Authors Note: Before anyone asks just what I think I'm doing, let's just
say that I have absolutely no idea. Anyway, this story is set a couple of
years after the War of the Ring, and is set in Rohan. So, I'm not going to
beg for reviews in any way. If you like my story, I hope that you will
review, and leave constructive comments which I trust that you will have.
If you detest my story and wish that I would go to hell and burn slowly and
painfully, then please don't tell me so. I believe that that will happen
anyway without you wishing it upon me also.
Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings, Gimli, Legolas, Éomer, Rohan, or anything else recognisable from Tolkien's work. They all belong to him. He is God. I do, however, own Torfi, which is an old Norse name, and since the Rohirrim are rather Nordic people, and so are Dwarves, I thought the name would be good for that character, who I am rather fond of.
Thankyou for my reviews!
Dot: Grammar mistakes fixed (I hope) thankyou very very much for pointing that out, and I'm glad you like my story.
Dís: Thankyou for reviewing- Torfi is going to have a pretty prominent role in later chapters so I hope you keep reading.
E.N: I'm glad you picked up on the equine personalities! I am a firm believer in horses having unique personalities.
Smushed Pea: Great pen name! And yes, I have read Shy Boy. It's a wonderful book, though I am more moved by The Man Who Listens To Horses (I cry everytime when Ginger is taken away).
JoyJoy: Glad you liked it. Cute, eh? Never thought that word would be used in context with my story. Thanks!
The kid mdd: You like Éomer too? He is the most amazing person ever ever! (Just after Éowyn. Independent women always come first). There will be lots more Éomer in this story and others- Éo means horses.
The wanna be Dwarf: I have the characters down pat? Wow. What a compliment! Thankyou!
*************
The sight of that pony did something to me I've never quite been able to explain. He was more than tremendous strength and speed and beauty of motion. He set me dreaming...
~Walt Morey~
*************
Gimli's mind was reeling. He tried to sort out what had just happened, but to no avail. Somehow in the last five minutes he had become the owner of the perky little bay pony who was standing tugging at the sweet meadow hay piled into the metal rack on the wall. How had that happened? Why had that happened? And most importantly, why had he accepted it? He sighed, and rubbed at his temple with one broad hand. He knew why. He really did, but he did not want to see, did not want to admit it.
There was something about the little pony that stirred Gimli's heart. Something that was not in the tall handsome war-horses like Firefoot, Arod and Hasufel. There was something about the way the stocky little pony eminated loyalty and kindness, whereas Arod and Firefoot eminated strength and power. Gimli felt so much more at ease with Torfi than he had ever felt with any other equine, even after such a short time.
The Dwarf admired Legolas, Éomer and Aragorn for their courage and recklessness in riding horses; the way they swung themselves onto their beast's broad back without even thinking twice, adopting to the pace and needs of the animal without their stomach jolting and their heart clenching in fear. Deep down, he longed for that confidence, that ability. Éomer did not know what it was to look at a horse and feel dominated, Legolas did not understand why galloping at speed was something to tremble about, Aragorn did not realise what it took for Gimli to sit astride a horse. They thought they knew, but they did not.
In return, Gimli did not know what it was to look at a horse with love and respect, did not understand the joy of galloping and feeling the wonderful breeze in his hair, did not realise what it was to borrow the freedom of horses.
But he wanted, longed, needed to know. And now that chance was here.
Slowly, he stepped closer to Torfi, and began to run his thick fingers through the pony's wiry mane. Torfi turned his head to look at his new master, his dark liquid eyes shining with trust. Already, in those few short minutes, Torfi thought of Gimli as a friend. Gimli imagined sitting astride Torfi, looking at those curved pricked ears in front of him, that mane against his hands. Then he thought of the movement of the horse beneath him, and his stomach twisted. Was it excitement? Longing? Or was it fear? A mixture, he guessed. He wanted to ride Torfi, but he was frightened to do so, frightened of destroying his strange new confidence. One day, he swore to himself, one day I will ride alone, across the Riddermark. One day.
But not yet.
"Gimli?"
The Dwarf looked up, and saw Legolas leaning over the door, a smile curving across his fair face. "I think he likes you!"
Gimli went slightly red, and grunted in response, though he was secretly very pleased. Torfi was extremely friendly and he was rubbing his nose against Gimli's shoulder with a force that would have knocked him over had he been anything but a Dwarf. Legolas's smile broadened.
"Éomer wishes to know if you will bring Torfi for a ride with us?" Gimli hesitated.
Not yet. Not yet. One day. Not today. One day. Not yet...
"I... alright."
Fool! he cursed himself. Not yet! Not yet, you said! Fool! Stubborn, prideful fool!
Well, he had done it. He could not go back now, especially when he saw the relief and happiness in Legolas's eyes. "We will set out in a few minutes, elvellon. Éomer is finding Torfi's tack." Gimli nodded, not trusting himself to speak, not wanting to give away his fears.
With a sigh, Gimli bent and picked a brush from a spare bucket he had borrowed. "Come then, hestr*." he murmured, pushing the thick mane over Torfi's neck and began to steadily groom him, bringing out the gleam in his coat, ridding him of the dead hair left over from the winter.
Gimli worked steadily yet efficiently, as is the way of dwarves. Before long, the majority of Torfi's old winter coat lay scattered on the flagstone floor, and his shorter summer coat was shining through, his mane lay flat and untangled across his crest, and his tail no longer resembled one of the stiff brushes used to sweep the barn. As Gimli stood back and admired how his new pony now looked, Éomer's voice came from behind him.
"He looks wonderful already, Gimli."
"Thankyou." Gimli answered, unable to keep the pride from his voice. He turned around just as Éomer slung Torfi's saddle over the wooden door, and lay the bridle across the saddle. Gimli had managed to block out the idea that soon he would be riding. He enjoyed looking after the horses, taking pride in seeing a well-looked after pony, and knowing he was responsible. He shut his eyes momentarily, but Éomer had passed on by then and thankfully did not notice.
Nervously, Gimli picked up Torfi's bridle and inspected it closely with a craftman's eye. It had obviously not been used for quite a while, and the buckles showed sign of rusting and stiffness, but the leather was supple and worn in a way that indicated frequent use once upon a time. He fingered the leather straps for a while, not looking for weaknesses or signs of good craft, but more feeling and sensing it. His fingers expertly ran over the material, noting a weakness in the throatlash where the buckle had been fastened and worn through, and admiring the way the leather passed and bent easily at his gentle touch.
Unable to put it off any longer, Gimli approached Torfi and showed him the bridle. The pony sniffed it for a moment, before looking up at Gimli in apparent disinterest. The Dwarf looped the reins over the pony's neck, before slipping the simple bit into his mouth and pulling the head band behind his ears. Gimli had to admit that it was a pleasant change to be able to tack up a pony, instead of being unable to reach.
Five minutes later, Gimli led Torfi out into the bright, morning sunshine, and the pony lifted his head, flaring his nostrils as he breathed in the crisp, clean air. Then he lifted his head as high as he could, and let out a hoarse, ear-splitting whinny, which echoed over the rolling hills of Rohan. There was a deep chuckle behind them.
"I think he's happy to get out!" Éomer laughed, leading Firefoot up to them. Firefoot had not been ridden for a few days, and pranced beside his master, tossing his head and frisking his tail from side to side. Éomer soothed him quickly, running a hand rythmically down his smooth neck. Then in one fluid movement, the horse-lord put his foot into Firefoot's stirrup, gathered his reins, and swung his leg over the horses back. Gimli turned back to Torfi, biting his lip. Then, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he imitated Éomer's motion, and within seconds, he was sitting astride Torfi's back.
Panic gripped Gimli immediately, and he shut his eyes, breathing slowly and deeply in an attempt to calm himself. This is stupid, he thought angrily, I shouldn't feel like this. His heart continued to race, but slowly his hands ceased their incessant trembling, and he managed to gather the reins properly. He felt very insecure without the reassuring presence of Legolas before him, just an empty space with Torfi's ears flicking. Gimli knew the pony had a short neck, but suddenly it seemed very long indeed.
He became aware of Legolas joining their group, but he could not see him, could not turn his head. His eyes were open, but they did not focus on anything. His vision was blurry, his hearing distant. He heard the murmurs of voices, the creaks of saddle leather, but none of it seemed to penetrate his mind. He was frozen, but the panic was gone. He was lost in a sea of calm, but a tense calm, as that which comes before a storm. Torfi turned his head, and nuzzled Gimli's foot, his eyes friendly and comforting.
Maybe, just maybe, he would be alright.
*************
* Hestr = Horse- an old nordic word. I'm using the Norse language for any dwarvish words I throw in here, as it was obviously used by Tolkien; e.g. Forn is the dwarven name for Tom Bombadil and in the Nordic language it means 'old, ancient'. Very fitting for old Tom.
Anyway, thankyou for reading and I hope you're still enjoying my story and that you are inspired to review.
Disclaimer: I don't own Lord of the Rings, Gimli, Legolas, Éomer, Rohan, or anything else recognisable from Tolkien's work. They all belong to him. He is God. I do, however, own Torfi, which is an old Norse name, and since the Rohirrim are rather Nordic people, and so are Dwarves, I thought the name would be good for that character, who I am rather fond of.
Thankyou for my reviews!
Dot: Grammar mistakes fixed (I hope) thankyou very very much for pointing that out, and I'm glad you like my story.
Dís: Thankyou for reviewing- Torfi is going to have a pretty prominent role in later chapters so I hope you keep reading.
E.N: I'm glad you picked up on the equine personalities! I am a firm believer in horses having unique personalities.
Smushed Pea: Great pen name! And yes, I have read Shy Boy. It's a wonderful book, though I am more moved by The Man Who Listens To Horses (I cry everytime when Ginger is taken away).
JoyJoy: Glad you liked it. Cute, eh? Never thought that word would be used in context with my story. Thanks!
The kid mdd: You like Éomer too? He is the most amazing person ever ever! (Just after Éowyn. Independent women always come first). There will be lots more Éomer in this story and others- Éo means horses.
The wanna be Dwarf: I have the characters down pat? Wow. What a compliment! Thankyou!
*************
The sight of that pony did something to me I've never quite been able to explain. He was more than tremendous strength and speed and beauty of motion. He set me dreaming...
~Walt Morey~
*************
Gimli's mind was reeling. He tried to sort out what had just happened, but to no avail. Somehow in the last five minutes he had become the owner of the perky little bay pony who was standing tugging at the sweet meadow hay piled into the metal rack on the wall. How had that happened? Why had that happened? And most importantly, why had he accepted it? He sighed, and rubbed at his temple with one broad hand. He knew why. He really did, but he did not want to see, did not want to admit it.
There was something about the little pony that stirred Gimli's heart. Something that was not in the tall handsome war-horses like Firefoot, Arod and Hasufel. There was something about the way the stocky little pony eminated loyalty and kindness, whereas Arod and Firefoot eminated strength and power. Gimli felt so much more at ease with Torfi than he had ever felt with any other equine, even after such a short time.
The Dwarf admired Legolas, Éomer and Aragorn for their courage and recklessness in riding horses; the way they swung themselves onto their beast's broad back without even thinking twice, adopting to the pace and needs of the animal without their stomach jolting and their heart clenching in fear. Deep down, he longed for that confidence, that ability. Éomer did not know what it was to look at a horse and feel dominated, Legolas did not understand why galloping at speed was something to tremble about, Aragorn did not realise what it took for Gimli to sit astride a horse. They thought they knew, but they did not.
In return, Gimli did not know what it was to look at a horse with love and respect, did not understand the joy of galloping and feeling the wonderful breeze in his hair, did not realise what it was to borrow the freedom of horses.
But he wanted, longed, needed to know. And now that chance was here.
Slowly, he stepped closer to Torfi, and began to run his thick fingers through the pony's wiry mane. Torfi turned his head to look at his new master, his dark liquid eyes shining with trust. Already, in those few short minutes, Torfi thought of Gimli as a friend. Gimli imagined sitting astride Torfi, looking at those curved pricked ears in front of him, that mane against his hands. Then he thought of the movement of the horse beneath him, and his stomach twisted. Was it excitement? Longing? Or was it fear? A mixture, he guessed. He wanted to ride Torfi, but he was frightened to do so, frightened of destroying his strange new confidence. One day, he swore to himself, one day I will ride alone, across the Riddermark. One day.
But not yet.
"Gimli?"
The Dwarf looked up, and saw Legolas leaning over the door, a smile curving across his fair face. "I think he likes you!"
Gimli went slightly red, and grunted in response, though he was secretly very pleased. Torfi was extremely friendly and he was rubbing his nose against Gimli's shoulder with a force that would have knocked him over had he been anything but a Dwarf. Legolas's smile broadened.
"Éomer wishes to know if you will bring Torfi for a ride with us?" Gimli hesitated.
Not yet. Not yet. One day. Not today. One day. Not yet...
"I... alright."
Fool! he cursed himself. Not yet! Not yet, you said! Fool! Stubborn, prideful fool!
Well, he had done it. He could not go back now, especially when he saw the relief and happiness in Legolas's eyes. "We will set out in a few minutes, elvellon. Éomer is finding Torfi's tack." Gimli nodded, not trusting himself to speak, not wanting to give away his fears.
With a sigh, Gimli bent and picked a brush from a spare bucket he had borrowed. "Come then, hestr*." he murmured, pushing the thick mane over Torfi's neck and began to steadily groom him, bringing out the gleam in his coat, ridding him of the dead hair left over from the winter.
Gimli worked steadily yet efficiently, as is the way of dwarves. Before long, the majority of Torfi's old winter coat lay scattered on the flagstone floor, and his shorter summer coat was shining through, his mane lay flat and untangled across his crest, and his tail no longer resembled one of the stiff brushes used to sweep the barn. As Gimli stood back and admired how his new pony now looked, Éomer's voice came from behind him.
"He looks wonderful already, Gimli."
"Thankyou." Gimli answered, unable to keep the pride from his voice. He turned around just as Éomer slung Torfi's saddle over the wooden door, and lay the bridle across the saddle. Gimli had managed to block out the idea that soon he would be riding. He enjoyed looking after the horses, taking pride in seeing a well-looked after pony, and knowing he was responsible. He shut his eyes momentarily, but Éomer had passed on by then and thankfully did not notice.
Nervously, Gimli picked up Torfi's bridle and inspected it closely with a craftman's eye. It had obviously not been used for quite a while, and the buckles showed sign of rusting and stiffness, but the leather was supple and worn in a way that indicated frequent use once upon a time. He fingered the leather straps for a while, not looking for weaknesses or signs of good craft, but more feeling and sensing it. His fingers expertly ran over the material, noting a weakness in the throatlash where the buckle had been fastened and worn through, and admiring the way the leather passed and bent easily at his gentle touch.
Unable to put it off any longer, Gimli approached Torfi and showed him the bridle. The pony sniffed it for a moment, before looking up at Gimli in apparent disinterest. The Dwarf looped the reins over the pony's neck, before slipping the simple bit into his mouth and pulling the head band behind his ears. Gimli had to admit that it was a pleasant change to be able to tack up a pony, instead of being unable to reach.
Five minutes later, Gimli led Torfi out into the bright, morning sunshine, and the pony lifted his head, flaring his nostrils as he breathed in the crisp, clean air. Then he lifted his head as high as he could, and let out a hoarse, ear-splitting whinny, which echoed over the rolling hills of Rohan. There was a deep chuckle behind them.
"I think he's happy to get out!" Éomer laughed, leading Firefoot up to them. Firefoot had not been ridden for a few days, and pranced beside his master, tossing his head and frisking his tail from side to side. Éomer soothed him quickly, running a hand rythmically down his smooth neck. Then in one fluid movement, the horse-lord put his foot into Firefoot's stirrup, gathered his reins, and swung his leg over the horses back. Gimli turned back to Torfi, biting his lip. Then, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, he imitated Éomer's motion, and within seconds, he was sitting astride Torfi's back.
Panic gripped Gimli immediately, and he shut his eyes, breathing slowly and deeply in an attempt to calm himself. This is stupid, he thought angrily, I shouldn't feel like this. His heart continued to race, but slowly his hands ceased their incessant trembling, and he managed to gather the reins properly. He felt very insecure without the reassuring presence of Legolas before him, just an empty space with Torfi's ears flicking. Gimli knew the pony had a short neck, but suddenly it seemed very long indeed.
He became aware of Legolas joining their group, but he could not see him, could not turn his head. His eyes were open, but they did not focus on anything. His vision was blurry, his hearing distant. He heard the murmurs of voices, the creaks of saddle leather, but none of it seemed to penetrate his mind. He was frozen, but the panic was gone. He was lost in a sea of calm, but a tense calm, as that which comes before a storm. Torfi turned his head, and nuzzled Gimli's foot, his eyes friendly and comforting.
Maybe, just maybe, he would be alright.
*************
* Hestr = Horse- an old nordic word. I'm using the Norse language for any dwarvish words I throw in here, as it was obviously used by Tolkien; e.g. Forn is the dwarven name for Tom Bombadil and in the Nordic language it means 'old, ancient'. Very fitting for old Tom.
Anyway, thankyou for reading and I hope you're still enjoying my story and that you are inspired to review.
