When I wake, it takes time to reconcile where I am and what has happened, but not long. It comes to me quickly, and it is with a jolt of alarm that I realise the light coming through my window is not the light of morning – this is the light of a fully established day. I freeze in horror as I hear the distant toll of bells sounding from the city below, and I count them.

Eru it is past midday! I have been piggishly asleep for almost all of it!

I rise quickly and make an utter hash of dressing myself, burst through the door between my room and Legolas' to find that he is not there. He is not in his room or in his little woodland, or on the balcony or anywhere at all, and I think I am going to die on the spot.

He is lost, gone, taken again….

My heart slams in my chest, I brace my hands on my knees, begin to gasp my way toward a full collapse of the mind, but then I see a scrap of parchment on his desk with my name on it.

I snatch it free and squint my way through Legolas' blasted handwriting – in that spider scratching they call a language, no less. I crumple the letter up and throw it angrily into the fireplace when I am done, because I am strangely furious at my own reaction. My first assumption cannot always be that something has happened to him – that something is wrong – but perhaps I should wait for six months without something happening to him before I kick myself too hard over it.

He is meeting with Aragorn in the gardens, he says, and he would have woken me had such a thing proven physically possible. Should I awaken ever again, there are guards outside who will lead me to them, and if I do not then I have been an adequate friend and he wishes me well in my new life as a very ugly piece of statuary.

Idiot.

~{O}~

When Legolas says that he has left guards, what he means is that he has left almost all of the guards. I open the door to find quite a crowd, and I search the faces there until I find one that I recognise. Ren leans against the wall, arms folded, and he pushes himself away once he sees me. His red hair is scruffy and he looks tired, but he also smiles in genuine pleasure and claps me on the shoulder, shoves the others away so that we can get past.

"We thought perhaps you had died, Master Gimli!" he crows happily. "The lads and I were drawing lots as to who told the elf!"

"Who was losing?" I ask, unable to help the grin that forms across my face as we walk. They are all terrified of my friend, and there is something affable and warm about Ren that is difficult to dislike.

"Céorl," he grins. "He nearly cried. This way my Lord; we are taking the servant's corridors today."

He leads me to a hidden door, which is not so much 'hidden' as it is 'invisible'. It is crafted so that the eye passes over it almost entirely, and once we are inside I find myself in tunnels cramped and narrow but dry and warm. They are well trod, worn smooth, and they actually smell rather nice: warm bread and clean laundry, candle wax and soap. We see only one other person – a slight young girl with bound hair in a simple dress of blue – and she pauses in her duties, presses against a wall to let us pass and ducks her head. She glances up as we pass, sees that I have seen, blushes furiously and hurries on her way.

"Not that I dislike spending time in new places of stone," I observe, my voice sounding strangely flat down here, "but why do we take this route?"

"It is the only way," Ren tells me. "They are not the King's gardens that we go to, they are the kitchen gardens. It was Prince Legolas' idea."

"Of course it was," I mutter, and when Ren makes a noise for me to repeat what I have said, I speak a bit louder. "Why there?"

"Who would look for the King of Gondor in the place where we grow the potatoes, my Lord?" he shrugs.

It is not the worst idea, I have to admit.

We walk for a good distance more, silent except for the dusty shifting of what sounds like a million pairs of boots, and after countless turns I am lost. Ren spends the entire time talking; he has spent the morning with the elfling, who has visited the prisons with the Lady Briar so that she could question those men captured during Legolas' rescue. He tells me how she singled out just one, took him away from his fellows and said not a single word as she walked him away, shut him up in a tiny room rank and damp, and tied him to a chair.

With a grin and a hushed voice he describes how frightening the Lady was – how if she threatened him with a blade the way that she did, he would have spilled his deepest and most precious secrets too. Probably those of his family as well.

"Cold, she was," he tells me. "Like ice, as though she had no care for the life of any other. She would have crippled him without thinking twice about it afterward, I know it. With the Prince stood behind her… you know how he is; even I felt intimidated and I was only stood in the doorway! Why, the fellow soon changed his stance on matters! He sang like a bird, he described his masters quite thoroughly. That Edgar fellow is there now, trying to capture their likeness."

I keep quiet, because Ren needs little encouragement when he is talking, but he tells me everything I need. Fascinating, and more than I would probably get from the elfling – indeed I will be surprised if he even mentions this to me – and it gives me something to think on as we walk.

When we reach the end though, my ridiculously large procession allows me to leave them freely. Ren opens a rickety wooden door that creaks alarmingly upon its hinges, sunlight stings my eyes, and I hear rather than see my guard take position around the door. They make themselves comfortable, and do not follow me.

Eru it is painfully bright, and for a moment my eyes sting and water. I blink and squint, and after a while I become used to the sunlight as well as the fact that this place is almost aggressively green.

The lawn is thick and a trifle unkempt, ankle deep and damp with rain. We are walled in by the mountain, completely encircled, but it is a very large nook that they have found for this garden – indeed I can barely see the furthest rise of Mindolluin, and I would estimate this at half a mile square at the very least.

There are crumbling brick walls that brace terraces, crooked steps meandering from foot to summit, tipsy and rambling so that they spill into one another. There is a high bricked soak and spigot, with a wide stretch of dirty water rippling in the breeze to my right. Shovels and trowels and rakes are propped against it, buckets and hoes and baskets, discarded implements of the day's work. A wide swath of flagstone meets me, swept clear and clean, and there are small wooden footstools where I think the workers sit for their lunch. There are traces of them: the dust of pipe ash, a cup negligently abandoned upon a wall, a pair of muddy boots.

Further out I cast my gaze, and I see terraces – perhaps ten in total – wide and broad and huge. They grow food enough for this household, vegetables and fruit spilling and flowing. There are thorned things and spindly things, lush and expansive, broad and narrow and high. Some I even recognise. All of the plants that feed this stronghold grow here, it is the biggest garden I have ever seen, and for a moment I cannot move.

I look up, and I see a sky of blue uninterrupted by any cloud at all. It is warm, silent except for birdsong and the occasional zip of an insect. I can see the terraces of this garden rising a hundred… two hundred feet into the air as steep as any mountain has ever been, spilling and flowing and rolling like a river. We are cradled by the mountain behind, and open to the endless sky above, blue and green all that I can see. The sun softens upon ground still wet from last night, and I breathe in damp warmth that smells of life and freshness and Eru… it is a place of wonder!

I turn around, I turn a full circle, I hold my face to the sunlight and I cannot help but laugh. The joy in my heart is like a pressure against the darkness in my mind: it washes it clean and fills me to bursting, swells in my chest so that I cannot help myself. I am flotsam upon the wind, a child surrounded by wonder. The terraces rise – intimidating and tall and looming – but it feels welcoming rather than threatening. This is spectacular… truly spectacular.

Legolas, Aragorn and Arwen sit two levels down from mine, the lowest of them, and nothing grows there but grass. A wide lawn, soft and deep, and I trip down uneven stone steps until I reach them.

Legolas reclines upon his elbows, and he has made little effort today – he has removed his boots and he is without tunic or jerkin. A white shirt shifts and billows in the wind, falling free of one shoulder, and his hair tangles and catches. I catch his eye first and it consumes me… it is all that I can see. He can feel what I feel, I think that a lot of what I am experiencing has come from him, and for a heartbeat it is as though our link is new.

No time has passed, nothing has aged or weathered our connection: for a brief moment it is just the way it was when we were first joined together. We are tangled and knotted, heart and mind, and he knows that I can smell every flower and blossom, every nuance in the damp scent of soil, everything that comes upon the wind just the way he can. I feel unfettered joy, just as he does, and it is wild and savage and beautiful. Our eyes meet, and he smiles, and it is warm and understanding and secret just between the two of us. He says:

I know.

And I grin all the wider. I stumble onto the grassed terrace and fold myself to the ground, feeling the dampness seep into my rump as soon as I settle, but I do not mind. Aragorn looks windswept and bright, more like himself than I have seen him in a long time, and he smiles at me. Arwen is dressed like a wood-sprite; a thin cotton dress of pale green with her hair loose and tangled by the wind. She looks more like an elf today than I think I have ever seen her before, and she smiles warmly at me with dancing blue eyes, tucking ebony hair behind her ear.

There is a basket set aside, and in it there are bottles of watered wine and also ham, cheese and fresh bread. There are fruits and honey cakes, and I aim directly for those because I have become quite partial to them. I do not have to greet my friends, I do not have to say anything at all, and for a moment it is just the four of us upon the grass.

Arwen watches a bird fly past, cranes her neck until it is gone and then she and Legolas mumble something to one another. They race off across the lawn, barefooted and free of the trappings of their station. They sprint together the way that I have seen wild birds fly; light and joyful… no care at all for how they seem. The Prince of Lasgalen and the Queen of Gondor run and laugh, young elves caught by the wind and sky, and I watch them play with a smile upon my face.

"This is not what I expected for today," I tell Aragorn, dusting my hands off and leaning back upon my elbows. I continue watching Legolas and Arwen; they are now wrestling like warg pups, the way siblings do: dirty and formless and with far too much laughter. Many people think the Queen of Gondor as nothing but a smiling woman of immense beauty, but I know far better – she was raised with brothers and she is an elf; there is nothing soft or placid about her. Legolas picks her up and throws her over his shoulder, she growls and kicks and bites, and this is both un-princely and un-queenly, but I think it might be quite normal for them.

Even so, as entertaining as it is to watch, there is much going on; much for us to deal with and discuss and I am unsure that we have time for this. Aragorn knows what I mean and dismisses it with a wave of his hand.

"I have nothing if I do not have this," he admits. I turn and pay closer attention to him – I watch him very carefully – but his gaze is focussed too closely upon the elves. There is a smile upon his face, and I would give anything to keep it there. However:

"We have things to address, Aragorn," I point out, and he gives me a look that is flat and annoyed.

"You could not allow us this?" he asks, and I tilt my face toward the open sky. I feel guilty, as though I am ruining our day, but I scowl out toward the sunlight because I do not think that I should feel guilty.

Aragorn sighs after I have said nothing for a good long while, rubs his face, and I think I actually see the moment when the weight falls back across his shoulders.

"You are right," he says.

"No," I admit, a long exhalation of weariness. "I do not think I am."

I pull myself upright again, lean across and rest my hand on his arm the way that Legolas often does to me – I squeeze it tightly and attempt a smile that looks warm and fond, but probably comes across a bit like a grimace. I am being unkind.

"Forgive me," I smile. "This last year has made me forget the importance of such things."

"Perhaps we are both a little bit wrong, and a little bit right," he smiles back, and I am forgiven. "I have become quickly accustomed to safety, and have wanted so badly to spend this time with my friends. The timing is not appropriate. It matters not in any case!" he brightens with a grin, "I have had an idea!"

"Oh?" I tilt my head. "And were you thinking of perhaps sharing it with us, or did you have further activities planned first? We could go fishing…"

His grin turns pained, his eyes track immediately toward his wife who is quite a distance away. I do not think it is my glib comments that have turned his face so wooden and worried.

"I have a plan," he admits to me, "but I did not say that any of you would like it very much."

Legolas and Arwen – who really are quite far away – both freeze and turn toward us. There is silence for a while before I hear Arwen's voice sailing across on the breeze.

"It had better not be dangerous!" she calls, because of course they can hear us.

Aragorn sighs.

"I hate it when they do that," he mutters.

~{O}~

"You are quite right," I say. "I do not like it."

"I do not like it either," Arwen agrees, and we turn to Legolas when there is nothing but silence from him. He blinks and shrugs, and I feel my face twist into disgust.

"Oh of course you agree with him," I bite out. "It is idiotic. Any chance at all to leap around with your knives… the two of you are cut from the exact same cloth, I swear it."

"There is no need to be insulting," Legolas scowls.

"If anyone has any ideas that involve no risk at all, I am quite open to hearing them," he glances at Arwen and then at me, and then at Legolas who holds his hands up.

"I am in agreement with you, do not become cross with me!"

"Perhaps we need further opinion than just ours," Arwen placates. "There will be more than just Legolas and Gimli involved in this."

"I will be involved in this," Aragorn frowns at her, and she shakes her head quite certainly.

"Do not be absurd," she says. "Of course you will not."

"I agree, Estel," Legolas nods, interrupting what I am certain would have been a fine tantrum from the King of Gondor. "You are far too important to risk in this."

I did not think that Aragorn's frown could deepen any further, but I was wrong. "No one was particularly against sending me to Mordor," he growls, "or any of the hundreds of very dangerous things I did before that."

"You will have to stop bringing up Mordor eventually," Legolas rolls his eyes hugely.

"That was different; you were not even slightly important back then," I tell him with a dismissive wave. He snaps his mouth shut – quite offended – and I twist around until I can see the guards two levels up. I whistle up at them and wave one down, and send for them to fetch Captain Hob, Lady Briar, and also Shutter although I would have been happier without him. She will probably bring him anyway, at least this way it is my idea. "You are a King now, and the fate of the lands is not in peril. You must trust us more; we are your sword, and we act in your stead."

"So you agree with my plan now," he states flatly, his arms crossed. It is not a question, but the fire in his eyes has dimmed and I think perhaps my words have struck home. I also think that Aragorn is far too wise and clever to mean any of the umbrage he is suddenly deep in the throes of. He knows that he cannot be a part of this, not the way he wishes to be, but he also does not need to hide his annoyance from us. We are his friends, and deep inside he is still a ranger.

"Until I can think of something better, yes," I growl right back. "I am happier with this plan of yours knowing you will not be coming."

"Well, so long as you are happy," he bites out.

Aragorn knits his brows together and shuts his mouth firmly once more, as though he has nothing kind to say and therefore will not say anything. We lapse into silence, and Legolas climbs across the grass on his knees to pick grass out of Arwen's hair, braiding it so that she is a bit more presentable for company. I narrow my eyes at him.

"Did you at least bring a tunic?" I ask him, and I gesture at his under-dressed state. "Or is this a gift for the Lady Briar?"

~{O}~

He did bring clothes, thankfully, and by the time we have company he is wearing boots again, and has buttoned a tunic of pale green and silver over his shirt. He still looks as though he has only just fallen out of bed, but now that we are no longer alone, the version of Legolas that I have spent the morning with has retreated. He is quiet again, serious and watchful, and because he is an elf he manages to seem dignified no matter how he is dressed.

We are not the only ones to sense the lack of formality in this meeting. How could we be, when we are having a meeting of such importance in a kitchen garden?

Captain Hob wears his uniform, as always, but Shutter has cast aside his brightly coloured clothes in favour of his usual greys and browns. The Lady herself is dressed rather girlishly, in a short dress of deep green that seems to be quite fashionable in Minas Tirith this spring, and her hair is bound.

She eyes Legolas quite, quite thoroughly, and smiles at him but it is not friendly. My cheeks flush at the look she gives him, and the idiot elf meets her eyes with something almost resembling a challenge. He will never learn.

"It is not a terrible plan," Captain Hob muses, scratching his hand across his short hair the way he often does. He seems far more comfortable out here, making plans on the grass, and he stretches himself out beneath the sun because if it is good enough for his King, then it is good enough for him.

"It is better than sitting and talking about things," Shutter agrees. He has helped himself to the picnic, and I have noticed that our thief cannot seem to sit within striking distance of food and manage to keep his hands to himself. I have seen much the same behaviour in soldiers who have gone without for long periods of time in the past, and I wonder how easy it is has been for him growing up… how he became a thief in the first place.

"How went your meeting?" Legolas asks him, and I am starting to think that there is benefit in speaking infrequently in company. Whenever he does speak, everyone listens.

"As I expected," Shutter tells him through a mouth full of my honey cakes. "I could not even find him."

"Larke and Liana could not find the server Tanner, either," Hob tells us. There is silence for a while, and I know that we are all thinking the same thing.

"I do not think that we will find them," the Lady Briar voices our thoughts. She clears her throat, turns to the Queen, and I am quite surprised that Steward of the Second seems less certain of herself for a moment. Arwen sits with her feet pulled beneath her, her braided hair a dark fall across one shoulder, and I have seen her wrestling in the grass this morning but she bears no sign of it now. "My Queen, if I could beg a favour of you; Master Gowry will not leave Teg, and I must speak with the seamstresses. Might you introduce me to the first amongst your ladies in waiting?"

"Of course," Arwen smiles, and it is soft and kind and welcoming. "A simple enough thing; they will be in the arbour by now. You have an idea?"

"That depends on how fast your ladies are," Briar tilts her head, musing. "If we are to draw out these assassins, if we are to play bait and risk danger by making them come to us, then we need not make it easy for them."

"It is more theatrical than I am used to," Hob observes, and there is a grudging agreement in his voice, "but it will certainly confuse matters. My King you have plans for how this is to happen?"

"A brother told me this morning that I am to trust my friends more," he says. His glance flickers only briefly toward me, and I see only the smallest smile. "Hob, Gimli and Briar – you are strategists, and I think you can make the best of this plan. Shutter and Legolas – the two of you are the keenest of scouts, and you must decide on how this will happen. I would have Legolas oversee all of the final arrangements, because although I have the greatest of respect for my Captain, I trust in the experience of elves. If anyone is to set an ambush, we would be well suited to listen to a Lasgalen elf."

Shutter holds his hand in the air.

"And if he loses his mind again?"

Briar hisses a reprimand, and I feel myself open my mouth ready to defend the elfling, but he beats me to it.

"My threat still stands," Legolas says. His voice is calm, he does not blink or shift, his face does not change from stillness. He resembles his father very much in these moments… when his is so still, so cold. Shutter points at me.

"Your threat was if I touched or harmed him."

"When I lose my focus, I still recognise my friends… you should be trying harder to be considered one. And in any case, do you fear me that much?"

"Hardly," Shutter snorts.

"Then you have no concerns at all," Legolas says, but then something happens that horrifies me: Shutter grins at the elfling, and Legolas' face actually softens into something like a smile of amusement. The outrage! I am utterly scandalised!

I am unsure whether it is the dart of betrayal that I send in his direction, or the look of horror upon my face, but Legolas looks at me and shrugs, of all things. He had better not be making friends with this idiot!

I would explore this further, but of course Legolas has been given command and he slips into this guise as naturally as anything. He stands, dusts grass off his rear, and suddenly all eyes are upon him. My elfling is used to being in control, in his orders being followed, and I would be a fool not to realise that he is very good at it.

He says that he would have Captain Hob decide on his best men, although he wishes to choose the archers himself and only after he has seen them at bow. He would have them ready for inspection in an hour, by which time he and Shutter should have returned.

I am to attend the Lady Briar, and will have her guards working with Ren and Larke. Once we are done, we will meet back with Captain Hob and decide what is to be done, and then Shutter and Legolas will discuss where it is to be done, and then we are to finalise things.

Larke is tasked with sourcing good maps, and Ren is to gather the best of the Whitecloaks and City Guard together. Mouse is to meet us at the Rookery when Legolas inspects the archers; an extra scout to work with the elfling and with Shutter, and Captain Hob is to organise these things.

It is not often that I see my friend acting as a captain, as a leader, and I have to stop myself from leaping to my feet and snapping to attention. He is confident and assured, and there is not a single person amongst us who does not respond to him instantly.

Hob is to his feet and claps Legolas on the shoulder as he passes, climbs back up the terraces and leaves. Legolas stands with Aragorn and Arwen for just a moment, taking their leave, just as Shutter and Lady Briar talk for a moment, laugh, and then split apart. I have the Lady by my side just as Legolas has the ridiculous little guttersnipe at his, and we pause just for a moment to share a look.

I try to tell him not to get himself kidnapped this time, or possessed or murdered or fall off a cliff, or any of the things that both could happen, or have actually happened to him in the past. He stops me with a smile though, and then a wave, and he is moving quite quickly up the terraces with Shutter at his side. I take a deep breath, let it out slowly, and it is not a sigh at all. I feel a presence ghosting next to me, I look up to see the Lady Briar watching me with those dark eyes, deep with understanding.

"He is good at what he does, friend Gimli," she tells me, meaning Shutter.

"It is not that," I mumble. "Legolas is exceptional, he could do this alone. What I worry about… it is complicated. I should not be speaking of it. Let us go my Lady; we have been given a set amount of time, and he is only aware of its passing when he has put markers upon it. He is terribly strict as a captain."

We take our leave from the King and Queen – the former grips my shoulder tightly and the latter kisses me upon the forehead – and I leave with the Steward of the Second at my side. We climb the terraces together, and I see her face melt into a huge smile. I do not know her well at all, but it is unusually guileless for the woman I have seen so far.

"Oh, friend Gimli," she breathes, answering before I have asked. "This has been quite a week for me. I have met my King and spent time with Prince Thranduilion, I walk and I work with Gimli Gloinson, and today I have met the Evenstar!"

She turns and beams, and for a moment she is not the woman who keep thieves and assassins under a tight rein but rather the young woman that she is, excited and bright. She clasps her hands together and I cannot help but catch her delight. I laugh as well.

I always take such things for granted – I am favoured with quite magnificent friends – and the pleasure she finds in the meeting of them touches me in some way. To me, we are not so exciting or wonderful, but to her it is quite different.

I hope that we hold up to her expectations.

~{O}~

We meet with the seamstresses, a clutch of women of all kinds and ages, who seem quite overwhelmed by the Lady Briar and who take her request as a challenge of vast importance. She tells them her wishes, and the women start to cut and collect fabric as soon as they know their task. They cluck and scold and natter at us, a whole swarm of women who know their trade far better than anyone, and somehow they find time to measure Briar for a new dress.

We are granted an aide – an older woman named Eostre who is ample and round and red-cheeked – and she is sent to the garrison to meet with Ren, where she will take measurements and sizes and report back to the battalion of women. Then we have a short amount of time spare before we are due to meet at the Rookery, and we take a walk in the Queen's gardens.

Arwen is an elf, and so her gardens are flush with life more so than any other. It is early in the year and so the blossoms are heavy, weighty in the trees and hanging low, but the flowers are still budding and the leaves upon the bushes and plants still unfurling. The grass that we walk upon is green and healthy, rising thick under the sun that we walk beneath, and despite the wind I start to regret bringing my cloak. It is very warm, and I feel my beard springing with the wind and my face becoming pink beneath the sun. We walk slowly and comfortably together, and although the Lady Briar is regal enough in bearing for these gardens to seem as hers, she begins to open herself to me.

"We were children together," she tells me. She speaks of Shutter, although I would prefer that she did not. "That is not his name, of course, but it is the name that he has decided upon right now. He is possibly the only friend that I have… he knows me better than anyone alive."

"He is…" I struggle to think of a word, any word at all. I find it quite difficult because I really do not like Shutter. "Dedicated," is the word that I finally settle upon, and she laughs. It is rich and full, and I feel something inside me clench at the sound of it.

"Oh, friend Gimli," she smiles, distant and lost in past darkness. "You must not be cross with him. What he has grown from, what he could have become… his mother died when he was very young, and his father was a cold man."

I am hit by a pang, because that sounds extremely familiar.

"It excuses nothing," I say, and I do not recognise my own voice. His parentage is no excuse… none at all. We are nothing alike.

The Lady Briar stops me. We stand still upon a damp lawn of deepest green, shadowed by the dappled light beneath nodding trees of white blossom. For a moment her face is blank, her eyes deep and dark: she has become once again the woman who stewards streets filled with dark and dangerous men, and who has kept it running for years without aid. She is iron and grit and endlessly tired.

"It does not excuse it," she tells me firmly. "It explains it. We were not all born the sons or daughters of lords and ladies. We were not all sent upon quests, after which our names were spoken with respect. Some of us have had to fight to eat, to keep our homes, to stay alive."

"You think…" I begin, aghast, and then fail, and then try gain. "You think that the Quest kept me fed and comfortable and happy? You think that it was an easy thing to do? That any of it has been?"

"That is not what I meant," she shakes her head, undeterred, "but I think that you are more similar than you realise."

"To Shutter, or whatever his name actually is?" I curl my nose.

"It matters not," she sighs, and I think she realises I am not to be swayed. "He is dear to me, although most find him difficult and strange. Perhaps that you understand."

I open my mouth to respond, but I find that I am trapped. I scowl, annoyed, but it is difficult to remain angry with her and she changes the conversation smoothly and carefully. She asks me of the Lonely Mountain, and of places that I have been, and at first I try to remain surly and stubborn but she is inquisitive and genuinely curious. My poor mood melts away quickly, and it is not long before we are speaking comfortably – just an out of place dwarf and a keeper of thieves, walking in royal gardens, as is quite normal.

~{O}~

We find Legolas and Shutter back at the Rookery, and it seems they have conducted their business far quicker than we have. We are quite a distance from the buildings that I have previously visited – away from where they eat and live and do whatever else it is they do in those buildings – and we are even past the store rooms. There are trees here, deeply nestled into the thin soil and cracked stone, although they are gnarled things and not very tall. It is rather overgrown; a long run of grass has been hacked out of the brambles and weeds, rough and uneven, but it is all that is needed for practising at bow. The targets are solid wood, there is a new fence built around it absolutely bristling with splinters, and I can see cloaks draped across it and packs discarded at the posts.

Legolas is with ten very nervous, very unsure archers, and he is putting them through their paces. I have seen what he puts his own archers through… these lads are right to look so despondent. I can hear his voice raised in sharp commands, the Whitecloaks line up one by one to show their skill, and I can hear the steady thud of arrow hitting target, one after another.

Shutter and Hob lean against the railing, watching with interest. I hear the deep baying of a huge hound and a thin laugh, and Sig goes streaking past, chasing Moss. The boy has been bathed and clothed and has had his hair trimmed to something more resembling a mannish child, but he still looks as though he has been rolling around in the dirt. I watch him laughing, running, wrestling with his dog.

"Should we really have a child running around whilst they do this?" I ask as we approach, gesturing at the miserable archers and the shouting elf.

"They are not that bad," Hob scowls.

"The Prince might disagree," Shutter grins, thoroughly entertained by the spectacle, and leans slightly to receive a kiss upon the cheek from the Lady Briar. He does not look at her, but I see his hand rest at her back – easy and relaxed in the way of the best of friends. I expect Hob to become annoyed but he merely sighs, rubs his hand over his hair with a rasp and I cannot help but laugh as well. Legolas' voice cuts through the sunlight, annoyed and sharp, and he strides over to correct the stance of the pale-faced lad currently offered up as sacrifice.

"Do not look so wretched, friend Hob," I clap him on the shoulder. "Legolas' archers can hit a bird in flight on a moonless night and think nothing of it – I have seen them do it – and he shouts at them just the same. He would have simply walked away if he considered them beyond hope."

We fall into silence as Legolas and the young archer speak, there is a lot of gesturing, and then the lad steps aside as the elfling returns to the post where his bow and quiver lay propped. He runs back, now adequately armed, and stops in a perfect stance – straight and strong, every angle of his body correct. Legolas reaches back, retrieves an arrow, nocks it and pulls and releases in a single movement. There is no pause, no hesitation, no visible moment where he even aims but his arrow flies true and hits the target dead centre. He can be such a show off.

The Lady Briar sighs appreciatively, Shutter thwacks her upon the arm with the back of his hand and she laughs – rich and deep.

The elfling steps to one side, speaks, the lad lines up next to him and they both draw together. I can see the young Whitecloak scowling in concentration, his gaze flicking up and down Legolas' body and shifting his own… minute movements, determined and focussed. They relax, speak again, and this time Legolas steps back. The lad pulls, draws, and this time gets a sharp word of praise although for the life of me I cannot see anything different. I can see the lad's face as the elfling moves away though, and it is glowing.

"He is good," Hob admits.

"Half of Gondor would have been eaten by orcs generations ago were he not good at what he does," I shrug and wander away. I have seen all of this before, it grows tiresome after a while. I do not get far though before a tiny mop headed creature slams into my ribcage, and the only reason he does not bounce off this time is that he wraps his arms tightly about me. I raise my arm to see Sig attached like a limpet.

He grins up at me, blue eyes happy, and he looks far better than when last I saw him. Far, far better. My hand rests naturally upon the top of his head, although it is not intentional.

"Lord Gimli sir, I have been given lots of food and cake! And they even washed Moss, sir, and he is a different colour than I thought he was – it was all the muck, you see!" he laughs, the thin and dancing sound of the very young. "And they put flowers in their baths here, which is odd, and I find that I like honey cakes very much indeed but I do not like having my hair brushed at all. I am going to live with Edgar now, all of the time, is that not wonderful? And if he does well when he draws his pictures of the bad men, then he will be given employment and we will even get a house here on the sixth! Edgar's burned down, after all. The sixth circle is fancy, Lord Gimli sir, very fancy and the houses all have roofs that do not leak. Will you play soldiers with me and Moss? I was going to be a Whitecloak but now I am an elf, because the Prince has given me a bow and I will practise with it and become an archer instead. Would you like to see it?"

It takes me a while to absorb such a deluge of words, all strung together with no form at all, and I stand there blinking for a moment whilst my mind catches up.

"What have you been feeding the boy?" I frown over to Hob, who shrugs hugely. I shift my gaze to Legolas, who is far away in the practise field, quite studiously avoiding my gaze. I add: "You gave him a bow?" but he ignores me as though he cannot hear, although I know that he can.

"Come and see Lord Gimli sir," Sig pleads, exasperated, pulling at my sleeve with his entire body weight. He is tiny and therefore it shifts my own bulk not at all, and I am starting to wonder whether 'Lord-Gimli-Sir' might be my new name.

"Sig," Shutter calls out boredly, "leave Lord-Gimli-Sir alone, you can show him your bow later."

The boy looks destroyed, his whole body slumping, but he is certainly resilient. He lets go of my sleeve and announces:

"I will bring it here instead!" and then sprints off as though the hordes of Mordor are at his heels. Moss bounds away behind him with his tongue lolling, stopping to sniff – and urinate on – more or less everything that he passes.

"He likes you," Briar observes, touching my elbow lightly with a rare and warm smile.

"He worships him," Shutter huffs, rolling his eyes as though he has never heard of anything so ridiculous. I clench my fists at my side to stop myself from punching him in the nose. "He has not stopped chattering about 'Lord Gimli sir', and how he is going to grow an enormous beard just as soon as he learns how. A lack of correct food has addled his mind, I blame myself."

"If he is here, then where is Edgar?" I ignore the horrible little thief. I think perhaps this might be the better approach.

"He is with Larke," Captain Hob tells me. He turns and hooks both elbows back across the top beam of the fence, leaning comfortably. The sun is in his eyes, he waves an insect away, and I realise that it has become quite warm out here. Another thud, something shouted in laegrim elvish that I am glad no one understands, a jeer from one of the lads waiting. I think that they are starting to warm to this.

"I thought that he was to sketch the likeness of the men who lead the kidnappers," I frown. Hob grants me a careful look – apologetic, although I pretend I have not seen it. I think I am coming across as the elfling's nursemaid, but if any would understand the nervousness I have around my friend's safety these days, it is the captain.

"The city maps that Prince Legolas has asked for… they do not all exist, and so they have had to make some fairly swiftly. It was his decision to move his attentions to this task; Edgar has a skill for it, and Larke has an exceptional memory. They will not be too long, I would wager. Ren and Lirra are with young Teg and that stuffy old man, Master Gowry."

"You were successful?" Shutter turns his attention to the Lady Briar, and she nods.

"They will be ready by tomorrow," she tells him, and her gaze is still focussed on the archers… or rather, one archer. I am reminded of a cat watching its prey, and I would tell her about Faelwen if I thought it might make any difference at all.

I hear a distant squeal of delight, and we look over to see a group crossing the grass toward us. It is Larke and Liana, and Mouse has apparently been elected as the carrier of maps. The poor lad is bristling with them – under each arm and tucked under his chin – and they keep spilling loose, but he manages to catch each one before they fly away. Edgar is with them, and it is this that has Sig squealing with excitement.

The boy skips in front of them, flowing with words and with his new bow in his hand. I can see Edgar clearly enough to know that he is asking who thought it a good idea to give him a weapon, scowling in horror, and I have no doubt that Legolas was no bigger than Sig when he was given his first bow, but he was also probably twice the age than I am now.

"Legolas!" I call out, calling his attention to the fact that our companions have returned.

"I am busy!" he shouts back irritably. I sigh.

~{O}~

Once we are done with matters – after hours poring over maps and arguing terribly, and writing things down only to tear it to pieces and start again. After the elfling has told Captain Hob which of his archers are considered acceptable, and which of them should never be allowed to touch a bow again for their own safety. After Legolas and Shutter have decided not to be friendly any longer, to nearly come to physical blows and then reconcile again. After we have had lunch brought to us and devoured it, and after we have finally – Eru finally – agreed upon things, we have a moment to simply breathe.

We enjoy the last of the sunlight. It falls swiftly, casting long shadows of burned gold, and the warmth drops from the air far too soon. We wait for Ren and Lirra to come to us – they are the last to hear everything in full – and so we fall into quiet reflection because it has been a full day, and there is much still to come.

It is comfortable; we have become at ease with one another very quickly, and I sit upon grass that is damp enough to seep through my rump and muddy my hands. I can hear the others speaking, low voiced and without any importance to their conversation, and I pay it little attention.

When Ren and Lirra return I smile to myself, because even from a distance I can see something. I cast my gaze backward and the others are paying no attention, talking and laughing – the oddest group to have found friendship, but we very rarely get to choose whose hearts and minds simply work together. I turn again, I watch the two silhouetted against a dark sky – both tall and lean and clever and quiet. They are quite close together. I think perhaps they are holding hands.

I smile again and look away, because all I can give them is their privacy.

Legolas is kneeling in the grass a short distance away, his back to us, and his hair burns red-gold in a wash of fading sunlight. A blackbird calls a farewell to the day and there is a small golden haired boy stood at his shoulder, slight and fragile and far too strong for someone so young. He holds a bow in the sunset light – finally silent and focussed – and Legolas corrects his body in gentle movements. His voice is too soft for me to hear, but the boy responds to him; looks at him with a serious gaze that is trusting, that sees my friend as an ancient hero worthy of awe, because that is what he is.

I think that any son of Legolas' will be golden haired too.

TBC

I seem to be getting this intermittent problem with this site, where I try to upload a doc and the entire page crashes but ONLY when I try to upload a document. Had it a few times before, but despite this issue (which has delayed me a bit) this chapter is still veeery overdue. Apologies. January and February have - so far - been way busier than even December was. Whilst I will never feel anything but blessed to have the friends that I have in my life, it'd also be nice to have a weekend to myself every now and then!

I've also been very neglectful of my reviewers, and for this I am genuinely sorry. I have not given you the time you deserve, it has simply slipped away from me, and I swear to do better.

ANYWAY! Enough of the chest beating. I personally have very mixed feelings about this chapter, because there are parts of it that I absolutely adore, but I am also very aware of the fact that it meanders terribly. Certain conversations had to be had, plans had to be wrought, some relationships had to change, but I tried to at least do this in interesting scenery. I also think it's my favourite closing line in a chapter so far.

Let me know what you think. I'm going to be away next weekend after spending a very busy week in Bournemouth, but I will try and reply to my reviews if I am able to. If not, I will get back to you this time I promise!

On a final note (yes this is going to be a massive author's note) next July I will be walking 23 miles along the Jurassic Coast for Macmillan Cancer Support. This is a HUGE deal for me - I'm not 100% convinced I won't kark it and have to be helicoptered off a cliff halfway through - but I will do this, and it's a huge turning point in shedding the old me. If anyone is interested in sponsoring me, let me know and I'll send you a link to my JustGiving page, but if not then your support will be hugely appreciated.

I'M GOING TO DIE YOU GUYS! XD

MyselfOnly