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Chapter 11: Seeing the Light
When dawn came, Legolas climbed down from his tree. Trudging—an unusual gait for an Elf—he made his way back to the glade and his companions. When he arrived, Gimli was packing the bowl of his first pipe of the day. To the surprise of all, including Gimli, Legolas crossed over to the Dwarf and plunked himself down by his side.
Surprise deepened to amazement when Legolas remained by the side of the Dwarf the entire day—and the next day as well. Indeed, throughout the Fellowship's stay in Lothlórien, Legolas was rarely found far from Gimli's side. At first their comrades in the Fellowship thought that the Elf was accompanying the Dwarf out of a sense of obligation, as a way of making up for the suspicious welcome the Dwarf had received at the hands of Legolas' kinsmen. Soon, however, it became apparent that Legolas found Gimli to be a comfort, and that the Dwarf was, if anything, humoring the Elf with his presence rather than the other way around.
"I think it's the pipe weed," Merry opined one day.
"The pipe weed?" said Pippin.
"Aye. Haven't you noticed? Whenever Gimli lights his pipe, Legolas instantly draws near."
"True," agreed Sam. "Was a time Legolas would have fled at the sight of Gimli lighting his pipe. Now he takes deep breaths, as if he found the aroma fair."
"I do believe Merry is right," said Frodo thoughtfully. "Far from being bothered by the smell of pipe weed, Legolas seems to be attracted to it. I wonder—do you think it may remind him of Gandalf?"
"Of course," exclaimed Sam, "and as Gimli smokes more than anyone else in the Fellowship, it stands to reason that Legolas would spend more time with him than anyone else. Why, he has been spending more time with Gimli than with Aragorn, even."
"There is a good reason for that," smirked Pippin. "Anyone standing downwind of Aragorn gets a whiff of much more than pipe weed."
"That's not fair," protested Frodo. "Aragorn has been well-trimmed and well-clad since our arrival in Lothlórien."
This was true. Aragorn had been spending many hours in the company of the Lord and the Lady, and whilst in their company he always assumed the gracious manners and garb of the Elves. This was only natural. Frodo, well-taught by Bilbo during the time spent in Rivendell, knew that Aragorn bore in his veins the blood of the Eldar and that both he and Arwen could trace their ancestry to Eärendil the Mariner, whose ship could be seen each evening as it floated through the heavens.
"Do you know," observed Sam, breaking into Frodo's thoughts, "I think Mr. Frodo is right. Aragorn has been smoking a great deal less than formerly, I am sure. He spends so much time with the high folk of this land, and I can't see him lighting up a pipe in the presence of the Lady."
Merry and Pippin giggled at the thought of Aragorn stretching out his long legs and puffing familiarly in the presence of the elegant Sorceress of the Golden Wood.
"And I think Mr. Frodo is right about Legolas, too," Sam continued. "He takes comfort from our Gimli in some fashion. Maybe it's the pipe weed; maybe it's something else. Whatever it is, I'm glad. Do you remember Legolas' face when we came out of Moria?"
Everyone fell silent. The grief of all the members of the Fellowship had been great, but not so great that anyone failed to notice the expression on the Elf's face, a heart-breaking mixture of the dazed and the distraught. Even Frodo had noticed at the last, and he was in a bad way himself, for, save Aragorn and Legolas, that Hobbit had been closer to Gandalf than anyone else in the Fellowship.
Legolas' friends were correct: the Elf did take comfort from the Dwarf. There was no simple explanation for this fact. Yes, it was in part the familiar smell of pipe weed that drew Legolas toward the Dwarf. And partly it was the fact that Legolas was trying to honor Gandalf's long-cherished wish that the Elf and Dwarf be friends. More than that, though, it had occurred to Legolas that there must be something very special about Gimli. If not, Gandalf would have been mistaken with regard to the Nauga, and Legolas in his current mood was not about to consider the possibility that his friend could have been so wrong. Legolas therefore set about looking for what it was about the Dwarf that the wizard found so admirable. It did not take him long to find the answer. In his mind Legolas rehearsed every step of the journey from Rivendell to Lothlórien, and looking through Gandalf's eyes, the Elf saw that at every turn Gimli's behavior had been praiseworthy. Legolas could remember a thousand thoughtful gestures, many of which had been directed at the Elf himself. In his mind he also again saw the doughty Dwarf swinging his axe against their foes in Moria, leaping forward with a growl into wherever the skirmish was thickest. Whether in battle or in the quieter moments in camp, Gimli had looked out for his fellows. No, Gandalf had not been wrong. Gimli was indeed an admirable personage, and Legolas was truly sorry he had never been willing to admit that fact.
This was not to say that Legolas found Gimli to be without flaw. Even Gandalf would have admitted that Gimli had certain traits that were far from commendable. The Dwarf could be irascible and stubborn, and he could be blunt-spoken to the point of rudeness. But so, too, Gandalf had been irascible, stubborn, and blunt, and Legolas, with his new-found wisdom, was in no way inclined to hold these qualities against the Dwarf. If they were not endearing, they were nonetheless forgivable.
So Legolas was in earnest when he invited Gimli to accompany him throughout Lothlórien. With the Dwarf by his side, the Elf set about revisiting his favorite spots in the Golden Wood and reacquainting himself with his friends and comrades-in-arms. Elf and Dwarf were soon inseparable, and the Dwarf's presence in no way interfered with Legolas' reunions with his elven kin. In fact, Gimli soon proved to be a great favorite with the Lórien Elves, especially the younger ones. Gimli was a great raconteur, and Elves love listening to stories. It did not matter that Gimli always seemed to be the hero of his own tales. Elves love amusing stories as well as rousing ones, and in Gimli's tales they found a delightful combination of both the epic and the comic. Looking on, Legolas could not help but smile at the effect his newfound friend had upon the graceful Elves of Lothlórien.
But even Gimli could not altogether assuage Legolas' suffering at the loss of his beloved wizard. Whenever they passed a spot that reminded Legolas of Gandalf, the Elf, no matter how cheery he had been a moment earlier, would fall silent. Drifting in his memories, he would be heedless of the words of the Dwarf who walked by his side. One day, frustrated at his inability to rouse the Elf from his stupor, Gimli was tempted to take him by the shoulders and shake him until his perfect elven teeth chattered. The Dwarf looked about for a stump he could stand on in order to put his plan into effect. Fortunately he was prevented from acting upon his rash impulse, for at that moment Galadriel happened to come upon them. Gimli had of course noticed that she was in the habit of appearing at just the right moment—rather like Gandalf in that regard, the Dwarf thought to himself. Now she gently raised her hand. "Peace, Gimli," she said softly. "Would you spare Legolas a little while? I would speak with him."
"I, I would deny you nothing, Lady," replied Gimli, trying to be gallant but stammering a little. Galadriel smiled and then gestured for Legolas to follow her. To the Elf's surprise, she led him to her Glade. He knew that she had taken Frodo there and granted him a vision, but Frodo was the Ringbearer. Why would Legolas deserve a vision?
"And why would you not?" asked Galadriel, having, as usual, divined what was in his thoughts. "Like Frodo, you have suffered much."
Nodding silently, Legolas stepped up to the plinth as Galadriel poured water into the basin that stood upon it. For a long time, he saw nothing. Then he saw motion at one edge of the vessel. As he watched, a tiny ripple resolved itself into a grey-clad figure astride a great white horse. Horse and rider galloped into the center of the scene, and the figure raised a staff. From its end shot a flame that seemed to leap up from the mirror itself and envelop Legolas in warmth and light. The figure galloped on and disappeared at the other side of the basin. Bewildered, the young Elf stepped back from the plinth.
"What did you see?" asked Galadriel softly.
"It is not alone what I saw; it is what I felt," Legolas replied.
The Lady smiled.
"Well, then, Legolas Thranduilion, what did you feel?"
"Warmth, my Lady, a warmth more comforting than any I have ever known. I felt as if it encircled me with the gentleness of a parent embracing a child. It was a very different sort of flame than—formerly."
"A parent embracing a child. Such a gesture consoles and calms, does it not?"
"Yes, my Lady."
"And do you find yourself thus soothed?"
"Yes, my Lady. I am at peace. Although," Legolas added wonderingly, "I do not know why I should be. Vision or no vision, Gandalf is still dead."
"Legolas, doubtless Gandalf the Grey has fallen into a great chasm. Yet the darkness of that chasm cannot consume the light of the world. You know this to be true, for you have walked beneath the Greater Orb and felt its warmth. Know this as well: it is not only the Sun that will be a source of warmth and illumination for you and your Companions. You have set out upon a shadowed path, but you and your comrades will kindle such a light as shall drive back the darkness."
Legolas nodded thoughtfully. An image of Gimli arose in his mind. 'Odd', he thought, 'I never noticed that when the light hits him just so, his beard looks rather like the red sun of dawn—aglow with the promise of the day to come'.
He looked at Galadriel, who was smiling knowingly at him. She spoke on.
"Remember, too, Legolas, that sometimes your path will be illuminated by sources of light unlooked for."
Legolas smiled back at her. She had already been proved right. But then she probably knew that. He bowed slightly, as if he thought the audience were at an end, and turned to leave the Glade. Her voice stopped him.
"Legolas, one more thing you must remember. Gandalf's light has not altogether gone out. No, his was a flame eternal, and his a virtue that no mere balrog could extinguish."
As she spoke, her own flame seemed to grow stronger, casting a warm glow throughout the glade. The last trace of the shadow fled Legolas' heart. It would be false to say that he no longer felt sorrow; despair, however, never again threatened to darken his breast. Gladly he left the glade, and he smiled whole-heartedly upon Gimli when he rejoined the Dwarf. The Nauga put down his pipe and stared at him.
"Lad, be ye ill?"
"No, Gimli. Why do you ask?"
"Well, you, you are—glowing. Yes, that's it, glowing. As if a fire were kindled within you. Might it be the flush of a fever?"
Wonderingly, Legolas put his hand to his face. It felt cool to his touch, but he could not deny that his body was suffused with warmth. Hitherto, Legolas had not been much given to glowing, and he wondered if Galadriel had gifted him with some of her power.
"Lie down, lad," fussed Gimli. "I'll fetch you some water."
"I am quite well, Gimli."
"Nay, nay! I insist."
The Dwarf laid firm hold of the Elf's waist and pushed him onto a patch of soft moss. Legolas was too surprised to be offended, and he sank back upon his 'bed' thinking that perhaps Gimli was the one coming down with something.
Truth be told, Gimli had come to cherish the Elf's company as much as Legolas cherished the Dwarf's. In Lothlórien Gimli found himself surrounded by Elves, a situation that could have been most distressing. Legolas, however, had saved him from feeling lonely and unwelcome. For the sake of the Sindarin Prince, wherever they went in the Golden Wood, all the Elves they encountered treated the Dwarf with deference and kindness. Gimli had always felt a modicum of grudging respect for the Elf; to this feeling was now added gratitude. From gratitude the Dwarf progressed to affection. It is true that Gimli would never have deigned to utter the word, but affection it was. Each sojourner, in his own loneliness, had discovered sympathy for his fellow, and before either knew what was happening, Dwarf was looking out for Elf, Elf for Dwarf. It would be going a bit far to say that Gimli totally understood what it was to walk a mile in Legolas' shoes, or that Legolas entirely knew what it was to walk in Gimli's boots. Still, their misery and loneliness had made them comrades, for commiseration is a powerful force for friendship.
But now, however, it appeared to Gimli that 'his' Elf was falling ill. That wouldn't do at all! So for the remainder of the day, Gimli hovered over Legolas and stubbornly insisted on nursing him. At one point, convinced that Legolas was not eating enough, the Dwarf even tried to spoon some broth into the Elf's mouth. As luck would have it, Haldir and his brothers were passing by at that moment. Only their astonishment kept them from laughing at the sight of a Dwarf tenderly nursing an Elf. And not just any Elf, either, but a warrior and the Prince of Mirkwood to boot.
"I think he's sick," explained Gimli to the Lothlórien brothers. "Look at his face. Don't you think it flushed?"
Legolas' face was now undeniably a bright red, but only because he was blushing with embarrassment. He glared at the Lórien brothers, and they wisely retreated, but he heard them giggling as they went. Something had to be done before all of Lothlórien was chortling at his expense. "Gimli," Legolas said slyly, "do you think you could fetch me some miruvor. My kinsmen would give you some if you asked, and I think it would be just the thing."
Dwarf hurried off at once. In his eagerness to help his friend, he would have been willing even to scramble high into a mallorn tree if that is what it took to secure a vial of the precious potion. Fortunately, that would not be necessary, as the first Elf Gimli met gladly agreed to fetch the elixir. The Elf hastened toward Galadriel's flet. When he reached the base of the great mallorn in which the Lady dwelled, the messenger found Galadriel waiting, enigmatic smile on face, vial of miruvor in hand.
Meanwhile, as soon as Gimli was out of sight, Legolas had leaped to his feet and run to a nearby spring. Hastily, he stripped off his tunic and bathed his face and arms in the spring, spluttering a little because even the Elves found these waters frigid. Having finished bathing, Legolas pulled his clothes back on and returned to the patch of moss. He lay with his face to a tree, so that Gimli might not see it. As soon as the Dwarf returned, Legolas sat up and accepted the proffered cup, still keeping his face turned away from his friend. As soon as he had swallowed the potion, however, he looked directly at the Dwarf.
"Gimli, after drinking that miruvor, I feel much better."
Gimli studied his face.
"Hmmm, you don't look as flushed as formerly. Perhaps you are on the mend."
"Oh, I think I am," Legolas assured him. "In fact, I am hungry, and I have always heard Men say that the onset of hunger is a sign of recovery. It is time for the evening meal. Let us hasten to rejoin our companions. Tonight is our last night in Lothlórien, and we should be with the Fellowship, for I am sure that Aragorn will wish us to take counsel together."
"If you are sure you are up to it, lad."
"Yes, Gimli, I am."
"Remarkable stuff, that miruvor," muttered Gimli, who did not look altogether convinced. But Legolas again assured the Dwarf that he was well enough to move about and to dine on something more substantial than broth. At last Gimli yielded, and Legolas arose and strode beside the Dwarf as they made their way back to the glade where their comrades awaited them. As they walked, the sun was westering, its rays falling aslant through breaks in the foliage. It was the gloaming, that twilight time when the light plays tricks upon the eye. That must be why anyone gazing upon the two friends would have sworn that they were enveloped in light. For a golden haze seemed to emanate from the Elf, and a warm red one from the Dwarf. But a trick of the light—yes, surely a trick of the light must have accounted for that ethereal glow.