Chapter Seven: Dangerous Waters

The ice of the lake was extremely thin, and despite the Dwarf's best efforts, when he began to cross to the hole through which his drugged companion disappeared, the soft creaking of cracking ice reached his ears, and he resigned himself to the fact that he might as well force his way through, as he was doomed to end up in the water anyway. No sooner had this conclusion been reached, then the precarious surface upon which he trod gave in to his weight.

Nothing could have prepared him for the intense agony of the freezing cold. It was so fierce and all-consuming that he was unable to think or breathe. His senses were totally obliterated by the ice-fire that tried to shatter his bones. But he was in there for a reason – though his head was encountering great difficulty in thinking of what that reason was.

Elf! Something in his mind shouted. You must fetch out the Elf!

Gimli's brain began to focus upon the task laid before him, and the Dwarf forced his body to work with his head. By the Valar, it hurt, but Gimli carried each movement through, concentrating on his target and constantly cursing Legolas to keep his brain active...

Imbecilic dolt! What kind of moron walks onto a frozen lake? Then another thing struck him: If he freezes to death in here, I'm going to kill him! Making me have to come in here and freeze my family assets off – who does he think he is? BLOODY ELVES!

The ice broke easily as his hands clubbed at it – his fingers were so numb they felt like senseless sausages attached to him. As it was, there was only about a centimetre of ice, and as if that was not enough to let a body through it, the pocket of air of about three inches certainly did not help. Some part of his brain that was not busy cussing Legolas concluded that this lake must have an outlet somewhere.

The lake was not actually deep at all, and Gimli's feet easily bounced him along its rocky bottom – right to where a blond-haired body bobbed in the water, totally still.

If I have to give you the kiss of life, I really will kill you!

Gimli's numb fingers wrapped about Legolas' jerkin, and he pulled, not giving a damn about whether or not the head of the other came into contact with any ice that was still attached. All Gimli could think of was getting out. Now that Legolas was in his grasp, his main priority was getting out, finding shelter, and making a fire. He had flints somewhere, he knew, so fire would be no problem, and he knew of a cave they had passed that was no long distance from where they were.

He trudged up the bank, still hauling the Elf behind him. Even though the Elf could walk on snow, he was certainly no light-weight, much to Gimli's surprise. Legolas' actually body weight so contradicted what he was able to do that Gimli found himself once more completely bamboozled by his companion's race. But he decided there and then to give up trying to fathom Elves, as he concluded that pursuing full understanding of their bizarre race would surely push his mind to insanity. Ignorance was bliss.

He let go of Legolas as soon as the other's feet were fully cleared of the water, checking blearily that the Elf actually breathed; he did not wish to get into trouble with Aragorn for letting the Ranger's best friend die – such a thing would have made travelling with the man a most uncomfortable ordeal. Despite himself, Gimli did actually care about whether the Elf lived or no. He had become oddly attached, in a funny sort of way. Their constant bickering had not ceased, but an understanding was being reached between them. The Dwarf had been touched when he had learned of Legolas' sentiment over his knives, and the way the pair had been thrown together and forced to get along in order to survive had certainly reflected upon their opinions of each other. They had both done things for each other that had not been asked of them, and Gimli thought that perhaps calling the Elf "friend" was not such a bad thing as it had originally seemed.

However, mulling over friendship was not of paramount importance at that particular moment. Gimli grasped Legolas' jerkin again and proceeded with dragging the other through the snow. His body screamed at him for his actions, its protestation making doing anything formidable with the pain. But he ignored it, trudging doggedly along, eyes focused straight ahead. Through those trees lies a cave with dry matter in it: a fire is what we need at the moment. Yes, a good strong fire...

The gradient of the earth was difficult for him to negotiate: the slope was growing gradually steeper as they approached the rise, rocks so randomly strewn about the place that Gimli was sure the Valar had placed them so very awkwardly just to spite him. Manoeuvring about them was horrendously hard. His mind was slipping, the temptation to simply let go of Legolas and lie down great.

The cave mouth presented itself to his sight above the earth, and Gimli breathed a smoky sigh of relief.

Ah! Some heat at last!

Their journey, though it had been arduous, had certainly been worth it, he thought, as Gimli's eyes roved about the cave's dark interior. True it was dark, but the fire would soon sort that out, and the place was very dry and of a comfortable size. What struck Gimli, however, was the smell. It was quite strong and clearly animal-orientated, but it was not wolf, and certainly not bear. He was not willing to offer the matter any further thought, though – Fire and heat!

Near the back of the cave, he cleared a hole in the great abundance of dried plant material for the fire, piled up what he thought to be a substantial amount of tinder, and struck his flints. His fingers fumbled over the task, clumsy with cold – but with perseverance sparks eventually flew into the grasses, and a tentative flame gradually began to gather confidence as it ate away at the fresh food of dead branches that he found.

Now to get the Elf over here and I'm done...

Since he let go of the Elf, though, Legolas' weight felt as though it had doubled – Gimli was unable to shift him, no matter how hard he drove his protesting limbs. Gimli released his companion again, and stood back. It alarmed him to see that Legolas' eyes were open...

What? Is he dead?

However, when the other sighed deeply, he had to assume that he was not dead, but in fact living, though he could not for the life of him suss out why the Elf's eyes were wide open. Of course he knew of people who slept with their eyes open, but like that? They were not unfocused like they should be – however, they were not entirely focused, either. They stared through everything, and Gimli felt very uncomfortable, despite the fact that it was not him they stared at.

'Elf. Wake up.' He prodded Legolas' shoulder, vainly trying to provoke a reaction of some nature out of him. 'Elf! Legolas!'

Nothing happened.

'Pointy-ear! Freak of nature!'

Still nothing.

He knelt down, situating his mouth close to Legolas' ear, and whispered: 'Your precious palace is a cave!'

Legolas sat up, a frown playing across his forehead. His eyes turned on Gimli and he glowered threateningly at the other. However, Gimli had become too used to that particular expression to really care, and he immediately set to heaving Legolas up by pulling on his arm.

'Come on, lad, there's a fire for you to sleep in front of if that's what you want to do. Elf or no Elf, lying in wet clothes isn't good for anyone. Move.'

'Wet-? How did I get wet?'

'You mean you don't remember?' Gimli could hardly believe what he was hearing. It could not possibly have been more than twenty minutes since he had dragged the Elf out of the water. But then he thought that, perhaps, this was a side-effect of the drug and an indication that it was wearing off. He sincerely hoped so...

'Are you sure you want me to tell you?'

Legolas thought on this for a moment. 'Is it the kind of thing that I would truly want to know?'

'Actually, I think you're better off not knowing.'

'I agree. Let us never speak of this again – oh, and please don't tell Aragorn,' Legolas more or less begged. 'He'd have the time of his life with this...'

Gimli grinned. The thought of telling Aragorn was indeed appealing. However, the Dwarf gave a curt nod of agreement – Legolas had, after all, done a great amount for him, and he deemed it only fair to pay him back by keeping this one secret.

Legolas rose to his feet, though the action was clumsy, and he had to fight back the sudden nausea and dizziness that engulfed him. Perhaps sleep was the best option at the moment, just until his body and mind gathered themselves back together properly. He took himself over to the fire, removing his tunic and boots to allow them to dry, and then set himself down in the dry grass. With respect to this, Gimli went and lay down on the other side of the fire. Legolas' mind was already beginning to slip back into the comforting arms of sleep ... but something was niggling at him. He allowed it his thought, and sluggishly realised that it was the smell of the place that was upsetting him. He knew what the smell was – but, as his brain was so completely thrown and his senses totally awry due to the Dimfornë, he simply could not remember what it was. There was high significance to it, he was aware of that, yet still the answer eluded him.

'Gimli?'

'Nugh?'

'What is the smell in here?'

'Just a smell,' came the tired response, irritation flashing in it. 'Go back to sleep. It really isn't anything to worry yourself over.'

Silence. Then: 'But it could be a danger-'

Gimli made a noise in his throat – something between a rather strong curse and a growl – and sat up, pinning Legolas with eyes dark with tiredness. 'You are tired, Elf. More to the point, I'm tired. When you know what the smell is, then I'll listen. At the moment, though, you haven't got a clue. Stop behaving like a child that doesn't want to go to bed, and go back to sleep. You never know: perhaps you'll dream up the answer.' With that, Gimli lay back down again, giving the clearest possible indication that the conversation was over.

Legolas watched the Dwarf for a time through the flames. He sighed. Gimli was right, after all: he really did need to go to sleep; the Dimfornë was actually making him feel even more ill than it had previously, and the Elf curled himself up around his enraged belly, finally permitting his mind to wander into the bliss of sleep.