Title: FOR CONTINUING STRANGE
Author: Annie Harris
Email: annie_mouse2001@yahoo.co.uk
Pairing: Legolas/Gimli
Rating: R
Summary: Legolas and Gimli explore the city of Minas Tirith and start to 
make discoveries.
Disclaimer: The usual: No claims, no pack drill – and of course no profit. 
Just living in the gaps and round the edges.
Warning: None.
Author's note. This is a work in progress, with a long way to go, as the 
gaps and edges are those not only of the book narrative but of the 
author's time as well (So what's new?). Warmest thanks to the dear 
people who took the time to write kind words about my first attempt at a 
fanfic 'Revelry by Night', which will turn up in a slightly revised version 
later on in this story: you are my sunshine :)
Archive: I'd be honoured - just ask.


For Continuing Strange

1/?

In the days following the coronation, they continued their exploration of 
the city, until they knew it pretty well from top to bottom, and the city knew 
them: the mismatched pair from the King's fellowship, whose like had not 
been seen within the walls even by the very eldest of citizens. They were 
of course made welcome wherever they went, but the people were mainly 
busy with the repair of the lower level and the ravaged lands within the 
Rammas Echor, and they felt, before they were made to feel, that the 
welcome might wear thin.

* This is a strange time, said Legolas; The King has come into his own, 
and yet it is not the new beginning that we all looked for. He waits, we all 
wait, in  a space between the old and the new.

* And waits for what? asked the dwarf; Gandalf seems to know 
something, but says nothing.

* The White Tree is dead in the Fountain Court. A new sapling must be 
found.

* That means searching, not waiting, surely?

Well, both: I do not know more.

* If our help were needed, it would have been asked for, said Gimli. "We 
must seek our own employment."

* Strange, is it not, that we find it hard to enjoy rest now we have it?

* Rest turns to idleness after a while. A dwarf cannot keep holiday 
forever.

* No, idleness does not suit you, or me.

* I never heard that elves were much inclined to toil, said Gimli, with a 
sidelong glance of deliberate mischief.

Legolas almost snapped back at him:

* We have our crafts and our necessities of life to attend to, but make no 
parade of industry!

He looked right and left along the broad stone-paved street, where a 
hundred little signs of neglect could be detected in almost all the 
buildings: the very stones of the city showed the fatigue of the long 
conflict, and continued:

* I and my people could make this a fairer place: I hope we will. But the 
time for that is not yet.

* And I see everywhere work that my hands would do or direct.

Gimli stepped up onto the broad ledge of the parapet and looked down on 
the lower levels, to where the city walls swept round to meet the steep 
rocky face of the mountain and the space for building was narrow and 
often dark. It seemed from the appearance of the quarter that the 
inhabitants were of the poorer classes.

* There is still damage untended below, close by the mountain, yet people 
seem busy everywhere but there. Legolas leaned over to see.

* It seems a dark place, so close to the foot of the mountain, even in 
summer. Those look like dwellings of the poorer folk. But see, there are 
people - a few: women mainly, and children.

He looked more carefully, shading his eyes with one hand, a familiar 
gesture from the days of the Quest, and went on:

* Yes, I see some damage there: the great stones from the war engines 
have broken the roofs of the houses, there, at the end of the street, 
though the nearer part seems unharmed.

* And the women and children are there in the ruins of their homes? This 
is dangerous.

* Yes, and I see only one or two old men; none of the bands that work 
elsewhere under masters.

* Then here is work for a dwarf's hand and eye. I shall go down, before 
ruin is made worse by unskilled searching.

* I shall go with you, my friend - maybe there is work for me too.

Gimli's response was a faint snort of disbelief, but he jumped down from 
the fire-step without further remark, and started off along the street - in 
the wrong direction, as it seemed to Legolas, if he wished to descend 
from the fourth level, where they now stood, to the first. As he was about 
to speak, Gimli turned abruptly to his right, and disappeared into the wall. 
Legolas sprang forward, and saw that the reason for the vanishing was 
nothing more than a narrow opening in the parapet, leading to a steep 
stair that ran back down within the thickness of the high wall.

Gimli was descending rapidly into a deeply shadowed tunnel between the 
tall buildings of Minas Tirith, and was soon out of sight again as the steps 
turned between smooth blank walls.

Legolas followed him down and blinked in the sudden gloom, then looked 
up to be sure that there was still bright sunlight above - with the near-
inevitable result that he missed his footing and would have fallen if the 
way had not been so narrow that he could brace his hands against the 
walls. But he uttered a little startled exclamation as he stumbled, and the 
sound echoed between the stones and soon brought Gimli leaping back 
up around the corner.

* Legolas? What is it?

* I looked up at the sky and almost fell.

* Looked at the sky? Addle-pated elf! Save your star-gazing for the night 
time!

And though his words were ungentle, the sound of his deep voice was 
not. Legolas looked up again, but not until he stood on the small landing 
at the turn.

* This is a strange place, like being underground in the light of day. Are 
there many of these ways in the city? I had not seen them.

* There are several in each level that I have seen - they follow the bones 
of the mountain: one may travel more quickly than by taking the roads all 
around.

* Descent will be quick enough; said the elf; and an easy way to break 
one's neck!

* Then take more care and forget the skies for a moment. Come on.

Legolas followed him round the turn, then, after a short descent, another, 
and saw the tall narrow cleft of light that led out between the houses onto 
the third level.

The pair had grown used to turning heads as they went about the city, but 
their sudden appearance in the street caused more of a stir than usual, 
enough to make them feel rather uncomfortable, but Gimli quickly located 
the entry to the next alley, and they were gone again.

Legolas remarked that these ways would have presented a great danger 
had the enemy come within the city, but Gimli had already seen that, set 
into the walls at intervals, were large blocks of stone made to be 
dislodged to close the narrow ways at need, and pointed out the places 
where a lever would be thrust to do the job.

* And I wonder at you, master Elf, that you say this, when two or three of 
your folk, with the of shortest your forest bows, could hold such a stair 
against an army as long as you had arrows, even without the stones.

* All these stone walls turn my brain, friend Gimli. Though they are white, 
and the sun shines, it is dark here.

* No darker than under the boughs of your forest.

* No - yes - but still the stone is strange to me.

This stair turned among the buildings in much the same way as the other, 
sometimes being an a complete tunnel, and they soon emerged into full 
sunlight on the broad street of the second level, with the flank of the 
mountain looming ever higher on their left, and the road to Rohan winding 
away below.

The street was deserted, and looking around they saw that many of the 
buildings seemed to be storehouses, and were either disused, or closed 
up as the city made holiday. When they looked over the outer wall, they 
saw clearly that the number of damaged buildings was quite small, for the 
main attack had been at the gate of the city, and the high tide of assault 
had washed up to this place last and fallen back first. But a few people 
searched there disconsolately among the rubble, looking for their 
belongings.

* As I said, there is danger here! See the old fellow in the straw hat? Will 
he risk his neck for a few sticks of furniture? The King is making provision 
against all this - will they not go and receive it?

Gimli hurried to the next stairway and started down, his quick firm steps 
echoing between the walls. The steps were clear to the bottom, save for a 
few fallen chips of stone, but dwarf and elf emerged into a dismal scene 
of dust and rubble, and the lingering smell of the enemy's fires.

The little group of the labouring folk of Minas Tirith turned from their work 
in surprise at the sudden apparition, though the two were quickly 
recognised and made welcome. Then Gimli set about putting his 
stonecraft to use in the service of the people, examining the damage to 
see what might be done to clear the mess without danger.

Coming to the first house, the home of a widow with two small sons who 
clung to her skirts, he stooped under the broken doorway, looking for a 
way to help the woman find a few things to take to the house of the 
neighbour who was sheltering her. Legolas started to follow him, but was 
turned back at once.

* Come in when I say, not before, please; Gimli said firmly.

He turned to study the fallen stones and beams in silence, looking for a 
way to the less damaged parts at the back of the house, against the rock, 
where the widow hoped to find a few things still fit for use to help out her 
neighbour's stores. He moved a stone here, a splintered beam there, 
quiet, strong and scarcely stirring the dust, and a way cleared before him. 
Then he called Legolas in:

* This is no work for such hands as yours, but since you would come, 
take this timber here, and when I raise the end of the lintel, put it here, 
against the pillar, and we shall have a doorway that will stand. Legolas 
did as Gimli asked, and soon the woman could come in, curtseying her 
thanks to the 'two lords' at every other word.

Gimli watched carefully until she and her friends had removed what they 
needed, then moved to the next place. He brushed dust from his hands, 
saying:

* We are not dressed for this work. It would be better to return to the 
guest house and come down again. But I can still look to see what needs 
to be done.

He walked to and fro along the street, almost to where it ended at the foot 
of the mountain, where one of the many springs of Mindolluin fell into a 
public well. He continued, peering in through broken windows and under 
slanting door jambs, until suddenly he was aware that Legolas, so light of 
foot, had climbed up onto the ruins of the most severely damaged place 
and was walking along the jagged top of a broken wall, looking over into 
the wreckage beyond.

The dwarf was immediately incensed by such carelessness, and called to 
him sharply to come down. Legolas turned quickly back, almost running 
along the wall top, startled by the note of alarm in Gimli's voice into 
realising the risk he courted.

Even as he jumped lightly down to Gimli, half the wall fell in behind him 
with a huge smother of white dust, and a crash that was as nothing to the 
roar with which Gimli berated his folly as the stones rattled into stillness 
and the dust began to settle. The dwarf was so furious that he burst into a 
tirade in his own fierce language, and none who heard it failed to 
understand, without knowing a single word; but the mother who stood by 
also heard in her heart the sound of an anxious love.

Legolas recoiled a couple of paces as Gimli concluded in the Common 
Speech with a stinging:

If you can do nothing useful, do nothing! 

The elf recovering his wits snapped back:

* Yes, if your voice does not bring the whole mountain down upon us!

As they glared combatively at each other amid the falling dust, the smaller 
child, frightened by the noise and raised voices, began to cry loudly. The 
mother hugged him, then looked up at Legolas:

* Don't mind what your friend says, Sir, she said shyly; - I scold my little 
ones much the same when they give me a fright!

Then curtseying nervously towards Gimli she added:

* Begging your pardon, Sir, but he frightened me too, running on the wall 
like that.

* And you were right to be frightened! Gimli replied in a sort of conciliatory 
growl; - We meant to help...

* Oh you have helped, Sir, you have!

* But I think now we should leave, and I shall return tomorrow better 
prepared  ...

He turned back towards Legolas:

* Which will doubtless mean without you.

Legolas said nothing, knowing he had been at fault, but favoured the 
dwarf with a rebellious look. When they started back up the steps, Gimli 
stood aside, letting Legolas pass, and muttering into his dusty beard

* Must I have you under my eye all the time? Addle-pated elf!

While another part of his mind said  <There are worse sights to gaze 
upon>. He followed the graceful green-clad figure, and chuckled suddenly 
to himself at the woman's words, and then thought <Yes, I feel that he is 
like a child in the world of stone, and he is dear to me>.

When they reached the second level, it was still deserted and so quiet 
that they could hear a faint sound of running water somewhere nearby, 
which made them mindful of the dust on their hands and faces and in 
their throats. Side by side once more they crossed the smooth white-
paved street and tried to find the source of the trickling sound.

The steps which would take them up to the next level opened a little way 
to their left on the far side of the street, a dark fissure between two 
shuttered buildings; but almost opposite the entrance from which they had 
emerged was an iron gate set in a carved archway. Beyond the curved 
tracery of the grille they could see marble steps that seemed to lead to a 
terrace above a row of broad, low arches, all firmly closed with heavy 
wooden doors. The tops of a few small trees and a festoon of bright-
leaved creeper hinted at a garden beyond the high wall, and the sound of 
water seemed to come from the gateway.

Legolas looked up at the greenery with interest:

* The city needs more of that.

* And could have it; said Gimli; there are many good springs, like the one 
we hear now, bringing water through the rock from the snows of 
Mindolluin, enough for men and gardens.

* Let us see if those who dwell here will allow us to drink from their spring; 
said the elf. Reaching the gate, he looked through and saw that the water 
they heard ran in little falls in a channel down the left side of the stair and 
then disappeared underground just inside the gate.

Next they saw that the gate was not locked, nor even bolted, but stood 
slightly ajar - yet it did not seem to offer a welcome, and their eyes took in 
what their hearts had already guessed; that this was the gate of one of 
the many empty houses of Minas Tirith. Legolas pushed the gate and it 
swung inwards with a long grating squeal. Small plants and grasses were 
growing at the edges of the steps, and dead leaves lay in the angles.

* There is none here to give or deny; said Gimli; I am sorry to see it: this 
work is good, both the stone and the iron.

* And these ferns have been carefully set by the waterway.

Legolas stooped and dipped his hands into the water in the narrow 
channel.

* Ah! It is cold! The snows of Mindolluin truly.

He shook his hands and the bright drops flew sparkling in the sunshine. 
Then he went down on one knee beside the channel, splashed water over 
his face, and drank from cupped hands. Gimli stood and watched him for 
a moment, still angered by his carelessness and caught again by his quiet 
grace. Then he too stepped forward and knelt by the streamlet to wash 
his hands and face and drink the cool, pure water.

When they stood again in the noonday sunshine that streamed over the 
high wall above the gate, Legolas said:

* Your beard shines with diamonds, friend Gimli, and snows of Mindolluin 
are the mine.

Gimli glanced down at the rainbow sparkles that mingled with the plaster 
dust on his carefully braided beard and felt again the elf's strange ability 
to shake him with anger and delight.

* A fine pair of vagabonds we must look, smothered with dust and 
seeking water as if we were homeless; he growled; Diamonds indeed!

But he could not forbear a smile, and Legolas smiled in return, but would 
not meet his eyes for long.

Then Gimli looked around again at the place they were in, and saw that 
on the right of the small paved square where they stood was a narrow 
door with a little shuttered window beside it - a gatekeeper's lodge in 
better days. A rusting iron sconce was set above the archway on the 
inside, and a bracket that might have carried a bell, but of the bell and a 
chain or lever to ring it there was no sign.

On the left rose a mossy, fern-tufted wall, partly of the rock of Mindolluin, 
partly of masonry, the side of another building set against the mountain, 
but the right-hand wall of the stair was of smooth dressed blocks, the side 
of the terrace they had guessed at from the street. The marble stairs, 
well-proportioned and wide enough for three to walk abreast, ran up to a 
second gate of iron scrollwork. Elf and dwarf looked at each other, and 
silently agreed to go up.

The second gate was latched but also unlocked, and opened in the 
northeast corner of a courtyard, larger than they had expected to find, 
warm and bright with the sun. On the left, a little way inside the gate, the 
water of the spring fell from a fissure, above the height of the elf's head, in 
the wall of living rock, and cascaded into a marble basin from which the 
overflow ran down beside the stair. There seemed to be no sound in the 
whole city but the gentle music of falling water. The courtyard breathed a 
secret peace. The two intruders heard no challenge and now expected 
none. They stood and gazed around.  The place must have been a 
pleasant dwelling, and that not long ago. On their left, the eastern wall of 
the court was of rock, topped by the walls of adjacent buildings; facing 
them on the south, and built, as they soon discovered, partly into the rock 
of the mountain side, was a range of rooms, fronted by a narrow 
verandah and roofed with red tiles. Above the tiles rose the rock and then 
the stone of the third level parapet. The west and north sides of the court 
held the rest of the house, fronted with the verandah that sheltered doors 
and windows, and where the north range met the stairway a second arch 
led back along the end of the building to the terrace overlooking the 
street.

Legolas turned that way first, and they looked down over the roadway to 
the first level below.

The terrace plants in their tubs and troughs were surviving but the soil 
was drying in the early summer heat. Legolas touched the leaves 
anxiously and felt the soil.

* They all need water

* Send for Master Samwise. He might be glad to tend this place.

* I know he would, but so should I.

There was a wistful note in Legolas' voice as he looked at the plants and 
shrubs, and Gimli watched him thoughtfully.

They explored the whole house, and found every room unlocked but all 
apparently in good order, even to pieces of furniture and hangings in 
some of the rooms.

* This has not been empty long, said Gimli; Only a matter of months.

Legolas agreed.

In the north range of the building, opening 0nto the terrace above the 
street, they found the principal rooms: nearest the entrance gate was a 
very large living room, with windows flanking doors to courtyard and 
terrace; next, through an interior connecting door, a smaller room with  
windows to the terrace only; then through another interior door, the main 
bedchamber, with a tall window facing north onto the terrace and a 
smaller one west to the side of the mountain. This room also had its own 
door to the courtyard, under the verandah. Behind the bedchamber, on 
the western side, were four more rooms, the first another bedroom with a 
bed still in it, all rather dark, with the verandah shading the doors and 
windows on one side, and the mountains looming beyond the windows 
opposite, above the roofs of the few other buildings that completed the 
sloping street which ended at the mountain face, like the one below. The 
southern side of the court, built against the wall of the level above, held 
the long kitchen, a washroom, storerooms and a privy.

Gimli pottered about, examining details of stone, wood and metalwork, 
seeing for the first time the inside of a house that had belonged, he 
guessed, to the merchant class of Gondor. Suddenly he realised that 
Legolas had found where the garden tools were kept, had discovered a 
watering can, and was busy taking care of the plants and the small trees 
in their troughs. Gimli stepped out from the shade of the verandah and 
watched him. He was so absorbed in his work that it was some time 
before he noticed the dwarf.

* Maybe the people will return, said Legolas; or new owners found, 
probably soon, now the war is over. It will not take much to keep the 
plants well till then.

* Your hands will be best to tend them, and 'tis a pleasant place surely. It 
should not stand empty long. Legolas stood still in the middle of the 
courtyard, watering can in hand.

* For the first time, I think I could live, for a while at least, in this city of 
stone.

* But the halls of your father are stone of the mountain - how is this 
different?

Legolas frowned.

* I know: yet they feel like the forest, and this does not.

* Elves! said Gimli softly.

Legolas' grey eyes flashed.

* You were glad to stay among the trees of Lorien.

* True, said Gimli; Though Lorien is like no other forest. And I could live 
here also, among these strong rocks. And our help could still be of use 
below; so why not remove here? It wants but little to make it habitable 
again. A dwarf can keep holiday only for so long! Ach! Nonsense! We are 
guests in a fine house. It would be discourtesy ...

His words trailed into silence as he wondered why he suddenly wished to 
leave the companionable house and work in this lonely corner of the city.

Legolas resumed his tending of the plants, for it grieved him to see the 
little trees wilting in their urns. There should be green things growing, 
either to welcome the return of those who had lived here before, or to 
offer a greeting to someone made homeless by the burning in the 
Pelennor or elsewhere in the city. Now Gimli followed him as though 
drawn by a magnet, watching as he examined the plants and gave them 
water. Suddenly Legolas turned to him and said;

* You do not rush in and make my mistakes, dear Gimli. I will not need to 
scold you for washing the plants away with overmuch water, or any other 
addle-pated thing!

* Forgive my harsh words, Legolas. I was glad of your help, though it is 
not work for hands such as yours, and you frightened me by putting 
yourself into danger.

* You were right to scold. I did not realise the danger, and I deserved all 
you said; - he smiled suddenly; - Even if I did not understand a word of it! 
There, that's done. The plants will be well enough for a while. Shall we go 
back up?

They closed all the doors they had opened, and fastened the gates 
behind them, leaving the empty house to dream in the sunlight, and went 
back up by the steep ways of the city to the house where they were 
lodged with their companions. This was a large guest house on the 
prestigious fifth level, where the owners were glad to receive such 
distinguished visitors, after recent times that had seen only dwindling 
trade. When the others came in, they exchanged news of their doings, 
and Legolas and Gimli described the deserted house in the quiet corner 
of the city.

Sam said he liked the sound of the place, and wondered who had lived 
there, whether they might come back; whether someone could go and 
stay there - To keep the place alive, so to speak.

* I know where we might ask, said Pippin; There's an Office of Property 
Records, or some such name. I passed it the other day.

* Then let's go there - after luncheon! said Merry.

* First things first; said Gimli with a smile.

And so it was that later the same afternoon Pippin found himself leading 
quite a deputation to the House of Records, Legolas and Gimli bemused 
to find that the hobbits had somehow decided that the deserted house 
was meant for them and that matters must be arranged.

And such was the standing of the Fellowship in the city that they could 
have received all they cared to ask for that the city could by any means 
grant, or so it seemed.

Pippin soon found the right officials, and it was established that the house 
was indeed ownerless. The Warden in charge read through the entries in 
his ledger with a grave face, and though nothing was said, they all 
guessed at some tragedy of the war. It seemed that this official was 
empowered to have some of Faramir's household start work on making 
the dwelling ready the next day, so Legolas and Gimli were swept off 
again by the hobbits, having contributed barely a dozen words apiece to 
the proceedings, with Sam making up a shopping list for the next 
morning's market aloud as they went.

On returning to the guest house, they found that Gandalf and Frodo had 
come back from their day's conference with the King and the chief men of 
the city, and so could be told, in differing simultaneous versions, of what 
had gone on through the day. By the time the deserted house, the falling 
wall, the stairs, the woman with the two boys, the trees and the spring in 
the rock had all been thoroughly confused, no-one seemed ready to admit 
to knowing who had first thought of finding a new home for Legolas and 
Gimli, though Merry and Pippin chose to maintain that it was Sam, 
because of his concern for the neglected plants and trees.

By the end of their evening meal, Frodo had laughingly given up any 
pretence of understanding the tale, and Sam caught Gandalf eyeing the 
elf and dwarf with what he described to himself as a 'very old-fashioned 
look'. But Sam sympathised with their wish to work for the good of the 
city, even while they were honoured guests enjoying a time of rest and 
recovery, and felt inclined to lend a hand himself.

...TBC

Title: FOR CONTINUING STRANGE
Author: Annie Harris
Email: annie_mouse2001@yahoo.co.uk
Pairing: Legolas/Gimli
Rating: R
Summary: Legolas lacks the party spirit.
Disclaimer: The usual: No claims, no pack drill - and
of course no profit. Just living in the gaps and round
the edges.
Warning: None.
Author's note. Just a short section this time.
Archive: I'd be honoured - just ask.

For Continuing Strange

2/?

As the daylight faded, the large ground floor room at
the front of the guest house began to fill with
visitors, people whom the hobbits had met in the city,
calling in after the day's work. Legolas looked at the
darkening sky: soon he would walk out to watch the
stars from the ramparts of the city, as he had done
most nights since their arrival - but people would
insist on talking to him, and he could do no less than
respond courteously, while the stars came out and the
hall grew noisier and more crowded. 

Eventually someone started tuning a fiddle, and the
sound was greeted with enthusiasm. In no time at all,
an impromptu party was well under way; beer and wine
were being ordered, and someone with a tin whistle
joined the fiddler. Legolas turned from talking to an
off-duty member of the guard to see a woman handing to
Gimli a small gittern which the dwarf began to tune,
bending his head close to the instrument to be able to
hear.

It had not really occurred to him before that the
dwarves might like music or make music, despite the
song or chant of Moria that Gimli had sung (admittedly
in a rather fine voice) for the Fellowship: music was
such a distinctively elvish thing. Yet he could see
from the way Gimli handled the instrument that it was
familiar to him.

Once satisfied with the tuning, the dwarf struck a
plangent chord on the metal strings, and as if this
was an expected signal, there came a scraping of chair
legs on the tiles and a general pushing aside of
furniture. Fiddler and whistle-player appeared beside
Gimli, and a discussion of repertoire seemed imminent.
Gandalf passed behind the elf, making for the door,
and Legolas was convinced that he heard a muttering to
the effect of 'let battle commence!' before the wizard
disappeared. Looking back across the room towards
Gimli again, he saw that the dwarf was now ensconced
on one of the deep window sills, with the other two
musicians on stools set on top of one of the large
tables that had been pushed against the wall.

They seemed to have agreed that the fiddler, a man of
the city, should lead off, with the other two joining
in as they picked up the melody. He clearly made a
good choice, for in no time at all a dance had begun
which the hobbits and a few men of Rohan who were
present soon recognised as a hay, though the people of
Minas Tirith had a different name for it. Pippin
favoured the elf with this information as Sam and
Merry, and even Frodo, went gaily past, weaving
through the line down the hall and back again. The
Pippin also joined the line, and after a couple of
turns up and down, shot off the end with a leap and a
screech, which evidently gave the overcrowded line the
signal to resolve itself into a circle, or as near a
circle as might be, given the shape of the room, which
allowed more people to join in, but left little space
for anything else.

Legolas rose from his seat and edged towards the door.
He saw that Gimli was keeping an eye of the fiddler,
and adding an accompaniment to the swirling melody
with growing confidence while the whistle-player
contributed a counterpoint of rustic virtuosity.

There was high good humour everywhere; a clapping of
hands, tapping of feet, laughter and loud voices. The
room was growing very warm too: windows were flung
open, and the sound of mirth and music floating out
into the streets drew more people in. Legolas stood in
the arch of the doorway, unnoticed in the shadowy
recess, and felt again the sense of stifling and
oppression that had come upon him from time to time
since he had entered the city. The noise and the heat
made things worse, and yet he wished that he did not
shrink from such honest, vulgar merriment. He almost
wanted to be asked to stay, rather than have it
accepted that he would not wish to do so.

He saw one of the men of Rohan, very young and but
newly recovered from wounding in the Battle of the
Pelennor, and soon tired, leave the hay and climb up
to Gimli's window sill. Gimli handed him the gittern,
jumped down, and was bundled into the dance by the
hobbits.

Legolas fled into the cool street, and strode swiftly
away, followed by the strains of another lively dance
tune. Before he found a stair to climb higher in the
city, he heard a wonderful laugh amid the music -
deep, rich and resonant: it could only be Gimli's. His
step faltered and he almost turned back, but the
thought of the lamplit heat of the room dissuaded him.
A waxing moon sailed among light bars of cloud above
the vales of Anduin, and the air of the late spring
night was mild and sweet, but Legolas wandered
restlessly and the stars were veiled from his eyes by
his own reproaches. He climbed to the walkway on the
rampart, and leaned on the parapet, looking down over
the city, where many lights burned and the sounds of
life floated up - voices, music, domestic animals: but
his heart said to him <You have shared their travels
and danger, fought beside them, kept watch over them
or rested under their guard in wild places, and now
you feel yourself too much of a lord to share their
pleasure.

His hands gripped the edge of the stone, still warm
from the day's sunshine. With no dangers now to fill
his mind, he felt keenly the fact that he was alone of
all his kind in the great stone city of men since the
sons of Elrond had departed. Gimli was alone too, yet
seemed quite at ease and at home. And that was another
trouble: today he himself had spoiled the deepening
friendship he had found with Gimli.

Already in the short time of peace they had enjoyed,
the dwarf had been about the city in search of tools
for stone and metal work, and had found one or two of
dwarvish make and a few good pieces from Dale. Apart
from the astonishing beard, he looked like a very
short but powerful man, and as for the hobbits,
Legolas thought with a sudden surge of affection, they
could make themselves at home anywhere, - even on the
very edge of ruin, as Gandalf had said.

Then how was it that he could not join in, fit in? He
felt it now as a fault in himself, and could not rest,
so, finding little pleasure in walking out in the
night, he went back down to the house, where the party
was still going on, and slipped back in unnoticed.
The dancing seemed to have stopped, to be replaced by
song; a number of men singing in a sonorous harmony of
a kind unknown to him, using the Common Speech, so far
as he could tell, though with a very strong accent.

The singers were seamen of the Ethir Anduin, who had
come with Aragorn's army on the ships, and their song
hummed like sea wind in the cordage. Then another
voice joined in the chorus, and Legolas froze with his
hand on the banister rail: Gimli's resonant bass, rich
and warm, an easy fifth below the lowest of the
others, carrying music along like an ocean swell.
Even then he could not turn and go into the hall.

Hearing the door open and the music spill out more
loudly, he darted up the stairs and went to his room,
unheard and unseen. Once in bed he lay stretched flat,
hands folded over the end of his breastbone, listening
until the party broke up and the house fell silent.



Title: FOR CONTINUING STRANGE
Author: Annie Harris
Email: annie_mouse2001@yahoo.co.uk
Pairing: Legolas/Gimli
Rating: R
Summary: Legolas and Gimli go back to help in the
Lower City while their new house is made ready.
Disclaimer: The usual: No claims, no pack drill - and
of course no profit. Just living in the gaps and round
the edges.
Warning: None.
Author's note. Another short section.
Archive: I'd be honoured - just ask.

For Continuing Strange 

3/?

It seemed that the the open-eyed repose of elven kind
would never come to him, but he must have slept at
last, for suddenly the sky was light, and steps in the
street told of another day beginning in Minas Tirith,
and voices in the corridor of hobbits in search of
breakfast. There was nothing to do but get up and join
them - and find that he was the last to go down.
Naturally everyone started telling him what a good
evening he had missed, though they did not question
that he would always prefer watching the stars to
taking part in what Pippin referred to as a 'proper
hooley'.

Gimli, between taking bites from an extremely thick
slice of brown bread and butter, was exclaiming over
three young women from the Pelennor  (Who must surely
now be homeless, though you would not think it to see
them) - who had shown the company some of their local
dances.

* Short skirts, Legolas! he said; And petticoats, so
many that a woman of our people would do murder to
possess but half the number for feast days! And white
stockings, and little backless slippers of embroidered
leather, with heels that clack like hammers in our
workshops!

* How could they dance like that, and not have one
slipper - er - slip? wondered Merry.

Gandalf decided to make a contribution.

* That's womenfolk; he said, and started to fill his
pipe.

Sam decided that Legolas' face in the middle of all
this was 'a picture'.

* I do enjoy a bit of a shindig myself, now and again;
he confided to the elf; But I'll allow it's not to
everyone's taste. Then he went on: 

* I hope they get your house ready soon, I'd like to
see it, but I think we'll be busy today.

* Of course you shall see it, Sam; Legolas replied;
Whenever you like.

* What will you be doing today, Legolas? asked Gimli
from across the table. 

Legolas gave him a blank look.

* I thought we were going down to where we were
yesterday.

* Ah! But you're not dressed for it.

Then Legolas realised that Gimli was wearing his old
clothes from the journey (though not of course his
mail coat) while he himself had put on the city
clothes he had worn the day before.

* Then I shall change; he replied shortly.

* Very well, Gimli snapped back; And you'll need
gloves -

He suddenly recalled a pair of gauntlets tucked into
the elf's belt during their travels, but rarely worn,
even on Barazinbar.

* Have you still those gauntlets?

Legolas nodded.

* And look you, NO MORE NONSENSE!

The hobbits exchanged a round of 'here we go again'
looks as Legolas jumped  up and left. Gimli's only
comment was a gruff sort of 'Hmph' as he took an apple
from the bowl on the table before departing in his
turn.

* What a pair! said Pippin; I thought they were
friends now?

* Oh, they are; said Sam; They just don't quite
believe it yet.

Gandalf blew a couple of approving smoke rings that
flew around Sam's head for a whole minute, changing
colour as they went.

When Legolas came down from his room again, wearing
his old leather breeches, high boots and jerkin,
Gimli, waiting for him under the courtyard arch,
nodded a grudging approval, shouldered his bundle of
stone-working tools, and stalked off. But it seemed to
him that elvish beauty only shone the brighter in drab
costume, like a fine jewel in a plain setting.

They did not speak until they came down to the second
level, and saw people already at work bringing goods
to the deserted house. A few words with the
grey-haired man in charge assured them that things
were being done well, and that their belongings would
be brought down from the guest house later. They also
learned where they should ask for anything they might
require in future.

Leaving the men to their work they went on down to the
lowest level. The whole north-western angle of the
city still seemed very quiet.

* It is as we have heard; said Gimli; The number of
people here is much fallen off from earlier days, and
this corner, which must always be darkest, seems to
have suffered most.

They reached the bottom and found a few more people
there than on the previous day, still trying to
recover things from their homes and workshops. Some of
them seemed scarcely seemed to know who had come among
them though they looked at the elf in barely-hidden
wonder, and listened to whispered explanations from
their friends. But people were glad to follow as Gimli
organised their work, and told them where they should
apply for the assistance that was being made available
to all who had suffered in the siege. Legolas took his
instructions with the rest, hearing the gruff
kindliness in the dwarf's words to the unfortunate
folk.

When Gimli had set the women to find baskets in which
to carry away rubble to a clear space by the foot of
the outer wall, he took Legolas in under the first
cracked and leaning doorposts and started work.

Despite his care, there were soon a few falls of stone
and an inordinate amount of dust everywhere. Legolas,
obediently wearing the gauntlets, fumbled the removal
of a large stone block as his long hair fell across
his face. Gimli shook his head, muttering 'Elves'
under his breath.

* Come here, Legolas, sit down.

Acknowledging the discovery of more 'elvish nonsense'
he obeyed and was surprised when Gimli stepped behind
him, drew all his hair back, and quickly worked it
into a single braid which he tied with a short leather
thong from the store of useful bits and pieces kept in
the many pockets of his heavy jerkin. Against the
backs of his hands, Gimli felt a sudden warming of the
usually cool skin of the elf, and could even see a
faint flush of colour in the fair neck, a silent
reaction to the reproof he felt.

Gimli secured the ends of the thong and slapped

Legolas lightly on the shoulder.

* There, that's more workmanlike!

* Thank you; said Legolas quietly, wondering why he
had not thought of it himself.

He resumed his work, but Gimli's hands remembered the
silken softness of elvish hair all day, whether he
grasped broken stone or splintered timber.

The city people worked steadily, not speaking much,
even the children helping to carry the smaller rubble
away in little rush baskets, hoping to be rewarded by
the recovery of a few treasured toys.

At midday the widow and her friend brought bread,
cheese, milk and apples; and elf and dwarf sat on
stone blocks in the sunshine and shared a meal with
the poor folk.

Suddenly the widow's younger son started crying. He
had found his favourite toy horse in a bundle of
things rescued by his mother, but one of its legs had
been broken off.

The mother tried to quiet him, but Gimli, seeing the
problem, asked for the toy. The child cried more
loudly, frightened by the unfamiliar appearance of the
dwarf, but Gimli spoke to him gently, and Legolas
wondered at the change in the deep voice that
yesterday had seemed like to shake the mountain.

Gimli examined the little wooden horse, then, looking
around him, found a piece of timber splintered from
one of the house beams. He took a short knife from his
tool bag, and set about carving a new leg for the toy.
Then he carefully cut off the end of the broken leg
and, asking Legolas to hold the toy for him, produced
a small boring tool from the bag and made a hole in
the wooden body in to which the new leg was soon
firmly pegged.

A few more minutes work saw to the finishing, by which
time the dwarf was surrounded by a silent circle of
fascinated watchers, not the least of whom was Legolas
as he saw Gimli's great strength harnessed to such
slight work with easy precision, and honoured the
kindliness that had moved him to help.

The little boy, tears forgotten, stared in solemn
round-eyed wonder at the restoration of his toy, and
when his mother prompted him gently to thank the kind
dwarf, the child flung his arms around Gimli's neck,
kissed his cheek, and then very timidly stroked the
dwarf's bushy beard.

Gimli's response was a deep chuckle which sent the
startled child running back to his mother, who looked
quite dismayed by her son's impudence. But Gimli
laughed aloud and said:

* He'll go a long way to see a finer beard, even if it
is the worse for dust today!

Everyone returned to work in a better humour, and by
mid-afternoon all but one of the damaged houses had
been made safe. It seemed a good time to stop work, go
home, and enjoy the rest of the warm summer day. Gimli
said nothing further about addle-pated elves, and
Legolas felt more at ease.


Title: FOR CONTINUING STRANGE
Author: Annie Harris
Email: annie_mouse2001@yahoo.co.uk
Pairing: Legolas/Gimli
Rating: R
Summary: Moving in, and another party. Gimli discovers
how music can affect an elf.
Disclaimer: The usual: No claims, no pack drill - and
of course no profit. Just living in the gaps and round
the edges.
Warning: None.
Author's note. The piper in this scene is playing
something like the Irish uilleann pipes, not Scottish
bagpipes.
Archive: I'd be honoured - just ask.

For Continuing Strange 

4/?

The little courtyard house now stood silent in the
sunshine. Someone had oiled the hinges of the gates; a
well-damped fire burned in the kitchen range, and the
larder shelves had been stocked.

Looking around more carefully, they realised that
water from the spring could be fed through a carefully
constructed stone channel with little sluices into
cisterns in both the washhouse and the kitchen, a
great means of saving the work of filling and carrying
pails or jugs. Not only that, there was an iron
set-pot, built into the kitchen range, which had been
filled, and the water was already well heated.
When Gimli discovered this, he took a few more logs
from the basket, opened the flue a little and stirred
the fire.

* This is all very well contrived; he said; Hot water!
Just the thing for the end of a dusty day. I shall
take a bath.

Legolas agreed it was a good idea, but bathing in hot
water was not part of a silvan elf's way of life: cold
was the only way.

* All the more hot for me; said Gimli, grinning
happily.

And they went off to see the rest of the arrangements
while the fire did its work.

All the personal things that had been brought for them
from the guest house had been left in the smaller
living room, so the first decision had to be who would
take which bedroom. Gimli felt obliged to defer to
Legolas as a king's son, but Legolas said no. Since
elves needed little sleep and often preferred to be
outdoors at night, Gimli should have the best room,
and he the next. So that was agreed.

The people of the city had been quick and generous in
providing the travellers with a choice of new clothes,
and someone, they presumed Gandalf, and perhaps the
King, had ensured that their work produced appropriate
results.

Legolas found a coat of fine emerald velvet, cut in
imitation of his archer's gambeson, and decorated with
fine silver threadwork.

* I never saw this before, or asked for such a thing,
but it looks very well and as if it will fit.

Gimli bustled around, gathering what he wanted for his
bath, and Legolas turned his attention to the trees
and other plants in the courtyard and on the terrace.
The water he had given them the day before had already
worked an improvement and everything was noticeably
greener. He carried on his gardening, looking forward
to blossoms on the terrace trees in a very few days,
and heard Gimli singing softly to himself in his own
tongue as he bathed. The dwarvish language, considered
by elves to be harsh and unmusical, sounded
unexpectedly pleasant, even soothing.

Legolas rinsed his hands in the cold water from the
spring, for now he had earth as well as dust on his
fingers after pulling weeds from the urns and plant
pots. He paused in mid-movement, struck by an odd
observation. Like almost all elves, he had grown up
believing, without thinking about it, that dwarves
must be muddy, grubby creatures since they preferred
to dwell underground, and worked at mining and
forging, and this common prejudice had continued
alongside the daily observation that this was
certainly not true of Gimli, and, as he recalled
Bilbo's lavishly detailed descriptions of Thorin and
his expedition, probably not true of any dwarves. Once
freed from the hardship of the quest, Gimli was a
fastidious as any elf, and here was he, Legolas, still
covered in dust, earth on his hands, while Gimli made
haste to bathe.

The elf laughed aloud, scooped water from the basin,
and splashed it over his face, then stood still again,
blinking water off his eyelashes, and wondering what
else there was that he had 'always known' about the
dwarves that was simply not so.

* Your turn; said Gimli.

He had emerged from the house dressed in some sort of
rough brown robe with a cord girdle that made him look
like an animated sack. He had obviously washed his
hair and beard, turning their bright brown colour of
autumn oak-leaves almost to black. The effect was so
extraordinary that Legolas spluttered with
ill-suppressed giggles, and had to pretend it was due
to the cold water.

Gimli looked him up and down haughtily, sat on the
courtyard bench, and began to comb out his beard. It
would soon dry in the afternoon sunshine and warm mild
breeze. Legolas retreated to collect his change of
clothes, still fighting the impulse to laugh, and
returned to take his own bath, filling the wooden tub
with cold water from the cistern. But if he did not
want water heated by the kitchen fire, the towels
Gimli had left warming on the rail before it were
welcome afterwards.

When he emerged into the sunshine again, barefoot and
wearing only the fine green cloth breeches that
matched the velvet coat, he found that Gimli had
investigated the larder and set out a meal on the
courtyard table: a cold meat pie, fruit, bread, honey
and a stone flagon of wine.

The dwarf's hair and beard were resuming their proper
colour and bushy amplitude, like autumn leaves in the
sunlight, and he looked himself again.

Legolas sat down with his back to the sun, then
suddenly stood up and stretched, bending and
straightening his arms and rippling all the muscles of
his body like a cat and sighing contentedly. Gimli
looked up at the tall, strong, pale-skinned form with
a dwarf's vision which sees below the surface, and
noted the asymmetry of arms, shoulders and torso that
marks the experienced archer in his very bones. He
also noted, with an odd mixture of feelings, that the
long elvish limbs which had once looked so spindly and
even awkward now seemed elegant and graceful in their
lean smooth strength. It was a change of vision that
had been coming on gradually since Moria, until now he
could scarcely remember how odd elves had looked to
him all his life till then.

Legolas sat down again and thanked his friend for
setting out the food. They ate in comfortable silence,
with only the gentle music of the spring for company.

* Shall we go up and see the hobbits? said Gimli after
a while: No doubt they'll have plenty to tell.

* If they don't come visiting here first; answered
Legolas, smiling; Yes, let's go up.

He finished his wine and went off to dress, then
stopped halfway across the courtyard, turned back, and
tidied away the plates and remains of the meal. Gimli
just grinned at him, eyes twinkling, and set about
restoring the braids of his beard.

By the time they were ready, the sun was sinking and
grey clouds were drifting in from the south-west.

* Rain before midnight; said Legolas, sniffing the
air.

They put their grey cloaks on over their new clothes
(Gimli's a deep reddish-purple colour with black and
gold work in the borders).

At the guest house they found another lively evening
already well under way, with music and song, though
this time the tables remained down the middle of the
long room. Frodo sat in an armchair beside the hearth
where logs were laid but not lit, presiding over the
scene like the head of a large, noisy but happy
family. Legolas and Gimli were warmly welcomed and
exchanged tales of the day with the hobbits. Legolas
told them of Gimli's kindness to the child and
delighted in the telling.

Soon someone called on the dwarf to join the singing
of the men of the Ethir again, and Gimli crossed the
room to them. There was no doubt that his fine deep
voice suited their music well, and their powerful
harmonies filled the room.

Legolas found himself fascinated by the dwarf's voice.
He thought it was like a voice of stone, but stone
warmed by ages in the light of the sun. It seemed he
could feel his own chest vibrate in sympathy with the
sound, and the sensation so piqued his quick and
innocent sensuality that he stepped behind Gimli where
he sat on the singers' bench and laid his hands on his
shoulders to find out if he could feel the same
resonance in the dwarf's strong frame; and indeed he
could. Gimli needed only the briefest sideways glance
to confirm who touched him, and raised his right hand
to lay it over Legolas' as he sang.

The girls from the Pelennor were not there, but there
was mirth enough as other singers and musicians took
their turn at entertaining the company.

The music grew livelier as more beer and wine were
consumed. Two women of the city, tall and dressed in
plain blue gowns and starched white kerchiefs, and who
looked like sisters, joined the musicians with
wordless vocalising, the mouth music of their people,
intricate and irresistibly rhythmical, and soon people
were dancing in the little floor space available.

Then Sam sent the company into fits of laughter by
starting to play the spoons - laughter that turned to
admiration when those who tried to copy him found they
could not. Then a piper joined in the din. Gimli had
noticed the distinctive movement of his elbow working
the bellows, and now laughed aloud to see how Legolas,
who had not heard the instrument before, jumped at the
sound of drone and chanter; but moments later he was
astonished to see that the elf had apparently taken
leave of his senses and had not only joined in the
confused dancing, but had chosen for himself the only
clear surface remaining in the room: the table top.

For one shocked moment, the music faltered; then
Pippin uttered a loud yell of encouragement, and
Legolas made his way down the full length of the
tables in a flurry of delicate leaping steps,
travelling from side to side, avoiding all the
obstacles of dishes, jugs and goblets, arms outflung
in seemingly weightless poise, bright hair rippling.

Then he turned and danced back towards Frodo, who
passed a hand over his eyes as if he could not believe
what he was seeing, before turning again.

By this time some people were deliberately trying to
put things in his way, but they were no match for
elvish nimbleness, and the contest ended in victory
for the elf, who sprang off the end of the last table
having touched not a single plate or cup. Everybody
cheered, even Gimli, baffled though he was by this
reckless exhibition after the elf had avoided the
merrymaking the night before.

When the party started to break up, and they were
going home in the first of the rain, Legolas still
seemed to be in tearing spirits, and exclaimed softly
from time to time 'Samwise!' or 'Spoons!'  and
occasionally, as a more generalised variation,
'Hobbits!'

After a time Gimli could stand no more of it, and
said:

* If I didn't know better, I'd have to say you were
drunk!

Legolas stood still and said nothing for what seemed a
very long time, until Gimli felt almost anxious.

* No; said the elf at last; Not with wine, but drunk
with music and mirth!

* Is that what music does to you? It can feel like
intoxication, I know.

* Music has great power over all elves. And that music
was like a first taste of strong ale!

Legolas laughed softly and danced a few noiseless
steps along the empty street. Gimli wanted to tell him
how beautiful he had looked in the yellow lamplight: a
spirit of pure joy, music made visible; but could not
find the words, and so they went home, the dwarf to
sleep and the elf to sit under the colonnade on the
terrace and listen, as he said, to the trees growing
as they drank the rain.


Title: FOR CONTINUING STRANGE
Author: Annie Harris
Email: annie_mouse2001@yahoo.co.uk
Pairing: Legolas/Gimli
Rating: R
Summary: Legolas and Gimli return to help the people
in the lower city, but disaster strikes.
Disclaimer: The usual: No claims, no pack drill - and
of course no profit. Just living in the gaps and round
the edges.
Warning: None.
Author's note. Throughout this story, all quotations
from, descriptions of, or allusions to, music, verse,
writings or other artistic works (from mediaeval
poetry to Martha Graham dance pieces) currently
existing are meant as pre-echoes and archetypes or
else as placeholders for Third Age originals which I
have not the genius to invent, and the ownership of
the creators is acknowledged.
Archive: I'd be honoured - just ask.

For Continuing Strange 

5/?

The next day dawned fresh and bright after a night of
showers.

* That should have laid the dust; said Gimli, looking
out of the bedroom window across the terrace.

Legolas shook one of the long overhanging sprays of
creeper and sprinkled him with raindrops.

* It has made all the plants grow wonderfully.
Gimli looked around and saw that it was so: the
terrace garden was thick with leaves and blossom. 

* I think these plants know they have a wood-elf to
care for them now.

* Maybe!

They were surprised to hear the sound of the lower
gate opening and closing, and went out into the
courtyard to see who would appear. It was Sam, with a
large basket and a smug expression.

* Here's a surprise; said Gimli; - And a pleasant one.

* And a present for you; said Sam, lifting the cloth
that covered the basket, to reveal fresh mushrooms. -
I'll even cook them for you, though I can't stay long.

* Blessed Sam Gamgee! said Gimli, who had begun to
share the hobbits' addiction to mushrooms; - Where did
you get these, so early in the morning?

* Aha! said Sam; - You remember the young ladies from
the Pelennor who were up at the house the other day?
Well, one of them told me where to look - and not far
from the gate, either, despite all the mess! There
were so many that not even a party of hobbits could
eat them all.

Once in the kitchen, Sam built up the fire and started
work, and soon a delicious aroma of frying mushrooms
floated out into the courtyard. Sam bustled around,
finding out where things were kept, setting the table,
stirring the mushrooms in the pan. He remembered his
own two little pans, carried so far and discarded at
the last, and said aloud:

* But it's still a long way home, and with a much
better chance of something to cook.

* What was that, Sam? asked Gimli, and was told the
story of the pans. 

The dwarf, saying nothing, resolved to make a new set
for Sam.	

Legolas thanked Sam as he set the breakfast before
them.

* Do you never rest from caring for others, Sam?

* No more than you two, seemingly; he replied, looking
at their working clothes; 
- Though I'll stop long enough to take breakfast with
you.

Before he left, he was given a quick tour of the house
and terrace, and said that he must come back to lend a
hand with the weeding. He thought that the place was
pleasant enough, but a bit near the mountain for his
liking.

When he had gone, elf and dwarf sat a little longer
enjoying the morning sunshine; then Legolas said:

* You must turn me into a workman again, Gimli; and
swept his hair back over his shoulders.

Only his usual fine top braids were in place.

* Shall I learn to be a less addle-pated elf, do you
think?

* After last night, I'm surprised there's a single
thought left in your head, let alone any common sense!
Legolas took the thong that had tied his hair the day
before from the pocket of his jerkin and silently
handed it back over his shoulder to Gimli. The dwarf
drew his friend's long silky locks into a neat close
plait, and Legolas became utterly still under his
hands, lulled almost to dreaming. Gimli ran his broad
right hand over the sleek bright head and down the
lustrous pale gold rope of hair, and in his heart he
said <Thou art fair and brave beyond my words to tell,
and my life is safe in thy keeping>.

He tied the little leather thong with a neat knot, and
Legolas remained motionless before him.

* Legolas?

The elf started, as if from sleep.

* You were right, friend Gimli; not a single thought
left!

They went down the stairs to the street, and Legolas
paused and said:

* I can smell burning. Wood - and something else.

They crossed the street, climbed up to the parapet and
looked over, but could see nothing strange. The elf
must have caught the smoke from one of the many
domestic hearths in the city, or from some workshop.
But as they turned towards the entrance to the steps
that would take them down to the lower level, they
heard a woman's voice cry out shrilly somewhere below,
cutting through the noises of the city like a knife.
Seconds later there came a rumble and a crash of
stone, followed after a moment's silence by a dreadful
scream.

The two leaped forward and down the narrow turning
steps as fast as they could go, Gimli leading, ever
surer-footed on stone even than the elf. When they
reached the bottom they saw the widow and the other
people of the lower street, either outside, or running
towards, the last damaged house, from which rose a
cloud of white dust and a trail of darker smoke.
An old man was trying to prevent the widow from
entering the ruins. Legolas and Gimli ran up to them,
and soon discovered that the woman's younger son, the
five-year-old whose toy Gimli had mended, had run into
the house, which had then collapsed. The widow was
crying out that the boy had seen a little dog go into
the house and had run in after it, but no one else had
seen the animal.

Gimli took charge, and everyone stood back. He climbed
over the sill of a vanished window, and started to
make his way in.

The fallen stone and timber seemed to have settled
firmly, and he called Legolas in after him. They could
see no trace of the boy until they came to the
half-buried doorway of an inner room at the back of
the house, where the smell of smoke was strongest. A
little of the roof remained, hanging insecurely above
the mass of wreckage. Gimli moved cautiously,
squinting through gaps, and caught a glimpse of the
red cloth of the boy's coat. There was no sign of
movement.

He eyed the stone and timber, and began to move pieces
carefully, passing them back to Legolas.

The little group of people waited in the street in a
fearful silence, broken only by the mother's sobbing.
A few small stones fell rattling and timber creaked.
A large stone lintel had fallen across the doorway and
jammed fast. Even Gimli's strength could not move it,
for there was not room to get a good hold or leverage.
The dwarf eyed the narrow gap.

* I cannot pass through, and climbing over the top
without preparation will surely bring down the rest of
the roof; but you, Legolas, you might.

The elf looked doubtful, but the mother's cry still
sounded in his head in the silence, and he crouched
down, though fearful of the weight of stone above him,
and found that he could just slide through under the
lintel on his stomach where Gimli's barrel-chested
frame would not go.

Scratched and dusty, he crawled through into the dark
cavity beyond, and quickly saw one little outflung
hand under the stone. He touched it and already the
fingers seemed chill.

He set to work as fast as he could, but it seemed an
age before he uncovered the small body, while Gimli
and the menfolk worked together to clear a safer way
into the room.

At last the elf held the child in his arms, and the
others outside froze in despair, hearing his soft wail
of grief when he knew for certain that the boy was
dead.

Soon the way was open for him to pass the little
corpse to Gimli and then climb from the ruin. So the
mother received her dead son from the arms of the
dwarf, while the elf followed, tears running unheeded
through the dirt on his face.

The woman, now unable even to weep, took the child to
her breast while her family gathered round her.

Someone thanked Legolas and Gimli for recovering the
body. Gimli made a halting answer, saying that they
had worked too slowly. One of the old men said no, why
should they have troubled with the ruins of an empty
house? Then the little group turned away to the home
where the woman was staying, the other boy clinging,
shocked and uncomprehending, to his mother's skirts.
Elf and dwarf were left alone. Gimli sat down on a
stone block and wept. Legolas went down on one knee
beside him and took hold of his hands, and only then
saw that his own were cut and bleeding, his gloves
forgotten in his haste to reach the child.

Gimli touched the elf's hands gently, and his tears
fell on them. Legolas bit his lip, fighting his own
tears, saying inwardly <No words about careless elves
today, my friend, or I shall knife you>. But Gimli
said nothing, for his touch was simply to honour the
elf's work to save the child, and his heart was too
full of grief for words. 

Children are yet more precious than gold to the
dwarves, though few of other races understand this. A
dwarf without wealth is wretched indeed; one who loses
a mate is solitary no matter how wealthy; but one who
loses a child is a living desolation, and Gimli could
not believe otherwise of men. The two stayed there in
the street together for a while, until the ringing of
the tower bell recalled them to the world, and they
realised that the time was past noon. Gimli spoke at
last.

* Still the Shadow lingers. This is a city of victory,
of peace - and the little one dies!

Legolas shivered in the sunshine and stood up, running
his right hand jerkily down the length of his left
arm, and repeating the gesture to the other side,
trying to wipe from his body the memory of the child's
limp form and lolling head.

* Let us go home.

Gimli got up, and they returned to their quiet sunny
courtyard. He poured wine for them from a stone bottle
in the larder, but Legolas scarcely tasted his, and
went to sit under the leaf-shaded colonnade on the
terrace, trying to travel in his mind to the comfort
of the greenwood. He did not notice when Gimli got
washed, changed his clothes, and went out, closing the
iron gates carefully behind him so as not to break his
elvish dreams.


Title: FOR CONTINUING STRANGE
Author: Annie Harris
Email: annie_mouse2001@yahoo.co.uk
Pairing: Legolas/Gimli
Rating: R
Summary: Gimli carves a memorial for the little boy, and Legolas behaves very
unexpectedly.
Disclaimer: The usual: No claims, no pack drill - and of course no profit. Just
living in the gaps and round the edges.
Warning: None.
Author's note. The unusual method of removing a stone chip from the eye is taken
from 'Dutch Agnes Her Valentine' by W.G.Collingwood
Archive: I'd be honoured - just ask.

For Continuing Strange

6/?

Legolas started awake almost two hours later as the dwarf returned and he heard
the tread of booted feet in the courtyard. Coming back to reality with an
unpleasant jolt, Legolas hurried through the archway and saw Gimli setting
something down on the table outside the kitchen.

* Gimli, where have you been?

Gimli turned at the sound of his voice, surprised to see him still in his old
clothes, and quickly realising also that he was in what seemed to the dwarf an
unelvish state of distress.

* I have been to see the people below; he said; - To find out the time and
custom of burial in this place. The old man - he is the child's
great-grandfather - told me. He seems to me a worthy citizen, and it is a hard
fate that he has lived to see this hour of victory and yet lose three
generations of the men of his line.

Legolas stared at him with dark blank eyes, as if he did not understand what he
was being told. He saw the dwarf soberly and formally dressed in plain dark
brown, with the traditional deep dwarvish hood, and began to grasp what he had
been doing. As Legolas stood and stared at him, Gimli continued:

* The child will be buried at the third hour before noon tomorrow. The burial
ground lies outside the walls of the city, opposite the very place where he
died, though of course the way thither lies through the great gate. The people
of their sort commonly use wooden grave markers, but they will have stone if
they can get it. Therefore I have chosen this block, fallen from the wall in the
battle, and well finished, and will cut it for him now. I have tools for such
work. And the people ask that I should come to the burial, and you also, if you
will.

Legolas sat down suddenly on the bench as if his feet would no longer support
him, and saw the white marble block that the dwarf had placed on the table.

* Yes, I will go with you; he answered faintly, then looked up at Gimli; - We
have seen many dead, you and I: both friend and foe, foot soldiers and riders;
Theoden the King, Halbarad - so many - but this - there was never death in my
heart till now, even when Gandalf fell. I thought there could be no darker time
than that, but - 

He could not explain further. Gimli nodded gently.

* Yes, I know. And we could do no more than follow his funeral, though he were a
king.

Gimli went off to his room to put on his working clothes and leather apron
again, and find the tools he needed. Legolas sat and looked at the white stone.
It was not large, somewhat less than a foot square, and tapered slightly in
thickness. The edges and corners were somewhat chipped and uneven, though the
surface that lay uppermost was very smooth.

Gimli returned with the leather bag containing the tools he had collected during
his days in the city. He also carried a scrap of coarse grey paper, which he
tucked under one corner of the stone. He started taking things out of the bag: a
leather roll holding chisels; a wooden mallet; and from a pocket of his jerkin a
little wooden box that held charcoal sticks. Legolas simply sat and watched,
feeling helpless and ignorant, knowing he must rely on the dwarf for guidance
now that he had strayed into the dark heart of mortal life.

Gimli sat down facing the light, and set the stone before him, then looked round
at Legolas, feeling for his bewilderment. He had a task to do, the elf had none,
so:

* Keep thy hands busy and thy mind quiet, sweet elf; he said gently; - This will
be a long evening's work, into the night. Food and drink would not come amiss.
Legolas seemed to wake up.

* Yes, surely. I'll see to it.

It had not needed the long days of the Quest, when all had shared duties, to rid
him of any ideas of what was or was not fitting for him to do; his years in the
defence of Mirkwood had already seen to that, for all who fought the enemy had
to be able to survive unaided at need. He turned and went into the kitchen, put
more wood in the stove, set a pot of water to boil, and looked through the store
of simple fare provided by the city; bread, cured meat, cheese, apples, honey,
butter - all good and plentiful; and a stock of dried herbs and other things for
infusion, left by Sam when he brought the mushrooms. Legolas sniffed the various
packages, and the scent of blackberries from one of them filled his mind with
memories of happy days in the greenwood, tending the trees, or hunting deer with
his kinsmen along the eaves of the forest. He set the packet by the stove, and
prepared the platters while the water boiled.

He heard the occasional clink of metal as Gimli made ready for his work, and
then, unexpectedly, the sound of the dwarf's deep voice, singing very softly in
his own tongue a few staves of a strange tune. The song was quiet, yet rich and
full, and the sound seemed to fall around the elf like a velvet mantle, and to
speak of beauty growing out of darkness. Legolas stood spellbound for a long
moment, but the song soon ceased, and he stepped out into the evening sunlight
again with a platter of food and an earthen cup of the fragrant infusion for
Gimli, who breathed the sweet vapour and said:

* What is this? The scent alone cheers my heart.

* It is the scent of the wildwood as summer moves to autumn; said Legolas; - A gift from Master Samwise.

* Tell me, Legolas, how do they count wisdom in that strange land of the Shire,
if one such as he is named only half wise?

* I cannot tell; said the elf; - Unless his naming was over-hasty, and never put
right: or maybe it is a protection against pride.

* Ah, that last I could believe, for he is protected.

Gimli sipped the blackberry brew and smiled.

* My thanks to you, Legolas. This is just what I needed for inspiration.

Legolas brought his own food and sat at the other side of the table. Gimli ate
bread and honey, and just looked at the stone, touching the surface lightly from
time to time. Legolas watched.

Then the dwarf took a deep breath, pushed the wooden platter aside and smoothed
out the piece of grey paper. He laid it beside the stone, fixed a charcoal stick
into a brass holder, and began to set out his work on the white surface of the
stone. Now Legolas could see that the paper had the boy's name and his father's
written on it in elvish characters.

Gimli's marking out seemed to consist of just a few very light lines and points,
placing the shape of the names. At the lower right of the stone he marked
something else, that the elf did not recognise, but he did not speak, and simply
watched and waited. Gimli went over the work again, putting in more detail,
wiping some of the marks away with a scrap of rough leather and correcting them.
At last he selected a chisel, took up his mallet, and began to cut the stone.
He worked steadily, the light double strokes falling with surprising speed and
regularity, and gradually the shapes of elvish letters formed, cut cleanly into
the stone.

* These letters are not easy to work; he said, pausing to brush aside some dust
and fine stone chips; - Dwarf runes are better for carving, with straighter
lines.

Legolas nodded. It was not something he had ever considered, but it seemed to
make sense.

From time to time Gimli would select a different chisel to suit the shape he was
cutting, and Legolas started to look at the tools, seeing the various widths and
angles of the edges, picking them up and comparing them; but Gimli found the
movement of elvish hands at the edge of his vision distracting and said quietly:

* Don't fidget; 
as if he were addressing some inattentive dwarf apprentice.

* Sorry.

Legolas sat still, elbows on the table, chin resting on the backs of his
interlaced fingers.

Gimli worked on, and the stone walls of the little courtyard house echoed with a
silvery sound. The sun was sinking, and soon the great mountain cast its shadow
over the city. The work was not half done. The dwarf laid down his tools,
clenching and stretching his powerful hands.

* Now I need lamps, but it is not good to work through the change of light; so,
another cup of that brew of Sam's, and let us see how many lamps or candles are
in the house. Hmm. I must move and work in the kitchen; moths will fly into the
flames out here.

Legolas had already noticed a number of lamps on a shelf at the far end of the
long kitchen, opposite the stove.

* I think you will have light enough; he said; - I'll see what I can find.

Soon the room glowed with the warm light of thick wax candles, burning with
steady flames in their glass shields. These were lamps meant for the main rooms
of the house, made of fine crystal that gave a good light. Gimli seemed pleased
when he brought in the stone, and asked Legolas to move only one of the lamps he
had hung from the hooks set in the beams of the low ceiling.

When he started work again, Legolas sat as before and watched. Until now, he had
only seen Gimli sharpen axe blades, knives or arrow heads, cut wood or repair
other gear of war and travel: no, not only that; he had played the gittern with
evident skill the other evening; and now the blunt-tipped fingers guided a
chisel that cut letters in stone like a clean pen-stroke. How did he place and
weight the innumerable little blows to form those clear and flowing lines? The
art of stone cutting, which had seemed to be revealing itself to him, dissolved
back into greater mystery.

Legolas leaned closer, then started back as a tiny flying stone chip stung his
left eye. He raised a hand automatically, but Gimli said NO! loudly enough to
stop him, stood up quickly and walked around the table. He turned the elf's face
toward the nearest lamp with one hand under his chin and then gently lifted the
lid of the left eye which now streamed with tears. Legolas did not blink, and
was utterly astonished when Gimli, having examined the eye carefully, suddenly
drew very close, darted out the tip of his tongue - and the piercing sting of
the stone was gone. Gimli spat out the sharp and dangerous splinter, and grinned
broadly at the look on the elf's face.

* 'Tis an ancient trick of miners and stone-cutters; he said; - Even the
lightest fingers may be too heavy, and sight is too precious. Bathe your eye
with the waters of the spring, and it will be better in minutes.

* Thank you. I am sorry. Everything I do is a trouble to you, just more elvish
nonsense.

Gimli stared at him, hands on hips, deliberately exaggerating the dwarvish
attitude.

* Now that IS nonsense. Such things happen all the time, so no more of it. Go
and bathe your eye, then keep me company again. I may need your advice.
The last words were a surprise, so Legolas did as he was bidden without a word.
Soon Gimli's mallet and chisel sounded again, and the dwarf smiled a little as
he worked, even though it was hard to cut the flowing lines of the letters
cleanly - the elf's skin so soft, the fine bone beneath, smooth and strong - it
was pleasure simply to be near him and work without speaking.
Legolas came back and resumed his place. By midnight the letters were done.

Gimli turned the stone about, examining each shape in the fall of the lamplight.

* It is not so well done, I fear; not ill, but not well.

To Legolas' eyes, the deeply incised letters appeared as clear as fine
penmanship, and he said so.

* Thank you, my friend. Yes, it is not ill done. But now comes the last mile, if
you will help me.

* Help you? How? We have some stonecraft in the greenwood, but not like this.

* It is not stonecraft that I look for, Legolas, but your eye that sees the
beauty of growing things. Come, sit here on the bench beside me, and see what I
would cut in this space on the stone.

Legolas moved closer to the dwarf and looked at the faint charcoal lines to
which he pointed with one blunt finger, the squarish nail white with stone dust.
At first the elf could not make out what the lines were intended to show, and
glanced round to see Gimli watching him anxiously. He looked back, knowing it
was important not to ask 'What is it?' and suddenly saw the answer, an answer
that pierced his heart strangely with tenderness for the dwarf: he had outlined
a small cluster of niphredil, such as he had seen springing from the forest
floor in Lórien, mingling the frail nodding heads with closed buds that looked
like tears falling for the dead child. Legolas looked back at him, lips parting
with his soft intake of breath.

* Ah! Niphredil! How wisely you choose. The blossoms seem to weep.

* Then I have drawn them well? 

He sounded eager for reassurance, and went on: 

* There was so much to see in the Golden Wood, so much to learn, to remember,
and all strange to my eyes. Look closely now, and tell me where memory has
failed, where I have gone astray, before I begin to cut, for it cannot be put
right but by starting afresh, and it is now past midnight. Here, take the
charcoal and correct my work as you will.

He offered the charcoal stick in its little brass holder, and Legolas took it
automatically, but when he looked at the stone again he felt a surge of dismay.
He could find no fault, but even if he had, felt no certainty of being able to
correct it. If he said so, would Gimli believe him, or think it elvish
condescension? How was it that a dwarf could make an elf feel so inadequate?

* I have no skill to alter what you have done; he said, laying down the
charcoal; - Your memory does not deceive you. Your song called the flowers from
the stone - they will grow when you strike.

Gimli's sharp breath and sudden straightening of the back shocked him. The
deep-set eyes flashed with unexpected anger and suspicion.

* You understood the song? Where did you learn our language, elf?

Legolas' shoulders drooped. He shook his head, uttering a soft dejected No!

* I did not know one word, but the meaning seemed to enter my heart.

The yellow lamplight glittered and swam in a haze of tears, and he looked away,
trying to hide his weakness from Gimli's keen gaze.

* Legolas, forgive me! 

The deep voice was soft again: 

* I wound your gentleness with old suspicions that should never come between us.
His work-hardened right hand reached out and curved against the elf's cheek. A
light sweep of the thumb brushed tears from silken gold-brown lashes.

* You judge my work kindly, and this is how I repay you! It is as I said: still
shadows linger, even in our minds. Forgive me.

Legolas could not speak, but leaned his face against Gimli's hand, raising his
own left hand to cover the dwarf's, then drew it away so that he could place a
kiss in the dusty palm.

* Ach! Sweet forgiveness! May it bless my work.

The candles in the crystal lamps were starting to burn down and flicker.
Recovering his composure, Legolas stood up.

* Without light there will be no work.
He went to the store cupboards to find more candles, while Gimli laid out the
tools he would need to carve the flowers.

Soon the light strokes of the mallet, and the ringing of steel on stone, began
again, and Legolas sat silent and still, watching as before. Inch by inch the
fine leaf-blades, slender stems and nodding heads of niphredil grew on the face
of the white stone block, until Legolas fancied that he saw them sway in the
soft breeze of Lórien if a candle flame leapt or sank.

At last Gimli sat back from his work and stretched, then wiped the surface of
the stone with the flat of his hand. The film of dust removed, the plant forms
stood out, pure and graceful. Legolas rose to look, leaning lightly over Gimli's
shoulder.

* Surely that is well done, whatever you say of the letters. Truly, I think
these stone flowers stir as if they lived.

* Truly?

Gimli twisted on the bench to look up at him.

* Truly.

Gimli drew a deep breath, released it slowly, and seemed satisfied. Then he took
up yet another chisel from the collection laid out neatly on the leather roll,
and worked quickly round the edge of the stone, taking out the chips and cracks.

* There! I have not the time or the means to polish it, but the surface is fair
enough to serve. And it is more than three hours past midnight.

In fact the sky was already growing light with the early dawn of summer. Legolas
reached out and touched the stone, tracing the lettering and the flowers with
his fingertips. Gimli watched with a smile that was hidden by his thick
moustache. He was now satisfied that he had done his best in the circumstances,
but for the elf there was no such comfort. He felt the silence of the night all
around them, the city at rest under the watchful eyes of the guards; and down
below, somewhere in the shadows, a house of death, where an old man and his
grandson's widow kept vigil beside one more lost hope of Gondor.

Legolas stood up behind the dwarf, pressing his folded hands to his chest in an
odd, awkward gesture, as if he felt some pain.

* You have a gift to bring, Gimli, that will please them in days to come, when
the first sorrow is past. You understand mortal grief. What can I do?

Gimli rose and looked at him, seeing the grey eyes dark and wide in wondering
pain.

* You will come with me to the burial. You will look like a king's son. And the
memory of your beauty and your sorrow will comfort them also as the years pass.
Legolas gazed at him doubtfully, wanting to believe him, and bowed his head
slowly.

* And now I must rest; said the dwarf: - But first the hands must be busy again
and quiet the mind. Do you see to the fire and put out the lamps, while I tidy
my tools.

Legolas moved to comply, glancing round all the time at the swift neatness of
the dwarf as he put away the tools of his magical craft and swept up the dust
and fragments of stone. Soon there was nothing on the table but the stone block,
the leather tool roll, and the mallet, side by side, and the wooden platters
with the remains of their meal. The last two lamps on the ceiling hooks shed a
soft light. Legolas picked up the platters and moved towards the workbench by
the sink, and Gimli reached out and took the last apple as he passed.

<Dwarves!> thought the elf with a sudden lifting of the spirits <as bad as
hobbits if there's food uneaten>

A moment later an extraordinary sound stopped him in his tracks: a loud crunch
like a blow struck in battle, hideous in the silence where only a faint crackle
from the fire in the stove could be heard.

Legolas turned swiftly, to see Gimli offering him half of the apple. He had
simply twisted it in two between his hands, down through the core, having caught
his smile and guessed his thought.

* Hungry as a hobbit, eh, Master Elf? Well, share it - it is juicy and sweet.
But what troubles you?

Legolas set down the plates and took the half apple. It was indeed juicy.

* It was the noise. It sounded like, like -

He did not want to bring such memories into the quiet house.

* Ach! So it did! Elvish ears are so keen. I am sorry.

Legolas dismissed the matter with a little wave of his hand, and took a bite of
apple. Gimli licked juice from his fingers before turning his attention to his
half of the fruit.

* There are good orchards somewhere hereabouts; said the elf.

* Or there were; said Gimli; - After all that has happened, I fear there will be
much replanting needed - work for your folk, perhaps?

* Yes indeed. Some of us have skill with orchard trees, some with the woodland
sort. There will be work for all in the new age.

* And a good thing too! But I have had enough of work for today. Will you take
down a lamp for me? My arm will not reach so far!

Legolas took the nearest lamp down from its hook with an easy stretch, while
Gimli put his tools in his bag, slung it over his shoulder and picked up the
stone. They walked side by side across the courtyard under a pale sky from which
night was already fading, and Legolas opened the door to the dwarf's room under
the shadow of the verandah. He went in and set the lamp on the table, then
returned to the kitchen to take down the other lamp for himself while Gimli
prepared for bed.

As soon as he was out in the courtyard and alone, Legolas felt the sorrow of the
day return with new force. He could not stay out with the stars, even for what
remained of the night, nor did he want to be alone under a roof of stone. The
events of the day had disturbed his elvish certainties, and he would find no
rest in the familiar paths of waking dreams. 

With sudden unthinking resolve, he darted into the room he had chosen as his and
opened the cedarwood chest at the foot of the bed. As much by touch as by sight,
he found a soft white robe folded away at the bottom, flung off his clothes, put
on the robe and shook his hair out of its working braid, and then, taking his
lamp, padded barefoot along the verandah and whisked into Gimli's room before
the dwarf returned from washing away the last dust of his labours in the back
kitchen.

Gimli saw the light beyond his half-open door as soon as he stepped into the
courtyard and hesitated, puzzled, then hurried across and stopped again, amazed,
a couple of steps inside the room, by the tall white figure, lamp in hand, that
faced him framed by the dimly glowing window.

For a long moment they stared at each other. Gimli felt compelled to say
something.

* Will you walk out to view the stars like that?

* No, this is for rest.

Gimli sat down abruptly on the edge of the bed, unable to believe what was
happening. Legolas had turned and was closing the curtain.

* Will you even shut out the stars?

The wooden rings clashed faintly on the curtain pole and Legolas turned back to
face him across the flame of the little lamp.

* Tonight I would shut out earth and stars, shut out all but thee.

Gimli heard grief and loneliness in the soft elvish voice, the voice of an
immortal who had held death in his arms and felt mortal despair for the first
time. But he could only gaze and whisper:

* Thy beauty leaves me breathless.

* Then I will hide it from thee; said Legolas, unsmiling, and stepped forward. 

So Gimli saw his fate come towards him on slim pale feet, scarcely less white
than the robe that rippled and clung between the long legs of the elf as he
walked.

Legolas put his candle on the wall bracket, lifted the bedclothes, and slid into
the bed, where he lay stretched flat on his back and covered to his chin. Gimli
still sat, astonished, yet not too much so to turn round and look down at the
elf, who looked back with a pleading intensity. Gimli understood that this was
not the moment to admire elvish beauty, nor the time to fear any elvish distaste
for the sight of a naked dwarf. He took off his rough brown robe, let it fall to
the floor, and put on his plain dwarvish nightshirt. Legolas just stared with
the same expression, until Gimli lay beside him. Then his eyes closed slowly and
opened again. Gimli thrust his left arm gently under the elf's neck, and felt
the slim strong body creep timidly against him like a frightened child's.

* Hands of a dwarf, hold me. You bring beauty out of the darkness of stone. Help
me to mortal sleep out of my elvish wakefulness. Let me share your nightly death
and learn to wake again.

The very strangeness of the words alarmed him and shocked his mind away from
awakening desire. He had heard tales enough of what might happen if an elf came
to one's bed (not that such tales ever said anything about elves and dwarves -
the other party was always a mortal) but, true or untrue, none of them resembled
what was happening now, so he drew Legolas closer, in the bend of his arm, until
the elf's head rested on his shoulder, against his thick beard. He laid his
other arm gently round the strangely cool body, and held him firmly.

The elf seemed to be shivering slightly, trembling like a poplar leaf in a faint
breeze. It was only the merest fine tremor, but from deep within his body, as
disturbing as the first warning vibrations in the heart of a mountain when the
work of the miners goes awry. Gimli did not fully understand, but he knew that
the death of the child had been to Legolas as the ill-aimed stroke of the
miner's pick.

<How can this be?> he thought; <Here is no new knowledge, that men die, by many
causes, at any age. Does he grieve so because it is a child?>

He could not decide what to say, and instead stroked Legolas' back slowly,
fingers aware of the archer's powerful muscles under the thin stuff of the gown.
Legolas sighed, and his breathing seemed to slow a little. After a while Gimli
asked softly:

* What is it that ails you, my friend? What is there here to harm the fair folk?

For a moment it seemed that the elf would not reply, but then he put his arm
around Gimli and started to speak in a low murmur, so quietly that Gimli was
never sure that he had heard everything aright.

* I see mortal life pass by me, so swift, so frail, so often beautiful, so full
of invention and courage; but it is like the waters of Nimrodel flowing through
my hands. I cannot hold a moment of it. It is out reach, through a veil, in a
mirror, the life of mortals that springs and dies and springs again and is new -
and all I know of it is the child, dead under the stones, and I feel that I am
left behind by the stream, with a dead dream in my hand, in a world where there
is nothing new, because it is immortal. I want to sleep and wake again, and be
made new. The old man and the mother, they will not die, though the child did,
will they?

* Sometimes people do die, of grief and pain; said Gimli; - But mostly no, they
will not die till their time comes.

* They will sleep, and wake again, and a new day will come and bring its
comfort.

* Most like, if not soon. New grief has an open eye, Legolas, and the sleep you
speak of does not come at bidding.

* Yet how often have we seen those who have lost their friends and kin in battle
fall into sleep and rise next day to fight again. And it must be so for all
mortals, for they prosper and grow as we do not, despite all the weakness we see
in them. I seem to see that their strength is in their frailty, and that makes
me afraid for the life of my kind.

Gimli was both deeply astonished and alarmed, and thought he had misheard, or
misunderstood. Could Legolas truly be saying that the life of mortals might in
some way surpass that of the elves? It was surely an idea that had never been
entertained by an elf before, or by any other. He did not feel equal to
questioning now, when he needed rest, yet the elf's words made a clear picture
in his mind of one left behind by the river of life, and it was a picture that
filled him with dismay, for he lived in that river of change, loss and renewal,
and like others before him had wished to leave it and dwell on the unchanging
shore.

He raised his hand and gently stroked Legolas' head, and caressed the angle of
his brow and temple with a broad, hard-skinned thumb. Almost at once he felt the
special stillness that gripped the elf at a touch to his head or hair. Maybe
this was the way to give him the sleep he craved, and escape from perplexing
ideas and arguments in the dead hours of the night.

Warily, he allowed himself to enjoy the form of the skull under his hand, the
fine smooth hair, the delicate-seeming skin.

The candles flared and burned out, sending drifts of smoke into the warm air.
Gimli's dwarvish sense of thrift reproved him for neglect, while another inner
voice asked <What are candles, when he seeks comfort from you?>

In the darkness he seemed to hear the elf's breathing more clearly, and realised
that it had slowed to a gentle rhythm of rest. <Maybe he will have forgotten all
this by morning> he thought, and fell asleep in his turn, his hand laid
protectively on Legolas' head.


Title: FOR CONTINUING STRANGE (7 & 8)
Author: Annie Harris
Email: annie_mouse2001@yahoo.co.uk
Pairing: Legolas/Gimli
Rating: R/NC17
Summary: 7 - The funeral. 8 - What happened
afterwards. Gimli encounters a puzzling aspect of
elvish sexuality: it will take him a while to work out
a reasonable explanation.
Disclaimer: The usual: No claims, no pack drill - and
of course no profit. Just living in the gaps and round
the edges.
Warning: Slash.
Author's note. 

7.
Morning found them still close together, and Gimli
woke first, despite the closed curtains, for dwarves
need no bells or daylight to mark the passing hours,
being born with a sense of time suited to life
underground. He was very surprised that Legolas did
not wake as soon as he stirred, having quickly learned
during the journey that the Elf's wakefulness was an
unfailing safeguard through the weariest night. He
rose cautiously and opened the curtains, thinking that
the daylight would rouse Legolas gently, and set about
preparing for the day.
Legolas was still asleep when Gimli went to the
kitchen to mend the fire and prepare breakfast, and
while he was busy there the gate clanked and Sam
appeared with his basket and an offering of further
treasure from the dewy fields of Pelennor.
Gimli stepped to the kitchen door to greet the Hobbit,
then catching a glimpse of white looked suddenly past
him across the courtyard, so that Sam turned
inst
inctively and looked too, and saw Legolas standing
in the doorway of Gimli's room in his long robe, one
hand on the door jamb, beautiful, dishevelled and
seeming so stunned with sleep as to be unsteady on his
feet. Sam turned back towards Gimli with an expression
more like a grin of triumph than the shock the Dwarf
expected.
Gimli found his voice:
'It's a long story, and it ends with a funeral this
morning.'
Now Legolas was crossing the courtyard, looking more
wakeful with every step.
'Good morning, Sam. Have you been out early with your
lady friends?'
Sam laughed, delighted by the Elf's composure.
'On my own, I'm afraid! I was too early for lady
friends, not too early for mushrooms.'
'And nothing will keep a Hobbit from his mushrooms!'
Legolas sat down on the courtyard bench and picked a
large mushroom from the basket that Sam had set on the
table.
'Splendid! Thank you, Sam.'
He put the succulent fungus back, then pressed one
hand to his forehead and ran it back over his hair.
'Mortal sleep; darkness; I don't know - but peace,
yes, peace.'
The others watched him, wondering. Sam guessed that
they had shared a bed, but not for the usual reason.
Maybe that would happen later.
'A bath will wake you', said Gimli.
Legolas stood up and stretched his long arms with his
catlike grace, then seemed to tense with the return of
memory.
'The boy! When - ?'
'Time enough' said Gimli, gently; 'I said, we must
look like lords, for him. Go and make ready. Sam and I
will see to the breakfast.'
'A boy? What boy?' asked Sam, as Legolas moved away.
'Give me a hand in the kitchen and I'll tell you.'
When Sam had heard the story, he wished he could
accompany his friends, for he had a Hobbit's strong
desire to do the right thing in such circumstances,
but he had to go with Frodo to a meeting with Faramir
before the hour of the burial.
Gimli brought the stone from his room and set it on
the table for Sam to see. Sam thoroughly approved of
his having taken time to discover what was usual for a
burial among the common folk of Minas Tirith, and of
the use of his special skill in making the grave
marker.
Back in the kitchen, he could hear Legolas in the
further room beyond the curtained arch, and lifted the
wooden cover of the setpot to check the contents. It
was well filled with pleasantly steaming water. Sam
was surprised.
'I refilled it last night' said Gimli; 'But he doesn't
care for hot water.'
'Ugh!' said Sam, with a mock shiver; 'Even on a sunny
morning like this I wouldn't say no to hot water.
Hobbits love hot baths - Bilbo made a song about it.'
'I doubt if even that would persuade an Elf' laughed
Gimli.
Sam turned his attention to the pan of frying
mushrooms and the kettle. Gimli set the table.
'Will you have breakfast with us, Sam? Second
breakfast?' Gimli added, with a deep friendly chuckle.
'Second, as you rightly guess; and yes, thank you very
much.'
Legolas pushed aside the heavy red-brown curtain and
came into the kitchen, his hair sleek and damp, with
all the braids out. Sam thought suddenly that the long
straight white robe, which he took to be some sort of
elvish nightgown, gave him an odd resemblance to
Galadriel, and wondered if Gimli thought so too. This
morning he was thinking quickly enough not to put the
idea into words.
Legolas said:
'I don't know why it should be, but things seem to
smell better when Sam does the cooking.'
Gimli uttered a kind of disparaging snort.
'No offence to your cooking, my friend! But Sam's
smells better than anyone's.'
'That's very kind, I'm sure' said Sam; 'But I dare say
you wouldn't have to go far in this city to find
better, if you cared to look.'
Breakfast over, Sam hurried off back to Frodo, and the
grey-haired chamberlain from Faramir's household
appeared to see to what was needed about the house
that day. If he thought that there was anything
eccentric, or worse, in their choosing to remove to
this place together, neither word nor manner betrayed
it.
With orders for the day given, they were alone again,
looking at each other across the kitchen table.
'What did Sam think?' Legolas asked abruptly, and saw
Gimli smile.
'Many things, some right and some wrong; but he was
pleased, I could see it in his face. I told him what
happened to the child, showed him the stone.'
'Sam is one of a kind, I think. Pleased!'
'Not quite one of a kind, I would say. Remember that
Merry and Pippin helped to install us here before we
could say a word against it. Sam will be reporting
back!'
The look on Legolas' face was worth a little
embarrassment.
'But look you, Legolas, we cannot sit longer. It is
proper to go down to the house to join the funeral
there, so we must get ready.'
The Elf, who had seemed to be drifting into a
dreamlike state, woke up again and blinked at Gimli,
the sorrow of the day returning to his face. He went
out into the courtyard and started combing his hair in
the sunshine to dry it, while Gimli returned to his
room and chose a tunic of fine velvet, of an indigo
colour like a thundercloud, with silver borders, as
fit for the occasion. With black breeches and boots,
and a heavy black leather belt richly ornamented with
silver, the effect was sombre and dignified. When he
had combed and rebraided his beard to his
satisfaction, he undid his thick plait of red-brown
hair and spread it into a shining bushy mantle over
his shoulders, thinking it unlikely that anyone would
understand that this represented dwarvish formality:
braided hair, as distinct from a braided beard, being
for everyday wear, for work, for war, travel or sleep.
Then he took up his grey cloak and also his old
travelling pack, to carry the stone, and went to find
Legolas.
Legolas was still in his room, opening his pack to
take out something wrapped in soft dark cloth. He did
not know why he had carried it all the way from
Rivendell, where he had worn it last, a useless piece
of finery - until now: his favourite circlet of silver
leaves. He must ask Gimli if it would be right to wear
it.
He glanced out of the window just as the Dwarf, having
put his cloak and bag down on the table, turned around
to look for him. As Gimli stood there in the sunshine,
Legolas felt his heart stop at the sight of the noble
figure before him, and then leap painfully against his
ribs. All the grandeur of the Dwarf's ancient, stoical
, misunderstood race seemed to shine around him.
Legolas' hands shook and the silver circlet almost
fell to the floor. He gripped it firmly, forcing
himself back to calm, but whispering to himself:
'Every day I see him for the first time!'
He took a few deep breaths, opened the door and went
out. This was not the moment to confess his feelings,
any more than last night had been for him to hear
Gimli's words of love.
Gimli looked him up and down as he approached. His
forest green garments were as rich and dark as the
Dwarf's blue, set off by silver embroidery and a white
shirt of the finest linen. The silver circlet caught
the Dwarf's eye immediately.
'Should I wear this?' Legolas asked, holding it out to
Gimli.
'Yes. You are a king's son and should let it be seen.'
He turned the fine silver around with skilled fingers.
'This was not made for you.'
It was a statement, not a  question.
'No, I had it from my father, and he from his.'
'I see that would be so. This is ancient work, Dwarf's
work, too. I see the name of one Nain marked here: but
there have been many of that name among our people,
and I cannot tell which it should be.'
He looked up at Legolas again.
'Ah, that is what kept you, putting more braids in
your hair to stop the circlet cutting. Would you sit
down, please?'
He laid the circlet on the table. Legolas sat on the
bench and Gimli put his hands lightly around the Elf's
head, thumbs almost touching in the middle of his
forehead. Then he took the circlet up again and passed
it between his hands, running them out from the centre
to the two open ends.
'Hmm. This deserves careful work. But for now ...'
Legolas watched, but could not understand exactly what
reshaping the Dwarf's powerful hands sought to
perform. He could not see that anything was happening
to the band of finely-wrought silver leaves, but when
Gimli slipped it into place on his brow he felt the
difference immediately.
Gimli smiled at the look on his face.
'That will do for today, will it not? I can make the
final corrections later.'
He inspected the narrow braids of the Elf's bright
hair, all formed with the usual elvish four strands,
and made sure that they were arranged in the same way
on each side of his head, some under and some flowing
over the circlet. Legolas felt again, more strongly
than ever, the strange effect of Gimli's hands on his
hair. Blood and breath seemed to stop, waiting,
waiting ... He must speak of it soon, or one day he
would surely fall to the ground senseless, and how
Gimli would feel if that happened he dared not
imagine.
He realised that Gimli was speaking to him, as he slid
the carved stone into his pack.
'I said, it is time to go. I think we should wear the
Lady's cloaks.'
Content to be guided by Gimli's understanding of what
was proper, Legolas fetched his grey cloak from his
room and put it on. Gimli had slung his pack across
his shoulder, so that it hung by his side, concealed
under the cloak.
They went down to the first level, and saw the little
party of friends and neighbours assembling, waiting
for the bereaved family. They were greeted with grave
bows and few words, and Legolas saw that Gimli had
learned the customs of the people well, for  everyone,
man, woman and child, was dressed in the best they
had, under plain cloaks. His embroideries and silver
circlet were no more or less correct than their
homespun.
Soon the house door was opened, and the widowed
mother, her white kerchief now changed for black, came
out with her surviving son, followed by some female
relations. Then came her grandfather, and after him
two younger men, bearing the child's coffin between
them on a plain wooden bier. All the people waiting in
the street drew their hoods up over their heads, and
Legolas and Gimli did the same as they took their
places at the end of the little procession. The
grandfather led the way, followed by the two with the
coffin, then the mother and son, then the rest of the
family, and friends in their proper order, and lastly
the two strangers, who kept their eyes on the people
in front of them, but were nevertheless aware that
some of those whom they passed in the street noticed
their presence despite the concealing cloaks of the
Galadhrim.
It was a long slow walk, round half the circumference
of the city to the ruined gate, and then back again
outside the walls to the burial ground close by the
foot of the mountain.
The Keepers of the Tombs led them to the freshly-dug
grave, and the simple ceremony of farewell began. Some
of the women sobbed aloud; the dark trees rustled, and
the quietly spoken words were partly lost to the
hearing of Elf and Dwarf, and soon the little coffin
was lowered from sight and the first earth cast into
the grave by the mother. Legolas wondered at her
tearful dignity, and her curtsey to the Keepers which
an Elf princess could scarcely have bettered for pride
and grace.
Then he saw the old grandfather look across at Gimli,
and with a nod and a gesture of his hand indicate that
it was time for him to present the stone. As the Dwarf
stepped forward there was only the merest stir, as if
the company had been told beforehand what would
happen.
Gimli carried the stone in both hands, having slid it
from the bag during the ceremony, and offered it to
the mother, who gazed earnestly into his craggy face
before looking down and laying one hand on the carved
name in acceptance and blessing. Then the Keepers took
the stone and placed it at the head of the grave - but
the freshest among many new graves - and all was over.
The mourners put back their hoods, and the procession
walked back in order as before. This time there was no
mistaking two of the king's companions among the
common people, and the tale made its way about the
city.
Legolas wondered what they should do when they reached
the house where the widow was staying, but Gimli had
acquired some knowledge.
'Only the family and closest friends will go in; he
whispered; 'Then someone will bring out glasses of a
particular drink for the rest of us, and when that has
been taken, we may depart.'
The drink, served in very small thick glasses by an
elderly woman, was a strange herbal concoction of a
dark brown colour - bitter, strongly alcoholic and
fiercely warming. When everyone had drunk, the mother
appeared in the doorway and said:
'I thank you for your friendship.'
All those outside bowed to her, she went back into the
house, and the old woman followed with her tray of
empty glasses and closed the door. The friends and
neighbours dispersed quietly, bowing to the two
companions with few words. Legolas and Gimli climbed
the long steep steps to their house on the next level,
while Mindolluin rolled a wave of chilly air down from
snow-capped heights. It seemed a fitting comment from
the great mountain.

8.
They stood in the courtyard and looked at each other.
Duty done, they had come to a hollow time, a blank. It
was already past noon. Gimli saw the Elf's face pale
and cold in the sunlight, despite the ritual drink.
'Time for some wine, I think.'
Legolas followed him into the kitchen and sat at the
end of the table nearest the fire. Gimli looked at him
sideways. It was the first time he had seen Legolas
show any sign of feeling cold - even on Caradhras he
had been unconcerned: underground in Moria he had not
shivered, but now - Gimli chose a strong red wine and
filled two large glasses. As he gave one to Legolas
their hands touched: the Elf really was cold, his
strange elven flesh reflecting his state of mind.
<All the years he has lived, and this still shocks
him> thought Gimli, with admiring tenderness, finding
it wonderful that time had not dulled or hardened him.
Legolas took a deep draught of the wine, and in the
space of a few heartbeats it seemed that a faint ghost
of its ruby colour glowed through his skin. Gimli
raised his glass in a silent toast to his friend, and
drank. The stove ticked and rustled faintly as ashes
settled within, and quiet warmth surrounded them.
'Alone again' said Gimli.
'What? No, don't say alone: together.'
'That's what I meant, just us. And is that what you
want, the two of us, together?'
'Yes! Or why are we here at all?' Legolas leaned
forward, across the table: 'We have come so far, by
strange paths' he went on; 'Always drawing closer. I
do not want this to end ...'
Then he paused, as if his own words had surprised him,
and Gimli could see the pulse in the side of his
throat.
'It must end, or change' said the Dwarf gruffly; 'We
know there is work to be done, in this new age, in a
kingdom reborn; we know what we would do and where. We
should begin with the city, you and I, so the end
might be delayed. And after that - then we would have,
if all goes well, Aglarond and Ithilien - far enough
apart, yet peace need not divide us, if we will
otherwise.'
'Your words comfort me. We will be together, even when
apart. We have shared so much, it cannot end.'
'Cannot? War and danger brought us together. With that
gone, what will hold us?'
'Do you trust me no longer? One moment you speak
comfort, and the next ...'
'Trust? Yes, I trust even where I do not understand,
yet I dare not believe that one of your kind would
choose to be with me when peace sets you free.'
'What?' Legolas shook his head rapidly, as if he had
dived under water and come up unable to hear, then
suddenly understanding.
'Oh, foolish Dwarf! I am not 'my kind'! I am not
'Elves'! as you say in your disparaging voice. I am I,
Legolas; and I see you with my own sight, not the
sight of my people. I beheld you this morning, out
there in the court, your hair spun out of copper,
bronze and gold, your robe like a storm cloud edged
with silver by the sun, and it was I that was left
breathless! Does not your own pride tell you that you
are splendid? Will you always fear that the false
judgements of the Elves may be true?'
Gimli stared in wonder, hearing this sudden tirade,
and Legolas saw a deeper colour flush his ruddy
cheeks, and the dark eyes dropped shyly from his gaze.
'I have no pride before you.'
'Now we change places and YOU talk nonsense! I want to
see your dwarvish pride shine out, for it is true,
true, and our elvish ideas mistaken.'
Gimli drew a deep breath, fighting the shock and
delight of what he was hearing.
'Is it not all words? he growled; - If to love beauty
and gather it is greed, we are greedy; if to keep what
we have is grasping, we are so; if it is jealousy to
guard the beauty we love from those who would despoil
it, yes, we are jealous!'
Then suddenly he laughed: - 'But that an Elf should so
change his mind is wonderful, and you are wonderful.'
He stood up slowly, gazing at the Elf, and said in his
deepest, softest voice: 
'And a Dwarf loves what is rare and wonderful!'
Legolas set his glass down unsteadily, spilling a few
dark drops of wine, and stood too, as if compelled to
follow Gimli, and they simply stepped close and
embraced. Legolas let his cheek rest against the top
of Gimli's head, and, feeling the Dwarf's powerful
arms clasped around him, trembled violently and
whispered against the luxuriant springy hair:
'Gimli Glóin's son, take me to your bed again' he
hesitated and laughed shakily - 'before I fall over!'
Gimli's first reaction was a tightening of his grip
and a deep chuckle. Then he drew back, took up his
wineglass and the flagon, indicating with a jerk of
the head that Legolas should bring his glass, and
turned to lead the way.
They crossed the courtyard in a dazed silence, Legolas
with one arm around the Dwarf's shoulders, clinging
for support as his head swam with something stronger
than wine.
Once in the room, Gimli set glass and flagon on the
chest beside the bed and, suddenly mindful of the
possibility of unexpected visitors, recalled that he
had seen a wooden bar for the door - somewhere. He
glanced impatiently round the room, spotted it leaning
up in a corner, and hastily grabbed it and dropped it
into place.
When he looked around, he saw that Legolas was sitting
on the far side of the bed - 'his' side already - his
dark green tunic gone, bending to take off his fine
leather boots. He looked back over his shoulder at
Gimli, aware of the barring of the door, and teasingly
said:
'You forgot the other one!'
It was true; Gimli had forgotten for the moment,
because the wall hangings covered it, the door to the
smaller of the two living rooms. He did not pause in
pulling off his fine indigo velvet, but concluded the
action by flinging the garment at Legolas' head, and
skidding across the tiles with a scrape of boot studs
to bolt the inner door. Legolas struggled with the
folds of heavy dark stuff for a moment, laughing,
shook it off, and had slithered out of his breeches
and braies by the time Gimli returned to find him
sitting by the pillow wearing only his fine white
shirt, legs curled gracefully sideways under him.
Gimli dragged his boots off and knelt on the bed
facing the Elf, then slowly reached out and touched
his cheek. Legolas drew a sharp breath and seemed
unable to release it for a strangely long moment.
'Thy touch stills me as the stoat's eye stills the
rabbit.'
Gimli started back.
'That is a cruel comparison!'
But then, seeing from the Elf's face that it was not
meant so, and catching the glint of the silver oak
leaf, token of the greenwood, that hung on its fine
chain below the delicate hollow of his throat,
teasingly said:
'Or dost thou wish I would bite thee?'
And, suiting action to the words, pounced on Legolas,
pushing him down onto the pillows, kissing him with
open mouth. For a little while longer, Legolas lay
mesmerised by the new sensation of bearded lips
caressing him, moving from neck to jaw to mouth, but
as lips and tongues met, and the last shreds of
conscious thought melted away like morning mist, it
was not strangeness that enchanted him, but
familiarity. The memory of riding together on the grey
horse swept over him, and the heat and scent of
Gimli's body welcomed him to a place that was already
home.
He wrapped his arms around Gimli, pulling him closer,
clutching the thick mane of bright hair and returning
kiss for kiss. Then all Gimli's years of loneliness
overwhelmed him and there was nothing in the world but
his blinding desire for the beautiful being whose
words spoke of love, whose body offered comfort, while
the Elf's lithe form leapt under him like a landed
fish in response to his fierce instinctive movements.
Legolas was just aware of Gimli struggling out of his
breeches and kicking them aside before falling upon
him again as the storm of desire swept through him.
Legolas arched against him in reply, taut and strong
as his own war bow, and as swiftly released. But
Gimli's words of passion turned to weeping, and
Legolas felt hot tears on his face and neck, and began
to wonder, as his own breathing steadied, what old
wounds opened and bled in the Dwarf's heart. He rolled
gently away, sat up, and with a graceful cross-armed
gesture grasped the hem of his sweat-soaked shirt,
drew it up over his head and let it drop onto the bed
rail before settling back close to Gimli, stroking his
hair and thick-muscled back.
Gimli's breath also grew quieter, and he nuzzled
against Legolas' neck, eyes closed, tasting the salty
sweat on the Elf's skin, while his broad right hand
wandered slowly down Legolas' side, pausing and
exploring, sliding across his firm belly and down to
the soft bush of fine gold curls, and then stopping
suddenly at a dismaying discovery of something that
had gone unnoticed in the confusion of passion.
Gimli started back and sat up with a violent surge of
movement.
'What elvish mockery is this? You dare to tempt my
desire when you are cold?'
The furious rumble of his voice shocked Legolas out of
his contented drowsiness, utterly bewildered. His
expression was enough to check Gimli's angry fear of
humiliation until understanding dawned in the Elf's
face, and he too sat up, saying:
'Peace, peace, dearest friend! Did you not know - ?
Let me speak, and if there is any mockery, then take
thine axe to my neck and I will deserve it.'
Gimli sank back warily, confused and suspicious, but
Legolas looked and sounded to be in earnest.
'Did I not know what?'
To his utter amazement, Legolas gave way to a sudden
fit of disgraceful, captivating elvish giggles, which
ceased before he could grow angry again: somehow, the
startling silliness was oddly reassuring, as if
Legolas were laughing at himself.
'Not you? Not anyone?' Legolas exclaimed; - 'Is this
knowledge so old it has become a secret?'
'Now you are talking in riddles!'
'Forgive me. I would not hurt you, by word or deed. I
understand your anger and am ashamed to have caused
it. I will explain.'
Gimli drew the covers over his cooling body, and gazed
up at the Elf, trying to read his face. What was he
about to learn? He had never heard any tales of
deficiencies among the Elves, yet there was strange
and conflicting evidence before him now.
Legolas sat up with his feet tucked sideways under him
again, a slight frown creasing his broad forehead and
drawing his straight golden-brown eyebrows almost into
a single line. Then his face cleared as he decided
where to begin.
'While you were at Imladris, did you see any Elf
children?'
This was not in the least what Gimli had expected.
'No: but would I know one if I saw one?'
'Yes: an Elf child is clearly a child. And in my
father's lands, when you came with the traders, or in
the Golden Wood?'
'No; unless Elves hide their children from the eyes of
others.'
'They do not, for there are none to hide. Gimli, you
know I have lived in Middle-earth many lives of your
people, more than a thousand and threescore years, and
yet I am among the late-born of our kind. Our time
here is coming to an end, and that end has long been
upon us, and therefore we, the last born, do not
breed, and our bodies sleep, as we say. Though we feel
love and desire, we do not show it in making seed as
you do, as men do. Sometimes, I must tell you, we may
not even look as if we are aroused when in truth we
are, and so you think me cold when I am not. And yet I
think you felt my pleasure, in all but that - '
'And you thought I knew?'
'I thought it was common kn0wledge that while the
older Elves still seem awake in the body, the younger
are not; but it must have been forgotten. So please
believe I meant no mockery; but if you think
otherwise, then take your axe, for I would rather not
live than wound you so.'
Then Gimli saw that he spoke the truth, and though
that shocked him, it was the thought of the axe that
made him shudder, conjuring a hideous vision of fair
flesh torn and bright hair bloodied.
'Don't say these things! My axe will always be ready
only to defend you and will never harm. I understand a
little better now. It is what you feel that matters.
How could I think you would deceive me at such a time?
I must get used to your - peculiarity!'
Legolas smiled back, and bent down to kiss him under a
falling curtain of fine gold.
'If I give you the chance!'
'I shall make the chance. Lie down!'
'Oh! Orders now!'
But he complied nonetheless.
'What you have said grieves me, Legolas, yet you are
so fair to my eyes, brave and skilful, and I find no
fault in the essence of you, whatever may be the fate
of your body.'
To his amazement he saw tears welling in the Elf's
grey eyes.
'I have been mocked for it before now.'
'That I can well imagine! And I accused you of
mockery. Forgive me, Legolas.'
'There is nothing to forgive. I should have spoken
sooner, but I was swept away by your dwarvish strength
and beauty.'
'Swept away? You? And I thought that I - '
'Did I not tell you, there in the kitchen? Today I saw
you, truly SAW YOU, and my heart was changed, or I
understood it at last! I had begun to love you as a
friend in Lorien, when we shared our griefs and our
wonder at the Golden Wood, and afterwards as a comrade
in arms - '
Gimli interrupted him, touching his lips lightly with
one finger:
'No, not begun in Lorien! Was it not your hand that
plucked me from Balin's tomb, from certain death?
Doubtless I would have slain many orcs, but to what
end? No, that is love, to risk yourself for another,
whom you may not even like: that I call love.'
Legolas turned to face him more squarely:
'Is that the dwarves' description of love?'
'What? You think we have just one description?'
He tempered the abruptness of his words by stroking
Legolas' cheek lightly with the backs of his fingers,
and the Elf felt the slight prickle of the hirsute
caress spread a delightful tingling through his skin.
Gimli went on:
'No Dwarf would disagree, though all would have
something to add.'
'And in the end it is a mystery, you and I, that it
can be. And yet it is so, as if I have been waiting
for you all my life.'
'Yes, dear Elf, I feel it too.'
He moved closer to Legolas.
'But is it not something forbidden?'
Legolas laughed, a bright, clear, ringing laugh.
'Forbidden? Elves are not much given to forbidding,
and especially not to forbidding love. But not even
Elves will forbid what they cannot imagine!'
Then Gimli laughed too.
'Fair one, I cannot but think there is a dwarvish
strain in you - that was so reasonable, it is worthy
of a Dwarf!'
'Then maybe we are not so different after all!'
Gimli laughed again, then Legolas saw his expression
darken.
'Maybe we are yet more like than you think' he said
slowly, as the thought came to him that he should
return Legolas' revelation with one of his own:
'I shall have no more offspring than you.'
'But you - there is no flaw in your body!'
'As for that, no, but there is in my fate. Maybe you
know this, or maybe not, but our kind may choose a
mate but once, and if we find none,  or having found
we lose, or desire one we cannot have, then we must be
solitary all our days. And it was my fate to find and
to lose.'
'Is that why you wept, before, as we joined?'
'I wept? Then, yes. I will tell you, one day. Not now.
Now I have you - '
'Are we destined to console each other?' asked
Legolas; - 'Already you seem not to mind my lateborn
fate; but I, how should I comfort you for what you
have lost?'
'You are here, Legolas; you lie beside me, and show no
distaste - '
Now Legolas interrupted him:
'Surely you are the most forgetful Dwarf that ever
was! Have I not told you, or must I remind you every
hour? You are beautiful to me, strange but beautiful,
in heart and body, and the more so for what you have
told me. And you forget another thing: the lady
Galadriel did not scorn your request. Shall I think
less of you?'
Gimli drew a deep sighing breath and relaxed.
'Wise Elf! You speak the one name that calms my
doubts. Sweet name, on sweet lips.'
He kissed the Elf tenderly, and leaned on his elbow,
gazing in admiration at the soft glow of translucent
skin and the fine bluish tracery of veins.
'Rose-agate Elf!'
A smile warmed Legolas' voice.
'A mineral comparison, I think; something from your
vision of Aglarond. Well, I shall see for myself one
day, as I promised, and in the meantime take it as a
compliment!'
'Ach! Vanity!' Gimli teased him, kissing the smiling
lips again.
Then he let the trail of kisses wander down Legolas'
sleek-muscled torso, bushy braids of beard stroking
and tickling, until curiosity got the better of him.
'So this has been happening for a long time? And
affects the women too?'
'A long time in the years of Middle-earth. And yes,
the fading takes all alike. That would be part of the
reason for the Lady Arwen's choice: not only to share
the life of the King and then die, rather than live on
alone. She could not truly be his wife, bear his
children, without giving up the life of the Elves, and
becoming mortal.'
Gimli lay still between the Elf's long legs, head now
pillowed on his belly, curiosity forgotten, and
wondered at what he was told; only to find that to him
as a mortal being (albeit one who would not follow the
way of Men out of the world) it came as little
surprise: the price of the endless newness of the life
of Men is death. Such knowledge is born into all
mortals, much as they resent and resist it. How could
any Elf but the exceptional Arwen both understand and
act upon that? And another thought came to him, a
different understanding of Legolas' grief at the death
of the child. He almost said it aloud, but better
judgement prevailed over dwarvish outspokenness.
His thoughts began to drift sleepily, and he felt
Legolas' hands gently playing with his hair, moving
more and more slowly, until both slept, lost in the
moment, without thought or fear for the future.



Title: FOR CONTINUING STRANGE (9, 10, 11)
Author: Annie Harris
Email: annie_mouse2001@yahoo.co.uk
Pairing: Legolas/Gimli
Rating: R/NC17
Summary: 9 – New love. 10 – Another party 11 -
Aragorn/Faramir.
Disclaimer: The usual: No claims, no pack drill - and
of course no profit. Just living in the gaps and round
the edges.
Warning: Slash.
Author's note. Pt 11 replaces ‘Revelry by Night’

9.
By the time they woke again, the afternoon sun was
well down the sky, and the mountain's great shadow had
started to roll across the northern quarter of the
city, cooling the air a little. They looked at each
other with a moment of shy surprise, hardly
comprehending what had happened, or on what road they
had taken their first steps.
Legolas stretched elegantly, then drew up one foot and
ran it down along Gimli's leg.
'Hairy monster!' he chuckled affectionately; 'You feel
as if you are clothed even with nothing on. And warm,
so warm. It must be the heat of your forge fires that
has passed into your blood.'
'It may be so' said the Dwarf; 'And you are like
polished marble beside me, cool as your forest springs
- or bare as an egg, according to whether we are
trading compliments or insults!'
Expecting some reaction to this, Gimli sat up quickly
as he spoke, only to have Legolas snatch up his shirt
from the bedhead and wrap it round him, covering his
face with the soft stuff that smelled of their mingled
sweat,
 so that he nearly lost his balance and fell off
the bed.
Once he had disentangled himself, they enjoyed a real
romp, full of laughter and mischievous tickling
caresses, ending in a breathless embrace and a tangle
of bedclothes. Legolas struggled back to his pillow
and lay panting and smiling with eyes half shut.
Gimli remembered the wine, refilled his glass and
drank deeply, then waved the flagon before the Elf's
face. Legolas sat up, snatched the flagon, and drank
from it in a most unelvish manner, even spilling a few
drops which ran down his chin and onto his chest,
before Gimli grabbed it back to prevent further
disaster to the wine - but then he turned his
attention to removing the red stains from fair skin
with light fluttering strokes of his hot tongue.
When that was done, Legolas rolled over, sighing with
contentment, and Gimli saw how his long fine hair
stuck damply to his back. 
'Legolas, I don't believe I ever saw you sweat, on the
chase or in battle, but now - '
He reached out and lifted the clinging strands gently.
'Then I was not heated by a furnace of a Dwarf! And a
cool forest spring would be very welcome now.'
'You have the waters of Mindolluin no further off than
the courtyard, if you wish to take a chill (though no
doubt Elves never suffer such things!) but I would
prefer the hot water from the kitchen.'
Legolas rolled back and looked at him with a happy
grin.
'Shall we agree to compromise on 'warm'?'
'That will suit well enough in this weather' Gimli
replied, smiling in return; 'I think we may have
started on many compromises!
He sprang out of bed and began to tidy his scattered
clothes, then took his brown robe from the peg by the
door and put it on, provoking a fresh fit of giggles
from Legolas.
'Well?' He pretended an outraged dwarvish glare.
'It looks ... it looks... oh, never mind, I think I
like it!'
Gimli bounced back onto the bed, landing on his knees
with a thump that nearly threw Legolas out at the
other side.
'Like it? You'd better!'
He maintained the pretence of a growl for a moment,
then sat back, looking down at the smiling Elf.
'Legolas, what are we doing? How can I feel so happy
if it's wrong? - Wrong? It should be impossible ... '
'This is not wrong. New, strange, difficult - maybe;
but not wrong. I won't believe that.'
'Thank you, Legolas. I will forget my fears and enjoy
this gift you have given me.'
He stooped and kissed the silver oak leaf that had
slid on its chain to lie against the warm pulse
beating in the Elf's neck. Legolas' hands caressed his
back through the coarse stuff of the brown robe. Gimli
sat up and sighed.
'Should we go up and see the others? They will notice
our absence.'
Legolas laughed softly.
'And might come looking! Or perhaps not - remember you
said that Sam thought we were lovers already? But yes,
let's take a bath and go.'
Bathing turned out to be such a pleasant occupation
that they found themselves lighting the lamps before
every task, including the drying of hair in front of
the kitchen fire, re-braiding Gimli's beard, and so
forth, was done. By the time they were dressed again,
in brighter colours than those chosen for the morning,
it was almost dark outside and cool air was rolling
steadily down the mountain into their quarter of the
city. They put on their grey cloaks and set off up the
winding alleys and steps to the great guest house.

10
As they had expected, there was another noisy and
cheerful gathering in progress, even larger than
before, large enough to spill out from the big main
dining hall into the courtyard beyond the double arch
of the entrance. Lamps and torches lit the scene, and
the air was much warmer than in the lower levels.
Music and singing mingled with all the talk and
laughter, and the new arrivals received a warm
welcome.
It was soon clear that people had been attracted by
stories of a mad Elf dancing on the tables, as well as
by the general prospect of a lively evening. For a
moment Gimli feared that Legolas would take flight
into lordly isolation again, but some musicians in the
courtyard struck up a vigorous measure, and his eyes
glittered with the spell of it, promising more elvish
madness to come. But the Elf had no thought now of
leaving Gimli's presence: his distaste for the noisy
merrymaking of men (and Hobbits) was as if it had
never been.
While the pair were telling Frodo and Sam about the
events of the morning, there came a clattering of
wooden clogs and a chattering of female voices under
the archway, and the Pelennor girls appeared, each
with a little reticule of intricately netted yarn in
which she carried her dancing slippers.
Merry and Pippin materialised from somewhere within
the house as soon as the girls appeared, and Gimli
realised that there were more girls, younger girls,
Hobbit-sized girls, in fact, than had been in the
original group. There seemed to be much introducing of
younger sisters going on, and the Hobbits escorted the
party to the rear of the courtyard, where Gandalf was
sitting, to leave their outdoor clogs safely behind
his chair when they changed into their colourful
embroidered leather slippers.
'What did I tell you, Legolas?' said the Dwarf; 'Short
skirts, white stockings, backless slippers - and
PETTICOATS!'
Legolas had certainly never seen costumes like these
before: white shifts gathered with drawstrings into
ruffles at neck and elbow, black fitted bodices edged
with coloured braid, full skirts in a variety of
strong colours ('short' meaning the hem a couple of
inches below the knee in the case of the younger girls
and four or so for the older ones) and of course the
mass of white petticoats of a length artfully
calculated to show a startling quantity and variety of
edging styles just below the edge of the skirt: and
once animated by movement ...  After the first
surprise, the Elf thought that he might not be noticed
if he did dance on the tables again.
The group of seamen had returned, and greeted Gimli
warmly.  Flute and fiddle could be heard inside the
house, and the crowd seemed to be growing by the
minute. There were more musicians in the courtyard
tonight, a small band, in fact: another fiddle, flute,
whistle, pipes, gittern, drum - and Sam, now an
established specialist on the spoons.
The band launched into a fast and vigorous dance with
a four beat rhythm, the melody surging and swirling in
intricate lines above the patter of the broad shallow
drum, played with a short double-ended stick by a
young man with a nimble wrist. It soon appeared that
this music was suitable for the favourite Hobbit dance
of the Springle-ring, and Merry and Pip quickly set
about teaching it to their new ladyfriends. Nor was it
long before some enterprising person (<Pippin!>
thought Gimli) had raided the stables and produced a
few sets of small harness bells to give the full
character of this dance from the distant Shire. In no
time at all the girls had picked up the steps, and the
petticoats flew and the slipper heels clacked amid the
jingling of the bells.
After a number of repeats, the tune changed its beat
to triple time, according to the custom of the
players, throwing those who did not expect it into
uproarious confusion for a while, but the dancing
continued in cheerful disorder.
Someone remembered that Gimli had played the gittern
rather well, and produced another instrument from
somewhere. The Dwarf found a seat between the
fishermen and a  group from the city, which included
the two singing sisters, and Legolas stood behind him,
eyes darting round the scene of crowded merrymaking,
body swaying slightly in time to the music.
When the band's contribution had hurtled to an end,
the piper played alone, a slower tune to give everyone
a time to get their breath back, and the city singers
ran quietly through a strange piece of 'mouth music'
(as they called it) trying to teach Gimli the refrain,
because they had heard him sing with the seamen and
had admired his voice. Like all who rely on memory
before writing to record words, he learned it quickly,
though the sounds were strange, and there was no
meaning to hold on to; but when the piper finished,
and the singers began a humming drone to support the
soloist, he was ready to join in, capturing the
irregular syncopated rhythms to perfection. He felt
Legolas' hands on his shoulders again, learning the
music through his body, until another voice, sweet and
clear, was added to the refrain along with the Dwarf's
softly resonant bass.
In a lull after the singing, Gandalf, holding aloft a
large tankard, could be heard declaiming to general
approval some verses of which the main drift appeared
to be
 'He that buys land buys many stones; 
He that buys beef buys many bones;
 He that buys eggs buys many shells; 
But he that buys good ale buys nothing else!'
This was greeted by a loud chorus of 'Then bring us in
good ale!' - which was what seemed to be happening in
any case.
Gimli laughed aloud with sheer pleasure at the sight
of the great wizard so carefree at last; the band
struck up a furious reel, and Legolas jumped out to
join the dancing, unable to resist any longer.
Gimli took up the gittern, and added his chords to the
harmony, beating time with a clash of hobnails on the
stone paving, punctuating the music with percussive
strikes of his fingers on the well-worn soundboard of
the instrument, and keeping all the while one eye on
the shining hair of the Elf as he threaded his way
among the swirling dancers.
The din was terrific, echoing round the tall buildings
and high walls, and the still evening air was thick
with smoke from the vast quantities of pipeweed being
smoked. Gondorian pipeweed came from somewhere in the
south, and had been in very short supply lately, but
the ending of the war had seen the prompt arrival of
merchants with stocks of whatever goods they had been
able to preserve for the coming of better times. The
Hobbits maintained a preference for Southfarthing
weed, but smoked the foreign imports readily enough.
They had been surprised to find the habit established
here, among the working classes at least, and wondered
if Gandalf himself had introduced it on his travels,
but no one seemed to know anything of the history of
pipeweed in the city.
Pippin whizzed past the Dwarf, arm in arm with a small
and vivacious Pelennor girl, and yelled something
about a 'proper shindig' before disappearing into the
crowd again, and, yes, someone at the far side of the
courtyard was trying to persuade Legolas onto the
table.

11.
Higher up in the city, Faramir, still not out of
convalescence, but weary of resting, put on his cloak
and slipped out of the private door of his apartments
in the citadel, having heard second-hand rumours of
the parties at the companions' lodging, and resolved
to see what, if anything, was really going on.
As he walked quietly through the almost empty streets
and alleys, he soon realised that something was indeed
happening, for the sounds floated up clearly on the
still air - music, laughter, talk and song, a clamour
of celebration. He climbed up onto the parapet of the
level above the guest house, and could see something
of the events in the torchlit court far below and hear
the powerful resonance of men's voices singing. The
men of Ethir Anduin were singing the tale of a
seaman's love for his captain's daughter. The voices
were somewhat strident, the ensemble ragged and
miscellaneous, yet the harmonies were so rich, the
tone so strong and thrilling that the very stones of
the city seemed to vibrate in sympathy.
He hurried down a steeply-stepped tunnel between the
houses, lit only by a few oil lamps, unaware of a tall
grey-clad figure not far behind, on the same errand.
When he reached the lower street and came to the
entrance, the song had given way to the driving rhythm
of another dance, and as he was about to step out from
under the archway he was almost bowled over by
something - someone - that flew at head height across
the gap between the two tables flanking the entrance.
Faramir staggered back and was caught by somebody
behind him, somebody very strong, whom he could not
see in the shadow of the deep arch when he turned to
offer his thanks.
He stepped forward again, and saw that the rumours
were true: a wild wood-Elf dancing on the tables,
girls and women singing and dancing; musicians from,
it seemed, all parts of the kingdom; Gandalf ordering
ale and hot pies for all and sundry; a happy, noisy,
friendly, overwhelming confusion.
Faramir edged cautiously round the wall, unnoticed in
the shadows, and managed to find a seat on a bench in
a dark corner. After the quiet of his confinement,
first in the Houses of Healing and afterwards in his
own rooms, all this resounding joy made him dizzy: so
may different songs, dances, melodies; so many voices,
accents, dialects - even other languages. He had never
seen, heard, or imagined anything quite like this, and
it seemed that he had never before encountered such
happiness, for all his life had been lived in the
growing shadow of a dreadful enemy, in the house of a
grim father.
At once the thought came to him that even in victory
Denethor would have disdained this joyfully vulgar
surge of life, and Faramir realised that he himself
scarcely knew how to be glad, while among this crowd,
his own people and all the strangers, was a wealth he
had never seen: fiddles and flutes, voices and dancing
feet - all were instruments of joy - even Sam's
spoons! He looked at the little Hobbit, sitting a few
tables away, joining in the music with a strange
expression on his homely face: the faintly malicious
glee of the virtuoso, who makes the difficult look
easy, the easy impossible, and can outdo any rival.
Faramir smiled in the shadows and felt a little less
lonely.
The miscellaneous band, augmented by anyone who felt
able to join in, now burst into a popular melody of
such headlong gusto and abandon as seemed likely to
reduce the gathering to total chaos. Merry, Pippin,
and two of the short-skirted girls had taken refuge
from the crush on another of the tables, shaking their
bells vigorously. Faramir was just able to hear Sam
declare to Gandalf that the white petticoat frills
were like the petals of the Gaffer's prize carnations.
He smiled once again.
Some of the merrymakers were now amusing themselves by
building little pyramids of tankards on the tables to
challenge the dancing Elf, while others cheered him
on. Under the influence of music, he seemed to have
thrown all traces of elvish restraint to the winds,
but neither missed a beat nor touched one tankard,
and, carried along by the vital stream of melody,
concluded his progress by leaping higher than ever and
executing a compete turn in the air in a manner feared
likely by Faramir to bring disaster on himself, or his
fellows, or the tables and tankards, or all together -
but the crowd, more alert than they seemed, stood back
and made sufficient space for him to alight safely on
the pavement in front of Gandalf and Frodo amid
general applause, while the music crashed to a sudden,
but evidently expected, halt.
Faramir felt happier at the ensuing reduction in
noise, and wondered if the party was about to break
up; but no, the lull merely allowed the wizard to call
for more refreshments, and Faramir watched the
beautiful Elf, eyes sparkling with laughter, drinking
wine and sharing a joke with Frodo, who was describing
his dancing as 'better than my efforts at Bree!' The
Elf's long golden hair reminded Faramir keenly of the
absent Éowyn, and he sighed and felt his loneliness
return. He looked away to find some distraction as the
piper started to play a slow reflective melody and the
noise in the courtyard subsided further, to a sociable
hum and a clatter of mugs and dishes.
His glance fell first on the unusual (to him) and
diverting sight of the large Dwarf, who had been one
of the King's companions, holding in one hand the
gittern he had been playing (Musical dwarves? Yes, he
suddenly recalled that instrument-making was one of
their crafts, and some dwarvish work lay neglected in
store rooms of Minas Tirith, forgotten since the arts
of peace fell out of use and favour after the death of
his mother) and in the other hand a large mug of
foaming ale.
The froth naturally attached itself to the Dwarf's
remarkable moustache when he drank, and he licked most
of it off afterwards with evident relish, swiping the
rest away with his broad hand. Faramir saw that the
Elf was now standing in front of the Dwarf, saying
something that made the latter smile broadly, showing
very white teeth.
Between the recent uproar and his own still uncertain
health, Faramir could not remember the name of this
unique being, whose bushy mane of hair, as unusual in
Gondor as his forked and braided beard, gleamed bright
brown and red-gold in the torchlight, almost matching
in colour the wood of the instrument he had been
playing.
Faramir reflected that he, and his brother, and
doubtless many others of their people, had been
fighting so long to defend their land that they had
forgotten, or never learned, much of what they were
protecting - never learned because their lives had
been dedicated to that one task. He stirred uneasily,
his body echoing his mental skirting round the bitter
question: what if things we thought to defend are
there no longer when we return to look for them? And
yet, there before him were the Elf and Dwarf, the
Hobbits, and most of all his own people, who seemed to
have been able to fight and come back to enjoy the
peace they had won.
Now he saw that the grey-haired old woman who helped
run the guest house was approaching the Dwarf rather
shyly, with a worn leather bag in her hands that could
only hold a small harp. The courtyard, though crowded
as ever, was now relatively quiet, with only the piper
playing very softly, and Faramir felt better able to
take in the scene around him, and as the Dwarf spoke
kindly (to judge by his expression) to the old woman,
he became aware of another man sitting in the shadows
to his left, in the darkest corner of the court. This
was curious: another who wished to see the cheerful
gathering and yet keep apart. A quick turn of the
shadowy head showed Faramir that his observation had
been noted, and a second movement in the next instant
seemed to beckon him towards the corner. He hesitated,
and another tilt of the head said 'Come'.
While the Dwarf examined the harp, found where the key
was hidden in the base, and began to tune it, he left
his place and moved towards the dark figure.
The light seemed to fall differently when he reached
the furthest bench, and he saw, faintly illuminated,
enough of a lean, fine-boned face to recognise his new
King. A half-seen gesture invited him to be seated.
Aragorn said nothing, but sat watching with his arms
resting on the table. Faramir adopted a similar
position beside him.
The piper stopped playing now to enjoy his share of
the food and drink, and in the lull that followed, one
voice began to sing alone, a man's voice, rich and
even in tone, raised suddenly in lament in the middle
of the feast, recalling all that had lately passed
away like the May morning dew.
The man was singing in Westron with an accent that
Faramir did not recognise immediately. But when he had
picked him out in the uneven light he saw that the
singer was one of the remnant of Westfold men, left
behind to recover from their wounds when Erkenbrand
marched out, who were waiting for King Eomer to
return. He was not a young man, with shaggy greying
yellow hair cut short, and with thick bushy eyebrows,
standing among his comrades, singing one of their own
songs, to a slow melody with strange grace-notes and
unexpected intervals, odd but beautiful to Gondorian
ears.
'The house I was raised in is but a stone on a stone
... '
The words spoke for all that had been swept away by
the long wars.
Someone brought a fresh torch and stuck it in a wall
sconce not far away, and Faramir glancing round saw
the King's face more clearly and was shocked by the
gleam of tears falling slowly down the weather-beaten
cheek, but in the same instant the pain of his own
losses awoke and he did not think the grieving
strange.
Aragorn caught his glance, and making no attempt to
hide or brush away the tears said softly;
'Much will be ended by this new beginning, and the day
when Imladris where I was fostered will be no more
than a stone on a stone is not far off.'
Faramir gazed at him with little understanding, though
he had heard from Gandalf that Aragorn had been
brought up by the Elves. The King was speaking again;
'Once Arwen is here, Lord Elrond's work is almost
done; in a year or two at most he and his people will
take ship into the West and return no more, and with
his power gone, his house, great and fair as it is,
must fall.'
'It is grief indeed, my lord, to know that the fair
folk must leave us when we have scarcely seen them.'
He looked across at Legolas, still standing near Gimli
and listening to the singer.
'And will this Elf leave us too?'
'Ah! He is of another kindred and will stay longer. It
is his wish to bring some of his woodland people south
into Ithilien to speed the healing of the land, and to
help restore the gardens here in the city.'
'A generous wish' said Faramir, as the song ended amid
a rustle and murmur of approval.
Very soon the Westfold men began to sing again, this
time in their own 'impenetrable dialect' (as Éowyn had
named it) but it seemed clear that this song was more
cheerful than the last, with each man singing a
declamatory verse in turn above a drone provided by a
hurdy-gurdy, and all joining in a lively and
rhythmical refrain. Faramir saw the Dwarf resume
tuning the harp, and then play softly with his head
bowed close to the strings so that only he could hear
during the song.
'I am ashamed to say that I have forgotten the name of
the noble Dwarf, even though he was kind enough to
visit me with his companions when I was in the House
of Healing.'
'He is Gimli, son of Glóin, a Dwarf of Erebor, though
he was born in Ered Luin in the days of the dragon
Smaug. His father was one of the company of Thorin
Oakenshield who helped free the northlands of the
dragon.'
It seemed that Gimli had now tuned the harp to his
satisfaction, for the clear ringing sound of its metal
strings joined the harmony of the Westfold chorus. The
men's voices, harsh yet tuneful, filled the courtyard
and echoed among the buildings. Aragorn tilted his
head, listening intently to the words.
'It seems to be about wild goats' he said doubtfully.
'That could be right. Éowyn says they can be like a
plague in parts of the Westfold. So you know the
language?'
'I have learned something of many tongues in my years
of wandering' Aragorn replied, and smiled inwardly at
the way Faramir suddenly sounded as if he had been
married to the Lady of Rohan for years.
The song ended with a final loud chorus and was met
with warm applause, even though few, apart from the
singers and Aragorn, had understood much of it.
Gimli was still playing the little harp, to the
evident delight of the old landlady, and eventually
struck up a measure so odd that more and more of the
company turned their attention towards it. The notes
rippled light and fast, with swift upward runs like
darting flames, and the toe of one dwarvish boot
clicked the beat on the flagstones, a rhythm that
Faramir found hard to catch. The Elf seemed fascinated
too, and stood by Gimli swaying unevenly, as if his
whole body were trying to grasp the music. Suddenly it
seemed to take hold of him, and as he moved Faramir
also picked up the five-count measure - something he
had never heard before.
'Is that dwarvish music?' he asked.
'I think it must be, though I have never heard the
like.'
They watched fascinated, as, with remembered and
invented steps, the Elf made a circling dance to suit
the music, raising his arms high with such grace that
the curving movements seemed to flow out through hands
and fingers into the air as sparks fly upwards from
the flames. The embroidery on his emerald green coat
glinted gold in the torchlight, and his calm,
absorbed, unsmiling face made him seem lost in the
music, a figure of remote enchantment. But the Dwarf's
eyes never left him, and gave the tiny signal to warn
of the end of the music, and the Elf saw it and
finished his dance with a low bow to the musician.
'A strange pair' said Faramir; 'The first of their
kindred to be seen in the city in my lifetime.'
'Much longer than that, I think' said Aragorn; 'Yet I
trust you will see more of both peoples in future, for
Gimli has said that his folk would undertake the
forging of new gates for the city, and such works of
masonry as may be needed.'
'This is good news indeed. I shall be glad to see the
free peoples work together in peace as well as in
war.'
Now it seemed that some of those present were calling
on the men of Ethir Anduin for a repeat of the
sailor's love song. There was a  general stirring and
movement, and some people seemed to be leaving, but
the leader of the seamen gathered his group and again
invited Gimli to join them. The Elf went with him as
he moved to a bench beside the seamen, having returned
the harp to the landlady.
After the liberal serving of ale and the high good
humour of the evening, the song began at a greater
volume than before, and quickly grew louder,
especially when they came to the words: 'For when I'm
drinking I am thinking, And wish the skipper's
daughter were here.'
This performance was such a success that an encore was
called for immediately, and given yet more loudly,
with the Dwarf's tremendous voice unrestrained, and
the others rising above it as if taking extra strength
from the deep notes.
Faramir saw that the Elf was now standing close behind
the Dwarf, hands on his shoulders under the rich mane
of shining hair, and understood at once that he did so
to feel as well as hear that unique voice. His words
to Aragorn reflected what the Elf had felt;
'It is as if one should hear a mountain sing!'
The song master was directing some of the men to take
each verse of the song alone in turn, and the
different voices soared into the night, higher or
lower, rougher or sweeter, and the noise of the
choruses seemed liable to fetch the mortar from the
joints of the masonry with its powerful resonance.
Even the Dwarf was given his turn, and got the verse
that said;
'"I'm so in love, I'll not deny it,
My heart lies smothering in my breast.
It's not for you to let the world know it;
A troubled mind can know no rest."'
He seemed to lean his head right back against the
Elf's chest as he sang, and Aragorn smiled in the
shadows, wondering if he knew what he was singing, or
had merely learned the words by rote, complete with
the accent of the men of the Ethir, so that 'know it'
sounded more like 'naw et'. Frodo, Sam and Gandalf
were exchanging smiling looks with raised eyebrows -
that much the King could see. And he could see the
look of shining tenderness the Elf turned on the
Dwarf, the easy acceptance of hands on shoulders: that
was new, and he was pleased to see it. <If Boromir
saved the Quest at Parth Galen> he thought, <These two
saved me. When I had to choose, full of doubt, they
followed, when they would have gone after Frodo. I was
right, but their faith kept me to it.> He smiled again
at the pair. Gimli looked as if he meant all the words
he was singing, except the 'troubled mind'. There was
no sign of that. This friendship had moved on, the
seeming opposites united: Elf and Dwarf, both children
of the One, the first generation and the adopted ones,
ancient and undeniable wrongs set aside at the end of
elvendom on earth.
As the final chorus was given one last rousing repeat,
Aragorn thought over what he knew about the two. He
was aware that Legolas shared the fate of the
last-born, who had become a barren stock, though he
also knew that it was not unheard of for the last-born
to marry; and he knew that Gimli was a Dwarf who had
found a mate and lost her: both were therefore suited
for the Quest in that they had no wife or family to
leave behind. He concluded that they had been destined
to find all they needed in each other. He smiled
again. Perhaps they were even a sign of promise for
the new age.
As the applause for the song subsided, Faramir felt
suddenly dizzy and leaned forward, head in hands.
Aragorn touched him gently on the shoulder.
'You have stayed long enough, I think.'
'Too long, you should say! Yes, I must go back.'
'And the way seems long. I shall go with you.'
'Thank you, my lord.'
With one hand on his elbow, Aragorn soon steered him
round the edge of the courtyard to the archway.
Already the band was tuning up again and the
proceedings were showing ominous signs of gathering
speed as the two paused in the double archway and were
aware of others at the far side in the darkness. The
Dwarf's voice said:
'Those wretched Hobbits will dance all night!'
'Unless they get up to some other tricks with their
ladyfriends!'
'Those girls are little more than children, and the
Hobbits are grown men beside them!'
'I was not speaking of the little sisters, my friend.
It's the elder ones who find the idea - or the reality
- of Hobbits - er - intriguing.'
There was a mingling of dwarvish and elvish chuckles,
and then two dark shapes merged into one. A moment
later there was a muffled exclamation and:
'Legolas! What in Middle-earth have you been eating?'
Faramir was aware of the tall man beside him stifling
an undignified splutter with his fist and backing
hastily to the far wall of the archway. There followed
a pause for consideration.
'Oh, a variety of things, all good. Perhaps it was the
fish.'
'Ach! Fish!'
The voices faded a little.
'And I cannot say that ale improves your beard!'
'I don't think they'll ever change - in some ways!'
said Aragorn.
Two shadowy figures moved off down the street.
'Elves! What are you like!' said the Dwarf's voice in
the distance.
The words of the Elf's reply were incomprehensible,
though the tone of mock reproof was not.
'Public meeting!'
A louder burst of noise propelled the two men towards
the dark street, and Faramir breathed more easily away
from the crush. Aragorn looked after the retreating
figures of Elf and Dwarf.
'Their bed will be a happy one tonight - when they
resolve the matter of the fish!'
His deep voice sounded warm with affection and
amusement. Faramir stopped in mid-stride.
'Their - ? You mean they are lovers?'
'Oh, yes. But they set their love aside on the Quest,
almost unknowing, for the greater love of
Middle-earth; and now they are free, and will be
happy, I trust.'
Faramir realised that the King saw nothing amiss in
such a love, and his mind darted over what he himself
knew: some men who seemed to have an outright aversion
to women; some, like Boromir, who were courteously
indifferent and simply preferred the company of men;
some who took things further, to exclusive devotion.
In Gondor it was not so much the fact, but rather the
character, of such a friendship that counted: was it
true, faithful, decorously conducted, or not? Then he
arrived at the heart of the matter.
'But Elf and Dwarf?' he said, astonished, for he was
not unversed in the lore of past ages.
'Yes! Wonderful, is it not? And good that a new age
brings something as new as that! Though no doubt not
all will see it in such a light. There will be frowns,
anger, and perhaps mockery. But their faith in each
other is strong now, and will endure.'
'A new age must bring new ways' said Faramir;'And some
will reject the new merely because it is new. But
trust earned in battle forges the strongest bonds.'
'You say well, Faramir. And it is not Elf and Dwarf
alone who are new here!'
The music and foot-stamping of a furious jig pursued
them into the street, interspersed with yells and
screeches, some of them clearly uttered by Hobbits.
'Tallywhack and tandem!' Faramir exclaimed suddenly,
laughing.
'What language is that?'
'Hobbit language, I suppose. Something Master Meriadoc
said when they came to visit me, and things got to
such a pitch that my Lady Éowyn turned them all out
like a farm wife shooing chickens. He said that his
grandmother would be scolding them for "raising
tallywhack and tandem"'.
'I never heard even Hobbits use such words before, but
no doubt the Bucklanders have their own expressions,
and that seems well enough suited to describe the
noise in there.'
They walked slowly up the street, followed by the
fading sounds of revelry by night. Faramir tried not
to think of the long steep climb to the citadel ahead.
They passed through the lamplit tunnels in the rock,
to the eyes of the few others abroad just two more
benighted merrymakers going home in cloaked and hooded
anonymity. Eventually, when Faramir stumbled on a
broken paving stone, Aragorn's right arm came quickly
round him, and was not withdrawn once he was steadied,
for the King sensed immediately that the younger man
had not yet recovered his full strength. They moved on
slowly, in silence, until an owl flew out of a
deserted turret, passing low over their heads with a
shriek that made them both jump.
'So there are owls in the city still' said Aragorn,
with a smiling note in his voice.
<Still?> thought Faramir <How does he know?>
He paused in his stride and turned towards Aragorn,
still supported in the curve of his arm, but before he
could speak, the other said:
'Do you remember? Two young boys watching for owls
from a high battlement in the moonlight, when they
should have been in bed?'
Then Faramir did remember: two young boys and a tall
kindly stranger, a visitor soon gone, but, they had
learned, a man once well-regarded by their grandfather
Echthelion, if not by their own father.
'Thorongil?' he asked faintly, wondering. 
It seemed so long ago, yet would explain so much,
explain why he had seemed already to know the King
when he was called back from the deadly sleep of his
wounding.
'Yes, Thorongil. So you remember.'
'I remember. 
Faramir sighed. He remembered a warmth and kindliness
in the strange warrior that he had scarcely known from
his own father.
'Did Boromir know?'
'No; the question never arose.'
'If he had come home with you, he would have known. He
rarely spoke of Thorongil, but I knew he did not
forget.'
They moved on slowly.
'Faramir, it was not his fate to come home; it was his
part to take a great step on the road to victory and
so leave us. Do you truly understand that when he
seemed about to fall victim to the power of the Ring,
he saved us all from it, and saved himself?'
'How can this be?' asked Faramir.
They had spoken of this before, and yet the darkness
that had clouded his mind seemed to have allowed only
partial understanding. He knew that his brother had
died a hero's death, for he had seen the light around
him in the mysterious boat, but the true nature of the
victory eluded him.
'By trying to take the Ring, he forced Frodo to action
in the nick of time, and that in turn forced me. Any
longer delay, and the Ring would either have fallen
into the hands of Saruman's orcs, or been revealed at
once to the Dark Lord, which would have ended both our
Quest and our world. And once the Ring was gone, once
Frodo left, Boromir became himself again. Without
Boromir, we would most likely all have been brought to
nothing: never forget that.'
Their steps halted again. In the cloud-veiled
moonlight Faramir saw the King lean towards him, and
received a firm kiss on his brow.
'And who can say to how far a shore the elven boat may
have borne him?'
They walked on, unnoticed in the shadows. Then the
King spoke again:
'You seem very weary, Faramir, and it troubles me.'
'I am weary with idleness, weary with waiting; but it
will pass.'
'Weary with waiting! Yes, indeed. Here we are in the
slack water between the departing tide of the old age
and that of the new which does not yet flow. We have
been schooled to action so long that to do nothing is
a burden.'
'You speak truly' Faramir replied.
When they came at last to the narrow iron grille and
inner wooden door in the wall of the citadel, Faramir
took the keys from the leather wallet at his belt,
opened the locks, and paused on the threshold,
reluctant now to take leave of the one whose very
presence seemed to give him strength. Since Aragorn
had kissed his brow, he had scarcely felt the length
and the steepness of the way home.
'My thanks for your company; he said; 'Alone, I would
have fallen, been taken up as a vagabond - and been
severely treated by Gandalf and yourself for risking
my health!'
'It is as well that I too was curious concerning the
Hobbits' celebrations.'
Faramir could hear the smile in the King's voice in
the near-darkness. They stood so close in the narrow
gateway that he fancied he could feel a faint brush of
warm breath.
'And like you I am weary with waiting' Aragorn
continued; - 'I would ask you to help me bear that
burden a while.'
There was no reply but a brief indrawn gasp.
'Please understand whereof I speak, and say yes or no
as your heart guides you. I would have that comfort
that warriors may give each other, lying together
before or after battle: but I would not have you
consent as if to an order.'
Faramir found his voice at last.
'I understand well enough, for I have not lain with
another since Boromir went away and I was given his
command, for I reasoned as you concerning orders. But
I owe you my life, and will not grudge my bed or my
body - and would not even had you never saved me.'
He drew back against the side of the deep stone arch,
allowing Aragorn to step past him into the little
courtyard beyond, while he barred and locked the
grille and the thick, iron-banded door, shutting out
the last pale glimmer of reflected moonlight from the
marble-paved street.
Then they were in a tiny courtyard, filled with the
scent of night-blooming flowers and the music of a
little fountain. Faramir led Aragorn towards another
archway, where the faint light of a small lamp showed
clearly in the darkness. The lamp hung by another
narrow door which opened onto a winding stair within
the thickness of the massive walls, leading to
Faramir's apartments. He took the lamp from its
bracket and led the way up the stairs in silence until
they came to the southeast facing room that was his
bedchamber. He took of his cloak and from the lamp lit
a couple of the candles that stood ready on a little
marble wall shelf by the bed, then blew out the lamp
and turned to face Aragorn in calm acceptance.
Aragorn stepped close and took him in a gentle
embrace, and Faramir slid his arms around the taller
man's neck. Their kiss was soft and Faramir knew that
this would be no fierce battlefield coupling, to blot
out fear or memory. It would be love, though fleeting.
But no - rather the brief celebration of a devotion
that would endure. He uttered a little sigh of
contentment as a strong hand caressed his head and
then moved to unfasten his surcoat. When he was
stripped to the waist, Aragorn ran both hands down his
sides and said softly:
'Still too thin - but when you are wed, happiness will
put flesh on your bones sooner than feeding.'
Aragorn also noticed the tiny hiss of breath as his
fingers passed over the scar of Faramir's wounding,
but he said nothing then. By morning he would have
determined what salve or remedy he should prepare.
Faramir sweated up suddenly under the touch, and
Aragorn lifted him in the practised grip that had
carried many wounded men to safety after battle, and
laid him on the bed. Then he stood back, and with an
unhurried neatness that made Faramir smile, removed
his own clothes and folded them on the clothes-stool
at the foot of the bed. When he stood before Faramir
naked, fair skin gilded by the candlelight, the young
man's first thought was that like him his King was
also too thin, and awaited a like cure.
Then Aragorn turned his attention to removing
Faramir's boots and the rest of his clothing, and
though his body showed he was ready for their coming
encounter, he moved without haste, or shyness, until
Faramir was naked, and then sank down beside him,
drawing him close until they comforted each other for
the weariness of waiting.
Afterwards they slid under the covers and talked
softly of hopes and plans for the future, until words
gave way to caresses again, and then talked more as
the candles burned down. 
After a long moment of silence, Aragorn uttered a
little short chuckling sound.
'What is it amuses you, dear lord?'
'I was merely wondering what conversation it could be,
between yourself and the lady Éowyn, that would
encompass the wild goats of Westfold.'
'Oh! Yes, I remember. It was only the second time, I
think, that I had been allowed out into the city, and
Master Peregrin took me to see the house where the
Companions were staying. I was walking with a long
staff then - you'll understand later why I mention it
- Peregrin said it made me look like a wizard. We met
the others leaving the house as we came in, and I sat
talking with Peregrin on the balcony overlooking the
street and watching the comings and goings. Then we
saw Éowyn walking along all alone: she had met the
others, who had said I was at the house, and had
decided to come down. So Peregrin ran and brought her
up to the balcony, and the next thing was, we heard
the Westfold men marching down from the citadel, where
they had just taken leave of you, on their way to the
stables to their horses. They were singing a marching
song, and Éowyn began to smile and laugh when she
heard it. So I asked what song it was, and she said it
was one where the men make up scandalous rhymes about
their captains, and the better liked the captain, the
ruder the verse.'
'I have heard such things' said Aragorn, laughing
again.
'Then, as they were passing below, she stood up and
hailed them, in a voice like a silver trumpet, and
they halted in some disorder - the Rohirrim are not
much given to marching - and turned and cheered her.
Then she was speaking to Marshal Erkenbrand and others
in their own tongue for a while, and then one bolder
than the rest, seeing me with my stick beside her,
spoke in Westron and said 'He who marries a lady of
Rohan should need no staff', or some such words, which
did not sound well, and there was a silence. Then
Erkenbrand spoke to the man, who replied in the tongue
of Rohan, and I felt the mood change as Erkenbrand
called to my lady, and as he spoke, she took the staff
from my hand and gave it to Peregrin. Then she took my
hand and laid it upon her shoulder, and then spoke in
Westron herself and said 'Is this what you meant,
Wolfram of the wayward tongue? He who marries a lady
of Rohan will need no other staff!' Then they all
cheered again, and the one called Wolfram looked like
a man reprieved from a grievous sentence. I put my arm
around her shoulders, and they cheered ever louder,
until Erkenbrand brought them to order, and she bade
them farewell. They marched off and someone started
another song, which made my lady laugh again, and she
told me it was a wedding song from the Westfold, that
weddings in the Westfold can be very remarkable
events, lasting many days in the noble households. And
after that we asked and answered many questions about
our lands, until we came at length to the wild goats
of Westfold: and that was the conversation.'
'It is good to hear of her laughter' Aragorn said; - 
'I hope I may often hear it for myself in days to
come.'
'Truly it is a wonder, and all owing to you, that she
lives to be my lady of laughter, when once I thought I
should never see her smile.'
'I healed her wounds, it is true, but it was you
healed her heart.'
Then Aragorn kissed Faramir's brow and thanked him for
his generous love, and Faramir said:
'I think you must know it was scarcely unselfish of me
to keep you here, when your least touch renews my
strength!'
Aragorn laughed softly.
'You are nothing if not honest, dear friend. May you
always continue so. Let me tell you that you are not
the only one to gain by this. But I think you will
also understand that this night must be as a dream
that may not come again, to be forgotten at morning,
or a memory that is not spoken of.'
'My thoughts had not travelled so far, I confess; but
I understand, and I am glad to have this treasure. As
for forgetting at will, I cannot promise that, but all
that passes here will be a memory folded away at the
bottom of my mind, where none but I may come upon it.'
'Folded away! I like those words. At the bottom of
your mind! You speak as poetically as any Elf; we
shall always be brothers.'
'I could wish for nothing better. And my mother was of
the line of Dol Amroth: your comrade Legolas seemed to
find something elvish in their prince.'
'True. Then we are kin, if by forgotten lines. Now let
us sleep, or we shall be weary again by morning!'
Faramir sat up briefly and pinched out the last
candle. In the velvet darkness he enjoyed once more
the King's kind words and gentle handling, and then
rested nestled like a child in his firm embrace. After
a while, Aragorn felt the other's chest heave with a
deep sigh.
'Faramir? What troubles you?'
'My father .... '
His words trailed off in a breath.
'I understand more about Boromir; but my father, that
is different ... '
'Yes, my dear Faramir, that is different.' 
Now the King's voice was clear and uncompromising, the
voice of one who would not offer easy consolation.
'Your father had courage and pride, for which we must
honour him. He did not fall under the dominion of the
Dark Lord, yet he fell into something as dreadful and
dangerous in its own way - despair, the denial of the
life of Arda - and he would have taken you with him
into that darkness: you, and others.'
Faramir was silent for a long time, reflecting on
this.
'Even the Hobbits did not despair' he said at last; -
'When they had more reason than any of us. That was
why they succeeded, by going on, by hoping.'
'I believe that is so.'
'He was always so sure, my father, so certain: that he
was right, that he KNEW, better than the rest of us.
Now, of course, I understand why. Sure that the line
of kings would not return - yet it was not lost, and
here you are ... '
He turned in Aragorn's embrace, and slid down, so that
his cheek rested against his chest.
'And then he was sure that Stewards could never become
Kings; and sure that he WAS king, in all but name. He
was sure that Sauron could not be overthrown, but sure
that he would never yield ... '
'Call nothing sure that has not come to pass' said
Aragorn; -  'And even then, not the wisest in
Middle-earth can foretell all ends.'
There was silence for a while; then Faramir said:
'That must be so, for if all is foretold and ordained,
what need is there for our lives?'
Aragorn drew breath to reply, then paused, almost as
if he felt the thought forming in Faramir's mind.
'So my father did as he did, because he was sure,
because he could see no need for his life - or for
mine.'
'You are wise, my beloved Steward, grown strong in war
to live in peace. And Gondor has need of you.'
'Then - then what will become of his spirit, since he
caused his own death?'
'That I cannot say, but I will hope - as must you, for
here is no end, but another beginning.'
Faramir sighed again. He was too tired to think
further, and yet felt peace returning to his heart.
He woke alone in the brightness of morning, feeling
that at last he had come back to life and health.
Sitting up, he saw a chair moved aside from its place
by the wall, and another memory came to him, of the
two young boys, dragging by the hand the kindly
stranger who had stayed so briefly in their halls,
eager to show of their latest discovery of a 'secret
passage'. So the King had used the knowledge gained as
'Thorongil' and sought his own apartments unseen. Then
yet another  memory revived, dim with sleep: a soft
short beard brushed his cheek as a low voice said :
<Sleep well, gentle warrior! Keep safe your folded
dreams, as I will keep mine>. If he had made any
reply, he could not recall it.
 Faramir got up to re-lock the 'secret' door,
whistling quietly to himself - an old habit long left
off in the years of darkness - ready for the new age
of his life.

Title: FOR CONTINUING STRANGE (12)
Author: Annie Harris
Email: annie_mouse2001@yahoo.co.uk
Pairing: Legolas/Gimli
Rating: R.
Summary: What was Aragorn thinking about 'a troubled
mind'??.
Disclaimer: The usual: No claims, no pack drill - and
of course no profit. Just living in the gaps and round
the edges.
Warning: None
Author's note.

12.

In the house in the lower city, things did not go
quite as Aragorn had hoped. Legolas became aware of a
change in the quality of Gimli's silence as they
walked back down the hill. All the high spirits of the
evening seemed to drain out of him and when at last
they had left the veiled moonlight of the night and
lit the candles in their bedroom, and Legolas began to
unfasten the clasps of his emerald tunic, Gimli stood
motionless in the middle of the floor.

Legolas turned, drawing breath to question, but Gimli
held up his hand in a little warding-off gesture, and
he halted, puzzled and suddenly anxious.

'Legolas, I must speak before I touch thee again and
forget the whole world.'

Forget the whole world! The words seemed to burn in
the Elf's mind.

Gimli backed away and sat down in the armchair at the
right of the terrace window. Legolas moved cautiously
to the one on the left.

'I told you, did I not, that a Dwarf will take but one
mate in a lifetime, or else be solitary?'

'Yes, you did.'

'And I told you that I had my one chance; that I had
found and lost.'

'Yes.'

'We were betrothed, but her family had to make a
journey to the Iron Hills, on the matter of an
inheritance. It was winter before they could return,
and on the way wolves of the north fell on them, and
she was slain, with others of the party, and lies
under uncarved stone in a place I do not know.'

'Oh my friend! Then you were never married!'

'Married! No, but' - (he smiled faintly) - 'we
anticipated matters, as is quite usual. And  since
then I have followed the way of our people, and had no
mate, nor wanted one. Until now. Until tonight. And
now my heart wakes, and something impossible has
happened. Perhaps it is because you are of another
kindred; perhaps it is because this is a new age, I
cannot tell. But I think, I fear, I have been given a
second chance.'

'Fear?' said Legolas, leaning forward slightly, hands
clenching into fists on his knees.

'Fear. For if I touch thee once again, the gift will
be given, and it will be as the first should have
been, for life. But you Elves may have many loves in
your long years, I understand it is your way, and the
stubborn and jealous heart of a Dwarf is no burden to
lay upon you.'

Legolas looked at him in distress, pierced by his
honesty, his further revelation of his grief, and also
stung by his fear that an Elf might find utter
devotion tiresome. But why should he know otherwise?
Each kindred had an ample share of ideas about the
other that were simply not so. Legolas took a deep
breath.

'What you say of the loves of Elves is true, and yet
not all the truth. Some indeed may have many lesser
loves, and be content to live so; and some will not.
Some will seek one to be their partner for ever, and
some will find that one without seeking. And I too
fear, I fear, and I hope, that I will be among these
last, as my fate finds me.'

If he had expected to see Gimli receive this gladly,
he was mistaken.

'Say not so, dearest Elf! It would be cruel grief to
give such love to one of mortal kind. I would rather
leave thee now' (looking as if he might jump up at
that moment and go) 'than see an immortal heart so
bound - or else I would have to endure the pain of
sharing a doomed love with thee till my death should
set thee free.'

Then Legolas sprang from his seat with a speed that
lifted the hair from his shoulders, and fell on his
knees in front of the Dwarf, covering his face with
his hands and bowing his head to the ground.

'Do not speak of leaving me! Whatever I say or do will
wound thee, whom I least wish to hurt. I am come to a
strange gate, and can go neither forward nor back.'

Gimli looked in amazement at the Elf crouched before
him, bright hair spreading over the dark wine-red
tiles of the floor. How could one of the firstborn
kneel thus to a Dwarf? As his bewildered silence
lengthened, Legolas seemed to sink lower still as if
in despair.

Then at last Gimli stirred, and slid from his seat to
kneel as well, and gently took hold of Legolas'
wrists, trying to raise him, and saying silently in
his mind <Lady Galadriel, send me strength for two,
and the right words for this moment>

Then he spoke softly:

'There is no way now but forward. I hold thy hands and
my gift is given, for good or ill, for thee to receive
or refuse as thou wilt. But, received or refused, I
will not regret it, for all I have shared with thee:
hardship on the journey, danger and trust in battle,
joy here in this room. Wherever this gate takes us, I
will not regret.'

Legolas' hands seemed inert in his, yet the Elf slowly
straightened up and faced him, grey eyes silvered with
unshed tears. They gazed steadily at each other for a
long minute.

'This dark gate will open if we go forward together;'
said Legolas; - 'But where will the way lead us?'
Then Gimli thought he heard the words he should say.

'We cannot see the way, for we have yet to shape it,
by our own choices.'

Legolas' hands seemed to quiver with returning life,
his eyes flashed with a familiar determined look, and
he said:

'Then an end to all this - whatever they say, I will
love thee!'

Strangely, he glanced around the room as if
surrounded, not by enemies, but by some who would
question, and uttered a brief sentence in the elvish
tongue, in a louder, defiant tone.

Gimli stared at him.

'What - what did you say? You spoke in elvish.'

Legolas blinked as if coming out of a dream.

'I told them I follow a star of earth.'

Gimli seemed to understand vaguely what this might
mean.

'Told them ...'

'The guardians of my people. They sense what is
happening.'

'And a star of earth?'

'It is an old saying, meaning one who takes a mortal
as only mate. Few such are remembered in the stories
of the great ones - the rest are altogether forgotten,
taken from distinction.'

'Then so be it, if we are together.'

They put their arms around each other and leaned
close, each with his head against the other's
shoulder.

'Thy strange gate opens;' said Gimli softly; -

'Tomorrow will bring us to the other side. Maybe the
next gate on the way will be but half-closed.'

Then he rose to his feet, drawing Legolas gently up
after him, and turned him around towards the bed.

Suddenly they both felt almost too weary to stand, as
if they had run across Rohan again. They undressed in
silence and laid their clothes neatly side by side on
the chest at the foot of the bed. Gimli put out his
candle and lay down, and in a moment Legolas joined
him, his elvish beauty adorned only by the silver oak
leaf talisman of Mirkwood on its short chain. Then the
Elf reached out and extinguished his candle too, and
turned towards Gimli, drawing him close with
one arm about his waist. Resting his head on the
raw-silk mantle of Dwarf hair, he whispered:

'My star shines bright under the mountain, where I
never knew such things could be.'

'And I see now that the forest is a mine of treasure
more divine than those of earth.'

Legolas drifted towards mortal sleep, easily found
now, so close to a mortal beloved. The night breeze
stirred faintly through the room.

'A warm bright day tomorrow;' said Legolas, in a
different, wakeful sounding voice, only for Gimli to
realise seconds later that he was already asleep.

He smiled: Legolas had somehow taught himself a sort
of mortal sleep, and his waking was like a mortal's
too, but the falling asleep was not quite right yet,
being as disconcertingly sudden as the blowing out of
a lamp. And now the Elf had defied his 'guardians' -
Gimli did not know who they were: some of the Maiar,
perhaps, with a special care for wood Elves - and
could fall asleep so sweetly. But Gimli lay awake for
a while, wondering. This finding of a mate was a
spiritual matter, but a strangely physical experience.
He felt as if all his internal organs were
repositioning themselves, and he had no words, except
in his own language, to describe what was happening,
other than 'the gift is given'. Not 'I give my gift'
but 'is given', for that part of a Dwarf's nature is
not fully under conscious control - whence its power.
He knew that the giving could be denied: he could have
left, still could, at the cost of a terrible effort of
will that would greatly shorten his life, but Legolas'
anguish at the thought of parting had overruled any
impulse to resist the gift. It was done. They were
one. He drew the Elf a little closer against his
heart, and as the weird turmoil within began to
subside, he too slept.



Title: FOR CONTINUING STRANGE (13/14)
Author: Annie Harris
Email: annie_mouse2001@yahoo.co.uk
Pairing: Legolas/Gimli
Rating: G.
Summary: The evil force that killed the little boy has
not finished its work.
Disclaimer: The usual: No claims, no pack drill - and
of course no profit. Just living in the gaps and round
the edges.
Warning: Elvish curiosity brings trouble.
Author's note.

13.

When he woke, early on the promised fine morning,
Gimli was alone in the bed, alone in the room.
Struggling up through layers of sleep like morning
mist in the valley, he became aware that the air was
full of birdsong - no, not simply birdsong - surely
there was a voice, an elvish voice, blended with the
sound.

He got out of bed and padded naked across the cool
tiles to look out of the window. In the soft morning
light he saw Legolas, dressed in his fine white robe,
offering breadcrumbs to the birds on his outstretched
hands, whistling and singing softly to them as he did
so.

Gimli stood with his hands on the windowsill, almost
holding his breath for fear of disturbing the
enchanting scene.

There must have been more than two dozen little birds,
fluttering and chirping around Legolas: sparrows,
bluetits, robins were familiar to Gimli, but others
were not. They all flew eagerly to the Elf's hands,
perching on his fingers to take the crumbs and then
darting away. A little wren flew out of one of the
terrace trees, alighted on Legolas' right hand, and
burst into loud trilling song. The Elf whistled back
in a wonderful imitation, and the tiny bird challenged
him again.

Gimli watched until a memory of the previous evening
returned to him, and he sang as quietly as he could:

'Where the pretty small birds do change their voices
And every moment a different sound.'

Legolas turned towards the window, and some of the
birds flew off into the bushes, but the wren kept its
place.

Then, moving smoothly and slowly, Legolas began to
walk across the terrace, talking and chirruping gently
to the bird as he did so. It looked at him with bright
little eyes, cocking its head to one side and the
other, but stayed on his finger.

Still talking to the bird, Legolas reached the window,
and carefully extended his hand towards Gimli, who
reached out cautiously in response until their hands
were almost touching. Legolas continued speaking to
the bird, mixing elvish words and bird sounds, until
the wren suddenly hopped from his finger to Gimli's,
and uttered the trilling phrases of its song.
Legolas saw how the Dwarf's eyes were fixed on the
tiny bird, wondering but keen, as if he were recording
every detail of its appearance in his mind, as surely
as if he were carving it in stone or casting in
bronze; and he saw a gentle smile spread over Gimli's
craggy features, like spring sunshine on a rocky
cliff, as the wren sang again.

Gimli was smiling not only at the trust the Elf could
win from wild creatures, but also at the delicate grip
of tiny sharp claws and the warmth of the miniature
feet which he could feel on the sensitive side of his
finger.

Legolas spoke again in elvish, as the wren examined
Gimli with jet-bright eyes full of alien intelligence.
He thanked the bird for its courtesy, and it trilled
again and flew off in a rustling whirr of feathers.

'Thank you, dear friend, that was beautiful' said
Gimli; - 'One little brown wren - what a wonder!'

'The earth is full of wonders, is it not? And a little
work with a watering can brings them back to the city.
You see I have been busy while you slept.'

'Ah! They come not to the city, they come to thee'
Gimli replied.

He could see how well the trees had grown in the short
time that Legolas had tended them, and added:

'Soon you will have your own wood within the city.'

'I have to say I love to see things green and growing
about any dwelling, fair though the stonework may be.'

Gimli responded with the dwarvish grunt that this sort
of remark had always earned, meaning that he was
reluctant to concur too readily with elvish opinion;
but, seeing the graceful figuring of dark branches,
green leaves and white blossoms against the smooth
marble walls, he had to say:

'I would not altogether disagree.'

Legolas laughed his clear ringing laugh, and leaned in
at the window to kiss Gimli on the brow.

'Then rise, and let us finish what we started below
there, to help make this city fair as it should be!'
This was the very admonition to set the Dwarf in a
bustle, being one never to leave a task unfinished,
and they had dressed, breakfasted and set off for
their work in what seemed like seconds. As the lower
gate clicked shut behind them, Legolas said:

'My friend, we are happy, when there is every reason
we should not be so. How can this be?'

Gimli looked up at him sharply, about to make some
remark that Elves think too much, but what Legolas
said was true.

Instead he replied:

'Sometimes our hearts understand more than we know,
dear Elf, and last night's dark gate has opened on a
light we have not seen before.'

So they turned back into the moment, and went down to
the lower city.

The street was, if possible, quieter than ever. There
was no sign of activity. The houses where the widow
and her family and friends lived all looked shut up
and deserted. Elf and Dwarf wondered if the people
were there, but following some tradition of mourning.
In fact they were absent, having returned to the
burial ground on the second day for the final closing
of the grave, according to their custom.

Gimli had brought his tool bag with him, and set it on
a stone to open it and select what he might need.
Legolas looked around the empty street, which ended
with the fountain at the foot of the rock face not far
beyond the last of the damaged houses. It was so quiet
that the only sound was the cool splashing of water
falling from a spout in the rock into the wide marble
basin.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a sudden
movement. Something, a small animal, seemed to run
into the house where the child had died. Legolas
remembered some talk of a dog that he had followed,
and walked off to take a look while Gimli rummaged in
his leather bag.

The Dwarf had just found the wedges he wanted when he
was startled by a strange low hissing sound from
somewhere behind him. As he turned towards it, it
ended in a sort of thump mingled with a cry of pain
that could only have been uttered by Legolas.
Gimli leapt towards the sound, seeing as he did so a
plume of black smoke rise from the ruins and swirl
rapidly up across the face of the mountain, thinning
to nothing in moments. Even before he had reached the
broken doorway, Legolas stumbled out, hands over his
face, and fell to his knees in the street. He crouched
down, doubled over in a nightmare echo of the way he
had knelt before Gimli in the bedroom, and as the
Dwarf reached him he saw that his hands and clothes
were stained black as if with the smoke that had just
gone up.

'Legolas! Legolas! What happened?'

Gimli dropped to his knees, gripping the Elf's
shoulders, and he straightened up slowly, lowering his
hands, revealing to Gimli's horror, that his face was
also blackened and his eyelids swollen almost shut.

'Gimli! I can't see! Something hit me.'

He seemed about to try rubbing his eyes, but Gimli
grabbed his hand and stopped him.

'No! No! Come to the fountain! Wash this stuff off
quickly!'

He jumped up and helped Legolas to his feet, and half
dragged, half carried the dazed Elf to the fountain,
guiding his hands to the edge of the basin. Legolas
plunged his face into the water, which instantly
turned black, blacker that would have seemed possible
from the amount of soot on his face. Then with eyes
still closed he groped with his hands to find where
the water fell from its marble spout, and let the
spring run straight onto his face, heedless of
the splashes that soaked his clothes.

Gimli watched anxiously, but the pure chilly water did
its work well, and after a few minutes bathing the
swelling of the eyelids began to go down, and Legolas
swayed, gasping for breath and clutching the rim of
the basin. Gimli put both arms around him, and he
turned, water dripping down his face.

'It's all right, I can see you. Not clearly, but I see
you.'

Gimli hugged the bedraggled Elf tightly, tears of
relief starting in his own eyes. Now he felt inclined
to scold in reaction.

'Bathe your eyes again now, the water has run clear.'
Legolas needed no second bidding to feel the soothing
touch of cold water on his face again.

'What made you go in like that? What happened?'

'I saw something, an animal, a little black dog, I
thought - went to look. There was something on the
floor - it moved - then there was a sound, and smoke
everywhere, and something knocked me over.'

Gimli guessed what might have happened.

'It must have been one of the enemy's missiles, from
the siege, that did not go off at the time. The dog
must have disturbed it. How this morgul-stuff lingers!
I hope there are no more.'

'It must be so' said Legolas, clutching the marble
dizzily; - 'My sight clears but my head swims.'

He staggered sideways and Gimli caught him and lowered
him gently to sit on the ground in the angle where the
last house wall met the rock of the mountain. It was a
sunny corner at this time of day, and Gimli settled
himself with his back against the warm masonry,
drawing Legolas close to rest across his chest,
supported by the Dwarf's strong arms and raised knees,
face half hidden against his beard, hands tucked up in
a foetal curl. Legolas was trembling a little with
shock, and Gimli held him tightly, stroking his head
and making soothing murmurs, hardly knowing what he
said. He was beginning to feel the shock himself, now,
and also realised that they were quite alone. If
Legolas should need more help than he could give, he
would have to abandon the Elf to fetch it. But
gradually the trembling subsided and Legolas stirred.

'I'd like to bathe my eyes again' he said, but found
he could hardly stand unaided.

Gimli helped him the few yards to the fountain, and he
bathed his face and hands again. It was strange how
strong a stain spread from the remaining soot,
clouding the whole basin with its taint, but the
swelling of Legolas' eyelids reduced further, leaving
the grey eyes bloodshot but able to see.

'I shall have to rest longer before we can go home' he
said as they returned to the sunny corner.

'Of course; said Gimli' - 'It is hardly midmorning
yet. Let the sun warm you for a while.'

So Legolas leaned against him and seemed to doze in
the sunshine, but time went on, and he did not recover
his strength as quickly as Gimli had expected. Towards
midday the Dwarf was growing more anxious, and was
resolving to leave Legolas and go in search of help.
There was still no sign of life in the street, but
then, just as he was about to speak to Legolas, help
appeared, the very best he could have asked for:
Gandalf himself, striding along the
street, staff in hand, a light summer mantle of soft
blue billowing over shining white.

The wizard swooped down upon the pair, alarmed at the
sight of Legolas, questioning, examining. Legolas
seemed to revive under his touch, and soon stood up,
leaning on Gimli's shoulder.

Apparently satisfied that the Elf's life was not in
danger, Gandalf went into the damaged house to see
where the incident had happened. Sam, it appeared, had
told him something of what the two had been doing, and
he had decided to come and see for himself, having a
spare moment - by chance, as it is said.

When he emerged, stepping cautiously over the rubble,
he said:

'Whatever work of the enemy that was, it was powerful,
yet nothing of it now remains. I have heard no reports
of any other such in the city, but those who are
working to repair the damage must be warned. But
first, let us take Legolas home to rest properly.'

With Gandalf and Gimli to aid him, Legolas climbed the
long stair to the next level and then to the
courtyard, where they found Sam busy weeding round the
trees and bushes in their tubs and troughs, having
already dealt with the entrance stairs.

He was greatly shocked by what he heard and saw, and
hastened to make a herbal drink for Legolas, while the
Elf washed the last of the sooty stuff from his face,
neck and hands, and Gimli brought him his white robe,
for his clothes were in need of cleaning too. His
hair, still drawn neatly back into a single plait,
Dwarf fashion, seemed to have cast off the black
powder, and gleamed as bright as ever, but he shook it
out and let Gimli brush it for him.

Soon he sat on the courtyard bench in the sunshine,
dressed in the soft white robe, enjoying the fragrant
infusion Sam had brewed. The others joined him with
their cups, and Gandalf though that he was already
looking much better.

Suddenly Sam uttered a little exclamation to himself
and trotted off to the front terrace, to return
shortly with a bunch of leaves in his hand.

'The very thing' he said; - 'Growing right under our
noses, around those flowering bushes - don't know what
they are - blossoms like cherries - the very thing,
eyewort we call it at home, I'll make it up for you.
You can use it as soon as it cools, but it'll be
better if you keep the leaves in overnight.'

Off he went to the kitchen again and stirred up the
fire to reboil the kettle, while Gandalf heard about
the death and funeral of the little boy, and the stone
Gimli had cut.

The wizard looked keenly at his two comrades, sitting
so close together, each now so ready to praise the
other, and smiled gently at the change he saw in them.
Soon Sam came out with his potion and a small linen
cloth.

'Just wring this out in the liquid and lay it over
your eyes for five minutes' he said - 'It'll make a
difference. The rest is inside, just leave it to
infuse till morning.'

Gimli took the bowl and the cloth, and then laid the
compress over Legolas' eyelids. He half-turned on the
bench so that the Elf could lean comfortably against
him.

'Thank you Sam, it feels very soothing. I had not
recognised the plant. I must learn more of your Shire
herb-lore, if you will teach me.'

'Of course I will, dear Legolas. Whoever planted these
pots and things must have known quite a bit - there's
some very useful herbs, for cooking and for medicine -
tucked in around the shrubs and things - not the way
I'd do it, but here it suits.'

Sam raided the store cupboards (cut into the rock that
formed the back wall of the kitchen, wonderfully cool
for fresh food) and made a meal for them all. He found
that today's provisions included fish from the Anduin,
and soon the air was filled with sizzling fragrance.
Legolas found a better appetite than either Gimli or
Gandalf expected, and when Sam and the wizard departed
they felt happy to leave the two alone.

Gimli urged Legolas to go to bed early, and they lay
close together watching the daylight fade. They spoke
little, and as darkness fell, Legolas crept closer, so
that Gimli could slide his left arm around him, and
seemed to go to sleep. Gimli dozed, sleeping with one
eye open, not entirely convinced that all was yet
well, and as the night wore on he was aware of Legolas
muttering and stirring a little in his sleep, though
he did not find this surprising after the day's
experiences.


14.

It was three hours after midnight when he started
awake as if someone had called him. He seemed to hear
a sound echoing, yet all was still - too still.

The lamp he had left burning, refilled and carefully
trimmed, on the bracket at his side of the bed, still
gave a soft golden light, but he did not need light to know
that Legolas had rolled away from him, and was now
lying flat and motionless at the other side of the bed, his
breathing slow and faint.

Gimli sat up abruptly, leaned over, grasped the Elf's
shoulder and shook him gently, and was frightened by
the coldness of his body under the white robe. The shaking
had no effect. Gimli shook him again, harder, calling
his name bent down and kissed soft cold lips that parted
lifelessly under his.

Now their room was a lighted cave of fear in the vast
peaceful darkness of the sleeping city, with no help
at hand.

Gimli shook the Elf again, more roughly still, calling
him again and again, lifting him from his pillow, so
that his head fell back like a dead man's until, without
warning, he awoke, and clutched at Gimli with both
hands, dragging on his hair and gasping as if he were drowning.
Gimli held him tightly until he grew calmer, but he
remained deadly cold despite the warmth of the Dwarf's
body.

'Gimli, where have I been? It was dark, deep and dark,
and cold, I'm cold ...'

Legolas' voice was faint and faltering.

'It was a dream, dear Legolas, only a dream. You're
awake now.'

But he was still anxious. He had never heard the Elf
complain so of cold before, and though the night was
mild and he had drawn another blanket up over Legolas, still
the warmth did not return to his body. He did not even
shiver.

Something else must be done.

Then, the way that Legolas had seemed to be trying to
escape drowning gave Gimli an inspiration: a hot bath.
He knew that Sam had mended and damped the fire and
refilled the set-pot. The fire would blaze up quickly,
and a hot bath taken by a bright fire was as good a
cure for chills as anything that Gimli knew of. He
shook Legolas again, but gently.

'You're not getting any warmer. I'm going to stir up
the kitchen fire, get you into a hot bath in front of
it. I won't be long, fetch you in a minute.'

But as he got out of bed and felt for his slippers,
Legolas clutched his arm with unexpected force.

'Don't leave me! The darkness pulls me down!'

The words alarmed him more than the chill pervading
the Elf's body.

'All right. Come now.'

He grabbed his brown robe and flung it on, then took
his grey Lorien cloak from the back of the door and
wrapped it around Legolas as he stood leaning one hand
on the footboard of the bed. Then he took the lamp
from its bracket, and found that Legolas seemed unable
to follow him, so that he had to lead him from the
room with one arm around his waist. Gimli was afraid
that Legolas would fall before they had crossed the
courtyard, but they reached the kitchen safely, and
Gimli drew a stool close to the warm stove, and made
Legolas sit there while he opened the stove door,
pushed back the damper, and added more wood to the
quickly brightening blaze.

He lit a few candles, and turned back to see that
Legolas was stretching out his hands towards the fire,
something he had never before seen the Elf do out of
need, but only for sheer pleasure in the warmth of
fire. Gimli went through to the bath house and
returned carrying the large wooden tub. The weight of
it was no problem for dwarvish strength, but the rope
handles were placed for a man's reach, which Gimli
could only just manage. He put the tub down near the
stove and began to fill it from the steaming set-pot,
using the large lading can that always stood ready.
When the tub was half full, he turned to Legolas.

'Come on now, in you get. It's the best way to warm
you.'

Legolas tested the water nervously with his
fingertips.

'It's too hot!'

'Elvish prejudice!'

Gimli struggled not to scold him, but added some cold
water from the cistern at the other side of the stove.
When he had stirred the water around with his hand,
Legolas consented to take off the cloak and robe, and
stepped into the tub. Gimli was shocked to see a mass
of bruises down his right side, dull purplish stains
disfiguring his fine pale skin. The upper part of his
right arm was bruised as well, and there was a very
angry looking mark just above his knee.

'Legolas! You're covered with bruises!'

As the Elf lowered himself into the comforting
steaming water he could see easily enough what Gimli
meant.

'Ai! yes; it knocked me over, onto the stones. They'll
be gone by morning. Ah, this feels better; thank you
Gimli, you kind and clever Dwarf! I would never have
thought of it.'

Gimli added more hot water cautiously, while Legolas
settled deeper, drawing up his knees to do so, and
tossing his hair out over the edge of the tub as he
leaned back and sank down as far as he could. Gimli
went to fetch towels from the linen closet in the next
room, and came back to find his beloved Elf basking
quite happily in hot water and firelight, and looking
much better.

Gimli drew a chair close to the fire and draped the
towels over the back to warm them. Then he picked up
the lading can again and scooped water from the tub to
pour over Legolas' shoulders. Legolas leaned forward
to enjoy the sensation, and inevitably the ends of his
hair fell into the water. Black streaks immediately
appeared on his back and stained the water.

Gimli cried out in horror when he saw it.

'The black soot! It's still in your hair, it's turning
the water black like the fountain!'

Legolas jumped up and out of the tub with a wild
splashing, pulled a lock of hair forward over his
shoulder and looked at it. The pale golden strands
gleamed as brightly as ever, but left a black mark on
his hand. He dropped to his knees beside the tub,
flung all his hair forward, and dipped his head in the
water. The result was as dramatic as before: all the
water in the tub turned black almost instantly, as if
with the strongest dye, while his hair continued to
look quite clean.

'The evil influence must be in the soot, not the
explosion' said Gimli; - 'We must wash it all out.'
Legolas squeezed the water out of his hair. It was
very strange that the black stuff should colour the
water so strongly and yet not be visible on the pale
golden tresses.

'That must be it. I feel much better already. I must
go out to the fountain.; this needs running water.'

'But it's so cold -'

'That will be no matter, now so much of the stuff is
gone. I am warmer already.'

Gimli realised that this was true as he wrapped the
largest towel he could find around Legolas, took up
the lamp, and went out with him to the courtyard
spring. There was no doubt that washing to remove the
black substance was the right treatment: he was
clearly stronger.

It was not very easy to tell by the light of the lamp
just when the water ran clear, but at last they were
satisfied, and returned to the warmth of the kitchen.
While Legolas sat by the bright fire drying his hair,
Gimli dragged the heavy tub carefully across the floor
to the drain and poured the black water away, then
rinsed the tub out with clean water from the cistern.
Constantly looking round at the Elf, he refilled the
water heater and replaced the lid. There would be hot
water ready in the morning. Legolas' hair was drying
now but looked tangled.

'Where is your comb? Let me fetch it for you.'

Legolas told him where to find it, and he took a
candle and went out. The night was still and mild,
faintly scented by blossom. Peace was returning to the
little house, and Legolas was sufficiently recovered
to smile at the Dwarf in his sack-like robe when he
returned with the fine ivory comb.

The kitchen was now very warm, glowing with the light
of the fire, lamp and candles at one end, dim and
shadowy at the other. Gimli closed the damper to save
the fire, and then turned his attention to combing out
the Elf's hair, lifting the silken strands high to
speed the drying. Slowly pleasure was replacing
anxiety. Legolas turned on the stool.

'Want to roast the other side now?' Gimli chuckled,
running his fingers through the pale gold locks, both
to feel for the wetter parts and to enjoy the
sensation.

Legolas drew a deep breath, straightening up as he
sat.

'Had I not lain beside you, I would never have
wakened; I am sure of it. I owe you my life.'
Gimli's hands halted.

'I was falling down into darkness' the Elf continued;
- 'It was cold and deep. I tried to call you, but I
could not hear my own voice. It was like drowning, in
something thicker than water, like being buried in the
black soot.'

'I heard you call!' Gimli replied; - 'Though you did
not speak. That is what woke me.'

Legolas flung his arms around the Dwarf's stocky body
and held him in a crushing embrace, pressing his face
against the coarse brown robe, feeling the dwarvish
heat beneath.

'You heard me? You heard?'

'My heart heard.'

He stooped and kissed the top of the golden head.

'May our hearts always hear each other, my Legolas.'

'Always.'

They stayed clasped together a little longer, then
Gimli resumed his tending of the fine elvish hair,
until he was satisfied that it was completely dry.

'There, that's done. Now you must rest.'

'I feel recovered now. The evil was in the black soot
and it is gone.'

'Don't argue! It was a great danger, even for the
strength of an Elf.'

Gimli moved away and opened one of the rock-cut
storage cupboards at the back of the kitchen. Cold air
fell out like invisible water - no need to worry about
the freshness of the milk in its red earthen crock. He
carried the crock to the stove, measured out two cups
of milk into a small pan, and set the pan on the
hotplate to heat. Legolas sat and watched him in
contented silence. When the milk was nicely warm,
Gimli filled the cups and damped the stove.

'Now come and rest.'

Legolas rose obediently, put out the candles and took
his cup, while Gimli picked up the lamp, and they went
back across the dark courtyard and returned to bed.
When they were sitting side by side, leaning on their
pillows, Gimli felt they were like naughty Dwarf
children holding a midnight feast as they sipped their
milk and the weight of the night's events slowly fell
from them. When they were ready to put out the lamp, Legolas said
softly:

'I do owe you my life. It will not be forgotten.'

'Have we not saved each other often? Let there be no
reckoning of debts between us, dearest Elf.'

'No debts, but no forgetting' Legolas answered,
sliding down under the covers and gazing solemnly up
at Gimli.

Gimli blew out the lamp and settled beside him in the
soft darkness. Once again he drew Legolas close to
him, feeling his body reassuringly warm again under
the white gown. The sky was growing light outside the
curtained window, and the little birds were starting
to sing in the terrace bushes as the two fell asleep,
weary beyond thought or desire, to sleep soundly as
the sun rose on another fine day in Minas Tirith.


Title: FOR CONTINUING STRANGE (15)
Author: Annie Harris
Email: annie_mouse2001@yahoo.co.uk
Pairing: Legolas/Gimli
Rating: R
Summary: Rather a bitty one this time; Legolas is not
quite recovered yet, but Gandalf helps by discovering
why.
Disclaimer: The usual: No claims, no pack drill - and
of course no profit. Just living in the gaps and round
the edges.
Warning: None.
Archive: OK, but please let me know. 

15

It was mid morning when Gimli woke again, and his
first concern was for Legolas; but the Elf lay turned
towards him, in a soft relaxed curl, breathing evenly,
and his skin felt comfortably warm (for an Elf) to his
cautious touch. Gimli rose quietly, put on his brown
robe, and drew the curtain back a little way, so that
he could push the window wide open. The little birds
hopped and twittered outside.

'Hush little friends, he is sleeping' he said softly,
and wondered what his kinsfolk would think of a Dwarf
talking to birds.

When he stepped out into the courtyard, the first
sight he saw was Gandalf and Sam sitting at the
outdoor table, on which reposed Sam's mushroom basket.
Gimli closed the bedroom door carefully before he
spoke any greeting.

When Gandalf heard what had happened during the night,
he seemed quite dismayed, and reproached himself for
failing to see the clinging influence of the
morgul-stuff.

'But maybe it is only active at night' said Gimli; -

'It seemed to come on quite suddenly.

'Well, your idea of the hot bath was certainly the
right one' said the Wizard; - 'But I should like to
see him again as soon as possible, even at the risk of
waking him.'

'Do you think we should ask Aragorn to come?' said
Sam.

'If there is any sign that the evil remains, I would
advise it' Gandalf replied.

So Gimli went back to the bedroom and found Legolas
just waking up. He drew back the curtain and announced
the visitors as Gandalf appeared at the door.
Legolas sat up and assured them that he felt well,
only rather tired; but he could not remember exactly
what had happened during the dark hours - even the hot
bath was an indistinct recollection.

Gandalf came to the bedside and looked at him closely,
not seeming entirely pleased with what he saw. Gimli
mentioned the bruising on the Elf's side, which he
seemed to have forgotten until it was spoken of.
Legolas turned back the bedclothes and drew up his
long gown to look for the heavy mark above his knee,
and Gimli was very surprised to see that it had faded
almost to nothing.

'Elves heal quickly, and bruises are no great matter.'

But he settled himself down in bed again.

Then Gandalf seemed to notice something.

'Turn your head to the right, please, Legolas.'

Gimli and Sam watched anxiously as Legolas turned
towards them, and Gandalf moved to look at the left
side of the Elf's face.

'There's a mark here' he said, touching the angle of
the cheekbone.

Legolas raised his left hand to the place.

'Where? I feel nothing.'

'It's very faint, but something is there that should
not be.'

Gimli hurried round to the other side of the bed. The
near vision of a Dwarf is as clear as the long sight
of elven kind, and in the light of day he found no
difficulty in seeing what Gandalf had detected: a mark
something like that made by the first great raindrop
of a thunder shower in the dust of summer, a rosette
shape made of a stippling of minute black dots
imprinted in the Elf's skin, like a tattoo of the
greatest delicacy, each spot no larger that the point
of a fine pin.

'That's very strange' said Gimli; - 'I never noticed
it yesterday.'

He rubbed the mark gently with one fingertip.

'It seems to be imprinted IN the skin.'

'It was a strong blow. It knocked me over' Legolas
reminded him.

'Tell me again what happened' said Gandalf; - 'I don't
altogether understand what you were doing there in the
first place: not, I think, that it has any bearing on
the matter.'

'We were trying to help the people in that quarter of
the city' said Gimli; - 'And the work was unfinished,
because of what happened to the child.'

'Yes, Sam told me about that.'

'Well' said Legolas; - 'I looked round to the house
where the child was killed, and thought I saw a small
dog run in. The elder brother said that the little one
had gone in after a dog, though the others said there
had been no dog; but then I saw it, or thought I did,
and went to look. It seemed to be in the inner room,
but when I got near there was a sound like the hissing
of a snake, or something more like the spitting of a
green or wet log in the fire, only louder, and a black
cloud hit me with the force of a heavy club, blinding
me and knocking me down onto the stones.'

'I saw the smoke fly up against the mountainside like
a swarm of bees' said Gimli; - 'It was not like the
smoke from a fire.'

'I don't doubt but any other than an Elf would have
died' said Gandalf; - 'That was a strong and a
dangerous spell. If the mark does not fade in a day or
two, we must ask the King if he will come to you, or
take you to him.'

'Surely that will not be necessary. Others have more
need of healing than I.'

Sam fetched his infusion of eyewort, now cooled and
strained, and laid another compress on Legolas'
eyelids, making sure it covered the mark as well. It
seemed to make him feel better, and Sam judged that
food was called for, though whether it would be
breakfast, elevenses or lunch would be hard to say.

By the time Legolas was up and dressed, and the meal
prepared and eaten, other visitors had arrived: Merry,
Pippin and Frodo himself, all concerned about their
companion, and all worried about turning up too early
and disturbing his rest. When they saw the Elf
apparently his old self again, the hobbits felt
reassured, even when they heard of what had happened
during the night.

Gimli realised that although it was obvious from his
story that he and Legolas were bedfellows, the Hobbits
seemed to accept the fact without question, almost
without noticing: the welfare of their friends was
what mattered to them.

Afterwards the visitors examined the house, courtyard
and terrace, admiring the wood panelled walls of the
main rooms - almost as cosy as a Hobbit-hole, if much
larger - but Frodo seemed to feel something strange
about the place.

'Do you know who used to live here?' he asked; - 'How
did it come to be left empty?'

No one knew the answer. Frodo looked around, as if he
might see some reason, and then said:
'I think you have brought happiness back here, despite
the accident to Legolas.'

The visitors stayed and chatted through the afternoon,
sitting on the terrace in the sunshine, and since they
were there, Gimli felt free to go out into the city in
search of something he wanted; but Legolas began to
grow restless in his absence, and had to will himself
to talk herblore with Sam as the time went on, and
feed the little birds with crumbs that Merry and
Pippin brought from the kitchen.

At last Gimli came back, carrying a shapeless
cloth-wrapped bundle of 'a few useful bits and
pieces'. Gandalf noted the Elf's fretful relief at his
return, and felt sure he was not as well as he seemed.
Sam had cooked and set out another meal, and was
helping Gimli tidy up afterwards when he suddenly
slapped his hand to his forehead and exclaimed:
'Any more of this, Sam Gamgee, and they can change
your name to Butterbur! Gimli! Legolas! I have a
letter for you from Faramir, left by the servingman
who brought the bread this morning.'

He produced the folded and sealed paper from the
inside pocket of his jacket.

'You were asleep when he came, so I kept it for you.'
Though it was addressed to both of them, Gimli handed
it to Legolas to open it, a touch of unconscious
deference that neither seemed to notice. Gandalf
smiled as Legolas broke the seal and the two leaned
close to read Faramir's clear firm script together.
There was a revealing ease in their attitude, old
enmity gone, the wizard hoped, for good.

'This is very kind' said Legolas; - 'He asks if we
would like to visit the palace and see the archives
and stores - there are writings and musical
instruments, and works of both dwarves and Elves, long
put aside and forgotten, that he thinks should be
rediscovered.'

'I would gladly see any work of my people that might be 
in this place' said Gimli; - 'I fancy it would be
old work indeed, since none of our kind have been here
in living memory.'

Legolas wrote a reply accepting the invitation, ready
to be taken back in the morning, and when the visitors
had gone he returned to the subject of Gimli's absence
and the bundle with which he had returned. Gimli led
him to the small room next to their bedroom, and laid
out the contents of his bundle on the plain heavy
table which was the main item of furniture: a small
vice, a number of wooden blocks of different sizes, an
oil burner, a couple of little canisters; pliers ...
Legolas did not know what all the things were, or
their uses, even when the Dwarf named them. At least
it was clear that he meant to set up a small workshop
in this room.

Legolas sat on a stool by the table, looking at the
things, and turned as the Dwarf paused beside him.

'You were gone so long' he said querulously.

Gimli leaned close and kissed him lightly.

'No more than two hours and a half, dear Elf. And you
missed me ...'

Legolas stroked his beard, and looked up again. Gimli
could not refuse another kiss, as the Elf's eyes
closed, long lashes dark against his pale skin. Gimli
felt the slight movements of the head with which
Legolas savoured the soft rasp of moustache against
his face, and squeezed the Elf's shoulder in response,
half tenderly amused, half worried by the childish
anxiety he had shown.

But when Legolas next looked up, his expression was
bright and inquisitive as ever.

'And what will you do here, industrious one?'

'I shall start, in the morning, since the light fails
now, with your silver circlet of leaves, which was not
re-shaped to fit you. And I'll continue with the
proper care of my axes and knives; and then, if you
wish, your arrowheads. I do not think you need a
Dwarf's assistance with your long knives.'

'Ah! There you may be mistaken' smiled the Elf, much
to Gimli's surprise; - 'I know you have never examined
them, but they are of dwarvish steel, and very old. I
think you might like to see them properly.'

'Legolas! Thank you.'

 Gimli hardly knew what to say at being offered such
an honour so unexpectedly. In the days of peace, the
knives had been put away in Legolas' room, and carried
only occasionally, for ceremony.

'But as for the circlet' Legolas went on; - 'It fits
very well with what you have already done.'

'Well enough, maybe. But now I have the means to
complete the work, and see to the bits of damage, so
that you will be able to wear it all day if you wish,
without putting enough extra braids in your hair to
make an arming cap!'

Legolas smiled at him again.

'Very well; I bow to your judgement.'

Then his bright expression clouded over once more, and
he moved his neck and shoulders as if they felt stiff.

'You look tired now' said Gimli (still not fully
understanding how unnatural this was in an Elf) - 'It
will take more than a day to recover from what has
happened to you, so, early to bed!'

Legolas was not too tired to respond cheekily:

'Only if you come too!'

But Gimli could see that it would be a night for rest,
so he simply put one arm around the Elf's waist and
led him through the curtained doorway to the bedroom.
Legolas began to prepare for bed without protest,
though he had been up barely half the day.

Gimli went across to the kitchen, savouring the sweet
scent of the evening air in the courtyard. The sky was
lightly flecked with little clouds, tinged pink on the
western side - surely another fine day in prospect. He
set milk to heat while he washed, and then returned to
the bedroom. Legolas had pushed his pillows up, and
was sitting leaning against them as if he had been
expecting Gimli to bring the warm drinks.

Before he got into bed, Gimli lit the small lamp on
the bracket at his side of the bed.

'Just in case' he said.

'It won't happen again. Please don't be anxious, dear
friend.'

'You thought you were well last night.'

'Truly I feel better, believe me.'

'I do believe you, fair one, but better may not yet be
well, so I shall still take care.'

'Stubborn Dwarf!'

'Crazy Elf!'

They smiled at eachother across the rims of their
cups.

The soothing drink finished, they slid down between
the smooth linen sheets. Tonight Legolas had left off
his white gown, which was a good sign. Once again
Gimli slipped his left arm under the Elf's neck and
drew him closer.

'This time, don't move away. I want to know what's
happening to you all the time.'

'Dwarves are so possessive!'

'Now who's addressing a public meeting?'

Legolas responded by burrowing down under Gimli's
beard and biting gently at the nearest nipple.

'That milk was supposed to help you sleep, not wake
you up!'

'Mmm-hm!'

'You'll get nothing from there.'

'Idiot!'

A strong arm slid round the Dwarf's waist and held him
tight.

'I seek mortal sleep again tonight. I'm not afraid of
the blackness now. What remains in my face will fade,

I'm sure.'

'If not, I'll take you to Aragorn, as Gandalf said.'

'There'll be no need.'

'We'll see.'

Legolas argued no more, but settled himself
comfortably beside Gimli and was soon asleep.

They awoke to bright sunlight and birdsong, and smiled
at each other: an untroubled night. They celebrated
with a gentle kiss. Then Gimli propped himself up on
his elbow and looked intently at the Elf's face. Was
it imagination, or did he look a little thinner,
paler? He thought he saw some change, though the
bright eyes smiled happily up at him. He looked at the
fine black stippled mark on the fair cheek: it had not
faded. Had it been set there as a beauty spot to adorn
that elegant bone structure (supposing Elves were
given to such things) it might have been a subtle work
of art, but he knew it was something of a very
different kind.

Legolas understood the gaze and raised his hand to
touch the spot, but still felt nothing.

'Now you doubt' said Legolas, sensing anxiety; - 'I
say I am well, but you do not think so, even now.'

'No, dearest Elf, I do not think so. You are not a
child, to be protected from doubt. I have shared your
bed but a few nights, yet I have loved you longer, I
think, than even I know, and I say you are not yet
well.'

This time Legolas did not argue: Gimli's words carried
too much conviction.

'That spot must be where the main force of the blast
hit you' he went on; - 'If you heard the hissing
sound, or saw smoke, and put your hands up ...'

Legolas matched action to the words, and sure enough,
the stippled mark fell in the angle between the thumb
and forefinger of his left hand. Gimli spoke again:
'I wonder would Sam's herblore have a recipe for a
poultice to draw out those grains of powder?'

'Since it troubles you so, we shall ask, and I shall
see for myself if there is anything growing in the
plantpots that might serve - wood Elves are not quite
without knowledge of these matters!'

As on the previous day, he seemed to grow stronger as
the day progressed, and himself decided to take
another bath and wash his hair again, in case any sign
of the black stuff had been missed in the uncertainty
of lamplight.

Gimli thought this a good idea and helped prepare the
bath, but before he got in, drew him over to the
window and examined his skin carefully in the bright
morning light, especially down the left side, and also
his hands, neck and ear - anywhere that had not been
covered by clothing. Apart from the mark on his left
cheek, there was no obvious sign of the black powder
stippling. Gimli was just about to express his relief
when Legolas said in an odd voice:
'Are the goods in order? Will you bargain?'

Gimli started back, alarmed. He guessed at once that
something had made Legolas see himself for sale,
perhaps in the slave markets of the Haradrim, and for
a moment could say nothing, recalling at the same time
elvish belief in the mercenary nature of dwarves. They
glared at eachother, adversaries again, the Dwarf in
his unbecoming brown robe, the Elf naked. Gimli took a
couple of deep breaths

'I would not bargain for thy safety. No price would be
too high. I would give my life.'

Legolas stared with wide dark eyes, still seeing
strange visions, until suddenly the affronted gaze was
softened by a rim of welling tears, and he answered:

'What would life and safety be to me without thee?'

He touched his face again.

'It is the shadow that does this.'

Then he wrapped his long arms about Gimli's neck and
hid his face against the Dwarf's hair.

'There must be more of that poison about me still. Did
you find nothing?'

'No, nothing more, nothing. It seems those little
black spots have power enough.'

'Forgive me, Gimli, for such cruel words. I seemed to
see ...'

'I can guess what you saw. Visions of how Sauron's
people might have treated you, or how he would have
you think of the Dwarves. But it is all his lies,
lingering yet, and you must see with your own sight,
not this vision from the wreck of Mordor.'

Legolas held him tightly.

'The picture fades; it is gone. But is that how this
new age will be? The great enemy departed, while
fragments of his work remain, strewn about to catch
the unwary?'

Gimli drew back a little in his embrace and looked at
him, frowning.

'An ominous thought, Legolas, and yet one that does
not surprise. There can be no end to vigilance: that
much I believe. But, to be practical, if there is more
of that stuff about you, it is hidden in your hair;
so, let us try. Only the water will show it.'

Legolas knelt down on the thick rush mat by the tub,
and leaned right over, dipping his hair into the
water. Gimli took up a wooden scoop, and carefully
poured water over the back of the Elf's head, making
sure he reached all the fine hairs on the nape of his
neck. Legolas was not surprised by his exclamation.

'Ach! Yes! It is here, right down on your neck, on the
left side.'

He poured more water, and Legolas saw the ink-like
stain run down and spread, much fainter than before,
but still there. They emptied the water into the
drain, and put more in the tub, but the black stain
still showed, and another full tub was needed to clear
it.

Once dressed, they had breakfast sitting out in the
sunshine at the courtyard table, and the little birds
came hopping around to take the crumbs. Legolas
whistled to them, imitating their calls, and some came
and perched on his hands again while Gimli sat still
and enjoyed the sight of the Elf and his little
woodland friends until visitors began to arrive. First
came Frodo and Sam, then Merry and Pippin; then young
Bergil, looking for Pippin for some boyish plot he
would not reveal; then the man from the Steward's
household, delivering provisions and collecting
laundry; then Gandalf, coming to check on Legolas'
progress.

When Gandalf appeared, Legolas, barefoot and wearing
only shirt and breeches, was wandering around with
Sam, still carrying a small plate of apple slices, the
last of his breakfast, and discussing the various
plants that were growing in the tubs and pots or
in the crevices of the eastern wall. Gandalf could see
that the Elf was clearly improving, but felt that
something should be done to remove the unwanted
'tattoo'.

He sent Sam off to market to look for certain local
herbs that he knew of, and also offered to take a
message to the King. Gimli was all for this, full of
anxiety despite the obvious improvement in Legolas'
health and spirits, but still the Elf would not hear
of it, insisting that the King had more important
demands on his time. Privately he blamed himself for
his misfortune, and even wished that Gimli would
acknowledge it and call him addle-pated Elf again, or
worse if he wished; or better still, something so
dreadful in Dwarvish that no one would dare to ask for
a translation. His anger at himself for the distress
he had caused to the Dwarf now troubled him more than
the injury.

Eventually Sam returned, having got what was wanted,
with the help of the energetic Begil, so Hobbit and
and wizard set to work in the kitchen to make up the
poultice. Gimli hovered, watching, and Legolas sat
rather glumly at the table, feeling less and less
worthy of the love and care that was devoted to him.
Sam followed Gandalf's instructions for blending and
heating the herbs, and crumbled some bread to carry
the infusion.

'If it's got to smell bad to do good, this one's a
winner!' Sam exclaimed, stirring the murky-looking
stuff in a small pan.

'Hammer and tongs!' said Gimli, catching a whiff of
it, and adding a few words in Khuzdul that made
Gandalf look round sharply. Legolas seemed not to
notice this bit of byplay, which worried Gimli more
that the smell.

Eventually the breadcrumb mass, soaked in the greenish
liquid and wrapped in a napkin, was ready to be
applied to the Elf's face. It was uncomfortably hot to
begin with, but he held it in place patiently until it
had cooled. The result was disappointing: very few of
the black specks seemed to have been drawn out of his
skin.

'I think it will be worth persevering' said Gandalf; 
- 'This is not something to be brushed off lightly. I
doubt whether any but an Elf would have survived the
blast.'

He noticed that Legolas seemed to brighten at this;
the Elf was feeling glad that he had gone into the
ruin ahead of Gimli. This strange new alliance was
likely to prove strong.

'Maybe tomorrow we shall walk out of the city for a
while' said Gimli; - 'If Sam can find mushrooms, there
must be some green places that have escaped ruin, and
it will do you good to go there.'

Legolas smiled across the table at him as they sat
eating the rabbit stew Sam had made for them.
'Yes, I should be glad to be outside the city for a
while.'

Yet when evening came, Gimli could see the shadow
returning, if with less force than before, and
wondered how long it might last. Would the Elf be
doomed to suffer it for the rest of his time in
Middle-earth, all because of his love for a stubborn
Dwarf, who would be meddling and looking for work,
when he might have been living the life of an honoured
guest?

He pushed his empty plate aside, making a little angry
grumbling sound in his throat without being aware of
it.

'Gimli! What ails you?'

He returned to the world with a start. Wide grey eyes
stared at him anxiously. He reached across the table
and laid his hands over the Elf's.

'It is my fault, this that has befallen you. Why did I
go down there, dragging you after me? There was no
need - just my conceit that I could do what was
wanted.'

Legolas raised the Dwarf's hands and kissed them,
thinking carefully about his reply. He had no wish to
belittle dwarvish strength, but he did believe what
Gandalf had said about the device of Mordor.

'Your fault? Your conceit? They needed your help, and
you gave it. Dragged me after you? Your kind heart
drew me, and that I would freely follow, anywhere. And
did you not hear what Mithrandir said, that the blast
would have killed any but an Elf? We cannot doubt him.
It was my fate to be there to take it, so that no
worse should come about. I only grieve that I have
caused you pain and sorrow - but that will end,
believe me.'

Gimli breathed a loud sigh.

'Praise or blame, it seems that now we must share! So
be it.'

Legolas released his hands and stood up, smiling.

'So be it! Let us share the tidying of these dishes,
and then you shall keep me from darkness, tonight and
every night.'

So they went to their bed while it was still daylight,
and the Elf did not need his white gown, having a
'furnace of a Dwarf' to warm him. Once again he chose
mortal sleep, and rested peacefully all night. Yet
though he remembered no dreams of darkness, in the
morning it was clear that he was still not fully
recovered, and once Gimli had risen he put on the
white gown and returned to bed while the Dwarf made up
another poultice with what was left of the wizard's
medicine. Once again it seemed to have little effect,
apart from reddening the side of Legolas' face for a
while. But he got up, and seemed well enough. Nothing
more was said about going out of the city.


Title: FOR CONTINUING STRANGE (16)
Author: Annie Harris
Email: annie_mouse2001@yahoo.co.uk
Pairing: Legolas/Gimli
Rating: R.
Summary: The people of Minas Tirith are concerned for
Legolas, and the Elf shows his commitment to the new
Age of Men.
Disclaimer: The usual: No claims, no pack drill - and
of course no profit. Just living in the gaps and round
the edges.
Warning: A little dwarf-angst.
Archive: OK, just let me know. 

16

  The usual visitors came, and then other people who
had heard about the accident: the old landlady, and
one of the tall sisters, followed by two of Sam's
favourite Pelennor girls, complete with a gift of
mushrooms. The Elf was positively holding court on the
terrace in the sunshine, and Gimli too, in spite of
his attempts to retire into the background, received
his full share of attention.

  No sooner had the first visitors gone about their
business than more feet were heard on the marble
steps, and unfamiliar voices. Gimli went through the
archway to see who was coming, as a woman's voice
said:
'... but this house, of all places!'

  A man replied:
'Hush! How would they know?'

  The iron gate was pushed open, and the old man from
the lower city stepped into the courtyard, followed by
the widow and her remaining son.

  They exchanged grave and formal greetings with
Gimli, who then led them round to the terrace where
Legolas was now sitting alone in front of the bedroom
window, under the blossoming shrubs and creepers. Of
the Hobbits only Sam remained, but he was busy in the
kitchen, as usual, happy to experiment in cooking
unfamiliar foods.

  Legolas rose to greet the little family, and they
bowed nervously, still hesitant in the presence of
this legendary being who had entered their lives at
such a painful time. Shyly, the widow presented a
small basket of flat cakes of a pale yellow colour,
speckled with chopped herbs. The scent that rose from
them was like that of the funeral drink - sharp and
bitter, a formality, not a delicacy. Gimli guessed
that at this point they should offer something in
return. He suggested tea, which, from the old man's
nod, was appropriate, though it was politely declined.

  Then the old man looked at the child, who had
remained half-hidden behind his mother's long black
skirt, and the little boy stepped forward, clutching
something in his right hand, nervous but determined.
He approached Legolas, who went down on one knee to
meet him.

'I'm sorry you were hurt, sir,' said the boy, almost
in a whisper; - 'And thank you for trying to rescue my
brother. I've brought something for you.'

  He held out his hand, and gave the Elf his little
brother's toy horse, the one Gimli had mended.

  Legolas said:
'Thank you, that is a kindly gift.'

  His voice was almost as faint as the child's and
Gimli did not need to see his face to know that he was
moved to tears. The Dwarf felt his own eyes sting, and
blinked hard to clear them. Then he saw that Legolas
had placed the little horse carefully beside the
basket of cakes on the table, and was unfastening the
clasp on the chain that held his silver oak leaf.

'This comes from the Greenwood far away in the North,'
he said; - 'And it will find a good home here with
such a brave young man of Gondor.'

  The mother and great-grandfather looked quite
shocked at the gift, but were too courteous to
protest. Legolas caught their reaction and said
gently:
'It is no more dear to me than the horse to your
little one.'

  Then, clasping the chain about the boy's neck, he
kissed him on the brow and stood up again with an air
of finality.

  With a last exchange of thanks and good wishes, the
three took their leave, and Gimli escorted them down
to the gate. As he turned back up the stairs he heard
the child's clear voice saying:
'Mother, the pretty Elf was crying.'

'I'm sure Elves are as kind-hearted as anyone, dear.
He knows how sad this time is for us.'

  When Gimli returned to the terrace, he found Legolas
sitting with his eyes closed, hands in his lap,
holding the toy horse. Gimli sat down on the bench
beside him, and after a few seconds Legolas put the
toy back on the table, turned and clung to him without
a word, hiding his face against the Dwarf's neck.
Gimli held him in a firm embrace for several minutes,
then gently stroked his hair, trying to draw him out
of the dark mood. Eventually he breathed a deep sigh
and lifted his head, which allowed Gimli to kiss the
traces of tears from his eyelashes. Already one corner
of the Dwarf's mind was busy devising a gift to
replace the oak leaf - a mallorn leaf, that's what it
should be.

  Sam appeared on the terrace to say that he was going
back up to the guest house, and that everything was
ready for their evening meal, whenever they chose to
take it. Then he hurried off, followed by their
thanks.

'Is there a lock for that gate?' Legolas asked as it
clanged shut behind the departing Hobbit.

'Keep the visitors at bay, eh? I don't know. Could
take a look in that porter's lodge place - haven't
been in yet. Come on, let's see.'

  He had to put out his hand and draw Legolas after
him to persuade him to move.

  When they reached the foot of the steps, now cleared
of weeds and swept by Sam, they found that the
gatekeeper's door was not locked. Once Gimli had
groped around in the gloom and removed the iron bar,
the shutters opened with a squeak of rusty hinges, and
daylight illuminated a little square stone chamber
with a tiny fireplace and no furniture but an old
chair and a shelf below the window. On the shelf
reposed the lock, key, bell and chain for the main
gate.

'Well, well! Here's a find,' said Gimli; - 'Someone
meant to return.'

  He tried the lock, and it worked well enough, having
been protected from the weather.

'Let's give Sam a surprise in the morning!'

  He picked up the bell and went outside to look up at
the hook above the gatekeeper's window. It was well
beyond his reach, but not beyond that of the Elf.

  The bell was attached by a freely-moving ring to one
end of a short iron bar or lever with a hole in the
middle and a length of chain fixed to the other end.
Once the bar was on the hook, and the chain passed
through the hole in the masonry beside the arch, they
had a working doorbell, with a pleasant note, and a
gate they could lock. Gimli promptly locked it and put
the key back inside the lodge. They smiled at each
other, though Legolas' eyes were still full of
sadness.

  The little stream splashed gently down its stony
course beside the steps as they walked back up and
returned to sit on the terrace again in the warm
afternoon light. Some of the little birds were
fluttering and chirping in the bushes, catching
insects. Legolas sat down on the wooden bench and
gazed at the toy horse on the table, seeming to drift
quickly into an elvish waking dream, so that Gimli
found he could watch him unnoticed.

  <Is it usual for an Elf to be so distressed by the
death of a mortal?> he wondered. <Is it because this
was so young a child? What IS usual with Elves? What
do I know about them? I only know this one - and
Galadriel, but she is not like other Elves - and about
this one I know a few things well and others not at
all. But he is my fate, and I cannot turn back. My
warrior prince, the best comrade in arms I could wish
for; mad dancing Wood-elf; bird-charmer; love who has
given me back my life. My dear, passionate Elf! What
have I done to you, to bind you to a mortal love? Even
though you are willing? Nearly got you killed, leading
you into Dwarf's work! How could I live if you had
died of it?>

  His thoughts wandered on, until it occurred to him
to wonder what dealings Legolas had had, in his long
years, with the race of men. Leaders and traders of
Esgaroth and Dale, the Beornings and Woodmen, and of
course the Rangers, remnant of the Dunedain ... And
before that? It seemed inconceivable that Legolas had
been alive throughout all the history of Gondor, and
through years of Khazad-dum that were remote story to
the Dwarf. He had known Mirkwood before the return of
the Shadow. And yet he looked young: as one of the
late-born, last-born of his kind in truth, he was
young, for an Elf. Dammit, he even FELT young: that
long, lithe body pressed against him in the oblivion
of pleasure, in tenderness, companionship or repose,
was a young body. Could an Elf feel the difference?
Feel, for instance, as Gimli had done, once the weeks
of preparation in Rivendell had made him well enough
acquainted with the Hobbits to greet them with a hug,
that Frodo was significantly older than the others?

  That brought back another memory - saying farewell
to Bilbo. The aged Hobbit had embraced him just before
he parted from his father, and Gimli had been shocked
by the brittle stiffness of Bilbo's bony frame. It
seemed that the sort of vigorous hug any Dwarf would
expect could hurt the Hobbit, crack his fragile ribs.
Glóin, moments later, was a Dwarf in his prime in
comparison. And Gimli knew that his own body, vigorous
and powerful as it was, felt much older than the
Elf's. Did Legolas know that, or was it a sense Elves
had not developed?

  In that case, this Elf was in danger of learning,
soon enough. Gimli approached the idea warily. Time
would pass and leave its mark. But they had their
hope, which he would scarcely consider, fearing to
wear it out with presumption; keeping it stored away,
like a vial of precious essence, not to be unstoppered
for mere curiosity, lest at the time of need its virue
should have faded.

  The sun was slowly sinking, and Gimli became aware
of a coolness in the soft breeze that stirred the blue
pansies and tiny narcissi in the terrace planters. He
knew that Legolas was not yet free of the morgul-stuff
and must not get cold. He shook his mind free of
wandering questions and moved to stand up.

  It was enough to rouse Legolas, who blinked and
smiled at the Dwarf as he returned from his mysterious
refuge of the mind.

'Where do you go when you leave me like that?' Gimli
asked quietly, then thought better of it:

'No, don't tell me; I don't suppose I'd understand if
you did. Just keep coming back.'

  Legolas leaned forward and kissed him.

'I'll always come back.'

'And I must learn to be less greedy, not try to keep
you like a bird in a cage.'

'Do you so? But what is a cage? A dwelling one did not
choose. But I have chosen.'

  Gimli felt his heart give a birdlike flutter in his
chest. He could only reach out and clasp the large
fine hands in gratitude for the mysterious gift of
love.

'Come inside. You are still not quite well, and the
evening air grows chill.'

  Legolas touched the mark on his face.

'It must be this. I never truly felt cold before.'

  He took up the little horse and the basket of
funeral cakes in their black-edged cloth.

'Let us see what Sam has left for us.'

  For another night Gimli slept as lightly as ever on
the quest, as if enemies might break in at any moment;
yet the enemy was already there, sunk into Legolas'
skin like a parasite, kept at bay only by light,
warmth and love. Again the Elf slept like a mortal,
seeming to draw strength from it, safe in his usual
place within the curve of Gimli's left arm, against
the steady beat of his strong heart.

  No bad dreams, no creeping chill, disturbed them;
only the bell, when Sam arrived and found himself
locked out.

  Gimli scrambled out of bed, flung on the brown robe,
and hurried to let Sam in.

'Bit of a surprise,' said the Hobbit; - 'But I can see
why you'd do it.'

  Before long he felt that perhaps he should install
himself as gatekeeper, as more visitors began to
arrive: Merry, Pippin, Frodo and Gandalf, of course,
but not all at once, and all inclined to try the bell,
even when the gate was open. The old seaman who acted
as songmaster to the men of Ethir Anduin came to bid
farewell to Gimli before the group sailed back
downriver to their homes; the younger of the two
singing sisters came, bearing a gift of salad stuff
from her city garden, and fresh eggs laid by her city
hens; the piper came, with a stone flagon of ale; and
Faramir himself appeared, to see if his people had
everything in order, and to renew his invitation.

  Sam served endless brews of tea, everybody talked at
once, Legolas furtively fed some of the funeral cakes
to the birds, and Gimli got into a fret because he
could not set up his workshop and attend to the silver
circlet or go out in search of materials for the
mallorn leaf pendant he wished to make.

  It was late afternoon by the time everyone had gone,
Sam being the last. Legolas had already taken refuge
in the bedroom, and was lying on the bed, having taken
off his boots and stockings, looking out of the
leaf-framed window at the clear blue sky beyond.

'I must have missed the blackthorn,' he said
wistfully; - 'If they have blackthorn in this land.'

  Gimli remembered the woodlands of the north, their
fringes adorned with clouds of tiny white flowers like
springtime snow. Yes, here in this southern land that
time must surely be over, if the plant grew here at
all. And in his mind he saw cunning work, sprays of
oxidised silver, petals of white shell with stamens of
gold wire; slips of green jade for the first tiny
leaves - a springtime coronet to adorn the bright hair
of his Elf. He could make it, if only these confounded
visitors would stay away. The place was becoming as
busy as their former lodgings.Would they have to take
to the mountain side for peace and quiet?

  He took off his boots, stockings and jerkin, and lay
down beside Legolas to rest for a while, leaning back
on the luxurious pile of pillows. Legolas sat up and
spread the Dwarf's hair out over the white linen,
admiring the shades of copper, bronze and autumn
leaves: it seemed there were scarcely two hairs of the
same colour, all blended into the rich red-brown, shot
with gold. Gimli lay still and allowed himself to be
arranged according to elvish artistry.

'Most beautiful Dwarf,' said Legolas at last, and lay
down again in his accustomed place, pale gold tresses
mingling with the brown.

  They dozed, forgetting to lock the gate, which
allowed the last visitor of the day to enter unnoticed....