Chapter X: On His Own

"Those were happier days, when there was still close friendship at times between folk of different race, even between Elves and Dwarves."
- Gandalf, A Journey in the Dark

Gimli opened his eyes to greet the following morn. White. White? Overnight, a flat whiteness had replaced the ceiling, and his hands found the sheets down on his waist. Alarm coursed through him. He blinked. His eyes refocused, and half of a cirth rune materialised before his left eye. He scrunched up his face, and felt his uplifted cheek hit the edge of a sheet of paper.

A strong huff lifted the paper into the air, and he promptly snatched it. It read, in Legolas’ smooth hand,

I promise to return within three days. Apologies again for leaving you on your own, and I have given strict instructions to the guards to make sure that you are left alone. I daresay Nasseryn will welcome your company.

Stay out of trouble.

And could you please visit Arod? It will hearten him to see a familiar face.

Grumbling under his breath about Elves and their apparent greater thought for their horses than for their comrades, Gimli changed into his day-clothes. Due to Legolas’ rather rambunctious wake-up call the previous day, he had not had much of an opportunity to examine his guest-room. He took a chance to do so, The source of light captured his attention first.

At night, he had used the torch right outside his door to light the lamps in his room. The consistently cool temperature inside suggested that there were unseen vents in the rock allowing air to circulate, but now he saw that light also seeped in through narrow openings in four corners of the chamber. Gimli stood under one and peered up into it. He knew that he must be quite deep within the Mountain, and wondered how outside light could travel so far. To his surprise, he saw that the light was being reflected off of a smooth surface that acted like a looking-glass. It seemed quite a clever construction; he had initially assumed that small passages had been burrowed through the hard rock, but with the use of well-placed reflective surfaces, several rooms could be illuminated by one larger opening. He made a mental note to check the level of brightness of the incoming light at different times during the day, but felt sure that the builders would have taken into account the passage of the Sun through the sky when they had set up the ingenious system.

His mind was filled with thoughts of underground architecture, Gimli made his way to break his fast. He sat in the periphery of the eating-hall with the light cakes, baked apple and thin slices of smoked ham that were the morning’s fare. It was perhaps this mental preoccupation that saved him from being overly discomfited by the constant glances being cast his way. A few Elves he recognised from the feast, Boronlach among them, stopped by and courteously greeted him.

As he finished his last slice of ham, Gimli decided that it was a good thing for him to be seen for a time without Legolas at his side. He was an unofficial representative of his people, and needed to appear to be more than his friend’s shadow; he had not forgotten being called Legolas’ ‘pet’. Feeling less apprehensive about the whole matter than he had yesterday, the Dwarf thanked the servers clearing up his empty dishes and set out to have a look around Thranduil’s underground threshold, his thoughts returning to matters of construction.

~*~

Mirkwood must have taken a long time to build, thought Gimli as he carefully examined the decorations on the walls and ceiling in one of the hallways.

The stone-work was unlike anything he had ever seen before- a strange mixture of Dwarven architecture and Elven craftsmanship. The same workmanship was evident throughout the underground structure, and Gimli wandered for a bit until he came upon this relatively isolated hallway where he could get a feel of the stone without being disturbed.

The children of Aulë had a very intimate connection with Arda, especially the domain of their maker. All Dwarves, for example, could discern the difference between the grumblings of an earthquake and the collapsing of a single shaft deep inside a mine. It was not just a matter of sound; they were tied to the bones of Arda as the Elves were connected with the trees and the soil. Though neither race will appreciate the comparison, the Dwarf thought wryly. In his youth, Gimli had watched the Dwarven elders use any number of techniques to 'read' stone: running their hands repeatedly over it, tapping delicately with a metal stick whilst pressing their ear against it, even chipping off a fragment and tasting it. Gimli was no Master Miner or Searcher; his axe had hewn more Orc-necks than stone or wood. In the realm of masonry and building, he was usually content to just stand back and appreciate the skill and beauty of the final product.

Remembering a childish habit, he furtively looked around to make sure that the hallway was empty save for himself, then closed his eyes. With slow, measures steps he traversed the length of the hallway, the beat of his boots echoing against the carved walls.

With his eyes closed, he relaxed his mind, and tentatively reached out towards the stone with more than his hands. He saw…

A younger mountain, if mountains could ever be considered young. The air was different, and the whole area swarmed with both Dwarves and Elves. They weren't particularly friendly towards each other, but there had been an informal truce through the duration of their work, upon which a grudging respect grew on both sides as their work forced them into a shallow level of familiarity; after all, prejudice and misconceptions bred best in ignorance and isolation. The echoes of the million and one arguments of those workers and craftsmen still reverberated, locked in the quiet, patient soul of stone.

Had they bantered about the smallest details, like Legolas and he? Did a Dwarf ever side with an Elf, or vice versa, against their own kin because they acknowledged truth when they saw it, and placed it above the blood they happened to be born with?

Without opening his eyes, he focused on his hands where skin made contact with stone. With one hand he traced the image of a spring flower, frozen forever in mid-bloom. His mind’s eye saw a faceless Elf drawing the initial design, then showing it to a Dwarf, who would have adjusted it a little to suit the grain of the rock. Very likely the two had debated endlessly over it, down to the direction of the petals and the arc of the stem. But the existence of the image, and the fact that it had survived the centuries between its making and Gimli’s gentle perusal, meant that at one point Elf and Dwarf had reached an agreement, and their combined efforts produced this enduring work of art, nearly as real as a living flower.

And it is only one bloom, in an endless carving that covers the entire palace.

"I wish to thank you, Master Dwarf, for bringing my son home."

The unexpected voice caused him jump, and he spun on his heel to look towards Thranduil. "Legolas came home of his own will, o King- I merely accompanied him," he quickly answered, his sharp eyes noticing immediately that the Thranduil was alone.

Thranduil nodded. As if guessing what Gimli had been doing- how long had he been watching?- those bright eyes looked speculatively at the carved rock. "Few ever notice it, and even those who remember seldom speak of it." At Gimli's puzzled expression the Elf-King continued, "Elf and Dwarf, working together to build this place. It was a very long time ago, when Sauron was but the shadow of a greater evil.” His expression became unreadable. “Legolas questioned me about these carvings as soon as he was old enough to grasp their meaning."

Gimli fought to stand still when the King’s penetrative gaze landed on him. “I see a weakness in my son that was not there before. He is no longer entirely of the wood; some other song has laid claim on the Greenleaf. What say you to this, Master Dwarf?"

Legolas' pale face, eyes glazed as if he were merely in gentle repose, drifted past Gimli's mind. "The Quest changed all of the Fellowship, your Majesty.”

"Your friendship comforts him.” Thranduil said, a strange accusatory note in his words.

"As his friendship comforts me. We have been through many dangers,"

"You almost speak like an Elf, Master Dwarf."

And you speak too much like one; make clear your point! Gimli nearly blurted out. The effort of halting the words nearly bloodied his tongue.

Thranduil frowned, and Gimli had a moment of fear in which he realised the the King could very well have the Lady’s ability to read minds. "Do you remember these woods when the Shadow still lay upon them, Master Dwarf? Your own father would remind you of it, if you do not recall your hurried passage through on your way to Rivendell but two years past. An unnatural darkness soaking up the light, kept in bay only by the presence of my people. There were nights when folk feared their own shadows, and days would pass without a single ray of sun. The shadow from Dol Guldor searched for any weakness, any gap in our guard. Our Silvan kin who have dwelt in these woods since time out of mind consented to having Sindar rulers to unite them against the shadow, for we had a greater knowledge and power concerning such things, but in return they required for us to be strong. The darkness has taught us to be cautious out of necessity. The Silvan have retained their forest for ages uncounted by being wary, and distrusting strangers on their land. I may be King, Gimli, but without a common Enemy of old I now must find a balance between the… the different ways of thinking, amongst my people.”

Gimli blinked, his thoughts racing. Was Thranduil, in a very oblique and round-about way, actually apologizing? “This distrust of strangers runs true for many of my people as well, your Majesty,” he settled for saying. “Dwarves have an overwhelming greed for wealth and treasure, and assume that other Races do as well. Allegiances are strongest between kindred. It is no surprise, amongst us, that a King and his officials would come from the same great family. Yet such attitudes have ensured the survival of our people, Elvenking.”

A thoughtful silence descended between them. Thranduil finally gave a soft sigh. His eyes softened. "But the Shadow is gone; the wood befits its new name. Perhaps there is hope yet. Perhaps the Greenleaf will remind us all of a time when the wood was free."

"I thought that he was born after the darkness appeared,” said Gimli with a frown.

Sadness flickered past Thranduil's face. "He was, but the wood loves him best, and even in his youth he listened to their songs of a better time. Many of the old trees were destroyed over the course of our battle against the Shadow, but mayhap he can remind the forest of the old songs."

Gimli remembered his friend’s face when they first stepped within the boundaries of the Elven-realm. I never knew, never imagined it being truly what the songs declared.

“Will you tell me something, Master Gimli?” Thranduil said softly, eyes growing intent once more. “Will you explain to me why Dinimlad hates my son so?” Unspoken went the words: I know you know. I saw in your eyes in the throne room, you were there.

For several heartbeats, Gimli’s eyes remained fastened on the stone flower that he had been examining earlier.

Do you remember those two months after the Council, Legolas? Secret the Council may have been, but it seemed nearly all of Rivendell knew that the Master was deciding on whom to send on a most dangerous venture, even if they did not know the specifics of it. At first my father was angered, thinking that Lord Elrond would simply send a troop of Elves to escort young Master Baggins to Mordor and back, leaving the Dwarves on the outside, as what happens in many Elven plans. It took Gandalf to assure him that our party would not be forgotten.

Then the whisper started that, instead of someone from his household, Lord Elrond had selected an Elf of Mirkwood to go with the Fellowship. In fact, the Master spoke to Legolas and I together. We were arguing about some petty matter in the garden, and so intent were we in our discussion that it was not until he cleared his throat that we realised he was there.

Hm. Now that I think back on it, Legolas, do you suppose the reason he selected both of us was because he saw that we would get along so well?

Surely not.

So I was quite surprised when another Elf of the delegation from Mirkwood began quietly boasting that he was the one so chosen. I imagine Legolas had assumed that Lord Elrond had privately spoken to Dînimlad as well, and had told him of his selection at the end of it, which he had not done with us. After this, I assumed that I had not been chosen, and felt quite relieved, for I did not like Dînimlad’s look even then. He seemed to have too much pride, even for an Elf.

It turned out that Lord Elrond had spoken only to Legolas and Dînimlad amongst the Mirkwood Elves, and Legolas had kept the meeting to himself. I Dînimlad had assumed that the son of Thranduil had known of Lord Elrond’s choice beforehand and had kept silent in order to mock him behind his back. It is something that he would do, I think, to a hated rival; it would not occur to him that one would keep quiet so as not to embarrass him, though he did that very well on his own.

“O King, I believe I would be doing Legolas a disservice if I were to tell you of the tale ‘ere he is able to,” the Dwarf replied quietly. “It concerns me not at all, and involves his honour.”

Thranduil’s eyes remained on him for several moments more. In a breezy, casual tone he said, “Dinimlad comes from an old, noble House of the Sindar, distantly related to mine, and he has seen two Ages of this world. I have known him all my life, and though he can be a sage and determined Counsellor, in his heart he holds himself higher than those who do not match him in experience and wealth of years. It is a not very well-kept secret that his family had equal right to the Greenwood throne when our Sindar host immigrated from Menegroth, and could have claimed the Crown had his father, the lord of their house then, felt no desire for kingship and was very loyal to Oropher.”

“I do not doubt that he served you and your people to the best of his ability these many years, your Majesty. Yet some simply do not… perform as well as they normally do, when taken outside their usual element.”

Thranduil inclined his head. “I see that, despite the history between our families, we understand one another very well, son of Glóin. And so I shall risk saying a thing that may rouse your formidable anger, in the hopes that you may forgive a father only concerned about his youngest son.” The Elvenking bent a little so that he was looking Gimli directly in the eye, and before the Dwarf’s eyes he seemed to shrink a little in stature. Still a regal King, yet at the same time only a father.

“Understand, Master Gimli, that as long as I dwell here you will ever find welcome in my halls. You have been a great companion to my youngest son, and have succoured him when he was far from home and family. For that, you have my eternal thanks.

“Yet I am his father, and though you two went to admirable lengths to hide it, I have seen his distress and deduced that which ails him- the only affliction that can still torment an Elf, now when even the darkness that had lain in our woods for longer than he has been living has been lifted. My heart quails at the thought of losing my Greenleaf, the last child my beloved wife brought forth into the world ‘ere she was taken from us. And so… I would ask, with gratitude in my heart, that you not tarry overlong here before returning to your own home east of the wood.”

So unexpected was the request that Gimli could only stare, all thought processes skidding to a sudden halt. “But… he has need of me!” was the most coherent statement that his mind could assemble.

Thranduil’s face was compassionate and understanding, yet his eyes were stern, and the Dwarf could almost feel the steel wall of his will looming behind his eyes. “Your loyalty becomes you, son of Glóin,” the Elf said quietly. “But has it not occurred to you that you remind him of that which he is trying to escape? That through you, he remembers the call of the gulls, the smell of salt, the roaring, rolling white thunder?”

The Elvenking gave a shudder, as if remembering something entirely unpleasant. “In this place, Master Dwarf- the verdant forest of his life’s first song- you are his last connection to the Sea.”