A/N: I'm very proud that one of my readers had described my writing as Tolkienesque, which is fantastic. They said this in a review for… I think it was the third or fourth chapter (I am writing this A/N about a year after I first uploaded this chapter on lol). This is what I wanted to clarify with you: this chapter is quite Tolkienesque in the non-writing-style sense – i.e. the storytelling sort of sense. It even includes bits and pieces from the book itself. So please enjoy, and all feedback is appreciated. Thanks. :)

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TORMENTED FOOL 1: A HIDDEN TRINKET

It had only been mere months since the full passing of Sauron, when the One Ring was cast into the fires of Orodruin and the black tower of Barad-Dûr fell to its crumbling waste. The Shadow was lifted, and fear and doubt relinquished in the hearts of those that despaired; hope had succeeded, and the new safety of the Free-Peoples of Middle-Earth arisen. The Nazgûl had fled, and the hosts of Mordor were grasped by dread and panic whilst the land quaked in Gorgoroth and the blazing flames of Mount Doom gushed out. The Shadow was defeated, the Ringbearer had prevailed, and there was none else a power so frightening that could take Sauron's place and cause so much misfortune for Middle-Earth again.

When peace was finally ensured Aragorn son of Arathorn – the Elfstone, Elessar heir of Isildur – returned to claim his title and was crowned King of Men. It was a great and pleasing ceremony, and Frodo the Ringbearer and the rest of the Fellowship remained awhile at the city of the new King, for Aragorn cared for his friends and did not want the Fellowship to be disperse so soon after their grand quest.

So he came to his friends where they dwelt in the fair house that he gave to them, and sat down amongst them whilst they ate, to them barely suggesting himself to be a King but openly more of a friend. And doing this he spoke of his trouble, and pleaded them to stay. 'At last all such things must end,' he said, 'but I would have you wait a little while longer. A day draws near that I have looked for in all the years of my manhood, and when it comes I would have my friends beside me.'

This made Frodo curious, and he turned to the other Halflings of the Fellowship seated at the table with him; Samwise, Meriadoc, and Peregrin, who all raised their eyebrows at him and shrugged cluelessly. His eyes passed to the Dwarf seated next to Peregrin, Gimli son of Glóin, who was greedily taking a swig of some kind of draught provided by the servants of Minas Tirith – he only smirked at the little Hobbit and allowed a naughty gleam to flicker in his eyes. Still a little puzzled, Frodo turned his eyes to the golden-haired figure sitting next to Gimli, but Legolas, the Elven Prince, was not looking at him. He only ate, a little at a time at that – and looked as though he hardly heeded Aragorn's words.

Frodo turned to Gandalf the Wizard sitting alongside him, smoking pipe-weed as always, and spoke to him in a low whisper. 'Do you know what this day is that Aragorn speaks of? For we are happy here, and I don't wish to go; but Bilbo is waiting, and the Shire is my home.'

Gandalf turned a smile of slight fondness at the little one, leaning over to the Hobbit's ear. 'As for Bilbo,' he muttered softly, 'he is waiting for the same day.'

But neither Aragorn nor Gandalf would say more of this day, and Frodo frowned in confusion at his fellow Hobbits. All they did was give a stupid grin and raise their eyebrows once again; and seeing this Gimli sniggered under his breath, causing the four Halflings to look at him completely perplexed. He shrugged sarcastically, if that was possible, and failing to stifle his amusement he joined the Hobbits in merry yet suppressed laughter caught with inelegant snorts.

'What is so funny?' asked Aragorn, slightly entertained at his friends' tittering. Gimli burst into a fit of chortling at this point, almost falling off his chair in his great laughter.

'Ha ha ha! I don't have a clue!' he roared in hilarity, almost wheezing from lack of breath.

Gandalf shook his head. 'Dear little children,' he mumbled to himself, although his words were clear to everyone else. 'There is always something that makes them laugh, even though there is nothing noticeably funny. Though that is a pleasing thing after such a weary crusade.'

Gimli saw the Elf beside him out of the corner of his eye, hardly moving at all, and whirled around on his chair. 'C'mon Legolas, don't be so down!' he turned with a huge grin, about to slap the back of his best friend next to him. But suddenly he stopped, for what met him was a sight that he had not seen even during the War of the Ring.

Legolas' head was down, and a shadow seemed to have formed over him – yet his face at this point was beyond the fairness of his Elven kin, being so white that he seemed almost sickly. His long golden hair, always pale and glimmering, hung below his shoulders; but indeed they only seemed to hang, frail and stringy, not cascading as a waterfall of honey the way it usually would with a glisten like no other. He held an almost whole piece of bread in his hand – the same piece that he had now been eating for over an hour – but he nibbled at it no more and only gazed at it, and his eyes were empty, filled with shimmering hue and yet almost fogged, as if a mist clouded it. This confounded his friends, for even in the War he seemed bright and without anxiety, but now that there was nothing to fear, he seemed to fear something. A hint of sorrow was planted subtly upon his brow.

Gimli paused, his hand still in the air, for Legolas' expression had so shocked him that he could hardly move the hand to clap his comrade on the back. He gazed quickly at Gandalf and Frodo, then at the other three Hobbits, then at Aragorn; with eyes wide open they all only stared back in bewilderment, not understanding what was happening.

'Legolas?' asked Aragorn slowly, tilting his head to get a clearer view of the Elf's eyes. The mention of his name roused him into alertness, and the fog from his eyes suddenly cleared; he stood quickly before Aragorn touched his shoulder, placing his piece of bread on the table.

'Forgive me, I have not had much sleep recently,' he smiled weakly, although whether it was genuine or forced, his companions could not tell. 'I do not have the strength to join you in your pleasure in jests, as much as I desire to. Perhaps a little sleep will do me good, so I shall go and do just that. 'Night, my friends.'

'…'Tis day, Legolas.'

'Oh, you know what I mean.'

And giving his friends a small wave, hardly perceivable, he turned away and dragged himself from the room. Gimli looked at the slouched Elf, no longer poised with rhythm and grace. Then he glanced briefly at the alarmed look on his friends' faces, before narrowing his eyes, his heart filled with suspicion.

...

It had been days since the two slim figures first set foot upon the sand, still determined but on the very brink of defeat, hope burning as a small flame in their souls. Only several moons had passed and already they had journeyed many leagues northward, suffering much torment and misery. Both Elves were hungry, exhausted, and their hearts were heavy and wished for rest. The golden-haired Elf tripped on the protruding rock that lay in her way and fell to her knees before it – but instead of rising at that instant she just knelt there, not caring where she was or who would be watching her, if any. Overcome with weariness at last, she burst into tears of silver hue: white drops of dew, small and fair, that caught the heart of her lone companion beside her.

'Come now, my beautiful one,' he said gently, touching her arm. 'Only a few more leagues, and we will be out of this unhappy place. Or, to be honest, so I hope…'

The female Elf nodded and rose slowly, rubbing the teardrops from her eyes. 'I do not fear this place,' she explained, 'I only weep because I am spent. I am the Lady of the Sands, and this desert does not dismay me. Surely you remember that!'

'Of course, my Lady,' the male Elf replied in haste, sweeping wisps of his long dark hair behind his ears. It was a nervous gesture that she had come to recognize, one which told her that he was not, in actual fact, sure of what he was saying. 'It may be so that I know not where the nearest city could be, but hope does not falter that we shall perhaps find it soon. Though I fear that if we do not, we may end up dead from hunger…'

...

'How can you say that you may end up dead from hunger!' Gimli shook his head in disbelief, glaring through wide, bewildered eyes. 'You cannot seriously be hungry again! You only just ate!'

'That was two hours ago, my dear Gimli,' smirked Peregrin, 'and we Hobbits prefer to survive on six meals a day, or more. We get hungry often, and therefore we eat much. Two hours is far too long a time without good old solid food to satisfy a grumbling stomach, ain't that right Merry?'

'Precisely!' Meriadoc replied instantly, rubbing his tummy. 'Come, Pippin. We must go and get the food, lest we end up starved.'

'Aragorn and the rest of the kingdom will end up starved, at the rate that you are eating,' Gimli muttered, scratching the back of his head as he sat down on a random cushion that had been lying on the floor. Frodo gave a laugh, clapping the Dwarf understandingly on the back.

'Well at least Sam and I, who are also fellow Hobbits, don't tend to eat that much,' he grinned, looking at Samwise alongside him. Sam had only just begun sighing in despair at the sight of Merry and Pippin foraging inside the room, looking much like starved Wargs.

Suddenly Gimli and Frodo caught a glimpse of Legolas seated on the floor against the sheer white wall, quite a fair distance from where they themselves were sitting. He was not sleeping as he had said he would, but wide awake and staring at the space before him, with eyes as empty as the air. Frodo frowned as he gazed at the Mirkwood Prince who seemed so drunken that he was beginning to doubt that the Elf only looked that way, and lowering his voice to a mutter spoke worriedly to the Dwarf.

'And from the looks of it, neither does he.'

'I wonder what's wrong with him,' Gimli whispered back, then averted his gaze as his attention was caught by Merry and Pippin cheering at the unearthing of dried fruit. Gimli and Frodo stared and blinked for a moment, not wanting to know where the fruit had been found, and sighed together in utter frustration before both of them fell onto each other's shoulders wearily. As soon as they leant against one another their eyes involuntarily turned to the Elf sitting directly in their line of sight, perpendicular to them, and it seemed as they glanced at him that there was a strange silver light glittering from his open hand. Completely turning their attentive stare to him their eyes now spied a small shimmering object laid upon his palm, like a single gleaming star in the pale night sky. The sparkle was beautiful to them, and long caught their attention before making them react in unison.

'What's that, Legolas?' they chorused. The golden-haired Elf stirred slightly upon hearing his name, and instantly pocketed the shiny object that he had been holding.

'Nothing,' he answered, shaking his head. 'Just a ring that I had purchased on my way to the White Tower quite a while before the Coronation.'

'Really? Where did you get it from?' asked Merry, making Legolas flinch slightly in disgust as he opened his mouth to reveal the chewed-up fruit. Legolas did not reply, and bowed his head in ignorance, hoping that he could get away with answering nothing. But it was hardly a few seconds afterwards that Legolas raised his head to find Gimli's hand in his pocket, and he gave a cry of protest whilst trying to writhe away from the curious fingers, fearing that the situation looked so very eyebrow-raisingly wrong.

'GIMLI!' whined Legolas as he raised a hand, ready to slap the Dwarf's. But Gimli was hardly listening as he tugged on Legolas' cloak (or was more precisely tugging off Legolas' cloak), whilst Frodo leisurely threw himself on his stomach upon the Elf's lap, just for his own amusement.

'A ring, did you say?' said Gimli to himself, even though it was subconsciously a question to his best friend. 'Hmm. That luster. I'm so sure…'

'What's so important, Gimli?' asked Frodo inquisitively, intrigued by the tone in Gimli's voice. Legolas' eye began to twitch as he peered at the two… intruders, losing his patience at the weight (albeit not so heavy) of the Hobbit that lay across his lap and the meddlesome Dwarf whose hand was buried inside his clothes, wriggling and squirming about.

'Beg pardon, my dear friends,' Legolas began with a wavering voice, lowering his raised hand and hoping he would not need to lift it again for any smacking. 'But I…'

'Found it!' Gimli snatched his clenched fist out of Legolas' robes, and instantly Frodo sprang up, knocking the poor Elf aside. Sam, along with Merry and Pippin with their mouths full of food, rushed over to see what all the fussing was about, crowding around Gimli who opened his fist slowly to cup the tiny ornament in his stout hands.

It was a fair silver ring, lean and splendid, perhaps only fit for a slender finger. It was composed of three curved bands of an almost white radiant metal, twisted around one another to make the likeness of a small Elvish circlet, remaining finely detailed all the way around without widening on one side as was most rings adorned with a stone. On the front side was overlaid an intricate unknown shape, a form with a long bowed neck and great white wings on either side, on whose broad breast was fastened a minute white stone glistening like starlight on Gimli's palms.

'I knew it!' cried the Dwarf in satisfaction, fingering the rounded silver metal. 'Mithril. I thought so! I thought I knew that glint!'

'Ooh, it's very lovely,' Sam gushed in appreciation. 'What's that for?'

To their surprise Legolas bowed his head and half-closed his eyes, turning once again pale and glum. The four Hobbits and the Dwarf frowned as they looked at the strangely troubled Elf, for his expression made him look so sad, and sorrow itself entered their hearts as well whenever they eyed him.

'Legolas—'

'It was meant to be a gift… a very priceless gift that had cost me a fortune,' said Legolas quickly, seizing the ring from Gimli's cupped hands. 'I had meant to save it… that is, until I could come to the White Tower, anyway. Because… it was a gift for someone very special…'

'What… happened?' asked Pippin, his eyes shining with youth and innocence. Just to amuse himself he knew that he and the others – or at least Gimli anyway – would have easily taunted the Elf for such a thing, but there was something in Legolas' voice that stopped them. Whether it was sorrow, or doubt, or anger, he could not tell – but something just sounded not right…

'Oh, nothing. I merely resulted in deciding to keep it, that's all,' Legolas laughed in a false sort of way, quite apparent to the five around him. Then he lowered his head, and it seemed at that very moment that a hideous black shadow had slowly crawled into vision, tainting his fair face. In a whisper that the others almost could not hear he muttered angrily under his breath, 'I had just forgotten one minor detail.'

With that the sudden darkness was lifted from his eyes, and he smiled – the way he usually would when he was happy – as he stroked the precious jewel, not realizing that his companions had heard his final words. Yet it seemed, as the five bewildered figures looked at him neutrally fondling his treasure, that even he did not hear what had just escaped his tongue.

Aragorn had had a brief recess from his mounting paperwork concerning trade and exports and, upon the intention of momentarily visiting his friends, he had heard every word that they had spoken, arriving at the door as soon as Legolas had explained his intentions of the ring. The moment he heard Legolas' voice from the door and the note of pessimism that had been threaded through it, he had halted in his very space behind the door and had hidden secretly behind it. Hearing his friends' words, he frowned and placed a baffled hand upon his brow, before walking away with a curiously odd feeling stirring inside.

(To be continued)