Thank you immensely, Ruiniel, for beta-reading!

I enjoyed all your reviews greatly; Legolass Q, Ruiniel, MirkwoodmaidenAlso, Aralas, Bigpattern, Thank you for motivating me!

Strength

Bright sun rays slid out between white fluffy clouds casting warm beams of light on the stone burg. Cenulf walked slowly, his gaze straying from the illuminated stone tiles to the pale fleecy softness; like cotton wool, like spun sugar, he mused.

He remembered how, as a child, he had asked his mother if he could touch them. He remembered it now, on this day, after the gruesome battle; after the fear, too many deaths, and immense grief to this fortress. He felt the strange sensation pricking his fingers as if he could do so. - The feeling he had imagined as a child; to sail on a cloud, a huge woolly mound, but softer… like velvet, like silk. How comforting and delightful it must be… and for a brief moment in his heart he was that child again, who had seen nothing yet of war, who was living and playing with his siblings in their little cottage and in the small garden, well protected, with his mother who was always there to care. Sometimes his father would return home. Cenulf remembered him, riding high up on the horse, clad in armour, tall, his helmet gleaming in the sun. He had held them close and played with them. He remembered excitement and laughter and strong arms around him anytime his father was home. Until, one day, he did not return anymore. But the fluffy white clouds returned, time and time again, and he had never ceased to imagine how it would feel to touch and to sail on them, up high, in the wide sky.

They had delayed their departure to Isengard for a day again, because of the grievous wounding of the elf, to allow him time to at least partly recover. Cenulf had heard very well that the ranger and the dwarf had no intention of departing without their friend. And the wizard would certainly not want to separate them. In the bonds of friendship lay their strength. That made the difference to the sheer number and empty, violent power of their enemies, Gandalf had said. Cenulf had witnessed the truth of those words in these few days. He now felt ashamed at how, at the time, they had struggled to value over everything the fact that they had emerged victorious, where none of them had dared to hope - against the odds and all sane logic.

They had been exhausted and grieved by the overwhelming amount and cruelty of their losses. They could not see what they had achieved - that they had miraculously escaped the destruction of Rohan. Not least because of the steadfast endurance and determination, the strong courage surpassing all reason, of this ranger of the north, named Aragorn - the exiled heir of Gondor no less - and his loyal companions; a dwarf and an elf. Creatures he and many of his men had never met before, as if escaped from legends, now standing real and fleshed out before them. Far from their homes, they had fought at his people's side. Ready to sacrifice their own lives for these lands and a future belonging to men, for hope and friendship.

With the dwarf, it had been easy. His gruff, direct and practical ways they had quickly learned to appreciate. Not so easy to handle had been the presence of the elf. Cenulf sighed as he recalled how unfair he had behaved himself. He and his companions had felt a strange power emanating from this being. And as difficult as it was to admit, he knew they had feared him; feared the unknown and magic of tales told around campfires, feared the fey grace of this lean yet strong body, the beauty of this ageless face. They had dreaded his strange, penetrating stare.

Cenulf remembered that he himself had worded his protest at following the elf's sense of danger. As the second in command of Éomer's Éored, he had spoken for his men, had argued with his captain regarding that mission. The elf had not flinched, his stare barely brushed them, an irritating indifference in those eyes, so alien and incalculable like deep cold water. The dwarf had glared at them, and followed the elf, turning his back on the men…

In the night the elf had watched the stars with Gimli, Elvellon, and they had fallen asleep side by side. Legolas was depleted by all he had endured, and Gimli had crumbled with relief after much helpless anguish.

Sometime in the night, Legolas had been startled out of sleep. He blinked rapidly, clearing his senses. Gimli was snoring loudly beside him, the scratching sound increasing and ebbing in irregular patterns. Legolas nudged the dwarf gently, but as Gimli happily snored along, he pushed him quite roughly. The dwarf mumbled, grumbled, and shifted, and the rasping sound ceased. Legolas turned to the other side, just in case the dwarf might resume his annoying habit, but he smiled fondly, glad his friend was resting soundly after what Legolas knew he had caused him.

The elf settled rather stiffly, still careful of his injury. He blinked into the night surrounding them, and nearly started, taken aback. - Aragorn lay there, at a suspiciously strategic distance; close enough that Legolas did sense his body heat, making him wonder how far gone he had been not to notice him earlier, but far enough that the man might have calculated to pass undetected, considering the depth of his friend's fatigued sleep.

Legolas' eyes narrowed slightly as he intently observed the prone man. Aragorn's lids were shut, and his breath kept even, but by means not deep enough to cover the deception. Legolas regarded him intently. He knew that as soon as he would succumb again to sleep, the man's eyes would snap open to watch over him. Aragorn would be capable of staying awake the entire night to survey his state and track his breathing. For a while, the elf considered if he should feign sleep to catch the man in his enterprise and scold him for not taking the rest any human needed.

Legolas lay there, his back turned to Gimli, his eyes fixed on Aragorn, alert, but the man did not move nor give any sign of wakefulness. Gimli hunched closer in his sleep and then settled cosily, spooning him. Legolas smiled and sighed, feeling the warmth of his friend's body agreeably radiating through him. Fatigue tugged at him then mercilessly and he found it difficult to pursue his intent. He only once elbowed Gimli sharply as the dwarf attempted to resume his rasping, guttural sound. At that, the dwarf grunted twice and then silenced. Legolas settled contentedly, satisfied at having prevented a noisy outburst, protecting the pleasant quietude. His muscles became agreeably soft and warm, and then he knew no more.

The sun tingled his face, and he blinked. He had fallen asleep under the soft light of the stars, and had rested with his eyes closed. He was aware of that as soon as his lids fluttered, tediously opening to the dazzling daylight. Of course, it was nothing unusual, and nothing to worry about in particular after his ailment.

The first thing he noticed, as he had at least partly adjusted to the brightness, were two pairs of eyes watching him from both sides - pinning him even. And Legolas realized that his friends might not share his opinion in the judgment of his current manner of sleeping.

He felt Aragorn's hands on him before he had even braced for the next thought. Groggily, somewhere at the edge of his awareness, he registered the man's hand slipping into his open tunic and shirt, and carefully fumble with the bandage beneath.

Legolas blinked at Gimli, who was seemingly trying to behave as inconspicuous as possible, but miserably failed in his attempt, of course. From the corner of his eyes, the dwarf peered at Aragorn's work with concern. Legolas did not defend himself from this first assault, he had not had the time to even fully awaken. He sighed tiredly and grinned slightly at the forced indifference of the dwarf, and he allowed the man to lower his ear over his heart, and the head with the dark dishevelled hair to rest there while he listened in grave concentration. Legolas resisted the urge to push him up when he thought it was quite enough, but the man apparently thought differently.

When it seemed Aragorn had made certain his friend was still alive and most probably would be so for a while, he uttered reluctantly; "Mellon-nìn, I do not like it, but we have to leave you for some time to help the Rohirrim prepare their return to Edoras. They will depart still early this morning. I will be back very soon, to check on you."

Legolas lay quietly for some time, to please, or rather appease his friends, when they left him alone to rest. He watched the morning sky for a while; the clouds shifting and gleaming white in the growing light. His limbs prickled and tensed, his muscles gave slight twitches. He found those impulses impossible to resist. He stretched, relishing the feeling of every muscle fibre reviving, and slowly probed rising. It worked surprisingly well, and he felt almost fresh after the rest, pleasantly weightless. His head was still a bit dizzy but he was sure he would rein that in, in due time. He decided he would join the others to help. He would not lie here while his strength was returning, leaving them to do all the work. Although he thought it safe to avoid crossing Aragorn's and Gimli's paths for a while.

He climbed down to where people were walking about, readying packs and carts and horses. Litters were being prepared for the injured, and Legolas found himself lending a hand exactly where their transport was being readied. He noticed some people regarding him with huge incredulous eyes, and he grimaced at the irony of it should his friends detect him here. He concentrated on the tasks at hand, to not dwell on the unease of what would happen then, and distract himself from the unwelcome tiredness that still lingered in his limbs and at times made his head slightly spin. He stretched out his senses, alert for any sign of a certain Dúnadan, readying his reflexes for an eventual timely escape. But he did not feel bad because he only worked according to his actual state, adjusting to the rhythm his recovering body could take. Of that, he was confident, he tried to convince himself.

With all this in mind, he was too caught up to notice the four girls at a distance, prying secret looks at him, which under other circumstances he would have perceived with ease.

"Hush, do not speak so loud, Sigerun! He may hear you," Merewyn hissed, reproaching her friend, and brushing a stray, light-brown curl out of her eyes, which had come loose as she worked. "Elves have very sensitive ears, they say." In a low voice she then excitedly stated, "And look at that pointed shape: it is beautiful, so elegant..." She sighed as she squinted over while tying the bag she had just filled.

"Do you think he would talk to us?" Sigerun blinked at Layrun expectantly, "Please, could you not make introductions?"

"Shhh, not so loud!" Merewyn reprimanded her again, shooting her an admonishing glare.

Cynefled brought her hand to her chest and whispered, "I think I would melt under his gaze if I stood before him. - Please, Layrun, can you do it," she urged.

"He is not a boy, that you could just dance up flirtatious and talk to him anyhow! He is an elven lord, a seasoned warrior, perhaps centuries old or even millennia."

All three looked at their friend, flabbergasted.

"He-... looks-... strong, aye," Sigerun stuttered, considering and gaping. "But still-... he looks so young, barely older than us. How can he have lived through millennia?" Her gaze was confused, dismayed even.

And Cynefled covered her mouth while she gasped, "I can't even grasp how much time that is!" the exclamation behind her hand came out muffled, and for a moment her big, light-blue eyes were even wider and startled.

"You have seen no other elves before, but you have seen the elleth who sometimes showed up in Edoras," Layrun said, her mien very serious.

"You mean the healer from Harad?" Merewyn dropped in.

Layrun nodded slowly, and did not change her expression. "She looks young as well, but she is old..."

"Oh, that one..." Sigerun said almost dismissively, "I'm glad for what she is doing for our people-" and as Merewyn flashed her another berating look, she hushed to whisper, "-but she is creepy..."

"You are being unfair!" Layrun said earnestly, and she meant it. "They are elves. You cannot comprehend them... do not judge so easily!"

"But her eyes are so dark. Have you not seen it?" Sigerun insisted, "Looking at her, it is easier to imagine the age."

The other two said nothing at that, but their darkened gazes suggested the same unease as Sigerun had voiced at the thought of the elleth.

Layrun narrowed her eyes and looked at them holding each of their gazes briefly, and she felt the heaviness in her own voice while she emphasized the words, "Oh, I have seen his eyes when he was suffering, in his dilated pupils there was the same darkness; something deep and consuming I am still trying to comprehend, and yet I know I will never be able to seize it. - You cannot know..." She shuddered and trailed off.

But her friends had not seen, they did not know, and their spirits were high and tingled by the sight of the handsome face, and the elegant beauty of his tall, sleek body. It was as if they did not hear, or did not want to know. They were mesmerized, their minds swirling and tingling and caught in attraction. They went back to talking about the elf in excitement again, while Layrun stayed silent. And she could not resent them for this, because despite all she had seen, when she dared a glance at him she saw all that her friends admired, and because she knew, she was even more in awe.

She would not walk up to him to introduce her friends, she had made that clear to them. But she felt that politeness and respect demanded of her to greet him and ask about his well-being. Besides - and she frowned at that - how in all the world was he walking around and working already...? She had been told of the swift healing of elves, but she had not witnessed such before, and she briefly asked herself if he should not rather rest only a little while longer. But that was not hers to decide. She restrained herself; the elf was an experienced warrior, and he would surely know best the abilities of his own body.

"My lord-," Legolas heard a soft voice at his side and lifted his eyes from his business. He felt strangely caught by Layrun's shy gaze, and he brought his hand to his chest, where the wound lay bandaged under his tunic, and if he was honest still ached. His eyes latched on hers.

"I-," for a brief lapse he was almost about to stutter or apologize to the healer, and let the suppressed fatigue overwhelm him, but as he paused Legolas saw how her eyes were very young and wide with awe, as she stood there open-mouthed. He calmed as she blinked up at him. He stood tall, and her admiring look swept up over his broad shoulders. She was very still, and seemed surprised, or even startled. He took a deep, slow breath. His hand still at his chest, the elf bowed his head in respect to her, "Gratitude, Layrun for what you have done. There are no words."

"I am so glad to see you well, my lord," she blurted out with unabashed sincerity.

"You are so young," he found himself staring at her, as if in startled realization, "but what you have done lifts you into my highest esteem; do not call me Lord, I'm only Legolas, or I at my turn shall call you Lady if you should prefer that."

The girl blushed and swallowed and lowered her eyes but could not hide her coy, cheerful smile. "Of course, you shall call me Layrun. I am only a girl, an apprentice healer, and I will be honoured to call you Legolas."

Legolas thought she was a beautiful child, and brave, true and skilled; she would become a great woman.

"You will be a great healer, Layrun, you already are," he said.

Slightly pitched voices and shy, soft laughter drifted over. Layrun nervously squinted at the group of girls not too far away. They talked excitedly, among each other while packing bags and different items into the carts, too obviously stealing looks at them. They seemed all very young, probably less than a twenty summers, Legolas thought; maybe eighteen, or nineteen at the most. It was so difficult for him to guess human age.

At that realization, he admired the steadfastness of the young apprentice-healer before him even more. She looked so tender and timid, but then, when it mattered, her sober toughness had been impressive.

She blushed furiously now, and insecurely peered at the girls close-by who were not even trying to hide their interest, pursuing their agitated chatter with eyes continuously prying furtive looks at them.

Legolas beamed an amused smile at Layrun, "Are they your friends?"

Layrun fidgeted with her gown, her gaze fixed on the ground. "Aye, they are. I- apologize for their indiscretion… they…" she trailed off and the flush on her soft cheeks intensified further.

Legolas chuckled softly. "Worry not, it is fine!" he assured her.

He found that he enjoyed their secret, appraising glances. It was a welcome distraction, from all the terror of what had happened, from all the weight of what was still to come. The girls' excitement was uplifting and bright, and their glee was infectious. The fact that he had this effect on them made him feel young and light, and prickling with mischief, and he realized how much he missed Pippin.

As if he had called for him with that last thought, instead of the hobbit, behind the cart appeared the dwarf, and a deep voice rumbling over to him, "Ah, look where you are, you reckless woodelf; preparing the litters for the wounded, while in fact, you should be among the ones using them. - Barely escaped the halls by a miracle. Are you aware of what our dear friend the ranger will do to you if he catches you here?"

Layrun bowed quickly and rather awkwardly at the dwarven Lord. Her face still bore a tender rosy shade, and she appeared quite confounded at the dwarf's snippy threat.

Legolas braced himself for the sparring. He knew the best defence with the dwarf was attacking in turn. He was not going to give in and admit his exhaustion. Even less now and here. Still roused in defiant mischief, he handed out the first punch.

"His name is Gimli, Layrun. What applies to me, is also valid for him, he is my friend," Legolas said fondly, with a voice sweet like honey, "Forget about the Lords!"

He grinned triumphantly at Gimli. Layrun looked slightly bewildered between them. Gimli suddenly glanced at the girl, earth brown eyes blinking, taken aback - he seemed not to have recognized her at first.

"O- of course my Lady, I mean- girl- Layrun- I-," he stumbled on the words, not wanting to get distracted from his initial intent of scolding the elf, but clearly wishing to offer the girl his gratitude and respect. He bowed low, like a polite dwarven lord, before the confused girl. He had clearly lost that point against the elf and it amused Legolas to no end.

"And, ah, these are her friends." With a cheeky and bright flick of his gaze, the elf indicated the girls who had moved imperceptibly closer.

Gimli politely nodded his head at the suddenly shyly smiling girls, and grumbled under his beard, twisting its end between his fingers, "It is not me whom you have to worry about princeling, I'm merely here to keep an eye on you, I will force you to nothing."

Legolas tilted his head, looking down at the dwarf, asking innocently, "What do you mean, Gimli?"

"I mean, it is not me you have to distract. I keep an eye on you, I admitted it already. Although if Aragorn catches you up and around, he will check your pulse and your breathing right here in the crowd, and then he might even tear open that tunic and shirt to get to the wound." Gimli narrowed his eyes now almost menacingly, "I do not think you would appreciate it, would you?"

"Do not think you can scare me back to rest, Gimli, I got your intent," Legolas in turn narrowed his eyes at the dwarf accusingly.

And then he glanced over to the girls very gently and with calculated calm, "I think here it is due to make some acquaintances – but I give you precedence, my friend," he smirked over to Gimli, "You may well keep good company to the Ladies, master dwarf, I might return later…"

Legolas knew Gimli could not help but being gallant to the girls, a circumstance which would most certainly prevent his friend from pursuing him. And so he was gone with a nimble leap onto the wall. He briefly turned, once again standing tall on the stone rim. His long hair gleaming pale gold in the sunlight, he brought his hand to his heart once more, this time in graceful greeting, leaving the girls' longing looks to follow him. He gazed back at Layrun, one last time, and nodded to her in respect, a gentle smile directed to her, before he slid down to the other side of the wall and vanished, even from sight of a possibly soon appearing ranger.

From over the wall he heard the deep tenor of Gimli intermingling with higher, female tones, he heard the rumbling voice saying something about a certain lad, and soft laughter bubbling in between. He smiled to himself, stifling a chuckle, and felt also a little guilty. - Not towards Gimli, because the dwarf would certainly enjoy the company.

He had taken it too far and he felt now his limbs trembling and nausea making his stomach churn. Safely alone with nobody to witness he leant over the wall and expelled whatever his stomach was so forcefully rebelling against. It was not much, but that was even more straining. Certainly it all would get better as soon as the remnants of the poison would wear off.

In the tower where they had passed the night, Aragorn finally found Legolas sitting silently, leaning back against the wall, his legs stretched out long before him on the stone. His nimble fingers twirled a sharp dagger with astonishing speed, tossing it occasionally up and catching it, his palm securely cupping the hilt. He stared absently out into the sky over the rim of the wall, seemingly at nothing in particular. Aragorn leant back to the wall, close to the elf. He let himself slide down beside his friend and a sigh of frustration, or anxiety, or relief left his lungs in a rush. He could not decide which it was.

"So here is where you came to, after busying yourself with the carts for the wounded, when you still are recovering yourself."

"The dwarf told you then?" Legolas mumbled, feeling slightly betrayed.

"Gimli told me nothing; the girls did."

"Layrun?"

"No, she would not open her mouth. I do not know how you drew even her onto your side. But her friends were very cooperative. They even offered to help search for you." Aragorn lifted an eyebrow at him, looking very much like Elrond at that moment.

Legolas shrugged, "I left Gimli to help them with the bags, while I came here to think. They seem to enjoy his company, they are very talkative with him."

"You ran away, to escape me, and said you would return. I have no doubt that he entertained them, and enjoyed their company as well - of course! – Yet, they muted when they saw me and stared. But as soon as I said I was looking for you the girls were keen to help."

Legolas gave a soft chuckle. But as Aragorn remained serious and stern, the elf's gaze darkened and suddenly he looked very tired.

"I am sorry Estel, I did not mean to become such a burden," he said.

Aragorn turned towards him, frowning at those words, and narrowing his eyes. What was Legolas speaking? How could he say this? Aragorn felt the line between his brows crease deep, in his indignation about Legolas' words.

"What are you saying, mellon-nin…" he nearly gasped.

Legolas stared at the ground like a guilty child. He resumed twirling the knife and with the index of his other hand, he began drawing the patterns of the stone tiles beside his long outstretched legs, as if the constant movement of his fingers could soothe the turmoil in him, "I hate it to have become a burden to you, I hate it that you delayed your departure because of me, I hate to be claimed by such weakness; that is not what was expected of me, what I expect of myself… I hate it to worry you!"

Aragorn found himself shake his head in utter disbelief. He blinked rapidly at the wave of furious emotions that wanted to overwhelm him.

"How can you say that? - You saved my life! And you did so before, countless times. There are few who can match you in fight. You survived, where any other would have perished. That blade- it was meant for me, but you took it. And whenever I think of what you have suffered through, I just want to weep! I feel immense gratitude. And the guilt for even allowing that feeling crushes me. You are fierce and gentle, and your heart is noble and true. How could I ever have carried the responsibility of my predicament alone!? You were always there to support me. You are incomparable - to me and to this quest!" Aragorn was beside himself, and he suddenly noticed that he was shouting.

Legolas completely stilled, his index stuck between two loose stone tiles, the blade of the knife pinned between two fingers of the other hand. His features looked very pale, almost white in the shade of the wall. He seemed not to breathe. Aragorn started as he took him in. He grabbed at him, shaking him urgently. "Breathe, fool!" Only then, Legolas drew in a sharp breath, as if suddenly remembering how his lungs worked. Aragorn stared at Legolas' face, panting from the shock. The man ran shaky fingers through his hair in nervous frustration and lowered his voice, but he was by means not finished.

"Let the decision for whom I worry be mine! We are a fellowship, we all care for each other. Frodo and Sam are always in our minds, we are deeply grieved for Boromir whom we lost, we worried for Merry and Pippin and grieved for Gandalf until our grey wizard returned white, and thank goodness, assured us our two small friends are fine. - We still worry for them. And they worry for us. So why should it be different with you?"

He paused to regather himself, and as Legolas still did not speak, he added very gently and softly but with emphasis, "I appreciate your strength and your skills to no end, Legolas! I am beyond grateful; there are no words for how I feel. The hobbits' courageous hearts are overwhelming, but I am glad I was not made to set out with them small cheery people of the shire alone, no matter how brave they are. You guard my back and are at my side at all times, Legolas, you are my great strength, and I would spare you for nothing." He smiled wearily and then he sighed, "For any other, warrior or not, barely more than a day to recover would by means not suffice. But I know you. I know of your resilience, and therefore tonight we will depart. I do not like it at all, but what choice do we have. I do not have any energy to spare for a fight with a stubborn elf insisting to ride, when the last thing I wish is to leave said elf behind. You will be riding at my side, with Gimli clutching your waist from behind, pretending to steady you while we know it is the other way 'round."

At the mention of Gimli on Arod behind him, and the cheering feeling at teasing the dwarf in his uncomfortable perch high up on the horse, Legolas' lips tugged to a faint smile, and something recalling Pippin's look sparked in his eyes. But Aragorn now turned to face him, confronting him openly, and baring his soul.

"I am demanding so much from you, Legolas… - Allow me to worry! You are my gwador!"

He clasped Legolas' shoulder, regarding him intently. And then he almost startled as he suddenly felt the elf's hand strong and steady and comfortingly warm on his own arm.

"You are not demanding from me anything I would not give freely." Legolas' gaze was firm, sharp and bright as he spoke now. And Aragorn sighed in utter relief, blinking slightly, biting his lip as he fought to contain again his rising feelings.

"And now will you please freely allow me to check on you!" He was careful to make it sound stern and grim; a command, not a question.

Legolas rolled his eyes, as if it was a must to oppose him.

"Do what you must," he sighed.

The man's words had deeply moved him. Although he knew of the depth of his friend's love for him, to hear all those nakedly sincere words was like a flood-wave that overwhelmed him, swept him under and whirled him up, with a force Legolas found difficult to control at the moment.

He rested then, mainly to keep the distress away from Aragorn, but also because, if he was honest, the elf felt that the torment had not at all left his body unscathed even less his mind. He did not go back to help before the convoy departed. Much to the girls' disappointment, as he heard later from Gimli. But the girls had appreciated the dwarven charm, Gimli pointed out what they apparently had told him. And they had sent Legolas their greetings, which Gimli delivered gladly.

Although Legolas had now accepted to give his body some small, well deserved time for recovery, Aragorn had fussed over him disturbingly often in the course of the day. Legolas had let him get on with it because he knew how much it calmed his friend. He tried to keep the patience of ancient elves, but no matter how much he loved Aragorn, he had to admit that it was becoming quite bothersome, and despite what may be expected of elves, this kind of patience with his friend was not his strong point.

Of all this, he mused while he strode determinedly towards the stables. They would not delay their departure any further, of that he would make sure. Cautiously, he rubbed his palm over his chest, over the small, deep cut where the blades had struck. The healing flesh was still tender to the touch, but his body was mending fast, and he was convinced that much of his strength had already returned.

He wished to spend some time with Arod until they departed. At least the horse would not fuss, nor worry for him. He could tend to the beast and they would have the chance to get some peaceful time together and deepen their bond. They still had a long perilous way to go, and Legolas liked the horse and was pleased with how the connection between them was tightening. The beast seemed even growing attached to Gimli, as if the dwarf were merely a part of the elf's body. The thought made Legolas grin.

But then his musings were interrupted by a man standing on the side of the way. He recognized the very same man who had openly declared his disapproval a few days past, before the fateful nocturnal scouting; Éomer's second in command. Legolas stiffened, and an unease spread in his breast. He remembered well the hostile defiance in the man's voice as he had spat the words, and the angered grumbling at the scolding of his captain. The man had deliberately avoided meeting the elf's eyes that night as if to demonstrate his complete rejection.

Legolas held his head high, and his shoulders broad as he passed the man with long determined strides, struggling against the wave of weariness that wanted to overwhelm him again. His heart hammered hard in his chest, and he only briefly flicked his gaze over the man, ready to react to any threat that might come from his side. Legolas' fingers wrapped tightly around his bow. The smooth wood emanated security, spreading up his arm. He took a deep breath to ease the tension in his chest.

… Cenulf lowered his eyes in shame as the elf passed his way, his strides long and elegant. The fair being's pale hair gleamed in the morning light, streaming down his back in soft waves to his waist. And Cenulf briefly thought of the soft white clouds and if the elf's hair might be silky in a similar way. It was difficult for the man to comprehend how quickly this being had recuperated from an ailment that had nearly claimed his immortal life, that to any human would have been fatal. The elf's face was set in strong lines, cheekbones perfectly arched, his skin smooth and even, like carved ivory, his expression unreadable.

Cenulf slightly flinched as the gaze of the elf struck him; it was clear and bright like the sky at sunshine, but the silver strikes in his blue pooling irises gleamed like ice, rending his look, impenetrable, sharp. The man hoped that the elf did not notice his unease, as he felt all colour drain from his face.

"My lord-," Cenulf began, clenching his fists over the borders of his sleeves, taking a deep breath, gathering the courage to make amends for his previous, unfair statement, that now did not sit well with him at all. He felt responsible in his position and for his men to right it.

"I-," he stuttered, and to his chagrin, the elf tilted his head ever so slightly towards him, as if expecting something, with irritating calmness. Cenulf suddenly found himself at a loss for words. He scratched at the borders of both sleeves, picking at them with the tips of his fingers, blurting out quickly, barely pausing to get a breath in between, wanting to get over with it.

"What you did, and suffered for us and survived, did not go unseen. We admire your strength, we have not seen its like. I-" at that point he was forced to pause for the tension had left him rather breathless, "I apologize for myself and my men, for the mistrust we have put upon you. You do not back down from anything. We value your prowess and how you fought at our side."

The elf did not blink as he stared at him. It made him nervous, and his fingers picked at his sleeves furiously. He did not dare avert his eyes from that strong, handsome face, but it was hard to stand the quiet scrutiny. Cenulf dared not look away, it would be like denying the respect the elf deserved, and so he held his gaze firm, with all the force he could muster.

He was rewarded, for to his surprise, the elf's lineaments softened and brightened. A smile played around his swung lips, and Cenulf could not help but grin at the relief he felt and the strange serenity that surged within him under the sudden luminosity of those eyes. And like a flash piercing his mind he saw the endless sky, and across it slowly sailed huge flossy clouds gleaming white in the sunlight. At that moment Cenulf thought that the being before him looked young like a boy, that ancient strangeness in his eyes had shifted and bared something dazzling, thoroughly disarming.

He found his hand reaching the elf's shoulder before he even realized what he was doing. He had the fleeting sensation that the elf slightly flinched at his gesture - but surely, he was mistaken. The elf's shoulder was hard, strong and warm under his palm, and the sensation of it strangely comforted him.

"Come," Cenulf said, building the bridge with more ease now, "join my men, we are about to tend to the horses."

For a brief moment, the elf regarded him unblinking, quiet and pensive - and searching. Cenulf resisted the urge to avert his eyes once more and for some breaths he got the disconcerting feeling that the elf read all his thoughts, his secrets, and in his confusion, he slightly frowned. But then the elf's face lit in sudden glee, seemingly satisfied at whatever it was he saw in him.

Legolas felt a weight lift from him; something that was pressing on his heart, the unease he had felt clutching his breast. It must have shown in his face, because he had been unable to restrain the sudden joy he felt. Like something inside him opened - something that had tightened his throat, his heart; it was released and poured out fresh like a forest stream towards the man.

"I was just on my way to the stables, I will be pleased to join you and your men," he heard himself say unexpectedly, light and free.

The scent of horse and hay and straw grew stronger as they neared the stables, silently walking side by side. More men were already busy inside. Some horses snorted and nosed the elf as they passed and he touched a muzzle here and there and patted another's neck gently. He offered them fond words in his own language, their intelligent eyes regarded him approvingly, and then they returned scraping up hay and munching contently. The scents and sounds the noble beasts emanated were familiar and soothing. And Legolas sucked them in with deep breaths.

Cenulf beside him seemed at ease now and rather merry as he greeted his men. They returned the greeting and nodded respectfully to Legolas, and as they did so their gazes were friendly and honest.

"Please my lord Legolas, I could need the skills of an elf here," a man called casually from behind a dark brown stallion who was dancing nervously, and pounding his hooves against the wooden wall as the man tried to reach the gash in its leg he was tending and binding, "They say your kind is good with the beasts, even more skilled than us."

Legolas smiled. "Please, only Legolas," he said. He had not expected such open welcome and easiness. Warmth spread in his heart, and his words in Sindarin to the horse reflected his joy and relief. The stallion lowered his muzzle to the elf, who cupped it gently in his hand. And then the elf slid quietly to the side to get a look at the wound and helping the man with its tending. He could feel eyes watching them curiously. There was a slight tension. Legolas guessed that most of them had never met an elf before him, and with regards to that, their insecurity was more than understandable. But the ice was clearly broken, and the contact between them built more and more easily.

Cenulf's words repeated in his mind. What you did, and suffered for us and survived, did not go unseen. We admire your strength, we have not seen its like.

They knew what had happened to him! Some of them had even seen, or part of it at least. They may have talked together about him and they seemed to regret their former hostility born of wariness and fatigue.

I apologize for myself and my men, for the mistrust we have put upon you. You do not back down from anything. We value your prowess and how you fought at our side.

The man had said nothing about the scene where he had behaved like a wild animal, injuring them even. No weakness they had seen in him, it had been only himself. Legolas looked at the men intently when they watched him, or even when they were now interacting with him, searching for any pity for his suffering. But the men did not lower their gazes, nor did they flinch. There was only steady respect in their eyes.

The tension quickly dissipated and Legolas found himself easily involved in their talks and even their jests and laughter. Oh, how he needed it! And he remembered the times at home with his comrades when they were readying their animals together before leaving for patrol.

After some time he felt the need to retire to Arod's side and be alone with himself and the horse for a while. He leaned his head against the horse's strong neck, feeling the sleek fur under his fingers as he stroked it.

"Ah, here he is, the lad," a too familiar voice rang over to him, rumbling like great stones rolling down a rocky slope. "I told you Aragorn, that it was his laughter and not that of a tree bird we heard. There are no trees on this burg. And no other birds."

Legolas peered over to the bright opening, where the stable portal had swung wide-open. Three figures stood dark against the bright daylight. Of course, one was sturdy and short, and the two others were taller and broad-shouldered.

"Legolas, I am so glad to see you well!" The man in whose face he had once pointed an arrow stood before him, regarding him evenly, serious but friendly, his hand strong on the elf's shoulder. "The speed of your recovery is an unbelievable phenomenon," he said with a voice deep and throaty, while his eyes betrayed all that they had seen to make him utter these words.

Legolas held his gaze, seeing the emotions well in it, and then the man pulled the elf in a firm embrace, which Legolas returned. He felt the man's breath hitch against his chest and his broad shoulders shake with a silent sob. And when he released him, Legolas noted that although his face was dry, his eyes glittered brightly.

Aragorn regarded his friend, quiet and calm, his eyes warm, deep grey with affection. He said nothing, and did not attempt to check his health, for which Legolas was incredibly grateful.

And Gimli merely kept an eye on him. Or better two, that were now shining with the colour of rich brown earth, watching him contently.

I hope you enjoyed reading this lighter chapter after all the suffering, as I enjoyed writing it.

Stay well!

(The next post might probably be in "Through Different Eyes", so watch out for that ;))