Title: "On the West Wind Sails the Gull" Author: NekoMegami Chan (nekomegami_chan@hotmail.com) Summary: Sequel to "Landslide" - Legolas is slowly recovering from his ordeal on the mountain, but the attack was no isolated incident... Meanwhile, Elladan is leaving for the Undying Lands and his twin is obligated to join him though his heart longs to remain with Legolas now that they have finally been reunited. Action, adventure, and elegant romance. Rating: R Hello everyone and welcome to my latest fic! For those of you who are just joining us, this story is the continuation of Landslide which can be read at either fanfiction.net or the Library of Moria @ www.libraryofmoria.com. I really suggest reading Landslide before reading this sequel. I also suggest reviewing! ^.^ Also for people new to my writing, I would like to assure you that I remain closely with LoTR book cannon with very little taken from the movies. While the movies are indeed wonderful, and among my favourite films of all time (ORLANDO BLOOM!!), I simply prefer the depth of the books. As such, I attempt at all times to make my writing consistent with the style and tone of Tolkien’s original work. Thus, although I am an American (and PROUD of it, baby!) British spellings will be used. Disclaimer: Yes! Of course I own The Lord of the Rings! In paperback and hardcover! However, I do not own any of the characters, settings or intellectual property of our dearly esteemed Professor J.R.R. Tolkien. So please, don’t sue! (Especially not Mary Sue! *shudder*) Warnings: Just the usual. Blood, violence, mild swearing, ANGST! and slash (male/male themes). Sorry…too much espresso…now, on with the story! On the West Wind Sails the Gull By NekoMegami_chan nekomegami_chan@hotmail.com Imladris awoke blanketed in a crisp layer of new snow. The clouds, now devoid of their heavy burden, had drifted away during the night to leave the sky a frigid blue. No wind disturbed the leaves of the hedges and trees in the gardens. Chickens fluttered and clucked in the hen house. In the stable, the horses grunted and pawed, demanding their morning feed. A disgruntled young maid yawned into the back of her sleeve and began her day by lighting the main stove and sending the kitchen boy to fetch a few logs from the woodpile. Erestor watched the world beyond his balcony churn slowly into motion. He nursed a hot mug of spiced cider in his hands, letting the warmth seep into his long fingers. Being an elf he was highly resilient to the biting cold, though the creamy skin over his cheeks and nose had turned the colour of spring Roses mere moments after he had stepped outside. Glorfindel joined him silently, cradling a cup of his own. They often began their days together and frequently Elrond joined them, though he was not present this morning. It had been their policy for centuries to discuss naught of affairs of state ere they had finished their breakfast. It was a practice that Glorfindel was known to remark upon as being the cornerstone of his continued grip on sanity. Leaning back against the rail and crossing his ankles, Erestor sought out Glrorfindel’s gaze. The Balrog Slayer simply inclined his head and sipped from his mug, inviting his friend to speak his mind. “I shall miss the twins dearly,” Erestor sighed. “They have been such a part of my life for so long that I do not know how I ever got along without them. When they chose not to accompany their mother to the west, I came to believe that they would be among the last to depart the shores of Arda.” “I too will feel their absence keenly,” Glorfindel said thoughtfully. “Yet you know as well as I that it is in their best interests to leave. The sea longing is not an affliction to be easily set aside.” Erestor nodded sagely. “Aye, nor should it be.” They fell into a comfortable silence whilst they finished their cider, each elf perusing his private thoughts. Erestor was the first to rouse himself. Setting aside his cup, he approached Glorfindel and unobtrusively began to weave several small braids into the Elda’s long locks, tying simple knots at the end to keep the plaits from unravelling. When he had finished he gently lifted the ceramic mug from Glorfindel’s fingers and stood patiently while the favour was returned. On the days when other matters prevented Elrond from their morning rituals the Lord of Imladris was sure to appear in creased robes and a circlet upon his head, his dark hair gleaming and brushed straight but unadorned by the braids signifying his rank. While all of them were perfectly capable of dressing themselves yet the companionship maintained by caring for one another was sorely needed. With no significant females in the household Elrond, Glorfindel and Erestor had adapted centuries ago to living their immortal lives in one another’s company. When his own hair had been tightly braided and pulled back from his face and ears, Erestor stepped back to admire his work. Glorfindel was dressed smartly in a tunic of emerald green wool and a deerskin waistcoat of a darker green. Thick grey wool leggings and tall, soft leather boots covered the lower half of his body. “You are riding with the patrol today?” Erestor asked, though there was little question in his tone. “Aye. Though I would prefer to tarry around in the healing house another day, I must not ignore my duties,” the blonde Elda affirmed. “And you? You intend to spend the day working in your office?” “As you say, there is much that has gone undone these last days,” the raven haired advisor smiled. “Perhaps you will return in time to join us all for a few glasses of mulled wine after the evening meal?” Glorfindel only nodded noncommittally and excused himself, his mind already making plans for the patrol as he threaded his way through the Last Homely House and towards the stable yard. Erestor watched him go, hardly eager to seclude himself in his study and begin the various tasks that awaited him there. Yet just as he was turning to do so, movement among the distant trees bordering Imladris caught his eye. Anxious to know if the approaching riders were friend or foe, Erestor leaned over the balcony railing, squinting past the glare of the sun on snow. A familiar figure at the fore raised a hand in greeting. Erestor grinned and laughed merrily. Estel had come home to Rivendell! * * * King Elessar of Gondor dismounted his tall gelding stiffly. He was bundled tightly against the winter cold and the extra layers of cloth and leather hindered his usually fluid movements. Behind him his escort - a hand selected group of thirty-two men - followed his lead through they gawked at the white shrouded beauty of the Elven realm. Aragorn cast about for the nearest soldier and pressed the reins of his gelding firmly into the other man’s gloved hand. He was not surprised to see Glorfindel striding over the snow towards him, dressed for the morning patrol, but he was taken aback by the fact that the Elda remained at Imladris. Had they given up the search for Legolas so soon? One of the escort took in a sharp breath and exclaimed, “What trickery is this that he walks upon the snow?” “No trickery, it is the way of Elves,” the king interjected, his words cutting through the astonished murmurs that had broken out among his men. “Mae govanen Glorfindel, mellon-nin!” “Well met, Estel,” Glorfindel shook the man’s hand and drawing him into a firm embrace. “It is good to see you again.” The Elda paused, feeling the taught muscles of Aragorn’s body, and released him. “Is all well with you? What brings you here in such dismal travelling weather?” Erestor’s silvery laugh ran through the courtyard like moonbeams on water as he ran lightly up to the group gathered in the snow, his long blue robes fluttering around his slender legs. “I sent for him, of course! Who better to help us search than the High King of Gondor?” Noticing the agonized expression on Estel’s face, Erestor placed a comforting hand on the other’s shoulder. “Peace Estel! Alas, you were too slow to be of much use after all. The prince was found the night before last and lies even now in the Healing House,” Erestor said, adopting the strict tone he had used when the young human had been tardy to lessons. Aragorn felt a huge burden lift from his shoulders. “I shall like to see Legolas as soon as provision has been made for my men and horses,” he said. Glorfindel clasped Estel’s forearm and nodded. “Tell them to come with me,” he instructed. “I was just on my way to the paddock to meet my patrol. The stable master can take charge of their care.” Elessar turned and swiftly issued commands to his weary escort. He had pushed them hard over their journey to Imladris, waking them all well before dawn this morning and continuing their exhaustive march at first light. As the men were walking towards the barns, a booming voice issuing from beyond the trees caused Aragorn to spin around. “I told you, Elf! I do not need your guidance! I have visited this realm before and I am perfectly capable of…” Gimli broke into the clearing and stopped dead in his tracks, his complaint melting away. “Aragorn?” “Aye, ‘tis me friend Gimli! Good day to you!” the king of Gondor smiled. He glanced briefly at Erestor, who remained at his side. “Your doing also, I assume?” “You are correct,” Erestor replied, as he had many times during Estel’s tutelage. Gimli had trudged up to them, his stout form chest deep in the snow. Six other dwarves accompanied him and their elven guide simply bowed quickly to Erestor before vanishing back into the woods. “Why are you all standing about? Legolas is…” “In bed, where he ought to be,” Aragorn interrupted. “And I was on my way to see him. Would you care to accompany me while your companions go with mine to find a hot meal?” One of the other dwarves spoke up loudly. “Which way to the kitchens? I assume that even elves must have a few fried eggs about?” “I am quite sure that sufficient provision can be made to satisfy even the greatest of appetites. You will find my Lord Elrond to be a gracious host indeed!” Erestor, ever the diplomat, bowed and extended his hand in an elegant sweeping gesture. “This way if you please?” The dwarves muttered and trundled after Erestor. Aragorn suppressed a hearty laugh and clapped Gimli around the shoulders. “Then all is settled. Let us go! Legolas awaits!” * * * That’s it for this chapter! I hope everyone enjoyed and intends on reviewing on their way out! I know, I’m shameless. In any case this chapter was fun to write because it came so quickly and easily, that’s why I’m a few days ahead of schedule with this update. In any case, this chapter was only the beginning and a bit slow. I had originally intended to have more going on, but that will just have to wait until the next post. Thanks for reading and check back soon for another chapter. Maybe 4 days? No promises though. ^-^ I can see that this fic is already off to a great start! All of the favourable reviews have inspired me to begin writing right away. On the West Wind Sails the Gull By NekoMegami_chan Nekomegami_chan@hotmail.com Thranduil watched from the window of his tower guest rooms as King Elessar, Estel to the Elves and Aragorn to his friends entered the courtyard far below. The son of Oropher was not pleased. While he felt a grudging respect for the human king as a member of the Fellowship; the personal affairs of the Elves were not the concern of Men. For surely this was more than a courtly visit; as Elessar brought some thirty heavily armed guards and no baggage train. Resigned to the mortal’s presence in Rivendell, Thranduil turned from the window. Yet ere he could draw the heavy velvet curtains back into place he witnessed the arrival of a small party of dwarves. “What scandal!” Thranduil shouted, turning away from the now covered window in disgust. “What outrage!” Of all of Legolas’ inappropriate relationships, it was his son’s friendship with the dwarf that caused Thranduil the greatest displeasure. He had publicly denied the rumours for years and now the vile, stunted creature had mustered the audacity to appear at the prince’s sickbed. Such an affront was utterly intolerable! Furious, Thranduil turned to glare about the well furnished apartment that had been given to him for the remainder of his stay in Imladris, searching for an object upon which to vent his wrath. The large, canopied bed was the first to come into his sight. It was decorated by a coverlet of green and gold embroidery and the dark wood of the four posts was carved into the image of gnarled trees. Tapestries depicting forest life during each of the four seasons hung from the walls. A gleaming vanity with a crystal wash basin stood in one corner, close enough that the fire from the hearth would warm the water and the clothes stored within its drawers. The room was truly lovely and despite his inclinations to do otherwise, Thranduil could not bring himself to destroy any of it. Instead he buckled on his sword belt and unsheathed the weapon. Steadying his breathing, he began the precise drills he preformed every morning and night. He had always found the peace his hot temper would have him forsake within the rigorous confines of his chosen discipline. His mind became steady and pliant under the swift undulations of his body, loosing the unyielding binds he placed upon himself at all other times. Once he had finished and regained control of his anger, Thranduil would seek out Elrond and request that the dwarves be sent away. He could not suggest that the Man be turned out, as the human was actually Elrond’s son by marriage. However, he would demand that Legolas be removed to these rooms until recovered. His plans firmly anchored, Thranduil slid his sword back into the scabbard and drew himself up to his full height. In moments he had left the rooms, his boot heels clicking ever so softly as he descended the spiral staircase. * * * Elrond greeted Aragorn and Gimli with a smile just outside the entrance to the Healing House. The Lord of Rivendell had been notified of their arrival only moments before as he had emerged, hoping that a brisk walk might sweep clear his cluttered thoughts. “Estel, welcome home. And Master Gimli, how fare you this day?” Aragorn inclined his head respectfully but said nothing. Gimli bowed slightly though his eyes remained pointedly on the door behind Elrond. “Well enough, Lord Elrond. Yet it is Prince Legolas’ health that is of interest to me.” “Aye, and to me,” Aragorn spoke up. Having anticipated this, Elrond stepped aside and held open the door but stopped them with a glance. “I have only just sent the twins to fetch breakfast and tea for us all and they will not be long. Also, be warned that Legolas is still weak; do not tire him overmuch with questions of his ordeal.” Gimli nodded absently. Anxious to see his friend, the dwarf did not even bother to shake the clumps of snow from his boots before entering the building. It was only the darker interior of the Healing House that reminded him to remove his helm. Aragorn would have been at the dwarf’s heels had Elrond not so quickly interposed. “I must speak to you now, not as a father to a son, but as one Healer to another. Legolas’ condition does not wholly please me.” “How so?” Elessar felt a familiar knot of tension gather in the pit of his stomach. He set his shoulders and willed it firmly away. “His left hip was shattered when we found him. He walked several leagues with the aid of a tree branch and the stress on the broken bones did far more damage than the initial injury could have ever caused. While I was more or less able to coax the fragments back into place, the swelling was quite severe and has only now begun to abate.” Elrond paused and considered his next words carefully and they were softly spoken when they came. Despite his often brusque attitude with the prince and his antics, the lord had wordlessly accepted Legolas into his life a century ago. “I fear I was not as successful as I had hoped. I believe it will be necessary to break his hip again and reset the bones in order that they may heal more naturally,” he cringed inwardly at the naked expression of sympathetic pain on his son’s face. “I should appreciate your help in this. I cannot ask the others.” Aragorn squared his jaw and nodded once. “When?” “I am of the opinion that there is much more going on than any of us but Mithrandir is aware of. I would have the entire household gather for the morning meal. After the conversation has died down, I shall ask Elladan and Elrohir to gather fresh athleas from the greenhouse on the far side of the gardens. We must do it then.” “Aye.” Elessar smoothly changed the topic as he entered the Healing House, Elrond half a pace behind him. “Gandalf is here then?” * * * Gimli approached Legolas’ bedside as quietly as he could, though for once he was keenly aware of the harsh metallic clank of his armour and the grinding of the chain mail beneath. His hobnailed boots echoed loudly on the gleaming wooden floor. Yet far more disturbing than the noise he made, was the fact that Legolas’ sleeping form did not stir. Seating himself on the low stool at the elf’s elbow, Gimli studied his sleeping friend closely. It was as Elrond had forewarned them. Legolas’ usually creamy skin had gone as white as the sheets beneath him; the only colour that remained was the pale flush that lit the high cheekbones. Curiously, the vibrant blue eyes were closed and even in sleep they bore small lines of pain at the edges. At first, Gimli had found it unsettling that the elf slept with the bright orbs staring vacantly ahead. Yet after having grown accustomed to the immortal’s odd habits, this change in them merely deepened his worry. Gimli set aside his helm and took Legolas’ hand in his. “Fool elf!” he muttered, though his gruff voice held little conviction. “Can I not leave you for so much as a single season ere you land your skinny hide into mischief?” “It seems not, master Dwarf,” Legolas whispered, blinking as his slowly focusing gaze took in Gimli’s weathered countenance. “Then perhaps I should teach you how better to defend yourself!” the dwarf laughed heartily as relief swept through him. If Legolas was well enough to engage him thus, there was little he need fear any longer. * * * Please review and let me know what you think! Thanks for reading and I’ll try to get the next update by Saturday evening. ;) Oh! By the way, does everyone want me to continue to email them when I update? If so, please let me know either via review or email and I will put you on my update notification list. Thanks! Hello everyone! Thank you for all of your kind reviews! The positive feedback doesn’t just stroke my ego or make me write faster, it also makes me a better writer by helping me to know what you like. Of course, if there’s anything you don’t like, please let me know. In any case, we’re only three chapters into this story and I’m enjoying it even more than the last one! It has an unexpected PLOT COMPLICATION! Muwahaha! On the West Wind Sails the Gull Chapter III By NekoMegami_chan Nekomegami_chan@hotmail.com The twins returned from their errand practically on Estel’s heels. Elrohir and Elladan joyously greeted their brother with an abundance of cheerful words and, after hastily setting aside the laden trays, an equal number of embraces. Legolas laughed merrily at the sight, and Gimli rose from his stool to regard them with keen eyes. Elrond felt the weight of the last days lifted away. “Forgive me for not gaining my feet to greet you properly,” Legolas called from the bed, gesturing to his prone form with good humour, “however, I am regretfully indisposed. Come, let us take our ease over a hot meal and hear tell of your journeys, Aragorn and Gimli.” Breakfast was a simple affair. Conversation remained light and smiles were exchanged freely. Mithrandir joined those gathered in the Healing House and entertained them by manipulating the hearth fire so that pixies appeared; frolicking among the blazing logs, playing at hide and seek. Elrohir sat at Legolas’ elbow. So engrossed was he in helping the wounded prince to swallow a few spoonfuls of a mild chicken broth, that he barely noticed Estel taking up a chair beside him. “You also need to eat,” Estel said, setting a plate of bread and honeyed butter on Elrohir’s lap. “You are thinner than I remember you; and paler also.” Legolas frowned slightly, the wizard’s words still at the forefront of his thoughts. He had been selfish in allowing Elrohir to tend to him so faithfully when his own body’s needs had been ignored. “He is right, Elrohir. You must not fuss over me when you too are not in full health.” Elrohir began to protest, only to have Estel shove a spoonful of porridge into his open mouth. Without further argument, Elrohir quickly complied by taking a generous bite of toast. He nearly groaned that the exquisite taste of the warm toast and its sweet, sticky topping. Now fully aware of his hunger he began to eat with a gusto and relish that would have put a Hobbit to shame – a fact that Gimli was quick to point out with a hearty chuckle. When the food was gone, and the trays, plates and silverware stacked neatly on one table to be later removed by a servant, Mithrandir stood and set his tea cup aside. “If you will all please excuse an old man, I would fancy a walk before it begins to snow again. Elladan, would you care to accompany me?” After receiving a reassuring nod from his twin, Elladan rose and gathered up his cloak from the rack beside the door. “I would be delighted to, Mithrandir,” he said. Elladan could not remember a time when he had not gained in wisdom from walking with the wizard and never missed an opportunity to do so. Elrond turned to Elrohir when they had gone. “I have run out of fresh athelas. Please go to the greenhouse on the west lawn and bring back some cuttings.” “I should prefer to remain with Legolas,” Elrohir nearly reminded his father that his every moment with his love was as precious as the first breath of spring, yet he bit back his hasty words and instead sought to pass the chore on to someone else. “Father, I would very much prefer to remain here. Perhaps you could order one of your apprentice healers to fetch it…” Elrond shook his head. “I dismissed them all yesterday in order that I might care for Legolas personally. Now go.” The Lord of Imladris’ tone booked no further argument. Elrohir schooled his features into a carefully blank expression, rather than scowl as fiercely as he was inclined. He kissed Legolas tenderly upon the forehead before exiting the Healing House at a fast walk. Elrond, Aragorn and Gimli were silent for a moment. Legolas spoke quickly, “There is something going on here that I am only half aware of. I feel it. You all keep secrets from me.” He carefully scrutinized the others. “Gimli?” “On my journey here, two of my companions were slain by orcs. We were ambushed just before dawn four days ago. We killed many, yet were harried until we reached the boarders of this realm,” Gimli admitted. Aragorn’s expression grew grim. “I too encountered the foul creatures. My party took no casualties, but for the pack horse carrying our tents and extra rations. The orcs fell back quickly after their initial strike. I would have thought it to be mere coincidence that they ever came upon us, ‘til they obviously sought to draw us into a trap. Their retreat was far too strategic.” The ranger turned king sat back in his chair. “That was just yesterday morning. We had seen sign of their passing for several days prior, though thought little of it.” Elrond’s eyes hardened and his lips tightened into a thin line. “The pattern is clear. Members of the fellowship have been targeted. Doubtless Mithrandir is already aware of this. We must warn the Halflings. Ere the hour has passed I will order a contingent of soldiers to travel to the Shire. They will watch over the Hobbits until we have found who is behind this.” Gimli growled in frustration. “Whoever is behind this cannot be very smart. Did they believe the members of the Fellowship so easily dispatched? Did they not think that we would be wise to their strategies?” Legolas shook his head. His stare, which had been fixed upon the ceiling beams, found the dwarf’s. “It is not so simple as that. This new threat seeks only to make his intentions known to us.” Legolas paused for breath and when he spoke again his voice was noticeably weaker. He was tiring. “While it was an avalanche which caused my injuries, it was an orc attack which began the snow’s decent. They knew where I would be when I crossed the mountains; a fact which leads me to the conclusion that our unknown enemy has been intercepting our correspondence.” While the human and the dwarf pondered the wisdom in Legolas’ words and the consequences of his revelations, Elrond rose and moved to the prince’s side. “How do you feel?” he asked. “My mind remains sharp, yet my body is heavy and distant. I expect that the tea I drank with breakfast was treated?” “Aye,” Elrond affirmed. He turned to Estel and Gimli. “It is time. Elrohir will not be away much longer.” The king of Gondor hurried to Elrond’s elbow and pulled back the bedclothes from Legolas’ body. “I beg your pardon, Legolas. My lord Elrond has informed me that your condition is unsatisfactory. We have conferred and find it is necessary that your hip be re-broken in order to speed your healing.” “And you did not wish Elrohir to be present. I understand. I do not desire to upset him any further,” Legolas said with sincere thankfulness. Gimli knocked over his stool in his haste to stand in protest. “What is the meaning of this?” Elrond gently pulled aside the blonde elf prince’s night robe to expose the swollen and discoloured flesh. “If Legolas wishes to spend the remainder of his immortal days without a pronounced limp, we must set the bones more naturally. Gimli, I must have my full concentration and Legolas will need your help.” Seeing the wisdom in Elrond’s words, the dwarf took up a firm stance. “How may I be of assistance?” “Hold his hand and do not let go,” Elrond directed, vaguely aware that Gimli did so without hesitation. Legolas smiled gently up at his friend. “You look as if you were the patient, Master Dwarf! Your face is as pale as any elf-maiden’s – if significantly more hairy!” Gimli opened his mouth to reply when there came a resounding crack, swiftly followed by a second, and a third. Legolas’ features contorted in pain and the prince cried out, a breathy moan that forced its way past his lips. The slender hand in his tightened like a vice; sweat gathered on the elf’s fair brow. All Gimli could see were two dark heads bent together on the other side of his friend’s body. Elrond and Aragorn spoke softly and hurriedly. Then a final grating of bone on bone reached his ears, a disturbing sound which made Gimli’s insides clench in sympathy. The healers sat back on their heels and Aragorn passed a hand down his face. Legolas’ agonized panting echoed through the nearly empty room. Elrond spilled his healing energies into the prince, encouraging the abused joint to maintain its new position. Gently, his fingers shaking more than he would have thought possible, Gimli petted the elf’s head, smoothing back the sunlight locks in a soothing gesture. Legolas was his dearest friend, a loyal companion who had ever presented himself as a pillar of strength; a comfort when no comfort seemed possible. Gimli prayed with feverish sincerity that his meagre actions would be enough. “Legolas!” Elrohir cried from the open doorway. Panic reared up in his throat and he clutched the athleas cuttings to his chest, crushing them as he sprinted to Legolas’ side. Squeezing past the dwarf, Elrohir cupped his beloved’s cheek. The scent of the athleas brought the prince some measure of awareness beyond the pain, and he found the strength to open his heavy eyelids. “All is well, Elrohir. Only – stay with me a moment.” Legolas took a few deep breaths before continuing. “The others have spoken their minds. I would have you do so as well, ere I take my rest again.” Elrohir looked to his father, who nodded. “Estel, Master Dwarf,” Elrond inclined his graceful hand to each. “You have journeyed hard and there is much yet to discuss. Please refresh yourselves in the chambers which have been prepared for you. I wish for you to join me in my study at your earliest convenience.” The lord of Imladris left at once, his robes a storm of red silk about his ankles. * * * I’m sorry this chapter was so late in coming! I’ve had a lot on my mind recently. In any case, I still didn’t get in everything I had planned, but let me say this. There will be the long awaited Gimli- Thranduil confrontation next chapter! And as always, PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! Thanks! ^_^ Hello! It seems that everyone is more interested in the upcoming Gimli/Thranduil confrontation than they were in the last chapter! Not that I’m complaining, mind you. I’m just thrilled that everyone is still enjoying this fic enough to review. And so, without further ado… On the West Wind Sails the Gull By NekoMegami_chan Nekomegami_chan@hotmail.com The halls of Imladris were a brightly coloured blur of winter sunlight and highly polished oak panelling as Elrond entered the North wing. His study was here, as were those belonging to his sons and advisors; all of which encircled the great library. Yet it was at the open door to Erestor’s offices that he feet took him. Inside, Erestor’s ebony head was bent low over the wide desk which occupied the majority of the room. Elrond was reluctant to disturb him. While his advisor had once been a fierce warrior, his place was now here with his scrolls. “Never mind that, old friend. I have another matter that needs your attentions.” Erestor did not keep his lord waiting, but rather set aside his quill and joined Elrond in the corridor. He smiled, his elegant mouth turning up at the corners. “I might have known better than to expect any work to be completed today.” He sobered when Elrond showed no sign of amusement. “And here I had been quite sure that the worst was behind us. Your orders, Lord Elrond?” “I will explain shortly. Send for Thranduil and have him escorted to my sturdy at once. Mithrandir and Elladan are walking; you will need to locate them as well. Estel and Master Gimli will arrive in a few moments. Elrohir will remain with Legolas.” Erestor bowed slightly. He turned, yet ere he had taken more than a few paces, Elrond’s voice came after him. “Your presence will be required as well. I feel much in need of your patient counsel. A new threat would bury its fangs in our throats.” * * * Though reluctant to leave Legolas, Gimli turned and followed Aragorn out of the Healing House and into the manor proper. He knew that his friend would be looked after; Elrohir would see to that. The heartfelt dedication of the other elf was easy to see. Gimli fell further into his thoughts as he quickened his pace around a corner in order to keep up with the long strides of the man. Legolas had always been extremely private in regard to his life beyond the Fellowship. While he spoke often of his homeland, Gimli could count the number of times he had mentioned his lover on a single hand. On those rare occasions when the elf did, there appeared an expression in the opal eyes which he could not quite give name to. However, simply recalling it aroused feelings of sadness and regret in him. After ascending a short flight of wide carpeted stairs, Gimli parted company from Aragorn to enter the apartment in which he had stayed upon his previous visit to Imladris. Spacious and well furnished to the tastes of the elves every chair, bedstead, and tables were of a dwarvish height. Rich jewel tones permeated the rooms, making the satin and silk drapes and bedclothes shimmer in the sharp winter sunlight. The dwarves who had travelled with him were smoking their pipes near the open window or examining the craftsmanship of the furniture with critical eyes. It was a welcome diversion from their grief, friends had been lost and the pain was still close at their heels. A brief greeting and a chorus of grudging affirmation as to the suitability of the elves’ hospitality was enough to assure Gimli that he would not be missed for several hours. Although the dwarves had been given the run of Imladris, all agreed that it would be wiser to remain in their guest quarters until supper. Gimli found his bag among those of his companions on the low table in the centre room. He changed into fresh breeches and a tunic with his family crest embroidered on the shoulder. He hurriedly scrubbed his face and hands in the bathroom washbasin, patted down his hair then exited once more into the hall. Aragorn had not yet finished his own refreshment and the dwarf settled back against one ornate wall, thick arms crossed over his broad chest. Moments later he was ripped from his darkening musings by the sound of padded footfalls. An elf appeared, beautiful, proud and tall. He was dressed in silver and green and white. His luminous blonde mane lay against his back like golden spider’s silk. Had it not been for the steady step and the fierce set of this elf’s brow, Gimli might have believed that it was indeed Legolas who stalked towards him now. It could be none other than Thranduil, King of Greenwood and Legolas’ father. Gimli pushed away from the wall, casting down his eyes to afford the regal elf a measure of respect as he passed. Yet Thranduil did not pass. Drawing even with Gimli, he regarded the dwarf with a baleful glare. “You know who I am.” “Aye,” Gimli met Thranduil’s stare unflinchingly. “Although why you approach thus, Your Highness,” still wary, he fought valiantly to keep the sneer from his voice as he spoke the last, “I have no ken.” “Then I shall be succinct, dwarf. There is no love lost between us. Therefore neither should there be fond words.” Gimli bristled at the King’s flippant and haughty tone but did not interrupt. Thranduil continued, slowly as if he were giving his orders to a half-wit. “Know this. My son is like a gem your orcish picks will never scratch; as far beyond your reach as any star in the night sky. I will not stand to see you corrupt him by filling his head with your mortal filth. Consider your acquaintance with him terminated as of this moment.” Gimli’s ire rose and all previous thoughts of respect for the king’s position fled. “Your son is grown, well able to care for himself and choose his own friends, mortal or otherwise. It was similar petty sentiments which led to the consuming hatred between our peoples. I will overlook your transgressions this time Thranduil, King of Elves, but not again.” Thranduil’s icy countenance melted and was swiftly replaced by a boiling rage. “It seems your impertinence knows no bounds, nor does your foolishness.” Gimli’s voice rose to a shout, filling the corridor. “Thrice you have insulted me, Thranduil! Have you no honour? And such a trespass as that, without proper apology, is just cause for retribution. Alas that you are Legolas’ kin; else I would not hesitate to raise my hand against you!” “What is the meaning of this?” Aragorn burst from his chambers, flinging the doors wide. He swept between the elf and dwarf, his anger evident on his rough-shaven face. “This reprehensible behaviour is more suited to a tavern than the halls of my father, and it hardly befits either one of you!” Thranduil moth shut with an audible click of his teeth, his eyes like flaming arrows as he observed both Man and Dwarf. Though when he spoke his words were for Aragorn, his gaze was locked with Gimli’s. “I have said my peace. I expect my wishes will be obeyed. As soon as my son is well enough to be transported by litter, I intend to depart from this place. And you, dwarf, had best stay out of my sight, lest the consequences prove to be more than you can handle.” Furious at the open threat, Gimli remained still only by the warning pressure of Aragorn’s hand on his shoulder. The man wanted to scream. Thranduil was a good king and a good father. Yet centuries of loss and hardship had hardened his heart to all but Legolas’ kindness and love. The precious gems and coffers of gold he had gathered were unworthy of his concern. Even his beloved forest home failed to bring him comfort. The elven king feared to loose his son above all else, and his fear made him a terrible ally to cross. Only once previously had he seen Thranduil livid - only once and in his youth. It had taken Legolas three days of patient counsel with his father to set matters straight. Yet now Legolas lay in the healing house, his body broken and too weak to confront Thranduil. The King of Men was not eager to take that burden upon his own shoulders; yet he knew that Thranduil’s aid may prove to be vital in their quest for the unnamed threat which awaited the living members of the Fellowship, and perhaps all of Middle Earth. The numbers of the elves was dwindling rapidly, and a single warrior may mark the line between victory and death. Aragorn’s grip on Gimli’s shoulder tightened as the King of Greenwood turned sharply on his heel and nearly knocked down the unsuspecting Erestor. The raven-haired elf sidestepped in a graceful movement that instantly reminded Aragorn that his lifelong tutor, friend and scholar had once been a highly respected swordsman. “Pardon me, Your Highness,” he apologized reflexively. Tension hung thick in the air, no one stirred. A moment’s scrutiny of the scene enacted in front of the guest rooms was enough for the advisor to guess what had happened. Thranduil’s protective streak had gotten the better of him again. His arms crossed inside the voluminous sleeves of his robe, his face sober and unlined, Erestor delivered his message. “Elrond, Mithrandir and Elladan await us in My Lord’s study. Come, there is much we must discuss.” * * * In a sprawling and brightly-lit mansion, within sight of the white towers of Minas Tirith, a sinister figured swallowed the last of a glass of brandy and smiled. “The power of the Heir is without question. All will tremble and perish on their knees before his might. Though the ring was destroyed, the Dark Lord was not without foresight. The Fellowship will suffer.” * * * Sorry this chapter took as long as it did. It’s always something, isn’t it? So I won’t make any excuses except to say that I just broke up with my boyfriend and I simply haven’t had the time nor the will to write. But please, send me your reviews and let me know if you liked this chapter. I hope that the long-awaited confrontation was worth the delay! Oh, and did anyone like the first glance at the bad guy?