The palace again seethed with restrained activity and expectation, for Thranduil’s Elves were now prepared to see their prince off again.  It seemed to their minds that he was gone far too often of late, enamored by lands that were once of little concern to them.  Of course, the fact that he was on his way to Erebor did not pacify them at all.

Legolas was well aware of the general opinion regarding his broadened horizons, but he tactfully did not address it.  They would grow used to it in time, as they did with everything else.  Those who could not adapt to a changing world were those who did not survive the long years of Mirkwood.  Indeed, he was doing a bit of adapting himself.

He was not entirely pleased with the ceremony his father had insisted go with him, no less than four guards to shadow him in irreproachable uniform, adding a royal flair as well as a royal annoyance.  It was not that he did not appreciate them, but on the whole he thought he would be better able to get along among strangers if he did not seem to bring his own army with him.  Four jealous Lasgalenath were match enough for many.  Never was Thranduil given to pure ostentation, so anyone he would deem worthy of such a charge as this would be a warrior of the highest degree.  Legolas would take them along, but he did not have to tell anyone until push came to shove that he intended to shed them in Dale.  This embassy he would manage his own way.

In his room, Gimli was taking final inventory of all he had brought, which was not much.  With such a meager listing, he need not worry about forgetting anything.  True to his word, Legolas had long ago returned his old clothes to him, laundered and mended.  A rather fastidious bunch, these Elves.  Still, Legolas would doubtless be arrayed as befitted his station if he was to be fulfilling diplomatic errands for Thranduil along the way, and it was with a bit of regret that he resigned himself to look still like a returning veteran in the company of a prince.

There came a quick rap on his door, which was closed, something he had noticed was uncommon in this place.  Elves seemed to dislike shutting themselves in anywhere.  “Come in!” he called gruffly.

“Thank you, master Gimli,” Erelas said as he let himself inside, a carefully wrapped bundle under one arm.  “My Lord Legolas begs your pardon that he is unable to see these to you himself, but he is presently at the mercy of the King.”

Gimli gave a wry laugh at the perceived dry humor, and Erelas offered a bit of a smile.  “In any case, he prays you will find these more agreeable than you did the first, and that you will accept them in good faith.  For he insists that it is most improper for a worthy lord such as Uzbad Gimli Glóinûl to return home from victory with naught to herald him.”

Hearing Dwarvish honors come from the mouth of an Elf of Mirkwood was not the first surprise he had taken here, but certainly one of the more unimagined.  Erelas left him to discover the contents of the package alone, thoughtfully closing the door after him in accord with their guest’s noted preference. 

Pulling loose the pale strings, Gimli revealed a neatly folded suit of clothes worthy a Dwarvish prince, made entirely of Elvish materials.  He marveled at it for a moment before daring even to touch it, all of soft forest green, deep burgundy and a dark pine brown, embellished with an angular Dwarvish design in silver embroidery.  There was even a smart brown cap to go with it.

Some time later, Gimli again stood before the crystal mirror, infinitely more satisfied.  Legolas, or whomsoever he had appointed to oversee the project, had carefully studied the one Dwarvish tunic in the whole of Lasgalen ere they returned it, faithfully reproducing the particular style in accord with their own touches.  The resulting marriage of form and substance eloquently evoked a Dwarvish lord who had adapted himself to an Elvish realm, which was precisely what he was.  Unprecedented, perhaps, but appropriate.  The gold chain of Legolas’ gifting lay proudly upon his shoulders, the little pouch at his belt containing the Lady’s hair and Thranduil’s emerald.  It had been quite a journey thus far. 

The velvet cap was something new to him, as it seemed the tailors had been at a bit of a loss, having only vague ideas of what sort of thing Dwarves would wear besides their helmets.  Feeling bold, Gimli put it on his head at a rakish angle, strangely pleased by it.  There was no telling how those of the Mountain would see it, but he did not care.  He liked it. 

He packed the rest of his accouterments, his clothes and his armor, grabbing his axes and tucking his helmet under his arm.  Time at last to head for home.

Since the outlet from Thranduil’s cellars was still out of commission – something Gimli looked forward to rectifying – their flotilla of three swift little boats was being prepared beside the bridge outside.  These were all stained a rich dark brown, the subdued color typical of Mirkwood.  Somewhat reluctantly, Gimli surrendered his weapons and baggage to one of the Elves bustling about there, who set them neatly in the foremost of the three, that one sporting highlights of silver over the bow.

“Ah, Gimli!  Eager to be going?"

Turning, Gimli met again a grinning Legolas, but it was not that which caught him off his guard for a moment.  In all practical regards the Elf was arrayed exactly as he was, in the same royal green and red and brown with silver tracery.  But his was distinctly elvish in cut, adorned with silver trails of ivy rather than abstract designs.  His attendants were in fact dressed like him as well, but sans all the royal embellishments and silver heraldry.  Rather one could say it was Legolas who was clad like them.  

Everything about Mirkwood was practical, Gimli realized again, so it should not surprise him that a prince should assume the same dress as his guard, something that still afforded him complete freedom of movement.  Originally it was perhaps a scheme to afford the prince marginal anonymity amid his guard lest he present too obvious a target, but one look owned Legolas by far the most striking among them, rendering the half-hearted camouflage of little value.  A quick glance assured Gimli that none of them were bearing bow and arrow, but all of them openly wore long knives at their belts.  

Ready to be cross at being tricked into uniform, Gimli stopped.  Wait – perhaps this was yet another subtle play of Legolas’, for it may seem now to the eyes of the Mountain that the Elvish retainers waited upon him!  A strange but amusing thought.

“Afford me your patience for but a few moments more,” Legolas said, “and then we shall be off.  If I am not mistaken, father should – ”

A call was given for attention, and all the Elves at the riverside turned at once.  

“Legolas,” Thranduil began, sifting through the folded papers in his hand.  “This one for Esgaroth, this for Bard of Dale, and this,” he said, handing the impressively sealed and majestically beribboned salutations to his son, “for Thorin of Erebor.  Mind you do not confuse them.”

Legolas gave his father a withering glance as he snatched the three letters into his own hands.  “I can read well enough.  I have been doing it for years.” 

Something else Gimli only just noticed was that Legolas had plaited Galadriel’s white ribbon into his hair, as an elvish knight would wear such a token from a lady.  For a moment he was almost jealous, but a Dwarf with a ribbon would be a ridiculous thing.

“Furthermore,” Thranduil continued, “you may present these to Thorin Stonehelm, and assure him of the continued friendship of the Wood in both peace and peril.”

Legolas sighed, as though reciting a weary litany, accepting the dark velvet sack he was given.  “Yes, I have made the speech before.”

“Yes, but take care not to sound too enthusiastic about it all,” Thranduil insisted with a wry smile.  “The last time I sent you to Esgaroth you seemed so accommodating that they were soon at my feet asking for access to my treasuries.  And, for love of the Belain, do not ask them if there is aught we may do for them!  That is, unless you would like to finance the doings of a fisherman’s guild and repairs for the pier a second time.”

“Not especially,” Legolas confided, as Calenmir stifled an infectious laugh. 

“I thought not.”  Thranduil paused for a moment with an affectionate hand upon Legolas’ shoulder.  "Be wary, be safe, and may the Belain go with you."

"I shall not forget," Legolas returned in the same earnest tone.  "I shall be back before you notice I am gone."

An order was given by someone; the red and green vested guards took their places in their own boats and manned the oars.  Legolas pulled away from his father and went to take his own before he could hesitate, but even Gimli saw it was not without an effort.  He followed, climbing in at the bow as Legolas directed.  Thranduil stood on the bank, looking majestic as ever, even if rather lonely.  Doubtless he would be wracked with worry before they were even out of sight.

The Elves gathered at the riverside began a militant chorus as the three boats cast away into the swift eastward flow, augmented by the firm strokes of the rowers.  Legolas paused for one last look behind, letting their craft drift on its own for a moment.  But after the last silent farewells, he turned back to the task at hand and took a firm lead as was his place, their prow cutting through the dark water like a blade.

The last stage of their monumental journey together had begun, the last great uphill climb.  Last, but most certainly not least.