Chapter 3
‘Do you remember the battle of Helm’s Deep, where I passed your count by one?’ Gimli asked Legolas, brush in hand. Legolas smiled.
‘Of course. You would never let me forget such an occurrence. But you, Dwarf, should forget not that ultimately, I have killed more Orcs.’
‘How do you figure that?’ Gimli brushed sawdust from the curves of the grey ship. Beside him, Legolas was carving the wood, still smiling cryptically.
‘I have been alive in Arda far longer than you, Dwarf. I grew up in Eryn Lasgalen and I have been shooting arrows and killing Orcs for many years before you were born.’
‘It does not count, then. I was not around to compare, therefore, all of those Orcs are useless to your final tally, and ‘twas me who killed more Orcs by the time the battles were through.’ Gimli grinned. He tossed the brush into the green grass by Legolas’s foot. ‘All finished.’
‘Not I,’ Legolas said, biting his lip as he worked. ‘But nearly. It is past time, I say. I want to be on the way already.’
‘Of course you do. And just think, elf, I shall see the Lady of the Golden Wood again.’ Gimli’s hand crept inside his pocket to finger something unseen. Legolas laughed suddenly, the bright clear sound filling the air. Birds and trees seemed to thrill at the sound.
‘Imagine, a Dwarf in thrall to the Lady Galadriel! Surely she greatly desires to see you again as well.’
‘And why should she not?’ Gimli grumbled. ‘I am a fine specimen of Dwarfhood, and I am strong, talented with axe, handsome...’
‘O but you are,’ Legolas said, and laughed again. He set his knife down on the ground and loosed his hair from its binds.
‘It is well to hear you laugh again, elf. I had nigh forgotten the sound.’
‘It is you who brings laughter bubbling up, friend. I am happier now that you have stayed with me, and pleased you have chosen to accompany me.’ Legolas sat down cross-legged in the soft grass. He rolled a blade between his fingers, admiring his ship. She lay on her side, nearly complete. Gimli frowned, a thought intruding on his consciousness.
‘Legolas--’
‘I wonder if the Lady Arwen has finished stitching the sails yet?’ interrupted the elf. Gimli frowned in Legolas’s direction this time.
‘I thought Elves had all the time in the world, and no need to interrupt those around them!’ Gimli said.
‘I apologise,’ said Legolas. ‘Go on.’
‘This is perhaps not the time to mention this, but I worry about you, elf.’ Gimli cleared his throat. ‘I do not think simply passage into the Undying Lands grants me the same immortality as you possess. I am glad to travel with you, and I do not begrudge you your pleasure in having me with you. I only worry that you will be -- upset -- when I die.’
‘You are accurate when you say this is not the correct time for such thoughts. I ought to have many more years of irritation from my sturdy Dwarf, why should I worry now?’
‘Admit it, elf, you miss Aragorn and the hobbits. You miss Elrond, and your father.’
‘My father is not dead and I shall be reunited with Elrond when I pass over Sea.’
‘Point taken.’ Gimli grew silent. Legolas stood up and stretched, one fluid movement that looked like water flowing rather than the movement of muscles. Gimli, well-used to the strangeness of his friend, was nonetheless startled by the familiar sight. Gimli watched as Legolas passed under the boughs that crossed over the doorway and into his home -- if it could be called that. The walls were little more than flowing material stretched between tree limbs, and the floors were packed dirt with mossy stepping stones throughout. Gimli understood his friend’s need to live within nature, and was not surprised that his home was not truly enclosed by anything. Gimli remembered that in Imladris there had been true walls and stone, but that it was built around tree and bush. In some ways he had been more comfortable there. Here, though, Legolas lived within a house that may as well have been nothing but the trees themselves. There were stone ceilings, but every few feet these were broken up by large airy holes, and beneath each one was a basin to catch the rain should it rain. In Legolas’s room, however, there was no ceiling to speak of, and when Gimli had asked if Legolas minded the rain, he had smiled mysteriously.
‘I mind not any of nature’s fury,’ he said. ‘I will admit it can be an interesting experience, to be awoken by rain fall, but in Ithilien it is always light and misty, and a joy to feel on my brow.’
Gimli had shrugged. Legolas slept on nothing but a soft blanket spread over the grass, his room being the most open one in the house. His only concession to it being indoors had been the flowing material stretched around the room. That and a large brocade curtain to keep out prying eyes. Legolas had explained it once. He may have loved his subjects and fellow Elves, but he craved privacy at times, desiring to be alone, especially when the Sea-longing struck him as forcefully as it did sometimes.
‘There are times, friend, when I cannot sleep even outdoors. Some days, I do naught but lie around in my room, aching and aching and unable to breathe. I would like to be able to breathe comfortably again, Gimli!’ he had cried. Gimli had been moved by this declaration, and he had held his friend and rubbed the elf’s back trying to soothe him. It had worked, and Legolas had smiled, saying that his mother had done the same when he was naught but an elfling. Gimli had felt distinctly maternal, and it was an odd feeling to say the least. He had wondered at the time if he would ever have a child of his own, but as the years had passed, he had been content to lead his people in Aglarond and be as if a father to them. Gimli sighed and stretched himself. It was drawing on towards twilight. He gathered up the things scattered around the ship and brought them into the house, putting them away and then seeking his chamber.