Part 7
Gimli stood still and silent beside Faramir, watching out of the corner of his eye as the steward tugged sharply on the hem of his grey tunic for the third time in a row. Resisting the urge to tell the man to stop fidgeting he swiveled his gaze over to Frer, stationed at his left elbow, sighing quietly as he watched the younger dwarf move about restlessly as well. Catching Gimli's
eyes upon his, Frer scowled.
"I do not understand why I must be present for this," he complained, speaking surreptitiously out of the side of his mouth.
"Because we must present a united front," Gimli whispered in reply.
Frer did very little to quiet the snort which burst forth at Gimli's words. "I do not believe it matters whether there are four of us or ten thousand; it will make no difference to Thranduil."
Admittedly Gimli thought that Frer was right, but did not voice this thought.
"Perhaps we simply plan on tossing you at him as a distraction, while we run and hide," he caustically said instead.
Faramir turned his head to face them. "Are you sure this is prudent?" he asked, either ignoring the dwarves' exchange or not having heard it. "Should we not go to meet him upon the field before the gates?" He craned his neck to the side as if looking for something. "And how long does it take a woman to make herself presentable!" That last was said with rising volume and frustration.
"You are the lord of this land and must have him come to you," Gimli replied. "He has essentially invaded your territory with what may be a hostile force; you cannot appear weak by running to his beck and call, throwing yourself at his feet. Make him come to you," he reiterated. "As to how long it takes for a woman to prepare herself," he shrugged, looking dubious. "She is your wife; I would think you would have a better idea than I."
Before Faramir could open his mouth in reply, the side door to the chamber opened, and Éowyn bustled in, resplendent in a mauve gown, a chain of gold braided in her hair.
"I hope I was not too long," she asked as she took her place beside Faramir.
He smiled at her. "No, not at all, you were like the wind. And the results are stunning, as usual. You shall dazzle him."
Gimli hid his smirk well.
Éowyn's arrival was timely, for a moment later the door opened, and a herald stepped in, drawing a quick bow.
All four of them straightened their backs and squared their shoulders, eyes alert and facing forward.
"The Honorable Magistrate Lanach," the herald announced smartly, turning quickly to open the great doors and admit the person waiting behind.
As the magistrate shuffled into the room, all four mouths were surely hanging open.
"What is the meaning of this?" Faramir asked, stunned as he stepped forward.
"My lord," the magistrate bowed, face tight. "I am sorry, my lord, but they insisted quite firmly we come with them."
"Who?"
"The elves, my lord. They arrived at the village and said our services were no longer needed, that we would accompany them back to the city."
"And what did you tell them?" Faramir questioned, outrage mounting.
The magistrate squirmed. "I did not feel it wise to contradict them, my lord."
"Smart man," Frer mumbled clearly, but shut his mouth quickly at a glare from Gimli.
"What did they do in the village?" Éowyn asked calmly.
"Nothing in my presence," the magistrate replied. "They came, removed us from the town, and we proceeded here; although a contingent of elves was left behind to, and I am repeating words that are not mine, 'ensure none of the rats attempt to scurry away'."
"This is outrageous!" Faramir fumed.
"I have been bid, my lord," the magistrate squeaked, distress mounting with Faramir's temper, "to deliver a message."
"Out with it then," Frer shouted, annoyed.
The magistrate looked to the dwarf then back to Faramir, who nodded his head, his anger deflating quickly, to be replaced by weariness.
"I am to tell you that you are to present yourself before the King of the Wood in his encampment with all haste, and that the Prince Legolas is expected to be returned to his people as well."
Faramir's shoulders slumped as he waved away the grateful magistrate. As soon as the man was out of the room and the doors shut tightly once more, the steward turned to the three figures standing behind him.
"It would seem Thranduil is much more adept at these games than I," he commented ruefully.
"No shame in it, laddie," Gimli soothed. "He's had a few thousand years more practice than you."
"What are we supposed to do?" Éowyn posed the pivotal question. "We cannot bring Legolas - he is practically senseless in bed from the sedative - and I am quite sure none of us wish for Thranduil to see him in such a… condition."
"I will go to him alone," Faramir said firmly, raising a hand to stave off his wife's protest. "I
shall bring several soldiers along of course."
"I, too, shall accompany you," Gimli stated. He was certain Thranduil was purposefully ignoring his presence for he could not be unaware of it; he did not believe for a moment that Lenwe did not mention his involvement in the debacle.
"Are you sure that is wise?" Éowyn asked skeptical.
"Doing what is wise has proved less than helpful up to this point," Gimli pointed out. "Perhaps it is time to attempt the unwise."
Gimli looked over to Frer and could see the younger dwarf's apprehension, as well as the determination behind his eyes.
"Frer, my friend," he said, "there is no need for you to accompany me. One uninvited guest, a dwarf at that, may be unwise, but two would be idiocy."
Most of the tension in the other's body deflated, and he smiled gratefully in Gimli's direction. "If you think it best, my lord," he replied.
Best? Wise? Foolhardy? As each day dawned, it seemed like every choice made mired them all the deeper. There was no best or wise or foolish; there were simply choices laid out before them… and even they were beginning to dwindle.
The elves settled their forces right before the city's gates, far enough away to be out of range of any weapons on the walls such as bows, but close enough to intimidate. Serenely going about their business, the first-born pitched tents and built cook-fires, set sentries and grazed their mounts.
Clearly they were sending the message that they were not returning to their woods anytime in the near future. And with their presence, all movement to and from the city had ceased, while throngs of people crowded upon the walls to look down upon their elven 'guests'.
As they were escorted from the gates of the city to the center of the encampment, Faramir and Gimli could see a grand pavilion erected there, elves and activity bustling around it like bees about a great flower. The large tent was dyed a deep yellow with green and brown vines and leaves embroidered upon its surface. Small hints of gold and silver thread woven into the pattern could also be seen sparkling in the sunlight. Elvish script was stitched over the top of the door and along both sides, but they were hustled along too quickly for Faramir to read the inscription.
As the flap to the tent was pulled aside, both man and dwarf gave the large-pawed lynx which lounge lazily in the grass by the entrance a wide berth. As they passed by it, the grey-speckled cat opened one slanted yellow eye to peer at them, tufted ears flicking, before closing it and returning to sleep.
Once inside they found the light level in the tent was not much diminished, whatever material it was made from allowing a great deal of natural light to filter through and illuminate the interior.
A large dragonfly flew about inside, landing every now and then on the shadowed outlines of stitched foliage. Finely woven rugs covered the grass, and a small table and chair were set to one side, a neat stack of papers along with a quill and inkpot sitting upon the table's inlaid surface.
The pavilion's lone occupant was a tall slender figure who stood facing away from doorway. He wore a fine crimson tunic over his wide set shoulders, vivid gold hair cascading down his back with prominent pointed ear-tips sweeping out from behind the locks.
Faramir motioned for the three soldiers who accompanied them to stand and wait by the entranceway as he and Gimli strode further inside. When he opened his mouth to break the silence, thought he knew not what he would have said, a deep, quiet voice silenced the words before they had begun.
"Legolas is not with you," the figure rumbled. "You bring me a Naugrim in his stead."
Faramir startled at the sudden words but cleared his throat and pressed on. "The prince is resting, Your Majesty."
The noble head cocked to one side, hair sliding over a shoulder with a whisper. "He could not rest here?"
"We did not want to disturb him," Faramir replied.
"Why do I sense, despite your assurances, that you disturbed him a great deal already?"
Faramir was glad Thranduil could not see his unbecoming scowl at those words, as well as the slight working of his sore jaw. He was formulating a reply when Gimli huffed at his side.
"Why do you not turn around and face us as is proper and stop asking useless questions?" the dwarf demanded.
The elf whirled on them, face stony. "If you insist on inflicting your presence upon me, despite my wishes, then at least have the decency to keep quiet," he snarled in Gimli's direction.
"Do not speak of decency, my lord," Faramir shot back, having had quite enough of haughty elves for one day, "for it is you who has invaded my land and bullied my people."
"Perhaps your people need a bit of bullying if they accuse innocent travelers of rape and lock them in a dark dungeon with no evidence other than the word of an insipid girl," the elven king coolly informed them.
"I was dealing with the matter. The truth would have been uncovered and any wrongdoing dealt with appropriately," Faramir explained.
Thranduil scoffed. "Forgive me if I have little faith in men punishing their own in a fitting matter, especially when the injured party was an elf."
"You accuse us of injustice?" Faramir asked hotly.
"After what I have been told already, then yes, that is precisely what I am accusing you of."
Faramir's face flamed. "Let me assure you lynching and live burials are not standard judicial practices in Ithilien," he drawled derisively.
Gimli's eyes almost popped from his head, and without compunction, he kicked the steward in the shin. Faramir jumped slightly and could not hold back a yelp of pain, but it was much too late.
Thranduil stilled, standing motionless as a leopard making ready to strike. His eyes narrowed, and what little color had infused his cheeks in his anger drained away.
"What did you say?" a flat, deadly voice asked as the dragonfly descended to perch upon the elf's right shoulder, staring out with large alien eyes at Gimli and Faramir.
"He is alive, Thranduil," Gimli hastened to appease the elf, "and relatively unhurt."
"I know he is alive, you earth-grubbing aggravation," the king shot back. "I would know if he were not! I am his father, by the Valar, I gave him life, I would know if that life was extinguished!" Striding towards the entrance to the tent, he pushed passed Faramir and Gimli, sticking his head out of the flap to bark an order before turning back to face them. "I knew he was distressed, but after what Lenwe told me, I assumed it was from the dark… not this… this… evil." Drawing his lips back from his teeth in a most feral manner, Thranduil's eyes became distant with thought. "I will grind that village and everyone in it into dust beneath my boot heel."
"Please, Your Majesty, let us all deal with this together," Faramir pleaded, watching helplessly as matters began to spin further and further out of his or anyone else's control. "I shall contact the king, and he may preside over the conflict."
Thranduil's eyes refocused, and he looked at Faramir as if the steward had suddenly sprouted Gandalf's old grey hat upon his head.
"Do you honestly believe I will allow you to send word to Elessar, so he may come with Gondorian soldiers and oust me from these lands before I reap vengeance for the wrongs perpetrated against my son?"
"There, you say it yourself, you want revenge not justice!" Gimli cried.
Thranduil cast him a disinterested glance. "They amount to the same thing in my estimation."
"I understand, I truly do," Gimli pressed on, hoping he was getting through. "In a moment of anger I too wished to see them all dead. But given time I realized more death and suffering will not help matters, Thranduil. It will not help Legolas."
All hoped died with one look in the elven king's wintry eyes.
"Were it so, it would not matter," Thraduil replied. "Anyone who does not seek retribution out of some false sense of nobility is the greater fool." Seemingly finished with the dwarf, his next words were addressed to Faramir. "No man shall be allowed to leave your city until this matter is resolved to my satisfaction."
"Surely you realize that Aragorn will hear news of your arrival despite such measures. You have no doubt been seen across the countryside by many people," Faramir reasoned.
The great shoulders shrugged, displacing the large insect sitting there for a moment before it settled back down to alight on its perch once more. "It matters not - by the time such news reaches his ears and the information confirmed, our business here will be long concluded."
The tent flap was swept aside suddenly, and Lenwe entered, an intricate short sword clasped in one hand, a unique diadem in the other. He did not look nor speak to Gimli or Faramir, but stepped forward at Thranduil's nod to hand him the circlet while he buckled the sword belt at the king's trim waist. Once the weapon was in place, he took back the crown and while Thranduil gathered up his long hair, lifting it out of the way, slid the diadem up behind his head to curve over and sit upon his ears. The unconnected ends of the piece swept up across the elf's temples and back over his forehead to settle up and over the top of his skull. To Gimli they looked like antelope horns or the antenna of a great butterfly pressed molded to his skull.
"You will take me into the city and to my son," Thranduil informed them, once he was properly attired. "Now."
And Gimli and Faramir had no choice but to agree.
