Aren't plot bunnies great? Yep, this one bit me during Christmas dinner, which caused quite a disturbance I can tell you. This is a little odd I know, but I hope it is enjoyed. I just want to make it clear that this is AU, Alternate Universe; I know there is generally always someone who does not know the difference so I wish to make it absolutely clear.
Disclaimer: I own nothing, nothing at all. I'm even borrowing my body from God, and I'll have to give it back to him at some point. Though I did create some original characters, they are based on Tolkien's works so I claim no ownership.
Oh. My. God. Thank you so much for all the positive reviews! I love you all!
Great thanks especially to Sidh, for being so wonderful and agreeing to beta for me!
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~Friday's Child~
"Why did your party return early, Galdol?" the King asked, leaning forward in his chair and scrutinising the hunter. "I recall specifically requesting that you not return until the newest Southern colony of spiders was destroyed." Thranduil seemed almost to spark with anger, though he kept his voice level. "Yet, you return without having taken a weapon to any spider. Explain."
And so Galdol explained, telling the King about the discovery in the woods. Thranduil was not a patient Elf, but he was a very good listener and absorbed all the facts as they were told, and he had a genuine interest in the well-being of his Kingdom and his people, but very little beyond that. He did not interrupt as Galdol told his story, and when the Elf had finished, Thranduil leant back in his seat, the tips of his long fingers together, over which he studied the two before him. Legolas glanced between his father and Galdol, wondering how the King would react.
"So," Thranduil said finally, his voice hard, "you see fit to leave the hunt of these vagabond Orcs in order to bring a Naug to my Halls. Is that it?"
"Yes, Sire," Galdol replied quietly, because, of course, it was true.
"Why, then did you not send out some of your party to pursue the tracks? Surely it did not take all of you to return here with the Naug?"
Galdol stared. He could not believe it. Now the King mentioned it, it seemed an obvious course of action. Why had he not thought of that before? He was an experienced hunter! Yet, he had to justify his actions.
"I did not know how large the Orc party would be, Sire," he replied. "I did not think it wise to send some of my party, who were equipped only for hunting, to track down a party of unknown number or strength."
Thranduil's eyes glittered, and for a moment Galdol felt a prickle of genuine fear; his lord could be very harsh when he was angry enough. However, the King nodded slightly. "Very well," he said, softly. "I will let it pass- this time. But I will expect a hunting party to be sent out as soon as possible to pursue these Orcs and to destroy them. Now," he continued, before Galdol could say anything, "what state is the Naug in? How soon will it be able to leave?"
"I know not the full details, Lord," Galdol replied humbly, keeping his gaze averted. "He is being tended as we speak. It appears that he is rather badly injured, but also malnourished and possibly very ill. We would have to wait for him to recover and awaken before further action can be taken."
Thranduil considered for a moment, and then he nodded. "Very well. Now, go, and inform Dalmar that I shall speak with him when he has tended to his duties." Galdol bowed and left the Hall, only just able to hide his relief at the King's decision.
Legolas wished desperately that he could leave with Galdol, and not be left any longer under the hawk-like gaze of his father. Legolas had inherited his father's eyes, though his were warmer, gentler than the steel-like glare in Thranduil's face.
"Legolas, I will give you the duty of looking after the Naug until it is fit to leave," Thranduil stated, his expression unchanging. Legolas inclined his head.
"Yes, father," he said. He did not relish the charge, and could only hope that the Dwarf would recover quickly. Thranduil saw the distaste flicker over his son's face, and his gaze softened.
"I know that this is hardly the greatest of opportunities, Legolas, but I trust you. Many others would refuse to take this on, or would neglect their duties. I know you will not allow that to happen." Legolas appreciated his father's understanding, but he knew that his last sentence was an unspoken warning.
The young Elf left the Hall and made his way to the Healing Quarters, trying to sort out his thoughts. Though he felt sympathy for the Dwarf, and even anxiety for his condition, he could not imagine ever appreciated such a creature, or enjoying the company of one.
Despite his attempts to slow down his journey, Legolas finally reached the door to the Healing Quarters. Opening the door, he found Dalmar and Galdol deep in discussion; Dalmar was looking concerned, and Galdol's face was in shadow. As he approached, they both turned to him. Legolas related his father's last instructions, and Galdol nodded.
"He has been given a sleeping draught," the older Elf explained. "His injuries are tended, and Dalmar will return to inspect his condition later. I will see you at dinner." Galdol left hurriedly, and Legolas suspected that he wanted to organise a party to leave tomorrow as soon as may be.
Soon, Legolas was left alone with the Dwarf. His old, tattered tunic had been removed, and a bandage was wrapped around his muscular chest. He looked very small in the large bed, and Legolas thought of him, for the first time, as a hurt child, and not an injured Dwarf.
He lost count of how long he sat there. He knew it was long past the evening meal, but he was not hungry. It seemed that his world had diminished to this room, this bed, and this small creature he was watching. After what could have been days, but was probably only a few hours, the Dwarf stirred. Immediately, Legolas sat up straighter, and stared at him. He moved again, and murmured something in a language Legolas had never heard before, but which he took to be the native language of the dwarves.
Legolas watched the Dwarf closely, waiting for any other sign of life, but there was nothing. Nothing, that was, until the Dwarf's eyes snapped open. He stared at Legolas, confusion evident on his face. Legolas moved to stand up, and immediately the Dwarf tensed; to Legolas' shock, genuine fear flooded those dark eyes. He sat down, slowly, so as not to startle the Dwarf further. He was watching him like a frightened colt.
"It is alright," the young Elf said, quietly. "You're safe here." But for how long? A little voice at the back of his mind asked. The Dwarf watched him for a little while, and eventually relaxed, though his gaze was still wary and frightened.
"Where am I?" he asked in a small voice that was nevertheless deep and rich.
"The Elven Halls of Mirkwood." Legolas wondered whether he should go and seek out Dalmar, or stay with the Dwarf. His curiosity won the quick battle, and he leant toward the Dwarf slightly.
"What is your name?" The Dwarf glared slightly; his face was full of mistrust, but eventually he could hold the Elf's gaze no longer, and he ducked his copper head.
"Gimli." A simple name that seemed to suit the Dwarf, but there was something else there; a hidden meaning that Legolas could not discern.
"Gimli…" The Elf rolled the name around his tongue, as though trying its taste. It felt odd, but his lilting Elven voice gave the word an intriguing ring. "My name is Legolas. What were you doing in Mirkwood?"
At his words, Gimli suddenly sat bolt upright. There was no trace of the pain this movement must have caused him; only a panic and urgency.
"My family!" he gasped, staring at Legolas with wild eyes. "Where are they? My father, my uncle…?"
Legolas felt as though he had suffered a blow. He was filled with hatred for the enormity of what he had to tell the Dwarf. He had been planning on avoiding the subject, of leaving the terrible facts to Galdol… why had he asked what the Dwarf was doing in Mirkwood? He had practically thrown the doors wide and invited trouble in for a sip of wine. He closed his eyes, bracing himself.
"They- they're dead." It was not sympathetic, not sad. His voice was deadpan, stating the facts. He stared determinedly at the cupboard on the other side of the room, not wanting to look at Gimli's face.
There was no sound from the Dwarf, and finally Legolas forced himself to look at him, fearing that he might have passed out. But he was awake. He had hugged his knees to his chest, and buried his face in his arms. There had been no questioning of Legolas' statement, no fierce denial. Just this terrible, silent grief. Legolas supposed that the Dwarf had known the answer as soon as he had asked.
Legolas sat for a long moment, unsure of what to do. The Dwarf obviously wanted to be left alone, but he had been told to watch over him. They did not know each other, save for their names only, so there was very little support or comfort the Elf could give. He could only sit and watch in quiet helplessness as the Dwarf grieved.
So Legolas let himself drift into his thoughts. Gimli had not seemed the selfish, conniving, grasping creature he had been brought up to believe dwarves would be, and yet he had shown no gratitude either. Although, he reasoned, he had not exactly explained to the Dwarf that the Elves had saved him, and there were obviously other things on Gimli's mind. Maybe he could not expect him to be thanking an elf, and one he did not know at that, for something the Dwarf did not know the Elf had even done.
And then there were those eyes; large, dark and emotional, Legolas had felt drawn to them from the moment they had opened. They held more feeling than the eyes of many elves Legolas knew.
The door to the room opened suddenly and Legolas, glad of any distraction, looked over and stood up. Dalmar came in quietly, and immediately crossed over to Gimli, an expression of mild relief mingled with concern on his face.
Entering the room behind Dalmar, regal and imposing, was King Thranduil.
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I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please, oh please, read and review!
