Part 4
Having spent many more days than he wished to count bumping along on Arod's back, Gimli son of Gloin could not fathom how the ordeal could be so noticeably smoother with Legolas at the reins… metaphorically speaking of course. And perhaps that was the entire problem; the beast had become accustomed to carrying passengers without saddle or bridle and was now spoiled, purposefully creating a rougher ride than was necessary for Gimli and Frer out of spite. So like a horse. Or so like an elf!
Whatever the case, after two days of rushing to and fro across Ithilien in a race to retrieve Faramir and return to the village before anything untoward happened to his friend, his backside was quite aware of the difference. Not to mention the fact that a small army of decidedly grumpy elves might very well be descending upon the village at any moment, with, if Thranduil had been alerted to the matter, an even larger and more grumpy elven army on its heels. If Gimli
had any luck, Lenwe will have gathered a small contingent of his compatriots, slipped back into the town with that creeping way elves seemed to favor so much, and released Legolas with none the wiser - thus saving Gimli the trouble of having to crack some skulls.
He doubted very much such was the case.
If they had, Gimli's little group should have met Legolas somewhere along the way, as he knew full well they were coming to his aid. More to the point, if Lenwe's rage was anything to go by, a mass of unhappy elves would most likely prefer to express their displeasure by bringing said displeasure down upon the villagers' heads with all possible flourish and pomp. That there was no smoke billowing from the tiny cottages as they approached indicated to Gimli that he was the first to arrive.
Something was amiss, however, for as they entered the village, riding down the dirt packed street, very few people were about. In fact the entire village seemed disserted. There was no movement, no weary faces peering out of windows at this new invasion of strangers. It all made Gimli decidedly uneasy.
"Where are the townspeople?" Faramir asked at his side, looking about him anxiously.
"I know not, but I have an ill feeling about it," the dwarf replied.
"Surly they have not fled when they realized we had gone to fetch the Steward," Frer expressed from his seat behind his lord.
"Where would they go?" Faramir supplied. "An entire village of people - even a small one such as this - cannot simply pick up and move. They would need provisions and a destination in mind. I cannot see them doing such a thing, especially if, as you say, they did not believe they were in the wrong by imprisoning the Prince."
"We should go to the hall, determine whether Legolas is still there," Gimli suggested.
Faramir nodded his agreement then turned to the few soldiers he had brought with him and indicated they should spread out and search the village. The magistrate he had also brought along to facilitate the entire conflict would accompany them to the hall of justice.
"You do not think the elves..." Frer almost whispered from behind Gimli as they nudged their mounts forward toward the center of town.
"Silence," Gimli hissed. "Do not tell me you have been taken in by these people's follies. Or are they your own?"
Swallowing audibly, Frer said nothing more.
Gimli's unease multiplied tenfold when he saw the tall, sturdy wooden post rising from the ground in front of the hall of justice. Dismounting quickly, he ran over to the stake and looked about the area. There were stones and rotting fruit scattered about, and the dust surrounding the post had been disturbed by a great many feet passing. It was not long before the other three joined him.
"Does your magistrate take note of this," Gimli growled to Faramir. "For surely this… barbarism is unacceptable."
"These are a country folk, long left to their own devices; we should not judge them too harshly," sighed the magistrate. "Further we do not know without a doubt whether what looks to have happened truly happened. We do not wish to be guilty of drawing premature conclusions as you say these villagers have done."
Biting his tongue hard enough to hurt, Gimli scowled. He did not say these people drew the wrong conclusion, he knew they did! Staring up at the post as if his very glare could set it ablaze, a glimmer of something bright, buffeted by the breeze, drew his attention.
"What is that?" he asked, pointing to the area on the post where he caught sight of the flash.
Stepping forward, Faramir reached out and grabbed at what looked to be thin air. Bringing it curiously to his face, Gimli watched as his shoulders, along with his expression, fell. Turning to the dwarf, he held out his hand.
Looking down, Gimli could see three long, pale gold strands of hair. He reached out with a shaking hand and reverently took them from the Steward's grasp.
The picture was clear now. Legolas had stood against that pole, his head touching the rough wood, hair from the back of his head snagging and pulling free. Perhaps it happened when he jerked away from a blow, or perhaps when he shook his head in denial at accusations so false they were almost comical. The dwarf spun on the magistrate.
"Here!" he yelled brandishing the hair. "Here is your proof. Too long to be any man's and too fine to be a mortal woman's!"
In the silence that followed the outburst, the four of them cast uncomfortable gazes about the square, as if the villagers or Legolas himself were hiding out of sight behind carts or barrels, waiting to leap out and surprise them. As they did so, Faramir took notice of a set of wheel tracks in the earth. Crouching down to have a closer look, he surmised that they were those of a wagon, laden with some sort of load in the back. Following the tracks with his eyes, he observed their direction, as well as what looked to be a large assembly of footprints and scuffs trailing along behind it.
"What is it?" Gimli asked as he came to squat down beside Faramir, gold strands still clutched firmly in his fist as is he were afraid that if they blew away, Legolas too would be lost along with them.
"These are wagon tracks," Faramir pointed them out. "It seems they loaded something from this area into the back and drove off, a number of people following."
The silence with followed this statement was grimmer than those previous, as both dwarves and men turned over the many possibilities of such a scenario. None of them pleasant.
"We should follow," Gimli suggested.
"Do you not wish to see if Legolas is still in the cellar?" Faramir asked surprised.
The dwarf's eyes narrowed. "My guts tell me he is no longer there. If he is, he will still be there upon our return, if not… I suggest we follow these tracks with all haste."
With a curt nod, Faramir rose to his feet and moved to mount his horse in a fluid motion. Turning to Frer, who continued to stand by the stake, he beckoned the dwarf forward.
"Could you go a find my men?" he asked. "Once done, come and meet us at the west end of town. That seems to be where the wagon tracks lead."
Glad for something to do other than stand around in the eerie silence, wondering what had befallen his lord's dearest friend and what would subsequently happen if something ghastly had befallen him, Frer bowed curtly and ran off to find Faramir's soldiers.
The west edge of town was not far off and before they'd even cleared the last house, Gimli, Faramir, and the magistrate came across their lost villagers. The majority of the townspeople were straggling in from a grassy field, heading back towards the
village. The wagon was amongst them, two large canvas sheets sitting in the back covered in soil. Then entire procession stopped at the sight of the dwarf and two strange men.
Bringing Arod to the front, Gimli looked fiercely across the assembled villagers. "What have you done with him, you dogs!" he cried out.
A hush settled upon the mass of people, blank faces staring back at them. It was not long, however, before the two brothers of the girl who had accused Legolas stepped out of the crowd to face them.
"I suppose you mean the elf," one said.
"You know very well that is who I speak of!" Gimli snarled, dropping down from his horse and stalking up to them. "Where is he?"
"He escaped," he replied smoothly. "When we descended into the cellar to bring him food and water, he was gone."
Gimli knew very well this was a lie. Legolas had been locked in a sturdy cell, as well as securely chained; and while skilled, even the elf would not have been able to extract himself.
"If that is the case, what are you all doing out here?" he demanded.
Screwing up his face, the man's lips curled. "He killed one of our people in his escape. We were burying him."
"Did you not just say you found his cell empty with no trace of him?" Gimli heard the magistrate question from somewhere behind him.
All eyes turned toward the two men sitting on restlessly shifting horses.
"Who are you?" one brother demanded.
"He is a magistrate, brought here, by me, to settle matters fairly," Faramir cut in sternly.
The men snorted. "We have a justice, thank you! And who do you think you are to appoint a stranger to settle our affairs."
"I am Faramir, Steward of Gondor and Lord Prince of Ithilien." He was not surprised they did not recognize him. The country people were isolated and came into the cities but sporadically, if at all. They would never have had the chance to see his face or have his likeness described to them.
The brothers stiffened and the crowd shifted nervously.
"Now, Lord Gimli here asked a question, and I too would like to hear the answer. Where is Prince Legolas?"
"It is as we said," the man recovered quickly. "We went down to feed the elf, found the cell empty." He shifted his gaze toward the magistrate. "When we searched the town, we found a stable hand dead and a horse stolen. The elf obviously killed the lad as he attempted to abscond with the animal."
"And now you are gathered here to bury the victim," Faramir finished the tale, his horse dancing nervously beneath him. He'd been required to haul back on the reins more than once to keep his mount still.
At the very mention of Legolas killing someone in cold blood for the sake of a horse, Gimli's blood began to boil. Standing with his feet wide apart, it took all of his iron will not to jump forward and hack the man's head from his thick bull neck.
"If this is so," the dwarf challenged, "one of you come forward and whisper the name of this stable hand in mine and the magistrate's ear, then another can follow and do the same."
No one stepped forward, and the unease and anxiety amongst the people gathered there rose to greater degrees.
All throughout the interaction between men and dwarf, Arod had inched cautiously forward and was now abreast with Gimli, ears pricked and swiveling intently, nostrils flared. Putting a hand on the horse's chest to halt his progress, the dwarf found he was not being heeded; the animal continued to move further out into the field.
"Blasted horse, now is not the time!" he cursed it. He was not up to chasing after some mulish animal who decided it was time to go off frolicking amongst the clover.
He made a grab for a length of mane, but Arod tossed his head with an angry snort and trotted forward, paying no mind that he was plowing right through the assembled villagers, almost trampling those who did not get out of the way in time.
"Durin's beard! Come back here you addle-brained equine!" Gimli ran after him, shouldering past people who turned to stare slack-jawed at the single-minded horse.
When he finally cleared the mob, the dwarf could see Arod standing over a plot of earth which had been recently turned over. His elegant head was close to the ground, deep moist breaths billowing from his nose, one hoof pawing anxiously at the soil.
Gimli stopped in anguished shock as the pieces fell into place. The stake, the stones, the wagon trail. This freshly dug earth. These people had indeed come out to burry a body, only it was not one of their own, but that of the so-called criminal in there midst. Unable to hold back a sob, Gimli stumbled the rest of the way forward, dropping to his knees by the grave. He was too late. Much too late. Legolas was dead… no murdered, and here is where they had attempted to hide him forever.
Clawing at the ground frantically, he dug through the soft soil with his hands. He would not allow his friend to rest here, laid down by the hands of his killers, under unfamiliar ground, with no great trees in sight whose roots could cradle his body. He did not hear Faramir and the magistrate move up next to him. Did not see their pitying looks, or the villagers' alarm. There was only he and Arod pawing at the ground which they knew for certain had swallowed their friend.
Strands of once living gold were the first signs they were getting close - mixed amongst the dirt like a miraculous find of some undiscovered vein of metal. All of a sudden, soil collapsed inward, a miniature cave-in which revealed the top of a fair head. At the sight, Gimli gave a small cry and turned to the two men standing nearby.
"Come, you fools, help me get him out!" he shouted to them.
Jerked into action, Faramir and the magistrate surged forward to help the dwarf extract Legolas' body from the ground. Quickly shifting soil out of the way, the three of them uncovered more of the elf's head, becoming more disconcerted by the moment as they realized the body was partly in an upright position, the blue eyes crusted with dirt but still open. It was becoming clear that he had been alive when the earth had come crushing in.
Finally they managed to haul the elf's body free of the earth's grip, pulling the limp form up out of the pit and onto the grass. Faramir stepped back in horror as he watched Gimli gather the body in his arms, weeping unabashedly, strong, stout hand petting the grime-laden head.
"What is the meaning of this!" he spun to scream at the assembled village people when he could take no more of it. They stood there staring at the spectacle, guilt evident on their faces. "This does not look like a stable hand to me!" he thrust his hand out to point at the body held in the crumpled dwarf's arms.
"He was punished for his crime! We shall not suffer your scorn, my Lord, for meting out justice!" a man said as he stepped forward to stand tall and defiant before Faramir, a cringing girl at his side.
The words appeared to be a breaking point for the dwarf. As the last words left the man's lips, he surged to his feet, letting Legolas' body slip to the ground, and charged forward, tackling the surprised man.
"Crime! There was no crime, you pig of a man!" He rained a series of rock heavy blows to the man's face. "He did not touch your two-faced daughter or use magical enchantments! He was a kind, gentle, truthful being! And you've murdered him! Threw him into a pit and swathed him in filth while he still breathed!" He took the man by the shoulders, shaking him fiercely, as if he
could somehow make him understand what he had done. "You will pay, do you hear me? When the elves come, when Thranduil comes, I will gladly stand by his side and watch him eat your liver raw. I will glorify in taking my share when it is offered."
At the mention of more elves - ferocious ones it would seem - who were apparently coming to the village, the people began to babble fearfully.
"He was not alive when we buried him!" the girl shrieked. Casting a baleful look back at her fellow villagers she moved forward to club Gimli on the back, attempting to distract him from her father. "He died of unhappiness long before then! I know they can, he told me so!"
Gimli leapt up off the prostrate man and whirled on the girl, slapping her soundly across the face. The crowd, including Faramir and the magistrate, gasped in shock.
"Do not take me for a fool like the rest of these people here!" he snarled, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her over to the elf's body. "Look, look, here woman! His arms are tied behind his back! Do your people usually bind up their dead? Were you afraid his elvish ways would allow him to rise from his grave and wreak vengeance upon you?"
She opened her mouth as if to speak but closed it just as quickly for she had no answer.
"Ah, ah! Finally you have nothing to say. No story to tell. No explanation. You have been caught in your own lies. Well, mark it well, for it will not be the last time you are caught out!" he mocked, then pushed her away so he might kneel back beside his friend and take him in his arms once more.
Just then Frer arrived along with the handful of soldiers he'd been sent off to collect. He stopped unbelieving at the scene before him then sprang into action, quickly sprinting to his lord's side, putting a comforting hand on his heaving shoulders.
"Is he hurt badly, my lord?" he asked quietly, sure the answer was yes for why else would Gimli be weeping so.
Gimli released a bitter laugh. "Badly? Badly! I should think so, Frer, he is dead! They buried him alive!"
Frer frowned and bent over Gimli's shoulder to get a better look at Legolas. "Dead? But my lord, his ear is red."
Blinking in incomprehension, he looked back at Frer with wide, red-rimmed eyes.
"There," Frer pointed to one gracefully swept ear. "'Tis red, not bruised, but rosy as if blood has rushed to the area. If he were dead, it would not be so."
Reaching out with a wavering hand, Gimli gently touched the ends of his fingers to the blush tip of Legolas' ear. It was hot to the touch, like the feel of a wound.
"Ai!" he cried out, quickly bringing his own ear down to the elf's chest.
There. He could barely perceive it. The sound of a heart beat and an almost imperceptible intake of air into burdened lungs. By the Valar, he was alive! He did not know how it was possible, but it was so.
Quickly turning the body over, he draped Legolas face down over his thighs, calling for Faramir to help him.
"Hurry, quickly, put your hands on his ribs, by his sides," he instructed. "Push gently in the rhythm of breath while I hold him."
The steward did as he was told, kneeling down across from the dwarf, his mind still in a whirl as to what exactly was happening. First Legolas was missing, then supposedly escaped, then dead, now perhaps alive. Everything was progressing much too quickly for a normal man to cope.
Three pushes later and the long lean body between his hands and Gimli's lap stiffened, letting out two quiet little coughs. The dwarf raised his eyes a moment to look Faramir in the face, his lip clamped firmly between his teeth, but the relief painted there unmistakably.
This time he gently turned the elf over in his arms, supporting his head in the crook of his arm. He wiped away the brown-tinged mucus trailing from the corner of the elf's bow shaped mouth, rubbing it between his fingers to feel the granulated texture of sand mixed in with it. Close, it was much too close.
Leaning forward, he rested his bearded cheek against his friend's smooth one. "Two days, as promised," he murmured in the elf's gloriously red-tinged ear.
