VI Two Kings
For the next three days, Legolas and Gimli travelled alongside the mountain range that separates Rohan from Gondor in the south. They rode at a leisurely pace, allowing their horses frequent rests, and spent many hours talking of previous journeys and old friends that had long since passed from Middle-earth. The nights were turning frosty, but Gimli was well equipped with a thick fur coat, and Legolas didn't seem to feel the cold.
From time to time, the dwarf would cast a concerned looked at his companion who seemed to welcome the slow pace of their travels more than fit his normally rather impatient nature. However, whenever Gimli enquired about his injured shoulder, the elf would dismiss the matter, saying it would be taken care of when they were back in Ihtilien. But an unusual stiffness in Legolas' movements betrayed the pain the wound was still causing him, and Gimli found it rather disquieting that the elf actually lay down to rest, when he'd always been wont to spend the nights wandering under the stars, resting his mind in faraway places.
They crossed the Mering stream into Anórien in grey and misty weather. But the sun shone brightly on the morning of the fourth day after the skirmish at Thélming's village. Their horses climbed a long, gently rising slope, and as they reached the top Gimli pointed ahead.
"Look, Legolas. I see something white reflecting the sunlight. Is that Minas Tirith?" Despite his obvious fatigue, the elf chuckled. "It seems that in all your travels with me you have acquired elvish eyesight, Master Dwarf. Indeed, that is the White City."
"Then why are we wasting our time here? You will see that I have also become an expert horseman!" With those words, Gimli urged his horse on. Legolas watched with an amused expression as the dwarf trotted down the hill, bobbing precariously from side to side. Then he whispered to Híthlain, and the grey horse followed his companion.
Their approach must have been noticed from afar, for when they reached Minas Tirith in the late afternoon, two guards from the Citadel greeted them at the City Gate. One of them was Beriar.
"Welcome once more, my lord," he said to Legolas, and bowed low. Then he looked at Gimli with wonder in his eyes. "We did not expect two riders. But it is a pleasure and an honour to welcome such a rare guest."
"We thank you for your courtesy, Master Beriar," Legolas replied. "I did not expect to return with a companion, either. But I am sure King Eldarion will be pleased to learn about his arrival, for Gimli son of Glóin was one of the Nine Companions, and it was he and his people who wrought these gates."
A look of awe came over Beriar's face as he looked from the massive mithril gates to the dwarf mounted on the black horse. He turned to the man at his side. "Go tell the king. I shall accompany our guests to the Citadel." The other man nodded and quickly disappeared among the crowd that had gathered at the gates. Beriar turned back to the riders.
"Let me take you to the Citadel where you and your horses can rest, my lords."
They followed their guide through the winding streets, up the same roads that Legolas had walked only a few weeks ago to pay a last tribute to his old friend Aragorn. As they passed, people turned to look after them, whispering to each other. Legolas' keen ears had no difficulty picking up the comments about the marvel of this day, an elf and a dwarf, they're being taken to the king! The elf watched Gimli's stout frame, so powerful and yet so small, looking almost delicate up on the big black horse's back, and he couldn't help grinning. They must be quite a sight indeed.
They finally reached the High Court to find King Eldarion waiting. Beriar, who had been leading Gimli's horse, stopped near a low wall, thus discreetly enabling him to dismount without help; he sensed that this would have been slightly embarrassing for the proud dwarf. Gimli swung his short legs down onto the wall and then to the ground with some difficulty; he was glad to feel firm soil under his old feet again after so many days of travelling on horseback. Legolas dismounted with more ease, but he held on to Híthlain's mane rather longer than was necessary, as if to steady himself, before he turned to greet the king.
"Híril nîn,"(5) he said, bowing his head.
"Mae govannen, mellyn nîn," Eldarion replied graciously. "The unexpected guest brings delight to the host." His eyes wandered up to the elf's shoulder and took in the torn and bloodied tunic.
"But you are wounded, Legolas. What happened?" He did not voice his fear, but Legolas answered the unasked question. "It was after I took leave of the Queen at the edge of Lórien. Gimli and I helped some villagers defend their homes against marauding Southrons."
"I was not of much use, being far too slow to catch up with Master Elf here," Gimli growled. "He was wounded by an arrow and has refused any help so far, pretending it was a mere trifle, but it is not. Maybe you can talk some sense into him, my lord."
Eldarion smiled at the dwarf's concern for his friend which was only thinly veiled under his gruff tone. "The hands of the king are the hands of a healer," he replied. "I have inherited this gift from my father, and from my mother's father. Come with me, Legolas, and let me have a look at your injury."
Legolas hesitated, as if about to protest that he was alright. But his exhaustion showed in his face too clearly to be denied, and after a moment he bowed his head in acquiescence. Eldarion motioned to Beriar. "Take the horses to the stables and see to it that they're taken care of, Beriar," he said. The man nodded and tugged at Ithildin's reins. At a word from Legolas, Híthlain tossed his head and whinnied. The he followed Beriar and Ihtildin from the courtyard.
"Will you accompany us to the Houses of Healing, Gimli?" Eldarion asked. "I am eager to learn the reason for your most welcome visit." "Gladly, my lord," Gimli replied. "I only hope that there will be a comfortable place for an old dwarf's tired bones. I am not made for travelling on horseback and need a good rest!" Eldarion laughed. "As well you deserve, Master Dwarf." And with that, he bade Legolas and Gimli follow him.
They left the courtyard and walked along a narrow path to the Houses of Healing. Legolas was leaning on Gimli's stout shoulder for support, for although he had not admitted it before, he was feeling weak and weary. As they walked, the elf told the king about the letter Gimli had received from the Lady Galadriel, and Gimli added to this an account of the skirmish at Thélming's village.
Eldarion listened intently. He did not talk much, and the sensitive elf understood that the king wanted to keep the questions most pressing on his heart for another, more private moment.
As they entered the Houses of Healing, a woman came to welcome them and with a deep curtsey offered her services, but Eldarion bade her only bring some water and fresh linen, saying he would take care of this himself. The woman obliged, and after she had brought a bowl of steaming water and a stack of white cloth to the room to which they had retired, she bowed once more and left the room. King Eldarion bade Legolas stand next to a low table while he took some jars and containers from a cupboard. While he did this, Gimli sank down on the softly cushioned bed with a very audible sigh.
At the king's request, Legolas undid the clasps of his jerkin and gingerly slipped out of this and the tunic he was wearing underneath. Carefully Eldarion took off the bandage around the elf's bruised shoulder and chest and washed off the dried blood with warm water. Legolas winced but kept still as the king's gentle fingers probed the torn tissue.
Suddenly a loud snore made them both look up and over at Gimli, only to see that he had fallen asleep with his mouth open. The elf regarded the dwarf fondly. "The stubborn creature would never agree to this, but the battle and the long journey on horseback was a lot to ask of his old body."
The king smiled and returned his attention to Legolas' shoulder. "The people from Rohan use Centaury and Scleranthus for healing open wounds," he commented. "Although these herbs are not as potent as athelas, this is already healing well, considering the strain which the long ride has put on your body."
Eldarion opened one of the containers and took from it a white salve which he carefully spread over the wound. The he bandaged the elf's shoulder again with some fresh linen. Looking at the sleeping dwarf, he said, "You too should allow yourself some rest, Legolas. Even an elf needs to take care of his physical needs sometimes. You will find comfort in an adjacent room. We can talk more in the morning."
Legolas finished buttoning up his tunic and reached for his jerkin. "I thank you, my lord. I cannot deny that the thought of a soft bed is appealing - all the more so if there is a thick wall between my poor ears and this amazingly noisy dwarf," he replied with a twinkle in his eye. The king followed his gaze to the snoring figure on the bed and laughed. "Very well. Come, I will show you the way."
The next morning, after a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast, Gimli went to look for his companion. His search led the dwarf to the Hall of the White Tower, a great room lit by deep windows at either side, the high roof held up by pillars of black marble. At the far end of the hall, on a dais raised by several steps, Gimli saw the throne of Gondor, a high- backed seat exquisitely carved of ancient wood. He heard soft voices, and walking down the long hall toward the throne, found King Eldarion and Legolas standing at one of the wide windows, deep in conversation. The elf drew something from underneath his tunic, and a brief spark of silver flashed in his hand as he showed it to the king.
Although Gimli could not see the king's face clearly, he could sense the grief almost physically. He slowed his steps, hesitating, but Eldarion looked up at the sound of his heavy footsteps and smiled courteously. "Welcome, Lord Gimli. I hope you are well rested."
"I am, my lord, and have been very well attended to. My thanks for your gracious hospitality," Gimli replied. "I also see that our good elf here seems to be in much better shape than yesterday." Indeed, fatigue and pain seemed to have disappeared from Legolas' face, although there was still some tenderness in the way he held his right arm.
"There was no evil in that wound," Eldarion said. "Yet if I am not mistaken, the scar of this battle is in the mind rather than in the body."
A wistful smile passed over the elf's face. "You have your father's intuition, my lord. I find it troubling indeed that despite the defeat of the Dark Lord which cost so many lives, men will still try to kill each other. I fear the consequences this mind-set will inflict on the Earth."
The king turned to look out the window. "Evil will never disappear entirely, Legolas. Maybe it is not possible for an elf to understand this." They stood in silence for a while, each lost in his own thoughts, looking out across the bustling city and down onto the Anduin. From up here, the river looked like a big, glistening snake as it curved lazily, coming from the north and passing between the two cities of Minas Tirith and Osgiliath, meandering towards Pelargir.
Finally, the king turned to the dwarf. "I marvel that you have been called across the Sea, Gimli. In all the ages, this has only ever been granted to the people of my mother's race, with the exception of the Ring bearers. The Lady Galadriel must hold you in very high esteem."
Gimli blushed and didn't reply, but he reached for the place underneath his leather jerkin where he carried the Lady's parcel, and his eyes shone with happiness. Legolas smiled.
"Have you had word from my brother, my lord?" he asked the king.
"I have. Ten days ago he sent a messenger to say that your ship will be ready to sail from Pelargir before the tenth day of Girithron."(6) The elf nodded and stared out the window. More to himself than to his companions, he softly said, "So it is fitting that we should leave during firith, before rhîw embraces Middle-earth."(7)
Gimli looked at his friend questioningly, but Legolas seemed lost in thought. Eldarion put a hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "Come, Gimli. Last night, you expressed your wish to see my father's tomb. I will take you to Rath Dínen." The dwarf heaved a sigh and turned away from the window. "Aye, my lord. Much as the prospect of this visit has been heavy on my heart, I desire to say farewell to a dear friend." And with that, he followed the king from the Tower Hall. Legolas stayed behind, motionless, his gaze following the river southward to the Sea.
King Eldarion led Gimli through the courtyard and the Citadel gates to a door in the rearward wall of the sixth circle. Passing through that door, they descended a long and winding road which ended on a narrow strip of land. There, in the shadow of the great Mount Mindolluin, Gimli gazed upon the halls which housed the tombs of dead Kings and Stewards of Gondor.
Wordlessly, he followed his guide down the Silent Street. They went past the last of the sombre mansions and stopped in front of a stone table which was set upon a platform several steps high. On it lay a body encased in greyish-white marble. A kind of peace, a feeling of tranquillity emanated from the rugged, noble features of this dead king. Here lay a man who had found fulfilment in his life, and chosen his own time for departing from it.
King Eldarion stared at his father's tomb. "He did not want to be buried in a closed vault," he whispered, conflicting emotions struggling in his voice. "He said he wanted to be able to look at the stars, as in all those nights he travelled Middle-earth as Aragorn, the Ranger from the North."
Gimli didn't answer. Instead, he sank to his knees in front of the tomb and bowed his head. Quiet sobs shook his sturdy frame. The man behind him did not move or speak, did not interrupt the dwarf's sorrow as he wrestled with his own.
Suddenly, Gimli felt a light touch. He looked up through eyes blinded by tears to see Legolas standing next to him, resting a comforting hand on his stout friend's shoulder. The dwarf clapped his gnarled, dark fingers over the elf's slender hand and grasped it tightly. They regarded each other for a long moment, wordlessly communicating their grief at the loss of a great friend. Finally, Legolas broke the silence.
"We were privileged to have known him, Gimli."
The dwarf nodded. His reply was choked with tears. "Aye." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Let us leave, Legolas."
(5) Híril nîn = my lord (6) Girithron = December (7) firith = fading, rhîw = winter
For the next three days, Legolas and Gimli travelled alongside the mountain range that separates Rohan from Gondor in the south. They rode at a leisurely pace, allowing their horses frequent rests, and spent many hours talking of previous journeys and old friends that had long since passed from Middle-earth. The nights were turning frosty, but Gimli was well equipped with a thick fur coat, and Legolas didn't seem to feel the cold.
From time to time, the dwarf would cast a concerned looked at his companion who seemed to welcome the slow pace of their travels more than fit his normally rather impatient nature. However, whenever Gimli enquired about his injured shoulder, the elf would dismiss the matter, saying it would be taken care of when they were back in Ihtilien. But an unusual stiffness in Legolas' movements betrayed the pain the wound was still causing him, and Gimli found it rather disquieting that the elf actually lay down to rest, when he'd always been wont to spend the nights wandering under the stars, resting his mind in faraway places.
They crossed the Mering stream into Anórien in grey and misty weather. But the sun shone brightly on the morning of the fourth day after the skirmish at Thélming's village. Their horses climbed a long, gently rising slope, and as they reached the top Gimli pointed ahead.
"Look, Legolas. I see something white reflecting the sunlight. Is that Minas Tirith?" Despite his obvious fatigue, the elf chuckled. "It seems that in all your travels with me you have acquired elvish eyesight, Master Dwarf. Indeed, that is the White City."
"Then why are we wasting our time here? You will see that I have also become an expert horseman!" With those words, Gimli urged his horse on. Legolas watched with an amused expression as the dwarf trotted down the hill, bobbing precariously from side to side. Then he whispered to Híthlain, and the grey horse followed his companion.
Their approach must have been noticed from afar, for when they reached Minas Tirith in the late afternoon, two guards from the Citadel greeted them at the City Gate. One of them was Beriar.
"Welcome once more, my lord," he said to Legolas, and bowed low. Then he looked at Gimli with wonder in his eyes. "We did not expect two riders. But it is a pleasure and an honour to welcome such a rare guest."
"We thank you for your courtesy, Master Beriar," Legolas replied. "I did not expect to return with a companion, either. But I am sure King Eldarion will be pleased to learn about his arrival, for Gimli son of Glóin was one of the Nine Companions, and it was he and his people who wrought these gates."
A look of awe came over Beriar's face as he looked from the massive mithril gates to the dwarf mounted on the black horse. He turned to the man at his side. "Go tell the king. I shall accompany our guests to the Citadel." The other man nodded and quickly disappeared among the crowd that had gathered at the gates. Beriar turned back to the riders.
"Let me take you to the Citadel where you and your horses can rest, my lords."
They followed their guide through the winding streets, up the same roads that Legolas had walked only a few weeks ago to pay a last tribute to his old friend Aragorn. As they passed, people turned to look after them, whispering to each other. Legolas' keen ears had no difficulty picking up the comments about the marvel of this day, an elf and a dwarf, they're being taken to the king! The elf watched Gimli's stout frame, so powerful and yet so small, looking almost delicate up on the big black horse's back, and he couldn't help grinning. They must be quite a sight indeed.
They finally reached the High Court to find King Eldarion waiting. Beriar, who had been leading Gimli's horse, stopped near a low wall, thus discreetly enabling him to dismount without help; he sensed that this would have been slightly embarrassing for the proud dwarf. Gimli swung his short legs down onto the wall and then to the ground with some difficulty; he was glad to feel firm soil under his old feet again after so many days of travelling on horseback. Legolas dismounted with more ease, but he held on to Híthlain's mane rather longer than was necessary, as if to steady himself, before he turned to greet the king.
"Híril nîn,"(5) he said, bowing his head.
"Mae govannen, mellyn nîn," Eldarion replied graciously. "The unexpected guest brings delight to the host." His eyes wandered up to the elf's shoulder and took in the torn and bloodied tunic.
"But you are wounded, Legolas. What happened?" He did not voice his fear, but Legolas answered the unasked question. "It was after I took leave of the Queen at the edge of Lórien. Gimli and I helped some villagers defend their homes against marauding Southrons."
"I was not of much use, being far too slow to catch up with Master Elf here," Gimli growled. "He was wounded by an arrow and has refused any help so far, pretending it was a mere trifle, but it is not. Maybe you can talk some sense into him, my lord."
Eldarion smiled at the dwarf's concern for his friend which was only thinly veiled under his gruff tone. "The hands of the king are the hands of a healer," he replied. "I have inherited this gift from my father, and from my mother's father. Come with me, Legolas, and let me have a look at your injury."
Legolas hesitated, as if about to protest that he was alright. But his exhaustion showed in his face too clearly to be denied, and after a moment he bowed his head in acquiescence. Eldarion motioned to Beriar. "Take the horses to the stables and see to it that they're taken care of, Beriar," he said. The man nodded and tugged at Ithildin's reins. At a word from Legolas, Híthlain tossed his head and whinnied. The he followed Beriar and Ihtildin from the courtyard.
"Will you accompany us to the Houses of Healing, Gimli?" Eldarion asked. "I am eager to learn the reason for your most welcome visit." "Gladly, my lord," Gimli replied. "I only hope that there will be a comfortable place for an old dwarf's tired bones. I am not made for travelling on horseback and need a good rest!" Eldarion laughed. "As well you deserve, Master Dwarf." And with that, he bade Legolas and Gimli follow him.
They left the courtyard and walked along a narrow path to the Houses of Healing. Legolas was leaning on Gimli's stout shoulder for support, for although he had not admitted it before, he was feeling weak and weary. As they walked, the elf told the king about the letter Gimli had received from the Lady Galadriel, and Gimli added to this an account of the skirmish at Thélming's village.
Eldarion listened intently. He did not talk much, and the sensitive elf understood that the king wanted to keep the questions most pressing on his heart for another, more private moment.
As they entered the Houses of Healing, a woman came to welcome them and with a deep curtsey offered her services, but Eldarion bade her only bring some water and fresh linen, saying he would take care of this himself. The woman obliged, and after she had brought a bowl of steaming water and a stack of white cloth to the room to which they had retired, she bowed once more and left the room. King Eldarion bade Legolas stand next to a low table while he took some jars and containers from a cupboard. While he did this, Gimli sank down on the softly cushioned bed with a very audible sigh.
At the king's request, Legolas undid the clasps of his jerkin and gingerly slipped out of this and the tunic he was wearing underneath. Carefully Eldarion took off the bandage around the elf's bruised shoulder and chest and washed off the dried blood with warm water. Legolas winced but kept still as the king's gentle fingers probed the torn tissue.
Suddenly a loud snore made them both look up and over at Gimli, only to see that he had fallen asleep with his mouth open. The elf regarded the dwarf fondly. "The stubborn creature would never agree to this, but the battle and the long journey on horseback was a lot to ask of his old body."
The king smiled and returned his attention to Legolas' shoulder. "The people from Rohan use Centaury and Scleranthus for healing open wounds," he commented. "Although these herbs are not as potent as athelas, this is already healing well, considering the strain which the long ride has put on your body."
Eldarion opened one of the containers and took from it a white salve which he carefully spread over the wound. The he bandaged the elf's shoulder again with some fresh linen. Looking at the sleeping dwarf, he said, "You too should allow yourself some rest, Legolas. Even an elf needs to take care of his physical needs sometimes. You will find comfort in an adjacent room. We can talk more in the morning."
Legolas finished buttoning up his tunic and reached for his jerkin. "I thank you, my lord. I cannot deny that the thought of a soft bed is appealing - all the more so if there is a thick wall between my poor ears and this amazingly noisy dwarf," he replied with a twinkle in his eye. The king followed his gaze to the snoring figure on the bed and laughed. "Very well. Come, I will show you the way."
The next morning, after a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast, Gimli went to look for his companion. His search led the dwarf to the Hall of the White Tower, a great room lit by deep windows at either side, the high roof held up by pillars of black marble. At the far end of the hall, on a dais raised by several steps, Gimli saw the throne of Gondor, a high- backed seat exquisitely carved of ancient wood. He heard soft voices, and walking down the long hall toward the throne, found King Eldarion and Legolas standing at one of the wide windows, deep in conversation. The elf drew something from underneath his tunic, and a brief spark of silver flashed in his hand as he showed it to the king.
Although Gimli could not see the king's face clearly, he could sense the grief almost physically. He slowed his steps, hesitating, but Eldarion looked up at the sound of his heavy footsteps and smiled courteously. "Welcome, Lord Gimli. I hope you are well rested."
"I am, my lord, and have been very well attended to. My thanks for your gracious hospitality," Gimli replied. "I also see that our good elf here seems to be in much better shape than yesterday." Indeed, fatigue and pain seemed to have disappeared from Legolas' face, although there was still some tenderness in the way he held his right arm.
"There was no evil in that wound," Eldarion said. "Yet if I am not mistaken, the scar of this battle is in the mind rather than in the body."
A wistful smile passed over the elf's face. "You have your father's intuition, my lord. I find it troubling indeed that despite the defeat of the Dark Lord which cost so many lives, men will still try to kill each other. I fear the consequences this mind-set will inflict on the Earth."
The king turned to look out the window. "Evil will never disappear entirely, Legolas. Maybe it is not possible for an elf to understand this." They stood in silence for a while, each lost in his own thoughts, looking out across the bustling city and down onto the Anduin. From up here, the river looked like a big, glistening snake as it curved lazily, coming from the north and passing between the two cities of Minas Tirith and Osgiliath, meandering towards Pelargir.
Finally, the king turned to the dwarf. "I marvel that you have been called across the Sea, Gimli. In all the ages, this has only ever been granted to the people of my mother's race, with the exception of the Ring bearers. The Lady Galadriel must hold you in very high esteem."
Gimli blushed and didn't reply, but he reached for the place underneath his leather jerkin where he carried the Lady's parcel, and his eyes shone with happiness. Legolas smiled.
"Have you had word from my brother, my lord?" he asked the king.
"I have. Ten days ago he sent a messenger to say that your ship will be ready to sail from Pelargir before the tenth day of Girithron."(6) The elf nodded and stared out the window. More to himself than to his companions, he softly said, "So it is fitting that we should leave during firith, before rhîw embraces Middle-earth."(7)
Gimli looked at his friend questioningly, but Legolas seemed lost in thought. Eldarion put a hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "Come, Gimli. Last night, you expressed your wish to see my father's tomb. I will take you to Rath Dínen." The dwarf heaved a sigh and turned away from the window. "Aye, my lord. Much as the prospect of this visit has been heavy on my heart, I desire to say farewell to a dear friend." And with that, he followed the king from the Tower Hall. Legolas stayed behind, motionless, his gaze following the river southward to the Sea.
King Eldarion led Gimli through the courtyard and the Citadel gates to a door in the rearward wall of the sixth circle. Passing through that door, they descended a long and winding road which ended on a narrow strip of land. There, in the shadow of the great Mount Mindolluin, Gimli gazed upon the halls which housed the tombs of dead Kings and Stewards of Gondor.
Wordlessly, he followed his guide down the Silent Street. They went past the last of the sombre mansions and stopped in front of a stone table which was set upon a platform several steps high. On it lay a body encased in greyish-white marble. A kind of peace, a feeling of tranquillity emanated from the rugged, noble features of this dead king. Here lay a man who had found fulfilment in his life, and chosen his own time for departing from it.
King Eldarion stared at his father's tomb. "He did not want to be buried in a closed vault," he whispered, conflicting emotions struggling in his voice. "He said he wanted to be able to look at the stars, as in all those nights he travelled Middle-earth as Aragorn, the Ranger from the North."
Gimli didn't answer. Instead, he sank to his knees in front of the tomb and bowed his head. Quiet sobs shook his sturdy frame. The man behind him did not move or speak, did not interrupt the dwarf's sorrow as he wrestled with his own.
Suddenly, Gimli felt a light touch. He looked up through eyes blinded by tears to see Legolas standing next to him, resting a comforting hand on his stout friend's shoulder. The dwarf clapped his gnarled, dark fingers over the elf's slender hand and grasped it tightly. They regarded each other for a long moment, wordlessly communicating their grief at the loss of a great friend. Finally, Legolas broke the silence.
"We were privileged to have known him, Gimli."
The dwarf nodded. His reply was choked with tears. "Aye." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Let us leave, Legolas."
(5) Híril nîn = my lord (6) Girithron = December (7) firith = fading, rhîw = winter