A/N: Busted by Amorous! I really was going to have his hair growing faster
than human's did, but then I thought that might be a bit predictable, so
I'm afraid Legolas' just going to have a cold head for the time being.
Thankyou, as always, to all my band of faithful (if not a little dogged) reviewers... and I do so apologise for leaving it off there, I was trying to see whether I could pull off a cliffhanger or not... apparently not! And I'm really sorry for not posting this sooner, but I've had a problem with getting to any computer recently... so this has been lying in my hard- drive, all ready and waiting, for over a week and a half!
And I do agree with you, Diyan of Nightglade, I love Tolkien - he is one of the coolest people to walk this earth and I am eternally greatful that he wrote all the books and essays and notes that he did... but small personal moments were just not what he was interested in. I don't know, I personally think I go on a bit *too* much about descriptions and that - but I can't help it, I just love them all so! Even Boromir, and *I* am now a bit sad that he had to die, because *I* like him now, too!
As for the writings of myself having no storyline or battle sequences... I'm really only new to this writing business, and have yet to venture out into the big wide world of action/adventure stories (but believe me, I will - there are more than a couple things that have been part-written and are big up on action... I am, however, still a little intimidated by that genre and will need to work myself up to it a little bit). Plus, with writing this sort of fellowship-getting-started fic, I was forever conscious of not ripping off Treehugger's brilliant story 'While the Ring went South'. Because that is one of the first fics I read, it's where I got this idea from, it's truly immense, *and* it imploys action sequences and bits of pure tension... I don't want people to think I copied it, and one of the ways to make sure that didn't happen was by just having these as vignettes between the characters, where nothing much is really happening - I'm all for personalities, and like it when stories uncover them!
Plus, I couldn't think of anything that could be action in this, as Wargs, floods, climbing trees and allergic Elves are all bound into Treehugger's story! She bagsied them first! (BTW: bagsied means: dibs on, chored, commandeered... or, to those of you not from the very North north of England, Treehugger was 'the first to pick them'.)
This chapter is for Artemisa, who was the first to read the last, and sounded as though she might just have cried in her review if I did not write another chapter fast, lol. And to Sirith: Hurry up with your next chapter! I have my pitchforks standing by my computer! Don't make me get my gaggle of followers...
So, here we go.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Gimli: Self-Appointed Barber Part 2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The son of Gloin stepped boldly out from the undergrowth into the area of his two potential-murderers. Silence suddenly reigned in the clearing.
Neither man nor elf said anything, and Gimli - holding his breath - found himself feeling more than a little afraid; the intensity of the pair, especially the elf, as they looked upon him was near-lethal. While Aragorn's expression was hard yet slightly wary, his grey eyes flickering back and forth to his best friend stood at his side, Legolas never moved an inch the whole time... he almost seemed not to breathe. He was as tense as a strung bow, ready for release - Gimli thought he could almost see the prince's muscles quivering. He simply stood motionless, green eyes as cold as ice - both himself and his features looking a lot larger now his hair was shorn for some odd reason - fixed resolutely upon the dwarf's upturned, ruddy face.
Gimli cleared his throat to rid the tremor that would surely invade it otherwise, and started out courageously. "Legolas," he said politely, and Aragorn thought it might be the first time either party had used the other's name, and not simply referred to each other as 'elf', 'dwarf', 'stunted creature' or 'lanky streak-o'-mead'. He continued, holding Greenleaf's eyes the whole time - and that in itself was a very brave thing - Elves, it turned out, were most intimidating... even when completely passive. "I believe I owe you an apology; for my act was unfair and undignified, and... here is my apology... I-I'm sorry." And with that succinct apology, Gimli broke eye-contact - believing if he held the near- terrifying green glare any longer, holes might just burn through the back of his head - and cleared his throat again, looking away to the trees at his side, wincing slightly in anticipation of the explosion that would surely follow.
Aragorn shook his head in amazement; he had never, ever heard that dwarf, or indeed any dwarf, apologise to anyone outside of their own race... and *certainly* never to one of the Firstborn. ~But Gimli is unlike other dwarves~ he thought with a slight smile, for no other dwarf would have joined the fellowship so selflessly and accompanied them upon such a dangerous quest... they were no cowards, not in the least, but the sons of Aule kept to their own business nowadays, and were unconcerned with the troubles of others, as were, sadly, many nations in these dark times. And though Gimli had said at the time of the Council of Elrond that he wished to watch the elf - for he would be damned if he 'saw the Ring in the hands of an elf' - Aragorn believed there to be much more to this dwarf than others of his kind, and more than he, himself, had previously thought. The ranger crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping dearly that Legolas would accept this, almost-painful to hear, apology.
"Stop that, Estel, I know exactly what you are doing," Legolas said softly, taken his eyes slowly from the dwarf for a just a moment to throw a wry half-grin in the direction of his best friend. Aragorn uncrossed his fingers and reddened, much to the elf's satisfaction, and Legolas looked back to Gimli, and considered which path he would take.
How dearly he wished to beat the dwarf into the ground, pummel some of that natural dwarvish arrogance out of him, and yet... he also did not wish to kill the son of Gloin. The prince of Mirkwood could see that the Gimli actually regretted his unwise choice of relieving Legolas of his hair deeply, and not only because he feared for his life - there was something else to it. And so Legolas decided he would not murder the dwarf just then, no matter how much he wanted to. No, he would let this one slip through. ~But for the life of me I can't think why I should~ he thought, mildly iritated by himself. He breathed deeply, and in a controlled voice, he said very, very stiffly, "Our considerable dislike of each other has never come to fists before, Gloinion... and I think we should keep it that way if at all possible." He inhaled sharply and dipped his head in a small, barely- there nod, "So I accept your apology, son of Aule... but might I warn you, this is to *never* happen again." He said the acceptance in a rush, almost as though no one would take note of it that way, but Aragorn certainly did, and he grinned silently at his friend's back, nodding slightly - his good elf had taken the high road.
Gimli was left speechless as Legolas left the area. ~That was it?!~ he wondered incredulously as the two best friends shifted as though suddenly invisible into the trees, back in the direction of the fellowship, Aragorn's hand upon Greenleaf's shoulder. Gimli had always been told that Elves were cruel, heartless, unforgiving beings who held grudges enough to fill all of Moria... could the stories and tales be wrong? Even those his beloved father had taught him? Poor Gimli was incredibly confused, and resolved to figure out the strange elf's behaviour at some point on their travels. He had been, though he would admit it to no one, frightened of Legolas' wrath - and rightly so - and the fact that the prince hadn't killed him came as a great relief to Gimli. Also, he realised his guilt *had* been lifted somewhat, and he was greatful for that, almost to the elf, even... ~Strange~ he thought, and shaking his head, he moved off into the trees also, following the two companions.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Back at the camp, the rest of the fellowship were rather anxious. Well, Merry had gone back to sleep... it wasn't that he didn't care about Legolas' plight - that wasn't it at all, he cared very much - it was just that an enormous sense of fatigue had fallen upon him suddenly, whether it be a consequence of playing hide-and-seek with the other hobbit's and Legolas all the previous night, or just because he was cold again, he could not tell. In any case, he had decided he would just catch a little shut-eye before the fireworks began - no one could fault him that, could they?
So Merry slept on while they rest of the company fretted about the outcome of the confrontation in the woods, and of how to act when the elf, the man and the dwarf returned... *if* they returned.
Actually, Pippin and Sam were more interested in getting some food cooked and down them all... and Boromir was quite confident that all would turn out for the best in the end... and Gandalf was never one to worry needlessly... so, really, *Frodo* fretted about the outcome of the confrontation in the woods, and how to act when the trio returned. "Boromir? Shouldn't you go after them... just to make sure they haven't killed one another?" the considerate halfling asked the Gondorimm anxiously, rubbing his small hands together. He did so hope that nothing awful had happened... to any party.
"Nay, good hobbit," Boromir answered gently, uncrossing and shifting his long, boot-clad legs so they would not go numb, an unfortunate habit they had. He smiled, "The ruffian will see to it that they not kill each other... he's getting rather good at that, you know." It was true; Aragorn had quite often been the only thing blocking the elf and dwarf from each other - and was becoming quite skilled at preventing blood being spilt between the two.
"Yes, yes... I know that, but..." Frodo trailed off helplessly, looking to Gandalf for advice, as he so often did.
The wizard rewarded him with a kind smile and leaned in, a hand upon the young halfling's shoulder, "I believe, Frodo, that our fellow, divided companions might just surprise you with their reactions - do not forget that Legolas is an elf, after all."
Boromir snorted, "Aye, when he so wishes to be! He's *far* too elfly to close a dwarf's mouth for us all, but he can frolick and jest, play hide- and-seek with hobbits and sing ditties to his heart's content!"
Gandalf chuckled deeply, and lifted his long pipe to his mouth. "Yes, well... it must be said Greenleaf is not the... 'classic' definition of an elf. He's rather eccentric, even in the Elven world, you know," he conceded in his deep, rumbling voice.
Pippin, overhearing this from his place by the fire - sausages were on the menu that morn, an excellent choice of Samwise's - piped up, "I thought you told us that Legolas was quite young for an elf?"
"You don't have to be elderly to be eccentric," Frodo turned his dark head and reminded his youngest cousin with a smile; and if anyone should know, it would be him. Frodo had always been considered as a 'crackpot' in Hobbiton, just like Bilbo before him... and he was not ashamed of being, how had it been put once... '*perculiar* for a Hobbit'. Gandalf, catching his thoughts, winked in his direction, silvery beard twitching as his lips quirked, and Sam chuckled heartily into the small fire he was stoking.
Suddenly, they could hear a soft crashing from the woodland to their right, and all held their breath, waiting for the unveiling of Legolas, and the answer to their collective question of - had the elf killed Gimli? A voice drifted across to them, it was Aragorn: "It actually doesn't look that bad... it's just a little bit shorter than Ithilmir's, and you never hear him complaining about the length of his hair..."
Legolas' answering voice held a touch of annoyance - but the Fellowship had expected no less, after all, "I think you'll find that: no, it is a *lot* shorter than Ithilmir's, and you never hear that brother of mine complaining about *anything*, least of all the length of his hair..."
"Well, if you're determined to go into a decline about it..." Aragorn's voice trailed off.
"I am not going into a decline! Granted, I am not as happy-clappy as I usually am, but I think that's to be expected, is it not?!"
"Well, I've never had my hair that short, so I wouldn't know..."
"I am going to throttle you as you sleep later, Estel," stated Legolas in an off-hand manner.
Frodo grinned at Boromir, who nodded happily; the fact that the two best friends were talking about the matter so lightly and even arguing over it boded well. The only thing to be slightly worried about was the fact that none had heard Gimli's voice as of yet... the possiblity that they were one walker short of a fellowship remained intolerably high. But then Legolas and Aragorn, followed (thankfully) by Gimli the dwarf, stepped from the shadow of the trees, and none present could quite hold back their reactions of the new, shorter-haired version of the Elven prince. Boromir sat up straight, Frodo gasped without really meaning to, Pippin stared wide-eyed and even Merry looked up from his bundle of blankets.
Legolas' once-majestic mane of golden hair had been cut severely, and now barely fell past his ears. Being too short now to be pulled back, and with all means of warrior-braids being severed by Gimli's revenge-seeking hand, golden bangs fell forward into his face and green eyes. The newfound- shortness showed off his long neck, strong jawline, tapered ears and aristocratic lips, and seemed to make the fine features of his handsome face more prominent... the elf looked decidedly odd, but by no means awful. It actually seemed rather to suit him. Though it was certainly not the style of the time to have hair shorter than just below one's ears, with most people opting for at least shoulder-length locks - and in the Elven world many past the shoulder - Legolas didn't look *that* bad, it was just the shock of seeing him so differently that made the company stare...
Greenleaf flushed slightly at the attention the fellowship was giving him, interperating their stares as ones of horror - for he truly believed himself to look awful - and ran a hand self-consciously over his shorn head. "I wish you all paid this much attention to me when I have something of importance to say," he jested with a hesitant smile, hoping against hope that the others would just accept the fact that he now had startlingly-less hair than he had when he'd gone to sleep last night, and ignore the fact from then on.
It seemed the Valar smiled upon him, believing they had tortured him enough. Boromir - the most reliable in instances such as these (not that there were that many) - shrugged happily in a 'fair enough' sort of manner, and shifted his legs again, feeling the numbness creeping into them once more. Gandalf was already busy with his pipe as Pip and Samwise turned back to their sausages, Merry buried himself deeper into the wad of blankets he was wrapped in - though he doubted he would be able to evade full wakefulness much longer, but perhaps he'd gain a little warmth - Gimli sat down, as did Aragorn after giving the prince a hearty pat on the back. Frodo gazed at Legolas for just a little while longer as if evaluating him, but then seemed to reach a decision in his mind, nod with a slight smile, and sit himself down again, facing the warmth of Pippin and Sam's small fire.
A small crease of confusion marred Legolas' golden brow, and he went to sit next to the ebony-haired halfling, pulling his long legs up to his chest. "What were you thinking just then?" he asked his friend quizzically.
Frodo turned and looked at him, smiling mischieviously as his winter-blue eyes twinkled merrily, "I concluded that you had not gone mad with the grief over the loss of your locks... and that I wouldn't have to watch you like a hawk after all." He had been fully prepared to help Legolas, if the elf had been in need of it - but the prince was taking things surprisingly well.
~Strange that so little events in the grand scheme of things actually mean quite a bit to those concerned~ thought Frodo, for it had been the same with Merry's stunted-bladder, and the time a day or two ago when they hadn't been able to wash for a while. One would have thought that smelling acceptable would be the least of their worries on such an important quest.
Legolas laughed, the sound almost a song in itself, and clapped his slender hands together, "I am glad to know that a could have relied upon *you*, dearest Frodo," he said, with a pointed glance in the direction of Aragorn. Though he was joking about Aragorn, he meant what he said about Frodo; it made up his day that this halfling, this friend he had known for such a short time, would be that concerned about him... how he loved the hobbits!
Aragorn, who had caught this remark, looked up and frowned from his place sat on a nearby log. "Hey, that's unfair, now. I was perfectly supportive," he stated defensively, a hand on his heart, keen grey eyes wide and appealing.
"How so?" Legolas arched a golden brow in question.
"I-I told you it didn't look bad; that many people have their hair that short; that if you killed Gimli you wouldn't be achieving anything..." Aragorn checked the reasons off on his long fingers as he spoke.
Legolas cut him of succinctly, "Yes, and all of them lies," he said with a nod.
The ranger's arms fell slackly to his sides and shook his head. "They're not lies," he said, but there was a inkling of something Frodo didn't quite understand behind his tone... Mischief, maybe? Earnestness? Conviction? Humour?
"Really?" asked his best friend, a small smile on his lips, knowing full well what that inkling was. "What are they, then?"
"Well," Aragorn started, a sly grin upon his rugged countenance, a look that was becoming all the more rarer and rarer as more pressure and responsibilities were placed steadily upon the dunedain's shoulders. "Let us say... they are slight variations of the truth."
Frodo laughed aloud, "There is no such things as 'variations of the truth'. Truth is truth... pure and absolute - there are no variations of it, no grey areas." This was something Frodo had always been brought up firmly with, as Bilbo was also a fervent believer in the truth of everything... one of the only things the elder Baggins simply could not tolerate, could not abide for love nor money, it was lies - it was now the same with Frodo.
Aragorn turned to face them fully, and smiled at the recognisable similarity between his two hobbit friends. "Very well put, Mr. Baggins, but I think 'lies' is too harsh a word... *opinions*! That's what they were," the thought had just come to him, and he announced it triumphantly with a flourish of his large hands, though he knew in his heart of hearts that he was fighting a losing battle.
"Give it up, Estel," Legolas grinned at his desperate best friend with a roll of his eyes. Frodo and Aragorn chuckled and all went back to the hot sausages Sam had just handed them thankfully... and that was that.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The day was dawning again, but the wind was blowing mercilessly as the company trudged ever-onwards over the rocks and boulders that made up their current landscape. The hobbits' curled-locks were being whipped this way and that, and they all shivered as icy fingers invaded every single outer- clothing's defence and found their way to the freezing halflings beneath. Gimli's head was bowed, his flaming-red hair flying behind him, and Gandalf battered his way through the buffetting winds with one hand forever clinging onto his smokey-blue hat. Boromir looked thoroughly miserable - there were no winds like this in the southern city of Gondor - Aragorn frowned darkly at nothing in particular, his foul mood rolling off him in waves, and Legolas had his cloak wrapped firmly and absolutely about himself. It gave him an almost waif-like appearance; he looked startlingly frail and vulnerable for such a mighty elf. He was not cold, for it took an extremely low temperature to chill an elf - the sort of conditions that made appendages drop off unexpectedly and the such - but the general will of the fellowship seemed to have hit rock bottom in the past few hours as they had been walking, with everyone tired, irritable and grouchy, and the atmosphere was not overly pleasant. Plus, he had a rough time ahead of him.
"C-can we find shelter at some point, Aragorn... Gandalf?" asked Pippin, teeth chattering, from the back of the company. Aragorn turned with a scowl, ready to vent his ire at their current situation upon the innocent halfling, but the expression immediately melted away when he saw that all four hobbits were nearing a blue sort of colour. They were made of sterner stuff than they appeared, but concessions did have to be made for them occaisionally.
He sighed, and said in a softer tone, "I am leading you there already, Pip - just... just bear with me, all right?" He was rewarded with the auburn- headed halfling flashing him a quick, if shaky, grin. He nodded to himself and turned back to the faded path he was following. The track had not been used in some time, and if he had not been the ranger that he was, none would've been able to find it - with the possible exception of Legolas. But the mood the elf was in, Aragorn doubted it. For Legolas knew where they were heading, and was (understandably) unhappy... and none but Gandalf knew of the swift but furious, whispered argument that had occured between the two, with Legolas coming off the worst, his pride bruised somewhat. Aragorn knew their coldness towards each other wouldn't last long, it never did, but he still did not enjoy these stints when he was in ill-favour to his best friend.
And so the walkers walked on, each too bad-tempered to say much to each other, and each holding their tongues in case they insulted or snapped at another companion unfairly - which would be an almost certainty if any of them opened their mouths for long enough. Presently, Aragorn brought them down through a path of huge stone shards reaching towards the heavens from their places wedged in the earth, each measuring taller than two men in height and all leaning across the sky treacherously, making a sort of hallway for the company to pass under. The ground wound downwards steadily, delving deeper into the overlapping stones and slabs of rock that were the landscape, and the fellowship felt the wind die at once as the entered a large cave.
Legolas' agitation was obvious to all who cared to look at him as they unpacked and settled down; his hands were balled into fists but clamped at his sides, his green eyes flickering, searching every nook and cranny of the underground refuge for any possible way to escape, as if he would really bolt like the nervous foal he suddenly seemed to have become. But he could find none, and so he sat as close to the mouth of the cavern as he could without being pushed back by the strong winds outside, and stayed there silently, and no one bothered him just then... All knew of the prince's large dislike and general aversion to caves.
Frodo sat cross-legged, huddled between the larger forms of Boromir and Aragorn, who both had their knees drawn up to their chests and their arms crossed, trying to conserve as much, much-wanted heat as possible. Pippin sat on the rocky floor in front of Gimli, who had positioned himself upon a stone, the halfling leaned back so that Gimli's legs took his weight - the dwarf didn't seem to mind all that much, for the pair had sat in this position a few times before when both were in need of company. Merry and Sam were trying in vain to start a fire. But though they had the shelter to do it, they lacked enough fuel - which frustrated them (Sam in particular) greatly. Gandalf began to smoke his weed, and looked very thoughtful, his deep-blue eyes sometimes finding their way to the silhouetted figure of a tense elf.
After a time, Boromir sighed, and stated - almost grumpily, if a warrior of Gondor was *ever* grumpy - "Well... as much as I am enjoying this and all, I should like to know when this hurricane will stop."
Gandalf answered, looking up, "I do not know when this beastly weather will cease, I only hope the end comes soon." ~As does Legolas, I should imagine~ he added silently, glancing again upon the narrow back of the Mirkwood prince.
There was silence for a minute, in which the company listened to the whistling harsh wind outside their shelter. Then, "Do you remember that time, Pip, when we were caught out one time in a cave whilst on an expedition?" asked Merry, trying to cheer spirits in his own, sweet way.
Aragorn, rousing his mind from dwelling upon the most unwanted confrontation he had recently had involving his closest friend, raised a dark brow in question, "An expedition?"
"Well," Merry conceded with a sheepish smile and a shrug, "more like... *a day out*... we took apples." He looked at his youngest cousin humorously, "We had to stay in that little stone tomb... er..." he glanced at Legolas's form and corrected himself rapidly, "*house* for the whole of the afternoon and most of the evening while it sleeted most heinously outside?"
Pippin grinned at the memory, "Oh, yeah... That was all your fault as well - you told me the day was going to be a bright and sunny one, and that I shouldn't pack that extra sweater nor bother taking the scarf you got me... what a dolt I was to believe you," he concluded with a reminicent look about his freckled features.
Aragorn looked almost helplessly at Frodo, who's blue eyes widened even furthur as he smiled and shrugged when the two young cousins began arguing good-naturedly over who's ability at predicting the weather was the best. Boromir watched the clashes lazily from where he slouched against one of the cold stone walls, a small smile lightening his bearded face - thinking that if he were ever at a loss for something to do, he would sidle up to one of the twosome and provoke them into debating with the other over anything... just for pure entertainment value. Frodo and Aragorn - the ranger having decided not to worry about his and Legolas' state of friendship, for the two had survived worse clashes than this - turned to a quiet conversation between themselves, debating whether Elves sulked or not which made Gandalf chuckle from where he listened. But Gimli's mind wasn't with the fellowship... or rather, it wasn't with the *collective* fellowship; he was still pondering the perplexing actions of the elf he had recently mutilated.
He had expected his ears to be ripped off, at least... mayhap a light flattening... a shouting match would have been adequate - but something! Why had the elf not delivered what he was supposed to?
He stood suddenly, and the unsuspecting Pippin fell flat onto his back with a *woosh* of air escaping his lungs, making Merry laugh so hard he had to hold his sides and Boromir snort in a rather undignified manner, which in turn made Frodo chuckle loudly and Aragorn howl with laughter - Gandalf suspected they were all slightly giddy with uncomfort. Gimli ignored this, walking towards Greenleaf, and settled himself beside the elf, mildly surprised there was no verbal argument layed upon him ranting against this rather out-of-the-ordinary act.
But Legolas didn't seem to know he was there, or at least didn't acknowledge him; his large green eyes were fixed upon something that could not be see upon the horizon, his face a mask to all emotion. One pale hand was playing - in a rather immature manner, Gimli thought - with the green, silken hem of his suede tunic. The dwarf pondered this strange behaviour for a second, before lighting upon the notion that it was a comforting reassurance... one that the elf had probably done when he was a child, and that surfaced during times of stress, as quite a few childhood-habits did. The son of Gloin cleared his throat, making the prince finally look at him and outwardly realise he was there. But instead of addressing the dwarf, Legolas simply went back to staring out onto the wind-blown landscape, looking very much like he wanted to be out there, one hand still playing with his tunic's hem.
So Gimli, as the proper protocol of polite conversations seemed to be being disregarded, simply went straight ahead and stated what was on his mind - something he didn't do all that often, "I was just thinking, elf, about the way you handled your reaction regarding my unjust deed last night."
Legolas' attention caught all of a sudden, forgetting his heart's yearning to get outside the god-forsaken cave for a moment, and his fair head turned, eyes fixing on Gimli's, "Whatever do you mean, dwarf?"
Gimli shifted in his chainmail, rather uncomfortable under the elf's piercing green stare - one that he still hadn't gotten used to despite the fact that Legolas glared at him with a lot more intensity and ferocity rather often, "Well, I merely wondered why there seemed to be no punishment for my wrong actions." He thought there would be *something* to follow-up the acceptance of his apology - to make them equal - and idly pondered the possibility of vengence being wreaked at a later date... but he wasn't about to say anything to that tune to the Mirkwood prince.
Legolas frowned, confused by what the dwarf was implying. "But you apologised," he said simply with a shrug of his slender shoulders - *he* had thought that explained everything, obviously he was wrong. "Just so long as you are never my self-appointed barber again, I don't care."
The red-headed warrior sat almost dumbstruck - 'that was it?' Surely there was more to it than that... these beings, *apparently* the wisest folk in all of Middle-earth, did something wrong and they just said 'sorry' afterwards and all was forgotten? Surely they seeked honour and respect by rendering their enemies lower than themselves when something had been inflicted upon them by the hand of those they hated? Did Legolas not hate him? Did he not hate Legolas...? He had been told that Elves took revenge whenever possible, that their pride was so great that even the smallest slight against it would send them into a blinding - though thoroughly laughable by Dwarven standards - rage. Gimli glanced behind him, to see Gandalf watching him with a slight smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes, and Aragorn taking a rather large interest in the proceeding from where he 'subtly' observed from his place beside Frodo and Boromir. He looked at Greenleaf again, but confusion still held the commanding position in the archer's counternance... the elf obviously, truly believed that saying sorry was all that was needed to be forgiven. Gimli *did* regret his actions, he just didn't think that saying sorry was enough. But his victim seemed happy enough with that concept...
So Gimli shrugged, looking out into the distance also, "Well, had you done the same to me, I would've boxed your ears."
That made Legolas laugh, and his demeanour lighten dramatically - one could almost see the elf's nautral glow shine brightly all of a sudden - for he realised he would be out of the blasted cave soon enough, "Ai, naugri [ah, dwarf]... you would certainly have *attempted* to 'box my ears', but you might just have had to sustain yourself with my kneecaps." And with that he turned to look out into the finally-dying winds, the sun just beginning to shine herself vividly from behind the cover of clouds that had blown across her path, giving the landscape and ethereal look, and leaving Gimli to ponder whether he should be amused, insulted or merely relieved.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
What are you thinking, me darlin's? Kindly review and let me know!
Thankyou, as always, to all my band of faithful (if not a little dogged) reviewers... and I do so apologise for leaving it off there, I was trying to see whether I could pull off a cliffhanger or not... apparently not! And I'm really sorry for not posting this sooner, but I've had a problem with getting to any computer recently... so this has been lying in my hard- drive, all ready and waiting, for over a week and a half!
And I do agree with you, Diyan of Nightglade, I love Tolkien - he is one of the coolest people to walk this earth and I am eternally greatful that he wrote all the books and essays and notes that he did... but small personal moments were just not what he was interested in. I don't know, I personally think I go on a bit *too* much about descriptions and that - but I can't help it, I just love them all so! Even Boromir, and *I* am now a bit sad that he had to die, because *I* like him now, too!
As for the writings of myself having no storyline or battle sequences... I'm really only new to this writing business, and have yet to venture out into the big wide world of action/adventure stories (but believe me, I will - there are more than a couple things that have been part-written and are big up on action... I am, however, still a little intimidated by that genre and will need to work myself up to it a little bit). Plus, with writing this sort of fellowship-getting-started fic, I was forever conscious of not ripping off Treehugger's brilliant story 'While the Ring went South'. Because that is one of the first fics I read, it's where I got this idea from, it's truly immense, *and* it imploys action sequences and bits of pure tension... I don't want people to think I copied it, and one of the ways to make sure that didn't happen was by just having these as vignettes between the characters, where nothing much is really happening - I'm all for personalities, and like it when stories uncover them!
Plus, I couldn't think of anything that could be action in this, as Wargs, floods, climbing trees and allergic Elves are all bound into Treehugger's story! She bagsied them first! (BTW: bagsied means: dibs on, chored, commandeered... or, to those of you not from the very North north of England, Treehugger was 'the first to pick them'.)
This chapter is for Artemisa, who was the first to read the last, and sounded as though she might just have cried in her review if I did not write another chapter fast, lol. And to Sirith: Hurry up with your next chapter! I have my pitchforks standing by my computer! Don't make me get my gaggle of followers...
So, here we go.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Gimli: Self-Appointed Barber Part 2 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The son of Gloin stepped boldly out from the undergrowth into the area of his two potential-murderers. Silence suddenly reigned in the clearing.
Neither man nor elf said anything, and Gimli - holding his breath - found himself feeling more than a little afraid; the intensity of the pair, especially the elf, as they looked upon him was near-lethal. While Aragorn's expression was hard yet slightly wary, his grey eyes flickering back and forth to his best friend stood at his side, Legolas never moved an inch the whole time... he almost seemed not to breathe. He was as tense as a strung bow, ready for release - Gimli thought he could almost see the prince's muscles quivering. He simply stood motionless, green eyes as cold as ice - both himself and his features looking a lot larger now his hair was shorn for some odd reason - fixed resolutely upon the dwarf's upturned, ruddy face.
Gimli cleared his throat to rid the tremor that would surely invade it otherwise, and started out courageously. "Legolas," he said politely, and Aragorn thought it might be the first time either party had used the other's name, and not simply referred to each other as 'elf', 'dwarf', 'stunted creature' or 'lanky streak-o'-mead'. He continued, holding Greenleaf's eyes the whole time - and that in itself was a very brave thing - Elves, it turned out, were most intimidating... even when completely passive. "I believe I owe you an apology; for my act was unfair and undignified, and... here is my apology... I-I'm sorry." And with that succinct apology, Gimli broke eye-contact - believing if he held the near- terrifying green glare any longer, holes might just burn through the back of his head - and cleared his throat again, looking away to the trees at his side, wincing slightly in anticipation of the explosion that would surely follow.
Aragorn shook his head in amazement; he had never, ever heard that dwarf, or indeed any dwarf, apologise to anyone outside of their own race... and *certainly* never to one of the Firstborn. ~But Gimli is unlike other dwarves~ he thought with a slight smile, for no other dwarf would have joined the fellowship so selflessly and accompanied them upon such a dangerous quest... they were no cowards, not in the least, but the sons of Aule kept to their own business nowadays, and were unconcerned with the troubles of others, as were, sadly, many nations in these dark times. And though Gimli had said at the time of the Council of Elrond that he wished to watch the elf - for he would be damned if he 'saw the Ring in the hands of an elf' - Aragorn believed there to be much more to this dwarf than others of his kind, and more than he, himself, had previously thought. The ranger crossed his fingers behind his back, hoping dearly that Legolas would accept this, almost-painful to hear, apology.
"Stop that, Estel, I know exactly what you are doing," Legolas said softly, taken his eyes slowly from the dwarf for a just a moment to throw a wry half-grin in the direction of his best friend. Aragorn uncrossed his fingers and reddened, much to the elf's satisfaction, and Legolas looked back to Gimli, and considered which path he would take.
How dearly he wished to beat the dwarf into the ground, pummel some of that natural dwarvish arrogance out of him, and yet... he also did not wish to kill the son of Gloin. The prince of Mirkwood could see that the Gimli actually regretted his unwise choice of relieving Legolas of his hair deeply, and not only because he feared for his life - there was something else to it. And so Legolas decided he would not murder the dwarf just then, no matter how much he wanted to. No, he would let this one slip through. ~But for the life of me I can't think why I should~ he thought, mildly iritated by himself. He breathed deeply, and in a controlled voice, he said very, very stiffly, "Our considerable dislike of each other has never come to fists before, Gloinion... and I think we should keep it that way if at all possible." He inhaled sharply and dipped his head in a small, barely- there nod, "So I accept your apology, son of Aule... but might I warn you, this is to *never* happen again." He said the acceptance in a rush, almost as though no one would take note of it that way, but Aragorn certainly did, and he grinned silently at his friend's back, nodding slightly - his good elf had taken the high road.
Gimli was left speechless as Legolas left the area. ~That was it?!~ he wondered incredulously as the two best friends shifted as though suddenly invisible into the trees, back in the direction of the fellowship, Aragorn's hand upon Greenleaf's shoulder. Gimli had always been told that Elves were cruel, heartless, unforgiving beings who held grudges enough to fill all of Moria... could the stories and tales be wrong? Even those his beloved father had taught him? Poor Gimli was incredibly confused, and resolved to figure out the strange elf's behaviour at some point on their travels. He had been, though he would admit it to no one, frightened of Legolas' wrath - and rightly so - and the fact that the prince hadn't killed him came as a great relief to Gimli. Also, he realised his guilt *had* been lifted somewhat, and he was greatful for that, almost to the elf, even... ~Strange~ he thought, and shaking his head, he moved off into the trees also, following the two companions.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Back at the camp, the rest of the fellowship were rather anxious. Well, Merry had gone back to sleep... it wasn't that he didn't care about Legolas' plight - that wasn't it at all, he cared very much - it was just that an enormous sense of fatigue had fallen upon him suddenly, whether it be a consequence of playing hide-and-seek with the other hobbit's and Legolas all the previous night, or just because he was cold again, he could not tell. In any case, he had decided he would just catch a little shut-eye before the fireworks began - no one could fault him that, could they?
So Merry slept on while they rest of the company fretted about the outcome of the confrontation in the woods, and of how to act when the elf, the man and the dwarf returned... *if* they returned.
Actually, Pippin and Sam were more interested in getting some food cooked and down them all... and Boromir was quite confident that all would turn out for the best in the end... and Gandalf was never one to worry needlessly... so, really, *Frodo* fretted about the outcome of the confrontation in the woods, and how to act when the trio returned. "Boromir? Shouldn't you go after them... just to make sure they haven't killed one another?" the considerate halfling asked the Gondorimm anxiously, rubbing his small hands together. He did so hope that nothing awful had happened... to any party.
"Nay, good hobbit," Boromir answered gently, uncrossing and shifting his long, boot-clad legs so they would not go numb, an unfortunate habit they had. He smiled, "The ruffian will see to it that they not kill each other... he's getting rather good at that, you know." It was true; Aragorn had quite often been the only thing blocking the elf and dwarf from each other - and was becoming quite skilled at preventing blood being spilt between the two.
"Yes, yes... I know that, but..." Frodo trailed off helplessly, looking to Gandalf for advice, as he so often did.
The wizard rewarded him with a kind smile and leaned in, a hand upon the young halfling's shoulder, "I believe, Frodo, that our fellow, divided companions might just surprise you with their reactions - do not forget that Legolas is an elf, after all."
Boromir snorted, "Aye, when he so wishes to be! He's *far* too elfly to close a dwarf's mouth for us all, but he can frolick and jest, play hide- and-seek with hobbits and sing ditties to his heart's content!"
Gandalf chuckled deeply, and lifted his long pipe to his mouth. "Yes, well... it must be said Greenleaf is not the... 'classic' definition of an elf. He's rather eccentric, even in the Elven world, you know," he conceded in his deep, rumbling voice.
Pippin, overhearing this from his place by the fire - sausages were on the menu that morn, an excellent choice of Samwise's - piped up, "I thought you told us that Legolas was quite young for an elf?"
"You don't have to be elderly to be eccentric," Frodo turned his dark head and reminded his youngest cousin with a smile; and if anyone should know, it would be him. Frodo had always been considered as a 'crackpot' in Hobbiton, just like Bilbo before him... and he was not ashamed of being, how had it been put once... '*perculiar* for a Hobbit'. Gandalf, catching his thoughts, winked in his direction, silvery beard twitching as his lips quirked, and Sam chuckled heartily into the small fire he was stoking.
Suddenly, they could hear a soft crashing from the woodland to their right, and all held their breath, waiting for the unveiling of Legolas, and the answer to their collective question of - had the elf killed Gimli? A voice drifted across to them, it was Aragorn: "It actually doesn't look that bad... it's just a little bit shorter than Ithilmir's, and you never hear him complaining about the length of his hair..."
Legolas' answering voice held a touch of annoyance - but the Fellowship had expected no less, after all, "I think you'll find that: no, it is a *lot* shorter than Ithilmir's, and you never hear that brother of mine complaining about *anything*, least of all the length of his hair..."
"Well, if you're determined to go into a decline about it..." Aragorn's voice trailed off.
"I am not going into a decline! Granted, I am not as happy-clappy as I usually am, but I think that's to be expected, is it not?!"
"Well, I've never had my hair that short, so I wouldn't know..."
"I am going to throttle you as you sleep later, Estel," stated Legolas in an off-hand manner.
Frodo grinned at Boromir, who nodded happily; the fact that the two best friends were talking about the matter so lightly and even arguing over it boded well. The only thing to be slightly worried about was the fact that none had heard Gimli's voice as of yet... the possiblity that they were one walker short of a fellowship remained intolerably high. But then Legolas and Aragorn, followed (thankfully) by Gimli the dwarf, stepped from the shadow of the trees, and none present could quite hold back their reactions of the new, shorter-haired version of the Elven prince. Boromir sat up straight, Frodo gasped without really meaning to, Pippin stared wide-eyed and even Merry looked up from his bundle of blankets.
Legolas' once-majestic mane of golden hair had been cut severely, and now barely fell past his ears. Being too short now to be pulled back, and with all means of warrior-braids being severed by Gimli's revenge-seeking hand, golden bangs fell forward into his face and green eyes. The newfound- shortness showed off his long neck, strong jawline, tapered ears and aristocratic lips, and seemed to make the fine features of his handsome face more prominent... the elf looked decidedly odd, but by no means awful. It actually seemed rather to suit him. Though it was certainly not the style of the time to have hair shorter than just below one's ears, with most people opting for at least shoulder-length locks - and in the Elven world many past the shoulder - Legolas didn't look *that* bad, it was just the shock of seeing him so differently that made the company stare...
Greenleaf flushed slightly at the attention the fellowship was giving him, interperating their stares as ones of horror - for he truly believed himself to look awful - and ran a hand self-consciously over his shorn head. "I wish you all paid this much attention to me when I have something of importance to say," he jested with a hesitant smile, hoping against hope that the others would just accept the fact that he now had startlingly-less hair than he had when he'd gone to sleep last night, and ignore the fact from then on.
It seemed the Valar smiled upon him, believing they had tortured him enough. Boromir - the most reliable in instances such as these (not that there were that many) - shrugged happily in a 'fair enough' sort of manner, and shifted his legs again, feeling the numbness creeping into them once more. Gandalf was already busy with his pipe as Pip and Samwise turned back to their sausages, Merry buried himself deeper into the wad of blankets he was wrapped in - though he doubted he would be able to evade full wakefulness much longer, but perhaps he'd gain a little warmth - Gimli sat down, as did Aragorn after giving the prince a hearty pat on the back. Frodo gazed at Legolas for just a little while longer as if evaluating him, but then seemed to reach a decision in his mind, nod with a slight smile, and sit himself down again, facing the warmth of Pippin and Sam's small fire.
A small crease of confusion marred Legolas' golden brow, and he went to sit next to the ebony-haired halfling, pulling his long legs up to his chest. "What were you thinking just then?" he asked his friend quizzically.
Frodo turned and looked at him, smiling mischieviously as his winter-blue eyes twinkled merrily, "I concluded that you had not gone mad with the grief over the loss of your locks... and that I wouldn't have to watch you like a hawk after all." He had been fully prepared to help Legolas, if the elf had been in need of it - but the prince was taking things surprisingly well.
~Strange that so little events in the grand scheme of things actually mean quite a bit to those concerned~ thought Frodo, for it had been the same with Merry's stunted-bladder, and the time a day or two ago when they hadn't been able to wash for a while. One would have thought that smelling acceptable would be the least of their worries on such an important quest.
Legolas laughed, the sound almost a song in itself, and clapped his slender hands together, "I am glad to know that a could have relied upon *you*, dearest Frodo," he said, with a pointed glance in the direction of Aragorn. Though he was joking about Aragorn, he meant what he said about Frodo; it made up his day that this halfling, this friend he had known for such a short time, would be that concerned about him... how he loved the hobbits!
Aragorn, who had caught this remark, looked up and frowned from his place sat on a nearby log. "Hey, that's unfair, now. I was perfectly supportive," he stated defensively, a hand on his heart, keen grey eyes wide and appealing.
"How so?" Legolas arched a golden brow in question.
"I-I told you it didn't look bad; that many people have their hair that short; that if you killed Gimli you wouldn't be achieving anything..." Aragorn checked the reasons off on his long fingers as he spoke.
Legolas cut him of succinctly, "Yes, and all of them lies," he said with a nod.
The ranger's arms fell slackly to his sides and shook his head. "They're not lies," he said, but there was a inkling of something Frodo didn't quite understand behind his tone... Mischief, maybe? Earnestness? Conviction? Humour?
"Really?" asked his best friend, a small smile on his lips, knowing full well what that inkling was. "What are they, then?"
"Well," Aragorn started, a sly grin upon his rugged countenance, a look that was becoming all the more rarer and rarer as more pressure and responsibilities were placed steadily upon the dunedain's shoulders. "Let us say... they are slight variations of the truth."
Frodo laughed aloud, "There is no such things as 'variations of the truth'. Truth is truth... pure and absolute - there are no variations of it, no grey areas." This was something Frodo had always been brought up firmly with, as Bilbo was also a fervent believer in the truth of everything... one of the only things the elder Baggins simply could not tolerate, could not abide for love nor money, it was lies - it was now the same with Frodo.
Aragorn turned to face them fully, and smiled at the recognisable similarity between his two hobbit friends. "Very well put, Mr. Baggins, but I think 'lies' is too harsh a word... *opinions*! That's what they were," the thought had just come to him, and he announced it triumphantly with a flourish of his large hands, though he knew in his heart of hearts that he was fighting a losing battle.
"Give it up, Estel," Legolas grinned at his desperate best friend with a roll of his eyes. Frodo and Aragorn chuckled and all went back to the hot sausages Sam had just handed them thankfully... and that was that.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The day was dawning again, but the wind was blowing mercilessly as the company trudged ever-onwards over the rocks and boulders that made up their current landscape. The hobbits' curled-locks were being whipped this way and that, and they all shivered as icy fingers invaded every single outer- clothing's defence and found their way to the freezing halflings beneath. Gimli's head was bowed, his flaming-red hair flying behind him, and Gandalf battered his way through the buffetting winds with one hand forever clinging onto his smokey-blue hat. Boromir looked thoroughly miserable - there were no winds like this in the southern city of Gondor - Aragorn frowned darkly at nothing in particular, his foul mood rolling off him in waves, and Legolas had his cloak wrapped firmly and absolutely about himself. It gave him an almost waif-like appearance; he looked startlingly frail and vulnerable for such a mighty elf. He was not cold, for it took an extremely low temperature to chill an elf - the sort of conditions that made appendages drop off unexpectedly and the such - but the general will of the fellowship seemed to have hit rock bottom in the past few hours as they had been walking, with everyone tired, irritable and grouchy, and the atmosphere was not overly pleasant. Plus, he had a rough time ahead of him.
"C-can we find shelter at some point, Aragorn... Gandalf?" asked Pippin, teeth chattering, from the back of the company. Aragorn turned with a scowl, ready to vent his ire at their current situation upon the innocent halfling, but the expression immediately melted away when he saw that all four hobbits were nearing a blue sort of colour. They were made of sterner stuff than they appeared, but concessions did have to be made for them occaisionally.
He sighed, and said in a softer tone, "I am leading you there already, Pip - just... just bear with me, all right?" He was rewarded with the auburn- headed halfling flashing him a quick, if shaky, grin. He nodded to himself and turned back to the faded path he was following. The track had not been used in some time, and if he had not been the ranger that he was, none would've been able to find it - with the possible exception of Legolas. But the mood the elf was in, Aragorn doubted it. For Legolas knew where they were heading, and was (understandably) unhappy... and none but Gandalf knew of the swift but furious, whispered argument that had occured between the two, with Legolas coming off the worst, his pride bruised somewhat. Aragorn knew their coldness towards each other wouldn't last long, it never did, but he still did not enjoy these stints when he was in ill-favour to his best friend.
And so the walkers walked on, each too bad-tempered to say much to each other, and each holding their tongues in case they insulted or snapped at another companion unfairly - which would be an almost certainty if any of them opened their mouths for long enough. Presently, Aragorn brought them down through a path of huge stone shards reaching towards the heavens from their places wedged in the earth, each measuring taller than two men in height and all leaning across the sky treacherously, making a sort of hallway for the company to pass under. The ground wound downwards steadily, delving deeper into the overlapping stones and slabs of rock that were the landscape, and the fellowship felt the wind die at once as the entered a large cave.
Legolas' agitation was obvious to all who cared to look at him as they unpacked and settled down; his hands were balled into fists but clamped at his sides, his green eyes flickering, searching every nook and cranny of the underground refuge for any possible way to escape, as if he would really bolt like the nervous foal he suddenly seemed to have become. But he could find none, and so he sat as close to the mouth of the cavern as he could without being pushed back by the strong winds outside, and stayed there silently, and no one bothered him just then... All knew of the prince's large dislike and general aversion to caves.
Frodo sat cross-legged, huddled between the larger forms of Boromir and Aragorn, who both had their knees drawn up to their chests and their arms crossed, trying to conserve as much, much-wanted heat as possible. Pippin sat on the rocky floor in front of Gimli, who had positioned himself upon a stone, the halfling leaned back so that Gimli's legs took his weight - the dwarf didn't seem to mind all that much, for the pair had sat in this position a few times before when both were in need of company. Merry and Sam were trying in vain to start a fire. But though they had the shelter to do it, they lacked enough fuel - which frustrated them (Sam in particular) greatly. Gandalf began to smoke his weed, and looked very thoughtful, his deep-blue eyes sometimes finding their way to the silhouetted figure of a tense elf.
After a time, Boromir sighed, and stated - almost grumpily, if a warrior of Gondor was *ever* grumpy - "Well... as much as I am enjoying this and all, I should like to know when this hurricane will stop."
Gandalf answered, looking up, "I do not know when this beastly weather will cease, I only hope the end comes soon." ~As does Legolas, I should imagine~ he added silently, glancing again upon the narrow back of the Mirkwood prince.
There was silence for a minute, in which the company listened to the whistling harsh wind outside their shelter. Then, "Do you remember that time, Pip, when we were caught out one time in a cave whilst on an expedition?" asked Merry, trying to cheer spirits in his own, sweet way.
Aragorn, rousing his mind from dwelling upon the most unwanted confrontation he had recently had involving his closest friend, raised a dark brow in question, "An expedition?"
"Well," Merry conceded with a sheepish smile and a shrug, "more like... *a day out*... we took apples." He looked at his youngest cousin humorously, "We had to stay in that little stone tomb... er..." he glanced at Legolas's form and corrected himself rapidly, "*house* for the whole of the afternoon and most of the evening while it sleeted most heinously outside?"
Pippin grinned at the memory, "Oh, yeah... That was all your fault as well - you told me the day was going to be a bright and sunny one, and that I shouldn't pack that extra sweater nor bother taking the scarf you got me... what a dolt I was to believe you," he concluded with a reminicent look about his freckled features.
Aragorn looked almost helplessly at Frodo, who's blue eyes widened even furthur as he smiled and shrugged when the two young cousins began arguing good-naturedly over who's ability at predicting the weather was the best. Boromir watched the clashes lazily from where he slouched against one of the cold stone walls, a small smile lightening his bearded face - thinking that if he were ever at a loss for something to do, he would sidle up to one of the twosome and provoke them into debating with the other over anything... just for pure entertainment value. Frodo and Aragorn - the ranger having decided not to worry about his and Legolas' state of friendship, for the two had survived worse clashes than this - turned to a quiet conversation between themselves, debating whether Elves sulked or not which made Gandalf chuckle from where he listened. But Gimli's mind wasn't with the fellowship... or rather, it wasn't with the *collective* fellowship; he was still pondering the perplexing actions of the elf he had recently mutilated.
He had expected his ears to be ripped off, at least... mayhap a light flattening... a shouting match would have been adequate - but something! Why had the elf not delivered what he was supposed to?
He stood suddenly, and the unsuspecting Pippin fell flat onto his back with a *woosh* of air escaping his lungs, making Merry laugh so hard he had to hold his sides and Boromir snort in a rather undignified manner, which in turn made Frodo chuckle loudly and Aragorn howl with laughter - Gandalf suspected they were all slightly giddy with uncomfort. Gimli ignored this, walking towards Greenleaf, and settled himself beside the elf, mildly surprised there was no verbal argument layed upon him ranting against this rather out-of-the-ordinary act.
But Legolas didn't seem to know he was there, or at least didn't acknowledge him; his large green eyes were fixed upon something that could not be see upon the horizon, his face a mask to all emotion. One pale hand was playing - in a rather immature manner, Gimli thought - with the green, silken hem of his suede tunic. The dwarf pondered this strange behaviour for a second, before lighting upon the notion that it was a comforting reassurance... one that the elf had probably done when he was a child, and that surfaced during times of stress, as quite a few childhood-habits did. The son of Gloin cleared his throat, making the prince finally look at him and outwardly realise he was there. But instead of addressing the dwarf, Legolas simply went back to staring out onto the wind-blown landscape, looking very much like he wanted to be out there, one hand still playing with his tunic's hem.
So Gimli, as the proper protocol of polite conversations seemed to be being disregarded, simply went straight ahead and stated what was on his mind - something he didn't do all that often, "I was just thinking, elf, about the way you handled your reaction regarding my unjust deed last night."
Legolas' attention caught all of a sudden, forgetting his heart's yearning to get outside the god-forsaken cave for a moment, and his fair head turned, eyes fixing on Gimli's, "Whatever do you mean, dwarf?"
Gimli shifted in his chainmail, rather uncomfortable under the elf's piercing green stare - one that he still hadn't gotten used to despite the fact that Legolas glared at him with a lot more intensity and ferocity rather often, "Well, I merely wondered why there seemed to be no punishment for my wrong actions." He thought there would be *something* to follow-up the acceptance of his apology - to make them equal - and idly pondered the possibility of vengence being wreaked at a later date... but he wasn't about to say anything to that tune to the Mirkwood prince.
Legolas frowned, confused by what the dwarf was implying. "But you apologised," he said simply with a shrug of his slender shoulders - *he* had thought that explained everything, obviously he was wrong. "Just so long as you are never my self-appointed barber again, I don't care."
The red-headed warrior sat almost dumbstruck - 'that was it?' Surely there was more to it than that... these beings, *apparently* the wisest folk in all of Middle-earth, did something wrong and they just said 'sorry' afterwards and all was forgotten? Surely they seeked honour and respect by rendering their enemies lower than themselves when something had been inflicted upon them by the hand of those they hated? Did Legolas not hate him? Did he not hate Legolas...? He had been told that Elves took revenge whenever possible, that their pride was so great that even the smallest slight against it would send them into a blinding - though thoroughly laughable by Dwarven standards - rage. Gimli glanced behind him, to see Gandalf watching him with a slight smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eyes, and Aragorn taking a rather large interest in the proceeding from where he 'subtly' observed from his place beside Frodo and Boromir. He looked at Greenleaf again, but confusion still held the commanding position in the archer's counternance... the elf obviously, truly believed that saying sorry was all that was needed to be forgiven. Gimli *did* regret his actions, he just didn't think that saying sorry was enough. But his victim seemed happy enough with that concept...
So Gimli shrugged, looking out into the distance also, "Well, had you done the same to me, I would've boxed your ears."
That made Legolas laugh, and his demeanour lighten dramatically - one could almost see the elf's nautral glow shine brightly all of a sudden - for he realised he would be out of the blasted cave soon enough, "Ai, naugri [ah, dwarf]... you would certainly have *attempted* to 'box my ears', but you might just have had to sustain yourself with my kneecaps." And with that he turned to look out into the finally-dying winds, the sun just beginning to shine herself vividly from behind the cover of clouds that had blown across her path, giving the landscape and ethereal look, and leaving Gimli to ponder whether he should be amused, insulted or merely relieved.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
What are you thinking, me darlin's? Kindly review and let me know!