Update April 25, 2021:

I rewrote a large part of this chapter's last scene (the stable scene and ending) as I was never entirely happy with how it turned out. The heavy editing starts around the line 'Legolas did not at once react' and continues until the end of the chapter. I ended up adding an extra 1000 words chock-full of confusion, emotions, and nerve-wracking tension (aka all the good stuff), so it might be worth checking out =)

I also want to quickly apologise for how long I keep sitting on the current update; Chapter 31 is in the home stretch, and I hope to finish it this week. I have been working on several chapters simultaneously (mainly 31 and 32, but also some future content which is closely tied to the upcoming events) — thus the delay. :

AN: An enormous thank you to Ruiniel for beta-reading — you are fabulous. Another huge thank you to everyone reading, following and sharing their thoughts with me.

Gathering Clouds

:

III III III

In ancient times, Tharbad had suffered devastation by both war and plague, had seen battle and much destruction by mankind. Yet Anne learned from Hal that its final ruin had been brought by great spring floods, after a long and harsh winter that lasted over a year. The town had been rebuilt for half a century now, and its population consisted of both the peoples of the south and west. Hobbits lived in and around Tharbad as well, though according to Hal, not nearly as many as back in the beginning of the Third Age, when they had first settled in these regions.

The small group reached the outskirts of the city in the afternoon. There were two northern gates, both reconstructed from remnants of the old ones. They passed the outer gate unhindered but to approach the second one, which led into the town itself, they had to wait in line behind several carts and wagons, some drawn by horses, others by oxen. It had started raining a while ago, and Anne was sitting next to Hal on the Hobbits' cart, huddled up in her cloak and a thick woollen gown she had donned on top of her leggings and tunic at Maeren's advice.

As they were nearing the inner town gate, Hal pointed out large granaries to Anne, a beer brewery, and flocks of sheep that were grazing on both sides of the road, their fleece white but with large patches of either grey or brown. Anne looked and nodded at everything Hal said or showed her, even though she suspected that he was just trying to distract her. She knew why of course, and she appreciated the kind gesture, even though she was not at all sure that it was working.

The Hobbits and Maeren had been shocked and saddened when they heard the news of what Legolas and Anne had discovered. They agreed with Legolas though, that there was little else to be done, other than covering the body and informing the people of Tharbad, so they might go and see whether the dead girl was someone known in town. Hal had offered to return to the farmhouse and help, but Legolas declined, saying he could easily manage by himself. Anne had felt terrible at the thought of him going back there alone, and therefore suggested that she accompany him at least. The Elf point-blank refused to take her, and the Hobbits looked so appalled at the idea that she didn't insist, suspecting it wouldn't have helped her, anyway.

"Don't be ridiculous," Maeren, looking nonplussed, told her after Legolas had left with an old blanket — this time on horseback. "Why on earth would you want to go back there?"

The merchant had seemed unusually concerned and fussy; she asked Anne repeatedly if she was all right, claiming she looked as though she had seen a ghost. Anne, with her hands still shaking, assured the other woman that she truly had not seen anything at all, and that it had been Legolas who found the body.

Maeren had looked at her shrewdly then. "Surely you don't worry about him?" she asked. "At his age, I wager he has seen much worse."

Anne had merely nodded and not argued the point. She could not tell Maeren — nor Dorry or Hal for that matter— about the strange and frightening moment after they had left the house. The Elf's distant and eerie behaviour, his startling, vicelike grip on her arm, and the grief-stricken look on his face. Anne could not shake the image of that pure and unadulterated pain in his eyes.

Clutching her stiff fingers together, and gnawing on her lower lip, she stared at a couple of lambs that stood huddled together in a small pen, sheltering each other from the cold and the persistent drizzle. Hal had fallen silent, and Anne glanced at Legolas, like so many times before during the last couple of hours.

He was riding a little way in front of them, with Peg obediently trotting along behind the other horse, without being led. The Elf looked at ease, one hand resting behind him on Dûrfang's croup and appeared to be studying the group of shaggy lambs.

Was she being silly? Her own limbs grew cold every time Anne forced her mind to revisit the events from earlier, the muscles in her neck and shoulders so tense they were starting to ache. The memory of what had happened was like a cold, sickening weight in her stomach.

Legolas on the other hand, behaved no different than usual. He had been quiet ever since they set out again, but then he was quiet almost all the time. Could she trust her memory?

The disturbing notion struck her without warning and then lingered like cold, probing fingers at her heart and mind. What if she had imagined his reaction? What if it was her own terror that she had merely thought to see in him? Had she just seen what she wanted to see in his face because it meant not being alone in her fear? She had been so shaken during their hurried retreat, everything felt surreal. Had her mind been playing tricks on her?

Automatically her left hand went to her right wrist. The faint bruise that had formed on her skin was covered by her long sleeve, but Anne knew all too well it was still there. She lightly closed her fingers around her wrist, absurdly relieved by the brief, dull stab of pain that shot through her arm and into her hand.

This was real. What had happened before was real. Anne did not doubt Maeren's words; surely Legolas must have seen more terrible things in all the many years he had lived. He had fought in wars, Anne reminded herself.

She thought of their journey to Bree; the dead girl in Oskred and the insane-looking man Legolas had shot afterwards; the slaughtered Wood Men in the destroyed camp on their way down from the Misty Mountains; the battered and defiled woman among them, legs spread wide and covered in blood...

Anne's jaw clenched painfully and the cold weight in her guts felt heavier. Even in the relatively short time she had been with him, they had come across a fair amount of gruesome sights and the Elf had remained so stoic on all those occasions. What had been different today? Could it be because the victim had been a child?

Not for the first time, a disquieting thought tugged at her. The way Legolas had acted and appeared after they left the house — that lost, disoriented look. As sad and awful though their discovery had been, Anne couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't the only reason for the Elf's reaction.

Even when they had first met, she had wondered if something was not right with the Elf. Some of the things Pippin had mentioned seemed to confirm her impression. The signs, both in his appearance and behaviour were subtle; the faint sallowness of his skin, the dark circles around his eyes, the slightly too hollow cheeks…

Once, Anne might have attributed the brooding silences and cheerless demeanour to his personality. After meeting Pippin and seeing Legolas' behaviour with the Hobbit, she no longer believed this to be the case.

Then there had been that night in the mountains when she followed him into the darkness — a shiver crawled down her neck at the memory of how angry Legolas had been as he dragged her back to their camp. She could still recall the numb sense of shock as he had effortlessly pressed her against a wall of rock. Back then, his strangeness had only mattered to her insofar as it made her nervous and frightened for herself.

But, now…

A slight nudge to her arm by Hal roused Anne from her thoughts. "Look," he said, pointing towards the grey, laden clouds above them.

Squinting, and holding on to her hood with both hands, Anne followed his outstretched finger. What looked to be a flock of pure white birds was passing over them, flying in no particular formation and high enough to be little more than small, pale specks against the darker sky.

"Can you hear them?" Hal asked, smiling and raising his eyebrows at her.

Anne strained to listen and was able to faintly make out a few scattered doleful calls. It was hard to tell from such a distance, but the birds looked rather large.

"Are they geese?" she wondered aloud.

"Gulls."

It was Legolas who had spoken. Anne lowered her gaze to him in surprise and saw that the Elf had turned his face skywards as well. Again, she craned her neck, following his glance back to the group of birds.

"I thought gulls lived by the sea."

"Oh, they do, but sometimes they come further inland, following the fishing boats from Lond Daer to Tharbad," Hal explained to her, still peering upwards as well.

Anne let go of her hood to shield her eyes from the persistent drizzle.

"You must have great sight to be able to spot them up there," she told the Hobbit, fairly impressed.

Hal snickered, shaking his head. "Wish I could claim to be capable of such a feat, but I merely recognised them by their cries. Even though Legolas will have no trouble making them out, I am sure."

Anne glanced at the Elf once more; he had twisted around slightly on his horse and tipped back his head, his grey gaze following the gulls as they soared further southwards, already lost from sight for her. Part of his hood had fallen back, exposing an angular cheek and a softly pointed ear, delicate and pale as snow against his dark hair.

I should have asked him what happened, Anne thought, biting her lip and suddenly angry with herself.

Why hadn't she just asked if he was all right? Then again, would he have told her? Or would he have scoffed at her concern, telling her to mind her own business as he had done before? Would it have mattered to him that she cared?

Anne's chest felt like something both cold and hot was squeezing at it. Folding her arms around her middle, she bent forward in an unconscious attempt to ease the knots in her stomach.

Hal gave her a worried glance. "Are you not feeling well?"

Anne shook her head, forcing a smile. "I'm just hungry," she mumbled the first thing that popped into her head, even though the vague thought of food made her insides quiver even more.

Hal laughed, his eyes twinkling. "No worries, this should not take much longer. They serve a decent supper at The Seven Stars, from what I remember. Excellent beer, superb vegetables, and they make a fine fish stew—"

Anne jumped when Hal suddenly dropped the reins and clapped his hands together.

"The fishing boats! I just realised — today is Monday, so it's market-day tomorrow. How splendid! Even with this storm brewing, we should do a good stroke of business."

At his words, Maeren twisted around on her seat.

"Splendid, Master Gardner?" she called morosely, while peering back at them through the rain that dripped from the edge of her hood. She waved her arm in the direction of the waiting queue in front of them, nearly causing Dorry next to her to topple off his seat. "Much as I commend your optimism, I politely beg to differ."

:

In the event, they did not have to wait much longer. Several of the carts and wagons before them belonged to the same group and passed through the gate quickly enough. Then it was their turn, and after a brief inspection of their cargo and a few perfunctory inquiries about their business, they were waved through by two weary-looking soldiers, whose helmets were dripping with rain.

Anne's first and strongest impression of Tharbad was a blend of noise and somewhat patched-up grandeur. Tall, imposing stone buildings, some of them still in varying states of dereliction, stood next to smaller, more humble cottages, made of either timber or stone, some of them mere shanties. These last ones had a decidedly temporary feel to them, and quite a few appeared deserted.

Anne had imagined the city to be something like a larger version of Bree, but the two had very little in common. There were no gardens and little fields inside the city, at least none that she could see, and the atmosphere in Tharbad lacked the homely consistency, which had marked Bree.

Sometimes there were gaps between houses, small stretches of bare earth or wasteland, with the occasional heap of scattered rubble. Some of these areas were being used to house livestock, kept in pens or small sheds, mostly goats and oxen, geese and sometimes donkeys or mules. In others, signs of preparations for construction or rebuilding could be seen — carts loaded with timber or bricks, or the beginnings of foundation walls.

Despite the soft rain and nearing evening, the cobbled main street was busy. There were rows of wagons piled high with vegetables and fruit, and others with green, sweetly smelling hay, covered with straw-mats. Quite a few people were about on foot, many leading a donkey or ox with them, the animals often laden with their owner's wares or purchases, and sometimes even carrying children.

Then there were riders, many of them garbed like soldiers or town watchmen. These latter ones were rather impressive looking, tall, proud-faced, and powerfully built. Their helmets and armour shone dully in the weak afternoon light, and several of them had thick, partly braided hair that was the colour of ripe wheat, falling well past their shoulders.

"Rohirrim of the Riddermark," Hal murmured, leaning slightly towards Anne while shortening the reins as they passed a group of the stern-looking soldiers. "Quite a few are stationed here nowadays and have taken their families with them. They live mostly on the south bank from what I hear, which is no surprise perhaps."

Tharbad had been built across both banks of the Greyflood. In the past, the two parts had been connected by the great Bridge of Tharbad, once famed for its immense size. The bridge was long since destroyed and several smaller ones had taken its place. Hal had told Anne that they did not have to cross the river today as the inn they were headed for — the owner of which Maeren had business with — was located in the northern part of the town.

For a while, they followed the main street, which at this point led almost parallel to the waterside. The current was slow here, and the increasing rain was drawing myriads of slowly widening circles across the grey-green, windswept surface of the Greyflood.

Holding her hood around her face, Anne stared in amazement at the tall houses that were flanking the opposite bank, the warm, yellow light of their windows and lanterns just visible through the downpour. These had to be residences of the wealthier citizens; the buildings were larger and in much better shape, with paved courts surrounding their front sides.

Most of the houses had spacious, well-groomed gardens, sometimes enclosed by stone walls, hedges, or rows of low-growing trees that protected them from view. Several of these estates had their own water-steps, leading directly down to the river. Slender barges and skiffs were tethered to the broad flights of stone stairs, and even a few that were more like small galleys.

Unable to take her eyes from the vessels, Anne pointed the boats out to the others, for a moment distracted from her brooding. How marvellous it must be, she thought, to have your own landing pier right next to your house, complete with a craft!

When she shared her thoughts with Hal, however, the Hobbit shuddered and shook his head, looking both baffled and amused at her excitement.

"Not for me, thank you very much," he smiled. "For all the beer in the Shire and Breeland, I would not set foot into such an unruly thing."

"That is quite hasty judgement, Hal."

Legolas had slowed Dûrfang and was glancing back at them over his shoulder. His face looked ashen beneath the shadow of his dark hood, and a damp wisp of hair was plastered across his forehead and cheek, stark against the pale skin like a streak of ink. There was the crinkle of hidden laughter around his eyes, however, and the ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I feel compelled to agree with Anne in this matter. Does a ship not embody the epitome of freedom and adventure, even for a respectable Hobbit such as you?"

Hal burst into merry laughter. "Too much of both, if you want my opinion. The small ones look like a strong breeze might tip them over, and the bigger ones with those cabins atop are even worse! Imagine where they might carry you whilst you're unsuspecting and asleep."

Legolas chuckled softly in response while turning back forward. Anne looked after him, taking a deep breath of air that was fresh and sharp with the scent of damp stone and soil. The low, resonant sound of the Elf's quiet laugh was scarcely audible above the clopping of hooves on the pavement and the creaking of the wagons, but she felt some of the tenseness leave her muscles, and the cold weight in her stomach was suddenly a little less.

Soon, they veered off the main road, leaving the sight of the river, the impressive estates and the ships behind them. They steered the horses and wagons through a narrower side lane that was lined with brightly lit taverns and various workshops; many of the latter were open to the street, offering trades such as cobblery, basket-making, pottery and metalwork. Many had their wares on display outside the open fronts, some of them covered by rush mats to protect them against the rain.

The Seven Stars was one of the few ancient buildings that had escaped the destruction over the centuries relatively unscathed. It had been rebuilt and renovated, and was now one of the most popular inns in Tharbad – or at least that was the landlady's opinion, according to Maeren. Dusk was setting in as the two wagons pulled up in front of the gate that led to the inn's courtyard. The rain seemed to become heavier, and the wind had picked up.

Anne looked yearningly at the lower windows, which shone invitingly with the warm, orange glow of an open hearth fire. She scrambled off Hal's wagon, narrowly avoiding stepping into a large puddle. Two young men came hurrying out of a low, square building, which Anne assumed to be the stable. They merrily hailed Hal, Dorry and Maeren, whom they obviously recognised, then smiled and bowed to Anne, as well as Legolas. The Elf nimbly dismounted and relieved Dûrfang of his luggage.

Hal handed Anne her pack and then he and Dorry bade them a hasty good-night, eager to get out of the weather. The Hobbits were not staying at the inn, since they were expected by a friend of Hal's, who lived a few streets over. After Dorry had climbed onto Hal's wagon and the two of them set off again, Maeren pressed her own pack into Anne's arms and motioned towards the inn.

"Go on inside. If the landlady is there, you can tell her that you are with me. I won't be long, just have to make sure that this lot is stored properly."

She gestured towards her wagon, which the young servants who had greeted them were now driving towards a building behind the stable. Relieved, Anne nodded and followed Legolas, who was already ascending the flight of stairs that led to the door. She caught a brief glimpse of a large wooden sign that hung above the entrance: a white, crowned tree on a dark background with seven stars arranged in a semicircle around its bows. The image looked vaguely familiar but before Anne could try and remember where she might have seen it, Legolas had ushered her inside.

They crossed a short corridor that led directly into the inn's common room. To their left, an ancient-looking stone archway led to another passage with a steep flight of stairs, illuminated by torches set in wall brackets. The other side was dominated by an enormous hearth. Over the spitting and crackling fire, something that looked like a whole goat had been hung. It was warm in here, though slightly smoky, and the air was heavy with the scent of roasting meat and burning cedar. Woven carpets covered the floor, and the walls were lined with long, square tables and benches. Several seats were already occupied. A small, brown dog meandered along the rows of tables, its sniffing nose carving a path through the rushes scattered beneath them.

Near the centre of the high-ceilinged room was a large, wooden counter, closed on three sides and darkened with age. A tall, stately woman stood behind it, eyeing them keenly as she deftly filled a row of tankards from a small keg. Her flaxen hair was streaked with silver, bound and braided back, but it still reminded Anne forcefully of the proud-looking, Rohirric soldiers they had passed on their way to the inn. The woman was clad in a high-necked, plain blue dress, and the starched, white apron that she wore on top of it was spotlessly clean.

Averting her eyes from the woman's piercing gaze, Anne glanced around at the other patrons. There seemed to be only men, she noted, most of them sitting in pairs. A young, dark-haired man whose face was already flushed from drink, had half turned in his seat and was openly staring at the new arrivals. When he met her eyes, his slack mouth stretched into a leer and he winked. Anne drew up her shoulders as a shudder crawled down her spine like an army of ants, and turned away — suddenly reminded of the rude Dunlander in Bree, who had accosted her in the stable.

She was distracted from the unpleasant memory by Legolas, who held out his hands for the packs she was still clutching. He placed the luggage on the floor next to the stone archway that led to the staircase, then straightened and turned to Anne.

"Wait here a moment," he said, and made to walk past her, back towards the entrance.

"What—" Startled, Anne instinctively reached for him, snatching his forearm. "Where are you going?" she demanded nervously when he paused and looked back at her.

"To the stable, to see to the horses." His eyes momentarily dipped to her white fingers that were clenching his arm. "I am sure Maeren will be along shortly."

"I could help with the horses," Anne offered quickly. She felt faintly embarrassed about the edginess in her voice, but her reluctance to stay by herself in this strange, new place was greater.

He shook his head and gently freed himself from her tense grip. "Stay in the warmth." For a brief moment, his own warm fingers lingered in a loose grasp around hers, sending heat all the way up into her cheeks. "Your hands are chilled. It would not do for you to fall ill again."

Anne had already opened her mouth, some weak, further objection on the tip of her tongue when Legolas released her and raised his hand. For a second of confused fluttering in her chest, she thought he would touch her face — but then he merely tugged the hood off her head; a subtle reinforcement of his order.

"No picking fights with strangers today," the Elf murmured, before turning and giving a shallow bow in the direction of the pale-haired woman, who was still scrutinising the two of them with an air of suspicion.

Anne watched with a twinge of unease as he strode back towards the door and disappeared outside once more. Not wishing to stand around like a forgotten piece of luggage, she awkwardly unfastened her cloak and approached the counter, where the tall woman was now handing the filled tankards to a young maidservant, who looked no older than fifteen. The girl had been gazing after Legolas, a pretty flush to her thin face, and now bowed to Anne and hurriedly scuttled off with her tray. The older woman, who Anne assumed to be the landlady, turned towards her now and placed her hands on the counter.

"Good evening and welcome to The Seven Stars," she said regally, her sharp, blue gaze prompting Anne to feel as though she had to curtsey as well. "I am Madam Sigrun. You would want lodgings, Miss, I assume?"

Anne nodded while giving a slight bow. "Good evening. Yes, but—" She gestured behind her indicating the courtyard. "I have actually come here with Mae—"

"Yes, yes, I saw him," Madam Sigrun interrupted while giving Anne a critical once-over. Then she continued before the latter had a chance to wonder at the pronoun or to get another word of explanation in. "Rather unusual for them Elven-folk to wed outside their kin, or so I believed."

Anne blinked at her, completely lost. "Excuse me?"

The landlady's eyes widened slightly and then immediately narrowed. "You are not wed then?"

Perplexed, both by the rather blunt inquiry and the woman's stern voice, Anne barely resisted the urge to take a step back. "N-no—"

"I see," Madam Sigrun said briskly, her tone heavy with disapproval. "Well, I'm begging your pardon for speaking so plainly then, Miss – I am aware that neither of you might have untoward intentions, but I'd rather be upfront about things. I have a strict policy regarding bawdry. This is a decent house, and I will have no improper conduct under its roof — which is to say, I want no funny business up in them rooms, no matter the hour of the night."

Belatedly, the meaning of the landlady's words dawned on Anne. Her face burning, the choked sound of her spluttered protest was cut short again.

"If you take my meaning," Madam Sigrun added sternly, her eyebrows raised.

"She takes your meaning, Sigrun," a drawling voice sounded from behind Anne. "So do I, and so do those two fellows over there in the corner, I expect. Leave the poor woman alone."

Maeren had appeared in the doorway, shouldering another pack, and was now making her way over to them, shaking rain from her cloak before stepping up to the counter. "We shall be needing three rooms, if possible, please. No bawdry intended."

"Miss Blackthorn," Madam Sigrun said by way of greeting while eyeing the merchant up and down. "It has been a while."

"Yes, such are the times, I'm afraid," Maeren replied with a regretful shrug. "I have been sitting on a load of Haradian spices for you, longer than I care to admit."

"Still fresh though, I hope?" the landlady enquired, the words accompanied by a sceptical frown.

Maeren raised her eyebrows in mild indignation. "Of course! Have I ever delivered poor goods?"

Madam Sigrun hummed thoughtfully while tapping her fingers on the counter, her sharp gaze still trained on the other woman. "Well, I suppose it should be all right then. Three rooms, you say? That would be you ladies and that elvish fellow?"

"Aye, it would," Maeren replied while shrugging out of her cloak.

"Indeed," said Madam Sigrun, while glancing towards one of her guests who was calling over for another round of ale. She acknowledged the man with a terse nod, before turning back to Maeren. "I hope, that means you have at last had the sense to get yourself married, even if the union might be a tad unnatural — meaning no offence to our King Elessar and his Queen of course, long may they live — though I am surprised you have decided to brave the conjugal chamber with one of Eru's older children."

Maeren's eyes widened in a rather comical display of abstract horror. "I shall pray to Eru that it may never come to such a thing," she said solemnly.

Madam Sigrun gave an exasperated huff, which made Anne suspect that this was an old argument.

"Unmarried women should not travel unaccompanied. It is unseemly and will only lead to trouble and scandal."

Maeren looked mildly affronted. "I have never travelled unaccompanied!"

"Ah, yes, that cousin of yours," the landlady sniffed in distaste. "I must say, I never liked the way he was stalking my maids."

"Well, Miss Anne will not be stalking your maids, and neither will the Lord Legolas, I warrant," Maeren assured her, even though her smile was becoming a little forced, or so it seemed to Anne.

Madam Sigrun gave her a pointed stare while filling another row of tankards with beer.

"This is hardly a laughing matter, young lady." She set down the keg and motioned for the young maidservant from before to come over and take care of the order. Then she turned to take several keys from a wooden board above a shelf laden with clean cups, jugs and goblets. "Mark my words, you wait too long, and it will be too late someday. Nobody wants leftover cake. You will not stay fresh and crisp forever."

"That's a daunting thought for sure," said Maeren quickly, while eyeing the keys impatiently. "Are those ours?"

Looking rather reluctant to end her tirade, Madam Sigrun handed three keys to Maeren.

"Room Four, five and six," she grumbled. "I'll have one of the boys bring up your luggage. You're in luck — if it wasn't for this storm, I might not have any rooms available. You really should start booking in advance."

Maeren snatched the keys out of the woman's hand. "All right, I'll be sure to do that next time, I promise."

She raised a hand in salute and turned towards the stone archway, motioning for Anne to come with her. Anne gave an awkward wave to Madam Sigrun, who gave her the same sort of brisk nod she seemed to reserve for her patrons and hurried to follow Maeren.

"Don't take Sigrun's attitude personally," Maeren muttered to Anne, once they had reached the pile of luggage, and were out of earshot. "She does not truly think you are a harlot, it's merely her way of greeting people who seem suspicious to her."

Anne raised her eyebrows at this. "Well, I do feel much better now."

"Good. And, believe me, she was no more lenient with me, the first time we met. Luckily I have an aunt who is of the same stock, so I have learned how to handle certain behaviour patterns over the years." Now, where has Legolas got off to?"

Anne gestured towards the door. "The stables, to look after the horses, he said."

"Could you go and give him his key? I have to take care of some paperwork and then see to those spices for Sigrun."

"Yes, of course," said Anne taking the two keys Maeren was holding out to her. She had only now realised that, with a private room, she would finally have an opportunity to read some of the journal.

Once back outside, she hastily drew her hood back up against the downpour and then crossed the inn-yard at a run. The building housing the animals was quite a bit larger and taller than the one in Bree and had a large shed attached to it on one side. Anne pushed open the door and, with some relief, breathed in the comparatively warm air, heavy with the now-familiar scent of horses, damp straw and over-ripe apples. Several lanterns hung from the stone wall to one side of the broad aisle, offering a little light. She spotted the Elf inside one of the stalls, still busy brushing off Peg. Anne briefly wondered why he was doing this himself, as she had thought the two young men who had welcomed them would take care of the animals.

Legolas raised his head as she approached the stall. He had tied up his hair and his profile looked very sharp in the dim light of the barn. There was a distinct note of weariness about his posture, in the way he shifted his weight as he watched her approach, and Anne could not shake the impression that he was paler than usual. He had removed his cloak, which now hung over the stall divider, and folded back the sleeves of his tunic to the elbows; his lean arms looked as colourless as the white patches on Peg's dark coat.

The Elf tilted his head when she neared him, and exhaled on a soft sigh. "I have to wonder if I shall ever see the day that you do as I bid you."

The dispassionate words held no bite; if anything, he sounded resigned. Feeling absurdly guilty, Anne opened her mouth and nearly apologised before recalling her reason for coming here. At the same time, there was a twinge of irritation at his demeanour with her, which felt like that of an exasperated parent with their unruly child.

"I would have, but I have your room key," she said a bit more gruffly than intended, fishing one of the keys out of her skirt pocket, and feeling oddly like an intruder as she stepped into her horse's stall. Peg briefly raised his head from the small pile of hay on the ground, greeting her with a friendly snort.

Legolas glanced up from the skewbald's shoulder and at the key Anne had raised for him to see, before reaching across the horse's withers to take it from her. "Thank you."

When their hands touched, a spark leapt from his slightly dusty fingers onto hers, causing her to flinch.

"Oh, it was no trouble." Anne crossed her arms against the faint quiver in her stomach, wincing as her wrist gave a twinge of pain at the movement. She noted how Legolas' eyes strayed to her hand, his brow knitting. "Thank you for taking care of Peg," she added quickly, hoping to distract him. "I could have done it mys—"

"Does it still hurt?"

Anne tensed at his quiet interruption, somehow feeling as if caught in a lie. "Of course not," she muttered. "I am fine."

Are you?

She returned his searching gaze with shaky defiance while her own question, though unspoken, hung in the warm twilight between them. Just when she thought she couldn't bear it any longer, he lowered his eyes. Anne almost breathed a quiet sigh of relief, but then her stomach dropped at his next words.

"Come here for a moment."

"Why?" she hedged, barely restraining herself from taking a step back. She felt silly, but her heart started to thrum dully against her ribs all the same. He would ask her to show him her hand, and she did not want to. She didn't want him to see the bruises he had left.

Something flitted across Legolas' face, gone too soon for Anne to try and identify it. "To look at your horse's leg," he then said quietly in response to her fretful question, while crouching down at Peg's side. "There is some swelling around the coronet and a small abrasion."

"What?" Dismayed, Anne stepped around Peg, and knelt in the straw next to the Elf, momentarily forgetting her anxious thoughts. "Oh, drat, I didn't notice—" She peered at the small tear just above the hoof, as guilt was gnawing at her insides. "Is it bad?"

"Nothing too worrisome." Legolas ran a strong, slender hand down the gelding's dark front leg. "The cut is clean and I put some salve on it. He will be sound by tomorrow or the day after. You should keep an eye on it all the same."

"I will," Anne hurried to say while scanning the other legs for signs of more injuries, even though she knew Legolas would have spotted them long before her. "Do you think he got caught on something?" She examined the wound once more, berating herself for not paying closer attention to the animal. "Either way, thank you so much for taking care of it."

There was no response. After giving Peg's slim leg a last, cautious stroke, Anne looked up at her companion. She found him staring absent-mindedly at his own hand, slowly rubbing the tips of his long fingers together and observing as dirt came off the skin in tiny, rust-coloured flakes. A small crease had appeared between the Elf's dark brows. Anne felt a pinch in her chest.

She hesitated. Then tentatively reached out and touched his arm.

He gave the tiniest start before turning his head to look at her, the clear grey of his eyes shadowed by lowered lashes. His gaze was intent — expectant or maybe apprehensive, as if he guessed what she might ask.

Anne swallowed through the dryness in her throat. "Today," she began, her voice slightly hoarse, "after we left that house—"

Legolas' expression silenced her. Sorrow had flickered across his face like a shadow for a second; now, there was something else in his glance, something hard and blazing that made Anne want to shrink away from his eyes. They were close enough for her to discern the brighter ring at the centre of his iris, glowing like molten silver in the faint light.

Ancient fire, something beyond her mind hissed in her ear, a flame kindled to burn ever bright, ages before your kind was granted to walk the same earth. Who are you to pry at his secrets, to demand his thoughts…

"W—what?" she rasped, even though she knew he had not uttered a word.

Something was tugging, prodding, pricking at her mind. That nagging sense of wrongness, like a crooked fissure in reality.

Something not quite fitting…

Legolas merely returned her stare, still with that glaring, hard guard in his eyes.

Her stomach tied itself into elaborate knots, but Anne forced herself to push on, her throat burning with embarrassment and irritation at the frailty of her voice.

"I just— I wanted to ask if you were all right."

Legolas did not at once react. Only watched her, breathing evenly and slowly. There was the tiniest rustle of straw when he shifted, angling his body to face her with the deliberate air of someone observing a newly-discovered curiosity.

Anne squirmed, silently cursing herself. Why had she ever thought this was a good idea?

Just as she was about to avert her gaze, trying to think of some flippant remark to escape the tension and the Elf's overwhelming presence, his expression softened imperceptibly. For a moment she thought she saw something close to tenderness in his eyes, though it might have been the dim lighting or just some self-delusion of her own. The silver fire in them had subsided, however, no longer a lurid glare but restrained and tempered to its usual steadfast glow. The shield was still up, she knew with distant clarity, but no longer aimed at her.

The silence stretched, disturbed only by the muted patter of rain, and the occasional soft thud of hooves. Peg, apparently bored by the two, had moved away and was chewing contently on the remnants of his hay. It occurred to Anne — and she had to suppress a hysteric snort of laughter at the notion — that for once Legolas seemed lost for words, as he continued to regard her with what might have been mild mystification.

"I am all right," he spoke at last, quietly echoing her informal use of Westron.

He said no more, and neither did she. Feeling confused, unsettled and — strangely enough — rejected, she could only nod, even though she wasn't entirely sure that she believed him. There was nothing for it. As if from a distance, she recognised that she had been dismissed. The Elf grazed the back of his fingers against her arm in an odd, fleeting caress, and rose to his feet. Somehow Anne remembered to do the same, considerably less gracefully.

There was no warning but a brief twinge in her right thigh; her leg wobbled, tingling and numb after kneeling for so long, and then gave way completely. Anne flung out an arm to the wall as she lurched sideways. Simultaneously, Legolas reached for her, his hand latching onto her bruised wrist — It felt like a spike driving clean through her flesh.

Anne yelped and cringed in pain, and he instantly let go, his grasp shifting around her back, one hand harshly clasping her shoulder. After the brief loss of his grip, he yanked her up with perhaps more strength than necessary, causing her to crash into him with what felt like the force of a charging ram. She clutched at his tunic, snatched frantic handfuls of soft wool to regain her balance — and then the grip around her back tightened, steadying her in a one-armed embrace.

They both stilled, perhaps he as startled as she was. For a few seconds, Anne allowed herself to catch her bearing — to linger where she stood on shaky legs, wrapped in the Elf's warmth and his tall shadow. The shifting light from one of the wall lanterns framed the broad stretch of his shoulders, casting his face and herself into comforting darkness. She listened to the rain and the thrum of a powerful heartbeat against her cheek, while breathing in the familiarity of damp wool, peppermint and leather. There was another scent, musky, warm and clean — the smell of his skin.

Anne swallowed as the knots in her stomach turned into something light and hot and tumbling. She felt him inhale, slow and deep, his chest and abdomen pressing against her, trapping her hands — still entangled in his tunic — between their bodies.

The Elf stirred. Warm breath hit her temple.

"Can you stand?"

Anne could feel his calm lilt vibrating within his chest as she struggled her way back to the harsh, marred here and now.

"I — Yes…" The moment had passed, his hold on her loosened. His warmth fell away, trailed by the light touch of fingers that, likely by chance, roamed down her back before vanishing.

Anne stepped back with the vague intent to reach some sort of appropriate distance in mind and nearly tripped again. She darted a glance at Legolas' face but immediately shied away when their eyes met. Instead, she made an effort to look like she didn't notice the heat that had struck her temples, nor the frantic fluttering at the base of her throat.

"I am sorry — my leg fell asleep…"

She trailed off, loath to hear the tremor in her voice. One hand on her stomach and her gaze still kept firmly on her well-worn boots, she rubbed her thigh through the scratchy fabric of her gown. Out of the corner of her eye, she sensed him move and then pause. Watching her. She strove to breathe evenly, struggling against the urge to fill the silence. Her shoulders sagged in relief when the heat of his gaze left her and he stepped to the edge of the stall.

"Nothing to be sorry for."

Anne cast the Elf a furtive look as he picked up his cloak and threw it around his shoulders; the tone had been perfunctory, his movements so tautly controlled that it made her want to gnash her teeth.

He turned around again, large almond-shaped eyes seeking hers. "All is well now?"

Anne nodded, avoiding his gaze. "I am fine." She wrapped her arms around herself; the air in the stable felt draughty and chilly of a sudden. The shadows grew deeper.

His touch had felt so warm. Anne wondered if it was warmer than a human's would be. She wondered if the rest of his skin was as warm as his hands. She wondered why on earth she was thinking about this.

Another short silence, during which she fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, uncomfortably aware of Legolas watching her while he was slowly tying a clasp on his cloak. Anne vaguely puzzled over why he bothered to tie them at all. Forgetting herself, she let her eyes wander, following the Elf's motions when he slowly passed a hand down his front — from his chest to his belt — as if to make sure his clothes were still properly fastened. The gesture seemed careless and absent-minded, but something about the movement and the mental image it evoked roused a tingling tightness that tugged just beneath her stomach.

Anne looked away and bit down on her lip until she tasted copper.

"You are trembling."

She started at his softly-spoken remark. To her vast annoyance, she felt heat rising to her neck and cheeks again.

"I'm fine," she repeated, stubborn and disgruntled.

"Perhaps return inside?"

"That was the plan." Her retort spilled out with more petulance than intended, even though his tone had held a certain caution, rather than the contempt she was listening for.

Legolas' only reaction to her testy reply was the slight twitch of one slanted eyebrow — otherwise, the smooth plains of his face remained unruffled.

Somehow irritated further by his seemingly unwavering poise, Anne turned her back on him to bid goodnight to Peg. There had been a strange, unfamiliar cadence to his voice, but she could not put a finger on it. Amused? Pensive? Taunting? She was not certain, and it made her uneasy, like a dissonant note in a well-known melody. She raised her eyes only in time to see him lower his gaze and step out of the stall, holding the door open for her.

Brushing straw off her skirt, Anne followed the unspoken prompt, suddenly angry at herself. To almost become ensnared by something like this! — whimsical attentions and perfunctory touches — she ought to know better by now. Smoke and mirrors.

"Thank you," she muttered as Legolas pushed the door close behind her and bolted it. As an afterthought, she gestured towards Peg. "For taking care of his leg, I mean."

Legolas waved his slim hand in a dismissive gesture even as he turned and started walking towards the doors.

"It was no trouble. I shall see you at supper."

Slightly bemused by his abrupt exit, Anne crouched down to gather up her folded blankets and sheepskins, ignoring the sudden, sour taste in her mouth. The stable doors creaked — the sound of the rain swelled from a lulling murmur to a steady rush.

"I meant it."

Startled, Anne glanced up. Legolas had paused in the doorway and was looking back at her over his shoulder. Beyond him, the court was shrouded in deepening dusk. A waft of cold, humid air was seeping in through the open gate. His face lay in shadow, but the deep, familiar voice took away some of the evening's chill.

"You look ready to faint. Get some rest."

Anne nodded, once she realised that he was waiting for a reaction from her. For the first time that day, a weak smile tugged at her lips. She quelled it the same moment, not entirely certain why, even though she fleetingly wondered if he had seen it.

"I will. I was planning to read." His words had been hardly the most gallant thing he had ever said to her, so the slow warmth spreading below her sternum couldn't have anything to do with them.

Legolas still had not moved, and she half-expected him to say something else — but then he silently slid around the closing door and disappeared into the gloom. Once Anne had collected her belongings and braved stepping out of the stable as well, he was nowhere in sight. She darted across the rainswept courtyard, trying to cover her bedding with her cloak, and nearly slipped on the rain-soaked cobbles.

When she reached the inn's open front door, she had focused her thoughts resolutely on the journal at the bottom of her pack and what secrets, if any, it might hold. For the most part, at least. Legolas' demeanour and their short conversation — as well as the disquiet it had instilled in her still lingered at the back of her mind.

He said he was all right, she told herself defiantly.

And what did it matter? Let him keep whatever secrets he wished to keep. It was all he ever really did, anyway. The knowledge was even reassuring, one of the precious few constants that she could rely on. The Elf never shared, never allowed anything beyond necessities, unless he was struck by one of his rare, curious moods. As certain as night followed day — and as certain as he knew pretty much everything there was to know about her — he never let her close.

Almost never.

Anne's stride faltered a little at the thought of knuckles gently brushing down her arm.

It's not the same, stupid. It means nothing.

Several pairs of eyes found her as she crossed the common room and headed for the staircase beyond the stone archway, not all of them cursory nor friendly. Anne ignored them exactly like she defied the memory of a protective arm around her, the fleeting touch of fingertips, and lean strength that ran warm along her front.

Close enough to hear his heart beating in his chest.

Shifting her hold on the skins and blankets in her arms, Anne listened to the pounding of her own perfidious heart as she began ascending the stairs.

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III III III