Dark Forest
By Anarithilien
Part II: In Realms Beyond
Chapter Thirty-Five: Stab at the Heart
The elf king waited at the appointed place but none of his guard came. Thranduil was left to ponder the meaning of their absence. They should have returned to him at dawn. If some ill fate had befallen them, he was not sure what that would do to their mission. Amending this thought, the elf looked inward and realized he should be wondering what might he say to their kin as well. He glanced at his aide, Inirion, as he considered this. The elf's brother was among those missing soldiers.
Of course there was the dwarf to consider as well. Like one who has long-evaded the snares of a clever trap, Thranduil knew he had come to a point of reckoning for his deeds. Strangely though, his anxiety for his own plight was not his concern. He could not think on the lives of the others in his protection either. Not truly. Not yet. It was too much to bear, their lives and his. What of his son? That was his chief concern.
Gazing about at the anxious faces of his people, he realized they awaited his action. His fears weighed on him though, and he felt pressed by his doubts. What should he say? Do? They would have him lead, but was it wise to travel without the rest of their guard? He pressed a hand to his brow. He could not answer these questions. All concerns beyond his son seemed superfluous and he knew that this one worry would be what drove them, not some declaration of greater interests. His was a personal mission.
Still, he wondered at his heart. Legolas had been an independent elf choosing his own destiny for many a year now. Though there were lapses in his resolve, in these last years Thranduil had relinquished his concerns for Legolas, allowing his son to be as he would without the guidance of a father or king. And never in these years had he felt such great fear as he did now.
The fact that he did not wear a Ring at this moment might factor into his feelings. But he noted that in the past when he had forsaken his gem he could recognize his actions with more clarity. Now he felt no relief of guilt; he felt blind fear. And that fear only made him want to don It all the more.
Still, he had his reasons for discarding It. It was true that the Ring gave him stamina of heart but it also masked his perceptions. When he wore It he felt as if he were locked away in a vault. But now with those walls removed he could feel the siren's call of nature, and he used that to send his heart out to his son. Legolas was still alive; this he could sense. But Thranduil could also feel that his spirit was fading. Since hearing Gimli's tale, he feared it was the sea that pulled at the young elf's soul. Cuivear had such dread effects.
The elf king gazed again about him. Gimli's presence did not help. In fact it made the Ring call out for greater attention and Thranduil already felt greatly stressed by the mounting despair in his heart. The stunted creature had said few words since they had set off, but he could sense the animosity exuding there. It took no extra effort to notice it, no need for a Ring to realize it.
He took a calming breath and turned his eyes out upon the Celebrant Fields. The plains were open and untainted for a very far distance. In the brightness of day, nothing of danger lay before them. Leagues away, ribbons of glistening light reflected off the tributaries of the Limlight. All was calm ahead.
Would that his heart might say the same for what was before them.
Yet behind him was the dwarf with burning ire. And further were his people awaiting his resolve. "Let us be on our way," Thranduil announced, deciding his impatience would not rest as he made way to the awaiting horse.
Grimacing, Gimli slowly rose, taking a moment to find his balance before noisily making way to the horse as well. The king chose to ignore his pale appearance. They could not be stayed by illness and he had already witnessed the dwarf's ambivalence when he was thought of as weak. He thought then how he would have preferred to make this journey without his son's companion but he needed the dwarf to lead the way. And somehow he knew that if he was to regain Legolas' trust it would be with the buffer of this diminutive being.
He lightly pulled himself onto the back of the horse. Inirion was there then, as always the faithful servant, and drew the dwarf into his seat on the horse as well, receiving a murmur of appreciation in the exchange. But all civility was put aside once the dwarf was astride the beast. To the king Gimli said in stern voice, "I will speak with you now."
Inirion blinked wide eyes at the forward nature of dwarf, but relaxed to a stoic expression as he glanced to the king. Thranduil's servant knew him well for the king had made it his practice to be addressed with a modicum of formality, even among familiars. After all these years leading and protecting his people, Thranduil certainly did not appreciate the tone of the dwarf's demand, for it was ambivalent and certainly not a request. But evenly he corrected, "If we must speak, it will be with respect and courtesy, Master Dwarf."
"As given, so shall it be returned," the dwarf replied curtly but he appeared contrite as if realizing the abrupt quality of his words.
Thranduil turned his attention then to the dwarf, resigning himself to the conversation that was surely to come. This was not going to be easy.
Of course, the horse sensed his mood and sidestepped as it adjusted to its rider. Thranduil drew a deep breath then, finding this small action aided in quelling his raw feelings, thus taming the horse's agitation.
It was then that he realized he had not bothered to ask of the animal's name. Acknowledging the presence of old prejudices, he could tell himself he had failed to ask simply because he had not wished to engage in conversation with the dwarf. But the truth was he had been so caught up in his worries that he had not taken notice of the absence of speech between them. He thought perhaps he might try to speak now, if for no other reason than to soothe the beast's nervousness, though he hoped it might also lead them to a more civil discourse. "What name does this horse go by?" the king asked.
The dwarf seemed stunned to be asked anything by the king and he did not immediately answer, as if weighing the validity of this question before choosing to answer. "He came to us with the name Arod," Gimli finally replied.
The king patted the horse's neck as he simultaneously nodded to his men, indicating that they should begin to march. He moved the horse forward with a subtle shift in his weight. Fortunately, Gimli did not seem to put any effort into directing, trusting Thranduil to maneuver the animal for them. Thranduil smiled briefly. Clearly this was something his son would have taught the dwarf.
He quickly glanced over his shoulder, seeing his position among his guard. He and the dwarf were yards ahead, yet he wanted more distance so that his men would not overhear their words. If the dwarf wished to speak, they would, but he would not have others eavesdrop on their conversation. He urged Arod forward with a click of his tongue, moving the animal at a faster pace.
"Arod," the elf repeated. "The name means noble in the grey tongue."
The dwarf nodded. "So Legolas had told me. He also said the name might mean something other in the Rohan speech but that he thought it fitting and did not query further into the meaning for those people."
"Noble is indeed a fitting name," the king nodded, agreeing. The horse had good lines and a broad chest, holding his head up proudly and stepping with a graceful gait. Arod's ears pivoted, as if he knew the discussion centered around him, and the king spurred him into a light trot. "Did Legolas tell you then the dínpeth for this animal?" he asked.
"Dínpeth?" Gimli asked, sounding uncertain of the words.
"His 'silent name.' The moniker the animal would know in his heartsong, beyond the verbal call of his outward name," Thranduil supplied, but the dwarf only shook his head.
Thranduil felt the shrugged reply when Gimli answered in words. "I do not know what it is you speak of."
The king frowned. "It is a personal call -- a secret name -- that the horse and rider use to commune with one another as well as those that might speak in the nature of Iluvatar's song. It is likened to a bond. Elves use it so that the animal might know his master's commands in thought, without words being said. Of course, all one can really command with any obeisance is simple actions, but it can be an effective way of riding. Legolas did not tell you of this?"
Thranduil could guess that the dwarf's brow was furrowing, even if he did not have a direct view of the small one's face. Gimli shook his head. "I have never heard him mention any kind of a secret name, though he and the horse did seem to communicate." He chuckled lightly then, surprising Thranduil in this. "I thought it was my imagination that they conspired against me."
Had Thranduil known Legolas had not shared the dínpeth of the animal he might never have spoken of it. He had assumed it had been told to Gimli because of the infamy of their friendship, but now he saw it had not. He knew so little of dwarves. Was it possible that, like men, they did not hear the Song? And though he had not meant it, he too found himself chuckling. If true, Legolas had pulled a prank on the dwarf.
It was not an original jest. Many elves had convinced the men of Dale that horses could comprehend all actions of men and that they even had opinions on them. And those men, unable to hear the internal voice, did not realize the elves simply used dínpeth to get the animals to snort, stomp, shake their heads, or act any other number of small actions on command. They became convinced the elves spoke deep, rich philosophical conversations with their horses. They probably thought they talked to trees the same way.
Gimli seemed to understand that he had been made a fool, but he did not seem to mind. Instead he said, "And I was convinced this horse did not like me."
"Arod?" Thranduil asked, feeling suddenly charmed by his son's charade. "Arod likes you very much." The horse groaned, shaking his head as if to negate this statement.
The dwarf shifted, chuckling again, "Now I know where Legolas learned his humor." Thranduil enjoyed the rich sound of Gimli's laughter. But the humor seemed to fall away as soon as the dwarf realized it was Thranduil with whom he was sharing this moment of merry.
There was an awkward pause in their conversation, and then Gimli spoke. "Dwarves have secret names too. Did you know this?" In fact Thranduil did not.
"What would yours be?" the elf asked, trying to keep the conversation alive, but he heard a snort in reply.
"If I told you it would not be a secret, now would it?" the dwarf retorted.
Thranduil smiled to himself, amused though still on edge. He knew the dwarf was taking his time. The questions soon would come, but Thranduil would delay them with questions of his own. "Does Legolas know of it?" he asked. He was treading into dangerous territory, but he would approach their differences on his own terms if he could.
"Legolas and I have shared much. He knows things of dwarves few outside my race do," came the answer, and though his question had not been answered, Thranduil nodded.
"Has he shared much with you about the ways of elves?" he asked.
"He has told me much of elves... and of you, Lord Elf," came the answer, and Thranduil knew in this reply that many dark secrets had been revealed to Gimli. It seemed the dwarf had been privy to the truths of both the father and the son.
Thranduil paused to absorb this. He had been fearful of this moment, but now that it was upon him he realized the dwarf's knowledge was not really what plagued him. "Has Legolas told you what it means to suffer from Sea-Longing?"
Gimli did not reply right away, and Thranduil wondered if the dwarf was trying to gather his words. But after a long moment passed, Gimli answered in a soft voice, "He does not speak on it much. I think it pains him." And this too was a confession.
Thranduil closed his eyes in quiet hurt. He had feared as much. "He has no one to offer him succor. That is why he suffers."
He could feel the dwarf sit up taller, as if the words had been an affront. "I aid him where I might."
Thranduil nodded his head and turned so the dwarf could partly see his affirmation. "I do not doubt it. You are quite ... amusing. But you are not an elf, and none but another elf can do what is necessary in such a case. And even then, it must be an elf with a close bond."
"Such as the bond between a father and son?" the dwarf asked, prying.
Thranduil nodded in answer and the dwarf questioned again, pressing to his own agenda.
"And if there is no such bond?" Gimli asked.
Thranduil winced. He knew what Gimli was saying, but there were greater matters at hand than the rift between his son and himself. "Cuivear... the Sea-Longing... it will destroy him in due time if he does not gain comfort from its assault," Such an elementary response was not what he wished to convey, but he chose to give in this way so the dwarf might understand. Cuivear was difficult even for elves to understand for it had no bearing as a physical disease. Instead it was a dawning ache, a pain drawn from the heart. But hearing Gimli's response and query, Thranduil's own heart drew an ache, for he felt a renewal of his greater fear. Dissent between them or not, Legolas had not spoken to his friend of remedying his illness.
"Yet Legolas is strong," Gimli asserted. "He can withstand much. Our travels have proven that. And he has a valiant heart. He has pledged his service and allegiance to Elassar of Gondor. He will not be parted until Aragorn takes his final breath. I have no reason to doubt him true."
But the elf shook his head. Clearly this dwarf did not understand the affliction he was attempting to explain. His voice rose as fear overtook his level calm, "Without succor Legolas will find his own parting is unto the paths that weave their way to Mando's Halls!" He felt shame for his sudden temper, but he could not refrain from his impatience. Ignorance would not help them. The dwarf must know the dangers. "No pledge to Man can halt this! He suffers the Call as the Valar would have it. They make it so he might answer Them, and should he ignore it he will come to Them in death far sooner than any passing of a mortal life! Does he know anything of this illness?" But in speaking it Thranduil suddenly realized his son did not. In fact, there was only one instance of the Sea-Longing he was certain his son had witnessed.
In equally stern tones, the dwarf replied, voicing the king's thoughts. "He knows that his mother died of the same!"
"Ai!" Thranduil cried, feeling the sting of the words. He knew they would come, but not with the intent to stab as these did. Still, it was his son that concerned him. Bowing his head, he realized this grim truth. "He knows not! Valar help me! O Laeraniel, what have I done?" he gasped.
With a snarl, Gimli barked retort. "You dare invoke her name! It was you who held her back on her quest when she suffered such illness herself! And now you call out to her in entreaty?" Thranduil did not need to see the dwarf's face to know that they had come upon the start of their debate.
But Thranduil would defend himself if he could. "Is that what Legolas told you? That I held her back? How tainted is his memory of this event if he thinks I sought to thwart her?"
The dwarf was clearly agitated now and he pulled back in his seat as if trying to distance himself from the king. The dwarf's voice was accusing though his utterance was light. "I know Legolas wished to escort her but you prevented him through injury inflicted by your hand!"
Thranduil shook his head with greater vehemence, again feeling the memories pressing on him while hearing untruths spoken of them. "It was not as you say it."
"He bears the scar still!" the dwarf replied, the volume rising in his speech as his hand balled into a fist which he pushed forcefully into Thranduil's side.
"Do not think to flail me, Dwarf, for I could have you thrown from this horse without utterance of a word! As for my son, there are scars, this is true, but I wonder how it is you think they came to be," Thranduil said evenly, knowing the dwarf would carry on deep invectives if he did not urge a reprieve.
"You wish me to explain Legolas' injuries when it was you who delivered them?" Gimli harrumphed. "Your guilt is clear to me."
"My guilt may be clear to you, but it is not to me.!" Thranduil roared, no longer willing to listen to Gimli's wild words. "I think you have heard the tale wrong. If you deem me guilty without giving me voice to defend myself then I must ask why you did not proclaim your knowledge before your beloved Elf-Queen, Galadriel? Surely something greater could have been done with this knowledge -- which you have yet to describe to me -- whilst still in her graces! Cease your accusations and one-sided truths! I would explain myself if you would only tell me what it is you know!"
Silence followed in the wake of the elf's retort. Thranduil glanced behind and saw his men on alert to his vexing, but he knew the distance between them was great enough that they would not have heard the actual words, only the sound of commotion. With a wave he assured a worried Inirion that all was well. In his heart he assured Arod, letting the Song sing out from there. The horse was quite aware of the mood of its two riders but he settled with Thranduil's quiet soothing.
Telling the tale would be painful and the elf was not eager to go there; it required he relive the experience. Surely Legolas explained THIS to him, he thought. In examining the past it would be easier if he might learn what the dwarf knew and then clarify from there. But the dwarf's lack of reply seemed to be a refusal to explain what he knew. He chooses me guilty without hearing me out. Very well then, Thranduil thought, If the dwarf will not give then neither will I. Instead he focused on what he felt was most important. "There is a solution that might be found for Legolas' Sea-Longing," he continued, returning to the original string of their conversation.
A lengthy pause followed, but then came the words. "Do you truly believe it is fatal to him? This cuivear?" Gimli asked. His voice was small, laced with fear -- and pain. Thranduil realized then he had forgotten the fatigue and aches the dwarf must be traveling with. Those agonies certainly would account for a shortened temper. Yet what moved the elf was the great concern foremost in the beckoning question.
"There is only one true cure for cuivear," Thranduil explained with new calm and a small sense of pity, "and that is to sail. But the symptoms can be staved if Legolas would allow me to succor him. And in this it is possible he could maintain for the full of his pledge to Gondor's new king."
"Twice now you have used this word of aid, but I do not understand your meaning. You say I am not capable of delivering it. What then is this 'succor' that only you can give?" Gimli asked.
The elf nodded, pleased that they had come back to a line of converse that he could address competently. "My people would call it lhaew dambeth. But it is a treatment rarely used for the Longing, especially in the forest home."
"Why is that?" Gimli asked.
"In the Greenwood realm, cuivear is not a common affliction. We are Wood Elves and so we rarely come into contact with that which might stir the Call. But when it does strike, the one who ails usually needs no succor to give him strength. He does as is guided and takes the Straight Path over the Sundering Seas."
Thranduil felt Gimli nod his understanding and so he continued. "Yet this aid can be had if one has a bondmate who is willing to take it unto himself. Lhaew dambeth we call it. The words means to share the illness."
Again the dwarf nodded and Thranduil felt he was making ground. "It can be used for any ailment really -- the ache of childbirth is probably its most commonly known use -- though it can also allay greater hurts. Injuries, fatigue, heartaches."
"I have heard this. It is the skill elven healers have, like Lord Elrond, is it not?" Gimli asked.
Thranduil frowned, irritated that Elrond's name would be brought into the conversation. Once he had learned of It, he felt the Imladris lord had used his Elven Ring of Power to advantage in forging his valley home. He had no doubt Elrond did the same in enhancing his skills as a healer too. But the dwarf did not need to hear of this animosity to understand Thranduil's point for it was possible Gimli did not even know Elrond held a Ring. Holding discussion of the many Rings was not in his mind. "Yes, that is correct," he simply said. "Somewhat," he amended, "for in this way, through the aid of a bondmate, the pain is lessened. If the hurt is an injury, for example, through lhaew dambeth the bondmate shares the pain while the healer does his part in healing the wound. But with cuivear no healer would dare offer their skills in staving that ache."
"Why would they not?" Gimli asked.
"Because doing so would mean daring to take the illness upon themselves," Thranduil replied.
"Is that not their job?" the dwarf pressed.
"Cuivear is different. It is fatal if one does not heed the Call and sail," Thranduil explained. "And so if a healer incurred the affliction, they too would have to give up their place in this Middle-Earth and sail."
"But you said you would offer him this lhaew..." He fumbled as he tried to pronounce the words. "You are not bonded to Legolas and you are certainly no healer..."
Thranduil smiled taking no offense at the words. Mortals were quite unlike elves, he saw, for they did not feel the strength of Iluvatar's gifts. "You are correct. I am no healer. But as his father, Legolas and I have been bonded since before his birth. From the moment he was conceived, in fact. This is not something that is forged or broken like a marriage bond. Legolas is my son; I will know him for all of his days. For though that sense of one another may fade with time, it is there should he want it." He paused, swallowing back the lump in his throat while feeling pride that he might do something to aid his son. "I could help him with his illness if he would let me."
"You would suffer the Sea-Longing too," the dwarf confirmed.
"I would," the king answered, "though its effects would be lessened. I would be a filter for Legolas, and he with me."
"He would not be cured though?" Gimli asked.
"Sailing would be the only real cure for either of us," Thranduil replied. And then he added in confession, "When we find him, it is my intent to offer lhaew dambeth."
"But why--? Why did you not give this to your wife, Laeraniel? Did you not have such a bond with her? If you can do this for your son, why did you not offer such when she was overcome by the sea-longing?"
Affronted, Thranduil asked, "Do you think I did not?"
"You let her languish in her illness," Gimli answered though his statement seemed almost a question. "And as I understand it, she died from it."
Thranduil felt a knot rise in his throat. "Aye, she did die," he admitted. "But it was not cuivear that took her in the end. It was heartache." The memories were stirring and he could feel them pressing on his resolve. Again, he thought about donning the Ring to protect himself from them, but he would not be parted from his sense of his son.
"Heartache?" Gimli asked.
"That is what the healers said in the end," Thranduil confirmed, then laughed humorlessly. "Heartache is another affliction healers dare not succor."
"But you said in a marriage bond this is something you could aid through lhaew dambeth. 'Injuries, fatigue, heartaches,' were your words.
Thranduil nodded, again dipping his head at the overwhelming pain of this memory. "And I would have." He gazed up, watching the unmarked road ahead of them. "I indeed tried. I would not have her suffer cuivear or any other affliction. But it was Laeraniel who refused me." He found it difficult to breathe. Dare he speak it? "She... she severed our bond before I could proceed with lhaew dambeth."
He had to stop then, for the memory was too thick. He could remember her weak cries, her muzzy response. She seemed outside of herself when he spoke to her from her sickbed, her eyes lost, her brow furrowed as if in pain, as if she spoke from a state of dreams, nightmares.
"Nay... I will refuse you my heart."
"Laeraniel, my love! You must let me help. Is this not what our bond is for?"
"I will not have it. My heart lives elsewhere. Leave me... leave me."
The dwarf spoke, interrupting his thoughts. "Is that possible? For an elf? I thought a marriage bond was meant to last forever."
"It is meant to," Thranduil could only confirm, choking on the words.
"But why would she do such if you could have helped her?" Gimli asked.
Thranduil dared not say what he felt might be the real truth of the matter for it crushed him. My heart lives elsewhere, she had said. It would be easy to interpret her words to mean she no longer recognized her love for him. This confused him greatly and forced him to wonder if he was that removed from her that she could not sense his place in her heart. He had removed his Ring then, thinking It perhaps responsible, but it did no good. She could not feel him. In the end he chose to believe she was driven out of her mind by her illness. He had never learned a truth to otherwise disprove this notion for she spoke sense no more to any thereafter.
Still, when he tried to force his succor upon her in the days after, she pushed him away, her eyes wild, fighting him fiercely, even from her deathbed. She severed the bond then, snarling hate-filled curses whenever he neared her. He could feel their separation the instant if came, and with it she effectively silenced his ability to reach into her soul. That slicing of her spirit -- the healers said it was what pushed her into the open arms of death-- had nearly taken him too. He collapsed at the severing. Yet when revived all he could do was silently watch as Laeraniel faded.
But in answer to the dwarf, he had another reply. "She sacrificed herself for the sake of our realm." True or not, he could not say, but it made her death far nobler than it might be were others to realize she simply no longer loved him and wished her own end. "She felt it better I rule than succumb to Sea-Longing like her."
Gimli shifted uneasily behind the elf, but Thranduil did not try to read him. The memories, though long-passed, still felt fresh to him, a wound that would not scar over. He did not think he would ever heal from it.
"Did Legolas know any of this?" the dwarf asked after a long silence.
Thranduil felt the knot in his throat again as his grief throbbed anew. He could not speak and was forced to shake his head in reply though there was more he would answer.
"You did not tell him these things when he offered to take her away?" Gimli asked, his voice incredulous.
"I do not think he heard my words, Master Dwarf," Thranduil answered woodenly. "He was suffering too. He wanted only to find remedy when there was none to be had."
"Legolas could have eased her misery though, lightened the burden of the Sea-Longing for her, could he have not?" Gimli asked.
The elf sighed. "Legolas does not understand soul bonds. I do not think he realizes they exist or knows he could have reached out to Laeraniel to aid her. I do not think he knows this any more than he knows he can reach out to me now for succor," Thranduil said heavily. Whether right or wrong, these were truths, and he had kept them from his son so that Legolas at least would live.
"He could have helped her though," Gimli nearly whispered.
"Had he done so he would have succumbed to cuivear himself, and before he'd even achieved his maturity. Would you wish that heartache upon him? Had I allowed it you would have never known him -- he would have sailed centuries ago," Thranduil replied. The arguments were not new to his mind.
"But she would be alive," the dwarf countered.
Of course Thranduil knew this. How often had he thought these very ideas? He shook his head, pushing the argument away. It did no good now to consider choices made in the past. Instead he tried to explain as best he could. "I could not bear to lose Legolas too. The grief I suffered was already dire. To lose him as well-- I cannot attest to the survival of the Greenwood realm should it have come to that. I would have perished most surely if I had lost him." But in his grief, the words sounded weak even to Thranduil's ears.
"So you chose to stab him to show this great affection," the dwarf's voice came hard with the accusation. The words struck like a blow.
Thranduil bowed under the weight of the pain, but then rallied his strength, not ready to admit complete blame for what had happened next. Could he tell the dwarf that when Legolas had approached him he had been out of his mind with his own misery? Could he say he could barely remember the incident, so great was the hurt he had been suffering at that moment? Could he say that his intent was not to hurt Legolas but himself?
"You were not there, you do not know what occurred," he weakly replied. It was a pale response given the vivid agony in his heart.
"I have heard what happened," the dwarf accused.
The king feebly shook his head. "Not clearly, I think. The injury was an accident."
"Clearly heard or not, his scar evidences the action! What say you to your part?"
The dwarf seemed emboldened by his rage whereas Thranduil felt he had little in him to fight. Still, Thranduil swallowed, realizing he was trying to escape this interrogation. The dwarf was not going to relinquish to one sentence replies. Painful as it was, he must explain. "I told Legolas to leave me; it was not the right time for us to speak. I could not think. I thought I was alone."
Raging, the dwarf seemed not to hear him. "You say nothing! You struck him; you nearly killed him!"
"I was barely aware of myself, Dwarf, let alone him," Thranduil countered. And then he took a breath so that he might calm himself. Still his voice came with a raggedy sound, a sob. "Can you not understand? I was nearly as wounded as Laeraniel! I was barely alive, so shattered was my heart. The pain -- ai!," Thranduil's hand came to his heart in remembrance of his agony.
The dwarf was not forestalled. "A knife pierced his leg!"
"Aye! And it was my hand that directed it! But Legolas was not the target I sought!"
There, it was now said.
Gimli did not seem to grasp his meaning. "If not Legolas, then ...?" And then he paused.
In the interim silence the dwarf seemed to picture the scene. "You? You sought your own life? And before the eyes of your son?" Gimli retorted. "What father would do such a thing?"
"I did not think he was there to witness my end. He came upon me unsuspecting. And then fought me for the knife."
"That was not how it was told me!" Gimli replied, not conceding.
"Then I wonder by what means you were told!" Thranduil shouted, the suddenness of his ire surprising even him. "I will grant you that our argument before was heated. I had not meant it to go so far! But he said he would leave, and I knew what I would do. He had to stay, to rule in my stead."
"Elves do not commit suicide," the dwarf argued.
Thranduil scoffed, nearly laughing at the ludicrous reply. "What drivel is that? What do you think it is to fade? In my soul, Laeraniel was already dead. I was dying too. I only needed the knife to complete the act."
The dwarf paused as if to consider this. And then he said, "That does not make it right."
"Of course it was not right!" Thranduil truly felt sick with the grief he was experiencing. He gulped on air as they rode, and then the elf repeated in a voice much softer, "Of course it was not. I saw the wrong after, but at the moment I wanted peace and an end to my agony. I had not meant Legolas to be involved. That is all I can say in my defense. But actions cannot be reversed, Dwarf. How I wish that they could be! There are many things I would do differently."
Gimli seemed to absorb what he had learned. Another moment's silence came. The gentle gait of the horse rocked Thranduil in his seat, but his heart felt the ache as if freshly made and there was no soothing his raw nerves.
A moment later it became clear the dwarf was not done with him. Breaking the silence, Gimli said in a voice made even and yet stilled filled with vexation, "You would do things differently, you say. I assume that includes accepting the Ring when It was offered to you?"
A part of Thranduil admired the vigor of the dwarf's attack. Indeed, Gimli was a mighty foe. Thranduil felt beaten. His crimes against his son he was prepared to answer. Defending his use of the Ring though, that he had no heart for.
He sighed and bowed his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he pled, "I know what you would say, but the Ring has no bearing in this. I was not wearing It when the accident occurred, so please do not take that side of the argument."
But Gimli would not be appeased. "Nay, I will not. I deem you have learned nothing. You may have removed It on the day you stabbed Legolas, and you wear It not today, but that does not mean It does not have effect. I think -- nay, I KNOW it wields power over thought and demeanor. I have only been in Its presence for short time, but I feel It. Surely you sensed It then and how It would have affected your actions."
"You feel It? Even when I do not wear It?" Thranduil asked, ignoring the second part of Gimli's statement. He turned to glance back at the dwarf. None of his people had ever felt It. Even Galadriel, a Ringbearer herself, had not noticed Its presence when he wore It, let alone when he did not!
Gimli scowled, meeting his eyes. "Of course I feel It. How can I not? It is there about your body somewhere -- in a pocket perhaps." His eyes then drew to Thranduil's side where a hidden pocket indeed did house the Ring.
Thranduil gasped, turning again in his seat. He realized then just how great the Ring's call to a Dwarf would be. And if It was that great, perhaps It had been made with greater power than he, an elf, could wield. "I had never thought--" he began, but the dwarf cut him off.
"Why you still keep It near is not clear to me. I have been watching you, and though the discord in you appears gone, you still are much as you were when we last met and you were wearing It."
Thranduil straightened in his seat, disagreeing with the words being said. He was not the same elf without the Ring. "I am sure you cannot understand what it is to possess such a thing," he answered defensively. He knew it had been a foolish statement as soon as the words passed his lips.
The dwarf launched upon his mistake without hesitation. "I am sure you forget I journeyed on the Ringquest. I know what it is to feel the lure of such a trinket. That experience gives me knowledge enough to say It...serves... no... good." The last words were enunciated for greater effect.
"Perhaps It does!" Thranduil countered, no longer speaking his conscious but his pride. He did not need to hear he had been taken a fool. He grasped at the only defensive thought he had remaining in his arsenal. He was not ready yet to think Annatar the same as the Dark Lord. He remembered again Annatar's explanation, that Sauron falsely appeared as him; Thranduil had long accepted and adhered to that fact. He would believe his friend true. "Perhaps It was given to me so that I might do something good!"
Gimli launched upon that comment derisively, "An elf with a Dwarf Ring? I think not."
But Thranduil would not hear such words. "How do you know with certainty It is something of Sauron?"
"Its very existence is proof of that!" Gimli shouted. "What happened to Legolas, to your wife, there is your proof!"
Stubbornly Thranduil refused. All these years of acting upon It and the strength It drew to him made him feel incapable of outright confessing a mistake. "I am not so convinced," he replied.
The dwarf choked on that answer. "Sauron rules that Ring!" he cried angrily.
"I do not know if that is true," the elf countered.
"You do not -- ?! Are you mad? How can you not feel Sauron's influence upon that thing?" Thranduil could feel Gimli squirming behind him and wondered for a moment if the dwarf was trying to jump from the back of the horse. But then he realized it was Gimli trying to push the king away. "Get off! Get off! Creature of the dark, I cannot tolerate your proximity! Get off this beast now before I take my dagger to your heart!"
Thranduil could hear the vehemence in the words and chose not to argue them. Without questioning he easily vaulted Arod before the horse had even stilled. Behind him, he knew his guard had witnessed the move and were running to catch up, but he halted them with a single raised hand. He was not ready to take in the company of others. He wished privacy yet.
Satisfied that they were yet alone, he gazed at the dwarf. Gimli would not meet his eye, and with his short breaths and clenched teeth, it was clear the dwarf was furious. The king cocked his head trying to determine what best he might say, his own anger and hurt not yet deterred. He weighed his thoughts in this. He had not even wanted to speak to the dwarf at first, but Gimli had propelled their conversation forward and now that they were involved, Thranduil felt compelled to explain himself. Yet he felt strangely cowed by this small creature's ire. Turning his eyes away so that neither was looking at one another, Thranduil said, "I am no creature of the Dark Lord."
"Your actions are vile! I will not speak to you!" Gimli spat.
"You began this, Dwarf! Let us finish!" Thranduil raged in reply.
But the stout warrior would not hear him. He urged the horse forward with a graceless thrust of his legs. "You are no better than one of the Nazgul Kings! Be gone with you! I will tolerate you no more!" The horse cantered on leaving Thranduil alone and he could only contemplate how, over these many long centuries, he had been made a fool.
TBC
Cuivear - this is a word I made up long ago when I wrote "Cry of the Gull" and "Torn Between Two Worlds." It is the elven name I give for the illness that befalls an elf overcome by sea-longing. Literally it means "sea awakening."
Dínpeth - Another word combo of my own contrivance, it means "Quiet word" though I interpret that as "silent name."
Lhaew dambeth - Clearly I am making up the composition of these terms for the sake of the story though in all cases the words are Sindarin in make. Literally it means "illness answering."