Archive of Our Own

To anyone who might happen to be viewing it, The Lonely Mountain would have been an amazing sight, especially as it was now in this season. The Mountain was star-shaped with six ridges radiating as spurs from the peak, and though it was beautiful in every season, in winter it became awe inspiring. Snow capped even in spring, the mountain now glittered and gleamed as the dazzling sunlight refracted and reflected from every ice-covered rock, tree or fence. Even ordinary weeds and grass took on the appearance of long stemmed crystal goblets while thin branches looked like the diamond encrusted necklaces of an untidy princess strewn about here and there.

Ice and snow had been removed from the rough steps that ascended to the top of the southern ridge along a narrow ledge that turned east behind a boulder into a steep bay.

On the south side of the mountain was the main entrance, the Gate of Erebor, that opened onto a valley between two great spurs of the mountain and at the end of the southwestern spur was Ravenhill, where there was a lookout post. The River Running sprang from beneath the mountain and issued from the Front Gate, forming a waterfall that fell into the valley below. Vapor and water mixed together at the mouth of the river to form a mist that shrouded the entrance, making it dreamlike and mysterious. An ornately carved iron and gold gate stood between immense marble pillars, and on this particular day, a daunting figure stood before it.

Broad of chest and deeply muscled, the dwarf lord stood perfectly still, his large gnarled hands clasped over the end of the heavy walking axe he leaned upon. He wore a severe expression on his stoney face as he gazed off into the distance, and his unkempt, heavy eyebrows were knit together in a fierce scowl. As was fitting for a dwarven elder, his snow white beard fell magnificently to his knees, it’s only adornment a pair of wide copper bands that held it gathered neatly in front of him, and his great mane of equally white hair, having come loose from it’s braids, blew wildly around him in the crisp morning breeze. Hard agate eyes -warrior’s eyes-intently watched the stairs before him, a sight that would have struck fear into the heart of anyone who might have attempted to ascend those stairs without consent. At least it would have done had there been any observers about.

As it happened there was only one to see, and that one was not concerned in the least, for the fierce scowl and rock hard eyes held no power to intimidate her. Indeed she could not see the eyes at all, for she came from behind the bent figure. However, she could well imagine it, having seen the expression many times before. The thought made her smile. Her beloved husband often appeared stern when really he was only anxious or worried.

Coming up behind him, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and she could feel the stiff muscled back relax under her touch. As he turned to look at her, his agate eyes softened into a gentle smile and his whole countenance transformed into what some might, out of his hearing, call a sweet expression. Few would dare to say such to his face, but then again the lady belonging to the hand did not worry over such things and she certainly felt it was so. She smiled back at him and whispered in his ear.

“Come inside, my dear,” she pleaded, “watching out here will not make him come any sooner.”

The ‘him’ she spoke of was their only son, whom they had not seen in the nearly three years since he had travelled south to set up a colony of dwarves in a far away land. Glóin son of Gróin was proud of that fact, for it was a great honor that had been bestowed upon his son by Thorin III Stonehelm himself, not that Gimli did not deserve it. Indeed such an award was well earned considering Gimli’s role as one of the Nine Walkers and his efforts in battles to save Middle Earth from darkness. His son had become a famous warrior and had done many great deeds in service to his people and to all of Middle Earth, including fearlessly going all the way to the Black Gate itself. Thinking on it, Glóin felt his heart swell with pride once again, and he suddenly longed even more than before to catch the first glimpse of the son he had missed so desperately in these last years. But the Lady beside him encouraged him once again to come inside.

“I am anxious to see them too, but you will catch your death standing here in the damp,” Vonild admonished, taking him by the hand. So the elderly Dwarf Lord somewhat reluctantly followed his wife inside, smiling softly at her gentle scolding as he did so.

But when she turned away, to walk ahead of him back to their quarters, he let the smile droop a little, for there was one thing she had said that grated and rubbed a little shine off of his excitement for the day. The word ‘them’ implied that he and his wife would be having more than one visitor, and Glóin was quite sure that he knew who that one would be. He could console himself and try to believe that Gimli might be traveling with a guard, but he could tell by the delight in his wife’s eyes that that would not be the case, for she would not be nearly so excited to see Gimli’s guard captain, Captain Vestri, nor any of his other guards. No that sparkle in her eye was reserved for those she loved most; her parents, her own husband, her children and grandchildren. Of course, the one she was looking so forward to seeing was not really a relative by blood, for it was not at all uncommon for dwarves to embrace as their own folks from outside of their own family. In fact sworn kin were quite common indeed, and it was something fully accepted by Durin’s folk. The problem, as far as Gloin was concerned, was that the particular individual in question, was not just outside the family, but was WELL outside any dwarven family. Sauron himself might be more of an outsider but just barely, and yet Gimli had dragged the creature home from the war four years ago and and expected his family to be happy about it! An elf of all things, and not just any elf, but the spawn of the Tyrant of Mirkwood. It was on the other side of too much to ask them to be pleased about such a thing!

And yet they had been pleased. Or at least Vonild, had been pleased after the stripling elf had charmed her into it, (or perhaps it was by use of a spell. One could never tell about elves) and Gloin had pretended to be pleased just to keep the peace. After all, there was a tentative friendship between the folks of Erebor and the elves of the Wood, so it was wise to be civil, but to expect him to be genuinely happy about the situation was beyond the pale, for Mahal’s sake! Had his son and even his own wife forgotten what he had been through?

He could not quite suppress a sigh as he followed Vonild into their personal quarters and closed the door behind him. Of course nothing got past his lady and she offered him a censorious glance.

“I said nothing,” he defended himself.

“And you said it most meaningfully! He is a sweet child, you cannot deny it”

“Have I denied it?”

Rather than answer, Vonild merely sighed in frustration and let the topic drop and turned her attention to steeping tea. It was proof that she was put out with him that Gloin had to pour it for himself when it was ready though. But after he had done so, he settled down in his favorite chair next to the festively decorated mantle to stare into the fire and remember.

He had many times told the story of the long ago quest for Erebor to his family and friends. His son had listened most eagerly and enviously, for Gimli had begged to be included at the time, but at only sixty years of age, he and Vonild had considered their son too young and had refused to grant permission. Dwarves always carefully guarded their children until they were well past the bloom of youth, unlike humans who were known to send smooth-faced boys into battle that were barely big enough to wield a sword. The same was true of elves, evidently, if what Gimli claimed was true, for according to him, his elven companion had not reached adulthood yet, in spite of the fact that he had already been a seasoned warrior for many years when they first met him at the Council of Elrond. It was shocking really and yet not that surprising considering the source. If men were difficult to understand, then elves were nearly impossible and if elves were impossible, wood elves were completely unfathomable.

Whatever the case dwarves at least understood what was proper for youngsters and even now he did not regret his decision to keep his son at home with his mother at the time, hard as it had been to disappoint the lad. He had agreed with his wife that their son had not been ready yet, and, though he never said so aloud, he also knew the dangers involved and would not for anything have risked Vonild losing both husband and son in one fell swoop should it come to that. He knew he could trust Gimlil to look after Vonild and Dorbyn should anything happen to prevent him coming home to them, and there were many times Gloin believed that might be the case, one of those times having to do with Mirkwood’s King, the very father of the one his son now expected him to embrace as family.

Well Gloin just could not do that, not after all he had been through with those people.

Elves were queer folk, everyone knew that, though Lord Elrond had the trust of Durin’s folk and was considered wise, and by extension the elves of Rivendell were cautiously regarded as friends. But the elves of the wood were a different story entirely. They were untrustworthy, fey and fickle. It was said that they would turn on their own kin in certain circumstances, and Gloin knew first hand how unreasonable and uncivilized they could be. Yes his family had heard the stories, but he had not told them everything.

They knew that it was Gandalf who had sent them through Mirkwood and they knew of the enchanted woods that had confused their minds and sent them in circles once they were deep inside it. Gloin had spun a great story of their encounter with giant spiders, their being captured by the elves, interrogated by the dreaded elvenking and then put in prison for rightly refusing to reveal their destination. Of course everyone loved hearing about how dear Bilbo had helped them to escape under the very noses of their captors without being spotted and even now Gloin couldn’t help smiling as he once again imagined the look on the great elvenking’s face when he realized his captives had escaped from his ‘“inescapable” stone prison and “impenetrable” magic doors.

It made a wonderful and exciting tale to tell, and Gloin was a stellar storyteller! Yet he never told the whole story to anyone, so only his companions from the Quest knew the tale in it’s entirety. All others were told only of the adventure and excitement, and of Thorin Oakenshield’s final words of wisdom spoken to Bilbo Baggins; “If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world. But, sad or merry, I must leave it now. Farewell.”

In the eighty five years since Thorin’s death on the battlefield, those words had become famous among the folk’s of Erebor, for they carried a warning that should be heeded by every son of Mahal. Yes those words had been repeated over and over again, and the story of the quest told time after time, but some things were never mentioned to anyone.

For instance Gloin never mentioned the fear that the small band of adventurers had experienced in Mirkwood’s dismal forest, nor the hopelessness, nor the despair. Not once had he mentioned the terrible thirst so strong that the tongue was swollen and the throat too parched to swallow, nor did he tell anyone of hunger so severe that it was physically painful. He did not mention the terror that came when a person’s thoughts were so muddled that he could not even be sure if he were awake or asleep, alone or with companions, dead or alive. He did not tell anyone how dreadful it was to wonder if the monster sized spiders that were pursuing you were something to fear or just a figment of a crazed mind or a manifestation of a spell. And then there was the stunning disappointment to find that those who at first appeared to be rescuers were actually captors who had no qualms about dealing harshly with those who were really just lost travelers who meant no harm and only wanted passage through the woods.

He had been very proud to tell of his and his companions refusal to answer the intimidating elf king’s intermeddling questions. Of course he and his kin had refused, for it was no one’s affair but their own! Besides it was common knowledge that elves had a penchant for claiming what did not belong to them, and for refusing to pay for work they had commissioned. They had not forgotten the tales of how their ancient cousins had been cheated out of payment for for one of the greatest dwarven works of the elder days, nor of how elves had actually hunted some of the dwarves more distant and more primitive kin. Even now he believed that refusing to speak of their destination was the right thing to have done, as he proudly told anyone who asked.

But what he did not tell them was how difficult it had been to keep to his word and of the deep shame he still felt for almost having betrayed Thorin by caving in to the elf king’s demands.

When they were first captured, he had gotten along well, for the relief of having food and water sustained him. After that he occupied himself by listening to the sounds around him and trying to overhear bits of conversation that might help him learn what had happened to his companions. But hour after hour, day after day and week after week of sitting alone in darkness had nearly driven him to madness and almost lead to his committing terrible actions.

Mirkwood’s prison was guarded night and day and it was claimed that they were impossible to leave without the King’s consent, so Gloin fully expected to live out his days alone in the dark cell. Left there with only his thoughts to keep him company, he had imagined his family grieving his loss, without even the comfort of having a body to bury and a grave to care for-a terrible fate for a dwarf. Would they worry about the manner of his death and fear that he had suffered? Or worse yet would they believe they had been deserted, that he had been seduced by treasure and had not bothered to send for them? Those thoughts had played over and over in his mind until betrayal and treason had seemed preferable to the madness he was beginning to feel. On a few occasions he had nearly called out to the elf guard who brought the daily ration of water, dried meat and unadorned bread, to beg to be taken to the King so that he could plead for mercy and be freed. Had Bilbo not come when he did, he was unsure whether he would have caved or not. He liked to think he would have held strong and yet he could never be sure.

That terrible question still haunted him as did the memory of the cold pale eyes and sneering face of the elvenking as he passed sentence on him and his kin. He had heard that many considered that face to be a beautiful one, but just the thought of it made Gloin shudder. To see that same face, even if it was a slightly softer version, in the elvenking’s son was almost enough to turn his stomach. But see it he would, and not for a short period of time either, for Gimli and his friend were meant to stay out the winter. It would make for a strange Yule season.

It was not the first time that his son had insisted on bringing the elvenkng’s brat along home with him, and Gloin had, of course, been at least cooly polite. What else was there to do? After all, there was a begrudging alliance between the elves of the wood and the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain that had begun when they had joined forces to defeat the Orc at the Battle of the Five Armies. It would not do to insult the elf King’s son and put his own folk in jeopardy just to assuage his pride. Still it left a somewhat bitter taste in his mouth to do so.

Eventually Gloin’s ruminating was interrupted by the sound of a joyful feminine voice. Vonild never squealed in her life, but she did let our a cry of delight when there was a sound at the outer door. In spite of his gloomy thoughts of a moment early, Gloin’s heart leapt in his chest at the sound as well, and he hurried to greet the anticipated visitor. It had been so long since he had seen his beloved eldest child! Vonild got there first and as Gloin watched, she threw herself into the sturdy arms of their son. Gloin enjoyed the scene as Gimli lifted his mother clear off her feet and swung her around before setting her down again and planting a firm kiss on each cheek. How good it was to have their Gimli home, and to see that he hadn’t changed in these last three years, at least on first glance.

Gimli still had the same deep resonating voice, the same solid, muscular build, the same sparkling black eyes, but a second glance showed a face more deeply lined, and hair and beard that had grown longer and had a little more white mixed in with the deep auburn.

As Gloin was thinking this, Gimli turned his attention to him, and evidently he was thinking something similar.

“You are whiter and bushier since last I saw you, Da.”

It was flattery, for the whiter and more luxurious the beard the better for an elder dwarf as such was considered a crown of honor. Gloin had not trimmed his hair or beard since his two-hundredth birthday as was the custom, so both now reached nearly to the ground, though he normally kept them braided for everyday events. Today being special meant he had combed them both out to their full glory. Still he only waved away the compliment and growled as if he was annoyed by the greeting.

“Stuff and nonsense, boy, enough with your flowery speech. It hasn’t been so long has it? I’ve barely noticed you were away!”

But Gimli was not fooled and only laughed and pulled his father into a crushing embrace. Quickly giving up his earlier pretense, Gloin tightened his arms around the solid bulk of his son. He felt a firm kiss to the top of his hair, and then a gentle tug on his beard as Gimli twined one hand in it, a sign of affection leftover from early childhood that was common between dwarven fathers and sons. The gesture brought sudden tears to his eyes as memories of a very small Gimli sleeping in his lap came to the fore, but he was able to quickly brush them against his son’s shoulder before stepping back and speaking bracingly to hide his overwhelming emotions.

“It is good you are here! Your mother has been watching for you since sunup!”

Vonild only rolled her eyes and changed the topic as her eyes scanned the room as if she were looking for something.

“Are you alone, my dear? Your letter said you were bringing…” she opened the door once again to peek her head out, but she never had the time to do so, for the one she was seeking stood just on the other side of the door about to enter.

“Legolas!” This time she nearly did squeal, as she threw her arms around the unnaturally thin waist of a freakishly tall figure, though she didn’t seem to notice a difference between this one and their natural son. “How wonderful to see you Lambkin!”

Vonild stood a full three inches below this elf’s shoulder, but he bent far enough to embrace her and lay his head on top of hers before going down on one knee. In that position he could lay his head on her shoulder until she pushed him back and took his face between her hands and laid kisses all over the baby smooth skin. More like a baby’s rear end, was Gloin’s uncharitable thought, for dwarven babies were born with at least a respectable downy fuzz on their chins unlike this bare faced creature. This didn’t seem to bother Vonild in the least, however, for she could not seem to gush enough over the elf.

“Still pretty as a picture I see, and that after weeks of traveling! Never a hair out of place! I wish I knew how you managed it.”

The elf stripling laughed at that, not a proper deep chuckle, but a grating light silvery sound that seemed more appropriate for a maiden or a pre pubescent boy.

“Actually we have only traveled half a day, for we visited Ada first before coming here. But it is wonderful to see you , Mam.”

Gloin nearly grimaced, first at the mention of the Elf King and then at the pointy-ear calling his wife Mam, but he managed to school his features before anyone noticed. Vonild would never forgive him if he made a scene. He did notice a flicker in his son’s eyes, but he had no time to think about that, for the elf had released his wife and now reached out a hand toward him. Gloin accepted the warrior’s greeting wondering how hands so soft and arms so thin could wield any weapon of war. Still he knew it was so, for Gimli had said so, and he had seen for himself elven warriors who could perform feats of strength that far surpassed what they looked capable of, though he did sometimes wonder if they relied on magic rather than physical prowess.

“I am pleased to see you as well, Lord Gloin.”

Gloin was thankful that the greeting the elf gave him was considerably more subdued than the one he gave Vonild, but he did not feel he could return the salutation in kind and claim to be pleased as well. Instead he inclined his head as politely as he could and let Vonild save the moment by offering food.

“You both must be starved after spending the day on the road. Come refresh yourselves first and then we shall eat. I have prepared a feast!”

Both Gimli and his follower did justice to Vonild’s cooking, though the elf seemed more partial to the fruit bread than the roast boar, which he only picked at really. Admittedly, Gloin was surprised when Vonild was about to serve ale that the elf took the jug from her and served everyone in the proper order just as a well trained dwarven youngster might do. Evidently Gimli had taught him that bit of etiquette to impress everyone. It certainly worked on Vonild, for she fawned and praised until the elf was quite red in the face, but Gloin would not be won so easily! An intelligent monkey could be taught as much!

Over the next few days Gloin continued to observe his son and his son’s guest as they interacted, for he still could not fathom what Gimli was thinking. He understood forming alliances and friendships at need during war, but the war was over now and Gimli should be concentrating on his own people, his new colony, aye and finding someone to provide him with an heir! What could he possibly gain from associating with elves, especially that particular elf Gloin could not understand. And yet it was clear that the two of them had a special bond, no matter how he tried not to see it. It was apparent from the time they arrived.

There was an easiness between them such as only exists between close friends. They greeted one another warmly each morning, and teased and jested throughout the day as friends do, but it was even more than that. Gimli clearly felt protective of the elf and even made rules that the boy felt compelled to follow most of the time just as a son obeys a father. For instance Gimli insisted on the young elf never going unescorted about the halls, for he said he could not be sure of his safety if he were alone. Not all of the residents of Erebor were accepting of outworlders, and Gimli would not take the risk with his charge.

It was not so much Gimli’s taking such a stance that surprised Gloin, for anyone would watch out for a friend if they could. No it was the elf’s reaction to the edict that proved their relationship was more like that of a parent and child. The elf had wheedled and attempted to reason with Gimli at first, and when that didn’t work to change his mind, he scowled and complained and then eventually resorted to what looked to Gloin like sulking once he realized there was no swaying Gimli’s ruling. It wasn’t until Gimli finally whispered something into his ear that the elf had straightened his face, at least while Gimli was looking. It was a very typically adolescent thing to do, and it was the first time that Gloin had imagined that elves went through the usual life stages that other races dealt with and that they were able to feel anything other than superiority and cool disdain. Seeing an elf pout was entirely unexpected.

That fact evidently did not surprise or bother Gimli, however, for he seemed to be able to take such things in stride and ignore them as long as he was heeded. It was not lost on Gloin that this was reminiscent of his own way of dealing with his own children when they were adolescents. Compliance was required, but a good attitude about it was optional. But also like Gloin, Gimli had no qualms about about firmly voicing his opinion when he felt it was necessary. Gloin was quite taken by surprise when after one heated argument between the two, it had only taken one quietly, but firmly spoken sentence for the elf to back down.

“Legolas, do we need to discuss this privately?”

it was enough to cause the fair faced elfling to flush deep red and apologize, assuring the son of Gloin that such a discussion was entirely unnecessary.

Gloin found the incident unsettling mainly because it proved without a doubt the intimate, familial nature of the relationship between his son and the elf. That incident had softened Gloin just momentarily toward the elf, for it was such a familiar situation to anyone who had once been a youngster. This also surprised the elderly dwarf, for it may have been the first time he’d felt anything but disgust toward elvenkind.

But the new found empathy was all for naught a day later when Vonild had asked the elf to try on his festival attire so that she could see that she could see to any wrinkles or missing buttons before the Midwinter’s eve festival. Seeing the elf prince in his finest attire had reminded the elder dwarf sharply of the elfling’s iniquitous sire.

Gloin had done his best not to show his dismay, for he did not wish to upset his family, who had all become besotted with the elf, but his act did not fool his son. The next morning after breaking her fast, Vonild announced she would be spending the day with their daughter and grandson to make preparations for the upcoming Midwinter’s Day celebrations.

“Why not go with her, lamb?” Gimli suggested to the elf. “It will be a chance to see how a real dwarven celebration is organized. I will join you in a while.

The elf seemed happy enough to follow Vonild, leaving Gloin alone with his son. Without asking, Gimli found his father’s pipe, then packed and lighted it before passing it to him and then fetched his own pipe as well. Gloin could tell by the thoughtful look on Gimli’s face as they smoked silently together, that he had something to say, and was just taking his sweet time to work up to it. Very soon he was proved correct.

“You are not best pleased with me.”

It was not an accusation or a question, but merely an observation, but Gloin answered it anyway.

“Of course I am pleased with you. You are a war hero and a great leader of our people. Who would not wish for such a son?”

But Gimli was not to be easily turned aside from his point. Without mincing words, he clarified himself.

“I meant you are not pleased with my friendship with Legolas.”

Gloin was just as plain speaking as his son. There was no point in pretending or attempting to lie.

“I have not said so, nor would I have, but since you have asked so openly I cannot hide the fact. I am not pleased, nor can I understand how you can expect it of me. He is the spawn of the Tyrant of Mirkwood, after all. Have you forgotten what I have endured at his hands?”

“Of course I haven’t and I am not likely to do so, but I also realize that much has happened in the world since then,” Gimli answered. “and the “Tyrant of Mirkwood” as you call him has welcomed your son warmly as a guest of honor in his home, and thanked me humbly for my care of his son. I sat next to the King at the high table every evening of our visit and a feast was held in my honor. I was named Elvellon by King Thranduil as well as Lady Galadriel, while you have barely spoken a word to my lad. Would you have the welcome of elves outshine the welcome of dwarves?”

Gloin cringed to hear his son use that word as if it were an honor to be considered a friend of elves. He also bristled at the implication that elves could possibly be more hospitable than dwarves. Only an elf would be so self absorbed as to have a word with such a meaning It was utter nonsense!

“Hmmph! Well he welcomed me and my kin-your kin- in an entirely different fashion didn’t he? I believe I have been more hospitable than that at least!”

Gimli had an answer for that as well.

“King Thranduil has asked that I pass on his offer of reconciliation to you and hopes that bygones can be in the past. He would like to move forward as allies and friends if you are willing. He asked me to speak to both King Thorin Stonehelm, and to you.”

Gloin was skeptical to say the least.

“He did, did he? An easy offer to make considering he was not the one held prisoner for weeks in a dark cell! He might feel differently had our roles been reversed!”

“Perhaps so, but Da, think; what if the roles HAD been reversed? Times were darker then, and all strangers were suspicious. Would you have treated a group of trespassing elves any differently at that time? And you forget that you managed to escape. He must have been humiliated to discover his inescapable prisons had been breeched and yet he is willing to make amends. And either way, Legolas is not personally responsible for any of that so why hold it against him?. It was not his decision to place you and our kin in prison. He was merely a lad and subject to his king.”

A twinge of guilt at his son’s word regarding trespassing elves, (how indeed would they have been treated if their roles had been reversed?) caused Gloin to bristle more than was common for him.

“I am certain that that pointy eared stripling learned everything he knows from his domineering parent!, so no doubt they share similar views.”

““That “pointy eared stripling” is as a son to me, like it or not, and he has saved my life on more than one occasion!” Gimli spat, “ That means something to me, even if you can ignore the fact!”

Clearly Gimli was beginning to lose his tempter, which in turn caused Gloin to feel his own fragile control slip. He tightened his fist to prevent himself reaching out to flick his fully grown warrior son’s impertinent ear. What a terrible thing to imply! Instead of reaching for the ear, he brought his fist down hard on the table beside him.

“Of course it means something to me! How could you suggest that it does not? Have I not welcomed that…that…ELF to my dinner table and sheltered him in our home? Have I not watched without comment, while my own wife fed and coddled him? I may not care for the arrangement, but I have tolerated it to please you, aye and to please your mother. Asking for more than that is too much! Of course I am grateful to anyone who helped you return home from battle, and I do not appreciate your implying otherwise!”

Taking a deep breath, Gimli softened his tone, evidently realizing that nothing would be gained by exchanging angry words. He reached out to touch the grizzled beard with a large calloused hand in a peace offering.

“I did not mean to say that you were not,” he said, calm again. “But Da, please remember who it is that has pitted the folks of Middle Earth one against another to weaken our forces. Let us not let the Darkness have the victory after all. Nothing bad can come of reconciliation, and I have sworn with my lad to work for peace between all the people’s of Middle Earth, beginning with our own. I would appreciate your support if you can give it.”

Gloin was speechless. His own son calling an elf “his” lad? The elderly dwarf’s feelings were too intense for him to do anything but nod curtly, so Gimli would have to be satisfied with that! And evidently he was, for he squeezed Gloin’s hand and kissed the wrinkled cheek and changed to a more pleasant topic.

“Come Da, let us go out. I needs must check on Legolas, but then I could join you for a pint of ale if it pleases you. I have heard that Mistress Ronja is tapping the first barrel of the season today in the Great Chamber of Thror.”

“It does please me,” Gloin answered, letting himself be mollified for the moment, for truly he did not like to argue. “I shall see you there my son.”

The two parted ways at the end of the hall, Gimli turning toward his sister’s quarters and Gloin turning toward Thror’s Chamber where great counsels and feasts were held and where a crowd of dwarves were now waiting for the first special Ale of Midwinter to be opened.

As the eldest dwarf in attendance, Gloin was served first when Ronja’s pretty daughter tapped the first barrel of the winter brew. He raised his mug and made a show of taking the first pull of the season while everyone around him cheered and then crowded around for their own turn at the tap. After that, he was no longer the center of attention and he was glad for it, for he had much to ponder after his discussion with Gimli. Was there any truth in his son’s words? Had dark forces really maneuvered things to stir up contention between elves and dwarves? Had that been responsible for the mistrust the varying races of Middle Earth felt for one another and was Gloin himself contributing to it by hanging on to the past?

He had too much to ponder for a pint of ale alone, or even two for that matter. To think properly he needed a smoke! It was only then that Gloin realized he had left his pipe at home. Ah well, he would just go back to retrieve it then.

Asking Ronja’s daughter to give a message to his son that he would return soon, he headed back to his quarters. Once there, he picked up his pipe and started to leave again, but then he recalled that Vonild had recently received some special Shire grown Longbottom leaf that she had ordered from a traveling merchant in Dale. He went to the kitchen to search it out knowing that she had likely hidden it there to save for Yule. She would not mind if he used one pipe’s worth when he was under such duress, he was sure she wouldn’t!

It took longer than expected to find it worked into a canister of flour, but find it he did and he was just about to open the kitchen door to return to the Chamber, when the urgent sound of someone pleading for forbearance and someone else’s bellowing response came from somewhere beyond the door. .

Gloin was now in a strange predicament. Should he make himself known, or stay hidden until the argument had abated? He did not care to get involved in what sounded like an explosive debate between Gimli and his friend, but he also had no desire to hide like a thief in his own home. Before he could decide what to do, the voices suddenly sounded much closer.

“Please Gimli, I did not mean to upset you, but what else would you have me do?”

That was Gimli’s companion and his voice did not contain it’s usual musical tone. In fact he actually sounded quite distraught, and Gimli’s response likely did very little to alleviate that condition.

“ WHAT ELSE?” Gimli shouted. “Why I would have you ignore the childish taunts and walk away from the situation like a sensible person! That’s what I would have you do, you daft elf!”

“How could I? They insulted my f…”

Gloin felt a sudden and surprising empathy for the elf, for he would not have borne any insult to his father as a youngster either. In spite of how he felt about Mirkwood’s king, he recognized that MIrkwood’s Prince should feel duty bound to defend his father’s name. But evidently Gimli’s sympathy was not stirred for he did not even let the boy finish his thought.

“I do not care one whit who they insulted! You could have been injured or worse.”

“But Elvellon…”

“Do not ‘but Elvellon’ me, young elf. I care not what anyone said to you. You may NOT throw yourself heedlessly into danger. Not on my watch.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Aye, well you will be much sorrier very soon. Come here.”

The elfling must have wished to decline that invitation, for Gloin could hear rapid steps as if the lad were backing away from his insistent pursuer. All the time the elf continued to desperately try to reason with his friend without much success.

“Gimli, please. W…wait a minute “

“I see no reason to wait. Now come!”

There were more light rapid footsteps, followed by heavier more precise ones and then what sounded like someone scurrying over furniture, most likely an upholstered chair that resided near the fire, but Gimli was evidently tired of messing about for he soon called an end to such nonsense.

“Legolas!” the tone was alarmingly stern. Gloin himself winced to hear it. “Come. Here. At ONCE.”

Gloin had never heard his son sound so severe, and he found himself hoping the elf would see sense quickly before he made the situation worse for himself. Evidently he did so, for Gloin next heard the sound of a slow reluctant steps and a softly whispered, “Can we not talk about this?”

Surprisingly Gimli agreed, though not in any way the elf would find pleasant. Gloin could hardly blame him when he heard the terms.

“Of course we will talk about it. Just as soon as you have lowered your leggings and placed your naughty self over my knee we can talk all you like.”

There was a groan of resignation and the sound of clothing being displaced and then a soft gasp as the elf must have fallen over his determined guardian’s lap. But evidently being bottom up over a knee quickly dampened the lad’s desire to talk, for all Gloin could hear was a soft strangled sound and no coherent words at all.

“Now, my lad, what do you wish to say?” Gimli asked, “Ah changed your mind have you? Very well, l shall begin then. Tell me why you find yourself in this unfortunate position?”

A groan of protest, followed by the sound of a sharp slap on bare skin.

“AH!”

“Must I ask you again? I have all night if you wish to take your time, but we will not begin until you have answered me. It is your choice, but I warn you, lamb, my hand will out last your backside. Shall we try this again? Why are you here?”

More silence, then another slap, though this one seemed to work to loosen the elf’s tongue, for he responded this time, quickly and softly saying the words by rote, as if he had repeated them them many times before.

“OW! I am here because you intend to punish me for… defending- OW! Gimli!”

“No one was in danger until you leapt into it, so there was no one to defend. Try again!””

“For fighting…ow! For beginning an unnecessary fight,” the elf corrected himself.

“Indeed! And?”

“For placing myself in danger?”

“Most assuredly! And what should you have done instead?”

“I should have ignored their taunts and walked on without comment.”

“Very good! You certainly should have. Now let us get on with making sure you remember that in future so you may avoid ending up in the same predicament. What do you say?”

Of course there was only one answer to this question, and clearly the elfling knew it, for he quickly squeaked, , “Yes Gimli,” and then there was evidently nothing left to discuss.

Other than a short reminder to keep hands out of the way and remain in position, the only sounds that followed were easy enough to understand; a bare hand connecting repeatedly with bare skin along with yelps and squeals that after a while become frantic wailing and eventually heart wrenching sobs.

Standing in the darkened room with a pipe in one hand and a tobacco pouch in the other, Gloin felt totally helpless. It was ridiculous that he was in such a situation. Imagine being trapped in his own kitchen while his son soundly chastised a young elf in his living room. It was beyond belief, but he could honestly see no way out. He could hardly make himself known at this point without causing extreme upset to all parties involved, including himself. The only thing to do was hope this lesson soon ended and the participants moved on to another place. All he could do was wait.

In spite of the fact that he had no fondness for the boy, he found himself wincing as the elf’s cries intensified. His son certainly knew how to deliver a thorough spanking, and from the sound of things, it seemed like he had some experience a the task. Recalling the elf’s slender, almost delicate frame and Gimli’s bulging, muscular arms, Gloin could not help a growing sense of empathy, which took him completely by surprise. Gloin was just beginning to wonder if Gimli was completely heartless, for the chastisement continued even though the elfling’s wailing had become quite sincere, but soon enough the only sound left was broken, weeping and softly spoken words.

“Shh, it is all over now, lambkin. You have done well.”

The voice that moments ago had been delivering a thunderous scolding was now soft as velvet, and nearly crooning. Gloin could hear the obvious affection in the low but gentle voice of his son.

“It is only because I care for you so that I cannot allow you to put yourself needlessly at risk, you understand that do you not?”

The only answer was soft sniffling and hitched breathing and a very softly spoken, “Aye, Elvellon, I am sorry.”

“I know you are laddie, but you may let it go now, for you have paid the price for your naughtiness. Just do not let it happen again. Here let us make you more comfortable hmm?”

Gloin hoped that meant the two of them would retreat to the guest bedchamber, but his hopes were soon dashed. He heard only a little shuffling, a small gasp as clothing was obviously being reordered over scorched skin and then Gimli’s soft mellow voice as he hummed a dwarven folk song that had been sung to him in his youth. Clearly the pair of them had no thought to leave the living area. It was a fine predicament to be in!

When it became completely clear that his son had no immediate plan to vacate the public area of their quarters, Gloin decided on a plan. Obviously he could not hide for hours, but he hoped that he might be able to exit the kitchen quietly, and then catch Gimli’s eye before he could react and alert the elfling of his presence. If luck was with him, the boy might have fallen asleep and he could make his escape without him being the wiser.

In the beginning the plan seemed to work. He was able to open the kitchen door without making a sound, and since it was dark, no one could see him at first. The elderly dwarf could not help being touched by the sight that greeted him, for the elfling had managed to crawl up into Gimli’s lap and appeared to be sleeping against his shoulder. The elf’s bulk was much less than that of his son, and his lanky arms and legs folded up so that the disparity in their heights was hardly noticeable. He seemed to fit perfectly and naturally where he was. Other than the obvious differences, the boy looked just like any young one who had been recently chastised and was now seeking reassurance and comfort. In fact it was not lost on Gloin that one graceful hand was twined deeply in Gimli’s rich auburn beard, just as any dwarfling might do with his father.

The sensation was a strange one, for he was so used to seeing the lad as only an uncivilized wood elf, or the offspring of a rival rather than a wayward, but well meaning youngster. Yes the stripling obviously had good intentions when he attempted to defend the honor of his people, and he had been respectful and obedient to Gimli for the most part, even in his considerable disgrace. and distress. Gloin needed to get away where he could think things over once again. Unfortunately Gimli, who sat stroking the elf’s golden head, also had his eyes closed, so he could not catch his eye. But perhaps, he might be able to sneak past both of them

It was a long chance he knew, and one that ultimately was doomed to failure. He had only taken one step away from the kitchen when Gimli opened his eyes, and before Gloin could stop him, he startled in his chair.

“Da! What are you doing here? Have you been here the whole time?”

Of course, this meant that the elf’s eyes popped open as well,and he sat up stunned. It took him but a moment to process what had happened before his face turned beet red. Gimli grasped at him, but it was too late. The horrified elfling had fled to the bedchamber and slammed the door behind him. Gimli sighed and followed him quickly, but even after a full hour of soft coaxing words, the lad could not be coerced to leave the guest chambers, nor would he even consider ever doing so again if the wafts of conversation coming from the room could be believed.

“Nail the door shut, or seal it with stone, for I can never step foot outside this room.”

“Not ever?” Gloin could hear the amusement in Gimli’s voice, “That is a long time lad.”

“Never!” came the stormy reply.

“But Mam will want to see you, and what will I tell your Ada?”

“Tell them I sailed West or that you lost me in a game of chance. I care not, just do not ask me to leave.”

Eventually Gimli gave up and came out to join his father, who was smoking worriedly out in the living are. Gloin frowned at his son when he saw he was alone. The first words out of his mouth surprised him.

“Ai, the poor lad! You should have checked first to see that no one was at home.”

For all Gimli looked somewhat regretful, he couldn’t quite disguise his irritation at being blamed for the predicament they were now in.

“He should have behaved himself, and he would not have had to worry about such things!” He retorted, but Gloin was not having it.

“You have humiliated him. You should have been more careful!”

“Of course you are right. I should have been. But…”

“The truth is you were too hasty! Adolescents, especially lads, have fragile senses of pride. It is your duty to treat them delicately.”

“I know, Da.”

“Even when you are vexed!”

“I know. Truthfully I know. But for now I must report to the King’s chambers. King Thorin has asked for a report of the happenings in Aglarond and I have promised to give it to him tonight. I will have to deal with my lad when I return. Will you stay in case he has need of something? I doubt he will be any trouble since he’s unlikely to emerge from the guest chambers without firm assistance.”

Gloin merely nodded, and watched as his son left their quarters and then sat back to stare into the fire. His mind was awhirl with strange, new thoughts. Never did he think he would feel anything other than disdain for an elf, but just at the moment, he felt fully in sympathy with the one beyond the guest chamber doors. How dreadful the boy must feel after such a shock. He couldn’t help remembering Gimli’s words about the hospitality of the Elf King, and how welcome he was made in his home. It niggled at his conscience that he had been so cold to the lad, which made it nearly impossible to offer any kind of consolation now. Had he been kinder, as Vonild had been, he might now be able to soften the humiliation the poor lad must be feeling. As it was his hands were tied.

But were they really or was that just another excuse? Could he not now change his ways? Of course he could, and indeed he would. He was not sure how, or if the attempt would be welcomed, but he made up his mind to try.

Standing outside the bedchamber door, Gloin listened for a moment to the sound of quiet sniffling. When he was certain that the elfling was still awake, he knocked once and then softly opened the door. The elf was lying face down on the bed, his face buried in a pillow so that his voice was muffled when he spoke.

“It is no use, Gimli. I refuse to come out, for I simply cannot face your family now.”

Gloin inclination was to play things down, but he could not be sure if that was the best course of action. Truthfully he was more nervous and unsure than anything. He knew nothing of the needs of elflings, but then so far this evening this particular elfling’s actions and reactions seemed just like what any ordinary youngster would display. He could only hope for the best. Taking a deep breath he spoke in what he hoped was a cheerful, yet sympathetic manner.

“Come now, laddie, it is not so bad as all that. No one knows a thing other than Gimli and myself, and I do not intend to say a word to anyone. Lady Vonild will be none the wiser, nor will anyone else.”

“Lord Gloin!”

The elf’s back stiffened, but he could not quite work up the nerve to turn his head to make eye contact with the dwarf lord. Still it was a start, so Gloin tried again.

“Aye, laddie. Gimli will return soon enough, but I could not leave you here in good conscience when you are so obviously devastated, especially when there is no reason for it. You will not be the first youngling to run afoul of his elders and pay for it with a heated backside, I assure you. In fact, I believe it is a very common experience. I’ve even suffered such a fate a time or two in my misspent youth.”

This must have piqued the elfling’s interest, for he turned his head to the side, though he could not quite look at Gloin’s face.

“You?”

A one word answer, but that was progress.

“Yes indeed. It is hardly an uncommon response to youthful folly, at least not among Dwarf kind. I know little about elves.” Gloin admitted.

For the first time, Gloin considered that perhaps the young elf was actually not used to such treatment, though he had seemed familiar enough, but he did not have to wonder for long, for surprisingly the elf had an answer for that.

“It is also common among elves as well, unfortunately.”

Gloin felt his lip twitch at the sorrowful tone, but he kept the laughter out of his voice.

“That IS unfortunate indeed, but then at least you have the comfort of knowing that you are not alone, and no one is shocked at such things. Truly, Legolas, there is no reason for so much distress.”

As he was saying it, Gloin realized it was the first time he had spoken the elf’s given name. He knew the name of course, but thinking of him as just “that elf” or “The Tyrant King’s get” distanced the lad and made it easier to treat him cooly . It was odd how simply using a personal name made someone seem more like a real person with real family and friends, real experiences and feelings. What a strange feeling it was to think that way, and yet it felt nice as well, so he tried it again.

“Legolas, look at me laddie.”

At first it seemed as if Legolas would not comply, but perhaps he felt he had no choice since his past experiences with dwarves lead him to believe that they were unlikely to disappear just because you wished it. Slowly the youngster turned onto his back and carefully sat up, wincing when his very tender rear end touched the surface of the bed. He flushed pink when he realized what he had done, and that, along with his red swollen eyes and wildly tousled hair made quite a melancholy picture. In spite of his earlier dislike of the boy, Gloin’s heart turned over for whatever reason Perhaps because he could see that there was nothing even remotely haughty or cold about this creature, even though he had assumed that was the case at first. All he could see now was a freshly chastised youngster that was thoroughly mortified over the situation he was in. Gloin’s sense of unfairness was invoked again, especially when he recalled the reason the child had stated for the encounter that had lead him into so much trouble with Gimli. Any son with an ounce of honor would have answered an insult aimed at his father. Gimli of all people should have understood that and been more tolerant. Gloin decided to share this view with the forlorn elfling.

“I could not help overhearing your reason for getting into bother today,” he said, “and while I do not condone fighting, young elf, in this case I think that perhaps my son was too hard on you. No one can be expected to endure insults to their own father without responding.”

Legolas smiled slightly at the approval he could hear in Gloin’s voice, but he clarified what had happened.

“They were not insulting my father, Lord Gloin.” He explained.

“Oh?” the dwarf was surprised. “I must have misheard. Then who?”

“It was Gimli they were slandering,” Legolas answered, frowning at the memory, “they called him an elf lover and a traitorous scoundrel who had betrayed their king and their ancestors. I could bear it if it was me they had insulted, but I could not let such slurs against my dwarf go unanswered could I?”

The clear blue eyes seemed to plead for understanding, and Gloin was happy to give it!

“Of course you could not!”

He was quite in agreement with the elfling on that! He wondered who it was who had dared insult his son in such a fashion. A strange and unexpected feeling of family pride swelled up in him as he thought about this young outsider championing his Gimli.

“And it was not just Gimli they insulted,” Legolas shyly added. “It was also Lady Vonild, and…and you, my lord. They said you should never have welcomed me into your home. It made me spitting mad for you have all been so kind, and… well I just could not tolerate it!”

“Understandable!” Gloin was frowning now, wondering who would dare say such words and was now fully on the elf’s side against his son.

“I can hardly believe Gimli would take you to task for such a response! He most certainly overreacted, and so I will be telling him when next I see him!”

Legolas offered him a pleased and embarrassed grin, but evidently felt he must be fully truthful.

“Well he did perhaps have some cause for his response.”

“How so?”

“Well…umm…there were six of them…”

“Six!”

“Aye. And three of them were armed with boot knives…”

“I see!”

“One threatened me with a broken bottle after I shoved him…”

“Oh dear!”

“…he threw it at me… it caught my shoulder, but just a little bit.”

Gloin was beginning to frown now, starting to understand his son’s reaction a little better, as Legolas hurried to ease his mind, when he reached to check the injured arm.

“It only bled a little bit, and Mistress Lilja bandaged it right up. It shall be fine by tomorrow.”

Gloin had to chuckle at how large the child’s eyes had become, a trick that younglings of every race must attempt to pull with their elders. It was rather appealing really, but Gloin attempted to keep his expression stern lest the lad think he might approve of such foolishness.

“Perhaps I have spoken rashly,” he said, frowning a little as he thought about the consequences of this particular elfling getting severely injured inside the Lonely Mountain. It could have had disastrous results for the denizens of Erebor, but it wasn’t just that that was concerning. Gloin also realized that he did not at all like the idea of his son’s young champion risking himself in such a fashion.

“On second thought, perhaps my son did not over react as much as I thought at first. It was foolish indeed to endanger yourself so. I know that you meant well, but you must never do something like it again!”

This time, Legolas lowered his eyes and nodded contritely.

“I am sorry, Lord Gloin, and sorry for any trouble or concern I have caused you. It was not my intention. It is just I could not stand for the insult to my dwarven family. I will try not to shame you in future.”

The words made Gloin realize just how much of a connection the youngster felt with his family, and he also began to see that such feelings could not easily remain one sided. How could he not have at least some fellow feeling toward this one who held his family in such high regard? For the lad to think that he should feel shame for having attempted to defend their name was simply unacceptable. It may have been foolish, but it had also been noble, and Gloin did not like that the lad felt otherwise.

Without thinking, Gloin reached out and put a cupped hand under the smooth chin and lifted the elf’s face, noticing for the first time how strikingly blue were his eyes. Something about those eyes made him wonder, for they were at once old and jaded and young and innocent, but mostly they were apprehensive at what Gloin might have to say. It surprised the dwarf that the child cared so much, but it was clear that he did. Gloin spoke firmly,and gently, but also with a wink to show he was mostly in jest.

“Do not speak again of shame, my lad, or you will not care for the consequences. My hand is as hard as that indomitable son of mine, so think on. What you did today was far from shameful. Indeed it was both brave and noble. Foolish, perhaps, but appreciated all the same.”

“Thank you My Lord. I wish I could have done more. I would have done, but…”

“You were caught before you could do so?”

“Aye.”

“It is just as well,” Gloin said, “though if you see the troublemakers again, will you point them out to me? I would see if I cannot redirect their thinking myself. I have been known to be very persuasive in my time.”

Legolas actually laughed a little at that.

“A trait you have passed on to your son,” he said.

“So it seems! Now come, there is no sense in us sitting here when there is fine ale to be had in The Great Chamber. Come along and we will toast the year’s end a little early with Mistress Ronja’s best.”

The elfling looked a little unsure.

“I do not know if I should without Gimli’s permission. I do not wish to vex him further…”

“Well you have my permission which is all that matters. If Gimli has anything to say on the matter I will speak to him on your behalf. My son will not gainsay me, I assure you! Besides, I will be deeply insulted if you do not and you would not want that now would you?”

“I certainly would not! I guess I have no choice then.”

“Right! So wash you face and tidy up and come along quickly lest the barrel be empty when we arrive.”

And Legolas did come along, and they found the barrel was not quite empty and so the elf had his first taste of Dwarven winter ale. Whether he liked it or not, Gloin could not be sure, but he drank it amicably enough and much to the elderly dwarf’s surprise he quite enjoyed the elf’s company.

Epilogue

Midwinter’s Eve was a day for great feasting and celebrating among Durin’s folk. A lavish banquet, hosted by King Thorin III Stonehelm, was to be held in the Great Chamber of Thror. The tables would be groaning with food and ale and wine would flow freely and there would be musicians and dancing, singing and story telling late into the night. Gimli, son of Gloin had been looking forward to the event for some months, for he hadn’t experienced a real dwarven celebration since he had moved south three years ago. Oh he and his kin in Aglarond had made an effort to have a small celebration in the last few years, but the colony was too young to pull off such a grand event. This year he had decided to travel north to visit his family for the winter and to recruit some brave souls to follow him back to the Glittering Caves. He hoped that by next year he might be able to hold some sort of respectable Midwinter’s Eve celebration, but for now he was determined to enjoy himself.

He looked one final time in the polished metal mirror to make sure he would pass Mam’s critical eye, for she had high expectations when it came to her family and how they appeared before others. She would not be seen with anyone with a twisted collar or a wrinkled cuff. He had learned that from hard experience in his childhood, but today he could see nothing with which she could find fault.

His gold silk shirt under a deep burgundy surcoat looked festive with freshly brushed black suede trousers. He wore a lightweight dress mail and matching greaves, both polished and gleaming, over soft black boots, and his hair and beard were intricately braided with garnet and gold beads, the colors that represented the return of the conquering sun. Pronouncing himself ready, went out into the sitting room to wait for the rest of the family.

He found his elfling already waiting and looking decidedly nervous, though Gimli thought he looked quite stunning as well in a knee length cranberry silk over robe with a delicate leaf motif embroidered with gold thread around cuffs and collar. Black silk shirt and black leggings and boots completed the ensemble. Rather than flowing and soft as was most common for elven formal garments, the clothing was more form fitting, making the lad look sleeker and lither than an elf normally might under such circumstances, or at least the ones Gimli had recently observed on his visit to Eryn Lasgalen. Formal occasions for elven folk, meant flowing rich silk draped gracefully to the floor and nearly floor length sleeves, and long sashes, but not always for their prince, who sometimes dressed quite differently. In fact the garments he wore now, looked more like slightly fancier riding clothing, only rather than being made of wool or suede, they were made in much finer and richer fabrics and embroidered with gold floss and set here and there with gems.

Gimli hid a smile as he recalled that King Thranduil had whispered to him during their visit to Eryn Lasgalen that the style had been specifically designed with Legolas in mind, as the lad was prone as a small child to slipping away outside during formal events and dragging too-long hems through mud; either that or accidentally dipping a draped sleeve in soup or sauce during dinner, and he hadn’t changed much in recent years that his fond father could see. Clothing that fit closer around the body just suited him better.

Gimli said nothing of this, but merely nodded approvingly as he walked around Legolas as if to inspect him, noticing his hair was braided with gold and cranberry ribbons. He reached up to thread a lock of stray hair back into the braid and then pronounced him perfect.

“Indeed,” agreed Lady Vonild, as she entered the room. She was dressed entirely in gold on gold brocade silk and had ropes of rubies tied in her still dark hair, “You both do our family proud tonight. Isn’t it so, my dear?”

She looked back at her husband, who wore a surcoat of the same fabric as Vonild’s dress over a deepest red shirt and black trousers and had his snow white beard bejeweled and combed out to it’s full magnificence.

“Certainly,” he agreed, and then scratched his bearded chin as if thinking of something. “though it seems to me that something is missing.”

Everyone watched him expectantly, as he placed a hand inside his surcoat as if he had something hidden there. He turned toward Legolas, who ducked his head slightly in deference to his status as an elder, and wondered if Gloin found him lacking, but it seemed that that was not the case, for he spoke of something else entirely.

“Gimli tells me that Midwinter in your home is celebrated quite a bit differently and that silver and green, rather than red and gold, are used to decorate your halls and adorn you attire.”

“Aye, green represents the things that will grow because of the returning light,” Legolas explained. “Generally boughs of fir and other greenery are brought into the house, and we sometimes wear it our hair. ”

“And yet you have dressed tonight to fit our traditions instead,” Gloin observed, nodding in approval though he added, “It is much appreciated, laddie, but it will not do at all. Even though you must be away from home on this special night, you must not forget where you came from. Here, kneel down a bit. I have something for you that I found out near the mouth of the River Running.”

Gloin brought out a package that he opened to show a slim branch of holly fashioned into a wreath shape and embellished with long loose gold and silver ribbons meant for tying. Legolas knelt before the elderly dwarf lord and the gnarled hands tied the the circlet of bright green leaves and red berries on top of the silky golden hair. He handed a smaller one to Vonild who tied it around the twisted bun in her hair. Next came two small bundle of holly tied together with ribbon and fastened to a pin there he pinned it his son’s breast pocket and his own. Gimli felt his eyes fill at the gesture, for it was quite a change from the beginning of their visit. Since the falling out Gimli had had with the elfling a few days ago and the subsequent sympathetic response of his father, the two had been becoming fast friends to everyone’s surprise and relief. But Gimli sensed this gesture was more than just a token of friendship, and he was soon proved right as Gloin explained the significance of the gift.

“The holly is green and living to remind you of home,laddie, but more than that, it is a fitting symbol of peace between our folk. The green leaves and the red berries do not clash or compete for prominence, but complement one another perfectly as do both the gold and the silver ribbons, and as I hope our folk will do from now on.”

Legolas seemed almost overwhelmed with emotion, but he had very little time to dwell on it, for Gloin was evidently finished with gushiness for the evening. He now wagged a warning finger in Legolas’ face.

“But heed me well, young elf, you are to ignore any perceived slights or insults toward our family, else I shall remove my protection and let Gimli have at you.”

Everyone laughed except Vonild who claimed that anyone who dared insult her family would not have to worry over mere elflings after she was finished with them.

“And furthermore, we have our good name to uphold, so anyone caught fighting , especially in their formal clothing, will have me to deal with as well, so think on!”

“I believe you!” Legolas replied, “and I would not dream of crossing you Mam.” he stood and then bent to kiss her on the cheek, and then held out a hand to the Dwarf Lord. “And I thank you for the thoughtful gift as well, Lord Gloin, it means a great deal.”

Gloin took the hand, but then merely growled gruffly and waved away the comment, but he had more to say as well.

“‘Lord Gloin’ sounds very stuffy to me,” he grumbled, “Aye stuffy and too formal and not at all fitting for your position. You may call me Afi.”

“Afi?” Legolas was confused, and a little taken aback at the suddenly gruff tone. He worried that he had somehow unwittingly insulted the elderly dwarf.. “I do not understand. What does it mean?”

But evidently Gloin had no intention of explaining himself at the moment, for he was not a dwarf for mawkish sentiment.”

“Hmmph! ,” Gloin replied, rather shortly. “We must go!”

Offering his arm to his wife, Gloin lead everyone out the door and down the hall while Gimli took his place behind his parents and beside his baffled elfling, but Legolas took his arm and slowed his steps until the two of them fell a little behind. Leaning down, he worriedly whispered.

“Elvellon, I truly do not understand. Is Lord Gloin upset with me? Have I done something wrong?”

“If you have, I have not heard of it, though it would not surprise me at all,” Gimli chuckled. “do you have anything to confess?”

“Certainly not!” Legolas straightened his back and lifted his chin in imitation of his sire at his most haughty.

Gimli only laughed again at the offended tone, but seeing that Legolas was sincerely concerned, he offered him a bone.”

“Nay, Lamb, it is unlikely that he is angry. In fact I do believe this might be a Midwinter’s miracle!”

Legolas did not seem comforted, for it was still not a proper answer. In spite of the last few days of what seemed like a budding friendship, he honestly wanted to know where he stood with his dwarven guardian’s father. Lady Vonild had been easy to read, but Lord Gloin was harder, and his patience was being tried.

“Gimli! You speak in riddles and it is not at all funny. Stop teasing, dwarf, and give me a straight answer immediately!”

Gimli raised an eyebrow, “Well, well aren’t we bossy? Elflings who want answers might do well to moderate their tone of voice…”

Evidently giving up on getting a true answer, Legolas turned to stalk off, but Gimli caught him by the belt and turned him around to face him.

“There is no reason to get your braids in a knot, I am only having fun with you. The truth is, there truly is no need to worry,” Here he pulled his lad’s head down to kiss him on the forehead. “Da is not angry with you, swear it.”

Legolas looked relieved, but still a little skeptical.

“How can you be so sure?”

“I can be sure, my lamb,” Gimli promised his eyes twinkling as he did so . “In fact I am very certain indeed. You can sure he is not vexed or upset in the least, in fact quite the opposite.”

He took Legolas by the arm again and hurried him down the hall to catch up with his parents before they got too far behind. “ I am quite certain of how he feels for you now, because of the name he has asked you to call him, is just the same as what my young nephew calls him. Afi means grandfather.”

With those words the whole family stepped into the Great Chamber of Thror together.