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This is adult material. If you are not of legal age to read adult material, bugger off. |
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MODERN EARTH SERIES 71 Boarding The Flight Legolas, a seasoned traveler, swiped his last credit card and punched in a few codes at the check-in machine. He handed Gimli his pass. Then, they stood in line at the metal detector. The dwarf fidgeted. Calmly, a slim hand came to rest on his shoulder. No one else noticed the fond squeeze. It was their turn. Legolas placed his carry-on bag on the conveyor. He stepped through the brightly lit arch. Not a sound. He turned and waited. The dwarf’s bag passed through the machine. But, Gimli, like a pony balking at a boggy spot on the road, stood with his short legs splayed wide apart. "There’s metal in their veins," Legolas said smiling to the young man holding a wand. "They are loathe to let others know." "Really?" "It’s never been proved, of course. But you’d think living in low tunnels, they wouldn’t mind this at all. But then they are stiff-necked." "We don’t dwell in tunnels, ye slanderin’ elf," Gimli growled. "Vast halls, vaulted ceilings, broad doors…" The dwarf waved his short arms above his head. Behind him, other passengers muttered and tapped toes on the terrazo floor. One looked at a watch on his wrist. "Do you have anything on you, sir, that might trip the alarm? Keys, jewelry, joint reconstructions?" "No!" "Then please step through, sir." "Oh, very well." Gimli stepped through and immediately the alarm sounded. Legolas shrugged as if he’d foretold the future. The youngster with the wand took the dwarf by the elbow. "Step over here, sir. Hands in the air and out to the side." The beeping wand found a belt buckle, the gold ring on a mithril chain and two gold-filled teeth. Gimli was led to a chair. Legolas followed with their bags. "Please, sir, take off your shoes." Then Legolas noticed what had most likely set off the alarm. He asked, "Why did you wear your steel-toed boots, Gimli?" "I dinna think," the dwarf said with a woeful look, shrugging his shoulders and meekly complying with the guards. "My favorites, ‘tis all." "I understand, Gimli. Don’t worry. We’ll make our flight." "Jewelry, a buckle and boots," the youngster said a moment later, after the boots went through x-ray. "All clean and you’re good to go." "Thank ye, laddie," Gimli said lacing his boots back on. "Duty-bound, ye are and that’s a brave thing." "Have a nice trip, gentlemen. Come back soon." "Come, Gimli," Legolas whispered. "We have just time enough for one drink at the bar. T’will settle you for the flight." They entered the little lounge area and found a booth. The waitress skipped over and smiled at them. "Whatcher pleasures, gents?" Her accent was from the region around Bree and she seemed pleased to serve her customers. Legolas gave her a flash of white teeth, a wink and a nod. She sighed and wiggled with delight. "My dwarven friend will have a bloody orc, if you please, miss. And, heavy on the pepper sauce. I’d like something light and summery. A nice tart Tom Bombadil, I think." "Right away," the merry lass replied. For a half hour, they sipped their drinks and watched the planes landing and taking off. They didn’t talk. Emotions ran too highly for words. Legolas toyed with the paper umbrella from his drink. Gimli arranged the condiments at their table. The girl stopped again and Gimli wanted to order another round of drinks, but Legolas stopped him. They would not be allowed to board if they were suspected of intoxication. "Well, into the great beast then, I suppose," Gimli said at last. "Yes," Legolas whispered, squeezing the dwarf’s thick shoulder as they gathered up their gear. And, so it was that elf and dwarf boarded the great metal eagle and left their adopted city on their way to Minas Tirith, before going to the harbor at Belfalas. "Look, Gimli," Legolas said as they skimmed over the city. "I can see Old Took’s office building next to the courthouse." "Must I look?" Gimli asked, his stubby fingers digging into the arm rests. "No," Legolas said patting the dwarf’s gnarled knee. "I’ll wait to show you more after we’ve leveled off. I’ve brought the binoculars for you." "Ye surely make a jest. Ye know what dwarves think of peering down from great heights." "Gimli, Keeper of my heart, I ran over the Bridge of Khazad Dum. The dwarves who built that span looked down a very long way." "They were not flyin’ in open air. The mountain’s warm heart surrounded them." "The plane surrounds us, Gimli. And I am at your side." "Aye, there’s comfort in that." "Look then, over there to the right. That patch of dark green is our park." "I'll take yer word for it." "Oh, how it hurts to watch it fade." Other passengers craned their necks too, peering out the small cabin windows. No one seemed to care that Legolas slipped his arm around his friend’s waist and held him closely as the aircraft made its slow ascent before banking a last turn toward Minas Tirith. At last, Gimli was persuaded to try the binoculars. Not a moment later, he handed them back. Clouds obscured the view and tears filled his eyes. Legolas blinked his eyes a moment and breathed slowly and deeply, clasping his friend’s hand and pressing it over a rapidly beating heart. A moment later, their gazes met and Gimli tried to take the elf’s slim hand and place it over his heart. Legolas shook his golden head, his eyes glinting in the gloom of the cabin. "I dare not, Gimli. Narya wars with the Ruling Ring." "A problem arises then," Gimli whispered with the first glimmer of a smile since the trip began. "It does?" The golden head tilted and dark brows raised. "I gather ye canna abide a pressing of yer body then." "Aii, Gimli, we must arrange something," Legolas whispered. "I did promise you a chance at the Mile High Club." "How then and where, ye sly elf?" "I’ve booked a private sleeping cabin for the rest of the flight." "So that’s why ye wanted me drunk!" "Oh, aye, ye handsome dwarf, ye quickener of my heart." "Elves have clever tongues, I must say. Or, do ye mock my speech?" "Never, my body’s bastion," Legolas breathed into the thick red hair surrounding Gimli's ear. "Lead on then," Gimli replied. "Ye’re rousing me to fever’s pitch." With as much decorum as they could manage, they walked to the upper level of the huge airliner now that the plane was level. The steward, a handsome young man of the Dale region, winked as he left them in private. As soon as he was gone, they laid aside suit coats in barely bridled haste. Eager fingers fumbled with dress shirt buttons. Then, Gimli grabbed the mithril chain he wore around his neck and tossed the ruling ring over his shoulder. "Grasp low, ‘round my waist, and ye shall be safe," he muttered as he pressed against his lover. Instead of replying, Legolas put his tongue to other uses. He nibbled the dwarf’s earlobes and Gimli shuddered in his embrace. Then the clever elven tongue searched out the dwarf’s mouth. Appetites keen, they feasted and drank, high above Middle Earth in a vast and cloudy realm of creamy castles. Then they slept, curled together, as their habit had become since the Golden Wood. Hours later, a little bell rang announcing that cocktails were being served. They stretched and searched for their clothes. Then they freshened themselves, adjusted rumpled shirts and praised silk fabric from far off Harad. Sauntering down the aisle of the plane, they once again took their assigned seats. The young steward brought them drinks and asked politely if they’d rested comfortably. They smiled and said that they had. They all agreed that the airplane had fine amenities. The wine was cold and the orange duck was tasty. Gimli had finally relaxed enough to bear a glance out of the window. The clouds below them looked like the snow fields on Caradhras. They drank a toast to the descendants of the Fellowship. Then they sat quietly until after the remains of the supper were removed. "Have you ever met King Anarion?" Gimli asked. "Once when he was a little boy," Legolas said. "He was playing by the garden pool. His boat capsized in a turn of the breeze and he demanded that I call to the boat." "What?" "He wanted me to work magic to fetch his boat for him." "What did you do?" Gimli asked, his forehead furrowed deeply. "I waded into the pond and got the boat," Legolas replied with a shrug. "Hah! And, what did he say to that?" "He was disappointed, he told me. He had heard that elves could work great magic. He wished for me to show what I knew. He was heir to Gondor. All obeyed him." "A proud child then." "Yes, I’m afraid so." "And that’s why we must hide the ring?" Gimli whispered. "Those who say that dwarves are thick as stone, have not met you, Gimli." After supper was cleared, the young steward offered his passengers a variety of entertainment. Some passengers decided to doze. Others watched films or listened to music through headsets. Legolas and Gimli chose to play a video game pitting the strength and agility of warriors against monsters in a virtual castle maze. Time and again, they stifled their mirth, whispering recollections of real battles and frightening monsters. An hour later, a pleasant bell rang. The fasten seatbelts sign lit up. The young steward marched up and down the aisle checking his charges. There was still a few moments to use the bathroom if anyone needed the facilities. No one did. Then the plane gave a sudden lurch and the pilot’s voice ghosted toward their ears. "We’ve just crossed over the Ash Mountains, folks, and we are making our final approach into Minas Tirith Interracial. The ride's a little bumpy from here on. Please keep seatbelts fastened." Gimli's short fingers dug into the arm rests of his seat. Legolas sighed and gnawed at his lip. "Legolas," Gimli said, suddenly very pale. "I don’t feel well." "Chew this, Friend," Legolas said deftly tearing open a bit of cellophane and offering the dwarf a small pink tablet. Gimli took it and chewed. He gritted his teeth for the next quarter hour and clung with a sweaty palm to the elf’s slim hand. The plane shook, bumped and rocked. Then they began to hear noises within the craft. "We’ll be on the ground in moments," Legolas assured his companion. "In one piece, I hope," Gimli muttered. The plane suddenly slowed and rattled. There was a loud noise from the engines. "Do you feel that?" "How could I not, ye daft elf," Gimli wheezed. "Next, you’ll feel a slight bump." They did, and objects on the ground whizzed by. "We’ve landed." "Not a moment too soon." Old Minas Tirith towered in the bright sunlight like an ivory fang in the mountain's great canyon mouth. On the wide plain of Pelennor, where once fierce battle raged, streets ran grid-like all around the mountain's skirts. The airport was ten miles from their destination, the throne of King Anarion in the White Tower of Ecthelion where banners bearing the white tree snapped in the strong wind. In the old days, elf and dwarf would have galloped the distance, riding double on steady Arod. Now, horses were kept for polo and trekking, gentlemen's sports and afternoon adventures for children. Long past were the days of war with the Southrons and the wild men of the hills. Trolls were in storybooks and no longer roamed free in the forests. The world was a place of quiet commerce. And for most creatures, it was a better existence. Legolas turned from the view windows and picked up the cases bearing their precious weapons retrieved from security. He gazed fondly at his companion who had gathered their suitcases at baggage claim. Slowly, Gimli trudged along through the airport corridors of veined marble. Legolas observed him, worried at first that his companion was tired since he walked so slowly. From time to time, the dwarf stopped. Then Legolas saw how Gimli touched the cool walls. With a smile, the elf understood that his friend was merely admiring the fine building crafted by his race. The characteristic vaulted ceilings, strong yet graceful arches, and slender columns reminded Legolas of his first glimpse of Moria in the glimmer of Gandalf's wand. Here, in this structure, skylights channeled shafts of light downward to dance upon the polished granite floors. It was clear to the elf why the dwarf lingered. Then they stepped outside into lush gardens of flowering trees and grass that exuded a rich scent. Ah, no! Legolas marveled. It was not the grass but a small herb planted along the walkway. Among the flowers, he recognized athelas, kingsfoil, the remedy King Aragorn had used against the Black Breath. Here Legolas paused and sinking to the earth, inhaled deeply. Gimli grabbed his elbow and asked, "Are ye not well, Elf?" "Don't you smell it, Friend?" Legolas answered, a quaver in his voice. "I am more than well." "Oh aye," Gimli said sniffing loudly. "Fresh and clean the air. And not so humid as home." "Athelas, Gimli," Legolas said, crouching and pointing out the small herb. "Aragorn's weed," Gimli exclaimed. "I remember the scent now. It cured Lady Eowyn and Lord Faramir." "And many others, Gimli," Legolas said. "I'm glad to see it cultivated." "I'm glad to be smelling it at ground level." Grunting, Gimli lugged their baggage along the wide sidewalk and headed toward the throng of other passengers in line for one of the waiting cabs. Graciously, Legolas gave the first one offered to them to an elderly couple, telling them to enjoy themselves in the capitol. At last, Gimli loaded their luggage and nestled next to the elf in a spacious back seat of a well-appointed public conveyance. They were served drinks by an automated system. Soft music played from hidden speakers and the city streets floated by. When they'd circled the statue of Gandalf on Shadowfax for the third time, Legolas finally said to the driver, "This is not the way to our hotel." "Me apologies, guv'ners. I'd ‘oped you gents would ‘preciate the scenic route. Seems I were mistaken." "We are somewhat fatigued by our long flight," Legolas said, coolly. "Perhaps a tour of the sights tomorrow. May we call upon you then?" "Me card, gents," the driver said, handing them a garishly colored small square of paper. "Thank you," Legolas replied, patting Gimli's hand. The dwarf muttered lively dwarven curses under his breath. Something about burying the cheat under a ton of rock before calling upon him for additional services. Yet, despite the circuitous route, the man did know his streets and within a few blinks, elf and dwarf arrived at grand portico of the Tirith Astoria. They exited the cab and the driver piled their luggage on the sidewalk. Legolas paid him, giving only a modest tip, a grain of sand compared to what they'd given their last driver. Upon their arrival, a flock of young bellhops raced to help them with their luggage. A graceful gesture from the elf was all they needed to form ranks and gather the baggage. Legolas carried only the case containing Lady Galadriel's gifts and Gimli's axes. Gimli followed the troops as they marched in close order across a marble floor to the long oak check-in desk where a dignified native awaited them. They both signed the registry and were awarded small plastic cards that would open the doors to their suite. The bell hops led them to the elevator, a clear glass bubble that rose like effervescence in sparkling wine to the top of the main spire of the hotel. Gimli muttered the whole short trip, keeping his eyes on the stonework rather than the airy view. The room was worth the ride, though. Wood and stone wedded into luxurious rooms designed by dwarves for elves of the old city. Gimli smiled and remembered when he'd first seen the suite's interior. "We were the firsts guests here, were we not?" "Yes, Friend," Legolas said embracing him. "Our seventh anniversary and the week our fathers visited King Aragorn." "Right ye are. They stayed in our quarters at the palace, whilst we stayed here." Gimli looked around, his mouth agape. Then he slipped a thick arm around the slim elven waist. He muttered, "An’, they say elves can only remember songs." After a tour of their rooms, they set about unpacking their suitcases. An hour after their arrival, Gimli paced the room. Legolas put down a magazine. “It’s the middle of the night, Gimli.” “I’m restless. This place must have a work-out room.” “It does, but wouldn’t you rather get some exercise with me, here?” “Oh aye. After an hour of weights and a steam bath.” “I’ll go with you.” “Ye needn’t if ye’d rather take in the stars from the bird’s perch beyond the glass doors. I won’t get lost.” “I insist upon attending you.” “Ye have my thanks. Now, get changed.” Gimli slipped out of his traveling clothes and into custom sweats. At the same time Legolas shed his suit and donned a pair of silk boxers and a silk robe. Then he thought better of walking the halls so scantily dressed. Minas Tirith was not his tropical city where one could get away with skimpy attire. Jeans and a polo shirt quickly covered his long limbs. Then, they took the less spectacular route to the ground floor riding the interior elevator which left them at pool side. Surprisingly, even at midnight, a few people were swimming laps. Legolas tested the water. It was pleasantly cool. He could take a swim after a few rounds on the running track. Gimli went immediately to the racks holding the free weights. He picked up a few light ones to begin his exercise and nodded at the elf. About the time Legolas finished four laps of the jogging track, Gimli had moved from weights to the stair-master. After another four laps, the dwarf was red-faced and sweating. He was grumbling too. The elf grinned and waved as he flew by running effortlessly in bare feet. Gimli waved too and stepped off the machine. Legolas spun and jogged back to his friend. The elf wasn’t sweating but Gimli was drenched. “Now a bath and bed, eh?” Gimli said, stretching and flexing. “Bed or sleep, mover of my heart?” Legolas whispered, bending close to the dwarf’s ear, tickling him with warm lips. “Calm yerself,” Gimli said, hands on hips and glaring into the bright elvish eyes. “Cool yer wild elven blood a moment. Allow me ta catch my breath before ye snatch it away again.” Legolas answered him with silver laughter, light and melodious as a breeze through wind chimes. Gimli laughed too, deeper and growling like the earth near a volcano’s vent. “Father will arrive at dawn,” Legolas said gathering their towels. “We’ll breakfast with him and his people at eight.” “We’ll need a good night’s rest then,” Gimli said slumping down a moment on a bench. “So to the bath and then to sleep, I suppose,” Legolas said sounding resigned to his celibate fate. Gimli barked a laugh and stood up. He said, “Ye’re a brave one, elf. And no condemned creature, no matter how great a felon, goes to his destiny without a few pleasures the night before. Be of good cheer.” “Oh my sweet dwarf!” Legolas exclaimed. “I remember a time when I would have bristled at the felonious references.” “I’ve failed to prick you then?” Gimli asked in mock amazement. “After our bath, Gimli, you may prick away,” Legolas said with a raised eyebrow and a sly smirk. They rode the glass elevator to the lobby at seven forty five the next morning. Legolas stretched luxuriously in a private moment on the lift. He ended by kissing Gimli on the top of his head. The dwarf groused, demanding a proper kiss. He got a fine one just as the door opened on the ground floor. Then in awe, they surveyed the scene that greeted them. At once, they were reluctant to leave their cozy space. From the front desk to the coffee shop to the office of the concierge, the hotel looked less like a well-run inn and more like a bee hive on a hot, sunny day. Uniformed bell-hops hustled while maids in white scurried. The concierge mopped his sweating brow and took another sip of ice water. No fewer than a dozen porters carried large flower arrangements toward the service elevators. "I see Father’s here," Legolas said with a smirk. "He demands to be surrounded by greenery even when he travels." Gimli muttered something under his breath that the elf chose to ignore. Legolas slipped his arm over his friend’s shoulders and gave him a squeeze. They glanced at one another. Gimli’s broad fists pressed into his hip bones and the thickly bearded dwarven chin jutted upward. Legolas raised his brows and shrugged his slim shoulders. "We've faced worse, Gimli, our first time in Minas Tirith," Legolas said softly. "Do you remember the Nazgul flying above the city?" "Aye, a hard thing to forget," Gimli muttered, his hackles slowly smoothing. "Worst of all was the stench." "At least Father’s scent is pleasant," Legolas quipped with a flash of a grin. "I've not had occasion to, er, smell yer father. Is he lily of the valley, like you?" "Red roses. I take after my mother." "In a good many ways, I trust." A soft light gleamed in the elf’s eyes. He said, "You will like my mother, Gimli. I know she’ll dote on you." For an instant, the dwarf frowned, cocking his head to the side, wondering what the elf meant. Then he blinked and realized that he would meet his lover’s mother when they arrived in the West. Suddenly a flight of butterflies jostled for wing space in his stomach. At that moment, a young couple walked up to the elevator and asked if they were going up. Gallantly, Gimli gave up their sanctuary and held the door for them, wishing them a pleasant stay. Finding their bearings, he and Legolas stood on the granite floor of the lobby amid currents and eddies of hotel staff hustling to satisfy hundreds of fussy guests. Legolas pointed the way to the dining room. Gimli sighed. The solid stone was reassuring under his shoes. He felt grounded at last. Then he was nearly knocked down by a tall, gangly youngster carrying an enormous basket of gladiolas, lilies and greenery. "Watch yer step, laddie," Gimli said supporting the boy before he dropped his handsomely designed burden. "Oh thank you, sir," the boy said as he brushed straw locks off his face. Gimli froze. He had Eorand’s face, or one close to it. "Yer name, boy," Gimli asked gruffly. "Hal, sir," the boy said. "Hal Helmson." The boy was all wide grey-green eyes and buttercup locks. A dusting of freckles crossed the bridge of his nose. He had the loose-limbed stance of a young colt and the same startled, worried look. He could not have been more than fifteen winters. "Oh, please, sir, don’t tell Mr. Batterburr about this." "Anyone can stumble, lad. No harm's been done. But ye do owe me a favor." "Whatever you wish, sir." "I may have need of a guide later in the day. Is that amongst yer duties?" "Yes, sir. Make a call to the concierge and give them my name." "I am Gimli Gloinson. I will call about two o’clock." "Good day to you, sir. I will await your call." "Good day to you, Hal Helmson." Legolas tapped the dwarf’s shoulder and the bowing stopped. The boy scurried on his way. They watched him walk away amid thoughts of home. Then Legolas jerked his head toward the dining room and gave a little tug on Gimli’s sleeve. "Breakfast, remember." "Aye, rose petals and a coin-sized serving of lembas, no doubt." "Order what you wish. Father’s paying." "All right then. Here’s a contest I shall win." "The one [Telperion] had leaves of dark green that beneath were as shining silver, and from each of his countless flowers a dew of silver light was ever falling, and the earth beneath was dappled with the shadows of his fluttering leaves. The other [Laurelin] bore leaves of a young green like the new-opened beech; their edges were gold. Flowers swung upon her branches in clusters of yellow flame, formed each to a glowing horn that spilled a golden rain upon the ground; and from the blossom of that tree there came forth warmth and a great light." (Sil 33) “You look splendid, Gimli,” Legolas said softly, pausing and gazing down at his partner before they entered the hotel’s formal dining room. Then the elf whispered, “Is my tie straight?” A quick dip of elegant shoulders, short arms lifted, and big stout fingers tugged at colorful silk. “Ye’re perfection itself,” Gimli stated proudly gripping the elf’s lean forearms. “He best be pleased.” “Thank you, Friend,” Legolas breathed. Then he squeezed the dwarf’s thick arms and straightened. He began to speak quickly. “Allow me a moment to brief you before our encounter with my illustrious father,” Legolas said in a low voice looking straight ahead. “Court etiquette demands that the Elven King sit at the table’s head. I will be seated at his left and you on my left.” “To his left?” Gimli said, frowning. “It is our custom, not a slight, at a formal meal. I am closest to his heart, and you to mine.” Gimli thought a moment and shuffled his feet. Then he asked, “How will I not shame ye with my rough ways?” A flash of a grin, and fierce, narrowed eyes, Legolas answered, “In all things at table, follow my lead. From time to time, my hand will soothe you since I believe my father may tempt your anger. It is to test you, nothing more.” Legolas turned after the last phrase. His gaze stabbed into Gimli’s eyes, and in carefully enunciated dwarvish he said, “You are my support, Gimli, Gloinson, the granite under my feet.” “So, like rock, I’ll be,” Gimli rumbled the reply of his kind. Then in the common language he added, “Let’s face ‘em.” Arm in arm, they strode proudly into the room. Despite all his valor, Gimli knew fear once more when he caught sight of King Thranduil. He was regally dressed in silver and black, a crown of cunningly wrought mithril leaves and branches upon his brow. He appeared taller than his son, and subtly menacing, whiplike in form and suppleness. Legolas took another step forward. The two elves embraced. Then the King of Mirkwood turned his eyes upon the hapless dwarf. The elf’s brows were dark and his eyes gleamed like a vein of rich ore in dark rock. Gimli thought of his own father, a bound prisoner in Mirkwood’s deep hall suffering the same glare. Gimli raised his chin and planted his feet. Then he made a courtly bow. The Elf King’s eyes widened a fraction. He gave the dwarf a curt nod of his regal head, turned and sat down in his customary seat. A slim hand trailed down Gimli’s arm. A warm hand cupped his elbow and he heard the scrape of chairs drawn out. The dwarf sat heavily and began to breath again. Legolas looked side long at him and poured him a glass of red berry juice. Then with a slim, steady, familiar pale hand, Legolas filled his own cup. The King’s first minister, Gilrandir, had already filled his lord’s cup and his own. Thranduil took the cup and lifted it. “May the Valar smile upon our meeting.” Everyone at the table stood and drank, including the King. Then, all returned to their seats and began passing the dishes around. Legolas served his father, and next Gimli, before placing food upon his own plate. Gimli watched him intently. The elf sipped more juice. At last, after his father sampled a piece of toast, Legolas took a mouthful. Yet, not until Legolas took a second mouthful and nodded at him, did Gimli taste his food. He forced himself to eat slowly. The waiting had sharpened his appetite. But, he was wary. He was being observed. At least the food was to his taste, sweet and rich, not flower petals and thimbles full of dew as he’d feared. When the edge was off his hunger, Gimli listened to the conversation. For his sake they spoke the common tongue. After some moments, Gimli gathered that there was no prohibition against gentle speech. Legolas had asked Gilrandir about their trip from Greenwood the Great. The elf lord had answered him in a cordial manner, telling of the sights they’d seen. Others joined the narrative and even the somber Thranduil smiled once or twice. At a lull in the merry talk, Gimli decided to enter the discussion rather than sit like a stone in a babbling brook. Gimli turned to the elf seated to his left. “What news if any has reached you from Erebor,” he asked politely, offering the elf the dish of butter and a basket of rolls. “Your kin prosper,” the elf said accepting the food and in turn asking, “How was your flight to Minas Tirith?” Gimli swallowed hard. At the same instant, he felt Legolas’ fingers tighten on his thigh beneath the table cloth. Every elf at table seem to stop chewing and turn his way. Gimli glanced toward the King. He too was listening. The dwarf took a deep breath. “As you well know,” he began, pitching his voice for optimum story-telling, “dwarves are mountain folk.” There was a twitter from several of the elves. Gimli did not pause. Instead he pushed back his plate to show his seriousness. “We prefer our feet on solid rock rather than among the clouds of the air,” he said. “I would rate the take-off as most harrowing and the landing as rougher than a wild pony. Even so, your kinsman bid me join him and our love is great for one another.” At that moment, King Thranduil snorted. He wiped his mouth quickly with a napkin and took a sip of juice. His lips were very red, as if he’d been drinking blood. Gimli ceased speaking and his mouth hung open. Legolas rescued him. “Father,” the elf asked. “Has some morsel caught in your throat?” “No,” King Thranduil said, apparently recovered. “Pray go on, Master Dwarf.” Every sharp eye in attendance at breakfast, waited for the dwarf to speak. Thranduil posed, his goblet betwixt the table and his mouth. The thin lower lip glistened and his eyes seemed like smoky amethyst. The high forehead, the peaked ears, the shape of the face were mirrors of his son’s attributes. The mouth was not. It was a hard line unused to smiling. Despite a sudden warmth in his cheeks, Gimli summoned his courage and recalled his wandering thoughts. He arranged his battle lines for firm defense and offered parlay. His ally sat beside him, proud of everything he’d done so far. A small sip of juice and the dwarf continued. "I was speaking, your Majesty," Gimli rumbled patiently, "of the love I bear yer son. Whilst he’s near, I thrive well beyond my span of years." "Legolas strays from his own people." Gimli nodded, agreeing. "I from mine too, yer grace," he said. "Yet, never would I put aside our friendship, not for gold, nor for gems." Thranduil glanced quickly at his son who was hiding his smile behind a tea cup. There was a subtle exchange between son and father. Gimli closed his mouth. Then, he heard the soft sounds of silverware scraping china again and the gurgle of berry juice pouring from pitcher to goblet. The elves had resumed eating. The mood had softened like air after a sudden shower. Legolas put down his cup. He extended his hand toward his father. The King permitted a touch. "Please, Father," Legolas coaxed patting his father’s slim hand. "Tell Gimli news of Erebor. How fairs the Lonely Mountain these days?" The King sniffed. He stroked his son’s hand lightly. Then he took a sip of tea and carefully placed the dainty cup onto the fragile saucer. He tilted his head and looked at the dwarf. Thranduil said, "The Mountain stands, Master Dwarf. Your kin grow richer every year." Gimli nodded. Legolas tapped his father’s hand again. Thranduil shot a glance upward. A dart flew at Legolas, but the King answered. "One thing of note that might satisfy you," Thranduil said after patting his lips with a napkin. "With the help of the Lake Men and some of our people, a new road has been constructed through the Greenwood following the original forest track. One can make the trip from Lake Town to Hobbiton in a matter of days now by motorcar." Legolas asked softly, "How is our home, Father. How fair the trees?" "They grow tall and birds return in the spring to nest in their branches. Wild flowers bloom, primrose, buttercup and mallow. We live as we always have, since the founding of our hall. Those who are joyful dance at twilight. I sit under the stars and long for the return of my son." At those last words, Legolas smiled wistfully. He shook his golden hair. He leaned toward his Father and kissed his cheek. Thranduil did not move. The royal face expressed nothing and Legolas returned to his seat. Politely, the other elves seemed not to notice the exchange. Gimli glanced at Legolas and shared his disappointment. Within the next quarter hour, the plates were cleared and coffee poured. No more unpleasant words were spoken. They finished breakfast with a fine serving of small talk about the great city, its king and his policies. Then they retired to the Elf King’s suite. Gimli was challenged to a game of chess by one the younger elves while Legolas visited with his father in private. Inside the royal bedroom, Thranduil set aside his crown and they embraced. They supported one another a long moment in silence. Thranduil stroked his son’s hair. At last, Legolas stepped back and slipped out of his father’s arms. He walked to the window and faced the morning sun. "Father, you know that I bear grave news," he said quietly. "As your message foretold." Legolas turned. He said, "There is a new Dark Lord, sired by Sauron himself and grandson of your dearest friend, Celeborn." "I saw at table that you wear Narya openly. I assumed that this new evil had fashioned himself a ring." "Yes, and Gimli bears it for us. In battle my sword took the dark hand." Thranduil cast a sharp glare. He said, "The dwarf has the ring? We are lost then." "No, Father. We are saved. Gold has no power over Gimli." "How can I believe such a thing?" "You wound me, Father, when you tread upon my friendship with Gimli." Thranduil sniffed and chewed his lip. Finally he said, "The dwarf seems honest in his affection for you. I know you begged him to show me patience." "You know me well, Father." "I have a good memory," the King sniped. Legolas sighed and said, "I wish I could walk our forest glades once more, and inhale the scent of the pines." "What prevents you, my son?" "We intend to bear the Ring of Power away to the West. We’ve come to Minas Tirith to warn you and King Anarion of the new threat, and to say our farewells." "Legolas, I had hoped to see you sit upon my throne one day." "Alas, I have the sea longing, Father. My mother’s blood sings in my veins and only Gimli’s love has kept me here." Thranduil turned away and stood frozen, his chin raised. He stared out the wide window, eyes unfocused and misty as the Falls of Rauros. Finally Legolas approached him and touched his proud shoulder. Legolas asked, "Will you not journey with us and join my mother in the West?" "No," Thranduil croaked, his voice harsh as a northern raven. "I am sundered from her. And from you too, I see, like Nimrodel lost upon the far shore." "Not lost. You have your kingdom." "Doomed to fade I am, as the works of men rise to overwhelm the woodland glens." "Please, Father." Thranduil turned and spoke sadly and gently to his son, "At twilight, mortal creatures will one day catch a glimpse of elfkind, but no more will we figure greatly in the affairs of Men. In future, we will be remembered only in legends." "The legends then must speak of great deeds. Men will remember Elves with honor," Legolas said. "And one last deed I beg of you. Stand with me before King Anarion. I fear he may try to take the Ring." King Thranduil lifted his hand and slipped his fingers under his son’s golden hair and behind his head. With a shadowy smile curving thin lips, the King kissed his child’s high forehead. At that instant, Legolas threw his arms about his father and they embraced with all the strength they had. Outside the glistening white Tower of Ecthelion, two regal elves, their retinue, and a splendidly dressed dwarf awaited a summons to enter the keep of the direct descendant of their old friend King Elessar of House Strider. Flags snapped in the wind in the tiers above them. Horns sounded and feet tramped. High King Anarion’s royal guard was assembling. "We have been granted audience at two o’clock, Father." "They are late," King Thranduil said, brushing his sleeve impatiently. Legolas took a step closer to the Elf King and said, "I am greatly honored that my father has chosen to stand beside me when I face the King of Gondor." Thranduil gave his son a sharp glance and replied, "Anarion was a horrible child and I’m sure he’s an equally vile man." "Aragorn came late to power," Legolas said. "It may be the way with all Men." "We shall see," Thanduil said. Then he whispered, "Beware of those who smile too often, my son. They have secret agendas." "Did ye spot our old quarters, Elf?" Gimli asked, a moment later. "The tree ye planted is old and gnarled, yet still a fair home for squirrels and birds. I counted three nests." "You must show me, Gimli," Legolas said, squeezing the broad shoulder at his side. At that moment, the gate rolled open and the procession began. Gimli walked at Legolas’ left side, the Elf King to his right. All were dressed in ancient formal attire, soft elven gossamer the color of mist at twilight. Silver circlets rode upon their fair brows denoting their status as kings in their own right. Gimli of Aglarond, Legolas of Ithilien and finally Thranduil of Eryn Lasgalen. Trumpets sounded as they entered the vast courtyard. Blossoms from the white tree fluttered down like snow upon them, doing them homage, perfuming their path. The grave expression on Gimli’s face melted when he saw the joy beaming within the grin that burst upon Legolas. Memories of another king and a long war ending, a coronation and a wedding feast. Days of peace and plenty. Gimli blinked and saw that even Thranduil softened his arched expression. The Elf King gave High King Anarion the first of three courtly nods, greetings among equals. Then, King Anarion stepped forth flanked by his Tower Guard. He held out his hands and greeted his fellow royalty with a traditional speech for such meetings. He spoke of friendship and renewed his promise of mutual aid. Legolas, Gimli and Thranduil replied in kind. Then, with a wave of the High King’s heavily robed arm, Anarion commanded that the doors of his palace open. He took King Thranduil’s arm. Legolas joined with Gimli and the entire assembly entered the Great Hall. Inside, a feast was already laid upon the table. Rich scents of roast meats and fresh baked bread filled the air. Gimli was heartily pleased. His mouth was watering. Breakfast seemed hours ago. Then he felt a tap on his shoulder. A young page beckoned and the dwarf followed. At the same time, a company of pages took all the guests by elbow and led them to their seats. Thranduil was placed at King Anarion’s right. Legolas upon the King’s left with Gimli next to him. Servants continued to arrive with more dishes for a table already groaning under a load of delicious food from distant parts of Gondor. Gimli saw ripe peaches from the southern orchards, meats and vegetables from prosperous midland farms, wine, beer, and clear cold water from the mountains. The tableware gleamed. Dinner plates were silver and the goblets, crystal. Gimli examined his setting and found the hallmarks of the dwarves of Rohan. He couldn’t resist smiling. When King Anarion took his place, everyone sat down. Another short welcome speech, blessings and compliments sharpened growing appetites. Finally, the king bid everyone begin feasting. King Anarion seemed relaxed and gracious to his guests. He even remembered with a grin the demand he’d once made, that Legolas fetch him his sail boat from the waters of the garden pond. Eyes downcast, Legolas chuckled. He said, "I was a stiff-necked elf in those days, my lord. Yet, I was far more proud when first I joined the Nine Walkers. You may ask my companion. He gladly will tell you honestly." "Is that so Master Dwarf?" "It is the truth, my lord," Gimli rumbled, hastily swallowing a mouthful of fresh bread. Thranduil sniffed. Gimli recognized the prelude to his entry into the fray. Thranduil said, "My son’s stiff neck is my legacy. The elves of Greenwood bow to no one." "Even so, Father, we are courteous," Legolas said in a low voice with a soft smile. "Legolas is a peace-maker, I see. I’m glad for that," King Anarion said. "Peace is a rare jewel in any kingdom’s treasury." Legolas cleared his throat and Gimli recognized a sudden tension within his friend’s posture. The axe was about to fall. "My Lord Anarion," Legolas began. "I am sorry to say that in my visit today I do not bring words of peace and comfort. Rather, I carry tidings of a growing storm approaching all of Middle Earth." "I had feared such a thing since ascending the throne. Now it comes," the king said. "When you have satisfied your hunger, we will adjourn to my private suite." "We thank you, my lord," Legolas said, bowing politely. Gimli passed the potatoes to his friend, asking for the ham in return. Legolas returned a loving glance. "I’m glad to see, Gimli, that nothing dulls your appetite." "If only yours, Elf, were sharper. I fear for ye," Gimli said, passing more dishes to his companion. "Your kindness warms my heart, Friend," Legolas murmured. "I’ll warm the whole of ye’ tonight," Gimli replied, earning a glare from Thranduil. Legolas took a mouthful of food and chewed it delicately smiling at his robust dinner partner. The elf swallowed and patted his lips with a napkin. Behind the linen, he whispered, "Elves love the twilight, but none more than I." Gimli replied, "I look forward to the night too, and the blazing stars of yer eyes." Thranduil cleared his throat and all attended to him. He raised his glass and toasted the health of King Anarion their gracious host. After the sumptuous meal the visiting royalty attended King Anarion in his private quarters. His study was cozy, the stone floor laid with thick carpets and the walls lined with books. Various objects d’art, from ancient astronomical instruments to rare Southron vases, rested on slender column pedestals. A portrait of great King Elessar hung behind the present king’s chair. Legolas and Gimli paused to gaze at its lifelike quality. “He watches me,” Anarion said, his eyebrow raised. “As he watched over all of Gondor since the beginning of the Fourth Age.” “Aragorn was our friend,” Legolas said, a hushed reverence in his voice, eyes never leaving the portrait. “No man risked more in those days. No man was braver or more noble.” “Strider was good company too,” Gimli said. “He strengthened all our hearts in those evil days, and when peace came, none were merrier. I could tell some tales…” Throughout the reminiscing, Thranduil strolled about the room examining one after another fine sculptures he encountered in little niches. The first was most likely Gandalf, a tall bearded fellow with a pointed hat. The next was a group of four halflings smoking pipes, tankards at hand. A lone figure, horn to his lips, stood frozen in mortal combat with a great orc. A fitting final image of Boromir. At the final niche, the Elf King smirked. He’d found a sculpture of an elf sharing a horse with a dwarf. Thranduil sniffed. He cast a sly glance at his son and his son’s lover. As ever, they stood together, never more than a leaf’s thickness apart. A twitch curved Thranduil’s mouth upward. He sighed and rolled his eyes. A strange friendship they had, but one that served them both. Thranduil heard the king of Gondor speak again. “Tell me of my elvish heritage,” Anarion said gazing at a stunning portrait of the Even Star. “Lady Arwen was the daughter of Elrond Half-Elven of Imladris and Lady Celebrian of the Golden Wood,” Legolas said. “She chose the fate of Men as did her brothers the Sons of Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir. The time of elves was passing. The Fourth Age would be a time of Men.” Anarion’s gaze fixed upon the elf’s eye. “Yet, will men ever be as wise as elves?” Anarion asked. Legolas glanced at his father who seemed enthralled with a small equestrian statue and not attending the conversation. Legolas looked down at Gimli who shook his head. With wry mirth Legolas replied, “My companion believes that none are wiser than elves, unless it be the race of dwarves, noted for its practicality.” “We would know your opinion, Legolas of Ithilien.” “I have none,” Legolas said. “Nor would I express it if I did. Perhaps that is wisdom. Then again, perhaps the question is unwise.” The king of Gondor paused, stroked his dark beard and frowned. A moment later he asked, “How do you plan to defeat the new Evil who threatens us?” “I intend to flee, and to take with me his means of rule. As Frodo destroyed the first ring, we will remove the last.” “You have it then?” “Not I,” Legolas said. “Who then?” Legolas lowered his gaze and answered softly. He said, “Some secrets are kept by the wise. Please ask no more of me.” “I recognize Narya which you wear,” Anarion said, pressing closer. “It is described in our lore books as the ring of Cirdan and later Gandalf the Grey known as Mithrandir.” “Gandalf was the leader of the Nine Walkers. I saw him face the balrog and I saw him fall from the Bridge in Moria. Arrayed in dazzling white he was when we met him again in Fangorn Forest.” Anarion shivered and turned away a moment, so icy were the words of Legolas. Gimli cleared his throat and then placed his hand on his wide chest, over the place where the new ruling ring hung from its mithril chain. “Take heart, majesty,” Gimli said. “A dwarf does not place his trust in less than solid rock. Yet for long years I have lived with Legolas Greenleaf.” “Your words comfort me, Gimli of Aglarond,” Anarion said. “My thanks.”
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