Author's note: The title references an interaction between Legolas, Gimli, and Aragorn in "The White Rider" (The Two Towers), in which Gimli says to Legolas, at the eaves of Fangorn, "You are a Wood-elf, anyway, though elves of any kind are strange folk. Yet you comfort me. Where you go, I will go." The story itself is an interpretation of the dialogue in the epigraph below.
Scenes take place from March through May of TA 3019, beginning at Isengard and ending sometime shortly after Aragorn's coronation, but before his wedding. The chapter lengths are a bit erratic because, while this is technically a short story, I did not want to post 24 pages in one chapter. It was written for the March 2016 Teitho challenge "Life and Death" (did not place).
Where You Go, I Will Go
"To Legolas she sent this word:
Legolas Greenleaf long under tree,
In joy thou hast lived. Beware of the sea!
If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore,
Thou heart shall then rest in the forest no more."
Gandalf fell silent and shut his eyes.
"Then she sent me no message?" said Gimli and bent his head.
"Dark are her words," said Legolas, "and little do they mean to those that receive them."
"That is no comfort," said Gimli.
"What then?" said Legolas. "Would you have her speak openly to you of your death?"
"Yes, if she had naught else to say."
"What is that?" said Gandalf, opening his eyes. "Yes, I think I can guess what her words may mean..."
–"The White Rider" (The Two Towers)
Part I: A Discussion at Isengard
"Perhaps you should go elsewhere to smoke, besides where we are making food," Legolas said teasingly. "The scent is confusing!"
Gandalf, Théoden, and Aragorn had consulted, and the next day they would leave again for Helm's Deep and Aragorn, eventually, for Minas Tirith. Since Aragorn had broken the news to his companions, all Pippin could do was ask questions, and talk at length about his fear of being hungry on the journey. So, with Isengard taken and food stocks revealed, Legolas had set to making Pippin food that he could fit in his pockets. After his ordeal with the orcs and his newfound return to pipe and nourishment, Pippin found this extraordinarily comforting.
It was a moment of silence and rest for all, before exiting the eye of the storm.
Aragorn laughed around his pipe, and his eyes glinted as he smiled at his elven companion, who sat with Merry and Pippin at a long and damp wooden table in the midst of the ruins of Isengard, with a small array of ingredients spread out before him.
"Baking before battle!" Aragorn said. "It is not exactly how I imagined a warrior of Mirkwood might prepare for further conflict."
"Oh, I am certainly preparing for conflict," Legolas murmured, glancing briefly toward Aragorn and then behind his shoulder as Gimli stalked toward them.
With Aragorn's prompting, Legolas continued in a louder voice.
"Many elves enjoy domestic tasks, and I grew up for a time in a baker's home, though this is not, exactly, baking," Legolas explained with a shrug. "But now Pippin is fretting for his journey, and hungry, and together the three of us have the skill to fix that worry. Would you deny your companions a peaceful task, that may prepare their hearts for their journeys ahead?"
"Nay," said Aragorn, smiling and lackadaisical. "I could never deny that."
"He could never deny you your frivolities, he means, my friend," said Gimli with a gruff chuckle, as he came even with them, but then began already to turn away, "but always we can taunt you for them, Master Elf!"
Legolas shrugged and smiled slightly, and, at Legolas' next words, Gimli finished turning and walked fully off, Aragorn trailing behind him as Gimli demanded pipeweed from Aragorn's refilled pouch for his own pastime.
"So it is," Legolas said, to no one in particular. "But hobbits, at least, do not think baking a frivolity! Even in the middle of war."
Merry and Pippin murmured their agreement and fell into companionable peace.
There was quiet for some time, apart from the scrape of knives and the sound of the lapping and receding water. Hobbits and elf rolled oats in honey and chopped nuts with small blades until they were cut thin and fine. The hobbits pushed the nuts into a pile with both sets of small hands and then shoveled them one scoop at a time toward Legolas, where he folded them little by little into the oat mix, kneading it stickily beneath his hands until it became, with the dry nuts, more firm.
Finally, Merry broke the silence.
"Are you and Gimli fighting?" asked Merry.
"I do not pretend to understand the moods of dwarves," Legolas said simply, not looking up from the oats he rolled underhand.
"Do you remember what Old Mister Bilbo said, Merry?" asked Pippin. "Come not to the elves for counsel, for they will not tell you the truth at all."
"I'm not sure that's exactly what he said, Pip," Merry muttered at the same time that Legolas spoke.
"Is that so?" Legolas laughed. "Well, I like to think myself more candid than most, but there is nothing to be done to change the traits of one's folk, I guess."
Legolas divided the oat mixture up into three large sections and then set to dividing his own portion further into balls smaller than the palm of his hand, rolling and flattening and rolling and flattening each bit, over and over.
"Well, are you fighting, Legolas?" Merry insisted.
"With Gimli?" Legolas asked evasively.
"Yes, that's what he said!" said Pippin.
"No, we are not fighting," Legolas said finally, checking the hobbits' progress with their own oat balls.
He fiddled for a moment with the size of Pippin's work and then raised his hands from the table to gesture lightly behind him, toward where he had heard the dwarf retreat earlier, and from where he heard the dwarf now returning.
"We have just had a disagreement," Legolas said simply.
"What are we having a disagreement about, Master Elf?" said Gimli.
He stopped behind Legolas, his pipe hanging from his lips; it was stuffed with pipeweed he had wheedled from Aragorn, for he had not wanted to wade through the water—at his height—for a chance at Saruman's Longbottom leaf.
"A pretty riddle," said Legolas tersely.
Legolas did not look up, but finished rolling the last ball of Merry's oats and nuts beneath his nimble fingers. He set it aside to dry in a line beside the others.
"Ah," said Gimli, huffing. "That riddle. Well, as far as I am concerned, as soon as we turn toward the sea, I will be sending you back—"
Legolas stood abruptly from the table and then dropped into a crouch for a moment to wipe the sticky oats and honey onto the fabric over his calves.
"You will attract bugs, wiping your hands like that," said Gimli sharply, cutting himself off as Legolas rose.
"I will not be sent anywhere, Master Dwarf," said Legolas, "least of all by you."
"Are you leaving us here?" asked Merry loudly, as Pippin began a string of questions at the same time. "I know you only pledged to get us to the mountains and you are quite far off that now."
"Bother, Legolas! You're leaving? Where will you go?" Pippin exclaimed.
Legolas did not speak; he chose to slide instead into the space between Merry and Pippin's work, so that they three could sit together shoulder-to-shoulder and inspect the food. Also, Legolas had learned in his short time travelling with hobbits, that to insinuate oneself into their lives and stories by even insinuating oneself into their bodily space—especially in the midst of conflict—protected one quite well from accusations of wrongdoing, as if the Little Folk cast a benevolent spell on all those Big Folk around them. And so Legolas now settled comfortably with Pippin at one side, and Merry at the other—or as comfortably as he could while trying not to feel craven, as Gimli stood imposingly behind him.
"I am not going anywhere, dear hobbits," said Legolas, with his head bent over their work on the table. "Except wherever Strider and Mithrandir will have us follow."
Gimli was now angry at the elf. He was seething, and it was apparent.
Aragorn cut in sharply.
"You will be sent," said Aragorn, and Legolas straightened his back immediately and then bowed his head toward Aragorn slightly as he heeded.
"You will go elsewhere," Aragorn continued, "to quarrel."
"But you know what—" Gimli began to explain.
"Not here," hissed Aragorn again, firmly, looking at the hobbits, who sat wide-eyed and watching the confusing and half-woven conversation that possessed the last of their Fellowship who, alone in Middle-earth—after the hobbits' tumultuous week apart—had seemed to them, until a moment before, absolutely steadying and sane.
Legolas had already risen and laid a hand on each of the hobbits' shoulders. He bent low so that his head was between their curly crowns, and his own honey hair caught slightly in the wind as he spoke softly to them. The loose strands that danced around his fair face tickled for a moment Pippin's nose.
"I would press a bit of dried fruit into the center of each one, if I were you," Legolas said, with a smile. "It makes them taste like a dream!"
He reached behind his back and untied a pouch from his belt, dropping it into Pippin's eager hands, which were outstretched like a child on his birthday.
"Raisins, saved all the way from Lorien!" Legolas proclaimed. "And I am sure there is similar to be found elsewhere in Saruman's lauder, should you run out."
Pippin would have squealed, but instead he just clasped the elf's hand and exclaimed.
"Merry! We'll have proper sweets!" he cried.
And Merry chuckled as Legolas laughed loudly and then turned away. He waved a hand over his shoulder to indicate Gimli should follow him.
The hobbits quickly set to work pressing raisins into the centers of the oat balls, and Aragorn puffed on his pipe thoughtfully, watching the elf and dwarf pick their way some distance from the hobbits, until they stood out of earshot on a small pile of rubble, raised like a hill above the flooded mess; the bodies of several orcs floated and were putrefying nearby.
Aragorn could not hear what Gimli and Legolas said to one another, nor could the hobbits, but they watched from a distance as a fierce argument was born, blossomed, and raged.
At first, elf and dwarf stood calmly facing one another. Legolas' back was not tense and his arms dangled loosely at his sides; Gimli leaned forward toward the elf as he often did when he spoke, and gestured harmlessly with his hands, to emphasize his points. They stood with a foot of rock between them, Legolas looking down at Gimli and Gimli looking up at him.
Suddenly, Gimli gestured more viciously at the sky as if pointing out something that flew overhead, and Legolas crossed his arms. Legolas turned his back to Gimli and set his eyes toward Rohan; Gimli threw his arms down to his sides roughly, and then raised his eyes to the sky and yelled. Gimli stamped his boot on the ground and Legolas turned and stared at him coldly. Legolas laughed lightly, but then froze abruptly to gaze harder at Gimli than before, and he whispered words to the dwarf that barely moved his face at all.
Quick as lightning, Gimli grabbed at Legolas' forearm and Legolas swatted Gimli's hand away. Gimli grabbed at it again and yelled, his face twisted in some kind of horror; Legolas pulled away fiercely, but then took both of the dwarf's armored arms in his long hands, and he then shoved the dwarf, but lightly. Gimli seemed to roar and shove the elf back, harder. Legolas swayed and crossed his arms; he pulled himself to his full height, and looked down at Gimli.
Gimli stamped again and yelled again, and finally Legolas sunk to his knees on the stones and then shifted to cross his legs in a diamond before him. Legolas sat on the ground and stared up into Gimli's face from below.
Abruptly, Legolas laughed and smiled, and Gimli reddened and blustered. Legolas dropped his head and appeared to laugh again, but his face was hidden behind his hair and Merry thought maybe his shoulders were heaved instead by tears.
Gimli dropped to his heels and reached a hand to touch the elf's face; Legolas did not pull away. Gimli tapped Legolas' cheek and forced the elf's eyes to meet his own.
"What is happening, Strider?" Merry asked Aragorn, once the two friends had settled together on the rubble.
Backs away from their companions, they looked out together toward Rohan, and no more words appeared to pass between them.
"I believe they grieve," said Aragorn simply.
Aragorn stood and walked to the table where the hobbits still sat. He began to pop each oat ball from the damp tabletop with a pinch and twist of his thumb and forefinger.
"For Boromir?" Pippin asked.
Pippin looked up into Aragorn's face imploringly, desperately.
"Perhaps," Aragorn said.
But he lowered his eyes, and lined all the oat balls up anew. Unfastened from the table and prepared to dry, he looked for a pouch in which to pack them for the youngest hobbit.
This new warning was just another worry for which Aragorn did not have enough hours in the day over which to fret.
Thank you for reading Part 1!