Title: Celestial Navigation Author: Elvensong (europa494@yahoo.com) Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas Rating: PG-13 for violence Summary: A dark and twisted plot seeks to test Aragorn and Legolas' trust of one another. Can their friendship survive on faith alone? AU, Post-ROTK. Standard disclaimers apply. Please review, for they do mean so very much to me and help inspire me to keep writing. Thank you my friends. Chapter One: Orion Sunlight broke through the forest canopy to create splashes of light dancing over the ground. Songs poured from above, sung by birds of many colors and of many songs. “Come on, we’ll never reach Gondor if you keep stopping to look at every flower on our path. We’ve barely passed the Old Forest Road.” From his position stooped over a plant, an Elf of the Mirkwood realm stood straight, “We are making fine time to Gondor, Níracas, and can stop to enjoy our surroundings. Legolas told us himself that this was a simple message to Elessar and didn’t need all haste. If it did we would have horses.” Sighing, his companion turned back to continue down the path, “Honestly, Ristar, if all duties were left to your logical speed, things would never be completed even on an immortal’s timeframe.” “I’m sure I’m not as bad as all that.” Níracas turned to give his friend a look and raised his dark eyebrows, which stood out against his fair skin and light hair styled in the manner of the Elves of Eryn Lasgalen formally known as Mirkwood. The forest had been renamed when Thranduil and the Lord Celeborn met under the boughs of Mirkwood on April 6, 3019 of the Third Age.* “Well, Níracas, it might not be as bad as all that.” Hope shone in Ristar’s green eyes. “Besides, between the Brown Lands outside the southern border of the forest and the river Anduin there is not too much to distract one from their destination.” Still, Ristar was met with silence in return. They continued casually towards their destination, finally enjoying a time of peace and quiet. Níracas broke the silence, “The Brown Lands are plain and if it weren’t for the stars one may not know which why is which after the sun sets. We will be in that land soon, my friend, and may need to travel at night. Those lands are filled with dark creatures that blend into the long fields.” As their distance grew from where the elves had stopped, a human released a long held breath and slowly stood, shedding the layers of forest debris used to conceal himself. Not seeing the elves any longer, the man made his way into the surrounding forest into a camp. Upon entering the small camp a mysterious man dressed in a black cloak turned from his position on the point. Lowering a pair of glasses designed for long sight, he gestured for the scout to come closer. “Their quest?” The man’s voice rumbled so low, striking apprehension even in those joined on his side. “To deliver a message, my Lord.” Keeping his eyes lowered, the spy made no attempts to look the other in the eye, aware of the consequences. “Their state of readiness?” “Low, my Lord, they do not anticipate an attack.” Raising a fat cigar to his mouth, the man in black’s face was consumed in a cloud of smoke, but the smile could easily be seen on his face as his teeth reflected to dull light. “Excellent.” Afraid to ask, but needing to know, the scout Quintil spoke to the dark man, “Lord Tieced, how are we going to move close enough to our target?” “Easy,” Tieced smirked, “I have hunted their kind for most of my life. Once you know their tendencies, they are simple to attack.” Contempt dripped into his words, “They are so arrogant, they think because they are immortal they are invulnerable.” Men begin to come together in the camp, geared and ready to attack, peering down the path leading to Gondor. The winds blew down that path as if trying to warn the unsuspecting travelers “Do you think we’ll make it before the stars shine?” Glancing to the west, Níracas saw the sun bidding its farewell to the day. “I don’t believe so, perhaps we should stop for the night. There is a clearing just beyond these trees suitable for a fire. Like you said Ristar, we’re in no rush.” They began to settle down for the night, creating a small fire and listening to the crickets, their song replacing the birds of the day with their equally comforting tune. Watching the flames put Ristar into a contemplative mood. “How much longer do you think we’ll stay in Eryn Lasgalen, Níracas?” Ristar brought his green cloak around him, for the winds had been picking up all afternoon. They were now enough to even bother an Elf and make the fire flicker and its light barely able to hold back the dark before being dimmed by the force of the wind. “I’m not sure. Legolas wishes us to relocate and build Ithilien. Perhaps he wishes to find a new life. I do not believe he finds much satisfaction in being commander of the armies of Eryn Lasgalen, though his father pressed him to take on the responsibility. Fighting the bands of Orcs and random demons that still plague Eryn Lasgalen is not very fulfilling to someone like him. He sees too much beauty in the world to have to constantly face such darkness. It will take some time before he does actually leave our home Eryn Lasgalen, though.” Looking into Níracas’ eyes and seeing the certainty there, Ristar nodded and said no more. He knew that Níracas was a highly experienced Elf and even stood in the War of the Last Alliance by the legendary Oropher’s side. The ages of life he had known just gave Níracas a dignified and wise face, especially when one looked into his eyes one could see wisdom there. Though they needed no sleep, the pair of elves knew better than the travel in the dark of night through the southern parts of Eryn Lasgalen. Though The Ring had been destroyed, evil still plagued the land. In addition, the resident spiders always kept elves on alert for the sound of their scurrying on the forest floor and above in the trees. Green was worn by both travelers to help them blend into their surroundings and not attract too much attention. Though not all beings wishing destruction to the elves were defeated by the simple wearing of green. “Are we close enough now, my Lord?” A man peered into the woods, trying to see the small flicker of their victim’s campfire. The dark form rose from the greenery, “Moron, I’ve learned in my long time in war to never underestimate elves. They can be quite annoying at times with their tenacity.” Looking off into the night, he motioned for his men to begin moving forward once more. Slowly, inch-by-inch they had crawled all night and were finally getting within reach. Ristar, still awake, stared at the winking stars through the forest canopy. As the leaves blew, different points of light gave their greeting to the elf far below. They could see from their position far above what their friend of the firstborn could not. Yet, there was nothing they could do to warn him. Instincts, greatly heightened within an elf, began sending warning signs as confrontation grew closer. “Níracas, awaken.” Open eyes focused quickly, “What is it?” “The crickets,” Ristar whispering, trying to see as far into the darkness as possible, “they are silent.” No further explanation was needed as the direness of the situation registered on his face. Seeing each other’s gaze, they recognized their situation. “Quickly, Ristar, extinguish the fire! We must take to the trees.” Spreading dirt and scattering the wood, they turned and raced to the edge of the clearing, to the safety of their friends the trees. “Hurry, something is closing in on us!” No sooner had the words left Níracas’ throat then the sound of an arrow cutting through the air could be heard, meeting its target in the elf’s chest. Stumbling with shock, Níracas attempted to stay upright and keep going, but finally ended up on his knees. “Níracas!” Ristar stopped and turned as his companion slowed and faltered. “They are all around us!” “Don’t stop. Leave me. You can make it.” “I cannot.” Ristar shook his head; it seemed to the elf that time itself had stopped in this moment. Meeting Ristar’s look of denial with an equal look of determination, Níracas pushed his friend away, “You must!” Closing his eyes and praying to the Valar for forgiveness, Ristar obeyed his friend’s command. Standing and turning back towards the woods, he traveled two steps before a voice broke through the woods ordering him to halt. A voice with such commanding power that the elf could not help but obey, finding his body frozen where it stood. “Mirkwood Elves,” the voice began dripping with sarcasm, “the most wild and uncultured of all the elves, no matter what name you call yourselves by. Your people are nothing compared to the elves of Rivendell or Lothlorien. Pity. About the only thing you are good for is fighting, which you think you do better than what is actually fact. I guess we owe our existence to that little fact.” Out of the forest emerged the form of a man, large with a face hidden by a cloak. Ristar stared in shock that this person could sneak up and attack them. His bulk surely would not have allowed him to approach unnoticed. Níracas, as ever the wise elf, kept his mind on this person. Fighting off the pain of his injury. “Who are you?” He asked from his position on his knees, trying to keep his voice strong. “Forgive my lack of manners, I am Tieced.” Closing the distance between them in only a few long strides, the man looked closely at his prizes. Now, the rest of his men had made their appearance in the clearing, confirming the point to their elves that they were not going anywhere. “What is it you wish with us?” Ristar asked, his impatience with this man’s need of secrecy wearing thin. Tieced stood face to face with Ristar, staring into the elf’s eyes and giving Ristar a chance to peer beyond his cloak of shadows. Brown eyes peered out from beyond the depths, with a frigid gaze that could freeze one’s soul. “I’m afraid that you are merely the first moves in a elaborate game. I am sorry.” Stepping around Ristar’s side, Tieced held out a blade to the long elven throat. Reaching out with his other hand, he removed the elf’s arrows from his quiver. “I need these, thank you for providing them.” Without another word, Tieced’s blade sliced Ristar’s throat. Gasping for air, but breathing only blood, Ristar fell to his knees, looking to his companion. Níracas, knowing his fate, could only whispering comforting words as darkness consumed his long time friend. “I will journey beside you in the Halls of Mandos shortly, my friend. Lissenen ar' maska'lalaith tenna' lye omentuva.” Hearing these words, Ristar managed enough energy for a short smile before falling into death. “You are correct, elf, you shall join him.” The blade, still wet with Ristar’s blood, was stabbed violently into Níracas’ chest, giving him a longer and more painful fall into darkness. When both elves lay dead on the forest floor, Tieced turned to his men. “Burn them.” * Source: The Encyclopedia of Arda Lissenen ar' maska'lalaith tenna' lye omentuva: Sweet water and light laughter till next we meet Chapter Two: Canes Venatici Flames reached towards the heavens, dancing and swaying on the winds. Eryn Lasgalen was enjoying the summer festival as the hash winter once again made way for spring and summer. With warmer weather and plenty of new growth promising plenty of food in order to keep the cycle going, the elves welcomed this change with a grand celebration in the center of the elven kingdom. For one elf, though, the festival did not bring any joy. “Legolas, this is the second messenger party we have sent to Gondor that has disappeared.” Turning his gaze from the other elves enjoying more lighthearted conversation, Legolas focused on the speaker, “Arcon, do you really feel something is wrong? Perhaps they have found something fascinating enough to catch their attention and keep them in Gondor. I never said that anything of their tasks were dire and needed all speed.” Legolas straightened his green tunic. He always loved wearing the same items, even as commander of all military forces in Eryn Lasgalen, he did not dress the part. Even his hair did not show anymore rank than a warrior, braided in the same fashion as it had been for hundreds of years. “If we were only speaking of Meldince and Cenyon I might agree with you. However, we sent Níracas after them. He knows he is not only supposed to deliver their message to Aragorn, but also to discover what delayed their comrades.” Lifting a dark eyebrow, Legolas retorted, “You don’t think Ristar can corrupt Níracas into some side adventure? The two are very close.” “I doubt it.” Arcon crossed his arms, a sign that meant he was absolutely serious. As always, Arcon wore his bow and arrows, even in the most protected areas of his home. A warrior born and bred, though sometimes plagued with paranoia and liking to create situations where there were none. He wore the more elaborate clothing of a high-ranking officer with many at his command. To look at the two elves together one might think that he was giving commands to the Prince. Stepping away to gaze out over the forest, Legolas felt something stirring in his heart. “We are speaking nonsense. This is Gondor we are speaking of. Aragorn would never hurt any elf.” “Man’s desire for power can lead them to perform tasks of great evil, Legolas. You have seen it first hand.” Arcon’s voice registered sadness at having to break his friend’s feel of assurance in his close friend. Turning back swiftly Legolas almost found himself yelling, but restrained himself. “I have seen evil in men. If it weren’t for the evil of man I would not have had to fight that terrible war over a ring that could have been destroyed long before my coming into Arda. However, I have also seen goodness in man as they have fought against overwhelming odds in the name of valor and honor. To protect those unable to protect themselves. Aragorn is not behind this, there must be an explanation.” “What would you suggest, Legolas? We keep sending more elves until finally an answer is discovered?” “Of course, not.” Looking into Arcon’s eyes, Legolas knew what the next move needed to be, “Form a well armed band of your finest and follow the path to Gondor in order to discover any evidence of the fate of our friends. The minute they are found, return. Be on your guard, I sense something more complex behind this then there appears to be.” “Yes, my Commander.” Bowing slightly, Arcon turned to quickly gather those most trusted. He wanted answers. Legolas had suffered in the War of the Ring, and he wound not have him suffer in the peace that has finally come after so much suffering and death. Remaining alone for only a moment, Legolas felt a very familiar presence come up to him. “Varyar, my friend, what make you of these events?” Walking up to stand beside Legolas, Varyar gave a solemn look into Legolas’ blue eyes. “I am not sure, Legolas.” Varyar was of a more muscular build than most elves. This strong form came from hard fighting and equally hard working. This power was why Legolas gave him the position of Second in Command of the Armies of Eryn Lasgalen. That, and their long and trusted friendship. “I can understand a little of what Arcon speaks, men have not always been the most trustworthy of creatures.” Shaking his head, Legolas countered, “Sometimes the most obvious of solutions is not necessarily the correct one.” “Wise words, my Prince.” “I wish my father would handle things for this one situation.” Despair welled into Legolas’ large eyes, making them glisten, “I fear things might go ill. There are so many creatures in the wide world, even more than we could ever know about, but if it is Gondor striking against us.” Legolas could not complete the thought. “Your father does not wish to deal with any military matters, he eyes look west. As do yours when you think no one is watching.” Varyar gave Legolas a small wink. Looking towards Gondor, Legolas said what he knew to be true, “I cannot raise my hand against him.” “Listen, Legolas, do not think on situations that have not yet come to pass. Keep watch on what the wind and sky are doing as the stars shine and twinkle brightly on this warm eve.” Chapter Three: Perseus In the land of men there was a quiet dawning, the stars of the night fading into the light of the rising sun. The moon bid a farewell at the sky only to reappear once more in the cool air of the evening. Birds rose to sing their joys to each other and to all who would listen. However, for one man, this dawning was not as peaceful as nature would have intended. King Elessar, known as Estel to the elves of Rivendell, rose only thinking of what troubles would greet him this fine day. The trade negotiators were in the great city of Minas Tirith. This proud city was the seven-tiered citadel of the Kings of Gondor and for Elessar this was not exception. The mighty city was the seat of power of the South Kingdom after the destruction of Osgiliath during the War of the Ring*, to which the King of Gondor was all too familiar. Sometimes, during the night, images from that war would come to the strong man in his dreams. Stretching in the first light, Aragorn, as he was known before his rule began, looked to the southeast, to the shining waters of the River Anduin. Turning back towards his home, he took comfort in the history that surrounded him. He thought back to when Elendil and his sons first brought the city into existence. What a magnificent time that must have been. The light reaching his spectacular room brought him back to reality. Sunlight shone through the sparkling windows and onto the rich tapestries that hung from the walls. Images from the King’s adventurous past were depicted, including all he traveled with. Glowing brightly this morning was the shining thread that told of himself and Legolas, his close elven friend, chasing the Uruk-hai with Gimli in tow. Dressing in noble and luxurious clothing of the deepest blue, Aragorn, as he called himself in his own mind, finally stepped forth from his chambers to face the day. Immediately, the very people he had geared his day to avoid greeted him. “Your highness.” Bowing so low, one would think his forehead would connect with the ground, Alcarin shone naught but great respect for his King, for he knew that he would need his Majesty’s favor in order not to be thrown in the dungeon. He knew that matters of state often bored their King. Folcal almost snickered at his companion’s display, affording Elessar the usual courtesy shone to his station. “Good morning to you, Elessar, my King.” Sighing perhaps even too loudly for a King, Aragorn prepared himself mentally for what was to come, “You have risen early. Tell me what matters are so important I cannot even get to my morning refreshments?” “Nothing of so much import as to disturb your routine, My Liege, we could accompany you.” Alcarin offered. The young man had a long and impressive family history and had the look of one who could also be nobility. Fine features were cut on his face with short and curly hair that shone with a deep blackness. He was known for having caught the eye of many beautiful maidens, but found work to be his great passion and eventually the women got the idea and just looked from afar. The red hair of Folcal stood out, as it always did for hair of such color was rare among the men of this city, his hair was not the only unique part of him as his personally was just as bright and outstanding. The man was even not above a little smartness to those of higher rank than he, however his skill around the negotiations table afforded him such leniency. “Sire, we have journeyed long and hard and we believe that perhaps a compromise can be reached.” “Compromise?” Reaching the kitchens, Aragorn grabbed a fresh and warm roll. The kitchen staffed curtsied quickly, only a short gesture, before continuing on their duties. They were well aware that their leader preferred little in the way of ceremony and a great deal in the way of efficiency. Everyone in the room was well aware that all their work would be for nothing if all was burnt while they paid homage to their King. “Yes!” Alcarin continued in place of his friend, “The men of Dale seek to have some of our bountiful harvest. Their crops did not do as well as ours; however, their bolts of cloth are of the finest quality I have seen in a long while. Food in your stomach is more important than extra clothing, we may turn out a nice deal.” Still walking down the hallway, the pair continued to speak of anything and everything that caught their eye while surveying what the other lands had to offer this year. Glancing up, Aragorn saw a dark figure at the end of the hallway, a figure the King of Gondor had not expected to see so soon. A bow of greeting was not afforded, for this man stood like a stonewall with all solemnity. “You’ve returned already?” Aragorn asked. Dark eyes peered out from behind a worn and dirty face. It was the face of someone who had been out in the woods and had seen something distressing. “It was necessary.” Nodding, Aragorn turned to his followers, “Leave us, please. We shall continue this as soon as I have leave.” Both Alcarin and Folcal knew that their usually very relaxed King meant business and bowing once more, they left without another word. Silently, the King and his mysterious shadow entered the royal throne room. Here none would enter save if they had leave to do so. Here they could speak with absolute confidence. “What it of such import that you stand before me, Celepharn?” The voice responding was almost so quiet it could not be heard. A soldier of Celpharn’s experience knew the value of patience, but even he was upset by the events unfolding. “I have pulled my entire command back.” Aragorn’s eyebrows raised, Celepharn commanded all the men who had once followed Aragorn before his coronation. Trusted beyond a brother, the King gazed upon his loyal Captain. “It is that severe? That dangerous what has happened?” He shook his head in reply, “Nay, it is that disconcerting. I do not know what to make of it.” Stepping forward, Aragorn bid him to continue. “Aragorn,” He spoke, being one of few who still called the High King of Gondor by that name, “As always, a band of men were patrolling the lands of Gondor, on the northeastern border. One morning, they did not return to check in and be replaced. We sent a survey team out after them, I lead it myself for I found it odd that they would not have returned. It is has been a quiet time of late.” Nodding, Aragorn waited for Celepharn to continue. “Finally, early this morn, we found them.” Stalling, the man didn’t know any other way to say the words that needed to be said, “They had been killed.” Whispers were all that could escape the Captain’s throat at this point, “They were slaughtered by precise aim.” “What are you saying?” Slowly, Celepharn reached under the black cloak he wore. From it he pulled three arrows. Lowering his head, he handed them to Aragorn. Numbly, Aragorn took them and looked closely. He knew the arrow’s style well. He had seen their kind bring death to those of Darkness. Perfect in every detail, skillfully made by the hands of elves. Elves of the Mirkwood Realm. Looking up quickly, as though he had been slapped in the face, Aragorn barely forced the words out, “You cannot mean?” “It appears so,” Celepharn interjected, “Elves of Mirkwood attacked them, though the words taste sour. They could have come right up to them without our men raising their guard, for they are instructed to trust the Elves.” Holding the arrows dearly, despite the fact that they had been pulled from the bodies of Aragorn’s men and covered in blood, Aragorn spoke once more, “Legolas would not command anyone to attack any of my men. There must be some other explanation.” “I know your closeness with Prince Legolas, but I can think of no other explanation.” Celepharn said, “How would anyone come into possession of such items? Elves guard their weapons closely.” Aragorn could think of no answer. “What would you like to do, Celepharn?” Responding quickly, the Captain knew his King was aware of the next step without even asking. Perhaps Aragorn wished to hear it from another’s lips. “We need to send an armed expedition into Eryn Lasgalen. We need to speak with Legolas or King Thranduil and discover the meaning behind this. I cannot believe that they are behind this, but simply existing without knowing what has occurred is unacceptable. If we wait, more might die, if we confront them now, they will not be prepared if they are hostile and we might learn their intentions without losing more men.” Stopping, Celepharn lowered his voice, “I can bear no more death, Aragorn.” “If only these arrows could tell their story,” Aragorn said softly, “there would be no need for secrecy.” Raising his sight, he met the dark eyes of his friend, and nodded. “Go to Eryn Lasgalen with all speed and uncover this mystery.” * Source: The Encyclopedia of Arda