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Chapter Text

Early autumn was the most pleasant time to travel in Rohan.

Elves might not need the warmth of the sun, but for Gimli’s sake Legolas could appreciate that the heat of summer had not fully given way to the winter’s chill.  Still, just a hint of crispness had entered the air, the slightest bite to the wind sweeping away the heavy stillness of late summer air and stinging a light rosy flush into Gimli’s cheeks.  And the days were not as long as they had been in summer – but that was all the better, for they might cover a considerable distance during the daylight and then settle down for longer nights by the side of the road, Legolas wrapped around Gimli for warmth.

Indeed, today was the perfect autumn day – and just the right sort of day to begin their travels, Legolas thought, swinging Gimli’s hand a little and humming with pleasure.

“Hmph,” said Gimli beside him.  “Such discourtesy in the first hour of our anniversary journey!” Legolas thought sometimes, privately, that Gimli made such comments more often now than he ever had before they had become friends – but now, of course, they always concealed a smile.  “You might at least sing something I can join in with!”

“Ah, of course.”  Legolas laughed, his heart as light as his feet.  “My sincerest apologies, Master Dwarf.  Perhaps you would care to lead, then, since my choices are so distasteful?”

“I suppose I could,” said Gimli, clearly feigning reluctance. “Someone ought to teach you proper music, anyway.”

“Oh, is that how it is?”  It was a long-standing challenge between them: Gimli attempting to stymie Legolas’s ability to harmonize with more and more difficult dwarvish songs.  “You lead, then, and I will follow.”

“If you can,” retorted Gimli.  “One day I will find something you cannot match, I am certain of it.”

Legolas smiled, gazing out over the long road ahead of them and thinking fondly of the pleasant days of travel, just the two of them.  “You are certainly welcome to try.”

And so they whiled away the first hour of their journey in that manner – with Gimli singing the first few bars of a traditional dwarvish song and Legolas listening for spaces in the melody where he might fit his own voice.  He could listen to Gimli sing forever – the deep, rolling bass like the earth itself, shifting stone and soil, revealing treasures beneath in places Legolas would never have thought to look.  Legolas did not harmonize with him the way he would have with another elf – trading the melody back and forth on shared whim, weaving their voices with one another and the tapestry of the living things around them.  Dwarvish song was not so changeable: rooted in tradition and history and memory as dwarves themselves were rooted to the earth they loved – and so Legolas did not seek to change the song or take any part of it for his own.  He thought of his own voice as a stream of air in a mine, flowing through the spaces in the structure that Gimli’s voice created and allowing light to glance off of some particularly beautiful phrase in the melody.

By mutual understanding, they did not play this game before any others – elves or dwarves.  Elves would be too inclined to make light of the steadfast nature of dwarvish music, and dwarves would surely be horrified to see an elf allowed his own interpretation of their song.  Indeed, many of the songs had existing harmonies, and Legolas knew the great concession that Gimli made every time he allowed this.  But he dared to hope that perhaps their particular combination of elvish and dwarvish ways might make a kind of music all its own, beautiful in its own fashion.

It was something Legolas would happily do for hours, but Gimli cut it short after perhaps an hour, laughing when Legolas pouted.  “Impossible elf,” he said.  “You might find song as pleasing as conversation, but perhaps you would take pity on your poor husband on our tenth anniversary!”

Legolas melted, mock-pout falling away as Gimli had surely known it would.  “I suppose I could manage that,” he said, gazing out at the road ahead, stretching in a straight path over rolling grassland until his vision was obscured by the rise of a hill in the distance.  Their plan was to travel north along the river Isen, and although they had not yet reached the river, it was near enough that Legolas could already feel the grassland transforming: greener and more lush than the drier, rockier ground of Helm’s Deep or east in the Westemnet.  He tilted his head back and inhaled deeply.

“The green smell?” Gimli said, eyeing him, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Legolas laughed, remembering – as he knew Gimli did – their run across much of Rohan, when Gimli and Aragorn had had to insist to make Legolas agree to stop for the night.  They had been desperate, then – fearing for the lives of their companions, for the loss of their quest’s purpose, and losing their certainty of what must come next.  But they had come upon their companions well in both body and spirit, and even as he jested, Legolas found himself so grateful that at last they could look back on those memories with light hearts.  “Perhaps,” was all he said aloud – then, with a sidelong smile at Gimli, “I could run for days!”

“Ha!  Well, I hope you will take pity on your poor husband.  A journey of reminiscence this may be, but I would rather not recreate all our adventures.”

Legolas hummed in reassurance, and they fell silent for a moment or two.  It was approaching midday now, the sun nearing her peak.  Legolas’s ears could make out the rustling of the wind sweeping through the long grasses, the distant chatter of small rodents wondering about the travelers in their midst, but the loudest sound was the tread of Gimli’s heavy boots on the dusty road.  It was a softer song, here, than that of Lasgalen or Ithilien, but a better background to his thoughts.

He remembered the last time they had followed this road in this way – accompanied, then, by the exhausted but invigorated forces of Rohan, after a day of mourning and celebration alike.  He and Gimli had traveled in this area since, but never all the way to Isengard – they had not looked on that land since the last time they had journeyed through there, on their way home.  Ten years later, now, it seemed finally the time.

“I thought of you,” he said now aloud.  “All the while we traveled this road.”

“I should hope so,” said Gimli.  “I sat behind you on the horse, after all.  Imagine you forgetting such a thing!”

“That is not what I mean,” murmured Legolas.  His hand disentangled itself from Gimli’s almost absently and wandered into his hair, towards his temple – tracing the line of the tiny scar that he knew by heart.

Gimli clucked his tongue and caught Legolas’s wrist, drawing his hand to his lips instead.  “That is a time long since passed,” he said.  “More than ten years, in fact.”

“That is but a little time for an elf,” Legolas mused.  “Or so I would have said once.  And yet I think that was the moment that my accounting of time changed.”  These last ten years felt both shorter and longer than any he had ever experienced – now looking back the time felt but the blink of an eye, and yet he had felt the joy and pain of each moment of those years more acutely than ever before.  “I feared I lost you that night.”

“I know,” said Gimli gently, keeping hold of Legolas’s hand.  “But you did not.”

“I did not, but” – Legolas’s throat closed before he could speak further; he breathed deeply against the surge of feeling.  It took him still, sometimes – the memory as clear and sharp as it had been in that night, that agony of moments in which he did not see, did not know.

“No.”  Gimli’s voice was firm now.  “You did not.  And now you need fear it no longer.  There is peace in the land – a peace that will endure long, by the grace of the Valar, and by Aragorn and Éomer.  And that is why we go as we do now – to see for our own eyes how the danger of Saruman has passed, and his fortress returns at last to those who suffered at his hands.  And, of course, to celebrate ten years of joy, and the reminder that there are so many more yet to come.”  He let go Legolas’s hand and slipped an arm about his waist instead, jostling him close despite the bulk of their packs and the stumbling incongruity of their steps.  “Indeed, perhaps our separation that night is a blessing – since you assure me so often that that is when you first learned your heart.”

Legolas took a deep breath, the tightness in his throat receding at Gimli’s words, his solid presence.  “Had I not come to know it that night, I would have fallen for you the next day with certainty.  Hearing you speak of the wonders of Aglarond, knowing that you yearned above all to share them with me – all I could think in that moment was that I would listen to you, travel with you for the rest of my days.”

“And look,” said Gimli softly, with a gentle squeeze of Legolas’s hip, “now you will.”

Legolas chose not to respond to the untruth in those words – that they had only until the end of Gimli’s days, not his own.  Always celebrations such as this were bittersweet for him, but in a way he was thankful for the melancholy of the past, for it provided some small measure of hope for the future.  After all, the last time they had journeyed on this road their mission had seemed hopeless – who among them had ever truly believed that Sauron might be vanquished, that the world might be brought to peace?  And yet through toil and sacrifice – and unexpected fortune – true victory had been brought about in a way they could not have dared to hope for.  Gimli was right – they had many years ahead of them yet, and who was to say that they might not find some unlooked-for hope?

“Yes,” he said aloud.  “And I am grateful that this time, at least, we are traveling alone.  With all respect to Éomer and the Rohirrim – and to Aragorn, of course – I prefer having you all to myself.”

“As do I,” said Gimli.  He gazed around them, then sighed.  “A pity, it is, that all is yet so flat here, with no convenient boulders or trees to provide privacy – else I would take you aside and tumble you right here on the roadside.”

“I like the way you think,” said Legolas.  “Well – the grass is long enough to provide some cover.  And I could listen for the sounds of any approaching travelers” –

“No!” Gimli laughed.  “I happen to know, husband, that your sharp ears tend to fail you when in the throes of passion.  Need I remind you of a certain time in Ithilien” –

“Very well, very well,” Legolas said.  “But we have many days yet on the road, and I am sure we will find plenty of places that fit even your exacting standards.”

The mood returned to the lightness of before, and they walked on into the afternoon, passing the time with pleasant chatter and stopping from time to time to help themselves to the crisp, tart apples Legolas had brought from Ithilien for their travels.  It was long indeed since they had traveled like this – just the two of them, and solely for pleasure rather than with some underlying errand.  Both Aglarond and Ithilien were established enough that the two of them had won three weeks’ leisure at the same time, a rare occurrence – and there was no way Legolas would rather spend it than this.

They had started out early enough in the day to walk for many hours before nightfall.  Though they were in no especial hurry, they would have to walk for most of each day if they wished to reach Fangorn by the day of their anniversary.  But they had traveled many leagues by the time they stopped at sunset and found a suitable campsite, Gimli letting his pack fall to the ground with a sigh and arching his back luxuriously.

“It seems I have grown soft,” he remarked.  “Days supervising in the forges or sorting through mounds of paperwork have not prepared me for long hours of walking.”

Legolas smiled, setting his own pack behind Gimli’s and running his hands over his husband’s shoulders and back.  “Shall I rub the tension from your muscles?” he asked, letting his fingers roam to tease at the fastenings of Gimli’s armor.

“Perhaps in a moment,” Gimli said, though he did lean into the touch, letting his weight settle against Legolas’s body.  “Let me check the map first to see if we are near enough to the river for a fire.”

“Maps,” Legolas dismissed with a wave of the hand.  “We are close enough.  You can see it in the distance, can you not?”  Surely not as clearly as he could, but he had become more familiar with the extent of mortal eyesight over the years.

“I can,” Gimli said.  “But that tells me little from this distance.  I would still know how many miles lie between.”

“Perhaps ten,” said Legolas as Gimli fumbled for the map.  He understood the value of maps, but he had little use for them himself on journeys such as this.  “We will reach it easily in the second hour of travel, and there is more moisture in the air already.  We should be safe with a small campfire so long as we can ring it carefully with stones and keep it from the taller grass.”

Gimli was looking at his map now, his finger tracing the distance.  “Very well,” he said at last.  “And you know that fire does not disobey me.”

“I know it very well.”  Legolas let his hand come to rest on Gimli’s arm where he knew a flame was tattooed on the skin beneath his clothing, an homage to his prodigious skill.  “I trust you entirely.”

And so it was that soon enough they were sitting beside a small campfire, watching dusk chase the sun below the horizon.  Gimli was nestled cozily between Legolas’s legs, roasting apples over the fire as much for his amusement as for a meal, while Legolas’s hands kneaded at his shoulders and back.  It was late enough in the year that the nights grew sharply colder than the days, but the nighttime insects had not quite yet hidden themselves away for the season, though the smoke held them mostly at bay.  The remnants of the bread and cheese they had eaten for dinner still lay spread on a cloth beside them, and Legolas smiled when a tufty brown hamster ventured up to it to investigate, nose and whiskers twitching delicately as it pondered this prize.

“Aragorn laughed at me,” he said eventually, “when I told him our travel plans.”

“Did he?” Gimli removed the roasted apples from their spit with his bare hand, heedless of the heat.  When he sliced them open, the spicy-sweet scent of fall swirled into the air along with a cloud of steam.

“He said he knew of few other couples who would subject themselves to long days of walking and call it a holiday.”  Legolas accepted the small pile of apple slices Gimli handed him, bundled in a handkerchief to protect his hand from the heat.

“That is because his acquaintance is now limited to stuffy diplomats and serious Gondorian nobles,” said Gimli, his mouth full.  “And I said I had gone soft.”

Legolas laughed.  “In truth, I think there was more than a little jealousy in his words.  I believe he misses his days as a ranger more than he would ever admit.”

“Hmm.”  They munched contentedly for another moment, and Gimli said, “Perhaps we ought to rope him into such a journey with us someday.  The Three Hunters, together again.”

“Yes, we ought to indeed.”  The hamster had been joined by a few others, now stuffing their cheeks with crusts of bread to bring home to their families.  Legolas set aside his empty handkerchief with a sigh and looked over their camp.  “But I am glad that he is not here now.”

“As am I.”  Gimli turned around in his arms, his eyes gleaming in the low light, and leaned in for a kiss, long and slow.

When they finally pulled apart, Legolas found himself slightly breathless.  “You know,” he said, “it is dark now, and we are well off the road.  I am sure no travelers will come this way until morning at least.”

Gimli smiled, slow and promising.  “Is that so?”  His voice dropped to a low rumble, awakening something warm and dark in Legolas’s belly.

“Yes,” managed Legolas.  “I should think we will be quite undisturbed all night.”

“Well then,” said Gimli, and he pulled back abruptly, leaving Legolas reeling and clutching at him for balance.  “Let us extinguish this fire, husband, and celebrate our anniversary.”

Chapter Text

As Legolas had predicted, the sound of rushing water reached Gimli’s ears sometime into the second hour of travel the next morning.  The river Isen had been visible in the distance, but as they drew nearer, the land sloping down into a little valley, the hills ahead had obscured it even from the sight of Legolas.  Still, he found his way unerringly and Gimli was forced to acknowledge that his talent came from more than sight alone.  He was a fair navigator himself aboveground, but relied on the use of maps; Legolas’s sense of direction, on the other hand, was near flawless, so long as the sky was within sight.

Gimli had attempted to trap him semantically once by pointing out that the sky was rarely ever in sight within Lasgalen, and Legolas had merely glanced up, frowning, and said cryptically, “Ah, so it is not.  Well, then,” which did not answer any of Gimli’s questions.

They held to the same steady pace they had kept yesterday – Gimli’s shoulders ached a bit from the pack, and his thighs had protested stiffly at first, but soon enough his body settled into the rhythm of the walking – and anyway, Legolas had promised to knead the soreness from his muscles every night.

Legolas hummed to himself as they walked, turning aside from time to time to chatter happily at some rabbit or small songbird that had ventured near enough to investigate.  Nearer to the water, the vast expanses of grasses had given way to trees lining the roadside, their leaves turning shades of red and gold, and Legolas let out a soft exclamation and reached to catch one as it fluttered from a tree.

“What is it?” asked Gimli, a smile rising to his lips at the sight of Legolas’s delight.

“Look.”  Legolas caught the braid in Gimli’s beard and held it beside the leaf.  “The color is the same!”

Near enough, anyway.  “I suppose it is,” said Gimli.  “Then I can expect your next ballad to compare me to an oak in autumn?”

“Not nearly as tall,” teased Legolas, “but certainly as steadfast, and as beautiful.”

“If less likely to lose my leaves.”  The changing of the seasons was a dangerous metaphor, and Gimli pushed on before Legolas could extend it to its likely conclusion.  “But surely I provide far better conversation?”

“I dare not say more,” said Legolas impishly, “lest one of the two of you be wroth with me.”  Gimli swatted him for that, and Legolas yelped and darted a few steps ahead, then dropped back to take Gimli’s hand and fall into step with him once more.

“Well,” said Gimli, “what fascinating conversations do you have with the trees, then?  Do they tell you of the weather?”

“In great detail,” said Legolas, his eyes dancing.  “And of others who have passed this way in recent times – though trees have a poor reckoning of time; the band of warriors they spoke of may have been days or years ago.”

“Band of warriors?”  That would be ill luck indeed, if their anniversary travels were somehow to be interrupted by violence, after their plans to celebrate the wars they had thought long behind them.  “What else could you glean about them?”

“Enough that I think it no immediate concern,” Legolas said.  “They were traveling in the same direction we are, and it was a small band – nothing like a marauding army.  I do not see what enemy warriors might have to gain traveling in this direction, opposite of Edoras.  But we can certainly pass the word on to Éomer once we return.”

“Yes,” said Gimli absently.  “All the same . . . keep your ears alert for further word, will you?  I should greatly mislike an unpleasant surprise.”

“I will,” Legolas assured him.

The sound of the river grew louder as they drew on, and the ground beneath their feet took on an upward incline, Gimli’s pack dragging at his shoulders.  When they crested this hill, surely they would be nearly on the banks – or at least on the road that followed the river.  But before they had reached the crest, Legolas tilted his head and said, “Ah!”

“What is it?” asked Gimli.  “More word of these warriors?”

“Not from the trees,” Legolas said.  “But it may be that we will have some explanation soon.  A party of travelers is approaching from the east.”

“From the Westemnet?” Gimli knew the land well enough after nine years of living here, but he was not well acquainted with the paths frequently traveled by the men.  “How large a party?”

“Fairly large – perhaps twenty?” Legolas shrugged.  “But they are not warriors, or at least they are not armed.  I hear no armor or weapons – and I believe they are accompanied by some livestock.  I hear hooves, but not of horses.”

“Are we likely to cross paths on the road?”

“Soon, I should think,” said Legolas.  “Perhaps an hour?  We will have all the answers that we could hope for then.”

And so they walked along, but Gimli could not restrain his curiosity.  To meet such a large band of travelers moving in the same direction – such a thing rarely happened to him when traveling in Rohan; the men largely preferred to travel on horseback when they could, and Gimli did not often travel in this direction without a horse of his own.

After a few moments, they reached the crest of the sloping ground and there it was – the river Isen, gleaming blue-grey against the red-gold leaves of the trees on the other side.  They would be walking along this river for many miles to come, and it promised to be a pleasant view indeed – and ready water for cooking and bathing when they needed it.

“Ah!” Legolas said, and pointed ahead.  “There they are – do you see?”  Gimli squinted and could only just make them out – a blur obscuring the road some distance ahead.  But Legolas continued without asking further – he knew by now that Gimli could not see as well as he did.  “Not warriors,” he said again, certain this time.  “They appear to be farmers or townspeople – women and children, mostly.  They carry few weapons and wear simple clothing, and they are accompanied by two goats and – I think a few chickens, though I cannot hear how many.”

“Do they say anything?” said Gimli.

“They do, but not in Common,” said Legolas.  “But we will overtake them soon enough; we are moving much more swiftly than they.”

Sure enough, the party before them grew larger and larger in view as they drew nearer.  Gimli could now see for himself what Legolas had told him – they wore tunics of rough fabric cinched about the waist, shabby boots, and few weapons, save a knife here and there. They walked at a slow pace for the children among them and a few men and women with greying hair – and a few of the younger women were carrying the children too small to walk.  A few of them carried leads to keep the scrawny goats Legolas had mentioned trotting along beside them, and two others carried a crate between them.  They all appeared native to this land, with the light skin and hair that was common among the Rohirrim – a family on a visit, perhaps? But then, why would they be accompanied by livestock?

Gimli hailed them when they had drawn within earshot.  “Well met!” he called out, waving pleasantly as many in the crowd startled and turned to look at them.  “How fare you on this fine autumn morning?”

Murmurs swept through the group as heads turned in their direction, some parents whispering urgently to their children.  Gimli could not make out the words, but they were likely to be reprimands against staring – though some of the more elderly-seeming travelers had no such qualms.  “Good morrow to you,” said a woman at last: stout and broad-shouldered, she carried the largest pack of the lot and must be one of their leaders.  “We could not ask for a more pleasant day to travel.  And yourselves?”

“We feel the same. ‘Tis a fine season for a journey.”  They had volunteered no purpose, and he ought not ask so early in the conversation, but curiosity drove him.  “Might I ask what brings a gathering of folk north to the Isen, with what appears to be the trappings of a homestead?”

But they took no offense at his question.  “Exactly that, in fact,” said the woman.  “Are you a dwarf of the Glittering Caves?”

“I am,” said Gimli.  “Gimli son of Glóin, at your service.”  He omitted his title; if they did not recognize him on sight, he had no need to declare his lordship.  Anyway, Legolas preferred when strangers they encountered did not know their status.  “And this is Legolas of Ithilien.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” said the woman.  “I am Blaedswith, and we all hail from the Westfold Valley.  If you are from Aglarond, perhaps you have heard of the king’s recent declaration – that Isengard and the Wizard’s Vale have at last been pronounced safe for settlement?”

“Indeed, yes.”  Gimli looked at their packs and animals with new interest.  “In fact, Isengard is where we are bound as well – or, Isengard and then Fangorn.  We were in that land before in days of shadow, and would fain see it again now.”

“Ah! Well, perhaps you have also heard that the king has promised land there to any who wish to make a new start – but particularly those from the Westfold, as our lands suffered the worst from Saruman’s onslaughts.  We go now to join the warriors of our village who have gone on ahead to ensure that all will be safe for us to come, and we hope to settle there.”

“That will be your party of warriors,” Legolas murmured to Gimli, speaking for the first time.  His words brought Blaedswith’s attention to him, and she turned.

“Perhaps you would then tell us of your purpose?” she said.  “You are bound for Isengard and Fangorn?”

“Nothing so noble as yours, lady,” said Gimli, inclining his head.  “We celebrate the tenth anniversary of our marriage this year, and Fangorn is where we were wed.  We fancied a journey of memory.”

“Oh!” Her eyes moved back and forth between them, and Gimli tensed for a moment – he knew that marriage customs were not the same among the men of Rohan as among dwarves – but she made no comment.  Instead, the slight line of suspicion in her forehead vanished, and she smiled more openly at them.  “Congratulations to you both, then.” Her words found echoes from others in her party, and although Gimli’s years of traveling experience would never have allowed him to let his own guard down so easily, it warmed his heart nonetheless.

“And congratulations to you,” said Legolas, when they were quiet again.  “It is not an easy thing, to set out on a new life.  You should be commended for your courage.”

Blaedswith flushed – it seemed out of place on her broad, square-jawed face, but Gimli could not blame her.  Legolas was always so earnest in his admiration that it was difficult to bear for too long, particularly for those who were not used to him.  But she thanked him warmly, and Legolas’s cheeks pinkened as well.

But it soon became clear that Legolas and Gimli moved at a much faster pace than the villagers, and so they bade farewell to the party and moved on.  “Perhaps we will be in Isengard already when you return from Fangorn,” said one of the older men, “and we might share a meal when you pass through our camp.”

“We would be honored,” said Gimli, and they said their farewells and continued on their way.

They walked for some time yet in quiet, listening to the fading sounds of the party behind them – well, fading from Gimli’s hearing, anyway.  But after a few moments, even Legolas must have been satisfied that they were out of earshot, for he said, “I wish them good fortune.”

“As do I.”  Gimli glanced back, but a slight bend in the road between them had placed them out of sight.  “It is strange to me that they would have left no warriors to travel on with their party – but this road seems a safe one, as far as I know it.”

“It does,” said Legolas, “but I share your misgivings.  Something is strange . . .” His brow creased.  “There is a sound I do not recognize, but – it may merely be their goats and their chatter, the overlap of noise.  Still . . .” He trailed off, then shook his head determinedly.  “Never mind.  It gives me some satisfaction to know that Saruman’s domain will now be occupied by those people he used so poorly.”

Gimli nodded firmly.  “It is no less than he deserves: to have his works fade into insignificance and his home repurposed, rather than preserved.”

But Legolas was still frowning, even as they moved on.  “Something feels wrong,” he said finally.  “I know I said it must be – but I do not think” – He stopped moving and Gimli stopped as well, so that the trudge of his feet would not interfere with whatever Legolas was hearing.

But soon enough, that did not matter – a sharp cry split the air, and Legolas swore and wheeled around.  “I knew it!” he hissed.  “We ought not to have left them.  Highwaymen!”

It took Gimli a moment to convince Legolas to slow his pell-mell rush back and plan out a strategy – there were only two of them, after all, and charging in without a plan would likely get the party killed rather than merely robbed.  But they moved as swiftly and as quietly as possible while staying quiet, discussing their plan in whispers.  Legolas reported – from what he could hear and from the whispers of the forest – that the villagers were held by threat of weapon, but no one had been killed, and that there were five highwaymen in total, two with bows trained on the groups.

“Both in the trees,” he whispered, “but one is mounted and one is on foot.  I had best command their attention this time, I think.”

“I cannot stop a bowman on a horse,” Gimli warned.  “Unless you wish me to frighten the beast.”

“Save that as a last resort,” Legolas said.  “I believe I can handle him, if we time everything properly.”

They crested the low hill standing between them and the villagers, and the crowd came into view.  They shared a nod and parted, Gimli darting into the trees lining the road, and Legolas rushing forward.  The slant of the sun gleamed off his hair, and his voice was clear and proud as he called, “Stop!”

All faces immediately turned towards him, and Gimli took advantage of their distraction to creep through the trees, glancing back and forth between the path before him and the scene on the road.  Five large men did indeed hold the villagers hostage.  One held a knife to Blaedswith’s throat, and her nose was clearly broken – she must have put up a fight.  Another stood on the opposite side of the group, also with a knife to the throat of a child – probably a girl, since she wore a dress and men clothed their children differently according to gender – and a third knelt in the middle of the group, rummaging through a pack.

That left the two bowmen Legolas had mentioned, waiting in the woods, which meant Gimli must be coming upon the first right . . .

Now.

There he was, standing between two trees with his bow drawn and arrow nocked.  Gimli crept closer.

“What’s this?” sneered the man with the knife to the girl’s throat.  “An elf, alone on the road?  This business is none of yours.  Get you gone, and we will not be forced to hurt you.”

“Let her go,” said Legolas, and Gimli watched as his target switched focus to aim at the elf instead.  In the moment that he loosened his grip, Gimli stepped deliberately on a twig.

The response was spectacular.  The man whirled, practically dropping his bow – at which point it was no great matter to wrest it from his hand and cast it aside.  Gimli wrapped one arm around the man in a brutal hold and brought the blade of his axe to his throat.

“’Let her go,’” the first man mocked Legolas.  “Do you hear that, fellows?  He speaks as if he can command us.  Well, I say I will not.”

“You might consider listening,” Legolas said calmly, his own bow drawn steady and unwavering as Gimli began to move forward.  “I can fell you before you so much as draw blood.”

“And you would die immediately after,” said the man. “We have bowmen ready to shoot on my command.”

“Are you so sure of that?” Legolas said, and on cue, Gimli pushed free of the trees, dragging his captive along with him.

The villagers gasped when he emerged, and the man’s face paled.  “That is but one of our men!” he said, but his voice had gone up an octave, less steady than before.  “We have others!  Ceadda!”

But even as he spoke, Legolas called out, “Noro!”

There was a terrific whinny, a cry, and a crash – and behind Gimli, a horse went galloping out of the woods, onto the road, and far away, its hooves kicking up dust until it disappeared over the hill.  In the silence born of its absence, everyone could make out the groans of its thrown rider.

“I can send the rest of them running just as easily,” said Legolas pleasantly.  “If you wish to leave with your mounts and your lives, you will release these people now, return anything you have taken from them, and cease to trouble us any further.”

Silence again, for a long moment.  The men hesitated, and Gimli thought he might as well speak up.

“Or,” he said, “he can send your horses running, we can kill two of you right away, and move quickly through the rest.  Will you take that risk?  You have never seen him shoot,” he added, when the leader hesitated.  “But if you wait for a demonstration, it will be the only one you ever receive.”

Finally, his jaw clenching with anger, the leader nodded, ever so slightly.  He let his knife fall away from the girl’s throat, and she gasped and ran to one of the women, who seized her and held her tightly.

“Her as well,” Legolas said, switching his aim to the man who held Blaedswith.

He and the leader exchanged long looks, and he nodded slightly.  And then, even as he released her, the leader moved.  His knife still in his hand, he lunged across the circle, aiming for Gimli.

Gimli whirled to face him, bringing up the man he still held to use as a shield if necessary – but there was no need.  The leader let out a cry and fell back, his knife falling from his suddenly-bloody hand.  Legolas’s arrow had scored clean across the back and come to rest, trembling, in one of the trees.

“Next time it will be your throat,” he said, his voice dangerously smooth.

That was the last of their defiance.  They sullenly moved out of the way of the villagers, tossing the things they had managed to take back into the road.  Gimli did not release his own captive until all the others were in the woods, and then he let the man go, gasping and stumbling, to join the rest of them.

Legolas kept his bow trained on them as they departed, and then he smiled mischievously.  “Chin adleithian,” he said, and there was another great clamor as all the horses whinnied at once and cantered away, following the first horse into the distance.

“You – you said” – spluttered the man.

“One good turn deserves another,” said Legolas.  “If they wish to return to you, they will.  In the meantime, good luck on the road.  And do not come back to bother us again.”

There might have been more trouble, had they not seen Legolas shoot.  As it was, they made their way into the trees and back where they had come with dark looks backwards – but thoroughly defeated.

The villagers hardly dared to move, and neither did Gimli – he waited, hand still on his axe, until Legolas glanced back at him and gave a nod: all was clear.

“Well,” Gimli said then, replacing his axe at his belt and moving forward to the nearest elderly man, “They are gone, at least for now.”

“Then you think they might return?” said the man.

“Unfortunately, it is possible,” said Legolas grimly.  “I did not want to kill them” – Neither of them relished taking the lives of men, particularly not since the wars had finished and they had mostly retired their arms, but Gimli knew especially that Legolas had not wanted to shed blood in front of children – “but neither could I devise any method of ensuring they would not return.”

“We might hope they will be kept too busy chasing after their horses?” piped up a hopeful young woman.

“Pah!” Blaedswith had pressed the hem of her tunic to her face, but she managed an impressive amount of scorn.  “I doubt they will ever catch them.  Those were stolen horses, unless I miss my guess.”

“I think you are right,” said Legolas, slinging his bow at last back over his shoulder and pacing back to join the villagers in the road.  “They went readily enough when I told them they were free.  Are you all right?”  Those last words were said to the girl he had saved first, who was staring at him as though terrified and clutching her neck where the man had held her.  Legolas knelt down to help her up – but she only squeaked, her cheeks going bright red, and shrank back from his hand.  Legolas drew back, looking confused and a little hurt, but Gimli could sympathize with her.

But those words seemed to break the spell that had held them still.  At once the people were rising, bustling over to their ransacked belongings and to one another, ensuring that all were well.  No one was seriously injured – Blaedswith’s broken nose was the worst of it – but more than a few had sustained small cuts.  But before any of them thought to tend to themselves, they all thanked Legolas and Gimli . . . again and again and again.

“I don’t know what we would have done, had you not come,” said the elderly man, who introduced himself as Uhtric.  “Thank you.”

Gimli frowned.  “Why are you traveling as you are, without warriors?” he could not help asking.  “The road is fairly safe, but such dangers are not entirely unheard of, even in these days.”

The man shook his head.  “We were thoughtless,” he said.  “Our concerns were more for the traps that might be awaiting us in Isengard, rather than on the way.”

“Indeed.”  Gimli pursed his lips as the inevitable end of this conversation presented itself to him.  He knew how this would end – neither he nor Legolas could in good conscience let these people go on, knowing they could not protect themselves –

A small boy, hiding in his mother’s skirts, said something in the language of Rohan that Gimli could not understand, but he was looking over at Gimli with a mixture of fear and awe.  His mother soothed him, but also darted a glance at him: gratitude and concern and – something else, something that only reinforced the conclusion that was resolving itself in Gimli’s mind.

“What does he ask?” said Gimli.

“He asks the same question Uhtric asked,” she said.  “If they will come back.”

The boy’s eyes were still wide and fearful, and Gimli let out a final sigh, acknowledging that there was no other choice.  The highwaymen might come back, after all – and even if they did not, what other dangers might these untried travelers face on their journey?  He turned to Legolas and they shared a nod, knowing without speaking what would have to be promised – and Gimli knew that as soon as the fear of a child came into the matter, Legolas would have insisted on it, even if Gimli had been of a mind to argue.

“They might,” he said.  “Again, we cannot prevent that.  But we can assure you that if they come again, you will be safe.”

“How can you promise that?” asked Blaedswith, her eyes sharp even through the haze of pain.

“Because we will ensure it,” said Gimli, and bade farewell in his heart to their pleasant anniversary plans.  “We will accompany you on your journey to Isengard.”

Chapter Text

The thanks that followed Gimli’s promise were as effusive as before, but Legolas and Gimli both shrugged them off as best they could.  It was not how they had planned to spend their anniversary – but after all, Legolas thought, it was not so different to how their wedding had been: full of unexpected surprises.  And neither of them could have left these people to struggle through the journey on their own.

Indeed, witnessing them now, Legolas was even gladder of the choice.  They did not seem to know what to do with themselves in the wake of the highwaymen’s attack, staring about at their ransacked belongings or their own injuries.  No one had been wounded too seriously, but all had been shaken and their belongings scattered.  Even at the thought of patching themselves up, they seemed to move in a daze, as though they had forgotten even the pain.

It was in the midst of this that a child cried out.

It was a young girl – Legolas thought, at least, though he could never be quite sure – the smallest of the children who walked rather than being carried.  Legolas did not understand what she said – surely she had not yet learned Westron – but he could hear the desperation in her voice, and see the tears that welled in her eyes.

The yearning that washed over Legolas then was instinctive and strong – was there anything more moving than the pain of a child? – but he could not comfort the girl without knowing what was amiss.  He had picked up only a very few words of the language of the Rohirrim, but only from stories and songs shared at formal events; mostly his conversations were in Westron.  He looked at Gimli, hoping for clarification, but Gimli too shook his head.  He knew a few more words than Legolas did, but not many.

Legolas hoped to ask, but he was interrupted by a sudden clamor as the folk of the Westfold burst into motion and chatter of their own.  Two young women broke suddenly free of the throng and stooped in perfect synchrony, each scooping a wandering chicken into her arms – and then Legolas realized what must have been said.  The animals.

The goats’ lead ropes, it seemed, had been dropped in the confusion, as had the box containing the chickens, and the final scuffle had frightened them all into running.  The two chickens the women had rescued were all that remained – and as one, the gazes of the people all turned to face the woods lining the road with dismay.

One woman, the one kneeling beside the girl who had been held by the attackers’ leader, thought to explain to Legolas and Gimli.  “Those animals are our livelihood,” she said.  “They do not appear impressive, I know, but those goats give us milk and the chickens eggs, and we had hoped to breed more from them in our new home.  Now . . .”

“They might be found yet,” said Blaedswith, her voice muffled and nasal.  Tears stood in her eyes and her face was beginning to swell, but she bore the pain with more fortitude than most warriors.  “They cannot have gotten far” –

“Perhaps not, but chasing them will only make them run farther,” said the first woman.  “They will be lost to us and doubtless eaten, the chickens at least.”

“Perhaps not,” said Legolas slowly.  He closed his eyes and listened for – there, scuffling and scratching of fallen leaves, and there, munching of grass.  The goats, it seemed, had quickly recovered from their fright.  “Blaedswith is right, they have not gone far.  How many were there?”

“Two goats,” said Blaedswith, “those you remember. And four chickens: three hens and a rooster.  Two hens are yet missing.”

Legolas nodded.  He was not certain he could place all the sounds, but he was reasonably confident.  “I can find them,” he said, “or at least most of them.  You take no more thought for it, and – Gimli?”

Gimli nodded, catching the pack Legolas tossed to him with little effort despite its weight.  “I will stand guard while you patch yourselves up,” he said.  “We did not think to pack supplies – but there are bandages in the packs, and perhaps” –

“Save them,” said Uhtric, the old man who had thanked them first.  “The highwaymen did not make off with my medicine kit, and I have all we could need.”  He gave Gimli and Legolas both a wry smile.  “I may make a poor showing in a fight, son, but I know how to handle myself after one.”

Gimli and Legolas shared an amused glance, as always when older men insisted on calling them such things – this man who could not even be half Gimli’s age.  But they nodded and acquiesced, and Gimli took up a watchful stance at the edge of their group while Uhtric beckoned Blaedswith over and Legolas set off into the trees.

The animals were easy to find, once he had listened for them, but harder to capture than he had hoped.  Growing up in Mirkwood, Legolas had had little experience with livestock in his youth, and though he had grown to understand them better in the last ten years, he could not communicate as naturally with them as with animals that had grown up wild.  The goats were simple enough; the men of Ithilien kept goats that they allowed to roam, and frequently they would need to be coaxed out of the elvish settlement and back to the mannish.  Once he had found the goats, Legolas had only to explain to them that he could lead them back to their family and then they followed him willingly enough.

The chickens were more difficult.  Legolas tried on them all manner of bird-speech he had learned with little and less success.  He would have wondered if they were deliberately ignoring him, had they shown any sign of understanding him at all.  In the end he was forced to snatch them up before they could dart out of the way – to which neither hen took kindly.  And so it was that he returned to the party of travelers somewhat the worse for wear.

Gimli laughed at him when he emerged from the woods, the two goats lipping at his tunic and butting their heads against his legs, the chickens squawking and trying to flap out of his grip, but held restrained under each arm.  “What, another encounter with the bandits?”

“I think I would have come away the better if it had been,” said Legolas under his breath, then aloud, “These were all you lost, were they not?”

“Yes!” One of the women who had cornered the two chickens rushed forward to take these from his arms, and they went much more willingly to her than they had to Legolas.  (There was no little relief on both sides when he relinquished them to her.). “Thank you, Master Elf.  We would have missed them sorely.”

“Legolas, please,” he said.  “And it was my pleasure.”  That was stretching the truth, but the gratitude on her face was worth it.  “I hope they will be glad to join their friends again.”

“They will be,” she said.  “But” – Her face fell.  “We have no way to carry them.  The crate that held them before broke when it was dropped.”

“Do not despair so quickly,” said Gimli, joining Legolas to follow her to where the other chickens scratched about in the dirt beside a broken piece of wood and metal.  “This thing was shoddily made from the beginning – it was only a matter of time before it broke.  But I can easily set that to rights – indeed, better.”  So saying he knelt there, the chickens milling curiously about his legs, and picked up the pieces of the box, turning them this way and that, occasionally nodding to himself.

At the sight of that, Legolas went back to where Gimli had laid both their packs and reached into the outermost pocket of Gimli’s, fumbling about until he found what he wanted.  Gimli always carried with him an assortment of tools and scrap metal that he called “basic” and that mystified Legolas entirely; surely it would be only moments before he called –

“Legolas?”

“I have them!” Legolas withdrew the kit and returned to Gimli’s side, where the dwarf had already completely disassembled the crate, making separate piles for the unsplintered strips of wood out in the road and the whole metal pieces, laying out each broken piece in the road.  He reached up without looking for his tools, and Legolas placed them in his hand and then stood back to watch him work.

He was not the only one to do so.  Gimli acquired a crowd as people drifted away from where Uhtric had been seeing to their minor wounds, everyone murmuring quietly as they watched.  Legolas knew Gimli could hardly hear them; he had retreated into that space he occupied when he worked – his hands moving so quickly they were nearly a blur, picking up the next piece almost before putting the first one down.  He moved with a swift sureness that never ceased to amaze Legolas, no matter how small the project or how often he saw it – and they all watched in amazement as a new crate took shape before their eyes, with a base of wood, the sides and top made in a cross-hatching pattern of wood and metal, and longer handles on the top.

The reason for the longer handles – and the most impressive addition – were the wheels: also spares from Gimli’s bag, which he had attached to the base of the crate so that it now rolled like a wagon.  “There,” he said, with one last twist of a mysterious tool, sitting back on his heels and looking up.  “So it might be pulled instead of carried – I think your arms will regret the decision to carry it after the first hour, to say nothing of the days of your journey.”  He flexed his own shoulders, and Legolas hid a smile.  “It will be kinder on the birds as well.  And I have redone the lock, so it will not burst open, and better reinforced the connections between the base and the top.”

Everyone marveled over the crate, admiration that did not cease even as the chickens were replaced in it and it was given an experimental tug.  “Say, Master Gimli,” said one of the older men, who had been standing behind him and watching.  “I have a few items that I would love for you to look at, if you have the time” –

“Later,” Gimli said, laughing as he packed his tools neatly back into his kit.  “When we have stopped for the night.”  He accepted Legolas’s hand to rise to his feet and looked around.  “Is all in readiness to depart?  We have promised to see you safely to Isengard, but we have only so much time to travel.”

“Truly,” said the woman who had taken the chickens from Legolas, “we do not hold you to that promise.”  She glanced around as if daring any others to speak out.  “You have done already more for us than we could have asked; we will understand if you would rather continue your travels alone as you had planned.”

Legolas did not even to consult with Gimli; they both knew their answer and he would let the dwarf speak it for both of them.  But as he gazed around the circle, his gaze fell on Blaedswith, her eyes keen despite the bandage over her nose.  Surely she had become the leader of the group, and had the authority to contradict or second what the other woman had said – but she did nothing.  She only gave Legolas the tiniest flash of a smile, apology and understanding and amusement mingled in her face – as though she understood perfectly well that they could not in good conscience leave now.

“None of that,” Gimli was saying gently.  “Once given, a dwarf always holds to his word.  And anyway, we have become rather fond of you all.  We would not part company with you just yet.”

“That is because you have not spent enough time with us yet,” said another woman, this one heavily pregnant.  “Once you get to know Uhtric well enough, you will find yourself wishing you had not given that word.”

“No, Sweterun,” said Blaedswith quietly.  “I sense our new companions are steadfast folk – and that we will find ourselves more grateful still for their word.”  She offered them a short bow.  “We are glad to have you with us, friends, and we look forward to better making your acquaintance.  But for now, Master Gimli has it aright – we had best resume our journey.”

They chattered pleasantly as they walked, and Legolas and Gimli were introduced to all of their traveling companions, learning their names and stories.  They were four families from a small village in the Westfold Valley, one which had been sacked several times in Saruman’s earliest onslaughts.  Their men and older boys had gone on ahead, as they had said, but many of these women would be reunited with husbands, sons, and brothers at the end of their road.

For now, their group consisted of women, young children, and a few elderly relatives.  Blaedswith – she did not declare herself their leader, but the more she spoke the more clear it became – introduced them to her son Osgar, her mother Mildgyth, and her husband’s father Stithulf. These two stayed close to the other elderly couple in the group, Tata and Balthild, whose daughter Sweterun was the pregnant woman who had jested about Uhtric before.  Uhtric was not the eldest of the group, but clearly older than the young women who led them, and he accompanied his daughter Wassa, always with a solicitous eye for the baby she carried on her back.  She had one other child as well: Æbbe, the girl who had been held hostage by the highwaymen.

“Æbbe is the only one of the children who speaks Westron,” said Wassa proudly.  “Though Osgar is learning.  But go on, Æbbe.”

Poor Æbbe looked as though she would like to be anywhere else, her eyes avoiding Legolas’s even as he tried to give her a sympathetic smile.  She opened her mouth to speak, closed it again, and flushed bright red.  Legolas could empathize; he too would have wished to sink into the earth in such a situation, and he shook his head when Wassa would have insisted. “I believe you,” he said.  “Please, I would not ask her to speak when she does not wish to.”

For some reason, Gimli laughed quietly at that, but he hid his smile in his beard when Legolas looked sharply at him, feigning great interest in a twig that had become tangled in his braids.

“Anyway,” said Blaedswith, as Legolas promised himself he would ask Gimli later, “that is nearly all of us, but we also have Cynewise and Beorhta, who are sisters.”  She indicated the two women who had first caught the chickens, and who now pulled the crate between them, each holding a child by the other hand.  “The children are Cynewise’s: the girl is Hild” – the smallest child, who had first cried out for the goats – “and the boy is Cenric.”  The boy seemed quite interested indeed in Gimli’s axe, though he had yet to say a word, and Legolas reminded himself that they would have to be careful to keep their weapons out of the reach of the children.

They reintroduced themselves in turn, though again they omitted their titles – Legolas preferred it this way; it always made him feel ungainly and inept when people he did not know attempted to honor him based on his status.  He would much rather these folk know him as the elf who had wrestled with their chickens.  But he could not help feeling they had an easier job than he, with only two names to remember rather than fifteen.

It was easier to attach names to those they had met already – Blaedswith, of course, and Uhtric the doctor, and the girl Æbbe, whom he remembered particularly because he felt for her. But he tried to chant all the names under his breath as they walked, resolving them into a singsong rhythm that would, he hoped, settle them into his mind, even if it took some time to match each name to the face it described.

After some time, he was startled from his thoughts by Gimli’s quiet laughter beside him.  “What is it?” he murmured, a bit indignantly.

“You may want to sing something else,” Gimli whispered.  “Our new traveling companions do not seem to have realized yet that you are memorizing their names, but I know your tricks too well.”

Legolas grimaced and swatted him, and Gimli only laughed again, heartily enough to draw gazes in their direction.  But instead of asking what they had been discussing, the pregnant woman – Sweterun, Legolas remembered, so Gimli ought not mock his methods – merely smiled at them.  “And tell us about yourselves,” she said.  “You say you were wed in Fangorn ten years ago?  How did that come about?”

Legolas and Gimli shared a glance.  They did not always know how much various groups of men knew of the histories of elves and dwarves – or of their own lives – and neither wished to reveal too much early on.  Gimli spoke, giving the shortened tale they told to new acquaintances.  “We hail originally from the North, from the Lonely Mountain and the forest of Mirkwood,” he said. “We met as soldiers in the great war fought ten years ago, and removed afterwards to Aglarond and Ithilien with others of our folk.  Now we share our time between those two homes – but we travel together when we can.”

“That must be difficult,” said Cynewise, “to live part of your time apart.”

“It is, sometimes,” said Gimli, and beneath his words were years’ worth of bittersweetness that surely these folk could not hear – but Legolas knew the echo in his voice.  “But it makes the time together that much sweeter.”

Legolas reached out without looking and caught his hand, clasping it tight.  “It is difficult sometimes, yes,” he added, unwilling to suppress any of this feeling – it was their anniversary, after all, however different it might be from how they had planned.  “But he is worth it all.”

They continued their pleasant conversation as they moved on, the sun moving higher and then lower in the sky.  The pace was far slower than Legolas and Gimli had managed on their own, to accommodate the shorter legs of the children and the slow step of the elderly.  It was in Legolas a time or two to gently tease Gimli about the relief for his sore legs, and only his respect for their companions stopped him – they were not seasoned travelers, after all, and small children could not be expected to travel such a distance without complaint.

And complain they did, though Legolas and Gimli could not understand their words.  After a time or two, Legolas was sure that by the end of the journey he would have learned the words for How much longer? and Are we there yet? The harried women and some of the elderly passed the children off between themselves, taking it in turns to entertain them as best they could, and at one point the younger boy – Cenric – strayed closer and closer to them.

Legolas kept a sharp eye on the child, remembering his interest in Gimli’s axe earlier, and sure enough, the first thing the boy did was reach out to touch it.  He was closer to Gimli’s height than to any of the other adults’, and his weapon well within reach – but of course Gimli was too quick for him, bringing a hand down to subtly block the boy’s path without making his intent too obvious.  The boy scowled, though, and said something.

Gimli looked a question at Cynewise, and she said something to the boy, then in Westron, “He is asking if he can hold it.  I told him he cannot,” she added hurriedly, as though Gimli might offer.

‘Of course not,” said Gimli smoothly.  “Still, perhaps . . . Axe,” he said, patting the weapon and looking down at the child.  Then, pointing a thumb at himself, “Dwarf.”

“The most essential combination of words!” Legolas laughed.  “Cynewise, by the time you reach Isengard, your son will be an expert in all things dwarvish.”

“It is time someone showed an interest,” said Gimli playfully, but he squeezed Legolas’s hand.

They stopped at last for the evening just before sunset, as the sun was beginning to sink and spread gold over west across the river.  The sight was spectacular, red-gold light over red-gold trees, swathes of grassland extending out in every direction, the river a glittering ribbon of blue winding through it all, and Legolas had to stop for a moment and marvel before helping the folk of Rohan to set up camp.

“Please, no,” Wassa tried to protest, “you have done enough already,” but then the baby she carried burst into wailing and she was forced to turn away and try to soothe him.

But neither Legolas nor Gimli could watch them all work without stirring themselves to help – and anyway, they had made camp often enough that it was easy for them.  Legolas helped to settle the goats comfortably and spread out the children’s bedrolls while Gimli built a fire for them all and the women took out the evening’s meal of bread, cheese, dried meat, and fruit for them all.  They insisted on sharing with Legolas and Gimli as well, despite Gimli’s assurance that they had packed enough food for themselves.

“Let us do this, at least,” said Blaedswith, and they accepted at that and settled back against a tree with their meal.  It was not the solitude they had anticipated, but there was a particular kind of pleasure in sharing a meal with friends, after all.

When most had finished eating, Legolas could not help asking.  “I do not know if you do such things traditionally,” he ventured, “but among my people we often greet the evening with song.  Do you have any to share with us?”

At that, all eyes turned to Beorhta, Cynewise’s sister.  She had spoken little throughout the day, but now she rose to her feet.  “If you insist,” she said, and even her speaking voice was musical, “how can I refuse?”

And then she drew a breath and began to sing.

Every time Legolas heard the language of this land sung, he was transported again, into a land of memories he did not quite know.  He did not understand enough of the words to grasp more than one or two here and there, but more important was the feel of the music and the language – rich and lush as their grasslands, the rhythm rolling like the hills of this land or the motion of a horse.  This song was slower than others he had heard, broad and open like the plains beneath the evening sky, but still there was an energy barely restrained beneath each word, as though with the next breath the singer might burst into motion and dash away free.

The song spread like a tapestry around them, the notes drifting into the air to mingle with the purple-gold light of the setting sun, and Legolas let his body relax into it, let himself melt closer to Gimli where they leaned against one another, running Gimli’s fingers through his own.  The dwarf was warm against him, his hand strong yet gentle in grip, letting Legolas toy absently with his fingers, his own posture softening until their hair and their bodies were intertwined, sinking into the sweetness of being here, together, beneath the open sky.

When the song came to an end, the blaze of sunset was fading into the dim light that preceded dusk.  The children were nodding, some entirely asleep in their mothers’ laps – and clearly it was time for the rest to follow suit.

“Shall I take the first watch?” Legolas offered, whispering so as not to wake the children.

There were glances and murmurs among the Rohirrim, but no one responded.  It was Blaedswith, finally, who spoke, sounding a bit embarrassed.  “We would be much obliged if you would,” she said.  “We had not thought to set a watch before.”

“It would be best, at least for tonight,” Gimli said.  “In case our friends should come back seeking a second opportunity.  I will watch after Legolas, then.”

“No, you should not take separate watches,” said Blaedswith.  “I will take the second, Beohrta the third, and Uhtric can take the last.  He is the earliest riser among us, anyway.”  When Gimli made as if to protest, she shook her head.  “We may not be able to fight as you can,” she said, “but we can shout well enough.  And anyway, you should not be forced to spend half the night apart.”  She winked.  “It is your anniversary.”

Gimli flushed so deeply that Legolas could even see it in the rapidly-fading light, but he himself could not quite hold back a chuckle.  Neither of them would risk scandalizing their companions, of course, but he could not deny that he would be glad to share a bedroll with Gimli for most of the night.  Was that not what he had most looked forward to, after all – wrapping himself close around Gimli for warmth at night?

And so they arranged themselves: the adults arranged carefully around the children at the center; Legolas and Gimli sitting with their backs to the river, facing the forest.  That was where any intruders were more likely to emerge, anyway.

But their portion of the night was quiet, and Blaedswith woke easily when they shook her awake for her watch.  Part of Legolas felt almost guilty leaving someone else to guard a group of untrained townspeople – but he convinced himself that it was only right that they all ought to share the watch among themselves.  And when he slipped into the bedroll with Gimli, pulling him close and feeling the dwarf tuck his head against his neck, it was not so hard to convince himself.

It was their anniversary, after all.

Chapter Text

Gimli was wrenched awake in the weak light of early dawn by the crow of a rooster.

It had been so long since he had heard such a sound that he thought at first that it was part of a dream – some raucous animal scream that had jerked him untimely awake.  But even as he took a deep breath and nestled deeper into his bedroll to go back to sleep, he heard it again – rough, high-pitched, and utterly insistent.

He squirmed around in their bedroll to bury his face in Legolas’s chest.  The morning air was cold against his face, but Legolas was warm from their blankets and the shared heat of their bodies, and he loosened his arms as Gimli moved, but his breath shook with suppressed laughter.

Gimli was in no mood to jest.  “No,” he grumbled into Legolas’s sleep shirt.  “It is not time to rise; I refuse.”

Legolas laughed again, silent and breathy against Gimli’s hair.  “He seems rather insistent.”

The rooster crowed again and Gimli flinched, then burrowed deeper into their shared blankets.  “He can wait.”

“He can,” said Legolas, “but the question is: can you?”

Around them, he could vaguely make out the shuffling noises of others stirring, similarly grumbling in their bedrolls.  Gimli had only a very patchy grasp of the language of Rohan – words here and there that pertained to war, or particular political images, and a few basic greetings – but one particular strain of vocabulary he possessed in abundance was curses, and he could hear those now, these women and mothers swearing like soldiers in their barracks at the bird’s cries.

Soon children’s voices began to join them, quieter than the rooster until Wassa’s baby awoke and began to wail.  “Was this what we agreed to?” Gimli whined into Legolas’s chest, switching into Sindarin for their companions’ sake, though the language did not come so easily this early in the morning.  “I am beginning to regret this decision.”

“Faithless is he who says farewell when the road darkens,” singsonged Legolas, and in one swift motion he extracted himself from their bedroll, too fast for Gimli’s hands to snag him and pull him back in.  “Good morning,” he said to someone above Gimli, though Gimli buried his head in the pillow for one more moment – more out of obstinacy than any true ambition of going back to sleep.  “May I help with them?”

Gimli did not look up to see what he meant, but from the exchange about feed that followed, he assumed Legolas had meant the animals – the goats at least.  He still bore scratches on his hands from his efforts to hunt down the chickens . . . but then, if the chickens were fed, perhaps the rooster would stop its crowing for one blasted moment and allow Gimli some peace.

Others were stirring around him, and Gimli finally turned over and opened his eyes to be sure he was not the last to rise.  He was not – the girl Æbbe had also pulled her blanket over her head, and most of the elderly were still in their bedrolls as well.  Uhtric, who had taken the last watch, was the only one of them up already, talking quietly to Legolas beside the goats.  He, too, it seemed, was fond of early mornings.

It was a fine thing for Gimli when they were both at home, for then Legolas would rise in the cold morning and make a fire for both of them – but on the road, it was somewhat less advantage to have a husband who could be so cool and fresh when the sun had barely begun to rise, the gold light over the horizon still watery and weak.  It would not warm up for some time yet, and Gimli did not relish the thought of removing his blankets.

But a moment later, the choice was made for him.  Legolas was back at his side, crouching down with mischief in his eyes.  “Time to rise, husband,” he said, and he whipped the blankets away.

The cold air rushed in, but Gimli was not taken entirely off guard.  Quick as thought, his hands flashed out and caught Legolas around the shins, pulling him off his feet.  Legolas yelped and flailed, but Gimli was stronger by far and he went down in an ungainly heap, sprawled across Gimli’s body.

Across the camp, several sets of eyes came to rest on them, but Gimli laughed and sat up at last, pulling Legolas more firmly into his lap.  “Yes,” he said, pinning Legolas to his legs to prevent any chance of escape.  “What are you doing still on the ground, slug-a-bed? It is time to get up!”

Legolas did not even struggle against his grip – he only laughed, lying across Gimli’s legs and gazing up at him with sparkling eyes.  It was one of Gimli’s favorite things about him: he was good-natured even in defeat, and Gimli’s mock-irritation softened into a wave of affection.  “Ah, come here,” he said, and reached down to cup Legolas’s head and tilt it up towards his own for an awkward sideways good morning kiss.

It was slow and warm and sweet, their mouths melting together, and Legolas hummed into the kiss and reached up to touch a lock of Gimli’s hair.  “I simply cannot help myself,” he said when they parted, “your hair is so beautiful in the sunrise.”

“They always said trickery hides behind elves’ honeyed tongues,” Gimli mused, and Legolas laughed and tilted his head in for another kiss.

At last they heaved themselves up, as so many others were beginning to do the same.  Gimli found himself grateful for the trees still lining the road – Legolas followed him to guard his privacy as he dressed and relieved himself, as always when they traveled in company.  Luckily, this crowd seemed to respect his modesty – sometimes large bands of men did not, but he supposed women had different standards for themselves and the company they kept.  And of course they would have no desire to see either of their new companions unclothed.  Legolas, too, was more careful than usual out of respect for them, though he had no qualms about bare bodies.

Breakfast was being set out about the camp – complete, Gimli noted with amusement, with wooden cups of fresh goats’ milk for all the children.  There were no eggs – it seemed that the stress of the journey kept the hens from laying.  It was just as well, Gimli supposed; he would not have liked to see how those would have been divided – or carried on.

The elderly folk busied themselves packing up the camp while the mothers fed, packed, and dressed the children.  All save the two oldest, Blaedswith’s son Osgar and the girl Æbbe, who were left with their own things and lagged behind. With a glance at one another, Gimli and Legolas went to help.

Gimli took Osgar, since he had a slightly better grasp on the language than Legolas and the girl was known to speak some Westron.  But as it happened, Gimli did not even need to stretch his vocabulary – as soon as the boy saw him coming, he straightened from where he had been glumly toying with the end of a strap, puffed out his chest, and began packing away his bedroll neatly without so much as a word from Gimli.  He did glance up from time to time, though, as if checking to see if Gimli were still watching him.

Gimli suppressed a smile with some effort.  A bit of a case of hero-worship, then.  He had seen such things before from lads just learning to pick up their weapons, after witnessing a practice bout between trainers.  It would do the boy no harm, but Gimli would not insult him by laughing where he could see.

Legolas appeared by his side, looking puzzled and a little hurt.  “Well,” he murmured, “she says she needs no help, and seemed quite eager for me to leave her alone.”

Gimli raised his eyebrows and turned to see the girl stuffing her things into her pack with equal speed to Osgar – but she stared determinedly at her pack, and was blushing furiously up to her hairline, wisps of straw-colored hair flying hectically around her face.  Gimli remembered the day before, and again felt that pulse of amused sympathy.  Something a bit more than hero-worship there, then.  The poor child.

“It is not you,” he murmured to Legolas.  “Or, rather, it is you, but – perhaps she is merely a bit tongue-tied after being heroically rescued by a grand elf-warrior, hm?”

Legolas frowned.  “What jest is this?  I am not a” –

“No?” Gimli nudged him just as Æbbe shot a quick glance in their direction, blushed redder, and snapped her gaze back to her pack.

Legolas looked almost chagrined.  “Oh,” he said.

Gimli tugged the end of his braid.  “No need for the long face,” he said.  “Give her time!  I am sure she will warm to you once she realizes that you are nothing more than a jester with a trick or two.”

“Hmph.”  Legolas turned up his nose.  “A trick or two, you say?” And then, too fast for Gimli to swat him away, one hand sneaked underneath Gimli’s beard to swipe two fingers gently over the sensitive skin of Gimli’s neck.

Gimli bit back a yelp and caught his wrist, steering it away before he could laugh helplessly and destroy his standing in Osgar’s eyes.  “That would be one of them, yes,” he said, a little breathless.  “Now off with you before our new companions lose all faith in us.”

Soon enough, all were packed and ready to set out, and they began that day’s walk.  They started at a quicker pace than they had taken the night before – perhaps after a night’s worth of sleep, the travelers felt refreshed and ready to move more swiftly . . . but if that were so, how quickly would they tire themselves?  Gimli frowned, watching them – pace regulation was something he knew better than Legolas, for elves had a poor sense of others’ endurance, but he had seen many young dwarves run themselves into the ground eager to keep up with their more travel-hardy companions.  In fact, based on the children’s reactions to him and Legolas this morning, he was almost certain now that that was what they were doing.

“Here, Legolas,” he said quietly.  “Let us take rearguard.”

Legolas looked over, puzzled again.  “You think we stand a chance of being attacked from the rear?”

“No,” Gimli murmured, but tugged on Legolas’s arm, and Legolas fell back with him without question.  “I think they are tiring themselves in an effort to keep up with us.”  He gestured at the group – especially the children, who would try to move faster and grow tired sooner than any of the others.  “They have not traveled such distances as we have; I hope that if we are behind them, they will resume their own pace.”

“Ah.”  Legolas looked around with new understanding.  “Yes, I think you are right.”  He rewarded Gimli with a kiss high on the cheekbone.  “My clever husband.”

“About what is he right?”  Beohrta was walking beside them now, holding one end of the chickens’ crate as she had the day before, with Cynewise on the other end. They both seemed greatly relieved by Gimli’s addition of wheels, though it was still some effort to move them over lumps and cracks in the road.  The road itself could be improved, Gimli thought, and made a note to speak to Éomer – there were dwarves in Aglarond who specialized in such things.

Meanwhile, Legolas endeavored to answer Beohrta, with little success.  “He was – it is not” – he stammered, and Gimli winced.  Legolas had never been skilled in smooth falsehoods, even those meant to cover shame.  Gimli would repeat his words if he must, but he would rather not admit his thoughts to one of the people he had implicated.

But Beohrta only laughed.  “Never mind,” she said.  “If it so flusters you, I will let you keep your secrets!”

“It is generous of you, my lady,” said Gimli.  “And in return for your discretion in our affairs, I would ask you about your own.  How do you fare this morning?”

“Much like the rest of us, I would imagine,” she said wryly.  “Suffice to say I have little fondness for our friend Bada this morning.”  She patted the top of the crate, clearly indicating the rooster.

Gimli agreed so heartily that she gave a startled laugh.  “A formidable enemy he has already made, then! Ah, well, at least you may content yourself with the knowledge that when you leave us, you may also say farewell to him.”

“The only parting I will regret, I am sure,” Gimli said, and she laughed again before her face fell back into morose lines.

They walked in silence for some time, and Gimli and Legolas shared a glance.  A sadness seemed to hang about her, one Gimli had not noticed before – but Gimli did not know if it were merely the early morning, or something deeper.  And he did not know how to ask, even if it were their place to do so.

After a few moments, Legolas cleared his throat.  “Your song last night was beautiful,” he ventured.

Her head jerked around to look at them again, round-eyed.  “You are too kind,” she demurred.

“Not at all,” Legolas insisted.  “My kind prize music above all else; I know a gifted singer when I hear one.”  He inclined his head to her.

“Well, I will not dare deny such kind words,” she said, “but say merely that I am grateful for them.  I have long loved song, particularly beneath the open sky.”

“Shall we name you then part elf?” Gimli said, trying a gentle tease to open her up.  “From Legolas’s words, it seems they would be glad to welcome you among their own.”

“A kind offer indeed that would be,” she said, and her voice drifted into something distant and sad, “could I bear to leave my own family behind.”

Another beat, another shared glance.  Again Legolas took the lead.  “Tell me, if you would, about the song you sang?” he requested.  “I do not speak enough of your tongue to understand it, but sometimes music speaks without words.  It sang to me of yearning.”  Now his eyes grew sad, and Gimli squeezed his hand – yearning was something Legolas knew well.  “Will you tell me what the song was about?”

“Excuse me,” broke in a new voice, and Gimli started.  Blaedswith had appeared by their sides, and she tapped Beorhta’s shoulder.  “You pulled this for many hours yesterday,” she said.  “Let me take this for you now, at least for a moment.”

“I can take it yet longer,” Beorhta protested.  “Cynewise could surely use the relief better than I could.”

“Uhtric will relieve her soon,” promised Blaedswith.  “I would have a word with her for now, if you would.”  But she cast a meaningful look at Legolas and Gimli, and it seemed to Gimli that they were not the only ones who had noticed Beohrta’s wistfulness.  Indeed, she must have noticed it long before - perhaps she had been hoping for just such an opportunity for some time.

Sure enough, Blaedswith sped up, hardly noticeable but enough that soon Beohrta fell behind with them.  “The song,” Legolas repeated, softly.  “What was it about?”  The unspoken question: What do you yearn for?

Beohrta took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh.  “Home,” she said quietly.

“Home,” Legolas echoed, and for a moment the pain in his eyes flashed as it did whenever he spoke of the sea-longing.  When he spoke again, surely Gimli was the only one who could hear the rasp in his voice.  “This land, you mean.”

“Yes,” she said, and the expression in her face was the same one Gimli had seen in Ain’s, he remembered now, in the early days when his friends had tried to follow him to the Glittering Caves – and then the truth hit him.

“You did not wish to come,” he said, and he kept his voice so low surely no one but they two could hear it.  “You did not want to leave your home.”

She pressed her lips together and did not speak further.

“But you would not leave your family,” said Legolas, still in that same throaty voice.  “Would it aid you to know that we understand better than you can imagine?”

“Do you?” she said, her eyes blazing with sudden ferocity.  “Do you really?”  Gimli tensed at the challenge in her voice, in her eyes, and she continued.  “Then I would ask you, Master Elf, if you would have me speak further: what do you yearn for?”

Gimli drew a breath – to do what he knew not, to cut off the conversation before it could go further, or to assure Legolas that he need not speak, or Beohrta that they were sorry for pressing her – but Legolas shook his head.  “A home,” he said, and in his voice was the aching sadness of thousands of years.  He hummed a few notes, one of the songs of the sea he had taught Gimli – a song he had learned, rather than invented himself, for he did not truly understand the Undying Lands.  “One I have never known, but which nonetheless calls me by every drop of blood in my body.  And I too,” he swallowed, and squeezed Gimli’s hand, “I too stay for my family.”

Gimli did not know if it was the truth in his words or his song that had convinced her, but the squared set of her shoulders slumped at last, her posture and defiance deflating at once.  “We had a brother,” she said.  “Cynewise and I. Eadric. He was killed in a raid eleven years ago.”

The weight of her trust settled into Gimli, and he hoped she could hear his gratitude in his heartfelt words, paltry though they might be. “I am so sorry.”

“It was some time before the battles fought here.”  She did not seem to hear him, the words drawn from her as though once she had begun to speak, she could hold back their progression no longer.  “He was not known or honored by the king and his people; he did not fight in a grand war, beyond the one that stretched out over so many years.  He was defending our village from Saruman’s forces, even before we knew the wizard was responsible.”

“Ah.”  Legolas’s exhale was not quite a word, but air shaped into the sound of understanding.

“I understand the desire to reclaim land from those who would have taken everything from us.”  Still Beohrta spoke without demanding answer from them – perhaps she did not want to hear it.  “And I understand the desire Cynewise feels, as well, to make a new start, with her new family.  But I would not leave” – She broke off and said no more.

“You would not leave the land he gave his life defending,” Gimli finished for her.  It brought up old pains he knew well, old tales of lost homes and his own pain, even tempered with excitement, at leaving a home he had loved for a new one – in his youth, and then again.  “Have you spoken to your sister of this?”

“How can I?” said Beohrta.  “What good would it do but cause more pain?  I will not leave her or the children, so why should I burden her with that guilt?”  She turned to stare at them both, in a piercing way that indicated she had understood Legolas’s words, the pain beneath his determination to stay.  “What good does it do you?” she asked Gimli.  “How does it ease your pain to know?”

Legolas let out a long sigh beside him, and Gimli could not help wishing Beohrta had said nothing of this.  This pain could not be eased between them, Legolas’s longing awakening sorrow and relief and guilt in Gimli all at once – and the knowledge of that pain only made the hurt worse for Legolas.  It was a suffering magnified between them, rather than eased when shared, and for a moment Gimli cursed Legolas for bringing this up to begin with.

But it had been done, and so there was nothing more for it but to answer truthfully.  “Because I know,” he said.  “Because I know that there is honesty and trust in what we share, and so that I can ensure that no resentment festers between us silently – him for wanting to go, me for wanting him to stay.  I will tell you another story, Beohrta, not of the two of us this time.”  It pained him in a different way to speak of this, but if perhaps the telling could save another relationship that was not yet broken, it would be of some good at least.  “After the war was over, I removed to Aglarond here as part of a larger party of dwarves from the Lonely Mountain in the north.”  He omitted the fact that he had led the party; that was not necessary for this story.  “Among the dwarves were my two dearest friends. They did not want to come to Aglarond, but they went for my sake, and they were miserable.  There is more to the tale” – more indeed, of new titles and old heritage which had never mattered before, and changes to both his friends’ hearts and his own – “but I will not tell that now, only that they did not tell me of their unhappiness.  Not until they had grown to resent me – and I them, for the distance I could not understand – and they returned home to Erebor in bitterness.”  Legolas’s hand tightened around his; he had witnessed this and shared Gimli’s pain.  Gimli squeezed back, grateful for the support.  “In the years since, we have mended some of what was broken, but our friendship will never be the same again.  I would not see that happen to others, even those with the best of intentions.”

He could speak no further, but Beohrta looked stricken.  Legolas took up the thread, giving them both time to recover themselves.  “I would not hurt him, if I could avoid it,” he said.  “But even less would I wound him with dishonesty – for I have seen it happen before, and the pain that it brought.  Tell her, Beohrta.  I think you both will be the stronger for it.”

“Tell me what?”

They all started – even Legolas; it seemed he had been too distracted by the conversation for even his keen ears to hear Cynewise’s arrival.  Yet here she was, falling back into step with them.

“Where are the children?” Beohrta said, seeming desperate for distraction.

Cynewise gestured.  “Mildgyth and Stithulf are walking with them.  Blaedswith told me you had something to discuss with me.”  She looked at her sister curiously.  “Are you all right?”

Without a word to either of them, Gimli and Legolas quickened their pace.  They had fallen a ways behind, but it was easy enough to make up the distance; the others had indeed fallen back into a slower pace without the need to keep up with them.  They fell into step with Blaedswith soon enough, still holding one handle of the chicken crate; Uhtric had taken Cynewise’s place on the other side.

“Are they talking at last?” she asked.  “I tried to send Cynewise back when the time seemed right.”

“It was just right,” said Gimli, marveling again at this woman, who was so much more than she appeared.  “I hope it will do good and not ill.”

“Good, I think,” said Blaedswith.  “Beohrta is not as subtle as she thinks; Cynewise has been wondering what ails her for some time.  I hope that this will bring true peace between them.”

“I think so,” said Legolas.  He glanced back and Gimli followed his gaze to see the sisters talking earnestly, their heads close together.  “Where there is such love and devotion, where both are willing to give up so much, and when both trust one another enough to be truly honest – they will find a way.  I must believe it.”  His hand came to rest on Gimli’s shoulder, and Gimli knew he no longer spoke to Blaedswith.  “I do believe it.”

Chapter Text

When they made camp that night, they had still not left the wooded valley.  Legolas remembered that the patches of woods began again near Isengard and Fangorn, but there was a long stretch of grassland between here and there – one he and Gimli had hoped to be entering already by midday today.  And so he was unsurprised when, after the shared meal of rations and the remainder of the goat cheese, Gimli gestured him off to the side, already reaching into his pack for his map.

“Legolas,” he said softly when Legolas reached him, glancing from side to side to ensure that the others were too occupied to hear them.  “At this pace, we will not reach Fangorn by the time we had planned – not before we have to turn back.”

“No?” Legolas said.  It was not a surprise – he remembered this journey on horseback, and they had reached this point before traveling even a day.  They had planned to walk at a brisk pace to reach their destination anyway – but he had hoped . . .

“Here,” Gimli said, spreading out the map in front of him.  It was in such situations that his skills proved the more useful – Legolas could judge distance well with miles of sight and memory, but Gimli was much better at the long abstract paths that required the use of a map.  “Here is where we are.”  He placed his finger on a spot in the map, not so far removed from the mountain symbols that designated Aglarond.  Then his finger skated nearly halfway across the map, coming to rest on the symbols labeled Fangorn.  “Here is where we wish to be.”

The distance was far indeed, and Legolas sighed.  “And I had so hoped to visit the forest once more – and had hoped that it would please you better now that you have become accustomed to Ithilien.”

“If it did not please me, I would not have suggested it for our destination,” Gimli laughed.  “Indeed, if it had not pleased me, I would not have wed you there!”

“If I recall, you needed some convincing at the time,” said Legolas slyly.  Ah, but the memories made him smile – journeying through the forest with Gimli, surrounded by such ancient life that he felt young and wild as a new bud, ready at any moment to burst into ripeness.  Gimli had assured him that the forest did not elicit such reactions in others – but there were other things that might draw out those reactions in him.

“Not convincing,” protested Gimli.  “Only reassurance that I was not being observed by sentient wildlife!  Some of us cannot be so sure of performing to our partners’ best satisfaction with the eyes of a giant tree staring at us from within the woods.”

“You certainly performed to my satisfaction,” murmured Legolas, letting his hand wander over Gimli’s back, then lower.

Gimli sucked in a breath at the touch, then sighed.  “Would that I could do so again this night.”  But his eyes flicked up towards their companions, still far too nearby.  They spoke in their own tongue, as they did when Legolas and Gimli were not directly among them, but still their voices reached Legolas’s ears perfectly, and indeed sometimes one or two would glance over at where Legolas and Gimli sat together.  They dared not risk anything now, not with them so close.  Legolas might have, if their companions were solely men – let them complain as they would – but he knew that men held different standards of propriety for their women and children, and he would not scandalize any of their companions.  And anyway, Gimli would not risk it under any circumstance, so there was no use even entertaining the thought.

Legolas leaned over and kissed his cheek, chaste enough for anyone’s satisfaction.  “It is not the anniversary we had hoped for,” he said regretfully.  “I would not break our word, but I had plans, husband.  Of what I would do with you on these travels.”

“Oh?” Gimli’s eyes gleamed.  “Do tell.”

“Well.”  Legolas lowered his voice to speak directly into Gimli’s ear, watching the sensitive skin shiver as his breath brushed it.  “I had imagined tumbling you in the tall grass, beneath the open sky – surely you could not complain of the loving gaze of the moon!” He kissed the line of Gimli’s beard, just where his ear met his cheek.  “You would complain of the blades of grass, but we would keep a blanket beneath us always, and afterwards we might roll up within it together, and you would let me keep you warm all night.”

“Mmm.” Gimli leaned into Legolas’s touch, tilting his head up just slightly.  “Tell me more.”

“More?”  Legolas slid his fingers into Gimli’s hair, teasing the soft skin at the nape of the neck.  “Well, I had not thought we would still be in the forest at this time, but for our first two nights I had imagined finding a sheltered place beneath the branches where no one from the road would see us, even during the day.  I had imagined you would press me against a tree, bend me over a branch, and” –

Gimli let out a sharp breath; his hands too began to wander, toying with the hem of Legolas’s tunic and then slipping beneath to find his waistband.

“We would – oh,” Legolas’s breath caught as Gimli’s callused fingers traced the crease of his hip.  “We would be very quiet,” he managed.  “No one – would hear” –

“Legolas? Gimli?”

The call came from the larger camp, and they jerked apart, Gimli’s fingernails leaving faint streaks of pain against Legolas’s hip as he snatched his hand out of his leggings.  The caller was Blaedswith, and Legolas could see apology on her face – but the smallest child, little Hild, was already making her way towards them, heedless of the others.  Blaedswith’s words had warned them just in time.

“Perhaps another time,” Gimli murmured, and straightened up to reach for the child.  “Well?” he said.

She only stared at them both, round-eyed.

Gimli tried a few halting words in her own tongue – Legolas could make out the words for what and for mother – but gave up quickly.  Reaching down, he scooped her up into one powerful arm, bracing her against his shoulder.

It seemed this exactly was what she had wanted, and she squealed and clapped her hands as he heaved her up and turned in the direction of the camp.  Legolas followed, a little regretful, but also unable to tear his eyes away from Gimli and the child.  Children had been rare and treasured among the elves of Mirkwood by the time of his birth, and he had had little opportunity to meet the few who lived in their kingdom before they were old enough to serve as soldiers.  And so they now seemed to him something precious and mysterious – he did not understand them, but nevertheless he would give anything to see them happy.  Watching Gimli with these children the last few days had been a treasure to him – seeing him humor the boy who was so interested in his weapons, carry this girl now to her mother – who accepted her, apologizing, but Gimli only waved it off with an easy smile –

Well.  If they did not have company, Legolas would certainly have acted on one or two of his fantasies; that was all.

But they were not alone, so he banished the thoughts with a wistful sigh and followed Gimli to rejoin the group around the fire.

Their travels soon settled into a familiar pattern.  They would rise in the morning, all swearing at the cry of the rooster – Legolas laughing each day at Gimli’s efforts to stay in their shared bedroll for as long as possible – and share breakfast, cold rations from their packs with few words while they slowly woke up and prepared for the day.

Once the children were all dressed and re-packed, they would begin their day’s walk, usually once the autumn sun had fully risen.  So far the weather had remained pleasant, though the wind was brisk and everyone’s cheeks were flushed red by the time they paused for a midday meal and to trade off care of the children.

It became clearer each day that these men were not seasoned travelers.  There were the little moments, of course – things they had neglected to think about, such as keeping a watch over their chickens when they rested, so that only Gimli’s quick response frightened away a hawk that had come to investigate; the places where the road had become so overgrown that it was near impassable, and several trips were needed to get all the packs and children across.

But more than that, they had simply clearly not been prepared for the length of their journey.  It was here, again, that Gimli’s map-reading skills proved more useful than Legolas’s judgment of the road; he could point out to them how far they had come, how quickly they had moved, and how far they had yet to go.  He was greeted with more than one chagrined face the first time this happened, and the women confessed that they had not imagined it would take so long to cover this distance.

But that was no surprise, for the women themselves bore up well enough under the journey with little complaint – even pregnant Sweterun, who nevertheless looked more exhausted each night and was excused from all the chores.  It was the elderly and the children who truly slowed their pace, and the children who complained the most about their journey.  (Except, Legolas noted, for the girl Æbbe, who was notably well-behaved and still refused to say a word to him.  Gimli laughed whenever he pointed this out, adding slyly that he had seen her watching Legolas when his eyes were elsewhere.). Legolas could not understand their words, but he understood their complaints well enough – the journey was too long, their feet hurt, their packs were too heavy, they were bored.  More often than not, he and Gimli offered to carry a child each for an hour or two, and Legolas gained an entirely new appreciation for Wassa, who carried her baby every day, only sometimes handing him off to Uhtric instead.

But they did what they could.  They chatted with the women to keep their spirits up, kept watch at the rear of the party, entertained the children as best they could.  They began a game of trading words with the younger children, teaching them words of Westron and gaining new words to add to their own vocabularies.  Soon Legolas could say please, walk, goat, axe, arrow, and chicken in their language, among other things – and the way the children laughed at his accent warmed something deep inside him.  It was in such moments that he felt this – traveling by Gimli’s side with new friends and these children – was the best anniversary gift he could have been given.

On the fifth day of their travels, it seemed they all had grown accustomed to the travel – some in unexpected ways.  Legolas was in the middle of teasing Gimli out of their blankets when he heard startled laughter, and looked up from his ministrations to see what was the matter.

Gimli took advantage of his distraction to shove him soundly away, sending him sprawling, but he looked up to see that Cynewise was gazing down into the chickens’ crate with surprise.  “It seems the hens are laying,” she said.

“Oh?”  Beohrta hurried over to her, and then laughed as well.  “Well.  Two eggs – shall we fight over who will eat them for breakfast?”

“And thus make a fire?” said Blaedswith from across the camp, skeptically.  “And delay our start even further?”

“Well, I certainly do not fancy eating them raw,” said Wassa.  “But I also do not fancy the carnage you have promised.  We might cook them tonight – a shame we have no way to store them, or even wait until there are more, if they lay again tomorrow.”

“No way to store eggs, you say?” said Gimli, sitting up.  Legolas smiled to himself – of course nothing could rouse Gimli from his drowsy morning haze like a problem to solve.  “I will see about that.”

He heaved himself out of the blankets, not even bothering to dress before rummaging in his pack for his pouch of scrap metal and tools.  This sight had become familiar enough that others began emerging from their bedrolls as well, drifting over to him as though magnetized to watch him work.  Gimli turned one of the eggs over in his hand, then examined the top of the carton and nodded to himself before selecting a few pieces of metal that seemed to fit some criteria, and setting to work.

Within moments he gestured proudly for them to examine his creation – a strange set of cradles wired firmly to the top of the crate, which did not wobble even when he nudged it from side to side.  “Let me see,” he said, taking the egg again, “yes, perfect!” The egg nestled neatly into one of the cradles, and hardly moved when the crate was lifted.  “This way they need not be crushed in someone’s pack,” he explained.  “Of course they will not be safe if something happens to the crate itself, but I imagine that would be undesirable for far worse reasons.”

“Indeed it would.”  Blaedswith smiled at Gimli.  “Thank you again, Gimli” – any honorifics had long since been dropped, even had the people known the truth of their titles – “we are again indebted to your ingenuity.”

“Hardly, hardly.”  Gimli waved that off – and then looked down at himself.  “But – what is this?” He turned accusing eyes on Legolas.  “You should have made me dress before beginning this!  Now I had best hurry.”

“As if I could make you do anything when you are in the midst of your work,” protested Legolas, laughing.  “But I will come with you now, if you insist.”

More than one admiring set of eyes followed them as they went back to their things, and Legolas prodded Gimli gently in the shoulder.  “I wonder how many of these children will insist on visiting the Glittering Caves for apprenticeships to dwarves, once they have reached an age to do so,” he said.

Gimli was never one for false modesty, and he laughed.  “If they do not come, I am sure it will not be for lack of trying.”  He concealed himself behind Legolas and their blankets as best he could to pull on his clothing.  “But we could benefit from their interest, and so I will do nothing to dissuade them unless their mothers ask me themselves.  Anyway, we have some time yet before such a thing might happen.”

“Perhaps,” said Legolas.  “Though Osgar and Æbbe may soon be old enough.”

“Æbbe?” said Gimli.  “If that girl decides to leave her family, it will be for Ithilien and nowhere else.  Indeed, perhaps I ought to give her a warning” –

“Gimli!” said Legolas, and only when Gimli doubled over with laughter did he realize he was being teased.  He shoved the dwarf in the shoulder as they walked back to their packs together and prepared to set out for the day once more.

It was a week into their travels together, while Gimli was building their evening campfire and the women were preparing to set out their evening meal, that Legolas noticed Blaedswith moving from person to person, whispering to them.

He could not understand her words, but he could make out the suppressed concern in her voice and the way a similar look of worry lit in the eyes of the others she spoke to – and could see well enough the way they all turned to their bags.  Gimli had not noticed anything yet, busy with the fire, but Legolas rose from his seated position and went over to Blaedswith.

“What is the matter?” he asked quietly.

“Ah.”  She looked up at him, now embarrassed as well as worried.  “We – well.  We do not seem to have rationed our supplies well for the journey, or did not properly anticipate how many days we would be traveling.  Gimli tells us we have another several days, yes?”

Legolas nodded.  “And you do not have enough food?”

“We do,” said Blaedswith with a sigh, “but it is food I do not want to unpack, if we have any other option.  Of course we brought enough food to get us started in a new home, but that is meant to supplement what we can hunt, fish, and grow for ourselves.  And I would not open that before we must, for it must also carry us through the winter.  But I suppose that is of no use if we cannot reach our destination.”

“How much do you have left?” said Legolas.

“Between us, I think enough for three more days,” said Blaedswith.  “We can stretch it out for twice that if we ration it carefully, which I think we must – but the children will be displeased.”

Legolas glanced out at the lands around them, then closed his eyes and listened.  He did not always know what growing things mortals could and could not eat, but there were a few things Gimli had taught him were always safe, and he could sense their presence here – as well as the rabbits and birds that roamed in the grasslands.  It would have been easier if they were yet in the woods, but the fact that they had left the trees was a better sign for the progress of their travels.

“I have learned to set snares,” Blaedswith continued, oblivious to his pondering, “but that would not get us game just yet, and none of us are skilled in hunting.  We can gather edible plants, but I think that will only supplement what we have brought” –

“Take no thought for it,” said Legolas.  “And save your rations, at least for tonight.”  He had left his bow leaning against his pack; he strung it quickly and slung his quiver back over his shoulder.  Heads turned towards him, watching his path; out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Æbbe was staring, open-mouthed.

“I thought you did not eat meat,” said Beohrta.

It was a common misconception, and few people had reason to learn that it was untrue; he did not partake of their stores of dried meat, and he and Gimli had not packed any to bring with them.  But Legolas shook his head.  “It is traditional among my people to only eat that meat which we have hunted ourselves or seen hunted.  It is” – He hesitated.  “A matter of respect, let us say.”  There was something he found sickening in consuming the flesh of an animal that had not died or lived with dignity.  It turned his stomach even at the finest feasts held by kings, when the meat of the grand dishes had not been slain in the hunt or lovingly at the end of its life but had been raised only to die.  But in this case – “I will be back soon.”

There were two rabbits not far from where they all had made camp; it was past mating season but he took a moment to ensure that they were male and grown, and then shot them both quickly and painlessly.  It was not the sort of hunting he preferred, but it felt more natural than raising animals for slaughter – it was the way of things for predators to kill and eat their prey, and these two had both died before even realizing they were hunted.

The rabbits might not themselves be enough, so he stopped to gather some wild onions and those herbs and tubers Gimli had told him were safe for mortals on other journeys through Rohan.  He took as much as he could carry, returning with his catch dangling from one hand and his arms full of roots and leaves.

“How ought we to cook this?” asked Wassa, the best cook among them.  “We might be able to cook the meat so that it will last” – but Legolas shook his head.  The situations were in no way comparable, but he remembered something Sam had told him once, about rabbits stewed in Ithilien – and sharing a glance with Gimli, he knew his husband was remembering the same story.

“There are more,” he said, for this much he did remember of the land.  “There will be luck in hunting for the nights to come.  We have not the time to dry the meat, so we had best enjoy it now.”

Gimli’s fire was already large enough for cooking, so they stewed the meat and onions and herbs into the first hot meal any of them had eaten in days, and then spent the evening talking and laughing and singing.  The change in the children was noticeable, but everyone was more cheerful with a full belly, and in the pleasant camaraderie of the evening, Legolas suddenly felt that he had known these people for years instead of only days.

Travel did that, sometimes – found unlikely friends in the strangest situations – and for all that this journey was not what he and Gimli had planned at first, Legolas felt that it was worth the trouble for what it had become instead.

The next morning, they found cause to be grateful indeed that they had not set the meat up to dry or to smoke.

Rohan tended to be dry, particularly in the late summer and early autumn – but the rain, when it came, was always sudden and devastating.  The next morning, the only sign they had when they rose and began to prepare for their journey was a slightly cloudier sky than before; even Legolas noticed nothing out of the ordinary.  But they had only been walking for perhaps a quarter hour when the first raindrop hit.

Then the second. Then the third.  And then the downpour.

The dusty road was loose mud within minutes; it was clear immediately that continuing their travel was not an option.  The children all began to cry; even quiet Æbbe raised her voice in protest; the chickens squawked with displeasure from within their crate, whose wheels had already been caked in mud and ceased to spin, so that the crate was being dragged over the road that was quickly turning into a small stream.  It would not be long before none of the mortals could keep their footing in it, either.

“We need cover!” Blaedswith called over the sound of the water thundering down upon them and streaming around their feet.  “Some kind of cover!”

But there were no more woods, and the rain was so thick – Legolas squinted in all directions, the rain obscuring even his vision, but he thought he could see –

“Gimli!” he called.  “Tell me – is that stone that I see?”

Gimli frowned, not so much as though attempting to see, but rather to hear, or to feel something.  “I believe so,” he called back.  “I think – yes! Legolas, come with me! The rest of you, when you catch up, I hope we will have made a shelter!”

The hills were lower here than the White Mountains they had left, but they were not entirely gone.  A few furlongs ahead was a steeper hill to the east which seemed at some time to have been shaken by a landslide, yielding a pile of rubble and what looked like a shallow cavern.  They could hardly see through the pouring rain; the rock was wet and slick, but Gimli surveyed it anyway.

“This does not go belowground,” he announced at last.  “It should give us space to take refuge without posing us any danger, if we can shift this rubble to better expose it and to provide more shelter.”

“Tell me what to do and it is done,” said Legolas.  “As you know.”

Gimli frowned at the rocks for another moment, and nodded at last.  “Shift that one,” he said, indicating a rock on the left edge, “until it is just next to that entrance – yes, like so.  And then I will brace this one” –

It was not the first time Legolas had followed Gimli’s instruction like this.  They had never faced precisely this situation, but he had aided in small projects enough to understand how to obey the orders of a dwarven foreman – which indeed, Gimli now was.  And so when the rest of the villagers had labored their way through the rain and mud, they arrived to watch Legolas diligently shifting rock, obeying Gimli’s every command about where to go and how to move.  A few of those who had arrived joined in when Gimli gave them permission, and soon enough they had formed a small shelter, where they might at last take refuge from the deluge.

It did not stop raining all day, but they passed the time surprisingly pleasantly, once they had at last dried off – sharing the leftovers from yesterday’s feast, telling stories and sharing songs.  And perhaps seeing Legolas following Gimli’s orders had helped poor Æbbe get over her shyness – for when Legolas dared to smile at her, she gave him the tiniest shy smile back.

It was not necessarily an enjoyable experience, being caught in such a flood, Legolas mused wryly, but it made for an adventure indeed.  And he ventured to think that these people would have plenty of stories to tell the rest of their families, when they finally managed to join them in Isengard.

They were more than halfway there, now, at least.

Chapter Text

On the morning after the rain, Gimli woke up more pleasantly than he had in some time.

For one, they were under cover, rather than beneath the open sky – protected from the rain in a shelter within a cavern entrance.  Not only did this cover feel much more comforting to him – he was well accustomed to sleeping on the open road, but that did not mean he preferred it – but the combination of the darkness and the clouds seemed to have subdued the rooster, who had not woken them up with his usual crowing cacophony.

But even that was nothing compared to the realization that slowly made its way through his sleep-hazed mind and caused him to smile into Legolas’s collar: today was the day.  Ten years ago to this day, they had lain together on a bed of moss beneath the spreading boughs of ancient trees and had pledged themselves to one another for the rest of their days – or until the ending and remaking of the world.

Legolas’s arms tightened around him – clearly he had heard the change in Gimli’s breathing and knew he was now awake.  “Good morning,” he whispered in just the slightest hint of a singsong.

“Hmm.”  Gimli smiled wider and kissed Legolas’s collarbone.  “I know what day it is.”

“Do you?”  Legolas’s fingers curled into the hair at the nape of Gimli’s neck that he would braid into their marriage pattern later.  “I would be much obliged if you would remind me.”

Gimli clucked his tongue.  “And they speak of the infallibility of elven memory,” he said sadly while Legolas shook with silent laughter against him.  “Ten years ago today,” he tilted his head back to meet Legolas’s fond smile, “we were wed, husband.”

“Oh, were we?” said Legolas, but his eyes were shining.  “I fear my elven memory is indeed failing me.  Perhaps you ought to show me how it was.”

“Perhaps so,” said Gimli, and pulled Legolas’s face down to kiss him.

He knew they were surrounded by people – nearer even than usual in their close quarters beneath their makeshift shelter – and ordinarily that would have been enough to stop him from anything more than a peck, but it was their anniversary today.  They might not be in Fangorn as they had planned – but then, nothing about their wedding day had been planned, either, and there was something about waking up in Legolas’s arms today, with the knowledge that ten years of peace had passed, ten years of forging friendships and learning one another’s worlds and building new ones together, that banished all his reservations.

The kisses were long and soft, not unlike the ones that had preceded their first bout of lovemaking: slow and tender, deliberate rather than languid, feeling their way into the creation of a moment that would belong to both of them.  Legolas’s hands slid down to settle firmly around Gimli’s waist, tugging him in closer, and Gimli sighed into his mouth and extracted his own arms from the bedcovers to wrap them around Legolas’s neck.

He lost himself in sensation for some time: the lean body against his own, long fingers pressing firmly into his hips, smooth hair between his fingers, the warmth of Legolas’s mouth – but after some time he remembered where they were and thought to pull back.  “Our companions?” he whispered, not daring to look around.

“Still asleep, it seems,” Legolas breathed into his ear.  “And it is no wonder, for this journey has been tiring for all of them.”

Gimli laughed softly.  “So now you think yourself an expert on mortal sleep, do you?”

“I have studied long and diligently,” Legolas murmured, and pecked another kiss against the tip of Gimli’s nose.  “And I know that when mortals sleep, they tend not to retain awareness of what is happening in their surroundings . . .”

He said no more, but one of his hands trailed farther back from Gimli’s hip, shifting to cup his rear and then giving it a squeeze that had Gimli squirming despite his knowledge that the wordless proposal was ill-advised.

“Legolas,” he managed to say, scraping together the last of his sense in a vague protest, though he could manage no more than his husband’s name.

“I know,” Legolas whispered.  “But it is our anniversary, Gimli.”

Indeed it was.  And that might have been enough, even, to persuade Gimli to give in entirely – had they not heard a sound at just that moment: the unmistakable rustle of bedcovers, followed by a yawn and the popping of joints.  One of their companions had woken up.

“Uhtric,” Legolas sighed in resignation, relaxing his hold though he did not unwind his arms from around Gimli.

Gimli tried not to groan with disappointment.  “And he will only be the first.”

Uhtric was often the first to rise in the mornings, aside from Legolas – and, Gimli had noted with displeasure that he did his best to disguise, he was particularly talkative.  Sure enough, the man stood up and stretched, looked around to see if any others were awake, and began to pick his way towards their shared bed.

“Good morning, you two,” he said pleasantly, his voice just a shade too loud.  It did not matter in the mornings when the rooster crowed, for there was no need to keep their voices down, but Gimli cringed slightly at the sound of it in their hushed shelter and he felt Legolas flinch almost imperceptibly against him.  “I had wondered if you were awake.  It is not often that I am out of bed before you are, Master Legolas.”

“Ah.”  Legolas seemed a bit startled to be addressed directly.  “Well, I sleep little, but I will take a long morning in bed when I have the opportunity.”

Gimli would have laughed – Legolas’s definition of a long morning in bed differed greatly from his own, and the elf typically needed a good deal of convincing to stay in bed long past sunrise.  Of course, he thought a bit aggrievedly, this morning would have been perfect for his particular brand of convincing were it not for Uhtric himself.

“I felt the same way when I was younger,” said Uhtric sagely, and this time Gimli had to turn his head into Legolas’s chest to smother the half-amused, half-irked snort.  He knew it was nothing new for Legolas to be treated like a youth by men and dwarves who were elders among their people – Glóin himself frequently did the same thing, and he had grown nearly impossible to contradict in his old age – but for this man, who could not even be half Gimli’s own age, it was particularly ludicrous.  “Still, it is a luxury to enjoy, when you can take it.  Now, you two” –

He sounded as though he might go on, but was interrupted by a sleepy whisper.  “Papa!”  It was Wassa, calling from where she yet lay in her own bedroll.  “Come here, please – and quietly, if you will! You will wake the baby.”

“Of course,” said Uhtric, only a shade more quietly – but it was still an improvement.  He waved his excuses to Legolas and Gimli – but Gimli swore he had heard a note of mischief in Wassa’s voice as she called him over.

But it was too late to recapture the moment, even if either of them would have dared.  The first few sounds woke others, until people were stirring and stretching all throughout the makeshift cave, rising and packing and preparing.  But this morning Legolas made no move to leave their bedroll even as others began to move about the space, and Gimli held him close.  They might not dare to risk intimacy any longer, but at very least on this day he would hold Legolas for as long as they could.

They did not tell any of the others that it was the day of their anniversary – since early on, enough of the women had apologized so much for the trouble that neither of them wished to add guilt to their companions’ burden – though Gimli had come close to blurting it out crossly at Uhtric this morning.  Still, neither could Gimli bring himself to pretend it was the same as any other day.  Ten years might not be a long period for either elves or dwarves – but these ten had borne witness to the greatest changes in the world that either of them would ever see in their lives, long as they might be.  Indeed, the very quest they now accompanied was a testament to those changes, those rebirths, and Gimli found himself staring again and again at Legolas, the greatest treasure he had ever found, and marveling at all they had seen – and helped to bring about – together.  And that they were still here, together, after all of it.

Legolas caught him watching and smiled at him, his eyes so soft and fond that Gimli could hardly bear the gaze – even if he could bear less to look away.  “You were the best thing I found,” he whispered, as though he knew exactly what Gimli had been thinking.  “In all of it.”

Gimli reeled him close and kissed his neck just where it met his shoulder.  Legolas’s skin was less sensitive than it appeared, but the brush of his beard against this particular spot never failed to make him shiver.  “I feel the same,” he murmured.

They parted reluctantly and moved on, as they must. Gimli had not truly wished himself out of this situation before, but now he could not entirely hold back the regretful look he was sure had made its way onto his face.

They walked in silence for a few moments, and then Legolas started.  That was an unusual enough motion that Gimli looked up, surprised, to see that Blaedswith had appeared beside them without his notice.  Indeed, for once even Legolas had been distracted enough to miss hearing her. 

Gimli prepared himself to be polite to her – none of the group deserved his ire, but Blaedswith least of all – but she forestalled him with a piercing look.  “Is today the day?” she said quietly.  “For which you had planned already to be in Fangorn?”

Legolas inhaled as if to speak, but Gimli nodded before he could.  “It is,” he said.  He would not lay the burden on her, but he was not surprised they had not managed to hide it from her – and he had no intention of being any more subtle than this.

“I see,” she said, the corners of her mouth curling up into a tiny smirk.  “Well, I cannot promise you that there will be no disruption.  But perhaps you both ought to take the position of rearguard again today, and we will keep the children from hanging back to speak with you.  And – should you, ah, fall behind a bit, you need not hurry to catch up.”

“Blaedswith!” Legolas exclaimed, but quieted immediately as a few others turned to look at them.  He blushed and cast his eyes at the ground with a nervous laugh before subsiding into silence.

Gimli himself was almost too taken aback to thank her for her offer.  He had not imagined that anyone might understand his mood today. While their traveling companions had accepted that they were on an anniversary journey, they seemed to have taken it more as an explanation for their travels than truly understanding that they might wish for some time alone.  But it seemed he had underestimated Blaedswith’s perception. “You are gracious indeed,” he said.  He could not imagine that he would dare to act on the implications of her offer, but perhaps if they were behind the company . . . and anyway, at least he would be glad of the privacy to walk with Legolas and talk as they had planned to do, just the two of them.  “We will take your offer and be grateful for your generosity.”

“Mine?” she said, raising one eyebrow.  “I think you forget, both of you, that we are the ones indebted to you.  A bit of privacy on this day is the least we can offer you, but we do it gladly.  Or I do, at least, and I will ensure that others do the same.”  This time, her sly sideways glance took in Uhtric, and Gimli pressed his lips together to keep from laughing.  Again she had noticed something he had – well. Perhaps he had not made so much of an effort to hide it.

And so, when they set out, Gimli and Legolas fell behind the rest.

The rain had stopped the night before, but the road was entirely transformed after nearly a full day of flooding.  The dust of the road had been turned into mud – no longer so slick as it had been the day before, but now sticky, so that their boots squelched through it. Even Legolas, though he still made little sound as he walked, could not avoid soiled boots – and even his feet were nearly sucked in a time or two. But the air felt cool and clean, soft rather than crisp against their faces, and the breeze carried the fresh scent of autumn rains.  The river, though, was much higher than it had been before the rains, its rushing so loud that when Legolas and Gimli fell back to their place far in the rear of the company, Gimli could not hear the others before them at all.

But that was to their benefit, for if he could not hear them, they certainly could not hear him – and he intended to take full advantage.

“Blaedswith,” he mused, settling his hand comfortably into Legolas’s.  “A queen among men if I have ever met one.”

“Indeed,” Legolas smiled.  “Even untrained, the shieldmaidens of the Rohirrim prove formidable.”  He hesitated, then added, “I am glad we met her.”

“As am I,” sighed Gimli.  “Though today of all days I would wish us free of any companion.”  He jostled Legolas gently with his hip.  “I have had not a moment alone with you in days, husband, and I had so many plans for how we might spend our time together on the road!”

“Blaedswith did say we might fall behind and not hurry to catch up,” said Legolas, a lilt of mischief in his voice.  “I am sure they would not begrudge us a delay – and am sure we could make up the distance after without great trouble . . .”

“When I said ‘on the road,’ I did not mean on the road,” Gimli demurred.  “I was referring to evenings in our bedrolls in the cover of trees or tall grass!  When no other travelers would be passing by.”  He eyed the road with disfavor.  “And I did not think so much mud might be involved.”

“Well,” Legolas said, “our plans do often go awry.  It is a bit of a tradition for us, I think.”  He disentangled his fingers from Gimli’s to sweep them up his arm in a slow, deliberately tantalizing motion.  “And plans might be changed easily enough.”  His hand was caressing Gimli’s neck now, tracing lines up through the underside of his hair that raised tingles on Gimli’s scalp, somehow slow and gentle without once breaking the evenness of his stride.  He leaned down and pecked a kiss against the top of Gimli’s head.  “We could always stop . . .”

Gimli managed a breathy laugh.  “Try me again in an hour,” he suggested.  “I am not yet desperate enough to risk the attention of our companions or mud in my trousers – but the day is young still.”

Legolas laughed, too – bright and delighted, the sound of a blackberry blossom in late summer, if they could make such sounds.  “How kind my husband is,” he said, “to give me such hope!”

“Always we give one another hope,” Gimli murmured.  He had not meant to turn so serious today, but at such a time – on such an errand – how could he not be reminded of the darkness that had brought them together?  He had left for Rivendell all those years ago with faded hope; had departed for Mordor with only grim determination and his own word to cling to – and yet out of those haunting and hopeless days had come this most unexpected comfort and joy.  And now here they were, ten years into the world they had seen reshaped, ready to witness the realm of a fallen foe turned into a new home –

Again Legolas heard what he did not say when he fell quiet; he stopped walking and Gimli turned to face him, both of them standing in the churned-up road, in raised puddles left by the feet of their companions through the mud, the only sound the river rushing alongside them.  Legolas laid his hands against Gimli’s face, shaping the line of his cheek and jaw before leaning down to press his lips against Gimli’s brow, then each cheek, letting each kiss linger as though it were something precious.

“Such beauty,” he murmured, “where I had never thought to find it before.”  He traced a finger along Gimli’s hairline, then down one of his braids.  The touch made Gimli’s breath catch, made heat trickle from every place Legolas’s hand touched down into his belly – and still Legolas was not finished.  He moved the hand to Gimli’s heart, the pressure perceptible though the mail prevented Gimli from feeling the warmth of his hand.  “Such courage, when my own heart would have faltered.”  Then he moved both hands to Gimli’s arms, and some of the gravity left his voice.  “Such strength” – with a playful squeeze to Gimli’s biceps – “in word, in spirit, and in body.”

Gimli had to wet his lips before he could bring himself to speak.  “You are doing a fine job of persuading me,” he said hoarsely at last.  “By all means, continue.”

Legolas laughed and bent down to kiss him, long and slow and so sweet that Gimli nearly forgot where they were standing – forgot that they were in the middle of a flood-churned road, behind a party of companions who might yet be able to see them if they walked back even a little ways.  For a moment, there were only the two of them and the day and the fresh autumn air.

It was some time indeed before Gimli finally came back to himself and pushed Legolas gently away.  “Not yet,” he said, and could not resist a playful smile. “But you have made a fine start.”

They continued thus for another few hours, sharing memories and laughter and songs – and, not infrequently, kisses as well.  They were not shy of sharing affection before the eyes of others, but it did feel different with some element of privacy – their solitude allowing them a bit more daring.  And – well, it was their anniversary, and Legolas was so beautiful – had Gimli truly expected himself to hold back all day?

“So beautiful,” Legolas murmured once more against his mouth.  “So strong – ah, Gimli, if you would but hold me tighter I think I should forget myself entirely.”

“Do so, then,” he said, letting all his inhibitions fall into the mud.  “Only get me off of this road” – another kiss, longer and deeper, Legolas’s body lean and supple against his own – “and you may do” – another, his hands scrabbling at Legolas’s leather jerkin – “whatever you wish.”

“Whatever I wish?” Legolas kissed him again; Gimli had lost all his bearings but he could feel Legolas walking him backwards, and he knew the elf would not let him fall.  “A generous offer, Master Dwarf.”

“It is our anniversary,” Gimli pointed out.  “I can afford – mm-magnanimity on such a day.”

“You will benefit,” Legolas promised.  “Let me just” –

One of his hands caught the strap of Gimli’s pack, and Gimli shifted to allow him to slide it off of his back – but before he could do so, Legolas stiffened.

Gimli frowned.  “What is it?” he said, not entirely willing to give whatever it was credence at the moment – but Legolas did not move, his head still tilted as if listening.  “Legolas?”

“I thought I heard . . .” Legolas’s brow furrowed.  “Maybe I was – no.”  He dropped his hand from Gimli’s pack, upright again, all trace of his playfulness vanished.  “Something is wrong.”

“Something is wrong?”  Gimli took a moment to curse all interruptions, and all reasons for interruptions.  “Wrong in what way?”

But Legolas did not need to answer, for Gimli heard it for himself in the next moment.  A woman’s voice, crying out as though in great pain, “Cenric!”

Cenric.  The boy – one of the younger children, one who had taken to trailing Gimli when they walked together, with whom he had traded words for some time beneath their shelter yesterday.  Gimli’s heart lurched.  “Cenric?” he could only echo.

Legolas stared at him, wide-eyed, for half an indrawn breath, and they both turned and ran.

The mud was slicker beneath his feet than Gimli had realized, as slowly as they had been moving before; he skidded a few times but never lost his balance entirely.  Legolas glanced over to him from time to time – an old habit, Gimli knew, though he did not now have the breath or the heart to chide him for it.  His mind was too occupied conjuring up all manner of nightmarish possibilities – injuries, poisonous plants, an attack by some wild animal?  He cursed the distance they had allowed to grow between themselves and the main party; now they would surely be too late, had some calamity arisen –

But then Legolas stopped short.  “The river!” he cried, and Gimli’s head snapped around.  “He has fallen into the river!”

Gimli had not thought of the river – so high, so ominously high; how had he not thought of it before? – he would not have even thought to look in that direction, but when Legolas called out, he saw it: the light head amidst the churning brown-grey waters of the Isen, swept towards them – and then, in the blink of an eye, past.

Legolas did not waste a second.  He cast his pack aside in a single motion – it landed in the mud with a loud squelching noise – and ran for the water.

Gimli stared after him, undecided for an instant.  His instinct was to run after Legolas – but what good would that do?  Legolas was a stronger swimmer than he, particularly amidst a fast current, and he was already diving into the water, stroking powerfully downstream, gaining – Gimli could only hope – on the child being swept away so fast.  If anyone could catch him, it would be Legolas – but the current was swift indeed, and catching him might only be the first challenge.

As he dithered, Gimli’s eyes fell onto Legolas’s discarded pack, and the sight of it gave him the answer he had been seeking. Legolas always kept a coil or two of rope on him – but sometimes it was buried – Gimli scrabbled for the pack on the ground, tossing things heedlessly away: the last of their dried fruit; Legolas’s extra cloak – even the bead-box received rougher treatment than usual, though that he did not toss into the mud.  There it was, at the very bottom of the pack – a coil of slender rope, hand-made by the elves of Ithilien and as strong as one could hope for.

He pulled it out, leaving the pack and the rest of the things strewn in the road.  He heard panting and shouting behind him – a few of the women were running, gaining on him, but they must know they had no hope of catching Cenric.  Gimli paid them no mind, but slung the coil of rope over his shoulder and ran south along the riverbank.

The water was loud in his ears, but still he shouted, “Legolas!”  Legolas would hear him, he would know – “Legolas, catch hold of something!”

He heard nothing at first, but ran on – Legolas’s ears were sharper than his own, and he might have heard Gimli anyway.  He could not keep his eyes on the river, for fear of losing his footing in the mud, but he glanced up periodically, casting his eyes out over the water, seeking –

“Gimli!”  The voice was faint but there – he snapped his head up again and there they were: Legolas, one arm wrapped around a protruding rock in the middle of the river, the other – Mahal be praised – around Cenric.  “Gimli, here!  I have him!”

“Rope!” Gimli cried.  “I have rope!”  He made his way to the edge of the bank, eyeing the rope and the distance to Legolas.  “If I toss it to you, can you catch it?”

“I dare not let go,” Legolas called back, his voice still faint beneath the sound of the current.  “But if you can throw it upstream of the rock” – he jerked his head in the direction he meant, possibly in case he feared Gimli had not heard his words – “it should catch on its own!”

“I will!” shouted Gimli back, and as quickly as he could, he began to uncoil the rope.

His first throw fell short – he had not realized how hard he would need to toss the rope to reach the rock in the middle of the river where Legolas clung.  He reeled the rope back in through the water, shivering at the cold clamminess of it – but to his fortune, the water had given it weight, and the weight made it easier to throw.  His second try was true, the rope hitting the water upstream of where Legolas clung and tangling itself around the rock as it was swept downstream.

The women who had run behind him caught up to Gimli just as he felt the reassuring tug of Legolas’s hand catching hold of the rope.  “I have you!” Gimli called, unable to pay any mind to their spectators.  “Is it shallow enough to walk back?”

“No!” Legolas responded.  “You had best pull us in, if you can!” He wound the rope loosely around his waist with his one free hand – was he clinging to the rock with his legs? – and then clung to it, shifting Cenric more firmly into his other arm.

“When you are ready!” Gimli called, taking a firmer hold of the rope with his own hands.  There was nothing to brace it on, and he dared not waste any more time trying to find something suitable, particularly not when they were no longer surrounded by trees.

“Now!” said Legolas, and he let go of the rock.

Gimli felt it immediately: a hard yank drawing the rope almost angrily taut against his grip, the combination of Legolas’s weight and the current seeking to tug it out of his grasp.  It felt like some caged creature pulling on its lead, almost like it fought him with a will – but he was prepared, and he gritted his teeth and held firm.  Slowly, agonizingly, he began to pull the rope in, hand over hand, one arm-length at a time.

His muscles burned with the tug; out in the water he saw Legolas’s own face drawn in effort and concentration, could hear the child crying and spluttering in Legolas’s grip, but he dared not focus on any of that.  The only thing that mattered was the rope piling up beside him, the battle against the current. But the drag lessened the nearer Legolas drew to the shore – and at last the rope went entirely slack and Gimli could hear the sloshing sounds of wading, of Legolas finding his footing on the shallow rocks near the bank.  Gimli kept hold just in case – Legolas could keep his balance well enough on slick rocks, but with the combination of a swift current and a child in his arms, it was still possible that he might fall and undo all their work.  But at last, Legolas stumbled out of the water and over the bank, dripping wet but triumphant, Cenric still clutched under his arm, waterlogged and weeping.

“Cenric!” cried Cynewise, dashing forward from behind Gimli.  Legolas released her sobbing son into her arms – dripping wet and still coughing up river water, but alive and – it seemed to Gimli, at least – uninjured.  Since there seemed no use for them there, he left the child to his mother and turned to his husband instead.

Legolas was soaked through, his clothing wrinkled in places and drawn taut in others, heavy with water, his hair slicked against his skull.  Gimli restrained himself from a full-body embrace – best they not soak his clothes as well – but ran his hands up and down his husband’s arms and chest, checking for wounds as they were wont to do after battles or risks.

“Are you all right?” he asked.  “The river, was it” –

“Swift,” said Legolas with a grimace.  “And with no shortage of rocks.  Cenric will have some bruises, no doubt.  But I do not think he hit his head.”  He looked over at the water, still rushing on without a care for the damage it might have done, and shook his head.  “I am glad the water flows south and we were already back here.  I think had he been swept in the opposite direction, no one could have caught up to him.”  He shuddered, though Gimli knew elves did not suffer from cold.

He clucked his tongue anyway, plucking at Legolas’s sodden sleeve.  “These are soaked through,” he said unnecessarily.  “Let us get you out of them” –

“Oh?” said Legolas, his face lifting for a moment out of its exhausted lines to twinkle mischievously at Gimli.

“ – and into something dry, scoundrel!” he said.  “In case you had not noticed, we are no longer alone.”

“Ah, yes.”  Legolas looked up, startled and a bit embarrassed, as though his brief time in the water had swept away all his memory of decency in company.  “And I ought” – He turned around to where the women were still fussing over the child.  “How does he fare?”

Now that he was not solely focused on retrieving Legolas from the water, Gimli could finally take in who had come to join them.  Cynewise, of course, was bent over her son, with Beohrta close by her side.  Blaedswith stood beside them, but more in a protective stance; she left the assessing of injuries to the other two.  The rest, it seemed, were farther behind – Gimli could vaguely make out their larger party in the road when he squinted into the distance – and these three had run ahead.

Cynewise looked up at Legolas’s words, and Gimli could see that she was weeping nearly as hard as her son – indeed, perhaps harder, now that the immediate danger had passed.  He was squirming in her grip, making complaints that Gimli vaguely understood to be related to the cold, but she did not let him go.

“You . . .” she said hoarsely, gazing at both of them.  “You – both of you . . .” She had been bent double, but to Gimli’s shock, before their very eyes she dropped to her knees, still clutching her son to her chest.  “I am in your debt,” she said, her voice shaking.  “I am” – Her face crumpled; she took a hitching breath but continued to speak – “For what you have done today, I am at your service for the rest of my life, both of you.”

Legolas shrank back, as though to hide behind Gimli, but Gimli shook his head and nudged him back into clear view.  As if he would have been able to conceal himself anyway!  “It was nothing that any other would not have done,” he said – then, unable to restrain his own mischievous spirit, “Though many others could not have played his part.”

He refrained from looking at his husband – he would pay for this later; Legolas never knew how to respond when receiving such gratitude, but for now he would enjoy seeing Legolas be honored as he deserved.  Sure enough, he could feel Legolas squirming beside him as Cynewise’s gratitude was turned on him.

“Your gratitude honors me,” he said at last.  “But seeing Cenric safe is its own reward.”  Then, anxiously, “He is safe, is he not?  I am not always skilled in gauging these things, in mortals” –

“He is safe,” said Beohrta, resting a hand on Cynewise’s shoulder.  “He is a bit bruised, and must be warmed up and changed into dry things – and we should let Uhtric look at him when we rejoin the others – but he is safe.”

“We had best rejoin them quickly, then,” said Gimli.  “I will build us a fire, so we might warm up our companions who have taken an unexpected swim.”

“Indeed,” said Blaedswith.  “And you have asked after him, but given no word of yourself.  How do you fare, Legolas?”

“I?” Legolas looked surprised to be asked – an expression particularly comical in combination with his sodden hair and garments.  “I am perfectly well.  Elves are little affected by cold and wet.”

“Still,” Gimli interrupted, “we ought to get you into dry things.  I will gather your pack, and then we will join our companions.”

Legolas’s pack lay still in the mud where Gimli had left it, along with the items he had tossed out of it in his search for rope.  It took them some time to gather all his things together – nothing seemed to have been lost, though his cloak too was now soaked through and covered in mud.  Gimli sighed, hoping that at least a spare set of clothing remained, and followed the others back to where the remainder of their companions waited on the road.

They traveled no further that day.  The weather was cold enough that nothing short of a large fire – and another dish of hot stew – would do to warm Cenric through again.  Gimli built the fire while Legolas – still in his own wet clothes, though that must be uncomfortable even for an elf – willingly took his bow and went off to find them more game.

Most wood they could find was wet, of course, but there were a few more areas of stone rubble here and there that had sheltered a bit of dry tinder that was enough to kindle the flames.  Once the fire was started, Gimli could keep it going even with wet wood, placing it near the fire to dry as much as it might before being placed into the flames.  The fire was blazing by the time Legolas returned with two birds, looking at last as worn and bedraggled as Gimli thought he ought to have seemed from the beginning.

“Here,” he said firmly, standing up.  “Into dry clothes with you.  Wassa?”

Wassa took the birds from him, and Gimli left the cooking to the Rohirrim as he guided Legolas away into the privacy to change.  Unfortunately his spare set of clothing had also been dipped in mud, so Gimli had spread them out over a rock – he would beat the mud off when it had dried – and now he presented Legolas with a pile of cloth, making no effort to hide his teasing smile.

“My sleep clothing?” said Legolas with dismay.  “But it is early afternoon!”

“And by the time we have finished cooking and warming through, it will be too late to begin traveling again,” said Gimli.  “And anyway, you cannot wear those wet things any longer.  I will insist, and if you do not listen to me, I will tell Blaedswith to order you to change into them.”

“Thus ignobly am I defeated,” Legolas pouted, but he did sigh with relief when he at last peeled his wet clothes away.  Gimli took them – he would spread them to dry with the others – and stared shamelessly at Legolas as he changed.  Already faint bruises from the rocks in the river had begun to show up on the elf’s skin, but that was no cause for more than mild concern.  Much more significant, to Gimli’s mind, were the taut muscles of Legolas’s chest and belly as he tugged away his tunic and then his undershirt, the defined lines of his thighs and calves, the –

“You are staring,” said Legolas playfully.

“So I am,” said Gimli.  “Have you a complaint?”

“You might do more than stare,” said Legolas.  He had not yet put on his nightshirt and now he stretched his arms over his head, arching his back and flexing his muscles in a cruel display of temptation.  “After the ordeal I have been through, I think I have earned some reward.”

“Oh!” said Gimli, feigning surprise.  “So you will tell Cynewise that your assistance is worth nothing but claim reward when you are alone with me.  I know your game, husband.”

“You do.”  Legolas abandoned his show; his hand fell onto Gimli’s shoulder, then wandered lower.  “Will you play it?”

Gimli wavered for a moment, tempted – and then sighed.  “Not now,” he said.  “Now we will go back to the fire and our companions, and” – he tugged a lock of Legolas’s hair – “I will undo your braids, so that your hair may dry.”  Legolas hummed in pleasure at that thought, and Gimli laughed.  “That will have to be reward enough for the moment.”

And so they made their way back to the others and Legolas sat leaning against Gimli, who alternated between stoking the fire and rubbing Legolas’s head, neck, and shoulders until the elf was nearly boneless against him.  The air was not nearly so peaceful as it had been the day before – but then, today’s events had shaken them much more than a sudden rainstorm.  But – and Gimli did not know if it was their own initiative or Blaedswith’s influence – at least today, they allowed Legolas and Gimli to sit a bit apart, giving them what little privacy they could.

Gimli could not quite tell, for Legolas had been relaxed and still for some time, but he heard the elf’s breathing relax in the way it often did when he had crossed the boundary between wakefulness and reverie.  Elven dream was not like mortal sleep, he knew, and if he rose and tugged Legolas along, the elf would come with him even if he did not quite understand why.  But it was so warm here, and he looked so peaceful – and indeed it was so comfortable to sit here with Legolas draped against him – that Gimli could not bring himself to move.

“Happy anniversary,” he whispered into Legolas’s ear, wondering how those words might seep into the strange world of elven dream.

Legolas did not speak, but when Gimli turned to look at him, he saw that the elf was smiling.

Chapter Text

Only two days later, their path descended into Nan Curunir.

Their travels had been mercifully uneventful after the mishap with the river – no more rain, no more flooding, and the children were all on their best behavior.  (Legolas had never learned the story of how Cenric had ended up in the river to begin with, but it seemed that whatever it was, the other children had decided to learn from his mistakes.)  The women and elders had used that day of recovery to fetch more plants in the area that they knew were safe to eat, then dried those and smoked the meat Legolas had brought so that they would have enough food to last them the rest of the journey without dipping into the stores they had brought. And now at last the road sloped down and the valley spread out before them.

Legolas could not restrain a slight intake of breath when he saw it – the vale itself was wide and beautiful; the Misty Mountains in the distance to the north emerging from the fog were always an awe-inspiring sight, but what caught his attention were the ruins of once-Isengard in the distance.  The shape of the fortress could still be seen, but misshapen and dented: walls where chunks of rock had been gouged away; parts of the building in ruin – and amidst it all, the tower of Orthanc rising from the ruins, a single dark pillar amidst the beauty and destruction, still forbidding despite its long abandonment.

The ruins had lain untouched for some years, he knew, but recently teams of Éomer’s men had begun to scour the area for traps, remnants of magic still lingering after ten years.  Only once it had been declared safe had they issued the offer of land, but still, it seemed, no one wanted to clear up the fortress itself.  Perhaps once these many new villages were established, teams of dwarves would be sought to clear away the rubble there, or to shape it into something new – but for now they would not travel so far.  Indeed, between their path and Isengard, Legolas could faintly make out the sight of what looked like a camp: too far away for him to see clearly– a day’s journey away, maybe – but he could see smudges against the landscape that must be men moving among their belongings.  This could only be the people they had planned to meet.

He nudged Gimli beside him.  “What do you see?” he asked.

“Orthanc,” said Gimli.  “Rising up like a single charred tree amidst a pile of ash.  I assume that what I see below are the ruins of the fortress?”

“Yes,” said Legolas.  “How does it look to you?”  It fascinated him, these comparisons – trying to learn the extent of mortal vision and the images that were created when they could not see clearly from a distance.  He could see the details of the ruins already – the rough shape of the fortress, though not each individual boulder.  It was farther away than the camp, but also larger and more dramatic against the landscape, so while he could not yet make out the shape of each gouge in the wall he could see the piles of rubble and the places where the structure had been mangled.

When he first traveled with mortals eleven years ago, it had taken some time to adjust – quietly, from his silent position as rearguard and scout – to the fact that the rest of the Fellowship did not see with the same level of clarity. And even now, after years together, he took every opportunity to ask Gimli what he saw.

Gimli responded with the usual half-fond, half-resigned smile, but answered readily.  “A pile of ash, as I said,” he said.  “I see smudges of grey against the green of the valley; I see the circle that must be the fortress, but that is all.  Otherwise, I see only our path ahead, growing smaller and fainter the farther away it winds.”

“Do you see the camp?” said Legolas.

“The” – Gimli squinted.  “I do not think so.  Is it between us and the ruins?”

“Yes.”  Legolas pointed, though he knew that would do little good – Gimli had admonished him for it before, informing him that pointing was useless from two such different vantages, but he could not quite break the habit.  “The path winds down for some miles, and then levels out – it is shortly beyond the leveling and then some distance from the road on the opposite side from the river.”  These descriptions, they had learned together, were more effective.

Gimli’s brow furrowed, but he shook his head.  “I think it is still too far away.  The ruins are farther, yes, but they are more distinctive against the landscape.  But how long a walk, do you think?”

“Yes,” piped up another voice, “how long?”

Stirred from his focus on Gimli and on the road, Legolas realized that the group of people before them had stopped and moved closer to them to listen, all their eyes wide and faces lit with excitement.  It was Beohrta who had asked, and even she looked as though the excitement had infected her.  Legolas’s heart warmed at the sound of her voice, the sight of her smile – and at all of them, truly; the longer he looked at them, the more he felt their own excitement (surely born at least in part of the thought of their journey’s end) flowing into him.  “Perhaps a day’s journey,” he said.  “At the pace we have been traveling, anyway.  You will soon see your families again!”

“And,” added Gimli beside him, “begin at last to build your new home.”

The mood for the rest of that day was a celebratory one.  With unspoken agreement, the pace picked up – as though no one could bear to wait any longer to close the distance between themselves and the others who waited.  Even the children perked up, ceasing to drag their feet once their mothers explained that they were nearly there.

Legolas had had much more exposure to children over the last fortnight than he had ever expected in his life – and he found he was both less and more charmed by them than ever.  Yes, he had seen them at their worst – wailing in the middle of the night from the baby; sulking from the older children when they were not given what they wanted; the younger children’s tendency to stop in the middle of the road and refuse to go any farther until they were scolded, cajoled, or carried – sometimes all three.  But he had also seen more and more examples of their remarkable resilience and creativity and wonder – Osgar’s eagerness to trade words with him and Gimli; the way Hild had taken to coming up to him to show him unusual flowers or leaves she found on the side of the road; the sound of Cenric’s laughter.  Even Æbbe’s shy reserve seemed to be slowly melting away – though she still would not speak to him for long and blushed furiously whenever he made a friendly advance, she would smile shyly at him rather than ducking immediately away when his eyes turned towards her.

And then there were the adults in their group – elderly men and women whose bodies clearly ached at the end of each day who nevertheless trudged on without complaint, and who would tell stories to Legolas and Gimli in the evenings as though to pass on the wisdom of their age.  It irked Gimli sometimes, and Legolas could understand why, but he was accustomed to such treatment from younger folk and found it more charming than vexing.

And of course the women who led them were a marvel beyond anything Legolas had expected.  He had come to know many men over the last years – had fought beside them in battles years before, and had created a settlement alongside them in Ithilien – but never before had he traveled so long – or so intimately – with the same party.  These women were as fierce and determined as any shieldmaiden of Rohan, untrained and untested though they might be in battle.  The way they had held their group together, had kept moving forward despite these challenges – Legolas and Gimli might have aided them on their road, but truly Legolas was sure they would have found their own way alone, had it come to that.

But to be sure, it would have been difficult, and the women knew it.  Legolas and Gimli found themselves plied again and again with praise and gratitude, for all they had not even completed their errand of seeing the group safely to their home.  But all knew, it seemed, that the end was in sight.

He would miss them, Legolas realized as it drew nearer – for all he had so looked forward to having Gimli all to himself on this trip.  For all that their anniversary had not turned out as they had planned, he would treasure these friendships and the memories of this journey in years to come.

They traveled later into the evening than in days past, stopping for the night only a few miles away from the next camp when the pained looks of the elders and the stubborn refusal of the children to walk any further became too much to bear.  But still the mood of celebration held them, and though they made no fire that night, Beohrta sang for them again – a song, Legolas could tell even without knowing the words, of new beginnings and rejoicing.

They reached the camp the next day within two hours of their departure.

All that morning their whole group had buzzed with a barely-restrained anticipation – there had been no complaints about rising early, no delay in setting off, and even the chatter that usually accompanied their walking had a distracted edge, as everyone gazed ahead, waiting for the camp to come into view.  And finally, Legolas’s companions began crying out and gasping that they could see it ahead in the distance.

As they drew nearer and nearer, Legolas’s ears could pick up the sounds of voices in the camp – he could not understand what they said, but he was sure from the excited tones of their voices that they too had seen the arrivals.  And indeed, when they at last drew near enough for Legolas’s companions to make out individual figures, cries of joy and excitement filled the air – and then the men were rushing forward to greet their families.

Legolas and Gimli hung back for the reunions, watching the families reunite.  Legolas’s heart felt near to overflowing with something warm and soft as he watched a man who could only be Blaedswith’s husband sweep Osgar into his arms, then extract one arm to pull her close.  He touched the bandage she still wore over her nose, saying something; she swatted his hand away and they both laughed, gazing at one another as though there was nothing else around them.  Sweterun had also been pulled into the arms of a young man and now they were kissing in a way Legolas knew – it reminded him of the way Gimli would pull him close after months of separation, that melting into one another and yearning never to be separated again . . .

He felt like an intruder suddenly, and turned to look at Gimli, who was gazing back up at him.  “It feels like a gift, does it not?” he murmured.

Gimli reached up to touch his face.  “It does.”

It was some time longer before the families could remember their surroundings enough to look up – but when they did, Legolas heard the exclamations of surprise and question as their eyes fell on him and Gimli.  Almost unintentionally, he felt his shoulders straighten, as though he were about to be presented to the family of a close friend or to a new diplomatic partner, though of course this was nothing of the kind.

“Ah, of course,” said Blaedswith, separating from her husband and switching to Westron.  “Forgive me – all, these are our unexpected traveling companions, Gimli and Legolas.  They sacrificed their own travel plans to see us safely to you, and we all owe them a debt we can never repay.”

“Please, there is no debt,” said Gimli, but before he could continue he was interrupted by one of the men, standing behind Wassa with a hand on her shoulder.

“Gimli – as in Lord Gimli?” he said.  “Of Aglarond?  And” – his eyes flicked from one to the other – “Lord Legolas of Ithilien?”

The silence that followed those words was loud, and Legolas could not find his words in time.  Neither could Gimli.  And as his own gaze flashed from face to face, he could see that their silence was telling enough.

“Lords?” said Wassa, her eyebrows flying up.  “You said you were of Aglarond and Ithilien” –

“Yes, they are,” said the man.  “I could hardly believe the truth of my sight, but – I would know you anywhere.”  He bowed to them, and Legolas felt his cheeks heat up.  “You would have no reason to know me, either of you, but I fought at Helm’s Deep ten years ago.  We never spoke, but I saw you both from afar.  I was grateful then for your aid, and I am even more grateful for it now, for seeing our family here safely.  Thank you.”

And then, before Legolas could recover his composure or think of a word to say, they were all bowing to him – the men first, and then even the women and elder folk they had traveled with, had come to know.  This – exactly this was why he never shared his title with those who did not need to know it, and he flailed, looking to Gimli to speak for them.

Gimli did not disappoint.  “Please, there is no need for such treatment,” he said, waving at them all to straighten up.  “We did not tell you our titles because we did not want to be treated as lords.  We were glad to be your traveling companions, and we need no particular honors for that!”

“Still,” said Cynewise.  “Surely there is something we might give you.  To know that not only did you give up your own travels on our behalf, but that we have been traveling unknowingly with elven and dwarven nobility” –

“No, no!” said Legolas hurriedly.  “Had we wished to be treated as nobility, we would have told you so!”  The thought that the ease he had found with these people might so easily and abruptly be siphoned away lent strength and haste to his words.  “Truly, your friendship is the most reward you could give us, and you have already granted it.  I hope you will not withdraw it now that you know our titles?”

“Certainly not!” said Blaedswith.  “Still, as Cynewise said, you have given up much to see us safely here, and as your friends we still wish to thank you.  I know you wished to continue on to Fangorn – is there anything we can do for you?  We would be happy to host you here for the night, though I suppose we have little to offer that you could not find yourselves on the road” –

Legolas and Gimli exchanged looks.  “We will turn around here, in fact,” said Gimli reluctantly.  “We have only another week to travel, and we ought to be on our way back to Aglarond now.  But we beg you not to feel remorseful – all our choices were made of our own will, and we have no regrets.”

This, Legolas knew from listening to Gimli’s quiet grumbles in the mornings, was not entirely true. But he also knew that Gimli shared his sentiments about these new friends – and that the dwarf would begin seeing the humor in the situation as soon as they were on their own again.  Indeed, he had likely been storing up anecdotes all the while, waiting to share them with his friends some evening of merrymaking.

“That may be so,” said Blaedswith, “but still we would thank you, if we can.”  She smiled suddenly.  “You were traveling for your anniversary,” she said, “and were forced to spend it in our service instead.”  She waved a hand when Legolas opened his mouth to protest.  “We have nothing to give you now,” she said, “but a year from now I imagine it will be very different.  On all of our behalf” – she glared around at the others as if daring anyone to gainsay her – “I invite you to return here next year on the day of your anniversary, and we will feast you and put you up as you deserve.”

Legolas looked around.  Right now, all there was here was a small camp – tents and a firepit and flimsy fences that had clearly been built in anticipation of the animals – but he had seen the determination of the people who would be inhabiting it, and he could almost picture the village that would spring up here, the goodness and generosity of its inhabitants.

“Yes,” he said, answering for them both.  “We would be honored.”

They allowed themselves to be teased into staying for a midday meal – sitting around the campfire and at last cooking the eggs they had been storing up, along with the remainder of their road provisions and the sweets that Wassa at last presented from her pack, where she had evidently been storing them in anticipation of their arrival.  And as they ate and talked, they shared the stories of their journey, and Legolas and Gimli demurred as much as they could of the praise heaped on them.  But at last, they could not be persuaded to stay any longer, and they took their leave with many fond farewells.

It was a hard parting.  Cenric clung to Legolas’s leg and would not let himself be tugged away – though Legolas had to confess he had not put much effort into disentangling the boy’s fingers.  Osgar was busy with Gimli, talking as best he could in his halting Westron as Gimli promised they would see one another again.  Cynewise knelt beside Cenric and attempted to pry him loose even as she thanked Legolas again and again for his service, which he tried to wave off.

Beohrta edged her way around the kneeling Cynewise until she stood between Legolas and Gimli.  “Thank you both,” she said quietly.  “Not only for your aid to our group, but also for your wisdom.”  She glanced around them at the camp.

“I hope that it aided you,” said Gimli in the same undertone.  “Do you feel that this is a place you could make a home?”

“I cannot say, not yet,” said Beohrta.  “But I feel ready to try.”

“That is all we could ask for,” said Legolas.

She clasped his hands, then Gimli’s.  “Thank you for sharing your pain with me, both of you.  I am sure we will meet again.”

And then she moved out of the way to allow others to bustle forward – all their companions jostling around one another to share their thanks and well-wishes; it was almost overwhelming, and yet Legolas’s heart was warm.

Beside him, Gimli grinned suddenly and nudged Legolas hard with his elbow.  Before Legolas could ask him what he meant, he saw – the girl Æbbe, so quiet and shy throughout their journey, stood before them.

“Æbbe,” he said, trying not to let his surprise leak into his voice.  He had nearly given up on the hope that she would warm to him at last, but he was glad they might part in fondness.  “It has been a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“And yours,” she said, her voice faint.  He had heard her speak before, but never to him, and even now she was blushing deep red.  “Thank you, Mister Gimli and Mister Legolas.” And then, before either of them could respond, she shoved something into Legolas’s hands, made a quick curtsey, and ran off.

Legolas blinked down at what he held – it was a handkerchief, clumsily embroidered clearly by her own hand.  Beside him, Gimli covered his mouth to muffle his laughter and avoid shaming her.

Wassa, before them, had no such qualms.  “You may have noticed she has become quite taken with you,” she said to Legolas.

“I cannot imagine why,” said Legolas honestly, “but it flatters me nonetheless.  But I hope that she will come to realize that although I am not what she thinks, I would be glad to be seen as a friend.”

“I am sure she will,” said Wassa, “particularly since you will come visit us again next year!  We hope the both of you will remain friends to us.”

“You may count on it,” promised Gimli, and they clasped her hands as well to bid her farewell.

Blaedswith was the last to approach them, which was only fitting.  “I thank you both again,” she said, “for myself and for all our companions.  I do not know if we would have made it all this way if not for your aid.”

“You would have,” said Gimli, and Legolas nodded firmly in agreement.  “Trust me, Blaedswith, we know fortitude when we see it.”

She flushed a little – sudden and startling.  “Well,” she said.  “I will not offend you by offering payment we do not have, but I hope you will consider our offer to host you next year.”

“Not only will we consider it,” promised Legolas, “but you will have a time keeping us away.”

And so Cenric was disentangled at last, their final goodbyes were said, and they were on their way.

As they made their way back south, up out of the valley, at first it felt too quiet.  They had traveled for so long in company that the road ahead felt long and lonely – as did the knowledge that they were on their way home without having reached their destination.  But after only a few moments of walking in silence, Legolas’s hand found Gimli’s beside him; their fingers interlaced and squeezed.  And a few moments after that, Gimli began to hum an old favorite song, as if daring Legolas to join him.

For once, Legolas joined in with the melody – singing in unison with Gimli rather than weaving in his own invented harmonies.  It felt more companionable this way, sharing a single melody, and working their way back in tune – and Gimli pressed his hand as if he understood.

When the song at last faded into silence, they said nothing for some time, and finally Gimli laughed.

“Well,” he said.  “I think I shall have some surprising new vocabulary to share with Éomer and his men!”

“Oh?” Legolas raised his eyebrows.  “Do you mean to become an authority about goats and chickens?”

“No.”  Gimli smiled slyly.  “I had thought rather of the look on Éomer’s face the next time we are traveling together and I moan, ‘Are we there yet?’”

His impression of the children’s plaintive voices was so unexpected – and unexpectedly perfect – that Legolas burst into delighted laughter.

The melancholy was lessened after that – they walked and laughed as they had before, as they had planned to do all along.  Gimli was still Legolas’s favorite traveling companion, no matter who else they might have met on the road.  And it was pleasant to set their own pace without worrying about any others who might be slower, to focus wholly on one another and their conversation without an eye to the river to see if anyone had fallen in.  To stop for the night when it pleased them, and to spar playfully again over the map and their estimates of the distance that remained yet between them and Aglarond.

They still had a week to travel, after all.  A week of campfires by the roadside and song during the day and blessed, blessed privacy to do as they wished.  And after two weeks of self-control, Gimli’s own standards for that privacy were considerably lessened – to Legolas’s great benefit, when he pulled Legolas off the road as soon as the sun had begun to set, barely stopping to spread out their blanket before they were fused mouth to mouth and tumbling sideways into the tall grass.

It did not matter that they had not made it all the way to Fangorn. There would be other days, other journeys, to visit that forest again – and if their true goal had been to reach their destination, they could have ridden and saved themselves days of toil.

It was the traveling they had most anticipated about this journey – and although they had not spent it in as much privacy as they had hoped, those unexpected twists and turns in their path were part of the experience of traveling.  Were only more shared memories in the life they were building together.

All in all, they agreed, lying spent in one another’s arms after their first bout of lovemaking in nearly a fortnight, staring up at the waxing moon in the clear night sky and rejoicing that there would be no rooster to wake them when dawn came, it was an anniversary journey worthy of their ten years of marriage.

And anyway, they still had next year to look forward to.