I am fetched by Larke, the tall and young constable, who seems to take it quite personally that we circumvented him this morning. He seems like a very serious young man – very gaunt and pale beneath his dark hair, with black eyes that look strange and unsettling. He is waiting outside the King's House, his hood up and his cloak pulled tightly against the wind, and when I emerge he casts his glance about for the elfling but I walk past him.
"He will find us," I inform him certainly, and he hurries to catch up with me. He is meant to be the guide, but I am certain I know where I am going and I do not need him to show me the way. I can see the moment in which he decides not to walk ahead of me but rather by my side, and I say nothing on it; he is itching to ask me questions, and we have a good walk ahead of us and no elf to put him off. I stand it only until the livery.
"Say what you have to say lad, or stop fidgeting. It is annoying."
He clears his throat, embarrassed, and starts to walk a bit more certainly. He is very straight, very slender, but he is not as young as he seems – not in his heart, not where it counts. I think perhaps I am only cross with him because of who he reminds me of.
He is not Calder. He looks nothing like him, acts nothing like him, but the last time I was here I met a young man in the same way as this. He was too young to be so bloodstained, and I think perhaps Larke reminds me of this… reminds me of my friend, who I have not seen and will not see for a long time. I wonder where he is for a moment, but then I stop myself. There is little point in torturing myself over such things.
"I apologise, my Lord, it is just… there are rumours. Of you and the elven prince. Are they true?"
"You may have to more specific," I sigh. "I thought you were to remain at the Magister's office, in any case?"
"Ren has remained," he dismisses. "It is a very small office, and he enjoys onions a little too much. Guiding you was my job…"
He sounds peevish, as though he has been reprimanded for not predicting that we would arrive early this morning, but I brush it off. We reach the cut, the huge spur of rock that slices through the city like a knife, and when we walk through it we are silent. There are torches to light our way but it is eerie; our steps echo and there is a constant drip of water, the sunlight all but forgotten in the damp and chill of the stone. It bothers me not, but I have come to realise that only dwarves find such things tolerable. Even Larke hurries his steps, and eventually we reach the light again.
"Captain Hob says that you are to advise the King," Larke says, once we are back in the light and air. "That you have his ear, and are here to tell him how we are lacking."
"He is right," I agree, "but also wrong; we are not here to say how you are lacking, but rather what is lacking. Legolas says that the council are stifling you, and I am not sure that I disagree. I would hear your take on it."
Larke seems surprised, speechless and pleased all at the same time. He falls into silence but I had not really expected a response; this lad is a soldier, and soldiers are not generally asked their opinion on things. I let his silence fall around me, I pay little mind to it, because it is his silence and I should allow him some moment for thought. I am paying more mind to things around me, and it is only because of this that I realise we are being followed. Had Legolas been here I am certain that I would have known long ago, but he is not. Battle has broken me, made me far too vigilant, and so I see it without him in any case.
I grab Larke's elbow – I pull him into an alley between a cold smithy and a building of unknown purpose, hushing him into silence when he looks at me with question. There is a whisper of a shadow: a sylph, a jagged change in the natural darkness between the buildings, but I know who is here. I know who has followed us.
"Boy," I frown, "why are you here?"
Sig startles, frightened, and he cowers in the way of those used to being shouted at or treated badly. He recovers quickly enough once he sees that it is me, and his eyes widen so that I can see the whites all around.
"Sir," Sig breathes, relieved, and dances from foot to foot in agitation. The lad is anxious, he has his hand fisted into Moss' pelt as though it grounds him. "Edgar is home. Something is wrong!"
"You were meant to go to the Magister's office," Larke reprimands, taking in the thin boy and his huge dog.
"Something is wrong, sirs. My Lords. Please, it has to be you… it should be you."
He trails off faintly, but I see something in his eyes. He does not trust the others, he does not think enough of them. Perhaps we should have made sure he met Larke and Ren, but Sig seems to trust me better than the constables he was meant to report to. It was a mistake, but I have no option but to follow him now. I look to Larke, who somehow manages to read the meaning of it.
"I am going with you," he tells me certainly, with a frown.
"Someone needs to tell Hob where we have gone."
"You cannot go alone, the prince is not here."
"You are quite right," I agree. I put two fingers in my mouth, whistle a piercing shriek that has Larke and the boy cringing. "Now he is on his way, so go and find Captain Hob."
Larke looks at me doubtfully, as though I am mad in some way, but after a while there is an answering whistle from somewhere distant. It carries on the wind – far away indeed – but Legolas can travel faster than anyone else I know. This time Larke shakes his head, his face softening into a baffled smile as he rakes his hand through his hair. He looks far better when he smiles – less severe, far younger.
"The two of you are strange," he tells me, and then he is serious again. He straightens, nods to me.
"I will fetch him and Ren – we will meet you there."
And so he is gone, and I am left with a boy and a dog. I look to the lad – so small and dirty, so anxious – and I make a gesture for him to lead.
In a flash he is gone, and I follow upon his heels.
~{O}~
Legolas joins us on the third level, although I know he has been running by our side since the fifth. He is more comfortable in the high places, these buildings are built so close to one another that it is nothing at all for him to travel across the rooftops, and in truth; I am more comfortable with him up there as well. An elven watch is a comforting thing indeed, and I would rather Legolas watch my back where he can see it properly.
Aragorn was right – he has changed his clothing – and he looks far more comfortable in his greens and browns with his hair braided. He has not armed himself completely – not with blades and bow, not the way he usually is – but he has a long knife at his hip and I am sure there are others hidden about his person. It is more than enough for an elf such as he is, and I feel very aware of the fact that I have only the blade that Hob gave me.
I have never been fond of the weapon; it is not what I am best with. I have shorter arms than most of my opponents and the knife is a short range weapon; you must get fairly close to be able to use one, and for me that is close indeed. An axe makes use of the fact that I am normally stronger, usually more powerful in my upper body and in my arm. I fidget for only a moment, and Legolas passes me my hatchet that he has fetched at some point. I know not how; we have not been apart for all that long.
My axe would have been better – it is a good weapon, and I am very fond of it – but I cannot run around Minas Tirith with a huge battle-axe strapped to my back in the same way that Legolas cannot stride around with silver knives and a full quiver. The hatchet is better than a knife, and I take it thankfully.
We run quickly through the fifth level, and I am starting to get winded as we reach our goal. This city is huge, and I have just run through the whole of it. I have become out of shape this winter.
Once we reach Edgar's ramshackle home I understand the boy's urgency, although we are too late. Sig makes a sound of dismay and runs ahead of us, but Legolas and I approach more cautiously. The house is all but ruins, and there is no point in rushing into things.
It has been burned, and the fire has been quick and hot enough to ruin it utterly but still leave it standing. The roof is gone, collapsed into the carcass, but the bones of the building still stand. Our journey here was not long enough for a building to burn down entirely – the flames are gone and the charred wood ticks as we approach, the heat melting across my face as I near. Legolas crouches by the ruin.
"A learned man can refine oil so that it would burn this way," he suggests, picking up a charred hunk of wood and throwing it absently. "It has damaged everything, ruined what was inside, but this fire was quick and hot… not natural."
"Obviously it was not natural," I frown, and I watch as Sig digs through the roasting wreckage with short pained sounds. He is burning his hands, but he still digs through the bones of the building. I call out: "Sig come out of there! No one was inside this house when it burned."
The boy turns and looks at me, and there is such a look of grief and sadness upon him that I feel my heart clench. I do not think that he has many friends, and he has already lost one tonight. My words kindle such hope, such a blind belief that it makes me scowl. I mutter through my beard: "come away lad, come here."
He does so, stumbling and lost, and I am astounded when he slams into my side. Rake thin arms wrap around my waist and I have no idea what to do – none at all – but at least the elfling has the wisdom to keep his mouth shut. In the end I ruffle his hair a bit more roughly than I had meant to.
"Your friend is not in there, lad," I murmur, and I am horrified to hear a snuffle in the approximate direction of my armpit. Durin's beard, he is crying again, and I look to the elfling for help but the coward is gone. He clambers into the shifting hot and blackened shell of the house, and the dog pads after him. Of course the dog follows him… all animals follow him.
"This place has been ransacked, Gimli," he calls out to me, and I peel Sig away from my side with as much care as I am able. He is pliant and allows it, and I ruffle his hair again awkwardly as I pass, joining Legolas as he picks through the ruin. "Whoever set this fire was looking for something."
"Boy," I turn to Sig, "why did you call us here? Was it the fire?"
"No, sir, my Lord," he sniffs, and wipes his nose upon his sleeve again. I am giving him a handkerchief the moment I am able to. "There was no fire, not when I left here, but Edgar came home and then there were men. They were shouting something terrible, causing a right ruckus, and I did not know what to do… I ran to you as quickly as I could, I swear it."
"Who were they?" Legolas raises his voice slightly from within the ruin, but he has found nothing and so he comes out to join us. He smells of wood-smoke, and it stings the back of my throat.
"I… I do not know, my Lord," Sig stutters, and Legolas fixes him with that glare of his. Adults quaver beneath that look, grown men who have seen battle, and this boy is no match at all. He sinks back, looks about for his dog to reassure himself.
"You are lying," Legolas observes, as though he is passing comment on something of vague interest. "Why do you lie to us?"
"I am sorry," he says in a small voice, steps back even further. Legolas is scaring him, and Eru… he is moments from crying again! The boy is quick to tears, that is for certain, and I take a step toward him just as he takes a step back.
"Boy, you need not be afraid of us, but you must speak the truth."
"I cannot… you do not understand, I am sorry!"
"Sorry for what?" but he is gone. I have one last glimpse of a pale and tear streaked face and then he darts into an alley across from the burned house. I follow after him like a fool, because in my old age I am starting to find a soft spot for lost children, but by the time I hear Legolas cry out a warning it is too late. I am almost at the deep shadows – the blackness between buildings – but where Sig disappeared there is another that emerges to take his place.
For a moment I am stilled. For just one brief heartbeat I remember another shadow… one that haunted us for a year, that chased and harried and hurt us, that was there every time that we turned around. I see the movement in the dark, I see something come from the black, and I freeze. It is just long enough to have me caught unawares.
I am spun around to face the elfling, and there is an arm braced across my neck and a blade at my throat. A thief – a wretched cutpurse has caught me – but almost as soon as I think it I discard the thought. Whoever has caught me was silent and still enough that Legolas did not notice his presence. He was fast enough to catch me at all, swift enough that I have not even seen his face, and the arm that holds me is strong as iron and still as the mountain. His hand does not so much as shake, which is a good thing, because the blade is razor sharp. I feel the sting of it and I hold myself as still as I can.
I look to Legolas, who is even stiller. The elf has frozen entirely, as though he is carven from stone and has no breath or heartbeat, but his eyes are the most dangerous I have seen them in a long time. He is enraged, close to losing his control, and he scares me when he is like this. There is nothing that I recognise in him, nothing that I can connect with, because when an elf is truly angry… truly beyond reasoning, it is far too apparent how different they are to us.
"Release him," Legolas says, and his voice is calm and devoid of any emotion at all. He speaks clearly, making sure that every word is heard, because he means every one of them. "Let him go, or I will cripple you – I will break every single bone in your hand and arm. Harm him, and I will peel your skin away with your own blade."
I feel the arm tighten at my throat, feel a flinch, and I think this man rather brave. I think I might have messed myself had I been him. I believe every word that the elf has said, I certainly know that he is capable of it, and I think perhaps my captor realises it too. The arm is gone from my neck, I am released and shoved forward, and I go to Legolas' side as quickly as I am able.
I rub my throat, Legolas grips my shoulder tightly as I reach him, and I think it is more for his own comfort than mine… he is rather twitchy about anything happening to me, of late. Whilst I do not like him being anxious in any way, his protection comes in quite useful at times.
I start to feel a flicker of annoyance then; I have been caught like a novice and it rankles a little. I rub my throat and glare at the intruder, and Legolas continues to stand as though he might snap into violence at any second. It is all rather tense.
"Who are you?" I demand, and I do not quash my anger but rather let it settle into something smouldering and strong. Our visitor is completely covered in a cloak and cowl and I cannot make out any part of him, none at all. After a while though he pulls his hood back, and he is younger than I had expected but he is no boy.
He is narrow faced and clean shaven, his hair a tangled mop of auburn, and his eyes clever; green and dancing. He is very slender, but it is the slenderness of someone quick and agile rather than thin and awkward. As I watch him he shifts easily and leans against a doorway. He is far too confident, far too relaxed.
"Your name," I insist, my tone flat and warning. He is making me cross. This time when I ask his eyes rove over the alley, skim everything quickly and then settle on something just to my right.
"I am Shutter," he tells me finally, and I glance to my right to where a shutter hangs half off a window.
"You have made that up," I accuse, scowling, and he lifts one shoulder in the slightest shrug. I huff, fold my arms about my chest. "Well in that case, Master Shutter, I am Thorin Oakenshield… no, I am Durin. The first Durin. This is my friend…" I gesture toward Legolas, trying to think of something clever as quickly as I can, but he beats me to it.
"Galadriel," he says, his tone as flat and dry as the sands of Khand, and I nearly lose my composure.
"Galadriel," I confirm. This whole encounter has become a bit ridiculous.
Shutter grins, quick and bright, and shoves himself away from the door – steps forward until he is in the centre of the alley. He reminds me of Idhren, just a little bit, although they are leagues apart from one another.
"I bring you an invitation," he says, and grants us a rather florid bow. "My master has sent me to you; he would have an audience if you are willing, although I urge you to be as willing as you are able. There are things happening here, things that we do not care for at all, and he would share a few secrets should you grant your take on them."
"And who might your master be?" I slant my eye, cant my head. "Perhaps it is Lord Cobblestone. Maybe Master Puddle. Sir Pile of Wood?"
Shutter snorts, a quirk of a laugh, but turns serious for just a moment. He flicks a hand, dismissive and humble at the same time.
"As Denethor was Steward of this city," he says, "so is my master Steward of the Second. At least until things… stabilise."
I feel Legolas shift although I do not see him; the elfling is too seasoned and practised to be seen reacting in any way. Eru, we have found a way to reach whoever is running this circle of the city! We have been here less than a day and we have done more than Aragorn has since he took the crown – I cannot wait to be smug about this.
"We are not following you right now," I say. "We are not complete idiots."
"Of course not," Shutter waves away. "Leave, think on things. If you would hear us, then we will meet in the Shod Cob on the third circle by ninth bell tonight, but if you do not come alone then you will be waiting for a long time. We meet on neutral ground – on a circle of scholars and tradesmen – but we will be watching from the fifth. We will know if you do not come alone."
Shutter nods and reaches back, shucks his hood back over his face and he is turned back into shadow… a slip of darkness, a dart of quiet melting into the grey as though he is made of shadows. It is quite the skill he has learned – to be a whisper of a person.
I look to the elfling, who has remained perfectly silent through all of this. Legolas has a habit of letting me do all of the talking, all of the time, and although I have accused him of simply wanting to seem mysterious, I know that is not the reason for it. Legolas believes that I am better at this sort of thing, and I know that there is some small truth to it.
Legolas – the Legolas that people encounter – can be rude and frightening and simply… he puts people off in some way. They do not speak as freely, the conversation is not fluid or comfortable, everything is terribly stilted... Eru the staring! Legolas might have the reasons for it quite wrong, but it is possibly right that I do all of the talking.
He blinks… that is all, he simply blinks, and I twitch one shoulder. It is an entire conversation in two movements and it is all that I need. I turn to Shutter.
"Galadriel is willing, perhaps," I tell him. "We will discuss it… we might meet you there. What will you do with the boy?"
Shutter looks flummoxed, as if I am accusing him of something horrid.
"We will do nothing with the boy," he says, quite scandalised. "Sig is under our protection."
He crinkles his nose, shakes his head as though disgusted, and I feel a surge of annoyance rise in my chest. He turns away and melts into the shadow of the alley, and I have enough experience in such things not to bother chasing him. He will not be there, and my dignity has taken enough of a battering this afternoon.
I step forward, turn upon my heel to face the elfling, and we both fall silent.
I think and I say some terrible things about elves, and about my elf in particular, but in truth and all honesty there is none that I hold more dear or trust more absolutely than Legolas. We stand here in an alley beside a burned building, the smell of cinders and ash sharp on the air, and we talk without speaking a single word.
Legolas has shed that frightening and impenetrable look – eyes softening from glacier pale to summer blue – and his whole bearing gentles, awakens, focusses. He is my Legolas, the one that I know, and I am glad to see him.
"This has been a very odd day, Gimli," he tells me.
"Perhaps we should have gone to Rohan," I admit. "But our lives are full of things that we should have done, or things we should not. It is often too late before we think of them."
"You think we should go to this meeting?"
I still, I cast my gaze aside, but only because I am thinking.
Why should we meet with this steward? Why should we do anything? Why should we care? Legolas and I are not men, we do not live here, we are not a part of Aragorn's fledgling constabulary. We have been brought here purely to give our opinion on how Aragorn's new Whitecloaks operate and nothing more, and yet here we are… right at the centre of something difficult and unpleasant. Again.
Eru, I have had enough of this sort of thing.
"No-one would think less of us if we passed this over," I tell him. "We could tell Hob about what has happened, let him take over. This is not why we are here, my friend."
"Our mysterious steward has asked for us, and will not speak to Hob," Legolas points out.
I am quiet for a long time, I shift and fidget, and I find myself becoming unaccountably annoyed.
Legolas wishes to go. I do not know why he is asking my take on things if he has no intention on listening to me, and I am going to give in. I am being too permissive. I feel guilty over what happened in the winter, and I think perhaps I am indulging him too much. Usually I would argue with him, usually I would tell him that he is getting himself involved in something he normally would not. I would point all of this out to him, but he cannot trust his mind and he needs something… anything to keep himself focussed on the present. He is getting us both involved in this, and by Mahal's beard I am going to let him.
All of these thoughts run past in a heartbeat, there and then gone, but I am annoyed and I am forgetting myself. I have not kept them to myself… he has heard – or at least, he has heard some of it – and he narrows his eyes in anger. He curls his lip, a silent snarl, but I do not react to it.
"Is that what you think?" he asks, dangerously low. "I experience this link just as you do – you think me so manipulative, to press the matter because I know you feel guilt enough to allow it?"
"Do not snarl at me, Legolas," I scowl at him. "You do not frighten me. Aye, I do think those things, and I think perhaps you let me feel them because it benefits you."
For a second he looks as though I have slapped him, but it is quickly hidden with a flash of anger.
"A dwarf might think it because a dwarf might do it, but elves are not so devious. You do not wish to get involved because after everything that has happened, you are afraid. Do not make it anything more than that, and do not make it my fault. Aye, we would have argued about it before, but we still would have made ourselves a part of things because it is what we do. And yes, Gimli," he softens for a moment and sighs, rubs his face tiredly. "Yes, it distracts me. You do not have to come."
"Now you are being an idiot," I snap, and I fold my arms as his face deepens into a scowl. Devious… afraid? I am furious!
"I survived a long time before we met," he says flatly. The calmer his voice becomes, the angrier he is getting. "You think much of yourself, and little of me."
"You survived in a forest in a war where you are far better suited. This is not your world; you have no place in it."
He blinks at me, and a part of me realises that I have gone a step too far but I am too angry to know it. He takes a step back, his face settling into a cool mask, and now I know that I have definitely said something wrong. He never wears that face when it is just he and I on our own, not ever.
"I am not going to stand in a street arguing with you over it," he says tiredly. "Call for me later, or do not. I care not which."
He turns and is gone, slipped into the shadows, and I am so angry with him that I cast about for something to throw but there is nothing, and he is already gone. I know that Legolas will not have left entirely – he will not leave me until I am safely on the streets of the kinder circles – and this makes me even more annoyed still. A younger Gimli would scream about now, would bellow his rage into the air, but this Gimli – the one that has spent a few years now with this awful, awful elf – quashes it all down.
I storm away, furious and muttering beneath my breath, and I almost welcome a mugging. It would certainly give me something to vent my frustrations on. But whether it is luck or perhaps because I look as though I would flatten anyone who tried to stop me right now, I emerge from the circle unscathed.
I feel the moment that Legolas truly leaves me. I feel the brush of him in my mind dissipate, feel the roiling burn of the storm within him drift away, and once it is gone I am calmer.
The walk back up through the city is far longer, and far emptier, and when I finally bump into Larke, Ren and Hob on the fourth level I shout at them for their slow mannish bodies and steam past them as well. They watch after me in surprise, but I do not wait for them and I do not turn back.
~{O}~
"If you are wondering where he is," I snap, "then he is somewhere sulking, or perhaps being murdered. I know not which."
Aragorn blinks at me, his mind taking a moment to catch up on things. I have just stormed into his receiving room, it looks as though he is getting ready for something, and I take a glance out of the window. Mid-afternoon, no later… I have no idea what kings do in the mid-afternoon.
I flop myself down into one of his huge chairs and I scowl at the fireplace, which currently has no fire in it. Perhaps I can coax one to life just by glaring at it.
"Since you brought him up without my asking," Aragorn says carefully, a hint of annoyance at my rude entrance and interruption. "I assume you would like to talk about something?"
"I do not!" I announce airily, then bite out through clenched teeth. "Perhaps… a little."
"I have petitions to hear," he says, "but I have a bit of time. I am not here simply to settle disagreements between the two of you though Gimli, if that is all I am to you then we are not friends."
"That is not why I am here, laddie," I feel all of my anger drain away in an instant. Aragorn is like that. "It is only because you know him better, and I would hear your view on things. We often say things to one another – unkind things, untrue things – but I think this time I have said something I should not. If you disagree though then let him rot; he is being insufferable!"
Aragorn laughs, a soft chuckle, and I am forgiven. He makes a gesture, settles back and I recount our afternoon. In the past I might have kept certain things secret – he probably would not approve of our invitation to a meeting later on – but I know that Aragorn trusts me. He will let me decide what to do and he will not interfere, because I have earned that right, and then I recount our argument, word for word. I remember it very clearly; I have been continuing it in my head the whole of the walk here.
Once I am done he watches me very closely. He is quiet for too long and it makes me itch and fidget, and just as I start to become angry again he speaks.
"Neither of you held back much," he tilts his head, a quirk to his mouth.
"We have said far worse before," I dismiss it with a wave. "I do not think there is anyone who knows how to wound me the way he does, and I provoke him on purpose. I am not fool enough not to recognise that."
He shakes his head slightly – I know that somewhere in his head he is cursing both dwarves and elves – and then he moves on. Aragorn is a keen strategist; he knows when to pick his battles.
"You have not told me much of what happened between you," he says. "In fact, you have told me nothing at all. I have gleaned the most of it for myself and I have not said anything, because I know that you will both speak when you are ready to do so. But although you know Legolas, have known the gift of seeing his heart, you do not know everything. You have not known him for long enough."
"I know that," I scowl, and I get up. I pace, I rap my knuckles lightly against the back of a chair and across the top of a table. "But he speaks so infrequently of the past… barely anything at all. If the damned creature ever got drunk I might have coaxed a few more things out of him by now, but he does not even do that!"
"There is a reason behind it Gimli," Aragorn says softly. "Legolas has not had the life he should have had. All he has known has been darkness and grief and loss; that is not the life of an elf."
And then I realise what I have said, and I tilt my head back and groan aloud.
"And I have said that it is all he is worth, and all he is good for," I huff, annoyed, but I am annoyed with myself. "What a foolish thing to say!"
"It is forgivable because he is extremely annoying," Aragorn says simply, "but do not let him believe it for too long." He stands, continues getting ready to leave. "I think that you are both being far too sensitive. You have just argued over something you would normally have discussed, and you are both above such things. You have a few days before Faramir gets here; I expect to see my friends by the time he arrives, and not whatever you are right now. And Gimli –"
He pauses, and I look up when he does not speak straight away. He looks uncomfortable for a moment, as though he is committing some small betrayal, but then he straightens.
"You should not be so dismissive of his behaviour. You say that you provoke him, but he is master of himself enough not to give in to that temper of his the way that he does. You are worth more than that."
I am stunned for a moment; I have nothing to say. I had not expected such a thing, and I have never thought on it because when Legolas and I argue – truly argue – it can be nasty and cruel but we always forgive one another. Always. It is simply our way. Aragorn thinks that Legolas should curb his temper, but in truth? I do not agree. I have always allowed Legolas to simply be Legolas; I expect nothing more from him, because if he can accept me the way that he does – unfailingly and without question – then I will certainly do the same for him.
Aragorn fastens his sword at his side and does not take his gaze away for a long time. I blink, I feel foolish and stupid, and why is Legolas not here to be reprimanded in this way?
"He already has been," Aragorn says, "in case you are wondering why Legolas has not been told off. He got here a lot quicker than you did."
I cannot help but laugh, and I feel myself settle again. I am still angry, still frustrated, but it is nothing I am not used to, not in truth... it is almost my default state when it comes to Legolas.
"Aragorn, I apologise," I give him my most florid bow, which is awkward and ungainly but he gets what he is given in such things. "We are not friends simply because we both know the same elf, and I have been unfair."
"All I ask is that you learn to knock on doors, Gimli," he smiles, and grips my shoulder tightly. "I have a dressing room but I do not use it. A few minutes earlier and you would have received quite the eye-full."
TBC
Much messing around has been done with this chapter. Kind of bounces around a bit and I apologise in advance for any formatting errors, editing weirdness or bits that could have done with a bit more attention. I'm right in the middle of a family drama after a week where even my stress had stress, and now my computer is playing up (I actually nearly lost the original documents of the Shadow series, as well as all of Steward, and I had an actual mini meltdown)
Needless to say, I am a bit wound up, and I am going to make myself cocktails and turn my phone off and write until I can't remember anything that's going on, because that's super healthy. A review from you guys would really, really help me out here.
So anyway, less of that.
Shutter! My new favourite OC. Sig being an adorable little turncoat, Legolas and Gimli have an argument, and Aragorn is a bit of an exhibitionist. Have you ever tried to write a serious argument but still try to make it a bit funny? After the gloominess of Silence I certainly struggled to keep it a bit lighter, so let me know how I did.
Thanks to all the reviewers from last chapter, I hope I replied to you all but I lost track a bit. I adore you all.
Hope you have great weekend!
MyselfOnly