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Beta Reader: None, as this is one of my shorter pieces.
Chapter 2: Cerin Amroth
Legolas lay on the moss under a mallorn tree. Looking up through its branches, he could make out a few bright points of light. Late autumn had come to Lothlórien, and the stars, normally hidden by the thickly-leaved branches, were becoming visible. He heard a soft soughing sound to the left, and turned his head to look at Gimli. The Elf smiled. The Dwarf had dozed off and was sleeping with his mouth open, as usual. The Nauga was no longer in the habit of snoring loudly, however. His stout form had dwindled and with it his stentorian voice.
Legolas studied his friend, marking all the changes that had taken place over the years. Sadly, he noted that the process of aging seemed to have accelerated during the last few months. Now, not only was Gimli thinner, but his hair was also sparser and had lost its rich red-brown hue. His skin was translucent, like the wings of a dragonfly. His whole being seemed to have somehow become insubstantial, as if he would be wafted away by the beat of a butterfly's wings.
It had not been so when they had first stopped in Lothlórien. After leaving Eryn Lasgalen, they had journeyed straightaway to the Golden Valley. Once there, Gimli had been spry enough to ascend—albeit unwillingly—to the talan in which they spent their nights. He had been strong, then, too, his arms still knotted with the muscles of a stonecutter and a smith. Both of those crafts had been needful on that journey. For as they neared Lothlórien, the trees had spoken, urging them to visit first Cerin Amroth. As they climbed to the summit of that hill, they found it necessary to force their way through a thicket of brambles. Gimli had done mighty work with the axe that day. Once they broke through to the center, they found the reason for the thorny barricade. In the center of the knoll, as if sleeping, lay Arwen, guarded by the thicket until such time as someone might come to erect a more lasting memorial. Then it was Gimli who devised the cart in which they fetched blocks of stones, long slabs that he himself carved from the bones of the Misty Mountains. It was Gimli who showed Legolas how together they might raise the walls that would forever shelter Aragorn's Queen, and it was Gimli who carved upon the sides of the tomb the elvish words that Legolas traced for him in the dirt. Afterward the Dwarf added some lettering of his own devising.
"What do those runes signify, Gimli?" Legolas had asked.
Gimli remained quiet for a long time before he finally spoke. "They would not be parted."
"But they were parted," Legolas said sadly. "They were parted by death."
"Well, I don't know," Gimli said thoughtfully. "My folk never dwelled upon what comes after—if anything comes after. My Da used to say, 'If you behave yourself only because you hope for some reward after death, then what sort of a virtue is that?' He was right in the main, I reckon. Take generosity, now. If you dole out your goods in hopes of gaining something in return, why, is that generosity, I ask you?"
Legolas was not altogether surprised at the turn the conversation had taken. Gimli rarely displayed it, but Legolas knew that the Dwarf had a philosophical bent that would reveal itself upon occasion.
"No, I think my Da had the right of it," the Dwarf continued. "It wouldn't do for people to spend their days calculating, as it were, what the payback would be after death if they did such and such a thing. There would be no virtue in the world if that were the way of things—real virtue, I mean. What folk called virtue would be mere chaffering for advantage—a tradesman's way of thinking, complete with scales to weigh matters to a nicety."
"Then you believe that death is the end for mortals?"
"I didn't say that, Legolas. I wouldn't want to believe in a hereafter where everything is tit for tat. That's a mannish notion. But that don't mean I wouldn't want no hereafter a'tall. I'd like to hope that after they leave this world the truly good wake up in the company of folk of their kind—folk who weren't thinking, 'I've got to do this so as I'll be rewarded, or I've got to do that so as I won't be punished'. And if there do be place, then surely Aragorn and Arwen dwell there together."
Legolas nodded. "I like your notion, Gimli. Yes, I like it very much, indeed. I am glad you carved those words upon Arwen's vault."
Gimli reddened and grunted something in reply, and Legolas smiled. The Dwarf always became embarrassed when he was praised. It was true that Gimli delighted in telling stories in which he played the chief role, but over the years Legolas had noticed that the Dwarf always managed to mock himself a little in those tales even as he poked fun at others. Gimli might play at being boastful, but truly he was as unselfish and self-effacing as Aragorn and Arwen, those two souls who would not be parted.
They would not be parted. In the years that followed, Legolas had often thought of those words as he cherished his time with Gimli. How empty the world would be when Gimli was gone. Yet it seemed that they must inevitably part. Legolas was immortal; Gimli was not. After Gimli's death, Legolas, unless an accident befell him, would probably live on indefinitely. He was not absolutely certain that he would, but he did not think that, by remaining with Gimli, he had made the choice of Arwen, who had bound herself in marriage to a mortal and so had taken an irrevocable mortality upon herself. So Gimli would die, and Legolas would not. What then? 'I suppose', the Elf thought to himself, 'that if I made my way across the Sundering Seas to Valinor, I might be received in that place. Indeed it is more than possible; it is probable'. Legolas knew that his father would plead his case, as would many others. In a chorus would be raised the voices of Gandalf, Elrond, Erestor, Glorfindel, Galadriel, and Celeborn. The Ringbearer, too, would entreat that Legolas be allowed to set foot upon the shores of the Undying Lands.
'But it would be hard', Legolas thought to himself 'to dwell in a place where Gimli never set foot. It would be better to remain in Middle-earth, where I am surrounded by places that remind me of my friend. Valinor is very beautiful, I am told, but it will not be beautiful enough if it is nowhere imbued with memories of Gimli. Very well, then, I shall remain in Middle-earth when Gimli is gone."
Yet as the years passed he began to think that he must seek another way. He still knew that he could never depart for Valinor if it contained no traces of Gimli, but the Dwarf had become so dear to the Elf that he began to wonder if remaining in Middle-earth with only the memories of his friend would suffice. But what were the alternatives? He thought of this matter now as he lay on the moss beside a sleeping Gimli, who was no longer able to climb the rope ladder that led to the talan they had shared. Indeed, so frail had the Dwarf grown that he shook his head when Legolas offered to build a ladder, or even a staircase, for him to ascend.
"Lad, I stumble over the stones, I'm that weak. I hardly think I could lift my foot high enough to make a staircase."
"I could carry you," Legolas offered.
"Nobody carries a Dwarf!" Gimli huffed indignantly.
"No, but on occasion, somebody may toss—" Legolas began to tease.
Gimli feinted a blow at the Elf, who dodged him easily but then stopped in concern when he saw that the mock combat had left his friend breathless.
"Gimli—?"
"It's all right, lad," Gimli gasped. "It's all right. I'm thinking, though, that it won't be too many more days before you must turn ditch-digger. No!" he added hastily when Legolas began to object. "The ground is where a Dwarf is meant to be. I will be comfortable settled in the earth that gave me birth."
Legolas fell silent then, but he could not quell his fear and grief. They disturbed his dreams many a night, and here in Lothlórien they troubled him as he kept vigil by the side of his sleeping friend.
'When Gimli dies', he thought to himself, 'I may live on. But could I not choose to put aside my immortality? I have heard tales of Elves who willed their own deaths. Suffering from grievous injury or the loss of loved ones, they faded, their life force dwindling until they became as mortal as any Man. If I did so, might I not awake in the afterworld of the mortal races, Man and Dwarf, and so rejoin my friend Gimli?'
He considered this notion for awhile but at last was forced to abandon it. It was more likely, he suspected, that for his efforts he would discover himself cast into the Halls of Mandos. There he would be kept a very long time—perhaps forever—by the Valar, who would be displeased at his machinations. 'And so both Gimli and Middle-earth would be lost to me', he concluded sadly.
He stared up at the stars. Directly above was Eärendilthe Mariner, who for centuries had each night ferried a Silmaril across the sky in his starry boat. "The Sea," murmured Legolas, "the Sea." In his mind he heard again the gulls that had swooped overhead as Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas had arrived at Pelargir aboard the vessels that they had seized from the Corsairs of Umbar. Suddenly he sat bolt upright. "The Great Sea!" he exclaimed aloud. Then he looked quickly at his friend, hoping he had not disturbed the agéd Dwarf. Gimli slept on. Relieved, Legolas lay down again, but while his body was still, his mind was not. 'We must go to the Grey Havens', he said to himself excitedly. 'We must sail West to Valinor. I will beg of my kindred that they allow Gimli to set foot upon the shores of the Undying Lands. Frodo they accepted, and Bilbo, too. I expect Sam is there as well. Three mortals given sanctuary in Valinor! Why not a fourth? 'Tis true that Gimli is a Dwarf and never bore the Ring. Still, he was one of the Fellowship. And he was named Elf-friend by Galadriel. Surely the Wise will not overlook these circumstances'.
The more Legolas considered the matter, the more he became convinced that this was the path that he and Gimli must take. 'We have everything to gain, and nothing to lose', he told himself. 'If we are turned away, I shall bear Gimli back to Middle-earth so that he may be buried in its earth, as was his wish. As for me, I will possess all of Arda as a memorial to my friend. Neither of us will be no worse off than before. But if we are granted this boon, Gimli will dwell among the Blessed'.
'Yes', he resolved at last. 'Yes, we will do it. We will journey to the Grey Havens. It may be that a boat lies abandoned at the quay. If not, I can build a vessel large enough for two. I shall provision it with many water skins and lade it with lembas bread. We had better carry fishing line, too, for I do not know how long the journey will take. If worst came to worst, we could subsist on the moisture and flesh of fish'.
In his excitement, Legolas lay awake the rest of the night, but he was not tired when the sun arose. At the first sign of dawn, he arose and began to pack their gear. When Gimli awoke, it was to the sight of Legolas standing by their packhorse, cinching tight the straps that held on their luggage.
"I thought we were to stay on for another fortnight," said the Dwarf, puzzled.
"Gimli, I have in mind to visit the Shire one last time. Afterward I should like to journey to Mithlond."
"Mithlond?"
"The Grey Havens."
"Ah, I see." Gimli fell silent.
Legolas had his back to Gimli, and he allowed himself to smile. He knew what the Dwarf was thinking. More than once Gimli had opined that Legolas ought to leave him in order to join his kin. Now, knowing that his death was near, the Dwarf believed that Legolas had decided to journey to the Havens so that he might depart for the West as soon as he had interred the Dwarf. Well, let him think that. It would make him easier to manage than if he suspected that he himself were to board boat for the West
After breaking fast, Legolas and Gimli went one last time to Cerin Amroth to farewell Arwen. On that hill the golden elanor and the pale niphredil still bloomed, and the mallorn trees that surrounded the summit had not yet lost any of their leaves. "You would not be parted from Aragorn," Legolas murmured in Sindarin as he stroked the stone of her sepulcher. It felt curiously warm in the chill autumn air. 'It is a sign', Legolas thought. 'Gimli is right. Arwen's love for Aragorn endures, as does his for her. It gives me hope that my friendship with Gimli will be allowed to endure as well'.
"What's that you are muttering, lad?"
Legolas shook his head. "It is hard for me to say, Gimli. It is a matter close to my heart."
"I understand, Legolas. Puts me in mind of the day we lost Gandalf in Moria—thought we lost him, anyway. You could not speak of Gandalf that day; nor for many a day after. I do believe our friendship dates from that time. All our disagreements seemed petty from that day forth."
"Aye, Gimli. 'Tis true. From that day forth we would not be parted."
With that Legolas smiled and taking Gimli by the hand turned to climb down Cerin Amroth to where their horses awaited them.