Rating: K+

Disclaimer: Kira, her family, and her village belong to me. The rest is emphatically not mine.

When I was a girl, I used to go down to the village every week or so and play with the other children. By the time we were eleven, of course, we no longer called it "playing," but town children and farm children alike still rushed their chores and gathered in the square to gossip, run around and not work. It was unofficial to our parents, but utterly monumental to us. Without informal meetings, the farm children in particular would have had next to no friends.

This, really, is where my brush with royalty began. What good is a once-in-a-lifetime experience if one learns nothing from it? My lesson from King Elessar began several weeks before he actually turned up, on a sunny morning in the village square, just before planting . . . .

"Kira! Over here!"

I jumped about a foot and turned around. I knew that voice. Everybody knew that voice: it belonged to the daughter of the village chief, the richest man in town. Not standoffish or snobby at all, Attalaen was nonetheless given a narrow berth by the rest of the children. Just in case, we said. In case of what, I don't remember.

I glanced around at my friends, grimacing just for show. We had been in the middle of a guessing game. "Go on," I told them and jogged over to Attalaen. "Hey."

"Hey." Although she had initiated this conversation, she looked awkward. Usually she hung at the fringes of one of our groups.

"So," I said, rubbing my arms even though it wasn't cold. "So. How are you?"

"Fine, thanks." An uncomfortable pause. "You live on the farm northwest of here, right? With the tall boy and the cute little one with curly hair?"

I nodded. "My brothers, Olath and Amir. And I know who you are."

Attalaen laughed, a surprisingly nice sound that made me laugh too. "That's what you think."

"So tell me," I said.

As it turned out, we were both surprised at how quickly time flew after that.

In the ensuing weeks, Attalaen began to attach herself to me every time I went into town. I didn't mind. Sometimes we watched the older boys, my brother Olath among them, play their ball games. Other times we joined my friends, who mostly ignored her. This began to grate on my nerves more and more until, when Attalaen was conveniently out of earshot, I blew up.

"Why can't you all be nicer to her?"

They all looked at me, puzzled. "She's not one of us," one girl spoke up.

"How do you figure that?"

I didn't wait for an answer. Instead I stormed away.

Father found the elf in the back field not five days later. When he stumbled through the door with the fair form draped over his back, Mother and I leapt to our feet, fearing he head been hurt. To our relief, it was not he who had been wounded: it was the elf.

Mother was the best healer in the area, but even she could not figure out what was wrong with that elf. Numerous superficial wounds, certainly, along with a more serious cut on his left arm that was bleeding profusely. He had most definitely been through a fight. But none of those wounds were yet infected, and even the arm wound was not life-threatening. Why, then, was he so weak? Why did he mutter to himself in another language with unfocused eyes? Why did he seem totally unaware of everything around him?

We got him into my parents' bed and carefully bound his wounds. Father took the broach that had held his cloak closed at the neck and, pulling a few strings with Attalaen's father, managed to get it and word of our discovery sent to Minas Tirith. Surely, he said, someone in the capital would know what to do. After all, elves were not everyday occurrences. My father, having done some traveling in his youth, was the only one among us who had even seen one of the fair folk before.

So for the next three days, my mother and I pulled alternating shifts on elf-watch. Occasionally Father or Olath took over, but the duties were more often forced upon us as the women of the house. I pretended to be annoyed, but secretly, I was fascinated by the elf, and would have sat and watched him even had I not been told. He had long silver-blond hair of which I was extremely jealous, my own being brown and kinky and generally disagreeable. His hair, though, was usually sweat-soaked and sticky because he would not stop moving, tossing and turning and shaking with fever. There were several small braids in it, and these intrigued me too: they seemed so intricate. His eyes, though fever-bright and unfocused, were a startling shade of blue. I wondered if all elves were so handsome.

By the end of the second day, Mother began to despair of the elf's making it through whatever sickness had hold of him. I felt an inexplicable sadness for this being I did not know.

On the morning of the third day, Amir and I went into the village as usual; Olath stayed behind to help Mother, a task I had talked my way out of by pointing out that I had been helping with the elf all along. I was still too angry after the blowup of the week before to go near my regular friends. Instead Attalaen and I watched the sparring tournament the older boys were holding.

"Where's Olath?" she asked casually.

"At home." I started to explain about the elf, but she interrupted with a sigh.

"I like to watch him play." She wore a dreamy expression. A vague suspicion began to form in my mind, cemented when she looked at me eagerly and said, "You must introduce us sometime."

I stiffened. Perhaps I was being hasty and paranoid, but the fiasco with the other girls had erased most of my faith in children, females, and female children. Despite the fact that I belonged to all of the above categories.

"Attalaen," I said carefully, "why did you call to me, that day in the square? Why not someone else?"

"Well, she said, flustered, "because you seemed nice, and I . . . wanted to get to know you better."

"Me? Or my brother?"

It was only a split second, the hesitation. The step back. The shock and guilt in her eyes, before she looked away. "I – you, of course – "

But I had always been able to read people. "You used me. To get to him," I said quietly; and that was all it took.

Attalaen crumbled. "Kira, I'm sorry . . . I didn't mean . . . I do want to be friends, I do . . . "

I struggled to find words, but none came. So I did what seemed to be my wont in those days: I turned and ran, this time all the way home.

After being severely scolded for leaving five-year-old Amir to walk home alone, I was told to spend the afternoon weeding the back garden, ostensibly as punishment – although Mother and I both knew that I would have had to do it anyway. I had just started on the third row, trying to ignore the sounds of hoofbeats and muffled voices, when Amir came running, jumping up and down in excitement. "Guess who's here?"

I gathered up my hair and held it against the back of my head to get it off my neck. "Who?"

My little brother pouted. "Guess!"

"Your friend from the village. A doctor for the elf. I don't know, Amir."

"Close. It's about the elf."

"Really? I tried to think of who might come see him. Might as well be as fanciful as possible. "An envoy from an elf kingdom."

"Nope!"

"Somebody from Minas Tirith."

"Closer," he sang, giggling, "you're gettin' closer!"

"Is there a Head of Elf Relations? Just tell me!"

"The king!" he burst out, unable to keep it in any longer. "The king! An' he didn' have an escort or anything!"

I was just letting this sink in – the king himself, on our farm! – when Mother yelled from the house. "Kira! Now!"

"Go tell Father and Olath," I murmured to Amir as though in a dream.

"Olath knows. He took care o' the horse."

"Go tell Father then." Amir would only get underfoot in the house.

Under normal circumstances I would have grumbled, "You only called me once," when I came in, but in the presence of the king I restrained myself. For he was there, truly, having already taken a seat next to the elf in the corner.

"Yes ma'am?" I murmured with proper respect, which I rarely showed.

"His Majesty wishes to speak with you." My mother inclined her head toward the bed in the corner, king and elf. "I must go – Tana's baby is sick again." Tana's eldest child was hovering in the door, staring wide-eyed at the king.

Obediently, I went to the king and dipped an awkward curtsey, saying the words an old friend's sister had insisted we use should we ever meet anyone important (as unlikely as that had seemed at the time): "'Tis a pleasure to make your aquai – "

"None of that," the king said. His voice was much gentler than I had expected, given his rugged appearance. His hair was straggling, falling just to his shoulders in wavy clumps. His clothes were plain and filthy, smelling strongly of horse. He looked, all in all, very much like a man who had been traveling hard without rest. He said, "How long has he been like this?"

I had been so fixated on Elessar that I had forgotten the elf. "Oh – three days. Since we found him."

"Three days?" Frowning, the king reached for the elf's hand, only to have him moan and pull away. Elessar winced slightly. "And the fever has not broken?"

"Not fully, sir, but it's not always this bad. My mum knows lots of diseases, but not one like this."

"Disease?" The king's eyes widened. "Public education," he muttered to himself. "As if I need more to worry about . . . "

I did not understand, so I remained silent.

He looked at me piercingly. "What wounds does he have?"

How did he know? None were visible any longer. "He was all cuts and scrapes and bruises at first, but they've gone. There in one gash on his arm that hasn't healed."

Elessar looked at the elf, who was mumbling to himself again. The king touched his shoulder first, gently, murmuring words in a language I could not understand. Once the elf had stopped shifting under his touch and lay somewhat still, the king reached for his arm, slid up the sleeve, and carefully unwound the bandage.

"That's our last, my lord," I said softly.

"I have more." He probed the wound with gentle fingers; at the elf jerked his arm away, moaning. "Infected."

"We couldn't stop it," I apologized. "Our herb supply is limited, and much this year has gone to Tana's baby."

He didn't look at me, only instructed, "Get me some warm water, please."

I took the kettle off the fire and brought it to him, since water from the well would be nothing resembling warm. He thanked me distractedly, already in motion, pouring some into a water skin from his battered-looking pack. To the rest he added his own herbs. A few I recognized as they fell from his deft fingers: herbs for fever and pain. Others I had never seen before.

With me still watching him quietly, Elessar dipped a cloth in his potion and cleaned the elf's arm. He seemed so absorbed that I jumped when he held the soiled cloth out for me to see. "Was the blue substance there before?"

I peered at the stains. The blood was familiar, but the deep blue tinge surrounding it was not. "No."

The king muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse. "Are you certain?"

"Aye." Somewhere I found the courage to meet his dangerously glowing eyes. "I helped my mother dress his wounds. There was blood and dirt, nothing more."

Elessar pressed his lips together into a thin line. That was more than a threat in his eyes, I realized. There was deep-seated concern and – fear? He turned back to his work before I could be sure.

"Ai, Legolas," he sighed to the unresponsive elf as he set a bandage to soak in the herb water and started adding yet different herbs to his water skin. "The things you get yourself into! You had to go get yourself poisoned again; and it couldn't be some nice common morgul poison, oh no, it had to be one of the rarest and most dangerous – " He cut himself off and tossed me the skin. "Shake."

I did as I was told, watching him bind the elf's arm ever so gently with his soaked bandage. "My lord?"

"Yes?" He remained focused on his task.

"Is that his name? Legolas?"

Elessar tied off the bandage and looked at me, obviously surprised. "Yes."

"And he is poisoned?"

He only nodded, holding out a hand for the water skin.

I withdrew into the corner as the king moved onto the edge of the bed and propped his patient up, cajoling him to drink the medicine. It took a while for Legolas to stop fighting, but eventually the elf settled in Elessar's arms. Something about the tableau brought a lump to my throat.

I remained indoors for the rest of the day, just in case the king needed anything. Trying to think what Mother would do in this situation, I dragged out the sewing basket and set to mending – there was certainly plenty of that to do. All the while I pretended I wasn't watching Elessar's every move, but of course I was. After all, it's not every day that real live royalty is sitting in one's very own home – on one's parents' bed, in fact.

It was also one of the most touching scenes I have ever had the privilege of viewing. Elessar held the elf until he was well and truly peaceful, fast asleep for the first time in days. Had I not known better, I would have sworn that the king's touch – nothing else – was having this calming effect.

The king's moving off the bed brought me to my senses. Mother was out on a call – that meant household responsibilities fell to me. I needed to get supper started and make extra. And where would Elessar sleep? Olath was on the floor already; Amir squeezed between our parents on the large cot the boys usually shared.

Later, I told myself sternly, and started on the stew. After adding enough meat and potatoes for one extra, I walked hesitantly over to Elessar, who was now seated on the chair he had pulled up beside the bed. "My lord? Would you like me to make anything for him?"

"Hmm?" The king blinked, recalled from his thoughts. "Oh, no, no. Elves don't need as much food as humans. It can wait. Thank you."

I nodded slowly. "Begging your pardon, sir, but . . . "

"Yes?" He shook his hair out of his face with an air of impatience. "Kira, is it?"

"Yes, sir. I'm just curious – are you friends?"

Elessar nodded.

"How in Arda – " I blurted, then stopped myself. "I mean – "

"How did a man and an elf become friends?" A smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. "I was raised among elves. Legolas and I go back a long way."

I nodded and retreated again, feeling somehow that we had reached an understanding.

The next morning found Mother still away, Father and Olath in the fields, Amir with them and proud of it, and me by the fireplace with more mending, keeping an eye on Elessar and Legolas. The king had refused our offer of a bunk, electing to say in that hard chair; and although I nodded off quickly myself, I do not believe he slept a wink.

At the first sound of movement from the bed, I staying intent on a large rip in my own good skirt, trying to think how I had done it. I had grown used to the elf's near-constant motion; it no longer bothered me. Then I recalled that Legolas had, in fact, been sleeping peacefully since the day before. Upon jerking my head up I saw the elf turned on his side and Elessar crouched by his head, ready to meet his eyes as they focused – focused! – for the first time since we had found him.

It took all my restraint to stay put, but I remembered myself in time and sat quietly, trying to come up with a combination of "politely ignore" and "openly stare."

Legolas' gaze was fixed on the king. "Estel?" he whispered hoarsely. My heart sank: he was still delirious after all.

Elessar seemed to have other ideas. Gently, he brushed away the strands of hair that had fallen into the elf's face. "Yes, I'm here."

Legolas blinked at him. "I thought you were mad at me."

"I was."

"I'm angry with you too," the elf murmured sleepily. "Human."

The king, for some inconceivable reason, smiled. "Elf. We can kill each other later. Rest now."

"You'll wake me later?"

"I always do."

"No – " Suddenly Legolas doubled over in pain, moaning softly. The king bent over him, murmuring in that strange language and stroking his hair back. From my vantage point I could clearly see Legolas' hand as it sought and found Elessar's among the bedclothes.

Elf clung to man, and I had to look away. I jabbed the needle into my skirt, trying to block out Elessar's beautiful but incomprehensible words. When I finally looked up – more to stretch my neck than anything else – Legolas was asleep and Elessar seated once more, still absently squeezing the elf's hand.

Estel. Was that him? I debated asking with myself until the king noticed my gaze. "What is it, Kira?"

I started and felt my face turn crimson. "I – well – "

"Out with it."

"You're Estel?" I blurted.

He nodded, watching me carefully. "My childhood name, why?"

I gestured helplessly, not at all sure how he would take this. "He – Legolas – he said that a lot. When he was delirious. Most of what he said I couldn't understand, but I remember that because he spoke it like a name. As if he was calling for someone. Estel." I dropped my gaze when I saw how stricken Elessar looked at this. I picked at my mending for a moment, then changed the subject. "May I ask an intrusive question, my lord?"

"You may ask," the king said roughly. "I may not answer."

Fair enough. I chanced a glance up. "Why are you and he angry at each other?"

To my shock, Elessar laughed and looked up at our thatched roof. "Legolas here thinks he knows better than I do how to run my kingdom. He expressed his opinion rather vocally, and I took offense."

"He would tell you what to do?" I was surprised; Elessar was our king and hero, deserving of the utmost respect.

"He is my friend," the king said simply. "And to be fair, he has a couple thousand years' more experience than do I."

I decided not to ask, that the thousand years was probably a joke anyway; and at that moment Amir barreled through the door. "Kira – "

"Manners, Amir." Standing hastily, I caught him by the shoulders and turned him to face our guests.

"Beggin' your pardon, Your Majesty," Amir said, unabashed. He turned back to me. "Father says the back garden's a dis-as-ter an' you have to weed."

I had forgotten about my abandoned weeding job. "I will."

"Now."

"All right, I'm going." I had had enough of the indoors anyway. "I just need to put away my mending, now shoo."

Amir shooed. I dumped skirt, needle and thread into the basket and paused on the threshold. "My lord?"

"Yes?"

"I . . . I noticed something."

"Go on."

"You're mad at him . . . yet when I asked about it, you defended his side."

"So I did," Elessar said thoughtfully. "How about that."

I left with the distinct impression that, despite his confused façade, the king had known what he was doing all along.

"Hello, little sister," Olath said quietly, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. Somehow I had been so lost in thought and in weeding that he had managed to sneak up on me.

"Olath!" I cried, spinning to fix my best glare on him. "Don't do that!"

My brother spread his hands, a futile gesture of innocence. "You're such an easy target when you look like that. I couldn't resist." He adopted his most doleful expression. "I love you."

"Love you too," I sighed before he could engulf me in one of his signature suffocating hugs. "What do you want?"

"Oh, just to talk to my dear younger sister, whom I never see anymore."

"You mean you want to help your dear younger sister with the weeding, right?"

"Actually, no."

I glared again. "Right?"

"Yes," he said hastily, "I mean yes."

"Good." I went back to work.

"So," Olath said after a moment. "You came home rather quickly yesterday."

I threw a weed at him. "Yes, and it's all your fault. Why do the girls have to fancy you so much?"

"Because I'm irresistible, of course. One of your friends fancies me?"

Blowing a lock of hair out of my face, I looked him up and down. He was dirty and sweaty from a day in the fields, his backside sticking in the air as he tugged at a stubborn weed. "I don't know, Olath. I can definitely resist."

"Don't change the subject."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"All right, then."

With tow of us, the work went quickly; and we soon went inside to find King Elessar asleep in a rather undignified manner, slumped over in his chair with his head resting near Legolas' chest. He was snoring; somehow my brother and I found this incredibly funny and had to duck outside to laugh.

"Sorry! I'm sorry, my lord." I stood frozen at the fire, silently berating myself for moving too quickly and hitting the kettle.

The king looked at me wearily. "Quite all right," he mumbled, then immediately turned back to Legolas, feeling the elf's forehead and groping for his hand.

Sheepishly I ladled a portion of stew into a bowl – which had been my intent in the first place – and brought it to him. Father, Olath and Amir were eating silently at the wood table; Mother had returned from Tana's farm and promptly fallen asleep on the boys' cot. The baby would be all right, which reminded me of something.

"My lord?" I said once he had taken the bowl with a muttered thanks and balanced it on his knees, all one-handed so he did not have to release his friend's hand. "Will . . . will Legolas be all right?"

The elf in question winced and moaned as Elessar's grip on his hand tightened. The king stared at his stew, blinking several times; for a moment I thought I saw tears in his eyes. "I don't know," he said softly. "I don't know."

At that moment Legolas rolled toward him, murmuring "Estel," and started to tremble violently – and so began one of the longest nights of my life.

The distress woke Mother, but the king insisted we all sleep. No need for us to suffer, he said. I doubt Mother needed her healing background to see, as I did, that the elf was in trouble; but we both also realized that Elessar's skills far surpassed our own and that he had the situation under control – as much as it could be.

Still, I could not sleep. My pallet being directly across from where the elf lay, I spent most of the night watching through slitted eyes. As much as I felt they deserved privacy, my curiosity and my insomnia overcame any inhibitions.

The king had abandoned his chair, deserting his new perch on the bed only periodically to mix another dose of medicinal tea. He held the elf through harsh coughing fits that kept the whole family awake. And when Legolas' breathing had calmed, when only I was left watching, he did not let his friend go. Elessar spent the rest of the night leaning against our rough wall, the elf held securely against his chest.

"No," Legolas sometimes mumbled through his shivering, "no, saes . . . Estel . . . "

"Hush," the king said patiently, every time. Through the gloom I could make out him gently kissing the top of the elf's head. "I'm here. Shhh." And he would coax his friend to drink more potion.

He was so tender and caring that I found myself making mental notes. I formulated a theory that night: physical contact facilitates healing. It was an idea I would propagate for the rest of my life.

Towards dawn, when my eyes had drifted shut, the tense atmosphere changed. I did not have the energy to look, so I listened hard. Creaking and the rustling of sheets, and then –

"How are you feeling?" The king. Legolas was awake?

"Fine." The elf's voice was little more than a whisper. "Where are we?"

"In the home of a kind farmer. Care to tell me what happened? And no, I don't for one moment believe you feel fine."

"A bit tired," Legolas admitted. A pause. "And achy. Happy?"

"Very much so." Elessar's voice sounded husky. "I feared I would lose you, mellon-nin."

"It was that serious?" The elf appeared to consider this. "There were orcs."

"As usual. Within Gondor? Were you captured?"

"No, I was just over the border, and they did not pursue me far into Gondor . . . you keep your borders well."

"Still have to look into it." I heard the swishing of liquid, and the king said, "Drink this."

"Will it put me to sleep?"

"No. Perhaps later, if you really want some sleeping draught . . . "

"No thank you." After a moment Legolas said, "Estel, I'm sorry. I spoke wrongly. Your kingdom is doing wonderfully. I – "

"Hush. You were right as always. I should have listened. I misinterpreted your advice." A thump as Elessar set the water skin aside. "Forgive me."

"Of course."

"I was afraid . . . I feared I would lose you through my own folly."

"Estel – "

"No. 'Twas my fault you left early."

"'Twas my choice. There is nothing to forgive. Don't make me say I was wrong again, for it does not sit well with my pride."

"You just said it," the king pointed out, a hint of laughter returned to his voice.

"Oh, hush," Legolas grumbled. "The girl is awake."

My heart jumped. How could he tell? Elf magic? I had always believed it to be a myth.

Elessar chuckled. "She was probably spying on us all along, weren't you, Kira?"

"No, my lord," I said with as much dignity as I could muster. I kept my eyes closed, for I did not believe I could lie to his face.

"She was," the king said confidently, and to me, "Elves have very good hearing."

"You're terrible at faking," Legolas informed me hoarsely. "Even worse than Strider here."

"Strider?" I risked looking at them. My father was starting to stir.

Elessar groaned good-naturedly. "I've many names, Kira. And I fake sleep very well, thank you. I always fool Arwen."

"Which is rather disturbing," Legolas remarked. He was lying flat on the bed again but had regained enough strength to shove the king lightly. "If I can call your bluff, your wife ought to be able to."

"Hush, elf."

Remembering myself, I sprang up and started breakfast.

All introductions were made during the meal, most of which Amir spent hiding behind Mother's skirts, occasionally peeking shyly at the elf who had become more or less an inanimate fixture in our household. The rest of the family was friendly, politely waving away gratitude.

"We shan't intrude on your hospitality much longer," the king said. "We'll go as soon as Legolas can travel."

"Which will be soon," Legolas put in, attempting to sit up.

Elessar lent him a supporting arm when the task proved to be too much. "Which will be when I say so," he said sternly, handing the elf a bowl of porridge. "Now eat."

"Yes, Mother," Legolas singsonged, and whacked the king with the wooden spoon.

Olath and I stifled giggles. Our parents caught each other's eyes and grinned. Amir, confused, hid his face in Mother's lap.

"I apologize for the lack of space, my lord," Mother said when we had recovered.

"'Tis nothing," the king said firmly. "I assure you we have stayed in less commodious spaces."

"A prison cell comes to mind," Legolas said dryly.

I rather think they enjoyed the looks on our faces.

For the next several days Legolas recovered steadily. With Mother at home, I spent the greater part of my days in the fields; but I still made time to talk to Elessar and Legolas, or just to listen to their badinage. Father had refused, with some degree of horror, the king's offer to help around the farm; and Legolas teased his friend to no end about it. I didn't get the joke myself. Half of what those two said I couldn't understand, whether because they were speaking a different language or because they were referring to past events; but the good humor was so evident that I always felt cheered.

Legolas did teach me a few words of Elvish, notably mellon-nin and hannon le, as well as some basic facts about his people. I felt sure that no-one in the village possessed my new knowledge.

I did a lot of hard thinking in those days. And by the time Olath, Amir and I walked down to the village again, I had reached a decision – with some unwitting help from the friends I had watched so closely. None of the girls my age would look at me when we entered the square – probably remembering my earlier fits of anger. But I had a plan. I went to Attalaen first, then to my old friends. To each I said the same thing.

I said, let's start over.

It turned out that the other girls had been thinking too. Attalaen said she had been about to ask me the same thing. The others said they were willing to give her a chance. So we all stood in a lumpy sort of circle and looked at each other.

"How exactly do we 'start over'?" someone asked.

"Hi." I waved. "I'm Kira. Nice to meet you."

Everybody laughed. Soon we were all talking – sometimes all at once – just like old times, plus one more.

"Told you so," I said. But I said it with a smile, so they'd know I wasn't truly angry.

We were just considering going to watch the older boys – whatever they were doing – when hoofbeats pierced the air and the entire square fell silent. Everyone from the old bread woman to the littlest children turned towards the sound. Horses to us were for farmwork. A rider on the road meant soldiers, messengers – or perhaps something more sinister.

So it was that Elessar and Legolas, both astride the king's horse, made rather a grand entrance. After a moment for recognition, whispers rushed through the crowd. The king! Although he was dressed for travel, his face was known to all, thanks to the artistic skills of those who had attended his coronation not three years past. And an elf! – that left people simply confused.

To my surprise, the king and Legolas dismounted and led the horse up to me. Elessar smiled and nodded to my wide-eyed friends, a twinkle in his gaze. "Legolas would like to say – "

"That he can speak for himself, thank you very much," the elf said irritably. I heard gasps from the onlookers – no doubt they were shocked to hear this strange being speak in that tone to our monarch.

"I would like to say," Elessar amended, "thank you for your assistance and company this week."

Somewhere in the back of my mind I remembered the proper words. "You are most welcome, my lord." I hesitated, then added, "You'll be leaving now?"

"I must. I left the city rather quickly, I'm afraid. I don't imagine my advisors are very happy with me."

"They'll kill you," Legolas said cheerfully. He rested a hand on my shoulder. "Hannon le, Kira."

"Hannon le," I responded, looking at both of them, wondering if they would know what I was thanking them for.

I think they did; but then they turned away to say farewell to my brothers, who had fought their way through the crowd. I found it amazing that news of the king's presence hadn't leaked out before.

"I am sorry we can't stay," I heard the king tell Attalaen's father, who was in the process of a deep bow, "but I really must get back to the city. Your townspeople are very accommodating, incidentally." He winked at me, then leaned over to say something to Olath, who laughed.

Within five minutes Elessar and Legolas were on their way, the villagers clearing a path for the horse; and I found Olath as the crowd dispersed. "What did he tell you, just now?"

"The king? Asked why we had to come here today. Otherwise they could've left quietly." Olath shook his head. "Me, I'd want the attention. Adoration. Girls falling at my feet. Wouldn't you?"

I nodded and said, mostly to myself, "Then again, I guess that's not why he came."

As a young woman I traveled. Snatching up sewing or healing jobs where I could, I went through Rohan and Bree, visited scattered towns of men, and even ventured into Near Harad. Any time I saw the local rulers parade ostentatiously down the street accompanied by ridiculous retinues – every time I heard of yet another lecherous affair connected to the ruling family – every time – I thought to myself, No, that's not what leadership is.

So I returned to Gondor and settled again near Minas Tirith – the City of Kings – where I could sometimes see Elessar, and later his son, as they went about their business.

True kings they were, and good ones. Kings who bettered their country not only with peace and prosperity, but with themselves. That is the mark of a successful reign . . . or a successful life. It is the way I did well for myself – the way I raised my children – learning, and leading, by example.

Please R&R. Make my hectic week happy and I will love you forever.