Chapter II: Dwarven Serenades

I knew what lay ahead long before we saw the first wilted leaves. As usual, my companion gave the first warnings; nothing explicit, but the light in his eyes darkened, and there was a subtle nervousness during the night hours. By the time we sighted the charred ruins, it felt almost as if we were back at the Black Gates. It seemed also that winter was slower to leave where he who was once called the Necromancer had touched. Locked in our personal torments, I could almost taste the taint of Sauron in the land still, and I wondered if I had just dreamt our victory. That was his most wicked ability, to instill doubt in even the steadiest of hearts.

We sighted some Elves on guard. Or, more correctly, my Elven friend pointed out a place that looked like any other section of the shadowed wood, and I stared at it until my eyes watered, and eventually I would see that there was an Elf clad in brown and green stationed there. From what I could see of their faces, none looked particularly happy about landing this duty, but they were most vigilant, with eyes that seemed to track every moving shadow. I had half-expected the Prince to approach them, for surely they would recognize and welcome the son of their King, but instead an odd mood seized him, and he used all his skill (with considerable effort on my part) to let us pass undetected.

~*~

They were back astride the horse, but in his eagerness to be as far away from Dol Guldor as possible Gimli only uttered one half-hearted complaint. “Legolas,” Gimli said into the silence that had grown between them. Even Arod was subdued. “Is all well with you?”

His friend straightened. “Nay,” he replied simply, though his melodious voice sounded distant. “But there are some ills that can only be cured by time, or not at all.”

The Dwarf hesitated, then nodded. Though there were times when he would badger the Elf mercilessly about the state of his well-being- the only one who dared to do so, Aragorn had commented amusedly once, besides himself- the wounds they had each suffered during the War were unique and often personal. Even the Shire-folk, all of whom seem to be related in some manner to one another and had known each other since birth, kept some of their maladies to themselves. It was a wonder enough that the friendship between Elf and Dwarf had grown so that it seemed only natural that they would travel home together.

With that thought, he said, “It follows us home.”

~*~

There are wounds great and small, measured not necessarily by their size but by the extent to which they damage the person they inflict. I cannot recall who spoke these words to me, though I suspect that it was Frodo, in Minas Tirith during the after-days of the War. The Fellowship had done much talking together, then, for sharing our heart’s burdens seemed the only way to heal the wounds of the spirit. And we came to the realization that each of us had been marked by the war in at least one way, which cannot be undone.

If thou hearest the cry of gull on the shore,
Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more.

I am no seer, and I will rather saw off my own head with a blunt axe than curse any word of the Lady; yet my heart warns me that those words will bring much grief to our friendship, and to one who should have returned to his beloved wood whole with all the ages of Middle-Earth before him.

~*~

Afterwards, Gimli berated himself for not anticipating it. But he was mulling over his own troubles, brought on by the touch of the darkness that still lingered over Dol Guldur, and Legolas had picked up Frodo’s ability to deposit his food onto the plates of distracted friends with no one the wiser. He then tried to persuade Gimli to give him the night’s watch, but the Dwarf would hear none of it, for the Elf had been keeping watch for the previous two nights. To his surprise, Arod threw in his support, earning a glare from the Elf. So Legolas light climbed onto the first branch of a low tree, and became as still as a log in a matter of seconds.

That should have alerted Gimli, but perhaps an echo of the Shadow’s malice still hung in the air, desperate to do what small amount of mischief it still could. Or he could have just been too weary of mind himself. They had found that they were easier to tire whilst they traveled in that tainted area of forest. Oblivious to his friend’s utter lack of movement, Gimli made himself comfortable between a pair of convenient buttresses jutting out from underneath Legolas’ tree and began chewing on the end of his pipe. The last of his leaf had ‘mysteriously’ disappeared in Fangorn. Arod also settled himself down for the night, and took nearly as little time as his master in falling asleep.

Gimli didn’t know what finally halted his musings and brought him to full wakefulness, but he suddenly froze, ears straining to hear through the night sounds of the forest and the crackling of their small fire.

Once he was relatively sure of what he was not hearing, he scrambled to his feet and grabbed the longest of the fallen branches they had gathered up for use as firewood. Balancing on a buttress, he prodded the figure curled up on the junction between the lowest branch and the trunk.

“Legolas!” he whispered urgently, wanting to shout but fearing to attract the attention of nocturnal predators. “Legolas, awake!”

But the body did not move, at least not at first. Then the limbs began to jerk violently as Legolas’ too-slow breathing- which is what Gimli had noticed- grew fast and shallow. To the Dwarf’s horror, the Elf suddenly rolled sharply to one side, right off the branch!

Instinct took over then, and the next thing Gimli was aware of was being half-buried under a full order of distressed Elf.

Thankfully Elves were nearly as light as they looked, so Gimli was able to extricate himself without too much trouble and turn his friend over on his back. Legolas had become still once more, and blank open eyes reflected the patch of stars peeking through the dark canopy. The Dwarf checked his friend for any injuries and found none, though Gimli himself discovered that his left wrist became painful if he turned it too far.

“Gimli?” Legolas finally whispered. The Dwarf was immediately by his side, but those glorious eyes were distant and unfocused. “Gimli… I can hear it… I am home, and it follows me…” Lost for words, Gimli could only clasp his friend’s hand tightly. A small part of him still felt uncomfortable making such physical contact, especially with someone not his kin, but it belonged to the Dwarf that Gloin had envisioned his son to be, not the Dwarf Gimli had become.

“Legolas,” he said uncertainly, touching the face that put to mind finely chiseled marble. “Legolas, I am here. Remember the trees, the rivers, the white deer, the wood that you loved? You promised me that you would show me them, remember? And if you could convince a Dwarf to talk to trees, you can overcome this.” Under his breath, he muttered, “Ai, if only Aragorn were with us!”

For the first time in days, the fair face broke into a smile, and Gimli’s heart ached at the sadness in it. “Nay, Aragorn does not know much more than you, and I daresay he is of better use where he is.” The eyes were focusing now, filling with Legolas. The brows furrowed. “Tell me I did not fall off a tree?”

Gimli’s laughter was perchance a little forced, but it rang through the darkened wood and brought a genuine smile to the Elf’s lips. “If you command it, my Prince: you did not fall off a tree.”

“That is a comfort to know,” Legolas said, then his face became weary, and Gimli thought that his friend now looked like all the years he claimed to have seen. “It struck because I did not expect it to, this close to home and so far from… so far. I shall not underestimate it again.”

Gimli longed to ask once more what it was, this mysterious ailment, this Sea-longing that was claiming his friend even as they thought all their toils to be over. But no one appeared to know, for all who had been struck by it in the way that Legolas had had surrendered and gone over the Sea. That was telling in itself, and in his heart Gimli understood that some day his friend would have to make that fateful journey.

“Not yet,” Legolas softly said, reading his thoughts. “Never, if I could bear it.” He then sighed and closed his eyes. “Thank you, Gimli. Through you I can hear Arda, all the work of Aulë and Yavanna, and I can almost forget the Song of the Sea…”

Seeing his friend weary before his time stoked a deep, fierce flame within the heart of the Dwarf. He longed to grieve for a parting that he already feared, and he was angered by the injustice of fate, for not allowing his friend to enjoy the new world he had helped to create. He fought back the grief, and the mention of songs brought forth a memory from years ago, when a certain infamous Hobbit had visited Erebor. He had been fascinated with Bilbo’s stories, much to his father’s consternation, but Gloin himself was very fond of the old Hobbit, and Bilbo obviously loved telling his tales to any willing ear. 

As if to call Legolas back, whose eyes were beginning to lose their focus again, he launched into a song that had engraved itself into his memory by the sheer number of times he had heard it.

“Down the swift dark stream you go
Back to lands you once did know!
Leave the halls and caverns deep,
Leave the northern mountains steep
Where the forest wide and dim
Stoops in shadow grey and grim!”

What Gimli had not been prepared for was the burst of laughter, a sound of pure, child-like joy, that came from the Elf even before he’d finished the first verse. He froze, feeling his face grow hot and wondering if his beard would catch fire out of sheer embarrassment. But Legolas’ laughter was not mocking at all, and after re-starting his heart Gimli even managed a few chuckles.

“You are more precious than all the gold and jewels that has ever passed through both our fathers’ halls,” the Elf declared as he sat up, actual tears leaking from his eyes, which now sparkled with mirth. “Never have I heard it sung better by Elf, Man, or Wizard. Though Hobbits are quite close,” he added with a grin, guessing rightly from whom Gimli had learned the song. “Come, I have been the one singing through the Quest and our travels, and here is a Dwarven minstrel right under my nose!” To make matters worse, Arod- who undoubtedly had been awaked by the fall of his master- came closer to the pair and settled his head in Legolas’ lap. But after much coaxing and the threat of a song composed especially for him, Gimli grudgingly continued.

“Float beyond the world of trees
Out into the whispering breeze…”

~*~

Elf, if I have to serenade Morgoth himself to gain you one heart-beat without the weight of the Sea-longing, you know I would.

Note: The song featured here is the one sung by the Mirkwood Elves in the chapter entitled “Barrels Out of Bond” in The Hobbit, as they release the not-so-empty barrels into the River.