Before the poisoning incident, the construction of the wall that surrounded Legolas' magnificent garden had been progressing at an admirable pace. The dwarves had worked hard and steady under Gimli's watchful supervision, but the work had slowed in the week that he'd been preoccupied with other matters. That wasn't too surprising: the dwarves who had dwelt in the city since a few months after the end of the war knew how important the project was to him and were reluctant to continue on without his input. Those that had come with the delegation from the Lonely Mountain could not have been expected to help out much either; it wasn't their task and even if it was, they were still finding it hard to let go of the preconceptions about elves and wariness of any elf associated with the infamous Elvenking who'd imprisoned theirkin all those years ago. They were willing enough to work when Gimli was there - he was one of the Fellowship who saved Middle-earth, after all, and they held him in high esteem - but weren't about to labor for an elf's sake without him. Under those circumstances, any rational being could understand why the wall was not yet completed.

Dwarves, however, had never been celebrated for their rationality. "You lazy bunch of coal miners!" blustered Gimli as he inspected the unfinished portions. Worry and lack of sleep had left him feeling less than forgiving about their perceived sloth. Those few gaps between the completed parts looked to him to be as big as the hole blown in the Deeping Wall during the battle of Helm's Deep. "Do I have to be on your backs every second for anything to get done around here? No respect for fine stonework or for the city that welcomed you, I see! I'm out of commission for one week and you lot decide to take a vacation!"

"Come off it!" retorted Grór. He was one of the first that answered Gimli's call and King Elessar's request for dwarves to come to repair and rebuild the stonework of Minas Tirith. Needless to say, he was as loyal to Gimli as any dwarf could be but he still wasn't about to appear contrite in public. "If we'd have kept on building you would've just complained that it wasn't right, like you have been whenever someone other than you picks out a stone, and made us take it apart to rebuild again. You seem to think that no one here's as qualified to find the good ones as you."

Gimli gave a nearby small stone pile a nudge with his foot. "If this is the best you can come up with," he groused, "then I'd be right in believing that."

"There's nothing wrong with those and you know it," countered Grór. "I don't know why you're always raising such a stink about it in the first place! It's not like the prince is too particular about his stones anyway."

"I took him to see the Glittering Caves when we returned to Rohan for King Theoden's funeral after the War and he was rendered speechless by their beauty," growled Gimli defensively though he knew deep down that Grór hadn't intended it as an insult to Legolas. "He appreciated good stone when he sees it. Besides, this garden and this wall aren't just for Legolas; they're parts of what's supposed to be the most beautiful spot in Minas Tirith. This is our chance to show the world of Men that the craftsmanship of our fathers isn't yet gone from our kind and right now all we have are a holey wall and a bunch of rock piles! It's a shame to every dwarf out there."

Grór raised his eyebrows. "I take it you want us to finish the wall pretty quick," he noted. "By Aule, that speech was something old Gandalf would have come up with! A simple 'get back to work; would've done just as well."

"Legolas' life is in danger," replied Gimli pointedly. "Yet he's a wood elf and needs to be around things that grow even more than a dwarf needs to be around their stones and precious metals. He's coming here in a matter of minutes because this wall's supposed to provide him with some measure of protection and it's got gaps in it that an army of orcs could march through ten at a time! How's that for your 'get back to work'?"

There was no room for arguing or grumpy exchanges when Gimli was in this type of mood and the other dwarves knew it. Without another word, they straightened up and glared defiantly at him for a moment in one last show of pride before picking up their tools and getting down to their labors. "Get to filling in those holes!" barked Gimli as he began his supervising walk up the wall. "And I want to see those colored stones spaced out, not all clustered together. Where's your sense of artistry?"

"You six there!" he continued, pulling some of the laborers away from a stone pile. "Go down the wall and come up again, checking for any kind of vulnerabilities in the construction. If I find one weak spot that you didn't at any point it'll be your beards!"

"Who'd have thought that I'd ever find shame in seeing you do good stonework?" said a put upon voice behind him. Gimli allowed himself a low displeased growl before turning around to face Gloin. "Working your own people like slave labor to please an elf doesn't even appreciate a stone unless it sparkles. He must have gotten that from his father, if I recall my dealings with that Elvenking correctly."

"I refuse to have that argument with you again," Gimli told him firmly, jutting out his chin and planting his feet. "It never takes us anywhere except to a fight and I have better things to do with my time. Don't worry about these fine dwarves; they know that they can join some other project and they all choose to stay on this one. If you'd just open your eyes and ears you'd realize that I'm not the only dwarf that doesn't dislike Legolas."

"I can forgive them for that. He does present himself as tolerable enough, save for the moments when he just like that father of his," conceded Gloin, not liking the way that his son's frame stiffened at the way he insulted Thranduil. "But that's still no good reason for you to all but forsake your own kind to play house with a couple of elves."

He'd been through heartache, war, and the loss of many dear friends; faced and overcame his strongest prejudices; and had become a revered figure among elves, Men, and dwarves and his father still knew just how to tweak him into a childish snit. "Think whatever you want," he responded gruffly. "I'm well past the age of majority and that means that you have no right to lord over my decisions anymore."

"I suppose that's true enough," said Gloin with a sudden glint in his eyes. "And just who is your lord, Gimli?"

"Thorin III, Stonehelm, the king under the Mountain," was Gimli's automatic but proud reply.

"And if he should call you home you'd readily obey, correct?"

"If he did so, but he has no reason to."

Gloin's chest expanded as he unconsciously tried to appear as large and intimidating as he had when Gimli was a child. "I've been thinking about this for awhile, but I'll give you one last chance to listen to reason. You stop all of this nonsense with those wood elves or I'll be forced to go to King Thorin and have him get you away from them. The former allows you to keep some of your honor; the latter will shame you and me both but not as much as it would to let things continue as they have been. What's it going to be?"

"What gives you the right to do something like that!" Gimli was furious. "Using the king for your own selfish purposes, separating me from my friends and my duties; the only one who'd be happy would be you!"

"How dare you talk to me like that?" Gloin spat back. "I'm doing what's best for you and you scorn me. Do you care more for your lover and his son than you do for your own father?"

"My what?"

"I saw you two outside of the Houses of Healing a week ago. It was disgusting the way you two were all over each other! How could you go to bed with an elf, let alone the same elf that dishonored and imprisoned me?" Gloin moved closer and his expression was half of a challenge and half of a plea. "Tell me you're not sleeping with him."

"I'll tell you nothing of the sort," shot back Gimli, "because either way it's none of your business. I'm an adult and that means that I'm permitted to do whatever I think is best and become involved with whoever makes me happy, whether you approve of it or not!" With that he spun around and marched determinedly up the wall and away from his father.

Gloin watched his son's retreating back, not at all gratified at how things had turned out. He considered stalking after him, but then what? Would he force a confession out of him in front of everyone? The very thought made his cheeks burn. There was no need to let those who hadn't already guessed it know about Gimli's unnatural affair; it would be better to get King Thorin's discreet assistance to save their family from further disgrace. He headed in the opposite direction instead, intent of finding a quieter spot where he could compose his request to the king without being disturbed.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"You never cook for us anymore," whined Pippin, playfully forlorn as he perched on a counter in the citadel's royal kitchen. He looked to Merry for confirmation and support.

"Yeah," nodded Merry right on cue. He crossed his arm and leaned against the platform on which his younger cousin sat. "Not since Frodo was born. Not since Elanor was born."

"Not since you married Rose!"

"Come to think of it," said Merry as he rubbed his chin ponderously. "The last time we got to enjoy a genuine Samwise Gamgee cuisine was the night before we got to the Inn of the Prancing Pony in Bree, before we got back to the Shire after the War."

Sam gave them his best annoyed-father Look. "Now that's not true and you know it," he scolded, only half playing along. It was hard enough working in a kitchen where just about everything was too big to work with or on without having to put up with guff fromthose two every second. "The both of you have been over plenty of times during mealtimes. In fact, I don't think there's been one visit that hasn't involved at least one meal and mostly more now that you make me think about it. So quit your complaining!"

"Those times don't count," Pippin said cheerfully. "We know that it was Rose who cooked all of those times."

"That's just nonsense you Fool of a Took," replied Sam, hoping his particular choice of words would buy him a few seconds of quiet. It worked, as Pippin smiled wistfully at the memory of the quick-tempered wizard.

It was too bad that 'Fool of a Brandybuck' didn't sound as neat. Merry merely acknowledged the reference and went on chattering. "So where is Rose anyway?" he questioned while attempting to sneak a carrot off of the plate that sat in front of Sam.

"Don't go doing that!" Sam moved his arm quickly to smack the offending arm; so quickly that he knocked the last of his crushed herbs to the floor in the process. "Now look what you made me do."

"Sorry about that," apologized Merry, appropriately embarrassed.

"You're going to have to do more than be sorry," Sam told him. "Mr. Gandalf had the right idea, punishing you after stealing his fireworks at Mr. Bilbo's party and all. You're gonna have to get me some more." As soon as that declaration left his mouth his mind immediately went to all of the different things that the hobbit could return with besides what he was actually sending him for. "Wait! I'll go with you; can't have you running back and forth, grabbing the wrong herbs and making Mr. Legolas' lunch late."

"I'll keep an eye on his food while you're gone," volunteered Pippin cheerfully, eyeing the plate and conspicuously licking his lips.

"See to it that watching's all you do," ordered Sam emphatically. "All joking aside…"

Pippin's face lost all of its jocularity. "I won't eat it or anything," he promised gravely. "And I swear on the Shire that I won't let anyone else do anything to it either."

Sam couldn't ask for anything more than that so he and Merry made their way to the storage closet. "So, Rose?" asked Merry, returning to his previous question.

"She's with Lady Eowyn and the kids," answered Sam as he opened the door. "Elanor does create quite a ruckus when she's got a mind too and that's her favorite thing to do when she's here. We can't have her bothering people when they're trying to do their jobs and it's not fair to ask the lady to mind her all the time, so my Rosie's there to do her part."

"Quite a little rascal, isn't she?" chuckled Merry, stepping into a small room and scanning the many shelves. "Your Elanor, I mean, not the lovely wife. What exactly am I looking for again?"

The other hobbit rolled his eyes. "You're hopeless."

"Master hobbits?" The head cook stuck his head awkwardly through the doorway. "What are you doing in here?"

"Just gettin' some more herbs for the prince's lunch" Sam replied politely. "We won't be here for more than a minute."

The Man frowned at that. "You shouldn't have to do all of this menial work when you've been givensuch an important duty," he declared. "Why didn't you just send one of the kitchen girls?"

"Because I take care of Prince Legolas' food personally," said Sam, sounding quite firm. "Now I'm not saying nothing bad about nobody but I promised the king and prince that I'd see to all parts of the meals myself."

"Surely you don't think that one of them had anything to do with the poisoning?" asked the cook incredulously. "I can assure you that they've been questioned many times, and doing it once was a waste of time in my opinion. Who ever heard of a kitchen girl caring about politics and the like to kill someone or being clever enough to hide it if she did?"

"Well if you want to name a couple of trustworthy ones I just might ask them next time," Sam told him, though he didn't mean it. As a former servant himself, he didn't like the cook's dismissive attitude about those who worked under him one bit so he could be forgiven for telling one little lie to get rid of him. "There's a lot for me to do and I wouldn't mind the help."

"I can't name any of them," said the flabbergasted cook. "They're just kitchen girls – no one can even tell them apart."

"Then why are you pestering us in the first place? Off with you!" Letting out an annoyed grunt, Sam looked back at Merry. "Can you believe some people, Mr. Merry? Mr. Merry?"

Merry made no answer. His steelygaze and all of his attentionwere focused solely on the row of honey jars on one of the shelves as he digested what the cook had just told them.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Legolas breathed deeply as he took in the sight of his beautiful garden. The trees, the flowers, the shrubbery, the land itself; everything was speaking to him, welcoming him back. How did he manage to stay away for so long? "I've missed this place so much," he smiled. "I'm happy to see that none of the younger flowers and plants withered away when I wasn't around to attend to them."

"There were a horde of gardeners in the city that were more than happy to offer their help," the guard that was nearest assured him. "Even the king pitched in some when he wasn't working on the investigation."

"He did?"

"He said it helped him clear his mind," nodded the guard. "Though it took all of his restraint not to take a hoe to the irilas."

What a sweet thing for Aragorn to do. Why hadn't he told him about it? Well, it wasn't as if they were speaking to each other much those days. Acknowledging that saddened Legolas immensely and he wondered how that was possible. It wasn't as if they didn't love each other: he'd poured out all of his fears to the Man in the Houses of Healing and he knew that Aragorn meant every word he'd vowed in response. Now they just didn't express that love unless the circumstances were extreme. Why weren't they able to trust each other with all of their negative emotions and be together like they used to, before the responsibilities of the delegations and running of the city had taken their tolls? Thank Elbereth he was outdoors where he could think more clearly and try to find a way to make that scenario possible.

"Could I be alone for awhile?" he requested. When the guards hesitated he looked at them with pleading eyes. "I promise I won't go anywhere or do anything but sit on that bench right there" – he pointed at a stone seat that sat fairly close to the wall – "and you want' have to go too far. I just need a moment to myself to think. Please?"

"Very well, sire," said one of the guards, albeit reluctantly. The four exchanged a glance and wordlessly scattered off in different directions, going far enough away to give the prince his privacy. After all, they figured, the garden was safe enough; it was more important for them to make sure that no one entered there without leave.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"I think that we should question the dwarves again," asserted Eärnil to the king and the other advisors as they sat in their daily meeting. "Apparently some sort of grudge exists between them and the prince's father. I wouldn't put it past a wronged dwarf to get sneaky when they feel vengeful."

'Obviously this Man had never been around a vengeful dwarf before,' thought Aragorn wryly. A dwarf who wanted to exact revenge was more likely to take a swing a Thranduil with his axe no matter who was watching, rather than exersice the restraint and discretion that would be needed to poison his son in secret. Still, there were no better suggestions at the time. "Very well –"

His voice cut off as the door burst open. Merry, Sam, and Pippin rushed in with a couple of guards at their heels. "I'm sorry, your majesty," said one of the guards breathlessly. "They insisted that it had to do with the prince and that it couldn't wait."

"I have it, Strider," said Merry hurriedly as he braced his hands against his knees to steady himself. "Everyone's been thinking about this all wrong and that's why we couldn't figure it out but now I've got it."

"Are you saying that you know how we can figure out who he is, mater hobbit?" asked Turgon, casting a doubtful gaze on him.

"That's just it. Everyone's made the same assumption and it's all wrong," stressed Merry. "Who can move in and about the kitchen unnoticed? Who's basically ignored unless they're needed and never really looked at by anyone down there? The kitchen girls. If someone disguised herself as one of them, she could get all the way to where the honey is and no one would even give her a second thought."

He stared at Aragorn, whose eyes were wide with realization. "Don't you see, Strider? Whoever did this is a woman."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Legolas was so wrapped up in this revelry that he didn't hear the footsteps until they were almost upon him. 'Who could that be?' he wondered, for he was only expecting his father or Aragorn and the footfalls sounded too heavy and too light, respectively, to be either one of them. It didn't sound like Gimli, the hobbits, Eowyn, the children, or the guards either. While the garden was usually open to whomever wanted to enjoy its beauty, he couldn't imagine that under these circumstances anyone else would have been able to get past the sentries without him being asked.

Looking up, he saw a young woman approaching. She was pretty, though the way she carried herself made her come acroos as small and unnoteworthy.The obvious tension running throughout her body gave her a nervous air while her eyes held a strange, faraway gleam. An oversized cloak covered most of her frame but he could see the very bottom of an expensive-looking dress peering out near her feet.

She stopped a few feet in front of Legolas and stared at him without blinking. "Do you know who I am?" she demanded in a strained voice.

No greeting, proper or informal; no hint that she was surprised to find anyone else in the garden, let alone Gondor's prince consort. Legolas suddenly felt very uncomfortable. "Yes," he replied cautiously. "You're Lady Nienor, Lord Cirion's daughter."

"I am supposed to be the queen," she told him, and drew a long knife out from under her cloak.

To be continued…

A/N: I dedicate this chapter to Nuavarion, who guessed who the poisoner was. A good number of you thought it was Faramir, and it almost was. He was my back-up culprit (in case Cirion's daughter – my first choice – turned out to be too obvious) but I'm glad that it didn't come down to that because I really do love Faramir and his relationship with Eowyn.