Stories of Arda - Lord of the Rings Fan-Fiction Archive

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Olihre had been abiding several exceedingly uncomfortable positions since just after breakfast, and his usually obliging temperament was beginning to suffer the consequences.

Legolas, who had somehow been able to make crouching, bending, twisting and other such unnatural contortions seem graceful, was now dangling partway off a ladder, some fifteen feet above the red-tiled library floor.

“It has a cover and is quite thick,” he began in a facetious voice, “though not nearly as thick as the Annals of Angmar, or perhaps the Lore of Lebennin.”

The look of distant confusion in Olihre’s eyes soon turned to aggravation as he noticed the well-defined muscles in the shoulders of the elf above him heaving with scarcely restrained laughter.

“Do all elves esteem their humor as highly as you?” Olihre asked dryly, while throwing another heavy book onto his pile with a groan.

“Forgive me,” Legolas croaked as he used the back of his hand to wipe the tears of mirth from his sparkling blue eyes, “I think all of the dust in here is affecting my senses.”

“Or perhaps your braids are too tight.” Olihre shot back, though he didn’t even try to hide the grin on his angular face.

The two had been searching for a particular bestiary* for many hours, and despite methodically searching row upon row of books, they had yet to come across it. Olihre had passed the hours by remaining silent and trying not to let the intentional heckling of a certain elf provoke him. Legolas, it seemed, had decided that the best way to pass his time would be to torment the young man aiding him in his search.

In reality, Olihre could have left long ago if he had wished, but he was actually somewhat humored by the light-hearted antics of the immortal menace above him, and frankly, he could think of no better way to spend his morning.

“In all honesty, I do not remember exactly what it looks like.” Legolas admitted after scrambling back down the ladder. Rubbing his hands together to dispel the dust that lingered on them, he shrugged his shoulders. “I only remember that it was bound in green cloth…but then, so are half of the books in this room. I recall no design or detail, nor even its size. As I told Gimli, it has been many decades since I have seen the book.”

Olihre nodded as he rose, kneading the back of his neck with his fingers. “What say we find some nourishment and give ourselves a well-earned break?”

Legolas bobbed his head as he retreated toward the door. “I told Gimli we would meet him for luncheon, and I daresay we have kept him waiting for a small time now-- not that he is likely to mind-- he has Eowyn and Lothiriel to keep him company.”

Wiping his hands on his brown trousers, Olihre jogged to catch up to the elf. “Indeed,” he called ahead, “how is it that we are left to search for a book all morning, while he is somehow fortunate enough to play handmaiden to the women?”

Legolas chuckled loudly and then turned, giving Olihre a blithe look before mumbling, “It is indeed a strange phenomenon, my friend. Somehow, though hairy and gruff as they are, dwarves possess an almost magical ability to woo women until they are complacent, and, dare I say, indulgent.”

Olihre shook his head forcefully as they paused just outside of the banquet hall doors. “Legolas, the picture you have just painted is somewhat disturbing. It is strange enough for me to think of Gimli with a female dwarf, much less a fair princess!”

“Not that indulgent!” Legolas hissed under his breath as he swatted Olihre playfully on the back of his head. The two were still grinning when they entered the room, though neither sported any blush.

“Aye, look out ladies…the elf is grinning…” Gimli grumbled as Legolas took a seat next to him.

“I don’t see anything wrong with grinning.” Lothiriel retorted as she helped herself to a serving of bread pudding. “In fact Gimli, I’d love to see YOU smile a bit more often.”

Gimli let out a loud ‘humf’ as all around the table laughed in apparent agreement.

It was Eowyn who restored some order to the table when she cleared her voice and looked adoringly at the dwarf. “But then he would have to trim that exquisite beard, and that would truly be a grievance.”

Olihre snorted as Gimli gave a satisfied smile. “Perhaps I should grow a shrub on MY face,” he proclaimed in Legolas’s direction.

Giving Olihre her most sympathetic look, Lothiriel shook her head. “It just wouldn’t be the same, my dear-- only a dwarf can sport such a fine beard.”

Olihre winked suggestively at the Princess of Dol Amroth. “I wager that if Eomer decided to let his already substantial beard grow out, you would likely dote on him just as much as you do Gimli.”

Emitting a breathy giggle, Lothiriel nodded her head. “Perhaps so, but I assure you, it would be for entirely different reasons.”

When nobody at the table challenged those reasons, Lothiriel turned back to Olihre and raised her eyebrows in victory.

“It seems I’ll never win!” Olihre laughed as he began to delve into his meal.

At that moment Eomer and Aragorn entered the room, with Arwen and Imrahil trailing in after them.

“Win at what?” Eomer asked, though the amused look that he gave Olihre indicated that he had heard the last bits of the conversation.

Lothiriel perceived as much and responded in jest. “It seems that Olihre considers me to be fickle in my adorations.”

“Oh really…” The King of Rohan began in an arrogant tone, “your adorations for whom?”

Before Lothiriel could reply, Gimli stood and issued an implied challenge that only the grunt of a dwarf could indicate. “For me, Horse Master.”

Legolas chose this moment to interject. “Not entirely true, Gimli,” he drawled, “not that it really matters. Why a woman would find facial hair attractive at all is beyond my vast understanding.”

The three women in the room each took a moment to give Legolas a withering glance; quite possibly the first he had ever received from any member of the fairer sex.

Raising his hands in resignation, Legolas hurried to change the subject. “Shouldn’t Gaviwyr be back by now?”

Eomer’s heart skipped a beat before he remembered that Xanthe was not present. Relaxing a bit, he addressed all in the room. “The wedding is tomorrow, and he did say he hoped to be back by then, but he wasn’t positive.”

Eomer glanced irresolutely at Olihre, whose face had become somewhat ruddy. “He had some things in Edoras that he needed to take care of.”

Legolas leaned back in his chair and interlaced his fingers behind his head. With a bumptious grin he alleged, “I would bet my bow that certain someone’s in this room know more than they are indicating.”

The King of Gondor suddenly found his somewhat perturbed spouse planted in front of him with her arms folded in front of her chest and her eyebrows arched in demanding expectation.

“What…” he laughed, albeit nervously. “…you don’t think I have anything to do with it…do you?”

“Darling,” he drawled in his most placating voice, “it hasn’t been long, but in our time together, I have learned the peril of withholding any information from you. I haven’t a clue as to why the Captain left.”

Arwen smiled wittingly and then turned to Eomer, who immediately felt as if a vice grip had been placed on his head.

Eomer looked down at his boots and tried to think of something clever to say. “Well, I haven’t been married to you as long as Aragorn, but…”

Arwen smiled dangerously and moved closer to Eomer. “What do you know, My Liege?”

Looking around at the others who stared expectantly at him, Eomer sighed. “In my defense, I didn’t find it for quite some time, and when I did, it just seemed…well…to perfect to pass up.”

Arwen shot a look of contempt towards the Horse Lord and then turned to Olihre. “I suppose you are in alliance with this one?” she motioned towards a grim looking Eomer.

Olihre quickly scolded himself for succumbing to Eomer’s persuasive argument. “It seemed like a good idea at the time…romantic even.”

All in the room watched as Eomer threw his hands up and flopped down on a chaise. “Fine! The secret is to be revealed, I suppose!” Looking Arwen unflinchingly in the eye, he continued. “Gaviwyr rode to Edoras to obtain permission to marry Xanthe.”

With this revelation, different reactions flew around the room. Eowyn and Lothiriel hugged each other, and then turned to Eomer, giving him enthusiastic looks. Gimli frowned and grumbled something to Legolas, who merely nodded his head, as if he had known all along. Aragorn and Imrahil raised their eyebrows at each other and then turned to Eomer, nodding their approval. Arwen was the only one in the room who did not seem overjoyed.

“Let me see if I understand this correctly,” she said through clenched teeth. “You have known Gaviwyr’s whereabouts this entire time, not to mention his intentions, and yet somehow, you have seen fit to leave your healer, your friend, in the dark?” Arwen’s voice rose to a near frantic pitch. “Have you not seen her suffering?”

“No!” she nearly shrieked, while never breaking eye contact with Eomer. “Did Gaviwyr ask you to conceal this information?”

Eomer shook his head. “He’ll be back soon and they’ll be together, that’s all that really matters. Besides, a little bit of longing can do wonders for a relationship.”

“So can a little bit of pain and distrust!” she shot back. “As far as Xanthe knows, she has been forgotten…left behind without a word. I hardly even know her, but it is obvious to me that she has dealt with more than her share of hardship.” Arwen turned to Olihre. “Can you honestly expect her to trust you after this?”

Olihre didn’t speak. Glancing back at Eomer, he shook his head and rubbed his fingers along the sides of his face.

Arwen took his silence to be submission and she lowered her voice accordingly. “Xanthe is not the only one who will suffer because of this. Gaviwyr trusted the two of you; he left his honor and oath in your hands, not to mention his future. What will he say when he comes back to find Xanthe furious? What if she won’t speak to him at all? Did he do anything to deserve such an outcome?”

Aragorn sensed that the point had been thoroughly made, and did not deem it wise to continue. Holding up his hand, he spoke. “I think we have said all that is necessary. No doubt Xanthe should be informed right away…before Gav comes back.”

Arwen looked at her husband appreciatively. “I will speak to her,” she offered.

“Nay,” Olihre said gravely, “I will, though I thank Her Majesty for the offer. This is my wrong doing, and I shall take full responsibility for it.”

Unable to shoulder the guilt any longer, Eomer stood and walked toward Olihre, putting a hand firmly on his shoulder.

“It is not your responsibility alone, for it was me who suggested the farce in the first place. I would offer to go to her myself, if not for the feeling in my heart. Your sister is not likely to want to hear from me again, and I do not know what comfort I could offer her.”

Olihre nodded and looked towards Arwen. “Have you any words of advice before I go to her?”

“I wish I did, young one, but I simply cannot see how you two could have been so blind. Perhaps she will understand, but it is beyond my comprehension.”

Olihre hung his head low and turned away, blinking back the stinging in his eyes. As he reached for the handle on the door, Arwen called to him.

“Olihre…your tears have touched me…perhaps she will benefit from their sincerity as well.”

Xanthe shut the door to her room quietly before turning and gliding down the hallway. As she reached the outer doors to the palace, she gripped her thin cloak more tightly and braced for the cold wind that she knew would meet her. The guards outside barely glanced at her as she passed, reaffirming her suspicion that nobody cared about her departure.

She had stopped in the library earlier to inform Olihre that she did not feel well, and did not expect to join them for luncheon. Inwardly, she had hoped that he would press the issue, but he had only smiled dispassionately at her and then looked away. Xanthe had felt something akin to regret; not realizing how much she appreciated her brother’s determined intervention in her life, until it was suddenly no longer there. I supposed I missed my chance…he can’t coddle me forever.

The fierce wind and biting cold offered Xanthe a strange respite as she battled her way across the courtyard. It’s nice to feel something…

For the past two weeks Xanthe had felt as though she were in a waking sleep. The pain of dismissal that she had originally been prone to, had quickly turned to an overwhelming lethargy. She felt neither happy nor sad. No pain, anger, regret or fear tormented her. Instead she felt nothing. It wasn’t denial, for she understood full well what had happened to her. She had dared venture out of her cocoon, only to be lured into a false sense of security and then promptly abandoned.

At first, the rapid complacency that had seized her was frightening, even to her newly dulled senses. It was a strange sensation, and if Xanthe could feel anything at all, it was a dislike for her newfound listlessness. She knew that she was supposed to feel angry, hurt, and sad. She had tried desperately to accomplish these emotions, even going so far as to scratch at the delicate parts of her wrists. The tears that followed would make her feel better for a moment, but she soon forgot the pain and was content to do no more than lie in her room and sleep. She stopped taking meals with the others, but their concern soon prompted her to at least accompany them, though neither the food nor the company gave her any comfort.

Finally, that very morning, Xanthe had discovered just enough energy to motivate some movement. I can’t keep doing this…it’s becoming unbearable. Her plan was not a solid one, nor did it have any final result-- she only knew that it would bring some sensation back into her life, and that was all she hoped for.

The morning fog was finally beginning to lift as she reached the stables. Xanthe was grateful for a young stable hand who was present, partly because she knew he would not dare oppose her ride, and also because she knew she didn’t have the energy to saddle a horse alone. Her limbs felt as heavy as the iron tools that hung on the stable walls as she swung onto her horse.

“Perhaps you should take this blanket…” the stable boy offered, holding out a tightly rolled parcel.

Xanthe forced a nod before watching him secure it to the back of her saddle. …though it will dull the sensation…

Mustering enough energy to smile appreciatively at the boy, Xanthe leaned into her horse and gave it a slight kick with her heel. As she rode out of the stable, she look around, inwardly wishing that someone had noted her absence, but no one seemed to. She was on her own.

Olihre sped from Xanthe’s empty room to the library, only to find that it was also empty.

He usually would have been slightly annoyed that she wasn’t where she had said she would be, but in this case, he knew he had no right. He had betrayed his sister’s trust, and that fact alone was enough to make Olihre feel nauseous.

Eomer had convinced him that in order to achieve the full effect of their surprise, they should try to remain somewhat distant from Xanthe, allowing her to think that they were unconcerned about Gaviwyr’s disappearance. Olihre had been hesitant to do this, knowing that his sister was already a very introverted person. He didn’t want years of his gentle coaxing to be undone by a foolish plan. Eomer was persuasive, however, and had eventually won Olihre over to his plan.

Over time, Olihre’s concern had faded away. Xanthe didn’t seem to be dwelling upon anything in particular, nor was she the wreck that he had feared she would be. She was quiet and kept to herself most of the time, but that was nothing new. The only time that he had truly worried about her was when she had stopped taking meals. When he had asked her about it, in as unconcerned a way as possible, she had dismissed his worries and insisted that she was merely dealing with ‘feminine issues.’

But now, as Olihre sped from room to room, finding no sign of his sister, a previously subdued nagging entered the back of his mind.

…Xanthe doesn’t deal with things in a healthy way…she stays silent until everything builds up, and then she acts out…who will she go to if I distance myself from her…

All these thoughts had entered Olihre’s mind at some point during the past two weeks, and as he thought about them now, he realized how stupid he had been to ignore them. I believed what I wanted to believe, not what I knew to be true.

Finally, after searching all of the rooms he could imagine Xanthe visiting, Olihre returned to the banquet hall.

“How did she take it?” Gimli asked, surprised at how quickly Olihre had returned.

Eomer paled drastically and Aragorn nodded to the guards at the door. “Begin an organized search of the palace and grounds.” Then turning to Olihre, he attempted to smile comfortingly. “I’m sure she’s around.”

Olihre only nodded and took a seat next to Legolas, who looked upon him with obvious pity shining in his eyes.

“Relax, my friend. This is but a small matter in the grand scheme of things. Soon you will look back on this situation and laugh, I am sure of it.”

“Elven wisdom,” Olihre jested, though his voice was flat and his features held no mirth.

Several minutes passed and polite conversation fluttered about, though none in the room felt slighted when the doors flew open and the guards interrupted them noisily.

“Sire,” one of them began, “the stable hand reports that the young lady whom you seek left on a horse almost an hour ago.”

“Did she indicate her intentions?” Aragorn asked, concern etched in his noble features.

“Because she didn’t speak, Your Majesty…and also because her movements were labored and slow.”

The man faltered slightly, as if afraid to say what he knew he must. “He said that she was hardly dressed appropriately for the cold. She had only a house cloak on, though he did offer her a blanket, which she accepted.”

This news obviously concerned Aragorn, who looked fearfully towards Eomer. Neither man spoke as they considered their next step.

Legolas couldn’t understand why they were hesitating. “We must search for her! It is already the season of frost; she should not be out so ill-prepared!”

Aragorn nodded, first to his Lieutenant, and then to Legolas. “I agree, though I am not sure we should make a large affair of it. If Xanthe is merely off for a short ride, I doubt she will appreciate the undue attention brought by a full-scale search.”

“Olihre and I will go,” Legolas insisted, taking the young man’s arm and hauling him up beside him. “If we are not back by sunset, you may rest assured that a full-scale search IS needed.”

Without another word, the two dashed out of the hall and headed to their separate rooms. They both dressed warmly, adding several extra layers in case an overnight stay was required. Legolas packed a good portion of way-bread, a gift that Arwen had brought for him on her last trip from Lorien. Olihre made sure to bring extra clothing for Xanthe, as well as some rudimentary healing implements.

When Legolas entered the stables, Olihre was already there, reigns in hand, ready to begin the search. As they rode out together, following the faint tracks that Legolas’s sharp eyes discovered on the ground, there was an impending sense of urgency. Though neither voiced their concern to the other, it was obvious throughout the heavy silence that something was wrong.

Olihre took deep breaths, attempting to will his heart into a steady beat. Forgive me…

Gaviwyr arched his back and flexed all of his known muscles, shifting uncomfortably atop his steed. He knew that he should have stopped for the night, allowing himself and his four legged companion some much needed rest, but his anxiousness to reach Minas Tirith in time for Eowyn’s wedding, coupled with his desire to see Xanthe, had bade him press on.

A light snow had begun falling a few hours past dawn on this last day of his return trip, and despite its wet chill, Gaviwyr still felt a strangely delightful burning in his chest. Allowing his horse to lead him as he had successfully done for the majority of the trip, Gaviwyr reflected upon the last few weeks of his life; weeks that he knew would change forever who he was and what he would become.

After his initial appeal to Xanthe’s mother, which had been surprisingly fortuitous, the family had insisted that he stay the night at their home, and not leave for Minas Tirith until the morning. Gaviwyr had naively assumed that they understood his fatigue and were providing him with the opportunity to rest. He soon saw, however, that rest was not likely to come, and that if indeed they were mindful of his fatigue, it was obviously not a priority to them.

He was set upon immediately by Ysenia, obliged to tell her all about himself. Her questions ranged from where he was born, how he had become Captain, and what his family did for a living-- she even went so far as to coyly inquire as to his courting habits.

Gaviwyr was understandably nervous at first, worried primarily about saying something that would make Xanthe’s mother change her mind regarding his worthiness to court her daughter. Soon enough though, he found that he was chatting away almost as easily with her as he would with Eomer, which was not necessarily a good thing.

Throughout this interrogation session, Xanthe’s aunt and uncle had been diligent hosts. Noradol had taken care of Gaviwyr’s horse while Corla had seen to getting him fed and cleaned up, even offering him some of Olihre’s clean clothing, since he had not had the foresight to pack any. This offer left Gaviwyr grinning as he remembered his own offer of clothing to Olihre in Minas Tirith, when the boy found that he had packed nothing suitable for a formal dinner.

As much as Gaviwyr enjoyed spending time with Xanthe’s family, he also realized rather disconcertingly that they now knew more about him than Xanthe did. Even more unsettling was when Ysenia started asking him about her daughter, forcing Gaviwyr to confront the fact that he hardly new anything about her either. Other than the fact that she was strong-willed and curiously emotional.

As he rode now with his head down to avoid the crystalline flakes, Gaviwyr resolved to spend some actual time getting to know Xanthe before he asked for her hand.

“After all, she hardly knows me.” he said to his horse, who ignored him entirely and continued its brisk trot.

Xanthe had been riding hard for some time, allowing the edge of the White Mountains to be her guide. Exactly what they were guiding her to, she wasn’t sure, she only knew that the longer she rode, the colder she became, and the more alive she felt.

Through the increasingly heavy snowfall she could see the sun making its way to its peak position in the sky, telling her that her presence had surely been missed by now.

Legolas stifled a low growl in the back of his throat and turned patiently to Olihre. “We ARE exceptionally good my friend, but there is only so much one can ascertain from a heavily used road that has been recently covered in a virgin snowfall.”

Olihre turned red at this comprehensive response. He looked at Legolas ruefully, and offered him the most apologetic glance he could muster. He knew that he had been a rather troublesome traveling companion for the past few hours, and that the elf had been exceedingly long-suffering with him. He was going almost mad with worry over his little sister, and he had inadvertently found that the elf made just as good a target for his frustration as any other would.

Legolas twisted his mouth into an apprehensive expression before shaking his head. “If she did I fear we will not find her. The heavy snow has covered any tracks that she may have left.”

He didn’t need to say anymore. Olihre knew what this meant-- if his sister had ventured from the road at any time, she was on her own. They couldn’t possibly guess where she might be along the immense mountain range. “Let’s hope she wasn’t so foolish.”

Gaviwyr’s horse shuddered beneath him. “Easy boy, we’re near enough, just a few hours more.”

The snow that had once been falling lightly was now swirling wildly about them as they struggled along the muddy road. As if in reply to Gaviwyr’s urging, the horse threw its head back in protest and halted right where it was. None of Gaviwyr’s prodding could convince the beast to continue forward, and finally Gaviwyr was forced to dismount and take the reigns in his hands.

Though Gaviwyr was frustrated by this inconvenient delay, he also understood his companion’s hesitancy to continue. The wind that had kicked up was savage and unrelenting, and the horse’s mane was nearly frozen stiff. In reality, Gaviwyr felt somewhat guilty for leading his steed into such a predicament.

“It’s an early storm, boy…I didn’t see it coming.” Gaviwyr soothed as he reached up and massaged his steed’s ears, trying to restore some warmth to them. As he did so he realized that he was rather cold as well, though the numbness that had spread over him had prevented him from realizing it.

He patted the horse on the nose and urged him towards the gradual incline that descended from the road to the mountains beyond. The distance was not so far, but the frequent ravines and icy streams made the journey an arduous one.

Gaviwyr was thankful for a steed who seemed to possess as much common sense and foresight as any human. The horse seemed to understand that he was being led to shelter, and therefore he cooperated fully, even under such dire conditions.

A half an hour later, his shoes soaking wet, and his hair frozen stiff, Gaviwyr led his horse into a sheltered alcove up against the side of the rocky bluffs that formed the base of the enormous White Mountain range. Gaviwyr left his packs tied to the horse, knowing that it would provide at least some warmth and protection. He then sat with his back against the rocks, the cliff providing relief from the wind and snow.

“Just a little while…” he yawned as he relented to the cold numbness that lulled him into a hazy slumber.

Xanthe may not have been fully aware of what she planned to do once she left the road, but she did know she hadn’t been planning on dying. The biting cold that had brought such relief to Xanthe’s dulled senses, also served to rejuvenate her mind, which was now frantically trying to decide what to do.

Xanthe looked towards the mountains on her right, searching for a place where she might find relief from the blowing snow and wind. The slopes of the mountain where she was were too gradual to provide any relief; however, as she peered ahead through the blizzard, she saw that the slopes gradually turned to rocky cliffs.

“We can make it,” she said to her half-frozen mare. “Just a little ways further.”

“The sun will be setting in a few hours; they’ll surely come to harm in this storm!”

“Eomer, we have to keep our wits about us…panicking will serve no purpose.”

“Surely Aragorn, but sitting complacently while those I love are suffering is not my idea of wisdom.”

Lothiriel had been listening silently to the men for long enough. “Eomer,” she began, as she walked towards him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “It is plain to me that you will not relax as long as you are here. Why not ride out and find them?”

Aragorn felt a slight annoyance towards this woman who obviously didn’t understand the harshness of reality. “The slight frost that you observed this morning, My Lady, is now a fully formed blizzard. If we ride out now, there is a very good chance that we will be disabled.”

“Nay, we do all that we can to prepare for their return…here.” Aragorn understood the concerns of the others, but he also considered himself to be superiorly experienced in these matters, and he wished that they would heed his advice and be calm.

Not her too… Aragorn pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. “I would ask that everyone please sit!” Realizing that it had sounded more a demand than a request, he continued, “Please, just sit for a moment and hear my thoughts.”

Obvious strain, and even a bit of hostility hung in the air before anyone moved. Aragorn wondered if he had gone too far by using such a commanding tone with such distinguished persons. Relief swept through him however when he saw Lothiriel sit, beckoning for Eowyn to join her.

Imrahil and Arwen sat also, which left Eomer, who finally nodded his head in compliance and collapsed next to Gimli, who had stayed peculiarly silent throughout.

“It seems you still command the loyalty off all men, My King.” Arwen said in a dangerously low voice.

Aragorn was hardly comfortable with so many important eyes awaiting his judgment. “So it seems, though I assure you, I do not relish this position.” He waited a moment before continuing. “I do not want to sound cold or callous to any of you, for I know you each care for those who are departed in your own way. I merely ask you to put your faith in our friends. Legolas would certainly have seen the storm coming, and he and Olihre are no doubt sheltering from it right now.”

Aragorn looked thoughtfully at the Princess, “They have likely come upon her, and she is probably in their care as we speak.” He hesitated and looked at Eomer before continuing. “If they have not found her by now, we certainly cannot hope to ride out in a blizzard and do any better.”

Gimli chose this moment to break his stoic silence. “All of these ‘probably’s’ and ‘likely’s’ do not sit well with me Aragorn! I have traveled with Legolas for some time, and know him to be competent, but I would not leave the value of his life resting on a ‘maybe!’”

Arwen could not help but smile. “When he returns, Master Dwarf, you can tell him that, for he WILL return.”

Aragorn was thankful for his wife’s ability to read other’s emotions and to pacify them, though he wasn’t sure how well it would work with this exceedingly complex dwarf.

“In truth Gimli, there was a time when I would have been the first to ride out into danger and do what I could. Sitting still would have been my death, not my strategy. But now, there are others to think about as well. Can Eomer and I ride out and leave those we love behind, fearing for our safety? Nay friend, not unless it was our last option.”

Eomer blushed slightly as his eyes instantly found Lothiriel and Eowyn. “As much as I spurn the notion, I must admit, it is true. There are others to think of”

Gimli had evidently had enough. “Well I have no one to think of but myself and my own selfish desire to see my friend again, whole and unfrozen!”

Aragorn knew what Gimli was about to do, and he held his hand up in protest. “Gimli, before you speak, understand that we could never allow you to go out on your own. If you choose to go, you are requiring us to go with you!”

Suddenly the faces of Lothiriel, Eowyn and Arwen were turned towards Gimli, each speaking volumes without a word.

Gimli felt the unnatural pressure of these sirens bearing down on him as his face turned red and his temper turned even redder. “Oh, be gone with you all! I will just have to wait for a time when you’ve got your backs turned!”

Olihre could only hear bits of what Legolas was yelling to him, but if the elf was feeling as he was right now, he was sure that he also understood their need to find cover.

Legolas had been eyeing the horizon all morning, and sometime around noon he had announced matter-of-factly that a large storm was coming. Olihre had immediately turned his horse towards the mountains on his right, but Legolas has stayed him, insisting that they still had time before it hit, and that they should continue their search for Xanthe as long as they could. Either the storm had approached faster than Legolas had guessed it would, or Olihre had misinterpreted his meaning of “time,” for they were now in a full scale blizzard.

“This way!” he called to Legolas, who was battling with the wind that was whipping his hair all about, making it difficult to see anything. He valiantly fought to control his horse with one hand, while holding his locks out of the way with the other.

“Quickly…horses…disturbed!” Legolas called ahead as he directed his horse towards Olihre’s distant form.

The two struggled onward, knowing that they were making hardly any progress at all, despite the energy and time they were devoting.

“…terrain…too difficult!” Legolas shouted to Olihre, whose horse was complaining loudly about having to cross a frozen stream after having just slid all the way down a steep embankment.

Bringing his horse along side of Olihre’s, Legolas spoke directly into his ear. “If we continue on foot, we’ll make better time, but the horses may get lost and freeze to death!” Legolas’s voice was becoming rough and his throat burned from the constant yelling.

Olihre shook his head. “If Xanthe’s hurt, we’ll need them; we’ve got to continue!”

“I agree, but let’s cut diagonally, the stream narrows further down, we can cross more easily when we get there!”

Olihre nodded his head in consent and guided his horse parallel to the stream. Several minutes later they were still fighting their way forward when Legolas suddenly shot past Olihre on his horse, holding his arm out behind him, motioning for him to halt.

“What is it?” Olihre yelled, licking his chapped lips and rubbing his frozen hands together.

Legolas felt his heart stop beating. His stomach was a mess of tangles and knots worse than his hair as he turned back to Olihre. “There’s a horse in the stream, up ahead,” he muttered.

The words were lost in the tempest, prompting Olihre to move closer to Legolas. When he came within arms length of his friend, he opened his mouth to ask again, but before he could, his weary eyes caught sight of something that left him paralyzed.

“No!” he cried, before turning away in terror. Legolas swiftly grabbed the reigns from his hands, leading Olihre’s horse some fifty yards further downstream.

As they approached the horrible sight, Legolas turned tearfully towards Olihre. “Perhaps I should look first…”

Olihre did not reply. Launching himself off the horse, he ran to the edge of the water, throwing himself down on his hands and knees as he crawled towards the beast.

The thin ice over the stream was broken harshly, revealing only the left side of the horse. Its head and legs were underwater, serving as a breaking point for the fast current that swept quickly by.

“Olihre, no-- it won’t hold you!” Legolas was running as fast as he could with the snow blowing in his face.

Olihre heard what Legolas said, but did not have the energy to reply. His attention and energy was focused solely on getting to what he was sure would be the frozen body of his sister, pinned underneath he horse.

“Olihre!” This time Legolas was closer. He leaned over and grabbed Olihre by the back of his cloaked, hauling him up in what seemed like an impossible feat for one so lean.

Nearly tossing him back onto solid ground, Legolas yelled, “The ice will not break under me, stay here!”

Olihre was beyond words. He felt the bitter bile of horror rising up within him as he leaned over and expelled his stomach’s contents into the snow beside him. Collapsing into the snow, Olihre broke into uncontrolled sobs, broken here and there by gasps for air that stung his lungs.

Legolas tried to block out the sounds of his friend’s anguish as he carefully treaded towards the dead horse. Focus…listen to the life around you…do not let your emotions distract you from this danger… Legolas’s promptings were soon forgotten when he reached the horse and peered beneath the waters surface. Eru, no!

Gaviwyr had been resting fitfully, forcing himself awake every few minutes to make sure his horse was still standing. He knew that if the creature sat down, its would not likely rise again.

As he opened his eyes for what seemed like the hundredth time in an hour, he saw the rear of his horse some ways off, far beyond the shelter of the cliff walls. What is that infernal beast doing?

He scrambled to his feet and brushing the snow off his backside. His eyes were glued to his horse, who in turn seemed to be watching something with rapt attention. “What is wrong with y…”

Gaviwyr had to shake his head to make sure what he thought he was seeing was actually there. Some ways beyond the horse was the form of a woman, collapsed into a mass of wet clothing, half buried by a deep snowdrift.

The woman held no shape, nor was her face visible through the dark hair that was matted against her body, and yet somehow, Gaviwyr knew immediately who she was. “Xanthe!”

The deathly pale woman made no movement or sound as she was shaken roughly by the frantic man hovering over her. “Xanthe wake up!”

Gaviwyr pulled her long frame into his arms and ran with her to the shelter of the cliffs, stumbling painfully along the way, but taking no notice of his own pain. When he reached the cliff he lowered her onto the ground for a moment as he pulled his cloak off and wrapped it around her nearly bare frame. After doing so, he lifted her again and pulled her into his lap, rubbing his fingers harshly over her face and arms.

Gaviwyr would have though her dead, the stiffness of her body and lifelessness of her face indicating as much, but he could faintly feel her chest rising and falling as he worked to restore warmth to her limbs.

As he frantically administered to her, he could see out of the corner of his eye that his horse had returned and was now standing watchfully before them, as if he were a worried family member or a friend. “If only you could speak…” Gaviwyr mumbled without much thought, “…I’d send you for help.”

The horse snorted loudly, releasing a cloud of steam from its nostrils. It stamped its feet in indecision for a moment before turning and walking away, changing direction various times before finally choosing one it liked and following it.

Gaviwyr hardly even noticed that his horse had gone, so concerned was he for the being in his arms. Her breathing had become even more shallow, and his rubbing seemed to be doing nothing to relax her seized muscles. Gaviwyr himself was beginning to feel dizzy. The cold in the air was burning his nostril and throat, and the wet form on top of him was adding to his discomfort.

In desperation Gaviwyr began shouting, pounding his fists into the snow beside him. His breath finally caught in his throat and choked him until he was coughing wildly, clutching Xanthe’s shoulders as his body convulsed. Tears came to his eyes as he leaned over her face and pressed his cheek to hers. “…why are you here…why…why are you here…”

Much thanks to Daisyprincess who has the difficult job of making sense of my words.

Geylof had been pacing restlessly in his quarters all day, awaiting any news as to the whereabouts of his dear friend and former patient. His wife had initially scorned him for his inability to remain composed, citing that restlessness was not a trait that should be found among the elvish. Soon enough though she had found that she too was far more jittery than a proper elf should be. In an attempt to shelter her husband from her fretful temperament, and in an effort to regain her pride, Lailei had insisted on resigning to the House of Healing, making preparations for the search party’s return.

Geylof’s attention was now focused on his feet as he paced, hands behind his back, brow creased with worry. The barely audible patter of his footfalls had lulled him into a sort of trance, which was rudely interrupted by a rough pounding at his door. Cracking it open ever so slightly, his nose wrinkled involuntarily when he saw what he remembered to be a rather loud and bothersome Child of Aule.

“Yes?” he asked hurriedly, eager to be rid of the dwarf as soon as possible so that he could get back to antagonizing the floor.

Gimli was not oblivious to the elf’s dislike of him, but at the moment, he hadn’t the time to give one of his biting responses. “Aragorn wants you in the throne room,” he said simply. When Geylof did nothing but stare back at him, he added in a rather demanding tone, “Now!”

If not for his worry about Xanthe, Geylof would have refused to accompany such an abrupt creature, but the severity of the situation demanded his haste, and his sense of duty won over his pride.

The two made their way quickly through the narrow stone halls, neither speaking, both focused on their own fair haired friends. Minutes later, a thoroughly drenched stable hand ushered them quickly into the throne room.

Aragorn had been speaking in hushed tones to Arwen, who was looking rather like a marinated elf; her sopping wet hair clinging to her sopping wet clothing, clinging to her sopping wet frame. When they saw the Lorien elf enter, they both rose, and walked quickly towards him.

“My Lord, has she been found?” Geylof’s eyes were sweeping back and forth, seeking any sign of Xanthe or her proposed rescuers.

Aragorn clapped a hand on the elf’s shoulder and shook his head gravely. “No, but a horse has returned to us…Gaviwyr’s horse.”

Geylof wasn’t prepared for such a change in the conversation. He looked rather apathetically at Aragorn and raised his shoulders. “I do not understand, My Lord.”

“Gaviwyr did not return with his horse,” Arwen interjected. “When I went to the horse it spoke of danger, but I cannot understand its full message. We thought perhaps you could try…”

“Of course,” Geylof breathed in disappointment, “Lead me to it, please.”

The warmth of the stables was a welcome relief to the assemblage, who were all rather chilled after having trudged thought the deep snow drifts. The brown stallion stood outside of its stall, shoulders slumped and head hung low, its icy mane only just beginning to thaw out.

Arwen nodded “He was in a cold sweat when he first arrived; he seems to have run a very long way, in a very short time.”

Geylof nodded absently and advanced slowly towards the horse, hands held out in front of him, whispering soothing words in elvish as he went. With great effort, the horse raised its head and looked mournfully at the golden elf. When Geylof came within arms reach of him, the steed stepped forward and placed his weary head upon his shoulder. Geylof received this gesture by wrapping his arms around the horse’s neck and whispering more soothing words. After several minutes of quiet interaction, Geylof pulled away, leading the horse by the reigns into the capable hands of the stable boy.

“Take care of this one,” he impressed upon the lad, “he has done a great deed.”

“What do you know?” Arwen almost whispered, noting the pale color that had spread over her kin’s face.

“A girl has been found by the horse’s master. She appeared dead, though the beast seemed to wonder why he would continue administering to her if she was.”

“Sheltered by a cliff, somewhere-- it is all I could ascertain.” Geylof paused briefly, shaking his head. “Keep in mind that the horse would only have left its master if it knew him to be in such a condition that he could not ride.”

“Or if Gaviwyr sent him back-- this horse is of the Rohirrim, he is intelligent and loyal.” Arwen was stroking the muzzle of the horse.

Turning to the stable hand, Aragorn queried, “Can this steed take us to his master?”

The boy looked burdened, as if he sorely regretted having to make any judgment calls. “He can hardly stand, My Lord; he has made a great sacrifice to come here.”

Aragorn nodded. “This information is enough to grant Gimli’s wishes. We will ride out now; we cannot wait until morning.”

Mixed emotions fluttered across Arwen’s face as she nodded acquiescently. “Let us off then, we haven’t time to waste.”

Olihre didn’t know whether to feel excitement or dread when Legolas pulled his arm out of the icy water with only a sodden cloak in his hand. Before he had a chance to urge his dry mouth into speech, Legolas turned to him and shook his head.

The weight of Legolas’s voice was a shock to Olihre, who had only ever seen him calm and serene, even in the midst of the snowstorm. The slight tremor he heard there mirrored the tears of relief that poured from his own eyes.

“This is joyful news, Olihre, but it also means that she is out there somewhere,” he inclined his head towards the looming mountainside. “She will be cold and wet. We must find her soon.”

Olihre finally mastered his emotions and nodded vigorously, scrambling quickly to his feet and starting towards his horse. “Let’s go then,” he began determinedly, his resolve firmly set.

When he glanced back over his shoulder, he found Legolas still kneeling on the ice, his lean body bent over the horse, his head lowered in grief. He could hear him whispering what sounded like a prayer. Feeling both foolish and impatient at the same time, Olihre trudged back towards the two figures, stopping at the edge of the thin crust of ice.

When Legolas finally looked up, he was somewhat surprised to see Olihre kneeling silently, and even more shocked when he broke into his own, rather loud petition. He listened as the young man thanked the horse for his sacrifice, smiling when Olihre added, “…though it was hardly necessary.” His smile hastened to a modest blush when Olihre fervently thanked the Valar for his elven friend, who had “risked his own life so selflessly.” After pleading for the successful return of his sister, Olihre opened his eyes and looked at Legolas, a sheepish smile on his face.

“Your benediction was both sincere and appropriate.” Legolas assured him as he took his arm and helped him to his feet. “The Valar will look down on us.”

Olihre could feel the muscles in Legolas’s wet arm clench violently, and he felt a stab of guilt. The two quickly mounted their steeds, who were becoming more sluggish by the minute. Making their way further down the river, they finally crossed where it became narrow enough.

Xanthe could feel the distant warmth of arms around her…a warm breath on her face…she could even hear the pleading of a man somewhere near her, but try as she might, she could not will her eyes to open. Though her body was immobile, and her heart barely sounded, her brain was still functioning; in fact, it was racing in an attempt to explain what was going on around her.

Who is this man, and of whom does he speak? Xanthe could not meld together the conditions surrounding her, nor could she make sense of where she was, or why she felt so cold. Her brain continued on in its frenzied quest, mulling over random words and images in her head, until a picture began to form. snow…ice…water…my horse!

Suddenly her body went rigid, every muscle strained beneath her wet clothing, pulling at her joints, begging them to function. Tightly grasping arms around her loosened in concern and Xanthe’s body seized the opportunity, shooting upright. The second her weight was realized upon her tired and injured bones, she sunk back down again, pain shooting into every fiber of her body.

Who’s here? Xanthe though frantically, contorting her facial muscles wildly until her eyes finally opened. The brightness of the light reflected upon the snow bore into Xanthe’s aching head like a serrated knife, causing her to snap them shut again. She attempted to raise her arm over her eyes, but found that the stranger’s weight had them pinned across her chest.

Testing her weight again, she struggled against the man, finally managing to wiggle her arms free of his hold. Once liberated, she pushed fiercely against him, rolling out of his lap and onto the cold ground. Turning her face away from the stinging snow, she threw her arms in front of her face and opened her eyes again. From beneath her forearms, she could see the torso of a man hovering above her.

If her senses were not already overloaded with painful recollections, they most certainly were now. At the mention of that name, her heart fell. Suddenly the cold afflicted her no more, nor did the throbbing in her head and limbs. She allowed her arms to drop to her side for a moment, allowing a brief glimpse before bringing her hands back up to cover her face.

“Xan?” Gaviwyr was confused. The movement he had witnessed earlier attested to Xanthe’s lucidity, but she still did not speak. “Can you hear me, Love?”

“Love?” Xanthe croaked, turning her head away from his voice and rolling her body to follow it. “How can you say that?”

The fears that Gaviwyr had previously put aside as foolish suddenly rushed back to him. “I beg your forgiveness. I am a senseless man; I knew not what I was doing.”

The extremity of her condition obviously did nothing to dull Xanthe’s tongue. “You abandon so easily…is it second nature then?”

“Abandon?” Gaviwyr had expected accusations, but none so inane. “I would never…what do you speak of?”

“You would have me make myself even more vulnerable through an answer you already know!” She was spitting fire now.

“Xanthe, please! I know I should have come to you first, but I was nervous and excited...I knew you would be angry initially, but I thought surely by now you would be glad.”

“Glad? Glad of what?” Xanthe’s vulnerability soon became vindictive spite. “I suppose I SHOULD be glad to be rid of you! Yes, in fact, it seems you’ve done me a favor!”

“Rid of me? Please, woman, settle down and speak sensibly, I haven’t the slightest idea of what you speak. Didn’t Eomer tell you?”

“He told me that you must have had good reason for leaving…” Xanthe’s voice trailed off.

Gaviwyr looked expectantly at her, waiting for her to continue. “And?” he prompted.

She turned back to Gaviwyr and narrowed her eyes. “And he tried to reassure me that you still cared.”

This information would not have troubled Gaviwyr if not for its finality. “That cannot be all that he said, surely.”

Gaviwyr could not believe what he was hearing. “Eomer would never…” he wavered, looking towards Xanthe with disbelief written across his features. “Has he tried…I mean…have you two…?” The words would not come. They were too ridiculous to even consider.

Gaviwyr looked at her closely, noting the contrast between her bluish lips and pale white face. Her whole body convulsed with the cold, causing her to wince in pain at almost predictable intervals. He longed to put his arms around her, to lend her his own body heat, but the trouble in his mind would not allow him to ignore her present questioning.

“You left no note.” The words spilled from her mouth as if bitter to the taste.

As Gaviwyr let out a breath of air, all of his admiration and trust in his friend went with it. “How could he?” he whispered.

“How could he what?” Xanthe nearly screamed, her shrill voice echoing off the limestone behind her.

Despite his pain and confusion, Gaviwyr couldn’t restrain the slightest of smiles from creeping onto his face. That untamed temper and fierce independence was what he so loved about this woman. Apparently I’m not the only one…

“In the note,” he cleared his voice, “I told Eomer that I was returning to Edoras on important business. I didn’t state anything outright, but Eomer knew full well what I was going to do-- I asked him to explain it to you.”

“I spoke with your family, Xanthe. Your mother gave me her blessing. I was going to ask…I was going to ask for your hand.”

“You were going to?” Her quivering voice put emphasis on the paste tense of the statement.

“You do not seem in the disposition to be wooed, My Lady.” Gav tried not to smile, knowing that a misplaced grin could set off Xanthe’s delicate temper.

“Indeed I am not,” she began impatiently, but as soon as she met his eyes, Gaviwyr knew that he was forgiven, though he really hadn’t done anything wrong.

“Perhaps when you are warm and dry…and fully clothed, you will allow me to solicit your attentions?” His voice was teasing and light, though his concern still showed in his eyes.

“What was that?” Legolas queried, cocking his head to the side to better catch the sound.

“What do you hear?” Olihre bent forward on his steed, but could ascertain nothing.

“A woman’s voice…shrill…angry.” Legolas turned his horse sharply to the right, increasing his pace as he turned to Olihre behind him. “She is alive.”

The relief that flooded Olihre’s heart was akin to nothing he had ever felt. If not for the desire to see his sister, he would have fallen off his horse right then and there. The anxiety and pressure that had overwhelmed him that day had caused him greater exhaustion than he had ever known. “She is alive,” he repeated.

“Yes,” Legolas answered, though he knew the statement was not directed towards him. “But who is she talking to, or more aptly put, who is she yelling at?”

Olihre could think of several people who his sister would currently be prone to berating. He was one of them, no doubt about that, as was Eomer, who was still in Minas Tirith.

Legolas nodded, as though the thought had already occurred to him. “If it is he, she will be well taken care of.”

As they rode quickly towards the cliff, the now reticent voices became audible to Olihre’s human ears as well. The cliff acted as a sounding board, magnifying any words, making them sound as if they were coming from a hundred places at once. Legolas was able to pinpoint the source, and he confidently steered his horse through the ever driving snow, until in the distance, they could both make out the shape of two people huddled together against the rock.

Aragorn could not explain the feelings coursing through his body and mind. Part of him knew that his friends were in danger, suffering the extreme climate as well as enduring concern for each other. But another part of him felt a calmness that he couldn’t pinpoint. While he had a profound respect and trust in his friend’s abilities, deep down he knew that was not the source of his composure.

“They’ll be fine.” He said aloud, though in the tempest surrounding his two companions, nobody heard.

Wow, it took me four chapters just to describe the events of one day! You guys must be terribly bored by now, I know I am. Right, well, this chapter ends the Xanthe/Gaviwyr drama, making room for lots of Olihre drama. His drama will feature a particular elf and dwarf, but you will have to stay tuned to the next chapter before you learn why. Thanks to my Beta, Daisyprincess!

An unladylike groan escaped Xanthe’s blue lips as she turned and buried her head in Gaviwyr’s tunic. “Can we just feign ignorance and move on, please?”

Gaviwyr rolled his eyes playfully, an effect completely lost on the shivering girl burrowing into his chest. “I AM ignorant, and I would LOVE to move on, but I am afraid my conscience won’t allow it. I simply don’t understand why you are out here…alone…in a blizzard.”

The emphasis on his words was not overlooked by Xanthe, who raised her head only long enough to give him a rather weak look of indignation. Then, back into his tunic she whimpered, “I was not myself.”

Gaviwyr was fairly sure that he understood what had happened, though he still could not believe that Xanthe would be so foolish. “In a blizzard?” he repeated.

Gaviwyr was about to pry her for more information when he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. His grip instinctively tightened around the bundle in his arms as he narrowed his eyes against the brilliant light of the sunset.

When she felt him tense, Xanthe sat up quickly, peering into his eyes for an explanation. “What is it?”

The look of shock on his face soon turned to a smile as Gaviwyr took Xanthe by the cheeks and planted a firm kiss on her lips. Pulling away quickly, he pointed behind her. “It’s Legolas, and your brother!”

Xanthe turned sharply, shielding her eyes with the back of her hand. The sight was one of the most welcome in her life, though she knew that she would soon have a lot of uncomfortable explaining to do. Waving to the two on horseback, she turned back to Gaviwyr, excitement warming her veins. The smile she had seen earlier however, had been replaced with a look of puzzlement, and then quickly transformed into a grim frown.

Gaviwyr felt his heart plummet to his gut as he tried to determine what to say next. “In my shock and frustration regarding Eomer, I completely overlooked another obvious clue in our puzzle.”

When he paused for a moment, Xanthe put her arms around him and stroked the nape of his neck comfortingly. “What, Gav?”

“What?” Xanthe cried, releasing Gav’s neck and crossing her arms in front of her chest.

Gaviwyr nodded. “I can understand why Eomer would have motive to deceive us, but why Olihre?”

“I thought the shrieking had stopped?” Olihre was suddenly less than excited to see his sister. His initial concern for her well-being was quickly replaced with the dread of having to confess his actions to her.

“You’re not helping,” Olihre really didn’t need any help from the elf right now; he was already doing a fine job of digging his own grave.

Gimli was in the lead, showing an adeptness than none had ever seen when it came to him and horses. Eomer and Aragorn were trailing behind him, and neither was complaining of the slight windshield that he so conveniently created.

They had been traveling for some time when they came across two sets of hoof prints. After concurring that they belonged to Olihre and Legolas, it was decided that they should follow them as far as they could, their goal being to reunite their group before continuing the rescue mission.

The sun was beginning to set when they came upon the wretched horse in the water, its body even further encased in the ever hardening ice surrounding it. Gimli had moved to jump from his horse, but was stopped when Aragorn pointed downstream.

The three companions continued silently, their eyes never straying from the nearly invisible tracks heading away from the poor animal. At a narrowing of the stream, they could see where two horses had finally crossed in safety, and they themselves followed in the same fate. Once across, the footprints became easier to read, for the cliffs not far beyond provided a back wind, which formed massive snowdrifts, one after another.

The silence in the group was unbearable. While any bystander may have expected a tearful reunion of sorts, none was to be had here or now. Legolas had been the first to greet the two soggy figures huddled against the rocks, but his hearty greeting had been met with cold stares. The elf knew when to excuse himself, and he promptly did just that, reasoning that he wanted to get a better view of their return path from atop the cliffs.

Olihre had wanted to rush to his sister’s side and embrace her, but Gaviwyr held her tightly, protecting her as a hound would his feast. Fearing that he was likely to get his fingers snapped off if he approached her, Olihre held firm to his position, sitting atop his horse, a good ten feet from any rabid creatures.

The three humans stared at each other for some time, each willing the other to speak first. Finally, when Olihre could no longer take the chill, he launched himself from his horse, landing upon his feet only to drop immediately to his knees.

“I know I don’t deserve to be heard by either of you, but please, I beg you, at least allow me to apologize.”

Gaviwyr’s jaw trembled with tension, his lips held in a tight line. Xanthe looked away from her brother’s eyes and fixed hers instead upon his shoes. When Olihre saw that they were not about to stop him, he proceeded to explain, looking directly at Xanthe all the while.

“We…Eomer and I, we thought that it would be a great surprise to have Gaviwyr come back, expecting you to know of his plans, only to find that you were unaware. We thought it would be exciting and intriguing.”

Olihre paused to gauge how they were receiving his explanation. If anything, the two looked more vexed than before. His voice cracked a bit as he continued. “Y-You seemed alright, Xan, it didn’t seem like you were very upset. If I had known you were, so upset that is, I would certainly have given up the ruse. I swear I would have.”

All of the anger that Xanthe had been holding onto, all of the outrage that she had sworn would protect her, dissolved into a mess of hurt and betrayal. “How could you have not seen it?” Her voice was a strained blend of animosity and pleading.

Olihre knew exactly what she spoke of. “Now that I look back I can see all of the indications, but then…then I saw only what I wanted to. I wanted the plan to work. I wanted to see you happy-- more than just happy, I wanted to see you overjoyed.”

Gaviwyr listened with only half his ability; his thoughts were trained on another. “What did Eomer want with her?”

Olihre was surprised to hear Gaviwyr speak. Looking quizzically at his sister first, he furrowed his brows and shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean. He wanted her to be happy too, I suppose.”

Gaviwyr snorted at this, throwing his head back as he chuckled maliciously. “Then you surely have been deceived! Perhaps he fed you some rubbish story of happy surprises, but his scheming was much larger, I’ll bet!”

Olihre could see what Gaviwyr was leading to. “Nay, My Lord, I assure you, Eomer had no such intentions. He has in fact become very close to the Lady Lothiriel. His only thought was of a surprise, perhaps a riotous one, but a surprise nonetheless.”

“What kind of fools are you?” Xanthe wailed, her voice echoing off of the cliffs with a ferocity that made even the wind halt for a moment. “The King of Rohan and the best swordsman in Osgiliath, bested by their own dimwitted antics!”

“Great ones,” Olihre conceded. “We are the worst kind…once trusted, now despised…supposed friends and family…”

“End it!” Gaviwyr demanded. “You have made your case. There is no more to be said.”

Olihre hung his head low, nodding in defeat. Only when he heard a fair voice upon the wind did he regain his composure again.

“The trait that is supposed to separate intelligent beings from more feebleminded ones is the ability to communicate in an advanced fashion.” With a quick leap, Legolas jumped from a ledge some feet above, landing between the two parties effortlessly. “There is always more to be said when loved ones are at odds.”

“Time we do not have, my friend. From above, I can see a party come to save us. Eomer is among them, and he will without a doubt spare no time before he begs your audience.”

Gimli felt an itch assault him, though it could not be pinpointed to any one place on his body. Shifting uneasily atop his beast, he turned his focus to his two companions, whose eyes were fixed upon the tracks on the ground. He followed their suit, but still could find no relief from the uncomfortable sensation that plagued him. Suddenly an impulse took him that was beyond his control. As if a hand guided his head, he raised his chin skyward, peering up the looming cliffs some yards ahead of him, and several yards to the right. There, a flash of golden hair caught his attention, whipped about by the wind, and only partially masking the broad smile of the elf who stood peering directly at him.

“Haaa!” Gimli chuckled loudly, “We’ve found those blasted troublemakers!”

Aragorn followed Gimli’s gaze and smiled faintly when he too caught sight of their watcher. “What in the world is he doing up there?” he mumbled.

Eomer saw Legolas only briefly before he scrambled back down to a lower ledge, and jumped out of their line of sight. “Hurry!” he urged his companions as well as their horses.

Olihre was still kneeling in the snow when the three rounded a bend and came upon them. Legolas was perched lightly upon a boulder, his arms wrapped casually around his knees, which were pulled up to his chin. His eyes were focused on Xanthe and Gaviwyr, who were speaking in low whispers to each other. His elven ears could pick out bits and pieces of their conversation.

When Gimli rounded the bend and gave out a shout of greeting, the two nearly jumped out of their tight embrace. Aragorn soon followed, trailed by an emotionally torn King of Rohan. His eagerness to see Xanthe was overshadowed only by his reluctance to face her wrath, and the wrath of his friend and advisor.

“Is everyone well?” Aragorn asked, jumping from his horse and heading directly to Xanthe and Gaviwyr.

“I am fine, My Lord.” Xanthe interrupted Gaviwyr, a look of embarrassment upon her face.

“We need to get back to the palace soon, all of us.” Aragorn surveyed the small cove. Legolas and Gimli were the only ones who did not show outward signs of being cold, though Eomer’s shivering could be due more to the icy stares he was receiving from Gaviwyr. Xanthe seemed to be avoiding eye contact entirely.

When Olihre stood and advanced towards Eomer with his fists balled into tight weapons, Aragorn cleared his throat and spoke sternly to both of them. “You are both to blame for this situation, but now is NOT the time to settle things. We must get Xanthe back before her body goes into shock, if it hasn’t already.”

Olihre nodded, his chest heaving in an unrestrained sigh. Eomer glanced at Xanthe and Gaviwyr, and then back towards Olihre. “He’s right, we were both fools, but I am more to blame, it was my idea in the first place.”

Olihre’s fists relaxed a bit as his eyes filled with regret rather than rage. “We’ve already discussed it…we are both to blame.”

“Let us hope than we will be forgiven,” Eomer glanced towards his Guard, “by both of them.”

The snow was falling no harder than it had been all during the day, but the air temperature had fallen much colder as the sun went down, causing the snow to harden into crunchy ice, and providing no relief to the travelers. Xanthe was now dressed in the extra clothing that Olihre had brought for her, as well as an extra cloak that Aragorn had taken off and insisted that she wear.

The horses were wonderfully obedient, weathering the storm with perfect dignity. Xanthe had been set upon Gimli’s horse, while Gimli himself had been placed in a rather reminiscent position, sharing Legolas’s steed.

Hours passed and little was said. Aragorn and Legolas would occasionally call to each other from their separate places in the caravan, noting trivial things about the weather or terrain. Gimli and Legolas chatted quietly from time to time, bickering as they normally did, though in this instance, it seemed that each was a bit more tolerant of the other. The other four members of the group stayed markedly silent.

When the gates of Minas Tirith came into view some hours later, a sigh of relief was shared by all in the group. The guards greeted them, expressing their concern and happiness that their King and his fellows had all returned safely. As they wound their way up the cobbled streets, their paths lighted only by the full moon above and the occasional street lamp, restlessness was felt by many.

Eomer sat in the rear of the group, and every time Xanthe dared look behind her, he would catch her gaze and hold it for a moment, his eyes baring a pleading look. Xanthe was still furious at Eomer and her brother, but she could not suffer such tension any longer. It would take time before she would count either of them as her confidants again, but until then, she resolved, she would at least be civil, though she could not say so much for Gaviwyr.

Pulling back on the reigns of her horse, she sidestepped Legolas and Gimli, who were directly behind her, and waited until Gaviwyr passed as well, tossing her a questioning look. Eomer hesitated, seemingly afraid to bring his horse parallel to hers, but in the end, he had no choice. When she looked at him with expectation in her eyes, he merely nodded his head curtly and looked ahead of him, avoiding eye contact at all price.

“Please tell your sister that I apologize for having spoiled her wedding dinner. I will tell her myself of course, but not until later. Her wedding is tomorrow, and I do not want to upset her any further, it should be a day of happiness.”

“I am sure she will accept your apology without hesitation.” Eomer knew that it sounded trite and impersonal, but he knew aught else he could say without launching into an enormous discourse, something he could readily see would not be appreciated by either his friend or Xanthe.

“I am sorry I have caused so much trouble to everyone here. I only intended to go for a ride…”

Eomer bit his lip in restraint and nodded his head habitually, wishing he could say all that he wanted to at the moment. Instead he settled for a short reply. “We were more than willing; we all worried for you.”

Xanthe dipped her head in acceptance, feeling that she had said all that she could for the time being. She knew that the people she really needed to be apologizing to were ahead of her, both on horses and waiting back at the palace, but this small discourse had felt good. She had worried previously about Eomer’s intentions, but now, after having spoken with him, albeit vaguely, she could concede to herself that he was an oaf, yes, but an innocent one.

That only left Olihre. Dear Brother, you have no idea what you have gotten yourself into…

Hello my friends. I have been too busy drooling over the loverly Pirates to pay any attention to my useless scribblings. I am by no means a raving fangirl, but I must admit that I have seen the movie 6, yes, 6 times. I have way too many girlfriends, I’ve decided.

Anyway, this chapter marks the pick-up of action in my story. No more slow, dramatic, over-emotional scenes. Just lots of fun, I hope.

Olihre struggled to keep his eyes open. The rose-colored sunshine that filtered in through the stained-glass windows seemed to shine directly upon him, warming his face and making it very difficult not to drift off into a comfortable repose.

His muscles, though warm and rested now, did not seem quite ready to forget the ordeal that they had been put through the day before. The fact that he had not slept in a bed last night, but rather in an armchair beside his sister’s bed, did not help to assuage his tired ligaments either.

This won’t do! Olihre tried taking deep breaths and shaking his head slightly. I was lucky to even receive an invitation to this event; falling asleep would hardly express my gratitude.

Legolas sat four chairs down from Olihre-- four rather stiff and unyielding chairs, he noted bemusedly. What is he doing? He watched as Olihre shook his head in short, jerking movements, as if trying to dislodge an insect from inside of his ear.

Olihre caught Legolas’s questioning gaze from down the row. Straightening his back as best he could in the impossibly uncomfortable chair, he folded his hands in his lap and pressed his lips together in an outward display of composure.

Legolas tried hard not to snicker, but the show that Olihre was putting on was quite entertaining. Lothiriel, sitting right next to Olihre, was doing a good job of ignoring his twitching; that is until Legolas let out a hardly suppressed snort. At that, she and her father directed their eyes incredulously at Legolas, while Gimli, who was the third person sitting between them, peered down at Olihre and shook his head.

Catching Olihre’s eyes once more, Legolas raised his eyebrows in a mockingly authoritative manner, and then turned back to focus on the ceremony that was being held some feet away in the anterior of the enormous stone chamber.

Aragorn stood on a small, raised platform, while Faramir and Eowyn stood directly in front of him. To their sides were Eomer and Arwen, acting as attendants. The high stone walls amplified the sound of Aragorn’s voice, causing it to reverberate in a rather enchanting way. Everyone in the room seemed to be holding their breath, listening as the King continued the wedding ceremony that had begun almost an hour earlier with the exchanging of sacred vows.

Some time later, after having caught Olihre dozing several times, Legolas was relieved to hear the ceremony drawing to an end. Applause erupted from the joyous congregation, celebrating the union of the Lord and Lady, and did not die down again until Aragorn announced that a special luncheon was to be served in the banquet hall.

“I’ve yet to understand why humans insist on having a long-winded discourse every time one of their kin chooses to be wed.” Gimli rumbled as Legolas stretched languidly beside him.

“I’m afraid you would loath an elvish ceremony then, my impatient friend. They tend to go on for days at a time,” Legolas paused as a playful grin danced across his features, “though most of that time is spent with food, drink, and…good…company.”

“Good company indeed! That is another thing I’ll never fathom. When two dwarves marry, it is only their closest kin who assemble, not the entire blasted Kingdom! And even then, they only gather for long enough to gift the couple. Vows needn’t be exchanged in public. If I agree to shelter my mate, and she agrees to care for my property, those are all the vows that are needed!”

Legolas laughed easily, though his attention was quickly averted as Olihre crept up behind the dwarf. Leaning over carefully, he bellowed loudly in Gimli’s ear, “That’s my kind of an arrangement!”

Gimli jumped what seemed to be several feet, and Legolas had no doubt that were Gimli armed with his ax, Olihre would likely be missing several important appendages. Once Gimli stopped swearing, Olihre stood straight and added, “Do you suppose you could arrange a dwarfish wife for me?”

“You’re beginning to take after that accursed elf mi’lad, and let me assure you, female dwarfs don’t like sneaky scoundrels any more than I do!” Gimli stroked his beard and turned to the ‘accursed elf.’ “I’m going to eat-- I suggest that you two scarecrows follow suit!”

Legolas nodded obligingly as he turned on his heel and glided down the aisle, calling back to Olihre, “I saw Gav poke his head in a little while ago.”

Olihre rolled his eyes. He really didn’t need to be reminded of the situation at hand. He had spent the entire night by his sister’s bedside, as had Gaviwyr, though neither would speak to him. In Xanthe’s defense, she was asleep most of the time-- the exposure having taken its toll on her body. Gaviwyr had sat across from him, astutely avoiding eye contact, busying himself with sharpening his weapons, which seemed a never-ending pile.

When morning came, both men had awoken to the sound of Xanthe clearing her throat purposefully and asking to be left alone while she bathed. Olihre had suggested that she eat something first, to which she had inclined-- but to Gaviwyr-- she refused to even recognize Olihre’s presence in the room. While sulking back to his own quarters, Eomer had found him and informed him that somehow he was still invited to Eowyn and Faramir’s wedding ceremony.

“Yes,” Olihre finally responded, catching up to Legolas. “Xanthe was ordered to stay in bed and rest, and I didn’t suppose that Gav would want to leave her. I’m glad he got to see a bit of the ceremony though.”

“I’m sure he saw enough,” Legolas drawled before breaking away from the rest of the group. When he received curious glances from them, he hurriedly explained, “I think I will arrange for the kitchen staff to send some food to your sister’s room. I’m sure they are both famished.”

Olihre nodded and watched Legolas leave, trepidation immediately beginning to plague him. Legolas was the only one in the palace who wasn’t treating him like a daft child. There is Gimli I suppose. Gimli didn’t treat him like anything at all. If anything, he was sure that the Dwarf Lord barely even realized his presence.

Olihre was pulled out of his musings when their current subject turned to him and grinned fiendishly. “Having trouble staying awake were you?”

Olihre grimaced, though he was happy for the distraction. “It’s been a long couple of days.”

“And the entirety of the last was spent with an elf, no less.” Gimli chuckled at his own joke while winding his way through the crowd towards a banquet table piled high with vittles. “That is an effort that always seems to tire me, and I am a dwarf!”

“And that’s saying a lot, isn’t it?” Olihre jested, being careful not to sound demeaning. He had been warned of the folly of offending a dwarf lord.

“It certainly is lad! You know, the elf could take some lessons from you in how to properly handle my kind. He seems to think that riling us is a wise course of action.”

Olihre had no intention of choosing sides, and he wasn’t afraid to let it be known. “Even if I were foolish enough to try to instruct your supercilious friend, do you really suppose he would pay any heed to what I said?”

Gimli tossed him a sideways look, a dangerous mask covering his face. “You learn quickly, my VERY young friend.” With that he broke into a lopsided grin. “If not for the bravery that Legolas has described in you, I would think you a lily-soft evader!”

Olihre had no idea what the dwarf was saying, but his interest was peaked by a part of his mumblings. “Legolas said WHAT about me?”

Rolling his eyes, Gimli turned to Olihre, gesturing dramatically with his hands as he spoke. “Legolas has alleged that despite your age and rather unsubstantial appearance, you are actually quite hardy and useful.”

“Really? I’m not sure whether to be offended or flattered by that. I suppose it doesn’t matter either way; Legolas doesn’t seem the type to reaffirm anyone’s suspicions.”

Making his way quickly from the kitchen to the living quarters, Legolas mused on what he was going to say when he arrived. Or more specifically, he wondered why he was about to say what he knew he was going to say, when he arrived.

“He’s only a man, after all.” His musical voice pondered aloud as he flew down the corridors, balancing a tray as he went. When he arrived at Xanthe’s door, he straightened his tunic, almost nervously, he noted with chagrin.

“Come in,” a pleasant and yet wary voice called back in response to his knock.

“It is only I,” Legolas reassured as he entered her room. Gaviwyr was still in his armchair, while Xanthe was propped up by pillows in her bed.

“Have I interrupted anything?” Legolas asked, noting a journal that lay open on Xanthe’s lap. “I’ve brought you some food.”

“Nothing we wouldn’t postpone for some nourishment, Legolas, thank you.” Xanthe closed the book on her lap and handed it to Gaviwyr, who smiled slightly and deposited it on the bedside table.

“We were just reminiscing,” he said as he jumped up to assist Legolas with the unloading of the tray.

“Ah, never a better past time,” Legolas raised his eyebrows puckishly, “especially if you don’t mind trouble.”

“No doubt,” Legolas stopped short, leaving an almost awkward pause. “Speaking of trouble, I was wondering if perhaps you would allow me to take a bit of yours off your hands.”

“Your brother,” he stated promptly, holding up his hand to indicate that he wanted to explain further before he received a response. “I know he is not on your favorable list right now, which is why I am proposing what I am.”

“And what exactly are you proposing?” Xanthe re-arranged the covers around her legs unconsciously, glancing at Gaviwyr to see how he was dealing with this proposal.

“I am not entirely sure as to Olihre’s duties at home, which is why I wanted to speak to you first. It seems to me that he has an inordinate amount of energy which is compounding without any outlet for expulsion. You wonder why he is constantly causing trouble, and I think this is why.”

“And?” Xanthe couldn’t help but smile at the elf’s summation of her brother.

“And, Gimli and I are planning to do some more roaming as soon as we are able. Olihre would make a good companion, and I daresay he would benefit from the opportunity.”

Gaviwyr scoffed at that. “A good way to teach him a lesson! Let him hurt his loved ones and then send him off to camp with the elves!”

Xanthe bit her lip, resolved to speak her part, but hesitant to blight anyone. She resorted to sarcasm. “Well I suppose it is only fair. After all, Eomer gets to return to Rohan as King!”

“Though I think I’ll lock him in the dungeon if I ever get the chance!” Gaviwyr stood and walked to the bed, sitting beside Xanthe and taking her hand. “In all seriousness Xan, I can think of no better situation for your brother. If anyone can teach him to school his compulsiveness, it is Legolas.”

“I agree, and though I am hesitant to commit to this, I do not wish to punish my brother. He has suffered enough, I think.” A distant look came into Xanthe’s green eyes, filling their depths with emotion. “He deserves to be happy. He’s spent most of his life taking care of me. He has sacrificed greatly for me, and I would do anything to ensure his happiness.” Blinking a few times to dispel the liquid from her eyes, Xanthe turned to Legolas, “Though it is of course his decision, as well as my mother’s, and he has agreed to help my Uncle with the horses, a commitment he will take seriously.”

“Eomer and I have already discussed that,” Legolas asserted, pacing to the window and looking out over the snow. “Eomer says that he has many a stable hand who would be honored to serve your Uncle.”

Neither human in the room looked thrilled upon the mention of the King of Rohan. Legolas continued staring out the window, giving them both an opportunity to silently concur their thoughts. After a few moments of silence he turned back around.

“I wanted to bring this to you first, before I approach him about it. Do I have your sanction?”

Xanthe and Gaviwyr looked at each other for a moment before simultaneously shrugging their shoulders. “As long as you and Gimli know what you’re getting yourselves into.” Xanthe sighed.

“So there we were, surrounded by Goblins, trying to find our way in the dark of Moria, when suddenly, an abominable shudder was felt in the earth, shaking us to the very ground…”

Olihre was so engrossed in Gimli’s recounting of the Fellowship’s meeting with a Balrog, that he didn’t ever notice when Legolas walked up beside him.

“Uh-hum,” Legolas wasn’t pleased with the need to announce his presence so commonly. People usually noticed when he approached, always making a point to include him in the throng. “I hate to interrupt, but knowing my friend Gimli here, you will be listening to this story still as the sun sets, and I have a rather pressing matter to bring to you.”

Gimli huffed in a most offended way, grumbling about the manners of the Firstborn, or lack thereof, as he so blatantly put it. Olihre took a deep breath before nodding graciously at Gimli, and then turning expectantly to the elf.

“Have you ever traveled out of these lands, Olihre?” Legolas leaned back on the bench, balancing in a spectacularly abnormal way.

Olihre felt a spark of elation alight in his heart, but he fought to keep his wits about him. “It has been my dream to be able to see as much of Middle Earth as possible, before I am too old, or otherwise occupied. Unfortunately, it seems that I am already otherwise occupied, helping my family.”

That about sums it up. Legolas was amused by the concise answer he received, reaffirming his conjecture that Olihre was sharp and would catch onto his scheming quickly. “What if I could free you from those obligations…for the time being?”

“I would be skeptical, initially.” Legolas looked slightly affronted but Olihre quickly continued, noting the look of triumph on Gimli’s face. “But after having heard the tales and triumphs of your company, I would not be in the least surprised to see you succeed with such a promise.”

Legolas looked pacified, but noted dryly. “Not to mention my word is my honor.”

Olihre chuckled, winking at the dwarf who in turn looked slightly uncomfortable. “Not to mention that, of course.”

“So will you be coming with us then?” Legolas looked about as expectant as an elf of his age could.

“Coming where?” Olihre was enjoying his sudden, if not miraculous and confusing position of power.

“How do you humans put it, Olihre? Oh yes…YOU’RE PUSHING IT!” Legolas again looked put out at having to demean himself through resorting to human habits and phrases.

Olihre knew when to stop, or nearly anyway. “You’re right, Master Elf,” he picked Gimli’s second favorite title for the Mirkwood Prince. “I would be honored and overjoyed to go anywhere you may deem to take me! Is that inclusive enough?”

“T’is,” Legolas admitted, turning to Gimli and raising his shoulders. “How do you feel about this? Can you handle this impertinent human for a time?”

Raiding his eyebrows in an appraising gesture, Gimli surveyed Olihre, who was doing his best to look angelic. “I suppose it couldn’t be any worse than it already is.” Getting to his feet, Gimli imposed himself right in front of Olihre, nearly stepping on his toes. “Tell me this, Lad, how do you feel about caves?”

“Can’t say I’ve ever been in one, though I’m sure I’ll enjoy them readily enough. I spend most of my time in dark, dingy stables with my horses. It can’t be much different than a cave, can it?”

Gimli looked incensed while Legolas nearly turned red with restrained laughter. “’Dark, dingy stables!’ You cannot possibly be so empty-headed as to compare my homes to ‘dark, dingy stables!’” Gimli seemed to have finished, but surprised them with more. “And horses! Ahhgg!”

“My apologies, My Lord Dwarf. I was merely referring to the lighting conditions and…lack of…room. Yes, the smallness of a cave. That is what I was referring to.”

“Smallness!” Gimli looked as a dwarfish father who’s firstborn suddenly decided to take to the trees.

Legolas nodded. “Gimli,” he said turning to the dwarf, “I’m afraid you will simply have to show our uneducated friend here. It seems that he hasn’t the context in which to imagine such a thing.”

“I certainly shall!” Gimli turned to Olihre. “Be you glad that my cousins were not here. They may very likely have gutted you for such a delinquency! But come, let us settle our differences and start on a new foot, so to speak.”

Olihre looked very relieved as he turned to Legolas, who was scowling. “You’ve never pardoned me so easily!” Legolas growled.

“The boy’s crime is ignorance-- yours is obstinance.” And that was that. Gimli turned and jaunted off towards the bride and groom, leaving Olihre and Legolas grinning at each other.

This chapter is dedicated to my little green pills-- the only reason I am even remotely lucid. Thanks to my beta, Daisyprincess!

The noon sun was high above the assemblage standing in the courtyard at the base of the white staircase. Far beyond them lay a refuge of trees-- part of the extensive gardens surrounding the palace-- and hardly an eye in the group was trained elsewhere.

“The object of this exercise is to test not only your shooting ability, but also your ability to focus on multiple factors at once. Targets will be placed randomly along the trail, some in the open, others hidden in bushes and trees.”

Imrahil paused for a moment to make sure that everyone was following along. Then, from his elevated position on the staircase, he continued.

“You each have distinctively tagged arrows, which will be tallied after the event is over. You will set off individually, thirty seconds apart from one another. Your object is to hit as many targets as you can, with as much accuracy as possible, while maintaining a steady gait on your horse, neither slowing down nor stopping at any time. The horses have been given their orders, and our scout will report any deviations.”

“The winner of the event will be determined based on the number of arrows that find targets, and the accuracy of each hit. The winner will receive nothing but honor and gloating rights…”

“Ahem…” Lothiriel cleared her throat conspicuously, smiling in an all too innocent way as she leaned towards her father. “May I suggest a small amendment to our competition?”

Imrahil had seen that smile enough times before to know that he should be careful with his answer. “And what would that ‘amendment’ be, my dear?”

His daughter turned her sly gaze directly to Legolas, who went from looking somewhat bored to quite defensive in an alarmingly short amount of time. “Perhaps we could include the throwing of daggers or short spears at the targets, so as not to give any *certain someone’s* an unfair advantage.”

After an initial pause, incredulous laughter broke out among the group of competitors.

“And how exactly are we to be expected to throw a spear with our bows drawn?” Olihre guffawed, turning to Eomer for support.

It was soon obvious, however, whom Lothiriel had had in mind when she proposed the amendment. Eomer already had several short spears attached to the back of his chest guard, and was smiling confidently.

Aragorn also seemed to think this was all too convenient. “Hmmm…” he began facetiously, “Legolas has his arrows, Eomer has his spears-- perhaps I should throw Athelas, Gaviwyr should throw Xanthe, and Olihre should throw his horse. To each his own, eh?”

Lothiriel didn’t look amused, though everyone else in the clearing, the stoic elves included, were engaged in riotous laughter. Gimli, who because of his distaste for horses, would be acting as a scout rather than joining the competition, was shaking so hard that Aragorn was sure he would fall apart at the seams quite soon. Eomer, though trying valiantly to look as incensed as Lothiriel, was having a difficult time keeping a straight face, and having Olihre grasping his shoulder whilst in the midst of painful looking spasms didn’t appear to be helping.

“Oh, fine then! I was merely making a suggestion. Legolas will smash you all in a bow competition!” Lothiriel scowled at Aragorn before giving a look of reprimand to Eomer.

Olihre was standing straight now, his face still flushed, and his grin still wide. “No, wait, I think she has a very good idea! Maybe we can’t shoot a bow and throw a spear at the same time, but we can certainly do one or the other. I don’t see why we shouldn’t be able to choose our weapons.”

Looking at Olihre gratefully, Eomer nodded enthusiastically. “Surely! After all, in battle, as long as you hit the enemy effectively, does it really matter what you use as a weapon?”

Legolas looked like he wanted to refute, but instead settled on rolling his eyes and staying silent. Aragorn just shrugged his shoulders and looked at Arwen, who shook her head and raised her hands in a gesture of abstinence. Gimli grunted apathetically while Imrahil sighed resignedly.

Lothiriel cocked an eyebrow at Gaviwyr, who was the only one withholding his opinion. “Have you anything to add?”

Gaviwyr surveyed the group, assessing their skills with several different types of weapons. He finally let his gaze come to rest upon Olihre before turning back to the lady. “I think it is a marvelous idea.”

Olihre groaned. He wasn’t sure that he wanted Gaviwyr anywhere near him with even a spoon, let alone a sharp metal weapon, but he also didn’t want to miss out on the impromptu competition that Prince Imrahil and his daughter had organized earlier that morning.

When a consensus seemed to have been reached, the contestants-- Olihre, Gaviwyr, Legolas, Aragorn and Eomer-- lined up on the front steps of the palace entry, while Aragorn’s men brought out stores of weapons. These weapons were mulled through by the contestants, each picking out the ones that they fancied and affixing distinctive tags to them.

“Any weapon then?” Aragorn whispered to Imrahil, as he watched Olihre toying with a large curved sword.

“ANY WEAPON!” Lothiriel declared boldly from behind him. “To your horses, My Lords!”

Olihre unconsciously looked toward Gaviwyr, who aside from him, was the only other contestant who was not the lord or ruler of some land. He found Gaviwyr returning his gaze sympathetically, but only for a moment before schooling his expression into one of hostile indifference.

“Remember, you may not pause or backtrack.” Imrahil raised his arm high above his head. “When I touch your horse, you may go.”

Aragorn’s horse was the first in the line of competitors, and when Imrahil rested his hand on the horse’s flanks, Aragorn nudged it into action, urging it forward and guiding it at a steady speed towards the stretch of trees. He had decided to use his bow, and his first target received a well-placed arrow right off. As he rode farther into the grove of trees, he could hear another horse springing into action at the starting line.

That’ll be Legolas, he thought dismissively, forcing himself to focus on the targets. The crimson-painted wooden discs were hidden both in ground covering shrubs and in tall trees. Some could be seen from yards away, while others were not visible until you were parallel to them.

As Aragorn rode, he struggled against the urge to slow his horse down. The brisk pace that the horse was setting made it difficult to aim carefully before shooting. He also fought the urge to turn around and see how close his fellow competitors were. His ears told him that at least two other horses were already engaged, and that one, Legolas’s horse, was just entering the wooded grove.

Aragorn raised his arm to shoot at a target high up in a beech tree, only to find a foreign arrow whizzing directly over his head and into the target above him. Throwing strategy to the wind, he turned quickly to find Legolas still far behind him, but already eyeing targets far beyond Aragorn’s steed.

Legolas grinned as he watched Aragorn turn in his saddle to seek him out, all the while missing two valuable targets as his horse flew by. Legolas had only just entered the wood, and had yet to hit any targets near him, but he couldn’t resist the temptation to scare Aragorn by hitting the target far down the trail, above the King’s head.

Soon, the Prince could hear Eomer’s horse galloping towards the trees, and he quickly took in his surroundings, noting several targets almost simultaneously. With several fluid movements, he eliminated the targets, inwardly hoping that Eomer wouldn’t try the same stunt that he himself had just pulled on Aragorn. As much as he admired Eomer, he wasn’t sure that he wanted the human to be aiming any spears above his head, no matter how confident Imrahil’s daughter was in the King of the Mark’s abilities.

Eomer felt he had something to prove. As much as he hated the pressure, he also knew that due to the show he and Lothiriel had put on earlier, and because of the change in rules, allowing him to use his spears, he was expected to do well. As he watched Legolas far ahead of him, taking down target after target almost effortlessly, he began to wish that he had stuck to arrows, the effort in pulling the string back being far less than launching a short spear with all your might. His pride however, would not allow him to hesitate. Pulling the first of a dozen short spears from his back, Eomer began his campaign.

Olihre wished that he had gone either first or last. Last, because he didn’t want Gaviwyr behind him with a weapon, and first, because then his strategy would have been more effective. As he galloped towards the grove of trees, he made ready the pile of knives balanced in his lap. Coming upon the first target, a crimson disk set high up in the branch of an oak tree, Olihre threw his knife, blade first. The knife lodged itself in the wooden disk at an odd angle, the tip sticking into an outer ring, while the handle protruded across the very center of the target, effectively blocking any other weapon from hitting dead center.

This strategy was a gamble in several different ways, and the young human knew it. He could try aiming for the center, hoping for a true hit, but due to his inexperience, his chances were slim. Rather, he thought his chances of winning to be better if he debilitated his competition. Unfortunately, his fellow competitors had already had their turns, except for Gaviwyr, whom Olihre was afraid would take his strategy personally.

Often he would find and arrow or two already embedded in the target, along with the occasional short spear. So far the hits all seemed to be accurate, though Olihre tried not to allow himself to be distracted by it.

Knife after knife found their targets, until Olihre was sure that the course must be nearly over. When he had only two knives left, he chanced a glance behind him, not seeing or hearing Gaviwyr. Just as his last knife found its target, Olihre heard a loud groan of frustration coming from some ways behind him. Making his way quickly into the clearing at the other side of the grove, Olihre drew his horse up along side of Aragorn, Eomer, and Legolas’s, noting that the looks on their faces were amused, if not somewhat cautionary.

Legolas raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Do you really think it wise to anger Gaviwyr more than you already have?”

“This is a competition, Your Highness, what do you expect me to do?” Olihre didn’t like the condescending look on the elf’s face.

“You could start by playing fair and not sabotaging the course.” Aragorn was trying to look stern, but a certain playful light was apparent in his eyes.

“Easy for you to say, you two have been trained with arrows since you were babes. I am a swordsman, as is Eomer. Targets high up in trees are hardly our strong suit.” Olihre paused to assess his audience. “Give me a sword and I’ll show you a fair fight any day!” Despite his defensive banter, Olihre was not upset by the heckling that he was receiving. Frankly, he felt honored to be in the presence of such distinguished warriors.

Eomer looked fleetingly at Aragorn before breaking into a rolling laughter. “I’m just glad he didn’t go first! For one so young, he certainly has his wits about him!”

“Try not to encourage him, my indulgent Horse Master!” Legolas laughed as he slapped Olihre forcefully on the back.

“Ah, here he comes,” Aragorn announced as all eyes turned towards the path leading out of the trees.

Gaviwyr rode out at a brisk pace, several short spears still in his hand. Alarms began to sound in Olihre’s head when he saw the Captain raise his spear-arm while guiding his horse directly at Olihre. Looking quickly at his comrades, he was shocked to see that they were smiling and looking altogether unconcerned. Fighting the urge to run and scream like a little girl, Olihre planted his feet on the ground, and braced himself for the attack that was coming his way.

Olihre’s horse took a tentative step back as Gaviwyr pulled back on his own horses’ reigns, causing it to rear up on its hind legs. When the horse was on all fours again, Gaviwyr drew back the arm that he had fitted with a spear and then launched it with all of his might at the sapling growing behind Olihre’s horse.

“Brilliant strategy,” he said quietly, without any type of inflection or emotion. “Though it has no practical application that I can think of.”

Though there were a few in the group who were hoping for a showdown, most breathed a sigh of relief at the truce that seemed to have been initiated by Gaviwyr with that statement.

Olihre swallowed hard. “Thank you, though I admit, I hadn’t planned it. I was rather desperate, I think.”

“Despite the change in procedure, Legolas has still managed to beat you all.” Imrahil tried to hide a knowing smirk. “Aragorn and Eomer have tied for second place, while Olihre only barely bested Gaviwyr.” Imrahil shook his head in mock-disbelief, while narrowing his eyes at Olihre, who was glancing sheepishly at Gaviwyr.

“Well done, all of you!” Gimli rumbled in an authoritative voice, positioning himself importantly between Imrahil and the contestants. “I found it very enlightening to watch your different strategies.” Shifting his gaze to Legolas, the dwarf chuckled. “Your personalities were also clearly expressed in this competition.”

Legolas turned to Aragorn with a look of sheer innocence on his face, raising his shoulders slightly in a gesture of naivety. Aragorn in turn narrowed his eyes and allowed a dangerous smile to creep onto his face.

Olihre and Gaviwyr both seemed to think that this was a good time to excuse themselves to get ready for luncheon. As they reached the massive double doors leading into the palace, Olihre turned to Gaviwyr. “Do you suppose that my sister would allow me to take my meal in her room?”

Gaviwyr knew that Xanthe was still brooding, but he also knew that until a reconciliation occurred, undue strain would be abundant. “I’ll ask her. Why don’t you go to your room and get ready-- I’ll let you know one way or another.”

Olihre bobbed his head resolutely and set off for his chambers, silently praying that his sister would relieve him from his guilt soon.

A knock at his door awoke Olihre from the short nap that he had been indulging in. “Just a moment,” he called, attempting to straighten his clothing while smoothing down his disobedient hair.

It was soon apparent though, that his visitor didn’t want to wait, for seconds later the door was pushed open to reveal a still pale but much healthier looking Xanthe.

Olihre couldn’t have been more unprepared. “Xan,” he began in a nearly breaking voice, “what are you doing here?”

Xanthe narrowed her eyes and skewed her face into a scowl as she walked meaningfully towards her brother. When she was merely inches away from him she stopped, raising her hand in the air and letting it fly, right past Olihre’s face and to the back of his ponytail, which she pulled towards her and began brushing furiously.

Olihre looked both frightened and confused. “Wh…uh…,” he stammered, unable to decide precisely what he wanted to say.

“Someone needs to help you with your hair…” Xanthe explained sarcastically, turning Olihre’s face back towards hers so that she could look at him squarely. Seeing the trepidation hidden in his dark green eyes, she smiled softly. “That, and I missed you, dear brother.”

Olihre hesitated, still wary of his sister whom he knew could be quite evil when she wanted. He didn’t have much time to contemplate however, before he was pulled into a hug that nearly broke his ribs.

Olihre couldn’t bear that. “Only be sorry that you have a brother daft enough to do the stupid things that I do.” Pulling her away from him, he looked at her pleadingly. “Forgive me?”

“Of course,” Xanthe sniffed, half sobbing and half laughing. Olihre felt a wave of elation wash over him as he pulled her back into an enormous hug.

“We are expected to join the others for luncheon,” Xanthe said as she wiped the tears out of her eyes.

“Let’s go then,” Olihre chuckled, taking his sister’s hand and leading her into the hallway. He had only progressed a few steps however, when he felt Xanthe’s hand slip out of his before flying back and leveling a mighty blow at his chest.

“What was that for?” Olihre howled, rubbing the throbbing section of collarbone that she had nearly decimated.

Arrgghh Matey’s! This be the next chapter in my foolish little tale; and I’ll thank thee fer readin’ it! Sorry, Pirates on the mind! Thanks for the reviews, I love you guys! Thanks to my Uber-Beta-Goddess, DaisyPrincess, and to Iluvien for giving me some wonderful ideas to use in my next chapter. Check out both of their stories, they are amazing!

“May we in Edoras prove to be such exceptional hosts if ever you honor us with a visit.” Eomer was standing beside his steed, arrayed in his traveling clothes, with a saddle bag thrown over his broad shoulders.

“Arwen and I would love to join you at Meduseld, just as soon as our obligations allow it.” Aragorn leaned forward, lowering his voice. “And between you and I, it cannot be too soon. Excitement seems to follow you, Eomer; even as King you remain unchained.”

Eomer grinned guiltily, “I suspect I may soon be a chained man as well.” Pausing a moment, he continued in a contemplative voice. “I never would have thought that you and I, warriors and outcasts, would someday be no more than a woman’s plaything.”

Aragorn chuckled. “Those were not precisely the chains I was referring to...”

“Eowyn!” The King of Rohan cried, folding his sister into his arms. “I was sadly sure that you and Faramir would not return before our departure.”

“A messenger came to Ithilien-- sent by His Majesty, no doubt.” Eowyn smiled at Aragorn before turning back and jabbing her brother in the shoulder with her knuckles. “But why leave in such haste?”

“Many reasons--” Eomer turned his head towards the palace entry where Legolas, Gimli, and Olihre were gathered, “those three think they need to have an adventure, Gav and Xanthe are eager to return to Edoras, and I myself have a few matters to attend to at home.”

Eowyn winked conspiratorially at her brother. “Have you? Would a certain Princess have anything to do with those matters?”

“She may, but that is for her to know…and for you to pry out of her by force. Am I wrong?”

Aragorn chuckled. “I’ll leave you siblings to your goodbyes. Safe journey home Eomer, and my blessing on your ‘matters.’”

With that Aragorn made his way swiftly towards the palace entry, where Faramir had just joined Legolas, Gimli and Olihre. “My Lord Faramir,” he began in a regal tone, “I have a proposition for you-- have you a moment?”

The others looked at each other briefly before folding up their maps and preparing to leave the two alone.

“One moment,” Aragorn raised his arms as if a mother hen gathering her brood, “this concerns you three also.” With curious looks, the three crowded in until they were within whispering distance of the Gondorian rulers. Aragorn addressed his Steward. “I’ve heard from several sources that these three are looking for an adventure, know you anything of this?”

“Actually,” Legolas interjected, raising an arm to the back of his head and scratching idly, “that assertion is not entirely true. Gimli and I have already had several adventures whilst upon our travels; we are merely showing Olihre a bit of the world. Of course, if adventure happens upon us…what can we do but greet it?”

Aragorn appeared humored as he turned to Faramir. “Was it not recently that you voiced your need of scouts to me?”

Faramir nodded but didn’t get to answer before Legolas again interrupted, “Scouts? In Ithilien? Both my people and yours have erstwhile settled that area; I hardly see any need for...”

“Indeed,” Faramir broke through with a pronounced hesitation, “however, we are interested in surveying our options and resources in the lands WEST of Ithilien.”

“In Lebennin to be exact,” Aragorn explained. “Prince Imrahil reports that some of his troops have found reliable stores of ore in the hills between the rivers Serni and Gilraen. If you are agreeable, I would ask the three of you to travel in that region and document the locations and consistencies of these stores.”

Legolas wrinkled his nose slightly at the though of documenting ores, but simultaneously turned his gaze to his friend, whom he knew would be delighted with such a task. “I myself have been pondering the advantage of surveying the land between our fledgling colonies and the lands of Dol Amroth; perhaps this is as good a time as any.”

Olihre, unsure of any of the advantages or disadvantages of the place, remained silent, merely nodding his head in support of everything Legolas said. Gimli took the moment of silence to insert his piece. “I think it is a very prudent suggestion, and I, as a representative of the Dwarf Realms, would be honored to lend my extensive knowledge of mining, though I must say, my memories of those lands are black.”

Olihre raised his brows in question but was halted by the King’s hand on his shoulder. “Indeed Master Gimli, our last journey in Lebennin was grim, but also was it celebrated. I believe that with the Shadow Host departed, you will find the lands and their inhabitants to be much more accommodating.”

Gimli smiled solemnly and sighed. “What was that verse that Legolas calmed us with so often on those dark days?”

“Ai Lad, that’s the one. I’d like to see the land as you’ve described it; I say we go!” Gimli turned to Olihre and nudged him none-too-softly with his elbow. “Don’t worry, Hoodwink, you’ll get your share of adventure. It can’t be helped when you travel with the elf.”

Olihre rolled his eyes at the nickname Gimli had been calling him ever since his interesting display of marksmanship at the target competition earlier that week. “I’m sure I will,” he replied, taking a step away from the sharp jointed dwarf and turning to Aragorn. “I am aware that I have been nothing but a burden since my arrival here, and I hope that I may in some way serve Your Majesty.”

Legolas’s brows shot up at this, and he smiled in approval. Aragorn only chuckled, “As I was telling Eomer earlier, it has long been stagnant here. Having a bit of drama was a welcome aversion, though I would not wish that strife upon anyone, and am regretful that it was your lovely sister who had to bear it.”

Olihre nodded his head guiltily. “She seems to have forgiven me, though I think it a good thing that I will be away for some months. Perhaps when I return, she and Gaviwyr will be too busy with wedding preparations to remember any of my foul deeds.”

“Let us hope,” Aragorn agreed. “And let us hope that they and Eomer make it back to Edoras without dismembering each other.”

Legolas groaned. “I think they’ve had their share of discord, and I am confident that all will work out well for both couples. But come, let us depart, there is ore to be documented!”

Aragorn looked quizzically at the slightly manic elf, but nodded his head in agreement. “I believe the Edoras party is about to leave; may we see you off at the same time?”

Aragorn’s only answer was a quick dissipation of the group as they separated to their respective horses. After a fond farewell, and a promise by both departing parties to return safely again, they were off.

Hours later, the sun was well past its prime, fading away softly into the west. The grasslands between the White Mountains and the River Erui were covered in snow, but hospitable enough to the diligent horses. A steady pace had been set by the scouting party, who had decided to ride on through luncheon and stop only for a late dinner before retiring.

“So tell me, Olihre, it seems as though all those around you are falling into love’s snare; what of your own endeavors?” Gimli was riding behind Legolas, his body twisted to address the human riding a short ways behind them.

Legolas chuckled superciliously and reigned in his horse to allow Olihre to come parallel to him. “If I am not mistaken, you had your sights set on a certain Princess, did you not?”

Olihre rolled his eyes but simultaneously nodded in affirmation. “Only my sights, nothing more. She was beautiful to looks at, but I was not foolish enough to think that she could be anything more to me.”

“Why not, Lad?” Gimli was looking at him as if he were just a small child in need of guidance.

“Because she is a Princess…because she is fair and kind…and because it was quite obvious that Eomer was enamored with her as well.” Olihre said the last bit with a tinge of jealousy in his voice.

“You give up easily my friend.” Legolas was smiling, but his eyes were nothing but serious. “Eomer’s intentions are reason to take care, but none of your previous arguments seem valid to me. If your sister was worthy of Eomer’s love, why then would you not be worthy of a fair Princess’s?”

Olihre laughed. “Easy for you to say, Elf-prince, and you, Dwarf-lord, you’ve the necessary title as well. My sister was worthy of Eomer’s love, and he hers, but would his advisor’s have agreed? Or his sister?”

“Then you do not doubt your worth?” Legolas had completely stilled his horse.

Olihre laughed again, but this time it was a resigned sound. “I am not my sister. She is long-suffering and brave, I am headstrong and thoughtless.”

Legolas urged his horse back into an easy trot, calling behind him, “I think you judge yourself too harshly. If you used the same rule for yourself as you do others, I think you would find yourself deserving of any royalty.”

Olihre blushed and ducked his head. “Either way, Lothiriel is Eomer’s, and I am left with my horse….not that I am complaining, boy.” he stroked his horse’s mane fondly.

Gimli could be heard grumbling while Legolas only laughed. “We’ll be stopping for the night a ways up here. This stream will lead us to the Erui, and from there we’ll make our way west and cross the two branches of the Sirith. There we will begin our scouting.”

“Are there any settlements the way we are going?” Olihre wasn’t at all familiar with the land they were traveling.

“More now than the last time I journeyed here. Now that the Shadow Hosts have departed and the True King has returned, people feel comfortable inhabiting the area; they know that they will be protected.”

“I know the importance of such protection.” Olihre furrowed his brows and stared fixedly at his horse’s mane. “We were in Osgiliath at the inception of the fighting. It wasn’t until the Black Riders began appearing that my Mother finally relented and sought refuge in Minas Tirith.”

Olihre nodded. “We were afraid that my father would come back and find us missing.”

Legolas asked the question that they all knew was coming. “What happened to your father?”

“He died in a barren wasteland between the Mountains of Shadow and The Harad Road. He was a potter by trade, but when his captain discovered that he was also a good scout, his fate was sealed. I guess I never really expected him to come home, but I hoped…”

“I’m sorry lad.” Gimli was hunched over on his steed, his body rocking to and fro with each step the horse took. Legolas rode more easily, his back straight, but his head hung reverently.

Olihre was glad to be able to speak of his father, but he also regretted the somber atmosphere that he had brought upon his comrades. In an effort to lighten the air, he snorted, “And now I’m a scout, though you’ll probably curse my name by the end of this mission. I’m afraid I’ve never been taught anything about scouting.”

Legolas nodded with a sardonic smile. “Though minerals tend to be far less daunting to scout than Orcs and Dark Men.”

The sky was nearly black by the time the troupe stopped for the night. A light meal of dried venison and fruit was consumed in silence as a warm fire crackled contentedly nearby. Olihre rolled out his bed roll and lowered himself with a groan, his hand pressed against the small of his back.

“Only a bit, you?” Olihre was flat on his back now, one leg crossed over his bent knee. Gimli merely grunted, leaving Olihre unsure whether it was in the affirmative or not. Smiling wryly, he glanced towards Legolas, who was stowing his bow and arrows in an overhanging tree branch. “You?” he queried with a slight inclination of his head.

“Elves do not become sore so easily, though I am glad to be on my feet after such a long ride.” Legolas pulled his own bedroll out of his pack and laid it beside Gimli’s, noting that the dwarf was already blinking heavily in an effort to keep his eyes open. “Let us rest now-- we’ve another long ride ahead of us tomorrow.”

“Why the rush?” Olihre asked through a semi-stifled yawn. “It’s not like we have any specific time limit, do we?”

Legolas, who was lying on his side, shrugged his shoulders. “The King did not give us any limitations, no, but I would like to complete the survey as soon as possible so that we might travel more freely, without any specific destination.”

“That makes sense,” Olihre said as if he hadn’t even thought of it before. “I guess I’ve had so few adventures, that even this survey seems like one to me.”

Legolas chuckled. “Worry not, friend, you will see your share of adventure on this assignment. I believe Gimli has planned a hunting trip for us tomorrow, and trust me when I tell you that hunting with Gimli can be quite the adventure.”

Olihre groaned. “Please don’t tell me that he is going to be throwing his ax at some helpless woodland creature…and from the back of your horse no less.”

“I heard that,” Gimli muttered from underneath his arm, which was folded across his face.

A/N: Hunting trip? Oh dear, this could mean trouble. Or it could mean…oh, wait, I can’t tell you! Stay tuned…

Chapter Eight- Literal Suspense and Dark Ones

The rush of blood to Olihre’s head was beginning to sound like an enormous wave breaking against a craggy cliff every time his heart uttered a beat. He could both hear and feel the throbbing pulse crashing against the onslaught of blood with each oscillation. His hands were beginning to tingle as they hung lifelessly below his head, which was unnervingly below his feet.

Very unnatural, Olihre thought to himself.

The only times Olihre ever remembered being upside down were when his father would take him by the ankles as a young child and swing him to and fro jovially, much to the alarm of his mother, and glee of his baby sister. Other than those rampant and all too rare times of joy, Olihre had only ever been upside down when he had caught his foot in his horse’s saddle and been dragged all the way from the bean field back to his house. As soon as his family had ascertained that he was well, they had delved in with teasing that had not ceased until his father’s death. After that, jokes seemed burdensome.

Presently, he thought to himself that he had certainly had enough of being upside down to last him an elvish lifetime. It seemed to him that hours had passed since he had been hanging there, suspended by his ankles from a supple but deceivingly strong tree branch; however, Olihre could tell from the sun that was glaring mercilessly in his eyes, that it had really been no more than a quarter of an hour.

“Blast!” he called out loud, swinging his arms fruitlessly from side to side. His abdominal muscles had relented in an embarrassingly short amount of time, no longer allowing him to pull his head up to his knees and work on the knot that held him so firmly captive.

“Legolas! Gimli! If this is your idea of a joke, I am NOT amused!” Olihre punched at the air below his head, groaning when his elbow overextended due to the lack of contact. “Stupid elf…I hate Dwarfs!”

“You know a Dwarf?”

Olihre spun around sharply at the sound of an inquiring voice, seeming to forget that he was suspended from a tree. Though his head turned sharply, his body could not maintain the position, and quickly returned to its originally futile state. Using his arms as propellers, Olihre whirled them wildly about himself, tucking his chin up to his chest all the while, trying in vain to see who was standing behind him.

After several bouts of this exhausting activity, he gave up, his head and arms hanging lifelessly below his prostrate torso. The only indication of his viability was the heaving breaths exuding from his agape mouth, and the half-opened eyes that were obstinately rolled back in their sockets.

“That looks uncomfortable.”

There it was again! Olihre frowned at the almost imperceptibly nasal voice that issued monotonously towards him, saturated with a very unwelcome sarcasm. The strength it took to focus his eyes again and turn his head was almost unbearable for Olihre, who really didn’t feel like chatting with anyone at the moment.

“No really,” he assured the phantom voice acerbically, “it’s quite luxurious.” Olihre noted that his own voice had turned quite nasal, a result of both his capsized position, and the dryness in his mouth.

A muffled and nearly toneless laugh came from behind as he felt hands grasping his armpits and turning him quickly. The hands remained on his arms, preventing him from spinning back to his resting position facing the tree.

Olihre narrowed his eyes, trying to bring into focus the upturned person before him. Girl, was the first thought that popped into his head, though he had already assumed as much based on the feminine lilt in her voice.

Next came short, though his blood-soaked brain somehow managed to remind him that of course she would seem short-- he was after all hanging several feet above the forest floor. Her head, which came only barely up to his own, was tilted at an inquiring angle, causing one lock of short, straight hair to fall over her forehead, obscuring one of her eyes. Which brought Olihre to his next adjective, dark.

That was indeed the only way to accurately describe this…well, woman…he supposed. Her coal-black hair matched her eyes perfectly, which were set off appropriately by her dark skin. It was neither brown nor black, but an opaque color of ebony that could not be readily defined. It had not the hues of yellow and red that his own skin possessed, red in excess at this point, but was instead an ashy color, though not the pallid look of a sick person. Rather it nearly glowed in its dark radiance, matched only by the reflection of the sun in her onyx eyes.

Olihre continued analyzing the woman, trying to decide whether or not she was hostile or friendly. The smile on her face indicated friendliness, but Olihre was hesitant to assume anything. His gaze traveled from the smile on what he considered to be too large of lips, to the twinkle in hers eyes, which he quickly found to be too far apart. He had just decided that her cheekbones were almost as pronounced as his horse’s when it occurred to him that her skin had begun to take on a sickly greenish hue. He shook his head briskly, which only served to spread the greenish color from her skin to her hair and clothing, and then to the trees and sky…and then…blackness, though it seemed more a latent thought than anything, as Olihre had by that time lost consciousness.

* * *

“Do you suppose we should check on the lad?” Gimli strode towards a tree and extracted his ax, which he had unsuccessfully thrown at a rather large burrow-dwelling mammal.

Legolas cocked his head to the side and listened for a moment, before shaking it confidently. “Nay Gimli; the trees say that Olihre has a visitor. I think we should allow him some time with his new friend.”

Gimli raised a slightly incredulous eyebrow at the elf and shook his head. “His ‘new friend,’ eh? And how do we know if this ‘new friend’ is indeed…er, friendly?”

“The trees know her. She is.”

“Her?” Gimli’s face went slightly red. Legolas’s confidence was always irritating, but Gimli really hated it when the elf managed to knock him off his guard with a single word.

“Yes, ‘her’. I know aught of Olihre’s visitor, but the trees speak of her as a familiar.” Legolas took a shallow breath and smiled unassumingly. “This should be fun…for Olihre, of course.”

“Of course,” Gimli muttered, shaking his head resignedly. He would never understand precisely why his friend found humor in the things he did, but he had to admit, even he could see the possibilities for entertainment in this situation.

* * *

Olihre awoke to a new sensation of discomfort. Twigs, roots and rocks accosted his back, while his head and neck ached with an alarming intensity. He attempted to sit up, but shakily sank back to the unrelenting ground as light began flashing in his eyes, which, he noted with chagrin, were presently closed. After a moment of rest, he tried again, this time rolling over onto his knees first, keeping his head tucked between them. After a few more moments, he raised his head, steadying himself with his hands on the ground.

His surroundings still maintained a slightly greenish hue, though they were now infused with a small amount of orange as well. Nothing was spinning however, and he felt himself strong enough to turn around and rest against the trunk of a tree.

A tree?

Images began suffusing Olihre’s mind, flying in and out so quickly that he could scarcely identify them, and certainly could not file them away in a sequence of events. He eventually accepted that he had been strung upside down from a tree, and even admitted that he had tried unsuccessfully to free himself, however, the bizarre images of a dark demon holding him captive completely baffled him. Olihre shook his head, unwilling to allow his repressed memories to make themselves known. No such luck; his memories seemed adamant about being discovered.

It was not a demon, you fool. You were rescued by a girl.

At this rebellious thought, Olihre frowned.

A girl? Why would a girl be off by herself in the middle of these woods? Surely not.

To Olihre’s proud and somewhat befuddled mind, it was much more acceptable for him to have been captured by a demon with unnatural powers, than a mere girl. Again that annoying voice spoke up, and for some reason, it sounded like his sister’s.

She was not a demon, and she did not capture you…she saved you!

Yes, that was most certainly his sisters taunting giggle that he was hearing.

“Well, where is she now?” Olihre nearly shouted aloud.

The trees whispered to each other, infuriating Olihre with their private jokes. He wrenched his back away from the one he was currently sheltering on and stumbled to his feet. At this point, things did begin to tilt slightly, and Olihre had to put a hand to his forehead to steady the rocking scenery.

He looked back at the tree and saw that indeed, there was about a half-foot of rope extending from a branch several feet in the air. It had been cut crudely, its fine, silken ends frayed dismally. Olihre dropped his eyes to the forest floor where he saw the rest of its butchered length lying in a heap. He stooped to pick it up, noting that it was kinked at the end, where it had been tied in a noose and tightened around his ankles.

Olihre groaned aloud. She cut me down and then untied me while I was unconscious?

At the thought of a girl dragging him to the shelter of the massive tree roots, Olihre reddened. He then blanched at the thought of the same girl scurrying all the way up to the branch so high above ground and balancing precariously while cutting him down.

With this thought, Olihre’s hands flew instinctively to his trouser leg, which had been pulled up hurriedly from inside of his boot. Indeed, his knife was gone. He looked about the ground before him, searching for its ivory hilt, but it was not apparent.

Olihre recalled thinking of his knife only after he had exhausted himself with efforts to untie the rope binding his ankles. By the time he had remembered his knife, he was too exhausted to even reach it, let alone pull himself up far enough to reach the rope and hold himself there while cutting it.

Olihre scanned the forest floor once again, part of him hoping to find the knife that his father had given him on his thirteenth birthday, but another small part of him hoping that the girl had indeed stolen it. He would not have her play the altruistic heroine if he could help it.

“She’s a thief,” he said to the aloof trees, convinced that she had indeed taken his knife. The crunching of dried leaves caused Olihre to turn abruptly, his fists balled into tight weapons at his sides.

“Aye there, what’s this talk of thieves?” Gimli was using his long-ax as a walking stick as he trudged through the underbrush. Legolas was moving easily beside him, his bow strapped across his back.

Olihre’s blood began to boil as his fists balled even tighter. “Just where in Mordor have you two been? I’ve been stuck out here, HANGING from a tree for the past…who knows how long, and you two…you were supposed to be ‘right over!’”

Legolas suppressed his usual demure smile and arched eyebrows and instead frowned gravely, though his sincerity was soon called into question by both companions. “Hanging from a tree? I do apologize, Olihre, it is just that I had forgotten where I had initially sent you to scout, and it took Gimli and I quite some time to follow the tree’s promptings.”

“Really?” Olihre questioned with icy bitterness. “Did those trees happen to mention that I was suspended from one of them? Did they happen to mention that I was cut down while unconscious and dropped on my head?”

At this Gimli let out the sputter of laughter that he had been holding in all throughout Legolas’s oration. “Ahhh…I’m sorry Lad…it’s just…” The dwarf found himself unable to finish as he doubled over with laughter.

Legolas rolled his eyes, his mask of sincerity slipping slightly as he grinned back at Olihre. “The trees did mention that you were incapacitated, but we were happily put to ease when they mentioned that a friend had come to your aid.”

“Some friend!” Olihre growled, pointing to his disturbed pant-leg. “She stole my knife!”

“But she did cut you down, and from the looks of it,” Legolas inclined his head towards the very obvious drag marks leading to the base of the tree, “she even attended to you afterwards. It is a shame you were not awake to thank her before she departed.”

“Departed with my knife!” Olihre bellowed. “Don’t even TRY to tell me that stealing one’s possessions is customary upon issuing of aid! It was probably her trap in the first place!”

“It likely was.” Legolas acquiesced. “The homesteaders in this area can only trap on their own lands. She was probably checking on her family’s snares when she found you.”

“Ha!” Gimli guffawed loudly, “You were probably not what they had in mind when they were planning their dinner!”

Olihre rolled his eyes and sighed. “Don’t think that I don’t know that you knew about this!”

Gimli grunted as he tried to work out what had just been said, while Legolas laughed and slapped Olihre on the back. “I had no knowledge of the trap prior to our arrival here. It was only after the trees began whispering that I even knew of your plight. Granted, Gimli and I may have taken slightly more time than necessary to find you…”

“Really?” Olihre said incredulously, though he could scarcely hide the amused grin that was fast replacing his scowl. “And I suppose that once you heard a girl was approaching, you just couldn’t help yourselves, eh?”

“Could you have?” Legolas raised his eyebrows cheekily at his human friend.

Olihre snorted. “If you were strung up in a tree and a poor elven maiden were UNFORTUNATE enough to stumble upon you, I believe she would be the one needing a rescuer!”

Gimli nodded his head in confirmation as he used the handle of his ax to usher the two forward. “Since we’ve hardly managed to catch anything fresh for dinner, I propose we make our way to the nearest settlement and barter. I’m not sure I can stomach another dinner of dried meat and fruit.”

“The nearest settlement-- are you insane? I don’t want to see that demon-girl again!” Olihre had turned slightly pale, his eyes darting back and forth nervously.

“You do want your knife back?” Legolas was giving Olihre the ‘speaking to a slow child’ look again.

“Fine,” Olihre grumbled after deliberating a moment, “but I’m waiting with the horses. You two can go in and get the meat.”

“And the knife?” Legolas prompted again.

Olihre heaved an annoyed sigh. “Just tell them that I lost it, and ask them if perhaps anyone has found it. That way there are no accusations or hard feelings.”

“No hard feelings?” Gimli asked with a raised eyebrow. “Then what do I tell them when they ask why you yourself could not be bothered to come and retrieve your own knife?”

“Just tell them it was YOUR knife! Or Legolas’s; it really doesn’t matter.” Olihre looked like he was going to lash out at any moment.

Legolas took a step towards the human and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Except that it is quite likely that the girl has informed them of your meeting-- they may be expecting you.”

“Why would she steal my knife and then tell the other’s about it?”

Legolas uttered only one word, “Insurance.”

* * *

The trio traveled down a well-worn horse path for almost an hour before finally coming upon a break in the woods. A wide clearing, disturbed only by a small stream and several smaller groves of trees, lay before them. In the far distance lay several buildings, some made of stone, others of simple wood construction. Smoke rose from the chimney’s of the larger stone buildings, smelling of roasted meat and aromatic wood.

Legolas dismounted first, waiting until Gimli had jumped down before leading his horse to a tree and securing it. Olihre slipped hesitantly from the back of his mount, untying his pack quickly before allowing Legolas to secure the horse beside his own.

“…wouldn’t be surprised if the horses are gone when we get back…” Olihre grumbled, pulling his hazel-colored cloak tighter around his lithe body.

Legolas chuckled but shot a look of temperance at the young human. “Think of this as an adventure, my friend.”

Olihre said nothing, but merely fell into line behind Gimli, who was already making his way across the clearing to what appeared to be the main dwelling. When they were almost half-way across, a man exited the building and began walking towards him, his hand raised in greeting.

“The man has dark skin!” Gimli muttered quietly, his gaze turned to Legolas in wonder.

“So did the girl who took my knife,” Olihre offered, wondering why it mattered.

Legolas nodded his head almost imperceptibly and said without moving his lips or turning his head, “Many of the people of Harad came to this area when Sauron began asserting his control again.”

By this time the man was almost within speaking range, but that didn’t deter Gimli from whispering, “Are they to be trusted?”

Legolas silenced Gimli with a raised finger as he continued looking forward, his smile carefully guarded as the man halted before them.

“What brings such honored guests to my home?” The imposing man asked with a slight nod of deference.

Legolas’s brow shot up at this recognition. “You know who we are?”

The man’s mouth quirked in a slight smile as he nodded, “I was in Erech with my family when the King led the Host through; I believe you were among them.”

Legolas nodded slowly, his gaze flickering briefly to Gimli, who looked slightly troubled at the mentioning of their trip through the Paths of the Dead. “We were there, yes.”

“Then it is an honor to have you with us, though I admit, I do not recall your names.”

“I am Legolas of the Woodland Realm, though many of my people are currently settling in Ithilien.” He turned to his friends. “This is Gimli, Son of Gloin, whose people reside in any beautiful place of stone.” Gimli looked pleased as Legolas turned to Olihre, “And this is Olihre, an apprentice to Rohan’s Master Horse Trainer, and a companion of ours as we are on an errand from King Elessar.” Olihre’s eyebrows shot up at Legolas’s grand introduction.

“It is an honor to have the three of you at our home. Please, won’t you join us for our supper?” The man gestured towards the largest dwelling, where several others had gathered on the porch, peering at the visitors curiously.

Legolas looked at Olihre and Gimli, who said nothing but inclined their heads respectfully. “We would be very grateful,” he said at last.

As they walked towards the house, Legolas turned to the amiable looking man and offered, “We have actually come here on two errands.” He waited as the man indicated his interest with a nod, and then continued. “We were first of all hoping to barter for some fresh meat and supplies.”

The man laughed as he looked towards his house. “Well, your dinner tonight will most certainly be our delight to provide, as will your breakfast in the morning if you will allow us to shelter you this night. After that, we are certainly willing to barter for your provisions.”

Legolas smiled, sure that this man was a credit to his race, who had only ever been looked upon with scorn. “We would be very grateful to take you up on your offer, and would offer you any of our services whilst we are here.” Casting a sidelong glance at Olihre, Legolas continued. “Also, my human friend here was unfortunately caught in a snare earlier this day. Neither Gimli nor I was present at the time, but he insists that a beautiful young lady cut him down while he was unconscious.” Legolas grinned at Olihre who was trying to restrain the grimace that was threatening to eat up his face. “Know you anything of this brave young girl?”

The man stopped dead in his tracks, turning away from them in haste, his arms folded across his midsection. The others looked on as his shoulders began to shake. Presently he turned, his face red with restrained laughter. “I apologize…but yes, I do know of whom you speak. My rather impetuous daughter told me of her run-in with an unusual man this morning.” He looked at Olihre who was looking back at him rather oddly. “She said that you received a rather nasty jolt upon contact with the ground, and that she couldn’t wake you. She arrived home with this,” the man took a knife out of his coat pocket and handed it to Olihre, who looked back at him with accusation written in his eyes. The man smiled apologetically and sighed, “She was due home and could not stay, but was hoping that when you found your knife missing, you would come for it.”

Legolas snickered quietly while Gimli elbowed the young man. Olihre scowled at the dwarf before turning to the man with apprehension. “Why did she want me to come for it?”

The man grinned sheepishly, “For two reasons, the first being that she felt you were in need of some care after your fall, and also,” he paused awkwardly, “she heard you mention a dwarf and an elf, and was hoping that they would come with you.”

Even Olihre had to laugh at that.

Sorry it’s taken so long to get this out; I’ve been busy writing papers for my Anthropology of Latin American Religion class. Oi! Pentecostalism in Brazil is fascinating, don’t get me wrong, but it just doesn’t compare to Lord of the Rings. Yes, I’m pathetic.

Thanks to my reviewers; it’s been fun having the ones who’ve been following along this whole time but not reviewing come out of the woodwork now and then. I appreciate them!

Thanks to Daisy Princess for her great beta work. Thanks to my sister (her name really is Xanthe) who’s been following along as well, though I wish she’d review now and then!

Olihre tried to focus on the translucent puffs of vapor exuding from his mouth in restless white clouds, all the while fighting to keep his visage neutral and his eyes unexpressive. It didn’t seem that anyone was paying much attention to him, but if by chance they did hazard a look, he certainly did not want to seem amused or intrigued. The idea of a girl stealing his knife in order to meet his peculiar friends was comical, he would give no argument there, but it certainly wasn’t becoming of a civilized person, and he wouldn’t encourage such behavior with a reaction of any kind.

Pivoting lightly upon his heel, Olihre peered past their host and gazed through the twilight towards the gathering of people huddled together on the porch. He couldn’t see much, due to both lack of light and the distance still remaining between the congregations, but he could make out three distinctly female figures, as well as a small boy.

Legolas and Gimli were still chuckling as the man related his daughter’s frenzied tale earlier, holding his hands up and making animated faces all the while. Finally the man turned to Olihre and studied him closely.

“Your nose is turning pink, boy-- I suppose we had better move into the house then.”

Olihre made no reply, but rather nodded obligingly and fell in line behind the others as they trekked through the crystallized snow. When they neared the porch the man called out to his wife. “We’ll have three guests for the meal tonight, love! Best have the children set a few more places!”

The middle-aged woman on the porch turned a knowing look to her two daughters and young son. “You heard your father…up…up!”

The boy of about eleven years of age hopped up and rushed inside the house, his older sisters close on his heels. Before the screen door could shut though, a hand shot out and stopped it, a head following. The face that peered around the corner held a smirk that was directed straight towards Olihre, and then a flirtatious smile, which was most certainly not.

Legolas and Gimli both blushed slightly and then turned questioning glances to the young man, who was scowling fiercely and fidgeting with the clasps on the bottom of his tunic. Not until they heard a chuckle did they remember that the girl’s father was right there.

“You’ll have to excuse Imlyana, you’d think she’d been raised by elves, the way she…” The man paused, looking as if he had just been slapped. “Oh! Forgive me Mi’Lord, it’s only an old expression from where I hail…”

Legolas laughed at the man’s sudden awkwardness, turning to Gimli, who looked as if he agreed fully with the man’s pervious sentiments. “No need to apologize,” Legolas insisted, “I’ve heard it before. And as for your daughter, she is still young, only a small child in the reckoning of the elves.”

“Ha! Don’t let HER catch you saying that…she hates being treated as a child.” The man stroked his stubbly chin thoughtfully. “She’s nearly eighteen years old, and has been caring for our family since she could talk. Her maturity is overdeveloped in some senses, and non-existent in others. She’s organized fighting divisions while being fired upon by the enemy, arranged fire brigades while in the midst of an Orc attack, and taken upon herself all the duties of the head of household while I was away-- but she can’t seem to keep a straight face when it is expected of her.” He shook his head. “I will tell you this though, she loves a challenge.”

“A challenge?” Legolas echoed, turning an inquisitive gaze to his friends. “Let us hope we do not provide such a challenge. What kind of guests would we be?”

The question was obviously rhetorical, and was met with a few more chuckles as the group scraped the snow off of their boots before entering the warm and fragrant house. The man, who had earlier introduced himself as Hyelir, led the group to a sitting area near the fire where his wife was scrubbing potatoes. “This is Imliné of the Rohirrim, my beloved wife of twenty-one years.”

“Twenty,” Imliné corrected as she dried her hands on her apron and extended one to Legolas. She was fair woman of golden hair and pale skin, but her eyes were dark and intense as she allowed Legolas to greet her. He offered a slight kiss upon her hand as he knew was customary for many of the nations of men, and then passed her off to Gimli, who did the same, and then finally to Olihre, who looked less comfortable than either of his friends.

“Welcome to our home,” she continued. “Please make yourselves comfortable-- dinner will be ready in a moment.” Thanks were issued by all as they accepted the proffered chairs, each happy to have a warm and dry place to rest.

Olihre watched as the three children scurried about, each casting curious stares in their direction, but paying mind not to let their mother catch them. After a few minutes Imliné announced that the meal was ready. Olihre was the last to rise, keeping his head down and his arms folded across his chest. He was ushered to a straight-backed wooden chair, flanked on both sides by his traveling companions, and fortunately, out of a direct line of sight to the older girl, whom Olihre was still determined to despise.

“So tell us what brings you to these parts…unless that is confidential?” Hyelir raised his eyebrows in anticipation as Gimli sat forward in his chair.

“We are scouting for Aragorn...er, Elessar.” Gimli stroked his beard with one hand while picking up a fork with his other. “Looking to see what ore stores are available in this area.”

“Actually, no,” Legolas amended, “We are merely traveling through this area on our way to the hills between the Gilraen and Serni rivers. That land is still owned by the crown, I believe.”

“It is,” Hyelir nodded, obviously pacified. “This land has been given to the free peoples for their use, but the lands west of us are still wild for the most part, and solely under ownership of the crown.”

“Aye, I have long trapped in that area, as the wildlife is not much wary of humans due to the remoteness of it.”

Legolas arched a brow, turning to address the man in full measure. “Prince Imrahil’s people report ore stores in abundance, have you seen any sign of such?”

“The hills are full of it, but it would require a large force to extract and refine such crude metal. Never have the modest farmers of this region possessed the necessary skill or equipment.” With this he turned to Gimli, who was looking somewhat inflated. “Though I am sure you have all the skill you need right here-- if the stories I’ve been told have held any truth.”

“Truly, the dwarves do posses remarkable abilities when it comes to the cold and hard things of the earth,” Legolas softened his snide tone to sound less abrasive. “Master Gimli here has long preached to me the skills of his people.”

Hyelir snorted, “I’ve no part in this feud, as I have never seen either elf nor dwarf in their natural elements.”

Legolas glanced around the table, noting that the children were behaving remarkably well. “Your family is the epitome of decorum, Sir-- what is your trick?”

“Tis no trick Master Elf, only bribery. I’ve promised them an adventure soon, and they haven’t forgotten. Not to mention the threats Imliné and I have made against their lives should they behave badly in front of our distinguished guests.”

This was met with several chuckles and one pronounced huff. Hyelir glanced over at his younger daughter, who was picking restlessly at her venison. “What is it Imlara?”

“We’ve been nearly mad with anticipation these last days, and now with them here, we’ll have to wait even longer.” The fourteen year old spoke hesitantly, looking at her father with trepidation.

Hyelir looked slightly perturbed. “Perhaps you should consult with your sister on that issue, as it was her scheming that brought our guests here in the first place. Besides, it won’t be much longer before I have time to take you and your siblings out, but this week I’ve got to do the fertilizing anyway.”

Imlara turned and scowled at her sister, who smiled sweetly at her and then returned to staring holes into the visitors. Legolas had noticed this unabashed fascination, and had been studiously avoiding eye contact all the while. Gimli treated the situation as if it were ordinary, and was often caught winking at the young woman. Each time this happened, Imlyana would raise her eyebrows questioningly and then turn to her father, who was shooting her narrowed looks.

“Daughter, must you continue to hound our company, or may we allow them to eat in peace?”

Imlyana smiled contritely at her father before looking at the dwarf and shrugging her shoulders. She then turned back to the elf who was regarding her quizzically. Legolas watched as Imlyana glanced down to the head of the long table where Olihre sat, and then turned a questioning gaze back to him. She repeated this pointed display several times, each time returning to look at the elf. Finally, Legolas accepted the rather obvious bait and turned his own head in the direction she had indicated. He smiled slightly when he spied Olihre, his elbow on the table, arm raised to support his head, which was drooping gloomily, with tangled brown hair obscuring his face. His attention was turned to his food, which he ate quickly but without gusto. Legolas then noticed that several others, including a disapproving Imlara, were glancing his way as well.

“Olihre,” Legolas began with a slight edge to his voice, “Are you feeling quite well?”

“The you’re stronger than most men,” Imlyana said impertinently, “with all that blood in your head, a fall was the last thing you needed.”

Her parents exchanged worried looks as Legolas and Gimli fought to restrain their laughter. Imlara glared at her sister and whispered, “Lyana! You’re gonna get us in trouble!”

The younger boy nodded his head in concurrence, “If father gets mad we’ll never go on our trip!”

“Relax Hyelif, I’m only making conversation.” Imlyana turned to her father. “I told you Father, I am happy to take the two out by myself. These areas are safe now, and I am more than capable of rigging a few traps to entertain the little ones.”

Both younger siblings grumbled at this, but looked expectantly at their father. Hyelir shook his head. “I know you are capable my dear, but it is not wise to travel alone, and you are ALL still my little ones.”

Imlyana rolled her eyes. Suddenly though she perked up and turned to the elf. “How long will your party be staying in Lebennin?”

“We’ll be here long enough to document the deposits; then we’ll return to Minas Tirith.” Legolas had a feeling he knew what the girl was getting at, and he wasn’t sure he quite liked it.

Gimli however, was enjoying both the attention of the girl, and the uncomfortable looks that Olihre was sending his way. “We’ll be there no longer than a week. Perhaps we could escort you children as we do our survey.”

Imlyana looked ever so pleased as Legolas inclined his head in a mixture of affirmation and resignation. “This certainly won’t be a dangerous or exciting adventure, but we would be happy to watch over them.”

Hyelir furrowed his brow and bit his lower lip, glancing at his wife, who had her mouth covered by her hand. When she finally removed it to communicate with her husband, her mouth was twisted into a wry grin.

“Good Sirs, I’m afraid you don’t comprehend what you’ve just offered. My children are wonderful, no doubt, but there is a certain…spirit…that runs wild within them.” Turning to her oldest, she continued. “Actually, the two younger ones are eager enough to please, but my oldest may be a bit more difficult.”

“Well then it is good that I will not be NEEDING a nanny, isn’t it? And for that matter, I will be looking after my siblings; these fine Sirs will need only to offer us protection IF indeed any is even needed. They may feel free to ignore us all the while.” Imlyana looked pleadingly at her father, who was had his head bowed in thought.

“It seems we have raised quite the politician, would you not agree?” Hyelir turned to his wife who was looking at their daughter with slight reproach in her eyes.

“One does not always need to treat every situation as if it is a battle,” she insisted.

“I apologize mother; I simply wanted to relieve our visitors of any responsibility that is not absolutely necessary.”

“All right then,” Hyelir relented, “I suppose if our guests are sure they want to undertake this responsibility, we have no problem with it. The King certainly would not send anyone incapable of such a duty.”

Legolas couldn’t help the wry smile the graced his face for only a moment, causing brief looks of concern to flash across Hyelir and Imliné’s faces. “Of course not,” Legolas assured them. “They will be well taken care of.” Gimli too had to clear his throat and take deep breaths in order to suppress his laughter.

Olihre chose this moment to join the conversation. “I warn you, these two have a knack for finding trouble.” He shot a snide look at the two. “Even this trip has proven more bothersome than I had been prepared for.”

Hyelir and his wife looked at each other in confusion, while Gimli and Legolas merely rolled their eyes and shook their heads. Imlyana however was ready with a reply. “Don’t despair-- I’m sure you’ll be toughened up by the end of this adventure.”

Another chapter out so soon? Is our author neglecting her schoolwork and annoying her bosses at work? Yes, she is-- but gladly so. Enjoy!

Olihre was sorely tempted to fling his boiled potatoes across the table at the smirking little waif who dared question his abilities. The only thing that kept him from doing so was the man sitting next to the girl, looking complacent but also very…large.

“Don’t despair-- I’m sure you’ll be toughened up by the end of this adventure.”

How dare she? First she had crudely cut him down from a trap of her OWN making, humiliating him in front of his companions, then she had stolen his knife, and now…now she was questioning his strength?

A low growl escaped Olihre’s pursed lips as he glared at the girl. “I don’t need toughening,” he murmured, “I need solace from…from…” Olihre let out a groan of frustration. He knew that he was behaving badly and that it wouldn’t do to insult his traveling companions or their hosts, but he was having a difficult time understanding how they could all just sit around smiling while he was being treated as such. “I’m fine,” he muttered after several uncomfortable moments, his voice resounding with impatient finality.

Hyelir cleared his throat conspicuously. “Imliné, haven’t we got an apple tart for dessert tonight?”

The petite woman smiled appreciatively at her husband while nodding. “We do. I’ll go and get it…if you’re all ready?”

Heads bobbed up and down around the table. Gimli yawned and reached for his goblet. “Madame, this dinner was delightful; I can only imagine what dessert will do to my underdeveloped palette.”

Imliné chuckled. “Underdeveloped? Don’t tell me you eat the rocks as well as mine them?”

Gimli nearly squirted the cider he was drinking right out of his nose. “Ha! Clever you are! I will have to remember that one!” Legolas rolled his eyes and snorted, bringing several pairs of shocked eyes his way.

Imliné just stood and shook her head as she made her way towards the iron cooking stove in the corner of the room. From it she pulled a warm and fragrant tart, carameled juices bubbling at its surface. Even Olihre looked appreciatively at the creation, which Imliné began sprinkling with unrefined sugar. The tart was cut and divided, and a peaceful silence ensued as it was devoured with much enthusiasm.

Olihre made a concerted effort to remove the scowl that had previously occupied his face. His elbows were now politely at his sides and his head was raised rather than dropped in consternation. Every now and then he would glance at the others at the table, all of whom were thoroughly engaged in their meals. Most often he would sneak glances at Imlyana, attempting to ascertain whether or not his first impressions of her were accurate.

She did have rather large lips, but he soon found, much to his dismay, that when they were engaged in eating or smiling, they were not half as bad as when they were smirking, or more specifically, when they were smirking at him. Her eyes, though at that moment veiled by thick lashes, were rather large, but not in a buggish sort of way. Rather they were perfectly round and almost wholly occupied by the dark black pupil and iris of the same color. Her cheekbones were nearly as pronounced as his horses, as he had earlier surmised, but he decided that it could have something to do with the short hair that framed them so strikingly.

Olihre continued studying the girl in intermittent glances, being careful not to be observed by her father or mother. Imlara caught him staring a few times, but all Olihre had to do was grimace and she would quickly turn away with a disapproving frown.

It was on one of these occasions that he returned his gaze back to the older girl after having grimaced at the younger, when he found the enormous black eyes trained on him. Only now they did not hold an impish twinkle or a glaring smirk, but rather they were questioning and thoughtful, boldly continuing their search even after being discovered.

Olihre quickly looked down, feeling her distracting gaze ever on him. His plate emptied too readily and soon he was found with nothing else to command his attention. Though he still felt a tingling sensation upon his skin, he chanced a look up, hoping it was only his overactive imagination.

She was still watching him. He looked down again quickly, and then up once more, setting his jaw and trying to look unaffected. She turned one corner of her mouth up slightly and her eyes slowly filled with mirth.

So she is trying to upset me, is she? I am not so easily had! Olihre took a deep but quiet breath and steeled himself emotionally before looking up again and staring into her eyes, determined not to look away until she did.

After a moment of confrontation, as she no doubt found that she was being challenged, Imlyana’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Soon though they returned to their accustomed spot, and her smile grew wider. She did not blink nor avert her gaze, but kept it firmly affixed to his, which appeared obstinate and rather desperate. He did not smile as she did, but kept his mouth shut tightly, his eyes narrowed in either concentration or anger, she could not tell which.

This game continued for some time until finally, the others at the table could take it no longer. A burst of laughter came from beside Olihre, forcing him to lose his concentration and turn to his right. Legolas was leaning across his plate, his fair hair nearly dropping into his almost finished tart. He had his arms wrapped around his waist and his eyes were closed in a desperate attempt to keep the tears from spilling forth.

Olihre looked at the others around the table who were also laughing, some rocking themselves back and forth, others leaning their heads back against their chairs and covering their faces with their forearms.

Imlara wiped her eyes with her sleeve and hiccupped. “You two look so stupid!”

Hyelir looked apologetically at Olihre and shook his head. “Nay friend, ‘stupid’ is not the word. Merely…well…strange. Yes, strange.”

Olihre’s head snapped back around to look down the table at the young woman. “You what?” he asked in an incredulous tone.

Imlyana smiled at him, though it held none of the condescension or disdain that he had expected. “You looked away first-- I won.”

Olihre considered his next words carefully, taking care not to cede to her any gain, but also not sure that he could support a claim of victory himself. “You can’t win a game if none was being played.”

“Oh?” Imlyana widened her eyes even more and looked questioningly at him. “Why were you staring at me then?”

Olihre reddened immensely at this. Cursing his inability to control his facial features as well as the elves, he grinned rather boyishly and shrugged. “You won.”

Olihre slept surprisingly well that night, despite the chill in the stables where they had insisted on sleeping. Hyelir had offered them palettes next to the cooking stove, but Legolas did not deem it appropriate being as how the girls’ quarters were just down the short hallway.

“Nay, we will gladly stay in your stables and keep our horses company.” He had said, sending a semi-accusatory glance towards Olihre before turning back to Hyelir. “We would hate to be a distraction to your fair children.”

Hyelir had laughed knowingly and winked at Olihre, who had blushed again, knowing that he would not be seeing an end to the taunting anytime soon. And so it was, that even the next morning, no one had forgotten his staring contest.

Legolas perched next to the young man and watched him shine his boots with a scrap of leather. “If those dark eyes held you so captive in a crowded room, I can only imagine how besotted you might find yourself in a dream, with no one around to interrupt you.”

“Ah, but you do not deny it, Lad?” Gimli was now sitting on his rolled up bed.

“I do not deny it because I have no need to. One should not have to defend himself against completely baseless claims.” Olihre looked determined and Legolas was about to admit defeat when the young man opened his mouth again, much to the delight of both companions. “Besides, her eyes don’t captivate me-- I was merely proving to her that her silly games have no effect on me.”

Three heads spun around at the sound of a female voice coming from the large stable doors. Imlyana stood with a pail of oats in one hand, and a pail of turnip roots in the other.

Olihre groaned and dropped his head into his hands, the black oil from the leather scrap leaving a generous mark on his forehead and cheek. “What do you want?” he asked in a muffled voice, not daring to look at the faces of his companions.

“I’ve been sent to feed the horses, and to tell you all that if you’d like your share, you should be in the house by the time I’m done.” Imlyana promptly set about to her work, ignoring the three travelers who sat in awkward silence. Even Legolas, who had instantly reprimanded himself for not hearing her footsteps, seemed at a loss for words.

Finally, Gimli stood and made his way over to the young woman, insisting that he be allowed to help. She had originally wrinkled her nose at his offer, her independent spirit taking hold, but had finally relented and allowed him to distribute the turnip roots.

“You’ll have to hurry quicker now that I’ve got an assistant.” Imlyana shouted over her shoulder, laughing at Gimli’s pleased expression. Her demeanor was deliberate and open, as if the whole of Middle-Earth were listening to her small-talk.

Gimli admired the girl’s confidence and told her as much, noting with satisfaction that she seemed slightly uncomfortable at the compliment.

“I’m just restless,” she amended, taking the empty pail from Gimli’s hands and walking back to stand in front Olihre and Legolas. “I often pretend that I have an audience; life is less dull that way.”

“Really? Did your audience applaud when you dropped me on my head yesterday?” Olihre asked in a humbled but still edgy voice.

Imlyana feigned introspection for a moment and then shook her head almost regretfully. “No, in fact they were all insisting that I leave you strung up there. It seems you’ve made a few enemies in the world of non-existence.”

Olihre didn’t even try to restrain the incredulous bursts of laughter that erupted from deep within his chest as he threw himself backwards into a pile of course hay and rubbed his eyes harshly with the heels of his hands. “Perhaps I’m not the only one who has been dropped on their head recently! Imaginary audiences-- ha! And to think, I was intimidated by you!”

Imlyana raised one eyebrow defensively as an evil smile spread across her face with an alarming speed. “Well, Horse Master’s Apprentice from Edoras, not all of us have the privilege of keeping such company,” she nodded her head to indicate Legolas and Gimli. “Some of us can only fantasize in our dreams of having such companions.” With a wink at the two aforementioned companions, she turned on her heel and waltzed out of the stables, leaving three nearly scandalized persons behind her.

Needless to say, breakfast was slightly uncomfortable, though perhaps not so bad as dinner had been the previous night. Imlyana was unusually silent, though her roaming eyes never ceased in their expeditions, and her pleased smile never faltered. Hyelir and his wife noticed the cumbersome atmosphere and repeatedly looked at each other with questioning eyes, but neither seemed to know what the matter could be.

Legolas made a valiant effort to keep a light conversation flowing, but the looks that his hosts were trading back and forth, mixed with several stiff and deliberate throat clearings by Gimli, made it extremely difficult to accomplish an easy exchange.

Meanwhile, Olihre had regressed back into his slouched and withdrawn stance, focusing on the bread pudding that he was eating rather than the strained conversation that was drifting back and forth.

Finally the meal was over and the children were all set to work cleaning up. Hyelir left to prepare the three horses that his children would ride, while Imliné made the rounds to several different cellars and storehouses, preparing a veritable feast to be taken with the group on their journey.

Gimli offered to help a rather awestruck young Hyelif with his snares, something that he knew very little about, but overconfidently brushed away without much thought, and Olihre and Legolas left for the stables to prepare their own horses.

When they stepped inside, Olihre looked around dramatically and then turned to Legolas. “Keep a ready ear, my friend, who knows when that she-wolf will appear.”

Legolas chuckled and handed Olihre a length of cord. “You are too easily flustered, Horse Master’s Apprentice from Edoras.”

Olihre had begun tying their provisions onto their steeds, but stopped at Legolas’s jibe. With a deliberate sneer he offered, “You didn’t seem so very unaffected when she admitted her wont for dreaming about you.”

Legolas couldn’t argue there, though he had really been more shocked than anything else.

“What disturbs me, my friend, is that Gimli was involved in those dreams as well.”

“Yes, though he seemed to enjoy her admission,” Olihre said cynically, deciding to cease the argument he had begun with the elf and turn his attentions instead to the dwarf who was not there to defend himself.

“Gimli has ever been a glutton of female attention, even when it is only in the form of a dream, and even when he has to share it with an elf.” Legolas looked smug as he took the reigns to Olihre’s horse and started out the stable doors, whistling lightly to bring his own steed along behind.

“I’m just glad I wasn’t involved in any dreams or fantasies of her making.” Olihre was jogging to keep up with the swift footed elf and long-legged horses.

“Indeed not,” Legolas replied dryly. “The horror it would induce-- you being involved in the dreams of an attractive maiden-- what could be more nightmarish?”

Olihre narrowed his eyes and cocked his head to the side, though the elf was still facing away from him. “It’s not that I am not worth dreaming about, I’ll have you know.”

Legolas tried diligently to suppress the patronizing laughter that was bubbling up within him. Turning to face Olihre, he asked, “Oh really? Is that what you’ve been told or do you often dream of yourself with happy result?”

Olihre made a disgusted face and shook his head. “Why she would even dream of you is a mystery to me. At least I…wha…er…” A series of unsure noises proceeded from Olihre’s mouth before he decided that nothing he could say would sound anything less than infantile and weak. He could not think of a single thing that would make Imlyana prefer to dream of him and not of Legolas.

Legolas looked triumphant as he turned back around and continued leading the horses towards the main house. Olihre just shook his head. Stupid elf.

Okay dokey. Here’s another! Thanks to all of my reviewers-- I usually e-mail a reply every time I receive a review, but I’ve been so busy writing papers for school, I’ve lost track of who’ve I’ve replied to. I’m sorry! Thanks to DaisyPrincess as well for her awesome beta work!

Chapter Eleven- Blazing Black Gates

The farewell had been a short and sweet affair; with Imliné kissing each of her children in turn while Hyelir followed with a hug and a warning to behave well. The two had then turned to their guests with slight apprehension in their eyes and given them one last chance to back out; finally admonishing them to return quickly if their children became too much of a burden.

Legolas had assured them that the children would behave wonderfully, he was sure, and that he would have them back safely within a week’s time. Gimli had thrown in his two cents, assuring Imliné that he was capable of disciplining a child without violence, instead using mere survival techniques to subdue the offender.

Imliné and Hyelir had glanced at each other nervously at this statement, but had turned an appreciative smile back at the dwarf, telling him that they were sure no such disciplining would be necessary, as her children would all behave like lambs, wouldn’t they? They had all looked slightly nervous as well, and had nodded their heads readily.

And then they were off. Hyelif had kept the company entertained for the first half of the day by reciting every known animal that had ever been trapped in the area, listing trapping techniques, methods of killing, skinning, curing and cooking the animal, ways of transporting animals back home with or without a steed, a wagon, a companion, a knife, etc.

While the information was indeed interesting, many in the group began wondering whether the young man perhaps spent too much time in the pursuit of animals, and too little time around actual people.

“Do you ever climb trees, young sir?” Legolas had asked, keeping his visage calm when he heard a disapproving rumble coming from the dwarf behind him.

Hyelif shrugged stiffly. “Sure. When I set a trap in a tree I sometimes have to climb it. Usually though I can just throw the rope over the branch and rig it to a bush on the ground. Depends on what you’re trapping really; if you’re marking deer…”

Legolas furrowed his brows as the boy continued his ever incessant talk of hunting animals. This was going to be more difficult than he had thought. “I see,” he interrupted. “Do you ever climb a tree just for the experience?”

Hyelif said nothing, merely arching one brow and looking slightly incredulous.

“You know-- climbing a tree just for sport, or to sit and enjoy its presence.” Legolas was half-turned in his saddle, allowing his steed to lead him down the path.

Hyelif snorted. “No! Trees are boring. Animals though, they…” Hyelif didn’t get a chance to finish before Legolas leapt fluidly from his moving horse into a tree just above his head.

The riders all stopped, including a rather nervous looking Gimli, who immediately lunged forward and grasped onto the horses long mane. “What in the Blazing Black Gates are you doing, elf?”

“It is unacceptable to me that this child find trees to be boring! We will stop here for luncheon, and he will not get any until he has spent some time in this tree, and learned to enjoy it!”

Hyelif looked horrified, though the strangers were unsure whether it was in response to the threat of having to spend time in a tree or the threat of missing lunch. Either way, he promptly crossed his arms in front of his chest and shook his head obstinately.

“Why me? Why don’t you ask my sisters how often THEY spend time in those stupid trees?”

Legolas shot him a withering look while quickly turning to the girls. Imlara shook her head nervously. “I love trees…really I do.”

Imlyana rolled her eyes. “Actually, we are not allowed in the trees. We are expected to behave like civilized persons; besides, our skirts make it rather difficult.”

“Didn’t seem to stop you yesterday…” Olihre mumbled, not making eye contact with anyone.

“Yes, well, if I happen upon another helpless man, I shall make another exception, until then, I will stay out of trees just to spite you all.”

Legolas laughed and turned to Imlara. “What say you, dear? I can have you sitting comfortably atop a branch with not so much as a wrinkle in your dress.” Legolas extended a hand to her from atop his branch, which she stared at reluctantly for a moment before reaching up and taking it, all the while squeezing her eyes tightly shut.

Legolas gently but swiftly lifted her from her horse, swinging his shoulder around to gracefully bring her into his arms. When her feet touched the branch, she immediately stiffened, and spread her arms out in front of her. Legolas put a steadying arm around her waste and allowed her to take hold of a nearby tree branch.

“All is well-- you can open your eyes now.” Imlara opened her eyes slowly and smiled, turning her head to Legolas to offer her thanks. Upon realizing his close proximity however, she quickly blanched and grasped a nearby tree branch, pulling herself into a sitting position upon it.

Imlyana watched the two with an expression of both jealousy and anticipation. Moving her horse into position under the elf, she nonchalantly raised her hand. “I’m ready,” she announced, not bothering to look up and ascertain whether or not Legolas was coming. Her answer came anyway as she felt a cool hand grasp hers, applying a smooth pressure as she was effortlessly lifted out of her saddle and into the tree. When her feet touched the limb she hesitated, not in any hurry to be released by her helper.

Legolas chuckled and cast an indiscrete glance towards Olihre who seemed to have forgotten how to close his slightly agape mouth. When he turned back to the fiendish girl, he found her to be looking questioningly at his human companion as well. Her eyes quickly returned to him however as she offered her thanks and scrambled rather indelicately to a branch beside her sister.

“Your turn lad,” Legolas offered with his hand extended towards the boy, who had moved his horse farther away from the tree.

“I can climb it myself,” Hyelif insisted with as much indignance as an eleven year old boy can muster. He dismounted his horse fluidly, apparently deciding against leaping from the horse into the tree as Legolas had done.

Gimli chuckled heartily as the boy circled the tree looking for a low enough branch or handhold. He quickly returned to his starting point, hands on his hips, a frustrated pout marring his dark skin.

“Let me help, Lad.” Gimli slid roughly from his horse and trundled up to the tall tree. Getting down on one knee he motioned for the boy to put his boot into his interlaced fingers. The boy looked skeptical, but seemingly decided that this was better than allowing the elf to swing him up like a girl.

With only a few grunts and groans, Hyelif was up in the tree, sitting as far from his sisters and Legolas as he could manage. “Wow,” he said dryly after a few silent moments. “This is really exciting.”

The boy’s sarcasm was hard to miss, but it did not seem to faze Legolas one bit. He continued climbing in the tree, going higher and higher until he was no longer visible to any in the group.

Olihre meanwhile had dismounted and begun unloading their food provisions onto a nearby log, only glancing into the tree every now and then to gauge his companions’ ascent. When everything was unloaded, he took hold of a branch and swung himself into the tree.

“Legolas!” he called up the tree, “The food is ready, but I’m not bringing it to you all the way up there!”

When no reply was heard, Olihre climbed a few branches higher and cleared his throat. “I’m going to let all of your prisoners go if you don’t come down right now.”

The slight rustling of leaves could be heard as Legolas dropped lightly behind Olihre and tapped him on the shoulder.

“You wouldn’t dare,” he said calmly, eyeing his prisoners with suspicion. “They have not yet attempted to make friends with this tree, and they will not leave it until they do. Luncheon will be served here.”

Olihre turned on his branch and looked skeptically at the elf. “And how do you propose we get Gimli up here?”

“You don’t!” Gimli shouted from below. “I’ll stay down here and eat with the horses-- the only sensible beings within a league!”

Legolas smiled demurely and swung to the ground, making his way to the log laden with vittles. He unceremoniously stuffed most of the food back into the pack that Olihre had just procured it from and then threw it onto his back. Before leaping back into the tree, he tossed Gimli a sugar cube. “Since you’ll be eating with the horses…”

Gimli grumbled at this and made his way over to the log where some meat, fruit and cheese had been left for him. “Bunch of crazy…”

* * *

A half an hour later found all but Gimli settled into the tree with most of their luncheon eaten. Pleasant conversation had been tossed around, as had frequent jokes and jibes. Olihre had settled next to Hyelif, who had not once ceased in looking longingly at the dwarf and his solid footing.

“Are you afraid of heights?” Olihre asked him curiously.

The boy stiffened and shook his head. “No! I just don’t like trees. They’re too big and...and …wiggly.”

Olihre very nearly giggled at this, looking around to the others to see if they had heard the incredulous defense. Imlara was looking at Olihre with the usual scorn in her dark eyes, while Imlyana was shaking her head with seeming pity.

“He took a bad fall out of a tree when he was younger; hasn’t been in one since.”

Hyelif whipped his head around to glare at his sister. “Quiet Lyana!” The young boys’ eyebrows furrowed and his lip began to tremble slightly. One arm was wrapped around the thick trunk of the tree while the other was held rigidly about his middle, his fist balled tightly.

“I’m sorry love,” Imlyana hurried over to her brother and sat beside him, wrapping her arms around his wounded frame. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I’m sorry.” These last words were whispered into his ear, but all in the group heard them, and averted their eyes when Hyelif buried his face in his sister’s blouse.

Imlyana look up after a moment and said quietly, “We all have things that we are afraid of; Hyelif is brave and strong.”

Olihre stared at the resigned figure burrowed into Imlyana’s side. He shifted his position on the branch so that he could lean over and take the boy’s hand. Hyelif looked up at him guardedly, but did not release his hold of his sister. Olihre smiled weakly and muttered, “I was terrified of horses when I was younger; I wouldn’t even go near one. I was never thrown from one or anything-- I was just afraid.”

Hyelif nodded his head slightly and tightened his grip on Olihre’s hand. From below they heard a throat being cleared loudly. “Er…ah…I think I’ve got you both beat.” Gimli looked up at them sheepishly as he continued. “I always have been, and reckon I always will be afraid of horses AND trees.”

All in the group chuckled, except Hyelif, who only smiled accommodatingly. Legolas leaned in front of Imlyana and placed a hand on Hyelif’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I made you come up here. There is nothing wrong with not liking trees.” The latter came out sounding rather strangled, and even Hyelif looked at Legolas with disbelief. Legolas only smiled apologetically and offered his hand to Hyelif. “Come, let’s get the horses fed and be on our way.”

Hyelif accepted his hand and was lowered to the ground quickly with Legolas jumping down beside him. The two set about to feeding the horses while Olihre and the two girls sat in pondering silence in the tree.

Finally Olihre spoke. “I think it says a lot that your brother turned to you for comfort.” Olihre paused awkwardly. “It makes me miss my little sister…though I suppose she’s really not so little anymore.”

Imlyana smiled and turned to her little sister. “Lara still thinks he’s nothing but a pest, but I think it must be difficult growing up with only sisters, especially when my father was away for so long.”

Olihre nodded but didn’t have a chance to respond before Imlyana continued. “That was very good of you…telling him about your fear of horses. I could tell he was comforted by it.”

Olihre blushed and shook his head. “It was all true; I’m just glad that Gimli came to my rescue so I didn’t look so foolish.”

“I heard that, lad!”

Olihre laughed and grinned at the two girls. “He’s really just a big softie, though he’d hate for you to know it.”

“I heard that too!”

Gimli continued muttering below as Imlyana suddenly stood upon her perch and reached up, grabbing hold of a slim branch and hoisting herself up by it. She continued making her way up the tree, leaving Imlara and Olihre agreeing upon something at last.

“Your sister is a bit compulsive, isn’t she?”

Imlara nodded and called up to her sister, “Lyana, you’re wearing a skirt!”

“So?” The reply came in the form of a muffled grunt from above.

“So, you just got done saying how inappropriate it is to climb in a skirt; if we looked up right now we could see your underpants!”

“I said it was difficult, not inappropriate-- and nobody should be looking up, right?”

Imlara just rolled her eyes while Olihre continued staring devoutly at the tree trunk in front of him.

“Right,” he muttered under his breath, looking at Imlara briefly before moving to jump down from the tree. He was halted though by a cry of alarm from high above him.

“Are you all right?” he called in obvious concern.

Silence reigned for a few moments before a subdued voice called back down hesitantly, “Lara, can you come up here please?”

“I don’t think so!” Imlara returned, grasping her branch tighter.

“LARA, I NEED YOU!”

Olihre peered upwards, trying to spot the young woman. “Are you hurt?” he called.

“No…but my dress is. I stepped on it while I was pulling myself up. It’s ripped.”

“Well what good am I going to do up there?” Imlara asked, looking to Olihre for help.

“I ripped it in the back, right along the mid-hem, but I can’t see it clearly. I need you to come up and tell me how bad it is.”

“And then what?” Imlara asked in frustration. “Give you my own dress?”

“I don’t know! This has never happened to me before!”

Olihre tried not to chuckle but was finding it difficult. Turning to Imlara he said, “I believe this is one of those times where you can successfully tell your sister that you told her so.”

“Ha…ha…” came the reply from above. “If you’re so smart, why don’t you figure something out?”

“As a matter of fact, I already have.” Olihre looked down towards Legolas, who was watching them with humor in his eyes. “Legolas, why don’t you grab my cloak from my saddle pack and do what you elves love so much-- climb up the tree.”

Legolas nodded and went to take Olihre’s brown cloak out of his pack. He then walked casually towards the tree, stopping a few feet from its base and tossing the cloak at Olihre. “I’m busy, you give it to her.” Without waiting for a reply, he turned around and went back to helping Hyelif groom the horses.

Olihre growled and looked up nervously. Imlara turned a devilish smile towards him that he hadn’t thought her capable of. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of trees too?” When Olihre only scowled at her, she continued. “Or is it the scary monsters up in the trees that worry you?”

“Hello? Is anyone coming or am I to spend the night up here too?”

Olihre rolled his eyes and peered upward again with obvious trepidation. “Fine, I’m coming. Just…I don’t know…TRY to be a lady for a few moments.”

A husky laugh was heard from above as Olihre began his ascent. He clutched the cloak in his hands as he climbed, taking care not to drop or step on it. The higher he climbed, the more heat he could feel burning in his cheeks, and the more tense his muscles became. “How in the world did you get all the way up here anyway?” he muttered loudly to nobody in particular.

“I climbed,” the familiar sarcastic voice answered from above.

“All right then, maybe I should ask WHY?” he said more loudly.

“I wanted to know whether I could still see our settlement over the mountains.”

“Oh.” Olihre paused for a moment. He was very nearly to the top of the tree, and he had decided that the conversation was helping him relax. “Do you miss it already?”

“Miss home?” Imlyana repeated as Olihre came into view below her. “I’ve been aching to get away and see something different, and meet people different, but yes, I do miss it.”

Olihre looked up and saw that Imlyana was perched upon a thin branch with her ankles crossed and her back turned away from him. “Well, you’ve certainly met people different,” he remarked as he hoisted himself up the last branch to stand before her.

“I have,” she said quietly, and Olihre was amazed to see the slightest hint of a blush upon her cheeks.

“Right,” Olihre cleared his throat nervously. “Umm…did you need me to…or…well…HERE,” he shoved the cloak in her direction, which she took with an embarrassed smile. Olihre turned around while she put the cloak on, which was wholly unnecessary but made both of them feel less intrusive.

“I’m ready,” Imlyana announced for the second time that day. Olihre turned, half-expecting her to have her hand out in anticipation of being lowered down, but she was already turned and climbing.

“Wait!” Olihre said suddenly, “The cloak is too long, you’ll trip on it.” He climbed down to where she had halted and hesitated, not sure what exactly he could do to alter the burdensome cloak. “Where exactly is your dress torn?”

Imlyana let a small frown form on her lips for a moment before letting her hand wander back and indicate a general area on her back. “The entire empire waistline in the back has come undone.”

“But it doesn’t proceed to your skirts?” Olihre had a faint idea, but he wasn’t very confident in his tailoring abilities.

“No.”

“All right,” Olihre made a tentative gesture towards Imlyana with his hands, but then hesitated. “Is it alright if I try something?”

“Yes.” The answer came out meeker than Imlyana had planned, but it was affirmative nonetheless.

Olihre indicated for her to turn at an angle so that her back was to him. Somehow it was easier for him to roll the cloak up the length of her body without her watching him. When the clock reached her hips, he told her to turn back towards him. She did and he momentarily released one end of his roll until she was back into position, then he reached behind her and took it again.

Imlyana held her breath as Olihre pinned her against the tree with his chest while he reached behind to find the errant end of the rolled cloak. When he righted again she saw his blush and looked away quickly, wondering why such a simple operation was becoming more difficult by the moment. In a compulsive effort to lighten the mood, she joked, “At least one of us isn’t HANGING from the tree.”

As soon as she said the words she gasped softly, sure she had offended his seemingly fragile ego yet again. She waited silently while he kept his head bowed. When his dark green eyes finally rose to meet hers, she saw a flicker of annoyance, but more alarmingly, she saw an intensely challenging gaze, emphasized by a disconcerting grin.

“You had to bring that up didn’t you?” Olihre took a step closer to Imlyana and put his hands on either side of the trunk behind her. In a deceptively calm voice he continued. “Here I am, trying to secure your safe passage down the tree, perfectly willing to cooperate, and you had to bring THAT up?”

Imlyana felt slightly unsettled. His countenance was calm and friendly, but the edge to his voice spoke of painful lessons to be taught. “I…I…was just trying to…I was joking! Really, I was only joking.”

Olihre felt his heart pounding. He was unsure why he was reacting the way he was, but something inside of him felt the need to gain the upper hand against this girl for ONCE in his association with her. Trying to calm himself down, he took a deep breath, looking up into her eyes again. That is when he saw it. The usual cocky challenge that was so obviously apparent in her eyes had been replaced with…no, it couldn’t be, Olihre thought to himself. She’s afraid?

Taking a quick step back, Olihre lost his balance. Reaching out to the branch she was leaning on, he grasped desperately, instead catching her arm and pulling her forward. She squealed loudly and yanked her arm away, pulling Olihre with it. As he slammed into her body she tensed, but for some reason, threw an arm around his back and held him there so that he wouldn’t rebound right out of the tree.

“What are you trying to do, kill me?” She breathed in alarmingly, while releasing her hold on him.

Olihre groaned and back away from her. He was too ashamed to look her in the eye, and instead stared fixedly at his feet. “I didn’t mean to, I promise, it’s just that I saw…you were afraid…it shocked me. I didn’t mean to grab you, I promise!”

Imlyana took a breath and set her shoulders, straightening her back. “Well,” she began timidly, “I’m glad I’m not the only one who can’t control herself while in a tree.”

Olihre looked up slowly, afraid to see the expression on her face. When he saw her smiling, he broke into a grin as well. “Yes, I think perhaps it may be time to exit the tree-- the TRADITIONAL way.”

Imlyana snorted at this. “Well that depends on whose traditions you are citing, doesn’t it?” As they began climbing down, Imlyana chattered away like her usual self, giving great relief and a familiar tinge of annoyance to Olihre’s heart.

“I mean, if you were a squirrel, then the traditional way down the tree would be head first at a full run. If you were a bird, you’d leap out of the tree and catch the wind. If you were an elf, you’d jump from tree to tree until you got to your destination.”

Olihre rolled his eyes but couldn’t help but grin as she continued her pointless jabber. Looking down at her from up above, he chuckled at her odd appearance. Climbing a tree in a billowing skirt with a cloak rolled up and tied about her waist.

When they at last came out of the tree, the entire company was looking at them with odd expressions. Imlyana smiled and untied the cloak, letting it fall in enormous folds about her shorter frame. Wrapping it about herself, she turned to Legolas. “That was a great idea-- let’s climb trees more often.”

After their lunch up in the tree and the odd and yet compelling incident that followed, the group had continued their journey at a relaxed and enjoyable pace. As the sun made its way to the very horizon on the westward sky, Legolas called a halt to the procession, guiding his steed off of the dirt road and into a small grove of tender saplings near the stream that they had been following.

The further southwest the group had traveled, the lighter the snow cover had become, until at last, there was none left to speak of. The air was still chill and laden with wispy grey clouds, but they had entered a part of the southern lands that rarely received much precipitation, mostly due to the fact that the towering mountains beyond them often broke the heavy clouds and gluttonously drank all of the rain or snow before it could reach the grasslands.

After dismounting among the trees, the group stretched their cramped limbs and began to unburden their four-legged traveling companions.

“How much further?” Hyelif asked as he helped Imlara untie the tight knot he had secured her pack with.

Legolas peered off into the horizon, which was now nearly pitch black, dark enough that the young boy was certain he could see nothing. Legolas turned back to him promptly and smiled. “We are only another half-day’s ride from the Serni.”

“You can’t see it from here can you?” Hyelif was now squinting his eyes, glaring tediously in the direction the elf had just scanned.

A low and breathy chuckle was Hyelif’s reply. “No Young Sir, not even I can see through the rock and dirt of these rolling plains. However, I can see the mountains that back the river Gilraen, which is only a short ways beyond the river Serni.”

It was not a question, but still Legolas nodded. “I can very nearly see the fish jumping!”

Hyelif gasped at this but quickly fell silent, blushing in chagrin at his foolish naivety. “You cannot…” he mumbled.

Legolas bowed his head in apology. “No, I cannot. But I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

Hyelif rolled his eyes at that and turned back to Imlara, who was staring strangely at Legolas. “Don’t believe him, Lara, he likes to fool us.”

Imlara did not respond, but rather continued staring at the elf, whose back was now turned to her as he conversed with Gimli. Hyelif noticed her rapt attention and nudged her ribs with his elbow. She quickly snapped back to attention and bowed her head, yet it did little to hide the blush on her cheeks. Hyelif rolled his eyes again.

Imlyana coaxed the last of the potatoes from the fire pit, being careful not to scorch her hands as she dug with a short stick to uncover them in their shallow grave of sand beneath the flames. The potatoes were warm and soft, and those sitting around the fire accepted them gratefully onto their tin plates, being careful not to burn their fingers as they dusted the sand form their meals. The dried venison that supplemented their dinner was still tasty enough, though Legolas wasn’t the only one in the group who was looking forward to setting up a base camp the next day and subsequently hunting for some tender rabbit meat.

Hyelif had been in somewhat of a surly mood since Legolas’s ‘fooling’ of him earlier that evening, and in an attempt at reconciliation, Legolas set down his plate and pulled his hunting knife out of his supple leather boot. “Do you suppose you can hold onto this for me?”

He held the knife right in front of Hyelif’s face, which the young boy accepted hesitantly with a look of curiosity and confusion. “But I’ve got my own…”

Hyelif pulled a small knife out if his own boot and handed it to Legolas. The hilt was about as long as Legolas’s index finger, and was made out of pounded tin. The blade was made of dulled obsidian, and badly needed to be re-knapped.

“Ai, ‘tis a good knife, but with your help at setting snares tomorrow, I’m hoping to bring in a fair amount of game, and you’ll be needing a slightly larger knife to keep up with the cleaning.”

Hyelif looked exited at this, though both of his sisters wrinkled their noses in distaste. “You’ll let me set the snares?”

Hyelif raised his head and straightened his back. “I AM rather good at it. Father says I may be able to sell some of our furs soon enough. He says we certainly have more than we need.”

Legolas nodded his head in recognition and pocketed Hyelif’s tin knife. Hyelif saw this and quickly looked down at the previously unheeded weapon in his hands. “Wow, an elvish dagger!”

Gimli let out a strangled cry at this. “’Tis of Dwarvish make, boy!” Hyelif glanced at Legolas who merely nodded his head with a slight smile on his lips. Gimli continued. “Aye, even the great Elf King must sometimes rely on the unrivaled craftsmanship of the Dwarves.”

Hyelif continued inspecting the dagger which was about ten inches long, with a short handle made of Mumakil tusk, and a blade that shone brighter than the stars over their heads. “It even has these pretty rocks in the handle!”

Gimli nearly choked on his food. “Pretty rocks! Those are priceless gems from the quarries of Erebor! Why, those ‘rocks’ probably cost King Thranduil more gold than your entire settlement is worth!”

Hyelif looked slightly intimidated, though nowhere near apologetic. “It’s a lot nicer than mine, that’s for sure.” He then turned frantically to the elf. “But what if you need your knife? Mine isn’t nearly good enough for you!”

Legolas smiled and jumped up quickly, making his way over to his pack where he procured a bundle wrapped in a thin hide. He carried this bundle over to the fire and set it down in front of the boy, nodding his head in an indication that the boy should open it.

Hyelif carefully opened the package, his eyes growing large as he glimpsed the twin White Knives that lay inside. “Oh…” he sighed, carefully picking one up and laying the slender blade across his arm. “These look deadly!”

Legolas nodded his head, only a slight amount of alarm in his eyes. “They are deadly-- razor sharp and swift.”

Legolas nodded and watched as she proceeded to pick up the other knife. She twirled it around a few times, testing its weight and balance. She then held it closer to the firelight. “It’s so beautiful-- not nearly as intricate as the Dwarvish blade, but I think it is just as stunning in its simplicity.”

Gimli actually nodded in approval at that, much to the surprise of all but Legolas, who understood his friends’ thinking.

“I’ve seen those blades at work, friends,” Gimli explained. “They sing to you as they dance-- a song of utter destruction, yet also of beauty and life. As long as the right hands hold them, they are a mighty ally.”

Hyelif looked reverently at the blade in his hand. He then set it back down reverently upon the hide. Imlyana did the same after a few more practiced twirls. Legolas nodded in appreciation and wrapped the blades back inside the soft hide.

“You have greater skill with a blade than is requisite of women,” Legolas said to Imlyana as she set about gathering the empty tins lying around the fire.

Imlyana smiled appreciatively. “My father would never let me pick up anything other than a kitchen knife. He said that he was the one who should be doing the protecting, and that I should have no need of such a weapon. So I used sticks instead. This is actually the first time I’ve been able to handle a real knife.”

“Well, yours hardly counted.” Imlyana began facetiously, but upon seeing the warning looks that the others were giving her, quickly amended. “I mean, it’s not long enough-- I wouldn’t be able to twirl it.” After another short pause, “I’m not that good yet.”

Legolas looked at Olihre who was sitting rather stiffly. When he spoke though, it was in a tone of ease and reconciliation. “My father must not have had twirling in mind when he gave it to me.”

“Oh…” Imlyana said as she realized the near disaster that she had barely averted. “It was a nice dagger, if I remember correctly. Wasn’t the handle made of leather? It was very soft.”

Olihre smiled at the ramblings of the quite obviously uncomfortable girl. Nodding his head reassuringly, he said, “It’s a nice knife, but it was only one of my father’s old ones. I’m sure he meant to give me a better one at some point in time…probably when I was older. I guess he hadn’t planned on…”

Olihre stopped short, realizing that he had veered into troublesome territory without meaning to, and much to his humiliation, all in the group nodded their heads in obvious pity. Imlyana, who had settled at Olihre’s right, put her hand atop of his and gave it a reassuring squeeze, which only served to make Olihre blush furiously and feel even more ridiculous. Not knowing what to say, he simply sat there, his eyes darting back and forth between his companions, nervously. Gimli surrendered his pity quickly and gave the young man a suggestive smirk.

Olihre felt himself grow even hotter. “Uh…I’m going to go…uh…gather more firewood.” As casually as possible, Olihre stood and let his hand slide away from Imlyana’s, who sat looking as if nothing strange were happening at all. Imlara looked at her with obvious distain, while Hyelif simply rolled his eyes. Legolas astutely avoided eye contact, while Gimli winked with glee at the forward young lady.

The next morning was rather miserable. A cold rain had swept down from the mountains sometime during the night and caught the group unaware. All but Legolas, who looked annoyingly put together, whilst the rest of them largely resembled drowned rats. Their bed rolls had been soaked throughout the night, as had their clothing and packs. The horses looked distinctly disgruntled, and the mood in the group wasn’t much better.

They ate a cold breakfast of hard biscuits as they could not start a fire of any sort, and then mounted their sodden steeds and were off with haste. Little conversation was heard as the group solemnly trudged onwards. Imlara leaned across her mare and fell asleep against its gently bobbing neck. Legolas rode up astride to her and draped his grey cloak across her slumbering form, helping to keep much of the rain from making its way down the back of her dress, which her hair was no longer protecting.

Imlyana smiled at this and nodded her head in thanks to the elf, who returned her smile warmly and then turned to chat with Hyelif. Gimli made his way over to Imlyana then and began a polite conversation, which Olihre listened in on unashamedly, since he rode directly behind them.

After a few hours, Legolas held his hand up as an indication to halt. The group did so, peering about themselves to see what may be the matter. Ahead of Legolas they found that the main road continued on, while a less developed one strayed off to the right.

“Here is where we will part for a small while,” Legolas announced, peering down the lesser road with a purpose.

Legolas smiled reassuringly. “We need fresh meat, but this weather is miserable and I do not wish to expose the ladies to it any longer than necessary. Hyelif and Gimli and I will take the long way to our destination, trapping amongst the hills as we go. You, Olihre, will guide the ladies to our base camp.”

“But I don’t know where our base camp is-- I’ve never been here before…”

“Worry not. The only settlement between here and Dol Amroth is our destination. If you follow the road until the sun is nearly at its peak, you will arrive there. There is no way to miss it.” Legolas seemed thoughtful for a moment, and then continued. “It is a deserted settlement-- a ghost town.”

A chill fiercer than the rain fell upon the group at that moment, though none were entirely sure why. Gimli looked more subdued than usual and glanced wearily at Legolas. “Do not worry,” Legolas admonished, “It was deserted by its occupants when the men of Harad went about ravishing the area. The land has since healed, though none have yet reclaimed the settlement.”

“If you deem it safe, I will lead them there.” Olihre seemed less confident than his words belied.

“Of course it is safe.” Legolas left it at that and spurred his horse forward again, motioning for Hyelif and Gimli to join him. “There are several deserted buildings; they are not in the greatest repair, but they may offer more shelter than the trees.” At that, he turned his horse and faded amongst the mist and shadows of the trees. The other two were quickly out of sight as well, which left Olihre feeling strangely exposed.

Imlara looked frightened, and turned to her sister for guidance. Imlyana was also somewhat at a loss for sentiments or words, but looked cheerfully at her sister and gave her an almost convincing smile. She then turned back to Olihre and searched his countenance for any signs betraying his true feelings.

Olihre looked back at her for a moment, temporarily gaining solace in the thought that he was not completely alone in his new responsibilities. He quickly pushed that thought from his head though, telling himself that he most certainly was. She may not act like a proper woman, but she is one, and now she and Imlara are my responsibility. Setting his jaw resolutely, he turned his horse towards the greater rode and set off. I will not hide behind her.

Hyelif bounced upon his steed as it trotted briskly through the cold rain. “Master Gimli?” he called with some amount of trepidation.

Gimli turned slightly upon the mount he shared with his immortal friend and raised his bushy eyebrows. “Aye?”

Hyelif continued with as meek a voice as he could muster whilst calling out through the rainfall. “Why did you look so nervous when Master Legolas mentioned the ghost town?”

Gimli furrowed his brows and grunted. “I wasn’t nervous, Lad, I was merely…concerned. These parts used to be very dark. The term ghost was not merely a vice used to spook young children.”

Hyelif leaned forward in unabashed anticipation, waiting for the stout being to say more, but alas, he waited in vain. Gimli had turned back to face Legolas, and though the boy could not see it, his eyes were dark with memories and fears that he did not wish to recall.

Imlyana meanwhile had very similar questions running through her mind. Sidling her horse closely abreast to Olihre’s, she turned and asked him softly, “Why did Gimli look so upset when Legolas mentioned that we were splitting ways and that you would be leading us?”

Olihre had several questions of his own for his companions, but did not want to expose his insecurities to the woman beside him. “I’m not sure. He did mention back in Minas Tirith that he doesn’t like this area-- he’s had an unpleasant experience here. That’s likely what he was remembering when Legolas mentioned the ghost town.”

“What experience?” Imlyana asked with pleading eyes as her sister brought her horse in closer so that she too could hear his answer.

“Gimli and Legolas were part of the Fellowship,” Olihre began. He received nods from both girls indicating that they knew as much. “Aragorn, before he was King Elessar, led a group through this area on his way to the Great War of the Ring. Gimli said that the place was called the Paths of the Dead. He mentioned something about cursed spirits and undead oath breakers, but I’m not exactly sure what the situation was.”

Olihre turned his eyes, which had been fixed upon his horses’ neck, back to look at the girls. They were rather pale, though Imlyana was at least trying to act unaffected. Imlara on the other hand was beyond that.

“Undead?” she shrieked. “What are they thinking? They can’t leave us out here alone!” Imlyana leveled an annoyed gaze at her sister before turning back to Olihre with an expectant look in her eyes.

Olihre swallowed forcefully and shook his head. “Nay, Imlara, worry not. We are nowhere near the Paths of the Dead. The group simply passed through this area, which is why Gimli recalls it in the same memory. Even if we were there, that is a time past us now; Aragorn…King Elessar took care of it.”

“Took care of it?” Imlara demanded with force, though she had at least stopped shrieking.

“Please, I don’t know the whole story, it isn’t a matter that anyone is overly eager to speak of, but I know that the issue has been resolved.” Olihre paused and released a shaky breath. “I’m sure there are no more…undead spirits haunting this area.”

Imlyana wore her usual smug grin, though her eyes held a mild reproach that Olihre had not yet seen in her. “You could at least try to make it sound like less of a question and more of a fact.”

Properly abashed, Olihre growled low in his throat and hastened his steed forward. “We’re almost there,” he called back stiffly.

Imlyana glanced above her head and noted that the sun was indeed nearly at its zenith, though it was hardly visible through the thick black clouds that choked its light.

“Blasted rain! I can’t see a thing with it mucking up our tailings!” A weathered man bent low over a rickety cart, his tin pan thrashing in and out of the silt in frustrated stabbing motions.

“Patience, Ghrevn, it’s bound to end soon.” A taller man with ratted blond hair stood under the partial shelter of an overhanging rock, his arms folded casually across his chest. “Quiet yourself or you’ll spoil our hard work.”

“Our hard work?” The man twisted his face into a nasty snarl. “You’ve nary lifted a finger! You stand there and order me from your cozy hideout while I’M the one out here toiling in this soaking misery!”

The blond man didn’t look at all affronted by this accusation, but when he spoke, his voice was lethal. “But you see,” he snarled in a low and monotonous voice, “that is how our world works. We each have our place, and if we do not keep to our place, we do not survive.”

The drenched man ground his teeth together and turned his back to the other, but not before nodding his head in deference and muttering, “Yes, Sir.”

“I can see it!” Imlara leaned forward on her steed and peered into the misty distance. “Ah, it’s so dirty!”

Imlyana squinted until she too could make out the forms of several dilapidated wooden shacks perched at the top of a small rise. “You can’t tell if they’re dirty, you silly twit!” she playfully called to her sister.

“Of course they are; they’ve been sitting there for years! Probably full of nasty, dirty animals and…”

“Oh come on! Where’s the girl I know and love who picked up that huge brown spider just to scare Mother?”

“I didn’t do it to scare Mother; I did it because Hyelif said I couldn’t!”

Imlyana smiled at her pouting sister. “Well then, just pretend that he’s here and insisting that you don’t dare go up there.”

“But I don’t dare go up there, Lyana!” Imlara whined. “What if there ARE ghosts? Maybe the King didn’t get rid of ALL of them!”

“There aren’t ghosts, silly! You’ll be fine-- Olihre is here and Legolas and Gimli will be here with our brother in a few hours.”

Imlara whimpered as she nodded her head. “Promise you won’t leave me alone?”

Imlyana smiled softly at her briefly before turning to Olihre, who was sitting stiffly upon his horse just a short length ahead of her. His body was facing straight forward, but Imlyana could tell by the slight cock of his head that he was actively listening to their conversation.

Smiling coyly, she purred, “I suppose I haven’t any need of privacy; I can wait longer if need be.”

Olihre’s shoulders straightened even more if it were possible. He nudged his horse almost imperceptibly with his foot and without looking back, started a brisk pace for the crown of the slight hill.

When they reached the first buildings in the surprisingly large shanty town, they dismounted. The streets were wide enough for them to ride their steeds three abreast if they had desired, but some unknown sensation in the air prompted them to proceed with caution.

Olihre knew that he was being ridiculous. Legolas would never send him anywhere that would endanger him, especially not with the two girls in his charge. Elessar had dealt with the Shadow Host, and even if he hadn’t, they were nowhere near the Paths of the Dead.

Olihre shook his head slightly, as if to clear it. Perhaps it is only the fell deeds that have occurred here and haunted the peoples of this land that make me wary. Either way, he knew that he needed to find shelter and begin preparations to receive the three cold and hungry hunters who would soon be making their way to base camp.

He turned to the two girls then, prepared to give them assignments for the preparation of the meal, but upon seeing them huddled together against the shelter of their horses, handles entwined nervously, he paused and turned back around.

A knowing grin formed on his face as the image if Imlyana, her face pale and eyes wide, appeared in his mind’s eye. Olihre knew that she was scared, and he was impressed by how well she both covered and controlled it. Upon this realization, Olihre groaned silently as he recalled the reproachful look in Imlyana’s eyes after he had tried but miserably failed to console Imlara. She knows what a coward I am. He groaned again, not so silently, as he recalled what had just transpired between them. He was loath to admit it, but as he was listening to the girls’ conversation, he was indeed inwardly hoping for a moment alone where he could speak to Imlyana without an audience. All right, maybe I was hoping for several moments…

Olihre spun upon his heel and looked right into the eyes of Imlyana, who was still gripping her sister’s hand, but was now standing only a hairs breadth away from him.

Olihre realized with chagrin that he had stopped walking and was staring dumbly into space. Shaking his head and blinking his eyes, he nodded. “Fine. I’m just trying to decide where we should set up camp.”

“May I suggest that we not set up camp in there, though, if that is your fancy...” Imlyana trailed off as she shrugged her shoulders and stared behind Olihre.

Olihre turned back to the building that he had stopped in front of and frowned. It was a dark building with no windows, painted with black pitch and framed by several dead trees. A sign still hung crookedly from the rooftop, depicting a large butchering knife and a decapitated fowl. He turned back to Imlyana who was smiling playfully.

“If it smells anything like my fathers’ slaughterhouse, I doubt we’ll have much of an appetite.”

Olihre couldn’t help but grin. “Indeed, let us see if we cannot find something more suitable.”

“What about that old infirmary?” Imlara spoke up, pointing a slightly trembling finger towards a large building some distance down the street. The previously white paint was speckled with mud and chipping in jagged fragments. An image of two gently overlapping hands was painted somewhat crudely on the smooth façade above the front porch.

“That’ll do,” Olihre said, tossing one last look at the black building before turning and leading the group towards their new destination. They entered the building, whose door had warped tightly shut through time, and scanned their surroundings. The already dim light from the stormy outside barely made its way through the grimy windows into the room. The walls were whitewashed however, making the room less imposing, and the space was nearly empty, most of the furnishings having been used as firewood by the invaders in times past.

Turning to Imlyana, Olihre cleared his throat. “Will you are Imlara open these widows while I look about for something to build a fire in?”

Imlyana stepped closer to Olihre and looked at him carefully. “Will you be going far?”

Olihre swallowed nervously and shook his head. He could smell the oils that Imlyana used to wash her skin with, and he felt nearly overwhelmed by her closeness. “No,” he said simply. “I saw a blacksmiths shop down the street. There may be a cauldron there still.”

Imlyana smiled and turned back to her sister, who had her arms wrapped tightly about herself as she looked around nervously. “Hurry back. Imlara doesn’t like being without her protector.”

Olihre nodded as his eyes widened and searched out Imlara, who was scowling at her sister. Looking back at Imlyana briefly he shook his head incredulously and turned away, leaving them looking after him.

“We should leave now,” Legolas said suddenly, aware that they had only checked on a few of the traps that they had set earlier that day.

Hyelif turned his head sharply at this declaration and was about to object when the dwarf raised his hand to silence him. Looking at the two of them, Hyelif’s brow furrowed. Legolas was peering into the distance, his body held erect and ready, as if he were about to burst forth and run. The dwarf looked troubled, as if he could read the thoughts of his friend.

“What’s going on?” Hyelif finally dared ask, though it was more a plea than a demand.

Legolas turned to the boy and smiled reassuringly. “I am not sure, but worry not, they will be fine.”

“They?” Hyelif cried in alarm. “My sisters? What is it you fear has happened?”

Legolas put his hand on the young boy’s shoulder, crouching down so that he could look him in the eye. “I do not know, but I feel that we should return now. I am sure they are fine. Olihre is there to take care of them, and he is a master swordsman.”

Hyelif shook his head with despair. He had seen the shock in the man’s eyes when he was asked to lead the women to shelter. He had seen the fear.

The warm fire bronzed the white walls of the infirmary as it illuminated the faces of those drawn to it for its warmth and comfort. It provided a sense of safety and familiarity to its benefactors, allowing them to relax in its glow and forget about past fears.

Biscuits were gnawed on as the group anxiously awaited the return of the rest of their party, who would hopefully be bearing fresh meat. The sky was not yet dark outside, but the twilight was approaching quickly, threatening to devour those who did not yet wish to bid farewell to the shrouded sun.

Imlyana and Imlara entertained a reluctant Olihre, who refused to laugh outright even when the escapades they would recount were downright ridiculous. He would afford them a meager grin and shake his head, indicating his clear disapproval of their actions.

“I’m sure you’ve never done anything foolish!” Imlyana challenged Olihre after one particularly condescending smirk he had thrown their way. She stood up and walked around the fire, standing directly behind him, though he refused to turn and look at her. “I’m sure your sister wouldn’t have ANY tales regarding your own idiotic stunts?”

Olihre snapped around, giving her a heated look, but before he could answer, she continued on.

“I’ve heard Masters Gimli and Legolas teasing you enough to know that something less than flattering occurred very recently. That is why you are here, is it not? Exiled to these wastelands while your sister regains her temper?”

How does this girl manage to infuriate me so! Minutes ago I wanted nothing more than to comfort her in my arms and now…now I think I may leave her out on the porch for the ghosts!

Olihre mused inwardly, attempting to regain control of his emotions through silence. Imlara watched him nervously, seeing the desperate battle playing across his face. Imlyana stayed silent, confused by the lack of outburst that she had been expecting.

“You’re not any fun, you know that?” She finally said, moving away from him and looking out the open window.

“Why do you always do that Lyana?” Imlara asked in an accusatory voice. Her older sister raised her brows in surprise and then narrowed her eyes defensively. “He’s trying to help us, and he’s really nice, and all you can do is make fun of him!”

Olihre’s eyes widened and his cheeks grew hot. Dropping his head into his hands as he sat cross-legged on the floor, he mumbled, “It’s alright Lara, it doesn’t bother me.”

“Yes it does!” Imlara insisted. “I’m not stupid you know-- I know you like her-- and she likes you-- so why are you always fighting?”

Olihre groaned and shook his head, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes, as if his lack of sight would make the whole situation go away. “Lara, really,” he said slowly, hoping that his careful enunciation of each word would still any further protests, “We’re friends, that’s all. Friend’s tease each other, we’re not fighting. You don’t need to wor…”

Olihre’s head shot up, as did Imlara’s. “I’m only trying to stop your sister from worrying…” Olihre began, but he was cut off by another hiss from Imlyana.

“Shhh!” She had her face to the window still, and her shoulders were pushed so far back, Olihre was surprised that she didn’t fold backwards. She moved one hand from the windowsill and with the simple wave of a finger, beckoned Olihre to join her.

Olihre hesitated, looking at Imlara questioningly. The younger girl just shrugged her shoulders and motioned with her head for him to join her. He stood quickly and nearly tiptoed to the drafty opening. “What have I done this time?” he whispered.

“Do you see it?” Imlyana asked with a dismissive wave of her hand at his question.

Olihre peered out the window hesitantly, half-expecting to see a corpse walking the streets. “See what?”

“Look toward the mountain,” Imlyana pointed her finger into the dark oblivion, where Olihre’s eyes caught the faintest signs of a small campfire. It was some ways off, but still clearly visible.

“Who do you think it is?” Olihre asked without thinking. He quickly berated himself for asking such a foolish and needy question. Imlyana looked at him as if he had grown an extra head. He quickly cleared his throat, something he seemed to do often when at a loss for sentiments. “I mean, it’s probably nothing, but I’ll go check it out.”

“Nothing?” Imlara shrieked, for that seemed to be her role in the group’s social function. “It’s just a magical campfire that sprouted on the outskirts of a deserted town?” Olihre and Imlyana both looked at her with annoyance, largely because they knew she had a point. She continued, unfazed by their cutting glares, “You can’t go out there! It’s in the wrong direction for it to be the rest of our group, and nobody else should be here!”

“Why not?” was Olihre’s simple but pleading reply. “We’re here, and we’re not doing anything wrong. It could just be a group of hunters or travelers.”

Imlyana spoke up then, “If that’s so, why don’t we just leave them alone. No need to bother them…” Her tone was hesitant, as if even she didn’t believe her own words.

Olihre would have loved nothing more than to stay put in this relatively clean and warm environment, but he knew that he couldn’t. “Our fire isn’t visible to them, but the smoke may be. I’d rather approach them quietly and ascertain their intentions, rather than just wait for them to come to us.”

“They may be hours still. I’ve no doubt that they are harmless, but it is my job to protect you, and I will not just sit here and wait to find out. No one has come yet, and that is a good sign. You two will be perfectly fine here, just stay quiet and wait for me to come back.”

“And if you don’t?” The question was simple but it took Olihre some time to respond to Imlyana, who stood looking at him with an expression he had not yet seen before on her face, despair.

“Legolas and Gimli will be here soon enough, but if I am not returned in a half an hours’ time, I want the two of you to mount the horses and ride back quickly from where we came. In the meanwhile, keep a sharp eye out the window and watch for any signs of...strangers.”

Imlara let out a whimper as tears formed in her eyes. “Please don’t go! I’d rather they just came and got us with you still here!”

Olihre took a giant step and wrapped his arms around the panicked young girl. “I won’t risk your lives if I can help it, but really, we have no indication that anything is wrong. We’re getting all worked up over nothing.”

“I have a horrible feeling,” Imlara countered through choked sobs. “I have ever since we entered this place.”

“So have I,” Olihre admitted out loud, though he immediately closed his mouth and looked up at Imlyana, expecting to see another reproachful look. Instead he saw her wiping her own eyes, sucking in her bottom lip to keep it from trembling as much as her hands currently were.

Olihre released Imlara and stood before the older girl. “I’ll go now,” he said resolutely, though he did not immediately move. She nodded her head and issued a lopsided smile. Olihre moved to hug her as well, but stopped short, tugging his cloak more tightly around his shoulders to disguise his previous intention. Imlyana was not fooled though, and furrowed her brow, turning away in disappointment. Whether at his lack of action or his cowardice, Olihre wasn’t sure.

He stepped out the door with his head hung low, sparing only a single glance at the two sisters who had found slight solace in each others arms, if only briefly.

Hello again! Thanks to all who reviewed my last chapter, and much thanks to those of you who took the time to review my little sister’s as well. She was so excited, and is currently working on the second chapter!

P.S. I post this story on storiesofarda.com as well, and it has a hit counter, so I know that about 25 other people are following along with this story, but I've only had two people review! Is it because I have alientated you by not mentioing StoriesofArda? If it is, I apologize profusely and beg you to tell me if my stories is decent or if it sucks and you're just reading because you have nothing better to do! Thanks!

“Are you scared Lyana?” Imlyana was holding her sister as they leaned against each other by the fire. Olihre had left them only moments ago and already they felt his absence like a great empty void.

“Shhh…” Imlyana soothed, running her fingers comfortingly through the younger girl’s hair. “I’m sure everything will be fine…”

“But are you scared?” Imlara asked again, sitting up swiftly and harshly breaking the contact between them. Her eyes were stern and demanding, not pleading and frightened as they had been the entire day.

Imlyana looked down at her dark hands, playing with the hem of her sleeve before finally answering in a soft, reluctant voice. “Yes.”

“For whom?” Still Imlara was brisk, almost cold-- no more childish emotions did she have to spare. When her sister hesitated, she pushed further, “For us?”

“Not so much for us, Lara, we could ride off now if we wanted, but…” She trailed off. Her inner voice struggled with itself for the thousandth time since she had met this strange group of heroes. Her usual coquettishly apathetic exterior, which had served her well all her life, no longer seemed adequate. The elf and the dwarf could see right through it, which while mildly unsettling, was also strangely exciting. The only person who couldn’t seem to see past her feigned bravado was the one person whom she most hoped would.

“Olihre?” Imlara asked, though her voice held no intonations of doubt. “You worry for him?”

Imlyana nodded, looking deeply into her sister’s concerned eyes. She was taken aback by the untainted wisdom she found there. Though she knew that she should be strong and silent, a pillar for her younger sister, something in those eyes beckoned her to release her fears. “He doesn’t know what’s out there!” she cried in a trembling voice. “I’ve seen him spar with Legolas using his sword, and he’s very good, but how can he defend himself against the unknown?”

Imlyana snapped her head up from where she was again fidgeting with her sleeve. “What?”

Imlara sighed softly and took her sister’s hand. “Lyana, you’ve got to help him.”

Imlara’s expression grew cold again. “We must admit to ourselves what needs to be done here! All three of us quiver with ill tidings, how can we ignore that? Foolishly, I tell you!”

Imlyana didn’t recognize the girl before her. “Lara, what are you saying?”

“I’ve got to ride back and find the others; you must follow Olihre, and don’t let him see you, he’ll only argue and be distracted.” Imlyana was shaking her head but Imlara continued. “Someone’s has to be there for him. Someone has to see what happens, whether it’s good or bad. I’m not saying you have to expose yourself, in fact you mustn’t, but when I come back with the others, someone needs to know what happened, and if Olihre isn’t there, who will be?”

Imlyana nodded slowly, not even entertaining the idea that Olihre may not be there when the others returned. In a sincere voice she asked, “Are you the same girl who has been shrieking and shivering all day?”

Imlara blushed and ducked her head. “Some things must be done, whether we like it or not.”

Imlyana nodded, understanding well the truth of her sister’s words. Despite the seriousness of their current situation, Imlyana couldn’t help but voice a suspicion that had only just occurred to her. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with you impressing a certain elf, would it?”

Imlara stood and scowled at her sister, but her blush indicated that Imlyana had hit upon something. Before she could bite back however, Imlyana smiled rather impishly and said, “Whatever it is, it is much needed. I’m of no use to anyone lately.”

“You are now-- just follow him and be silent!” Imlara hugged her sister quickly and made towards the fire, intent upon putting it out and gathering up their meager provisions before she left. “Lyana,” she said as her sister paused outside the front door, “I’m going to leave your horses in back of the butchering shop; this place is much too obvious now.”

“I will,” Imlara replied, and then added, “Don’t let yourself be seen-- not by the strangers or Olihre!”

Olihre stole soundlessly through the thick shadows of the imposing buildings, avoiding the open street where the moonlight now shone down with harsh intensity. Of course the clouds would clear now that I need the darkness, Olihre thought to himself bitterly.

His wary eyes remained unwaveringly trained upon the faint effulgence of the distant campfire as he made his way towards it at an excruciatingly slow pace. Nothing could be heard of the mysterious strangers, only the wind and his own promiscuous breathing broke the spectral silence of the surrounding town.

Several minutes had passed since he had left the two girls in their makeshift camp, and Olihre had been able to think of aught else. Neither his uncertain journey nor the myriad of possible endings that this night could bring to him could persuade him to break his almost frantic concentration on their cause. Their well-being was foremost in his mind, so much so that he felt little hesitation as his steps drew him closer to the unknown.

Is that so? A voice in his mind demanded, its tone sneering and abrupt. Olihre missed a step in his brisk march and faltered momentarily, waiting for the voice to explain itself. It happily obliged. If their well-being truly is foremost in your mind, why then are you here, and they are left alone in uncertainty?

“So that is your game,” hissed Olihre almost inaudibly, speaking to himself as much as to the voice, as he knew them to be one and the same. “What I am doing is necessary…” he whispered again with uncertainty. He immediately knew that it was a lie. An unconscious lie, but a lie nonetheless. “I wanted to prove myself,” he reasoned before shaking his head as his footsteps faltered once again. “No,” he corrected in a louder and more resigned voice, “I WANT to prove myself. Even now, I do not regret my decision.”

A sickening feeling of shame spread throughout his body, starting in his stomach and moving up his neck and into his mouth, where it tasted so bitter that he was barely able to resist purging it with violent force.

Fool, his competent half thought to itself, you could have simply gotten on your horses and ridden back to meet the others. You could have warned them of the strangers and taken the women out of harms way at the same time. But you had to prove yourself, didn’t you?

Olihre moaned aloud, trying desperately to keep his footsteps even and in line with his destination. In a loud whisper he exclaimed to the night sky, “I cannot even think straight! It’s her doing; she’s the reason I am here!”

Olihre brought his hands up to tangle in his jaw-length hair. As he pushed the hair away from his ears he suddenly froze. Spinning on his heel he peered around suspiciously, one hand reaching for the hilt of his sword while the other was held in front of him as if to block a blow. He stepped lightly, retracing his path a few feet before stopping.

“Who is it?” he asked in a low voice. He received no reply, but did not yet lower his sword. He was sure he had heard footsteps behind him a moment ago.

But the strangers are ahead of me, Olihre thought in confusion. Have they crept around the buildings to sneak up on me from behind? At this thought Olihre shook his head. They couldn’t have seen or heard me coming-- unless they saw the smoke! Olihre craned his neck upwards in alarm, looking past many rooftops for any signs of smoke or light that would give away the girl’s presence. There was no sign that a fire existed.

After standing a few more moments in silence, Olihre forced himself to believe that he hadn’t heard anything. He couldn’t afford to be distracted at the moment, as he was drawing very near to the fire, and therefore its occupants. Re-sheathing his sword, he continued creeping along the shadows of the buildings, looking back over his shoulder every now and then with a frown.

Aye! Imlyana slapped the heel of her hand to her forehead as she lay in a sludge of rotten wood and mud. She had tripped upon a fallen tree branch as she tailed Olihre, and had fallen forward, issuing thundering footfalls as she stumbled. She was already down on her knees by that time, and just as she saw Olihre freeze and start to turn, she had rolled to her side and been sheltered by a dilapidated porch. She held her breath for several moments as she heard him retracing his footsteps. When he spoke, his voice low and anxious, she had yearned to reveal herself, not wanting to be a source of distraction or fear. But she had her orders, and she knew they were sound.

Hearing Olihre moving along again, she crept quietly from her hiding place. She allowed more space between herself and her defender this time, staying barely in sight of him, but always behind a building. She could not afford to fail again.

Olihre could hear voices. One was high pitched and whimpering, the other was low and smooth. He couldn’t yet make out what was being said, but he could tell that an argument was being held. Creeping a bit further, he finally stopped behind the only remaining wall of a small square structure that stood roughly twenty-five feet from the men’s fire. It looked as if a herd of Oliphant’s had trampled it, and its inside had most definitely been gutted by fire. All the same, the one remaining wall that separated him from the men offered a decent place to stop and listen.

A fire had been built underneath the overhang of what looked to be an old stable. The plaster on the walls had long since fallen down, but the thatched roof still remained intact in most places, allowing the fire to burn despite the solemn drizzle all around. The large double doors were missing, leaving almost the entire front of the building exposed to the outside.

Olihre surveyed the scene, his dark hair and eyes left unprotected by the solid wall. The light of the fire did not reach him, however, and he was left in a blessed darkness. Two men sat casually on opposite sides of the fire, both leaning towards it with their hands outspread. “My fingers are never going to thaw!” The smaller man with the whimpering voice complained, his soiled hands cramped and twisted.

The other man, larger, with blond hair, inspected his own fingers, noting with a satisfied grin that they were clean. He said nothing in response to the other, scraggly looking man, which only seemed to make him whinier.

“Are you sure we can’t wait a few more days for the weather to clear? If I had known it was gonna rain, I’d of….”

“Quiet! I will hear no more of your lamenting!” The blond man stood up and began pacing in front of the fire, blocking Olihre’s view of the darker man in intervals. “Our benefactor wants this done as soon as possible! The King is growing more accustomed to his role every day, he says, and we have no time to spare before he begins sending his scouts this way!”

The other man grumbled loudly and hunched forward, lowering his head in passive rebellion. The blond man looked incensed for a moment, but reclaimed control as he shook his head with pity. “It is a shame you are so dimwitted, Ghrevn. There is enormous profit to be made from this venture, and yet all you can do is complain about the weather. Not much of an opportunist, are you?”

The scraggly man looked up, his eyes narrowed. In a much less whiney voice, he muttered darkly, “But that’s not my place in this world, is it? You said it yourself!”

Olihre’s brow was furrowed. “No time to spare?” he muttered under his breath. “For what?” Feeling that he had heard enough to effectively argue that these men were up to no good, Olihre resolved to return to the infirmary and prepare the girl’s to leave right away. Turning quietly, he began stepping over the burnt timbers that littered the floor of the destroyed building. Just as he was about to step from the crumbling foundation onto the dirt road again, he heard a rustling in the bushes to the right of him. Is there a third stranger, he wondered in alarm as he simultaneously stepped back, kicking a pile of rusted metal bindings as he went.

From behind several large shrubs, which had once bordered the now non-existent front wall of the building, appeared a wide-eyed Imlyana, both hands held in front of her mouth as if she were restraining a scream. Olihre’s eyes also widened, both from the effects of seeing her where he least expected to, and in fear, knowing that he had just caused a mighty ruckus. He wanted to question her right away, but he knew that the men would have heard them, so he quickly took hold of her wrist and ran with her through the street, trying to keep to the shadows, but knowing that speed would be their greater ally.

“I’m so sorry!” Imlyana gasped as they ran. Olihre shot her an angered look and then continued peering past her, watching as the two men darted into view from behind the wall. He quickly turned away from the road, pulling her fiercely along with him. His original plan had been to make haste towards the infirmary and get to their horses, however he had quickly decided against it, reasoning that Imlara was still their and unaware of the threat. The buildings that he now pulled Imlyana behind had been built along the road with nothing but dense forest backing them. Branches and brambles whipped past their faces as they ran, stinging them in a relentless attack, but still they continued. Olihre soon turned away from the buildings and led Imlyana deeper into the forest, noting with chagrin that the damp ground was preserving their footsteps perfectly, even in the darkness.

“Where are we going?” Imlyana panted as they ran, only to be silenced by Olihre with a ‘shhh.’ She looked back at her feet, being careful not to trip on anything and cause even more trouble. Moments passed as they ran even further into the dark wood. Finally, in a very quiet voice she pleaded, “I was only trying to help, I swear it! Please don’t be angry!”

Olihre continued looking straight ahead as he dragged Imlyana behind him mercilessly. “You should have stayed with Imlara,” he hissed, “she needed you.”

“She’s the one who told me to come!” Imlyana insisted in a desperate voice. Olihre turned his dubious gaze to her briefly but said nothing. Imlyana added, “She’s ridden ahead to get the others, but she didn’t want to leave you alone.”

“She’s gone?” Olihre exclaimed, stopping abruptly and pulling Imlyana close to him with a finger on his lips to indicate silence. After a moment he whispered, “Do you hear anything?”

They had run quite a ways from the campfire, but Olihre knew that they had made a severe racket in the process, and would have been easy to trace. Distractingly close to Olihre’s ear, Imlyana whispered, “Perhaps they don’t intend to follow us. Did you hear them say anything indicating their intentions?”

Olihre tensed and turned his head so that Imlyana’s mouth was no longer hovering right below is ear, but rather right in front of his own mouth. She stood on her toes and clutched at his arm for balance as she leaned into him, only inches away. “I’m not sure of anyone’s intentions at the moment.” Olihre breathed, though his voice held unspoken scorn.

Imlyana released the breath she had been holding and lowered herself back down onto the heels of her feet, her face pinched in an expression of hurt. “What did you hear them say?” she mumbled to the ground, releasing her hold on his arms.

Olihre unconsciously took a step forward as she took a step back. “Nothing that makes sense, but they ARE aware that they aren’t supposed to be here. We must get back to the horses.”

“Imlara’s left them by the butcher’s shop. It’s on this side of the road, but still a ways ahead if we travel through this brush…”

Both Olihre and Imlyana spun around sharply, searching in the darkness for the source of the statement. Olihre finally saw the blond hair of the larger man he had seen earlier peering out from behind a large tree. The man stepped forward, a large knife held casually in his hand as he smiled at them tauntingly. Upon seeing the knife, Olihre drew his sword, pushing Imlyana behind him.

“Hah! Isn’t this just quaint and predictable?” The blond man continued his progression, the knife now held tighter in his hand as his other hand reached for the hilt of his sword.

Olihre stepped forward, keeping vigilant eye contact with the man as he advanced. “What do you want?”

“What do I want?” The blond man replied with feigned curiosity. “To be left alone, perhaps? We’ve done nothing to warrant you nosing about, have we?”

“That’s our business, not yours. If you hadn’t run off so quickly, we wouldn’t be so suspicious now, but the fact that you did says you were up to something. Come to rob us, have you?

Olihre snorted in disgust. “If you weren’t doing anything wrong, why did you chase us? Why do you have your knife drawn now?”

“Foolish boy! Just because you were runnin’ around with a skirt,” he glanced haughtily at Imlyana, “doesn’t mean you weren’t up to no good!”

Olihre suddenly realized something, “Where’s your companion? The dark one?”

The blond man smiled slowly, his eyes never leaving Olihre’s. “I don’t trust him with my hammer, let alone my life! He’s too noisy, he is.” Olihre furrowed his brow as the man’s eyes traveled past him suggestively.

From behind Olihre came a sudden yelp. “No!” Then a muffled scream as Olihre whirled around and saw the object of his inquiry. He had his knife to Imlyana’s throat, his hand clapped over her mouth. Olihre felt something hard hit his back with splintering force, knocking him forwards into the pair as he lost his footing and fell. The next thing he knew he was being pulled up roughly, his hands held behind his back, his sword kicked out of his reach.

“What do you want with us?” Olihre demanded, his neck craning to get a look at Imlyana from behind him. She was struggling against her captor, kicking her feet up into the air as she forced her whole weight against him.

Olihre began to fight too, but soon enough he heard a cold voice laughing. “She can fight all she wants, but you do, and I’ll slit her throat.” At the look of unbelief from Olihre, he continued, “I won’t hesitate to do it. Just because she wears a dress doesn’t make her a lady. She’s an animal just like the rest of the darkies who live around here, stealing the land from its true inheritors.”

Olihre hissed furiously but did not move as the man advanced on him with his sword drawn. It was needless, however, he would not fight as long as Imlyana was held at risk. “Let her go, she isn’t a threat to you.”

“Are you pleading with me now? Or do you think that you hold some sort of authority? I think not.” He pushed Olihre forward, back towards the street that was some yards off through the brush. Olihre could hear Imlyana being pushed roughly behind him.

Legolas peered through the darkness, his heart stilling as he caught a racing figure ahead. “It is Imlara!” he said in a breathless voice, kicking his already cantering horse into a full-gallop.

“Lara?” Hyelif asked, his eyes unable to make out her form just yet. “And the other’s right?”

Legolas did not answer, he was unsure what to tell the boy. Gimli rumbled behind him. “It’s all right, Lad-- Olihre and your sister have probably been fighting like dwarves and elves-- I’ll bet she’s just trying to escape their squabblin’.”

Hyelif did not look much consoled, but he nodded his head and fell silent, still peering ahead anxiously. After another moment, he too could see Imlara, and he struggled against the urge to launch himself from his horse and run to meet her.

Legolas was amazed that she’d even found them. He wouldn’t have expected her to have the foresight not to continue back the way she had come, but rather to have followed an almost indistinctive trail leading to the left of the main trail out of the town. Legolas nodded in appreciation as Imlara came within shouting distance.

“I’m not sure!” she yelled as their horses came closer and closer. “We saw a campfire a ways off by the hills, and Olihre went to look, and then I sent Imlyana to follow him because he wasn’t sure of himself…” Imlara trailed off, realizing that the story didn’t seem as desperate now as it had when they were still in the town. She continued anyway, “Something felt wrong. I…I wanted to come get you in case there is trouble.”

Legolas nodded calmly. “Let us go then. I am sure they are fine, but it was wise of you to come. And brave as well.”

Imlara blushed in the darkness and turned her horse, falling in beside her brother as he looked at her with trepidation. “They’ll be fine,” she said to him in a hushed voice. “Don’t worry.”

Hello my loverly reviewers! I am forever grateful to you for reading my humble little story! I submitted my previous story to be posted on the Henneth-Annun Story Archive, and the responses I received are posted below. They really gave me a lot of insight that I hadn’t yet even considered, but boy did it humble me as well! Live and learn! Good thing I’m doing this for fun!

Before you get too bored, let me mention my thanks to DaisyPrincess for being such a wonderful beta and fellow fanfic writer! Also, if you would like to read a very well-paced and well written story, check out Galorin’s ‘Lilacs.’ It is beautiful, and currently in the works, so there isn’t too much catching up to do! Find it in my favorite’s section.

Well, at least I’ve got my midnight showing of ROTK tickets to keep me happy! Enjoy! ~Lily

Imlyana struggled forward into the night with both of her hands captured behind her in an unyielding grip, all while a slender blade was held coldly to her throat. Every now and then she would stumble, but without her arms for balance, her entire body would lurch forward, causing the knife to bite painfully into her neck. Her unfeeling captor would then jerk her back up, nearly wrenching her arms from their sockets as her tendons were pushed to their limit. This physical pain, however, did not concern Imlyana so much as did the scene in front of her. She watched Olihre’s back as they trudged on, stiff and straight in obvious fury, his steps deliberately rebellious. He bore the body language of one who was in a furor.

He must hate me. Imlyana thought to herself in resignation. If I hadn’t been so clumsy and loud… or even come in the first place! She thought back to her sister’s desperate instructions. Why didn’t we just trust him?

After a few more dark and strained minutes, the group arrived back at the camp, the fire still burning merrily, oblivious to the absence of its creators. The blonde man led the way, pushing Olihre down to his knees several feet from the glowing warmth, against a moldy wall of straw and plaster. Imlyana was also forced to her knees, a few feet from Olihre. She immediately turned her back to him in shame, but not before he had caught a glimpse of a thin red line across her neck.

“You cut her!” Olihre roared incredulously as he glared at the dark, scruffy man.

“She should’ve been more careful with her steps!” he taunted, still standing over Imlyana as she cowered beneath his raking gaze.

“How could she with her arms pinned behind her and you pushing her all the way!” Olihre was furious at these men who had no sense of decorum. One never treated a Lady like this, not even if they were your prisoner.

As if reading his mind, the darker man adopted an expression of mock concern. “Forgive me,” he sneered, crouching down next to Imlyana before raising her chin with his grimy fingers, “Should I draw you a bath then? Would you like me to darn your socks? Or perhaps I can let you ride me around like a mule?”

Imlyana jerked her chin out of his grasp and growled fiercely, “You are not fit to be a mule, you foul…” Before she could finish the sentence, her head flew back and her cheek felt as though it had caught fire as the man raised his hand to strike her again. Olihre lunged forward at the man but only fell hard upon his boot as his bound hands were pinned painfully beneath his body.

“Enough!” roared the blond man. “Ghrevn, they left their horses at the black building-- go and get them!”

Ghrevn stood but did not turn to depart. “Who left ‘em, Dorgan? Are there more than just these two?” He cast a mistrustful glance at Olihre and Imlyana

The blond man leered menacingly at his captives. “You spoke of another-- who was it?”

Imlyana turned her head slightly and looked at Olihre, her eyes pleading. Olihre set his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. “Only a young girl. She has set off to hunt and will be gone for hours.” He combined several truthful statements into a lie without so much as blinking. Surely a small girl would not threaten them?

“A young girl? Off by to hunt by herself in the dead of night with no one to protect her? Do I look stupid to you?” Dorgan bent over Olihre, yelling so close to his face that Olihre could see the stained gold inside of his mouth.

“She is!” Olihre insisted as Imlyana gave him another desperate look. “The three of us are here hunting. These lands are considered safe-- we saw no need to take unnecessary precautions...”

“Ghrevn, fetch the horses! Do not return until the girl has. If she is alone, bring her with you. If she is not, kill her and whoever she brings!”

Imlyana gasped as Ghrevn smiled with glee and walked out of the firelight into the darkness. She knew that Imlara was likely far away by now and safe with the others, but still the thought of her sister walking into a trap horrified her. “But she isn’t involved in this-- she didn’t even see your fire. We,” Imlyana nodded her head at Olihre, “only came because we were curious!”

“Your point?” Dorgan droned in a bored voice. “You think she won’t come looking when she comes back and finds you gone?”

“Why does it matter?” Imlyana demanded. “If you aren’t doing anything wrong, then why does it matter if we have seen you?”

“No witness, no questions, no trouble.” Dorgan said simply. “And, none of your business, you filthy wretch!”

Olihre had heard enough. Pushing himself roughly against the wall, he flew at Dorgan, who was knocked off balance for only a moment before throwing Olihre back onto the ground with all his might. Olihre sat up with difficulty, only to find that Dorgan was using his own sword to pin Imlyana to the ground, the tip of the broad blade resting heavily upon her rapidly rising and falling chest.

“Olihre, no!” Imlyana screamed as he made to lunge again. Olihre blinked, looking down at her through eyes clouded in outrage. “He’ll kill us both!” she whimpered, pleading with him to back away.

Dorgan said nothing, merely stood patiently watching the exchange, a certain amount of amusement in his eyes. Finally, when Olihre backed away and slumped against the wall in defeat, he spoke. “Wise decision-- I think I have already made it clear to you that I will not hesitate to eliminate any problems.”

“Then why are we still here?” Olihre demanded in a raspy voice, hatred causing his throat to close-up involuntarily.

“Because I don’t believe your story-- I don’t know if you three are alone, or if you have an entire army with you as well! As long as I keep you here, no one will dare intrude upon us!” Dorgan paused for a moment to gather his rampant emotions and then asked in an almost demure voice, “Understand?”

Olihre was tempted to inform his captor that the others would indeed dare to intrude, especially if it meant punishing anyone who had the nerve to treat a lady the way these two had. He knew, however, that their feigned story was the safest for now. Surely Legolas and Gimli would check the blacksmith’s shop first to see if they had made it back, and Legolas would be able to smell Ghrevn’s stench before the coward even realized they had come.

Olihre grunted his reply, his normally dark green eyes almost black with loathing. Dorgan smiled mockingly, “I haven’t any twine, and I certainly do not feel like standing guard over you all night when there is a lovely fire awaiting me.” He took a single step while simultaneously raising the hilt of Olihre’s sword, before bringing it down hard across the young man’s right temple. Imlyana looked up at Dorgan in fear as Olihre’s limp form fell into her lap. Blood matted his long hair, running in rivulets down his forehead and over his closed eyes. Dorgan smiled down on her in a most terrifying way. “You won’t run now, will you?”

Imlara was not sure how to feel. Part of her was immensely relieved to have found the others so quickly, while another part of her felt foolish for being so worried in the first place. Now that she was back in the company of the others, everything seemed safer and she was having trouble recalling exactly why she had felt so unsettled in the first place. She hoped that nothing was wrong, that they had been mistaken about the ill tidings they had all felt, though at the same time, she would feel quite the fool for making such a big deal out of it, if indeed the strangers turned out to be friendly.

Legolas seemed to be reading her thoughts as he turned upon his steed with an empathetic smile. “It is always better to be safe than to be sorry, Imlara. I too felt an ill boding earlier this day-- it was wise for you to come; though I wish Olihre and Imlyana had followed you rather than taken this responsibility upon themselves.”

Imlara flinched guiltily as her horse slowed to keep pace with the Legolas’s. “Olihre was convinced that it was his responsibility to protect us, but it was me…I’m the one who told Imlyana to follow him. I thought if we came back with you and he was not there, we would never know what had happened. I guess I’ve made an enormous mess, haven’t I?”

Legolas shook his head. “We will learn soon what was needed, but whatever the outcome, do not overly assign blame to yourself, this is not a situation that I would expect such a young girl to be familiar with.”

Imlara frowned deeply at this description of herself. “I’m not so very young, you know…” she mumbled quietly, though she knew that Legolas would hear it. “I’m old enough.”

Legolas nodded accommodatingly, obviously misreading her concern. “It is sad to me that children so young as you are forced to grow up so quickly. Among my people, the very young are kept as securely naive as possible. Very few have been forced to abandon their childhood so quickly.” Imlara scowled again, though Legolas could not understand what upset her so. Smiling at her once more, he turned on his horse and urged it into a faster pace.

Imlyana wrapped her arms around Olihre’s battered head, watching with trepidation as his breathing became more and more shallow. His body was cooling rapidly in the frigid temperature that surrounded them, and all Imlyana could think to do was to gather his arms and drape them across his chest in an effort to conserve his body’s warmth. She shuffled slightly so that her back rested against the decaying wall and pulled Olihre further into her lap, managing to keep most of his back off of the cold and muddy ground.

Every now and then she would glance toward the fire, watching as Dorgan took swigs from his hip-flask. He would catch her eye sometimes, shooting disgusted looks at her before turning around and chuckling to himself.

“Olihre?” she whispered quietly, rubbing her thumb over his uninjured temple. “Wake up, please!” Olihre did not stir. The bleeding had stopped, but his wound was deep and already forming a large purple mound. “Olihre, I’m so sorry…” she whispered again, leaning into him so closely that her chin rested lightly upon his upturned cheek. “I’ll never forgive myself for this, and I don’t expect you to either, but please just believe that I am sorry. Please.”

“…mmm believe you…” Olihre mumbled with his eyes still closed, not moving his lips or any other part of his numbed body.

“Oli!” she exclaimed, louder than she had meant to. Dorgan looked over suspiciously and Imlyana quickly launched into a frantic cover-up, rocking back and forth slightly and chanting, “Please wake up, Oli, don’t be hurt, please wake up…”

Dorgan rolled his eyes and scowled at her, but it seemed that her ruse had worked when he finally looked away. Imlyana leaned in even closer so that her breath warmed him as she spoke. “Are you all right?” she mouthed, only faint traces of escaping air making any noise.

“Never better,” he mouthed back as his eyes cracked open very slightly, a faint blush creeping up his already bloodstained cheeks.

“Olihre, I’m so…” Imlyana’s almost inaudible apology was cut off when Olihre, whose arms were crossed over his chest and held by Imlyana, deftly took her hand into his and squeezed it solemnly.

“Forgive me…” he breathed, hesitating when he felt her body tense, “for being so short with you earlier. I know you were trying to help, I shouldn’t have been so cruel.” Imlyana shook her head to protest, but Olihre squeezed her hand even harder and continued. “And I am sorry about…about what Dorgan said about you and your family. It wasn’t true. You are a Lady-- much more deserving of the title than many women I’ve met.” Olihre paused a moment and continued in an even lower voice. “You’re beautiful too, even when you’re glaring at me.”

Imlyana blushed, though the night did not reveal it, and whispered shyly, “Thank you. I know that my family is as good as any, despite our skin color. We fought against evil and lost our lands and loved ones too.”

Olihre nodded but stopped quickly, flinching at the pain that the movement brought. Without thinking he raised his free hand to his forehead to feel at the gash that lay there. From behind him he heard footsteps. “Awake again, are we? Apparently I didn’t hit you hard enough the first time.” He heard Imlyana gasp and then everything was black.

“I left their horses at the butcher’s shop instead of the infirmary where we built our fire.” Imlara called ahead to Legolas as they galloped onward. “They should be back by now.”

Legolas looked approvingly at Imlara as he motioned with his hand for them to slow their pace-- they were coming within sight of the first buildings, and he didn’t want to attract any unnecessary attention. After another few moments of silent riding, Legolas pointed to an old brown building with double doors and a wrap-around porch. Turning quietly to Imlara smiled reassuringly, “I want you to take your brother and wait in that building.”

Imlara looked like she might protest but bit her tongue and nodded accommodatingly. Hyelif sighed dejectedly and followed his sister’s horse until it reached the building, where they dismounted and walked around to the back.

Legolas waited until he was sure they would remain out of sight and then nudged his horse back into a slow walk, his sharp eyes seeking out any movement in the blackness, his ears listening to any sound that was not the wind. It didn’t take him long to ascertain that Olihre and Imlyana had not yet returned-- he would most certainly have heard them arguing by this point.

Gimli spoke from behind Legolas, his low voice spreading like a thick sauce over the hollow night air. “I say we dismount and proceed on foot; I’ve never felt my sharpest while on the back of this creature.”

Legolas smiled knowingly and nodded his head. The two dismounted and left their horse to wander at will. Keeping to the shadows of the buildings, they proceeded silently until they saw in the distance a squat building covered in black pitch. “That is where Imlara left the horses,” Legolas whispered to Gimli.

As they crept nearer to the building Legolas heard the nervous whinny of a horse, followed closely by the stomping of a hoof and a low grunt. “Someone’s there,” Gimli rumbled, “and the horses don’t like whoever it is.”

The elf nodded and cocked his head to the side to listen. “The horses are tied up behind the shop-- but they are not alone.”

Gimli growled low in his throat and continued moving towards the building. Legolas moved from his side to take the lead as they came within a few feet of the front of the building. As they crept around it they saw a shabby looking figure rifling through the saddlebags of Olihre’s steed. His back was turned to him and he was chanting a less-than-savory ditty that sounded like something Gimli had heard in a tavern or two upon his travels.

“Lose something?” Legolas asked in a cool voice, watching in disgusted amusement as the man twisted around so violently that his hat actually flew off of his head. His dirty black eyes proceeded to narrow angrily, a stark contrast to the wide orbs they had been only a moment ago.

“Lying little fiends!” he hissed as he backed away clumsily, running into the horse who stood like a stone wall in his path. Legolas could almost see the obstinance in the animal’s eyes as he craned his neck around and bared his teeth at the dark man.

The man immediately reached for his sword, but Legolas had his bow drawn and an arrow fitted into its grooves before the blade was even visible. “Drop it.” he ordered in an apathetic voice.

The man eyed him warily and then shifted his eyes to take in Gimli’s staunch form. With an angered curse he threw the sword down at the elf’s feet. “That was entirely too easy,” Legolas scoffed as he motioned for Gimli to pick up the sword. “Now, where are our companions?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, elf” The last word was spat out like a poisonous drought.

“A…MAN…AND…A…WOMAN,” Legolas said slowly, enunciating each syllable with almost painful sharpness. As he did so he took a step closer, leveling the tip of his arrow to within inches of the man’s heart.

“Walk.” Legolas ordered as he took another step forward, forcing the man to sidestep him and begin walking. “If you make a sound I will allow the Dwarf here to cleave you in two.” Gimli made a very pleased sound and used the head of his ax to prod the man in the back. Ghrevn looked back angrily but stayed silent as he trudged ahead.

Legolas looked back once to make sure that the younger children had stayed out of sight as they had been told. The only thing visible was the gleaming white form of his own horse, who wouldn’t be visible to the man’s inferior eyes anyway. After only a few minutes of walking, Legolas saw the glow of a campfire some ways ahead. Without a word he reached out and grabbed a handful of the man’s filthy overcoat, turning him sharply to his left and dragging him towards yet another abandoned building. Gimli looked on curiously but did not say anything as Legolas proceeded to bind the man’s hands with a strap of leather.

Pushing him to sit against the wall, Legolas crouched down in front of the surly man. “Gimli will not hesitate to dispose of you if you become a problem,” After this matter-of-fact statement he turned to Gimli. “I will go and get them. You stay here-- and keep him quiet.” Gimli nodded as Legolas glided out of the room and down the road. He vanished into the darkness within seconds, leaving Gimli to turn back towards his prisoner.

“Forsaken gold!” the man muttered under his breath. “Opportunist, ha! Dorgan’ll get a chest full of metal before he gets a handful of treasure!”

Imlyana had attempted to revive Olihre again, but to no avail. It had been quite some time since Ghrevn had left for the horses, and Imlyana knew that she was not the only one who was growing restless. Dorgan had taken to breaking sticks into small pieces and tossing them bit by bit into the fire, which despite the fuel, was quickly dying down.

Imlyana turned her head slightly and looked out into the darkness, her despairing half almost expecting to see her sister being brought back as a captive. She shook her head and frowned, knowing that such a thought could not possibly help her situation; nonetheless, she could not look away from the black emptiness.

And then suddenly her gaze was caught by a faint flash of light. She blinked once and focused her eyes more deliberately, but could see nothing. She continued staring, wondering if perhaps she had imagined it, when suddenly she caught sight of another flash of light-- only it wasn’t light, it was golden hair, covered almost entirely by a dark hood.

Legolas! Imlyana thought excitedly. Instinctively her grip tightened around Olihre’s upper body as she shook him gently, attempting to wake him. Her gaze never left Legolas’s shrouded figure though as he crept ever nearer, until finally he was almost within speaking distance. She looked at him questioningly as he flashed her a small smile before disappearing behind a wall.

“What’re you looking at?” Dorgan’s speech had become somewhat less distinct, most likely due to too many sips from his hip flask.

Imlyana whipped her head back around and watched helplessly as his imposing figure ambled towards her. With one hand he reached down and dragged Olihre from her arms, tossing him like a sack of rubbish onto the cold ground beside him.

“Causing trouble, are we?” He sniggered loosely as he dropped to his knees in front of her and leaned forward. “You know, I’ve usually got rather high standards concerning who I…associate…with, but seeing as how I’ve already got to put up with Ghrevn…I may as well put you to use too…” He leaned so far forward that Imlyana could smell the liquor on his breath as she leaned as far back into the wall as she could. Her hands came up quickly to block his searching ones, but her petite frame was definitely no match for his brawn.

Dorgan dropped his hands to form a vice grip around Imlyana’s legs. His searching eyes turned to where he had left Olihre, the yellow orbs widening in surprised when they found him still lying there unconscious. His neck then rotated in the other direction, his grip tightening on Imlyana’s thighs, causing her to writhe painfully. The blonde man quickly reached to draw his dagger, but had only gotten it half way out when his head snapped back and his nose began gushing crimson fluid down his front.

Imlyana didn’t know what to do next. The man’s grip had hurt her and all she could think of was her need to get his filthy hands off of her. She knew Legolas could kill him in an instant, but an instant was too much for her. The heel of her hand had proved quite effective in its upward thrust, and as it connected with the man’s nose, Imlyana felt the cartilage give way under it. She had then drawn her legs forward and pushed the man off of her with all her might.

As he tumbled backwards she looked up, expecting to see Legolas advancing upon the man. Instead she saw him holding his bow in one relaxed hand, while his other was attempting to cover the grin on his face.

“You seem to have everything under control,” Legolas drawled amusedly as he walked towards the man who was now curled in the fetal position grasping his face in his hands.

“It seems you chose the wrong woman to ‘associate’ with,” he sneered as he rolled Dorgan over with a swift move from his foot.

“Horrid wench!” the man spurted through his cupped hands and a fair amount of blood.

Imlyana immediately crawled over to Olihre and hauled him back into her lap again, checking to make sure that he hadn’t been re-injured. He groaned as she pulled at him, but did not open his eyes or speak. His forehead wrinkled as she prodded the cut on his temple, and his hands half-heartedly came up to stop her, but quickly fell to his sides again as he seemed to fade into a deeper unconsciousness. “Legolas, he won’t wake up!”

“He’ll be all right,” Legolas said without even looking over at them. He was too busy binding Dorgan’s hands.

“I seem to remember you saying the same thing when you sent us here with Oli…” Imlyana didn’t finish the sentence but Legolas was not unaware of the accusation imbedded in it. He was relieved however when he looked over to find her smirking at him in her usual coquettish way.

Imlyana narrowed her eyes and looked as if she would launch herself at the incapacitated man at any moment. “I don’t want to dirty myself by touching him.” With that she turned back to Olihre and began combing his matted hair through her slim, dark fingers. She sat there for only a moment before Legolas heaved the man into a standing position with his hands tied behind his back. He then marched him to the other side of the fire and pushed him roughly against the wall. “Do not attempt to move,” he said sharply.

He then hastened towards Imlyana again, walking past her and out the wide barn doors into the open air. Letting out a shrill whistle he waited a moment until he saw his horse hurrying towards him in the distance. “I am going to get your brother and sister. Gimli will meet us here with the other man in a moment.”

“He cannot even see straight at the moment,” Legolas snorted. “Gimli will be here before he can so much as stumble his way around the fire.”

Legolas mounted his horse and galloped off, heading first towards the building where he left Gimli. Imlyana turned her gaze towards the man, who was slumped over against the far wall. His eyes were glazed and his head lolled to the side. She looked back towards Olihre who held a very similar demeanor, and could not help but smile.

“You do realize that this is the second time I have had to care for you while you were unconscious?” Olihre remained unmoving. “It’s starting to become a habit, and though it is rather exciting, I fear you are suffering too much for my mere attentions.” She bent her head low then and placed a comforting kiss upon his cold cheek. “At least I didn’t have to climb a tree this time…”

Imlyana continued a one-sided conversation for another minute until she heard the low grumbling voice of Gimli as he herded his captive into her view. He smiled victoriously at her as he passed, pushing the dark haired man roughly beside his companion before returning to her side and sinking to his knees beside her.

“Well, this has been exciting, hasn’t it?” he bellowed loudly as he examined the cut on Olihre’s temple.

Imlyana arched her eyebrows and looked like she might object but he raised his hand to silence her. “What say we have some fun with the boy?”

Again, Imlyana’s eyebrows arched, but this time her dark gaze traveled downwards to where Gimli was pulling Olihre’s dagger from his boot. “He had that all along?” she questioned with a disbelieving chuckle. “I swear the man is as helpless as a newborn babe!”

Gimli laughed and handed her the dagger. “No, no, no…” she chanted as she shook her head. “Remember what a fuss he put up last time?”

Gimli cleared his throat in a patronizingly and rolled his eyes. “My dear girl, I do believe that is the point.”

Olihre woke up to the warmth of a fire burning very near his feet. “Lyana?” he called in a desperate voice, trying to raise himself into a sitting position as his surroundings swam in and out of view. He put his hands to his head and tried to steady it as he gazed around. From behind him he heard a voice just as he felt two hands steady his shoulders, which were shaking rather violently.

“Good, you’re awake. I was beginning to think I might have to prepare dinner all by myself.”

Olihre turned his head as far as his stiff neck would allow, catching a glimpse of Imlyana’s dark hair out of the corner of his eye. “What?” he mumbled as he lay back down again, throwing a forearm over his eyes.

“Well,” Imlyana continued as if this were no new situation to her, “it certainly wouldn’t be right to make the others do all the work, after all, they were the ones who braved the cold rain to catch our dinner in the first place. And I’m not very well disposed to giving our…guests…any sharp objects at the moment-- perhaps I’m just being silly, but they don’t really strike me as the helpful type.” Imlyana took a deep but short breath. “Imlara is busy tending to the horses, though she’s a bit squeamish around dead animals anyway, so my dear, that leaves just you and me.” Imlyana punctuated the ending of her rambling explanation with the cold slap of a dead rabbit into Olihre’s lap.

His arm quickly left his face as he narrowed his eyes and glared at Imlyana, who was hovering over him with an impish grin on her face. He groaned as he drew his knee towards his chest and reached down to his boot. Imlyana knew when to linger, and when to hide. This was a good time for the latter.

“My knife!” A moment’s pause as Olihre struggled into a sitting position. “Lyana!”

The Making of a Man by TigerLily713