Chapter IX: The Manners of the Dwarves

Two days at Imladris passed, smooth and liquid as a drop of warm honey, as time always passed in the valley. Legolas spent the time in forced indolence. There was nothing to do but join in the singing, dances, and games of the Imladris Elves.

Ordinarily, Legolas would have been delighted with this situation. He would have rejoiced in lifting his voice in a hymn to Elbereth, or a ballad of Tauron and his exploits, or in teaching the Imladris Elves a raucous hunt song. He would have loved to leap and whirl in a swift but graceful dance, or to lie back and watch the Elf minstrels weave myriad notes into life-like pictures of ancient heroes. He would have enjoyed laughing with mischievous glee as he and his Mirkwood comrades drank the Imladris Elves under the table of Elrond's hall.

Instead he was...twitchy. Nervous. There was always a vague uneasiness lurking in the back of his mind.

Legolas, of course, knew exactly what was behind this feeling: Elrond's cryptic request for the Mirkwood contingent to stay. In stray moments, when he was not actively distracted by the antics of the other Elves, Legolas imagined every possible reason Elrond could have had for doing such a thing, each reason more implausible than the one before.

Strange things are afoot.

The darkness tainting Ennor would reach him, too—perhaps had already reached him.

He shook his head, sending coppery locks flying every which way, shaking off sticky cobwebby thoughts. He would go for a walk.

Yes, that was a good idea. A walk through the forest, perhaps near some cool stream water, would clear his head. Legolas strode purposefully off, finding himself next to a brook that trickled softly through a glen.

Rocks were piled there, one atop the other, a craggy heap thrusting out of the soft greenery of the grass and gentle clarity of the water. An artist's hand had arranged them; no natural configuration was so symmetrical. Indeed, the whole glen spoke of Elven taste, care and nurturing. Even the blades of grass seemed to line up in smooth precision. The song here was regular, controlled. Legolas felt like a disharmonious note in a perfectly planned symphony, and on an impulse he reached out a long leg kicked at the pile of stones, knocking some of them over.

It was a spectacularly stupid thing to do.

"Aaahh!" cried a gruff voice on the other side of the stone pile.

"I beg your pardon!" said Legolas, cursing himself. In his absorption he had not heard the creature's breathing or caught its scent. "You are not harmed, I hope?"

"No thanks to you!" snorted the creature, raising his head and revealing himself as a Dwarf with a full blue beard. "Ah, well, no harm was done. Though I have been told that Elves can smell you from a kingdom away, so how did you come to believe there was no one behind the pile?" The Dwarf seemed miffed but not belligerent.

"I was lost in thought, Master Dwarf, so that may be why. But seeing that you enjoy hiding yourself in nooks and corners, perhaps you should bedeck yourself with flowers so that no Elf could miss your scent."

The Dwarf snorted, the look on his face revealing that he did not know if Legolas was joking or not. Legolas recalled some of Lothwen's comments on Dwarven humor, or lack thereof, and stifled a grin. "I am Gimli, son of Gloin," said the Dwarf, and then added "at your service" as if he wished he did not have to say it.

"Legolas, son of Thranduil, at yours and your family's," he said, remembering what he knew of Dwarven manners and wondering how this Gimli would react to Thranduil's name.

"Thranduil!" said Gimli. "The Elven-king of Mirkwood!"

Legolas wondered if all Dwarves had this penchant for stating the obvious. "Yes," he said briefly.

"Well," sniffed Gimli, "all I can say is that it is a mercy Lord Elrond is not in the habit of throwing Dwarves in dungeons, or else you and I would not be having this very pleasant talk."

Legolas was unsurprised. Dwarves were prone to bearing grudges. "I believe you meant to say 'tis a mercy you did not trample uninvited into Elrond's realm, raising a ruckus and disturbing a celebration."

"I will not stay and bandy words with Thranduil's puffed-up spawn," said Gimli huffily. As he rose, he continued, "Rivendell crawls with unseemly creatures—arrogant Men, and ridiculous halflings, and these dratted Elves with bad manners…"

"Your manners, on the other hand, are an example to all the free peoples of Middle-earth." Legolas was enjoying himself. If he must stagnate in Imladris, it was as well that there were Dwarves about that he could bait.

"Hmmph!" said Gimli, his face reddening. He turned round and stomped off, muttering under his breath about Elvish impertinence.

Legolas laughed softly to himself, feeling lighter and freer than he had in days. The exchange with the Dwarf had served as a needed release; he had been growing tense, brooding, and anxious, perhaps taking Elrond's words too much to heart. But Adar is worried as well, and so is Radagast…

What was is the Dwarf had said, about 'arrogant Men' and 'ridiculous halflings'?

Men he had seen in Imladris, tramping about the valley. But halflings? Legolas had not seen a halfling since the Battle of the Five Armies. And unless he was much mistaken, Elrond had little reason to be hobnobbing with the halflings, either.

What could halflings be doing in Imladris?

The last time a halfling had become involved in Elven affairs, a war had broken out between Elves, Men and Dwarves. The creatures were almost the stuff of legends, with some mistakenly believing they did not exist.

"Legolas," said a smooth voice, jolting Legolas out of his reverie. He looked up to see a dark-haired Elf clad in elegant robes. "I bring a message for you, from Lord Elrond. He asks you to be present at a council that is to be held later this morning."

Legolas raised an eyebrow. "This morning?"

"I am sorry for the short notice, but this is a secret council, and Lord Elrond wishes as few people as possible to know of it. I must ask you not to speak of this to anyone else.

Legolas did not reply, knowing full well that he would be telling his Woodland

companions of this as soon as the opportunity arose. As the other elf spoke of when and where the council would be held, Legolas felt a sense of relief. He knew, with the swift and sure instinct of the Quendi, that this council would address the questions he had harbored since the arrival of Gollum in the Woodland Realm. And yet he could not completely shake his anxiety. Something told him the answers would be darker and more fearsome than the uncertainty had been.

Responses to Reviewers:

Daw the minstrel: I suspect the Wood elves would be irritated by the sheltered Imladris ones. And Tolkien himself says they grew suspicious after years fighting the Shadow.

The burglar: Thanks. Pacing is something I worry about. Too fast and it's unrealistic. Too slow and it'll bore the readers to tears.

BrazgirlThanks. I figured Legolas and his buddies would have lots of opinions on the differences between Rivendell and Mirkwood elves.

Lamiel Wood-elves are fun to write because of the humor you can bring in. They're less stately and grand and doomed. And I'm glad you liked my interpretation of Elrond's foresight. I was trying to get across a sort of foresight without omniscience, like he can see that something's coming but he doesn't know precisely what.

Antigone Q: Thanks a lot. You'll have to wait for next chapter for the Council, I'm afraid. It's too long to fit here!