(A/N: In order to finish editing this chapter, I had to go upstairs with my laptop and lock the door of my room. I'm sure all you mothers out there can appreciate that!

Speaking of appreciation, I want all of you to give a standing ovation to my beta, Nieriel Raina! Considering everything going on, she still managed to do a bang-up job making this chapter acceptable. Please disregard any errors - they're my fault, not hers. -- Le Rouret)

The Green Knight’s departure from Osgiliath was presaged by so little ceremony that many did not realize it had occurred at all. Indeed the Lady Éowyn scarcely noted his passing, closeted with her lady’s maid and a pail and groaning of the many ills and inconveniences of childbearing; Legolas politely sent his farewells by proxy, mindful of her delicate condition. What Kaimelas had done to throw Galás off their scent, Legolas neither knew nor cared, provided that his seneschal remained ignorant long enough for them to gain the Emyn Muil.

When Faramir was told that they planned to go up the eastern route he was greatly troubled. “Through swamp and blasted land, Legolas?” he asked, dismayed. “There is hardly food to be had, and the way is treacherous; why I own it shall take you twice as long to reach your Lord Father by that route!”

“But the patrols run from the Pelennor to Cair Andros,” said Legolas. “I shall take me through the Nindalf and thus up through Sarn Gebir, avoiding detection. Twice as long it may take indeed; but I shall be delayed thrice as long if Galás finds me!”

Faramir shook his head; he did not care for the plan. “The Brown Lands are very inhospitable,” he argued, “and you shall be constrained to pass the East Bight ere you reach the Celduin.”

“I know the East Bight of old,” laughed Legolas. “Perhaps I shall find the remains of Ushtâk’s head there! Do not fear for me, friend,” he added gently, seeing Faramir was truly disturbed. “I know the way well; it is sparsely populated and seldom traveled; indeed there are few roads thereabouts. My aim is Eryn Lasgalen and Esgaroth, and to trail round following the Anduin past Carrock will be leagues out of my way, and put me at risk of recognition beside. Also do I seek to scout the land south of Esgaroth where the mountains meet the Celduin; I have hopes the few folk who eke out their living there might be willing to subject themselves to the protection of a powerful lord, Elf though he might be.”

Despite his misgiving Faramir smiled. “Ever on the look-out for your family’s realm, are you not, my friend?” he asked, amused. “Well go in peace then, and I hope for your sake you go in comfort as well.”

“It would be more cogent to advise me to return in comfort,” laughed Legolas, and kissing Faramir he took his leave.

Gimli met Legolas in his rooms. Bandobras was ordering Tamin and Kaimelas about as the last of their things were packed; the Hobbit yet thought himself the most qualified in the ordering of the Green Knight’s supplies, and he may well have been correct. The Dwarf entered the rooms, smiling at the disarray and at Bandobras holding court; he saw his friend sitting at the window and watching as Bandobras imperiously instructed Tamin on the proper folding and packaging of a linen under-shirt. On the Green Knight’s fair face was a look of bemused delight; Gimli was certain Legolas would not have given a brass piece for that linen shirt; yet he allowed his little Bandobras to accord it all the importance of a gold circlet, and Tamin complied with solemn gravity. Exchanging a surreptitious wink with Kaimelas Gimli crossed the fray, and holding up a letter to Legolas said: “The last post out of Rhovanion, Legolas; this one is for you. Argond filched it from the bag ere it could be rerouted to Dol Galenehtar.”

“Argond is a gem,” said Legolas, smiling. “Thank you, Gimli.” He broke the seal; it was the circle of leaves around the moon, set in green wax: the sigil of his father’s house. But within, the missive was penned by a feminine hand, though the writing was pretty and deceptively hard to read:

Dúrfinwen Daughter of No-One, Lone Laiquenda, Mercer of Dol Galenehtar,

To Prince Legolas of Eryn Lasgalen, Lord of Dol Galenehtar, Green Knight of Gondor, Meddler in Other Peoples’ Love Affairs,

Greetings.

This will be brief, my lord, for I am pressed for time. The situation here is becoming intolerable and my lady is in great distress. Please do you and Lord Gimli come to Eryn Lasgalen ere something disastrous occurs! Your Lord Father is not himself, and strange events are afoot. I mistrust these Men of Esgaroth and even those of Dale; I sense treachery, and feel Thorin is wary of us. Glóin I cannot get alone, and I have not seen Frera in weeks. Belegtilion, Belias, Melima and I are in accord; we will attempt to unravel this ourselves, but hold small hope of it. Come quickly! Eryn Lasgalen has need of its prince, and Erebor of a wise counselor!

Your servant,

Dúrfinwen

Legolas read this and without comment handed it to Gimli. Bandobras and Kaimelas read it over his shoulder, the Hobbit clambering upon a chair to do so, and Tamin looked on a little plaintively, wishing his lowly status were mere lowly stature, for he was very excluded from the grown-ups’ doings. “Well, my lord,” said Kaimelas with a sigh, “if I had any thought that we went to Eryn Lasgalen precipitately, I do so no longer. From any other maid of your court, I should have dismissed this as worry-mongering, but Dúrfinwen is so rarely discommoded that I shall accord her missive full weight.”

“May I tell her you said so?” asked Bandobras with a grin. “She won’t find that mighty flattering, I must say.”

“Think you not?” smiled Kaimelas. “Well, perhaps I do not know her as well as I ought. Think you this letter sufficient to excuse your elopement to Galás, my lord? It might sway him enough to let you pass unmolested, or even to bring a score of knights alongside us.”

“It is tempting,” admitted Legolas. “But remember, Kaimelas, to my seneschal, Dúrfinwen is naught but the Little Laiquenda, the mercer of his young cousin’s demesne. Could I be assured he would realize it as weighty as you I should attempt it; but I do not wish to wait much longer to begin or it will be rising autumn by the time we reach Eryn Lasgalen.”

“Then we shall hold this letter to ourselves,” said Kaimelas, “and hope Galás forgives us eventually.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Gimli then. “It gets better my friends. Listen!”

The Elves and Bandobras attended; Gimli had a letter himself, and having broken the seal was reading it with great interest.

Gimli son of Glóin, Renowned in the Ring War, and Elf-Friend (though I am loath to admit it),

From Glóin son of Gróin his Father, Counselor to King Thorin Stonehelm of Erebor,

Greetings.

Gimli my boy, get yourself and that silly Elf-prince friend of yours up here immediately! Thranduil’s gone soft in the head, his queen has turned into a living ice sculpture, Stonehelm’s a stiff-necked idiot and if I hear Malbeach’s name ONE MORE TIME, I shall slay him and his disgusting little trollop myself. We are being ROBBED. Even Nori is disturbed, and he and Dori speak over their cups of sealing the gates. I have not been this uneasy since I courted your mother! I cannot tell you the details, for I know not whether this letter shall be apprehended; but I tell you this much: The Arkenstone is MISSING.

Come quickly! We need arbiters, and you and Legolas are the likeliest pair!

Your Father,

Glóin

There was silence as they allowed the words to sink in; then Bandobras said unsteadily, “Damn.”

“Bandobras,” chided Legolas.

“Sorry!” said Bandobras, glancing at Tamin, who looked owlishly at them all. “I mean, how very provoking! Why, if your dad’s got the wind up, Gimli, and Dúrfinwen too, seems to me we’d best hoof it double-time.” He looked over their trunks. “Think we need the armor after all, fellows?”

“Lord Faramir has given to us three heavy drafts,” said Legolas, “so we can carry as much as we like – well, barring your oven; I fear me we shall not be able to provide you with a full kitchen this time, my Bandobras! We must tighten our girths and live frugally for a time, ere this mystery is unwound.” He shook his head. “This Master of Esgaroth! I have seen some unsavory fellows claiming the title in my time, but never one who stirred up so much trouble.”

“Ought Galás to be told?” asked Kaimelas uneasily. “He is your seneschal after all, my lord, and a cousin to your father the king.”

“And what shall I tell him?” asked Legolas. “That my friend Gimli’s father thinks Thranduil Oropherion has gone mad? That his little Lord Legolas has developed a disturbing penchant for nasty terrible nightmares? Nay; let us manage this ourselves; it is arbiters that Glóin called for, not an army.”

Kaimelas grinned. “He will be furious to have missed the fun,” he said, his dark eyes twinkling.

“So he will!” said Legolas, looking very satisfied. “It always makes me to feel warm and contented when I manage to irritate him. It evens the disparity somewhat, though I own I have two hundred years’ worth of exasperation for which to pay him back; our accounts are quite disproportionate.”

“Poor Galás!” exclaimed Bandobras. “You are awful hard on him, my lord, and that’s the truth!”

“It is borne of many years of conflict,” said Legolas. “Do you not feel too sorry for him, my Bandobras!”

“And anyway, I shall instruct Nórin to soothe his breast,” said Gimli, smiling and going to a small writing desk. “He dislikes Nórin – that will be amusing, as well; I must ask Himbaláth to relate to me later how it went. I will give this letter to Argond to put in tomorrow’s post, so that it will be two weeks ere it even reaches my seneschal, and another two weeks for our seneschals to confer together concerning their missing lords. What nonsense this all is,” he added, a little irritably. “Do you remember, Legolas, how easy it was to pack a satchel and leave, ere we were saddled with our demesnes? Gold and thrones and crowns and titles are all very well but they are too heavy for me betimes.”

“For me too, Gimli,” said Legolas, folding Dúrfinwen’s letter and tucking it into his tunic. “I only hope Belegtilion keeps Dúrfinwen out of trouble. She is so impetuous, and I would not put it past her to start throwing her footwear round Esgaroth if she does not get the answers she desires!”

“If that be the case then the Master of Esgaroth need watch his head,” laughed Gimli, taking up his quill and dipping it into the well. “I do not see Dúrfinwen putting up with any of his nonsense!”

“Why do you think I want her back in my tucking-mill?” asked Legolas. “My Lady Mother may strive to keep her, but she will return to Dol Galenehtar with me, if I have to make off in the middle of the night with her!”

“And he claims he loves her not,” said Kaimelas dryly to Gimli, who snorted in laughter; Legolas merely shot his valet a dirty look, and busied himself with the trunks; though Bandobras noted to his amusement that the Lord of Dol Galenehtar looked a tad flustered, and his cheeks were very pink

O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O*O

Tamin said farewell to the children of the Lord and Lady of Osgiliath in the nursery. Fastred was not present, and this cut Tamin deeply; he had hoped against reason that Fastred would relent and deign to bid him farewell; however Théodred reported with a scornful snort that his “idiot brother” was sulking in the armory and could not be bothered to show his “unshorn silly face.” Léodwyn, occupied in attending to their Lady Mother’s ailment, did not send so much as a parting missive; but Tamin did not miss that so much as Fastred’s friendship.

The nursery was a charming place, and Tamin had spent many happy hours there ere coming from Lothlórien to Ithilien. It was bright and airy, with tall narrow windows and high arched ceilings, and the stone walls had been overlaid with colored tiles and mosaics. Thick wool rugs warmed the old stone floors, and the two big fireplaces had flames crackling merrily in their grates. All round the corners was the detritus of childhood: Doll houses and rocking-horses and little carousels, wooden balls and mallets, blocks and cradles and spools on strings, cloth animals stuffed with wadding and a quantity of dented pots and pans. Now the tables and desks held more grown-up things: little mock trebuchets and big embroidery hoops, slates and chalk and charts, books and quills and parchment, recorders and pipes and music stands, and maps rolled up and set in stacks beside paints and brushes and canvases. Hísimë received him warmly, clad in a lovely dress of filmy blue; she had spent an inordinate amount of time doing up her hair in the most elaborate coils and braids, and was very proud of it; but all Tamin could think was that it was a pity it did not hang down in its soft pale ringlets round her shoulders as usual, for it was so pretty that way. He did not say this of course, for he had no wish to offend; Hísimë had been a great comfort to him the night before, tending to his wounds, and speaking kindly to him. Théodred greeted him with his usual enthusiasm, suffering Tamin’s embrace and reminding him that Tamin had to promise to bring him any interesting teeth he might find in his journeys, so that Théodred could add them to his collection. Tamin acquiesced, and sat talking with them for a time; but at last he said he had to go, and stood reluctantly, looking round the room and wondering when he would see it again. While he had been sitting and talking he had fretting at him the feeling that something was absent from the room; at first could not think what it was; at last he realized what it was he missed: Fastred’s lute, which had hung for many years on a hook in the eastern corner. There was Hísimë’s viol hanging proud and gleaming, its lion’s head neck staring balefully down at him, but the hook beside it was sadly empty. This was a reminder to Tamin how Fastred had so terribly changed, and he gave a disconsolate sigh. Seeing this, Hísimë took him by the hand and smiled sadly up at him.

“Dear Tamin!” she said gently, touching his cheek with her fingers. “I know that you are sad for my brother’s sake, and this but reveals to me further how kind and temperate is your spirit, for he has treated you shamefully. O! How many are the trials visited upon us by friends, for how inconstant are their hearts!” She sighed then, and looked very low, and Tamin forgetting his own misery grasped her slim little hands in his own and kissed them.

“Hísimë,” he said earnestly, “you must always, always believe that I shall never, ever treat you as they have so carelessly done! O but I should be a terrible person indeed who would dare disparage your dear heart, for how gentle and tender you are! How Halgond and Léodwyn and Fastred could act in this fashion! And how disappointed and wounded you are by their callous injuries! Let the offense rather sit upon my heart, O Hísimë, so that I might in some small way relieve you of this pain, for I should rather hurt myself than to have you hurt!”

Hísimë blushed then, very prettily Tamin thought, and casting her eyes down bit one rosy lip. “Tamin,” she stammered, her cheeks scarlet; then dislodging her hands from his, she fumbled with the clasp of the silver chain round her neck. Removing it she pressed it into his palm, gazing up into his eyes earnestly.

“Take this with you,” she said breathlessly, closing his fingers upon it. “It is the moonstone amulet Queen Undómiel gave to me when I was first presented at the court in Minas Tirith. Moonstones are a boon to travelers you know, O Tamin; perchance this might aid you as you traverse the many leagues so terribly far from our homes in Ithilien.”

“Rather will the remembrance of your sweet constancy aid me,” said Tamin with a smile, holding the moonstone to his breast. “Thank you, O Hísimë; this is a lovely and costly gift! I swear that I shall return it to you as soon as I can!”

“While we are on the subject of gift-giving,” said Théodred a little loudly, feeling as though the two ignored him. “I have a good pocket-knife here for you, Tamin, that I got from the Dwarves in Aglarond. See how cunning it is? There is a spring, or a hinge or something, and you fold the blade into the handle so you might put it in your pocket and not cut through your clothes, or your hands either. Is it not ingenious? I was going to give it you for your birthday; but I thought you might be gone still, and anyway I cannot remember when your birthday is. So here is your birthday present, Tamin; I hope you kill something with it!”

“How clever it is!” exclaimed Tamin, delighted. “Thank you, Théodred! With gifts such as these shall my journey be lightened indeed! For the one strengthens my hand, and the other my soul, and though I have naught to give to you in return, O children of Lord Faramir, I shall give instead this promise, that as soon as I am able I shall return to you with gifts aplenty – if my Master allows me, that is. O how fortunate am I to have friends like you, Théodred, Hísimë; my heart is heavy because I am leaving you, but I feel better knowing I am placed so prominently in your thoughts.”

Théodred stood with his hands in his pockets as Hísimë gave to Tamin a genteel kiss and then dabbed at her eyes with a lacy handkerchief, resisting the urge to roll his eyes, and then he allowed Tamin to embrace him. But as Tamin turned to go, Hísimë gathered up her courage and grasped the Elf by the hand, and when he looked back inquiringly at her, she kissed his cheek, her face scarlet, and stammered: “Return safely, Tamin!” Then overcome, she fled from them to her dressing room, shutting the heavy pearwood door with a loud and very unladylike bang. Tamin stared after her a moment, bewildered; Théodred snorted and said to Tamin:

“Come back quickly to be my sibling in place, will you, Tamin? It seems both Fastred and Hísimë have gone silly, and I think you and I are the only young folk in Osgiliath who are not become completely potty.”

“I will be back, Théodred,” promised Tamin, and pocketing his gifts, he hurried away.

He exited the west wing and trotted across one of the many little courtyards that honeycombed the citadel of Osgiliath, startling roosting doves and ducking through the low lintel into the darkness of the neighboring hall. When he reached the sunny brightness of a window seat he paused, and dug round in his tunic pocket until he found his gifts. He opened and shut the knife, admiring its Dwarven runes and smiling at its cunning; then returning it to his pocket, he took the chain of the amulet and clasped it about his neck. It hung pendulous and weighty, gleaming in the sunshine, its twisting metal throwing back the light and the smooth stones their color. The moonstone was girded in heavy silver, and topped with an onyx; on either side were citrines, and at its bottom teardrop glimmered green a tiny peridot. “Moonstones for travelers,” thought Tamin, running his thumb over the smooth cabochon surface. “I do not know the significance of the other stones save citrine, which dispels bad dreams. O how I wish my Master could wear this! But Hísimë gave it to me; I will wear it, and think of her.” He sighed, his heart heavy; he knew Halgond had been very dear to the daughter of Éowyn, and no one seemed to mark how this betrayal affected her as well. “They are all in a dither over Fastred,” he thought, his heart growing cold with anger. “Hísimë is so quiet; no one ever thinks of her, the poor dear thing.”

He glanced out the window; spring was in full blow, and the sun gleamed on the shivering river; reflected in its dark depths were the willows, pink and white and flowing, and low bushes filled with fragrant yellow flowers. He loved Ithilien; he had never been as far north as the Hall of the Elvenking and wondered what it would be like, so far from home. “Well, I survived the trek from Lothlórien,” he thought, “and found I liked Dol Galenehtar quite a lot better than Caras Galadhon; perhaps I shall like Eryn Lasgalen too … only not so well as Dol Galenehtar of course, for my Master lives there no longer, and it is but his Lord Father and not my Master who rules there.”

With a sigh he turned from the window; then paused; he saw down the dim hallway a figure walking toward him, tall and dark. His sharp eyes descried the visage in the gloom, and he was filled anew with anger: Fastred son of Faramir approached, yet ignorant to his erstwhile friend’s presence, for his eyes were not so good as Tamin’s, and he could not see him in the gloomy allure walk.

Tamin could have presented a blandly polite countenance to Fastred, or even fixed him with eyes brimming with sorrow; these might have made Fastred to relent, for he was sore in heart and greatly troubled on Tamin’s account. However the fire woken in Tamin’s young breast flared hotter, and Tamin thought angrily to himself: “Fastred shall see that I do not care; I will show him I am not to be treated thus!” And he proceeded down the hall, golden head held proudly.

Fastred started when he saw Tamin approach; his eyes flickered and his cheeks flushed red. “Tamin,” he began, then stammered to a halt, undone. He had never before seen such cold hatred in those beloved grey eyes, and the bruises on Tamin’s dear fair face rebuked him. Overwhelmed with guilt and embarrassment Fastred’s anger blazed anew, and he said sullenly: “I – I was looking for you.”

Tamin did not pause, but walked by Fastred, chin high. “I cannot imagine why,” he said frostily.

“I wanted to speak with you,” said Fastred angrily. “Do not walk away from me! I have something to say to you!”

Tamin stopped, but did not turn; Fastred could only see his profile faintly, glowing in the darkness of the inner hall. “I have been in the same room all night, and in my Master’s chambers all morning,” he said, his voice very aloof. “You ought to have come to me and spoken then. It is too late now; we are leaving anon.”

Even then, had Fastred pled with him, Tamin would have turned, for he was soft in heart; but Fastred was stung and indignant and said nothing. So Tamin went on his way, leaving Fastred alone and seething in the darkness.