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

Legolas and Gimli go on a quest chasing a dream. Old truths are revealed and discord in part of the song of Ilứvatar mended.

Beta by Theresa Green with my most grateful thanks.

Chapter 2

To his intense annoyance it took Gimli seven days to reach the far side of Firien Wood and the borders of Gondor, on foot, on the perfectly good road from Edoras. The two extra days it took to get that far were entirely due to his inability to keep up what he would consider a reasonable pace.

He felt shackled by the now predictable tightness in his chest. A tightness that yielded neither to anger nor to stubborn persistence, but only to a regime of planned rests. He felt shamed, almost to tears, by his debility and avoided all but the most cursory contact with the various caravans and groups of fellow travellers that now seemed to throng the highway.

They in their turn were only too happy to give the irascible dwarf a wide berth. The war-axe he carried on his back looked quite sharp and well used, and he bristled like a cat in a thunderstorm when bothered by cheery hails, or offers of a lift on a wain or cart.

If things had been different Gimli would have left the road completely and made his way via the hills, but some spark of common sense warned him that that course of action would not only delay him but also could be the end of him. He wanted to live to see Aragorn, and get him to fix this ridiculous illness.

 He did bend enough to leave most of his heaviest armour and his helmet at a roadhouse. He left gold with the hostler to pay for the pack’s delivery back to Aglarond. No matter if it all went astray, it was high summer and the heat was bothering him. The man had seemed honest enough, even if his Goodwife wanted to fuss over Gimli, delaying his departure this morning.

“You look a might peaky, my lord, for a dwarf that is. Will you not bide another day, sir?” Her honest red face looked all puckered.

Gimli straightened up, suddenly aware of the fact that he had been leaning on the wall after the exertion of bundling up his spare gear and sorting out his new pack.

“Nay, Mistress. I will press on.” He looked up at the woman who was twisting her white apron into a knot. “Thank you for your kindness, I have friends in the city and I am anxious to meet them.”

The woman peered into his face again, and then shook her head. “ Well, you take care, sir. That is all I will say. Take care.”

Gimli lifted a careless hand in farewell and strode off down the dawn road, trying to look sturdy for her. He slowed as soon as he was out of her sight and set a more achievable pace.

“Aulë, lord of my people, this is really no way for a dwarf to live,” he complained. “You made the dwarves strong and resilient, but this one appears faulty.” He leaned forward to ease his chest and grumbled to the uncaring road, at the top of a rise. The plains of Gondor sparkled in the distance. “In my strength I could serve my people. What use can I be to anyone like this?”

 The stones of the road disdained to answer, so after a short rest he shouldered his pack again and ventured out of the sunlight down the hill.

Now it was noon and he turned off the road into the oaks, wandering a little distance into the trees to seek out a glade with a stream. His chest told him he would not be travelling further this day; he had no chance of reaching the next roadhouse before his stamina gave out.

As if mocking his fatigue the forest seemed full of life and vigour; birds flitted between the boughs, he could hear squirrels chattering and playing in the canopy and even the little stream danced energetically down a miniature rock wall before lazing through the grassy glade. The tumble of rocks was an outthrust finger of the granite range Gimli had been flanking for days. He took enormous comfort from the solidity of a sun-warmed boulder to put his back to.

He assembled a small fire and drank some tea, and then he picked, without appetite, at the heel of bread and pickled ham the Goodwife had insisted he carry for his lunch. After a while he sighed and wrapped the food again. Even his appetite seemed to have deserted him. Rubbing his stomach to settle its bile he sat leaning against the boulder, wrapped in the comfort of the latest elven cloak Legolas had gifted him. He glanced around the clearing once more, his pack was beside him, his axe was under his hand and the cloak would hide him from the curious. He let his eyes slide shut, trusting perforce to the King’s peace. He hoped for dreams of his youth - this present was not to his taste.

The place he dreamed was no haunt of his youth.

“Gimli son of Gloin!” The roar spun him in a circle and he found himself facing a being whose majesty and presence dropped Gimli to his knees in instinctive homage.

“After the gifts heaped upon you, how is it I hear your complaints, Gloin’s son?”

Gimli felt himself redden in embarrassment. He had displeased this regal presence? “

“My lord?” he faltered, trying without success to place this magnificent cavern. He glanced around in confusion.

The white-marble floor glinted with golden lights; the walls were carved in intricate runes. Then his downcast gaze caught on his beard and he was stunned to see it was the rich russet it had been in his prime. He stretched out his hands, instead of gnarled digits, strong fingers flexed at his command. Forgetting his awe he sprang to his feet in one fluid movement.

“I am myself!” His heart swelled with surpassing joy. Delighted he boldly looked up at the being in front of him, almost singing in his relief. “I am restored.”

Eyes of infinite compassion looked back at him.

Gimli suddenly sobered. Breathed, and then straightened his back and squared his shoulders.

“Is this death then, my lord?”

The Vala smiled at him. “Ai, Gimli. Ever you have been my favourite.”

“Legolas,” came the sudden thought. “I had no chance to say farewell.” Panic welled in his heart. “The fool elf will grieve.”

Aulë stepped forward and placed a hand of surprising weight on Gimli’s shoulder. The Vala breathed into Gimli’s wondering face and the fear floated to some other place.

“My son, I have a rather large favour to ask of you…”

oooo

“Gimli.” A voice, rough with anxiety, was calling his name. “Gimli, wake! Please my friend.” A hand shook his shoulder.

With a groan, Gimli prised open eyes that seemed to have been shut for a lifetime.

He blinked at Legolas. The wood-elf looked strained, as if every nerve was on edge. The elf scanned the clearing and then turned his wide blue gaze back on his friend. Gimli was shocked to see tears well in Legolas’ eyes when the elf realised that he was stirring.

Gimli pushed himself more upright. Forgetting, for the instant, to wonder where his friend had sprung from, he scanned the clearing himself. It was the very image of bucolic peace, dappled in the afternoon sun. Legolas’ favourite mount, Ascallon cropped the lush grass near the stream.

“Lad, what ails thee?” The dwarf dropped his own hand to his axe, reflexively looking around for enemies. “Are we beset?”

Legolas took a breath, and then impulsively drew Gimli into a shoulder-crushing embrace. “You live. The Valar be praised, Gimli. You live.”

Gimli tried to pummel his brain into coherence. “Lad. Legolas, it lightens my heart to see you too, but why should I not live?”

Legolas released his friend  and crouched back on his heels, wrapping his arms around his torso in unconscious self-comfort.

“Something strange has happened here. Gimli, can you not feel it? The very air hums. Gimli…” The elf rubbed his hands over his face as if trying to rub clarity into his head. “I was riding to meet you on the road, and starting to fear that I had somehow overshot, when I was led into the forest, off the road, yonder.” He waved vaguely behind him. “A light, like sunlight on a mirror, blinked and beckoned from the trees, Ascallon wanted to follow and I was compelled.”

He looked all around the clearing again, Gimli shifted so he could follow the elf’s gaze. The wood remained the wood, to his dull senses.

Legolas continued. “We came at last to this glade, and then the light flared so that I threw up my hand to shade my eyes, and then I saw you.” The elf turned his head and swallowed. “I swear you looked as if your life had fled, Gimli. No breath stirred your beard.” The elf blinked tears again and fixed his gaze on the silver beard in question. “I remember not how I dismounted and came to your side, but my soul was riven. And then the air seemed charged, like festival wine, and you breathed where you had breathed not.” The elf turned eyes huge with confusion onto his friend. “You breathed, Gimli, and woke to my urgent call.” The elf shook his head again.

Gimli stared at the elf, shaken to his core. The dream he had experienced suddenly blazed like a tapestry in his mind.

Trembling slightly he stretched out a hand and placed it on the elf’s forearm.

“But I am well enough, Legolas, and not dead yet, it seems. Come, let us stir up the fire and make ourselves tea. I had the strangest dream, my friend. Since you are with me unlooked for, perhaps it was more than a dream.”

He pushed up away from the rock to stand up, and was surprised again. The movement was easy. He took a step or two towards the fire and then stopped, trying to take an internal inventory. His hand rose by its own violation and rested on his chest.

Legolas was at his side on an instant. “Gimli? What is it?”

The dwarf looked up at his bewildered and worried friend. “A gift, perhaps, Legolas.”

Gimli reached for his pack and rummaged rather more energetically for his pouch of tea. An involuntary smile curved his lips. “I need to visit the healers of Minas Tirith, Legolas. Could you and yonder beast be prevailed on to give me a lift?”

Legolas eyed his friend, and then laughed merrily, his spirit lightening in tune with the feel of the delighted forest. “A first, and no other present to witness, the dwarf requests a ride. Aragorn will not believe me.” The elf peered again into the face of his old friend. “What would you have of the healers, Gimli? Was Gleowyn right to summon me so urgently to your side?”

Gimli snorted, amused at the identity of his betrayer. “Probably Legolas, I may have proved myself an old fool, once again.” He raised brown eyes dancing with a secret joy to the elf’s. “But we have a great riddle to unravel, should my state of  health prove to be less dire than it has been of late. Let me tell you of my dream.”

TBC

Rose Sared

 I hope you all are enjoying this as much as I am. All reviews welcomed with delight, hoarded and replied to.