8.  Mending Fences

 

 

 

Gimli reined his pony to a halt at the border of the forest and peered along the wooded path before him.  A few more steps, and he would be under its eaves, traveling in the same place where his father had come to grief so many years before.  Glóin had never been able to face the idea of going through Mirkwood again, and because of his father’s reluctance, Gimli had traveled around the northern border during his move to Erebor and then again on his journey to the house of Elrond.  But this was no longer Mirkwood, he reminded himself.  It was – what was the name that appeared in the Elvenking’s letters? – it was Eryn Lasgalen now, the Wood of Green Leaves, no longer under the Shadow that had darkened Glóin’s first encounter with the Wood-elves.

 

He took a deep breath and continued along the path, below the branches, reminding himself that he came invited, with at least one friend who would greet him with welcome rather than indifference or hostility.  Though the heavy snowdrifts soon dwindled to a light dusting, the forest did not look nearly as dark as Glóin had described it.  Certainly, it seemed lighter and more wholesome than Fangorn.  Gimli supposed that this was at least partially because it was winter, and the thick canopy of leaves had fallen from the trees. 

 

But he remembered the tales of fire.  His father’s friend Bifur had told him that, when Mirkwood had burned, the smoke could be seen in Erebor.   Thorin III had been astounded when Thranduil’s messenger had arrived bearing a letter of greeting and celebratory gifts of fur and leather.  He had been less astonished by the friendly tone of the greeting than by the implication that the Wood-elves had, in fact, survived the great fire.

 

Gimli chuckled to himself at the improbability of his current situation.  The facts of the War had caused both Elves and Dwarves to reconsider their relationship somewhat.  A year ago, Gimli had bristled at the thought of spending weeks of travel in the company of a Wood-elf.  And now, not only was he traveling to the very cavern where his father had been held prisoner so many years earlier, he was actually looking forward to the visit, and to seeing his friend again.  And, to complete the strange picture, he was whistling as he went.

 

He whistled a phrase, then drew in a breath.  Before he could continue, a light voice sang the answering phrase back to him.  Gimli halted his pony and looked around, a smile spreading across his face as he recognized the voice.

 

“I know that song,” Legolas said from somewhere above Gimli’s head.

 

Gimli peered into the branches and spied Legolas crouching on a limb above the path, slightly ahead of Gimli.  He grinned at the Dwarf.  “You sang it at the Yule celebration in Imladris.”

 

Gimli smiled.  “I am surprised that you remember it.  That was long before you had any interest in my people’s ways.”

 

“I made sure to remember everything about the Yule feast.  It was the last time of joy before we set out.”  Legolas dropped down from the tree, his long legs easily taking up the shock of landing.  He crossed the distance between himself and Gimli in a few strides.  “Welcome, my friend,” he said happily, and allowed Gimli to wrap him in a strong embrace.

 

“It is good to see you again,” Gimli said, when he released Legolas.  “I had not expected you to come personally to escort me into your father’s realm.”

 

“Who better?” Legolas laughed.  “I am able to go out with this border patrol, and my father and his advisors deemed it best that I be the one to greet Thorin’s representative.  I had hoped it would be you.”

 

Gimli nodded.  “As you yourself have said, who better?”

 

“True.”  Legolas glanced at Gimli’s sturdy pony, which carried two saddlebags to supplement the pack that Gimli bore on his shoulders.  “Is that all the baggage you have brought?  If we need not wait for another pony, then we may continue on our way to the delvings.”

 

“This is everything,” Gimli said.  “I have brought treaty drafts from Thorin and a few items for trade – nothing important, understand, they are mostly a show of good faith.  But there is one item that I wish you to see now, before we go any further along this path.” 

 

Swiftly, Gimli shrugged off his pack and opened it.  He removed an item carefully wrapped in a scrap of wool and packed on top so that it would not be damaged.  He placed it in Legolas’s hands.  Legolas pulled back the wrapping, and his breath caught when he saw the object inside.  After a moment, he looked at Gimli, his eyes shining.

 

“Oh, Gimli,” he breathed.  “You are a marvel.  This cannot be a trade item.”

 

“No,” Gimli said.  “It is a personal gift.  Your letter moved me to create it.  If it helps to smooth this diplomatic encounter, then that is well and good, but it was never intended as anything other than a gift.”

 

Legolas carefully replaced the wrapping and handed the object back to Gimli.  “I will ensure that you have an opportunity to present it, then.  I think it will be very well received.”

 

“Good.  Then let us be underway.”

 

Legolas led the way through the forest, locating the narrow paths seemingly without effort among the snow and underbrush.  Gimli took advantage of the opportunity to study the forest. 

 

It was old, he decided, but not nearly so venerable as Fangorn or as timeless as Lothlórien.  Gimli did not feel that this forest was preserved; rather, it was a place of both death and renewal.  That thought reassured him a little.  He could understand it better than the strange, beautiful stasis of the other forests.  Fangorn sheltered the Ents, so ancient and slow that Gimli could not begin to fathom their thoughts.  Lothlórien held the Lady, one whom he would always love fiercely, but from a distance, as the roughest coal miner might love the wife of Durin himself.  Mirkwood – no, Eryn Lasgalen now – was the home of Legolas, with whom he could laugh and debate endlessly until the sun rose, a valiant warrior who nevertheless became mildly nauseous at the smell of pipeweed.

 

“The settlement is not far away,” Legolas said suddenly.

 

Gimli looked up, startled from his reverie.  Then he remembered his position as Thorin’s ambassador.  “Is there anything I should know before we reach it?” he asked.  “I do not wish to make an ill impression upon the Elvenking.”

 

Legolas smiled.  “I think you will not,” he said.  “You have proved yourself courteous and gracious.  My father is expecting polite discourse, and he will be pleased when I announce your identity.  I have told him much about you, and I think he is well disposed towards you.”

 

Gimli had known Legolas long enough to tell that there was more to come.  “But?” he said.  “That is not all that you have to say on this matter.”

 

“No.  It is not.”  Legolas’s smile faded, and his expression grew serious.  “My father is well disposed towards you,” he said, “but that does not hold true for everyone you will meet.  Many have never met a Dwarf, or remember only the Battle of Five Armies.  They may not be so kindly, and you will have to win them to you.  And there are those among my people who do not like Dwarves at all.  My father’s seneschal Luindil is one of those, and you will most likely meet him today.”

 

“I see.”  Gimli stroked his beard thoughtfully.  “And what would you advise me to do with Luindil?”

 

“Be polite and courteous, but do not push him.  He will respect you as a foreign embassy, but do not expect any more kindness than that.  This meeting will be difficult enough for him.”

 

Gimli nodded, sobered.  He had heard Legolas speak of Luindil with great affection, and he did not want to antagonize someone his friend cared about so deeply.  He hoped that he would be able to avoid that, though now it seemed much more difficult than he had anticipated.

 

 

 

They crossed the wooden bridge, and Gimli beheld the large, ornately carved wooden doors that led into the halls of the Elvenking.  The guards at the doors bowed, and the doors opened without apparent aid.  A thrill went up Gimli’s spine.  Glóin had spoken truly; these were indeed magical doors.  He dismounted, and two Elves approached, speaking in their own dialect.  Legolas listened to them and turned to Gimli.

 

“They will house your pony in our stables and bear your belongings to the chamber prepared for you,” he said.  “You will be free to inspect either place after you have met with my father.”

 

The Elves led Gimli’s pony away, and Legolas escorted him through the entrance halls.  Despite his nervousness, Gimli could not help admiring the delicacy of the walls, carved with filigreed arches clearly meant to represent trees.  Whoever had created these caves had had some skill; they were well ventilated, and the air was fresh and sweet.

 

Legolas stopped before another set of elaborately carved doors and pulled a rope that hung beside them.  Gimli heard a bell ring on the other side.  Slowly, the doors swung open, revealing the Great Hall, where King Thranduil waited to receive him.  The Elvenking sat on a carved wooden chair, smaller than Gimli had expected, upon a low dais.  He was robed in deep green, and a crown of holly and evergreen was upon his head.  A tall attendant stood beside the chair, and Gimli guessed that this must be Luindil.  Both Elves regarded him neutrally.

 

Legolas strode forward.  “My Lord,” he said in the Common Tongue, “It is my honor to present Gimli, son of Glóin, embassy of Thorin III, King of the Dwarves of Erebor, who seeks audience.” 

 

Gimli took a deep breath, marched up to the dais and bowed low.  “Gimli, son of Glóin, at your service,” he said, enunciating each word.

 

The Elvenking graciously inclined his head.  “Thranduil, son of Oropher, at yours and your family’s.”

 

Gimli straightened, surprised to hear Thranduil’s words. 

 

Thranduil raised an eyebrow.  “That is the proper response, is it not?”

 

“It is, your Majesty,” Gimli said.  “I had not expected you to know it.”

 

Thranduil smiled at him.  “I have been extensively tutored,” he said, gesturing at Legolas.  Legolas blushed a little, and Gimli and Thranduil both laughed.  Much of Gimli’s nervousness drained away, though he could still feel Luindil’s eyes upon him.

 

“I bear greetings from Thorin III, King Under the Mountain,” Gimli said.  “He greets you as one Lord to his fellow, and sends his wish that the Mountain and the Wood might draw a lesson from their respective victories in battle, and forge an alliance that will stand both parties in good stead in the Age to come.”

 

Thranduil nodded.  “It is a laudable goal, though it will not be easy to overcome the obstacles that stand before it.  However, the Elves of Eryn Lasgalen stand ready to consider Thorin’s proposals.”

 

“I have brought drafts of proposed treaties with me, and I also bear letters granting me authority to treat with Eryn Lasgalen on behalf of the Mountain.  I also bear certain small items for trade, as a show of Erebor’s riches.”

 

“That is kind of you.”  Thranduil glanced at Legolas and at Luindil.  “Then I propose that we begin negotiations tomorrow morning, when you have refreshed yourself after your journey.  Do you require anything else before then?”

 

Gimli took a deep breath.  “Yes, my Lord,” he said.  “I request a meeting with one Faron, son of Neldorín.  I bear a personal message for him.”

 

Luindil’s breath hitched, and his eyes widened.  Thranduil went completely still, and his eyes bored into Gimli.  Gimli nearly took a step backward, but caught himself and held his ground.

 

“Faron is a very small child, Master Gimli,” Thranduil said.  “Are you certain that he is the one you wish to see?”

 

“He is.”

 

Luindil bent down and spoke in a low voice into Thranduil’s ear, too softly for Gimli to make out what he said.  Thranduil frowned, then responded equally quietly.  The debate continued for a few moments, and Gimli felt his heart begin to sink.  At his side, Legolas bent down and whispered in his ear.

 

“ It is an unusual request, and Luindil is concerned for Faron’s safety.  Do not be offended; they would have the same concerns if it had been Aragorn who had asked.”

 

Gimli was not entirely sure he believed that, especially about Luindil, but he held his tongue.  Legolas straightened and approached the dais.

 

“My Lords,” he said.  “I propose that the three of us accompany Gimli to see Faron.  I will vouch for his honest intent, and you may witness it yourselves as well.”

 

Thranduil glanced at Luindil and nodded.  “That would appear to be the best solution,” he said, and rose from his chair.  “Come.  We will go to the house of Neldorín now, without delay.”

 

 

 

Thranduil, Luindil, and Legolas escorted Gimli through the network of swaying walkways suspended in the trees.  Gimli held tightly to the side ropes and willed himself not to look down.  Something wobbled beneath his feet, and he grimaced.  At least the Elves could see that he posed no threat to Faron here in the treetops. 

 

The party stopped at one of the tree houses, and Luindil knocked on the door.  An Elf opened it, and his mouth fell open with surprise.

 

“Greetings, Neldorín,” Thranduil said lightly.  “May I present Gimli, son of Glóin, embassy of Erebor.  He wishes to visit Faron.”

 

Neldorín stared at the party for a moment in shock.  Then he turned to Legolas and spoke rapidly in his own tongue.  Gimli realized that Thranduil had addressed Neldorín in the Common Tongue primarily for his benefit.  Neldorín did not appear to be well versed in the Common Tongue, and Gimli wondered how he would communicate with the child.

 

Legolas appeared to have satisfied enough of Neldorín’s initial curiosity, and Neldorín ushered them inside the tree house.  Gimli eased his pack from his shoulders as Neldorín called into the other room.  A slender Elf-woman appeared, her brown hair twisted into a knot at the nape of her neck.  A little hand clutched her gray linen skirt, but the rest of the child was hidden.

 

“This is Arasiel, Neldorín’s wife,” Legolas said.  “Faron seems to be a little shy at the moment.”

 

Gimli bowed deeply.  “I am honored to meet you, Arasiel,” he said.  “I come from Erebor, and I bear a gift for your son.”

 

Legolas translated Gimli’s words to Arasiel.  She nodded and knelt down, revealing a small child with a mop of brown curls.  Faron peered anxiously at Gimli as Arasiel spoke softly to him.  Neldorín glanced dubiously at Gimli, but held his peace.  Finally, Arasiel prodded Faron, and Faron turned to look at Gimli, both captivated and terrified by his long beard.  Gimli opened his pack and retrieved the item he had shown Legolas.

 

“I heard that you lost something dear to you in the fire,” Gimli said, and waited for Legolas to translate.  Legolas nodded, and Gimli continued.  “I have also heard that you have been a very brave little boy, and so I have come all the way from the Lonely Mountain with a present for you.”  He offered Faron the package.  Faron glanced at his mother, and Arasiel nodded to him.

 

Faron hesitated only a moment before he took the present from Gimli’s hands and opened the wrapping, revealing a shiny new tin cup.  For a moment, his mouth was perfectly round with surprise, and then he squealed with delight.  He chattered rapidly to Arasiel and Neldorín, alternately waving the tin cup before him and clutching it to his chest.  Neldorín laughed, as much with relief as with joy.  Arasiel caught Faron’s arm and whispered in his ear.  Faron flung his arms around Gimli, burrowing into the thick beard.

 

Gimli patted the child’s back and looked up to see the Elves trading expressions of relief and pleasure.  Legolas grinned at him.  “That was well done, Gimli,” he said.  “You have made a friend here.”

 

Faron lifted up a corner of Gimli’s beard and held it to his own face, earning laughter from his parents.  Neldorín bowed to Gimli and spoke haltingly in the Common Tongue.

 

“I thank you, Gimli Dwarf,” he said slowly.  “Faron, he have tin cup before, love much.  Destroy in fire, he mourn cup.  Now, new cup, thank Gimli Dwarf.”

 

Gimli bowed in return, detached Faron from his beard, and handed him back to Neldorín.  Faron squealed and waved his cup.  Arasiel fetched a pitcher of water and filled the cup, then they all sat and watched as Faron drank the water, his bright eyes shining over the rim.  Arasiel then offered food and drink to the visiting adults, but Thranduil declined the offer.

 

“We arrived unannounced, and Arasiel and Neldorín may not have the means to prepare dinner for all of us at the moment,” Legolas explained.  “However, I think that you will be invited to dine with them ere you leave here.”

 

“You will come with me, I hope?  They do not appear to have much command of languages other than Elvish, and I have as yet mastered only a few words of that tongue.”

 

“I will come with you,” Legolas said.  Then, an impish smile spread across his face.  “Of course, it would be amusing to send you alone . . . but then I would not be able to see the fun.”

 

Gimli rolled his eyes at that but did not have time to answer back.  Thranduil was conferring with Luindil, and the two of them rose and spoke to Neldorín and Arasiel in formal tones.  Legolas stood as well, and Gimli followed suit, realizing that they were about to take their leave of the couple.  Neldorín and Arasiel both bowed deeply to Gimli, thanking him for his kindness.  Faron attached himself to Gimli’s side, and Arasiel had to pry him away.

 

So they left the tree house and set off along the walkways again.  Gimli found it easier to navigate them now that he was prepared for their motion, and he was able to pay more attention to his hosts.

 

“Faron was quite taken with you,” Thranduil observed.  “He has never seen a creature with a beard before.”

 

Gimli remembered the times he had spent in Lake Town, where the children had stared, unable to disguise their curiosity at one who was not much taller than they were, yet who sported such a luxurious growth of beard.  He had felt their eyes boring into him, singling him out as one who was to be watched.  And yet, for all that Faron was a Wood-elf, Gimli found that he had enjoyed that child’s clinging, exploratory approach.  Given a choice, Gimli realized that he preferred to be thought of as a toy rather than as an oddity. 

 

“Faron is a charming child,” he said.  “I am honored to have met him.  I do not believe I have yet encountered Elf-children.  This will be a tale to be passed down through my House, how a Dwarf was permitted to hold a child of the Elves.”

 

Legolas snorted.  “I will be sure to tell Arasiel that you said that.  It will surely amuse her when she is trying to keep this legendary child clean and out of trouble.”

 

Gimli would have laughed at that image if he had not been concentrating on not falling off the walkway.  But he did manage to glimpse up at his companions.  Luindil had not said a word since they had left the tree house.  But Gimli noticed that the tight set of his shoulders had eased just a little, and a small smile played at the corner of his mouth.