***
Chapter Five: The Calm before the Storm
***
"Are you hungry, Master Gimli?"
The sweet, melodic voice of Elrond's daughter brought Gimli from depths of thought. The Dwarf blinked to focus his coal-black eyes, and gave the Elf before him a brief smile. "Always, Lady."
The Evenstar laughed lightly, and loosed a small pouch from her saddle. Slowing upon her horse so the Dwarf could catch her side, she took a small handful of shelled nuts for herself and handed the bag to her companion. "Fabled are the appetites of the Dwarves... Your answer was wholly unexpected."
Gimli laughed heartily at the Elf's sarcastic tone before tossing back a handful of nuts, shells and all. He began to crunch happily, but as the shells splintered in his mouth he shot an alarmed look at Arwen. "What foul nuts are these?!"
Blue eyes twinkling, it was all Arwen could do to not burst into giggles. "Shelled ones, I fear. The nutmeats are quite good, and a favourite of my father's."
"Shelled..." Gimli's face soured, and he leaned from his pony to spit. The sharp shell pieces stuck in his beard, and he looked such a picture that Arwen could not contain her amusement. Peals of laughter reached the Dwarf's ears, and he could not help but roar himself. As their laughter subsided, Gimli straightened in his saddle to grin at the Elf. "The laughter of Elves! 'Twas only when the Hobbits got Legolas laughing that I thought him even remotely tolerable."
Arwen returned his smile, but it did not reach her eyes. "I was not overly fond of Legolas at first meeting, myself... but one does warm up to him."
Gimli nodded sagely. "Indeed. I am impossibly lucky to call him friend..." Noting the sudden mist clouding the dark-haired Elf's eyes, he continued hurriedly. "And you, Lady Arwen, should I be so presumptuous as to assume your friendship!"
Shaking her head, Arwen laughed lightly. "Of course, Master Gimli. I should hope to call you a friend as well! I have enjoyed your company thus far... And you have my thanks, once more, for letting me travel with you."
"Bah!" said Gimli, and he waved her thanks away with a gloved hand. "It has been a pleasure. Arod and Hasufel are good company, but lack in conversation. A question has been weighing heavily on my mind, if you won't mind me asking... What has driven you from Minas Tirith, besides your desire to visit with the Lady Galadriel?"
A sigh escaped the lips of Elrond's youngest. "I would not trouble you."
Gimli frowned. He didn't want to pry, but he was terribly curious... "You wouldn't."
Smoothing her hair back, Arwen stared up at the awakening stars. It was nearing twilight, and it would not be long before the mismatched pair would stop to make camp. "Very well. I... I assume you have noticed Aragorn's affection for the Prince?"
"Legolas?"
Arwen raised an eyebrow. "Yes, Legolas." Gimli seemed to have found his feet fascinating, and said nothing. The Elf shook her head incredulously, "Who else? They are inseparable!"
"I know not what you are speaking of, Lady," Gimli stammered weakly.
"You do, and we both know it. I am not as delicate as I appear. Verily, humouring me will do greater disservice than speaking the truth, harsh though it may be." Arwen argued, hands on her hips. She tucked her hair behind her ears, and met the Dwarf's reluctant eyes. "But tell me Gimli, did you notice?"
Gimli shifted uncomfortably. "I... I must admit that I did."
Arwen nodded, running thin fingers through her horse's mane as she fought back tears. Gimli wracked his mind for wise words, but as he finally opened his mouth, Arwen cut him off.
"...Only a fool would not. Do not worry, Elf-friend. I have thought long and hard, and I am... secure," her voice was firm on the word, "in my decision. I do love Aragorn, but we are not meant to be." They passed through a small thicket, and emerged at the coarse-sanded side of a murky lake. The slender Elf slipped down from her horse, and the Dwarf followed with considerably less grace. "I think I have always known, though I long deceived myself. As for Aragorn... Dear Estel has lived his entire life believing that I am his destined love."
"He does love you, Lady..."
Arwen laughed bitterly. "Yes, he does. Not the way he thinks he does, but that will be discovered in time. To answer your question, Gimli, I fled Minas Tirith to give Aragorn space to make that discovery." She paused, then, and turned away to hide the tears that escaped her eyes. "And, I must admit... it was difficult to be in Estel's company... Very much so."
"'Tis a beautiful, selfless act..." Gimli took Arwen's slender hand in his own grubby pair, and looked up at her silver tears helplessly. "I wish that there were further words of comfort I could offer you, but I am not, alas, adept in the way of words. I do know, however, that so lovely a maiden should have no trouble finding her own true love, and soon... None can compare, save perhaps the Lady of the Wood."
Contrary to his expected reaction, Arwen sighed loudly and rolled her clear blue eyes. She looked down at the Dwarf with a scowl. "I have heard those words of comfort before, and they helped not... Beautiful I may be, but it is as much a curse as it is a gift. It is all males ever see..."
Gimli frowned, tutting lightly. "Arwen, dear... I wasn't referring to your looks. There is more to you than silky hair and shiny lips..."
A long moment passed as the Elf's mouth hung agape. A tear slid down her cheek unnoticed, and she wrapped her arms around the Dwarf. "Gimli." She tucked her face into his beard, "Thank you..."
***
"I remember the first time I laid eyes upon you, Gimli. You stood at your father's side on the morn of the Council. Glóin must be so proud of you... Have you spoken to him?"
The Dwarf laughed softly as he stirred the fire. "I haven't. Did he stay long in Rivendell after we departed? He had not made final his plans when we last spoke..."
Arwen sat upon a fallen tree, silver-blue cloak shimmering in the firelight. A packet of lembas sat at her feet, forgotten in after-dinner conversation. "Nay, not long. He was not so open to the Elven-folk as you are, save perhaps father... If memory serves me, they met long ago during Bilbo's trek to Erebor. He left for the Lonely Mountain soon after your Fellowship left."
Gimli nodded distractedly. "I have missed him, and the company of the Dwarves."
"Legolas mentioned that as well," Arwen said, "That the Hobbits were wonderful company, Gandalf, the Men, and yourself of course, Gimli... but he told me how he had missed the presence of Elves."
"Aye, I figured as much. He spent hours upon hours in the trees; talking to the Elms, singing to the Beeches... I worried for his sanity, until Aragorn assured me that his behaviour was the norm for a Wood-Elf. I had heard that they were rather... wild."
Arwen covered her mouth to stifle a giggle. It had been centuries since she had set foot in Mirkwood, but its inhabitants had left a lasting impression. "I believe they prefer 'in tune with nature', Master Gimli, but you are absolutely right. The Beeches are his favourite... They have always been."
Gimli threw back his head and laughed. "Beeches... Bah! Crazy Elf. I take it you've known him for quite some time, then?"
"I have known Legolas since my second year, when we were introduced during business of our fathers. We were both far too young to remember it, so when he spent several years in Rivendell as an Elfling, we thought we were meeting for the first time. It was then that we became fast friends, and we have remained such ever since... I dearly hope that our issues with Estel will not change anything..."
"Surely they won't. The speed with which he forgave your assault will speak for the strength of your bond..." teased the Dwarf, and he tossed another log on their fire. Arwen cringed, and covered her fair face with both hands. Gimli put a thick arm around her shoulders, and with a blush she was finally able to laugh at herself. The whole ordeal had been so absurd...
"I have never been so horrified," she admitted sheepishly, "I thought Estel was going to kill me, and if not he, then father. Elrohir still may!"
Gimli chuckled, "All will have blown over by the time we return to Minas Tirith. Besides, that crazy Elf probably deserved it, sneaking about as he was..."
Arwen grinned at Gimli's teasing, and marvelled at how comfortable they had become with one another. Slipping out from beneath his heavy arm, Arwen rose and pecked Gimli on the cheek. "Sleep well, Gimli."
"Goodnight, Lady."
***
They rode through the night, did the White Rider and his White Horse. Shadowfax was relentless in his sprint, and Hannor upon Pewen his borrowed horse fought to keep up. If such deeds were not expected of so powerful an Istari as Gandalf, his flight from Osgiliath to Rhosgobel would be marked more prominently in the annals of the Third Age. A week had passed since Hannor had made himself known, merely seven days since their departure from camp. They had eaten little, and slept less, and at long last the trees of Mirkwood, now known as Eryn Lasgalen, passed in a deep green blur on their right.
In their rush, few words were exchanged. At first the silence had been welcomed, as by the tone of Radagast's note, there was little time to spare. In the prolonged silence, however, Gandalf began to feel the bristle of unease. Hannor had fallen from shouting distance, and at a mumbled command from the Wizard, Shadowfax slowed to a trot. "What other news have you for me?"
"Little," said Hannor breathlessly. "We had all but folded upon ourselves during Sauron's bid, and just as things began to normal themselves, this happened..."
Gandalf nodded, eyes piercing the distance that still stood between them and Radagast's home. There was no way Hannor's horse Pewen could keep up to Shadowfax if the Mearh* hit full speed. "I will be waiting for your arrival in Rhosgobel. I shouldn't like to leave you, but you seem far safer in my eyes than my old friend Radagast. We cannot tell what perils have befallen him; it has been weeks since you have last seen him, and more than a year for myself. I go to him now as fast as Shadowfax will take me."
"I wish you what luck I may," Hannor nodded, unable to keep stress' strain and disappointment out of his voice. He patted Pewen's neck with a rough, filthy hand. "We will be on your heels."
The Istari nodded solemnly, first to the strange messenger and then his golden steed. Pewen snorted in protest, and Gandalf's sharp eyes smiled for the horse's loyalty. Pewen was not keen on being left behind. Returning his gaze to Hannor, the Wizard re-snugged his hat and smiled grimly. "Do not trouble to worry. Farewell!" With a shouted Elvish command, the pair became a white blur, and quickly shrank from sight.
A malicious sneer appeared upon the haggard face of Hannor, as he tightened his grip on the reins and turned the horse south. "Farewell," he said, glancing back over his shoulder, "I will not worry."
***
"Such swift feet," mused Gandalf, "Even you must be amazed, Shadowfax! We have come so far, and now at our left festers old Dol Guldur. Simple rubble now, and yet every detail of my service there stands vividly clear in my addled mind. Alas! In the here and now, our foe is forgotten, and yet I still feel his threat swamping Amon Lanc. Ride hard, Shadowfax! Speed me from this foul ground!"
Shadowfax sped at his master's request, until his powerful white limbs were little more than a blur, and a racket of hooves followed at pause. When the hill that housed the Necromancer in his day had faded into the swath of wood, Gandalf's troubles weighed still upon his mind. Finally, when the moon leapt into the sky and seemed to chastise the Istari for riding so hard and so long, the White Wizard found a spot to rest.
Warming his feet by crackling fire, Gandalf puffed thoughtfully on his pipe. He had been rather invested in the idea that Sauron's abandoned fortress, Dol Guldur, was the source of his unease. Verily, he was concerned for the well-being of Radagast, and to a lesser extent, the party of Elves and Hobbits he had left so abruptly, but there was simply something… more. Turning to Shadowfax, who was nearing sleep, he mumbled softly.
"Can you sense this, my old friend? Trouble. Yes, I have not yet forgotten its scent. I am quite sure that I ride into trouble, and not away from it, but I worry still for the Hobbits." Snorting conversationally, Shadowfax tossed his head in the light breeze. Gandalf nodded absently, "Yes, I suppose you are right. Legolas is with them, and the sons of Elrond are strong and brave... No, it is for Radagast alone that I must worry."
The wise eyes of the Istari wandered north, toward Rhosgobel and his old friend. Though the brightest hours of the day were long gone, the sky was unnaturally dark there, as sharply wisped black clouds overthrew every scrap of light. Clucking his tongue quietly, the Wizard turned south and scanned his wake for any sign of Radagast's messenger. There was none, and instead of friendly conversation lulling him into sleep, he unrolled Radagast's note and re-read its scratchy handwriting.
"Olórin, I regret that it is only in a time of need that I call upon our longstanding friendship, but my need is proving quickly to be more than I am able to handle. I beg of you, come with all speed to Rhosgobel. I cannot hold out overlong, and we Maia are faltering in our stay. I cannot—certainly I dare not, speak of what terror has caked this bumbling Istari, for fear my message is intercepted, so I will wait with bated breath and hope hard.
In speed and health,
Aiwendil."
It had seemed rather strange at first that the bird-lover had used their names of old, but Gandalf brushed it off as simple formalities. Radagast's penmanship was unmistakeable, however rushed, and that thought alone soothed the Wizard's mind. At least this cry for help was true, and not some foul-minded forgery.
Stretching out at fire's side, and making sure that his long, white beard was far from the flames, Gandalf closed his blue eyes and tried to sleep. Some time passed, but the ragged breaths of Shadowfax and the howl of the wind in the trees kept the Istari from much-needed slumber. At long last, when his exhaustion was complete, Gandalf allowed dreams to take him, the worrisome note still clutched in one gnarled hand.
***
The white tree of Gondor was engraved upon the goblet, faded with years. The wine it held, however, was anything but dulled by winters passed. Twirling the glasses long stem with nimble fingers, the golden-haired Elf grinned at his companion. "I trust you enjoyed your meal?"
Elrond smiled drowsily, and reached across the table to take the Elf's pale hand. "My dear Glorfindel, I have never tasted better… For all the years I have known you, and verily they have begun to pile, you have never ceased to amaze me. What secrets of spice and spoon have you?"
Glorfindel beamed at the praise, and plucked the silver spoon from his plate. Tapping it against the carved armrest of his chair, and then stirring it about in the air, he shrugged lightly. "I have no secrets… A spoon is a spoon, my Lord, though this one seems to be rather more elaborately built than others. The King's personal supply, I should guess… As for spices, I had only what the cooking staff allowed me. Less than keen, they were, on letting a strange Elf muck about their kitchen."
Elrond's hand slipped away from Glorfindel's, and joined its twin on his full stomach. A contented smile on his handsome face, the half-Elf reclined further in his chair. "Muck about indeed! It is a shame the Hobbits are not here. They would appreciate your skills beyond any other!"
"Indeed," said Glorfindel softly, "They will be in Rohan, surely, by now."
Elrond nodded, "Unless Legolas convinced them to tarry in Ithilien, I have no doubt. Estel doesn't seem to be handling the absence of his crew terribly well… He has buried himself in his work, and will say naught of anything else. The eight must have bonded incredibly on their path."
"Aye," Glorfindel agreed, drinking deeply.
"Though," Elrond mused, "I suspect the abrupt leave of Arwen has a good deal to do with this silence."
"What reasons had she?"
Elrond paused thoughtfully, "She told me that Estel did not love her as anything but a sister, to which he has openly denied many times—"
"Many times since?"
"…No, but I would like to believe he still would. Arwen told me that she likely would not participate in her own wedding, for there is another who holds Estel's heart. Who that is, I cannot tell, and the King has buried himself in his duties so well that I have not been about to draw it from him."
At this last, Glorfindel's pale green eyes widened significantly. "You cannot tell?"
"Nay. I am sure it is not Elladan or Elrohir, and besides the Fellowship there are few he is close with. Unless, of course, it is upon you his eyes linger…" Elrond teased lightly, veiling his frustration.
Glorfindel blinked, "You honestly cannot tell? My faith in your Elven eyes falters, for it is obvious to me whom Arwen refers to! Even poor Elrohir realizes, if he will not admit so to himself…"
Elrond scowled, "Will you keep your secrets, then? Tell me!"
Glorfindel smiled brilliantly. "Thranduil's Greenleaf."
"Legolas?"
"Legolas."
A flood of memories filled the Lord of Imladris' mind… The first time he had met Legolas, only a babe in his mother's arms. The first time he had met Estel, little more than 2 years of age in his mother's arms. The disastrous first meeting of the mismatched and troublesome pair themselves. He shook his head in disbelief, meeting Glorfindel's amused eyes. "How do you know this?"
"It is written all over their faces. Trust me, I would not lie to you."
Elrond finally smiled, and leaned over the table to kiss Glorfindel on the cheek. "I know. Forgive my questions! I did not expect to hear Legolas' name fly from your tongue…" Slipping easily back into his seat, he tucked a stray hair behind his shoulder. "But, now that it has… It is a wonder that I did not see it before."
Glorfindel smirked, "It is."
"Well…"
"Well indeed, love. Tell me, what are you thinking?" Glorfindel asked, unsure of what reaction to expect from the dark-haired Elf. Elrond had known Legolas for nearly the entirety of the archer's life, and they had always been close, but Arwen was his daughter, his blood.
"What a mess this is," Elrond finally broke his silence, "the three of them. One, my own child, and two whom I have long thought of as sons three and four." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I will not interfere. They are all adults, they will work things out, and then I shall support fully the results."
Glorfindel smiled, "That sounds like a plan."
"It does. I swear, these children will be the death of me…" After a sigh, a chuckle and then a pause, he looked at Glorfindel with amused eyes, "Is there more wine?"
The blond Elf before him grinned. "Of course."
***
The sun was setting, sinking into oblivion behind the craggy peaks of the White Mountains. Casting a rosy glow upon the land it touched, and warming the evening air, it did not set unwatched. The King Elessar stood at the west-facing windows in his study, but his mind was leagues away.
Thoughts drifted to Arwen, and his face soured unintentionally. He had not dared speak of the Evenstar since her abrupt departure, especially since only Elrond and Glorfindel remained of those he held dear. It was doubtful that his betrothed's father would take kindly to the King's change of heart. "Change of heart? It is as though I have decided already! Arwen I love dearly, and I will stand before all of Middle-earth and say so… And yet, I have lived my life as her brother—pesky, troublesome. Beloved of course, but it hardly translates to the love of a soulmate… Mayhap she has realized this, and thus flees my presence. Mayhap I have also realized this, and thus stand in the setting sun and debate my feelings… Arwen asked me if I truly wished to marry my sister… And now, I cannot say that I do…"
With a sigh, he ran callused and beaten hands through his dark hair. The sky had taken a decidedly golden hue, and unconsciously his thoughts strayed to his golden-haired Prince. Legolas, Legolas. Where was he now? Would their stop in Lothlorien gain him a suitor in Haldir? The marchwarden had been terribly fond of the Fellowship's Elf, and likewise, though Aragorn suspected that Legolas' affection for the Silvan Elf was purely innocent. "It would be fitting, in its irony. I discover my feelings, lose Arwen to them, and welcome my beloved Legolas home with Haldir upon his arm."
There came a knock upon the solid wooden door, and Aragorn spun to find Elrond smiling at him. The Elven Lord was leaning against the frame, as the door was open, and held an empty wine glass in his slender hand. "Estel, here you are!"
Aragorn smiled broadly, recognizing the tint of alcohol in his foster-father's voice. "Good evening, Adar."
"Why did you not come for dinner? Glorfindel has enchanted the taste-buds of half your people, and their King should not go without!" Elrond exclaimed, staggering forward to take Aragorn's arm. "Men need a solid dinner, not leaves and lembas like silly Elves! Is that not what you told me as a child?"
"It is," chuckled Aragorn. "What has Glorfindel created this eve?"
"A …stew of some sort," Elrond replied, his powers of description apparently lacking thanks to his consumption of the potent wine. "It is really rather good."
"I shall find what remnants I can, shortly. I have an errand to run."
"Errand!?" Elrond's voice was incredulous. "Nonsense!" He gripped Aragorn's arm tightly with his left hand, and threw his right arm around the Man's powerful shoulders. Leading a decidedly wavy path to the door, he took the amused Aragorn down to the dining hall just in time for second helpings. Happily, Aragorn was able to shoo Arwen and Legolas and their complications from his mind and relax, at least until noble Lord Elrond decided he was going to dance.
Leaning back in his chair, and trying not to laugh out loud at the sight of his father's 'dancing', Aragorn turned to an equally amused Glorfindel. Tipping his bowl so that the Elf could see it's cleaned surface, he clapped the Eldar on the shoulder. "He is right, you know. This is delicious."
Glorfindel laughed softly, "My thanks. It is a simple thing, cooking, and oft left for lesser servants, but I truly enjoy it. It is an art of sorts, though hardly as long-standing."
"It seems a silly thing, such a noble and celebrated Elf-Lord as yourself, toiling in the kitchens. Yet, if it makes you happy, and Adar happy, then my kitchens are always open to you," said Aragorn.
Glorfindel nodded, his smile fixed upon his handsome face. "Since Elrond is rather… distracted, I must ask this of you: have you put thought into your wedding situation?"
The implied meaning of Glorfindel's question was not easily missed, and Aragorn squirmed slightly in his seat. "I have, and at times clear things up. At other times, every course of action seems to lead to a dead end, and I become more confused than before…"
Glorfindel smiled kindly. "Aye, I can understand as much. Do you wish, still, to marry Arwen?"
"Nay," said Aragorn slowly in a soft voice, "Nay, I do not. I love her, and that is the honest truth, but I love her dearly as my sister. I tried to convince myself that my love would translate, but never did I shiver upon sharing a chaste kiss… I cannot imagine sharing my life with her, we are not right. We are not meant to be, I think, though I doubt recently that I know anything at all."
"I think you know more than you realize," said Glorfindel. "You are not meant to be, I can see it also. I have long seen it, though I did not think it my place to interfere."
Aragorn laughed then, and shook his head. "Imagine, Glorfindel! Falling in love with my dearest friend…"
Glorfindel's pale green eyes settled on still-dancing Elrond. "My imagination does not strain to think, Estel."
Aragorn followed the Elf's gaze, and grinned. Elrond and Glorfindel were like two halves of a whole, and it was heart-warming to see his too-serious father so deliriously happy. "I suppose you can. When you told Adar, did you not fear that he would reject you? That your friendship would be lost, and all years tallied?"
"Of course!" Glorfindel exclaimed, "But in time I realized that I would never be happy unless I was truthful. For my luck, it paid off…"
Nodding, Aragorn downed the last of his drink. "Then I suppose I should have a talk with Legolas as soon as he returns."
"Aye," agreed Glorfindel, "That you should."
***
"Your Highness? King Elessar?"
The voice was young, and high enough that the dozing King could not tell if it was a young male or female who was trying to rouse him so politely. He had never been easy to wake, unless you were a threatening sound in the out-of-doors. In his bed, Aragorn slept like the dead. Here, slumped in his throne, he merely grunted in his sleep and turned his head.
"King Elessar? Sire…?" The voice was beginning to sound frustrated. "A thousand apologies, my lord," it said, and Aragorn felt breath against his ear, and then a terrible shout, "WAKE UP!"
The startled King leapt from his seat, bowling the poor child over in the process. He scanned the room for danger, but finding none extended a hand to the cowering child. "Are you hurt?"
The boy, who couldn't have been more than ten, brushed himself off. "No, your highness! I'm sorry for waking you like that, but I thought it was a better idea than striking you…"
Aragorn laughed, and clapped the boy on the shoulder. The boy was terribly thin, and the King made a mental note to make sure he and his family were getting enough to eat. "Indeed it was! Especially since I sleep with Andúril at my side…" He winked, and the boy marvelled at the indicated sword. "What is your name, and what can I do for you?"
"I— I am called Anardil …" said the boy with an awkward bow.
"Anardil! That is a noble name… The sixth King of Númenor, an ally of Gil-Galad was named such, as was the sixth King of Gondor! What message have you for me, little prince?" Aragorn asked, smiling broadly. Unnoticed in the doorway, a smiling Glorfindel shook his head. The King would make a wonderful father once he decided on a mate, be it Arwen or Legolas…
"The traffic in this room leaves it a mess, King Elessar, and the others told me to wake you so they could clean it… They said I had to do it because I'm the youngest," Anardil explained warily, and from the look in his eyes it was clear he expected trouble for the nuisance he represented.
Aragorn frowned lightly, "Who told you that?"
"Cemendil."
"You can tell Cemendil that the King thinks him a coward," Aragorn replied, patting the boy's dark, tangled curls. "But I will retire to my chambers. Tell him he is free to clean, if you will, and then retire yourself. Be sure to stop by the kitchens, and take some of Lord Glorfindel's stew to your family, it is delicious."
Anardil cocked his head, "…but I have not completed my duties, my lord!"
"Why does a boy your age work in the first place, Anardil?"
The boy stared down at his shoddily-clad feet, and when he spoke the former Ranger had to strain to hear him. "My father died at the Pelennor Fields, and my mother is with child. There is no one else…"
Aragorn closed his eyes, and bit back a curse. Kneeling before Anardil, he rested his large hands on the boy's thin shoulders and looked him directly in the eye. "Cleaning is no job for the son of a hero! You are a hero yourself, not many boys could take care of their mothers like you do… I know I could not." Anardil smiled faintly at the King's words, but said nothing. "Roheryn, my horse," Aragorn began, "is in dire need of a hostler*. He requires a great deal of attention, feeding, grooming and such… He loves nothing more than racing about the countryside… I regret that I have so little time for him, being King, as he grows impatient standing in the stable!"
Anardil's honey-brown eyes nearly bulged out of his head. "I could do it! Father used to have a horse, and he taught me all about them! Please, I would do my very best, and I promise I would keep Roheryn happy! The happiest!" Anardil cried emphatically. Glorfindel, behind them, had to cover his mouth to stifle a laugh.
Aragorn gasped dramatically as though the idea hadn't occurred to him, though his eyes were sparkling. "Why, that seems a grand idea! Roheryn will be lucky to have you, Anardil, and you will be lucky to have him! You do know how to ride, don't you?"
"Yes I do!" Anardil exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. "When shall I start?"
"Tomorrow," the King replied. "You shall be paid handsomely, of course, because he is the horse of the King! And when I am away with some business of the Kingdom, there are other horses you might tend. You will never clean a floor again, little prince."
Forgetting completely that the person before him was in fact the King, Anardil flung his arms around Aragorn's neck and hugged the life out of the much larger man. "Thank you! I cannot wait to tell mother!"
"Go and tell her," Aragorn urged, beaming, "but don't forget your stew."
Anardil raced out of the room at high speed, nearly trampling Glorfindel, and with a rushed apology he was soon out of sight. Glorfindel smiled broadly, "That was rather gallant of you, Estel."
Shrugging out of a dark cloak, Aragorn yawned. "The poor boy deserved far better than he was getting, and that is sure. I did what anyone would do."
Glorfindel simply shook his head. "I stopped by your chambers to say goodnight, but when you were not there I came looking. You had best get to bed. Kings need their rest, you know."
A smile crept onto the tired face of the Ranger. "I know. Goodnight, Glorfindel."
***
Strange dreams were nothing new to Aragorn, but it was strange for him to remember much of them when he awoke. Now, as he raced about his chambers, collecting herbs, weapons, spare clothes and scraps of food, his most recent dream was alarmingly clear in his mind. Clutching a small, and now filled, travelling pack, the King headed down the hallway at high speed. It was too real. Too real.
Anduin roared to his east, but the sound was dulled by hundreds upon hundreds of trees. Looking around, he found himself in a freshly-rained upon coniferous wood, surrounded by almost ridiculously tall trees. Aragorn frowned, and it seemed to him that he was lost in this forest, and didn't have a reason for being there in the first place. Wandering forward aimlessly, he suddenly heard the brittle snap of branches beneath feet.
Hardly daring to move, Aragorn drew Andúril, and spun slowly in search for the sound's source. He could not find it, at first, until he spotted a bowman in the bushes almost directly before him. How well he blended in! Surely better than Aragorn did, and it was a wonder, but the bowman did not seem to notice him. The stranger readied his bow, aiming for the sky, and Aragorn followed the arrow's projected path into the branches of a particularly tall tree. What he saw there nearly stopped his heart.
Gold, and green. Legolas. With a roar, Aragorn charged for the bowman, but could not stop the loosing of his first arrow. It must have hit its mark, as Legolas cried out, crashing through the branches to the ground with a horrible, sickening thud. Impaling the bowman with his sword, Aragorn raced to the Elf's side with tears in his eyes. Legolas lay in a crumpled heap, not moving, hardly breathing.
Grey eyes that once had sparkled faded before Aragorn's own. "Estel…" coughed Legolas, and his words were his last and greatest effort, "Estel, why…?" A trickle of blood dripped from Legolas' mouth, and the Elf's eyes began to fill with tears, "Why didn't you save me?" He closed his eyes and exhaled softly, and then he was no more.
Aragorn stared down at the Elf in his arms, unshed tears collecting in his eyes. He clutched the slender archer to his chest, and began to rock back and forth. A wail escaped him, and he clutched at his breaking heart in agony. Legolas was dead… He was gone, and it was his fault… Aragorn bent to kiss Legolas' fair brow, and ran his fingers through the Elf's pale, silky hair. His thumbs trailed over soft eyelids, parted his still-warm lips. He traced the delicate arch of Legolas' eyebrows, his strong jaw and leaf-shaped ears. The Elf looked so peaceful in death, but it was little comfort.
Tears began to fall freely, and Aragorn made no effort to wipe them away. They wetted Legolas' skin, and for a long while the King simply stared at his fallen friend, committing every detail of him to memory. Memorizing the contours of his face. Mapping his impossibly strong, lithe body, enthralling in its beauty and grace.
"Legolas, I love you…" It was little more than a sob. Taking a long hunting knife from its sheath, he stilled the point at his heart and thrust in the blade. Coughing blood, just as his beloved had, Aragorn mumbled an apology to the Elf, before losing the battle with darkness himself…
Reaching the stables, he found Anardil brushing Roheryn's mane fondly. It was the middle of the night, but it was apparent that the boy had been there for quite a while. Appreciating the lad's eagerness, Aragorn patted him on the head as he passed. "I have urgent business, Anardil. I must take Roheryn at once, but if you would tend my other horses I would be most appreciative. Also," Aragorn fished a piece of parchment from his pocket, "give this to Lord Elrond, or Lord Glorfindel, in the morning. Farewell!"
"Where are you going?" cried Anardil, taking the offered parchment and watching the King mount his horse in full Ranger-attire. Securing his pack, Aragorn gave Anardil a grim smile.
"I cannot say. Be sure to give the note to Elrond or Glorfindel in the morning!" Then, patting Roheryn's neck, he cried, "Noro lim, Roheryn!"
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*Mearh – Shadowfax is a Mearas, which singular, apparently, is 'Mearh'. (Weird, hmm?)
*Hostler - Someone employed in a stable to take care of the horses. (Hey, I didn't know…)
This is an updated version of chapter 5. Please, if you aren't reading this for the first time, re-read it. I think I rushed the previous version, and I really wasn't satisfied with it. I hope everyone likes this one better. To clear things up, Arwen and Gimli are just friends in this story. I admit I was tempted, but I think that's a tale best saved for another fic. People who were wondering about Aragorn, here you are! :) People who think Elrond would be funny drunk, here you are! Hehe… the whole A/A/L/E situation is starting to weigh on him, so he's got an excuse. I'd be a little stressed if all but one of my children were involved in a love quadrilateral! Hopefully I'll get chapter 6 out quickly, and thank you so much for your continuing reviews, I love you all. Seriously!
Oh, and I realize I've left Legolas dangling. That's because I'm evil. We'll see him in the next chapter… Probably. ;)
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