Hello! It seems that everyone is more interested in the upcoming Gimli/Thranduil confrontation than they were in the last chapter! Not that I'm complaining, mind you. I'm just thrilled that everyone is still enjoying this fic enough to review. And so, without further ado…
On the West Wind Sails the Gull
By NekoMegami_chan
Nekomegami_chan@hotmail.com
The halls of Imladris were a brightly coloured blur of winter sunlight and highly polished oak panelling as Elrond entered the North wing. His study was here, as were those belonging to his sons and advisors; all of which encircled the great library. Yet it was at the open door to Erestor's offices that he feet took him.
Inside, Erestor's ebony head was bent low over the wide desk which occupied the majority of the room. Elrond was reluctant to disturb him. While his advisor had once been a fierce warrior, his place was now here with his scrolls. "Never mind that, old friend. I have another matter that needs your attentions."
Erestor did not keep his lord waiting, but rather set aside his quill and joined Elrond in the corridor. He smiled, his elegant mouth turning up at the corners. "I might have known better than to expect any work to be completed today." He sobered when Elrond showed no sign of amusement. "And here I had been quite sure that the worst was behind us. Your orders, Lord Elrond?"
"I will explain shortly. Send for Thranduil and have him escorted to my sturdy at once. Mithrandir and Elladan are walking; you will need to locate them as well. Estel and Master Gimli will arrive in a few moments. Elrohir will remain with Legolas."
Erestor bowed slightly. He turned, yet ere he had taken more than a few paces, Elrond's voice came after him. "Your presence will be required as well. I feel much in need of your patient counsel. A new threat would bury its fangs in our throats."
* * *
Though reluctant to leave Legolas, Gimli turned and followed Aragorn out of the Healing House and into the manor proper. He knew that his friend would be looked after; Elrohir would see to that. The heartfelt dedication of the other elf was easy to see.
Gimli fell further into his thoughts as he quickened his pace around a corner in order to keep up with the long strides of the man. Legolas had always been extremely private in regard to his life beyond the Fellowship. While he spoke often of his homeland, Gimli could count the number of times he had mentioned his lover on a single hand. On those rare occasions when the elf did, there appeared an expression in the opal eyes which he could not quite give name to. However, simply recalling it aroused feelings of sadness and regret in him.
After ascending a short flight of wide carpeted stairs, Gimli parted company from Aragorn to enter the apartment in which he had stayed upon his previous visit to Imladris. Spacious and well furnished to the tastes of the elves every chair, bedstead, and tables were of a dwarvish height. Rich jewel tones permeated the rooms, making the satin and silk drapes and bedclothes shimmer in the sharp winter sunlight.
The dwarves who had travelled with him were smoking their pipes near the open window or examining the craftsmanship of the furniture with critical eyes. It was a welcome diversion from their grief, friends had been lost and the pain was still close at their heels. A brief greeting and a chorus of grudging affirmation as to the suitability of the elves' hospitality was enough to assure Gimli that he would not be missed for several hours. Although the dwarves had been given the run of Imladris, all agreed that it would be wiser to remain in their guest quarters until supper.
Gimli found his bag among those of his companions on the low table in the centre room. He changed into fresh breeches and a tunic with his family crest embroidered on the shoulder. He hurriedly scrubbed his face and hands in the bathroom washbasin, patted down his hair then exited once more into the hall.
Aragorn had not yet finished his own refreshment and the dwarf settled back against one ornate wall, thick arms crossed over his broad chest. Moments later he was ripped from his darkening musings by the sound of padded footfalls. An elf appeared, beautiful, proud and tall. He was dressed in silver and green and white. His luminous blonde mane lay against his back like golden spider's silk. Had it not been for the steady step and the fierce set of this elf's brow, Gimli might have believed that it was indeed Legolas who stalked towards him now. It could be none other than Thranduil, King of Greenwood and Legolas' father. Gimli pushed away from the wall, casting down his eyes to afford the regal elf a measure of respect as he passed.
Yet Thranduil did not pass. Drawing even with Gimli, he regarded the dwarf with a baleful glare. "You know who I am."
"Aye," Gimli met Thranduil's stare unflinchingly. "Although why you approach thus, Your Highness," still wary, he fought valiantly to keep the sneer from his voice as he spoke the last, "I have no ken."
"Then I shall be succinct, dwarf. There is no love lost between us. Therefore neither should there be fond words." Gimli bristled at the King's flippant and haughty tone but did not interrupt. Thranduil continued, slowly as if he were giving his orders to a half-wit. "Know this. My son is like a gem your orcish picks will never scratch; as far beyond your reach as any star in the night sky. I will not stand to see you corrupt him by filling his head with your mortal filth. Consider your acquaintance with him terminated as of this moment."
Gimli's ire rose and all previous thoughts of respect for the king's position fled. "Your son is grown, well able to care for himself and choose his own friends, mortal or otherwise. It was similar petty sentiments which led to the consuming hatred between our peoples. I will overlook your transgressions this time Thranduil, King of Elves, but not again."
Thranduil's icy countenance melted and was swiftly replaced by a boiling rage. "It seems your impertinence knows no bounds, nor does your foolishness."
Gimli's voice rose to a shout, filling the corridor. "Thrice you have insulted me, Thranduil! Have you no honour? And such a trespass as that, without proper apology, is just cause for retribution. Alas that you are Legolas' kin; else I would not hesitate to raise my hand against you!"
"What is the meaning of this?" Aragorn burst from his chambers, flinging the doors wide. He swept between the elf and dwarf, his anger evident on his rough-shaven face. "This reprehensible behaviour is more suited to a tavern than the halls of my father, and it hardly befits either one of you!"
Thranduil moth shut with an audible click of his teeth, his eyes like flaming arrows as he observed both Man and Dwarf. Though when he spoke his words were for Aragorn, his gaze was locked with Gimli's. "I have said my peace. I expect my wishes will be obeyed. As soon as my son is well enough to be transported by litter, I intend to depart from this place. And you, dwarf, had best stay out of my sight, lest the consequences prove to be more than you can handle."
Furious at the open threat, Gimli remained still only by the warning pressure of Aragorn's hand on his shoulder. The man wanted to scream. Thranduil was a good king and a good father. Yet centuries of loss and hardship had hardened his heart to all but Legolas' kindness and love. The precious gems and coffers of gold he had gathered were unworthy of his concern. Even his beloved forest home failed to bring him comfort. The elven king feared to loose his son above all else, and his fear made him a terrible ally to cross.
Only once previously had he seen Thranduil livid - only once and in his youth. It had taken Legolas three days of patient counsel with his father to set matters straight. Yet now Legolas lay in the healing house, his body broken and too weak to confront Thranduil. The King of Men was not eager to take that burden upon his own shoulders; yet he knew that Thranduil's aid may prove to be vital in their quest for the unnamed threat which awaited the living members of the Fellowship, and perhaps all of Middle Earth. The numbers of the elves was dwindling rapidly, and a single warrior may mark the line between victory and death.
Aragorn's grip on Gimli's shoulder tightened as the King of Greenwood turned sharply on his heel and nearly knocked down the unsuspecting Erestor. The raven-haired elf sidestepped in a graceful movement that instantly reminded Aragorn that his lifelong tutor, friend and scholar had once been a highly respected swordsman. "Pardon me, Your Highness," he apologized reflexively.
Tension hung thick in the air, no one stirred. A moment's scrutiny of the scene enacted in front of the guest rooms was enough for the advisor to guess what had happened. Thranduil's protective streak had gotten the better of him again. His arms crossed inside the voluminous sleeves of his robe, his face sober and unlined, Erestor delivered his message. "Elrond, Mithrandir and Elladan await us in My Lord's study. Come, there is much we must discuss."
* * *
In a sprawling and brightly-lit mansion, within sight of the white towers of Minas Tirith, a sinister figured swallowed the last of a glass of brandy and smiled. "The power of the Heir is without question. All will tremble and perish on their knees before his might. Though the ring was destroyed, the Dark Lord was not without foresight. The Fellowship will suffer."
* * *
Sorry this chapter took as long as it did. It's always something, isn't it? So I won't make any excuses except to say that I just broke up with my boyfriend and I simply haven't had the time nor the will to write. But please, send me your reviews and let me know if you liked this chapter. I hope that the long-awaited confrontation was worth the delay! Oh, and did anyone like the first glance at the bad guy?