Chapter 4

May 15th, TA 3020

"Poor child…it is a foul welcome she received in Gondor, and I would see it amended."

Thus spoke Arwen Undómiel, Queen of the reunited kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor, as she lay a hand upon her husband's shoulder. Aragorn, or Elessar as he was now called, sat behind the vastness of his desk, his grey eyes sternly boring into each and every one of those assembled in his study. The emblem of Elendil hung behind him on the wall, etched in gems and silver-gold thread into a banner of black silk.

Amongst them stood Legolas, milling idly by the door, loath to disturb what seemed to be an urgent meeting between the King and his men. In truth, he would not have intruded upon them, had the young page not ushered him in, still covered in road-dust, with the assurance that his long-time friend was waiting for him. The page had been misinformed, but Aragorn had motioned Legolas to stay, intending, it seemed, to deal with the matter in his usual swift and efficient manner.

"For those of you not yet aware of the matter, there has been an incident at the Main Gate, this very afternoon." Aragorn cast a pointed look towards Borion, Lord Marshal of the Citadel, who squirmed under the attention.

"Sire, I can assure you, had we been warned about the arrival…."

"Which we should have been –" the focus switched to Telior, the Lord Seneschal, who, at the very least, bore the reproach with some semblance of dignity – "but that is another matter. Lady Mehreen was robbed in broad daylight, in plain sight of the Citadel, and the help that came…."

"At least it did come, Sire," Borion pointed out, shriveling under Arwen's withering stare from the shadows of her husband's seat.

The man was a fool, Legolas decided, unable to conjure any sympathy for what Aragorn had described, in several of his letters, as weaponized incompetence. It so was unlike his friend to favor ineptitude, that Legolas suspected some court intrigue must have been at play, forcing Aragorn's hand.

His friend oft regretted Eldir, the former Lord Marshal, who had asked to be released from his oath but one year into his service. As steadfast and responsible as Borion appeared skill-less, Eldir had been grievously affected by the loss of both his sons in the war against Evil. Legolas had twice invited him to come stay in Ithilien, where he was striving to build a place of healing for the long-suffering, but Eldir had refused, arguing that his son's graves lay in Minas Tirith, and that he would not bear to be parted from them, even if it cost him his own life.

Legolas wondered what had become of the man, hoping against his fears that he had found a semblance of peace. He leaned against one of the twisting columns that stood on each side of the entrance, facing the large windows that gave onto the courtyard, and took a look around the study.

When last he had come here, before Aragorn's coronation, the room had stood empty save for the massive desk; a testament to Denethor's sternness. Nowadays there was life in here, both in the warm hues of the furniture, and the tokens that reminded him of the Fellowship. A leaf-shaped brooch was resting on a cushion of green velvet, inside a small showcase that stood nearby. The invitation to Sam's wedding, a round-worded letter with a bouquet of dried daisies tied by a ribbon, hung on the wall above it; Legolas too had received a letter quite like this one, and smiled fondly at the spelling mistakes that had escaped Frodo's proofreading.

"…Came much too late to salvage her belongings, and what could have been her life, had she not fought for it with admirable determination." Ignoring Borion's intervention, Aragorn steepled his fingers over his desk and leaned forward, but not far enough to lose the wordless support of his Queen.

"Sire," Telior stepped forward, "I'm ready to take full responsibility for this failure, before both your Majesties and the lady herself. He fiddled with the hat he was holding in front of him, wishing perhaps it were a shield, used as he was to quite another ruler sitting in that chair. Him Legolas liked, for said hat was of worn grey velvet, no doubt having served for this same purpose countless times before – a sign that the man was not afraid of confessing his errors. "How is she faring?"

"She is shaken, and understandably so," Arwen replied, "but relieved that her servants were not harmed in the process. Her own injuries were tended to by our healers, and she should keep no scars from this ordeal."

"Her baggage has been thoroughly pillaged and, by her account, the loss amounts to a substantial sum." Aragorn read off a report that lay on the desk: "Various pieces of jewelry inside a box of carved ivory, several statuettes of the same material…all family heirlooms beyond value."

Borion scoffed. "Sire, should we trust the word of a foreigner, and a Southron at that?"

His smirk faded in the chill that settled in at his words.

Legolas shifted his weight, pulling himself into a more upright position. If Gimli had been here, he would have been willing to bet a fair sum that the new Marshal would not last a year. Before Aragorn, who seemed of a mind to make it a month, could reply, the Queen squeezed his shoulder in a manner perceptible only to the keenest of eyes, and spoke up again.

"Forgive me, Lord Borion," she said with silky softness, "for I am not yet well-versed in the duties of a Lord Marshal, but I can only assume we do not choose those we defend based on their origin?" Borion flushed, but she continued, a flash of steel showing under the silk, like a blade being drawn from its scabbard. "Lady Mehreen is a guest in our city. Is it not your duty to keep her safe, Haradrim or no?"

At the very least, Borion had the intelligence to admit he had been defeated. "Of course, your Majesty," he bowed, and Legolas exchanged a look with Aragorn. The Lord Marshal must have mistaken the Queen's gentle temper for weakness and was learning, much to his chagrin, that the daughter of Elrond was as strong as she was fair.

The King pushed the report aside. "Borion, I want no further incidents of this kind. The guards at the gate are to keep an eye on the plain at all times. If necessary, you have my leave to post a sentinel upon the keel. Also, I shall write to Gimli. He once told me about a spotting scope that his father's people used to survey the roads to and from Moria from miles away."

At the mention of his friend, Legolas smiled. Gimli and his people would be glad to lend a hand to such a practical issue. Already they had transformed the Glittering Caves into a marvel of civilization; young dwarves from both Erebor and the Ered Luin had joined this new settlement, eager to prove their worth, just as elves from all over Middle Earth had come to Bar-Lasbelin. He could well imagine Gimli brimming with ideas about how to improve the city's defenses; Borion would not stand a chance.

"And, naturally, the culprits must be found and punished. I understand that the situation remains difficult in some of the provinces, and I know the Stewards are working on it already, but I suggest we take this as an incentive to act even quicker. Inform Ialeth, Forgam and Faramir of the incident, and report their findings to me."

The Lord Marshal thus dismissed, Aragorn turned to Telior. "As for you, I must ask of you to investigate how this could have happened. Lady Mehreen claims she was sent by her father, the Sheikh Dawoud Al-Iqbal, as a payment for his freedom."

Legolas startled. He had not forgotten the bargain struck a year ago with a haughty merchant from Harad claiming he could buy his freedom back in exchange of treasure. Not having heard anything about a shipment of gold since then, be it through Ialeth – the newly appointed Steward of Lebennin – or Aragorn himself, he had simply assumed that the man had defaulted on his promise.

Could it be that his understanding of treasure was not the same as Dawoud's, or that Qasim had made a mistake in his translation? Or worse, that the merchant had willingly sent them his daughter, rather than part with a single piece of his wealth?

For the girl's sake, Legolas hoped for the former.

"Yes, Sire," Telior was saying. "I shall set to it at once. I truly cannot fathom how such a visit may have escaped my attention…."

He was decidedly an honest man, and a wise choice for his position, but Legolas could not allow an innocent to torment himself with a fault he had not committed. "It did not," he said, stepping forth from the shadows. "The mistake is mine, and so should be the punishment.

oOoOoOo

The mystery was solved; all that remained was to deal with the aftermath.

Telior and Borion had long since left the study, and even Arwen had departed to check on their newest guest, but not after a warm greeting to Legolas despite his grimy state, along with a quick enquiry regarding her brother's wellbeing. Legolas remained, standing in silence while his friend digested his story.

"Forgive me, Aragorn," he said at last, tense in the silence that stretched under the arcade and terribly contrite about his own foolishness. And to say he had been so proud of himself! Legolas refused to think about what his own father would have had to say about his blunder, or how Nendir, his closest friend, would tease him for the decades, if not centuries, to come. "It was not my intention to cause you any trouble. I truly thought I was acting for the best."

Aragorn glanced at him wryly and stood, setting his winged crown upon the desk and, along with it, some of his burdens as a King – or so Legolas hoped. He walked over to the cabinet of cherry wood that stood by the wall, in an alcove enshrining a mosaic that represented the city, and poured two cups from a glass pitcher that had been filled for the occasion.

"Even if I had not known you, Legolas, I still would not have believed you could have done it on purpose. Or anyone, for that matter." He proffered a cup to Legolas. "This tale is too strange to be true, and I would not have believed it, had it not come from you – and had I not met this Mehreen, who seems to have become the unfortunate victim of this farce."

"I shall apologize to her," Legolas assured him, "and do whatever I can to repair the wrong I have caused her, however unwittingly."

He swallowed the wine, enjoying the sweet, fruity bouquet of a Lossarnach variety, grown upon the slopes of the Ered Nimrais and matured in what he guessed to be casks of white oak, if the nutmeg flavor was any clue. Not as fine as his father's beloved Dorwinion, but certainly fine enough for the King of both Gondor and Arnor. Legolas himself was not impartial to a drink that Gimli called mead, and which he had started to produce in Ithilien, using the honey of his own beehives.

Aragorn studied him over the rim of his own cup. "And you may have to do just that, and sooner than you imagine."

Legolas stilled, his cup halfway to his lips. It was unlike Aragorn to deal out punishments in haste; not that he did not deserve it, or would not accept whatever his friend thought a fitting compensation. It occurred to him then that while his suzerain may prove benevolent in that prospect, the slighted lady's father may not. A young, unwed woman sent to Gondor following what Sheikh Dawoud may well have told her was his explicit request, and whose honor had been compromised….

"Aragorn," he objected somewhat more squeakily than he would have liked, "surely you cannot mean…."

For all their closeness, he had never told Aragorn about Naima. She was his secret wound, an immanent weakness that only a chosen few knew about. Legolas would never love another, nor did he want to, despite knowing she was lost to him forever.

Aragorn chuckled at his outrage. "If it is marriage you are referring to, then no, of course not. I would never ask such a thing of you, but had you been a Man…." He trailed off, mirth dancing in his grey eyes before he downed his cup, and grew serious again. "Legolas, Mehreen cannot stay in Minas Tirith."

He strode towards the windows, resting his hands on the windowsill to look outside; Legolas joined him, setting the empty cup on a nearby table, his legs still shaky from the prospect of betraying his heart and his friend's odd sense of humor.

The King's study overlooked the courtyard of the Citadel, where the new White Tree stood, full of silver buds ready to burst with leaves and fragrant white flowers. The sun that set beyond the Mindolluin cast its golden rays onto the expanse of white stone, the shadow of the tree stretching towards the promontory beyond which lay the city itself, the first of its seven circles now immersed in dusk. Beyond the Rammas Echor, the Anduin glimmered as it meandered through the valley, watering the ruins of Osgiliath and the shores of Ithilien, Legolas' new home.

"The war is over, but its shadows still haunt our doorstep." Aragorn nodded to the South, beyond the mists that formed over Emyn Arnen. "Ialeth reports that corsairs still roam the waters of Umbar, venturing as far up as Harondor, and more than once have their black sails been seen from the watchtowers of Tolfalas; while Haradrim dare cross the Harnen once more, enslaving the people who live there, and pillaging the caravans." He sighed. "Defeat has only made them hungrier, it seems, even though their leaders are fewer than before."

"You still have my bow, should you need it."

The news were ill, but not unexpected, even if Ithilien lay far enough North to be safe from such incursions. Should Aragorn ever call upon him again, be it as a friend or as a King, Legolas would respond, though he had rather hoped to use his weapon for hunting rather than battle in the coming years.

"Your bow, however efficient, is not what I must now ask of you." Aragorn propped himself against the casing, his arms crossed on his chest, and squinted as the last sun rays glanced off the fountain that murmured in the courtyard below. From such a profile, Legolas could not help but note the grey that had crept into his friend's black hair over his first year of ruling. "The way you see it now, this city lies deceptively peaceful, yet discontent is rising amongst our tradesmen and fishermen, and even Imrahil has reported increased loss amongst his ships, petitioning me to act." He turned towards Legolas, a bitter smile upon his lips. "You have seen by yourself what the common opinion of the Haradrim is. The lady cannot stay in Minas Tirith. Not if I am to ensure her safety."

"Why not send her back to Harad?"

Aragorn's expression grew grim at the mention of her homeland. "This I could do, though if this is truly what her father has asked of her, sending her back would go against his wishes."

He glanced out the window again, where the courtyard was now engulfed in darkness, the White Tree a pale outline in the insetting night. A knock upon the door, and a servant entered bearing a candle, bidding her King's permission to light the lamps inside the study.

Aragorn waited for her to leave before he spoke again: "In truth, I am not certain of the welcome she would receive there, should we send her back, and her fate if her return does displease the Sheikh."

Legolas pondered the matter, eager to find a solution to the problem he had helped create. "Why not Rohan? Éomer is intending to marry Imrahil's daughter. The new Queen of Rohan may welcome a lady-in-waiting of noble blood…."

"Not unwisely thought, my friend. But Rohan, too, has suffered greatly in the war. The resentment against the Enemy, including those who had chosen Darkness as their master, still runs deep in their blood, and will take a long time to heal. I fear that sending Mehreen there would only isolate her further…." Another wry smile. "…Not to mention that Rohan is quite colder than the warm climate she is used to."

"In other words, you fear she will freeze to death."

"Just so. And this is where you can help me."

Pushing himself off the wall, Aragorn crossed the study once more and returned to his desk, where lay a pile of reports lay neatly stacked by some diligent hand, so alike to the one Legolas had often seen awaiting his own father's attention. He reached out for his crown and set it back upon his brow.

"Take her with you to Ithilien. She will be safe there, and I trust your people not to judge her for the deeds of hers."

"My people may not," Legolas reluctantly agreed, "but there are others who could. Aragorn, Bar-Lasbelin is a place of rest and healing. There are men, women and children living there who are still ailing as a consequence of the war, and who have lost pieces of themselves to the Darkness. I am not certain that…."

"I would not ask this of you if I had a better choice."

Legolas opened his mouth to suggest Imladris, or even his father's realm in the North, but closed it again as soon as he remembered the weariness he had caught creeping up upon his friend and King. What kind of friend would he be if he refused to help – not only Aragorn, but also the hapless woman who had sailed all the way from Harad without knowing what she would find upon her arrival?

"It is settled, then." Aragorn smiled, his eyes crinkling with relief and gratitude, and Legolas was comforted in his choice. "She will leave with you for Bar-Lasbelin, and who knows? It could be that some gentle guidance is exactly what she needs, to learn to live in a world she knows so little about."

A.N.: For those wondering, Bar-Lasbelin is a made-up Sindarin name for Legolas' settlement in Ithilien. It appears for the first time in the first piece of this series, 'Hiraeth', and means 'home of fallen leaves', in reference to Naima's love for the brightly-colored autumn leaves, and the beauty of the Ithilien forests during that same season.

Also, now that you've properly made the acquaintance of our heroine, our hero can make his entrance (in the next chapter). It'll take another (small) while for them to meet, but we'll get there!