Disclaimer: Not mine and never will be. This is for fun only; no profit is being made by me.
A/N: Yes, I do know that Aragorn banned Big People from the Shire after the War. I’ve read the books pretty much yearly for the last 25 years, although I can and occasionally do make canon errors unintentionally. This isn’t one of those times.
{} denotes speech in the Silvan tongue. See the previous chapter for the disclaimer on that one.
~
King Aragorn Elessar strode swiftly towards the courtyard of the Citadel. He and Faramir had seen the Eagles pass on their way to land and hastened to meet them. They passed through the doors into the courtyard, Elessar giving a nod to the guards that opened the doors for them. More guards had converged on the patiently waiting Eagles, not to hold them at bay for the guards knew better, but to assist in emptying the baskets the great avians had carried of their cargo. Elessar grinned and broke into a trot at the sight of four small figures.
“My friends! I am so very glad to see you.” He dropped to his knees to embrace Meriadoc Brandybuck, who was closest to him. Peregrine Took pelted into the king’s arms as soon as Merry stepped back. As usual, Samwise Gamgee held back, until Elessar grasped his arm and pulled him forward into a hug fully as warm as the ones that Merry and Pippin had been treated to. After releasing Sam, the king smiled at the gardener’s spouse, who stood just beyond her husband. “Mistress Gamgee, it is a great pleasure to see you, as well.”
“Strider, hang the formalities! Has there been any news of Legolas?” Pippin cut to the heart of things with typical lack of patience.
“Yes, very good news. He is safe and recovering in his rooms here in the Citadel. I am sorry, it had not occurred to me that you would not know that,” Elessar’s smile widened at the relieved sighs and smiles his words produced.
“What happened? The last we’d heard, he was missing and no trace of him anywhere. And Gimli hurt as well,” Sam broke in, upset enough not to wait for Merry or Pippin to ask.
“We still know very little. He was taken and an attempt made on Arwen to force me to abdicate and release several men who are being held on suspicion of murder. Some of the responsible ones we do have in custody, but the leader or leaders are still free. They held him until the attempt on Arwen failed and then dumped him in the cellar of a ruined building to starve to death.” Elessar saw no point in softening the telling of what had been done to their friend. The hobbits, while small, were not children and had seen things that would sicken hardened soldiers. All four of them paled and Sam wrapped a supporting arm around his wife. “They very nearly succeeded. He would not have lasted another day by the time he was found.”
“But, he will be all right, won’t he?” There were tears welling in Pippin’s eyes, all the hobbits‘ eyes, actually.
“Yes, with time and care, he will. Gimli is nearly recovered and refuses to leave Legolas’ side. Would you like to see them now? I think it would be good for them both to see you.”
“Yes,” Pippin replied, scrubbing his eyes with his sleeve. “Hullo, Faramir.”
“Hullo, Pippin,” Faramir said solemnly, drawing the youngest of the hobbits into a brief embrace. Elessar stood and bowed to the Eagles, placing his hand over his heart and sweeping it outward in the manner of the elves.
“We are most grateful for your help, and your speed. Should you need aught of us, you have only to say it and it will be done.” The king stood straight again. The Eagle closest to him bowed his great head.
“There is no debt between friends, King Elessar. Long may our peoples aid each other. If you should have further need of us, send word.” The Great Eagle bowed his head once more and sprang into the air, followed by his companions.
As they walked toward the Citadel, Rose Gamgee reached out and patted Pippin’s shoulder. “There now, Master Pippin. It’ll come right in the end, you’ll see,” the others heard her say. Pippin nodded and gave her a wobbly smile. Elessar and Faramir exchanged a concerned look.
“Faramir, would you be so kind as to arrange guards for our newly arrived friends?” The king asked in Sindarin, which both he and Faramir spoke fluently where the hobbits did not.
“Of course,” the prince of Ithilien replied in kind. “With your permission, my king.” He bowed and turned to the hobbits and spoke in the Common Tongue, “I will see you shortly, good friends. There are things that I must see to before I can join you. Tell Legolas that I will be along as soon as I am able.” With that, he departed and Elessar and the hobbits continued on to Legolas’ rooms.
~
Éomer concluded the story he was telling Legolas with a precisely timed punch line and grinned as the elf dissolved into merry laughter. As good as it felt to hear his friend laugh, the king of Rohan’s insides twisted with anger at the sight of him.
The elven prince had, since the first time Éomer had met him, always been a shade leaner than he ought to have been, but now he was thin almost to the point of emaciation. The bones of his wrists stood out and his cheeks were hollow. It was the only time he had could remember anyone as tall as the elf was actually looking small or fragile. Éomer king had been a warrior practically from the time he could walk and had seen many horrific sights, but the thought of anyone daring to do something this cruel to one of the Nine Walkers turned his vision red with fury.
Controlling himself with an iron will born of many years spent dealing with Grima Wormtongue, the Rohirric king concentrated on amusing his friend by telling funny and embarrassing stories of their mutual friends and acquaintances. He knew only too well how difficult it was for a warrior to remain in a sickbed for any length of time and wished to alleviate Legolas’ boredom as much as he could. Besides lopping off the heads of the ones responsible for placing the elf in said sickbed, it was all he could think of to do, since Elessar had the search for the scum responsible well in hand.
Gimli had stepped out when Éomer had arrived, citing a desire to see if there might not be something more interesting than porridge or broth for their friend to have for his luncheon. The fact that Legolas thanked him not once but several times for undertaking the endeavor was evidence of how tired he was becoming of porridge and broth, despite the fact that he made no complaints.
Éomer was about to begin another story when Legolas cocked his head, obviously hearing something that he could not. The elf turned his attention back to his companion, beaming.
“I know not how but we have company, my friend. Do you hear them?” he asked, still grinning. Éomer strained to hear and finally the sound of Legolas’ chamber door opening and familiar voices reached his ears and he, too, began to grin.
“I do indeed!” He stood, catching sight of Pippin as the youngest hobbit burst through the archway from Legolas’ sitting room. Merry was only a step behind Pippin and Sam and Rosie followed closely behind Merry with Elessar bringing up the rear. “Master Holdwine, it is good to see you again,” he called to Merry, “Pippin, Sam, you too. And this must be Mistress Gamgee.” He bowed to Rosie, turning her cheeks pink at the sight of a king bowing to her. She bobbed a curtsey and received a broad grin in return. “I have heard a great many things about you, my lady, all of them good.”
Pippin had stopped in his tracks, staring at Legolas. The elf fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable under the combined scrutiny of the hobbits. The youngest hobbit shook himself and moved forward at a much more sedate pace to carefully embrace the prince.
“Hullo, Legolas. I think we’re going to have to take over the kitchens and fatten you up a bit,” the hobbit said, his voice a bit muffled against the elf’s shoulder.
“If you cook me something besides porridge, you would be most welcome,” the prince replied with a laugh, his self-consciousness gone. Merry moved to embrace Legolas as soon as Pippin stepped back.
“How are you really, Legolas?” Merry asked, eyes fixed on the elf’s face searchingly as he did so.
“Better than I was yesterday and not so well as I shall be tomorrow,” the archer answered with a shrug and a slight smile.
“Typical elf, ask him a question and he’ll say both yes and no,” a gruff voice said from the archway. The hobbits turned to see a hugely grinning Gimli bearing a tray covered by a white cloth.
“Better that than a dwarf, who answers with a single grunt,’ the elf quipped from his bed.
“Just for that, point-ear, you can have porridge again for your luncheon,” the dwarf retorted, laughing at the tragic face Legolas pulled. “Nay, elf, you know I’m not that vindictive. Here now, finish greeting the hobbits and you can see what I’ve got for you.”
“Thank you, Gimli,” the archer replied with patently false meekness. Gimli snorted, but let it pass without comment. Sam moved forward then and awkwardly patted Legolas’ shoulder.
“Sam, I assure you that I will not break,” the elf laughed and drew the gardener into the same embrace that Merry and Pippin had received.
“Beggin your pardon, Legolas, but you certainly look like you will. Pippin’s right, we are going to have to fatten you up some,” Sam said as he stepped back. Legolas favored him with a bright smile when Sam did not call him by any title. The remaining members of the Fellowship had, as individuals and as a group, insisted that Sam address them as equals before Elessar’s coronation. Éomer and Faramir included themselves in the request, feeling that Sam’s deeds during the Quest negated any class distinction that existed between them. The gardener had protested at first, acquiescing only at Frodo’s insistence, and he still forgot sometimes.
“If that includes your wife’s dumplings and apple tarts, I will not argue,” Legolas replied, throwing a wheedling look at Rose, who laughed.
“Of course it does, and anything else you wish!” the lady in question said stoutly. She moved forward then and Legolas inclined his head and kissed her hand exactly as he would have for one of the ladies of his father’s court. She laughed again, not the least bit discomfited. “Oh, go on with you! You’ll be giving me airs above my station if you keep that up! Although, if it means that you’ll finally let me feed you properly I’ll see if I can’t put up with it.” Rose had become very fond of both Legolas and Gimli during their visit to the Shire during their travels after the War and treated them as she would her family. Sam had been a bit taken aback by that at first, until Gimli had explained privately that both he and Legolas would not have had her do any differently.
After embracing the hobbits, Gimli set the tray on Legolas’ lap and lifted the cloth with a flourish. The elf’s eyes grew large at the sight of the soup, bread, mild cheese, and stewed apples that was his luncheon.
“Gimli, you are a true friend,” the prince stated solemnly, reaching for the spoon. His still impaired fingers caused the spoon to clatter to the floor and he frowned.
“Well, they still won’t give you any wine, lad, but this fruit juice is pretty tasty,” the dwarf replied, stooping to retrieve the errant flatware.
“Then you will be forgoing your usual ale in favor of the juice, friend Gimli?” Legolas asked, with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.
“Nay, I’m not the one on a restricted diet at the moment! Although I did have some of it with my breakfast this morning,” he admitted a bit sheepishly. The elf favored him with a cheeky, but fond, grin and tried to wrap his fingers around the spoon again. It clattered to the floor once more and Legolas gave an aggravated sigh.
“I shall be very glad when my hands work properly once more. I am growing very weary of being fed like an infant,” the elf groused, and then winced. “My apologies, I am not a good convalescent.”
“Now, don’t you fret none,” Rose Gamgee stated firmly. “Every one of us here has been either hurt or sick at least once and we’re not likely to take offense.” She grinned at him drawing a slight smile in return. “Well, I did say that I wanted to feed you properly so I guess this is my chance!” She winked and he laughed and nodded his permission.
“Sam,” Legolas said, beckoning the former gardener closer and speaking into his ear but loudly enough so that all the hobbits and Gimli could hear his words, “May I tell you again that you made an excellent choice in a wife?”
“I know,” Sam replied with a fond smile at his spouse. “Though why she’d want me is the real question.”
“You were the only one who ran slow enough for me to catch,” Rose quipped, grinning at her husband, who chuckled at her riposte. The rest of the company broke up into appreciative laughter at her jest as well. It was this moment of levity that greeted Thranduil as he walked through the archway onto the wide balcony.
“That is a most welcome sound, “he commented, gracing the group with a smile. He crossed the balcony to Legolas’ bed and dropped a kiss onto his son’s brow.
“Ada, you have met everyone here except Mistress Gamgee,” Legolas laid his hand on Rose’s wrist lightly. “Rose, this is my father.” She rose and dropped into a self-conscious curtsey. Thranduil took her hand and raised her gently, smiling warmly.
“Mistress Gamgee, it is a great pleasure to meet you. Legolas has spoken very highly of you,” he said, pretending not to notice the blush that stained her cheeks. “And your apple tarts,” he added, a hint of his son’s occasional mischievousness in his eyes and tone. That relaxed her enough that she laughed in response and Thranduil gave Legolas’ shoulder an affectionate squeeze before turning to exchange greetings with the other hobbits and Éomer.
Once he had moved to the far end of the balcony to converse with Elessar, Rose leaned over and spoke conspiratorially to Legolas.
“It’s easy to see where you get your charm,” she said, still blushing a bit.
“According to him, I get that from my mother,” the elf replied with a slight chuckle. “But, opinions differ depending upon who one asks.”
“Well, enough chit chat. Your soup will get cold if we don’t get it into you soon.” To Legolas’ surprise, she made the process of assisting him with his meal a great deal less damaging to his pride than he would have anticipated. That combined with the other hobbits’ nonchalance about seeing him in this situation eased his humiliation a great deal and he actually enjoyed his luncheon. The hobbits certainly made it more amusing than it had been over the course of the last day.
Once his luncheon was finished and after the hobbits had eaten theirs, Merry, Pippin, and Gimli launched into a competition to see who could make Legolas laugh the hardest. Thranduil had drifted back over and stood at his son’s left shoulder as each took a turn telling the most outrageous and humorous stories they could think of.
Midway through the third round of stories, as Pippin stood on the end of Legolas’ bed gesturing wildly and making comical faces as he spun his latest tale, Faramir arrived with two of his assistants in tow and receiving their final instructions as they passed through the archway. The first of the assistants made a soft response to what he had been assigned and bowing, left to complete his assignments. The second asked for clarification on a few things and conversed with Faramir for several minutes.
Despite the hilarity of Pippin’s story, Legolas seemed to withdraw into himself, his expression going blank. Gimli shot him a sharp look and laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder, only to find it as drawn as tight as the string of Legolas’ bow. Looking down at the elf’s hands, Gimli could see that they were twisted into the blankets tightly. He gripped the prince’s shoulder just tightly enough that Legolas’ eyes flicked over to look at him, but they flicked away again before Gimli could get a sense of what was upsetting his friend. Legolas seemed to be staring into space and fighting to maintain control over himself.
Thranduil also noticed his son’s increasing retreat, but could no more place the reason for it than the dwarf could. He then settled for placing a comforting hand on the shoulder that Gimli wasn’t gripping and speaking softly to Legolas.
{What is wrong, my son?} He asked. Legolas’ eyes flicked over to him and locked with his, but the younger elf just shook his head. It was at this point that the hobbits noticed Legolas’ distress and Gimli, fearing the elf’s reaction to their inquiries, chose to act.
“Legolas, one of these days you may acquire enough sense to admit it when you’re exhausted. I just hope I live long enough to see it,” he grumbled, beginning to usher the hobbits toward the archway. “Why don’t you go get settled and visit with Arwen and those reprobate brothers of hers,” he suggested, smiling reassuringly at them. “You can visit some more with him after he rests a bit. Blasted elf never does know his limits.” The hobbits laughed and called their farewells to the elf, who neither spoke nor moved. Faramir and his assistant also departed, Faramir stating that he would stop by later after Legolas woke from his rest. Éomer said the same and left with his brother-in-law. Elessar helped Gimli shoo everyone else out and as soon as the door closed behind them confronted the dwarf.
“All right, Gimli. Just what was that all about?”
“Aragorn, look at him,” the dwarf replied, gesturing to the prince. Legolas was still blank-faced and staring off into space. Thranduil shot both Elessar and Gimli a worried glance and sat down next to his son, wrapping his arms around his thin form.
{What is it, Legolas? My child, I cannot help you if you will not tell me what is wrong.}Thranduil grasped his son’s chin, gently forcing him to meet his father’s eyes. Legolas swallowed hard and bit his lip. Thranduil merely waited patiently, giving his son an encouraging nod and a smile.
{Father, the man that was with Faramir, who is he?} Legolas’ voice sounded hesitant, even to the two who waited just beyond Thranduil even though they could not understand what he had said. The Elvenking turned to Elessar.
“Who was the one with Prince Faramir?” His tone was brusque, but Elessar voiced no offense.
“His assistant, Lithmor,” the king of Gondor and Arnor replied, a thread of apprehension coiling in his stomach but waiting patiently for an explanation. Thranduil turned back to Legolas. The prince took a shuddering breath and began to speak in the Common Tongue.
“I never saw any of their faces. My eyes were never uncovered. I could hear them very well, though, and I shall never forget the sound of their voices or what they said.” His eyes met Thranduil’s again and there was a wealth of grief in them. “They bragged about what they did to Loreleni. One of them suggested doing the same to me, but his fellows’ fear of their leader prevented it. I was bound so well that I could not have stopped it if he had tried. I wanted to kill them with my bare hands then. I still do,” he said softly, his eyes dropping to his clenched hands in his lap. Thranduil’s arms tightened around him and Legolas laid his head on his father’s shoulder.
“Their leader, they called him ‘His Lordship’, would come and talk to me when he checked on them. It was his idea to put me in that cellar, he told me what they were going to do before they did it.” Legolas looked up into Thranduil’s face again. “I still hear his voice in my dreams, Ada.”
“Once you regain your strength, you will regain control over your dreams,” Thranduil assured him, smoothing his hair back. Legolas shook his head irritably and locked eyes with his father again. There was cold hatred and anger in the blue-gray orbs.
“Ada, his voice is that of Faramir’s assistant.”