This time, it was Legolas, leaving bed unnoticed even before sunrise. After his declaration last night, Tarisilya doubted that he was trying to steal away from the city in secret; since he didn't show up again for far too long though, she couldn't find any more rest herself.

Worry stirred in her when one of the gate guards let her know which building on the sixth level it was that her husband had gone to. All the more relieved – and baffled – she was, finding Legolas in the gardens of the Houses of Healing then.

Which wasn't actually easy, given he was cowering between a few high rosebushes there, camouflaged with a considerable layer of soil and grass on his white tunic and his hands. A few smeared stripes littered his face, too. Tarisilya had a hard time, not laughing when he blinked up at her.

"Forgive me, elwen, I thought you would sleep longer. I was looking for something, for you."

"With all respect to your enthusiasm, but if this still about my begetting day: I doubt that there are gems growing in the earth of Gondor, my Prince." Not to mention that Tarisilya had never had much use for jewelry. And even if she had, her husband could have got that much easier in the Halls of his father. "Seriously, what are you doing?"

"Searching a silky narrow bloomer." Legolas reached out to her but didn't touch her, considerate of her bright summer dress. Instead, he waved her down, pointing at a bright blue blossom on a filigree grey stalk, lonely and paling in the shadow of the rich plants all around. Legolas had already loosened the earth around the flower quite a bit, with a lot of effort, judging by a few shallow scratches on his hands.

"The gardeners of these Houses would probably not be happy about you digging around in their sacred facilities anyway, but: There are shovels here." Tarisilya couldn't help but tease him a little more.

"Tools could damage the structure. For that, this plant is too rare and too sensitive." Legolas traced the part of the root that he'd uncovered already with a fingertip, looking not any thicker or more robust than the rest of his find.

"You have to unearth it as a whole or it opens its defensive glands and smells abnormally of sulfur. But if you make it to relocate it to a pot unscathed, it blooms enchantingly for a few months. And when you put it back into the ground, it produces tasty fruit the next spring. A life cycle almost no one knows because a narrow bloomer disguises too well at the day to find it. Fortunately, you can find those little eccentrics in the Shire, too. Samwise advised me to look for them at dawn."

A melancholic little smile curled on Legolas' lips that Tarisilya joined. They both were missing the hobbits, especially Frodo's best friend without whom Tarisilya might not have survived that one bad night at Cair Andros back then.

"It's really beautiful." Tarisilya felt that there was even more to this story and let her husband talk and work at his very own pace; most of the time, that was the best strategy anyway.

"It's a piece of the past." With almost invisibly gentle movements that would not put the soil which was still in deep sleep in too much unrest, Legolas kept on making his way to the origin of the plant. Every now and then, he wiped off a curious insect or stroke up a few notes of a song of soothing when a meerkat father of four a few feet away rebelled against the disturbance with loud cheeping. Being allowed to watch, after a long time of aggression towards so much in his surroundings, that Legolas had found back to his natural contact with nature and all life in it, was a far bigger gift to Tarisilya than even the rarest flower in their chambers.

Only his next, very strangled-sounding words made it clear to her that he meant to give her something so much more meaningful in the shape of this early-morning move. Legolas had not missed a very certain critique last night at all. All by himself, he finally began to open up to her even in ways that hurt him. "It always smelled like narrow bloomers in my mother's study. One of the few things I remember about her. My child minder … In the first time after her death, he was my closest confident. Almost everything I know about nana, he told me."

Tarisilya tenderly squeezed Legolas' shoulder, brushed away his darkly-crusted hair from his eyes until the treacherous glistening left them. This bitterness that had not even been begun to be processed, she couldn't help him with for now. That was something he had to straighten out with his father, and from what she had gathered last night, he would finally start on that now.

She did make a silent note though to send a few lines of gratefulness to a certain child minder soon though if this elf was still dwelling in this realm.

Maybe he'd even be interested to spend a little time in a foreign country before the west would call for him … By now, unlike at Cair Andros, there were no more elflings to look after in Eryn Lasgalen in any case; that much, Tarisilya knew. And having an additional watchful pair of eyes nearby when her husband and she would be urgently needed at their work every now and then, would have been a relief both to her and Tauriel.

"So? What did he say, about the flower?"

"That it was during nana's pregnancy that ada brought her a plant like this for the first time because they say that its smell is soothing and pain-relieving. Somehow this became a thing then, that he gave her one every year." Legolas shrugged in embarrassment. "You're a far better herbalist than I am. Maybe it's just stupid superstition. But I thought …"

"You thought it would be good for me", Tarisilya interrupted him, so moved that it was her now who had to blink away tears. "And it was good for your mother. So it can't be bad. After all, at the end of that pregnancy, something quite proper emerged."

She ruffled her husband's hair so that they could both grin again. "At least when you're not rolling around in the mud before the sun is even up."

"You'll have to live with that. Wood-elf, remember? Or is that rumor actually true that Lórien folk think they're better than us?" Legolas returned, feigning offense.

"Wood-elf and a King's son if I'm not mistaken." A little bit of dirt of course couldn't shock a healer who had spent centuries patching up marchwardens who'd often had nothing but moss, orc blood and –intestines on their bodies, but it was too much fun seeing Legolas pout, especially because the last few days had been filled with so much wistfulness.

"I just abdicated my title, moon ruler." Shaking his head in amusement, Legolas lifted said plant from its home for good, encased in a thick, protective layer of earth, and put it down in the grass next to him gingerly. Since at his spontaneous departure, he'd apparently not remembered something as profane as a bag, he unceremoniously got out of his tunic and wrapped the little treasure in the thin fabric.

"You know what that means? No more dress code, ever."

"Too bad you didn't do the same for me", Tarisilya remarked dryly, wisely biting back every other comment about this story that she'd been told right after she'd arrived in Minas Tirith.

For her, this surrender of Legolas' title sounded a little as if yet another disagreement between father and son was being dramatized here. Unnecessarily no less, because it would probably hardly have any political effects anyway. Tarisilya wouldn't have been surprised if Thranduil hadn't exactly shouted this whole thing from the rooftops in Eryn Lasgalen. As far as Tarisilya knew, except for the few chances when Legolas had filled in for his father, he had always faced his people more like a warlord, not really as a leader. And soon enough, there would hardly be any people left in these woods who would even need a King.

Did it even make a difference? Not for the two of them, in any case; her husband's ancestry had never mattered to her, safe for when it had been an annoying obstacle. For the land that he now no longer lived in, it would probably not count a lot either. And their offspring, aside from some nominal ceremony – that not even Tarisilya herself had had to go through so far –, would not have anything to do with any matters of regency either. The royal house of Eryn Lasgalen was a dying breed. And when they would all go to Aman one day, it was unlikely that it would be of any importance there what kind of titles and authorities and with what line of succession regarding a realm no longer existing they would do that.

But to annoy her husband a little with this rush decision, admittedly, it was very well suited. "As a Princess, I can't leave the house with nothing but soil and leaves on my body."

"No?" Before she knew, Legolas had wrapped his arms around her hips and pulled her down to him in a flash. With a sound somewhere between a laugh and a squeal, she landed in the middle of the ruffled earth, with prints of Legolas playfully wandering hands everywhere on her dress.

"You see? Now we're a match again."

Tarisilya gave up the useless attempt to fight her way out from under her husband's heavier silhouette. They'd both have to take a bath in a minute anyway. Instead, she buried her hands in his hair, nestling firmly against him which promptly awoke very pleasant associations of the prior night not only in her, judging by the clear stir she could feel at her hips … "That was never different, my Prince." With that, she covered her lips lovingly with hers, tasting dew and earth and a hint of seduction.

Somewhere by the entrance, she could hear the very well-known voice of a certain elderly healer complain about boisterous young people driving the animals in the garden crazy and causing chaos at this inhuman time of the day already.

Laughing quietly, she let her head fall back, right into the wet-cold freshness of newly awakening life and slowly recovering nature. For seconds, she just stared up into the quickly brightening violet of the day breaking in the sky with her husband firmly in her arms, in a place that was maybe not entirely her home but where there was also no grief and evanescence waiting around every corner and where at least most of the time, her safety would hopefully be assured.

Tarisilya was happy.

In spite of her irritation, Ioreth was nice enough to provide Legolas and Tarisilya with long cloaks to hide their wrecked appearance. Probably she was just too happy to see Tarisilya again to rant much, especially after Tarisilya assured her, she would show up in the Houses of Healing again soon as a consultant.

That way, Legolas and her at least made it back to the Citadel without becoming the talk of the city again. Though that would have been more harmless rumors than the ones about a riot … You didn't need to provoke it.

Therefore, they scurried back into the guesthouse, into the washing room on the same floor where their chambers were located. At this time of the day, these facilities were, fortunately, also completely deserted, so they could make themselves presentable again before having breakfast with the royals.

That was the good intention, at least, but they could probably have suspected that they would have different thoughts as soon as they'd ended up naked in the warm water and at least most of the traces of the small adventure had been removed. The days of the children and the overshooting energy of a pregnancy was a very mighty combination regarding such desire as Tarisilya realized when soon, she once more was clinging to her husband, moaning and trembling.

After far too much time of distance and the still slightly cautious game last night, she enjoyed it to the fullest this time, finally being able to be united with Legolas again in this most possible intimate way again. Hardly a second when they were not losing themselves in passionate kisses, when her husband didn't hold her as closely as possible to him while his fast, strong movements carried Tarisilya to not one but three heights. The rash gathering had a lot of water slosh over the edge of the tub that was glistening in many small puddles on the rocky base in the candlelight, and afterward, they could start right over with the washing up. But the whole thing had been necessary, it had been satisfying and beautiful, the misunderstandings from this one catastrophic night more and more processed.

That after that, Tarisilya had to mix a healing salve in the bedroom before she could get dressed because, in her yearning enthusiasm, she had completely forgotten that it wasn't a very wise idea right now kneeling over Legolas' legs … That, too, was only a small nuisance, paired with the memory of another very bad event in her life that she did want to ruin this morning. Of course, the grief wasn't suddenly gone, neither were the fear, the nightmares. But she didn't think that the victims of this last crisis would have wanted her to constantly drown in her own depression from now on instead of trying to look ahead. Of trying to continue her life the way it had been before the Stewardaides and looking forward to one day see the people again in particular who had perished to the last rearing up of the enemies at Rauros.

Yet there was an expression of bad conscience on Legolas' face when Tarisilya spread the half-transparent herbal tincture on the still very fresh scar tissue on her thigh with a small grimace. "Did I hurt you, elwen?"

"I'm perfectly able to do that myself," she returned with half a grin. "Nothing happened, don't worry. The skin just hasn't completely recovered yet because the first aid was slightly … rudimentary. But still better than drowning."

"I almost started to miss your black humor." Legolas sat down on the bed next to her and breathed a kiss onto her bare thigh in spite of her assurance which promptly caused goose-flesh again.

Not now, or they would only have shown up at Aragorn's and Arwen's for dinner. "I do prefer that over both of us having a waterfall trauma now."

Well, in the foreseeable future, Tarisilya would still not happily throw herself into any torrential water of any kind, and they both knew very well. But for the moment, she'd had enough of talking things over. Tonight would be early enough for that once more as far as she was concerned.

Legolas' eyes were still fixed on the rough, jagged tissue around that long, rectangular cut that Barhit – with the precision of an experienced hunter – could easily have also used to peel the skin off Tarisilya's leg if he'd aimed at that. The gloom on his face didn't go away either after Tarisilya had hastily forced her way into a new dress – not for the first time harboring the thought that she urgently had to pay the tailor shop a visit – and let the long dress fall over the spot that was so disfigured for the moment.

"Did he do that?"

Tarisilya shrugged tiredly. "Erestor knew about as much about medicine as you do, elwen. Such an emergency bandage made from a sleeve and two knots suffices to not bleed out but the tissue doesn't get enough blood flow then. And I had to improvise the stitches because I didn't have my bag anymore."

"Can you teach me this, Ilya?"

She had expected another dig towards his former rival and almost stabbed her own wrist with one of her hairpins at Legolas' question. "What, how to heal?" The confusion had to sound through her voice.

Legolas had never shown a lot of ambition about her art. Why should he? For someone who would forever be barred from the magic of this profession, that wouldn't have made any sense anyway.

But her husband was apparently serious about what they had talked about last night … That the two of them finally had to start to dive deeper into each other's life which they should have done a thousand years ago. And with that, he once more showed her how much he cared for her and wanted things to be like they'd used to be.

"I'll never be able to sing your songs, I know that. But with time, I hope the settlement will grow. And though I will make sure that no threat of any kind will ever be able to enter the camp again … In Ithilien, we will live hand in hand with surroundings offering a couple of dangers. If Tauriel and you are both busy one day and one of our workers comes home injured after running into some stray orc or a sick animal, I don't want to have to stand by helplessly." Legolas breathed a short kiss to Tarisilya's lips that had opened in surprise. "I couldn't think of anyone better than you to teach these rough warriors' hands here the finer art."

"They're not quite that rough at all, elwen." Tarisilya mischievously nibbled on Legolas' fingertip on her neck but quickly stepped away before the two of them could get stupid ideas once more.

"Very well. After we've had something to eat though. Or you'll lose your appetite."

"Definitely a warrior. You sew like you're on the battlefield, elwen."

Tarisilya let out a half-amused, half frustrated sigh and quickly squeezed Legolas' hand, signaling him that it was enough. There wouldn't be much more improvement today, and she wanted to avoid that all these rooms would smell of decay for days to come.

Since Legolas had insisted on hunting some animal himself to not burden the royal pantries with wastefulness, especially in a time that was still shaped by hardship, they'd had to delay the lesson, too. The light was getting too bad as well.

"This is what Aragorn taught me back then when I meet him first." Not quite satisfied with himself, Legolas put aside the needle, pulling the coarse thread back out of the many rows of clean cross-stitches in the skinned flesh surprisingly quickly and efficiently and then brought the remnants of the dead rabbit outside, neatly wrapped in a sheet, so that one of the servants could at least use the carcass still to feed the animals.

"For emergencies, yes, if you have to patch someone up in the middle of a fight," Tarisilya nodded when her husband came back, still with this questioning frown.

"I have seen the King sew wounds before. Believe me, he can do far better himself. If you take care of an injury with such big stitches and without proper cleaning, it takes longer until it heals. The patient is in more pain, and the scar will be far more unsightly. Healing is not only about saving lives but about care, too. But this wasn't all that bad, really."

After they'd both got rid of the trace of their efforts in a big washing bowl, Tarisilya reached out for Legolas' hand across the small table between them, gifting him with a warm smile. "You have far more soul than you want to admit to yourself, elwen. I knew that ever since I've seen one of your pictures for the first time. Do not shy away from letting that in, too. The war is over, and the last of unrest will hopefully die down bit by bit now. The days for the art of war are lessening, I really want to believe that. There's no more reason to be constantly only on alert."

"That's not easy for me yet," Legolas admitted. "My life was almost always shaped only by purpose, ever since I was born. Ada and nana were never in a hurry to get married, you know? Only at the end of the Second Age, when it became clear that ada and his father would both soon have to be an active part of battle, they decided to legalize their relationship. Mainly because the realm would possibly need an heir soon. Since then, even in times of peace, there's always been some kind of shadow on Eryn Lasgalen. I don't know how it is, not always being prepared for the worst at least unconsciously."

Though this not entirely new revelation once more left Tarisilya with a lump in her throat, she only pulled Legolas close for a kiss of comfort. Some things could not be changed now. For that, a chance would not come before they would follow the others into the west one day.

Until then it was all about making the best of this chance of a calmer life that they were finally being offered now. And though Tarisilya had enough of explaining the structure of a tendon today, or of straightening line management, that didn't mean that she couldn't still feed this talent of dexterity sleeping in Legolas, far off a bow and a dagger, just a little further.

After thinking about it for a moment, she reached for the still completely untouched book that Legolas had used to assure her his support for her new path after the mourning ceremony and searched for coal in the utter chaos once more reigning on her desk. "Elwen? Would you draw me?"

Legolas looked clearly overwhelmed for a moment when she thrust the book in his hand and sat down on a chair by the fire slightly awkwardly herself. "In this? Really?"

"You're the only one I would happily let this break this book in," Tarisilya replied quietly but very firmly.

Legolas' visibly relieved smile had the bad words from their discussions last night more and more be washed away by the emotions still pulsating between them unhindered. "Then I'll try not to bring you to shame."

"You won't. I love your drawings. And I … There are hardly any pictures of me, and ada all took them with him, or they stayed with friends in Lórien." Slightly agitatedly, Tarisilya brushed her bangs from her face, uncertain how to explain something to Legolas that he would have a hard time accepting. "I never had much patience for something like that. But if something might possibly happen to me before the baby … I don't want our child having to wait as long as I did to ever see at least a picture of me. This book will be theirs then, and I want them to think of me when they write in it." For a moment, her fingertips grazed the bracelet with the only known picture of her mother in it that Thranduil had given her for their wedding back then.

Following her movement, Legolas gently put his hand around this so very precious gift too while the other straightened out Tarisilya's bangs above her forehead again, wiping away the traces of her nervousness. Then he opened her braid carefully and fanned out her hair over one shoulder at her front, with the most tender admiration, the deepest affection in his eyes … And the determination to do everything so that this scenario that she was summoning there, would never come true.

"Nothing will happen, Ilya. We'll raise our child together, the way the two of us back then were not allowed to experience it."

"That's all I want." She nuzzled against his hand once more and then folded hers in her lap, trying to find as much inner calmness for something in her that she had never had an easy time with, and especially not now, after these last months in East Lórien … to hold still.

Visibly excited himself, Legolas sat down on the ground in front of the chair. For minutes, he was immersed in nothing but studying her features so intensively that Tarisilya would have been uncomfortable if it had been anyone but him, and with a few first, shyly drawn lines. After he'd jerked his hair away from his face impatiently a few times, he just tied it up with a simple leather tie.

"I've had braids for three-thousand years. I have to get used to this first," he explained tensely, seeing Tarisilya's inquiring glance.

"What keeps you from having them again?" For a moment, she was tempted to disregard the portrait he'd already started on and lean down to him to try and wipe away these thoughts that were so self-destructive once more, with another caress. But maybe that wasn't even necessary. After all, the two of them wanted to try and reach the other only with words, too.

"We all made many mistakes since the war, Legolas. There's no need for you to wear yours openly. That you almost took the wrong path doing so can't change that you tried to protect your people and rid this land of evil, just like it's always been your destiny as a warrior."

"That's the reason exactly." Absently, Legolas stared down at the picture but his thoughts were visibly far away from here. "You're right. I think, by now, I know that. But similar to Lórien, in Eryn Lasgalen, warrior braids are a symbol for the eternal fight that shook these woods ever since I was born. Unless there's another reason for such bad battles on Middle-earth, I do no longer want to have them."

"As long as that is only your decision," Tarisilya nodded after a moment of silence. "As long as you never forget that there's a lot of people, both Men and Elves and members of other folks as well, who would still readily put their lives in your hands. Not because you never did anything wrong but because you know now what it was and do better."

This time, his nod looked more convinced. "I hope so. At least I have begun making the most important amends now." His next loving glance left no doubt what he meant.

After a few seconds, Tarisilya's eyes had dried enough again so that her husband could continue his work, and her cheeks were no longer too flushed for it.

In the end, the picture was at least half-finished already when they once more stumbled towards the bed, chuckling and breathing fast, and this time, neither of them would leave it before the sun came up.