Note: Thanks to everyone who took the time to review the first 7 parts of the story,they weregreatly appreciated and encouraging. Now on with the show.

Part 8

Gimli's second foray through the elven encampment stationed outside the gates of the city was no more comfortable than the last. In fact it might be less so. Alone this time, without the company of even Faramir, the dwarf distinctly felt his vulnerability amongst this gaggle of armed and angry elves. A feeling he was none to happy for experiencing. Of course if he were to be literal he was not technically alone; Arod plodded along eagerly at his side, head down, eyes and ears attentive, as if he knew where they were going and who they were going to meet.

He would not have to wait long. As soon as the yellow top of the large pavilion was in sight the horse quickened his pace, whickering softly. Gimli himself was forced to break into a rolling dwarven trot to keep up with the silly beast. As he drew nearer he could make out the sound of someone humming formlessly; the improvised tune no doubt what had captured Arod's attention, for it was fair and the voice quite familiar.

The softly stampeding animal quickly cleared their way through the milling elves and before long they burst into the clearing surrounding the royal pavilion.

Both the horse and the dwarf's eyes automatically sought out and alighted upon the originator of the voice. There lying upon his back in the grass before the tent was Legolas. His feet were bare and brushed over the tops of the yellowing blades in rhythm with his humming, while his hands did the same. His gaze was unwavering and true, fixed up into the vault of the sky, catching and noting the emergence of each star as twilight descended.

Thranduil was nowhere in sight but Gimli knew he could not be far; he would not be parted from his son so soon, of that he was certain. He was most likely lurking inside the tent within hearing distance and might very well be waiting to leap out and fall upon Gimli like the hungry lion he resembled. The notion was ludicrous of course but Gimli could not help but be on guard, throwing the entrance to the tent the occasional paranoid glance.

"He is not waiting cudgel in hand ready for your arrival," Legolas' voice interrupted his vision of a feral elf king rending his flesh from his bones to sup upon like a giant cat.

Pulling his attention away from his entirely possible impending doom back to the figure sprawled upon the ground, Gimli saw that Arod had wasted no time in worrying about hidden elf-lions. Lion-elfs?

The equine stood over Legolas, neck bent down low as he lipped golden hair, slobbered over pale skin and breathed gusts of warm, moist air across an indulgent face. Legolas for his part bore it all with a pleased smile, arms coming up to encircle the muscular neck not unlike a similar embrace bestowed upon his father that morning.

"How can you be sure of that?" Gimli asked, walking closer to the pair. "He has been wanting to bludgeon me from your side often enough I would venture."

"I have asked you to come. And while he might not hold the greatest of affections for you he does for me, and you are my friend," was his reply.

Gimli huffed, fully aware that if Thranduil was in the tent he could hear every word. Why he probably had one pointy ear pressed firmly to the canvas in order to hear better!

"It did not stop him from his grand harangue toward Faramir and myself."

Pushing Arod's head out of the way as he sat up Legolas leveled a serious stare at Gimli.

"It was his love for me which incited such a reaction, I fault him not."

"Perhaps that is part of the problem," Gimli pointed out.

Legolas did not reply, but how a face with such fine features could produce such an ugly expression was beyond Gimli. The message was clear, however, and he let the matter drop in fear for his life.

Grabbing Arod by the mane Legolas hauled himself to his feet, coughing only slightly once he was upright.

"You sound much better," Gimli observed, willing to change the direction of the conversation himself, though he doubted the safety of this particular subject as well.

"It is the free air," Legolas told him. "Despite cook fires and dust, as I told that charlatan of a healer."

"I will be sure to pass the sentiment along," Gimli chuckled dryly.

"Regardless of what everyone believes I know what will aid me and what will not," Legolas said stiffly.

"Everyone?" Gimli's eyebrows rose.

"It seems my father was informed I should not be exposed to the out-of-doors and for some reason took the advice to heart. I woke once again not to the sky as I have asked so often, but to the canvas of the tent above me." He paused to grin sheepishly. "I am afraid I did not react in a comely fashion. They managed to stamp out the fire on the rug with admirable speed but I do not believe my father's crown will ever recover its original shape. Although his hair will grow back quickly enough I would wager."

It was meant to be amusing, and if Gimli thought he was exaggerating it might be, but considering recent events the dwarf knew Legolas was quite serious about the extent of his outburst.

"This is not like you, my friend," he regarded the elf seriously.

Legolas' slight smile vanished, and Gimli was pained to see it go.

"It is not like me to cast spells and violate young girls but apparently I do that as well."

That was undeniably in bad taste and Gimli told him so.

"If I can not jest about this then I will surely go mad," Legolas reasoned.

Gimli surmised he was teetering on the brink none the less, despite his efforts, but refused to express such a though out loud.

"Then you must open your eyes and realize this is madness, Legolas," he said instead. "Allowing those people to be punished without Aragorn's knowledge or authorization shall only make matters worse. The people of this land will fear you more, see you as a threat."

Legolas sighed. "And if we do nothing we will be seen as weak, easy targets. Either course will end with undesirable consequences, but at least this way we will be authors of our own fate. Surely that is better than sitting by passively waiting for the end."

"Ah, but you and your people have another way," Gimli pointed out.

Legolas jerked. "I will not be driven from my home before I am ready!" he hissed. "Not by the Valar, not by kith and kin, and most certainly not by ignorant men. They deserve everything brought down upon them for what they have done to me! They shall reap their reward for sowing me into the ground like a crop in springtime."

In spite of himself Gimli took a step back from his friend, not sure he even recognized the being before him. When they had pulled him from the ground they might very well have left his conciliatory nature and respect for men behind to languish in the dirt.

"And what of the others?" he tried another approach. "The elves of Rivendell and Lórien? Think you they will be unaffected, that they will be spared. The queen of Gondor holds ties in both lands, surely they will not stand by and do nothing?"

"Imladris and the Golden Wood are almost deserted now, without their magic rings to shield them their inhabitants have fled over the sea. They have not the numbers or power to oppose us and would do well to remain friends with the last elven realm of any consequence here." Legolas tossed his head. "Enough of this, I did not ask you here to argue."

"Then why did you ask me here?" Gimli almost whispered, he could have been Gandalf himself and it seemed Legolas would not listen.

Surprisingly he seemed hurt by the question. "Because we are friends. Because you saved my life this time as you always have. Because I need your strength."

Expressed in such a manner Gimli felt like a right mule headed wretch. His Legolas was still there, bruised and battered and guarded like a wounded deer, but still his friend.

Making a decision he stepped forward clasping Legolas' arm. "Then you shall have it."

For Thranduil was right. It seemed he was either with them or against them, and no matter how he viewed Legolas' decisions or choices he would support him. His own anger had caused him to lash out at the town's people but in time it had cooled and a clear head had prevailed, perhaps given more time Legolas and his father's would as well. One could only hope.

Catching sight of the triumphant and fierce gleam in his friend's eyes challenged said hope quite quickly.

A slight commotion and the arrival of two elves hauling a cloaked man between them quashed it altogether.

The elves paid Gimli little mind as they marched up to Legolas, bowing as best they could with the man squirming in their grasp. Finally loosing patience one kicked him behind the knees to drop him to the ground in a parody of respect.

"My lord," one addressed him. "This man was apprehended as he attempted to steal away from the city in secret."

"He carried this with him, my lord," the other said holding out a wax sealed missive.

Glancing at the letter and then to the man Legolas pursed his lips.

"I need not read this to know what it says, will I?" he asked, shoulders tensing. "I esteemed Faramir wiser than to attempt such a thing. It would seem my disappointment in the race of men knows no bounds these black days."

"While under normal circumstances this attempt at defying me would warrant censure," a voice thrummed from behind them, "I shall be gracious, for it saves me another distasteful trek into the city."

They all turned to see Thranduil silhouetted in the entrance to the tent, hands on hips.

Ha! Gimli knew he had been there all along!

"Come along then," he addressed the envoy. "I have a message for your master." And he turned to sweep back inside.

Legolas looked after his father for a moment then turned to motion the other two elves to back away from their captive. The man scrambled to his feet and after a quick darting survey of his surroundings his shoulders slumped. No escape.

Taking the sealed letter Legolas dismissed the two warriors before herding the messenger along to the tent silently. Gimli followed along ready to jump in if things escalated out of hand. He would not have his friend guilty of a real crime.

Entering the tent Gimli found the interior much changed. Surrounded by the darkness of night the soft, warm light of the sun's filtered rays was gone. In its stead a series of bronze lamps in the shape of swan boats hung on chains from the tent's wooden struts, a dimmer, flickering light bouncing about the canvass walls. The fine rugs had been rolled up, either in deference to Legolas' need to feel growing things beneath his feet or in hopes of saving them from further incendiary temper tantrums.

Thranduil was sitting at the small table this time, gently tapping one long finger onto its surface, his head slightly cocked as he consider them.

"I will not have it said that Thranduil son of Oropher is prone to flights of madness and irrationality," he finally said, pointedly lingering on Gimli for a moment. "Tell Prince Faramir that he shall be allowed to accompany us to the village and observe the…proceedings. We leave at first light."

"And what of Aragorn?" Legolas asked shocked, holding the letter up slightly for emphasis. "If warned he will attempt to intervene."

Thranduil stood, walking over to pluck the parchment from his son's hand. "I am being magnanimous not imbecilic," he sneered slightly, quickly tossing the letter into a nearby brazier as if it were ridden with lice. "For the first time in his life the Dúnedain King shall not ride to the rescue. And if by some miracle he does he shall learn as that village shall learn; the power of the elves may be fading but it has yet to forsake these shores."

Gimli was uncertain whether the words were prophetic or not, but sworn to their side he would surely find out.

Suppressing a shiver he looked down and watched as the discarded message caught, flared and burned, the red wax bearing Faramir's seal melting until it resembled a splotch of blood.