As the Leaves of Lorien Fall
Pairing: Legolas/Gimli, Celebrimbor/Narvi
Rating: PG
Warning: As can be deduced from pairings, above, this fic contains slash! If you do not like, do not read. If you haven't read it, do not flame (This may seem redundant, but one of my previous slash fics got a flame about slash pairings, in which he/she admitted to not having read the fic!)
Disclaimer: Tolkien, of course, owns all characters (except OC's and there are very few of those so far. He owns all settings, chronology, etc. I am just playing in his universe, for no money; please don't sue me!
A/N: I may be taking some liberties with the chronology of the Second Age, but not on purpose. I haven't read the Silmarillion, but am basing the Celebrimbor/Narvi story line on some of the entries in Daniel Day's "A Guide to Tolkien". The C/N part is set around the year 800 of the Second Age; Celebrimbor has been trading with the dwarves of Khazad-dum for around fifty years....
As The Leaves of Lorien Fall
Legolas watched as the moonlight gleamed on the silver trunks of the mallorn trees, but he felt far from peaceful, even in fair Lothlorien. The last few days had left him lost and confused. Mithrandir had fallen in Moria, fallen in the Black Pit, an event that, despite Aragorn's warning at the feet of Caradhras, he had never expected to happen. Mithrandir had seemed all powerful: he came and went according to some higher plan, but was always there when they had need of him. Now, suddenly, he was gone, leaving them like the autumn leaves, to be blown about by the wind. Legolas felt as if all that he had thought strong had vanished, as if the very ground he walked upon had turned to mud, and he had been buried alive beneath the earth. And he was not a dwarf, he thought to himself, who would enjoy being buried in the earth.
He groaned, for that thought had brought him to the real reason that he was trying to sleep under a mallorn tree, and not in the pavilion that the elves had provided for the Fellowship: the dwarf; or more specifically, his way of thinking and looking at the dwarf that had recently become so much more complicated.
Legolas was nearly three thousand years old, and for all those years he had looked on dwarves in the same way: distrust, mixed with irritation and dislike. He certainly did not hate dwarves, hate was reserved for Orcs and Goblins and other evil creatures. But he did not trust them: they had stirred up great evil with their greed. The dwarves of Moria had wrought their own downfall, and the fall of the good elves of Hollin, by digging too greedily for treasure, and had woken the Balrog. And Gimli's cousin Balin had done it again, and had destroyed not only the ill-fated colony, but Mithrandir as well. No, he had always believed, it was best not to trust dwarves.
Even on the quest he had not entirely trusted Gimli; he was too full of pride, and constantly blamed the elves for things that everyone knew were the fault of the dwarves. And Legolas had heard the pride in his voice when he spoke of the riches that Moria had once contained; gold and jewels and mithril. He was a typical dwarf, he had decided, and gave the matter no more thought.
Or so he had believed. This night, Galadriel had shorn that belief from him. She had tested him, as she had tested all the Fellowship, and with her mind she had shown him his folly. He had walked confident into her test, believing that her offers would have no effect on him; he had no desire for the Ring, or anything made with it. She had shown him himself as king of Mirkwood, and it held no temptation for him; he did not desire power over others, she showed him Mirkwood made beautiful again, Greenwood the Great once more, as it had been in his Grandfather's time; and he knew that beauty bought with treachery was not true beauty, just a different sort of ugliness. Then she showed him his own mind, his own thoughts. She showed him every touch, every word spoken, every argument he had had with Gimli, from where he had hidden them in his mind. She showed him the dreams which his waking mind had forgotten: himself wrapped in strong dwarvish arms, the feel of calloused skin on his own; of walking together in caves and in forest, of sailing together across the sea. And She said, all this is yours, if you but take the Ring; if you but turn aside on your quest, you will have him in your arms, the first elf to love a dwarf for an age of this world...
And that thought, the image that should of horrified him, proved the hardest to turn away; the desire that he had not known he possessed. But Gimli valued honour and faithfulness above all things, he would not love one who had forsaken their pledge, betrayed another's confidence. So he spurned the vision, though the effort seemed to cost him all that he had, every ounce of strength that he possessed. Then she was gone from his mind, and he was empty, and alone, with only the haunting memory of those images, gone forever.
He had been stripped of his shield of prejudice just as Gimli prepared to shatter yet another of his preconceptions. In his beautiful and loving words to Galadriel, Legolas had found himself humbled. Where before he had held to his beliefs concerning the simplicity of the dwarves; he now found himself in awe before Gimli's skill with language, and he wished that they were directed at him.
Legolas shivered, though not with cold. His world seemed so unsure. Now that he knew that he loved Gimli, what should he do about that knowledge? Gimli had made it clear that he distrusted elves, but then, he had spoken to Galadriel of friendship between the wood and the mountain. Legolas did not think such a thing had ever happened before, an elf, loving a dwarf...
As if in answer to his thought, Legolas saw Galadriel gliding towards him, weaving her way among the mallorn. She stopped a little way from Legolas, and signaled that he was to follow her. He rose, and soon they were moving quickly and silently through the trees. Within minutes, or so it seemed, time worked strangely in Lothlorien, they had come to a small clearing, in the middle of which was a basin on a stone pedestal. Galadriel filled the basin with water, then, standing back, spoke clearly:
"This is the mirror of Galadriel, and within it you can see the past, son of Thranduil. You wondered as to whether an elf had ever loved a dwarf. Such a thing has happened, but not for an age. Look in the mirror, if you wish to learn of that love, and perhaps, learn something that will help you."
Legolas looked at the basin in amazement, wondering how water could show anything, especially the past. When he turned to ask her, however, she had gone...
Pairing: Legolas/Gimli, Celebrimbor/Narvi
Rating: PG
Warning: As can be deduced from pairings, above, this fic contains slash! If you do not like, do not read. If you haven't read it, do not flame (This may seem redundant, but one of my previous slash fics got a flame about slash pairings, in which he/she admitted to not having read the fic!)
Disclaimer: Tolkien, of course, owns all characters (except OC's and there are very few of those so far. He owns all settings, chronology, etc. I am just playing in his universe, for no money; please don't sue me!
A/N: I may be taking some liberties with the chronology of the Second Age, but not on purpose. I haven't read the Silmarillion, but am basing the Celebrimbor/Narvi story line on some of the entries in Daniel Day's "A Guide to Tolkien". The C/N part is set around the year 800 of the Second Age; Celebrimbor has been trading with the dwarves of Khazad-dum for around fifty years....
As The Leaves of Lorien Fall
Legolas watched as the moonlight gleamed on the silver trunks of the mallorn trees, but he felt far from peaceful, even in fair Lothlorien. The last few days had left him lost and confused. Mithrandir had fallen in Moria, fallen in the Black Pit, an event that, despite Aragorn's warning at the feet of Caradhras, he had never expected to happen. Mithrandir had seemed all powerful: he came and went according to some higher plan, but was always there when they had need of him. Now, suddenly, he was gone, leaving them like the autumn leaves, to be blown about by the wind. Legolas felt as if all that he had thought strong had vanished, as if the very ground he walked upon had turned to mud, and he had been buried alive beneath the earth. And he was not a dwarf, he thought to himself, who would enjoy being buried in the earth.
He groaned, for that thought had brought him to the real reason that he was trying to sleep under a mallorn tree, and not in the pavilion that the elves had provided for the Fellowship: the dwarf; or more specifically, his way of thinking and looking at the dwarf that had recently become so much more complicated.
Legolas was nearly three thousand years old, and for all those years he had looked on dwarves in the same way: distrust, mixed with irritation and dislike. He certainly did not hate dwarves, hate was reserved for Orcs and Goblins and other evil creatures. But he did not trust them: they had stirred up great evil with their greed. The dwarves of Moria had wrought their own downfall, and the fall of the good elves of Hollin, by digging too greedily for treasure, and had woken the Balrog. And Gimli's cousin Balin had done it again, and had destroyed not only the ill-fated colony, but Mithrandir as well. No, he had always believed, it was best not to trust dwarves.
Even on the quest he had not entirely trusted Gimli; he was too full of pride, and constantly blamed the elves for things that everyone knew were the fault of the dwarves. And Legolas had heard the pride in his voice when he spoke of the riches that Moria had once contained; gold and jewels and mithril. He was a typical dwarf, he had decided, and gave the matter no more thought.
Or so he had believed. This night, Galadriel had shorn that belief from him. She had tested him, as she had tested all the Fellowship, and with her mind she had shown him his folly. He had walked confident into her test, believing that her offers would have no effect on him; he had no desire for the Ring, or anything made with it. She had shown him himself as king of Mirkwood, and it held no temptation for him; he did not desire power over others, she showed him Mirkwood made beautiful again, Greenwood the Great once more, as it had been in his Grandfather's time; and he knew that beauty bought with treachery was not true beauty, just a different sort of ugliness. Then she showed him his own mind, his own thoughts. She showed him every touch, every word spoken, every argument he had had with Gimli, from where he had hidden them in his mind. She showed him the dreams which his waking mind had forgotten: himself wrapped in strong dwarvish arms, the feel of calloused skin on his own; of walking together in caves and in forest, of sailing together across the sea. And She said, all this is yours, if you but take the Ring; if you but turn aside on your quest, you will have him in your arms, the first elf to love a dwarf for an age of this world...
And that thought, the image that should of horrified him, proved the hardest to turn away; the desire that he had not known he possessed. But Gimli valued honour and faithfulness above all things, he would not love one who had forsaken their pledge, betrayed another's confidence. So he spurned the vision, though the effort seemed to cost him all that he had, every ounce of strength that he possessed. Then she was gone from his mind, and he was empty, and alone, with only the haunting memory of those images, gone forever.
He had been stripped of his shield of prejudice just as Gimli prepared to shatter yet another of his preconceptions. In his beautiful and loving words to Galadriel, Legolas had found himself humbled. Where before he had held to his beliefs concerning the simplicity of the dwarves; he now found himself in awe before Gimli's skill with language, and he wished that they were directed at him.
Legolas shivered, though not with cold. His world seemed so unsure. Now that he knew that he loved Gimli, what should he do about that knowledge? Gimli had made it clear that he distrusted elves, but then, he had spoken to Galadriel of friendship between the wood and the mountain. Legolas did not think such a thing had ever happened before, an elf, loving a dwarf...
As if in answer to his thought, Legolas saw Galadriel gliding towards him, weaving her way among the mallorn. She stopped a little way from Legolas, and signaled that he was to follow her. He rose, and soon they were moving quickly and silently through the trees. Within minutes, or so it seemed, time worked strangely in Lothlorien, they had come to a small clearing, in the middle of which was a basin on a stone pedestal. Galadriel filled the basin with water, then, standing back, spoke clearly:
"This is the mirror of Galadriel, and within it you can see the past, son of Thranduil. You wondered as to whether an elf had ever loved a dwarf. Such a thing has happened, but not for an age. Look in the mirror, if you wish to learn of that love, and perhaps, learn something that will help you."
Legolas looked at the basin in amazement, wondering how water could show anything, especially the past. When he turned to ask her, however, she had gone...