Somehow, and never did he figure out how, Gimli had found himself in charge of Legolas’ baths. He was sure the elf had planned it somehow, but he wasn’t sure how. He was also sure he was the least qualified of all creatures in Middle Earth for such a position. Dwarves didn’t worry about bathing. Once a week if they could get access to water was just fine. If not, that was also fine. However, there was no getting around the fact that elves, and not just the one he was cursed with, seemed to take an inordinate number of baths.

One of the first things Aragorn had done when he began to rebuild his city was to establish bath houses as he had known them when growing up in Imladris. While the populace of Gondor still was somewhat skeptical, the elves of the colony of Ithilien were grateful and made use of them on every visit. So, here he was, a proud and mighty dwarf, somehow stuck escorting an elf on their second trip to the Aragorn’s personal bathhouse today, and the sun hadn’t even gone down! He grumbled in his beard but not so loudly, or so he thought, that Legolas could hear him. He didn’t really mind after all and it did give the elf so much pleasure, and he had had little of that for so very long now. It’s just that he didn’t understand it. Elves!

They entered the bathhouse, and Gimli was glad to see they were so far the only occupants. This morning! At least eight in addition to themselves getting ready for the day. And that was another thing he’d never understand. A dwarf, when he does bathe, strips off his clothes right before, jumps in and in five minutes he’s out again and pulling on the same clothes as before. These creatures seemed content to linger unless some other business needed their attention. And, they didn’t seem all that concerned at covering themselves unless the air was chill. As for putting on the same clothes, Legolas’ eyes had widened in incomprehension when he had made the suggestion once. Elves!

He was glad they would probably remain alone. Elves in large numbers acting as elves made him nervous. Warrior elves were one thing, and Gimli would take an army of them any day. When they were at peace and among their own kind, though, that was another thing and very unsettling to the dwarf. For one thing, they touched one another frequently and thought nothing of it. Adult male dwarves did NOT touch one another unless they were punching one another in the midst of a satisfying brawl. Even Legolas was different in the company of other elves. Gimli had seen so many of his male healers and other friends kiss his forehead or cheek when they came to the room of healing where he lay, and they would sit and stroke his hand as they sat by the bed or raise it to their lips as they talked. This Gimli did not like. Gimli had even seen Aragorn do the same with Legolas and his foster brothers and even Elrond, who had fostered the future king of Gondor. But, then Aragorn had been raised by elves so that probably explained it. Gimli knew these were not the same as the kisses a man might bestow on a maiden, but they still made him uncomfortable. Dwarves do not really believe in kissing he thought. Yet Legolas seemed to take comfort from the touch and kiss of a friend, and when he was in the most pain it would still soothe him. Gimli just didn’t understand. Elves!

He stomped his way over to the stone bench near where Legolas preferred to bathe and sensibly put the fresh clothing (fresh clothing!) and towels that he had carried for his friend where it could not possibly be splashed. He did not intend that Legolas should get a chill and risk a return of fever even if he insisted on bathing when the sun was beginning to think about setting. He grunted and sat down. He watched in silence the ritual an elf could make out of a bath.

Legolas dropped to one knee as he faced the water and lay his right hand over his heart and bowed his head. Gimli heard him murmur soft words in what he knew was an elven tongue, but he could not understand them even though he had reached the point where he could get by in Sindarin if he had to do so. These words were somehow different, more formal than what Gimli would hear Legolas say when his healers questioned him or he gave greeting to someone in passing. Legolas had told him once that when he greeted Ilúvatar, he had been taught to do so in Quenya and not the Sindarin of his ordinary life, or the wood-elven he sometimes spoke to joke with childhood friends who could speak it. So, Gimli supposed that this must be Quenya, and that Legolas must be praying. Then Legolas rose and removed his clothing swiftly and laid it carefully aside, although he would not put it back on again when he was done. He stood with his back to Gimli and began to unbraid his hair and shake it free. The setting sun through the windows caught the golden hair in its rays and turned it the color of burnished gold from a craftsman’s smith. He’d once heard Arwen say that Legolas’ hair was the color of the wheat at harvest and that she was jealous, and Legolas had laughed and said hers was like the ebony of night, and he wanted to bury his face in it to find the stars. They both had laughed then, and Legolas had brushed Arwen’s hair as a brother might, and she had done the same for him, and Aragorn had smiled to see them together, like elflings sitting cross-legged on the floor and plotting mischief. That was something else Gimli would never understand. A dwarf, if he could become betrothed at all, would kill another who even looked too closely at his betrothed.

But, no, Arwen was wrong. Legolas’ hair was not like wheat. It was gold, the purest of spun gold, and only its softness betrayed that a good smith could not turn it into an ornament wondrous to behold. It remained ever its own ornament alone, but it was still spun gold to Gimli, for metal and stone spoke to him as the trees and green things did not. He watched as Legolas knelt before the fountains designed for this use and washed his hair and then ran a carved wooden comb through it. Legolas came and lay the comb on the bench beside Gimli, and Gimli noted that even this simple thing that no doubt Legolas had made himself had been delicately carved with a pattern of leaves and vines. Elves!

"Will you not join me?" Legolas’ voice was soft as always. Gimli grunted. "It would give me pleasure."

Now, that was another thing about elves. They were unfair. The one he was cursed with knew somehow that for all his grumbling Gimli took a secret delight in making Legolas happy, if only to see the brightness that would light his face and fill his eyes. "Ah, my leg is hurting. Best not get it wet."

"The water would soothe it. Please?"

"I suppose you won’t leave me alone unless I do?"

"Probably not." Legolas smiled. "And you did not bathe this morning with ‘all those other elves about’. Dear Gimli, if you are to share my bed tonight as you promised Haldir you would do while he rested, I really would prefer a clean dwarf beside me! The castle is crowded as you well know and to find another bed will be difficult. Although, perhaps Arod might share his stall?" Legolas laughed as Gimli began to growl about that "accursed horse" and the sound of that laughter won his battle for him. "I will wait for you in the water." Legolas knew that it made Gimli uncomfortable if anyone watched him strip off his clothes, and so the elf stepped into the bathing pool and sat on one of its steps with his back to his friend. He did not understand why his eyes should make Gimli uncomfortable, for to him if no one else the dwarf was beautiful. This was the only dwarf he knew. Perhaps this was so with all the others as well? He heard his friend grunt as he lowered himself onto the middle step with his stiffened leg. Gimli did not like to get his beard wet.

Legolas moved gracefully down to the lowest step and sat so that he could look up at his friend. The water covered him completely to his neck and the gold that was his hair floated about him on the movements of the water. Legolas smiled as he watched it for a moment. Then he looked again at Gimli and saw the scarred and badly healed wound of the leg that always plagued his friend when it was cold. He extended his long fingers and lay the tips of them gently against the scars. Gimli did not protest. Legolas was the only creature on earth that Gimli would permit to touch him in affection and only if they were alone would Legolas do such a thing, for he knew his friend’s dwarven pride was mighty. Legolas increased the pressure of his fingertips ever so slightly and again Gimli heard him breathe words in the strange elven tongue. When the hand was removed, Gimli was astonished that his leg felt so much better.

"What are you up to, lad, elven magic?" Legolas laughed and leaned his head back into the water to make his hair float once again.

"No, my suspicious friend, merely a prayer to Ilúvatar to give you ease from your aches, for I know you are an old and decrepit dwarf." Legolas was suddenly serious. "I meant not to offend you, Gimli, forgive me!"

"You’ve not offended me, Master Elf, and my leg does feel better." A smile of pure joy came onto Legolas’ face. That was another thing Gimli would never understand. A simple thing such a leaf perfectly formed or the blueness of the sky would bring that same smile of joy to that face that in other beings would require wealth or power to bring. Legolas took such joy in life and he had so nearly lost it, was still not completely free from the threat of death. Gimli somehow found his gnarled, battle-scarred hand resting awkwardly on the golden head of Legolas that now leaned against the old wounds of his leg. For somehow Gimli knew that the elf needed to be close to someone at this moment, someone that he loved, and he loved Gimli above any other that he knew, even his father or Aragorn.

This filled Gimli ever with wonder that somehow this perfect creature whose whole life was beauty and color and grace should so love Gimli the Dwarf. Galadriel filled him with awe at her beauty and all that she was and he would serve her forever, but Legolas filled Gimli’s whole life with love and for him would he gladly die if it would protect Legolas from hurt or pain for even one minute. And both perfect creatures in his life were Elves. Gimli the Dwarf would never understand it, but he would ever give thanks for this blessing that Aulë had sent to him, the two jewels of his existence.

Chapter 2 - The Larks of the Morning

"Listen, Gimli! Can you hear them?" Legolas raised his thin face to the trees above him, and his eyes searched the leafed branches eagerly. "Larks! I have never heard them before here in Gondor. There, do you see them? There in that high branches above us. Ai, if I could but climb to those branches still and speak with these visitors."

Elves. They speak to birds and converse with trees! Even the rivers sing to them, and the stars whisper their names. Only the earth spoke to Gimli, the solid earth and the enduring rocks of Arda. Sensible things, for he was a dwarf.

Gimli’s heart ached as he saw the shadow of loss touch the elf’s face yet again. No longer could his body carry him into those beloved trees.  Gimli, who ever said that dwarves could bear what Aulë sent them, could not bear to see the yearning hand stretch towards the high branches where the larks sang.

This is my fault. I am the one who has cut this tie with his very soul. Because of me, he lies here upon a couch in Arwen’s garden and aches for the trees he can no longer reach. To even walk the path to lie here, he must lean on me and walk slowly. Some days we must carry him he is so weak, but today he seems a little stronger somehow. Just a little. Never enough. He tells me ever that there is no blame at what has happened, but I know better. But for me, never would he have come to the Glittering Caves that day. He said he saw their beauty, and I know that he does not ever lie to me. Still the closeness of them always frightened him, made him feel cut off from all that he so loves. Their beauty could not change that for him. For my sake alone, he came with Aragorn’s delegation. For my sake, he bore the company of the mortals of Gondor. For among the miners who worked with us in the caves are those who so distrust the elves that they will not stand near them for fear of their spells. I should have known this. It is my fault that I did not.

Because the king did love the elves and set one as their queen, no word was ever spoken to be overheard where it might be reported to him. But the fear was ever there. Superstition and ignorance whispered in the dark alleys and behind the doors of the houses of the mortals, No elf in Ithilien’s colony walked without knowing of this shadow that still lay on Gondor. All knew and yet, none ever spoke a word against it. The Lady would keep this pain from her king, and the elves were her kin. They loved her and kept her silence. They treated fairly with the people of Gondor, and hoped that one day the shadow would pass

Gimli himself had only recently become aware of the whispers. He was a dwarf and they kept mainly to themselves and cared not at all what Gondor might think of them.

As they walked throught the streets of the City, Gimli had not been surprised when the young child tottered on unsteady feet towards the elf. Children seemed drawn to Legolas and he to them. The only surprise was the child’s mother. She had run to snatch the child from their path and spit words at them in a language Gimli did not understand. Then, she had run quickly from their sight.

He told me the woman said, "Evil one, you shall not have my child!" And then he told me of their beliefs about elves cursing children, who would then sicken and die. Not all of Gondor, he said, but the poorest and most ignorant believed these things. I wanted to tell Aragorn, but he forbade it. He told me to speak would cause Arwen pain, for she did not wish her husband to know that he had brought her to a place where people could think her evil.

Fire they thought could break the curse of the elves. I did not know that then, but I do now. Feeling the hostility of the miners at the sight of him, Legolas had withdrawn from the rest of us and stood to the side of the caves, near a tunnel that was seldom used.

I should have checked that tunnel. It’s been collecting debris for far too long. Too many things carelessly left behind or thrown there for want of a better place for them. Too many places to hide.

I didn’t see that fool sneak away from his fellows. I was concentrating so much that all would go well that I missed the worst. They say his child died, and he blamed the elves. Perhaps that is true. He is dead now. We will never know. None of us saw him in time as he ran with his torch toward the side of the cave where Legolas stood. None of us saw him in time as he hurled his torch at the elf and cursed him. And he didn’t see the children hiding in the tunnel to see the king’s party.

Only Legolas saw the children and leaped to thrust them away from the danger of the burning torch. His body covered them just as the torch found Saruman’s powder in the unexploded metal that none of us knew was there.

"Gimli, look! The larks are coming to me!"

The dwarf turned and watched the pure joy on his friend’s face. For the larks had indeed heard the elf call them. He watched as the birds flew to his friend and perched all around him in the low branches of the flowering shrubs near his couch. They let him touch their soft wings and whisper to them. And the larks sang for Legolas and made him happy and did not leave him until they had lulled him to sleep with their songs.

Chapter 3 - Elessar the King

Arwen had found this small chamber. It rested directly below the main chamber of the library and was not in frequent use now. She never met anyone here.

Here she came to hide from what she could not face.

Here she sought the courage to act and found it not.

Here she had wept at the first news of Legolas.

Here she had entreated Ilúvatar for her childhood friend.

Here she had despaired at Legolas' recovery and still could not face what she must do.

Here she had hidden from her husband and his world.

Here she heard the scream of Haldir’s rage enter the open window and knew its cause.

Here she had looked at the courtyard below and seen Rúmil’s cloaked figure mount upon Arod.

Here she had remembered Rúmil’s childhood laughter and watched him ride swiftly away and never look back.

Here Arwen wept and wished for the arms of her father.

*****

"He is bleeding again." Gimli growled the words in hatred, hatred against the one who had done this to his friend. "Those wounds are more than three weeks back, Haldir, and they are now bleeding as on the first day, or worse!"

Cursing, Gimli still handed fresh linen cloths to Haldir who gently washed the blood from Legolas’ wounds.

What had been better, now bled anew. The burned flesh was as the first day, and the stench of it filled the nose of the dwarf as he spread the herbal compresses with fingers that had learned to be gentle these last weeks. In Gimli’s voice was the agony of not understanding.

"Elves heal quickly. He has always boasted of this with laughter. I pretended I grew angry at him over the words. Now, I would give my life if they were true. Haldir, why does he not heal? You say that even the bones that had begun to knit are again asunder. He cannot bear this forever. The pain is too much. There is less and less relief from it. His strength fades each day. Haldir, what is happening?"

"I do not know yet, Gimli. My fingers reach for the reason, and I feel that they are nearer. Yet now, there is still darkness. Now, I must ever treat wounds that should be healing as if they were new. I am afraid, Master Dwarf, as are you. We have no time for this fear. We must continue this fight to save him."

Haldir looked into the eyes of the dwarf who had ever been an enemy of his people. A dwarf as those of Doriath and its fall. "We must fight who love him best."

Haldir’s face was hard, a face of a captain of elven warriors who knew death in all its guises and yet had chosen to become a healer and seek life. Silently, the elf who served Celeborn of Doriath gave a basin to the dwarf Gimli and lifted Legolas and turned him, so that he might vomit the blood that was gathering in his newly pierced lungs.

*****

"I would speak to Legolas alone, and you keep me from it. Who has given this power to you, Haldir o Lórien?"

"Lórien is no more, Aragorn. The Lady is gone, and my Lord abides there no longer. I am Haldir of Ithilien, if I have any home at all. The mellyrn are a memory only to me."

"I am the king here. I would be with Legolas alone."

"You are not our king. I serve Lord Celeborn only. Legolas is the son of Thranduil of the Woodland Realm. You have no authority over us, and well you know it. You will demand nothing of us, and you will still your voice in these chambers, or you will leave them."

Haldir looked towards the bed where Legolas lay. He had drugged the prince’s wine against his pain, and so Legolas slept heavily. Haldir could still hear the rasping of pain, and the liquid filling the lungs. Soon, he must again drain them.

"You reside within my castle. You owe me something."

"We reside within your castle because one of your subjects saw fit to try and kill the son of King Thranduil. The laws of hospitality demand that you shelter us. The laws of justice demand that, if Legolas die, you make atonement to his father in whatever way he chooses. Thranduil could demand Eldarion in payment and take not your wergeld. You could lose a son as he may lose his own. Speak not to me of your rights, King Elessar. You have none."

"I would speak to Legolas. If not alone, then before you."

"Would you, King Elessar?" Haldir wiped his bloody hands on the clean linen towel and glanced down at the tortured body he tended. "King Elessar would speak to Prince Legolas." He laughed harshly.

"Are you a better healer than I, King Elessar? Can you empty these lungs of blood, so that my prince may attend to your needs? Can you quiet the tortured pain long enough for him to think? We await your healing, King Elessar. You would speak with my prince. Pray, tell me how?"

Author’s Note:

Lassion: Son of the Leaves
Mîrlegolasdur: Jewel, Beloved of Legolas
Iavasion: Son of Autumn
Laerion: Son of Summer
Harmalassion: Treasure of the Son of the Leaves
Hirglor: River of Golden Light
__________

Chapter 4 - Arwen the Queen

"What do you want from me, Arwen? To say that it is acceptable that you are a coward?" Rúmil pulled away from the gentle hands that were trying to hold his arm. He prowled the small chamber that was Arwen’s refuge like a caged cat. He did not want to be here. She had brought him.

He alone had always known where she hid herself. It was like her, this place. She always hid in the smallest places. She always hid, and he had always found her when others grew worried for her. He never worried. He always knew where she would be. He came to find her always. Except for this time.

"It is not acceptable, Arwen. Always, I have loved you. All my life from our childhood, I fought for you against everything. I gave you my life and my heart, Arwen. I never asked anything in return, except for your courage. That has failed me before, and now it has failed Legolas. Do not ask me to say that it is acceptable."

She had drawn Rúmil into this small chamber as he passed down the corridor. Through the long weeks, she had feared him and loved him until she could no longer bear it. The sight of his cold face had driven her to the point of madness, and it must end. She must end it, and she was afraid.

"Would you tear my own heart from my body, Rúmil?" She saw her pacing cat turn and face her. In his eyes she could still read the love he bore her, but she knew also his strength. She had failed him for the second time, and he would turn his face from her forever, and she would die. She must act.

"One can live without a heart, Arwen." Rúmil’s voice was quiet, and it frightened her. "When you were betrothed to Aragorn, I did give up my own heart for you, lady. I gave it to you as a wedding present, and set you free. You know this."

She knew. His courage had never failed. He had come back from battle to seek her forgiveness, and she had instead given him betrayal. They had fought as they always did, and she had sent him away, and he had gone in anger against her. She had prayed that he would die, and that thought cursed still her days and tormented her nights. She had wanted to hurt him. Her mind had closed to all but that one thought. She had met Aragorn then and saw him, and she had had her revenge. Rúmil would never be allowed to take her for granted again. She would show him that she would not wait for his peace.

Haldir had carried his brother home, more than half dead from his wounds, and he had brought him as always to Arwen. He had brought Rúmil to her arms to die where he had loved. With Galadriel, Arwen had nursed him through the nights when he seemed all but lost to them. Galadriel had known all and offered no comfort to her grand-daughter. Arwen she said must be the one to tell Rúmil of her betrayal of their love. Nothing could be undone. He must know of Aragorn and her betrothal. There was no other path left for Arwen to walk.

And so she had told him. When the danger of his wounds had finally passed, she had given herself one last moment when they were still one and had felt Rúmil’s mouth on hers, and tasted its eager sweetness as he held her close. She had felt his strong hands trace the lines of her body one last time. She would live on that kiss and the feel of those hands until her own death. Arwen knew this, and felt that she would welcome death when she saw his eyes as she told him of Aragorn.

He had never accused her. He had said nothing to her ever. He told her she had been free and had done no wrong. He had never placed a claim upon her. Always he had feared to bind her to someone who might be killed in battle. Always he had made her remain free until peace might come. This had been the cause of her anger that had separated them forever.

Arwen remembered the grey eyes that knew no end of pain as she told him of what her spite had wrought. She remembered her heart tearing as he told her that he would take a brother’s place to her, and that she must be happy with Aragorn, and let him live as he could without her.

Rúmil had ever kept his courage, and he had made her path easier for her. To Aragorn, he became a friend and listened in silence to the joy of his friend in his betrothal and marriage. At Eldarion’s birth, he had blessed the son who should have been his and loved him. Never had he accused Arwen or sought to bring her pain. Never, until now.

"Rúmil, I will tell him all." Her fingers reached to touch his face, and he let her, although her touch brought ever the longing that would never heal and which tormented him. For her, he would bear any pain. In his grey eyes, she had found again her strength, and she left him now to seek her husband. Rúmil watched her leave him again and bowed to her courage as he wept.

*****

"Legolas, waken to me." Gilúviel sat beside his brother’s bedside and held the thin hands in his own strong ones. "Lassion, thy brother is come to thee. Waken to me and let me kiss thee that thou may know I am here."

Legolas heard the loved voice of his brother for which he had longed. He heard it call him, and he gathered his waning strength to answer. Grimly, he pushed past the pain that tore him, concentrating solely on Gilúviel’s voice as it called him. Now, he could feel the soft touch of gentle fingers stroking his cheek. Somehow he knew that the touch that caressed him was his brother’s. He fought to reach the safe harbor of his brother. As he let go of unconsciousness, he felt his pain grow ever stronger and tear at him in anger. He did not care. He fought hard and then harder and forced open his eyes with his will.

For a moment, he could not see, and then the dark eyes he knew so well met his own. With parched lips and a cracked voice, Legolas spoke barely above a whisper.

"Mîr?" He could manage only the name that none but he used for Gilúviel, the name that belonged to the two brothers only. Gilúviel wet the lips of his brother with a soft cloth dipped in water and herbs and let a little of the water drip into Legolas’ throat.

"I am here, Lassion, I am here." Gilúviel kissed his brother’s cracked lips, and his tears fell on Legolas’ thin cheeks.

Lassion has waited so long for thy coming, Mîr. So much I would tell you, but I have not the strength. There is too much pain. Do not leave me, Mîr. There is too much darkness. Too much pain. I am so afraid.

"Hush, Lassion, there will be time when you are stronger. Lie still, my brother. We will have all our lives for words. Iavasion will ne’er leave Laerion again."

Legolas heard the sweet names of their childhood, and they were a balm to him and a comfort. He looked up at the darkness that was his brother, and his eyes shone with unshed tears. Here would Legolas die if he must or live as Ilúvatar willed. Here was his home and his safety. His own strength might fail, but his brother’s would hold him. He would not die alone.

"Iavasion. Mîrlegolasdur. Harmalassion." Legolas’ fingers managed to twine in the black hair of Gilúviel as his cracked voice breathed the loved litany of his brother’s names.

Then did Legolas’ strength fade and leave him, and he fell again into the comfortless sleep of his pain. Gilúviel held his brother, and looked up as Haldir felt softly the vein in Legolas’ throat and counted his heartbeats and listened to his shallow breathing.

"He is again unconscious, Gilúviel, but he now knows that you are here. He will fight to reach you. It is better for tonight that he remain asleep. I will have someone bring food to you, mellon nîn." Haldir bent and kissed the cheek of his friend and departed.

*****

"Give me one excuse to kill you and I will." Gimli’s voice frightened Sam as he stood beside him. Never had he heard such hatred in the dwarf’s voice as was directed at this man of Gondor that they guarded. Sam moved Adros away from the dwarf and pushed him down in the corner of the room.

"Stay here and keep silent, Adros, for he would kill you and I might let him." Sam’s hobbit nature had never reconciled to killing. He hated it and all that warfare had brought him. He had killed. He had watched his comrades kill. He did not regret that he had done so. He regretted only that war had made the killing necessary. Above all, Sam wanted peace for himself and those that he loved.

Yet, after hobbits, Sam loved best the elves. They had caught him in their own love for him, and he had never regretted their meeting. He loved them, and they loved him. He did not understand that. How could a clumsy and awkward hobbit be loved by these creatures of light and beauty? Even among hobbits, Sam said ever the wrong thing. That Rosie loved him had been his greatest mystery. That his beautiful daughter came from his own loins was a wonder and a joy to his mind. He was just Sam. He was always just Sam, and yet here he was. Beloved of Rosie and the elves.

I am upsetting the hobbit. This you must not do, Gimli. He does not understand your anger. They are different from dwarves. Easily they forgive. Gollum would not have lasted one day with a dwarf. We remember those who have wronged us and ours. We remember, and we make them pay. This one’s children Legolas saved. For what purpose? To grow and spread more of this one’s filth? He has admitted it. This one helped spread the filthy web of lies that injured my elf.

Yes, my elf! Legolas has ever been mine since Lothlórien. The Lady gave him into my keeping. In my mind, I promised her the safety of her woodland kin. She gave Legolas to me, and that was her greatest gift to me. Elfbearer they should call me, but they knew my true burden not. They know not my joy in him, and the light he has brought to my life’s darkness. I share him only with his brother. The three of us have become as one. To Gilúviel he brought me and held me before his elven brother’s eyes and proclaimed that he loved me, a dwarf, even as he did his own brother from birth. Then, the dark one took me also into his own heart and did love me, and we three knew that we should never part one from the other. We became brothers. Two elves and a dwarf. None but Gilúviel can know my fear that Legolas may die, and I survive him. He must not die.

Gimli thought of Aragorn. Something was troubling his friend. He could not see it yet, but the pain of it was palpable. Gimli thought it was the distance that the elves had set between themselves and the mortals. Gimli could give no comfort to Aragorn on this, for he agreed with the elves. Aragorn had been hesitant. He had not sought out what had hurt Legolas. He should have done that at once. He had called it chance, and all of them had known that this was a lie.

Only this week had Aragorn sent Faramir to search out the family of the children. More than five weeks wasted! Gimli’s anger at this was boundless. What was Aragorn thinking? He was king. He must act as one!

Fearing the further inaction of Aragorn, Gimli had left Legolas’ bedside and sought for his axe. He would accompany the king and Faramir. He could not heal his beloved elf. He could make sure that Aragorn punished those who had done this. Aragorn would not weaken with Gimli beside him. If he did, Gimli would kill him. Legolas would be avenged. None could do what had been done to his beloved friend and live. To this end, Gimli had sworn his oath.

Aragorn had told him to guard this scum. They would bring him to the castle. They would bring this man and his children and his wife. In his mind, Gimli remembered that the son of Adros had wounds that healed not.

*****

Sulka sat by her son’s bedside and watched the tall elf approach. She remembered the angry words that had been spoken by this proud one to the King of Gondor. The elf did not wish to touch her son, and she did not wish for him to do so. Sulka was afraid of him, but her heart knew there was no choice left to her. The elf sought not to heal her son, but if he did not Gurth would die. For five weeks and more, his wounds had reopened. The healers of Gondor had told her to make his grave. Sulka feared the elf, but she needed him.

Haldir inclined his head to her. "If you permit, I would examine your son?"

She nodded and watched as he unfastened the elven gown in which they had clothed Gurth after they washed his body. The tall elf crouched gracefully by the bedside and began to probe the wounds lightly. Sulka heard her son moan.

"Have you a name, boy?"

"Gurth, son of Adros." Haldir inclined his head respectfully to the child.

"I am Haldir, son of Hirglor." The boy nodded. "I must do what will hurt you. Are you brave, Gurth, son of Adros?"

"I am brave."

"Be brave, then, and frighten not your mother who abides here with you."

The boy set his teeth then and made not a sound as Haldir’s fingers sought knowledge from his wounds. Beads of sweat were on his face as his filthy bandages were removed, and his wounds cleaned. Haldir’s grey eyes saw him with approval. There was courage in Gondor’s children as well as ignorance. He worked quickly to lessen the time courage must endure.

Haldir felt the thin body of Gurth begin to relax as he spread the salve of herbs on the terrible infected wounds. This would numb the pain. Haldir hated all pain, but especially of children. Mortal he might be, but Gurth was still a child. Gently, Haldir bandaged the wounds and refastened the boy’s tunic.

"I honor your courage, Gurth, son of Adros. You must now drink this, and then you will rest."

Gurth hated elves, and yet he glowed beneath Haldir’s praise. He felt the elf lift him easily and support him in arms that felt stronger than even those of Adros his father. He smelled the clean scent of the elf that held him so easily supported, a smell of forests and rain. Somehow it comforted Gurth.

"What is it?"

Haldir smiled. It was a question he himself would ask. "It is well to be suspicious among those who are strangers. This is wine mixed with herbs. It is not so strong as what I give Legolas. It will but ease your pain a little and give you rest." Haldir saw Gurth’s eyes look toward Legolas with fear.

"He never wakes. But once have I seen him stir since I came here."

"If I let him wake, his screams would rend your sleep, boy." Haldir’s voice was harsher than he meant it to be. The boy looked at him with new fear. "He lies very near death, and his pain is great. His courage, Gurth, is still greater than even yours. You could not bear his pain, nor I." Haldir picked up the cup of wine. "You will drink this, but your suspicion of me is reasonable." Haldir drank half of the cup himself. "A healer could not risk an endless sleep. Drink the rest, boy."

Gurth let Haldir put the cup to his lips, and he drank. He let the elf continue to hold him and took comfort in the strong arms and the clean smell of Haldir. Soon, Gurth drifted to sleep in those arms he hated. Haldir lay him gently on his pillow and covered him.

Then did the tall elf bow to Sulka and leave her with her son.

*****

Had he ever known this one who was his wife? For an hour now, Aragorn had listened to her and ever as she spoke was he reminded of Elrond. His daughter drew the same still control about her as she spoke that he had so often seen in the Master of Imladris.

Her head she held high, and her bearing was regal as she told her husband all that she had concealed from him. She told him of plots among his servants to ensnare her and the elves, told him of whispers of evil that she had carried in silence. She spoke of insults ignored and endured for his sake. Arwen had no knowledge of what was acceptable in mortals. She had feared to offend and thus taken too much offense. She had tried to walk a path for him, and he had not helped her.

The elves had done their best for his troubled queen. They had held their silence and their swords for her sake. They had swallowed insults and kept their silence at her entreaties. Legolas had urged her to speak to her husband, and she had berated him for it so that he never spoke again.

Rúmil she did not speak of to Aragorn and at this he did wonder. Surely, Rúmil would have been able to find her tongue for her?

She spoke now of Elrond and her longing for her father. She told Aragorn she was a poor wife to him. She could not understand how to be mortal. She told him she was failing him and Eldarion, and that she longed for her own death. It was the one thing she wanted from her choice, and death would not come.

Terror seized the heart of Elessar as he heard his wife speak of her death. Had he brought her to this? He tried to put his arms around her, and she stepped back from him. She was not yet done speaking.

She blamed herself for the pain Legolas bore. Her silence had brought it she said. She had lost her courage, and her silence had all but killed the prince. She had let the evil of Gondor grow unchecked. Tears overcame her, and her voice faltered as she spoke of the gentle elf and his suffering. In her sorrow, she let Aragorn draw closer to her.

"Arwen, Elrond I cannot bring back to you. That you so love and miss him must ever be my burden and I will bear it. Arwen, I would still have our life together if you would have me."

She answered him not, and Aragorn felt a pain grow in his heart at her silence. He had failed her. Would she not give him a second chance?

"Arwen, I would be king and hold this country fully. I will find this evil in Gondor that has brought Legolas to this pain. I will find what would break Gondor and divide it from your people. Your people’s blood bought Gondor its freedom and gave it its king. I will take back Gondor for your people, Arwen, or it will kill me. This is my vow to you and to Legolas. There can be no other end for me. Even if you no longer love me will I do this."

"Husband, I love you but not as you deserve. Still more I would tell you if you would listen?"

"I would listen, Arwen. I would listen even as it breaks my heart."

She spoke to him then of Rúmil and drew from her pocket a silken bag embroidered with an "A" of gold enfolded by an "R" of silver. She handed it to her husband and watched as he opened it.

From within, Aragorn drew a braid of silver and black hair bound by a green silk ribbon. His heart ached as he saw the silver entwined with the black. Rúmil and Arwen. His heart had always known it, and the thought he had pushed back in his love for her.

"As I married you, I loved him, Aragorn. My passion and my will destroyed our hopes of each other. They did not destroy our love." She touched his face gently. "I have kept my vow to you, husband. Since I betrothed myself to you, Rúmil has been as a brother to me. His honor kept me for you, Aragorn, not my own."

"Before?" He had to know, and she saw this and would not lie.

"I did lay with Rúmil, and our love to each other was great. We were to wed when the war was finally over, but each time he left me I feared to lose him, and we clung to one another and our love. Each time, but the last when I so wronged him." Arwen covered her beautiful face with her hands and wept as someone who had abandoned all hope.

Faced with her grief, Aragorn forgot his own. He loved her and he always would.

"I would still be your husband, Arwen, if you will have me."

"You deserve better, Aragorn."

"I want only you, whatever small part of yourself you can give me."

"It is no small part, Aragorn. I have grown to love you and our life together. I love you and our son Eldarion. I would not leave you and, if I would, Rúmil would not let me."

He did not ask if she would go if Rúmil would take her. To this, he knew the answer. Aragorn fingered the braid of black and silver hair she had placed in his hands. As she watched, he touched the green ribbon softly.

"Arwen, I know not if I can succeed. I am almost afraid for myself if I do. Still, I will bring Rúmil back to you in some way. I have seen his anger to you, and how you die beneath it. I would have you as my wife, Arwen, and I would have your heart whole. That it cannot be without him. I love you, Arwen. You are enough for me, but I will never blame you that you need more."

Gently, Aragorn handed the braided token back to his lady. Her hand closed upon her treasure. Never would they speak of it again, but Aragorn knew that she would carry it with her along with her love for the two of them unto her grave.

A determination took root within Aragorn that Rúmil should be there to lay her down for her final sleep, when he could not. It was the one gift that he could give her that might equal what she had put aside for him.

He put his arms around her, and she leaned her head against him. Arwen Undómiel, in the strength of her husband, began to heal.

Chapter 5 - Courage Found

He is too young for this. He should not be here. I should not have brought him to this so soon. He is so frightened, and yet he still walks towards the bed, and his head he holds high. He would be as brave as Legolas, and he is too young. Eärendil, help him! He is the son of your son’s daughter. Send your light of hope into his heart. Give him the strength he needs.

Rúmil continued to pray for Eldarion, the short prayer of a warrior before battle:

Eärendil, give your strength to this warrior who needs it. Let your hope be there for him as he marches towards death.

With his own heart aching, the warrior watched as Eldarion slowly and fearfully walked from the door to his friend’s bedside. His thin body was held too tightly erect as he feigned courage. Rúmil had done that himself as a very young warrior. He wanted to stop Eldarion in this walk towards his fear, but he knew he must not. It was a journey the child must make. Still, he could walk with this child as Haldir had done with him when he made his own journey towards his first battle so many years ago.

In his pain, Legolas knew not yet that the child was there. His head move restlessly on his pillow, but he made no sound. He knew if he screamed it frightened the mortal child in the chamber with him. The child he had tried to save. The child of Gondor that hated him.

Legolas had seen Gurth’s face and its fear that first time when the elf had refused the oblivion that Haldir offered. Legolas had screamed at the first sudden wave of torment that hit his body without the healer’s potion. He fought now always to keep himself from screaming. And, his gentle heart mourned when he did not win his fight.

In his own pain, he pitied more the child. If he had only moved faster, if the boy had not struggled against being caught by an elf, he might have been spared and stayed whole. Legolas’ heart ached that he had failed the child. He found no comfort in being told that but for him the child would have surely died. He knew too well the pain that wracked his own body. That the child’s was thought to be less did not comfort him. There was no end to this pain, and no child should carry even a portion of it.

For himself, he had decided he would no longer drink the draught that would make him unconscious. He continued to refuse it each time Haldir offered its release. He had told Haldir he would rather die while awake and fighting. Haldir bowed his head to the courage of Legolas at each refusal and took the cup away.

Instead, he left for Gilúviel sticks of a softer type of wood. Sticks that Legolas could bite upon when he convulsed with pain. Sticks and short lengths of hithlain that he tied to the bed for Legolas to grip with his hands when he needed to hold onto something.

For Haldir had seen the terrible bruises upon Gilúviel’s own hands where he had let his brother cling to him. Only Gimli’s tough dwarven hands were strong enough to endure the long pale fingers to which that pain gave such force. Haldir knew that Gilúviel still often gave his hands to his brother instead of the rope. The bruises upon them were always fresh. He did not reproach the dark elf for this. For his own brothers, he too would have offered his hands.

Gilúviel was alone with his brother when Rúmil brought Eldarion to the room. He sat by Legolas’ bedside, and Sulka sat as ever with Gurth. It was a quiet time usually. He and Sulka had reached the point that at times they would speak together to drive away their individual fears that arose in the quiet of the healing chamber. He knew she watched with him as the boy approached Legolas.

Haldir had opposed the visit, but Rúmil had fought with him for Eldarion. The boy had chosen a path he said. He must be allowed to walk it. They must respect him in his choice.

No force could wear down Rúmil once he decided. This Haldir knew. He bowed to his brother’s wish, and said the boy might come in the afternoon. Legolas was a little stronger in the afternoons.

*****

Eldarion suddenly felt Rúmil’s strong hand grasp his shoulder as he drew nearer the bed. He had not heard the elf approach him until he was there. Eldarion looked up into the grey eyes of his most feared teacher and saw only gentleness there. Rúmil smiled his crooked smile at the boy and shrugged his shoulders.

To Eldarion, he looked as ever fierce and brave and proud, but now there was a gentleness he had never before seen. Eldarion saw suddenly how much Rúmil resembled Orophin. He had seen that gentleness in the face of Orophin holding his sleeping princess.

Eldarion made his own face smile at Rúmil and felt a little warmth creep back into his body. With Rúmil beside him, his path suddenly saw light.

"To be brave, child, can be to laugh when we are most frightened. Come, I will walk this path with you a little. Legolas has need of all his friends. You will bring him joy, and I will lend you my courage until you find your own."

Rúmil smiled again the crooked smile that so many dying orcs had seen as their last sight on Arda.

"Eldarion, your own courage will find you. You are the son of Aragorn. He is a great king among men and honored among elves and all the free peoples. I honor him more than you can know. You are his son. His son will ever bring Aragorn joy. This life of yours that now seems so small will become a tale of the minstrels. Eldarion, son of Aragorn, I pledge myself to your service. I will help you find your own light. There is no shame to you in this. This path is too hard yet for one alone."

*****

It was well that Eldarion had strength other than his own. If not, his first sight of Legolas would have driven him crying from the room.

The elf lay with his eyes closed against the light of Anar, which it now hurt him to see. His blond hair Gilúviel combed and braided each day, so that it seemed almost normal to the boy. All else was strange.

Legolas was clad in a soft white sleeping tunic, and his skin was as pale as the tunic’s cloth. His whole being was beyond the lightness that was normal to any elf. His face and body showed every fine bone as if they would cut through the delicate skin that covered them. Blue shadows colored the skin beneath the great eyes in the deeply sunken face. You could see the blue-corded veins in his forearms, for there was no longer enough flesh to hide them. His lips were cracked and dry despite all Gilúviel’s efforts to heal them with ointments. Blood lightly stained the corners of his mouth and flecks of it spotted the fair neck that now was so thin. His still beautiful hands gripped the lines of hithlain tightly as if they were all that yet anchored him to Arda. His shallow breathing was rough to the boy’s ears and frightened him more than anything.

Once Eldarion had seen a horse gravely wounded in battle. The healers strove to save it, and yet nothing brought it relief. The pain of its breathing had haunted him always. He had watched and wept for its relief as the warrior who had raised it and long rode it to battle sent an arrow in swift mercy into the poor beast’s brain. Eldarion remembered how the tall elven warrior had dropped his bow then and wept over the bloodied body of his horse. His friend who was now lost.

"You should not be here, little one. They should not have brought you." The voice was soft and weak and infinitely sad.

"I made them bring me to you, Legolas. You are my friend."

"Ah, I remember that well. I have so missed you, Eldarion. Still, I would not have you be here if it were my choice."

"It is my choice, Legolas. I would be here." Eldarion bent and softly kissed the cheek of his friend. "Finrod came when his friend’s need was greatest."

Legolas’ cracked lips smiled and with great effort he raised his hand to touch the boy’s cheek. "And Beren was glad that he came. Even as I am to see you, Eldarion. I do love my friend."

"I love you, Legolas. I will no longer be apart from you." Eldarion bent and kissed one of the thin hands that held the cords of hithlain. It was the only part of Legolas’ body that he knew was safe for him to touch. Those hands were yet strong. He would not bring pain touching them.

"Child, this road is too hard for you. Turn away from it with your honor intact, my little one. You are so young. You deserve only happiness." Legolas voice was so cracked that Gilúviel lifted his head then and gave him water from a cup. Legolas swallowed it with difficulty. He was grateful for the complete silence of his brother. He needed all his strength for this one small child.

"I would rather walk together with you, Legolas. If the path is dark, I would be there still. I am not afraid. Do not send me away!"

Legolas looked long into the eyes of the child before him. There he was the first to see the courage of Eldarion begin to flower. He smiled and touched the boy’s face.

"I will no longer let them send my heart away from my side. Sit beside Gilúviel whenever you would. I will feel you there, and it will bring me peace."

Then did Legolas close his eyes with the weariness of speaking, but his soul felt the child sit down next to his brother. The wave of pain receded but a little, and he slept.

Chapter 6 - The Shadow Rider

In the stable yards of the castle were few men to be seen at this hour when darkness had first fallen. Elves of Ithilien guarded here the entrances nearest their prince’s chambers and the stables of the elven horses they rode to battle. The men who entered to do Aragorn’s work were closely watched here and never allowed to approach the horses of the elves.

Fuin needed no guard. To approach the black stallion without his leave was madness. The first day a groom of Elessar had tried it. The man had backed quickly in fear as the great horse reared and brought sharp hooves towards his head. Only the swift movement of the warriors near the horse had saved the man’s life.

Fuin still bared his teeth at the poor hostler and stamped his feet when he saw him working in the stables. No, Fuin needed no guard. The elf who stood by his stall was to protect the mortals.

Ohtar, the warrior who tended him, watched in admiration as the great horse raced around the fenced ring where they let him stretch his long legs when the prince could not ride him.

Gilúviel came seldom, yet always did Fuin watch for him. Ohtar spoke to comfort him then and told him that his prince was with his brother as he must be. Many were the anxious hearts of the warriors as they watched with Fuin and Ohtar and saw not the dark elf’s coming.

The news of Legolas brought to them had not been good, and the warriors prayed ever for his recovery as they guarded his chambers.

In the growing darkness of twilight, Eldarion sat on the fence and watched the beautiful horse at play. He had brought an apple for Fuin as he often did since they had first been introduced. Eldarion hoped one day the elf prince would let him sit upon Fuin’s back.

Suddenly, the horse stopped his dancing and lifted his great head in the air. He made no sound whatever but suddenly gathered his muscles and, with one beautiful leap, sailed over the high bars of the fence. Eldarion and the warrior whirled to the direction the horse ran.

Standing in the stable yard was the dark son of Thranduil and with him Rúmil of the Galadhrim. The warrior bowed to them.

"My lord, I did not hear your approach. Forgive me!"

"Peace, Ohtar! I hope I still have my skill in silent movement. Only this one should ever hear me!" Gilúviel laughed at the horse’s eager nose thrusting into his neck. He put his arms around the horse’s neck and embraced him.

"Ai, my proud one, how I miss your company! I hear that you are not always so gracious at my absence?" The horse shook his head softly and again nudged his nose into the hollow of the prince’s shoulder. "Fuin, I have need of your service this night." Fuin was instantly attentive, waiting for the prince to mount his ebon back. "Nay, Fuin, I cannot yet leave Legolas. You must carry Rúmil, for he has need of your swiftness."

Fuin looked at Rúmil, who bowed to him with his hand upon his heart. The horse shook his head proudly.

"Fuin, attend me, for what I say is of great importance. Rúmil rides for me and to aid Legolas. My brother did bid me give you his greetings, Fuin, and say that one day he prays that you will carry him again." He caressed the neck of the horse softly.

"Ai, Fuin! That would be my greatest happiness. You must help me make it true. Bear Rúmil and do his bidding in all that he asks. Keep him safe on his journey, Fuin, and bring him home to us." The great horse inclined his head to Gilúviel.

"He will bear you now wherever you need go, Rúmil. He will keep you in safety unless he himself be slain. Take care that thou both return."

Rúmil nodded and draped his small pack and waterskin over the stallion’s neck, fastening the thin strap that would hold them in the absence of saddle and bridle. He motioned to Othor to lead forth the second horse he would take with him. The return journey would need great swiftness. For Aragorn, Rúmil brought an elven horse. The black mare would follow Fuin wherever he led. She was his daughter and almost as swift.

"Rúmil, where are you going?" Eldarion’s sharp eyes had noted the second quiver filled with arrows on his teacher’s back. This Rúmil had told him might save his life in a battle far afield and had the craftsmen make one for the boy. Eldarion saw the dirk in the elf's boot and the long knives that Legolas had given Rúmil and taught him to use.

One thing else did Eldarion see and it filled him with awe. About his waist, Rúmil had strapped his sword Celebros. He wore it only at times of most peril, for ever do elves of the Galadhrim fight more with bow and knife. Celebros had been with the elf at the Golden Wood and Dol Guldur.  His mother had told Eldarion of these battles where the brothers he loved had fought with his great grandparents.

The sword had been forged by the gwaith-i-mírdain and had belonged to the elf's grandfather, who had fallen at Dagor Bragollach. When Rúmil had first shown his growing skill in his sword training, Haldir had presented it to him and told him to bring Celebros honor.

Eldarion had seen his father spar once with Rúmil and had never forgotten it. It was the only time he had seen Aragorn fight someone who was his equal, an elf wielding a sword from the same forge as Andúril.

His father had told Eldarion afterwards, that only his greater physical weight than the elf had let him prevail, and then just barely. Aragorn had been forced to his utmost, and the sweat had poured from him as he helped the laughing elf from the ground.

Aragorn had bowed low to Rúmil. As ever, the elf had grinned and said he must begin to eat more if that was the case. Eldarion smiled at the memory of his father embracing Rúmil in laughter. That night, while his mother did not see them, the elf had let Eldarion taste his wine that Aragorn had poured to celebrate their friendship. So long ago was it?  Legolas had laughed with them that night, whole and untouched. 

"I ride to seek for your father, Gimli and Faramir. Speak no word of this to any mortal, Eldarion. There is much at risk." The elf spoke softly, and the boy nodded to him.

"Good, now I leave in your care much that I value. See you that Legolas be not alone, for he has great need of his friends. I trust your honor on this." The boy again nodded, lifting his head with the pride he had earned in his care of Legolas.

Rúmil did not look towards the low parapet where he knew Arwen stood watching the stable yard.

"Keep safe thy lady mother for thy father’s happiness lives in her. Protect her for all who love her, Eldarion."  Still Rúmil did not look towards the Evenstar. His heart carried her face as he remembered it. It was enough. It was his.

Quickly, the elf embraced the boy and held him close a moment. He felt Eldarion’s warm breath on his neck and held it deep within him, stroking the boy’s dark hair so like his mother’s. His son as much as the king’s. Rúmil mounted Fuin then and with no further word did urge the black horse forward.

As Rúmil rode past the parapet he raised one hand to Arwen as ever he had done when he left her for battle. She returned the gesture in silence and fingered the silken bag deep within her pocket.

He would never permit her to show fear, never. Nothing angered him more. Silently praying for him, she held tight to her courage and watched as he urged the two horses forward.

On Rúmil’s face as ever was his crooked smile at danger. His silver hair was blowing back from his face as Fuin gathered speed, and he bent low over the horse’s powerful neck. By morning, this elven shadow would be far from Minas Tirith. The Queen of Gondor watched after him until he faded from her mortal sight.

Arwen Undómiel called to her son then and walked back with him into the palace. From the shadows by the stable, Gilúviel watched her in sorrow and pity.

_________

Author’s Note:

Fuin:   Sindarin. Deep Shadow, Darkness.
Celebros: Sindarin. Silver Foam.
Gwaith-i-Mírdain:  Sindarin. People of the Jewel Smiths. The Noldor of Eregion and the greatest craftsmen of all time in Middle Earth. Led by Celebrimdor. After he was slain, the surviving remnants of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain were brought by Elrond to Imladris. They are probably the smiths who reforged Andúril out of the shards of Narsil.

Chapter 7 - Old Bartleman’s Inn

Trust Strider and that dwarf to be at an inn when I finally locate them! Sleeping under the stars is apparently not good enough for them any longer. It had to be the dwarf. Inns have ale. Dwarves like ale. Still, in fairness, Strider also likes ale. Does fairness to a dwarf aid me in anything? Why do they like ale? It is so disgusting.

Rúmil laughed silently and deep within himself as he drew the hood of his cloak further forward. He wished suddenly for Gilúviel’s dark hair. This silver of his did not look too mortal.

Yes. Here I am mortals! Elf with long silver hair sneaking through your land. Remember elves? The ones you hate. The ones who eat babies? Look, there’s one right by the inn! Solitary. Got silver hair and it’s braided. Must be an elf! Kill him!

Haldir would not be pleased to learn that his younger brother had taken such a risk. In fact, Rúmil had the strong feeling that his older brother might kill him even if he managed to survive this night with the mortals.

I could cut off the braids? Be less noticeable that way. No, I think Haldir would kill me for that even if I survived all else. Family pride and all that. Warrior braids. Very important. Ai, silver is silver, short or long! Must remember to discuss this with the Vanyar one day. Besides, Longshanks would never let me forget if I cut it.

He grinned at the thought of his little brother. He did love Orophin too much. That was certain. Sweet Orophin. I do not deserve him, Eru. Let me but die before him. Life without him. . .better death for his brothers than his absence. Eru! Protect our treasure. He is the last of our jewels. The very last.

Rúmil had always had the gift of detaching one small part of his mind for his own. Not even his brothers could go there. It was the place he went in battles while his body continued to fight and the rest of his mind to calculate and function. It was the part that let him think how really ridiculous and ugly these creatures were who were trying to hack his own body to pieces.

Over the years, there had been some very confused orcs who had almost killed Rúmil. Somehow they never did seem to get used to an elf who laughed madly as he drove them back and killed them.

He looked at the inn and was not pleased. It was as everything mortal he thought. Dangerous and too contained. You went in a door, and you were trapped. He had no choice though. The mortals and that dwarf were here.

Perhaps Haldir is right about men. If I were seeking elves, they would have had the sense to stay out of even this wayside inn. I’d be safe in a nice tree somewhere, discussing things quietly with intelligent beings. Instead, I have to find them in this noisy den of men and Eru knows what else. I do hope there is only one dwarf here. One is quite enough. Legolas and his strange friends. Ai!

In the darkness, Rúmil drew his cloak closer about him. It covered most of his weapons and, more importantly, his hair and ears. It was all he had for protection. For one second more, he paused to gather himself and then pushed through the door.

Good. It’s noisy and busy. Less chance of notice. It’s late enough that they will have been drinking for at least two hours. Drunken mortals notice less. By midnight, I could bring a mûmakil in here without much trouble. Not midnight yet, elf, remember that.

Rûmil approached the innkeeper as if nothing concerned him other than a meal and some rest. Even before the war’s ending, the inn between two market towns had been used to travelers of every land. Despite this, the old innkeeper Bartleman could not help but note the height and graceful bearing of the cloaked stranger before him. It had been a long time, but once as a young boy he had seen other travelers like this. He shook himself mentally at his own nonsense. They came no more to this land. He was surely mistaken. He bustled forward with a welcoming air.

"Good master, I greet you. Have you room for another traveler?"

"Aye, sir, always room for one more here. I can give you a nice private room for ten pieces of copper or a shared room for less. You are abroad late?" Rûmil looked at the book the innkeeper thrust at him. Laying the money for a private room on the counter, he smiled and carefully noted down in it: "Samwise Gamgee, Bree, Breeland."

"From the north! You have been traveling indeed!"

"I have traveled far, seeking a friend that I am told would abide here. Two men and a dwarf? Be they here?"

"Ah, let me see. We do have a party of dwarves, about five traveling to Aglarond I understand. Perhaps that group?"

So much for one dwarf. Five and no doubt none of them Gimli. Ask about one dwarf and this fool wants to shove me among five. Let me try this again.

"Nay, the man I seek would have but one dwarf with him and perhaps another man."

Rúmil waited for the man’s obviously slow mind to process this. His eyes noted all the possible means of escape from this enclosed place as he stood there very still. Why do they like to be in these places? You can’t feel the air on your face here or see the stars. Nothing but rancid smoke from their pipes and the air thick with the stench of their bodies and the stale smells of the kitchens.

"Ah, then you want the one who travels with Lord Faramir. Wonderful man, Lord Faramir. Comes here often."

Often? I do not know this mortal, but this does not recommend him to me. Probably Legolas likes him though. Legolas, I wish you were well enough for me to talk to you seriously about this affection for mortals that you are developing far too quickly.

Thinking of the prince made even this part of his mind hurt. Legolas, if you will but get well, I will cheerfully embrace any mortal you choose as your friend. I will wash afterwards, but I promise I will do it. I will make Haldir do the same even. Haldir will not only wash. He will probably soak for three days and possibly drown me in his bathwater. Anything for you, Prince Legolas! Just survive this.

"I do not know Lord Faramir save from his name, but I believe the man I seek would be with him."

"Name of Strider? There’s a tall bloke with Lord Faramir. Doesn’t talk much, but I heard the dwarf call him that."

"Yes. They are here now?"

Bartleman was beginning to become uneasy at the total stillness of his new guest. He never moved as he spoke, nor did he draw back his hood as folks did when coming inside.

Old Bartleman was used to odd folks. Dwarves could be a rowdy bunch, but they paid for their damages readily and with good humor. They liked to drink and fight, just like men. Bartleman could understand that and enjoy it even. This tall still one with his cool voice made the old man somehow nervous.

"Aye, they are waiting in the Common Room until their food is brought to the private area Lord Faramir has secured for their use."

Eru bless you, Lord Faramir! Private. Perhaps there is something in you worth knowing.

"Please say to Strider that Mr. Gamgee has an urgent message for him and would speak to him in this private room. Do this now, good sir. I will wait here."

Something in the stranger’s soft and cool voice made Bartleman move more quickly than he had in many a year. Looking back to the corner where the stranger had withdrawn, Bartleman was amazed. He knew the one called Gamgee was still there for the door had not opened. Yet, in the dim light of the inn’s doorway, Bartleman could no longer see him.

*****

"Sam, what on Arda are" Strider stopped in mid-sentence when he saw the slender cloaked figure Bartleman was escorting into the room. ". . .you doing here? It is good to see you again, Sam."

Strider extended his hand to the cloaked elf, who had the presence of mind to take it. Rúmil had seen Aragorn do this once at Minas Tirith, and Haldir had told him it was some custom of theirs in greeting.

"Mr. Bartleman, Mr. Gamgee will be joining us at table. See that there is fruit and cheese as well as the meat you will bring us. You still drink wine, Sam? Bring your best wine as well as water, Mr. Bartleman."

Nice recovery, Aragorn. Full marks for that one.  Rúmil waited until his elven hearing told him that Bartleman was no longer outside the closed door. 

"By the Valar, Strider, I thought you were out seeking what hurt Legolas. I did not expect to track you to a drunken tavern!"

"Rúmil? What of Legolas? He is not. . ." Strider’s voice trailed off in misery, and Rúmil forgot a little of his anger.

"He lived still when I left Minas Tirith, a little more than a week ago. At that time, he was somewhat better." Seeing the smile light Aragorn’s face, the elf knew he had to control this quick rise of too much hope. "Haldir thinks the improvement will not last. Legolas’ strength is fading. I have been sent to bring you news, and to bring Gimli to him. Legolas would be with Gimli if the end comes."

Rúmil saw the dwarf’s face at his words and wondered. Never before had he seen such despair on any creature’s face. How could a dwarf look so for an elf? He admired the great courage that kept the dwarf silent as he sought to absorb the evil news.

"Be still! We will speak more later. The innkeeper returns." Rúmil pulled the hood of his cloak to cast a deeper shadow upon his face.

Bartleman was too curious now to stay away. He himself was bringing in the meal. He bustled about with the young maidservent Faramir had seen on previous visits.

The prince was watching Rúmil as closely as he could through the hooded cloak. Except for Legolas and Arwen, Faramir knew little of elves. He had met the brother of this one he thought. An elf called Haldir. A very aloof elf called Haldir. Faramir remembered being politely ignored after his introduction.

*****

Faramir had been the one to finally get Bartleman back out the door and close it. As an extra precaution, he threw the bolt. All the innkeeper’s curiosity remained unsatisfied, and Faramir knew that was not a good thing. He liked Old Bartleman, but the man had an ear for gossip and a quick tongue.

Faramir had found the old man’s ear for all that passed through his doors more than useful in the past. It was what had brought them to the inn these past few nights. The inn was a rich source of information if one knew how to listen and ask the right questions. They had learned much.

Hearing the bolt, Rúmil drew back his hood and Faramir was able to see him for the first time. He looked like the aloof elf Faramir remembered from the coronation. A little shorter and thinner, but the silver hair was exactly the same. The elf nodded at him at Aragorn’s introduction but said nothing. Faramir was starting to become accustomed to being ignored by elves. He settled back to observe.

Aragorn handed Rúmil a plate with cheese and bread and a small amount of the venison stew. Faramir saw the elf wrinkle his nose in distaste at the smell of the stew even as he dipped his spoon into it to eat. Unlike most elves, Rúmil ate what was set before him. This was useful in war.

"What news do you bring of Legolas? I must know more." For the first time, Gimli managed to speak. His voice was as steady as always.

That one hurts in his heart. He conceals it well. I give him that. He will know the worst and know it at once. That is like Haldir and I. Best do this swiftly and cleanly.

The elf chewed the tough meat and swallowed it with difficulty. He took the cup of water and almost drained it.

"When I left, he was in a curing part of this foul evil he bears. He was able to eat and smile and even laugh at a foolish letter from Pippin. The week before, Haldir says he was almost taken by death. By now, who knows? Haldir does not think the improved stage will last long this time. He is ever weaker and soon will have no strength left to fight." Rúmil took a deep breath. "Gimli, Haldir gave me Legolas’ words to you. Would you hear them alone?"

"Nay, lad, these friends may hear as well."

"He said, ‘Tell Gimli, it is growing darker and the walls seem closer to me. Tell him to remember his promise to the elf. The elf calls him and holds him to that promise.’ These are the words Haldir told me for him. I know not their meaning."

It took all Gimli’s strength not to bow his head and weep in despair. He felt Aragorn’s hand on his shoulder and looked up into the face of the king.

"I promised to never let him be alone in darkness again. I promised to come when he called me and to guide him through it. Aragorn, I must go to him at once!"

"At first light, Gimli. I shall ride with you. We will reach him in time."

The dwarf said nothing more for the rest of the evening, but all were aware of the deep sadness that came from him as he sat in the corner of the room, his entire being fixed on Legolas.

Aragorn turned back to the elf. "You said you brought news for me as well?"

"We have had news that Thranduil rides at the head of a great force of his warriors. We believe his course is towards Minas Tirith. I estimate he will be there in no more than two more weeks, probably less. Thranduil’s riders are skilled, their horses swift. They will rest little. As I left, Gilúviel had sent forth his own riders to try and learn more. We know not yet if the king has called upon the old alliance of the Galadhrim. It is likely, but we do not know for certain. Haldir has had no word yet from Celeborn. A rider has also been sent to him."

It was a soldier’s report to a field captain, brief and with all the known facts. Never had Faramir seen the king sit down suddenly as if overwhelmed. Faramir had never even heard of Thranduil.

"Who is this man, Aragorn? Who is Thranduil?"

Aragorn rubbed his face with both hands as if he was weary. "He is no man, Faramir, but an elf. The king of the largest elven realm in Arda. A warrior without peer. For too many years, he held back Sauron’s evil almost alone. We were complacent elsewhere, and Thranduil’s people paid the price for us. He trusts few even among elves. Galadriel and Celeborn alone, I think, have his full confidence. He and his people never stopped fighting. If we owe much to Frodo, we owe almost the same to Thranduil. With Galadriel and Celeborn, he held back the shadow in the North and protected our backs."

"Then, why is his coming a cause of your worry? Surely, he is a friend? Still, I see your face, Aragorn. You are almost frightened." Faramir glanced at Rúmil and saw the elf watching Aragorn closely.

"Thranduil has no liking for men. He lost his father and too many of his warriors in the Last Alliance. Isildur is a foul taste still in his mouth. He fought of late only for his alliance with the Lady and Celeborn and perhaps other reasons I know not. He did not fight for men. Of that, I am sure."

"Why would he ride with an army to Minas Tirith? I do not understand what concerns you and that elf?"

Rúmil arched an eyebrow delicately at this careless reference to him. Aragorn did not miss the look on the elf’s face and wished there were a way to kick his steward without being seen.

"A small concern of the elf is that King Thranduil also happens to be Legolas’ father. I dare say he is not best pleased with Gondor at the moment, and"

Rúmil smiled ever so sweetly at the prince ". . .his mood could rapidly worsen. Of course, perhaps his temper is a bit exaggerated? One could hope that is true. As I know him from childhood, I rather doubt this, but one could hope. I am only an elf. I could be wrong."

Faramir felt uncomfortable and that increased as Aragorn rapidly said something in elvish which sounded very much like it might be an apology for his own actions. On the whole, Faramir decided it was much easier to deal with dwarves.

"Rúmil is right, Faramir. If Thranduil wishes to make trouble, I assure you that he is quite capable of doing a lot of damage just on his own. If Celeborn has joined him, I do not like to think on that combination. It is an old alliance and well tested."

Aragorn gratefully took the cup of wine Rúmil poured for him. He noted none was offered to Faramir.

"Celeborn is temperate and would try and dissuade him, Faramir, but he would stand with Thranduil in the end. They do not fail one another those two, and that is my biggest fear." Aragorn bit savagely into his bread and drank his wine.

"Faramir, if Celeborn rides, so will Ithilien’s elves and Eru knows which others. Many owe Thranduil and Celeborn from the past. Gondor has not yet recovered from the last war. It is still weakened and disorganized. I do not want what has happened to Legolas to escalate into a new war against those who have been our friends. Rúmil, what do you think Gilúviel will do?"

"Try to calm his father and reason with him." Rúmil looked at Aragorn and felt sorrow. "Gilúviel does not want war with Gondor, Aragorn, nor do my brothers and I." The elf’s voice grew even quieter.

"I am sorry, but, if war comes, Aragorn, we will stand with Thranduil. Kinslaying is forbidden to us, and Celeborn is our Lord. Our loyalty and our lives are his. Legolas himself would have no choice to do otherwise."

Rúmil did not add that, in a final battle of elves and men, even Imladris would side against Aragorn. They would be the last to come, but they would in the end. There was no need for the man to know this until he had to face it.

It’s bad enough that I know this terrible truth. Imladris and Lórien against her husband and son. Her grandfather and brothers riding against her husband’s realm. This would destroy Arwen. This cannot happen. Ah, Rúmil, you are about to get yourself into serious trouble once more. Do you never learn?

"To fight against elves would kill me, Rúmil. It would be like fighting the other half of my heart. I would have to choose between my country and my very being." Aragorn bowed his head and leaned on his knees.

And now him. Curse him! How did I ever get to be friends with him? I should hate him and cannot. Why? Rúmil, you are a fool of an elf. If they give you a choice in Mandos, take orc. It would be so much simpler to be an orc. Someone points out your enemy to you, and you never question the fact. Yes, next time, I will choose orc. They are ugly, of course, but one cannot have everything.

Sighing at his own folly, the elf walked over and lay his strong hands on the king’s slumping shoulders.

"Then, Strider, perhaps it would be good if the two of us joined together to try and prevent this war? What do you think? Of course, it is only an elf’s idea, so it is a dubious one I am sure."

Aragorn looked up at the face of his friend and saw that same crooked grin he knew so well. He found himself smiling right back.

"You would have made a good orc, Rúmil, do you know that?"

"It has been mentioned to me at times. Usually by Haldir."

The elf’s face grew serious as he sat down beside the king and Faramir.  "This will not be easy, Strider. I spent much of my childhood in Mirkwood."

"Mirkwood? You are from Lórien." Aragorn was surprised. The brothers rarely spoke of their lives together even to other elves. He only knew Haldir had raised them after their parents were killed.

"My father was a close friend to the king, and they were young warriors together. When we lost our parents, Thranduil and Lalaith wished to share in our raising. You know it is important for elves to have family. With our own lady and lord, they became ours."

Rúmil’s eyes grew softer at the thought of the elf who loved him. Thranduil the Fierce had ever been the one to first hear and rescue an orphan with nightmares. He remembered that great booming laugh that chased away all the dark fears of the sleeping chamber even as the king lit a small candle to drive back the shadows and posted himself by the bedside as guard.  To keep away the orcs, he would tell Haldir's young brothers.

"Thranduil is not an easy elf. He is fierce and suspicious, especially of men, and he has a temper that it is wise to leave sleeping. Still, he is not as many paint him. He is just, even if the justice at times seems harsh, and he does not risk his warriors without clear cause. He will never attack Gondor until he is sure that the evil that has been done Legolas can be laid at your feet."

"I would do no evil to Legolas! He is my friend, Rúmil. You know that."

"I know also that to be a king is to bear the responsiblity for all your people and their actions. This Thranduil taught me. It is how he lives and judges. We must find the source of this evil and let him know that Elessar truly rules Gondor and will deal with it in strength."

"Aragorn, we have not shown Rúmil yet what we have found." Faramir bowed his head to the elf in what he hoped would be taken as apology. His reward was a soft laugh and a cup of wine handed to him.

"Yes, we also have news for you Rúmil. We do not sit idly here in this tavern. In the cave, we found much evidence and here this week, we have found confirmation." Aragorn thrust several parchments across to the elf.

For a time in the room all was silent as Rúmil read, and the others waited. Finally, the elf finished and sat perfectly still for several minutes with his head bent forward, silver hair masking his face.

As he lifted his head, Rúmil’s training as a warrior did not fail him. He kept his whole being calm as he turned to Aragorn and spoke in a quiet voice.

"If this is true, it means that Curunír yet lives." There was no smile on Rúmil’s face.

Chapter 8 - Interlude before Dawn

"You are abroad late, young Elessar." Aragorn smiled to himself as he looked at the old wizard. It had been a long time since he had been young to anyone. The old one was still sitting where he had left him, in the large comfortable chair and holding Legolas in his arms.

"I could not sleep. Too much has happened this night. I thought to check on my son and remembered that he slept with Rúmil tonight. He will be well protected there from any fears that may yet trouble him. My own lady sleeps exhausted, and I would not disturb her with my restlessness. So, I prowl the corridors of my castle like a homeless cat. I think I needed to see Legolas. Just to make sure he is really still here."

"He is sleeping a sleep that is finally healing. All here have found that same sleep, and this pleases me."

Aragorn looked around the quiet chamber and heard the sounds of rest that he could not share. In the child’s bed, Sulka lay with her arms around her son. In the bed of Legolas, he saw Gimli the Dwarf, his strength finally overcome by the exhaustion of his fear.

Aragorn smiled that in one gnarled hand the sleeping dwarf clutched an undertunic that they had removed from Legolas when they bathed him in the healing herbs of the woodlands. It seemed that even a dwarf could need reassurance that a friend still lived.

The wizard smiled back at the king. "If you cannot sleep, I would welcome your company here. Please sit and rest at least. You are the last to be wandering in your kingdom. Even Gimli did I finally convince to go take rest, so that he would be awake enough on the morrow to speak with this one when he wakes."

Aragorn was tired and gratefully took the chair where he could see the wizard clearly. There was much that troubled the mind of Elessar and drove sleep from it. He had never thought to sit in this room again. Today, he had thought he would be preparing the time of mourning for Gondor.

"And what of yourself, Radagast? Do you not weary of holding him so? Your arms must be stretched beyond endurance."

"Nay, I do not weary. This little one has never been a burden to me, only a joy." The Istar’s lips softly kissed the blond hair of Legolas. The elf sighed at the caress and nestled closer into the protecting arms.

The wizard shifted him slightly so that he could be held in one of his old yet still strong arms. With his other hand, Radagast brushed the gold hair back from the thin face of the elf and tucked the blanket more warmly about his charge.

Aragorn smiled at the sight of his proud friend being held like a child. "You have known him so long that you can call him ‘little one’? He would not allow that from me or anyone I know, save perhaps his brother."

The king poured a cup of wine for the wizard and placed it in his free hand. Radagast sipped it gratefully. The healing had taken much from him and he was still giving his strength to the elf he held.

"I have known these young princes since the night they were born. The friendship of both their fathers was mine from the time they first came from Lindon to Greenwood the Great. The Wood was still clean then and our friendship grew and we were often together at Rhosgobel or Thranduil’s palace. I know this child and his brother well."

As he watched his friend sleeping quietly in Radagast’s arms, the king breathed a prayer of thanksgiving for the friendship and care of the old wizard. "You think he will wake as soon as tomorrow? He was so close to death." The healer in Aragorn doubted this. Legolas had been but a whisper from death.

"He will wake, perhaps not completely but enough to know his friends, if only a little. I shall have to wake him if he does not on his own. I must get nourishment into him, as much and as fast as I can manage it. If nothing else, we almost lost him to starvation. There is barely enough flesh left on him to cover his bones." Aragorn saw a dark anger in the wizard’s eyes.

"What was done to him, Radagast? What evil was it? Haldir is skilled beyond any I know and fought with all his strength. Yet, he could not stop the evil. What was this that came upon Legolas?"

The wizard did not speak at once. Aragorn watched as the old one cradled the sleeping elf as if lost in some thought that none could share. Thought that stretched beyond the limits of human time and beyond the world as the Second Born could know it. Aragorn waited patiently.

"Radagast the Simple you called me. Radagast the Fool." The wizard stroked the golden head sleeping on his breast and seemed to talk only to himself.

"Your arrogance never knew any bounds and now it will bring you down. You chose the wrong victim this time, my old friend." The wizard shook his head almost sadly.

"Ah, Saruman! How you betrayed all that was given to you. Every gift withered in your hand. Now somewhere you have cheated even death. I know not yet where or how, Saruman, but we shall find you. Radagast the Simple will bring you down. He no longer fights alone."

The wizard looked at Aragorn as if he had only just become aware of him. He smiled at the king. "Forgive an old man, Elessar. You asked me a question, and I gave no answer."

"Your answer will come in its time, Radagast. I have enough experience of wizards to know that.’

"Ah, Mithrandir! I miss him, you know. Yes, I miss my old friend. Well, he did what he must on Arda, and now it is my turn." Radagast smiled to himself.

"I should not refuse a bit more of that wine, my boy. Almost as good as Thranduil’s. Nothing can match the wine of the Great Wood, but this is quite good."

Aragorn poured the wine and handed it to the wizard.

"In the Great Wood, this dreadful poison has been known for far too long. Haldir could not have known it, nor even Elrond or Galadriel. I fear that, in Imladris especially, they seldom thought we had much to offer in learning." He sipped the wine and looked down at Legolas sleeping.

"Still, the wood-elves are the ones on whom it was used. It was necessary for us to learn and quickly. Never shall I forget the first victims I rescued with Thranduil. We could not save a single one of them. In mercy, Thranduil finally was forced to kill his own warriors to preserve their spirits. They begged him for that mercy, and he gave it to them as their king, even as it broke his great heart."

The wizard shuddered as he rememberd the dark of those times. "Then, Lalaith and I began our quest for knowledge. We worked ceaselessly and finally were successful after too many years."

"Who is Lalaith and what was this poison?"

"Ah, the human impatience to know all at once! Lalaith is what the weak humans in their ignorance call an elf-witch. She has ever been like a daughter to me and my greatest student. In her own way and beyond what I have taught her, she is as powerful as Galadriel, sometimes I even think more so for there was no ring to assist her. The men of the North both fear and love her, and it is well that they should. She is very powerful. In her is again born the skill in enchantments that was Lúthien’s. The Valar have been kind to her, my boy. She was the gift they gave to the Great Wood. The only gift."

"Once when I rode with the Rangers, I heard rumor of an elf-witch in the North. We laughed at it as a legend of the ignorant."

"That has been the last mistake that many have made, young one. Perhaps, someday you will meet her and know that at times legends walk." He smiled in a way that very much reminded Aragorn of Gandalf at his most annoying.

"As to the poison? Sauron devised it. He used it when first he made orcs. The torture of it would not kill an elf’s body. It just broke their souls, the core of their being that made them elves. The advance and retreat of pain could break the strongest in the end if we did not find him in time. They were left without souls but with still breathing bodies that Sauron could then turn to his purpose. He mutilated those bodies, and the tortured elves became his first minions, the first of the orcs." 

He looked at the sleeping elf he held in his arms.  "That this one's soul survived, and his body broke first amazes me.  That has never happened before.  Always, the spirit crumbled first, and the body was left as a useful tool.  Saruman did not choose wisely with this one.  No, I believe here he has made his first mistake." 

The old one looked at what to him was the young king of Gondor. Could any human understand what he was trying to tell this child? Could the young king grasp the consummate evil of what Sauron had devised?

"The wood-elves were ever his favorite victims, Elessar. In time, any elf taken by Sauron knew to throw himself off the cliff before they reached his foul demesne. You traveled long with, Legolas. Did you ever note the dried herb in each pocket of his clothing?"

Aragorn nodded. Once, he had laughingly accused Legolas that it was some elven method that he knew not to preserve the cleanliness of clothing. Aragorn had been surprised when Legolas ignored his teasing and walked away from him in silence and anger.

"What was that herb, Radagast?"

"The deadliest poison we have ever found. It will kill even the strongest elf in minutes if he can but place it in his mouth or chew on the hem of his clothing where it is sewn in secret. Each elf in the Great Wood carries it, even the children. They carry it to die if Sauron takes them. In each place that it could be hidden upon them, they placed their release. Only when we found this release, did Sauron trouble to begin breeding his orcs. The sport of their creation was taken from him at last."

Aragorn’s heart twisted at the horror of these words. He had teased Legolas about this herb and hated himself for that now. He remembered the fleeting look of anguish in the eyes of his friend before the control of a lifetime had shut it down.

Legolas had not spoken to him at all for almost a day after that. For a week after, he had communicated only necessities. Aragorn had somehow never even dared asked for forgiveness, and the two friends had never spoken of it again. Only now, did Aragorn understand.

"And now, somehow, Saruman has found a way to deliver Sauron’s curse through the skin. He need no longer force it down the throat of an unwilling and struggling victim. In those trinkets he sent to Helmsdeep was far more horror than we ever suspected. It is a mercy that those on the walls there died so quickly. I do not like to think on what might have been otherwise."

"But, how could Saruman live? Grima killed him. Others saw it." All that was human in Aragorn fought against what the wizard told him. He was tired of evil. How long must they fight it?

"And the Valar once chained Melkor. How does evil ever continue, Elessar? I know not how or where, but Saruman lives, and we must find him."

The "noble" experiment has ended. Two stories has proven too confusing for readers who joined us late in our journey. From this update forward, the story will continue solely at The Roses of Ilúvatar.

Sequence of Chapters:

1. The Garden of the Queen (Roses)

2. Of Elves and Dwarves (Jewels)

3. The Midnight Watches (Roses)

4. The Larks of the Morning (Jewels)

5. The Second Breakfast of the Elves (Roses)

6. The Lion of Lorien (Roses)

7. Elessar the King (Jewels)

8. Ithilien Rides (Roses)

9. Arwen the Queen (Jewels)

10. The Bonds of Friendship (Roses)

11. Courage Found (Jewels)

12. Shire Interlude (Roses)

13. The Shadow Rider (Jewels)

14. Old Bartleman’s Inn (Jewels)

15. Gimli’s Aerie (Roses)

16. Interlude before Dawn (Jewels)

17. Thranduil (Roses)

From the chapter "Thranduil", we continue forth only at the story "The Roses of Ilúvatar". Sorry for any lingering confusion!

Please see above on the sequence of prior chapters between "Roses of Ilúvatar" and the "Jewels of his Existence". Again, I apologize that it got confusing for latecomers. Eventually, I hope to truly incorporate both these stories into one.

N.B.: "Roses" = "The Roses of Ilúvatar"

"Jewels" = "The Jewels of his Existence"