Hope you'd like this chapter.

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The songs of birds, combined with the sound of running water, filled the area with a peace and tranquillity that starkly contrasted the tension within the cave where Faramir, Legolas, and the Rangers had taken shelter. It had been five days and six nights since Aragorn, Faramir, and the Rangers had found Legolas and Orophin. During that time, Aragorn had fallen into a fever, his body struggling to heal from the wound inflicted during his confrontation with Orophin. The air inside the cave was thick with unspoken worries, and the steady rhythm of the river outside was a cruel reminder of the time slipping away.

Opening his eyes, Legolas blinked away the sleepiness before he slowly rose. He was gradually regaining his strength now that he was rested and nourished, and his body slowly cleared itself of the lingering effects of the drug. His eyes fell on his feverish husband, watching as Aragorn's chest rose and fell slightly but steadily. He reached out and touched Aragorn's forehead, checking his temperature. The fever had not broken despite the Rangers' efforts to reduce it. According to one of them, the terrain's flora lacked a specific plant to help lower the fever. They had to return to the city as soon as possible if they wanted to save the King.

Legolas' eyes scanned the cave, taking in his surroundings. One Ranger was sleeping in one corner of the cave; Faramir was nowhere to be seen, while the other Ranger was guarding Orophin, tied at the far end. Staring at the Lórien Elf, Legolas frowned. He hadn't spoken to or even approached Orophin since he was rescued, yet he felt a pressing need to confront him about many things. The words he wanted to say felt like hard lumps in his throat that he couldn't swallow or speak out. Legolas didn't know why he hesitated to talk to Orophin or dismiss this urging to address him. However, he knew this wasn't the right time for such a confrontation. If he were to face the one who had killed his daughter and made his life miserable, he would do it when he was strong. He didn't want Orophin to see even the slightest hint of weakness.

"Good morning, Your Highness."

Legolas turned and saw Faramir standing in front of him with a small jar in his hand.

"Good morning, Faramir," he replied with a faint smile.

"Would you like some breakfast?" Faramir asked, lowering himself beside Aragorn's body.

"I'd like to bathe before anything," Legolas said.

"Of course," Faramir said, his tone gentle. "You can take Aragorn's travel bag and use his spare clothes."

Legolas glanced down at his husband before looking back at Faramir, a hint of hesitation in his eyes.

"Thank you," he finally replied, his voice quiet but grateful. He touched Aragorn's hand briefly, a silent promise to return.

"He'll be fine," Faramir reassured. "I prepared a herbal drink that may help with his fever. Go and have your bath."

Legolas nodded before standing up and going to the small pack of belongings.

Faramir watched him go, his own heart heavy with worry. The Steward had always admired the bond between Aragorn and Legolas, a bond forged through years of friendship and battle, now tested by the gravest of circumstances. Both, he realized, were struggling with their inner turmoils. Still, the way Aragorn fought for Legolas and Legolas' own fight to come out alive touched Faramir deeply, as did their concern over the well-being of the other despite their own difficult circumstances. He sincerely believed that no matter how challenging times would be for the two, they would prevail because they had each other. He turned his attention back to Aragorn, gently lifting his head and placing it on his thighs before dripping the medicine between the King's slightly parted lips. Aragorn stirred a bit and swallowed before he relaxed again.

"You must return to us, my friend," Faramir whispered. "Your husband is waiting for you."

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Outside the cave, the sun had fully risen, casting long beams of light through the trees and illuminating the forest in soft, golden hues. The river glistened as it flowed steadily, its banks offering a secluded spot where Legolas could wash away the grime and tension of the past days. He found a sheltered area, hidden by tall reeds and overhanging branches, and set down the travel bag. With a deep breath, he began to undress, the cool morning air brushing against his skin as he stepped into the water. The river was cold, its waters clear and refreshing. Legolas submerged himself, letting the water cleanse his body and soothe his weary muscles. For a moment, he allowed himself to relax, to let go of the constant vigilance and fear that had gripped him since his capture. The weight of his worries seemed to dissolve in the flowing current, carried away by the river's steady rhythm.

As he scrubbed away the remnants of dirt, Legolas felt the fog in his mind begin to clear, the effects of the drug finally dissipating. His thoughts became sharper and more focused, and with that clarity came a resurgence of emotions—anger, grief, and a deep, aching sadness. He knew he couldn't avoid confronting Orophin forever, but the thought of it filled him with dread. The betrayal, the loss, the pain—it was all too much, too raw.

When Legolas finally emerged from the water, he felt physically cleaner, but his inner turmoil remained unresolved. Dressed in Aragorn's spare clothes, he felt the familiar scent of his husband offering a small comfort. As he returned to the cave, he steeled himself for the days ahead. They still had to return to the city, and Aragorn's condition was precarious. Every moment mattered.

Suddenly, his ears perked, hearing the sound of horses nearing.

"Faramir," he called urgently. "I hear the sound of horses approaching."

Faramir responded swiftly, his instincts honed by years of battle and leadership. He woke the sleeping Ranger, his voice low but firm.

"On your feet. We have company."

The Ranger stirred quickly, shaking off his weariness as he rose and reached for his weapon. Faramir moved to the cave entrance, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he peered into the forest, his sharp eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement.

Legolas, now fully alert, moved silently to join Faramir. His Elven senses were keen, picking up the faint sounds of hooves on the forest floor, the rhythm of the approaching horses unmistakable. He strained to hear more, trying to determine if the riders were friend or foe.

"How many?" Faramir asked quietly, trusting in Legolas' acute hearing.

"At least seven, perhaps eight or nine," Legolas replied, his voice tense. "They are moving cautiously but swiftly."

Faramir nodded, signalling for the Ranger to take a defensive position beside him at the entrance of the cave. The two men moved with practised ease, blending into the shadows, ready to defend their King and the Elven Prince if needed. Faramir stationed himself in front of Legolas in case a danger targeted him. The tension in the air was palpable as they waited, the moments stretching into what felt like hours. The sound of the horses grew louder and closer until, finally, the first rider emerged from the trees, followed by the rest.

Relief washed over Faramir as he recognized the riders—Mallorn, Elrohir, and ten Ithilien Rangers, in addition to the Dúnadan Faramir had sent.

Mallorn dismounted quickly, his expression a mix of concern and urgency as he approached them.

'Legolas!' he exclaimed, rushing to his brother. His eyes were filled with a mixture of relief and worry as he reached Legolas, pulling him into a tight embrace. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he felt the warmth of his brother's presence, the solid reassurance that Legolas was alive and relatively unharmed.

'Thank the Valar,' he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. 'I feared the worst.'

Legolas returned the embrace, a faint smile tugging at his lips despite the heaviness in his heart.

'I'm alright, Mallorn,' he replied softly, though the lingering effects of his ordeal were evident in his weary expression.

Elrohir, who had dismounted along with the other Rangers, approached Faramir with a nod of acknowledgement.

"We came as quickly as we could. How is Aragorn?"

Faramir's face grew sombre as he glanced back toward the cave where Aragorn lay.

"He is holding on, but his condition is grave. The fever won't break, and we're running out of time. We need to move him back to the city as soon as possible."

"I want to see him. We must stabilize him for the journey," Elrohir said, his eyes flickering with concern.

Faramir nodded before he led the Peredhel inside while the rest of the Rangers secured the area, ensuring they would be ready to leave as soon as Aragorn could be moved.

Mallorn stepped back from Legolas, his gaze searching his brother's face.

'You look better than I expected, given what you've been through. But are you truly alright?'

Legolas hesitated momentarily, his eyes briefly lowering as he considered the weight of everything that had happened.

'Physically, I am recovering,' he admitted. 'But there are...wounds that run deeper than flesh.'

Mallorn nodded, understanding the unspoken pain in Legolas' words. He placed a reassuring hand on his brother's shoulder.

'We'll get through this, Legolas. You're not alone.'

Legolas offered a grateful nod, though his thoughts were already turning to the task ahead.

'Aragorn needs us. We must ensure he survives the journey back.' He said.

'We will,' Mallorn said, tightening his grip on Legolas' shoulder, offering silent support. 'We won't let anything happen to him.'

'MALLORN,' Elrohir called from inside the cave, and the two Elves rushed inside. They found Elrohir standing at the end of the cave, staring in disbelief at the captured Elf.

'Orophin!' Mallorn breathed in shock. 'So it was you all along! You SON OF AN ORC!' The Mirkwood Prince tried approaching the Elf, but Elrohir and Legolas held him back.

Orophin stared at Mallorn indifferently, his expression cold and detached as if the weight of his actions had yet to sink in fully.

'Language, Mallorn,' he said in a flat, emotionless tone. 'It's not befitting a Royal Prince.'

Mallorn's eyes blazed with fury, but Legolas tightened his grip on his brother's arm, his own emotions held in check by sheer force of will.

'He's not worth it, Mallorn,' Legolas said quietly, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside him. 'We must focus on Aragorn and getting him back to the city. Orophin will face justice soon enough.'

Still in shock from seeing the Lórien Elf, Elrohir nodded in agreement, though his gaze remained fixed on Orophin. Though he had heard it many times in the past days, the idea of an Elf, a Lórien Elf, Haldir's brother no less, conspiring, killing, and kidnapping an Elven Prince seemed preposterous. And though he had told Mallorn that an Elf could ally himself with Orcs, he couldn't believe it. But now... he didn't know what he should believe!

'Legolas is right,' he said, snapping himself from his own thoughts. 'There's no time to waste on anger. We must move quickly.'

Mallorn took a deep breath, the rage slowly ebbing from his face, replaced by a grim resolve.

'You're right. But this is not over, Orophin,' Mallorn threatened. 'You will answer for what you've done.'

Orophin said nothing, his gaze unwavering as he stared back at Mallorn, but there was a flicker of something—perhaps regret or fear—deep within his eyes.

Elrohir turned to Legolas and Mallorn, his voice softening.

'Let's get back to Aragorn. He needs us now.'

Elrohir searched through Orophin's bag, which the Rangers had confiscated, his hands moving with a purpose born of urgency and knowledge. The bag was filled with various vials and small containers, each labelled in the Elvish script. His eyes scanned the labels quickly, identifying the contents with practiced ease. After a moment, he seemed to find what he was looking for—a small vial filled with a clear, amber-colored liquid.

'This should help reduce the fever,' Elrohir muttered before turning to Legolas. 'Legolas, bring me a cup of water.'

Legolas nodded and quickly fetched a small cup, filling it with fresh water from a nearby flask. He handed it to Elrohir, who carefully measured a few drops of the potion into the water. The liquid swirled and mixed, the potion dissolving seamlessly into the water. Elrohir knelt beside Aragorn, gently lifting his brother's head to help him drink. Legolas watched anxiously, his heart aching at the sight of his husband so vulnerable.

'Will it work?' he asked, his voice filled with hope and fear.

Elrohir nodded, his expression calm but focused.

'It should help to bring the fever down,' he said. "We need to give it time. Aragorn's body is strong, and this potion is potent. We will see improvement soon. Faramir," he looked up at the blond man. "Prepare your men. We will move as soon as Aragorn is stable enough to be moved, but we must be cautious. The journey may be difficult."

Faramir and Legolas shared a glance, their resolve hardening. There was no other choice—they had to get Aragorn back to the city, no matter the risks.

"Prepare the stretcher," Faramir ordered, his voice steady. "We'll move soon."

As the Rangers swiftly set to work, preparing the horses for travel, Legolas remained close, his eyes never leaving his husband's pale face. He could feel the bond between them, fragile but unbroken, and he clung to that connection with all his strength.

'We'll get you home, Aragorn,' Legolas whispered, his voice filled with quiet determination. 'I won't lose you. Not now, not ever.'

By the time the preparations were complete, Aragorn's fever had reduced, and he was stable enough to be moved. After securing him on the stretcher, the group set off, the weight of their mission pressing heavily on their shoulders.

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The trip back to Emyn Arnen was smooth and uneventful, for which Faramir was deeply grateful. He took the lead, guiding the group along familiar paths while the Rangers surrounded their ailing King and his Consort like a protective bracelet encircling a wrist. Mallorn and Elrohir remained close to Aragorn and Legolas, their presence a source of quiet reassurance.

Aragorn's stretcher, securely tied to four horses, was carefully balanced to ensure a steady journey. Legolas rode beside them on Aragorn's horse, his vigilant eyes never leaving his husband's pale face, his heart heavy with concern.

At the group's rear, Orophin was securely tied and rode on the same horse in front of a Ranger, who kept a watchful eye on him. The forest's silence was broken only by the soft clinking of bridles and the steady hoofbeats on the forest floor as the party returned to safety. The journey, though uneventful, was laden with the weight of their mission, each of them acutely aware of the fragile life they carried with them.

As they neared the city, Mallorn felt as if a boulder was placed on his chest. He hadn't yet told Legolas about Gwîneth's death, not trusting the consequences of such news on his brother in his current state. Elrohir pressed him to tell Legolas before they reached the city, but Mallorn still couldn't say a word. The fear of breaking his brother's spirit, of adding to his already immense burden, held him back. Yet, as the city walls came into view, Mallorn knew the time to speak was running out. He would have to choose his moment carefully, but the weight of the truth grew heavier with each passing mile.

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"Welcome back!"

The Hobbits were the first to greet them at the palace gates, their faces alight with relief and joy. Following close behind were Gimli, Glorfindel, Éomer, Éowyn, Imrahil, Lothíriel, and little Alphros, all eager to see their friends returned safely. Legolas found himself quickly surrounded by the four Hobbits and Gimli, each inspecting him with a mixture of concern and affection.

"Legolas, Thank the Valar, you're safe!" Pippin exclaimed, his eyes wide as he looked the Elf over, searching for any signs of injury.

"Did they treat you well?" Sam asked, his brow furrowed in worry.

"You gave us quite a scare," Merry added, trying to mask his concern with a smile.

Even Frodo, usually the most reserved, reached out to clasp Legolas' arm.

"We're glad you're safe," He said.

"Took you long enough to get back here, lad," Gimli, standing a little apart from the Hobbits, said, giving Legolas a gruff nod. "I was beginning to think I'd have to come fetch you myself."

Legolas couldn't help but smile at their familiar faces, their concern a balm to his weary soul.

"Thank you, my friends," he said softly. "Your welcome is most heartening."

Gimli, never one to be outdone in showing care, stepped forward and placed a firm hand on Legolas' arm.

"Aye, well, don't think you're getting out of explaining yourself later," he said, though his tone was more affectionate than stern. "Breaking from us in the middle of a battle!"

Legolas nodded, grateful for their support, but his gaze quickly shifted back to Aragorn, who was being carefully carried inside by the Rangers. The sight of his husband still pale and feverish brought him back to the gravity of the situation.

"I will speak with you all soon," Legolas said. "But first, I must see to Aragorn."

The Hobbits and Gimli immediately understood, their expressions sobering.

"Of course," Frodo said gently. "We'll be here when you're ready."

As Legolas turned to follow Aragorn inside, Gimli caught his arm one last time, his voice low.

"We're all with you, Legolas. Whatever you need, just ask," he said.

Legolas gave him a grateful nod before he turned to follow Aragorn inside. However, as he turned, something tugged at the back of his mind. The absence of a familiar face among those who greeted him gnawed at him, and he hesitated, glancing back at his brother, who was still standing with the group.

"Mallorn, where is Gwîneth?" Legolas asked, his voice betraying a hint of anxiety as he scanned the gathered faces again, hoping to see the Elleth among them.

Mallorn's face paled slightly, and he cast a quick, uneasy glance at Glorfindel, who had stopped at the palace entrance. Glorfindel gave Mallorn a subtle nod, indicating that now was the time. The moment's weight pressed down on Mallorn's heart, and he approached Legolas solemnly.

"Legolas," he began, his voice tight with restrained emotion.

Legolas felt a cold dread settle over him as he noticed the seriousness in Mallorn's eyes and the sombre expressions on the faces of his friends.

"What happened?" he asked, his voice trembling slightly. "Where is she?"

Mallorn took a deep breath, steadying himself before he spoke.

"Gwîneth...she fought bravely, but...she didn't make it. We lost her while we were searching for you."

The words struck Legolas like a physical blow, and he couldn't breathe momentarily. The world around him seemed to blur, the faces of his friends fading as the reality of Mallorn's words sank in.

"No..." he whispered, his voice breaking. "Not Gwîneth..."

"I'm sorry, Legolas," Mallorn whispered as he stepped forward, eyes filled with grief, placing a comforting hand on Legolas' shoulder. "She wanted to save you more than anything."

Legolas felt a surge of grief and guilt filling his soul, his heart aching with the loss of the sister of his heart. The thought that Gwîneth had died trying to rescue him was almost too much to bear. He looked at Mallorn, tears welling up in his eyes.

"I didn't even get to say goodbye," he choked out, his voice raw with pain.

Mallorn pulled Legolas into a firm embrace, holding him tightly as the Elf Prince finally let his emotions spill over.

"She loved you, Legolas," Mallorn whispered. "She wouldn't have wanted it any other way. She believed in you and in what she was doing."

Legolas clung to Mallorn, his body shaking with silent sobs. The grief was overwhelming. He felt himself on the verge of collapsing. No—not now, not when Aragorn needed him. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to steady. Pulling away, Legolas wiped his tears, his resolve hardening. He knew he had to be strong—for Aragorn and all those who depended on him. With one last look at Mallorn, he turned and followed the group inside, following his husband.

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Aragorn groaned, feeling his entire body ache as he slowly regained consciousness. The pain was a dull throb that seemed to emanate from every part of him, each breath a reminder of the battle he had fought. He could feel a lightweight on his left arm, a sensation that was oddly comforting despite the discomfort he felt. Too exhausted to open his eyes, he let the world come to him in fragments, each sense slowly coming back.

The soft surface underneath him and the calm, peaceful aura of the room filled his senses, a stark contrast to the chaos of the battlefield he expected to feel. The air was cooler here, carrying the faint scent of herbs and healing balms. He could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing, the sound mingling with the softer, lighter breaths of someone nearby. With a supreme effort, he managed to pry his eyes open. The world gradually became focused, the familiar stone walls of his quarters in Emyn Arnen coming into view. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of lanterns casting gentle shadows that danced on the walls.

Turning his head slightly, Aragorn's gaze fell on Legolas, seated beside him, his head nestled on his folded arm, which he rested on the nightstand next to the bed. The Elf's left hand was gently clasped around Aragorn's left arm, his fingers cool against his skin. Legolas looked weary, dark circles under his eyes betraying the strain and worry he had endured. Even in sleep, there was tension in his posture, a testament to the anxiety that had plagued him.

A wave of relief washed over Aragorn at the sight of his husband, safe and unharmed. The memory of their harrowing rescue mission, the battle with Orophin, and the pain of his injuries came rushing back. He remembered how Legolas looked, helpless and horrified, as Aragorn had faced Orophin alone. Their bond had pulsed with shared pain and fear, amplifying the moment's anguish. Aragorn reached out with his free hand, his fingers brushing gently against Legolas's warm fingers.

The touch was enough to rouse the Elf, whose eyes fluttered open. The deep blue depths immediately locked onto Aragorn's face.

"Estel," Legolas whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He sat up quickly, his hand tightening around Aragorn's arm. "You're awake."

Aragorn managed a weak smile, his voice a raspy whisper.

"I am, meleth nîn. How long... have I been out?"

"Two days," Legolas replied, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You were wounded. The healers worked tirelessly to save you."

Aragorn nodded slightly, his gaze softening as he looked at Legolas.

"And you... you stayed with me."

"Of course," Legolas said, his voice firm despite its quiver. A hint of blush tinted his cheeks. "I would not leave your side."

Aragorn could see the grief in Legolas's eyes, a sorrow he didn't know its source but could plainly see and feel through their bond.

"There's a sadness in your eyes," Aragorn said, his voice filled with concern. "What else troubles you, Legolas?"

Legolas hesitated, the pain in his gaze deepening.

"Gwîneth," he said, tears flooding his eyes. "Gwîneth was killed during the search for me."

Aragorn's eyes widened in shock.

"What?" he asked. "How?"

"They were ambushed by Orcs, and she was killed," Legolas said, barely able to hold his tears back.

Aragorn sighed before extending his hand and cupping Legolas' cheek.

"It's alright to grieve, meleth nîn," he said.

Legolas closed his eyes, leaning into Aragorn's comforting touch as the tears he had been holding back finally spilled over. The sorrow he had tried so hard to suppress washed over him in waves, the pain of losing Gwîneth mingling with the relief of having Aragorn awake and by his side.

"I tried to be strong," Legolas whispered, his voice trembling. "But it hurts so much. I never thought...I never imagined losing her like this."

Aragorn pulled Legolas closer, wrapping his arms around him despite the pain it caused his still-healing body. He could feel Legolas trembling, the Elf's grief raw and unfiltered.

"You don't have to be strong all the time, Legolas," Aragorn murmured, his voice gentle. "You have faced so much, and you are allowed to grieve. Gwîneth was brave and selfless, and her loss is a deep wound for all of us."

Legolas buried his face in Aragorn's shoulder, allowing himself to cry, his tears soaking Aragorn's skin. The room was silent except for the sound of his soft sobs and Aragorn's soothing whispers.

After a few moments, Legolas pulled back slightly, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand. He looked at Aragorn, his expression a mix of sadness and gratitude.

"Thank you," Legolas said quietly, his voice still thick with emotion. "Thank you for being here."

Aragorn gave him a small, weary smile.

"I will always be here for you, Legolas. We will get through this together."

Legolas nodded, taking a deep, shaky breath as he tried to steady himself.

"I should call the healers," he said hurriedly. "Elrohir, Faramir, and the rest are also worried about you!"

With that, he turned around to call the healers.

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"You'll be completely healed in two weeks, Your Majesty," the healer announced after examining Aragorn's wound with a satisfied nod and redressed it.

"Are you sure it's only two weeks?" Elrohir asked, his tone laced with a hint of annoyance, though his eyes betrayed the depth of his worry. "Anyone who saw him unconscious and struck with fever would think he was on the verge of death! Tsk! Making us go through all that trouble and worry!"

Aragorn chuckled softly at Elrohir's words, though the movement caused him to wince slightly.

"I assure you, Elrohir, I'm not quite on the brink of death," he said, his voice light but tinged with weariness as he was helped into a sitting position. "I may be a bit worse for wear, but I've faced worse and lived to tell the tale."

The healer, a wise and experienced woman with a calm demeanour, smiled.

"His Majesty is resilient, as always. The fever has broken, and the wound is healing well. With continued rest and proper care, two weeks should be sufficient for him to regain his strength," she said before excusing herself and leaving.

Elrohir crossed his arms, a slight frown on his face.

"You must be careful, Estel. Do not push yourself too hard. Even you have limits, and we don't want to see you bedridden any longer than necessary."

Legolas, who had been quietly observing, stepped closer and placed a hand on Aragorn's shoulder, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Elrohir is right," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "You must rest and let your body heal properly. We need you at full strength."

"Most definitely," Faramir added. "We can't afford to lose Gondor's King."

"Thank you for your deep concern, Faramir. I'm deeply touched," Aragorn replied with a hint of dry humour, though he knew the Steward meant well. He sighed, realizing he was outnumbered and that they were right. "Very well," he conceded, offering Faramir, Elrohir, and Legolas a small smile. "I'll take your advice and rest. Though I can't promise I'll enjoy the idleness."

"We'll keep you company," Legolas assured, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly.

"You won't be idle if that's what you're worried about," Faramir said. "There are plenty of matters you can attend to from the comfort of your bed if you feel up to it."

Aragorn groaned at Faramir's suggestion, knowing he would carry this promise out.

"Don't worry, Brother," Elrohir added with a smile. "I'll be here to ensure you don't overexert yourself."

Aragorn sighed, resigned to his fate, and nodded.

"I suppose I don't have much choice in the matter," he said, his tone half-joking, half-resigned. "But I appreciate your concern."

Legolas smiled softly, his hand still resting on Aragorn's shoulder.

"It's because we care for you, Estel. We want to see you well again."

"I am truly fortunate to have all of you by my side," Aragorn said, looking around the room, feeling a surge of gratitude for the people surrounding him before he turned to Faramir. "What happened to Orophin?" he asked.

"He's in our custody," Faramir said. "What do you want us to do with him?"

Aragorn let out a deep sigh, noticing Legolas abandoning his place, and silently left the room with Elrohir.

Faramir also noticed Legolas' sombre expression as he left.

"He's been troubled since our return," he told Aragorn. "Not that I blame him. His kidnapping, your injury, and Lady Gwîneth's death... everything happening so quickly and at once. Even the strongest warrior would crumble under the pressure."

"It's more than that, Faramir," Aragorn said. "Legolas feels betrayed by his own kin. Even if he considered the possibility that an Elf would resort to betrayal, it is still hard to see it with his own eyes." He let out another sigh. "Anyhow, keep Orophin in custody until we return to Minas Tirith."

"Don't you want us to question him?"

"I doubt he will say a word if he didn't want to," Aragorn said. "Even under intense questioning, he would likely remain silent."

"Then, what use is his capture?" Faramir asked.

Aragorn looked at Faramir with determined eyes.

"His presence alone will shake the conspirators and force them to confess," he said.

"Oh, I remember!" Faramir said. "When we searched his belongings, we found the permit Lord Bonirun issued for Lord Mortardur. Also, a couple of correspondence between the two."

"See?" Aragorn said with a triumphant smirk. "Bring me some parchment and ink. I want you to write some letters to Minas Tirith."

"Yes, my Lord."

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To Be Continued...

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Next, the trials....