Galás climbed the long stair to the high room of the tower.  It was snowing again, though it had been merely gray that morning, and he could see betimes through the glaze of ice upon the windows flitting flakes scurrying past, obscuring the view from his eyes; he knew however what he should see in any case, what he and all others had seen for many months:  a leaden gray sky, looming over white fields, white valleys, white mountain slopes, and bare dark trees crowned also in white.  It was past noon yet the stairwell was gloomy and chill, the lamplight casting wan yellow circles on the smooth marble faces of the curving walls.  The Elf shivered, more from a feeling of dull oppression than actual cold, and chafed his arms with his hands.  At last he gained the top and paused by the chamber door, head cocked like a thrush's, listening.  He could descry within the sound of his lord's voice, light and clear as always but lifeless and a little flat; he pulled a face and pushed open the large oaken door, stepping into the warmer room with noiseless tread, though his lord turned feeling his presence.

"Galás," he said, his grey eyes incurious; the seneschal bowed, and his lord nodded once, and turned again to his valet.  "Nay, Kaimelas, that is too gay; do you please dispense with this desire to clothe me in such frippery.  Rather would I be clad in the robe my Lady Mother did send unto me last year; that at least was but white and gold."

"But you know your friend Araval loves to see the bright colors," argued Kaimelas stubbornly, holding out the green robe.  "And we have seen too much white and gray about lately.  Please do you put this on, my Lord; I weary of you dressing so plain when you have so many beautiful clothes to choose from.  Folk are beginning to wonder what I am about, letting you go round like this."  And he gestured to his lord's doublet, which was a dull unadorned brown.

Legolas sighed.  "It is useless to argue with you, my friend," he said wearily, turning and holding out his arms so that his valet could clothe him.  "Very well; I shall wear green but only to protect your reputation."

"So long as you wear it I care not for your reasons," smiled Kaimelas, turning his lord and adjusting the lacings.  "And as you are being so agreeable, my Lord, I shall fit you with the red belt."

"Kaimelas," protested Legolas, "for what reason do you dress me so?  In truth I do not think Araval cares what I wear!  And I know well it matters not to Lord Faramir; he has never made any mention of the color of my robes."

"Lady Éowyn shall notice," said Galás artlessly, smiling at his lord's wry look.  He walked round his lord, who stood arms outstretched while his valet pulled and tugged on the cords and belts of the ornate beaded robe.  He stood before the hearth, warming himself at the roaring fire, and smiled at the two Elves upon the gaily colored carpeting.  "She said to me only five days ago she thought the dark gray doublet made you look pale and sickly.  Green at least gives promise of approaching spring."

"And red the blooming roses I suppose," said Legolas dryly.  "Well I cannot argue with Lady Éowyn; do what you will then, Kaimelas; I am too weary to oppose you."   Indeed he looked weary; his face was pale, and his eyes listless, and his normally merry and smiling mouth was turned down at the corners.  Galás and Kaimelas exchanged significant looks, and the seneschal returned to the chamber door, watching the two other Elves, but keeping one ear cocked to the stairs.  At last hearing movement he spoke hoping to obscure the sound with his own voice:

"It is no use, my dear Lord, to oppose those of your servants who seek only your health and happiness.  Would you deny us the pleasure of serving you, so that we might see the columbines blossom upon your cheeks once more?  We well know, O Legolas Thranduilion, that grief and regret had nearly overcome you, but you shall do neither yourself nor your people any good should you continue in this sham mummery of your old self.  We would have you eat and drink and laugh again, not sit silent upon your throne in dull vestments, mirroring the gloom without by being the gloom within.  And if you do it not for us is there no one here who might spur you to life?  Not your Lady Mother; I do not think she has had any better luck than we."

"I am not so bad as that, am I?" said Legolas with a faint smile, turning beneath Kaimelas' insistent hand as the belt was fastened about his waist.  "I have attempted these past months to swallow my sorrow and play-act being the blithe and merry lord – well, I suppose it were useless to try to fool you, who know me so well.  But I do wish all would cease to treat me as though I were made of glass – I am no hot-house lily, you know; I am strong enough to bear this."

"Strong perhaps but not quite strong enough, O Prince," smiled Galás.  "And even the mightiest and halest oak tree wilts for want of sunshine."

Legolas turned to him as though to speak, but then his ears caught the pattering sounds upon the stairs as well, and he looked to the door, puzzled.  Then all at once a small figure clad in stained and snowy traveling kit burst in, cheeks kissed scarlet by the cold and curls matted wetly upon his head.  "Master!" he cried, his voice filled with joy; he flung himself at the Elven Lord, laughing. Legolas for himself turned quite white, his eyes wide and staring; he dropped to his knees and with a look of profound disbelief took the Hobbit into the circle of his arms.

"Bandobras!" he whispered, pressing the small figure close to his own.  "How can this be?  Whence came you?  Galás – "  But the sound of heavy tread upon his threshold caused him to turn, and there stood Gimli, peeling off icy and dripping gauntlets, his beard matted with snow.  "Gimli!" said Legolas in amazement.  "How did you – why – "

Gimli only looked at him with raised eyebrows, and when Legolas turned to Galás and Kaimelas they were both grinning impudently.  Bandobras tipped his head back in his Master's embrace and said breathlessly, "I have run all the way from the front gate up the stairs to your tower – it is an awful long way, Master!  Why couldn't you have put your rooms closer to the entrance?  It's pretty inconvenient the way it's set up now."

"Bandobras!"  Legolas' voice broke, and wrapping his arms about the Hobbit's form buried his face in the cold wet wool at Bandobras' shoulder, overcome with relief and heedless of the dripping snow upon his fine green robes.  Gimli stepped toward them, his face suffused with satisfaction; he leant down and kissed Legolas upon the crown of his head, then as an afterthought kissed Bandobras as well.   Legolas looked up through the wet dark curls at his friend, his eyes shining with tears.

"Thank you, Gimli," he whispered, and at that moment a pale beam of sunshine streamed into the room.

 *FIN*