"Son," answered a voice that was entirely too musical to be that of any Dwarf Gimli had ever encountered.
Gimli could not for the life of him force his mouth to close. He gaped in shocked disbelief at the stranger that casually approached him.
Durin's Beard! It IS Legolas!
Shaking off that foolish thought, he settled for the conclusion that this must instead be the Elf's identical twin.
The Elf that stood only about a dozen feet away was every detail, every inch his father's likeness. Gimli continued to gawk as his dark eyes scrutinized the fair creature that bore such an unnerving resemblence to his sorely missed friend.
Oh, yes. So very familiar.
Tall like Legolas, with the wand-slender body structure. Gimli knew that if this young Elf was anything like his father, which he very obviously was, he would be just as deceptively strong. It had surprised Gimli the first time he saw Legolas lifting heavy boards and stacks of iron shields.
The face was the same; just as smooth, pale, and impeccable, with the high forehead, the chiseled bone structure, the dark brows, the straight, fine nose, the bowed lips, the squarish jaw.
The eyes especially caught Gimli off-guard. They were identical; the same piercing deep blue eyes, filled with a confusing combination of both childish mischief and wisdom far beyond even an Elf's years.
The thick cascade of blonde hair was not braided in warrior- and royalty-fashion as Legolas' always had been; instead, it had been captured in a single braid that lay in graceful obedience over his left shoulder, shimmering faintly in the flickering torchlight.
There was no denying this fair one his paternal claims.
The son of his dear friend dipped his head in courteous acknowledgment, lips curving into a genuine, amused smile. "My regards, Lord Gimli of Aglarond. I am Malenfín, the only child of Legolas Greenleaf. I believe you two knew each other long ago?"
Gimli was beside himself with surprise. The fact that this was the son of Legolas was just beginning to sink in, and his disbelief was growing steadily and rapidly.
"Aye, he was my best friend, but it is not possible that you are his son. Legolas was never married, and he never once spoke to me of a she-Elf...and especially not of a child!"
He coughed, suddenly realizing his utter lack of tact and courtesy, and said graciously, "By the gates of Mordor! I must apologize for my blatant staring and rude acknowledgment. I am mortified to admit that I never before this moment was aware of your existence. I surely did not intend to call you a liar."
Malenfín did not appear offended. In fact, he seemed rather amused. "It is quite all right. Few do know of my true lineage."
Gimli still seemed humiliated. "I am pleased that you seem undeterred by my unbecoming behavior. Still, I am deeply regretful of it."
"Worry not, my lord. Any friend of my late father is a friend of mine."
The Dwarf offered a sheepish smile, then cleared his throat and attempted a second, —hopefully more appropriate— impression. "Greetings, Malenfín, son of Legolas Greenleaf, late Elf-Prince of Mirkwood. It is my honor to meet you, and my deepest relief to know that some other Elf from the realm of Thranduil would not have me promptly locked away or beheaded."
Malenfín reached out a hand to clasp Gimli's shoulder. The Dwarf's dark eyes followed the motion, and his heart ached.
Just like his father.
"You speak of my grandfather. His reputation obviously precedes him in many kingdoms."
Gimli snorted. "You could say that."
Malenfín seemed lost in thought for a moment, but soon enough, he inquired, "Gimli, I must ask, and I implore of you to forgive me my curiosity, what was my father like? I've heard many versions, yet yours, as his best friend, would be the most valuable to me."
Gimli smiled. Innumerable adjectives chased each other through his mind and memory, yet none sufficed. How does one even begin to explain someone like Legolas?
How was he to explain to the son of his dearest friend that his sire had silken hair that could very well be the only worthy rival to the golden boughs of the ever-autumn mallorn trees of Lorien?
How could anyone describe the way the Elf conveyed strength, wisdom and nobility without ever lifting a finger or speaking a word? How could one put into words the way Legolas had of being utterly still and silent and yet being easily recognized as one of the most powerful presences in any group?
How could Gimli ever hope to tell Malenfín that not only was his father capable of felling a cave-troll with but a couple of unerringly aimed arrows, but also of charming it senseless with a simple smile?
Finally, he came up with a reply that suited him. "He was you, Malenfín."
"How so?" the Elf pried. Obviously, that answer did not suit him. Gimli could only imagine how stupid it must have sounded. Entirely too general.
"Forgive me. Your father was a mystery, even to me. Words escape me, but I shall try."
It was difficult at first to speak over the tidal wave of emotion that crashed over him as memories flitted like fickle butterflies through his mind. It all happened too quickly; Gimli could hardly think. After a moment, he took in a deep breath, collected his wits about him, and spoke in a tone entirely too quiet for a Dwarf that Legolas had often deemed loud-mouthed.
"He was beautiful. I never would have deigned to admit it to him, but he was." The Dwarf shrugged. "He was an Elf, after all. You fool Elves are known for beauty so radiant it makes one's eyes ache. Your father was no exception."
Oh, for the love of Mahal! I sound like an Elf!
Come to think of it, the more Gimli had been in the company of Aragorn and Legolas, the more often he had found that he was speaking as they did. It was unnerving, to say the least.
It was, therefore, only logical to assume that all the Dwarves in Aglarond thought Gimli was putting on airs, even for his status as Lord of the Glittering Caves. Even so, they had all adjusted their manner of speech accordingly.
Gimli was speaking like an Elf. Everyone knew it, and Gimli could not have been more irritated about it.
Legolas would have loved that.
Malenfín prompted, interrupting his realization, "How so, Master Gimli?"
Gimli smirked. Evidently, the young Elf, for all his uncanny similarities to his late father, had failed to inherit Legolas' everlasting patience.
"He was a warrior, through and through. I fought alongside him in many ruthless, vicious battles, yet never once was he wounded. I forgot so often that even Elves can die upon the sterling length of a sword, for he seemed more than just immortal to me. He seemed invincible. He fought with a grace unlike any I had ever seen before or since. His bow sang a fell song of precision and death, and hundreds fell prey to his lethal arrows. I counted myself very, very fortunate a great many times that he was on my side. I certainly would not have wanted to be his enemy."
Malenfín smirked. "He sounds fierce. I certainly did not inherit that particular quality."
"Oh, and by my beard, he was! He was a mighty warrior, to be sure, but he was also one of the gentlest creatures. It used to disgust me, for I imagined that he winced everytime I trampled a piece of grass. But that was exaggerated. He simply cared for nature. He warned me to be kind to the trees in the enchanted forest of Fangorn, and rightly so, for I found soon enough that they were quite the formidable force to be reckoned with!"
"I wish I could have known him," the Elf said with a trace of sorrow.
"I'm glad I did," Gimli responded gently. "My life was all the better for it."
Malenfín's smile was just as beautiful as his father's ever had been. "You were a good friend to him. My mother and I are both grateful to you for that."
"Your mother," Gimli mused. "I would like to hear about her."
"Why have you never before heard the tale of Legolas and my mother? I thought surely it would be the talk of Middle Earth well into the Fifth Age, for all the scandal of it."
"I am not particularly welcome in Mirkwood, my friend. If I had somehow managed to slip past the border-guards into the Elven forest back when talk of the scandalous circumstances of your birth was still circulating, either the spiders would have eaten me or I might have been faced with the opportunity to experience my father's punishment so long ago first-hand. Even now, I could not enter Eryn Lasgalen. While I might be in the good graces of the Lady Galadriel, I would never expect her to gossip; and this is of course assuming that I manage to sweet-talk Haldir and his fellow seneschals into letting me into Lorien without first being riddled with white-feathered arrows. I also doubt that any Dwarf here knows the tale. They do not especially favor Elves, you realize."
The Elf smiled grimly. "Point taken. Well, then, friend Gimli, you shall hear it from me. All in due time. I have a few questions of my own first."