As the Leaves of Lorien Fall (7/?)
Rating: raised to PG 13 for implied sexual relations
Pairing(s): Legolas/Gimli; Celebrimbor/Narvi
Warning: This fic contains slash pairings, both of which are interspecies (elf/dwarf). If such things offend or squick you; turn back now.
Disclaimer: Tolkien, not me, owns Lord of the Rings. I am merely borrowing his characters for no profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: Thanks for all your reviews! Here is chapter 7. Please note the increase in the rating from PG to PG 13!
Chapter 7
Legolas walked happily among the mallorn, singing cheerfully. He felt more relaxed than he had for several months. He had spent the previous afternoon walking in the woods with Gimli, and then had joined his kin in the evening. It was wonderful to speak Sindarin again, to sing the old songs – but he found his thoughts, even as he sat among his people, went out to Gimli, all alone, grieving for his murdered family, and fallen friend.
He was going now back to the Fellowship's pavilion on the borders of the city. He would be glad to see his friends again, and, especially, to see Gimli. He hoped, and felt that he had reasons for such hope, that the dwarf was beginning to do more than merely tolerate him: several times, when he had asked Gimli to walk with him, the dwarf had seemed quite open to the idea, and he had certainly never refused to walk with Legolas.
As Legolas began to approach the area where the Fellowship pavilion was pitched, he heard the clear, bell-like tones of hobbit laughter. He smiled. He had had some concern about such young, innocent creatures going on the quest, but he could not now imagine the Quest without Pippin's pranks, Merry's tales and Sam's devotion to his master.
The hobbits in question were sitting beside the stream not far from the tent. Merry was chasing Pippin between the mallorn trees – it appeared that Pippin had stolen Merry's apple. Frodo was laughing, and Sam appeared torn between disapproval at Merry and Pippin's behaviour, and pleasure that his master was finally enjoying himself.
"Pip! Give it back, you rotten Took!" Merry suddenly burst around a tree, and stopped abruptly when he saw Legolas, a smile on his round face. "Legolas! How nice to see you! Did you have a nice evening?"
"Legolas!" Legolas suddenly found his waist surrounded by excited Took. "I missed you! I didn't get to see you last night!" Pippin released his hold, and gave a beaming smile – then ran off quickly to escape Merry's renewed attempts to retrieve his apple.
"Master Legolas, would I be right in reckoning that you are here to visit with Master Gimli?" Sam was polite, as always, his tone fully respectful, though half his attention was devoted to trying to convince the Ring-bearer to put on his jacket: "There's an awful draught, Mr. Frodo."
Pippin had run back beside them once more. "Gimli? I don't think you should go into the tent, Legolas. There is a grumpy dwarf in there."
"Beggin' your pardon, Master Pippin, but Master Gimli was only upset because you kept throwing apple cores at his head, and distracting his readin'. Old Mr. Bilbo was just the same when Master Merry used to visit, and clamored for a story while Mr. Bilbo was trying to write his book. Do you remember, Mr. Frodo?"
Frodo smiled, the smile of one completely at peace, lost in the memory of a happy time. "I remember, Sam." He looked over at Legolas, and added: "I think, Legolas, that Gimli would appreciate your company. He seemed disturbed about something." He stood up, and in a louder voice, called out to his cousins, who were now wrestling each other for control of apple. "I think I would like to see that waterfall you two were claiming to have found yesterday. If you will excuse us, Legolas." He gave a small bow, and set off into the woods, closely followed by Sam, with Merry and Pippin running ahead.
Legolas ducked into the tent, and sure enough, there was indeed a grumpy dwarf within. Gimli was sitting on the edge of one of the cots, a frown deeply etched onto his face, the book he had been so obsessed with the last few days perched on his lap. He didn't give any reaction as Legolas crossed over to the cot, and sat, cross-legged, beside him.
"You look concerned, my friend." There was no response. Legolas tried again, "Good friend Gimli, surely this is not a result of Master Peregrin's apple-cores? He is young, and has not yet learned that pelting dwarves with apple-cores is an extremely dangerous activity."
Gimli gave a grunt that Legolas took to be suppressed laughter. Then, a few moments later, he said, "Nay, it is naught to do with that young rascal. I have read something disquieting, and I am unsure...." He broke off. Legolas was surprised. Gimli was usually eloquent – when he chose to speak, his thoughts were always expressive, Legolas had never yet heard the dwarf so uncertain. It must have been disquieting, indeed.
Legolas smiled, hoping to show the dwarf that he had in Legolas a friend's support. He reached over, and took the dwarf's calloused hand in his own, and squeezed it briefly, then let go.
"Will you tell me, my friend? What has caused you such concern? Perhaps a fresh perspective shall bring new light to your dilemma."
Legolas felt very aware of Gimli's coal-brick eyes gazing into him – assessing him. For a long time, the dwarf said nothing, then he passed the book in his lap over to Legolas, opening it to a place he had obviously marked.
"Read this" he said softly.
Legolas read:
"I crushed his lips against mine, and felt his hands ghosting over my skin. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer, and down to my level. I ran my fingers through his hair, and felt the pointed tips of his ears. His hands took hold of my beard, tangling within it. I never thought I would love an elf, but he makes my blood sing..."
Flushing, Legolas looked up just as Gimli snatched the book away again, shifting back a few pages. "Wrong page. There," and Gimli, also with red cheeks, handed back the book.
Legolas looked down to the new page, dated several days earlier.
"Today, Celebrimbor and I finished the West Gate. It is a marvel, and we both believe that it will last until the Misty Mountains crumble. We dwarves have no immortal lifespan, but our works, and especially this work, will last forever. For all time, and for all future generations, our names shall be there, together, for all to see: 'The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Say "Friend" and Enter. I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs.' Still, I cannot help but feel some regret that this work is complete – its completion means that Celebrimbor will have to return to Ost-in-Edhil. And I do not know when I shall see him again. I do not know when before a dwarf has ever come to rely so on an elf, as I have on him. I need him – he is my friend, and I am proud to stand by his side.
As we were walking back to the guest quarters, my elf chatted lightly about this and that, but my mind was perturbed. I needed to be on my own for a time, to think about these strange thoughts that were swirling through my mind..."
Narvi, after bidding farewell to Celebrimbor, promising to meet with him again that evening for a celebratory meal, hurried back to his own quarters and sat down on his bed. His head was spinning. The thought of parting from Celebrimbor pained him; his thoughts were plagued by that dratted elf, that bewitching, timeless creature that had so quickly become his friend. He felt once more the strange tingle in his hands, his shoulders; everywhere Celebrimbor had ever touched him. He heard the elf's voice in his ears, and could see, in his mind's eye, the elf glowing before him.
Surely this was not usual for those who were merely friends. Narvi had had many friends (no other elves, true enough), and none of them had affected him like this. Why should the thought of being parted from Celebrimbor upset him so?
After all, the elf couldn't be expected to live his whole life among the dwarves – he had a kingdom to run, work to do; he would be miserable under the mountains, even in such brightly lighted and beautiful ones as Khazad-dum. Celebrimbor would return home, Narvi could surely visit, it wasn't as if he would never see the elf; Celebrimbor would find some delicate elf lady to wed, and...
Narvi growled, furious even with his own thoughts. Any elf woman who tried to sink her claws into his elf would wind up with his pick-axe in her nervous system. The elf was his....
The elf was his heart-bonded.
Why hadn't he seen it before? The ease with which they had fallen into friendship, the way he had noticed all those little details, the safety and comfort he fell in Celebrimbor's presence.
Mahal, he who the elves called Aule, had created the dwarves to love but one in their lives – another dwarf who was created just for them, whose heart was waiting to find its mate. And now, after years of waiting and hoping to find the dwarf intended for him – he had found an elf instead!
Well, the time for waiting was over. He would speak to Celebrimbor on the issue that very night. After all, the elf, even if he did not return Narvi's feelings, was leaving in the morning. Better to have things like this out in the open.
That evening, when Celebrimbor arrived for their celebratory dinner, carrying a bottle of wine, Narvi was calm once more. Narvi smiled at the elf – his elf – and invited him in. It was a perfectly normal dinner between the two friends. Narvi was glad that his newfound feelings were not interfering with their friendship.
After dessert, they moved to two chairs by the fireside. The comfortable quiet, that comes when friends are warm and well fed, descended. They sat, sipping their wine, doing nothing but watching the firelight dance on the stone wall, and gleam on the brass fixtures. This, Narvi felt; this was the time.
He cleared his throat. Now that it came down to it, he was more than a little nervous. He didn't know how elves found their mates, after all. Did they even have heart-bonded? With dwarves, it was simple: their hearts called out to one another, each found the other desirable. Would the elf feel the same pull he did?
He cleared his throat a second time. He was aware of Celebrimbor's bright, sharp eyes watching him; waiting for Narvi to speak. Narvi briefly cast his eyes down, staring at the wine in his glass, gathering the legendary courage of the dwarves.
"Lad," he said, finally. "I have something I need to discuss with you." He looked up again.
Celebrimbor was smiling at him, the smile brightening his thin, rather pointed face. He raised his delicate eyebrows in mild amusement, and said, lightly, "Indeed, my friend? We have discussed all manner of things in our many conversations – I shall welcome another topic!"
Narvi paused, unsure of how to continue. A downside of only ever being interested in one person was a distinct lack of experience in initiating a romantic discussion. What should he say, or rather, how should he say it?
Well, he had to say something. Better to just say it; he could deal with the consequences later.
"What do you know of the hearts of the dwarves?"
Celebrimbor raised his eyebrows again. "Not much," he admitted in answer to Narvi's question. "I know that a dwarf loves but once in his life." He grinned, "Is there some charming dwarf-maid who has captured your heart?"
Narvi swallowed. This was it: the point of no return. "My heart has indeed been captured, but not by any dwarf-maid," he said slowly. "I found today that I wished to continue our partnership; and extend it to one of more than metal and stone. I wish for your heart to beat with mine, until the day that mine stops beating."
The silence descended on the room once more, but it was no longer companionable. It seemed thick with tension, and Narvi felt his stomach grow painful with nerves. He felt sick, and wished that he had kept his feelings a secret.
Finally, when the awkward silence had become nearly unbearable, and Narvi was just about to get up and invent some excuse to leave the room, Celebrimbor spoke. The playfulness had left his voice; it was soft, but intense with emotion.
"I recall the day we met, at King Durin's feast. I looked up, and thought my heart would stop – for the most beautiful dwarf I had ever seen had entered the room. And I was given the privilege of working with him; and I learned to love his mind, and his heart, and his soul – which I saw shining brightly through his work. But I knew that I would only ever have him as a friend and partner, for dwarves love but once, and somewhere a dwarf maiden waited for him, to reclaim his heart."
Narvi's heart, which had sunk to someplace within his boots, rose once more into his chest. Enough pussyfooting around the issue – elves may have time for words, but dwarves were creatures of action. He put down his glass, and, rising from his chair, he crossed over to where Celebrimbor was. The elf, seemingly unsure of what was happening, stood up too.
Standing before him, his eyes level with the elf's chest, Narvi muttered, "there is no dwarf-maid," and, reaching up, he wrapped his calloused fingers in the elf's hair and pulled the head down into a kiss...
Legolas looked up from the book again. He had come to the place that Gimli had originally indicated. The dwarf's eyes were keen upon him, still disturbed, waiting to hear Legolas' thoughts on the matter.
Legolas smiled, again, gently, and repeated his earlier question, "So, what has caused your concern, my friend?"
Gimli was staring at him, incredulous. "They were lovers!" He exclaimed, voice tense. "Narvi and Celebrimbor were lovers! Is that not a reason for concern?"
Legolas laughed, though he found Gimli's reaction to the issue disconcerting. "I do not see why it is a concern of ours. Narvi and Celebrimbor loved and lost nearly six thousand years past. Both are long dead, and their kingdoms destroyed. Surely you are not concerned about their love life? Or is it something else that disturbs you?" He looked earnestly at the dwarf, who was scowling once more. "Does it offend you that a dwarf could love an elf?"
Gimli seemed uncomfortable; he was fidgeting in his corner of the cot. He was unsure how to answer. "No!" he exclaimed. "I mean, yes! I mean, well..."
"Just last night, you were telling me of your love for the Lady Galadriel..."
"That's entirely different! She is a great lady; I would never insult her honour by desiring her physically! She is a married woman!"
"No, you would not – but it shows that it is not unheard of for a dwarf to consider an elf. If the Lady were not married, would you desire her?"
Legolas knew that he was treading into deeply personal areas. It would be unsurprising if the dwarf refused to speak to him. But he felt reckless. He needed to know why Gimli was so angered by the news of Narvi and Celebrimbor's love.
The dwarf, meanwhile, was retorting angrily. "Nay, she is not my heart-bonded. And no dwarf chooses the direction of his heart. If Narvi loved Celebrimbor, it was because he was destined to do so. There is nothing offensive in it..."
Legolas frowned. If there was nothing offensive in it, why had Gimli been so disturbed? "Then, why...?" he asked.
Gimli slumped dejectedly, his shoulders sloping, revealing his concern. He closed his eyes, and said, miserably, "Narvi's name is gone from the Mazurbul records."
"What?"
"The Mazurbul records list all the dwarves of the Khazad-dum." The dwarf reached under his bed, taking out the bloodstained record of the dwarves that Gandalf had given Gimli in the Hall of Records. He shifted to the beginning, the part that Gandalf had not read. Legolas looked over, and saw lists of names, with dates written to one side. Gimli shifted through the crackling pages, finally stopping at one where, according to the date, Narvi's name should have been, and, sure enough, the name was not there, but one name was blackened out so that it could not be read.
"Only those who have betrayed their people have their names removed from the lists. To remove a dwarf's name from the record is one of the most drastic punishments that can be inflicted upon a dwarf."
Legolas took Gimli's hand once more. He was relieved to find that it was not the idea of an elf and a dwarf together that had offended Gimli. The dwarf looked down, at their hands, interlaced, but said nothing.
"You are afraid," said Legolas softly, "that it was for loving Celebrimbor that Narvi was ostracized by his people?"
Gimli looked up once again. Legolas nearly gasped when their gazes connected, the intensity in the dwarf's dark eyes seemed to cut into his soul.
"Can it be anything else? I have read and reread the book; Narvi's diary, but there is no record of anything else he did that would have been seen as a betrayal of his people. He was the greatest Stone Wright of the age, and the pride of Khazad-dum. And now, with the West Gate gone, all record of his existence has vanished."
Legolas shook his head. "As you said, no dwarf chooses the direction of his heart. I do not see how loving one who was friend and neighbour to his people could be seen as a betrayal."
"But it could have been. We do not know."
"No, we do not" Legolas gave a small smile. "But I know who does."
"Who?"
"The Lady Galadriel – for wasn't it she who gave you Narvi's diary?"
Gimli's face brightened. Legolas felt his heart race at the sight. Gimli's eyes were now dancing with delighted joy, and he was smiling. He should smile more often, Legolas thought; his smile is enchanting.
"Yes," the dwarf's voice was nearly bubbling, "yes, we must see the Lady."