V – Council
"Alora, are you sure that you do not want to go and rest? You had quite a lot of ale back there."
"No, Legolas, I'm alright," she said, although, judging by the swaying, she was not well. She faltered in her step a little and burped. "Excuse me!" she groaned, and covered her mouth. She took a cautious step forward, and then another.
Suddenly, Alora swooned, and her body went limp.
"Alora! Alora, wake up!" Legolas shouted at his wife, lowering her gently to the floor. Elves gathered around him, trying to get a peek at the commotion. Suddenly, Alora opened her mouth and promptly began snoring. Legolas sighed and chuckled a bit to himself. Dís and Gimli and the other elves around him eventually did the same.
"Máre," Legolas said, motioning toward his wife's guard, "take your Queen to our room and place her in Lisse's care. Do only that," he said, looking Máre straight in the eyes. So much for trusting Máre again, Gimli thought grimly. Máre nodded as Legolas passed his wife into the shorter elf's arms. He held her like a proud father would hold his daughter as he walked towards her chambers.
"Legolas, are ye alright? That was an easily avoided scare!" Dís said, a hint of incredulity in her voice.
Legolas took a handkerchief from one of the hidden pockets of his robes and wiped his glistening brow. "Aye, forgive me. I am needlessly anxious over this council meeting."
Dís frowned. "Whatever for? Ye don't strike me as the nervous kind."
"I am worried about how they will accept you, my Lady."
"Ah, don't worry about me! I aint afraid of no pointy-ears," Dís huffed, relishing in her 'tough-dwarf' persona. Gimli couldn't help but laugh as Lord Aradir, a dark-haired, haughty elf, shot Dís a look of contempt.
"Good evening, Lord Aradir!" Gimli greeted with mock enthusiasm. Aradir sniffed and walked off.
"Ada, are you alright? We should probably head into the council chamber."
Legolas nodded and looked to Dís as he opened the tall, green doors. "My Lady, it should be very standard conduct. The different nobles will bring their issues to the table, which we will discuss and vote on, if need be. You shall speak last, for you mentioned to me your interest in witnessing how it is we work here in the Great Greenwood."
Dís nodded her understanding. "Any special traditions?"
"Aye, many. Everything is steeped in ancient ritual whose origins no one cares to remember. There are none you need to worry about, however, My Lady. Ah, Lady Morion!" Legolas said as she and the other nobles gathered in the council chamber. "I am glad to see you well again. And out of prison," he whispered. "Let us hope that you keep your deviance to a minimum, now, hmm?"
Morion's sharp, grey eyes glanced about for signs of Alora, and, with her paranoia sated, bowed and kissed Legolas' hand. "My Lord, it is an honour to serve you. I will do as you ask and calm my… indiscretions."
"That is all I ask of you, my Dark Lady. Your intelligence is not something I wish to see waste away in a dungeon."
Morion smiled, pleased with Legolas' praise. "Thank you, Lord. Your words are a joy to hear." She bowed again and smiled at Gimli. She never disliked the dwarf, who sympathized with the noblewoman. Gimli knew well enough how difficult his mother could be, and he understood Morion's anger at being deprived of something that was once in her grasp. Morion's eyes lingered on Dís, and an expression that Gimli could not quite read crossed her face. She walked to her place at the counciltable.
"'Dark Lady?' That a nickname, or somethin'?"
"No, 'tis what her name means."
"Ah, that makes sense. Who is she? Legolas seems to be rather friendly with her."
"She's one of the more powerful nobles. She was slated to be Queen of this realm, once."
"Really?" Dís said, crossing her arms across her chest. "How does yer mother feel about her?" An elf pushed passed them with a hushed "Goheno nín" and took his seat.
"Hello, Óldhín!" Gimli called. The elf smiled, his eyes lingering on Dís.
"Goodness! Aren't these staring eyes annoying you at all?"
"Hah! Not hardly. I'm used to it."
"Yes, well, they are not the best of friends, to put it mildly. Morion almost caused her death, once. Granted, it was an accident, but a rather foolish one. A word of advice: Don't push one into that blasted 'Enchanted River.'"
Dís snickered. "I have heard many horror stories about that river and its stupor-inducing waters. What about ye, though? Have ye any fair elf-maids in your life?"
Gimli laughed suddenly and heartily. "Hardly! My last interest was the kind to laugh a wicked laugh and then say 'Let me clip your wings!'"
Dís nodded. "Love is fickle, my friend."
"Aye, that it is. Right now, I am just enjoying a life void of complication."
"As ye should do! I am happy to hear that yeh've learned such wisdom so soon."
Gimli smiled. "I just act on what feels right."
"That's called instinct, boy, and ye have a good dose of it!"
Gimli fought to stay awake as the elves, draped in their robes and jewels, prattled on about their issues for what seemed like hours. Their heaviest cloak was arrogance, however, for all had petty, pointless disputes that could be solved by any sort of apology or independent thinking. Legolas feigned rapt attention, but Gimli knew better. Now that he was older, his father shared many of his political woes with his son. Gimli felt distressed for his father, who wished change but was helpless to bring it about.
These thoughts awoke Gimli and reopened troubled thoughts in his mind. He finally realized, in a eureka of random thought, that the Eldar could never truly be happy in Middle-earth. They could never truly be happy if they did not learn how to die.
He realized, in that moment of boredom and pointlessness, that death was the fuel for mortal ambitions. The shorter one's life is, the more one wishes to accomplish in that life. Contrary to popular belief, elves were not immortal beings. Gimli had learned this from his father. They did indeed age, if at a snail's pace. But neither were they short-lived. They witnessed not only friends, but the very earth around them die. How could any of them find joy in a world where death was such an important part of life? How could any of them find ambition in such a cruel place? It finally made sense, their final journey to Valinor, the world that never died.
The Númenóreans, for all their folly, were the wisest of all beings to live for one reason: They could lay down their own life when they wished to. They knew that when their time came, they had to give it up, and they did so willingly – until Ar-Pharazôn the Golden, of course. As Gimli looked at the visages around him, young elves as they were, he wondered if these or any elves, for that matter, could bring themselves to give up their own lives willingly. They will have to if they truly wish a lasting elf-kingdom in Middle-earth.
"Lord Gimli, do you have anything to say?" Naurín, chairwoman of the council inquired. Gimli blinked and sat upright. Out of habit, he reached to his mouth to wipe away the drool and found none. Do I have anything to say? he thought frantically. Only that you all need to die!
"No, Lady, I have nothing to add."
"Very well. Sire?"
"Hannon le, Naurín. My friends, there is one other person who would speak before we conclude. Lady Dís?"
The dwarf nodded and stood. "Good elves, I am Dís Stormfoot, daughter of Thorin Stonehelm of the Lonely Mountain kingdom at Erebor. As I can see by the looks on yer faces," Dís said, a bit of irritation creeping into her voice, "ye were not told that I was to be visitin' yer realm." She shot Legolas, who had just realized his folly, an icy glare.He did not dare look up, choosing to focus instead on his scribblings.
"I thank ye for yer welcome, in any matter. No doubt ye are all curious as to why I have come to speak to ye. I am not a dwarf princess on a leave of absence, though I have enjoyed my short time here.
"I am heir to my father's throne." A murmur of surprise wafted through the room. "Our two peoples 'ave never been on great terms, especially since The Oakenshield passed through this realm some ninety years ago.
"Our peoples have, however, faltered instead of grown since Sauron's fall." This time, varying levels of agreement and anger passed over the faces of the councilors. "That is not meant as an insult. It is truth. I have seen it here, and I am sure that any of ye would see it in our realm. We need to claim our right to these lands, my Lords, and not fade into memory. I believe that the first and best step is trade; a trade of knowledge. I have brought one of my father's most renowned smiths, Lamli. As we speak he is sharing his knowledge with Legolas' smiths.
"In time, I hope that a steady flow of artisans will go between our two kingdoms. I also have a favour to ask of ye," Dís said, her voice losing some of its imperiousness. "Our coffers were greatly drained by the war that Sauron's orcs made on us. Rebuilding has been slow, and orcs still roam the hills around Erebor.
"My grand-da gifted to Thranduil a large sum of gold and jewels in his time. I ask for a loan from that gift. Yer people… do not seem to have a great need for it, but my people would benefit greatly from its use. I ask ye all to vote on my proposal."
"What sum are you asking for?" Óldhín asked.
"As much as can be spared, good Lord." Dís looked to Legolas and bowed. "Thank ye for the chance to speak, Legolas."
"Thank you, Lady Dís." Turning to the councilors, he said "You need not vote now, unless you have already reached a decision. The Lady will be here for another week still. Thank you all for your time," he said, rising from his seat. The councilors did the same. "Tiro ven Elbereth," he said, officially ending the council. The elves repeated the blessing and left, chatting amongst themselves about the happenings they had just witnessed.
As Gimli cast his vote, he wondered if the others would vote the same way he did. He prayed that they would.
Sindarin:
Goheno nín –
forgive me
Hannon le – (I) thank you
Tiro ven Elbereth –
may Varda watch over us
