Chapter 49

August 21st, TA 3020

"The King will receive you now, my Lord."

"Are you certain?" Legolas asked the young page, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips at the memory of the boy's last blunder. "I can very well wait a little longer."

He did not add that he had, in fact, all the time in the world, and that he would have been grateful for one of those crystal glasses filled with cooled wine presently being distributed to the others who shared the antechamber with him. Or even a mere cup of water.

The page flushed, be it with embarrassment or exasperation, and tugged at the hem of his livery of black velvet bearing the White Tree beneath seven stars. "I'm sure, my Lord. Please follow me."

Ah, well. Legolas complied, his hands itching to brush the dust off his jerkin upon feeling the disapproving stares of those enjoying the refreshments he had been denied. Aragorn's missive had stated the matter was urgent – though not of the life-or-death kind – and since the messenger had not been able to disclose any additional circumstance for such an unexpected summoning, Legolas had had little choice but to accompany him.

On the road, he had wondered what it was he had done this time, and what new kind of diplomatic slip-up he had managed to get them into, while imagining his own father's dismay at his utter lack of diplomatic sense. Somewhere in the depths of the Mirkwood caverns, King Thranduil must be sipping at his Dorwinion and complaining about how little Legolas resembled him in that matter to a bottle that was growing emptier by the minute.

As far as Legolas could remember, however, nothing new had happened during the three months that had passed since their last encounter. He had made no new promises, nor struck any new bargains, so surely he was getting his brain into a knot for nothing. After all, it could well turn out that Aragorn had something else to discuss with him, something pertaining to the entire kingdom rather than Legolas' little corner of it.

Whatever it was, it would not be long before he found out.

The young page ushered him into the King's study and all but slammed the door in his back, all to his hurry to return to more pressing duties than answering the questions of the strange elf whom his King insisted on seeing. Shaking his head in half-hearted consternation, Legolas stepped beyond the columns, and froze.

"It appears I am too early, after all," he quipped upon seeing his friend, the King of the reunited kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor, in nothing but his smallclothes, standing upon a stool with his arms stretched out while a short and wispy man draped a long piece of shimmering brocade over his shoulders while sweating profusely in the sweltering August heat. "I shall wait outside."

It is not that he had never seen Aragorn with less on his back than his royal garb. Travelling through Middle-Earth to destroy the One Ring had offered more than one occasion for them to bathe side by side – an experience much more uncomfortable for the others than for Legolas, who did not feel the cold as acutely as they did – but here, in the middle of the King's study, the sight was incongruous to say the least, and smelled faintly of lese-majesty.

"Legolas! Quite in the contrary, my friend, you are on time." Aragorn lowered his arms, earning a glance of reverent annoyance from the slight little man, who could do nothing but fret since his mouth was now full of pins. "The matter I must consult you on is a pressing one indeed."

"The color suits you, if that is what you wished to know."

Legolas grinned, unrepentant, as his friend shot him a weary scowl. "You laugh, yet I shall expect you to attend, and wear something else beside dusty leather. To Éomer's wedding," he clarified as Legolas' eyebrows shot up in surprise. "The invitation came last week. He is to wed Lothíriel of Dol Amroth this upcoming spring."

"I shall come up with something."

Yet another talent to which his father was better disposed than Legolas, who had dwelt amongst the trees for longer than his own kin. Stories went that as an elfling, he had used to favor the simplest apparel of all – just like his friends the squirrels, according to his mother's account, while having none of their fur – much to her amusement and his father's aggravation, especially when Legolas had come out thus 'clothed' to welcome the envoy from Lórien.

"Enough for today, Master Nathor," Aragorn declared and climbed down from the stool, the length of brocade trailing in his wake. "We shall have to continue at a later time."

"But your Majesty," the tailor protested at once, his pins now safely tucked into a cushion he wore over his wrist, "there's still so much to do, and…." He fell silent under Aragorn's unyielding stare and bowed, gathering the fabrics strewn over the marble floor before exiting.

Once again, the door slammed in a less-than-gentle manner, and Aragorn sighed. "I would blame the draft," he confided, "had I not managed to antagonize half my court since morning. Even Arwen is upset."

He slanted a look towards Legolas, who spluttered under the insinuation. "Surely I have nothing to do with it?"

"Not entirely."

Noticing belatedly the expanse of heavy fabric that still weighed upon his shoulders, Aragorn yanked it off to toss it over the back of a nearby chair. Then, leaving Legolas to do what he would with such an enigmatic statement, he disappeared behind a folding screen of red wood, intricately engraved with a writhing of long, scaled bodies – a gift from the people of Dale.

"Tell me, how fares your…guest?" he called out from beyond, his voice muffled as he pulled his clothes back on.

"Mehreen?" Legolas guessed, his heart still racing at the thought of having, albeit unwillingly, sparked a quarrel in his friend's marriage. The proverbial Peredhel temper was something indeed, that much he now knew. "She is well. Unexpectedly so, might I add. Though her beginnings in Bar-Lasbelin have been rocky to say the least, she has managed to make herself a place amongst our people."

While waiting for Aragorn to emerge in a state of attire more befitting of the King of Gondor than of the ranger he had once been, Legolas trailed along the colonnade that delineated the entrance, remembering when last he had spoken with Mehreen, and the quiet dignity that was hers in the face of her fate. He was tempted to add that her getting along with the inhabitants of the settlement went far better when a certain elf was concerned, but refrained. After all, the news of Elladan's mortality may not yet have reached Minas Tirith and if so, it was best they heard it from Elladan himself. Despite having made that very same choice, Arwen might be distraught at learning the news, and Legolas deemed it best she did not know her brother had also taken an inadvertent liking to Mehreen, so that she would not be tempted to hold her brother's decision against her.

Not that it would matter, in the end. The Peredhel made their choices according to their own heart, and Arwen's marriage to Aragorn was the very proof of that willfulness.

"That is good news," Aragorn concurred as he reappeared from behind the screen, and pushed his hair out of his face before donning the winged crown that lay upon a cushion by his desk – a notable improvement from his lackadaisical treatment of such a symbol a few months past. Arwen's doing, mayhap? "Though, perhaps, would I have preferred to hear she was still homesick. That would have made things easier for everyone involved."

Legolas frowned. Such gloominess was unlike his friend. "How so?"

"What do you know of Harad?" Aragorn inquired, once again seemingly out of nowhere as he absent-mindedly drummed his fingers on the corner of his desk. The ring of Barahir glimmered upon his hand, the green fire of the House of Finarfin all but spent in the insetting dusk. "And of its throne?"

"I know it is a sultanate, and that the crown prince is said to have perished on Pelennor, along with his retinue." Legolas pressed his lips, biting back what sarcasm such secretiveness inspired him. "Though surely you do not wish to hear me debate on the land's economy, and its dependance on fishing and trade." Master Caledhel, his father's historian, would have been both shocked and proud to hear Legolas remember anything of his lessons. "Tell me, Aragorn, what is it that you really want from me?"

"Prince Anwar is not dead." Aragorn moved towards the cabinet under the alcove, and soon the sloshing of a drink being poured reached Legolas' ears. His parched mouth watered at the prospect. "Far from it, in fact, and I have known it for little less than a year, though it was of little import until now. He has survived the battle, was healed and sent back, most likely under a false name. Two days ago, I have received a letter from one of my spies, informing me that the old Sultan has died and that Anwar has seized the throne with a forceful hand, brutally ridding the court of those he had deemed to be untrustworthy."

Legolas took the goblet Aragorn proffered, but did not drink at once. "But his realm is much weakened from the war, I hear. Any ambition he may harbor at rebuilding his strength and marching against Gondor would be delusional at best, and take long years at worst. Until then, our own lands will have mended and, with the combined strength of Gondor and Rohan…."

"It is not war that Anwar now seeks, but peace. Or so he claims."

"Surely this is a desirable thing?"

"It would be," Aragorn smiled wryly, drinking from his cup while watching the courtyard from one of the open windows, "had he not decided to take for a first wife the very woman you say has happily adjusted to her new life in Ithilien."

"Mehreen?"

"Indeed, though I suspect that Anwar's motives run deeper than her beauty alone. As his wife, Mehreen would be a hostage as much as a means to pressure her father, the Sheikh – one of the richest men in Harad – into supporting the throne and obeying its every decree." Setting his empty cup onto the windowsill, Aragorn turned to look at Legolas. "You understand now why Arwen is unhappy with the news. She thinks we have no right to send the girl back to Harad, to marry a man she has never met and who only values her for the riches of her father."

"And you?"

"Me? I would quote an old friend, who once told me that no half-heartedness and no worldly fear must turn us aside from following the light unflinchingly."

Mithrandir.

What was the wizard up to, nowadays?

But even the memory of the Maia's wizened, kindly face did little to lift Legolas' spirits. He dipped his lips into the wine, savoring its notes of plums and clove while buying himself some time. He had no wish to imagine himself breaking the news to Mehreen, and seeing her gentle features fall in disappointment at the realization that once again, she was but an object traded for power between the men in her life. As for Elladan….

To say he would not take the news well would be an understatement.

"Surely, there is something we can do."

He came to stand beside Aragorn, staring out that same window in hopes of inspiration striking him from above. There, beyond the shimmering veil of summer air that lingered over the sun-heated tiles of the courtyard, lay the city of Minas Tirith and the vast plain that led to the Anduin. To the North, the island of Cair Andros jutted like an ivory pin from the glimmering ribbon that was the river, standing out against the dark greenery of the Ithilien woods. It was through their depths that Elladan now wandered, unaware of the threat that hung over Mehreen's head.

"I confess, I had hoped you would have an idea, for I currently have no valid grounds to refuse the new Sultan of Harad his request, save for my own repugnance." Abandoning his vantage point, Aragorn strode over to his desk and pulled a letter from the small stack that lay atop the expanse of dark oak. The parchment was tainted with indigo, the letters penned out in liquid gold. The remains of a massive seal of scarlet wax clung to its edges, encasing a rope of silk ending in golden tassels. "See for yourself."

Legolas obeyed, scanning the missive with increasing astonishment. "Her weight in rubies?" he repeated what he had read, his eyes widening at the proposed sum.

"Paid in full," Aragorn stipulated as he took his seat beneath the banner of black silk that hung from the wall, the bejeweled stars surrounding his crowned head reminding Legolas of Durin's legend, which Gimli had once shared with him in Aglarond. "And with Gondor's treasury all but empty…."

"…Your advisers are be of a mind to send her back aboard the first available ship," Legolas finished for him.

A few months ago, he would have agreed with them. Mehreen's arrival had, after all, been naught but a mistake, and Legolas would have been relieved to see it thus corrected, along with the certainty that someone would take a young woman so seemingly unfit for a life outside a palace under his protection. Today, Legolas would be hard-pressed to say he knew her well, but what he did know was that Mehreen was no fragile little flower unable to survive without the comforts she had grown up in. Even Elladan, who worked himself mercilessly into exhaustion from dusk till dawn in the Houses of Healing, and expected nothing less but the same dedication from everyone under his responsibility, had commended both her willpower and her patience. Redhriel, however stern, had nothing ill to say about Mehreen, and after what had happened with Déordred….

"I see why Arwen might oppose them on this and, I must say, the idea does not sit right with me, either." As Legolas continued his lecture, he felt the wine sour in his stomach, all the while knowing that the quality of the vintage was not to blame. "Aragorn, Anwar knows she is in Ithilien!"

His friend nodded gravely. "So he does. There is a spy in my court, though it is only fair…or so I am told. If we have been able to gather insider knowledge from the Sultan's entourage, then we must be prepared to accept it may also work the other way around."

"And you would tolerate it?"

"Imrahil advises me to use it to our advantage. To spread the news Mehreen has died of the plague, or some other grievous fate becoming her that would get Anwar off her trail, and send him chasing an easier prey." Aragorn stroked his beard and took the letter from Legolas' hands to study it once more, hoping, perhaps, to find the traitor's name written between the lines. "Yet not everyone is of a mind with him. Borion hounds me every day for a reply, and to ask the interested lady for her opinion on the matter."

They exchanged a glance, both knowing how little say a woman still had regarding her fate – especially a woman of Mehreen's blood and value – and how heavily expectations of obedience weighed upon many a delicate shoulder. Yet, with a new war looming on the horizon, however faint its shadow and distant the dreaded moment when Anwar would be able to summon enough men to wage it, what was the fate of one against that of hundreds, or even thousands?

"You and I both already know what a woman of her upbringing will choose," Legolas could not help but point out, resenting the reproach that tainted his voice, and the blame it seemed to cast upon his friend.

If anyone was to blame, it was the Marshal himself, and the greed of those who willing to keep a hoard of rubies as red as a woman's blood, provided they never had to look her in the eye; and if anyone could find a diplomatic way to solve a problem, it was Aragorn – a pupil of Lord Elrond himself. Though Lady Galadriel was wise beyond the borders of this world, she was just as intimidating, while Lord Elrond was both wise and approachable, and one of the most inspiring, benevolent beings Legolas had ever met.

"In which case," Aragorn asserted, "we will have no other option but to respect Mehreen's decision, and pray that her life in Harad will be sweeter than our fears. Though I am not giving up yet, and neither am I willing to blindly trust those who ensure me Anwar will not attempt anything before he receives a formal answer." Pensive, he drummed out another short beat upon the dark wood. "I shall send a detachment of rangers to Bar-Lasbelin, to escort Mehreen back to Minas Tirith. Arwen and I will sleep better knowing both she and your wards are safe."

Aragorn's gaze slid to the cameo that stood upon his desk: an image of his wife after a drawing provided by Elladan, engraved in onyx by Gimli's craftsmen, and encased in the purest silver from Legolas' own heritage. Their wedding gift to their friend. Unbeknownst to Aragorn, Legolas carried a similar token upon a chain around his neck, close to his heart, hidden under the collar of his tunic; one he had commissioned as a secret from almost everyone – even his dwarven friend. A cameo of agate representing another woman, shorter than the Queen of Gondor in both hair length and stature.

Naima.

It had taken Legolas years to cease seeing her everywhere he went. To hear her laughter in that of another, and find her quirks in utter strangers, turning around only to be disappointed…before the Fellowship's Quest had provided him with a much-welcomed distraction. Then he had sought solace in the very place of all Middle-Earth that Naima would have loved the most for its brightly colored leaves come autumn, had she been able to stay.

And it was to Elladan that Legolas owed this last chance to look at her image.

Elladan, who had not drawn anything – or anyone – for years…until Mehreen had come along. He must think Legolas had not noticed his growing despondency, while Legolas, who had been worried that Saineth's departure would only deepen his friend's solitude, now gladly paused in his work to listen to the laughter that carried from the pavilion to the window of his study. He dared not imagine the kinds of trouble he would soon find Elladan hurling himself into, should Mehreen leave Bar-Lasbelin. At the very best, he would bury himself under layers of paperwork. At worst…. Who knew what drastic, dramatic endeavor a powerful and particularly impetuous elf with too much time on his hands could set his eye on?

As such, Aragorn's suggestion was an elegant, if temporary, solution to the prickly problem Anwar's request posed. There was but one catch.

"But," he felt compelled to object, "would those same advisors who have howled for Mehreen's departure from Minas Tirith not object to her return?"

"They certainly will try," said an ethereal voice from the doorway.

"Arwen!" At the entrance of his Queen, Aragorn rose from his seat and strode over to welcome her, seizing her hands into his to press a chaste kiss upon her knuckles.

"Forgive my interruption," she said – Legolas noted how a blush still colored her dimpled cheeks at such a gesture, after more than a year of marriage – and offered her husband an apologetic smile. "Having heard from Telior that Legolas had arrived, I wished to greet him before he disappeared again." Her full lips twisted in a wry smile very alike Elladan's.

Aragorn chuckled. "Are we that predictable?"

"Let us say," Arwen demurred, "that a certain pattern has been set, and from which either of you have proven most unwilling to stray, much to the despair of our excellent cook, who has been wasting her efforts in preparing dinner after dinner, only to see it growing cold on that impossibly long table I abhor." Her luminous eyes twinkled with mirth as she referred, no doubt, to their habit of swallowing a perfunctory meal in Aragorn's study while discussing whatever matter had earned Legolas a summons to court. For his part, Legolas suspected his friend of actively avoiding the formality of such dinners in favor of a casualty that reminded him of his Ranger days. "This time, I had hoped our guest would deign accept an invitation to a proper dinner, before galloping back to Ithilien…but I understand now that the matter is urgent indeed, and cannot be delayed. This is why I would offer you my help."

Reluctantly released from her husband's grasp, she glided over to Legolas, her gown of dark blue silk whispering over the tiles. He started to bow, before being gently stopped in his descent by an elegant hand upon his arm. As ever, he remained speechless for an instant in the face of her beauty.

"Legolas. I am pleased to see you again. How fares my brother?"

"Keeping himself busy," Legolas announced prudently, relieved that Arwen's displeasure – if there had been any – regarding the political tangle he had pulled the kingdom into remained without consequence for their friendship. "This new plague is worrisome in more ways than one, and he is doing his best to divide his attention amongst all those who need it."

And perhaps should said attention be divided elsewise, but this he kept to himself.

"I see." Arwen's profound gaze flickered with something akin to sadness, yet the smoothness of her brow remained unmarred by it. "It would be a mercy, then, if we relieved him of this new burden, by finding a way of keeping Mehreen safe until she can return under his protection."

Of course, Legolas mused as he exchanged a quick glance with Aragorn, she must have read his reports regarding Mehreen's new assignment. Yet, remembering what little Elladan had once divulged regarding his mental bond with Elrohir, Legolas could not help but wonder whether a similar – if unconscious – connection existed between brothers and sister and, if so, how much Arwen had perceived about Elladan's fondness for Mehreen, and what else she had guessed.

"This is why," Arwen continued, "I wish to offer my assistance, by providing her the protection of both my presence –" as Aragorn bristled at the suggestion, no doubt loath to thus endanger his beloved Queen, Arwen raised a hand to beg for his patience – "and my personal guard. Besides, a gently bred lady keeping me company at all times is no rare occurrence. After all, Lothíriel has spent most of last winter by my side, and no-one found anything to object."

"So it may be," Aragorn agreed reluctantly, "but Lothíriel is the daughter of a long-time ally, rather than a realm that opposed us on the battlefield."

"A realm which, according to their new Sultan, yearns for peace and the mending of long-severed ties. To those who wonder, we shall suggest it is our desire to better get to know the wives of our potential allies; a rumor I shall neither confirm nor refute, and which should grant us some time to plan our next move."

She smiled brightly at the two of them, confident in her decision as a true Queen ought to be.

"You have given this much thought," her husband frowned, unsettled as Lord Elrond's upbringing was suddenly turned against him in such an irresistible manner.

Arwen's expression was innocence itself. "My evenings are long, my love. How else am I to occupy my time, without anyone to keep me company at dinner?"

A.N.: the quote 'no half-heartedness and no worldly fear must turn us aside from following the light unflinchingly' is from Professor Tolkien himself.