"Let's hunt some orc." Aragorn's eyes burned with an eager hunger and I found myself wondering about Gondor's heir. I'd been raised on tales of Men and their lack of stamina. In the wood of the Greenleaves, lacking fixity of purpose was regarded as anathema. I could still hear the soft rustlings as Frodo and Sam made their way into the forest; to Mordor. What had happened to the man who'd sworn by his life or death to protect the Ring-bearer? A warg-like grin from the Dwarf caught my attention; breaking my chain of thought.
I thought of him as "the Dwarf." I had to. My father traded with the sons of Durin. He valued their craft and the beautifully cold creations of their cunning minds, but he regarded their creators as little better than dogs. Oh they were useful up to a point, but although they could share your home and hearth, no one would consider them true friends in the same light as one's own kind. No, it was best to treat the Dwarf with dignity and respect and leave well enough alone.
My preoccupation betrayed me. For one accounted fleet of foot, I was in the rear as we raced up the slope in pursuit of Merry and Pippin's captors. The trail was ridiculously easy to follow and I was content to let Aragorn lead the way. Bruised and broken plants marked the path our enemies had taken. Middle Earth would be well rid of the orcs, not to mention those foul creations of Saruman's twisted mind.
The sound of harsh breathing, almost like sobs rising from deep within the Dwarf's chest intruded on my day dreams. We had been racing along for two days and Gi... the Dwarf was failing. The leaf mould and soft earth of the woodlands had given way to high plains interspersed with huge boulders that looked as if giants had been playing ball toss. The trail over the rocky places was somewhat more difficult to follow and my sharper vision had more than once prevented a wrong turning.
The finding of a Lorien brooch proved my undoing. We debated fiercely whether or not to rest by dark and so lessen the chance of missing another such clue. The Dwarf and Aragorn won and so we took our ease as best we could with no fires or hot food to warm ourselves. Aragorn fell asleep quickly. His iron will had taxed his strength to the limit. I turned expecting to see the Dwarf similarly fixed and was surprised to see two dark eyes staring back at me.
"You do not sleep?" He asked quietly.
"No. I have no need at present." I replied in an equally soft voice. I don't know why we bothered. Aragorn's snores would have shaken the foundations of Barad Dur.
"Better to sleep when you have the chance, even though it is not needed, than to need to sleep when there's no chance to do so."
"You sound like Mithrandir."
"And why not? He was a friend to my family since before I was born." The Dwarf arranged his small pack to form a pillow. "So will you join me?"
"What?" My mind had wandered again. How old had Mithrandir been when he fell? And for that matter, how old was the Dwarf? Unbidden, the image of a bearded baby being rocked in the arms of a burly hirsute mother came before my eyes.
"Some "kram?" The Dwarf proffered a piece of lembas still in its stiff wrapping.
"Kram:" the waybread of Durin's descendants. I'd tasted some while I was still quite young. It was dry and savored of nothing so much as sawdust held together with glue. "No, thank you." I replied. "I ate this morning."
"Suit yourself but don't blame me if you find yourself klemmed in the middle of a battle." Strong teeth made short work of the lembas. A pink tongue flicked once or twice and the crumbs too disappeared.
Averting my gaze to the horizon, I sought solace from the stars. We rarely saw them from the palace where I grew up. Thick stone walls prevented skygazing and if you went outside, you'd have to climb a tree to even glimpse the Starkindler's handiwork.
"I've seen many a rare and beautiful jewel in my day but these outshine them by far. It is well they are so far out of reach. My kin would have set them into necklaces or rings and Middle Earth would be the poorer for it. Elbereth was very wise to hang her best work so high."
What was this? The Dwarf praising Elbereth? Before I knew what I was doing, I was sitting next to him and reaching for a piece of waybread. "Indeed, Master Dwarf. She is the wisest of us all save her creators."
"I do have a name, you know."
"Yes, and I would not presume to use it without your permission."
"You know our ways?"
"I am familiar with some customs, yes. My father..."
"Ahh yes. Durin's blood is strong in that one." The Dwarf had the effrontery to grin.
"Are you implying the King of the Greenwood is of mixed race?"
"No. I'm stating fact."
"And your proof?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The long trek must have addled his wits.
"Of all the elves now living, your people are the only ones who dwell under earth. Why? Are not your bows strong enough to protect tree castles like those of the Galadrim or a spreading series of pavillions and cloisters such as Imladris? Have you no special powers to bend the trees to your will? Your family name is "Greenleaf" is it not?"
"The stronghold was made to protect our treasury..." I protested.
"Oh yes, that too. No other elves covet jewels as you do." He grinned again.
"We do not "covet" anything. My father..."
"I knew you would be ashamed to own the connection. Nevertheless, Prince of the Greenwood, I give you leave to use my name should you so desire. We may at least pretend a semblance of unity even if we have it not in truth."
I watched with my mouth open as he wrapped himself in his cloak and went to sleep. How had he found out? It was true my father traded with his folk but I was the one responsible for lodging them and seeing to their comforts. Father evidently thought such duties befitting a son who seemed to disappoint him at every turning. I leaned back against yet another boulder and gave myself over to wakeful dreaming.
The knack had come late to me: I was already nigh on five hundred years old when I finally mastered the ability to sleep with my eyes open. I'd put it down to an ancient cross-breeding with the dark ones of Imladris. It was widely known among my people that the Half-Elven slept as Men; with eyes closed. Perhaps it was their taste of mortality.
"Dreams are dangerous, little leaf." My mother's voice was weak but she smiled. I bounced on her bed and eagerly resumed my tale. "Your mind is quick, my son. That is good. Does your father praise you?"
I was spared a reply by the entrance of my sire. He was shorter in stature than most elves; thick-chested and had arms like the boughs of a mighty oak. I always remained silent in his presence. With the clarity of the very young, I'd discerned his dislike of me. Our servants later provided the reasons for his antipathy.
They said I killed my mother. Or rather, she chose death over being separated from me. She labored long and hard to bring me into the world and the healers despaired of a cure being found anywhere in Middle Earth save perhaps in Imladris. Needless to say, father would not even consider going to the Lord Elrond requesting his aid. Sadly, my mother agreed to make the slow journey to the Havens and set sail for Eressea. Orders were given to prepare her things and she bade her women to make me ready for the journey.
Father would not countenance that idea either. He could have let me go with her. I was not the only son. I had three older brothers but we were all destined for advantageous marriages. Advantageous to my father, that is. I was to be wed to the Lady Arwen when I was old enough. It was deemed a clever ploy: to co-opt the house of Elrond Peredhil by binding his youngest to the youngest prince of the Greenwood. She would live in my father's house and be subject to his authority. So mother's desire to have me accompany her would not be allowed. She refused to leave me behind and despite the healers' best efforts, she never regained her strength.
When I was but ten years of age, I went to her rooms to tell her of my latest dream to discover her open-eyed stare. She wasn't sleeping. She was dead. I became the drudge in my father's household. If the stables needed mucking out, I was sent to perform the task. I spent my days polishing antique suits of armor and age-dulled swords. Endless lectures about the history of my family were the only formal lessons I received. If it hadn't been for mother teaching me my letters and numbers I would have grown up quite backward.
Orders to clean out one of the rooms containing our oldest archives allowed me to learn our family's deepest and most closely-held secret. An ancestor whose greed for jewels and gold was unbounded, affianced his son to a Dwarf princess. The terms of their binding provided the foundation for my father's hoard of lifeless metal and icy stones. The mists of time shrouded this scandalous marriage in rumor and fear of the present King's temper prevented anyone from making comments in his hearing. I was curious about this branch of our family and took every opportunity as I fetched hot water or led Dwarf lords to their lodgings to find out more about this ancient princess of Durin's blood.
A snort from Gloin's son roused me from these dreamy reflections. A wan strip of light upon the edge of the world heralded the dawn and the resumption of our chase. I stood to let the blood back into muscles stiffened by lack of use. I might as well make use of my privacy whilst it remained to me. Bladder emptied, I could now present a serene face to the world and my companions. My thoughts were anything but.
Trouble. The Dwarf was lagging behind again. In truth I was amazed that his short legs had permitted him to keep up as well as he had. The sun was only two hours past its zenith and we would not stop until all light had faded. Our nightly rests had allowed the enemy to pull even farther away. As I ran, I tried to devise some means for us to stop without hurting the dignity of the Dwarf. My preoccupation provided the solution. I actually twisted my ankle and we were forced to halt while I bound it with one of the vambraces I normally wore on my forearms.
"Let me see that, before you bind it." Gloin's son puffed. Well if he persisted in smoking Hobbit weed, he should expect to be short of breath.
"It will heal in a few hours."
"So it may. Yet, you cried out. It is said the youngest son of Thranduil does not make any sound when wounded. Perhaps the injury is more serious than you think."
"It is well enough, son of Gloin. I was distracted by thoughts pertaining to our hunt. Had I been more careful of where I placed my feet I would not have cried out." I hastily laced up my makeshift brace and tested my weight on the injury. There was some pain but I'd experienced worse. "Come, they will reach Isengard if we keep dallying."
"Aye." Aragorn agreed and we raced off again. We needn't have bothered. A great slaughter was revealed to us one day later. Our encounter with the Rohirrim had prepared us somewhat but to see the mangled and burnt body parts scattered over the grass drained our hearts. Later, we surmised the Halflings had probably escaped this charnel field but we were too exhausted to pursue them further. Since the heap of dead Uruk-hai still smouldered, we decided to risk a fire of our own. There had been food in the packs belonging to the late masters of our borrowed horses.
I fetched water from the river bordering Fangorn forest and returned with it. My ankle had healed completely.
"You make a fine water-carrier." The Dwarf grinned as he removed his helmet and shrugged his stout shoulders.
The image of my younger self setting a steaming basin before a Dwarf lord in my father's house came into my mind. I hastily set down my present burden and proceeded to occupy myself with the contents of Arod's pack. Aragorn used some of the water to wash his face and hands. The Dwarf was busy un-lacing his boots and tunic.
"I shall forestall the need for the Prince to carry more water by dabbling my feet downstream." He announced and winked at me.
I could only stare at his barrel-like chest with its forest of springy red hair. I wondered if it was softer than the hair on his head. I'd only felt it once in Moria when I pulled him into my arms after I all but deprived him of his beard. Despite days on end without benefit of hot water, the Dwarf smelled of fresh earth and the lightly scented oil he used to keep his leather tunic supple. I shook my head to clear it of treacherous thoughts and saw to our meal.
"Little leaf, I must go now. May the Lady keep you in her thoughts. Farewell..." I awoke shouting my pleas that she stay with me. I looked about. Aragorn was roused, his knife in his hand. The Dwarf was wide awake staring at me with an expression that I might have interpreted as pity.
"Forgive me, an unpleasant dream." The darkness hid the blush on my cheeks and forehead. Assured, Aragorn stretched out once more. A little later his thunderous snores resumed.
"It's no wonder Haldir and his pretty friends found us so quickly." The Dwarf nodded at the sleeping king. "And they said my breathing was loud."
"And so it is." I was angered by my own weakness. Havens alone knew what my father would have said had he been present. "You were wheezing like a leaky bellows as we crossed the ridge of Isen."
"So I was. I never said my race was suited to long-distance races. Short bursts of speed are our gift in keeping with our stature." He smiled gently.
I'd never seen this side of him before. His black eyes were warm and shining. I shook my head impatient with myself. Ever since he'd stepped forward to smite the Ring, I realized here was no ordinary dwarf. Oh he had pride in his folk and a boastful style of jesting that others not long in his company would quickly resent but there was not a mean bone in his body. His reverent attitude to the Lady of Lorien forced me to regard him as a person, not merely "the Dwarf." When he asked for a lock of her hair I was charmed in spite of myself.
Later, as we floated down the Great River, he shyly showed me a sketch for the crystal and wood ornament he planned to make for the Lady's gift. Instead of a clumsy design I beheld a delicately rendered drawing of a small case with the image of a mallorn tree adorning its lid. The Lady's hair would be carefully coiled to form the golden leaves, he explained softly.
"What would you keep in it?" I could not help my curiosity.
"My brooch. Green leaves and gold; the emblems closest to my heart."
I nodded, speechless. A dwarf who valued living things over dead stones? Unheard of.
"You miss her still." The normally gruff voice was soft.
"Who?" I was shocked back into the present. He'd somehow managed to perceive what broke my rest.
"Your mother. You called out 'Ama' in your dream. How did she die?"
My feelings were in no fit state for me to avoid his gentle questioning. So, in a low voice, I told him.
"She loved you greatly 'tis true but her decision was hers alone to make. You were an infant. You did not ask her to remain. She chose her fate and I'm sure she smiles as she sits in Mandos's halls. Smiles and remembers her little leaf."
"What can you know of Mandos's halls?" I was shocked beyond reason. Had he made a lifetime's study of our ways?
"My own mother waits for me and my father in Durin's halls. Although I do not think they are separate places. Those who created us formed us to live together. Why should death if it comes..." He nodded in acknowledgement of my immortality. "... separate us?"
"How did she die?" It was my turn to ask the question. Dwarves were very secretive regarding their females. I asked hesitantly. I suppose he thought me in tears. I never cry anymore. I was trained not to.
"The same as you; a difficult birth left her vulnerable to a wasting sickness of the lungs. I was but a tiny dwarfling when she left us."
There were tears in his eyes. "Gimli, I'm sorry."
"Well, it's past time you gave me my name." He wiped his eyes and grinned.
"Indeed." I could not help but smile at him in return. He'd broken the ice which encased my heart. I too stretched out again and left him to his stargazing. A most elfish dwarf to be sure.
My rest was once again broken. This time by the sudden departure of our horses. In the morning we found ourselves wearily entering Fangorn's forest. New strength was vouchsafed us when we met up with Mithrandir; returned to us for the duration of our great quest. The Lady's message for Gimli seemed to cheer him beyond all reason. As we rode beside Shadowfax, he was humming the little tune my mother would whisper to me with what remained of her voice. I supplied the nonsense words and when the song was done he complimented me upon the excellence of my dwarfish accent.
"Dwarfish? Do these silly words hold some meaning for you?"
"A little light shone on your birth, a light to shine upon this earth. Do not fear, child so dear, in my love you are ever near."
"It's a lullaby. My people have been singing it since before time was measured; if one of the elven folk would call our noises 'singing'."
"Not all birds sing with the same voice, yet my people value all their songs. Those who created us did not bestow the same gifts to each and yet when the time comes each has something to contribute. Be at ease, Gimli. I can hardly fault your heart for wishing to lift itself in song."
"Did one of Durin's folk visiting your father's halls teach you the song?"
"No. My mother sang it for me. Her sickness had robbed her voice of its beauty and strength yet even the voice of Tinuviel could not compare to what was left of my mother's gift. In the midst of her pain she sought to comfort and cheer me, thus rendering her rough whispering marvellous."
"Aye." I could feel his head nodding against my back.
In Meduseld, I was witness once again to Gimli's humor and courage. Our rides together had been the beginnings of friendship. The terrible perils of Helm's Deep proved my feelings for him to be deeper still.
One moment he was fighting by my side, cheerfully shouting his count of the fallen who'd succumbed to his mighty axe or a most painful butt of his stoutly helmed head in their nether regions which rendered them motionless long enough for him to put them eternally out of their misery. The next moment he was gone, swept away by the tide of battle.
I fought like one possessed by the spirit of Gilgalad. Each foe who fell before me was one less to harm my friend. Through blasting magic and the awesome sounds of Helm's Horn I could only hope that Gimli was safe. I prayed to Elbereth that this would be so inspite of my lack of faith. When huge fists were pounding into my body, I prayed for deliverance from my father's wrath. It finally came but too late for me to go on believing. Father's sending me to Elrond's great council was supposed to be yet another punishment. There I was to report my failure to keep the Gollum creature caged and so incur the anger of the Half-elven king.
To escape my home, I would have volunteered to bring news to Sauron himself. Each thrust of my knives were part payment for my past shame and humiliation.
"Thranduil's youngest son never cries when he is hurt." Gimli had known of my burden. Try as I might, I could not remember his ever visiting the Greenwood. His father I remembered clearly. He had been kind in a gruff lordly way. He'd come across me as a healer was pulling an orc arrow from the flesh of my arm. He complimented me on my silent fortitude never realizing my own father had jabbed me with the fell thing for daring to speak against him in council.
Arrows and other missiles flew around me as I fought to stay alive. I had come on this quest in search of my own end. I was seeking oblivion. The Ring never tempted me. How could it? It prolonged life and misery. I wanted to be rid of them both... and then a dwarf smiled at me. I was intrigued. I couldn't help it. His humor broke through my grief in the same way sunlight melts away the fog. He had to be alive. He had to be.
Mithrandir arrived on time for once and the day was ours. Although not old enough to have witnessed the great battle of Dagorlad plain, enough sages and bards had described it. The leas before Helm's Deep must have looked the same. Dead orcs and Dunland chiefs lay as far as the eye could see. I spent little time surveying the slain. I had to find my friend. That was how I thought of him. I had to. An elf and dwarf as lovers? Unheard of. The sounds of derisive laughter would drown out anyone attempting to relate such a tale.
As I searched frantically through the tunnels and warrens of Helm's fortress, I realized I did not care about the opinions of others. It's not as if they would beat me for disappointing them. Where was he? I heard someone mutter something about "caves" and I knew. As I raced through the twisting corridors I heard his voice. I skimmed the stone floors as if given wings.
"I am well enough, Master Healer. I go to find my friend."
There he was; gingerly rising from a makeshift stretcher, an acrid-smelling salve smeared upon a deep gash on his forehead. I was so overjoyed to see him alive and whole, I swept him into my arms for the second time. I felt his strong arms trembling as they went 'round my neck. I remembered in time that we were not alone. I released him to face Aragorn's look of astonishment. I no longer cared. Bending, I kissed Gimli's brow. "That will make it all better." Gimli's answering smile was blinding and I basked unashamed in its warmth.
As we rode to Isengard, no one remarked that we traveled slightly apart from the rest of the company. Aragorn, Mithrandir, and King Theoden were deep in conversation about the morrow and their confrontation with Saruman. Gimli and I, seasoned warriors; were content to rest and give no thoughts to the future. He rode before me now. I kept one arm around his waist merely for show. He became nervous if I gave Arod his head taking both hands from the reins.
"You are quiet, stout heart." I said.
"I was thinking of forests and green leaves."
"Any one in particular? All leaves are pretty much alike."
"And you call yourself an Elf? I'm ashamed of you. The green leaf I am thinking of is strong and gentle. It has survived cold times and the burning glares of disapproval. It has weathered the stinging blows of sleet which sought to freeze it from its branch. Despite these travails it is not worn and tattered. It glows with life and not a scar can be seen upon its face."
I was stunned. Never in my life had such a compliment been given me.
"Now you are silent, little leaf."
"I was thinking of stones from the mountains."
"Pah. Why waste your time upon adamant and rubies and such baubles? They are not worth much..."
"I was not thinking of gems. The stone I have in mind is dark, formed in darkness. Yet, when it is placed upon the hearth it glows; giving light and warmth to hearts chilled by privation and sorrow. It burns slowly and steadily; bringing folk together as it chases away the cold of night. Mithril and gemstones, for all their brilliant beauty cannot do this. Your heart's fire will be remembered and celebrated through all the ages to come." I said quietly.
"So you deem yourself strong enough to clasp a flame to your heart?"
"Only if you are gentle enough to hold a living leaf to your own."
"Indeed. I took you to my heart that afternoon in Imladris when you stood to Aragorn's defense."
"And I despaired of ever winning yours when you asked the Lady for her tresses. I am not beautiful. I'm but a common leaf."
"And a stupid one. I asked for her hair because it was closest in color and texture to your own. She perceived my deception. Why else did she instruct me to lay my axe to the right tree? I shall create my box but your hair will adorn it. I told you a Greenleaf and golden hair..."
He raised my hand to his lips and our destinies were sealed. Although long-lived, I would eventually lose my heart's fire. I did not grieve overmuch; for on that day, I too would leave. The Halls of the Dead would be a merry place with our mothers singing as we were once more united, never to be parted again.
(This scroll was found in the Tower of the Guard and sent with other personal items belonging to my great uncle to our new home. Brethilas II, Advisor to the Princes of Ithilien)
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Hunting Orcs by Ithilessar
Story notes: Dedication: To AC and the other extremely talented authors of lxf. This tale grew in the telling. I could not have done it without you. And to Peter Jackson and his incredibly gifted team... I waited thirty-two years to "see" the battle of Helm's Deep and it was worth it. Color me impressed.
Warnings: No hot steamy sex. Some tender avowals. This is a "falling in love" story.
Chapter end notes: The rules of this challenge required me to follow screen canon as depicted in Peter Jackson's film, "The Two Towers." I have tried my level best to do so. Nevertheless, by choosing the form of a first person narrative, I felt myself able to enrich the screen images with events described by Professor Tolkien in the book of the same name.
I owe the history of Legolas Lasgalen to AC author of "The Folly of Starlight" and NAME, author of "Oath of Hatred: Bond of Love." I made a few changes but the brilliant backstory I embroidered upon I encountered first in their magnificent sagas. With few exceptions, most of the LotR fanfiction I've read make King Thranduil an unsympathetic character. The idea of the clan Lasgalen having Dwarvish blood in its veins is my own but I do not doubt the great ones who have traveled these paths before me may have reached the same conclusions. I am no Baggins and no thief. If I have inadvertently "borrowed" factoids belonging to another fanfiction author, it was purely by chance. Please inform me of my error and I shall correct the matter, providing proper credit before permitting the archiving of this tale.
Ithilessar December 27, 2002
