Disclaimer: As usual, I own nothing, apart from the random OCs.
They made as much haste as they dared – they needed to be able to fight when they reached Éomer and his men. Faramir and the forces of Ithilien would no doubt be riding but a day or two behind, but there was no time to wait for them. As they rode through Anorien, to the ford of the Mering Stream that marked the most direct route from Minas Tirith to Edoras, a halt was called as two Riders came forth from the ford. One had but one arm, but rode masterfully despite it; both of them, it could be seen as they grew closer, were older, grizzled, and not looking at all happy to be there.
But they were happy to see the men of Gondor. The one-armed rider, who seemed to be the leader of the two, introduced himself as Mægen, and the other as Meagol. "About time you got here." he said, not bothering with formality. "It's not Edoras you need to be heading for. Most ev'ry man in the Riddermark's at the Entwade – with more Bema-cursed Orcs and Easterlings on the other side of the river than I like to think about. Would be there ourselves, but Éomer King himself gave me my orders. More important to make sure you get to the right place right quick, although I can tell you that crippled or no, I'd have taken a good few of them with me!" He grinned, and his companion nodded in agreement.
At the ford they stopped for a moment while horses and men both were watered and fed. Aragorn questioned Mægen and Maegol a little more, although they did not have as many answers as he was hoping for. All they knew (or at least, all Mægen knew, for Maegol was mostly silent), was that there were more of the enemy than there were of them, although they did have one more piece of information that brought at least a little joy to Aragorn's heart. A messenger had been sent to Aglarond some days ago, about the same time they had been sent here themselves, and Aragorn could not imagine that Gimli would have failed to respond.
Looking a little wistfully at those heading to war, Mægen and Maegol remained at the fords as Aragorn's men now turned North, heading along the western bank of the Entwash towards the Entwade at speed, black and silver pennants streaming out behind them, the last of the daylight glinting off sword and shield as they went.
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The first words that Thranduil said when he saw Legolas were, "Pay no attention to your Naneth. There's not a thing wrong with me." Indeed, although he had gained a scar from his most recent adventure, he was quite happily no longer confined to his bed, and was thus in a far better mood. "You will have to take a look at how the murals are coming along – Seregon is really very skilled, and it's a wonderful likeness."
Gildor grinned at Legolas. "Ah, are these the ones that tell the tale of your adventures in the war? They sound fascinating." Legolas was turning an interesting shade of pink – it was one thing to be proud of your son, but Thranduil had turned boasting about him into both his favourite hobby and a kind of art form. Luckily, this particular line of discussion was brought to an abrupt halt when the door slammed open, bouncing off the wall hard enough to make the hinges complain.
"Legolas, how wonderful to see you! Of course, your Adar – who is supposed to be resting still, by the way – did not bother to inform me that you had arrived –" Thranduil's protestations to the contrary were ignored "but it is very nice to have at least an occasional visit from my son once in a while."
"Elloneth…"
"Hush, Thranduil. I suspect this is not a social visit, however – has Celeborn been stirring things up in Ithilien as well?"
Legolas smiled. "I was concerned, Naneth. It is not like Lord Celeborn to give warning without reason."
"It is best to be cautious, that is true." This last was aimed at Thranduil, who glared and huffed, but refused to respond to his wife's baiting. "Patrols have been sent out, my dear son. There is no need to worry. Now," she said, moving to fuss with one of Legolas' braids, apparently not neat enough for her liking, "shall we move this reunion to some place a little more cozy? Has your father told you how about the murals, Legolas?"
Gildor chuckled even as Legolas groaned. "Yes, Naneth." He fidgeted under her gaze. "Maybe we could go take a look – later." Much later, he added silently.