As I look down at my sleeping charge, I am of two minds. On one hand I feel he should be made to attend dinner. After all he knew the penalty for disobedience; I warned him fairly and have made it plain enough in the past. He forced my hand, so why should he be allowed to beg off dinner with the King and Queen simply because he is going to find it a challenge to sit comfortably. I cannot allow myself to become too soft as I am often in danger of doing.

ON the other hand, I cannot help feeling sorry for his predicament. He has had an uncomfortable winter, a difficult couple of days and a long painful meeting with the palm of my hand. Already I feel that perhaps I have been to harsh, and making him go to dinner seems almost brutal. I am about ready to leave him sleeping when I realize that I would need to make his excuses to Aragorn and Arwen. Likely the discomfort of sitting through dinner would be less distressing to him than having his friends find out what happened today. No, it is kinder to wake him though it feels a little cruel to do so. I compromise by searching through my things for a pain relieving salve. It is good for sunburns and sore muscles so he should be able to put it to good use, and it may help him find it easier to tolerate dinner tonight.

I give his shoulder and gentle shake. When he opens his eyes they are still swollen and red rimmed. Though I do not feel I was wrong to call him on his questionable conduct, my heart still twists a little for he looks very young and vulnerable though that is a thought I had better keep to myself. I want to take him in my arms and give him some small comfort, but I hesitate to do so. He has been more than a little prickly since our reunion, and I am unsure of how he would respond to such an offer. So instead I just place the salve in his hand and he glances at me only briefly before limping off to prepare for dinner.

I do not like this uneasiness between us, but I am not certain what I can do to end it other than allow him to do whatever he has a mind to and of course that is out of the question. Legolas seems to think that this group of dissenters are no threat to him whatsoever in light of his superior abilities. I fear that this kind of thinking could lead to tragedy since he doesn't see the need to exercise much caution. Even after the much needed and thoroughly deserved attention he has received, I believe he still underestimates the danger of the men who are threatening the queen. I can only hope that the ache in his backside will be enough of a reminder to keep him away from peril until the troublemakers can be seized. Perhaps tonight I will return to the third level to see what I can find out.

For now though we must make it through dinner and I am hoping we can do so without the difficulties from last night.

To my relief dinner turns out to be a pleasant affair. Faramir and Lady Eowyn have joined us and their presence seems to act as a buffer to our party. Faramir is eager to see the traditional spring race take place and sets to convincing the king that it will be good for the morale of the residents of the White City. I can see Aragorn is not thrilled with the idea, especially when the Queen decides she will bestow a prize upon the winner. I had not known that the race was to be tomorrow so I am quick to suggest that Arwen's guard be doubled since the insurgents have not been found and the race will be a very public forum. The king reluctantly agrees to allow the race if Arwen will cooperate with the extra protection which she is quick to do. The Queen and the Steward share a triumphant smile.

Not surprisingly, Legolas has been very subdued during the whole meal. For the second night in a row he has spent dinner rearranging food on his plate rather than eating it, but for now I do not mention this. I know he does not require much sustenance and I will watch to make certain he doesn't carry this too far. I am able to discreetly move his wine glass away since drinking on an empty stomach might lead to his becoming more feather-brained than usual and I am at the end of my rope as it is. Fortunately he doesn't seem to notice, but just moves to stand staring out the window and soon asks permission to leave.

I walk him to the door and wish him a goodnight, promising that we will talk in the morning. As soon as he is gone Aragorn voices his concern.

"Our elfling was very quiet tonight. Is he well?"

I wave away his unease, "It is nothing a good night's sleep won't mend."

Aragorn furrows his brow and asks suspiciously, "What has happened, Gimli? It is clear that something is amiss."

But I do not intend to reveal what is private business between me and my elfling, "Just growing pains, Lad. It is nothing for you to worry over." He frowns further but to my relief drops the subject.

The Queen informs us that she expects her brothers to arrive day after tomorrow along with the hobbits and our talk turns again to the preparations for the celebration. Faramir and Eowyn soon take their leave of us as well and Aragorn and I get to reminiscing about the quest and our time together with the Fellowship. We talk of how pleasant it will be to have all of us together again, and then pause for a moment as we remember that there is one who will not be joining us ever again. We raise our glasses in a toast in honor of Boromir whose loss is greatly felt by all who knew him. We all miss him sorely, especially his young brother, but he died honorably and those of us who called him friend will keep his memory alive.

Before I realize it, the hour has become quite late. I say my goodnights and make my way back to our quarters. I frown when I realize there is no guard posted at our door or even at the end of our corridor. The guards must have seen me leaving earlier with the elfling in tow and decided that their services were no longer needed. My heart skips a beat as I recall my earlier words to Legolas. I did not bother to tell him he must go straight back to our rooms and stay there. It did not seem necessary at the time, but I fear now that he may have decided to exploit my lack of forethought and has gone back out into the city.

My fears are realized as soon as I open the door to his bedchamber. He is not there. I should have known! Other than my own mother, I believe he is the most stubborn creature I have ever met! Well no bratling elf is going to get the best of Gimli Gloinson! I am prepared to go down to the third level and march him all the way back up here for a repeat performance of this afternoon. Never mind that I didn't specifically say he should stay in our quarters. He knows he is not to be about without an escort and I am about to make that clear in a fashion he is becoming rapidly reacquainted with.

I am almost ready to leave when I hear a strange sound coming from somewhere below our floors. Further investigation shows it to be coming from Legolas' bedchamber. I step back inside and I can hear something that sounds like light footsteps coming up toward the interior wall of the room. The Lonely Mountain is riddled with hidden passages and tunnels that connect the rooms. I can see now that the inner walls are wide enough to house a hidden stairway. I had never known that the Citadel had such features, but that is certainly what it sounds like. Looking around I find something I had not noticed before. The swirled pattern on the wood paneling hides it well, but now that I know what I am looking for I can see a carefully disguised narrow door.

This latest bit of craftiness is the other side of too much and then some! My delinquent elfling is about to find out that sneaking around in hidden stairs and tunnels will be no better received than exiting the premises through windows in order to avoid detection by the guards. I pull the blind on the window to block the moonlight and move a chair over to just next to the hidden door and prepare to strike. I only have to wait a moment before the door slowly opens and a shadowy figure enters stealthily into the room.

As soon as he has cleared the doorway, I make my move, grabbing his arm and giving it a sold tug. As I had planned this knocks him off balance and he lets out a yelp of surprise as he falls heavily across my lap. He struggles wildly as I raise my hand high and bring it down with full force so that it will be easily felt through the layers of fabric between my hand and his flesh. This elicits another panicked yelp as I throw his cloak aside and bring my hand down again. He struggles more desperately and begins beg me to cease.

"Please Gimli! You must stop!"

The shock of this plea causes my hand to freeze in mid swing. It is neither the words that have been spoken nor the voice that speaks them that stuns me for they are both what I would have expected. No, what has me astounded is the direction that voice is coming from for instead of coming from near the floor, as it should have been, it is coming from somewhere above and behind my left shoulder! For the first time I also notice that the wrist I am holding firmly in my grip is wider and thicker than it should be. My eyes widen as realization dawns. I have somehow apprehended the wrong victim!

I immediately release the wrist I am holding and leap quickly to my feet, effectively dumping my captive to the floor. He rapidly rolls over and scoots backward as I flip open the blind covering the window. As the moonlight spills in, I look down into the alarmed face of the King's Steward! I am spluttering too much to form an apology as Faramir hurries to gain his feet. By the heat I feel in my face, I know it must be as red as his. I reach out to straighten his cloak but he obviously is in no hurry to let me get my hands on him again. He backs away from me and reorders the cloak himself. We find our voices at the same time.

"Lord, Gimli!"

"Faramir! I was not expecting you!"

"That is certainly a relief! I would hate to think that was meant for me. Remind me never to get on your bad side!" he says ruefully.

"What do you think you are doing sneaking into our chambers in the middle of the night anyway, Lad?"

He flushes further and begins to stammer an explanation. "It is just that I was helping Legolas to…find his way back."

"He knows the way well enough! And anyway what is wrong with entering through the main door? It seems to me to be the easier route." I eye him suspiciously and he looks down before responding to my question.

"Indeed you are correct. It would be easier to enter through the main door," he glances at me helplessly, shrugs one shoulder, and offers me a half grin. " I was trying to help him to…"

"You were trying to help him to sneak back into his bedchamber without me detecting it! Clearly you were aiding him in mischief," I accuse him. I am beginning to feel less regretful about my earlier mistake!

"I do not mean to change the subject, My Lord, but perhaps we should attempt to bring back our wayward friend before he unleashes himself on the city again. In his present condition he could very well decide to scale the tallest tower in the city and howl at the moon."

I step outside the bedchamber and notice that the main door has been left wide open. Obviously the elfling has used our little altercation as an opportunity to escape! Faramir sprints to the door and I hurry to follow him. We rush through the corridors and have just turned a second corner when we see Legolas. He is struggling to make his way to a door that leads to a flight of stairs, but he has encountered a problem. The end of his cloak has snagged on an ornately carved marble statue that stands decorating the hall and he doesn't seem to realize that that is what is preventing his forward movement. He keeps trying in vain to reach the door and when Faramir comes up beside him, he turns to him for help.

"The blasted door keeps moving away. Couldn't you hold it still for a second?" His words are slurred.

Instead of answering, Faramir simply frees the cloak. This sends Legolas, who is pulling against it, crashing heavily to his knees. He gets tangled in the cloak as he attempts to get to his feet and almost falls again causing Faramir to reach out with a steadying hand to keep him upright. Immediately Legolas is at the door and trying to open it again, only to find that Faramir has leaned against it, keeping it firmly closed.

"Let me out, Faramir! I have to get out of the city tonight!" He begins trying to pry Faramir away from the door.

"I cannot allow that, my friend." Faramir says batting the elf's hands away. "It is much too dangerous to leave the city by yourself and at night!"

"I would rather take my chances in the wilderness and all the dangers therein, than return to my chambers and certain doom with the dwarf!" he insists. "You must help me before it is too late."

"It is already too late, Elfling!" I growl coming forward. Immediately I notice he smells like a brewery and is swaying drunkenly from side to side. He pales when he sees me, and his eyes widen before rolling back into his head. He begins to slide down the wall, as I grab his wrist and pull him forward. Bending my knees slightly I heft him easily over my right shoulder and shift his weight to distribute it so that nothing is dragging the floor except for his long hair. Seeing that I have things in hand, Faramir takes this opportunity to say his farewell to me and hastily takes his leave.

I march determinedly back down the hall to our shared quarters with my charge bobbing limply on my shoulder. He does not even respond when I dump him unceremoniously onto his bed. He lands with a flop on his back and his eyes open only briefly and then close again. Clearly tomorrow will have to be soon enough to discuss his current disgrace, for I have no energy left for it even if I thought he would remember it, which I most decidedly do not. I remove his boots and lift his legs onto the bed and then untie his cloak and pull it from under him, using it to cover him with. I brush the wildly tangled hair out of his face and then leave him to sleep off the effects of his evening. I do not envy him the hangover he is likely to have in the morning, or the uncomfortable discussion that we will be having. He may indeed wish he had made it out of the city.

XXXX

It feels as if my head may very well have come loose from my shoulders and been replaced by an Orc drum being struck by a cave troll. My ears throb, my mouth is dry and my tongue appears to be twice its normal size and thick with grit.

What is wrong with me?

Every time I wake in this city I feel like 'death warmed up.' It is a phrase I once heard Meriodoc use to describe how he felt on the morning after a long drinking session but why I should feel like that I do not know…

Then I remember last evening, the Black Swan, the rounds of drinks, the effect the fresh air had on me, meeting Faramir, following him through the secret passages to my chamber only to be met by an incandescently angry dwarf.

That memory causes me to open my eyes and I am blinded by the rays of Anor.

"Ai!"

Whichever idiot left the windows un-shuttered should be hung. I close my eyes again and recall that it was probably me. My memory of the end of the evening is far too hazy for my liking, I do seem to remember Gimli grabbing Faramir and hauling him over his knee, my brow furrows as I try to think why that should be the case?

What had Faramir done that was so bad that he was faced with the wrath of the son of Gloin?

I groan, of course he had done nothing, well nothing much, he was only trying to get me safely back to my quarters. I am the one who should have garnered the fury of Gimli I am the one who went off without permission. I am the one who should be waking with a sore backside I shift slightly in the bed and find that I am not hugely uncomfortable, why?

When I open my eyes a second time I am careful to shade my eyes and find that I can almost bear the light, as I look down at myself I find I am almost fully clothed save for my boots. Sitting up carefully I wait for the room to stop spinning before I attempt to stand and then struggle across the floor to the bathing chamber and pour a jug of cold water over my head.

Shaking the droplets free I am finally clear-headed enough to remember the end of the evening, I was drunk, as drunk as a wheel barrow. No wonder Gimli did not seek to deal with me immediately, I probably would not have felt any pain and I certainly would not recall the lecture that would be sure to accompany the paddling.

So where is he now?

It is mid-morning I would think, perhaps he has chosen to let me sleep off my libations and is merely waiting somewhere for me to emerge before he 'deals' with me. Although it is more likely that he has gone down to check on the work on the main gates believing I would not waken so soon.

Either way I am momentarily unsupervised; if I am to escape Gimli's ministrations I must get away from here. I dare not stay because I know very well that by the time my dwarven guardian has dealt with me I will be incapable of walking never mind riding and I am determined to ride in the race this afternoon.

Bathed and dressed I find the small door that leads to the hidden passages and make my way back to the outside wall of the Citadel. How fortunate it is that the alcohol I consumed last evening did not affect my memory for paths and direction finding.

Once free of the Citadel it is easy enough to slip down to the stables and collect Arod. He follows me happily enough as we go down through the circles to the third level. I am disinclined to leave Arod but I know that should anyone try to steal him my Rohirrim steed will speedily see them off. I duck into the inn and find the men I drank with last night are seated at their usual table and they greet me amiably enough.

I refuse the drink they offer, I have no intention of letting alcohol pass my lips this day.

Hador looks quite angry at my refusal, but then excuses himself telling me that he must go and get my entry ticket for the race.

I sit with the others and await his return, I am relieved to see he has indeed fulfilled his part of the bargain and has indeed entered me in the race. I hand over the agreed bonus for this service and he in turn gives me a goblet.

"S'alright Master Greenleaf, just sweet cider, just the thing to set you up for the race, you had best be making your way down to the starting point down on the first level. I wish you the best of good fortune Master elf, we will be watching for you at the finish line."

He smiles but I do not like the way he does so, nor do I like the fact that the other men all laugh as if he has said something very witty.

I swallow down the cider and take my leave of them, happy to think that I will not have to see them again.

Arod seems happy to see me and together we walk down through the streets, my eyes taking in each sharp corner and every place I think I can shave a few moments off the race because I am determined I am going to win.

Handing in my entrance ticket at the starting line I then retire to the shade of a nearby wall, well out of the way of any interested eyes. It would not do for me to be seen by Gimli or anyone else from the Citadel before the race begins.

I am not certain whether it is the heat of the day or the aftereffect of last night's drinking but I am feeling a little nauseous and my vision seems strangely out of focus I shake my head to clear it a little.

I am relieved when the race marshals call of the competitors to gather at the starting tape. The man in charge reads a long list of rules to us all; I ignore him and use the time to check out my competition. Some of them I decide will offer no real opposition their mounts are showy and will be fortunate enough to make it to the seventh level. There are however perhaps three or four who may prove to be worth watching. I would normally ride without saddle but today choose to use one so that no one can say I am trying to cheat.

Just before the race is to begin I swallow down a goblet of water for my thirst is raging while I feel un-naturally warm.

But once the race is underway all my concentration is given to Arod and the cobbled streets of Minas Tirith.

I do not try to take the lead immediately, holding Arod in keeping the leaders in sight but not forcing the issue until we reach the fourth level, then I drop my hands and we begin the real race.

The citizenry of the White City are screaming and shouting encouragement as our horse's spring forward.

By the time we have skidded through the gateway and are clattering up the sharp incline I am running a close second and Arod is hardly blowing at all.

The sixth level flashes by yet even here amongst the houses of the lords and members of court reside there is still a great deal of hallooing and cheering. I see the finishing line ahead I can also see Aragorn and Arwen on a raised dais with Faramir, Eowyn, and Gimli standing with them.

Of course it is only now that I realize that once I win I am likely to find myself in a great deal of trouble with anyone of them or all of them. It is too late to do anything about it now and I will be damned if I lose the race just to avoid a thundering scold or worse.

With one final effort Arod and I fly past the last of the competitors and to the rousing cheering from the guards we win the spring race and I pull Arod up amid a great deal of shouting, people calling out congratulations and a strange silence from the king and queen's party on the dais.

Perhaps it is the heat or the lack of food but I feel decidedly faint and my hands tremble on the reins and it is not fear that causes that to happen.

As the cheering dies down, I wait for Arwen to step forward to offer me the race winners ribbon. She does not do so; in fact she is frowning at me and Gimli whose eye I accidentally catch seems incapable of speech he is so angry. Faramir looks stunned. Eowyn at least looks pleased by my efforts but Aragorn? Well he looks far too much like his foster father for my liking.

I offer them all a smile as I pat Arod's neck but the continuation of the stony silence is the only reward I receive.

Deciding that there is little to be gained by postponing the inevitable I swing my leg over Arad's back and jump to the ground and to my horror my knees give way and I pitch forward onto the cobbles and all turns black.