Disclaimer: (singing drunkenly) I pillage and plunder and…really bad eggs…(trails off)…yoho!…or something like that anyway, but sadly I have not yet managed to steal the Lord of the Rings. It's Tolkien's, savvy?
Well, here it is. The (very) long awaited meeting of the elf and the dwarf, sorry it's so late. I'm really nervous about this chapter and I really hope that people like it. If you don't, you will no doubt find me under a table somewhere hiding from all the angry readers, but hopefully I will emerge in a couple of weeks. Enjoy!
A/N: Just to establish that I believe that the dwarf with the grey beard walking next to Gimli as he arrives in Rivendell in the film "The Fellowship of the Ring" is his father, Gloin. Also, I've tried to stay true to the events of Tolkien's world, but please forgive any inaccuracies.
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Chapter 5: The Stubbornness of Dwarves
"No."
"Please?"
"No."
"But Estel…"
"No, Legolas. Somehow I do not believe that my father would look kindly on you shooting Lord Gloin of the Lonely Mountain."
The elf deflated with a frown, then suddenly brightened and began to open his mouth, but the human interrupted him quickly.
"Nor his son."
Another frown.
"Besides, you know how Adar feels about you using your bow in the house."
"But Estel, Lord Elrond need never know that it was I who shot him."
"My father has known you for over two millennia, Legolas. I believe that he would be able to recognise one of your arrows without too much trouble. And no, you may not borrow one of mine."
"But Estel, you did not see him last night at supper! The bearded one kept remarking about how his father had been imprisoned in a cave! A cave! My father's palace is no cave!"
"The 'bearded one's' name is Gimli, and truthfully-"
"Do not say it, Strider."
"-the palace of Mirkwood-"
"Aragorn!"
"-is a cave."
Prince Legolas of Mirkwood glared at his human friend with his arms crossed. "It is not a cave."
"It is made of rock, it is underground, it is a cave. A very nice cave, to be sure, but a cave nonetheless."
With another glare, the elf rose from his seat and stalked away in the direction of the gardens which surrounded the Last Homely House. The remaining human got leisurely to his feet and ambled after his friend.
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Aragorn quickly grabbed hold of his friend's sleeve as Legolas made to move after the short figure disappearing around some bushes.
"Peace, mellon nin."
"Release me."
"No."
"Now."
"I shall not release you until you give me your bow."
Angrily, the elf handed over the elegantly carved weapon. "There. Now release me."
"And your arrows."
Legolas glared at the human, but released the strap which held his quiver and passed it to the waiting ranger.
"And your knives."
Those were given over to.
"And I want your word that you will not harm any dwarves within Imladris using hand-to-hand combat."
"But Estel!"
The ranger merely held the elf's gaze calmly until his friend gave a small nod which could have meant anything.
"Legolas?"
"I will not harm any of the cave-dwellers."
Satisfied, the ranger released his friend. With a last glare, the elf moved swiftly over to a nearby oak and, with a quick leap, swung himself nimbly into its limbs, leaving the ranger behind on the ground. Undaunted, Aragorn settled down contentedly at the base of said tree and stretched out his long legs. He drew a pipe from one of his many pockets and lit it, releasing a soft sigh of enjoyment as grey smoke rings began to rise out of the bowl of the pipe and up into the branches above. After some minutes, he glanced up and searched the thickly leafed limbs, yet his sharp eyes were unable to locate the wood-elf whom he knew sat somewhere overhead. A corner of his mouth quirked slightly. He inhaled deeply, then blew a mouthful of smoke directly into the branches above.
A small but forceful barrage of acorns landed on his head.
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Sam, Pippin and Merry stared in fascination as a dwarf stomped past them, muttering angrily into his fiery red beard whilst fingering the small axe held in the loop of his belt. Seconds later a pleased-looking elf prince passed the three hobbits, greeting them with a nod and a satisfied smile as he walked gracefully by.
Merry stuck his hands into the pockets of his long green coat as he turned to his friends. "Do you think they had another argument?" he asked curiously as he watched the two figures, one short, one tall, turn down different corridors of the Last Homely House.
"As sure as my name's Samwise Gamgee, that's their third today!" the blonde haired gardener exclaimed as he chewed slowly on his pipe.
Pippin's eyebrows drew together slightly as he thought about the two members of the fellowship, each of whom represented their people. "I wonder why they don't like each other," he wondered, biting his lip in thought.
Sam shrugged, but Merry's eyes brightened as he glanced at his cousin. "We should ask them!" he exclaimed.
"Do you think that they would tell us?" said Pippin rather doubtfully.
The glint that sparked in the curly-headed hobbit's eyes was echoed by the mischievous smirk which crossed his face. "There's only one way to find out, isn't there?" he replied.
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Legolas and Aragorn looked up from their discussion as two small figures approached them, halting some feet away behind a tree. Yet the hobbits came no closer, so man and elf resumed their conversation, only to be interrupted by two voices raised high in argument.
"You should do it."
"Me? Why should I have to do it?"
"You saw him first. He knows you better."
"He was in a tree, Merry!"
A bemused ranger looked at his friend inquiringly, but the elf merely raised his eyebrows, as ignorant as Aragorn as to what the hobbit cousins wanted. When the debate showed no signs of subsiding in the near future, the two continued their discussion, occasionally glancing over at the quarrelling pair half-hidden behind the narrow tree trunk.
Eventually the hobbits emerged from their argument, and, concealed by a group of thick bushes, began to creep closer to the pair who sat on the ground with their legs stretched out before them. With a quick grin at the elf prince by his side, Aragorn looked up as the cousins approached and nodded a greeting. "Master Merry, Master Pippin," he said loudly.
Both hobbits jumped at his words, apparently surprised that they had been seen. Emerging from the bushes sheepishly, they bobbed into half bows, then glanced at each other. From the set expressions on their faces, they seemed to be continuing their previous argument, only this time without words. Aragorn and Legolas waited expectantly but the hobbits remained silent, glaring at each other obstinately.
"What can we do for you, master hobbits?" Aragorn asked finally, breaking the quiet which was so unusual when in the presence of these two particular creatures.
After another lengthy pause, Pippin glared at his cousin, who looked rather smug, then turned to the elf and ranger who were waiting patiently.
"The thing is, we rather wanted to ask Legolas about something," began the young hobbit hesitantly.
"Ask away," said the elf with an amused look at Aragorn.
"Well, you see," said Pippin, his voice louder as he became more confident. "We were just talking with Mister Gimli. The dwarf?" he continued when the elf did not respond.
"We have met," answered Legolas tightly.
Well, as I said, we were talking to him and he said…Why are you shaking your head like that, Strider?"
Legolas' head whipped around to face the ranger who was gazing off into the distance.
"I was not shaking my head," the man replied innocently.
"Yes you were," said Pippin, "Wasn't he, Merry?"
His cousin nodded and Legolas looked suspiciously at the ranger, who was now intently following the flight of a small bird.
"Well, anyway," continued the hobbit, deciding that Strider's odd behaviour was just one more example of the strangeness of the big folk, "Mister Gimli told us that your father captured his father and locked him in a dungeon for ages without any reason."
Aragorn let out a small groan as the elf's jaw tightened visibly.
"The elves of Mirkwood tell the tale rather differently," Legolas replied tersely. "And I think you will find that it was the dwarves who were at fault." He rose to his feet in one fluid movement. "My apologies, but I am needed elsewhere."
The hobbits stared dumbfounded at his swiftly retreating back, then looked nervously at Aragorn, unsure of how they had offended the elf. Seeing their anxious faces, Aragorn swiftly hastened to reassured them. "Do not take offence at his words, master hobbits," he said gently. "Relations between the elves and the dwarves are strained at the best of times. You were not at fault in your words."
The hobbits still looked worriedly after the rapidly disappearing figure as Aragorn climbed to his feet with a grunt. "Let me assure you, before night has fallen you will have an extremely apologetic elf prince seeking your forgiveness for his abrupt behaviour. I advise you to take advantage of it."
The hobbits felt slightly more relieved at these words and they fell into step with the ranger, one on each side, hurrying to keep up with his swift pace. "So Legolas is not angry with us?" Pippin questioned.
"Nay, he is not."
"So what did happen between their fathers?" asked Merry curiously.
"I advise you to seek out Bilbo," the man replied with a smile. "I have the feeling that he will be able to tell you far more accurately than I."
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From his corner, Boromir of Gondor stared at the sights around him. Although reluctant to admit it, he was impressed by his surroundings. He stood in a great room of Rivendell, the Hall of Fire he had heard it called. Woven banners hung from the ceiling, half-transparent in the flickering light, and tables loaded with many delicacies stood against each of the four walls. In the middle of the hall burnt a fire in a great hearth surrounded by carven pillars, its brilliant flames leaping high into the air to cast dancing shadows over the faces of the gathered crowds. Low couches and tall, elegant chairs were interspersed throughout the room, most occupied by finely clothed figures, many of whom were elves, each blending easily into the gloriously elegant scene. Yet members of other races could also be found scattered throughout the Hall.
Amongst the figures stood a group of dwarves, huddled together in the opposite corner of the room to Boromir. One in particular caught his attention as the firelight glinted off plaits barely distinct amongst the rest of the dwarf's bristling beard. Gimli, son of Gloin's arms were folded stubbornly against his chest as he surveyed the surrounding scene, a frown just visible through the fiery red hair as he stared towards one of the open archways on the left hand side of the room.
The doors which led to the outside balconies were flung wide open, allowing cool air to seep refreshingly into the great hall as the delicate music of the minstrels danced out into the darkness. A group of three elves stood looking out into the quiet night as they conversed merrily between themselves, each clothed in long draping robes. Their hair, both raven and blonde, was bound in nimble plaits interspersed with silver ornaments which, by the way they shone when caught briefly by the flickering flames, looked to be made of mithril. One of the three figures was the prince of Mirkwood, whom Boromir recognised from the council. He had discarded his fawn travelling robe for a green tunic overdressed by a darker mantle, unembroidered, yet elegant in its simplicity. The twin sons of the lord Elrond looked to be fit companions for the elven prince, clothed respectively in robes of maroon and a dark, dusky blue which melted into the night sky.
As Boromir watched, two figures approached the small group of elves. He frowned slightly as he recognised the ranger. But no, Boromir reminded himself, he was looking at the heir to the throne of Gondor, a position long vacant with the city under the guardianship of Boromir's family. A slight crease appeared on the Gondorian's forehead, half-hidden by falling strands of sandy-brown hair, as he pondered the meaning, and the consequences, of the truths revealed at Elrond's council.
However, the son of the steward was abruptly distracted from these disquieting thoughts by the elf maid who walked alongside the man. Dusky raven hair trailed down her back in long waves, flowing gently over a dress of the palest purple. As he watched, the lady of Rivendell, for she could be no other, placed a slender hand on the arm of the ranger, leaning slightly towards him in order to whisper into his ear. Aragorn, son of Arathorn, chuckled, his eyes alight with laughter brought on by the words, or perhaps the mere presence of the lovely maiden, and allowed himself to be guided towards the group containing the prince.
For a second time Boromir was distracted from his musings by a commotion from the entrance to the hall. Stretching to see over the gathered crowds, he caught sight of four curly heads, closer to the floor than most of the others in the room, bobbing slightly as they made their way through the many figures which adorned the scene, intent upon reaching the food-laden tables.
The lithe figure of the prince of Mirkwood detached itself from the small group of elves and ranger. Boromir watched as the prince made his way swiftly towards the hobbits, moving easily through the shifting crowds. He bowed to all four of the shorter figures as he returned their greetings, then took the cousins, Merry and Pippin, aside, and seemed to be speaking to them rather earnestly. Yet the hobbits waved off his words and proceeded to steer the prince in the direction of a surprised Boromir.
Feeling somewhat awkward in the presence of one with whom he had exchanged heated words only a day or so earlier, Boromir squared his shoulders and bowed to the son of Thranduil with as much dignity as he could muster. He was slightly relived when the prince returned the greeting warmly.
"Lord Boromir here explained the archery match you were in the other day," Merry explained cheerfully, and Pippin nodded in agreement.
"You have great skill with a bow, your highness," said Boromir.
The prince bowed his head in thanks. "We are to journey together for many days, Master Boromir, there is no need to rest on formality," the prince replied with a soft smile. "It is Legolas, please."
"Then I must ask you to call me simply Boromir," the man declared, returning the smile. With the hobbits' help, elf and human edged into conversation, the previous day's match leading onto other topics with only a little hesitation. The two warriors barely noticed when the hobbits politely excused themselves and headed once more for the tables.
"It is an unusual crowd tonight, Legolas, is it not?" commented Boromir as he looked around the Hall.
"It is," the prince replied, also surveying the room, yet Boromir could not help but notice the slight frown, almost a grimace, which crossed the prince's face as his eyes travelled rather pointedly over the heads of the party of dwarves. Following his companion's gaze, Boromir realised that the red-bearded dwarf, Gimli, was glaring fixatedly at the prince of Mirkwood, who returned the stare unblinkingly. So fascinated was he by the staring competition which seemed to be developing between the two, that Boromir almost jumped when the prince spoke, though his eyes remained fixed on his opponent.
"Have you thought much about the quest?" he asked calmly.
Boromir looked at the elf, impressed at his ability to maintain his glare whilst conversing with another, and answered with a slightly self-depreciating laugh. "I have thought of little else since the council," he admitted.
Legolas nodded, still staring. "Indeed. I think that the journey shall be trying on us all." The elf paused and an almost imperceptible crease appeared above his dark brows. "To say nothing of the company," he muttered under his breath.
Boromir stared his companion, surprised at such candour, yet easily guessing to what, or rather, to whom, the elf was referring. "I see that you have yet to resolve your dispute from the council with Master Gimli," he said tentatively, unsure of how the elf would react to his words.
"My father once told me that dwarves, particularly those from the Lonely Mountain, were stubborn creatures," Legolas replied distractedly, eyes still fixed on the opposing corner. "I now have reason to believe that he was right."
The reference to Legolas' father and king reminded Boromir of a conversation he had had earlier in the day with the hobbits. "Legolas," he began, but found himself rather disconcerted when the prince did not look at him, instead continuing to stare at the son of Gloin, whose eyes were beginning to look rather strained.
"Yes, Boromir?" the elf asked politely when the man did not continue.
"My apologies, Legolas, but am I to understand that your father and Gimli's have met?"
"They have, briefly," the elf replied. "It was around the time of the Battle of the Five Armies. Yet our realms have not had a great deal of contact since those days."
Boromir nodded slowly, fascinated by the sight of the dwarf's eyes beginning to water furiously, yet the being was still stubbornly refusing to let himself blink. The prince of Mirkwood on the other hand, looked as collected as ever as he gazed coolly at the shorter creature.
Gimli's eyebrows had begun to twitch furiously by this time. Finally, many minutes after the competition had begun, the dwarf blinked, almost too quickly for Boromir to catch. Then his eyes were open again, glaring at the elf, but it was too late. With a triumphant smile, the youngest heir of Thranduil turned away from the son of Gloin. The corners of the elf's mouth continued to twitch slightly as he joined in conversation with the hobbits, who had returned each bearing a platter piled with food.
Looking around, Boromir realised that he had not been the only spectator to the contest between elf and dwarf. Near the balcony, each of the twin sons of Elrond had removed a silver ornament from their dark hair, and was grudgingly handing it to the waiting ranger. Aragorn presented them to the Lady Arwen with a flourish and a triumphant smile strongly reminiscent of that of the son of Thranduil's.
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The next morning dawned on a tranquil Rivendell, whose inhabitants rose late after the celebrations of the previous night. Small groups of elves wandered the grounds as gracefully as ever, yet among the slender figures could be seen four shorter creatures with curly hair and large feet, moving slightly less steadily along the walkways as they stumbled their way to a late breakfast.
Three elves stood together in a high-ceilinged hall watching a short, red-bearded figure march away from them, his footsteps echoing heavily on the marble floor.
"I think that dwarf just insulted you," remarked Elladan to the blonde-haired elf who stood next to him with a slightly stunned expression on his face.
"You are right, brother," chimed Elrohir. "What do you think we should advise our friend to do?"
"Shoot him."
"Aragorn won't let me," the blonde elf muttered.
The brothers looked at each other, amused, and Elrohir clasped a hand on his friend's shoulder in sympathy.
"Come, brother," he said to Elladan. "Let us take the tithen ernil to the practice yards. Perhaps he can work out some of his anger whilst being severely defeated by the renowned sons of Elrond. It should not take long."
"You are confident," said Legolas, a glimmer of interest appearing in his blue eyes as he drew his knives and twirled them easily between nimble fingers.
"Nay, I am merely a better fighter than you are."
"We shall see," replied the elf prince lightly, and the three elves moved off towards the practice fields.
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"Strider! Strider!"
The ranger jumped to his feet, his sword half drawn at the sound of the panicked hobbit voice calling his name frantically.
"Strider!" Frodo dashed into the clearing where the ranger had been nearly asleep, listening with half an ear to his brothers' tirade about how a blonde-haired elven princeling had used a wide range of what they called "sneaky, underhanded tricks" to best them in a number of duels.
"What is wrong, Frodo?" questioned the ranger worriedly.
"It is Legolas!" the hobbit panted. "He and Gimli are fighting!"
The ranger took one look at his brothers, each of whom had a large grin on their face, then ran in the direction from which Frodo had come, the hobbit following close behind. The twins rose lazily to their feet and began to walk after them.
"A dagger that the tithen ernil will win."
"Make it two."
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Strider dashed into the Hall of Fire to find an elf and a dwarf standing face to chest. Near them hovered three scared hobbits, watching the other two whilst making sure to keep well out of reach of the glinting blades in the hands of the first two beings.
"I would think that you would be able to see my point," Legolas was saying. "However," he added, looking disdainfully down at the dwarf, "Maybe you are too short to do so."
"This axe of mine can put us on an equal footing anytime you wish," growled the son of Gloin grimly, hefting the sharply edged weapon in his hands.
"You would have to catch me first," shot back the elf swiftly. "And I fear that such a task would be difficult for one of your…stature."
A few quick strides put Aragorn in between the two adversaries; a dangerous place to be thought the watching Frodo.
"Peace, Legolas, Gimli," the ranger managed through panted breaths, having yet to regain his composure after sprinting from the gardens of Rivendell to the Hall of Fire.
"Stand aside, Aragorn," the elf said tightly, though his clear blue eyes remained on the short figure before him. "This does not concern you."
"It is of my concern if there is bloodshed in my father's house, when such a thing could be avoided with little trouble," the ranger answered firmly, standing firm.
"It is no trouble," replied the elf calmly, fingering his knives. "It will require little effort for me to end this quarrel once and for all."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Gimli blustered angrily. "No pointy-eared son of Thranduil will ever best me in a fight!"
The ranger turned to the dwarf placatingly. "Master Gimli," he entreated. "I am sure that Legolas did not mean for the situation to escalate as far as it has." Out of the corner of his eye, Aragorn saw the elf prince's mouth open as if to protest his words, and he continued hurriedly. "Please, lower your weapon."
"He is good at this," commented Elrohir to Elladan, from where they stood watching at the entrance to the room.
His twin nodded thoughtfully. "He is the leader of the Dunedain, not to mention that he has been negotiating between us for many a year," he replied, eyes flickering over the three figures in the centre of the room. "I suppose that he must have developed some skill in such things."
However, despite the ranger's best efforts, the debate was showing no signs of subsiding.
"I won't put them down until he apologises!" declared the dwarf angrily, setting his feet squarely on the marble floor.
"Then you will be holding that axe for a very long time, Dwarf," replied the elf tightly. "And let me assure you, I have far more time in this world than you do."
"What is it that you seek an apology for, Master Gimli?" asked Aragorn as the red-bearded figure emitted a low growl, clutching his blade even tighter. "Whatever it is, I am sure that it can be remedied easily enough," he added, glancing at his elven friend warningly.
"I will not apologise!" came the exclamation.
"Maybe not so good," commented Elrohir, as Elladan stifled his laughter.
Angry shouts were now being emitted from the trio of man, elf and dwarf, and the twins' were amused to see that their little brother was swiftly beginning to lose his calm façade.
"Legolas!" The man's voice was tense. "Let us hear Master Gimli out, at least." Taking a barely perceptible duck of the elf's head as agreement, Aragorn turned to the son of Gloin. "What is it that you seek his apology for?" he questioned.
The dwarf turned on him furiously. "I want that…that…Elf…to admit that his father locked mine in a dungeon for no good reason!" Before Aragorn or Legolas had a chance to speak, the dwarf blustered onwards. "And what's more!" he exclaimed, voice rising, "I want an apology for the treatment my father experienced at the hands of those Mirkwood elves!"
"Your father," Legolas hissed, "experienced little, if any, unpleasant treatment at the hands of the elves of Mirkwood, who, may I remind you, were merely defending their realm from dwarven intruders!"
"Intruders?" the dwarf echoed disbelievingly. "Intruders!"
"I believe that you were right the first time," replied Legolas calmly and the dwarf reddened angrily.
"My father was on a…a mission!" the dwarf declared. "Which you elves ruined!"
From where he stood against a wall, Pippin stared at Frodo, surprised by the dwarf's words. "But I thought Bilbo and the dwarves were on a treasure hunt?" he asked, and Frodo nodded.
"They were," he replied softly. "And I think that Legolas knows that."
Indeed, the elf was looking at the dwarf enquiringly. "A mission? My apologies, Master Dwarf, but I was under the impression that this mission of which you speak, was more of a quest for the riches of the dragon Smaug, was it not?" he asked politely.
"And I suppose your treasure-hoarding father told you that, did he?"
"Aye, he did."
"And you believe him!"
"I do. Particularly when his word is compared to that of a dwarf."
"Now wait just one moment!" Gimli bellowed but whatever he was about to say was cut off as Aragorn interrupted him.
"Gentlemen!" The man's tone was final. "That is enough!" He turned a stern gaze on the red-faced dwarf. "Gimli, if you seek an apology on behalf of your father, then it is best that you do so from one who actually wronged you, and not from his son. Legolas-"
His friend met his gaze calmly, but the ranger returned the look with little effort, grey eyes stern in his weathered face.
"If you insist on continuing this foolish debate then you will kindly do so in a way which will not injure the body, pride or well-being of any member of the fellowship, and that includes Master Gimli!"
After the initial shock of being told off by a man many years their junior faded, identical frowns formed on the faces of both elf and dwarf. Gimli bowed stiffly to Aragorn, fixed another glare on Legolas, then marched out of the room, still clutching his axe. Indeed, he had yet to release it since his vow not to do so had been made. The hobbits, all of whom looked rather nervous, edged out of the hall in a tight-knit bunch. Their excited voices could be heard long after they disappeared from sight.
Elf and ranger were left standing in the middle of the Hall of Fire. Legolas stared at Aragorn. The man grinned at his friend nervously.
"You will pay for that." The prince's voice echoed ominously through the large room.
"I do not doubt it," the ranger replied, slowly backing away as the elf advanced on him silently. He looked pleadingly at his brothers who had remained in the room, watching the two friends.
"Brothers, will you not aid me?" he asked somewhat desperately, tripping slightly over his own feet as he tried to avoid the approaching elf.
The twins looked at each other.
"I suppose we must," sighed Elladan. "Legolas, we would greatly appreciate it if you refrained from taking his life."
"Aye," agreed Elrohir. "Adar will not be pleased if you kill the hope of Men."
Aragorn looked at him disbelievingly. "That is what you consider help?"
The twins shrugged simultaneously.
"You are lucky, son of Arathorn," Legolas declared suddenly. "I will not take my revenge." He smiled innocently at the three brothers. "Yet." The prince turned and strode away, calling to the human to join him. Aragorn did so rather reluctantly.
"I cannot believe that you sided with the dwarf," the twins heard Legolas mutter as he and Aragorn passed them.
"I did not side with him," the man protested.
"You did."
"I did not."
"I realise that he needed the assistance, but even so…"
"I did not side with him."
"You did."
"I did not."
"Did."
The twins grinned at each other as the voices of the two friends faded to silence, lost among the many corridors of Rivendell.
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Late that afternoon, the twins and Arwen moved lightly along the many trails which wandered through the gardens of the Last Homely House. A short figure crossed the path which ran perpendicular to theirs, completely oblivious to the presence of the three firstborn. The twins were amused to see that the dwarf still held his axe clasped tightly between gnarled fingers as he marched away along the gravel path, muttering angrily to himself.
"I will say this for the dwarf," murmured Elrohir, "he is stubborn, to say the least."
TBC
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Adar- father
mellon nin- my friend
tithen ernil- princeling
(grins nervously) So…what did you think? I've emailed replies to reviews where I could, but thanks also to Heri Tavaril, Briryan, Grumpy, Black as the Shadows, LothirielofGondor, pwrhungryjr, and Lyn, whom I could not reach. If you want a response please remember to leave your email! Thanks so much for reading!