"A part of me wishes I was still as I was," Aragorn sighs. "It was certainly easier when I could solve most of my problems with a sword."

We have adjourned to a small antechamber for a moment, and my poor friend is slumped in his chair as though all of his bones have simply melted. It is just Legolas and I, although he straightens as Hob slips into the room.

The captain glances at Legolas, who somehow manages to fit an entire exchange into the look he gives the edain… a question and a query all in one glance, easily interpreted. He asks if they have found out anything from the prisoners captured in the vault, and captain Hob shakes his head with an apologetic look.

"This is far more of politics than I have ever been comfortable with," Aragorn grouses, not missing the exchange but choosing not to comment on it. "I should have brought Arwen."

"I will fetch her," Legolas goes to leave, but I grab his sleeve and yank him back. Hob's eyebrows rise into his hairline – he must consider me terribly brave – and the elf gives me a very steady look that recommends I release him.

"You will stay here," I tell him quite certainly. "Where there is far less chance of you stabbing anyone."

His look changes to one that disagrees – quite completely – with my belief, but I am mostly sure that he is not going to draw his blades on me. Aragorn clears his throat pointedly.

"The Queen need not be here," he ends that particular matter. "I will speak with her later. I would hear her wisdom, but I have no intention of involving her with assassins, thieves and arsonists if I have any choice in it. Hob, are they settled?"

"We have cleared the room, my King," he nods. "The Lady Briar has retained that implausibly named fellow in the odd clothes – Shutter, is it? The rest guard the chambers, although I doubt the need for so many out there. Edgar, Sig and the dog have been taken to the Lowers and will remain somewhere safe, Miro is on his way to the Rookery, refreshments for our guests will be with us shortly."

He was right behind us when we left, he followed only moments behind, I have no idea how he has organised all of this.

"What is your take on these matters?" Aragorn asks the captain, who seems surprised and then pleased to have been asked. He leans back against the wall, folds his arms but it is an easy posture – comfortable with the company he keeps.

"In truth, my Lord, I am not that surprised," he admits. Aragorn waits, gestures for him to continue. "I have seen such things, although not at such a scale. War changes things, stirs them up, and when all has settled there are opportunities that were not there before. It is not just Kings who rise and fall."

"And you think the Lady vulnerable? Can she hold the second?"

"Not alone," he shakes his head. "She is strong and fair, but her brother was meant to take the Stewardship. He was trained for it from the start, and she never wanted it, she was not schooled on how to hold it – not forever. If she must fight, then it is only because she cares for the people under her stewardship."

"And would they fight for her in turn?"

"Oh yes, my King," he says quite certainly. "The income that she does not keep? She uses it to pay their taxes. She buys all of the leftover bread she can at the end of each day and gives it freely. She pays three women – clerks from the fourth – to come and teach the children letters once a week. She is loved."

"Of course she is!" Aragorn huffs, throwing his hands up, and I think he is forgetting himself; it is not just Legolas and I in the room. Legolas stirs, gives our friend a look that chastises him, and Aragorn has the sense to look a trifle abashed at his outburst. Then stops himself and straightens.

"No, Legolas, do not look at me that way," he scowls. "I have been King a few years, you have been… you for thousands of them. Why are you scaring carters into tears?"

Legolas blinks, gives him a look that reads plainly:

You know why.

"It certainly moved things along," Hob offers helpfully. Legolas locks eyes with Aragorn, tilts his head in the edain's direction with a gesture that suggests he speaks sense. Aragorn is having none of it.

"You will control yourself Legolas, or you cannot be here," Aragorn says, and this time he is sincere and firm and a King rather than a friend. Legolas has a father who is also his King, and so he is used to relationships that are tangled and confusing. He does not argue or snort or pull a face, which is a graceful acknowledgement of fault – for him, in any case. I reach out quietly and I listen to him, listen to his heart for just a moment, but I pull back almost instantly.

Mahal, he is a twisted mass of self-recrimination, and there is not a trace of it on his face. Bless his pointy ears he is furious with himself!

"You are seeing this all wrong, Estel," Legolas speaks finally. His voice is soft, calm, a far cry from the storm that I felt earlier and the shame I feel from him now. I nod, unable to stop myself, and the elfling looks at me.

I know that we are thinking the same thing, as we so often do these days, and Legolas holds my gaze for a while. I do not know why entirely, but for some reason it relieves the tension in him; calms him so that he is more himself again. He pulls strength from me, I realise suddenly, and I am humbled by it – silenced by the weight of such a thing. He has always been the stronger one out of the two of us.

Legolas pulls himself up to sit upon a window ledge, high and narrow, but he makes it look easy and comfortable. Hunched in a window – ignoring chairs as he so often does – he looks like my elfling once more.

"It does not have to be the Steward of the Second or King Elessar; it can be Briar and Aragorn. You have said before that you have few people to share confidences with, and I have said that you need to review your council."

Aragorn looks thoughtful, as though each word has settled in his heart, and I allow a moment for such thoughts to take root before I speak.

"She has resources, my friend," I tell him softly. "And you are rather clever, for a man. I think that the two of you can come up with a way of dealing with this Oren fellow, and after that? Who knows…?"

Aragorn spends a while longer in thought, his eyes distant and shadowed and focussed on a particularly uninteresting patch of hearthstone. He rubs his chin, and then his focus shatters and then draws together again. He nods to himself and stands, looks to the three of us with thanks but says nothing.

He leads us back into the conference chambers, and we follow without a word.

~{O}~

"This," the Lady Briar waves her hand toward a scroll of parchment that Aragorn has passed to her. "This is all a trifle unexpected."

Aragorn sits back, comfortable and at ease, or so he seems. Hob stands at his shoulder and I sit at his other side, and Legolas is a ghost in the shaded places where the light does not quite reach. He leans against a wall, and if his colouring was not so fair I likely could not see him at all.

"It is a start," Aragorn tells her, "but it has stipulations. We will have time to finalise things on another day."

Briar picks up the scroll again, it whispers dryly against her hands and she scans through what he has written. There is a pinch at her brow, she looks quite lovely when she bites her lip that way, but I understand her concerns; it is a generous offer, but one that changes matters a great deal. She passes the scroll to Shutter, who has barely said a word since the chambers were emptied. He is dressed like yuletide, but he still manages to seem dangerous and serious when he wishes to be. He reads in silence, and Briar frowns faintly at her King.

"This is generous," she says honestly.

"It is not," he shakes his head. "It is fair."

I think perhaps I am witnessing something of historical importance, but I am not entirely sure. For a moment I wish that I was still linked as closely with the elfling as I once was, because there was a time when we could speak without words as clear as normal conversation. Instead I can feel him slipping away from me like water in my hands. He is in the same room as I am but he feels far away, remote, like spotting a hawk in the sky.

I ignore the sinking feeling in my gut – guilt, remorse, grief for how he once was – and I focus.

Aragorn has pledged to build a schoolhouse, to remove the city engineers from all other projects until the drainage is fixed and the streets completely cleared. To hold an amnesty for those in hiding to confess their crimes. He will forgive debts up to a figure that has yet to be agreed, and provide employment for those who wish to work off the remainder. He will build another two Magister's offices on the second and will start a sponsorship for journeyman willing to set up their trade on that circle.

It is generous. It is very generous indeed. But for this to happen, the Lady Briar must agree to have all criminal activities upon the second circle ceased within two years, or have the agreement annulled. It is a huge commitment.

"Should I sign it in blood?" she asks coolly, a twitch of her head, and Aragorn shakes his.

"You need not sign anything at all right now," he tells her. "This is a proposal, nothing more, and we will discuss it more thoroughly when we both have time. This is my intent, this is how I see our future, but first we must secure it."

There is a tap at the door and a whisper slides into the room; discreet and silent, but I see him: it is Master Gowry, the gaunt and upright old man who runs this household. He slides into the room upon a shadow and brings with him food and elegant cups of spun glass. There are salvers of cooked meat and cheese and bread, fancily displayed, and also fruit spilling from a bowl. He arranges it all nicely, fastidiously, with napkins and a pitcher of cold water.

He straightens, sniffs, dusts a few crumbs away, regards his efforts with a nod of satisfaction. He tells us that the wine will be with us shortly, and that he is outside, poised and ready to spring into action should we need anything, although he does not say it quite that way.

He catches sight of Legolas as he leaves, and if it was becoming of him to bare his teeth and hiss then I think he would, but somehow he manages to leave without breaking his stride.

"What guarantees do we have that you will stick to your word?" Shutter asks, helping himself to an apple and biting into it with a sharp crack. He makes direct eye contact with his King, brushes juice from his chin and sniffs. "You could be simply saying these things. We risk much by dismantling a tradition of lawful… flexibility."

"I guarantee nothing. I need not," Aragorn tells him. It is flat and serious and he is not going to explain himself to a man like Shutter. He stares at him without blinking, and he has learned much from the elves because it is unpleasant indeed; like a blade from the forge: hot and keen. "If you dislike my offer then you will be more respectful when you decline it, and I will make my own arrangements for the second circle. You will dislike that far more."

Briar glares at Shutter, annoyed and disappointed, and the slippery young thief looks suitably chastened. He sits more upright, removes that insouciant slouch from his bearing, and returns his focus to the parchment. There is the slightest part of me that curls and stretches happily at his reprimand, like a very smug cat, but I manage to harden my face so that it does not show.

Conversation is stilted again as another one of the serving staff enters with our wine, but I do not think I would have noticed at all if it were not for Legolas. As the lad fusses at the table I watch as the elfling pushes away from the wall, movement in the gloom that he is hiding within, and he circles around the edge of the room on silent feet.

I watch for a moment, curious but unconcerned, because I have seen him move this way before but for a moment I cannot place it. I frown as I watch him, idle and perfectly relaxed, but the moment I realise what I am seeing my heart slams against my ribcage with a burst of panic.

Legolas holds his head low, eyes focussed, and his movements are measured, careful. He curls around us in the darkness, moves to cut us all off from the door… Eru he is stalking, an animal behaviour, and my mouth goes dry but I also feel a flicker of anger. It is certainly not the first time I have seen such a thing from a laegrim elf but this madness of his is starting to wear extremely thin. I had thought him far better improved than this!

I do not react quickly enough, and although Aragorn has spotted the same thing he is not quick enough either. Neither of us are fast enough to stop Legolas, especially when he is this way, and I am annoyed that I did not notice, did not realise the signs of danger. I feel a surge of irritation; I feel it twitch and take hold and grow, and suddenly I find myself quite angry.

Legolas speeds up, his last few steps fast and silent, and he grabs the serving boy just as Aragorn cries out and I leap to my feet.

"Legolas no!" Aragorn snaps, but he does not stop him this time. Legolas yanks the lad, who cries out in fear as he is hauled off his feet and slammed to the wall with a huff and a crack as his head meets stone. He reels, dazedly, and there is a lot happening all at once then.

Shutter and Briar are to their feet as well, the thief stood in front of his lady although I am sure that she can handle herself just fine on her own. Aragorn shouts at Legolas again, just as I do, but my anger has taken a full hold of me now. I know that he does not act this way on purpose… I know that he is broken, that he hates this lack of control over his own mind, but it is starting to get very, very tiresome.

I feel anger, swift and hot, and this time when I shout his name I do not simply use my voice, I yank at him with my mind as well.

Legolas is not the only one who carried the Shadow; I carried a part of her as well, although it was not the same. She connected us – although at first she did not mean to – but there is still a small part of me, deep inside, where I remember what it is like to know anger and rage the way that she knew it. There is barely anything left of it, a memory of a time I wish I could forget, but it seems as though it is not as faded or gone as I had thought.

I feel anger at the elfling. Anger at all of this guilt I carry simply because I wished to save his life. Anger at how careful I must be all of the time, and how he is losing his mind this way… he is dangerous, for Eru's sake! If any other creature were running around Minas Tirith, half mad and thoroughly armed, we would not be allowing it, but because it is Legolas it is excused and forgotten.

I do not know what I am doing, not really and not consciously, but I reach out to him and I send him pain.

I reach into his mind and I twist it savagely, and Legolas cries out. He drops the lad, curling over and gripping his head. He sends me a seething glare, furious and cold, and I do it again because I know that if I do not he will attack me as well.

"Legolas let him go!" I bellow at him, striding across the stone. "Release him or I will put you down!"

I prove that I can by doing it a third time, and I am starting to lose my strength but I cannot stop now that I have started. It is hurting him, aye, but just as a kicked dog will bite, Legolas is insensible and furious and I must bring him completely out of this. I must keep on until his mind has cleared.

This is a hard thing to do. My rage has receded like a wave upon the shore and instead it leaves only horror – not just because I am hurting the elfling, but because I have done this thing at all! There is so little left of our link now; it is like trying to drag a blanket through a keyhole with just my thoughts, and now that the fire of my anger has faded and gone, I am left trying to stop him from turning those blades upon me instead.

By now the elfling is on his knees, his head clutched between fisted hands, but when I release him and approach he is different – clear again. His heart feels like an inferno, singeing me as I get too close, but this is better. He glares at me again, bares his teeth and snarls, and I reach to him but he bats my hand away savagely. There is blood seeping from his nose, staining his teeth, and he wipes at it angrily and then points toward the serving lad, crumpled on the floor and blinking.

"He smells like him," he hisses, and I feel my eyes widen in surprise; I know exactly what he means.

I leave the elfling to compose himself, because I must do the same. There is a very long conversation that we must now have – because he must be utterly furious with me and I am utterly horrified – but it is private. I am not sure that he would hear me right now anyway, and I must focus upon what we do right now because I do not have the words.

I nudge the lad with my boot – although I could have been a bit kinder about it – and I feel rather than see when Aragorn joins us.

"What did you do?" he demands, a hiss only for me to hear, and I shake my head quickly. My hands are shaking, every muscle and sinew in me is shaking, but this is not for now.

"He smelled the assassin upon him," I explain, unsure whether he has heard. By now, Shutter has fetched guards from outside of the room, one of whom is Larke and the other Liana, and the two of them drag the serving lad to his feet. They drop him into a chair but hold him there by his shoulders, and by the time he is able to focus on what is happening around him, someone has fetched Master Gowry as well. The old man looks scandalised.

"My King!" he complains with a horrified look at the kitchen boy. He glares at Legolas, who has stalked away to the table and is inspecting the wine. "You must speak with your guests, this is not to be borne!"

"How well do you know this boy?" Aragorn asks mildly, and Gowry straightens even further although I had not believed it possible.

"I know all of the household, my Lord," he says, as though his ability to perform his own role has been questioned. "This is Teg, his mother worked with me for twenty years, although we lost her last winter. He has worked in the kitchens since he was old enough to fetch and carry: he has two sisters, both younger, and is fooling around with one of the scullery maids, although they think I do not know. This is his first year serving in the Kings House, and he will soon be…"

"You have made your point," Aragorn stops him. Teg looks wide-eyed, frightened, casting furtive glances toward the perceived safety of Master Gowry but also fearful ones toward us. He is young, not yet in his twenties if I had to guess, and he does not look like someone who would conspire with assassins.

"You believe what the elf says?" Shutter asks me, but he has the guile to say it quietly to me. I am thankful for it. Legolas hears of course, but no one else does, and I cast my gaze backward to where the elfling has frozen into stillness. He is sniffing the wine, strangely, but I know that he is also listening.

I think for a moment. Legolas has lost his mind again… briefly, but it still happened. Twice today.

"Absolutely," I reply with a nod. My animosity with this ridiculous thief is forgotten for a moment, and I catch his gaze so that he understands that I am being completely honest. "I believe him utterly."

No matter what is happening in Legolas' head, he is still Legolas. He perceives the world quite differently than I do: can see and hear and smell a world that is closed off to the rest of us, and in this I trust him completely. Ever will I trust him over my own perceptions of the world. He could have handled it better, but that changes nothing.

Shutter returns to the Lady Briar, and the two of them stand closely. They talk between themselves, they shut us out, but I pay only the faintest attention to it.

"You know who I am," Aragorn says to the lad, young Teg, and his voice is soft and kind but there is an undercurrent of iron. The lad nods quickly, and Aragorn nods as well. "You have any experience with elves?"

Teg's attention flickers toward Legolas, there and then back, and he swallows.

"Your coronation, my King," he answers, and his voice is feather soft and pleasant and afraid. "I served fresh bread, and also roast boar with blackberry, and then later glasses of damson wine. They were kind; one of them spoke to me and thanked me, although they were strange. They were… beautiful, and they asked if I wished to try the food. No one has asked me that before."

He stops, his breath hitches, and by Eru he begins to cry.

Legolas returns before I can sprint away from yet another weeping edain boy, and he skirts around me just a hair's breadth more than he usually would. It stings more than it should.

Legolas hands the boy the cup of wine that he has been inspecting. He stands before him – tall and straight and proud, nothing even slightly like the feral and violent monster he has been – and regards him coolly.

"Drink this," he says, and I glance at Aragorn who gives me a look that tells me to allow it. Teg blinks, surprised, scuffs his tears away with his sleeve and takes the cup. He looks at Master Gowry for permission, and the old man shrugs and so he tilts it to his lips to drink.

Legolas snatches it away before he can.

"My King!" Gowry cries, because this really is becoming too much.

"Poisoned," Legolas tells us all shortly, the cup held up for us all to see. Teg blanches, his eyes widen in dismay as realisation sinks in. He cries in horror:

"I did not know!"

"How are you certain?" Gowry demands.

Shutter holds his hand out and takes the cup when Legolas passes it to him, sniffs it, although it does him no good. When he looks at Legolas it is oddly trusting; he has no doubt in what the elfling has said. He might be annoying but apparently he is not a complete idiot.

"Unless you have the nose of an elf, you will simply have to believe me," Legolas says to Master Gowry, who certainly does not look as though he believes him. Legolas narrows his eyes. "Although, should you wish to prove me wrong..."

He gestures toward the cup that Shutter still has in his hand, and the thief holds it out obligingly. The elderly man takes a step back before he can stop himself, presses his lips together so tightly I can see them whiten, but his face turns deathly serious.

"This boy is innocent," he says, and he is so sure of what he is saying that I think a part of me believes him, even without proof. He turns his gaze to Aragorn. "My King I am certain of it, and I am responsible for him."

He leaves much unsaid, but Aragorn understands his meaning without it being spoken. My friend is tight lipped himself, his face drawn and pale, but it is anger that I see in him rather than worry. He is furious at what is happening here in his city, to his guests. He takes a moment though, sensible as he is, and when he nods there is a lot spoken there. Master Gowry does not move until then – does not even twitch a finger – but once permission is given he moves in front of the serving lad, who is shaking and grey but to his credit he is not weeping any longer.

"Boy," he says, and although the old man sounds stern and serious it is a familiar tone of voice. I think he has called him 'boy' his whole life. "You understand the seriousness of this. You have brought poisoned wine to the King of Gondor… our King, who we have waited for. You realise that this is the most serious treason."

"Sir," Teg replies, and his tone is soft and urgent and imploring, but it is as though we are not here at all. He has decided to speak only to Master Gowry, to shut us out, because this is all too much for him. I pity him, I truly do.

"Sir, I would not do this – please say that you believe me. This is my home, I have nothing else and I am happy here. I was not even supposed to be serving tonight; the stable master said that I could ride one of the good horses tomorrow morning if I helped clean the tack tonight. Tanner could not be found for his duties this evening and so…" he trails off, makes a weak gesture with his hands as though to say 'here I am'. He looks utterly miserable.

"This Tanner fellow," Hob finally speaks up. "He is usually considered reliable?"

"He is not well liked, but he is hard working and I do not recall him missing work before. He has been here all evening up until now."

"Your tunic," Shutter looks straight at the boy, lifts his chin to prompt a confirmation but he has already worked it out for himself.

"It is his, my Lord – Tanner's. Mine is still drying." His breath hitches, and he finishes off in a soft and forlorn voice: "I was not meant to be working tonight."

It is the tunic that Legolas has smelled, not the lad himself. It is this Tanner fellow who has had dealings with the mysterious Oren, Tanner who was meant to bring this wine and so it is Tanner who we need to speak with.

"I will fetch him, sir," Larke speaks up, looking straight to his captain who nods in agreement.

"Take one of Lady Briar's guards, if she is agreeable; I would have Ren remain here."

I consider Hob's request, think I might be interested in it, and I turn to check on whether Legolas wishes to join… for the love of Manwë where has he got to now?!

The dratted creature has floated away again, I have not even noticed him go, and I have not been as casual in my alarm as I think I meant to be. Aragorn notices and shifts his head to his right, and so I follow it to see Legolas speaking with Shutter, of all people. The two have both drifted away from us like vapour, they seem in deep counsel, and I am ready to interrupt but then Legolas breaks away and walks back to us. He strides – confident and focussed and with some purpose in mind – and he has brought with him the stoppered decanter of wine.

"I have something I would like to confirm," he tells Aragorn. "This poison – it is one of three kinds, and two are rare indeed. I cannot tell them apart by smell alone, but I can find out easily enough. It might tell us where these men hail from at the very least."

"Or simply who they traded with once," Aragorn frowns lightly. "Or that they can buy things. The last time you went off on an investigation you were captured."

"Which makes it extremely unlikely to happen again," Legolas sighs. "And Gimli will be with me."

"Where do you intend to go?" I ask carefully, because that is quite a surprise to Gimli. I am secretly pleased, extremely thankful that he would still have me near him, but then I narrow my eyes at him. He has a habit of dragging me into dangerous endeavours, but he simply lifts and drops one shoulder.

"Our rooms," he says.

The garden – his garden. It is the closest place where things grow, and all manner of things sprout and blossom and bloom in there. If anyone would know herbcraft enough to tell one poison from another it would be a laegrim elf; I have never known anywhere so tended toward poisonous things than Mirkwood. It is not such a long journey, and I am emboldened by Legolas' willingness to take me with him. I think perhaps forgiveness for what I have done to him tonight is far easier for him than it is for me. I look eagerly toward Aragorn, and I think that our combined efforts are more than he can stand.

"I will give you two passes of the bell," he scowls.

"It may take longer than…"

"Two passes of the bell, Legolas. And then I will send everyone that I can find to come and fetch you."

Legolas rolls his eyes but he accepts, which is quite graceful so far as the elfling is concerned, and it seems as though everyone has been waiting for our negotiations to conclude. Captain Hob fetches two other guards from outside, and they will take Teg into custody the same as they have taken Miro the unfortunate carter. We are going to start running out of space.

Master Gowry informs us that he will be accompanying the boy, who looks so grateful it pulls at something in my chest, and I can hear the Lady Briar telling Hob that Liana will accompany Larke in their search for the elusive server Tanner. I am not particularly happy with both Legolas and I leaving Aragorn's side right now, but he has Captain Hob with him, and once the doors are opened I realise exactly how many guards are out there. I relax a shade.

We all start to move, we have things to do, and the elfling is setting quite a pace out of the room so I must hurry to catch up. I would have liked to have a final word with Aragorn, I would have liked to speak with Hob for a moment, but I have mentioned before that it is not a good idea to let an elf get a head start. I meant it then, and his legs have grown no shorter nor mine any longer, so I must remain close upon his heels or fall behind.

We leave chaos behind us and fall into silent corridors, darker and colder, but I think perhaps I prefer this. It is always just the two of us, it has been for a long time now, and I fall into step next to him quite naturally.

If I am a bit more prone to startling at shadows than I was at the beginning of this week, then the elfling does not say anything.

TBC