A/N: Well, here we are again... it must be said that I've had trouble
keeping my mind on this; I have a puppy! A little chocolate-coloured
laborador called Jools, and for some reason my attention just seems to go
directly to him... no idea why...
And guess what? Seeing as my past incentive scheme seemed to work, we have more imaginary awards to give out. Double kudos to the reviewers: Starlit Hope (formerly '...'), Sirith, Amorous and Say La Vie, who all have me on their favourite stories lists... I salute you! And a One-and-a-Half kudos to Artemisa, who has kindly taken the time to read and review a Star Wars story I have currently underway.
Now this is a double-parter, I have a little suspence thing going on... clever, no? There is also a little bit of Elvish being spoken here, but for the record, asking me to write Elvish is a little like asking me to write in Swahili (though I think I know the word for 'hello'...). Some words are the real macoy, some have been comandeered from other stories (I use pretty much anyone elses where I can) but some things have had to be made up. They are in no way right or anything, it's just how I imagined it would be. I am in total awe of those people who can *actually* write in Elvish, and use the proper tenses and sentance structures and so forth... so I apologise in advance for the awfulness of the made up words....
Anyway... let's get this show on the road! Hope you like....
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Gimli: Self-Appointed Barber ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Gimli sighed grumpily as he looked over his fellowship, trying to think of anything he could do that might lift the dullness that had suddenly settled over his watch. The rest of the company were fast asleep and the dwarf was very bored; for it was an extremely tedious thing to stay awake while everyone else slept on in silence. After scanning the wooded area surrounding their feeble camp twice, not only did Gimli now have absolutely nothing to do, but he had come to the conclusion that there probably wouldn't be any problems at all that day. Thinking again, he could only suppose was a good thing, but still... anything to liven up his watch would've been a welcome distraction.
Suddenly, it seemed as though he had gotten his wish; there was a yelp across the camp. It had drifted up and towards the dwarf from the bundle of many blankets and heads of thick, curly hair that supposedly represented four young hobbits.
Gimli strained his ears, listening intently, and could just make out the groggy voices of two halflings: a high-pitched trill that had to be Pippin, and a lower growl that was either Master Baggins or Meriadoc, Gimli couldn't be sure which. They both had deeper voices than an average hobbit, with a unique manner of speaking that boasted generations of superior breeding - the lilt of the words and the perculiar-sounding accents were a far cry from, say, Sam's rich, cultural tongue. Gimli knew that Pip, being a Took, and possibly Merry of the Brandybuck clan, technically ranked higher than Frodo in regards to gentility, but Master Baggins spoke so clearly-cut and eloquently, and had such a charming manner and way of behaving, that at the first meeting of the hobbits, to Gimli at least, he had seemed the nobler halfling.
"*Peregrin!* If you do not cease in kicking me, I shall be obliged to get up and sit on your head! And you don't want to do that, do you?"
Gimli grinned and chuckled ~Frodo~ he thought ~definately Frodo~ The dark- haired halfling was extremely polite and well-spoken, with a turn of phrase unlike anyone Gimli had met before. So when he threatened, he threatened in his own, unique and perculiar way. The gentle-hobbit's tone of voice made it obvious that *this* was no idle threat. The dwarf remembered with clarity when Frodo, not so long ago, had chased his two cousins around the camp and, upon catching the 'scoundrels', had proceeded to sit on them till the younger hobbits had all but begged for mercy. And all because Pip and Meriadoc had attempted to wake him in the best way they knew - pinching his nose till he was forced to return to the world of the living - which Frodo had not appreciated. By now, it was well known to all the fellowship that the young Baggins liked his slumber, and it was generally unwise to disturb him.
"It's not me, cousin!" Pippin's squeaky and somewhat indignant voice *sounded* innocent. ~But then again~ Gimli reflected ~it always did~ "It's your Sam! He's dreaming of digging in your beautiful garden back at Bag End." From all the things Gimli had heard of this Bag End and it's garden, and Hobbiton, and the Shire, it sounded like an oasis. Gimli wished to view the Shire in all it's glory when all this was over, maybe he could visit this Bag End. The home of the Great Frodo Baggins.
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Pip," Frodo recited the regular mantra that existed between the three cousins flatly, but with a slight smile in his voice. ~Master Baggins is no fool~ the dwarf stated in his mind, though he had known this all along. Gimli could hear him yawn - it sounded very much as if Frodo wished to drift off back to sleep as soon as possible. " -and it *is* you," the gentle-hobbit continued sleepily, "you have the smallest feet."
Gimli chuckled heartily as Pippin gasped and, affronted, cried out, "I do not!"
It was apparently considered a very demeaning feature for a hobbit to have small feet. Halflings took great care of their large, elongated feet, Gimli had noted; brushing the curly hair that grew atop them at least twice a day, washing their feet even more than their faces and necks, keeping the appendages neat and tidy at all times. The only thing worse Frodo could have said would be calling Pippin 'scruffy-foot'.
There was silence following Pip's outburst and Gimli could only assume that Frodo had won the battle against the young Took, but lost the war with sleep. The only sounds the dwarf could now hear were the noises of his fellowship in their dreams. Aragorn's rythmic wheezing, the loud, guttural snores of both Gandalf and Boromir, the quick tempo of sleeping hobbit- murmurs and the deep, almost melodic, sighing breaths of an elf at rest.
The sound of a scuffle from the hobbit-pile drew Gimli's attention once more. His charcole-black eyes darted up in time to see a halfling-shaped coverlet topped with thick, ebony locks rise up from the cluster and silently pad over to the other side of the bundle, pausing only to kick a lump of something sharply on his way. Another yelp was heard, but the vertical blanket only heeded it by saying simply, "You continued to kick me, cousin. You should have expected to be kicked back - for you know me well enough." There was a whimper from the other end of the pile as the blanket laid itself down in it's new position, and Gimli heard three grouchy hobbit voices chorus, "*BE QUIET, PIPPIN!*"
Gimli hoped the little people went on like this all day; it was exceedingly amusing to watch and it had entertained the dwarf no end through his tiresome watch. But the minor drama was put to an end when an extremely weary-sounding Aragorn, always the protector of peace between the fellowship, called from the opposite end of the camp, "Mayhap, if I can get Legolas up and at least *half* awake, he could sing you into a slumber - if you are having trouble, that is. Though I would not recommend forcing him to awaken, for he has been playing hide-and-seek with you through the night and has no doubt had enough of you. But I may risk it because his sweet voice would drown out your endless bickering... Now, *SLEEP*!" The ranger was rewarded with four hobbit sniggers and a deep chuckle from a dozing wizard, and then, thankfully for the northerner, peaceful silence.
The dwarf frowned at Aragorn's words; indeed, the elf did have an unnaturally clear and pleasing voice, though Gloin's son grudged deeply to admit so. But if Aragorn wanted strength in his songs - enough power to drown out the hobbits - he should've turned to Gimli. Dwarves did not sing twiddily and flowery melodies about coneys hopping and water splishy- splashying - they *roared* chants. War-chants, Feast-chants, Sleep-chants, Watch-chants... Yes, Aragorn had been overheard humming and mumbling deep verses in a strange tongue a few times on the move, Boromir's Gondorimm songs were uplifting and filled with hope and pride, Frodo had a very soothing voice when he was pushed to recite well-known hobbit-ditties by his companions, and obviously Legolas had shown off that he could sing many a time, even when nobody, least of all Gimli, ever wanted him to - and yet, nobody had requested a rousing chant from Gimli. Realising this, he threw a deathly glare at the sleeping elf as though it were his fault, having felt more inclined that day to cross him, and had, in fact, done so; mayhap it was something to do with the business in the lake the day before, where the elf had tried to kill him.
Legolas lay on his back, golden head to one side, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, the prince had one hand clutched at his breast as the other lay at rest on the ground beside him. Aragorn, who had apparently been the elf's best friend for decades, and Gandalf who, as a close friend of King Thranduil - Legolas' father - had spent countless years among the many Royal sons and daughters of the hidden kingdom, both knew the prince well enough to be familiar with his strange habits and quirks - including the way he slept. But the rest of the fellowship had been puzzeled when they observed the Wood elf nearly always slept with one hand over his heart and the other pressed palm-down on the earth he slept upon. The younger hobbits, Meriadoc (who should've known better) and Pip (who most of the company found difficult to stop), in one of their cheekier and more flippant moods, had once asked the tall elf warrior why he slept like that, in such a position. Greenleaf had humoured them by smiling, kneeling down and confiding in them, quite seriously, it was so he could feel his life, honour, strength and sense of family spirit flow and pulsing through him, and so he could listen to the songs of Aule, hear the gound's voice, even at rest.
Gimli had overheard this and had kept his tongue in check at the time as he had just been sharply reprimanded by Gandalf over his conduct regarding that particular Elven prince. But now he snorted and shook his head in disgust. ~Hearing the ground's voice?~ Naturally, stone spoke up occaisionally with it's wise, deep words - but only to dwarves who cared for it, worshipped, and made beautiful things from it. Only for those who loved it! High-and-mighty elves had nothing to do with the songs of stone!
The elf was always doing stupid things like that - stopping in the middle of a night's march just so he could gaze up at the stars like some fool; wandering off while the rest of the company rested so he could speak with the trees he loved so - the ones that had apparently given him his name - and bask in the Sun's warm light; smiling idiotically whenever he heard birds singing, branches of gnarled beeches creaking or the rushing water in streams bubbling and swelling. Gimli knew elves loved water, and they truly thought it was the thing that held the most power and strength in this world.... ~What about stone?~ Gimli thought indignantly. The others in the fellowship let Greenleaf be because he was an *elf*, and all *Elves* must be treated with awe and reverence. All lesser races of Middle-Earth must bow down and like the soles of their delicate, oh-so daintily-clad, elven feet.
Gimli sneered; *he* certainly didn't excuse the youngest prince of Mirkwood's petty little habits just because he was one of the first folk - no dwarf did. Dwarves, he knew, were always superior to elves and did not owe the skinny-streaks-of-mead anything.
He had been taught long ago to hate and distrust elves. He had been told many a story at his father's knee, mostly about the King Thranduil of Mirkwood himself and his famed 'hospitality', that made Gimli resentful and intolerant of all Elven behaviour. And the elf he was currently forced to travel with was no exception - the son of Gloin thought, in fact, he might hate this particular elf more than any of Legolas' kindred. And that was saying something.
With this thought, the dwarf's attention returned to the sleeping elf in question. Gimli needed to think of a suibtable way to pay Legolas back for the recent water incident, and for all the supposed 'accidents', as Greenleaf called them. He *had* thought to lay off the elf for a short while: the unfortunate way his joke about Legolas' mother had been taken making him more inclined to let the elf be, and to understand more about him, but that had been taken completely advantage of... and so, that was that. Greenleaf would not escape revenge. But just how to put an end to all the pranks, arguments, pay-backs and grudges, however, remained to be seen. Retribution was to be had for almost drowning him the day before, and that would be the end of it. Not that Gimli was giving up or saying Legolas had won, oh no - he was just more considerate of the others in the company than the arrogant, snob of an elf was. But that was no surprise. Elves, he had discovered, only thought about one thing - themselves.
He looked at the elf then in complete disdain. Gimli was pretty certain Legolas was asleep, even though the large eyes were still open and seemingly aware. All Elves, it turned out, slept with their eyes open unless they were, ill, injured, exhausted or heartbroken. This both unnerved and annoyed Gimli terribly - it sometimes spooked him, when he wasn't expecting to be looked at and he caught sight of a set of eyes staring at him. But he had also stubbornly decided that Elves only slept that way to be different and special - a cut above all other races, even when sleeping. Gimli, however, knew this time that Greenleaf was slumbering, and not just lying awake, waiting for his chance to jump up and cause a fright - he had done this before, causing even Boromir to start, all the hobbits to leap about a league into the air and, though he would never admit it to anyone else, startling Gimli. He knew Legolas was asleep because the elf's pupil's were only small pin-pricks in the huge expanses of greens and silver that made up his orbal eyes. From a distance it looked as though Greenleaf had no pupils in those big eyes at all. Aragorn had told Gimli that when Elves rested, they walked in lands of purity and light, beauty and joy - lands where no darkness could ever reach them. ~And that poor man should know~ Gimli thought. Gandalf had told him Aragorn'd been brought up as a child amongst Elves and had nearly always been one of Legolas' best friends...
Gimli had nothing but pity for the unfortunate ranger.
Legolas stirred slightly in his sleep, causing the dwarf's attention to return to him. Gimli had noticed it a few times before, but he saw now more than ever that some sort of ethereal light shone faintly from the elf - from more than the white teeth showing through the slight part in his lips. It was from Legolas' pale skin, skin that shone pure moonlight, from his vivid green eyes flecked with shards of grey and silver that shone laughter and the light of the stars, and the Sun's bright rays seemed to radiate from Greenleaf's smooth, golden hair.
Greenleaf's smooth, golden hair... his golden hair... Legolas' hair! ~Yes!~ Gimli all but bellowed with glee. The elf spent far more far too much time on those pretty locks of his, he obviously thought way too highly of himself - and Gimli now had the power to do something about it! Only that night had the hobbits been held, enthralled, as Legolas undid and rewove the plaits above his ears. ~And what a sweet and fitting way to pay the elf back for fair-nearly drowning me!~
Grinning widely, Gimli crept over to the unsuspecting elf, trying to make as little noise as possible. This proved difficult; the chainmail and heavy leather he kept on, even at night, clinked and creaked with every step, and he wasn't the lightest of creatures ever to grace Middle-earth. The stray thought that crossed his mind, piping up ~Legolas would have no problem...~ only added fuel to his resolve to teach the elf a lesson.
Cautiously, Gimli took one of the elf's own long, white knives from his still side and unsheathed it. It was a magnificent weapon, the son of Gloin *had* to admit that, having an affinity, as he did, with weapons of any sort. The light, elegant tool had a bone-white handle, probably ivory, the metal of the blade was a lot paler and lighter in weight than in an average weapon. And even to someone as illiterate as Gimli when it came to Elvish ruins, those inticately engraved on the side were wonderous to look at.
Gimli shook himself out of his half-riviere. ~This is idiocy, stop stalling!~ It was an Elvish weapon - it may be pretty, but it obviously wouldn't stand up to the pure might of a Dwarven axe in battle. And how ironic the use that it would be used for. He grunted and turned back to the elf, and was suddenly, once again, startled by how fair the sleeping creature before him was. If there was one positive thing Gimli *had* to give to Legolas - though he didn't want to very much - it was how beautiful he was. It wasn't even as though the prince were merely handsome either, like Aragorn, Boromir, Frodo or, indeed, Gimli himself (as far as Dwarves went), it was the fact that he was truly magnificent to see. A light radiated from Greenleaf constantly, with brilliance enough to alert even a short-sighted dwarf, he walked with such elegance, even the most graceful man upon Middle-Earth could not comprehend how - when he fought he practically danced around his victims.
His laughter was like sunlight after a cold and harsh winter, his deceptively-slender body was leonine and powerful, with the strength of many Men, his honey-pale hair was smooth and silken, his smile was always wide, warm and witty, and his eyes: even Boromir had to stop and take notice when Legolas looked him in the eye, and the hobbits were positively spell-bound by them. The elf's deep-emerald and forest-green eyes were flecked with jewels of silver, and shone with a film almost as though a mist of mithril had lain over the top.
Gimli caught himself abruptly, realising what he had just thought ~There is no way I am 'fond' of this elf, nor do I think his 'laughter is like sunlight after winter' - what a foolish thing to say! An 'Elvish' thing to say. No way at all do I think his fairness redeems him. No...~ Though, strangely, the dwarf unconsciously felt he needed to prove his pure hatred of Legolas to himself; to do this he grabbed a fistful of the golden tresses, careful not to pull so the elf woke, and proceeded to cut as roughly as he could as quickly as possible.
Though his heart was screaming for him to stop for some unknown reason, Gimli ground his teeth and hacked at the thick locks. Not once did he stop to marvel at the softness of the hair, despite how hard he was having to saw to break the strands. Elven hair was stronger than any other fibre in Middle-Earth, and when used in their Elven-bows, the hair would almost never break. ~I must keep going~ he thought, determined to see this through, wishing the pain that was steadily building in his heart to cease.
He was in a frenzy at this point, cutting different sections at different lengths, just wishing for the controlling rage to leave him. Though Dwarves were, by rule, hot-headed, they did not like overpowering anger for they believed it robbed them of their senses, and no one, nothing, *ever* robbed a dwarf. Anger like the fire blazing in his coal-black eyes, was this sort of theiving anger Dwarves despise.It was this anger that drove the dwarf, as a final act, to cut off the braids of gold that twined down from just above Legolas' ears. These plaits had always annoyed Gimli for he had no idea why they were there - something to do with age, wasn't it? - and he'd longed for an age to simply reach up and haul the elf back down to earth by the fiddly bits of bangs.
As soon as he'd cut off the second braid, however, Gimli was brought back to his senses sharply as a wave of grief and regret washed over, and threaten to overwhelm, him. He looked down at his hands, clenched into fists so tightly the knuckles seeped white - he held most of Legolas' formally glorious locks in them. Strands of spun-sunbeams littered the floor like straw. The light that usually shone brightly from them was gone, leaving the tresses looking a sickly yellow, instead of the brilliant gold they had been.
"*What have I done?*" Gimli whispered to the suddenly-dead air surrounding him and his victim. Remorse left a bitter taste in his mouth. He stared in horror, first at the masses of hair in his hands, to Legolas, who now looked extremely odd and almost frail, vulnerable in every sense of the word. Instead of the beautiful, poker-straight mane he had once had, the elf's golden hair was viciously shorn, uneven, longish-bristles amongst the tattered remains of the once-magnificent locks.
Gimli dropped the knife as if it had bitten him, seeking revenge for it's master. He shook all over as he crawled back desperately to where he had sat, not moments before, never once taking his eyes off the practically- mutilated elf. He could not believe he had just comitted such an awful thing, and he wept inside, for the loss was great - though he had thought not to care once the deed was done. Gimli had been set on finishing the task, so that he would not feel so terrible - now he knew that nothing would stop him feeling guilty. ~How wrong I was, I misjudged myself~ he thought miserably.
He hated this elf, why did it bother him so whether Greenleaf wore his hair long or short?!
~Because~ he answered himself ~what you have just done has no honour in it whatsoever. Legolas, even, would not have done such a thing to you... he is not as bad as you~
Gimli actually felt like weeping, the guilt weighing upon his heart, the very heart that tried to stop him doing such a thing in the first place, was unbearable. But he could not sit and feel sorry for himself - all pity should rightfully go to the elf, he thought - though the dwarf expected full vengence to be wreaked at a later date. Gimli sighed, thoroughly miserable, and looked down at the locks in his hands. He stowed them in his back-pack.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A short time later, Aragorn was shook half from his sleep by the dwarf. He frowned, extremely reluctant to come back to the world of the living, thinking himself fully able to sleep till well into the next week, so exhausted he was. He raised a hand to bat whatever was bothering him away, and his face buried deeper into his pack, which he was using for a pillow, only to be shaken again, even more roughly. With a groan he sat straight up, eyes still closed, and he croaked, "All right, all right - I'm up, I'm.... up," the sentance was punctuated by a yawn that came, unbidden, to him.
"Master Ranger," said Gimli, "I'll be needing your full attention, there." His voice held a tone of amusement, but eyes the colour of cobalt glanced nervously about the camp, hoping no one else was awake.
"And you shall have it, my good dwarf," stated Aragorn firmly with a decisive nod and frown, eyes still closed. "Just... a moment, please?" He attempted to unglue one top eyelid away from one bottom eyelid. A weary annoyance rushed through him half-heartedly as he realised that the eyelashes of both lids were stuck together, and only extreme and full eye- opening could pull them apart. Gimli looked on with curiousity as Aragorn's dark eyebrows raised, surely to his hairline, and the eyes opened slowly with trouble, to reveal that the grey orbs were rolled upwards to the sky. All this effort to open one's eyes? He was brought back to the present, however, when he noticed that the ranger's attentive, albeit bleary, slate- grey eyes were fixed upon him. "My attention is full, and I give it to you without any question, other than 'what?'"
The dwarf shifted uncomfortably, and looked down to the earth-compacted floor, "I feel I may have done something rather foolish, Aragorn."
Something in his tone made Aragorn sit up just that little bit straighter and take note more, rather than focusing his sleepy mind upon the statement 'This better be good'; for apparently it was. "And what might that be?" he asked, almost cautiously.
Gimli paused for a short time, and glanced at the northerner, "I think you mayhap had better see it for yourself." He stood, and extended a hand towards the man to help him stand, which Aragorn took with suspicion and pulled himself up. Gimli led him to the scene of the crime, "Now, don't shout," he warned quietly, not wanting the rest of the fellowship, and particularly Legolas himself, to waken.
Aragorn could not hold back the gasp that escaped from him, and he whirled to look at Gimli, "Why have you done such a thing?" he asked, horrified. "And what in *Valar* would possess you to do it?" The son of Gloin could only look down, and that angered him, "I *demand* to know the reason, Gloinion," he stated, the steely edge to his tone that had scared many a heathen or petty thief into aiding him seeping through.
Gimli looked up at him, and the ranger was surprised to see an overwhelming amount of remorse present in the dark depths, "I can give you no reason," he said helplessly, with a little shrug of his broad shoulders. "For I, myself, do not understand it." His head hung again, and Aragorn felt almost a little sorry for him. Until, that is, he looked back to his still quietly- sleeping best friend. Gimli spoke up again, "I woke you because I could think of nothing else to do... I need you to tell me what I should do."
Aragorn gazed at him for a moment, and was silently thoughtful until he spoke up quietly, "No you didn't." He told the dwarf what he believed, and he was correct, "You woke me because you knew *I* was the one to be most angered, after Legolas, of course, and you wish for me to punish you with shouts and screams and rants and raves." He stopped again, and his face held no emotion, and his grey eyes were mere shutters to his heart, rather than the windows to his soul that they usually were. He shook his head, eyes still on the dwarf, "And I will not do it, for I cannot forgive you for this just yet. You believe that once I have 'punished' you, you are forgiven. Well, you are not." The tone of voice he used startled and hurt Gimli, and he looked up, but his friend had averted his eyes from him, and that filled him with guilt so strong it fair nearly choked him.
The ranger spoke without looking at him, "Go, and pretend you are sleeping, I will rouse Legolas, take him into the forest and tell him of what has happened. That way, he will explode far away from here, sparing you from him, and giving the rest of the fellowship their full time to sleep - when they wake, *you* can tell them what happened."
The dwarf could only stand there a moment; it may have looked as though Aragorn were protecting him from Legolas' wrath, but the highly-perceptive ranger seemed to know his mind, seemed to know that Gimli's thinking was that once the elf had taken out his anger on him, they would be even, that the two actions would cancel each other out. Of course, they didn't, but Gimli liked to think that - but Aragorn was not willing to let him have forgiveness. Or at least, not yet. But even so, it constricted the dwarf's heart even tighter to know that he had wounded more than just Legolas in his vile pursuit of vengence. But nothing could be done of it yet, so he just lay down without furthur question.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Estel, I don't understand... why is it I am not sleeping right now, again?" Legolas was unusually tired and grumpy, having been woken prematurely by his best friend some time earlier. Aragorn had bade him to follow silently, and they had walked into the forest for quite some distance, with Legolas thoroughly bemused the whole time. The ranger seemed saddened by something, but for the life of him, Greenleaf couldn't throw a guess at what. So he jested, hoping to raise the stunted spirits of his companion in any way possible, always the dutiful best friend. He pointed back in the direction of the camp, "You know, if this is about letting the others know of 'the Lord of Timing' thing, then I'm sorry... I couldn't help myself." Aragorn glanced around at the elf, who was smiling apologetically, and grinned despite himself as the prince continued, "But you do know that I can foil any elaborate, vengeful set-up of your own contraption with my wily and, might I say, extremely cunning ways, don't you Estel?"
Aragorn chuckled; he could not help it, but then became serious once more as he stopped and turned fully to his best friend. "Alas," he said, "this is nothing to do with me..." At the elf's curious expression, he continued hesitantly; he had known Legolas all his long life, and yet was still unsure as to how he would take the recent event, "Gimli woke me earlier, seeking solace - he was ridden with guilt for something he had done, concerning *you*, Legolas..."
Legolas' green-eyes narrowed dangerously and his voice was a mere rumble in the back of his throat, sensing trouble, "What has he done concerning me, Estel? Estel... look at me... *what*?" His head dipped, and his eyes searched the downturned face of his dearest friend.
The northerner raised his head, and with distress plain in his clear-grey eyes, he said quietly, "Legolas... he cut off all your hair."
Nothing happened for a time, and the elf just stared at him blankly, though Aragorn noticed his large eyes had widened slightly furthur. Legolas opened his mouth to speak, but no words parted from his lips, and then slowly, one slender hand was brought up to his head, seeking the truth.
The truth was found.
The prince's fair skin paled even more, he breathed in and his nostrils dilated, his other hand lifted to his head, and he felt all around, only to be rewarded with the feel of crude bristles and short bangs, nothing of the silky long hair he had once had. Aragorn held his breath, knowing that the delayed reaction was imminent.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Gimli had left the now startlingly-awake fellowship in search of Legolas and Aragorn. He had told the rest of the company of what he had done with his eyes fixed firmly upon his heavy-leather boots, not wishing to see their faces reflect the shame and accusation he felt in his own heart. So he had not seen that his friends looked upon him with no blame or digust... at first that hadn't known what to feel, but after a time they had come to see that the dwarf was punishing himself most adequately for his actions, and would need no aid there. They had decided to leave him be, they would treat neither him nor Legolas differently when they returned... if they returned in one piece, that is.
The dwarf needed something, anything, to lift the heavy feelings that fell upon his heart, and whether that be a good, sound beating from an irate elf , then so be it... his pride needed to be taken down a notch, he thought.
As he neared the place of his two comrades, he could hear raised voices. Not merely raised in the conventional sense of the word, but actual shouting and hollering. He could not understand what was being said entirely, but he listened anyway. The first was Legolas' voice, "Hepuen mevan lo nien cardu nad emnis?!" speaking harshly in his own tongue, and Gimli had never heard him sound this way before - he cringed with both fear and guilt, "A-van norote em *lyngwe* lom, Estel!"
Aragorn's voice held a placating tone to it, he was trying to calm his friend down, for he spoke soothingly, also in Silvan, "Cer a-bevlon nid o ali tobar, mellon nin... nul valu carlan."
"O?" Legolas asked in an incredulous voice, "Mar lan?"
"Esaur Mithrandir tem lyngwe nis!" Aragorn laughed suddenly, seeing the funny side to the whole situation. After a shocked pause, Gimli heard Legolas join in with him, chuckling weakly, though his heart was not really in it. Gimli sighed silently, straightened his broad shoulders and made his way towards the voices... he was going to take his punishment with dignity.
The voices stopped abruptly, and he knew they knew he was there.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ TBC ooooooh!
A/N: The little conversation going on between Aragorn and Legolas goes a little something like this...
Legolas: "How could he have done this to me?" "I am going to *kill* him, Estel." Aragorn: "And I believe that is your right, my friend... but please don't" Legolas: "Oh? Why not?" Aragorn: "Beacause Gandalf will kill me!"
Aren't I good at made up elvish? *cough* NOT *cough*
And guess what? Seeing as my past incentive scheme seemed to work, we have more imaginary awards to give out. Double kudos to the reviewers: Starlit Hope (formerly '...'), Sirith, Amorous and Say La Vie, who all have me on their favourite stories lists... I salute you! And a One-and-a-Half kudos to Artemisa, who has kindly taken the time to read and review a Star Wars story I have currently underway.
Now this is a double-parter, I have a little suspence thing going on... clever, no? There is also a little bit of Elvish being spoken here, but for the record, asking me to write Elvish is a little like asking me to write in Swahili (though I think I know the word for 'hello'...). Some words are the real macoy, some have been comandeered from other stories (I use pretty much anyone elses where I can) but some things have had to be made up. They are in no way right or anything, it's just how I imagined it would be. I am in total awe of those people who can *actually* write in Elvish, and use the proper tenses and sentance structures and so forth... so I apologise in advance for the awfulness of the made up words....
Anyway... let's get this show on the road! Hope you like....
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Gimli: Self-Appointed Barber ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Gimli sighed grumpily as he looked over his fellowship, trying to think of anything he could do that might lift the dullness that had suddenly settled over his watch. The rest of the company were fast asleep and the dwarf was very bored; for it was an extremely tedious thing to stay awake while everyone else slept on in silence. After scanning the wooded area surrounding their feeble camp twice, not only did Gimli now have absolutely nothing to do, but he had come to the conclusion that there probably wouldn't be any problems at all that day. Thinking again, he could only suppose was a good thing, but still... anything to liven up his watch would've been a welcome distraction.
Suddenly, it seemed as though he had gotten his wish; there was a yelp across the camp. It had drifted up and towards the dwarf from the bundle of many blankets and heads of thick, curly hair that supposedly represented four young hobbits.
Gimli strained his ears, listening intently, and could just make out the groggy voices of two halflings: a high-pitched trill that had to be Pippin, and a lower growl that was either Master Baggins or Meriadoc, Gimli couldn't be sure which. They both had deeper voices than an average hobbit, with a unique manner of speaking that boasted generations of superior breeding - the lilt of the words and the perculiar-sounding accents were a far cry from, say, Sam's rich, cultural tongue. Gimli knew that Pip, being a Took, and possibly Merry of the Brandybuck clan, technically ranked higher than Frodo in regards to gentility, but Master Baggins spoke so clearly-cut and eloquently, and had such a charming manner and way of behaving, that at the first meeting of the hobbits, to Gimli at least, he had seemed the nobler halfling.
"*Peregrin!* If you do not cease in kicking me, I shall be obliged to get up and sit on your head! And you don't want to do that, do you?"
Gimli grinned and chuckled ~Frodo~ he thought ~definately Frodo~ The dark- haired halfling was extremely polite and well-spoken, with a turn of phrase unlike anyone Gimli had met before. So when he threatened, he threatened in his own, unique and perculiar way. The gentle-hobbit's tone of voice made it obvious that *this* was no idle threat. The dwarf remembered with clarity when Frodo, not so long ago, had chased his two cousins around the camp and, upon catching the 'scoundrels', had proceeded to sit on them till the younger hobbits had all but begged for mercy. And all because Pip and Meriadoc had attempted to wake him in the best way they knew - pinching his nose till he was forced to return to the world of the living - which Frodo had not appreciated. By now, it was well known to all the fellowship that the young Baggins liked his slumber, and it was generally unwise to disturb him.
"It's not me, cousin!" Pippin's squeaky and somewhat indignant voice *sounded* innocent. ~But then again~ Gimli reflected ~it always did~ "It's your Sam! He's dreaming of digging in your beautiful garden back at Bag End." From all the things Gimli had heard of this Bag End and it's garden, and Hobbiton, and the Shire, it sounded like an oasis. Gimli wished to view the Shire in all it's glory when all this was over, maybe he could visit this Bag End. The home of the Great Frodo Baggins.
"Flattery will get you nowhere, Pip," Frodo recited the regular mantra that existed between the three cousins flatly, but with a slight smile in his voice. ~Master Baggins is no fool~ the dwarf stated in his mind, though he had known this all along. Gimli could hear him yawn - it sounded very much as if Frodo wished to drift off back to sleep as soon as possible. " -and it *is* you," the gentle-hobbit continued sleepily, "you have the smallest feet."
Gimli chuckled heartily as Pippin gasped and, affronted, cried out, "I do not!"
It was apparently considered a very demeaning feature for a hobbit to have small feet. Halflings took great care of their large, elongated feet, Gimli had noted; brushing the curly hair that grew atop them at least twice a day, washing their feet even more than their faces and necks, keeping the appendages neat and tidy at all times. The only thing worse Frodo could have said would be calling Pippin 'scruffy-foot'.
There was silence following Pip's outburst and Gimli could only assume that Frodo had won the battle against the young Took, but lost the war with sleep. The only sounds the dwarf could now hear were the noises of his fellowship in their dreams. Aragorn's rythmic wheezing, the loud, guttural snores of both Gandalf and Boromir, the quick tempo of sleeping hobbit- murmurs and the deep, almost melodic, sighing breaths of an elf at rest.
The sound of a scuffle from the hobbit-pile drew Gimli's attention once more. His charcole-black eyes darted up in time to see a halfling-shaped coverlet topped with thick, ebony locks rise up from the cluster and silently pad over to the other side of the bundle, pausing only to kick a lump of something sharply on his way. Another yelp was heard, but the vertical blanket only heeded it by saying simply, "You continued to kick me, cousin. You should have expected to be kicked back - for you know me well enough." There was a whimper from the other end of the pile as the blanket laid itself down in it's new position, and Gimli heard three grouchy hobbit voices chorus, "*BE QUIET, PIPPIN!*"
Gimli hoped the little people went on like this all day; it was exceedingly amusing to watch and it had entertained the dwarf no end through his tiresome watch. But the minor drama was put to an end when an extremely weary-sounding Aragorn, always the protector of peace between the fellowship, called from the opposite end of the camp, "Mayhap, if I can get Legolas up and at least *half* awake, he could sing you into a slumber - if you are having trouble, that is. Though I would not recommend forcing him to awaken, for he has been playing hide-and-seek with you through the night and has no doubt had enough of you. But I may risk it because his sweet voice would drown out your endless bickering... Now, *SLEEP*!" The ranger was rewarded with four hobbit sniggers and a deep chuckle from a dozing wizard, and then, thankfully for the northerner, peaceful silence.
The dwarf frowned at Aragorn's words; indeed, the elf did have an unnaturally clear and pleasing voice, though Gloin's son grudged deeply to admit so. But if Aragorn wanted strength in his songs - enough power to drown out the hobbits - he should've turned to Gimli. Dwarves did not sing twiddily and flowery melodies about coneys hopping and water splishy- splashying - they *roared* chants. War-chants, Feast-chants, Sleep-chants, Watch-chants... Yes, Aragorn had been overheard humming and mumbling deep verses in a strange tongue a few times on the move, Boromir's Gondorimm songs were uplifting and filled with hope and pride, Frodo had a very soothing voice when he was pushed to recite well-known hobbit-ditties by his companions, and obviously Legolas had shown off that he could sing many a time, even when nobody, least of all Gimli, ever wanted him to - and yet, nobody had requested a rousing chant from Gimli. Realising this, he threw a deathly glare at the sleeping elf as though it were his fault, having felt more inclined that day to cross him, and had, in fact, done so; mayhap it was something to do with the business in the lake the day before, where the elf had tried to kill him.
Legolas lay on his back, golden head to one side, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, the prince had one hand clutched at his breast as the other lay at rest on the ground beside him. Aragorn, who had apparently been the elf's best friend for decades, and Gandalf who, as a close friend of King Thranduil - Legolas' father - had spent countless years among the many Royal sons and daughters of the hidden kingdom, both knew the prince well enough to be familiar with his strange habits and quirks - including the way he slept. But the rest of the fellowship had been puzzeled when they observed the Wood elf nearly always slept with one hand over his heart and the other pressed palm-down on the earth he slept upon. The younger hobbits, Meriadoc (who should've known better) and Pip (who most of the company found difficult to stop), in one of their cheekier and more flippant moods, had once asked the tall elf warrior why he slept like that, in such a position. Greenleaf had humoured them by smiling, kneeling down and confiding in them, quite seriously, it was so he could feel his life, honour, strength and sense of family spirit flow and pulsing through him, and so he could listen to the songs of Aule, hear the gound's voice, even at rest.
Gimli had overheard this and had kept his tongue in check at the time as he had just been sharply reprimanded by Gandalf over his conduct regarding that particular Elven prince. But now he snorted and shook his head in disgust. ~Hearing the ground's voice?~ Naturally, stone spoke up occaisionally with it's wise, deep words - but only to dwarves who cared for it, worshipped, and made beautiful things from it. Only for those who loved it! High-and-mighty elves had nothing to do with the songs of stone!
The elf was always doing stupid things like that - stopping in the middle of a night's march just so he could gaze up at the stars like some fool; wandering off while the rest of the company rested so he could speak with the trees he loved so - the ones that had apparently given him his name - and bask in the Sun's warm light; smiling idiotically whenever he heard birds singing, branches of gnarled beeches creaking or the rushing water in streams bubbling and swelling. Gimli knew elves loved water, and they truly thought it was the thing that held the most power and strength in this world.... ~What about stone?~ Gimli thought indignantly. The others in the fellowship let Greenleaf be because he was an *elf*, and all *Elves* must be treated with awe and reverence. All lesser races of Middle-Earth must bow down and like the soles of their delicate, oh-so daintily-clad, elven feet.
Gimli sneered; *he* certainly didn't excuse the youngest prince of Mirkwood's petty little habits just because he was one of the first folk - no dwarf did. Dwarves, he knew, were always superior to elves and did not owe the skinny-streaks-of-mead anything.
He had been taught long ago to hate and distrust elves. He had been told many a story at his father's knee, mostly about the King Thranduil of Mirkwood himself and his famed 'hospitality', that made Gimli resentful and intolerant of all Elven behaviour. And the elf he was currently forced to travel with was no exception - the son of Gloin thought, in fact, he might hate this particular elf more than any of Legolas' kindred. And that was saying something.
With this thought, the dwarf's attention returned to the sleeping elf in question. Gimli needed to think of a suibtable way to pay Legolas back for the recent water incident, and for all the supposed 'accidents', as Greenleaf called them. He *had* thought to lay off the elf for a short while: the unfortunate way his joke about Legolas' mother had been taken making him more inclined to let the elf be, and to understand more about him, but that had been taken completely advantage of... and so, that was that. Greenleaf would not escape revenge. But just how to put an end to all the pranks, arguments, pay-backs and grudges, however, remained to be seen. Retribution was to be had for almost drowning him the day before, and that would be the end of it. Not that Gimli was giving up or saying Legolas had won, oh no - he was just more considerate of the others in the company than the arrogant, snob of an elf was. But that was no surprise. Elves, he had discovered, only thought about one thing - themselves.
He looked at the elf then in complete disdain. Gimli was pretty certain Legolas was asleep, even though the large eyes were still open and seemingly aware. All Elves, it turned out, slept with their eyes open unless they were, ill, injured, exhausted or heartbroken. This both unnerved and annoyed Gimli terribly - it sometimes spooked him, when he wasn't expecting to be looked at and he caught sight of a set of eyes staring at him. But he had also stubbornly decided that Elves only slept that way to be different and special - a cut above all other races, even when sleeping. Gimli, however, knew this time that Greenleaf was slumbering, and not just lying awake, waiting for his chance to jump up and cause a fright - he had done this before, causing even Boromir to start, all the hobbits to leap about a league into the air and, though he would never admit it to anyone else, startling Gimli. He knew Legolas was asleep because the elf's pupil's were only small pin-pricks in the huge expanses of greens and silver that made up his orbal eyes. From a distance it looked as though Greenleaf had no pupils in those big eyes at all. Aragorn had told Gimli that when Elves rested, they walked in lands of purity and light, beauty and joy - lands where no darkness could ever reach them. ~And that poor man should know~ Gimli thought. Gandalf had told him Aragorn'd been brought up as a child amongst Elves and had nearly always been one of Legolas' best friends...
Gimli had nothing but pity for the unfortunate ranger.
Legolas stirred slightly in his sleep, causing the dwarf's attention to return to him. Gimli had noticed it a few times before, but he saw now more than ever that some sort of ethereal light shone faintly from the elf - from more than the white teeth showing through the slight part in his lips. It was from Legolas' pale skin, skin that shone pure moonlight, from his vivid green eyes flecked with shards of grey and silver that shone laughter and the light of the stars, and the Sun's bright rays seemed to radiate from Greenleaf's smooth, golden hair.
Greenleaf's smooth, golden hair... his golden hair... Legolas' hair! ~Yes!~ Gimli all but bellowed with glee. The elf spent far more far too much time on those pretty locks of his, he obviously thought way too highly of himself - and Gimli now had the power to do something about it! Only that night had the hobbits been held, enthralled, as Legolas undid and rewove the plaits above his ears. ~And what a sweet and fitting way to pay the elf back for fair-nearly drowning me!~
Grinning widely, Gimli crept over to the unsuspecting elf, trying to make as little noise as possible. This proved difficult; the chainmail and heavy leather he kept on, even at night, clinked and creaked with every step, and he wasn't the lightest of creatures ever to grace Middle-earth. The stray thought that crossed his mind, piping up ~Legolas would have no problem...~ only added fuel to his resolve to teach the elf a lesson.
Cautiously, Gimli took one of the elf's own long, white knives from his still side and unsheathed it. It was a magnificent weapon, the son of Gloin *had* to admit that, having an affinity, as he did, with weapons of any sort. The light, elegant tool had a bone-white handle, probably ivory, the metal of the blade was a lot paler and lighter in weight than in an average weapon. And even to someone as illiterate as Gimli when it came to Elvish ruins, those inticately engraved on the side were wonderous to look at.
Gimli shook himself out of his half-riviere. ~This is idiocy, stop stalling!~ It was an Elvish weapon - it may be pretty, but it obviously wouldn't stand up to the pure might of a Dwarven axe in battle. And how ironic the use that it would be used for. He grunted and turned back to the elf, and was suddenly, once again, startled by how fair the sleeping creature before him was. If there was one positive thing Gimli *had* to give to Legolas - though he didn't want to very much - it was how beautiful he was. It wasn't even as though the prince were merely handsome either, like Aragorn, Boromir, Frodo or, indeed, Gimli himself (as far as Dwarves went), it was the fact that he was truly magnificent to see. A light radiated from Greenleaf constantly, with brilliance enough to alert even a short-sighted dwarf, he walked with such elegance, even the most graceful man upon Middle-Earth could not comprehend how - when he fought he practically danced around his victims.
His laughter was like sunlight after a cold and harsh winter, his deceptively-slender body was leonine and powerful, with the strength of many Men, his honey-pale hair was smooth and silken, his smile was always wide, warm and witty, and his eyes: even Boromir had to stop and take notice when Legolas looked him in the eye, and the hobbits were positively spell-bound by them. The elf's deep-emerald and forest-green eyes were flecked with jewels of silver, and shone with a film almost as though a mist of mithril had lain over the top.
Gimli caught himself abruptly, realising what he had just thought ~There is no way I am 'fond' of this elf, nor do I think his 'laughter is like sunlight after winter' - what a foolish thing to say! An 'Elvish' thing to say. No way at all do I think his fairness redeems him. No...~ Though, strangely, the dwarf unconsciously felt he needed to prove his pure hatred of Legolas to himself; to do this he grabbed a fistful of the golden tresses, careful not to pull so the elf woke, and proceeded to cut as roughly as he could as quickly as possible.
Though his heart was screaming for him to stop for some unknown reason, Gimli ground his teeth and hacked at the thick locks. Not once did he stop to marvel at the softness of the hair, despite how hard he was having to saw to break the strands. Elven hair was stronger than any other fibre in Middle-Earth, and when used in their Elven-bows, the hair would almost never break. ~I must keep going~ he thought, determined to see this through, wishing the pain that was steadily building in his heart to cease.
He was in a frenzy at this point, cutting different sections at different lengths, just wishing for the controlling rage to leave him. Though Dwarves were, by rule, hot-headed, they did not like overpowering anger for they believed it robbed them of their senses, and no one, nothing, *ever* robbed a dwarf. Anger like the fire blazing in his coal-black eyes, was this sort of theiving anger Dwarves despise.It was this anger that drove the dwarf, as a final act, to cut off the braids of gold that twined down from just above Legolas' ears. These plaits had always annoyed Gimli for he had no idea why they were there - something to do with age, wasn't it? - and he'd longed for an age to simply reach up and haul the elf back down to earth by the fiddly bits of bangs.
As soon as he'd cut off the second braid, however, Gimli was brought back to his senses sharply as a wave of grief and regret washed over, and threaten to overwhelm, him. He looked down at his hands, clenched into fists so tightly the knuckles seeped white - he held most of Legolas' formally glorious locks in them. Strands of spun-sunbeams littered the floor like straw. The light that usually shone brightly from them was gone, leaving the tresses looking a sickly yellow, instead of the brilliant gold they had been.
"*What have I done?*" Gimli whispered to the suddenly-dead air surrounding him and his victim. Remorse left a bitter taste in his mouth. He stared in horror, first at the masses of hair in his hands, to Legolas, who now looked extremely odd and almost frail, vulnerable in every sense of the word. Instead of the beautiful, poker-straight mane he had once had, the elf's golden hair was viciously shorn, uneven, longish-bristles amongst the tattered remains of the once-magnificent locks.
Gimli dropped the knife as if it had bitten him, seeking revenge for it's master. He shook all over as he crawled back desperately to where he had sat, not moments before, never once taking his eyes off the practically- mutilated elf. He could not believe he had just comitted such an awful thing, and he wept inside, for the loss was great - though he had thought not to care once the deed was done. Gimli had been set on finishing the task, so that he would not feel so terrible - now he knew that nothing would stop him feeling guilty. ~How wrong I was, I misjudged myself~ he thought miserably.
He hated this elf, why did it bother him so whether Greenleaf wore his hair long or short?!
~Because~ he answered himself ~what you have just done has no honour in it whatsoever. Legolas, even, would not have done such a thing to you... he is not as bad as you~
Gimli actually felt like weeping, the guilt weighing upon his heart, the very heart that tried to stop him doing such a thing in the first place, was unbearable. But he could not sit and feel sorry for himself - all pity should rightfully go to the elf, he thought - though the dwarf expected full vengence to be wreaked at a later date. Gimli sighed, thoroughly miserable, and looked down at the locks in his hands. He stowed them in his back-pack.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
A short time later, Aragorn was shook half from his sleep by the dwarf. He frowned, extremely reluctant to come back to the world of the living, thinking himself fully able to sleep till well into the next week, so exhausted he was. He raised a hand to bat whatever was bothering him away, and his face buried deeper into his pack, which he was using for a pillow, only to be shaken again, even more roughly. With a groan he sat straight up, eyes still closed, and he croaked, "All right, all right - I'm up, I'm.... up," the sentance was punctuated by a yawn that came, unbidden, to him.
"Master Ranger," said Gimli, "I'll be needing your full attention, there." His voice held a tone of amusement, but eyes the colour of cobalt glanced nervously about the camp, hoping no one else was awake.
"And you shall have it, my good dwarf," stated Aragorn firmly with a decisive nod and frown, eyes still closed. "Just... a moment, please?" He attempted to unglue one top eyelid away from one bottom eyelid. A weary annoyance rushed through him half-heartedly as he realised that the eyelashes of both lids were stuck together, and only extreme and full eye- opening could pull them apart. Gimli looked on with curiousity as Aragorn's dark eyebrows raised, surely to his hairline, and the eyes opened slowly with trouble, to reveal that the grey orbs were rolled upwards to the sky. All this effort to open one's eyes? He was brought back to the present, however, when he noticed that the ranger's attentive, albeit bleary, slate- grey eyes were fixed upon him. "My attention is full, and I give it to you without any question, other than 'what?'"
The dwarf shifted uncomfortably, and looked down to the earth-compacted floor, "I feel I may have done something rather foolish, Aragorn."
Something in his tone made Aragorn sit up just that little bit straighter and take note more, rather than focusing his sleepy mind upon the statement 'This better be good'; for apparently it was. "And what might that be?" he asked, almost cautiously.
Gimli paused for a short time, and glanced at the northerner, "I think you mayhap had better see it for yourself." He stood, and extended a hand towards the man to help him stand, which Aragorn took with suspicion and pulled himself up. Gimli led him to the scene of the crime, "Now, don't shout," he warned quietly, not wanting the rest of the fellowship, and particularly Legolas himself, to waken.
Aragorn could not hold back the gasp that escaped from him, and he whirled to look at Gimli, "Why have you done such a thing?" he asked, horrified. "And what in *Valar* would possess you to do it?" The son of Gloin could only look down, and that angered him, "I *demand* to know the reason, Gloinion," he stated, the steely edge to his tone that had scared many a heathen or petty thief into aiding him seeping through.
Gimli looked up at him, and the ranger was surprised to see an overwhelming amount of remorse present in the dark depths, "I can give you no reason," he said helplessly, with a little shrug of his broad shoulders. "For I, myself, do not understand it." His head hung again, and Aragorn felt almost a little sorry for him. Until, that is, he looked back to his still quietly- sleeping best friend. Gimli spoke up again, "I woke you because I could think of nothing else to do... I need you to tell me what I should do."
Aragorn gazed at him for a moment, and was silently thoughtful until he spoke up quietly, "No you didn't." He told the dwarf what he believed, and he was correct, "You woke me because you knew *I* was the one to be most angered, after Legolas, of course, and you wish for me to punish you with shouts and screams and rants and raves." He stopped again, and his face held no emotion, and his grey eyes were mere shutters to his heart, rather than the windows to his soul that they usually were. He shook his head, eyes still on the dwarf, "And I will not do it, for I cannot forgive you for this just yet. You believe that once I have 'punished' you, you are forgiven. Well, you are not." The tone of voice he used startled and hurt Gimli, and he looked up, but his friend had averted his eyes from him, and that filled him with guilt so strong it fair nearly choked him.
The ranger spoke without looking at him, "Go, and pretend you are sleeping, I will rouse Legolas, take him into the forest and tell him of what has happened. That way, he will explode far away from here, sparing you from him, and giving the rest of the fellowship their full time to sleep - when they wake, *you* can tell them what happened."
The dwarf could only stand there a moment; it may have looked as though Aragorn were protecting him from Legolas' wrath, but the highly-perceptive ranger seemed to know his mind, seemed to know that Gimli's thinking was that once the elf had taken out his anger on him, they would be even, that the two actions would cancel each other out. Of course, they didn't, but Gimli liked to think that - but Aragorn was not willing to let him have forgiveness. Or at least, not yet. But even so, it constricted the dwarf's heart even tighter to know that he had wounded more than just Legolas in his vile pursuit of vengence. But nothing could be done of it yet, so he just lay down without furthur question.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Estel, I don't understand... why is it I am not sleeping right now, again?" Legolas was unusually tired and grumpy, having been woken prematurely by his best friend some time earlier. Aragorn had bade him to follow silently, and they had walked into the forest for quite some distance, with Legolas thoroughly bemused the whole time. The ranger seemed saddened by something, but for the life of him, Greenleaf couldn't throw a guess at what. So he jested, hoping to raise the stunted spirits of his companion in any way possible, always the dutiful best friend. He pointed back in the direction of the camp, "You know, if this is about letting the others know of 'the Lord of Timing' thing, then I'm sorry... I couldn't help myself." Aragorn glanced around at the elf, who was smiling apologetically, and grinned despite himself as the prince continued, "But you do know that I can foil any elaborate, vengeful set-up of your own contraption with my wily and, might I say, extremely cunning ways, don't you Estel?"
Aragorn chuckled; he could not help it, but then became serious once more as he stopped and turned fully to his best friend. "Alas," he said, "this is nothing to do with me..." At the elf's curious expression, he continued hesitantly; he had known Legolas all his long life, and yet was still unsure as to how he would take the recent event, "Gimli woke me earlier, seeking solace - he was ridden with guilt for something he had done, concerning *you*, Legolas..."
Legolas' green-eyes narrowed dangerously and his voice was a mere rumble in the back of his throat, sensing trouble, "What has he done concerning me, Estel? Estel... look at me... *what*?" His head dipped, and his eyes searched the downturned face of his dearest friend.
The northerner raised his head, and with distress plain in his clear-grey eyes, he said quietly, "Legolas... he cut off all your hair."
Nothing happened for a time, and the elf just stared at him blankly, though Aragorn noticed his large eyes had widened slightly furthur. Legolas opened his mouth to speak, but no words parted from his lips, and then slowly, one slender hand was brought up to his head, seeking the truth.
The truth was found.
The prince's fair skin paled even more, he breathed in and his nostrils dilated, his other hand lifted to his head, and he felt all around, only to be rewarded with the feel of crude bristles and short bangs, nothing of the silky long hair he had once had. Aragorn held his breath, knowing that the delayed reaction was imminent.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Gimli had left the now startlingly-awake fellowship in search of Legolas and Aragorn. He had told the rest of the company of what he had done with his eyes fixed firmly upon his heavy-leather boots, not wishing to see their faces reflect the shame and accusation he felt in his own heart. So he had not seen that his friends looked upon him with no blame or digust... at first that hadn't known what to feel, but after a time they had come to see that the dwarf was punishing himself most adequately for his actions, and would need no aid there. They had decided to leave him be, they would treat neither him nor Legolas differently when they returned... if they returned in one piece, that is.
The dwarf needed something, anything, to lift the heavy feelings that fell upon his heart, and whether that be a good, sound beating from an irate elf , then so be it... his pride needed to be taken down a notch, he thought.
As he neared the place of his two comrades, he could hear raised voices. Not merely raised in the conventional sense of the word, but actual shouting and hollering. He could not understand what was being said entirely, but he listened anyway. The first was Legolas' voice, "Hepuen mevan lo nien cardu nad emnis?!" speaking harshly in his own tongue, and Gimli had never heard him sound this way before - he cringed with both fear and guilt, "A-van norote em *lyngwe* lom, Estel!"
Aragorn's voice held a placating tone to it, he was trying to calm his friend down, for he spoke soothingly, also in Silvan, "Cer a-bevlon nid o ali tobar, mellon nin... nul valu carlan."
"O?" Legolas asked in an incredulous voice, "Mar lan?"
"Esaur Mithrandir tem lyngwe nis!" Aragorn laughed suddenly, seeing the funny side to the whole situation. After a shocked pause, Gimli heard Legolas join in with him, chuckling weakly, though his heart was not really in it. Gimli sighed silently, straightened his broad shoulders and made his way towards the voices... he was going to take his punishment with dignity.
The voices stopped abruptly, and he knew they knew he was there.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ TBC ooooooh!
A/N: The little conversation going on between Aragorn and Legolas goes a little something like this...
Legolas: "How could he have done this to me?" "I am going to *kill* him, Estel." Aragorn: "And I believe that is your right, my friend... but please don't" Legolas: "Oh? Why not?" Aragorn: "Beacause Gandalf will kill me!"
Aren't I good at made up elvish? *cough* NOT *cough*