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The bedchamber was filled with the rich aroma of wild roses, and when the light spring wind wafted in through the open window it stirred up the heavy scent of lilac and the more delicate perfume of the dainty sweet peas. Normally these signs of another spring in Car Annûn would bring a contented smile to Gimli Gloinson’s face but today, it made him sigh and furrow his brow. Today he was having a difficult time of it.
It wasn’t that he was unhappy in general. Indeed he had many reasons to be happy, for the years on Tol Eressëa had been good to him. Had he chosen to live out his life in Middle Earth, he would likely have already passed beyond the realms of this world. He was quite advanced in age for a dwarf, having surpassed the years of even Durin the Deathless at this point, and yet he couldn’t recall ever having felt better. All his old aches and pains common to an aging dwarf no longer bothered him and he knew in his heart he had many good years left in him. There was no end to the wonders of this blessed land. Even more importantly to Gimli was the fact that his charge had done so well here in spite of occasional bouts of homesickness. There had been a time not so many years ago that he worried that Legolas would never be strong enough to survive the journey over the sea. But he had not only survived, but had thrived and blossomed so that he was healthier and happier than Gimli could remember ever seeing him. To see his lad freed from the scars of war and darkness and the crippling effects of Sea Longing and to see him have the chance to truly enjoy what was left of his youth, was the dwarf’s greatest pleasure of all.
It wasn’t as if he was even just having a particularly bad day either. In fact it was a joyous occasion and one he had been looking forward to for some months. He remembered the old saying that a house was not a home until it had been consecrated by a birth, a death and a wedding.
Last winter the entire household had mourned the death of their old friend, Mista, who at age twenty had finally died quietly in her sleep after having laid one final mouse on the front steps and evidently leaving the care of her people in the capable paws of her great-great granddaughter who the folks of Car-Annûn had called Raaka for her elegantly curved claws. And nearly two years ago a visiting elleth had surprised everyone by going into labor early and giving birth in their guest room during one Yule’s Eve celebration.
And today they would have their wedding, making Car Annûn officially a true home.
Gimli couldn’t help grinning as he recalled the day that Aerlinn had asked him to stand in for her father on her wedding day. He had been deeply honored but thoroughly surprised, though Mistress Glasiel had pointed out that he shouldn’t have been. Aerlinn’s own father had died in battle centuries ago when Aerlinn was just a baby and had not yet been returned to them. Gimli was the one who had made it possible for the girl to have the opportunity to fulfill her dreams of working with living, growing things. When others might not have cared about or even noticed the unhappiness of a lowly servant girl, the dwarf had sought her out and supported her, making sure she had every opportunity to live the life she truly desired. After that they had become fast friends. She had looked up to the dwarf, frequently seeking his advice on not only work matters, but personal matters as well. And to Gimli’s delight she often dropped the title ‘Lord’ from his name and called him simply ‘Gimli’ or ‘Elvellon’, making him feel like a favorite uncle rather than her employer, though she only did that when she was out of earshot of her aunt!
So of course he had agreed to stand in for her missing father and to present her to her groom on their wedding day.
Once more his nostrils were assailed by the heady smell of spring blossoms. The smile faded from his face as he looked down at the source of all those delightful scents-a thick and colorful wreath of luxurious flowers. Clearly he had been so flattered at being presented with such an honor that he hadn’t thought things through well enough.
He picked the offensive thing up and turned it over and over in his hands, carefully scrutinizing it. Its base was made of young grape vines that had been shaped into a perfect circle. Secured to the vines was a wide array of perfect blooms in an explosion of vibrant colors: wild rosebuds of palest pink, deep purple lilacs, sprigs of yellow forsythia, sweet smelling white gardenia, delicately ruffled sweet peas, and most prominent of all, a pair of showy scarlet peonies. As if that weren’t enough and too much already, the whole thing was stuffed full of the daintiest dried baby’s breath and entwined with white and lavender ribbons. It was easy to see that the loving hands that had created the wreath had quite an artistic eye and looking at it objectively, Gimli had to admit that it was a true work of art- a thing of exquisite beauty.
That is if the wearer were an elven maiden attending a Midsummer dance. It was certainly not proper attire for a battle tested dwarven warrior!
And yet he had not been able to say no when Aerlinn had skipped into the house and presented him with the wreath and a sweet kiss on the cheek. She had looked so pleased with herself that he hadn’t the heart to disappoint the lassie-but he couldn’t wear such a thing. He just couldn’t. No proper dwarf lord would be caught dead with flowers in his hair, let alone a wreath of flowers with ribbons flowing from it. Just thinking of it made him cringe.
Gimli looked at himself in the polished mirror. He was aware that his opulent robe that had been made just for the occasion was clearly elvish in design with its gracefully embroidered edges and silver satin lining, as were the soft suede boots of pale grey. His waist length white hair had been meticulously braided in a traditional elvish wedding pattern as well. He might be dressed in elven clothing, but even so he felt distinguished and stately and like a dignified elder of the dwarven race. Placing the extravagant flower wreath on his head would make him laughable and ridiculous. He flushed to think what his kin would say if they could see him wearing such a thing. He enjoyed the company of his elven friends and appreciated their acceptance of him, but only so much could be expected of a dwarf, even one who had been living exclusively among elves for over twenty years. As much as he loved and adored Aerlinn, he just could not wear it. It simply could not be done!
Aerlinn was a good sensible girl, she would understand. Of course she would. She’d have to understand, there was nothing else for it!
Nodding in agreement with himself, Gimli laid the floral wreath back down on his dresser and turned his attention to arranging the jewel clasps in his beard. He was just turning to leave when he heard a light tap on the door and then his impeccably dressed elven charge entered the room.
“Are you ready yet, Elvellon?” Legolas asked. “It will be time to begin as soon as you arrive.”
“I was just on my way, Laddie.” Gimli pretended not to notice the elf eyeing him critically and stepped confidently toward the door as if nothing was missing from his attire. He had almost made it into the corridor before Legolas spoke up.
“Wait, Gimli. You can’t go like that.”
“Like WHAT?” the dwarf growled, glaring at his friend as if daring him to mention the floral headdress.
“Without the wedding wreath that Aerlinn made for you. She spent hours searching through her plants for the most perfect blooms.”
Gimli glowered at his elfling through narrowed eyes. The elf was clearly finding the situation amusing in spite of the innocent look on his face.
“Oh come now,” Legolas coaxed, “surely you aren’t worried about wearing a few flowers. Everyone wears flowers in their hair at an elven wedding. Look, I have them in mine.”
For proof he turned around to show Gimli the back of his head, and sure enough a few sprigs of honeysuckle had been twined into his back braid. It was hardly the same thing.
“Fine! We’ll trade then. I’ll wear yours and ye can wear that thing!”
If anyone could wear that gaudy garland elegantly it would be Legolas, but he was already shaking his head.
“I am only a guest. YOU are the bride’s father for all intents and purposes. Aerlinn made it for you.”
“It cannot be done,” Gimli objected in a tone that Legolas recognized as his final word on a matter. “I am a descendent of Durin, a son of Aulë. Aerlinn will just have to understand!”
Legolas sighed in resignation, looking sadly at the beautiful wreath.
“I suppose she will,” he admitted. “But she won’t be able to help being disappointed. She planted those peonies last fall with this day in mind. It was the day you agreed to act as her father for her wedding…she babied them through the winter, checking on them daily. She was so relieved when they showed their first blooms just yesterday in perfect time for her special day…”
Gimli closed his eyes and groaned. He could see in his mind’s eye dear, sweet Aerlinn so carefully tending the flowers that she loved while dreaming over this day that she had likely imagined since she was a wee lass. He suddenly knew that it just wasn’t in him to be so heartless as to disappoint such a precious girl.
Gimli opened his eyes and looked up into the seemingly sad face of his friend. He appeared to be earnest and sincere, but the dwarf swore he could see a glint of amusement in his eyes.
“Very well.” Gimli gave in. “But if ye laugh or even so much as twitch your lip, I swear I’ll slaughter ye wear ye stand!”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Legolas swore with one hand on his heart. He then placed the wreath on Gimli’s head and carefully wound strands of hair around it to keep it in place.
“Now you are ready, and you look perfect,” he proclaimed, ignoring the mumbled oaths coming from his grumpy dwarven guardian. He kissed Gimli firmly on the cheek.
“But there is one thing, Elvellon.” He said solemnly, taking a step back from his friend.
“What is it?” Gimli snarled, suspecting the elf was laughing at him.
“You should watch out for bees.”
Legolas leapt out the door and slammed it between them just as Gimli was lunging for his throat. Gimli gave up without a chase. The day would eventually be over and the boy would have to come back to his chambers at some point. He would get even then. For now there was a wedding to attend.
He turned one final time to check his reflection in the mirror and flushed in deep humiliation at seeing the flowery crown on his head and the ribbon streamers spilling over his shoulders. Next thing he’d be shaving his beard, playing a harp, and talking to the trees. He turned his head a bit just to make sure his ears hadn’t grown pointy.
Thank Mahal Mam was already dead, for if she wasn’t she would surely die of shame if she could see him now. Either that or die laughing, he wasn’t sure which. Either way he would hate to have been responsible for killing his mother!
The only comfort was that no dwarf would ever be able to find out about this day. When he finally did leave this world and pass on into the halls of his fathers, only the Valar would know of it and he was reasonably certain they would never tell.
With that reassuring thought, Gimli smoothed down his hair one final time and went in search of the bride.