Travel as the Sun
by Mirwalker
1. Homecoming
Out of caution at what might yet lurk in the Woods despite its cleansing, and from desire to make faster time across open country, the unlikely pair passed up the eastern side of Mirkwood, now Eryn Lasgalen, toward Dale and Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, beyond—each heading home. It had been almost six months since the Fellowship had finally disbanded at Isengard, and nearly one full change of seasons since the destruction of the One Ring and the end of the Dark Lord, Sauron. In those same weeks, the dwarf and elf had traveled together, fulfilling oaths made against hope in the midst of the War of the Ring—each to accompany the other to his respective stone and wooden wonder, and there to share in it. From a tour of the Glittering Caves at Helm's Deep, they departed for a stay in Fangorn Forest as guests of its namesake eldest Ent. There they passed some time in the deepest parts of the oldest woods, and witnessed some secrets also of the roots of the Misty Mountains. After a brief return to Lorien, they crossed the River Anduin and viewed the ruined Dol Guldur—once secret stronghold of the Necromancer, before he was revealed as Sauron and fled to Barad-dûr.
Visits and vistas had, they passed along the top of the Brown Lands, and turned north around the southern tip of Eryn Lasgalen. As had become their custom over this past year and some months, they rode and chatted together upon Arod, the gift of Rohan and their mount of many roads.
To their right, the plains of Rhovanion stretched far east, across the River Running and off into the expanse of Rhûn. It had been some time since either had seen these sights, though the views had varied little despite all that had passed in the world in the time between. To their left, however, the tall, bright elf noted for the smaller, ruddy dwarf how changed the forest seemed, with the Dark Lord defeated and his minions scared and scattered. Not so foreboding as before, though not yet friendly, the woods' edge drifted slowly past them through miles and hours, leagues and days—tall, strong and constant.
At length the River and Woods turned toward one another, meeting just beyond the Old Forest Road, near the base of the woodland Mountains. Passing through this natural crossroads, and around the mountains' far side, Legolas Thranduilion drew back the reins sharply, cutting off Gimli Glóinion in mid-yet-another-story and nearly spilling him from the steed. For on this side of the slopes, the strong forest suffered mightily, thinned by axe strokes, scarred by fire and littered with other mementos of war. No smoke rose from the ruins before them, but the scene and scent of battle, flame and death still hung heavy in the space.
Arod trod delicately into the charred forest-become-field, mottled by broken trunks and burned stumps. Many steps in, they stopped and dismounted for a somber rest. Legolas stooped to mourn the earth's injury, wondering what had become of his people. His distant kin at Caras Galadhon had shared little detail on how his home had fared on the northern front of the Ring War, saying only that the wounds ran deep in forest, folk and father, that autumn had fallen, and that, though spring approached for the wider world, no green leaf had yet to come to Mirkwood.
For his part, Gimli's message from the Lord and Lady of the Galadhrim was no more clear, speaking both of loss and of life at Erebor. And as loathe as he was to leave his beloved Lady, Gimli had consented to the difficult departure and both had made haste for home.
Seeing now the injury around him, Legolas all but wished he had remained in the ever-bloom of Lorien. As the dwarf lunched on lembas cakes packed for their final leg northward, the somber elf spoke words of healing over stump and sprig, and mourned this welcome home.
With condolences offered, and dwarf palate refreshed, they rode on toward the distant, surviving treeline. As they approached the ragged remnants of the thick forest, they angled west and north passing through patches of death and life in solemn silence. No child of the forest, but more friendly to it now, Gimli's heart went out to the woods and his woodsman friend. "I'm sorry, lad, it seems quite bare, empty of elves and all."
"Not of eyes," corrected Legolas plainly, nodding into the tall trees and deep thickets about them. "We are watched since entering and ever more closely as we deeper delve."
Gimli could not decide whether his friend took comfort or caution from that vigilance, but they continued on in silence for a pair of days. They came across occasional signs of battle, and spoke little as they pushed on.
Though spring drew near, its approach was subtle here—where ash had choked and fire had scored. And yet, despite the damage, life was returning though small and scattered. As they pushed further in, Gimli noted that the barrenness of winter and of waste gave way gradually to lusher growth. Yet rather than new life or stalwart old, the forest colors turned to golds, reds and browns. He rightly guessed that Elven presence had been enough to turn both frost and fire from this part of the forest, but could not help but show the twilight of the folk themselves.
After many hours' travel westward on the fourth day, Legolas turned Arod north and soon came into a slight clearing. The clearing opened quickly and stretched into a broad, tree-lined avenue, leading to a riverbridge and beyond it a pair of large stone doors cleft into the very side of a mountain. Before those doors and just across the bridge, a large cohort of elves was collected. Others also dressed in greens and greys, spears in hand or bows on back, spilled out from the trees around them as they continued up the path. Each one stared silently at the new arrivals without expression as even the few forest creatures held their tongues.
Gimli got no indication from his companion on how this bode, and so whispered, "I trust these are your kin, my friend, or we have survived all else for naught."
Legolas gave no response of consolation or alarm, but only brought the horse to an angled stop at the foot of the bridge, horse and elf and dwarf all facing the stonestill party at the other side.
Gimli noted to himself how different were these elves from others he had met in his journeys. More earthy than light, not radiant but neither dull. Their subdued fabrics, lean stature and absolute stillness marked them more extensions of the surrounding trees than the familiar elven earthbound starlight. Unlike his golden-haired companion, nearly all had dark hair, though the pale skin and pointed ears made the kinship clear. These were surely Wood-elves, blood-tied to the forebears of Elrond and Celeborn, but grown closer through the ages to their forest home.
Though he was loath to admit it, most elves looked as alike to Gimli as if ever his two eyes saw the same one twice. (His well-known friend and Lorien's Lady of Light were, of course, excepted.) But among these silent similars, three across the running waters stood out. One, in the center stood a little shorter than the others, weighed down perhaps by the gilded cloak of deep green upon his shoulders and the crown of blossoms and gold upon his head. His thin features, however ageless they be, showed him witness to many years and master to most. Sharp chin held high, he stared at the visitors three, with thumbs hooked in the jeweled belt around his elf-heavy waist. He stood proudly before the open doors, as if waiting for them to make some expected address.
The second, to his right, regarded them sternly from his crisp leather tunic and precisely draped cloak. Though of untellable years as were all elves, this one carried vast experience upon his expression, evidenced both in his stance and the scar across his forehead. Most striking, however, was the souvenir of more recent adventures—his hair was short and grew in mottled patches across his head, like a field of grass renewing unevenly after its winter's sleep. Or after fire. In contrast to the morbid draw of this war gift, a brilliant sword hung at his side and he kept a hand upon its hilt as if daring them to take some unexpected action.
The third elf, standing to their left, was simply dressed and unadorned, in the single-shade brown tunic and grey leggings worn by the majority of the elves about. Though he carried no sword, he had a chest-high shaft of ebony black on which he leaned slightly and fidgeted. His long, dark hair was pulled back from view, while his dark eyes were fixed wide and clearly on Legolas, as if the dwarf, horse and all the others were not present. Gimli had heard of no wizards among elves, as he understood magic to inhabit them all to some degree. Still, he had encountered many unexpected creatures in this past turn of the seasons, and one pale and poled wood-elf held not a candle to the wonders he had already met and bested.
The nobleman, swordsman and staffman, each a different face of elvendom… Yet they blended with their brethren here in that the face of none gave any clue as to the timber of this reception.
On considering these elves, Gimli realized suddenly how his own companion had held himself more upright, more regal as they had moved nearer this place. Golden hair aside, he matched these folk to be sure, but he carried a particular pride now that he was back among them. Though he had never been called prince among the Fellowship, like Aragorn become Elessar and the Grey become the White, Legolas too had taken on a finer air and surer step upon his return to his rightful place. And yet the greeting for him, for them, did not seem royal or revelrous as had the others. But more troubling than its lack of warmth was the lack of any apparent emotion at all that left Gimli most unsettled as they stood amidst these impenetrable elves.
Without invitation or explanation, Legolas dismounted without disturbing dwarf or horse, and strode confidently to the bridge's center. After a brief pause, the three distinct elves walked out to meet him, the last limping noticeably, though his eyes never wavered as did his gait. Once met, they faced each other—three to one, brown to gold, wood to worldly. Gimli shifted uncomfortably in the saddle, undecided as to whether he ought join his friend and even the odds; but he thought better than to interfere just yet, and kept both his perch and his watch.
Legolas faced the central figure, turned to the swordsman and finally the staffman. Gimli could not see his face, if different expressions he made. But his poise changed not, though he lingered on the last among them. Having acknowledged all, the dwarf-friend looked again to the mighty, middle elf, crossed his hand to his chest, bowed his head and spoke loudly without looking up, "Suilon a buion, adar-aran nîn. I greet and serve, my father-king." He sank quickly to one knee before the king confirmed, Thranduil, Lord of the Woodland Realm.
With the gathered host withholding still, the silvan sovereign looked down, reached out his right hand and placed it upon the archer's head. His left hand followed promptly, and he paused a moment, receiving his subject and son. Gradually, a smile and warmth broke across his face, and as his hands withdrew, a circlet of woven vine and gold gleamed around the bowed brow.
Legolas, feeling the release and the remaining presence, instinctively raised one hand to touch the crown and, assured it was in fact there, raised his eyes to his patriarch abruptly, as if disbelieving. The king looked down on him with a rediscovered sorrow, and nodded solemnly. Legolas' head turned to the common councilor at the king's side, whose face ached with consolation. The king cupped his right hand over the kneeling archer's left ear, and Legolas leaned his head into it with gentle grief.
After a moment of absolute silence in the space, the elf-king offered his hands to help Legolas stand and to draw him close for a brief embrace. The swordsman's countenance softened, and the staffman beamed in open joy as Thranduil clasped his son's arms and held him out for a fuller look, his proud smile growing with every homecome inch inspected. He turned Legolas about to face the crowd, commanding, "Eglerio! Hail, Legolas Greenleaf, Knight among Men, Ringfellow and Prince of the Woods!"
The onlooking crowd answered the call in unison, and sank to their knee, smiles breaking now across their suddenly glad faces. Even the king's staffed councilor struggled down, using the carved shaft to lower himself in homage. His eyes, however, he kept fixed still on Legolas, who glanced back to him, an elven blush spreading across his smiling face. Swiftly, the gathered subjects returned to their feet, continuing to cheer their prince welcome, and stepping in toward the bridge, without approaching it too familiarly or the mounted dwarf too closely.
Gimli, once suspicious at the cool welcome and quickly pleased as it turned warm, now started at the suddenly loud and forthpouring crowd of elves around him. That mostly an unfamiliar elvish had been spoken save Legolas' generous self-translation did not help his understanding of the scene before him, nor relieve his ready and nervous axe arm beside him. The dwarf, in turn, startled the horse who had been taking the celebration quite in stride, by standing still at the bridge's edge. "Legolas!?" both cried to their companion elf, each in his own way.
The newly crowned prince raised his hand to draw the company's eyes and their silence. Smiling in amusement and pride, he strode to his traveling friends, and stroked Arod calmingly under the chin. For the dwarf, he knew, a different tack. "Lasto beth nîn," he shouted, before continuing in the Common speech as he turned in place to address them all in turn. "It is good to be home at last, among the trees, my friends and my family again." He shot a warm look at the king and his staffman, and faced the royal party for his next statement. "I am pleased and proud also to return with and introduce my fellow Walker, Gimli, son of Glóin, of Erebor.Together we have faced many perils in our quest of the Ring, and I bid you welcome him as I do: good neighbor, strong axe, faithful ally, and fast friend to me, the Greenwood and its good peoples."
Gimli, much appeased by the introduction, smiled broadly and waved in anticipation of another round of cheers. He was left to smirk, alas, as the crowd, all save the king and swordsman, bowed their heads to him—a decidedly less tall welcome than his taller friend had received short moments before.
Legolas paid no heed to the restrained receipt of his friend, and motioned Gimli down to follow him. "Come Gimli, I shall present you to my king and father."
Making his most graceful and least noisy dismount, Gimli landed, pulled himself to full height and walked beside the prince's elbows to stand before the royal party. The nobler two regarded him with the non-committal face elves obviously spent their eternity perfecting; the simplest one finally split some glowing attention from Legolas to him—the most approval and curiosity any elf had ever shown him save, again, Legolas and the Lorien Lady.
"My lords," said the prince, "May I present my gwador(1)Gimli, son of Glóin, warrior of Erebor."
Gimli bowed slightly and sincerely, in modesty and greeting, adding his own, accented, "Mae Govannen." The king's eyebrow reared approvingly at the unexpected utterance.
"Gimli, may I present you to," and gestured in turn to each, "Thranduil Oropherion, King under the Canopy,(2) and Lord of the Woodland Realm." Gimli bowed deeply to the sovereign, awed both by stories told him of the king and by his presence here. The king gave only the slightest nod forward, though his expression now held some graciousness.
Next came the swordsman, and "To Thalind Bellerion, a captain of Mirk- of Eryn Lasgalen." The men of the blade nodded to each other smartly and without expression.
Finally Legolas brightened and turned to the staffman, whose odd attire and odder reactions joined the prior introductions to grant Gimli a sudden insight as to his identity. Not waiting to be introduced, he spoke to show his familiarity with his hosts. "And this must be your elder brother, Arandrandaur, the great warrior of the woods."
At his speaking, their expressions fell instantly, and so Gimli adjusted his guessed introduction to be more… generous. "…Great alongside your greatnesses, of course?" He glanced back and forth among them for some glimmer of redemption in their face. He received none.
The staffman swallowed, and broke his silence softly to correct the error. "Nay, Master Dwarf. Prince Arandrandaur… fell… in defense of his homeland against Dol Guldur; you have just seen Legolas made crown prince in his turn." He glanced from Gimli to the king, letting his consolation finally rest on Legolas whose crowning shock returned with the spoken confirmation.
Gimli swallowed hard and shuffled in embarrassment and in grief for his friend's family. His look offered his regrets to each, including last the staffman. "My apologies all, I did not know. For I could not think at first of whom else might stand beside the king and captain. But now I see I have earned your disdain with my hasty words." Needing much to right his wrong, he volunteered another name from Legolas' stories likely to be among this important greeting party. "May you then be the good friend, of whom Legolas sang at times? Are you Melethnin?"
Again the faces around him held no release, though Legolas' eyes gaped openly in shock at this utterance.
And again, it was the staffman called, who broke the stony stares to smile and laugh, "You are brave indeed, sir dwarf, to guess a stranger in the presence of sire and soldier and, guessing wrongly, to try again so amusingly." Smiling broadly behind closed lips, he raised his eyebrows and looked to Legolas for confirmation for his last points. "I hope that it was I of whom our young prince sang, for I am indeed his meleth nîn, his own love. But my name… is Iavasulad."(3) The elf stood tall against his staff, reached out and took Legolas' hand in his.
Gimli gaped at his second mistake, and grumbled reproach to himself. His having broken the heavy moment he had created, the others broke into laughter, his mistakes washing away in their melodic tides. Legolas placed a re-assuring hand upon his shoulder, and finished his introduction. "My friend, I present to you my friend and love, whom I call Dunthon."
Dunthon bowed deeply, balanced between his staff and the strong grip of the archer prince. Gimli took comfort in this return to formality, and returned the gesture for honest respect and humble pardon, his axe at his side. Both stood smiling.
Legolas took the moment to release the dwarf, and swept his melethron(4) into a deep embrace, quick kiss and gentle rest of closed eyes, touching foreheads and wide, serene smiles. Gimli took great joy to see his friend so clearly happy, while the on-looking elfhost stood somewhat shocked by this most un-elven display. Even the expressive Dunthon was surprised at so mortal an outburst of emotion, but feeling the same relief on reuniting, gave in wholly and happily.
Recovering and reacting first, the Elvenking shouted over his son and the scene, "Make ready, my people, for tonight we feast a Homecoming Welcome to our Ringfellows!" And with that he turned, gracefully, on his royal heels and was followed back through the cavern doors by Thalind and several assorted elves around. Legolas and Dunthon finally stepped apart as the crowd around broke, still hand in hand.
Dunthon smiled warmly at Gimli, "Come my new-met old friend, the dinner hour approaches quickly. Let us find you fitting quarters for companion to both Ringbearer and royalty."
1 Sindarin: "sworn brother"
2 Thanks to fanfic author Kida Greenleaf, for the description of Mirkwood as the "Empire below the Canopy," which I adapted with the dwarf title for the ruler of the Lonely Mountain.
3 Sindarin: iavas "fall, autumn" sûl "wind." Here I have knowingly broken a Sindarin rule governing consonant soft mutations in compounds, as I feel the grammatically correct iavashulad sounds unelvishly slurred. Instead I opted to drop the problematic second 's' as redundant, rather than retain and mutate it.
4 Sindarin: "lover"