Title: The Weeping Wraith, Chapter Twenty
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: Though this story has digressed to an absurd degree from the original Trilogy, it is still operating under the rules and within the environs set down by Master Tolkien, the genius who masterminded the whole enchilada. Bottom line: it ain't mine. All props to the Great Man.
Further notes: My Elvish resources are: the LOTR trilogy, "The Silmarillion," "The Complete Guide to Middle-earth" by Robert Foster, "The Languages of Tolkien's Middle-earth" by Ruth S. Noel, the Fellowship of the Ring movie soundtrack's lyric booklet, the Two Towers movie soundtrack's lyric booklet, and the Ardalambion website.
Replies to reviews: Holy COW, you people sure do read and review quickly! Many of the replies were up only a few days after I posted the chapter! ^_^ A million bazillion thankees to every single reader, whether you reviewed or not; you are all fantastic! (By the way, this chapter's reviews broke last chapter's record—THANK YOU REVIEWERS!!!)
Miss Cam: Why, Madame Cam, what a pleasure it is to see you here! I'm delighted to hear that you're enjoying my little venture! Of course, OFUM remains the supreme fanfiction authority on canonical justice and accuracy...heh heh heh… ^_~ Me? Knock Hugo in a dress? Never! Actually, I rather suspect that Lord Elrond wears a Rocky Horror Picture Show Tim Curry outfit under his stately robes. Elves in Black, indeed. ^_^ Mmm, black leather…
Drow: Hello and welcome! Thanks for the compliments, and about Gimli and the birds…you are correct! I adore The Hobbit, of course, and you are totally right about the Dwarves and the ravens. Gimli's reactions in Chapter Nineteen, though, were more in response to the Elves talking to everything—birds, horses, trees, etc. I think any Dwarf would find that habit a mite peculiar, eh?
TreeHugger: Ah, nin melaglar! A speedy and lengthy review, as always! *Huge grin* Never fails to make me smile! Hey, the yelling thing was figurative, y'know…but it's all good, since you did incriminate yourself right after the yelling. ^_~ Oh yes, Gimli can certainly charm his way into certain Elvish graces…but as you will see in chapters to come, some of the OCs have very distinct and not-so-happy reasons for being nice to our fave Dwarf. Yep, Thranduil is tasty. Right with ya on that one. Hmm, about the TTT "homage"…see the Further other notes under all of the replies. As for Frodo…*wicked cackle* I say nada. ^_~ Thankee, thankee, and please forgive my lack of reviews on your fabulous yuletide piece—it was beautiful and touching (poor Brethil…bad Tree, bad Tree!), and I'll review it, I promise, with lots of gushing!! *I am suddenly made aware that I have no room to holler—lookit what I do to all my poor OCs!*
Enigma Jade: Hey there! I hope the muse-gods hear your prayers; I can't write a blessed thing without the dear muses! O_O Yeah, I like that line, too. Thanks for the compliments about the banter—it seems to be pretty well-received so far! ^_^
HaloGatomon: Yo, thankee muchly for all of the comments; I'm so pleased you're enjoying! And kawaii…hm, I think I'm going to add that to my list of Great Words™, which includes such wonderful words as snerk (courtesy Miss Cam), dodecahedropolar (courtesy LadyJea and myself), and trabajabamos (which means "we would have worked" in Spanish). ^_^ Er, uh… *cringes under Miss Cam's warning stare* …Hugo is lovely. Even if he is wearing Tammy Faye Bakker makeup and a Chiquita Banana chick outfit. *shudders*
Daphne: Hello again! So glad to have picked up another faithful reader/reviewer! And your four-word review for Chapter Fourteen is priceless: "Go Gimli, go Gimli…" Bweheheh! Oh, and The Adventures of Priscilla: Queen of the Desert is a fabulous Australian film starring Hugo Weaving, Terrence Stamp, and Guy Pearce as drag queens traipsing about in the Australian outback. It's a scream. ^_^
Badger Lord: CONGRATULATIONS, you just won the kudos and a Keebler cookie!!! I'll have them FedExed immediately! ^_~ Yes, Ramíril is a plain, ordinary barn owl, as you so aptly guessed. And yep, the animals are just animals, no talking or any of that junk. Thanks for the review, and I'm glad you like!
Niphrandl: You've been checking daily?? Holy potato, talk about pressure… ^_~ I'm pleased and honored to have been able to inject a little joy into your day. I wish I could do more… I hope this chapter finds you hale and whole, and untroubled by the sorrows you spoke of in your review.
Taylor: Hey, and welcome to TWW's cult! *cheery laugh* I was tickled pink to read your description of the hours wearing on as you read this li'l tale—what a hoot! Thanks for reading and enjoying so thoroughly! Ah, your complaint regarding the fate of Legolas and your agonized worry is a common one, I assure you… but unfortunately, I am at liberty to say very little on the subject, for fear of spilling too many beans before their time. Don't worry, though, everyone is going to get spotlight in due time, and all plot threads will be resolved. Just wait till I get to Rohan…ha HA! ^_^
JastaElf: *falls on the floor laughing at the Star Trek reference* Ha, you are so right about that!! The red shirt always died before the first commercial break, for cryin' out loud! Thankfully, Haldir survived a little longer; he was such a Hershey kiss—even came with a foil wrapper! ^_^ Thanks for all the praise; truly, it cheers me right up! And, as I said to Taylor, Legolas will get his time in the spotlight, but as to when he will reappear…hmm…look for that in Chapter Twenty-One. *evil grin* JK being ground out, don't worry… as is DLCS, although understandably at a slower rate (must get everything just so for that one, y'know?). Oh, and as I said to TH, my extreme apologies for the lack of reviewing on your yuletide piece; it, too, is gorgeous, and I wept to read it…shall review soon, cross my heart and hope Thranduil comes knocking on my door with flowers sometime! ^_^ (Oh wait, he already did… and now I have to come up with the Joke That Does Not Exist™. Darn.)
Lady Raine: Welcome to my little corner of the site, Madame! *sigh* Yeah, poor Thranduil gets such a bad rap from people. It's disgusting. A personal pet peeve of mine, as many of those who deal with me know well. I have made it my personal mission to give our favorite Elvenking as good a showing as is humanly possible—see Tales of the Jade King for more Thranduil-goodness á la Katharine and TreeHugger (another Thranduil-fan who is collaborating with me on that story). Also, for other Thranduil-yummies, check out almost everyone on my fave lists; JastaElf's "Leaf and Branch" and "Dark Leaf," nearly all of TreeHugger's work, Soledad's "Little Bird," and Nilmandra's "May the Valar Protect Them" are just a few stories that come to mind. Thanks for all of the accolades; they are well and truly appreciated! About Sam…you're the first person to really ask about him and the affect the Ring will have on him! Congratulations for picking up on a crucial plot point! ^_^ About Legolas and Frodo, my lips are mostly sealed. Will the ending be happy? Depends on how you look at it… *evil cryptic snicker*
AmaterasuKami: *boggles* One of the best on the site? Whoa…that's an enormous compliment, and not one to take lightly… *panics* Hope this chapter lives up to that! ^_~ Oh, and thanks for the no-rush thing—muchly appreciated, I assure you.
Seaweed: Hadh'orë-Findakáno was actually Fingon's idea! I was originally going to have Galadriel name Gimli Hadh'orë-Findaráto—"the Dwarf of Finrod's heart," in reference to Finrod's sacrificing his life to save Beren's—but Fingon came up and tapped me on the shoulder, pointing out that he did something perfectly heroic, too! I was only too happy to oblige, seeing as how, yes, Maedhros did lose his hand when he was rescued, and I figured that anyone who loses an appendage like that deserves a mention, eh? ^_^ Thanks for the compliments, as always…and bzzzt, nope, sorry, Ramíril is not an eagle owl, she's a barn owl. ^_~ But here's a kudo anyway, just for reviewing! *Kate wonders if "kudo" is the singular form of "kudos"*
eressëhína: Welcome, welcome, glad you're enjoying! One question…how do you translate your pen name? I only ask because, as you might have noticed, I am fascinated by language usage and name translation! I tried translating it myself, and came up with er, meaning "alone" in Sindarin, essë, meaning "name" in Quenya, and hína, which is pretty close to híni, meaning "children" in Quenya. What is your figurative translation, if I might ask? Anyhoo, thanks for all the praises…heh, 1:30 AM is pretty late, but my normal bedtime is, oh, 4 AM or so. ^_~ And wow! O_O My diction almost rivals Master Tolkien's? *stunned silence* Thanks!!
Salak: Ah, there you are! ^_^ Aye, I be back, and sorry about the wait! Glad to see you're still with me on this!
ZonyBone: Another newbie! Woohoo! Welcome to TWW! Ah, the universal line-up of questions and requests… Hm, well, most of the answers are still top-secret, but to go in order: Lasselanta is scheduled for a cameo next chapter; Gimli and Legolas may or may not meet, can't say just yet; Legolas may or may not be saved from his fate, that's still up in the air; and Frodo's in for a heck of a time, that's all I'll say. *wicked cackle* Oh, I'm so asking for flames here… ^_^ Thanks for reading and reviewing!
FalconWind: I like your new nick! And… CONGRATULATIONS to you as well, you just won more of the kudos and Keebler cookies!!! Yep, Ramíril is a barn owl, as you and Badger Lord guessed! ^_^
White Wolf: Hi, and welcome to my li'l cult following! *snicker* Thanks for all of the compliments; they warmed my icy little heart right up! ^_~ I'm glad you'll be around till the end—it's a looooong way off, so bring some trail mix! ^_^
Hiro-tyre: Hey hey! *boggles at the imagery* Whoa…icky. O_o *skitters off to write more, lest Hiro-tyre sends the Army of the Dead after me* Yeeek! An excellent presentation of threats and impending curses, though—written like a true Tolkien geek! ^_~ Welcome to the club!
Laura M: Welcome back! Hong Kong, my bad. ^_~ Heh, I ain't sayin' nothin' about poor Frodo, but I can tell you that he has a cameo in the next chapter. ^_^ Although it may not be a very happy one. Anyhoo, I'm glad you enjoyed your holiday, and that you actually did get to sight-see, despite my machinations here! And your comment about loving TWW's Gimli more than any other version almost made me cry. I'm so incredibly honored! Thank you, thank you, thank you!
Kekio: Hello there, and welcome to my corner of the site! Ah, Gimli is cool, yes, and I love writing for him. I wasn't actually a fan of his until I started writing for him, but now, of course, he holds a special place in my shriveled little heart. Aye, some Dwarves talk to ravens, true…but Gimli's reaction is more due to the Elves' strange habit of talking to everything—trees, bugs, birds, etc.—than to just Ramíril. And thanks for the compliment about my writing for Thranduil; I do so love him! ^_^
LadyJea: *squeal* You're back!! But so far away! *_* No fair… anyhoo, glad to see ya! Ah, I'm usually way too lazy to sign in, too. *shrug* All the chocolate and steak must be getting to me. ^_~ *gathers up kudos* Oooh… kudos… *suddenly wonders what the heck a "kudo" really is* Yep, you know most of it, so SHHHH!!! ^_^ Or I shall send Thundril after you, grasshoppa!
Raen: Hey! Thanks for all the compliments; Gimli has become a fave of mine, since I've been writing so much recently for him. But…I, too, am glad to be getting back to everyone else; there's only so much Dwarf-Elf banter one can write before it gets old! O_o Heh, and here's a handful of kudos for you, you cheeky thing; yes, Ramíril is a female owl. ^_~
Cheysuli: Hi, and welcome! *thinks* Have you been here before…? Can't remember. *blushes* Anyway, thanks for dropping the note! In answer to your semi-query: a Marty-Stan hallmark is any sign of a Marty-Stan in a story. A Marty-Stan is the male version of a Mary-Sue. A Mary-Sue is the equivalent of a demon. ^_~ Hope you liked the "old friend"!
Crystal Cat: Welcome, welcome, especially to one who was unsure! I totally understand; the plotline is a little out of the ordinary. I'm tickled pink to hear that you're enjoying it so much, though! *big grin* And oh, yes, things are going to really heat up in a few chapters…can anyone say "Helm's Deep á la Katharine"? I, too, am a character torturer, evil thing that I am, but as to the final fate of our dear Bishy (great word, there!), well, I shan't say anything at this point. Gimli, ah, dear Dwarf! Isn't he great? Too great to get so little screen time! *pouts* Thanks for all the praise! Note: yep, the Elf at HD in the movie was Haldir, march warden or whatever of Lórien. He wasn't even supposed to be there, much less die there. You're right, it totally sucked that he died…but, you have to admit, he was mighty tasty while he lasted! ^_^
Irena: Heh. How indeed? ^_^ Thanks for your reviews; they mean a lot to me, especially because I hold you in such high esteem. *begs on hands and knees for more Femme Legolas*
Salsify: *grin* Welcome to my corner! *snickers* I'll bet the keyboard left an interesting indentation in your nose, eh? Thanks for the compliments regarding Celeborn and Gimli. I have made it my mission in this fic to give the ignored characters a heap of attention, mostly because I can. And… ding ding ding! CONGRATULATIONS for being the third person to correctly guess that Ramíril is a barn owl! *hands over more kudos and Keebler cookies* Woo!
Mage Legacy: Hello, and as I've said a lot this reply session, welcome to TWW! I am a big fan of light-dark imagery, and I try to employ it to the max degree, especially when dealing with Lasselanta, who, though evil and dark now, is clad in bright robes. And *sigh* I'm so glad Anarokko acted realistically…I don't have any horses, never have, so I was pretty much guessing. O_o Thanks, and I hope you continue to enjoy!
Jez: *big huge grin* HI!!! Haven't heard from you in a while! How's life? Yeah, your sis keeps telling me about the problems with the compy. *sigh* Sucks to be you, hon. ^_~ Glad to see you, though. Tell your parents I said hi! (and post something, darn it!) ^_^
Further other notes: TreeHugger raised an interesting question concerning the impact the LOTR movies are having on this tale, and I felt compelled to reply in a separate segment. The Notes sections for every chapter since the beginning have stated that The Weeping Wraith has elements of the books and the movies within, although I suppose I should clarify what I mean by that. TWW is set primarily in bookverse, mainly because the wealth of information and background to be had in the books far surpasses that of the movieverse, but also because TWW is an A/U of Master Tolkien's original work—not Peter Jackson's reinterpretation/reorganization of that work. Granted, PJ has done a magnificent job thus far—despite the changes and oddities, he has remained true to the books' spirit for the most part, and the movies are wonderful on their own merit—but TWW is, as I said, an A/U of Master Tolkien's tale; thus, I refer mostly to his work.
Where do the movie elements come in? They are sprinkled throughout the tale, but mostly have to do with visual references. When I think of Gimli, I think of the superb portrayal by John Rhys-Davies; I hear his voice speaking the dialogue, see his facial expressions, and observe his range of movement. Similarly, my mental images of most of the other principal canon characters will fit those given in the movies. However, they take their cues from their counterparts in the books, and characteristics given in the books are overlaid onto their movie selves.
There is also a fair amount of "Kateverse," so to speak. Things that are not heavily described by Master Tolkien and are not touched on in the movies are filled in with whatever makes logical sense to me. Examples of Kateverse include things such as the notion that Rivendell has an eastern Guardianship, of which Alcarin is the head—that's mine, my own, and has no real basis in the literature. Legolas' family members, except Thranduil and Oropher, are entirely my creations. The "cold trance" a Nazgûl victim falls into before attaining wraith-hood and Celeborn's tithen celebyrn are two other samples of Kateverse.
Of course, there are points where the lines between movieverse, bookverse, and Kateverse become rather blurred; for instance, when I describe Caras Galadhon, the scenery is a combination of the movie's representation, Master Tolkien's vision as presented in the books, and my own imagination. Lord Celeborn himself is also a blending of the three 'verses—he looks mostly like he did in the movie, only more fair and ethereal; he speaks like he did in the books (I hope); and as I said before, his little silver trees and the peace he made with Gimli are mine mine MINE! ^_^
Now, to add even more confusion to the muddle, I'm also prone to borrow concepts and/or tidbits from other LOTR fanfiction universes, as subtle mini-homages to authors whose works I admire. Examples? I've called Thranduil aran brannon a few times; that's a tip of the hat to JastaElf, with whom the phrase originated (as far as I know, anyway). I've mentioned young Legolas' fascination with spiders and squirrels—a reference to TreeHugger's stories. Gimli's character has been heavily influenced by such authors as Thundera Tiger, Ithilien, and yes, Camilla Sandman (Lina and Gimli are just fabulous, Miss Cam!). But… I have never and shall never outright "borrow" another author's workmanship without his/her permission. Period. Okey-doke? ^_~
Whew! That was quite a long schpiel, eh? I hope it made some sense. Bottom line: TWW is mainly bookverse, with scatterings of other universes and references just for spice. ^_^
Now, on with the tale…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gimli stifled a yawn and trudged onward, shaking his head to ward off the cobwebs of weariness being woven about his mind. Anor had bid her customary vivid farewell to the land some time past, leaving in her wake the deep ebon curtain of nightfall. The stars flowered icily in the darkness, and Ithil's widening arc shone with a chill luster. And still the Elves of Mirkwood marched, tireless, the moonlight blenching their pale skin to an eerie pallor. White glittered at the edges of their spearheads; dark hair was washed to deep blue, and bright Elven eyes glistened silver.
To the left, Forngíliath was singing softly, and his tune was low and sweet. Melereg was quiet, breaking his peace only with an occasional hummed note. The owl Ramíril had come to her Elven companion at sunset, as Melereg had said she would, and had thenceforth flown in search of prey. Gimli shook his head again at the Elves and their strange ways; surely if the Dwarves had taken time to trade words with every stone and lichen in the deeps of the earth, the great halls of Erebor and Khazad-dûm would never have been completed.
A commanding call from up ahead rippled the air over Gimli's head, and he nearly ran into the Elf in front of him as the company came to an abrupt halt. Shifting back to stand between his compatriots once more, Gimli nudged Forngíliath. "What is happening?" he asked under his breath.
"We have stopped," the Elf answered blandly.
Gimli elbowed his companion in bemused annoyance. "I can see that, Elf," he muttered. "Why have we stopped?"
"Asking Forngíliath for a sincere answer is futile, Master Dwarf," Melereg said with an exasperated glance at his fellow warrior. "We halt because the aranhîr has chosen this place to camp for the night."
Gimli was glad for the darkness; he was certain that his expression reflected a goodly amount of his relief. Dwarves were by nature a hardy people, able to endure much trial and hardship with stout resilience; however, even a Dwarf was glad for rest at the end of a day's labor. The Elves around him were breaking ranks and going about the business of constructing a camp. Gimli was surprised, however, to see that instead of pitching the tents, most of the warriors were merely unburdening the horses and laying the folded tents to rest in a stack.
When he questioned Forngíliath on the matter, the Elf quirked one dark brow and glanced up at the sky. "We are a people of the stars, Gimli," he said. "In our dark forest, it would be folly to sleep without shelter; too, in the deeps of Lórien we could not put our rooted fears from us. But here, in the wide open field, we shall rest in the full light of Elbereth's glory. If you wish it, Master Dwarf, we shall fix a tent for you, however strange it may seem to us."
"Nay, nay, good Forngíliath," Gimli answered. "I was merely curious. Many nights have I slept without a roof; the night's stars are not unfamiliar to me."
A spark of fire glinted nearby, and another, and Forngíliath's gray eyes caught the red flames for an instant. "This will be the last night for fires, I think," he remarked. "Tomorrow we enter the green Wold of the land of Rohan, and it would not do to be accosted by a company of the Men of that land. They are strong and fierce, it is said, and their nobility is laced with suspicion. We will go silent and unseen in that land, if it is possible."
Gimli nodded his agreement and watched the Elves around him for a few moments. Many of their number were sitting or lying on the long grasses, gazing up at the stars, speaking or singing with quiet voices. Some few were breaking lembas bread together and tipping their water skins to their lips. The few campfires hosted gatherings of twenty or thirty warriors each, and these shared food and laughter amongst themselves in the flickering light. Gimli saw only one tent raised; before its entrance stood sentries, and the banner of the Woodland Realm was planted in the earth nearby. "The king is not so eager to take his rest in the open, it seems," he remarked.
"'Tis customary for the leader of a company to pitch his tent," Forngíliath answered. "It provides a center and heart for the rest of the camp. But the aranhîr will likely spend most of the night outside, for he too finds great solace and beauty in the stars." The Elf looked down at Gimli. "Come, Master Dwarf," he said, a smile flitting across his fair features. "I believe the others are set to begin."
Gimli accompanied Forngíliath to a campfire cheerily crackling nearby. Gathered round it was an assemblage of many dark-haired warriors with gleaming eyes and bright smiles. The Elves had arranged themselves in a loose circle around the fire, and their ranks parted to allow Forngíliath and his Dwarven companion to join them. The chatter quieted for a moment as the company noted Gimli's presence. Gimli, for his part, met the raised brows and questioning murmurs with assertive nods of greeting.
Forngíliath spoke some words in his own tongue to the group, inspiring renewed smiles and a few chuckles from his fellow Elves, then turned back to Gimli with a lopsided smile. "I asked them whether they learned their manners from a pack of Orcs," he explained. "Staring is considered quite rude, you know." One of the others among the warriors called to Forngíliath, and the Elf's grin broadened in response. "They wish to know your name, Master Dwarf. A proper introduction is in order, I think."
Gimli shook his head—Elves were such strange creatures!—and stepped out a short ways from the others. Planting the hilt of his axe on the grass and bowing shortly, he said, "I am Gimli son of Glóin, from the Lonely Mountain north of your forest."
Forngíliath translated the words. "They are satisfied with that," he informed Gimli. "Come and sit with me now. Duilin is going to tell a tale, and I shall interpret it for you." He gave the Dwarf a mischievous grin. "Also, you owe my fellows and I a tale this evening, so do not be surprised when you are called forth to speak."
"Fret not, Forngíliath, I have already chosen such a tale," Gimli muttered, smiling into his beard in anticipation. He lowered himself to sit on the long grasses and placed his axe across his lap.
All around the circle, the warriors were settling themselves down; some passed around lembas and water, while others were content to merely listen. A lone warrior with dark braids and slender hands stood near the fire, and when quiet had fallen over the company, he began to speak.
"That is Dín Duilin, one of those whom you met on the battlefield of Lórien the day you saved your young friend's life," Forngíliath murmured. "His swift feet took your message to Mirion."
Gimli did not remember the Elf's face, but then, most Elves looked the same to his untrained eye. "What is he saying?" he asked in a low tone.
"He says he was out hunting with his younger brother, Sîrethir, and two friends of theirs, some weeks past," Forngíliath explained. "Listen, this is the tale:
"One night, the others and I told Sîrethir all manner of eerie tales, some concerning the Lord Tauron of Valinor." Forngíliath broke off his interpreting and clarified lowly, "Lord Tauron is a Vala of the West, Gimli, who loves the forest and the hunt. He used to range across Middle-earth atop his great steed Nahar, seeking and destroying the Dark Lord's creatures." The Elf then returned to the tale: "—and when we had finished, Sîrethir's eyes were as large and round as the Moon's full disc, and he asked whether Lord Tauron still frequented the forests of Middle-earth. I told him, 'Yes, of course he does! We might even hear his horn one night! If we do, make sure not to look up, for to see the Great Rider is death—he will carry you off and feed you to the creatures he hunts.'" The Elves broke into raucous laughter, including Forngíliath, who nearly doubled over with his mirth.
Gimli was somewhat confused. "What is funny about such a fate, Forngíliath?" he asked.
"Ah, Gimli, Lord Tauron would do no such thing," Forngíliath answered with a smile. "Duilin and his companions said these things only to frighten Sîrethir."
So enlightened, Gimli gave a snort of amusement. "I see," he said.
Duilin began speaking again, and so did Forngíliath. "Of course, Sîrethir did not know otherwise, and he was quite concerned. 'Do you really think we will hear his horn?' he asked, and we told him that we likely would, as it was Lord Tauron's favorite hunting season. I laid to my rest smiling at Sîrethir's reaction, and thought no more of it.
"The following night, Eithelion came to me with a plan. He said that he and Orithil would steal away from the camp near dawn and blow a horn as loudly as they could, and that I should then warn Sîrethir to bury his face in the ground so as not to give even the appearance of attempting to steal a glance at the Great Rider. Naturally, I agreed, and the plan was set.
"I rested only lightly that evening, so I was aware when Eithelion and Orithil rose from the ground and slipped into the forest. I waited, and when the horn sounded, I leaped up and cried out to Sîrethir, 'Wake, little brother, wake! The Lord Tauron is upon us!' Sîrethir woke just as the horn gave a mighty blast, and I thought for a moment that he was going to collapse with fright. Now, I was tempted to halt the ruse out of pity, but then I recalled the stag that Sîrethir had frightened away ere I could bring an arrow to bear upon it. I said to him, 'Quickly, bury your face in the dirt so he does not think you are looking for him!' And of course, he did so, even piling dirt atop his head and packing it around his face to completely obscure his vision.
"Sîrethir did not look up until he heard myself and the others laughing. I shall never forget watching my little brother trying to get the dirt out of his hair, cursing Eithelion and Orithil and I in not less than three separate tongues. He has since learned Lord Tauron's true nature from our grandsire, but to this day, Sîrethir jumps at the sounding of a horn."
The ending of the tale was met by a renewed peal of laughter from the assemblage. Gimli laughed as heartily as did the Elves around him; he was surprised, in fact, to receive a friendly slap on the shoulder from the unfamiliar warrior to his right. Dín Duilin, meanwhile, grinned and bowed to his listeners, then settled down amongst his fellows.
"Are all of your folk full of such mischief, Forngíliath?" Gimli asked, chuckling into his beard.
"Many of us, yes," the Elf replied with an impish grin. "Did Prince Legolas never relate tales of his own youth? His various exploits have become legends in the Greenwood."
The Dwarf gave a low harrumph. "No, he never spoke much of himself. His speech was reserved mostly for his father and kinfolk—and for the maligning of his Dwarven companion, of course."
Forngíliath gave a light laugh. "Of course," he agreed. He glanced at the fire, noting the Elf making his way towards it, and said, "Ah, Cúthalion is set to speak now. Listen, this is his tale…"
Thus Gimli was treated to an evening of tales both daring and humorous, ranging from the recounting of especially dangerous battles and hunts, to more light-hearted stories of merriment and mischief. With each additional speaker, Gimli privately reaffirmed his opinion that Legolas' kinfolk were far more similar to the Dwarves of Erebor than either party would have been pleased to realize. Gimli himself greatly enjoyed joining his fellow Dwarves for a mug of ale after the day's work was done, and they would sit up into the morning hours trading outrageous tales and jests, much as the Elves apparently did. One day, he decided, he was going to take Legolas and some of his fellow Elves to a Dwarven feast, where they would experience the joy of Dwarven ale—and the raucous cheer that accompanied such strong drink. Gimli chuckled to think of his Elven friends' reactions to such unrestrained liveliness. A snatch of a comment that Legolas had proffered on one occasion floated in the Dwarf's ears, prompting a somewhat muted bout of laughter. "'Tis the days of toil beneath the earth, where no Sun or stars can reach their eyes, that have driven the Dwarves mad, good Gimli. Else how can one explain their strange habit of supporting large amounts of shrubbery upon their faces?" Indeed, Legolas would think the Dwarves mad indeed if he could see them at their merrymaking!
A cheerful voice to the left shook Gimli from his musings. "'Tis your turn to speak, Master Dwarf," Forngíliath said, wiping tears of mirth from his glinting eyes. "Come, we are most eager to hear a tale of our prince's travels in your company!"
Gimli harrumphed into his beard, but stood and made his way to the center. Forngíliath came to stand beside him, for he would serve as translator. "Good evening, good Elves of Mirkwood," Gimli began with a slight bow. The fluidic interpretation rolled easily from Forngíliath's tongue, so swiftly that Gimli did not even have to pause in his own speech for the Elf to keep pace. "I am told that you desire to hear of your prince's journeys away from his home," the Dwarf continued, leaning on his axe and looking about at the expectant firelit faces. "I have thought long on this, for there are many tales to be told. However, I have chosen one that I think is specially appropriate for such an assemblage, and all the more so because of the hour.
"When the Fellowship first set forth from Rivendell, Legolas and I kept our distance from one another, for we held little trust between us, and still less liking. I walked behind Gandalf and Aragorn, who led the company, while Legolas and his keen eyes served as rearguard. The days were cold and sharp; out of the east came the mountains' icy gust with little respite, and though we had been well-appointed by Elrond and his household, the wind drove through our clothing and chilled us all to the bone—save your prince, who alone remained untroubled. We walked through the nights and slept in the daytime, in order to avoid the prying eyes of the Enemy's spies.
"I recall that Legolas insisted on keeping the watch through the first several days, saying, 'You must all rest and regain the strength that the cold has leeched from you, while I have no need of lengthy respite.'
"Aragorn was not pleased by this arrangement, but he was made to see the reason in it, and so Legolas was the sentry for three or four successive days. I admit, I was glad for the time in which to rest and thaw my bones, but still I held no more love for your prince than he did for me, and we did not speak save to trade trivial slights.
"It was on the fourth day, as I recall, that Gandalf insisted Legolas allow another to take the watch. 'For,' said he, 'even the Elves must take some rest, and I see the weariness in your walk, son of Thranduil.'"
Gimli chuckled with amusement at the remembrance. "I must say, Legolas was none too pleased by the wizard's observation, but he relented after some deliberation. Aragorn took half the watch that day, and Boromir of Gondor took the second half. Legolas settled down with the rest of the Fellowship in the dell that we had chosen for the day's camp.
"I was rather ill at ease with the Elf so near, though we took pains to remain at opposing ends of the hollow. Gandalf smoked his pipe and sat in silence, while Boromir and the hobbits ate a cold meal and laid themselves down on the grass to sleep. I tried to rest, but Legolas' stare was upon me from the outset, and I could not shake my disquiet. I had had little experience with Elven stares before then, and so I attributed my unease to Legolas' closeness. After an hour of enduring the Elf's look, however, I grew weary of it and decided to ask him why in the name of Barazinbar he stared so.
"I rose from my place and marched across the dell until I stood before him. He was sitting up with his back against a stone, yet staring, but he did not move at my approach. 'Master Elf,' I said to him, 'surely there are other things in the world that you could stare at thusly! Why do you level your eyes upon me, as though I were an enemy to be watched closely?'
"The Elf made no reply, and I thought him to be ignoring my question. I tapped his foot with the hilt of my axe, and it was then that he exploded into movement, moving so quickly I could scarcely see aught but a whirl of green and gold. His hand strayed to his knives, but then he seemed to see me, and he glared as fiercely as a hunting eagle. 'You would do well to exercise more care in the future, Master Dwarf,' he said, 'else you may lose your beard to my knife before I can halt its sweep.'
"Of course, I was yet affronted because of what I perceived to be his discourtesy, and I answered him, 'If you wish me to keep my distance from you, Master Elf, then perhaps you will not stare at me so when we are forced to share a campsite. It is most irritating, and I will thank you to keep your eyes to yourself.'
"He looked at me then as though I had gone mad. 'Master Dwarf, I do not know of what you speak,' he told me. 'I would hardly stare at you; I do not even like the knowledge of you, much less the look of you.'"
Gimli shook his head and laughed to himself again, caught up in the tale. "I am certain we would have traded blows in due course, had we continued with our speech in such fashion. But Gandalf intervened, saying, 'Master Dwarf, our Elf friend was not staring at you; he was merely sleeping in Elf-fashion—with his eyes open as though he were awake, but his mind far away in dreams.'
"I had never heard of such a thing before, and I was loath to believe it, but Gandalf had spent much time among your folk, and I trusted him far more than I trusted Legolas. Therefore, I went back to my place and wrapped myself in my cloak, and tried to sleep. The Elf had turned his sleeping gaze away from me, for which I was glad, but that was not the last time we clashed over the matter…"
The Dwarf continued to speak, his voice rumbling in the night air, the gravelly timbre overlaid by the smooth speech of Forngíliath as the Elf translated the words. The assembled warriors listened with rapt attention, smiling at times, breaking into laughter at others, as Gimli related his various altercations with their king's youngest son. Forngíliath himself had to pause once or twice, so choked was he by mirth. Gimli smiled as well, feeling far more welcome among his friend's kith than he had felt even beneath the Lady's golden boughs. The fire snapped and sizzled merrily, and gave off its cheerful yellow light, while the white stars bloomed in their dark vault above, and for a time, the host of Thranduil was given respite from thoughts of war and bloodshed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Forngíliath roused Gimli early the next morn; but upon seeing the Dwarf's weariness, the Elf said, "Ah, Gimli, I was quite thoughtless, was I not, to keep you awake so late into yesterevening? I failed to recall that mortals have need of more sleep than do the Elves. My apologies for your weariness today!"
Gimli waved one hand dismissively. "Nay, good Forngíliath, I chose to keep awake last night, and I do not regret doing so. Truly, the time spent with your cheerful folk was well worth a night's slumber."
The camp was swiftly dismantled, and ere the Sun broke the hills the company was moving once more. When the sky began to lighten with dawn's approach, Ramíril the owl returned to Melereg's arm for her morning appointment. Gimli shook his head bemusedly as the Elf once again conversed with the creature, then loosed her to seek her rest for the day.
The host crossed over the trickling Limlight just as the Daystar's disc crested the horizon in a blaze of golden glory. Gimli was glad that the stream's chill water did not flow deeply enough to spill into his boots and soak his feet, for such would have greatly added to his discomfort during the day's march. They passed close enough to Fangorn forest's dark, twisted fringes that Gimli could see the tops of the tortured trees over his Elven companions' heads.
"We pass near to an entirely unwholesome wood, it seems to me," Gimli remarked quietly. "Forngíliath, Melereg, do you see aught that speaks of life in that place?"
"'Tis the outermost border of Fangorn," Melereg murmured, gazing at the tangled trees as they passed. "I hear a low murmuring, as though the wood slumbers deeply and has only wakened briefly to survey us."
"It is said that life flourishes deep within the forest, Gimli," Forngíliath said. "Fangorn's lore is filled with trees that speak and sing to each other. Many of the old songs tell of Yavanna's plea to Manwë on behalf of the trees, and that she thenceforth placed guardian spirits in the hearts of some of the trees that now live hidden within Fangorn's shadows. They say that those spirits can cause the trees they inhabit to move about, tending the saplings and keeping the wild trees in check."
Gimli harrumphed. "Walking trees. I might have known," he muttered.
Forngíliath chuckled. "I do not jest, Gimli," he said with a smile. "The old songs and tales tell of such things, and I cannot say whether they are fanciful or no. Yet there are many strange and wonderful things in the wide world, and I do not suppose that either of us has seen them all, or ever will!"
The dark forest remained at the host's right flank for the entire day's march. Gimli ignored the uneasiness that shivered up his spine whenever the wind moaned in Fangorn's shadowed crown. He found himself wishing the Elves around him would sing, even if the tune was soft and delivered in short snatches. Gimli remembered Legolas' skillful singing in the chill watches of the night. The Elf's voice had driven away doubt and fear, if only for a short while, and Gimli had come to appreciate that gift. Yet the Elves were silent save for occasional murmurs, and the Dwarf recalled Forngíliath's remarks of the day before: "Tomorrow we enter the green Wold of the land of Rohan, and it would not do to be accosted by a company of the Men of that land… we will go silent and unseen in that land, if it is possible."
As evening swept nearer, the world began to waver around Gimli, and his weariness became more difficult for him to ignore. He found himself blinking back to awareness at odd intervals, unable to recall the past few minutes of walking. On one such occasion, he was shaken to reality by Forngíliath's light touch on his shoulder. "Ai, good Gimli," the Elf said softly. "You are very weary, and I am truly sorry. You must rest properly tonight."
Gimli mustered up a snort for the Elf's benefit. "Am I no more than a mere babe in your eyes, Forngíliath? Aye, I am fairly weary, but I have coped with far worse in the past. As I said to you this morning, I do not regret the loss of sleep in favor of your company."
Forngíliath gave his Dwarven companion a cheeky smirk. "Very well, Master Dwarf… but that does little to alter the truth of your previous statement. You are indeed a babe in our eyes."
Gimli glared up at Forngíliath. "Hold your tongue, Elf, or you will make the acquaintance of this babe's preferred plaything." For emphasis, he moved his axe to the shoulder closest to the impertinent Elf.
Melereg's exasperated sigh floated over from the right. "Have you no better use for your tongue, Forngíliath, than to mock and jest?"
"Perhaps," the other Elf answered puckishly. "But I reserve my sweeter speech for maidens, rather than expending it on warriors…and owls."
Gimli stifled his laughter, managing to hold himself to a single choked cough of mirth. Melereg glared blackly at Forngíliath, but said only, "No maiden with a properly functioning sense of reason could find you amusing for more than a few minutes, Forngíliath."
"Ah, then all of the maidens in our fair forest are utterly without reason," Forngíliath replied loftily, a smile tugging at his lips.
Melereg frowned. "You boast far too much," he said. "Master Gimli, you would do well not to accept a single word of conceit from our brash companion's lips as truth—at the least, not until it has been verified by another."
Gimli chuckled lowly. "I had gathered as much already, Melereg, but I thank you for your counsel."
"Ai, it seems you have fallen prey to the crow's gloomy croaking, Gimli," Forngíliath sighed, clucking his tongue.
"I am no croaking crow, young one," Melereg answered with an arched brow. "I am merely far more sensible than is your wont."
"Am I to understand that you are little more than a babe yourself, Forngíliath?" Gimli asked, smirking into his beard.
The Elf sniffed dismissively. "Hardly, Master Dwarf," he returned. "I carry fewer years than Melereg, truthfully, but I am not so young as he would have you believe."
"How many years do you bear, then?" Gimli asked, his curiosity suddenly sparked; he realized that though he knew most Elves to be some centuries his elders, he did not truly know the span of Elven lifetimes. Legolas had spoken of the deathless nature of his people, but the Dwarf had not completely absorbed the meaning of those words.
Forngíliath grinned. "I have marked nearly sixteen centuries since my birth," he said matter-of-factly.
Gimli blinked in surprise. "And you, Melereg?" he queried, looking up at the Elf on his right.
Melereg stared pointedly at Forngíliath. "Twenty-one centuries have I seen, Master Dwarf." He then sighed softly, and his tone grew faint, as though he were lost in thought. "Yet in the sight of the Elves, the years are as drops in the ocean; they pass fleetingly, and little heed is paid to their leaving."
"That is a notion beyond my reckoning," Gimli remarked, shaking his head. "We who are mortal count each day—nay, each hour—as it passes, and as the years lengthen we lament their passing ever more. Legolas and I spoke long on this very matter, and try as we might, we could not come to a resolution, save perhaps this: time is a gift, whether it be lasting by birth or shortened by fate, and should not be wasted."
Both of his Elven companions looked at him in surprise, and after a moment of silence, Melereg spoke, his voice brimming with wonder. "You speak as one of the wise, Gimli of Erebor. Are you certain you are indeed a Dwarf?"
Gimli smiled behind his beard. "Quite certain, Melereg. I suppose I have been too long in the company of long-winded Elves."
"Mayhap, Master Dwarf," Forngíliath answered, his gray eyes shimmering with cheer. "Perhaps we ought to leave you beneath Fangorn's dreary boughs, that you might recover from our influence upon you."
"Nay, good Forngíliath, for then I should indeed go mad, and spend my days nattering at the trees and birds that happened upon me," Gimli said soberly. "And those who passed me would surely say: 'Lo! but what ill fate has fallen upon that Elf, that he dresses himself after the manner of the Dwarves?'"
Their discourse continued in like manner, low and peppered with smothered chuckles, as the company marched beneath the waning daylight. Gimli focused on keeping his feet moving, one in front of the other, in a steady rhythm that kept him in stride with the warriors around him. His exhaustion was mounting with each moment that he spent on his feet, but he mustered a dutifully droll reply for every glib remark Forngíliath made. He was more appreciative than ever of his hours spent in Legolas' company; that time had prepared him well for his friend's kin and their swift tongues.
Just as Anor's flaming orb touched the western horizon, a deep voice cracked the air over the warriors' heads. As had happened when last the company had halted, Gimli stopped himself just short of colliding with the Elf ahead of him. He gave a soft, annoyed grunt and stepped back slightly to bring himself into line with Melereg and Forngíliath. "Surely we are not stopping for the night so soon," he murmured, almost to himself.
"Nay," Melereg replied, equally softly. He peered over the heads of his compatriots, narrowing his eyes at something ahead and to the right of the host. "Someone joins the aranhîr at the head of the company."
"One dressed in white," Forngíliath added under his breath.
"In white?" Gimli thought quickly. "Only two come to my mind who dress in such raiment—Saruman, the traitor we go to confront on Legolas' behalf, and Gandalf, who has recently returned from what seemed his death in Moria."
Melereg smiled. "Then I believe 'tis the latter, Gimli, for the king greets him as a friend and ally."
The Dwarf gave a broad grin, his weariness forgotten for the moment. "Glad tidings are these, my friends! For if Gandalf joins us, we cannot surely fail in our pursuit!"
"He comes alongside the company, Master Dwarf, to bid us greeting," Forngíliath remarked. "It is a pity you cannot see him and return his salutations; shall Melereg and I lift you onto our shoulders?"
Before Gimli could make reply, a familiar voice boomed out over the host of Thranduil. "Hail, maetheri o Thranduil! How fare you this evening?"
Gimli laughed delightedly as the warriors around him sounded their replies. "It is Gandalf, or I am no Dwarf!" he exclaimed.
"Do my ears deceive me, or is that Dwarven laughter I hear in the ranks of the Elves of Greenwood?" the wizard's warm voice declared. "Gimli son of Glóin, come forth, that I might see you! Or stand on the shoulders of your compatriots, if you would prefer!"
Gimli elbowed Forngíliath, who unsurprisingly had burst into laughter at Gandalf's suggestion, and made his way through the tall warriors. The Elves gave way before him, and ere long Gimli was standing before the dazzling presence that was Gandalf the White. The Dwarf bowed low, grinning widely behind his beard. "Gandalf, it is truly a pleasure to meet you again!" he said heartily.
The wizard laughed kindly and clasped one of Gimli's shoulders. "Ah, Gimli, the pleasure is greater on my part, I assure you," he answered, "for wise though I am considered among many, I could not have guessed that I would see the son of Glóin marching in the midst of a host of Wood-elves! Pray tell, how did you come to join Thranduil's ranks?"
"It is a long tale," Gimli said, and noting Thranduil himself approaching from the left, he bowed once more to the Elvenking. "Good evening, my lord," he said courteously. Gandalf's amused expression did not escape his notice, though he did not quite comprehend the reasons for the wizard's mirth.
Thranduil inclined his head in reply, but the chill in his regard was lessened—likely by Gandalf's presence, for Legolas had told Gimli of his father's great esteem for the wizard. "Mithrandir," he said, using the Elven name for the white-robed wizard, "if it seems good to you, we will stop here for the night so that we may speak, though my heart urges haste for my son's sake."
Gandalf's eyes, though tucked behind bushy white brows, held a wealth of compassion. "Well do I know it, son of Oropher," he murmured. "And I would not delay you in this undertaking were it not of utmost importance that I do so."
Thranduil gave a nod and turned to gesture to the warriors at the vanguard. The company began to break ranks, and as before, the tents were not assembled, but were laid aside to give the horses some respite. Gimli remained where he was, opposite Thranduil and Gandalf. He had nearly decided to take his leave and join Forngíliath and the others, when the wizard leveled his gaze upon the Dwarf once more.
"I would that you joined Thranduil and myself this eve, Gimli," Gandalf said. He briefly glanced at said king, and upon seeing the Elven lord's stiff expression, he explained, "For what I will say concerns you both, as blood-bound father and oath-bound friend to Legolas."
"You have word of him?" Thranduil asked quietly, his eyes molten silver in the growing twilight.
The wizard turned to regard the Elvenking, and when a charged moment had passed, he said gravely, "I will not give you false words of hope, Thranduil. I know not whether Legolas lives, nor do I claim to have seen him. But I must speak with you nevertheless, and the matter does largely concern your son."
Thranduil's expression did not waver, but Gimli thought he detected a slight shifting downward of the Elven lord's shoulders, as though a heavy weight had been dropped back down upon him with Gandalf's words. "I see," he said at length. "Very well. Master Gimli, join Mithrandir and I in my tent when the Sun has fully set."
Gimli bowed to the both of them. "Of course, my lord."
Gandalf gave a low chuckle. "So very mannerly, son of Glóin. I do hope you have maintained your wit and sharpness of tongue among Legolas' peers, though, however courteous you have been to their king."
The Dwarf smiled as he heard Forngíliath's chuckling from somewhere nearby. "Aye, Gandalf, that I have. His majesty's host has been quite considerate, save for those few who insist on testing my wit with every breath they take."
The wizard laughed and placed his hand on Gimli's shoulder once more. "I meant to tell you—before I left the Lady's Wood, that is—to beware the barbed tongues of young Elves; but perhaps I ought to have warned them against the iron spirit of a Dwarf!" Gandalf nodded to a few passing warriors. "Go, Gimli," he said with a smile. "Join your friends for a meal. I shall see you in a short while."
Gimli gave a short nod and a brief bow to Thranduil, then turned and strode over to Forngíliath, who waited close by, a sly smirk on his fair face. Gandalf watched with a lingering smile as the Elf made what could only be a puckish remark, given Gimli's growled reply. Indeed, the wizard was well pleased to see the Dwarf in such a fine humor among Thranduil's folk.
"Mithrandir," came the Elvenking's thrumming voice from the right, "will you not join me for a drink ere the Sun sinks low?"
Gandalf shifted his gaze to Thranduil, and though the Elven lord's expression remained as calm as ever it was, subdued pain bled from his silveron eyes. The wizard sighed to himself, but gave a gentle smile and said, "Certainly I will. And perhaps while we drink, you might tell me why I have found you so far from your woodland, and with a Dwarf in your company no less…"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
End of Chapter Twenty. Yes, that's the real ending. We shan't find out what Gandalf is to tell Thranduil and Gimli until a bit later, I'm afraid… but, on the plus side, this chapter is finally out, and the next one is on a roll! ^_^ *yawn* Now, Kate must crawl into bed (it's currently 2:37 AM), for she has finished the chapter and is well pleased…
Name notes:
1) Sîrethir (Elf of Mirkwood, Dín Duilin's younger brother) = this name is a Sindarin derivative that means "river outflow."
2) Eithelion (Elf of Mirkwood, friend of Dín Duilin) = this name is a Sindarin derivative that means "spring of water."
3) Orithil (Elf of Mirkwood, friend of Dín Duilin) = this name is a Sindarin derivative that means "Moonday." This would be sort of like naming your kid "Wednesday" or something. *shrug* Elves are weird like that.
4) Cúthalion (Elf of Mirkwood) = this name is a Sindarin derivative that means "strong bow." He was likely named for Beleg of Doriath.
Some random other notes:
In case anyone's interested, I went back and fixed the Elven aging foible in Chapter Eight—y'know, the part where Gandalf's telling the tale of young Legolas 'n Lelemir, and he says that they didn't grow up until they were about seven or eight hundred years old. Come to find out, many months later, Master Tolkien actually had a set of edicts laid down concerning the aging of Elves—go figure! So, after acquiring the book in which those rules were written (Morgoth's Ring), I skipped back and fixed the problem. That also affected the timeline for Tales of the Jade King, by the bye.
Speaking of Tales of the Jade King, you should all go read that piece, um, now. Chapter Two is up and rolling, with number Three in the works. It's a collaborative effort between myself—evil tormentor of favorite characters that I am—and the ever-wondrous TreeHugger—the fabulous Empress of All Funny—so between the two of us, you know there's lots of gorgeous Elf action and cute Elfling mischief! It's worth a read! ^_^
Also, some authors who are on my plug list in my bio, but who get little to no attention… Drew Marigold and LadyJea. Drew, a very good friend of mine, is writing a wonderful A/U fic called "Of Meanderings and Messages," which involves the tangling of a fabulous OFC's sorry life with the Fellowship's journey. Oh, and the OFC? A half-Elf, half-Dwarf. Hence the sorry life. ^_~ Seriously, though, 'tis a great read! Also, LadyJea, who is a close and personal friend, has written a few lovely little hobbit-centric vignettes, but she has gotten only the barest hint of attention. Check her out; she's got some other stuff in the oven right now, and reviews will likely prompt her to hurry up and get those truffles posted! ^_^
All of my other recommendations are in my bio, along with some added screaming about their magnificence… *yawn* Kate is too tired to do much screaming right now (it's 3:02 AM, yikes)…
Again, a huge thank you goes out to all the reviewers, all the new readers and veteran readers, and all the silent lurkers as well—you are all the greatest! Drop a note for this chapter, if you would; the reviews are fuel for my poor, tired little brain…
…oh, and keep a look out for Chapter Twenty-One! We'll finally be returning to the scene at Eastfold with the Renewed Fellowship, the morning after Chapter Twelve's attack by the Nazgûl and the Silver Wraith—plus, as an added goodie, expect a cameo from Lasselanta himself and a certain captive hobbit… ^_^
*Kate bids a fond farewell to her favorite Dwarf for now…"It has been a pleasure, good sir…and so, until next time…adieu."*
