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The Price of Friendship
By Aranel Laerien
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One rash word, Legolas thought, no one said it would hurt so much.

Caught up in the rapturous way Gimli praised those blasted caves, he had made that accursed bargain to visit them with the Dwarf should he be willing to visit the magnificent forests of Fangorn in turn. He twitched nervously on his bed. Now that he had had much more time to think of it, and it was night, and his imagination seemed to be going wild…

He shuddered. And for one of the rare times in his life, he seemed unable to control where his dreams led.

He was in a forest – almost like Mirkwood, but renewed and lush – happily walking through the trees, a squirrel leaped down right in his path, cocking its head, looking inquisitively at him. Somewhere to the left, he could hear the river running swiftly through the trees. He walked on, the sun was setting now and he could hear the birds chirping high above him. Then a dark cave loomed ahead of him.

He frowned and shook his head.

He was in Imladris, laughing softly at something Elladan said. Elrohir responded with a sulk and walked out of the Hall of Fire and… into darkness. Legolas tried to shout his name but no sound could be heard. Elladan was still laughing and stood up, motioning for him to follow. And he stepped into the darkness, and Legolas had to follow.

He saw Lord Elrond, a small figure in the distance. He tried to turn and call him but he could not move. He was growing frantic now, the sweat running down his back. And there was nothing he could do but walk on in the dark. Elladan and Elrohir seemed to have disappeared and there was no one else but him…

He snapped awake unsteadily, a thin layer of sweat forming around him. It was still dark outside the window. He went over, drawing a few breaths of the night air.

This is bad, he thought and leaped onto the window ledge, hugging his knees tightly.

He looked up at the stars; they seemed to be mocking him. He leaned against the arch of the window, trying to draw what solace he could from the cold stone. He could hear the distinctive insect drones, a few calls from nocturnal animals. Once in a while, he felt a zephyr waft by like a half-hearted breeze.

He drifted off again.

He was in some strange land. There was stone all around him but he could not see the entrance. The only light was from the gems trapped within the rock walls. It was almost beautiful. But there was no greenery, not even a small seedling. He could not hear any wind, any chirps, any squeaks. There was nothing here except for rock. There was no life here. But the glitter around him forced him to go on, and his feet moved where he did not wish to.

There was a small, hunched figure ahead. Gimli, he remembered. The Dwarf was caught up in ecstasy, overwhelmed by everything he saw. Then everything collapsed around them and he was choking, coughing, gasping. He opened his mouth to call for Gimli but dust poured in and he was choking and he could not breathe.

His lungs were burning, and his throat was too. And something was screaming at him, but he could not do anything. He tried to breathe but there was only dust. And he choked again and wondered how long he could survive because he could not breathe. He thought he would be sick. But still he could not breathe; he could not breathe.

He started a little, back into reality. He focussed on the stars, trying to regulate his breathing. He had to rest; he had to prepare for the journey ahead. His body was already protesting at the strain of the previous few weeks with all the excitement and ceremonies at Minas Tirith and Edoras. He closed his eyes.

Aragorn – King Elessar now – was speaking with him, grousing about the formal robes and the administrative nature of kingship. Legolas smiled sympathetically. His father had constantly prepared him as befitting a member of the royal household. Aragorn knew; that was why they could speak of such things.

Of course, it did not take his friend long to notice something was amiss. Legolas admitted that he was troubled over the trip to Aglarond. Was not the Palace of Mirkwood merely a concentration of interlinked caves? But that was different. That was home. The Glittering Caves, were, well, caves. You gave him your word, do you have a choice? There was a tiny hint of concern and almost sadness in Aragorn's eyes. It was as if the Human truly understood – of course he did.

Do you have a choice?

Legolas tried to clear these thoughts. And his mind wandered to a time many, many centuries ago, when ada brought nana and him through the woods. They had a picnic there, by the lake. Nana was laughing, pleased at being out in the fresh air and sunlight, and she had let him sit on her lap and pulled him so close that he could smell her hair.

There, they had eaten. And ada had told him a story where the hero killed the bad guy and brought peace to the woods, and ada had even took out his sword and dramatised quite a bit of it. Legolas had laughed and cheered and asked for more, and ada did show him some more hilarious swordplay. And they ate and talked and laughed, and were very happy the entire afternoon.

Then, somehow, Legolas had wandered into a cave. It had seemed inviting and being ever that curious, he had taken a look and went further in. He could still see ada and nana beside the lake, chatting softly. Ada had an arm around nana and Legolas always liked to look at them that way.

Then suddenly, there was a loud noise and everything became dark. And Legolas knew he was choking. His eyes stung and he could not see anything. Something fell painfully on him, and he instinctively crouched down, trying to keep his head covered, but it would not stop. He screamed for ada and nana but he could barely hear himself over all the noise, and suddenly he realised that he could not move and there was rock on every side.

There was something building in his throat, and it was getting more and more difficult to breathe. The next time he knew, he had thrown up, and was gasping and his throat was burning all the more badly. He kept shouting for ada but no one came. And he just curled up, lying on the floor and cried and sobbed while the rocks kept falling. And he could not move because there was something very heavy on him, and he was panting very badly.

Legolas jerked awake. That was a horrible memory, something that Time did not seem to be able to erase. He must have survived it, but he did not know how. Then, some time later, he had been persuaded – by Aragorn – to take refuge in a cave, and he had thought it would be alright.

It would have been – if he had not been in the cave, he thought drowsily.

Aragorn was shouting, but there was just too much noise to pick up the Human's words clearly. He was huddled in a corner, shaking, sweating badly. He knew he had to get out, but with the crumbling ceiling, he did not quite know what to do, and the walls and ceiling seemed to be getting closer every second. He tried to lean back, into the rock, but the air itself seemed to be stifling him. It was dusty, musty, suffocating. No, he had to stop these thoughts! He tried to focus on his friend, but he could not see him nor hear him. And that lump in his throat came up, and he thought he would be sick again. Then a large chunk fell on his head…

He was in some strange room, just him on his own, and he could see the ochre tint of the rock around him. It was quite large, but everything was beginning to shake almost imperceptibly. Then there was a loud sound, and he saw the dust fly around, and the walls and the ceiling became nearer and nearer and he barely had a place to stand. He was sweating profusely but the air only pushed at him relentlessly and his legs wobbled, and that lump came to his throat…

It was dark. And there was a deep rumble, and something hit his arm, and the air was hot and stuffy, and he crumbled onto the ground. And he could not see anything, and he could not breathe, and there was no one around…

Moria. The goblins were coming from all over, and the ceiling was much lower. The rest of the fellowship had gone far ahead and he could not catch up, and he grew cold all over, then the ground below him disappeared and he was falling, but there was still lots of rock all over and the ceiling was raining stones, and he was gasping and trying not to scream, but there was nothing he could do…

Gimli was there, beside him, pointing with wonder at something that glittered, but Legolas froze, unmoving. Somewhere near Gimli's interest was a small fissure and dust and small stones were flowing out from it. There was a cracking sound, and Gimli ran away, but he could not move. He was rooted there, forced to see everything crumble and give way and he kept choking, though he had covered his nose, and things were collapsing on him, and everything seemed wrong, and he was under a whole heavy weight of stone, and he did not have strength to push through all the rubble, and he could not move. He called for Gimli, but Gimli had disappeared. And he shouted for ada, and nana and Aragorn, but no one came.

Legolas gasped audibly. He was safely back on the window ledge. He blinked several times and forced himself to breathe. Dawn was breaking soon, and in five days, he would have no choice but to leave with Gimli. He had almost grown to accept this; at least, his mind had been numbed enough to endure this reality.

He wrapped his face in his hands and exhaled. Then he hugged himself tightly, and let his heavy head fall. What could he do? What could be done now? Did he have a choice? His eyes moistened, and he squeezed them tightly, brushing the streaks that fell out quickly away. A cave. Could a mere cave defeat him who had found courage to stand against the Dark Lord's vast army?

Yes.

The stars seemed to laugh at his misery.

Now, clinging onto the one last shred of hope, he crawled back into the room. He took out his quill and ink, and a parchment. He addressed it to ada, writing as neatly as he could, hoping ada could not tell how flustered, how anxious, how reluctant he was.

Then, he wrote of how he had come to meet Gimli son of Glóin in Imladris, how the Dwarf had spoken kindly in Lothlórien, and finally, how he had attempted to introduce the Dwarf to the Elven ways, but the stubborn creature was only willing to enter the forests of Fangorn if he accompanied him to the Glittering Caves of Aglarond.

Perhaps, just perhaps, his father would object to such a bargain, he thought as he folded the letter. Surely Gimli would not risk the relatively peaceful co-existence between Elves and Dwarves, or worse, a confrontation with the Elven-king over such a trivial issue?

Smiling – albeit tightly – at last, he sealed the letter. This would be passed to the messengers when they set off at noon. Then he lay on his bed and had what rest he could.

Later in the day, he told Gimli he had sought his father's blessings for the proposed trip.

"And what would he say to it?" Gimli asked with a rather concerned look.

Legolas shrugged as casually as he could. "He might think this is…"

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"Preposterous! It is most unconceivable!"

The councillors shrank back from where they huddled behind the doorway, even as King Thranduil grew more agitated, waving the parchment around.

Prince Legolas' letter had just arrived and they had followed the post at a safe distance. None of them had heard from the Prince in quite a while and all were curious to know how he had been faring. Their King's reaction only fuelled this interest.

King Thranduil was muttering more softly now, and, convinced that the excitement was over, they left to attend to their usual duties.

Within the chamber, King Thranduil sighed and lowered the blank piece of parchment.

"Have they left yet?" He asked Tologdir who was attending on him.

"Yes, my lord," the young elf replied, seemingly used to the King's mannerisms.

Thranduil nodded in satisfaction and picked up Legolas' letter, carefully unfolding it, reading its every word with a certain relish.

Then he burst into laughter.

"Looks like Legolas has a high price to pay to unite the Elven and Dwarven kinds!"