9.  The Wood And The Mountain

 

 

 

Gimli found negotiations with the Wood-elves to be much more challenging than he had anticipated.  He had never deceived himself that he would be able to build a bridge between the two peoples in a day, but he realized that there was much about the Elves that he had not fully considered.  Among them were Thranduil’s age and the length of his memory.  Events that were ancient history to Gimli remained alive in Thranduil’s memory and still influenced his thoughts.  And, as if that were not enough, Luindil was even older, and remembered the court of Thingol clearly.  In the face of such age, Gimli struggled to keep the conversation focused on the present and the recent past.

 

Gimli made sure to keep his expression pleasantly neutral as he faced Thranduil across a table in one of Thranduil’s strategy chambers.  “They are venerable elders of Erebor, my Lord,” he said.  “You must understand that the honor of the surviving companions of Thorin Oakenshield is as much a part of my people’s life as the respect we pay to the current King Under the Mountain.  And the companions of Thorin Oakenshield require compensation for their treatment in your halls.”

 

Thranduil regarded Gimli coolly.  “I have offered to send letters of apology.  Do they require compensation in goods as well?”

 

“Dwarves are not Elves.  An Elf may subsist on beautifully arranged words, but a Dwarf requires substance.”

 

“They demand weregild from me, then.”

 

Gimli blinked, startled by Thranduil’s directness.  “Yes.  That is what they wish.  If they can be satisfied, they will use their influence to turn the will of Erebor towards friendship with Eryn Lasgalen.”

 

Thranduil conferred briefly with Luindil.  Gimli could not be certain, but he suspected that the two Elves were not in complete agreement.  Finally, Thranduil turned back to Gimli.  “I am not certain that we possess any goods that would satisfy them.  I have a small treasury, but your elders already possess more beautiful gems in Erebor.  Much of our wealth was destroyed, and we have not yet regained it.  I do not see how we could pay such a weregild as your elders would demand.”

 

Gimli shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  For many years, he had listened as Glóin and his former companions had debated the kind of compensation they wished from the Elvenking.  They had never reached a firm conclusion, because no one had ever believed that the Elvenking would ever consider offering such payment.  “They have always claimed that they wanted payment in keeping with their suffering,” Gimli offered.  As he spoke, he saw sparks flare in Luindil’s eyes, and he knew that he had made a mistake.

 

“In keeping with their suffering?” Luindil asked.  He leaned forward and stared directly at Gimli.  “What suffering shall we compensate?  The shares of Smaug’s treasure that they lost?  They lost none.  The lives they lost in the Battle of Five Armies?  We have more than paid that, life for life.  The time they spent in the delvings?  We gave up food from our own stores to feed them during that time when they would otherwise have starved in the forest.  Do not forget, they brought their imprisonment upon themselves by trespassing upon our folk!”

 

“Peace, Luindil.”  Thranduil laid a hand on Luindil’s arm, and Luindil sat back, his eyes still smoldering.  Gimli bit back the angry reply he had been about to make.  Thranduil noticed his effort and nodded in acknowledgement.  “My apologies, Gimli,” he said.  “My seneschal spoke in haste, though I admit that his words are not without merit.  If I could be certain which sufferings your elders would see repaid, I might be able to determine the best manner of payment.”

 

Gimli could think of no adequate response in that moment, and Thranduil sighed.  “The hour grows late,” he said, “and I think we have all grown weary of these negotiations.  Let us end our session for today, and resume tomorrow with fresh hearts.”

 

“That is an excellent idea,” Gimli said with relief.  He sat back and heaved a great sigh.  Thranduil nodded to Luindil, and Luindil rose from his seat, sketched a hasty bow, and left the room.  Gimli felt himself relaxing, and Thranduil smiled at him.

 

“I can see that Luindil’s presence agitates you,” Thranduil said.  “Nevertheless, you have remained remarkably collected, and I commend you for that.  If it would ease you, know that Luindil bears you no personal ill will.”

 

“Thank you,” Gimli said, puzzled.

 

Thranduil stood and bowed to Gimli, then left the negotiation chamber.  Gimli rubbed his eyes and considered what to do with himself.  As he was thinking, Legolas came in.

 

“Greetings,” he said.  “How did the negotiations go today?”

 

“We spent much time discussing appropriate restitution for the incident involving Thorin Oakenshield,” Gimli replied.  “There is no resolution in sight on that issue, I fear.  I confess that I dread the possibility of dredging up encounters from the more distant past.”

 

Legolas laughed a little at that.  “I believe that my father wishes to spend this time discussing the future rather than the distant past.”

 

“But Luindil may not.”  Gimli sighed.  “Your presence would have been most welcome today.”

 

“If it would please you, I will speak to my father about it,” Legolas said, “though I do not believe it will do much good.  Someone must carry out his daily tasks while he is occupied here, after all.  My father does not wish to involve me in the negotiations so that none can accuse him of allowing my personal friendship with you to influence the talks. Since I cannot attend them, I am the logical choice to handle the courts in his absence.”

 

That was true, and Gimli had accepted it, though it did not make the prospect of several days in the company of Thranduil and Luindil any less terrifying.  “You are correct, of course,” he said.  “I will content myself with spending time with you in the evenings.”

 

“I hope that you are hungry,” Legolas said, brightening.  “Neldorín and Arasiel have extended an invitation to us to join them for dinner this evening.  They are very curious about you.”

 

Gimli smiled at that.  Curiosity already seemed to be a vast improvement over suspicion and diplomatic remove.

 

 

 

An hour later, Legolas and Gimli approached their destination.  Gimli was pleased that he had managed to negotiate the walkways in the evening dark without incident.  “You are learning,” Legolas observed.  “Balance dwells in your knees; remember that, and you will soon walk through the trees as easily as we do.”

 

Gimli was able to concentrate on his knees for nearly half a minute as Legolas knocked at the door and greeted Arasiel when she opened it.  Then there was a shriek of “Gimli!” and Faron raced forward with his arms held out.  Arasiel grabbed at his collar, but her fingers closed on air as Faron leaped to embrace Gimli and examine the fascinating beard.  Gimli staggered under the unexpected force, but recovered quickly, laughing at his predicament.

 

“Surely this must be the only time an Elf has greeted a Dwarf so enthusiastically,” he said.  Legolas translated his remark to Arasiel, and they both laughed.  Arasiel bowed, and ushered them into the house, a gesture that needed no translation.  Neldorín was bringing bowls of fragrant stew to the table, but rushed to pry Faron away from Gimli.

 

“Faron, he like you,” Neldorín said with a smile.  “You be cautious, or you be – be –“ he consulted briefly with Legolas – “ new toy, yes, you be new toy of Faron.”

 

“Never!” Gimli cried, striking a pose of exaggerated defensiveness.  Faron dissolved into helpless giggles, and Neldorín gestured for them all to sit down to eat.

 

Gimli was astonished at how easily the meal progressed.  It was amazing, he thought, that conversation with two Elves who spoke almost none of the Common Tongue, and relied on Legolas to translate, should be so much easier than speaking freely with Thranduil and Luindil at the negotiation table.  Neldorín and Arasiel were very interested in Gimli’s plans to bring a contingent of Dwarves south to Gondor to repair the walls of Minas Tirith and settle near the Glittering Caves.  They asked many questions about Minas Tirith, the surrounding countryside, and Ithilien.

 

Gimli answered their questions as best he could.  At one point, Arasiel turned to Neldorín and began to confer with him in their own language.  Legolas took the opportunity and turned to Gimli.  “I have asked them to consider moving to Ithilien with me in the spring,” he explained.  “They are concerned about finding a safe place to raise Faron, and they are glad to hear another opinion of the land beside my own.”

 

Gimli considered that.  “Do you think I have managed to sway them one way or the other?”

 

“You have certainly begun to sway Arasiel.  She likes the idea of a wild land free of spiders and ash heaps.  Neldorín is still uncertain, however.”

 

Neldorín turned to Gimli again.  “I thank you for stories,” he said.  “Is much to think on.”

 

He rose to prepare a pot of tea.  Faron, having eaten his fill, slithered down from his chair and came to Gimli’s side, placing tiny hands on Gimli’s leg and looking up with a hopeful expression.  Gimli glanced at Arasiel for permission, then allowed Faron to climb onto his lap.  Faron leaned against him and buried his hands in Gimli’s beard.

 

When Neldorín came to pour the tea, he considered the sight of his son cuddled in the arms of a Dwarf, then said something to Legolas.  Legolas nodded and turned to Gimli.  “Neldorín is surprised at how much he likes you,” he said.  “His first encounter with Dwarves was at the Battle of Five Armies, and he has been wary of them ever since.  But you have begun to alter his views, especially since you have been so kind to Faron.”

 

Gimli smiled at that.  It was a measure of how much the Quest had affected him, he decided, that the easing of a Wood-elf’s heart should mean so much to him.

 

 

 

After they had visited for a while, Legolas and Gimli returned to the delvings.  Gimli felt himself in need of a pipe and some time to consider everything that he had seen and heard, so Legolas directed him to a sheltered pavilion, where he could sit away from the snow, and where his smoke would be less distressing than inside. 

 

Gimli seated himself on a sawn log, filled his pipe, and moved to lift a candle from the lantern to light it.  As he did so, he became aware that he was not alone, and looked around, his eyes wide with the effort to see in the darkness.  At last, he saw Luindil standing in a corner, his breath cloudy in the cold air, his eyes glittering in the lantern light.  For a moment, neither of them moved.

 

Then, Gimli noticed something that struck him with the force of a hammer blow.  It was subtle enough that, if Gimli had not spent so much time in the company of Elves recently, he would not have noticed it.  But the memory of his visit with Neldorín and Arasiel prompted him to look more closely at Luindil, and he saw something that he would never have expected from the seneschal of the Elvenking.  Luindil was afraid of him.

 

This was a new idea, and Gimli was not entirely certain what to do with it.  He puffed at his pipe, and then thought better of it.  “Does the smoke from my pipe disturb you?” he asked Luindil.  “I can extinguish it.”

 

Luindil blinked, as if he had not been expecting the question, then shook his head.  “Legolas told me that you have this habit,” he said.  “Mithrandir would sometimes come here to indulge when he visited us.”

 

Gimli took another puff, then turned his head to blow the smoke away from Luindil.  “You need not lurk in the darkness.  You are welcome to sit here with me.  I will endeavor not to blow my smoke at your face.”

 

Luindil remained where he was, watching Gimli silently.  Gimli took a deep breath, then ventured, “The Mountain means no harm to the Wood. . . and I mean no harm to you.”

 

At that, Luindil flowed silently from the shadow into the lamplight.  “Can you possibly understand?” he hissed.  “Have you any idea of the memories that the sight of you calls forth in me?  Of what I lost because of your kin?”

 

Gimli opened his mouth, then shut it again.  “No,” he admitted.  “Tell me.”

 

“You do not want to hear my tale.”

 

“That is likely true.  But perhaps I must hear it.”

 

Luindil squatted before Gimli, and gazed deeply into his eyes.  “Perhaps I do not wish to speak of it in full.  Perhaps the pain is too great.”

 

Gimli sighed.  “Then we are at an impasse.  You continue to hold this grudge against me, yet you will not even explain what it is about.”

 

There was silence for a long moment.  “I never cheated a Dwarf,” Luindil said at last, forcing the words through his teeth.  “Never in my life have I ever done that.  Yet my family, the people I loved, suffered and died in Menegroth for a crime that I did not commit.”

 

Gimli’s heart sank.  He had been afraid that the affair of Thingol and the Silmaril would come up sooner or later.  “Even the Dwarves do not accuse all Elves in that incident,” he ventured.

 

“Then why did my parents die at the hands of attacking Dwarves?” Luindil cried.  “The Dwarves suspected Thingol, and they killed him.  That was bad enough, but what crime had my mother and father ever committed against them?  I had never laid eyes on that cursed jewel.  Why was I forced to see my betrothed lady killed as she fled Menegroth?”  His face twisted in grief and rage.

 

Gimli did not know where to look.  He had heard the story of the Elvenking who had refused to pay for the metalworking services of the Dwarves ever since he was very young, and it had always been the first story told whenever the subject of Elves came up among the Dwarves.  Gimli had never thought much about the subsequent destruction of Menegroth other than to be vaguely pleased that the Dwarves had won, long ago.  He had certainly never expected to sit before a survivor of that battle who still mourned kin lost during a time of legend.

 

He glanced back at Luindil and discovered that the Elf had brought himself under control once more, though his glare was not quite as stony as it had been.  “My apologies,” Luindil said.  “I should not have spoken so freely to a guest such as yourself.”

 

“No,” Gimli replied.  “I do not mind.  I am sorry to hear of what befell you in Menegroth, and I grieve for your loss even as I would grieve for the families of the Dwarves who also met their end in those caves.  That is one of the reasons that I have come here, to ensure that such misunderstandings do not happen again between our peoples.”

 

“I know that.”  Luindil rose to his feet and moved a few steps away from Gimli.  He looked away, as if to hide whatever emotions lurked behind his eyes.

 

Gimli took a deep breath, then ventured a guess.  “I suspect that we have something in common, you and I.  We both care deeply for Legolas.”

 

Luindil whirled to face Gimli, glaring at him as if daring him to continue.  Gimli held his ground.  “I have not known him nearly as long as you have, but he is my friend, and I will neither see him hurt nor be the cause of that hurt, if I can possibly help it.”

 

“See that you do not.”  Luindil bowed stiffly to Gimli, then vanished into the night.  Gimli sat back on his log and finished his pipe, more than a little shaken by the encounter.

 

 

 

He entered the negotiation chamber the next morning to find Thranduil waiting with a strange Elf at his side.  Luindil was nowhere to be seen.  Puzzled, Gimli took his seat.

 

“Good morning, Gimli,” Thranduil said.  “Luindil came to me last night and asked to recuse himself from these proceedings, for he did not believe that his presence would aid matters.  In his stead, I would present Inglor, the captain of my guard.”

 

Inglor inclined his head.  “Greetings, Gimli son of Glóin.”

 

“Is Inglor acceptable to you?” Thranduil asked.

 

Gimli nodded.  “Yes, of course.”  He turned to Inglor.  “Please, forgive my boldness, but I am curious.  You are the captain of the guard?  Were you the one who --?”

 

Inglor laughed and shook his head.  “No.  You are thinking of Menellir, my predecessor.”

 

“Oh.”  Gimli considered that information.  “Might I ask. . . ?”  He let his question trail off into the air.

 

“Menellir is dead,” Thranduil said.  The lightness had vanished from his demeanor, and his expression was unreadable.  “Shall we begin our session today?”

 

Chastened, Gimli nodded and reached for his notes.

 

 

 

The negotiations lasted only a few more days.  By the time that both Thranduil and Gimli felt that they had talked sufficiently, they had established a diplomatic channel between Erebor and Eryn Lasgalen that would permit communication to be exchanged directly, saving the fuss of using the Men of Lake Town as go-betweens.  They had left the issue of weregild open, after Inglor had observed that that could be considered a private issue between Thranduil and the companions of Thorin.  Both Gimli and Thranduil had agreed, happy to have an excuse not to discuss that incident any more than they had to.

 

Gimli saddled his pony to return home, feeling deeply satisfied at what he had accomplished.  He paused and touched the crystal case containing the three precious hairs from Lady Galadriel’s head that hung from a chain around his neck.  It had been for her sake that he had met Legolas with friendship, and he felt that he owed the success of these negotiations to her through that friendship.  He strapped his saddlebags in place, then swung his pack onto his shoulders.  It contained letters and treaties from Thranduil to Thorin, as well as goods in exchange for the tokens of the Mountain that Gimli had brought.

 

Light footsteps sounded nearby, and Gimli looked up to see Legolas approaching, leading a horse of his own.  “I have come to accompany you to the edge of the forest,” Legolas said.  “We do not know if the path is clear to one who is not an Elf, and we do not wish to have any more Dwarves running lost through the wood.”

 

Gimli chuckled at that.  “That is a wise decision,” he said.  Then he grew thoughtful.  “I do not know if I will be able to return here before I set out for Gondor.”

 

“I will be doing the same with the coming of Spring, as soon as the roads are dry enough to travel,” Legolas said.  “Perhaps we will meet each other along the way.”

 

“I would like that.”  Gimli mounted his pony and prepared to set off.  Just as he turned his pony’s head to the road, he heard a shriek, and turned to look.

 

Faron was running towards Gimli as fast as his little legs could carry him, with Arasiel close at his side.  Gimli and Legolas waited for them to arrive.  Faron stood gazing up at Gimli and panting while Arasiel spoke to Legolas.  When she had finished, she bowed deeply to Gimli.

 

“They wish to say farewell,” Legolas told Gimli.  “Neldorín is out on patrol at the moment, but he sends his regards as well.  And I believe that Faron has a gift for you.”

 

Faron held up a limp, twice-scraped piece of parchment.  Gimli took it and unfolded it.  There was a charcoal drawing of a figure that was clearly meant to be himself as Faron saw him.  The Dwarf in the drawing had broad shoulders, an enormous, shaggy beard, and a broad smile on his face.  In one hand, he held an axe, and in the other was a cup.  Gimli smiled, rolled the drawing, and carefully stowed it in the top of his pack, where the tin cup had rested.  He leaned down and ruffled Faron’s curls, then turned to Legolas.

 

“Tell her that I hope to see them again in the Spring, on the road to Gondor,” he said.  “They are just the people that Ithilien needs.”

 

Legolas translated his words, and Arasiel blushed.  She took Faron’s hand and kept him out of the way as the horse and pony moved off.  As he left the Elvish settlement, Gimli turned back for one last glance.  Faron was bouncing on his toes waving at him.  Gimli waved back, then turned to follow Legolas on the road.