Title: The Weeping Wraith, Chapter Thirteen

Summary: If you've been reading thus far, you know what it's all about.  If not, you may want to go back and start at the beginning, because I have well and truly messed things up in this A/U…

Notes: This is now completely A/U, and has elements of the books and the movies within. 

Disclaimer: Some of this story is quoted directly from the trilogy itself.  I will note these excerpts with italics, so pay attention and don't sue me for plagiarism!  I wouldn't dream of such an offense against the great JRR!!

Further notes: My Elvish resources are: the LOTR trilogy, The Silmarillion, The Complete Guide to Middle-earth by Robert Foster, the LOTR movie soundtrack's lyric booklet, and the Ardalambion website.  Hey, I did the best I could…

Replies to reviews:

Treehugger: (evil snicker)  Hee hee hee…I AM a terrible little devil, aren't I?  And you are too eloquent to be an idiot!  :)  So glad you enjoyed the silver arrows and the conversations between Sam and Co.  I especially thought long and hard about how I was going to approach the relationships between the established characters and my originals—before the originals ever appeared, in fact—and I'm rather pleased with the results.  Any thoughts on the subject?  I am feeling better, thanks.  And as always, thank you for your beautiful review.  Enjoy the story's progression!

Raen: (wide-eyed stare)  You actually held your breath that long?  Wow, what a compliment to this humble little writer…thank you ever so much for the review!  Yeah, "wondrousness" is a word, BTW.  I've gotten over my illness, thanks for the concern!  Enjoy the continuation below!  :)

Now we pick up in Lothlórien, where Chapter Nine left Gandalf and Haldir on the bank after seeing the Renewed Fellowship off, and Gimli waving farewell to them from the plain of Egladil.  See that chapter for a memory-refreshing if you need to.  Otherwise, on to the tale…

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            Gandalf and Haldir waited upon the shore of the Silverlode until the three Elven-gray boats bearing the Renewed Fellowship veered round the River's bend and left their sight.  The former remained silent, but the latter murmured a soft prayer under his breath.  The mallorn trees waved in the breeze, rustling their limbs and singing a farewell melody known only to the Firstborn, who cherished them of old.  Scores of golden leaves floated from their moorings upon the branches, gliding down to alight on the River's currents, there to be borne to far-off lands whose peoples marveled at the tattered shreds of flaxen plants that swept their shores.  Nestled in the verdant grass, a scattering of small white blooms shyly peeped up at the somber observers, like children far too young to understand the gravity of their circumstances.  The great trees, however, swayed in the wind and tolled their ancient awareness of the magnitude of what they witnessed.

            "Laurië lantar lassi súrinen," Haldir sighed, listening to the song of the trees.  Like gold fall the leaves in the wind.  The breeze pulled at his fair locks, whispering in his soul, and like all of his kindred he hearkened to it as naturally as though it were a dear friend.  He turned his bright gaze to regard Gandalf, called Mithrandir in the Elven tongue.  The Istari's argent robes gleamed even brighter than did fiery Anor's cresting disc, and his sober gaze still trailed after the departed Company.  "Shall they succeed, Mithrandir?" Haldir asked softly.

            The wizard looked at the Elf, and there was no trace of his usual mirth in his eyes.  "They must," he replied simply.  "But to dwell upon that is not our task.  Their fortune has passed to other hands.  We must do what we may to aid them, and also to hold secure the remainder of Middle-earth."

            They turned and walked back the way they had come.  Mithrandir's robes whispered against the ground, and Haldir's feet made no sound at all.  They spoke in soft tones; it was the Elven way to disturb the peace of the forest as little as possible, particularly when uncertainty lay in the land.  The Istari knew well the customs of the Elves, for he had spent much time among them in his many years upon the shores of Middle-earth.  They conversed concerning many things both near and distant, as the two were equally fascinated by tidings of the smaller goings-on in the lives of the folk of Middle-earth. 

Mithrandir had traveled further and seen more than had Haldir, and so the wizard did much of the talking; though the Elf was content to relate the recent word of warning from Thranduil's forest kingdom.  It was said that the forces of Dol Guldur were marshalling for an attack, but none knew whether the assault would first strike Mirkwood or Lothlórien.  Therefore the Elves of both realms were preparing themselves to meet any such incursions of the Enemy's servants, doubling the watch at the borders and traveling more heavily armed than was customary.  Mithrandir was troubled by Haldir's words; above all else, he wished the last few Elven sanctuaries peace.  But he knew, as did the others among the Wise, that this was not what the dooms held for Celeborn, Thranduil, and their equals.  The Firstborn would be called upon once more to struggle against the Shadow that had beset them for so many ages past.

Then the time came when they parted ways, for Haldir was to rejoin his brothers at the Golden Wood's increased northern watch.  Mithrandir, however, would go on to Caras Galadhon, there to take his leave of the Lord and Lady, for he meant to depart as well the very next morning.  Of his intentions he would say very little, save that he was going to cultivate some new insurgence against the forces of the Dark Lord.  Haldir wondered at the Istari's slight allusions, but he refrained from inquiring further, for Mithrandir often moved in ways unseen, and it was generally best to let him do so unhindered.  If any persons were to know of the wizard's designs, they were most likely to be Celeborn and Galadriel.  And so Mithrandir Nimcollo and Haldir separated, bidding each other fair travels, and each continued his own way.

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            Gimli gazed about him at the multitude of Elves assembled on the plain of Egladil.  He had given them but passing glances upon first arriving in their midst, for he had been among those intently awaiting the passage of the boats conveying the Renewed Fellowship of the Ring.  And when his friends' gray vessels had come nigh, Gimli had lifted a hand in farewell, but had not spoken.  Neither had he given thought to any of the Fair Folk congregated on the plain, for his attention had been entirely leveled on the faces of his departing companions.  The hobbits, whose pale features reflected anxiety only thinly veiled.  There were also Aragorn, dignified as ever he was, and Boromir nearly as fine, each at the helm of one of the Elven crafts.  Alcarin of Rivendell guided the third, and behind him was placed Lelemir, whose long tresses caught the Sun's rays and made Gimli's breath catch in remembrance of Legolas.   

When that the Company had passed by, however, the Dwarf took more notice of those gathered with him.  They were possessed of hair both golden and dark, and arrayed mostly in robes of white and blue and silver; although there were a good number of brown-and-silver-clad warriors with bows slung over their shoulders and quivers of arrows strapped to their backs.  They spoke quietly with one another in their own language, paying little heed to the Dwarf, for many of them had grown accustomed to him, as he had been long in the Golden Wood and had also merited the praise of the Lady.  Some directed keen glances Gimli's way, but none were particularly unfriendly, merely interested.  Even Hithílion, the emphatically disapproving advisor to King Thranduil, schooled his expression and did nothing that would offend Gimli; although the Dwarf was well aware that Hithílion did not like him.  It was questionable whether that distaste was because of the long-standing enmity between their peoples, or because of Lelemir's decision having been spurred by Gimli's loyalty to her brother.  In either instance, Gimli was not at all perturbed by the Elf counselor's cool manner.

Galadriel and Celeborn stood alone at the Tongue of green grass that extended out into the gleaming Silverlode.  They were solemn and beautiful, two of the ancient kindred of Elves; and Gimli knew that he had never before seen any persons as fair and wondrous as the Lord and Lady of Lórien.  He had begun to feel somewhat coarse and incongruous, standing there among the finest of an intrinsically fair people.  He lifted his chin, however, and threw down those thoughts from the start; had not Legolas, who was just as fair in the Dwarf's mind as many he saw on the green plain, called him a good friend?  And had not the Lady herself smiled warmly on him and given him the three precious strands of her hair, which he kept coiled near to his heart within small protective sheaves of metal drawn from his own armaments? 

The Elves began to drift back into the forest, given silent leave to depart once the three boats had drifted past Egladil.  Gimli remained where he was, satisfied to look longer upon the austere splendor of the green plain, and the lofty golden trees that bordered it, and the glittering water cheerfully lapping the shores.  There too was the Lady of the Wood herself, and Gimli could never tire of standing in her radiant presence.  At length only he, Galadriel, Celeborn, and a few maids and warriors lingered in the clearing. 

Finally, the Lord and Lady turned from the River and walked to where Gimli stood quietly awaiting them.  Their faces were grave, but a clear light shone in their eyes.  "So you have held back this day for the sake of your friend Legolas, the son of the Elven-king of Mirkwood," Galadriel said softly, her bright gaze searching the Dwarf's face.  Once that look might have been disquieting, but now Gimli basked in it as one might in the tender warmth of the Sun.  The Lady continued, "You are welcome in the Golden Wood for as long as you remain here, Gimli.  All of my people know of you, and also of your purpose in lingering under the mallorns, and though they may be wary, most shall be courteous.  I have arranged for you to abide in one of the flets settled among the high limbs of the trees, for attack may be nigh, and I would not have you near to the ground.  There will soon be danger enough while you are awake, without worrying for your slumber."

Gimli bowed.  "Thank you, my Lord and Lady, for your kind leave and consideration.  If only I may recover my lost friend, then you shall have the full gratitude of my heart, if it is not already given.  But how now shall the evening resume?  The Sun already sinks in the sky, and it will begin to darken when we have returned to the bright City."

Celeborn's features reflected kind empathy.  "Peace, Elf-friend.  I see that you desire to prepare at once for the deliverance of Legolas, but I must advise you that some time will pass by before such action may be attempted.  Isengard's plain is a mighty stronghold of the Shadow, and there is uncertainty in my mind as to whether even the Galadhrim and Thranduil's people together yet retain strength enough to hope for victory against Saruman's forces.  Then too, there are increased reports of the Enemy's creatures massing at Dol Guldur, the dark tower in the southern portion of the Woodland Realm.  It may be that Lórien will suffer attack in the days to come, and then will the warriors be needed here to protect the Golden Wood.  But we shall see what can be contrived."

"Fear not that Legolas will be forgotten," Galadriel said gently.  "Thranduil's youngest is in my heart at all times, for I knew his father of old, and his father before him. Good kings all, though perhaps led somewhat astray by love of treasure.  Legolas Green-leaf is indeed the brightest star of their lineage, to my mind, for he is yet unconcerned with the jewels and silver that his father values so highly.  Nay, his heart runs and sings amid the trees of the forest; so like a child at times!  But the years have gladly sharpened his discernment, thus his ingenuous nature is well-tempered by wisdom."  The Lady's face grew sad and troubled.  "Ai, son of Glóin, all of Mirkwood and Lórien as well would deeply mourn the loss of one such as your friend.  There are so few of his ilk that yet linger in this land.  I would that a method of rescue could be arranged at this very moment, for Saruman's hand is certain to be unkind to any friend of those who stand in his path to dominance.  Yet we must suspend our fears at present, so that the matter may be regarded with minds free from anxious imaginations."

"You speak truly, Lord and Lady, as always," Gimli said then, at once distressed and comforted by their words.  "And if the Wood is assailed, be assured that my axe shall not remain idle.  What a shock the foul trespassers shall have when they see a Dwarf wielding his weapon in defense of an Elven woodland!"

"A surprise, certainly," Celeborn agreed.  "I think it shall be something of a revelation, too, for some of the Golden Wood's more discriminatory inhabitants.  But we need not discuss such individuals, for they are unlikely to show their faces to you, and you shall not be maligned by any who abide here."  The Elf-lord inclined his head briefly, and said, "I do thank you for your pledge to defend the Lady's realm; the Firstborn have truly lost excellent aid for the cooling of the friendship between our two peoples!  I daren't think of how those enemies who come upon the axe of a Dwarf may meet their end."

Gimli grinned then, a full smirk that twinkled from behind his thick beard.  "Swiftly and messily, I assure you, my Lord."

Then the Dwarf was surprised and pleased to see the Lord of Lórien return his smile with an equal measure of ire.  "That is encouraging, Friend Dwarf," Celeborn said, his silver-gray eyes flashing intensely at the contemplation of any enemy assailing the forest haven.  "Most encouraging.  Come now, we must meet Mithrandir in the City, for he wished to speak to the Lady and I ere he sets forth tomorrow morn."

Gimli turned to walk with Celeborn and Galadriel, who were in turn followed by the silent maids and warriors who comprised their convoy.  He was saddened by the news of Gandalf's imminent departure, for he had come to into a grand respect and fondness for the old wizard—who somehow did not seem as old as he had before his fall in Moria.  Gimli did not quite understand the remarkable change which had come over Gandalf, but he was duly impressed by the tale of his battle with the Balrog at the Bridge of Khazad-dûm.  Gimli was also markedly unsurprised that the wizard intended to leave, for he had come to see that Gandalf and his ilk were needed in many places, and especially with Shadow creeping into the lands of virtually all of the Free Peoples.     

In truth, the Dwarf had been more amazed at the severity with which Celeborn had responded to Gimli's remark about the prospective demise of the invading Orcs.  The Elf-lord seemed so austere and solemn, and far above such things as war and carnage.  Yet in Celeborn's look there had been something dangerous, a warrior's glare whose potency Gimli would hesitate to incur.  The Dwarf greatly desired to ask the Lord of Lórien wherefore he had come by such familiarity with battle, but he sensed that it was a somber memory for Celeborn, and so did not inquire further. 

Then was heard the soft murmur of Lady Galadriel, and she spoke as if in response to Gimli's unspoken questions.  "Many a peaceful ruler has been forced in the past to struggle in warfare for the preservation of what is good in the land," she said.

"And have you, great Lady?" Gimli asked tentatively, unable to imagine her as anything but the pristine Lady of Lórien, a being of surpassing beauty and ancient knowledge.  He could not fathom her as a warrior upon a bleak and blood-washed battlefield. 

Galadriel looked down at him then, and her gaze held the memory of dark times long past.  "Even I," she replied simply.

No more was said on the subject then, but Gimli's esteem for the sovereigns of Lothlórien had swelled greatly.  His own people were renowned not only as skilled craftsman and architects, but also as fierce fighters.  He felt a new and strange kinship with the Lord and Lady, for the look in their eyes had closely resembled that of many a Dwarf returning from grim battle. 

Gimli smiled gruffly to himself as he thought of how good it would feel to bash sizeable dents in the skulls of any Orcs who dared assault Galadriel's woodland.  Not that the forest itself was anything of particular interest to a Dwarf, of course; it was for the sake of she who dwelt there that he would knock holes in the enemy lines.  Also he would fight for his captive friend's sake, for Legolas had been taken by Orkish kin of some strain or another, and Gimli intended to take revenge on any of their kind that he could.  Really, the more he considered it, the more he hoped for just such an opportunity in the days to come.  If the hordes of Dol Guldur came, Gimli of the Dwarves would be waiting for them with sharpened axe and sharper spirit.

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            End of Chapter Thirteen. 

Name notes: Earlier in the chapter I referred to Gandalf as "Mithrandir Nimcollo," which is a name I came up with that literally means "Gray Wanderer of the White Mantle." 

            In other news, I'd like to send out a major big "thank you" to the administrative folk here at FF.net for taking the time to upgrade the software and whatnot…your diligence and determination in providing a quality fic site are greatly appreciated, and have not gone unnoticed.  Bless your hearts.  Also, thank you for working quickly to ensure that the site was offline only for the minimum amount of time necessary.  Three cheers for FF.net's Head Honchos!!! 

            Chapter Fourteen is in production.  Thanks for reading; please review!