Canad-en-Pae-dadol Peth: Ir Hebed na Maer… (Part Twenty-four: If the Shoe Fits…)

"Minno!" Legolas called out at the knock on his door, but did not go forth to meet his guest, unwilling to leave the tall, silvered glass standing in his dressing room. There was nothing like this in Greenwood and he was fascinated, turning and viewing himself from this angle and that.

"Legolas?" His visitor called, finding him neither in the parlour nor the bed room.

"Here," the Wood Elf answered and smiled when Aragorn's surprised countenance appeared in the mirror's surface. "Do you think this will do?"

"It is fitting garb for a young lord or a woodland prince," nodded Aragorn, his grin broadening as Legolas primped, preened, and posed before the mirror, adjusting the short cloak of royal blue about his shoulders so that it draped in a debonaire diagonal across his chest. Since the clothes had once been the Man's, he had fond memories of donning them with the same serious circumspection when he was newly come of age. He recalled being highly pleased with himself and delighted with the effect the clothes produced, transforming him from Estel, Elrond's mortal foster-son, into Aragorn, the dashing, daring, dignified, and virile young Chieftain of the Dunedain.

His happiness was for more than nostalgic recollection, however, for he had not seen Legolas so genuinely carefree since the dance in the glade with Glorfindel, and that had not ended so well. In fact, many unpleasant events had occurred since his return from Greenwood. This day's doings would not prove so troubling for the woodland warrior, he hoped. It was good to see Legolas behaving like the young ellon in love he was, sorrow let go for at least a little while. There would be trouble enough and to spare once the Company left Imladris; this short respite with Glorfindel would have to sustain Legolas through all that came to pass. Aragorn let his eyes travel from Legolas' carefully braided golden tresses to the elegant attire to the shoes, and there his smile threatened to become laughter as his brows rose high.

"What?" demanded Legolas, frowning into the mirror at the Man's obvious amusement, following Aragorn's gaze to his feet. "Are they not appropriate?"

"Appropriate? Aye, certainly they are, for a maiden fair," snickered the Ranger.

"A maiden? Do you mean to say shoes have a sex of their own?" he huffed indignantly as he cheeks turned red. "I cannot wear my travelling boots nor my hunting boots, and I have no others here. I did not think to pack anything fine while I was in Greenwood; there wasn't space for it anyway."

"Surely even in Greenwood the footgear of maids and warriors is not the same," Aragorn said, laughing. "Couldn't you find any male in the whole of the valley who has feet as delicate as yours?" This, he knew, was skating quite close to the boundaries of the Wood Elf's personal pride, but Aragorn felt he had not crossed it - yet. A severe glare warned him to mind that limit carefully.

"You know I have not made many close friends here, Aragorn," Legolas growled, face darker, and he kicked off the shoes in dismay. "Your brothers are much too tall, you are much too broad, and Galdor is much too ancient for any of your shoes to suit me. What else can I do? Lady Arwen has excellent taste and she happens to take after her Naneth's sylvan heritage; her bone structure is more refined. And these shoes are neutral enough; ellon or elleth might where them."

Aragorn shrugged."If you say so, mellon. You certainly look attractive. What is the occasion?"

"Attractive?" Legolas squawked and whisked the cloak off in an instant. "I am not trying to be attractive!" He hastened to the wardrobe and began rummaging through the little trunk of garments the Twins had found for him when first he arrived in Rivendell.

"Oh! I assumed you were dressing for Glorfindel." Aragorn had difficulty subduing his mirth as Legolas pulled out another outfit, equally fine and just as alluring, and hastened behind the screen, changing quickly, discarding the first on the floor. He emerged and presented himself for inspection, anxious eyes peering keenly at the Ranger.

The Man remembered enjoying the many appreciative glances he received from Ladies of the realm when he wore this particular ensemble and deemed it complemented Legolas even better. The garb was comprised of soft leather breeches died coal black, truly little more than leggings in fit, a cream-coloured silk shirt with full sleeves that fell to wide, tight cuffs at the wrist, and a surplice in forest green trimmed with rich gold braid. The assembled attire called for a broad golden belt, which was not in the trunk, and tall black leather boots that came over the knee, if he recalled correctly. The notion of wearing Arwen's everyday house shoes with it made him shake his head in disfavour even as Legolas slipped his feet into them.

"What? What are you thinking now? Is this not better for a meeting with Lords Elrond, Erestor, and Galdor? Mithrandir will probably be there, too," Legolas demanded, hands on hips and chin tilted defiantly.

"I am sorry, Legolas, but these are the clothes I once donned when I was a young Man eager to go - ah - courting, if you will." Aragorn laughed heartily at the crimson flush that raced up the ellon's neck all the way to his ears.

"I see," complained Legolas, "and your ideas of courting are obviously not what my Adar means when he uses that word." He sighed and raised his arms as he gazed down at himself, letting them fall to his sides with a dull slap. "What am I to do, then? I cannot wear my travelling clothes to the meeting."

"Why not? What is this council about?"

"On the surface, to reveal the identity of the one who so cruelly betrayed my name and status. I believe the elder Lords fear that I mean to call this person out to face me in single combat; indeed, I have considered it. By what right does this person expose my Adar and my realm and essentially all of my people to such mortification and scorn? Glorfindel has exacted a promise from me not to do so; he wants to deal with the person himself, feeling my honour and any attack upon it is now his province to defend."

"I understand him," Aragorn admitted. "If anyone placed my Beloved in such an embarrassing situation, I would be blind with rage."

"Yes, I could not abide anyone condemning Glorfindel either," Legolas said softly and the light in his eyes revealed both his fiery indignation and his pleasure to be so treasured that he inspired this same sensation in the Balrog Slayer. "Yet I have other things I wish to discuss, more important things even than this insult. I need these august lords to take me seriously and I don't think your old strutting duds will invoke the right tone."

"Strutting?" Aragorn hooted, then made an effort to be serious when his young friend scowled and again disappeared behind the screen. "I think you will look fine, Legolas, in whatever you wear, but not with those shoes. Elrond at least will notice and recognise them. Just use your own boots; there is nothing at all wrong with them and none of the lords will care what you have on anyway."

"Then why does it matter which pair of shoes are on my feet?" demanded Legolas, reappearing in a short dressing gown tied about his waist. He bent to sift through the trunk. "Oh!" he announced in pleased surprise and straightened, holding forth a pale indigo tunic, sleeveless and form-fitting. Aragorn nodded approval and Legolas ducked out of sight behind the screen again.

At this, the Man arched a speculative brow. He had heard the Wood Elf was modest, but found such caution overly scrupulous; there were only the two of them in the room. Having grown up with elves, Aragorn knew them to be uninhibited about their bodies, at least in Imladris and Lothlorien. There was something about Legolas, though, that inspired compassion and he hesitated to confront him about his diffidence. While he was dressing, another knock came from the parlour.

"Would you mind, Aragorn? I do not want any more critics coming in here." Legolas' request came too late, for Gimli's heavy tread sounded just before his gruff voice calling and soon enough the Dwarf was in the dressing room. His eyes moved from Aragorn to the screen, around which the elf's golden head leaned.

"Mahal! What is taking you so long?" he barked, marching over to the concealing panel where he eyed his friend up and down and then shot Aragorn a suspicious look when the Man suddenly straightened up as though prepared for trouble of some sort. There was a tense and silent moment that caused the Dwarf to return his uncomprehending glance to Legolas. "Well? Is something amiss I should know about?"

"Gimli," Aragorn began, and stopped. How exactly does one tell a Dwarf that he is not supposed to barge in on someone naked behind a dressing screen? "Legolas is…"

"I can't decide what to wear," Legolas interjected awkwardly.

"Can't what?" Gimli's eyes widened then blinked in disbelief. "Wear clothes!" he bellowed.

In the process of pulling on the black leather leggings when Gimli arrived, Legolas resumed the task with unduly slow and careful hands, but his friend took no notice and so he proceeded with more normal speed. Gimli seemed unaware that he was intruding into a private space and Legolas was too uncomfortable to mention it. He had the tunic buttoned up by now. "How does this make me look?" He edged out from behind the panel, sending Aragorn a desperate glance. "Is it dignified and respectful?"

Gimli scrutinised the elf's expression carefully, thinking this must be some kind of jest, but Legolas did not seem to be in a joking mood. Indeed, he looked vaguely distraught and flushed. The Dwarf frowned and stroked his beard; perhaps clothing had more serious implications among elves. They certainly did wear a great deal of purely ornamental finery. He gave the Wood Elf's apparel an evaluating examination and shrugged. "It is all right for elves, I suppose, but rather scandalous."

"Scandalous?" Man and Elf exclaimed together.

"Aye. The breeches, if one can even call them such, fit like a second skin and everything private is plainly on display."

"Nay, the tunic covers me there," argued Legolas. "Doesn't it?" And he was back before the mirror, twisting this way and that, bending and bowing. He had to admit everything was snug and thus subtly revealed his form, but scandalous was hardly the word he would choose.

"Of course you're covered," said Aragorn, miffed, for after all these had been his own clothes and he had never gone about in anything indecent or tawdry. "Dwarves are overly fastidious. Gimli would have you wear a full coat of mail, carry a shield and an axe or two, not to mention an iron helmet."

"Ha! Nothing wrong with that, but we Dwarves are no strangers to fashionable attire," announced Gimli. He looked at the clothing scattered about and spilling from the chest and stomped over to it, digging through, lifting this cloak, that shirt, these tunics and those pants, tossing them aside as he appraised and rejected them, often holding them up in front of Legolas to gauge their compatibility. "Ahhh!" he breathed this appreciative, growly sigh as he pulled out a beautiful robe from the very bottom of the trunk, grunting in satisfaction as he raised it up. "Just the thing," he stated and shook it a bit when Legolas seemed reluctant to try it on. "Come now, you can still wear the clinging stuff. Hugs you like small clothes anyway."

"That will swallow me up," complained Legolas. "I am not an Elder yet."

"Elder?" Man and Dwarf exclaimed together in matching tones of incredulity.

"No Elder would ever wear that," sniffed Aragorn. "I wore it for the Mid-summer's Festival ball when I was twenty-two, barely even of age. It was quite becoming and I had my choice of partners for every dance." Suddenly he remembered a pertinent fact and his cheeks paled. "Let us keep that quiet, if you don't mind."

"Why?" asked Legolas.

"Arwen was in Lothlorien then and, well, I am sure she danced with others at the festival there anyway."

Gimli laughed and winked at Isildur's heir. "So, she is your Lady Fair and you were playing the stag!"

"Now, Gimli, that is a coarse way of putting it," grumped Aragorn, but he was half smiling. "We were not betrothed then. She would not begrudge a young man a few dances. Or more."

"Wrong mood," Legolas frowned, shaking his head, but he slipped into the robe to appease Gimli. They all trooped to the mirror and watched as the woodland warrior stood straight, assumed a regal mien, and strutted a few steps and back. Surprisingly, the effect was not so terrible. In fact, he quite liked the way the sleeveless robe flowed round him, billowing a bit when he walked, drifting out behind him and thus showing off the clothes he had chosen. He smiled hopefully at them in the mirror.

"Yes, that is better," Aragorn admitted, "but it lacks something."

"Something for his head," suggested Gimli.

"No helmets," laughed Legolas, "and no circlets, coronas, crowns, or coronets either."

"Needs a belt and a fine sword," opined Gimli.

"One does not wear a sword under the roof of one's host," said Legolas, clearly shocked by such a vulgar suggestion.

"Why not?" demanded the Dwarf. "Don't you want your friends to know you are ready to defend the home into which you have been so graciously welcomed?"

"Aye, but I demonstrated that by killing a whole troop of Orcs before I ever came to the house," explained Legolas. "One does not drag the corpses into the sitting room afterward."

"Precisely. You would have killed those Orcs anyway for the sake of your lost friends. It needs to be shown, without the gory proof, that you would do the same for Elrond's people." Then Gimli thought a minute. "Of course, they've not all been overly kind to you, so perhaps…"

"A belt would give the look better definition," Aragorn suddenly announced, hoping to quell the argument. Since neither Legolas nor Gimli wished to quarrel, he succeeded.

The trio tried various accoutrements around the Wood Elf's waist, from flowing sashes to rugged leather belts and even an ornamental girdle of plaited gold. Then, still not satisfied, they had to try the robe with the original clothes. Somewhere during the second fitting, another rapping came at Legolas' door.

"Hello! Legolas, are you here?"

It was Boromir's voice and soon enough he followed the chorus of summonses to the fitting room, appraised the ensemble in its present configuration when asked, and sat down on a bench next to Aragorn to offer his opinions as the various articles were mixed and matched, tried on, taken off, and discarded in heaps upon the floor. In all this trying on and casting off, Legolas discarded his timidity, too, finding that none of the mortals cared about his tattoos beyond one or two appreciative compliments on the artistry. The result of all this masculine camaraderie, however, was that no one bothered to ask Boromir what brought him to Legolas' apartment. Likewise, the Steward's son quickly forgot his task, which was to fetch the Wood Elf to his appointment, for the Lords were waiting.

Presently, there came a fourth tapping at the portal, this time loud, insistent, and impatient, followed immediately by Galdor striding into the crowded dressing room. His amazement to find them all there and to hear the jumbled explanation that poured from all four of the occupants at once was exceeded only by his amusement and his underlying joy to see Legolas so at ease with his compatriots. As all the various outfits were described and the accessories argued over and presented for his ultimate judgement, the Sadron realised that the real culprit was a pair of lady's shoes, which simply refused to compliment the image of respectable and respectful masculinity the Wood Elf hoped to produce for his elders' benefit. The ancient ellon's eyes sparkled as he inspected his charge's slender feet.

"So the problem," Galdor spoke carefully, "is that the Noldorin and mortal folk of the valley are all too coarsely constructed and there has not been time to order a pair of dress boots from the local cobbler?"

"Aye, Tirn'wador," agreed Legolas, glad his Guardian understood. "They all say these shoes will not do with this wardrobe." He made a graceful turn, displaying the black leggings, blue tunic, cream-coloured silk shirt, and elegant sleeveless robe. About his waist was a wide sash of darker indigo and the fringed ends trailed to his knee,just concealing the scabbard of his long knife. Arwen's shoes, modest brown leather clasped with a single bright silver buckle over his arch, did present an incongruous combination.

"I know someone who has boots that would fit you," said the Sadron quietly and flashed Aragorn a glance. "I am surprised you did not think of it, Dunedan, but perhaps it is better that you did not."

"What? Whom do you mean?" Aragorn did not appreciate being called out this way, especially when Legolas favoured him with that open-mouthed stare of disgruntled affront. "Truly, I do not know who it is," he insisted.

"No matter," said Galdor. "I will just go and announce you, Legolas. Come along." Everyone followed them through the apartment and into the hall, up the stairs and through the main corridor to the east wing of the house, then down a secondary corridor which ended in a semi-circular vestibule in which was set an open archway. A beaded curtain of silver hung over it and moved in the ambient breeze, creating the impression and the subtle sound of soft raindrops, and from the room beyond could be heard a harp strumming, singing a quiet, mournful tune. "Lindir, are you within?" called the Sadron and did not wait, parting the curtain and going in, but forbade the others with a stern look.

The strumming ceased abruptly and now the low murmur of voices could be heard, but not the words they created, and presently Galdor returned. "Go in, Legolas. Lindir is a Sindarin elf and of tall, slender build. I believe he has boots that will suffice." He gave his charge a little push that sent him through and then herded the others away with him, refusing to comment or reply to any of their questions. Indeed, he remained at the juncture with the main hall and leaned upon the wall, demonstrating his intent to stand guard quite effectively. Men and Dwarf wandered off together in disgruntled curiosity. They had all hoped to see the final product of their creative collaboration, but sensed that there was something more in this by the Sadron's reticence.

Legolas felt ill at ease, standing before the elegant minstrel, embarrassed to be here asking to borrow a pair of boots from someone he did not know who did not know him. He had seen the musician of course, but had not spoken to him and Lindir had been careful to ignore his presence, as had many of the elves of Imladris. Now here stood the ellon, actually holding two sets of boots in his hands, a pained expression of badly restrained misery in his pale blue eyes. Not for the first time, Legolas chafed under his Tirn'wador's authority over him. He smiled, a tight, brief stretching of lips, and offered a polite bow. "Mae govannen, Lindir. I am sure this must seem a most bizarre request." They stood facing one another in a little anteroom with cloaks hanging on hooks and several satchels leaning against the walls beneath them.

"Oh, perhaps so, I am not sure it is fitting, if that's what you mean," replied Lindir. He stood staring down at the Wood Elf in silence, absorbing the display of guileless discomfort robed in splendour, sight tracking from the small jewelled ornaments tucked into the braided hair over the elegant clothing, down to the absurd shoes. He sighed faintly, gave a shake of the head even fainter, and offered a sad smile filled with remorse and regret. "I am very sorry, you see. Giving you the boots isn't going to be enough, I fear."

"What do you mean?" asked Legolas, but then he saw it, there in those contrite eyes, and gasped. "You?"

"Aye, it was me. You'd best come inside," confirmed Lindir and led the way, aware that Legolas was standing frozen in the cloakroom. He went into his study, which was a music room filled with harps and flutes and lutes and lyres and stands with sheaves of parchments covered in verses and notations. He sat wearily in the chair he liked best, set the boots on the floor, and waited. In a minute, Legolas came through the door, pausing to stare at him from a few feet away. Lindir motioned to a chair and found it very hard to meet those angry eyes. Legolas did not sit.

"Why?" he burst out, hands curling into fists, heart racing. "I've done nothing to you; we've never spoken. Do you hate all Wood Elves?"

"No, I do not hate anyone," sighed Lindir. "Please sit and I will tell you everything."

"You will tell everything now," hissed Legolas, hard pressed to restrain his wrath at such a flippant answer.

"So be it," shrugged Lindir listlessly. "No doubt you will want to challenge me to combat afterward, but I am no match for you by all accounts."

"A challenge of this nature is not predicated on whether or no the combatants are well-matched," seethed Legolas, "but you are safe in any case. I have given my word not to demand satisfaction of you."

"Then I must thank Galdor, though I begin to think a quick death would be better for me than what is to come."

"Valar! You imply I would slay you as though commenting on the weather! Can you speak without giving offence, I wonder? And Galdor would never ask so great a favour of me, for he understands too well my nature. Thank Glorfindel, or perhaps not, as he intends to deal with you himself and spare me the need to dirty my hands."

"I did not mean that to insult you, but I see my error and accept your rebuke as just," sighed Lindir, lifting dull eyes to the woodland prince. He realised fully the level of self-control he was witnessing and smiled, bowing his head in respect. "You remind me of your grandfather. Truly, I have wronged you unjustly and through you all your forebears and living kin. I cannot hope to be granted forgiveness and since you will not be permitted to teach me my lesson personally, be appeased by knowing that Elrond intends to banish me from my home."

"I see," Legolas' eyes narrowed. "It is to my mind cowardly to attempt to engage the sympathy of your victim in order to gain clemency."

"And I see that my every word can do nothing but anger you more," Lindir rejoined, shaking his head, a wry smile on his lips. "You are young, but from what is said you have known great sorrow already and also great love, the love that will shape your fate for all the time given to you." A violent shudder seized him and he cringed as though in pain, breathing heavily, eyes going glassy for an instant. Then he seemed to snap back, blinking nad scowling at Legolas.

"That is so," Legolas answered, somewhat confounded at the manner of this minstrel. He seemed to accept both his culpability and his impending doom without fear or anger, owning his crime fully. Still, there was about him a desire to earn Legolas' understanding if not his forgiveness, and this sudden allusion to love and sorrow struck a chord within the Wood Elf. Nor could the symptoms of anguish be ignored; Lindir truly was languishing in profound grief. Legolas discovered he was not glad of that and he did wish to understand. What had inspired the singer to such despicable trickery toward someone whose ancestry he apparently respected, if the timbre of his voice could be believed? Indeed, there was no hint of subterfuge about him and Legolas' rage gave way to guarded curiosity, subsiding enough so that he moved to a chair and sat facing the minstrel. "Speak, but say no more of my forebears or my heart. I wish to hear only about this plot of yours."

"Simplicity itself, here is your explanation: it was done for love," announced the minstrel and laughed at the stunned expression this statement produced in his youthful guest. "What, have you not ever heard that elves can fade for lack of love? Were you not in danger of it yourself?"

"I was fading from grief for loss of my Nana," snapped Legolas.

"True, and that grief was spawned by the very love in which you held her to your soul. It is no different for one who loves and knows that love will forever be rejected."

"Ah!" Legolas cried involuntarily, for this he had not expected. How many of Glorfindel's old suitors must he face before his claim would be acknowledged? "You loved him, but he did not return your feelings? How, if you truly held him in your soul as you say, could you do something that must hurt him so? Glorfindel's love for me is not false and to drive us apart must break him, too."

"Glorfindel!" Lindir spat, sitting up in his seat, eyes suddenly blazing. "I despise Glorfindel above all people! Why should I care about his heart? Nay, it is Erestor I love, but he is the one who loves Glorfindel and can see no value in any other heart. Now he has been utterly rejected, his mate taking another as husband, and he suffers. How can I watch him suffer and do nothing? Could you stand by and watch your precious Balrog Slayer wither into grief and fade?"

Legolas was dumbfounded. For several seconds they stared at one another, Lindir in wounded defiance, he in perplexed confusion. "You love Erestor? All this time you have loved Erestor?"

"Aye, and now perhaps you can understand how deep has been my sorrow to be only his dear friend and confidant, spurned in favour of that pompous and self-absorbed re-born muscle-bound lout of a warrior! For Ages I have endured it, contenting myself with hopeful self-deceptions, pretending someday he would realise his folly and turn to me." Lindir spewed his venomous words forth without restraint and was pleased by the shock of their impact. Lindir rose to his feet without realising it, shouting as he loomed over Legolas. "I finally had to face it, thanks to you. At long last Glorfindel told him the truth: he had never really loved Erestor at all and wanted no more to do with him. And Erestor did come to me, but only to pour forth his woe and unburden his soul to his oldest and dearest friend in all of Arda!"

"Lindir," Legolas began, but got no further as the singer went on, his voice ragged with agony.

"He is fading, Legolas, my own beloved, and I can do nothing! He does not even see the love in my eyes or feel the desire in my touch. What would you have done in my place? I thought to give back to him that which he needed so desperately: Glorfindel of the Golden Flower. Yes, I hoped you would think he spurned you as he did Erestor, as Erestor did me. I hoped you would think he had revealed your unseemly origins to all and sundry. Then Glorfindel would return to his first husband and my beloved seneschal would continue, and I would continue loving him. Why must we two perish in misery so that you and that detestable, ungrateful wretch of a Balrog Slayer might be happy?"

"I do not want anyone to fade to ensure my own happiness!" objected Legolas vehemently. "I want Erestor's soul to be healed, and…and yours as well. I did not know." He stood and raised a hand, gently taking the singer's arm in a firm grasp. "I think, perhaps, that Erestor is mistaken in what he feels for Glorfindel. From what both have said to me, it was more about power and possession than anything approximating love."

"Elbereth spare me." Lindir gazed into Legolas' earnest face and clear eyes and groaned, dropping back into his chair, covering his face with his hands so he would not have to see that innocent countenance. "Why must you torment me this way? Have you no pity? I would rather you explode in fury and strike me down than offer me such false hopes. You are cruel beyond all telling!"

"See here!" barked Legolas angrily."I am none of those things, neither cruel nor tormenting nor do I pity you. Well, yes, I do, but not as you mean it. I do not…"

"Stupid child!" sobbed Lindir, for he was weeping now. "Realising he does not love Glorfindel does not mean Erestor will love me! He does not!"

"But he does not love Glorfindel," insisted Legolas, "so he will not fade. He will not fade, Lindir. You will not lose him." The singer grew quieter and raised his tear-stained face a tiny bit, peering at Legolas through watery eyes in which a small glint of hope flared to life. The woodland prince offered a sympathetic smile. "Aye, you understand me now. In time, having cleansed himself of those old follies in his head, mayhap Erestor will be ready to love someone truly. Mayhap he will come to appreciate his oldest and dearest friend in a new light."

"Oh," Lindir gulped out the word and tore his sight from Legolas, fumbled for a handkerchief and cleaned up his face. He felt utterly foolish and completely miserable and unbearably renewed all at once. "I have done a terrible thing," he whispered.

"Yes, it was my worst nightmare come true, save only one," admitted Legolas and sat back down. "I wish you had not, but good has come of your treachery, it seems."

"Good? What good comes of selfish motives?"

"Apparently much," Legolas shrugged. "Boromir and I have resolved our altercations and are likely to become friends in the days ahead. Gimli has proven the truest of any friend I have ever had and I think he would be as likely as Glorfindel to want to do you harm on my behalf, though I don't suppose that is much comfort to you just now. But it is important because…"

"Yes, child, I am not simple; I see it. The Fellowship must be closer than family to survive the trials of the task before you," snapped Lindir, suddenly embarrassed to be lectured by this stripling youth.

"Fine, then," Legolas said tersely, displeased to be discounted this way. "I meant only to ease your suffering, but you seem to want it. Maybe it's what you do need; a stripling youth knows nothing of the remorse of ancients who fall from grace."

At this Lindir laughed suddenly and long, for he was so shattered he could not command himself and for Legolas to read him so clearly, throwing back at him his own uncharitable thoughts, was a much harder lesson to receive. The Powers were determined to chastise him thoroughly, he thought. He went on so long he saw anxious concern grow in the Wood Elf's face and this only incited him to more whoops of hysterical gayety. Abruptly the woodland prince rose and hastened about the room, searching for something, and grabbed up a vase of flowers. The lilies he threw to the floor while the water he dashed in Lindir's face. The treatment worked; with a gasping inhalation the singer's manic amusement subsided and he sat glaring up at the clearly frightened warrior.

"Valar!" he shouted, wiping his face and dabbing at his clothes, cheeks pale in outrage. "Warriors haven't any common sense, always choosing some violent solution to whatever situation they encounter."

"Indeed!" Legolas was relieved to hear the minstrel speak at all, but once more these were not kindly spoken. He propped his fists atop his hips and gazed down, shaking his head. "I don't know what to do about you," he said.

"Elrond has taken the responsibility from you." Lindir's voice was acid and his face contorted in a deriding sneer.

"Of, you are terrible!" exclaimed Legolas, but he had to laugh at such defiance in the face of certain banishment. Then he sobered. "You must not take that tone anymore, Lindir. Glorfindel will not be easy to appease and it will require me to do it. Do you truly want to create disaster, now when such dire trouble falls upon us? I do not want my beloved to stain his hands with your blood, nor do I wish my family to learn of this insult to our House. I believe you are truly sick in spirit and need help, but you must stop now if you are to get it. Elrond is fair, but he has an entire realm to consider and this Quest on top of that. My father and brothers will soon be at war with Dol Guldur and need no distractions such as this. I think the best thing is for you to go voluntarily to Greenwood and tell all. Place yourself in service there in my father's House for a term of one year and I will be satisfied."

"Oh, will you indeed?" Lindir jumped up, but he was weeping again, for he really was broken in spirit. He clutched at his heart and suddenly dropped down on his knees before Legolas, grovelling. "Oh, this is undeserved, undeserved!" he wailed and to Legolas' horror actually bent and kissed his feet.

"Ai! Do not do that! Here, arise and compose yourself," he said and knelt to help the singer up, settling him back in the chair. "I will go find Erestor for you."

"No! I do not want him to see me this way, shamed and a shameful ruin!"

"Why? Have you not seen him thus? Is that not what friends do, comfort one another through both trials and triumphs? Be at peace now and I will send him here."

"So be it," whispered Lindir, blinking away his tears and twisting the drenched handkerchief in his worrying fingers. He watched Legolas move off toward the door. "Thank you," he announced loudly and smiled when Legolas turned. "I know I am not well."

"No, but you will be again, and soon. Be at peace; I know where to find Erestor and he will be here at once." Again Legolas turned to go, only to be stopped again.

"You forgot the boots," called Lindir, rising and bringing both pairs with him. He made Legolas take them and saw him to the door, returning to his chair to wait for Erestor, a bit disturbed by the unsettled way he felt inside, not sure what had just happened between him and the woodland prince.

Galdor met Legolas and they went away together to find Erestor, and thus Legolas made his entrance to his auspicious meeting carrying the boots instead of wearing them. Elrond raised a questioning brow, but as soon as the story was told left with Erestor to ensure the minstrel was not in any immediate danger, for insanity was uncommon but often deadly in the First-born, suicide being the chief threat. Legolas finally slipped his feet into the tall footgear and walked around to see how well they fit. Like Aragorn's clothes, the match was not perfect but near enough to be bearable. He smiled inquiringly at his Guardian. "Am I suitable now?"

"You always were," answered Mithrandir, who was there of course.

"Well said," agreed Galdor. "I do not believe Elrond will be able to meet with you just now, Legolas. This business with Lindir is serious."

"I suppose so," sighed Legolas. "I had hoped to talk to him before Glorfindel returns from patrol, but it may wait a day or two."

"Aha!" Mithrandir announced gleefully. "Something you do not want to talk about with your betrothed?"

"No," said Legolas simply and smiled, offering nothing more.

"Your efforts at being mysterious are futile," chuckled Galdor. "We have all been wondering when you would try to inveigle some promise from Elrond not to send Glorfindel into battle."

"I will present my arguments to Lord Elrond alone," insisted Legolas firmly. "I do not want to lose him again."

The elders sat in stupefied silence on hearing this and shared confounded stares, but Legolas seemed not to realise there was anything unusual in his words. "So be it," said Galdor, "but that discussion will not take place today. Have you readied your reply to the betrothal gift?"

"Of course," Legolas' tone expressed his affront to have the question broached. Then his shoulders slumped. "I only delay because of the custom. I wish my Nana was here to give her approval."

"Did she not do so during Úcaul Annaur?" inquired Galdor gently.

"Aye, but that was different. It was…" but he found he could not go on and turned away. After a time he sighed. "It was our parting, body and soul: her death and my birth, or re-birth."

Mithrandir cleared his throat, disturbed by these unexpected and cryptic expressions. "Most unfortunate and my most heartfelt condolences, young one," he murmured. Legolas gave a quick nod but remained silent. The wizard and the Sadron shared another glance. "Still, we must continue on. Legolas, would you mind taking these pairs of shoes away? I believe Arwen would appreciate having hers returned and Lindir's you may keep. Then gather the Fellowship for me; I intend us to take the noon meal together."

"Aye, Mithrandir," Legolas sighed and gathered the shoes, bowing to Galdor. "Ab'eveditham, Tirn'wador." He left them, his mood solemn and pensive, but did as he was told.

TBC

NOTE: A quick chapter and a few loose ends that needed tying up. Hope the dressing room scene was amusing and fun :) I think most of you guessed the guilty one had to be Lindir, and I hope it is plain as day that he is quite mad and must have been breaking when he planned this dark revenge, reinventing it as a selfless service to his unrequited beloved seneschal. Maybe those shoes are catalysts in and of themselves! Galdor was wise to let Lindir and Legolas have it out; of course he knew Legolas had already promised not to hurt his betrayer. Elrond would surely have noticed Lindir's insanity as soon as the two were brought together, but such a meeting in front of all the lords of the land, forced to admit his reasons before the one he loved, might have finished Lindir entirely. More about the gifts of courtship and catalysing shoes later. Anyway, my annual post of Cuthenin at holiday time.