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!

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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…”

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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.

Chapter 3

Note: This has some Elvish from the book..I do not own any of it, nor the characters or places.

Chapter 3

A Bereth thar Ennui Aeair!
A Galad ven I reniar
hί’aladhremmin ennorath.
A Elbereth Gilthoniel
i chin a thûl lîn i gelair…

An Elven voice lifted in song carried out into the darkness of the night, along with the steady pound of hooves on grassy turf. The heavens were bright with stars, and their pure light bathed the earth below, giving the endless sea of waving grass an otherworldly glow.

It had been several weeks since Legolas had left the wooded refuge of Ithilien and begun his journey to Aglarond. The storms had come and gone intermittently as the days had progressed, and eventually had ceased altogether. But on the morning after the last bought of foul weather, Legolas had awoken to find that the previously sodden ground had transformed into a thick carpet of ice. Winter was coming soon, and time was running short.

In his invitation, Gimli had warned Legolas that as soon as the first snow fell, both the Hornburg entrance and the back entrance leading into Aglarond would be closed to block out the fierce snow storms that sometimes swept over the face of Ered Nimrais. He also stressed the fact that once closed, the barricades would not open again until the thaw in the coming spring. Legolas did not want to have come all the way from the far side of Gondor only to be met by a large stone door when he finally reached the Dwarven settlement. So for the past several days he had travelled nearly non-stop, only pausing for a quick meal at midday, and for a few hours’ rest at dusk.

But tonight, Legolas rode on. Dusk had come and gone several hours ago, and the Elf had not halted. To his left, a long mountain range snaked along, looking like the back of a huge slumbering dragon lying in the middle of Rohan. To his right, endless rising and falling grassland. Behind him lay the West Fold, and before him, a large hill. The scenery was becoming increasingly familiar, even in the dark, so Legolas nudged Arod into a canter. The horse eagerly responded, and shortly both steed and rider neared the top without difficulty.

Cresting the hill, Legolas reined Arod in and took the surrounding area. His skilled eyes swept the land before him, following the line where stone met earth. The mountain before him seemed to curve just slightly to the right, forming a sort of elbow of land. And within the crook of that elbow, a large stone fortification was built.

Helm’s Deep. They had finally made it.

Legolas recalled the words of Gimli’s letter: ‘Best to keep your hood up, lad. That is, until I make you known. Trust me when I say it would be for your safety. Oh, and I believe you know what a warm reception you’d get if you gave your name. Your father’s not too loved here in Aglarond….'

Tossing up his hood, Legolas nudged Arod forward, and the two were off, flying towards their final destination.

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

A lone Dwarf sentry stood at the Hornburg entrance and sighed to himself. Every night it was the same: grass, grass, and more grass. Nothing ever changed, and the creature was beginning to get bored with his duty. Of course, there was the occasional bird that flew by or horde of pesky gnats that seemed to be drawn to the light of the torch hanging on the wall behind him. But this could hardly be considered excitement.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, the sentry deeply inhaled the night air and let it out slowly, watching the cloud of mist his breath created. He turned his dark eyes skyward, trying to decipher when the next watch would start and he would be relieved. By the position of the stars, he still had a whole hour ahead of him. Muttering noisily, he turned his face towards the stone wall and to the light and warmth of the torch. It wasn’t much in the way of heat, but it would have to do. He was just rubbing his hands above the small flame when his ears caught an unfamiliar sound.

The sentry slowly turned and faced the dark once more, leaning out with a scowl that spoke of deep concentration. There it was again. A soft clopping sound. It seemed to be coming from the direction of the gate, and it was growing steadily louder. Grabbing up his axe, the stocky creature moved slowly towards the steps that lead away from the main keep. Someone or something was coming closer, and was now rounding the corner of stonework below where the Dwarf stood. The torch on the far wall was not bright enough to cast light on the figure approaching.

“HALT!” bellowed the gruff voice of the sentry.

The clopping stopped abruptly. The figure was unmistakable to the Dwarf, even in the dark. A horse and mounted rider stood at the foot of the stairway, and it was obvious that the stranger was heavily armed. The being atop his steed made no move or sound, but sat motionless. The Dwarf waited, expecting some kind of response, but he got none. The figure remained still and silent. A cloak covered the form and face, and all the stories of the former servants of the Dark Lord, the Nazgul, crowded into the sentry’s mind. Tendrils of fear began creeping up his spine, but he fought to shake them off. After all, he thought to himself, the fell creatures were all destroyed with their master. No need to fear them any longer. Still, apprehension was gaining the upper hand, and if he did not do something quickly, he knew he would act foolishly.

“Give me your name!” the sentry called out. The stern tone that managed to slip into his voice pleasantly surprised the Dwarf.

The hooded figure’s horse appeared impatient, for he pawed the cobblestones forcefully and shook his mane, snorting great clouds of steam as he did so. The cloaked being leaned forward, whispering something in a tongue the Dwarf had never heard before, then turned his hidden face back to the stocky creature above. The sentry found himself shivering.

“I was summoned by the master of this place,” came the reply. Thankfully to the Dwarf, it was definitely not the voice of one of the cursed Nine. The sound of it was soft on the ears, but maintained a powerful edge that demanded the attention of the listener.

“I didn’t ask why you were here,” replied the sentry, his response loosing some of the confidence that had been previously displayed. “I asked your name.”

The rider hesitated.

“Greenleaf.”

The Dwarf’s brows furrowed, and he adjusted his hands so as to have a firmer grip on the handle of his axe.

“Greenleaf? What kind of a name is that?”

“My own,” the figure replied.

The sentry took a step forward. “I was not informed that any ‘Greenleaf’ was to be expected here. And especially not at this hour!”

Again there was silence. Then,

“I have with me an invitation from your lord, and will readily produce it if this will-”

“I must ask you to leave, Master ‘Greenleaf’,” growled the Dwarf, “or whoever you are. No strangers are to be allowed inside after nightfall!”

“I tell you, I have a valid invitation on my person, signed by the Lord of the Glittering Caves himself.”

“I don’t care if Aulё himself signed it! NO strangers after nightfall!”

The figure reached into his cloak, pulled forth a sealed document and held it aloft.

“This is his seal, is it not?”

“GOODNIGHT!” bellowed the Dwarf. The sentry whirled around and began making his way back to the torch. He hadn’t taken three steps when he stopped and listened for the sound of clopping hooves fading into the night. He heard nothing.

Growling, he stalked back to the top of the stairs and looked down. The horse and rider stood exactly where he had left them, and looked to be making no effort to leave. The Dwarf was not a patient creature and what little he had was running low. Brandishing his axe, he shouted:

“BE OFF, OR YOU’LL FIND MY BLADE BETWEEN YOUR EYES!”

There was a moment of silence. A night bird called out.

“My good Dwarf,” began the hooded being after a time, “I tell you. I am expected here. I will not ‘be off’ until I see the Master of Aglarond, and if you insist upon it, I shall not move from this spot. But I will not leave.”

The sentry cursed passionately in Dwarvish and came storming down the stairs, axe whirling. The sudden rush seemed to frighten the horse, for it reared up on its hind legs, shook its head, and called out in alarm. The sound was deafening and caused the Dwarf to hesitate for a moment. Just long enough to discover the identity of the mysterious figure.

The abrupt movement from his steed had caused the hood of the rider to fall back. The moonlight made the being’s long, light hair appear to be almost glowing, and even with the strong movements of his frightened mount, he kept his seat with ease. Both of these facts, along with the words uttered hastily in a foreign tongue, could have told the Dwarf what the being before him was. But these things were not even noticed by the stocky creature. What the sentry noticed were two very slender, very pointed ears.

“An ELF!” he bellowed. The Dwarf stalked towards the intruders, his weapon raised menacingly. The horse dropped back to the ground and snorted angrily, its ears flattened against its skull. The animal took several quick steps backwards, swinging its head threateningly from side to side. The Elf cursed beneath his breath.

“Dismount,” hissed the Dwarf, his formerly authoritative voice returning. This was nothing near a wraith. The Children of Aulё had long felt a strong disgust for the race of the creature that stood before him. He held his axe forward in a ready stance. The Elf’s features hardened and he slid silently off his mount. The sentry attempted to gauge the stranger’s thoughts, but aside from firmly knitted brows, his expression told him nothing.

“Remove your weapons,” commanded the Dwarf. The intruder began to reach towards a clasp which held a leather strap in place across his chest, but suddenly hesitated. He looked to the Dwarf, then behind him towards whatever was slung across his back, then to the Dwarf again, obviously pondering something. But whatever thought had crossed his mind was suddenly displaced, for he undid the clasp and slung a quiver full of arrows, along with twin sheathes carrying twin blades, at the feet of the Dwarf.

“Your bow, Elf,” growled the Dwarf. “It’s obvious you’ve got one, so hand it here.” Thunderclouds raced across the Elf’s visage for a moment, but after taking in a deep breath, he removed the bow from his shoulder and placed it down with the rest of his weapons. Although his demands had been met, the sentry couldn’t help but notice how clenched his captive’s jaw had become. The Dwarf chuckled to himself.

The sentry kicked the pile of weapons to the side and ordered the Elf forward, being sure to keep the blade of his axe at the back of the stranger as firmly as possible without breaking skin.

“Well, Elf,” taunted the Dwarf, “it seems you’ll get your wish after all. But I can assure you that Master Gimli can get rather fierce when awakened in the dead of night.”

“I know,” said the Elf, his voice low. The sentry growled and started up the stairs with his detainee when he heard a loud snort from behind. Keeping his axe to the back of the Elf, the Dwarf turned just in time to get a blast of hot breath in his face. Apparently the brute’s a might protective of his master, thought the Dwarf with a scowl as he met the horse’s gaze.

“GET ON! GET!” hollered the Dwarf. The horse shook his head angrily from side to side once more. The sentry raised a fist and cuffed the beast in the jaw with surprising force. Staggering backward, the horse’s eyes seemed to get foggy for a moment.

“Arod! Ego!” the Elf ordered his steed. The Dwarf harrumphed loudly at the interruption, but after a moment of hesitation, the horse turned and slowly cantered out of the causeway. The pounding of hooves on pavement slowly died away and the creature abandoned the two figures.

The Dwarf turned back to the Elf and nudged him forcefully into action.

“Get moving, Elf,” he snapped. “I almost feel sorry for you, having to wake Master Gimli at this hour for such a disruption.” And to his annoyance, he heard the Elf suppress quiet laughter.

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

“YOU’VE INVITED A WHAT?!” roared a short, stocky figure. He leapt from his seat, orange light from the nearby hearth causing his face, which was a bright shade of red, to look positively demonic.

“YOU HEARD ME CORRECTLY KORI!” a second Dwarf shot back. He managed to stay in his chair, but he leaned forward dangerously, hardened hands gripping the arm rests with no small amount of force. His long red beard shook with every word, and his dark eyes blazed. Checking his tone to a low growl, he continued. “He has my eternal friendship, and will be treated with every courtesy a Dwarf can give.”

The two irate Dwarves were none other than Gimli, now Lord of the Glittering caves, and his overseer Kori. Both were, or at least had been, seated in Gimli’s chambers discussing the progress of the work for the present day. The Glittering Caves, or Aglarond as it was now called by the Dwarven folk, had in only a few years been turned into a thriving settlement for the children of Aulё. Their hammers and chisels could be heard ringing throughout the caves night and day. Kori was the head overseer and a good friend of Gimli’s, and as such the former member of the Fellowship had thought it best to let Kori in on an invitation he had sent several weeks prior; one that would have been seen as incomprehensible to other Dwarves. Now, this decision slapped him in the face.

“The fiend is no friend of mine!” bellowed Kori. “An Elf. Of all the diverse kinds you met and travelled with on that Quest it had to be an Elf! Of Mirkwood, no less, and the whelp of that accursed Thranduil!”

“WATCH YOUR WORDS!” shouted Gimli. All regard for restraint suddenly vanished.

“Do you not know how ridiculous, how obscene, how…how…”

“There is nothing evil about befriending an Elf!”

“GIMLI, HE’S A BLASTED POINTY-EARED, FLIGHTY, BACKSTABBING, HYPOCRITICAL SPAWN OF THE DEMON RACE OF ELDAR!!!”

“THAT IS ENOUGH!” Gimli flew from his seat and pointed a finger in front of Kori’s nose. “YOU know nothing of him! I will not have you speak of him in any such way AGAIN.”

“He-is-an-Elf,” Kori’s voice grew low and dangerous, each word drawn out.

“Kori…”
“And have you ever heard anything about the she-Elf that mothered him?”

Gimli was about to growl something less than complimentary but stopped short. This was a sudden and puzzling change of topic. Losing his immediate train of thought, he simply shrugged. “What of her?”

A sort of wicked sneer spread across Kori’s face, and he tilted his head back, stroking his black plaits and very obviously feigning thoughtfulness.

“Well?” Gimli pressed in a suspicious tone.

“None ever speak of the Queen of Mirkwood. None of us have ever seen her, for of course, no true Dwarf—oh—no offense my lord,”—here Gimli harrumphed loudly—“would wish to be so close to a realm of the Elves.”

“Get to the point,” Gimli grumbled.

“Well, where is she?” Kori said, slowly leaning forward. “Perhaps your dear prince’s mother was not the Lady of Mirkwood at all, and there has never even been a queen.”

“And how would that be?”

“As I have said many times before, Elves are a flighty people, their moods and loyalties changing on the slightest whim. Perhaps this Elf lady was not the king’s wife after all, and your companion is a mere…how should I say it…byproduct of a bought of reckless passion?”

“Stop right there!” Gimli bellowed, taking a step forward. There was a strange look in his eyes, and Kori wasn’t quite sure what to make of it. Anger, of course, but there was more…almost a guilty shadow in his coal black orbs. “You know nothing of what you say! Legolas IS the legitimate son of Thranduil and the Prince of Mirkwood. But I find it very interesting,” Gimli’s voice slowly grew louder and louder and he began to advance, “nay, laughable, that you of all people would try to criticize anyone’s mother: KORI, SON OF A BEARDLESS SHE-DWARF!”

At that both stocky creatures engaged in a furious session of yelling, shouting, pointing, storming, and bellowing, so much so that the whole of Aglarond shook with it. Such an exchange of Dwarven curses! Before it was over, both chairs were toppled (one of them broken), a mug was thrown and shattered, a table overturned, it’s contents spilling everywhere, and two beards slightly singed from leaning to near the fire. The end result was one room turned completely upside down, reeking of malt beer and burnt hair.

Kori stormed towards the door, muttering and growling profusely under his breath.

“Kori!” Gimli called from across the room. The other Dwarf stopped, but did not turn. “I mean what I say. If you don’t behave in a civil manner, I will personally scrub the whole of Aglarond with your beard!”

“You can try,” muttered Kori. The irate overseer left the chamber and slammed the solid door behind him.

“Oh Aulё,” Gimli sighed. He looked around the room, taking in the scene of absolute wreckage before him. He moved over the ruined chair and examined it. Two legs had been snapped off, the back splintered. Slowly, he began gathering the bits of wood strewn across the floor. “Well, that was quite a reaction,” he said to nothing in particular. “I said, ‘There’s an Elf coming to visit’ and by the way he blew up like that you’d think I’d invited a mangy dog to enjoy his beer for him. They can’t comprehend it…an Elf and a Dwarf as friends. But then again, I didn’t understand myself. Perhaps when the lad actually gets here he’ll make them see he’s not all that bad. Unless they happen to mention uncomplimentary things about his father or mother…oh Valar.”

Gimli knew from firsthand experience topics that quickly got someone on Legolas’s bad side, and for many months he had thoroughly enjoyed exploiting those topics himself. “The Elf will try to be patient with them, surely,” said Gimli. “But they had better not mention anything of him being overly cleanly. What a laugh that would be. Legolas debating with a group of Dwarves on habits of cleanliness! Ha!” He tossed the remains of the chair into the large hearth. Sparks flew upward as this extra fuel was added to the flames. He dusted his hands off, then stretched a kink out of his back. “And I hope they won’t bring up anything about Elvish males resembling females. How quickly they will regret that one! But then again, talking rudely about Thranduil is unwise as well. Hmm…This may be an interesting visit.”

********

Gimli traveled down a little used passageway toward a finely carved wooden door. Even with the poor light of a few small torches, the intricate designs and lettering that scrolled across it could be seen. The patterns were not something of typical Dwarven style. The chamber beyond had become something of a special project for Gimli. The door sported no handle or latch.

Coming up to the great wooden piece of craftsmanship, Gimli smiled broadly. He had taken great pains to see that this room was hidden from the eyes of the other occupants of Aglarond. The Dwarf chuckled delightedly at the thought of his secret creation.

“What’s this? No handle?” Obviously very pleased with himself, Gimli clicked his tongue in mock bewilderment. “No matter,” he said to himself. Gimli cleared his throat loudly and leaned in close to the door. In a low voice he uttered one word, and instantly, the door opened. With a “Ha ha!” he slipped inside, and the door shut fast behind him.

************
“What kind of a word was that?” muttered Kori beneath his breath. He stood at the end of the hallway, watching the whole of what had just transpired. The overseer scowled and began absently rubbing a knot that was forming on his head. He had received many a blow from Orc, Goblin, and even Dwarf over the years, but this small bump seemed to sting far worse than the rest. It had been dealt by the hand of a friend. And it had come in defense of an Elf. Growling, he turned his thoughts once more on the strange word. “Definitely not one I’ve heard before. Dolen. Too light on the tongue…” Then it dawned on him. “Elvish.”

Snorting rather loudly, Kori murmured a few choice words beneath his breath. “No doubt it’s the Elf’s room he’s been working on all this time. Of all the unheard of…” He stopped short. His hard expression suddenly turned sly, one bushy brow perched above the other, and half smile on his lips. “This word could come in handy. What was it? Dolen. I’ll have to remember that.” Kori chortled devilishly to himself as he left the lone hallway and began lumbering down the main passage back to his station.