Book 3: Where It Ends [Legolas]

Chapter 3

Instead of riding home more at ease with knowledge that they would no longer have to worry about another attack from Isengard, they had more questions than answers. The atmosphere around them was a bit tense. Though upon arriving inside the tall gates the company tried to not let it show. Having just barely survived Helm's Deep, worrying the people of Rohan so soon was not in Théoden's best interests as they dismounted.

"Are you well, my king?" Gamling questioned. The warrior waited at the stables to greet them.

"Fine, Gamling," the man answered.

"A banquet is being prepared as we speak." The sound of food piqued Gimli's interest, listening closely. "It will be ready by sunset."

"Then that gives us all time to clean up." Looking at the rest of the company he said, "Please get some rest and collect yourselves. You are my most welcomed guests tonight."

All nodded in thanks before retreating inside the king's home.

Linnéa was more than excited to be stripped of her armor and soak in a proper warm bath. It also helped calm her aching back and part of the shoulder from the large bruise sustained from battle. Before climbing into the basin the princess dared a glance at it in the mirror in the room. It still looked absolutely terrible, a handful of small blood vessels broken just below the surface in areas growing more visible. A few movements were a bit painful, like when dismounting or when Pippin gripped her too hard around the waist when they were riding back. The action would bring the Hobbit too close and sometimes bump into the area, but that wasn't his fault. And Linnéa didn't feel the need to voice it to not give way that something so trivial bothered her in the slightest. Then there was the damage done to the face.

The gash would scar slightly in areas, that much was certain. No matter how many creams or pastes were slathered over it the wound was a bit too deep in sections. What was most important now was to keep it free of infections. Honestly it wasn't as terrible as the young woman initially thought. The busted lip would heal just fine. Maybe the skin would discolor a bit once fully closed but over the course of a few weeks or months it would be back to normal. This wasn't the first time Linnéa received an injury like this, remembering the few times when not able to avoid Dwalin's fists while sparring.

After nearly an hour of resting in the slowly cooling water the young woman submerged herself so the liquid washed completely over her head, before standing up. Wringing out the hair into the basin the young woman stepped out to dry herself off. Looking to the bed in the room, for Éowyn had offered her quarters to the princess, she examined the garments left out by the servants. It was not the standard trousers and top she wore underneath her armor. She wasn't about to complain about the choice, being a guest. This dress was nothing like the one she wore for Théodred's funeral. The color took on a more earthy tone being dark brown with a golden trim. Linnéa swore the women of Rohan were determined to convince her that dresses were something to incorporate into her wardrobe on a daily basis. Unfortunately, it wasn't easy to fight or ride in one. For now she would try to enjoy it, slipping the dress over her head with a bit of struggle, tugging it into place.

With her kin's braids worked into the hair and beads in place Linnéa collected the rest of the damp strands. She twisted it into one large braid over her shoulder. Opening the bedroom door it smelled heavenly in the hallway from the food being prepared for the feast. Following the scent back towards the throne room tables had been pulled out to line the area. Along with benches where a few warriors were already seated. There were countless barrels of ale to go around, stacked at the ends of the tables or along the walls. It reminded the princess slightly of Erebor. This feast would last long into the night with drunken merriment and it made the corners of her mouth twitch in a slight smirk. If only Dwalin were here to join them. Oh what stories her mentor could tell while drinking every man under the table easily. Even in his old age. With Glóin, Bombur, Bumbur, Bofur, and Bifur at his side they would drain Edoras of all ale in their cellars with ease.