A/N: My sincerest appreciation to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter for me.

The Hunting Trip
Chapter 47: First Steps

“Legolas, awake,” the voice quietly urged. “Awake my friend. You have wasted enough time in sleep.”

The voice was very distant, as far away as the sound of the river. The water was pleasant and calming, and he drifted lightly upon it. His body languished in torpor, hesitant to leave the gentle comfort of this sweet rest.

“Open your eyes, lazy Elf. Wake and you will find the world is a better place for it.” But Legolas truly had no desire to open his eyes. It felt so much better to be still and lay in an easy recline. His dreams had been such a happy place, memories of times and friends gone but still loved. He would rather reach out, put his heart into that joy, than to face the nightmares of what lay beyond it. “Let me be,” he mumbled turning his head away from the voice of the intruder, as if that might block it out.

But the voice would not give reprieve, though it was kind in the tone it used to woo him. “There is good news for you,” the other said as enticement.

Legolas would not be moved. He did not care to know anything beyond, for he felt sure some dread awaited him in waking thoughts.

However, the longer he lay there, balanced between sleep and cognizance, the more he recalled of the world beyond dreams. Little could he think of to offer him incentive to venture into that desolate reality, good news or not. Dreams. Dreams were the place he chose. They meshed so nicely with the sound of the rushing water. The water carried him, and with it he could float so far away. . .

“Awake, Legolas! Now!” The voice was no longer so kind. “You have slept long, and the results are to be seen. Open your eyes now, Elf, and witness what has come.”

That scolding sound rankled him. He did not like being ordered away from something so personal. There was something of a dull pressure that grew within him the more he was urged. But because he knew there would be no relief if he did not cooperate with the prodding voice, Legolas made the attempt to open his eyes.

His lids felt as if they had been glued shut, and they opened as meager slits. The brightness all about him made him wince. He would not choose to open his eyes further, but a shadow loomed before him, effectively blocking the light and making it more comfortable to proceed.

A blurry world met his squinting eyes. Haloed spikes flared about the form before him. He blinked, trying to clear the haze of his vision as he turned his head to the side. His head ached a dull throb. In fact, everything ached. He closed his eyes again, rejecting the effort it took to comply with just this small task.

“No, friend. You shall not be rid of me so easily. I may take pity on you and let you lapse back into dreams soon enough, but not before you hear me out,” the other said, and Legolas thought he might know that voice.

It was vaguely familiar, perhaps more than that. “For what benefit –“ he coughed. His throat was parched and his voice sounded as a husky whisper. “For what benefit must I wake?” he asked, irritation lining his voice.

“You arise in a cranky mood, I see,” the voice laughed as a cool cup was placed to his lips. There was liquid within, and as Legolas’ head was lifted he greedily drank it, finding comfort in the relief to his sore throat.

But that was not enough to appease him. “Just leave me,” Legolas begged, longing only to fall back into the comfort of his rest. Nothing hurt there and it was so easy to forget all that had been done to him. And then there was the sound of the water. Why did he feel he might be empty if his mind focused elsewhere and not on that?

“I will not, Legolas. Now stop being so tiresome with this tedious refusal to do something so simple. Look at me!” the voice demanded.

The other was right. He knew this. It was not of his nature to wallow in dreams, and Legolas felt shame for this weakness. He forced himself to wake. “Your voice grates on my ears. Could you not have sent Arwen for this task instead . . . Aragorn?” the Elf replied in short gulps of meager voice. He realized as he spoke that he knew the speaker. He then groaned with an ache in his head.

The change in Aragorn’s voice showed sudden concern. “What hurts you, Legolas? Give me but a moment and I will give you a tonic that might ease you.”

“Stay away from me with your potions!” Legolas cried, realizing his mistake in showing his pain. He hated to show weakness, and he hated to be ill. In fact he hated to be doted upon such as he was now. He again opened his eyes. This time much of the fog and flaring light had cleared and Legolas was able to make out the features of his friend. He sighed. “Could I not just sleep?” he pleaded.

“And therein lies the problem,” proclaimed a deeper, gruffer voice.

“I see no problem in rest, Dwarf,” Legolas replied gruffly, immediately recognizing Gimli’s voice as he turned his head to face his friend. The irritation in his voice made the words clipped. “My body apparently needs it,” he said with more calm, finding this a plausible argument to disarm the urgency of Aragorn’s and Gimli’s insistence that he awake. His eyes watered and his lids felt very heavy. Legolas truly did feel quite tired and his dreams were still fresh in his mind.

“It is one thing to have dreams, Legolas. It is another to live in them,” the Dwarf grumbled, and Legolas felt annoyance at being reprimanded when he felt in no mood for even holding conversation.

“Why do you bother me, Dwarf?” the Elf replied flatly, meaning nothing with the empty words. It was the best he could offer of a response, and he shut his eyes again, wondering what else his two friends might want of him.

Gimli just laughed, and this only served to irk Legolas further. “It was Aragorn’s choice to do so, Elf,” he snorted as if in jest.

A bright laugh punctuated the subsequent reply, and Legolas directed his eyes to the man. “Nay, ‘tis not true. It was Gimli’s desire. I merely went along with him on this endeavor,” Aragorn replied.

Legolas paused and sighed. Why were they disturbing him? To partake in something that amused only them? He looked upon them both in turn. There was a twinkle of glee in the king’s eye as he attempted to jest with the Dwarf. Something in Gimli showed Legolas a bit of wry merriment returned. It was a conspiratorial friendship though the stout creature shook his head as if in disbelief, keeping their ruse.

“You know well that is not correct. I simply pointed out –“

Legolas huffed with exasperation. He was done with their nonsense and he allowed his mind to drift away, no longer caring what they might want.

“Legolas!” Gimli interrupted.

The Elf winced, his eyes coming open to the harsh sound. “Do not yell at me, Dwarf!” He took a breath, trying to push back his irritation. His nerves were frayed, on edge for no reason that he could pinpoint. He felt as if they might teeter over on the precipice of turbulent thoughts at any moment, and all for this small jeering on the part of his friends.

“You would do better to remain alert now,” Aragorn said, his gaze directed with tighter scrutiny on the Elf. Then leaning in closer, a large smile spread over his face. Aragorn exulted with satisfaction, “You have escaped into dreams long enough and it is time to face reality. You moved your legs, my friend! In your sleep you did it! You moved them!”

At first all Legolas could do was gape. He was unsure of what the man spoke, and this made Legolas feel as if he were not a part of whatever game the other two played. His head hurt with the ache of a pressing migraine. Beyond that, his body felt empty and sick in the dawning of his awakening, and still Legolas wished to drift away on the whisper of his mind’s beckoning. Something called to him. There was a peace in his mind he would rather go to, and the effort being put on him to stay in this reality was vexing.

But a moment later the full of his memory returned to him, and Legolas suddenly realized where he was and how he was laid and why his entire body hurt. All of it. “What--?” he began, pushing his body to sit up, elbows propping him that he might glance down at his legs.

Too fast! He realized it a moment later. He had sat up too fast and now he paid the price of his spontaneous move! His head spun in a dizzying vortex as nausea cramped his stomach. He felt heated and chilled simultaneously, and for a moment he could make no sense of the world.

He found a cool cloth running over his face and Aragorn’s hand at his chest. “You must ease into this, friend. You may have moved your legs, but I do not think it would be wise of you to move anything else very soon until you have acclimated to a new position,” Aragorn said, his eyes wary, but a gentle smile telling Legolas that he would yet survive this incident.

Legolas ignored him, feeling humiliated for his brazen impetuousness and subsequent show of weakness. That played on his nerves, causing a subtle melancholy to press upon him. But he tried to ignore this too as he began prodding his legs. Indeed there was feeling in his limbs, albeit dim. It felt as it had when he had found his legs returned inside the gypsy camp. Tingling and almost numb.

Memories of his captivity haunted him then. The oppressing feeling of darkness and claustrophobia returned. His loss of freedom and movement were resident to his memories and the struggle to find movement vexed his soul. Never before had the Elf been given so little reign over his movements had he had in the camp, and like a flashback, he recalled all of that horror again. It had felt like agony to be so confined, trapped in one place, held to someone else’s whims and made a victim to death because he could not break free of the trap. He had been a hostage of wants and desires not of his choosing, and those recollections sent severe anxiety into the core of his soul, riling the sadness into something more.

He gulped on air then. Legolas knew he should find joy in the news Aragorn had delivered, but he could not muster it. He was disappointed. Deeply upset. Like the captive he had been, he felt little freedom in this discovery. Nothing had changed. He was still trapped, held down, mired in a dark reality. He had been inadequate at finding freedom before, and it carried forward now. His happiness was constrained.

The sea’s voice called him then, yet he ignored it.

“Do not forsake your soul to Mandos, Legolas.” He recalled the voices calling to him, the pleas bidding he stay. He had not given in to death. He had remained, his faith following their desires instead of going where his agony was lessened. He had done what was asked of him. And here were the results of his efforts. Faulty limbs. A numbed existence. His remorse grabbed him in a chokehold as this disappointment became a crushing weight.

His expression must have said much, for he saw the smile Aragorn had shared with Gimli quickly fade. “It is good news, is it not? It is a first step. It means you will be fully recovered soon. You may resume your life again. Are you not happy?”

I must find my strength. I should want this. Where is my strength?

The sea’s call droned on.

His throat constricted with the hurt to his soul. It was immense. It was crushing and again he was reminded this seemed an extreme drop in his mood. Still, he could not seem to control what played through his mind. It was all he could do to hold back the outward signs of his sorrow. “Yes, of course,” Legolas answered weakly, “Good news indeed.” I should have put more into the answer, he berated himself, but he could not find it within him to feel anything of glee.

“Legolas?” Aragorn queried, worry ringing with the word. There was pressure in the sound of it, and with that a feeling of annoyance came to the Elf.

“What would you have of me, Aragorn?” Legolas snapped, lashing out with the sudden fire burning in his chest. He wished no more to be said on the subject. It was coming too fast, and he knew if pressed he might expose what truly lay in his heart. Blame. Blame to them for forcing this upon him.

There was his heart exposed. There is what lay within him.

His emotions were a war of conflicting responses, confusion reigning among them, and he wished not to think on any of it.

I should be happy. Why am I not happy? Instead the pang of deep sorrow, deep, deep anguish swept over him as the song of the water continued to fill his ears.

Rest bid him to come. He longed to find reprieve from this hurt and the sea was so haunting. Biting back his vexation, he quietly asked, “My head aches and I am not ready for this, Aragorn. Might I not just sleep a time more?”

“You have slept for nearly a fortnight already. How much more rest do you need?” Gimli asked incredulously.

Pain pierced through his chest, and the world went dead. Not even treesong could pierce the silence that followed.

Legolas gasped. Had he heard the words correctly?

“A fortnight?” he asked then looked to Aragorn for confirmation.

The king cast a scornful eye at the Dwarf, then sighed as he dipped his head and nodded to the Elf, almost wincing as he did. Legolas knew what his friend thought. You have slept too long. And then he added his own scorn to the brew of his emotions. You barely tried. See the results of your weakness.

“So long . . .” the Elf murmured. “Why did you not wake me?”

Gimli appeared wary of making any further slips, but laughed as if trying to pass off his prior error as a small joke. “You complain for lack of sleep, then you complain for too much of it. Do you think we did not try? You would not be roused until this moment. I for one am ready to celebrate just this. Now, with indications of a cure, the good news is doubled!”

And yet, “A fortnight . . .?” the Elf whispered. How could I have slept so long? How could I sleep so long and still want more? It was an exceptionally long recovery. Humiliation reddened his cheeks as the sea’s song grew louder.

“Your injuries were grave, apparently more so than any of us thought, Legolas,” Aragorn said as if he could read the Elf’s thoughts. It was an excuse. “As you said before, your body obviously required it.”

He patronizes me, the Elf thought, and the voice of the water came louder still.

His mind fought between two fronts. On the one side was his personal disappointment. It slammed into him with enough force to render him breathless. Such an ache did it cause. He had thought himself stronger than this. Much stronger. A warrior Elf should not require so much attention! He had been crippled by sickness and he felt humiliated by it. His dread magnified just thinking of how he had been the center of such attentions. I am weak! he berated. I am pitiful!

He eyed the king, trying to read through the stoic façade. Aragorn knows. He knows it should not have taken so long. He knows I am wasted by my pathetic ineptitude!

And on the other side of his mind was another wrong. A siren’s call cried for him. The sea sang in his ears, and the more he thought of his weakness the louder it became. Louder and louder it grew, warring for his attention over the bullying of his thoughts. It cried to him, not hidden in the recesses of his mind as it usually was, but blazing forward, hitting him with as much force as his doubts.

And then it dawned on him. He was no longer fighting his own hurts. He was fighting the sea!

I cannot succumb to this! he thought, putting his hands up to his ears.

He was gulping on air, eyes wide as he tried to drag himself away. His terror must have become visible, for Aragorn put his hands to either side of his face. “Legolas! Can you hear me?”

He could hear voices calling, the face of an Elf healer suddenly coming into his vision. More hands were put to him and he found himself trapped within them. The memory of Bregus and her spell was suddenly upon him and he felt as if he was being held down, pushed into a black space. He was frightened, so frightened. His fear was consuming, and he knew not what caused it. I should not feel this! I must find strength! But the sound of the sea did not end, crushing him under waves of its sound, and in a strange way it was luring him to it. He knew at the end of this horribly dizzying journey, there would be comfort, but did he dare try to reach it?

A part of him said to fight it, and the other part told him he was foolish to even try.

“Legolas, drink this!” and before he could think a cup was pushed to his lips and a brew was poured into his throat. He gagged on it, twisting.

“No!” he fought, crying as he pushed hands away. “Do not touch me! Do not force this on me!”

More voices there were, and stronger hands holding him. He could not bear to look at his captors any longer. The sea was calling and he felt himself drifting toward her sound. But then he felt a heavy dullness take over his body, and even the sea seemed to fade away to the sluggish feeling.

Within minutes, he had no will to do anything but ease back. Heavy as his eyelids felt though, he fought them, knowing to succumb to the whim of these others would be the failing of him. And worse, to give in to his body’s cry for sleep was a weakness.

A fortnight, he thought, knowing this would be his rallying point. He had slept long enough!

Voices could be heard, and he realized the dull haze of his vision was a camouflage. It appeared typical of rest, at least the kind fashioned by Elves, and he used it to eavesdrop, fighting as he did to remain partially in the waking world. Their words sounded as if they were spoken underwater, and Legolas had to fight very hard to make any sense of them.

He heard the Elf healer’s voice along with Aragorn’s. The voices faded then strengthened and then he began to understand. “ . . . an attack of this magnitude along with the long waking concerns me. It should not be as thus if he were healing well.”

“But his legs--“ Aragorn began.

“--Are no longer the issue. It is his heart that suffers the damage,” the Elf said.

Legolas was in a fog. Light and shadow merged about him and everything came both from a distance and near. Again the Elf spoke. “You know already of cuivëar in its various forms. You know there is no cure for what ails him. That alone is bad enough. From what I can discern of it, the witch’s spell meshes into his sea-longing affliction. I have no means of breaking it.”

“And we cannot press our wills upon him. That seems to harm him more.”

“I know not all that he is going through now, but I feel certain that Bäla used his dejection as a trigger for the affliction. Any aches inside --doubt, shame, self-loathing -- seem to be emphasized and heightened, even enhanced, by the spell.”

“But Legolas has never suffered self-doubts before,” Aragorn said.

“Legolas is capable of those feeling too, my lord, though it may be that he kept them well hidden before now. What I suspect is that under this spell even the smallest of those feelings grows large. And when that happens, the sea’s voice becomes ever greater for him.”

The world had grown murky, and new pressures came to Legolas. This news seemed to match all that he had felt and met. Even on the fringes of sleep he was not free of it. As he worried his fate, he felt the temptress’s beckoning call. He moaned softly into the ache the voice put to his heart.

A hand was laid upon his. The rough touch of Aragorn’s fingers brushed his skin. Like a whisper, it seemed to speak to him assurances.

“I think we owe it to him to help him find his happiness. Is Valinor the only solution? Kattica says a spell may be broken if the one who has had it cast upon them fights past it,” Aragorn offered.

There was a long pause, and then, “I have many reasons why I would wish only that, King Elessar, just as I am sure you would say the same, but if it would heal him, perhaps the Undying Lands are the best solution. I would rather see him part these lands than to have him die of heartbreak due to failure. Death or departure seems the only way out of this spell and the cuivëar it presses on him.”

The voices drifted into the fog and Legolas’ strength flagged. He was weary, and the medicine was strong. Fight as he did to remain aware, he could not, and he drifted off on a cloud of misery. Yet his heartache did not fade with his rest.

In the void of his sorrow, he tried to put sense to it all. Fight for confidence. Fight for strength. Do that or admit defeat. Admit defeat . . . and it would mean death.

The words of the two echoed in the far reaches of his mind. “ . . . The girl says these amulets give him strength of heart he might not otherwise have.”

“That may very well be what has kept him alive up until now.”

“Need he depend on them then?”

“Until he finds his own strength, I would say he must.”

But he did not want to depend on anyone or anything. If he was going to survive, he knew he had to be the driver to the task. And yet, Legolas knew he had to have something for which to grab. His speculation was meaningless unless prescribed to something tangible. Even in the light paths of dreams he knew to simply say, ‘Be happy’ was not enough.

“You will walk again, friend. You will be whole again soon,” a deep voice whispered to him, taking his hand, and he knew it was Gimli who spoke.

Glazed eyes turned to look at the Dwarf. Could it be enough? Could regaining his legs give him the desire again to live?

He forced his eyes to focus and mustered strength enough to move his body. It seemed so very far away as he pushed himself again to rise. His head barely left the pallet when he felt a hand on his chest that lowered him back down.

“I want to see my legs,” he murmured through his weakness, desperate now to find something that might bring him a modicum of joy, or at least reason to seek joy. In the distance, the sea crooned to him.

“Aragorn told you to keep it slow,” he heard Gimli’s voice through the ringing in his ears.

It hurt, all of it, the anguish, the personal lament. What had been done to him had driven the happiness from his soul. It was as if the world had gone an ugly shade of grey, and it was tainted because he could feel none of its pleasures, just as he had felt nothing of his legs. They were back, but lacking in the full of sensation. It matched all the other aspects of reality. Beneath the sounds of the watery echoes he could hear the wind and birdsong. They were flat and unmelodious. Bereft of anything that might remind him of life as it had once been, he wanted – no, needed – a reminder of what drew him to life, why he should fight to regain it.

Perhaps death was still the answer. He had wanted it when he had not realized the spell. He had chosen to follow the sea’s call and to let it deliver him to Mandos. But his friends had intervened and begged him to stay. For their sake he had, but not for himself. Not when his freedom had been removed from him.

But now it had been restored. There was yet a chance he might walk. The possibility of being whole again was his to take.

The doubts pressed on him again. What if walking was not enough?

And with that the strength of the spell pummeled him again. The sound of a thousand voices of differing words and expectations pelted him at once. Many of them were things his father had put upon him, and he knew again these were the things that plagued him always.

“You must make never show pain. , , Do not falter. You make me look the fool for your mistakes. . . For the sake of the colony, you must prosper. . . Show your gratitude, Elf! Not all can be such as you . . . You must find happiness. When might you marry? . . . Always look proud, even if you do not feel it. . . Choose wisely. Many depend upon you. . . You are needed by your people, not these mortals. . . You will come to represent all of Elfkind. You shall be their representative . . . Always show only a brave front. . . You must not succumb to the sea.” His chest keened with the mighty ache of the looming pressures. He would never be free of what others wanted or required of him. He would never be free of his personal disappointments for not being able to fulfill all those wants.

The cool cloth washed over his fevered brow and he suddenly felt very relaxed for the comfort that offered. He sighed softly, gazing into the eyes of the one administering the ease. It was there for his taking, reason, like a lifeline dangled before him. Did he dare reach for it? Did he dare take the risk? It would mean opening his soul, making himself vulnerable to hurt if such weakness was found. Yet he was so desperately needy.

He grabbed for it greedily, wanting something that might make his heart stop hurting, his soul from feeling so empty. “That feels good,” he softly said, baiting for words, wanting more than just the distant sense of kinship haunting him.

Gimli smiled sadly as their eyes met. In that moment a world of emotions emanated from the Dwarf, and Legolas lustily drank of it, reading what he could from those shining eyes.

Love. That was it. That was what was missing. And it was given, poured into him. Legolas almost felt that his companion would reach out and touch his cheek for the tender affection in the gaze. He needed it. He needed to be loved and cared for and wanted, without something of expectation. He needed to find reason that he might yet live for he had no reason. He had nothing but the sea’s call and his own disappointment.

But there was expectation in the gaze, a hunger that was returned. Gimli wanted from him too. The Dwarf was hurting, and his eyes told how he had been waiting for – wanting -- a sign of love given back.

The ground fell yet again. It was too much.

Legolas raged at the neediness put upon him! Just one more things he must do, and he resented that it was thought he should give it!

But another part of him urged him to step away from that depth of hurt, asking: would it be so hard? A smile? It seemed that might be all that was required. Was that so difficult to give?

It was a war, and the emotions barreled him without his ability to control it.

I am vulnerable. I will be hurt if I return this gesture of love.

His heart ached in longing and the sea called to him again.

I cannot. I cannot . . .

His eyes slipped closed and he eased back to the waves of water, ready to withstand it that he might travel away to where his dreams brought him to happier places.

No, no! I cannot do this! I must fight!

His eyes came open again. “I want to see,” he repeated, his voice desperate but sounding sluggish and far away to him, drifting on the edge of his need. He again mustered himself to rise.

“We should not . . .” But then the Dwarf stopped. Something in his eyes said he understood the Elf’s need and the war that was fought within him. The situation was serious and he seemed to realize that. “Very well then, Elf. Let us try again,” the Dwarf said, gathering an arm under Legolas’ shoulder. Dignity was removed from the situation, but Legolas no longer cared. He did not go about this task with any pride. The medicine in his body made his muscles slow to respond. If he needed, he could find blame in that.

He let his head loll against Gimli’s shoulder as he was slowly propped up. His eyes wandered unfocused until he could get his bearings. In his ear he heard Gimli say, “There now. You see?”

He set his eyes forward and looked at the length of his legs. Distantly he felt the ache of taut muscles and stretching tendons. He put a hand out to touch the limbs. Faintly he felt it prodding the skin. More, he inwardly said, and he willed all of himself into this task. His right foot flexed, just as he demanded of it, though the movement was small. Then his left knee was raised, here as he had demanded also, and without knowing it a smile came to his face.

“See. It is reason to celebrate,” Gimli’s rough voice whispered in his ear.

But Legolas felt exhausted by the effort, and though he would have liked to make comment to the Dwarf, he had no energy to do so. The world faded away in a haze, and he did not even notice when Gimli lowered him back to the pallet.

However, he did hear the Dwarf say as he slipped deeper into sleep, “Have no worries then, Elf. I will celebrate for both of us. I knew you could do it. I knew you had it in you.” And with that, Legolas felt the comfort of the sea easing away from his mind, and he thought perhaps that assurance was what he needed. It was a first step taken toward regaining his heart.

****

“Are we ready?” Aragorn asked, trying to make the words sound neutral and without expectation. However, he felt there was a degree of pressure in the words and he cringed inwardly at it, hoping it would go by unnoticed by the Elf.

Three more days of deep sleep had followed, and then several more of wakefulness to reach the point where they were now. Aragorn had made Legolas take them slow, forcing the Elf to recuperate at a pace that was leisurely and tedious, if not annoying for the Elf. Of course he would have liked to push harder, for he knew Legolas to usually be capable of it. But in this case, he felt it was necessary to go unhurriedly that they might convince Legolas that there was more to be accomplished than just the skill of walking again. The sea-longing had pressed upon his friend many times in that period, always accompanied by moments of doubt. But they seemed to be lessening, and Aragorn hoped in the lingering healing time, the opportunities given to see small accomplishments achieved might be enough to help the Elf find his larger successes again.

Only Aragorn and Gimli had been allowed as companions in this, though the others had been plentiful in their time spent in the Elf’s companionship these days and they nervously awaited word of how these steps might go. Aragorn could not blame the Elf for his timidity in performing for an audience. So much had been put on this moment.

Precariously the Elf stood, balancing himself with spread arms while the other two hovered near. He looked almost as a child managing his first attempt at standing, and though Aragorn had offered to place a chair before the Elf to use for balance, the prop, like the audience of observers, was rejected. Legolas seemed to abhor the need for support or touch of any sort unless given in administering necessary aid. Help was one of the things the Elf had thrown off more times than not. Like the charms, Aragorn thought. Which, of course, made Aragorn feel he must take a hovering role for his friend. Judging by the expression on the Elf’s face, he was delighted by none of Aragorn's protectiveness or concern, and his stubborn resolve to do this alone showed through.

Taking a deep breath, Aragorn set his jaw. It was time to see if the healing was taking.

“Your left leg is the weaker, so you will need to lean harder upon me as we proceed,” Aragorn reminded.

“I intend to lean on no one,” the Elf curtly replied, and Aragorn grimaced at the stubborn resolve. He had thought they might be past this as the Elf had shown progress these days up to the event.

“Legolas –“ he began, but Gimli interrupted.

“Let him try, Aragorn,” the Dwarf said, and Aragorn had to admit there was a good life lesson in that.

“Very well,” Aragorn said, “Let us begin.” And with that, he took to his friend's side, opening the way that the Elf might take the steps forward.

Legolas gritted his teeth, and then edged his left foot forward. It was a good first move and he smiled a slight grin, for he had done this without any others placing a hand on him. Still, the Elf's pallor went an ashen hue, and though he uttered no sound, Aragorn could tell small doubts were plaguing him. When will it end? Aragorn thought, and realized this must also be the Elf’s frustration. There was much healing yet to come, but he sensed the pain would ease once Legolas regained some of his skills.

But this small progress was quickly negated as the Elf shifted his weight to his left side so that he might take a forward step on his right side. Without warning his left leg buckled, and the Elf began to fall. Instantly Aragorn was there, hand hooked beneath an arm, catching the collapsing body before it had the opportunity to descend far. To an onlooker, the slip might be seen as a small stumble, and Legolas was immediately set to right by the man.

There was no gratitude in this save, however. Anger showed clearly on the Elf’s face, and he tore his arm away, crying out as he did, “Do not touch me!” The wild swing again set him off-balance. But instead of a small tripping move, he was sent into a spin with hands lashing out at the two who came to aid him. He was not caught this time, but instead landed on his hip, his shoulder catching the impact after as it made contact with the earthen floor.

The Elf rolled, muscle memory instinctively prevailing. But his face showed the response of pain. Grimacing in agony, his breath hitched as he sobbed in an anguished sound. A tear trailed from a corner of the tightly squeezed eyes as the Elf gasped upon his pain of what his mind did to him.

Panic washed over both Aragorn and Gimli as they rushed forward, crowding the collapsed Elf.

“Legolas!” Gimli cried, reaching a hand to the Elf’s shoulder, while simultaneously Aragorn placed a hand to Legolas’ head, as if to help ease him down.

What came was unexpected, for it was certainly out of character for the Elf that they knew. Legolas hooked his hand about Aragorn’s and shoved the man away at the same time that he grunted, pulling his shoulder out of Gimli’s reach. And then, as if to make clear his hostility and disdain, he wrapped his fingers into the bindings of the two charms that were secured to his wrist and yanked them free, flinging them away.

Struck in horror, the two jumped away from the raging Elf. They watched as Legolas slowly curled in upon himself, taking up a fetal position. From there, they saw him dissolve into quiet weeping.

Tears came to his own eyes, but Aragorn realized those could not help the situation. Too much pity existed already, and even should he shed them, his remorse would not be accepted. He swallowed his heartache and dismay, immediately assessing action need be taken though uncertain what that might entail.

Giving his friend a moment’s peace, Aragorn stepped forward, kneeling before the fallen figure. “Mayhap we move too fast,” he offered as an opening for which the Elf might make comment as he put out his hand to help.

The hand was ignored as the Elf twisted to rise to a seated position. “Mayhap you should leave me be,” came the answer. Biting words these were; scolding they sounded as if Legolas were intending to push Aragorn further away with them.

“Nay, friend. I will not leave you be. Not until I see you rise and stand on your own.”

“Is that what it would take? Shall I do so now that you would ease yourself away?” The fury that met him was clearly designed to shun, but the Gondor lord would not be moved.

“There are other means of standing on one’s own than just through the use of one’s legs,” Aragorn chided.

Legolas snarled, goading a fight, “I suppose in that you mean that I should use prying hands instead to help me rise! Haven't you urged me on enough, Aragorn? I feel your expectations as if they were a weight on my back. No wonder I collapse under them!”

“That will be enough, Legolas!” Gimli interjected.

“It is not enough!” the Elf snapped at the Dwarf. “You put this on me, Aragorn. And you, Gimli! You brought me back! It was not my choice! You made me thus!” Legolas accused.

“Cease this! Cease this now!” Gimli cried. “I have had enough of your pitying lament, Elf! Have you any right to push away the hands that try to help you?”

“It is mine to decide! Mine! And I will not be pressed upon to accept yet something else of another’s make!”

“Something else? As if we will this upon you? Think again, Elf, for I have had fairer times than this and at the moment you bring me no joy!”

“Gimli, stop!” Aragorn hissed. None of this could be helping the Elf’s state of mind.

“I do not ask you to stay! I do not ask for your aid! Leave me! If you so wish to please me, leave! It makes my decision that much easier!”

“And what decision is that? To leave?” Legolas turned a shamed face away from the roaring Dwarf. He curled in on himself, drawing his arms up to his ears as if to block something out.

“Gimli, no!” Aragorn shouted, but the Dwarf ignored him.

“Oh, I would not doubt it. So easy that would be for you! Having it pressed into your mind like that makes it all that much more fair!" Legolas delivered a scathing glare with that comment but said nothing. "And yet you treat us as if we are the ones who did this to you! Fine! So be it then! Depart! Go away! As if we would stop you were you to truly want it on your own! But realize this before you go: your friends choose only happiness for you. We would not try to foist our desires upon you or force you into something that makes you ill or uncomfortable. If going on to your precious Blessed Realm is your choice, then joy go with you, for I see none here! But it could have been! It would be if you would open your heart to it!”

Reddened in the face, Gimli stormed away, but he did not leave the site. It seemed to Aragorn he had more he might say, and yet he was too furious to speak it. Or perhaps he was afraid to say it. In any case, he stalked to the other side of the bower, purposely keeping his eyes turned away from the Elf.

Aragorn sighed and looked at the aftermath. For Gimli he knew a moment’s recovery was all that was needed. But for Legolas . . . he had been terribly worried about the Elf’s heart. Such an outburst, though honest, was rather brutal. He was not sure Legolas was ready for something so brazen. He stepped forward then and realized as he did that Gimli’s outburst had an effect he had not anticipated. The Elf seemed to be pondering the Dwarf’s words.

There was still hurt though. Legolas’ eyes clamped shut as Aragorn neared, but on a positive note he had dropped his arms and was not locked in a struggle to fight off the sound.

Aragorn put a hand to the Elf’s shoulder. “Gimli is right, Legolas. It is time to make a decision.”

There answer was slow to come, hesitant and said in a whisper, yet the man heard it. “I am afraid.”

“Of what?” Aragorn softly asked.

“Of opening my heart. I am afraid of the effect the sea-longing will have if I expose myself to vulnerability.”

It could not be ignored. It was the opening he had been looking for and Aragorn kneeled before the Elf, his hands out and open, “We all are so much more vulnerable when we give of ourselves. But to close your heart instead only strengthens what hurts you. That was not always the path you chose.”

The wariness seemed to be gone, and all that remained was anguish and honest uncertainty. With a furrowed brow, the Elf gasped, choking on his weak reply, “How do I know my heart has not already chosen? I know not what I would choose anymore. It presses on me at all times, and I do not know how to stop it, except to accept it. ”

“Then let me offer you counsel. I will not force my will. The choice is yours, as it is for all Elfkind. You know what is being put upon you." Then seeing the Elf's sorrow, he drew nearer. "I will tell you this; your case is exceptional. I speak not of the cuivëar when I say this or even of what Bäla did. I know you well and can tell you that you have always been unique among your people. Perhaps that is why the sea-longing presses upon you so fiercely.

“Bäla’s spell does not make it easy, I know, but it can be broken. You must find your sense of ease again.

“Perhaps I may guide you. I have known many of the Firstborn, and I know their failings as well as their strengths. So many find it in them only to reminisce of the past. That is a bitter path. The world is a constantly changing place, and complacency and remorse only make it stale and uninviting. That is the fate of those who close their hearts. Have you not seen it? But you are different from them. You have always been one to look forward, not behind. You have seen the opportunities left open to you and what may grow as a result of keeping your mind adaptive to change. Your heart is young. You do not shun what may yet come. You live not in past agonies. You have always been one to live for the future and what lies before of you. You would not be the Elf we love were you to look with eyes always gazing back.”

"But by refusing the past, I set myself up to make the same mistakes again and again. I make myself vulnerable to failure,” Legolas countered.

"And by looking only to the past, you may forget you are loved in the present. Gimli is correct in saying that perhaps all you need do is give your consent to be joyous again and to accept our love and our help. The sea’s call may fade if you are willing to relinquish your ego, and take the love given. I think in time you may come to see that you can give love in return without suffering, as you believe you might. Love can be strong medicine,” Aragorn said as he touched the Elf’s hand.

Legolas looked up at Aragorn with an expression that revealed just how lost he truly was. “But how do I know if my desire to stay or depart is not yet one more manipulation among the many I have endured? I swear, Aragorn, my heart cannot take any more of this.”

And then Aragorn saw his friend, as he truly knew him to be, not hidden behind a wall of scorn, or dejection, or pain. Instead he saw the fairer Elf, heartbroken and sad, another wound revealed. The Elf’s eyes beseeched him and the king opened his arms, engulfing him with his love. The embrace closed about Legolas’ shaking form, and the Elf leaned into it, accepting it, taking healing from it. “You have been through much,” Aragorn soothed. “But you need not go through more. Not alone. Trust your heart. Lean on us. It need not be a permanent solution, only one that will help heal you. We wish only to see you succeed and find happiness.”

The words seemed to hurt, for the Elf stiffened in his arms before Legolas gently pulled himself away. “I fear that not all will feel that way. I seem to be destined for failure, Aragorn. Doro Lanthiron declines under my leadership.”

A puzzled smile worked Aragorn’s mouth as he wondered at this statement. “How can you say this when I see such growth occurring within the colony?”

Legolas’ eyes glistened as a wry smile played on his lips. “The colony will crumble into financial dissolution before the winter is complete. You might understand, Aragorn. I will not pretend that I do. It seems that we are too successful, for we cannot compensate enough to make up for the boon to our expansion. The Elves of Ithilien grow beyond our means to support ourselves. Our population cannot be maintained by what we provide for ourselves. How do I ask for help when my people may be forced into compromise for the sake of survival?”

Aragorn blinked, wondering at the depth that this worry brought upon the Elf. It seemed so extreme and was worth further query, for he could see that Gondor could be an aid to the Elves’ plight, if they were allowed. But he refrained from speaking this thought for he realized this was just the thing to which Legolas might object. Too many had already pressed their whims and wills upon Legolas, and the fair Eldar was torn by it. He feared not just for himself, but also his people.

“Compromise is often an essential part of survival.”

He could almost read the thoughts carried in those orbs as the words were replied. “We show our weakness in asking for help.”

This had to be dispelled. It was damaging to linger like this the hurts and dissuading this stubborn pride. The man abruptly raged. “No. You show your faith in your friends by asking. We do not mock that! We admire that! Loyalty and the desire to help must count for something, for we would find no shame in receiving the same of you.”

“But there is shame! I should have seen what was to come! I should have prepared for this flaw and protected my people that they would not have to suffer!” Again, the hands went up to the Elf’s ears, and he hissed at a twinge of what might be seen as pain.

Aragorn knew this was moving in a way that was drawing the cuivëar near, and so he cried out, “What more would you have of me, Legolas? We are all guilty of something in what has come here. Blame me for having us come! Blame Arwen for making the suggestion! Blame Gimli for taking up the challenge to hunt as my companion! Blame the Romany people for unwittingly falling under evil’s spell! Blame everyone, including yourself. And when done, where else might we foist blame? With your father for his cloying neediness? With Lord Elrond’s decision to send you on the quest? Can you not see where placing blame takes you, Legolas? Backward. Again and again to the past. Backward until you realize you are no longer moving toward a goal and the world has become cold and stagnant. It is an ugly and grey place if you cannot look ahead.”

He turned back to the subject that had been at hand. “Financial hardships can be overcome, my friend. Gondor would help you.” Seeing the downcast turn of the Elf’s eyes, Aragorn interjected, “There is no humility or weakness in that. Not everything can work at an even course, but if you keep your eyes ahead, you will not notice that the road has turned.”

Before more could be said, Gimli turned, and a determined light was in the Dwarf’s eyes as he called out. “It need not even be this, Legolas. I have found your solution though I have hesitated to say as much before now. Your people need not worry or be indebted, for there is an asset on these lands that is yours, and I daresay you had not considered it such ere this moment.” And with that, Gimli pulled from the reaches of his pockets a handful of brilliant nuggets.

The Elf’s eyes widened as he appeared to comprehend what it was the Dwarf held. “Mithril?” Legolas asked.

“Aye. Mithril,” Gimli confirmed.

“But . . . “ the Elf looked from the stones to Aragorn then to Gimli, his eyes a war of thought and emotion. Then his face set firmly and his brow creased. Aragorn saw the answer before it was spoken. “No,” Legolas said.

“No?” Gimli sputtered before his face turned to rage. “Fool Elf! You dismiss this as if it were a decision about what you should eat for your supper! How can you answer so simply?”

It appeared Legolas had greater thought for his answer than this. “No!” he repeated. “It is not mine! The lands that you took these from are not mine from which to steal.”

“Steal? And now you accuse me of thievery?” the Dwarf bellowed.

“The Elves do not take from these lands without giving something in return. We cannot—“ Legolas began.

But Aragorn understood both sides of the argument and he would not allow Legolas to turn it aside for the obligation it would press upon him. “Do you not think what you offer in replenishing the green of Ithilien is recompense enough for what you might take? Gimli shares a solution with you that may serve your people. He deserves to be heard,” Aragorn interrupted.

“You do not know what it entails!” Legolas countered.

“Nor do you! Yet you reject it straight out!” Aragorn shouted, then he mastered his tongue, driving it to speak in a calmer voice that might seem to hold the sense of control that was needed for this situation. “Gondor and Doro Lanthiron can negotiate the nuances of an agreement later. There is so much to gain by such. Do not forget it is in Gondor’s interest to keep the colony whole too. Open your mind and your heart. There is much being offered beyond just a solution to your worries.”

“I would offer to send some of my Dwarves to mine it if you think it might aid your task.” Then quickly Gimli added, “But you may pay us if you so wish. There would not be words of burden or recompense if you did.”.

Aragorn turned pleading eyes to the Elf. “Legolas, again I say to you, we would see you succeed.”

Legolas’ lips were drawn into a thin line, and he seemed to be enraged by what, Aragorn decided, must seem like yet more plying. “By accepting the support of others rather than proving I have the strength to do it on my own?”

It was enough. The argument had grown old, and it was fraught in self-pity rather than logical solution.

“Why is that wrong?” Aragorn asked. “Think about it, Legolas. No one truly ever succeeds without a measure of support from others. I did not fight the war alone. Sauron was not defeated by the likes of our Fellowship alone, nor did Frodo make it into Mordor by his own skills alone. These tasks were accomplished through the help of many. We worked together and together we saw it through.” Then he considered for a moment and said with a small smile, “Like Gimli and that silly weapon of his, the task is best accomplished when the effort is one of a team.”

The Elf looked away, but Aragorn went on. “Just because the nightmare of war has ended, do not begin to think we stop depending upon each other. There is a reason for our fellowship. It is there that we may find support when we may need it. You need not live as an exile to prove your strength.”

The Elf was weakening and Aragorn suspected it stemmed at this base. And for so much more, but that was the root.

In the whole of it, he knew confidence must be introduced. “This setback to the colony is a small thing really, Legolas. By focusing on this small setback, I think you may have missed the whole of the picture.”

Legolas gazed at him with questioning eyes that implored Aragorn to continue. “Do you know why so many of the Elves come to Doro Lanthiron, my friend? Can you guess? It is not for its proximity as a haven, and it is certainly not so they may be closer to men,” Aragorn laughed. “Here is the secret I dare reveal: the success of Doro Lanthiron is because of you. You, my friend. Can you not see that? Do you not hear? Even the healer said nearly as much. You made replenishing the lands your goal because you would yet look ahead and see what good you might bring to Middle-earth. You refused to look backward at the harm done to this place, and instead you chose to rebuild it. And from there it spread. Legolas,” he said, taking the Elf’s hands in his own. “The Elves do not flock to Ithilien. They flock to you. You give them the initiative to go on. You give them the ambition they need to yet thrive. You give them goals that they might live here longer. If not for you, they would depart. How they admire you, Legolas. Can you not see?”

Changing tact again before the Elf had a chance to put up a wall, Aragorn smiled and said, “But there is something you must do on your own. It would prove you have the strength to do as you would choose.”

“And what is that?” Legolas asked weakly.

“You may walk,” the king said, and he knew his eyes shone true and focused as he said this, for it was how he felt.

Hesitance met him and the meek answer was slow to come. “What if I fall?” Legolas asked, now seeming suddenly so small.

“Then we will help you rise and start again,” Aragorn answered.

This seemed to appease something in Legolas’ heart. It took another long moment for it to pass, but then a soft smile came upon the Elf’s lips as he nodded his acceptance.

Without asking, Gimli was at his side, and together they stood him up, making him ready to journey forward. Legolas grimaced, the ache in his body apparent, but there he balanced between man and Dwarf.

And then Aragorn spoke quietly into the Elf’s ear. “I will make you a pledge, my friend, if you will make one to me.” The Elf looked at him, and Aragorn realized this was the lesson the king had needed to learn. And so he had, and he was willing to put it to practice in everything and everyone he might know. It no longer applied solely to Arwen and himself. Perhaps he could be a better man for it. And with that, he realized they had all learned some very important lessons on this journey. Legolas could be eased if he would share his burden, and Faramir could proceed when his anguish was revealed. Éowyn found her strength when she was doing for others. And so on.

All these lessons had been learned, but Aragorn could only speak on the one he had known. “I will let you stand alone,” he said to the Elf, finding his calm, and then he added, “I must, for holding you would only hinder your progress and you will come to hate me if I keep you aright. However, freedom such as this comes with a condition. You must promise you will seek my aid when I might help you. Will you do this?”

Legolas gazed deeply into the man’s soul, as if understanding the base of where that lesson had been learned, and then he nodded, and both Aragorn and Gimli released their holds, standing poised on either side of the Elf as he balanced alone.

As before, the first step was taken and it went well. But when it came time to shift his weight and balance on his weaker leg, the Elf hissed in pain. And just as his hand came out to reach for Legolas before he fell, Aragorn felt his friend’s hand take his arm and pull himself up on the king’s weight. On the other side of the Elf, he saw the same measure taken on the shoulder of the Dwarf, and between the two, Legolas was able to stand.

Legolas did not pull his hands away for the step that followed, nor for the one after, but by the time they had slowly walked the path before them, the Elf had managed to cling with less force, each step a lightened burden, and each tread was more certain because they stood at his side to help him make his journey. And soon enough, he could walk the path on his own.

****

“Do you tire, Legolas?” Aragorn asked, and Gimli too noted the weariness coming upon the Elf’s appearance. A light sheen glimmered over Legolas’ skin, and his breath came somewhat hurriedly. It seemed this small exercise had fatigued him.

True to form though, Legolas denied it. “I am fine, Aragorn,” he answered, and Gimli wondered what the healer might say to that.

Yet Aragorn smiled, amused by this answer as he pulled over the chair that they had tried to use as a crutch earlier and indicated that Legolas should sit in it. “Rest for a few minutes, my friend and we might do it again. Think you that I might tell the others they are granted permission to draw near? They expected your success, and I do not doubt they will want to commend you for a job well done,” he stated. Legolas momentarily hesitated, then nodded, smiling slightly.

Gimli felt heartened by the expression on his friend’s face. Even if it was just a small indication of happier tidings, it was more than he had seen of Legolas in a very long time. Gimli’s own face reflected the thrill of this, and that in turn seemed to have effect on the Elf.

“I have to apologize, Gimli,” Legolas said in the peace that came between them.

Gimli looked at the Elf but was uncertain he knew what was meant. He could think of many hurts he had suffered in the last few weeks, but none of them directly at the hands of his friend. It would be unkind to direct that on Legolas when he knew the Elf was in a recovery state. “I know no reason an apology is required,” Gimli replied.

In the next breath, though, he chastised himself for saying as much. In the best of times, finding means of pointing out any weakness of the Elf was one of the Dwarf’s primary occupations. And he knew Legolas truly enjoyed such occasions, even if to the outside observer it appeared their exchanges were brutal. The humorous barbs were their way of showing their affection for one another. Though the Dwarf had been hesitant to do so in these days (seeing how sensitive Legolas’ mood had been), he felt perhaps now was the time to resume this part of their ritual.

But Gimli had just allowed it to pass. Legolas had actually apologized and Gimli had let it go by. Fool Dwarf! he thought. You catch yourself up in pity. How often does such an opportunity come?

Legolas, however, seemed to be game for some better humor, though perhaps he had forgotten he was setting himself up for such. He appeared so serious. His voice was low in admission. “Nay, Gimli. I was harsh on you, and you proved you were right.” Legolas’ eyes dipped and true sorrow could be seen to dim his face.

Immediately Gimli was humbled. Any hope he could have had of playfully striking the Elf was wiped away in that most sincere show of humility. It suddenly seemed inappropriate to the Dwarf to let such a thing work to diminish what was an unspoken value placed upon their friendship. He decided that for whatever it was the Elf was apologizing, he would forgive it. That is certainly what he did under normal circumstances. At least in most cases. Well, some. In any case, it did not befit Gimli to let such a hurt fester, and if Legolas was truly so agonized by his shame, it behooved no one to ridicule that harm. He felt certain that for whatever it was Legolas was apologizing, had he known there was reason to apologize, he would have dismissed it the moment it had happened. Therefore, he would dismiss it now. His chest puffed up. He felt rather proud of his resolve.

“You are too sensitive, for I know no indignity you have put upon me. Let us move past it, shall we?” the Dwarf recommended, turning away as if to dismiss the subject. He noticed then the two amulets the Elf had tossed in his earlier fury and went over to retrieve them from the low bramble where they had landed.

Legolas, however, did not dismiss it. “Nay, Gimli, I cannot move beyond it until you have forgiven me,” the Elf said with a voice flecked in misery. “Such a heinous hurt. I cannot imagine how you survived my ridicule and shaming ways.”

Gimli was now stymied, for he had no punishment for which to fit a crime. Valar, he makes a large show of his humility. I wonder what he did? the Dwarf pondered as he fingered the charms. As such, he was at a loss and he found he could not make eye contact. “Um, er, forget it, Elf.”

The boldness of Legolas’ voice forced Gimli to look though. “Forget it? I cannot. Nor do I think any of us can. It is rather large, after all,” the Elf said with a small smile creeping over his lips.

Gimli began to feel he was being set up. “Of what do you speak, Elf?”

“Your halberd, of course. I am apologizing for doubting its usefulness,” Legolas replied with a slightly cocked head.

Was that all? The Elf had made such a large show of his apology and for something the Dwarf felt no shame. And then it almost had felt like he was going to be spoofed for it. Then again, Giml remembered the Elf’s erratic moods, and decided this extreme was just part of the healing Legolas was experiencing. Perhaps this is what Gimli needed to do to help his friend recover, be a sounding board for the extremes and help the Elf learn to ease them into normal response. In any case, he was now sure he had misjudged. The Dwarf’s chest puffed up in small pride as he rose with the charms in hand. He was pleased with his choice of weapon, and therefore he would accept this apology. “I am gladdened to see you have learned what such might wield.”

Legolas nodded, and then he lightly confessed, “Truthfully, I thought you might have been overcompensating. I am heartened to learn I was wrong and that the halberd was a useful tool after all,” Legolas continued.

But words among that scattered comment drew the Dwarf’s attention. Gimli’s brows furrowed and he felt his beard bristle. “Overcompensating, you say. Overcompensating for what?”

A glint of amusement sparked in those clear blue eyes. “You know,” Legolas whispered. “Your inadequacies in other areas.”

“WHAT other areas, Elf?” the Dwarf rumbled. And then he knew he was had. There was no turning back.

Legolas glanced to his left, then right before speaking in a hushed tone, “Your weapon.”

“What about my weapon?” Gimli said between gritted teeth.

“It is rather lacking, you know. Especially in comparison to those of the others.”

“There is nothing wrong with my weapon!” Gimli exclaimed.

Legolas shrugged. “That is not what the others say.”

“What do you mean?”

“As compared to that of men, it rather small,” Legolas shyly answered.

Gimli huffed, “I am a Dwarf! It is proportionate to my size!”

“Not the halberd. It is huge!” Legolas proclaimed, and then he laughed, obviously finding amusement in the Dwarf’s embarrassment.

Gimli felt his face redden. He was not sure if he should laugh, or pummel the Elf. Instead he growled, vowing to himself he would get Legolas back. At least there was no audience for this, Gimli thought.

He stalked away, making a show of his irritation and looking for an excuse to be done with the Elf’s good humor. And then he realized he still held the amulets, and so he turned, stomped over to the Elf and thrust his hand out to return them. His movements were rather brusque.

As if sensing the joke were enough, the Elf slowed his laugh to a smile, and then stifled it more to bring it to sobering stillness. He paused as he looked at the enmeshed charms in the Dwarf’s hand, as if pondering their meaning, and then he carefully untangled one, taking them both as he did. He handed a cord back to the Dwarf while keeping the other. “That one belongs to Kattica,” Legolas said as that particular amulet was returned, and Gimli understood the meaning. Kattica should take back what was hers. He needed the protection no more. He would find his own way back into this world.

The mood was no longer the light mirth they had borne a moment earlier, and despite the moment of humility the Elf had just suffered him, Gimli was moved. And then he realized he would have things no other way between them. And so he expressed it in the kindest way he could. He spoke from his heart.

“I am glad you are feeling better, Legolas. I feared I might be forced to ride your silly horse out of here on my own.” It was as close to an admission of love he could get. And then he masked the lump in his throat by harrumphing, “That would have been pleasant for no one.”

A moment’s pause followed and then Legolas added, “Especially the horse.”

Gimli nearly choked on this reply, but then he saw the near tears and his friend’s eyes and knew that that was as close as the Elf might come to expressing the same love. It took everything within Gimli not to burst out with laughter -- or tears -- so filled with joy was he in that instant.

Gimli could then hear the others walking the forest path, and he turned to meet them. But as he did, he heard the tolling of laughter. It came again from his Elven companion.

“Gimli? I think you might owe us an apology now?”

“Why, Elf?” Gimli asked, feeling as if he was again being set up for a jest.

“For ignoring your mother’s teaching. Did she not show you how to match your clothing when you dress?” Legolas chuckled.

The sound was music to Gimli’s ears, for twice now it had come, and he had not heard such a sound in weeks. He looked upon the merriment in Legolas’ face, noting as he did the light shining in the blue eyes, and Gimli could not refrain the smile that pressed his own lips. He followed the gaze and saw that the Elf looked upon his attire, and specifically his foot, as he asked, “Very well. I cannot refrain from asking. Why do you wear a single red boot, Dwarf?”

Suddenly Gimli knew why he had refused to have the bandages removed. Were it any other time, the Dwarf knew he would have made it his highest priority to have the red bindings gone, but he had hesitated, and though he had been unsure why up until this moment, now he knew. He had left them so that he might hear his friend laugh. He understood. He would willingly be the butt of the joke. In fact he would do anything so long as he could hear the sound of his friend’s laughter again.

And as Legolas’ question was asked, Aragorn stepped before them, his eyes intent on the Elf though his own question was directed to the Dwarf. He laughed softly as he neared, obviously pleased with the Elf’s easier mood. Gently he queried, “It seems our friend is feeling renewed. Shall we resume as we had before?”

Gimli turned to gaze hard at the man, amazed at the coincidence of the question. To his question, and the Elf’s, Gimli had but one answer.

Chuckling for the joy both his friends brought him, he found himself thoroughly amused by this, jubilant and tearful for what lie before them, and further for what might yet come. These were their first steps, their last steps, their middle steps. They were all part of their journey traveled together, and the Dwarf was eager to progress forward from this point. His eyes were bright as he looked from the Elf to the man. He paused for a moment, composing his words. And then he let it go, choosing to live in the happiness of the moment instead.

“Well, it has long been time you got around to asking that, I think,” he finally said. Then with a burst of sweet joy he continued, “To the both of you I say the same: You have no idea how I have wanted to hear you say just those words. I thought you might never get around to asking.”

A/N: Please proceed forward to the Epilogue. Stay behind your line leader and keep your arms and legs in the vehicle until the ride has come to a complete halt. Thank you.