Cadenza

Set in the same universe as ‘Adagio’ and ‘Mayflies’. One hundred years into the fourth age.

Drama/Adventure/Angst   A/L/G OC Friendship fic. No slash. R for violence.

Beta by the wonderful Theresa Green – Read all her stories, they are very funny, well written, and very good.

Chapter Nineteen

For Gimli there was darkness, a comfortable void undemanding of his attention, and then a sharp hook of pain snared him, and drew him, inexorably, into the bright shallows of consciousness. He opened his eyes to soft, yellow, light, filtered by the grey canvas of a field-tent. Twenty - no make that fifty - industrious masons were excavating a great hall in the tight space behind his eyes.

Gimli blinked back tears of pain. Confusion replaced the simple sensations he had been experiencing, he could not place the tent, or the circumstances of his injury. He tried to turn his head to read his surroundings more fully, which was unfortunate, because then the real pain hit him. His stomach rebelled, and groaning he rolled to his side. He was barely aware of a soft cry of remorse sounding, and then blessedly cool hands were helping him, dealing with his hair, holding a bowl, easing him with wordless murmurs and support. The pain retreated a distance and Gimli felt able to open his eyes again. He felt ashamed of his weakness and absurdly grateful to the helper.

The hobbit settled him back onto his pillows, slightly propped up, and then handed him a cup of cool water, steadying the vessel when reaction shivers threatened to spill the contents. “To clear the foulness away, Gimli. I am sorry; I did not expect you to wake so soon. You took a wicked blow, your helmet looks cloven by an axe.”

“Nay,” Gimli found the events of the day coming back to him, “’Twas a horse, proving its fell-beast ancestry, master Tolman. What glad fortune brings you to my aid?  We thought you on the road to Rivendell this ten day or more.”

Tolman laid a conspiratorial finger to the side of his nose, and then, instead of answering, he bustled away for a moment, spoke a word or two at the tent flap, and then vanished outside to deal with the evidence of Gimli’s indisposition.

He was back before Gimli could gather his thoughts enough to feel annoyed. The industrious masons were opening up a new chamber, and the pain took all Gimli’s attention. Tolman took one look at his parchment face, and then hurried to a chest and pulled out a blue vial. He sent the dwarf a considering look then shook three drops into another cup of water.

“Drink.” Tolman gently lifted Gimli’s head. “ It will help.”

Gimli eyed the hobbit, then managed to drink the potion, although it was touch and go for a moment over whether it would bide in his stomach. His eyes closed during the struggle, and when he opened them again it was to see Legolas, in place of Tolman, by his bedside. The hobbit was over the other side of the tent, fussing with his medicines again.

“You look terrible, “ said Legolas.

Gimli tried a scowl, which turned into a pained wince as the masons protested the movement. His eyes must have shut again because the heat of his friend’s hand, calming the workers in his head, was his entire world for a space; it felt like the warmth of summer sun against closed eyelids. He drifted into darkness again, aware of Tolman’s voice, scolding, as he slipped away.

“That’s enough, Legolas, you are becoming transparent. Your father will have my ears. Here, drink this ….”

ooo

Minuial opened her eyes to the dappled dance of leaves against an eggshell-blue sky. Two beautiful, identical, elven faces occupied centre right, and left, of the view. She groaned.

Elladan’s brow creased. “ Does your head still pain you, Minuial? We thought…” He exchanged a look of concern with his brother. Minuial sat up easily, rolled her shoulders, and then cocked her head to look at the twins.

“I groan because it is you that tend me, imps. I have yet to forgive you for the trick with the honey and the bees last tuilë. Does my King know you are here?” Minuial raised a hand and gently traced the side of her head. “ And how is it that I bide in Starkhorn’s forest again? Last I remember I was trapped in that stone labyrinth of men.” Minuial’s brow creased, and then she winced and put her hand back to the tender area on her left. “Someone hit me.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously as she saw the sons of Elrond exchange a look that nearly screamed ‘Shall we edit this?’

“Where is Legolas? I remember him, he was with me; and then he was not.” She clambered inelegantly to her feet and put out a hand to the fissured trunk of the tree whose branches had sheltered her; the tree murmured happily, basking in her presence. Elrohir risked a hand to steady her, and such was her disorientation that she did not shake the contact off immediately.

Elladan moved in front of her, looking into her eyes. She pressed her back firmly against the tree, and felt strengthened again by its delight, and even rather bolstered by the feel of Elrohir’s hand, sturdy on her shoulder. She took a breath. Then simply turned her clear elven gaze, honed by more years of command than she cared to remember, on Elladan.

“Tell me,” she demanded.

ooo

The sun set behind the White Mountains turning the snow-capped peaks first black in contrast, and then pink in reflection of the blazing sky.

To the beat of a lone drum, Gondor’s men carried Throndar’s flag-shrouded body through the ranks of the army he had trained to his final resting place on the lush plains of Rohan. An honour guard of Elven warriors sang an unearthly lament in the twilight, as the elves finished their song another was started, by the massed riders of Rohan, their sombre bass voices full of emotion as the cortège made its way through the cavalry. 

Many mounds already dotted the grassland; the afternoon had been spent burying the victims of the ruin of the city. Throndar’s interment left to the last.

Waiting at the graveside, Arwen stood tall beside her equally regal husband, ignoring the tears slipping unheeded down her cheeks. King Elfwine and his entire family flanked Aragorn, and King Thranduil stood back to one side, a crown of white flowers gracing his head, his court at attention around him.

“From boyhood to manhood you served us.” Aragorn stepped forward and rested a hand lightly on the shroud. “ No man could have tried harder to discharge his duty. Go to your fathers with honour, Throndar.”

The bearers placed the body on the prepared platform and took up the ropes. At a signal Legolas, robed as a prince, took his father’s crown of flowers and, stepping forward as lightly as a breeze, placed the glowing circlet on the body.  Once again the pure voices of the elves rose in song as in the fading light as Throndar was lowered to his rest.

Finally a squad of dwarves stepped forward, dealt with the pile of soil with respectful speed, and then carefully placed previously gathered rocks over the place, permanently marking Throndar’s grave with a stone cairn.  The captain of Aragorn’s guard wedged a flag of Gondor into a crevice. The banner flapped once in the dying breeze, then hung limp.

The crowd silently dispersed to their makeshift rest. Edoras was to be re-occupied on the morrow following the judgement of the remaining hill-men.

Legolas wandered over to Aragorn’s side after exchanging a couple of words with his father. Arwen, still tearful, left Aragorn’s side to gather her friend into a hug.

“How fares Gimli?” The King enquired, over his wife’s head.

Legolas gently disengaged himself from Arwen’s slightly damp embrace and moved a few paces away, frowning at the line of tents that included those of the healers.

“It is the second time in so many months that he has suffered a head injury. The healers frown at him, and then at me as if I am at fault. Even master Tolman scolds me for aiding him with what poor magic I possess.” Legolas turned his head and his eye glittered in the wan light. “ Where did the hobbit spring from, Aragorn?”

Elfwine, turning from dispatching his tired family to their deserved rest in the care of his household, answered the question before Aragorn could claim ignorance.

“He was already in the city, visiting with my healers, again. They say he wanted to pass on the benefits of some herb he had discovered in the woods near Ardscull village.” The King bowed slightly to Legolas. “Apparently the presence of the Eldar in the woods had wakened some common plants to virtue unknown outside of the elven realms, so Tolman thought his diversion justified to inform my master-healer of the resource.” The King shook his head. “Such intensity in such a small person. Never should one judge a horse’s spirit by its conformation; as the goodwives say.”

Legolas returned the bow with a gracious nod, but still he looked distracted.

“And Minuial?” Arwen had gathered herself again and tucked one hand into the crook of her husband’s arm. “ How fares the march-warden?”

Legolas and Aragorn looked at her with some surprise. Her voice sounded almost too bright, as if she was hiding some deeper emotion than concern.

Legolas answered. “The twins have taken her to the forest to complete her healing. They were most confident she would be herself by tonight. When I am sure of Gimli’s health I will seek them out and enquire.”

Arwen shared a speaking glance with her husband, a look lost on the elf who was looking back to the healer’s tent again.

Legolas continued, “My father returns to the forest tonight. He was asking me of her, even as you are. When I told him Elladan and Elrohir were with her he seemed almost as annoyed at me as the healers are. It seems I please no one this eve.” Legolas turned a confused face to Arwen. “ I do not really understand. She is his good right hand, as he has often said.  I am sure he will care for her, as will the trees.”

Arwen sighed; Legolas just did not have a romantic bone in his body, and he appeared as naive as a teenager about Minuial’s growing attachment to him. She felt even more sorry for Minuial. Bad enough that she had been felled by a friend, rescued by a mortal and healed by elves she held in disdain. From Legolas’ demeanour now, it was obvious that he had no interest at all in pursuing anything more than the casual, formalised relationship the pair had maintained for the last two yen. She would have to seek out her friend and offer some support, and a heartfelt apology.

Aragorn read Arwen’s sigh with the ease of a man long married. He squeezed his wife gently in both comfort and admonition, and then turned to his elven friend.

“Go to Gimli, Legolas. Your heart is with him even as you talk to us. I will call in on him later and see if my skills can aid in any way that the healers have not already tried. He is a mighty warrior, try not to worry so.”

Legolas bowed his head slightly to his friends, took another long look at Throndar’s grave, and then was away like a leaf in the breeze to resume his vigil.

ooo

In the small hours of the morning Brytta woke Gleowyn. She took him outside of the women’s tent after his feed, to ease his wind and avoid his fussing waking the others who slept fitfully on the grass of their homeland. Gleowyn felt re-born, Telfaren was not dead, but recovering from his wounds in the tents of healing, just over that rise. It seemed a gift undeserved that she should be so blessed.

The night blazed with stars, the moon had set and the night was diamond clear, the mountains saw-toothed silhouettes against the glory of the sky.

Gleowyn walked, swathed in the blanket that wrapped both her and her boy, up the grassy hill to where she would be able to see the tent housing her husband. She tried to pick it out of the ghostly group of identical lumps, and then tilted her head to admire the sky again.

“Well met, Gleowyn.” Legolas drifted up beside her.

Gleowyn smiled. How wonderful the world was when the night contained not only stars, but also elves.

“My lord,” she murmured, turning so she could see his gentle glow. Her grandchildren would never believe her, she knew, when she told them of this beautiful being and his kin. They would think her wandering and daft in her age. “How fares, the lord Gimli? I heard he was gravely wounded.”

The elf smiled, his beauty magnified by the expression. “He rallies, Gleowyn. The King has been with him and the healers look much less grave.”  Legolas reached a long finger to engage the seeking fist that was waving at him from Gleowyn’s shoulder. His smile grew at the fierceness of Brytta’s delighted grip. “He will be most entertained by your child when he is a little recovered. Will you visit him, as you did last year, and ease his convalescence?”

Gleowyn laughed softly, remembering. “Aye, that we will. And your lady, my lord? Minuial had some bad luck at our hands, is she recovered, and will she ever forgive us?”

Legolas pulled a wry face. “ The march warden will not thank you for calling her my lady, Gleowyn. We are friends.” He looked at Gleowyn’s rather amused expression and rolled his eyes. “As to her forgiving you, I suspect you may need to stand in line. I am not in her favour, nor for the moment is the lady Arwen, and I doubt her opinion of mortals has been raised at all despite your father’s heroics. So I will be grateful to him for her, if you and he would accept my proxy.”

Gleowyn nodded, and smiled at the earnest elf. “He will be delighted, Legolas.” She moved a little closer and lowered her voice. “I think he might be a bit scared of her, actually; so thanks from you, instead of her, would be most appreciated.”

Legolas laughed. “Well, he is not alone in that prejudice. I will see your father on the morrow, Gleowyn. Should you not be getting back to bed? Brytta has given up trying to hold open his eyelids.”

Gleowyn glanced down at her sleeping son, nodded to her friend, gathered the end of her blanket, and then swept off down the hill to her rest, leaving the elf to commune with the stars as the world turned beneath them.

TBC

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Rose Sared