Gondor's King

Gondor’s King
PART 2
Of the
Dutiful Lover Series

Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas. L/H. E/L Others implied.
Series: Dutiful Lover Series.
Warnings: Non-concentual / violence / angst / abuse/ incest.

Disclaimer: Tolkien owns the characters and sub-plot I merely borrow them in order to please. Don’t sue me I’m broke, my cars a shit heap and I already sold my soul to the god that is Paul McD so you won’t get much.

A/N: This is the second story of the series I’m currently writing. We go be Tol Tolkien’s books in this so bear with me until I refine the characters of my own creation. As Always reviews are most welcome and I will make the effort to reply to all of those individually, after all it’s nice to know the reviews are being read and taken in. Plus I know that the last story didn’t really require the warnings and was in comparison rather tame……but I assure you it was for a reason, as you will find out as you read this next story in the series.

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Chapter 1

I walk alone in the gardens under the shining graces of the stars. I treasure the time of peace I’m allowed to myself at night for it took me so long to obtain the privilege. The silence sooths my soul and the soft dewy grass between my feet provides relief for my aching muscles. Peace reigns over the lands of men but it is not maintained by anything less than chaos. My life is not my own as it has been since the fall of Sauron and the war of the ring. My daily routines are set out by councillors and advisors all eager to keep me occupied with political meetings and attending court. However I do not complain I accepted willingly my fate after the war and now fulfil my duties with only the safety and protection of my people in mind.

I stop along the small, secluded path I walk upon every night and smile down at the violet blue flowers that have bloomed since my last wandering. They are iridescent in the moonlight, their petals seemingly kissed by the blue waters of the sea. Bending down I pluck only a few from their stems and rise to my feet after inhaling their potent sweet fragrance. They are beautiful and remind me most sadly of the iridescent blue I once saw reflected in my lovers eyes. I sigh heavily and straighten my back to continue walking along the path. I hardly hear word of the elves any more, most of their kindred having sailed to the Undying Lands. The time of elves has passed and the few that remain are situated in the far east of Mirkwood and Rivendel. Of my old friends I hear nothing, although Gimli I hear has reunited the dwarves in Moria and has made quite a city for them. The hobbits remain as they were in the seclusion of the shire, my boarder keepers there, insuring no harm to the halflings from outsiders. However of the elves I hear little except what news the wanders bring and that is at least several months old by the time it reaches my ears.

Approaching the small stone chapel I bow respectfully before it’s arched entrance and quietly move to sit on the stone bench next to the steps. Arwen and I were married here and now her memory lingers in the quiet peacefulness of its surrounding gardens. I cannot say that I did not love her because I did but it was not the type of love that lasts forever. Like my own duty to the throne, she too had her own duty to her people and graced me with three children; Aratula, Breachtian and my youngest Kahual. Arwen passed across the seas with her grandmother Galadrial only a mere seven years after Kahual’s birth and although the children miss her acutely I feel no loss only happiness for her, now she is at peace. I do not know of Elrond or though his sons did pass through several winters ago on their way to the Ent forest. They did not linger for more than a day and spoke little of Rivendell and it’s occupants.

I sigh heavily and rest my head upon my hands playing lightly with the petals upon the flowers I have picked. Their pollen stains the tips of my fingers blue so that they look colder than winter. It has been so long since I became king and I am becoming more aware of my loneliness in my court. I have no real friends anymore, only those that want something from me and profess a false friendship towards me. Inside I long for excitement, for adventure and fun. In Minas Tirith I cannot even leave the palace walls without being profusely questioned. I have forsaken my freedom as a wandering Ranger for the claustrophobic protection that ‘so they say’ a king requires. It’s disheartening to say the least.

There comes a sound of someone running along the path I have just walked along and I tut and roll my eyes skyward in contempt, even before the person is within sight. It seems I cannot even have my time alone with the stars anymore without being interrupted for trivial matters, which I am sure it will be at 11.30 at night.

“What?” I gruffly question the young messenger before he has even begun to bow before me. With no patience at all I question the messenger sternly with my expression as he fights to catch his breath and pants like a puppy.

“A message your majesty….”He pauses to catch his breath again and holds up the neatly rolled message. “The messenger comes from the elven city of Rivendell and speaks of your urgent attention to the messages content.” I stand up from my seat, the flowers forgotten on the stone bench as I hastily rip the message from his hands. The seal is that of the house of Elrond and thank-fully is unbroken. It has been the custom of some of my councillors to open messages from afar before handing them to me, but it seems this one has come unscathed direct to me. Somewhat fearful of its conten sli slide my finger under the seal and pace quietly in front of the chapel steps my eyes scanning the hastily scrawled elven words. As predicted the message brings bad tidings. A sickness of unknown source has infected many of the remaining elves in Rivendell. It has spread rapidly and threatens the lives of many, including that of Lord Elrond. I am surprised that the Lord is still within middle earth but concerned all the same of this sickness that my old tutor Glorfindel it seems has written to me about. He asks the assistance of my knowledge and healing hands in their time of need and I shall not fail to provide it. It may have been many years since we were in each other’s company but the alliances of friendship are never broken.

“Take me to the messenger I wish to speak with him, then rouse my staff from their slumber as I wish to take immediate council in the study.” The messenger bows and gestures politely with his hand back along the path allowing me to go first before he runs closely behind me.

By the time we arrive in the main courtyard there is a gathering of people with lit torches illuminating dar dark area in front of the palace. As I move closer to the gathered crowd I realise their source of interest and instantly break into a small sprint.

“Get away!” I growl frantically to the gathered crowd of my servants and councillors who look at me strangely but obey all the same and take several steps away from their centre of attention. The messenger from Rivendell lies shivering on the coble stones beside his horse, his fists clenched in pain as he stares fearfully around at the group above him. Thinking quickly I shove the message into a small pocket of my robe before tearing a small section of cloth from the outer lengths of excess fabric that adorn me. Holding the fabric to my mouth I kneel easily beside the scared young elf and watch as his wild eyes focus on me the pain evident in his rigid, shaking body. I have never seen an elf look so pale and sickly in all my life and I can only imagine the extent to what those in Rivendell look like, if this is the sickness Glorfindel’s speaks of.

“Please help us.” The whispered elfish words come out in a stutter through the elves tightly clenched teeth. His eyes plead with me for aid as I witness a thin trickle of blood drip onto the coble from the corner of his mouth. He is in utter agony and I do not know how to help him, it is a torment beyond anything to see such a creature as an elf suffer so much.

“Hand me your gloves.” I gesture to the stable boy behind me who obligingly removes his leather gloves and passes them to me, which I hastily slip on. As I reach for the elf’s face I can feel the heat radiating off him. He has a fever beyond any I have felt and I softly brush my hand down his cheek and down to the collar of his tunic. In the dim light of the torches I can see a fiery rash stretching below the collar and I suspect much further over his body. If he is infectious I risk infecting my own court by attempting to heal him here in the city. The elf begins to shake more violently and I can see the fear in his eyes as he struggles to breath, he has past beyond aid. I clutch his hand comfortingly until his eyes go a misty blue and his body falls limp against my legs. In respect those around me lower their heads in silent prayer for the passing.

“Father what are you doing? What’s happening?” At the sound of my son’sce Ice I look up and hold my hand up to stay his movement of coming closer.

“Breachtian, do not come any closer.” My eldest son pauses and looks at me with a worrying glance that I have only ever seen mirrored in his mothers face and I smile lightly. “It is okay just go back to bed.” He nods reluctantly and I watch as one of my councillor’s escorts him back inside. I turn to several other of my advisors and instruct them in my plan and what has fallen upon Rivendell. As usual they advise me against going personally if the illness takes lives as quickly as the messengers but I ignore their protests at my leaving. “No I leave now, bring my horse and a large cloth so that I may take his body outside the city and bury it without risk of infecting others. Bring my cloak and Sword also we ride at once.” Those around me disperse quickly to their duties leaving me alone with the messenger. The elf is young not more than 500 years or so and definitely not in his majority. His mattered brown locks tell of his haste in bringing the message, probably aware of his own sickness and getting here as quickly as possible before his life was taken. With a gloved hand I wipe the thin trail of blood from the corner of his lip and then slowly close his eyes for him. In my mind images of Elrond looking like this pain my heart greatly. The elves were not meant to see such a horrible death let alone be witness to others as well. I shall ride continually until I reach Rivendell, time is of the essence if there is any hope of finding a cure. There are too few elves left in Middle Earth to allow this sickness to wipe the rest of them out before their time.

TBC………………………………….