MEMORIAL: Carved in Stone

SUMMARY: Legolas attempts to deal with his grief after Gimli’s death. A sequel to Parting Gifts which can be found at this archive.

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"What are you doing, Legolas?"

Legolas Thranduilion looked up from his work, his expression one of annoyance, for this was the third person this morning to ask what to him was an inane question. He found himself staring into the concerned eyes of Mithran... no, he corrected himself mentally, Olórin. The Maia was not even in his ithron guise, but clothed as he normally appeared among the Elves of Aman. He tried to school his features to something that was more polite but wasn’t sure if he succeeded when he noticed Olórin raising an eyebrow.

"What does it look like I’m doing?" Legolas retorted with a sigh.

"Hmm... at a guess, I would say you’re making a right mess of things, as our dear Sam would say."

The drollness of the answer and its unexpectedness brought the Elf up short and in spite of himself he found himself grinning.

"Seriously, Child," the Maia said, "what are you doing?"

Legolas leaned back on his heels, for he had been kneeling all this while. "Isn’t it obvious? I’m building a memorial for Gimli." He gestured at the slab of black marble on which he had been carefully chiseling Gimli’s name and attributes. Marble chips lay all about and there was a thin coating of black dust on the Elf’s clothes. ‘GIMLI GLÓINU...’ was as far as he had gotten, carving the Cirth runes with great deliberateness.

Olórin sighed. "Perhaps I should rephrase the question: Why are you doing this?"

Now Legolas’ demeanor became somewhat haughty, his expression suggesting that the answer to the Maia’s question was obvious to even the most dimwitted person in Arda. "You know as well as I that it is the custom among Dwarves to..."

Olòrin gave him an impatient gesture. "You needn’t lecture me on the customs of Dwarves, elfling. I was there when Durin awoke."

Legolas felt himself blush for no particular reason, and when he spoke, his demeanor was less haughty. "Gimli has no kin to remember him or to build a memorial as is their custom. I remembered Balin’s tomb in Moria and I wanted... I just wanted...."

Now he found himself trembling with the effort not to break down before the Maia. He’d been doing that a lot lately and hated himself for his weakness. Olórin gave him a sympathetic smile. "Who are you doing this for, Legolas, you or Gimli?"

The elven prince looked up in surprise even as he rose to face the Maia more squarely. "For Gimli, of course!" he exclaimed, growing suddenly angry. "Who else would I do it for? The other Elves don’t even care...."

"Do they not?" Olórin interrupted, though his tone was not unkindly. "Do you think Lady Galadriel does not care or Lord Elrond or even Prince Finrod, who only met Gimli on his deathbed? Do you think I don’t care?"

Legolas blushed at the reprimand but would not back down. "I need to do this, Mithrandir," he said in a pleading voice, forgetting he was not speaking to his old friend from Middle-earth but to one of the Maiar who had helped to create the very world they inhabited.

"Why?"

For a moment, Legolas did not answer. He glanced down at the half-finished tombstone and shook his head. "I don’t know," he whispered. "I just know I need to do this."

He felt rather than saw Olórin approach and place his hands on the Elf’s shoulders, forcing him to look up. There was no condemnation in the Maia’s eyes, not even pity, which Legolas feared the most, only deep sympathy. "Legolas, the best memorial you can ever give your friend is to honor his last request."

"His last request to me was to play my harp," Legolas insisted though he knew full well what Olórin meant.

The Maia shook his head at the intransigence of this son of Thranduil. "You know that is not what I meant. You know that Gimli’s one concern was for you, his dearest friend. I promised I would do what I could to help you to find new friends but you need to do your part...."

Legolas pulled away from the Maia, his expression set. "I do not want new friends," he hissed vehemently. "I want my old ones back!"

For a moment silence enveloped them as Olórin continued to gaze sympathetically upon the upset Elf. "I miss them, too," he finally said softly, "more than you shall ever know."

Legolas stared at his friend in consternation, realizing that in his own pain he may have inflicted pain on one who deserved only his understanding and not his condemnation. He was appalled at his behavior. He was, after all, an elven prince. Granted, his lineage was not as noble as, say, Prince Finrod’s, but even so....

"Goheno nîn," he said softly, and meant it.

Olórin gave the Elf a sad smile. "Unlike you, my friend, I made many friends among the Mortals during my sojourn in Middle-earth. I miss every one of them, but I do not regret having known them. I built a memorial for every one of them as well."

Legolas gave him a surprised look. Olórin nodded and then jabbed a forefinger at his chest. "My heart is carved with memorials to all my mortal friends. I grieved for their loss and then I moved on, keeping alive their memories here in the depths of my fëa. You need to do the same, Child. Build your tomb for your friend if you wish, but know that your best memorial to him is to go on, to live as he wanted you to, to know joy again."

"It’s so hard...." Legolas began but he could not continue his thought for the tears that were now streaming down his cheeks.

Olórin took him into his embrace. "I know it is, far better than you might think." He held the Elf, giving him whatever comfort Legolas would accept from him. "But the alternative is even harder. You are a prince of your people, Legolas Thranduilion. Do not disappoint your friends, both here in Aman and those who have passed beyond the Circles of Arda, by succumbing to grief. Gimli would not wish it, nor Aragorn, nor any of us who love you." Then he pushed the Elf gently from him far enough to look him in the eyes and gave him what Legolas could only describe as a wicked grin. "And just think what your adar would say if he saw you like this."

In spite of himself, Legolas could not help grin at the image of Thranduil giving him a lecture on the very subject. "He would kick my behind from here to Mordor and back if he knew."

Olórin nodded, giving him a wide grin. "And rightly so."

Legolas sighed, closing his eyes briefly and then opening them to stare down at the marble slab. "He was impossible to the very end," he muttered as if to himself. "I think if he were here he would scoff at my efforts."

"He would probably make a scathing remark about incompetent Elves," Olórin said teasingly, "but in the end, I think he would have been pleased."

Legolas gave the Maia a shy glance. "Do you think so?"

Olórin nodded. "Not that he would ever tell you," he said with a laugh and Legolas joined him.

"I need to finish this," the Elf said once they had calmed down.

"And you will," Olórin said, "but not today. Come. Let us find our friends who knew Gimli as well and build the best memorial we can for him together."

"How?" Legolas enquired, somewhat puzzled by Olórin’s words.

The Maia gave him a gentle smile and Legolas suddenly saw in Olórin’s eyes the ithron he had known in Middle-earth looking out at him. "By sharing our stories about him," he answered. "By sharing our laughter and tears." Then he gave him a knowing look. "By carving his memorial upon our very hearts where not even a cave troll can destroy it."

For a moment Legolas did not move, suddenly remembering their time in Moria and how the cave troll had destroyed poor Balin’s tomb and knew that Olórin spoke truly. He glanced down at the marble slab one more time and nodded. "Tomorrow, my friend," he whispered, then he looked up at the Maia and smiled. "I think Gimli would like that."

Olórin smiled back and together the two of them walked away, leaving the half-finished memorial in stone behind to its own memories of when it was once part of the mountains of the Pelóri.

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All words are Sindarin:

Ithron: Wizard.

Goheno nîn: ‘Forgive me’.

Adar: Father.