Archive of Our Own

It had been not quite a full day since the company had turned a bend in the Great River and saw their last sight of the light of fair Lothlorien. At first the travelers grieved, for none expected to see that fair land again, but soon they dried their tears and turned their faces to the journey ahead as the wide waters of the Anduin bore the three small grey boats rapidly Southward. It was winter, so bare woods could be seen on either steep bank, and they could not get a good look at the lands they had just passed through, almost as if they had not been there at all. All was silent. The breeze died away and even the River flowed without a sound; not even birdsong broke the silence for most of the first day. The day grew old until it hid behind the high bank and dusk came, followed by a starless, moonless night. Still they floated on well into the dark hours, guiding their boats under the shadow of the ghostly woods. It was dreary and cold, but still they travelled on until Aragorn called a short break to rest.

The dark sky was barely thinning when the companions again boarded their boats and began another day of drifting down the river. They let the River carry them at it’s own leisurely pace, for none of them were in a hurry to face the perils that lay beyond whichever course they decided on in the end. All were grimly happy that there were still several days of travel ahead of them before a decision must be made. Aragorn allowed this, knowing they would need strength against the weariness that was bound to come in the end, but he did insist that they begin early each day and continue long past sundown each night.

The first two days they saw no sign of the enemy. They traveled without event, but as the journey continued on the land began to look different. By the third day the trees began to thin and then disappeared altogether. The high slopes to the East of them looked brown and withered as if they had been burned by fire, leaving nothing green and living in sight. On the Western side they could see brown plains with wide green patches between the tall reeds that mostly blocked their view of the West. The only sign of life was the piping of water birds among the reeds, though they were seldom seen. Aragorn informed them that they were seeing the Plains of the Riddermark, Rohan the land of horselords.

The bareness of the banks made the company miss the sinister trees from earlier in their journey, for they were left naked and vulnerable in their open boats in the midst of the shelterless land and on a river that had clearly seen the edge of a war.

It was in the next day that the whole company began to feel uneasy. Where they had been lazily floating along before, they took up the leaf shaped paddles and used them the whole day to hasten forward and try to come to more protected land. There was little conversation to be hard in the boats, for each one was lost in his own thoughts.

Merry and Pippin were decidedly uncomfortable, for Boromir was acting strangely. He seemed restless or maybe nervous as he muttered to himself and sometimes bit his nails. Sam was merely cramped, cold and miserable from having nothing to do but stare at the grey water and featureless land, for no one trusted him to use one of the paddles.

Aragorn was feeling the weight of leadership and the oppression of helplessness upon his shoulders, but he was careful not to show it to the others, so his face was unreadable. Frodo’s was much the same, for his load was even more somber than Aragorn’s.

The third boat carried just two. The thoughts of those two were different, but also the same, for there had been a change between them. Gimli’s thoughts mostly turned toward the great mines of Erebor where he wondered if any gold to be found there would be fine enough to be wrought into the housing for his Lady’s gift. Legolas’ heart was at home too, only he was running through a beech grove in a certain northern glade on a warm summer night under the stars, for he was more homesick than he wished to admit. This was how they filled the dull hours.

But by times they also glanced at one another and smiled, for a certain camaraderie had grown between them and it felt as if they had reached a comfortable understanding. It was true that the relationship between them had not really been the choice of either party, but had been agreed upon in a moment of necessity. But the weeks they had spent together in Lothlorien meant that they had become at least hesitantly comfortable with it. They had had their difficult moments coming to terms with the new parameters of their relationship, for it had taken some getting used to. It was a new dynamic to both. But they had adjusted, though Legolas secretly thought he had more adjusting to do than the dwarf. Still for the last weeks in Lothlorien there hadn’t been a cool moment between them, and for the first three days of being constantly together on the River, they had guided the boat perfectly, in spite of the fact that they were bearing the most weight from carrying most of the baggage.

As the day moved on, the Company collectively began to feel even more insecure. Something sinister was in very air that they breathed. The River became more dangerous as well, shallower with stony beaches and islands of gravel in the middle of the water so that more careful steering was needed. Aragorn decided it was now safer to travel only by day, for dangers lurked in the dark, so they came ashore just before first dark and began to set up camp.

Only what was absolutely needed was unloaded from the boats: weapons, bedrolls and some of the Lembas wrapped in Mallorn leaves. Aragorn agreed that Gimli should start a very small fire when Sam insisted that his master must have at least a warm cup of tea if he was to rest properly. Like most of his kind, the dwarf had a knack of making a fire quickly with very few supplies, a handy skill under their current circumstances for there was no dry wood to be had. He did so with some dried mallorn leaves from yesterday’s lembas, a few sun parched reeds and a cutting of his own hair. Still he kept it small and and made certain his cape cast a shadow over it, for he could not shake the feeling that darkness was near at hand. He was not the only one who felt it. Sam shadowed Frodo, looking as if he were about to jump between his master and some unseen foe, Merry and Pippin huddled together, wide eyes darting here and there, Aragorn’s hand never left his sword hilt, and Boromir looked uneasier than ever, but Legolas was the first one to speak of it, and even then it was very softly.

Crouching down next to where Gimli was gently fanning the fire, he whispered, “There is something near.”

“What sort of something?” Gimli looked about as if he expected to see some enemy right behind him. He had learned not to dismiss Legolas’ concerns, for the elf seemed to be quite intuitive.

“I cannot say for certain, but it is nothing good. There is something menacing about this place.”

“I feel it as well,” Gimli admitted, keeping his voice low so as not to alarm the others. “I wish I knew what this unseen thing might be. It is not easy to fight against a known enemy, but it is at least straight forward, so I know what I must do. It is unnerving having no way to prepare for…whatever.”

“I’ll explore a bit and see what I can see?” Legolas said. It was not a question exactly, but he feared Gimli would disagree with the idea and offer his opinion anyway, and there were far too many folks about for comfort if that were the case. If he just did as he wished without at least informing the dwarf of his intentions, he could end up being embarrassingly called back to the group like an errant elfling, and that was something to be avoided at all costs. It was safer to feel Gimli out first. As it turned out, he was right to take this precaution, for the dwarf did have something to say on the matter.

“Explore what? The land is flat for miles around,” he pointed out. “I see no need for exploring when all you need to do is look about from here.”

“But it isn’t really flat,” Legolas objected. “If you look carefully the plains are actually rolling hills and tall grass. There could be something hiding that we cannot see.”

“All the more reason for you to stay within the camp,” Gimli said. “If there is some hidden menace, we should not disturb it.”

“Are we not better knowing what is out there?” Legolas lowered his voice even more, hoping Gimli would follow suit, for he truly did not want anyone else hearing him begging the dwarf for permission to do anything. He may have accepted Gimli as his guardian, but he was not quite ready for others to know. Still he felt strongly that he was right and hoped to bring Gimli around to his way of thinking.

“You said yourself that you wish you knew what was out there!”

“And indeed I do wish that, but not at the expense of something terrible happening to you,” Gimli thoughtfully lowered his voice as well, for he understood that his new charge would rather not advertise their new situation. Legolas recognized this kindness, even though he did not like what Gimli had to say, “I have sworn to look out for you, and I fully intend to do so.”

“But Gimli, I…”

He never got to finish the thought.

“But nothing, elfling, the answer is no. You are to stay within my sight for tonight and no more arguing! Now hand the kettle to Sam and help me stamp out this fire. There is no need to make ourselves a target to whatever is out there.”

Legolas huffed in frustration, but did as he was bid, for he had learned in the few weeks he had spent getting to know the dwarf, that it was difficult to change Gmli’s point of view, especially on matters that he considered his “duty”. Dwarves, it seemed, took their vows very seriously, and were just about as flexible as the stone from which they were formed. The only thing to do was to appeal to a higher authority. He would just have to wait for the right time.

He got the chance soon enough, when the company had gathered around for a short while before setting watches and going to rest. It had become their custom to spend a little time discussing plans for the next day and sometimes exchanging a few stories or even songs before turning in for the evening, or for the morning, depending on when it was considered safest to rest. That night there was no time for recreation. Everyone seemed to be all business, for all could feel the oppressive darkness that settled about them.

“We will take the watches in pairs tonight,” Aragorn instructed. “Gimli, if you and Legolas will take the first watch, Sam and I will take the second. There will be no need for a third, for we must start loading the boats before dawn so that we can be away at first light. I have a bad feeling about this place. It is as if something lurks out of sight.”

All nodded in agreement at this assessment, and Legolas saw his chance to voice his opinion on the matter. He ached to take some preemptive steps and fight whatever evil head-on. It was maddening to sit and wait. If Gimli could not see that, then maybe Estel could!

“I feel it as well,” he said. “Something uncanny resides in these plains. Let me explore and see if I can flush out the cause and destroy it so we can travel in peace tomorrow.”

Legolas tried not to look, so he could feel rather than see the severe frown on Gimli’s face. Obviously the dwarf did not care for this attempt at overriding his orders, but he never got to speak his mind, for Aragorn shut the idea down immediately.

“We are only eight, Legolas. What if the foe we fear is out there is more than we can withstand on our own. It would be foolish to attempt it. Besides did I not hear Gimli tell you no already on this matter? You should not be trying to bypass your guardian’s authority, young elf.”

Legolas felt his face flame in shame and indignation. It was humiliating enough to have his ideas dismissed so summarily and to be called by such a demeaning label, but it was beyond the pale to have his mortifying secret blurted out before the whole company! He cringed anticipating the reactions of the others.

Gimli rolled his eyes and turned the frown that had been trained on Legolas onto Aragorn, who did not look the least bit repentant. At least Legolas didn’t think so. In fact he was quite sure that Aragorn looked decidedly smug! Gimli thought he might have seen a twinge or regret in the man’s face, but whatever the case, the damage was done. Aragorn could not take back the words, and there could be no doubt that the others had heard.

Boromir merely looked briefly puzzled before going back to looking worried over other things, but it was the hobbits who reacted the most. Frodo and Sam shared a glance, but neither was so impolite as to ask questions. However, the two younger hobbits were less circumspect. Pippin and Merry exchanged amazed looks and then seemed to race to see who could ask the most questions first.

“Why would you need a guardian?”

“I thought you were a trained warrior!”

“Why is it Gimli and since when?”

“You never even liked one another before.”

“Can he tell you what to do?”

Rather than answer, Legolas just glowered at Aragorn and then stormed off to the edge of the camp, muttering something about beginning his watch.

Gimli was now sure that Aragorn hadn’t meant to blurt out anything that would embarrass his sensitive friend for he grimaced and knocked his own forehead with a knuckle and then looked pleadingly at the dwarf for help in satisfying the now very curious younger hobbits. Gimli, however was a strong believer in the old adage -“you’ve made your bed, now lie in it”. He had no intention of rescuing the man. Besides he had other fish to fry at the moment. He had been asked to look our for the young elven member of the company, who was clearly in some distress. However, he was not in charge of curious hobbits! Aragorn could deal with that situation on his own. He merely shrugged at Aragorn’s imploring look and then stood to follow his elven charge to the edge of the camp.

Legolas had walked a fairly long distance to get as far as possible from prying questions. After the initial glare aimed at Aragorn, which he hadn’t been able to help, he had attempted to straighten his facial expression to one of elven composure, though he had no idea if he had succeeded or not . It would do no good to appear to be sulking, for that would only add more damage to his already likely shattered reputation. Besides why should he care? The fact that he was technically not yet of age was hardly important considering the dire situation they were all in. Even in his agitated state he could feel darkness pressing in around them. His reputation as a trusted adult should be the last thing he should be thinking about.

Logically he knew that, but in typical adolescent fashion, Legolas was not always the most logical of beings. It might have been selfish and self centered to be thinking of such things, but he had enjoyed the few weeks of being seen as a respected warrior rather than just a precocious child and even though he tried, he couldn’t help the sinking feeling that settled over him. It had been humiliating when the truth about his age had been revealed to Gimli, but surprisingly the dwarf had at least proven to be sensitive and respectful about the situation. He could have made the elf’s life a misery by taking advantage of his new authority over him, but that had not been the case. In fact the opposite had been true. Gimli took his duty seriously and he did have plenty of opinions, but he never sought to voice them in a way that would cause his new charge undo embarrassment or distress. Certainly he never discussed their new agreement with anyone else. If only Estel had followed Gimli’s lead and kept his mouth shut!

Bitter thoughts continued to plague the young elf, but he also remained fully aware of his duty. Sitting down on a smooth stone at the top of a small hillock, he scanned the area and tuned his ears into the sounds around him. It wasn’t long before he heard footsteps behind him, but he had become familiar enough with the sound of the heavy, uneven gait of the dwarven member of the company that he never even bothered to turn around. Instead he kept his eyes strictly forward without offering so much as a greeting when Gimli stood next to him, partly because he did not trust himself to speak. He was still seething and he feared that if he attempted speech he might end up humiliating himself further by angrily shouting, or worse yet bursting into tears of frustration. Neither reaction would put him in a good light in front of Gimli or rest of the company. Instead he simply squared his shoulders and grit his teeth in preparation for a storm to break out over his head. He was still getting to know his new guardian, but one thing he was fairly sure of was that Gimli would not be happy over his having attempted to get Aragorn to pull rank on his orders to remain near the others.

Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, the dwarf did not seem overly eager to scold or complain, for he merely stood with a large hand on his great war axe, as his eyes also scanned their surroundings. Evidently satisfied with what he saw for the moment, he lowered his considerable bulk down next to the elf, his hand never leaving the heft of his axe. When he did speak it was only to ask for a report.

“See anything unusual Lad?”

Legolas tersely twitched his head to one side to indicate a negative answer, and then looked severely in the other direction, but not before he caught a glimpse of Gimli’s half sympathetic, half amused expression. That only infuriated him more, so much so that he could feel the sting behind his eyes that was a sure sign that angry tears were dangerously close to falling. He hated himself for the lack of control and he hated Gimli for making him feel that way with his unwanted sympathy and his annoying amusement. He did not need pity and there was certainly nothing at all funny about the situation! It would have been far better had his new guardian been furious and inclined to tell him off. At least then he could have felt justified in snarling at the dwarf and could have focused on defending himself! Sympathy and amusement only made him angry, but without the satisfaction of getting to shout at anyone in retribution. If Gimli had chewed him out or shouted at him, he could have shouted back, but such an outburst without provocation would only make him seem like a moody adolescent, which he most certainly was not!

Legolas took a deep breath in an attempt to control his emotions, but unfortunately it came out as more of a shudder, which of course Gimli noticed and commented on. Legolas felt himself tense when a large hand reached out to pat his knee.

“They were bound to find out sooner or later, lad, though I am sorry it has upset you so.”

“I am NOT upset!” Legolas vehemently insisted

“Oh?” Gimli mildly replied, “I beg your pardon then.”

Legolas had the distinct feeling he was being made fun of, which did nothing to improve his mood, so even though he was still trying to exude elven serenity, he could not keep totally quiet.

“There is no need for that,” he spat, “ for as I said I am not upset. It is just so frustrating!”

“Of course it is,” Gimli soothed, “but the situation is what it is. Have I not done my best to make this transition as easy as possible for you?”

Legolas sighed, because he knew that was true, but there was more to it than that.

“It is not so much that part of it, that bothers me,” Legolas grumpily explained. “It is more the fact that I have as much if not more battle experience than anyone here, but because Estel has taken it upon himself to reveal that I am still accounted as a youth among my people, the others will now think of me as nothing but a child. Up until now they have respected me.”

“I do not see why that would change, laddie,” Gimli began again, in that same maddeningly reasonable tone. “Your skills as a warrior have not changed.”

Somehow the dwarf’s equanimity only infuriated the elf more, and he couldn’t help raising his voice.

“I am far older than all of them, Even Estel, and yet they are afforded rights that I am not! It is not fair!”

Legolas cringed inwardly, for even though he told himself it was righteous rage, his tone sounded sulky even to his own ears. Of course the dwarf had to continue being agreeable, when Legolas was spoiling for a fight!

“I know that must be frustrating for you, but we all mature at our own pace as we are designed by our maker. It is not anyone’s fault, but it just is what it is.”

Words meant to placate only served to irritate the elf more, for no one understood how he felt!

“Oh what do you know dwarf?” he hissed, tossing golden hair over his shoulder.

For the first time Gimli showed signs of being something shy of perfectly understanding.

“I know how to deal with a mouth like yours, elfling, so I suggest you watch your tone if you do not wish to find out! I am not responsible for the rate of maturity in elves compared to other races, nor did I suggest this new agreement between us. I only agreed to it, as did you.”

Legolas felt suddenly deflated, for that was true enough. It was not really Gimli he was angry with, but Estel and the situation in general. It seemed wise to backpedal a bit.

“You are right,” Legolas mumbled. “I am sorry.”

He followed his words with a deep shuddery sigh of frustration, and Gimli quickly returned to being sympathetic. He squeezed the elf’s shoulder.

“Never mind, lad. It has been a difficult day for all of us. It is no wonder you are unsettled. And you are correct in saying that I do not know exactly what you are going through, but it may surprise you that I understand more than you would expect.”

“Really?” Legolas was skeptical, but intrigued. Gimli patted his pocket looking for his pipe, which he stuck in his mouth. He had lost the last of his pipe weed some time ago on cruel Caradhras, but Legolas knew he was comforted by the taste that was leftover in the pipe.

“Well we still have a few hours of our watch, so I shall tell you a story, if you are keen to hear it. What say you?”

“I would like that very much. Thank you friend Gimli.”

He was thanking the dwarf as much for his forbearance as for the offer of the story, and though he was still agitated, he had calmed enough to allow himself to be distracted by the tale.

“It began over eighty years ago,” Gimli began, “back when I was still a youngster living in the Blue Mountains…”

Suddenly Legolas thought of something that had never occurred to him before, for he had never thought of Gimli as having been young.

“How old are you, Gimli?” he interrupted. “If I may ask, that is.”

“You may,” Gimli answered. “I am one-hundred-thirty-nine years old.”

The answer somewhat surprised the elf. He did not know what he had expected, but that wasn’t it. Mortals matured swiftly indeed, for he remembered himself at one-hundred-thirty-nine years. At the time his head had barely reached his ada’s chest and he had still been running about the halls with rubber tipped arrows pretending to hunt the stronghold guards. And even now he was still adolescent thin and lanky, while Gimli was clearly a fully adult skilled warrior. He had even noticed a few grey hairs running through the dwarf’s beard and hair indicating that he was not even a young adult. He realized that he had no real concept of how old Gimli actually was by his people’s standards and he admitted as much.

“I have no idea what that means,” he said. “I know nothing about how dwarves age and mature. I know a little more about men, but not much.”

Gimli thought for a while.

“I am considered well into middle age,” Gimli explained. “In human terms, meaning ordinary humans like the men of Dale, I would say equivalent of fifty-five to sixty years. For one of the big men like Aragorn or Boromir, I would say closer to one hundred or so. Does that help?”

Legolas nodded, but asked, “ At what age did you come of age?”

“Officially the age of majority for dwarves is forty years, but that does not mean a person is treated as a full fledged adult until much later, as I soon found out in the story I am about to tell you. I was sixty two years old, when it began; an adult, but a very young one. Too young to do what I longed to do, at least according to some. I of course, did not agree. I felt I was ready to take on any challenge that came my way and I felt it was an insult to my honor to be denied. Unfortunately for me, my own Da was among those who considered me too young, and sadly his opinion counted far more than mine. I was left behind, and I was fit to be tied. Went around like a bear with a sore head for months. It is a miracle Mam refrained from strangling me! Looking back, I wouldn’t have blamed her had she done so!”

Legolas laughed at that, but wanted to know, “From what were you left behind?”

Knowing the time frame, he had some idea, but he wanted to be sure.

“Why the quest to regain Erebor from the evil dragon Smaug, who had occupied our ancestral home for decades. My favorite cousins, who were not really so much older than me, were permitted to come, which made me furious. I felt bitterly insulted and deeply humiliated to be left behind. But of course, I know now that my folks were right. It was not a lack of trust in me that caused their decision, but a desire to protect me as a young person from harm. Parents have that right. I ended up serving at home, which was just as needed, and then leading my folk back to Erebor once the all clear to return was given.”

Legolas shifted a little uncomfortably, for he knew quite well that had he asked permission to go on this quest into the unknown that it would have been denied. He, of course, had fought agains spiders, wargs and orc at home, but that had been with an army of extensively trained elven warriors of which his Adar approved at his side. What he was involved in now was an entirely different thing. He was currently on a dangerous secret mission, with a small ragtag group of companions, and only Gimli, Estel and Boromir were trained warriors, who had never fought together before two months ago. Was Gimli right in saying that parents had the right to forbid there own children from getting involved in such things? He felt a twinge of conscience not for the first time, but he pushed it down, for it was little use to think of that now. Gimli must have understood, for he cleared his throat and spoke bracingly.

“Anyway, that is not today’s tale. The story i wish to tell you took place some time later after we had been settled in Erebor for some three or four years.”

“Having heard the tales of the journey of my father and my other kin, I yearned to see at least some of what they had seen, even though there was little chance of having the adventure that they’d had. It is not the common practice of dwarves to travel far from home during times of peace, but my father was, and still is, an excellent story teller, so the pictures he painted with his yarns kindled the wanderlust in me, and since Lord Gloin longed to meet up with his former companion, Bilbo Baggins, he agreed to make the three week journey with me as soon as the spring thaw came.”

“I’ll never forget my first look at the Shire,” Gimli smiled remembering. “have you seen it laddie?”

“I haven’t,” Legolas sighed, “truthfully I have done very little traveling in my life…well until now of course.”

“Ah, well perhaps you will see it one day,” Gimli answered, “after we’ve finished this quest and all returned to our homes, it is likely you might like to visit out hobbity friends in time.”

Of course both elf and dwarf knew the chances of ever returning home were questionable at best, but it did no good to say so, and it somehow heartened Legolas to hear his friend speak so positively about the future.

“I just might at that,” Legolas agreed. “What was it like?”

“It was grand and beautiful. No beautiful like the elegant Rivendell, or the golden and dreamlike Lothlorien, nor even like the glorious and opulent Erebor. I would describe it as more quaint and cozy, rustic if you will. It was small, but was still surrounded by picturesque woods and marshes. Hobbiton itself was all green rolling hills, freshly tilled earth, with small gated gardens and flower boxes in the windowsills. The folks we passed on the way to Bag End were curious, but mostly friendly, for I found out later that while they did not often see outsiders in the Shire, there had been more since Bilbo had returned from his strange quest. You see Bilbo was seen as odd, for he had become something of a loner, and when he did have guests they often as not might be a dwarf or even a human who found his way in from the mixed-race city of Bree. So while we were greeted very cautiously, we were not openly challenged by anyone. All knew whom we had come to see.”

“Now up until I entered the Shire, I had never set eyes on a hobbit. I had of course known humans from the human settlements near Erebor and the Grey Mountains, and had even seen a good number of the elves who sometimes visited Laketown and occasionally Erebor itself, but Hobbits were a new experience altogether. All had sandy curly hair and completely hairless faces and of course, every single one was very, very small. Now, Lad, some of the tallest hobbits were probably nearly as tall as a very short dwarf, but when it came to girth and musculatures, there was nothing to them at all it seemed to me. On top of that, while they all carried a variety of expressions, from welcoming and friendly, to annoyed or even hostile, not one of them looked the least bit fierce. None carried axe, nor sword, nor knife. The only weapons to be seen were pruning shears, plowshares and hoes, all being wielded for their practical purposes of course. I could not imagine that such a person could possibly have been what my Da called ‘the bravest and most important member of the quest for Erebor.’ But then I hadn’t met the famous Bilbo Baggins yet, so I thought he must be different from the others. His own kind seemed to believe so. ”

Legolas chuckled at that, for of course he had met the old Hobbit in Rivendell and couldn’t help thinking of Bilbo’s velvet waistcoat, his gold pocket watch and his seemingly endless supply of embroidered handkerchiefs. That, along with his small stature and his constantly writing songs and poetry, did not make what anyone would call the picture of a great warrior!

“Just so,” Gimli laughed along with the elf. “and he was little different then than he is now. Even his home was daintily furnished with paneled walls, tiled floors with beautiful rugs and polished furniture. Finely crocheted doilies covered his table tops, and he proudly showed us his grandmother’s floral patterned china and carved silverware. A small writing desk sported a drying parchment and an ostrich plume pen, waiting to be dipped in a pot of black ink and used for writing in what turned out to be the unfinished journal of all his many adventures.”

He was very welcoming and seemed very pleased to see us, and when Lord Gloin embraced him I thought the hobbit might be lost forever in Da’s great beard, so small was he. Any dwarf stripling would have been considerably sturdier, at least that was the way things looked to me.

To be perfectly honest, I began to feel a little perturbed, for even though it had been a few years since the Quest for Erebor had ended, I had never really reconciled to having been left out. So to see my own Da praising such a small being, who had not been fighting for his own ancestral home, who was obviously not a warrior, who could not even lift the smallest hatchet from my earliest childhood, let alone wield a great war axe…well let’s just say it rubbed me the wrong way. I had had years of arms training under my belt and was considered strong, even among my own folk, who are all considered strong and sturdy as boulders, and yet this fragile looking, unassuming halfling was allowed to go where I was not. Why Bilbo Baggins had not even wanted to join Thorin and company, if the tales that I had been told were true! Gandalf had had to talk him into it, while I, who had begged to fight for the home of my fathers, was left behind.”

“I can see why,” Legolas nodded. “It does seem unfair, though I suppose old Mithrandir had a reason for choosing him.”

“Of course he did,” Gimli agreed, “ but I did not see that at first. All I could see was that this unassuming hobbit had gotten to do exactly what I had wished to do, and in my opinion he hadn’t even appreciated it. Bilbo was an agreeable, hospitable fellow who did his best to make me feel welcome in his home, but I was too upset to appreciate the gesture. I could feel Da giving me the hairy eyeball over my lack of manners, but I was careful never to let him catch my eye to challenge me over them. Plus I never crossed the line into blatant disrespect, I just remained sullenly quiet and ignored our hosts open friendliness. In fact I am afraid dear Bilbo caught on pretty quickly that all was not well with me, and though he tried, he could not cheer me out of my foul mood. When offers of food and ale did not do the trick, Bilbo asked me if I would like to read his writings regarding his impressions of his journey with my kin. I wanted to refuse to do so, but I was not quite brave enough to push Lord Gloin that far! Besides I was far too curious to read his account, no matter how important I thought it was to make a point to my unreasonable parent.”

“Well that turned out to be a mistake, I can tell you. Right at the beginning of his tale, Bilbo had written that the journey had begun not long after his fiftieth birthday! Imagine that, only fifty years old! Well, Lad, you can image how shocked I was! Not only was this unprepared, non-warrior requested to go on a quest that I was summarily barred from, he turned out to be twelve years younger than me when I had been told I was too young! That was enough and too much for me. I stormed out of there in a hurry, ignoring my father’s order not to slam the door. Frankly I did not care if I was rude. I wanted to slam the door! In fact I hoped it would fall off it’s hinges, for that would have portrayed my dismay very aptly.”

“I understand that feeling very well,” Legolas smiled sympathetically at the thought of the young Gimli’s frustration, “though I suppose that did not go over very well with your father.”

“In the heat of the moment, I cared very little for that,” Gimli smiled back, remembering the day, “though it didn’t take me very many minutes to begin to care, for dwarves take hospitality very seriously, and to treat a host so discourteously put our entire family in a bad light, and before a dear friend of my Da’s as well. I fully expected him to come out at any moment to drag me over the coals for offending our host, so I was not surprised to hear the door behind me open and close behind me and to feel a figure sit down beside me on the wooden bench outside Bag End. I could not force myself to look in Da’s eyes, knowing I would see his disappointment, but soon I felt a hand on my shoulder. To my surprise, it was not Lord Gloin’s large familiar hand, but a much smaller, lighter one. I turned then and found myself looking into the friendly and sympathetic eyes of Bilbo Baggins. Of course by then I fully regretted my actions and began to apologize, but Bilbo only raised a hand to stop my words.”

“‘No need at all,” he said mildly, ‘I understand that you very much wished to be a part of our quest, and were forbidden to do so. I love my home as well, and I cannot imagine not being permitted to fight for it. It is understandable and I would likely feel much the same in your shoes, if hobbits wore shoes that is!’”

“Out of politeness I smiled at his jest, grateful that he seemingly had not taken offense at my horrendous manners.”

“‘It is no excuse,’ I told him, ‘it is hardly your fault that you were chosen while I was not. I should not have taken my aggravation out on you.’

‘True,’ Bilbo amicably agreed, ‘and yet I forgive your youthful passion.’

“I was too grateful for his forbearance to complain about his turn of phrase, but it grated to have someone who I knew for a fact was some years younger than me to count my righteous outrage as youthful moodiness. He may have called it passion, but I knew very well what he meant. I said nothing though, and after a while he pulled out a pouch from his pocket and filled his long pipe and then offered me a pinch of tobacco as well. Soon he was contentedly blowing smoke rings while I was getting my first taste of the famous Longbottom leaf; what Bilbo called it Old Toby, after the first farmer who ever cultivated it. To my surprise I began to feel a little better then. After all, the injustice done to me was not the hobbit’s fault at all. Even more surprising was when the little fellow attempted to comfort me. He reached out and patted my arm.”

“‘You have plenty of time for adventures, lad,’ he said.”

“I must have looked at him strangely for he continued, ‘I was perfectly happy at home, but Gandalf reminded me of the adventurous nature of my ancestors, and made me realize I had never even left the Shire. As a youngster I had loved to read about great deeds and adventures, and here I was, my life half over and I had never had even one adventure of my own! So I decided to have one. You are still young. Your time will come, I am sure of it!’”

“To be frank, I was dumbfounded. Perhaps I should have realized it but I had not until that moment. As a dwarf my expected life s pan was much longer, for dwarves expect to lives twice as long and half again compared to a halfling. Why Bilbo was a middle aged adult, whose folks had passed on long ago, while I was, at that time, still young enough to be subject to mine. They were within their rights to protect me, as much as I hated to admit that. Chronological age had nothing to do with those facts. So you see, laddie, I do have a little understanding of your dilemma, even if our circumstances are not exactly the same. And my age at that time, did not make me less valuable to my people, just as yours has nothing to do with your skills and abilities as a warrior, nor your importance to our quest. Your youth is merely a fact about you the same as your hair color or your melodic singing voice. None of those things have anything to do with your value, nor are they anything to be ashamed of or to be secretive about. No one will think less of you, I swear.”

Legolas pondered that for a moment, and while he perhaps did not quite believe it, he did appreciate the dwarf’s effort to cheer him up. It was nice to know that at least one member of their fellowship still respected him.

“Thank you friend, Gimli,” he said. “your words are a comfort to me, though I cannot say I am looking forward to answering Pippin’s questions when we get back.”

“Ah never mind that , lad,” Gimli patted the elf’s knee, “you needn’t answer anything you are not comfortable answering, and you can let me handle that rascal Pippin.”

And so it proved to be, for the next morning, even over a rushed break of fast, Pippin had not let go of his earlier curiosity. Legolas answered the tween hobbit’s many questions with as much grace as he could muster.

Yes, he was a trained warrior, even though he was still considered a minor by his own people, and no he had not exactly gained permission from his father to accompany Frodo on this journey. Gimli had been chosen as a guardian just before they came to Lothlorien because Aragorn considered him to be worthy and fair, and yes Legolas agreed with that sentiment, at least most of the time. To Legolas’ relief, Gimli fulfilled his earlier promise when Pippin’s questions become more uncomfortable.

“If Gimli is your guardian now, can he tell you what to do? And what will he do if you refuse to obey?”

“Of course I can,” Gimli answered this time, “and I am about to tell him to toss you in the Anduin if you do not stop with your pestering questions youngling!”

Pippin laughed along with everyone else, “Well I know he would never obey such a terrible order as that, so what will you do?”

“In that case, I would throw you in myself, and then toss him in after you,” Gimli claimed, “so think on!”

After that there was no more time for jests, for Aragorn was urging everyone to reload the boats and begin their journey for the day. All thoughts of personal stories and questions was gone from every mind, for there were more serious matters at hand, though Gimli did fleetingly hope that the young folks who had offered their service so readily would not have their lives cut short for their bravery, and he wondered did they have the right to make that offer of their own accord, not that it mattered now. For the first time he felt that he finally had some real inkling about how his own folks had felt all those years ago.

All that day the feeling of foreboding continued, though no one spoke of it. Or spoke at all for that matter. The river ran fast again, so Aragorn decided that it would once again be safer to travel by night, so after an afternoon rest, the fellowship set out again, this time under the cover of darkness.

At first they made only small headway against the current and all the time they were carried nearer to the eastern bank, until they were near to crashing into it. Just as they began to feel the keel grate upon stone, several arrows whistled overhead and some fell among them. One struck Frodo in the back, shoving him forward, but bouncing off him due to the shining mail he wore beneath his shirt. One passed through Aragorn’s hood while another nearly hit Merry’s hand.

“Yrch!” Legolas shouted, falling into his mother tongue. He could see black figures running to and fro on the banks.

Gimli leaned forward, straining with all his strength at the paddle as black arrows continued to whine overhead and struck the water all around them. Stroke by stroke he labored on in the darkness until he managed to thrust the boat he shared with the elf onto the western shore.

As if they had planned it together, Legolas laid down his paddle and took up his Lorien bow, then sprang ashore and up the bank. Stringing the bow and arrow he turned looking back over the Anduin and into the darkness. There were shrill cries above, but nothing could be seen at all. Suddenly shadows appeared over the starry fields and a terrible dread fell on the company.
“Elbereth Gilthoniel!” Legolas softly swore, as what looked like a dark cloud moved swiftly out of the blackness in the South and hurtled toward the company. Soon they could see it was an enormous winged creature coming straight towards them.

Suddenly the great bow of Lorien sang. There was a harsh croak and a shrill screech as it fell out of the air and vanished into the darkling gloom and then the sky was clean again. Far off voices seemed to wail and curse and then it was silent. The terrible dread that everyone had been feeling suddenly lifted. Not a sound was heard again from the east that night.

After that the company decided to stay and await the dawn, for there was no sense in attempting to move further that night. They made no camp that night, but sat huddled in the boats that were moored close together on the shore.

Though he would never admit it, Legolas was still shaken by the close call that they had endured and he gave thanks that he had not failed as he had in Moria. He trembled remembering the arrow he had dropped at the sight of the balrog.

As if he could feel Legolas fears, Gimli placed a comforting arm around the elf’s shoulder, giving it a friendly squeeze.

“Praised be the bow of Galadriel,” he said, “and the eye and hand of Legolas. That was a mighty shot in the dark, my friend!”

“But who can say what it hit?” said Legolas with a shudder.

“I cannot,” said Gimli. “I can only say how fortunate we are to have you here, for I liked not that shadow at all, and your quick action saved us from who knows what end.”

Everyone was quick to agree wholeheartedly with that sentiment, for all were certain they had had a close scrape with death.

Gimli winked broadly at his charge, which Legolas interpreted to mean, “What did I tell you? No one cares now about your age do they? Your skill speaks for itself.”

Legolas flushed pink, for he was pleased beyond words at the praise from his guardian.

“Thank you, Elvellon,” he said. “I am glad to be of service, of course, but I was only doing my sworn duty the same as everyone else.”

“Well said, my lad,” Gimli agreed. “All of us will have our part to play before the end of this quest, I daresay.”

And so his words proved to be, but that is another tale entirely.