Authors Note: I am trying to stick fairly closely to the book in this story, and usually I write in book universe rather than movie, but I really like the interaction between Legolas and Aragorn during the saving of Pippin from the palantir in the movie and so I have put a it of that in here...my bad!

I am glad to leave Isengard, for many reasons, not least of all that I am back in my rightful place behind Legolas, on top of Arod. For he is now controlled and contained again. My familiar Legolas, who needs no looking after.

Our meeting with Saruman was not a pleasant one. He is a snake; a wily, poisoned charmer. His words are evil and they twist and turn your mind. They did not affect me though. Not Gimli Gloinson. We dwarves may well be enticed and manipulated by the lure of gold, but a wizards words? They have no power over us. I see right through him although for a moment I fear Theoden may not. He wavers, but in the end he is strong and he triumphs, as the King he is.

I am beyond thankful we did not attempt to go near when Legolas was still in chaos for my blood runs cold thinking of what Saruman could have done, getting his claws into the wide open mind of my elf. But by the time we got there Legolas' walls were well and truly up and if the Wizards words affected him I knew it not. He did not react. He was impenetrable.

I thought the worst was behind us when we left the tower but I was wrong, for Legolas has singlehandedly managed to get the pair of us an invitation to visit Ents. When I told him I would visit Fangorn with him, talking trees were not part of the arrangement. I have no idea how I will extract myself from this. . . Or if that is even possible now, for Legolas is a whirlwind of excitement about it and has sworn he will not go there without me. I can see myself being left with no option.

Still, I think, trying to make the best of a bad situation, the Ent was very impressed with my Orc count. Perhaps it will not be that bad.

Of course it will be bad.

The things I do for that elf.

I keep a wary eye on Legolas while we ride for I am not yet convinced of his wellness and I know now he is adept at concealment. Still even to my careful inspection he seems recovered. He begins to rub his arm shortly before Gandalf calls us to a halt but apart from that there is no hint of his injury, and no more foolish babbling either for which I am extremely grateful.

If anything he is quieter than usual.

Still he gives me a smile as he helps me dismount, so he is at least in good humour.

"Find us a place by the fire, Elvellon, while I see to Arod," he says, "For I wish to be warm tonight and these men will steal all the best spots if you are not careful."

Aragorn is beside us and I see his eyebrows raise in surprise at that name Legolas calls me. I am certain now it is not complimentary and I challenge him on it.

"What is that you call me Legolas? I like to know what it is people say to me."

The smile he bestows on me then is one filled with fondness.

"I have named you elf-friend, Gimli." he says over his shoulder as he takes the horse and guides it away. "But do not waste your time standing here for I do not wish to freeze tonight!"

He leaves me standing there with the wind taken out of my sails for I was prepared for a fight. He calls me friend and that is all? It is very anticlimactic .

"It is a title, an honorific," Aragorn bends down to speak quietly in my ear. "He names you friend to all elves. A serious honor Gimli for few mortals are ever named Elvellon. . . And dwarves?. . . I know of none, unless perhaps Narvi?"

Narvi? Legolas puts me in the same category as he, who fashioned those glorious doors into Moria with the help of the elven lord responsible for the making of those magic rings? I can not live up to that!

Has he lost his mind?

I manage to secure us prime position near the fire to sleep. I want the elf to sleep well tonight, for as I think back I realise he has had little or no rest since his injury. I do not want him falling off and leaving me alone on that drafted horse, I tell myself. But also, I must admit, I am concerned for him.

I have even bought him some food and he is effusive in his thanks when he finally arrives. But I am awkward for there is something I must tell him.

"Legolas-" He looks up from where he spreads out his bedding in surprise. "Aragorn has explained to me the meaning of this Elvellon and I. . ." I take a deep breath before I proceed for I do not know how he will take this, "I am pleased to be your friend Lad. A better friend I could not ask for, but he says it means friend of all elves, and Legolas. . . there are several elves I just do not like! I do not think I can do this."

He laughs and it is a merry sound that cannot fail but to lift the spirit.

"Ah Gimli!" He cries, "There are several that I do not like either! I cannot unsay it, Elvellon. And I do not want to. And if there is anyone more worthy I do not know them. You are a friend to the elves indeed."

He lays himself down then as if there is no more to say in the subject. I am not used to praise and not good at accepting it. I do not know how to do that with grace and without awkwardness and yet I am filled with a warmth, a glow at the thought he thinks so highly of me. I fall asleep with the idea of that in my mind and it is a good feeling.

Sadly we do not sleep for long.

We are awoken with a shout, a cry of terror. It is the hobbit, Pippin. He is a short way apart from us and he has that stone. That drafted evil stone of Saruman's. Why Gandalf did not leave it lying in the mud at the bottom of the swamp that is now Isengard I will never know. It takes me some moments to collect myself and gather my thoughts but it takes Legolas no time at all—his reflexes are so sharp—and he is off running towards him.

Aragorn reaches the hobbit first, tearing the stone from his hands with a cry of his own but it brings him to his knees. Then Legolas is behind him, supporting him, the both of them gazing in horror at whatever they see in it's depths and as the stone falls from Aragorn's hands, I can only watch as the two of them tumble backwards, Legolas breaking Aragorn's fall. But as he does so he lands on top of his sore shoulder, his injury.

It must hurt.

Then suddenly all is in chaos for it seems the wizard believes Sauron himself has reached through the stone to glimpse inside the hobbit's brain. The campsite erupts into a tumult of noise as they argue, Aragorn, Gandalf, Theoden, with the hobbit a quiet, pale, ghost of himself in the midst of them all. And Legolas stands, watching, good hand cradling his injured shoulder. His pain must be bad for he does not even attempt to hide it.

This is all the fault of that stone. Damn the wizard for not being able to leave well enough alone. Now Aragorn claims it. Wrapping it in his cloak before placing it away from sight in his pack, he insists it is his to own, despite the Wizards warnings, despite it having just hurt him. . . and Legolas . . . and the hobbit. We should just throw it away and be done with it.

It is then Legolas moves from his silent watching for he is angry.

"Feanorian magic!" He spits the words angrily at Aragorn, full of bitterness, before he lapses into Sindarin, which I am sure is full of insult, and stalks away.

But Aragorn, apart from shouting after him to let go his prejudice, ignores him. Ignores also the fact Legolas has hurt himself defending him. I am not pleased with that.

Eventually it is decided Gandalf and the hobbit will leave for Minas Tirith immediately, that Pippin cannot remain with us. The rest of us, will turn towards Edoras in the morning to await the muster of the Rohhirim

I leave them discussing details, they do not ask my opinion in any case, and go in search of Legolas.

I find him huddled by the fire, head on his knees, staring into the flames and he is miserable. I am not sure why.

"They have decided Gandalf will take the hobbit and leave us." I say conversationally as I sit next to him.

"Fool of a hobbit, touching that stone." He mutters.

"He is young, Legolas, and curious."

"That is his excuse, so what is Aragorn's for he wishes to bring it with us."

As much as I agree with him the stone is nothing but trouble, a pathway to Sauron it seems, and it would best if we discarded it I do not quite understand why it is upsetting him so. I decide to distract him by assessing his wellness.

"You are in pain. You hurt yourself."

"I fell awkwardly," he shrugs. "It jarred my arm. It is nothing and will settle. Do not worry Gimli."

I am just about to push him harder for details for I have learned never to take him at face value when Aragorn approaches and that is the end of that.

"Gandalf and Pippin prepare to leave. Will you come to see them off? Who knows when we will next see them."

"We have only just found that dratted hobbit," I say with fondness, "and now we must be sundered again. It hardly seems fair, Aragorn."

"And yet you insist on exposing us to the palantir, Aragorn." Legolas speaks over the top of me. He is not going to let this go in a hurry. "When Pippin has proved it is a danger."

"It is mine to own. I will master it and it may be helpful." Aragorn will not be swayed.

"It is not yours! It is Feanor's and no good will come of it. No good comes of anything to do with that cursed line. Kinslayers!" Legolas' vehemence is startling, and totally unannounced. Even Aragorn blinks in surprise.

"Is this Legolas speaking, or your father?" He asks and I remember Gandalf's words contributing the worst of Legolas' criticisms to Thranduil earlier. Aragorn has obviously remembered them too.

It is then we learn our lesson regarding any judgements we may make of Thranduil, for Legolas is on his feet in an instant. Injured arm or not, and he is furious.

"What would you know of my father?" He cries. The words are caustic and Aragorn flinches and yet he still retaliates.

"What Elrond has told me."

"And what would Elrond know? Shuttered away in his secluded paradise as he is. Hiding from the world. Leaving it for the rest of us to die fighting the evil he will not face. He is one step away from a Feanorian himself. Do you know what they did to my people? All for the sake of their jewels?"

I must admire Aragorn his self control for he keeps his cool in the face of this pure storm of anger.

"I know your history Legolas, as I know Elrond's. You know I do. I will not throw away something that could be of use to us simply because of the sins of someone long dead. That would be foolish."

"It is you who are foolish. Already it has proved itself a danger, already it has harmed us. I want nothing to do with it!"

"And I do not ask you too!" Finally Aragorn loses his cool. "If you wish to stay locked behind the prejudice of your elders, entangled in ancient history then so be it, Legolas."

This has gone too far now and I wonder at what has poisoned their tongues and unleashed this vicious need to hurt between the two of them. It is incongruous with all that has gone before. I am just about to step in, just about to distract them when it arrives.

The Nazgul.

Dark and ominous it approaches from above and blankets us with its fear. A fear so chilling, so all consuming, it is as if your very heart itself will cease to beat. I have never felt anything like it. It is pure terror and the men around us submit to it totally. They are in pieces.

Legolas has killed one of these creatures once. Well, killed the thing it rides at least and so it was forced to retreat crying back to its dark master. He shot it out of the sky, on his own, and I am in awe of him for it. To have the presence of mind amidst this horror to do that. . . And to succeed, is courage beyond belief.

He does not attempt it this time. Perhaps because his arm troubles him, for anything but a shot to kill would only draw attention and doom us. Still my eyes are drawn to him as I tear them from the hideous shadow in the sky. Anything to lesson the wave of fear which washes over my soul.

He stands, lit against the dark night by his glow. He does not flinch. He does not look away. His eyes are on the sky, arms by his side, the wind whips his hair across his face, He is beauty, strenght and power, all that is good in this world. In this moment it seems as if he could be one of those ancient elven lords he and Aragorn have just been arguing over.

And the Nazgul flies by, searching for us, hunting, sent out by whatever evil lurks in that stone, that palantir, as Legolas calls it. It flies on and we elude it. Or perhaps it simply reports our location to its master. But for whatever reason it leaves us alone and we can breathe again.

Legolas drops his hand then to my shoulder, a gesture of support as my fear ebbs away? Or a seeking of extra strength for himself? I do not know, but I am pleased to give it to him if he needs it.

And pleased, oh so pleased that he is at my side.