"We have things to discuss," I tell Legolas as we leave the Tower.

He looks distracted and ruffled, his face cut sharp in the moonlight now that the rains have passed. He does not look at me, but I see a muscle in his jaw jump when I speak so I know that he has heard. We are walking at a fair clip, exposed as we head away from the White Tower, but I do not think that the open and dark terraces are what has him so tense. He does not reply.

"Legolas!"

"I know that we do," he bites out, a twitch of a frown there at his brow. "Do you not think other things more important right now?"

"Can you solve this mystery between here and our rooms?" I demand. "No, you cannot, so we have spare time and no other ears around. You owe this to me Legolas."

It is my last words that stop him in his tracks, because I am ashamed to say that they came out more plaintive than I had intended. He stops, sharp and abrupt, and for a moment we stand alone in a courtyard so dark I can barely see him. The grasses are sodden, water drips and taps through new leaves, and blossom petals float atop a puddle that I am standing in. I shift my boot, watch the ripples run across its surface, and I force myself to stop staring at my feet.

I am once again quite angry at him, angry at myself… angry because I am angry. Why should it worry me so much that Legolas might be cross or annoyed with me? It never worried me before, never gave me this sick feeling in my gut or distracted me this way. Legolas knows all of this, he knows it, and I owe him so much – more than I can ever make up for – but in this I deserve a damned conversation.

I can see his hands clenching and flexing. I cannot see his face, but I can see the tension in him only to see it drain away in an instant.

"I know that I do," he replies, and it is only because I am listening so hard that I hear him at all. "I am not cross with you Gimli."

"How can you not be cross?!" I demand, my hands lifting and dropping to my sides uselessly. "I have never done that before – I did not know that I could do that. I was so angry with you yet you deserved none of it, and it is the second time now that I have used our connection to hurt you…"

I run out of words, because this is the heart of it. This is why I ache, this is why I am angry, because it is not anger at all but rather that I do not know how to feel all of the things in my heart, not all at once. Eru… I did it again! On the banks of the Anduin I used our connection to break down the walls within him, to break the very heart of him and crush it to dust. I could not ever imagine doing such a thing again... to hold such a position of trust and to betray it, not once but now twice?

"It is not the same," he says urgently. He steps forward so that moonlight falls across his face… so I can see him. He is putting a lot of work into his expression; open and sincere and with that unblinking eye contact, because he means for me to see. He means for me to hear his words, means for me to recognise the sincerity in them, and he reaches out and grips my shoulder painfully.

"It is not, Gimli, not the same at all. As surprising as your methods were, you did only what was needed. If I had hurt someone, hurt that boy… by the stars I think I am glad that you have this over me – I would have you do it again next time! It is much to ask of you, I always ask far too much… I deserve every part of your anger, and I am sorry."

"I do not mean for you to be sorry," I mutter, suddenly very embarrassed, but the relief is huge and leaves me feeling vulnerable. It is only Legolas who is permitted to see me this way, and even so it is not a pleasant feeling. "Have I hurt you?"

"Aye," he laughs, and I frown, because I am not certain that laughter is appropriate. "It hurt, Gimli, but it was effective. I cannot… I cannot stop it, when my mind goes… when I cannot recall…"

He stops, because he is desperately fighting to find the words and cannot. Not many people realise it, but Legolas does not speak Westron all that well. It is a problem that a lot of the elves of Mirkwood share, or at least the younger ones amongst them. Faelwen can barely manage a whole conversation without lapsing into her own tongue, but Legolas was tutored and manages most days. Even so, this is beyond his grasp, and I watch him floundering for a while before he gives in.

When Legolas loses his way, when he becomes that savage and dangerous creature that I have seen far too frequently these days, he cannot stop it from happening. It is as though his mind has reverted to a younger version of him: a laegrim elf from the wildest part of the wood, mad with war. He has told me, I have seen it for myself when our link was stronger, and he need not explain. We have had this conversation a hundred times. Perhaps this newfound ability is not the worst thing; he has recovered quickly from what I have done, but if he were to hurt someone when he has lost himself… I do not think he would recover from that.

"You did the right thing," he tells me finally, firmly, a scowl stealing across his forehead. "I am sorry that I keep losing myself, and I am sorry for what you had to do. You have nothing to make amends for."

I have much to make amends for.

"Right," I nod, and I am no longer embarrassed but this moment feels more awkward than it should. I rub one hand down my pant leg, then realise that we are wasting a lot more time than I had meant to. I imagined that we could have this conversation whilst walking, I clear my throat, and grant him an abashed smile. "I cannot say I am happy about it, but that is resolved for now."

It is not resolved at all, but it is as much as either one of us can manage. This is another thing to add to all of the half discussed matters that swirl and hang between us, but despite that we owe it to one another to resolve things, it is more than either one of us are willing to discuss further tonight. I consider for a moment that I am lucky indeed to have a friend so willing to set this aside for later conversation, that elves find such things acceptable, because this particular elf is friends with a dwarf. We are not very good at this sort of thing.

I reach out and tug at his sleeve, and we walk again.

"I know that Aragorn will wish to speak to you though my friend. He has not seen you that way before."

"He has," Legolas disagrees. "It is not a new problem, not for any of us. We learn to block it out, to shut it away, but our walls do not protect us all of the time and I have been in battle with Estel more times than I can count. You are right though; I think he is angry, and I do not know what to say to him."

"He holds you to a far higher standard than any other." I hold a door open for him and we descend into a staircase, where our voices echo oddly with the shifting sound of our boots. Well… my boots. "It is perhaps unfair."

"Not unfair, because I am quite troublesome recently, but it is terribly mannish," Legolas sighs. "I was his teacher and protector, but then he grew, and realised that I am not quite as magnificent as I once seemed. Apparently it is my fault that I am faulted… although I am still rather magnificent, we should all accept that."

I laugh and he grins, all traces of bad feeling washed away, and it is good to be with him when he is being his old self again. It is confusing, unsettling, more frustrating than anything I have ever experienced – to live and travel and converse with someone who changes their mood this frequently… it is difficult, but it is also refreshing, and a little bit exciting. It is certainly nice to know someone who does not carry a poor mood for days and days. With Legolas, you can sometimes pull him out of it by pointing out an irregularly shaped cloud.

We enter his room. It smells familiar and green – it feels like returning home – and for a moment I am overcome by weariness.

"You should take something for yourself whilst we are here," I inform him. Someone has lit the fire, but although Legolas simply strides right in I am forced to fumble around for candles before I can see where I am going. "I know that you are hurting by now."

I hear him grunt as he makes his way toward the garden, hear the thud of the wine decanter as he deposits it on his desk, and I take this as affirmation. I also take it as a request for more pain numbing tea, and also a thanks, because if I must interpret his snorts and huffs and stubborn silences, then I shall interpret them however I wish. I will also grant him manners whilst I am at it. I hook a kettle of water over the fire and then stand awkwardly, at a bit of a loss.

"Do you need any assistance?" I call.

"Can you name a single plant in here that can be used to identify poison, or even how to use it?" he calls back. I open my mouth and then close it again, scowl.

"Declining with thanks would have been sufficient."

"Pour some of that wine out," he asks, emerging from the deepness of his grotto. He carries a sprig of something leafy and the white root of something else, and there is a smudge of soil on his face. He uses the heel of his hand to pulp the leaves, and then a spare arrow head that he finds in a pocket to trim down the roots… sees me looking at him strangely and tilts his head in question.

"There is a trunk under your bed full of the old healing master's tools," I point out. "You are curious enough to have found it, but if you like I can take off my boot so you can use that as a mortar."

"We carry few tools when we are on patrol," he laughs. "I have become accustomed to doing it this way. And your boot has been on your foot; it would wilt the leaves and probably my hand. Is the water ready?"

"That is for your medicine," I frown, and he waves something brown and desiccated and unpleasant looking at me before popping it into his mouth and starting to chew. It is willow bark.

He points to a bowl he has set out. I fill it obligingly and he drops the crushed leaves and roots into it, reclining and taking a deep breath, releasing it. He stretches back and cards his hands through his hair, chewing the pain numbing willow bark all of the time. He looks tired, but I have seen him come through immeasurably worse situations than this. I am not worried about him. Not at all.

I hear the tolling of the bell in the far distance from the open door, brought to us on a breeze that smells fresh and clean. We have used half of our time already.

"You are tired," I observe, sitting whilst we wait for the infusion to seep. It smells acrid, sharp but not entirely unpleasant. He grunts again, and I see his hand rise to rub at his chest absently.

"It has been a long day, Gimli."

Eru, we only found him this morning. It is hard to remember sometimes that he is not invulnerable, because he always seems to be well – always hides his discomfiture and weariness, always fights through it, because that is all he knows how to be. It is easy to forget, but this morning I found him in a tunnel after being bound and beaten and separated from the Song for a full day and night. Suddenly his lapses into madness do not seem so inexcusable, in fact I am surprised he has kept himself together as well as he has.

He seems to hear or sense or feel the path that my thoughts move toward, and his face turns unhappy and dark for a moment. He digs at the wood of the table with a thumbnail, an awkward thing, and I know where his mind lies. He is replaying it, over and over again… his loss of control: twice in one evening, three times today if count his battle with Oren.

It is easy to think that it does not concern him, because he is so used to covering such things up with those masks of his, but right now it is just the two of us. Right now his mask slips, and he looks miserable, but then he remembers himself – wipes it clean as though it was never there. I wish he did not feel as though he has to do that all of the time.

He turns toward me and smiles, soft and genuine, warm… reaches out and rests his hand on my arm for a moment.

"But you were there," he says simply, and I can see the evidence of fresh blood beneath his bracers.

I am saved from having to think up a suitable response, which is well because damn him he could at least have these poignant moments when I am ready for them. Apparently the leaves and roots are done, and he pokes at them, sniffs, finds it satisfactory and then pours a small measure into the cup containing the poisoned wine.

Immediately the smell changes: sweet and cloying, coating the back of my throat, overpowering everything else in the room. Legolas sets the cup back down and looks quite disturbed, props his elbow on the arm of the chair and his chin upon his hand. He scowls at the fragrant cup of wine as though willing it to be somehow different.

"Aher," he murmurs under his breath, but that tells me nothing at all. He rubs his chin, scuffs his hand across his face as though trying to wake himself and straightens perceptibly, clears his throat. "I spoke to Shutter before we left," he tells me. "He said that there is a retired assassin on the second that might help."

I pause, long enough for the silence to be obvious, hanging between us like a physical weight.

"I do not want you to go visiting old assassins on the second circle," I tell him honestly.

"I do not wish to visit them either," he admits. "Captain Hob or Shutter can deal with it."

There is further silence for a while, we are wasting time that we do not have, but I think now that we have stopped for a moment we are both finding it difficult to start back up again.

"Do you think that we are cursed in some way?" Legolas asks curiously. "I had thought the previous hardships of my life were just an unfortunate accident of my birth, but things have not become any easier since this new Age began."

I think on it, think on how best to respond, because there is a worrying weariness in his tone. I know that Legolas is hearing the Sea Longing; perhaps not right now, but his journey home started a long time ago with the cry of the gulls. He has endured so much, but I think perhaps he is finally starting to become weary in his heart.

"You complain too much," I tell him in the end, making a decision. He makes a vague gesture with his hand, wiping away his words, then heaves himself to his feet. It is not graceful or fluid or easy, and I see the weight of every single one of his years in that movement.

"Let us go," he prompts. "I do not trust that Aragorn can stop himself from sending people after us, even when we have time to spare."

~{O}~

Things seem to have calmed a bit when we return to the Conference Chambers. We are allowed access easily enough, but I think perhaps the crowd of guards has actually grown since we left.

We slip through the doors, we try to be unobtrusive in our entrance, but of course Aragorn notices and I see a slight relaxing of his features as he sees us return. His shoulders seem to lift, the tension about his mouth fades, and he watches Legolas very closely for a moment but sees nothing that concerns him.

It is just Aragorn, Briar and Shutter in the room. Hob is with his men outside, Larke and Liana are not yet back, and it seems that the three of them have been discussing their pact, or treaty, or whatever it is. The original parchment is terribly defaced with corrections and amendments, the table is littered with sheets where they have started anew, and I think that they have been arguing because one of them has been torn into shreds.

Shutter cranes his head around as we join them, twisting it to keep the elfling in his eye-line until Legolas finally looks at him. I take a seat beside Aragorn but Legolas remains upright, fidgety and distracted.

"It is Aher," he says to the thief, and Shutter frowns slightly.

"You are certain?" he asks, and it is not doubt but rather confirmation. Legolas nods and Shutter sighs, and I start to wonder why they are both reacting in such a way. The elfling did not seem so pleased about it either.

"It is deadly," Shutter says, as though reading my thoughts. "A nasty poison, quite cruel and not used very often; a professional assassin would think it quite distasteful. It is also frightfully difficult to make. It takes a man of skill and experience to make anything other than an unpleasant tea, but the ingredients are as common as dirt. I will speak to our retired friend, see if there are any of his old colleagues still selling such things, but I do not think that this will help us."

"Ask him," Aragorn confirms. "He may have been approached, he may not, but it would help if he had. Take a copy of that drawing that Edgar made as well, he is busy duplicating his work and should have a few spares by now. See if he recognises the faces."

"What of you, my Lady?" Shutter turns to Briar, suddenly unsure of leaving. She smiles at him warmly, lays one hand upon his arm.

"Our King has graciously offered rooms for what is left of the night; I have no wish to travel back down through the city at this hour, and with so much uncertainty. Lirra is with me, and almost all of the City Guard, and you know that I can defend myself, my friend."

"Well aware," he replies with a sudden grin, which is far friendlier than any I have seen on him before. I am quite distraught to find that I no longer hate him as much as I did, and I grieve the loss of it.

"You go alone?" I ask, forcing boredom into my tone, because I mean him to know that I do not care either way.

"Of course," he frowns, insulted. He straightens, snorts, and walks away muttering to himself as though I have offended him greatly. He continues it even after he has left the room, and Briar is smiling after him fondly but then she also stands. Smooths her clothing and takes a deep breath.

"Unless you have further need of me, my King, it has been an eventful evening and I would retire for a few hours."

"Of course, my Lady," Aragorn stands, and he gives a small bow. "My apologies for keeping you up so late, and also for the attempt on our lives. It has not happened in a while."

She laughs, rich and warm, and bows back to him.

"No apology necessary my King; I have had more entertainment tonight than I have had in a long while. Is the Prince to show me to my rooms?"

Legolas – bless his pointy ears – almost stumbles where he paces the floor. He gives Aragorn a wild look but it is not returned. The King's face is frozen in a rictus of a smile, the falseness of it only apparent to those who know him.

"Alas," he replies smoothly. "Prince Legolas and I have a few things to discuss before we retire tonight. Captain Hob's men will escort you and your people to your rooms."

Legolas grimaces, but he schools his face into something neutral when the Lady Briar winks at him. She is far too dignified to embarrass herself with this fixation she has on my friend, but she is not hiding her intentions either. I think she is simply enjoying herself far too much. I can tell Legolas has no idea what to do with this woman or how to treat her, and if I must be completely honest, I am starting to find it quite amusing as well.

"I will walk you out, my Lady," I tell her, and offer her my arm.

I can feel the elfling's glare burning into the back of my head as I leave, but I catch a single glance of Aragorn's face and he seems grateful. I know that Legolas and I are rarely apart these days, but in this I would be intruding

I shut the doors quietly behind me, receive a warm kiss on the cheek from the Lady Briar, and watch her leave in a crowd of her own people and the City Guard. It feels as though the temperature drops significantly when she is gone, and I drop tiredly in a chair next to Captain Hob. We bracket the doors like sentries, and after a night of so many people coming and going it seems silent and quiet out here now. We are mostly alone.

Hob is slouched against the wall, his arms folded and his legs sprawled out before him. He looks at me with a question, rolling his head across the wall.

"That," I wave my hand vaguely behind me, "I am not needed for. But he is not walking back without me either, not in the mood he is likely to be in."

Hob simply grunts, offers me a flask of something that smells potent enough to burn my nostril hairs clean out of my nose, but I decline. He tells me that I am sensible, tucks the flask away again without drinking either, and we lapse into silence but it is comfortable. This hallway is utterly quiet, dimly lit since it is so late, and it feels as though it is just Hob and I in the entire mountain.

"Who do you suppose the wine was for?" he asks me, shifting slightly into a more comfortable position. I do as he has done – I slouch back against the wall – and I fight to keep my eyes open.

"It did seem clumsy," I agree, mumbling through my beard. "Our assassin was either terrible at his job, or something went wrong. Poisoning wine meant for a number of people when it was intended for one…"

"Too risky," he agrees. "Far too much to go awry. I spoke to Master Gowry as we were taking Teg downstairs. Tanner was meant to actually serve the wine – to pour it into each of the glasses. When I closed the Chambers off, I informed the serving staff that it was simply to be brought in, and that we would pour our own. That is when Tanner disappeared."

"You think he took fright?" I ask, and he shrugs with a mouth tugged downward, flits one hand briefly before settling it back under his armpit.

"Perhaps, perhaps not. We will know once we find him."

I make a noise of agreement, but in all honesty I am too tired to sit here guessing at what might have happened. It seems an awful lot of energy to expend on something so fruitless, and so instead we simply sit in quiet. I have grown to enjoy Hob's company – it is easy and natural – and I hope that he thinks the same of me.

There is so much unanswered, so little that we can do about it, and although I say that speculation and guesswork is fruitless, it does not seem to stop my mind from chasing ideas and possibilities.

I sit and I wait, and I weather my own storm.

~{O}~

We are in Legolas' garden.

I have filled his room with candles but have brought none out here with me, because it really is a bit of a fire risk. The light spills honey-warm into our wooded glen, enough for me to see by, and Legolas and I sit shoulder to shoulder against the wall. Sitting this way the elfling's legs stretch out before him, long and elegant and crossed at the ankle, but mine stick out like a child's. I cannot help but roll my feet, knocking my boots together, but after a while Legolas reaches out and grabs my leg in a serious suggestion that I stop it. I consider carrying on just to be ornery, but I do not.

He has undressed until he wears only leggings and a white shirt, far too large, and he has allowed me to dress his wrists again which is terribly gracious of him. They have been bleeding, and I must first soak the blood away before applying ointment and then bandages. He has been pale and tense the whole way through it – I think that I am happier that it is over than he is – and I have said that I told him so only once, which I believe quite restrained of me.

The door to the balcony is open, far to my left through a thicket of honeysuckle, but the breeze still finds its way through and a fern is tickling my ear. I bat it aside only for it to swing back and hit me in the face.

Legolas is very quiet, I keep sneaking glances at him, and in the end he turns and stares back quite pointedly.

"I thought you might be sleeping," I admit, embarrassed. "It is not easy to tell."

He rolls his head back around to where it was, his attention upon nothing, but I notice that his hands are clenching and flexing in his lap. They betray him.

"How did it go with Aragorn?" I ask. "I have been waiting for you to say something."

"In truth?" he murmurs, "poorly. We have both changed; he does not understand, and he becomes cross because I do not know what to say. You would have known what to say."

"You put too much faith in me," I shake my head. "If I say the right thing it is often by accident. It was not for me to be there, my friend; this was between you and Aragorn."

"It is difficult to live up to the expectations of King Elessar," he replies, and there is bitterness in his tone that I have not heard before. "You and I are just as damaged and broken as the other – it is not so difficult when we are both being hurtful or making mistakes."

He catches himself, glances at me and smiles ruefully. Rubs his face and swipes his hair back. "My apologies Gimli, I must be terrible company tonight. I am simply tired."

He is more than 'simply tired', as he puts it – he is an exposed nerve; raw and inflamed by the day he has lived. I can imagine that Legolas did not allow his conversation with Aragorn to go well, whether it was intentional or not. Kept behind like a scolded student and put on the spot? I thought that Aragorn knew him better than that; he is the one constantly telling me how difficult it is for elves to change, how they so rarely do. I am aware better than any how difficult he can be, but Aragorn could do well to listen to his own words occasionally.

I snort, and Legolas interprets it correctly.

"Do not think badly of him," Legolas murmurs, and I roll my eyes at his sudden reversal. "He is very young."

"Try and speak with him again tomorrow," I counsel, ignoring Legolas' opinion on what might be considered 'young'. "Do not leave things badly; you are brothers and he loves you, just as you love him."

I haul myself to my feet.

"I am abandoning you now my friend; I must sleep or else expire on the spot. I will do so in a bed this time rather than a chair, and certainly not in your little forest here." I wave my hand around this greenhouse and he laughs. I stop just inside the door as I leave, my hand resting on the frame, and I turn my head back toward him. "You will be well?" I ask.

"I will be well," he smiles, blinks slowly and leans back again. "Sleep well, Gimli."

I wonder how likely that might be, exactly, but when I reach my chambers I fall into my bed as though my whole life has led to this moment. Every muscle relaxes instantly, it is pure bliss, and I had every intention of brooding and pondering for a while but I drop into sleep almost instantly.

If I have dreams, I recall none of them.

TBC

And that is the three, and exactly where I meant to leave things for the year.

I'll be honest guys; I don't normally post this close to the festive season because I know - even if you don't celebrate Christmas specifically - this is generally a time for family. I genuinely don't expect a huge number of reviews here, but these stories have to be told and I don't get a lot of say in this matter. I'd like to imagine you all out there, in the quiet moments between the big meal and the cheese and biscuits, skimming through the chapters on a couch whilst being climbed upon by small children you're vaguely related to. This is enough for me.

Although if you wish to review, I will never try to dissuade you from it! :D

On a more adult note, if any of you are feeling a bit rubbish or sad or need someone to speak to, I am literally always here. I have a quiet Christmas planned, and I know what it is like to really feel things at this time of year. Please drop me a PM if you're at a loss - I'm happy to just chat rubbish if that's what you need as a distraction.

Happy festive period, whatever denomination you belong to, and thanks to everyone who has stayed with me through everything. It's been a dreadful year, but it actually got a bit better toward the end. I likewise wish you health and happiness for you and yours for the next year.

Have a great end to 2016

MyselfOnly xxx