Chapter 4 – The Alliance

"So it is the Dunlandings again that trouble you?" the Elf continued as they rode back to Edoras together.

"The Dunlandings, yes," Ceorl replied. "But they have also been seen in the company of orcs."

"Yrch," Legolas growled. "Shall we never be rid of them?"

Ceorl smirked; he had heard that the Lasgalenath had had their own share and more of trouble with those dreaded creatures. "We have had less trouble as of late with their kind, my Lord," Ceorl answered. "The Dunlandings have only recently begun to provoke us. Éomer King has not had a peaceful reign in the past, but I hope I need not say as much for the future."

The Prince nodded in understanding. "My Lord Thranduil has not had what you could call an uneventful reign. We have had our share of border wars, intruders and such. The encroaching darkness caused many of our people to leave these shores, and when the invasion of Northern Lasgalen began and the fighting commenced, we lost several more."

As the fair Elf spoke, Ceorl could detect a note of loss enter his voice and a far off look darken his gaze. Ceorl’s companion then pulled himself from the past and turned to him with a challenging grin. "The road drags, mellon nîn. Shall we step up the pace? You would not mind a bit of competition, would you? That would seem to be a fair mount you are riding," he added pointedly to goad the young man on.

Ceorl, whose main pride, as with all the Rohirrim, was his horse, could never refuse such a challenge. "To the brook," he answered, suddenly urging Fréa to a faster pace.

They reached the brook in short order and Ceorl had to admit defeat. He had been left in the dust of the mighty sorrel’s flight after the first dash, and he could tell that the slender rider was holding the horse back slightly so as to keep from leaving Ceorl too far behind.

"You have an amazing mount, my Lord," Ceorl said as they slowed. "Might I ask his lineage? If it is half so commendable as your own, he is a noble steed indeed."

"He is called Aranar," Legolas answered quickly. "His sire was of the Mearas of Rohan, and his dam was a horse of the Elves. His passion is speed. He was bred as a special mount for my father, but they could not agree on certain matters, such as who was in charge of whom, so my father left him to me."

They continued on, talking of horses, wars, families, the origins of Ceorl’s knife and other things in general and the city was soon in sight.

Their arrival in the city was heralded by cheers and cries as the peasants caught sight of the Elven-prince. He smiled and turned to Ceorl. "It would seem that they have caught sight of us. We shall be hard pressed to reach the palace if they crowd the roads, as they did when last I visited my friend Éomer."

Ceorl found that the Prince had not exaggerated. They were hard set to it to urge their mounts through the throng of admirers of their fair visitor.

They reached Meduseld after much difficulty and Legolas dismounted. "Will you not join me, son of Aldor?" he inquired squinting up at his companion, as the sun was full in his face.

"I would that I could, my Lord, but I cannot. I must report back to my father. I hope to see you again before you take leave of us. Farewell."

"Farewell, young lord. I shall look forward to our next meeting with pleasure."

Ceorl bowed his head, turned his mount, and returned the way they had come. Legolas watched him go for a moment, lamenting the fact that one so young with such promise in life might soon lay dying on a battlefield, his comrades fallen beside him in the front lines, victims of the enemy arrows and blades. It was a pity, a true pity.

He forced himself back to the present and turned to the task at hand. He entered the Golden Hall, the memory of his first entrance returning to his mind. Aragorn, Gandalf, Gimli and himself, disarmed at the door and facing a hostile junta, there to offer their allegiance and rescue the king. It was different now. He still possessed his weapons, he was alone, and the welcome was warmer and kinder, proved by the smile on the face of Éomer King and his family, but again he was here to offer his allegiance, although Éomer, the old war-horse, little needed rescuing.

Princess Elfwyn, granddaughter of the king, and by far the favorite of the Elves, approached him, her hands extended, her face illuminated by the beautiful smile he knew so well. "Hir Legolas! Mae govannen, mellon nîn!" she declared as he took her hands in his own. The Elves had tried to teach her the basics of their noble language when she was but a child, but she could not grasp even the rudimentary lessons of grammar. She had now all but exhausted her meager supply of vocabulary, and they both knew it, but it was pleasant to hear a greeting in his own tongue after the confusing babble in the street. He had never taken the time to learn Rohirric and everything said to him outside had been lost upon his swept ears. He got the general idea that they were greeting him and such, but he had grasped no details.

"Mae govannen, Híril Elfwyn! How are you this fair day?"

"I am well, my Lord, but for the danger. My grandfather, as you know, will not allow himself to be kept at home. He will enter into the battle."

"Well, I know your grandfather, true enough. It is to see him that I have come. I would speak to him, if I may. Provided he is not too busy to receive a mellon iaur."

"Nay, I am never too busy to speak with you, my friend," Éomer called from his place on the dais.

Tucking Elfwyn’s hand under his arm, Legolas continued forward to where the king awaited him. "Sit down, please, my Lord Éomer," he said as he reached where the Lord of the Golden Hall stood to greet the Prince of the Lasgalenath.

After complying with the request and after Legolas had escorted Elfwyn back to her seat next to her father, Prince Elfwine, Éomer turned to his friend. "Of what do you wish to speak?" he questioned amiably.

"I am of the understanding that you are about to enter into a border war, including Dunlandings and orcs. Am I correct?"

"True enough, Legolas, true enough. Continue."

"I have come to offer my allegiance. I cannot promise you a certain force, for unnecessary battle is never foisted upon my Elves against their will. Any who offer their service to your banner shall do so of his own volition. Though I daresay I shall not be left to bear our colors beside you alone."

"Legolas, my friend, you have not changed in the years that have past. You are the same giving, selfless Elf of old. I hope you shall understand my calling you the most manly Elf I have ever known. Your suggestion is accepted with my most hearty thanks and praise to you. If you can offer me even only fifty of your Elves, we will surely prevail!" he cried suddenly, leaping erect and gesticulating wildly in his excitement. "Remember Helm’s Deep! There we had only one Elf, yourself, and we prevailed over ten thousand of the enemy! What could we not do with fifty of your kind?"

"I do not know if I can offer you even that many, my Lord," Legolas countered, also coming erect, only in a much calmer and more dignified manner than his companion, with the poise of a cat. "And you must remember that we had also Gimli son of Gloin with us. He saved your life if I recollect."

"So he did, and I have blessed him the rest of my days, as has my family, I am sure, for they have heard the story often enough. Although perhaps by now they curse him with every retelling of the story, for all they groan about it."

If Prince Elfwine’s face was any indication, the last statement of the king was not far wrong. Legolas laughed softly. "Do not tell friend Gimli that, for it would go to his head. The last I heard, he was still mining the Glittering Caves, is he not?"

"Oh, yes, he is mining, and turning out wealth beyond measure, although how long that will last is anyone’s guess. Our young friend of yesteryear has now grown older and has been eating more. I would guess he has gained several pounds and grey hairs since last we saw him."

"I have no doubt," Legolas said, smilingly.

"How long will you be with us, my Lord Legolas?" Prince Elfwine asked from his father’s right.

"I shall leave in the morning to return to Ithilien and gather those of my Elves who are willing to join me."

"How long will it take for you to return with your Elves?" Éomer questioned.

"Your guess is as good as mine, my Lord. As you are no doubt well aware, the movements of an army are hard to foretell. There is always trouble on the road and the terrain must be taken into account. Also, not all horses have the speed and stamina of Aranar. I would say a fortnight at the very least."

"We will be waiting for you, Legolas," Éomer said. Then, turning to his son, "Elfwine, escort the Prince to his quarters."

"I would see Narion and his family, if I may," Legolas mentioned as they traversed the long halls together.

"Your rooms are quite near their own, my Lord," Elfwine said, smiling as Legolas threw him an irritated glance.

"Elfwine, you have known me your whole life. You know how I hate it when you go about ‘my lording’ me. It was appropriate whilst we held royal discussion, but between friends, use my name, please."

"Very well, Legolas. Here is your room. Lord Narion and his family occupy those four rooms there and are often found in the small parlor, that door at the end of the hall."

"Thank you, Elfwine. Which of these doors leads out towards the stables?"

"The one down there, with the more elaborate designs."

"Thank you. I hope to see you at dinner."

Legolas stepped outside into the open air, placed two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly. He was answered by a spirited whinny and the ring of hooves on cobblestone as Aranar came, almost charging, around the corner. He approached the mighty steed and stroked his glossy neck, shining like fire in the sunlight. "(Are you ready for a meal, my friend? I know I am. Let us see you stabled.)"

He led the mighty horse around to where he knew the guest stables were located. After finding him a stall and making sure he had fresh fodder, he located a curry comb, a brush, and set to work.

Just as he was finishing his task, he heard someone else enter the stable. Turning, he found that it was Hirilian, oldest daughter of Lord Narion. "Hirilian! Mae govannen, hiril nin!"

Upon sighting him, she gave a squeal of delight and ran towards him. Laughing, he stepped out of Aranar’s stall and caught her as she ran into his arms. "Legolas! (How long have you been in Rohan?)" she questioned him rapidly in Sindarin.

"(I have only just arrived this afternoon. I was hoping to see you and your family during my stay,)" he answered, holding her out at arms length. "Well, my lady, it would seem that your short stay in Rohan has improved your color. I suppose you have been riding just as much as you do in Ithilien?"

"Yes, Legolas. You know me; I have been constantly riding," she answered in the breathless tone he knew so well. "Although I have heard that it has become dangerous as of late," she continued in a more serious voice. "Belecthor is even now laid in the Houses of Healing."

"The Houses? Is he in a bad way?" Legolas asked, worry etched into his face.

"No, he was ambushed by Dunladings on a hunt whilst he was out riding. A young Rohirric soldier found him and brought him back to the city. He is healing wonderfully and he should be able to return to the palace today to be with us."

"I rejoice to hear it. Shall we go visit him?"

"I was just on my way and I can think of no more pleasing company than your own."

"Very well, shall we walk? It is not far I believe."

"Lovely," she answered, smiling as she accepted his proffered arm. Talking and laughing about day to day life, they began their journey to the Houses.