Title: The Weeping Wraith, Chapter Seventeen

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 Languages of Middle-earth" by Ruth S. Noel, the LOTR movie soundtrack's lyric booklet, and the Ardalambion website.

Replies to reviews:

Irena: Hello, and welcome to "The Weeping Wraith!"  I'm glad you decided to start reading my little venture here; I hope you continue to enjoy it!  And hey, I am so happy to make the acquaintance of another rabid Treehugger fan!  As to your questions…well, we shall just have to wait and see whether Legolas can be salvaged.  His is just one sad tale among many that will be told before the end.  (evil snicker)  All shall be revealed in due time, I assure you.  In the meantime, keep reading, and thanks for the review!  :)

Treehugger: (excited squeal from Katharine) A big ol' honkin' review!  Yay!  Thank you, nin mellon, you made my day with that whopping post on the board!  First of all, let me give you a huge send-up for "In the Hall of the Woodland King"—it's an absolute scream!!  And the sequel is becoming an increasing health problem for me (what with all the asphyxiation and whatnot; you know what I'm talking about).  Also, the wine-for-Elrond enchilada is spicy indeed—I like!  :)  I'm glad you enjoyed my other small ventures during the interval between chapters of TWW.  I'm pleased to say that your patience is finally rewarded! 

alliwantisanelfforchristmas: Hi, and welcome!  I'm so pleased you're enjoying "The Weeping Wraith," and you're welcome about the missing "Legolas-on-the-bank-of-the-River" scene.  I sorely missed that in the movie, as well!  May I say that your pen name is sweet?  Your pen name is sweet!  Please, stick around and keep reading (and reviewing)!  There is much to come…heh heh heh…

Dangerously Cheezy: Ai Valar, nin mellon, but you are such a wonderful sounding board!  (moan)  But you're LEAVING me!!  Moving far, far away…ah well, email and IM are useful in such circumstances.  Nothing is the same as face-to-face insanity, though, as I'm sure you would agree.  I have your sibling to torment now…heh heh heh…

Elowyn Telcontar: Ah, m'dear, so glad you're around.  Unlike some people that we know…just messing.  Anyhoo, I'm pleased you're continuing to enjoy my little venture here.  Also, I like the publicity you're giving me among your little cohorts!  Again I say: you must get together and post something!

Raen: (squeal)  My dear friend, you return!  I was worried when several chapters went by without garnering a peep from my previously most faithful reviewer!  I understand about the whole life-knocking-ya-upside-the-head thing, though; that's what happened between the postings of chapters 16 and 17, much to my chagrin.  I'm glad you're back!  Also glad you enjoyed chapter 16…yeah, I'm rather jealous of Gimli, too, getting to hang out with the Elves and all that (pout).  Thanks for returning, and I hope you stick around!  There is much to write before I am finished…

Random note: My sincerest apologies for the extreme tardiness of this posting!  I went out of town for a week, and upon my return I was assailed by a horde of fierce plotbunnies which gave rise to a humor piece and the start of the Uncommon Tales series.  I've also gone back and fixed formatting on stuff, etc.

Now, finally, on with the tale…

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In beauty and progression, the daybreak was akin to every other.  Anor's dawning beams stained the horizon with a rosy glow, drawing aside the dark curtains of night and swiftly bathing the land in warm gold.  The little flowers peeked out from beneath their delicate bonnets to drink in what nourishing shafts of light they could; as did their massive elders, the flaxen-crowned mallorns, which spread their boughs and unfurled their leaves in eager response to the Sun's first brilliant rays.  The gray-backed deer rose from their slumber and stretched their nimble legs.  Countless evening birds tucked their heads beneath their wings for the day's rest, just as the day birds twittered their cheerful farewells to the evening.  The Elves who dwelt beneath Lothlórien's golden canopy blinked away their dreams and arose from their beds, glad for the morning's light.  According to the criteria of most of the Wood's denizens, it was quite a usual sunrise.

But there were some for whom the dawn was utterly singular.  The Guardians at the northern and eastern boundaries of Lórien kept their vigil in strangely tense silence.  Their numbers had been doubled, and so twofold were the eyes that beheld the steady breeze carrying the last wisps of smoke from the blackened mound beyond the Golden Wood's border—all that remained of the defeated force of the Enemy that had assailed the forest but four days past.  The shattered, stinking corpses of the Orcs had been hauled from beneath the mallorns and deposited in a large heap, whereafter they had been unceremoniously burned to ashes, together with their black banners, weapons, and armor.  Thus divested of the foul refuse of battle, the air of Lórien had begun to freshen once more.  Yet this was of little comfort to the bereaved family of the last slain Elven warrior, as they mournfully consigned their kin's departed soul to the quiet halls of Mandos.  Indeed, many a troubled whisper was heard among the branches; for though the victory of days past had been of great consequence, there was little doubt that the Enemy would strike again.

Such doom-laden musing, however, had no place in the discourse of three breakfasting friends.  Nimfëalórien and Líssulma had met with Gimli in their customary place, the former replete with curiosity as to the Dwarf's dealings with Lord Celeborn the previous night.  Líssulma, too, had learned of Gimli's meeting with the Elf-lord, and though her eyes sparkled questioningly, she did not at first press the Dwarf for answers.  Their keen vision noted the carefully scribed sheath at Gimli's belt almost before they had spoken their greetings, however, and neither could quite restrain themselves upon sighting the clearly new-wrought weapon.

"Ai Valar, Gimli, that is of Lórien make!" Nimfëalórien exclaimed.

            "It bears the insignia of Lord Celeborn himself," Líssulma murmured wonderingly.  She flicked her wide-set gaze up to meet Gimli's.  "Was it made specially for you, Gimli?"

            The Dwarf smiled at them, remembering his conversation with the Lord of Lórien.  "Yes, my lady, it was."  He unfastened the simple strap that bound the hatchet within its casing when it was not in use, then brought the weapon out and turned it so that the morning's gentle rays caressed the blade's glimmering edge.  The runes etched in the haft flickered and shone, as did the carven emblems of Durin's Folk upon the flat of the blade.  Nimfëalórien and Líssulma gave soft gasps of amazement at its beauty.

            Gimli saw the delight in their eyes, and he laughed deeply.  It occurred to him that he had not laughed so satisfyingly for quite some time; indeed, the last occasion had been in the company of Legolas.  "Lord Celeborn presented it to me yesterevening," he said. 

            "Did my Lord give cause for such a gift?  What did you speak of with him?" Nimfëalórien asked.

Gimli had expected his friends' curiosity, but he did not think it his place to reveal Celeborn's heart without his knowledge or consent.  "The Lord Celeborn wished to discuss a matter of importance with me," he answered.  "More than that I cannot say, for I would not betray a confidence."

At that, Nimfëalórien gave a sigh and sat down at the table, joining Líssulma.  "I would hardly ask you to do so, friend Dwarf, but my curiosity bodes to consume me."

"What is that, graven upon the blade's opposing side?" Líssulma asked as Gimli took his own seat across from the two Elves.

Gimli turned the hatchet so that the reverse face was exposed to the morning light.  "It is a silver tree, Líssulma," he said, and in his tone there was a hint of perplexity.  "Have you not seen its ilk before?"

            Both Nimfëalórien and Líssulma denied any such encounter.  The former looked on Gimli with renewed wonder in his gray gaze.  "Lord Celeborn holds you in high regard, friend Gimli," he said softly.  "That is a gift far outweighing any other to be given."

            "Well do I know it, Nimfëalórien," Gimli answered solemnly.  "And I hold your Lord in highest esteem, as well as his cherished Lady." 

            "When do you expect they will summon the council and convey their judgment to King Thranduil?" Líssulma asked.

            "Lord Celeborn told me yesterevening that the council was to be called today," Gimli replied.

            The lady's gentle visage saddened slightly.  "Then you shall take your leave of these woods soon?"

            "I believe so, my lady, although I do not relish the necessity of bidding you farewell," Gimli told her.  "Nor do I wish to abandon our friendship, Nimfëalórien.  But I must do as I have sworn to do, and that is to seek the deliverance of my friend Legolas, who yet suffers in the foul grasp of the traitor Saruman."

            "It is no abandonment, Gimli," Nimfëalórien responded, "but merely an interlude.  I would not keep you from your quest in your friend's hour of need."

            "Nor would I," Líssulma agreed.  "I ask only this, Master Gimli: that you make some effort to meet with us again ere you pass into the sleep of mortals."

            "Done, my lady, with certainty," Gimli assured her.  He placed his hatchet back into its sheath and secured its binding once more.  "Come now, we are speaking as though one of my feet is already beyond the Wood's boundary, and I am still sitting here with you!" 

            While he was speaking, a messenger clothed in gray and white approached with silent steps.  The slender Elf bowed to the three seated at the table, then spoke.  "My lords and lady, the council has been summoned to the Hall.  Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel request Master Gimli's presence without delay."

            "Thank you, Lintefanëar," Líssulma said, rising to her feet.  "By your leave, I shall escort Master Gimli to the Hall myself."

            "Of course, my lady," the Elven messenger said.  With a slight bow, he turned and departed as swiftly as he had come.

            "By the Great Hammer," Gimli muttered, shaking his head and standing from the table.  "I spoke much too quickly, it seems.  I did not expect they would call for me so early.  Perhaps one of my feet is nearer to your border than any should like to think."

            "Mayhap," Nimfëalórien said.  He rose from the table.  "I would like very much to accompany you both to the Hall, but my sisters asked me to aid them in the fletching of arrows today, and I would prefer to do so now, while the day is yet young.  Perhaps you will dine with my family tonight, Gimli?  And Líssulma as well?"  

            "I would be honored," Gimli replied.  Líssulma echoed the sentiment, and Gimli chose to overlook the slight pink tinge that rose in Nimfëalórien's cheeks when the lady smiled at him.     

            "You and I shall breakfast when the council is disbanded, it seems," Líssulma told Gimli. "But come, the day is aging, and the Lord and Lady await our arrival."

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            The Hall of Lórien was filled with a low murmuring, as was the norm, for there were many in the assemblage of Elven councilors gathered there.  Tall, lean folk they were, with bright eyes and grave speech.  Most granted nods of acknowledgement to Gimli as he entered the chamber.  Líssulma guided Gimli to his place at Lady Galadriel's left.  Then, with a smile and a touch at Gimli's shoulder, she departed, bowing to the Lord and Lady as she went.

            Celeborn and Galadriel were seated at the center of the softly-lit chamber, as was their custom.  The Lady's greeting nod was as serene and welcoming as it had always been, but in Celeborn's gaze there was a warmth that had but newly emerged.  Gimli bowed to them in return, glad to have once more been placed so near to the sovereigns of Lothlórien, for he was afforded a clear view of the proceedings, and also of the Lady's fair countenance.    

Thranduil of Mirkwood stood before the chairs of Celeborn and Galadriel, slightly to the right of the Lord of Lórien.  The Elvenking appeared much as he had some days before, tall and straight, but with raiment of deepest scarlet and green.  His cloak was flung back over his shoulders, and his sword gleamed at his side.  He had been speaking in low tones with Hithílion, but when the two noticed that Gimli had arrived, they ceased their dialogue, and the King's advisor stepped back to join the councilors of Lórien.  Hithílion pointedly ignored Gimli, a practice which was beginning to grate on the Dwarf—discourtesy was endurable, but the Elven counselor's refusal to acknowledge Gimli's very existence was quite insulting.  Thranduil, however, looked the Dwarf straight in the eyes and gave him a solemn nod of salutation.  As he had done for the Lord and Lady, Gimli responded with a bow.

            "Let us begin," Celeborn said, and though his voice was not loud, it cut through the low hum of conversation, and silence fell in the chamber.  When all eyes had turned to the Elf-lord, he continued, "Thranduil Oropherion, the Lady and I have thought long on your query, and Galadriel has consulted her Mirror for further guidance.  Hence, we have settled upon the counsel that we deem best.  Do you yet wish to know our thinking on this?"

            "Yes, my Lord, I do," Thranduil replied with certainty. 

            Celeborn nodded once, his countenance at once grave and reflective.  "Very well.  Many years have I known you, son of Oropher; thus, I caution you to hear me well, for my words are sincere.  The blood of your father flows thick in your veins, and with it courses strength surpassing that of many a lord that yet dwells upon these shores.  You favor forthright confrontation over trickery and deceit, and your valor in warfare is known to nearly all assembled here."  The Lord of the Wood's silvered gaze pierced through the cool air in the chamber as he spoke, fixing inexorably upon Thranduil's startled visage.  Celeborn continued, "These traits serve you well, Thranduil, for I daresay that it is because of your fortitude that the Woodland Realm has flourished thus far."

            "Such attributes are to be lauded," Galadriel added solemnly, "but many a good aspect may be turned amiss.  Take care that your pride does not lead you astray!  For the path you will walk veers in many directions, and if even once you are swayed by arrogance, ruin will consume you and those who may follow in your steps."

            Gimli watched Thranduil's expression closely.  The Elvenking's features had rippled with great surprise at Celeborn's unexpected praise, but he grew sober once more as Galadriel spoke.  "What, then, is your counsel, Lord and Lady of Lothlórien?" he asked.

            "Gather those warriors in your company and depart at once for Nan Curunír, the Wizard's Vale," Celeborn answered, irrefutably calm.  "Therein lies the Ring of Isengard, and at its heart stands Orthanc, the stronghold of Saruman."  The Elf-lord's bright eyes narrowed perceptively.  "I have said that you prefer direct altercation with your foes, Thranduil.  If Legolas truly languishes within the tower at Isengard, as has been supposed, then do you not wish to give open challenge to the traitor that holds him captive?"

            Cold fury lanced through the Elvenking's grim expression, and Gimli wondered if Celeborn's words had been devised specifically to incite such an effect   "I confess, Lord Celeborn, you have named that prospect for which I yearn," Thranduil replied steadily.  Belying his calm tone, however, suppressed anger simmered in his gaze.  "Great though Saruman once was, he has become but a single talon upon the black hand of the Dark One; and I, for my part, should very much like to defy the traitor's designs to his very face."  The Elven lord's expression furrowed then, and he cast a somewhat perplexed glance at the sovereigns of Lórien, adding, "Yet though such a stroke would greatly satisfy me, I do not believe it would bring freedom for my Legolas."  

            "I deem you judge rightly in that matter," Galadriel said approvingly, "but Celeborn has said only that such a prospect may be set before you, and not that it is prudent or certain."  She sighed, and continued, "Nevertheless, my heart warns of an impending juncture, one that may weigh heavily in the war to come.  Upon the road to Isengard lies your course, son of Oropher; but I caution you, heed my warnings well!"

            The Elvenking peered at the Lord and Lady from beneath drawn brows, and in his gaze there was a wealth of confusion.  "Even now I heed them, Lady," he replied, "and as I remember, we agreed that to approach Isengard with so little force of arms would be rash and ill-advised.  I have but one hundred forty in my company," and he glanced at Gimli, "plus one more gained in this very Wood; and though they are valiant and skilled, they are hardly an army, and certainly cannot hope to overpower the hordes of Isengard.  I will not needlessly imperil the lives of my warriors for the sake of trading fruitless wordplay with Saruman."

            "That is well, for we would not have you do so," the Lady said gravely.  "Nor do we intend that you ride to your destruction against the foe.  Saruman has long sown the seeds of his own defeat, and those seeds are being brought to fruition.  The light of the Mirror has shown forces of old at work in the deep and hidden places of the earth, and they do not take kindly to betrayal.  I assure you, Thranduil, the end of Curunír's dominion draws nigh."  Galadriel's clear voice rang out, as though to send her words soaring to Saruman's very ears:  "Isengard will fall."

            No one spoke for a time.  Gimli felt a thrill of awe at the Lady's assertion.  He could hardly imagine what force could be rousing with such might as to overthrow the bastion of a wizard; moreover, one who wielded as much raw power as did Gandalf the White.  Thranduil did not speak, but a ruthless smile tugged at his lips as he envisioned the downfall of the traitor who had dared to keep a prince of Mirkwood captive.  Gimli found he shared the Elvenking's vengeful delight, and when he glanced at Hithílion he was mildly pleased to see the advisor's face lit with a similar dark satisfaction.

            Celeborn broke the silence, his voice smooth and flowing through the tension.  "We bear you no ill bidding, son of Oropher.  The path will be clear in due time.  We can only advise your way so far, and no further; yet what we have said, we hold to."

            Thranduil paused, his smile fading, and another heavy silence reigned in the chamber.  At length the Elf-lord nodded, slowly and deliberately, and his countenance at last conveyed acceptance.  "Then, as you say, I shall depart for Isengard on the morrow, ere the Sun climbs the sky," he stated decisively.  He flicked his gaze up to meet Celeborn's, a trace of a shrewd smile returning to his fair face.  "And we shall see what direct altercations I may rouse in the Wizard's Vale."

            The Lord of Lórien did not smile, but his approval was evident.  "Quite a number, I imagine," he replied.  "I shall arrange for word of your departure to be sent to Taurëmíredil and Míthgilhiri.  Your eldest children must now prepare to contend with the forces of Dol Guldur, for the Enemy will surely concentrate much of his effort upon the Greenwood."

            Thranduil's expression darkened, and he cast a grim glance at Hithílion.  "Taurëmíredil is trustworthy in this," the Elvenking said.  "I have trained him in the ways of both war and peace.  He will hold."

            "Too, he has the support of his sister," Galadriel remarked.  "They are of a kind, your two eldest.  A formidable defense against assault."

            "Indeed," Thranduil said.  He drew himself up, his golden locks glinting in the soft light.  "If there is nothing more, my Lord and Lady, I must see to the arrangements for our parting tomorrow morn."

            Galadriel held up a slender finger in a staying gesture.  "I have but one further word of caution, and then we shall adjourn.  Though haste is in your favor, you must not pass through the forest of Fangorn.  A great wrath is stirring there, and to disturb it would be most unwise."

            If Thranduil was as mystified by the Lady's words as was Gimli, the Elvenking did not show it.  He merely raised one eyebrow and solemnly nodded, and the Lord and Lady of Lórien stood to dismiss the Council.  Gimli planted the hilt of his axe on the flooring and rested his hands upon the top rims of its sharpened head.  He felt a strange relief, for the following morning would bring the initiation of the task to which he had set himself.  By his reckoning, three weeks had passed since Legolas' fall on the bank of the River, and he was razor-keen to begin taking action on his friend's behalf.  Yet Gimli's mind returned to the faint melancholy in Líssulma's gaze as she had spoken of his imminent departure, and his elation was dimmed as he realized that he would share his final meal with his two friends in the coming evening.  He had come to value them dearly for their kindness and goodwill toward him.

Of a sudden, Thranduil appeared before Gimli.  The Elvenking gazed down at the Dwarf impassively, a distant light in his gray gaze, and without prelude he asked, "Do you yet hold to your pledge of service, Master Gimli?"

            Gimli stood and gave a small bow, stifling his immediate pique and keeping his voice utterly composed.  "A Dwarf does not break his vow, my lord Thranduil," he replied.  "I have given my word to lend whatever aid I may in the rescue of Legolas, and to that I hold."

            There was a flash in the Elf-lord's flinty eyes, but it was quelled too swiftly for Gimli to discern its meaning.  "Indeed," Thranduil said evenly.  "You are to join my company this eve, then, for we will depart ere the dawn breaks.  Come to my encampment when the Sun descends to the horizon, for there are many things we must discuss before the morrow."

"Certainly, my lord," Gimli answered.  He would have to make certain the dinner at Nimfëalórien's home did not cause him to be late; the constraint of time rankled on the Dwarf, but he saw little to be done about it.  

Thranduil gave a curt nod, then turned away in a swirl of green cloak and left the Dwarf standing in the swiftly emptying hall.  Hithílion followed his king, affording Gimli little more than a disdainful glance as he passed.  The councilors of Lórien were quickly filing out, and the hum of their conversation lingered long in the air.  Gimli, however, was unhurried in his steps, as his mind was preoccupied with contemplations of the days to come.  He had sensed a chill reception beneath Thranduil's civil greeting and speech; and Hithílion had disliked the Dwarf from their first meeting.  The coming journey to Isengard seemed less appealing with every frosty glance Gimli received from the Elves of Mirkwood.  He sighed, again wondering how Legolas had come to be of such agreeable temperament.

So deep in his musings was he that Gimli looked up in startlement when his name was spoken.  Galadriel stood nearby, with Celeborn at her side.  Their gazes were keenly perceptive, yet remarkably gentle.  When the Lady saw that she had garnered the Dwarf's attention, she continued in a soft tone, "You are troubled by thoughts of the path that leads from this Wood, Master Gimli."     

            Gimli saw no purpose in denying that which she was plainly aware of.  "Yes, my Lady, you speak the truth," he said.  "I go with a glad heart, for the burden of grief grows heavier with each day that Legolas yet remains within Saruman's foul grasp.  But with my departure comes another sundering of friends; and though this parting is not so bitter as that which befell my dear friend and I on the bank of the River, it is still sour to the heart."

            "Such is the nature of pursuits akin to yours," Celeborn remarked solemnly.  "In the course of any journey, friends are made and unmade; and still others are lost, but are perhaps recovered in time."

            "Cherish the friendships that have blossomed during your time here, Gimli, for even the memories of such bonds hold power," Galadriel counseled.  "Treasure also the wisdom you have gained, for temperance will be a valuable asset in your dealings with the king of Mirkwood."

            Gimli gave a short, dour laugh.  "Yes, my Lady, I have concluded as much.  You are both possessed of great forbearance, indeed; I had not imagined that any were capable of such impudence when speaking to you."  Gimli well remembered Thranduil's repressed belligerence during his dialogue with the sovereigns of Lórien some days past, and the Dwarf took less kindly to the memory each time he recalled it.

            Celeborn sighed, but his expression remained lenient.  "Few are so bold, Glóin's son, in that you deem rightly.  But Thranduil springs from a lineage of prideful, willful Elves.  The Lady and I knew his father, Oropher of Lindon.  Never has there been a more intractable Elf, excepting perhaps his son; for Oropher instilled every trace of his own tenacity into Thranduil, and more besides, for he foresaw that his son would come into a station of great authority."

            "Is not great restraint necessary when one commands such authority?" Gimli asked, no less riled at the Elvenking's disrespect toward the Lady.

            "Restraint and courtesy are two separate affairs to Thranduil's mind," Galadriel said softly.  "He dislikes and distrusts your folk, and his manner bespeaks as such.  Yet know this, Gimli: Lord Celeborn was not speaking idly when he commended the king of Mirkwood.  A fell shadow has descended upon that realm in the past ages, and only one with resolve forged of iron could have withstood it.  Thranduil and his family hold much sway over the forest in which they reign; lacking their influence, the Woodland Realm would have been plunged into Shadow long ago."

            Gimli nodded his understanding.  "One question yet plagues me, my Lord and Lady.  I have seen that King Thranduil is of a fairly severe bearing.  Why then is Legolas not so inflexible?—for I have seen no traces of his father's temperament within my friend's manner."

            "Legolas is young in the sight of the Elves, and he is not yet weary of the world and its ills," Celeborn told him gravely.  The Elf-lord's expression softened as he continued, "Too, Legolas and his sister Lelemir bear much of their mother's appearance and temperament.  Mirkwood's queen was customarily as mild as her husband was stern, though she was a fierce adversary when need arose."

            "That is more akin to Legolas' manner," Gimli observed with a smile of fond recollection.  His humor faded, however, as he absorbed the full inflections in the Lord of Lórien's words.  "But you speak as though his mother is no longer at her king's side."

            Galadriel's smile was laden with sorrow.  "She is not, for she was slain in an ambush set by Orcs soon following Legolas' birth.  She was Astalaewen, oft hailed as Luiniglin the Blue-eyed; Queen of the Woodland Realm and beloved wife of Thranduil."  The Lady of Lórien leveled a piercing gaze upon Gimli.  "Far beneath his abrasive manner, Gimli, Thranduil's heart bleeds for his son.  Do not judge him too harshly.  He is headstrong and quick to temper at times, and perhaps too fond of riches, but he is also a wise ruler and affectionate father."  Galadriel's gaze eased then, and she granted the Dwarf a gentle smile.  "You may indeed clash on many matters, Lock-bearer, but you and Thranduil are bound in your common desire to rescue Legolas.  Mirkwood's king distrusts your folk, it is true; yet many a suspicion may be laid to rest by kindness, as you have demonstrated in the course of days past."

            Celeborn's silver eyes twinkled at that statement.  "Indeed, dear wife, indeed," he murmured.  He glanced at the arched doorway, then back at Gimli.  "I believe your friend and guide awaits your company, Master Gimli.  The Lady and I shall see you off tomorrow morn.  Go and make your farewells ere the Sun descends."

            Gimli bowed deeply, grateful for their patience and encouragement.  "I thank you, my Lord and Lady, for your immeasurable kindnesses.  Truly, I shall never forget them."

            "Nor shall we fail to remember your faithfulness, Gimli son of Glóin," Celeborn replied.  The sovereigns of Lórien then inclined their heads in gracious dismissal.  Gimli bowed slightly, then turned and exited the Hall.

            As Lord Celeborn had said, Líssulma stood just beyond the arch of the entrance.  Her silver tresses flowed over her shoulders and framed her smiling face.  Her raiment was of pale blue, with deeper blues and indigo at the sleeves and neckline.  The Sun's rays trickled through the mallorn boughs above, growing in intensity as the fiery disc ascended along its path in the sky, and the golden beams played across Líssulma's silver hair like delicate fingers over a harp.  Gimli noted, not for the first time, that Líssulma was indeed a lovely maiden; he smiled to remember his conversation with Nimfëalórien concerning the lady, and hoped that some good might come of the young Elf's interest in the Lady of the Wood's handmaiden.

            "You are a welcome sight, Líssulma," Gimli told her in greeting. 

            "As are you, Master Gimli.  I had begun to think that the Lord and Lady were going to keep you for the remainder of the day," Líssulma jested.  Her smile, however, was considerably dimmer as she asked, "Tell me, Gimli, when will you depart these woods?"

            The Dwarf met her wide-set gaze, and his own smile faded behind his beard.  "Tomorrow morn, lady, before the Sun rises in the east."

            Líssulma nodded slowly, her countenance shadowed.  "Then we have but a little time left in which to exchange what words we will.  Perhaps we ought to go to Nimfëalórien without tarrying."

            "That is my thinking, Líssulma, for I am to join King Thranduil's company this evening when the Sun touches the horizon," Gimli said.

            "Lady Tinlórewen will not expect us for dinner until then," Líssulma remarked soberly.  "Come, we will take our own breakfast, and afterward we shall go to Nimfëalórien's home and convey these tidings." 

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            Nimfëalórien was not at his home when Gimli and Líssulma arrived.  Auburn-haired Lady Tinlórewen greeted them with surprised delight, however, and quickly ushered them in.  "I had not expected guests until this evening," she said, directing the two to sit in delicately carved chairs placed in what Gimli supposed was the family's gathering room.  It was not a large space, but in the fashion of the Elves it was luminous and well-designed.  Gimli realized that Nimfëalórien's home was of a build similar to a large flet, except that the dwelling was divided into separate rooms by light but opaque wooden latticework.  The same woven barrier also enclosed most of the tree-bound abode, excepting an open balcony that wrapped all the way around the home.  The lattice was interlaced with the same incandescent vines as were to be found in Gimli's own borrowed flet, lighting each room with a soft golden glow. 

            "Nimfëalórien has taken his sisters to fletch arrows and practice their skills," Tinlórewen told her visitors, giving to each a glass of sweet red juice wrung from a fruit common to the Wood.  She then sat down opposite them, folding her long frame into the chair with the practiced grace of one accustomed to such motions.  "I, however, am glad of your company.  Lómeldarion has gone to assist in the building of a home for a couple but recently joined in marriage."

            Líssulma's smile matched Tinlórewen's in its brilliance.  "Ah, then Elfarothion and Analossë have decided to make their dwelling in the City?"

            "Yes," the lady of the house replied, delight humming in her tone, "though Elfarothion has spoken of taking his wife to live in Lindon after some years have passed."

            "Lindon?" Líssulma returned, surprised.  "Does his family have relations dwelling in that land?"

            Gimli comprehended little of the ensuing exchange, for the two women spoke of persons and places that he knew not.  They continued to converse, politely speaking Westron so as not to completely exclude their male companion; however, the Dwarf grasped fairly quickly that he was quite out of his element.  He imagined that Nimfëalórien would make some sort of dry remark about ensnarements were he present—but, to Gimli's mild misfortune, his friend was nowhere to be seen.  Gimli struggled to think of an excuse to leave the ladies to their discussion, but he could find none that would not seem inexcusably rude.

            "Mother, Líssulma, do you not see how Master Gimli wilts beneath the air of gossip in this room?" came a laughing voice from the doorway.  Nimfëalórien strode in with a merry grin, followed by a pair of Elven girls clutching bows and quivers.

            Gimli harrumphed with mock indignation as he stood.  "Dwarves do not wilt, Master Elf."

            Tinlórewen gave a bright laugh and rose to embrace her children.  Líssulma, however, cast a dismayed glance at Gimli, saying, "Oh, Gimli, I did not intend to neglect you so!  I did not realize…"

            The Dwarf held up a mollifying hand.  "Think nothing of it, dear lady."

            "Every man must be exposed to at least one serving of womanly conversation," Tinlórewen announced.  "It teaches them to let the ladies alone when they are occupied with such affairs."

            Nimfëalórien leaned down next to Gimli, muttering, "Did we not speak of maidenly ensnarement, Gimli?  Their conversations, I believe, are the true perils to be met with."

            The remark garnered a hearty laugh from the Dwarf and imperious glares from the ladies, including the two young girls, who imitated their mother's withering frown as best they could.  Much of their mirth, however, was drained when Gimli soberly explained his reason for arriving so early.  Tinlórewen insisted that he share the afternoon meal with them, since King Thranduil's instruction had effectively supplanted Gimli's intention to join his friends for the evening.  Therefore, Gimli passed much of the afternoon in their company, enjoying the light meal and the lighter dialogue.  Not once did the conversation turn to the Dwarf's impending departure, for all wished to stave off melancholic thoughts until their proper time. 

            Lord Lómeldarion returned as the Sun's leaf-filtered beams began to take on a faint reddish hue.  The Elf-lord was surprised to find his guests already present, but he was not displeased.  He had begun to regard Gimli with respect, if not favor, and was appropriately solemn upon hearing of the Dwarf's imminent leaving.  He joined the conversation with aplomb, asking Gimli to recount what had happened at the council earlier in the day; for though Nimfëalórien's father did not favor the strange folk of Mirkwood, he was interested to know what had been decided regarding the fate of that realm's captive prince. 

            At length, Gimli noted the fading sunbeams from without, and knew the day was waning swiftly.  his heart sank more with each passing minute; they were the last that he would spend in the company of the friends he had garnered for a very long time, he knew.  Finally, Líssulma turned to the Dwarf and spoke, quietly and somberly.  "We must soon depart for the king of Mirkwood's company, Master Gimli, lest you should be late in arriving."

            Gimli conceded with no small amount of melancholy.  He managed, however, to smile at the lord and lady of the house as they gave their farewells.  Lómeldarion's valediction was brief, and at once grave and melodious: "Nai man Vardo alata cala tenn'tie le pella."  Later, Nimfëalórien explained to Gimli that the words had been a blessing: May blessed Varda's radiance shine upon the path before you.  Lady Tinlórewen again thanked the Dwarf for her son's life, and promised that Gimli would always be welcome in their home for so long as they remained within the bounds of mortal shores.  Nimfëalórien's sisters were quiet but sincere in their farewells, and the taller of the two went so far as to touch the Gimli's shoulder and address him as mellonog—Friend Dwarf.

            At last, Nimfëalórien and Líssulma escorted their friend from the home and began to lead him to the camp of Mirkwood's host.  The mallorns whispered and rustled above, for a cool breeze had awakened with the evening's approach.  Rose-tinged shafts of light played over the silver boughs.  The Dwarf and his Elven escorts walked in silence for some time, listening to the leaves murmuring and the melodies floating on the air about them.  Something painful closed round Gimli's heart as he heard the songs.  He would truly miss those strange harmonies, for they were a vital component of Lothlórien's otherworldly beauty—a splendor that, to be sure, Gimli valued highly.  Though he was a Dwarf, more suited to environs of earth and stone, Gimli had come to treasure the serenity to be found in Lady Galadriel's forest haven.  They delayed briefly at the flet lent to the Dwarf by the Lord and Lady of the Wood, and Gimli gathered what few possessions he had left there.  When that was done, the three continued their journey, for the Sun was sinking all too swiftly, and Gimli would soon be expected at Thranduil's campsite.

            "I shall miss you terribly, friend Dwarf," Nimfëalórien said abruptly.  "I implore you, remember your promise to Líssulma, and say that you will see us again in your lifetime!"

            "I have given my word on that, Nimfëalórien, and I shall do so again if it pleases you," Gimli replied.  "I have not the words to thank you both for your friendship and support during my stay in the Wood."

            "We need not words," Líssulma said, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

            And they said no more until they descended to the forest floor and came within sight of Mirkwood's camp.  There they halted and exchanged their final farewells; they would not have opportunity to speak again, though the two Elves promised to watch Gimli depart with the host of Thranduil. 

            Líssulma bent and laid a light kiss on Gimli's cheek.  Her face was awash with tears, but her smile shone brightly in the fading daylight.  "Fare you well, Master Gimli," she said softly.  "I have no gift save my promise that I shall think of you often in your absence, and I shall look ever forward to our next meeting."

            "That is gift enough, I assure you, Lady Líssulma," Gimli told her, clasping one of her slender hands between his sturdy palms.  "As your folk say, a star shines on the hours of our meeting—and so do the Sun and Moon, say I."

            Líssulma laughed.  "I believe so as well, Gimli."

            Nimfëalórien was far more subdued, and in his gray gaze there was no small amount of woe.  "I fear life may seem tedious without your company, Gimli," he said.  "I, too, have only words and wishes to offer as gifts, but I hope they are as well received.  May your path remain ever clear, and your axe as sharp as your wit, as you set forth to bring freedom to a friend lost.  I shall remember you and dream of caverns, friend Dwarf, until we meet again."  The young Elf's voice lost much of its solemnity then, and he quirked a grin.  "And, Gimli my friend, do endeavor to become ensnared."

            Gimli grinned behind his beard and looked pointedly at Líssulma, then back at Nimfëalórien.  "You, I believe, are in more danger of such, Crazy Elf," he remarked.  "One day we shall go to the Glittering Caves of Helm's Deep, you and I and Legolas, and we shall see together whether they are worthy of their description."

            "I am most impatient for that time," Nimfëalórien said softly, his voice again serious.  "Farewell, friend Dwarf."

            "We shall see you on the morrow," Líssulma added.

            Gimli bowed to them, planting his axe's haft on the ground and placing one hand over his heart in the formal Dwarven tradition.  "Until we meet again, my friends," he said.  "I shall look for you tomorrow morn."

            With those words, and a final smile of farewell, Gimli turned and walked toward the camp of Mirkwood's host.  He put aside all melancholic thoughts for the moment; there would be time enough later to think on such things.  The time had come for him to settle among his new allies…              

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End of Chapter Seventeen.  Again, I apologize for the late posting; in addition to the circumstances I mentioned at the beginning of the chapter, I ran into an unexpected wall while writing the first portion of this installment.  Thankfully, inspiration struck, and voila!  Also, I know I promised this was the last chapter before our tale returns to the scene at Eastfold, but since this is technically a two-part chapter (see the title)…oh, I know, I cheated.  I'm cheeky like that.  There was just too much information to stuff into one installment!!  Next chapter: Gimli meets the Mirkwood gang… 

Name notes:

1) Lintefanëar (Elf of Lórien, messenger of the Lord and Lady) = this name is a Quenya derivative that means "swift sea-cloud."

2) Astalaewen Luiniglin (Elf of Mirkwood, wife of Thranduil and Queen of Mirkwood; killed by Orcs in an ambush) = the first of these names is a Sindarin derivative that means "valiant little bird."  The second, also Sindarin, is more of a nickname that means "blue-eyed gleam;" she was so called because of her striking blue-grey eyes.

3) Elfarothion (Elf of Lórien) = this name is a Sindarin derivative that means "star-hunter's son."

4) Analossë (lady Elf of Lórien, wife of Elfarothion) = this name is a Quenya derivative that means "snow's gift" or "gift-snow."  She may have been named for Taniquetil in Aman.