It is clear I have a long road ahead of me setting Legolas to rights and so I start as soon as I possibly can. It is early the next morning I knock on his door. I am not about to let him wander off to breakfast and into the swirling cauldron that is Aragorn and his brothers without me. I am expecting Maewen when the door opens slowly.
It is not her.
Instead it is the last person I expected to see, for despite Aragorn's clear warning of the night before, that brooding son of Elrond stands before me—Elrohir.
"What do you want?" He glares at me and the question is an aggressive one. How dare he challenge me! He is the one who was told to stay away. He is the one who has treated Legolas badly all these years. I am the one who has the right to be here.
"I want to see Legolas, obviously. I told you last night I mean to fix him since no one else believes it possible and I am here to do just that. Did you not think I would be true to my word?"
"I have no doubt of your steadfastness," he replies, and is it my imagination or does he soften slightly?
Still I do not have time to argue with this most difficult of elves, there is work to do. I peer behind him searching for my friend but there is no sign of him. Nor is Maewen there, or Erynion.
"He is sleeping." The Noldor tells me as if he knows exactly what I am thinking as my eyes sweep the room. "I know it is late but I thought it best to let him. Rest cannot hurt him." There it is again—that softening of his voice—I did not imagine it that time for he speaks almost with affection. "Still, you are here now and your company will do him good," He continues. "I will wake him." And he turns on his heels and strides into the bedroom closing the door behind him.
What is going on here? Since when did Elrohir become guardian of Legolas?
I cannot hold my tongue when he returns for he should not be here, and I need to know why he is.
"I am sure I remember Aragorn telling you implicitly to stay away from here last night," I say curtly, "and yet here you are."
"Estel does not have the right to dictate who I do or do not see," he snaps. "I am here because I wish to be and if he does not like that it is his problem."
"He has the right to protect his friend within his own city, and it seems he believes you a danger to Legolas." I will not be cowed by Elrohir's bad temper. I am made of sterner stuff than that and I will get answers. Aragorn's words of the night before float into my mind. I cannot even protect him from my own brother, he said. Why did I not think to ask him what he meant by that?
"He is wrong."
"Is he though?" I have years of resentment over the treatment Legolas has recieved from this particular elf and now, finally, I have a chance to hold him to account. "For I can well see how he could draw that conclusion. You have been nothing but cruel to Legolas for as long as I have known you. It has hurt him in the past and he is in no fit state to deal with your disdain now. I am with Aragorn in this. You should stay away."
"You are right," he admits to my great surprise. "I have behaved badly in the past and that is regrettable but you have my word I am not here to harm him now. I have told Estel that but he will not hear it."
"Do you blame him?" I remember Aragorn, so utterly defeated last night. I will stand up for him if I can.
"No," The Noldor turns away, "I suppose it is to be expected he will think the worst of me in this. But I tell you it is not so. I am not what you think I am."
"And what has changed?" I challenge him. "You stand there and ask me to believe everything that has gone before was a lie and you are no longer a threat to him, what has changed Elrohir?"
"Everything has changed!" He spins back around to face me, eyes wide. "Everything!" he cries, but before he can elaborate the bedroom door swings open and Legolas stands there, swaying slightly as he stares at us. He looks so young, so bewildered that my heart twists at the sight of him. He is only half dressed, a shirt draped over his shoulders but one arm is splinted and so he has obviously struggled—and failed—to get any further with it. It is Elrohir who sets him to rights, who deftly threads his arm through the sleeve and fastens the buttons. He is soft and gentle, caring as I have never seen him be. It is completely incongruous with everything I know of these two and so strange to watch.
"Gimli is here," Elrohir says when he has finished, "so I will leave you with him. I promised Elladan I would not let him sleep too long so I must see he is awake. The healing energy he expended on the sealonging has exhausted him."
"I am sorry," It is only a murmur when Legolas speaks and he sounds so burdened.
"It is not your fault." Elrohir is firm in his rebuttal of the apology, "You do not have to apologise for having the sea-longing, Legolas."
He places a hand under Legolas' chin and tilts the downcast face up so Legolas has no choice but to look him in the eyes. It is a gesture of such care I am left astounded. Is this an act for my sake to prove he has changed?
"I will see you soon," he whispers in Sindarin, I presume he thinks I will not understand but he is wrong in that. "I promise," and then he turns to go, but Legolas reaches out, almost with a desperation and grasps his hand as he leaves, their fingers lingering in contact with each other right to the very last touch, until only the tips brush together, as if neither of them wish to let go.
And then Elrohir is gone and it is Legolas and I all alone.
"Where is Maewen?" I ask him, for I am surprised at her absence and how he has come to be left in the care of the Noldor in the first place. "Why is she not here?" It is an innocuous enough question, I think but Legolas jumps like a startled rabbit, as if he is a child caught in a wrong-doing.
"She is at breakfast," he splutters, eyes wide and anxious.
"She went to breakfast without you? That makes no sense, Legolas. Why would she leave you alone?"
"I was sleeping," he says quickly and defensively, "and I was not alone. Elrohir was here."
"That is exactly what I mean. Why ever would Maewen leave you with Elrohir who has always made it quite clear he dislikes you?"
"I suppose she was hungry." He snaps out the words, dripping with sarcasm, while he looks anywhere...anywhere but at me. He has always been a terrible liar and now he is even worse than usual. It is obviously a complete fabrication.
"Why is Elrohir here with you anyway?" I ask him with a frown, "He has never sought out your company before."
"Elladan asked him to visit. . ." Legolas splutters out eventually. The lies are not coming as easily to him as they usually do. Usually he is all long, wordy, tales so complicated you end up agreeing with him just to to keep him quiet.
"Elladan is asleep!" I cry in triumph, "Elrohir just said so." But my triumph is short-lived for Legolas is so agitated now I cannot push home my advantage and find out the truth. That would be cruel and gain me nothing if I want to help him today.
"He helps me with the sea," he says with a hint of desperation, "Elrohir helps me with the sea, Gimli." It is as if I can read his very thoughts...please don't ask me...please don't ask me...and so I stop —for now—I change the subject and move on. It is too painful to watch the anxiety that churns him up. Whatever is going on here I will have to find someone else to tell me.
"Alright lad," I pat his good arm gently to reassure him. "It is good he helps you with that. Now-" I put my arm around him then and steer him towards the door, trying to divert him. "I am hungry, Legolas. What say you to some breakfast?" He comes with me readily enough but I can feel the tension in him as he does so, that is, until I turn us away from Aragorn's study and the dining room, both.
"Where are we going, Gimli?" He asks, "This is not the way to breakfast. The others will be. . ." He trails off but indicates the way we should be going.
"Aragorn and his brothers seem to be having problems of the sibling variety." I say and I smile as I say it for I do not want to worry him. "They are revisiting childhood squabbles. It will be a most unrestful breakfast if we eat with them so I thought you and I would find our own breakfast."
Instantly he is at ease. The tension drains away before my very eyes and he grins . . . He grins!
"And where do you suggest we get it?" He is smiling now, "If not with Aragorn where will we find food in this place?" He throws his arms wide and it is as if he is still the same, still my Legolas. It is a flash of Legolas shining through.
He is still in there!
"The kitchens of course. I am sure you can charm those lasses who flutter all around you out of some honey cakes, Legolas." He always has been a charmer, has Legolas, when he wants to be.
"Oh, I can!" He throws an arm across my shoulders then, as we stroll and he laughs. His laugh is still the same, still beautiful like the sun and suddenly the grief and fear, which I have buried away since I recieved Arwen's letter comes bubbling to the surface. Walking here next to him as he smiles and jokes with me brings home just how close I came to having no Legolas at all. I meant what I said to Aragorn last night. I can never repay him for bringing this wild elf back to me. The thought I may have lost him forever is crushing.
"Legolas," Suddenly I realise I must tell him this. "I am so glad you are here, lad. So glad—" I have to stop, for despite myself there tears in my eyes and my voice begins to crack. This will not help him, pouring all this emotion on top of him. I must swallow this now and we can deal with it another time.
But he has stopped, and stands, looking at me quizzically.
"What is wrong?" he asks. "What upsets you? Have I done something?"
"You have done nothing, Legolas, except cast this spell upon me that makes me sentimental about the loss of a foolish woodelf. It must be catching . . . Your elvishness, I am hardly recognisable as a dwarf." I must make light of my grief, for now I have seen this brief return of his lightness I want to keep it. I want him always to be laughing and happy as he just was.
"Hmm..." He thinks on that and then the grin returns, the arm about my shoulder as we recommence our walk. "I am looking forward to those honey cakes," he smiles "but I fear I will get far more of them than you, Gimli for we both know I am the most charming of us both."
And I answer him with my usual bluster because he expects it. We exchange insults down the corridor and it is good. It is how we usually are.
We are nearly at the kitchen when he finally answers my admission of sadness.
"I am glad I am here too, Gimli," he says quietly. "The grief when I thought I could not return...You have no idea."
Then we are through the doors into the warmth of the kitchen, surrounded by giggling servants and the smells of delicious food, and there is no time for me to answer him. His words are lost in the chaos.
