As the Leaves of Lorien Fall, Chapter 4
The sun was dappling the white walls of the pavilion as Gimli leafed through the record of the colony of Moria, trying to decipher the broken and stained letters. His kin seemed to have had several good years, but the hopeful entries seemed terribly ominous now that he knew the fate of the colony. The entries, written in Ori's quick elven script, chronicled the early days of the colony, until its tragic end. His heart felt heavy once more, remembering his kin as they set out for Moria, nearly thirty years ago. He had thought many times in the years since that they were likely dead; but finally knowing it made the sorrow seem so much more real. He regretted that they had not had time to bury his kin; that they had not been able to bury Gandalf in a manner fitting to one so mighty, to one whom the dwarves of Erebor owed so much.
He hunched over the book, his shoulders bowed in grief. He thought of Oin, his uncle, and of the times they had spent together, when Gimli was a child in the Iron Hills. He thought of his cousin Balin, and his father's friend Ori; but most of all, he thought of Gandalf. Of the Wizard's visits to them, deep in the mountains, of his arrival at the Battle of Five Armies, of his words at Thorin's funeral, and Dain's coronation. Mostly, he thought of the wizard's quick temper, and his skill with smoke rings, his hearty laugh, and encouraging words. From the back of his mind, he heard Gandalf's words at Moria's West Gate: "But I beg you two, Legolas and Gimli, at least to be friends, and to help me. I need you both."
How could he be friends with the elf? He was stubborn, and prideful, and arrogant, and he put the blame on the dwarves for the fall of Khazad-dum, and the fading of Laurelindorenan. He was constantly showing off; seeing and hearing things that others couldn't, walking on top of snow, as if to mock them for not being Firstborn...and he was the son of Thranduil, who had held his father in prison without cause. Dwarves do not easily forgive, and Gandalf was asking much, he had thought then, to ask him to be friends with such a creature as this.
From another corner of his mind, he recalled words his father had spoken to him, as they had sat together in the House of Elrond, in the days following the Council, after Gimli had been chosen to accompany Frodo. His father had spoken of his own journeys with Bilbo, of how he had found his first impressions to be very wrong indeed...
"I thought he looked like a grocer, bobbing there on the mat. I couldn't believe that this was the burglar Gandalf had found for us, who he had described as fierce. And early on in the journey, my poor opinion of him seemed to be proved right; he bungled the issue with the trolls, I was nearly eaten! All he ever seemed to talk and thing about was food. But I was proved wrong. Of course, the Ring helped, but even so, he proved himself a staunch ally, and a good friend. Never let your first impressions blind you to someone's true worth, my son. These hobbits may look soft, but they have hearts of gold, and I have never known one to fail his companions in a pinch. You look after them, and they'll look after you..."
"'Never let your first impressions blind you to someone's true worth,'" Gimli repeated quietly. He grimaced. Somehow, he didn't think his father was talking about the Elvenking's son. He thought of his father's anger toward the elves of Mirkwood... but then he thought of Galadriel's kind words. He had looked where he expected to find an enemy, but had found a friend instead, one who knew all the ancient names of his people. They had spoken of the friendship of the mountain and the wood. Perhaps, perhaps, Gandalf's request was not so impossible after all. Perhaps, in Lothlorien, a dwarf and an elf could become friends. After all, the doors of Durin seemed to show that it had happened once before. Gimli traced again in his mind the outline of the beautiful doors, framed between the holly trees, "The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria, Say Friend, and Enter. I, Narvi, made them; Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs." Narvi and Celebrimbor... an elf and a dwarf... together they had made something beautiful, something to last the ages.
He started as a delicate white hand was placed on his shoulder. Galadriel had approached silently while he had been thinking. She was carrying another book, and looking at him so happy and carefree, that he thought she was nearly a different woman than the dignified queen he had met the night before. He felt his face break into a grin, and he quickly rose and bowed low. She laughed, and asked him to sit beside her.
"How do you find my realm, son of Gloin?" she asked merrily. "I admit that you are the first dwarf to have entered it, and I would like to hear your opinion of it. My friend Narvi did not live long to ever see it..."
"Narvi?" Gimli asked, surprised, "wasn't he the dwarf who built the doors of Moria?"
"Yes, he and Celebrimbor built the doors of Khazad-dum, all those ages ago. My lord Celeborn, and my daughter, and I were living in Eregion then, and he was my first dwarven friend."
She paused, and then held out the book to Gimli. "This is his diary. He gave it to me before he died, in the hopes that I would one day give it to one in need of it. It chronicles the first attempt at intimacy between an elf and a dwarf. I think that you might find it interesting, at the very least as an insight into your people's ancient kingdom...But first, shall I show you my realm"
Her face crinkled with laughter as Gimli rose and bowed low. "My lady, I am honoured by your gift. In all the songs of the dwarves, too little is said of the beauty of living things, but I shall write songs of the lady Galadriel and of the Realm of Lothlorien, for they are more fair than all the jewels beneath the earth."
"Then come, my good dwarf, and see more of it..." And she took his hand, and they walked among the mallorn.
Legolas sat back in the glade. The sun had risen over the tops of the trees; it was now mid-morning. He had watched the mirror for most of the night and the next day, and his mind was whirling with what he had seen. Celebrimbor and Narvi had connected immediately, and had become friends so quickly that it left him awe-struck. But they had the work on the West Gate to unite them, he thought cynically. Gimli and I have nothing in common but past hatred and misunderstanding.
That's not true... said another part of his brain... you have the Quest, and memories of and grief for Mithrandir, and you have the love of these woods, and of the Lady Galadriel... that is surely enough to make a start, if you are willing to take the challenge...
Challenge... that did it. If there was anything Legolas of Mirkwood loved, it was a challenge... he would connect with the dwarf if it killed him... after all, they did have things in common...
The sun was dappling the white walls of the pavilion as Gimli leafed through the record of the colony of Moria, trying to decipher the broken and stained letters. His kin seemed to have had several good years, but the hopeful entries seemed terribly ominous now that he knew the fate of the colony. The entries, written in Ori's quick elven script, chronicled the early days of the colony, until its tragic end. His heart felt heavy once more, remembering his kin as they set out for Moria, nearly thirty years ago. He had thought many times in the years since that they were likely dead; but finally knowing it made the sorrow seem so much more real. He regretted that they had not had time to bury his kin; that they had not been able to bury Gandalf in a manner fitting to one so mighty, to one whom the dwarves of Erebor owed so much.
He hunched over the book, his shoulders bowed in grief. He thought of Oin, his uncle, and of the times they had spent together, when Gimli was a child in the Iron Hills. He thought of his cousin Balin, and his father's friend Ori; but most of all, he thought of Gandalf. Of the Wizard's visits to them, deep in the mountains, of his arrival at the Battle of Five Armies, of his words at Thorin's funeral, and Dain's coronation. Mostly, he thought of the wizard's quick temper, and his skill with smoke rings, his hearty laugh, and encouraging words. From the back of his mind, he heard Gandalf's words at Moria's West Gate: "But I beg you two, Legolas and Gimli, at least to be friends, and to help me. I need you both."
How could he be friends with the elf? He was stubborn, and prideful, and arrogant, and he put the blame on the dwarves for the fall of Khazad-dum, and the fading of Laurelindorenan. He was constantly showing off; seeing and hearing things that others couldn't, walking on top of snow, as if to mock them for not being Firstborn...and he was the son of Thranduil, who had held his father in prison without cause. Dwarves do not easily forgive, and Gandalf was asking much, he had thought then, to ask him to be friends with such a creature as this.
From another corner of his mind, he recalled words his father had spoken to him, as they had sat together in the House of Elrond, in the days following the Council, after Gimli had been chosen to accompany Frodo. His father had spoken of his own journeys with Bilbo, of how he had found his first impressions to be very wrong indeed...
"I thought he looked like a grocer, bobbing there on the mat. I couldn't believe that this was the burglar Gandalf had found for us, who he had described as fierce. And early on in the journey, my poor opinion of him seemed to be proved right; he bungled the issue with the trolls, I was nearly eaten! All he ever seemed to talk and thing about was food. But I was proved wrong. Of course, the Ring helped, but even so, he proved himself a staunch ally, and a good friend. Never let your first impressions blind you to someone's true worth, my son. These hobbits may look soft, but they have hearts of gold, and I have never known one to fail his companions in a pinch. You look after them, and they'll look after you..."
"'Never let your first impressions blind you to someone's true worth,'" Gimli repeated quietly. He grimaced. Somehow, he didn't think his father was talking about the Elvenking's son. He thought of his father's anger toward the elves of Mirkwood... but then he thought of Galadriel's kind words. He had looked where he expected to find an enemy, but had found a friend instead, one who knew all the ancient names of his people. They had spoken of the friendship of the mountain and the wood. Perhaps, perhaps, Gandalf's request was not so impossible after all. Perhaps, in Lothlorien, a dwarf and an elf could become friends. After all, the doors of Durin seemed to show that it had happened once before. Gimli traced again in his mind the outline of the beautiful doors, framed between the holly trees, "The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria, Say Friend, and Enter. I, Narvi, made them; Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs." Narvi and Celebrimbor... an elf and a dwarf... together they had made something beautiful, something to last the ages.
He started as a delicate white hand was placed on his shoulder. Galadriel had approached silently while he had been thinking. She was carrying another book, and looking at him so happy and carefree, that he thought she was nearly a different woman than the dignified queen he had met the night before. He felt his face break into a grin, and he quickly rose and bowed low. She laughed, and asked him to sit beside her.
"How do you find my realm, son of Gloin?" she asked merrily. "I admit that you are the first dwarf to have entered it, and I would like to hear your opinion of it. My friend Narvi did not live long to ever see it..."
"Narvi?" Gimli asked, surprised, "wasn't he the dwarf who built the doors of Moria?"
"Yes, he and Celebrimbor built the doors of Khazad-dum, all those ages ago. My lord Celeborn, and my daughter, and I were living in Eregion then, and he was my first dwarven friend."
She paused, and then held out the book to Gimli. "This is his diary. He gave it to me before he died, in the hopes that I would one day give it to one in need of it. It chronicles the first attempt at intimacy between an elf and a dwarf. I think that you might find it interesting, at the very least as an insight into your people's ancient kingdom...But first, shall I show you my realm"
Her face crinkled with laughter as Gimli rose and bowed low. "My lady, I am honoured by your gift. In all the songs of the dwarves, too little is said of the beauty of living things, but I shall write songs of the lady Galadriel and of the Realm of Lothlorien, for they are more fair than all the jewels beneath the earth."
"Then come, my good dwarf, and see more of it..." And she took his hand, and they walked among the mallorn.
Legolas sat back in the glade. The sun had risen over the tops of the trees; it was now mid-morning. He had watched the mirror for most of the night and the next day, and his mind was whirling with what he had seen. Celebrimbor and Narvi had connected immediately, and had become friends so quickly that it left him awe-struck. But they had the work on the West Gate to unite them, he thought cynically. Gimli and I have nothing in common but past hatred and misunderstanding.
That's not true... said another part of his brain... you have the Quest, and memories of and grief for Mithrandir, and you have the love of these woods, and of the Lady Galadriel... that is surely enough to make a start, if you are willing to take the challenge...
Challenge... that did it. If there was anything Legolas of Mirkwood loved, it was a challenge... he would connect with the dwarf if it killed him... after all, they did have things in common...