Welcome to part IV of this fic! The number of characters making cameos has reached its peak with this installment. I think the only person who hasn't yet appeared is Boromir's ghost… I'll work on that for part V.
This chapter is now illustrated! Thanks to the wonderful lycheesodas on tumblr for creating such beautiful art. Unfortunately I can't link on ff .net, but you can access it from my AO3 - the deconstructed URL is: lycheesodas. tumblr (. com)/ post/ 638034694825492480/ a-scene-from-the-days-of-the-king-by-elklights
Translations and additional notes are at the end. My thanks for reading!
The Days of the King
Part IV – The Duties we Bear
Gentle birdsong curled upon a warm breeze, the morning sky clear and blue and stretched wide beyond the open window. Legolas did not admire the view; he sat at his desk and eyed the tall stack of papers in front of him, instead. It was not an inviting sight.
"This one is also for you, Ernil nin," said Faervel, placing another stack in front of him. Faervel was secretary to Eryn Lasgalen's Minister of Trade; Legolas tended to avoid the Minister whenever possible, which meant had seen rather a lot of Faervel in his place, these last few days.
He scanned the title of the top page.
PREFERENTIAL TRADE AGREEMENT POLICY IMPACTS ON TAXABLE GOODS ALLOWANCES
Legolas blinked, and read it again. The words made little more sense the second time than they had the first.
He was no stranger to paperwork; his responsibilities as Captain included the administrative duties essential for running his Company, and his position as Elvenprince Heir unfortunately necessitated extensive training in all other areas of State. This stack of papers, however, was particularly thick, and the summary particularly dire. This had been the one aspect of home Legolas had not missed, the past few months.
He made a questioning noise in the back of his throat, and Faervel glanced up from where he was leafing through papers to take a look. "Ah," he said from over Legolas' shoulder. "The Council thought it best to resume the trading of non-essentials as soon as possible. It is better to have our trade agreements in place before war rations are lifted; Eryn Lasgalen will hardly be the only delegation asking for a share of Gondor's spice market."
Legolas looked at the summary in his hands. He was Prince of Eryn Lasgalen, the Elvenking representative in Gondor, and a member of the Fellowship of the Ring, yet the most suitable use of his time in aiding an international war effort was reading on potential spice trades?
Faervel smiled wryly. "Aran nin had anything not requiring your immediate attention or signature forwarded on to me," he said, dropping another thick stack of reports onto the table. "So I shall be reading with you, hîr nin, if that is any consolation."
"Thank you," said Legolas, flexing his elbow absently and picking up a quill. "It is not."
He settled in to read.
o-O-o
Legolas was only halfway through the second page when muffled voices drifted in from the corridor outside.
"My Prince is occupied with matters of State, Master Dwarf."
There was a muted thump. Legolas glanced up, hoping Gimli had stamped on the floor rather than Eluchon's foot. The guard had yet to find his missing boots. "Matters of State?" Gimli grumbled. He did not sound impressed. "Hmmpff! I'm here on behalf of King Elessar, my pointy-eared friend, and in case you have yet to realise, he is the State!"
"My Prince is busy, Master Dwarf."
"Your Prince is a fool, Master Elf!"
There was a short pause and another thud, then Gimli raised his voice. "I know you can hear me, you pointy-eared princeling! You can't avoid me forever!"
Legolas sighed and set down his quill to rub his eyes with a hand.
"Let him in, Eluchon," he called.
"Aha!"
Eluchon bid Gimli enter somewhat stiffly; the dwarf had barely passed the threshold before the door was shut abruptly behind him. Faervel inclined his head in greeting, collected a stack of papers, and discretely took his leave.
"Matters of State," grumbled Gimli, untucking his beard from his belt and moving to sit heavily in the armchair by the fireplace, huffing and shifting as he made himself comfortable. His legs did not quite reach the floor. "Of all the excuses, lad, that was the best your pretty head could think up?"
Legolas tilted his head. "It is true," he said. "I am currently enthralled with… preferential trade agreement policy impacts on taxable goods allowances."
Gimli retrieved his pipe from his belt, turned it twice, and stuck it between his teeth, though he thankfully did not light it in the confines of Legolas' room. When he looked at Legolas, his deep-set eyes were keen and beetle-black. He rolled the end of his beard between his fingers.
"It's a busy time, aye," Gimli said, "but you are avoiding us, lad, don't think I don't know. This is an intervention."
A gull cry carried through the balcony doors. Legolas ignored it. "An intervention?" he asked, considering his friend and absently flexing his elbow. "I am quite healed, thank you. Elladan set my arm, and he knows his craft well."
Gimli scowled. "Blasted elven half-answers!" he grumbled. "You're avoiding the question. That's cause enough for intervention."
Gimli had told Eluchon he was here on behalf of the King, and Legolas wondered who this idea of a so-called intervention belonged to. He suspected it was a collaborative project, though he would not put it past Gimli to exaggerate to Eluchon if he thought it would get him past the guard; the dwarf had a fierce moral code, but could be incredibly stubborn when he truly set his mind to something. This 'intervention', at least, appeared to have ticked that box.
"You are lurking, lad," continued Gimli. "Slinking around and avoiding me and Aragorn, moping about as if someone has died─" He paused and chewed on his unlit pipe. "─Ah," he said, his voice slightly gruff. He cleared his throat and twisted the end of his beard, and when he spoke again, his voice was low. "Aye."
Legolas looked down at the paperwork on his desk and kept quiet as he wetted his lips against the lingering taste of salt. Gimli's gaze weighed heavily upon his bowed head.
"Legolas," said Gimli, at his usual volume, and Legolas looked up, surprised at the use of his name. "We're all still here."
Legolas twisted his fingers under the desk and looked down again.
"Is it the Sea?" asked Gimli. Legolas did not reply. Gimli cleared his throat again. "If you need to leave, lad─"
"No." A rush of sea-foam filled Legolas' ears, and he closed his eyes, disorientated. There was a brief silence whilst he collected himself.
"No," he said, more softly, when his fae only drifted in the waves, rather than being submerged by them. "I have chosen to remain, and I will uphold my promise. I do not… I…" He twisted his fingers under the desk. "Can we not speak of this, Gimli?" he asked. He ran a tongue over teeth thick with crusted salt, feeling strangely disconnected from his body and as though he had been forcefully submerged in cold water. The cry of a gull rang through his ears. "I do not have… full control of it, yet."
Gimli appraised him, chewing on his pipe. "Tell me how you fare, lad, honestly," he said. "And talk to another elf, and I will not speak of it again, unless you ask."
Legolas twisted his fingers and considered the question. His fae… he was unsure there was anything to be done for it. He had heard the Sea and embraced its call, all salt-white feathers and salt-foam shores, but now he was adrift, and it still begged for more. Legolas thought of Gimli and Aragorn and was unsure if he could give it more. He was unsure if he could not. How did he fare? He fared. Was that not enough, for now?
"I─"
He was cut off by a smart knock at the door.
"Yes?" he called.
Faervel stuck his head into the room. "Apologies for the disturbance, my Lords. Our Minister of Trade is requesting an urgent meeting with Ernil nin. What should I tell him?"
Legolas looked to Gimli, who chewed on his pipe and rolled the end of his beard between his fingers but otherwise did not move. "You underestimate the stubbornness of dwarves," said Gimli. "You have not answered my question, so I will wait here until you do."
Legolas closed his eyes and attempted to rein in his fae from where it had drifted during their conversation.
"Ernil nin?"
Legolas opened his eyes. "I am going over tax agreements, Gimli," he said, and if it came out harsher than intended, the guilt was drowned by a fresh crest of salt-spray. "It is hardly spectator sport."
Gimli scowled at his tone and abrupt dismissal but removed his pipe from his mouth to wipe it on his tunic and stick it in his belt anyway, standing from the chair with a grunt. When he eyed Legolas again, his gaze was dark and heavy with the same understanding that had shadowed Éomer's face that morning. Legolas wondered what the mortals around him understood that he did not.
"Speak to one of your own kind, lad," said Gimli. His tone was resigned, but he offered no negotiation. The door shut behind him with a soft click.
Legolas sat and stared at his papers a moment before rising and walking to the open balcony doors. He stood there as the warm breeze lifted his hair, gazing absently over the unfolded plains of Gondor. The world stretched wide beneath him.
Movement in the courtyard below caught his eye, and he looked down to see two guards open the doors to the Hall of Kings and salute Elessar as he emerged. The King wore no crown, but a tunic of royal blue stitched with white trees and seven stars hung from his broad shoulders. His posture was tall and regal, and when he laughed at a passing comment his teeth flashed bright in the morning sun. He looked every part a King of Men.
Legolas watched Elessar until he passed out of sight, then turned his gaze back to the wide expanse of the Pelennor, the grass rippling pale in the morning light. Five figures on horses galloped across the open plains, barely visible through the glare. Legolas could just make out one man's dark green tunic and fair hair flying out behind him. He could almost imagine the wind on his face, the thunder of hoofbeats, and Éomer's whoop of freedom.
"Ernil nin?" prompted Faervel.
Legolas turned to attend his papers.
o-O-o
The sun had long passed its zenith by the time Legolas politely dismissed his father's Minister of Trade and removed himself from his room-temporarily-turned-council-chambers, dismissing Eluchon with a nod of thanks he stepped out into the empty corridor. Golden light beamed through leaded windows, printing long diamonds onto pale flagstones. Specks of dust drifted lazily through rays of afternoon sun.
Legolas leant against the cool stone of the wall. He closed his eyes, and the sun was warm upon his face.
"Dreaming on the job?" asked a teasing voice from the end of the corridor.
Legolas stood up straight, twisting a palm to his heart and inclining his head in greeting. "Undómiel," he said, then: "Hîr nin."
Arwen made her way down the corridor, the Lord Glorfindel following a few steps behind. No sooner had she reached Legolas than she elbowed him neatly in the side, smiling sweetly up at him as she did. "Please," she said, in a tone of honey laced with steel, "all these formalities and I shall be obliged to start addressing you as Ernil nin, and that is not something either of us wish for."
Glorfindel quirked his lips and winked at Legolas over Arwen's head. Legolas grimaced faintly, partially to humour them both and partially because Arwen really could elbow with some force. He offered her a smile. "As you wish, tithen-híril."
Arwen laughed brightly at the childhood nickname. Her back was to the window, and a crown of slanting light framed her twilit hair where it fell glossy about her shoulders. The pearls on her hairpins glowed with a pale radiance.
"This is a strange place to nap," she said, her voice light and bright and carrying a slightly sharpened edge. Legolas smiled but did not answer.
"Rebuilding the world is tiring work, penneth," said Glorfindel, his tone mild. The sun gilt his curls where they fell to his hips, and the bells adorning his ears tinkled faintly as he moved. He had yet to look away from Legolas, and his eyes and his presence shone with a touch of the ethereal.
Arwen laughed again and took Legolas' arm. "True enough," she said. "Come, walk with us. I have found a hidden garden, and rumour has it certain wood-elves are partial to an afternoon amongst the trees."
Legolas nodded his acquiescence. Arwen reached out with her other hand towards Glorfindel, but the elf-lord shook his head. "You two must enjoy your garden without me, I am afraid," he said. "I have remembered a matter I would speak with your father on." His gaze rested on Legolas, star-bright silver and inscrutable. The air hung very still. Legolas shifted his weight to his other leg and twisted a loose thread at the cuff of his tunic, unsure whether to meet his eyes or not.
"We will leave you to your duties, then," said Arwen, and the moment passed.
They bid their goodbyes, and Glorfindel left in a swirl of golden hair and the chime of silver bells. The corridor felt strangely hollow in the aftermath of his presence.
Legolas and Arwen set off in the other direction, descending two spiralling flights of stairs before turning left, then left again to pass through a dimly lit corridor. Arwen hummed as they walked, a sweet tune of days spent climbing trees and dancing through waterfalls and lounging beneath the stars. Legolas had not heard it for a very long time.
They re-emerged into sunlight at the foot of the Tower of Ecthelion, which shone above them as a spike of pearl and silver atop the citadel, its banner caught high in the morning breeze. Arwen had led them to a small walled garden, enclosed on one side by the tower, and two others by the sheer, dark face of Mount Mindolluin. The fourth wall faced South over the plains towards the Sea, and when Legolas looked over the edge, he saw it dropped away a hundred feet to the fifth level of the citadel.
"All this nature," teased Arwen, "and the wood-elf goes straight to the stone." She folded her legs gracefully beneath her to sit in the dappled shadows of a young beech, smoothing her skirts and patting the grass next to her. "Join me?"
Legolas turned away from the pull of the Sea and smiled, dropping to the grass next to her and idly admiring the tulips that ringed the garden in a ribbon of gem-bright purple. Their perfume was faint on the breeze.
"You have been very elusive, this last week," said Arwen. Her eyes shone starlit silver in the golden glow of the sun.
Legolas plucked a long blade of grass and split it neatly down the middle. "Lord Glorfindel speaks the truth," he said. "It is a busy time."
Arwen hummed and leaned back on her hands to gaze at the clouds. "I have hardly seen my brothers either," she said. "Elladan has done his very best to take up permanent residence in the Houses of Healing, and Elrohir… I have not seen Elrohir, much. He has been keeping the company of Ada, Glorfindel and Erestor, these last few weeks."
"Perhaps he seeks advice? All three are wise elves."
"Yes," said Arwen, her face tilted towards the heavens. "They are elves."
Legolas plucked a second blade of grass to weave through the first, then a third, then a fourth. By the time he had woven his fifth strand the grass was shredded, and he dropped it next to him, slumping back to join Arwen watching wispy clouds thread high and white above the citadel. Occasionally a gull wheeled overhead, crying with promises of foaming waves and salted shores, and Legolas curled his fingers in the grass and let the song of the garden wash away the song of the Sea.
When Arwen began again to sing, Legolas closed his eyes and let her music wash away anything that remained.
Together they remembered the coolness of the Bruinen around their ankles and the roughness of the twigs stuck through their hair, and together they remembered the knowledge that a life in Arda stretched ahead of them. They remembered the pull of an impossible choice, and the man they had made that choice for, and they remembered the brush of the stars on their faces and the brush of love on their fae. The clouds drifted overhead, high and white and wispy with caught memories and promises, and they stayed there as time began to flow and run as water over rolling plains.
The light was falling from sun-fire skies by the time Arwen stopped singing, the present slipping back into place with the shadows of dusk. Legolas licked his lips and opened his eyes as the gull cries echoed again upon the breeze.
Without warning, Arwen reached out to touch the sides of his hair where it lay unbound about his shoulders. "You are not braided," she said. "May I?"
Legolas glanced at her in surprise. He had woven his central braid to represent his standing in the House of Oropher, but had not threaded his warrior braids since they had returned to Minas Tirith from the Morannon. It had been a long time since someone else had bound his hair.
After a beat he nodded and shifted his weight to his elbows so he half lay in front of her, closing his eyes again to soak up the warmth of the fading sun. Arwen's fingers were swift and sure, and he leant slightly into the touch.
She finished the left side quickly enough, and tapped him on the shoulder, holding out a hand for twine. Legolas passed it over, smiling faintly. "How domestic," he said, twisting his head a fraction to look at her. "Whatever would your promised think?"
Arwen swatted at him. "Keep still!" she said, tying off the braid. "Aragorn knows you well. He would think his dearest friend cannot take proper care of himself, so I must do it for him."
Legolas leaned back into her touch as she started on his right side, the shadows of the garden lengthening around them.
They stayed like that, together, until the stars bloomed.
Translations:
Undómiel = Quenya for Evenstar, one of Arwen's epessës
Tithen-híril = Sindarin nickname meaning little lady
Ada = Sindarin for Daddy
Notes:
Mount Mindolluin is the name of the mountain that Minas Tirith is built into.
The Bruinen is the river that runs past Rivendell; the Ford was where Frodo taunted the Ringwraiths so Elrond had time to tsunami them downstream in FotR.