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It was far brighter than Legolas had expected, when he woke to the noise of dwarvish singing, if it could be called that. In truth, he hadn’t meant for it to be insulting, but he’d heard other dwarves sing, and he was positive Gimli was only wailing as such to spite him for not notifying the dwarf of his arrival.
“Aye, perhaps he
is
alive,” a voice muttered, and Legolas turned to his left side only to find himself nose-to-nose with Merry and Pippin.
“Legolas!” They chorused in unison.
He smiled at them. “It is nice to see the two of you, have you been waiting long?”
“Long enough to see the King laying with you,” Merry blurted out. Pippin elbowed him sharply.
“But don’t worry, we wouldn’t tell,” he added. “If you were to have some Longbottom Leaf to spare, ’course.”
Legolas frowned. “Aragorn should be attending a meeting, should he not?”
“The
king
should be. And indeed, he is,” a voice that was most definitely not Merry or Pippin said. “But an incredibly clever elf once told him to not sleep during his meetings, and he heeded that wonderful advice.”
Legolas spun around, the sheets twisting around his side, only to find Aragorn sleeping on his side, facing him, his lips pulled into a cheeky smile of sorts, his eyes barely open under the sunbeams that drifted through the windows.
“What are you doing here? What of your meetings, I am sure Théoden was to be met with today. By the king.”
Aragorn’s grin widened, but said nothing. Legolas turned to find Merry and Pippin snickering behind him.
“Aye, Théoden is most definitely meeting with the king,” a distinctly dwarvish voice agreed. “And to think elves always woke before the day even broke.”
“You’re saying that wrong,” another hobbit announced. Legolas turned once more to find Frodo standing in the doorway, an arm tucked around Sam’s waist as he leaned on him.
“Frodo, Sam,” he nodded to them before sinking back into the bed, lying on his back as he stared at the ceiling and contemplated how his life had come this.
It was then that he realized that Aragorn was still lying next to him, smirking so smugly it would’ve been believable if someone had told him the former Dúnadan had swallowed a watermelon whole.
“And what of the king meeting Théoden?” He reminded.
He hadn’t thought it possible—perhaps the watermelon had managed to grow—but the broad smirk increased tenfold.
“He dressed Faramir up, with a wig and the crown and all of it,” Pippin piped up. Merry nodded vigorously.
“Aye, Éowyn helped as well, Faramir’s eyebrows were far too light to pass for the king’s own,” he added. “It was a magnificent sight to behold, you must be sorry you missed it.”
“Terribly,” Legolas deadpanned, forcing the image of the reserved Faramir parading around as the
King of Men
.
Aragorn waved a hand in the air lazily. “He will be fine, it will do him good to practice in front of the Théoden if he is ever to gain Éowyn’s hand in marriage. It might prove something to Éowyn as well.”
“That her soon-to-be husband looks good with dark eyebrows?” Gimli offered. Frodo snorted.
“I think he means that it shows her that he can be just as brave as she is,” Sam offered. “Although I’m sure the eyebrows wouldn’t hurt.”
“It concerns me that you fail to see the issue of the matter,” Legolas proclaimed. “Is Théoden to ignore that Aragorn has grown taller in one night?”
“Eh?” Gimli sat up straighter, crumbs falling from the depths of his beard. “He has?”
“No, but Faramir is taller than Aragorn, and if he is to ‘parade around as the king,’ as you have said, then he is to shrink in height,” he explained. “Or had you not thought of that?”
“Faramir is shorter than I,” Aragorn muttered, somewhat petulantly to the elf’s keen ears. “And he is wearing Arwen’s shoes to appear the same height.”
“The same shoes that made her appear taller than you despite her being an inch shorter?” Legolas remarked.
Gimli guffawed loudly. “Well lad, the elf got you there, ay?”
Aragorn shrugged. “Théoden will not notice, he is shorter than the both of us.” Legolas sat back up.
“Well, that does not explain how you are here,” he said. “This was not what I had in mind when I suggested you lay with someone, Aragorn.”
He was keenly aware of their friends all laughing in the background, Merry and Pippin were wiping their tears, and Frodo was even leaning against Sam in an effort to stay upright. Unfortunately, even Aragorn looked amused, which only escalated matters.
“Why would I not be here? This is my room, is it not?” He grinned cheekily, winking a little at Legolas who closed his eyes.
There it was.
“Why am I here then?” He asked finally. His friend shrugged.
“You were tired and wished to sleep,” he said. “As was I. So we slept.”
Of course they had.
“It is not as humorous a matter as they are making it seem,” Aragorn added. “If you are uncomfortable, we can all leave.”
He’d been just about to point out that even if he was uncomfortable—and he wasn’t, he was just confused—this was the king’s room, and surely it would spark some rumors if the Prince of Mirkwood walked out of there?, when a disheveled Faramir-as-Aragorn walked into the room. The hobbits and Gimli immediately quieted, and Aragorn finally sat up to address the man.
It was clear that Faramir was in distress, as he kept twisting his fingers on the edge of the tunic he wore, and behind him, Éowyn looked amused, her hand covering her smile, though Legolas knew not what the source of her amusement was.
“You did not tell me he was here to see his daughter,” Faramir blurted out, and Éowyn looked as if she’d bitten her tongue in an effort to keep from laughing at her lover’s strangled voice.
“I had assumed that would be a given at this point,” Aragorn answered easily. “Why, is something the matter?”
“He wished to speak of our marriage,” Faramir mumbled.
“Her marriage. . . to me?” Aragorn inquired, sounding doubtful. “He knows she is as a sister to me.”
“Nay, our marriage,” Faramir insisted. “Mine and Éowyn’s.”
In the back, Éowyn burst out laughing, ignoring the pleading glare she recieved from Faramir. “He knew in the first moments when Faramir exposed the Lady Arwen’s shoes,” the lady giggled. “Uncle only teased him the entire time.”
“He did not know!” Faramir hissed.
“Your eyebrows were too light,” Éowyn insisted. “We should have caked them with mud.”
Faramir looked mildly horrified.
“He wasn’t insulted that the king did not meet him in person?” Legolas asked, sitting up once more. Éowyn shook her head.
“Nay, I only had to mention that you were visiting and he was pleased,” she said. “In fact, he seemed rather pleased. He said it was about time, and that you would know what that meant.”
“What does it mean?” Aragorn demanded. Legolas was aware of the heat rising to his cheeks and shook his head.
“It matters not. Frodo, would you mind showing me to the kitchens? I’m afraid it’s been a while since I’ve eaten.”
The young hobbit nodded. “Certainly, though Sam may have finished the leftover cake from last night.”
Ignoring his lover’s protests, Legolas couldn’t help but smile. “Cake sounds wonderful.”