Part One – Two Companions
"I say, Master Gimli, is this what you Dwarves call a fire? I would call it a candle, and a candle wouldn't cook our bacon and bread!"
Whirling about, Gimli found himself face-to-knee with a pair of long grey legs that had somehow sneaked up on him while he was busy building a fire for their late evening supper. Blast that show-off of an Elf.
"Harrumph! And what about you?" he growled in return. "Did your eagle's eyes fail you for the whole hour you were gone looking for more firewood? We might have had our toast by now if you were quicker. I say Elves are no better at finding kindling than they are at mining their own jewels! Eagle's eyes, my boot! More like a bat's."
Smiling with amusement, Legolas lay down the promised armful of firewood and said nothing, but brought out from underneath his cloak a brace of plump wild ducks at which Gimli's eyes lit up with surprise. He looked so much like a child who has just witnessed his first magic trick that Legolas gave a great laugh and clapped him on the back.
"The Limlight flows not only with fish but game as well, and I came across this fine pair after collecting your firewood. At first I was content to simply admire them from the banks of the river, but then my belly reminded me of supper. I took them with a single arrow through the necks. Now hold your high praise, old friend," the Elf joked, "while I put away the bacon!"
So saying, he tied the slab of pork back in its wrappings and took a seat beside the stout little Dwarf to prepare the birds for roasting. No longer scowling, Gimli grabbed the nearest branch and peeled off a few strips of dry bark to feed the flickering flames. His thick stubby fingers were surprisingly patient and gentle as they nudged pieces of wood into better position to catch fire. When he had a merry blaze going, he turned his attention to sharpening a long stick on which to spear the meat. Soon the mouthwatering aroma of roasting wildfowl and toasted bread wafted up to tease their noses.
Gimli sniffed appreciatively and rubbed his rough little hands together in hungry anticipation. He leaned forward so close that his beard was in danger of being singed and turned the ducks on the spit to cook evenly. Droplets of melted fat dripped off their crisp brown skin to fall crackling into the fire.
"Ah… Now this, Master Legolas, is what I call a pretty bird, dressed in nothing but its own skin and juices. Such a fat pair of ducks I've never seen before! You Elves can have the dainty feathered things that sing, but give me this any day!"
Legolas reached for a slice of toasted bread. "I must disagree," he began expectedly, eliciting a deep chuckle from his companion. "Although your pretty bird will please the palate and fill an empty stomach, it cannot satisfy a deeper hunger. Give me a songbird any day, for music is food for the soul!"
"That's all very well for you and your kind who don't need to count the days," grumbled Gimli, but the corners of his mouth were turned up in a smile mostly hidden by his great red beard. Then he tested the meat and declared it ready. No more was said as the hungry travelers tucked into their supper.
Long after the fire had burned low, spreading its warmth like an invisible blanket, the two friends sat resting in contented silence. The Field of Celebrant, wedged between the fork of the rivers Anduin and Limlight, was a comfortable place to camp on a balmy late-summer's night such as this. It felt unusual to stop so out in the open, unprotected by mountains or trees, but the feel of lush river-fed grass, the sound of whispering water, and the sight of an endless sky lent a sense of ethereal security. To the distant southwest of them rose a black wall of trees that was Fangorn Forest Grazing side by side in similar companionship were Arod and Grey.
Arod, the fiery red-chestnut stallion that had carried Legolas and Gimli for hundreds of miles and into battle, showed an unusually strong bond for his Elven rider who used neither bridle nor saddle. After the War of the Ring, as a gift of thanks, Eomer King of Rohan gave him to Legolas' keeping. It was a precious gift indeed, for the people of Rohan loved their horses as their own children and Arod was an excellent steed, both beautiful and swift. To Gimli, King Eomer gave a pony—a pert dappled grey with sharp ears, bright eyes, and much equine common sense. The Rohirrim horse herders called him White Featherfeet after the wispy feathering on his fetlocks, but Gimli disliked a long name.
"White Featherfeet, Featherlocks… Suppose I forget it one day and suddenly Orcs come running round the bend, and there I am unable to call my own horse to me," he argued. "I won't have it! His name will be Grey!"
"That's an uninspiring name." Legolas made a face. But the Dwarf had put his stubborn foot down and Grey it was.
A slow-burning piece of wood crumbled and sank as its red-hot insides ate away the center, leaving only a shell of grey ash. Neither of the two companions stirred. Gimli had been staring at the embers for quite some time, reluctant to interrupt the quiet, until he saw a curious smile curve across Legolas' face for no apparent reason.
"Is there something very amusing, Master Elf? I should like to know what it is."
Legolas blinked once, unhurried, before turning his peaceful gaze from the sky. "We are nearing home," he replied simply.
"I am fully aware of that."
Silence.
"What is there at home that can bring such a smile?" Gimli pressed.
"Not what, my friend, but who." Staring back up at the sky, Legolas said no more. Gimli thought he noticed a new glow in the Elf's cheek. But perhaps it was a trick of the dying fire.
Prodding the embers with the last twig left, he got to his feet with a heavy sigh.
"We'll need more kindling in the morning. I'll gather what I can in this darkness while you sit here like a lovestruck fool and think about home some more." Clearing his throat gruffly, Gimli ambled off toward a sparse scattering of trees where their horses were tethered.
Legolas shook his head. He had sounded too eager to speak of home—rather, of her. It wasn't the time yet, not when things were still—after all these years—so uncertain. Last summer he left her and joined the Fellowship; one year later he would return to show her the young naïve prince had become a warrior, and a man.
These thoughts were interrupted by a hoarse shout.
Leaping to his feet, Legolas peered in the direction where Gimli's cry had come from. In the half-clouded moonlight he saw his friend grabbing with one hand for Grey's tethering rope which had come undone. But it was Arod who was in trouble.
His rope was caught in a battle between two forces—Gimli against the dark thief astride Arod's back. Unable to rear up and throw his rider, the stallion skitted wildly from side to side while whinnying in terror. His head was going to be wrenched from his neck!
Suddenly Gimli slipped in the grass.
"Ha!" Kicking Arod fiercely, the thief shot past Gimli and twisted around to head off for the forest.
Legolas' bow was nocked before he could even think. Taking aim, he let fly two arrows. At the same time, Arod bucked…
The thief was sent sailing high above the horse's head and Legolas saw his arrows make contact with human flesh in midair.
With a piercing scream, the thief fell to the ground and lay motionless.
"I say, Master Gimli, is this what you Dwarves call a fire? I would call it a candle, and a candle wouldn't cook our bacon and bread!"
Whirling about, Gimli found himself face-to-knee with a pair of long grey legs that had somehow sneaked up on him while he was busy building a fire for their late evening supper. Blast that show-off of an Elf.
"Harrumph! And what about you?" he growled in return. "Did your eagle's eyes fail you for the whole hour you were gone looking for more firewood? We might have had our toast by now if you were quicker. I say Elves are no better at finding kindling than they are at mining their own jewels! Eagle's eyes, my boot! More like a bat's."
Smiling with amusement, Legolas lay down the promised armful of firewood and said nothing, but brought out from underneath his cloak a brace of plump wild ducks at which Gimli's eyes lit up with surprise. He looked so much like a child who has just witnessed his first magic trick that Legolas gave a great laugh and clapped him on the back.
"The Limlight flows not only with fish but game as well, and I came across this fine pair after collecting your firewood. At first I was content to simply admire them from the banks of the river, but then my belly reminded me of supper. I took them with a single arrow through the necks. Now hold your high praise, old friend," the Elf joked, "while I put away the bacon!"
So saying, he tied the slab of pork back in its wrappings and took a seat beside the stout little Dwarf to prepare the birds for roasting. No longer scowling, Gimli grabbed the nearest branch and peeled off a few strips of dry bark to feed the flickering flames. His thick stubby fingers were surprisingly patient and gentle as they nudged pieces of wood into better position to catch fire. When he had a merry blaze going, he turned his attention to sharpening a long stick on which to spear the meat. Soon the mouthwatering aroma of roasting wildfowl and toasted bread wafted up to tease their noses.
Gimli sniffed appreciatively and rubbed his rough little hands together in hungry anticipation. He leaned forward so close that his beard was in danger of being singed and turned the ducks on the spit to cook evenly. Droplets of melted fat dripped off their crisp brown skin to fall crackling into the fire.
"Ah… Now this, Master Legolas, is what I call a pretty bird, dressed in nothing but its own skin and juices. Such a fat pair of ducks I've never seen before! You Elves can have the dainty feathered things that sing, but give me this any day!"
Legolas reached for a slice of toasted bread. "I must disagree," he began expectedly, eliciting a deep chuckle from his companion. "Although your pretty bird will please the palate and fill an empty stomach, it cannot satisfy a deeper hunger. Give me a songbird any day, for music is food for the soul!"
"That's all very well for you and your kind who don't need to count the days," grumbled Gimli, but the corners of his mouth were turned up in a smile mostly hidden by his great red beard. Then he tested the meat and declared it ready. No more was said as the hungry travelers tucked into their supper.
Long after the fire had burned low, spreading its warmth like an invisible blanket, the two friends sat resting in contented silence. The Field of Celebrant, wedged between the fork of the rivers Anduin and Limlight, was a comfortable place to camp on a balmy late-summer's night such as this. It felt unusual to stop so out in the open, unprotected by mountains or trees, but the feel of lush river-fed grass, the sound of whispering water, and the sight of an endless sky lent a sense of ethereal security. To the distant southwest of them rose a black wall of trees that was Fangorn Forest Grazing side by side in similar companionship were Arod and Grey.
Arod, the fiery red-chestnut stallion that had carried Legolas and Gimli for hundreds of miles and into battle, showed an unusually strong bond for his Elven rider who used neither bridle nor saddle. After the War of the Ring, as a gift of thanks, Eomer King of Rohan gave him to Legolas' keeping. It was a precious gift indeed, for the people of Rohan loved their horses as their own children and Arod was an excellent steed, both beautiful and swift. To Gimli, King Eomer gave a pony—a pert dappled grey with sharp ears, bright eyes, and much equine common sense. The Rohirrim horse herders called him White Featherfeet after the wispy feathering on his fetlocks, but Gimli disliked a long name.
"White Featherfeet, Featherlocks… Suppose I forget it one day and suddenly Orcs come running round the bend, and there I am unable to call my own horse to me," he argued. "I won't have it! His name will be Grey!"
"That's an uninspiring name." Legolas made a face. But the Dwarf had put his stubborn foot down and Grey it was.
A slow-burning piece of wood crumbled and sank as its red-hot insides ate away the center, leaving only a shell of grey ash. Neither of the two companions stirred. Gimli had been staring at the embers for quite some time, reluctant to interrupt the quiet, until he saw a curious smile curve across Legolas' face for no apparent reason.
"Is there something very amusing, Master Elf? I should like to know what it is."
Legolas blinked once, unhurried, before turning his peaceful gaze from the sky. "We are nearing home," he replied simply.
"I am fully aware of that."
Silence.
"What is there at home that can bring such a smile?" Gimli pressed.
"Not what, my friend, but who." Staring back up at the sky, Legolas said no more. Gimli thought he noticed a new glow in the Elf's cheek. But perhaps it was a trick of the dying fire.
Prodding the embers with the last twig left, he got to his feet with a heavy sigh.
"We'll need more kindling in the morning. I'll gather what I can in this darkness while you sit here like a lovestruck fool and think about home some more." Clearing his throat gruffly, Gimli ambled off toward a sparse scattering of trees where their horses were tethered.
Legolas shook his head. He had sounded too eager to speak of home—rather, of her. It wasn't the time yet, not when things were still—after all these years—so uncertain. Last summer he left her and joined the Fellowship; one year later he would return to show her the young naïve prince had become a warrior, and a man.
These thoughts were interrupted by a hoarse shout.
Leaping to his feet, Legolas peered in the direction where Gimli's cry had come from. In the half-clouded moonlight he saw his friend grabbing with one hand for Grey's tethering rope which had come undone. But it was Arod who was in trouble.
His rope was caught in a battle between two forces—Gimli against the dark thief astride Arod's back. Unable to rear up and throw his rider, the stallion skitted wildly from side to side while whinnying in terror. His head was going to be wrenched from his neck!
Suddenly Gimli slipped in the grass.
"Ha!" Kicking Arod fiercely, the thief shot past Gimli and twisted around to head off for the forest.
Legolas' bow was nocked before he could even think. Taking aim, he let fly two arrows. At the same time, Arod bucked…
The thief was sent sailing high above the horse's head and Legolas saw his arrows make contact with human flesh in midair.
With a piercing scream, the thief fell to the ground and lay motionless.
