I Could Never Love A Man In Tights

*This is something I wrote a little while ago...I WILL finish my LOTR story, but life has swallowed my time....*

“I’m saving this kiss for the Prince of my heart!”

How many times have we ladies sung that? Even if you weren’t a part of PKSS or The Battle for the Heart, your thoughts have sung that line. My guess is that at the word prince, a picture of a handsome, romantic, richly dressed figure pops into your mind. For me, the idea of a prince makes my mind instantly jump to the bumbling Edward in Enchanted. You know the type: always smiling, hair set perfectly in place, completely rich and yet somehow never spoiled, pining away for the girl of his dreams. In short, I see a fairytale prince this way: Prince Plastic the
Loaded, the helpless romantic in tights.

Now, don’t get me wrong, this isn’t about the ‘Saving this Kiss’ song. I think that song portrays perfectly what a girl should be thinking when it comes to relationships. But personally, I just never loved the whole Prince Charming idea. Perhaps a certain maiden with hair so long it could be used as a ladder ruined that for me. Sword Fighter ≠ Damsel in Distress…the thought of leaning out of some window in a high tower, waving a hanky and wailing “SAVE ME!” at the top of my lungs, hoping that Prince Plastic would come to my rescue never appealed to me. But that’s just me.

I prefer the idea of the Knight in Shining Armor. Sure, he’s sweaty. He’s dirty. He probably smells like horse, and he can’t sing “I’ve been dreaming of a true love’s kiss” like an actor in a Broadway musical. But that’s the man for me, and I’ll tell you why.
When you think of a knight, what first comes to mind? Probably a guy sitting atop a white charger in full armor, with a sword that never leaves his side. He’s most likely not the richest man in the village or township. In fact, he’s probably a farm-boy who’s been given a chance to make something of himself through a lifetime of service to King and Country. His years will be spent in and out of fighting. He will often come back wounded and beaten. But to me, he trumps the Prince ten to one.

Think about the characteristics of a knight.

First off, ponder the horse. It would be a shabby knight indeed if he rode up on an old sway-backed thing, its mane and tail all matted, mud and dirt caking it’s sides to such an extent that you couldn’t tell what color it originally was. That would be laughable! The strong, beautiful charger our minds picture displays a high level of responsibility. The Knight in Shining Armor is used to caring for other things. He makes sure that his steed is fed and cleaned and groomed.

Horse = Responsible, Caring.

Next comes the armor. When we think of the classic knight, we’re thinking full body armor. This guy is not going down in a battle because of exposure. The Knight in ‘Shining Armor’ has guarded himself from everything the world dishes out: arrows of impurity, spears of temptation, etc. Having said that, even the best suits of armor have weak points. That’s why the true Knight will be vigilant in the fray and flee the ‘spears and arrows’, not out of cowardice, but out of the knowledge of his weaknesses. The foolish knight will say, “I am strong enough to face these!” and rush headlong into the barrage. By the time he has realized his folly, it is too late and he limps away, riddled with the darts of the enemy. Sir Foolish is then scarred for life, and because of this, his personal effectiveness in future battles is limited…although through passing on his knowledge to other knights, he may save them from harm. The Knight in Shining Armor will have guarded himself so well that his scars are small or non-existent.

Armor = Pure, Regretless, Unsoiled Testimony.

Now comes my favorite part: the sword! No knight is a knight without a sword. Also, you never see a true Knight without his sword. He is constantly swinging it, keeping himself in practice so that if ever attacked, he won’t be caught off guard. The Knight in Shining Armor is the same, only his sword is not made of steel. He wields The Sword. He knows It up and down, and uses It so much that It becomes an extension of him. He carries the knowledge of his Sword with him always, and is not afraid to use It.

Sword = Devotion to God’s Word.

What is a knight’s duty? To serve the King and people. It is to be the strong example of stability and chivalry to the ones around him. ‘Nuff said.

Duty = Serve God, Serve Others, Be an Example of Righteousness

The life of a true Knight is constant battle. He knows and has accepted this fate with a heart full of trust in the King, and defiance for the enemy. When he rides into battle, the enemy ranks are filled with both hate and fear. His name is known to them, and because of his great deeds and his renown, they wish to strike him down. The Knight in Shining Armor is well trained, well armed, and well protected. But sometimes, even the best of fighters are overpowered. A true Knight will call to his fellow Knights for aid when the odds turn against him.

Fellow Knights = Humility, Accountability

So, to me, a Knight in Shining Armor is a man of character, of principle, and of God…one who is willing to devote his life to his King, one who will stand and fight when necessary and one who is not afraid to do the right thing by fleeing as well. To me, the grimy, sweaty Knight that may or may not rise to fame and fortune is MUCH more worthy than a Prince who sits on his backside all day, devoted to himself and his pleasures. Now, granted, not all Princes are like that. Some have the luxury of a God-fearing King and Queen that have guided him in the ways of chivalry. But for me, I want a Knight in Shining Armor, one who will be responsible, caring, pure, and will have no regret from a soiled testimony. I want a Knight who is devoted to God’s Word, one who willingly serves God and others, and is an example of righteousness. I want a Knight who is humble and who accepts and desires accountability. That’s the man for me. That is my Knight in Shining Armor. And that is why I could never love a man in tights. ;D

Ai, Valar it has been so long! Well, I rewrote this chapter because I found it horrid, so here is the new version.


Chapter 8

A day had come and gone since Gimli’s news had reached the Elf’s less than enthusiastic ears. Anxiety, but also frustration had doused his already low spirits. But after a night alone to his thoughts, accompanied only by the trickling of spring water and the gentle glow of starlight, he had resolved to keep his irritation to himself. At least, he thought, to the best of his ability. After all, Gimli wanted to give his friend a good experience among his Dwarven kindred. Legolas did not wish to disappoint his sturdy companion, either by his fouled mood or by his fear of being trapped beneath the earth. As the night waned, he had readied himself for the coming day, resolved and accepting of whatever this forced time with the Dwarves would bring.

************

The halls and passages were alive with sounds and scuttling as the Dwarves made their separate ways to wherever each began the day. Legolas walked without pause, ignoring some of the more curious looks cast his direction. It seemed the news of his ‘illness’ was a source of bewilderment and gossip for the more talkative of the inhabitants. Hushed whispers and sideways glances clung to him like his own shadow. But the Elf strode on purposefully, acting as if he had seen or heard nothing.

“Master Legolas! You’re up and about again, I see!”

Legolas’ pace slowed as the voice registered in his mind. Mistrust flared up inside him, but when he turned, his face was as unreadable as ever.

“Greetings, Master Kori,” said the Elf. “Indeed, I am. I was just on my way to find Gimli and ask if there was anything I could do to make myself useful.”

Without missing a beat, Kori took a step forward.

“I’m sure there is something for you here. It is unfortunate for you, being forced to stay with us for such a length of time. But there is much to be done in Aglarond. In fact….” He paused a moment as if thinking. “There is one thing that needs doing. It would be a bit of a stretch for one of our kind, but you look to be the perfect height.”

“What is it?” Legolas asked. His emotions battled beneath his ‘mask’ of calm. No matter what this Dwarf had said previously, no matter the apologetic appearance, Legolas had lived too long to be blind to a double motive in even the most seemingly innocent of souls. Kori seemed a mite too eager to help too often. And that was a rare trait in any Dwarf. Aside from this, the overseer had sent the Elf into the deepest bout of Sea Longing he had endured in a long time. Legolas swallowed hard, as if the taste of salt had not yet left his mouth.

“Well, you see,” Kori began, “about a month ago, we carved our way into a large cave deep within the mountain. To our immediate dismay, there were no jewels to be found, but soon after we stumbled on something we did not expect. Upon further investigation, we discovered that a stream of some sort runs above the stone of the cave’s ceiling. The stream would be an excellent reserve source in the event of an emergency shortage. The only trouble is it’s a good way above our heads. Even you would need a ladder, but being one of…um…advanced stature, you should be able to access the stream nicely and far more speedily than we could. Already there are channels dug into the cave floor to route the water.”

Kori paused, his gaze suddenly sweeping the Elf’s face. His dark, bristly brows rose a little in what appeared to be an almost sarcastic display of an apology.

“Of course, I realize my request does not come naturally for one of your kind. A hammer and pick never quite sit well in the hands of an Elf. But you’re definitely tall enough that it wouldn’t take long for you finish the job. Dwarves are not very gifted in the way of balance, as you know. The stream is small and should be easily accessible. Are you up for the task?”

Legolas hesitated. He wanted to do something to keep him active and to hinder his mind from dwelling on his frustrating situation. But the thought of venturing deep into the bowls of the mountain caused a bolt of unease to pierce his chest. Elves and dark holes beneath the earth simply did not go together. And what was more, his faith in Kori had all but disappeared the moment Legolas had tasted of the sea in his mug. The Elf leveled his powerful gaze over the Dwarf before him, searching for some sign of treachery hidden there. Something like mischief danced beneath the friendliness of Kori’s dark eyes.

“If you still feel unwell, I am sure that I can find something less strenuous for you to do,” said the Dwarf. The look that accompanied the suggestion was innocent enough, but beneath the concern, something other than pity lurked. Legolas had seen it as surely as if a banner had passed between Kori’s eyes.

A challenge.

“No, Master Kori,” began the Elf, returning the same message. “I am recovered. Lead the way.” His response had betrayed nothing, but in his deep, blue eyes, it had been spoken.

I accept.

****************

Stifling. That was the word that came to Legolas’ mind as Kori led him by torchlight deeper and deeper into the earth. The cavern’s smoothed walls had grown slowly wilder and untouched the farther they went. Without the light of the torch’s fire to guide them, the darkness would have been total. A sort of heaviness weighed on the Elf’s heart with each step. His ingrown aversion to the depths of the earth was making every breath a struggle. The ground began sloping downward, and the floor became slick with sediment. A small voice inside him whispered urgently for him to turn back, to escape this dank pit and the horrid Dwarf leading him ever deeper into the darkness. But he did not heed its pleading. Instead, he lifted his chin a little higher, and strode on.

Suddenly, the ground leveled off and Legolas found himself in the cave. The floor was muddied, and water dripped from the ceiling, creating an empty, echoing melody. Just as Kori had said, small channels leading to vacant pools had been dug into the ground to contain the flow once freed. Kori waved the torch slowly this way and that, as if inspecting the job his workers had left behind. Then he turned and faced the Elf.

“Listen,” he said.

Legolas did so. There was a low gurgling sound coming from above him.

“That’s what we need you to reach,” said the Dwarf, lifting his torch high, and shedding light on the rocky roof. The ceiling was about 3 feet above Legolas’ head. He would need something like a ladder to stand on, or perhaps he could find a large box….A grin hidden in the darkness stole over his face at the sudden memory.

“Now, I know it is a bit high, even for you,” Kori stated. “My workers used a ladder in the far corner over there. Some of them attempted to break through already as you can see by the smattering of stone chips round about. But, as I’ve said, the height was simply too much of a strain for them. They left their picks and a hammer down here as well.”

The Dwarf made his way to one side of the cave and sure enough, the harsh orange light of the torch revealed the needed equipment exactly where he had said. Moving over to the wall, Kori waved the flame back and forth, searching. Finally, he found what he was seeking. Another unlit torch was placed in a small iron ring protruding from the wall. It was a good foot above his head.

Standing on the end of his toes, Kori lit the torch and faced the Elf once more.

“Well, I believe that’s it,” he said, grinning. “It is all yours, my friend! Now, if you need any assistance, I shall be overseeing the clearing of a new branch of caverns to the east side. As soon as the water is freed, the rest will take care of itself. Any questions?”

“I cannot think of any.”

“Very well, then! I shall leave you to your work.” With a bow, Kori turned and began marching back up the path. Legolas watched him go, with a mixture of relief and apprehension. He was now left alone, with nothing but a pick, a hammer, and the sound of gurgling water. The Elf couldn’t help but wonder if this would turn out to be another one of Kori’s ‘accidents’.

He stood there in the semi-darkness for a long moment, listening, feeling. But this only caused his heart to beat faster and his breath to quicken. Blasted mountain.

Enough of this, he told himself mentally. Move.

Legolas made his way over to the tools. He knelt down, hefting the hammer in his hands as if testing the weight of a weapon. His eyes followed the ladder all the way up to its top, judging the length and sturdiness of the object. The ladder was solid and the rungs were wide; obviously they were made for Dwarven hands and feet. The Elf knew he would have little problem scaling it. He chose a pick that looked the least used. A feeling of satisfaction washed some of his foreboding away. No matter what the Dwarf had said, Elves did indeed use picks and hammers, although perhaps not in the same way. Some of his kindred were sculptors, fashioning beautiful images out of a mound of shapeless stone or wood. Dwarven hands formed chiseled walls and hefty columns. Impressive as they were, they were not beautiful to his Elven eyes.
To see my kindred in Imladris once more, Legolas thought as he mounted the ladder and began to climb. Their craftsmanship is truly something to behold. But…they are almost all across the sea by now.

As he had surmised, within moments the ladder was scaled. The sound of the burbling water above him eased the tension within his heart still more. In his mind’s eye, Legolas could see the Nimrodel, could hear the songs the Elves sung of her and the stream that bore her name. This brook had a different voice: one of stone and earth. Yet the unmistakable voice of the water soothed him.

He set the pick, lifted the hammer up for the first strike, and began.

***********

Sweat dripped off the end of his nose. Legolas ran a hand over his face, but perspiration was soon trailing down again. His neck was beginning to stiffen from its prolonged position, and his hands were growing numb from the repetition of the strikes. But this was not what was causing the beads of liquid to pool on his forehead.

The cave had grown steadily hotter. Elf as he was, the heat had not bothered him for a long time. But the intensity had increased to such an extent that even he felt its force.

Legolas stopped working abruptly, rubbing a wet strand of hair from his eyes. Something was not right. He leapt off the ladder, landing lightly on his feet. Quickly, he dropped the tools and swiped the lone torch from its ring. He then made his way to the far side of the cave.
Legolas blinked furiously, the amount of heat growing more staggering the closer he got to the stone wall. Never in all his days had the world felt so hot! By the time the Elf reached the wall, the temperature was nearly unbearable. Hesitantly, Legolas placed a hand on the rocky surface. He instantly regretted it. The Elf jerked his hand away, swearing aloud. It was almost as if a fire had been lit within the stone. Legolas swore once more as he looked down at the blisters now forming on his hand from the burn.

A noise suddenly drew his attention from his stinging fingers. He paused, still glancing at his hand, listening intently. It was coming from beyond the stone. It was distant, but approaching fast. A hissing. The light around him turned from a shadowy orange to a deep red. Legolas looked up. The cave wall was glowing, casting everything in an angry crimson. The floor began to tremble and a rending groan sounded, muffled only a little behind the rock. The Elf took a step back in alarm. Some evil was at work here. This was not something of rock or stone. This was of malice.

Legolas dropped his torch and began backing away, gaining speed as he went. He made for the entrance passage just as an explosion ripped through the cave wall.

The blast seemed to rip the earth out from beneath his feet. The Elf was thrown headlong into the passage. He landed hard, rock and debris raining down on him. Dust and smoke hung heavy in the air, and sweat stung his eyes. He attempted to stand, but the ground was rocking too violently. Stone crashed around him, and Legolas realized with sickening certainty that the cave was going to collapse.

Suddenly, a new noise joined the already tumultuous chorus of sounds. Shrill cries and shrieking voices began shouting in the cave, echoing off the remaining walls. The Elf knew that sound only too well from his hated trek through Moria.

Goblins.

Struggling to his feet, Legolas turned and looked back into the cave. Through the fog and rain of debris he could clearly make out the Goblins scrambling into the newly blown entrance like ants from a disturbed ant-hill. Their voices combined with the groaning earth were almost deafening. Dirty steel weapons were held in their hands, and their small bodies and bowed legs were protected by random pieces of armor. They filled the cave, screaming, scurrying about, completely frenzied. One caught sight of the Elf and gave a loud cry, pointing his sword in his direction. At least 20 pairs of Goblin eyes turned and fixed on him.

Legolas’ hands went to his back, but the familiar feel of knife handles was not there. Cursing himself beneath his breath, he turned and stumbled back up the passage. The tremors were becoming fiercer. He looked around for something, anything resembling a weapon. Seeing no alternative, the Elf stopped and scooped up a stone.

The Goblins were now in pursuit. They seemed to feel nothing as stones and dirt poured down on their heads. The lust for blood and the light of killing was in every slanted eye as they clambered over large rocks and scrambled towards their prey.

Legolas took aim at a particularly ugly creature and threw, scoring a direct hit full in the ghoulish face. The Goblin fell where he stood. The rest of the filthy horde kept coming, shrieking in rage over their fallen comrade. Legolas ran a few paces back, grabbed another rock, aimed, and tossed. A small, sniveling Goblin yelped in surprise as he fell from the blow.

The game of stop and go went on. Legolas would dispatch one of the foul creatures and then hastily retreat several paces, only to repeat the process once more. This went on for some time, until the rocks grew less and less and he was forced to begin pulling torches from the walls and launching them into the midst of the Goblins. A blast of cool breeze at his back told him he was coming out of tunnel. Relief flooded through him. Weaponless, he stood precious little chance against the frenzied horde at his heels. Hoping that someone would hear him, he began shouting out an alarm.

“Goblins! Goblins have breached the cave! Arm yourselves!”

A hissing noise was all the warning Legolas had as a Goblin arrow shot past him, barely grazing his shoulder as it passed. The shaft clattered against the wall, falling harmlessly to the ground.
The end of the path was in sight now, and already a few curious Dwarven faces were peering through the entrance. Immediately they began bellowing out an alarm, and by the time Legolas had raced into the open cavern half a dozen fully armed Dwarves had arrived, with more running down the halls towards them.

Legolas turned to face the coming storm.



*There you go! I hope to right more soon, but my sister is very...firm when it comes to keeping me from Lord of the Rings.*

Chapter 8....not edited....

Please tell me if this is just terrible. It's not the whole thing, but a bit. Comments are welcome.


Chapter 8

A day had come and gone since Gimli’s news had reached the Elf’s less than enthusiastic ears. Anxiety, but also frustration had doused his already low spirits. But after a night alone to his thoughts, accompanied only by the trickling of spring water and the gentle glow of starlight, he had resolved to keep his irritation to himself. At least, he thought, to the best of his ability. After all, Gimli wanted to give his friend a good experience among his Dwarven kindred. Legolas did not wish to disappoint his sturdy companion, either by his fouled mood or by his fear of being trapped beneath the earth. As the night waned, he had readied himself for the coming day, resolved and accepting of whatever this forced time with the Dwarves would bring.

************

The halls and passages were alive with sounds and scuttling as the Dwarves made their separate ways to wherever each began the day. Legolas walked without pause, ignoring some of the more curious looks cast his direction. It seemed the news of his ‘illness’ was a source of bewilderment and gossip for the more talkative of the inhabitants. Hushed whispers and sideways glances clung to him like his own shadow. But the Elf strode on purposefully, acting as if he had seen or heard nothing.

“Master Legolas! You’re up and about again, I see!”

Legolas’ pace slowed as the voice registered in his mind. Mistrust flared up inside him, but when he turned, his face was as passive as ever.

“Greetings, Master Kori,” said the Elf. “Yes, I am indeed. I was just on my way to find Gimli and ask if there was anything I could do to make myself useful.”

Without missing a beat, Kori took a step forward.

“I’m sure there is something for you here. It is unfortunate for you, being forced to stay with us for such a length of time. But there is much to be done in Aglarond. In fact….” He paused a moment as if thinking. “There is one thing that needs doing. It would be a bit of a stretch for one of our kind, but you look to be the perfect height.”

“What is it?” Legolas asked. He fought for control of his ‘mask’ of calm. No matter what this Dwarf had said previously, no matter the apologetic appearance, Legolas had lived long enough to spot a double motive in even the most innocent of souls. Kori seemed a mite too eager to help too often. And that was a rare trait in any Dwarf. Aside from this, the overseer had sent the Elf into the deepest bout of Sea Longing he had endured in a long time. Legolas swallowed hard, as if the taste of salt had not yet left his mouth.

“Well, you see,” Kori began, “about a month ago, we carved our way into a large cave deep within the mountain. To our immediate dismay, there were no jewels to be found, but after a moment we heard water rushing overhead. Upon further investigation, we discovered that a stream of some sort runs along the cavern floor above us. The stream would be excellent backup in the event of an emergency shortage of water. The only trouble is, it’s a good way above our heads. Even you would need a ladder, but being one of…um…advanced stature, you should be able to access the stream nicely and far more quickly than we could. Already there are channels dug into the cave floor to route the water.”

“In short, you want me to chisel a crack in the cave ceiling in order to re-route some of the stream’s water to this level.” Legolas summed up.

“Exactly!” Kori replied. “Of course, I realize my request does not come naturally for one of your kind. A hammer and pick never quite sit well in the hands of an Elf. But you’re definitely tall enough that it wouldn’t take long for you finish the job. Dwarves are not very gifted in the way of balance, as you know. The stream is small and should be easily accessible. Are you up for it?”
Legolas hesitated, battling within himself. He wanted to do something, anything to keep him active and to hinder his mind from dwelling on frustration that bordered on despair. But the thought of venturing deep into the mountain caused a bolt of fear to pierce his chest. Elves and dark holes beneath the earth simply did not go together. And what was more, his faith in Kori had dwindled the moment Legolas had tasted the sea in his mug. The Elf swept his powerful gaze over the Dwarf before him, searching for some sign of treachery hidden there. Something like mischief danced beneath the friendliness of Kori’s dark eyes.

“If you still feel unwell, I am sure that I can find something less strenuous for you to do,” said the Dwarf. The look that accompanied the suggestion was innocent enough, but beneath the concern, something other than pity lurked. Legolas had seen it as surely as if a banner had passed between Kori’s eyes.

A challenge.

“No, Master Kori,” began the Elf, returning the same message. “I am recovered. Lead the way.” His response had betrayed nothing, but in his deep, blue eyes, it had been spoken.

I accept.

****************

Stifling. That was the word that came to Legolas’ mind as Kori led him by torchlight deeper and deeper into the earth. The cavern’s smoothed walls had grown slowly wilder and untouched the farther they went. Without the light of the torch’s fire to guide them, the darkness would have been total. A sort of heaviness weighed on the Elf’s heart with each step. His ingrown aversion to the depths of the earth was making every breath harder to breathe. The ground began sloping downward, and the floor became slick with sediment. A small voice inside him screamed for him to turn back, to escape this dank pit and the horrid Dwarf leading him ever deeper into his worst nightmare. But he did not heed its pleading. Instead, he lifted his chin a little higher, and strode on.

Suddenly, the ground leveled off and Legolas found himself in the cave aforementioned. The floor was muddied, and water dripped from the ceiling. As had been said, ditches had been etched into the ground to contain the flow once freed. Kori waved the torch slowly this way and that, as if inspecting the stone. Then he turned and faced the Elf.

“Listen,” he said.

Legolas did so. There was a low gurgling sound coming from above him.

“That’s what we need you to reach,” said the Dwarf, lifting his torch high, and shedding light on the rocky roof. The ceiling was about 3 feet above Legolas’ head. He would need something like a ladder to stand on, or perhaps he could find a large box….A grin hidden in the darkness stole over his face at the sudden memory.

“Now, I know it is a bit high, even for you,” Kori began, “so there is a ladder in the far corner over there. Some of my kinsman attempted to break through already, but the height was simply too much of a strain for them. They left their picks and a hammer down here as well.”
The Dwarf made his way to one side of the cave and sure enough, the needed equipment was exactly where he had said. An unlit torch was placed in a small iron ring protruding from the wall. Standing on the end of his toes, Kori lit the torch and faced the Elf once more.

“Well, I believe that’s it,” he said, grinning. “It is all yours, my friend! Now, if you need any assistance, I shall be overseeing the clearing of a new branch of caverns to the east side. As soon as the water is freed, the rest will take care of itself. Any questions?”

“I cannot think of any.”

“Very well, then! I shall leave you to your work.” With a bow, Kori turned and began marching back up the path. Legolas watched him go, with a mixture of relief and apprehension. He was now left alone, with nothing but a pick, a hammer, and the sound of gurgling water to combat the fear and aloneness that only the heart of a mountain could bring.

He stood there in the semi-darkness for a long moment, listening, feeling. But this only caused his heart to beat faster and his breath to quicken.

Enough of this, he told himself mentally. Move.

Legolas made his way over to the tools. He knelt down, hefting the hammer in his hands as if testing the weight of a weapon. His eyes followed the ladder all the way up to its top, judging the length and sturdiness of the object. The ladder was solid and the rungs were wide; obviously they were made for Dwarven hands and feet. The Elf knew he would have little problem scaling it. He chose a pick that looked the least used. A feeling of satisfaction washed some of his foreboding away. No matter what the Dwarf had said, Elves did indeed use picks and hammers, although perhaps not in the same way. Some of his kindred were sculptors, fashioning beautiful images out of a mound of shapeless stone. Dwarven hands formed chiseled walls and hefty columns. Impressive as they were, they were not beautiful.

Ah, to see my kindred in Imladris once more, Legolas thought as he mounted the ladder and began to climb. Their craftsmanship is truly something to behold.

As he had surmised, within moments the ladder was scaled. The sound of the burbling water above him eased the tension within his heart still more. In his mind’s eye, Legolas could see the Nimrodel, could hear the songs the Elves sung of her and the stream that bore her name. This brook had a different voice: one of stone and earth. Yet the unmistakable voice of the water soothed him.

He set the pick, lifted the hammer up for the first strike, and began.

***********

Sweat dripped off the end of his nose. Legolas ran a hand over his face, but perspiration was soon trailing down again. His neck ached from its prolonged position, and his hands were beginning to grow numb from the repetition of the strikes. But this was not what was causing the beads of liquid to pool on his forehead.

The cave had grown steadily hotter. Elf as he was, the heat had not bothered him for a long time. But the intensity had increased to such an extent that even he felt its force.

Legolas stopped working abruptly, letting the tools fall from his grip. Something was not right. He took a moment to allow his body to relax, and then leapt off the ladder, landing lightly on his feet. Quickly, he swiped the lone torch from its ring and went to the far side of the cave.
The heat grew the closer he got to the stone wall. By the time he reached it, the temperature was nearly unbearable. Hesitantly, Legolas placed a hand on the rocky surface. Instantly, he jerked it away, swearing aloud. It was almost as if a fire had been lit within the stone. Legolas began rubbing his hand feverishly up and down his tunic to ease the pain, but stopped short.
A noise was coming from beyond the stone. It was distant, but approaching fast. A hissing. Legolas’ brow furrowed in confusion. What was that? The ground began vibrating beneath him, and the Elf took a step backwards. What was happening? But suddenly a memory gripped him, so fully that he almost thought he heard the words.

Legolas! Dago han! Dago han! And then the world had seemed to be torn asunder. Helm’s Deep’s great wall had been breached. And what had defeated the stone? Fire….

Legolas turned and ran. He made for the entrance passage and leapt into it, just as an explosion ripped through the cave wall. The blast of heat nearly overwhelmed the Elf altogether, and his senses were skewed. Rock and debris rained down on him as he lay in the passage, his arms shielding his head. Dust and smoke hung heavy in the air, and Legolas began coughing lest he choke. The world spun, and the earth trembled.

Suddenly, a new noise split through the fog in Legolas’ head. Shrill cries and shrieking voices pierced the cave. The Elf knew that sound only too well from his hated trek through Moria.
Goblins.

Struggling to his feet, Legolas turned and looked back into the cave. Goblins were scrambling through the newly blown entrance like ants from a disturbed ant-hill. Their voices echoed off the walls until the sound was almost deafening. All of them were armed, and their small bodies and bowed legs were protected by random pieces of armor. They filled the cave, screaming, looking about themselves, completely frenzied. One caught sight of the Elf and gave a loud cry, pointing his sword in his direction. At least 20 pairs of Goblin eyes turned and fixed on him. Legolas’ hands went to his back, but the familiar feel of knife handles was not there.

That was when they charged.

Still disoriented, Legolas stumbled back up the passage. He scooped up a stone, turned and ran a few paces backwards. Then he faced his pursuers. The Goblin horde was gaining fast, even with the uneven terrain. The one who had sounded the alarm was in the front of the line, presumably the leader. He gnashed his teeth as he half ran half climbed his way to the Elf. Legolas took aim at the leader, his eyes locking onto his target. He steadied his arm, and then threw the stone with as much force as he could muster. But even as he released the rock, his vision blurred miserably. The rock struck true, but it was a mere glancing blow.

The Goblin yowled in pain, grabbing his head and shaking it miserably back and forth. The horde stopped short, snarling in surprise and rage.

Legolas took the opportunity to retreat a few paces back, collecting what ammunition he could from the ground. If he was to be killed, it would not be said that he ran from this confrontation.

My Apologies...

Forgive me for the delay. Our beloved computer has passed on into that great mother board in the sky. So we now have a new one, but it has taken me a while to find all of my files. More story should be underway...

Part the Second...a Second Time...

I have a wonderful new template...but it has messed up my settings. I re-posting this so that it will hopefully straighten out.

“Master Gimli.”

Gimli’s glance shifted from the carven walls and settled on the approaching form of Derin behind him. He had not seen the craft-master since the evening of the Feast, for all of the inhabitants kept themselves very busy. The cave echoed with the sounds of picks, hammers, and other assorted tools, not to mention the many voices of the Dwarves that wielded them.

“Ah, Master Derin,” Gimli called. He waved over the other figure. “Come to have a look at the progress?”

“Partially,” replied Derin. His stroked his short chestnut beard as he spoke. His youthful eyes scanned the work in progress. “But I also wished to speak with you.”

“Oh?” Gimli faced the smaller Dwarf. Derin was rather young to have such close standing with Gimli, but the Dwarf had proved himself with hammer and anvil. He had a way with the crafting of metal. His works were bold and sturdy, and his reputation was just as solid.

“Has he been poisoned?” Derin asked bluntly.

“Who? The Elf?” Gimli replied. This was an odd and unexpected topic.

“Yes,” Derin replied frowning. It seemed to Gimli that the young creature was both embarrassed and annoyed at his own question. Derin’s eyes darted away from Gimli’s and settled on the cracks in the floor, and then on the workers nearby.

“Well,” began Gimli, “No. Not really. It isn’t anything deadly; at least, I don’t think so. I suppose you could say he’s been poisoned by the sea. It’s rather confusing to me, lad.”

“Elves are a queer lot,” Derin said, his eyes meeting Gimli’s once more.

“But then, aren’t we all in some way,” Gimli replied. Derin’s bristly brows furrowed deeply.

“What’s changed you, Master Gimli?” he asked. “My father told me before I left for here that he had known you once. He said that he had been good friends with your father, Gloin, and that he thought you were one of the more solid in our ways; at least, from your generation. What made you go off and join the Nine Walkers? Or, at the very least, what drove you to befriend an Elf?”

Gimli stood silently for a moment, his mind running from one memory to another like pages in a book being swiftly flipped through. What had exactly caused this shift in his thinking? He knew the answer to that, of course. The Dwarf lord smiled fondly as he answered.

“Surely you have heard of the Lady Galadriel?” Derin hissed.

“The Elf-witch of Lorien,” he spat. Gimli scowled deeply.

“Nay, she is no witch! But I once thought much as you did. When Aragorn, now Elessar, told me that we were to pass under the leaves of Lorien, I was deeply dissatisfied. I wanted to go nowhere near that place; have nothing to do with whatever secrets lurked within that wood. But it was in Lorien that I began to see things a little differently.”

“How so?” Derin asked.

“After a rather rude introduction into that forest, we were escorted before the Lord and Lady of the wood. It was then, as I stood before Galadriel, that something was awakened inside of me that I had never felt before----and I doubt I shall ever feel again. A witch you call her, but although she possessed strange power she did no evil to me. She spoke words of comfort to my heart, as I was deeply grieved over the loss of those in Moria. Her words were like a gentle, warm breeze on a chilly afternoon. And her beauty…ah…never again shall I call anything fair save the Lady Galadriel. I said it then and I’ll say it now: she is fairer than all the jewels beneath the earth!”

“But she is of the Elves,” Derin stated grimly. “Who is to say that she isn’t a witch—and simply put you under her spell?”

“If I am bewitched, I am glad of it!” Gimli cried. “I would rather be spellbound by that Lady than to be master of my own thoughts. But I am not mad or enchanted. After seeing her, my mind was changed towards the Elven race. Now, true, all Elves are not the same. Some are just as wicked as Orcs and as distorted too. But not all are evil; in fact, many are good people, if their pride will allow others to see it.” Here Gimli chuckled.

Derin studied his Lord for a long moment, seemingly debating something within his mind.

“I suppose I shall get to see for myself,” he said at length. “Your Elven friend isn’t going anywhere soon.”

Part the Second of the 7th Chapter...

Here is the remainder of the chapter...review if you read please! ;)

“Master Gimli.”

Gimli’s glance shifted from the carven walls and settled on the approaching form of Derin behind him. He had not seen the craft-master since the evening of the Feast, for all of the inhabitants kept themselves very busy. The cave echoed with the sounds of picks, hammers, and other assorted tools, not to mention the many voices of the Dwarves that wielded them.

“Ah, Master Derin,” Gimli called. He waved over the other figure. “Come to have a look at the progress?”

“Partially,” replied Derin. His stroked his short chestnut beard as he spoke. His youthful eyes scanned the work in progress. “But I also wished to speak with you.”

“Oh?” Gimli faced the smaller Dwarf. Derin was rather young to have such close standing with Gimli, but the Dwarf had proved himself with hammer and anvil. He had a way with the crafting of metal. His works were bold and sturdy, and his reputation was just as solid.

“Has he been poisoned?” Derin asked bluntly.

“Who? The Elf?” Gimli replied. This was an odd and unexpected topic.

“Yes,” Derin replied frowning. It seemed to Gimli that the young creature was both embarrassed and annoyed at his own question. Derin’s eyes darted away from Gimli’s and settled on the cracks in the floor, and then on the workers nearby.

“Well,” began Gimli, “No. Not really. It isn’t anything deadly; at least, I don’t think so. I suppose you could say he’s been poisoned by the sea. It’s rather confusing to me, lad.”

“Elves are a queer lot,” Derin said, his eyes meeting Gimli’s once more.

“But then, aren’t we all in some way,” Gimli replied. Derin’s bristly brows furrowed deeply.

“What’s changed you, Master Gimli?” he asked. “My father told me before I left for here that he had known you once. He said that he had been good friends with your father, Gloin, and that he thought you were one of the more solid in our ways; at least, from your generation. What made you go off and join the Nine Walkers? Or, at the very least, what drove you to befriend an Elf?”

Gimli stood silently for a moment, his mind running from one memory to another like pages in a book being swiftly flipped through. What had exactly caused this shift in his thinking? He knew the answer to that, of course. The Dwarf lord smiled fondly as he answered.

“Surely you have heard of the Lady Galadriel?” Derin hissed.

“The Elf-witch of Lorien,” he spat. Gimli scowled deeply.

“Nay, she is no witch! But I once thought much as you did. When Aragorn, now Elessar, told me that we were to pass under the leaves of Lorien, I was deeply dissatisfied. I wanted to go nowhere near that place; have nothing to do with whatever secrets lurked within that wood. But it was in Lorien that I began to see things a little differently.”

“How so?” Derin asked.

“After a rather rude introduction into that forest, we were escorted before the Lord and Lady of the wood. It was then, as I stood before Galadriel, that something was awakened inside of me that I had never felt before----and I doubt I shall ever feel again. A witch you call her, but although she possessed strange power she did no evil to me. She spoke words of comfort to my heart, as I was deeply grieved over the loss of those in Moria. Her words were like a gentle, warm breeze on a chilly afternoon. And her beauty…ah…never again shall I call anything fair save the Lady Galadriel. I said it then and I’ll say it now: she is fairer than all the jewels beneath the earth!”

“But she is of the Elves,” Derin stated grimly. “Who is to say that she isn’t a witch—and simply put you under her spell?”

“If I am bewitched, I am glad of it!” Gimli cried. “I would rather be spellbound by that Lady than to be master of my own thoughts. But I am not mad or enchanted. After seeing her, my mind was changed towards the Elven race. Now, true, all Elves are not the same. Some are just as wicked as Orcs and as distorted too. But not all are evil; in fact, many are good people, if their pride will allow others to see it.” Here Gimli chuckled. Derin studied his Lord for a long moment, seemingly debating something within his mind.

“I suppose I shall get to see for myself,” he said at length. “Your Elven friend isn’t going anywhere soon.”

Chapter 7, Part One

Ok, since it is taking me a while to get these chapters down, I shall give you the first bit. Tell me of any corrections you would make. Hannon le!

*************


Gimli stood just outside the ornate doorway that led into Legolas’ chamber, battling with himself. He grumbled and muttered, took one step forward, hesitated, and then took one step back. It had been days since he had last seen his friend, and he wondered if he should disturb the Elf or leave him be.

Several hours after the salt incident, the Dwarf (despite his words) had slipped away from the feast and down the many passages to Legolas’s room in order to confirm that the Elf had made it there. Having seen no sign of his friend out and about, Gimli had decided that it was his duty to peer into the chamber and verify the Elf’s presence within. So, with a quick dolen the Dwarf watched as the door slid open, revealing his companion sitting with knees drawn up to his chest, his head resting on them wearily but comfortably in sleep.

To Gimli, Legolas had looked so strange in that moment, as if in slumber all of the frets and years had fallen away from his countenance. The Dwarf had always seen his friend as fair, for so his people were, but now as he slept, Gimli realized just how young the Elf was. True, the princling was considered fully matured in mind and body as far as the ways of Elves went, but he still had not lived long compared to others of his race such as the Lady Galadriel, Lord Elrond, Lady Arwen, or even Haldir for that matter. For some reason, Gimli had never really thought of his Elven companion in that light before. Names such as ‘laddie’ he had simply tagged onto Legolas in friendly teasing, and although at least a millennium older than the Dwarf, the Elf was still considered by his own to be just leaving his ‘tweens’, as the Hobbits would call it. An interesting observation, Gimli had thought to himself. But youthfulness would only keep a fool from underestimating him. Or a Dwarf. Chuckling a little villainously to himself at some past encounter, Gimli had stealthily slipped back out and into the hallway. Soon he had returned to the feasting, satisfied that the Elf would be himself by the following morning.

But after nearly a week of patient waiting (which makes any Dwarf look the part of a suffering saint), Gimli had decided that it was time for the Elf to return to the world of the living once more. The Dwarf had generously offered the service of himself—and his fists—to Legolas if ever he had need of them. Now, Gimli surmised, was as good a time as any to see to that promise.

Why he stood in front of the Elf’s wooden door hesitating the day away he wasn’t sure, but Gimli was not one to back down—even from himself. The stubborn side within him stated that Legolas would get up when he wanted to, and it was not up to the Dwarf to decide when that was. Along with that, rather unpleasant news was Gimli’s to relay, and it might be best just to let the Elf sleep to his heart’s content. But the friend side nudged in the opposite direction: Legolas needed to find out sooner or later. He had been lost to slumber quite long enough.

This is my fault, Gimli admonished himself. This whole thing could have been avoided. But you had to go and get yourself mixed up with a Ring and a Council and a Quest and a blasted Elf…

He decided upon sooner.

Clearing his throat so as to will away any final apprehension, Gimli uttered the word dolen and the door opened as commanded. Then, without another pause The Dwarf strode into the room and--after taking a deep breath--was just about to give the Elf a wake-up call to remember when he noticed that his companion was already up.

Legolas sat on the edge of his pallet, his hair not quite as neat as when the Dwarf had last seen it, yawning quietly to himself. He looked up with eyes a bit unfocused, as is want to happen after a long slumber, and offered his Dwarven friend a contented smile. All the air that Gimli had gathered hissed out of his lungs in an exasperated sigh.

“Good morning, Gimli,” said Legolas, as if not a day had passed.

“Good morning, he says,” Gimli replied to no one in particular. “Good morning?!”

“Well, it is a ‘good’ morning, is it not?” Legolas replied. “I certainly feel it is. Or, will be.”

“More like ‘was’,” the Dwarf countered.

“Was?” Legolas inquired, giving his host an apprehensive glance. “Have I slept late?”

“Late, he says,” Gimli replied. “Late?!”

“Must we keep repeating one another?” Legolas remarked.

“I should say you’ve slept late,” Gimli stated. “Have a guess as to how long?”

“I haven’t the slightest,” Legolas replied, “I slept quite soundly, but I do remember getting up and moving to the pallet---”

“5 nights and 4 days,” announced the Dwarf.

“By the Valar,” Legolas hissed as if it pained him to hear it. Hastily he stood to his feet and moved past Gimli to a pack full of his belongings. A comb and a new set of clothes were produced from its folds and placed upon the Elf’s pallet, ready. After this, Legolas quickly made his way to the pool and began washing up, splashing the melted snow water on his face and neck.

“Legolas…” Gimli began.

“I have never slept this late in all my long years,” the Elf admonished himself.

“Laddie,” Gimli started to speak but was once again cut off.

“Ai…you shall have to forgive me, Gimli, but I must prepare to leave---”

“Laddie,” Gimli repeated, growing louder.

“I know…I am truly sorry,” Legolas continued, wringing some stray water out of his hair. “But it is imperative that I return to Ithilien before—”

“Legolas!” Gimli had to nearly shout to get the Elf’s attention. Legolas turned, his eyes locked on the Dwarf. A look of puzzlement settled on his features at the sudden outburst.

Gimli began shifting his weight from one foot to the other. This was it. He had news to deliver, and he wouldn’t leave this spot without sharing it. But the reaction that would follow…now that was a thing to be nervous about. Gimli cleared his throat, his eyes scanning the leafy floor as he began.

“It’s like this, lad. After Kori’s little prank, I came and made certain that you”—here Legolas frowned---“made it back alright. Go ahead! Call me Mother Hen. But if you had seen your face on me you would have done it too.”

“That is quite an unsettling thought,” Legolas replied.

“Oh, keep quiet,” Gimli growled. “Blasted Elf. At any rate, I thought it best to let you rest. So I did. Morning of the next day came and went, followed by the next and the next until I was beginning to wonder if you had decided to die in here.”

“Ah, the ever amusing Dwarf,” Legolas countered.

“So, I decided that when the next day came, I was going to see to it that you were roused. But when I awoke this morning, word got to me that we had received an…unexpected gift.”

Legolas’s features slowly melted from perplexed to the closest thing to horror that Gimli had ever seen cross the Elf’s face.

“It seems that during the night, the Valar decided to grace us with snow.”

Gimli braced himself for…he wasn’t sure what. An outburst, a protest, anything. But to his relief and confusion, Legolas simply sat in silence.

“I see,” he replied.

It was quiet for a long time, the silence thick on the air as it waited for voices to dismiss it.

“The Elves of Ithilien will be expecting my return, and in the absence of this, some word of why I tarry,” Legolas remarked, falling into his emotionless mask. He searched Gimli’s gaze with his own. “Is there...no way to at least send some sort of message?”

“I’m afraid not,” Gimli replied. “Once the doors close, they remain closed until—”

“The thaw,” Legolas finished. Gimli nodded.

“Best get used to caves, lad,” the Dwarf said with an apologetic air. He searched for something that might lighten the news of the Elf’s entrapment. “They’re not all bad, you know. In fact, I find caves to be quite beautiful, especially here in Aglarond. I shall have to show you some of the deeper corners of our settlement here. After excavation, we’ve found that some of our caves are simply glowing with jewels! It’s quite a sight. Oh--and you can’t forget our fine Dwarven cookery! That is a thing that no stomach should ever have the misfortune to go without! Let’s see…”

Gimli’s words trailed off as he saw the despondent expression that his friend was trying desperately to hide. Then Legolas stood, and beneath his masked face several emotions battled for mastery over his features: wrath, sadness, confusion…and fear.

“Thank you, Gimli,” Legolas said, his voice devoid of any one sentiment.

“Yes, well,” Gimli replied, a little defeatedly. He turned to leave but then seemed to remember something and stopped. “Luncheon is in a half-an-hour.”

“Do not expect me,” Legolas replied with a nod. Gimli paused and contemplated the virtues of scolding the Elf for his lack of appetite.

“Very well,” he said finally, slipping back out into the hall as the door shut behind him.

There's more coming...I promise!!! I'm having trouble keeping up with my writing lately, but it is coming! :D

Chapter 6

Ok, my dear proof reader friend has dropped out. The poor thing has way too much to do. So your help is needed. Please, share what you like, dislike, or think needs to be changed. Your comments are greatly appreciated. Thanks!



Chapter 6

Something was not right. Something was in fact, very wrong. Gimli watched in confusion as Legolas slammed into a rather heavy set Dwarf (sending the creature sprawling on his backside) without so much as a pause. The Elf didn’t even glance behind, but instead pushed and shoved his way wildly through the crowd like a hunted animal attempting to escape the jaws of its pursuer. Having learned much during the course of their friendship, there was one thing Gimli knew to be absolute truth: Legolas ran from no one.

Something was definitely wrong.

“Legolas!” Gimli called, but the Elf paid no heed. He barely dodged a chair that suddenly blocked his path and rushed out of the Hall. Confusion and concern mingled together in Gimli’s mind as his friend disappeared from view.

It was then he noticed Kori.

The flustered looking Dwarf seemed to be following the path of mayhem that Legolas had left behind. Then he too slipped into the passageway beyond. Gimli growled fiercely and stormed towards the Hall doors. Behind he heard Barn yelling for his lord to enforce justice upon his sluggard kitchen hands. But at that particular moment in time, the Lord of Aglarond was not interested in drunken servers.

Fueled by worry and frustration, Gimli rounded the last table and barged through the large wooden doors of the Hall. Quickly he glanced down the passageway to his right, but seeing nothing looked to the left.

Just in time to see his Elven friend fall heavily to the ground.

“LEGOLAS!” Gimli ran forward as fast as his rather limited stride could carry him. He knocked Kori aside in his worried haste, sending the black bearded Dwarf reeling. Gimli knelt as best as he could beside the insensible Elf. Legolas lay sprawled on his stomach, his blue eyes hidden behind closed lids. That fact in and of itself caused Gimli concern. Only once before had he ever witnessed an Elf with its eyes shut.

That Elf had been dead.

As gently as he knew how, Gimli swatted Legolas’s face several times, all the while calling his name. The Dwarf hoped for some small response, anything that would bring his friend out of this strange stupor. His efforts went without reward.

“Oh, great Aulё,” Gimli whispered, his emotions teetering between extreme annoyance and panic. He leaned back and looked over the Elf. There was no wound, no bruise, nothing that would physically cause such a state of complete oblivion. Legolas had made it very clear on several occasions that Elves did not succumb to the illnesses that Men were prone to surrender to. But he had also said that the Firstborn could become subject to poisoning…

A thought crept suddenly upon him, and as it took hold, Gimli turned blazing eyes upon the form of Kori, who stood to the side of the hallway observing the scene.

“YOU,” Gimli rose to his feet and stalked menacingly towards his overseer. His eyebrows were furrowed so low that you could hardly see his dark orbs. “YOU did this. Somehow, someway, it was you.”

“There you go pointing fingers at your own people,” Kori growled. “I did no such thing. I hardly laid a finger on him, and when I did, it was to keep him from falling over himself like a blundering idiot. I have never seen a creature so drunk in my entire life!”

“Drunk?!” Gimli bellowed. “Drunk?!" The Dwarf lord could not believe his ears. "Let me bestow on you a little information about our guest, Master Kori. You are the first and last to ever hear of this, but that Elf bested me in a contest of consumption. ME! Not only that, but even after downing 12 pints of ale in one sitting he still did not show a single sign of intoxication. I, on the other hand, was out cold for the rest of the evening. Now, you’re going to stand there and tell me that he got drunk in little less than five minutes time?!”

“I can’t explain it any other way,” Kori replied, ever the picture of indifference. “He leapt up from the table just after a toast and started blabbering on about how he ‘had to go’ and knocked his chair over and started running like there were goblins after him. What else am I to think? He had an awfully strange look about him, I thought. I know nothing of Elven ways, but he acted as if he’d had too much than was good for him.”

“That’s not it,” Gimli growled. “I know for a fact that’s not it.” He paused for a moment, his gaze boring into Kori’s unrelenting eyes. Finally, he hissed, “What did you put in his drink?”

Kori tensed subtly for a fraction of a second, but the action came and went so suddenly that one had to be looking for it to see it. “Nothing harmful, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“What did you put in it?!” Gimli pressed, his ire rising.

“Well, Master Gimli, I meant no true harm in the joke,” began Kori a little sheepishly, “but I thought his beer might…well…need a bit of flavoring. It was only in fun, Gimli-”

“OUT WITH IT!”

"Salt! It was salt. It was obvious to me that he was trying to stay within protocol. Princes usually do, and Elf princes even more than most, or so they say. So I thought it might be amusing to watch him down a mug of salted beer in an attempt to keep from offending anyone by not finishing the whole thing. I slipped a rather large bit in his mug before it was filled. The mineral is harmless, master. Everyone knows that.”

“It was not beer, you imbecile,” Gimli almost moaned. All was revealing itself and he finally understood what the trouble was. Or at least he guessed what it was.

“It was water,” came a voice. Gimli whirled and lost some of the stern edge to his glare. Legolas had come-to. Slowly, the Elf pulled himself into a kneeling position. He put a firm hand to his chest as if it pained him. Gimli opened his mouth to speak and was about to step forward when he was interrupted.

“This was meant in jest, Master Kori?”

“Indeed it was, Master Legolas,” replied the Dwarf in question. “I would never have even given it a thought if I had known about the--reaction it has caused. What was all of that? That is, if you don’t mind my inquiring about it.”

The Elf slowly slid down into a sitting position. His jaw muscles were tight and bulging as he contemplated his response. Or was it caused by pain from some unknown hurt?

“It is…” Legolas began, his face stern and grim, “a sort of malady among my kindred. The sea is a wonderful and terrible power to the Elves. To see, hear, or taste of it is as the tormenting of a lover long separated from the embrace of his love. It is too great a longing…and it can be harmful.”

“I ask your sincerest pardon,” Kori replied remorsefully enough, “and I pray you will forgive me. Dwarves, as you know, are not very learned in the ways of your people.” He bowed deeply and his beard drug across the floor for a moment as he righted himself.

Legolas was long silent, locking his piercing gaze with Kori’s dark one. His hard face told nothing of what he had decided was held within the other one’s stare. But after a moment he suddenly replied, “It is well, Master Kori.”

“My thanks,” Kori replied, bowing low once more. Gimli humphed and shook his head at the stooped form of the overseer, but his attention soon turned to his friend.

“You don’t look well at all, laddie,” Gimli sighed, stepping forward to help the Elf to his feet. He held out a hardened hand and was angered at how heavily his friend leaned upon him for support. The moment he stood, weariness began overtaking Legolas rather dramatically; his face drained of what little color he had regained and he swayed a little. But even as his strength dwindled his hard expression did not falter.

“All is well, Gimli,” Legolas replied. Gimli snorted. “I wish to return to my chamber, if I am allowed to take my leave.”

“By all means,” said Kori. “You look very unwell, Master Legolas. If you like, I can see that things are looked after while you escort the Elf back to his rooms, my lord.”

“No escort is needed,” Legolas replied firmly, despite the slight tremble in his voice. “I am no child that requires looking after.”

“It is not that,” Kori began, but Gimli put up a hand.

“As you wish, Legolas,” he replied with a warning look. “But don’t be angry with me if I come and see to it that you’ve made it to your room.”

“No, Gimli,” Legolas stated. “Your concern is appreciated, but unfounded. I assure you, all will be well by the morning. Rest is what I seek, and rest I will not get if you are continually peeping in your head at me like a mother hen. Let me be.”

Gimli looked up at his friend. The princeling Elf, despite his presently weakened state, stood firmly; the subtle power within him was still evident, even in his current circumstances. Ever the picture of decorum, Gimli thought to himself. Blasted, stubborn, prideful, son of a—

“So be it, then,” Gimli muttered aloud. Then, beneath his breath he added, “I hope you trip.”

“Would you like the honors of seeing to it yourself, or would you like Kori here to stick his foot out for you?” Legolas asked, obviously amused in spite of his efforts to conceal it.

He caught that, of course, Gimli mentally growled. Blasted Elf.

“Your eyes swear more than your lips,” Legolas said, as if in answer to the Dwarf lord’s thoughts. He offered a sort of half-grin and nodded graciously. “A good night to both of you. If I may take my leave…”

*******************
As soon as the door had shut securely behind him, Legolas slid along its length to the floor. Never had he felt, in all his long years, this utterly exhausted. Not after the Battle of Five armies, not even after the final battle that freed Middle-earth from Sauron's hold. He wondered, half amused, if he could drag himself the six feet it took to get to his bed. Even then, he wasn’t sure he’d have the will to pull himself into the pallet once he made it there. Legolas let out a long, defeated sigh.

Absently, he scooped a handful of leaves from the floor of the chamber and let them sift through his fingers. The foliage fell from his digits and floated softly to the ground once more. Presently, only one, small, green leaf remained. Gently, he took it between two fingers and examined it. The tender greenery smelled still of the tree from which it had fallen, a sweet, wooden odor that lingered in the nose. The scent was welcoming and calming to the wounded soul of the Elf, and the Sea’s eager grip on his heart lessened. It took his thoughts far from the roar of the waves and back under the boughs of the forest once more.

His mind’s eye slipped beneath the canopy of greens and browns, and it seemed to him that he could once more hear the voice of the woods. The trees greeted him as he passed, asked him questions, whispered warnings, and sang softly in the tongue only the Eldar and the Ents could distinguish. A stag called to his dame and together they fled along unseen paths into deeper thickets. A songbird flew above, its music mingling with that of the trees in a wondrous melody that stirred the heart of any being, mortal or immortal. The sun’s warming light found its way through the maze of leaves and branches and delighted itself to kiss the Elf’s cold cheek. It was here, in this realm of beauty, where his heart had belonged.

Legolas Greenleaf long under tree: In joy thou hast lived. Beware of the Sea! If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore, thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more…

The Lady’s words whispered in his mind as he slowly faded from the conscious world and into the Elven realm of sleep. Although his mind’s eyes wandered still beneath the rustling boughs of the woods, the sun’s soothing embrace was abruptly sundered by a sudden shadow looming behind him. He tried to turn, but could not. Instead he felt a spray and swallowing up all other sounds was another. A roaring…

Chapter 5

More story............



“So, where exactly are you—AI!”

“Ooh! …Sorry laddie. Forgot about that step, there.”

“Apparently.”

After several hours of talk (and a helping of bread and cheese) both the Elf and Dwarf had decided to retire in order to catch any small amount of sleep they could before dawn. For a reason only known by him, Gimli had insisted that his friend be blindfolded. Legolas had instantly refused the request, but after a bit of coaxing he relented. Now, as he stumbled along unseeing, he was beginning to regret that decision.

“There are three steps in front of you,” Legolas heard Gimli say. “They’re not too big. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Easy for one who has eyes in order to seethem,” the Elf countered, the irritation evident in his voice. “There is a good reason for all this I’m certain.”

“You’d be correct in that assumption,” Gimli said. Then, with a harrumph he continued. “Oh, and complaining isn’t going to get you anywhere. Moving might be a start.”

“I would be happy to,” Legolas retorted, “if my guide would be so kind as to warn me before an obstacle appears.”

“Agh, for goodness sake, shut your mouth and move your feet!”

“As you wish,” Legolas replied, sharply. Thus far, he had nearly run into a wall, tripped over two ‘somethings’, and rammed his foot hard against a stone step. Gimli was many things, but he was definitely lacking when it came to navigating the blind.

Tentatively, Legolas lifted his foot and slowly let it down again, testing the step first before ascending. He could hear the Dwarf growling impatiently behind him as he repeated this movement twice more for the remaining steps, but the Elf ignored the noise. It was his dignity, after all, that was being risked---not Gimli’s.

“The going is straight forward the rest of the way,” Gimli said as he came up the steps.
The smell in this new passage was different than the others Legolas had gone down. The Elf breathed deeply. The mildewed, almost metallic odor of the stone walls was still present, along with the oily, ashy smell of torches that looked like glowing orange smudges beneath the woven fabric of his blindfold. Another scent, one of hewn wood, took prominence in his mind. Suddenly he felt Gimli’s thick hand at his back, pushing him forward.

“It’s not far,” said the Dwarf. The pair walked forward for what Legolas counted to be fifteen paces. The orange hazes went by one by one, until there were none. As the Elf passed out of their light, the smell of wood grew stronger. The flat hand at his back quickly grabbed at the fabric of his tunic.

“Stop! Far enough.” Legolas immediately halted. The hand released his clothing and several heavy steps echoed in the Elf’s ears as Gimli moved in front of him. “Now...take off your blindfold.”

Legolas’ slender fingers made quick work of the knot of fabric hindering his sight. He cast the blindfold upon the stone floor, and his blue eyes locked onto the object he had been forbidden to see. A large wooden door stood before him, adorned in designs of silver that laced and traced all across it. Legolas instantly recognized the foremost symbol: a leaf. It was veined in silver, and green crystals of some kind finished the crafted bit of foliage. Above it and near the top of the door was his name, once more in silver, but written with Elven runes. Many other delicate pieces were etched along the wooden frame. Legolas could feel his friend’s eyes watching his every motion expectantly. It was indeed, a beautiful door.

“Gimli, did you—”

“Hold that thought,” Gimli interrupted, holding up a hand. Then he paused, looking at the door, and then back at the Elf. “Seems as if there’s…something missing.”

Legolas took the hint and turned his gaze towards the door once more. He glanced up and down it, silently taking in every detail. Then he stated:

“There’s no handle. No knob.”

“You would be correct,” Gimli replied, the anticipation obvious in his voice. “So how do you suppose one is to enter?”

Legolas looked down at the Dwarf, attempting to understand where his friend was leading the conversation. In his mind, the Elf tried to decide whether this truly was a legitimate door, or if this was the beginning of an elaborate hoax. But trust won the day.

Slowly, he reached out a hand and placed it against the leaf shape, gradually applying pressure. There was no sound, shift, or jolt. Nothing. He took a step back and gazed the length of the door once more, searching for some means of entrance. Finally, he raised his hands in submission.

“I know not. How does one enter?”

Gimli grinned once more, and then began stroking his beard in mock thoughtfulness. “Legolas,” he began, taking his time, “I was wondering…what is the Elvish word for secret?”

Legolas’s brows furrowed. This was a puzzling turn of conversation. He couldn’t think of the last time Gimli had actually requested to hear some of the fair tongue. More often than not, the Dwarf growled for him to ‘speak plainly’. What little Elvish Gimli knew he had heard in Rivendell, Lothlόrien, or from Legolas himself. Now the Dwarf was suddenly ‘wondering’ about the language of the Eldar. Legolas was curious, but he would not let his friend see that. Instead, he cast a hard glance at the stunted being before him warningly.

“What is this Gimli?” he asked, his voice matching his gaze.

“I simply would like to hear your word for secret. Is that a crime?” The innocence in Gimli’s voice and demeanor was not lost to the Elf, and unknowingly his eyes began to allow his curiosity to seep through. For a long moment the two stood silently. Legolas attempted to gage Gimli for motives, either foul or friendly, but found nothing but expectancy in the Dwarf’s dark orbs. With one last confused glance, Legolas replied.

“Dolen.”

There was a dull clank, and a long split appeared suddenly down the center of the wood. A bluish light poured in between the one door now turned into two. Legolas was surprised, but his face never showed any hint of it. Save, perhaps, his eyes that had suddenly lit up with intense curiosity.

“Well?” nudged Gimli. “Are you going to just stand there gawking or do you want to see what there is to see?”

Legolas ignored the comment and reached out, sliding four slender fingers into the newly opened space. Slowly, he pulled the door open and slipped inside.

The room was illumined in a gentle blue glow that seemed to come from some unknown part of the ceiling. But it lent in an inviting aura to the chamber that reminded the Elf of starlight. The floor was carpeted with leaves; so many that the stone beneath could not be seen. In the far left corner, a natural spring trickled gurgling water down the stone wall and into a pool of clear water. It steamed as the chilled snowmelt brook met with the warmth of the sandy bottom. To the right was a cot, laden with throws of greens, blues, and silvers. A wooden chest sat at its foot, ready to receive his belongings and clothing. Ivy shoots were just beginning to grow along the left wall, and pegs in the shape of branches sprouted next to the door: a place to hang the treasured Bow of the Galadhrim.

Legolas stood still, his eyes casting this way and that in silent awe. A sense of relief washed over him, followed soon by gratefulness. Gimli had known (for Legolas had made it clear on several occasions) that the Elf had no love of deep caves or enclosed spaces above or beneath the earth, and so he had gone to great lengths to ensure his Elven friend’s happiness. Legolas turned and found Gimli standing beside him. The grin on the Dwarf’s face could have bested a Hobbit’s smile upon discovering a hidden horde of mushrooms.

“Like it?” he asked, the eager tone readily apparent in his voice.

Legolas grinned slightly, both at his friend’s anticipation, and at the thoughtfulness behind the surprise. Then, with a true smile that reached all the way to his eyes, he replied.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do.”

*********************

After showing Legolas the ins and outs of his private chamber, Gimli had left him be and the two had engaged in as much sleep as they could in the few hours before dawn. But as the sun rose in the sky, so did the Dwarves of Aglarond, and soon the whole place bustled with activity, for this was to be a day of great festivities.

The First Year celebration was a tradition begun by Gimli and was anticipated greatly by all the inhabitants of Aglarond. It was a day of revelry and jubilation, and the Dwarven community delighted in the opportunity to feast free of duties---and to partake in the copious amounts of beer that was readily served. This day commemorated the first year of toil and hard work that had resulted in the thriving settlement of Aglarond and was a date all the Dwarven folk marked with great expectancy.

Gimli, being the Master of Aglarond, had the job of seeing to all the preparations for the feast, and so after a quick breakfast with Legolas, saw little of his Elven companion for much of the day. Legolas took this opportunity to explore the depths of the Glittering Caves in solitude.
At sundown, all gathered in the great Dining Hall for the monstrous feast to be had there. Legolas slipped in quietly just as Gimli was finishing a speech. He had learned much from the experience of the previous night, and so in the interest of avoiding further animosity, he decided to stand silently by the door until invited to do otherwise.

“But enough of me,” bellowed Gimli from the far side of the room. He stood upon a large table in front of a great fire that lit the room in shades of red and orange. “There’s drink to be had!” He clapped his hands and laughed uproariously. “Well, lads, what are you waiting for? BEGIN!”
There was a great chorus of cheers and hearty laughter, followed by the almost overwhelming sounds of clattering plates, clacking tankards, and Dwarven voices all talking at once. The room smelled strongly of smoke from dozens of pipes, and serving platters were brought forth filled to overflowing with meats and breads and cheeses. Huge barrels of beer lined one wall, and lines had already started in front of each. Legolas stood watching, observing, and waiting for Gimli to call him over. Several of the Dwarves had noticed his presence by this time, but had chosen to ignore it. Others cast suspicious looks and hateful glares his way. But the Elf leveled his gaze on the dancing flames on the far side of the room and said nothing. Presently, his patience was rewarded.

“Legolas!” called Gimli from the main table. The Dwarf had climbed down from his position atop the round wooden board and now sat with four rather important looking Dwarves. He took a leg of some sort from the large platter before him and raised his hand. “Come and finally taste the hearty cuisine of the Dwarves!”

Legolas made his way past two tables, slipped between several chairs, and stepped over and around an endless sea of bones that already littered the floor. Such are the eating habits of feasting Dwarves, he thought to himself as he dodged a piece of meat that had been thrown from a nearby table. How appetizing.

“Have a seat, laddie!” Gimli motioned towards a chair on his left. Legolas quickly ducked a flying roll, and after shooting an annoyed glare in the direction of its previous owner, sat. The other occupants of the table sat in glowering silence, their eyes glued to their food and drink. Gimli looked at the sour faces around the table and cleared his throat loudly. Four pairs of dark eyes glanced up simultaneously. They stared at their lord with expressions of annoyed indifference. Gimli’s brows lowered warningly.

“I don’t believe you’ve properly introduced yourselves,” he said, the underlying hint evident in his tone. A black bearded Dwarf sitting across from Legolas pushed back his chair from the table and bowed low.

“Overseer Kori, at your service,” he announced. His dark eyes locked with Gimli’s for a moment as he straightened.

“I have no need of your service,” Legolas replied genuinely, “but the pleasure is mine all the same.” Gimli kicked the Elf sharply under the table. Legolas jumped slightly and glared questioningly at his Dwarven comrade.

“The reply would be a simple ‘thank you’ laddie,” he whispered, loud enough for the others to hear. Understanding crept into the Elf’s mind and he turned his attention back on the still standing Dwarf. The others snickered or pretended to choke as they chuckled behind their hands. Indignation and the tiniest hint of embarrassment washed over Legolas’s otherwise expressionless mask, but centuries of experience aided him in keeping it down.

“My apologies, good Kori,” he replied. “I meant no offense. I am not learned in the customs of your people. Thank you for your courtesy, and forgive me for my lack thereof.” Kori bowed once more.

“You’re quite forgiven, Master Legolas,” replied the Dwarf, taking his seat. “No harm done.” The other three Dwarves stood and bowed in turn.

“Bombel, at your service.”

“Derin, at your service.”

“Orni, at your service.”

“Thank you, Master Bombel, Master Derin, and Master Orni,” Legolas replied with a slight smile.

“Have a drumstick,” Gimli offered, pointing a greasy finger in the direction of the platter. Legolas hesitated. There was a pewter plate and a mug set before him, but there were no utensils to be had. He also noticed with dismay that there was nothing resembling a napkin on his or any other table around him. Face first eating. Delightful.

Forcing these negative thoughts aside, Legolas reached out and chose a particularly small drumstick from the massive pile. He set the morsel on his plate and looked down at it, unsure as to the best way to eat it without completely soiling his hands and face. To the mind of his Dwarven companion who sat eying the Elf with scrutiny, Legolas was the perfect image of a dog whose master had just thrown him an eaten corncob instead of the cat that he had wanted.
Not wanting to embarrass himself or Gimli further, Legolas swallowed the pride that was welling inside him and picked up the drumstick. Without hesitation of any kind he took a good-sized bite of the meat. He chewed it once, twice, three times and then swallowed. The Elf could feel the curiosity that Gimli was attempting to hide.

“Well lad?” Gimli asked. “What do you think?”

“It is…” Legolas drew out the word and added to his friend’s anticipation.

“Yes?” Gimli replied hastily. “What? Too salty? In need of a little more garlic?”

“Excellent.”

Gimli laughed aloud. “Haha! I knew you’d see my way once you had actually tried it.”

“Master Gimli!” called a rather irritated voice from behind. Legolas turned and saw a particularly round Dwarf waddling up to the table. He wore a rather soiled apron, his beard was grey, and he was balding rather drastically on the crown of his head. His huffing and puffing, not to mention the red complexion of his cheeks, told all who saw him that he was a most displeased Dwarf.

“Master Gimli! A word with you if you please!”

“What is it, Master Barn?” Gimli inquired a little less than enthusiastically.

“It’s my kitchen staff sir,” Barn replied. “They all gone and gotten themselves drunk, and now
they refuse to work! There’s already been calls for seconds, and I’ve got no hands to help me!”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Gimli said. He cast an apologetic look to those around the table and rose. “If you’ll excuse me, masters.”

“Of course,” replied the one called Derin. Gimli heaved a sigh and stalked after the ruffled Barn, grumbling something incoherent as he left.

“Master Legolas,” Kori said suddenly. Legolas looked up, eyes measuring.

“Yes, Master Kori?” the Elf replied.

“It is truly an honor to have you as our guest.”

Orni spluttered and coughed abruptly. Legolas was taken back by this change of opinion. If his memory served him, he thought he had remembered seeing Kori among the riotous bunch of the night before. The Elf made a mental note to be wary but ready to go on the defensive should something unsavory result from whatever this Dwarf was getting at.

“Thank you,” Legolas replied with as much sincerity as he could muster. “It is an honor to be here.”

“I must beg your forgiveness for what happened last night,” Kori went on, equally sincere. “It was late, and having been friends with Master Gimli for as long as you have, you must know what a terrible mistake it is to wake a Dwarf in the dead of night,” he finished with a chuckle.

“Yes,” Legolas replied, outwardly amused. “I had observed as much.”

“Let us make amends, shall we?” Kori said. “I propose a toast!” The Dwarf pushed back his chair and stood to his feet once more. The other three wore the same bewildered expression, and it was very obvious that they thought their companion had gone quite mad. But not wishing to provoke the wrath of the overseer or their lord, they stood and held their mugs aloft. Kori scooped his tankard up with a flourish and held it high. Legolas, unsure whether or not this was all some sort of grand jest at his expense, tentatively stood to his feet as well. He lifted his mug and glanced at the contents out of the corner of his eye. Water. No beer this time, Legolas thought to himself. Odd. But within he wondered hopefully if Gimli was finally at an end of his constant nagging over why the Elf should have stronger drink.

“To Aglarond, its glorious Halls, and to our honored guest!” Kori proclaimed. “May his stay with us be long remembered!” Then the four Dwarves lifted their drinks to their lips and without pause, downed the entirety of the brew.

An interesting toast, Legolas thought as he too brought his mug up for a drink. He tilted his head back and took a large, deep drink…

The tankard fell from his hands, splashing its contents across the table.

Not water.

Salt.

Salt water.

Legolas blanched miserably as the brackish taste filled his mouth. It shocked his senses and instantly he could not only taste it, but also smell it, hear it, feel it. The call. Her call.

The call of the Sea.

No. He could not let it happen here. Not now. Her song had already begun to play in his heart, plucking at his longing like a stringed instrument. His vision grew cloudy—misty—and the noise of the room was drowned out and replaced by the sound of waves lapping at a distant shoreline. A sudden, cold sweat took hold of him, but to the dimming mind of the Elf it felt more like a gentle salt spray than perspiration. From some far corner of his mind Legolas could hear Kori asking him if he was well, and this awoke within him a sudden, desperate urge to flee. He could not let them see what she could do to him…they could not see…he could not let them…
FLY! The small voice of awareness screamed in his mind. He found himself staggering away from the table, felt himself back awkwardly into his chair, knocking it to the ground.

“Master Legolas!” Kori cried. “What is it? Are you unwell?”

“I..forgive me…I must go…”

“Go?” Kori came forward and grabbed his arm in a gesture of concern. “What is the matter, Elf? Do you need aid?”

Desperation threatened to overwhelm Legolas as his mind continued to be drawn into the droning of the sea. He would not allow himself to appear weakened or helpless in front of these Dwarves---in front of anyone. His bleary eyes locked with Kori’s for just a moment, and it was in that second that he realized what had happened. For beneath Kori’s attempt at genuine concerned eyes, a gleeful malice lurked that laughed at the Elf’s faltering pretense of infallibility. Somehow, someway the Dwarf must have known about Elven sea longing. Perhaps Gimli had explained it, but somehow he had learned. Kori truly had been angry when Legolas had first arrived, the act of friendship he had just displayed was a farce, and now the Dwarf was detaining him to exploit in front of all of Aglarond the most vulnerable place in Legolas’ heart.
He would not let it happen.

“Release me!” he growled as he jerked his arm free. Kori feigned hurt and attempted to come forward, once more hindering the Elf from escape. Legolas turned and stumbled as fast as he could, shoving past tables, chairs, and Dwarven bodies. He knocked into some and tripped up over others in his flight, but he had to get to his chamber, had to be free from prying eyes. They could not see!

Legolas heard his name being shouted behind him and knew the voice to be Gimli’s. But time was slipping away and he was nearing the end of the Hall. Frantically he flung back the large wooden doors and reeled into the passageway beyond. The call fairly roared in his heart by now, to the point where it caused literal pain. He staggered to a stop in the middle of the shadowed hallway. It was becoming hard to breathe: he couldn’t breathe. He was drowning…being pulled into her dark, comforting caress. He heard heavy footsteps behind him and turned just in time to see Kori round the corner and stalk in his direction. He pointed a trembling finger in the wicked Dwarf’s direction and gasped out one word.

“YOU,” he said, storm clouds racing across his visage.

Then all fell into darkness.

Chapter 4

I believe some of you have already read this, but here it is anyhoo! :D



POUND, POUND, POUND.

Gimli lurched out of the realm of slumber and tumbled dazedly into a sitting position. He babbled and snarled incoherently, casting about for whatever had woken him. Still half asleep, he leapt out of bed, stalking around his room for signs of the one who had intruded on his dreams.

“WHO’S THERE?” he snarled, whipping his head back and forth, small dark eyes scouring every corner where the light from the hearth did not reach. “There’s no use hiding! After all, I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of a-”

POUND, POUND, POUND.

The Master of Aglarond nearly leapt out of his skin. He whirled around, glaring towards the direction of the closed door that separated his chambers from the wide hallway beyond. Whoever had the nerve, the effrontery, the sheer audacity to wake him this late at night, (or this early in the morning, for that matter) had just incurred the thunderous wrath of Gimli.
Gimli stormed towards the doorway, growling and swearing. He would throttle the one who had done this, and he would enjoy it! But just as he was about to fling the door wide, he stopped. There was another sound that in his rage he had not caught before. There was not just one intruder, but many. Muffled voices all joined in conversation or calling out for him to ‘open up’ could be heard. Some were angry, others sounded annoyed, and still others seemed to be confused. Gimli’s own wrath was put aside for the moment as he listened.

“What in the name of Aulё?” Frowning, he opened the door.

“Let’s throw him out, I say!”

“Lock him up until he talks.”

“What would one of him want here anyway?”

“Finally! Master Gimli!”

A small crowd of Dwarves hovered in the hallway: arguing, questioning, puzzling. But at the appearance of their lord all voices fell silent. Some held weapons of various kinds and others had flung mail over their night clothes. In the midst of them stood a Dwarf sentry in full armor and beside him looking very comical surrounded by a sea of bearded busybodies, was an Elf.

“Oh” muttered Gimli, a bit under his breath. Blast that Elf, he thought, he’s gone and made things impossible already.

“Master Gimli,” said the sentry, taking a step forward and forcing his prisoner to do the same, “this one rode up not ten minutes ago and demanded to see you. Said he was expected.” The Dwarf drew out the word sarcastically. Several of the others growled. “I made it very clear that no one was to be allowed in after nightfall and that NO ONE in his right mind would choose wake you at this hour.” Gimli snorted. “But he insisted. What are my orders?”

All eyes turned to Gimli in anticipation of the answer. This was not exactly the reunion the Dwarf had had in mind. He fumbled for an answer.

“Well, um…you see lads, I…” Gimli’s eyes locked onto one Dwarf in particular that stood a little away from the throng. Kori was leaning on his war-hammer wearing a devilish smirk on his face. He was enjoying this all too much. Straightening a little, Gimli continued. “There’s been a…well, I suppose I should…”

“Out with it!” called Kori.

“ALRIGHT,” said Gimli, giving Kori a withering glare. The red-bearded Dwarf took a deep breath and suddenly caught the eyes of the Elf.

Gimli almost glared at him as well.

There was an apologetic gleam in those blue orbs, but there was also a look of amusement on his friend’s face that seemed a might too contradictory for him to be truly remorseful.

“I have an…announcement…to make.”

All were silent.

“The Elf’s name is Greenleaf, and,”--Here it comes, Gimli said mentally--“I’ve asked him to stay and visit Aglarond.”

There was momentary stunned silence. Several jaws dropped. Then…

The hallway exploded in an uproar. Some yelled. Some cursed. Some simply nodded as if they had known it all along. One of these was Kori. Dwarves that had not been part of the original crowd (but had been rudely awakened by the angry roar of their fellows) stormed out of their chambers and added to the turmoil. The Elf stood in the midst of the mass of fuming creatures, unmoving. Gimli could take it no longer.

“QUIET!”

The shouts died down, and every Dwarf turned their smoldering eyes to Gimli.

“Now listen, ALL of you. I’ll not be having any of-”

“Gimli, may I speak a word on my own behalf?” the Elf asked. He had one eyebrow raised and his head cocked to the side. Not with that look you can’t, Gimli thought. It spells trouble every time.

“Legolas, I’m not sure if-”

“Legolas?!” exclaimed an older, grey bearded Dwarf that leaned heavily on the handle of his axe.
“Legolas?! Thranduil’s whelp from Mirkwood?”

Mentally, Gimli slapped himself. Hard.

Aloud, Gimli ground out: “Perhaps.”

The room went wild once more, and not just with shouting. Weapons were raised and brandished in the Elf’s direction. One Dwarf stalked towards Legolas with two throwing axes waving in the air.

“So this is the legendary Son of an Orc whose father locked my cousins away without cause!” he shouted. “The one whose father joined forces with those who wished to strip them of what was theirs!”

“STAND DOWN, MASTER FORIN. Fili and Kili would have died in battle whether the Elves came or not!” Gimli countered. “STAND DOWN, I SAID!”

There was a fire lit behind Forin’s eyes, and it seemed to take him a great deal of strength to keep himself from sending his twin blades whirling. But gradually he lowered his weapons and simply glowered hatred at the Elf. Gimli looked to Legolas and was surprised to see the deceptively calm restraint etched on his friend’s features, even with all the negative remarks being tossed about regarding his father and heritage. The Elf was not happy; far from it. The amused look in his eye had quickly turned smoldering. The muscles on his jaw bulged and he stared forward, making eye contact with no one. But compared to some of the scathing comments Gimli had received when he had first ‘mentioned’ Thranduil to Legolas, the Elf was doing exceptionally well at holding his tongue.

The room was beginning to get rowdy once more. An irate, half-asleep Dwarven mob was nearly impossible to deal with, and if nothing was done quickly it was sure to turn into a riot. Gimli growled a sigh as his patience level dropped. Welcome to Aglarond, Master Elf, he said mentally. What a wonderful beginning to your visit.

******************

After much shouting, several threats, and a few jeers, Gimli finally disbanded the grumbling company. Hostility was still thick enough to smell, and all knew that this particular war of wills was not over. But after a while, many decided that they preferred the inviting embrace of their warm beds to standing around pointlessly debating over an Elf. Gimli had made it very clear that he intended for Legolas to stay. But it was also clear that the issue was not completely settled. There were many disgruntled Dwarves climbing into bed that night.

Now, Gimli and Legolas sat together in the empty Dining Hall at one of the many wooden tables that were scattered around the room. Nearby, a cold hearth was situated to the side of an exceptionally large table. The Hall was empty and quiet, save for these two. Gimli sat at one of the side tables upon a simple bench seat. Legolas sat across from him, forced into slightly bowlegged position because of the short stature of the usual bench occupants. The Dwarf idly glanced up and down his friend’s frame.

Legolas looked much as he had the first time the Dwarf had met him in Rivendell: no armor, garbed in a simple and yet elegant tunic, clean and neat despite weeks of travel, his hair tied back and intricately braided. Tall, lithe, reserved, and well-built. He looked...unchanged, even after the several years since Gimli had last seen him. Yet despite his exterior appearance of strength, the Dwarf couldn’t help but notice that Legolas was looking thin; even for him. The Elf’s prominent facial features seemed a little too angular; there were subtle dark circles beneath his eyes, and although he met Gimli’s gaze with his usual piercing glance, some of the brightness in his eyes had dimmed. Gimli frowned.

"What?" Legolas asked, rubbing his forefinger around and around the rim of the mug Gimli had set before him. The Elf had insisted on water, shrugging aside Gimli’s attempts to convince him to have something stronger.

"You don’t eat near enough," Gimli stated, shaking his head. Legolas’s gaze drifted down into his mug, a slight grin on his face. "A body can’t live on sunlight and tree talk." Legolas chuckled.

"No?" he said, looking up at Gimli. "Perhaps not."

Gimli stretched and took a deep breath. "Well, that’s soon to be remedied, for this time you will receive the hospitality of the Dwarves: roaring fires, malt beer, and all the ripe meat you can hold! And I shall see to it that you are properly heavy by the time you leave this place."

Legolas laughed; a musical sound–one of Gimli’s favorite things about his Elven friend. It was something that had always intrigued him and set his mind at ease when situations grew difficult. The relaxing, melodious sound of Elven laughter was something he would never quite understand, but would always secretly treasure.

"Gimli, we have gone over this on several occasions," Legolas began, some of the twinkle returning to his eyes. "Elven bodies are built naturally slim; as Dwarven bodies are built naturally stocky."

Ignoring the Elf, Gimli got to his feet and began rubbing his hands together eagerly.

“Speaking of food, what’ll you have?”

“We were not speaking of food,” Legolas countered.

“Close enough,” Gimli pressed. “I ask again: what’ll you have?”

“Oh, nothing, thank you,” Legolas waved him off. “I had a bite already.”

“A bite?” the Dwarf asked scornfully, clicking his tongue. “Sounds like an awfully small amount of victuals.” Legolas glared good-naturedly and shook his head. “When did you have this bite?”

“Midday,” Legolas replied, absently taking a sip of water.

“MIDDAY?” Gimli roared, causing the Elf to choke. “Do you want to starve to death?”

It took a moment for the Elf to regain his composure. But when he had, he sighed. “Gimli…I do not need as much to satisfy my hunger as you do.”

“That’s not it,” Gimli said, an accusing tone to his voice. When Legolas didn’t respond, the Dwarf leveled him with a frustrated glare.

“What?” Legolas asked. “What have I done?”

“It’s what you haven’t done that’s bothering me,” Gimli said. He paused a moment, glancing up and down his friend once more. “If you weren’t a pig-headed Elf I’d say you looked a bit ill.” Gimli leaned forward, both hands firmly on the table top. “Legolas:” he announced, “you’re downright skinny.”

“Haven’t we already established that fact?” Legolas replied.

“Doesn’t look as if you’ve slept well either.” The Dwarf raised one bushy eyebrow at the Elf. Legolas met Gimli’s eyes and a short battle of wills commence between them: one searching the opposite’s gaze, the other attempting to hide the knowledge that the other was so desperately looking for. To Gimli’s amazement, after a moment it was not he who could no longer stand the Elf’s gaze. It was Legolas who lowered his eyes.

“Ah, mellon-nin,” he sighed. “Why must you press the subject?”

“Out of concern for a friend,” Gimli replied.

Legolas began running his forefinger around the mug’s rim once more.

“What is it?” Gimli asked.

“Nothing worth your hearing or your worry,” Legolas replied, a little softer than before.

“Now, Laddie,” Gimli commanded. “Let’s have it.”

Silence passed between them. At length, Legolas spoke, and when he did, the emotionless mask he often wore when troubled or angry melted into pain.

“I…I feel so…” he laughed mirthlessly. “Well, I’m not really sure what. Perhaps weary is the right way to describe it.” The Elf paused once more, as if unsure. “I fear the lady Galadriel’s warning was well founded.”

“The sea,” Gimli half-whispered. He was filled with a mixture of relief and sudden dread. “Is that it?” Legolas nodded, his eyes becoming distant.

“More and more I hear her call: in the rain, the streams…even the breeze.” He seemed to be talking more to himself than his companion. “It grows steadily stronger and more urgent with each passing day. Her voice is pleasant, yet vexing; beautiful, yet maddening. She draws one in with the sounds of the waves and wind…the gulls crying...the salt spray…”

Legolas’ voice drifted away into nothing, and his eyes seemed to glaze over. The desire and the deep longing of his heart were displayed across his visage like a scar. He didn’t respond when after a long moment Gimli tapped his arm. He didn’t stir when Gimli called out his name asking if he was alright. He simply sat gazing with unseeing eyes: frozen by the call of the sea, and being swept away by his yearning. A yearning to sail across her glistening water and reach the land beyond: Valinor. To hear the song of the sea birds and set foot on the land where Telperion and Laurelin had cast their light. To be reunited with those who had taken that same journey: be it by death or by ship. There would be no fear or worry or doubts, no malice, darkness, or evil corrupting its shores. He would be released from the ties that bound him to Middle-earth. Free from bonds that held him there…

His presence of mind came rushing back as one of those ‘bonds’ cuffed him in the jaw. Legolas fell backwards over his seat and landed unceremoniously on his rear end. The sea’s enchanting pull was severed just as suddenly as it had come on. Flaming blue eyes locked onto the figure of a Dwarf standing over him, looking a bit annoyed and despite this, slightly guilty.

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL ARDA WAS THAT?” Legolas shouted. Gimli was taken aback by the sudden display of emotion after watching his friend begin to silently fall prey to his own longing. His features reddened visibly.

“Well, I wasn’t—” Legolas had already gotten to his feet and stood towering over the Dwarf, anger evident in his stance. Gimli involuntarily stepped back, confused by the threatening figure that had suddenly possessed his Elven companion. But almost instantly, the Dwarf’s confusion melted into angry frustration. After all, he had only been trying to help.

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL ARDA IS THIS?” he roared. For a long moment Legolas stood: his whole frame tense with anger. He raised his hand as if to strike the stunted figure who dared to stand before him. But suddenly his blazing gaze evaporated, and he found himself once more. He shook his head several times, and the rage that had taken hold of him completely fell away.

“I—I do not know,” Legolas said. The Elf was silent for moment, but slowly his troubled expression turned into one of realization. “Gimli, please forgive me—it is the sea that is bothering me, not you.” He sat down heavily on his seat, and to Gimli’s eyes his friend seemed even wearier than before.

“You were looking a little…distracted,” Gimli stated, his ire leaving him as well. “I thought it would be best if I...er..turned your attention.” Despite his worn appearance, Legolas attempted to grin.

“Thank you, mellon-nin,” he said, then his eyes lowered once more. “It has grown difficult for me to fight her song of late.” He paused, noticing the almost bleak expression on Gimli’s face. “Have no fear, Gimli, I am not sailing. Not yet. I promised Aragorn that I would stay until his mortality claims him.” Gimli’s hard features seemed to soften a little. Some of the reserved strength returned to the Elf’s voice and he straightened, looking the Dwarf in the eye as he spoke. “It has simply proven to be…a struggle. That is all. Do not trouble yourself with it. I can manage my thoughts and feelings as long as I keep my head clear…which I am sure you will have no trouble doing for me if necessary.” Legolas absently rubbed his sore jaw as Gimli chuckled.

“Don’t worry about it, lad,” Gimli said, clapping the Elf on the back. “I and my fist shall be here if you have need of us.” He winked, and Legolas shook his head good naturedly.

“But don’t think for an instant you have to keep this from me. If you recall, we both agreed the last time we met: no matter how ridiculous, minor, or calamitous a situation gets, we were to be there to catch the other if he should fall. Or knock some sense into him if need be.” Legolas chuckled.

“Oh, and if there comes a day when you feel as if you need…I don’t know…a lovely conversation with the shrubs outside”--Legolas scowled playfully—“feel free to do so! I’ll not lock you in. You’re free to come and go as you please; when you please.”

“Thank you, Gimli,” Legolas said, and for the first time since arriving, he truly smiled.

“Now,” said Gimli, “what’ll you have?”

******************
A pair of dark eyes was intently watching the conversation between the Lord of Aglarond and Prince of Mirkwood. It had been an interesting discussion; mostly idle chatter from what the watcher’s ears had caught. That is, until the sea incident.

Kori ran a hand thoughtfully down the length of his beard. This, too, he could find a use for. A weakness to exploit, if the time opportunity presents itself, he thought to himself. The lone Dwarf stood pondering for a long moment. Tomorrow’s the First Year celebration. Maybe if I can get him to drink water…but he’s drinking water now. So, the actual water itself doesn’t bother him. Hmmm… Kori pondered over what he had heard.

*More and more I hear her call; in the rain, the streams…even the breeze.* Nothing the Dwarf could exploit there.

*She draws one in with the sounds of the waves and wind…the gulls crying…the salt spray…*

Suddenly, an idea struck Kori like a blow to the face. Chortling wickedly to himself, he slunk back down the hallway and disappeared.