84. Threads.
Gimli watched his friend's fingers as they nervously plucked at a loose thread on the hem of his tunic, a habit he had seen increasingly over the last few days of their journey.
The pair were seated beneath one of the huge oaks trees that seemingly dominated the forest and if truth be known appeared more than a little intimidating to the dwarf, although he would never tell Legolas that. More at home with good, solid rock beneath his feet Gimli found the uneven roots that seemed determined to trip him up very unnerving and the way branches appeared to bow down to touch the elf without any wind to move them unsettled him greatly. Rock didn't move about unnaturally like this. Rock was solid. Rock was dependable. You knew exactly where you were with a good bit of rock, be it granite, schist or limestone. It behaved exactly as it should.
He broke off, went back to perusing Legolas and his fingers and wondered why on Arda Legolas should be apprehensive about going home.
.
xxx
.
Gallion sat and watched as Thranduil stared into the distance, his fingers working absent mindedly at the hem of his beautifully embroidered tunic, picking at the threads as if to work them loose and sighed. The nervous childhood habit had never quite been broken and came to the surface again whenever the King felt particularly anxious and overwrought. He could not help but wonder if it was something to do with the missive that had arrived that morning but which he had not had chance to look over yet as Thranduil had no sooner read it than thrust it into the pocket of his robe. He thought he had glimpsed the words Ada and home, written in Legolas' flowing script but was not entirely certain and wondered what it should contain to cause such a reaction.
With another sigh Gallion picked up the glass of wine from the table beside his chair and watched as the busy fingers finally accomplish their aim. He was patient. He could wait.
A/N
Thanks, as ever, to those of you still joining me on this journey. I really appreciate it.