Disclaimer : “Why do you always have to look? (Merry, Return of the King)

Author’s note : Thanks, as always, to my wife.

Summary : Pippin’s boyhood comes to a dramatic and painful end whilst on the quest and it does not pass without its casualties, and Pippin was not as untouched as he made it seem. (Infrequent bad language) Slash.

Above his head the stars glittered and the water beneath the bridge shimmered in reflection, emanating peace. Instead, his heart was breaking. Quiet sobs in the deep dark of night did not ease the pain as he had hoped, but deepened it.

It was enough for his cousin, he knew that, and he knew he would have to sacrifice much of his own comfort to ensure Frodo’s well being and success. Frodo had the hardest task of them all. He knew that. The care and attention lavished on him was not begrudged, but this hobbit was ignored, unless something went wrong or was said out of turn. He noticed that gaffs and wise cracks made by the others were ignored or laughed about. Not his; he was the smallest, the youngest, the fool.

Everyone at home found his nature endearing, with the notable exception of Farmer Maggot, perhaps, but this was not home and he had to make adjustments. It would be hard, especially when he did not know how to go about it. He had been pretending to be the village idiot for so long that it was now second nature. Being so young had its drawbacks, being called a fool everyday was a trial on its own. But there had been far worse than that.

From the very first night he had gazed in wonder at the elf and the dwarf. He had never seen either kind before and was fascinated, ever more so when they argued. On the second day they fought again and on the third they noticed him staring and had snapped at him. That had stung.

Pippin stayed away from them, keeping his eyes on anything but, in case they told him off like an errant child again. He had woken later that night from erotic dreams, having roused himself with a name on his lips. A glare met his sleepy gaze, from the owner of the name. He had been glared at for several days after that, and not just by the elf whom he had dreamt about, but it had broken the ice between the elf and the dwarf. The two had gone off together for an hour or so bringing back firewood and sporting a few minor cuts and scrapes, which made Gandalf mutter under his breath, and Aragorn very surprised. They had done something, Pippin knew that, but did not dare ask what it was, returning thus injured and with kinder dispositions towards each other, but not for Pippin.

They had spent a few minutes repairing small tears and the such in each other’s clothing, and cleaning small cuts of blood and dirt before the day’s march began again. Pippin found that odd for enemies to do, and even odder that no one else seemed to notice. It made him wonder all the more at what they had been doing whilst out looking for wood. After that, Gimli had become protective of the elf, so much so that he had drawn his axe at Pippin when he had approached the elf with his dinner that evening. The hobbit yelped and dropped the plate in fright, only to have the inevitable ‘fool of a Took!’ thrown at him from Gandalf.

Peregrin had stammered an apology and rushed back to his place by the fire, mumbling that he wasn’t hungry when Merry held out his plate for him. He offered it to Legolas, since the elf’s now lay across the cave floor. Nothing was said to Gimli at all for startling him, he noted with a sigh. He got up and wandered to the mouth of the cave they were sheltering in and looked out.

The sky was overcast and rain was already making its downward progress. The huge drops splattered his face, which was fine by him. It hid the tears. For some time he stood there. The sun behind the dark grey clouds had set while he stood there, the darkness permeating every nook and cranny in the rock face and the woodland that grew right up to its shoulder.

Pippin stood alone, gazing at the sky with the hope of seeing just one star. He knew that if he could see one he could make a wish. It was an ancient folk tale, handed down though the ages from the ancestral place. A heart whose intent was pure, desire was deep and need keen could pray to the First Star and it would be granted. At least that was what his mother had taught him when he was small, but she did not say which star was the first star. Most folk just assumed it was the first star to appear in the sky at dusk.

He had tried it when he was younger, but it had never worked. He had prayed for a brother, but he had been the youngest and had to make do with three sisters instead. He had prayed when his mother got sick, but she still died. He prayed for charm and good looks, but they both went to Merry.

Merry had always been tolerant of him, getting him into trouble, and then staying around to get him out of it again, but he was not a true friend. He was a Brandybuck, and Merry the heir of his own quarter of the Shire. It made them equals of a sort, but the Brandybucks were far more wealthy and far higher in rank than the Tooks.

Since the start of their journey he had prayed for courage to face each day and for calm dreams at night. His every step had been plagued with terror and his nights were far from calm. Wildly vivid images of naked bodies cavorting and undulating in ever increasingly bizarre positions assaulted his slumbering mind, leaving him feeling strange in the morning, drenched in sweat and sometimes wet, and being glared at by an elf, and now a dwarf too.

At the cave entrance, Pippin had sniffed and swallowed a sob. There were no stars that night to hear his plea. He could blame the ring, he supposed. The others might have believed him even, save for the strange fact that the ring did not interest him one bit and he had never heard it speak, let alone lie.

Pippin had far deeper interests than a bit of shaped gold, his pipe for one and eating for another. His third had caught him staring at him several times, but he saw only anger in those glittering eyes and never the smile he had seem in dreams. He only made Pippin feel ever smaller than his hobbit size, but he could not stop the strange cravings.

Pippin sighed, wondering if he would ever see him smile, or look at him without the withering down-your-nose glare. He was a royal, he supposed they were all like that, thinking themselves better than the rest, high and mighty attitudes.

Pippin was a prince of a sort, the heir to the Thaindom. A quarter of the Shire was his when his father eventually died. He sighed. What good was it if he was always going to be looked upon as a weak and cowardly fool? What good was it if you could not even command your own desires or control your dreams, when the reason for them thinks so little of you that he does not even utter your name?

“Pippin?”

Pippin whirled, startled from his thoughts with a loud gasp. Ârâgorn was standing over him with a slight frown of inquiry creasing his brow. Pippin took it for disapproval, since he was so used to getting that and nothing else, and looked away, wiping his face on his sleeve. “I suppose I’ll get some sleep,” he mumbled and walked back to the fire.

Ârâgorn frowned. That was unlike the Pippin he knew, He could have sworn that those drops of water on his face were not raindrops. Rain did not affect the nose, or make you sob like a heart-broken lover. The young hobbit was jittery, even more so now that Gimli, for some reason known only to himself, had decided to draw his weapon on the poor child.

Ârâgorn turned his eyes from where the hobbit now lay curled up beneath his blanket to where the elf sat on the far side of the crackling fire. He was not a mind-reader, and with those grey-green eyes there was no need to be. Legolas’ eyes spoke volume without the need for words. The elf had heard his tears.

Beside the elf sat Gimli. The dwarf was a stoic creature, but by no means immune to or ignorant of others’ suffering. He huffed slightly and looked at no one. It was obvious that he was embarrassed.

Ârâgorn had come to the cave entrance to speak kindness to the hobbit, to bring him back to hear what they all had to say. Gandalf sighed softly, he liked to do these things at once, as it was very possible that by morning he would have forgotten the entire debacle and his apology with it. He harrumphed at his stupidity, but said nothing.

Ârâgorn stayed there and took first watch, but not long after he found himself relieved early by a sombre dwarf. Gimli did not spend long alone. Legolas came and sat with him. As the uncrowned king settled into his bed roll, he lay wide awake, listening to the sounds of the night.

“You should not have done that, Gimli,” Legolas whispered to the dwarf.

“He needs to know what’s mine,” the dwarf responded quietly.

“He was bringing food, not trying to kill me.” Legolas sighed with exasperation and placed a gentle hand against his arm. He leaned close to capture the dark eyes with his own. “I love you Gimli. That will not change, no matter how much you wish to separate me from the others and guard me all the minutes of the day and night, even from harmless hobbits.”

“Harmless?” Gimli snorted. “He was calling your name out in his sleep in a less than friendly manner.”

Legolas chuckled softly. “Aye, I admit, he sounded more aroused than perhaps was acceptable, even for a dream, but . . .trust me, Gimli.”

“I trust you, Legolas, and I love you. I know . . .I should not have been so uptight. We are all brothers here. And that Gandalf! Och! I could cleave the old man in two for his outburst. It was not the lad’s fault, but mine, but does the wizard call me ‘fool of an Oaken-shield‘? No, he picks on the boy instead. Does Gandalf really think his friendship with my father will sway my mind concerning him? Well, he would be wrong. I judge as I find, and to naught the old tales unless I prove them right or wrong with my own senses.”

Legolas smiled gently, and cupped his cheek, rubbing a thumb along his lower lip. “Is that why you came to challenge me?”

Gimli puffed himself up. “I did no such thing . . .” His voice trailed off. “Well, maybe I did,” he conceded and smiled a little.

Legolas leaned a little closer and pressed his lips to the dwarf’s. “I still won,” he whispered triumphantly.

Gimli pulled him against his chest and kissed him slowly and did not stop. Finally, when he pulled away, the elf was breathless. “If this is a booby prize, I am one lucky dwarf,” he grinned.

Legolas said nothing, regaining his senses and his breath for a moment. “That remains to be seen, dear one, for kissing me like that may make you a widower.”

Gimli chuckled. He gazed into the twinkling eyes and made a decision. “We should do more for that boy. He should not be on this journey at all, but we should at least make it as pleasant for the lad as possible.”

Legolas nodded. “Do not trouble yourself with Pippin's dreaming. He will either grow out of it or . . .”

“Or what?”

Legolas smiled. “We will have to show him the real thing.”

Pippin had woken the following morning, a bright and cheerful persona firmly in place as if nothing was amiss or had happened. And this burst of energy continued until they reached the gates of Moria. He shrugged off Gandalf’s scathing retort, on the outside at least.

Legolas curved an arm around the hobbit, to let him know not all in the fellowship thought as the wizard did. Pippin looked up at him and noted the absence of anger in those eyes. He tried not to think of the feel of that hand on his jacket. Events after that helped. He was far too frightened to even remember his dreams, let alone wake up feeling good.

He found himself walking through most of Moria behind the dwarf or next to the elf, though not by any design of his own making. Remarks were fielded by them, and Gandalf soon stopped making them, until the forth day in the tomb room.

The arrow protruding from the body had looked like a key, and he had reached out wondering why a huge key would be stuck through a skeleton’s ribcage. The rest was not his fault, he was certain of it, but Gandalf had exploded, and there was no elf nearby to protect him, and Gimli was too distraught.

There was not a moment to think about it, nor a moment to explain that it was accidental. Their journey seemed to have come to an end, all that fighting and running was more than his frayed nerves could take. Gandalf had picked him up and carried him for some of the way, his little legs could not keep up. For all his keening words and rebuffs the wizard cared no small amount for the boy, and Pippin knew it in a way. And then he had fallen . . .

Pippin huddled into a tighter ball upon the bridge, and wiped the tears from his face. He was lost, that much was obvious. He had wandered much too far from the pavilion, and now he did not even know which side of the river was the way back. He sat still, wondering if there would be a sound or a smell that would help, but there was nothing except birds and a calm breeze.

Perhaps the others would come looking for him when they eventually realised he had missed - how many mealtimes had it been? Three? It was hard to say, since big folk ate at such vulgar irregularity that he and his kin had forgotten what hunger was long ago.

Pippin fell asleep at some point, and woke shivering with the cold. There was a light frost on the ground, the tiny ice crystals glittered in the early morning sun. He lifted his head and saw a movement, at least he thought he had. He sat up, keeping his eyes on the green of the trees.

Legolas melted from the woodland that matched his colouring, and approached him. “What are you doing so far from camp, Pippin?” he asked softly.

Pippin lowered his gaze. “I went for a walk and got lost,” he said, shamefaced.

“You should not have gone alone,” Legolas replied. “We have been worried about you.”

Pippin looked up at him not quite believing the elf’s declaration. “Not that much, I wager. I’m just a fool.”

“Even the wisest get lost and even the smallest are missed,” Legolas replied. “These borders are well protected, but orcs can still attack, even here. You could have come to harm.”

“I’m just a hobbit, a child of no consequence. One less hassle there would be if I was not slowing the Fellowship down.”

Legolas sat down on the low wall and regarded him with some seriousness. “Why do you think that?”

Pippin took a breath to remind him of the glares, the lost meal, the retorts, everything piled upon everything else, but said nothing. “It does not matter,” he whispered and stood up. “So, which way is it back to Lorien? Is it that way?” he pointed across the bridge.

Legolas gazed out across the river. “That path leads to my home,” he spoke wistfully. “We would not get far along that road, for Dol Goldur lies between here and safety. Lorien is behind you. Do you not know which way you came?”

“I was chasing a squirrel back and fourth across this bridge and didn’t count how many times I did it. Stupid of me, if Gandalf were still alive . . .”

Legolas looked at him. “I think you took his words too much to heart, little one. He did not mean it so harshly. He had planned many a time to soften it, to say he was sorry, but you were either asleep . . .or in tears.”

Pippin looked up sharply, and looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lied. He made off down the path that led back the way he had come and the elf followed without a sound. He had no idea how silently until an arm caught him and lifted him up. Pippin shrieked. “What are you doing!”

“Hush, Pippin,” he hissed. “This is too close to the border for your cries, however justified they may seem to you.”

Suddenly something whistled passed Pippin’s ear and Legolas began to run. Black arrows followed his progress for some seconds before fairer stems flew from above their heads. Then there was silence. Legolas drew to a halt, panting. He set the hobbit on his feet and looked back the way they had come. The bridge was out of sight, as were the archers who had saved their lives.

Pippin’s eyes searched the trees, but he could see no sign of them. “You saved me . . .and yet I did not even know you were there.”

“It is what I do. As a part of our Fellowship, you are no less loved or needed than the next,” Legolas replied. There was a slight edge of disappointment to his tone. The hobbit was less than accepting of his aid and he could not understand it. What did he have to do to make the wounds heal?

“Follow me,” he said simply, hoping the boy would do as he was told. Hobbit feet were as silent as an elf’s, but Legolas did not turn to see if he was doing as he was instructed. It was a long way before the path turned back towards the city.

Pippin was getting tired, but the elf showed no sign of slowing down, or even of finding something to eat. The hobbit’s stomach growled plaintively, and he attempted to smother it with his hands. The elf’s head turned a little, but kept walking. Pippin’s feet were complaining just as much, but that ache was silent, unlike his breathing.

Finally, Legolas turned to look at him. “You walked all the way out here, you can walk all the way back,” he announced. Pippin gazed up at him, starving, exhausted, and out of breath from keeping up the elf’s pace. Pippin bit back the tears of frustration. Legolas sighed at the look on the boy’s face. “You cannot continue to be the child you once were. You must be strong now.” Pippin knew the truth in those words, but it seemed to have little effect on his tears, except to make them fall.

Legolas sighed and took pity on him. In one move he lifted the hobbit into his arms and held him against his chest. He looked down at him, a look of astonishment on Pippin’s face. The elf smiled and kissed his forehead. “Sleep, little one,” he said. “We shall each the pavilion by midnight.”

Ârâgorn shifted and paced a little more. He cursed softly under his breath.

“He’ll be fine,” Gimli consoled him.

Ârâgorn gave him the benefit of a glare. “You can talk, friend-Gimli. None of this would have happened if you had not threatened him with your axe.”

“True, and I do not deny it,” the dwarf replied evenly.

“We should go and look for him,” Ârâgorn decided and picked up his hunting knife and started off.

“Hold on, lad,” Gimli said, rising to his feet. “You are not going anywhere. Legolas said to wait here, and that is what we will do. I trust him, and you certainly should. You have known him longer than I.”

Ârâgorn frowned. “I believe that is untrue. You have known Legolas since you were very small. I have known him only since I got lost in Mirkwood seventy-nine years ago.”

Gimli smirked slightly, but hid it. “I’m glad you admitted to that. It would have been a shame to hold that titbit of information over you for the rest of your life.”

Ârâgorn frowned further. “Alright, I shall wait.” And with that he sat down. “I should tell you that I have not gotten lost in these woods since that day.”

“It is getting dark,” Frodo said, the hobbits huddled together, all very worried for Pippin. “What if he has decided to go home?”

Boromir looked up. “Why would he do that?”

“Well, no one has exactly welcomed him on this journey. With the exception of you, Boromir, and perhaps Ârâgorn, all you big folk have done nothing is belittle him all the way.”

“As if he’s not little enough,” Merry harrumphed unhappily.

“He has a crush on Legolas,” Sam commented before he could stop himself. Eyes were upon him in a flash, and he turned red.

Gimli growled.

“How did you know about that?” Ârâgorn asked.

Sam shrugged. “I just heard him talking in his sleep, that’s all. Not hard to add two and two together, especially when a dwarf axe almost takes his head off the night after. What’d you do that for anyhow? Legolas ain’t your elf, but you been acting like a jealous suitor. You two don’t even like each other, but you’re all over the elf like a rash when someone else starts a liking him.”

Gimli stuffed his pipe into his mouth before he could swear dwarfishly in front of such delicate, short ears. For now, the hobbit was right. A moment later he lifted his head and stood up, pipe forgotten. The sound grew louder and closer, and the others joined him, eyes searching the trees for the source of a most unusual sound. There was singing in the air. It was not an elvish chorus, but two beautifully sweet voices, one singing in Sindarin, the other singing along in the common tongue.

A few moments later an elf appeared, a hobbit perched on his shoulders, both wearing grins the size of Eriador. They slowed to a halt as they became aware of the fellowship looking at them in both relief and confusion on their faces. “Did anyone lose a hobbit?” Legolas asked innocently.

The hobbits burst with joy at seeing Pippin again, and Legolas smiled. Lowering to one knee, he let the hobbit climb down and the dwarf came to greet them. Pippin was swallowed up by a hobbit welcome as Gimli enveloped Legolas in a tight hug and kissed him. “Well done,” he said. “How did you find him?”

Legolas’ eyes flicked to a certain ranger who happened to be nearby. “I know a place where many get lost,” the elf replied. Gimli left his side and turned to the hobbit knot and Legolas stood to acknowledge Ârâgorn’s presence. He hesitated and lowered his voice. “Did you inform Lord Celeborn why I was not here?”

Ârâgorn swallowed. “Aye . . .I am sorry, Legolas.”

“Do the others know?”

Ârâgorn shook his head, thinking back on Sam’s earlier retort. “No, they do not.”

Legolas suppressed a quivering breath. “Good. I do not want any harsh words on the hobbit. He has suffered enough.”

Gimli grinned and hugged the boy fiercely, chuckling heartily. “Come, Pippin. I cooked dinner tonight, and I saved some for you.”

“But, it’s passed midnight,” the hobbit countered. “Shouldn’t everyone be asleep?”

Gimli was astounded. “And miss your return? Absolutely not! Now, sit, and eat, lad. You look half starved.”

Pippin smiled, enjoying being pampered. Blankets were wrapped around him and tales told while Gimli fed him a huge plateful of goodies.

Ârâgorn’s eyes wandered to the elf, who looked as happy as the rest. “He was in my hiding place?” he asked softly.

Legolas nodded. “All paths from here lead to Celeborn’s bridge. Pippin had a lucky escape. Orcs are closing in. I believe tomorrow we will have to move on.”

Ârâgorn sank slightly. “A few hours ago was to have been yours and Gimli’s joining ceremony. Tonight should have been for the two of you.”

Legolas lowered his eyes. “I know, but Pippin’s safety comes first.”

“But does it not bother you?” the man asked. “Who knows what will happen after this night? You and Gimli may have to wait now until after the war. You might die without ever having . . .” Ârâgorn’s words ended as an elf’s hand on his shoulder halted them.

Legolas’ eyes were large with the pain of a lost opportunity, but also with determination. “We have come this far without sharing intimacy, Estel. We can wait however long it takes to exchange tokens, and if Gimli dies . . .you know what my task would be. The quest must come first.”

Ârâgorn squeezed his shoulder in return. “My brother, I am sorry,” he whispered. “You are a strength to me, an example. I find it hard to understand your resolve when mine falters in its shadow.”

Legolas looked away as if struggling to contain what would have been better off released. He lifted his eyes to Ârâgorn again, and straightened himself. “You should get some rest. It will be a long day tomorrow.”

At gone three in the morning Pippin settled into his bedroll, looking up at the elf who pulled the blanket over him. “Legolas?”

“What worries you, little one?”

“If I hadn’t disturbed the bones on the well, Gandalf would still be alive . . .wouldn’t he?”

Legolas froze. “Hush now, Pippin,” he whispered softly. “We cannot know for certain that an action by any one or all of us was the cause of waking the orcs of Moria. As for the . . .balrog . . .” The elf shuddered as the word formed in his mouth. “It is my belief that Gandalf knew what his fate would be and delayed its coming for as long as he could. Pippin,” he spoke softly, cupping his cheek. “Take heart and talk no more of blaming yourself.” He bent low and kissed his forehead and smiled. “Sleep now.”

Legolas lifted his eyes to the pale face of the moon just visible through the canopy of trees far above them. This should have been his night, but only Ârâgorn knew. That would make it easier to bare. The loss of that time was as keen as the loss of Gandalf. He and Gimli would have other times, but the wizard was gone forever. He lifted his voice into the air of lost life and love, finally able to come to terms with the loss of Gandalf and move on. The rest he would work on, buried beneath duty and the desperate need to win against the growing threat of Mordor.

Legolas reached up to help him into the boat and sat down. Using the oar, he cast off and paddled into the faster flowing channel.

“That may have been our only chance, Legolas,” Gimli said softly. “So I shall say it now, in case I never have chance again. I love you, and had we been together last night, I would have loved you more than you have ever been loved.”

“That is a given, dear Gimli,” Legolas replied with a smile. “I have never been loved. And when we finally become one, our time will be all the more beautiful for the waiting.”

“We might die before then,” Gimli warned gently.

“Then I shall spend the Ages of this earth alone, meleth, for no other, no matter how fair, can compare to you.” He leaned forward carefully and kissed his cheek. “I love you.”

Gimli turned and gently kissed him in return.

Pippin watched them in deep thought. “I made a total mess of things, Merry.”

Merry patted his shoulder. “They don’t blame you. Besides, Lord Celeborn only granted permission for them to go ahead yesterday morning. They think we don’t know, but we all overheard the conversation between Gimli, Ârâgorn and Celeborn. How were you to know the marriage ceremony was yesterday?”

“Marriage?” Pippin blurted out with a hiss, turning so sharply that the boat wobbled.

“Ai!” Boromir yelled. “Sit still, little one.”

“Sorry, Boromir,” Pippin said. “Who was getting married?”

“Legolas and Gimli, you daft aputh!” Merry blurted out.

Pippin looked at the other boat and sighed deeply. “I made a bigger mess than I thought.”

Merry frowned. “What else did you do?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Pippin decided. “They make a wonderful couple, don’t you think so?”

Merry smiled. “Yeah.” The smiled grew into a mischievous grin. “I wonder who their children will look like.”

Pippin suddenly burst into giggles. “Legolas, I hope.”

“You’re just biased,” Merry replied.

“How do you work that out?”

“Because you prefer the tall, light and handsome kind over the tall, dark and roguish kind.”

Pippin flushed red as Boromir snorted. “I’ll try not to take offence at that,” he said.

The drinking game was won, but Legolas’ brain did not seem to agree with that assessment. He could barely remember his own name, let alone what day it was, or what he was doing in a barn full of Rohirrim warriors. Blinking to clear his senses, he guided the inebriated dwarf to his bedroll. Legolas kept him more or less on his unsteady feet for far longer than he thought possible.

Finally, Gimli collapsed in a heap against the wall, and Legolas sank down beside him to straighten out his limbs so that he would be more comfortable and not wake in the morning with pins and needles.

Gimli moaned softly and opened his eyes. Without warning, he pulled Legolas to him and he kissed him even further into senselessness. Legolas leaned into him, parting his lips to taste him, tracing the line of his lips with his tongue. He felt the dwarf’s hand smooth up his thigh to his hip and curve around him to cup his buttocks. He shuddered, deepening the kiss to frenzied hunger.

Gimli pulled back abruptly breaking the contact. “No,” he said hoarsely. “We’re both drunk and unwed. I’ll not dishonour you. I love you too much to do that to you.”

“Gimli,” Legolas panted. “I feel so . . .strange . . .aching, but . . .I want you . . .”

“I know,” Gimli whispered. “I want you, but we must wait.”

“It will not be long now,” Legolas hoped. Half folding his long legs beneath him, he kissed his love once more, looking into the face of the dwarf in time to see a tender smile slowly fade as Gimli fell asleep.

He smiled and rose, wandering outside to calm himself. The air was cold, and served to cool his fevered body. He could not help but feel that however long they had to wait it would be too long. It was long enough until he had full control of himself again, and precious few seconds after that, Ârâgorn joined him.

The coronation had come and gone. Gondor, and Minas Tirith in particular, was in joyous mood. The rebuilding work had begun almost at once. Finally, Legolas felt that time was right, but with Celeborn gone, he would have to find another. There was only one that he could ask, but he had refused. A second possibility crept into his mind.

“Ârâgorn, might I ask something of you?” Legolas asked, as he entered the room, closing the door softly behind him.

“If it be within my power to give, you have it,” the king replied. He noted the use of the name, but among his friends he permitted it.

“I would like for you to join Gimli and I, in law. I do not want to wait for his soul to be released from Mandos. Indeed, I doubt it even possible.”

“That was Lord Celeborn’s task, was it not?”

“Lord Celeborn will have left with Galadriel to the Grey Haven’s by now, and will be beyond reach of any messenger. I came to you to ask if you would marry us here in Minas Tirith.”

Elessar set the papers down onto the desk dejectedly. “As much as I would love to, I do not have the authority.”

Legolas dropped into a chair and sighed, burying his face in his hands. “Neither does Gandalf. I asked him.” His hands fell to his knees, leaving his head bowed. “Gimli was right, our only chance has gone.”

Elessar considered this. “Legolas, can you not simply exchange tokens?”

Legolas lifted his eyes to his friend. “It is more involved than that. Gimli is not elf-kind, to be bonded, we need the authority of an Unborn to break the curse of man that rests on Gimli. I would not marry him as a mortal only to watch him die, I could not be with him and then sail away and leave him behind. I thought that you being a descendent . . .”

Elessar shook his head sadly. “That gift was not given to my line, nor indeed any of Eärendil’s kin.”

“And Lord Celeborn will be leaving for the White Shores,” Legolas sighed. He stood and hesitated, as if wanting to say something, but then changed his mind. “See you at dinner.”

Opportunities exhausted, duties were fulfilled and life enjoyed. Wistful remembrances of kisses no longer shared, of love still felt but never touched upon even in conversation, accompanied their every waking moment and their dreams. As friends, they travelled far across the now peaceful lands of Middle Earth, and learned to be content.

Pippin’s own desires had born him a son, but as pleased as he was, his duties took him away from home too often. He had married out of duty, she knew that and had accepted it. She was an eligible woman, with fine breeding. She was lovely to look upon and sweet natured, unlike some sour old biddies he could name. He shuddered at the thought of who he could have ended up with.

He frowned, slipping back to the present as his eyes caught side of a lone horse upon the road south from Edoras. It was a horse of Rohan, that much was certain, but the rider most definitely was not. The golden head turned in his direction and brought the horse to a stop, waiting for him to draw level.

Pippin’s dreamy expression lifted into one of joy. “Legolas! Fancy meeting you here.”

Legolas smiled widely, and pulling their horses side by side, they embraced. “Fair greetings, my brother. How does this day fair you?”

“I’m very well, thank you. How are you?”

“I am well, thank you,” Legolas replied. “You do not ride with Merry?”

“Not this time. Merry has duties with the hobbitry-in-arms, so I am taking time to journey south to see the king on my own.” Pippin glanced along the road that led to Edoras and Helm’s Deep. “How are you and Gimli keeping? Is life treating you well?” he asked.

“Gimli is well. I have just left Aglarond on a visit with him and I am on my way back to Gondor. Ride with me. I would welcome your company.”

“Visiting?” Pippin wondered, as they pressed on at a comfortable walk. “You’re not living together?”

Legolas’ smile wavered. “Of course not,” he said. “That would not be permitted unless we were married, and we are not. When I return home, I will write to him and let him know that I have met with you on the road. He will be sorely disappointed to have missed you.”

Pippin frowned, and sank in his saddle. “Then . . .you didn’t go to Rivendell after King Théoden’s funeral?”

Legolas replied, “I have had no need to. Lord Elrond, the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn are gone now, and I have had duties that have kept me in Ithilien.”

Pippin looked up at him. “Lord Celeborn hasn’t left.”

Legolas stopped his horse short and turned in surprise. “What do you mean, he has not left?”

Pippin dared a smile. “You mean to tell me, you and Gimli have separated, simply because you thought Lord Celeborn had left Middle Earth?” He shook his head. “Honestly, and I thought elves were intelligent.”

Legolas stared at him, unable to think clearly. “Why did Lord Celeborn not leave with the Lady?”

Pippin regarded him gently. “Well, I asked him that same question when I stopped by there last week. He said something about duties still to perform. I don’t suppose the term ‘waiting to complete unfinished business’ means anything to you, does it?”

Without answering, Legolas suddenly wheeled his horse and shot off back the way he had come. Pippin watched him go and chuckled. “I guess it does.”

The small pony followed at its own pace for several hours, Pippin singing to himself, only to have a flash of white whoosh passed him. The pony shied off the side of the road, reared up on its hind legs, whinnying in fright.

“Whoa!” Pippin cried out and fell into the dirt, hitting his head on a small rock. Groaning he lay still for a moment before attempting to move or sit up. Dazed and feeling nauseous, he gazed up at the lone horse that had suddenly stopped, and saw two riders upon its back. At least, he thought it did, his head was swimming and he could count several horses as it was. Pippin shook to clear his head, but that only made it hurt, and looked up to see an elf’s concerned face peering at him.

“Are you alright? Forgive me. I should have been more careful.”

Pippin got to his feet and dusted himself off, and clutched his aching head. “No problem. You’re off to see Lord Celeborn at last, I take it?”

“Come with us,” Legolas invited. “We will need a witness . . .or fourteen . . .”

“Fourteen?” Pippin’s eyebrows rose. “Why so many?”

“By Mithrim law, one witness must testify to each of the Valar at the reading of the Record upon ascension into presence of Eru, the creator,” Legolas explained. “Every elf is accountable before him, it determines if he is able to ascend to the next plane of existence.”

“Maia,” Pippin noted softly.

“And by Khazad law, we need at least a quorum,” Gimli added. “And besides, we’ll need a horse to carry you. Your steed is strong, to be sure, but he will not keep up with Arod,” he noted.

“No problem,” Pippin announced. “I have my horn and we aren’t that far from the border.” With that he lifted the horn of Gondor and blew it long and loud. Pippin let it fall and winced, clutching his head. He gasped in pain, almost tipping forward onto the ground.

Legolas gasped at the sudden trickle of blood that appeared down his shoulder and turned his head, catching the hobbit before he fell. “Sit down,” he told him. “You have a nasty wound to your head. And let us have no more talk of blowing horns. We are much too far from Minas Tirith to be heard.”

Not more than five miles distant, the first outpost along the road from Edoras sat lazily in the warm afternoon sun. A horn blew to the northeast, a horn of Gondor no less. The six men were suddenly alert and relayed the message on to the next encampment.

Not more than fifteen minutes had passed and the answering horn sounded on the battlements, in the middle of a meeting with Elessar’s chief of staff. Faramir shot out of his seat. “War horns?”

A messenger entered and bowed. “My lord, the horn of Gondor has been heard in Rohan.”

Elessar and Faramir stared at each other. “Pippin,” they said as one.

Papers and tools downed, they were out the door and away.

At Helm’s Deep, the dwarves were curious to know why their king had suddenly upped and left and the garrison of Rohirrim at the fort was on the alert. It was unusual behaviour; the elf prince had left and had rushed back in long enough to grab the dwarf and ride off again. It could only mean one thing and not long after a horn in the distance was heard. A messenger was sent out to Edoras with all haste.

While they sat by the road side tending to the cut on pippin’s head an army of dwarves and men are on the move, but for now they were blissfully unaware of the trouble Pippin had stirred.

Pippin lay still, a severe headache lessens his will to do much more than groan. It was several hours before the fog of pain lifted with the herbs Legolas had given him. He slept a little and woke to find it had eased considerably.

Pippin was hungry and they decided to remain where they were to eat, and give Pippin a little more time to heal. Evening drew on and by that time it was too dark to see.

“We will rest here for tonight,” Gimli announced.

“But, you have to get to Rivendell,” Pippin protested weakly.

“We rest,” Legolas said firmly. “I will not have you riding just yet. The bones in your head may be broken. I shall not risk my brother’s life.”

Pippin gently poked the bandage he had wound around his head and winced, and conceded the point. They slept soundly, the hobbit more so than the others, and in the morning, they woke to find an army approaching from the south, and on the horizon another one was riding up the road from Gondor.

Pippin looked from one road to the other and thought aloud. “Oh, what have I done?” He winced and cheered up a little. “Well, look on the bright side, if this isn’t a wedding party, I don’t know a more fitting one.”

Legolas was quite shocked, and Gimli was not quite sure what to make of it, “Are they riding to war?”

“They are in full battle gear and armed,” Legolas replied.

Pippin was not to be dampened. “Well, you asked for witnesses.”

Legolas gazed at him in exasperation. “Fourteen, Pippin. Not fourteen thousand!”

They waited calmly for the dwarves, who arrived first. “Where’s the war, Lord Gimli? We’ll soon have the buggers cleaved!”

Gimli cleared his throat. “Actually, er . . .there’s no buggers as such. My brother here brought word that Celeborn is in Imladris waiting to marry me.”

“You’re marrying Lord Celeborn?” the dwarf replied.

Gimli sucked his cheek. “No, Lord Celeborn is marrying Prince Legolas and myself. Did you put your helmet on the wrong way round this morning?”

At the moment, the riders of Rohan arrived, riding hard and fully prepared to do battle. “Prince Legolas, Lord Gimli, we had word that you were in need.”

“Yes, King Éomer,” Legolas replied. “Though the response was . . .a little more eager than we had anticipated.”

“Legolas?” Pippin called out softly. “King Elessar will arrive in about four hours. What am I going to tell him?”

Legolas looked out across the plains and looked at Pippin. “You blew the horn of Gondor, guard of the citadel, you think of something.”

“Oh dear,” Pippin chewed his lip. “And Merry isn’t here to get me out of trouble this time. Think, Pippin, think. What am I going to say . . .?”

Éomer rolled his eyes and dismounted. “Am I to understand that we rode all the way out here on the whim of a hobbit?” he said gruffly, but there was amusement in his voice, if not on the face of his disgruntled men. Pippin tried not to shrink.

“Why did he blow the horn anyway? And why did you rush in and back out of Helm’s Deep as if the very fell beasts of Mordor were on your tail?”

“I am getting married,” Legolas explained. “I must get to Imladris quickly, and I needed witnesses. There were none upon the road and Pippin was trying to help.”

Éomer kept his gaze steady. “I see,” he said slowly.

“It’s a long story,” Gimli added, before Éomer could do more than ask with his eyes.

That seemed to satisfy the king of Rohan. “Then we shall talk of it when we set out. For now, we rest and await what the King of Gondor decides on the fate of our hobbit friend.”

Pippin gulped softly and Éomer shouted orders. Most of his company peeled off to return to their homes, while the remaining one hundred dismounted to set up tents and light fires.

“I hope you do not mind my inviting myself to attend?” Éomer asked. “But, you were gracious at the funerals of my uncle and cousin, and at my wedding. I can do no less for yours . . besides, with that kind of invitation, it is bound to be interpreted as an open one.”

That thought had already crossed Legolas’ mind.

Gimli attended to his people, apportioning them into two companies and sending one back to Aglarond. With Eomer’s unwavering approval, the dwarves would ride with the Rohirrim. The men all agreed that it would be an interesting, if rowdy, journey.

Pippin wandered about, eyeing the approaching storm from the southeast. “Oh boy, I’ve woken the enter West,” he whispered to himself. “Knowing my luck, all of Arnor and the Shire heard it and are up in arms, as well.”

Three hours later the army of Gondor drew to a halt upon the road, King Elessar and Prince Faramir at their head. The first thing he saw was a shame-faced hobbit.

“Pippin, you’re in for it now,” he muttered under his breath.

“Tell me I am not about to hear bad news?” Elessar said.

Legolas pushed through the crowd and grinned. “Mae govannen, Estel.”

The king regarded him with curiosity and dismounted. “That makes me feel even more on edge. What have you done, and what will it cost me to put right?”

Legolas chuckled softly. “I found out yesterday morning that Celeborn did not sail, but resides in Imladris, I rode as hard as I could to bring Gimli from Aglarond, but . . I had no witnesses. I knocked Pippin of his horse and he blew the horn . . .I am in a hurry to . . .”

“Yes, I believe you are,” Elessar interrupted calmly. “I understand the hurry completely.” He suddenly grinned, and enveloped Legolas in a tight brotherly hug. “I am glad this day has come. You have been a bear with a sore head for far too long.”

Legolas gazed at him, frowning gently. “I have?”

Elessar laughed and turned to his men, who numbered a modest two hundred, and called out orders. “Make camp!” He eyed the dwarves and the men of Rohan and greeted all he saw. he leaned closer to pippin. “My, you really know how to stir things up, do you not, my friend? Let me guess, fourteen witnesses were not enough you had to tell the entire world?”

Pippin’s face was about the same as when the chains had slipped into the well in Moria. He laughed nervously. “I am very sorry, my lord. It was not what I had expected,” he said contritely, but then brightened. “At least, you didn’t come with many horsemen, my lord. There were more than twelve thousand here this morning . . .” his voice trailed off. “Ah . . too many,” he finished quietly.

Elessar lifted a brow at him. Pippin grinned, winced and dropped the look. Elessar stepped closer and knelt to check the wound for himself. He found that it had been adequately tended, but it was obvious that the hobbit was still pained by some underlying injury. Gingerly unwrapping the bandage, he took a closer look. “This has been tended well, young Peregrin,” he said, despite the hobbit now reaching middle age. “But the bones are broken. Bring herbs and hot water,” he called.

Minutes later, hot pungent water was being squeezed against the hobbit’s scalp. Pippin felt a tingling through his head, which was strangely calming.

“Lucky for you, you had blown the horn,” Elessar noted quietly. “As well as this wound has been tended, it could have killed you. There, it should feel much better now,” he smiled.

“Will you attend?” Legolas asked finally, not wanting to wait for the king to reply in his own time.

Both eyebrows rose, “Of course I will attend,” he snapped, trying not to grin. “Do you really think I would miss my brother’s wedding? In my opinion, you should have married him on our first day in Lorien, and had children by now.”

Legolas’ cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink. “I had not thought that far ahead . . .”

“That is true,” Elessar agreed. “You two can’t even get your desires passed the first night,” he said under his breath.

Legolas turned red.

Pippin swallowed. “That was my fault, I know.”

“No, it was mine,” Gimli put in.

“Stop this,” Legolas told them. “It is no one’s fault. Other matters were far more complicated and important at that time. Let us not worry about the past. What worries me more, is how were are going to feed this host . . and what we intend to do with them when we reach Imladris.”

“Well . . .is not Lord Celeborn a competent host? Surely the Prince of Doriath can handle it.”

Legolas lifted his eyes to Faramir who had spoken. “I am the Prince of Doriath, even though it now resides at the bottom of the sea.”

“I thought Lord Celeborn was . . .”

Legolas refused to answer. “That is an even longer story. We should begin our northward journey at mid morning.”

“Why not at dawn?” Elessar asked.

“It will give the elves time to catch up and rest their horses for a while,” Legolas said.

“What elves?”

Legolas pointed back down the road towards Gondor. “Those elves.”

Elessar looked, and sure enough, a white line could be seen upon the road from Gondor, although his eyes could not discern any detail.

Pippin moaned with embarrassment. “Not again.”

“How did they know to come?” Legolas asked. “They are from Ithilien. Surely, the horn of Gondor was not heard all the way south of the Anduin?”

“We were in a meeting,” Elessar said. “In your absence, Haldir was in attendance.”

Faramir smiled as he joined them. “Haldir told me that you were upon this road and he thought you were perhaps in danger and left to muster the elves of Ithilien.”

Legolas sank into his boots. “Ai, Elbereth, could it not get any worse?”

“Well, at least we’re out of range of the Shire,” Pippin said hopefully. “They will not have heard my horn.”

Éomer cleared his throat. “Uhm . . .” Several heads turned towards him, groaning inwardly at what they really didn’t want to hear but were going to anyway. “I sent a fast rider the moment I heard the horn. He will be passed Isengard by now.”

Pippin plonked himself down and sighed. "Oh, am I in for it now. I’ve managed to do what the war of the ring didn’t do . . .unite the entire world.”

Men around him chuckled. “Not to worry, little hobbit,” Faramir soothed. “It is for a good cause that we gather.”

Pippin lifted his eyes and tried to smile. “I suppose I should be glad. And if I hadn’t met Legolas on the road, he and Gimli would never have known,” he agreed. “Can’t have them unwed, can we?”

“The Valar would not accept it,” Elessar said. “Gimli and Legolas are meant to be together. It has been obvious since the moment they met.”

Legolas looked away, trying not to blush. “It is a shame my father will miss it,” he said wistfully.

“And mine,” Gimli said, whose father had gone to his grave a few autumns previous. “But, we have upward of seven thousand brothers who won’t.”

The elves arrived in the evening and shared sup with them, agreeing to join them and bed down for the night to allow their horses to rest. Luckily, only one hundred elves could leave their work and, for some reason, Haldir was not among them. Legolas found that odd. The partying went on into the night, greeting old friends and making knew acquaintances.

They woke late and settled into their saddles. Éomer eyed the stout little half-breed from the South Farthing and hummed to himself. “You will not reach Imladris on that, Peregrin, faithful though it may be. Ride with me, and leave your steed here to rest. My men will take care of him.”

Pippin hugged the horse’s neck and promised to return soon and continue their journey to Minas Tirith.

Éomer pulled him up in front of him and the company began to move north.

Legolas and Gimli rode in front, behind them came Elessar and behind him came Rohan and Aglarond, men and dwarves riding together. And at the rear the company of Ithilien, men and elves side by side.

Three days ride later and they began to cross the flats of Arnor, and to their western flank came hobbit’s on powerfully built ponies, armed to the teeth and expecting a fight. The kings’ crowns glowed in the westering sun and the hobbitry pulled short. “Thain Meriadoc! It’s King Elessar and King Éomer!”

“My Lord Éomer,” the voice of Merry called out. He moved to the front of the column and bowed his head. “We stand beside you.”

Éomer grinned. “And, I receive you, dear friend, but there is no battle today. It seems there was a misunderstanding. We ride to a wedding and not to war.”

Merry looked quite disappointed, but then relieved. “Who’s?” he asked.

“Mine,” Legolas replied. “And Pippin is giving me away.”

Merry grinned.

“If there is no battle, Thain Meriadoc, should we ride for home?” his captain asked.

“Yes, captain. Stand down from alert and await my return. I’ll keep ten of the guard with me, I’ll not miss my brother’s wedding . . .not a second time,” he added.

Éomer eyed the little ponies and harrumphed in his chest. “If they rode that far, and intercepted us this quickly, I gravely underestimated the strength of your steed, Master Pip. My apologies.”

Pippin grinned up at him. “They are rather good, aren’t they?” he said proudly. While he clasped hands with his cousin and greeted him, his thoughts turned to his embarrassment. “I suppose this was inevitable.”

Éomer cleared his throat. “Take heart. Their being called was my fault.”

The host of the five armies rode on towards Imladris and whatever welcome they might receive.

At dawn, the three thousand-strong host descended into the gorge to see Imladris laid out before them, peaceful and as yet unawares. Lanterns twinkled amongst the trees and arches of carved stone began to appear as the first rays of sunlight began to fill the valley. Journey’s end was in sight, and not a single elf was awake to welcome them.

Celeborn wandered to the window and looked up, his eyes widened to alarm at seeing so many horses climbing down the narrow winding road towards the tiny bridge between the city and the Palace. In great alarm, he ran down the steps in his nightgown in an effort to reach the bridge before they did.

“Daro! Daro!!!!

The shout was in elvish, and seconds later he realised it was his own, calling out to the approaching hoard.

As one, the line halted on the approach road and looked at him. A single horse moved towards the bridge, tall and white. The horse turned slightly to reveal that it bore two riders, both gazing at the elf in his underwear. Legolas looked up at the elf standing in the centre of the bridge and dismounted in order to hide the amusement. He bowed graciously. “My Lord Celeborn, mae govannen. I request permission to enter the city. My guests need a place to rest from their journey.”

Celeborns’ eyes flicked up at the host. “Guests?” His eyes shrank. “I am going to need more food and bedding. The horses will have to be corralled in the fields, the bridge is far too old to carry such a burden.”

“Of course,” Legolas agreed.

“Why have you come to Imladris, Prince Legolas, Friend-Gimli?”

They smiled at each other. “Gimli and I have come to finish what we started in Lorien, my Lord. Our joining,” Legolas replied.

Celeborn smiled gently. “Then I shall be pleased to accommodate you.” He looked down at himself and winced. “Wait there while I get dressed.”

“It has come to my notice that I have omitted something,” Legolas said while they waited.

“You have?” Gimli asked in surprise.

Legolas leaned in close. “Will you marry me, melethron nîn?”

Gimli’s finger traced his face. “I love you,” he said softly. “Could I do aught else?”

Legolas smiled softly, but there was a cloud across his vision. The tears came suddenly and silently. “Gimli, there are some things you should know before you decide to answer me.”

Gimli didn’t seem to be in any way close to backing out, but was open to listen. “Yes?”

“I love you, Gimli, but I need you to understand, if you marry me, the House of Oakenshield ends with you.”

Gimli gazed at him for a long moment. “By your choice?”

Legolas shook his head, an infinitesimal movement that only Gimli could see. “My age,” he whispered.

Gimli’s gaze did not falter, neither did his resolve. “My love, I thought you were going to say you had fallen for someone else.”

“You are not disappointed?”

“I fell in love with you, meleth, not your ability to bare me children,” Gimli told him gently. He threaded his fingers between Legolas’ and they clasped hands. “I will not say it does not disappoint me, I would not lie to you, but I love you. That would not change no matter what life brings. I feel more for you than for me. I know this is hard on you. I am just thankful to the Valar for giving me my life, which has been enriched more than you can ever know for having you in it.”

Legolas smiled and sniffed a little, wiping away an escaping tear before kissing him tenderly. They looked up almost a minute later as a throat being cleared made them break apart.

“Could you not wait until I had dressed?” Lord Celeborn asked gently, now dressed in soft silk robes of fern green overlaid with pale grey and hemmed with silver.

Legolas lowered his eyes, his cheeks burning. “I’m sorry, my lord Celeborn.”

“I have made arrangements for the horses to be taken to the orchards and fields beyond Imladris. Your guests will be found place to rest in the halls of the lower city. The Kings and lords are invited to stay within the palace.”

Legolas stood and bowed gratefully. “You are most gracious, my lord Celeborn. Thank you.”

Celeborn tipped his head to hear a message from one of his servants, he nodded and passed the elf a small scroll. “Take this,” he told him and the elf left at once. “If everyone would like to follow me, you must all be hungry and thirsty from your journey. Share breakfast within the Homely House while place is found for everyone.”

Legolas stood by the portico discussing the details of the preparations. He found the whole thing tedious and tiresome, preferring just to get on with it. They had been within the walls of Imladris for a whole day and Legolas was more fidgety than ever. Elessar watched and listened to him with growing amusement.

“Legolas, you must be patient. People need a place to sleep, they need food and water.”

“I know,” the elf said softly. “It is just that, I have waited so long time for this moment, a ceremony that had we been able, would have had only seventeen people in attendance. Now we have fifteen thousand, and I am nervous.”

Elessar’s eyes shifted to a point just beyond Legolas’ shoulder. “Something tells me, you had better count again.”

Legolas frowned and followed his gaze and behind him stood a familiar face. “Ada!” Legolas spun and reached out to embrace him and at the very last moment remembered his manners. He bowed politely. “Mae govannen, my lord Thranduil.”

Thranduil grinned and waved that away. “My son, forget all that fluff and pomp and hug me. It is what you want.”

Legolas smiled widely and slipped into his welcoming arms. “I am glad to see you, if a little surprised. What brings you to Imladris on this fortuitous occasion, ada?”

“I had an urgent message from Haldir that my son’s oath brother was in trouble upon the road through Rohan, and that you, being in the area could be in danger as well. I was bringing word to Celeborn that you might need help. Then a messenger intercepts me while on route here to tell me that you were safe in Imladris and getting ready to marry one Gimli of Aglarond.” Thranduil regarded him with some amusement. “Naturally, I am now confused, since the only Gimli I know of was the son of Glóin, lord of Erebor, after the passing of Thorin.”

“It is the same Gimli,” Legolas smiled.

“What?” Thranduil voiced softly. “Not that little thing I once found digging holes in my grand hall, whom I caught and he bit me with his first tooth?”

Legolas blanched. Curse his father’s long memory. “Uhm . . .”

“That little thing would be me,” Gimli’s voice rose up, causing them to turn to see him standing behind them. Gimli bowed politely. “Mae govannen, Thranduil Orophirion.”

Thranduil raised a single brow. “The dwarf speaks Sindarin,” he said as an aside to his son.

“Aye, he does,” Legolas replied in kind.

“Can you drink him under the table?”

“Easily,” Legolas replied.

“You do me proud,” the king grinned mischievously. He reached out and grasped the dwarf’s shoulder. “I would be honoured to call you son . . .”

Gimli bowed his head in acceptance.

“On one condition,” Thranduil abruptly added.

Gimli froze. “What might that be?”

Thranduil searched the dwarf’s eyes, they never flinched from his own. Yes, this being was worthy of his son. Finally he spoke in low tones, in the language of Erebor, Mannish. “Love him more than I do, and grant an old elf his wish.” He then quoted an old wedding blessing, “May your children be strong of heart and body, keen of mind and as numerous as the stars,”

Legolas did not speak Mannish, and simply looked from one to the other quizzically.

Gimli thought on the conversation between him and Legolas. What good was that blessing when the endless march of time touched even an elf? Too old, he had said, though it mattered not to Gimli. “Aye, I can do that,” Gimli said in Sindarin, not in the least surprised to find an elf who could speak his own language.

“And,” Thranduil added, in the common tongue. “Name the first one after Legolas’ mother.”

Legolas lowered his head in the hopes that it would hide his red face, forgetting that his hair was tied back. Someone was bound to ask.

“Which reminds me,” the king continued, almost to himself. “I must speak with Celeborn.”

“He is in the courtyard below us, ada,” Legolas informed him, peering over the portico rail and seeing the lord of Imladris speaking with Haldir, and wondered silently where his friend had been all this time.

Thranduil kissed his son’s cheek and then kissed Gimli’s before he took his leave of them to make for the wide stairs. Celeborn had already reached the top of them first. For a moment, the two gazed at each other before enveloping each other in a tender embrace.

“Old friends?” Gimli asked.

“More than that, Gimli,” Legolas replied softly. “Lord Celeborn is my mother.”

Legolas walked down the wide stairs to greet Haldir with a warm embrace. “Mae govannen,” he said.

A surprised Haldir hugged him in response and looked at him quizzically. “I brought your father,” he said. “Just as well I did, so I hear.”

Legolas nodded, glancing back up the stairs. “I know. I have spoken with him. I wondered why you had not ridden with the elves from Ithilien and . . .”

“ . . .and you worried about me?”

Legolas smiled widely. “I was concerned that you would wish to miss this. We have not shared a trouble-free friendship, you and I.”

“All is well, my brother. I have waited many a century to see you this happy. I would not miss this. Will you be joined under Mithrim law or by the laws of the Noldor?”

“By Mithrim law,” Legolas replied.

Haldir nodded slowly. “Fourteen witnesses,” he noted, eyeing the crowds around them. “How will you choose? Or do you intend for everyone in Middle Earth to witness what is to come?”

Legolas blushed. “I had not . . .actually intended any of this.”

Haldir regarded him gently with some amusement and chuckled softly. “So, you are in a corner, mellon nîn, you are now forced to choose.”

Legolas sighed a little, feeling nervous, eyes raking through the crowds. “My father will give me away.” “That is one.”

“Elessar, Faramir, Éomer, Pippin and Merry have all said yes.”

“That is six.”

“I will ask Borin, once I have located him.”

“Borin?”

“King of Erebor. He was visiting at Aglarond with his brothers while I was there.”

“Seven.”

“And you, if you would say yes.”

There was a pause as Haldir gazed at him tenderly, if a little surprised. “Eight,” was all he said.

“If Elladan and Elrohir are here, I would wish for them to attend. They are kin.”

“They are here, and will no doubt be as honoured as I,” Haldir replied. “Four more.”

Legolas came up blank. “Dwarves,” Legolas said finally. “Dorin and Florin, Borin’s brothers.”

Haldir waited patiently as Legolas paced a little, tapping his loosely curled fist in the palm of his other hand. He smiled to himself, he had never seen the prince so nervous.

“The last two should be hobbits. If it were possible, I would have chosen Frodo, but he has sailed into the West. In his place I would ask Samwise, but he is not here either,” Legolas voiced with regret.

“I could suggest combining the two,” a passing hobbit spoke up, not turning to face them as he descended the stairs. “One of those who rode with me is Frodo Gardener, the eldest son of Samwise Gamgee.”

Legolas watched Merry pass by with an innocent air, and slowly smiled. “And my final choice would be Mosco, a cousin of Frodo Baggins.”

Haldir smiled. “Then all is set. All you need to do is relax and your Master of Ceremonies will take care of all the arrangements.”

Legolas gasped. “I did not think to choose one.”

“Then do so,” Haldir coaxed.

Legolas fumbled, forgetting half of the names he had chosen to witness. “Pippin,” he said.

“Yes?” replied a voice, and two heads snapped round to look at another hobbit approaching from the bottom of the stairs to where they stood half way up them. Hobbits seemed to pop up from just about anywhere and at any time, and yet, Legolas was certain there had been only a handful upon the road. “You called me?”

“We meet again, kin of the Ring-Bearer,” Haldir greeted.

“Hello,” Pippin smiled. “Nice to see you, too. What have I done this time?” he inquired jovially.

“Nothing as yet,” Legolas replied. “I would like to appoint you my Master of Ceremonies, if you would like the challenge.”

Pippin grinned. “As it happens, I love a challenge. What exactly is a Master of Ceremonies, and what does he do?”

“He makes sure everything is planned and that things happen at the right time according to that plan,” Legolas replied.

“Aannd . . you have everything planned . . .right?”

Legolas’ face went blank.

“I thought so,” Pippin sighed resignedly. “Leave it all to me,” he decided. “Although I will need some help in what exactly an elvish wedding entails.”

“I shall guide you,” Haldir offered. “Your first task is to make sure all fourteen witnesses are informed of their roles. It is your job to make sure there are no delays, omissions, problems or interruptions.”

Pippin’s eyes shrank into his head. “No interruptions,” he whispered to himself. “This should be good. I’ll go round up the fourteen,” he decided and as an after thought he added, “Who are they?”

Haldir patted his pockets. “One moment,” he said and quickly descended the steps again. A minute later he reappeared scribbling something on a piece of paper with a small piece of charcoal. He returned to them and passed the paper to Pippin.

“Thank you,” the hobbit said politely and read the list. “Haldir?”

“Yes?”

“You are on the list,” the hobbit told him. “I’ll meet you in the fountain gardens in twenty minutes. Don’t be late.”

Haldir sighed exasperatedly as the hobbit dashed off up the stairs. “I have been caught like a fish on real elvish hithlain,” he wagered.

Legolas chuckled softly. “I believe my father despaired of this day ever happening,” he said.

Haldir smiled reassuringly and squeezed his shoulder. “Is that a regret I hear, mellon nîn?”

Legolas gazed at him somewhat distantly. “I regret only one thing, that the House of Sindarin kings ends with me.”

“A love such as yours was worth the wait, I wager?”

Legolas smiled. “I am blessed by the Valar. Elbereth shines all the brighter when Gimli smiles.”

Celeborn sighed, though not through sadness, but perhaps closer to despair as he counted and recounted the number of guests. “I will need more supplies.”

“Yes, my lord,” his aide replied. “I hear it said that hobbit appetites are legendary.”

Celeborn chuckled. “What is said is true.” He lifted his eyes as a thought occurred to him. “We must delay the ceremony for a week at least. I must send word to the Mayor of Hobbiton. He holds the keys of the storehouses of Arnor.” He quickly scribbled a note and pressed his seal to it. “Take this at once to Bag End. Make all speed.”

The elf bowed deeply and hurried away.

In the garden of fountains, thirteen eager if bewildered faces gazed at the tiny figure who stood before them, pages of paper in one hand and bits of charcoal in the other.

“Greetings,” the hobbit said. “I am Peregrin Took, son of Paladin, Thain of Eridaor, Guard of the Citadel of Gondor. Most people just call me Pippin. I have been assigned as Master of Ceremonies for the upcoming wedding of Legolas and Gimli. We have all been chosen as witnesses. Not all of you know each other, so we’ll start off by introducing ourselves before I outline the tasks I have set out for you.” He indicated to the dwarves, all sitting next to each other.

“I am Dorin, son and heir of Thorin, of Erebor,” the first said.

“I am Borin, son of Thorin of Erebor.”

“And I am Florin, also son of Thorin, of Erebor.”

“Welcome to Imladris,” Pippin accorded. “The elves?” he indicated, noting that they too, were sitting together in a knot.

“I am Haldir, son of Oromir, March Warden of Lorien, now living in Ithilien,” the first began.

“I am Thranduil, son of Orophir, King of the Woodland Realm. I am Legolas’ father and I am honoured also to have been counted as a long-time friend of Glóin, Gimli’s father.”

This seemed to surprise the dwarves, particularly since the king decided that he should break the ice by first speaking in Mannish, and then repeating it in the common tongue. The others, too, were surprised. It had always been assumed that no one spoke the rough brogue of the dwarves.

“I am Prince Elladan, son and heir of Elrond, grandson of Lord Celeborn.” said the elf beside him.

“And I am Prince Elrohir, also son of Elrond, grandson of Lord Celeborn and . . .nephew of Prince Legolas,” he added by way of a reminder for his brother.

Elladan conceded that with a slight shrug. “That is also a little known fact,” he said.

Pippin looked from one to the other of the two who were obviously twins. “I was not aware of that either,” he admitted. “Care to share it with the rest of us?” he asked, noting Elessar sitting a little higher in his seat. It was something that has missed his attention, as well.

Elladan explained, “Celeborn married Thranduil before he married Galadriel. Our mother Celebrian is the younger half-sister of Legolas.”

Thranduil said nothing for a moment. “It is true,” he said at last. “But the full reasoning behind the actions of the time are too involved to go into here, and too fresh in the minds of some of us.”

Pippin smiled gently. “I understand.” He turned to the smallest beings in the room. “Please, introduce yourselves.”

“I am Meriadoc Brandybuck, cousin of Pippin here, and also cousin to Frodo Baggins. I am Master of Buckland, which is most of the East and South Farthings of the Shire. I was one of the Nine.”

“I am Frodo Gardener, son of Samwise Gamgee, Mayor of Hobbiton, Lieutenant of the Hobbitry-in-Arms. My father, as with Merry, Pippin and my uncle Frodo Baggins, was one of the Nine, and a Ring Bearer.”

“And I am Mosco Burrows, son of Milo, Frodo Baggins was my mother’s second cousin. I am a lieutenant of the Hobbitry-in-Arms.”

“Welcome to Imladris,” Pippin accorded and they nodded, only too happy to be there. “Finally, may the men of our meeting please introduce themselves?”

“I am Éomer, son of Éomund,” began the first in a thick burly voice, that even with his helmet removed still made him look and sound formidable. “I am the King of Rohan, wherein lies Aglarond.”

“I am Faramir, son of Denethor, prince of Ithilien,” the fair man of Gondor said. “My brother, Boromir, was one of the Nine.”

“Are you not also kin of Galadriel?” Elladan wondered.

Faramir lifted his eyes, which twinkled slightly of something more than what he had imparted. “Yes,” he said quietly. “My mother was born of Prince Adrahil of Dol Amroth and Orodreth of Valinor, brother of Galadriel.” He seemed hesitant, as if reluctant to reveal this nugget of information, and the only one, besides the twins, who was not surprised was Elessar.

“A day of surprises,” King Thranduil decided.

Pippin nodded, and motioned a hand to the last man.

“I am Elessar, king of Gondor, born Aragorn, son of Arathorn, adopted by Elrond and named Estel. Legolas and Gimli are both my brothers-in-oath, as are Merry and Pippin. I was also one of the Nine.”

Pippin bowed his head and grinned. “Welcome to Imladris.”

The three royals tipped their heads in thanks.

“May I ask a question?” Borin spoke up.

“Certainly?” Pippin invited.

“With all due respect, Thain Peregrin, but what does a hobbit know of Noldor weddings? Or Dwarf weddings, for that matter.”

“As a matter of fact,” Pippin replied jovially. “I know nothing about Noldor weddings, other than the fact that two elves of consent embrace, make love and are recognised as married.”

The elves shifted in their seats, red faced.

“But this is not a wedding of the Noldor, is it?” Pippin continued. “Gimli was born of Erebor, now lord of Aglarond. He is naugrim, and therefore, part of the ceremony will reflect that. Legolas is not Noldor, nor indeed of Mirkwood, but in fact of the Woodland Realm. Now, not a lot of you know this, since it is a little known fact, but the Woodland Realm is Doriath. Legolas was born in a place called Mithrim, and the ceremony will reflect that as well.” Pippin eyed them all sitting there, race with race, still some distrust in evidence, but not as noticeable as it had been before the war. He hoped this would be the last time he would have to see it.

“To that end, the ceremony will begin and end in true dwarf style, with horns. We will have four horns, rather than the usual one, since the couple to be married come from two wonderful countries that have overcome tremendous adversity to become allies, indeed friends. The horn of Erebor, the birthplace of Gimli, and the horn of Elvenden, the birthplace of Legolas, will sound at dawn. That will represent the dawn of a new age in their lives, a day to remember for many a generation to come. They will be blown by Dorin and Elladan. At the end of the ceremony the horns of brothers, Rohan and Gondor, where they now live, will be blown by Éomer and Faramir respectively. Any questions?”

At first, there was nothing.

“Why are there fourteen witnesses?” Éomer asked.

“I have done extensive research on the matter of marriage ceremonies, dwarf and elf in particular, and I thank my friends Haldir and Dorin for their help,” he said, and they nodded in acceptance. “Dwarf law requires twelve witnesses, perhaps due to jealousy and rivalry, and the high occurrence of murder and wife theft, I should imagine.” The dwarves looked less than comfortable, but said nothing to gainsay the hobbit. “In Mithrim, since the days of the Awakening, the law was that there should be a witness for each of the Valar, to make an account of the elf’s deeds at the time of their passing over. Each of the witnesses acts as the eyes, ears and voice of the Valar.”

“Haldir, it will be your job to take charge of Legolas’ care. What he eats, when he eats, what he wears at the ceremony will be your responsibility. King Elessar, you will take care of Gimli. See that neither of them sees, speaks of communicates with each other from sun down tonight until the day of the ceremony. No one is to know where they are, except myself and the rest of the witnesses, that goes for everything we discuss here. Total silence.”

Everyone nodded.

“Merry, I’ve put you in charge of keeping security. The entrance to the ceremonial chamber must be watched to stop any intrusions during the ceremony.”

Merry grinned. “I can do that.”

Pippin nodded. “Frodo, you will be in charge of the food, wines and ales, and Mosco, your job is to arrange for musicians and the such for the reception after the ceremony.” Pippin looked down his list. “King Thranduil, you’ll be giving Legolas away. I know Legolas appointed me to fulfil that capacity, but I think as his father you would be a better choice. And Borin will be giving Gimli away.”

“Why are there two given away?” Merry asked. “I though it was the lasses who was given away.”

“Since elves are neither man nor woman, both are given away by their parents to begin lives as an independent family unit.”

“Ah,” said Merry. “I did not know that.”

Pippin continued. “Florin, you are the token bearer. I’ve chosen you, because I know you have extensive knowledge of and experience with mithril and silver working. It’ll be up to you to create tokens for both Legolas and Gimli, without the two seeing them. Elven tokens are a stylised creation of their name and family crest, and are unique.”

“I have never seen one,” Florin admitted.

“I have one,” Elessar said and pulled it free from beneath his shirt. “This is the token of my wife.”

“As do I,” Thranduil added and did likewise. “My son’s token should incorporate a portion of this one with that of my House and royal lineage. This one bears the lineage of Legolas’ mother.”

“I would like to make some drawings, take some measurements, if you would be willing, King Thranduil?” Florin asked politely. The king nodded. “It might take as much as a week, though, to do a properly respectful job,” he noted apologetically.

Pippin nodded. “It is not a job to be rushed. In fact, if I recall . . .Legolas and Gimli were supposed to be married in Lorien in 3019 of the Fourth Age. Their tokens may actually still exist.” A gleam came into his eye. “Florin, we shall speak more of this after the meeting.”

“Can we keep Legolas and Gimli apart for that long?” Elrohir asked. “They are very much in love.”

“They have been apart for longer,” Pippin replied. He looked down his list and suddenly realised that there was one person too many for his list of tasks. “It seems I have made an error here, and not found a task for you, Prince Elrohir.”

Elrohir smiled. “That is not a problem, my young friend. I am content just to watch and witness.”

“I have something else in mind,” a voice from beyond their huddle abruptly cut in.

A collective gasp of surprise filled the room and eyes lifted to see Lord Celeborn walking towards them. Pippin bowed at once. “My Lord Celeborn,” he said. Celeborn gently smoothed his hair, and smiled. “Forgive me for not inviting you to this meeting. I was not aware of your connection to Legolas.”

“That is alright, little one. I came as the one who holds authority to perform the ceremony. There is no other who can, nor is there another role that I could fulfil. I am in need of a bearer who will carry for me the gift that will be given to Gimli.”

Pippin blinked and said, “Gift? What gift? Does Gimli know about it?”

Celeborn replied, “Besides Legolas and Gimli, no one outside this room knows of this gift, and it is one that only I can know to its fullest at this time. Needless to say, without it, the bond between Legolas and Gimli will end at death, and for elves a death of one of our number is a rend to our souls.”

Elrohir stood. “I would like the honour of bearing this gift.”

Celeborn nodded. “It honours me, as well, my grandson.” The lord of Imladris turned to Pippin again. “Tell me, little one, what are your thoughts on the ceremony itself?”

Pippin turned to the large table behind him and climbed up to stand on the stool that had been set beside it. A scroll lay on the table and Pippin held one end and pushed the roll out across the table. “Haldir has talked me through the Mithim laws and the wedding itself, but . . .I think it lacks some flair. So, I have taken it upon myself to add a few dwarf elements to the do.”

“Which dwarf elements would they be?” Celeborn asked, as the others began to gather around the table to see a finely drawn outline of a room, with dots and names set in the circle round two larger dots in the middle.

“The horns for a start will make a grand welcome, don’t you think?” Pippin asked. “And then the sharing of wine and breaking the glass as the promise is made. I like that idea.”

“Are you keeping the ribbons?” Celeborn asked.

“Oh yes,” Pippin said.

“I hope you will forego the drinking game,” Éomer says.

Pippin considered this and said soberly, “I think that would be very wise . . .and I draw the line at the dwarves being naked.”

Celeborn swallowed a threatening chuckle of profound relief. “Have you chosen a location?”

Pippin nodded, feeling pleased with himself. “I have. I think the counsel chamber would be perfect. It is where they fell in love after all, although at the time it wasn’t all that obvious.”

“An excellent choice,” Elessar said. “When do we set the date for? I do not relish the idea of keeping them apart for too long.”

“I am in need of as much time as you can give me,” Celeborn requested. “Imladris was not prepared for so many guests at once.”

“How does eight days sound to you?”

Celeborn considered it. “That is workable. Supplies will have arrived by then.”

“I can call upon supplies,” Éomer said. “Give me six days.”

“As can I,” Thranduil added.

“The storehouses can help,” Elessar suggested.

“I took the liberty of informing them already,” Celeborn admitted. “I knew that you were already busy.”

Elessar pressed a hand to his heart in gratitude. “My apologies for not thinking of it sooner.”

“So,” Pippin rallied. “Now I will outline the wedding itself, who does what, and says what, what takes place and when. If there are no further questions, this is what will happen . . .”

Legolas paced the room back and forth for hour after hour, gazing out of the window, wishing for the sunrise and then wishing for the sunset. It had been six days since his arrival, and five of them had been without so much as a word from or of Gimli.

“What is wrong, mellon nîn?” the ever present voice of gentle Haldir asked.

“I do not like being caged up like this,” Legolas fumed.

“Legolas, please, calm down. Sit and eat.”

“I am not hungry,” Legolas said.

“Legolas,” Haldir said again, a little more firmly. Legolas eyed him from beneath lowered brows. “Do not look at me like that, mellon nîn,” Haldir told him, unconcernedly.

“Perhaps you would prefer the look from the other end of a blade?” Legolas suggested tightly.

“That will never do, mellon nîn, for you have chosen me to act on behalf of Yavanna. Therefore, I will do my duty to you to the letter and beyond should you force me to.” Legolas’ eyes popped wide as his elbows were suddenly grasped tightly and he was lifted off his feet. He was carried across the room and deposited into the chair at the table and a fork placed in his hand. “Eat,” a silky voice told him.

Legolas began to eat, but only because he had no choice.

Haldir smiled triumphantly, but it was short lived.

“When can the ceremony begin?” Legolas asked, mouth full of, admittedly, tasty food.

“I cannot tell you that,” Haldir said.

“Cannot, or will not?”

“I cannot answer that, either,” Haldir replied.

Legolas rolled his eyes. “It has already been more than the customary four days. It has been five. I know I have counted the sunrises, and the sunsets through the window of my prison.”

Haldir sighed softly. “This is not a prison, it is required by the law. From this room you will be reborn and counted . . .”

“Yes, I know all that,” Legolas interrupted. “But what of Gimli? He does not know of the law.”

“And you are worried that he might be as uncomfortable of not more so than you?” Haldir already knew of at least two attempted escapes made by the dwarf, but he said nothing. “Know this, dearest brother, Gimli is well.”

Legolas looked at the empty plate and pushed it away. “Can I not, at least, take a walk in the garden? I need to feel the trees.” He made as if to faint.

Haldir smiled gently. “That is a very clever trick, Legolas Thranduilion, not one you have tried in - oh - at least two days.”

Legolas huffed a breath and pushed up from the table. “The sun begins its downward journey passed the mountains again, and for another day I have not spoken to the star that matches my steps, nor seen the smile that brings order to my mind. Aye, I have the window, and I have the smell of the forest, but this room is still my prison,” Legolas said softly.

A gentle hand upon his shoulder made him turn his head. Haldir gazed at him gently. “Have a care for those within the womb, for they must endure a smaller room for far longer than you will yours, mellon nîn,” he reminded him.

Legolas dropped his gaze. “I had not thought of that. I suppose . . .if I had married when I was much younger, this separation would not have irked me as it does now. Had I met and loved an elf, I would not have known such great love, either.”

“And nor, I suspect, would Gimli,” Haldir added.

Legolas lifted his eyes and smiled.

The sun slipped behind the mountains and night drew in quickly.

“Come,” Haldir coaxed. “You must rest. You must be refreshed for the morning.”

Elessar woke for the second time that night. “Gimli, go back to sleep! I told you, you must not leave this room!” The scuffling ceased instantly. “Thank you,” Elessar retorted sarcastically, without turning round. He snuggled back into his warm spot and began to descend into sleep.

Suddenly a lamp table toppled sending oil shooting across the floor, the flames rushing after it. Elessar jumped and whirled. “Gimli!” he shrieked. “What are you trying to do this time?”

His eyes flew wide as the flames came at him. Pushing up onto one arm, he catapulted himself over the couch and across the room. “Gimli, you fool!” he shouted. “This is by far the most stupid escape attempt yet!” As he said the words, his eyes turned to find the dwarf sleeping deeply in the bed.

The fire had begun to take hold along the far end of the room, rushing up the drapes and beginning their tenuous licks at the sheep’s wool rug. Elessar pressed his back to the door, one that led to the small washroom. There was no escape that way. The door to freedom was now engulfed in flames.

Elessar’s eyes suddenly rested on Gimli’s backpack. It lay open on the floor, up-ended, its contents spilled haphazardly across the floor. That was not Gimli’s style, but then he could have been faking sleep.

Elessar could feel the heat already. Shielding his face, he grabbed at Gimli’s things and stuffed them back into the leather pouch. “Gimli!” he screamed, but the heavy sleeper did not budge. “This is no time for games!”

The king crossed to the bed and shook his shoulder and the dwarf slowly opened his eyes, the irises dulled to a tawny green with sleep. “Get up!” Elessar urged him.

Gimli squirmed sleepily and looked up at him, the reflection of leaping yellow tongues of fire glowing in Elessar’s eyes. Gimli burst from the bed, turning as he did so. A gasp tore from his throat. If there was one thing a dwarf hated more than being separated from their love, it was fire. Elessar grabbed the dwarf’s shoulder and dragged the terrified being from the bed and into the washroom.

Gimli hopped from one foot to the other, short gasps of nonsense spilling from his mouth. He turned on Elessar. “Curse you, lad. If you wanted to kill me, why not just let me sleep through it!”

“Me?” Elessar shot back. “You were the one scuffling around the room, pushing lamp stands over!”

Gimli glared at him. “What are you talking about?” he asked slowly. “Until you dragged me from my bed, I was dreaming of Legolas.”

“I thought you were trying another escape plan of yours,” Elessar said. “And I found your pack and belongings all over the floor.”

“I left it hanging on the door . . .the door now on fire.” He gazed around the tiny cubical. “And we are in the washroom, with no window and the only exit has smoke coming through from underneath.”

Elessar’s head whipped round to look. “Fukken!” he mumbled.

Gimli stared up at him. “Don’t use bad language, lad. You’d never make a good dwarf. You’re a Númenórean, of Eärendil’s line, supposedly wise, think of something! Preferably before we become smoked, or worse roasted.”

Elessar quickly took in the room, which was completely bare and his eyes glanced at the pack he still held. He pushed it into Gimli’s hands and snatched the elven cape. As he did so, smaller items sprayed out in all directions to skitter across the stone floor. He rolled the cape and stuffed it up against the bottom of the door. “This is elven cloth, fire cannot harm it,” he explained.

Gimli yelped again, this time with anger. “Watch what you are doing, clumsy ox!” he retorted and scrambled about picking up all his roughly discarded belongings. He gasped, casting his eyes about him. “The token, Aragorn! Where is the token?”

Elessar looked at him. “I picked everything up. It should be there.”

“It’s not here.”

They stared at each other. “Someone must have taken it,” the king suggested.

Gimli frowned. “Why would anyone want to do that? It’s worthless to anyone else.”

“You do not have a token.” Elessar looked at his friend long and hard. “Whose token did you have in your pack?”

Gimli slowly lifted his eyes to meet his gaze. “Legolas’. Ârâgorn, if someone came looking for my token, and found his, they might go after him . . .” Gimli went for the door, but in the tight space Elessar blocked his escape. “Let me out. I have to warn Legolas!”

Not far away, a small creature sulked in the darkness. That was not as easy as he had hoped it would be. He had sneaked in and out of Legolas’ room with not so much as a snort in the sleeping elves, but the token he had come away with had been the wrong one.

He lifted his eyes up at the now fuel-starved and dying fire. He had the other token, but now he would have to explain what had happened, and why. He just hoped there were two people left alive in the house to explain himself too . . .or he would have explaining of a different sort to do to an elf waiting to be wed in the far end of the city. And an explanation to the world about the death of Elessar.

Without warning, two hands grabbed his jacket and held him up. The face that swam into his sights was Merry’s, but it did not look pleased, nor indeed was it surprised.

“Pippin, you fool!”

“Ha! I . . .Merry! . . .what are you doing here?” Pippin spluttered.

“Security, remember?” Merry said. “And you had better have a good reason for burning the summer lodge to the ground.”

“Gimli and Ârâgorn are alright aren’t they? It was an accident. He woke up and startled me.”

“Not good enough, Pippin,” Merry warned. “You should not have been in there in the first place.” “Well, yes, but . . .are they alright?”

“Yes, they are alright, scared witless, is as close to ‘alright’ as you can get after that fright.” Pippin sighed with relief, but Merry was not finished with him yet. Merry released him, none to gently, to the ground. “Are you out of your mind? What were you doing here anyway?”

“I came for the tokens,” Pippin explained. “Florin asked the elves a moment to be allowed to see a token, and he was denied. I know Legolas and Gimli had them, they had to have had them for the ceremony in Lorien, but the elves here would not have known that.”

“And let me guess,” Merry but in. “A dwarf asking to see an elf’s token of marriage started the fight, which I had to break up an hour ago?”

Pippin’s face paled. “A fight? I don’t know anything about a fight,” he replied honestly.

“Florin said you would try something to get the tokens, and I followed you to Legolas’ window. An excellent theft. I taught you too well,” he admitted. “But I didn’t teach you to set fire to a house with people inside it,” he added, his voice turning hard.

Merry took hold of the hobbit’s shoulder and marched him back along the path to Celeborn’s rooms, where he stood, wringing his hands. Un-elflike, it was true, but never had there been a fire in Imladris before.

“All is well, my lord,” Merry announced. “The fire is out and Kings Elessar and Gimli are safe. I have also caught the fire bug.”

“Good,” Lord Celeborn replied. “I shall have him locked up until after the wedding.”

Merry cleared his throat. “That might prove a little difficult, my lord.”

“Why?”

“Because Pippin started it,” Merry replied. “It was an accident, though why he was there in the first place, was not entirely his fault, either.”

“I see,” Celeborn said. “Something to do with the fight in the brewery?”

Merry shifted slightly. “Yes, it was.”

“So, we must assume Florin may know of Pippin’s involvement, if not the full extent.” Celeborn thought about it carefully. “I want no mention of the person who caused the fire shall go beyond the three of us.” He stepped forward and reached out a hand to the shame-faced hobbit, who dared not look up. Pippin placed the two tokens in the elf’s hand and said nothing.

The elf pushed the palm of his other hand against the hobbit’s forehead and suddenly Pippin sank to the ground, where Celeborn scooped him up and carried him back into the house. “Inform the witnesses for the ceremony that a wish to speak with them at breakfast, and find another room for Gimli. In the meantime, Pippin will sleep.”

He gently laid the hobbit on his bed, seeing how tiny he was against the huge ornately carved piece.

“Frodo once slept in that bed,” Merry remembered. “He almost died there too.”

Celeborn smiled gently. “Pippin shall not die, but he will wake with a headache,” he said.

Celeborn walked into the counsel chamber where they had all gathered and regarded them all calmly. “Good morning,” he said.

“I do not agree that it is a ‘good’ morning,” Elessar said boldly. “With all due respect, Lord Celeborn, but someone tried to kill Gimli last night and I want to know who and why.”

Celeborn’s gaze shifted to Merry, who cleared his throat and stood up. “I have made a thorough search of the room, and found no evidence of a forced entry . . .”

“That is because they came in through the window, not the door,” Elessar interrupted.

“My Lord, if you would please let me finish?” Merry asked gently. “I found several black feathers by the balcony, and have concluded that they belong to a type of crow. It is same type of feather as those found beneath the balcony outside Legolas’ window this morning.” He held up several black flight feathers in his hand for them to see. Some were slightly scorched as if having been near if not in a fire.

“Which would explain why these were found in a tree just outside my window last night,” Celeborn noted, opening his hand to reveal two mithril pendants. He stepped towards Florin and gave them to him. “I give them into your care for safe keeping. I trust that they will not leave you sight until midnight before the dawn of the ceremony.”

“I make an oath to it,” Florin replied.

There was a frown on Florin’s face as his eyes shifted to Pippin, who was holding his head in both hands.

Haldir frowned. “A common magpie takes things that shine, as does the nightjar who flies by night, but I have not found one yet that rifles through drawers and opens chests.”

“There are,” Frodo spoke up. “Forgive me, master Haldir sir, but there are shape-changers. My great-uncle Bilbo spoke of them.”

Celeborn nodded his thanks. “Is there anything more?”

“No, my lord,” Merry replied. “Nothing of great worth or anyone injured. With Lord Celeborn’s agreement, I deem it unnecessary to continue this investigation.”

Celeborn nodded. “As long as the witnesses, Legolas and Gimli are safe, the wedding shall take place as planned.”

“What is the matter, Pippin?” Elessar asked sternly, suspecting that the ‘crow’ had more likely been a hobbit.

“I drank too much last night,” the hobbit grumbled carefully.

Elessar’s eyebrows rose. “Drank too much?”

“That’s not the half of it,” bewailed the hobbit as loudly as he dared against the raging storm inside his skull. “I woke up this morning in Lord Celeborn’s bed.” The hobbit frowned deeper still. “I don’t know how I got there.”

The hush in the chamber stilled to a deathly silence.

The hobbit’s face turned red as he realised where he was and who he was with. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”

Celeborn smiles softly. “I believe hobbits should not drink such copious amounts. It is not the wisest course of action. Nor is starting a fight in the lower halls,” he added.

Florin lowered his gaze, his lop-sided grin dropping from his face like rock in a cave-in.

“How did the hobbit ended up in your bed?” Éomer asked, while wondering if he should.

Merry gazed up at the elf, waiting to see what he would say. Would Lord Celeborn offer them a half-spoken morsel, leaving them to assume something happened, or would he tell them something to maintain Pippin’s honour? Merry wondered. Celeborn declined to reply.

A slow silence of realization grew in the group . . .Pippin was with Celeborn?? Several sets of eyes shifted about, wondering if others had thought the same thing . . .had Celeborn ‘slept’ with Pippin or had the master of Imladris slept elsewhere?

Celeborn said not a word, ever the noble one, but none missed the slight blush upon the Took’s face, or Merry’s stare of innocence.

Elessar looked as if he were watching a game of piggy-in-the-middle, bouncing from Celeborn to Pip and back again. "Uhm . . ." he managed, but a sterner than usual look from the warrior of Doriath shut him up.

Haldir merely shrugged. ‘At least, someone is getting some’ he thought and thought it best to keep that assessment to himself. He abruptly sobered, ‘oh boy . . .what will Legolas think . . Pippin . . .with his mother . . .ai elbereth!’

“What!”

Haldir paled as quickly as Legolas’ face turned red with rage.

“I am sorry, Legolas, but you did force me to explain how your token came to have disappeared from your vanity cabinet and reappeared in Lord Celeborn’s tree . . .I . . .”

“That hobbit had better have a very good reason why I should let him live,” the prince growled carefully.

“Perhaps if I were to explain where I was, that might help?”

Legolas spun around to face his mother who stood in the doorway. He bowed in an instant, breathing hard to dampen the anger enough to speak. “My lord Celeborn, greetings.”

Celeborn lifted his chin with a finger and kissed his cheek. "What is this? No embrace for your nanneth?”

Legolas stifled the taste of bile that rose unbidden, thinking of a hobbit in his mother’s bed. He shuddered and swallowed.

“My dear child, a fire broke out in Gimli’s room last night. When I returned, I found what I thought was a child asleep in my bed. It was Pippin. What would you have me do, evict the creature into the cold night?”

“Of course not, I . . .” Legolas’ throat constricted. “Fire?” The shudder turned to a tremble. “Gimli?” he whimpered.

“Gimli is fine. A little singed around the beard perhaps, but Elessar saved them both from serious harm.” Legolas swooned at the excess stress of the morning, and fell against his mother. Celeborn held him close. “My son, there is no harm done. A summer house has been wrecked, nothing more. And no one’s honour is in the slightest part dented.”

“Legolas?” Haldir called.

“My poor child. This is too much.”

Haldir nodded. “He awoke to find his room ransacked, and I return from a meeting to tell him Pippin was in his mothers bed, and then to be told Gimli almost died in a fire.”

Celeborn nodded. “Not one of his better days, I wager.”

“And he has not even had breakfast yet.”

Celeborn was about to move his son to the bed, when Legolas stirred against him. Legolas looked up into gentle blue eyes.

“Nanneth,” he whispered. “Please, I cannot take any more. I know the law, I respect it, but it has been too long. I must see Gimli, now more than ever.”

Celeborn smiled gently. “Because of what has happened, I am going to allow you and Gimli this one day together. I do not want the emotional strain upon you to be so great that it should cause you to leave us. I could not bear that. Haldir, take word to Elessar to open the door and take Gimli into the fountain garden. I shall meet them there.”

Haldir nodded and left.

Celeborn wiped the tear from Legolas’ cheek. “Hush now, Legolas. Gimli is unhurt. And nothing important was taken.”

“The token, nanneth,” Legolas whispered.

“I gave them both to Florin for safe keeping. He is the token bearer.”

Legolas nodded. “Thank you. Can we go now?”

“In a hurry to get there?”

“Yes,” Legolas replied breathily. Suddenly, he was free, if it was for just one day.

Gimli stood in the shadow of the trees and waited. At the sound of his name he turned in time to see a grey shape rush at him. A second later he was on his back, the air knocked out of him, being kissed senseless.

Legolas stopped kissing him, and began checking him all over. “Gimli, melethron nîn! Are you alright? You look alright. Are you hurt anywhere? Did the fire get you? If I ever find out who started that fire, I will tear them limb from limb!”

Gimli grinned, chuckled, finally opening his eyes. “Melleth,” he said. “I am unhurt, and feeling all the better for seeing you. I have missed you.”

“I have missed you also.” Legolas smiled down at him. “I have been frightened out of my mind. Haldir and Celeborn told me about the fire, and I could not remain in my room an hour longer.”

Gimli cupped his cheek. “You always were impatient.”

“I am not,” Legolas retorted, feigning injury.

“You are,” Gimli grinned. “And impetuous,” he added.

Legolas smiled widely. He leaned in and kissed him again, deepening the feather-light touch to part their lips until tongue tips merged. A polite cough parted them with a moan of frustration.

“We have one day,” Gimli said. “But if you kiss me like that, it will whittle down quickly to less than two minutes.”

Legolas inclined his head to indicate the ever watchful pair of warriors standing not far away. “They are here to keep us from dishonouring ourselves,” he reminded him.

“What a shame,” Gimli grinned wickedly.

Legolas giggled softly. “No matter. I could simply sit here all day and look at you, and I would be content.”

“But I would not,” the dwarf replied. “And neither would the flowerbed I am crushing.”

Legolas gasped and pulled him to his feet at once. He dusted off his intended and examined the plants. “They will be fine. My mother will not notice . . .too much.”

“Have you eaten lunch?” Gimli asked.

“I have yet to break fast,” Legolas admitted. “I refused to eat until I saw for myself that you were well,” Legolas told him, although it was not entirely true. He had passed out, but he wasn’t about to reveal that to Gimli. “I begged to be let out.”

“You begged?” Gimli asked in surprise. Legolas nodded. “Oh no!” he gasped.

“What is it?” Legolas asked as the dwarf groaned in distress.

“A fine Elven Princeling, begging . . .what has the world come to!”

Legolas’ brows lowered and a fist, unseen due to its velocity, rammed into Gimli’s arm. Gimli toppled a little, unable to contain the mirth. Legolas stared at him, the dwarf doubled over in fits of laughter. “You are a tease!” he retorted.

Gimli continued to laugh regardless, and a smile grew on the elf’s face. “I shall be teased relentlessly by one whom I love,” he realised. “Not a difficult life to live . . .not when I could place a ban on salted pork imports.”

Gimli froze. “Hey! You would not dare!”

“Oh?” Legolas smiled wider still.

Gimli lunged for him and he dodged. “Stand still, elf, or I’ll . . .”

Legolas grinned and was off across the garden. Gimli took off after him, but it was a while before he caught the spry creature. At length they collapsed into the grass, laughing. They shared a breathless kiss, before rising again.

Together they walked in the garden of fountains, among trees and flowers, talking of hopes and wonderment. They found themselves returning to the place where they had paused after their chase and found something that had not been there before. A blanket had been spread out on the manicured lawn, with food and wine. They gazed at it for a moment, their mouths watering at the sight of strawberries and vine fruits, cheeses, salted pork, roasted bantams and a bottle of wine.

“This is quite a fare,” Gimli praised. “It seems we are not along in the garden today.”

“Indeed,” Legolas agreed, looking around them. “I wonder who it is for.” There was no one within sight at all. “Did you happen to see where Aragorn and Haldir went?”

“No, I did not. I was unaware that they had left us,” Gimli replied and bent to retrieve a piece of paper. “This note under the wine bottle is addressed to us.” He read it aloud. “‘Gimli and Legolas, we have left this picnic for you and have left to find repast of our own. We trust you to behave, Aragorn’.”

Legolas glowered. “Behave indeed! If he was not my king and brother, I would skin the impudent pup! But the food looks too good to pass.” He flopped down gratefully and Gimli joined him.

Gimli tore off a small piece of the bantam flesh and reached over to ease into Legolas’ mouth. The elf was most surprised, and after a moment, he picked up a piece of salted pork and popped it into Gimli’s accepting mouth. For the next ten minutes they fed morsels to each other, undisturbed.

Nearby, Haldir drank in the sunshine. A copious amount of giggling drifted up from beyond the long grass where we stood, turning up the corners of his mouth. He opened his eyes as Elessar drew level with him. "I told you they would be fine," he whispered.

“Are you certain?” Elessar replied softly. “There is more giggling going on over there than there was in my chambers on my wedding night.”

Haldir grinned. “That is more information than I need to know.”

Elessar smiled. “True, but the statement stands.”

Haldir smiled. “Trust them. They need to breathe.”

Elessar nodded. “Celeborn has told me that all is ready,” he said, handing Haldir one of the two bowls of food that he had brought with him. “The ceremony is set for tomorrow.”

The elf nodded. “Good.” After a pause, he added, “Now, I find myself feeling a nervousness that I am unaccustomed to.”

“That makes two of us,” Elessar rejoined. “But consider how much more nervous they shall be when they wake in the morning and discover that time is up.”

The horn of Erebor sounded with the rise of the sun above the peaks that flanked the city. In response, the horn of the Noldor, bright and clear in the early morning mists, blew long and loud. The sound shuddered through all those standing outside the counsel chamber, and eyes turned to the doors to take a peek. Suddenly one small hobbit appeared in the doorway and pushed the doors shut.

Behind the closed doors fourteen people stood in a circle surrounding two beings who knelt, blindfolded and veiled to the world. In the shadows beyond the dais at the head of the circle, a voice called out boldly.

“Who blew the horns?”

“I, Dorin, son of Thorin, do blow the horn of Erebor,” called the dwarf to the right of the door.

“I, Elladan, son of Elrond, do blow the horn of Elvenden,” called the elf on the left of the door. Between them stood Merry and Pippin.

“Who called the horns?” the voice questioned.

“I, Peregrin, son of Paladin, do call the horns. I, Master of Ceremonies of Gimli and of Legolas have gathered the eyes of the Valar to bear witness. Celeborn, mouthpiece of the Valar, lord of Imladris, is summoned.”

Celeborn stepped regally from the shadows and onto the low dais, before him stood a small columned beech-wood table bearing a single glass of red wine. The table was barely larger than the base of the elegant glass, normally used for standing lamps or candle holders on. Celeborn cast his eyes around the gathered witnesses. “Who summons me?”

Borin and Thranduil, both bearing the crowns of their realms upon their heads, were standing on either side of the dais. They stepped before lord Celeborn and bowed, setting themselves between the authority and the kneeling pair, almost as if to intercede or appease the powers that be.

“I, Borin, son of Thorin, king under the hill, do summon you.”

“And I, Thranduil, son of Orophir, king of the woodland realm of Doriath, do summon you.”

“To what purpose do you summon the gaze of all that is holy, the Valar and Eru himself?” Celeborn asked.

“I bear Gimli, son of Glóin, to be given in marriage to the son of Thranduil,” Borin replied.

“I bear Legolas, son of Thranduil, to be given in marriage to the son of Glóin,” Thranduil chorused.

“Who bears witness, for so says the law, eyes of Arda must bear witness, one for one, for those in Vanyamar? I say, who bears witness?”

As one, fourteen souls raised their voices into the air, “I!”

Celeborn cast his gaze around the gathered again. “Bring fourth the betrothed, veiled as they are, unseen by the eyes of the world, blind to their future and untouched by flesh.”

Thranduil and Borin turned and went to their charges, lifting them by the elbow and brought them forward. Then, leaving them kneeling before Celeborn, they resumed their places in the circle.

“Who is it that summons these here witnesses?”

“I, Gimli, son of Glóin, Lord of Aglarond, do gather to me witnesses of Arda before the seat of Eru, creator, before the eyes of the Valar and all that is holy.”

“I, Legolas,” rejoined a sweet elven voice beside him from beneath the thick veil. “Son of Thranduil, Prince of the Woodland realm, do gather to me witnesses of Arda before the seat of Eru, creator, before the eyes of the Valar and all that is holy.”

“Show to the eyes of the Valar, that you are who you say you are,” Celeborn demanded.

The two, veiled and blindfolded as they were, reached inside their clothing and pulled out their pendants. The chains snapped open and the tokens were held aloft for Celeborn to take. With no word of prompting, a dwarf stepped from his place between Thranduil and Haldir, a grey velvet cushion with gold edges in his hands. The tokens were set upon the cushion side by side.

The dwarf turned and walked around the circle of the witnesses and paused briefly before each one returning to stand before Celeborn again.

“Who bears the tokens?”

“I, Florin, son of Thorin,” the dwarf replied.

“Whose tokens do you bear?”

“I bear the token of Gimli, son of Glóin, born of Erebor, Lord of Aglarond, and the token of Legolas, son of Thranduil, born of Doriath, Lord of Ithilien.”

Celeborn raised his eyes. “Witnesses of the Valar, are these the tokens of Gimli and of legolas?”

“Aye,” the chorus rose as one.

“Who veiled the one named Gimli?”

“I, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King Elessar of Gonodr, Arnor and Numenor, overlord of all Eriador and the United Kingdoms, named Estel, sworn son of Elrond, do veil Gimli against the eyes of the world.”

“Unveil him to meet his destiny,” Celeborn instructed boldly.

Elessar stepped into the circle and drew up the curtain of dark velvet cloth that hid the dwarf from head to foot. “I, Elessar, do unveil before the eyes of the Valar, Gimli, son of Glóin.” He removed the blindfold, dropping it onto the pile of cloth on the ground behind the dwarf’s feet.

Then taking him by the shoulders, he stood him up and turned him to show him to the witnesses. “Behold, Gimli, son of Glóin, the eyes of the Valar, be unveiled and counted by the Valar.”

“Witnesses of the Valar, is this Gimli, son of Glóin?”

“Aye!” they chorused.

Celeborn nodded once and Elessar gently guided Gimli to his knees again and returned to his place on the right side of the circle.

“Who veiled the one named Legolas?”

“I, Haldir, son of Oromir, March Warden of Lorien, do veil him against the eyes of the world.”

“Unveil him to meet his destiny,” Celeborn instructed again.

Haldir stepped into the circle and drew up the curtain from Legolas’ body and let it fall to the ground and spoke as he did so. “I, Haldir, unveil before the eyes of the Valar, Legolas, son of Thranduil.” He untied the blindfold and tossed it onto the black velvet cloth at his feet.

Taking him by the shoulders, he drew him up to turn him slowly for the witnesses to see. “Behold, Legolas, son of Thranduil, the eyes of the Valar, be unveiled and counted by the Valar.”

“Witnesses of the Valar,” Celeborn called. “Is this Legolas, son of Thranduil?”

“Aye!” they chorused.

Celeborn nodded once. Legolas knelt as Haldir returned to his place on the left of the circle, between Florin and Frodo. The Lord of Imladris gazed out at the assembled again. “Bear witness,” he charged them. “Does any soul know of any just cause to end this, or of any prior joining or touch of flesh, or contain within their hearts a doubt or discontent? Please let them, without rebuke, speak now.”

The silence was deafening.

“Who is charged with securing this bond?”

“I, Meriadoc, son of Saradoc, do secure this bond.”

“Find the soul that would wield the gainsaying of these oaths.”

Merry drew his sword, allowing the sun to flash against the mithril blade. Stepping forward, he swung it towards the dwarf beside him. Dorin did not flinch. Along the circle on the left side of the room, he tested them, and then along the right. At the door again, he turned to face Celeborn. Boldly he stepped forward to a point just behind Gimli and Legolas and thrust the sword deep into the soil between them. “Arda is silent. The eyes of the Valar are one. There is no gainsaying. The walls and door are secure.”

He saw Celeborn nod and turned to face the doors at the far end of the circle and drew his throwing knife, should any come behind the kneeling pair unawares. merry licked his lips. It was tradition, he knew, and no one moved. Celeborn began to speak again.

“Witnesses of the Valar, is it seen that no voice or heart, on earth or in the realms beyond, gainsays this joining?”

As one, “Aye!”

“Gimli, son of Glóin, do you come before me and in the sigh of Eru, creator, the Valar and all that is holy, of sound mind and willing heart?”

“I do.”

“Do you, Gimli, take this Legolas to be yours, your only, forsaking all others whether in sight or not, to be your right hand; the beginning of your life from this moment forward, born anew, for all eternity?”

“I do,” the dwarf replied.

“Legolas, son of Thranduil, do you come before me and in the sight of Eru, creator, the Valar and all that is holy, of sound mind and willing heart?”

“I do.”

“Do you, Legolas take this Gimli to be yours, your only, forsaking all others whether in sight or not, to be your right hand; the beginning of your life from this moment forward, born anew, for all eternity?”

“I do,” the elf replied. Legolas stumbled on answering, the words had been changed. Suddenly he was more nervous than ever. He had no idea what would happen next. Beside him, Gimli was so trusting, and yet he dared no look in the dwarf's direction. It was not permitted yet.

“Witnesses of the Valar, is it seen that both do swear willingly to cleave to each other and forsake all others?”

“Aye!”

“Bring fourth the tokens,” Celeborn commanded.

Four witnesses stepped forward, two from either side, each bearing a silver cushion with gold around the edges; a dwarf, an elf and two hobbits.

Celeborn turned to his left. “Who bears the fruit?”

“I, Mosco, son of Milo, do bear the fruit.”

Celeborn lifted a silver pear from the cushion and held it up. Mosco bowed respectfully and stepped back. “Behold the fruit, a blessing of the creator Eru, to be sustained by the life of the Eldar and may your sons be as numerous as the stars.” He turned to Legolas. “Hold out hour left hand.” Legolas did so, feeling the cool weight of the mithril against his palm. “Receive the fruit, receive the blessings of the Valar.” Celeborn turned to his right. “Who bears the harp?”

“I, Frodo, son of Samwise, do bear the harp.”

Celeborn lifted the silver harp from the cushion and held it up. Frodo bowed and stepped back. “Behold the harp, a blessing of the creator Eru, to let the music of life fill you, the melody of love always surround and guide you.” He turned to Gimli. “Hold out your left hand.” Gimli did so, and the harp of mithril rested in his palm. “Receive to you the harp, receive the blessings of the Valar.”

Celeborn smiled a little, it had been many centuries since he had done this, but what was to come he had never before undertaken. The joy it gave him was immeasurable. “You may now look upon the one whom I shall seal to you for eternity.”

Gimli and Legolas turned and finally saw the other, a week apart having been a torture, but this moment was worth it. Legolas was dressed in a silver tunic that reached his knees, gold filigree embroidered across the garment in the crest of his House. Upon his head was set a mithril crown of Prince-hood. He smiled.

Gimli wore a midnight-blue velvet waistcoat over a white shirt. Gold beads festooned his hair and beard, and upon his head rested the silver crown of Aglarond. He smiled. To either side of him the hobbits returned to their places, and the dwarf and the elf stepped forward.

Celeborn lifted the glass of wine that stood on a small column and passed it first to Gimli. “Drink, for so says, Aule, the father of all the Naugrim, thirst shall not come upon my children while I drink of the fountain of she who is my wife.”

Gimli took the delicate glass and drank from it, and passed it back.

Celeborn passed the glass to Legolas. “Drink, for so says Yavanna, mother of all the Naugrim, thirst shall not come upon the earth of my bounty while I drink of the fountain of he who is my husband.”

Legolas took the glass and drank and passed it back.

Setting the glass aside once more, Celeborn turned to his right. “Who bears the tokens?” he asked.

“I, Florin, son of Thorin, do bear the tokens,” the dwarf said.

Celeborn lifted first the token of the house of Oakenshield and lowered the token over Legolas’ head, to leave it glittering against his throat. “Receive to you the token of Gimli, the other half of your soul, the other half of your being. No longer will you be whole alone.”

Celeborn lifted the token of the house of Greenleaf and lowered it over Gimli’s head, and it glittered beneath his chin. “Receive to you the token of Legolas, the other half of your soul, the other half of your being. No longer will you be whole alone.”

“Hold out your right hand, Gimli,” Celeborn said. Gimli did so. “Legolas, hold out your right hand and cover Gimli’s.”

Legolas looked confused, he had no idea what was happening. As far back as he could remember, this was the end of the ceremony. He rested his slender palm against the dwarf’s, feeling him tremble. Celeborn turned to his left. “Who bears the will of Eru?”

“I, Elrohir, son of Elrond, do bear the will of Eru.”

Celeborn lifted the first item from the silver cushion. It was a ribbon of fine woven mithril thread. Looping the ribbon around their wrists he began to recite a prayer to the Valar in a tongue neither of them could speak or understand. It was the speech of the holy ones, untaught to the elves of Arda, but mimicked as best they could by those who walked, and became the Quenya tongue.

“Circle the blade that bears witness of silent acceptance, three times.” he said. “Once for the age of Elvenden in Arda, once for the Two Trees, and once for the stars from whence we came. A circle with no end and no beginning, unbreakable and everlasting, until Gilrushim call.”

Now standing still, Legolas watched as Celeborn reached for the second item on the cushion, which shined so brightly that he could not tell its shape or colour. It was the holy of holies that rested upon the cushion in Elrohir’s hands, the vial of the life of the Eldar. Gimli could not see what was about to happen.

Legolas instinctively shut his eyes, but even then the close proximity caused the brightness to shine right through his eyelids. Steeled as he was he was not expecting the cry of shocked surprise from Gimli. Legolas’ eyes flew open as the light faded and found Gimli glowing, gasping for breath.

“Receive to you the life of the Eldar, the immortal flame that within us shines and holds us within Manwe’s embrace forever. Witnesses of the Valar, is this the light?”

“Aye,” they responded, though some voices seemed less then certain, not because they doubted, but were in awe.

“Gimli, receive to you your wife. Legolas, receive to you your husband. By the authority given me by that which created me, I join you. What was once two, shall be one. What was once twain, shall now be whole. A bond that no being, not even death can break, by the will of the Valar, by the grace of the Eldar, and blessed by Eru himself. Witnesses, hear me!” he cried loudly.

“Aye!” they responded.

Celeborn smiled as he removed the ribbon that bound them. “You may now kiss.”

For a moment, neither of them moved, not quite able to take in what had happened. Then they leaned forward and lips met.

Merry walked towards the doors and set his hands upon the bolt, he waited. Suddenly the horn of Rohan blew, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He drew the bold back. Behind him, to his left a second horn sounded. It was the horn of Gondor. With the sound reverberating through his body, he drew the doors open. Outside the waiting crowds held their breaths, and suddenly let out a cheer that filled the city with sound.

“Who blows the horn?” Celeborn called, and silence descended once more.

“I, Éomer, son of Éomund, King of Rohan, do blow the horn and receive the consort of the King of Aglarond.”

“I, Faramir, son of Denethor, Prince of Ithilien, do blow the horn and receive the consort of the Lord of Ithilien.”

There was an overly long wait before Celeborn lifted his voice again. “It is done.”

Pippin stood watching the party that was in full swing. People milled around the tables groaning with food, and the pile of ale barrels were invisible behind a wall of bodies, mostly hobbits. The music was at once a mixture of all the four corners of the world.

“How old is Prince Legolas?” Florin asked as he came to stand beside Pippin.

“About six thousand years old, I believe,” Pippin replied knowledgeably.

“Hmm,” Florin huffed. “Took his sweet time getting married,” he groused disparagingly, which for a dwarf was as close to a compliment as you could hope to get.

“Elves take a ludicrously long time to do anything . . .they are like ents, but without the leaves,” Pippin said.

“I suppose they’ll be wanting the bridal suite now?” Florin grumbled. The amusement was apparent only to Pippin who stood beside him.

Pippin nodded. “I think so,” he said. “Is the bed turned down, sheets warmed, curtains drawn, fire lit and the honey mead and raspberries on the nightstand?”

Florin turned sharply. “Honey mead? Mahal! I forgot the honey mead,” he hissed, horrified at his error.

Pippin saw the newly married couple rise from the table. “Don’t panic. You lead them to the suite, I’ll get the mead. Problem solved.”

Florin relaxed and the pair parted company.

Pippin carried the flagons of honey carefully down the hall, meticulously balanced on the mithril tray. It was not until he reached the door that he realised ha had a problem. Not wanting to set the tray down and risk spilling it, he turned around and elbowed the handle.

A light click later and the door gently swung open. Pippin turned with exaggerated care and walked into the chamber. The room was warm and serene, filled with the light from the fire and a few scented candles. The table was his destination, and he quickly set the tray down.

Feeling very pleased with himself for not losing a single drop, he took a moment to look around, wondering where the recipients of his gift were. “Legolas? Gimli?”

There was no answer, at least not a verbal one. Pippin turned as a movement caught his eye. Two faces were looking at him from the hearthrug. Pippin blinked, to assure himself that he was not seeing things. The very begins he had been searching for were naked and locked together in a passionate embrace.

“Oops,” Pippin managed to squeak. “I - uhm - I’ll go . . .wait outside . . .I mean elsewhere.”

He cringed inside. This was the second time he had interrupted them, and this time he had seen more than he ever wanted to know. He muttered something unintelligible under his breath and backed away towards the door, his eyes wide, reminiscent of so long ago.

An unspoken decision passed between the two lying on the hearthrug. Legolas rose first. Picking up a linen wrap from the floor, which, had he put it on, would have hid little if anything of his creamy skin. Gimli simply turned onto his side.

“Pippin, wait,” Legolas said.

The halfling swallowed, wanting to look away, knowing he should, but the beauty before him kept his eyes upon the elf. Forcefully, he managed to drag his eyes up to meet Legolas’ gaze. He felt behind him for the door handle. He silently cursed as they seemed to defy his whim. Pippin realised just how far from the door he was as his fingers met nothing but air.

Pippin’s eyes closed in embarrassment, had he not intruded enough? His breath stuttered in misery of remembered pain he had hoped to have forgotten. “I . . .sorry,” he whispered.

Legolas smiled softly, discarding the wrap on the arm of a chair. “Do not be sorry, dear friend. Come, share with us our union. Had it not been for you this night would never have taken place.”

The dwarf’s thick but gentle brogue filled his ears, “Lad . . .” as Legolas closed the gap between them. “There is nothing to forgive. You healed the past by bringing this moment into being.”

A gentle hand took his, and led him back to the fire. Pippin followed, not knowing what to expect, or what to do. As for what to say, his voice had deserted him.

Legolas lay down again, without releasing the hobbit’s hand, and Gimli rolled back to that sweet place between his thighs and filled him once more.

Pippin watched the union of flesh with awe, the quiet breath at connection, the sway of limbs, the ripple of muscles and the rise of soft sighs. He watched for a moment as they moved together. Without thinking, Pippin rested his fingertips on Gimli’s shoulder and gently ran them down his back. Gimli shuddered in surprise and hummed gently.

In Pippin’s mind and heart, all his old emotions were coming back to him, the desire, the love, albeit a very immature one, but now it felt different. His fingers kept going, tracing delicate lines up the inside of Legolas’ thigh.

Legolas gasped, his breath shuddered. His free hand smoothed down his husband’s side to cup his buttocks, pressing him closer. The elf’s legs widened further, allowing him deeper.

Pippin’s hand was suddenly free and he smiled, watching the elf’s right hand search blindly for something to hold onto. Pippin knelt and smoothed his hands across Gimli’s clenching muscles, pressing him further into the elf, feeling his own desire rise within him. His fingertips followed the curve of Legolas’ body from gently quivering side all the way up the back of his thigh to the inside of his knee, tracing every muscle, every line, savouring the love being made before him, the love he had always wanted but was denied him.

Legolas closed his eyes, mouth slack, breath huffing as he rocked more strongly. His fingers wound their way around a dainty thigh that was not his own, clad in velvet. A moan escaped him, feeling the heat rise.

Gimli’s knees parted slightly as he thrust deeper, moaning deep within his chest. His eyes net the elf’s and they shared a smile, and Gimli growled a little louder.

Pippin slipped his fingers between the dwarf’s thighs to touch the back of his need, the dwarf jolted and quickened the pace. The hobbit began to have very a wicked idea and leaned in to press his lips to the back dwarf’s legs, swirling his tongue a little as he continued to smooth his hand over the elf’s inner thigh. He was relishing the feel of the soft silky flesh, evoking deep desires within his body, pooling in one place.

His lips moved up the dwarf’s thigh to his clenching buttocks, and to the softer skin of Legolas’ leg, spiralling his tongue over every part he could reach. The joined pair were moaning loudly as his fingers continued their play between Gimli’s thighs, until the quivering flesh suddenly went hard and jerked.

Legolas’ head rolled back, his eyes wide as he cried out in response to the roar of release.

Gently kissing Gimli’s buttocks and then Legolas’ thigh tenderly, he made to rise. “I’ve left honey mead on the table for you,” he said softly. “I’m honoured that you allowed me to share this moment. I better go now, and leave you to sleep.”

But the hand around his thigh did not release him. The panting elf shook his head. “Not yet,” he breathed, lifting his head to kiss the dwarf.

Gimli pushed up to his knees, and pulled the elf with him. “I love you,” he said softly.

Legolas replied in kind and kissed him, before rising to his own knees, still slightly breathless and shivering. “It is your turn, Pippin.”

Pippin’s eyes widened to the size of serving platters. “Me? M-make love to you?”

“If you would like to,” Gimli offered.

“But . . .” Pippin hesitated. “You both vowed to forsake all others. Why would you want to make love with me?”

Legolas gazed at him tenderly. “It is not forsaking if we both want and agree to take the same 3rd person. This is an extension of our love, not a forsaking of it.”

“Oh,” Pippin said, unable to quite suppress the shudder that rolled deliciously through his body at the thought. “What do I have to do?”

Legolas’ large glittering green eyes gazed into his. “You do not have to do anything, but I can help you relieve some of this tension,” he said, cupping the tented cloth of his trousers. He began to undo the button’s of the linen shirt before Pippin could think of anything to say in reply, and slipped the shirt from his body, kissing lazily along his collar bone.

Pippin sighed, eyes closing of their own accord. From behind him, gentle hands smoothed around his sides to unfasten his trousers and push them off his hips. Lips whispered across his shoulders and a tongue joined them, leaving a long wet trail down his spine before going back up to play against the nape of his neck.

Gimli slipped his hands round to rest against the hobbit’s quivering belly as elf hands moved round to reach for him, touching his body for a moment, seeking that connection that they shared, before moving to cup the hobbit’s buttocks, slowly squeezing and parting them, fingertips delving between the tops of his thighs.

Gimli pressed closer, his need nudging between parted buttocks, feeling the flesh part and kiss him and part again. Pippin gasped softly, his hands steadying himself on the elf’s hairless chest, feeling the heat of their touch on him. He became aware of the point of the dwarf’s need slide between his buttocks, thrusting gently, asking, wanting. Pippin slid himself back against the forward motion, and sighed again, his breath deepening with need. A steady thrum nudged at his entrance as an elf’s mouth closed around a pebbled nipple.

Legolas squeezed his buttocks again, parting them sweetly as he did so, feeling the hobbit thrust back against the dwarf. He lifted Pippin’s leg slightly easing entry. He heard his breath shudder and flicked his tongue across the tight pearl, before kissing across to the other.

Gimli groaned softly, the hobbit was tight and beautiful. Pulling almost free he thrust slowly in a little further, taking his time. Keeping one hand on the hobbit’s belly, he reached for Legolas, the elf’s need poking at Pippin’s thigh. He rested his hand beneath it, cupping it, feeling it slide across his palm of its own volition. Legolas moaned.

Gimli slid further in and withdrew, reaching further in with each stroke. His need increased, wanting release, but he denied himself. His shaft deeply embedded within the hobbit’s body, Gimli stilled. He lifted Pippin against him and carefully stepped back to sit in the chair. Pippin’s head nestled against his shoulder and he sighed as the dwarf began to thrust more fluidly.

Legolas smiled as he watched them, taking Pippin’s need in hand and smoothing it slowly at first then matching the dwarf’s pace. He leaned in and kissed Gimli’s slack mouth, their tongues cavorting together.

Pippin’s breathing deepened as the heat rose, and Legolas moved to kiss along his jaw to his lips and began to kiss him, then he kissed down his trembling body to his thickness, taking it in his mouth and moving slowly down the shaft and back up to the tip. Swirling his tongue across it for a moment, he felt Pippin shudder and kissed back up his body and kissed him deeply again. Gimli’s hand returned to the elf’s member and he moaned against Pippin’s hair.

Legolas teased Pippin’s mouth, tasting him, feeling his huffing breath and hearing his sighs of ecstasy increase. Taking hold of the hobbit’s need again he squeezed harder and faster. Pippin shuddered harder still, his head rolling back as his eyes flew wide. He long loud cry of release rolled through him, filling the air above their heads, his seed pilled over coating him and the elf, who smiled. Pippin panted and felt Gimli withdraw, still hard and needing more.

Legolas kissed Pippin tenderly and shuffled back a little to allow him to rise.

“I need a cloth,” he panted.

Legolas nodded.

Pippin crossed to the table and Legolas moved closer to Gimli, still sitting in the chair. They embraced at once. Lips and bodies met, sliding and moulding together. Gimli parted his thighs in invitation, knowing what he wanted and wanting the same thing. Legolas pulled him forward and nudged against him. He was still thrusting gently and realised then he was inside, thrusting deeply, feeling dwarf hands on his buttocks pulling him closer.

The dwarf’s g-spot was not hard to find, eliciting deep and ever increasingly strong spasms of joy rolling through him. Gimli kissed deeper, their tongues dancing together. Between them Gimli’s need pressed against their bellies, throbbing with fast approaching release. Legolas thrust harder, buttocks clenching as he drove deeply. Small hands squeezed them in time, pressing him deeper still.

Suddenly Legolas gasped, finding himself pinioned between two bodies, filling one as another filled him from behind. He gasped, closing his eyes, stilling for a moment to absorb the sensation before thrusting faster. He growled gently, his breath humming in his chest.

Gimli leaned back against the back of the hair, widening his legs and Legolas slid ever deeper. One hand on Gimli’s hip, Legolas took hold of Gimli’s need in the other. His eyes opened a little, filled with passion. He moaned with each breath, hearing it echoed behind him. Gimli’s hips jerked upward, huffing loudly as he felt release edging closer.

Gimli went over the edge first, dragging Legolas with him as his mouth opened to let out a loud roar, Legolas cried out with him and a moment later felt hot fluid fill him. Legolas sank down feeling a limp hobbit body against his back, chest heaving. Breathless they did not move for some time, relishing the feel of each other.

Gimli woke to the sighs of his spouse and opened his eyes to find silver-gold hair fanned out across the pillows. It took him a moment to remember where he was and why there were three naked bodies in the bed.

He slowly smiled. Pippin, Master of Ceremonies, was kneeling between Legolas parted thighs, his mouth and tongue working against his centre. Gimli rolled onto his side, propped up on one elbow to observe them.

Pippin’s tiny hands smoothed and squeezed the elf’s buttocks as he suckled at the spicy flesh. Legolas moaned thickly, shivering gently. Pippin seemed oblivious to everything except what he was doing and began kissing up the elf’s taut belly to tickle his navel with his tongue.

Legolas jolted, a long shuddering sigh escaped him. Pippin smiled against his skin and did it again, eliciting a sob of joy. He kissed further up until his need met his centre. A flicker of doubt ghosted across his face as he gazed into grey-green eyes.

Gimli saw the hesitation and reached out to smooth across the hobbit’s buttocks. Pippin shuddered, feeling himself slide into the elf’s welcoming body, not noticing the delicate touch of work-roughened hand on his skin.

He sighed deeply, his weight shifting slightly on his small but strong arms. His breath caught in his throat. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” he whispered softly. He gave and exploratory thrust, his eyes drifting shut for a moment with delight. “You’re beautiful,” he said and thrust again. “Gimli is very lucky,” he spoke again, lifting his eyes to the dwarf as he finally realised that Gimli was holding him. Pippin accepted a tender kiss and felt the dwarf push him in again. This was his gift, they were giving this moment to him, a moment of love.

Gimli broke the kiss and captured the elf’s lips with his own, tasting each other. Pippin moaned deeply and moved more quickly, trembling with need. Gimli’s touch left him to attend to his own need. Legolas slid a hand down to hold the hobbit, while his other hand tangled with Gimli’s hair as the kiss continued to grow more passionate.

Suddenly Pippin lost his rhythm and froze, shuddering for a moment before regaining control, holding back from release. He withdrew gently, so as not to be too obvious, allowing his climax to seep into the bedding between Legolas thighs. Breathless with the effort, he sank down to rest for a moment, feeling Legolas chest rise and fall beneath him.

Gimli broke the kiss to smile at him. Leaving his firm shaft he tapped the hobbit on the shoulder. Pippin relinquished his warm place and Gimli rolled to press against Legolas. In one move he slid home, enjoying the gasp of surprise that escaped the elf. He thrust in strong even strokes, filling and retracting.

Legolas’ breath deepened, parting his knees further. “Gimli,” he sighed thickly.

Gimli growled and went over the edge, Legolas went with him, shuddering and moaning loudly.

Gimli kissed Legolas tenderly, feeling the elf shudder beneath him. A moment later, he rolled back onto his side to caress the soft cheek of his love. Gimli smiled, the light of eternity in his eyes, shared by the glitter of love in the eyes that gazed back at him.

Pippin smiled as he sat watching their tenderness for each other. Something within him died, and it was not missed. On hands and knees, he moved up beside Legolas and smiled down at him. “I should go now,” he said softly. “I don’t belong here. You have each other and as much as I will look back on this time with fondness, it is time to go. I have a wife and child at home. My heart is hers, and my duty is to you is as a brother.”

“Are you sure?” Legolas asked.

Pippin nodded. “Quite sure.”

“Will you be alright?” Gimli asked.

Pippin smiled again. “I’m alright. I have loved this time we’ve shared, but if I stay longer, it could become . . .complicated. You know what I mean?”

Legolas chuckled softly. “As long as you leave knowing that you are loved, little brother.”

Pippin’s gaze turned wistful. “I know I’m loved, but this is not the love I once thought I needed. I need acceptance, not sex, but it was good.”

Legolas pushed up onto his elbows and kissed his cheek. “This gift has cured you of your infatuation, and that is good. Gimli and I have loved our time with you, and will remember it with fondness also. There are no hard feelings, no complications.”

Pippin chewed his lip. “By complicated, I mean physically complicated. I can handle going home, because I’ll see you both again. You are my brothers. But . . .if something should happen . . .because I was here . . .what I am trying to say is . . .”

Gimli gave him a tender smile. “You mean, if Legolas were to conceive?” Pippin nodded gently, sobered by the thought. Gimli reached out to comb his fingers through the fine silver-gold hair. “That is not possible,” he said.

“It isn’t?” Pippin said.

Legolas smiled gently. “For elves there is a limited time for children that spans only a few hundred years. I passed that point a long time ago.”

Pippin sighed. “Because of my interference?”

Legolas shook his head. “No, dear Pippin. I ceased to be fertile long before Gimli was even born.”

Pippin sighed gently. “Even so, I wish for you both an eternity of love and happiness.”

In the early dawn, he rose a little to press his lips against Gimli’s before slowly sinking down again. He moaned softly, shivering with ecstasy. He repeated the move, languishing in the feel of their joining. Gimli’s hips rose to meet him, thrusting further in, eliciting a shudder of pleasure. Legolas moved faster, but Gimli held his hips firmly in place, slowing the pace. Legolas’ insistent wiggling continued until Gimli surprised him by sitting up to capture a peaked nipple with his mouth.

Legolas was drowning in sensations and almost fell backward, if it had not been for strong dwarf arms, he would have. He stretched out his legs and surrendered. The coil tightened within his belly, and a thrill of anticipation rolled through him.

There was a knock at the door.

Legolas’ head tipped back and filling the air with a shuddering cry.

The second knock fell silent after the first rap.

Gimli lowered him onto his back and watched him, chest heaving and shuddering, hair fanned out like a glittering star in the heavens. He smiled. He cast a quick glance at the door. “I believe someone was at the door,” he said. “Though I doubt they are there now.”

Legolas chuckled softly. “We should make an appearance. We have holed ourselves in here for three days. There is a world out there.”

Gimli looked innocent. “There is?”

Legolas laughed again.

Several minutes later, Legolas and Gimli descended the stairs and entered the dining hall. Several faces noted their arrival, and several smirks accompanied the knowledge. Conversation had ceased to the point of uneasy silence, which made them both slightly unnerved.

Lord Celeborn approached them and hugged them both, and bade them join him for breakfast. “Did you sleep well?” he asked, a stress on the third word brought with it a slight darkening of his cheeks.

“Yes, thank you, nanneth,” Legolas replied.

Food was brought by one of the servants and they began to eat.

“Many of the guests are leaving today,” Celeborn noted. “I . . .er . . .came to let you know. It is perhaps possible that you did not hear me knock.”

Legolas dropped the butter knife, and cringed, face aflame with colour.

“Elves do not always need horns to announce their presence?” Gimli noted. “Though sometimes, one should precede the other.” He lifted his eyes to his mother-in-law, a dark look in his eyes as he readily feasted upon the proffered fair.

Celeborn nodded. “Duly noted, my son. I shall not be so studious in my early morning visits in future.”

As if in answer, the horn of morning sounded, a small sound that interrupted naught but the thoughts of those who were still listening for it. He lifted a small loaf and broke a piece before popping it into his mouth in deep thought. “I apologise for interrupting you both,” he added quietly. “I know how annoying it is, and I was lax in both manners and propriety, forgive me.”

“It is forgiven,” Legolas replied gently. “Who rides for home today?” he asked.

“Most of the guests, in fact,” Celeborn responded. “They intended to ride at dawn, and mistook a note of - shall we say - prayerful observation, for the breakfast horn.”

Legolas swallowed before he choked. “That explains why everyone is up so early.” He looked at his mother, unable for a moment to speak, and dared not turn to meet the eyes of anyone else in the hall. He lowered his voice to a whisper and leaned forward. “Are you trying to be polite? Or are you openly trying to tell me that I am loud?”

Celeborn popped another piece of the bread into his mouth and chewed. “Yes,” he replied.

“I believe it is merely our verse added to the song of Ilùvatar,” Gimli said, taking a drink of something akin to goat’s milk. “Would you not agree?” he asked, looking into his cup with interest and taking another sip. “I like this milk.”

“Thank you,” Celeborn put in. “It is the milk of the mountain goat.”

“How, may I ask, do you know it is annoying to interrupt?” Legolas asked.

“I know because you were almost never conceived at all due to almost continuous interruptions,” Celeborn replied. “When your husband is the king, there are demands on his time and you almost become insignificant. Not all of elven history was being made by the Teleri and the Noldor, but many days your father and I wondered if we would ever have a moment to ourselves.”

A moment later, breakfast eaten, they heard horses outside. They rose from the table and stepped outside. The courtyard was still in shadow, for the sun had yet to rise enough to fill it with its light. The hobbit’s ponies filled the courtyard, milling about and gaily restless.

Merry looked up as they approached and grinned. “We must make for home,” he said.

Legolas nodded. “I am grateful for your attendance, my friend,” he replied, clasping his shoulder.

“We shall see each other in Gondor with the next spring,” Merry said.

“I’ll look forward to that,” Gimli replied.

Legolas and Gimli watched them depart on the backs of their stout steeds and smiled. Now, only one hobbit remained in Imladris. “Are you not going with them?” Legolas asked.

“No,” Pippin replied. “I still have an appointment to keep in Minas Tirith, though I don’t think the King will be too angry that I’m late,” he said.

With that, further horses arrived, much larger, stronger and noble. These were mearas, highly spirited and intelligent creatures akin to horses. The strong step of Éomer approached down the stone steps behind them.

“We ride for home, my brothers,” he announced and clasped elbows with them, bowing with respect to Celeborn. “Will you be joining us on the road?”

“I wish to remain for another day or two,” Legolas replied. “I also have business in Gondor, before I am able to return to Aglarond.”

“I shall be going with him,” Gimli added.

Éomer nodded. “Then, I say my farewells and pray Eorl grant you safe journeys until we meet again.”

“To you the same, Éomer, king,” Gimli replied.

“I thank you for your hospitality, Lord Celeborn,” the king of Rohan accorded.

“I am glad to have met you,” Celeborn replied.

In contrast with the ponies of Eriador, the mearas stood totally still as if carved of rippling stone, tensed for action but motionless. Éomer bowed again and strode to his horse and mounted. Around and behind him his warriors did likewise. Each horse took to its broad back a second rider, dwarves.

“We ride for Erebor,” Borin spoke as he approached with his brothers. “The rest ride for Aglarond, they eagerly await your return. This time will be recounted in song for generations.”

“Thank you for being here,” Gimli grinned. They embraced and parted.

Borin looked up at Legolas and smiled, giving him the once over. “Not bad,” he observed. “Not bad at all. You could have done a lot worse, cousin Gimli. I know of many a dwarf maiden who will have their noses out of joint.”

Gimli laughed loudly.

Legolas smiled. “Thank you for giving him to me, Lord Borin. May we meet again.”

Borin clasped his shoulder in elf style, and Legolas did likewise. Borin, king of Erebor, then set himself on his own horse beside his brothers.

Legolas watched them leave by the gate and turned to Gimli. “You have suitors among your people?”

Gimli grinned mischievously. “It’s a saying after weddings, usually used for humour’s sake, but there was one young thing . . .a redhead by the name of Fùin . . .very pretty, and a willing smile,” he said thoughtfully.

Legolas looked shocked, and then batted his shoulder. “Do not try to provoke my jealously, dwarf. Fùin was your mother!”

Gimli laughed again, as did Celeborn. Pippin ginned broadly.

There was finally sunlight over the rooftops of the palace and Legolas lifted his face to greet it, smiling softly. Gimli observed him and smiled, taking his hand in his own. Legolas gave him a smile in return. Another herd of horses arrived, these smaller and less amiable than the mearas, one or two reaching out to nip at the elves who bore them into the courtyard.

Out from the dining room came Elessar, smiling. He clasped his brothers to him. “I await your return to Gondor,” he said. “This was by far the most welcome ride to war I have ever had. Arwen will be overjoyed, and most anxious to see you both.”

“We will join you in a few days,” Legolas promised.

“See that you do,” Elessar bade them in jest. He turned to Pippin, who bowed and stood expectantly. “Pippin, I request that you ride with Legolas and Gimli upon the road. It would not be in anyone’s best interest if anything were to happen to them on their way to my city . . .such as, running into another rider and knocking him from his horse.”

Legolas turned pink, and Pippin barely contained his giggles. “No, my lord,” he replied. “I shall see them safe to Minas Tirith.”

Elessar leaned in to tap him on the shoulder and winked for only him to see. “I will see you in a few days.”

Pippin nodded. Elessar bowed to the lord of Imladris and spoke a few words, though Pippin was not listening. He was too busy wondering when he would be able to get back to his own horse, still in Rohan, and no doubt eating everything in sight.

His eyes popped wide as, no sooner had the Gondoreans left than a herd of pure white horses almost danced into the shafts of sunlight that glanced across the courtyard. “Wow,” he noted. As one the horses turned their heads to look at him and dipped their heads to give him a good sniff.

Pippin was suddenly surrounded by a huge white wall of inquiry. A squeak erupted from his lips just as teeth clamped down on his coat and lifted him from the ground. An elf nearby suddenly laughed and the horses peeled away to leave the horse with the hobbit in its mouth to take the blame.

Haldir approached the steed and tisked softly. The horse dropped the hobbit and tried to look innocent. “Hobbits are not for eating, Fair Mane,” he scolded gently. He lifted Pippin to his shocked feet and dusted him off.

“Is that his name? Fair Mane?” Pippin gasped, looking up at the huge beast.

Haldir smiled. “No, this is Dim Star. Fair Mane is the horse which put him up to giving your coat a good chew.”

Pippin frowned. “Horses can talk?”

“These are mearas, my friend. I have yet to hear a horse speak,” Haldir replied. He turned to greet Legolas and Gimli with warmth. “I shall look for your return. I hear from the elves that they intend a worthy homecoming.”

“I will be returning as soon as I am able,” Legolas replied.

“Make sure there’s plenty of malt beer and salted pork, and I shall be there faster than you can shoot an arrow,” Gimli said.

Haldir laughed softly. “We shall see, my friend. We shall see.”

“Thank you for you care,” Legolas told him. “I do not believe I could have remained in stable mind had it been any other.”

Haldir clasped his shoulder. “I believe you are right, Legolas. Had it been Elessar and not I who was charged with saving a dwarf’s life, I might have looked the other way.”

Gimli laughed loudly, and slapped his shoulder. “And Legolas says I am the biggest tease.”

Haldir grinned. “I pray for you both a beautiful life,” he accorded. He bowed to Celeborn and mounted the white stallion still nuzzling the startled hobbit.

Legolas turned to see an elf descending the stars to the courtyard. He watched his approach, the proud carriage of his body, the gentle sway of grey and silver cloth, and love in his eyes. Legolas bowed his head. “Good morning, adar.”

Thranduil smiled warmly. “Good morning my sons.” He hugged them both and looked from one to the other. “I am sad to say, this will be our last meeting this side of the sea,” he said. “We go to the Grey Havens with the spring tide.”

“I shall not long tarry here in Arda,” Legolas replied.

Thranduil smiled. “I must return to Lasgalen for a while before returning for you, Celeborn,” he said.

Celeborn nodded. “Yes, now that my tasks here are complete, I must sail.”

“As must we both,” Thranduil agreed. “My sons, it shall be but a moment before you both join us in Valinor. Serve Elessar well.”

“We promise,” Gimli said. “Have no fear of that.”

“And take care of each other,” Thranduil added.

Legolas nodded. “We will.”

They hugged again and Thranduil clasped shoulder with Celeborn before parting. He gazed at the hobbit, coat chewed and slightly damp. He sent a shrewd glare at his horse, who looked away. “Well, Fair Mane, it seems you have a short memory when it comes to hobbits,” he spoke knowledgeably. “The last one you tried to eat vanished from your mouth. You should be wary of them, they hold magic we elves have long forgotten,” he said as he mounted. The king leaned forward conspiratorially and the creature turned an ear towards him. “You never know, he might turn you into a horse.”

The mearas’ head shot up and his ears went flat against his head. He snorted through his nose and shied away from the small but distinctly unfavourable creature, who was grinning most alarmingly. Several other stallions whinnied in laughter at Fair Mane.

The elves made for the gates and peeled off in two directions, some turned left towards the west road to Gondor, and the rest turned north towards the High Pass. Imladris was suddenly empty again. A few dried leaves skittered across the courtyard in lazy spirals. This was the end. The last of the elves in the north would soon be gone, and the city would disappear into the trees of a forgotten realm.

Legolas felt an arm around his shoulder, and the press of lips to his temple.

“Time to finish breakfast,” Celeborn noted.

Several days later, Pippin reached Rohan, only find his pony had feasted too much on grass, much as he had expected. Plump and fat, it was pleased to see him, but reluctant to leave the lush grasslands of the Rohirrim.

“You lazy, fat thing,” Pippin scolded in fun. “Only fit to eat, and remain rider-less for the rest of your days. Perhaps I should leave you here, never to see you again.”

The horse seemed to consider this at some length and stepped forward to nudge him. He was eager to be off. Pippin paid three silver pieces to the stable master for his upkeep, and though the man went to refuse, Pippin had none of it.

“Absolutely not, my good man. As a Guard of the Citadel of Minas Tirith, I have my code of honour to keep,” he told him. “Your time is as valuable as mine, and your pay no less earned.”

The man of Rohan conceded his point. “May your journey be swift and without incident, Master Pippin,” he said.

Outside, Gimli looked at the plump pony and hummed to himself. “And I thought hobbits were over fed,” he muttered.

Chuckling together, they made for the road again.

On the road south to Gondor, Legolas brought Arod to a swift halt and jumped off. He bent over and emptied his stomach, retching for a moment more. He gasped to regain his breath.

“Are you alright?” Gimli asked.

Legolas spat the fowl taste from his mouth and nodded. “I am now.” Getting shakily to his feet, not knowing exactly when he had dropped to his knees, he remounted and rode on.

“What made you sick?”

“I do not know,” Legolas replied. “We were surrounded by people of many kinds, someone may have been ill with something.”

Pippin said, “I thought elves don’t get sick.”

“We do, occasionally,” Legolas replied. “But we do not die of it.”

“Ârâgorn will want to give you his nasty tasting herbs,” Gimli groaned in sympathy.

“Then, I am glad he returned home before we did,” Legolas replied. “I would have had no peace with his worrying. I shall be well again before we get to Gondor.”

Despite his assurances, Legolas became more unwell the further they travelled. Even he began to wonder how far they could get down the road, with him throwing up every mile or so, before his husband or the hobbit would make a comment. Neither of them had said anything yet, but he was waiting for it. Elves did not get sick like this, and he knew it. He could not explain it, even to himself.

Gimli watched his spouse carefully, an idea whispering in a nasty voice against his mind spoke of possibilities. He barely hoped, yet feared almost to fainting, what the cause was, but in the deepest darkest corners of his mind, a spark grew. The sickness; the way the elf had snatched a bit of shrubbery and nibbled it absentmindedly while they rode . . .Mahal, Gimli prayed that it wasn’t a poisonous plant, but it was not until he had chewed it up a bit that his colour seemed to return to its normal internal glow.

Gimli groaned low, glowing was another indication of bad ideas giving clues. No, he thought. It could not be. Gimli remembered their wedding night; he . . .Legolas . . .Pippin. His eyes drifted over to see Pippin turned in his saddle, watching the retching Prince with the same concern or fear as he was sure was upon his own face.

There was something else in his eyes too. There was regret that he did not decline, but the complication Pippin wanted to avoid may yet have come to pass. He looked at Gimli, and suddenly their eyes found and held each other.

Again, Legolas mounted and pressed on, without a second thought, but it was wearing him down. “This sickness is tiring,” he admitted quietly, silently wondering why he alone had been singled out for such a punishing illness. “I shall need to sleep soon,” he noted.

Gimli stared at the fire, his thoughts jumbled and strained. The elf next to him slept soundly, eyes open, head resting upon the dwarf’s thigh. Pippin tried several times to speak, but for the life of him could not find it in him to utter a single coherent thought.

Finally, one word. “Gimli.”

Carefully he slid a pillow under the elf-prince’s head and rose. Pippin followed, leaving the crackling fire behind. “What are we going to do? It’s obvious what’s making Legolas sick, but he is oblivious, totally in the dark, but I’m not stupid. My wife was the same when she carried our son . . .”

Gimli nodded. “Aye lad, I think so too. Except Legolas won’t, because he has been convinced for the last fourteen centuries that he’s too old.”

“What are we going to do?" Pippin asked, his whispered voice would have been a shriek if it had been much louder. “It’s as likely mine as it is yours. What will he think?”

Gimli glanced back at the slumbering mother-to-be. “I would say he would cherish it, just as I will, even if it was not my seed that spawned it.”

Pippin looked shocked, but compassionate. “And, I hold no claim to it,” he added. “I would not come between you, you know that. But . . .”

Gimli gave a short nod. “If it be yours, you would want to know how it is growing.”

“Well, no, I mean yes, but that’s not what I meant . . .I want to be sure Legolas is going to be alright.”

The dwarf lord turned his gaze to meet Pippin’s. They were of similar height thanks to the ent draughts. Gimli sighed softly. “Pippin, you have sired a child. This is a first for both of us. I know I speak for myself, in that I would need a friend close by to tell me what to expect.”

Pippin gazed at him. “You want me to stay in Minas Tirith?”

“I think Legolas will want that . . .when he finally realises what is making him sick, he is going to be terrified, elated, angry. We need to be prepared, and we need a close friend around to tell us what to do.”

Pippin smiled. “I can do that,” he decided. “But, whatever happens, I am an uncle, nothing more.”

Gimli nodded. “Agreed, Brother.” He smirked suddenly. “’Tis an odd trio we make, eh? . . .”

Pippin nodded. “When do we tell him?”

“Not yet,” Gimli said. “I need to fortify myself for this one. I want to be sure nothing untoward happens so we shall wait to tell him when we get to Minas Tirith. What do you think?”

A slight sound answered their question as a melodic voice came from behind them. “Tell me what, my conspiring brethren?”

Two heads whirled. “Um . . .we . . .”

“We . . .had an argument . . .” Pippin stumbled, searching for something, anything, to answer the inquiring elf.

Legolas rose and eyed them both. “What a poor attempt at a lie.”

Gimli and Pippin both looked guilty.

Gimli slowly drew his finger down the paper. Not finding what he was looking for, he thrust it aside and tried the next one, and then next.

Pippin fidgeted impatiently. “Why don’t you just go and ask Ârâgorn?”

“Because, if we do that, he’ll want to know why we both want to know,” Gimli shot back. “Are you going to tell him?” Gimli began a too accurate impersonation of Peregrin Took for Pip’s liking, “Oh, good morning, my liege, would you be so kind as to tell me how to tell if an elf is pregnant? I would be awfully grateful. Why do I need to know, my liege? Because I shagged Gimli’s wife!”

Pippin thumped his arm, peering round to see if the Record Keeper was in earshot. “Shut up!” he hissed. “I said ‘you’, not ‘us’, you fool! Of course, I wouldn’t go. We’re already in big enough trouble as it is.”

Gimli turned to him. “And you want me to face the music on my own, is that it?”

“Of course not,” Pip returned. “It’s just . . .you’re looking in the wrong place. That pile there is crop rotation and planting cycles. Medicine and herb lore is over here.” He walked over to another set of shelves, lifted the first piece of parchment and read the title. “Sindar medicine and the expectant mother.”

Gimli’s mouth hung open. “Then why didn’t you say . . .ohh! Lad, you and I will have words!” he growled. He snatched the parchment and read the page. It was a title, nothing more. He lifted his eyes to the shelf and took down the entire stack setting it on the table. Clouds of dust shot out from beneath it as it landed.

Gimli flicked through several sheets, turning them over as he went, and finally found what he was looking for. “Symptoms of pregnancy,” Gimli said with relief.

Pippin stretched up on tiptoes to see. “I can’t read it. What does it say?” Pippin asked.

“You never learned to read?” Gimli voiced in teasing tones.

“I never learned to read Elvish,” Pippin corrected. “This looks like a long line of esses to me. You’re three times my age. You’ve had time on your side.”

“That’s true,” Gimli conceded. “I forget that you’re a wee nipper.”

Pippin folded his arms across his chest. “And, I suppose that makes you a wrinkled old man, then?”

“I have a think skin, young’un,” Gimli warned slowly. “But there are places where it’s thinner.”

Pippin grinned. “So, what does it say?”

“It says . . .sickness can last up to five months . . .och! I’m not sure I can cope with it that long.”

“Spare a thought for Legolas,” Pippin noted.

Gimli nodded and continued. “The mother will sleep with her eyes closed . . .this is normal. Many cases have been witnessed where the mother craves and/or eats poisonous leaves with no side effects noticeable, but there can be potentially harmful if not fatal affects for the child in the womb. Other symptoms include excessive tiredness, we have that. Listlessness, we have that too. And cravings for strange food combinations.”

“Would that be ‘strange’ as in herring, cheese and orange slices on bread?”

“Where have you seen that?” Gimli asked, curling his lips in a grimace.

“Legolas had it for breakfast.”

“Ugh!” Gimli grumbled. “Not harmful, just distasteful.”

“But the leaves are poisonous. What does it say about that?”

Gimli flicked over a parchment, then another, and jabbed a finger at the writing. “It says, the poisonous plant, Blue Shade - that’s the plant Legolas ate on the journey home - contains high concentrations of certain mineral salts known to ease sickness, but which can be found in safer plants. We had better find some and quick,” he decided.

“Where do we look?”

Gimli thought about it. “The Royal gardens,” he said. “It’s bound to draw attention if we start browsing the city markets for herbs for morning sickness.”

Pippin nodded. “I see your point.” As they skipped out the door, he noted. “What else should he keep an eye on?”

“Mood swings; crying suddenly, sometimes for no reason; intense nesting instinct.”

“I know about those,” Pippin replied. “When Diamond was expecting, I would come home every day and find the smial rearranged. I could never find anything for a while. You might find an increased appetite, and an increase in desire as well.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“I would not dream if it,“ Pippin replied po-faced. “I am told most pregnant mothers require a lot more making love, to offset the belief that they will never see their feet again.”

“Mahal!” Gimli moaned to himself. “And elves are pregnant for twelve months.”

“That’s nothing,” Pippin chirped happily. “Our biggest problem is getting into the Royal gardens without Ârâgorn noticing.”

Gimli slowly smiled. “Leave that to me.”

Gimli chuckled as he slid quietly down the hall, leaving the ‘other’ father-to-be to execute his cleverly thought up plan. It would work, as long as Pippin didn’t blow it and start giggling. He listened just outside the door as Pippin spoke to Elessar.

“Oh pleeeease, Ârâgorn. You must come and see. It’s on the first level,” the hobbit enthused. He was having fun, he hadn’t wheedled this much in forty years.

Gimli rolled his eyes. The hobbit was overdoing it. The king was bound to notice.

“I am not so sure, Peregrin.” The king sounded dubious. “Arwen would love a robe in the new Haradrim silks that are being unloaded at the clothiers. She’d love you eternally . . .well, not that she does not love you now, mind you . . .”

Gimli held his breath. He tried not to let his spirits sink. It wasn’t working. Then he heard a chair scrape across marble . . .

“Very well, master hobbit, but only a little look. I cannot delay these projections any longer.”

Pippin harrumphed. “They await the king as we all do, my Lord, as well they should . . .and it would not kill the king to have an ale at the gatehouse inn either,” Pip added.

Elessar chuckled as they left the office together. Pippin surreptitiously waved a hand behind his back as he passed the hidden dwarf.

“You Pippin, for such a small person, you have the biggest heart, but I will take one of my other guards with me on this trip. You have been on duty since before sun-up. To bed with you, my good man, err, hobbit. And I shall see you in the morning.”

“Yes, my lord.” Pippin bowed, giving him vital seconds to quell the ‘yey!’ that threatened. “Happy hunting, my lord.”

A moment later Elessar turned, hearing the hobbit's feet padding off down the hall, but when he looked there was no sign of him.

Gimli smiled and slipped into the royal chambers and out into the gardens. That was too easy, he thought, and he had to act fast. He quickly spied the plants he needed and took out a cloth pouch from his pocket.

“I could, of course, leave you to do all the work,” Pippin said as he slipped in amongst the bushes beside him. “But, knowing dwarves, you just don’t have the capacity to pull off such a stunt and get away with it.”

“Who’s idea was it?” Gimli reminded him.

“Yours, and I readily admit it, but who among dwarves could have added the finishing touches to the subterfuge?”

“Plenty,” Gimli crowed. “Only, most of them are dead now.”

“Exactly,” Pippin responded.

“Just pick, lad,” Gimli growled. “We need to be out of here before I wring your neck. After it, and there would be explaining to do.”

“You wouldn’t do that?” Pippin smirked with ease. “You need me.”

Gimli scoffed. “And I thought you’d be a great support to me. What was I thinking?”

Pippin grinned. “You know I don’t mean it,“ he said. “Besides, there is always consolation. If we two did not love each other, we wouldn’t fight so hard.”

Gimli laughed loudly. He nodded and he picked. “And, to be true, all three of us love each other, but poor Legolas is still in the dark.”

“We had better get these herbs to him, then,” Pippin said. “And while he eats, we’ll have to tell him why he’s eating them.”

“That fills me with more terror than a nazgul’s scream,” Gimli said. “We’re done. Let’s get out of here before someone sees us.”

Gimli set the bowl of salad before Legolas and the elf smiled. “Thank you, Gimli, I was getting hungry.”

Gimli’s eyes flicked towards pippin. “Shall I tell him or shall you?”

Pippin’s resolve lost the wind to its sails and deserted him leaving his face drained of all its colour.

Legolas munched on the leaves and looked from one to the other. “Tell me what?”

“Uhm . . .” Gimli began.

“That’s a good starting point,” Pippin encouraged. The glare told him to button it.

Gimli turned back to his wife. “Legolas, sweet love . . .you are certain that you are as over the hill as you say in the . . .uhm . . .baby making department?”

Legolas looked up, a frown ghosting across his brow. “Of course I am. No elf of my age has ever had a baby, without adopting it, that is.”

Gimli smiled at Legolas and chuckled softly. The dwarf asked again. “Legolas, are you absolutely certain that you are too old?”

Pippin was uncharacteristically and suddenly frightened. Until that moment, it had been a game, a guess, but he could see the colour return to Legolas as the leaves began to work their magic on him. Suddenly he was scared to death that he had indeed done something really complicated. And a nagging fear haunted his thoughts. What if it was his?

Legolas chomped quite happily on a large bowl of leaves. It seemed to perk him up and he definitely felt better than he had in days. Unknown to him, it was the final confirmation of their theory.

Pippin’s breath was shallow and rapid. “I feel quite ill,” he mumbled. “I think I better sit down.”

Just as that moment, there was a knock at the door. Groaning at the ill-timing, Gimli turned. “Come in?”

The door opened and Elessar entered, looking rather annoyed. “Gimli, Pippin, I would like an explanation. The garden has been stripped of leaves and the guards tell me you two are responsible. Do you know what those herbs are used . . .for . . .oh my . . .”

Legolas sat at the table munching leaves, staring at the king, at first in confusion. His cheeks were puffed out with expensive herbs, nee stolen herbs. Suddenly his eyes glazed over and he turned his head to look into the now half-empty bowl. He slowly swallowed. “Will the leaves grow back?” he asked carefully.

“Yes, in a few weeks . . .Legolas . . .”

Until that moment Legolas had never considered the concept of expecting; perhaps a bit slow on the uptake, except for the leaves, but then he had thought himself far too old. The Valar in their infinite wisdom, had decided to make a liar of him. When he lifted his face again there were tears in his eyes.

Gimli was there in a heartbeat. “Legolas, do not be afraid. I am here.”

For the next eleven months, Legolas endured the most careful tending. Hobbit tending took a lot of enduring, he swiftly discovered. Suddenly, he no longer envied Diamond of Long Cleave, he pitied her. Gimli was worse. Before that time, he had never equated dwarves with an unerring foresight into elven pregnancy, his every nuance and need catered for before he even knew it was happening.

Then, one night, it all fell apart. Gimli and Pippin were rushed from the room, and Legolas found himself alone, in pain and terrified.

Legolas panted heavily. He had been labouring for most of the night, all of the previous day, the day before that, and half of the night before that.

Elessar was growing concerned. “This is taking too long.”

“Let them in,” he begged him, as he had several times before. He closed his eyes, gently rocking back and forth, his weight held up on slightly bended knees and his hands resting on the backs of two chairs. “Please,” he groaned through the pain. “I need Gimli.”

Elessar sighed. “That is very unorthodox, but I concede your point. If he were in here, perhaps you might relax enough to let nature do its work.” The king crossed to the door and opened it.

“And Pippin,” Legolas called out.

Elessar sent him a meaningful glance and peered out.

“What’s happening?” Gimli demanded, obviously in a worse state of mind than the elf. “Has he had it yet?”

“No, he has not,” Elessar replied sadly. “He wants you with him, and Pippin too. I am allowing it, because I believe it may help bring on the birth.”

Gimli pushed into the room and Pippin followed. He went straight to his spouse and held him, feeling an arm encircle him. “How are you doing?”

Legolas said nothing, simply shaking his head, eyes remaining closed. Nearby, Pippin wrung his hands. He had never seen a birth before, hobbit father’s rarely if ever got involved in such business. Even his own son’s birth had been a mystery. But he was here, because he simply had to know. He began to pace, he had been pacing outside the door, now he would pace inside the door.

All the while his thoughts turned in summersaults, echoes of his stomach as every moan and panted breath. What would Gimli do if it were his? He wondered What would Legolas do? What would his wife say? Would they even regret . . .? Somehow, he doubted it. And their kinship would keep them bound to love and support each other. He would do that anyway, oath or no.

Gimli pressed a cool cloth to the elf’s flushed cheeks as Elessar rubbed an aromatic paste onto his belly. “What does that do?”

Elessar glanced at him, wondering if he should indulge his inquiring mind. “It is a medicinal herb that dulls pain. So far, it does not seem to have had any effect. Although I do notice that Legolas is much more relaxed now that you are here.”

Gimli nodded and lightly kissed Legolas’ lips before crossing to the table to get him some water. Allowing him a few small sips seemed to revive his strength, and Gimli returned the cup to the table. He was about to ask why Legolas was upright and not in bed lying down like dwarf women, when Pippin asked instead.

“The baby is upside down,” Elessar replied. He set a hand to Legolas’ belly and felt along its smooth convex surface. “This is the way all elven mothers deliver, except that it should not take this long.”

Legolas didn’t seem to notice the conversation, intent only on what was going on that they could not see. Suddenly he called out for Gimli, who was instantly at his side. Eyes wide, he began to panic.

“Stay calm, my friend,” Elessar soothed.

“Is it happening?” Gimli asked.

“Yes, finally,” Elessar smiled. “Your attentiveness did the trick.”

Within minutes a child’s cry rose and filled the room, its light dusting of golden hair and rounded ears bringing smiles to all their faces. Gimli knelt beside him where he sat on the floor holding their newborn son, and kissed him. “Next time, I shall not be standing outside to make you go through that alone. It’s cruel. I shall be right beside you.”

Pippin looked on in awe. “He’s got Gimli’s ears,” he grinned.

Elessar frowned, thinking that it should have been obvious that the child would have at least some features of his father, or rather her father. “He is a she,” he said.

“Teleporno,” Gimli smiled.

“Why?” Legolas asked softly.

“I promised your father that I would.”

El fin