~ Inside Information ~

Legolas' legs dangled high over the gardens as he sat on the windowsill, watching the wind blowing through the trees below him. Tapping his heels against the wall, he practiced patience as Arwen pulled a comb through his loose hair. "Aragorn has seen my hair many times, Arwen," he said. "This added attention will not accomplish anything."

Behind him, Arwen gasped in feigned astonishment and set the comb down beside him on the sill. "You underestimate the allure of your hair," she countered, "but I did not say I do this for Aragorn." Claiming a few strands at his temple, she deftly braided it in his usual style with great accuracy, her fingers not even brushing his ear. "I find this pleasure eases my nerves."

"Well, while you indulge yourself with my hair, I will tell you what I have done to actually further our plan," he teased. "I have requested a performance tonight. But as they do not take requests, I do not know what we will hear."

"Will it be outside? It looks as if it might rain."

"You have been among Men too long if the threat of a clean rainstorm is enough to keep you indoors," he said.

"It was an observation, Legolas, not a reservation," she corrected, smoothing his now braided hair. "What are you going to tell Gimli?" As she stepped away, he spun around on the sill, setting his legs inside.

"Fortunately, I do not have to tell him anything," Legolas answered. Certain she was suitably distracted, he tugged on the plait at the back of his head, loosening it. "It seems a member of your entourage is a great admirer of axes and they have plans to meet and compare techniques. Though I would think such a discussion could span no more than a few minutes, he will probably manage to be busy most of the evening."

He knew she smiled though steam from the partly-filled washtub rose to dissolve her reflection from the mirror where she stood liberating her hair from the severe Queenly style he had decided he didn't care for. "You are too hard on him, I think," she said.

"Not at all; Dwarves are a sturdy folk. And I assure you he is not so courteous when we are alone. He just enjoys making me look the rogue in front of you." He stood from the window and crossed to her.

"And you make it so difficult for him," she teased as he helped her slip her robe from her shoulders, leaving only her ebony locks to oppose her nakedness. She eased into the tub, immersing herself into the clear, warm water.

Legolas returned to the window to sit beside her, bending his legs to press his light shoes against the sill. Listening to the soft splashing resonate off the chamber walls, he once again felt his apprehension lay claim to his thoughts. Though Arwen's concerns were well-founded – of that he trusted her perceptions too well to doubt – he was less confident she understood the finer details of her solution.

The ways of Men are different, he'd told her and he had spoken plainly. He had traveled many years in the company of Men, not only through forests and mountains devoid of Man, Elf, Dwarf or Hobbit, but through great cities where he was the only one among thousands who bore pointed ears. Arwen experienced that same vantage point daily now, but she was still a lady among them. Another peculiarity of Men: they behaved and even spoke differently in the presence of the females of their race.

He had seen Men in the society they preferred, the society they created for themselves and though he did not understand the strictures and categories they seemed to instinctively create, he did try to perceive and respect them. Though the finest of Men and one familiar with Elves, Aragorn had still developed these same elusive rules.

Legolas had no wish to offend him or alter the devoted friendship they had formed through their struggles against the Dark Lord, but he knew he would willingly say and do all he must to assuage Aragorn's doubt. They had fought together too long and survived too much for him to retreat when his skill was called upon to render tenderness, rather than death.

But still Legolas wished he better understood his friend's uncertainty. Though royalty and a son in the line of succession, he was all too aware that his was an immortal race. When he had been younger, more impetuous, the idea of ruling had appealed to him, but he had no desire to see his father eliminated and the lure of command had quickly faded.

He could only imagine what it would be like to be the one true heir, to be called Estel, "hope," knowing that, in their minds, everyone added the word "last." Last hope. Last hope for Men and within that, the last hope for all of Middle-earth. Legolas felt sure that not even his prodigious elven imagination could accurately recreate the weight of that burden.

"Legolas." He turned to see Arwen stretched out in the tub, one comely leg on the rim, observing him with her gentle blue eyes. "Do you have doubts?"

"None beyond those you can easily guess," he answered, turning from the window to set his feet on the floor next to the basin.

"You worry he will not understand."

"He was raised among our kind," he reasoned aloud, "even in your own house. It is in our favor that he will understand."

"It is," Arwen said, her voice still tinged with trepidation. She sat up in the water, her dripping hair sweeping forward to frame her worried face. "And I have seen much improvement in these past few days, so I know our exertions have not been in vain, but I wish he did not require this last effort."

"I, too, wish his grief had not run so deep," Legolas agreed, standing from the sill and crouching beside her. He claimed a cloth from edge of the tub and swept her hair over her shoulder, out of his way. "But among Men he is a king and in that his pressures are greater, his burdens that much more difficult to bear. It is likely his troubles burrow that much deeper as well."

Dipping the cloth into the water, he stroked it firmly along the smooth skin of her back. Arwen sighed, closing her eyes and resting her head against folded arms atop her bent knees.

"And I confess our diversions have done me good as well," he said. "Gimli is as good a friend and traveling companion as I could want, but beyond Lady Galadriel, his admiration of all things Elven is wanting."

"But he is a good Dwarf," Arwen murmured. "And a wise one."

"The wisest."

"Do you say that because he chose to befriend you of all our kin?" Arwen smirked playfully.

"No." Then, with a smile, he added, "Though I do think it speaks highly of him."

Footsteps shuffled toward the chamber and paused. Legolas looked up to see a young handmaiden framed in the doorway. "More water, my lady?" the girl asked demurely, her eyes on the ground.

"Please."

The handmaiden entered, a jug of steaming water gripped with the folds of her abundant skirt to protect her hands. Legolas sat back to avoid being splashed and it seemed then that the handmaiden first noticed him. Her youthful eyes widened. Legolas abruptly tensed: Judging by her reaction, he had done something wrong. But, glancing quickly around, he realized he had no idea what.

Fighting to avert her gaze, but continually glancing at the puzzled Elf, the handmaiden poured the hot contents of the vase into the washtub with Arwen and quickly darted from the chamber. Legolas watched her departure with open confusion. "Does she always stare so, Arwen?"

"Did she stare at you?" Arwen asked, a smile widening languidly across her lips. "Well, it is either because you are one of the few Elven males she has seen – and undoubtedly the most splendid – or because a man who is not my husband is here to see me in the bath."

Legolas dropped the cloth to the water with a splash and sprang to his feet. Arwen's amused laughter echoed off the walls. "Should I explain?"

"The gossip has already begun," she replied. "And what could you hope to say that your ears and eyes do not say for you? All your words would serve to explain is, 'I am an Elf' and that she knows well enough. Besides," she mused, lying back in the now warmer water, "if we fear Aragorn's thoughts at such innocent rumors, we should have no hope for succeeding tonight."

Legolas looked back to the chamber door through which the handmaiden had retreated. "Ah, Arwen," he said, shaking his head and laughing despite his own embarrassment. "I cannot even comprehend the ways of bathing among Men. I think you have chosen the wrong consort."

"That you respect their ways even when you do not understand them reassures me that I have chosen more wisely than even I realized." Arwen watched him as he stepped near and knelt beside the tub.

"What do you hope will happen tonight?" he questioned.

"I hope…that he will accept from you what he has lately refused from me," she answered carefully. Then, she averted her eyes as her cheeks flushed red. "And Legolas, you say that Aragorn's grief is necessarily greater due to the position he holds among Men. You are right; He is pushed beyond the usual limits of his race. That is why I think we must go beyond the limits of ours."

An amazed smile broke through Legolas' initial shock. Arwen nervously lifted one wet hand to fondly dampen the hair hanging over his shoulder. "I know it is a great deal to ask," she added.

"There is nothing within my power to give too great to ask for on Aragorn's behalf." Legolas took her hand in his. Then, a soft breath of laughter escaped his lips. "And what you ask of me is hardly unpleasant."

"You do not mind, then, that I sought out your help?"

"Never before has a favor been requested of me that made me feel as though I am the one receiving the favor," he answered.

Arwen smiled widely, gratefully. "I am in your debt, Legolas."

"No, you are not," he refused, reaching out to softly stroke her cheek, "though I may very well end up being in yours."

Arwen laughed. "Come, then, we should be leaving lest we lend credence to foolishly started rumors by being late." Grinning, she stood from the water to step lightly from the tub.

As the water glistened and dripped from her maidenly form, Legolas admired her in a new light, not the least of which came from the illumination that, according to some, her form should not be for him to admire. He had been in jest when he had called her only "reasonably fair" for he thought Arwen far lovelier than any maiden it had been his honor to behold, even that object of Gimli's affection, Lady Galadriel of Lórien.

Looking on her he saw another raven-haired lady with bright eyes, but the colors were bolder and more dramatic, as if he were discovering feminine beauty for the first time. The heartache and worry she had borne and the wisdom she had gained only served to enhance the warmth in her quietly imploring blue eyes. On the face of Arwen there was no flaw.

"Legolas," she said, wrapping a robe around her damp shoulders. "I have clothes you might wear."

"You are going to dress me now?"

"Do you plan to take your bow and quiver with you?" she questioned, each word weighted. She stalked toward him, her eyes surveying his usual archer's attire.

"Of course not," he replied, his voice tinged with the whimsical. "I do not think Aragorn will object that violently."

"Then, you will not require these either," she reasoned smoothly with a laugh, taking him by the wrist and removing the protective vambraces. His eyes wide, Legolas hurriedly withdrew his wrist from her grasp. Happily, she did not notice his haste. One maidenly hand held firmly to his discarded braces while the other traveled swiftly to the fastens of his sturdy jerkin. "Nor will you need clothing so rugged as this."

Legolas shook his head in amusement, taking over from Arwen in untying the laces. "If by 'rugged' you mean that it is too difficult to remove, then perhaps it would be more efficient if I were to wear nothing at all."

"I could not allow that, for one of the most delightful parts of a gift is its wrapping." Arwen grinned sweetly. "When I have done with you, Legolas, I challenge any mortal creature to resist you."

"Do not make any such challenge," he cautioned. "It will end badly." He chuckled lightly and lifted his clothes from his shoulders.

****

To be continued....

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