Author's Note - You may be wondering why I'm including a chapter about a funeral that took place two years before this story began, but my reasoning is that it will develop a bridge to the next chapter, which is the highly anticipated Thranduil chapter that everyone seems to be itching to read. :)
Thank you to Nierial Raina for the insightful comments on the sixth chapter. I am sorry that I am so stubbornly sticking to my original plot bunny's insistences, but I appreciate your wise suggestions.
And thank you a hundred times to my beta-reader, Raev, who possesses endless talent and can, with very minimal effort of her part, completely write me under the proverbial table. She absolutely kicks ass. I would be nothing without you, darling.
The funeral for Legolas had been beautiful. Fit for the Prince of Mirkwood.
Frodo Baggins had been allowed to give the eulogy, and had declared, "Legolas was the true hero of the War of the Ring. If not for the surety of his aim, I might never have made it as far as I did or accomplished the things I did. He deserves to be recognized and remembered as a prince, warrior, and Fellowship member, but above all else, a friend to all. Thank you, Legolas, for your contributions to our Quest. I owe you my life a hundred times over, and for that, you will always have my gratitude."
Every voice had lifted in a cheer of agreement, and all hands broke into enthusiastic applause.
After the funeral ceremony, most retreated to the Grand Hall, where a feast in Legolas's honor was to occur. It was a weird custom, but Gimli knew many cultures shared it. It had something to do with celebrating the life of the fallen; however, the Dwarf had always found that tradition to be rather contradictory. He said nothing of his confusion about the motives behind the gorging custom, as he did not wish to ruffle any feathers, especially not when emotions were running so high and on a day when everyone was at their worst for the loss of a creature so incredible.
Gimli decided against joining the others in the banquet ritual, and not only because he disagreed with the idea; he had other intentions, and they were more of an individual nature.
He managed to escape the swollen parade of people heading into the Grand Hall, and instead followed the procession of men carrying the Elf's body to the House of the Kings, where Legolas was to be kept until decisions about his burial place were made. The Dwarf dreaded that; he knew Thranduil would have the final say, and he doubted the King of the Elves would be feeling generous about it.
This might very well be his last chance to have a moment alone with Legolas.
He waited outside behind a cart full of melons that had been abandoned in the flurry of activity that had gone on nonstop since the end of the last battle of the war. Hiding like a criminal, Gimli waited silently for the men to leave so he could sneak in and see his friend. He knew they would not allow him in, as they would never approve of his viewing the body after the funeral. After all, that was the idea behind the funeral in the first place: letting the friends and loved ones of the Elf say their final farewells, and that was that. No more staring at the body.
Gimli understood their sentiments; they just weren't good enough for him. He had to see Legolas again; by himself this time, when he could say more than just goodbye, but also the things that had gone unsaid between them as the Elf faded from this world. There were so many things he still needed to tell Legolas, and damned if he'd let tradition stop him.
After what seemed like hours (when it fact only ten minutes had gone by), the men exited the mausoleum, overly solemn as they tried to pretend they weren't all starving and fiercely interested in the food that awaited them in the Hall of the King.
Gimli waited until they had all passed from sight, and then slipped into the stone tomb, trying to ready himself for his last chance to speak his mind and heart.
For the good of the people, he would never enter a burial tomb without permission. If he thought it was for the good of Legolas, he certainly would not. But this was for the good of Gimli, and he believed with all his heart that Legolas would like to hear the things he intended to tell him. He was going in, and if anyone dared attempt to stop him, they would find themselves at the business end of his meticulously sharpened axe. It was as simple as that.
The Elf had been laid out on the cold marble pyre, his hands folded neatly upon his still chest. His bow was resting between the fingers of one hand, and a single white-feathered arrow in the other, and his long knives glistened at his side.
A pose and props befitting a warrior.
The weak rays of sunlight that filtered in through the open window fell upon the pyre, and cast an eerie luminosity over the prone body that lay upon it.
It was ridiculous, Gimli knew, but he kept yearning for his dear friend to shift and stretch, as if awakening from a deep sleep.
Indeed, Legolas appeared so peaceful, it seemed that he was merely dozing. At worst, unconscious perhaps. But dead? No. The Elf did not appear dead. If it weren't for the absence of the glow that normally surrounded his slender figure, it would be very easy to believe he lived still.
How Gimli would rejoice to see those dark lashes flutter as the bright eyes opened wide in confusion and the melodic voice inquired, "How long have I slumbered? And just where in the name of Ilúvatar am I?!"
What wouldn't I give to make that happen, Gimli thought with a sigh as he drew nearer to his friend.
As soon as he reached the pyre, he placed one hand on Legolas's pale cheek. It felt like cold velvet beneath his rough, calloused fingers. "I am so sorry, my friend, for not finding you soon enough to save you. I would have given my life for you alone; instead, you gave yours for all of us." A lump formed in his throat. "You always did know how to best me, Master Elf."
He stared at his friend, his heart willing life back into the Elf.
"Ai, have five days passed already? It feels as though it has been but five hours, and I miss you as though it was only five minutes ago, Legolas." He patted the Elf's hand, and added, "Even if you always were a real tangle in my beard."
Gimli fingered the Elven brooch that held the Lórien cloak closed. If it had not been for the Lady of the Golden Wood, they might never have forgiven each other for things that had happened long before they had even met; they might have held resentments about afflictions that they had not visited upon each other...the old grudges ran deep. Galadriel had reminded them firmly that they were not their fathers, and should at least find reasons of their own to harbor ill feelings toward each other. Without her sage advice, they might never have become the friends that they had. Perhaps it would be best. Then I would not hurt at his passing.
The thought came unbidden, and Gimli growled, angrily berating himself mentally. Durin's Beard, what a horrible way to think! If it hadn't been for Legolas, you would never have known true friendship...and the true friendship you did know with Legolas is worth hurting over.
Guiltily, he cast his eyes to the Elf, so beautiful in his repose. He was grateful that Legolas would never know the horrible things he had just thought. For the life of him, Gimli did not know what caused him to be so selfish and think only of his pain when his dearest friend lay in state on a funeral pyre, never to know solace again.
It seemed like eternity dragged by as he stood there, just staring at the prone figure.
After awhile, it became clear that his presence in the tomb had been predicted. He knew he'd be found out sooner or later. Gimli heard the approaching footfalls on the stone road long before they reached the doorway, and from the swish of white cloth, he sensed rather than saw that it was Gandalf.
The wizard walked up to the pyre, resting his palm over Legolas's arranged hands.
Gimli was expecting his friend to scold him for coming into the tomb without explicit permission from the King, but Gandalf said nothing of the sort. It occurred to the Dwarf that perhaps the Maia came for the same reason he had: to say a private goodbye. If Gimli could have managed it without his heart breaking, he might have left to make that possible for Gandalf, but he just could not bring himself to leave Legolas's side.
He moved away from the pyre to give Gandalf some space, taking a seat in a chair that had been placed in a corner.
For his part, the wizard seemed unruffled by Gimli's presence. He seemed to understand why the Dwarf needed to be here, and wasn't at all bothered by the lack of privacy. He murmured to Legolas in Elvish, unintelligible to Gimli, then turned to face the other living inhabitant of the tomb.
"I spoke to the Elven-King earlier. Seems Thranduil wants to take Legolas back with him to be buried in Mirkwood," Gandalf commented casually, keeping his tone neutral as he carefully watching the Dwarf's face for reaction.
Gimli did not respond at first, but tugged irritably at his beard, which told the wizard immediately the depth of his annoyance.
A long silence fell over the already too-quiet atmosphere hanging over the tomb.
Then, finally, Gimli's frustration got the better of him. He practically growled as he leapt up from his chair, knocking it over with a heavy clatter, and began to furiously pace the floor. His dark eyes were flashing dangerously. He looked tempted to hunt down the Elven-King and throttle him with his bare hands.
Gandalf grimaced and took a deep breath, waiting for the legendary Dwarven temper tantrum to commence, but fortunately, this Dwarf had learned at least that childish fits would get him nowhere with this wizard. He composed himself before he spoke, and Gandalf released the pent-up breath in a sigh of relief.
"Gandalf, can you not talk reason into him? What of his friends? What of Frodo and the other Halflings? They will want to visit him; you know how Pippin is troubled by the fact that he cannot visit Boromir."
"You mean what of you." As always, the old Maia saw right through him. "I know you have your reservations about having our Elven friend buried in Thranduil's realm, but Gimli, Legolas is his child. He can do anything he pleases with the body of his son. And might I remind you, Legolas was Prince of Mirkwood. He should be buried with his kind; with his people."
"You know full well Thranduil won't allow me into Mirkwood! Especially to see his son; Valar forbid, I might taint the sacred resting place."
The wizard shot him a dirty look at his disrespectful sarcasm.
"Put yourself in the place of the Elven-King. Would you not would want your child buried as close to you as possible, Master Dwarf?"
Gimli sighed, knowing Gandalf was right. Still, he wanted Legolas close to him too.
"We all loved Legolas, Gimli, but none so much as his father."
Gandalf knelt before him, looking at him with wise blue eyes that held nothing but kindness. "Gimli, if nothing else, realize that Elves bury their fallen kindred in the earth, in the land that they loved and cherished. Would you wish to see Legolas entombed in a stone mausoleum and covered in a burial shroud, he who so loved sunlight and fresh air?"
The Dwarf hung his head, and his shoulders slumped. "No," he whispered softly. "Legolas would hate that. I would hate that."
"This would happen in Gondor, my friend, because that is how men bury their fallen. You have to realize that we are doing what Legolas would have wanted, even if it is at the expense of those who loved him. If you love him, let him go. Know that his father loves him too, and is not doing this to affront you, Master Dwarf. He is doing what he can to help himself cope, and if having Legolas near is his best bet, do not stand in the way of a father mourning his son."
Gimli sighed heavily, but nodded his concurrence. "I hate that you are always right, Gandalf," he declared.
The wizard chuckled, slipping an arm around the stout creature's shoulders. "And I hate that you are always stubborn, Gimli," he replied, prompting a laugh from the Dwarf. "Perhaps you can plead for permission to see Legolas once more when you go to Thranduil to make your amends with him and hopefully end the grudge that has existed between your father, yourself, and him for centuries."
"How did you..." the Dwarf stammered, confused.
Gandalf just smiled knowingly. "I've known our friend longer than you, Gimli. I know what he would want, and I have no doubt that Legolas asked that very thing of you."
"You are always right!" Gimli cried, shaking his head. "I thought Elves were confusing! I'll never understand you wizards either!"
"Let us go, Gimli. You need to eat, and I think we both could use a good smoke. Will you smoke with me, Master Dwarf?"
"Aye," Gimli answered, "but first, I need one more moment alone with Legolas. I will meet you outside, Gandalf."
The Maia nodded, giving the Elf's hand a final, friendly squeeze and kissing the pale brow. "Goodbye, Legolas," he whispered, barely loud enough to reach Gimli's ears. Then he swept out of the tomb in a flutter of white robes.
Gimli took a deep breath, then more or less climbed up the pyre and placed a chaste kiss on Legolas's forehead as well. "Goodbye, Legolas, son of Thranduil. I hope I will be able to see you again someday, and at least visit once in awhile before that time comes. I still fully intend to keep my promise to you, fool Elf, and I hope it gives you peace. You deserve it."
Fighting back the tears, he rejoined Gandalf outside, quietly pulling the door of the tomb closed and allowing the wizard to guide him back to the Grand Hall. Having a few puffs on my pipe might be the best medicine for grief. One way to find out.