A/N: Thanks to Lyn for the review for last chapter! I always appreciate feedback!

******

December 14, 1426

It was the dead of night. The sky was clear with the stars shined brightly in the inky black firmament overhead with nothing to hide or dim their soft silvery light. The moon hung high in the midnight sky outside, casting long pale shafts of moonlight in through the windows of Legolas’ bedroom.

The light spilled into the room, illuminating the dark interior in a dim silver-blue glow. On the far left side of the room however, stood a small pocket of shadows where the soft glow of moonlight could not reach. Radiating out from the dark recesses of the shadows shined two sapphire blue orbs that seemed to glow with their very own inner light. They stared ahead into the room, seeming to pierce the darkness like two blades of sharpened steel.

Sitting alone in the dark shadows of the room, the elven prince Legolas sat leaning back against the headboard of his bed. His skinny form was barely even a ghostly outline behind the inky veil of darkness shrouding that far side of the room where he sat. To any looking upon him at that moment, he would have seemed like a sulking wraith wreathed in shadows, the clear blue light of his eyes the only things able to pierce through the oppressive gloom that surrounded him.

The elf stared ahead with a distant look in his eyes, as if deeply lost in thought. Though the night had long since waned and turned into the early morning hours of a new day, sleep still did not come to the elven prince. While the rest of the palace slept all around him in peaceful slumber, Legolas sat awake in bed, unable to make his mind quiet and drift off into sleep.

Though he could find no real reason for it, he felt restless. Thoughts kept spinning through his head, refusing to give him any respite or rest.

It had now been almost two months since his awakening. The golden months of autumn had finally given way to the chilling cold of winter. Snow now lay heavily over the city of Minas Tirith and shimmered like a blanket of powderized diamonds in the moonlight. Icy wind rattled at the windows of Legolas’ room, as if the chilly zephyrs softly rapped at the glass demanding entrance into the elven prince’s bedroom.

For over a month now, Legolas had been confined to his rooms because of the dropping temperatures. Though he could now join his friends for meals in the Great Hall with the aid of Elrohir and Elladan, he still had yet to actually leave the confines of the palace or walk on his own without the aid of someone else. Despite the Indian Summer Gondor had enjoyed all the way up until the middle of that November, it seemed as if Winter had decided to compensate for its delayed arrival by besieging the southern country with gales of bitting wind and icy blizzards.

The winter storms had finally abated its attack on the white city several days before, but Legolas could not take the momentary respite in weather to go outside onto his balcony to overlook the snow covered gardens or escape the suffocating confines of his rooms. It was now just too cold for him to go outside. Even though Legolas had desperately tried on several different occasions now to convince Elrond and the twins to let him go outside, even if only for a few minutes, they always refused. It seemed his elven endurance had greatly suffered from the long years of his coma. His withered body was now more susceptible to seasonal changes in temperature than he ever was before his accident when he could have spent hours outside in the snow without ever taking notice of the chill.

And it was this inability to escape the stone walls of the Hall of Kings that Legolas partially blamed for his restlessness. Never in all his long years of life had he ever been confined indoors for so long. He felt like he was slowly being driven mad with cabin fever.

But that was not the only thing the elven prince knew was bothering him and robbing him of his sleep.

It had now been several weeks since Thranduil’s arrival to the city of Minas Tirith. Although Legolas had initially found his father’s presence there with him encouraging and supportive, he now couldn’t help but feel that Thranduil was starting to hover over him like a mother hen. Several times now during his sessions of physical therapy with the twins, Thranduil had yelled at Elrohir and Elladan for being careless or accused them of causing his son pain whenever Legolas accidentally stumbled or momentarily lost his balance. Thranduil was almost a constant presence by his side, always hovering over him and treating him as though he were a young child or helpless invalid. It was like he was determined to never let Legolas out of his sight. He had even gone so far as to request an adjacent guestroom to Legolas’ so that he could be there in an instant should his son need anything. Though Legolas appreciated his father’s show of love and concern for him, he was beginning to wish Thranduil and everyone else would just leave him alone.

He was tired of being treated like this. Always catered to and treated like some spun piece of glass that was too helpless to do anything for himself. It was enough that he had to deal with his new powers of second-sight and avoid physical contact with any other living being. But to be treated like a helpless invalid was too much for the proud elven prince to bear.

As Legolas sat there in the dark shadows of the room mulling these thoughts and others over in his head, the elf was surprised to find himself getting progressively angrier by the moment.

Just because he had not yet regained his ability to walk did not mean he had to be tended to every moment of the day like a tiny baby! Despite his temporary disability he was still a full-grown adult and warrior. He could take care of himself. He did not need his father’s, the twins, Aragorn, Gimli, or anyone else’s help.

More than ever before, Legolas became determined to break free of this dependancy he had on his friends.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Legolas absentmindedly glanced to his side. He was almost ready to nestle back down into the covers and once again try to go to sleep when a small glint of silver shining dully in the dim moonlight happened to catch his eye. It took him a minute to make out what it was in the darkness, but when he finally did, Legolas’ breath almost caught in his throat.

There, leaning innocently up against the front of the nightstand sitting beside his bed, stood Gimli’s gift to him: a long black walking stick.

For several long moments of silence, Legolas sat there, staring at the polished cane. He remembered setting it there several weeks ago when he first got it to remind him of what he had to work for so that he might finally be able to put the dwarf’s gift to use. It was however somewhat disconcerting how it was only now that he remembered his friend’s gift.

The cane’s polished head seemed to tauntingly shine in the pale moonlight, as if daring the elf to pick it up and run his hands over the masterfully carved leaves and vines adorning its silver head. Suddenly possessed with the desire to do just that, Legolas shakingly reached out and picked the cane up and laid it across his lap.

His fingers gently traced the outline of the delicate metal foliage. He slowly turned the cane over in his hand. Gripping the silver head, Legolas was momentarily taken aback by how perfect it seemed to fit into the curvature of his palm, as if Gimli had known just the shape and size of his hand to have crafted such a perfectly tailored instrument. It was as Legolas sat there admiring the dwarf’s craftsmanship in the dark shadows of the night that an idea slowly began to form in his head.

Should he?

Blood suddenly pounding in his ears, Legolas quickly glanced up towards the other side of the room. A large high-backed, velvet-covered arm chair sat near one of the windows on the far side of the room, positioned in such a way so that one sitting in it could look out over the rest of Minas Tirith sprawled out far below the lofty Citadel. Ever since the onset of winter, Legolas had found himself spending much more of his time in that chair than he ever did before his accident. When not preoccupied with the twins or physical therapy or anything else, he would quietly sit there in his chair and let his mind drift as he watched snowflakes lazily float down past his window towards the city below. It had become an almost therapeutic pastime for him when so many things in his life had changed so much and become so complicated and strange. Moonlight spilled into Legolas’ room through the ceiling-high windows, bathing the chair in a ghostly glow of silver-blue, as if illuminating it as a sign for the elven prince.

Suddenly knowing what he had to do, a rush of determination surged though Legolas’ veins. Throwing back the covers from over his legs and scooting to the edge of the bed, Legolas gently eased his feet down to the floor. A jolt of energy and excitement shot up through the elf’s thin body as he felt his bare feet come in contact with the cold, hard floor. He felt almost giddy with excitement at the strange, almost forgotten sensation, like an elfling about to do something he knew was wrong.

But Legolas no longer cared. He had waited too long to finally do this. It would be the final step in declaring independence from his self-appointed caretakers and mark the beginning of a new life for him since his tragic accident and coma five years before.

He was going to walk on his own. Without the aid of anyone else.

Legolas shifted the cane to his left hand and set its tip on the ground beside his feet. Taking a deep, calming breath to calm his rapidly beating heart, Legolas mustered his energy and then with one strong stove against the mattress, pushed himself up onto his feet. He wobbled dangerously for a moment, desperately trying to gain some semblance of balance on the thin supports of his legs. Over the many weeks of rehabilitation with the twins the elven prince had finally regained enough strength in his legs to be able to support his own weight, but he still needed Elrohir and Elladan there to help steady him between them. And now to suddenly try and stand on his own with only a thin third support to help steady him, Legolas was slightly panicked by the thought of losing his balance and crashing to the floor with no one else there to help him should that happen. But pride would not let him dwell on such possibilities, and so quickly pushed the thought from his mind. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by such thoughts anyhow. He needed all his attention for what he was trying to do now.

Desperately gripping his cane and willing his shaking legs to support his weight, Legolas slowly felt himself begin to steady and find a delicate equilibrium between his three legs. Drawing in a shaking breath, the elven prince glanced over towards the waiting chair on the other side of the room. It was perhaps thirty feet or more away. It was a distance, especially now that he stood facing the enormous gulf separating him from his goal on the other side of the room. The whole room seemed to have suddenly doubled in length from when he first decided to undertake this task from the relative comfort and safety of his bed. But he reminded himself that he had walked this course numerous times before, and that he could do so again. He just decided to ignore the fact that all those other times he had had Elrohir and Elladan there to help him in his endeavor.

Legolas could feel a thin sheet of sweat spring up over his skin from the physical exertion of just standing there and forcing his withered leg muscles to support his weight. His legs shook and quivered beneath him. His knees felt like they were filled with jelly, but he forced himself to not give into the weakness or pain that was slowly working itself up his calf muscles and thighs. He wasn’t going to give up now.

Willing himself to focus on the other side of the room, Legolas shakingly extended his cane a foot or so in front of him and then gingerly stepped up onto his left foot. He then slowly followed that with his right foot, all the while heavily leaning on the offered support of his walking stick and trailing his other hand along the side of the bed as an extra support. It was a strange and unnatural gait for Legolas to learn, but his left leg was still worse than his right and required the extra support of the cane as the elf limped along in the darkness like a wounded cripple. As Legolas moved past the end of his bed and into the open space of the room, he was finally forced to let go of his extra support and place all his trust in his own two legs and his only recently regained ability to walk.

Sweat was now pouring down his face and neck, soaking into his long nightshirt as he continued to hobble his way towards the other side of the room with only a cane to help support him. His whole body was now shaking with the effort it took to keep his legs moving under him. But Legolas did not seem to notice or care. All he could do was revel in the fact that he was walking. His steps were slow, shaky and arduous, but he was actually walking!

Somewhere in the back of Legolas’ mind he could hear Elrohir’s voice asking him to promise that he wasn’t going to try and walk on his own without someone else there. Legolas felt somewhat guilty for breaking his promise, but it was too late to do anything about that now. He wasn’t going to turn back.

The chair was now only about fifteen feet away.

Legolas could feel his leg muscles beginning to burn and scream in protest to the immense physical exertion he was forcing upon them. His breaths were now coming in short, desperate gasps. He could feel the all-too familiar build-up of pain and weakness that usually signaled the onset of an imminent collapse beginning to steadily grow behind his knees and in his calves, and immediately stopped. Though the elf tried to stop it, a strangled moan of pain escaped through his clenched teeth as he weakly doubled down over the top of his cane, heaving for breath. Both his legs felt like they had been set ablaze for all the fiery agony mercilessly screaming up and down every fiber and sinew of his aching limbs. Legolas could feel his strength and balance waver for a moment as yet another intense wave of pain coursed up through the length of his withered legs. The only thing he could really do to ride out the pain was to grip the head of his cane until he was sure its delicate design of twisting leaves and vines had been permanently imprinted into his palm. By some miracle though, the elven prince managed not to collapse and remain standing.

As Legolas waited for the angry fire in his legs to slowly die back down into a manageable throbbing burn, he slowly lifted his head and looked back up towards the other side of the room. The chair was now no more than ten feet away. It seemed so close yet so far away.

Driven by another surge of determination to reach his goal, Legolas gripped the head of his cane tighter and once again started his slow, lurching march. Left foot, then right. Left, then right. He was so close now! So close. Only a few feet away. But he was moving so slow! Every step seemed to take forever. Continuing to struggle and stagger ever forward on his rickety legs and cane, Legolas almost believed for moment he was never going to actually make it. Every step sent fireworks of pain shooting up though his already burning leg muscles. He was sure that if he didn’t reach the chair soon he was going to collapse. He could feel his knees beginning to weaken and turn to jelly beneath him.

But as the lame elf struggled to flounder those last few, seemingly endless feet standing between him and his goal, Legolas pushed one last surge of effort into his already screaming leg muscles and hurriedly closed the remaining distance in a falling, lurching stumble. With a great whoosh of air being knocked out of his lungs, Legolas collapsed face first into the waiting arm chair, heaving for breath. His cane slowly slipped from his hand and clattered to the floor beside him. Weakly kicking off the ground behind him and forcing his withered arms to lift himself up off the chair, Legolas somehow managed to turn himself around in the seat so that he could properly sit in it. Weak with pain and light-headed from exhaustion, Legolas let his head loll back against the tall back of the chair.

Eyes closed and skinny chest heaving for breath, the elven prince sat for several long minutes of silence trying to regain his strength. He could barely move he was so tired. He felt like his entire body had been drained of all its energy and left as nothing but an empty shell. But as tired as he was, that did not stop a weary smile from creeping up onto his face.

He did it. He walked the length of his room without the aid of anyone else. Legolas barely even felt the dull, aching throb of his legs anymore. All he could feel was the overwhelming sense of euphoria and satisfaction welling up inside him.

He did it... He could walk...

As Legolas sat there in the calm stillness of the night trying to recover his strength, he suddenly became aware of the cold draft seeping into his room through the nearby window. The soft breath of winter gently caressed his skin, setting a chill in his bones and freezing the shiny film of sweat still covering his exposed flesh to ice. Shivering, Legolas weakly reached up over his head and pulled a dark green blanket that had been draped over the back of the chair down over himself. Shaking it out and wrapping it around his boney shoulders, the elven prince once again settled back into his chair.

Now comfortably swaddled in the thick wool blanket to help ward off the drafty chill, Legolas leaned back in his seat. A pleasant melting sensation overcame the elf as he felt his body slowly relax and sink back into the soft velvety cushions of the chair. His eyelids suddenly felt like hundred pound weights, threatening to drift shut against his will.

He knew he should probably try and return to his bed before he accidentally fell asleep there in the chair, but he was just too tired to try and convince his weary body to move. Besides, even if he really wanted to, he doubted he would have been able to make it across the room again on his own. He had pushed his weakened body to the limit, and there was just no more left to give. Plus, he did not want to ruin this victory he achieved tonight by trying to walk again on his own and only manage to make it half way across the room before collapsing from exhaustion and then have to call for help. That thought alone was enough to prick at the elven prince’s stubborn pride and discouraged him from any such foolish actions.

This was but the first step in regaining the rest of his ability to walk, he told himself. This was just the beginning. He did it. He could walk on his own. It seemed somewhat strange after all he had done in his life that such a simple thing as walking across the room could hold such meaning to him. But it did. He could walk on his own. And that was all that mattered.

Smiling to himself again, Legolas leaned back in his chair with a weary sigh of contentment and nestled down into the warm folds of the blanket. Beyond the frost covered glass of the window beside him, snow lay fresh and heavy on the rooftops and streets of the sleeping city below, glistening brightly in the pale silver moonlight overhead. Sitting there looking out over this winter nightscape, Legolas was suddenly taken by how quiet and peaceful everything was. Like a mithril-laced dream suspended in time.

Legolas could feel his grip on reality slipping as the soft whisper of sleep gently lulled his weary mind and body ever closer towards the edge of consciousness where the waking world and ethereal nightscape of elven dreams blended and folded in on each other to form a dense and heavy fog. Weariness tugged at his mind and senses, slowly dragging the elven prince down into the deep and welcoming embrace of unconsciousness. Surrendering himself to the hazy darkness that seemed to slowly rise up to meet him, Legolas snuggled deeper into the dark green folds of blanket wrapped around his shoulders and gave another contented sigh.

This was but the first step in the final stage of his recovery. He was no longer some helpless invalid dependant on the help and sympathy of his friends, but rather the returning presence of the strong warrior prince that had almost been lost to darkness five years before.

Just before finally drifting off in the welcoming embrace of deep, restful sleep, one last thought happened to cross the elven prince’s mind, bringing a small, unbidden smile to his face. Elrohir was probably going to be furious with him for breaking his promise of not trying to walk on his own whenever he and his brother came to get him for breakfast the next morning and found him sleeping in the armchair. Oh well, Legolas mused with a fond smile warming his slackening face. It’s not like I’ve never had to endure one of their scoldings before...

And with that, the elven prince drifted off into deep, untroubled dreams far astray from the waking world he left behind.

But while peace came quickly to the blonde archer, somewhere in the inner circles of the city far below the sleeping Citadel, a shrill, piercing scream rent the still silence of the night. Its terrified echo slowly faded away into the night, unheard by human or elven ears. And though Legolas never heard this scream and continued to drift along the gentle stream of elven dreams unaware of the heinousness crime taking place somewhere far below, it would soon come to haunt and torture him with images of rape, murder, and madness.

******

“Hurry up, elf! We haven’t got all day!”

“Master Dwarf, if you do not learn to control that infamous lack of patience of yours, I will be forced to personally teach you the importance of a little self-control. And I assure you that such a thing will not be a pleasant experience on your part...”

Gimli merely grunted at this implied threat and folded his arms across his chest as he waited for Legolas to descend the last few steps of the grand staircase leading down from the upper levels of the palace to the main entrance hall of the Hall of Kings. Legolas moved slowly, taking only one step at a time. Gingerly lowering his right foot down, the elf then slowly shifted his weight down to join his left foot with his right on that same step, all the while maintaining a constant grip on the railing beside him with one hand and his cane with the other, before then moving to start the whole procedure over for the next step. It was a long and arduous process, but before too long, Legolas finally descended the last few steps and stepped down onto the hard marble tiles of the hallway floor.

“‘Bout time...” Gimli muttered under his breath purposefully loud enough for the elf to hear as Legolas slowly turned away from the bottom of the staircase and began walking over towards him.

The elven prince just threw a narrowed glare at Gimli in reply to the dwarf’s baited comment and swished his thick grey winter cloak behind him as he continued to slowly limp his way across the open hallway to his friend’s side with nothing to aid him in his quest except his long black walking stick. Though the elf walked with a noticeable limp on his left side and still required the use of his cane, Legolas was walking on his own. It had now been almost two weeks since Legolas’ first nighttime attempt at walking on his own. Though it had taken almost two months of physical therapy for Legolas to regain enough strength in his legs to try such a thing, the last two weeks had passed with unparalleled progress. He could now stand, walk, and move around the palace on his own, once again giving the elven prince the freedom and independence he so desperately needed.

Hobbling his way across the hallway with his cane softly tapping the ground ever second step, Legolas finally came to a stop beside his friend. Though Gimli could tell Legolas was still slightly winded from his trip down the stairs, the elf looked positively aglow with excitement. Today was going to be the first day in almost two months since Legolas’ awakening that he was going to actually leave the palace and venture out into the city. “Well, shall we be off?” he chirped, his anxiousness to leave evident in his eyes.

“Now just hold your horses, elf,” Gimli admonished in his usual gruff voice, “The city isn’t going to go anywhere without us. We don’t have to go running off just so we can go trudging around in the snow for hours on end.”

“But I thought you were just telling me to hurry up,” Legolas pointed out, smiling smugly when his observation was met with an indignant scowl from his bearded companion.

Shaking his head and muttering under his breath about elves and their strange, annoying ways, Gimli began to slowly walk beside the limping elf as the two of them once more started off towards the door of the large hallway. Though Gimli would have never admitted it to anyone even under pain of torture or death, he was overjoyed to see such youthful excitement and care-free happiness once again shining his friend’s bright blue eyes. Ever since waking out of his coma and discovering his new powers of second-sight, Legolas had grow quiet and reserved in personality. It was a rare occasion now to ever really see him smile or laugh. It was like some small, integral part of him that had always made up his unbreakable spirit had somehow been lost during the long years of his coma. But now to see Legolas acting so much like his old carefree self again made Gimli once again remember why he wasn’t going to ever give up hope on his friend.

As the unlikely pair of friends began to near the far end of the hallway, an excited, high-pitched squeal suddenly rang out behind them, halting both of them in their tracks.

“Leg’lass!!”

Turning around at the odd mispronunciation of his name, the elven prince’s face broke out into a wide grin as he spotted his caller. “Theomir!” he called back in answer as he awkwardly dropped down onto his left knee to meet the toddler running towards him down the hall in a huge, all encompassing embrace. “How have you been, my little one?” he cried as the young child finally reached him and flew into his outstretched arms, wrapping his tiny arms around the elf’s neck like a vice.

Before Legolas could get any answers directly from the child though, a strong sense of contentment suddenly washed through the elf’s mind and body, flashing a deep, calming blue in his eyes before then just as suddenly disappearing from his senses. Though Legolas still avoided physical contact with others for fear of experiencing another vision such as the one he had with Gimli and the Glittering Caves, he had learned that often times spurts of his psychic ability would come in only bright, colorful flashes of emotions in his mind. And although this was still a little too strange for the elf to get used to and allow other people to unnecessarily touch him, he was willing to subjecting himself to such a vision if only to feel at least some of that unconditional love from the Steward’s young son again like he had during their first encounter.

“Good,” the boy replied in answer to the elf’s previous question, still hugging Legolas’ neck tightly.

“That’s good,” Legolas smiled, trying not to notice the small little arms wrapped around his neck and slowly cutting off his air supply. “So tell me, where’s your mother or father? Surely they wouldn’t let you go running around the palace like this by yourself.”

Just at that moment from down the hall, as if in answer to the elf’s question, came the hurried footsteps of another person jogging towards them. “Theomir! What have I told you about running off like that?” the child’s father, the Steward of Gondor, Faramir admonished sternly as he finally reached the small group and looked down at his son who still stood with his little arms wrapped around the elven prince’ neck.

“It’s Leg’lass!” he exclaimed excitedly, looking back over his shoulder at his father as if that was the only explanation needed to explain why he had rushed off to greet the blonde elf.

“I’m really sorry about that,” Faramir said apologetically as he stooped down to extricate his son from the elf’s arms, “I guess he saw you down the hallway and wanted to come say hi...”

“It’s alright, really,” Legolas assured with a bright smile still warming his gaunt face, “It’s no problem at all. I always love seeing him.” Gripping the top of his cane, the elf awkwardly tried to pull himself back up onto his feet to stand. Faramir saw the prince struggle slightly to stand and went to offer a hand to help steady the prince, but was quickly waved off as Legolas finally managed to pull himself up and stand on his own power. He wavered for a moment, but almost immediately regained his center of balance before either Gimli or Faramir could see anything was amiss.

Faramir shifted his son over to one arm and gently settled the child in the crook of his elbow up against his chest. “So are you and Gimli off to go explore the city then?” he asked, noting the heavy winter cloak wrapped around the elf’s thin form.

“Yes. Gimli was going to show me some of the improvements he and the other dwarves have made on some of the gates of the city over the last couple years,” Legolas replied, “We should be out for most of the day.”

“That’s nice,” the man said with a nod, “Well, I shall let you two be off then. Theomir and I must be going. Eowyn will be looking for him soon. Say goodbye, Theomir,” he directed as he then turned to walk back into the main part of the palace.

“Bye, Leg’lass!” Theomir called back over Faramir’s shoulder from his father’s arms as the two of them continued down the hallway and finally disappeared from sight down one of the hallway’s many side passages.

Legolas stood smiling after the pair for several moments of reflective silence. He couldn’t quite explain it, but the two of them always made him feel happy. Perhaps it was the way Faramir always doted on his son. Although there seemed to be a social taboo for men of the aristocracy (or from any social class for that matter) to take much interest in their children except as the proliferation of their family lines, Faramir seemed to always go out of his way to spend time with his son, regardless of what others might think of him. Legolas suspected such love and devotion might somehow stem from Faramir’s own strained relationship with his father, Lord Denethor, and a wish not to repeat such a relationship with his own son.

“Well, elf, if you’re done just standing there, you ready to go?” a low voice beside Legolas rumbled, startling the elven prince out of his thoughts.

“Only if you are, Master Dwarf,” Legolas replied with a fond smile as he and Gimli both turned and slowly headed for the door that would lead them out into the city.

******

The crowded streets of Minas Tirith were a flurry of activity as people all dressed in warm winter cloaks and jackets went bustling about their daily business. The sound of women bartering for better prices on their daily groceries drifted along the air like whispers and snatches of song. Men stood in small, huddled groups along the snow-dusted street, exchanging news and bits of talk with one another as steamy trails of vapors rose up into the chilly morning air above them with every breath they took. Children ran about playing in the street, their shouts and laughter adding to the lively din of life and sound permeating the cool winter air. And while many of these local citizens continued to go about their daily business without taking much notice to any of the other activity going on around them, several happened to glance up from their activities and note the strange pair slowly strolling through their midst, seemingly unconcerned with the numerous glances they received.

And what an odd sight it was to behold indeed! An elf and dwarf casually walking down the street together as if it were the most normal thing in the world! But the unlikely pair of two members of two of the most vehemently opposed races in Middle-earth was not what actually caused many of the people’s curious stares.

It was the elf.

Most of the Firstborn the people of Gondor had become used to seeing in their city since the coronation of their king almost eight years before after the War of the Ring were fair and beautiful beings beyond all measure of grace and beauty. But the creature they beheld slowly walking down the street seemed to fall somewhat short of any of those descriptions. He was an elf without a doubt. His pointed ears and long, braided hair said as much. But that was where most of his race’s distinguishing characteristics ended.

The elf was painfully thin and gangly, as if he had been starved for some long period of time. He also walked with a pronounced limp on his left side which he used a cane to help offset and walk with. Besides this, there was also a stripe of pure white hair streaking the left side of the elf’s golden mane, as if someone had taken a paintbrush dipped in paint and run it down the length of his hair.

No one said anything to the elf and dwarf as they slowly passed by, or dared to outrightly stare at the elf for too long. For whenever some poor soul inadvertently did, he was almost immediately compelled to advert his eyes by the menacing glare sent his way by the stout little dwarf walking beside the elf.

As Gimli sent yet another young youth of Gondor scurrying for cover with a well placed glare, the dwarf had to stifle a chuckle. This walk through the city was proving much more entertaining than he had originally planned... He just wished they would all stop staring at Legolas. The poor elf had gone through enough without now having to be stared at like he was some kind of freak of nature. Sobered by these thoughts, the dwarf stole a quick glance up at his friend walking beside him.

Legolas, meanwhile, seemed totally ignorant of these unwelcome stares – or most likely choosing to ignore them. His eyes continued to scan from side to side, drinking in all the sights, sounds, and smells around him. It felt so strange walking through Minas Tirith again. Everything around him felt so different and strange, yet familiar all at the same time. It was rather a disconcerting feeling. A bakery stood at the end of the street, just like he always remembered. But when he glanced across the street expecting to see the local apothecary he always remembered being there, he was slightly taken aback to find it gone and replaced by some merchant establishment which seemed to specialize in the trade of foreign cloth. All these changes intermixed with everything else he once knew made the elf feel strangely disconnected and alone, like he was some kind of left over relic from the past that couldn’t quite seem to ever catch up with the present.

Gimli looked up into his friend’s face. Though he could not see any of Legolas’ inner turmoil of warring emotions or nostalgic memories, he did not fail to miss the slightly pained grimace etching the elf’s otherwise blank countenance or the thin sheet of sweat coating his friend’s forehead despite the cold winter breeze buffeting their faces as they continued to walk down the snow-dusted road. It was then that Gimli also noticed the elf’s straining gait. Legolas’ limp had at some point turned into a lurching hobble, his upper body now heavily leaning down over the offered support of his cane as if that was really the only thing keeping him up as he continued to push himself ahead. Legolas was now moving so slowly, Gimli had to slow down to almost a crawl to stay beside the limping elf.

Gimli wanted to kick himself for his inattentiveness. They had been walking the city for several hours now. And though Gimli knew his friend no longer possessed the same stamina or strength he once did, he didn’t once think about stopping to give the elf a short break. Fool elf...he mentally cursed. He could clearly see his friend was tired and in pain, and wanted to yell at him for not admitting this discomfort before and asking for a break. But Gimli knew such actions wouldn’t get him anywhere. Legolas was just too stubborn and full of pride to admit such weakness. Just as he’d always been...

Sighing fondly under his breath, Gimli abruptly stopped in the middle of the street, effectively bringing his friend to a halt beside him. He tried to pretend he didn’t see the pained wince that flashed across the elf’s weary face at the sudden stop, and said in his most casual tone, “Come on, elf. It’s starting to get cold. I know you might be able to go trotting around the city all day without taking a break, but I for one want a drink before we go any further.”

An unbidden smile of relief washed over Legolas’ gaunt face. Oh, thank Elbereth... What had only started off as a small, uncomfortable burning sensation in his legs had steadily escalated into all out pain for the northern wood-elf sometime during the last hour of their walk through the city. He was actually surprised they hadn’t already given out on him.“If that is what you so wish to do, then I am willing to oblige to your suggestion.” he replied, casually trying hard to keep his knees from starting to shake as he leaned down harder on his cane.

Gimli just nodded his head in reply, knowing full well the elf was still trying to hide his fatigue from him. “I know a tavern just down the way. Come on, it’s not that far.” With that, the two unlikely friends once more set off down the street, this time the dwarf making a conscious effort to walk extra slow to keep Legolas from having to push himself to keep up with him.

Staying true to his word, the tavern the dwarf led Legolas to was not far at all, and before too long the two friends stood before the door of the drinking establishment. “The Golden Goblet?” Legolas said, reading the slightly faded letters painted across the front of the weather-beaten sign hanging over the door. “I’ve never heard of it before.”

“It’s a good place. Good ale,” Gimli replied as he pushed the heavy wooden door inwards and stepped inside with the limping elf close behind him, “I discovered it a couple years back when I was repairing part of the third gate for Aragorn.”

Following the dwarf inside, Legolas had to momentarily let his eyes adjust to the darkened lightening before he could finally make out any of the tavern’s interior. It was a small, clean establishment from what Legolas could see. A long bar stood against the opposite wall from the door while numerous tables and chair filled the middle of the room, creating a sort of jumbled maze. Though it was hardly even midday, a good crowd of men already filled the place, sitting in small groups at several of the closely packed tables or in some of the darker corners of the room. It was somewhat darker and more confined than what Legolas probably would have preferred, but it was warm and the thought of finally being able to rest his aching legs held too much of an appeal for the tired elf to complain about the place.

Carefully weaving their way through the jumbled confusion of tables crowding the center of the room, Legolas and Gimli finally reached the far end of the bar which was more secluded and set back from the rest of the tavern’s patrons. As Gimli hefted himself up onto the tall bar stool, Legolas had to stifle a sigh of relief as he slowly slid onto the wooden seat beside him and felt the almost instantaneous ease of pressure off his aching legs.

“Good afternoon, Masters,” the bartender, an older portly man with thinning grey hair, jovially greeted them as he made his way over to the two and hastily wiped that section of counter off with a rag, “What can I get for you this fine day?”

“One pint of your finest ale,” Gimli answered.

“Just some light wine, thank you,” Legolas replied when the bartender than looked to him for his order.

“Aw, come on, elf! This is the first time you’ve been out of the palace in months. This is a day to celebrate! At least get something a little bit stronger than light wine,” the dwarf protested.

“Just some light wine, thank you,” Legolas repeated, gently smiling back at the bartender. The man hesitated for a moment longer as if waiting to see if the dwarf was going to try and convince his friend to get something stronger again before finally nodding and turning to disappear back down the bar to fill their orders.

A companionable silence descended over the pair as they were once more left to themselves, the soft background murmur of the tavern’s other patrons filling the quiet void. Letting the warmth of the bar’s nearby fireplace work its way down into his cold, weary body, Legolas had to stifle a small sigh of contentment. He could see why Gimli liked this place. Though somewhat small and dark, it was warm and comfortable. As the elf felt the last of the burning sting in his legs begin to fade away and be replaced with a deep, overwhelming sense of warmth and companionship, Legolas finally turned to address him friend. What he saw though when he glanced over at the dwarf quietly sitting beside him immediately banished any compliments he might have been thinking to give the dwarf for his choice of tavern from his mind.

Gimli sat leaning slightly forward on his stool with his thick, muscular arms folded up over the bar, staring down at the counter with a distant smile on his face and soft, unreadable look in his eyes.

“What? What is it?” Legolas immediately inquired, curious as to what could make his friend slip into such quiet reflection.

“You, elf...” the dwarf replied with a soft chuckle as he slowly raised his eyes from the counter and looked back up at the elven prince, “You never change. Even after all this time, you still refuse to try any other drink except that blasted wine all you elves seem so fond of...” Legolas immediately knew by Gimli’s soft, almost sentimental tone that his drinking preferences were not the actual focus of the dwarf’s affectionate musing.

Before he could inquire about this though, the bartender returned at that moment with their drinks. The man set the tankard of ale and glass of wine he carried down in front of them and then left almost as quickly as he appeared after first collecting several coins from Gimli as payment for their drinks. Legolas took only a tentative sip of his wine as he waited for the dwarf to finish a long draft of ale and continue speaking.

Finally setting his mug back down on the bar and wiping the back of his hand across mouth, the dwarf seemed to revert back into himself as he once stared down at the counter with a soft, distant look in his eyes.

“Gimli?” Legolas called tentatively, starting to become slightly worried by the dwarf’s odd behavior.

Responding to his name, the dwarf slowly looked back up at Legolas and held the elf’s soft, questioning gaze. “I really missed you, elf,” he finally said, a timid, embarrassed smile slowly forming across his ruddy face, “I might have never said it before or ever come right out and say it again, but I really missed you all these years. I never really knew how much you came to grow on me until after your accident and we all started to believe you weren’t ever going to wake up again.” The dwarf paused for a minute, timidly lowering his eyes back down into his half-filled mug of ale. “Just so you never doubt it, elf, your friendship is worth more to me than all the gold in Middle-earth, and that when you were in that accident and wouldn’t wake up even several months after it happened, I thought I had lost some part of myself. Just know that, elf...” Without looking back up at Legolas, Gimli then casually picked his mug back up and took another swig of ale as if no such confession of friendship had ever just taken place.

Legolas sat for a long minute of stunned silence, running this over in his head. Though he had never doubted his bond with Gimli before, his mind still felt partially frozen with shock at hearing the dwarf’s unforseen, heart-felt admission of friendship. Such honesty concerning their unlikely friendship was something neither of them had ever spoken of before or ever formally acknowledged. It had always just kind of...been. Just a fact that never needed to be spoken or stated to know it existed.

As if in following with their old, well established pattern of indifferent acceptance of their strange friendship, Gimli did not wait to see what the elf’s reaction would be or even seem to expect an answer from Legolas. He just quietly sat there, casually sipping at his drink and staring ahead as if nothing had just passed between them, or that five long years had passed since the last time the two of them had gone out for drinks together like this.

Legolas couldn’t help but smile down into his own drink. Although some things in this world changed, he thought to himself, it seemed some things just never would. And it was because of this he was glad that he had friends like the one that sat beside him. He knew Gimli would probably never admit such a thing to him ever again, but he didn’t need him to. For he knew how deep their bond went, no matter if they spoke of it to each other or not. It was there.

Shaking his head with a smile, Legolas went back to sipping his wine, feeling the comforting warmth of hope and friendship spread through his body and surround him. Yes, it was because of friends like Gimli and Aragorn that gave him the strength to go on, even after everything he had gone through and suffered since waking out of his five year coma.

Falling back into companionable silence, the two friends continued to quietly sip at their drinks, happy to just be able to enjoy the simple pleasure of the other’s presence.

Their quiet moment together however was quickly broken when the door to the tavern suddenly flew inward and banged back against the wall, letting in a small flurry of icy wind and kicked up snow from the street outside. Several unhappy shouts rang out around the room from some of the bar’s numerous patrons as the sudden chilly draft swept through the place. The young man that stood in the doorway though seemed to take no notice of the disgruntled shouts and hurriedly looked around the darkened tavern as if in search of someone. His eyes looked frantic and cheeks brightly flushed as though he had been running through the cold for quite some times now.

Legolas and Gimli were almost ready to turn back to their drinks again when the young man’s eyes finally happened to fall on them sitting in the far corner of the room. “Lord Legolas and Gimli!” he cried out in something like relief as he spotted the two and hurriedly began weaving his way through the twisting obstacle course of tables and chairs towards the elven prince and dwarf.

Legolas and Gimli both shared slightly uneasy glances with one another as they watched the young man finally break free from the jumbled confusion of tables and all but run up to them.

“My lords...” he panted heavily, desperately trying to catch his breath.

“Just calm down there, lad, and tell us what’s wrong,” Gimli directed, calmly setting his tankard of ale aside to wait for the boy to catch his breath.

“My lords...” the boy started again, this time a little more coherently, “Lord Elessar just sent me to find you. He told me he requests your immediate presence in the House of Healing.”

Legolas and Gimli instantly tensed in their seats. “Why? What’s happened?” Legolas demanded, rising half way out of his seat at the urgent tone he heard tainting the young man’s voice.

The messenger’s face visibly paled several shades before finally answering the elf in a low, ominous voice. “There has been a murder...”

******

To Be Continued...

******

Like it? Hate it? Tell me! I love hearing what you think!

*Gasp* Oh no! What could this new development mean? Could it mean that LAXgirl is finally going to get to the actually plot of the story?! Praise and glory to the Valar, I think it does! Ha ha. Sorry, got a little carried away there... *ahem* Anyway, yes, I am finally getting to the main plot of the story. Excited, aren’t you? I sure am.

Before I go, I just wanted to ask if anyone noticed any (possibly foreshadowing?) significance of the name of the tavern Legolas and Gimli went into. Anyone? Yes? No? Hmm... maybe it was too long ago for you to remember... Well, here, I’ll give you a hint: the name first came up all the way back in chapter three in the scene with the first girl’s murder. Does anyone remember now? Ah, that’s ok if you don’t... It’s not really that essential for the plot. Only an extra little tie in.

Well, till next time!