Chapter Five—the Leave Taking

Gimli and Haldir strove in a wordless match of wills, neither keen to make a move to slay the other, but neither disposed to yield either. A relatively tense moment ensued.

"Friends," said Aragorn suddenly, attempting to dispel the enormous gravity of the situation that he now had on his hands. He respected Gimli as a person, but no amount of respect could compel the ranger to break a promise that had been made to an esteemed watcher of Lórien, or anyone for that matter, whether in the wrong had it been made, or no. It had been made, and that was all that mattered. This was jeopardizing Haldir's trust in them, and that didn't hold well with Aragorn. "Friends, let us not kill each other over a misunderstanding. Gimli," he turned to the dwarf, "true, you have been wronged in that no one informed you of the agreement that had been made. I do not recall that I was told either. However, if you two will not come to an agreement, that leaves only one option. I will not suffer a fight to break out, nor can you go back on your own. You have journeyed thus far with us; let us hold together while we may. As we are in the Elves' realm, we must abide by their rules. The only other option I can propose it that we all be blindfolded with Gimli, since it is difficult for him to be singled out so. What says Gimli to that?" The dwarf surprised everyone. He lowered his axe quite suddenly and said:

"We shall all look a lot of fools. But, if Legolas must share my blindness, I can abide the thought of this solution, if only for the mirth it will bring. Very well, I will consent." Haldir lowered his bow and returned the arrow to its quiver, pleased at the wisdom of the ranger.

The Fellowship found a number of items they were able to employ as blindfolds. Sam lent out several of his shirts, as did Frodo. Boromir had a richly embroidered scarf he was able to use. Legolas half-heartedly tied a piece of torn cloth over his eyes and sighed.

Presently, everyone was blindfolded and ready to depart once more.

"Lead us well," growled Gimli, trying to sound terribly inconvenienced. "I will keep account of the times I stumble or strike my toe against something."

"Not to worry, Master Dwarf," reassured Haldir softly. "I shall guide you well." And he did.

Haldir thought badly of the blindfolding regulation for Dwarves, but who was to question the Lady? She might be angry with him for allowing the dwarf to pass, but he decided that he could bear any consequence he faced for it, so long as he had done what he judged to be right. She might, of course, overlook it, having far more to manage than disciplining insubordinate sentinels, but he thought her far too perceptive to fail to notice anything. After all, it was said that she could see into people's minds and read their thoughts. And so a lingering fear of the outcome of his little 'errant' decision remained at the far side of his consciousness, gnawing away at him little by little, more and more, the closer he drew to the city.

He had not been to Lórien for some time. His duties were primarily outside the city and rather pressing, what with frequent attacks by Orcs and the like. He had nearly forgotten the beauty of it. Everywhere he looked, the trees were shedding golden leaves. Each leaf performed a unique swirling dance as it slowly and gracefully made its way down to join its brothers on the ground. The myriad of complementary colours pleased the sight deeply: the shimmering gold of the leaves, the vibrant green of the grass, the azure blue of the sky, and the soft whiteness of the clouds. The smell was fresh and cool; the air was clear. A slight breeze fell on Haldir's face as he led the Fellowship on and the very feel was blissful. The thick, tight, closeness of the depths of the forest was very different from this.

All at once, Haldir heard the distinctive almost noiseless rhythm of running elf-feet. He halted in his tracks and waited for the runner to appear.

"What are we stopping for?" grunted Gimli.

"Someone approaches," whispered Haldir. Almost immediately, the elf came into sight. Haldir recognized him as Firion, a scout of Lórien. He ran errands and relayed messages for the Lady.

"Haldir of Lórien," said he, bowing in the customary fashion. "I bring tidings from the Lady of the Golden Wood. She wishes to inform you that she has already been notified of your errand (I believe it was Orophin who told her)…and each member of your party here may walk free, even the dwarf. She says that all are trustworthy. I see you have them blindfolded. It was a proper thing to do until her assent was given, but it has been given. So now unbind their eyes and allow them to see their surroundings."

The Fellowship was only too happy to comply. Haldir watched them take in the sights around them with wonder and awe. The Hobbits were almost staggered. Haldir knew they were not accustomed to anything of this sort. After a few moments, he turned to Firion.

"Are you to accompany us to Lórien?" he asked.

"I am," replied the elf. So, presently, they all set out again. After a good deal of walking, passing some of the most lovely foliage and flowers they could have ever hoped to see, they reached a silver gate. It was rather tall, with swirling elven designs curling this way and that over the front, as well as a long, thin, message written in flowing elven script. It read, "Annon o Lórien." Firion whispered a password and the two guards who were watching the gate opened it, saluting Haldir, for he was of a higher status than they. Haldir returned the salute and led the company inside. He counted instinctively to make certain everyone was present and found to his relief that all were. He led them forward a good ways, flanked by some Elven guards who had almost unnoticeably joined them as escorts. He noted the furtive looks of wonder that they stole at the Fellowship, the questions evident in their eyes. A Dwarf in Lórien? Haldir knew what they were thinking, but obviously need not have explained…not to them, anyway.

After the Fellowship, intoxicated with astonishment at the wondrous sights they were beholding, had traversed a great distance through the city, seeing the sorts of things that most had never even imagined in their wildest dreams, they came to the prominent base of a towering mallorn tree. Haldir halted and regarded the Fellowship fondly, urging them towards the prestigiously clad sentinels that stood guard on either side of the stairway that curved gracefully upwards around the tree and to a spacious flet far above, upon which Galadriel and Celeborn took court at present.

"Nair o Elrond," (They are from Elrond) said Haldir. "Galadriel ista o ti." (Galadriel knows of them.)

"Le govannen hí na 'lass," (You are welcome here.) replied the guard on the right, stepping aside.

Haldir smiled and motioned the Fellowship forward. "This is as far as I go," he told them. They turned questioning glances at him, obviously having thought that he would be leading them. "I must return to my duties. The borders of the forest hold not the danger out unaided. The Watchers must help it."

"I fear this is farewell then," said Aragorn sorrowfully. "You have been most kind to us. I shall not forget it."

"Nor will I," added Legolas. "Your words of excellent council I shall remember always. And I must admit that Orc-calling is rather good sport. We will meet again, Haldir. If times ever return to what they were, I shall have you as a guest in Mirkwood."

"Ah, so you are the crown prince of Mirkwood?" asked Boromir, confirming his growing suspicion. He'd never been much concerned with affairs outside Gondor.

Legolas nodded. "But whether I shall ever be king is yet to be seen," he replied, in good mirth. "I doubt that my father shall ever require an heir. He seems to have been managing the kingdom quite well for the past few thousand years…and not growing weary of it, by any means."

Haldir laughed softly. "Well, that teaches Elves patience, a good skill to hone, I must say. And I shall be glad to accept your invitation if the times ever improve, Legolas Thranduilion. May your land be blessed. As for the people of Lórien, we will do whatever we can to assist in this forthcoming and inevitable war. Though it seems hopeless, I must advise you never to lose hope. When hope is lost, all is lost. If there is some possible way to persist, then you must. Only by persevering can this war be won and things return, for the most part, to the way they were before. Do not forget that." He had been scanning the eyes of each Fellowship member as he said this, and knew that his words aided their resolve. He would play his part, and they would play theirs. Together, there would be hope. He knew it.

"I take my leave," he said, turning. The last glimpses he saw of them were the two Hobbits whom he could never remember for anything save incessant chattering bidding him farewell, Frodo saying, "Namárië," while Sam waved awkwardly, and Legolas bowing in the traditional Elvish manner.

Gimli stood off to the side, looking strangely dismayed. "Uh…Haldir!" he called after the elf, who paused. "You pointy-eared beings really aren't that bad after all. I just wanted you to know that your kindness is appreciated."

Haldir smiled and nodded, but did not turn. "You are welcome, Gimli," he replied, "I shall remember your character, and will no longer hereafter judge another race by outward appearance, however strange or fair they may be, but by what qualities I discern within them."

With these words, he strode swiftly back as he had come, and when presently he arrived at the gate, he threw his grey hood over his hair and departed the city, vanishing into the thickest trees like a shadow to return from whence he'd come.

The End