Author’s Note: I’m afraid I have made a mistake of gargantuan proportions, which I have very discreetly corrected. I considered having Arod being eaten by a Huorn to explain his absence in this story, but realized that that would be doing the story a disservice. So if you look back now you would see that he has been there all along, silly me for not mentioning him *sweats and grins innocently*. I hope you will forgive me for this little boo-boo, I’m truly sorry for the oversight.

Chapter V: A Casualty of War

‘It is said that the skill of Dwarves is in their hands rather than in their tongues’ she said; ‘Yet that is not true of Gimli.’
– Lothlorien, Book II

It is a belief amongst our people that the best way to judge a Dwarf is to meet with his family, for in them one sees what the Dwarf in question had once been, and what they could have been, and from this piece together what the Dwarf is and what they could become. A lot can be learned from just examining an individual's family, though of course we are not quite as obsessed as Hobbits seem to be about the whole business. Still, friendships are considerably less difficult if they have the good will of the families of both parties. Unfortunately this particular friendship is attempting to bridge two Races with a long history of mutual distrust and hostility.

I suppose one could say that Legolas and I have a long road ahead of us.

~*~

The merrily burning fireplace provided just enough light for keen eyes to make out a lone figure seated at a far darkened corner of the Hall. Thranduil did not follow them past the door, though his gaze trailed them like a wary hunter’s. A distinct hush fell over the room and a number of heads riveted to look at the odd pair, but the Dwarf had a feeling that all his companion cared about was that one person hidden from their own eyes. Legolas and Gimli approached the chair slowly, and in the midst of his own apprehension Gimli still managed to notice his companion’s trembling hands and the way Legolas’ gaze was fixed on the obscured Elf.

“Nasseryn was blinded during the final assault,” was all the King had said to them during the short journey from the throne room. Legolas had missed a step, and his fair face froze in an icy mask he wore when he was most in pain. At that moment the Dwarf had a sudden deep desire to give the Elvenking a thorough shaking and say, Can you not see that the accusation of betrayal from his own people has hurt him? Why do you worsen his suffering? Strangely, Thranduil seemed to be ignoring him, and might have forced the Dwarf into jogging after them had Legolas not refused to lengthen his stride any further than he knew the Dwarf could comfortably walk. Putting the King at the back of his mind as an obstacle to be faced later- a prospect that sent another tickle of nervousness through him- Gimli put his full attention on determining how he could make a good first impression on this new Elf.

“Legolas!” the shadow exclaimed, straightening up enough that a humanoid form could at least be discerned from the varying shades of shadow. It appeared that the person was wearing a thick robe of heavy cloth, with a deep hood drawn over their head. Gimli was taken aback by the voice, or more specifically, its pitch. It was then that he realized that the Captain of all the armed forces of Mirkwood was, in fact, female.  “So the tidings are true this time! There was no way to be sure, and I could not come myself… I never believed that you were lost to us, not for a single moment, no matter what the whispers said.”

Looking like he had been bodily struck, Legolas’ usual grace finally left him and he fell to his knees in front of the figure, reaching out tentatively to grasp her half-hidden hands. “Nasseryn, dearest sister, I-“

“I forbid you to claim any responsibility for what has befallen me,” she cut him off sharply. From her words and tone of voice Gimli deemed that she had a direct and honest nature akin to his own, and found himself already warming to her. “Enough people have been doing so that I wonder if I had even been present at the event. Nay, I for one am relieved you were not here to witness those dark times, though if the stories I hear are even half true your ordeal was not much better.”

Silence descended on their little corner, settling like a thick smoke saturated with unspoken thoughts. Uncomfortable with such subtle communications and feeling, moreover, like an intruder in what should have been a personal reunion, the Dwarf pondered how he could make his escape politely, despite the gaze of the King he could still feel upon his back. Finally it was Legolas who broke the tension. “At least the whispers will not trouble your sleep any longer.”

A pale hand emerged from the shadow cast by the overlarge chair that Nasseryn sat on, and in the golden firelight Gimli saw the irregular ridges on the palm that marked her as a skilled and seasoned warrior, probably one with a preference for blades. “At last you admit to sharing that little family secret. We all wondered, you know; even Ada.” From her intonation, the Dwarf realized that that must be Elven word for father. Ada. “I fear I have seen enough in my life for my mind to conjure up nightmares to last an Age of the Sun, but there is a comfort in knowing that however horrifying they are, from hereon they will be my mind’s creations, nothing more.” The hands, accustomed as they were to weapons, reached out uncertainly to cup Legolas’ jaw.

Then he saw the hooded head turn directly towards him. “I heard unfamiliar footsteps next to yours, muindor.” Was that the word for brother? “Too heavy for Elf or Hobbit, the strides too short for a Man. Despite their rarity within these halls I would have named a Dwarf from the treadings alone. But it is because of the novelty of the event that word of you far preceded your actual arrival, Master Dwarf. Ai, forgive my lack of manners, we have not been introduced and already I make you suffer the result of the hours of idleness brought about by my present condition.”

Regaining a little of his grace and calm, Legolas got to his feet and gestured for Gimli to step closer to the chair. “Nasseryn, this is Gimli son of Gloin of neighbouring Erebor, who has been my faithful friend and companion through many dangers. Gimli, this is Nasseryn, my sister and Captain of the forces of Mirkwood.”

“Former Captain,” she gently reminded him, though Gimli detected a trace of bitterness in her voice. “But everyone is insisting I stay on in an ‘advisory’ capacity. I am suspecting that it is a plot to drive me to madness by way of long-winded reports.” But Gimli felt, rather than heard, the unspoken words: I am kept busy, so that I do not despair.

But he obligingly chuckled at her light tone, and took her hand in his. “Gimli son of Gloin, at your service and your family’s, my Lady.” Her hands, so uncertain with Legolas whom she had known of old, were more confident in exploring Gimli’s visage, for he was a stranger. She trailed her fingers over his rich beard, tickled his nose with their feather-touch, and lingered over his deep-set eyes.  She unconsciously moved further into the light, though the hood was deep enough that Gimli could only make out a trace outline of her face.

Just then he became aware of another Elf’s presence, and turned to see a slight figure bearing a harp speaking quietly with Legolas. From the prince’s demeanor this newcomer was an old friend. Legolas introduced him to Gimli as Boronlach, a famed bard of the realm. The Dwarf performed the usual courtesies, and the two Elves excused themselves to join a small gathering of Elves in the adjacent corner, near the fire. Gimli’s eyes swept over the Elves that greeted his friend, and some of the tension left him when all he saw was heartfelt welcome and joy.

“He has changed much since he left, though I doubt those who had not known him well before will notice.” Nasseryn commented, no doubt deducing the recipient of Gimli’s attention. “And something ails him, one of those ills that cannot be healed in Middle-Earth, I fear, and his spirit carries the weight of his quiet suffering.” And there, as before, Gimli felt rather than heard the unspoken question: What is wrong with him?

Beginning to feel rather exasperated at all these subtleties where sensible Dwarves would simply voice the question, the son of Gloin reminded himself that directness was not the way of those who have eternity to untangle the riddles that they weave for each other. Mindful of what could be read from not only his words but his very tone, Gimli put much thought in his reply, for reply he must, if not for the sake of courtesy than out of respect for his friend’s kin’s right to know of his wellbeing. On one hand he was relieved that someone had noticed Legolas’ troubled spirit, but on the other he harboured a reluctance shared by the remainder of the Fellowship to disclose details of their ordeal to others outside their intimate circle. He settled with: “I believe this is a matter which must come from him, if he will reveal it to any who do not already know, my Lady. But I will say that your fears are likely correct, and so ask that you not pressure him to speak until he is ready.”

He felt her sightless gaze on him, her awareness probing at his, and wondered if her eyes were as blue as her father and brother’s. “Now I wish for a moment of sight to make sure that you are a Dwarf for true. I would never have imagined such a friendship- though I myself bear no ill will towards you and your people, Master Gimli- but in hindsight it is not so surprising, knowing Legolas as I do.”

“Then I appreciate your tolerance and understanding, my Lady.” Now that she had brought it up, however, Gimli once again felt the prickling along his spine and shoulder blades, and knew that despite having turned back to what they had originally been doing, the Elves were still watching him suspiciously, though from what he could see none gave more than a momentary glance. Not wanting to appear discomfited in the face of their understandable perusal, Gimli sought for a way to occupy his mind. Seeing her settle back into her chair and her shadows, he suddenly heard himself asking, “Why do you hide, my Lady? Surely all know of your injury.”

She froze, and the Dwarf realized that he might have offended her. Many who had been maimed after battle often grew to hate their disabilities, hiding them if possible. At the thought, the pale, drawn face of a certain Baggins of the Shire took form in his mind.

“Injury. The way you say it makes it seem like a cut or a graze, something that can be bandaged and will eventually heal if it is not damaged further.” She gave a mirthless laugh. “But there is naught on this Middle-Earth now that can heal this injury, Master Gimli, or so I am told.” The bitterness rode her voice plainly now, and made it stronger. It reminded him somewhat of Aragorn, and the son of Gloin could imagine such a voice barking out commands in the midst of a bloody battlefield, and be obeyed in the instant. “Thus I have been forsaken, discreetly avoided because they see in me what could befall them. As if shunning it will save them from that fate.” Even as she finished that last statement she appeared surprised to be revealing so much to a relative stranger.

“Forgive me, my Lady, I did not mean to bring you pain.”

“No, no, it is not you,” she waved her hand dismissively. “You, at least, deign to speak to me, and what fear I feel in you is from being found disagreeable by an Elf whose opinions Legolas holds dear.” She smiled slightly. “It convinces me that your intentions are good, and that you value your friendship with my brother highly.” She paused, her head cocked to one side in thought, and when she spoke again her voice held a measure of respect. “It is strange. Within an hour of meeting me you have voiced the question that my family has been dancing around since the final battle, yet I find that I am not offended but relieved that the question has been put forth.”

“I hide, Master Gimli, because I cannot bear the discomfort of others when they are able to see my face.” The smile returned, this time resembling that of Legolas’ when he conspired with Gimli about some mischief. “I also hide from the unfortunate warriors who have been given the task of informing me about our forces. When I sit here like this, they do not bother me, thinking I am in a foul mood. It is fortunate that I was temperamental even before the blinding; now I can unleash my anger without worry of the consequence.”

“They are trying to help you, you know.”

Tension left her in a heartfelt sigh. “I know. I let them treat me like an invalid, suffer through those accursed reports that remind me daily of what I can no longer do and now someone else is doing for me, because it convinces those who care for me that they are doing something, that they are helping me.”

“But they only hurt you.” Gimli gazed into the hood, finally understanding. “Will you show me your face, my Lady?”

Nasseryn seemed startled, then laughed, a real burst of sound. “My own father does not dare ask it of me, yet again I find myself taking no offense. I sense no deceit or malice in you, Master Gimli, despite the tales of Dwarven treachery that are droned into every Elfling’s ears. Most grow up to judge your race for themselves, but a few take those early warnings to heart, and view everything that is not Elven with suspicion. Aye, I feel also their glances at us now, but the War has not been long ended, especially in the accounting of the Firstborn, and you must forgive them their wariness of strangers.”

Gimli couldn’t help but smile, so much did she remind him of her brother. “You do not have to stall, my Lady. It was a request made in a moment of foolishness; you do not have to grant it.”

She laughed again, a trifle nervously, her hands rising to grip her hood. “It must be the time you’ve spent with my brother, to read me so well. Nay, I am willing to, I only needed a moment to steady myself.” With a shaky breath, she pulled back the thick cloth and leaned forwards to place her face into the half-light.

What drew Gimli’s attention first was, of course, the band of black cloth tied securely over Nasseryn’s eyes. Then his gaze was drawn to a smooth, straight scar that ran from a thumb’s width of the bottom of her right eye, running diagonally over the upper half of her face, disappearing under the cloth, splitting her left eyebrow and continuing on to a point a thumb’s width above her left ear. If it had been inflicted during the final battles, then it should have healed by now, but the colour of the scar indicated that there was something in the wound that prevented even the amazing regenerative powers of the Firstborn from healing it as quickly as it should have.

“The weapon was tainted, and its poison entered your eyes,” he whispered. He instinctively reached out a hand, but hesitated short of touching the section of scar on her forehead. It was still tender and pink.

“Aye,” Nasseryn replied quietly. “It was wrought by the Shadow, and my brother said afterwards that it disappeared into dust after he killed the one who wielded it. For a long time the wound would not heal, and had to be drained daily.” She reached out and guided his hand to the scar. As Gimli gently traced it, he considered the rest of her face. There was no mistaking that she was related to Thranduil, though there was a little of Legolas- and thus, their mother- in her features also. She had the fairness of her race, yet nowhere near the splendour of Galadriel and Arwen.

“As fair as any of the Firstborn, but your true beauty lies not in your physical body. I deem that you are at your fairest in the midst of battle, with your sword in one hand and a battle-horn in the other, looking over the bodies of your foes. In those moments, I believe that you are fairer than nearly all the females of your race in their gowns and soft shoes,” he told her as the words came to him, and knew that she could hear the truth in them, and would not be offended. “Even with the… injury.”

Her smile to him brightened up her face. He mentally revised his words, for he realized that without the shadow of despair on her she reminded one of a vein of mithril as it is suddenly revealed by torch-light to an unsuspecting miner.

“Your words touch me more than the false flattery given to me by courtiers seeking a favourable glance from my father,” she said to him. “I wish now that we had met before my blinding.”

Gimli shook his head. “No offense to you, my Lady, but I think that you would not have spared me a glance had we met when you were whole. The most you would have done would be to interrogate me, yet once you are confident of my good-will you would not have given me another thought.”

She frowned at him, though he sensed it was more out of thoughtfulness than displeasure. “Are you saying that I am as prejudiced as some of those fools in my father’s court?”

“Nay, my Lady, you know I do not. But from what I can read of you your heart has been wholly given to protecting your family and this realm, and I think that what grieves you most about the blinding is that it prohibits you from doing so to the extent you have become used to. Beyond this duty, you do not see a need to learn more about others beyond their motives and intentions towards you and your own.”

“You must be a Wizard in disguise, for you cannot know me so well after having just met me!”

“As far as I remember I have been a humble Dwarf my whole life. Undoubtedly you, in turn, have learned much of me without my knowing, but are more courteous about revealing it. Yet I have spent considerable time with the greatest of that order in Middle-Earth, and lately have had to entertain my own thoughts more often than my axe. As have you, I deem.”

She shook her head, her smile blooming fully. “Often I have heard that Dwarves will speak their mind first and worry of the consequences after, yet I find such directness a pleasing change after the intrigues and politics of my race. Somehow you ease my heart after many days of darkness, Master Gimli.” Her head shifted to address someone behind Gimli. “Did you become gifted with foresight, tôr, and brought this healer with you to bring me out of despair?”

Legolas’ voice so close behind him nearly made the Dwarf jump. “I have not such wisdom, though perchance he does, for it was he who followed me despite my attempts to lose him in the forest.” Gimli saw that his friend’s face was merrier now, less strained, and as he looked upon his sister without her hood the joy seeped further into his eyes. Though never covering it completely, ever since they beheld the gulls. Sensing his gaze, Legolas gave Gimli a grateful smile.

“Clearly you did not try too hard, for he is here, and appears to be in one piece. Be warned, however; I may try to steal him from you.”

Legolas’ laugh was light and heartfelt. “I see I have a contender for your affections now.”

“I think I can spare regard enough for the two of you.”

“It is fortunate that there is little enough of Gimli to make much of a difference to my share.”

“Watch your mouth, Elfling.”

Legolas was grinning when he leaned forward and touched his sister’s face. “I do not see why you needed the hood, thêl. You are as lovely as always.”

“It surprises me that in this matter, I must judge that Gimli was more eloquent in his praise.”

“I can believe that, though I did not expect him to reveal his poetic self so soon upon your acquaintance.”

“Before meeting him, I did not know that Dwarves could be poetic.”

“If it will comfort you, Lord Celeborn the Wise did not think so either.”

Nasseryn raised an eyebrow. “You have much to tell me, then. Ada informed us of the departure of the Fellowship, then we received word of your passing through Lothlorien, and even here we sensed the fall of Sauron, for the shadow that heartened our enemies and instilled doubt in our most experienced warriors lifted, though the fighting itself did not.””

“It is a long tale, and our part in it was small compared to the periannath whom we guarded.”

“You must tell me it, then, but not tonight. For even without sight I know that you are wearied from travel. Go to your rest, neth tôr, now that you are home there is no hurry for speech.”

“I shall, thêl. But first I must fetch our horse, who I had instructed to wait just beyond the bridge.”

Gimli gave a gruff harrumph. “It will serve that nuisance of a beast if he gets devoured by the night-creatures.”

Legolas chuckled at this and shook his head, but Nasseryn frowned. “If what remains of the fell creatures of the dark wood can venture so close to our palace without raising an alarm, then I shall give our brother a sound beating.”

“Forgive Gimli his jest, thêl, he and Arod have a somewhat… lively history. And our warriors are as watchful as ever; we did not encounter a single spider or blood bat on our journey through the wood. Edendor is a very capable Captain.”

“I know; I myself chose him as my successor, though Ada was keen on Derinsul taking the post, as if the Heir does not have enough to do.” She placed her hands on the armrests of the chair and stood up slowly. “I think I shall come with you for some air, if you can suffer a blind hindrance.”

He gently took her arm and covered her smaller hand with his. “In all my life you have never been a hindrance, muinthel; you are too old to start now.” He turned to Gimli. “Will you excuse us, my friend?”

“Of course,” Gimli replied, despite suddenly feeling apprehensive about being left alone in a nest of Elves. But he could not begrudge his friend some time alone with his sister. He watched them leave, Nasseryn automatically pulling up her hood with one hand whilst the other seemed to be clutching on to Legolas for dear life. Gimli noticed that the other Elves in the room were casting surreptitious glances at Nasseryn as they passed. In their eyes he saw pity, with a hint of fear, and knew that Nasseryn could sense it. It irked him, knowing how a true warrior would abhor pity, but he was a mere guest in their King’s hall. So focused on them was the Dwarf that he did not notice said King until Thranduil was almost before him.

“That is the first I have heard my eldest daughter laugh since her sight was taken from her,” he said quietly, his gaze also fixed on the two as they disappeared out the door. “For that alone I would offer you a chest of gold from my treasure room for when you depart.”

Gimli inclined his head, though he was inwardly puzzled at the sudden warmth in Thranduil’s demeanor, marked contrast from his cold indifference of before. “My thanks, Lord King, but I have all the gold I could ever desire,” he replied, patting a small pouch nestled in an inner pocket of his under-tunic.

This earned him a most surprised look from Thranduil. “A Dwarf refusing gold? And I thought I had seen all that could be seen in these later days. I fear I might start treating you as I would a Hobbit.”

The comment made Gimli smile. “Then you honour me beyond my worth, your Majesty.”

Once again those intense eyes bore into him, and Gimli had the feeling that he was not turning out to be what Thranduil had expected. “Will you at least accept my hospitality? I have readied a room for your use next to Legolas’, and will take you there presently if you have no further business to attend to.”

Gimli bowed low. “Your hospitality I shall gladly accept, with many thanks. But you need not trouble yourself on my account, Lord; just give me directions, or instruct a servant to lead me.”

“It is no trouble, for that is the way to my chambers also.”

The Dwarf nodded, then thought of something. “There is something you might provide me with, your Majesty, if there is any within your keeping.”

Thranduil frowned. “Something you wish over gold? What is it?”

“Actually, I would take a good tanker of ale and hearty meal over any amount of gold. But I was wondering if you have any pipe-weed. Your son has managed to dispose of even my emergency stash. He has never taken a liking to the smell.”

The King’s ringing laughter drew a few startled eyes from the handful of Elves remaining in the hall, and it occurred to Gimli then that Thranduil was, well, young. Certainly he had seen a handful of generations of Dwarves, many more of Men, but of all the Elven rulers Gimli had met, the King of Eryn Lasgalen seemed to be the youngest. He held that unmistakable aura of power, but where Lord Elrond and Lord Celeborn carried a measure of solemnity and wisdom beyond the grasp of mortals, King Thranduil thrummed with life and vigour, displaying a quicksilver change of mood. The Dwarf remembered Nasseryn claiming to have a temperamental nature, and felt sure that she must have inherited that from her father.

“And here I thought it was some rare jewel. Few Elves enjoy the scent of burning leaves, but we do have a small store for our visiting Dale-men, and over the years Aragorn and Mithrandir have taken to leaving small amounts for when they visit. But your words have reminded me that I have much to be desired as a host, for I have not even fed you yet! As you will not take gold, I must heap as much ale and food on you as you can take. Tomorrow night there shall be a feast to mark my son’s safe return, and you shall be a guest of honour.”

“My thanks again, Lord King.”

“Tell me, Gimli, how long do you think you shall be staying within my halls?”

“A few weeks, perhaps as long as a month if that is acceptable to you, my Lord.”

“You may stay for as long as you wish, Master Dwarf, and on the morrow I shall give you what news has come to us from Erebor.”

“Then I say you are gracious host indeed, my King.”

After their little exchange Gimli felt slightly more comfortable around Thranduil, though seeing how suddenly the Elvenking’s behaviour had changed, he was quite sure that he was not beyond suspicion yet. And there was still the matter of the rest of the Kingdom.

But it was Thranduil’s question that sent a tendril of worry through Gimli. He missed his home and his people, but somehow he had not really considered the fact that he would be leaving Legolas behind when he continued on. His heart grew heavy once more, though he kept his face cheerful as Thranduil led the way to his room, where Legolas would later call through the adjoining wooden door and invite Gimli to see his own chambers. His mind told him that his friend would be safe amongst family and the woods he grew up in, and may eventually find healing there, but his heart suspected that, as Nasseryn had divined, there was no healing for Legolas, not even here, and leaving him alone would only worsen the grip of the Sea-longing.

He thought of the brilliant hallways of the Lonely Mountain, the glorious waterfalls and streams of the River, the constant hammering that echoed throughout the carved passages that always seemed to him like the heartbeat of Arda itself.

And he thought also of giant trees able to bear the weight of many telain, and Time itself, it seemed. He thought of the gentle sighing of leaves and the singing of a cool river that bore the name of an Elf-maiden long lost to obscurity. And in the centre was an ageless face framed by tresses that captured the very heart of the Sun.

So intent had Gimli been on aiding his friend that he had managed to forget his own heart’s wound. But memory brought pain and sadness, and he knew that he, too, would never be healed in all his days on Middle-Earth.

telain – plural for talan 

I will only translate a few Sindarin words used in this story, because it’s hardly fair for the reader to understand everything that’s being said when Gimli can’t, right? *winks*