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MODERN EARTH SERIES
91 - Paint It Black Part 2
92 - Whiter Shade of Pale
93 - On a Horse We’ll Ride
94 - On a Horse We’ll Ride Part 2
95 - If You Can’t Be With the ONe You Love
96 - Green Grass of Home
97 - Waiting
98 - Green Grow the Violets
99 - Garden Party
100 - Wind Beneath My Wings
91 - Paint It Black Part 2
(This chapter finds our pair inside Faramir's cave "The Window on the West".)
A loud snort of the great horse pierced the depths of the elf’s sensitive ears. He believed that he dreamed a long ago event in Rohan. The riders wheeled around as the three trackers stood up from the concealment of the tall grass. A hawk-like glare flashed like summer lightning. A herd of stamping chargers ringed them in, horse and rider in glittering mail. The strawhead in a shining helm shouted his challenge and the dwarf answered it. Suddenly, the Rohirrim’s gleaming spear-point thrust toward Gimli’s chest.
Arrow leapt to bowstring. Legolas snarled his warning and Aragorn intervened, stepping between them and bidding them peace. Slowly did tensions ease. Blood ran hot in all the Free Peoples, elves, dwarves and men, in those days.
Only later, within the Glittering Caves did Eomer of Rohan and Gimli of the Fellowship forge a friendship in the heat and reek of orc’s blood. Eomer… Legolas recalled in his dreaming, steadfast and brave, king of horsemen and loyal to his friends. Many times the mere stamp of a hoof brought his features to the elf’s thoughts.
Legolas turned in his sleep, bumping into a dwarf already sitting up and listening.
"Di’ ye not hear?" Gimli asked.
"A dream," Legolas sighed. "I was dreaming."
"I fear twas more than dream mist."
Gimli rose and drew on his clothing. He tossed Legolas his shirt, his undergarments and his riding jeans.
"Sun rises in an hour," the dwarf muttered. "Time we were up anyway."
The silver locket around Gimli’s neck glinted in the feeble glow from the falls. Legolas pressed his eyes closed, then blinked furiously. He nodded his fair head and rose from their bed of cloaks. Just then, Legolas sniffed and deep frown lines marred his high forehead. He dropped his clothing when he heard the snarl.
Gimli heard the low growl from the stairwell too. He grabbed his axe and took a few steps toward the sound. Legolas, still naked, reached for his bow. Dread filled his heart. His quiver was leaning against the wall near the entrance to the cave. The scent of the intruder grew. Slowly Legolas strung his bow inching toward the wall and his arrows. No sounds came from the stable.
"What’s happened to Hob?" Legolas whispered, his voice like the sighing wind.
Gimli shrugged his stout shoulders and then hefted his axe in two hands standing ready for the creature’s rush at them. It might be a bear from out of the forest. In that case, he’d try not to kill it. Give it a knock on the head and leave it to awake in the cave. Certainly, animals roamed here now that the men of Minas Tirith had gone.
The snarl and the stench became horribly familiar. Gimli growled his own challenge. Ages together, elf and dwarf needed no discussion of battle tactics. Legolas leaned his bow against the rock wall and drew out his knife. When Gimli engaged the creature, arrows in close quarters were as dangerous to friend as they were to foe, no matter how good the marksman. The elf’s eyes glittered in the dim light as he waited.
The ugly head of a warg poked round the corner of the entrance. Gimli roared at the beast. He hefted his axe and stamped his feet.
"Come and get me, ye mangy beast," he snarled.
The dwarf narrowing his eyes feinted a step forward, tempting the beast to rush him while the elf calmly waited the creature’s attack. And, they didn’t have long to wait! Between hammer and anvil they caught it. And what a blow did the dwarf land. His axe chopped at the great shoulder. Legolas sliced upward into the dripping jaws amid razor teeth.
Yet the beast fought and snapped its bloody jaws at Legolas’ face. On three legs it hopped. Then it reared up and swiped a forepaw knocking Gimli off his feet. Legolas stabbed at the thick neck. His knife was torn from his grasp. Barehanded he seized a long ragged ear and turned the snapping jaws away from the dwarf.
Gimli was on his feet in seconds, but not soon enough. The warg sunk its teeth into the elf’s shoulder and would have shaken him like a rat had not a gleaming axe spun through the air clipping a few golden strands and cleaving the bony skull of the beast. It fell with Legolas beneath its bulk.
A thousand regrets avalanched down upon Gimli’s mind. A dwarf could not speak to birds to summon help. The horse was gone even if Gimli could coax him to cooperate. Far from healers, without aid he was, awaiting only the wrath of the elves of the region who were loyal to Legolas. The fury of Thranduil would be worse.
Then a long lean pale leg twitched. A small foot at the end of the long leg arched. Gimli flew to his companion’s side. Summoning all his strength he threw off the warg’s carcass and tenderly lifted Legolas into his arms. The slim white shoulder was torn and bleeding profusely. Gimli snatched up his friend’s shirt and bound up the wound slowing the blood loss.
"Don’t ye be dyin’, d’ye hear me?" Gimli said through gritted teeth. "I canna build a boat. I canna take our burden alone."
"Shhhh," Legolas muttered softly. "I’m so tired."
92 - Whiter Shade of Pale
The slim ivory body hung in Gimli’s arms, golden braids blood spattered. The dwarf’s thoughts avalanched down upon him, smothering him like the deep snows of Barazinbar, the cruel, red tooth above Khazad-dum. The careful plans to escape Middle Earth that Legolas had made for them swirled like leaves in chilly autumn winds. Winter was a bitter season. Wargs and orcs down from the mountains, raiding, burning and laying waste to what had been built by dwarves, elves and men. The ring once more on the evil hand of its maker. Acrid smoke and blood soaked ground…
"Stop the bleeding first, ye dolt," Gimli muttered to himself while moving closer to the waterfall, away from the stinking, twitching warg. "Worry about sneaking orcs an’ their foul beasts when ye can heft yer axe."
Tenderly, his precious burden heavy in his arms, Gimli tilted back the head of the unconscious elf to get a better look at the wound in his shoulder. Gimli reached toward their packs. He rummaged for another shirt and stubby fingers made a thick compress. After applying as much pressure as he thought wise and watching the bleeding slow, the dwarf rubbed his brow with the back of a bloody hand.
Legolas appeared white as fine marble. His hands were icy. His lips and nails were blue. Only the slow rise and fall of the elf’s chest, and tiny quivers of delicate nostrils, marked his breaths. His eyes were closed. His mouth gaped open.
Resting his friend’s head against their packs, Gimli quickly doubled his cloak on the floor. Then with great care, he stretched out the elf upon it. He used the second cloak as a blanket. Then, he dragged over one of the packs and lifting the elf’s bare feet, he slid the pack under them. He touched the elf’s wrist and gnawed his lip furiously when he had trouble finding the pulse.
An overwhelming grief assailed him. The ring inside the locket around his neck seemed heavier than ever. The music of the falls had become ominous, the silence in the passage to the stable frightening. A buzzing in his ears, like angry wasps, threatened to drive him mad.
"Stay busy," Gimli whispered. "Don’t think of a thing beyond this cave."
He found one of the canteens. He filled it with fresh water from the falls. He took a cloth and quickly washed himself. Only then, did he begin to gently clean the blood from Legolas’ face. Finding more supplies in the cave, he set about cleaning and reapplying more bandaging to the awful wound. Gimli’s only solace was the shallow but steady breathing of his friend.
"If only I had a way to summon aid," Gimli muttered, frowning. "But who could arrive in time?"
Gimli thought of the Prince of Dol Amroth, of the King in Minas Tirith. Shaking his head, he dismissed both. Getting the wounded elf to either city without benefit of the horse was impossible. Even if Hob still lived, how could a dwarf persuade the beast to accept his guidance? It was disheartening to contemplate.
Worse yet, Gimli didn’t want to think at all of King Thranduil. Gimli gnawed at the whiskers below his bottom lip. He wondered if Legolas had packed his cell phone. There were numbers in the memory that he could try. Would the elves of Ithilien be more forgiving with Legolas lying wounded as he was? Probably not, but they would be his one hope before dying of hunger when their rations ran out and Legolas had not yet gained enough strength to allow Gimli a day to hunt.
More light filtered in through the waterfall’s bright curtain. To lighten his bleak thoughts, Gimli began making an inventory of what they still had inside their packs. Digging deeply, Gimli encountered something odd. A small wooden box wrapped in one of Legolas’ linen handkerchiefs found its way into the dwarf’s palm.
Sudden warmth burst within Gimli’s heart. The ring of fire, Narya. Hope rose in him. Gimli lifted the lid of the wooden box and found within, the little gold case. Reverently he opened it and with clumsy fingers he slipped it onto his friend’s icy hand. Legolas inhaled a quick, sharp breath and sat up blinking. Then he slumped back into Gimli’s arms.
"I dreamed of the Far Shore," Legolas whispered.
"Well, ye nearly left me on this side," Gimli groused gently, stroking golden strands from the beloved face of his dearest companion. "Always runnin’ ahead, ye are."
93 - On a Steel Horse We’ll Ride
Gimli watched over a dozing elf for several hours before contemplating how to clear the dead warg from their living quarters. Squeezing past it, Gimli crept down to the stable to look for a stout rope. He hoped to drag the carrion down the steep stair by means of a block and tackle that he’d located in one of the store rooms.
Half way down the narrow winding stair, he heard curious crunching. He stopped. They were chewing sounds, that was clear. He’d expected snarling and growling. Gimli sniffed the air. His nose encountered the pungent odor of stables. At least, it didn’t smell of more wargs, nor of bears. Then his puzzled frown became a grin.
"Hob," he called softly. "Is that you?"
A soft nickering answered him. Gimli trotted down the remaining stairs. The horse stood at the manger. Half a dozen long gashes, some still oozing blood, marked his hide. Gimli guessed what had happened. After his brush with the warg and his escape, Hob had remained close by, faithful to his friends. Now he waited at the feed trough, chewing what remained of the hay, without a doubt expecting his breakfast at any moment. As soon as Hob saw the dwarf, a huge hoof pawed at the dirt floor.
"Another of the warg’s victims, I see!" Gimli exclaimed examining the horse, a hand on the great rump as he went around him. "I’ll wash these cuts in a minute. Just steady on and ye’ll have some oats."
Hob lipped at Gimli’s hair and beard, his big, yellow teeth visible. The horse shook his thick mane and flicked his tail. The pawing continued until he plunged his nose into the bucket of oats that Gimli carried for him from the bin. He seemed famished.
"Steady there," Gimli said. "Wait a moment."
With some gentle pushing and shoving, Gimli managed to pour the oats into the feed trough. Then he walked outside. The morning was already warm and birds were singing. Most likely, the intruders were gone. Gimli got the horse a bucket of fresh water from the pool. The horse drank half the bucket and then went back to his oats.
Relieved by the peaceful forest sounds, Gimli went back out to the pool. He washed himself and then fetched more water to clean the horse’s wounds. They both had work to do. After his breakfast, Hob would help the dwarf rid the chamber of the dead warg.
By midday, the warg was decomposing above the roots of a great tree that seemed pleased about the nourishment. Small creatures of many sorts feasted too. Gimli hurried back to his tasks at the cave, unwilling to dwell too long upon the role of carrion feeders. It was unwise to leave the elf alone for long. Legolas had not yet awakened. He was not out of danger.
When Gimli returned to the cave he found a small brown owl with a round white face at the entrance to the secret stair within the stable. The owl spoke to him softly.
"Whooo," it asked.
Gimli replied, "Now who do you think I am, bird? I am Gimli, Elf Friend and I need not your permission to pass. Have you an’ the horse been visitin’?"
Hob blew air out his nostrils and shifted his great weight from one pair of massive legs to the other. He flicked his long tail and then rubbed his head against the manger. Gimli took pity on him, reached up and scratched his long jaw.
"You’ll spoil him, you know," a ghostly voice said from the dim passage that led upward to the secret cave.
Gimli spun around. Leaning against the wall, Legolas peered down at him. The elf’s complexion was white as frost. His eyes were dull, his facial muscles, slack.
"Wha’ are ye’ doin’ outta bed?" Gimli exclaimed.
"We’ve got to be on the move before the orcs return. Gather our things while I have a word with Hob. He must kneel to help us mount."
"Are ye’ daft? Ye can’t ride. Yer wound will open. Ye’re bled white already."
"We need only get to the top of the ridge. The Prince of Dol Amroth is coming. He’ll take us to his city."
"How?"
"I called him. He’s sending a helicopter."
"Ye’re forgettin’ about Hob. D’ye see? He’s hurt too."
A frown deepened the pain lines etched upon the elf’s brow. He took a step forward and would have fallen but for the strong arms of the dwarf.
"I’ve seen to him. He’s been fed, and I’ve washed out the gashes," Gimli muttered while he fussed over his friend.
Legolas smiled and said, "I didn’t think dwarves liked horses."
"Dwarves are rarely partial to elves," Gimli replied. "Though, there are exceptions."
94 - On a Steel Horse We’ll Ride Part 2
In haste Gimli fashioned a bed in the straw at the bottom of the stairs for Legolas. There was no way for him in his weakened state to return to their upper chamber. Quickly, the dwarf packed their few belongings while Legolas rested. Gimli made them both some food. Then, with Hob’s cooperation, they mounted the great horse, dragging their baggage up last.
Before they rode out of the shadowy glen, Legolas sang a song of farewell to the shimmering waterfall and the Window on the West. As Hob moved off, he leaned against the dwarf who sat in front now. Legolas’ golden head rested upon Gimli’s broad back, the dwarf’s thick waist encircled by the elf’s good arm.
Ahead of them flew the faithful little owl guiding Hob up the steep trail to the top of the ridge. As they rode, all the trees seemed to sigh sadly at their passing, old trees telling the young saplings of the dark days when the sounds of war echoed in the hills of the region. Above the travelers, birds sang a sweet farewell. In the vale below, a nameless stream churned in its narrow channel. It was rushing, as they did, toward the Anduin and the sea.
“No wargs, at least,” Gimli muttered. “No sign of any foul beasts now.”
“They would have come at nightfall,” Legolas whispered. “Their masters, Gimli, would have taken both rings.”
“Aye,” the dwarf answered, unwilling to debate the grisly scene that would have been their fate if they’d stayed. “Ye’re right, Friend,” Gimli said, clucking to Hob to move along instead of nibbling the blackberry bushes.
“You are not your verbose self, Gimli,” Legolas said a moment later, rubbing his cheek against the dwarf’s back. “I had expected an argument.”
“You were right to abandon our camp but it goes against the grain to leave behind our good horse.”
“Have no fears for Hob. My kin in Ithilien will care for him. He will graze on sweet grasses for long years to come.”
“That comforts me,” Gimli said. “He’s been faithful, ye know. Deserves better than bein’ left behind to become naught but warg meat.”
“You, Gimli Horse Master, could ride him to Dol Amroth,” Legolas said lightly. “It’s roughly three days travel. Not far at all really.”
“And be parted from you?” Gimli exclaimed.
Legolas sighed. He said, “I would rest safely in the tender care of the Prince of Dol Amroth.”
“Ye’re stirrin’ my wrath, Elf,” Gimli said. “He’s a man ye admitted to findin’ attractive! No, I’ll not be parted from ye.”
Legolas began to laugh, then stopped abruptly. He gave Gimli a sharp squeeze and gasped, “Please, don’t start me laughing. It hurts too much.”
“So, elven frivolity comes at too high a price, does it?”
“It does, Gimli. I’m sorry. I was teasing you.”
“I’ll forgive ye’ this time because ye’re injured. But next time…”
Legolas tightened his grip and let out a long sigh. The vista was magnificent now that they’d reached the top of the ridge. Like green waves the crests of other ridges rose around them, valleys filled with smoky mist as the sun dropped westward.
“This is a beautiful land,” Gimli said. “And a fair number of caves too.”
“Oh yes,” Legolas breathed into his ear. “Cozy hiding places.”
Legolas shifted his hold on the dwarf and reached up to tap the mithril case holding the ruling ring. He kissed the back of Gimli’s neck and sighed again.
“Aye,” Gimli said. “Once more duty bound, I know.”
In silence they admired the glorious woodland scene around them, contemplating their long past, and what their future might have been if Whitethorn had not cast another ring. Then they heard the whirring of helicopter blades. They dismounted and assured Hob that there was no danger.
Gimli waved at the pilot and guided him to a safe landing while Legolas leaned against Hob. A slim wood elf jumped down from the chopper and took charge of the horse. A tall man bearing a strong resemblance to Aragorn ran to Legolas and helped him into the helicopter. The engine noise prevented Gimli from hearing their words but without a doubt, the man was the Prince of Dol Amroth and Legolas was glad to see him.
A flare of unease coursed through Gimli. The pitch of the helicopter engine changed and arms waved at him to hurry. He grabbed their baggage and sprinted as best a dwarf could manage. The ring around his neck felt like an anchor.
95 - If You Can’t Be with the One You Love
Among their baggage in the tail section of the big chopper, the dwarf found a seat, feeling a great deal like baggage himself, at the moment. He was gripping handholds with white knuckles and avoiding the vista visible through the expanse of glass at the front of the swooping flying machine. From his gloomy niche, instead of watching the ground below, Gimli fixed his gaze upon Legolas who finally relaxed, his head in the Prince’s lap.
Gentle hands brushed back the golden hair and the Prince’s handsome face dipped close to the elf’s. Whispered words passed between them. The medical personnel readied their equipment. Sorely the dwarf watched. Then, he admitted to himself that he was grateful for the Prince’s timely arrival, his forethought and even his tenderness. Anything to save Legolas.
As soon as the chopper leveled off, an elven healer inserted an intravenous drip of plasma, pain killers, and nutrients into the grievously wounded passenger. The silver-haired elf examined Legolas’ wound, tearing away the bandages Gimli had clumsily tied. Long fingers on gloved hands cleaned away the dark mass of dried blood and ravaged flesh. Gimli bit his lip when he saw leaking blood vessels. With a steady, practiced hand, the healer sealed the small veins with a cauterizing rod. Legolas did not flinch. He gazed into the warm, dark eyes of the Prince.
By the time the chopper came to rest on the palace roof, Legolas’ condition had improved slightly. His color had returned somewhat and he was able to tell his companions that he was in less pain. Of course he was unable to stand. So, Gimli stepped forward to act as his friend’s support. But the Prince claimed the honor of carrying his injured guest into his home. With tenderness the man’s strong arms enfolded Legolas and effortlessly he held his precious burden, the elf’s head resting against the man’s wide shoulder.
Hopping out of the chopper to follow, Gimli pulled their baggage after him. A young guard bent to lift the packs but Gimli shook his head and muttered that he’d manage. The guard shrugged and looked sheepishly at his fellows who glanced knowingly. Two elves raised their chins and their eyebrows. It was more than Gimli could stand. He stomped after the princely entourage that was taking Legolas inside the palace.
When Gimli found their quarters he learned that the Prince, Inziladun the Fifteenth, had forbidden anyone from entering the elf’s room. Gimli was given a suite of rooms across the hall but even he was asked politely to graciously refrain from disturbing the healing process of his friend. The healer had stated that nothing must disturb Legolas’ rest if he were going to recover. Gimli nodded and grumbled and shut the door to his own room. If he could not be with the one he loved, he’d sit alone and wait by the door.
A servant called about eight in the evening. When Gimli answered the door he explained that he was not hungry. Please send his regrets to his host, he’d added. The servant said he would take the message to his lord. He left, promising to bring the dwarf something from the kitchen in a few hours. As Gimli watched the servant leave, he couldn’t help but look at a locked door across the hall. The silver locket around his neck felt like a lead weight. His eyes burned. His breath came in short gasps.
Squeezing his eyes shut, he wanted to slam his door. Instead, he walked to the balcony. The paved courtyard lay below his window and guards were checking vehicles entering the palace grounds. Earlier, Gimli had thought of going along the battlements, over the roof and in through the window on the other side of their tower. He stamped his boots on the thick carpet. He didn’t trust his short legs. It was a long way to the ground.
All at once, a vehicle screeched to a halt in the compound below catching the dwarf’s attention. Gimli sucked in his breath. He rubbed his sore eyes. There it was, shining in the lights of the security check point, a red XKE. Gimli blinked and couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw the driver. A smirk crept over Gimli’s features. Here was someone who’d open the door.
96 - Green Grass of Home
Gimli washed his face quickly, preparing himself for the impending interview with the King of Greenwood. He must have received a call from the Prince, Gimli thought. How else would he have known to come? Had Legolas called him from the cave? Gimli sighed. He closed his eyes and for the first time in days, sensed help at hand. If anyone could breach the door beyond, it was Thranduil.
Glancing into the mirror to check his appearance once more, Gimli heard the sharp rap on the door. He hustled across the room and swung it open. There, standing before him, in a perfectly tailored but rumpled suit, was the elven king, dark eyes flashing like a storm at evening. At the sight, Gimli’s voice failed. He stepped back and held the door in silence.
In the next moment, a dozen others crowded into the dwarf’s room. Languages blurred in his ears. The elves were speaking quickly in tones with rapidly rising pitch. The elven physician was there and he was confronting Thranduil. The debate raged and Gimli believed it centered on the original premise that Legolas needed undisturbed rest. Then he heard the word "naugrim" and he backed toward the corner of the room, crushed.
The doctor noticed Gimli’s movement and lowered his voice. Thranduil’s hawklike gaze swept the room. Gimli remembered how his father, Gloin, had described the Elf King during the Battle of the Five Armies. In full command, Thranduil took the physician by the arm and led him to the door. A moment later, Thranduil ordered the others out of the room.
Watching, Gimli leaned against the wall, the weight around his neck dragging him ever downward. The Elf King turned at last and pinned Gimli with his dark gaze. Then a little smile flickered like a firefly upon the familiar, curved lips. Legolas had his father’s mouth. Gimli saw the same long, slender fingers beckon to him.
"Come, Gimli Elf Friend," Thranduil said softly. "Now that the others have departed, we may speak."
Gimli nodded and approached the forest monarch. Thranduil held out his hands and smiled. True rescue had arrived.
Thranduil said, "Allow me to thank you, first of all, for saving my son."
Gimli replied. "Tis good to see ye, sir."
Without the least fuss, Thranduil sat down upon the edge of the bed. He kicked off his shoes and rubbed first one foot and then the other.
"Why I follow my son’s fashions, I simply don’t know," Thranduil said with a soft laugh. Then he grew sober and spoke again, "Be at ease, Gimli. Morgilendor has told me that Legolas will recover. There are grievous injuries but he rests and so he improves."
"They won’t let me see him."
Thranduil sniff and drew in a long breath before speaking again. Then he said, "I know you understood much of our discussion. You heard what he called you."
"Aye, sir."
"The physician is old-fashioned," Thanduil said with a shrug. "I corrected him. I explained that you have been my son’s companion for ages now. You of all beings should have the right to sit at his bedside."
"May I go to him now?"
"Yes, Gimli and with your permission, I plan to join you. I’ve brought something you might recognize." Thranduil reached into his breast pocket and took out five wilted leaves. "Aragorn was not the only king able with athelas to heal a warg’s black breath."
Gimli’s eyes widened as he slowly understood the full scope of his companion’s danger. He sank to his knees.
"No, Gimli," Thranduil said with a shake of his head. "You thought to put Narya on his finger. Your wise decision saved him, you know. He had the strength to call me. He asked me to take you into the West if he could not."
Completely undone, Gimli allowed his tears to flow. With them, the ring’s great weight lifted and he breathed the clean scent of the athelas too. He lifted his head and wiped his eyes with his shirt sleeve. He cleared his throat and said, "May I help ye put on yer shoes, sir?"
"I think I’ll leave them here, Gimli. Now, are you ready to cross the hall?"
"Oh aye! That I am."
97 - Waiting…
The face of the figure on the bed seemed made of bee’s wax, Gimli thought. Immobile features, yellowish in the glow of many candles, seemed too still for a living creature. The bandages swathing neck and shoulder appeared funerary. An aching coldness grew in Gimli’s chest. His eyes prickled with welling tears.
Worst of all, the elf’s eyes were open. To Gimli, familiar with mortal death, the sight was unnerving. Thranduil laid a firm hand upon the dwarf’s quaking shoulder. Gimli glanced at the Elf King. He was composed, tranquil in the flickering light. Gimli gnawed a corner of his mustache, unable to move closer.
Thranduil leaned down to the dwarf’s ear and said, "My son walks far from here. We must call him back."
"Tell me what to say," Gimli replied hoarsely.
"Call to him. He’ll know your voice," Thranduil said. "Call softly, as you would in the night when he sleeps by your side."
The Elf King gave the dwarf a little push and nodded. Gimli swallowed and remembered the entrance to the Paths of the Dead. He ground his teeth and grew angry at his own fearfulness. The pain in his chest was excruciating.
At last forcing himself to move, his faltering steps brought him to the bedside. He lifted Legolas’ hand and touched the warmth of Narya. Icy fears thawed and tears spilled like snowmelt. He wiped his sleeve across his eyes and under his nose. His heart beat again. He smiled and whispered his lover’s name.
"Legolas."
Slender ivory fingers closed upon his own. The elf’s forehead furrowed. His eyelids fluttered. The room filled suddenly with a wholesome fragrance. Athelas steeped in warm water and Legolas’ brow smoothed. His nostrils twitched. His mouth gradually curved into a crooked smile. Then he inhaled a great breath, releasing it in a long sigh. His eyes cleared and consciousness returned.
Legolas whispered, "Gimli? I was looking for you."
The elf tried to sit up and winced at the unexpected pain. Gimli slipped an arm under him, embracing him, adjusting pillows at the same time. The dwarf knew he babbled but he couldn’t stop.
"Ye scared the life from me! Ye know that, don’t ye?" Gimli said. "The Prince came for us. A kinsman of yours led Hob away. Ye’ lay there and they worked on ye’. We landed and the doctor said I had to wait outside yer door. If it hadn’t been for yer father, the speed o’yer car racin’ down here from Minas Tirith, I don’ know how…"
"Calm, Gimli," Legolas said. "I can feel your heart pounding. Be at ease."
"The doctor, he wouldn’t…" Gimli began just before Legolas kissed him.
"I needed that," the elf murmured, smiling and closing his eyes in blissful satisfaction.
A sharp click of the door latch caught Gimli’s attention. Thranduil had gone, giving them a moment in private. Legolas tugged weakly at his lover’s shirt.
"I don’t think I should exert ye’," Gimli said softly, climbing into the bed next to the elf. "Does it hurt ye much?"
"Not anymore," Legolas said, his good arm around Gimli. "Not now."
For a long time Gimli held the elf, telling him all the details of the ride in the helicopter, the entrance into the palace, the order to wait, and his rescue by the Elf King. Legolas laughed, wincing again and again.
"My father called Morgilendor old-fashioned?" Legolas asked. "That’s like the linden calling the willow tree green."
Gimli sat up, stern disapproval in his voice. "I’ll listen to no disrespect concerning yer father, not even from ye, Legolas."
"None intended," Legolas sighed, mirth still evident in his features. "I am in my father’s debt."
"So am I," Gimli said. "So am I."
"You need some rest, I think," Legolas whispered as the dwarf settled again. "Sleep a while and then we’ll share supper."
Gimli nodded and nestled closer. Long slender fingers combed his hair and he dreamed of restful afternoons in Lothlorien. Finally, the scent of food woke him. He opened his eyes to see the Elf King, their waiter, holding a silver tray with two small bowls of soup. Lembas crumbs topped the savory vegetable broth. Light on the stomach and warm, the soup was the doctor’s prescription for a speedy recovery for both the weary travelers.
"Give my thanks to Morgilendor, father," Legolas said as his father took back the empty bowls.
"Mine too, sir," Gimli said. "And thank you for… um, everything."
A smile, so like one of the sort Legolas often wore, curved the Elf King’s lips. He nodded and softly closed the door behind him when he left.
98 - Green Grow the Violets
Soft cursing in Sindarin woke Gimli. He rolled over and stretched out an arm toward his bedfellow, but no one was there. He sat up. In the blue glow of a laptop screen, he spotted Legolas sitting on a cushion at a low table near the window. A shaft of moonlight splashed on the wood floor imitating a forest pool.
Gimli rubbed his eyes and cleared his throat. Legolas shot a glance in the direction of the bed. He had the stunned look of a deer snared in the hunter's sights. Caught not resting as he should.
"Did I wake you?" Legolas whispered.
The dwarf’s mouth opened but no words fell from his lips. He rolled his eyes and waited. He smirked, for the elf’s shoulders moved in a shrug sure to be followed by the inevitable stab of pain.
It would serve him right, Gimli thought. After all they’d been through, one would think that an uninterrupted night of peace in a real bed would not be so hard to take. Of course, when one dealt with elves, one never expected to find them reasonable, the frivolous, flighty, cool on the outside, molten on the inside, wandering, tree-singing race that they were.
Dwarves on the other hand were understandable, rock-solid, grounded, sturdy as stone structures, and as hard to move. All the best qualities, really. But then, a stab of tenderness pricked his heart, how had Gimli erred? How had he come to love a flitting creature of sweet scented flowers and soft moonlight?
How could he not? He gazed in rapt appreciation until… Ah, there it was, the inevitable wince. Served him right. He should be sleeping, dream wandering, instead of reading his email.
"What are you doing up?" Gimli growled at last.
Legolas, his expression soft again, glanced back at the screen. "I’m reading the news from home. The Tropic Times is online, you know."
Cautiously, Legolas stretched his neck again. A grimace of pain marred his delicate features. He shrugged his shoulders next, his eyes never left the screen.
"Won’t heal if ye keep doin’ that," Gimli warned.
"Oh, look, Gimli," the elf said, ignoring the dwarf’s advice. "Khazad Khonstruction has a new contract. A high rise near Midtown where we used to live."
"Come back to bed," Gimli ordered.
Legolas looked up, his most enticing smile on lips begging for Gimli’s attention. He asked, "Would you like to see a photo of Eorand? He’s on the high school sports page."
Under such enchantment Gimli nodded at last and threw off the covers. The smile on the elf’s face brightened as his lover approached. They sat together on the cushion and spoke of home, arms entwined, bodies close and the laptop shared.
As the dawn added color to the scene, they heard a soft knock at the door. Gimli answered and learned that a servant awaited them with coffee and a light breakfast. Snatching a robe, Gimli went off to fetch their meal, thanking the servant and returning with the tray. Both ate with a good appetite, laughing at the dexterous ability of elves to feast one-handed.
After breakfast, Gimli helped Legolas bathe and dress. Then they ventured out into the garden. There they found Thranduil speaking with a chorus of birds. Legolas greeted his father and the little singers, introducing Gimli to them. In sweet harmony the little flock sang them a morning song. For a few minutes they admired the last of the summer flowers. Then Legolas found a warm patch of sun where he could rest.
Thranduil conducted the bird chorus for a few more minutes. Amazed, Gimli stood listening at his friend's shoulder. Then Legolas cleared his throat and the birds quieted.
"What news, father, did your little spies tell you before we arrived," Legolas asked from a low mossy mound at the bole of a tree.
Thranduil's brows shot upward. Gimli pretended to observe the birds. Then the Elf King sniffed.
"I did not wish to burden you with sad news so early in the day," Thranduil said.
"We are putting the Prince and his people in danger by staying here," Legolas said. "How close is the enemy?"
"They hunt throughout the countryside. The elves hiding your horse were attacked. They suffered no losses but the fighting was fierce."
Legolas frowned and rubbed at his wound. He said, "We must be on our way then."
"Yes, I am sorry to say that I agree with you," Thranduil replied. "But, you two cannot travel on foot or by horse. You, my son, are too weak."
"Legolas has my arm, sir," Gimli said, stepping forward.
"And stout it is, Master Dwarf," replied Thranduil. "Yet, I fear the many longer arms of the enemy. Let us discuss another way."
99 - Garden Party
The sun was warm. Legolas basked in it while Gimli sought the cooler shade of the heavy bough above their heads. Thranduil stood, gesturing regally at the leafy realm about them in the palace garden of the Prince of Dol Amroth.
"My son," Thranduil began, touching Legolas’ arm softly. "What I’m about to tell you may seem hard to believe. Even so, it is true and if you had planned to remain in Middle Earth, you would have been taken, sooner or later, into the Inner Circle."
"What are you saying, father?" Legolas asked, squinting up at the Elf King whose head was surrounded by a halo of sunlight.
"Middle Earth holds secrets yet, Legolas. But first, allow me to ask a question. Do you still hold a pilot’s license?"
"Yes, father," Legolas said, shrugging his shoulders and wincing from the pain.
Thranduil shook his head and frowned, saying, "You know that both you and Gimli are out of the coming fight. The brave son of Gloin bears an awful burden. You, Legolas, are injured."
Gimli cleared his throat and grumbled, "Pains me to run…"
Thranduil turned to the dwarf. "Gimli," he said. "You bear the fate of all in Middle Earth just as Frodo did. You have felt its weight and the enemy is at your heels. A wise person would have declined the responsibility."
"Am I a fool then?" Gimli asked bristling.
Legolas reached for the dwarf’s hand. He squeezed it. Thranduil continued to speak and Gimli listened his head bowed again, his eyes on his companion.
"Gimli," the Elf King said. "A lesser being, elf, dwarf or man would seek to master the ring. Only someone of profound courage resists its allure and its deadly corruption."
"I thank you for your words of confidence, sir," Gimli said, blushing the color of a nearby rose. He said, "But how are we to escape? Is there a ship waiting?"
"The way to the Undying Lands will test your mettle, Gimli, son of Gloin. It is a thing you fear, but you will pass the door as you did the Gates of the Dead, because you love my son."
"Are we to ride upon eagles then," Gimli said in a low voice that quavered.
"Something like that," Thranduil said smiling. "Though, not just yet. A day or two of rest first. Oh, and by all means, allow me to show you the view from the Tower of Amroth. Sometimes, an elf can catch a glimpse of the far white shore from that height.""I am not so fond of heights," Gimli grumbled. "Have ye no caves to explore?"
"Hum," Thranduil replied stroking his sharp chin. "I believe there are a few sea caves along the eastern cliff walls. When the waters are calm and the tide is low, one may venture inside them."
Legolas coughed softly. "Gimli," he said. "If you wish to go, I’ll rest here. The sun is warm and the birds will keep me company."
"I’ll stay with ye, Friend," Gimli said. "I’ve seen a fair number of caverns. I needn’t see more."
"Then, I’ll see what’s for luncheon," Thranduil said rubbing his fine hands together. "The two of you can picnic out here. I have arrangements to make."
100 - Wind Beneath my Wings
The wind was strong outside and rattled the mylar covering of the isolated hanger at the deserted airfield in the wastes southeast of the city of Dol Amroth. Legolas had already climbed gracefully into his seat and he smiled warmly at his friend who trudged toward their top secret aircraft.
"I like the helmet, Gimli," Legolas said, grinning and reaching out his slender arm to his life-long companion.
Despite the help, the dwarf struggled to climb the slick black wing of the strange stealth fighter jet. The slim arm held his weight, but Gimli watched as the smile turned to a grimace as the dwarf was dragged, squirming and kicking, toward his seat.
"The skin a'this contraption is made a'glass," Gimli gasped as he scrambled up.
With a groan and a great effort Legolas heaved the dwarf aboard. A moment righting himself, Gimli settled into the narrow seat perched behind Legolas in the aircraft's cramped cockpit.
Knowing the strain he'd put on Legolas' arm, Gimli muttered, "I've hurt ye, haven't I?"
After a long sigh Legolas said, "You gained weight, Gimli, here in the realm of Dol Amroth." Then the elf smiled again and whispered, "I could lift you at Helm's Deep."
A wide hand brushed back the elf's golden hair and a stubby finger touched the side of the helmet as if to caressed a sharp ear. Then the meaty hand came to rest on the delicate shoulder. A gentle squeeze followed.
"You were usin' yer weak arm, Friend."
At that moment Legolas tugged on his flight harness and tapped the instrument panel. Gimli gnawed his lip and then quickly buckled his harness straps as Legolas patted his friend's right foot wedged against his waist.
"I'm all right," Legolas whispered into the small microphone he wore. "It's healed, Gimli."
Gimli cleared his throat. It sounded like heavy static on the headphones.
Legolas began to twist around to see if everything was all right but the dwarf 's hand squeezed his shoulder again.
Then the dwarf said, "I'm not sayin' you'd ever hide the truth from me, but in this I believe yer father."
"Did he reveal more to you than he did to me?"
"Ye' canna fight, so there's no use bein' melancholy or stiff-necked about leavin' a battle to someone else. I know ye love a good fight, just like I do."
"Father sends us away to prevent the war, Gimli. If one comes, we will have no part in it. We are ring-bearers. That task alone must satisfy us."
"Then my axe and your bow will grace a wall in some ghostly dwelling and nothing more?"
"We go to a place of peace, Gimli, where the evil in the ring you bear will be powerless. It is but a shadow of the old evil. And the White Shores beyond the Sundering Sea abide no shadows."
"I'll keep it then, as a souvenir of Middle Earth."
"No," Legolas said. "We'll talk with Gandalf before we decide what to do with it. And, you must never look upon it, my friend. I dread it may yet prove fatal."
"Have no fear, then, Friend. I have only to gaze upon the gold of the Lady's hair or upon your own to have my fill of that hue."
Gimli watched the elf's reflected expression in the glass instrument panel. There was the smile he dearly loved. Then a small green light blinked.
"Look, Gimli," Legolas said, pointing. "There's the signal."
"Aye," Gimli said. "I'm ready."
"Off we go then. Father said he'd watch us from the tower. I will miss him."
"So will I."
*****
Late that afternoon, a little page boy found the Elf King gazing out to sea in the highest room of the tower of Dol Amroth. The room was chilly but the King did not seem to mind. He turned slowly away from the window and cast a frosty glance at the boy. The child bowed deeply.
"A message, sir," the little boy whispered.
The Elf King held out a hand as white and chill as new fallen snow. The boy's rosy hand trembled as the sheaf of paper touched Thranduil's fingers. The boy gazed round-eyed as the words were read.
"At 1500 hours, in clear skies, fifty miles south southwest of Bermuda, a small unidentified blip was noted by a weather tracking satellite. An instant later, the object disappeared. Possibly a flock of birds. End transmission."
The tower chamber was filled with a wintry silence. The boy shifted his weight from one foot to the other and then he scraped one shoe against the floor.
The Elf King shot a sharp glance his way.
"You are dismissed, child," Thranduil said softening his features.
"Won't you come down for supper, sir?"
"Tell your master that I will join him later. The Evenstar is beautiful tonight, and I think I'll watch the moon rise."
The boy nodded and left the room. Then, slowly Thranduil folded the note and tucked it inside his robe.
The End
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