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It is three days since the Battle of Helm's Deep. Three days since darkness fell and an endless wave of black-armored orcs poured over the horizon line, the very ground wilting away before their advance. Three days since I myself almost gave up hope, my dim thoughts turning to my Evening Star. Three days since the White Wizard reappeared, blinding us in relief.
Three days - the blood has been washed off the floor tiles, the women and children have returned, and smiles are flowing more freely. Yet not all have recovered, not will they for some time. Even my excellent travelling companions seem to be more shaken by this battle than by any obstacle faced before. Only this morning, I found them both lying down, dazed, in a seldom-used corridor. Gimli was sporting a bruised cheekbone, while Legolas had freshly split his lip. I swiftly looked around for stray orcs, but Gimli mumbled something about damned clumsy elves. Neither made a move to stir, so I left them to grieve in their own, albeit strange, way.
"My Lord?"
Aragorn carefully laid down his quill above his collection of loose parchment, screwed the top back on the inkwell, and stood to stretch. Only then did he turn to face the Lady Eowyn.
"Yes?" He said gently.
"Gandalf has urgent need of you. I was sent to pry you from your chronicles." She smiled warmly, but she looked around with a slight puzzled air. "But where are Legolas and Gimli?"
Aragorn allowed the corners of his mouth to quirk upwards and gestured briskly towards the door. "Ah, where steaming food and free-flowing wine are to be found, our dwarf friend and his shadow will not be far away."
They walked down the corridor, unaware of the drama unfolding a few tunnels over . . .
"Gerroff me!" Gimli roared in a deep baritone voice as he thrust his hands up towards his face, desperate to bat away the blur of feathers and wooden shafts that threatened to blind him.
"Not my bow!" Legolas exclaimed as he desperately tried to grasp Gimli's wrist before he snapped the irreplaceable weapon in two.
For the second time that day, both dwarf and elf found themselves in a frenzied dance to regain their balance. It was to no avail - both unceremoniously ended up sprawled on the floor.
Gimli rubbed his backside and eyed his partner balefully. "Take those bloody wooden poles off your back next time before you stoop over and allow them to slide right into my vulnerable bits!"
Legolas raised a pointed eyebrow. Only through a thousand years of studying elvish culture could one detect the hint of laughter dancing across his expression. "Your . . . vulnerable bits?"
"MY EYES!" came the furious response.
"So, you're saying you want to try again, without the weapons?"
Gimli considered this. "Well, we once again find ourselves in a secluded corner with nought to bother us." He raised his chin proudly and artfully twirled a section of beard hair as only the finest dwarves could do. "Unless your elvish nerves of steel have dulled."
Legolas lifted his crossbody quiver off and away from his body in one fluid movement, pulling himself smoothly over to where Gimli sat before the dwarf could let out a huff of surprise. Reaching out his slender hands, he cupped Gimli's face lovingly but firmly. Slowly, maintaining eye contact, he moved forward until he closed his eyes and the distance all in one rush.
They locked lips for a moment . . . two . . . until Gimli began to move his lips apart very gently . . .
A sharp clang! sounded at the end of the hall. They broke apart to watch a young girl whip around and rigidly walk away, the sound of her strangled laughter not quite muffled by the still-echoing ring of the dropped tin plate.
"Ah, well, that's that. Better get back to the main cave before you cause me any more injuries or the Rhohirrim eat the rest of the venison!"
Legolas smiled and pulled his partner off the ground. "Let me know if your sore backside needs any rubbing later."
"OI!"
~~~
We are within a day's ride of Isengard. I can smell the hatred in the wind. I can taste the acrid smoke on my tongue.
The horses of the Rohirrim have been pacing restlessly, as Theoden has called for an early rest today. It was full early to break, but we men must gather our strength for whatever wiles Saruman will throw at us tomorrow.
Gimli and Legolas are just as much on edge. This evening, they went out for an extra patrol, despite assurances that it wasn't necessary. Perhaps dangers that even I can't sense are afoot . . .
"HEY TREE-HUGGER!" Gimli panted as he tried to keep up with the fleet-footed elf.
Legolas leapt the remaining eight feet onto a craggy rock formation, landing perfectly upright and slowly pivoting back to stare at Gimli with piercing blue eyes. Gimli paused, awestruck for a moment by the ethereal beauty, but shut his mouth and mumbled "show-off" before trundling forward.
“We've been meandering around the perimeter of this blasted camp for ages now! What in blazes are you looking for - a new way to rob me of precious moments of rest?"
Legolas smiled fully and raised his eyes to the horizon. "Ah, master dwarf, if I had my way, we would get no rest tonight, nor any night for the next one hundred years." Shifting his gaze back down to Gimli's newly-reddened face, he added, "But our lives are constrained for the present - I would be satisfied with a few stolen moments."
Gimli grinned and glanced over his shoulder to double-check - but the elf had cleverly led them out of sight and hearing of the camp. He ran forward with surprising nimbleness and pulled himself up on the craggy precipice that Legolas had leaped in a single bound.
Despite outward appearances, dwarves can be very nimble, especially when it comes to climbing rocks. Gimli made short work of the wall and was just swinging his leg over the ledge when several unfortunate events occurred in quick succession.
Legolas had stepped over to help pull Gimli up, but his step went unnoticed by Gimli, who was actively swinging his legs up over the ledge. In a neat scything motion, Gimli cut Legolas's legs out from under him. Arms windmilling wildly, staggering about, Legolas tried to regain his balance, but Gimli's helmet, smooth and freshly polished, had fallen into his path.
Whomp! Legolas slipped and fell, hard, onto Gimli's crouched body, flattening him completely.
Gimli caught his breath and groaned, wriggling his torso experimentally. "Nothing broken but my pride," he grumbled. "Feather-foot my ass." Then, more loudly, "Legolas. Hey, ELF. Gerroff me!!!"
There was no response. Worried, Gimli pushed himself out from underneath Legolas's prone body. (For all his jokes, he was abnormally light for his size.) Standing upright, he surveyed the damage. "Oi," he whispered. Legolas lay perfectly still. "Legolas! Are you awake?"
No answer.
"Legolas!" Gimli kneeled and grasped his hand anxiously. "I'm sorry!" Tears started to pool in his eyes as he began to nuzzle and kiss Legolas's hand, muttering apologies.
After a few prolonged moments of sorrow, he turned back to view the elf's fair face, only to see that his eyes were fully open, glittering mischievously. "Feather-foot?" he asked wanly. "Mayhaps it's true - I just can't seem to keep my feet on the ground when you are nearby."
Gimli gasped and pulled him into a searing kiss, then pushed back roughly. "Blasted elf," he mumbled, "I did not walk out to this godforsaken rock to hear such pitiful come-ons!"
Legolas sat up slowly, only to wince and fall back, conveniently finding a natural pillow in Gimli's lap. "You really took my breath away a minute ago - I thought it rather clever for the circumstances."
Gimli roared "That's quite enough of THAT!" in fake outrage and made to stand up. Legolas, apparently instantly recovered, also stood and firmly grasped Gimli's shoulders before he could turn and stomp away. He brought his lips to Gimli's, who melted at the contact. Legolas deepened the kiss, using his tongue to get even closer, to taste more, to feel more . . .
After an interminable age, they broke apart, panting heavily. Legolas parted his pale pink lips as if to speak, but Gimli quickly put his broad palm over the elf's mouth. "No more bad jokes," he said weakly, "and no more come-ons. You have had thousands of years to think up better ways to woo."
Legolas met his eyes frankly. "Yes, Gimli, but thousands of years have not prepared me for the light-headedness and the giddiness that I feel around you. Forgive me my childish speeches and jokes, for they are a sign of how free I feel in your presence." He tenderly kissed Gimli once more, who "hmmphed" at the speech but whose mouth quirked as he eagerly leaned forward for more.
I nearly sent out a search party this evening, but Gimli and Legolas finally walked back into camp as members of the first watch took their posts. Legolas was limping; Gimli carried a dented helmet. They refused to discuss what happened beyond our perimeter, assuring us that they had beat it down.
~~~
Gandalf the White and Pippin have departed for Minas Tirith, but four of the Fellowship remain in Edoras. Merry has shown a bright inquisitiveness uncommon for his folk and seems rather taken with Lady Eowyn. They have struck up a friendship, and she is currently demonstrating some of the rudimentary elements of swordsmanship. I fear it is in vain; the longsword she swings with practiced ease is too large and unwieldy for a hobbit's stature.
King Theoden oft storms around the Golden Hall, lashing out with sharp words and demanding information; at other times, a melancholy mood takes him, and he stands still, hands clasped behind his back, eyes looking out unseeingly at the distant future. His restlessness disturbs his men, but as Lady Eowyn is at hand to smile and help organize the preparations, none dare raise their concerns.
Legolas and Gimli are shaken by the ordeal with the Palantir of Orthanc. These brave companions have stayed loyal and true through many tribulations that would have broken lesser beings. Far from their homelands and their own kind, the small reprieve we now face must be of little comfort.
"Do you feel as though we should get back to the main hall sometime soon, before someone comes out to look for us?"
"Nay, Merry is still swinging wildly away at sword practice, Theoden is pacing in the armory, and Aragorn is scratching away at his records. None will need us for some time."
Gimli was lounging up against the side of the barn wall, idly twirling some shafts of hay around his nimble fingers. Legolas was lying with legs sprawled out, his head nested in Gimli's lap.
"Hah! Your hearing is simply magnificent."
"Once, on a still and humid day, I heard a bird singing on the opposite bank of the Long Lake. He halfheartedly asked why the men had not yet thrown out the fish guts, but he was too dazed by the heat to care. The men were waiting for the afternoon heat to die down so that the odor would not become too overwhelming." He wrinkled his nose ever so slightly. "Not that it made much of a difference."
Gimli pondered this. "Is not my voice too loud and too rough, then, sitting a foot away?"
Legolas smiled and closed his eyes contentedly. "Never. I could listen to your voice for a thousand years without penetrating more than a few layers of your tone, your hidden emotions, and your melodies. Those elves and men who believe that dwarves are too brash and direct have closed their ears to deeper meanings."
They lay in contented silence for some time; so long, in fact, that Legolas fell asleep and Gimli himself was nodding off when the barn door was wildly thrown open. Startled, Giml squacked and tried to rise, only to fall with the weight of Legolas' upper body pressing him down.
The horses, lulled into a stupor by Legolas' soft voice, all rose in a cacophony of neighs. Legolas, awake at last, rose up quickly at the sound, smacking his face on a wooden support beam and falling back in an ungainly heap.
"Legolas!" Gimli cried as he reached down to touch his face.
Legolas, assuming that Gimli meant to help him up, grasped his hand and pulled. Gimli dropped like a sack of rocks.
Aragorn stepped with trepidation into the barn, soothing the horses one by one as he made his way back. Arriving at the last stall, he gazed upon a tangle of limbs nearly hidden within a dusty pile of hay. Two groaning voices emanated from somewhere in the pile.
"Ahem," Aragorn began awkwardly, "I've come to fetch you at Theoden's behest. We are to have a war meeting."
Legolas and Gimli carefully freed themselves and stood up gingerly. Legolas sported a fresh black eye; Gimli favored his left side.
"Aye, laddie, lead the way, for I have had naught to do lately but check the foundations of the barn for weaknesses!"
Legolas raised an eyebrow, smiled ever-so-slightly from the corner of his mouth, and shook his head, following Aragorn out of the barn and back to the Golden Hall.
~~~
We push at a relentless pace and hope that we arrive in time to save Minas Tirith. At present, we sit in the forest of Dimholt at the base of Dwimorberg, resting around the fires. The glow keeps the darkness at bay, but the men feel it creep into their hearts nonetheless. There is a restlessness about this mountain, one that does not look upon me with a kind eye.
The only two who seem unaffected are Gimli and Legolas. Indeed, my understanding of their . . . activities . . . of late has been shaken. This very night, I approached their tent to discuss our next day's path, when . . .
I shall not write it here. But it will be a miracle if those two even make it to the battlefield in one piece, what with how they lay into each other with such . . . passion.
Legolas stroked Gimli's beard and murmured, "I would never have guessed that dwarven hair was so soft and smooth to the touch."
"Indeed laddie," Gimli replied gruffly, "Most do find our hair to be full rough and coarse, but there's something about an elf's magic touch that softens our edges, inside and out."
Legolas reached up to adjust the tent flap, bringing a slight golden shadow to rest upon part of Gimli's profile. The dwarf blinked rapidly a couple times, a coy smile breaking upon his handsome face. But then, remembering the events of the past hour, his smile faltered. "Poor Aragorn."
"Poor Aragorn indeed." If Legolas had been an elf of a few hundred fewer years, he would have snorted. "His keen ranger powers of observation are slowly failing him if it took him this long to discover us."
Gimli smirked. "He may yet still be in the dark if you hadn't completely lost it and rolled our tent into the nearby fire. And both of us with it. What in Smaug's name were you thinking?"
"Ah, but see, Gimli, you took me to a place where I could not think, only react. You speak of the magic touch of elves, but . . ."
"Yes, well," Gimli said hastily. "Still, the lad has a lot on his mind. He didn't need to see his companions jumping wildly around their burning tent in naught but their hair braids."
"Perhaps that's just what he needed to see. I sense that tonight is our last moment of calm before the storm." Legolas's gaze drew distant. "Powerful forces are drawing near."
Gimli nestled closer to his partner and softly kissed his neck. "I'd say we have less than an hour of calm left - another elf enters the camp as we speak."
Legolas attempted to bolt upright, but was held down by Gimli’s powerful arms. "What? How do you know this, and I do not?"
"I can feel it," Gimli said simply. "Though we yet be in the foothills, this mountain feels . . . dead. So dead that e’en the feathery-light trace of a solo traveler feels like a cacophony of vibrations. He is too fast to be a halfling or dwarf, and he is too slight to be a man or orc."
Legolas stared in wonder for another moment, and then dipped down to catch Gimli's lips in a desperate kiss. It was several minutes before they broke away, gasping.
The fire outside burned low, but their love and devotion for each other burned bright. They gazed at each other and agreed without words on their next steps. And for once, (the small tent mishap of earlier notwithstanding,) a sense of quiet grace seemed to permeate the chill air around them.
~~~
Lord Elrond’s visit this might, and his words of wisdom, have stripped me bare. I feel as though I stand before the Eye of Sauron himself with no army nor armour, powerless before his piercing gaze.
Yet Elrond has also given me hope in the form of Andúril, forged from the remnants of Narsil, the only blade to have ever touched the enemy. If I fully step into my birthright, if I go where no living man dares tread . . .
I must leave now, before my loving companions find out my plans. They are so full of life and promise, and I fear that even the looming battlefield is a safer place for them than following in my staid.
Gimli was surreptitiously sitting by the fire when Aragorn approached the tent with Brago, reins in hand. He raised his head.
“Just where do you think you’re off to?”
“Not this time. This time you must stay, Gimli.”
Legolas appeared swiftly from behind. “Have you learned nothing of the stubbornness of dwarves?”
“Might as well accept it. We’re going with you laddie.”
Aragorn frowned, but his eyes shone at the unspoken promise of his friends to follow him through the doors of hell and back. As Gimli and Legolas fastened their already-packed bags to the waiting horse, he turned away under the pretense of tightening his belt strap and let a soft smile steal over his features.
In no time at all, Aragorn, sitting proudly atop Brego, entered the narrow pathway that led to the Dark Door. The men of the camp stared in wonder and terror as the trio was engulfed by darkness. Wonder, that the ranger from the north was willing to walk toward certain death. Terror, that he turned his back on them when they needed him most. Was Aragorn abandoning them?
His every nerve screamed danger; his conscience screamed at him to turn back and return to the fire of the Rohirrim. He did not know whether he was riding to his making or his destruction. But with the bracing strength and courage of his friends, Aragorn moved forward with newfound resolve.
Gimli, riding behind Legolas, tightened his grip around his waist and leaned forward to quietly say, “That, love, is a King worth following.”
Legolas hummed in agreement, but added, "And I would follow him anywhere in Middle Earth if it means protecting all that is good in the world. If it means protecting us."
Aragorn, ahead by several paces, silently agreed. We travel this hard, uncertain road, my dearest friends, not for eternal glory or riches, but for Freedom. And for Love.