Chapter Text
"But, Prince Thranduil," the food vendor protested, "That stand of pine trees entirely obscures the view of my food stands from the parade field! The masses gathered to see the ascension of King Amroth and Queen Nimrodel will not be able to see my succulent offerings at all until after the conclusion of the ceremony! You simply MUST sign these orders for the trees to be cut down!" The self-important ellon waved his papers around again.
Thranduil more-or-less ignored him. There was something about the fellow that bothered Thranduil. Something besides the very idea of cutting down trees for such a facile reason. Thranduil just couldn't quite put his finger on what it was, though. The vendor was a respected food merchant, one who owned restaurants throughout the Seven (or nine, or even ten, depending upon how one counted them) Kingdoms of Tol Eressea, the Lonely Island across the Bay of Eldamar from Aman proper.
A refreshing breeze from the direction of the pine copse in question blew in through the open windows of Thranduil's small office as he pondered the matter. Every yen - or every one hundred and forty-four years as the humans had measured time - the different Kingdoms of Tol Eressea selected a new King and Queen of the western-most city and territory of the island, called Marillaeglir. That poor individual- or individuals in the case of Amroth and Nimrodel, who ruled as equals - were responsible for leading the Council of Tol Eressea and serving as the liaisons between the Kingdoms of Tol Eressea and the Vanyar, Noldor, and Teleri of Aman proper. To Thranduil, it sounded like one hundred and forty-four years of torture, but his cousin and dear friend Amroth was proud to have been offered the honor.
This was to be the seventh time a new Yen-King and Queen ascended the western-facing thrones in Marillaeglir. But it was the first time that the new King - and his Queen - were to be amongst the elves who had not been born in the West, who had not already been ancient when Ancalagon fell and broke the world. The first time that Tol Eressea would be ruled by elves who were therefore not, as Thranduil found it amusing to describe them, 'older than dirt.'
So, Amroth and Nimrodel's ascension was not without controversy. A number of elves in Aman proper were not at all happy about it, and large sections of Gondolin-Earillye, Doriath Gaeronwest, and Anderserme (where dwelled many elves who had once been of Nargothorond and Lindon), were also discontented. It was for that reason, primarily, that Thranduil had accepted Amroth's request that Thranduil personally captain the soldiers sent by Eryn Brongalen to assist with security for the ceremony and celebrations.
Eryn Brongalen, or the enduring green forest, was the name given to their new home in the West by the elves from Greenwood who had sailed after the War of the Last Alliance and been re-born in the early Third Age. As with many of the other kingdoms of Tol Eressea, rule of Eryn Brongalen moved between a number of different elves who were related to Oropher in one way or another. Thranduil had been offered multiple opportunities to serve as heir and then King again, but he'd always turned it down. That, and any other official position. Which was why his father had been surprised, and several members of Oropher's council had nearly expired of shock, when Thranduil actually asked for this appointment.
Part of the duties of Thranduil's new and very temporary position unfortunately included dealing with idiots like this food vendor, who wanted to set up temporary shop right in the middle of where Thranduil had been idly considering whether or not to put several guards on the day of the coronation. Still, it was unlikely that the food vendor was anything more than an irritating ellon. Thranduil should simply tell him 'no' and send him on his way. But there was something about him....
Instincts honed on the battlefields and dangerous forests of Middle Earth warned Thranduil that something was not quite right. So he let the ellon keep talking, and waving his papers back and forth. Soon enough, a polite knock on the door signalled that the food vendor's time was up. Thranduil called for his lieutenants - Linwe and Ridhae, both great Lords in their own right - to escort the ellon on his way.
"But Prince Thranduil has not even signed my papers!" The food vendor protested.
"His Highness our Captain will give it due consideration, I am sure." Soothed Ridhae as he led the ellon away, "As you know, Sir Merchant, we who only recently sailed are still new to such procedures, and may require more time to come to terms with them."
An age spent at Thanduil's right hand had seen Ridhae's father Fileg become a master at delivering an insult cloaked in a compliment. Ridhae himself lacked his father's questionable sense of humor, and was by nature and training a polite young elf. Thranduil wondered just how unpleasant this particular merchant had made himself before he'd even been subjected to the man's presence, to get a highly-irritated-Fileg impression out of the steady Ridhae.
More important than finding that out was figuring out what was going on with the merchant to put Thranduil so on edge. "Have him followed, Lin." He softly commanded his second.
Linwe's jade-green eyes sharpened. He moved to obey with a nod which somehow conveyed both that he understood the gravity of the situation, and also that Thranduil should watch himself.
Thranduil snorted in amusement as he got to his feet. What could there be, in this safe building, in this soft place in the West, that would threaten him? Then he paused, because...there it was again. The feeling of something out of place. He questioned himself, for a moment. In a way he almost never had, at home, in the Greenwood. There, he'd felt more sure of himself. He'd loved the trees there, the Wood itself, since he was an elfling. He'd grown up there, defended the place with his own blood. His heart had been invested in every inch. He'd felt the loss of every tree to the darkness as it encroached. He'd felt the pain of every healthy sapling covered in poisonous spider web. He'd rejoiced, as they fought the darkness back, during the Watchful Peace, the years when his son Thandrin, and then the twins Eryntheliel and Lithidhren, and also Fileg's Ridhae and so many other elflings had been born, in hope and triumph. He'd breathed easier for each branch reaching safely to the clean air above. Then when the Peace ended, Thranduil had mourned and cursed and raged, as they'd lost that ground again, far, far faster than they'd gotten it back, before Legolas was even old enough to fletch his own arrows. At the last, after the Ring War, Thranduil had seen each and every one of those trees free again, each and every inch of forest loam cleansed.
There, in his forest, Thranduil had known himself, been sure of himself. Here, in the West,...he was still adrift. He knew it, and knew too that his family hoped that this position would be the beginning of his finding his own place here, in the West where almost no one ever died. Thranduil, however, intended only to do this job, and then return to the quiet vastness of the lands he had come to claim as his own, continuing to venture out to court only so frequently as he had to, in order to keep his wife and children happy.
It was hard to be sure that the uneasiness he was feeling now was anything more than the constant displacement of being here, in the West. But yet...Thranduil's hands moved of their own accord to the narrow closet of his temporary office. With the ease of long, if not recent, habit, he added several knives to the sword he already carried as an officer - however temporary- of the King-and-Queen-to-be. But yet, Thranduil was sure. His hands, moving of their own accord, told him. Something was not right. He may not be of this place, but he still knew.
Floor-to-ceiling windows let in the first blushing rays of the sunset as he walked towards the main entry room of the temporary garrison. Even though it had been built to house the guards sent from each Kingdom to provide security and fanfare, it was still completely indefensible. Thranduil frowned at that oversight, until he caught a glimpse of an elf just entering the door. All he could see was one shoulder and tumbled blond curls half-tamed by braids decorated with bright feathers and shells, but he knew her.
"Rhovaniel-nin," He greeted his darling only daughter, Eryntheliel. He could tell that she was upset, just from the curve of her shoulder. But he didn't known how upset, nor what she might be worried about that would trouble her so. From just a glimpse of Legolas' shoulder, he might have known. But he'd had Legolas for longer. Eryntheliel and her twin and Thranduil's heir Thandrin had all died at the end of the Watchful Peace. Legolas had lived. Thranduil and Legolas had survived the siege and the war and its end together, and even though Eryntheliel was the child whose spirit Thranduil had always, always understood best, he still did not know what was wrong, and would not, until she told him.
Eryntheliel's bright blue eyes flew to him. Worried, yes, and more than, but all of that eased when she saw him. Her breath caught, exhaling dread and fear. And she smiled. Eryntheliel believed that he could make this right, whatever it was. That simple faith overwhelmed Thranduil for a moment. It was a large part of why he had sailed, not just Eryn's faith and love but also that of his sons', and his wife, and his friends. He did not know what he could do for them here, in this strange place. But he would try.
Despite her heightened emotions, Eryntheliel kept her composure, greeting her father only with fond affection and not a rushed confession. Although all of the elves present in the entry way and the garrison were sworn to the service of Eryn Brongalen, Eryntheliel had learned early to be careful about what she said and to whom. Thranduil glanced around the room, noting that his Eryn had been accompanied by her two of her dearest friends, Cellillien and Merilin. Sweet, doe-eyed Cellillien, called Celli, was the daughter of Veassen, one of Thranduil's sworn-brothers. After her older brother had died beside Eryntheliel, Cellilien had trained as a soldier and served in Thranduil's army. She'd guarded both him and Legolas, and had done so well. But since sailing, she had worked more often as an assistant to Eryntheliel in her work as an animal tender and trainer. Cellillien's heart had never really been in the sword and bow. Thranduil was glad to see her making other choices, now. Glad to see her happy again.
Merilin and Cellilien were a study in contrasts, Merilin was pale-blond and angular, where Cellilien was gently rounded and dark-haired. Merilin was Amroth and Nimrodel's only daughter. A decade ago, her brother and Eryntheliel had begun courting. That was another reason why Thranduil had taken on this task of helping to see Amroth safely crowned. That it was Amroth, and that he'd asked, would have been enough. But it was his daughter's heart at stake, as well.
Before he could draw the young ellith aside to find out what was the matter, Thranduil heard the soft tread of another female foot outside the door. Before he even saw her, Thranduil felt the wind over the broad river Anduin on his face. He smelled the cherry blossoms from Ithilien-en-Edhil. He heard the waterfalls of Imladris and could almost taste the spiced apple pies the men of Erebor had sent to his Northern Hall. Then the door opened, and he could see the sunset on the water of the Bay of Dol Amroth. He'd only seen it only once before and he would never see it again, save in the gold-red hair of Mithiriel. She who was Aragorn Telcontar's granddaughter, and Prince Faramir's daughter. Mithiriel who was his cousin Ecthelion's wife, one of the only two humans in Aman. She did not belong in this place, in some fundamental way. But just being in her presence was like opening a window into his past, or opening a chest from the land he loved still.
For the first few decades Thranduil had been here in the West, that memory of home had been an almost unbearable pain. He'd rarely seen Mithiriel in that time, although her husband Ecthelion, called Theli, had been about quite frequently, as had Legolas and his ridiculous dwarf. Still, Thranduil had grown to like Gimli better than the last three ellith his middle-son Lithidhren had brought home, so that was something. And he'd gotten to the point where Mithiriel bringing a small bit of Middle Earth with her wherever she went was almost welcome.
Soon enough, he had his daughter and her friends - including Mithiriel- ensconced in his office. Which was quite a feat, even though Eryntheliel and Mithiriel were both very small persons. Thranduil had never before had to consider the problems of having an office which was too small. It was novel, but he did not think that he liked it. It was inconvenient, yet it didn't seem to stop people from bothering him, so of what use was it?
"Ada, Mithiriel has a problem." Eryntheliel started.
"Why doesn't she go to her husband, then?" Thranduil replied. He'd do anything for Eryntheliel, but he didn't see why Mithiriel's problem had to be his problem. He had enough problems.
Mithiriel laughed lightly. Thranduil favored her with a displeased expression.
She just smiled again, albeit a bit apologetically, "It wouldn't be your problem, cousin Thrani. And I can take it to Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin-Earrilye, I know that he is in charge of overall security for the Ascension Ceremonies...." Mithiriel began to explain, speaking fast and lightly as she always did.
Thranduil waved a hand. They were here now, he might as well deal with whatever it was if he could. The whole story probably wasn't that interesting.
Mithiriel reached into her fashionable over-the-shoulder bag, and pulled out several letters. She handed them to Thranduil, who accepted them with a sigh.
The first sentence made him snarl. Addressed to Mithiriel, the letter began by calling her a wicked witch, moved on to stating that all humans were no better than animals and kinslayers, and ended by threatening to kill all of the kinslayer's get, including Mithiriel.
Eryntheliel, Cellilien, and Mithiriel had all seen him angry before, but Merilin squeaked in surprise. Thranduil put the letters carefully down on his desk, then wrenched back control of his temper with a hiss of rage.
"You little fool." He accused Mithiriel. Far from being intimidated, she just looked back at him levelly.
"You should at the very least have told your husband." Thranduil lectured her fiercely, "Who should have told Lord Glorfindel, who should have passed the message on to all of the Captains of all of the seven security detachments."
"Seven and a half." Mithiriel corrected, pedantic and fearless. Thranduil took a deep breath to keep himself from yelling.
Mithiriel shook her red-gold hair and apologized. "That isn't the point, and you are right that I should have said something. The first letter arrived last night, when Theli was in surgery." Mithiriel's husband was one of the better trauma surgeons in Tol Eressea. What exactly the two of them were doing in Marillaeglir, Thranduil wasn't sure. They, like Legolas and his wife Raniel and their constant companion the ridiculous dwarf, lived a highly peripatetic life-style. "The second arrived this morning, and I did send word to Lord Glorfindel that there had been a generalized threat against humans, but..."
Calmer, as that was the gist of the poisonous letters, Thranduil asked, "I will have a copy of the text sent to him, Miri. And to the other Security Captains. Glorfindel will likely want to speak with you. Go home, and tell Theli, and the two of you can talk to him together." And you didn't need to bring my daughter into it. But Thranduil didn't say that part aloud. Eryntheliel didn't seem as if she'd appreciate it, and besides, he had a fair amount of sympathy for Mithiriel. Receiving letters threatening your life and happiness because you happened to be human was terribly upsetting. But not upsetting enough that it should have stopped this particular capable young woman from passing on the word that Tuor, and all of the peredhil, were also at risk.
Mithiriel was still tense. So were Eryntheliel, Cellilien, and Merilin. Especially Merilin.
"Theli's family will be coming," Mithiriel explained softly, "His grandfather Elurin, or Eldun, I mean. And his parents. Coming here, to Marillaeglir, for the Ceremony."
"Oh, THAT orc-son." Thranduil leaned back in his chair, thoughtful for the first time. Elurin, or Eldun, had held fast a small part of Thranduil's woods for over two ages, before finally sailing with his reclusive people. Thranduil could have used his help, fighting against the dark creatures who threatened and tormented the Greenwood. But Eldun had wanted nothing to do with the problems, and he'd banished those of his people who had wanted a different life. Including his grandson. And then threatened them with death, if they dared return. Eldun, his aunt-by-law Dilys, and their fellow reclusive Nandor lived in a remote part of the northwest forests on Tol Eressea. They normally wanted nothing to do with public affairs, unlike Denethor's people, the far more numerous Silvan elves who did not consider themselves part of Eryn Brongalen or Galador-Annun, the new kingdom in the West of the Lothlorien elves. Denethor's people still called themselves the Laiquendi, but they lived between Doriath Gaeronwest and Eryn Brongalen and actively traded and interacted with both, and also with Galador Annun. Denethor most often sent an emissary to the Ascension Ceremony at Marillaeglir, and kept at least an informal ambassador in residence. Eldun and Dilys had never done so.
"You still should have told your husband." Thranduil said sternly to Mithiriel, after a moment. Even if Theli's evil grandfather were coming, Theli would want to help his wife deal with this. Thranduil gave Mithiriel a narrowed look, for good measure. He didn't get involved in other elves' marital problems, but if she were his wife, he'd be putting her over his knee and warming her well.
Mithiriel took a deep breath. "I think that Theli's family might be part of the problem."
Thranduil picked up the letters again, reading them over to give himself time to think about whether Mithiriel might be right about that. Sadly, he thought that it was possible. Which ruined his plan to have a quiet dinner with his wife and daughter in the park this evening. Sending his cousin's young wife alone to tell him that his family was plotting to have her murdered wasn't the type of thing that a responsible ellon did, particularly when he was somewhat fond of said cousin, and said cousin had served him faithfully for an age.
"Theli's grandfather's people? Do they even write?" Thranduil asked snidely, venting his annoyance and anger over the whole affair.
"Ada." Eryntheliel said reproachfully.
"No, I truly think that they are illiterate. And proud of being so." Thranduil defended himself. Eryntheliel was one of the few elves he was willing to moderate his temper for, at least sometimes.
"Elurin writes quite a fine hand, when he so chooses." Mithiriel said with quiet intensity. "And he has not, in the past, been unwilling to work with those who wield a quill. Or a bow."
Thranduil froze, only just then understanding what Mithiriel meant. "Dear girl," Thranduil said, as gently as he could, "'Kinslayer' is used here as a term to refer to all humans, however unfairly so. I do not believe that the author of this...filth...meant anything more by it than that."
"Merilin knows, too." Eryntheliel spoke up. "That her great-grandfather is Maglor. Her mother and cousin Amroth told each of them, when they came of age."
"Ah." Said Thranduil, glad that Nimrodel and Amroth had had at least that much sense.
Mithiriel was shaking her head. "Elurin -Eldun - actually spoke for Theli and I, when first we wed. He left his home to go with Lady Elwing to petition the Valar to offer us a choice to come and stay here, instead of Theli living out his life as a man and going to the Halls of Mandos with me and my family." Mithiriel proceeded to explain, her grey-green eyes as angry as Thranduil had ever seen them. "He knew that I was a human, and did not hold it against me. Why would he? He is one quarter a human, himself."
"He's not exactly a rational being, Mithiriel." Thranduil pointed out. He really did not like Eldun. And he'd only met him once, when Eldun had been saving his foster-son's life. Oh, and threatening Theli with death, and all of them with harm if they didn't quickly get out of his village with their badly-injured comrade. Yes, Thranduil did not like Eldun.
Mithiriel nodded, as if to say that Thranduil had a point, before going on, "But, even knowing I was a human, he spoke for us. And then he summoned us, when first we arrived at these shores. We went to meet him. He had intended to reconcile with Theli. Until he learned that I was not just a human descendant of Elros Tar-Minyatur, but also a human descendant of Mithrellas of Lothlorien, a granddaughter of Belegaeron."
"He lost his temper, then? Threatened to kill you both, I imagine? Or did he just make it snow, like a petulant child?" Thranduil asked.
That earned him a bitter, but real, laugh from Mithiriel. "He disowned Theli again. He said that he could not bear the thought of killing me, as I am his only grandson's beloved. But that if I ever became like my many-times great-grandfather, then he would see me dead." She paused. "And he also summoned a wind storm. With hail."
"Such a fool. A pity he didn't fade." Thranduil said.
Merilin gasped in horror at such a thought.
"He really is a fool, Merilin." Mithiriel explained gently, as if to excuse Thranduil's almost-blasphemy.
"A fool who paid - or at the least supported - an insane elleth who arranged the murder of your aunt Carys." Thranduil told Merelin bluntly. "Which left your cousins orphans, after their father Emlyn died in the war. When that insane elleth..."
"Nielinie." Supplied Mithiriel, although Thranduil noted that she did not include Nielinie's father-name. Maeglin was dead, and had not yet been reborn. Neither had Nielinie, so there was truly no need to bring that up.
"Yes, her." Thranduil continued irritably, "When she realized that Carys' sons had survived, she paid a band of orcs to massacre their village. When they escaped that, she repeatedly tried to have them killed in Caras Galadhon. She nearly succeeded. Celeborn had to shoot her, when she had a knife to your cousin Orophin's throat."
Merilin was pale. Eryntheliel patted her hand, and said comfortingly, "Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil survived. Carys and Emlyn have been reborn. And Nielinie is with Lord Namo."
"Eldun called me 'the Kinslayer's get.'" Mithiriel explained, looking down for a moment to keep her composure, and then meeting Thranduil's eyes again. "Those were his exact words, hundreds of years ago when we met with him.Theli told him that if he ever threatened to harm me again, or any of Maglor's granddaughters or their descendants, then he - we - would treat that threat as if it came from any other would-be murderer."
"So, in this case...." Thranduil mused, "That would mean going to the rulers of Marillaeglir." As Eldun's folk acknowledged no King or Queen, and Marillaeglir spoke for all of Tol Eressea.
Mithiriel nodded. "And now the new Queen of Marillaeglir, the first true Queen co-ruler of Marillaeglir, will be the granddaughter of a Kinslayer."
"Do these letters constitute a serious threat, do you think?" Thranduil asked her. As a former King would ask a former ruler of Imladris, for so he had been, once. And so she had been, once.
"I think that the chance of it being a real threat is sufficient to take it seriously." Mithiriel answered carefully, her father's daughter. "I do not know, if Eldun would actually plan to kill anyone. He does not truly believe in killing. He would expect to order Nimrodel - and all of us who bear Maglor's blood - to walk ourselves into the sea to die. Or, I don't know, expect us to penitently walk to the Halls of Mandos, and there beg Lord Namo to take us in and keep us from harming anyone else until the world ends."
Thranduil laughed. "Are you guessing, or did he say that?"
"Guessing." Mithiriel answered, with a wry, tired smile, "But he said a lot of things."
"I'm sure he did. Poor girl." Thranduil sympathized. He could understand, now, why Mithiriel had brought this problem to him, if not why she'd involved Eryntheliel. Lord Glorfindel would still have to be informed - and wouldn't that be fun? But Thranduil himself was deeply invested in having the start of Amroth and Nimrodel's yen-long reign go smoothly. And having Elurin show up and announce that the new Yen-King's wife was the granddaughter of a kinslayer would be a great way to go about ending Amroth's reign - and Nimrodel's - before it even started. And Thranduil was one of the only elves who knew that such a thing was even a possibility. The number of elves who knew that Maglor had even had children over the sea was very small. Thranduil had not known, nor had Galadriel and Celeborn, until Faramir and Melpomaen rescued Mithrellas from her prison under Minas Morgul at the end of the Third Age.
"Eryn, you and Celli and Merilin go meet your mother for dinner." Thranduil directed his daughter. "Let her know that I'll be late, and that I'll probably need her help at a tedious meeting later tonight."
Eryntheliel, accustomed to her father, grinned. She was still worried, but ever so much less so. Thranduil wished that he felt the same, but at least he'd managed to ease his daughter's fears.
Mithiriel was smiling at him, and she did know how much trouble this was going to cause them all, but at least appreciated hearing it described as "tedious." That Mithiriel had a lively sense of humor despite her pedantic, scholarly nature, was one of the things that Thranduil liked about her. That, and her ability to turn their enemies into sea slugs. Well, more the wisdom not to do so unless it was really necessary, and the wisdom to realize that every use of her magic had a cost. But having an ally who could turn an assassin into a sea slug (if she really had to) sitting beside his daughter at the Ascension Ceremony later this week was a good thing, and Thranduil appreciated it.
Chapter Text
The rest of the week passed in a blur. It was, for the most part, every bit as annoying as Thranduil had expected.
Thranduil had resolved himself to going with Mithiriel to explain the letters to Theli, but to his relief Mithiriel had turned him down.
"Legolas should be flying in soon." Mithiriel had said, looking to the clock in Thranduil's office. "In fact, he should be landing at the southwest field anytime now." That had not really been what Thranduil wanted to hear - he still felt rather ambivalent about Legolas's hobby of flying those ridiculous machines. But he had to agree that Legolas would be better than he at holding Mithiriel's hand, and then subsequently stopping Theli from going in person to confront his fool of grandfather.
The meeting about how to deal with the threat of Nimrodel being outed as the granddaughter of one of the kinslayers was as boring as Thranduil thought it would be, except that it did have some very exciting moments. Those were, however, offset by finding himself feeling sympathetic for both Galadriel and Nimrodel in the same meeting. Thranduil did not like either of them. He liked them much better than he liked Eldun, though. And much better, even, then he liked most of the elves of Aman proper.
In the Kingdoms of the Vanyar, Noldor, and Lindar, there was actually a very out-spoken minority who actually considered Thranduil, and most of the other elves of Tol-Eressea who had served as warriors in Middle Earth, to be kin-slayers themselves, because they had killed enemy humans during the different wars. A smaller but even-more outspoken group maintained that Thranduil and any other elves who had killed orcs were ALSO kinslayers, because the orcs had been bred by Melkor of elves and men as well as monsters. Prince Ingwion of the Vanyar, and all of the returned Exiles, tried to discourage that campaign as much as possible. Thranduil himself had inadvertently thrown a great deal of confusion into its ranks, by sailing to Middle Earth with two ships of orcs in his fleet. After the war, they'd changed. Most of them were still blood-thirsty, vicious killers who delighted in destruction and death. But some were just unpleasant, ugly, smelly, and bloodthirsty. They stayed in their own foul lands of Mordor, or went to seek work elsewhere when they ran out of food.
Thranduil had not been a supporter, per se, of what had once been Mithiriel and her sister Haleth's campaign to save the orcs (or at least keep the orcs from being as big of a problem - the two ladies weren't quite as naive as the first title might lead one to think). But he had to admit, the orcs who chose to work - for pay- in draining the dead marshes and burying the elven and orcish dead were not monsters, not anymore. And he'd had to agree that the Haradrim who enslaved the orcs, and the dark magicians of Rhun who kidnapped the orcs to use their blood, had to be stopped. Thranduil had even committed troops to the latter of those two endeavors, and had fought side-by-side with a few orcs himself. He'd reached a point of not wanting to kill every single orc all the time. He'd never became friends with any of the orcs, not like Elladan and Elrohir with Tur-Ug the Chain Pulverizer. It was difficult to become friends with a being who mourned about not being able to eat elven babies anymore because it knew that doing so was wrong, but it had never tasted anything as good as the blood of an elven baby. Tur-Ug had been born after the end of the Ring War, and had, to the best of Thranduil's knowledge, never eaten anyone except a particularly vicious Rhunnish mage. Said Rhunnish mage had tried to rape one of Faramir's granddaughters, so maybe that was part of why Tur-Ug had gotten along so well with Elladan and Elrohir.
In any case, Thranduil had agreed to bring with him to the West several hundred orcs who had mostly just wanted to find peace and not be put in a position where they were tempted to eat anything sentient again. The Maiar and the Valar had accepted those orcs as long-lost children, and made them comfortable in the Gardens of Lorien. Thranduil had never been to see them there, but his bringing them to the West and not killing them along the way there or objecting to their presence had caused great confusion to the elves who believed that orcs-are-children-too and that Thranduil, the Warrior-King of the Great Wood, was a mass murderer of orcs.
Still, at one event or another that he hadn't been able to avoid, Thranduil had been accused of being a foul slayer of orcs. Fortunately, he'd normally been near a family member who could assist with that interaction. One of the times he'd been by himself, Prince Fingon, the son of Prince Fingolfin and the cousin of then-King Finrod of the Noldor, had spoken up for Thranduil.
Fingon was at the interminable meeting. He accused Galadriel of a number of crimes, including having master-minded a "conspiracy of silence" to keep his sworn-brother's great-nephews and nieces from him.
At that, Thranduil held felt the need to speak up. "It was not a conspiracy of silence. It was a "conspiracy of it-doesn't-matter-so-who-cares." He clarified.
"If it doesn't matter," asked Thranduil's grandfather Celepharn, the emissary from Doriath-Gaeronwest to Marillaeglir for the ceremony, "Then why did not one of you, Grandson," he looked to Thranduil, "or you, Cousins," He looked to Galadriel, Celeborn, and Elrond, "Think to mention to any of us that the future Queen of Marillaeglir, the past Queen of Galador Annun," Celepharn gave Nimrodel a critical look, and then turned to face Aegnor and his betrothed, Mithrellas, "The future Queen of Adanserme and potentially, someday, the Noldor, and," turning back to look at Thranduil, "Several possible future Kings of Doriath Gaeronwest and Galador Annun are ALL descendants of a Kingslayer, and not just any Kingslayer, but Maglor Feanorion!"
"Well," Thranduil began sarcastically. .
"Thranduil." Celeborn said levelly, a hint of an appeal in his voice and gentle reproach plain on his noble face.
With an audible sound of frustration, Thranduil waved that Celeborn could explain. He noted, idly, that Galadriel seemed almost disappointed that Thranduil didn't get to have his say. Elrond and Celebrian appeared remarkably blank-faced about the whole thing, but Celebrian gave him a slight smile.
"I asked myself that question, Celepharn." Celeborn said intently, "Whether we should not just make it plain, who it was that Nimrodel's grandfather had been in the first Age. We did speak with Lady Nerdanel about the matter."
"Aunt Nerdanel knew?" Said Prince Fingon, sounding heart-broken, "And she did not tell me?"
King Turgon, the current ruler of Gondolin-Earrilye, reached forward to put a supportive hand on his brother's shoulder. "Aunt Nerdanel must have had her reasons, Fingon. We should at least hear them." He turned his attention to Galadriel.
"We are not on trial here, cousins-mine." She told them. "It should not matter who an elf's father is. Or their mother. Or their great-grandfather."
"It shouldn't." Celeborn agreed, stepping forward to clasp his wife's hand. "But it mattered to me, when first we learned that our beloved adopted sons were the great-grandsons of a murderer. To my shame, it made me sick to love them, until I had reconciled myself to the fact that they had not changed. That, though they bear his blood, it had never tainted them."
"Nor had it tainted Celebrimbor." Elrond pointed out, "And, in fact, Feanor's sons themselves were bound, in part, by an enchantment cast by their father, Feanor, using their blood, when they were children."
Thranduil hadn't known that. Neither had anyone else except Elrond's immediate family and Mithrellas. Much discussion ensued.
Prince Fingon and Thranduil's grandfather Celepharn were the loudest voices. Thranduil had only met Fingon a handful of times. There were days he wished he could say the same about his paternal grandfather, except that the Iathrim lord was fundamentally good, and admirable - it was his inflexible standards and attitude, in especially his attitude towards Thranduil and Thranduil's children, which Thranduil found off-putting. But Thranduil could understand Celepharn's upset at this. Celepharn had lost his own life and most of his family to the kin-slayers. Added to that, Nimrodel and Mithrellas were like ice and fire, and not likely to evoke anyone's empathy. Mithiriel was different, but she was not here.
Of the older generation, none of the wives but Galadriel were even present. Of the next generation, only Thranduil's mother sat beside her husband. In Thranduil's generation, who were in fact the youngest to even have a vote at the table, it was actually Celebrian who was the ambassadress of Avallone in her own name, and Elrond was here because, well, who was going to tell him he wasn't welcome? Thranduil himself had used the same trick a number of times.
It was hard, being in West. Thranduil was accustomed to ruling his own Kingdom, to the final decisions most often being his. He hadn't ever liked all the aspects of it, but he'd been raised to do his duty, and that was truly all he'd ever known. Not being able to be the one who looked after his elves here had been...hard. He could, of course, have taken those who followed him from middle earth and started a new Kingdom of his own. The land that Minaethiel and his children had claimed before his arrival was vast enough for it. But he found that he didn't want to separate those who had stayed until the end for him and the greenwood from their kin who had sailed before, and who were content under the rule of his father. Oropher was a much better peace-time King than Thranduil, anyway. Oropher had a patience and a talent for administration that Thranduil lacked almost entirely. Thranduil was the better warrior, the better general, but there wasn't much call for that, here in the West. So Thranduil had simply invited himself to his father's council sessions, whenever one of Thranduil's people had asked for his help with something official.
It had been Thranduil's grandfather Celepharn, and his irritating older brother Galadhir, who had objected to that behavior.
"Former King of the Greenwood or not, Thranduil cannot just assume his rightful duties whenever he pleases, and ignore them when he does not!" Celepharn had told his son sternly.
"Yes, he may. He has earned it, after all." Oropher had contradicted his father, much to Celepharn's surprise. It was one of the first times Thranduil had ever heard his father disagree with Celepharn. Not that Thranduil's grandfather didn't have his good points. In his favor, had not objected to Celebrian's presence, unlike some of Galadriel's more traditional cousins.
Thranduil's wife sat beside him, and Nimrodel would rule with Amroth - if they got the chance. Ereinion's heir Rissaurel and Elrohir who was her husband were present. As they were soon to rule in Anderserme for the second time, their opinion would likely be counted even if they did not, strictly speaking, have a vote. Perhaps wisely, they said little. Not so Elrond.
"In the end, it doesn't matter why the sons of Feanor did what they did. It is useful that it might be a legal and practical defense for them, in part," Elrond emphasized carefully, "In part, for what they did. Not a reason, not an excuse, but part of a reason why it was difficult for them to resist the compulsion to commit heinous crimes in order to retrieve the silmarils they had a blood connection to." Elrond paused for breath, and then continued, "But their blood oath, their crimes, they did not pass to their children. Nor to Maglor's granddaughters, or their descendants. Who the new Queen's grandfather was, should not matter." Elrond concluded.
"I said that three hours ago." Thranduil noted irritably. This time it was his wife who placed her hand over his, in a silent plea for him to have patience. Thranduil sighed, but acceded, and let Elrond turn the floor over to Amroth.
"The vote for Galador Annun to provide the next rulers of Marillaeglir has already been cast. Such a vote has never been recalled. But there is no reason to believe it could not be recalled, if the Kingdoms so wish." Amroth said clearly, before asking, "King Ereinion of Anderserme, do you wish to recall your vote?"
Ereinion Gil-galad stood up, and spoke clearly. "My vote stands. My heirs, Crown-Princess Rissaurel and Prince Elrohir of Anderserme, do you have any objection?"
Princess Rissaurel looked to her husband, and then turned to face her father. "None, Atar Aranya."
Amroth turned to Turgon and Elenwe. "And you, King Turgon?"
The dark-haired warrior-King shook his head, "None. And I can speak for my heirs, Tuor and Idril, as well, if I read my great-grandson correctly."
Elrond nodded. "Yes. They knew already."
Amroth nodded in relief, before turning to Thranduil's father, "King Oropher and Queen Felith? Would you care to recall your vote?"
"No, Amroth, Nimrodel." Oropher declined, "Eryn Brongalen will stand for Galador Annun, and Galador Annun's choice of rulers."
"I thank you for your support, cousin, and for that fair point." Amroth said kindly, before turning to face his father, who was his and Nimrodel's predecessors as King and Queen of Galador Annun, and his oldest sister and her husband, who were to be his successors, "Father, sister, brother, do you wish to change Galador Annun's choice for Yen-King and Yen-Queen?"
Nimrodel nodded, "Amroth and I will freely step down, if you will it so."
"Well-played, ion-nin, iel-nin." Amdir said softly, before more loudly proclaiming, "You are our King and Queen, and will be the King and Queen of Marillaeglir. We will stand behind you."
"Thank you, Adar." Amroth said. Thranduil could tell that his cousin was relieved, even though Amroth hid it well. He could even tell that Nimrodel was grateful, and there were times when Thranduil did not think that his cousin's ice-queen even had emotions.
"And you, Prince Celepharn of Doriath Gaeronwest? How would you vote for your King, Dior Eluchil?" Amroth asked.
Celepharn hesitated, clearly unhappy. "Doriath Gaeronwest declines to vote, at this time." He said after a moment.
"As is your right." Amroth agreed. He turned then to their surprise guest, "Denethor, you lead the Laiquendi of the woods. Do you have an objection?"
"No, Amroth. Your father and your grandfather and your great-uncles defended my people, in the East, but I do not judge you by their deeds. You seem capable and compassionate fellow in your own right. Lady Nimrodel, as well. Who her grandfather was is not a matter of importance to me, and I do not think it will trouble my people overly."
Amroth nodded graciously, before asking, "Celebrian, you represent Avallone for Lady Andreth and Lord Gelmir. How would they vote?"
"We think that Amroth and Nimrodel are eminently qualified for the responsibilities of ruling Marillaeglir, and see no reason why they should not ascend." Celebrian said firmly.
"Andreth and Gelmir have great faith in you both." Elrond agreed.
Nimrodel and Amroth inclined their heads gracefully.
"You have our gratitude, for your support." Nimrodel told the assembled elves, including Celepharn and Fingon and her other detractors. "I apologize for any harm and difficulty this secret has caused you all, in coming to light at this time."
It was Celeborn who spoke next. "Unless Doriath-Gaeronwest would like to convene a meeting to recall Galador Annun's right to elect the next Yen-King and Yen-Queen, then I think the decision of what to do is in Amroth's and Nimrodel's hands."
"Doriath Gaeronwest will decline to do so." Celepharn said softly. Thranduil could see both his father and Celeborn try to hide their relief.
"Unless you have an objection, my husband and King-to-be," Nimrodel said bravely, "Then my decision would be to just brazen this out. The worst mistakes of my life have come from trying to hide this truth. Change my name on the public postings of our ascension. Call me Nimrodel Maglorchil. What challenges folk may care to make, let them make."
A silence descended upon the conference room, the first time the marble walls had not reverberated with the sound of voices.
"Aye, my Queen." Amroth spoke at last. "It shall be as you say."
And that made Thranduil's week even more irritating. But also very interesting.
Chapter Text
It turned out by the end that there were at least three, and possibly as many as five, different plans to kill Amroth and Nimrodel, all going on during the week of their Ascension Ceremony. Thranduil and the other Chiefs of Security and their staffs managed to stop two of them in their tracks. Eldun of the Nandor was persuaded to give the names of the Lindarin elves he'd tod of Nimrodel's ancestry, who turned out to be related to the elves who had threatened Mithiriel, and who were planning to kill Queen Nimrodel.
The suspicious food vendor turned out to owe money to a prominent Noldorin council lord, whose son had died in a flying machine accident while working for Legolas' flying machine company. They had been flying water and explosives in to start a back burn to contain a forest fire, when the plane the ellon had been flying was caught in an updraft. It had been a tragedy, and one that had caused Legolas and everyone involved in his operation a great deal of guilt and self-questioning. In the end, the flyers did too much good for anyone to truly think that their use should be discontinued. However, the Noldorin lord had not agreed, and he'd gotten the food-vendor, whose financial troubles were in part due to the replacement of an expensive herb he'd used in his ingredients for thousands of years by a less expensive variant from middle earth which had been planted and harvested under the direction of Amroth and Nimrodel, to agree to let assassins staff his food booths at the ceremony. Thranduil was proud of catching that plot, even as he worried over his poor youngest son, with all of that pain being brought to the surface again. Legolas handled it well, though, and he had his wife Raniel, his children, Gimli, Theli, and Mithiriel all there to support him.
The Ascension Ceremony went ahead. Thranduil was there, paying careful attention and wishing that Eryntheliel hadn't insisted on sitting with her beloved and Nimrodel and Amroth's families. Fortunately, a large number of trained warriors were present, and Mithiriel was seated nearby, and there were wolves and wildcats also on attention.
That didn't manage to stop an ellon with a bow from trying to kill Nimrodel, just as she began to walk up the stairs to the Queen's throne. Thranduil got Nimrodel out of the way. By doing so, Thranduil nearly ended up the target of the second arrow, save that Nimrodel grabbed a decorative shield from the front of the stair case and covered them both with it. By then Thranduil could see out of the corner of his eye that Glorfindel's and Prince Egalmoth's soldiers nearly had the assassin bracketed. The fellow did manage to get off a third arrow, which an apparently clumsy and panicking guest from the Vanyarin delegation 'accidentally' shoved Thranduil into.
Better him than Nimrodel, he supposed, but he still held onto his 'accidental' assailant until someone could take the fellow into custody. Or he would have, if Nimrodel and Amroth hadn't made him lie down. Thraduil's lieutenant Ridhae took the accident-prone Vanya into custody, while Theli and Thranduil's father showed up out of nowhere.
There was a stricken look on Oropher's face as he stroked Thranduil's cheek gently. Thranduil could have lived the rest of his life without seeing that expression again.
"I'm sorry." Murmured Thranduil.
Oropher gasped with relief, both at hearing Thranduil speak, and at Theli's assurance that the wound was relatively minor, and that Thranduil would be fine in due time.
"Don't be sorry. I love you as you are, arrow-magnet that you are, and this was not your fault." Oropher whispered back fiercely. "But do be more careful."
"Can he stand?" Lord Glorfindel asked with brusque sympathy, "Because if Thranduil can be cleared as walking-wounded, we could really use him for the rest of this disaster of a ceremony."
"Why, you....my son has been injured defending our cousin, and yet you...." Oropher was not happy, and Thranduil didn't blame him. Thranduil would feel similarly if it were Thalion, Thandrin, Lithidhren, Legolas, or especially Eryntheliel lying in his place. But beyond being sympathetic, Thranduil was one of the ellyn in charge of this disaster, and he meant to see it through as well as he could. Even if it killed him. Or his father killed him later.
"Thranduil, your respiration and pulse are within acceptable limits." Theli told him intently, "If you want...." Theli was holding up a pressurized vial. Thranduil knew that it contained a putty of sorts, he couldn't remember what they called it, but it basically worked as a simultaneous bandage, disinfectant and matrix for rebuilding new muscles, flesh, and skin.
"Do it." He commanded his long-time retainer and sometimes-healer. "But if I almost die of gangrene like that stupid raccoon of yours, I'm going to let my Mother kill you." Thranduil added.
Theli snorted with amused offense as he nodded for their mutual cousin Elladan to remove the bandage over Thranduil's shoulder wound. "Oh, that hasn't happened in decades." Theli said, perfectly timed to distract Thranduil from the the pain of Theli's inserting the putty. It made Thranduil cry out, which brought over his father and Lord Glorfindel.
"One only of these, Thrani." Theli said softly, as he unstoppered a second vial and handed it to Thranduil. "After it wears off, you're done. And if the putty doesn't bond, you'll be with the healers for a week."
Thranduil recognized this vial as a stimulant and painkiller that would keep a dead elf on his feet for half a day, and quickly drank it.
"Thranduil!" His father exclaimed. Thranduil couldn't de-tangle all of the emotions in that one word, so he didn't try. He just told Glorfindel that he'd seen the decoration on the assassin's tunic before, and they were off.
Chapter Text
The rest of that day truly was a blur. Thranduil could remember pulling together bit and pieces of information he'd learned over the past weeks that he'd been serving as a security captain, just little notes that hadn't made sense to him at the time, but which suddenly now made a coherent and sinister picture that they had to prevent. He could remember Lord Glorfindel, and Elrond, and his father. He could also remember that Prince Fingon having an unexpectedly serious conversation with his middle son Lithidhren and Theli's elder son Nestor.
Thranduil also remembered making sure that Eryntheliel, Minaethiel, Rhovameril, and his younger grandchildren were somewhere safe. Legolas, Aragorn, and apparently even Lithidhren, were going to be in the thick of things no matter what Thranduil did, so he just brusquely ordered them each to be careful when he saw them.
The last thing he really remembered from the day of the Ascension Ceremony was Lord Glorfindel telling him, "You're done for today, Thranduil," and Elrond making him drink something.
After that, he was asleep for awhile. He remembered half-waking a few times during the night, the first time with Minaethiel curled up beside him. The next, to find his father sitting on a chair by his bedside.
"We haven't done this in a while." Thranduil jested lightly.
Oropher laughed stiffly. Then he carefully squeezed Thranduil's hand, and ran his other hand comfortingly over Thranduil's hair. "I know, ion-laes-nin. To be clear with you, I never again wanted to sit by your bed-side and watch you be in pain without being able to help, but I want you to be you....and this seems to be part of being you." Oropher sighed heavily.
"I'm not really in much pain at all, actually. If that helps." Thranduil offered, blinking his own tears away.
"A little, yes. Your healer is still fired, though." Oropher replied, with a soft smile for his son.
"I don't think he actually works for either of us." Thranduil pointed out logically, before falling asleep again.
When he woke up the next morning, Thranduil actually felt well enough to leave the healers' hall. Not just as "well enough" as he usually felt to leave the healers, but actually, truly, well enough. His shoulder hurt, but more like the wound was a week and a half old, rather than a day. Yet it was still just the next day, Thranduil could tell because Amroth and Nimrodel, who had just finished speaking with Theli and were leaving, were both still wearing the same clothes.
Thranduil did not, however, feel well enough to speak to Galadhir and Celepharn, who appeared to also be in his room. He feigned falling back asleep.
"If you wake up my patient," Theli whispered to Celepharn in the hale-fellow-well-met tone he had once liked to use before pulling out a hidden blade and gutting particularly unpleasant orcs and human enemies, "Then I will have you escorted from these premises."
It was hard to hide a smile through the ensuing conversation, but Thranduil managed. Galadhir, fortunately, and surprisingly, was quiet, except for some rather quietly sardonic comments that weren't like him at all. Maybe Thranduil needed to spend more time getting to know him, after all.
Oropher arrived, and Celepharn and Galadhir were persuaded to depart. Theli, seeing no need to protect Thranduil from Oropher, or to snitch on Thranduil for actually being awake, merely told Oropher that Thranduil would be free to leave in the afternoon if no fever presented itself in the meantime, and said so loudly enough for Thranduil to hear. Then he, too, left the room, closing the door behind him.
"I know that you're awake." Oropher said with tired fondness.
"I wasn't trying to not talk to you." Thranduil answered, opening his eyes, and levering himself up into a comfortable sitting position. He let Oropher help, and smiled with pleasure when they were done. Both at how well he felt, and at his father's soothing presence and touch.
"Are you happy, now?" Thranduil said with a sniff. "Now that I'm getting involved again. Finally doing something, in the West, as you and everyone else have been wanting me to do for decades?"
Oropher shook his head. "Thranduil, ion-muin-nin, there are not words to describe how much I love you. And this really wasn't what I thought I had wanted, when I said that I wanted you to find something to do here that would make you happy with the doing. But...." Oropher paused, "I want you to be happy. The question is, would you be happy, with this? Celeborn only ever agreed to be Amroth's Chief of Security until they found someone more permanent. It would mean commanding a mixed group of five hundred, with fifty elven soldiers sent from each of the Seven Kingdoms, and associated specialists and support staff to fill in the numbers as needed."
"And twenty-five soldiers sent by Denethor?" Thranduil jested.
"I think it's thirty-three."
Thranduil laughed, before growing quiet. He thought for a bit, about how he had never had a choice in figuring out what he wanted to do with his life, in the Greenwood. He was only just now realizing that he really didn't know what to do, now that he did have a choice of what to do with his life. Since sailing, he'd spent centuries doing what Minaethiel wanted to do, or dwelling in the area of the forest he had chosen to dwell in, and making it more like a blend of Greenwood's forest and Tol Eressea's forest than just Tol Eressea's forest. And he thought that he could always go back to that, when Amroth and Nimrodel's 144 years were over.
"I think...that I am not unhappy." Thranduil said at last. "That I could be happy enough, doing this, for awhile. I did it well, these past weeks."
"Yes, you did." Oropher agreed, pride and worry mixed in his tone, "But if you could endeavor not to get punctured by arrows, or stabbed by knives or cut up by swords, or poisoned, or otherwise injured or maimed, I would greatly appreciate it."
Thranduil nodded, hiding a smile. "I will try, Ada." Thranduil meant that, truly. He didn't like pain anymore than the next elf, and he would never forget the look on his father's face, when Oropher saw him hurt, again.
"Will you and Nana be able to visit Marillaeglir, sometimes?" Thranduil unbent himself enough to ask, with the memory of his father's pain, and his father's hand on his shoulder.
Oropher smiled. "Yes. We've decided that it is time to let your brother and his wife serve as King and Queen of Eryn Brongalen for a time. We'll have more time, to travel. To spend with you and Minaethiel, and your children, here."
Thranduil frowned, slightly irritated. "I don't know where Legolas will be."
"He'll be here." Oropher answered, seeming in sympathy with his son's frustration at this particular grandson's wandering nature. "Amroth has actually commissioned his flying machine company and service to start a messenger relay with Alqualonde, and even Tirion and Valinor."
Thranduil choked, and Oropher kindly got him some water, and then stayed with him until Theli let him go. And even afterward, although Thranduil didn't really need the help. He had a wife, and four grown sons and a daughter. He hadn't leaned on his father much, since sailing. It had been too odd. But now Oropher was insisting, and Thranduil found that he didn't really want to reject his father's aid.
Chapter Text
Thranduil more-or-less liked his new job as Commander of Amroth and Nimrodel's Security Forces. He had a bigger office, and he got to personally pick the fifty soldiers from Greenwood, and an outsized proportion of the specialists and support staff from Greenwood, as well. From their ranks, he found himself working mostly with old friends, and a few new, bright, dedicated young elves. One of whom was his foster-granddaughter, Calenwen. Another descendant of Feanor, through her mother Rian, Nimrodel's cousin.
The elves from Galador Annun were mainly those he was familiar with, as well, and very few of the more objectionable sort. Avallone's elves included many familiar faces, Theli and his son Nestor among them, as healers. Mithiriel, as one of the main shareholders of Legolas' flying machine company, was also resident in Marillaeglir for the next century and a half. Thranduil didn't ask any questions about why the other assassin on the day of the ceremony, the one who had been in Mithiriel's line of sight, had simply dropped his bow, the string of which had then broken. Or why his knives had ended up being fish. The official story was that Theli's wife had simply fainted from the excitement, and it was good that Lord Elrond had been here to take care of her. Celeborn also didn't ask any questions, and Glorfindel actively discouraged inquiries, so the whole matter was dropped. Somewhere out at sea, there was a small earthquake. Mithiriel cried for a day over dead and injured sea creatures, and Theli explained that she was just very tender-hearted. Thranduil made a quiet donation to a Lindarin organization for the protection and care of injured marine creatures, and told Mithiriel not to blame herself.
Elrond and Celebrian stayed in Marillaeglir as Avallone's ambassadors. Thranduil's oldest son Thandrin and his wife Rhovameril were present, as Eryn Brongalen's ambassadors. Lithidhren accepted a position as one of Amroth's scribes, and rented a town house with Theli's son Nestor, which quickly became known as the venue of choice for elegant parties amongst the younger set.
Oropher and Felith also stayed in Marillaeglir, as Oropher had promised, renewing their relationship with their youngest son and his children and grandchildren. In fact, Oropher was at times even more involved in his son's life than Thranduil really would have preferred, but it worked out for the best for them and their new relationship as equals, at least in the end. How that came to pass is a different story.
Thranduil found himself working in the uniquely different position of having both his cousin Celeborn and Lord Glorfindel under him in his chain of command. Celeborn was still serving as Galador Annun's head of security, and Glorfindel had come as the Captain of Gondolin-Earrilye's security detachment. Thranduil had a good working relationship with Celeborn, but he hadn't really been sure of what to do with Glorfindel at first. Yet, as Elrond and Ereinion had assured Thranduil, it turned out that Glorfindel could respect a chain of command. When he wasn't snitching to Oropher about Thranduil overworking. That was, if Celeborn hadn't noticed it first.
Protecting Amroth and Nimrodel, particularly given the circumstances surrounding Nimrodel's family, was a challenging job. Thranduil learned, however, that he much preferred guarding elves to being guarded by elves, and that he was, in fact, rather good at it. He certainly had a unique perspective on it.
The two assassins who had actually opened fire on Amroth and Nimrodel were from a community in the Vanyarin kingdom that believed that the recently sailed elves were trying to bring back the worship of Morgoth. Why anyone would want to do that, Thranduil wasn't sure. Why anyone would think that, Thranduil also wasn't sure. But he learned a lot, and gained a fair amount of respect, for Prince Fingon and his elves as they worked to unravel the plot and trace it back to its originators.
Thranduil learned that Prince Fingolfin, Aran Finarfin's older brother, had, much like Thranduil, declined the opportunity to rule his father's and younger brother's kingdom. Instead, he'd been given charge of security for the Kingdom of the Noldor. The Lindar and the Vanyar both relied upon the Noldor, and Prince Fingolfin's elves, for augmenting their own security forces when needed.
Fingon, Fingolfin's oldest son, had likewise declined the opportunity to take a turn ruling his grandfather's and uncle's Kingdom. He didn't have a specific rank inside Fingolfin's army, he instead quietly looked into matters that were not easy to resolve. Fingon searched the shadows, and to do so, he had to know them. The elves who worked for him, many of them, had to be able to act believably as if they might be willing to do horrible things, or believe ridiculous and terrible things, in order to get close enough to the people who really would do such things, because they believed such things. Often, the best elves for such a challenging and difficult role were elves who had been through dark times themselves, and who had become strong enough to live past them.
Fingon explained these things carefully to Thranduil, particularly when he brought information to begin tracing back where the other failed plot, the poison which would have gone into the water supply of Marillaeglir if the wounded Thranduil hadn't been able to help Glorfindel and the other security elves to figure out that the assassins were only the distraction, had come from.
Several months later, Thranduil put a number of different small pieces together, about why it was that his son and his son's best friend had been so deeply engrossed in conversation with Fingon on the day of the Ascension. But that, too, is a different story.
Chapter 6: Dark Places
Summary:
Thranduil has done terrible things in his life. But only a few of them in the West. And he'd never had to ask Elladan for help, before.
Notes:
A/N: Set in approximately Year 1000 of the Fourth Age, in the West, long, long after the elves have all sailed.
A/N 2: For Sparx, who wanted to read about a time that Thranduil needed Elladan. I hope that you like this - it got a lot darker than I had expected! But I think it ends well. Please forgive any errors, this was written quite quickly!
A/N 3: This story complains oblique references to several of Emma and Kaylee's lovely OCs, whom they have kindly agreed to let me borrow.
A/N 4: Last author's note. I promise. Thranduil's oldest blood heir is King in this story, and Thranduil is essentially his chief of security, and possibly also his general. I haven't really thought it out all of the way, but I do think that, living forever, King would be a job that different members of the royal family would all take a turn at.
Quote:
"Everyone has talent. What is rare is the courage to follow that talent to [the] dark place[s] where it leads." - Erica Jong
Chapter Text
Thranduil had done things in his life that he wasn't proud of. Most of them had been in the heat of battle, but not all of them. Most of them had been on the other side of the sea, whilst waging an ages-long war against an Enemy whose power far exceeded their own.
But not all of them. He'd done things he wasn't proud of, even in the West. Mostly, to protect his children, and the elves he cared about. Sometimes, to protect the populace as a whole against a threat. But he was only rarely called upon to do so, anymore. Unfortunately for all involved, today was one of those rare occasions.
The crying on the other side of the door tugged at Thranduil's heart, but it did not make him change his mind. Someone had almost succeeded in poisoning his daughter-by-law, the young Queen of Eryn Brongalen, the enduring kingdom of Greenwood in the West. Perhaps because of a controversial new treaty, perhaps because of a year-old scandal from a kingdom to the west and north. Thranduil didn't particularly care why someone was trying to kill his family. He did care that it potentially wasn't just his family. The same poison had been found by a diligent young soldier in a bottle of cooking wine, intended for a pot out of which most of the palace might well have been served.
The only persons who had had access to both the fine cut-glass perfume bottle belonging to the Queen, and the cheap, cloudy bottle containing the cooking wine, were a Noldorin glazier and his household, who had only just recently relocated to Eryn Brongalen. The craftsman himself and most of his family had disappeared, but they had found his daughter at the house of a friend.
She had known, about the poison. There was no doubt, that she had known. The fact that she was otherwise a sweet-seeming young elleth, and even the fact that she might have been the one to mis-mark the bottle of cooking wine so that it stood out from the others and could be found in a careful search, were not enough to stop Thranduil from needing the information which she might have. Information which she was unwilling to give. She was too scared of her father, or too loyal to her family. Perhaps both.
The wails from the other side of the door intensified. One of the soldiers who accompanied Thranduil stirred uneasily. Thranduil did not blame him, but this had to be done.
The door opened. Out stepped Elladan Elrondion, his normally kind and lively gray eyes filled with pain and regret.
"Mistress Annalote's father and his elves have allied with a group of like-minded individuals." Elladan reported, "They are hiding in a cave along the route where Queen Rhovameril is accustomed to riding when she travels to the eastern settlements."
"Impossible. The trees would have mentioned it. If not to me, then to Eryntheliel or Thandrin." Thranduil rejected, even as he motioned for one of his Captains to go after the Queen, and for the other healers to aid the still weeping elleth. She sat hunched over the table in the room, crying into her arms as she rocked herself back and forth.
"The forester who cares for the trees nearest that cave once smuggled wine into your son's Kingdom, great Prince." Elladan said, his eyes sparkling with anger, "The glazier - who is not, in truth, a glazier, but rather a soldier of some rank - has blackmailed him into convincing the tees that all is well. Trees, I am given to understand, are quite literally-minded, at times."
It was irritating to have his own words from a dozen centuries ago piped back at him, but it was worse to have had to ask Elladan to convince this poor child to tell them everything she knew against her own will.
"Has she told you the truth?" Was all Thranduil said in reply.
"I believe so. As she knows it."
"Make sure, Elladan. We do not have time to go in different directions. Rhovameril and her escort will be at that cave in less than an hour."
"I will not." Elladan refused him flatly. "I may have already broken her mind. Anything else she can tell me may well be wrong. I will not continue her torment, not for that. Go save our young cousin."
Thranduil did. The glazier - who was not a glazier - died in the skirmish. But one of his men knew enough of his plans to allow Thranduil to set his elves after dismantling the rest of them, and enough for him to send word to the King and Queen of Anderserme, where this plot had originated.
It was just after the stars had come out that Thranduil realized that no one had seen Elladan since just after Rhovameril had arrived safely back at the palace, when the young elleth Annalote had been safely sedated. Thranduil found Elladan standing by the edge of a bluff overlooking the great river which bisected Eryn Brongalen. A natural looking tumble of stones, half as high as an elf, had been cultivated to keep small elflings and idiots from accidentally falling the great height into the rushing river below.
Thranduil made sure to walk loudly as he approached Elrond's second-son. Loudly enough that even a peredhel would certainly have heard him, but Elladan did not turn around. The wind whipped his gray cloak and his dark hair, but Elladan did not turn away from the stars and the water.
"I am sorry that I had to ask you to do that." Thranduil said. And he was. But he was also glad that Elladan had been in Eryn Brongalen visiting with Angolbrennil the alchemist. Elladan was one of the Lonely Island's most talented mind-healers; the opposite side of that coin was that he was also one of its best mind-breakers.
"Do not." Elladan replied sharply, still not deigning to look at Thranduil, "Thank me.....for this. Do not thank me for making of myself a more horrifying monster than the tyrant father who abused that girl for all of her life."
"You are not a monster, Elladan." Thranduil carefully replied.
Elladan snarled, and his fist flew back and then forward. If Thranduil had let him, Elrond's son would have punched the stone wall with all of his centuries-honed strength.
Moving swiftly, Thranduil caught Elladan around the waist and whirled him around so that his fist struck nothing but air. Elladan gasped raggedly, and turned to punch Thranduil. Thranduil considered letting him, but decided that it would be an inconvenient time to be sporting a broken nose, or worse. So instead, he did his best to stay out of Elladan's way while his younger cousin did his best to land a real hit. That was difficult - Elladan's twin was a match for Thranduil, in unarmed combat, and Elladan was nearly as good. Elladan was fighting out of anger and pain, and would probably be just as happy to fight the stone wall or the river, if Thranduil would obligingly get out of the way. That was too bad for Elladan, as Thranduil had no intention of letting his cousin break the bones in his hand, or worse, that night.
Elladan, picking up on that, changed tactics and almost succeeded in kneeing Thranduil in...a very sensitive place. No one could say that the sons of Elrond were not versatile, when they had to be. Losing patience, Thranduil tripped the peredhel, bent Elladan over his hip, and started spanking him. Hard. Not out of anger, or a feeling that Elladan deserved a full-strength spanking by the river. But rather, if Thranduil didn't keep Elladan's attention entirely focused on the fire being lit on his bottom, the peredhel would almost certainly break free, and then they'd be fighting all over again.
Shock held Elladan still for the first three or four swats, then he struggled fiercely. Unlike his brother, or many elves in his position, he didn't yell curses or verbal abuse at Thranduil. He did shout in outrage, a cry which alerted a guard. A shake of Thranduil's head sent the guard away, as Thranduil sat down on the rock beside the wall and set to spanking the still struggling Elladan in earnest. Thranduil was glad, as he did so, that he was still wearing leather gloves. His younger cousin had dropped his cloak at the outset of their struggle, but he was still fully dressed in trousers and tunic.
When Elladan stopped struggling, Thranduil paused the spanking. Leaving his hand upon the peredhel's no-doubt sore bottom in warning, Thranduil repeated. "You are not a monster, Elladan. You are a good elf. A brave elf, who had to be cruel to a young elleth in order to save the lives of others. I am proud of how much strength and mercy you brought to such a terrible task."
Elladan shoved himself violently away from Thranduil with a hissed, "You are only saying that because you needed me to do what I did. You don't even like me."
Thranduil paused at the ridiculousness of that. "You are my cousin, and the son of one of the cousins who helped to raise me. I love you, you fool."
With a bitter laugh, Elladan agreed, "Yes, but you do not like me. Which is fine - I am a grown being. I do not need every elf to like me, and I've given you fair reason not to."
Were they really going to drag that up again, Thranduil wondered to himself. Apparently they were, for Elladan stood opposite him, on this clear, windy night, his hands still clenched into fists and the wall still within striking range.
"Elladan." Thranduil said, trying his best not to let his temper get the better of him, as he remembered, even well over a thousand years later, the one time he had ever truly wanted to never see this cousin again, "You filled my entire hall with giant spiders, and by so doing forced me - and mine - to have to abandon our home at a run. It was only luck," Thranduil continued, now raising his voice in anger himself, "That no one was seriously hurt!"
At least the wall seemed to be out of danger. Elladan's fists uncurled, and he sighed and breathed deeply, before answering, "I know. I am sorry, for that. I did not mean for it to happen then, or in that way, or possibly not at all."
Yes, that Thranduil had known, but still, "You would have done it, a-purpose. You confessed so yourself, at the beginning of this Age."
"A year later, I would have." Elladan corrected, "Maybe. If you hadn't given up Emyn Duir, by that next spring. You couldn't have held it, Thranduil. Your people were bleeding and dying for nothing."
"MY people." Thranduil emphasized harshly. His, not Elrond's. Not Celeborn's, and most assuredly not Elladan's.
Elladan did not back down. "My sister served your aunt, if you will recall. She lived at Emyn Duir, too."
"Arwen was only there for a visit."
Elladan's lip curled back. "I meant Andreth. Who was only away for a visit. And my brother-by-law, her husband Gelmir. Whom I sort-of like, as well as love."
That gave Thranduil pause. For his daughter-by-law, he had ordered an elleth tortured. Not physically, but he'd ordered the best emotional and psychological surgeon he could find to flay her psyche and conscious mind into bits, to reveal everything she had known about a dire threat to his family and his people. Sacrificing the happiness and safety of his children to continue the fight against Sauron in Middle Earth had been the hardest decision Thranduil had ever made. He did not know if he could ever make such a decision, again.
Thranduil hadn't had a sister, in Middle Earth. But would he have lured a forest full of spider's to Elrond's home in order to protect his daughter, or one of his sons? Perhaps, if there hadn't been a better option. Which surely, there must have been. But still...it was a perspective on the Great Spider Incident which Thranduil had never considered, before.
"I don't care if people like me." Elladan continued raggedly, "I'll do what I think needs doing."
"And if you're wrong....?" Thranduil asked in a tired drawl. Because surely, in Emyn Duir at the end of the Watchful Peace, there would have been some better way.
Elladan laughed harshly. "Then I'm sorry for it, and I'll try to fix it. And I am wrong, sometimes. Or I make terrible, gigantically-scaled mistakes that I'll regret for the rest of my life, like at Emyn Duir with the spiders. But I have to act - not acting when I can see what is happening and have the power to stop it and am willing to pay the price - that's cowardice. Not wisdom."
"You are a terrifying creature." Thranduil told Elladan sincerely, even as he wondered whether he really had room to criticize.
"My grandmother likes me." Elladan retorted.
With a snort, Thranduil remarked, "She would."
Elladan grinned, "She likes you, too."
Thranduil took a moment to reflect that Elrond's younger twin son was truly an evil creature, who used his words to discomfort with uncomely glee. Thranduil did not dignify that statement with a response.
There was a silence, then, for a few minutes.
Thranduil reached out a hand, and placed it on Elladan's nearer shoulder. "Thank you, for what you did today. It was necessary, and you did it with as much kindness and care as you could have given whilst still learning what we needed to know. I like you better, that it cost you. And I will make sure that you have whatever you need, in trying to make this right for Annalote."
For almost a minute, Elladan just stared at Thranduil with his solemn gray eyes, as if weighing the sincerity of the one-time warrior king. Apparently believing that Thranduil meant what he said, Elladan accepted, "Thank you. It may be...very expensive. I think that there are certain courses of medicine, and other treatments, that might potentially help to address the damage that has been done to her, the harm that was started by her father and worsened by me. But the ingredients, they may be...hmm..." The peredhel stared off into space, as if already planning what extraordinary lengths he might have to go to, probably partly in penance, but also because he was a healer, and he cared. Even if he didn't cause the injury, he cared.
Sternly, Thranduil insisted, "I will accept the responsibility, for whatever costs there may be."
That hard, gray-eyed stare again. After almost a minute, Elladan conceded, "I will let you share it with me." And Thranduil realized that it was the best concession he would get, and liked Elladan again, for that.
There was another silence between them, but a more comfortable one this time, as the river rushed by and the nightbirds began to call.
"Elladan." Thranduil spoke up again, because Elladan didn't understand actions and had to hear words even though he was a male, not a female, and he should understand, as his twin understood, that certain things didn't need to be spoken.
"In case you are wondering, it is now." Thranduil said, because Elladan's weapons and balms were words, and he needed to hear.
"Pardon....WHAT is now?" Elladan asked, utterly baffled.
Rather pleased to have boggled the mind of one of the most baffling and illogical beings he had ever met, Thranduil deigned to explain, "The moment that you should understand that I like you. If I didn't like you, if I only loved you because you are family, and appreciated the job that you had done for me, I would have left after we reached our agreement about Annalote's treatment. I am still here, now, because I do. Like you. And care that you know it."
For a few moments, Elladan just stared at Thranduil incredulously, but his gray eyes were softer, now. Then Elladan remarked lightly, "You are just as much an emotional child as my twin, aren't you?"
"Have you ever considered, Elladan," Thranduil replied wryly, "That perhaps statements such as that are why even those people who do like you as well as love you sometimes act in such a way as to lead you to believe that they do not like you?"
With a laugh, Elladan confessed, "I have never been able to stop myself from saying whatever crosses my mind, not when I'm with people who probably won't kill me for it, or who I think might want to know it, or need to know it."
"I do I feel sorry for your father." Thranduil said, only half in jest, "Because that is a terrifying tendency in a child, and I understand why Elrond would like you as well as love you, and not just for the trouble that you cause him."
"Thank you. I think." Replied Elladan with a tired smile, " And since we are speaking of my father. About...some of the things that I am going to have to do, to get the ingredients I spoke of...if you could not mention them to my father, that would be...best."
Thranduil eyed Elladan skeptically. "I'm not going to lie to Elrond for you, Elladan." He lifted up a hand to stop the inevitable rebuttal, "Or even agree to not tell him things for you. But, then again," Thranduil considered, thinking that over, "Elrond did send my youngest son to destroy Sauron's prized possession, the source of his power, with only a motley crew of fools and innocents as companions."
Elladan's eyes narrowed in irritation. "My brother Aragorn was NOT...." He began to retort heatedly.
"Your brother Aragorn excepted, of course." Thranduil granted, and meant it. He gritted his teeth, "And the ridiculous dwarf is not a fool, I suppose." Gimli Gloinson had just last month saved Legolas' life, again. A rock-fall in some cavern while they were searching for a lost child. Thranduil simply had to put up with the dwarf, and his grandchildren loved the red-haired irritant.
"And, of course, excepting Olorin, as well." Elladan assumed.
Thranduil snorted. "No." In truth, he still felt Gandalf to be quite the fool.
Elladan laughed, and then straightened, as if seized by an idea. "He owes me a favor, or nine." The peredhel remarked, his gaze growing intent. "I should pay him a visit."
Thranduil considered that. "I will go with you." He decided, "Olorin owes me, as well." The Maia who had spent half an Age as the Wizard Gandalf owed him, for allowing Legolas on the Quest without Thranduil's permission. And owed him, for borrowing Theli for the same nine favors, again without Thranduil's permission. And most of all, owed him for not believing Thranduil about Saruman having turned on them until it was too late for Thranduil's wife, his sons Thandrin and Lithidhren, and his daughter Eryntheliel, and all of the elves who had been slaughtered with them that day at the end of the Watchful Peace, on Saruman's orders. Olorin owed Thranduil, for the hundreds of years that Thranduil and his family had lost, because of that.
Elladan shifted uncomfortably.
Thranduil suppressed a smile. "Sore, are we?" He drawled, only a little sorry about the spanking. It was better than a broken hand, and besides, Elladan's trying to knee him in the groin had been out of line.
"No." Elladan retorted, clearly lying but committed to it.
Thranduil snorted. Shoving the peredhel gently in the direction of the stone and wood palace that looked almost a part of the mountain rising beside the river, Thranduil instructed, "Come, cousin. If I return without you, Mistress Angolbrennil will be most displeased with me. And my youngest granddaughter, who has only just heard the story of the spiders for the first time, may believe that I have actually killed you."
Elladan followed him without protest. There was no surer proof that Elladan was still reeling with pain and weariness from the events of the day. Thranduil resolved to keep an eye on him, for the next few hours or even days until someone better suited could take on that task. Elladan did, after all, count as one of those individuals whom Thranduil would do almost anything, to keep safe. Even things which horrified him.
Chapter 7: Songs on the Straight Road, Chapter 1
Summary:
Gimli and Legolas and their companions are on their way to the Undying Lands in the West. Along the way, songs are sung, and stories are shared.
Notes:
A/N: This story is set in about Fourth Age 120 or 121. In my AU, Mithiriel is one of Faramir and Eowyn’s daughters, and Theli (Ecthelion) is a friend and cousin of Legolas and Elrond, the grandson of Elurin of Doriath, Elrond’s uncle.
This story is more-or-less a direct sequel to “Rumor Has It” and “From the Gray Havens,” chapters 67 and 68 respectively of the Tales of the Telcontars, which can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/214796/chapters/10888724
Quote:
“Traveling in the company of those we love is home in motion.” - Leigh Hunt.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Something about the ocean leads a dwarf to think about his past without worrying over his future. Or at least so found Gimli, son of Gloin, when he took the straight road o'er the western sea with his friend and heart-brother the elven archer Legolas. They had only been at sea for what he estimated to be about a week, but they were already further west than any dwarf had ever traveled before. They were further, too, than any mortal woman had ever been before. When the mornings were calm and clear, Legolas would go with Theli to lay out fishing lines. Gimli would stand by Mithiriel's side at the prow of the ship, each of them thinking their separate thoughts as the wind blew sea spray and cool air into their faces.
Gimli wondered at times how he'd found himself so far away from everything he'd ever known. There were leagues of water between him and his beloved caverns beneath the deep. And yet, the echoing effect of the sea was such that Gimli felt he could hear still hear the song of the caverns.
Men and elves may not know it, but the Earth is never asleep. Way beneath Mountain Great and Cavern Deep, the stones sing and the crevices ring. Dwarflings are born in to the joyous, subtle song. Gimli remembered the first time he'd become consciously aware that the stones sang to him. He'd begun humming the music. Then his cousin Fili had taken him by the hand, and held his other hand to the stone. There, with Fili's palm gently holding toddler-Gimli's chubby little hand against the stones of their home in Eryn Luin, was the moment that Gimli first realized that the stones communicated, and that he could communicate back.
"They sing!" Gimli had marveled.
"Well, sing back, little fire-top, sing back!" His other cousin Kili had urged, half-teasing and half-serious. Then he let Gimli borrow his flute, and showed him for the first time how to match his notes to the ceaseless rhythms and the ever-changing harmonies of their mountain home.
Gimli remembered clearly the first time he had ever been bereft of that song. It had been when leaving the caves on an adventure-errand for his mother, with his father and his cousins. It had felt to young Gimli as if the very air thinned out, and lost its alluring hint of fire.
"How do Men live like this, half-dead and deaf?" Young Gimli had asked his father.
"They don't notice," said Gimli’s father Gloin shortly.
"Aye, laddie, their song is different." Lord Balin explained more patiently, when Gimli was not entirely satisfied with the answer supplied by his own Da.
"This place isn't really that bad,” argued Kili, “the wind through the trees makes a song of sorts."
It was a very poor imitation of their cavern symphony, but Kili was obviously putting so much effort into making Gimli feel better that it had seemed rude at the time to say so.
And then as a teenaged dwarf and young adult Gimli traveled all over Middle Earth, peddling the wares his people created, and guarding the caravans of other merchants when their stores ran light. In most places, there was no song. Although if there were notes at all, Kili could find them. He was good at talking to the Men, too. Kili became their spokesperson when the elders weren't about, which was occasionally problematic, because cousin Kili found trouble like cats find mice. Fortunately Fili was there to pull all three of them out of the fire. Young Gimli didn't know what he would have done without them, his cousins and his heart-brothers, Kili to make life interesting and Fili to keep them alive. Much as Fili complained, Gimli knew that he secretly liked having Kili make life interesting, and Gimli to make it more interesting yet.
There was one thing on which Kili and Gimli agreed, though Fili and Gloin and most of the others though them mad.
"The stars have a song. A deep, beautiful one, which we could hear clearly if only they weren't so far away." Gimli explained.
"You're moon-mad, my laddie." Said Gloin, going so far as to look a bit concerned. All knew what Lady Kala would say if her husband were to let their beloved son come to any harm. And that aside, Gimli was the jewel of Gloin's eyes.
"No, our little hearth-fire has the right of it." Kili came to Gimli’s defense, "The stars sing, almost as if they are made all of stone and fire themselves."
"They're both daft,” put in Fili with a derisive snort, ”I think that they should cook dinner tonight."
"Fili, trying to pawn your turn off on your brother and your cousin isn't an act fit for a Prince . . . ."
Then came the Quest for Erebor. Kili and Fili were lost, and Lord Gloin nearly lost as well. Gimli led Dis and Kala and all who remained to Erebor, through the bandit- stricken wilds and bands of roaming, deserting orcs and goblins. Gimli had never particularly wanted to see his mother swing a ceremonial axe and cleave in two the skull of a goblin, and he never wanted to see it again, but he was very glad that she knew how to do so.
Gimli wouldn't say that Erebor was worth it, worth everything, but it was beautiful. Its song was even deeper and more complex than the songs of the Blue Mountains. In the heart of that song, Gimli could hear his cousins, Kili's care-free laugh and Fili's quieter tones, encouraging Gimli to try something new. Despite all of that beauty and the new duties which Gimli came to excel at within the halls of Erebor and outside of them defending the mountain and Lake-town, he found that he sometimes missed the stars. It was almost as if those early journeys across Middle Earth with Kili and Fili and their elders had instilled a very un-dwarven wander lust in the young Gimli. He tried to keep it quiet. He thought that his mother probably saw through him, for she was one of the ones who urged him to go with his father and the delegation to Rivendell, to bring King Dain’s warning to Lord Elrond Peredhel.
Ah, and Rivendell had a song. It had not been one that Gimli had particularly liked - it was too quiet and too serene and too relaxing - but it was a song. And it was nearly as loud as the song of a quiet cave, if not as all encompassing.
When the Fellowship left Rivendell the quiet was almost a relief, although in later years returning Gimli would come to appreciate the peaceful music of Imladris. He enjoyed it even more after Imladris became Mithiriel and Theli's, and the peaceful song changed to incorporate a golden, challenging laugh and an endless smile.
Moria's song was broken. Only terrified, fearful warning whispers remained. Moria was the saddest place Gimli had ever traveled through. Even after they returned following the Mage Wars, to cleanse and bless and rebuild, Moria was still sad. Gimli hoped that would change in time, but he wouldn't be there to see it.
And Lothlorien . . . . well, if Imladris' song soothed a dwarf to sleep, then Lothlorien's awoke him, made him look around and realize how much beauty there was in that woodland realm. Made him marvel at the strength and bravery it had taken to build such a place in the enemy's very backyard, under his malevolent gaze. And the being who had done so . . . . Gimli had never even conceived of anyone like Galadriel. She reminded him all at the once of the stars’ songs, and of his mother's quiet courage, and of his brave cousins, rushing forward to their deaths to buy one more minute for Thorin and Erebor. It was on that day that Gimli pledged his loyalty to the White Lady of Lothlorien, and counted himself honored when she accepted his fealty, and promised to reward his loyalty with her own.
One of the greatest honors and accomplishments of Gimli's life was living to see Aglarond come into fuller and fuller beauty. Ah, his glittering caves! Their music was amazing, staccato one moment, legato the next, soaring and then stately, spritely and then so grave. Amazing. It was so loud and joyous that even Legolas could hear it.
And now the sea . . . Gimli had found that the sea had a music all its own. The waves, the wind, the sea creatures, the birds, the water, the clouds and the sky. Even more than the caves, it was a music that let a dwarf decide for himself how he would feel. The sea had a music that washed away the cares of the world, and left a dwarf open to the possibilities shining within his own heart.
"I don't think I could have arrived in their elven home, without this voyage between us and it," Gimli told Mithiriel, "and I'll deeply miss the sound of the sea when we are once more on land."
Mithiriel nodded with a soft, knowing smile. "I love the sea. I always have. Imladris is lovely as well, and Minas Tirith and Annuminas and Emyn Arnen are all home, after a fashion. But the sea . . . there is something special about the sea.
Even as they spoke, the wind picked up, falling from the sky and rising from the ocean to caress them with layers of warmth and cool. It felt almost like an embrace, if wind could embrace. It left them both feeling cared for, and refreshed.
Mithiriel laughed, a sprightly sound that chimed like bells in the flowing wind. "I think that Lord Ulmo must like you, Uncle Gimli."
Legolas left aside his contest of leaping from the riggings with Theli and two of the younger elven sailors to come and turn Mithiriel's compliment into a tease, "And is Lord Aule still sending you love letters, my bearded brother?"
Gimli reached out to apply a hearty swat to his heart-brother's elven backside, in recompense for such irreverence. Even Theli, who was often irreverence personified, flicked Legolas' ear. Mithiriel gave Legolas a Very Disappointed Look, one much feared within their close circle of family and friends.
Legolas lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm sorry, that was rude. I am perhaps a slight bit jealous because none of the Valar are sending me dreams."
Gimli winced, "You make it sound fair daft, brother-mine. It's more like . . . ."
"Epistles from the beyond?" suggested Theli, making Mithiriel burst into surprised laughter.
"Honestly, Green Sword, that is nearly as bad as love letters! It sounds like threats from beyond the grave!" Mithiriel reproved, shaking her head.
"Well, what would you call it, oh my all-knowing love?"
"Erestor," called Mithiriel, which elf everyone was grateful had not been there for Legolas' faux-pas, "What would one call dream-visions of Valar and Maiar and kin in the West?"
Erestor smiled, "You have had them too?"
"Everyone except me and Legolas,” explained Theli, "Although I've not yet asked all of the sailors, nor Master Sarphen.” The master stonemason Sarphen was the only passenger outside of their little group. It was the offseason for sailing to the West.
"I think of them as messages of welcome,” said Erestor, "and perhaps the two of you haven’t received one because each of you are quite sure of your welcome."
"Or not ready to contemplate the end of the journey,” posited Mithiriel.
Erestor winced, “Please do try to contemplate the end of the journey, he implored them, “not even lembas lasts forever, and I am not that fond of fish and seaweed."
Neither was Gimli, although he had never before in the past tasted fish and shellfish so succulent, and cooked to such perfection. Even seaweed took on a proper tart taste and firm texture, when it was made by Mithiriel and the ship's cook.
And the company was good. Well, so as long as their stores of spirits held out, at the least! Gimli preferred the ale brewed by his folk in Aglarond, but the beers brewed in Ithilien and the wines bottled near Mithlond were pleasant enough.
With Legolas, Theli, Mithiriel, and Erestor for company, the days and the nights were pleasant as well. The company of his dearest friend Legolas would have been enough for Gimli. It had been enough, to convince him to go on this journey. Lord Erestor’s presence was welcome enough, but Imladris’ chief archivist and sometimes-regent was too formal a fellow for Gimli to feel a natural kinship with him. Nor had they ever spent enough time together before the voyage to thaw that formality. But the presence of Mithiriel and Theli knit their group together quite well. It gave all of them another person to rely on, which was well because, as Gimli’s wise mother had once told him, no one can ever be everything to any other one person.
Legolas and Gimli were the best of friends and brothers. Mithiriel and Theli were the best of friends and lovers. The four of them had traveled together, in the early years of Mithiriel and Theli’s marriage, before the Mage Wars. Then they’d fought together as allies in the Mage Wars.
Erestor had been in Imladris during the Mage Wars, but he was Mithiriel’s teacher and mentor and sometimes-regent, and one of her best friends. Legolas and Gimli had both doted upon the child Mithiriel, and had come to love the strong-willed, whimsical woman she became. Theli had been mentor, friend, mentee, and kinsman to Legolas, all in the same lifetime. And Gimli and Theli had always gotten on.
Gimli found Theli good company in part because Theli was more practical than their other companions. Mithiriel, Erestor, and Legolas had all grown up in palaces, either as royalty themselves or as the kin and foster-kin of royalty. That kind of upbringing left certain gaps in one’s knowledge of how work-a-day folk did things, even when one’s parents had done their best to temper the privileges with responsibilities. Gimli knew that Aragorn, Arwen, Faramir, and Eowyn had all done their best to prepare their children for the practicalities of life outside the Citadels and manors of Gondor and Arnor, and to a great extent they had succeeded. And over the years Gimli had realized that Legolas, too, had been encouraged to make his way first as a humble soldier before being promoted to officer in his father’s army. Rather to his surprise, Gimli learned on the journey that Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel, who’d helped to raise Erestor, had made no such effort.
“We learned many things,” Erestor had explained with a shy, self-deprecating smile, “But few practical ones. And those mostly by accident. Lady Galadriel taught us to cook and bake as a series of science experiments. She would wander the most dangerous sections of Eregion and Khazad-dum without fear, and take child Celebrian and me along with her. No one would dare to hurt us when we were with her, because no one would ever think to hurt her.”
“If they did, I’d end them,” Gimli promised.
“Er . . . that is a lovely sentiment, Gimli,” Erestor managed, “No wonder Aunt Galadriel thinks so much of you. But, in any case, we didn’t learn how to manage matters without a servant to aid us until we were much older.” After a pause, Erestor apologetically added, “No offense to my dear foster-sister Celebrian, but I am not sure that she ever learned to do without at least a handmaiden. She never had to, until . . . well.”
And so Gimli also learned much of the things he must not say, when he met this elf or that in the West. Orcs were not to be mentioned, around Elrond’s wife Celebrian. And so Theli and Mithiriel carefully removed from the book prepared by Elrohir for his father a number of sketches from the celebrations after the end of the last Mage War. In one of them, the orc chief who had named himself Taur-Ug the Chain Pulverizer sat beside Elladan and Elrohir Elrondion, the three of them sharing a round of frothing ale with Gimli and Legolas. Taur-Ug had become a friend to the Elrondionnath after he rescued Faramir’s granddaughter Sarangerel from what would have been a horrible death, one that the entirety of the allied armies would not have been in time to prevent. Taur-Ug, the leader of the Renegade Mages’ rebelling orc slaves, had torn the Mage Chieftain torturing Sarangerel into pieces, and then carried the bleeding, injured woman to safety through multiple ranks of Renegade Mages and their servants.
In the second excised sketch, the fierce elleth Grace sat stoically between a female orc in healer’s robes and the cautious Melpomaen, with Mithiriel and a wryly grinning Theli to the left of the orcish healer. The female orc was Strangler, who had once, long ago, done her oricish best to protect the elfling Grace. Strangler had also once, even longer ago, become an accidental student of Theli’s for a strange night or three. The end of the Mage Wars had brought an end to the open war between most of the surviving orcs and the allied Kingdoms, although enough renegade orcs remained to pose a real danger to the unwary traveler or occasional isolated settlement. But how their company could explain a tentative truce with orcs to elves who had been tortured by orcs, none of Gimli or his companions could quite figure out. You really had to have been there.
As they sailed west, there were warm days under the sun and cool nights under the stars, all set to the rhythmic song of the surf. Mostly the days and nights slipped from one to another, a happy reflective haze of cheerful song, friendly voices, and shared confidences. But several days would always stand out in Gimli’s memory from the general foggy pleasantness of the voyage.
Notes:
End Note: The strange night or three that Theli spent in a cave with an orc, accidentally training her to be a healer, is recounted in “Ecthelion in the Orc’s Den,” chapter 4 of Tales of the Greenwood, which can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/232498/chapters/408560
Chapter 8: Songs on the Straight Road, Chapter 2
Notes:
Excerpt from Chapter 1:
"As they sailed west, there were warm days under the sun and cool nights under the stars, all set to the rhythmic song of the surf. Mostly the days and nights slipped from one to another, a happy reflective haze of cheerful song, friendly voices, and shared confidences. But several days would always stand out in Gimli’s memory from the general foggy pleasantness of the voyage."
Chapter Text
The first such day was a joyful surprise for Gimli and his companions, most especially Mithiriel and Theli. However, for the elven captain of their vessel, it was a rather alarming shock.
On their second day out from Mithlond, with the strange current and bracing wind drawing them ever westward, a sail suddenly appeared ahead and to the right of their ship. The sail was white with a dark blue spiral design, the sigil of one of the tribes of Men who made their living fishing and hunting between Himring Island and the Ice Bay of Forochel. They were descendants of the Lossoth who had since learned to sail, and who built and piloted relatively small but exquisitely practical ships.
Mithiriel and Theli had befriended the Northmen, for so they called themselves in their hybrid language, earlier in the Fourth Age. Prince Faramir’s daughter and King Thranduil’s liegeman had been following up on strange rumors of slave ships coming from the north rather than the south, and had made their way from Mithlond up to the Bay of Forochel. When the spring thaw came, the Northmen offered to sail them as far along the coastline of the Northern Waste as it was possible for their ships to sail. After a harrowing voyage which proved the worth of the little ships, the Northmen vessels passed the Northern Waste to their right, and came upon the coast of Rhun. By doing so, they’d proven the scholars who had said that there was a way to sail from Mithlond to Khand without passing Gondor entirely right.
However, that was of slim comfort when the next thing they found was renegade Khandian and Rhunnic pirate slavers. Only Mithiriel, Theli, their guide the Northman Dakran, and the two youngest of the Northmen sailors had survived the slavers’ attack. And they had only survived because one of the most northerly Rhunnic tribes was loyal to Theodwyn’s father-by-law, and hated slavers besides.
The Northman Dakran had continued to serve Mithiriel and Theli through the First Mage War, the birth of their children, and the beginning of their tenure as the Lady and Lord of Imladris. But when their just-grown daughter Illinare traveled to warn the Northmen of a renewed threat by the Renegade Mages, Dakran had gone with her. Illinare had fallen in love with the northern shores and ships and the Men of the North, and had never come back. Dakran had stayed with her, and died by her side in his eightieth year. Mithiriel and Theli had visited them on many occasions, and Gimli and Legolas had made that great journey a handful of times themselves.
None of them had expected to see Illinare again, but none of them were really surprised, either. Even more than her mother and father, Illinare did as Illinare willed. There was a reason that the fleet that the Renegade Mages had sent around the Northern Waste to attack Arnor had never arrived at the Two Kingdoms, and it wasn’t all due to the Northmen’s prowess as sailors. Illinare was her mother’s daughter and even more. But to Gimli’s knowledge, that aborted invasion was the one time she’d ever truly used that power. Well, just now might be a second.
“No ship from Middle Earth should have been able to catch us on the Straight Road,” Captain Nemiron said grimly, reaching for his sword.
Legolas caught the captain’s hand. Gimli placed a broad hand on Nemiron’s other arm.
“Softly, Elf,” he cautioned the elven sea captain in his calmest gruff tone, the one that always worked on Legolas, and even sometimes got Thranduil to listen, “Calm yourself down. Lady Illinare is Lady Mithiriel and Lord Ecthelion’s older daughter. She’s just come with her ship and her crew to bid her parents farewell on their journey.”
“But, you don’t understand, Lord Gimli!” Captain Nemiron protested, “Not since Ar-Pharazon dared attack Aman has a human vessel sailed this far West!”
“And I doubt that one ever shall again,” Legolas said lightly. His tone was soothing and sweet. One would have to know him as intimately as Gimli did to know that Legolas was truly just a hair’s breadth away from knocking the sea captain unconscious before Nemiron had a chance to do something foolish. Gimli really did love his elven brother. Legolas wasn’t afraid to do what needed to be done if his charm didn’t work.
“But this human vessel is here, now,” said Gimli, “So we need to stop our boat so that they can have their visit, and then turn back away to the east.”
“Our vessel is NOT a boat, it’s a ship,” the long-suffering Captain Nemiron corrected automatically, “and it’s lower the anchor, not stop the ship.”
“Give the order, then!” Gimli encouraged the elf.
Baffled and bewildered but no longer fearful, Captain Nemiron did.
With a laughter and cheerful whooping, the Northmen swung a board across the gap between the two ships. Illinare herself crossed it first, catching her comparatively petite mother in her arms.
“Naneth,” Illinare greeted in accented Westron, “You are just as disgustingly tiny and perfect as always!”
Mithiriel responded to the half-tease with her bell-like laugh and total sincerity, “And you just as strong and beautiful. Now, tell me what adventures you’ve had since I’ve seen you last? And where are my grandchildren?”
“I know who you really want to see,” Illinare teased again, moving out of the way as a line of dancing, singing children crossed the board, aided here and there as needed by tall, burly men and muscular, tanned women.
Mithiriel bent to embrace her grandchildren one by one, greeting them by name in the Northmen’s tongue. Illinare found her father.
“Well-met, my blue-fire gale!” Theli said, his voice husky and his eyes shining with unshed tears.
For once, Illinare had no words. She just buried herself in his chest. The two of them were of a height, though Theli was just a hair taller. They both bore swords, though Illinare’s was heavier, which matched her even more muscular frame.
Laughing and crying herself, Illinare moved on to embrace Erestor, Legolas, and then Gimli in turn. Her white-streaked red hair flowed down her back, half loose and half in braids. Illinare’s eyes were a deep blue like her father’s. The color reminded Gimli of one-specific cave in Aglarond. In that sheltered space, there was a string of polished sapphires that shone darkly at midnight in the moon-shadows.
Illinare’s extraordinary eyes were just a shade darker than the bright blue designs painted sparingly on her strong face and bare, well-muscled arms. It was a good thing that years of traveling to exotic locations, and time spent with Faramir’s flamboyant family, had mostly inured Gimli to female nudity. For Illinare wore only a short undyed leather corset and leggings. Her flat stomach was bare, her belly button pierced with a gold ring sporting two small blue stones.
In Illinare’s wake came what seemed like dozens of chattering children. They were accompanied by Northmen and women, dressed similarly to Illinare.
Legolas leaned closer to Gimli and whispered, “Which one of these tall, muscular dark-haired men is our blue-eyed girl’s husband?”
“I have no idea,” Gimli replied. He did venture a guess, “Those two that Theli is exchanging back slaps with?”
“Two?” asked Legolas, with a startled blink of long pale gold eye lashes.
Gimli shrugged, “It may be three. If you’ll recall, the Northmen take husbands and wives for a life or for only a season. And provided that all parties consent, then there can be more than two people in a marriage.”
“Hmm. I’d forgotten all about that.”
“You did spent most of that visit quite prodigiously drunk,” Gimli offered. It hadn’t been long after the second Mage War, and Legolas’ capture and imprisonment during that conflict. Gimli had dragged him to the other side of Middle Earth in part to give him more time to recover his mental equilibrium without having to play the lord or prince.
Then there was no further time for talk between themselves, for Gimli and Legolas were surrounded by swarms of children with slightly pointed ears, Some were pale-skinned and red-haired, others dark-skinned and dark-haired. Many of them had brilliant sapphire eyes. But all of them wanted stories!
At one point, Gimli found himself asking Theli, “And how many grandchildren do you have from Illinare?
“Twenty-three,” Theli answered with a proud grin, “and counting.”
“Surely not that many?” Legolas forgot himself enough to ask Theli, his shock quite apparent. He then quite obviously tried to count all of the children with slightly pointed ears, which was difficult because all of the little ones moved very quickly.
Theli chuckled. “Aye, that many. Including not only the children born to Illinare, but also those she’s adopted, and the other children of her husbands.”
“Ahh,” said Gimli, content after having solved that mystery, “That sounds about right, then.”
As the sky purpled and the sun set majestically in the West, Illinare’s children sang songs of the Northmen to their grandparents for the last time.
“Illinare has nine biological children,” Legolas concluded immediately afterward.
“Because nine of them have pointed ears?” Gimli asked. He’d been trying to count, too, but even when they sang, they moved around a bit.
“No, because of the golden voice.”
“Ah,” said Gimli, for all of Illinare’s children by blood would be the many-times greatgrandchildren of Maglor courtesy of Mithrellas of Lorien, who had married Imrazor of Dol Amroth. Maglor Feanorion’s beautiful voice had bred true, generation to generation. Although Mithiriel would later claim that maybe that was no longer the case, and that it didn’t matter anyway, because all twenty-three of them were her grandchildren.
But it had bred true in Mithiriel. Even though she did not particularly like to sing, she had a lovely voice. Unlike most of her family, she did not play an instrument well. But Gimli and Master Sarphen did, and so Mithiriel, Theli, Legolas and Erestor sang of Luthien and Beren, of Aragorn and Arwen, and of Mithrellas and her cousins. All the things that they hoped Illinare’s children would not forget. For yes, they were Northmen. But they were also of Gondor, and Arnor, and could always go there and be welcomed home as kin.
As the stars shone high above, they bid farewell to Illinare and her family and crew amidst much rejoicing. The Northmen didn’t believe in lamentations, and neither did Illlinare.
“We’ll meet again, ‘ere the world ends,” she bravely promised her parents, shouting the words from the rear of her ship as it sailed away to the east. “And I’ll look out for Elrond and my nephews and niece until then. You two look after Nestor and Ceredisgail, when they sail!”
“We will,” Theli promised, and waved good bye to the daughter he and Mithiriel would not see again until the world’s end.
“I’ve never been happier that I never became a father,” Gimli told Legolas, as they subtly watched out for the grieving parents later that night.
“And I as well,” Legolas agreed.
“It’s not too late for you,” Gimli pointed out, as much a knee-jerk tease as a serious point. Although he did begin to suspect that if he really wanted a wife, great Mahal would twist whatever rules there were to find one, just for Gimli. Gimli had been very clear in his dreams that he did not need – or want – that level of consideration! He’d considered marriage, once in his youth. But he’d never met a dwarf-maiden who made his heart beat only for her, and he’d never desired to marry for anything other than love. Unlike Legolas’ situation, the majority of the female dwarves were not on the other side of the sea. No, if Gimli hadn’t met a beloved during his travels amongst all the dwarven kingdoms of Middle Earth, then that meant he had never been intended to have one. And that was well enough. His life was full enough, and he had no regrets. Some wonder, aye, and surprise at the journey he was now undertaking. But no regrets.
“Ugh, Gimli, not you too!” Legolas objected, moving Gimli away from such sober thoughts.
Gimli chuckled heartily at the expected reaction. The most eligible elven bachelor on Middle Earth did not like being pointed towards ellith as if he were a prize stallion! And implying that Legolas should take a wife was always good for a laugh at his elven-brother’s reaction.
Chapter 9: Songs on the Straight Road, Chapter 3
Notes:
Excerpt from Previous Chapter:
"As they sailed west, there were warm days under the sun and cool nights under the stars, all set to the rhythmic song of the surf. Mostly the days and nights slipped from one to another, a happy reflective haze of cheerful song, friendly voices, and shared confidences. But several days would always stand out in Gimli’s memory from the general foggy pleasantness of the voyage."
Chapter Text
Another day that stuck in Gimli’s mind, but not for a positive reason, was the day that Mithiriel and Legolas were playing in the ocean and nearly got left behind.
Gimli had long been aware that his elven brother was more than a bit addicted to the adrenaline rush he got from embarking upon athletically demanding and frankly downright risky stunts. Faramir of Ithilien, and to a greater or lesser extent all of his children, shared this questionable avocation.
Legolas and Mithiriel had developed a game to pass the time whereby they dove off the front port side of the ship, just east of the bow. Then they played and wrestled in the water until the ship had nearly passed them. And then, only then, did they swim to catch up to the vessel and swarm up the rope Theli left dangling into the water.
Gimli had viewed this pastime dubiously from the very start, a week or so out from Mithlond.
Theli had merely shrugged and laughed, “If it’s not this, it will be something else. At least we’re aware of where they are and can drop anchor if we need.”
Captain Nemiron was more of Gimli’s mind on the matter, “I am not dropping anchor and missing daylight just because his highness and her highness want to play a little game.”
“Take it up with them,” suggested Theli.
Captain Nemiron did. Such was the charm possessed by the son of Thranduil and the daughter of Faramir that the game continued, unabated, for the better part of a month.
One day, Mithiriel and Legolas were so occupied with trying to drown one another that they completely missed the ship passing them by. Theli and Gimli had been drawn into a dice game. It wasn’t until Erestor wanted Mithiriel’s help with a tricky Westron-to-Quenya translation that it even occurred to anyone to look for them. By that time, they were completely out of sight.
Captain Nemiron immediately dropped anchor. It took all of Gimli’s bluster and all of Theli’s charm to convince the fellow to get out the oars and send the ship backwards, but he did it at last.
The westward current did not care for their ship going eastwards. The rowing was hard. Even Gimli found himself straining at the oars, and he could and had singlehandedly pulled ships of nearly this size out of jams on the Anduin by Emyn Arnen. All the elves took a turn at the oars, even dignified Erestor, but only Gimli rowed the whole while. He was a dwarf, and he was not going to leave a brother, or a niece, behind. Not when he’d gone through so much to stay with them!
At last, they saw the sun glinting off of Legolas’ pale blond hair. He was towing the exhausted Mithiriel along with him, though she roused herself enough to swim towards the rescue ship they sent out.
“Ships on the straight road don’t even normally have lifeboats,” grumbled Captain Nemiron, “they should never need them!”
“Legolas never likes to do things the easy way,” Gimli complained. He was in better charity with Captain Nemiron now that his brother and niece were once again in his sight.
Once they had Legolas and Mithiriel back on board the ship, the two apologized quite profoundly to the crew and their friends, who had been forced to labor backwards to retrieve them. Gimli took Legolas down to the cabin they shared to see that he changed out of his wet clothes and rested after his self-inflicted ordeal. And also to discuss the wisdom of said misadventure.
Every member of the Fellowship had found their lives changed forever by their Quest. All who survived became life-long friends, for one. But some of the changes were unique to each individual being. For Frodo, that change brought victory, but also pain and sorrow. For Boromir, it brought redemption but also death. Aragorn had won a wife and a grown son and a family. Gimli and Legolas had each gotten back a brother in one another, after Sauron’s minions had long ago robbed them both of their first older brothers.
Legolas’ older brothers Lithidhren and Thandrin, along with their mother and sister, had died when Legolas was only an elfling as a result of machinations later found to be of Saruman’s making. That loss at such a tender age, and the sometimes distant way in which his father and older foster-brother and their household had parented him afterwards, had left Legolas with a reckless, overly independent streak. One similar to, but fortunately nowhere near as dangerous as, that of Aragorn’s son Faramir. Legolas both felt safer and better cared for after being pulled up short following a misadventure, and yet at the same time resented it because his older foster-brother Thandrin had sometimes punished him unfairly.
Gimli had lost the cousins he loved like brothers, Fili and Kili, at the Battle of the Five Armies. They’d died as heroes, but old King Dain had confessed that they might have lived, aye, them and Thorin too, if they’d just held the cursed line of battle instead of charging nobly ahead. Gimli was not about to lose Legolas to a lack of care, not when the occasional firm application of his hand to Legolas’ backside resulted in more temperate behavior for at least a substantial period of time.
But he also wouldn’t indulge that urge without Legolas’ consent. Gimli could clearly remember the first time that permission had been given. It had been just after Faramir went missing, presumed captured or dead, in Harad while spying. Legolas had been in Henneth Annun at that time, along with some of his Ithilien-en-Edhil elves. He had been one of the first to learn of Faramir’s disappearance. Without permission or the agreement of the White Company commander or his fellow elven soldiers, Legolas had gone off on his own to track Faramir. Fortunately, Faramir’s southern spy chief Dervorin and one of his fellows had encountered Legolas before he actually entered a Haradrim settlement, and had forcibly taken him back to Gondor.
“I knew that I had a better chance of finding Faramir’s trail than any other, when it was in the woods,” Legolas had explained, quite feebly in Gimli’s opinion, when Gimli asked what in the name of all that was good Legolas had been thinking.
“Because you would blend so well into a Haradrim town?” Gimli inquired sarcastically.
“Well, I didn’t know that he’d gone into a town, now did I?” Legolas had retorted.
“No, because you didn’t wait long enough to listen to the whole story!” Gimli had shouted, driven beyond patience and fighting the urge to shake Legolas until some sense came loose, or better yet, spank him as Aragorn sometimes did to see if that did the trick.
“I know!” Legolas shouted back, “I know that I made a mistake, and cost Dervorin and Kasim time in going after Faramir! I do know that, Gimli. And I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.”
Most of Gimli’s anger evaporated at that clear sign of guilt and remorse. All urge to shake Legolas gone, he placed a large hand on his shoulder, and squeezed gently.
“Now, brother, ‘tis not so bad as all that,” Gimli kindly reassured, “Dervorin and Kasim needed to report at Henneth Annun in any case. And I’m sure that Aragorn will have words for you at some point, and then the whole matter will be forgiven. Your intentions were good, and it’s not really you he’s angry with.”
“Aragorn is distraught,” Legolas mourned, placing his own slender hand on top of Gimli’s, “And I do not want to bother him with my guilt. I have already apologized to him once.”
“Well, I’m sure that finicky foster-brother of yours will be eager to help you expiate your guilt, then.”
Legolas’ green gaze narrowed. “He was. I told him no, he didn’t have the right.” After a deep sigh, Legolas continued, “Thalion was furious with me. If he’d been calm, if we’d discussed it reasonably, I might have said yes, and let him switch me. The pain would be far better than the guilt. But the way he acted . . . it was as if I were a child, and I had no choice but to let him treat me as he saw fit. It brought back too many bad memories, and so I said no. And he respected that.”
“If he hadn’t,” Gimli growled, finding himself feeling unexpectedly protective, “I do hope that you would have put him on his fine overly-formal elven arse.”
Legolas snorted, “I would have sent him home to Ada, with the message that having him as my second wasn’t working out anymore. Ada could have dealt with it from there.” With another sigh, this one slightly relieved, Legolas said, “But Thalion did respect me, and my decision. Who knows, I may change my mind and ask him for the switching I refused when I return to Ithilien-en-Edhil. But only if he’s calm, and willing to be rational about the whole thing.”
Thinking that over carefully, Gimli ventured “If you don’t mind my asking, why do you agree to let Aragorn paddle you when you do something dangerous? If I understand the stories the two of you tell, wasn’t it the other way around, when he was twenty-one and you were five hundred-and-whatever?”
“Four hundred and whatever,” Legolas corrected absently, then explained, “Now it is a matter of him being King, and my essentially being a vassal, even though for courtesy’s sake Ithilien-en-Edhil is considered an independent princedom. But even before that, it was a matter of relative maturity, I suppose. It’s confusing, but I dealt with it when I was younger, and part of a mixed unit of humans and elves under Theli’s command.”
“When they first started,” Legolas continued, “the humans seemed ‘younger’ even than me, and I was the youngest of all of us selected for that rather elite group. The youngest Men were inexperienced, some of them sons barely out of their father’s home. If they made a mistake on patrol, or missed a battle signal and nearly got someone injured, it was an easy and kind thing to administer a sound spanking or switching as soon as possible. It would have been most appropriate for the commander to do so, but Theli was sometimes busy playing the healer for quite awhile after the action was over. When a patrol was only Theli, Orthadvren, Baeraeriel, myself, and a young human or two, I was the best choice to administer the discipline. Baeraeriel would if needed, but she felt more comfortable doing so only with the female soldiers.”
“Hunh,” said Gimli, never having considered that last. Bringing the matter back to Legolas, he asked “And when those same Men were older?”
“They grew up, and became fathers and grandfathers themselves. Then, much more rarely, as I had centuries more experience as a warrior than they, something would happen where the relative maturity mattered more,” Legolas explained, blushing slightly, “and I would give my consent to their correction, if I agreed that it was merited. Instead of, or, in rare occasions, in addition to discipline from my commanding officer or his –or her – deputy, to which my consent was not required, of course.”
“With Aragorn,” Legolas continued, “when first we met, he was just twenty. Barely of age, and newly aware that he carried the fate of a people on his back. Elrond wanted him to know who his elven allies were, and so he sent Aragorn with Elrohir and Glorfindel to the Greenwood.”
“Not Elladan?” asked Gimli, who had rarely seen the twin peredhil apart.
“Only ever one twin at a time in my father’s kingdom,” Legolas reminded him, jogging Gimli’s memory of some long-ago incident involving a spider invasion which had only forced Thranduil to do the right thing for his people, but for which Thranduil, not entirely unjustifiably, blamed Elladan and Elrohir.
“At first I was jealous of Aragorn,” Legolas explained, “for Elrohir was like unto another older brother to me. And yet there he was, praising this callow boy for remembering to wipe off his sword after slaying a spider as if it were a brilliant military maneuver. I hid my distaste well, or at least so I thought. Though I later learned that both Aragorn and Elrohir were aware of it. But then we fought side by side, and I grew to know the mettle of this Man my cousin thought so much of. I quickly grew to value Aragorn, even to love him as a younger brother, for was he not already the younger brother of my brother Elrohir? So, when Aragorn took his patrol further than was wise in search of a spider nest, I did what any older brother would do for a younger. I spanked him soundly, so that he would remember to be more careful in the future.”
“Then, some years later,” Legolas continued pensively, “I visited the Northern Dunedain, to see Aragorn after his travels. He had been changed by them, become an old man almost over night.”
“Wasn’t he gone for nigh on thirty years?” Gimli interrupted.
“Thirty years is over night,” Legolas insisted, “And he was much troubled by how very thin the Northern Rangers were stretched. There were disappearances, and rumors of trouble everywhere. Aragorn and his men were gathering information for Elrond, Galadriel, my father, and Mithrandir, and coordinating with them to see what might be done to counter the Enemy, as well as to protect the shire. It was too much for any one man to bear. I did not want to add to his burden.”
Knowing Legolas well enough to gain some sense of the direction this story was going, Gimli asked, “So, pointy-ears, what did you decide not to tell Aragorn?”
With a wry smile for how well Gimli knew him, Legolas conceded, “Several of his rangers held certain opinions about those ‘wild Mirkwood woodelves.’”
Gimli chuckled, “Impressions which you did everything possible to reinforce in the ways most certain to make them never want to disparage an elf of the Great Green Wood again.”
“Of course I did. And, when he was twenty, Aragorn would have applauded such an action, even helped. At seventy, he gave them a switching for their rudeness to an ally, and me a worse one for endangering our patrol by tormenting them in the field.” With a grin, Legolas added, “Even though he conceded that I’d had some reason, and that it had in fact been cleverly done and, by and large, sensibly limited.”
“Oh yes,” said Gimli with a snort, “‘Sensibly limited’ is exactly what I think of when I hear your name.”
“I have my moments,” Legolas said modestly, before turning morose again, “However, this was not one of them. Nor do I feel it right to trouble Aragorn with my guilt when he is beside himself with worry for Faramir, and that besides working twice as hard to find several someones to take on all of Faramir’s duties.”
For Legolas’ peace of mind, and because it would give Gimli a certain amount of satisfaction as well, the dwarf offered, “It would be no trouble for me to hand out the spanking you more than earned by rushing off into Harad like a fool. But only if you’d be of a mind to pay that toll to me.”
Legolas paused to think that over, his head tilted in thought, the lamp light reflecting off of his blond-gold braids. After a moment he nodded, a human gesture he had picked up after his years in Gondor, “I am,” he decided, before immediately adding with narrowed eyes and a certain amount of only half put-on suspicion, “Provided that you promise not to take too much joy in it.”
Gimli had to laugh at that, “I’ll be glad to see you paying the price for your recklessness, brother. And I must confess that it will give me some satisfaction to mete it out. But I would never be unfair to you, or tell anyone what transpires between us.”
“I trust you,” said Legolas bravely. And then he proved that trust just as bravely, by placing his bare bottom over Gimli’s lap, albeit with more trepidation than he showed when trusting Gimli to guard his back in combat.
Gimli gently patted Legolas’ lower back. “I’ve got you, brother. Whether that means guarding your off-side or blistering your backside.”
“Ha, ha,” Legolas huffed back, “Just get on with it. You’re not normally one to dawdle.”
“Well, if that’s how you truly feel . . .” Gimli lifted his hand and delivered a rather tentative swat to Legolas’ nearer buttock. He’d never spanked an elf before, and he’d been just as careful the first time he’d spanked one of his young adult human apprentices. He’d rather have Legolas spend longer over his lap and build up the sting slowly than take a chance on bruising his friend.
The elf twitched slightly as the relatively light smack landed, then looked up in confusion. His lips slightly curled up in to a rueful smile and he asked, “Gimli, you do know that I’m not actually made of glass, don’t you?”
“Well, you still look like a stiff breeze would blow you over,” Gimli said frankly, “and I’ll thank you to remember that you’re in your current unenviable position due to your own actions, and to quit criticizing how I go about my work.”
“Well, if you want to miss dinner,” Legolas said snarkily, “then by all means be my guest. I’m not the one who drinks my weight in ale at every sitting.”
“Well, I doubt that you’ll be sitting tonight, elf!” Gimli teased back. He did put slightly more force behind his next smack, which he placed on the as-yet unmarked buttock. Unlike the first swat, which had only produced a faint blush, the second spank had left a gratifyingly large pink handprint. Gimli nodded to himself in satisfaction, then proceeded to deliver a very thorough spanking. When Legolas began to yelp, he almost ended the punishment. But, steeling his heart at the thought of losing Legolas, he continued his efforts until the entire area from the top of Legolas’ buttocks to the undercurve of his bottom was a uniform, burnished red. Then he delivered a few sharp swats to the unmarked white thighs.
When it was finished, Gimli leaned back against the wall, and guided his softly crying brother to rest his blond head against Gimli’s shoulder.
“Eru, you are thorough, aren’t you?” Legolas asked, once he’d gotten his breath back. He showed no sign of wanting to retrieve the leggings he’d kicked off in the course of his spanking. They’d both seen eachother bathing and changing over the past years so frequently that there was no need for body modesty. Besides, Gimli imagined that the cool air probably felt good on Legolas’ glowing backside.
“Only because I want you to live,” Gimli replied with straightforward, heart-felt sincerity. “I’ve lost enough brothers. I’ve not known you to make exactly the same mistake after Aragorn’s through with you. And you’d better not make this one again, either.”
Legolas pulled himself up and then rolled over so that he could lie on his stomach on the other end of the huge bed and eye Gimli narrowly. “This is what I usually say to Faramir, you know,” he complained, though the look in his eyes was affectionate more than aggrieved.
“Well, then, do at least as well as Faramir and stay out of trouble for six months, will you?”
Legolas did. In fact, that sound spanking was a punishment that proved quite effective, for it was several decades ‘ere a reminder was required. And it had been a number of years since the last such reminder was needed, before Legolas decided to attempt to drown himself on the way to the West. Apparently, he was in need of another red bottom to remind him to be careful!
Chapter 10: Songs on the Straight Road, Chapter 4
Notes:
Excerpt from Previous Chapter:
"And it had been a number of years since the last such [spanking] was needed, before Legolas decided to attempt to drown himself on the way to the West. Apparently, he was in need of another red bottom to remind him to be careful!"
Chapter Text
All those thoughts were in Gimili’s mind as he watched a soaked, exhausted Legolas splash into their cabin.
“What in Mahal’s name were you thinking?” Gimli shouted as soon as the door was closed, “The two of you could have drowned!”
“Mithiriel says that Swan Princesses don’t drown,” Legolas remonstrated tiredly, “and we weren’t near death, just tired. We knew that you’d come back for us. We’ll just be more careful next time.”
Gimli gritted his teeth and fought the urge to shake his elven brother until some sense rattled free in his pale-golden blond head. After a half dozen deep, calming breaths, he told Legolas firmly, “There will not be a ‘next time.’ On that Mithiriel’s husband and I are in agreement.”
Legolas’ laurel green eyes widened in surprise, “You got Theli to agree to tell Mithiriel ‘No?’”
“Aye. And you already know how much trouble you’re in.” Legolas was a soldier, not a fighting sailor. But he knew as well as Gimli what kind of price sailors would expect a man –or an elf- to pay for the inconvenience and danger Legolas had caused. For far less offenses, a handful of the sailors on board had been soundly strapped earlier in their voyage.
With a wry, rueful smile, Legolas threw his wet undershirt into a basket, and nodded.
“Aye. Perhaps you should even redden my rump on the ship’s deck in front of the crew who spent an afternoon fighting the Valar-given tide to get us back.”
“Now, there’s no need for the crew to have to see all of that,” Gimli teased, in a slightly better mood now that Legolas had, first, implicitly conceded that the swimming along-side the ship game was over, and two, agreed that he was due a sore backside for letting it go so far in the first place.
Legolas straightened and tilted his head in mock offense, “And here I thought that you’ve said I have a very attractive rear end, at least when I’ve offered to spare you spanking it.”
“You do, but I’ll not humiliate you by baring it in front of that lot,” said Gimli firmly, “It’s good enough that they’ll know you’ve paid for today’s idiocy. You’re nowhere near stoic enough for them to avoid noticing what’s about to happen.”
Making a disgusted expression, Legolas conceded the wisdom of that. He began to untie his leggings as Gimli took a seat on Legolas’ bunk, which was the only one long enough to accommodate the elf comfortably over his knees.
Legolas cursed as the wet ties on his leggings defied even his nimble fingers.
Gimli sighed, asking Mahal for patience. “Just come here, brother. I can start over the leggings, give them more time to dry.”
With another disgusted expression, Legolas nodded reluctantly in concession to that. With his lips still twisted in a moue of distaste, he added, “It will be louder this way, so perhaps it’s for the best. And a spanking over wet clothing hurts just as much as one on the bare.”
“I wouldn’t know,” said Gimli, who was glad for that ignorance, “but then, I don’t do stupid things like get so busy trying to drown my niece that I forget to pay attention to keeping her – and myself – alive.”
“Orome, you’re on a tangent today.”
“Legolas, if you don’t get over here so that we can get this done with, I’ll show you a tangent.”
“And Mithiriel is more like my sister, now, than my niece,” Legolas continued to complain, but at least he was moving so Gimli let it go.
As soon as Legolas was over his knees, Gimli pulled his hand back and delivered a firm, quick slap to the elf’s well-positioned bottom. The smack of Gimli’s calloused palm meeting the wet leggings was remarkably loud in the small cabin. Followed immediately as it was by a pained yelp from Legolas, there would be no doubt in the crew quarters next door as to what consequences Legolas was now facing for the inconvenience and worry he had put them all through. Which was probably for the best, in terms of how the crew would treat their passengers going forward.
Gimli continued with a flurry of sharp slaps to his elven brother’s behind, barely pausing long enough for the pain of the last spank to be felt before delivering the next. Legolas responded to this assault on his hindquarters with a series of yelps and cries of “ow” and other similar words to that effect. It was slightly more noisy than Legolas had ever been during previous spankings, but it seemed sincere. As Gimli settled into a rhythm of smacking first one buttock, then the other, then doling out a few slaps to each undercurve to make sure that Legolas would feel the spanking later, Legolas’ pained and indignant yelps and “ows” settled into a steady rhythm as well. With a laugh and a last hearty swat, Gimli called a temporary halt to the proceedings.
“I’m not done,” he warned Legolas, with a gentle pat to the area he’d just set aflame, “but those leggings need to come off before I finish.”
“You’re a cruel dwarf, gwador,” Legolas accused as he jumped to his feet and danced around for a few moments, trying desperately to rub the sting away from his soundly spanked rear.
When the dancing prompted another chuckle from Gimli, Legolas stopped rubbing his bottom to stare at him in vexation.
“What in the name of all the Belain is so cursed funny?” Legolas complained, looking impressively intimidating for an elf who was red-faced, red-bottomed, and wearing only a pair of damp knee-length leggings.
“Sorry, ‘Las,” Gimli apologized sincerely, “I’m not intending to mock you. It’s just that your caterwauling before and your hopping just now was in time with the wind and the waves. It sounded almost as melodic as that horrific clam shell instrument and drum ditty that Illinare’s youngest two played for us last week.”
Legolas rolled his eyes, another habit he’d learned from humans. “I suppose if my backside weren’t playing the role of the drum to your ham-handed mallets, I might see the humor in this situation, too.” But even as he said it, the elven prince’s lips were quirking into a slight smile.
“Get those off,” Gimli gently directed him, pointing to the leggings, “And come back over here. You nearly died today. I intend to make sure you remember not to do anything like this again.”
With muttered imprecations concerning Gimli’s questionable sense of humor and other less-than-sterling qualities, Legolas obeyed. Gimli didn’t make anything of the insults. If Fili had given Gimli the warm-up that Gimli had just given Legolas, he’d have had some unkind things to say to his older brother, too!
All too soon for Legolas’ liking, he was back over Gimli’s knees, this time bare but for a dry cotton nightshirt. Quickly tucking up the garment, Gimli surveyed his earlier work. His elven brother’s buttocks were a uniform dark pink, but the undercurves barely showed the slightest blush. Snugging one arm tight around Legolas' waist, Gimli lifted his other hand and aimed a sound swat first at the undercurve of the left buttock, and then the right. Legolas gave voice to his protest immediately, but Gimli ignored that in favor of bringing a bright rosy color to his brother’s sitspots, so that they matched the rest of his buttocks.
Before he’d fully achieved that goal, the sound of his own smacks and Legolas’ unhappy yowls were joined by the sound of another, less meaty set of swats and higher pitched yelps and cries of “ouch” and “stop.” Gimli momentarily paused in his spanking of Legolas to reflect that Theli must have actually decided to spank his wife. Gimli’s heart ached for his niece, whom he knew did not care for pain of any kind, but he also knew that Theli would not be too hard on Mithiriel. And Gimli had his own task to finish, which he set to with a will.
Only when the entirety of Legolas’ buttocks had reached a glowing shade of crimson did Gimli decide that the spanking was finished. And even then he added a few sharp swats to each upper thigh, just to make sure that the lesson really sank in.
Legolas sighed in teary relief as Gimli reassured him that they were done, and that he was glad that Legolas was still breathing so that they could have this discussion.
“Well, I’m not sure that I am,” Legolas said with a snort, “Ask me again in an hour.”
Legolas’ unhappy ordeal was over, but Mithiriel was still yelling and howling in pain. With growing discomfort and then a sense of protective anger, Gimli decided to intervene, despite the likely discomfort of everyone involved.
“Budge up,” he told Legolas gently, carefully shoving the elf off his shoulder.
Legolas, however, was reluctant to move. “Don’t worry about it,” he advised, nodding toward Mithiriel and Theli’s cabin to indicate that he knew what Gimli was thinking about, “Miri and I have talked. About this, I mean. She still doesn’t like spankings, so he makes them fun. It still does the job – she’s still sore after. But those aren’t all unhappy cries.”
Listening more closely, Gimli grew uncomfortable for a different reason.
Legolas made a face. “Yes. Although I’ve no desire to put on leggings or face the friendly laughter up top on deck, let’s go anyway.”
Gimli was in complete agreement with his brother on that. It was one thing to know that your honorary niece, or, in Legolas’ case, apparently honorary little sister, did have sex. Mithiriel and Theli had four children, after all. But it was quite another to overhear it. At the rear of the ship, watching the east sky darken, there was no chance of overhearing anything from the cabins, which were under the bow.
Putting two and three together for five, Gimli found himself asking, “So, all the times during the Mage Wars that Theli and Mithiriel had to fake a spanking because she’d done something necessary as a sorceress that just looked stupid to the war leaders who didn’t know that she was a sorceress, THAT is what they were doing?”
Legolas favored Gimli with a slant-eyed, ‘aren’t you sweet and naïve’ expression, then asked, “What did you think that they were doing?”
“Faking it! Hitting a water skin and yelling, certainly not . . . that! They were in a tent in the middle of a war camp!”
“Gimli, we’ve traveled with them. Don’t you remember why we always did the hunting in the evenings?”
“Sweet hammer of Mahal, I’d forgotten. That seems so long ago, now. At least they’ve been more discreet on this voyage, until now I suppose. And today . . . well, today was unusual.”
Legolas started laughing.
“What?”
“I thought you knew why we go shark fishing almost every night at twilight!”
At that, Gimli had to laugh too. He really had thought it was just because everyone liked spicy shark stew.
Chapter 11
Notes:
Quotes:
“Magic exists. Who can doubt it, when there are rainbows and wildflowers, the music of the wind and the silence of the stars? Anyone who has loved has been touched by magic. It is such a simple and such an extraordinary part of the lives we live.” - Nora Roberts
“She's mad, but she's magic. There's no lie in her fire.” - Charles Bukowski
Excerpt from Previous Chapter:
"As they sailed west, there were warm days under the sun and cool nights under the stars, all set to the rhythmic song of the surf. Mostly the days and nights slipped from one to another, a happy reflective haze of cheerful song, friendly voices, and shared confidences. But several days would always stand out in Gimli’s memory from the general foggy pleasantness of the voyage."
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The next day that Gimli remembered as distinct from the others was the day they fought the sea monster. The day before that had been a fairly average one, of which his memories were pleasantly hazy. He did remember hauling in a particularly large and toothy shark for dinner.
It was after dinner, while counting the shark’s many teeth, that the topic of seamonsters first arose.
“I’ve seen them,” Mithiriel commented, “several different times, when sailing with Uncle Imrahil and cousin Erchirion. I actually moved one from the sea onto a deserted beach once.”
They were sitting again on the bow of the ship, watching the stars come out above. It was only the four of them and Erestor, so everyone knew of Mithiriel’s magic. The westward blowing wind washed their words out ahead of them, so none of the crew or the sole other passenger could hear.
“That sounds like a remarkably stupid way for you to exhaust yourself,” Theli commented, a rare cross expression on his face, “Lord-the-Captain Glorfindel’s idea, I’d guess?”
“It was, yes,” Mithiriel agreed, “He thought that it was important to know what the limits of my powers were. A week later when I woke up, Ada still wasn’t speaking to him.”
“What do they look like?” Legolas asked. To Gimli’s ears, he sounded almost wistful. Which was foolish, though Gimli found himself feeling much the same way. The sailors in Mithlond had caught a sea monster once, but Lord Gloin’s caravan had already been a day out on the way back to the Blue Mountains. Gimli, Fili, and Kili had all begged to go back for a look, but Gloin had refused.
Mithiriel tilted her head thoughtfully, “I’ve seen three sea monsters. No, four. And they each looked different. Except the last two, which were mostly the same.”
“There are at least ten different varieties that I saw when I was sailing with the Dol Amroth navy under Princes Imrazor and Galador, and later during the kin-slaying,” Theli offered, “Some look like dragons, save wingless. Those generally have scales that are in jewel tones. They’re beautiful until they try to kill you. Others look like giant octopuses . . .”
“Octopi,” Mithiriel and Erestor corrected him at the same time. With a chagrinned smile, Erestor tilted his head in apology and gestured for Theli to go on.
But he’d been distracted. “Octopi? Really? Octopuses sounds better,” Theli protested.
“It’s octopi,” Mithiriel confirmed, “Sorry, Green Sword. And actually, I think that Uncle Imrahil calls them krakens.”
“Not kraktopi?” Theli teased.
“Oh, stop with the grammar lesson and tell us what they look like already!” Gimli demanded. Left to their own devices, Mithiriel and Theli could flirt all night. And if it was about grammar, Mithiriel and Erestor could debate all night, and Gimli knew to his despair that Legolas only pretended not to be interested in those discussions.
“They look like giant octopi,” Theli said again, “with heads the size of half a ship. They have at least eight arms, each arm as large around as an orc, and longer than the length of three tall men stacked on top of each other. And they are usually either a brick red or an unappetizing fleshy color.”
“Those were the last two I saw,” Mithiriel explained, “Including the one I stranded on the beach. Apparently it fed a village for the better part of a year, once it had been salted and stored. I tried some of it,” she paused and then remarked thoughtfully, “Actually, it wasn’t half bad.”
“Not half bad in comparison to war rations,” Gimli asked skeptically, “Or not half bad in comparison to your mother’s cooking?”
Everyone laughed, except Erestor, who only chuckled. He alone out of all of them had never been exposed to one of Eowyn’s attempts to be ‘helpful’ in the kitchen.
“More the first than the second, actually,” said Mithiriel merrily, “In fact, I wouldn’t really mind some kraken as a break from fish, shell fish, and shark.”
“I wouldn’t mind anything that wasn’t fish,” said Erestor, “It reminds me of when I was a poor student in Lindon.”
“Poor Erestor,” Mithiriel said kindly, “I’m glad that Lord Elrond got that straightened out for you quickly enough.”
“I don’t think I ever heard that story,” said Legolas, and that was all it took for the night’s telling of tales to begin. From Erestor and Elrond meeting again in Lindon, it moved to Gimli and Kili making friends with a miller’s son in the Blue Mountains.
“Fili was off with the trading caravans,” Gimli began, “our elders had judged him mature enough to help with their journeying, but Kili and I were still too young. My mother, Kala, and Kili’s mother Dis, tried to keep us occupied. But we were young and felt offended by having been left behind. So, we were determined to find something to occupy ourselves that would prove our worth and maturity. We went off wandering the lands around the Blue Mountains when we were supposed to be at home, and that is when we met the miller’s son, Ralf.”
“Young Ralf had been hired to help the town’s shepherd with wintering his flock in the mountains. Kili and I helped scare away a wolf that was menacing his young charges. The teenaged lad was grateful, and invited us to share his fire. I was unharmed, but Kili had taken a painful bite to the arm. Young fools that we were,” Gimli said with a rueful laugh at his younger self, “it didn’t occur to us to clean it properly. A snow storm set in while we were with Ralf, so we were forced to shelter with him. By the time that we returned home, our mothers were frantic, and Kili had a sweltering fever.”
“I’m sure someone wasn’t sitting comfortably after poor Kili was nursed back to health,” Legolas teased.
Gimli was a bit surprised by that, then realized that his elven brother hadn’t quite forgotten the events following his nearly disastrous swim. Deciding to grant him a bit of slack, Gimli allowed, “Aye, though my mother’s first concern was for her sick nephew. She had no healer’s training herself, but Dis knew most of the basics. Lady Dis had wanted to train as a healer herself. But as a princess of Erebor she’d had too many responsibilities to dedicate the proper amount of time to it.”
“She certainly knew a great deal of the healer’s craft by the time I met her in Aglarond,” Theli observed, “I learned a fair bit from her about which cave-growing plants can be used in poultices and potions.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Gimli said, swiftly taking back the conversation, for Theli needed little invitation to go into rather boring details when it came to his beloved craft, “But at the time, I was merely relieved to see Kili on the mend. Not that I was relieved for very long,” Gimli chuckled, “my mother had a very stout hair brush and knew how to use it! Nor did Ralf’s father think much of him having decided to fight off wolves to save sheep, rather than just leaving the silly things to their fate.”
“How did he find out?” asked Mithiriel.
She really was Faramir’s daughter, Gimli reflected, then explained, “Oh, our mothers decided to visit him and his Da at the mill, to make sure that he’d recovered well from his ordeal. Lady Dis was concerned at first by our friendship with a human, but my mother said that it was always a good thing to make a new friend. And especially one who was kin to old Mayor Seward Eyrikson, who had always dealt fairly with we dwarves.”
“Lady Kala always was a sensible sort,” Legolas said, with a fondly reminiscent smile on his face.
“Aye, she took to you right from the start,” Gimli agreed, “though it took Da longer to come around.”
“He didn’t really warm to Legolas until after he heard the story of how Legolas saved your life during the war with the Haradrim, right, Uncle Gimli?” Mithiriel asked.
“Aye, my lass. Not until then.”
“I also went off to play with humans when I was a child,” recalled Legolas, ”I wish that my father had taken that anywhere near as calmly as Lady Kala and Lady Dis.”
“Well, Legolas,” Theli said with a grin, “to be fair to your father, I think it had more to do with you going on a solo journey of several days’ duration, each way, through spider and orc infested wilderness, to visit your human friends. And all that while you were supposed to be camping under the careful supervision of your older foster-brother.”
“Details,” said Legolas, waving his hand in an airy fashion. With an answering grin, he turned the tables on Theli and asked, “How about the tale of how you and Ada became friends in the first place, during the War of the Last Alliance?”
“You’ve heard that story before,” Theli said, but he tolerantly told it again anyway when Legolas persisted.
When Theli was finished, Legolas complained, “But you still haven’t told me what Ada did to get put on ditch-digging detail at the same time as you.”
“Nor will I,” said Theli, cheerful but firm. “If you want to know, ask him.”
“He said to ask him again when I turn two thousand.”
Mithiriel turned to Gimli and made the subtle hand sign they’d developed a few weeks ago, that meant ‘they’re talking about big numbers again, can you even imagine getting that old?’
Gimlmi nodded back. He was glad that they’d put that sentiment into non-verbal short hand so that they could stop saying the whole thing every time. It always and invariably resulted in a series of concerned looks from Legolas, Theli, and Erestor when they said it aloud.
“Gimli?” asked Legolas, who seemed to be catching onto the hand sign. He always was quick, it was one of the things Gimli liked about him. One rarely had to explain things twice to Legolas, yet at the same time he made no great show of that. It was a positively dwarf-like quality that Gimli quite appreciated, even if Legolas took it too far at times.
To change the subject, Gimli asked, “And how did himself,” meaning Thranduil, “take acquiring a wood-elf as a cousin as opposed to a friend?”
Theli smiled softly, “Remarkably well, especially considering that he found out about it at the same time that Elladan decided to make Faramir’s crimes as a spy seem less egregious by confessing to everyone about our trips into the Enemy lands on Gandalf’s behalf.”
Turning to Legolas, Theli elaborated, “Your father unequivocally told Uncle Celeborn, who’d only just found out that I was his nephew, that I was a Greenwood elf, and that Uncle Celeborn couldn’t have me. Thranduil stood up to Uncle Celeborn, even though Uncle Celeborn had been of the opinion that I needed to be civilized for over an age, and had firmly intended to take on that task himself. Your father said that he would teach me everything that I needed to know to be the great-grandson of a King. And for the most part, he did. It was one of the kindest things that anyone has ever done for me.”
“When you weren’t dribbling soup on yourself to scare away potential wives and then getting smacked for your trouble like an elfling,” Legolas teased fondly.
“Even then,” Theli said with a light laugh, “Even then. That particular set of events mostly amused Thranduil, but he generally knew when I was faking not being able to do something I didn’t want to do and when I was really having trouble with something, and acted accordingly. He even went so far as to hire me tutors who knew how to teach a student who kept reversing his letters. And then took the time out of his own busy schedule to smack me when I ‘forgot’ to show up to lessons!”
“In all honesty, it’s Thalion and I who owe you our thanks,” said Legolas, “teaching you to be a royal lord distracted Ada from micro-managing our lives in Ithilien-en-Edhil for nearly a decade.”
“I’ve still never seen you act the royal elven lord,” Gimli remarked to Theli, “though you’ve acted the responsible statesman in Aglarond and Erebor.”
Legolas’ gaze narrowed, “Gimli, are you implying something derogatory about royal elven lords?”
“Aye,” Gimli freely admitted, “But you’re a prince. You’re far worse!”
That turned into a friendly wrestling match between Legolas and Gimli. Mithiriel left them to it with a laugh. Carefully stepping around the tussle, she walked over to the rail and stared off into the waves and the stars with a peaceful smile.
Out of one ear Gimli heard a sheepish Erestor doing a bad job of covertly asking Theli a series of questions. Gimli wasn’t really paying attention, as trying to pin Legolas without either of them bashing into the side rail of the ship was always a tricky bit of maneuvering. Of course, he had Legolas beaten in straight-out strength, but the trouble was getting his elven brother to stay still long enough without squirming out of a hold and tripping Gimli to boot. But Gimli did overhear enough to realize what the topic was – how long Theli thought that the voyage would take. As that was of interest to him as well, Gimli paused for half a second to listen more closely.
Unfortunately, that was just enough distraction for Legolas to succeed in kicking Gimli into a net strung out to dry on the deck.
“Ha!” whooped the pleased elf. “You’re off your game tonight, dwarf!”
Gimli weighed the relative pleasure he’d get from tossing Legolas overboard against his own interest in finding out whether Theli might actually have some idea of how much longer they would be on this boat. Not that the voyage was unpleasant, but . . . the longer they spent sailing the more he felt the desire to arrive, and get started on the new challenges awaiting them. That, and Gimli was tired of fish. No matter how well it was prepared.
Somewhat concerned at Gimli’s longer than usual silence, Legolas asked, “Gimli? You’re not thinking of throwing me overboard again, are you?”
Thinking of another reason why it would be better to see what Theli might know than retaliate against Legolas in that specific way, Gimli replied, “No, brother. I don’t want you to get left behind and almost drown yourself again, after all.”
Legolas gave him a very disappointed look. It wasn’t quite as good as Mithiriel’s, but it was nothing to sneeze at, either.
“At this point in a conversation,” Legolas said with lofty reproach, “Faramir would always say, ‘bought and paid for.’”
“Yes, yes,” Gimli agreed, “I’m not mad at you anymore.” To prove it, he let Legolas give him a hand up from the net. Then he walked over and sat down beside Theli and Erestor, with Legolas following curiously behind.
“What’s this about you having an inside line on when this boat trip is going to be over?” Gimli asked Theli bluntly.
Theli sighed as Erestor frantically shushed Gimli and looked over to Mithiriel at the railing.
After his own glance at his wife, who gave no sign of hearing them, Theli explained, “What I was just telling Erestor is that I don’t. He thought that I might know because of needing to know how much of Mithiriel’s medicines to bring with us. But I just packed two years’ worth of dry ingredients. I doubt it will take longer than that.”
“Mahal, I hope not,” said Gimli, at the same time that Erestor implored the Valar that it not be so.
“It won’t take two years,” said Mithiriel, turning away from the railing and walking back to them with a whimsical smile, “It will only take as long as we all want it to take. The West is very responsive to wishes. Theli and I wish that it not take longer than two years because it would be bad for my health if it did. And the Straight Road will respond to that.”
“Back up, Lady Difficult,” Legolas requested, “You lost me at wishes.”
“Oh, I did not, Prince Perceptive!” Mithiriel objected, “Just for that, you can explain.”
Gimli chuckled. Legolas sometimes took his airhead act a bit far. It was nice to be traveling with someone else who could call him out on it. Even after over a century together, Gimli couldn’t always tell when Legolas was just playing the innocent for a laugh, or out of laziness, as opposed to when he was truly confused.
Legolas sighed dramatically. Then, at Mithiriel’s stubborn, imperious expression, he gave in, “The West, for the elves, and for whoever else dwells there,” he added with a nod towards Gimli and Mithiriel, “is almost like a mix of Middle Earth and the Halls of Mandos. Like on Middle Earth, there can be crime and inequity. But like in Mandos, the land and the water are responsive to what the inhabitants wish to happen. Very strong desires, for good ends or ill, although if the Valar are made aware not the latter, can affect what the land looks like and what the water will do.”
“Generally in minor ways,” Mithiriel clarified, “But the Path to the West is likely particularly sensitive, due to its very nature.”
Erestor appeared fascinated, “How do you know any of this, Miriel-nin? Anatar Glorfindel would hardly ever tell us anything about the West.”
“Because Lady Galadriel told Ada and Legolas once,” Mithiriel explained.
“It was a very strange conversation,” Legolas remarked, “It was not long after the Ring War, before we knew Faramir very well. I was bothering – er, visiting, Faramir, in an attempt to get him to come with us to liberate that bear from the traveling carnival on the Pelennor. Do you remember that, Gimli?”
“It would be hard to forget watching you dress a bear in borrowed widow’s weeds and get it to sit in the passenger seat of a wagon pretending to be Pippin’s grandmother,” Gimli said with a fondly reminiscent smile.
“It wouldn’t even have been possible if Faramir hadn’t given us those forged trading documents,” Legolas said cheerfully, “But in any case, Lady Galadriel arrived before I’d half gotten started, and began a philosophical conversation with Faramir about the formation of the World and the differences between valar, maiar, elves, men, dwarves, hobbits, and orcs. Somehow that went into the differences between the West, the Halls of Mandos, and Middle Earth. I’m not sure exactly how. I escaped the conversation as soon as I could.”
Mithiriel looked ready to say something along the lines of a sarcastic, ‘of course you did,’ but since Theli and Gimli both knew better than to tease Legolas too much when he played dumb, Theli took her hand and squeezed it to distract her. Legolas’ insistence on not being interested in such matters was rooted to his feelings of abandonment from when his siblings died and he had become his father’s heir.
“But,” Legolas continued, “I did not know anything about the Straight Road being particularly susceptible to wish magic. Why is that, Lady Difficult?” he asked, turning attention back to his verbal sparring partner Mithiriel.
Mithiriel blinked, apparently surprised that he would even need to ask the question. But always well-disposed to explaining just about anything, Mithiriel gamely began, “Well, it’s magic, you see? Magic done by the Valar, but magic still, and magic works in certain ways. The Valar made two different “wests,” or at least they did after Ar-Pharazon sailed West at Sauron’s urging to try and take over Aman. Before that, it was the same “West,” just very hard to get to from Middle Earth because it was very far. There were probably short cuts that could make it easier if you knew where to find them, and maybe veils of some kind, that would have made it even harder to get to if you didn’t know where they were . . .,” Mithiriel paused, distracted by those thoughts.
“Get back to the main point, Lady Difficult,” Legolas urged. Theli, meanwhile, looked around, as if to make sure that no one else was listening. Then he looked up at the sky and over at the water, smiling wryly, as if both proud of his wife but also asking the powers-that-be to be patient with her.
“Oh, yes,” Mithiriel resumed, seeming unaware that she’d even trailed off, “Anyway, now, and since Ar-Pharazon’s aborted invasion, if a normal human or dwarven or hobbit ship from Middle Earth were to sail due west for long enough, they’d either just keep going forever, or if the world is round as many scholars think, they’d just go most of the way back around the world and get back to the other side of Middle Earth. For example, a human ship that left Mithlond and sailed straight west would eventually come back around to the boundary lands between the Northern Waste and Rhun. Either way, the human ship would sail right past Aman as if it didn’t exist. Because to them, it wouldn’t.”
Sensing that her audience wasn’t completely following, Mithiriel continued, “There’s an almost impenetrable veil of sorts, such that now there are two different “wests” that exist in the same place at the same time. To get to the “West,” as in Tol Eressea and Aman, you have to take the Straight Road. The Straight Road being this current that is taking us straight to the West, and you have to be able to find it. An elven ship can, because the Valar, specifically Lord Ulmo, want the elves to be able to. A human ship probably couldn’t. The separation of the two wests had to be done after Ar-Pharazon’s treason, and it’s likely been done by magic rather than physical might, and magic only works so many different ways.”
Erestor was leaning forward towards Mithiriel, scholarly fervor shining in his dark eyes. It made him seem almost a young elf for the first time since Gimli had met him.
“Do you really think that is how it works, Mithiriel-nin?” Erestor asked his former pupil.
“Well, that’s how I’d do it, if I had the immeasurable power it would take to do it,” Mithiriel explained, “I’d separate the tapestry of the world into two. Or rather, make a distinct panel that can be laid over a specific section of the whole to change the picture. But you couldn’t go from one panel to the other without the seamstress deciding to move your thread.”
“And we’re fairly sure that’s pretty close to how it really works,” Theli added wryly, “because after Mithiriel explained her theory to Great Uncle Cirdan, along with ‘this is how I’d do it’ and a number of her other theories, he went white with shock. Then he told her she that she had figured out dangerous secrets with the blithe disregard of a child playing with a logic puzzle game.”
“And then Uncle Cirdan spent the entire voyage from Eryn Vorn to Mithlond teaching us all sorts of mental tricks for hiding knowledge like that from anyone who might try to read it in our eyes,” Mithiriel explained, sounding both as if she’d had a good time but also felt guilty because that type of thing wasn’t Theli’s idea of fun, “even though I told him that human magic doesn’t work like that.”
“And not long after that conversation with Great Uncle Cirdan and the resulting mind magic lessons,” Theli continued, “We both started having dreams indicating that we’d be very welcome in the West. There was a slight hint of ‘and you should keep your mouth shut about what you know,’ to those dreams.”
“So, we haven’t talked about it between now and then,” Mithiriel said, “But it doesn’t matter that anyone on this ship knows, because we’ve the Valar’s leave to go to the West, and we’ll be there soon enough anyway. And,” she said, growing sad, for she, too, had loved ones still on Middle Earth, “it’s not as if just anyone in the West can share that knowledge with someone on Middle Earth. Lady Galadriel probably could, and there are some others, but . . .”
“They’ve probably also been given the ‘things you need to keep your mouth shut about,’ lecture,” Theli concluded.
Gimli frowned at the very thought of anyone, even a Vala, telling his Lady Galadriel something so rude! But then, he comforted himself, his Lady was undoubtedly wise enough to make the appropriate decisions without being so harshly counseled.
“Personally,” said Mithiriel, “I think that a number of scholars on Middle Earth, including probably Ada, have the whole thing figured out. But it’s not as if it can be changed, and there was no point upsetting Great Uncle Cirdan by talking about it. Ada and I always found more than enough to talk about, anyway.”
Gimli wasn’t that concerned with the mechanics of how sailing to the West worked. In fact, he found it slightly amusing that Mithiriel had managed to horrify a being as old as Lord Cirdan with her off the cuff guesses! However, as he would discuss later with Legolas, the implications of someone like the Renegade Blood Mages finding out how the “two wests” had been separated could potentially have been disastrous.
Gimli knew from fighting the Blood Mages that they hadn’t had the same raw power as Sauron, even in his incorporeal form. But what if the Blood Mages had been able to set up their blood sacrifices in every city, town, and village in Middle Earth, as they’d planned to do if they had won the Mage Wars? With that much power, maybe the Blood Mages could have challenged the Valar, as Sauron and his master Morgoth had both once planned to do. And if the Blood Mages had been able to get their hands on someone like Mithiriel, whom they could have tortured into telling them how the magic of going to the West worked, so that they could break it . . .
Yes, Gimli did now understand on another level why Mithiriel and Theli had been invited to sail. In fact, he rather thought that the Valar would have been happier if all of Mithiriel and Theli’s children had chosen to sail before having children of their own. Mithiriel’s power combined with her playful insights made her a dangerous foe when she did choose to take a stand. All of her children had inherited some of that. Illinare had inherited the most, but fortunately for the Valar and all the rest of Middle Earth, Illinare just wanted to raise her family in safety and freedom.
But Gimli wasn’t thinking of all the implications of Mithiriel and Legolas’ explanations that night on the ship’s deck under the stars. Instead, he was thinking about some more personal wishes he had himself for life in the west. Small things, perhaps, but important to him.
“So,” he asked, “If the right type of hops for making good, strong dwarven ale don’t exist in the West, then they might just . . . start to grow?”
“More like, within a few plant generations, the crops on your field would change, so that they could make ale closer to what you think is the perfect ale,” Mithiriel theorized, “And you’d have to really want it, even if you didn’t know that you did.”
“Oh, I want good ale!” said Gimli, “And I’m well aware of it!”
“We’re all well aware of it,” said Legolas dryly, passing Gimli another bottle of wine.
Gimli sniffed derogatively, but it didn’t stop him from taking the wine.
The next morning dawned bright and clear, as had all of their mornings on the way to the West. Gimli helped Mithiriel mend nets while Legolas and Theli set up fishing and crabbing lines. Then Gimli played chess with Legolas while Erestor read a book he’d been planning to read since the Second Age but hadn’t ever found the time for. Mithiriel and Theli, both of whom had spent a fair amount of time on ships in the past, lent their hands to whatever the sailors could use assistance with. And so it was Theli, high in the crow’s nest serving as look-out, who first shouted, “there’s something large coming up port-side!”
“Is it another whale?” Gimli called up, intrigued. Ever since he’d first heard whale song several weeks ago, he’d been enamored with the gentle giants of the deep.
“Or a school of dolphins?” Legolas asked hopefully. He and Mithiriel could watch the playful creatures for hours on end.
“No, too small for a whale, too big for dolphins,” Theli reported tensely, “Get up here, Tithen-Las. We could use your eyes.”
“I’m taller than you are,” Legolas griped, but he didn’t hesitate to nimbly climb up the rigging as if it were no more complicated a matter than going up a stair case.
Shading his eyes to look out into the distance, Legolas said, “It looks like a . . . a giant glob of mucus?”
“Fornicating Orcs!” Theli cursed. Captain Nemiron and his first mate were swearing too, in between shouting orders for the crew to get their weapons and load the cannons.
“That, Legolas,” shouted Mithiriel as she tossed him his quiver and her husband his sword, “Is what a kraken looks like when it is speeding towards your ship with its eight huge limbs beneath it.”
“Oh,” said Legolas, and cursed if he wasn’t hiding a grin. Well enough, so was Gimli!
He took his axe from Mithiriel, who’d gone running below decks in search of weapons as soon as Theli announced that whatever it was, was neither dolphin nor whale. Then Gimli hefted his axe into the air with a dwarven war cry. Despite his preference for peace, going into a fray yet again with his elven brother by his side gave him a certain joyful thrill. Even when times were peaceful, Gimli had been accustomed to doing exciting things on a fairly regular basis. Climbing mountains, exploring new lands or caverns, spelunking, engaging in tourneys, and many other activities that really got the blood racing, all of them usually with Legolas at his side. The voyage to the West had been almost too peaceful.
And fighting off the kraken made for a jolly little dust-up! After a very exciting thirty minutes, the kraken retreated with the ship no worse for the wear except for a section of broken railing and some torn sailcloth. All of the damages were easily repairable with the stores and tools they had on board. Even the kraken hadn’t been injured, beyond the loss of part of one leg (which would apparently grow back, according to Mithiriel) and a single large, black tooth.
They spent several hours helping the crew make repairs, then that night everyone feasted on leg of kraken.
After dinner, the sailors and the passengers shared songs and tales of sea monsters. Gimli hadn’t heard any of them before, given that he’d usually been with Legolas when he wasn’t in Aglarond. Their human family had tried hard not to mention anything about the sea around Legolas, and so Gimli hadn’t heard those stories, either. Mithiriel shared two songs about her grandfather Aragorn when he’d traveled to Umbar with Imrahil under the name Thorongil, long before the Ring War.
“My brother Elboron’s favorite was ‘Dread Captain Thorongil,’” she explained, “in which Daerada Aragorn’s youthful alter-ego breathed fire and then rode to battle on a kraken, slaying the brave defenders of Umbar.” Mithiriel smiled mischievously, “but Daernana Arwen’s favorite was the parody of that song, in which Daerada Aragorn proceeded to develop an unfortunate romantic attachment to said kraken after the end of the battle, thus explaining his subsequent disappearance from Gondor.”
When the night had grown late and quiet, Mithiriel turned to Legolas and Gimli.
“I didn't want to say so before the crew, Master Sarphen, and especially Erestor fell asleep,” Mithiriel told them with another mischievous smile, “but the two of you do realize that we fought a sea monster today because you two secretly wanted to fight a sea monster, don't you?”
Legolas, still polishing the tooth the monster had lost, looked to Gimli. Then they both started to laugh.
Notes:
In this chapter, Mithiriel’s magic is discussed. It is further described in “Burning Mad,” chapter 69 of the Tales of the Telcontars, available here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/214796/chapters/16360607
And in “A Few Minutes,” chapter 66 of the Tales of the Telcontars, available here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/214796/chapters/7719854
Chapter 12: Songs on the Straight Road, Chapter 6
Notes:
Quote:
Tolkien said of Galadriel "She was proud, strong, and selfwilled, as were all the descendants of Finwë save Finarfin; and like her brother Finrod, of all her kin the nearest to her heart, she had dreams of far lands and dominions that might be her own to order as she would without tutelage. Yet deeper still there dwelt in her the noble and generous spirit of the Vanyar, and a reverence for the Valar that she could not forget. From her earliest years she had a marvellous gift of insight into the minds of others, but judged them with mercy and understanding, and she withheld her goodwill from none save only Fëanor. In him she perceived a darkness that she hated and feared, though she did not perceive that the shadow of the same evil had fallen upon the minds of all the Noldor, and upon her own."
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The day they fought the sea monster was the last of the days Gimli remembered as being particularly distinct from all the others, at least until the day their voyage finally ended.
But even though the individual days and nights melted the one into the other, he remembered all of the conversations they’d had, the stories they’d shared, and the songs they’d sung for one another. The five of them spoke of grave things, such as wars and the hardships survived by the Fellowship, and bitter things, such as the deaths of friends lost in the primes of their life to combat or sickness. But they spoke also of sweet things, like weddings and births and the successes of friends and kin and countries. And they spoke too of silly things, such as Pippin’s and Merry’s antics on the Quest, and the quarrel between Mithiriel's sisters Theodwyn the Chieftainess of Rhun and Haleth the Empress of Khand, over who got to take home which of the toys made for them as children to give to their own children to play with, and how Elboron's wife Cellaras and Arwen had joined forces to resolve it.
“Which explains,” said Gimli, once he could catch his breath from laughing, “a series of strange letters I received from Arwen and Cellaras, asking if I could make or have made a replica of this-or-such toy I made for you lot when you were tiny. I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why they had become so nostalgic all of a sudden!”
“Oh, no,” laughed Mithiriel, “It was the practical ones, Theodwyn and Haleth, who absolutely had to have those bits of their past for their children and grandchildren. The emotional ones – Elboron, Elion, and I – were, according to Theodwyn, so tetchy when we were growing up that we used up all of our ability to be difficult as adults.”
“I’ve never noticed that . . .” Legolas began, hiding a smile, which disappeared with an “oof” as Mithiriel elbowed him in the stomach.
Gimli, for his part, shared the well-known songs of the Erebor and Aglarond dwarves, such as “Far Over the Misty Mountains Cold.” He could play a bit of the pipe himself. Master Sarphen’s violin was close enough to the dwarven string instruments, and Theli was a tolerable drummer. Many of the sailors played instruments, and would gladly lend their talents and time when off-shift.
When it was just their group of five, Gimli also shared some of his people’s private songs and epics. At his sister Alys’ suggestion, Gimli had spoken with King Thorin III Stonehelm and his council. They had him given their consent to share some elements of dwarven language and culture normally kept private with Legolas, and with whosoever else Gimli deemed would respect such knowledge and keep it close.
Of their group, Erestor already spoke and wrote excellent, if somewhat archaic, Khuzdul, the dwarven language. He’d grown up mostly in Eregion, which had maintained a very friendly relationship with the dwarves of Khazad-dum. Erestor’s closest childhood friend Celebrian had spent several years in Khazad-dum while her parents made plans to found Eregion. The dwarfling friends Celebrian had made in Khazad-dum often visited Eregion after they grew to adulthood. Additionally, Lady Galadriel had taught both her daughter and her daughter’s best friend to write the dwarven language so that they could help her with her correspondence.
“And so I know almost fifty different words for rock,” Erestor said, his quiet, understated sense of humor very much in play.
“Only fifty?” Legolas teased, “Why, Erestor. Even I know that there are at least two hundred and five.”
Gimli nodded wisely, as if that wasn’t complete nonsense. Then he insisted with a straight-face that only seventy-eight were still in common usage. In truth, as he explained later, it was closer to forty, although Erestor only knew half of them.
“Languages move on and change very quickly,” said Erestor, not at all put out by their bit of humor at his expense. In fact, he’d been no small amount amused. The more Gimli got to know Erestor, the better Gimli liked him. Erestor was a quiet, reserved fellow, but once one got past the reserve, there was a good sense of humor, a lot of patience, and a great deal of kindness.
Theli had also known some Khuzdul even before the start of their voyage, but it had been primarily limited to healing terminology, black market haggling, and swear words.
“Some of the dwarves who fought at the War of the Last Alliance had only ever lived in Khazad-dum, and spoke no Westron,” Theli explained, “and since one of my jobs as an assistant healer was helping the Quartermaster obtain supplies, I had to learn a bit to trade with them.” Theli’s pronunciation of even the most basic terms had both Gimli and Erestor howling with laughter. Yes, Theli’s Khuzdul was intelligible, barely, but it was so badly garbled that it must have been highly entertaining to the dwarves he did business with.
“That’s probably why you got such excellent bargains!,” Gimli said in between fits of mirth, “They were giving you a discount for the comedy show!”
“I did usually get very good deals out of our dwarven allies,” said Theli modestly, seeming torn between pride at his long-ago accomplishments and amusement at his own expense.
They also spoke of the friends and family they were leaving behind, but only a little. Mostly they shared stories about the antics of their family members in the past, or little updates about the present, such as which of Haleth’s children and grandchildren had married, or what the children of Samwise, Pippin, and Merry and their offspring were up to now. They all knew that they would not see those friends or family again for a long time. In Legolas’ case, he would likely see his father and his Greenwood kin and Ithilien-en-Edhil retainers again, but it could be centuries until that day. But for all of them, many loved ones had been left behind in Middle Earth whom they would not see again until the End of the World.
More was said of the elven family and friends who were already known to be in the West. Erestor was a fount of information on that count. He had known Legolas’ paternal grandparents, Oropher and Felith, quite well, from Oropher’s time as one of King Ereinion Gil-galad’s councilors in Lindon. Erestor had also known Legolas’ father, Thranduil, as an elfling.
“He was a charming child, in his own way, your father,” Erestor told Legolas fondly, “whimsical and willful. Your grandfather Oropher was of a more reserved nature. He often seemed bewildered by his only living child, but there was no doubt that he loved Thranduil dearly. As I am sure that he will love you, as well, Legolas.”
Gimli’s elven brother smiled uncertainly. After a moment of quiet, Legolas asked, “When my Daeradar Oropher died at the Battle of Dagorlad, were you there, Erestor? I know that Theli was. But Theli was with the healers, and saw little of the battle itself.”
“The healers had their own battle,” said Erestor softly, “But yes, I was there. I was at Elrond’s side, that day and every other day I was hale enough to be beside him. It was a terrible day, Legolas. One of the most awful of that entire lamentable war.”
“Ada never talks about it,” Legolas related quietly.
“I don’t blame him,” Erestor replied, “There were many tensions, you see, between Ereinion Gil-galad’s largely Noldorin army of Lindon, of which Imladris was included as a non-standard division, and the largely silvan armies of the Greenwood and Lothlorien, under the commands of your grandfather and your cousin King Amdir, respectively. The day before Dagorlad there had been a very contentious meeting, at which tempers flared and patience ran short. The meeting concluded before the signals for battle orders had been wholly agreed upon. Ereinion Gil-galad gave the signal to wait, and be at the ready. The heralds for Lothlorien and Greenwood saw it, and, believing it to be the order for attack, signaled that to your grandfather’s army and to Aran Amdir’s.”
Erestor sighed sadly after he spoke. The depth of sorrow in his dark eyes told Gimli that the Battle of Dagorlad must still feature in Erestor’s nightmares.
“It was a slaughter, Legolas,” Erestor continued after a long pause, “Your grandfather’s army and King Amdir’s charged straight into the teeth of an army of orcs. We of Imladris, sitting between Gil-galad’s army and where Amdir’s had once been, could do little to nothing to help them. If we’d charged in to support them, we’d have died, too. We had to wait until the orcs had been lured out to the pre-agreed upon position. Otherwise we would have wasted our strength, and possibly lost the war.”
“Adar understood that, I think,” Legolas replied pensively, “Or at least I have never known him to speak badly of cousin Elrond, except of course,” a flicker of a smile passed over Legolas’ face, “for the matter of cousin Elrond having ‘let’ me go on the quest.”
Gimli had to chuckle at that, and comment, “As if anyone ever ‘let’ you do anything you were truly minded to do!”
“I’m told I was a biddable elfling,” Legolas replied, with an admirably straight face.
“Oh, that you were, tithen-Las,” agreed a grinning Theli, “Provided that you got your way, you were very biddable!”
Erestor also told them stories of his father, the famous diplomat Arandil of Eregion, and of his mother Elain, the healer.
“My mother was also my father’s accomplice in making the plans to smuggle the three rings out of Eregion,” Erestor revealed, continuing, “My parents would have stayed until the very end, remaining the public focus of Sauron’s enmity, save that one of Sauron’s many assassination attempts on my father nearly paid off.”
“I hadn’t heard that before, teacher-mine,” Mithiriel commented in surprise.
“Oh, ho, something our Lady Difficult hasn’t heard before!” Legolas jested, “Let’s write this down in the grand saga of our voyage. ‘The day that Mithiriel didn’t know something . . .’”
“Well, it wasn’t something that my Atar wanted to be common knowledge,” Erestor interjected, in Gimli’s opinion blessedly sparing them all another verbal sparring match between Legolas and Mithiriel, “But he’d been gradually dosed with a slow-acting poison which had been mixed in the cinnamon he took with his morning tea.”
“In his cinnamon?” Gimli asked, as Mithiriel commented, without any hint of sarcasm, “Only a monster would profane cinnamon in such a fashion.”
Gimli and Mithiriel exchanged a look of perfect understanding that only those who appreciate the high importance of spices can truly share in.
Theli, who in his long and varied life had learned to eat just about anything, and Legolas, who would eat almost anything so long as it wasn’t flesh of bird or beast, exchanged their own long look, but it was more of a ‘look what I have to put up with’ one.
“Yes,” Erestor agreed, his eyes dancing, “Atar took a similar position on the merits of anyone who would willingly tamper with good cinnamon. But that aside, once Naneth realized that it had happened, she insisted that they leave for Lindon, and Lindon’s healers, immediately.”
“That sounds like good sense,” Gimli observed, “Why do I have the feeling that your father didn’t take it, eh, Erestor?”
“You’ve gotten a good sense of my father, then,” Erestor agreed, “For no, he wasn’t willing to leave Eregion. Not until all the plans were in place for the three rings to be smuggled out, and all of the secret exit routes planned for everyone who was willing to believe that Lord Annatar was in fact Sauron, the Deceiver.”
“And all the while, your father Lord Arandil was in a race with time against the poison slowly killing him,” admired Legolas, his laurel green eyes gleaming in interest. Gimli chuckled a little to himself. His elven brother never could resist a suspenseful story!
“Yes, he was,” Erestor confirmed somberly, “And my Naneth was writing frantic missives to the healers in Lothlorien and Lindon, begging them to make ready, and asking if any of the antidote, a rare sea-blooming flower, could be sent from Eryn Vorn or Lindon to Eregion.”
“But weren’t most of the letters from Eregion being intercepted by agents loyal to Sauron?” asked Mithiriel.
“Yes, student-mine, they were,” Erestor agreed again, “And so Elrond had received no word of it, when my mother finally convinced my father to return to Lindon. We were not surprised to see them, however, for Aran Ereinion Gil-galad had already made it his standing order that my father return to Lindon at his earliest convenience. Ereinion Gil-galad believed that Eregion had grown too dangerous for my parents. As their King and their friend, he had stated in no uncertain terms that he was unwilling to further risk them on behalf of any elves of Eregion who were not wise enough to have already realized the truth about Sauron and made their own plans to leave.”
“Now, did those messages also get waylaid,” Mithiriel asked mischievously, “or was your father Arandil just doing as he believed was his duty in Eregion, despite what his King had commanded him?”
“I suspect the latter,” said Erestor with a patient smile for his famous father’s antics, “But Atto finessed that point fairly well during his conferences with Ereinion Gil-Galad, and with Anatar Glorfindel, too. At least,” Erestor concluded with another smile, “So far as I heard.”
“Knowing Glorfindel,” Legolas remarked with a bright grin of his own, “I’m sure that he had plenty to say to the son he hadn’t seen in an age about getting poisoned and then waiting until it was nearly too late to seek an antidote!”
“Oh, my grandfather Glorfindel and my father Arandil always had plenty to say to one another!” Erestor told them, laughing, “They spent the better part of two ages arguing about everything under the sun, including whether Atto would ever carry a sword again, yet all the while it was clear as the day is long that they were devoted to one another. I dearly look forward to meeting my father again, and telling him what my grandfather has been up to!”
Erestor spoke also of his sworn sister Celebrian, and also of his sworn brother Lord Elrond, but a different Elrond than the stern and somber ruling Lord of Imladris whom Gimli and Legolas had always known. The Elrond of Erestor’s stories ranged from the Elrond who was a brave but cautious and sometimes uncertain young healer and statesman in early Second Age Lindon, to the mature commander going to relieve beleaguered Eregion and then founding Imladris, and even to the loving but oft-times overwhelmed young husband and father, balancing parenting with ruling his settlement. Theli chimed in with occasional stories of Elrond-as-healer, who had been his mentor during the War of the Last Alliance and on and off throughout the Third Age.
“It will be very strange to meet Lord Elrond in person,” said Mithiriel pensively, “After having heard so much about him all my life.”
Theli chuckled, “Flash Fire, that reminds me. When your father Faramir would share a recollection of Elrond, or ask your grandmother Arwen a question about him, your father Faramir would always refer to him as ‘Hir Elrond,’ very formal. Your grandmother was very patient, ‘your Daeradar Elrond,’ Arwen would correct Faramir. Your grandfather Aragorn, on the other hand, was less patient.”
“Ha, he was indeed!” Gimli recalled with a hearty laugh of his own, “Our brother Aragorn would kick your father’s shin if Faramir was within his reach! Though gently, mind. Then he would give Faramir whatever count he had in his head, and when that count got to ten, your father Faramir would owe Aragorn an hour of his time, to do with whatever Aragorn pleased.”
“I can just hear Aragorn’s voice in my head,” Legolas recollected, his voice sad with the recentness of Aragorn’s passing, “‘And that’s ten, ion-nin,’ Aragorn would say, with that soft, affectionate, teasing light in his eyes, and then, ‘That means you, Faramir, coming to see me at noon on seventh day.’”
“They were so very fond of one another,” Mithiriel recalled wistfully, “My Ada Faramir and my Daerada Aragorn always seemed so in step, even when they were giving one another a difficult time. I think that’s part of why Ada always did that – always called Lord Elrond by his formal title – just so that he would be reminded, yet again, that Daernana Arwen and Daerada Aragorn considered him their son.”
“Which, of course, they did,” Erestor remarked in his quiet, kind way, “And so will Lord Elrond consider you his granddaughter, Mithiriel.”
Betraying an uncharacteristic moment of nervousness, Mithiriel lifted a hand to tuck a red-gold curl back into one of her braids. Then she looked off into the blue-green waves drawing them ever westward.
“Flashfire?” Theli prompted gently, at the same time Erestor said “Hendusailawen-nin?,” which meant ‘my wise-eyed girl’ in Quenya. It was a nickname that Erestor had given the teenaged Mithiriel when she had first visited Imladris to further her studies.
Mithiriel summoned a tentative smile for them, but it was Legolas who explained her unusual timidity.
“Mithiriel’s afraid that cousin Elrond will hold her grandmother Finduilas’ betrayal of our brother Aragorn against her,” the elven prince said quietly.
“What a foolish notion, Hendusailawen-nin,” Erestor scolded Mithiriel lightly, “I’m sure that it must have come as a shock to my brother Elrond when first he learned of it, as it did to your own grandfather Aragorn and grandmother Arwen. But Aragorn and Arwen were glad of their first-born son, no matter how it was that Faramir had come to be. And so Elrond will be glad of you.”
“I hope so,” replied Mithiriel, with a brave smile, “It’s not as if we can turn around and sail back to Middle Earth if he isn’t, after all.”
“Trust me, Mithiriel muin-nin,” Erestor reassured her, “I know Elrond better than almost anyone. And I know that he will be glad to welcome you,” warming to his topic, Erestor continued, “Both in legal terms and terms of the heart, you are Elrond’s great-granddaughter. Your grandmother Arwen and I were very careful when we drafted the terms of her and Aragorn’s adoption of your father. We used the same wording and ceremony used by elves after the War of Wrath and the War of the Last Alliance, when it was necessary for large numbers of them to adopt heirs after so many of their own sons had been lost in the wars. In such a fashion did I adopt Melpomaen, and there is none who would say that he is not my son in fact.”
“Of course not,” said Mithiriel, Theli and Legolas all quickly in chorus, for as even Gimli knew, no one would be foolish enough to say such a thing to Erestor, and certainly not more than once!
Mollified, Erestor smiled, then continued more contemplatively, “In fact, I’m not sure that you fully appreciate how very glad to see you that not only Elrond will be, but also likely his parents and grandparents. For though Elrond has sailed, and at least Andreth and possibly his twin sons will come to the West, they – Lord Earendil, Lady Elwing, Princess Idril, and Prince Tuor - have never even had the hope of seeing one of Elros’ descendants before the end of the world.”
“And yet, there she will be,” Legolas teased gently, “Lady Difficult, in the flesh. Long-daughter of Elros and Mithrellas, and adopted granddaughter of Aragorn and Arwen.”
“And every bit as stubborn and full of shine as any of them,” said Gimli, toasting Mithiriel with his flask of wine, for he was sure that this daughter of Faramir glimmered just as brightly as any of her famous kin.
“Thank you, Gimli,” said Mithiriel with becoming modesty, before asking Erestor a question about the famous King Ereinion Gil-galad.
“Ereinion was not only a great elf, but also a very good elf,” Erestor recalled. “He was like a combination of an older brother and a very young father to Elrond, and he was always very kind to me. But, oh, poor Ereinion! Having come to power so very young, he was always so serious. It always seemed to me as if there was room for little else in his life save duty. I hope, if he’s been reborn, that he’s found a chance to do things that make him happy. And maybe had a chance to find someone to love without tripping over eligible females being constantly thrust at him by their power-seeking kin. Elrond said that there was a Lindarin elleth during the War of Wrath whom Ereinion had taken a liking to, and that that was the only time Elrond had ever seen him enamored with anyone. But Elrond explained that she was a commoner, and that even if Ereinion had decided to marry her, with only Cirdan, Galadriel, Celeborn, and the twins in his corner, it all came to nothing in the end because her father insisted that she sail back when the Lindar returned to the West at the end of the War of Wrath.”
“Ereinion seemed very protective of Elrond, whenever I saw them interacting during the War of the Last Alliance,” Theli put in curiously.
“Oh, my, yes,” said Erestor, with a friendly laugh. “Ereinion took his role as older foster brother to Elrond quite seriously.” His expression growing mournful, Erestor added, “Though Elrond had become Ereinion’s viceroy in Imladris, he was also still Ereinion’s heir to his primarily Noldorin kingdom of Lindon. Ereinion meant for Elrond to become the King of the Noldor still in Middle Earth should he die. After Ereinion’s death at the end of the War of the Last Alliance, Elrond refused to honor that intention.”
“There weren’t that many Noldor left in Middle Earth after the War of the Last Alliance, were there?” Mithiriel asked, her question gentle in respect of Erestor’s sorrow.
“No,” Erestor confirmed, his noble features still strained with memories of that time of bereavement.
“And of the Noldor that were still around,” Theli added, “Many of them were planning to sail and were more interested in what Lord Cirdan had to say. Then some of them didn’t want Elrond to be their ruler because he was part-human, and others of them didn’t want him because he was part-Sindarin.”
“That’s all true,” Erestor conceded, “Elrond did have enough support at that point that he could have forced the issue, but that was never Elrond’s way.”
“Ada said once that he thought that cousin Elrond made the right decision,” said Legolas, “and that Imladris was more than enough to be getting on with.”
“Your father,” said Erestor with wry fondness, “was, I think, jealous that Elrond had the option to say, ‘no, no thank you, I’ll just remain Lord of Imladris.’”
“I can’t blame Thranduil for that,” Gimli remarked, “After having ruled just a settlement, and having watched Dain, Thorin, and Aragorn rule their kingdoms, I have to say, ‘tis no easy thing to be a King.”
“Though it is made easier by good council such as yours,” Mithiriel complimented Gimli, then, turning back to Erestor, asked, “And also by good council such as Erestor’s. I don’t know what we would have done without you in Imladris. And didn’t you serve as one of Ereinion Gil-galad’s councilors as well?”
“I did,” Erestor confirmed, “He made me one of his advisors when I was, hmm, let’s see . . . just shy of 100 years of age.”
“The youngest ever elf made a lord of Lindon’s council in his own right,” Mithiriel recalled, seemingly aware that her modest mentor would not call attention to that fact.
“Well, yes,” said Erestor, blushing faintly, “With the exception of Elrond and Elros, who were perhaps thirty-five when Ereinion first appointed them to a place on his council, though they were his heirs, of course. And then there was Ereinion himself, who became King of the surviving elves of Nargothorond when he was just shy of fifty years of age. Lady Galadriel served as one of his regents, you know. And Ereinion, of his own volition, made her his heir until Elros and Elrond came of age. Over the strident objection of some of his own council lords who believed females unfit for leadership, or so I’ve heard.”
“Then I think that Ereinion Gil-Galad must have been an elf of exceptional taste and judgment, even when he was young, for having honored Lady Galadriel so,” Gimli concluded.
“Er, yes,” said Erestor, not disagreeing but seeming continuedly baffled at Gimli’s fervent support of all of those who had shown favor to his Lady.
It was interesting learning more of these famous elves of the past, especially those who were related to his brother Legolas, but Gimli’s favorites out of all the stories that Erestor told were his remembrances of Galadriel.
“Lady Galadriel was Celebrian’s mother, and Celebrian was my best friend,” Erestor explained, “So I was in and out of the mansion they shared with Celebrimbor and Eregion’s government, and she was in and out of the house I shared with my parents, and with Lindon’s embassy to Eregion. My mother only worked one day a week so that I didn’t need to have a nanny, and Celebrian’s nanny often ended up watching over the both of us. When we got older we shared a tutor, Master Orlair, though both sets of our parents took it in turn to tutor us in certain subjects, as well.”
“What did the Lady Galadriel teach you?” Gimli wanted to know, “other than Khuzdul, in order to help her with her correspondence?”
“Such a variety of subjects, it’s difficult to think of a theme,” Erestor answered, a happily reminiscent smile on his face, “She was very busy with the business of running Eregion, so lessons with her were irregular, and something of a treat. She taught us about gravity and the other physical laws of Arda, and about chemistry, with a number of very interesting and at times explosive experiments.”
Legolas laughed, “So, when my father accused Lady Galadriel of being the one to pass on a love of mayhem and chaos to Elrohir and Elladan Elrondion, it was not entirely a false accusation?”
“Not entirely,” agreed Erestor, with quiet good humor, “Although Lady Galadriel’s explosions were generally better contained than those of the Elrondion twins. And she always paid to have everything replaced or repaired. She taught us that, as well.”
“To clean up after your messes?” Legolas teased, “That is something I hear that Lord Glorfindel is still working on, with my cousins Elrohir and Elladan.”
“Well, yes, I suppose so, but more how to pay attention to matters of commerce, and invest our income wisely.”
Gimli leaned forward in interest, “This would be the original source of Arwen’s and her twin brothers’ vast financial resources?”
“In part,” Erestor confirmed, “Although they increased their own allotment many times over, by shrewd investments of their own. Particularly Elladan, rather to my surprise. I’d never expected him to show much of an interest in anything that wasn’t either biological or explosive.”
“From everything that I’ve ever heard of Lady Galadriel,” Mithiriel said softly, “I think that Uncle Elladan takes after her more often than he’s given credit for.”
“Perhaps he does,” agreed Erestor, “And I meant no slight to Elladan, Mithiriel-mine. He is a clever ellon with a good heart, and in those ways he is much like his grandmother. He is also like his grandmother in that he is not afraid to champion an unpopular cause. My own grandmother, Laureamoriel, whom I have never met, served your great-great-grandmother Galadriel in Tirion, long before the Noldor made their cold journey to Middle Earth.”
“That was back when Lady Galadriel first became a lady of investments and established her own household?” Mithiriel recalled.
“Yes, when she left her parents’ home, after her mother Princess Earwen objected to her hiring my grandmother Laureamoriel and her mother as new attendants,” Erestor explained, “Galadriel, who was called Artanis then, had done it to protect them from Laureamoriel’s abusive father, who was an officer in the household of Prince Feanor.”
“Of whom the less said the better,” said Legolas with an expression of distaste.
“And to whom Mithiriel and I are both related,” Erestor corrected gently, “Best to say the bald truth about him and leave it at that.”
“Being related to him doesn’t make you like him,” Gimli pointed out gruffly, thinking of a kinsman of his own with poor relations. Thinking of his lady’s bravery, Gimli continued, “And it was plain courageous of Lady Galadriel, still dependent upon her own parents, to have taken such a step.”
“Yes, it was,” Erestor agreed, “Her brothers helped her to make her initial investments in various enterprises, but soon enough she was making her own living and able to pay them back, with what I’m told was a generous rate of interest. After that she sponsored the education and training of many ellith, such as my grandmother. Lady Galadriel was . . . someone who wanted to see the complete potential of everyone and anyone fulfilled. To me, that is what makes her special. Not just her power, or her beauty.”
On that note, Gimli looked to the West. His heart leapt at the thought of seeing Lady Galadriel again. He’d pledged to be her champion, should she ever need one. She had given him a lock of her hair, even though she had refused that honor to the unworthy, such as Feanor. And Gimli would protect her, he vowed, from anyone who would treat her unfairly. And he knew that he could rely on Legolas to aid him in that endeavor.
Notes:
End Note: A short story discussing Gimli being Galadriel’s champion during the march to the Black Gate can be found here:
http://archiveofourown.org/works/1617647/chapters/3765497
And many stories of young Galadriel/Artanis can be found here in Tales from Before the Sun Rose:
http://archiveofourown.org/works/235157/chapters/360333
Chapter 13: Songs on the Straight Road, Chapter 7 (final chapter)
Notes:
Quote:
“Take me with you. For laughs, for luck, for the unknown. Take me with you.” ― Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn
Chapter Text
Despite the many songs and stories they shared, there were a few topics which, by mutual and generally unspoken agreement, they did not speak of at all, at least as a group. The death of Erestor’s wife Taminixe and their still-born son was one of them, although Gimli suspected that Erestor had spoken to Mithiriel about that at least once. There had been one afternoon when they both disappeared into Erestor’s cabin and reappeared several hours later red-eyed. After that day, Erestor always wore a gold-and-garnet locket around his neck, one which Mithiriel told them contained a miniature painting of his wife.
“She was – is – I’m not sure of the appropriate tense when dealing with elves when you’re not sure whether they’ve been reborn or not,” Mithiriel pondered, “but in any case, Glorfindel always said that she was beautiful, and the painting shows that. She’s got the typical Noldo coloring, dark hair and dark eyes, but her eyes look as if they burn with a friendly fire. Erestor anxiously hopes to see her again, but he is also worried that their still-born son will already have been reborn, and grown to adulthood without knowing his father.”
"I think that happened to Uncle Celeborn and Lady Galadriel," Legolas said compassionately, "Or at least I heard Uncle Celeborn say so once to Ada. Uncle Celeborn said that it was hard to pry anything about the West out of Lord Glorfindel or Mithrandir, but because Lady Galadriel knew the right questions to ask, they learned that the two sons Lady Galadriel miscarried had already been reborn in the West, and raised by Lady Galadriel's older brother Finrod Felagund and his wife."
They also didn’t speak as a group about Legolas’ capture during the Second Mage War, Theli’s borderline abusive grandfather Elurin who had already traveled to Aman, the family Gimli lost at the Battle of Five Armies, or the torture of Mithiriel’s niece, Sarangerel, during one of the final battles of the Third (and last) Mage War.
With Legolas alone, Gimli spoke of even more. In fact, Gimli was truly surprised by how much he and Legolas had to say to one another, that hadn't already been said in all the many years they'd all spent together. To be fair, during most of those years Gimli had spent much of his time in Aglarond, or corresponding about Aglarond, and Legolas had been the same with Ithilien-en-Edhil. So, there had been distractions. Also, it seemed easier, on the Straight Road, to talk about those things which were too painful, or too close to the heart, to have spoken much about in the past.
Gimli told Legolas more stories of his cousins Fili and Kili, and of Lady Dis their mother and Thorin their uncle. He told Legolas of the little stories, the unimportant, slice of life moments, that he’d learned about his cousins living through on their way to Erebor from the Blue Mountains, like the silly song “Blunt the Knives” that his cousin Kili had made up to tease Frodo’s cousin Bilbo Baggins.
Legolas told Gimli more about his mother and his siblings, the two older brothers and the older sister he’d lost when he was only an elfling.
“I was twenty-one,” Legolas told him, “about the equivalent of a seven year old mortal child. My mother was on her way back to Emyn Duir from visiting a large town of Men which used to lie between the River Ford and the old Forest Road. It was an official visit from the Queen of the Greenwood, she’d been negotiating with them about contributing to the upkeep of the road since they’d begun charging tolls to travelers in order to journey on it. She took my twin siblings, Lithidhren my brother and Eryntheliel my sister, with her, so that they could gain practice in the art of diplomacy amongst Men. They were only about a hundred years old.”
“So, that would be past your elven age of formal apprenticeship, which was fifty,” said Gimli, who was trying to keep all of these different ages straight.
“Hmm, it’s called our age of majority,” Legolas corrected, “but it is the age at which many elves formally began their apprenticeships, yes.”
“But they’re not old enough to marry, or even full-grown, until they’re a hundred years old!” Gimli protested. Elven and Mannish age-related laws and customs had never made much sense to him. The customs of dwarves and hobbits were much more sensible, to Gimli’s mind.
“To marry or to join the army you have to be one hundred,” Legolas explained, “or have your father’s permission to do so before you turn one hundred.”
“Which you did.”
“Which I did,” Legolas agreed, “I was his only surviving blood heir, and we were fighting a war against the orcs and spiders and other dark creatures of Sauron’s making. We had no time for childhood.”
“Sure and certain there have been many times that I wished my parents had given me their permission to join our King Thorin and his company on the Quest for Erebor,” Gimli confessed, “But had I done so, I most likely would have died with Kili and Fili.”
“Then I must confess that I am selfishly glad that Lady Kala and Lord Gloin said you nay,” Legolas replied solemnly, “For I would have lost the friendship of a brother beyond compare, and Middle Earth would have lost one of its greatest champions.”
Under most circumstances, Gimli would have told Legolas off for excessive flattery, or turned it into a jest. Much of their friendship had been, and was even now, about cloaking their true feelings in the guise of friendly insults. But on the way to the West, when it was just the two of them, there was no room for modesty or jesting, false or otherwise.
“As am I,” Gimli confessed, “And I cannot imagine the cousins who were like my elder brothers begrudging me my life, especially not when I have used it to accomplish things of great worth.” With an affectionate smile, Gimli added, “And yes, that does include befriending you, you vain creature.”
Well, there was room for a little teasing.
Legolas took it in good part, raising a regal eyebrow like an elf at the same time he snorted derisively like a dwarf. That made Gimli laugh, which attracted Theli’s attention, and it wasn’t until another day that they returned to that conversation.
“Your older siblings would have wanted you to live and find joy in life, too, brother-mine,” Gimli told Legolas firmly, when the expression that Gimli had learned to associate with ‘feeling-like-I’m-not-a-good-enough-son-or-brother’ crossed Legolas’ fair features.
“I’m sure that they would have,” Legolas agreed, “They were inordinately fond of me. The twins had just reached their hundredth year not long before I was born, and Thandrin was several centuries older than me, having been born at the beginning of the Watchful Peace. They all, even Thalion, doted on me. Eryntheliel dressed me up like a doll when I was little, and taught me how to train my puppies, kittens, hatchlings, and ponies when I was older. Thandrin played swords and hide-and-seek and other ‘little warrior’ games with me, and took me hunting. He was a soldier, another who received Ada’s permission to join the military before his hundredth birthday.”
“Not as young as forty-six, though,” Gimli guessed.
“No,” agreed Legolas, “Something like seventy-two, I think. I can’t even remember, anymore.”
“Well,” offered Gimli, “When we get there, I suppose that you may be able to ask him.”
Legolas laughed sadly, “That wouldn’t be the first thing I’d ask him.”
“Well, if he knows you anywhere near as well as I do,” warned Gimli, “and the first words out of your mouth are something along the lines of, “I tried my best but it wasn’t good enough,” then the first thing he’ll do is throw you back into the water, hoping that a bath may wash free some sense.” At the outraged look upon Legolas’ face, Gimli couldn’t help adding, “Or maybe he’ll give you a spanking for thinking so poorly of yourself. That sometimes gets you to think more clearly.”
At that point Legolas squawked in outrage, and turned to walk away. Gimli was fairly sure it was part of a complicated plot to enact some kind of revenge for the slight, rather than genuine outrage. Legolas calling out to Mithiriel that Gimli was concerned about the state of the clothing he’d brought to wear in the West proved that fear to be true. Mithiriel loved to talk about fashion and the meanings behind different styles of clothing. It took Gimli a good two hours to get free of her and her needles and thread. Teasing Legolas could be a dangerous business, but that was part of what made it so much fun. There was little sport in making fun of someone who couldn’t defend himself, and that was almost never Legolas’ problem.
He was a remarkably sensitive soul, too. Gimli had realized that for the first time in Moria, when Legolas rested his hand on Gimli’s shoulder in comfort when they first learned the fate of Balin and the doomed expedition from Erebor to reclaim Moria. Gimli has seen it again in Legolas’ sorrow when he heard the songs the elves of Lothlorien sang for the death of Gandalf the Gray.
“It was my brother, Lithidhren, who taught me those songs,” Legolas confided to Gimli on another sunny afternoon. “He was a scholar. He’d trained to be an archivist, but around his fifty-sixth birthday he decided that he needed to learn to be a warrior, too. Lithidhren was dutiful, and he was Ada’s second heir after Thandrin. He thought that it was his duty to the Wood to learn the sodier’s trade at least well enough to serve in the Army for a yen.”
“What did your father say?” Gimli wondered aloud.
“That it was stupid,” Legolas said with a reminiscent smile, “That Lithidhren didn’t have to do anything that was unsuited to his nature. That Greenwood needed scholars as much as it needed warriors, and that if Lithidhren ever did become King, he’d have plenty of military officers to advise him.”
That seemed like uncommonly good sense, coming from Thranduil, but Gimli had the grace not to say so. Instead he asked, “But your middle brother persisted anyway? Well, it’s clear that he also had the family stubbornness.”
Legolas just rolled his eyes at that. “Lithidhren could be very stubborn. But he could also be very patient. He taught me to read when I was very young, because I was interested and he liked reading to me and singing to me.”
“Lady Dis taught me to read,” Gimli recalled, “My mother taught us mathematics and Lady Dis taught us literature and history. My father helped, too, when he had the time. But he was often away, trading. That was a large part of how we made our living, in the Blue Mountains. By traveling far and wide to sell the things we made beneath our mountains.”
“That must have been very difficult, Gimli,” Legolas sympathized, “My parents rarely took long trips, and when they did, they usually took us with them.”
“Oh, aye, it was difficult at times,” Gimli recalled, “In Erebor, the trade had come to us. My parents never forgot that, or stopped lamenting it. Although my mother did so mostly silently. She always made the best of any circumstance she found herself in. I can rarely ever remember her not smiling.”
“I can’t, at all,” said Legolas, “Except at the memorials we attended for the death of King Dain.”
“She wasn’t smiling when she used her ceremonial axe to cleave a bandit’s head in two,” said Gimli, who had told Legolas that story before, “Or when the decision was made to leave the Blue Mountains after Mayor Seward, the leader of the human town nearest us, passed away.”
“He was the one who continued the good relationship his father Eyrik had begun with your people when they first arrived as refugees from Erebor, was he not?”
“He was,” Gimli confirmed, electing to leave out some of the dreadful reasons behind Mayor Eyrik’s and later Mayor Seward’s heartfelt support of the dwarves and instead simply explaining that, “And Mayor Seward had been the one to tell the townsfolk that the rumors of great piles of gold discovered in the Blue Mountains were just that; rumors. Which they were. But with Seward gone the Men didn’t believe it anymore. They demanded that we leave or they would force the question.”
“And with Thorin’s company in Erebor and most of the other adult male dwarves off trading, it was just you and a handful of other dwarven warriors left below the Blue Mountains,” Legolas recalled, from Gimli having told this story in earlier years, “Austri Virfirson was the oldest, and the most experienced, but you were the most closely related to King Thorin and King Dain.”
“Aye,” Gimli agreed, “And to further complicate the muddle, we had just received Dain’s royal order to stay where we were and wait for a large escort, to be led by my father, to bring us all to Erebor. Which only made sense after all, for we were mostly dwarven matrons and maidens, youths, and those a bit too old for proper warfare. And that last category included Austri Virfirson.”
“But King Dain didn’t know about the threat from the greedy Men in the town surrounding your home in the Blue Mountains.”
“Aye, he had no idea. We sent word, but the Men were shooting down our messenger birds. They demanded an answer within three days, far too short of a time to send a messenger on a pony.”
“Possibly even too short for a bird to get there and back again,” Legolas noted, and then asked “How could they have done something like that?”
“Envy, and hunger,” Gimli explained, “Their towns and villages were going through a hard time. Late springs and early winters had hurt their food stores. We were affected by the poor crops, too, for the Men understandably charged inflated prices for the foodstuffs we purchased from them. But we weren’t as limited when it came to our trading partners, nor had our underground crops suffered the same way the surface crops had. Thanks to the forward thinking of my mother, amongst others, we had enough food in storage to take us through a dozen years of bad winters. Not tasty food, true, but we wouldn’t have starved.”
“Didn’t your mother offer to sell some of your food stores to the Men?” Legolas asked, impressing Gimli yet again by remembering that detail from a story Gimli hadn’t told him since just after the end of the Ring War.
“Aye, she did. And they accepted. They had no coin and little food to trade for it, so my mother counseled Lady Dis, who counseled King Thorin, to accept instead that the Men concede to our possession of various mineral rights in the mines of the Blue Mountains.”
“But, wouldn’t that have included the gold?” Legolas asked.
“Oh, yes. But when Mayor Seward died, the Men claimed that all of our agreements died with him. Few of them were trained warriors, but they outnumbered us by hundreds if not thousands, counting all the outlying villages.”
“Greed and hunger can make monsters out of Men,” Legolas noted mournfully.
“Aye, and out of dwarves, or elves, or hobbits, too,” allowed Gimli, “But at the time, I wasn’t in a mind to give them the benefit of the doubt. Nor did I doubt their word that an attack was coming. Thanks in part to my friendship with Ralf, by then the town’s miller himself and one of the few Men to speak up for us, I had a better grasp on the numbers of the Men, and their intention to carry through on their threats.”
“And Austri Virfirson did not believe that they would besiege you in the Blue Mountains and take the gold they thought that you possessed by force,” Legolas recalled.
Gimli snorted in disgust, “Aye, he didn’t think they meant what they said, and even if they did, he thought that even we few warriors, the too young and the too old, would be able to hold the Blue Mountains against a rabble of Men.” Gimli shook his head, then confessed, “It was maddening. My mother was railing against him, but he didn’t care. He told her that she should keep herself to female concerns, and cease badgering him.”
Legolas’ eyes grew wide with disbelief, “He said that to Lady Kala? And you let him keep his head?”
“Aye,” replied Gimli, after a short bark of laughter, “But for one reason: because my mother told me that she would only support my bid to pull rank on Austri Virfirson if I kept my temper, no matter what he said or did to her. And it was still one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, even so.” Gimli revered his mother, and he’d never forgiven Austri Virfirson for his disrespectful words to Lady Kala.
After shaking his head to dispel the memory, Gimli continued, “Another of the old guard, a respected miner named Bruni Viggson, agreed with me that the best course of action was to offer the Men what they wanted in exchange for journey fare, and begin the trek to Erebor ourselves. We didn’t truly have enough dwarves who could carry a weapon to make such a journey safe, but we also didn’t have much to steal. And besides, we certainly didn’t have sufficient numbers to withhold a sustained siege of our Blue Mountains home. The gates there weren’t massive like Erebor’s gates. They were designed to keep out bandits, malcontents, and the occasional patrol of orcs or goblins. They weren’t made to keep out invading armies.”
“And that’s when you committed treason against King Dain’s orders,” Legolas recalled with a fond, proud smile, “In order to lead the remaining Blue Mountains dwarves to Erebor.”
“Aye, that was when,” Gimli agreed, “And I’m not sure if we ever would have been able to leave, but that Dis spoke for me, as well. The warriors were nearly clean split between supporting Bruni and me, who argued for us to leave, and Austri Virfirson, who wanted to stay until relief arrived from King Dain.”
“Would King Dain even have known to send sufficient numbers to relieve a siege?” Legolas asked.
“I honestly do not know,” Gimli answered, “And don’t think that wasn’t affecting my thinking. Mine, and my mother’s, and even Aunt Dis’, once the situation was explained to her. She’d been so deep in mourning for her sons and brother that she was barely aware of what was going on. When my slamming an axe into the wall of my mother’s kitchen in frustration finally caught her attention, she asked why we didn’t just ask Mayor Seward to speak some sense to the other Men. Once she found out that Seward was dead, she calmly asked me to explain the problem. Then she accompanied me to the next meeting of all the warriors, and she told them that I had her support. That clinched it, for not even Austri Virfirson would speak out against the daughter and sister of Kings, and the mother of two princes who died as heroes.”
“They truly did,” Legolas said softly, “I know I’ve told you this before, but it was that impossible charge led by King Thorin and your cousins that gave us the time we needed to regroup our cavalry and short-distance archers.”
Gimli let out a faint, pained laugh. “Aye, so you’ve said. And your cousin Baeraeriel, too.”
“Of course you would take her word above mine,” Legolas teased back.
“Of course,” Gimli replied mock-seriously, “She’s far prettier than you.”
Legolas laughed sadly, his mind still faraway on that battlefield, and evidently in Laketown the night before, “Bloody Baeraeriel,” the elven prince recalled, “my tiny, beautiful, deadly cousin. She hadn’t wanted to prepare supplies behind my father’s back, or go to Laketown with us, that night. She held the command, but it was Laketown. Lord Girion’s descendants were there, and he had saved many lives the day that Smaug came to Erebor. And his ancestors had fought beside us, when we were all part of the mixed human and elven patrol commanded by Theli.”
“Before he was demoted,” Gimli noted.
Legolas’ lips twitched into a real smile for a moment, “Aye, before he was demoted for the fifth and final time. What Theli was demoted for, was agreeing to follow me when I decided to go after a band of outlaws who had burned down human and elven villages, killing all the men and ellyn and taking the women and ellith and children and elflings hostage.”
“That does sound like you,” Gimli agreed, “But it also sounds like it would have been what a joint human and elven patrol was supposed to be doing, Erynion Lightning-Bow.”
Legolas winced at his old nickname from those long-ago days, and then explained, “Yes, well, the bandits had already gone beyond the forest and the lands held by the Dale King. In fact, based on how old the remains and tracks we found were, they were well on their way to the River Carnen.”
Gimli frowned. “That’s nearly into Longbeard territory. The Iron Hills dwarves would not have stood still for slavery.”
Legolas smiled sardonically, the expression rather foreign to his usually sunny disposition, “In the past, similar slavers had traveled just south of the Longbeards territory, and just north of the lands claimed by the Northmen. Not Illinare’s Northmen of this age, but the Northmen of the lands between the Iron Hills and the Celduin in the Third Age, who held that land against the Rhunnim until after the arrival of Smaug.”
“Weren’t those Northmen allies of Erebor, Dale, the Longbeards, and the Greenwood?” Gimli asked.
“Yes,” Legolas agreed, ”and the Northmen, too, disapproved of slavery, but we suspected that some of them had been paid off to look the other way, for none of the messages we sent to warn them of slavers coming through their territory ever resulted in any successful captures.”
“Ah. So, it should have been out of your hands and handled via messenger bird and diplomatic correspondence.”
Legolas nodded, “Technically, we were trespassing, too. First in Longbeard territory, and then into Northmen land. But, given that the Northmen had failed twice to capture the foul sons-of-orcs, I felt that we had the best chance of catching up to them. What I should have done, was pulled rank as Crown Prince and taken command to take us off in pursuit. That would have protected all the soldiers from any official retribution from my father or their general, since they would have just been following my orders.”
“But you were too young to think of that.”
“Or at the very least, I didn’t think of it,” Legolas agreed, “I didn’t think of it in Laketown, either, and that was several centuries later. I just told Baeraeriel that I was going to Laketown after the orcs, even though we’d been told to let them be since they were only intent on killing. . .” Legolas trailed off with a wince.
“Aye, since the orcs were just after my Da and my kin. I know, Legolas,” Gimli interjected calmly, “We’ve spoken of this before.”
“But that was a long time ago,” Legolas said softly, “Before I knew your father, or your mother and sister and Lady Dis. When all the reason I had to argue for Mithrandir’s position that we needed to help your kin get rid of the dragon Smaug was a warrior’s logic that you don’t leave a threat to your back when the counsel of the Wise is that you’re already going to be facing one to your front. And when my father said to leave it be, I mostly left it be, save for having patrol schedules rearranged and supplies made ready in case Laketown was attacked. And if it hadn’t been for the orcs going through Laketown on their way to get to your kin, I don’t know as I would have chased them.”
“I know, Legolas. And I don’t blame you for it,” Gimli reassured him. Gimli knew well that Legolas had come to love his parents, and they him. When Gloin had died, Legolas had supported Gimli’s mother while Gimli and his sister Alys held the flints to alight and set the seal around their father’s tomb. When Kala finally passed away, barely a year before Aragorn’s death, Gimli’s sister Alys had been needed to help her pregnant daughter-by-law. It had been Legolas who had helped Gimli to light the fire to seal his mother’s tomb and speed his Lady Kala’s way to the Mountains.
“You may have gone to protect the Men of Laketown and not my kin,” Gimli told Legolas staunchly, “But once you were in Laketown, you fought the orcs who were attacking my cousins and my Uncle Oin. You, and Baeraeriel and Theli and Cellillien. And they only went to Laketown because you refused not to go, and because Baeraeriel owed you for having deserted you the last time you committed treason.”
Legolas winced again, “Technically, it wasn’t ‘treason.’ My father hadn’t specifically said not to follow bandit slavers into lands that weren’t ours where we had no hope of support or succor.”
“And what would it have been called if you weren’t the King’s son?” Gimli asked shrewdly.
At that, Legolas laughed. “The End of My Career as a Soldier, probably,” he answered ruefully, “Which it wasn’t, fortunately. And yes, Baeraeriel thought that she owed me, for having led the group that turned back to the Greenwood when Theli told our joint elven and human patrol that the mission was volunteer only.”
“I’m sorry that the bandits killed all of your captive elves, and the women and children, when they saw you coming,” Gimli said softly, “If it helps, that swift death may have been kinder than the fates which awaited them as slaves. At least from what I know of slavery.”
Legolas raised a graceful hand in the elven gesture for ‘maybe.’
“And you certainly made sure that those slavers would never kill or capture anyone ever again,” Gimli pointed out.
“We did at least do that,” Legolas agreed, “And we managed to gather enough information that the Northmen lords were able to clean their house. But I still don’t know if it was worth risking all of our lives over.”
“You can’t know how something will turn out when you begin it, Legolas,” said Gimli softly, “You made the best decision you could. And you did it again in Laketown. Because of you, Theli was there in Laketown to help my Uncle Oin heal my cousin Kili after he was poisoned by that orc arrow.”
“Your uncle knew everything he needed to know except the Dalemen word for the healing herbs he needed,” Legolas disagreed, “But Theli was able to provide that, and our dried stores of it. But it was . . . um, I don’t remember his name, one of the dwarves, who found the fresh athelas. It was probably that which saved your cousin’s life.”
“After the Ring War,” said Gimli wryly, “I believe that you and Baeraeriel called him ‘the dwarf with the funny hat.’” He let Legolas squirm for a moment before he supplied, “Bofur. His name was Bofur. He and his brothers were descended from dwarves who came to Eregion from Khazad-dum.”
“Ah,” said Legolas sadly, “Then he died with your cousin Balin in Moria. I am so sorry, Gimli.”
“It was long ago,” said Gimli simply, “And you fought the orcs in Laketown that night beside Bofur, too. As your beautiful, deadly cousin says, elves don’t need an excuse to slay orcs. But I’m glad that you lot were there that night.”
“I know I’ve told you before,” said Legolas, “But now that you’ve spoken so much more of them, I want to tell you again – your cousins Kili and Fili were not just heroes, they were very likable. Even Baeraeriel liked them, and Baeraeriel doesn’t like much of anybody.”
Gimli sniffed, “Well, she liked me! She liked me so much that she let me wear her orc-teeth beads in my hair.”
“It was a very becoming look on you,” Legolas agreed, the memory bringing a smile to his face, “And entirely worth the hangover we suffered the next morning to have seen the expression on my father’s face when he walked into that party.”
“Your Baeraeriel and Cellililen gave my Aunt Dis a gift,” Gimli said, “She passed it down to my sister Alys, who gave it to my niece, Disla. Did we ever tell you of that?”
Legolas tilted his head in thought, “I don’t believe so. I remember that Baeraeriel said that I owed her money for something having to do with Laketown around that time, but I just wrote my father’s treasurer and told him to give Baeraeriel whatever she wanted.”
“Oh,” said Gimli, slightly disappointed, “Well, it was a miniature portrait of my cousins. Of Fili and Kili, laughing. It looked . . . well, it looked like an elf had tried to paint a dwarf and done a mediocre job. But it was clearly them, clearly their smiles, though Kili was pale as milk.”
“Ah,” said Legolas, “Well, if I’d have known what I was paying for, I would have approved. The sketch was probably done by Cellillien. She has some talent at drawing. If it was your cousins laughing, it was probably while Kili and Theli were telling stories to the children of Bard the Bowman. Your cousin Kili was pale then, because he was still recovering from the poison arrow. He was tough, though, truly a being of extraordinary resilience. We spent all of that next morning pulling people out of the freezing water. He wasn’t yet fully healed, but he was right there in the middle, helping. I think that your cousin Fili was furious with him, but Kili refused to rest while there were still live bodies in the water.”
“Aye,” said Gimli, blinking away tears, “That was Kili.”
“I think that was what impressed Baeraeriel the most,” said Legolas, placing a gentle hand over Gimli’s as they leaned on the ship’s rail, “she is a very strong swimmer, and your cousin wasn’t. But he wasn’t afraid to flail his way into the lake well over his head, in order to help pull boat after boat of Lakemen to safety.”
“Aye,” said Gimli again, still lost in grief, “None of us were good swimmers. Though Ralf, the miller’s boy, had worked with Kili and I until we were at least good enough not to drown in the mill pond.”
“Your cousins would have been grateful that you were there to look after their mother,” said Legolas gently, “I saw how Lady Dis viewed you as another son, when she came to live in Aglarond after Thorin grew into his kingship.”
Gimli nodded, wiping tears from his cheeks, “Aye, we held onto one another, Aunt Dis and I. She asked me to help her set light to the sealing of the tombs of Thorin, Fili and Kili.” Gimli paused, and then added, “You may have already heard this, if you understood the old Khuzdul spoken at their memorials well enough. But we dwarves, we think of ourselves as stone given life. When our lives end, we turn back into stone within our coffins and stone tombs. That gives us a second life, as part of the mountains we lived in and loved. Those dwarven bodies within Erebor helped to weaken Smaug, we believe. The many generations of stone sentinels helped keep what was left of Erebor safe, so that there was something left for Thorin and company to go back and reclaim.”
“And that is what you are giving up, by sailing with me,” said Legolas sadly.
“Legolas, if you’re going to go on like this again,” Gimli threatened, “I really will throw you overboard. I’m going because you and Lady Galadriel and the Valar all invited me, and I accepted.”
Legolas tilted his head inquisitively, “Lady Galadriel invited you? I had thought that the Vala Aule had sent you dreams.”
“Aye, Mahal did,” Gimli agreed, “But it was even earlier that Lady Galadriel told me that the Valar would grant me leave to sail if I wished, and gave me the potion that allowed me to stay young while I waited for you to be ready to sail.”
“You never told me that.”
“Well, hush then, and I will.”
Gimli made Legolas wait while he got out a pipe and lit it. The rings of smoke floated up into the purple and blue of a late sunset as he began his story.
On a spring-sweet evening not long before the Lady Galadriel and her fellow ringbearers left Middle Earth, the ethereal White Lady came to Gimli son of Gloin and invited him to walk in the garden of the King’s House with her. She waited until they were close by the replanted White Tree, then she handed him a crystal vial with perhaps a tablespoon’s worth of silvery liquid within it.
"I have seen that you might accompany Legolas, should you choose, to Aman,” she told him kindly in her celestial voice, “None other of your kind has been permitted to do so; I doubt any other ever shall be. If you accept, all you need do is quaff this drink, and you will share my young cousin's natural lifespan. If you decide to decline, pour the contents of this vial into any running water under starlight, and it shall safely dissipate.”
Giving Gimli a compassionate smile, Galadriel added a warning, “Do not leave the choice too long, my Champion. Legolas may bide in Middle Earth for many years yet, and nothing short of sailing can cure old age.”
For some months, Gimli kept the crystal vial on a gold chain which he wore around his neck, close to his heart. As he did so, he traveled with Legolas, worked on establishing Aglarond, and joined Legolas and Aragorn in rebuilding Minas Tirith and founding Emyn Arnen and Ithilien-en-Edhil. Through those months, the possibility of living a very long life and then sailing to the West with Legolas likewise grew close to his heart.
It wasn’t only the idea of staying with Legolas that Gimli liked more and more. It was also the possibility of being able to travel and to learn as much as he wanted to learn, with no time limits on the crafts and skills he could master. But it was mostly the thought of being able to do all of that with Legolas at his side.
Since Kili and Fili died, some part of Gimli had always been alone. Oh, he had made new friends, and good ones. But there had been no one to share every joke with, no one who wanted to know the all of him, to stand by him in dark times and celebrate with him in glad times.
Then there was the Fellowship, and that changed. But after the War ended, the Fellowship scattered. The hobbits had their homes to return to, save Frodo, who sailed. Aragorn had Arwen and Faramir and two kingdoms to rebuild. But Legolas . . . Legolas stayed with Gimli, save when their separate responsibilities tugged them in different directions. And even then, they corresponded frequently, planning their next journey and discussing the developments in the lands they ruled.
When Gimli was with Legolas, he never felt alone. The two shared a sense of adventure, of exploration, of wonder. Nor did Gimli ever tire of the elf’s company for more than the occasional few hours. Not that their friendship was always easy – nothing worthwhile ever is. But even when they disagreed, the getting to know one another better was always worth the fight.
Like Gimli, Legolas had spent most of his life alone. He had been one of the very youngest elves born in Middle Earth, at least until the elflings born after the Ring War. As Gimli was called Elvellon, the friend of elves, Legolas should be called the friend of mortals. He had been a friend to humans and later to dwarves as well, for generation after generation, all of whom would leave him in time. For love of his short-lived friends, Legolas had become their confidant and companion, and had accepted the price of drinking deeply from the well of sorrows each time they withered and died, as they inevitably must.
During the late spring of the year after the Ring War, Gimli and Legolas journeyed to Faramir and Eowyn’s new home of Emyn Arnen in Ithilien, to see a star-shower. The night that the singing stars fell to the earth, Gimli asked Legolas, when the elf was as drunk and as relaxed as he'd ever seen him, if Legolas would like for Gimli Gloinson to accompany him, through the long years of his never-ending elven life, over the far seas to Tol Eressea.
Legolas had said yes. Gimli wasn't sure that his inebriated friend had understood at the time that Gimli’s joining him on the journey to the West was a real possibility, but he did know that the “yes” had been sincerely meant. Gimli didn't require Legolas' understanding, he wasn't sure he understood himself. All he had needed was to know that Legolas's wish was to keep developing their friendship over many centuries, if they both survived. And so then he knew.
And from that moment, Gimli had decided that he wanted to sail with his elven brother. But Gimli had other responsibilities, beside Legolas. Responsibilities to Aglarond, to his parents and his second-mother Lady Dis, and to his adopted sister Alys and her husband, his cousin Balder. In time, those concerns became less and less pressing. Balder grew into a capable, even-handed second-in-command for Aglarond. Alys bore a healthy son, young Sindri, and then later a daughter, Disla, who together healed her broken heart after her first child had died while still inside her womb during the siege of Erebor.
Young Sindri grew to be just and strong, well-beloved of the dwarves of Aglarond, and of their high-king Thorin III Stonehelm and his heirs in Erebor. Sindri’s sister Disla was kind-hearted and hardworking, and her honorary grandmother the Lady Dis made sure that her namesake Disla was given the opportunity to follow her calling. Gimli’s nephew Sindri married Mora, a granddaughter of Thorin III Stonehelm. Just after the end of the Second Mage War, during which his nephew had served with other dwarves of Aglarond under Gimli’s and then Balder’s command, Sindri received word that Mora had borne him a healthy son. They named Gimli’s great-nephew Lasri, in honor of both his father and of Legolas, who had been captured holding the left flank of battle long enough for the dwarves to set up their catapults.
The spring following the end of the Second Mage War, there was another star shower in Ithilien. By then, Gimli had a capable, adult heir with a healthy son of his own. Legolas was drunk again, and still wounded, physically and mentally, from his capture and his time as a hostage of the Blood Mages. Legolas was still furious at himself for having needed to be rescued in the first place. It was a foolish reason to think himself worthless, but such things, Gimli had learned, did not always follow rational logic.
That night, as the singing stars fell to the earth, Gimli left Legolas in Faramir and Mithiriel’s capable charge, and went for a walk. He was still in his dwarven prime, but the time had come to make his decision. Already, Gimli sometimes felt a slight ache in his joints at approaching rain or snow, or experienced a quick, passing pain in his bones on rising in the morn after a day of fighting. So when he came upon a forest glade where a clear, cheerful riverlet flowed underground into a singing cave on its way to the Anduin, Gimli raised Lady Galadriel’s crystal vial in a toast to the Lady and the stars, and then drank.
The years rolled by thereafter, and true to Galadriel's promise, Gimili did not age further. The dwarves of Aglarond and Erebor did not seem to think that odd. Gimli was already unique among them, for his service during the quest and the intensity of his friendship with Legolas and Aragorn and their kin, so what was one more odd thing? Legolas and Aragorn seemed only thankful for Gimli’s continuing good health. Only Faramir seemed to sense Galadriel's fine hand, the hand of something extraordinary, at work. And elven-wise Faramir, natural son of one of Galadriel's students, adopted son of another, had the sense not to say anything. So it was, when Aragorn at last began to show his age, and retired to his son's estate at Emyn Arnen to spend his last few years reminiscing with his companions and family, that Legolas came to ask at last why Gimli had not aged. Facing the loss of Aragorn, knowing he did not need to face Gimli's loss as well was a gift unlooked for, and welcomed with a joy beyond words by the elven Prince.
Gimli, too, was pleased with his decision. As the time to sail grew closer, he had begun to have dreams in which Mahal himself bid Gimli safe journeying, and promised to welcome him upon Gimli’s arrival in Aman. Although there were times when he mourned his kin and friends and caverns left behind on Middle Earth, Gimli was by-and-large not merely content, but even excited for the future they sailed towards.
When Gimli had finished his tale of how he was given the choice to sail, and how he made it, while of course telling Legolas only what he felt it was good for Legolas to know, the elf smiled in relief.
“So it’s true, then? That you are truly happy to be here?”
“Legolas, I didn’t say so just to hear myself talk,” Gimli reproved patiently, “you’re more than a friend to me, you’re the brother I chose for myself. We’ve seen one another at our best and at our worst, and yet we still not only love one another as brothers, but enjoy one another’s company as well. I’ve spent more time with you than I’ve ever spent with anyone, and we’ve still never run out of things to say to one another. I wasn’t ready to die, and I am ready to spend more time with you. Mahal says that there are mountains in the West to sing to, and that I can bring you along with me. The changes we are sailing towards likely won’t all be easy, but when has life ever been only smooth sailing for adventurers such as ourselves? We’ll figure it out, you and I, and enjoy the journeying along the way.”
“Well, that’s fine enough then,” said Legolas. They watched the sun finish setting and the new stars come out, still gazing out to the West, side by side.
Perhaps they should have had that conversation earlier. In any case, it was somehow no surprise to Gimli when it was the following morning that they saw white sails headed towards them from Aman.
Chapter 14: Welcome Travelers, Chapter 1
Summary:
Gimli and Legolas and their companions arrive in the West to great celebration and many reunions. Many are joyous, but some are just awkward, for not everything in the West is perfect!
Notes:
A/N: This story is set in about Fourth Age 120 or 121. In my AU, Mithiriel is one of Faramir and Eowyn’s daughters, and Theli (Ecthelion) is a friend and cousin of Legolas and Elrond, the grandson of Elurin of Doriath, Elrond’s uncle.
This story is a direct sequel to “Songs on the Straight Road,” on AO3 as chapters 7-13 of the Tales of Oversea in the Fourth Age, which can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3517526/chapters/22597526
That story is more-or-less a direct sequel to “Rumor Has It” and “From the Gray Havens,” chapters 67 and 68 respectively of the Tales of the Telcontars, which can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/214796/chapters/10888724
Chapter Text
On the morning of the last day of their voyage on the Straight Road, the ship’s look-out spotted billowing white sails coming towards them from the West.
“A westward vessel that got turned around?” Legolas wondered.
“Nay, your highness,” Captain Nemiron said respectfully, “’Tis a close-to-shore ship, not one large enough to have been made to brave the open seas.”
“Well,” said Mithiriel after a deep breath, “I suppose it is time for us all to get dressed. Captain Nemiron, I finished that new tunic for you, but I really do think that you should wear the aquamarine and pearl beads woven into your sailor’s braids, rather than the gold and topaz.”
The captain, flushing with pleasure, hastened to offer his thanks, while Legolas advised with a laugh, “It will be easier if you do as she says.”
Mithiriel cast him a Mildly Disapproving Look, which caused Legolas to raise his hands in apology and hasten below decks to don his own finery.
Within less than a quarter of an hour they were all, including the humblest sailor, assembled on the deck for Mithiriel’s inspection.
Gimli was more than comfortable that he’d pass muster, especially after having given Mithiriel free rein to embellish his clothing to her satisfaction. He wore a persian blue silk shirt, butter-soft suede pants dyed a dark charcoal gray, and a surcoat of rich burgundy velvet. The surcoat gleamed with golden embroidery and tiny jewels that Mithiriel had pestered Gimli into fitting out as beads so that she could sew them into the embroidery. The burgundy velvet provided a dramatic backdrop for the embroidered designs denoting Gimli’s Lordship of Aglarond, duties in Erebor, and membership in the House of Durin. Mithiriel had used small sapphires, dark blue tanzanites, deep green aventurines, dark violet chaorites, and garnets in her designs. She’d also used some small onyx beads that had previously been part of one of her own hair ornaments, because she said that the glossy black onyx added to the drama of the gold and jewels against the burgundy velvet. Gimli had decided that it was best not to argue.
Around his neck Gimli wore a thick golden chain of office, with seals denoting that he had served Thorin Oakenshield, Dain II Ironfoot, and Thorin III Stonehelm. Around his waist he wore a belt of linked square cut jewels, including sapphires, emeralds, amethysts, rubies, garnets, diamonds, and aventurines. The links of the belt had been birthday presents from his parents over a number of years.
Where the precious gems woven into the warrior braids of his elven companions were modest, even smaller than the jeweled beads he'd made for Mithiriel, Gimli wore large rings of worked gold, tanzanite, aventurine, charoite and onyx in the braids of his beard. He wore no rings at all on his axe hand, but on his writing hand he wore three rings. The first was a black opal from Theli, Mithiriel, and Mithiriel's family, set in gold mined in Aglarond. The second was an aventurine found in Aglarond, a gift from Gimli’s niece and nephew, set in heavy gold from Erebor, which had been a gift from his Aunt Dis. The ring he wore on his smallest finger was a moonstone set in white gold. The stone had been one of several coming-of-age gifts Legolas had received from his cousins Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn on the occasion of his fiftieth birthday. At that time, the moonstone had been set in a ring of mithril. Legolas had given the metal of the ring to his father to melt down to make mithril mail for the royal guards. But Legolas had liked and kept the moonstone, and so his father Thranduil had arranged for the stone to be re-set in white gold. Legolas had given the ring to Gimli on the occasion of the first anniversary of the founding of Aglarond.
Although no one outshone Gimli for sheer sartorial splendor, Erestor did look resplendently noble in his elegant garments. He wore an open robe in a rich burgundy velvet over a tunic of the same fabric in a shade of burnt umber. His leggings were a warm, chocolate brown, and his fine boots just a shade darker than that. His tunic and robe featured gold and amber embroidery. He wore a gold chain of office with jeweled seals proclaiming him a councilor of both Lindon and Imladris, which Mithiriel quietly informed Legolas and Gimli had been a gift commissioned by Elrond and designed and made by Erestor’s wife Taminixe. Despite some coaxing from Legolas and Theli, who both firmly believed that Erestor had earned the right to wear warrior’s braids, Erestor had chosen to wear his hair in a style favored by scholars, half-pulled back with a bit of black velvet ribbon, which was barely distinguishable against the backdrop of his raven hair. On either side of Erestor’s shoulders, his robes were held open by emerald brooches, each with a golden starburst at its heart. It was, Gimli know, a sigil of the House of the Golden Flower of Gondolin, Erestor’s famous grandfather Glorfindel’s house. On his left hand, Erestor wore a simple diamond ring.
“I think I saw your picture in a book once,” Legolas teased Erestor quietly, “It was captioned, ‘stereotypical stuffy Noldorin lord.’”
“Hmm, was this in a book in your father’s library?” Erestor teased back, “and if so, was it defaced by a scowling tree?”
“I don’t think that you have any room to go calling Erestor too pretty,” Gimli teased Legolas, “Not when you look like a laurel in spring time that someone decided to bedeck like a Yule tree.”
“Oh, he does not,” Mithiriel objected, “Legolas looks much the same as he did in the portraits of my grandparents’ wedding, and I happen to know that Lady Galadriel chose his clothing for that occasion.”
“So there,” retorted Legolas with a smile. And Gimli had to concede the point. Legolas did indeed look very much as he had on that long ago happy day, with the only exception being that the center of his silver circlet now featured a small circular green aventurine. The stone had been a gift from Gimli’s niece Disla, who had found it on a cavern floor in Aglarond along with the one she'd given to Gimli, and from Gimli’s nephew Sindri, who had cut the gem and polished it. Legolas' warrior’s braids were interwoven with small sapphires, diamonds, emeralds, all gifts from his father and foster-brother, and with small polished stones from the rivers of the Greenwood and Ithilien. On his right hand Legolas wore a mithril ring set with moonstone, a gift from Gimli.
Mithiriel resembled nothing so much as a sea sprite from a fairy tale. The color of her thin iridescent silk gown was what Mithiriel described as “sea-change blue,” and it did indeed look like the ocean. Blue one moment, and green the next, the fabric clung tightly to the curves of Mithiriel’s breasts and chest then flared out slightly below her waist. The silken hem, embroidered with gold thread and seed pearls, reached down to just above her well-made but practical leather sandals. Around her neck she wore a precious dark opal on a golden chain. The large gem boldly glimmered blue, green, and gold as well as black in the light of the sun. The slender gold ring on Mithiriel’s finger boasted a matching circular opal, and her earrings were each a short string of three small pearls from which dripped tear-shaped opals of the same shade.
Mithiriel’s brow was bound by no precious metal circlet, even though she was the granddaughter of a king, the daughter of a prince, the wife of a royal lord, and a former ruling lady of Imladris in her own right. Instead, her golden-red curls were mostly loose, just held back from her face by two lengths of hair braided with strings of seed pearls and sea-colored glass beads. The two braids were tied together in the back with a silk ribbon matching her dress, in a way forming a whimsical, unique crown of their own. With every step Mithiriel took, the merry chiming of little bells could be heard. When Gimli asked why, Mithiriel lifted up her skirt a handspan to reveal a chain of small silvery bells and blue and green cat’s eye jade beads encircling her left ankle.
Even the most junior of the ship’s crewmembers, a cabin boy of only just fifty-one years of age, wore fine linen and semi-precious gems around his neck and in his hair. All of the sailors sported beautiful and tasteful touches of nautically themed embroidery, courtesy of Mithiriel’s generosity, paired with her having failed to pack enough books to read during the voyage. She had even found the time to embroider a small tapestry for Gimli and Legolas depicting their fight with the kraken.
“It wasn’t physically possible for Lady Difficult to pack enough books to read,” Legolas had jested, after Mithiriel had finished exhausting not only her own reading material but also all of theirs, including Erestor’s and all of the crew’s.
Even Mithiriel’s loving husband had to concur that it was probably so, even after he had kindly offered to give her the storage space he was planning to use for his own formal clothing!
How fine of a showing Theli made when dressed to impress was a surprise to Legolas, if not to Gimli. Theli, like Erestor, wore an open robe, only Theli’s was the midnight blue and silver of old Doriath. His finely cut tunic was moonstone blue with silver and midnight blue embroidery. Gimli noted absently that the varying shades emphasized the extraordinary deep blue shade of Theli’s eyes. Around his neck on a thin silver chain Theli wore a tiny silver moonstone ring, the same ring that his grandfather Elurin Diorchil had worn when he fled into the forest during the kinslaying at Doriath. The shoulder brooches holding Theli’s robe open were silver, with the quartered emblems of the Greenwood, Lorien, Ithilien, and Imladris.
Theli wore warrior braids in his ash brown hair, similarly adorned to those of Legolas but in a slightly different style. As a healer who had traveled so much in uncertain and hazardous locales, he wore his hair relatively short for an elf. When it wasn’t pulled back, it fell in wavy curls to just past his shoulders. Now, he wore three small warrior’s braids on each side of his head, with his loose hair and the ends of the braids all pulled back into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck.
The former lord of Aglarond had seen the former ambassador of the Greenwood in his finery before. But come to think of it, Gimli realized that Legolas had never been present on any of those occasions.
“What, tithen-Las?” Theli teased Legolas, “You’ve never seen me play the royal lord before? Most of the pretending that I don’t know how to is for Thranduil’s benefit, you know. It’s a funny joke that we have.”
Legolas tilted his head and asked with a bemused smile, “Does Ada know that, or is it a funny joke on him?”
“Thranduil knows,” Theli assured Legolas with a grin, “It still drives him crazy, or it wouldn’t be as much fun. But he does know.”
It took what felt like hours but was in fact only forty-five minutes for the shoreline ship to pull up alongside them. A gently smiling elf in sailor’s garb introduced himself as Gollaeron Bellaeronchil, the captain of the ship the Laughing Dolphin in the Lady Andreth Elrondiel’s Eastern Fleet of Avallone.
“Gollaeron Bellaeronchil?” Captain Nemiron called back across to the other ship, “The former harbormaster of Lindon’s only son?”
Captain Gollaeron grinned back at them, “Aye, that Bellaeron is my father. I work for him again now, he’s the harbormaster in Avallone.”
“Captain Gollaeron died trying to rescue King Arvedui of Arthedain during the war between Angmar and Arthedain,” Erestor murmured just loudly enough for the four of them to hear, “His father, Lord Bellaeron, sailed from Lindon not long after that war ended. Bellaeron had served Ereinion Gil-galad well as a ship captain during the War of Wrath, and then as harbor master and council lord during the Second Age and the beginning of the Third Age. This Gollaeron is a friendly acquaintance of my son Melpomaen.”
“May I have your permission to come aboard, Captain . . . .?” Gollaeron petitioned.
Captain Nemiron, apparently realizing that he’d forgotten to give the other elf his name, immediately rectified that error and invited Captain Gollaeron aboard their vessel. It was odd for Gimli to see the normally self-possessed Captain Nemiron so off-step. But then Gimli supposed that he would be nearly beside himself to meet a dead hero, as well.
The crew of the Laughing Dolphin placed a sturdy wooden railed walkway between the two ships. Captain Gollaeron crossed it first, followed by a finely dressed elf whom Gollaeron introduced as Lord Alyaro, the official greeter from Aman.
The dazed Captain Nemiron pointed the greeter, a dark-haired elf in lavender robes, in the direction of his passengers, while Nemiron himself began an animated conversation with Captain Gollaeron Bellaeronchil.
The fussy looking greeter elf in the fancy purple and gold outfit looked at the motley crew of six passengers and then paused, as if confused.
“Who among you is the highest ranking?” he asked querulously.
Captain Gollaeron Bellaeronchil, who had seemingly overheard this, winced. But apparently his job was to captain the ship, and Lord Fussy’s job was to greet the passengers.
In answer to Lord Fussy’s question, Master Sarphen raised his hands in a classic ‘not me’ gesture. Gimli, seeing this, laughed and copied it.
Meanwhile, Legolas, Erestor, Theli, and Mithiriel were exchanging questioning glances with one another. Theli chuckled, Mithiriel shook her head, and Gimli grinned in anticipation. Then Erestor pointed at Theli, Theli pointed at Legolas, and Legolas pointed at Erestor, and all three of them said in perfect chorus, “He is!”
This response, while highly amusing to the three of them and hilarious to Gimli, was evidently not what Lord Fussy was accustomed to.
“Hem, hem,” he cleared his throat, “A master craftsman,” he nodded towards Master Sarphen, seemingly pleased that he could at least identify someone by caste solely based on appearance, “and three elven lords of some persuasion, and a . . . human? And a . . . large, hairy hobbit? This is all highly, highly irregular! Surely someone must know who is in charge!”
It was going to be, Gimli thought to himself, one of those mornings.
Chapter 15
Notes:
Quote:
“Of the Three Rings that the Elves had preserved unsullied no open word was ever spoken among the Wise, and few even of the Eldar knew where they were bestowed. Yet after the fall of Sauron their power was ever at work, and where they abode there mirth also dwelt and all things were unstained by the griefs of time. Therefore ere the Third Age was ended the Elves perceived that the Ring of Sapphire was with Elrond, in the fair valley of Rivendell, upon whose house the stars of heaven most brightly shone; whereas the Ring of Adamant was in the Land of Lórien where dwelt the Lady Galadriel. A queen she was of the woodland Elves, the wife of Celeborn of Doriath, yet she herself was of the Noldor and remembered the Day before days in Valinor, and she was the mightiest and fairest of all the Elves that remained in Middle-earth. But the Red Ring remained hidden until the end, and none save Elrond and Galadriel and Cirdan knew to whom it had been committed.
Thus it was that in two domains the bliss and beauty of the Elves remained still undiminished while that Age endured: in Imladris; and in Lothlórien, the hidden land between Celebrant and Anduin, where the trees bore flowers of gold and no Orc or evil thing dared ever come. Yet many voices were heard among the Elves foreboding that, if Sauron should come again, then either he would find the Ruling Ring that was lost, or at the best his enemies would discover it and destroy it; but in either chance the powers of the Three must then fail and all things maintained by them must fade, and so the Elves should pass into the twilight and the Dominion of Men begin. And so indeed it has since befallen: the One and the Seven and the Nine are destroyed; and the Three have passed away, and with them the Third Age is ended, and the Tales of the Eldar in Middle-earth draw to then-close.” - JRR Tolkien
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Lord Alyaro, or Lord Fussy, as Gimli had decided to continue to call him, apparently was at his wit’s end dealing with their group. It didn’t seem to have been a long journey! Fussy called out to Captain Gollaeron for help.
The elven sea captain seemed almost relieved to have the opportunity to intervene. Gimli wondered what kind of foolish system had sent out a capable elf like Gollaearon in a ship to meet elves coming from Middle Earth, and then saddled him with a rank-polishing idiot like Lord Fussy. Unlike the violet-clad elven lord with his pinched expression, Captain Gollaeron actually looked like greeting elves from Middle Earth was what he’d wanted to be doing with his day. In fact, his cheerful grin broadened even further when he saw Erestor.
“Why, if it isn’t Lord Erestor Arandilion of the House of the Golden Flower! Welcome to the West, father of my old friend!
Fussy, looking partially soothed, jotted something down on his scroll. “Very well. A great-great-great nephew of King Arafinwe is the ranking member of your party. All you need have done was say so.”
Erestor, after exchanging a warrior’s arm clasp with Captain Gollaeron, mildly interjected, “Well, I didn’t know that I was related to King Arafinwe until just before we set sail, and . . . ”
Captain Gollaeron interrupted Erestor with a golden laugh, then said, “Neither did your father Arandil, until well after he arrived in Avallone. And you should have heard the names he called your noble grandfather after he found out that he was a King’s great-great-grandson, and that your grandfather Lord Glorfindel had already known of that, and had deemed it unnecessary to ever tell his son of it!”
Erestor and Theli, who had also known Erestor’s father Lord Arandil, both chuckled at that.
“I’m sure that Atar was quite taken aback,” Erestor agreed, “Anatar Glorfindel and Atar do so enjoy their little games. But I am afraid that I do not feel myself to be the highest ranking member of our party. I believe that my dear friend Lord Ecthelion Diorchil,” Erestor gestured gracefully towards Theli, “who is the grandson of the former King Dior Eluchil of Doriath, as well as himself the former lord-consort of Imladris, would be the highest ranking of our party.”
Captain Gollaeron whistled, “Dior Eluchil would also be the current reigning king of Doriath Gaeronwest, the Kingdom of Doriath on Tol Eressea. So tell me, Lord Alyaro,” Gollaeron asked, turning to Lord Fussy, “Would the grandson of the younger son of the second most senior kingdom of Tol Eressea outrank the great-great-great nephew of King Arafinwe’s older sister?”
Lord Fussy appeared to be out of his depth again. He pursed his thin, aristocratic lips, then reluctantly admitted, “I am not sure. The question has never arisen before.”
“It is my pleasure to meet you both,” Theli said to Gollaeron and Alyaro, “and to introduce you to my lovely wife, her highness the Lady Mithiriel of Ithilien, granddaughter of Elessar Telcontar, first King of the Reunited Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor and long-son of Elros Tar-Minyatur, and daughter of Faramir, Prince of Ithilien, and his White Lady Eowyn, the Witch-King Slayer. Mithiriel herself is lately the ruling Lady of the independent city of Imladris.”
“She’s a human,” noted Lord Fussy with a sniff, “and human ranks have no bearing in Aman. Or even in Tol Eressea, for that matter.”
“I wouldn’t have expected that they would,” Theli soothed, with no hint of his true feelings on the matter escaping his pleasantly neutral expression, “However, I must further complicate the matter of rank by introducing my dear cousin his highness Legolas Thranduilon, crown prince of the Greenwood, the largest and most populous elven kingdom on Middle Earth. Prince Legolas is the youngest son of Aran Thranduil of the Greenwood. I believe Prince Legolas to be the highest ranking member of our party.”
“It is a pleasure to meet a war hero such as your highness,” Captain Gollaeron said admiringly to Legolas, then informed him that, “Your grandfather Oropher is the current reigning King of Eryn Brongalen, the enduring Kingdom of the Greenwood in Tol Eressea.”
Lord Fussy, meanwhile, did not appear to be honored to meet Legolas. Instead, he was frowning down at his scroll. “But Prince Legolas is the youngest son of a youngest son!” he objected, “And Greenwood is the second youngest Kingdom on Tol Eressea!”
“Prince Legolas is a member of the Fellowship of the Ring,” Captain Gollaeron corrected patiently, “And as such outranks every member of this party save perhaps his dwarven companion.” Captain Gollaeron turned to face Gimli, friendly curiosity plain on his handsome face.
“My apologies,” Legolas said smoothly, “I am tardy in introducing you to my friend and sworn brother, Lord Gimli son of Gloin, former Lord of Aglarond, and likewise a member of the Fellowship of the Ring.”
“It’s an honor to meet you, Lord Gimli,” said Captain Gollaeron, as Lord Fussy once again glared at his scroll.
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance as well, Captain Gollaeron,” Gimli replied politely. After all, Lord Fussy’s idiocy wasn’t Captain Gollaeron’s fault, and Gollaeron seemed a good-enough sort himself. Anyone who greeted Erestor fondly and called Erestor’s gracious son Melpomaen his friend couldn’t be all that bad, in Gimli’s opinion.
“Now, if you please,” Gimli asked, “could you let us know what the schedule is for getting us back on to dry land? Captain Nemiron has been a wonderful host, but I am ready to set my legs on solid earth for a time.”
Before Captain Gollaeron could answer, a white dove flew over the cresting waves to their party. The graceful bird alighted on the good Captain Gollaeron’s shoulder.
“I believe I may just have been sent an answer to your query, Lord Gimli,” said Gollaeron in a bemused tone as he removed a message from the messenger tube tied around the bird’s ankle.
After quickly reading the message, Captain Gollaeron answered, “Ah, here it is! Lord Gimli, Prince Legolas, Prince Ecthelion, Princess Mithiriel, and Lord Erestor will join me on the Laughing Dolphin. Then we are to proceed directly to the harbor at Amrun Calaer, to rendezvous with the Princess Galadriel Arafinwiel and her party, who are being hosted there by the Lady Calasse.”
Turning to the speechless Lord Fussy, Captain Gollaeron directed, “Lord Alyaro, you and my first mate are to stay here with Captain Nemiron, and guide his ship into Avallone. I’ll send a bird to my father the harbormaster to let him know that you’re on your way. He’ll send a ship out to meet you as soon as he can.
Gimli’s heart leapt at the mention of Lady Galadriel’s name. The last time he had seen her, she had been boarding a ship on the Anduin with Lord Elrond and Gandalf. She had appeared then still pleased for their victory, but so tired from her efforts and sad at leaving her family that Gimli’s heart had ached for her. Without the Lady Galadriel’s assistance, it would have been much more difficult for Gimli to have sailed. Instead, his Lady had foreseen that this day might come, and had given him the potion to let him keep his youth until it came. And now, she had made it possible for him and his companions to bypass the annoyance of Lord Fussy and proceed directly to meet her.
Legolas’ elbow gently bumped into Gimli’s shoulder to get his attention. The expression in his elven brother’s eyes was supportive and affectionate, for Legolas knew what Galadriel meant to Gimli. There was also the merest hint of humor in those familiar laurel-green eyes. Seeing that, Gimli counted himself lucky that Legolas had managed to suppress his desire to jest by comparing Gimli’s sense of nervous excitement at the thought of seeing Galadriel again to the emotions experienced by an anxious bridegroom. After all, Gimli had no true desire to throw Legolas overboard again!
Erestor seemed quite pleased at the thought of reuniting with his former foster-mother Galadriel. Although Gimli also suspected that Erestor was in truth so much hoping to see his lost wife, and possibly also his best friends Lord Elrond and Lady Celebrian, that Galadriel wasn’t much more than a pleasant after-thought to him.
At the mention of Lady Galadriel’s name, Mithiriel appeared not only intrigued, but also unaccustomedly shy, though only if one knew her well.
Theli’s chagrined wariness, on the other hand, was obvious to all.
Legolas laughed and punched Theli lightly on the shoulder. “Our impressive cousin is hardly going to have an opportunity to try to give you mind- speech lessons today, Theli.”
“Sweet Valar, I do hope not,” Theli murmured fervently.
Lord Fussy, on the other hand, was red-faced in mingled incomprehension and outrage.
“The Princess Galadriel!” he exclaimed shrilly, “But she doesn’t even leave the Lorien Gardens to attend her father the Noldaran’s court in Tirion!”
Gollaeron’s first mate took on the thankless job of trying to soothe Lord Fussy, while the competent captain himself began directing his crew and Nemiron’s to move the belongings of Gimli and his companions over to the Laughing Dolphin.
Gimli didn’t care at all about Lord Fussy’s displeasure, but the wording of his objection was somewhat concerning to Gimli. He knew enough of Aman to know that the Lorien Gardens were a place of healing. That brought to Gimli’s mind the weariness that he had seen in his Lady Galadriel's noble and beauteous countenance when she left Middle Earth. It also reminded him of a conversation he’d had with his Lady’s husband Celeborn before himself setting sail from Middle Earth with Legolas.
Celeborn and Gimli had reached a mutually respectful détente even before Lady Galadriel sailed. But as the years rolled on, that wary respect and determination to keep the peace for Galadriel’s sake had grown into an odd kind of friendship. Gimli had found that it was difficult for two beings to deeply love the same woman, even in very different ways, without finding that they had enough in common to become friends. Among other things, Gimli had to respect Celeborn’s good sense in having had the wisdom to expend a great deal of effort convincing Galadriel to marry him.
Gimli had also come to respect the depth of Celeborn’s love and devotion to his wife, and the terrible grief Celeborn felt at their separation. Gimli had come to understand that Galadriel and Celeborn loved one another dearly, but both loved their duties, as well. To the two great elves, the word “duty” was quite all-encompassing. It meant their duties to their family, half on one side of the sea in the West with Celebrian, Elrond and Andreth, and half on Middle Earth with their adopted sons Haldir, Orophin, and Rumil, and their families. And it also meant their duties to their peoples, and to all of Middle Earth.
It was those last duties which Galadriel had worn herself thin in fulfilling by using the ring Nenya to enhance her own power to keep Lothlorien safe from Sauron. By the end of the Ring War, the lady had exhausted herself completely, and had sailed for the good of her own health, as well as to keep the other ringbearers company. Celeborn, who still had strength left, had stayed, to care for their sons and for their people, as they moved from Lothlorien to the south of the Greenwood to cleanse the wood there.
Not long before Aragorn died, Celeborn had invited Gimli to play chess with him in his guest chamber at Faramir’s Emyn Arnen manor house. As they drank mulled wine before a warm fire, Celeborn had told Gimli more of what it meant for Gimli to have been accepted by his wife Galadriel as her champion.
“It is not something that a normal wife would do without first asking her husband’s leave,” Celeborn had explained with a wry, affectionate smile, “But I married Galadriel in part because I loved that in her which was not what one might usually expect in an elleth. But you must understand, Gimli, that by acknowledging you as her champion, Galadriel has given you guesting right in all of her – our - homes in the West.”
Even as Gimli immediately protested that he would ever expect anything of his lady beyond that she let him protect her when she had need, Celeborn shook his head.
“Calm thyself, Gimli. I know well that you did not make your gallant offer expecting anything in return. But nevertheless, under law and custom, you are entitled to guest right, and to certain other small allowances and privileges. And . . .,” here the elven lord hesitated, before carefully continuing, “I suspect that a champion of my dearly beloved Lady may be called upon to do more to earn such privileges than a champion of almost any other elf in the West. For not all elves in Aman are good-hearted, and my Lady already has amongst those who are not several enemies. Whether they will believe she is a danger to them or not, I do not know. But it is in her nature to court danger if she must, in order to protect those who need protecting.”
Greatly concerned for his Lady’s safety by this confession, Gimli abruptly commanded, “Speak plainly, Celeborn! I must know enough to keep our Lady safe from such threats.”
Gimli was particularly concerned given that he was completely unfamiliar with the West, and didn’t know who he could count on to help him with such a vital task as keeping Lady Galadriel safe. Well, other than Legolas of course. And probably also Lord Elrond, whom Gimli knew was very fond of his aunt and mother-by-law. And possibly also Gandalf, for whatever help the wizard would be. Gimli recalled that Gandalf had always treated Galadriel as an old friend.
“I cannot be more plain without compromising secrets which are not mine to tell,” Celeborn said chillingly, “But I feel the need to warn you, first, that my Lady may well need your axe at some point in the future. And also to tell you . . . something that I believe you may already have suspected. Bearing the ring of power Nenya sapped my Lady’s health and strength greatly.”
“Aye, so she herself mentioned,” Gimli confessed in pensive sorrow, “She told both me and Faramir that she had woven the ring’s power in and throughout her own in order to better protect Lothlorien from Sauron. Doing so was dangerous and draining, but it enabled her to face Sauron's shade on closer to equal footing when needed. She said that giving up Nenya into the keeping of the Valar, as she intended to do upon arriving in the West, would weaken her greatly.”
“She spoke truly,” said Celeborn gravely, “And I must caution you that she may not fully have healed, even by now.”
“I am sorry for that, but I am her dwarf,” said Gimli staunchly, “And I will be there for her whenever she needs me, for whatsoever service I can do for her, no matter how healthy she is or isn’t.”
Content with that promise, Celeborn had returned to their chess game.
As Gimli worried over his lady, he listened with half an ear to the conversations going on around him.
Mithiriel, Erestor, and Legolas were plying Captain Gollaeron and several of the other sailors with questions about the geography and politics of Tol Eressea and Aman proper, which apparently were two different places entirely in many ways.
“There are five different kingdoms on Tol Eressea,” Captain Gollaeron explained genially, with the air of someone who had given the same speech many times but didn’t mind doing it again, “as well as the independent city of Avallone, and Marillaeglir.”
“The first of the five kingdoms of Tol Eressea is Anderserme,” Gollaeron continued, “which is the kingdom of the friends of Men. It was founded by the elves who had followed Finrod Felagund to Middle Earth and dwelled in Nargothorond and then in Balar and Lindon. The second is Doriath Gaeronwest, founded by elves of Doriath who either sailed or were reborn after the First Age. The third kingdom is Gondolin Earrilye, founded by elves who were reborn after the Fall of Gondolin. The fourth kingdom, Eryn Brongalen, was founded by elves from the Greenwood who died during the War of the Last Alliance and were reborn here afterward. The newest kingdom of Tol Eressea is Galador Annun, founded by King Amroth and Queen Nimrodel, and mainly peopled by elves who once lived in Lothlorien.”
“And Marillaeglir?” Mithiriel asked.
“Marillaeglir was the answer to a knotty political problem,” explained one of the older sailors, “The three kingdoms of Aman proper – the kingdoms of the Vanyar, the Noldor, and the Lindar – found it troublesome to have to deal with five separate ‘lesser’ kingdoms on Tol Eressea. That, and they’d tired of having to contribute funds and elves to the running of Avallone, where the ships from the East arrive. So, the Crown Princess Rissaurel Ereinionchil, oldest daughter of King Ereinion Gil-galad of Anderserme, proposed that the five kingdoms of Tol Eressea elect two elves to serve as leaders for all five kingdoms of Tol Eressea and for Avallone. Eventually the rulers and councils of the five kingdoms came around to agreeing with her highness’s plan.”
“So,” the sailor continued, “the city and lands of Marillaeglir were founded on the western coast of Tol Eressea, facing Aman. And the first Yen King and Queen of Marillaeglir, King Elured and Queen Anwen, were elected to administer to certain matters pertaining to all five kingdoms of Tol Eressea, and to Avallone, and to the nomadic settlements of the Laiquendi, and lastly to the unclaimed lands of Tol Eressea, for the next yen. Every 144 years, new rulers from a different one of the five Kingdoms will be elected to serve as King and Queen of Marillaeglir.”
“Elured of Doriath is the current Yen-King of this Marillaeglir?” asked Legolas, with a bemused glance towards Theli. Gimli could well understand why Legolas might be taken aback. For at least four of the past five centuries, Legolas had outranked Theli by a great degree. That the shoe might now be on the other foot, even though Legolas didn’t begrudge it at all, was quite something.
“Aye,” agreed Gollaeron, also looking to Theli and then addressing him, “King Elured is your great uncle, is he not, Prince Ecthelion?”
Theli, who was one of the least-status conscious beings Gimli had ever met, barely kept from wincing. “Please, Captain Gollaeron, call me Theli. I’m never addressed as Ecthelion unless I’ve caused some minor disaster.”
“If you prefer, Lord Theli,” Gollaeron acknowledged, apparently disinclined to be any more informal than that.
“I do,” Theli confirmed with his usual friendly, humble smile, his wife’s slender hand firmly clasped in his, “And I’ve never met my Great-Uncle Elured. My own grandfather Eldun, born Elurin of Doriath, rarely spoke of him. My friends Nallos Canyavasion and his wife Serenwen, as well as Elured’s son, my cousin Elissed, always had many good things to say about Elured, both as an elf and as a warrior in the War of Wrath. Although they called him by the name he used on Middle Earth, which was Elboron.”
“I’ve only met Prince – now King – Elured a few times,” Gollaeron said, “But he always impressed me as a kind and practical fellow, as well as a natural leader. He is highly thought of here in Tol Eressea. He has several different times in the past ruled the Kingdom of Doriath Gaeronwest as King in his own right, with Queen Anwen by his side. When rulers were needed for Marillaeglir for the first time, Elured’s was one of the first names to come up.”
It occurred to Gimli as he listened that it must be strange for Theli, and for Legolas, to have every elf and his brother know more about their family in the West than they did.
“It should have been Princess Idril and Prince Tuor to rule Marillaeglir,” countered the old sailor, “They have more experience. Or Princess Rissaurel, who argued for Marillaeglir to exist in the first place.”
Gimli spared a moment to wonder to himself when he’d gotten familiar enough with elves to recognize the sailor who had just spoken as being Captain Gollaeron’s elder by a fair degree. It was something about the sailor elf’s eyes, perhaps, coupled with the way he readily spoke up even when his words were not in accord with his Captain’s. But in any case, Gimli could tell.
“That may be,” Gollaeron said gently to his crew member, with an embarrassed glance towards Mithiriel, “But some elves are still cautious of female rulers.”
“And of humans, I am sure,” said Mithiriel lightly, no trace of whatever her true thoughts might be present in her voice or pleasant listening expression, “After all, Tol Eressea is an island of elves, not Men.”
The old sailor shook his head, “Could have been either reason, I suppose, your highness. Princess Idril and Princess Nimrodel are the only two females to have even ever been co-rulers of a Kingdom in Tol Eressea, and there were still some who didn’t care for it. And no Kingdom in Aman Proper has ever had a Queen regnant, not even as co-ruler.”
“What about Avallone?” Mithiriel asked with an intrigued smile, tactfully moving past the subject of prejudice against females and/or humans, “Does Marillaeglir now choose the rulers of Avallone and collect the tithes to support its operation?”
“Ah, yes,” Captain Gollaeron answered, seeming a bit taken aback by the thoroughness of Mithiriel’s question, “Although it is not required that the leadership of Avallone change every yen. It is sufficient that the existing ruler be confirmed again.”
“And that ruler is Lord Elrond’s older daughter Andreth?” Legolas asked, having heard Gollaeron’s initial introduction of himself as a captain in Lady Andreth Elrondiel’s Eastern Fleet of Avallone. Gimli remembered that Legolas had known Arwen’s older sister Andreth when he was young, before she was killed by orcs.
“Aye, she is,” said Gollaeron with a fond smile, “Our Lady Andreth has ruled Avallone since the founding of Marillaeglir over a decade ago. She governs with the assistance of her consort Lord Gelmir, who runs the educational programs for the newly arrived. You lot may be missing out on those, but I’m sure that someone will fill you in.”
“And how many fleets does Avallone have?” Mithiriel inquired brightly.
“Four,” Gollaeron informed them with a gratified smile, “First fleet, which is the messenger and diplomatic fleet. Every kingdom has one of those. Second fleet is the fishing and trading fleet. Anderserme has one, as does Marillaeglir now, but Doriath Gaeronwest, Gondolin Eariilye, Eryn Brongalen, and Galador Annun are all landlocked. Only Avallone has an Eastern fleet,” Gollaeron continued proudly, “It is the fleet of ships which welcomes elves coming from Middle Earth. The ships of Avallone’s Eastern Fleet are handpicked from Avallone’s Third Fleet, which is also called Rescue Fleet. Those are the ships that respond to distress calls from other ships, and from coastal towns. Anderserme has its own Rescue Fleet. And now Marillaeglir is in the process of creating a rescue fleet for the western half of Tol Eressea, while Avallone’s Rescue Fleet is being expanded so that it can operate throughout all the shores of the eastern half of Tol Eressea.”
“An immense undertaking, I’m sure,” Mithiriel commented, clearly impressed.
“It is,” Gollaeron agreed, “And we’re having trouble recruiting enough ellyn to keep up with the berthing requirements. No one wants to lower the high standards for acceptance into Rescue Fleet, of course. But they were originally written when there were only a few hundred spots total, such that Avallone could afford to be picky.”
“Perhaps you could satisfy a matter of curiosity for me, Captain Gollaeron,” Erestor interjected, “You mentioned that our host at our destination of Amrun Calaer is to be a Lady Calasse. I had never heard of her before, save that Lord Cirdan the Mariner gave me several packages to deliver into her hands and no other’s.”
“Our Lady Calasse is the eternal maiden of the sea,” the old sailor answered, even though Erestor’s question had been addressed to Gollaeron, “She is that same Lord Cirdan’s betrothed. They have been separated for ages, as she chose to go to Aman with her family, while he chose to stay and wait for his family in the Falas on Middle Earth.”
“Wow,” said Theli, for all of them.
“That is a very well kept secret in Middle Earth,” Erestor put in more tactfully.
“It makes for a favorite romantic theatrical play here,” Gollaeron said apologetically, “the loving uncle, stuck on one side of the city, and his beautiful bride on the other, the both of them too dedicated to the people they lead to have forsaken them for one another.”
“Well, Great Uncle Cirdan has assured us that he will sail,” Mithiriel said bracingly, “So it is at least a play which should have a happy ending.”
“Indeed, your highness,” Captain Gollaeron agreed, and then shaded his eyes and looked out to the West, “Ah, there it is!” he called out, “The Lady Calasse’s harbor of Amun Calaer.”
The first thing Gimli saw was a tall stone light house tower. As their ship sailed closer to the shore, he saw that the tower was one of a number of outbuildings surrounding a large dwelling. The light house tower loomed up from along-side a rambling three four house built of dark, weather-treated wood and pale gray stone. The Lady Calasse’s home reminded Gimli to some extent of Faramir and Eowyn's Emyn Arnen manor home, which had grown hither and thither over the years to accommodate the ever expanding princely family and government of Ithilien. It had the look of a building which had become larger and more complicated than it had ever expected to be, yet had taken to that expansion with good grace and humor. The seaside hilltop did not look worse for its little collection of wooden and stone buildings. If anything, it looked more itself.
As they sailed ever nearer the shore, Gimli saw that the house and its outbuildings were set on shamrock green grass with pine trees rising behind them. Calasse's hill top home with its lighthouse tower was on the far side of a crescent moon bay where purple-white sand met cerulean blue waters. A series of green pine-forested hills rose gently from the long beach. The hills were dotted here and there with one and two story buildings of the same pale gray stone. On a flat plateau above the lowest of the hills, a series of brightly colored pavilions had been set up. When the wind shifted, Gimli could smell the tantalizing scent of roasted meat - not fish! - coming from what looked like heavily laden tables under the pavilions.
A broad light-blue river tumbled over limestone to spill into the nearer side of the bay, creating a natural harbor. Several long wooden docks stretched out into the sea from the river side of the bay. Ships of varying sizes flying different colorful flags bobbed up and down on the docks furthest from the beach. But on the dock nearest the beach a broad swath of the deck was empty, as if to give the ship on which Gimli and his companions were arriving pride of place.
As they approached the dock, and Captain Gollaeron called out instructions to his crew to bring the ship up alongside the dock, Gimli could see that there were people gracefully moving around the pavilions. Some of them looked as they were setting out food and drink. Some appeared to be taking their ease. But most of them, and the most brightly dressed, were gathered at the edge of the plateau, looking at their arriving ship. There were about a hundred elves, all tolled, or so Gimli estimated. That number included eight or so figures standing on the beach, and just now walking towards the dock. Gimli stared at them through the distance. He couldn’t tell for sure from so far away, but he did not think any of the four figures clad in dresses were the Lady Galadriel.
Their ship dropped anchor, and Captain Gollaeron's elves pulled out the same narrow but sturdy wooden bridge and placed it between the ship deck and the dock.
Freedom, within reach! For the first time in months, they would be off a boat which moved with the tides, and onto solid land! And yet, Gimli hesitated. Part of him expected Mithiriel and Theli, their group's experienced sailors, to hop off onto the dock first.
But when he looked back at them, standing hand in hand together behind even Erestor, Theli just nodded towards the deck with a gentle, amused smile.
Legolas stood at Gimli's right, where he'd stood for much of the past one hundred and twenty four years. Legolas took a deep breath, then looked over to Gimli, his laurel green eyes bright with excitement, exultation, and just a touch of apprehension.
"Shall we, brother?" Legolas asked.
"Aye, that bridge is wide enough for the two of us to cross side by side. At least," Gimli couldn’t help but quip, “so long as your head doesn’t get too big.”
“Ha,ha,” retorted Legolas dryly.
Then they walked onto the dock together. Even as they started down the wooden boards towards the beach, with Erestor, Mithiriel and Theli, and Captain Gollaeron following behind, two small figures who had been standing at the base of the dock began to rush towards them.
Legolas, with his sharp eyes, saw them first. He immediately began to laugh and smile. Then Gimli, too, saw who it was and started grinning and laughing in glad welcome. In tandem again, he and Legolas were running now, too.
"Gimli!" Shouted Frodo Baggins joyfully, leaping into the dwarf's strong arms with a cheerful abandon that Gimli had never even dared hope to see from him again.
"Ah, Frodo lad!" Gimli roared in welcome, lifting the hobbit up in a firm embrace and then setting him gently back on the dock, only to then repeat the process with Samwise Gamgee Gardner, who had greeted Legolas first.
Both hobbits were pink-cheeked with health. Though neither looked as young as they when the Fellowship had first met in Imladris, the added years sat lightly upon them. Samwise' blond hair was half-white, but less so than it had been when he had sailed west sixty years ago, just after his wife Rosie's death. The lines of grief which had lined Sam’s face during that sad time were gone, replaced by laugh lines written lightly on skin kissed copper bronze by the sun.
Soon enough Samwise had moved behind Gimli to greet Mithiriel and Theli, and to introduce them to Frodo. Beyond the two hobbits, six other figures were approaching at a more decorous pace. There was Lord Elrond, who looked so much younger than Gimli remembered him that the dwarf thought for a moment that he must be seeing yet another son of Elrond, rather than the famous peredhel himself. Erestor, however, had no trouble recognizing his sworn brother, or the two ellith who walked on either side of him.
The normally reserved elven lord ran forward with a glad cry of "Taminixe!"
“Erestor!” the taller of Elrond’s two female companions shouted back, breaking into a run as well. They met halfway down the dock in a laughing, crying, talking embrace. Their joy was so palpable that it was almost hard to watch, as if all the world were partaking in a very private moment.
Gimli thought Taminxe quite beautiful, even though he realized that the depth of her current joy would have made anyone look beautiful. She was a tall, raven-haired elleth with coal-dark eyes. Her hair was braided back into one long braid which was decorated in much the same way as Gimli’s beard braids, with thick rings of gold. She wore a gauzy sleeveless dress in colors of carnelian and amber. Together with her garnet earrings and the gold arm bands set with rubies that she wore on her muscular arms, she looked like a flame brought to life. A friendly flame, as Mithiriel had described the Lady Taminixe based merely on the miniature around Erestor’s neck, but still not a woman for a faint-hearted man to have married.
“That elf is braver than I ever gave him credit for,” Gimli reflected aloud, as he noticed that Taminixe towered some four inches above her husband, even though Erestor was not a short elf himself, and also wore boots to her thin leather sandals.
“Who, Erestor?” Theli asked in surprise, “He’s always been quite brave. I had to pull an arrow out of his stomach and sew him back together the first time we met. He not only stayed conscious the whole time, but held up a shield to keep both of us safe from the enemy arrows that were still raining down upon us. In fact, that was the first surgery I did while using . . .”
“Please, Green Sword,” Mithiriel interrupted, looking a little green herself, “Save those particular reminisces for when you speak with other healers. They’ll appreciate them more.”
Elrond and Celebrian stopped by Erestor and Taminixe, while the other three figures continued to walk towards Gimli and his friends. At first Gimli thought that the only one of them he recognized was Mithiriel’s ancestress Mithrellas, whom he was about to point out to her, but then he realized that he did know the sole male amongst the three.
His face was very different. The beard was gone, and the hair was a wavy russet instead of a flowing gray or white. The face was many times younger, but it was the same face.
“Gandalf!” Frodo called to the figure happily, “Look, it is Legolas and Gimli, and a daughter of Faramir’s!”
Gandalf, for it was he, chuckled.
To Gimli it was as if the years had just rolled back, and he was meeting his Prince Thorin’s old friend Gandalf for the first time as a young dwarfling with only down for a beard.
“Well met, old friend,” said Gimli, tears in his eyes as he stepped forward to shake the strangely young wizard’s hand, “It is so good to see you again.”
“And you, son of Gloin,” greeted Gandalf, “and of course our favorite archer,” he added, clasping arms with Legolas, “as well as one of my favorite healers,” he continued, with a wink towards Theli. “And of course it is a pleasure to meet my student Faramir’s middle daughter, who is also our Mithrellas’ long-daughter. And, of course, our mutual namesake.”
Mithiriel curtsied prettily. Gimli took a moment to admire how her eyes were exactly the same shape as those of Mithrellas, even as he wondered . . . here were all the other ring bearers who had sailed, save for old Bilbo Baggins. But where was his Lady Galadriel? The dark-haired, gray-eyed elleth clad all in misty gray who stood arm-in-arm with Gandalf was lovely beyond belief, but she was not Galadriel. Nor did she surpass Galadriel in Gimli’s eyes.
“This is my wife,” Gandalf said in introduction of his last companion, “The Vala Nienna, who is also one of my teachers. It was she who first convinced me to travel to Middle Earth.”
“Then we all owe you a debt of gratitude, Lady Nienna,” said Gimli, “For without you, Middle Earth would have been short one of its greatest cultivators of pipe weed. And also overrun by orcs.”
Nienna laughed lightly, but even in that short and soft a sound, Gimli could hear weeping and joy, sorrow and forgiveness and mercy and hope. The kind of hope that could overcome despair. Nienna, Gimli now recalled, was the powerful Vala of pity and mourning. Gimli had not known that a Vala could marry another who was not also one of the Valar. But if a Maia such as Melian could marry an elf such as Elu, and a half-maia such as Luthien could marry a human such as Beren, then why couldn’t a Vala marry a Maia like Gandalf? Or Olorin, as Gimli remembered that Gandalf was called in the West, although he did not seem to mind being addressed by the name the dwarves had given him long ago.
“It is very nice to meet you all in person at last,” said the Vala Nienna with a kind smile, “Be welcome here in the West. Your coming brings joy to so many.”
“The Vala Nienna speaks only the truth,” said Lord Elrond, approaching them now with his wife Celebrian and sworn-brother Erestor on either side of him. “In fact, so many wished to be here to greet the five of you that we had to limit the attendance of this event quite stringently.” Then Elrond smiled at them. It was a light, happy expression that Gimli had never thought to see on such a serious being’s face.
Elrond next greeted Theli with a warm embrace. “Well-met, my dear student . . . and cousin!” the Peredhel said with a dancing smile, “and I see you that have brought our great-granddaughter as well.”
“Let me have a look at you, darling,” the silver-haired Celebrian said to Mithiriel, “I had never dared hope to have any of Arwen’s descendants journey here. You are most welcome, indeed.”
When it was time for Gimli to be introduced to Celebrian, he kissed her hand chivalrously.
“It is an honor, Lady Celebrian,” he said solemnly, “You are like the moon to your mother’s sunlight and starlight. My life is brighter for having met you.”
Celebrian smiled at him, highlighting her resemblance not just to her ethereal mother but also to her practical father whom Gimli had come to respect as well.
“My mother is waiting to greet you, Gimli son of Gloin,” said Celebrian, “But my husband Elrond, who is also her healer, felt it would be best for her not to stand in the sun waiting on the tides. She instead bides with Lady Calasse our host and Master Bilbo Baggins, on the cool hill overlooking the sea where a repast has been prepared for all of you.”
“No fish at that feast, right, Bri?” Erestor asked his foster-sister Celebrian with a trace of anxiety.
Celebrian laughed, “No, Erestor. No fish. I nearly had to lock several cooks in a shed to achieve that feat! But there are no fish or shell fish dishes on the menu.”
“So instead of locking them in a shed,” Lord Elrond jested with an arm around his wife’s slender shoulders, “My Celebrian had our Naneth Galadriel talk to them.”
“Mother is so very effective without even having to shout or threaten,” Celebrian agreed, with a charming, dimpled smile.
With that, Celebrian began to effortlessly but effectively herd Gimli and his companions, her friend Taminixe, and the ringbearers and their wives all down the dock, over the beach, and up the shady path towards the gaily decorated pavilions.
Notes:
End Note: My short stories about Celeborn and Galadriel’s courtship, “Celeborn’s Lady,” can be found on AO3 here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/331096/chapters/534289
Chapter 16: Welcome Travelers Chapter 3
Notes:
A/N: The elven OC Queen Minaethiel, Thranduil's wife, who appears in this chapter and subsequent chapters of this story belongs to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and has been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
Quote:
“`And what gift would a Dwarf ask of the Elves? ' said Galadriel turning to Gimli.
`None, Lady,' answered Gimli. `It is enough for me to have seen the Lady of the Galadhrim, and to have heard her gentle words.'
`Hear all ye Elves! ' she cried to those about her. `Let none say again that Dwarves are grasping and ungracious! Yet surely, Gimli son of Glóin, you desire something that I could give? Name it, I bid you! You shall not be the only guest without a gift.'
`There is nothing, Lady Galadriel,' said Gimli, bowing low and stammering. `Nothing, unless it might be – unless it is permitted to ask, nay, to name a single strand of your hair, which surpasses the gold of the earth as the stars surpass the gems of the mine. I do not ask for such a gift. But you commanded me to name my desire.'
The Elves stirred and murmured with astonishment, and Celeborn gazed at the Dwarf in wonder, but the Lady smiled. 'It is said that the skill of the Dwarves is in their hands rather than in their tongues ' she said; `yet that is not true of Gimli. For none have ever made to me a request so bold and yet so courteous. And how shall I refuse, since I commanded him to speak? But tell me, what would you do with such a gift? '
`Treasure it, Lady,' he answered, `in memory of your words to me at our first meeting. And if ever I return to the smithies of my home, it shall be set in imperishable crystal to be an heirloom of my house, and a pledge of good will between the Mountain and the Wood until the end of days.'
Then the Lady unbraided one of her long tresses, and cut off three golden hairs, and laid them in Gimli's hand. `These words shall go with the gift,' she said. `I do not foretell, for all foretelling is now vain: on the one hand lies darkness, and on the other only hope. But if hope should not fail, then I say to you, Gimli son of Glóin, that your hands shall flow with gold, and yet over you gold shall have no dominion.” – J.R.R. Tolkien
“The sound of [Galadriel’s] footsteps was like a stream falling gently downhill over cool stones in the quiet of night.”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the RingExcerpt from last chapter:
Celebrian began to effortlessly but effectively herd Gimli and his companions, her friend Taminixe, and the ringbearers and their wives all down the dock, over the beach, and up the shady path towards the gaily decorated pavilions.
Chapter Text
On their way up the path, Legolas was ambushed by two ellyn and two ellith.
“Mother!” Legolas greeted the shorter elleth, who had blue eyes and blond hair just a shade darker than that of her youngest son. Gimli thought that the taller male elf with ebony hair and green eyes must be Legolas’ oldest blood brother, Thandrin, the former crown prince of the Greenwood. The two golden-haired and blue-eyed elves, who both closely resembled their royal father Thranduil, must be the twins Lithidhren, Legolas’ middle brother, and Eryntheliel, his only sister.
Gimli watched this reunion with tears in his own eyes, thinking of all the years he’d been lucky to have his mother and sister close by him, including many of his years in Aglarond. He stayed near Legolas’ side as the rest of their party moved on, waiting patiently for Legolas to greet his family. Then Gimli’s attention was drawn to a narrower path, one leading down to the beach from the direction of the forested hills far above. A pleasantly chill wind brought the smell of golden mallorn flowers in the sweet twilight of spring to Gimli’s nose. Being as it was clearly summer and there were no mallorn trees in sight, that was more than a little odd.
No one else seemed to have noticed, but Gimli’s attention was now fixed on the cool darkness of the forest path, his heart suddenly racing. Soon enough, his patience was richly rewarded, for down the green-shrouded path materialized his Lady Galadriel.
She was thinner and more fragile than she had been on Middle Earth, yet Gimli was still overwhelmed by her grace and beauty. Light-headed, and almost unable to speak, he observed with blessed relief that his luminous Lady appeared nowhere near as worried for the future as she had been when Gimli first met her during the Quest.
Instead of pure white, his Lady wore a shift of pale opalescent pink, with an overrobe of a silvery blue, its folds elegantly clasped beneath her breast by a large moonstone brooch. Her waves of golden and silver hair were mostly loose, save for several braids pulling her hair away from her face, in much the same style as Mithiriel. Galadriel wore no crown or other jewelry, not even a ring, but her smile was radiant.
“Welcome to the West, Gimli son of Gloin,” she said in her beautiful, echoing voice. Now that Gimli knew what the voice of a Vala sounded like, that was the only thing which he could compare Galadriel’s voice to. Her voice was less reverberating than that of Nienna, but still . . . it was a voice of great power.
Gimli knelt and kissed her pale, delicate hand, feeling awed and grateful beyond words to have the opportunity to see her again.
She gently raised him to his feet, and said, “We are honored to have you here amongst us, my Champion." In her eyes, Gimli could see her admiration and even awe that he had been bold enough to journey West. To be so esteemed by one such as her nearly moved him to tears.
“The honor is mine, my Lady,” Gimli assured her, his heart in his throat, “I could never thank you for all that you’ve done for me. But I am glad to have the chance to be here so that you may call on me whenever you have need.”
Galadriel just smiled again in reply, but her expression said so many things all at the once. Gimli had sailed in large part due to his friendship with Legolas, aye, but he would have sailed yet again just to bring that smile to this Lady’s face. More, Gimli had never seen her smile like that before, not for anyone save her close family members and Gandalf.
Gimli reached into his belt pouch, and pulled out a gift wrapped in white silk and tied with one of Mithiriel’s spare sea-change blue hair ribbons. He handed it to Galadriel with a simple, “I made this for you.”
Galadriel accepted the gift with surprised pleasure, carefully untying the ribbon and unwrapping the white silk package. It contained a delicate chain of mithril on which was strung a round, flat blue moonstone, flanked on either side by a diamond and a rose quartz, slightly smaller in size but matching in shape. It could be worn as a necklace, or as a circlet. Gimli had also made a matching ring of mithril and moonstone and matching earrings of cascading diamonds, rose quartzes, and moonstones.
“Beautiful work, my Champion,” Galadriel admired, looking down to meet Gimli’s eyes. He was unaccountably pleased that her expression actually resembled the one he’d seen on Mithiriel’s face, or Arwen’s, when such ladies had received gifts that they fancied particularly pretty and suiting.
Galadriel honored Gimli by immediately putting on his gifts. She was accompanied by two other elves whom Gimli hadn’t taken much notice of at first. The one to Galadriel’s right was an elleth, but one dressed in discreet armor, with a well-worn sword at her hip. It was her to whom Galadriel turned for assistance with donning the chain as a circlet, and to hold the silk package so that the Lady could put on her new ring and earrings.
“You look lovely,” Gimli complimented Galadriel when she had finished, “But then, you already did. I am proud beyond measure that the jewelry I made for you seems to suit.”
“You have an excellent eye for form and color, and metal-working skills worthy of celebration,” Galadriel complimented him, “In fact, I’m really looking forward to seeing what you can do with the furnaces in Valmar, Tirion, and Anderserme, and with some alloys that Master Ingoloren of Imladris has been working on developing via correspondence with some of the alchemists and engineers on my staff.”
As Galadriel spoke, quickly and excitedly, of those things which interested her, Gimli saw her for the first time as more than just a Lady of unearthly power, to be admired and cherished. For the first time, he began to see her also as a being with whom he had enough in common to one day imagine calling a friend, beyond the chivalrous relationship of champion to lady. Gimli thought, too of what Erestor had told him of the way that Galadriel was so determined to help others reach their full potential. Gimli admired that trait in his lady, it reminded him of the way that dwarven jewel-smiths cut, shaped, and polished gems and rock formations in such a way as to best reveal their full beauty, in all its myriad facets.
But Galadriel was also a being of unearthly power, even if she had willingly given up the lion’s share of it. Gimli imagined that she must still be able to read much of what he thought in his eyes, for she smiled at him again. But this time the smile had something of shyness in it, as well as hope and amusement. It reminded Gimli of nothing so much as the first moment he’d realized, in this Lady’s then-home of Lothlorien, that Legolas might someday become a friend worth doing anything for.
“There is time for nearly all things in the West,” said Galadriel, tactfully acknowledging Gimli’s thoughts, “though you – and Legolas – will be much in demand for some time before you can make your way to Valmar, where he can begin his apprenticeship with the scholars there. And where you, if you wish, may accept an offer of tutelage from my teacher the Vala Aule, your Mahal. But that,” she said with an empathetic smile, “is a topic for another time. At this moment, I am remiss in introducing you to my companions. And I have a gift to give you as well.”
Galadriel gestured gracefully to her right, where stood the warrior-like elleth with hair just a shade paler than the golden strands of Galadriel’s hair. “Gimli, this is Ilcetiel. She is one of my oldest friends.”
“I’m her bodyguard,” Ilcetiel interrupted Galadriel brusquely, “And whether or not I trust you to guard her on your own is yet to be decided.”
Galadriel gave Gimli the slightly embarrassed smile of someone who could do nothing but simply put up with the frustrating antics of a loved one. It was a smile that Gimli had seen, from time to time, on Faramir’s face in respect of Aragorn’s protectiveness, or his friend Dervorin’s antics. Or on Gimli’s own face, if he happened to look in a mirror when Legolas said something particularly daring.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, Mistress Ilcetiel,” Gimli greeted her warmly, “I am sure that I can pass any test you choose to devise.”
The ellon standing to Galadriel’s left burst into cheerful laughter. Galadriel gave him a fond glance. She even looked as if she might join in his mirth, save that she was too respectful of the still on-edge Ilcetiel's dignity.
The ellon’s identity Gimli had no difficulty discerning. While he had raven hair like Elrohir and Elladan Elrondion and his silver-haired father’s strong jaw line, he also had his mother’s cornflower blue eyes.
“My younger son, Sadorchuron,” Galadriel introduced him.
The ellon reached out a hand to shake Gimli’s, saying as he did so, “Call me Sador, please. Nearly everyone does, as the other’s a bit of a mouthful.”
Sador, Gimli noted, had the situational awareness of a good peacekeeper. He didn’t have the battlefield-honed alertness of Ilcetiel, or of Legolas or Gimli himself for that matter, but he carried a sword like he knew how to use it. Gimli would feel safe trusting this elf at his back in a fracas, but not in a situation where they were outnumbered and the enemy arrows already flying in the air. He found himself glad that Galadriel had Ilcetiel guarding her back, even if the other elleth didn’t think much of Gimli yet. Gimli didn’t find that particularly insulting. Ilcetiel didn’t know him yet, after all. And Gimli would be more than a bit skeptical of a stranger asserting the right to defend Galadriel if he were Ilcetiel, too.
“‘Ceti,” Galadriel said sternly to Ilcetiel, who reluctantly handed her lady a flat wooden box about the size of Gimli’s hand.
“For you, Gimli,” said Galadriel, giving him the box.
He opened it to reveal a gleaming gold key, as bright and graceful as polished mallorn wood, the roundish top of which was inlaid with rainbows of precious and semiprecious gems in concentric circles.
"Turn the inner circle so that the moonstone there aligns with the aquamarine in the outer circle,” Galadriel instructed, and then there was a nearly silent click as Gimli did so and the teeth of the key changed configurations, “And now your key will open my home in Doriath Gaeronwest.”
Gimli looked up at her in awed surprise, remembering now Celeborn’s words about guest rights.
Galadriel smiled fondly back at him. “Good. Now align the ruby and the sapphire gems, and that will open the door to my townhouse in Tirion. The diamond and the black opal – my town home in Valmar. The citrine and the tanzanite – my house in Anderserme. The rose quartz and the aventurine - my estate in Eryn Brongalen. The amethyst and the blue topaz – my apartments in New Imladris. The pearl and the emerald – my town home in Alqualonde. The opal and the garnet – my talan in Galador Annun. And the amber and chaorite – my house in Marillaeglir.”
Part of Gimli wanted to protest that this was too fine a gift, but the knowledge he had gained of Galadriel from the friendship he had developed with Celeborn stayed his tongue.
Instead he said only, “Thank you, my Lady. I am honored by your faith in me. I will always strive to be worthy of it.”
“Of that I have no doubt,” said Galadriel with another inspiring smile. Then she turned her attention to Legolas and his family.
“Welcome to the West, my young Cousin,” Galadriel greeted Legolas in carefully measured silvery tones. His Lady, Gimli observed, seemed aware of the power of her voice, and seemed to try to modulate that intensity in most of her interactions.
“Thank you for your kind welcome, Lady Galadriel,” Legolas replied, every inch the prince, “And for your many kindnesses to my dwarven brother and to me.”
“It has been my pleasure, always, cousin,” said Galadriel. She then nodded in the direction of Legolas’ immediate family, as if to remind him that he was remiss in performing the proper introductions of his mother and siblings to Gimli. Galadriel being Legolas’ distant cousin by both blood and marriage, she was undoubtedly already familiar with his family.
“Gimli,” began Legolas, “This is my mother, Queen Minaethiel, and my sister, Princess Eryntheliel. And these are my brothers, Prince Thandrin the elder and Prince Lithidhren the younger.” To someone who didn’t know him well, Legolas would seem completely calm. But Gimli knew Legolas well enough to know that his elven brother was very anxious indeed that this introduction go well, and that Gimli and his family would grow to like one another.
Remembering Legolas’ courage in going to Erebor with Gimli and meeting his parents, who had once had good reason to dislike elves, Gimli bowed politely to Minaethiel and her children, and said, “Your grace. Your highness. You have a fine son and brother. It is my honor to call him my brother, and to join him in his travels.”
Minaethiel and Eryntheliel curtsied back to him, even though such a show of respect went far beyond what custom dictated. Raven-haired Thandrin offered his arm for Gimli to clasp in a warrior’s greeting, with a challenging look in his emerald eyes.
Keeping in mind the one hundred and twenty-two years he’d had with Legolas while Thandrin and his siblings had been stuck in the West with nothing to do but worry, Gimli clasped Thandrin’s offered arm with no posturing of his own. Golden-blond Lithidhren offered an arm clasp as well, but there was a dancing spark of amusement and even friendly welcome in his sapphire-blue eyes. It was strange to see an elf who so strongly physically resembled Thranduil with such an easy way about him. After he got to know Lithidhren better, Gimli would be even more honored by the way in which the normally reserved elf had welcomed Gimli into the inner circle of those he loved and trusted from this very first day.
“We are most pleased to make your acquaintance, Gimli son of Gloin,” said Minaethiel in a sweet but not at all submissive voice.
‘This one,’ Gimli thought to himself, ‘Would have been no mere arm-candy to Thranduil, but a true consort. No wonder he struggled then, without her.’ Over one hundred and twenty years Gimli had known Thranduil the elven King of the Wood, and in the one moment after meeting his wife, Gimli understood more of that elf and his sorrow than he had ever understood before.
“We thank you, Gimli, for your service to Middle Earth,” Minaethiel continued, “and we are grateful for your strong friendship with our Legolas.”
“It has been my pleasure, your Grace. Always,” Gimli replied.
“Well, not always,” Legolas teased, “But almost always.”
With an amused glance for her youngest son, Minaethiel inclined her head in agreement, “Brothers argue. All siblings do, whether they are bound by blood or oaths.” Looking lovingly to her youngest son, Minaethiel gently corrected, “Do note, Las-nin. My title here is only princess. The title “Queen” is reserved only for the wives of the currently reigning Kings.”
“And for Queens regnant,” said Lithidhren, at the same time his twin sister said, “And for Queen Idril, when she ruled Gondolin Earrilye with King Tuor as her co-ruler, and Queen Nimloth, now that she rules Galador Annun with cousin Amroth.”
Minaethiel, with the long-suffering but proud air of a parent beset by clever children, merely nodded her acquiescence that it was so.
Then came one of those awkward pauses, such as happen when people who don’t know one another very well and people who haven’t seen loved ones in a long find themselves together. During the silence, Galadriel faltered. She caught herself against Ilcetiel’s side almost immediately, but it was noticeable and worrying to Gimli. And to Legolas, whose laurel-green eyes had followed Gimli’s gaze with only an instant’s pause.
“My Lady,” Gimli offered, “May I escort you to . . . wherever it is we’re to go?”
To the discontent of Ilcetiel, whose ice-eyed glare rested on Gimli for the rest of the walk, Galadriel accepted Gimli’s offer. With Gimli’s arm held up halfway to his shoulder, it was the perfect height for Galadriel to lean on as they walked up the rest of the hill towards the colorful pavilions with their array of appetizing offerings.
Legolas, with his mother on his arm, walked behind Gimli and Galadriel. Thandrin immediately took his sister’s arm. Lithidhren politely offered the tense Ilcetiel his arm, which Gimli had no doubt she accepted only reluctantly. Galadriel’s son Sador brought up the rear, whistling a cheerful little tune to himself. He seemed an easy-going sort to Gimli. The dwarf wondered to himself what Celeborn would think of a son with such relaxed manners!
Chapter 17: Welcome Travelers Chapter 4
Notes:
A/N: The elven OCs Queen Minaethiel (Thranduil's wife), Queen Felith (Oropher's wife), Veassen, Baraves (Galadhon's wife), and Neldiel (Celepharn's wife) who appear in this chapter and possibly also subsequent chapters of this story belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
Quotes:
“But perhaps you could call [the Lady Galadriel] perilous because she's so strong in herself. You , you could dash yourself to pieces on her, like a ship on a rock, or drown yourself, like a Hobbit in a river, but neither rock nor river would be to blame.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers, Samwise speaking of Galadriel
“In women, courage is often mistaken for insanity.” – Iron Jawed Angels
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
There were three pavilions set up on the flat grassy hill-top overlooking the beach where the cerulean water met the pale purple-and-white sand. All of the pavilions boasted tables groaning with foods and dishes popular on Middle Earth. There were hobbit specialties, dwarven feast day foods, and of course popular elvish dishes, including some that Gimli knew for a fact were Legolas’ childhood favorites.
Long tables and comfortable outdoor chairs were set up under each pavilion, as were large earthenware tubs filled with ice in which rested pitchers of chilled fruit-infused water, lemonade, ale, cider, and some kind of wine mixed with bits of fruit. Galadriel led Gimli unerringly to the furthest away pavilion, where they found Bilbo Baggins holding court from an armchair set at the head of the first of several long tables.
Gimli made sure that Galadriel was comfortably settled while her son went to fetch her a cool drink. Then he turned his attention to old Bilbo, whom he’d met once as a young dwarf when he and his father Gloin passed through the Shire on their way to finish negotiating a settlement with the Men of the Blue Mountains.
“Uncle Bilbo,” said Frodo, “this is Gimli, the son of Gloin.”
The white-haired Bilbo peered at Gimli for a moment, and then nodded.
“Gloin’s son, eh?,” old Bilbo greeted him, “And Oin’s nephew? Aye, I met you when you were a young thing, with a beard still too short for proper braids. You were a polite young dwarf, not surprising given your family. Your father and uncle were excellent companions. They knew how to be serious when times called for it, but they knew how to celebrate, as well. How is old Gloin?”
Frodo, who had likely been briefed on Gloin’s death by someone or other, gave Gimli an apologetic look. Gandalf meanwhile silently warned Gimli over Bilbo’s head to keep his answer light and pleasant.
Gimli decided that it wouldn’t do any harm to give a vaguely misleading, if true, answer to that. “He was doing very well, last I saw him,” Gimli replied. That was true enough. Gloin had been at peace, at one with his ancestors under the mountain.
Galadriel excused herself to see to some matter involving fish and a cook, Ilcetiel following in her wake. Gimli remained the focus of Bilbo's attention, with Frodo and Sam on one side of him and Sador on the other.
“And Balin?” old Bilbo inquired querulously, “How fares Balin?”
That was a harder question to give any kind of positive answer to, for Balin had died a violent death in Moria during an attack by orcs and a balrog. Gimli wasn’t sure what to say. It was a death that he’d never completely made his own peace with, in part because Balin had invited his kinsman Gloin’s son to join on the expedition to Moria. Gimli had turned down Balin’s offer because his father had needed him to help supervise the mines King Dain had given Gloin charge of, and because Lady Dis had pleaded with Gimli not to go. Gimli opened his mouth to answer, hoping that something would come to him, but nothing did. Legolas' foot under the table tapped gently against Gimli's boot, an expression of support and simultaneously an offer to take over the narrative if Gimli wanted him to. All Gimli had to do was tap back.
It was Mithiriel, now approaching with Theli and a decently sized escort of other elves and one man, who came up with an answer for Bilbo’s question.
“Lord Balin has passed to the halls of his ancestors, Mr. Baggins, but he will be remembered forever in song and story,” Mithiriel explained to Bilbo helpfully.
Gimli sometimes found Mithiriel’s near-pathological urge to smooth over difficult points in conversations to be annoying, but this was not one of those times. He’d had no idea how to answer that question without saying something that might upset the venerable old hobbit!
“Ah, well, he wasn’t the youngest dwarf when I met him,” Bilbo said philosophically, but with such a genuinely sad expression on his face that Gimli knew that Bilbo must mourn Balin deeply and sincerely, “We’ll raise a toast to old Balin tonight,” Bilbo continued, before peering suspiciously at Mithiriel, ”And who are you, young Lady?” he demanded.
“This is Mithiriel, Uncle Bilbo,” Samwise reminded him patiently, “You remember, Frodo and I told you about the Steward of Gondor? Faramir? This is his daughter.”
“The one who’s married to an elf?” Bilbo asked.
“Yes, I’m that one,” Mithiriel agreed, with a bemused smile.
“Married to an elf,” Bilbo muttered to himself, “Such a strange world we live in.”
“It truly is,” agreed the dark-haired Man who had followed in Mithiriel and Theli’s wake, his blue eyes laughing.
“Gimli, Mr. Baggins,” Mithiriel said, “Allow me to introduce you to my many-times grandfather, Prince Tuor of Gondolin Earrilye, and his wife, the Princess Idril. They currently serve as Gondolin Earrilye's ambassadors to Marillaeglir.”
Galadriel, rejoining them with Elrond at her side, turned her attention to Mithiriel.
Gimli had seen Faramir’s middle daughter face emperors and kings without even the slightest hint of shyness. She had been bold as brass even when confronting evil blood mages and angry orcs. And yet now, before Galadriel, she was speechless, her gray-green eyes wide with wonder.
“Well-met, Long-daughter,” said Galadriel, “It is good to have the opportunity to greet you in person.”
“You are the one who first taught me . . .” Mithiriel caught herself before admitting to being a magic user, and made up something more normal, “how to speak mind-to-mind.”
“I am,” Galadriel agreed, her cornflower blue eyes twinkling with fond amusement, “You have a very ‘loud’ mental voice. You called out to me from even across the sea. That, and I knew your grandmother Finduilas,” Galadriel’s voice saddened and softened as she said that last, and even more as she added, “You are part of the future she sacrificed so much to make possible.”
“Not all of her sacrifices were well-considered ones,” noted Mithiriel carefully.
“Do not be too hasty to judge her,” advised Galadriel, “Being able to see the future is a great burden. One which has caused far more powerful beings than your grandmother to make much more cruel and foolhardy choices than committing one crime against a loved one.”
“And I, for one, would not have wanted to see the end of the Third Age without your father Faramir,” Gandalf added.
“And we are deeply grateful, and joyful, to have you here with us, granddaughter,” said Elrond, concluding the discussion of that topic.
More beautiful, powerful elves arrived, and more introductions were made. Gimli found his head whirling long before the end of them. In addition to Tuor and Idril, there was their tall, blond, muscular son, Earendil, and his wife, gray-eyed and raven-haired Elwing, who were Lord Elrond’s parents, as well as Theli’s uncle and aunt.
There was the famous second age elven King, Ereinion Gil-galad, who was the Lady Galadriel’s nephew and Elrond’s cousin, as well as being Elrond’s foster-brother and the current king of the Tol Eressean kingdom of Anderserme. The auburn haired elleth beside Ereinion was his sweet wife, Queen Lelien. Ereinion’s flame-haired bodyguard Nallos Canyavasion had known Theli when he was only an elfling and again during the War of the Last Alliance, at the end of which both Ereinion and Nallos had lost their lives.
“I am so glad to see you again, Nallos!” Theli greeted.
“And I you, little squirrel! However, I must confess myself near overcome with amazement that you managed to get this far without dying!” said Nallos, but he smiled as he said it, and held Theli tightly against him.
Then Gimli lost track of them for a time after Theli introduced Nallos to Mithiriel. The three of them began walking and speaking of Nallos’ family, including his beautiful daughter Tauriel, the Chief Groom at Imladris.
No sooner had Theli and Mithiriel disappeared with one familiar stranger than Erestor appeared with three more.
In addition to his wife Taminixe, Erestor introduced them to his parents, his charming father Arandil and dainty white-blond Elain his mother. Erestor also introduced them to the grandmother he’d met just an hour before, the graceful dark-eyed Laureamoriel, herself the wife of Glorfindel the Balrog-Slayer.
“You have a wonderful grandson, Lady Laureamoriel,” Gimli complimented her, “Although your husband Lord the Captain Glorfindel has at times a low and lamentable sense of humor!”
Laureamoriel laughed and agreed. Then she sat down on the other side of Galadriel, whom she had served during her first life and again since Galadriel’s return to the West.
“Do go and enjoy your grandson, Laurea,” Galadriel gently but firmly urged her, and Laureamoriel obeyed, going off to follow Erestor. Laureamoriel returned to them a half hour or so later, claiming that Erestor and Taminixe had retired to their chamber in Calasse’s house for a rest.
The sparkle of mischief in Legolas’ laurel green eyes when he heard that had said all too clearly that Legolas wished to make it clear to Gimli just what was meant by “a rest.” As if Gimli didn’t know perfectly well! But fortunately, surrounded by so many famous and just-met family members, Legolas refrained.
Indeed, all of Gimli’s companions were on their best behavior. Mithiriel shone, figuratively and quite literally in her shimmering sea-change blue dress. Theli managed to act the great lord while retaining much of his own native charm. Gimli wondered if any of them were as tired of these endless new introductions as he was!
Thankfully, one or another of the elves hired from the village by Lady Calasse to help with this party kept bringing Gimli plates of food. And what food! Moist and succulent roasted boar with onions and carrots, sweet potato pudding, rich mushroom and venison stew, warm apple pie, and a number of the spicy egg and vegetarian dishes he’d become quite fond of during visits to Legolas in Ithilien-en-Edhil.
Most of the dwarven dishes, such as the roasted boar and the sweet potato pudding, were very tasty but not quite as Gimli remembered them from Erebor and Aglarond. Although, after months of sea fare, they were very good indeed. But the mushroom stew, at least, was exactly as he remembered it. Gimli applied himself to his plates with gusto in between all of the new introductions and pleasant but slightly awkward nice-to-meet-you-elf-who-is-an-intimate-stranger-of-my-friend conversations that kept occurring.
Gimli would have felt alone, surrounded by all of these elven reunions, save that he was surrounded at all times by some combination of Legolas, Frodo, Sam, Theli, Mithiriel, and Galadriel, or in the absence of the lady herself, someone from her retinue. So even when Legolas was completely swept up in the deluge of newly-met family members, Gimli was not left to his own devices. And Legolas did have a great deal of family here in the West!
In addition to Legolas’ mother and siblings, Gimli met Legolas’ paternal grandfather Oropher, who looked much like his grandson Thandrin, and Oropher’s wife Felith, who resembled Thranduil, Eryntheliel, and Lithidhren in coloring. Oropher and Felith were the currently reigning King and Queen of Eryn Brongalen, and so they were trailed by bodyguards. Gimli didn’t catch the guards’ names, but both were remembered fondly by Legolas from his elflinghood.
“Gimli, this is Veassen Taldurion,” Legolas introduced the shorter, chestnut-haired Eryn Brongalen guard, “He is serving as my Daerada Oropher’s bodyguard. He is Cellillien’s father.”
Gimli knew Cellillien, or Celli, as she was often called, quite well. She often served as Legolas’ bodyguard in Ithilien-en-Edhil and Gondor, when he or his foster-brother Thalion deemed that Legolas needed one.
“You have a lovely and capable daughter, Sir Veassen,” Gimli complimented the elven officer, whom he assumed would likely have been knighted at some point, “She has to be, to put up with this one’s antics!” he added, giving Legolas a friendly slap on the back.
“I am not that bad,” Legolas complained, only a little aggrieved, “And in any case, Ada is far worse!”
“Of that, I am sure!,” Veassen agreed emphatically, “But I cannot imagine my little daughter, a soldier!”
“Everything changed after you and mother and my siblings died,” said Legolas softly, “Celli changed too. She wanted to do something to honor you, and she trained hard. With Baeraeriel, mostly, at first, but then she went through the army training.”
“I cannot imagine Thranduil doing anything but trying to protect his gwador’s daughter,” said Oropher, Thranduil’s father. “An elf cannot guard a King if that King insists on keeping the elf safe.”
“He can, if by keeping her safe he stays away from places where a King oughtn’t go,” Gimli pointed out levelly, “That’s how Celli managed Legolas, mostly. Although she was a pretty blade herself when we truly faced trouble.”
“Ada left her in the North to guard my aunt and cousins when Greenwood’s army went to Dol Guldur,” Legolas explained, “but she was often one of his guards, on any other given day. She said that the danger with Ada was not so much keeping him safe once he’d found danger, but keeping him from searching it out in the first place.”
The older elves appeared disinclined to agree. Legolas’ siblings exchanged looks, and then Eryntheliel announced, “What I am amazed by, Legolas-nin, is that you, Cellilien and Rochendil actually implemented my messenger bird system. I was so far away from getting the owls to agree to cooperate . . .”
“Your death changed that, too,” said Legolas compassionately, “The whole forest mourned you. They did it for you,” he looked down, and then said quietly, only loudly enough for Eryntheliel, Lithidhren, Thandrin, and Gimli to hear, “I did my best to be a good heir to Ada, for all of us. At least until I couldn’t anymore.”
Gimli rolled his eyes and kicked Legolas, at the same time that Thandrin smacked Legolas’ thigh, Lithidhren flicked his ear, and Eryntheliel scolded him.
“The sea longing isn’t a weakness, Legolas!” she said firmly.
“Eryntheliel!” A very elegant silver-blond elleth scolded, “Keep your voice down. You may voluntarily spend most of your days with birds and deer, and why your mother allows that I’ll never know, but you should at least behave with propriety at formal events!”
“This is a picnic, Naneth Baraves,” Galadriel interjected calmly, “Not a formal event. But perhaps you would be willing to give Lady Calasse your opinion of what could be done better at the next reception for returning war heroes.”
The elegant elleth, whom Gimli now recalled had been introduced to him as Celeborn’s mother, raised one regal eyebrow and said to Galadriel coolly, “Daughter, please tell me that you are not planning to greet any more of our returning kin in this goat field!”
Gimli narrowed his eyes at the refined beauty, but before he had a chance to decide what he could say that would be sufficiently polite to be spoken to a lady but at the same time firm enough to make this lady regret berating his Lady Galadriel, Legolas’ mother spoke up.
“I think that the Lady Calasse’s seaside estate makes for a charmingly quaint venue, Aunt Baraves,” Minaethiel politely disagreed, “But perhaps with your aid and suggestions, Calasse could decorate and accouter her property even more grandly?”
Galadriel’s mother-by-law sighed, “Well, that at least should not be hard. Very well.”
Once she was well out of hearing distance, a charming elleth nearly as tiny as Mithiriel broke into delighted laughter. Her beautiful blue-green eyes sparkling, she told Minaethiel and Galadriel, “That was a terrible thing to do to poor Calasse!”
Minathiel raised one palm in the elegant elven version of a shrug, and put her arm around the nearer arm of the rather taken aback Legolas.
Galadriel serenely explained, “Calasse will not mind, Neldiel. She is older than Naneth Baraves, and quite skilled at listening only to what she wants to hear.” Turning her attention to Eryntheliel, Galadriel smiled, and encouraged the younger elleth, “Chin up, Eryntheliel. Life in this family requires courage.”
“I prefer time spent with my birds and deer to being berated by the elder generations, to be honest,” replied Legolas’ sister, before hastily amending, “Present company excepted, of course, Cousin Galadriel, Daernana Neldiel, and Nana. Nor are Daernaneth Felith or cousin Nimloth difficult either, thank the Valar.”
“And we were all in agreement, including Felith and Nimloth,” said Legolas’ animated great-grandmother Princess Neldiel to Gimli and Legolas, “That there would not be a repeat of the grand and overwhelming cavalcade which greeted Galadriel, Elrond and poor Frodo and Bilbo in Avallone upon their arrival after the end of your Ring War.”
“I was there, too,” Gandalf pointed out, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
“Yes, but you almost seemed to be enjoying yourself, Olorin,” Neldiel disputed, “While everyone else looked like deer brought to bay!” With a mischievous toss of ebony curls and a gesture towards Galadriel, Neldiel elaborated, “Even you, my cousin the ice-maiden!”
“I had not expected all of the spectacle, that much is true,” Galadriel conceded, “And we were all very tired.”
“I’m just as glad to have been spared all of that,” Legolas admitted, “Nor do I think that Adar would particularly appreciate it, either.”
“Thranduil may just have to grin and bear it,” Galadriel warned, “Keeping the welcoming party for the two of you and your companions small and informal we were able to more-or-less manage, but Thranduil – and most likely my husband Celeborn – will be sailing with the vast majority of the remaining elves of Middle Earth. They’ll likely need a harbor as large as Avallone’s to accommodate that fleet.”
“I’m sure that we can arrange something better than the Disaster at Avallone,” Neldiel disagreed.
“Perhaps,” allowed Galadriel, faintly amused. The expression on her face said, ‘I dare you to prove me wrong’ to Neldiel, and Gimli got the impression that his Lady hoped that Legolas’ petite great-grandmother would do just that!
Gimli noted to himself that while Neldiel appeared to have a friendly if somewhat one-sided rivalry of sorts with Galadriel, Legolas’ mother and sister seemed quite comfortable with Gimli’s lady.
Galadriel met Gimli’s eyes, and explained, “Minaethiel once did me the honor of serving as one of my ladies-in-waiting. She and Eryntheliel are frequent visitors to my home in the Lorien Gardens and to my apartments in New Imladris.”
"And we are all the older twin sisters of male twin brothers," Erytheliel added, with a charmingly dimpled smile.
“And my poor twin has three brothers on this side of the sea to manage now,” Lithidhren teased his sister, “However will you manage, Eryn-nin?”
“Legolas will be busy enough getting acclimated to Eryn Brongalen for a time, I’m sure,” said Thandrin, Legolas’ oldest brother. “Eryntheliel will not need to do much in the way of arranging amusements – more arranging rest for Legolas in between them!”
“Actually,” Lord Elrond put in delicately, “Legolas has been selected for an apprenticeship with loremaster Failon in Valmar.”
A startled silence reigned for a moment amongst all of Legolas’ kin save for Lithidhren.
“You always were a bright elfling, Legolas,” Lithidhren complimented his only younger brother, “It makes sense that someone would take note of it.”
“Those apprenticeships are highly competitive, Legolas-nin,” Minaethiel explained to her son, and to Gimli, who hadn’t been aware of that.
“You can stay with me in Valmar if you wish, Legolas,” Lithdhren offered, belatedly adding, “And you as well, Gimli. I have plenty of space in the town house I lease from cousin Galadriel in the city.”
During a break from the introductions and friendly if sometimes stilted conversations, Gimli got up to fill a plate with fourth and fifth helpings of his own choosing. Rather to his surprise, it was Galadriel’s son Sador who was serving the mushroom and venison stew.
“The ellon on duty for this station was too intent on flirting with the pretty brunette over by the cold drinks,” Sador explained with a grin, “So I sent him over there to help her, before he dropped steaming hot mushroom and venison stew on someone important.”
Gimli didn’t know quite what to make of that. It wasn’t what he’d expected of a royal lord. He liked Sador all the better for it, though.
“Well, if you’re serving the stew, friend Sador, I’ll have another helping,” Gimli said, holding out his bowl.
“I’m pleased to hear that you like it,” Sador replied with another smile, “Do tell my Naneth Galadriel. She prepared it with her own hands. And she had to brave the clucking of various female elders and horrified cooks in order to do so! Apparently,” Sador added with a laugh and a wink, “neither princesses nor great ladies of any sort are supposed to go walking through the forest to collect mushrooms, greens, and herbs, much less field-dress venison and work elbow-to-elbow with cooks in a crowded kitchen.”
“I think that your mother could brave anything, Sador,” Gimli said quietly, deeply honored that Galadriel had gone to the trouble of making this dish for him.
“She probably already has,” Sador agreed, his laughing eyes serious for once. “She is a lot to live up to, as a mother. I’d heard stories about her courage and strength all my life. To meet her, when she was so wearied, and to realize that she had sacrificed so much of herself so that others might be safe, well . . . the elleth more than lived up to the legend. Seeing her as she was after she gave up the ring nenya, and even still seeing her now- it has taught me that strength is not only a physical thing. Her body may yet be weak, but her spirit - it is mithril.”
The great Lady’s charming son smiled ruefully, “It is good that my foster-father, who is her brother Finrod, raised me and my brother Trevadir to be strong in ourselves. Otherwise, my ego would have been dashed to bits upon meeting my own mother!”
Gimli chuckled, “It's clear that someone raised you well, Sador. But I think that Finrod and his wife must have had good ore to work with, from the very start.”
“I like to think so,” Sador said, proudly but not vainly, then added, “But I would not be who I am, without my Uncle Finrod and Aunt Amarie. It is odd for a grown son to meet a famous mother, particularly when their lack of a previous relationship was in no way the mother's fault. But we have done well, I think, my mother and my brother and I, in forging a new relationship between us that is to the betterment of all. Who I will become in the future I cannot entirely say, but that I am a better person for having come to know my mother Galadriel, I have no doubt.”
“Meeting your mother was one of the best things to ever happen to me,” said Gimli, “and I can tell that she treasures you.”
“Thank you. She’s exhausting to keep up with, though,” Sador confessed, “Even though she hardly ever ventures out from Lorien or New Imladris, there are always messengers coming and going, with notes about this new smithing technique or this new method for extracting seeds from some kind of fruit or other. And Marillaeglir . . . she was very involved in helping cousin Rissaurel bring that about. And she’s been busy mentoring Rissaurel’s little niece Raniel, as well as a good dozen or so other ellith.”
“I’m not surprised,” said Gimli proudly, “and I’m happy to help with whatever she needs. Now, tell me, Lord Sador, who was it who procured the mushrooms, the venison, the boar, and all the other provisions, and recompensed the Lady Calasse’s staff for this feast?”
Legolas and Mithiriel might have accept large welcoming parties and feasts as the natural consequence of their arriving somewhere new, but Gimli’s humbler upbringing in the Blue Mountains before their return to Erebor had taught him that such things did not just appear! He thought it likely that Theli was wondering the same thing, but Mithiriel’s husband appeared to be too overwhelmed at being petted and praised by his Aunt Elwing and other family members to have much to say about it yet. But like Gimli, he was sure that Theli would at least want to know who to thank, besides, of course, his Lady Galadriel and their host Lady Calasse.
“Well, there’s a fund,” Sador began, “for hosting new arrivals to the West. But I don’t know as it was drawn down on for your lot. And Naneth of course . . . ”
“Sador,” scolded a new arrival, a tall elleth with blond hair coiled on top of her head like a crown and calloused hands like a sailor, “What in the Valar’s name are you doing? I hired a staff to serve the food. You’re supposed to be making sure that your mother doesn’t overdo. And you should know better than to discuss matters of commerce at a party!”
That, in Gimli’s opinion, was a silly rule, but it did sound like something that elves would come up with.
“Your pardon, Aunt Calasse, but both Ilcetiel and my brother Elrond are keeping an eagle-eye on my mother. And you see . ..” Sador began.
“I don’t even want to know, nephew,” said Calasse, “Besides, what will Lord Gimli think of us?”
“I’m honored by your welcome, Lady Calasse,” said Gimli, “And I think that Sador’s offer to tend the stew so that your young staff member could flirt with his sweetheart was a kind one.”
“Oh, is that why . . . ” said Calasse, looking over to the smiling young couple serving drinks with a wistful expression. Gimli remembered that Calasse's own love Cirdan the Mariner was over the sea, and had been for most of the ages of Arda. And would be, until the very last ship sailed West.
“Well, I suppose I will just go find someone else to serve the stew,” said Calasse, with the tone of a hostess whose party had somehow gotten away from her. Turning her attention back to Gimli, Calasse assured him, “Please do not worry about repaying any honor you are shown here in the West, Lord Gimli. If not for you and the Fellowship and all of the brave beings who fought the Deceiver again and again, those whom we all love would have perished. There is no honor too great for us to show you. There never could be.”
Notes:
End Note: The OC Nallos appears in various of the chapters of "Tales of the Lost Twins," available on AO3 at: http://archiveofourown.org/works/535929/chapters/951528.
And also in "King or Carnival Elf," available at AO3 at: http://archiveofourown.org/works/235344/chapters/360662.
A story about Nallos and Theli that isn't posted on AO3 can be found on the yahoo group at post 929, "To Amon Lanc and Back, Part 1." I've never returned to the story, but I may someday.
Chapter 18: Chapter 5 of Welcome Travelers
Notes:
A/N: The elven OC Queen Minaethiel (Thranduil's wife) who appears in this chapter and possibly also subsequent chapters of this story belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
Chapter 5
Quote:
“[Elrond]was as noble and as fair in face as an elf lord, as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a king of dwarves and as kind as summer.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien
“In all the days of the Third Age, after the fall of Gil-galad, Master Elrond abode in Imladris, and he gathered there many Elves, and other folk of wisdom and power from among all the kindreds of Middle-earth, and he preserved through many lives of Men the memory of all that had been fair; and the house of Elrond was a refuge for the weary and the oppressed . . .” ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion
“A sister they had, Galadriel, most beautiful of all the house of Finwë; her hair was lit with gold as though it had caught in a mesh the radiance of Laurelin.” ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion
Excerpt from Previous Chapter:
“Please do not worry about repaying any honor you are shown here in the West, Lord Gimli. If not for you and the Fellowship and all of the brave beings who fought the Deceiver again and again, those whom we all love would have perished. There is no honor too great for us to show you, and can never be.”
Chapter Text
With that, Calasse departed, and left Gimli with his plate and Sador serving the stew.
“So,” asked Gimli with a smile and a wink, “Who do I have to thank for paying for the party?”
“Naneth Galadriel, primarily,” Sador answered, after first making sure that Calasse was out of hearing range, “Although Erestor’s mother contributed a fair amount. She owns a profitable line of apothecary products. And Legolas’ mother Minaethiel helped quite a bit. She’s got a very prosperous toy-making business.”
“Toys?” said Gimli incredulously.
Sador shrugged, “Apparently Princess Minaethiel was bored during the War of the Last Alliance, and took up making dolls and puppets for elflings whose fathers were away fighting in the War. There weren’t really that many toy shops in Aman, as elves are only elflings for a comparatively small amount of time. Before Minaethiel was reborn, Naneth Galadriel sent a letter to her business factor, who by that time was Ilcetiel, as she had been reborn quite soon after the War of Wrath. Naneth’s letter directed that Princess Minaethiel should be offered a loan to begin a business making toys here. It has become very popular, which has allowed cousin Minaethiel a great deal of independence. Mother enjoys helping to make it possible for ellith to be independent. It’s one of the little hobbies she uses to fill her days.” Sador smiled again, “You know, some ellith embroider. My mother changes the world.”
“Some women change the world by embroidering,” Gimli pointed out, just to be fair, although he was more than pleased by Sador’s admiration of his mother, and by learning so much more about Galadriel from this son she had quite evidently come to cherish.
“Yes, and Mother gives them loans, as well,” said Sador, his eyes still laughing.
“And did your mother hunt the boars, then too?” Gimli asked, rather hoping that the answer to that question would be no. He didn’t think that Lady Galadriel looked well enough to be out hunting geese, let alone boar. Boar-hunting was remarkably dangerous, even for experienced warriors.
“Oh, no,” said Sador, “Although I’m told that she killed polar bears when they crossed the grinding ice. My foster-father Finrod, my mother’s oldest brother, complained about that often enough. Apparently she got in over her head at least once with a bear and he and cousin Turgon had to rescue her. Naneth says that they exaggerate, but not by as much as she’d like.”
“Who did hunt the boar?” Gimli asked curiously, making a mental note to ask someone about the polar bear story later.
“Most of us who arrived in time,” Sador answered, “Myself, of course, and cousin Ereinion and cousin Arandil. My brother-by-law Elrond. Lady Taminixe, who is impressive to watch and hunts with a boar spear of her own smithing. Prince Celepharn and his wife Neldiel, who only got to go because she promised to stay out of the way of the boar. Legolas’ oldest brother Thandrin, and his middle brother Lithidhren, but only because Thandrin made him, and that didn’t end well.”
That statement Gimli found troubling, “Legolas told me that his brother Lithidhren is more a scholar than a hunter or soldier.”
“Oh, he is,” Sador agreed, “But Thandrin insists that Lithidhren improve his skills in such areas, so Lithidhren tries. But Lithidhren was distracted with re-writing a passage of a history book in his head, and didn’t see the boar that had just been baited charging right for him. Fortunately, his great-grandfather Celepharn got him out of the way in time, and my brother-by-law Elrond distracted the boar.”
“My son did what?” asked an outraged baritone voice.
“Oh, Prince Earendil!” Sador greeted brightly, “I didn’t see you there!
Gimli was all but sure that Sador had. He’d been looking in the direction Earendil had approached from, after all.
“What did Elrond do, Sador?” Golden-haired Prince Earendil asked impatiently.
“He threw his only spear at the boar so that it would charge him instead of Lithidhren,” Sador reported cheerfully, “then he narrowly dodged aside, causing the boar to get its tusks stuck inside a large knot on a nearby tree by charging into where Elrond had just been. It was really impressive to watch, although cousin Ereinion spoke to him sharply about it afterward. Apparently, Elrond had gotten impaled on a boar tusk by trying a similar trick early in the Second Age. He told Ereinion that he’d timed it right, this time. As of course he had.”
Earendil stalked off in the direction where Gimli had last seen Elrond, muttering something under his breath that sounded rather dire for Elrond.
“Did you just get your brother-by-law Elrond into trouble on purpose?” Gimli asked Sador.
“Oh, yes,” Sador freely admitted, “Naneth and my sister both dote on him. I like him myself, and I want him to live. He’s become somewhat careless now that he’s fully recovered from the toll bearing that ring took on his health. Some reborn elves do, and he’s so serious about most things that no one much has noticed. Cousin Earendil won’t have much trouble remedying that, I think.”
“You do know that Lord Elrond fought in nearly every great war during the First through Third Ages, don’t you, Sador?” Gimli asked incredulously.
“Yes, and I’m grateful to him for that. All the more reason not to let him die on a stupid boar hunt,” countered Sador.
And Gimli had to agree with that, so far as it went. But he thought that there might be something else going on . . .
“Oh, very well, I admit it,” Sador said after a moment of Gimli giving him a dubious look, “I am also a little jealous of my brother-by-law Elrond. And that is part of why I like to get him into trouble. I also like Elrond’s father, my cousin Earendil, very much. You have to understand, Lord Gimli, Elrond isn’t just my brother-by-law, as hard as that alone would be in some ways for me, an officer in Anderserme’s peacekeeping force, to have as my new sister’s husband a veteran of so many wars. Do not get me wrong, I am glad that there has never been a war in the West. But Elrond’s experience makes me look green in my mother’s and sister’s eyes, and there is nothing I can do about that.”
“And not only that,” Sador continued, aggrieved but not in an angry way, “But noble and kind Elrond is also my mother Galadriel’s first son, in every way that truly matters. Yes, it’s true that Ereinion was the first young ellon mother came to care for, but their relationship is consistent with their blood ties of aunt and nephew. But Elrond . . . Naneth has known him and loved him since the First Age. No one else may ever know her as well as he does, for he is her friend and her comrade-in-arms as well as her heart-son and son-by-law. As peredhel and elleth, they were both the odd-one-out on the councils of the great in the First and Second Ages. They made their own paths, where no paths had ever existed before for one such as them. And they both bore rings of power. And as my mother will tell you, to bear a ring of power is to be forever alone. But she wasn’t, you see, and it was because of Elrond, as well as Ereinion, Cirdan, Mithrandir and Frodo. But it was because of Elrond alone, for the longest time.”
“And then there is cousin Earendil,” Sador further explained, “He had been waiting to reunite with Elrond and be a father to him for over two ages. And yet, Elrond had no interest whatsoever in even having a father! He was very polite to Earendil, but it was very tedious to watch as Elrond constantly forgot to call Earendil “Atar” or “Adar” and instead addressed his father as “Lord Earendil.” And it was hurtful, to cousin Earendil.”
Gimli, catching the drift of where this was going, made a guess, “And cousin Earendil was almost like an uncle to you growing up, eh, Sador?”
“Yes, he was,” the dark-haired ellon admitted, “And so was Lord Glorfindel, who left us to go and take care of Elrond. And I am told that my own father Celeborn was like another father to Elrond. So, cousin Earendil who had always been kind to me and very involved in my life and that of my older brother Trevadir, was busy paying attention to his own recently arrived son Elrond, who was also a war hero and my mother’s heart-son. And who wanted nothing to do with poor cousin Earendil his father. I had very good reasons to be jealous of Elrond. Mother realized it, and was very patient with me about it. As was Elrond, which is just another reason to be jealous of him. He’s too perfect. So, I worked out my jealousy issues in part by helping cousin Earendil to see that Elrond is still in need of a father, and then by helping him to convince Elrond of that. And it’s still a work in progress, Lord Gimli.”
“Just Gimli,” Gimli corrected. He might not approve of Lady Galadriel’s younger son getting his noble brother-by-law into trouble, but he did like Sador enough not to want to be “Lorded” by him constantly. Another thought occurred to Gimli . . .
“Why are you sharing all of this with me, Sador?”
“You’re mother’s champion,” Sador answered simply, “That means you are a part of our family. Welcome to mayhem. It’s chaos, and there’s always a lot to be done, but it’s never boring.”
Gimli laughed aloud at that, “Well, I do hate for life to be boring. As our Faramir, Mithiriel’s father, used to say, I can’t help but get involved.”
“That will put you in good company with the rest of our family,” Sador assured him, with yet another cheerful smile. Much like his mother, Sador’s smile could light up a room.
A hundred and twenty years of practice alerted Gimli to Legolas’ presence before the light-haired elven prince had even come into their sight.
“Valar, you’re quiet when you want to be, Prince Legolas,” Sador complimented him.
Gimli laughed as Legolas blinked in confusion at the compliment.
“He wasn’t even trying, Sador my friend,” Gimli explained, “When he tries to be quiet, my brother Legolas could walk right up to a rabbit and tap it on the ears before it even knew he was there.”
“Well, that could be a useful skill,” Sador admired, “perhaps I could persuade you to give me tracking lessons, Prince Legolas? Although mostly I hunt elven prey in cities, and only elves who have committed crimes at that.”
“Well, I’m not actually at my best in cities,” Legolas admitted, which Gimli knew to be true, “Perhaps we can exchange lessons.”
“I would be honored,” Sador said, then tilted his head slightly to look at something going on behind Legolas.
The something was a conversation between Earendil and Elrond, seemingly both returning to the pavilion from a walk in the forest. Elrond, Gimli noticed with interest, was moving somewhat gingerly. He did not seem upset with his tall golden-haired father, however. Whatever Earendil was saying, it had Elrond breaking into laughter. Then Earendil pressed a fatherly kiss to Elrond’s brow, before parting ways with his son to rejoin his wife Elwing at her call.
Elrond's gaze turned in their direction, and his eyes narrowed when he saw Sador. Elrond walked over to them, still slightly less gracefully than was his usual wont since Gimli had met him again here in the West.
“Thank you for that, Sador,” Elrond said to his brother-by-law, seemingly torn between outrage and laughter.
“For what?” asked Legolas, even as Sador laughed.
“You’re welcome, Elrond-my-brother,” Sador replied gaily, “And you’re also welcome for telling my older brother Trevadir and my commanding officer about the shoulder I sprained helping you build New Imladris.”
“I just didn’t want you to be further injured in exchange for helping me!” Elrond protested.
“You see?” Sador complained to Gimli, “Positively too disgustingly perfect. Who wouldn’t be jealous?”
“What?” asked Legolas again.
“I’ll tell you about it later,” Gimli promised Legolas.
Just then Calasse found someone to substitute in for Sador with the mushroom stew, and Gimli accompanied him and Legolas and Elrond back to the tables.
They arrived to find Galadriel and Gandalf telling a story about the Quest for Erebor, which captured Gimli’s interest immediately. Still, Gimli noted with some amusement that Lord Elrond was indeed keeping an eye on Galadriel, and that Lord Earendil and Lady Elwing were keeping an eye on their son Elrond.
“My brother Saruman had decreed that your father and his companions would not be allowed to continue on their quest, Gimli,” Gandalf explained, his strangely youthful countenance filled with sorrow at the thought of his brother Maia who had fallen to evil.
“But, of course, Lord Gloin and the others had already left,” Elrond noted, his gray eyes glimmering with humor, “Which Mithrandir knew, but had not bothered to tell Saruman.”
“Lady Galadriel knew as well,” Gandalf interjected, his expression now amused instead of sorrowful, “But our gold-and-silver lady did not tell, either.”
“Saruman seemed so pleased with himself, for having made the decision,” Galadriel said of Saruman, her own expression torn between grief and mirth, “Who was I to tell him that his decrees meant nothing?”
“I wish I’d listened to you and Thranduil earlier, about his allegiances,” Gandalf confessed to Galadriel.
“I wish that I’d been able to tell you something more conclusive than that it was an elleth’s intuition,” Galadriel replied, “And I am also glad that you brought the Halfling.” Galadriel turned to Bilbo Baggins with a smile, “And that you were able to help King Thorin and Lord Gloin and their companions, Bilbo Baggins.”
Bilbo smiled proudly, and accepted a peeled grape from the pretty little elleth in healer’s robes who was always at his side.
“Now, just who did you foresee having foul intent this time, dear Sister?” Inquired yet another cheerful, golden baritone. Its owner was an incredibly tall blond ellon with an irrepressible air. He was accompanied by yet another well-dressed blond ellon, and the two of them by a dozen elven warriors in armor.
Lady Galaldriel stood to greet the first tall blond ellon, whom Gimli noticed looked in some ways remarkably like her in appearance.
The tall ellon didn’t wait for her to finish rising before swinging her up into his arms for an embrace. When he finally put her down, she smiled at him, the same way she had smiled at Gimli when he arrived.
Then she turned her attention to Gimli, one arm still around the ellon who had just embraced her.
“Gimli, Legolas, this is my brother, Finrod Felagund, Prince of the Noldorin elves of Aman, and former King of Nargothorond on Middle Earth and Anderserme in Tol Eressea. He and his wife Amarie guarded my heart and Celeborn’s here in the West, by taking our sons Trevadir and Sador into their household and their hearts as their own sons, and this” Lady Galadriel said, turning to the other blond ellon, “Is our cousin Ingwion, crown prince of the Vanyarin elves of Aman.”
Finrod Felagund extended his arms, the one to Legolas and the other to Gimli, clasping each of their forearms in the way of warriors.
“I owe you both a debt of gratitude that I can never repay, for playing a large role in finishing the wars that I started,” Finrod said, deep sorrow mingling with deep gratitude in his cornflower blue eyes.
“We just did what we could, Prince Finrod,” said Legolas, returning the arm clasp.
“Just Finrod, please, for you are kin of my kin, and Gimli, as your oathbrother, is my kin as well,” Finrod said.
“No thanks are necessary, for such aid between kinsman,” replied Gimli gruffly, “But if you did owe us such a debt, kinsman, then you would owe your sister an even greater one.” Gimli did not approve of this ellon, no matter how fond he was of his sister, underestimating Galadriel’s contribution to the cause of defeating Sauron!
Finrod let go their arms and laughed brightly again. Turning back to Galadriel, he said, “So this must be your champion, ‘Tani! As if I could ever fail to give you your due, my beloved baby sister.”
Turning back to Gimli, Finrod explained, “I have already offered my sister any boon she would care to claim of me, in exchange for her great efforts in ending the wars that I could no longer fight in. She also told me that I owed her nothing. When I insisted, she said that she would hold onto my favor in case she ever had need of it. I am appropriately terrified, since the last time she asked me for a favor, it was to aid her friend Luthien’s beloved.”
Turning his gaze to Galadriel again, Finrod said, “I have no regrets for agreeing to help Beren. As I know that you have no regrets for staying on Middle Earth and resisting Sauron. For I know you, my sister.”
“You see?” Sador murmured quietly from behind Gimli’s left shoulder, “They’re impossibly hard to live up to.”
“Oh, nonsense, son-and-nephew mine,” Finrod, who apparently had excellent hearing, scolded Sador, “You serve honorably and well in Anderserme’s Guard, and you’ve served as your brother’s heir every time he’s ruled Anderserme, even though you had no desire to take on such a responsibility.”
“A responsibility which I dearly hope will never fall on my shoulders again,” Sador replied, with a fond smile for his foster-father Finrod and a mischievous grin for Ereinion Gil-galad, the current ruler of Anderserme.
“So, Sador, you have joined your mother’s campaign to have me designate my daughter Rissaurel my heir?” that worthy inquired.
“Well, Elrond already declined you,” Sador pointed out.
“Declined me?” complained Ereinion, though he smiled as spoke, “Elrond laughed all the way to the nearest healing hall. My baby foster brother never did want to rule anything.”
“Looks like you and Elrond have that in common,” Gimli pointed out to Sador.
“Oh yes,” said Sador with a grimace that turned into a laugh, “You’ll fit into our family just fine, Gimli. Now we just have to corrupt Prince Legolas.”
“Just Legolas,” Gimli’s elven brother corrected, with an innocent smile on his face. Gimli managed to choke back his mirth, for Legolas only looked sweet and innocent. In fact, Gimli was quite sure that Legolas was going to lead Sador a merry chase until Galadriel’s younger son finally figured out that the youngest son of Thranduil was quite a card all on his own!
Prince Ingwion of the Vanyarin elves, who was apparently the heir to the ‘High King’ of all of the elves in the West, also thanked Gimli and Legolas for their service. Then Ingwion asked them, the other ring bearers, and Mithiriel and Theli to join him and the other Kings and their representatives in a conference in Lady Calasse’s dining room on the first floor of her cool and sweet-smelling house.
Chapter 19: Chapter 6 of Welcome Travelers
Notes:
A/N: The elven OCs Queen Minaethiel (Thranduil's wife), Queen Felith (Oropher's wife), and Neldiel (Celepharn's wife) who appear in this chapter and possibly also subsequent chapters of this story belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
Chapter 6: The Conference
Quotes:
A Time For Prayer
"In times of war and not before,
God and the soldier we adore.
But in times of peace and all things righted,
God is forgotten and the soldier slighted." -Rudyard KiplingUkase
"When this is over
And we come home again,
Forget the band
And the cheers from the stand,
Just have the things
Well in hand -
The things we fought for.
Understand?" - - by C.G. Tiggas
Excerpt from Previous Chapter:
Prince Ingwion of the Vanyarin elves, who was apparently the heir to the ‘High King’ of all of the elves in the West, also thanked Gimli and Legolas for their service. Then Ingwion asked them, the other ring bearers, and Mithiriel and Theli to join him and the other Kings and their representatives in a conference in Lady Calasse’s dining room on the first floor of her cool and sweet-smelling manor house.
Chapter Text
A long, wide table seemingly hewn from one enormous log of driftwood ran down the huge front room of Lady Calasse’s house. The cool, salt-scented ocean breeze blowing in from the open doors of Calasse’s glass-covered front porch, and the cries of sea birds wheeling overhead, were familiar to Gimli after their many months at sea. What was not so familiar were the smells of juniper trees and vanilla, and the distant hum of chatter and laughter from the pavilions below the manor’s cliffside perch.
The mood around the driftwood table was more solemn, although conversations swirled about between the various elven princes and lords and ladies. Crown Prince Ingwion sat at the head of the table, wearing a crown of diamond stars and robes of such pure white that they seemed to almost glow in the late afternoon sun. Ingwion had brought a scribe with him, some sort of relation of his who was similarly dressed, although Gimli had forgotten the pinch-faced fellow’s name almost as soon as he’d heard it.
Nearest Ingwion to his left sat King Ereinion and his wife Queen Lelien, both dressed in robes of cerulean and gold. Then came youthful Gandalf on his own, for his wife Nienna the Vala had excused herself earlier. Gandalf still wore robes of gray, but now his gray robes were made of velvet so soft it looked like it might be clouds rather than cloth, and float away into the sky.
By Gandalf sat Frodo, Bilbo, and Samwise. Gimli was rather relieved to see that all three were still dressed in hobbity styles of the shire. Their clothing was made of fine fabrics, aye, but they still wore trousers in comfortable earth tones, white shirts, and embroidered waist coats. Frodo’s fawn-colored trousers and white pearl-buttoned shirt were offset by a rich wine-colored waist coat embroidered with forest creatures and trees. Bilbo was similarly dressed, save that his waist coat was a warmer shade of red, and featured some kind of golden fruit that Gimli had never seen before. Samwise wore gray trousers, and a cobalt blue waist coat with golden roses. The rose pattern was very familiar to Gimli, for Samwise most often wore roses, to honor Rosie his wife.
Lord Elrond’s wife Celebrian sat beside Samwise. She wore a demure gown of pale lavender-pink with a circlet of morganites and opals set in silver, and Gimli noticed that she had the famous thrice-gifted sapphire ring on her slender finger. Her husband Elrond was on her other side, in robes of sapphire blue and storm gray. Theli and Mithiriel sat to Elrond’s left, followed by Erestor and Taminixe. Last on that side of the table were Erestor’s father, Lord Arandil of Gondolin, and Arandil’s mother Lady Laureamoriel. Arandil and Laureamoriel were also Glorfindel’s son and wife, respectively, and were dressed in the gold and green of Glorfindel’s house.
Lady Calasse sat at the foot of the table opposite Prince Ingwion, her wheat-gold braids coiled on top of her head. To Calasse’s left sat Legolas’ great-grandfather Prince Celepharn, in silver and midnight blue, and his wife the petite Princess Neldiel, in a daringly cut gown of burgundy and rose. Her son, Legolas’ grandfather King Oropher, sat beside her, in robes of forest green velvet and cloth of silver. By Oropher’s side was his wife Felith, who wore a tasteful gown of amaranth pink with forest green and gold embroidery.
Legolas’ mother Minaethiel and brother Thandrin sat to Queen Felith’s left. Princess Minaethiel was dressed in sky blue silk embroidered with buttercups and cherry blossoms, two of Legolas’ favorite flowers. Thandrin was clad in forest-green leggings, a mint green silk undershirt, and a laurel-green tunic with silver embroidery. Like most of the middle-earth ellyn that Gimli was accustomed to, Thandrin wore his black hair in warrior braids.
Legolas sat between Thandrin and Gimli himself. Lady Galadriel honored Gimli by sitting at his left, and her elder brother Prince Finrod sat beside her, clad in simple leather and homespun. When they first sat down, Galadriel had looked around the table and then at her brother. She'd shaken her had at him, then sent Ilcetiel on an errand. That worthy had returned with a thick gold coronet chased with rubies. Galadriel had offered it to Finrod, who had laughingly donned it.
Mithrellas sat on the other side of Finrod, wearing a very familiar shade of Dol Amroth blue. The friendly Prince Tuor sat to Mithrellas’ left, dressed in black leggings and a blue-violet tunic embroidered with silver. Tuor’s wife Princess Idril, gowned in royal purple and wearing a golden circlet inset with sapphires and amethysts, sat between her husband and Prince Ingwion’s scribe, whatever-his-name-was.
Gimli found himself glad that he and his companions had all dressed in their finest, as it let them better hold their own at this table of elven royalty. Not that they couldn’t have managed whatever they wore, but it was always good to look the part. Now, if only Gimli could figure out why they were here!
Gimli found himself looking over to Legolas beside him to see if his elven brother knew why they had been pulled aside by such august personages.
Legolas shook his head infinitesimally, then looked across the table to Mithiriel and Theli. Theli was speaking to Elrond, but Mithiriel saw Legolas’ query. She used a hybrid of dwarven and ranger sign language to signal something to them in the guise of fixing her hair. Gimli thought that it meant ‘put on a show,’ but it also could have meant ‘this merchant will be an easy mark.’ Hand signals had a limited range outside of prearranged meanings. Besides that, Mithiriel tended to wiggle her ring and pinky fingers a little too much when she signed, which rendered even some of the common signs almost unrecognizable.
Before Gimli could think on it too much further, Prince Ingwion of the Vanyar provided an answer.
“I am sorry to take you away from your reunions,” that worthy said gravely, addressing his remarks to the newly-arrived (and somewhat disheveled) Erestor and Taminixe, as well as to Gimli, Legolas, Frodo, Samwise, Bilbo, Galadriel, Gandalf, Elrond, Mithrellas, Mithiriel, and Theli. “However, I think it best to discuss as soon as possible the schedule and preparations for your upcoming tours of Tol Eressea and the Kingdoms of Aman Proper.”
Mithiriel’s hand sign made more sense to Gimli, given that context. He still didn’t want to be the one to ask “What tour?” Apparently, neither did Legolas. Gimli found himself somewhat envious of Mithiriel and likely Theli as well, who had apparently had at least some sort of advanced warning.
Bilbo harrumphed loudly. “Not another tour! The last one was exhausting enough, and that was, what? A dozen years ago?”
“Tol Eressea has a special ceremony to commemorate the sacrifices made in securing freedom for Midddle Earth every dozen years, Uncle Bilbo,” Frodo affectionately reminded his de-facto foster-father, “We’ve been invited to participate in all of them.”
“Well not this time! Or not me, at least!” said Bilbo firmly, “I’ve seen everything I need to see. I want to finish my latest book. Peace and quiet, that’s all I need!”
Out of the corner of his eye, Gimli saw Galadriel, sitting to his left, exchange an amused glance with Elrond and Celebrian across the table.
“Then you won’t mind at all if we take Mistress Norrin with us on the tour,” Celebrian suggested sweetly.
“Take Mistress Norrin?” Asked Bilbo, aghast. “But no one else at New Imladris knows how to cook a proper plum cake!”
“Right,” said Samwise, nodding, “All Uncle Bilbo needs is peace, quiet, and Mistress Norrin to keep doing her good work at her post in New Imladris’ kitchens. Oh, and likely also young Lossia to help him keep his notes straight.”
“Of course I need Lossia! Lossia is far better at that than you or Frodo ever were!” Bilbo objected, “And speaking of Lossia, where is she? Why isn’t she here?”
“I’ll help you find her, shall I?” Mithrellas offered, getting up from her seat by Galadriel with alacrity.
“Please, Mithrellas,” agreed Galadriel, but then with a hint of mithril to her tone she added, “But do rejoin us after.”
“I scarcely think that I am needed . . .”
“You are.”
“Very well.”
In the quiet left in the wake of Bilbo’s departure, his gold-topped cane tap-tap-tapping against the stone floor, Gimli overheard what he hoped was intended to have been a private conversation.
“Uncle Ingwion,” asked the young blond elf with the pinched expression who’d been drafted as Prince Ingwion’s scribe for this meeting, “Did that halfling mortal really just ask why a very junior healer’s assistant wasn’t invited to a meeting of an abbreviated ruling council?”
“Quiet, Lirindo,” commanded Ingwion, and Gimli liked him better for it. He did make a note to remember that pinched-face-elf was called Lirindo, though. There was no need to be rude, after all.
“But . . .” Lirindo stammered in objection.
“Since the arrival of we Ringbearers here in the West,” Galadriel interrupted, drawing the attention of everyone seated at the long drift wood table, “we have every dozen years commemorated the sacrifices made by all beings in the struggle to keep Middle Earth free from Morgoth’s and Sauron’s oppression, just as Frodo said,” she acknowledged, with a fond nod for Frodo.
Then Galadriel continued, “This year is particularly important, because it is the first year during which we hope to expand the scope of the remembrance and memorial ceremonies in order to commemorate also the sacrifices made in stopping the Maia Alatar’s renegade pupils and their followers, they whom you of Middle Earth called the Blood Mages. This year, we would like to ask all of you who are newly arrived to join us in this endeavor.”
“Of course we will,” Gimli immediately agreed, knowing with full confidence that he could speak not only for himself, but also on behalf of Legolas and their other companions. He did spare a moment to move his hand closer to Legolas, taking pains to keep the movement under the cover of the pale wooden table. Gimli’s elven brother had been captured and tortured by the Blood Mages during the Second Mage War, and was occasionally still troubled by flashbacks and persistent memories from that time.
Gimli’s discretion was rewarded by Legolas’ hand finding his under the table, and squeezing it. From the expression on Legolas’ face, it was more of a, ‘yes, it’s kind of you to be worried, but I’m fine, really’ squeeze, rather than Legolas actually having needed Gimli’s support. But better to offer it unneeded than the alternative.
Gimli also spared a moment to think that if anyone should be reconsidering the exertion of effort involved in a tour of the West, it wasn’t Bilbo, who seemed quite sturdy despite all of his complaints, but rather Galadriel, who still seemed fragile despite her determination. On their walk up the cliff to the manor, Gimli had noticed with concern that she had leaned heavily on her brother Finrod’s arm.
Finrod, possibly thinking along much the same lines, cast his sister a dissatisfied, querying look. But he did not openly question Galadriel’s ability to endure such a dog-and-pony show.
Gimli observed that Prince Ingwion, too, looked troubled, although whether his concern was for the state of Galadriel’s health or some other reason, Gimli had no idea. Before Ingwion could speak up, Legolas’ brother did.
“I hardly think that Legolas should go straight from his labors on Middle Earth directly to shoring up Aran Ereinion’s darling granddaughter’s pet project,” Thandrin disagreed, “And it’s not a fair thing to ask of Lord Gimli or the others, either.”
“More than just Anderserme’s veterans rely on aid from public coffers, Thandrin,” King Oropher commented somberly. Legolas’ grandfather’s expression was entirely polite and neutral, but Gimli had to wonder if he regretted having insisted that his grandson get to join this meeting after the rather tedious Lirindo had questioned Thandrin’s right to a place at the table just before the meeting started.
Although possibly Oropher was not, because he then acknowledged, “I think that Thandrin makes an excellent point with respect to the timing, however. Would it truly make a great difference to give my grandson Legolas and his companions a year to rest before asking that they undergo such a rigorous tour of duty?”
“It is not the timing which concerns my father the High King Ingwe,” Ingwion interjected in a stately tone of voice, “It is rather the issue of whether it is even appropriate to consider the sacrifices of those who fought in the so-called ‘Blood Mage Wars’ to be in any way comparable to the sacrifices made in the struggles against Morgoth.”
Gimli didn’t even have to worry about finding something to say to that nonsense, because Legolas’ grandfather King Oropher immediately took issue with it.
“I know my son,” Oropher said firmly, “And because Thranduil sent our Greenwood elves to fight the Blood Mages, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it is appropriate to consider such warriors’ sacrifices equably.” Oropher hadn’t even raised his voice, but the expression on his face made it clear that he was in deadly earnest.
“I have a great deal of respect for King Thranduil of the Greenwood, Oropher,” countered Calasse, “But I am present at this meeting to represent the interests of my King Olwe and the Lindar, and . . .”
“The who?” interrupted Ingwion’s nephew Lirindo rather loudly, as he scratched away at his parchment.
A dismayed silence followed his question. It lasted long enough for the young Vanyarin prince to look up and ask, “I’m sorry, did I miss something?”
It was Elrond who diplomatically supplied an answer, “My great-great-grandfather-in-law King Olwe and his people prefer to be called ‘the Lindar,’ which means ‘the Singers of the Sea Shore,’ as opposed to the name by which some call them, ‘the Teleri,’ Prince Lirindo.” Elrond said in a kindly fashion, as if it was a mistake that anybody might make and not the dreadful social gaffe that Gimli recognized that it must be, based on the careful non-expressions on the faces of most of the elves present, and the vaguely horrified and appalled looks on Princess Neldiel’s, Lady Celebrian’s, and Prince Tuor’s more expressive faces.
“But there’s nothing wrong with being called the Teleri! It just means that they arrived last out of all the proper elven clans!” Prince Lirindo objected.
“Please, my cousins and friends, forgive my nephew,” said Ingwion, his eyes wide with disbelief as he regarded Lirindo, “I am sure that what he meant to say was that he sees no insult in being a member of the third elven clan to arrive in Aman.”
Calasse lifted one palm in the polite elven version of a shrug, “It doesn’t much matter to me whether Prince Lirindo refers to my people as the Lindar or the Teleri in his notes, although it will put my King Olwe in a more accommodating mood if he uses the former term. My point is that King Olwe joins King Ingwe in expressing concern over whether it is right to extend official recognition as war heroes to elves who fought only in the Blood Mage Wars. King Olwe is of the opinion that such lesser-scale conflicts were in truth strictly between different kingdoms of the Secondborn. He and his council take the position that those elves who participated in the Blood Mage Wars did so only on the basis of a personal loyalty that they felt towards individual Men and families of Men. Which, while admirable,” Calasse nodded respectfully towards Legolas, “still ought not qualify them for the same rights and respect which all elves owe to those who fought Morgoth and his servant the Deceiver.”
Gimli offered his hand under the table again, just as Legolas extended his own. This time it was Gimli who squeezed. Legolas squeezed back, and this time their hands stayed clasped together under the table, lending one another strength. Legolas had suffered the greater personal physical toll during those conflicts, but Gimli had lost dwarven friends and kinsmen from Aglarond and Erebor, as well as many common elven and human friends.
It was Galadriel who spoke up next, her tone politely neutral, “I am aware of my Uncle Olwe’s position, Calasse, and that of his council. What I would like to know, and what I feel would be of interest to those present today, is what YOU think.”
Calasse laughed, “You’ve got me there, my lass. I think that the Blood Mages would have become all of Middle Earth’s problem, given time. Just as it took us centuries to finally agree that the Deceiver would have been.”
Finrod, seated on the other side of Galadriel, leaned forward. “Am I correct in assuming that everyone’s favorite Uncle Cirdan feels the same way, Calasse?” he asked.
“You are,” Calasse conceded, “Or at least so my love Cirdan has written to me, at various different times, in his letters. Including those letters brought to me just today by young Lord Erestor.”
Gimli stifled a chuckle at Erestor being referred to as young. Although given the vintage of many of the elves in the room, Gimli had to admit that Erestor was ‘young!’
“While that is all very interesting, Finrod,” Ingwion said in the tone of someone who was merely humoring a friend, “what is of more immediate import to the question at hand is what position your father Finarfin, and his Noldorin council in Tirion have taken on the issue.”
“My father agrees with your father, and his council narrowly voted to take the same position,” Finrod admitted, “But my father will only rule for another dozen years. And I agree with my sister, Calasse, and Uncle Cirdan.”
Prince Lirindo, who just couldn’t seem to stop stepping on toes, spoke up again, still looking down at his parchment, his hand still taking notes, “But wouldn’t the Noldorin Council still vote against you, even after you become King, Prince Finrod? Have you not in the past always waived your Kingly prerequisite when your council took a different position? Or am I mistaken?”
Finrod grinned wolfishly, “Oh, you’re not wrong, cousin Lirindo. But you haven’t taken into account that the King of the Noldor in Aman has the right to appoint all of his prospective heirs to his council. My father currently accounts only his father Finwe’s male heirs and their male heirs, etc., as eligible to inherit rule of the Noldor in Tirion. There are, as you may know, eleven of us such direct male-line heirs. In addition to that number, I of course consider my father to be one of my heirs, and fully expect that the Noldorin council will vote to confirm him to rule the Noldor on Aman again after my one hundred and forty-four year term ends. However, the Noldorin council doesn’t have to approve of an elf as my heir in order for me to consider that elf a potential heir of mine, and therefore appoint that elf to my council in such capacity.”
“An interesting point of law that I am sure you will twist to your own ends quite easily, Finda,” Prince Ingwion observed with disapproval, but Gimli was fairly sure that his approbation was laced with no small amount of amusement.
“Well, you see Cousin Ingwion,” Finrod explained easily, still smiling, “my father’s council voted against my motion to consider veterans of the Blood Mage Wars as eligible for veteran warrior status under Noldorin law by only ten votes. However, the pool of elves I consider to be my potential heirs also includes my grandfather Finwe’s female descendants, and their children. Well, at least all of them who have already met the fifty-year government service requirement. And that group numbers well over a dozen, and includes of course my dear sister Galadriel and her children and granddaughter, our darling cousin Idril and her grandson Elrond, my granddaughter Raniel, and . . .”
“Raniel?” Lirindo interrupted with a disbelieving chuckle, “Isn’t she Lord Astaro’s daughter? The one who keeps trying to qualify for Avallone’s Eastern Fleet?”
There was a moment of profound silence.
“Raniel,” said King Ereinion quietly, “is also my granddaughter.”
“And,” Legolas’ great-grandmother Princess Neldiel added pointedly, “A very charming young elleth.”
Ereinion gave Neldiel a grateful but somewhat baffled nod, “Her mother would be glad to hear you say so, your highness.”
“As am I,” said Ereinion’s matronly wife Lelien, “Thank you, Neldiel. Raniel has a very good heart, even if she is a bit shy and overly focused on her own interests at times.”
Frodo nodded determinedly at that, and said in his gentle way, “Raniel was very kind to my Uncle Bilbo. I don’t know if he could have finished his last book without her.”
“Raniel,” Finrod concluded, “is a descendant of Finwe. And she has met the government service requirement by working for fifty-two years in Tirion’s Mountain Rangers. She is therefore qualified to be one of my heirs. As is my Aunt Findis, for that matter."
Ingwion chuckled, “Good luck convincing your Aunt Findis to sit on your council, Finrod. She has very traditional ideas when it comes to an elleth's proper place.”
Finrod laughed and waved a hand in concession, “No, Aunt Findis would only consider herself a voting member of Tirion’s council under great protest,” he agreed, “But you might be surprised what she would be willing to do for her darling golden-haired grandson Glorfindel. Moreover, I also consider my aunt Findis’ descendants who have completed the necessary level of government or military service to be amongst my potential heirs.”
“But only Prince Glorfindel Finarfinchil was ever officially recognized as such,” Lirindo criticized, still writing away.
“True,” Finrod cheerfully admitted, “But the particular council appointments we are speaking of are, by law and custom, at the King’s discretion. Only Glorfindel was ever officially recognized by the Noldorin Council as a potential heir to the Noldorin kingship. And that vote probably only went his way because Glorfindel was, at the time of that recognition, the only other adult male member of the House of Finwe present in Aman or Tol Eressea other than myself and my father. But, again, council recognition of an heir isn’t required. Only my personal recognition. So, Glorfindel’s son Arandil would qualify. So too would Arandil’s son Erestor,” Finrod added, with an affectionate nod for the taken-aback Erestor, “should Erestor ever serve in a government or military position in Tirion for fifty years or more.”
“Does the fact that Erestor isn’t even a Noldorin citizen trouble you at all, Finrod?” asked Ingwion, exasperated but clearly also fighting a smile.
“You’re mistaken, cousin Ingwion,” Finrod said kindly, “Under Noldorin law, any veteran of any of Middle Earth’s wars against Morgoth, Sauron, or their allies . . .”
“And such allies would, technically, include the Blood Mages . . .” interjected Erestor’s father Arandil, quietly enough that Prince Finrod could keep speaking without acknowledging the point.
“Any such veteran,” Finrod continued, “who can verify his claim to having one or more grandparents of direct Noldorin ancestry, and who serves the Noldorin government or military in Tirion for at least fifty years, is considered to be a Noldorin citizen. And my cousin Erestor fought against Sauron in the Battle of the Last Alliance, and in numerous smaller skirmishes.”
“Really?” interrupted Lirindo disbelievingly, “But Lord Erestor dresses like a scholar!”
“The clothes do not make the elf, Lirindo,” Ingwion said impatiently, “please cease interrupting our deliberations unless you have a point which is vital to the integrity of the proceedings.”
“Yes, Uncle Ingwion.”
“Thank you, nephew. Now, cousin Finrod, I think we all take your point that you will have far more than the dozen additional council votes you would need to carry the day on Tirion’s Council once you become King of the Noldor in Aman. But, as you yourself pointed out, that day is over twelve years away. At this point, I believe our discourse has established that all of the Kingdoms of Aman Proper are against recognizing veterans of the Blood Mage Wars as veterans of the struggles against Morgoth and Sauron under the laws which govern the West.”
“The laws which govern the West Entire?” inquired Celepharn’s wife Neldiel sweetly, “or the laws which govern Aman Proper?”
“Does Princess Neldiel even have an official position at this gathering, given that it is essentially an abbreviated ruling council meeting?” Lirindo asked, clearly frustrated. Gimli remembered that Lirindo had complained at the outset about Neldiel’s very presence at the meeting, as well as that of Thandrin, and of Aran Ereinion’s wife Lelien, Legolas’ mother Minaethiel, and Legolas’ grandmother Felith.
That had not gone over well with Legolas’ grandfather Oropher or his great-grandfather Celepharn, or with Galadriel, for that matter.
“My cousin Felith is King Oropher’s co-ruler, as his Queen,” Galadriel had pointed out levelly, “As was Neldiel a co-ruler with her husband Celepharn, when they ruled Eryn Brongalen prior to Oropher’s rebirth and ascension. Today I believe that they are here as representatives of King Dior and Queen Nimloth, whose duties in Doriath Gaeronwest prevent them from being present at this meeting.”
“We can speak for ourselves!” Neldiel had objected, with an irritated glare at Galadriel.
“As has amply and often been proven,” Gimli’s lady had agreed, with a small smile playing about her lips.
Neldiel had narrowed her pretty blue-green eyes, but hadn’t deigned to say anything further.
“My daughter-by-law Minaethiel is here as my Queen’s scribe,” King Oropher of Eryn Brongalen had explained, “And my grandson Thandrin is present as mine.” Since Ingwion had already claimed the right to have a scribe present at the meeting, it would have been impolite of him to have objected to one of the Tol Eressean kingdoms also having scribes present.
“I am not my husband’s co-ruler,” sweet chestnut haired Queen Lelien had said, “But the Warriors’ Support and Advancement Fund is near and dear to my heart.”
“And I value my wife’s counsel,” Ereinion had added supportively, “if necessary, my Queen Lelien can be considered my scribe, for the day.”
“Oh, but my love, I do have such terrible handwriting . . .” Lelien lamented, with a straight face but a laugh in her eyes.
“Leave it be, Lirindo,” Ingwion had commanded, and that had all been before the meeting had even gotten started! Gimli was not surprised that Legolas' kin took umbrage to Lirindo slighting his great-grandmother again.
“My wife,” said Prince Celepharn coldly in response to Lirindo’s second objection to Neldiel having the opportunity to voice her opinion, “was personally selected by King Dior and Queen Nimloth to share with me the duty and honor of representing Doriath Gaeronwest, should a meeting such as this be convened upon the arrival of our great-grandson Legolas, our cousins Ecthelion and Mithiriel, and their companions.”
“And Neldiel raises a valid point,” Calasse agreed, “Ingwion? What say you?”
“It was long ago agreed upon that, when the Kingdoms of Tol Eressea and Aman Proper are in conflict, that the laws of Aman Proper should prevail,” Ingwion said, in a soft and patient tone, “Those of you who were present at the founding of Anderserme and Doriath Gaeronwest will recall that this agreement was reached in exchange for the Kingdoms of Aman Proper helping to finance and supply the new Kingdoms of Tol Eressea.”
“However,” Ingwion continued, “As Finrod, Galadriel, Celepharn, or Oropher will point out if I don’t, there are times when the laws of Aman Proper may apply only in Aman Proper, without conflicting with the separate laws governing only the kingdoms of Tol Eressea. It is possible that this is one of those times. What says Marillaeglir?”
“Marillaeglir didn’t think to take toll a vote on this ahead of time,” said Idril with a self-conscious smile, “Or at least Elured, Anwen, Tuor and I didn’t. But the ruler of each of the Tol Eressean member kingdoms, or at least a representative, is present here today. I’m sure that King Elured and Queen Anwen won’t mind if we take an informal tally. Elured directed that Marillaeglir in and of itself votes yes for including veterans of the Blood Mage Wars, which will only matter if there’s a tie. Ereinion?”
Ereinion smiled at his wife, then voted, “Anderserme is also in favor.”
“Or Lelien would have you sleeping in your study for upsetting your granddaughter Raniel and your daughter Tanien and their warrior's defense fund,” teased Tuor, before asking, “Celepharn, Neldiel, how votes Doriath Gaeronwest?”
“Doriath Gaeronwest is undecided at this time,” said Neldiel reluctantly, after sharing a long look with her husband Celepharn, “So Dior asked that we abstain, should the question come up.”
“The issue is on the agenda for discussion during our summer council at New Menegroth,” Celepharn added.
“So that’s an aye for Anderserme, and an abstention for Doriath Gaeronwest,” Idril summarized, before going on to ask, “Arandil, Laureamoriel – how votes my father Turgon’s kingdom of Gondolin Earrilye?”
“On the basis of a very forceful series of letters from our King Turgon’s valued advisor my honored lord father Glorfindel,” Arandil began, with a gracious, amused smile, “Gondolin Earrilye is in favor of extending the legal rights and protections of veteran warrior status to veterans of the Blood Mage Wars, including to veterans of ONLY the Blood Mage Wars.”
“Thank you, Arandil,” said Tuor.
Idril immediately added, “But please don't pick issues with the wording yet, Arandilya, as hard as we all know that is for you. Let’s keep it to a basic yay or nay. And now we have two for, and one abstention. Oropher, Felith, how votes Eryn Brongalen?”
“As we’ve stated in the past,” Oropher said with quiet certainty, “Eryn Brongalen will enforce here in Tol Eressea those decisions made by our son Thranduil in the Greenwood in Middle Earth, unless there is a specific compelling reason not to do so. Aran Thranduil decided to send warriors to fight the Blood Mages. We will honor the sacrifices of those warriors just as we honor the sacrifices of all of the warriors of the Greenwood.”
“So that tallies to three in favor, and one abstention,” Tuor summarized, “Unless my math is off, that puts us at Marillaeglir in favor of treating veterans of the Blood Mage Wars as veterans of the wars against Morgoth and Sauron for purposes of Tol Eressean law. That is, unless Galador Annun, Avallone, or the Laiquendi have an objection?”
“King Amroth and Queen Nimrodel directed me to vote against, on behalf of Galador Annun,” Galadriel contributed neutrally.
There was a moment of quiet across the table. Gimli could understand why, as even if Galadriel was here representing the nephew who had once been the King of Lothlorien before her, she surely couldn’t agree with the vote she’d just been forced to cast.
Finrod burst out laughing. “Go ahead, Neldiel, say it!” he urged.
Neldiel made a face at him, but kept her silence.
“Fine, I’ll ask,” said Finrod. Turning to his sister beside him, he asked playfully, “Did it hurt to cast that vote, sister dear?”
“It is not the decision that I would have made,” Galadriel acknowledged calmly, “But I am not the ruler of the kingdom of the elves of the Goldenwood here in the West. Amroth and Nimrodel are. Based on their current knowledge and understanding, they cannot see where the Blood Mage Wars were not a strictly human conflict. However,” Galadriel said, turning her head to regard first Gimli and Legolas, and then Mithiriel, Theli, and Erestor, “Amroth and Nimrodel are interested in hearing the viewpoints of those elves and other beings who actually fought in such wars, before reaching a final decision. Though their vote for today will remain a Nay.”
“Numerically, that doesn’t matter,” Princess Idril said, “Neither the Nay nor the interest, although let’s move asking our new arrivals their opinion to the next item on the agenda after we have Marillaeglir’s final vote.”
“I have no objection to that,” said Galadriel, nodding respectfully first to Gimli and Legolas, and then to Mithiriel, Theli, and Erestor.
“Thank you,” Idril acknowledged, before turning her attention to Elrond and Celebrian, “Grandson, granddaughter, how votes my great-granddaughter’s city of Avallone?”
“Andreth is in favor,” Celebrian answered, “And our daughter would also ask that, should the vote go against today, we seek out information and opinions from not only our new arrivals of today, but also other newly arrived elves, before reaching a final decision on behalf of Marillaeglir and Tol Eressea.”
“Thank you, granddaughter,” said Tuor, “And that brings the vote to four in favor, one against, and one abstention. Now, do the Laiquendi even have a representative here?”
“Their Chieftain Denethor didn’t reply to my invitation,” Galadriel answered serenely, “Although I’m not entirely certain that I have the correct address for his camp this spring, it may not even have reached him in time.” Turning to the representatives from Doriath Gaeronwest, Galadriel asked, “If I remember correctly, Denethor generally allows Doriath Gaeronwest to speak for his people when they have no representative.”
“He does,” raven-haired Celepharn agreed, “On the one hand, I can’t see where Denethor or the Laiquendi would have a strong opinion on the issue, either way. We’ve certainly never discussed the issue with him, nor have Dior or Nimloth, to the best of my knowledge. On the other hand, the Laiquendi are generally against the elves getting involved in matters which are not their concern.”
“On the third hand,” Neldiel continued, rather to her husband’s bemusement, “Or, I suppose, the first foot? In any case, Denethor was very fond of his aunt Dilys, and delegated some of his leadership duties to her before he died on Middle Earth. Dilys died and hasn’t yet been reborn, but her adopted son was Eldun, who was born Elurin of Doriath.”
Gimli turned to look at Theli, who was blank-faced. Mithiriel, Gimli thought, was probably holding her husband’s hand under the table.
“Elurin has refused to answer to any other name than Eldun,” Neldiel continued, after a sympathetic glance towards Theli, “And he and his people also want nothing to do with any government of any kind. However, his grandson is present today. Ecthelion Diorchil,” Neldiel said to Theli, “Do you have an opinion on how the Laiquendi would vote?”
Theli tilted his head thoughtfully. “Well, I can’t speak for Denethor’s Laiquendi who are settled here in the West, as I’ve never met them or spoken to any of them on this side of the sea. The Laiquendi who remain in Middle Earth largely recognize Thranduil as their King. Of those who don’t, even they remain on friendly and cooperative terms with the Greenwood and our King Thranduil. And,” Theli ended, “some of those Laiquendi did choose to go and battle the Blood Mages. Though they generally chose to do so under Prince Legolas’ command.”
“So,” Tuor said, “To give the final word for Marillaeglir on behalf of Tol Eressea, we’re in favor, with three votes for, one vote against, one abstention, and a rather stereotypical ‘maybe yes, maybe no, maybe yes,’ from the Laiquendi.”
Ingwion nodded gravely, then acknowledged, “Lirindo, please record that as of now, the Vanyar take no issue with Tol Eressea’s laws, to the extent which they apply only within Tol Eressea, differing from the laws which govern Aman Proper in respect of the inclusion of the veterans of the Blood Mage Wars within the category of veterans of the wars against Morgoth and his servants.”
“Ah,” remarked Arandil lightly, “The servants of Sauron, as allies of Sauron, arguably already include the Blood Mages.”
“Don’t write that down, Lirindo,” Ingwion directed his nephew, giving Arandil a slightly reproving look as he did so, before adding more thoughtfully, “Or rather, do write down that the representative from Gondolin Earrilye expressed his personal opinion on that point, after the decision had already been made.”
Arandil nodded back agreeably.
“Now that the decision has been made for the nonce,” said Galadriel, “Do any of our new arrivals have any opinions that they wish to share on the point?”
Gimli felt that it was the kind of question they should have asked at the beginning rather than the end. But he had just arrived in the West today, he had to admit. And being the dwarf in a group of mostly elves, one human, two hobbits, and one Maia, he thought that he’d wait and let Legolas, Theli, or Erestor speak first. As hard as it was for Gimli not to speak up on this one particular issue, just so that Legolas didn’t have to when his emotional wounds from those wars were still sometimes raw.
Legolas looked to Theli, Theli looked to Legolas, and Mithiriel looked to Erestor. Erestor sighed, which relieved Gimli, because he took it as Erestor’s recognizing and accepting that he had just been elected their group’s spokes-elf.
“Speaking as someone who was present at a number of the meetings where Lord Celeborn of East Lorien, Aran Thranduil of the Greenwood, King Thorin Stonehelm the III of Erebor, and their human allies made their decisions,” Erestor began carefully, “the consensus amongst that group of worthies was that the Blood Mages, although relatively small in number and geographic influence, did constitute a threat which could, if unchecked, grow sufficient in magnitude to threaten all of Middle Earth.”
“Lord Ingloren and Lady Ambaraxiel of Imladris were of that opinion,” Mithiriel added, “As were my grandfather, Elessar Telcontar, and my uncle, Eldarion Telcontar, now King of the Reunited Kingdoms of Gondor and Arnor.”
“Lady Ambaraxiel is of that opinion?” Ingwion inquired intently.
“She is.” Mithiriel confirmed.
“Who is Lady Ambaraxiel?” asked Lirindo.
“The daughter of Master Aulequen,” Ingwion answered, appearing for the first time since Gimli had seen him something other than perfectly calm. In fact, he appeared downright unsettled.
“Anatar-the-Aran Ingwe’s chief architect and respected councilor? That Master Aulequen?” Lirindo asked, incredulous.
“Yes,” Ingwion answered firmly, if a bit absently. After betraying for the first time an almost human level of agitation by tapping his fingernails on the table, Prince Ingwion asked, “And we are absolutely certain that these Blood Mages have been defeated? Destroyed, root and branch?”
“That certainly sounds like a question that someone would ask if they didn't think that the Blood Mages were a real threat,” said Lord Arandil, in an even tone, though clearly his comment was intended to be sarcastic. Gimli wanted to laugh, but decided that it would be best to stay silent. He couldn’t help smiling. Nor, apparently, could Princess Neldiel, Lady Celebrian, or Lady Taminixe, although Lord Elrond and Lord Erestor remained remarkably composed. Lady Laureamoriel laid a calming hand on her son Arandil’s arm.
“Should I write that . . .” Lirindo began.
“No, Lirindo. Arandil, I do take your point, but please do be silent for now,” Ingwion said sternly. “If Master Aulequen’s most promising student feels that this was a real threat,” Ingwion continued, “that potentially changes my impression of the matter. Given that, I wish to first determine that the threat has, in fact, been put to rest. Permanently.”
For the first time since apologizing for interrupting their reunions, Ingwion turned to seriously consider Gimli, Legolas, Theli, Mithiriel, and Erestor, and asked that question again.
Erestor sighed. “Definitively? I cannot say for certain, Prince Ingwion. Mithiriel?”
“All of the Blood Mages we knew of by name either surrendered or were killed in combat,” Mithiriel reported, “and their followers are either dead, imprisoned, quarantined on various small islands or oases, or scattered and remaining very quiet.”
“All of the Blood Mages that you ‘knew’ of?” Prince Ingwion asked, “And what do you know of those who are ‘scattered, and very quiet?’”
“With respected to the scattered and quiet followers, my Uncle’s spies are good, and his allies’ spies aren’t half-bad, either,” Mithiriel answered, “To the best of their knowledge, those followers who escaped are relatively inconsequential and not in contact with anyone of power. But with respect to your first question . . . if someone has never drawn power to themselves to try to change the fabric of the great song while someone else who could tell what they were doing was watching,” Mithiriel explained, “then how do you know that such a person is a mage at all? And even if someone can do magic, and realizes that they can do magic, and works hard enough to learn how to do more than light a candle by moving a flame to the candle from a hearth fire two feet away, how do you know that they’d even be willing to hurt someone else, let alone kill someone else, in order to gain more power?”
“I think that we are getting somewhat far afield,” King Oropher interrupted, “Although I believe that the threat was real because my son Thranduil thought that it was real, I am not thoroughly convinced that these ‘human mages’ really could perform ‘magic’ in and of themselves, through blood sacrifice or otherwise. How do we know that they weren’t just making dangerous mischief with items crafted by Sauron, which just LOOKED like magic?”
“I beg your pardon, Daerada Oropher,” said Legolas incredulously, “But we know that the Blood Mages could cause fire to rain down out of the sky to decimate an opposing army because we were there, in that opposing army, WATCHING THEM DO IT. We were there, praying to the Valar that our mages could move the fire or extinguish it before it burned through our shields. We know that the Blood Mages could create an army of their own out of nothing but dirt and water and blood because we had to fight through wave after wave of mud soldiers. They couldn’t be killed, and even when they were hacked into dust, that dust and muck tried to trip us and choke us.”
Intently, Legolas continued, “We know that they had spells that allowed them to control orcs, trolls, goblins and weak-minded men, elves, and dwarves because we had to fight them. When such beings were hurt enough or the Blood Mage who had stolen and enchanted their blood died, we saw them come out of their ensorcelled state like swimmers coming out of deep water, barely aware of what they’d done, then sobbing and choking and sometimes dying of shock and horror after learning that it had all been real.”
“We know that such beings were truly being controlled by someone outside them,” Theli solemnly added, “because I had my hands in the chests of some of those beings, stitching their bleeding hearts back together, when those hearts exploded, or simply disappeared. Neither of which I'd ever before seen a heart do in all of my thousands of years as a healer.”
“I know,” Legolas said brokenly, “I know, that they could really make your blood boil in your veins when you refused to do their will, refused to fall under their spell, because their Chief Mage, Nergui, did it to me. I screamed until my throat bled as he spilled the blood from my left wrist into a dish and muttered over it with his acolytes. I’ve broken bones and been pierced by poisoned arrows and cut with dirty knives, and none of it ever felt like the searing, burning pain I felt through every inch of my body when Nergui stared at me and gestured after muttering over my blood. I screamed until I passed out from pain. Then I woke up, and he stared and gestured again, and I screamed until I lost consciousness again. I couldn’t even get the breath to curse him. That happened . . . twelve times, before I lost track."
Legolas stumbled to a pause, then heaved a deep breath and continued, "I know, that the Blood Mages' power was real magic, and not mere poison, because when Faramir's granddaughter Sarangerel spilled Nergui's bowl of blood and broke his concentration, the pain finally stopped. That also told me that Sarangerel was still loyal to us, so that I heeded her warning to hold on to hope and not let myself fade. Even after they cast their spells and made my blood boil again, I trusted. But still, when Gimli, Theli, Rumil, and Elboron’s men rescued me, I didn’t even know how long I’d been gone. I was shocked when I learned that it had only been three days.”
All the while that Legolas spoke, he'd held tightly to Gimli's hand. When he finished speaking, he looked down, lost still in his memories. The expression of the elves 'round the table betrayed their horror. Gimli suspected that Legolas' mother and brother were also holding hands under the table, and King Oropher looked tormented, for having brought these terrible memories to the forefront of his grandson's mind.
“You’ve been very quiet all this time, Olorin,” Princess Neldiel said to Gandalf, breaking the ensuing silence, “What do you think of the magnitude of threat posed by these Blood Mages, and the reality of their magic?"
"It is not for me to say what you elves should do when you govern yourselves," said Gandalf thoughtfully, "as you well know, my Lady Neldiel. I am here today as the former bearer of Narya only, to join the progresses as such and encourage support of those others who fought against the Deceiver. But I will say that should you ask my brother Pallando what he thinks of his and Alatar's former students . . . well, he is still in the gardens of Lorien recovering from the wounds they inflicted upon him as they bled him and used his blood to cast their spells for centuries. And he would have been slain 'ere he could be rescued, were it not for the efforts of the Allied Kingdoms' spy Sarangerel Faramiriel and the orc Taur-Ug, called the Chain Pulverizer."
"I fought orcs during the War of Wrath," Prince Ingwion said quietly, "And I cannot believe that one of those foul creatures risked its life to save a Maia."
"I fought the orcs during the War of the Last Alliance and throughout the Second and Third Ages," said Erestor, "And I found it hard to believe, at the time. But the orcs changed, after Sauron died. They had the opportunity to choose their own ways of life and their own allegiances. And not all of them chose to kill and maim."
"Taur-Ug helped Sarangerel because she was kind to him," Mithiriel explained, "She was the first person to be kind to him in his memory."
"I think that we have moved rather far afield again," Calasse interrupted, "Our new arrivals have given us much to think about. But it is undoubted that even in Aman Proper the progress will help to raise funds for the veterans of the struggles against Sauron. So let's speak of that, instead."
"If we are to speak of that," Oropher interjected, "Then why can it not wait a season? Until my grandson and his companions have had a chance to rest, at the least."
It was kind and motherly Queen Lelien who offered an explanation, “You must forgive us please, Prince Legolas, Lord Gimli, and your newly arrived companions as well,” she began, speaking with her hands as well as her words in a way that few elves did, “But many of us here in the West never lived on Middle Earth. I only know a little of your struggles, and that because I accompanied my father on his ship to Middle Earth when the Host of the Valar sailed to fight in the War of Wrath. Most of the elves who live in Tol Eressea, let alone Aman, have never seen armed conflict. They do not understand that war was not a choice for you, in Middle Earth. They cannot conceive of a situation where the choice was either violence, or slavery and death.”
“Because of this,” Lelien continued, as Gimli tried to adjust his world view to take into account her words, “it is hard for them to understand the assistance that newly arriving soldiers, and reborn soldiers, and their families, sometimes need. They don’t understand battle sickness, or survivor’s guilt on that scale, or panicked flashbacks. They don’t understand the need for re-training to non-combat oriented careers. All of that, you see, costs money.”
“And that’s where these tours come in,” Elrond supplied, with a game half-smile. “We’re sorry to ask, but it would help if you could all come to each capital city in Tol Eressea, sit on a stage, and tell some of your stories. To the extent that you each feel comfortable, of course.”
“You’re skipping steps, nephew,” Calasse lectured Elrond patiently, “Connect the dots. Assume they’re as unfamiliar with how things are done here as you were a little over a century ago.”
“What Aunt Calasse means,” Lady Celebrian explained, with a soft, fond I-told-you-so smile for her husband, “Is that there are both private and public funds in each Kingdom which help newly arrived and newly reborn soldiers – and their families - adapt to the particular challenges of their new lives here in the West. In part, these funds rely on private donations, and the more heroes - and the more colorful those heroes are – the more those donations pour in.”
“And on the public side,” Lord Arandil, Erestor’s father, picked up the explanation, “the more public support there is for our returned soldiers, and the more public understanding there is of why it was necessary for them to fight and the struggles they faced, the easier of a time we poor well-meaning councilors have in convincing our tyrannical rulers and their despotic heirs and council lords to vote for allocating greater amounts of tax money to the cause.”
“Does using such colorful adjectives to describe your rulers help?” asked Mithiriel, with a whimsical little smile.
“Only when you’ve got the right rulers,” Lord Arandil answered with a grin and a wink. In that moment, Gimli could clearly see him for Lord-the-Captain Glorfindel’s son, in one of that worthy’s lighter moments.
“I’ll remember to tell dear cousin Turgon that you said so,” Finrod told Arandil, not bothering to fight a smile of his own.
“You might as well,” said Lady Laureamoriel, Glorfindel’s wife, who was with her son representing the interests of Gondolin Earrilye at the meeting, “Arandil says far more outrageous things to our very tolerant King every other Third Day.”
“Never say something behind your King’s back that you’re not willing to say to his face, that’s my motto,” Arandil jested, “Now, can we adjourn in favor of a more detail-oriented working breakfast tomorrow morning? There’s no sense talking logistics before pulling in a half dozen more staff members a piece. Even then, we’ll have to break things down kingdom-by-kingdom. We’re here for a week, we’ve time enough to figure this out.”
“Very well, Arandil,” said Ingwion, clearly amused by Erestor’s father’s continued insouciance, “I’m in favor of adjourning for now. That would give our newly arrived guests time to rest before the supper which I understand is to served on the beach. Unless anyone else has any objection? Idril, Tuor? The two of you are speaking for Marillaeglir, are you not?”
“We have no objection,” Princess Idril assured her cousin Ingwion, “and I’ll ask my scribe Hyardis to coordinate with Prince Lirindo in drawing up a list of what needs to be on the agenda.”
The meeting did break up at that point. Erestor and Taminixe were the first to drift away, soon followed by Elrond and Celebrian, with Theli and Mithiriel in tow.
Gimli was reluctant to leave Galadriel before her handmaiden/guard Ilcetiel or her son Sador had reappeared. Prince Finrod clearly cared deeply for his sister, but he had a large number of other demands on his time and attention.
Legolas didn’t want to leave without Gimli, so the two of them, and Thandrin, who didn’t want to leave without Legolas, were still standing by Galadriel when Mithrellas reappeared.
“I can understand why Prince Legolas and Lord Gimli should play an integral part in this year’s tour,” Mithrellas said, “But I cannot understand why you wish for me to continue to participate, Galadriel. I was only a ring-bearer for a season, just until I delivered Nenya to you in the Golden Wood. And besides that . . .”
“You were Celebrimbor’s apprentice, Mithrellas,” Galadriel interrupted tiredly, “He cannot be here, but you are. And winning the war wasn’t just about winning the war. To save some of what we fought for, we have to fight again and again, with words and with memories. Stand up, Mithrellas. Your long-daughters did, and are still.”
“Do you ever even listen to yourself, Galadriel?” asked Legolas’ tiny great-grandmother Neldiel, “You sound like a peacekeeper’s recruitment spiel.”
“Hmm,” murmured Galadriel, seemingly too tired to even give a real answer.
That caused Neldiel to pause, her arm in Celepharn’s, and her attractive face going from gently mocking to genuinely concerned.
Just then Ilcetiel and Sador returned, Ilcetiel to assist her Lady to her chambers to rest, and Sador to be dispatched to show Gimli to his rooms to rest before supper.
Chapter 20: Welcome Travelers Chapter 7
Notes:
A/N: The elven OCs Queen Minaethiel (Thranduil's wife), Queen Felith (Oropher's wife), and Neldiel (Celepharn's wife) who are mentioned in this chapter belong to Emma (AfricanDaisy) and Kaylee, and have been borrowed with their kind permission for me to use in the Greenwood stories in my AU, which is distinct from their AU. Emma and Kaylee's Doriath stories can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/25743 and here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/656492. More of their Greenwood stories can be read in the files section here: https://groups.yahoo.com/neo/groups/LOTR_DFIC/info
Excerpt from Chapter 6:
Just then Ilcetiel and Sador returned, Ilcetiel to assist her Lady to her chambers to rest, and Sador to be dispatched to show Gimli to his rooms to rest before supper.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Lord Gimli is sharing a suite with my brother Legolas,” Thandrin pointed out irritably, “I can just as easily guide Gimli at the same time. There’s no need for you to accompany us, Sador.”
“Now, now, cousin,” Sador replied cheerfully, “You know how important it is to humor one’s mother. Besides, you wouldn’t be so cruel as to deprive yourself and our companions of my company, would you?”
To Gimli’s amusement, Thandrin gritted his teeth but didn’t offer a reply to that. Legolas was stifling a smile as well, in what Gimli thought was an admirable effort not to actually laugh at his older brother’s discomfort, at least given how much Legolas’ laurel-green eyes were dancing with mirth.
“Here we are,” Sador announced grandly when they reached a door near the end of a long hall, “Your rooms for the next week.”
The door opened into a sitting room of sorts. Storm shutters and broad glass windows were open to the cool of a stand of pines, the babble of a nearby brook, and the constant song of the winds of the sea. The floor was made of flat, polished white stones, complimented by soft carpets in shades of gray, green, and blue. A much smaller driftwood table than the one in the great room sat before a hearth in which burned a merry little fire. Three mismatched but comfortable seeming chairs crowded round the table, and there was a long forest-green velvet settee under the window.
On one side of the settee lounged Lithidhren, in a sky-blue tunic and white leggings, writing in a large leather-bound volume. His sister lounged on the other side of the settee, clad in a loose flowing gown of sky-blue and laurel-green silk, and apparently conversing with a parakeet with her sandal-clad feet in her elegant twin brother’s lap. The two reminded Gimli suddenly of nothing so much as Eowyn with her owl or her cats or her stud book, and Faramir with his beloved scrolls and scholarly tomes. There was nothing of romance between Legolas’ twin siblings, of course, but still . . . there was something that called to mind Faramir and Eowyn.
Then the moment was gone, and the twins were greeting Legolas and Thandrin and Sador, and Gimli himself. Gimli greeted them but then returned to his survey of the surroundings.
The walls of the sitting room were of rich brown wood, varnished smooth as satin. On the walls were paintings, mostly sea-scapes with a few woodland and pastoral scenes. Gimli thought that he recognized a painting of Mithlond as identical to one that he’d once seen in the rooms of Elrohir Elrondion in Imladris. There were also well over a dozen portraits of elves, mostly blond and light-eyed.
Gimli recognized the dark-haired Sador, posed casually on the beach below Calasse’s house with his sister Celebrian and a taller ellon with silver hair, presumably their older brother Trevadir. Gimli also recognized the lady Calasse herself in several of the portraits. In one, she was sitting in a marble courtyard overlooking the sea with a handful of well-dressed elves, including an elegant elleth with silver-blond hair and cornflower blue eyes who looked somehow familiar to Gimli. In another, Calasse stood on another beach with the same elegant elleth, three golden haired ellyn, and a male and female elfling, who looked to be twins. The female elfling had gold-and-silver hair, and haunted cornflower blue eyes.
“My mother,” Sador said, pointing to the female elfling, “And Uncle Finrod my foster-father, her oldest brother, holding her. She was fourteen years old in that picture. For a human, that would be,” the handsome raven haired ellon tilted his head, “Five years old, in human years, I think.”
“Five and a half, actually,” Thandrin corrected, while Gimli wondered what had happened to his lady when she was so small, to put an ancient fear in her eyes.
“Five point six, to be technical,” Lithidhren teased.
“Sador isn’t fond of mathematics,” Eryntheliel explained with a fond smile.
“And Thandrin isn’t fond of precision,” Lithidhren jested.
Thandrin laughed, and grabbed Lithidhren around the shoulders so that his younger brother couldn’t escape when Thrandrin then ruffled his brother’s long wheat-blond hair and elegant scholar’s braids.
“Stop, stop, you ape!” Lithidhren laughingly complained, though Gimli noticed that he very carefully put down his volume and quill, and that Thandrin let him.
“Trip him, ‘Ren!” Sador encouraged Lithidhren with a grin, “elbow him in the ribs!”
Lithidhren gamely tried, to his sister’s and even Legolas’ friendly encouragement. Gimli had to chuckle, as well. It was odd to see Legolas as part of a large family of his own, but the teasing and the mock wrestling . . . that was familiar to Gimli. Familiar to him from his time with Legolas, and with Aragorn and Faramir and Eldarion and Elboron, with Arwen or Eowyn or Mithiriel calling encouragement or admonishment instead of Eryntheliel. Even further back, it reminded Gimli of Kili teasing him, and Fili calling out friendly advice, while Aunt Dis or his mother Vala scolded all three of them about not breaking the furniture.
Thandrin managed to dance around Lithidhren’s attempt to trip him, but how much effort his younger brother had put forth seemed to please him. He left off mussing Lithidhren’s hair with a fond, “Good try, little brother,” a proud smile, and a hearty slap to Lithidhren’s back. Then Thandrin admonished, “But you need to spend less time with your books, and more time learning how to defend yourself!”
“Why should I need to?” Lithidhren retorted with a patient smile as he reordered his hair and elegant tunic, “When I have brave, strong peacekeepers like you and Sador to protect me?”
“Everyone should know how to protect themselves, Lithidhren,” said Legolas solemnly.
All three of his siblings and Sador turned to regard Legolas sadly.
“It’s not the same here as it is in Middle Earth, Legolas,” Eryntheliel said reassuringly, “There aren’t orcs in the wood.”
“Only tree-orcs,” Sador jested, until Eryntheliel gently elbowed him into silence.
“But there are still dangers,” Thandrin disagreed sternly, “And peacekeepers can’t be everywhere.”
“I agree with Thandrin,” Sador said, serious now, “And Legolas, Gimli, I hope that the two of you will not let your martial skills lapse the way that my brother-by-law Elrond has.”
“But at the same time,” Eryntheliel argued, “It doesn’t have to be a full-time occupation, either. Not the way it was for Adar and his soldiers, or I assume for the two of you on Middle Earth.”
Gimli looked to Legolas, and then they both shrugged. Yes, it was a way of life for them to train every day. But they didn’t spend all day at it! Between wars, they’d spent more time working in the mines or the forest, or meeting with people and organizing new growth and trade. Legolas’ bow and Gimli’s axe were not the extent of their lives; but they were an inseparable part. Gimli couldn’t imagine giving up his axe. And he knew that no more could Legolas his bow.
All the other elves around them were wincing.
“Legolas, don’t do that,” Thandrin scolded.
“What?”
“That . . . gesture. With your shoulders. Gimli shouldn’t do it either.” Thandrin said seriously, “It’s low-class and vulgar.”
“What? Shrugging?” Legolas said incredulously, “I know that Ada and cousin Elrond don’t like it, but . . . vulgar?”
“It’s just not done, muindor-las.” Eryntheliel explained kindly, “You raise a hand instead.”
Gimli looked at Legolas again. Then, with matching grins, they shrugged again.
“Ah, my eyes!” Lithidhren exclaimed, comically covering them with his hands. Sador and Eryntheliel laughed, and even Thandrin smiled.
“Just try not to do it in public,” Thandrin advised.
“It’s that bad?” Legolas asked, “I know that Ada spent about a decade training it out of Theli, and I was careful not to shrug in front of Ada if I could help it, but . . .”
“You never told me that,” Gimli said, mildly surprised.
“Well, it was such a silly thing, Gimli,” Legolas defended himself, “It’s not as if it was a matter of substance.”
“Huh,” Gimli commented neutrally, “Well, I suppose that there are all sorts of things we must accustom ourselves too, brother-mine.”
“I’ll make a list,” Lithidhren offered kindly.
“Actually, I think that there may already be one,” Sador recalled, “I’ll ask my sister Celebrian about it. Her daughter, my niece Andreth, rules in Avallone. A list like that sounds like the type of thing that Avallone would prepare for elves newly arrived here in the West. Although most of them haven’t spent as much time around humans as the two of you have, and may not have picked up vulgar habits like shrugging. But for now,” Sador concluded with a rueful smile, “I am due to meet with my honored cousin Ereinion and the other Tol Eressean monarchs and their representatives.”
“What meeting?” Thandrin asked suspiciously, “Daerada didn’t mention one.”
“Why don’t you come and join me, and then you can find out,” Sador offered in a friendly fashion, “I don’t know what it’s about, either.”
Thandrin appeared torn. He looked to Legolas, and then back to Sador.
“It’s well enough with me, iaur muindor nin,” Legolas gently encouraged, “I am fine. I do think that I will rest for awhile, if we’re to greet the late stars on the sands tonight.”
“We’ll watch out for baby brother, Thandrin,” Lithidhren encouraged, “You go find out what is going on in the councils of the great and good. . .”
“So that you can tell us what’s going on,” Eryntheliel added, speaking almost in tandem with her twin brother as the Elrondionnath sometimes did.
“What about me?” Sador asked, putting his hand over his heart as if mortally wounded.
“Sador muin-nin, you’re a wonderful friend and from all I’ve seen a very capable peacekeeper, but you’re not much of a politician,” Eryntheliel remonstrated fondly, “for Thandrin can listen to the same speech as you and come away with fifteen more meanings than you get out of it.”
“Fair enough,” Sador conceded with yet another smile. He turned to gesture towards the door, allowing Thandrin to proceed him back into the hall way.
“Here, brother,” said Lithidhren to Legolas in the wake of their departure, “Let me show you your room. Gimli, yours even has the proper dwarven furniture.”
And it did. Two doors led out from the sitting room into bed chambers, and a third into a bathing chamber. Gimli’s room had thick carved wooden furniture that could have come from the royal apartments at Erebor, it was so well-crafted and familiar. And it was sized perfectly for the frame and weight of an adult dwarf.
The pictures that decorated his room were of the many dwarven kingdoms. The greatest number were of Khazad-dum, his ancestors’ ancient kingdom, and were beautiful in their intricate detail and variety. There were a few paintings and drawings of Erebor, and even several of Aglarond. Gimli could recognize the artist, a solitary fellow who spent most of his days capturing the scintillating beauty of the Glittering Caves.
All of the paintings were mounted in bi-fold leather frames. Now, on the walls of this chamber, both of the leather sides were folded in back against one another. But the pictures could easily be taken off the wall, unfolded so that they were completely encased in the protective leather, and then packed in a bag or a chest so that they could be taken on even a long journey without risk of damage. Gimli suspected that these drawings were his to keep, and were also gifts from Galadriel.
Opposite the bed was a medium sized closet, thrown open to reveal a wardrobe eminently suited to a dwarven lord. Oh, some of the pieces were a bit more simplistic or flowing than Gimli would have preferred, rather like an elf’s take on a dwarf’s clothing, but most were just about right. Archaic in style, but that was well enough. The old styles rarely went entirely out of fashion amongst dwarven kind.
By the closet was Gimli’s own worn oak chest, the same one he’d brought with him from Middle Earth. It had been opened and his clothing had been taken out to air in the closet, alongside what were presumably his new clothes, likely also gifts from Galadriel. Some of his clothes, those which had been most distressed by their long ocean voyage, had entirely disappeared. Presumably someone must have taken them away to clean them? Hopefully that worthy would reappear at some point, so that Gimli could thank him or her. And be sure to get the rest of his belongings back!
Several new, mostly empty chests and a brace of brand-new saddle bags were stacked beside Gimli’s oak chest. Together, the receptacles would give him more than enough storage to take all of his new clothes and paintings with him when he left this place.
His examination of his temporary quarters completed, Gimli left to rejoin Legolas and his siblings in the cool and breezy sitting room. Eryntheliel and Legolas were laughing as Lithidhren related some story or another.
“So, what have I missed?” Gimli asked, pleased by how happy and relaxed Legolas appeared.
“The explanation for why Sador’s presence here has our older brother Thandrin’s tail in a twist,” Legolas offered with twinkling eyes.
“Legolas is unnecessarily dramatic,” said Eryntheliel with a self-conscious laugh, “Sador and I courted for a decade about a century ago. We parted as friends, and have stayed good friends, but Thandrin has never entirely forgiven Sador for . . . well, I’m not sure, exactly.”
“For having the audacity to court our sister,” Lithidhren explained with a twinkle in his blue eyes, “And then the poor taste to choose to stop, yet still remain familiar with Eryn and with me.”
“Sador is good friends with Lithidhren’s lov . . . ah, I mean, dear friend,” Eryntheliel revealed, despite trying to catch herself.
“Oh . . . Oh!” exclaimed Legolas in the tone of someone who was just now putting together a number of previously unconnected clues to form a coherent whole, “So that's what you were doing, when you spent so much time with that prince of Dale, and with Lieutenant Harphor!”
Lithidhren blushed and glared at his sister. But then, seeing that Legolas seemed to have no qualm with his brother having taken male lovers, seemed to relax a little.
Eryntheliel, observing this evidence of tolerance on their younger brother’s behalf, explained, “Yes, ‘Las-nin, it was. And Lithidhren could spend all the time with them that he liked, and now with his paramour as well. But I couldn't even be alone with Sador in a room for any length of time at all without someone coming to chaperone us. It's enough to drive a sister mad.”
Now Lithidhren’s cautious look extended to Gimli.
“Gimli won't care,” Legolas assured his brother, “We had good friends in Gondor who preferred spears to shields, so to speak. Theli and Mithiriel wouldn't mind either, for that matter. Their son Nestor has fallen in love with several ellyn over the years, and it never bothered them. He was fairly discreet about it, but many of us knew.”
“Did . . . did Ada know? About Theli and Mithiriel's son Nestor's preferences?” Lithidhren asked, with his heart seemingly in his throat.
“I don't think so, I’m sorry to say, muindor-nin,” Legolas answered sympathetically, “But then, I never asked. It wasn't important then. But I don't think Ada would mind. You should talk to him about it, or Nana. Does she know?”
“No,” Eryntheliel answered for her twin, “Ren is afraid to tell her, and he asked me not to. Nana, or Thandrin.”
“I’ve not trusted Thandrin to know, either,” Lithidhren said quietly, “He is so very . . . traditional. I worry that he would reject me, and it is not a chance that I am willing to take.” With a faint smile, Lithidhren confessed, “But Theli already knows. He caught me and Harphor once in, ah, intimate circumstances, and he never said anything about it to anyone other than us, at least not that I ever heard. He gave me and Harphor an embarrassingly frank how-to and what-to-avoid discussion that was very helpful, but absolutely mortifying at the time. Then Harphor left for patrol, and Theli made sure that I hadn't decided to train as a warrior to be with him or someone like him. I assured Theli that I hadn't, and that was mostly the end of it. I got the feeling that he supported us, though. How is Harphor, by the way?”
“He was doing well, the last I saw him,” Legolas answered, “And a Captain, now. He’s not stepped out with anyone else, that I know of. Do you still have feelings for him?
“No,” Lithidhren answered, “Or, well, I do still care for Harphor. Whether there would still be romantic feelings between us . . . I don't know. Our lives are so different, now. That, and, I'm courting someone else. Quietly, you know.”
“Lithidhren’s sweetheart’s name is Elenyon,” Eryntheliel supplied, “He's a Vanyarin poet. A very nice ellon, and quite a good conversationalist, but rather vague about what year or season it is, from time to time.”
“Seems a good fit for our Lithidhren,” Legolas teased.
“I am not that unaware of my surroundings!” Lithidhren retorted, tossing a pillow from the settee at his younger brother, before instructing, “But come, Tithen-Las. You should rest. And Eryntheliel has a swimming date with Daernaneth Neldiel and all the unconventional female set.”
Lithidhren and Eryntheliel took their leave, but Legolas and Gimli didn’t need a rest so much as a chance to catch their breath in the quiet. Gimli felt near overwhelmed by all the strange sounds and smells of this new place. Let alone all the strangers! Strangers who were discordantly familiar. Like Thandrin, who had Legolas’ laugh. Or like Sador, with his mother Galadriel’s smile. How much stranger, Gimli wondered, must it be for Legolas?
“It’s odd,” Gimli’s elven brother said, taking a seat on the settee by the window, “On the one hand, it’s as if I don’t know them at all anymore. Thandrin, Lithidhren, and Eryntheliel, I mean. And on the other, it’s as if they are still the same. As if they just kept on growing, exactly who they were. As if the war and the battles never changed them.”
“They never did, brother of my heart,” Gimli quietly told him, “Your siblings were slain in cruelest violence. But then they were reborn here, where there is no war.”
Legolas looked up then, meeting Gimli’s eyes squarely, “But not no violence. Gimli, I think that something happened to Lithidhren here. Something that made him more afraid to tell Thandrin and our parents that he loves ellyn. Something that made even light-hearted Sador agree that Lithidhren needs to know how to defend himself. And something that Sador and Eryntheliel know about, but Thandrin and Naneth do not.”
“If that’s what you think, brother-mine, then may be some truth to it,” Gimli replied pensively, “for you’ve a knack for seeing through to the heart of things even on first impression. But I don’t think that’s something you can come right out and ask your Lithidhren.”
Legolas snorted like a dwarf, and then laughed, “No, you’re right about that. Lithidhren keeps things close to his chest. I’ll just have to pay attention, and wait.” Tilting his head thoughtfully, Legolas asked, “Now what is it that is troubling you, oh brother of my heart? Are you lonely?”
It was Gimli’s turn to snort, “Lonely? With you here? And your Lady Difficult and her laughing lord? No, Legolas, I’m not lonely. I’m not regretting any of my decisions. I’m worried about my Lady Galadriel. She doesn’t seem well.”
Quickly masking his relief, Legolas tilted his head again, “She doesn’t, I agree. I asked Eryntheliel about it. She says that mother thinks that some of Lady Galadriel’s frailty is a put-on, exaggerated for some purpose of her own.”
“I could not see her as a liar.”
“Not a lie, Gimli. Allowing people to see the frailty, and not the strength.”
“Well, perhaps. But only for a very good cause.”
“Of course,” Legolas agreed, “But it’s not the kind of thing one can just go up and ask her.”
“Huh,” said Gimli pensively, “Well, you know. I think I’ll do just that.”
“If she turns you into a frog,” Legolas teased, “I’ll make sure to ask my sister to give you a kiss, to turn you back into a dwarf.”
“Very funny, feather-head,” Gimli replied, lightly cuffing Legolas about the braids.
Legolas laughed and turned his attention back to the window. Gimli found his eyes going to the third door leading off from the sitting room.
“What’s this, then?” he asked Legolas.
“Hmm? Oh, a bathing chamber, I would suppose.”
“Oh, is it, now?” Gimli opened the door, then whistled.
“What?”
“Well, let’s just say that Lady Calasse’s architect must have been taking notes based on the famous baths of Khand’s capital city.”
Intrigued, Legolas got up from the settee to crane his head around Gimli’s shoulder at the blue and green tiled room, brightly lit through large glazed windows. The bathtub was as almost as large as a stock pond.
“Well, isn’t this a fine place to have our first fresh water bath in Mahal-only-knows-how-long?” Gimli mused.
“Seven months, two weeks, three days, five hours, and thirty-six minutes,” Legolas helpfully supplied, “And that’s from Emyn Arnen.”
“Of course, you would know,” Gimli teased with only half-put on disgust as he walked over to turn on the tap, “Go on, then. Strip. There’s more than enough room in there for me and your skinny self.”
“I’m not skinny,” Legolas retorted, although he was already unlacing his tunic, “I’m lithe.”
“Lithe, skinny,” Gimli said, wasting no time in doffing his own clothes, “Either way, you smell of salt, as do I. A bath will cure that, at least.”
“And just in time for us to go have dinner on the beach and smell like salt again,” Legolas noted, his eyes dancing with mirth.
“Do you want to wait for your turn then?”
“I didn’t say that, Gimli.”
Notes:
End Note: I have several more draft chapters before concluding this story, and a short follow-up planned with Gimli and Galadriel. However, I feel the need to work on other stories for awhile, so it may be some time before I come back to this one. My thanks to everyone who has reviewed, and given me more ideas for stories in the West!
Chapter 21: Sun Up
Summary:
Being the parent of a small elfling means getting up early in the morning, even when you and your wife were flying and setting up runways the night before.
Characters in Chapter: Legolas, OC (Legolas' wife Raniel), OC (their son Aragorn)
Notes:
A/N 1: This story would take place in the Fourth Age, perhaps around Fourth Age year 410. Legolas' son in this story would be the equivalent of about three years old in human terms. My understanding is that elflings mature more slowly, such that a seven and a half year old elfling would be the equivalent of a three year old human child.
Quote:
"I have been overcome by the beauty and richness of our life together, those early mornings setting out, those evenings gleaming with rivers and lakes below us, still holding the last light. ... Those fields of daisies we landed on, and dusty fields and desert stretches. Memories of many skies and earths beneath us — many days, many nights of stars." - Anne Morrow Lindbergh
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Ada, Nan, can I come up and sleep with you?"
Legolas blinked blearily at his small son, before reaching out a hand automatically.
Little Aragorn ignored the hand at first, planting his own small hands in the soft covers and doing his best to climb and wriggle up. After a few moments, he huffed in frustration and accepted the help.
After having been up until just a few hours ago, making sure that the fields and beach were lit up for his wife and her flight-glider to land, Legolas was almost too tired to be amused at his offspring's stubbornness. Almost.
He huffed a gentle laugh and ruffled little Aragorn's wavy auburn curls as he settled the small elfing against his left side. If Raniel on his other side could sleep a bit later, they would all be better off.
Aragorn, of course, had other ideas. He'd missed his "Nan," and he was going to hug her, and sleep next to her, too. He determinedly climbed over Legolas to snuggle against Raniel, patting her face, "Nan? Nan?"
"Ugh," Said Raniel delicately. She'd been awake for two days and two nights, steering a glider through the strong winds around the southwestern side of Tol Eressea. Proving that it was, in fact, quicker to go across the island and slingshot around east to southwest to get to mainland Aman, rather than flying against the wind from north to south. Legolas had wanted to be the one to do that, but Raniel was lighter than him by a good four stone.
Legolas had even tried stripping all of the safety equipment out of one of their Sunstar gliders in order to bring himself down to near her weight, but it still hadn't been enough. Legolas' beloved wife was tiny. Not just slender like many ellith, but short and willowy besides. She would always be their best test pilot when they weren't sure the glider could be made light enough to complete a new journey. That galled Legolas on several levels, but he was proud of Raniel, nonetheless.
"Aragorn, tithen estel muin nin, let Nana sleep," Legolas gently commanded.
"But, Ada . . . " Complained their dear little star.
"Mmm," Commented Raniel softly, reaching out an arm and pulling Aragorn against her. She was still mostly asleep, but she loved their elfling as much as he did, and she'd missed him. With Aragorn still so small, Legolas and Raniel almost never flew at the same time, and it was rare for Raniel to be the one who was away from the elfling for a week or more.
Pleased with his triumph, Aragorn curled innocently against his mother, reaching out one hand to pat Legolas' cheek, "I love you, Ada."
"I love you too, Starling" Legolas offered, catching the chubby little hand and kissing it, "Now let Ada and Nan sleep a little more, please."
"I will," Aragorn promised. Legolas closed his eyes, and hoped.
But it was not to be. A mere two minutes later, Aragorn chirped brightly, "But the sun is almost up, Ada. You and Nan love the sunrise."
Legolas did. Raniel liked watching the sun rise, but not necessarily waking and arising early enough to admire it. Having a small child necessitated many sacrifices, and for the most part Legolas and Raniel took these early mornings in turn with good humor. Legolas couldn't remember the last time he had slept past the sunrise with his wife in his arms. Well, actually, he could...
"Go wake Uncle Gimli." Legolas suggested heartlessly. "He would love to see the sun rise with you, Aragorn. I am sure of it."
Notes:
Other stories of elves and Men in Aman (the West) include “Tales of Oversea,” which is available here:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/3517526/chapters/7734608
I plan to write a few stories about Legolas and Raniel’s relationship, and also a bit about Legolas, Gimli, Theli, and Mithiriel founding their flying company and the early challenges that they face.
Chapter 22: Reclaiming (or, "Gradually Reclaiming All that was Once Mine")
Summary:
As joyous as they are to be reunited in the West, Celebrian and Elrond must still grapple with his weariness from bearing the ring Vilya, and with Celebrian’s lingering trauma from the ordeal that forced her to sail in the first place.
Notes:
A/N: This story is set in the early years of the Fourth Age, after Elrond and the other ringbearers have arrived in the Undying West.
Quote(s):
“To be fully seen by somebody, then, and be loved anyhow - this is a human offering that can border on miraculous.” ― Elizabeth Gilbert
“Our wounds are often the openings into the best and most beautiful part of us.” ― David Richo
Chapter Text
Sometimes Celebrian thought that she had missed laughing with Elrond the most, out of all the infinite ways in which she had missed him.
To her joy, the laughter had returned almost at once. From the first day, the first hour, that Elrond had arrived, even as somber and worn thin as he had been. His gray-blue eyes had met her green-blue eyes from where he stood on the quay, expertly hiding how overwhelmed he had been by the crowds and the pomp and circumstances that had greeted him and the other Ringbearers upon their debarkation in the West. Just the minutest fraction of the left corner of his mouth had quirked into the tiniest of smiles at the ridiculousness of it all, and their minds had shared a silent moment of shared mirth in the hub bub of the crowd.
Celebrian was so very glad for that. She and Elrond had laughed together from the first day they met, both covered in fish slime and street grime from their active roles in defusing a riot over timber rights in Lindon. On that long ago afternoon in the early Second Age, whilst their friends and attendants Erestor and Lillassea had been scolding them both, Elrond’s heather gray eyes had never stopped twinkling with laughter, an answer to Celebrian’s own amusement at how hilarious the moment had been (when properly viewed).
They laughed now again, as the ties and buttons of Elrond’s fine clothing frustrated Celebrian’s efforts to undress him in their luxurious, sun-drenched tower room in Elrond’s great-grandfather’s glittering citadel. Golden light poured into the richly appointed chamber from its many windows, shimmering off of the sea waves on one side and the snow-covered slopes on the other, displaying to good effect both reasons why the reborn elves of Gondolin had decided to name their new home in Tol Eressea “Sparkling Gondolin.”
“Shall I call back the oh-so-proper attendant Great-Grandfather Turgon assigned me to aid us, my Moonlight Lady?” Elrond teased her in between their breathless kisses, “For it seems that even your clever fingers are foiled by the intricacies of this Tol Eressean version of Gondolindhrim court attire!”
“Oh, I dare you!” Celebrian bantered back delightedly, “I dare you, my oh-so-proper love! For we both know that you are far more easily embarrassed by impropriety than I, cheerful heathen that I am. In fact . . .”
Celebrian’s chain of thought as well as her razzing boast were both cut off as Elrond kissed her again, yet this time more deeply and seriously. As intently as if she were a cool mountain spring and he dying of thirst, and yet at the same time with the pure reverence of a humble pilgrim come at last to the holiest of springs. It was a dichotomous approach to passion which was characteristic of Elrond, and which had always appealed to Celebrian.
Let the ignorant say that he was too wise and solemn for passion! She was just as happy that few others knew he was able to use his wisdom and his studiedness to inform and enhance his love-making. Since first she had laughed with Elrond and felt his arms around her, she had never again known lust without love and adoration so pure it made even lust feel divine, and she felt herself only the luckier for that.
When that kiss finally ended, Celebrian decided that she had run out of patience! Her own clothing, sea-elven in style, was swiftly enough done away with. Elrond’s apparel, not so much so.
“Clothes off, my Sea Prince!” she demanded, suiting words to action as she tore tunic laces and ripped ruby and onyx buttons out of their too-tight holes.
“Ah well,” he mourned philosophically enough, “I was not overly enamored of the color scheme of this tunic.”
“I hope that you are not emotionally attached to the under tunic either,” Celebrian remarked, as she divested him of that burgundy silk garment with more haste than care.
Elrond chuckled and then ventured with faint hopefulness, “Perhaps if Etelair,” who was the aforementioned very proper Gondolindhrim valet, “realizes that I am so imperfect as to be hard on my clothing, it will appeal to his well-hidden sense of humor?”
“Very well-hidden,” Celebrian differed with a fond huff. Elrond with his fine insight was often right about such things, however unlikely it seemed in Etelair’s case.
“We will have to leave a good tip for the launderers and wardrobe masters ‘ere we leave for Avallone,” Elrond said, his preoccupation with fairness diverting him for a moment in between passionate gasps as Celebrian began to win her battle with the intricate ties to his leggings, “Although even with compensation our being so disrespectful of my elegant raiment might be enough to make at least that population of this citadel cease to view me as some kind of paragon!”
“Hmm,” Celebrian equivocated, although perhaps Elrond was right about that. He was certainly right that his lofty reputation in this part of Tol Eressea – in fact in most parts of Tol Eressea and even in Aman – had most elves, even other heroes of Middle Earth’s long struggle against Morgoth and Sauron, treating him with a depth of respect that left him feeling adrift. Well, even more adrift than the average newly arrived elf felt when trying to accustom themselves to the mores and patterns of life in the undying West, which were much different than all they had known on Middle Earth.
In Gondolin Earrilye, which was more formal than their older daughter Andreth’s cosmopolitan city of Avalllone nearby New Imladris, that exalted status had left Elrond feeling even more at odds and ends. At first, it had helped that King Turgon and some of his generation actually viewed Elrond the way they would any being of his age – as very young. At the least, it had been a novelty Elrond had not experienced since their brief visits to Tirion and Valmar.
However, being either put on a pedestal or treated with the mingled indulgence and grateful sympathy the elders felt towards a ‘youngster’ who had carried too heavy a burden for too long had quickly become jarring for Elrond, and just as wearying as dealing with the hero-worship on its own. It did not help that this visit to Gondolin was their longest sojourn anywhere save New Imladris or Avallone without either Ereinion or Galadriel to provide a buffer for Elrond, or without Elrond’s own role as the now much recovered Bilbo’s and Frodo’s healer providing distraction of its own.
With Celebrian’s attention claimed yesterday by the pre-wedding festivities for a friend of Andreth’s, and Elrond’s other kin and confidants having been separated from him by centuries or millennia, his frustration and loneliness had inspired him to walk off into the high mountains surrounding the citadel in search of peace.
Unfortunately, he had also walked into a snow storm. Elrond was generally not in danger from any form of water, but the patterns and flow of magic in the West was different enough from what Elrond had been accustomed to in Middle Earth that diverting the snow storm would have been a draining endeavor for Elrond. That was true, even had his own ability to manipulate and wield the magic of nature not been damaged and drained by the exertion of wielding Vilya, with its magic greater than any elf had ever been meant to bear. If Elrond had known precisely where he was within the forested mountains encircling Gondolin Earrilye, it would have taken but a single magic step for him to have left the uncomfortably cold environs he’d accidentally ventured into for the warm sea side timberland of new Imladris, or for the safe honey-suckle scented wooded thickets on the borders of the Lorien gardens.
But he had not known where, exactly, he was. Other than caught in an unexpected autumn snow storm in the mountains of Gondolin Earrilye. So it was fortunate for Elrond that he had been resourceful enough to think to reach out to the nearest elven minds for aid, and that he had not been too proud to do so. Amongst the minds of the hunters and trappers who had been well-prepared to linger in the inclement weather had been the mind of Elrond’s own father, Earendil, and several of his friends. They had been able to alter their own route back to the Citadel so as to bring Elrond safely back in their company.
“Well, my love,” Celebrian half-consoled, half-teased Elrond as she led him willingly in the direction of their large bed under the jewel-toned sky lights, “if you wanted people to be less in awe of you, going out like an idiot into the teeth of a snow storm should certainly have helped with that, if nothing else!”
As she spoke, Celebrian absently admired the ruddy pink shade of her husband’s bottom cheeks, a reminder of the spankings Elrond had earned from first Earendil and then Turgon, neither of whom had approved of poorly planned ventures into the mountains before a snow storm.
“Not exactly my intent,” Elrond laughingly confessed with a somewhat abashed version of his usual genuine humility, although whatever else he might have said, Celebrian cut off with another kiss as she shoved him down before her onto the bed.
Elrond himself was reminded of the sore state of his buttocks as he landed heavily on his rear on the firm mattress, bearing not just his own weight but also his wife’s. With no witness save Celebrian, Elrond did not bother to stifle his startled gasp at being reminded so rudely of his undignified ordeals of the previous afternoon and evening.
“I am sorry, my love!” Celebrian apologized, the sincerity of her words only slightly spoiled by the giggle that accompanied them.
“I don’t mind,” he said, his mouth welcoming the conquest of hers yet again before he continued, “the edge of pain is close to the edge of pleasure.”
For him, she knew that was true. Still true, rather. But it was not yet true, anymore, for her. Not yet.
Any pain at all in the bedroom still reminded her of her torture, and pulled her mind from pleasure back to terror and hopelessness.
He knew that, and treated her as if she were made of spun glass every time they made love. It was annoying! It was more annoying still that it was necessary.
Once they had been very adventurous in the bedroom, whenever it struck their fancy. Now Celebrian could only take pleasure in love-making if she was on top of Elrond, with nothing holding her down, free to leave at any moment should she feel overwhelmed or troubled.
He was ever so considerate and accepting of that. It was quite inconsiderate of him.
Today she managed to kiss and caress his bare torso as low as a handspan before his hips. It was two inches of 'new' territory she had reclaimed since their reunion.
She hesitated momentarily, before deciding not to press herself further. Elrond, for his part, managed to control his impulse to tell her it was fine, to take her time, that he was happy just to be with her.
She reached up to kiss him deeply on the lips in thanks. His consideration could be ever so wearying at times, and his consoling words took her more out of the joyous, intimate moment than even taking care to listen to and heed her own readiness levels did.
After the laughter and the moments of intimacy and bliss that followed, they lay together quietly on the soft sapphire hued satin sheets, with the fading afternoon sunlight pouring over them from the windows and from the arched multicolored glass skylight above.
Celebrian's silver head rested on Elrond's right shoulder, with their nearer hands clasped together over his chest. Together, united, in sync. Celebrian and Elrond again.
Chapter 23: Look at All We Have
Summary:
On a sunny afternoon on Tol Eressea in the Fourth Age, Thranduil reflects on how pleasant it is to relax with his father and cousin.
Please note that this story takes place in the version of this Desperate Hours AU wherein some of the stories, including this one, have corporal punishment elements. If you would like the version of this story (and the version of this series) with no corporal punishment elements, that story is available here: [insert after posting]
Notes:
Quotes:
"In the sweetness of friendship [and family] let there be laughter, and sharing of pleasures. For in the dew of little things the heart finds its morning and is refreshed." -Kahlil Gibran
‘Your family are the people who make you feel safe in this world.’ – paraphrased from a lyric in the song “White Wine in the Sun” by Tim Minchin
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
It was very pleasant, to laze about on a lounger on the poolside terrace of Legolas’ estate outside of Marillaeglir. The warm sun above and the cool sea breeze caressing Thranduil’s skin made for a delicious contrast of sensations.
Even more pleasant was the knowledge that, just by opening his eyes, Thranduil could enjoy a truly incredible view. That being, the hills of pine, olive trees, and tropical flowers leading down to the azure water of the Strait of the West. Marillaeglir was just across the water from Alqualonde, at the narrowest point between Tol Eressea and mainland Aman. Today, as most days in the past week, the weather was clear enough for Thranduil to see not just glimmers from the jewel strewn beaches outside of Alqualonde, but even the white-purple mountains of the Pelori rising beyond.
The company, of course, was better than the view. Most of the family members assembled at the estate were taking an afternoon siesta after a morning spent riding up further into the mountains surrounding Mariallaeglir to visit with one of the semi-domesticated tribes of mountain apes who made their home there. That expedition had been followed by an energetic few hours in the cold spring-fed pool here at the house. Any time spent entertaining Thranduil’s very active young grandson Caeven and his best friend, Theli’s granddaughter Arwengail, was always exhausting. Fun, though.
On the lounger to Thranduil’s left lay his father Oropher. To their right, Elrond dozed lightly on a third lounger. He was less accustomed to time spent with small children than they were, these days.
Thranduil opened his eyes to appreciate the view. Then he got to his feet and walked over to the wrought iron archway leading down to the lower garden terrace. From that point he had an even better view of the sea and the mountains of Aman on the other side.
As he soaked in the beautiful surrounds, Thranduil couldn’t help but keep an eye out for the speck in the clear blue sky that would turn into Legolas’ flying machine, on its way back from the afternoon run in between Tirion and Marillaeglir. He knew that it was silly of him. It was a half an hour, at least, until Legolas would return. Even if he was running early, which he usually wasn’t.
Nor was there any real reason to worry over Legolas. Not even when he was so high up in the air, in a fragile construct made out of metal, wood, and clay. Thranduil trusted Legolas, and he trusted their cousin Theli, who was Legolas’ co-pilot. He even trusted That Annoying Dwarf Gimli, who was with them as their flight engineer. Thranduil may still not like Gimli. Or, at least, be willing to admit, even to himself, that he was starting to like him. But he did trust all three of them, to know what they were about in any dangerous endeavor.
Thranduil’s father Oropher, whom Thranduil had oftentimes caught scanning the skies, was less enthusiastic than Thranduil about flight as an avocation for Legolas. Thranduil hid a smile, at the thought.
Then his eyes moved gradually from the clear skies to the blue-green water. The normally calm sea was studded with white caps, today.
This Thranduil observed with interest, before calling back to the terrace, “Elrond!”
“Hmm?” replied his cousin, waking and stretching without rancor.
“Thranduil,” chided his father mildly. Oropher did not seem to feel it had been necessary to wake Elrond.
This, also, made Thranduil hide a smile. In lieu of responding to the scold, he continued with his purpose of communicating to Elrond, “The daily newsletter from Marillaeglir reports that they expect the wind conditions to be similar tomorrow. Do you want to go windsurfing?”
He was rewarded by the always pleasing sight of Elrond’s normally calm and wise countenance wreathed with a wide smile as the peredhel answered, “I would very much like that, yes.”
“Good. It’s decided, then,” ruled Thranduil. Theli would likely want to join them, along with some of their children and grandchildren. It also occurred to Thranduil to ask, “Would you like to join us, Ada?”
“No, thank you, my son,” declined Oropher, although he seemed pleased to have been asked. “I think I’d rather follow the two of you only so far as the shoreline,” Oropher continued, “On the beach, I can supervise Caeven and Arwengail as they play in the water and on the sand. They’ve both expressed a desire to build sandcastles sometime this week.”
Thranduil smiled as he recalled his father and mother helping him to build sandcastles by the river near Amon Lanc in the Greenwood, when he had been an elfling. Elrond had been there sometimes, too. He’d been even better than Oropher and Felith, at coming up with ideas for how to build and decorate elaborate sand castles.
“I would, however,” Oropher continued more sternly, “appreciate a promise to be careful in your windsurfing. From both of you.”
Elrond, who was almost always careful, immediately offered, “Of course we will.”
Thranduil nodded sententiously, but did not actually offer such a promise as he returned to his lounger. He preferred not to make promises that he did not care to keep.
Alas, he had made the mistake of walking to close to Oropher. Who raised one strong arm to smack Thranduil soundly on his right buttock, before lifting his hand higher to take a firm hold of Thranduil’s arm just above his elbow.
“Ow!” exclaimed Thranduil at the swat, for his father had put some force behind it, and there was only Elrond here to witness him yelping like a spanked elfling.
Oropher met Thranduil eye to eye, raised one eyebrow, and demanded levelly, “Well, laes-nin?”
Fine, we’ll be careful,” conceded Thranduil, much less than graciously. But sincerely, which seemed to satisfy Oropher. He released Thranduil’s arm after one fond – albeit not apologetic – squeeze.
Elrond observed this byplay with a fond, tolerant smile. One too gentle to strike Thranduil as being at his own expense. Elrond, as a general rule, was too kind to tease. Anyone, let alone his adored youngest cousin. Well, youngest until Theli had been born in the late Second Age. Not that any of them had known about Theli being their cousin, at the time. Since the Second Age, their family had expended to include many younger kinsmen, including Elrond’s and Thranduil’s own children. In the Fourth Age, they’d both been lucky enough to acquire grandchildren. Who were, in Thranduil’s opinion, entirely delightful. One did not even have to be firm with grandchildren, since it was their parents who were responsible for seeing that they learned to mind their manners.
“After tomorrow,” Elrond spoke up regretfully, “Celebrian and I will have to take our leave.”
“Must you?” asked Thranduil wistfully. He’d been enjoying having their company. They had all been so busy with their own endeavors in the past few years, that he had barely seen Elrond and Celebrian. Who would always remain two of his favorite cousins, no matter how much their family might expand in the future.
“Yes, I must,” Elrond assured him, with apology evident in his silver-blue eyes. “I am promised to sail on Vingilot with my father next week. He takes it much amiss if he doesn’t see me frequently enough to please him.”
Elrond did not seem entirely displeased by this. Thranduil was happy for him, mostly. Even though he begrudged Earendil Elrond’s leaving them. Thranduil knew that Elrond’s reunion with Earendil – and Elwing – had been awkward and difficult. Elrond had barely remembered Earendil. He’d been absent for much of Elrond’s early life, on his voyages. Then, thanks to the Valar, Earendil and Elwing had been unable to return to Middle Earth. That was one of many things that Thranduil found it difficult to forgive the Valar for. He didn’t think that he was alone, in that, amongst those who loved Elrond.
“Of course you must depart, if you have made a promise to your father,” allowed Oropher graciously. “We will all miss you and Celebrian, though. You are two of my favorite younger cousins.”
“Rude,” teased Thranduil, with a grin.
Oropher hid a smile and flicked his disrespectful son on the thigh. “It is not rude. The others are not here. And no one is more discreet than our Elrond.”
“True,” allowed Thranduil, as he enjoyed Elrond’s blush. “Allow me to apologize by fetching you a cool drink, Ada. What would you like?”
“You need not apologize. The joy of your presence is enough,” replied Oropher contentedly, “Sit here with us a little while longer, before you go back into the house.”
So Thranduil did.
Notes:
End Note 1 – re: these characters in this AU generally:
For what Thranduil is up to these days, and information on Marillaeglir and the kingdoms of Tol Eressea in the Fourth Age, see my story “Never Again,” available here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3517526/chapters/7734608
For more information on Legolas’ flying machine company, please see my story “Sun Up,” available here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3517526/chapters/34484852
For additional information on the kingdoms of Tol Eressea and Marillaeglir, please see chapter 2 of “Welcome Travelers,” available here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3517526/chapters/23621766
For more information on Thranduil in the DH AU, please see my fanon character notes on Thranduil, available here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46353520/chapters/116705512
A character bio of my original character, Ecthelion “Theli” Erynion, who is mentioned in this story, is available here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46353520/chapters/126131665
End note 2 – re: more information concerning Legolas’ estate and the family members present on this vacation:
Legolas’ estate in the hills outside Marillaeglir is jointly owned - by Legolas and his wife, Raniel, and by Theli and his wife, Mithiriel. They purchased the land because the site reminded Theli and Mithiriel of a farm that they had owned on the hills outside Mithiriel’s great-uncle Imrahil’s city of Dol Amroth. They knew that they wouldn’t be able to spend much time there, but they thought that it would be good for them to have a place for their injured flyers to relax and recover, close to the airfields for their flying company’s Aman-Tol Eressea run (based in Marillaeglir), but not too close. The landscape of the city of Marillaeglir and its surrounds are similar to the Coast of Light in Andalucia, Spain. The distance between Marillaeglir on Tol Eressea and Alqualonde on Aman are similar to the distance between Spain and Africa at their narrowest point, near the town of Tarifa, in Spain.
Families in the West tend to be large, since almost no one dies, so families only grow. The ‘main house’ of Legolas’ estate in the hills outside of Marillaeglir has about sixteen bedrooms and ten bathrooms. The house is built in Spanish style, mostly made of cool stone and colorful tile with terracotta roofs. There are multiple courtyards with cool fountains in between the different wings of the house, as well as breezeways. The tables in the main dining rooms and terraces can be expanded to comfortably accommodate up to forty people.
For all but a few weeks of the year, Legolas and his family and Theli and his family are elsewhere in Tol Eressea, or at their main house by the airfields right outside Marillaeglir. They rent this estate when they aren’t there. Sometimes they rent it out for profit (Mithiriel is quite the businesswoman), but most of the time they gift weeks at the estate to recovering or burnt out employees, or to veterans of the wars of Middle Earth (and their families). For which Mithiriel can get them a tax deduction. Which she appreciates, since running an airplane company is expensive.
If the family staying at the estate is too big to easily fit in the big house, there are other homes nearby that can be rented in conjunction with the main house. However, Thranduil’s family on this vacation doesn’t have to worry about that. They number only Thranduil and his immediate family, plus his parents, as well as Theli and Mithiriel, and their son and their daughter, and their daughter’s family. As well as Elrond and Celebrian, of course.
So, the group is: Oropher and Felith, Thranduil and Minaethiel, and their children: 1) their youngest son Legolas and his wife Raniel, and their adolescent children, young Aragorn and young Finduilas; 2) their adopted son Thalion and his wife Rian and their adult children, Calenwen and Faeron; 3) their next oldest son Thandrin and his wife Rhovameril and their young son Caeven and as yet unnamed infant daughter; 4) their only daughter, Eryntheliel, and her boyfriend (whose name I forget right now, but he is Amroth and Nimrodel’s oldest son and heir); and their next youngest son, Eryntheliel’s twin brother Lithidhren, and his boyfriend, Nestor, who is Theli and Mithiriel’s older son. Theli and Mithiriel are also there, along with their younger daughter, Ceredisgail, and her husband Rumil, and their young daughter, Arwengail. Arwengail and Caeven are the same age (about the equivalent of a human six or seven years old). Then Elrond and Celebrian are also present, so only about 27 people total. In other words, positively a small family vacation, for a Tol Eressean family!
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