet chained to one of the bedposts, his wrists likewise above his head. Able to move into any needed position on the bed, but nothing more. Staring at the scene in front of him, his eyes filled with disgust.
I could see the bruises on his lean body, see where he had been beaten, whipped, bitten. They had even taken the immense effort to clean him, even managed to give him a decent shave.
How many of his bruises were of this incident, I wondered, and how many men had they needed to get him clean?

A tiny smile tugged at the corner of my mouth, but with deepest regret I realised that it was not the mirth I had hoped for, not the joy of seeing a long-missed lover. It was melancholia that tried to put a sad smile into my features, the light-grey sadness one encounters when reminiscing in good times that will never return.
Never again.

Whatever had been between the two of us had gone forever. This I knew that very moment, and though I noted the fact with no more than a mental sigh, I felt a tear run down my cheek, one single, caustic, bitter tear.
Well, I thought, if I can't cry for myself at all, maybe then one single tear has too be enough for us.

With a roar so coarse and feral I closed my eyes in a vain hope it might dampen the sound, the prince released himself into Eomer's face.
How could he stand this? He had told me he had learned to enjoy this kind of service to his lord, but I could see it was not so. Not with all his muscles so tense, his movements so edgy he might bolt away like a deer every moment.
Why did he do this to himself?

I watched as Eomer draped himself meekly onto the bed as the prince ordered him to do so, yet I also noticed his sidelong glance towards Aragorn.
He did not enjoy this. Not tonight, not when being watched, not when being used.

The prince climbed onto the bed as well, fondling Eomer with gestures of genuine affection. Could he really be so blind not to see how he abused his servant? How he punished Eomer for his incredible loyalty?
What a frightening thought. And yet, it seemed to me as if the prince truly did not know. That he might have acted otherwise if he noticed.

But can stupidity ever be an excuse for cruelty? No. But then, one would have to blame Eomer as well for not telling his master to stop, as he probably would.
How much suffering the human race must be bearing, simply for the mere fact that they do not see what they do wrong. All the more it was a wonder how Eomer had managed to survive with his soul so surprisingly intact.
Or maybe even he didn't notice how bad his situation actually was.

A shudder ran down my spine, and I tried to convince myself that it was merely the first chill of night that made me shiver.

The prince now was lying on top of Eomer, fondling the slender human with his broad hands, stroking his body not unlike a bear scratching at a tree. Did he honestly think this was enjoyable to his partner? He couldn't be that blind, could he?

Watching the three men in the bed together was just unreal. Sweating, bear-like Boromir on top of the young deer Eomer, chained Aragorn next to them like a bridled horse, all slender muscle and suppressed energy, his eyes blazing.
But not only in abhorrence, as I noted with just the tiniest shock. Well known to me, though only from another life, I saw the sparkle of lust in his stormy eyes as well. I knew that the passions of a human can be quite intoxicating, so much louder and devouring they were compared to elvan emotions. But to see my lover -
To see my former lover's fancy tickled by this brutish display made me doubt my high opinion of him for a moment. Only a tiny moment, until I reminded myself that even I had fallen victim to a human's passions once, and repeatedly after that on several occasions, and that my brethren had looked at me with a disdain that bordered to suggestions of dementia. I knew Aragorn had had that effect on me. Once.
I should not judge others guilty of mistakes I have made myself.

Though I have to admit I was somehow relived that I did not feel any bond between Aragorn and me anymore. I will never know what I would have done to all of us if I had. But thus, I merely watched, silently, as the prince forced his way into Eomer, as I listened to his suppressed yells of pain, of anguish.
One might mistake his noises as those of passion, I noted once more in favour of the Butcher, despising myself for it. But one should not.

Every muffled sound of Eomer felt to me like the sting of a whip, each tiny cry like a cut in my flesh.
I had promised him, had given him my word.
Would he ever know just how much he had asked of me?

I remained still, I was stronger than my wrath. I did not act. Even as this brutish act of 'love' neared its frantic completion, I refrained from doing what my heart told me to.
I did not mutilate, torture, rip to shreds, dismember with my bare hands I would have wished to be claws.
I kept my word, but only barely so.

But I moved, and as soon as I felt the bright candle-light touch my face, I knew I had made a mistake.
I might be silent enough to move without a sound, calm enough not to be noticed by human eyes. But the eyes of a ranger are almost as keen as elvan ones, and as soon as the light hit my face, I knew he had noticed me.

No words will befit the excruciating effort it took me not to run away. I took a deep breath, and calmly, gracefully, turned around my head to find my former lover's eyes locked to mine, staring at me like a blind man healed might stare at his first dawn since ages.

But my barren heart could not return the joy, the awe I saw in these eyes.
Only regret was found where once love had reigned, and I returned his look with coldest blankness.

Worry creased Aragorn's brow, and it took him only a fraction of a moment to ensure that both Boromir and Eomer were to absorbed with each other that no-one would notice me, before he returned his questioning gaze to me.

All I managed was to shake my head, a weak yet all-encompassing gesture of negation.

Worry turned to despair in Aragorn's face, despair and irritation as he could not understand why I was rejecting him. Of course he could not.
How was he supposed to understand if even I did not?

I wanted to cry, to run and scream for help - but though my heart felt torn inside, nothing was able to pass the barrier that had formed within me. What kind of monster had I turned into that I even could not speak to the one man I had honestly loved only weeks ago?

All this despair, this shame and helplessness began to choke me, take away the very air that I needed, and seeing the same dread mirrored in Aragorn's face didn't help either.

So I left.

I told myself that I walked away calmly and dignified, as it was supposed to be, but I am sure I ran like a hare.
What would he think of me now? Now that I had left him without any sign of help, of friendship, on the bed of the monster?
That I did not even have a smile for my love?

I would have hated me for this, if I were him, and this thought gutted me.

My whole body shivered, and I was cold as I had hardly ever been before in my long life when I closed the door of my room behind me.
My room!
It was Eomer's room I had fled into, and that I considered it mine as well made me feel sick. I despised the thought of claiming a cavernous heap of stones as mine, as the place where I lived.

What had happened to me that I could be so cruel to the people so close to my heart?
Why couldn't I gather any force within me to stand up to my emotions, to speak as it would befit a prince of my race?

I just couldn't.

Sitting on the edge of the bed I had already shared so often with the human who was being raped just now by the Butcher, I had to clench my hands to stop them from fidgeting around like squirrels. Every now and then, after a careless movement, the stinging pain in my left hand returned, reminding me not to venture too deep into the dark corners of my mind.

I felt sick, cold and nervous.
At my age, that was an almost unheard-of state to be in.
And almost unbearable, yet this fact apparently didn't matter at all.

So I just sat there. Sat there, staring at nothing, watching the light of the moon paint faint patterns on the wall. At least the stars still filled my heart with calm as they had ever done; and after a while, I almost managed to ignore the sounds emerging from the prince's bedroom. I went over to the narrow window, watching the star-studded sky over Minas Tirith, only to realise just how much the artificial glow of the city marginalised their pristine beauty.
But the lights down below were getting fewer and fewer, as both human and orcish inhabitants went to sleep, and the stars slowly returned to their accustomed gleam and grace.

I cannot say how long I had stood there, watching the city darken and the sky brighten up, but as soon as I heard steps nearing the door of the tiny room, I was alert, ready to fight whoever was about to enter.
But already with the sound of the door opening, I knew it to be my Eomer who opened the door, and all thoughts of fighting left my battered mind.
Spreading my arms wide, I strode to embrace him, and he didn't hesitate even for the fracture of an eye's blink before he wrapped his arms around me himself. It was as if he had already expected me to wait for him, to hold him, to soothe his aching heart and body.

So I held him tight, his slender body huddled against mine, and once again, I noticed just how much he meant to me. Eomer was the one person I cared for, the only one I would worry about if the world were to end tonight.
Even my own life seemed to pale to insignificance compared to my urge to protect him, shelter him, care for this uniquely precious human.

This one good human.

So I held him until I felt him shiver in the cool breeze of the night, and I gently pushed him towards our bed. When he went to store away his clothes he had brought with him in a neat pile, I took them out of his hands with gentle insistence, only to almost choke on the snarl I had to suppress when I noticed that he had even taken some of the prince's clothes with him, probably to clean and mend them in the morning before the Butcher noticed.

This was incredible. How could he...? But it was his way of loyalty, and in a crooked way, I admired him for his steadfastness.

So I followed him into bed, shedding my clothes as I had done every evening I had spend here, snuggling close to Eomer underneath the blanket, holding him.
He was still breathing hard, occasionally sobbing softly, but he did not speak. And neither did I.
I noticed the bruises that began to form under his pale skin, and he stared at the makeshift bandage around my hand. We both knew that each one of us would speak if it were the right time, and we both were content in gentle silence.
Isn't true love meant to be just that? To understand each other without speaking, to be content in mutual silence? If yes, then there could be no doubt of our love.

I softly began to caress my lover's flaxen hair, gently stroking his shoulders, his arms, until the tension flowed out of him and his breath went soft and regular. The warmth of his body was consoling me as well, easing out the cold shivers, relaxing me, soothing me. I could smell him, when he was so close to me, a smell like sunlight on endless plains, like wind from snowy mountains and smoke from wooden fires.
He smelled like a free spirit, as incredible as it might sound, but though I knew him to be as chained as I was, something within me saw him free and unbound.
Not unlike I had been, before I came here.

But also, I could smell the prince's hands on him, his sweaty touch, evidence of his cruel affection all over my lover's graceful body. Yet, it didn't repulse me. I despised the prince, and the thought of his hands on Eomer's body made the cold fire within me flare with renewed wrath.
But I had smelled the same, probably worse, the night Eomer had taken me into his bed to offer shelter and healing. And he surely had never been repulsed.
We had both suffered at the same hands, and our mutual humiliation was just one more thing that tightened the bond between us.
So I merely snuggled closer to him, burying my nose in his hair, and tried to dream of days when the two of us would be free, living together underneath an open sky, without the yokes of princes or walls.

He would be so beautiful, with his pale hair flying in the wind, his eyes sparkling with mirth, pacing over endless plains on a horse as wild and free as himself.
What a long way we still had to go.
But what a lovely dream it was.

I must have slept for a while, my dreams filled with images of a better future, for I awoke with a start. The sunlit fields and plains of my dreams shattered and dissolved into darkness, and it took me a while to understand why my heart was pounding heavily in my chest, dread threatening to take away my breath.

It had been the grunting noises that once again found it's way to my ear from the prince's bedroom that had ended my rest.
These slapping sounds, that only left one conclusion to be drawn.

Aragorn.
Aragorn and the prince.

Once more, dread almost choked me, and soundlessly, I slipped out of the bed, not to wake my sweet Eomer with a careless movement. This was a nightmare. A nightmare of the worst kind. One that had come true.

Standing next to the bed, I stood in the dark room, my arms clenched around me, suppressing a scream I already knew I couldn't have voiced even if I wanted.
This was horror.

All my mind focused on what my ears told me was happening in the bed of the prince of Gondor, and all I wanted to do was run.
Run away, free myself of this nightmare, of this trap my soul was in, this repetitive agony of apathy.

Shouldn't I do something?
Anything?

But I couldn't think of what.
Most perversely, I didn't really want to safe him. I fled the room where Eomer was still sleeping innocently, as if not to frighten him with these abominable notions of mine, when I realised that I somehow thought it justified what happened to my former lover.
This most abominable notion made my hear swim, and the sickness that crept up within me had nothing to do with last night's dinner. I was repulsed by myself, repelled by the fact that at least some part of me thought it just appropriate that even mighty Aragorn would have to suffer at the hands of the Butcher as we all had.
Made him part of the team, somehow. That thought made me smile; cruelly, yes, but it was a smile anyway.

And he had earned it. Maybe now he would learn not to endanger his life, his freedom so carelessly, for the rescue of one single captured elf.
One single, very sick elf.

I was monstrous. Repulsive. Abominable. Despisable. I was -

Pain.
There was physical pain that demanded immediate attention.

With only the slightest surprise, I noticed that I had clenched my hands together, my nails pressing into the barely healed cuts of the last afternoon, some new blood adding to the stains on the bandage. Physical pain was like an icy shower, bringing your thoughts back to where they belonged.
Here and now.

I felt refreshed, cleared and calm, though not even remotely cleansed. I should be looking for an icy waterfall or mountain lake on the first opportunity. As soon as Eomer and I had left this place.

Anyway, how did I know it was Aragorn the prince was busy with in his room? Until now, I had only guessed, only assumed by listening to my fears. Just as well the prince could have ordered one of the local courtesans to share his bed at this ungodly hour. Why he should order a whore when there was this very suitable man lying next to him was a complete enigma to me, yet so were almost all decisions of my 'master'.
Maybe it wasn't as bad as I had feared.

I would have to look, to make sure what was going on. To see if this nightmare come true had roots in reality or if I was tortured by shadows of my own making.

But not as naked as I was.

For the first time in my life, I felt exposed and unprotected without clothes on my body. And I knew why.
The Butcher had been amazingly careful at ignoring me, had gone great length to ensure that he would not have to deal with the elf that lived in his quarters.
But I was not so sure if he would be able to ignore me if I walked right into his bedroom, naked, while he was just busy mating with some other involuntary partner. The way he would probably misunderstand my appearance had consequences I wanted to avoid at all costs.
But the few pieces of clothing that had become mine were in the room with Eomer, and I did not want to risk waking him up - I surely was silent enough, but I was not so sure about that roaring prince next door.

So I just looked around and my eyes locked on one of the drawers. I had watched Eomer put in a pile of silken bedsheets this afternoon, and I remembered how the perfect gleam of the fabric had caught my attention. Why did they waste such precious material on a brute like the butcher? If Eomer wouldn't undress him regularly, he would be sleeping just as often in his bed as he would in an armchair or on the floor, his clothes still on.
I opened the drawer, took out one of the sheets, the colour of cream, and watched moonlight dance on it as I unfolded the surprisingly heavy cloth.
What a lovely fabric, I thought, and what a waste. Probably, the prince wasn't even able to tell the difference between silk and linen, only that silk was that flimsy stuff that ripped at his first touch.
Brute.

Wrapping myself in the soft sheet, I took a deep breath and turned around, now facing the door of the prince's bedroom. Still these unmistakable noises we emerging from behind the door and this time there was no candle-light inside that would give shadows to hide in.
This time, moonlight was lightening up the room I was standing in, and I would be clearly visible to everyone looking at the door.

But I just had to, I just had to know what was happening in there. Even if I would never forget the image I was about to see, if the shame of this moment would never again leave me.

So I crossed the last few paces that separated me from my 'master's' bedroom in silence, suppressing fear and hope as well within me, as each would make me scream and cry if I let them.

Cool and unmoving as a winter's lake my soul had become when I touched the handle of the door, and I tried to be just as aloof as the moon that lit the scene.

Whatever I would find behind that door, I would be able to bear, I told myself.
What a high hope for someone as run-down as I was.

Opening the door in silence, I braced myself and forced my eyes to see where I would have never wanted to look.
And I found my fears confirmed.

Labouring frantically, the prince had himself on top of Aragorn, who was still chained, condemned to immobility. I could smell them, both of them, their sweat, their heat almost tangible in the confines of the small room.
How could humans do things like that? Lust and pain so close together, so defiling an act on what should be precious, holy.
I could see it in the darkness, smell it, hear it with my soul. However defiled this act was, however brutish and heartless, void of the grace it should convey, they enjoyed it. Both of them.
Sure, Aragorn hated his defeat, despised the prince with all his passion, but none the less, his body was engaged in the act, and all the pain and humiliation apparently couldn't mask that tiny bit of fun he was having as well.
And I knew that shamed him more than all physical pain could have done.

I wondered if the prince knew what an extremely vengeful enemy he was creating. Aragorn would never forget what the prince did to him that night, and he would not be so asinine to fall in love.
He would be able to make the prince pay. Able, and more than willing.

Wondering on just how Aragorn would exact his revenge I leaned to the doorframe, smiling silently at the different versions of the prince's death that came up in my mind. So Aragorn made me smile the second time in a day already. Maybe he was triggering some process of healing within me that had been suppressed until now.
Maybe it wasn't so bad that he was here, after all.

And then, he saw me.

The prince had moved his bulk into another position, and now Aragorn could see me, standing in the doorway, my arms crossed in front of my chest. Smiling.

The shock I saw in his face must have mirrored mine, for I felt like falling, hitting the ground, shattering to pieces.
How could I ever been so foolish to assume that he enjoyed this? How could I ever dare to think something as absurd, as abominable a this?
I could see that his eyes were burning, that he was all passionate, but not of lust, it was rage that burned within him like the fires of Mount Doom.

I stared at him, all traces of the smile on my face vanished, leaving nothing but blank uninvolvedness.
He was staring at me, his eyes wide in shock and disbelief.

I wanted to yell out my pain, to tell him how much I did regret what happened to our love, to us.
But I couldn't.
It was such an unfair, such a cruel situation. How could I dare to hurt him so? How could I be so uncaring? What monster had I become?
Unconsciously, I pressed my thumb into my left palm with all force, and the blossoming pain that shot through me shattered this vicious circle of shame and helplessness.

So I left without a word.

And this time, I couldn't even convince myself that there was any trace of dignity left in my flight, for I was running.

Running away from this place of dread, of hurt, of lost love.
Running away from my shame.
Running where I was free, where I could see the stars above me -

Suddenly, I realised that I was standing on the windowsill, looking out on the many roofs of the city below me, and I wondered if I was about to jump.
All would end, all the pain, all the suffering, all the humiliation at my own hands. I would only have to let myself drop.

And I jumped.
But not into oblivion, only onto a narrow ledge a few paces away. I would never desert my love, not if it were the only chance to ever again put my soul at rest.
Some few steps along the ledge, I could jump onto another outcropping, climb up to the next one, until, after a short time, I found the place I had been searching for.

Circling the roof of one of the highest towers, some ornamental stones had been inserted into the walls, standing out of the wall even further than the rim of the tiles, surrounding the roof almost like leaves would surround a bud. One could stand on top of the ornaments rather comfortably, or sit on the tower's roof with your feet on the stone.
If said one were an elf, of course.

There, I was standing, surveying all of Minas Tirith from my lonely tower, bathed in moonlight, clad in nothing the bedsheet I had still wrapped around me.
The gentle, cool breeze of the night tugged on the edges of the gleaming fabric, bringing fresh air from the mountains behind me, sheltering me from the odours of the people below.

It was already late in the night, and it would not be long until the night would fade away into the first grey of dawn. But still the moon shone above me, and the stars sparkled at me with impartial beauty.

What had I done?

How could I be so heartless?

My thoughts were circling around one single thing ever again: Why was he here?
What had happened to him that he ended up in the same dreadful place as I? Why couldn't he be safe?

Aragorn.

I hoped that it was the cool night that made me shiver, and not that tugging thought that he might have come to the city in search of me, to rescue me. That I was the reason of his captivity.

What an idiot!

How could he risk his life for me? How could he dare risk the hope of all free people just for me?

I didn't even love him.

I turned my gaze to the east, to see if the sun would start rising soon.

But all I saw was the red gleam of Minas Morgul in the darkness, and above it, the roiling clouds of Mordor.

Once, in an other age, when the place I saw had still been called Minas Ithil, the sun truly had risen above those towers every morning.
But that was many years ago, and now the ever-present darkness of Mordor shunned dawn for all people in Minas Tirith. All I would be able to see would be some lightening above the roiling clouds, and to see the sky brighten slowly from darkest black to grey to blue until the full sun emerged from the clouds hours later.

No dawn.
No colourful light, not one bit of nature's celebration of the end of night.

Just another day.

But I couldn't return without any resolution. I had to do something. Anything.
I couldn't just go on as I had in the days before, living like a ghost, impassively.

I had to speak with him.
Had to explain what had happened, even if I didn't understand myself.

What a dreadful conversation this was going to be.
But there was no way around.

It took me quite a while to gather my strength, and when I finally left my place on top of my lonely tower, I could already distinguish the clouds of Mordor from the brightening sky.

A few jumps later, I found myself again in the window to the prince's chambers, looking back from where I had just come. No human would be able to follow me there. It would be my safe place in times of need.

But now, there was more important business ahead.

I turned around, jumping soundlessly onto the room's floor, facing the bedroom door with grim determination. I heard the prince's snores and wondered once more if he truly was that cruel monster I took him for. Sometimes he seemed just too stupid to be really cruel.
Only brutal in a very unconcerned way.

Humans.
And they only had so little time to learn.

I briskly walked over to the door, clenching and relaxing my left hand all the while to keep me focused.

As expected, Aragorn was still lying where his chains forced him to, uncovered, unmoving.
And wide awake.

I moved over to him, sitting down on the edge of the bed, looking at him without any readable expression.

'Legolas', he mouthed voicelessly, all his confusion and worry and weariness in his eyes.

My poor Aragorn. He had not deserved this. Neither his captivity, nor his treatment by the prince nor my betrayal. He had deserved better.

I wanted to tell him how sorry I was, how terrible and cruel I thought this situation. But once again, my mouth refused to voice what little emotion my battered heart contained.

"What, in the name of all the Valar, are you doing here?", I said, not even pretending to make an effort of staying silent.

"Shh!", Aragorn tried to quiet me, his confusion now prominent on his face.

But I merely shrugged, saying in a very unconcerned volume:

"His Highness have chosen to ignore me. This brutish lout won't hear a single word of what I say; if he did, he would have to deal with me."

The prince didn't react, except for a low grunt and pulled a pillow over his head.

"See?", I said coldly, but the battering heart within my chest told me that I hadn't been so sure as I pretended.

I turned my attention back to my former lover, asking once more:

"So, tell me, why are you here?"

Confusion and anger now showed in Aragorn's face, and his voice clearly underlined that he did not at all understand what I intended with this scene.

"I came to rescue you...", he said coldly, reluctantly, still insure of what all this was supposed to lead to.

"How could you dare?"

My anger got the better of me, and this time, my former lover was truly shocked.

"I - "

"How could you risk your life for one single lost elf? How could you dare!"

I almost shouted the last words, far more excited than I would have liked myself to be. Once more, the prince grunted, and in a low voice, Aragorn replied:

"'Cause I love you. Nothing else."

If my heart hadn't been broke so many times already, this one phrase surely would have done it. But then, I was about to break his as well, so why should I worry.

"But I do not love you."

I could have killed myself this very moment.

"The elf who loved you is dead."

And the moment I said so, I knew it to be true; to be the answer I had been looking for since he arrived.

"The elf who loved you is dead", I repeated, the shock in Aragorn's eyes more painful than anything I had ever endured. "He died the night he arrived here in Minas Tirith, at the hands of the princes of Gondor."

As if in response, the Butcher turned around, grunting once more.

"I am no longer bound to you, all that belongs to another life now. A life I will never return to, a life the princes have severed all ties to."

Oh Valar, my Aragorn, why do I have to hurt you so much? How did I earn this; what have I done so horribly wrong?

"The Butcher and his brother killed me on Prince Faramir's birthday, where I was given as a present. All I was died that night."

Once again, Aragorn looked over his shoulder to ensure that the prince wasn't any danger, but the Butcher seemed to be fast asleep, his breath going even more regular than before.

"Legolas, my love, what is going on?"

"I'm no longer your love", I repeated voicelessly.

"He's gone now, you can... You..."

We stared at each other, both realising that I had been speaking true. We were friends still. But no lovers.

"Valar...", he said, as comprehension struck him.

He looked drained, then, almost grey, and I will never forgive myself having hurt him like that.

"How could you dare to come here?", I began anew. "You are the hope of humanity, of all free races, and far more important than one single elf, and I had hoped you more wise than just throwing away all this for nothing."

"Legolas...", he said, but I didn't stop.

"You are Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and you are heir to the very throne these bastards claim for themselves in the name of the Enemy!"

I had spoken these words softly, as if I feared we might be overheard, but even as I spoke them, I felt as if I shouldn't have.

"I'm not worth that..."

Unable to hold his piercing gaze any longer, I turned down my head, staring at my feet, when he asked:

"What happened?"

"I died", I replied with a soft shrug. "I faded away, and was well on my way to Mandro's Halls when I was called back."

"Who..."

"Eomer."

"Eomer?!"
Aragorn almost spat the name of my lover, so much he was filled with disbelief.
"This servant boy? This pathetic figure who – "

"Don't you *dare* talk of him like that!", I hissed, anger now overruling any kind of guilt I might have felt towards my former lover.
"It was his voice that called me back, it was he who offered me shelter and healing when I was in need. And I can't remember you to have been here at that time."

I stood up, still bristling with anger, and cold wrath stinging in my voice as I said:

"And just to tell you one thing, oh proud son of the kings of men: Eomer knows more about duty than you might ever learn! I am bound to him, and I will honour this bond."

"Legolas - "

"I have no more to say to you."

And so I left.
This time, I walked out on him in perfect, icy grace; leaving Aragorn chained and naked and uncovered on the bed of Prince Boromir the Butcher.

Eomer would wake up soon, and I wanted to be at his side when he opened his eyes.

 

If you enjoyed this story, please send feedback to: Osiris Brackhaus

go to Chapter 7

HOME * LIBRARY * ARC OF NIGHTS HOME