Evensong

Set in the same non-slash universe as Adagio, Mayflies and Cadenza. About ten years after the events in Cadenza FA 110

L/G A/A ensemble OC’s

Beta by Theresa Green with my most grateful thanks.

Chapter6

At first the summons came as a song, a song of surpassing sweetness, but Gimli travelled his world with a being that serenaded the grass, the sky and every passing breeze; songs had long since lost any power over the dwarf. To tell the truth the mindless task of dressing and plucking the fowl had lulled Gimli into a trance in which the music seemed only appropriate as he dwelt on plans he had for crafting an intricate housing for a unique piece of jade he had been saving for a special occasion. The iridescent green of the second mallard’s neck feathers reminded him of the stone. He tucked another handful of feathers under the turf into the pit he had cut to contain them; such a messy task, and repetitive.

 He allowed his mind to drift further, thinking on the decorations on the pillars of marble he had seen in Mahal’s hall. Despite his awe, his craftsman’s soul had been intrigued by the winding pattern that was quintessentially dwarven yet reminiscent of the kind of elvish work Gimli had last seen in Rivendell. He could almost see the design wrought in mithril and gold with the water-green jade peeking through. Legolas would not be able to resist it, and the design was turning out feminine. Gimli suppressed a chuckle; the elf would have to give it to Minuial. The dwarf snorted, blowing a small cloud of down off his lap. The lad showed no sign of working out his love life for himself, perhaps he could do with a dwarven go-between.

Gimli ran his sharp knife over the last pinfeathers and stubborn down, working out the stragglers between forefinger and blade, and then placed the knife on the ground for cleaning later. He stood to up, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders. The westering sun struck gold off the Mering stream at the bottom of the rise and Gimli suddenly felt soiled by feathers and duck-blood. The water winked invitingly at him, twinkling between the leaves of the willows that lined that section of bank.

A disturbance in the grass caught his eye, a whistle followed by a chittering call. A two-tone whiskered furry face parted the grass walls of his clearing, grey above and cream below, no more than a hand span from the ground. At its shoulders two more peeked out, first one side, then the other. Gimli stared, open-mouthed.

Three lithe grey bodies tumbled over each other into his work area; three faces peeked cheekily at the dwarf who had moved quickly to pick up his carcasses. One snatched at his skinning knife.

“Oi! That’s sharp. Leave it!”

Gimli stepped towards the first mischief on legs, and tripped over one of its companions. The dwarf fell to one knee dropping the birds while reaching for his knife. He had worked that blade himself; he had no intention of losing it.

 The leader turned a beady eye on him, flashed a mouth full of yellow teeth and fishy breath in his direction, and then picked up the knife, hilt first, in its mouth and ran playfully into the grass heading for the stream, his companions tumbling after.

“Otters.” Exclaimed Gimli. “Thieving, wretched, mischief making, otters.”

Gimli plunged off down the slope in hot pursuit of his knife and skidded to a halt at the stream edge, catching himself on a willow branch, as his booted feet wanted to keep sliding on the muddy bank. The otters were playing in the middle of the stream, diving and bobbing about. Gimli found himself frightened that the silly creatures would hurt themselves in their play, and sadly resigned himself to losing the knife. He stooped to pluck a shiny white stone from the bank.

“Here, you imps.” He threw the stone, hoping that they would catch it and drop the dangerous knife. To his relief one of the smaller beasts took the bait, surfacing with his stone cradled against its chest. Seeing the new game, the larger animal lost interest in the knife and submerged only to explode out of the water almost on top of the stone holder. The chase was on in seconds.

“Foolish beasts. The water can have the blade, may it never cause you harm.” Gimli looked at the swift flowing stream where he had last seen his knife and shook his head.

“A pleasing gift.”

The rich sound of a woman’s voice sounded from almost directly behind Gimli. He felt the short hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and turned, slowly.

Standing on the bank, no more than an arms length from him, was what looked like a human woman. Her dress appeared flowing, blue and diaphanous, her hair, tied in an intricate knot with a red ribbon was greenish gold, her eyes; Gimli flinched from her eyes, they seemed as deep as a mire, as light as a feather, more dangerous than a river in spate.

She turned his knife in her white slender hands, twisting it so that the wirework on the hilt caught the light.

“My - my, Lady?” Gimli found himself pressed against the rough bark of the willow’s trunk.

Those eyes considered him. “Would you consult with me, metal-smith?”

The apparition leaned towards him, and breathed in, and in as if she could inhale him. Gimli became miserably conscious of his besmirched state. He put his grimy hands behind him. One of her long fingered hands reached for his neck, and Gimli swallowed. Deftly she hooked out the crystal he always wore on a chain round his neck. She hissed, sounding like the wind in a reed bed.

“Hers.”

Gimli’s hand came up to catch at his treasure. Galadriel’s hair shone like sunlight in its matrix.

 “A gift, to me.” With a tug Gimli pulled the gem from the long-fingered hand. His chin lifted as anger fought with caution. “The more precious since she sailed.”

A smile lit the enigmatic oval of her face. “Ah, yes, she sailed.”

A long finger traced lightly down the Dwarf’s beard, and then touched the hand that clutched at his gem. Gimli felt as if a bucket of spring water had been poured over his head and shivered from crown to ankle. The blood and flecks left his skin; a single downy feather drifted towards the mud and lay at her feet, trembling in the breeze.

“She sailed, and I am unbound, to catch and keep as I may. Shall I keep you, little metal worker, who carries the token of my enemy? Would you like my watery halls? I have a great selection of keepsakes. Halflings, elves, men, orcs, all the drowned people of Middle-earth, and only a few of your kind.”

Gimli let his anger grow; it helped warm his terror.

“I am no toy of yours, Lady.  I travel to right an evil that will taint even your lands if it spreads much further. Have you not felt the wrongness flowing from Fangorn into your waters? I am charged with the resolving of that mystery.”

Gimli thought of telling her that he was not alone and would be missed, but quashed the thought before it could pass his lips. He did not want this capricious being to turn her attention to any of his companions. He only hoped they would not stumble on him while she toyed with him, he had no doubt Legolas at least would be looking for him. The setting sun was painting a riot of colours across the evening sky but he could not account for where the hours of the afternoon had gone. It felt like he had only been detained for minutes by this magical being.

The Lady’s face puckered into a frown and her eyes flicked beyond Gimli. She blurred slightly as if she stretched to the West, and then snapped back into focus, intent on the dwarf.

“She is getting greedy, the little witch. She sucks on all our power, like a leech. Think you that you are match for that one, metal-smith? She will eat you up and spit out your bones to make more mausoleums for her love. Shall I take you to her? It will be amusing to watch.”

A long white arm encircled Gimli’s waist. Bemused he found himself standing in the middle of the river, gliding downstream towards the mouths of Entwash within the circle of her arms, the moon lighting a shining path before them. He blinked, and from the west bank another light was kindled, bright enough to rival the moon. Into view came Ascallon, gleaming in the shadows, her rider’s cloak streaming behind him and his golden hair flowing in the wind of his speed. A white light shone from his form and Gimli’s heart lifted, shaking itself from the shackles magic had placed on his spirit.

“Legolas!” He cried with the last of his resolve. “Beware.”

00000

Aragorn stooped by the riverbank, ducking under the reaching arm of the willow tree that had arrested Gimli’s rush to the water.

“I wish this glimmer would shed more light, Legolas.” The King peered at the silver grey of the stream, its pale rushing making the banks darker by contrast. The sun was well set and only a faint golden afterglow lit the west. To the east hard bright stars peered down on him, like curious eyes.

Legolas had paused by the trunk of the willow, and now was leaned full body against the bark, his forehead resting on the tree.

“Legolas?”

Aragorn turned to see his friend spring away from the tree, an expression of cold fury on his face.

“Legolas, my friend. What is it?”

“She dares. After my father and I treated with her in respect and authority, she dares to start her games again.”

Legolas lifted fingers to his mouth and blew a piercing whistle, and then slung his quiver from his back, checked the number of arrows, re-donned it and swirled away, striding up the bank to meet Ascallon’s thundering approach. Aragorn may have well have been invisible.

“Legolas?” Aragorn’s voice went from concerned to astonished. Rarely had he seen his elven companion so discomposed. “Where are you going?”

Legolas looked down on the King from Ascallon’s back. “This is Elvish business, Aragorn. Gimli has fallen foul of Melusina the river-daughter. She is well known to me.” He added parenthetically. “I must away, Gimli is in mortal danger – follow.”

Ascallon half reared, matching her master’s agitation and impatience – then sprung away to the north along the banks of the stream, leaving Aragorn and his guards open mouthed behind him.

Finally finding his voice, after a space of time, Aragorn signalled his guard. “Find some of the others. You, bring our horses. We are to ‘follow’.”

The guards met their King’s irony with a poker face and hurried to obey. The remaining soldier followed his King on foot up the riverbank, heading north. Privately he doubted that anyone had spoken to the King of Gondor in quite those tones for a lifetime of men. The man matched his pace to his lord and kept his counsel.

00000

The hiss of Legolas’ arrow matched the lady’s dismayed exhalation. The green fletching touched the river, somehow halting their headlong progress. Gimli felt himself sinking into water that had the consistency of sucking mud. He let out an involuntary squeak of dismay.

“Thorskil, Nykur, Melusina, hold!” Legolas’ clear ringing tones seemed to bring reality back to the night. The water turned liquid and Gimli vanished beneath its surface. “Bring him to me, Nykur.”

Gimli was hauled up, by the back of his sodden jacket, and cast onto the riverbank to gasp and splutter like a landed trout. Neither shining being paid him the slightest attention, nor broke their intent concentration on the other.

Legolas stood straight and impossibly tall on the riverbank, The seeming woman stood equally tall, but abashed before him. Somehow she looked younger, Gimli almost expected her to twist a foot in the grass like an admonished child.

“I have you by your names, Lady. What is mine?”

“Legolas, Thrandullion, lordofithilien.” The lady mumbled in a small voice, her long white hands clutching at each other, one over the other.

“What was that, Melusina? Did I hear you? Was that Lord of Ithilien, to whom, not one season ago, I promised most faithfully to behave? Promised that I would play no more tricks on travellers, bending my interest to matters of my domain, namely the river, the fen and its banks? Who promised on the name of Nienna the merciful that she would work no more mischief.”

“Wasn’t.” The spirit looked mulish and fixed her gaze on the ground. “Taking it where it wanted to go.”

Legolas fixed her with a blue-eyed stare that should, by its intensity, have turned her watery substance to the most insubstantial of vapours. He stalked around her, and where he passed a thin white circle marked the grass.

“I bind you, Madam. To wait my pleasure and my better temper, the swamp and its inhabitants will do without you for a space.” Legolas completed his circle and then stood contemplating the spirit with a look of disgust on his face, despite the large eyed imploring look Melusina turned on him.

Finally the spirit hissed and folded in on herself, sat in a folded up bundle within the bounds of his circle, knees to ears and hair over her face.

“Elves.” Gimli heard her intone in a voice of deep disgust. “Hates elves.”

TBC

Rose Sared