Gimli lifted his glass and took a solid sip of greenish drink, which tasted like lemon grass mixed with alcohol. ''Elves have strange taste.'', he thought. He has been a guest in Elvenking's palace for a long time, but he couldn't get used to all the elven traditions and rituals.
''Would you like to drink something more, sire?'', asked Fidhail.
Gimli shook himself from his reverie, took his eyes off the warm redness of flames dancing in a big fireplace, and looked at the elf. Thranduil servant, the only one from all the household members, who was spending so much time with the king... apparently he was the man who king trusted the most. Gimli could understand why. In his beautiful eyes which were resembling the shape and color of almonds, you could see the kindness, warmth and intelligence. Something in elf's face made other elves want to trust him implicitly and made them entrust their darkest secrets.
Gimli nodded. Servant walked up to the small, decorated table and poured greenish liquid into a glass. Then he turned toward Legolas, who was sitting in an armchair in front of Gimli, and said:
''You did not drink anything, my lord. Would you like me to bring somethnig else?''
Legolas shook his head.
''You do not have to. I am not thirsty. Thank you for your care, Fidhail. Go get some rest, you look pale.'', he said. He felt strange when the elf talked to him in such a grandiloquent manner. In the end, they were almost contemporaries - Fidhail was only a few years younger.
Servant bowed slightly, then headed for the door. When the man left the room, dwarf snorted.
''Hmmm… your father likes to surround himself with beautiful elves.'', he said. He fixed his eyes on Legolas and leaned forward.
Elf shook his head and chuckled slightly. His blue eyes reflected the delicate fireplace's flame.
''It seems that you have forgotten about something, my dear friend. Father does not choose servants by their appearance. You know that we elves are inherently beautiful. It's not that king has any choice. There is no option to find an elf who looks indifferently.''
Gimli's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. Dwarf cleared his throat and began to fidget in his chair.
''Erm... yes. It's obvious. Of course I know it!'', he grumbled. Legolas raised his eyebrow. ''It's just... oh, never mind! Why are we talking about such a foolishnesses?! We have bigger problems than elves' appearance - for example wounded Aragorn who is lying in the room above us! Do you think he will get well?
Smile vanished from Legolas' face. Elf sighed and looked at the fiery mouth of the fireplace. When the father and his guards returned to the palace with the injured Aragorn, the state of the lord of Gondor was bad. Man was pale, he lost a lot of blood and had an alarmingly high fever. Medics feared that ointment didn't help and his wound got infected. Although, a few hours after their return the situation started to improve, the king was still in the strange, disturbing coma. This is why Legolas couldn't tell if Aragorn would recover. He hoped that this would happen, but he could not predict the future. He only knew that the next hour will show the fate of his friend.
After a short moment, Legolas put a smile on his face and nodded.
''Of course. Our herbalists can do wonders. I don't know if YOU dwarves and your clumsy hands can do that, but we elves...'', he said. He didn't want to share his disturbing thoughts with Gimli. He wanted to spare him grief and nerves. Therefore, rather than sadden, he decided to tease him. He knew his friend really well and he knew that in situations when someone tramples his ''dwarf pride'', he immediately forgets about all the problems and begin to fight in defense of his race.
''Really... stop it! We elves are beautiful, we elves are the best medics...'', interrupted him Gimli. His voice sounded shrill and funny. He put his hands on his hips and frowned. ''I don't need to be constantly reminded that I'm crude, stupid savage! Ugh. This is the second time today. SECOND, I tell you! Once again, and my tireless ax will go in motion!''
''Oh, forgive me. I do it out of habit.'', laughed Legolas.
Gimli sighed, scratched his hairy chin and stood up.
''Just forget about it. We should go to sleep. Tomorrow will be a tough day.'', he said, referring to a council which was announced immediately after Thranduil's arrival.
''You're right.'', Legolas got up from his chair and walked towards the door. After a few seconds the two friends disappeared into the hallway illuminated by small lamps in the shape of leaves.
Lady Arwen leaned over her husband and gently brushed away a strand of hair that fell to his feverish forehead.
''You will be well, my dear, and everything will be fine again.'', she whispered, stroking man's cheek. His handsome face didn't even twitch. No response, no reaction.
Woman sighed and picked up the blue cloth which was lying on the dresser standing next to the bed. She dipped it in a gilded bowl standing in the corner of the room and put it on the Aragorn's forehead. Her eyes wandered over the man's face and then they fixed on a distant point probably inherent in the world of dreams and thoughts.
When a soft knock was heard in the room, woman blinked a few times and said in a weak, tired voice:
''Please come in.''
The door opened and the king of the elves stepped inside. He slowly approached the bed and looked at the unconscious Aragorn.
''Medics say that he is better, but I feel that his condition did not improve.'', said Arwen quietly.
Thranduil looked at her with his pure azure eyes. For a moment they looked at each other in silent expression of sorrow and hope. Then they both stared at Aragorn.
''I am sure he will be fine. He just needs some time.'', said in a calm voice the king of the elves.
''Thank you for your words of encouragement, sire.'', smiled Arwen, she patted her husband on the hot hand and got up from the chair. ''I am very sleepy. Now, if you will excuse me, I will go to my chamber.''
Thranduil nodded and she left the room. Elf walked to the bed and sat on its edge.
''You have no right to leave your wife. She is too fragile to bear the pain. So... if you die, I will never forgive you .'', he said, looking at Aragorn's closed eyes. For a second, a strange, electrifying idea crossed his mind. It was telling him that his command was just a selfish way to show some of his hidden desires. He blinked and shook his head. He quickly abandoned this thought and adjusted wet cloth lying on Aragorn's forhead. Emerald ring started to shine delicately…
Elf flicked back his dark hair and looked to the right, at his guest.
''I shouldn't have agreed. Arwen shouldn't be there.'', he said. The man standing beside him scratched his chin.
''Why do you say that?'', he asked. His voice sounded like an old, strong bell.
''Strange winds blow above the Taur-e-Ndaedelos. I feel that something really bad is going to happen there, Gandalf.''
Old man named Gandalf frowned his bushy eyebrows and clenched his hand around his wooden cane. If Elrond had a bad feeling, that meant only one thing- a tragedy will take place somewhere.
A/N: In case someone doesn't know this - Taur-e-Ndaedelos is an other name of Mirkwood :)