Disclaimer: I own nothing related to the Lord of the Rings or its characters. All of that belongs to the Tolkien estate. I'm just playing in their sandbox.
Author's Note: So, this came about from a short comment from my friend and beta, theicemenace. She'd been given a prompt that immediately sparked this little one-shot. The prompt was "The flowers speak to me." Now, I'm fighting the remnants of a major migraine just to get it posted. I hope it makes sense, and that you enjoy it! Touches of bookverse in this, but primarily movie-verse simply because it's been a very long time since I read the books. A big thanks to theicemenace for beta-ing this even though she has no interest in LotR. As always, hope you enjoy! ~lg
oOo
Of Flowers And Statues
A wooded glade spread out before the two travelers, sunlight glittering down between the trees and catching the edges of everything that moved. They paused to take in the sight before them. One stood tall, his slender form deceptively strong and agile. The other was barely half his height, stocky and built to withstand the harshest environments. Both stared at the scene before them, neither fully prepared for the reality of their surroundings.
A stone statue had been tucked into the trees, giving testimony that this once had been a place of light and beauty. When it was first built, the glade must have been clear, for the trees and foliage had grown up around it. The sculpture showed skill enough to impress both travelers, but it had been worn and eroded with time. Still, the form of a king of old sat tall on his throne, mindless of the ugly rock that had been set in place of his head. Across the glade, the face of the king, separated by the enemy's minions, had been cast aside, and plants had grown all but enveloped it.
Gimli, son of Gloin, wandered over to the statue while his companion moved to the fallen head. He looked over the stonework, seeing where a little effort would restore the figure to its former glory. He touched the granite here and there, marveling at how the men of Gondor had created something so lasting. "Hmph." The sound was thoughtful, and he turned to speak to his companion. "We could repair him and create a new head with little effort." There was no answer to his statement, and he frowned. "Legolas?"
His companion was not listening. Legolas, minor prince of Mirkwood and the only elf that Gimli could stand for any length of time, knelt beside the fallen head. Gimli watched as he reached out to touch the leaves of the plant growing over the stone, a smile on his face. The elf let the flowers run through his fingers, his smile growing wider as he did so.
Gimli folded his arms across his chest. "Are you quite finished admiring the plants?" All through their travels, Legolas had dallied about, particularly in the forests. Gimli wondered why this surprised him. Now that they'd returned to Ithilien and had begun surveying the area, he expected Legolas would cease his infuriating habit of communing with the plants in favor of the work yet to be done. Then, he snorted. Legolas was an elf, and all elves did was commune with nature.
As if hearing his thoughts, Legolas turned with a radiant smile on his face. "The flowers speak to me," he said softly.
Gimli huffed again. They had discussed this topic at length, neither quite able to understand his friend. Gimli found comfort in cavernous halls and deep mines while Legolas sought the forests and trees. Each had tried to make the other understand, but Gimli suspected it was a lost cause. "What do they speak of?" he asked instead of voicing his true irritation. "The poor quality of soil and whether that confounded rock will be removed at last?"
Legolas turned back to the flowers crowning the king's head. "They speak of hope." His soft words blended with the sounds of a forest coming alive in the absence of an evil that had held it in thrall for generations. "They tell of a time when light and beauty reigned in this forest, when great kings of men ruled their world in peace and prosperity. They whisper of a promise that this realm shall once again become a haven of light, and they eagerly await its appearing. Just as we waited for news of Frodo after he destroyed the Ring."
Gimli turned back to the statue, reaching out to reverently touch its cold edges and worn details. "Perhaps we understand one another better than we think," he said as he saw the same message etched into stone. The artistry of the image, placed there by men in a time of great peace, had endured generations of darkness.
Legolas stood, a slight smile still in place. "Then let us carry that message of hope back to the King and his Steward," he said brightly. "For there is much work to be done, and I am eager to see it begun!" Without another thought, he turned back the way they had come, leaving Gimli to sprint after him.
As the pair settled into a swift walk, Gimli frowned up at the elf. "Just promise me something." He paused while Legolas waited patiently. "No more communing with trees and talking with flowers, hmm? At least until we reach the King."
Legolas laughed then, a sound that had not been heard in that region for many years. "I make no promises, my friend." He put a hand on Gimli's shoulder. "But I do promise to explain what they say."
Gimli harrumphed, pretending annoyance with the elf. But he could not deny that the forest seemed brighter and happier since they had arrived. Just so long as a flower does not speak to me, he thought. Legolas might have my head for what I would do! Yet, even as the thought crossed his mind, he knew the truth. Hope spoke, whether in a flower bobbing its head in the breeze or in an ancient stone statue holding out for better days. No matter the differences between men, elves, or dwarves, all had heard hope's message, and all had answered its call.