"When a Balrog boils my tea! March yourself back in there and lie down!" Nimiel commanded, crossing her arms and trying her best to look intimidating. It did not have much effect on her daughter who leaned in the doorframe with a sweet yet calculating smile on her face.
"Please, Nimiel, I'm perfectly fine," Tauriel purred. "You see?" She put her weight on her right leg and almost managed to suppress the painful grimace it caused. Nimiel raised an eyebrow and refrained from a comment.
"What about two hours? One?" Tauriel bargained, and when that did not work either she played the last card she had left. "I have been forced to stay in bed the entire time while my soldiers cleaned the forest. You didn't even allow me to take part in planning the campaign."
"Exactly," Nimiel replied, "which did not stop Tuven and Glandir from coming here behind my back and telling you all about it. Taking your mind off blood and death for a while would certainly have helped your recovery."
Tauriel nodded patiently and kept up her smile, although by now it was the visual equivalent of a blade clashing with a shield. "Most definitely. And fortunately, now that all intruders north of the mountains have been eliminated and the old fortress has been destroyed, there is no more need for me to engage in such vile thoughts. All I'm asking is to be present when the king receives the delegations. I was explicitly asked to attend if my health allowed it, remember? It's expected of the Captain of the Guard, after all it's a matter of defence… of sorts."
Nimiel grabbed a piece of her apron and twisted it violently between her fingers. Tauriel observed her, trying not to think about what the very same death-grip had done to her wound not a month ago. "Please," she tried one last time, "let me leave this chamber just for one hour. I promise I will come straight back if it's too much. I'm suffocating in here! For six hundred years I have fought and bled and almost died for our home to become a better place, and now that it's beginning to happen, I'm trapped in here and can't witness any of it." She sighed in frustration and already reconciled herself with returning to her prison. The chamber itself was less burdensome than the thoughts that kept creeping into her mind whenever she could not find distraction – thoughts about the battle she had fought, the friends she had lost, the shadow she had gone through, and of course the uncertainty about Legolas' fate.
"Fine!" Nimiel hissed with a glare somewhere between annoyance and understanding. "You may attend the meeting, but you will not leave the halls and come back here immediately if you feel any sign of faintness or pain."
"Alright, don't worry! Thank you!" Tauriel answered and gave her mother a hug. When Nimiel opened her mouth to say more, her daughter was already up and away. The healer shook her head in silence.
Limping and cursing under her breath every time she stumbled, Tauriel made her way to the royal quarters. She ran into Galion, who stood in front of the door to the king's reception room, trying to open it while simultaneously balancing a tray with a carafe of wine, some glasses and a bowl of dried fruit. "Tauriel!" he exclaimed when he noticed her. "What a joy to see you on your feet. How are you feeling?"
"Well enough to give you a hand," she replied and opened the door for him. The large room was still empty, except for the two guards in parade armour lingering by the fireplace. On seeing Tauriel, they both snapped to attention. She signalled them to take their positions by the door.
"What are we to expect?" she whispered to Galion while he was distributing his charge on the round beech wood table in the centre of the room.
He made a grave face and answered, "The Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood will be here, of course." Tauriel nodded; like everybody else at the halls, she had already heard about the arrival of the two noble guests and their entourage the other day. Rumour had it the Galadhrim had torn down the old fortress and the king considered giving the southern part of Greenwood to them in turn. Tauriel did not know what to think of that, after all it was her home region.
"In addition," Galion continued, "we will receive the leaders of our treasured friends and allies, the Woodmen and the Beornings." He displayed a sour grimace and threw a pitiful look at the delicately crafted wine glasses.
Tauriel tried her hardest not to laugh. "Woodmen and Beornings," she repeated, "I believe I haven't seen any life sign of them in decades, at least not when we could have used their help, and now that there might be something in it for them, they suddenly decide to be our friends…"
"As much as I have heard, they did participate in the latest campaign against the spiders," Galion pointed out, although Tauriel was not altogether convinced.
"All I'm saying is…" she started, before she was interrupted by someone entering.
It was the king's scribe, wearing his official robes and carrying a pile of paper, various quills and a rolled up map. "Good morning, Captain," he greeted Tauriel with a short nod, taking no further notice of Galion, "I am glad to see you so well recovered."
She returned the gesture and replied, "Thank you, Lord Rosdir. May I ask if there has already been an agreement as to what will happen with the forest?"
He assessed her as if he was pondering whether a warrior would even be capable of following his words. Eventually he stated, "An agreement has indeed been made and it will be sealed now, but I do not believe it is my place to tell you in advance… Galion, would you mind?" He waved his map in the butler's face and gestured towards the table.
Galion gave him the friendliest and most artificial smile Tauriel had ever seen and pushed the glasses aside to make room for the map. Turning towards Tauriel, he rolled his eyes and silently mouthed the word "Sindar!" The captain had some difficulty keeping a straight face.
Shortly afterwards the sound of stomping feet and confused muttering in the Common Tongue – of a rather peculiar variety – announced the arrival of more newcomers. Another palace guard appeared in the doorframe, stopped and bowed her head to the captain before she stepped aside to let the visitors pass. Tauriel, Galion and Lord Rosdir were left speechless for a moment on seeing three huge, bearded mortal Men entering the reception room, immediately filling it up with their mere presence, not to mention their loud voices and their very particular smell.
"We are delighted to welcome you, my lords," the scribe brought himself to utter. He took a few hesitant steps towards them and stretched out his hand. Tauriel remembered vaguely that this was the custom among Men. The biggest one of the three, hairy as a Dwarf and clad in nothing but a pair of knee-length trousers and a woollen waistcoat, grabbed Rosdir's hand and shook it vigorously, a cordial smile on his face. The Elda stood with his back to Tauriel, but she could imagine his pained expression. She pitied him – well, almost.
The giant Man let go of Rosdir and glanced expectantly at the two other Elves. Tauriel decided it was her duty to protect Galion from the visitor's rough affection and stepped forward. "Welcome," she said jovially, making sure her hands were safely kept behind her back. "Tauriel, Captain of the Woodland Guard," she felt the need to introduce herself, seeing the Man's confusion and only remembering in this very moment that she was wearing a dress and not a uniform.
Enlightenment flashed over the visitor's large face. "I see, it's a pleasure to meet you. My late father mentioned you once or twice. He said you fought valiantly at the Lonely Mountain." Now Tauriel was at a complete loss and only replied with a tentative smile. The Man bowed his head to both her and Galion. "Grimbeorn the Old they call me, Chieftain of the Beornings. Although, in company such as this, 'old' may be inadequate." He let out a laugh that sounded like a dragon's cough – not that Tauriel had ever heard one.
"Grimbeorn," she repeated. "So, are you of the…" For lack of any appropriate words she gestured vaguely in a south-western direction, where the home of the Beornings lay.
"The Carrock," he affirmed and added with a mischievous grin, "or did you mean if I was one of the infamous skin-changers?" He stroked his abundant beard. "Either is true. We still live at the western edge of the forest, where the Woodmen first pledged their allegiance to my father. And indeed, like him, I can change my shape – would you like to see?"
His grin left no doubt that he was joking, but still Tauriel raised her hands and answered quickly, "No, please, don't trouble yourself!" He chuckled and gave her a light slap on the shoulder that almost made her injured leg give way, before he stepped to the table and helped himself to some dried fruit. Galion and Tauriel shared a look of silent amazement.
In the meantime the two other Men had finished their exchange with Rosdir. The scribe introduced Tauriel to the guests, "Lord Khryllm-tak and Master Hvôaram, this is Captain Tauriel of the Woodland Guard." She bowed her head, trying to ignore his unveiled indignation on pronouncing their names. With their braided hair and their clean, neatly sewn garments the Woodmen looked quite civilised, except for the long, curved knives both of them carried on their belts. She glared at the guards by the door and took a mental note to address this negligence before returning to the healing quarters.
It did not take long until the most distinguished participants of the meeting arrived. The king entered the room, looking rather unmotivated. After him came the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien, both as unearthly as every time Tauriel had seen them. She bowed her head as they walked past her, feeling somewhat dizzy when the lady's gaze rested on her for a moment. They were followed by a Galadhrim soldier whom Tauriel recognised with mixed feelings. She signalled him to step aside with her while the rulers and chieftains sat down around the table.
"Mae govannen, Haldir," she whispered, "I hoped, I mean thought, I wouldn't see you again so soon."
The soldier smirked and replied dryly, "I wish I could have spared you the surprise, but as our captain fell at Dol Guldur five days ago and Lord Celeborn wanted a guard with a basic understanding of the Common Tongue as well as your people's… extravagant language to accompany him, here I am."
Tauriel ignored the insult. "May the stars of Elbereth illuminate Captain Eredhon's way to Mandos," she said quietly before she wanted to know, "Did you really destroy Dol Guldur?"
"We did," Haldir affirmed and added, "you're welcome. They attacked us three times – the first two assaults were not more than a nuisance, but the third time they entered Caras Galadhon. We fought them off and Lord Celeborn decided we might as well destroy their source."
"That's what I've been telling my king for centuries," Tauriel muttered.
"We slew the spiders and the Orcs ", Haldir continued not without pride, "and then Lady Galadriel tore down the walls of the fortress. What about you? I heard you had quite a fight here as well? Your forest looks rather miserable – perhaps not more so than before, but differently miserable."
Tauriel gasped. "Does it? I haven't even seen it yet. It's true, we had a battle here and it was… well, you saw all the graves on the hill by the river, I suppose. I've been in the healing quarters ever since, I caught a morgul arrow." Haldir instantly took a step away from her. She scowled and decided her attention was better invested following the conversation at the table.
The rulers had just finished their exchange of polite greetings and the king intended to move on to business as quickly as possible. He cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. "With your permission I am now going to summarise the agreements that have been made in the last days: In memory of our mutual effort and in honour of the newly forged alliance between our peoples," he growled with a smile even more dishonest than Galion's a while before, "we have agreed on dividing Greenwood the Great, which will from this day on be called Eryn Lasgalen, in three territories."
He put his finger on the map and drew an imaginary line along the mountain chain. "The Woodland Realm will remain in the northern part. Our friends, the Woodmen and the Beornings," he all but glared at the three mortals, "will receive the area between the mountains and the narrows in the South, including the Old Forest Road. You may make your homes there and use the forest as you please, but I remind you of your promise to grant the Eldar free passage through these lands at any time."
The Men nodded solemnly, whereas the king seemed to cringe at the thought of having to bargain with them over his people's access rights to their own home. "The southern region," he concluded, "shall be known as East Lórien and belong to the Galadhrim as a sign of our gratitude for destroying the fortress of Dol Guldur." Tauriel feared his head was going to explode any moment from all the pretended devotion. "Is there anything you would like to add?"
The two Woodmen looked at the map, then at each other, and the older one answered, "We agree with everything that has been said."
"So do I, by my beard!" roared Grimbeorn.
The Lord and Lady of Lothlórien exchanged a long look, but neither of them spoke. Eventually Lord Celeborn nodded, as if they had come to a silent agreement, and Lady Galadriel said, "We are honoured to accept your generous offer, King Thranduil. Yet, as the region around Dol Guldur may still be infested by all sorts of residual dangers, we would greatly appreciate some help in making it inhabitable. So we ask you to send a part of the Woodland Guard along with our soldiers, let us say for one year, to show them the best ways of, well, staying alive in this forest." She fixed Thranduil with a friendly yet somewhat clouded gaze.
"One year?" he repeated and raised an eyebrow. "Very well, I shall do anything to ensure your people's safety. Who can expect them to know their way around this vicious place when all they have ever known is fair Lothlórien where the leaves never fall?" His words were dripping with irony, but to Tauriel's surprise Lady Galadriel did not even seem to notice. Next to Tauriel, Haldir snorted under his breath.
Thranduil whispered something to Rosdir and the scribe started scribbling on the documents he had brought. When he was done he handed them to the king, who skimmed the first one, nodded and declared, "Let us make our agreement official by signing the contract." He handed one piece of paper to every party and all the rulers put their signatures on each document.
When everything had been completed to his satisfaction, the king rose, followed by his guests, and thanked them. "You may, of course, enjoy the hospitality of the Woodland Halls for as long as you wish," he added. 'Hopefully it's not too long,' Tauriel completed his sentence in her mind.
Grimbeorn and the Woodmen left the room with Lord Rosdir and Galion, whereas the other Eldar stayed. "Haldir!" Lord Celeborn called his soldier, who walked up to him and bowed his head. The lord assessed him for a moment, as if pondering a decision. Then he asked, "You have always been fond of travelling to foreign lands, have you not?" From her position Tauriel could clearly see the wince that went through Haldir's body.
"Yes, my lord," the soldier replied as neutrally as possible.
"Well then, you will have the honourable task of going to East Lórien with some of our people. See what you can make of the place, clean it up, make it… agreeable. Learn as much as you can from the Woodland Guard."
Haldir gulped and repeated, "Yes, my lord. Uhm… How long do you wish me to stay?"
"For now you will stay until we return from our journey," the lord replied, and after a sympathetic look at Haldir's miserable expression he added, "Come now, this is not a punishment but an honour. I would not trust it to anyone less worthy." The soldier forced a smile.
Before Tauriel could decide whether she approved of Haldir being in charge of her old home region, the king called her. She crossed the room, trying her best not to limp too badly. "Captain, you will select twenty soldiers to accompany the Galadhrim to East Lórien. I suggest Lieutenant Glandir and some southern border guards."
She did not know how her mind even came up with the next idea, but before she could stop herself, she asked, "May I go myself? I'm familiar with the area and I'm sure I could be of much help to the Galadhrim."
Thranduil's eyebrows shot up and he stated calmly, "You are not yet recovered. Glandir will do very well, he has commanded the Southern Border Guard for centuries."
"So did I before him," Tauriel tried, "and I request your permission to…"
"Captain Tauriel," the king cut her short, "I have not survived three ages and twice as many wars to be eventually poisoned by my own head healer – because that is what would happen if I let you go to East Lórien in your current state. You will stay here until your health is restored, then you may offer your assistance. Now go, take Haldir with you and make the necessary arrangements. And then you will return to the healing quarters immediately or both of us shall regret this day." He sounded perfectly serious but Tauriel saw a flicker of a smirk in the corner of his mouth.
"As you wish, my lord." She bowed to the three rulers and with a sigh of frustration she signalled Haldir to follow her.
When they had left the reception room, he stopped her, "What was that about? You can't go to the forest with an injury like this!"
"I know," she admitted begrudgingly, "but it kills me to be trapped here while so much is happening outside. All I can do is watch and wait and… remember." She paused, trying not to let the terrible images resurge.
Haldir watched her for a few seconds and his face showed understanding. "I see," was all he could and needed to say. "Come on, let's get you a little distracted. Show me the infamous Lieutenant Glandir, and on the way you can tell me what else I have to expect from this charming forest of yours."
She gave him a light punch on the arm. "You can talk! You aren't the one whose home region has just been bartered away."
He frowned. "That's where you come from, that savage, beast-infested area around Dol Guldur? My, my, if that doesn't explain a lot…"
"You'll meet worse things than me there, I promise," she grumbled and dragged him along.
-x-x-x-x-
Thranduil watched the captain leave the reception room, followed by the Galadhrim guard, and could not help shaking his head at her eagerness. He understood her motives, she had the same haunted look in her eyes that he had seen with many soldiers after battle.
He helped himself to a glass of wine and poured two more for his guests. "You mentioned a journey," he remarked casually to Lord Celeborn.
His kinsman nodded and affirmed, "We are going to travel to Minas Tirith soon. It is not every day that one's granddaughter becomes Queen of Gondor." He raised his glass in reference to the upcoming event, however bittersweet it might be.
"Will she indeed?" Thranduil asked in surprise. "How do you know? Oh right, need I even ask?" he added with a glance at the lady. She did not notice it – in fact, she still appeared somewhat distant, as if her thoughts were far away, and her usual radiance of wisdom and power seemed more like a fading candle at present. He had never seen her like that before and he shot a confused glance at Celeborn. The lord's eyes rested on his wife as well, worried but calm. On noticing Thranduil's look, he cleared his throat and touched her hand.
She gave a small start and collected her thoughts before she replied, "Oh, yes. Given the recent events, we may safely conclude that the King of Gondor is alive and has claimed his throne in the Citadel. Besides, I have a strong feeling that our son in law and our granddaughter are already on their way to Lothlórien." She stated it like a fact and Thranduil saw Celeborn mouthing the word 'mirror'.
The king nodded knowingly and took a sip of wine, pondering the best way to address the obvious subject at hand. Eventually he started, "Given that it is still too risky to send messengers across Arda and the distance is too great to use birds – did your mirror, by any chance, have anything to say about the fate of my son?" He concentrated hard to suppress the tremble in his voice.
The lady smiled reassuringly. "It did not have anything grievous to say," she answered and Thranduil could almost feel the tension falling off him before Galadriel added, "yet the son who left you will never return to you."
The king almost dropped his glass and snapped, "What? How is that not grievous?"
Lady Galadriel looked astonished for a moment, but before Thranduil could ask her anything more, Lord Celeborn reminded her quietly, "Meleth nín, this is a worried father, he needs answers, not prophecies." He turned to Thranduil and explained, "When the Ring-bearer's company passed through Lothlórien, Galadriel saw in Legolas' heart that he would soon hear the call of the sea. He will not find peace in this forest anymore."
"But he is alive," Thranduil confirmed almost anxiously and was relieved to see the lady's nod. For the time being he refused to care about Legolas' presumed sea-sickness, as long as his son was safe. He emptied his glass in one gulp and sat down. He observed a short silent argument between the couple until Lady Galadriel floated dramatically over to the fireplace. Celeborn only shook his head in resignation and signalled Thranduil to pass the wine.
From across the room Galadriel addressed the king as if speaking to a less than bright child, "You see, conveying prophecies is an art of its own. Sometimes I overestimate the degree of subtlety that I can impose on certain people. I apologise if my words distressed you."
"Not at all," he grumbled and added a snide remark about the Noldor in general and Galadriel in particular in his mind before he remembered that he had to be careful with his thoughts in her proximity.
"Now, now, there is no need to drag my people into this, dear Thranduil. Or did they offend you?" came the immediate response, along with a smile as sweet as honey and a glimpse of her usual self. The king let out a controlled breath, whereas Celeborn stoically poured himself the next glass of wine with a grimace that could be translated to 'May the games begin'.
As hard as Thranduil tried to calm down, Galadriel's attitude never failed to aggravate him. "Forgive me for dwelling on the past, but your people massacred my people," he snarled.
"That was six thousand five hundred years ago!" Galadriel retaliated. For once she seemed her old self again and he felt her gaze piercing right into his mind when she added, "I lost loved ones there as well. How is it my fault that my cousins were so… overeager?"
"Overeager?" Thranduil bellowed. "I would very much like to know what my mother and sisters in the Halls of Mandos would think of this choice of words. Are you losing the last bit of common sense because the power of your ring is fading?"
At that Lady Galadriel stopped short and turned white as a sheet. Her imposing presence that had filled the room a minute ago was gone. Thranduil was startled for a moment because he had not foreseen the effect his words would have. Lord Celeborn set down his glass and said calmly, "That is enough, both of you." He fixed Thranduil with a firm gaze that brooked no dissent and reminded the Elvenking why, in his childhood, he had looked up to his older relative like a hero.
Meanwhile the lady had regained her composure. She walked up to her husband and whispered something, shot Thranduil a glare that was almost physically painful and left the reception room. The king stared after her for a few seconds, then he blinked and shook his head. Lord Celeborn observed him and stated, "That was not entirely necessary, was it?"
"Why are you taking her side?" Thranduil grumbled.
"Because I will return home with her, not with you," his kinsman gave back pragmatically and sat down. It took Thranduil a moment to grasp the irony, but then he allowed himself to smirk.
"I will never understand why you married her," he muttered, distributing the remaining wine in both their glasses.
Celeborn shrugged and smiled. "You do not have to." After taking a sip he added, "By the Valar, how I shall miss her when she sails."
Thranduil looked up, confused. "Will you not go with her?"
"Not yet," Celeborn replied, "as much as I too wish to see our daughter again, I cannot bring myself to leave these shores just now. I think it may do us good to spend some time apart after so many years. For her, sailing west is the only reasonable choice. You are right, the fading of her ring is affecting her. I curse the day Celebrimbor gave it to her – she has never been the same since then. She always wished to return to Valinor, but she stayed for my sake and over time she grew fond of this place. But since she received the ring, she has gradually lost all joy of living here and her thoughts have wandered to the sea more and more often. And now that its power is almost gone, she is but a shadow of herself."
Thranduil gulped, suddenly feeling like a Troll trampling flowers. "I am sorry for my remark," he uttered.
"Do not trouble yourself," his kinsman answered and waved his hand. "She can be trying, I am the last one to deny that, and if I had received a coin for every Sindar joke from her relatives back in the day, I could have bought myself a Silmaril."
"I still maintain you should have married that flautist with the annoying laugh – do you remember her?" Thranduil joked.
"I do indeed," Celeborn replied and grinned. "Yet I still maintain you should have married your sharp-tongued healer. By the way, how is she?"
Thranduil cleared his throat and answered coolly, "Lady Nimiel is faring well. She is working a lot, of course, after the battle. Which reminds me: Shall we go and see what my captain and your soldier have worked out regarding East Lórien?" He congratulated himself on the diversionary manoeuvre. Celeborn gave him an odd look, but in the end he agreed and they started their way to the Guard's quarters.
-x-x-x-x-
King Elessar Telcontar, ruler of the Reunited Kingdom of Gondor and Arnor, wielder of the Reforged Blade, sat in a gloomy study in one of the many towers of his new capital and rattled off every curse in all the languages of Elves and Men that he knew – which made for quite a list. Legolas failed miserably at his effort to keep a straight face, whereas Gimli only asked bluntly, "What are you complaining about this time?"
Aragorn let out a sigh of frustration that sounded as if it came from the deepest chasms of Moria. "You have no idea how lucky you are not to be a king," he gave back. "I've been stuck here doing paperwork since dawn."
"You should get a scribe and some advisors. I'm sure Imrahil or Faramir wouldn't mind assisting you for now," Legolas suggested.
Aragorn shook his head. "They have enough work to do as it is. Imrahil took it upon himself to oversee the distribution of goods among the people whose homes were destroyed. Besides, he still commands the troops. And Faramir has just returned from Ithilien and will start organising the rebuilding. I need to get used to this dull task myself." He grimaced when he took up his quill again.
Legolas knew all too well how his friend felt. "Maybe I can help you," he offered. "I can look through the documents and sort them for you, so you know which ones you only have to sign and which ones need revising. My father and I do it this way."
"Thank you, mellon nín, that would be helpful," the king replied and Legolas sat down. Gimli, on the other hand, saw that he would not be of much help.
"What about those city gates, Aragorn?" he asked before leaving the study. "I talked to the smiths and showed them my drafts, but I doubt they will be able to implement them. I say we invite some Dwarves from my home to forge the new gates and build a few decent battlements and…"
"Yes, yes, do whatever you want as long as you don't wake a Balrog beneath my capital," Aragorn interrupted the Dwarf. Gimli graciously ignored the allusion and took his leave.
When the door had closed, Legolas decided to tackle his own mission. Truth be told, helping Aragorn with his paperwork was not entirely a selfless action – he had two requests to make and was not sure if they would be well received, so he began with a harmless subject. "Gimli may be right in saying the city needs new defences, but I think a little green would do no harm either. In fact, Arwen agrees with me. By the way, your White Tree is growing nicely. I went up there this morning with Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel and we found Sam pulling out weeds around it."
Aragorn chuckled. "He's probably the best gardener Minas Tirith has ever seen. I should offer him a permanent position, but I guess he prefers his own garden in the Shire."
Pleased with the direction this conversation was taking, Legolas started, "Speaking of which: Almost three months have passed since the final battle and you know it has been a pleasure and an honour to be here with you for your coronation and your wedding…"
"I know what you're about to say," the king interrupted him with a melancholic smile. "You want to go home and I perfectly understand, although it will pain me to see all of you leave soon. Let me suggest something: Éomer should come back from Rohan any day now to take King Théoden's body home. Arwen and I will go to Edoras with him to pay our respects, attend his coronation and Faramir and Éowyn's betrothal. The Hobbits, Gandalf and the people of Imladris and Lothlórien will come as well, so how about you and Gimli join us and continue north afterwards?"
Legolas nodded, not entirely happy about yet another delay but grateful for the opportunity to be with his friends during these important events. "I will go with you," he agreed, "and I'm sure so will Gimli." He paused, clearing his throat, before he eventually continued, "I have another request to make. Faramir and I have been talking a lot about how much time and effort it will take to restore Ithilien. I only saw it in ruins, but I believe the old stories that call it the fairest country of the westlands, and I think it can be just that again, as well as a reliable stronghold against any possible threats from the South. I would like to help rebuild it, so if you allow it, I will bring some of my people to Ithilien for as long as our kind may stay on these shores and make it healthy and green again."
For a moment Aragorn was speechless, but he found his composure again soon enough. "Why, of course I allow it!" he exclaimed and laid his hand on Legolas' shoulder. "You and your people shall be most welcome to stay as long as you want."
"Thank you," Legolas answered, "that is if I can convince Tauriel to come with me and my father to let me go, I should add." He tried to smile, but it did not turn out as convincing as he had hoped.
Aragorn observed him and said without a hint of irony, "You are a curious sort of hero, Legolas Thranduilion. You regret not helping to protect your home, don't you, when you did in fact help to save the whole world instead."
"You don't understand," Legolas gave back, taking a quill from the desk and twisting it between his fingers. "Lady Galadriel told me what happened in Greenwood. They burnt our forest and slaughtered our people, and I wasn't there. I regret that, of course, and I thank the Valar every waking moment for keeping my father and Tauriel alive – but I don't actually… miss my home. All my life I was certain that Greenwood was where I belonged, but since that Eru-forsaken day at the haven of Pelargir, I can't imagine finding peace there ever again, or anywhere else on these shores. It scares me, Aragorn! It sounds ridiculous, but all I wish is to be homesick. Well, I am – just not for the place I used to call home." He stopped, staring down at the stack of paper in front of him.
The king let out a deep breath, unsure what to say. Legolas managed to look up and smile. "One would think after seven hundred and thirteen years I should be able to handle my own feelings," he mumbled and shrugged. "I'll just wait and see – I bet when Tauriel hears about all this, she'll ask me if I've inhaled too many poisonous fumes in Mordor… Now, shall we get this paperwork done?"