The Hunting Trip 

Author: Ithilien 
hartsart@apk.net

PG-13 Disclaimer: All rights to any of the original "Lord of the 
Rings" characters and places belong to the Tolkien estate and I humbly 
bow to the genius of J.R.R.Tolkien. I promise to return all his 
characters, when this story is done, to the state in which I received 
them. All other characters and actions represented in this story are 
my creation and I hereby claim them as mine, so please do not touch 
them without my permission. 

Summary: Needing a respite from the toils of daily life, our heroes 
choose to sojourn to the wilds of Northern Ithilien for a little 
relaxation, and perhaps some hunting. But there is evil in those 
woods, and unbeknownst to them, a dark adventure is about to occur. 
Features Legolas, Gimli, Faramir, Eowyn, Arwen and Aragorn.

A/N:  This story takes place twelve years after the War of the Ring, 
so things have changed a bit from where Tolkien left these folks. 

Since I will be taking on some of their personal issues, and I 
consider this an adult fiction, do not be surprised when sexual 
activity comes up. No, I will not be writing a slash fic, but sex is a 
factor in this story and it does come up on an occasion or two (or 
maybe three). Any attempt to describe sexual matter will be done with 
as much tact as I can muster. I have tried to leave openings available 
for interpretation, and if you enjoy letting your mind wander in those 
areas, feel free, roam away! But I also respect those who don't enjoy 
fics with sexual content, so I am leaving room for interpretation 
without getting too caught up in explicit detail (at least I hope I 
am). 

A PG-13 rating means that if you are under 13 you should not be 
reading this without an adult's supervision. And if you are under 13 
and capable of reading it, then bully for you for being sharp enough 
to understand and appreciate these words. I seriously doubt this is 
the kind of fiction that could be fully enjoyed by anyone without an 
astute mind. This story is categorized as Horror. Turn away if gory 
stuff makes you ill. Don't say you weren't warned. Okay? Here we go…







The Hunting Trip

Prologue: Cruel Death

The elf ran with all the speed his legs could carry. His light feet, 
accustomed to moving noiselessly, could not help but make a splosh 
splosh sound as he ran over the boggy ground. Yet despite his noise, 
he barely made a sound when compared to the splashes and thuds of the 
heavy feet that pursued him. And even before that, the swift crash 
through the brush of the wolfhounds came as they barked and growled 
out their charge. They were closing in on him, and the elf sobbed 
while making a valiant effort to kick up his energy and flee.

He wished he were among the trees. He would have stood a chance for 
escape had he been. For the beasts that chased him did not have his 
fleet talents there. Their prowess was not among limb and branch. But 
the elf was not in the forest. Their mission had been in the 
northwestern reaches of their land, in the regions that touched the 
Nindalf. No trees grew there, though they could be seen on the horizon 
ahead. His only chance, he knew, was to make it to those plains. His 
path would lead him there, if only he could hang on long enough. So 
far, he was ahead, but the dogs showed no signs of tiring and would 
soon be on him.

He was running for his life, having witnessed already the deaths of 
his companions. Yet he knew not why this was happening. Their mission 
was to be peaceful. No more enemies were there to be found in these 
parts. At least, there were not supposed to be. But most apparently, 
that was not true.

Believing all was well, they had left with barely any weapons – only a 
bow for shooting game if their food ran out and a short knife to be 
used for skinning. And those were now left behind at their camp, 
laying beside his dead comrades, their throats slit and blood pooling 
about them. Not that the weapons would have done much good even if 
they had been warned of the need. Neither he nor his friends were 
warriors. They were not graced with skills to kill, only those of 
rudimentary survival in the wilds. He should not need further than 
this. These grounds were safe. He should not be running in fear for 
his life!

Glancing back, his heart beat fiercely. He trudged and tripped through 
the muck, knowing there were no hiding places for him here. And even 
if there were, there was no time for him to hide his tracks. They 
would find him and they would kill him, just as they had done with the 
others, though he was unsure why.

In the dark he saw the glade ahead, the outline of its form making a 
deeper shade against the pitch of midnight. He did his best to hurry 
his steps as salvation was there. Trees! If he could only make it to 
the trees. Aside from their knives, he did not think the Men carried 
other weapons. If he could make it to the trees, away from the dogs, 
he might escape.

The forest was just ahead, and he forced all his energy into this last 
attempt to flee. He could hear his labored breath grow louder with his 
fatigue and his heart beat ever faster in his search for relief. Only 
a few hundred yards more did it stand. But in his blind pursuit to 
run, his senses were unfocused to all things but those behind him. He 
did not see the creature come at him from the sky until she was upon 
him. 

Razor-sharp talons dug into his shoulders and he cried out at the 
unexpected pain. Wings and beak flapped about his face and his arms 
flailed out to push the creature away. But she pursued, fighting him 
with predatory instinct. A night flyer, she had learned long ago how 
to overcome her prey and with animal knowledge and no sense of wrong 
in her action, she plunged sharp claws into the elf's face, knowing 
the vulnerability of that region. The elf screamed out as vicious 
nails penetrated his eye socket, blinding him with blood and pain. He 
fell hard, rolling in the sodden earth, twisting to free himself from 
the bird. He struck the creature hard and was released from its grasp, 
but too late. His fate was sealed. The hounds gained on him, and he 
knew his life was forfeit. And yet, he still fought, regaining his 
feet, sobbing his regret as he righted himself, plodding on, forcing 
his body further.

It was a surprise to him when the first fell beast dropped him with 
its leap. He had expected the dogs to nip at his legs, to trip him up. 
He never expected they would have energy enough to make such a bold 
move. He was exhausted, his energy spent, and he had hoped, at least, 
that the wolfhounds would be too. He did not know their drive would be 
encouraged by his fear and the smell of his blood. 

The first dog's attack took his hands as he rolled to his back and 
pushed away at the animal. The jagged fangs were vying for his throat 
and he pushed his arms up in defense. A second beast leaped at his 
belly, launching its teeth at the soft tissue of his groin. Curling up 
in response, he fought back, kicking and thrashing, but a third, 
fourth and fifth creature leaped into the fray and he had no way left 
to fight. And lastly, the sixth wolfhound found its mark, diving into 
his neck and ripping the artery within it. Blood gushed out as the 
fatal wound was inflicted, and all the dogs plunged into his flesh, 
refreshed by their lust. Landing knife-like canines into muscle 
tissue, the taste of blood sent the beasts into a ravenous fury, each 
mauling harder at the taste of raw meat. The snarls of their attack 
mixed with his screams, and the noise was a symphony of gruesome 
horror. 

The footfalls of men could be heard breaking through the marshy soil, 
beckoned by the cries of death and destruction. Calling out to the 
hounds to cease their attack, the men hurried to the place of attack. 
But it had been too long since the dogs had been fed meat. They 
growled out their answer. Their lust for blood was undiminished by 
their lack of full bellies. They would have their meal. The men's 
calls would be damned!

A kick sent a yelp from the snarling lips of one creature. A thrown 
off dog, and then another in turn, was followed by the hollow thud and 
cry as a fourth dog's ribs crushed against a harsh rock. The sound was 
enough to make the other canine beasts take notice, and they at last 
saw the ferocious anger of their masters' glare. Snarling and 
simultaneously whimpering, they drew back, relinquishing their prey to 
the men who kept them.

A bloody mask was all that was left of the elf's face. One half of his 
face was a mass of gore. The single remaining eye showed fading light. 
Sucking sounds rasped from his lips as his last gasps entered and 
exited his lungs. Entrails lay exposed beside his body, curled and 
ripped on the ground and they led back to his torn belly as the opened 
cavity filled with garnet blood. He was dying. A crimson pool sullied 
the mud beneath his head and a thickening trail of it dripped from the 
corner of his mouth. 

The Men looked down on the dying creature and scowled. The dogs backed 
away, seeing their masters' anger, knowing they had gone too far in 
their hunt. A screech from above indicated the arrival of their 
companion hunter. An arm was flung out, and the wings of a large grey 
owl swooped down upon it, landing noiselessly on the human perch.

A voice was heard by the elf as all his senses dimmed. "She will be 
angry with this," the voice said. "We should have waited before 
killing the other two." The words were hollow to the elf. His spirit 
was ascending and the sounds became more and more distant and vague as 
he slowly died.

"We could not have overpowered them," came another voice. "We know 
little of their race. She never warned us. You can see they were 
strong. This one nearly outran us. Had we not killed them, this easily 
could have become a disaster. We did what was right."

"And now we have three dead Elves to show for it! Not even one live 
one to present for her use! What good is that to her? I dare say she 
will not have kind words for us!" shouted the first.

"So what do we do? Hide the evidence? Pretend this never happened?"

"No! She will read us and know. Better to face her wrath. And perhaps 
she can find some use here in this," said the first, pulling up the 
head of the dying elf by a scruff of hair. 

"So we will bring her the bodies?"

"Just the one. That is all of what she asked. But you are right in one 
way, my brother," said the first slowly.

"How is that?"

"We need to hide the evidence. There were three here. There may well 
be others. And we will need another if she is to go on. But all in its 
time. We do not need to find retribution for this deed. Not now. We 
should hasten to keep our presence here short. My fear is for later. 
Bad enough it is that we should have to explain this to her tonight. 
Mother will not be pleased with us…"





Chapter One: Revelry and Song

"And now we must celebrate!" 

A raucous laugh tumbled out of the mouth of the red-bearded dwarf. 
Gimli was in an especially merry mood on this day, as was right. He 
should be! It was a day to be remembered in Minas Tirith, and Gimli 
and several other dwarves from the Glittering Caves were the heroes of 
the city. 

The streets were alive with revelry and festival. Parades had lined 
the main roads in the early hours and the palace guard and an 
entourage of royal officials had made the procession to the foot of 
the city. At the main gates had stood the Dedication, and Gimli had 
given the Honors of Presentation to the fair Queen Arwen. The point of 
focus for all to behold was the last, and the greatest, of all the 
gifts the Dwarves had bestowed upon Minas Tirith. A new gate was 
unveiled, and nothing like it had ever graced the City of Kings prior. 

Shining in mithril and other precious metals, it was a treasure that 
raised the level of beauty of an already lovely city. Flower petals 
had rained down on the heads of all who beheld it, and a roar of 
applause echoed through the cities streets. Gimli's name could be 
heard on the lips of all the attendants and rumors and gossip about 
the king's long friendship with the diminutive leader abounded. Nearly 
everyone wanted to see him, to shake his hand, to be where he was, to 
call him 'friend'. He was favored by the crown, and he was their cause 
of celebration. Gimli was a very popular dwarf in Minas Tirith.

Parties crisscrossed alleyways and lanes throughout the various levels 
of the great white city. Street vendors hawked confections for nearly 
every taste, and minstrels and puppeteers entertained all-comers for 
the offering of a few copper coins. Women wore their prettiest frocks 
and tied their hair back with ribbons and flowers and the men went so 
far as to bathe and to trim their scruffy faces. Children played 
freely without fear of retribution and throughout the city, laughter 
and merriment were heard from all houses. Except for the countless 
days of celebration at the marriage of Elessar and Arwen, a better 
time in the towering city could not be recalled by any. The King had 
proclaimed the event at the gates a holiday to all, and the citizens 
reveled in their joy.

Patting his belly from the fullness and contentment it had partaken at 
the King's table, Gimli clapped his other hand on the back of his 
companion. A look of such glee filled his eyes, and anyone who looked 
upon him could tell the dwarf had never been happier. 

"I know just the place to go! I have been saving this one up for the 
next time you would join me here, and I can think of no finer occasion 
than this to enjoy it!" the dwarf said as he led his guest through the 
city streets and down a narrower roadway. As they passed, observers 
would stop and curtsy or bow as the dwarf made his way. And in turn 
Gimli would nod and smile at each one, letting their honors add to his 
mood.

Legolas laughed. "I do not think I have seen you so pleased with 
yourself, Gimli! You act like a dwarf wallowing in mithril. You are 
enjoying this with immense pleasure."

Gimli chuckled loudly. "Of course I am! Look at how well they treat 
me," he said as a small girl ran up to him and presented him with a 
flower and a sweet smile. Gimli smiled at her in return and said, "Who 
would not enjoy such attention?"

The elf smirked. Not I, he thought. He did not care much for the city, 
and it was only his friends' presence that drew him there. When he had 
first come to Minas Tirith, he had been seen as a curiosity among men. 
That had been more than twelve years ago, and despite Arwen's role as 
their Queen, he still felt at times that he was an object upon which 
to be gawked. It was not true, he knew, and he reprimanded himself for 
feeling such, chalking up this emotion to his cloistered life in the 
forests. He was not overly fond of cities, and he did what he could to 
be in and out of them as swiftly as he could. Throngs of men grated on 
his serenity, and he often found himself seeking refuge in the quieter 
places there were to be found there. The unwarranted attention of big 
city centers did not appeal to him. And so in his past visits, he had 
felt it was enough that he do his job as best he could, and then 
leave. He did not need praise to boost his ego. The silly attentions 
played by men on acts of gratitude did little for Legolas. Even among 
his own people, Legolas shied away from grand gestures of this type. 
All he ever asked for, or expected, when a gift was offered, was a 
heartfelt thanks, or a like kindness done in return. Anything more was 
overdone in his mind, and he would rather avoid being cause for such 
unneeded attention. In answer to the dwarf, he said, "I am just glad 
no one tried to hold a celebration for my sake when my kindred and I 
brought trees to this city in those first years after the war. The 
humiliation would have driven me away for good."

Gimli snorted, "Trees! As if that would be cause for celebration…"

Looking slightly hurt, Legolas said, "Arwen seemed to appreciate 
them."

"She was probably just being polite. But, stop that brooding sulk. I 
am teasing you, friend! Your gesture added beauty to the city, and I 
know it has not gone unnoticed. Fortunately, Elessar knows you well. 
He would not suffer your stoic nature to this unabashed merriment. It 
is not fitting for you. And I am glad he has done this, for you have 
not been chased away and this day would not be nearly as merry if you 
were not here to celebrate it with me! There are many differences 
between you and I, elf. I am only too happy to be the recipient of 
this. My dwarves and I have labored many years to accomplish this task 
and it is a nice reward to be honored for it in the end," he said as 
he waved to passers who stopped to point in his direction.

"It is a beautiful gate, Gimli," Legolas agreed. "Three years in the 
making and another eight in the mining of the ores…It is a very 
generous gift!"

Stopping before the door of the establishment of their intent, Gimli 
pulled the elf aside, and looking suspiciously about said, "Perhaps 
not everything harvested in those years went to the gate. We did keep 
some of the treasure as reward for our toils."

Legolas laughed, "I would expect no less from a dwarf!"

Growing defensive, Gimli placed his hands on his hips and blustered, 
"We did not keep that much! No one will accuse me of not being 
generous!"

Legolas laughed even harder. "Hardly, Gimli! If anything, I would say 
you are the least greedy dwarf I have ever come to know!"

Gimli pursed his lips with a look of annoyance and said, "I am the 
only dwarf you have ever come to know!"

"Exactly!" said Legolas as he walked through the doorway.

The inn was alive with activity and Legolas felt himself cringe at the 
close confines of the place. There were too many people here, he 
thought, and he felt instantly grimy in this dark noisy room. He 
supposed he should not have expected more. He could tell the dark 
confines of the space held appeal to the dwarf. For Legolas, it was 
abhorrent. Bodies brushed against bodies in the hectic atmosphere. But 
even in the chaos, Gimli's presence was noticed. The barkeep roared a 
hail of welcome to the dwarf as he pushed two patrons out of their 
seats at a table on the far side of the room. Running a dirty cloth 
over the bench, he motioned for Gimli and the elf to take a place in 
the now empty chairs. Gimli laughed aloud, looking quite at home in 
the loud, smoke-filled room, while Legolas followed the dwarf with 
trepidation, wondering what he had got himself into. 

"So delighted you could make it, ands on this night in particular! 
Thought certain his majesty would have you wrapped up in some big brew 
up there at the palace," the jovial barkeep twanged with obvious 
familiarity. 

"Aye, he did. But we managed to escape all the same," the dwarf said 
with a wink and a smile. "Besides, I promised to show my friend here 
some of the finer establishments within Minas Tirith."

"And since they were all closed, you brought him here instead!" the 
barkeep said, laughing and slapping the elf on the back. Legolas 
jumped back at the unexpected contact. 

"Merris Thalbuck is my name. Glad to make your acquaintance," he said 
wiping his hands on the dirty cloth before proffering one to the elf 
in greeting, "though most of my patrons just call me Mal." 

With a slight grimace, Legolas put his own hand into Mal's to return 
the greeting. Mal's strong grip shook the elf's hand fiercely, then he 
quickly stretched an arm about the elf's shoulder and tugged Legolas 
into his barrel chest. "Friends of Gimli's is friends of mine. Welcome 
to The Sleeping Dragon" he said. Legolas rolled his eyes to that, 
understanding now what had initially attracted the dwarf to this place 
as he fought back the embrace of the innkeeper. Not noticing Legolas' 
discomfort, the barkeep went on, "Can't say I caught your name. What 
do they call you?"

"Legolas," the elf answered.

The noise in the room was deafening and easily muffled Legolas' gentle 
voice, "Say again," said Mal, pointing to his ear as if to indicate he 
had not heard.

"Legolas!" the elf said in a much louder voice, directing it now to 
Mal's exposed ear.

"Ah, Legless. Yes! Unusual name, that. No matter. Take a seat, gents," 
he said pushing the dwarf and elf both into their chairs.

"Legolas!" the elf offered once again, but the noise in the room made 
it impossible for the barkeep to tell what he was saying. Mal woodenly 
nodded but did not correct himself, and with resignation Legolas 
shrugged. Gimli snorted. 

"So, what libations can I bring you gents?" Mal said looking from one 
to the next, now taking a professional stance.

"A tankard of ale for myself," Gimli said with a broad gesture.

"Mulled wine, please," the elf said politely.

Mal frowned and Gimli quickly leaned into the elf to remand the drink 
order. "Legolas, could you not order something better then that? We 
are celebrating this night, let us not forget. A headier beverage 
would be more fitting, if you will."

Mal offered in turn, "Sir, you should know this house has the best of 
all spirits in the lands. People've been known to comes from all parts 
to partake in the drink we have here. Ask of anything and it will be 
done."

Legolas drew back with a look of disgust, "I cannot and will not drink 
ale, Gimli. While you enjoy it just the smell of it sickens me." 
Turning his eyes back to Mal, he said, "Some mead then," hoping that 
would appease the situation.

Gimli eyed Mal and gave a small shake of his head. The barkeep read 
the gesture and said, "'haps I'll come back when you've discussed the 
matter amongst yourselves." Sighing and shaking his head, Mal 
disappeared into the crowd instantly.

"Legolas!" the dwarf said with gritted teeth.

"Gimli!" the elf responded, also gritting his teeth. 

"Why must you be so stubborn? Could you not just lighten your 
standards for one evening? I mean to enjoy myself, but you are not 
aiding me!" the dwarf said with flaring eyes.

"What would you have me be? I do not like it here – it is too 
confining – and I do not care for the distilled spirits of your like. 
So, if I must participate in this, allow me to do so with some 
comfort," Legolas said haughtily.

Gimli huffed his disdain, then drawing his breath he said, "Sometimes 
you act so priggish!"

Legolas stiffened. Priggish! He did not like that word, but could 
think not how to respond to it. Smoldering, yet resigned to make the 
best of a bad situation, Legolas said darkly, "What might you suggest, 
dwarf."

The bright look on Gimli's face came suddenly, and had Legolas 
reflected on it long, he might have thought he had been set up for 
some ill will. But Gimli's smile seemed genuine, and the elf did not 
want to believe the dwarf would have malevolent intent. Gimli smiled 
brightly and said, "I think I know what to do." And before Legolas 
could ask further questions, the dwarf had removed himself from the 
table and was giving orders to Mal at the serving area. 

A roar of boon laughter settled over Gimli and the patrons at the bar, 
and Legolas could see the dwarf's merry disposition restored. His mood 
lifting in return, Legolas tried to eye what was occurring at the 
counter. He cringed when he saw a particularly large tankard pushed 
forward toward the dwarf. But Gimli did not part, and Legolas grew 
more curious as he saw Mal pouring and whirling mysterious beakers 
behind the work surface. With a flourish, Mal poured the concoction 
into a small pewter mug which he gently lifted and placed before the 
dwarf.

Smiling as he returned, Gimli artfully presented the cup to his 
companion as he pushed himself down into his chair. The dwarf looked 
most pleased.

Legolas eyed the drink suspiciously. He could only wonder what kind of 
toxic creation the dwarf had contrived for him…and what dirty utensils 
Mal had wielded in its make. He sniffed. To his surprise, he beheld an 
aroma of fruit and honey. Blinking at this discovery, he placed his 
fingers on the cup. Startled to find it warm to the touch, he looked 
up inquisitively at Gimli. The dwarf smiled broadly, eager to see if 
his guess had been correct. "Go on, go on," he urged the elf, 
gesturing for him to taste the drink.

Legolas lifted the cup to his lips and took a tentative sip. To his 
relief and pleasure, he was greeted by a flavor of sweetness that 
delighted him, and the warmth of the drink drew heat nicely at the 
back of his throat as it slid its way down. Smiling his approval, he 
took a larger sip, warming himself with the liquid as it worked its 
way to his stomach. Looking again at the dwarf, he said, "What is in 
this drink? It is quite good." 

Pleased and feeling boastful for accomplishing the unthinkable, the 
dwarf said, "Only natural ingredients I assure you, friend. But be 
careful. It is rather potent."

"Not to worry, Gimli," Legolas said as he took another taste, much 
longer this time. "I am an elf and elves have greater tolerance to 
mortal libation." Then he took a long swallow and drained the cup on 
the spot. Raising the empty receptacle to the barkeep, he caught Mal's 
eye and indicated his desire for another. Mal nodded and smiled.

Another figure sidled up to the table surprising the pair of 
mismatched comrades with his sudden appearance. Looking up, Legolas 
was pleased to see Faramir joining them. Clapping a hand on each of 
their backs, the Prince of Ithilien greeted them both with a beaming 
grin as he then snared a chair from a neighboring table and proceeded 
to join them. 

"Faramir, what brings you here?" Legolas asked with delight.

The sandy-haired steward shrugged and smiled, "I saw you two leave the 
palace festivities, and I suspected Gimli might want to drag you to 
some of his favorite haunts. It did not take long to find you here. I 
thought I might join you."

"Welcome, Sire! Welcome!" came the hearty call of Mal as he placed 
Legolas' drink on the table and bowed deeply in his recognition of 
Faramir.

Faramir laughed at the large figure scraping before him. He said, 
"Arise fair innkeeper! There are too many bellies to be filled tonight 
for you to give special treatment and gesture to my likes. Bring me a 
pint of ale and be done with this!"

Mal rose with a smile, and backed away into the crowd, whispering and 
adding to the rumor of the room as he disappeared into the throng.

"Is that–?" Faramir looked and pointed at Legolas' drink, lifting and 
smelling the cup with Legolas' nod to do so. "Is that what I think it 
is?" he asked the dwarf. Gimli nodded. The Steward let out a low 
whistle and said, "Smells wonderful– but too powerful for my blood. I 
think I will stay with my ale," he said, cocking a brow at Legolas, as 
if the elf had been promoted to a place of greater respect.

The elf ignored the implications about his beverage and turned his 
regard on Faramir. He had not had much opportunity to speak with the 
man earlier in the day, and he was looking forward to the time ahead 
to reacquaint their close friendship. It had been many months since 
their last encounter and much had changed in the realm of the Elves of 
Ithilien. He was eager to share his news with the Prince. But Legolas 
also knew they would have much time in the days ahead to speak on 
these matters, and the noise from the crowd about them did not give 
much heed to words of serious nature. He resigned himself to the fact 
that the atmosphere was what needed to be relished in this 
smoke-encrusted tavern, and drew back in his resolve to allow humor to 
enter his mood. Heartily he said, "How fare Eowyn and the children?" 
as he took a long drink from his cup.

Faramir smiled and said, "All are well," but there was a stiffness to 
the answer that told Legolas a lengthier answer might lie beneath the 
pleasantry. Yet Faramir did not linger and went on to say, "The boys 
are amazing to watch. Bright they are, and I hope you will be able to 
see them in this passing. You will not believe how quickly they have 
grown!"

Legolas smiled, "Like the majus vine they are, spreading beyond the 
circle of their roots in what seems to be only days. I can never get 
over how quickly mortal children grow."

Faramir nodded in agreement, "I think even mortals cannot get past how 
quickly mortal children grow! But they do not seem to appreciate the 
break we are about to undertake from them. They wish to come along."

Gimli laughed, huddling in to participate in the conversation. "Do 
they appreciate," the dwarf asked, "that adults sometimes need time 
for play themselves?" 

"I think they do not realize adults play, Gimli. Sadly, they think us 
all nothing but seriousness and deep mood. But they will be fine in 
this place. Eowyn has them convinced that their visit in Minas Tirith 
will be a great holiday all their own. They are already quite settled 
into the palace, and have given their nurse the slip on more than one 
occasion this day. The king's manor is quite beside itself with the 
sound of frolicking children in its corridors. I think Aragorn is 
quite pleased by the intrusion," Faramir said with a paternal gleam. 

"So Eowyn is ready for this excursion," the elf broke in.

"Ready is hardly the word. Frantic for it, I think. After all, this 
trip was the idea of she and Arwen," Faramir said.

"But the ladies shan't be hunting," the dwarf questioned.

"Nay," said Faramir. "At least not Eowyn. She said she will be more 
than happy to lounge undisturbed and to take in the sites of our 
realm," he said indicating he and Legolas' homeland. 

"Gimli!" a shrill female voice broke through the chaotic frenzy of 
noise about them. A buxom woman sidled up to the dwarf and crushed her 
body into the open arms of the stout creature as she delivered Faramir 
his drink. Oblivious to Faramir's royal presence, she turned her 
attention on the dwarf. "You came to see me, you handsome imp! I knew 
you could not stay away!" 

Legolas blushed on Gimli's behalf, and Faramir snorted back a guffaw. 
But Gimli did not seem to notice and directed his attention to the 
handsome female tucked into his arms. Speaking loudly so his 
companions could hear, and winking in their direction, he dramatically 
said, "Ah, but my sweet, how could I ever stay parted from you long."

Swatting him away, she said to the group in general, "Oh, you are a 
talker! Never does he do anything but whisper sweet-nothings at me. 
Still," she said, angling back into the dwarf, "a girl likes to hear 
such pretty utterances."

"Your beauty deserves more than any words I could deliver. Give me a 
kiss, and I will be more than contented for my longing," the dwarf 
said in half-jest.

The barmaid giggled and backed away as she looked about their table. 
"You are sly! But you won't catch me smooching it up with all to see. 
So how about another round instead?" she said as Legolas drained his 
cup for the second time.

Gimli's tankard was still half full, and Faramir had just taken his 
first gulp, but the elf nodded his approval and the barmaid slipped 
away to fill the order. With a cautionary voice, Gimli said, "You had 
better slow down, my friend. That drink can have a large impact if 
taken too fast."

Legolas growled under his breath before answering, "I can manage 
myself, Gimli and I know my limits. Try not to be so…priggish," he 
said with a small laugh that he was uncertain came from his mouth.

The dwarf just smirked at his companion and reclined back in his chair 
to enjoy the rest of this evening out. 

After several more rounds of drink, Legolas was also reclining back in 
his chair. The warmth in his belly had moved up through his spine and 
permeated his limbs with a dreamy sluggishness that he found quite 
comfortable. The noise about him seemed less jarring, and the smokey 
haze of the room troubled him no more. The mirth of his friends had 
pervaded his mood, and he found himself smiling happily at the Prince 
and the dwarf, feeling a deep brotherly affection for them both in an 
intensity he could not remember ever having before. He was truly 
enjoying himself, and his laughter punctuated the conversation at 
their table. Glancing about at the other inhabitants of the room, he 
saw a motley assortment of characters. A random group they were, in a 
variety of ages and sizes that brought wonder to the elf's altered 
senses. And to a one they all seemed to be enjoying themselves with 
the same revelry of the elf, and he felt surprisingly satisfied and at 
ease in their presence. 

A group of rowdy men at the next table caught his attention, and an 
assault of prodding and goading was going on between them as they 
regarded one of their own with a dare. The one in question stood up 
with as much dignity as he could muster in his intoxicated state, and 
announced to the group in general, and to the room at large, "Very 
well, I shall do it!" A round of cheers went up at his table, and 
without further explanation, the man stood on his chair. Clearing his 
throat, the attention of many throughout the room focused on him. With 
a loud voice, he said, "Gentlemen…and ladies," he said bowing to the 
few women in the room, "my friends have challenged me, it seems. They 
wish for me to sing you a song. And as I do not back down from a 
dare," a murmur of chuckles rose up from the group at his table, "if 
you will allow it, I would offer you this tune." A smattering of claps 
rose up from around the room and the young man began to sing. 

All heads in the tavern turned to face the ruddy young man, who sang 
without flinching, or even looking so much as nervous at the attention 
now drawn to him. He sang to the crowd, urged on by their attention, 
and he seemed to be enjoying this moment of scrutiny. His voice was 
fair, but the crowd seemed to enjoy the words to his song better than 
his talent. For the tune that he sang was quite lurid in content, a 
bawdy song that seemed at home in this place, and the crowd cackled 
with approval at the more raucous parts within it. Legolas found 
himself blushing as he listened, charmed and yet stunned that a song 
of this caliber could have such a merry, yet stirring effect on him. 
When done, the man swept a bow to the crowd and smiled to the accepted 
pats upon his back by the group of his table. 

Across the room, a voice called out, "I'll do that one better!" and a 
man arose from his seat and began singing another very callous song. 
Looking at the expressions at his own table, Legolas could see the 
beaming grins of Faramir and Gimli in appreciation of the lyrics, and 
he could not help but wonder at the comradery that was spreading 
through the room as many of the men took up the song, joining in with 
the tune. He saw Gimli lift his mug overhead and swing it about in 
time with the music, yet the dwarf managed to keep the contents within 
the cup intact. Legolas picked up his own tin and began to do the 
same, but the warm liquid in his sloshed to and fro most violently, so 
the elf was forced to drink more before he could imitate the dwarf's 
actions more succinctly.

Then as that song ended, Gimli arose and stood on his own chair. 
Legolas was shocked, but apparently no others were and he heard the 
barkeep call out, "Gimli's going to sing!" The crowd repeated the 
call. "Gimli! Gimli!" came the repeated urging throughout the room. 
Grinning madly at the attention, the dwarf allowed the call to 
continue for some time before holding his hands up to quell the noise. 
Gimli began with a start from the audience, belting out a dwarven 
melody that made Legolas blanch at the lewdness of the words. 
Snickering at the song, the elf exchanged glances with Faramir who, 
too, was chuckling loudly at their dwarven friend.

For his part, Gimli was very much enjoying his role as the center of 
attention, and he urged the crowd on in taking up the chorus, slowing 
his words so they could catch them in all. Before the song was 
complete, Gimli had the room alive with the repetition of his tune, 
and as he finished, he bowed deeply to all. Then turning to his 
companions, he pointed to Legolas and said, "Now you grace us with 
one, Legolas!" But Legolas shrank back from the dwarf's invitation. 

Seeing the gesture, Mal called out to the crowd, "Let's hear one from 
Legless!" and the crowd echoed their support. "Legless! Legless! 
Legless!" came the call from around the room. 

Feeling his face growing a deep shade of red, Legolas shook them off, 
but the sound grew louder the more he protested. "LEGLESS!" they urged 
on with hands reaching out and patting him on the back. At his side, 
Faramir mouthed the word, "Legless?" to Gimli, to which the dwarf 
laughed in answer. 

Utterly embarrassed, Legolas sheepishly stood up to face the calls. 
His legs buckled slightly under his weight, and he held onto the table 
to regain his stance and wondered at his weakness as he had not unduly 
exerted himself that day.

A roar of applause cheered him on as Mal yelled out, "Sing something 
Elvish, Legless! Give us a lusty tune!" and the crowd roared agreement 
and took up the call again.

Mumbling out "My name is Legolas," the crowd ignored him and continued 
their noisy urging. Slowly a smile crept over his face in response to 
the pleas, and the feeling of goodwill returned to the elf. It was a 
natural thing for him to sing, and Legolas could easily break into 
song of his own make on most any day, without even stopping to think. 
So when the call for a song was foisted upon him, it was not the idea 
of singing that embarassed him most, but the desire for song before a 
great crowd of men, a thing he usually chose to avoid, that made him 
hesitate. But now that he felt more comfortable standing before them, 
and indeed found that they truly wanted to hear his words, he realized 
he had no idea of what to sing. Such music was not within his normal 
realm. He had never tried to construct a song such as those he had 
just heard, and his brain did not seem capable of putting one together 
at the moment. And worse, he could not think of a single Elven song 
that would fit the occasion either!

Grasping at nothing, his mind was muddled by his panic and he found it 
difficult to get his thoughts focused. Mortified by what betook him, 
his eyes grew large as he glanced back at his friends. But the dwarf 
and the Prince offered nothing but smiles of encouragement, and the 
elf realized he was in this struggle alone. Closing his eyes to all 
about him, he drew a deep breath and forced his mind to go blank. His 
brain felt sluggish and he had trouble concentrating, but thinking 
hard and long, at last a gasp escaped him. A laugh fell from his 
mouth. Shaking his head, he knew just the song. Holding up his hands 
to cease the noise, the crowd grew quiet and he opened his mouth to 
sing. 

A tune of quick tempo lilted with his voice, and he found himself 
pleased with his own cleverness. Truly it was an old elven song, but 
it was unrecognizable as such in the way he portrayed it. It was 
really a song of love and loss, about an Elven maiden who pined for 
her dead lover. In her misery and despair, the song said, she took his 
horse and departed, losing herself in her sorrow, relinquishing her 
body and spirit to the wayward direction of the beast. Among his own 
people it was sung in lament and with deep sorrow, a selection of 
sounds that conveyed a mood of chastity and deep emotion. But here in 
the tavern, with alterations to the tempo and pitch, the song took on 
a sprightly rhythm and sly asides, and a completely different meaning 
was had. The lascivious minds of the men around him filled in the 
ambiguities of the song and rounds of applause came up at points 
Legolas would never before have considered vulgar. The men seemed to 
be lauding the horse, and hoots of laughter echoed through the tavern 
when the chorus was sung. "Ride on, ride on…" he sang, and they 
cheered. Encouraged by the lewdness of the people about him, he added 
expression to his words and his face grew more animated. Feeling very 
much unlike himself, he was half-embarrassed at these exploits, for 
they reminded him in some ways of something his father might do. He 
was infinitely glad there were no other elves present to witness this 
of him. And yet even still, this strange character (that was not like 
the Legolas he knew) sang the last notes with unbridled enthusiasm. 
The room erupted in applause, and in mixed conflict with himself, the 
elf once again felt his face grow red. Making a show of it, he picked 
up his drink and downed the last gulp. Then slapping the mug to the 
table, he dramatically sat down. 

But the chair was not there and he disappeared beneath the table. 

Surrounded by laughter, Legolas found himself with two choices: cringe 
in embarrassment; or join in with the fun. His head was spinning a 
bit, and it seemed much easier to give in. Sensing a good joke, he 
choked on the hilarity of the moment and as his two comrades lifted 
him back to his feet, and into a real seat, he chortled, "Now I am 
Legless!" Doubling over at his own good humor, the elf had to grab 
hold of the edge of the table as he started to topple over. Blinking 
to regain himself, the world suddenly seemed skewed to his 
perceptions. A cold sweat broke across his forehead and the laughter 
that had just been pouring out of him slipped quickly away. "Oh…" he 
said.

Gimli and Faramir exchanged a quick glance and then immediately rose. 
"Right then," said the dwarf as he and Faramir pulled Legolas up out 
of the chair. Gimli put an arm about the elf's waist while Faramir 
threw an elven arm over his shoulder. 

Suddenly finding himself propped up between his two friends, Legolas 
said, "But wait. I tant to sway. I mean…" He found himself caught in 
another fit of laughter, not even realizing the difficulty he was 
having in maneuvering his own feet as the dwarf and Prince 
half-pushed, half-dragged him through the crowd. At last they reached 
the door, and a blast of cool air hit the elf's face at their exit. 

The breeze elicited a soothing response, and Legolas suddenly felt an 
overwhelming urge to sleep. The world seemed topsy-turvy, and he 
pushed himself out of his friends' grasps only to find he needed the 
wall to hold himself up. The cold sweat on his brow now sent a chill 
down his spine and a throbbing pain was beginning to ring in his head. 
Nausea swept across him like a sudden wave, and he doubled over in an 
effort to fight it off and remain upright and intact. But it was not a 
thing to be mastered, and against his will, his stomach proceeded to 
expel its contents. 

"This is attractive," muttered the dwarf, who swayed a bit on his own. 
He stared at the elf now collapsed on all fours in the street. 

Legolas looked up at his friend, wondering how Gimli could be so 
apathetic to the elf's plight. Expressing his thoughts on his own 
condition, Legolas said, "I think I have been poisoned."

Gimli and Faramir both laughed and then the dwarf responded as he 
offered a hand to rise, "Poisoned, my friend? Who would want you 
poisoned?"

"…no idea," said the elf, leaning against the wall as he attempted to 
stand unaided, then he laughed and said, "Mayhaps someone did not like 
my song."

Gimli sighed and shook his head with a bemused smile, "No, elf, 'tis 
not poison. Though in the morning I suspect you will wish it had been. 
You are drunk. That is all. Just drunk."

Legolas wavered as he looked at the dwarf who whirled about before his 
eyes, and his face scrunched into an angered expression as he slurred, 
"Drunk! I am not! I have had drink before, in my very many years, and 
never been affected as thissuch." Then he started laughing at his new 
made-up word. "Thissuch," he repeated.

"Oh yes you are drunk!" came the laugh of Faramir with a hand to the 
elf's shoulder. Legolas blinked in surprise. He had forgotten that 
Faramir was there. "This will be a night I shall not soon forget, my 
elf-friend. For indeed you are drunk and I think it is time we got you 
home and to your bed."

"…not drunk, Faramir," the elf sputtered and began walking down the 
street, using the wall to support his fumbling steps. Then he stopped 
and looked about him. He could not remember where he was supposed to 
be going. Or for that matter where he was. He turned back to look at 
his companions and recognized that they had not followed his path and 
stood still at the tavern's door, wicked smiles glancing off their 
faces. 

"'Twas poison," he slurred pointedly to the dwarf as he passed, then 
he continued his march up the street, still uncertain where he was 
going, but determined not to let the dwarf see him fail. Sadly though, 
his body had had enough, and his legs began to wobble with each step 
that he took. Weariness pressed down on his mind and his eyes grew 
heavy with his task. Pausing to rest, he found his legs slowly give 
way and his body slid down a stuccoed wall. The elf found himself 
sitting on the ground. With complete indifference to his predicament, 
he let his head drift down and rest on his chest.

"Oh no. You shall not lie here, Legolas," the elf heard the Prince say 
and he felt strong arms lift him back to a standing position.

Managing to get out the word, "…tired…" Legolas felt his body go limp 
and in the back of his mind he waited for the inevitable crash to the 
ground. Except it did not happen. Caught in a whirl of motion, he felt 
his body maneuvered and jostled and finally thrown over a broad 
shoulder. His arms swept over his head, pushed by gravity in a 
disorienting manner. With neither will nor strength to open his eyes, 
he let his mind drift in an upside-down world as he heard snatches of 
conversation and felt his body sway to the footfalls of his unknown 
rescuer. 

"…heavier than he looks…" he heard a voice say.

Then another, "…regrets in the morn…"

"…fit to travel?" was the next.

And lastly, a voice unmistakably Gimli's, said, "If I know anything of 
the elf, I would say this: he would rather die than admit he was sick. 
I can guarantee, he will travel," which was followed by a round of 
laughter.

And after an interminably long passage of time, interspersed with 
confusing dreams, the elf felt himself dropped into a bed. Or at least 
he thought it was a bed, for it was very soft and inviting. He felt 
hands pull off his boots, and another propped him up as his belt and 
tunic were removed. Then a blanket was laid over him, and he felt 
himself drift off to sleep.

But instantly he was awake, and he jumped out of bed. With wild eyes 
he caught sight of the dwarf closing the door. Legolas called out, 
"Gimli, find your weapon! We are under attack!" as he nervously 
glanced about trying to remember where his quiver and bow were at 
within the room. 

"Eh?" was the dwarf's response.

With renewed urgency, Legolas said, "We are under attack. Can you not 
feel it? The whole building moves." He found himself wavering under 
his sudden loss of balance. 

Walking over to the elf, Gimli pushed Legolas backwards and into the 
bed. Landing with a thud in the soft comfort, the elf heard Gimli's 
voice say, "You are drunk. Get some sleep." Legolas wanted to protest, 
but he knew the dwarf was no longer there. He was gone and Legolas 
allowed his mind to drift back into dreams. But not before hearing the 
sound of a harsh sputtering snort leave his mouth. What was that? he 
thought dully. Elves do not snore. But the answer to his own question 
did not come, for he had fallen asleep. And indeed, he was snoring.



Chapter Two: Troubled Dreams

Eowyn never slept well. Even now, when the darkest days of war were 
long behind her and her life should have been considered serene and 
blissful, Eowyn had trouble finding comfort in dreams. No, that was 
not really true. She enjoyed dreaming, when it came to her. It just 
seldom did. At least, not without the long struggle of laying 
restlessly within the confines of her bed. And only when she could get 
her mind to cease its constant droning at her – things to do, things 
not accomplished yet, things done but still worthy of consideration. 
All ruminated within her brain.

Not that she really minded her insomnia much. It often came in handy, 
especially when her task-level was at its greatest. She often used the 
time to read important documents, or to make notes to her secretary, 
or to various ministers. There was never a shortage of duties to be 
completed. And invariably, the act of taking on these tasks wearied 
her enough that her mind was quelled and she was able at last to drift 
off to slumber. But never before the wee hours of the night. And never 
for very long. For after a few hours of rest, she would awaken with 
the staff and begin a new day. Perhaps she would not be fully 
refreshed, but she was always rested enough that she could function 
with efficiency, and that would have to do, for she was unable to 
force more upon herself. 

She easily could have blamed her insomnia on the children. Though they 
required many more hours of rest, and indeed did sleep it, they were 
not always consecutive hours. Her children were fitful sleepers (an 
indication to her that they had inherited her trait). As such, they 
often awakened in the night. The fact that their nurse was a sound 
sleeper often made them turn to their mother to quiet their fears, or 
dreams, or general restlessness. It was troublesome, these 
interruptions, for Eowyn was possessive about the time she was given 
alone. Those hours were her opportunity for quiet contemplation and 
reflection. She often set her goals and priorities then. Yet, there 
seemed to be little choice. Despite the fact that the nurse was not 
easily roused, she was well-suited to her job, and the children seemed 
to adore her, and so Eowyn saw little reason to release the quiet 
woman from her employ simply because she had good sleeping habits. And 
though it might have helped had he contributed, Faramir was not an 
option for aid with the nightly wakings either. Eowyn endured, and in 
the end, she did not terribly mind, really. She was their mother, 
after all. In her own way, it brought joy to her heart that her 
children still sought her out for their comfort.

Eowyn knew she truly could not blame her sleeplessness on her 
offspring. Truth told, in all her near twelve years of marriage, she 
could count, with the combination of both hands, the number of times 
she had slept restfully for an entire given night. Sleeping indeed was 
a rarity for Eowyn.

So, it was no surprise that she found herself restlessly drifting 
through the halls of the King's Palace at Minas Tirith in the early 
hours, seeking ways to occupy her mind until dawn, when the rest of 
the world would catch up to her. Of course, it would have been 
different had she been in her own home. There, she would have simply 
stolen away to her study to bide her time. But here, in someone else's 
home, she had to regard her fellow residents and not wander too 
aimlessly, for fear of rousing someone. She did not want to be blamed 
for causing others to prematurely rise, especially when her want was 
nothing. And it was pointless to wake others who obviously needed so 
much more by ways of sleep. She could not imagine how they could do 
so, but she respected them all the same.

Even Faramir astounded her at times. His sleep was never hindered. 
Never. Lay his head to the pillow, and he was quickly, if not 
instantly, absorbed into dreams. It used to irritate her, early in 
their marriage, that he could sleep just at the thought of it, and she 
had many times found him capable of drowsing in nearly any location or 
position. How could he do that, she had wondered, when I struggle so 
just to give in to peace? And yet, she had learned to accept it as one 
of their many differences. It certainly was one of the minor things 
that came between them.

Here in Minas Tirith, she had fewer choices to chase away the churning 
of her mind. She and Faramir had been relegated to a single sleeping 
chamber, which was not a bother, as it is what they shared in their 
own home. But as she would have fled their room and gone elsewhere in 
their own manor, there was no place offered to her here. At first, she 
considered just staying in their room, lighting a lamp at the desk, 
and pretending that Faramir was not present. However, she had 
eliminated that idea when her late-arriving spouse strolled in with 
the noticeable smell of alcohol upon him as he made his apologies. He 
had obviously been partaking in some revelry with comrades, which was 
not so much offensive to her as it could have been. She had suspected 
as much earlier when he had departed after the banquet. His occasional 
outings with comrades was another point of difference that she had 
long overcome in their marriage. It did not do to grow angry at male 
acts of companionship. Still, at times this infrequent behavior nagged 
at her, though she was hard-pressed to say why. Tonight, she chose to 
ignore his play, but there was a price. As a result of his 
consumption, Faramir's sleep was punctuated by very loud snores. The 
racket interrupted her meditations and made it impossible to think. 
Annoyed, she left their room. 

She started to search for the library. She had admired the large 
collection of books there and knew something might be found to busy 
her distracted mind. But a problem existed: she could not remember 
where that room might be. The palace was immense, and somewhat 
maze-like in its design. Was it down these steps and to the right? Or 
past that flight and down the next? She remembered the terrace that 
stood off the library doors. Perhaps, if she could find that? But then 
again, this was not a time to be strolling the grounds. And once 
there, how would she return? She abandoned this idea as well.

Yet in the darkened halls and back stairs that dominated the palace, 
there was one place she was certain she could find. And that is where 
she drifted in this restless hour.

She slowly crept into the room. Glancing about the darkened space, she 
could see drapery billowing to the breeze of an opened window in a far 
corner and the brightness of the rising moon casting light into the 
windows and giving features to the figures and furnishings within the 
quiet chamber. Four beds took up various places in the room, the 
furthest away from the others belonging to that of the nurse. Eowyn 
could hear the subtle snores from that end of the room and knew her 
appearance would not disturb the matronly governess. The other three 
beds in the chamber exuded the quiet breaths and sounds of Eowyn's 
slumbering children.

Stepping into the space, she paused to look about. She was in the 
nursery. Or actually, in the room that would some day be a nursery, 
when the time came for Arwen and Aragorn to conceive a child of their 
own. And today it was a nursery, for her brood of young ones had taken 
over the space in exceedingly fast time. She chuckled to herself as 
she thought of the anxious expressions on some of the more uptight 
staff members of the household. She knew they had not even had a 
sampling yet of the rambunctious nature of her three boys, and already 
they appeared terrified. She knew before this respite was complete, 
there would be many among them who would well be pleased to see her 
children go. She laughed. Perhaps this would give them practice for 
what their own futures may hold, for Eowyn doubted a child with elven 
blood would simply be still and malleable. Furthermore, she had heard 
rumor that children of that race held onto their impetuous youth much 
longer than those children of men. Eowyn smiled wickedly at that. 
Would that not be a sight, to see a child of fifteen still locked in 
the body and conscious behavior of a five year old? What a handful 
that would be for the more uptight of staff persons, she thought. Yet 
she could not know for sure what the children of Aragorn and Arwen 
might be like, for they would also be half-human and Arwen had 
relinquished her immortality for the sake of love. Only the future 
could tell what those offspring would be like. 

Despite the flightiness of her sons, Eowyn sensed the former Ranger's 
joy at being surrounded by children, and she feared the milling gossip 
she had heard about the King's desire for a family was true. He had 
easily jumped into the fray of their gaming that day and became their 
adored 'uncle' in quick measure. He laughed eagerly at the pleasure of 
their role-playing games, joining in on their battles as they fought 
evil armies and he offered strategic attack plans. Faramir was just as 
much responsible for his pleasure, taking on the role of dark lord, 
and kidnapping the maiden Arwen to be used as a hostage. Eowyn had to 
admit, it had been a joyous thing to watch them all play together. But 
while Arwen was kind, and gentle, and contributed in her own way, she 
also looked a bit ill at ease when she locked her eyes on Aragorn's 
face. Eowyn could see that there was something between them, yet she 
was not sure what it was, for when removed from Eowyn's children, the 
King and his Queen fell back into the romantic glimmer of a couple in 
love. Arwen most readily adored Elessar, this could not be denied. 
Eowyn had her suspicions, but she would not voice them. Arwen's secret 
would remain hidden unless she chose to reveal it.

Slowly she walked through the room, stopping to gaze upon each bed and 
to consider the figure sleeping there. She loved to watch them like 
this, and often on nights in her own home she would come to stand 
vigil over their beds.

At the first lay Denomir, their eldest at ten years of age. Long brown 
tendrils curled about his face, and Eowyn, as she looked on him, was 
torn by her love for this child. Reaching down, she brushed a lock 
away from his face so she could see him more clearly. Born into the 
mind of a very wise soul, her eldest never ceased to astound her with 
his prudent wisdom and mature insight. He was the handsomest of the 
three, looking most like his father. But with that the similarity 
ended. And while Faramir adored the child, there had always been a 
small, almost indiscernible rift between them. It had been there 
always as near as she could tell, and it was growing. Eowyn knew that 
she would need to guard this relationship carefully as their years 
progressed, for although not as physically gifted as his father, 
Denomir had her sharp wits and was able to compensate his lack of 
outward skills with mental finesse. It was a trait that often Eowyn 
had to keep in check herself, and she knew she would have to school 
her eldest in coping with it if she held any hope that her household 
would remain placid. 

She looked across the room to where Léogel slept. He was eight years 
old and quite proud of that fact. While being a quiet child, he was 
easily the bravest, and also the most physically capable among them. 
Faramir told her he was reminded of his brother when he gazed on this 
one, and though she had never known Boromir, what she had heard of the 
warrior she could see in her son. His hair was the lightest of the 
three, and had an almost reddish cast that could only have come from 
his Rohan ancestors. He was physically strong and could already best 
his elder sibling at sport. He never complained and only voiced his 
concerns when dire occasion required it. This child was her angel, and 
he openly adored her. He was the one who would look back to see where 
she was in their party. And he was the one who would leave small gifts 
of fallen birds' nests or intricate pebbles at her dressing table. He 
was the one to always make sure he kissed her goodnight, and often she 
heard him peak into her room when he thought she was asleep, just 
checking to see if she was still there, she supposed. This child would 
be the most distressed if something were to come of her, and her chest 
burned a lump of pain at that possibility, and his fate. She could 
only surmise that his fears stemmed from her near death experience 
with the birth of his younger brother.

Turning her attention to Theomund, she smiled at the puckish face of 
her four-year-old son. Curly brown hair haloed his head. She laughed 
as she reflected that the quiet repose of this small child was the 
extreme opposite of what he lived in his daylight hours. The house 
came alive with this one, and he was a force all his own. Loud and 
personable, this little boy was friends with most everyone, most 
assuredly his siblings, and Eowyn mused that even the most stern among 
the King's household would be doing the bidding of this small soldier 
before their time was done. He was a persuasive moppet, and he refused 
to step down from his wonts, which of course, caused all strife in the 
end. He would not be tamed, and Eowyn reckoned that for as much 
turmoil as he offered, she would not want Theomund any other way. He 
made her laugh, and he knew it. He used it as his weapon, and half of 
the time it worked for him. But she also saw through him, and for that 
she knew there would be future misgivings. Fortunately for the boy, 
his father was oblivious, and any whim could easily be had under his 
father's watch. This child, this beautiful, playful, loving child, had 
been the center of more discussions and arguments between Faramir and 
Eowyn than the other two combined, and she worried that he would be 
the undoing of them, for neither could concede the others point so far 
as to direct the child in consistent direction. She paused at his bed, 
glancing a kiss to his brow and pulling the stray blankets back up to 
his chin. A tough future lie ahead with this one.

Rising, she made her way to the open window. The light breeze flitted 
the gauzy drapes in their breaths, raising and lowering the fabric as 
it sailed on the air. A rocking chair was bathed in moonlight that 
filled a square before the window, and Eowyn sat in it as she gazed 
out on the gardens of the King's palace. The warm air brushed against 
her skin, soothing a stray hair from her face, and she allowed her 
mind to drift. She was very much in need of time to think and she was 
looking forward to their break, even if it was not fully all she 
desired. She would make it work, for what she really needed was a 
departure from everything that life had become. She wanted to free 
herself from all other thoughts so she could focus on just one, and 
that she would have easily surrendered if she could. 

Her mind had been troubled of late, and though she knew not how to 
resolve her problems, she could at the very least, prepare herself for 
the possible outcomes. This trip they would take could give her that 
time, and she sorely yearned for it.

Alone with her thoughts, surrounded by her children, she could not 
help but let her mind go to her darkest of fears. She was often 
reminded of it in moments like these. She closed her eyes, and thought 
back on the birth of her youngest child. 

It had been a perilous event, one they never could have predicted. She 
had borne the first two children with seeming grace, easily birthed 
without too tiresome of labors. Both children had come into the world 
healthy and whole, and Eowyn had recovered her vitality and figure in 
record time with each. But the birth of Theomund had not been so 
blessed. Troubled by bleeding early into her pregnancy, she had been 
confined to bed during most of the nine months. Uncomfortable and 
bloated, she had longed during those hard months for the child's entry 
into the world, not knowing that it could get far worse before her 
time was done. Awakened in a pool of warm water, her pains came on 
suddenly and with fierceness. Faramir had been beside himself, 
fretting until the midwife arrived, and even then there was no sanity 
to be found. The baby was breeched and had to be turned for the 
survival of either she or the child. Racked in pain beyond any known 
relief, she labored for hours until her body had opened enough for a 
hand to be inserted. And then Eowyn's suffering truly began. With as 
much delicacy as could be had, the midwife palpitated and prodded and 
pushed to maneuver the baby to a position that would bring him out, 
finally forced to scoop in and twist the unborn form to a place that 
could deliver him. And all the while, Eowyn's screams of agony echoed 
through the house. Hoarsely crying out to the gods to stop this 
torment, her fevered pain was beyond comprehension, and she saw 
death's lights flash before her eyes more than once on that day. No 
man could ever have endured such torture, she was sure, and it was 
sheer desire to live that kept her alive. 

And Faramir, she remembered, had been right there with her. It was not 
required of him. Men were often dismissed from the scene when the 
delicate act of childbirth occurred. Yet Faramir would not hear of 
leaving, stroking her face and hands with cool cloths during the whole 
of her gruesome labor, consoling and encouraging her as the hours 
progressed. And even after his son was born, he refused to stray from 
her side, whispering softly to her until she slept. Only then did he 
grant a look at his newborn son. He smiled as she awakened, cradling 
their baby boy in his arms.

But the worst was not over. Infection set into Eowyn's body, and she 
limply fell into empty dreams as she fought for her life. The weeks 
that followed were vague memories to her, as healers invaded her home, 
and round-the-clock vigil was posted at her bed. And though she 
remained comatose through nearly it all, she knew Faramir stayed with 
her, holding her hand, stroking her face, telling her of their 
children's progress and antics. She remembered that, and perhaps it is 
what brought her back. She could not know, but he must have had fear 
to deign so much attention on her. It was not his norm to hover so. 
She swallowed a lump in her throat as she thought how he must have 
feared for her. And her children. Poor Denomir and Léogel! Old enough 
to be aware of her fate, they were still too young to lose a mother. 
It must have been terrifying for them. She felt a tear trickle from 
her eye as she considered their horror.

Forcing herself to push it away, she told herself, But I did not die. 
I breathe still. I am here for them. And yet, the fear that such a 
thing could happen again sent cold chills down her spine. It must 
never come again. So over the years, she had guarded herself carefully 
to assure that another pregnancy would not occur. And that had done 
damage to her marriage, for often she had pushed Faramir away when his 
needs were great. But she was certain that if there were a next time, 
another pregnancy, she would not live. The fear of it was enough to 
remove any desires for more children, and enough for her to risk the 
whole of her marriage. 

A sense came upon her that she was being watched. She felt eyes upon 
her, and nearly jumped out of her chair when she opened her own to see 
her youngest standing at her side. "Theomund," she whispered. It was a 
trait of this young one, such stealth he possessed. It was not the 
first time she had been startled by his sudden appearance. Gasping at 
her fright, she brushed the tears away from her face and she reached 
around to scoop him up into her lap. "I did not hear you, my love. 
What troubles have you?"

The child's sleepy face was betrayed by wide, tearful eyes. Careful of 
his voice (for he had often been told that he spoke too loud), his 
lips quivered as he whispered, "I had a bad dream."

Cooing to this answer, she pulled him closer to her breast. "There, 
there, my sweet. It is all gone. I am here now."

A sniffle escaped him as he nuzzled in closer, finding comfort in her 
arms. "It was very scary, Mama. There was a witch, and she was trying 
to take you and Father away." He whimpered, and Eowyn knew it must 
have been a horrible nightmare. Theomund rarely cried over dreams.

"Hush…hush…no more of that," she softly said, rocking him gently in 
her embrace. Slowly, she felt him relax in her grasp, drifting back 
into dreams, quelled by the love she could never deny him. As she 
thought on his fears, and hers, silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

****

From within the confines of a wagon, deep in a forest of pine, an old 
woman cried out as she yanked herself free of her nightmare. The words 
of an incantation rang in her ears as she bolted upright from her 
troubled sleep. She was awake! A sheen of sweat gleaned her face as 
her heart slowed to a normal pace and her breathing grew less labored. 
She sighed her relief at being release from the horrors that had 
gripped her soul.

Her mind reflected on the images that had played in her vision and she 
realized the most recent part of the dream had visited her again. The 
dream had been evolving over the last few months, and the newer scenes 
made her focus on their details. She pondered their messages as she 
replayed them again in her mind. 

Getting up from her pallet, she lit the lamp at the table and pulled 
out the stones that were part of her tools to foretell the future. She 
needed confirmation to know if this most recent premonition was real. 
There were parts in the dream that frightened her beyond any of the 
prior dreams, and she needed to know more about finding the sources 
revealed to her there. She had already put into task the effort to 
retrieve an elf. That had been shown to her weeks before in the dream, 
and although the risks for such a thing were great, the reward in the 
end would be far greater. With fortitude she told herself that her 
sons could not fail her in this. But that was not what troubled her. 
It was the other that she questioned. She suspected she knew, but she 
wanted to know with more certainty before she acted to attain the 
second and third items she would need for this magic.

Casting the stones, she studied the positions in which they tumbled 
and she scowled at the answer. It was ambiguous. A means of two roads, 
the stones said. Hesitantly, she considered this. She wished for a 
better answer, but she knew she was unlikely to receive it. Pausing to 
consider her next query, she gathered the stones once again. Freeing 
her mind of all other thought but the question, she threw down the 
stones for a second time. What of the Protected Place told to her in 
the dream? Was it near? Her eyes grew wide as she read the smooth 
pebbles before her, and she felt a shiver run down her spine. It was 
close. It would be found. Now growing excited and more resolute in her 
convictions, her hands shook as she picked up the stones one last 
time. Posing the question in her quailing mind, she dropped the stones 
into the circle of cloth one last time. And what of HIS body? Who 
would be the host for him? she asked. With an expression that masked 
all her fear, she read the answer: The one who bares his resemblance. 
Tears streamed from her eyes as anguish pressed on her. She knew what 
this meant. All these things she had seen in the dreams and she knew 
they were true. She no longer had doubts.

Panic gripped her. Time was running out! The full moon would be upon 
them in less than a week and it would be many years before the time 
would be right again. She did not have the luxury to wait. Her body 
was failing her and she knew she was slowly dying. They would need to 
hurry! Her future was grim! She had to succeed, and in her twisted 
mind, she told herself she did this for her family. They would be torn 
apart without her. Never mind that some would die before they were 
through. She could not help that. Those who would live would need her 
help. She must protect them. She must protect herself. There was much 
to be gathered and that Protected Place in the dreams must be found. 
They were close. She could feel it. She knew. 

She heard a shuffle of feet and soft voices outside her wagon, and 
then a soft thud as an object was dropped. Stepping away from the 
lamp, she drew to the curtains and stepped from the vardo. Before her 
stood two men, and at their feet was the body of an elf. 

Scorn marked her features as she looked upon the corpse. Glancing up 
at her sons, she grimaced and shreiked, "It is dead! What have you 
done?"

"It could not be helped," said the younger of the two. "We did not 
know the one would fight us so. We failed..." He looked down as he 
said it, and for an instant her heart was touched with pity for her 
child. 

But then she remembered her dreams and the stones, and anger erupted 
in her at the setback this caused. Letting her vexation spill from her 
lips, she uttered caustic words. Had the two men heard them as she 
truly spoke them, they may have recoiled and fled. But her magic 
worked upon them and she knew they would hear only soothing and gentle 
tones, though the message beneath could not be hidden. They would know 
of her anger. "Failure? Yes it is, but it is not I who loses in this, 
but all our tribe! Perhaps you should think on this, yes? I am only 
puri dai, while you are our leaders. You know there is danger for our 
family! How do you think we can save them? Perhaps you will think it 
is time to rejoin our clan?" she asked in the way of her role. It was 
not a direct response. One was not expected of her. But it was the way 
of their people to seek out her wisdom. As puri dai she had told them 
she did not approve, though she had only hinted at this with her 
words. If they read her correctly, they would see that she had told 
them that they could no longer tarry and she could forgive their error 
only if they found a way to make this right again. It was a complex 
means of communicating, one an outsider might not understand, but 
beneath all the layering of this speech, the fact was that their 
society was matriarchal, even if they did not openly show it. And as a 
sorceress of darkness, they followed her will as she easily 
manipulated them in this simple guise.

The two brothers looked at each other as they pondered their reply. At 
length, the elder said, "We will find another elf for your magic, 
Mother – do not have fears! We shall gather what is needed to keep our 
tribe together. It is time we met again with the rest of our family. 
We will set off to regain them. They should only be a day or two ahead 
of our route."

Smiling at him for being able to read her intent, she said with a 
sneer licking her words, "I think that is wise. You are good to think 
we should gather. We will be stronger as one. With all helping, we 
should be able to accomplish our goals." His eyes told her he had 
heard this as a beneficent statement and he smiled at her for her 
forgiveness.

Turning her eyes from her sons, she bent down to the body that lay 
before her.

"Do you think there is anything here that is of use to you?" asked the 
younger. 

Pulling out her choori, she thrust the sharp weapon into the elf's 
chest, cutting through cartilage and bone with a strength that belied 
her frailty. She reached into the cavity and thrashed twice more with 
the knife. Her fingers emerged pulling out a still heart. "Only this," 
she said as her fingers gently cradled the bloody organ. Moving to her 
vardo, she began to climb inside.

"Is there nothing else?" said the young one.

Pausing to think, she reconsidered and smiled. "Yes. Yes there is one 
other thing. Cut off its hair. I can make a talisman to make the next 
one resistant to flight. Otherwise, do what you will of it. This body 
is worthless to me," she said as she stepped inside.

She could hear their commotion as they finished the job she had 
ordered. But she did not want to think about them for now. She had an 
elven heart before her, and that possessed her attention. It was not 
as potent as it would be if taken from a living creature, and she did 
not have nearly all the ingredients she needed to make this magic 
great, but it would do for now. With this heart, she could stave off 
some of the effects age brought her tiring body. Small though it would 
be, it was a start. She placed the heart on the plank at her bench, 
making sure she turned to face the four compass points before doing 
so. She lit a fresh candle and placed it before her, then turned to 
dim the previously lit lamp. From a drawer above the bench, she pulled 
out a handful of salt and with it created a circle around the elf 
flesh. Grasping the choori again, she forced her mind to go blank. And 
then when she was calm enough to proceed, she started to say the dark 
words that channeled the spell. She called to the elements to conjure 
her sorcery, and uttered them in time to a rhythm only she could hear. 
Locked now in concentration, she lifted the knife, unaware of her 
actions as she fell into trance. Raising and lowering the knife in 
violent strokes, she slashed the flesh into pieces as dark words 
spilled from her lips. The voice that escaped her throat was deep and 
otherworldly. Her eyes rolled back in their sockets, and her whispered 
words grew louder. The sound resonated within her tented wagon as the 
spell took hold. An ethereal light illuminated the interior of the 
vardo as she reached the frenzied pinnacle of her words. The beating 
sound echoed within her mind, and she drove the knife into the board 
as her chest heaved with panted breath. Then swiftly, it stopped. 
Pulling herself away from the trance, with glazed eyes she looked down 
and saw the destruction she had made. Her hand reached out and crushed 
the cleaved flesh into her fingers. She lifted pieces of the elf's 
heart into the air, as if in offering, and then she slowly brought 
them down again to the circle. With shaking fingers stained in red, 
she lifted a ragged piece of the bloody flesh, and brought it to her 
opened mouth, smearing the tissue into her lips as it passed. She ate 
of the flesh and the magic in her black spell was complete.



vardo –covered wagon

puri dai –tribal elder

choori – hook-shaped knife



Chapter Three: Keeping the Ruse

Wake up, you fool! he told himself. Wake up! People are expecting your 
company! You cannot lie here all day! He forced his eyes awake and was 
greeted by a very blurry world and piercing pain that penetrated the 
space behind his eye sockets. He groaned aloud as he rolled to his 
side, torn between rising and staying and at last pushed his feet to 
the floor and raised his body from the comfort of the bed. He felt 
dizzy for a moment until his eyes became focused. The pain in his head 
now disbursed to cover the entirety of his cranium. He shook it to 
dislodge the cobwebs that resided there and began to do a mental 
inventory of what had transpired the night before. Oh…oh no! Dear 
Valar, what have I done, he said to himself as he rose on shaky legs. 
But having stood, he felt his weariness lifting and found it within 
himself to actually laugh lightly at last night's ordeal. 

He made his way to the wash basin and poured some cold water into the 
bowl, dousing his face in the cool of it. Looking up into the mirror, 
bloodshot eyes peered back at him. This agony is the price you must 
pay, he thought to himself as he tried to wash away the pained 
feelings in his head. Then quickly brushing back his hair and changing 
into fresh clothing, he packed away the rest of his meager belongings 
and placed the small bags on the bed. Pulling on his boots and 
fastening his belt, he departed the room and made his way down the 
stairs to where his friends would be gathered. He entered the dining 
room with little fanfare and made his way to the credenza where food 
was to be found. Few eyes looked his way, and he escaped any scrutiny 
for his tardiness. Fortunately, he was not as late as he had thought.

Actually, considering how he had felt the night before, Gimli knew he 
was really in not that bad of shape. The lightening headache rang 
through his skull, but in general, he did not really feel anything 
worse, and he knew that within a few hours, he would most likely be 
fine. Truth be told, he probably had been saved from a far more 
serious hangover by the need of Legolas for attendance last night. 
Gimli knew he owed the elf a small debt of gratitude. And a good deal 
of ribbing.

Glancing toward the table, he saw that Faramir was enjoying a hardy 
breakfast as a large forkful of potatoes and eggs slid into his mouth. 
The Prince seemed quite hale and Gimli recalled how Faramir had 
carefully nursed his drinks through the night. The Steward felt no 
pain for his pleasures. 

The same probably could not be said for Legolas, who was absent from 
the table. Gimli did a double-take at that. He had half-expected to 
see the elf there. He knew that elves did not suffer as mortals, so it 
never occurred to him that Legolas would ever feel as Gimli did at 
that moment. However, with the evidence presented of the missing elf, 
Gimli began to imagine that perhaps Legolas was feeling something for 
last night. After all, Gimli realized, he could not remember having 
ever seen Legolas in a state as extreme as that one before. A pang of 
guilt dashed the dwarf momentarily for the unseen pain inflicted upon 
his friend. It truly had not been his intent to get Legolas quite so 
drunk. Still, Gimli smiled to himself, for it had been rather amusing 
to see the lofty self-control of the elf slip away, if only a little. 
Gimli had experienced that drink himself once, and he knew well its 
effects. If it was anything near what he had known, the dwarf didn't 
envy the elf for how he would feel today. And really, the dwarf 
thought, Legolas should be commended for maintaining as well as he 
had. Except toward the end. Gimli inwardly laughed, for despite the 
small sense of guilt that plagued him, he knew that last night had 
been a historical moment in their friendship, and guilt or not, he 
could not pass on the opportunity to harass his friend at least a 
little for his behavior. But only when Legolas was recovered 
sufficiently enough to fight back. Later that day perhaps. After all, 
that was the only fitting thing to do. 

He lifted the lid to a chafing dish and peered into it. Sausages. His 
mouth began to water. In the next there were eggs. After that, fried 
potatoes. And beyond that were platters of various pastries and 
breads. Gimli quickly filled a plate, lamenting that the Hobbits were 
not there to see this wonderful spread of food. They would call it 
"Fit for a King," which of course, it was. His stomach rumbled in 
anticipation as he served himself some fruit. And then he spotted the 
thing he most desired: coffee! Ah yes, a tonic for his weary brain it 
was, and the aroma was a heavenly scent to him. Indeed, this was the 
kind of meal one needed before starting out on a leisurely adventure.

He sat himself at the table, bowing his head to Arwen as he did so. 
She was making quiet conversation with Faramir. At her side, Aragorn 
chewed on a roll as his eyes wore down a parchment he was reading. He 
barely had noticed when Gimli had entered the room, and only now 
glanced up at the dwarf on the opposite side of the table. He smiled 
in greeting, then glanced down again at his papers.

Gimli looked up as Eowyn advanced into the room. She was stunning in a 
simple riding frock and she carried a pair of smooth leather gloves. 
Her hair was pulled back into a tight braid and was wound back again 
to the base of her neck. She looked fresh and alert and ready to ride. 
"Good morning!" she said with a smile. 

"Good morning to you, Lady," Gimli said, rising from his seat at her 
entrance.

Eowyn raised a brow at his gentlemanly courtesy, nodding her head in 
answer. Gimli saw her eyes glance about to the other two males in the 
room. Neither had taken notice of her entrance and she shook her head 
in mild amusement. Smiling still, she said to no one in particular, "I 
trust you slept well?" She made her way to the sideboard and poured 
herself some tea. With a biscuit balanced on the edge of her saucer, 
she seated herself at her husband's side.

Sitting again, Gimli softly chuckled to himself as he muttered an 
aside, "And some rest ever still on."

Faramir looked up and saw the glint in Gimli's eye as he caught the 
words and their meaning. He laughed appreciably, nodding his head in 
agreement. Looking from dwarf to man, Eowyn caught the exchange 
between them and said in a mischievous tone, "You laugh, gentlemen, as 
if you have a secret. Has there been some evil brewing between you?"

"Perhaps not evil," snorted Gimli, "but a brew most definitely." 

Again, Faramir smiled, laughing into his food.

As if reading their thoughts, Arwen spoke up, "Has anyone seen Legolas 
yet this morning? He is usually early to rise. It is not like him to 
sleep late."

With the question, Faramir and Gimli both broke into louder snorted 
laughter. The Prince's eyes revealed everything of the amusement his 
memory replayed, and the looks from Arwen and Eowyn were infected with 
some of his mirth. Even Aragorn looked up to take notice. With a 
bemused expression playing up on his face, he quizzically asked, 
"Faramir? Gimli? What brings these chortles? You two act like 
pranksters?" Then, looking about at the present company and 
registering the words that had been said, Aragorn's face grew more 
serious as the absence of Legolas was noticed. His look became 
suspicious with narrowed eyes. "Legolas is not present. Do you know 
something of that?" he asked. Then seeing the restrained laughter 
between the dwarf and man, his tone changed to mild amusement as he 
said, "What have you pulled on Legolas?"

Gimli was all innocence as he replied, "Pulled on Legolas? Nothing, I 
assure you. We only laugh because we shared happy moments with him 
last eve and we know he may not, er, be feeling, hm, at his best 
today." A newly constrained laugh was broaching his lips at this last 
statement.

Arwen's brow creased in a mixture of concern and amusement as she took 
in that answer. "And what would that mean?"

Suddenly, Gimli noticed how penetrating those eyes could be as they 
fixed on him, and he realized that not only hers, but all the eyes in 
the room were now looking at him. Unlike the glee that he had felt at 
the attentions he received the prior day, today he felt the mood as 
both curious and accusing, and at the moment he felt he might do 
better to find an excuse to leave. Heat began to rise in his chest, 
and he found himself squirming under Arwen's intense gaze.

Thankfully, Faramir came to his rescue. "The elf participated in drink 
last night," he said casually. A glib smile graced his features as he 
informed them, "Too much, I fear. He was really quite happy when we 
left him." The Prince looked quite pleased with himself at that 
moment.

"You left him?" Eowyn asked, joining Arwen with an interrogative 
stare.

"No, no, he is safe!" Faramir said as the smile slowly began to fade 
from his face. "We carried him home," he answered with innocent 
honesty. 

It was the wrong answer.

"Carried him?" asked Arwen as her voice grew louder. She cornered the 
Prince with accusing eyes as she continued. His face began blush a 
deep crimson. "He was incapable of making it home on his own?" Then 
turning on Gimli, she said with unquestionable certainty, "What did 
you do to him?"

"Me?" answered the dwarf indignantly. This was not the conversation he 
expected over breakfast and he was beginning to lose his appetite as 
he found himself being looked at as if he were a menace to elves 
everywhere. He braced himself valiantly against the assault of the 
females' stares as he sputtered out, "Why am I to be held responsible 
for what Legolas chose to drink? It – it – it was his to decide…And, 
besides, he was warned. He drank it all the same! I did not hold the 
cup to his lips."

Up until that moment, Aragorn had yet to join the fray. But he did so 
with a vengeance and, unfortunately for the dwarf, he came in on the 
side of the offense. Joining Arwen and Eowyn in the interrogation, he 
directed a pointed question to the dwarf. "And what did he drink that 
would get him into a state as you describe? Surely not wine. That is 
his preferred beverage and I know well he can drink that with far more 
stamina than either you or I. He proved that to me on one occasion 
that I well recall."

Faramir snorted, perceiving a very good tale in that. "There is a 
story here, I can tell. What occasion do you speak of?" he asked with 
eager interest, a smile playing off his lips.

Aragorn broke into a grin at the memory. "Up in Haloel, long years 
ago. We aided some farmers in a small labor dispute there. It came out 
to our favor, and in celebration we spent a long night toasting our 
victory. I can say that while I was at my worst, Legolas never seemed 
to suffer. At least, I don't think that he suffered… if he did, I did 
not pay much notice as I was far too hung over to care!* He has a very 
high tolerance, that I know. I cannot even imagine what you could give 
him that would…unless…You didn't do that, did you? Gimli! You did not 
let him drink…?" Aragorn said as he added up his own conclusions. 
Faramir appeared to read the King's mind and meekly nodded 
confirmation to Aragorn's suspicions. "How could you let him do that?"

"What are you saying?" asked Arwen, confused by the path her husband's 
mind had taken.

Turning to his wife, he said, "Do you recall that beverage that they 
were serving at the Embassy Ball last winter?"

With what appeared to be complete understanding, and perhaps memories 
of her own to build upon, Arwen's expression grew as dark as her 
husband's. "Oh! Oh, Gimli! How could you?" she said as she threw her 
napkin at the dwarf.

Shrugging in his innocence, Gimli looked helpless to the attack. 
Looking across at Faramir, the dwarf saw the Steward enduring an 
equally evil glare from his wife. Sheepishly, the Prince was backing 
away.

Aragorn slyly smiled and shook his head at the dwarf and Gimli 
suspected it was only because he was not the target for the women's 
scorn himself. In his heart, the dwarf did not doubt that the King, 
had he been there, too would have found amusement in the elf's plight. 

But Gimli knew they were right. It had been wrong to goad Legolas into 
his actions. Yet in his own defense, Gimli thought, The elf surely had 
experience enough to know his own limits. Didn't he? Grimly, he 
answered himself. Perhaps not, for Gimli had to concede that Legolas 
had not known of the drink before yesterday and the elf obviously had 
not had experience with libations of this type to gauge his own 
response. He knew Legolas preferred wine and drinks of the lighter 
sort. And while there was nothing in the drink that could cause 
lasting harm to the elf, Gimli should have confessed his knowledge of 
the drink's contents so Legolas could at least have made an informed 
decision. But he had not and Gimli knew that had been wrong. With a 
rushing wave of protective zeal, the dwarf berated himself for not 
discerning the elf's innocence in this matter. Legolas had trusted 
him. And while the elf may well have been the elder between them, his 
life was far more sheltered when it came to understanding the 
pleasures of men. It was an area Legolas did not know well and Gimli 
was reminded that often he had need to act as Legolas' protector, 
asked for or not. With guilt pressing in on him, he knew he had failed 
his friend last night. He had been the one to lead Legolas into the 
tavern, and he had been the one to push the elf to participate in a 
beverage not of his own choice. Regretfully now, he knew instead of 
mercilessly teasing his comrade for his very amusing and humiliating 
behavior, the dwarf would need to apologize for his own worthless 
actions. That was the only fitting thing to do. And he would do it, 
when the elf was fully recovered. In a day or two. Or three.

Glancing up at the ladies, Gimli smiled his sweetest smile and tried 
to wile some of his own charm to break the mood. Unfortunately, from 
the returned glares, they were having none of it. Gimli scowled. It 
seemed once again that Legolas' power over women prevailed. Gimli 
shook his head, for the elf's encounters with females over the years 
had long perplexed him and the galling truth was the elf seemed 
oblivious to the knowledge that he did this. Yet Gimli knew it to be a 
fact. He had seen it more than once, this ability of the elf to bring 
females of all species to want to hover and protect him. The dwarf did 
not understand it. And Legolas certainly did not encourage it. While 
polite through and through, the former Prince of Mirkwood treated all 
females relatively the same, like a sister or a friend. Little did the 
elf know the throngs of women who would gladly throw themselves at his 
feet, if he only deigned to favor them with his notice. And here it 
was once again, in the protective gestures of Arwen and Eowyn. Their 
husbands hardly noticed, and Gimli supposed that the men were not of 
jealous natures. And then, too, he surmised, they probably already 
knew nothing more would come of it beyond a brotherly affection. 
Sighing to himself, Gimli thought, For someone who is not even 
present, the elf has most notably made himself known.

Aragorn looked again at his papers, then tapping at the notes he said 
to Faramir, "Have you seen the reports from the Poros Contingent? They 
claim there are large numbers of Haradhrim moving into their 
boundaries." Gimli sighed in relief as the attention in the room moved 
away from his actions. 

Placing her hand on the table before her, Eowyn sat up straighter. 
Glancing from Aragorn to Faramir she said with an imploring voice, "Oh 
please, kindly sirs, we had agreed no conversations of state matter on 
this holiday."

Placing his hand over hers, Faramir said, "But the holiday has yet to 
begin." Seeing this did not placate her, he squeezed her hand as he 
gave her a charming smile. "Besides," he said, "this will be the last 
of it you shall hear, I promise."

"Promises," she muttered knowingly as she rolled her eyes in answer. 
But grimly she smiled, "Very well, talk. Say what you will on the 
Haradhrim and be done with it. We well know their dispute is born on 
jealousies for what the others might have. The men of Poros are in 
want of the mineral rights established by the Harad long years ago, 
and the Haradhrim want to share power in governing the region. It 
could not be simpler since they choose to use their numbers to 
influence the bodies that rule."

"And yet the Poros Contingent is petitioning us to send military to 
the area to reinforce their stance," Aragorn pointed out to Faramir 
and Eowyn both. He did not seem to be surprised by Eowyn's knowledge 
of the subject. "They say nothing of mineral rights here."

Faramir opened his mouth to speak, but the words that answered were 
not his. "That is because they know if you force the Haradhrim from 
the region, they stand a chance of sweeping in and reclaiming the 
rights of those who would be usurped," Eowyn informed the King. 
"Gondor also holds a percentage of the mineral rights in the area. You 
could relinquish a portion and offer it to bid within the Poros 
Contingent. Tariffs need not increase substantially if the difference 
can be made up in new trade. Of course, you would need conditions…" 

"…conditions that Poros open a number of seats to the Haradhrim 
delegation. Yes, this I can see," said Aragorn nodding, then directed 
his gaze at Faramir as he said, "So we ignore the petition for 
military support?"

"Not necessarily," chimed Eowyn. Gimli could see Faramir frown 
slightly in her direction as she stepped into the answer he was about 
to give. Eowyn suddenly realized she was dominating the questioned 
answers and blushed as she said, "Pardon, Your Majesty. I seem to be 
stepping out of my place. Forgive me."

Faramir looked sidelong at her, as if he was unsure it was safe yet to 
speak, but seeing her eyes downcast, he said to his King, "Perhaps you 
should send in military to assure the free election of the Haradhrim. 
I do not think the Poros Contingent will give those seats up freely 
unless they know you mean to back up the Haradhrim. Otherwise they 
might try to slant the council with officials that were bought in 
their favor." 

Eowyn's eyes shot up, and it became apparent she was not done. "I have 
one other thought on the subject, if you would want to hear it, Your 
Majesty," she said with all formality. Faramir leaned back in his seat 
as if he had no choice to but to surrender all authority on the 
subject to her. An amused smile crossed his face on his wife's behalf.

But Aragorn seemed undaunted by Eowyn's direct knowledge of topics 
that he would normally share only with Faramir and he answered her 
with a sarcastic smile. "It seems I cannot refrain you from speaking 
on this particular state matter, especially on a holiday. Please, 
favor me with your thoughts." 

She smiled at his mockery, but went on all the same. "The need goes 
much more beyond rights and government seats. There is prejudice in 
Poros. One group vying against the other over issues of race. The real 
demon to be fought is that. I would offer to you that means of 
breaking those barriers be found. The schools are a fine example. The 
Haradhrim children have not been allowed to study along with the 
children of Poros. Segregation is rampant and the children of Harad 
are the ones to suffer. They are kept back only because of their race. 
There too with the merchants. Goods from each people are readily 
needed, and yet they do not openly trade, and a Black Market is 
dominant among the citizenry. I think these are the things that should 
be focused on to remedy the strife in the region."

Aragorn's eyes narrowed as he thought on this, his mood growing more 
serious. Nodding his head in approval, he said, "I agree. But further 
study should be made before real action can be taken." Turning his 
gaze again on Faramir, he said, "When this holiday is past, I would 
like for you to visit Poros and bring me back some recommendations for 
what we can do there. I do not think we would want to alter the 
structure significantly, but I do think we can work towards a less 
prejudicial future in the region."

Eowyn quietly gasped at this. "No," she said flatly.

"Pardon?" said Faramir, looking puzzled at her response.

Eowyn sat up rigidly. "No," she said again, an alarmed expression 
making her face grave. "Please, Your Majesty, do not send him away. 
He…I – I do not wish–" Her expression was troubled, as she broke off 
her thought, realizing that she had again overstepped her bounds. 

"Eowyn…" Faramir quietly scolded, glancing with embarrassment toward 
the King.

"I could go," said a voice that had not been heard yet in this part of 
the conversation. All eyes turned to Arwen as she repeated, "I think I 
should be the one to go."

"Arwen?" said the King in response.

"I could be your emissary, Estel. It would be prudent, do you not 
think? I could accompany the additional military, and stay through the 
duration of the elections while I gather my recommendations. My 
presence there, as a lady, would be seen as an honorary one, a gesture 
of peace, not a forced issue such as may be seen with that of a man in 
Faramir's position. If fashioned cleverly enough, with delicacy and 
charm, of which I so aptly am graced," she said with a mocking full 
smile, "I think they would be far more receptive to my querries. And I 
think, being a woman, I could have access to areas, such as the 
schools and merchant areas, that they would be more reluctant to show 
a man. I think it would be wise if you chose me," she said firmly.

But Aragorn's expression conveyed that he was not nearly as convinced. 
He shook his head as he said, "But you already have more than enough 
to keep you busy here. Do not forget that the Nimrais Governors will 
be visiting us over the coming months. There is much to be done in 
preparation for their various arrivals."

To Gimli's careful observation, Arwen's face froze momentarily as she 
registered this slight to her offer. The dwarf felt certain that he 
saw, in that brief moment, a glimmer of reproach before her expression 
softened and her lilting voice said, "I have much assistance on that 
task, Estel, and it is well under control. I could very easily 
delegate the Nimrain preparations to my staff. It would not be 
difficult and that would leave me plenty of time to be available for 
the Poros situation."

The tension in the room was nearly palpable, and Gimli could see there 
was something unspoken at play between the King and Queen of Gondor. 
Aragorn continued to hesitate, and sensing that this could not end 
well, Gimli piped in, "Mayhap Eowyn is right. This discussion does not 
involve me, and I tire of hearing it. Further, it seems it is a matter 
that will wait until our return. Could you not table it until a later 
day?"

With a small sigh of relief, Aragorn nodded to the dwarf as if in 
thanks. "You are right, my friend. Forgive us for not considering your 
interest in these issues. Let us change this discussion to one that 
concerns us all. Shall we talk on our plans?"

Eowyn's mood seemed to brighten at this suggestion, though Arwen 
seemed still locked in the prior conversation. Rising from the table, 
and drawing attention to himself, Gimli crossed the room to return to 
the sideboard. In an attempt to ease the mood in the room, he said, 
"So we head out this morning and make for the realm of the elves in 
Ithilien. We should arrive there long ere nightfall, is that not 
correct?"

"That was my understanding," said Legolas as he swept into the room. 
Bowing slightly to all, seemingly unscathed, he said, "That is, if we 
are not further delayed. My apologies for my tardiness. I will take 
little time yet, and we may be on our way." Turning his back on them, 
Legolas seemed focused on the food at the buffet. Arwen smiled in 
relief to see their friend well, and Aragorn nodded as if he had never 
had doubt.

But Gimli gawked at the elf's appearance. Although his color seemed 
vaguely off, a bit paler than usual, Legolas appeared none the worse 
for his merrymaking. As certain as the dwarf had earlier been about 
the elf not suffering, after the grilling he had received and his own 
deep regrets, he had grown convinced that just the opposite would be 
true. And now he was quite startled to see that his original 
presumption had indeed been true. Guilt had been seriously playing on 
Gimli's mind, and a chuckle of relief could not help but release 
itself from his aching conscience. The dwarf recovered from his shock 
quickly and with a glad hand, clapped his friend's back. With a small 
amount of glee for his own reprieve, he smiled to himself as he 
realized that perhaps he need not apologize after all. So like the elf 
to bounce back like that. No effect did it have, he thought happily. 
That was, until he saw the Legolas' hand shake as the elf reached for 
a roll. Fortunately, none of the others could see it from the angle in 
which he stood. But Gimli was standing at his side and couldn't miss 
it. The dwarf then realized it was a sham. Legolas indeed was unwell. 
But Gimli's mood took a turn and instead of new pity and guilt rushing 
in as it should have, a dark mirth for his friend's misery plucked the 
dwarf. The urge to poke at the elf's pretense of a healthy façade grew 
strong in him and he knew that had Legolas been true to his feelings, 
and shown that he really was unwell, the dwarf may have acted much 
differently. However, given these new circumstances, and though he 
knew it was wrong, that he should refrain from doing what he was about 
to do, Gimli found he could not help himself. He smiled at his new 
challenge. Since Legolas chose to act outwardly intact, it was only 
fair game for Gimli to try and inwardly break that guise. To his mind, 
that was the only fitting thing to do. Especially since the elf was 
pretending to be fully recovered. With a mocking voice, he said, "So 
Legless, will there be drinking and merriment tonight?" 

Turning his face to the dwarf, the elf looked momentarily startled, 
and Gimli realized in that instant that his friend had not held him in 
contempt for the previous nights activities. That is, until now. Gimli 
shuddered slightly as he saw the elf's eyes narrow, as if in warning, 
and he wondered what he had gotten himself into. It was a small move, 
and barely discernible to anyone but the dwarf. But the challenge had 
been seen, and Gimli had no choice but to follow through. Seeing now 
the slight puffiness beneath Legolas' eyes, and his less than 
wholesome pallor, a twinge of guilt played on Gimli again. But it was 
swiftly dashed away as Legolas smiled far too innocently at his 
friend. Speaking in general to reach the ears of the group, but 
keeping his eyes directed specifically at Gimli, he answered, "Nothing 
quite up to the standards set by last night, my friend. But if I have 
my way, I will see that you are delivered with twice the mirth that I 
experienced, and only then will I be satisfied that you have seen the 
hospitality of the Elves in Doro Lanthiron**." Gimli glanced about the 
room, wondering if anyone else had read that statement as a personal 
threat to the dwarf. Apparently not.

Seeing that indeed the elf was up to the challenge, the dwarf went on. 
There was no turning back now. "And song? You sang a marvelous song 
the other day." Faramir began to smirk, though he lowered his head so 
as not to be seen. "Can we hope that you will oblige us with a repeat 
performance of it this evening?" the dwarf asked.

"I have many interesting tunes within my memories, friend Gimli." The 
elf said the words rather fiercely. "Perhaps you would be so kind as 
to sing a few stanzas of the one you are thinking and I could complete 
it for you. Properly," Legolas said in challenge, fire sparking in his 
blue eyes.

Gimli was torn. He knew the elf would merely turn the joke back on the 
dwarf if he dared try and sing the song as Legolas had, for Gimli knew 
the song had a more innocent nature when sung as it truly was meant to 
be heard. He could foresee clearly the further scorn of ladies toward 
him when they heard Legolas' elven version in contrast to the tavern 
rendition. And yet the dwarf wasn't ready to concede just yet. "I 
could not do it justice and I am sure you know exactly which tune I 
mean. It was unique as it was sung in a fashion that was far more 
suggestive than that of most elven songs. I recall it being 
refreshingly different from one you might typically sing, Legless, er, 
I mean, Legolas."

Legolas was unflinching in his response, and though the eyes of their 
friends were upon them, he seemed perfectly at ease as he ignored the 
dwarf's jibes. However, behind his eyes, the dwarf could see a 
penetrating glare in full regalia. Still, Legolas maintained his 
self-possession. He said, "But I recall a very boisterous dwarven tune 
that you sang only recently. Mayhap you will share it with us as a 
prelude to my own rendering? I am sure the ladies would enjoy it 
immensely." Smiling as if that were the end, the elf turned again to 
face the serving table.

The dwarf growled deep and low as he cursed the elf. Legolas knew him 
too well. Gimli would never expose the ears of the ladies to such 
coarse words. Grumbling to himself, he tried to think of a way still 
to throw the elf off his base. He would not allow a decidedly hung 
over elf to best him. Only one thing came to mind at the moment, and 
he knew it was childish, and a wager at that, but from the color of 
Legolas' skin, he thought it could conceivably work. He recalled how 
his own stomach reacted on occasions like these, and also how, in this 
state, the workings of the brain had the ability to exaggerate food 
texture and quality. Looking about at the assortment of choices on the 
table, he picked his weapon. 

"Sausage, Legolas?" he asked, holding a link up directly before the 
elf. Seeing he momentarily had Legolas' attention, he bit into it. 
What followed was pure artistry in acting skills. Making a gruesomely 
exaggerated face, as if he had taken in something horribly repulsive, 
the dwarf spit the food back out into a napkin. Then pretending to act 
discreet, he glanced back into the napkin, to investigate the 
offending substance further. Quietly, Gimli muttered to himself, as if 
he intended no one else to hear his words, although in truth he fully 
intended that the elf should hear every word. He said, "Uch, what is 
that? Ew! Vulgar… gristle!"

The elf turned a shade of green as his shoulder hunched forward 
choking back a gag reflex. The mark was made and Gimli smiled 
maliciously. Again, no one else saw it, and Gimli was satisfied that 
while diminishing Legolas' poise, he had kept the elf's ruse in check.

Smiling as he moved on, Gimli said to the group in common, "And 
tomorrow we head north to Henneth Annûn, where thissuch," he said 
pointing his gaze at the elf as he recalled the ill-conceived word, 
"we lose your pleasant company." He bowed his head to the ladies. 

"Only during the hours of the day that you choose to leave us," said 
Arwen ignoring the strange new word. She reached over and touched 
Aragorn's hand. "Long enough for you to feel your desires to conquer 
the wild sated. What is it you will be hunting?"

"Black-tail," came Aragorn's answer.

"What?" said Eowen. "No orc? Or what was that other," she said as she 
gazed at Faramir with playful eyes, "Mûmak?"

Faramir laughed. "No, my dear. Neither of those creatures has been 
seen in Northern Ithilien for a number of years. The elves have been 
successful in ridding it of orcs, and I am afraid my forces chased off 
the last seen oliphaunt ere the war even ended. We will have to be 
satisfied shooting for buck."

"Pity," said Arwen playfully. "I should have liked a stuffed oliphaunt 
head mounted on our wall." 

"But you would not care for a stuffed orc head as well?" asked 
Faramir, continuing the jest as a twinkle glimmered in his eye.

"Already have one," came Arwen's teasing laugh in answer.

"And I thought we were the only ones," retorted Faramir with another 
laugh.

"Excuse me," said Legolas as he quickly fled the room. 

Everyone watched him exit.

"I believe it was the talk of the orc heads that did it," Aragorn 
said, nodding toward Faramir in his role in taking down Legolas' 
guise. "Although the sausage was a nice touch," he said grinning 
mischievously at Gimli, then asked, "Thissuch?"

Gimli chuckled to himself. Trust Faramir to add the finishing touches 
to what he himself had started. But then he noticed Eowyn's color 
change as she too pushed herself away from the table. "Excuse me," she 
said, repeating Legolas' words as she quickly left the room, and Gimli 
surmised that the lady had fled to administer aid to the elf. Shaking 
his head, he wondered again how the elf so easily managed to sway the 
hearts of females. If he had a mind to do it, oh, the number of women 
that elf could get, thought Gimli.



* Many thanks to Jocelyn for letting me make reference to a drunken 
interlude she is currently writing into her fiction. "A Little Nudge 
Out of the Door."

**Doro Lanthiron – the name I have chosen to give to the realm of the 
elves living in Ithilien. Translates to "Land of Many Waterfalls".



Chapter Four: Longings

The road from Minas Tirith to Doro Lanthiron was not a long one. And 
unless one chose to walk rather than travel on the back of a horse, 
the distance could be traversed in less than a day. The highway 
between those lands was hardened and well kept, and there was little 
trouble to be found there to detract a rider from his trail.

Six riders there were on the trail that day with an entourage of 
twenty posting guard over the safety of the King, and the Prince, and 
their company. A standard-bearer to the front bore the flag of Gondor, 
and five others followed to encircle the King and his Queen. Three 
horses with four riders came in succession after the King and Queen, 
the first two manned by Faramir and his Princess bride, while the last 
bore the Lord of Ithilien Elves and the Lord of the Glittering Caves, 
who shared a mount. Fourteen more guards trailed behind them as they 
made their way through Osgiliath and across the Anduin, on into 
Ithillien. Any who looked on would have remarked at the regal bearing 
of the party. 

However, there were two among the riders who were feeling far less 
than regal. If anything, they were feeling somewhat nauseated. But 
adding to this, a moody darkness pervaded them. Short though the ride 
might have been between the lands of men and elves, it was an 
extremely long one for the two riders on the single horse. Neither elf 
nor dwarf had expended much energy to converse with one another, and 
the outside observer might assume that was due to the peaked semblance 
the two bore. But the two knew it was much more than that. While Gimli 
had earlier on made an attempt to converse with his companion, he was 
met by a stone cold silence, and the dwarf could not help but be a 
little afraid of the wrath he had unleashed. And yet, the question of 
whether Gimli should dare ride with the elf never entered either of 
their minds. Legolas had made room for the dwarf on the back of his 
steed, and Gimli had joined him without thinking twice on the matter. 
For they both understood that while trouble may have festered under 
the surface of their friendship, it was only a temporary lapse, and 
their normal comradeship would return between them soon enough. Once 
the elf had his revenge.

At the front of the mount, the elf seethed. Legolas replayed again and 
again the morning's humiliation and each time he thought on it, his 
mood grew ever fouler. It did not help that he was aided in his ire by 
a pressing pain in his head that muddled his thoughts, he was still 
able to put together the pieces of everything that had happened to him 
as their ride progressed. The ridicule and harassment he had received 
at the hands of the dwarf were clear evidence alone that the incident 
of last night had not just been an accidental encounter. It had been 
intended. Legolas could not help but fume at that. He was angry, and 
not only at Gimli. With hindsight, the elf saw how the dwarf had plied 
him into such a grim ruse. No, the real anger he felt was directed at 
himself for falling easily as prey to it all. 

Priggish! Legolas thought. It came down to that one word, he knew, and 
it grated on him how a remark such as that had the power to generate 
those wretched events. Legolas' mind rumbled as he tried to remember 
it all. There were blanks in his memory and he did not like having 
them. Yet worse was the knowledge that he need not have suffered this 
loss if he had only listened to himself. I never should have let the 
dwarf goad me into that drink. I had made my selection. I should have 
stayed with it. I was a fool to let something so small affect me that 
way. These thoughts plagued his mind, and try as he might, the elf 
could not get it out of his head. He was deeply offended that Gimli 
had called him such a thing, for in Legolas' mind, his character was 
far from priggish. If anything, Legolas thought, he was fair and 
open-minded, hardly the prudent and uptight character Gimli portrayed 
him to be. If anyone should be termed a prig, Legolas scowled, it 
should be the dwarf!

As he allowed the slow cantor of his horses trot to rock him in his 
misery, Legolas scoured his mind to find examples to justify this 
thought of his friend. He thought back to the beginnings of their 
friendship, in the first days in Lórien. Galadriel's words to the 
dwarf had much swayed Legolas' opinion, which up until that time had 
not been estimated very high by the elf. But there was something in 
the way the dwarf seemed to appreciate the beauty of the Lady that 
stirred a commonality between them. It was then that Legolas wondered 
what other things he might find that could be used to build a bond, 
and so he invited Gimli to join him in his visit to that land. Many 
days they lingered there, and as they roamed the Golden Wood, Legolas 
came to appreciate the dwarf's taste in fair things. With his defenses 
down, he could see that they had far more in common than he had 
presumed. That was where it had started, and before they left 
Lothlórien, the two were as close in friendship as two beings could 
be. But it was also the place where Legolas learned how extremely 
different elves and dwarves could be.

His mind went back to a day in those beginnings of friendship. They 
had been walking down a path in the more remote parts of the wood, an 
area that none other of the fellowship had explored. Neither had said 
much to the other in the hours they had gone on, but enough had 
transpired over the course of that day that they felt at ease with one 
another and did not feel necessarily compelled to speak right then. 
Legolas' gaze, as usual, had been in the trees, but Gimli, being a 
dwarf, had had his eyes rooted to the surroundings at ground level. 
Gimli saw it much sooner than Legolas did, though the elf had heard 
the whispers and utterances far back on the trail. It was the look of 
unabashed shock on the dwarf's face that caught Legolas' attention, 
and the elf turned to see what sent such surprise to his diminutive 
companion. 

There on the grass in a small meadow enclosed within the forest were 
two maidens reposing themselves in the sun. Their bodies were bare, 
and the clothing they had shed were strewn about them. The grass about 
them was trampled in many places, and it appeared as if they had been 
playing in the lush green carpet. One of them giggled as the other 
caressed her thigh, and then as if lovers, they kissed, long and soft. 
One hand reached up as it gently cupped a breast of her lover, and the 
other reciprocated by stroking the base of a smoothly craned neck. It 
was lovely to behold the two beauties, enraptured and unbound in 
earthy passions, and Legolas paused for a moment to appreciate the 
beauty of their loving meditations. Only briefly did he linger, for to 
stay longer would have been impolite, and he turned his gaze away just 
as quickly as he had brought it up. Moving on, he expected the dwarf 
to follow his steps. But within a few paces of whence he had started, 
he realized the dwarf was not at his side. Looking back, he saw 
Gimli's expression had not changed. The dwarf's feet remained rooted 
in the spot he had stood.

Moving back to his companion, Legolas stepped into Gimli's line of 
vision, effectively breaking the spell that had been cast on the 
dwarf. Gimli's face went crimson as he sputtered and pointed to where 
the two maidens lay. Legolas looked over his shoulder to the elves in 
the grass, waving apologetically for the intrusion. He was met with 
scornful stares that were sent in the direction of the dwarf. Swiftly 
grabbing Gimli's elbow, Legolas dragged him away, moving the stolid 
figure from that place as quickly as the short legs would go.

Once free of the meadow, Legolas had released the dwarf's arm, and 
fuming at the impropriety he had seen displayed, the elf lambasted 
Gimli for his poor behavior, "By Ilúvatar's Rule, what were you 
thinking back there? I have never seen coarser behavior! That was 
rude! Did your mother never tell you it is improper to stare?"

Equally as riled, the dwarf did not flinch as he said, "BY AÜLE'S 
RULE! Unhand me! I am acting as any sane being would act, for my 
mother never told me how I should react if I were to see naked women 
frolicking on the green! You dare grow angry with me? You should be 
angry with them. Look at them! Repulsive! Repulsive that was!"

Legolas was truly aghast, blinking in surprise at the dwarf's terse 
words. He found himself backing away from the irate expression on the 
dwarf's face as he was at a loss as to what could cause it. His brow 
furrowed in confusion as he sputtered in reply, "That was a thing of 
beauty! How can you say this?" He was completely perplexed that Gimli 
could find anything obscene in the female elves' interaction. 

He could not know and did not know, that perceptions of sexuality by 
other races could be seen as anything beyond what he had come to 
understand. For that, Legolas saw the scene between the two maidens as 
nothing unusual. Trying very hard to understand the dwarf, Legolas 
pushed his mind to see their encounter from another perspective. 
Something had stirred up this deep emotional response in the dwarf. 
But he could not fathom the mystery of it. In Legolas' mind, the 
maidens' sexual act was as a genuine in its natural beauty as a voice 
lifted in song. Their feelings were only an extension of who they were 
and he felt this in itself was a gift. 

Thoroughly flummoxed by the dwarf's reaction, but determined to make 
good, he took several breaths to calm himself before moving on to 
uncover what it was that upset his stout comrade. Changing his tone 
and his tactic, Legolas asked with sincere curiosity, as if he had 
misinterpreted the dwarf's reason to anger, "Would it have been 
different had they been two males?"

Gimli's face went a shade more crimson as he bellowed his response. 
"That would be worse!" the dwarf answered. "Do not even speak of 
THAT!" Legolas involuntarily backed even further away, subconsciously 
fearing a rupture of some vessel might occur. 

But the sight before him was comical and the corners of Legolas' mouth 
lifted at the sight of Gimli's reddened face and bulging eyes. It was 
rather humorous to look at and Legolas had to snicker in amusement. 
The elf was beginning to comprehend the dwarf's discomfort even though 
he didn't fully appreciate its cause. "Ah, I see," said Legolas, 
laughing softly. "So only if it were a male-female dalliance would you 
have reacted with propriety."

"Male-female, yes. But the propriety should come from them. They 
should keep their personal matters to themselves, and their clothing 
on their bodies! To be seen out in public like that, naked for all the 
world to see," the dwarf tsked, looking back in the direction of the 
two forms. 

Legolas couldn't help laughing. Still, he tried to qualify the dwarf's 
response. "Please tell me why you say this, Gimli, for truly I do not 
understand. Mayhap it is part of being a dwarf? Is it their nakedness 
that embarrasses you? Or their sexuality? To an elf, there is nothing 
more enchanting, more lovely, than the sharing of oneself through body 
and soul. Do you not think that mating is a part of nature? Look 
around you, it is everywhere. The flowers, the insects, the animals, 
the birds — all let their bodies merge, without shame." 

"Yes, I will grant you, it is in nature. But there it is primal, a 
yearning — something done between male and female for purposes of 
baring offspring. As elves do not die or show much need for children, 
I thought they might be more highly evolved in their behavior than 
what I have seen. I should have known better, I suppose — I have never 
held elves highly and it is only because of the Lady's words that I 
gave you more credit than I should have. I imagined that your people 
had far more sense than that of — of — of bugs," Gimli growled, 
stuttering over the last of his words.

"You think elves live in chastity? You think we have not needs? 
Yearnings?" Legolas asked with disbelief, sighing at Gimli's mockery. 
It was really a mystery to the elf that there would be so much 
animosity towards so simple a thing. And over the pairing, 
female-female, male-male, female-male, it was all the same to Legolas. 
Sharing a moment of love and gratification with another, that was what 
mattered. That was the gift. Gimli's attitude on this was completely 
alien to the elf. He could find nothing to justify the dwarf's 
repulsion. And yet still, he attempted to grasp the significance of 
the dwarf's argument. In innocence he asked, "Do not dwarves have 
sexual urges?"

With blustering rage, the dwarf answered, "That is no business of 
yours!"

But Legolas persisted, not to be cruel or insensitive, but because he 
had no experience with feelings of this sort. The scene they had come 
across was so typical in the life of an elf on a peaceful days 
passing, that had the dwarf not stopped, he probably never would have 
even noticed. But by Gimli's answer he could see he was close to 
nearing the dwarf's breaking point, and so he tempered his comments as 
more jibe than rebuke in the hopes that Gimli would lighten his 
stance. "And yet you yourself are modestly more evolved than a bug. I 
know that you can appreciate female beauty. You hold awe for the Lady 
Galadriel, do you not? Passionate feeling is not much further removed, 
and the admiration and appreciation of a beautiful face could be said 
to be the preface of intentions much greater," Legolas said pointedly.

With narrowed eyes, Gimli threatened through gritted teeth, "Be 
careful, elf! You are walking A VERY TREACHEROUS PATH!"

Holding up his hands, Legolas reconsidered as he laughed, "Peace, 
Gimli. I see you are troubled by this. Perhaps the Lady is too lofty 
an example for you. I will not persist. But try to respect that elves 
do not hold as staunch an opinion as you would have us. And try not to 
gawk should we encounter another tryst."

Gimli sputtered as his eyes widened, "Another? Have elves no bed 
chambers in which to do this most intimate activity?"

Legolas laughed, easing the mood with his merriment. "Certainly. 
Bedchambers, stables, kitchens, libraries, floors, walls, chairs, 
railings, stairs, trees, grass, pools… shall I go on? All are abundant 
here," he said with a raised brow and a smirk, trying with some 
success to raise a smile on the dwarf's face.

"Please do not continue," said the dwarf as he eyed the landscape, as 
if warily expecting another intimate scene to pop out on him at any 
moment. Finally recognizing how silly he must have looked, he chuckled 
softly as he turned his attention back on the elf. It was his turn to 
ponder the elf's ease at this happenstance. His mood visibly lightened 
as he looked up at Legolas and asked, "Tell me, elf, if this is such a 
natural thing to your people, why have none other in the Fellowship 
made comment of it? Think of me prudish if you will, but I know this 
behavior is not common outside of your borders? The others would not 
accept it any better than I. Why did we not see it when we were in 
Rivendell?"

"It was there in Imladris, though perhaps you and the others were not 
attentive enough to notice it. For to an elf, even something so small 
as a touch can convey sexual feelings. We can find pleasure just in 
that. And in this way, elves tend to be discreet, despite what you may 
think. And even in more forthright displays, they intimacy is kept 
candid. Let us not forget who intruded upon whom with the maidens, 
Gimli. Perhaps you will understand if I tell you that elves do not 
consider sexuality a vulgarity. Therefore we do not treat it that way. 
We do not feel compelled to hide it. But neither do we feel compelled 
to foist our passions on others to witness. As you would assume, that 
would be callous and unnecessary and, as you point out, bad mannered. 
We see acts of love and sensuality as intimacies that are strictly 
personal. Our eyes may glance upon the physical actions of it, but the 
feelings within are respected as something to be kept strictly between 
the two." Then glancing at the dwarf to see if he could get another 
humorous reaction, he added, "Or the three." He was not disappointed. 
Legolas laughed quite merrily at the shocked face Gimli had given him.

"All the same," said the dwarf shaking his head in response to the 
elf's joke, "I will be v