A/N: This chapter, like all my work, was much improved by the hard labor and patience of my wonderful beta, Angel.

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Part I: The Board is Set

"We have heard tell that Legolas took Gimli Glóin's son with him..."

-J.R.R. Tolkien, Appendix A, The Lord of the Rings

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Chapter 1: Friends Like These

Arod's hooves echoed hollowly in the narrow passage. With the coming of evening the snow had given way to a freezing rain that lashed between the darkened buildings, whipping back their hair and stinging their eyes. Legolas urged the horse faster over the deserted cobbles, mindful of the shivering and increasingly irate Dwarf behind him.

Gimli's usual complaints about horseback riding in general, Legolas' horsemanship specifically, the weather, the speed of their travel, the weather, Elves in general, Legolas in particular, and the weather had degenerated in the last day of their journey into a steady stream of what Legolas could only assume to be Khuzdul1, which in turn had lapsed into an ominous silence as they picked their way through the frozen fields and finally into the city itself.

They rounded the last turn and clattered to a halt in the empty stable yard before the entrance to the seventh circle. When they had stopped fully and Arod stood quiet at Legolas' command, Gimli finally released the vise grip that he had kept locked around the Elf's waist. Legolas sighed in relief as the pressure eased from his ribs. Despite all their journeys together from Fangorn to Eryn Galen and beyond, Gimli had never yet overcome his dislike of horses as a means of transport, and the Dwarf was very strong. Fear of horses, Legolas would have been tempted to say, except that every time he implied such a weakness on the part of his riding companion he had found a Dwarven axe aimed at his head.

So the Elf made no comment, but swung lightly down from Arod's back. He stretched his arms up over his head, exulting in the chance to move freely again after long days of riding, and took a deep breath. The cold air seared deep into his lungs and he laughed, rising on tiptoe to stretch the muscles of his legs.

"Foolish Elf," Gimli's deep voice sounded exasperated, but Legolas caught the amused glint in the Dwarf's dark eyes as he turned back toward him. Gimli was still perched atop Arod, his hands knotted in the horse's mane as he eyed the distance to the ground.

Legolas smiled. "Talking to me again, are you?" he said, laying one hand on Arod's nose to steady him and reaching the other toward his friend.

Gimli snorted. "Not that it'll do any good. You never listen to me when I do talk to you." Ignoring the proffered hand he pulled his leg over the stallion's back with a grunt and dropped to ground. He staggered as his boots skidded on the ice-slicked cobbles, but kept his feet.

"Hardly fair, Master Dwarf," Legolas said as a light shone briefly in the darkened stable beside them. "If you want me to listen then you'll have to do more than swear at me in Khuzdul."

"I was speaking Sindarin, you half-brained pointy-eared nitwit!" Gimli snapped, his breath frosting in the air before him. Arod laid back his ears and sidestepped at the Dwarf's tone. "I told you to slow down!"

Legolas paused in the act of rubbing Arod's forehead. "Sindarin?" he asked. The stable door opened and a lanky stable boy made his way toward them, clutching a cloak over his head with one hand while a lamp bobbed fitfully in the other.

"Yes!" Gimli was hopping a bit on the spot, whether from rage or in an attempt to restore circulation to his legs Legolas was uncertain. "I said 'noro lim!' 'noro lim!' 'Slow down!'"

"Ah." Legolas bent quickly on the pretext of inspecting Arod's feet, his long hair swinging forward to hide his smile. "Well, I think we have discovered why your riding lessons with Arod have not gone as expected, Master Dwarf. 'Noro lim' means that you wish to go faster."

He glanced up to find that Gimli had paused with one foot half off the ground, surveying him with narrowed eyes. "'Go faster?'"

Legolas nodded. The stable hand was now standing a few feet away, eyeing the unbridled and unfettered Arod nervously.

"No it doesn't," Gimli said as Legolas guided Arod toward the stable, the servant standing well back with lantern raised high. "It means –"

"'Noro,' the imperative form of 'nor,' 'to ride' –"

"I am not interested, Legolas –"

"Lothlórien? Haldir?"

Gimli stopped. "'Daro'?" he said in a small voice. They had reached the shelter of the stable door, and Arod, needing no further encouragement, pushed forward eagerly toward the dark warmth and the mingled scents of hay and manure.

Legolas nodded. Turning to the stable hand he took a small leather purse from his tunic and withdrew several coins. "We have had a long journey," he told the boy, dropping the gold into his grimy hand. "And this horse is a favorite of King Elessar's. Rub him down thoroughly before feeding. You shall give him a bran mash tonight and cover him well. He must be ready to ride tomorrow, if the King requires it."

The Elf's quick, decisive tone left little room for argument. "Aye, my lord," the lad muttered, bobbing his head as he pocketed the gold. Legolas paused at the threshold, glancing back into the stable's musty warmth. "There is no need to tie him," he added. "A loose box will suit him best, and I think you would have difficulty if you attempted anything other."

The boy glanced at Arod, who was now standing by the watering trough, swishing his tail impatiently. Several other horses had lifted their heads at the Elf's voice, and they turned toward him as far as their lead ropes allowed. "Aye," he grunted again, and Legolas stepped back into the rain-washed night, allowing the door to close behind him.

Gimli was waiting for him in the stable-yard, stamping his feet to keep warm. He had his hood raised and his shoulders hunched against the driving rain, but he glanced up as the Elf joined him. "You really think that Aragorn will ride tomorrow?"

Legolas shrugged and led the way through the gate into the seventh circle. "I do not know," he said. "His message did not say. It seemed urgent and yet . . ." he paused, looking over the city wall into the distance. They were near the summit, and the city stretched in concentric rings far below them. Gimli could see the flicker of lamplight dotting the houses below, but beyond that the Pelennor fields stretched empty and black. He could see nothing to capture the Elf's interest. "No," Legolas finished at last, just as Gimli's teeth began to chatter. "No, we will not ride tomorrow. Whatever Aragorn plans, he is not yet ready to begin."

Gimli waited a moment longer, but when nothing more seemed forthcoming he gave it up. The freezing rain was closer to sleet now, and Gimli's hair and beard were soaked. Even his Elven cloak was sodden with mud and seemed on the verge of giving up the fight against the elements. He wanted a hot bath, a change of clothes, some ale and his pipe, in that order. Some proper food wouldn't be amiss either. Legolas tended to travel light, and often forgot about eating all together when he was in a hurry.

Pulling his hood a bit tighter around his ears, Gimli set off again toward the King's gate. Legolas fell in alongside him, his hands swinging loosely at his sides. Gimli was not sure, because it was hard to tell over the howling of the wind, but he thought the Elf might be humming under his breath.

Every other creature in Middle-earth has the sense to seek shelter from the storm, Gimli thought. The Elf wants to sing to it. And – yes, Legolas was now casting occasional sidelong glances toward Gimli, his eyes bright with mischief. He's feeling playful. Mahal preserve me.

This was confirmed when Legolas spoke a moment later, as they rounded the second curve of the passage and were struck by a fresh onslaught of stinging ice. "Then when we crossed the bridge at Osgiliath, Gimli, and you were crying 'noro lim,' 'noro lim'…"

Gimli crossed his arms over his chest, prepared to get it over with. "I was trying to tell you to stop, you crazy Elf. Didn't you see the guardsmen shouting?"

"They were urging us on."

"Urging us on? By shouting 'no, no, stop, there's no road there'?"

"Men are frequently unintelligible when excited. One must give greater importance to their actions than to their words."

"Their actions were that they were diving for cover."

"They were jumping with enthusiasm, friend Gimli. Besides, you enjoyed it."

"Me?" Gimli swelled indignantly. "When have I ever encouraged your reckless behavior?"

"When we jumped the hedge and you yelled –"

"Your quiver had just bashed me across the nose! Must you wear that thing when we ride?"

Legolas gave him an apologetic look, but his eyes shone and he could not quite smother a grin as he looked ahead again. Gimli sighed. The Elf was hopeless, really. But he looked so disingenuous (a practiced deception, Gimli was certain) that the Dwarf could not help smiling in return.

They were nearly at the guard's post to the courtyard. Gimli's hands were so cold now that he could hardly feel them, and he tucked them under his arms, shivering. Legolas' hair was coated in a thin sheen of ice, but he seemed not to have noticed. He did pull his hood up to cover his head as they approached the circle of lamplight before the gate, but Gimli strongly suspected that this had nothing to do with the weather. The Men of Gondor had little contact with the other races of Middle-earth, and tended to view them, particularly Elves, with some trepidation. Their experience with Pippin had done much to change that, and indeed Gimli and the Hobbits had enjoyed a warm welcome after the War when the fame of the Nine Walkers had spread through the city. But Legolas tended to be more reserved by nature, and more cautious around groups of Men he did not know.

Gimli was now too cold and too tired to care what the guards thought, however. He strode toward the gate, hardly slowing as the pair of Men moved to block him, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords. "Hold!" the larger of them called, peering at him through the driving sleet. "Who seeks entrance to the King's Court?"

"Gimli son of Glóin of the Nine Walkers, Companion to the Ring-bearer, Frodo of Nine Fingers; Orc-bane and Hunter of 45 Leagues with your King, Elessar once called Strider; Elf-friend and Lock-bearer, servant of the Lady of the Golden Wood and Lord of the Glittering Caves," Gimli said, scarcely pausing to draw breath. "And his friend, Legolas Thranduilion of many titles, all of which he can tell you while I get some ale by the fire."

"We are friends of King Elessar," Legolas said calmly behind him. "Here at the King's request. I believe he is expecting us."

The guards exchanged a look. "Lord Legolas," the first one said. His stubbly cheeks were red with cold. "I am to escort you to the Royal Chambers. His Majesty gave orders that you attend him there."

"Thank you," Legolas said. "There is no need for escort. I know the way."

He started to move past them, but the guards were well trained and they stood their ground. "I'm sorry, my lord," the first one said. "By order of the King, I go with you."

Legolas stopped, surveying them coolly. There was no trace of his earlier mischievousness now. The guards fidgeted a little under his gaze. "And we'll have to get orders about Lord Gimli, there," the second one added abruptly, when the silence had stretched uncomfortably long. "We haven't had no instructions about him."

"No?" Legolas said softly. "Then I will tell you your instructions. Lord Gimli is a friend of your King. He is here at my request. I am here at your King's request. You will let us pass, and you will remain here while we go to the King's chambers, as he wishes. You will do this now."

The Elf made no move toward any of his weapons, nor did he so much as raise his voice, but there was an indefinable aura of danger around him as he stood, straight and still, staring at the guards. Gimli well knew the effect that intense Elven gaze could have on a mortal, and there was a thread of steel in Legolas' tone that even he might have hesitated to cross; though he'd shave his beard to stubble ere he admitted that to the Elf. As it was, the guards were no match for Thranduil's son in this mood. They shivered, looking at each other, and then back at the Elf who stood watching them, apparently impervious to the icy wind that blew back his cloak and whipped his hair away from his face.

"Friends, eh?" the second guard muttered sullenly, shifting his eyes away from Legolas'. He was of average height, thin with a hooked nose from which a drop of clear moisture hung. "You can't be knowing the King too well, if you think that were a request."

Legolas said nothing, but continued to stare at them. Long moments passed in silence, broken only by the whistle of the wind. Finally it was too much for the Men. "You'll have to leave your weapons here," the first guard said at last, defeat heavy in his voice. "No one may be armed in the presence of the King."

"No?" Legolas said, already moving past them and into the courtyard. "I recall that Théoden King of Rohan had a similar custom. You may ask King Elessar what good it did him."

And he was gone, sweeping up the courtyard toward the palace entrance. Gimli hurried after him, almost hoping that the guards would try to stop them. He could do with some action after their long journey. But the Men proved to be dishearteningly cowed, making no move to seize them, and the guards at the entrance hall scarcely had a chance to open their mouths before Legolas was past them and through the massive doors.

Once inside the citadel, however, with the doors sealed behind them and the wind muted by thick walls, it seemed to Gimli that the air of danger faded, cloaked again by Legolas' habitual reserve. The Elf offered no resistance to the guards that came forward in the main hall, but handed over his bow and quiver with a disappointing placidity.

At Gimli's questioning glance his lips quirked and he murmured, too softly for the guard to hear, "It is not so unusual to request that the King's guests go to him unarmed. Or, that they do so without weapons obviously in attendance, at least."

Gimli snorted as he watched his axes being laid carefully alongside Legolas' long knives in the armory cabinet. "Then why did you not turn your weapons over to the guard outside? My feet are nearly frozen off, thanks to you."

Legolas ran a hand carelessly through his hair, dislodging the melting ice from it. "There is custom, and then there is foolishness, Master Dwarf. The bow of Galadriel does not wait in a guardsman's shack in the rain; however it may please the Man to order it."

Their weapons safely stored, they were turning away when the lieutenant made as if to stop them. He may have had some idea of searching them, but by this point Gimli had lost patience. He was cold, and wet, and unless these popinjay guards came bearing ale and hot food he wanted nothing more to do with them. He glowered at the Man, daring him to take one step closer, and rumbled low in his chest. The lieutenant stopped as if struck with a poleaxe.

"My lords," he squeaked, "the King desires you await him in his chambers. There…" he gestured feebly toward the marble stair at their left. Legolas nodded coolly. "Thank you," he said, "we know the way." And they swept past the guards before there could be any suggestion of escort.

Gimli stamped his feet, trying to dislodge the mud from his boots as he fell in alongside Legolas. Grand as these palaces of Men were, a bootjack at the entrance would do wonders to improve them, he thought. The two footmen at the base of the stair stood at attention with eyes straight ahead, apparently oblivious to their approach. Legolas, however, surveyed them with narrowed eyes as they passed. "Does it seem to you, elvellon," he murmured, "that there are more guards about than usual?"

Gimli shrugged. His leggings were soaked through and beginning to chafe as he climbed the stairs, and he was in no mood to discuss details of Aragorn's household with the Elf. "No."

"Six at the city gate, two at the courtyard entrance, two at the citadel doors, three in the hall, two at the stairs…"

"There are always a lot of guards in Minas Tirith. It's one of the main occupations of the city."

"In peacetime, Gimli?"

"What else are they going to do? Not going to go in for horticulture, in the city of stone, now are they?"

"And two at the first landing," Legolas said as they came up onto the second level. Gimli glanced around. Sure enough, two more guards were hurrying toward them, black and silver tunics glittering. "Lord Gimli," one began. Gimli opened his mouth, ready to tell this one exactly what he could do with his orders, when the guard said, "Éomer King of Rohan wishes to speak with you."

Whatever Gimli had been expecting, it wasn't that. He blinked and glanced over at Legolas. The Elf was staring at the guard, a faint line drawn between his brows. "Éomer is here?" he asked.

The Man bowed. "Yes, my lord. He requests that Lord Gimli join him for ale in his quarters."

Now this was more like it. "Right," Gimli said briskly. "Off you go, then." He started to follow the guard down the corridor, but Legolas caught his arm.

"Did Aragorn send word to you that Éomer King would be here, Gimli?"

Gimli glanced back at him. "No. He said nothing to me of aught, I told you that."

"No," Legolas said. He was frowning more deeply than before. "And yet Aglarond is far closer to Rohan than to Ithilien, and you might have journeyed together, and saved cost of men and armament . . ."

Gimli hesitated. A faint unease at these words was penetrating his physical discomfort, and he had learned to trust the Elf's counsel beyond even his own instincts. He lowered his voice, mindful of the guards nearby, and whispered, "Do you think it is a trap?"

Legolas paused for a long moment, his head bowed and his eyes closed as if listening. Finally he gave a slight shake of his head. "No," he breathed, so softly that Gimli could scarcely hear him. "But something is not right here, elvellon. I feel…" he broke off, looking up the steps that led to the King's chambers. Gimli followed his gaze, but there was nothing there save the inevitable sentries at the base of the stair.

When Legolas again turned toward him his gaze was troubled. "Be on your guard, Master Dwarf," he said. "There is much here that I do not yet understand."

What an Elf can understand . . . the taunt was half-formed in the back of Gimli's mind, but he cut it off. Legolas was clearly in no mood for teasing now. Instead he said quietly, "We're in Aragorn's keep, Legolas."

The Elf made no answer, but glanced again at the stair leading to the King's chambers. They stood for a long moment thus, and Gimli was aware of the growing impatience of the soldiers behind him. Still Legolas seemed disinclined to explain further, and Gimli had learned that there was little point in pressing an Elf for answers once he had decided to be cryptic. So with an exasperated huff and a hitch at his sodden leggings he said aloud, "A Dwarf is always on his guard, Master Elf. Look to your own protection and let me handle mine."

Yet he caught Legolas' eye as he turned away, and they shared a look of understanding. Axes and bow might have been taken by the guards, but Gimli had no intention of ever yielding the knife he kept behind his belt, and he knew that Legolas yet had the blades concealed beneath his vambraces, and the dagger in his boot. It was common courtesy not to walk the King's halls with weapons in hand, but neither Elf nor Dwarf had ever felt the need to actually disarm entirely – nor, Gimli had assumed, would Aragorn expect it of them. But now, as he left the Elf and followed the guard down the wide hall toward the guest chambers, he wondered. What could Legolas possibly fear here, in the home of his closest friend?

1 Khuzdul: The Dwarven language.