Chapter I: One Learns Something New Every Day

We were some leagues out of Fangorn when, on some fit of boredom, I committed an amusing and quite harmless prank upon my traveling companion, who I have always found to be- and still do- rather vain. Unfortunately, the Prince did not react at all well to my actions.

~*~

“For ‘ethereal beings of light and laughter’,” muttered Gimli under his breath, quoting from one of the many bards in Minas Tirith who had enthusiastically heaped praises upon the Firstborn. “You, my dear Prince, do not seem to have much in the way of a sense of humour.”

“If applying sap to my hair is your idea of humour,” Legolas retorted irritably, combing his long slender fingers through his even longer golden mane. “Then I fear that Dwarven jests are a bit too crude for my understanding. And stop addressing me with that title.”

“Your father is a King, correct? And your grandfather before him?” Gimli glared at a branch that had swung out of nowhere and would have hit him in the eye had he not instinctively brought up his thick shield. Arod, who followed the pair from a safe distance behind, gave a soft but unmistakable snicker. “That makes you a Prince. And I would have you know that it was actually the Hobbits who taught me that prank.”

“My grandfather was a Sindar prince who became King of Mirkwood by consent of the Silvan folk who dwelt in that forest from the First Age.” The Dwarf could not resist a small smirk at the most unElf-like grumble that emitted from Legolas the moment he realized that his efforts on removing the sap actually spread it through his hair even more. And as it hardened, it began exuding an unpleasant odour reminiscent of old cheese and moldy boots. “Trust Hobbits to misuse their knowledge of horticulture.”

“I’d appreciate it if you keep your Elvish politics to yourself; having one Elf following me around is bad enough, thank you.” Not unexpectedly, Gimli found that a thin vine had attached its thorns into his boots, and prevented him from walking further. Arod stopped and sniffed it curiously, then side-stepped the struggling Dwarf with a shake of his proud head. “If it makes you feel any better, I use the term ‘taught’ in the sense of ‘learning after having it inflicted upon me’.” He tried stamping upon it, but it was like stamping on one’s own shadow. “At least it’s on your head. I had to suffer through hours of it in my beard.”

The vine utterly refused to let him go. Gimli sighed. “If you let it dry, you’ll find that you can wash it off with water. I’m afraid you’ll have to live with the smell for a few days, but I could always puff pipe-weed smoke into your face to take your mind off it.”

The Dwarf nearly fell over when the vine suddenly released him mid-tug. “That really isn’t fair, you know,” he complained. “What chance does one Dwarf stand when an Elf’s turned the forest he’s in against him?”

Legolas wore an expression of utmost innocence. “I do not understand what you are talking about.” He looked away and lengthened his stride, but not before Gimli glimpsed a barely-suppressed grin. “I cannot help it if you are clumsy.”

~*~

To this day, the nature of the relationship between the Wood-Elves and their forest eludes me. But I have found comfort in my friend’s inability to comprehend the bond between a Dwarf and Arda. In any case, though the trees of Mirkwood were not as ‘awake’ as the ones in Fangorn under Treebeard’s care (I invite you to inquire from Meriadoc and Peregrin of the Shire, if you do not understand what I mean) but a shadow of it is there. A kindly Ent had informed me, during our traipse through his patch of wood, that present-day Eryn Lasgalen had been part of the Fangorn wood during the youth of the world, so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.

~*~

“Can you hear them, Gimli?” came the clear, silver voice. The Dwarf had to turn several times before spotting the Elf’s grinning face directly above him. “They are curious about you, you know. No Dwarf has ever passed through this area of the wood in their lifetimes.”

Memories of the ‘walk’ through Fangorn still fresh in his mind, Gimli gazed at the trees with a goodly measure of apprehension. They weren’t nearly as mobile as the ones tended by Treebeard, but he could sense their awareness, like a shadow over his back that flitted off before he could catch sight of it. At least their attention didn’t feel malevolent in any way, like some “dark patches”, as Treebeard had called them, in Fangorn. He instead sensed a gentle curiousity, a vague puzzlement at this new creature beneath their eaves. They did not seem to sense his axe, for which he was glad, as the flurry it caused in Fangorn led to his leaving it behind with Treebeard when he had to follow Legolas deep into the old wood. He had felt uncomfortably naked and vulnerable without it, but he refused to be cowed by a bunch of too-awake trees.

I have spent too much time with that Elf, he thought to himself. Now I’m imagining that trees are watching me.

“They do not fear me, though I bear an axe,” he said aloud. Seeing that they had stopped, Arod quietly began grazing.

“They cannot see the outside world, as Fangorn’s trees could. But they can feel that you are no Orc, and you mean them no harm.” With the innate grace of his race, Legolas soundlessly leapt onto another branch. “Listen closely, my friend. I would have you hear the voices of my wood. It may help if you close your eyes.”

Gimli gazed at the Elf with his uncertainty in his eyes, but Legolas only waited expectantly.

Feeling incredibly foolish yet finding himself unable to deny his friend, Gimli obligingly quietened his breathing, closed his eyes and strained his ears. “I do not know why you keep trying, Legolas,” he said gently. “Conversing with an Ent is a sufficiently wondrous experience for any Dwarf. In any case, I do not know what I’m listening for. All I hear is a breeze moving through the leaves.”

He could hear the smile in the Elf’s voice. “But there is no wind, Gimli. The air is as still as your Mountain.”

The Dwarf’s eyes flew open. Legolas beamed down at him from his perch. As the Elf had said, there was no wind, not even the slightest movement amongst the branches.

He could have rustled the leaves himself, the thought ran through his mind. But I do not think he will stoop so low just to prove a point. Even Arod had paused in his grazing to gaze thoughtfully at him.

“I can no longer hear it,” he said unsteadily.

But Legolas’ fair face brightened with an almost childish delight. “Did I not say that you only needed to listen?” he said gleefully. “And once you have heard them, their voices will stay with you all your life. You need only to open those thick ears of yours.”

Not knowing what else he to do, Gimli fell back on ancient Dwarven custom. He bowed low towards the trees, a hand on his heart. “Gimli son of Gloin, at your service.”

~*~