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Water streaming down his face, Pippin blinked blearily up at the arrowhead pointed uncomfortably close to him, and contemplated the life choices that he had made that had led him up to this point.
Although, truthfully, in this particular instance he wasn't at all sure what he had done. The evening had begun simply enough as the Fellowship continued on with their trek towards Mordor. The path had been arduous, especially on hobbit feet not particularly accustomed to clambering over rocks and hills, but not yet treacherous, and Gandalf had seemed satisfied and relatively unconcerned as he called their journey to a halt for the night.
The surrounding forests and rocks where they had stopped had just begun to be tinged with twilight as the group separated into the roles the repeated routine of camp-making and camp-breaking had made second nature over the past weeks of journeying. The Big Folk conferred, as they usually did, with sparse words and slight gestures before walking with purpose in separate directions. As had become their custom, Pippin and Merry had followed Boromir into the outskirts of the forest, stepping over thick roots to gather the underbrush for the fire as the man hefted thicker logs into his arms. Aragorn ventured deeper into the forest with Legolas at an easy lope by his side to scout and hunt; planting his axe handle resolutely on the ground, Gimli leaned slightly on the blade before setting his stance like stone as he began the night's first watch.
Pippin had glanced back in the midst of his wood-gathering to see that Gandalf had begun to pace around the camp, making a large circle and intoning something deep and unfathomable, with Frodo and Sam clearing brush to make a clearing for the fire. Grinning to himself, he wondered how long it would be until faithful Sam managed to coax Frodo to let him take over the work.
That evening, Sam had either been particularly persuasive or Frodo particularly tired, because by the time Merry, Pippin, and Boromir had returned, laden with firewood, Sam alone continued to methodically tamp out the area for the fire; Frodo sat nearby, picking out spices and the like from Sam’s pack with the particular blend of fond exasperation and determination creasing his brow that came from having to put his foot down to assist Sam at least a little.
Boromir placed his logs down first where Sam directed, stepping back so the other two could tuck their moss and kindling among them. Gandalf, poised on a boulder near the proceedings, swung his staff almost theatrically, eyes glittering, and a small jet of fire burst into being, gobbling up the kindling rapidly before settling into a contented gnawing on the bigger logs.
Humming audibly with satisfaction, Gandalf stooped comfortably in his seat and drew the pipe from his staff with a practiced flourish before disappearing in a cloud of pipeweed smoke. Boromir sat down on a trunk opposite Gandalf across the fire, exhaling gustily as the bones in his feet popped. Bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, Pippin grabbed at the sheath hanging from his belt and looked eagerly at Merry.
“Let’s practice!” He said excitedly, pulling his dagger with an enthusiasm that drew both Gandalf and Boromir’s attention; Boromir snorted with fond amusement and Gandalf peered at them with a searching look that made the back of Pippin’s ears ache, given that it often accompanied the kind of lectures that started by the wizard catching him by his ear.
“Not so close to the fire, young Took,” Gandalf cautioned, “or your companions."
Boromir pushed himself to his feet. "Come along," he beckoned. "I'll practice with you."
The two hobbits eagerly followed him away from the fire, Pippin nearly sliding in the damp earth as they passed Gimli.
"More training?" Gimli rumbled inquisitively.
"Aye," Boromir answered, "the more practice they have, the better." His brows knit in thought. "You have not had the chance to rest, as I have. Should I take up the watch, and you oversee the training?"
Gimli shook his head. "I thank you, but no. I have strength yet to stand, and am more familiar with the ax than the sword."
"Perhaps we could learn the ax as well?" Pippin asked hopefully.
"Mayhap someday," the dwarf replied encouragingly, "but alas, I have few axes to spare. At any rate, it is better to hone one craft fully before attempting a new one. Otherwise, neither will be fully forged and hardly reliable."
The three continued onward, over smooth stone and muddy earth, to an open clearing. When they'd gone far enough to keep from accidentally striking Gimli but close enough to hear Sam's call for dinner, whenever it came, Merry and Pippin faced each other, gripping their daggers resolutely and glancing at Boromir for direction.
Over the past few weeks, the blisters on his hand had toughened and formed into calluses, and Pippin’s grip was steady as he darted and swung while Boromir barked instructions. He managed to tap Merry once on the side and bounced back on his heels, cackling gleefully. Emboldened by his success, Pippin decided to feint to the side, hoping that he could get two hits in a row.
Merry fell for the ruse, darting to the wrong side, but Pippin unfortunately also fell, landing face first in the damp earth, splattering mud in all directions. Squinting through the mud as his hands scrambled for purchase, Pippin managed to look up just in time for Merry, looking unbearably smug and mud-free, to tap him lightly on the head with his dagger. "Gotcha, Pip."
Frodo, at least, attempted not to laugh as Pippin slogged his way through the camp, although he could not entirely suppress the audible snorts. Sam shook his head through the steam issuing from his boiling pot, and Gandalf gave him a raised eyebrow as he puffed resolutely on his pipe. Merry, on the other hand, in his typical supportive way laughed himself to tears as he followed at Pippin’s heels, Boromir bringing up the rear.
A deer over his shoulder, Aragorn stepped into the clearing as Pippin began futilely scooping clumps of mud from his face and clothing. Aragorn craned his head towards the forest and, without batting an eye, said, "There's a spring not too far within, Pippin. Best to get that mud off now rather than try to scrape it off later."
"Two went into the forest," Gandalf said lightly, "but only one returned?"
Aragorn grinned as he placed the deer down besides Sam and knelt beside it. "We parted ways once we found the deer, I think he is taking his fill of the forest while he still can."
Gimli audibly snorted, muttering something about flighty elves. Gandalf turned his scolding gaze towards someone besides Pippin for once, and the hobbit hastened into the woods.
Taking extra care to keep from slipping, Pippin hopped over tree roots and peered into the distance as he strained his ears for the sounds of water. Dimming light filtered through the leaves and branches, casting patterns and shapes on the forest floor.
As he listened for the sounds of a spring, a familiar voice wafted down towards him from the sky. He glanced up, and saw Legolas perched in the middle of a large pine tree. The elf had his hand curved in front of him and was peering into it while singing a blend of sibilant Elvish and what seemed to be twittering.
“Legolas?”
The elf looked down and beamed. “Ah, my friend, hello!” He waved cheerily down at the hobbit, somehow managing to keep his perch without holding onto the tree.
“What are you doing?”
Tenderly, Legolas turned his palm ever so slightly downwards so Pippin could see the tiny blue bird nesting inside. “Making a friend! This one was on the ground and sorely missed her mother, and so here I am.”
“Have you seen the spring?”
“Aye,” the elf nodded, “it is straight ahead of you, and very close.”
“Thank you!” Pippin waved, and Legolas waved back before resuming his singing to the baby bird.
…
Pippin sighed in relief as he slid beneath the water. It had been a great trial, upon seeing the small spring tucked amidst the roots of a large willow tree, to not simply submerge himself into the clear water. However, he had been strong and dipped his clothes into the mercifully warm water, scrubbing and wringing them out thoroughly before hanging them out to dry on the lowest branch he could find. Then he’d jumped in with a glorious splash.
Of all the comforts he’d left behind in the Shire, he had missed proper baths the most (well, after Hobbit ale, and fresh produce from Farmer Maggot’s field, and well…a few other things). Bathing oneself in a forest spring wasn’t quite the same as a warm tub back home, but it had a charm all its own. The willow’s branches curved over the pool of water, sending small ripples across the surface as they blew in the breeze. The rustling of the leaves blended pleasantly with birdsong, nearly lulling him to sleep in the soothing warm water. Pippin dunked his head underwater, as much to wake himself up as to scrub the mud out of his ears. When he resurfaced, he noticed how a branch glanced over the surface, leaving an unexpected visitor in its wake.
“Ack!” He gasped quietly. “A spider!” Instinctively, he batted the spider away, sending it with a wave of water out of the spring.
Maybe I should have just scooped him out, Pippin admonished himself guiltily. The breeze blew once more, more forcefully this time, and Pippin looked up to see an arrow pointed towards him.
He yelped again, much louder this time.
Pippin stared along the length of the arrow and up into the face of the archer who peered back down with an unfamiliar, steely expression on his familiar face. Legolas’ eyes always sparkled and darted with light – even when butting heads with Gimli – but the hard iciness in his gaze sent a shock through the hobbit’s system.
However, the iciness lasted only a moment before Legolas blinked it away, looking just as startled as Pippin felt. “Pippin?”
“Legolas?”
Legolas quickly moved his bow to the side. “Forgive me, my friend! I thought I heard- clearly, I was mistaken.”
“What did you hear?” Pippin asked, a note of nervousness working its way into his voice despite himself as he glanced around for whatever had alarmed Legolas.
“I thought,” the elf laughed a little sheepishly as he tucked the arrow back in his quiver, “that I heard that you saw a spider.”
“But I did–”
Quicker than sight, Legolas had nocked his arrow again, glancing around rapidly, eyes sweeping the surrounding forest. “Where? Get behind me, my friend, and I will–”
“Oh,” Pippin exhaled, both more and less puzzled. “It’s right there.” And he pointed down to where the spider was drunkenly attempting to stagger out of the small puddle it had landed in.
Legolas swung his arrow in that direction, and then squinted. “I…do not…see it?”
That was concerning. Legolas had the furthest sight of them all, and if it was faltering – Pippin swallowed. “You don’t see it there?” He ventured, pointing at the spider.
Legolas leaned forward, his brows knitting before his eyes widened. “That is the spider?”
“Yes?”
“But it is…so small.”
Pippin opened his mouth to reply, but was drowned out by the sudden crashing of underbrush as the entire Fellowship rushed to the defense of their friend who had cried out in alarm.
Pippin was incredibly grateful, as he watched everyone approach, that he had opted to bathe in his underclothes.
…
“Never trust an elf,” Gimli said gravely, although his beard twitched with suppressed laughter as he leaned forward towards the elf sitting on the other side of the campfire.
Embarrassment or irritation burned high on the wood-elf’s cheekbones, but he opted to turn away from the dwarf’s jibes to face Pippin again. “I most deeply apologize, my friend. I did not mean to scare you.”
Pippin, now properly dried, dressed, and fortified with heaping forkfuls of venison, waved a hand reassuringly. “Wasn’t really,” he said. “Just surprised – you came in like a shot, Legolas!”
Sheepishness blended a little with pride in the elf’s gaze, and his unnaturally stiff posture relaxed into his usual casual grace. “Ah, yes,” he sighed, “it is more instinctive than anything else now. I hear the call and come running.”
“A call…for spiders?” Boromir asked, looking up from the sword he was sharpening.
“Yes,” Legolas replied.
Merry looked puzzled. “Are you…afraid of spiders?”
Dwarven chuckling filled the clearing, and Legolas valiantly turned from the sound to look at the hobbit. “Nay…and yea.”
“Elvish double talk,” Gimli snorted, attempting to suppress his laughter.
“It is the truth!” Legolas insisted, spinning to face the dwarf. “Today’s spider was not intimidating, but the memories of the spiders back in Mirkwood…”
“The spiders there,” Aragon interjected, “are much bigger than those you are accustomed to seeing, gentlemen.”
“How much bigger?” Sam asked.
“The smallest I have seen,” Legolas hummed thoughtfully, “was about the size of Pippin.”
“The smallest?” Pippin yelped.
Frodo’s eyes lit up. “That’s right, I remember Bilbo telling me stories about them – I thought he was exaggerating.”
“Bilbo does have a way of turning a tale,” Gandalf intoned, “but he did not embellish there. The elves of Mirkwood have battled with spiders for centuries.”
“Millenia,” Legolas grimly said, “since I was able to hold a bow, still an elfling, I was trained on how to properly defeat spiders. Him cui,” he ground out with a tone not entirely his own, as though he was repeating another’s words, “that is what we were taught. Him cui.”
“Him cui?” Sam asked.
“Always alert,” Legolas explained. “One must always, at any moment’s notice, be alert and ready to defend our home from the spiders.” His lip curled on the last word, a strange expression from the elf who only that morning had been distraught upon finding a half-crushed anthill, leading to his singing a lament for the fallen ants for the next hour.
“To be vigilant is a good thing in a warrior,” Gimli said weightily, although his eyes gleamed, “but will we need to be vigilant of your vigilance, lest a spider cross our path?”
Legolas leveled a glare before bursting into laughter. “Fear not, master dwarf, I will take care to temper my response and only wield a bow when necessary – these small creatures hardly merit such force.”
“Maybe we won’t see any more anyway,” Pippin said, and speared another piece of venison. He spotted a speck on his sleeve, and started as it began to move. “Spider!”
Legolas rose up to his full height, taut as a bowstring, hand twitching towards his quiver, and then sagged forward in exasperation as he caught himself. Merry flicked the intruder off of Pippin’s shoulder, and Pippin glanced guiltily across the fire at Legolas. “Sorry.”
The elf let out a sigh.
~~~
The river flowed unceasingly, the crests of lapping ripples glittering silver and golden in the sunlight. Water babbled over small stones, splashed against the craggy cliffs, and whispered as its fingers curved onto the heavy sand of the shore before seeping back into the river to flow downstream. The song of the river filled the valleys and echoed into the surrounding forests as it had for centuries, undisturbed and barely changed.
A deep humming chant could be heard over the sounds of the river, punctuated by the rhythmic scraping of stone over steel. The dwarven warrior sat near the water's edge, sharpening his ax with smooth, practiced strokes as he chanted deep and low in the language of his people, words that seemed to rumble from the depths of the earth.
A light, lilting tune mingled with the chant and floated up to the sky to blend with the leaves fluttering in the breeze, issuing from the elf sitting beside him. The archer fixed the last of the fletching to a new arrow before nodding in satisfaction, never pausing in his song, before reaching for a new stick from the pile at his side. Drawing a blade from its scabbard, he began to peel the bark from the new stick with practiced ease, singing his gratitude to the tree that had surrendered its branches.
An arm's length away, a man sang in the elvish tongue as well, the somewhat deeper, heavier tone blending pleasantly with the lighter lilting of the elf and the grounding tone of the dwarf. His calloused fingers gripped the oiled cloth, spreading oil across his blade with a reverential tenderness, and he paused from time to time in his song to lift his blade to the sky and scrutinize the work.
The other man did not sing, but he whistled almost cheerfully as he worked out the dents in his shield, his eyes alert and constantly scanning their surroundings. The staccato of his sharp whistling punctuated the tunes of his companions and the constantly flowing river.
The four smallest of the group by the river huddled close together, absorbed in their own song. Their words tumbled over each other's most companionably and near raucously in such a manner that one expected to see overflowing tankards in their hands rather than the small swords found there. The rollicking melody continued undaunted, although punctuated at times by snorts and chuckles when the singers disagreed on the lyrics.
The harmony of the company and the river might have carried on forever, but then the lilting song of the elf broke off into a light hiss of frustration. Looking wistfully at the twig that had fractured beneath his blade, Legolas shook his head and surrendered it to the currents. "Alas, and farewell," he sighed.
Beside him, Gimli snorted. "So fragile."
Legolas arched his brow. "Fragile, master dwarf?"
"The arrow, master elf," the dwarf clarified, grinning. "Deadly the arrow may be, especially from your bow, but how easily it can be defeated even in the hands of its own maker."
Gimli's eyes gleamed with amusement, and Legolas' eyes lit up in kind with recognition of the game.
"Not defeated," Legolas replied, "it simply did not feel up to being an arrow and so managed to tell me before I pressed it into service."
"Fine words," Gimli laughed, "and a finer dodge of my own." His eyes tracked the path of the broken twig as it floated around a bend and out of sight, never pausing in the sharpening of his ax. "A pity."
"What, dare I ask?" Legolas replied.
"That you put in all that work to make your arrows," Gimli grinned, "only to lose them and have to begin the whole process over again."
"I would not say that I lose them," Legolas laughed, "they go precisely where I mean them to."
"At any rate, you end every battle with less than what you started," Gimli said. "Whereas my ax remains close at hand both before and after battle."
"Ah, but what for the enemies not close at hand?" Legolas asked. "Indeed, it is better to take out an enemy sooner rather than later, and with my bow I have the advantage there."
"Perhaps," Gimli admitted. "But at least I do not have to retrieve my ax or make it anew after every battle."
"What about your throwing axes?" Legolas asked. "They do not fly back to your hands once they have been thrown, you have to chase after them."
"That is still only two I must get back," Gimli answered. "As opposed to the entire quiver-full you must find – or not, as the case may be."
"Are you trying to convert me to the ax?" Legolas' eyes twinkled. "I have battled solely with the bow and the blade for centuries, I am too old and set in my ways to pick up any new weapons."
"Far be it from me to convince an elf of anything," Gimli said. "I am simply saying that the ax is a far more efficient weapon of war."
"Are you saying," Legolas affected a tone of scandalized shock, "that my bow, a gift from Lady Galadriel, is a substandard weapon of war?"
Pippin, who had tucked his dagger away and was watching the verbal sparring with interest, let out a low "ooooh." Merry let out a quiet whistle and grinned.
Reverence softened the lines of amusement crinkling Gimli's eyes at the mention of the lady he so esteemed. Awe mingled with righteous indignation as he spoke. "I would never defame a gift from my lady," he said, hand pausing in its work to rest protectively over where he had tucked the precious golden hairs.
"Indeed not," Legolas agreed.
Gimli patted softly over his heart where the hairs had been secured, lost in thought for a moment. His gaze, soft and dreamy with memory, suddenly blazed with enthusiasm and he grinned at the elf. "But I have no quarrel with the efficiency of your bow," he continued, "merely with the efficiency of your arrows. Which my lady did not give you."
The dwarf turned to place his ax, sharpened now to his satisfaction, on the grass behind him. He drew his pipe from his pocket, lit it, and, with the leisurely satisfaction of one who has accomplished all his tasks, began smoking with gusto.
Legolas' nose wrinkled and he tucked away the finished arrow into his quiver before standing up.
"Retreating from the field of battle?" Gimli asked, grinning. "Does this mean you concede my victory?"
"I am not retreating from battle," Legolas replied, "merely from your pipe smoke."
"Ha!"
Pippin leaned over to Merry and whispered, "That's my win, then. Hand it over."
Merry’s hand tightened possessively on his bag of precious pipeweed as he hissed back. "You heard him – he's not retreating, so he's not defeated. You haven't won anything yet."
"Oh." Pippin wilted a little, then perked up. "But if neither of them has won, that means neither of them has lost, either. So I think we both win, then."
Eyes gleaming, Merry nodded. "Sounds good to me, Pip."
And with that, the two exchanged their own bags of pipeweed with a smirking solemnity, drew their pipes with a flourish, and joined Gimli in twin clouds of smoke.
The corner of Legolas' mouth quirked into a grin at the whispered discussion. "I will scout around, I think, and take in the forest while I may."
His eyes met with Aragorn’s in silent conference for a few moments before the ranger nodded, drawing out his own pipe and lighting it. Frodo and Sam followed suit, and the air became distinctly hazy.
Boromir got to his feet. "I'll join you. I have missed having steady ground under my feet after all these days of paddling."
Legolas smiled. "I welcome the company. Let us leave the rest to their enjoyment of burning, crumpled leaves to find better pleasure in leaves green and living."
The two left the remaining Fellowship on the shores of the river and trekked into the forest, the trees enveloping them in their shadowy embrace. Breathing deeply of the air in the forest, Legolas closed his eyes thoughtfully for a moment, trusting his feet and the whispered advice of the trees to keep him from stumbling. Boromir walked alongside him, eyes sweeping smoothly and steadily from side to side, the relaxed countenance of the elf setting him at ease.
Legolas paused mid-step, ear twitching, and he spun lightly on his heel as his hand flexed around the bow behind his back. As quickly as he had tensed into action, he relaxed with a frustrated sigh as his eyes opened and focused in the distance.
"What is it?" Boromir asked, confused but not concerned. If something truly threatening loomed about them, his companion would not have relaxed until it was dealt with.
"I saw," Legolas took in a deep breath and let it out in a slow hiss, "a spider." The tips of his ears glowed red.
"Ah."
Legolas cast a glance towards Boromir, a sheepish smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Thank you for not laughing."
"Why would I laugh? I understand."
The elf tilted his head quizzically and Boromir very nearly did laugh at the impish movement. He scratched the back of his neck as he sought out the right words. "I understand needing to be on guard and ready to defend your home at all times."
"Indeed?"
"Gondor," Boromir said grimly, "is very near Mordor. And the people of the White Tower have had to keep the forces of Sauron back for many years. I know too well the feeling of having to spring into action at a moment's notice to defend all you hold dear. The wariness can sink under your skin," he huffed, "and is not so easily discarded."
Legolas' eyes glowed with empathy. "That is very like how I feel, you put it well."
"I am impressed that you have been able to suppress that wariness as well as you have." Boromir continued. "For me, I constantly feel the pull of it tugging me home to Gondor, although I know the importance of our quest."
"I think," Legolas said, "that speaks of the strength of the love you have for your people. How fortunate they are, to have a defender such as you!"
Boromir flushed at the warm words, and the two turned back to walk towards the river. He felt the familiar tug of his thoughts towards Gondor, although they took a small, nearly imperceptible turn towards the shore of the river, where dangled the tool that could surely save–
He wrenched his thoughts back to the present with a grunt of frustration. Turning a little to the side to see if Legolas had noticed the darkness fluttering unwillingly across his mind, Boromir looked just in time to see the elf's eyes flash before he fired an arrow into the distance. "What–?"
Legolas grinned. "I fear I am not as good at suppressing that wariness as I should like to be."
Dwarvish cursing echoed back at them through the trees, followed by a chorus of startled yelps from the hobbits. Boromir thought he might have heard a low chuckle from Aragorn, but he wasn't certain.
"Fool elf!" Gimli called. "What are you doing?"
Legolas stepped lightly out of the trees, Boromir close behind. "Hitting a target from far, far further than I could hit with an ax. What do you think of my aim?"
Near where the others were sitting on the shore, a long-since uprooted tree lay on its side, roots curving into the sand while the branches caught in the currents of the river. Legolas' arrow had embedded in the tree's bark, and Merry and Pippin had clambered out to inspect it.
"I do not question your skill at the bow, master elf," Gimli said. "Nor the distance your strength can give an arrow. But I would dare to say that even I could hit a target as broad as a tree."
Legolas grinned slyly. "Look closer, my friend."
Merry bent closer and exclaimed. "Is that–"
Pippin leaned over his shoulder, nearly sending Merry head-first into the water. "-a spider?"
Indeed, pinned to the trunk, barely bigger than the tip of the arrow itself, was a spider.
"My word!" Sam looked impressed, making Frodo smile at his friend's transparent awe. "However did you manage it, sir?"
"Him cui," Legolas answered solemnly, although his eyes twinkled.
Gimli snorted.
~~~
Shifting back against the steps, the familiar scrape of stone against his back and neck grounding him pleasantly, Gimli looked up at the broad expanse of sky above. Stars glittered and sparkled like fragments of quartz in the great blackness, and it struck a chord of longing for home that he had not allowed himself since he had left with the Fellowship. He tilted his head back slowly, savoring the stretch of muscles tense from months of travel and battle, and let a long curl of smoke unfurl upward from his pipe into the sky.
"How do you fare, my friend?"
"I am well," he answered, turning slightly to face Legolas as the elf sat on the ground beside the steps, the grass whispering and sighing beneath him. "Just unable to sleep. And you?"
"I am also well," Legolas answered, "and equally unable to sleep. My heart is too elated with the relief of victory and the return of our good hobbits."
"I would say my body is too used to the calls of battle and travel to rest long yet," Gimli laughed. "But you speak truth." His face sombered. "How do they fare, themselves?"
"They have been through much," Legolas answered gravely, "but Aragorn says they will mend, and so they will."
"Good."
Legolas tilted his head skywards as Gimli returned to his pipe. Behind them, the Houses of Healing remained still as those recovering within rested; before them, the forest encircled them, nearly silent itself as if holding its breath for the dawn. In companionable quiet, the two watched the pitch blackness of night pale into gray, stars slowly fading away one by one.
The sun had crept over the horizon, casting warm tones like agate across the sky, when Legolas stood, stretching his limbs until his arms were overhead as though he were attempting to embrace the whole world. He glanced down at Gimli, face glowing with a jubilant smile. "My friend, I must go!"
Gimli raised his brows and drew his pipe slowly from his mouth. "Where?"
"To the trees!" Legolas swept his arm in an arc, encompassing the surrounding forest in his broad gesture. "I have not had the chance to walk among them, focused as we have been on important matters. Now that I can journey there freely," he sighed, "I feel its pull."
The joy clear on his friend's face seemed tempered somewhat by melancholy, and Gimli remembered the Lady Galadriel's prophecy; even now he could see the war of the familiar call of the trees with the foreign siren of the sea pulling over the elf's spirits. Gimli’s lips clenched around the stem of his pipe as his heart panged for Legolas.
Exhaling one last time, he drew the pipe from his mouth, tamping down the smoldering pipeweed in the bowl. "It does no good to keep an elf from the trees," he said briskly, getting to his feet. "Let us go, then, before you drive yourself mad."
Legolas brightened, melancholy wiped away in an instant. "I would cherish your company, although I would hate to part you from your burning leaves."
Gimli snorted. "I do not begrudge you your eccentricities with trees and leaves, master elf, leave me to enjoy them in my own way."
Laughing merrily, Legolas beckoned his friend forward, and the two stepped into the forests of Ithilien.
Although he still much preferred the good sturdy beauty of stone, Gimli had developed a grudging appreciation for the forest, likely cultivated by the continuous enthusiasm of the elf striding beside him. Ithilien, in particular, emanated an aura of peace and healing, and a feeling of serenity suffused Gimli as he walked among the trees. Needles and fallen leaves crunched beneath his feet, and a light breeze sent the branches rustling gently. Birds slowly awoke around the pair, chattering and twittering sleepily as sunlight spilled across their nests.
Legolas stepped lightly beside Gimli, his expression radiating contentment and eyes glowing blissfully. For once, he moved more slowly than the dwarf, pausing his strides to brush a finger across dangling leaves or rest his hand firmly in a tree's bark. He sang as he walked, the melody growing stronger the deeper they ventured into the woods, his words blending seamlessly from Westron to Elvish to something like the whispering of leaves and then back again.
The Wood-elf drew a hand reverently across the gnarled bark of an old elm tree, eyes sliding shut as he listened. Gimli trekked forward a bit further ahead, and stepped forward into a clearing bathed in the red-gold light of morning.
He knew, without the keen tracking skill of Aragorn or Legolas, that the clearing had been undisturbed until he had set foot there.
Because spiderwebs spanned the entirety of the space between the trees.
Small spiderwebs spread across branches and leaves. Larger webs stretched between tree trunks. Dewdrops clung to the strands, glittering brightly in the sunlight. And in each webs, dangling like irregular, ornate gems, resided at least one spider.
Mind working quickly, Gimli considered several options of how to best to distract Legolas from the sheer multitude of arachnids. Inclined as he was to try and turn their path away from the area with the elf being none the wiser, he had too much respect for Legolas' perceptiveness to believe that his friend to believe that his friend would blindly follow without taking a curious look around.
Seeking persuasive words worthy of his reputation as silver-tongued, Gimli felt his heart stop as Legolas' singing grew closer. "Friend Gimli," the elf paused in his melody to ask, "why have you-?"
The words stopped abruptly as his elf-eyes scanned the entirety of the clearing. Gimli glanced up with concern at the elf, who had begun to emit a noise not unlike steam hissing from a volcanic vent. His complexion burned bright red, then whitened, then glowed red again. Fingers twitched along the back of his simple tunic for the quiver he had not brought along, and his hand clenched on empty air.
"Legolas?"
The elf's hand fell to his side. Taking several deep breaths, he closed his eyes, head bent down toward the ground. After a few agonizing moments, he opened his eyes and looked slowly around the clearing. Legolas hummed, and the fog over his gaze faded. "It is…beautiful," he murmured.
As the sun contrived to rise, the clearing had filled with even warmer red-gold light, and the beams caught in the myriad of dewdrops sparkling in the gossamer strands. They glittered red and gold, some gleamed green that clung close to leaves and grass, and some sparkled blue and purple reflected from clumps of berries and flowers. To Gimli's discerning eye, the glade fair brimmed with orbs like gems from the finest caverns.
"Strange indeed," Legolas spoke again, "that something so radiant can come from spiderwebs. Strange, but wonderful."
"I have found," Gimli added, "that the forest does provide wonder in very unexpected ways."
"Yes," Legolas agreed. "Oh, how not long ago, I would have destroyed all that I had seen of these, blinded as I was by years of training to despise them."
"Never too late to change one's thinking, is it?"
Legolas smiled, a little shakily but sincerely. "Indeed." He sighed. "Such light captured in each drop, I have never seen the like."
"I have," Gimli replied, and Legolas looked at his companion. Gimli smirked. "In the Glittering Caves."
The elf laughed. "Yes, I have heard you extol them and will keep my promise to venture through them with you. To see colors such as these beneath the ground!"
"The wonders of the Glittering Caves," Gimli replied, slyness coloring his tone, "are even greater."
"High praise indeed!" Legolas smiled.
The two lapsed into silence once more, watching the luminescent dewdrops bob and sway in the breeze, the spiders moving cleverly among the strands. Birdsong intensified around them, and the grass began to murmur and sigh as the small creatures of the woods began to move in earnest. One creature began to whine, a low keening sound that grew in volume until it could heard distinctly over the wood's growing muted din.
Unfamiliar with the sound, Gimli looked up towards Legolas to ask what he thought the creature might be, to see an incredibly still look cast over the elf's face. The whine, he realized, was issuing from the elf. "Master elf?"
"My friend," Legolas' voice strained out, "this place is very beautiful, but I fear that in a few moments it will no longer be."
Glancing over at his friend, Gimli saw that Legolas' fingers had begun twitching in earnest again, this time towards a fallen limb on the ground. "Should we leave?"
Legolas closed his eyes. "With haste."
It took only thirty minutes for the two to get what Legolas deemed a "safe distance" away, but another hour for the elf to fully recover. Gimli sat guard beside his friend, who leaned against the soothing embrace of an ancient pine, and, showing the true strength of his friendship, only chuckled once Legolas started laughing himself.
~~~
When Merry and Pippin had burst into his room that morning, speaking excitedly about "having a proper picnic" now that the War was done, Sam had held some concerns. Frodo had been healed, according to Aragorn, but maybe it would be better to still let him rest. When the other two hobbits had barreled on enthusiastically, Sam had admitted that the sunlight and fresh air would likely do them all some good.
For as much as they could get themselves into mischief, he had to say the two were exceptionally good at getting a picnic going, as far as food was concerned. By the time that Sam had ushered Frodo down the House of Healing's steps and to the grassy courtyard lined with trees, Merry and Pippin had unrolled a large blanket and lugged a basket brimming with food into the place of pride at the center. Gandalf and Aragorn had arrived soon after, discussing something important most likely, with Legolas and Gimli following closely behind laden with wine and ale, and debating the relative merits of each.
They had set to the food and drink with proper relish, even Frodo whose appetite had not quite returned after those weeks of subsisting on lembas. (Begging Mister Legolas' pardon, but if Sam never saw a crumb of lembas again, it would be too soon.) Stories flowed as fast as the drinks were poured, tales about battles and creatures and journeys.
Listening intently to the others' stories, Frodo smiled, the expression warm but not lighting up his eyes as it had before the Quest. It was becoming a familiar sight, one that made Sam's heart sting to see.
"And then Treebeard," Pippin continued in his tale, "carried us all the way to Isengard. That was a sight to see!"
"Imagine being able to see living trees," Sam said thoughtfully. "I'm sorry we didn't get the chance."
"What manner of creatures did you see?" Aragorn asked.
"We did see an oliphaunt!" Sam recalled cheerfully. "But besides that we simply saw orcs or men – or that Gollum."
"You forget, Sam," Frodo reminded him, "that we encountered Shelob along the way."
Sam nodded sheepishly. "Well, yes, we certainly did, but it's not a nice thing to remember. I'd rather talk with a giant tree than fight with a giant spider."
"I beg your pardon," Legolas interjected, having gone suddenly still where he sat next to Gimli, "but could you say that again?"
Sam cleared his throat. "I'd rather talk with a giant tree than fight a giant spider?"
"Shelob," Frodo specified, sitting up taller, the blanket wrapped around his shoulders sliding to the ground.
"Shelob," Legolas drawled slowly, his voice a strange blend of awe and disgust. "You fought…Shelob?"
"Well…" Sam flushed.
Frodo leaned forward. "He defeated Shelob."
"Now we don't know that for certain, Mister Frodo," Sam flustered, "all I did was stab-"
A sudden rush of wind blew his hair slightly back, and Sam startled as he saw Legolas kneeling in front of him. Even more rattled to see the elegant elf kneeling, if possible, Sam looked up and saw Legolas' face glowing with admiration and excitement. "Sir?"
"Master Samwise," Legolas said, "you have defeated the great spider Shelob, who has troubled Arda since before the Second Age."
"I suppose so?"
Legolas sprang up, a jubilant cry echoing from his throat as he spun around, toes barely grazing the blanket. "What a day! What a glorious day! What joy it will bring to all my kin!"
Exuberant, the elf stopped long enough in his spinning to dip into a bow before turning on his heel and sprinting into the woods. Rubbing the back of his head bashfully, Sam glanced around, hoping for clarification. Frodo's grin grew as he shuffled the blanket back around his shoulders. Merry and Pippin sported expressions of equal parts confusion and amusement. Gandalf shook his head slowly from side to side in the manner of one who had seen such a spectacle many times before and fully expected to see it again. Aragorn attempted to look serenely composed for all of two seconds before he broke into a grin around his pipe. Gimli just shrugged as he picked up his flagon of ale.
"Is he…all right?" Sam asked tentatively.
"Yes," Gandalf answered, "certainly he did not seem very distressed."
"But why," Sam waved at the forest with his hand not currently occupied with scratching his head in confusion, "did he run away then?"
"He will return," Aragorn assured him, "I imagine he is just seeking out something."
"But-"
"Elves are curious beings," Gimli said after taking another gulp of ale, "and I believe ours is more so than most, but his actions will soon become clear. Probably." He punctuated the last word with a snort.
Sam only had a few more minutes to ponder what might be happening when the elf reappeared, bearing something delicately in front of him in his cupped palms. Folding himself into a graceful kneeling position, Legolas locked eyes with the hobbit. "This is for you, Master Samwise."
Looking down towards the elf's proffered hands, Sam gasped and felt his face redden anew as he saw the beautiful crown sitting there. Branches weaved intricately around each other, the bright green of vines and leaves shining among the delicate pieces of wood. Red berries perched all around the tips of the crown, and purple flowers sprouted proudly beside the berries. Sam reached forward reverently, not trusting himself not to accidentally break it. His fingers brushed the tip of a purple flower.
To touch something beautiful that had grown from the earth made his heart pang longingly for the gardens he tended back home. To see such green and color after the black and fiery red of Mordor…Sam blinked back tears. "Gladiolus?"
"Yes," Legolas answered, his face shining. "For victory!"
"It's so lovely," Sam sighed. "But I can't accept it, it's too fine for the likes of me."
“Indeed it is not,” Legolas replied firmly, “you deserve even more, but sadly, this is all I have on hand. Please,” he brought the crown closer to Sam, “accept it.”
“Oh,” Sam looked around to see Frodo nodding enthusiastically, “thank you very much, Mister Legolas.”
Legolas laid the crown delicately atop Sam’s head, where it fit perfectly, leaves entwining around his ears. Sam put up a hand to steady it, feeling overwhelmed.
“All hail the mighty Sam!” Merry cried, raising aloft his half-pint.
“Here, here!” Pippin answered exuberantly through a mouthful of cake.
Sam waved a hand at them which, predictably, only served to intensify the sound of their cheers and affectionate teasing.
Legolas, for his part, leaned back on his heels and smiled, his gaze becoming somewhat distracted.
“Head back in the trees, Legolas?” Gimli asked, smirking.
“Of a sort,” Legolas nodded. “Back in the trees of Mirkwood, any rate. If I go home without at least some ideas of how to properly celebrate, my adar will never let me hear the end of it.”
“Right now,” Gandalf said, “it is likely that your father will never let you hear the end of your coming on this quest.”
“True,” Legolas laughed.
“Celebrate what?” Sam asked.
Legolas blinked in confusion for a moment before his face blossomed anew into a grin. “You, of course! And the end of the most foul of spiders!” He waved a hand almost imperiously. “Do not doubt the amount of gratitude and revelry my kin can bestow, Master Samwise, especially for an event such as this! Crowns are not enough, even festivities are not enough – but we will do our best to make it so.”
He stood again. “For one, a proper song is needed when bearing forth such a warrior in triumph.” And he began to sing:
Brave Sam traveled to the foul Spider’s lair,
All manners of horrors awaited him there,
But he did not shirk, did not turn from this feat,
With–
Here he paused, looking thoughtfully at the sky for inspiration.
Frodo piped up. “With mighty Sting, he struck a blow complete!”
“Ah! Legolas clapped. “Well said!”
Brave Sam traveled to the foul Spider’s lair,
All manners of horrors awaited him there,
But he did not shirk, did not turn from this feat,
With mighty Sting he struck a blow complete.
Legolas paused, and Frodo jumped in again. “With Eärlendil aloft, undaunted by fear”
The elf continued, “He stared down her many-eyed leer. Driven by friendship,”
“Stronger than she,” Frodo cried.
“Boldly he struck,” Legolas sang, “to set Frodo free!”
Together, they struck up the song. Sam looked around to see if anyone would stop the pair from giving him airs, but to no avail. Gandalf struck the base of his staff against the ground in time with the beat. Aragorn, grinning, crooned some sort of counterpoint in Elvish. Merry had begun swinging his half-pint in the air as though conducting, and Pippin had overturned the empty picnic basket and began drumming out a beat on it. Even Gimli had joined in, slapping his leg in time with Legolas’ dancing.
Brave Sam traveled to the foul Spider’s lair,
All manners of horrors awaited him there,
But he did not shirk, did not turn from this feat,
With mighty Sting he struck a blow complete.
With Eärlendil aloft, undaunted by fear
He stared down her many-eyed leer.
Driven by friendship, stronger than she,
Boldly he struck, to set Frodo free!
Sam gave up and just sat back as they began to puzzle out a third verse. As much as he didn’t want to go about getting a big head, to have a song sung about oneself felt very nice.
And woe betide him if he ever put a stop to anything that made Frodo’s eyes properly shine again.
~~~
Gimli leaned back against the tree, taking care to make sure that his ax did not graze the bark. The trees of Fangorn still seemed particularly vocal about not having the weapon near them, try as Legolas might to convince them that it chopped down foes, not trees.
Despite the war being over, a flash of panic seared through the dwarf as he gripped empty air before his eyes fell on the ax where he had reluctantly placed it in the center of the clearing, equally far away from all trees. He let his eyes slide shut and wiggled the toes of his sore feet, groaning as the muscles stretched. A dwarf’s endurance was not something to be underestimated, but they had trekked deep into the forest for the past few days, and, not having the same light tread of an elf, he had knocked his poor boots against a fair share of tree roots.
Legolas had looked worried about him, but Gimli had waved the concerned elf. “Go on ahead,” he said, “I know you have been eager to scale the trees since we arrived, and I am just as eager to stay on the ground and rest.”
“I could teach you to climb,” Legolas wheedled.
“I can climb,” Gimli insisted, “I just see no need when there is good solid earth to keep beneath my feet.”
The elf shook his head and laughed before leaping lightly into the tree above. Gimli watched him bound from treetop to treetop until he vanished from sight.
He hummed to himself, slipping in and out of a well-earned doze, as his brain drew back to the beauty of the Glittering Caves. His mind teemed with plans and ideas about bringing back as many of his fellow dwarves to them as wanted to come, sleepily drawing up sketches and plans on how to best construct new homes and forges.
Above him, the tree rustled loudly, and his eyes cracked open, ready to tease Legolas about how his elven tread was already becoming as weighty as a dwarf’s. The image before him seemed too broad and dark to be the willowy elf.
He blinked again, then stiffened in shock as he stared at the giant spider looming menacingly before him. The hairy legs quivered and tensed, the many eyes glinting and glaring at him unblinkingly, and the fangs oozed maliciously.
Gimli reached instinctively for the ax that he knew was not within reach, and wasted a moment cursing himself soundly in his head for putting it to the side. Quickly, his eyes tried to find a path where he could dart past the spider and arm himself, and found none. His hands reached around the trunk to see if any loose limb had fallen to give him at least a temporary weapon, and found none. Slowly, he pulled himself into a crouching position, his knees bent and ready to spring. Only a fool would assume he could take down such an abomination with his bare hands, but he would rather go out a fool than a coward.
He growled low in his throat.
The spider clicked its fangs.
Gimli balled his hands into fists.
The spider sprang – only for an arrow to pierce straight through its head. Then another found its way through its abdomen. The creature let out a shrill screech and fell to the ground, twitching.
Heart thundering now that it had the liberty to, Gimli followed the path of the arrow to the top of a tree. The top of a tree where Legolas had coiled his legs around the topmost branch, brandishing his bow as his hair and clothing billowed around him from the force of the shots.
“Him cui, mellon!” He crowed exultantly. “Him cui!”