CHAPTER 2: A MEETING OF OLD FRIENDS

The day after the banquet found the hobbits once again gathered under a tree, sitting on a large blanket and relishing a hearty second breakfast. In the few days they had been in the White City, they had surprised and baffled the cooks of Arwen’s royal kitchen, who simply could not understand how hobbits who were hardly bigger than their young children could consume two breakfasts, elevenses, an enormous lunch, tea, supper and various in-between-meal snacks. The Queen’s chief cook had to shake his head over the amount of food this particular group of guests was able to polish off in a remarkably short amount of time, and there had also been a sudden great demand for mushrooms, which kept the kitchen staff and their errand boys busy outdoors.

In addition, there was a sudden large order for the City’s finest ales, and there was no doubt among the City’s barkeepers whom the supply was for; after all, the reputation of the Shire’s Green Dragon had spread south to Rohan and the White City, and a number of the folk from both those areas – including the Dwarf Lord of the Glittering Caves – were now here for the celebrations honoring King Elessar. Indeed, one of those folk was now enjoying a mug of the City’s finest.  

“It’s almost as good as the beer in the Green Dragon, eh, Pip?” Merry declared, clapping his hand on the shoulder of his cousin Pippin and causing the latter to splutter on the ale he was drinking.

“Hoy, steady on, Merry! Can’t a hobbit drink in peace?” the latter protested, wiping the froth that had dribbled on to his chin.

“You should have slapped him harder,” said Samwise Gamgee to Merry, before cocking an eyebrow at Pippin. “It’s much too early in the day to be drinking that stuff.”

“Never you mind how early or late it is,” the younger one retorted. “This is good brew, and I can hold it.”

Merry gave a loud snort and chuckle, clearly debating the claim. “Oh, really, Pip?” he challenged. “I bet you’ll be walking a jagged path before – ”

“Now, leave him be, you two,” cooed Rosie, smiling at Merry and her husband. “As long as he doesn’t start making a fool of us.”

“Now there is a smart woman, Sam,” Pippin said smugly. “She still knows how to have fun even though she’s the wife of a Mayor!” 

“That’s right, Sam,” Rosie said, maintaining her sweet smile. “As long as the only fool he makes is of himself – why harass him?”

Pippin began to nod smugly before he realized how cleverly Rosie had created a false sense of support, and Merry guffawed at the glare the younger hobbit then gave the wife of Mayor Gamgee. Pippin’s wife of one year giggled shyly, amused at what was going on but not wishing to appear partial to those who had embarrassed her husband.

“Oh, why can’t you just learn to put your legs up and unwind from being parents?” Pippin groaned. “The little ones are being taken care of, we’re in a peaceful place – ” 

“When you and Diamond have a little one, Pip, you’ll understand,” Sam said with a long-suffering look on his face, missing the blush that colored the cheeks of the young wife. “You have to set an example – ”

“Noooo, not one of your ‘talks’ now, Sam,” the younger hobbit protested. “Let’s have a good time. All our friends are here – ”

“And here comes one now!” Merry announced, looking in the direction of a stout dwarven figure striding towards them. Beside him, radiant as the sun and light as the late spring breeze, walked Legolas, and not far behind them came the King of Rohan with his yellow hair, flanked by the tall, dark-haired sons of Elrond. Merry sprang to his feet at the approach of the Horse Lord, remembering his allegiance to Rohan, but Éomer immediately motioned for him to be at ease.

“We are friends here, Master Merry,” the Rohirric king assured him, and the hobbit’s head of brown curls bobbed in compliance before they both lowered themselves on to the grass with the others.

“Well, is there any left for me?” Gimli’s gruff voice demanded jovially and expectantly, and broad grins appeared on the faces of the hobbits. Soon the old friends and acquaintances from Rohan, Rivendell, the Greenwood and the Shire were once again exchanging news and stories amidst much teasing, mirth, and mugs of ale. Elladan and Elrohir found in Merry and Pippin the same effervescence and zest they had seen in their father’s old friend Bilbo, who had always been a welcome guest at Imladris, and the twin elves honored that memory by indulging the young hobbits’ passion, listening diligently to their ardent declarations about the wholesome taste of ale.

It was a heartwarming scene, this reunion of several races from different parts of Middle-earth: a blend of various colors on a single canvas, complementing each other to paint a picture of peace against the green of spring and clear blue skies above a free Gondor.

But Sam, sitting a little away from the noisy group, watched it with a mixture of gladness and a little sadness. He quickly wiped away a small tear that had somehow gathered at the corner of his eye, just moments before a soft, fair voice reached his ears:

“They will always be with us, Sam,” it said, and the hobbit turned around to see the golden elf seat himself gracefully at his side, with a comforting look in his eyes.

“Aye, Legolas, that they are,” the hobbit replied gratefully, “though I miss them proper.”

The elf looked at him and smiled in understanding. “So do we all, my friend,” he said, “and it helps to remember that they are at peace.” He turned his eyes back to the group, studying them fondly. “We still have each other.”

Elf and hobbit sat in silence for a while, both recalling the quiet gathering of the remaining members of the Fellowship in Aragorn’s private chambers the night before, when the festivity of the banquet had subsided, and what remained was the serenity of easy companionship:

“My friends,” the King of Gondor said, his grey eyes looking at the three hobbits, dwarf and elf in turn as they sat in comfortable chairs in a rough circle. “Nothing gives me greater pleasure than to have you here at this tenth-year celebration of Sauron’s end and Gondor’s rebirth, which we helped to bring about through much sacrifice.” Aragorn received reflective smiles in response. “It has also been ten years since we were all gathered like this, and the years seem to have treated you well.”

“As they have you, Strider,” Sam replied, lapsing into the use of the familiar name by which they had first known Aragorn. “Gondor looks in fine shape.”

“And you look as if you had never lived in the wilds!” Pippin chimed in, drawing chuckles from the others.

Merry, however, threw his cousin an exasperated glance. “What he means to say – when he is not tripping over his tongue – is that the years sit kindly on you, Aragorn. You look fine.”

No one saw the slight frown that flitted across Legolas’ face at those words, least of all Aragorn, who merely grinned at them.

“Thank you, Masters Meriadoc and Peregrin,” the King said graciously, “and may I say the same of you.”

“Of course, Legolas does not look a day older,” Pippin continued in his easy manner, “and the Cave air must be agreeing with Gimli as well – look at his generous middle!”

Leaping out of his chair, the owner of the generous middle issued a roar and an observation about a “pipsqueak no taller than one’s chest” that heralded a debate between dwarf and hobbit about the former’s girth and the latter’s height, or lack thereof. The debate provided much amusement for everyone else, who happily fueled it with well-timed remarks.

But long minutes after, when the laughter had subsided into soft chuckling, and the banter had tapered off, Aragorn turned pensive again, a quiet smile gracing his lips.

“I have missed your companionship,” he said, fingering his glass of wine. “I drink to your good health, and no less do my thoughts dwell on the others… on those who are not with us tonight.”

“Aye, and may they remember us too,” Gimli added, raising his glass of wine as the others did theirs, and receiving nods in return.

All speech halted, and for some minutes after, they remained in bittersweet reminiscence as noiseless as the gentle flicker of flames from torches standing as silent witnesses upon the walls. There was not a hint of chatter even from the talkative Pippin as their memories retraced paths they had trod on together and separately on the Quest, their thoughts often straying to Frodo and Gandalf – and even to Boromir, for he too, had been part of them for a while, and had died as one of the Fellowship. The memories left them with soft smiles and not a dry eye among them

“Aye…I hope they remember us,” Gimli repeated, “wherever they may be.”

“They are in a better place,” Aragorn said almost under his breath, keeping his eyes on the lush carpet beneath their feet and missing the knitting of fine eyebrows in response to his words. 

“Perhaps,” came the soft elvish voice to his right, “but only at some point.”

Aragorn looked up to see a pair of blue eyes trained on him, startling in their intensity, but before he could seek clarification, Merry piped up.

“Well, I know Frodo would have liked to be at Pip’s wedding,” he said brightly, returning cheer to the little gathering, “especially if he were to know what happened after, in the bedroo – ow! That hurt, Pip!”

“What? What happened after? What did I miss?” the dwarf sat up eagerly as Merry evaded a second punch in the arm from his cousin and Sam chuckled. “I knew I should have stayed a few more days, but this dratted elf here was in a hurry to return,” he grumbled, throwing Legolas a glance.

Legolas raised his eyebrows as Aragorn grinned. “As I recall,” the elf said patiently, “it was a certain dwarf who insisted on making the journey back with me. I had no fetters on you, nor a leash around your neck.”

The dwarf muttered something about trusting an elf to have an answer to everything, before turning his attention back to the hobbits and demanding a recount of what he had missed. Soon, the room was filled with chatter again, and the exchange of much news, and the guards standing alert outside the closed doors of the King’s chambers heard the laughing tones of various voices: gruff, fair, bubbly, deep… but all filled with warmth for a fellowship long missed.

The same kind of warm laughter from the company under the trees floated across to the elf and hobbit now, and not for the first time, Legolas wished that the King of Gondor could be here with them, instead of being closeted behind stone walls with his Councilors. Perhaps today’s meeting would be shorter, he thought, and perhaps he would soon hear the man stride over and call to them.

“Legolas…”

The voice broke into the elf’s thoughts, and he turned to see not Aragorn, but Sam studying him. The hobbit was fidgeting, his stubby but nimble fingers plucking at blades of grass, as if he had something to say but did not quite know how to start. Legolas waited, but the Mayor of Hobbiton seemed no closer to giving voice to his thoughts.  

“Yes, Sam?” Legolas prompted when the hobbit cleared his throat for the fourth time. “There is something you wish to say…?”

Looking uncomfortable, the hobbit shifted his position on the grass and rubbed a finger across the bottom of his nose, but before he could resume speech, a fair voice reached their ears.

“Bridhon nin?”

Sam swung around to see the tall elf brown-haired Hamille standing a respectful distance away.

“Bridhon nin,” he addressed his prince again. “We are ready to leave. Prince Imrahil awaits you.”

Legolas nodded and rose to his feet in one smooth, swift movement, but he threw Sam a questioning look, the unvoiced query on his lips.

Sam hesitated a second before he waved his hand and smiled reassuringly. “Aah, it can wait,” he said nonchalantly.

The elf prince did not appear too convinced by Sam’s light tone, but replied: “Anytime, Sam.” As he turned to go, he was stopped by Sam’s question.

“Where are you off to, Master Elf, if I may ask?”

Legolas gave the hobbit a cryptic smile, his eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “Of course you may ask,” he replied, “but there is another who should be giving you the news.” He gave Sam a quick nod and waved to the rest of the group before leaving with Hamille.  

Sam’s round eyes followed the two figures and their graceful strides for a while before returning to the cheerful group under the trees, hoping that Elladan and Elrohir might be able to tell him what Legolas would not, but they were either truly ignorant of the elf prince’s plans, or were just as tight-lipped. Frustrated by his efforts, Sam shook his head and mumbled: “Elves! It would be easier to squeeze juice out of stone.”

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Long evening shadows stretched across the grass later that day, much as the long legs of the King of Gondor extended from the seat of a wooden bench near the stables, on which he sat awaiting his friend’s return. It was not often that he had a quiet hour to himself, but Arwen was resting before dinner, Faramir was with his own family, and as far as he knew, Gimli and the hobbits were again attempting to teach his foster brothers about the incomparable pleasures to be derived from a mug of finely brewed ale. He felt a little sorry for the twins, and he would rescue them later, but at the moment, he was more than content to sit in solitude till Legolas returned from his errand. Guards hovered at a discreet distance, knowing how much their king needed this respite.

Aragorn’s thoughts strayed for a while to the City folk in the lower levels, who he knew would be concluding their businesses and preparing for the close of another day. Eventually, his thoughts strayed even further, and then the only sounds that played on the borders of his consciousness were the easy chatter of the stable lads, an occasional snort of a horse, the faint clip of shears, the thump of a distant hammer, and the sweet chirping of starlings.

All of a sudden, a feeling of restiveness welled in him, coming from nowhere to flood through him, making him strangely nervous. Aragorn shifted on his seat, and he rested one elbow on an arm of the bench and rubbed his right temple with two fingers. For a moment, he wondered what had brought on this disturbing sensation… and his mind wandered back to the conversation he had had with Legolas the night before, after the rest of the Fellowship had left his chambers: 

As the group filed out the door to rejoin their families, and Gimli and the hobbits talked about lighting up some pipeweed in the mild night air before bed, Legolas held Aragorn back with a light touch on his elbow. The King gave his friend a questioning look as they walked a little way back into the room. 

Turning to face the man, Legolas asked quietly so that the guards would not hear them: “Does something ail you, Aragorn?”

The King started, and an immediate denial hung on the edge of his tongue, but when he saw the elven eyes holding his own, studying the slight shadows that he knew were under his eyes, he sighed and smiled wryly; the elf knew him too well. “Is it obvious?” he asked, turning away.

Legolas stopped him again with a hand on his shoulder. “Nay,” he said, “but where the eye fails to see, the heart can perceive much.” He gripped his friend’s shoulder before releasing it. “I have noticed these shadows for a few days now. What is wrong, mellon nin?”

Aragorn brushed a hand through his hair: a habit that always brought a smile to those closest to him, as it did to Legolas now, despite his concern.

“I don’t rightly know, Legolas,” the King replied. “My sleep has been restless of late. But beyond that, nothing is amiss.”

Legolas’ brows narrowed. “Restless? How so?”

“Just… my sleep is fitful.” A pause followed before Aragorn added: “I wake up feeling… disturbed.”

The elf hesitated before asking. “Dreams, Aragorn? Nightmares?”

“Not exactly… merely a vague feeling of uneasiness.” 

“How long?”

“A week before the celebrations began.”

“Arwen knows, of course.”

Aragorn grinned. “How could she not notice? But I would not have her worry; the little one she carries already tires her.” His eyes softened at the thought. “I have cited exhaustion as the reason for my own…um…discomfort.”

“But it is not?” 

The King shook his head. “As I said, I do not know the cause, but exhaustion would be the easiest thing to blame, would it not?” He laughed lightly and looked at the elf, not liking the anxiety he saw on the fair face. “There is no need for undue worry, Legolas. It is most likely a passing ailment.”

The elf was hardly convinced, but there did not seem anything he could do at the moment. “You will tell us if it worsens, Aragorn?” he demanded gently.

The King nodded and promised: “I will.”

Aragorn smiled wryly at the memory of the conversation.

Little escaped Legolas’ scrutiny, and the man knew that the elf did not for an instant accept exhaustion as the reason for his strange malady. Still – there was truly nothing he could tell his elven friend that he had not already revealed last night. And this was, he hoped, but a passing disorder.

Thinking back to the conversations of the previous night reminded Aragorn of a question he himself had for the elf, but the sound of horses brought Aragorn back to the present, and he looked up to see the golden-haired elf and Hamille riding into the stable grounds. The elf looked pleasantly surprised to see Aragorn, presumably awaiting his return. After dismounting and whispering to his fiery stallion, the elf handed the animal over to Hamille and walked towards the King.

“How did it go, Legolas?” the man asked, smiling, as his friend approached him, his face a little flushed and his long hair lifting in the evening breeze.

“It is ready and waiting for you, my lord,” the elf quipped, returning the smile and not expecting the frown that immediately formed on Aragorn’s face. 

“Not even in jest, Elf,” the man chastised gently, remembering the last time the elf had used the term in less than pleasant circumstances.

The elf drew in a breath and grimaced. “Forgive me, Estel,” he said apologetically. “That was thoughtless.”

Easy, Aragorn, the man told himself immediately, as he smiled reassuringly. “Nay, Legolas, it was not. It is merely my own quirky mood at work,” he said dismissively, then changed the subject quickly. “Imrahil – he has ridden ahead?”

“Aye,” came the reply from the elf, who moved to sit on the bench next to his friend. “All will be ready when we arrive.”

Aragorn nodded in approval and looked at the flushed face of his friend, remembering the question he wished to ask him. He glanced briefly at his guards and decided to speak in Sindarin so that they would not understand the conversation.

“Legolas… what did you mean last night?” the King queried suddenly, fixing his steely grey eyes on the elf and catching him unawares. When Legolas showed incomprehension, the man added: “Last night, when I mentioned the Undying Lands, and you said that… that…” Aragorn waved his hand absently.

“That it may be a better place, but only at some point?” the elf finished, understanding Aragorn’s question now.

“Yes,” said the man. “What did you mean?”

Legolas smiled and shook his head. “It was nothing important,” he replied.

“Elf, you know me better than to think I will not keep hounding you till you tell me…”

The man kept his eyes on his companion so unyieldingly that the elf snorted lightly and gave him a teasing glare. “I would have thought you would know.”

Aragorn cocked an eyebrow and leaned back without looking away. “Enlighten me then. Do the Firstborn view Valinor differently? Why would it a better place only at some point?”

The elf sighed and cast his eyes downward to the green grass around their feet. “What I meant, Estel, was that… some day… some day…the Lands would be a better place to go to,” he said quietly. “But till that day… my own place is here with you.”  Lifting his head to face the man squarely, he finished: “And till that day, Estel – there is no better place to be.”

Aragorn swallowed, feeling foolish. He saw the open sincerity in the blue eyes that accompanied the simple, heartfelt words, and he thought that indeed, he should have understood what the elf meant. He should not have had to ask.

But this he did know now, without a doubt: here, with this elf, with this friend, was a fellowship that would last far, far longer than ten years.

He smiled gratefully at his companion, speechless, and before he could say anything else, Legolas stood abruptly, grinning.  “Now, if you do not mind, Aragorn, I would welcome a hot bath before dinner!” the elf declared.

As the King rose to accompany him back to the Citadel, the elf’s eyes glittered and he added: “And you will have the honor of breaking the news to the others then. Rest well tonight, my friend, for tomorrow, a ship will greet her Captain on her maiden voyage to Dol Amroth.”

That night – perhaps because of the exciting prospect of sailing his own ship, or perhaps he was comforted by the warm presence of old friends – Aragorn’s sleep was more pleasant than it had been in a week.

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But for the Twice Forgotten awaiting the coming of the King – there would be no rest at all.

Note: Anyone who's not familiar with the other time Legolas called Aragorn "my lord" and is interested in finding out, please refer to Chapters 10 and 24 of my other story.