Tree and Stone

XIII

Justification

There was a ruckus in the Dwarven quarters. Gimli approached the chamber with growing apprehension. He could hear his father's voice, an even and firm tone over which several other voices were raised in argument. Gimli hastened to lend his support to Glóin, whatever the subject of the debate.

As it turned out, the subject of the argument was himself! The voices fell silent as the young dwarf entered the room. Boròr was standing at the point of a wedge of dwarven ire, tugging on his greying beard as if he expected it to come off in his hands. Glóin stood before him, arms crossed and face closed. Boròr turned his eyes toward Gimli.

"And where have you been, beardling? Great councils and debates of our Age ring in the halls and you tarry beneath elvish awnings while here your folk discuss the future of our people! Did you pay any attention at the council? Can you even understand what all this means?"

Gimli ignored Boròr, saying to his father. "I have spoken to Lord Elrond on our behalf."

Boròr was not pleased to see Gimli's back. He clapped a heavy hand on Gimli's shoulder. "And who are you to speak for Dwarves to Elrond?"

Gimli turned his head, staring at Boròr's offending hand, then casting a piercing glare to his face. Boròr released him and stepped back. "I am Glóin's son, and I claim the right to represent our folk in this quest, if Lord Elrond permits." Gimli clearly stressed the Edain's title, and his eyes challenged all. "Idle I stood, when Thorin Oakenshield when forth to reclaim the home of our people from the dragon. I remained with my father and my king when Balin made his journey to Khazad-dum, though my heart was sore to join him. Now I am the fittest, the strongest, the most skilled and mettled, and I claim the right to accompany the Ring-bearer. Which of you wish to challenge me?" Gimli raised his axe and kissed the gleaming edge. "I have been quarreling with Elves all day, and I am ready for a real fight!"

Glóin was nearly swelling with pride, looking on as his son stood up the elders. He took a step to bring himself behind Gimli. "As the official representative of King Dàin, I have already appointed my son Gimli to this task, as is my right. Boròr, you speak with wisdom and with passion, but in this you have no voice. Gimli is the one who will go. But as he says, the last decision is with Lord Elrond."

Boròr frowned and twisted his beard. "How can you trust this Elf-lord? Did you yourself not languish in the prisons of the Green Elves? Did the comfort of those cells teach you to love thralldom?"

Glóin moved so quickly that even Gimli was surprised, and the bottom length of Boròr's beard was lying on the floor before anyone had realized that he had drawn his axe. Boròr leaped back, stumbling into the other dwarves behind him and tumbling to the floor. He stared at Glóin in shock.

Glóin replaced his axe in its sheath. "I consider this to be the end of the debate. Gimli, if you would accompany me... I wish to pay a visit to our old friends." Father and son left the room and Boròr, fingering his shortened beard, reflecting on how thankful he was that Glóin had cut away only what could easily grow back.

Legolas had a similar problem when he returned to the airy chamber he shared with his travel companions. Finoglos was beside himself with anger, but for quite the opposite reason.

"Have you gone mad?" he asked, discarding all pretense of respect. Legolas merely listened, his arms crossed and his bearing set. He had expected no less.

Finoglos continued his tirade. Baranhan and Randundo stood nearby, their faces betraying their own feelings. "Your father the King... he will not hear this! When I return to Mirkwood, he will ask 'Where is my son?' What will I tell him?"

"Tell him that his son has taken responsibility for himself," Legolas said gently, "At last."

"Responsibility? You call this responsible? Gallivanting off on some doomed errand with a motley crew of half-grown mortals?" Finoglos sputtered.

Legolas's face grew stony. "Stay your tongue before you say more than can be recalled, Finoglos. You and I are friends of old but these folk deserve our respect, not our disdain. I will not hear you belittle them."

Finoglos touched his arm, a gesture of entreaty, "Please, Legolas my prince; reconsider! Your father did instruct you to return and not be turned aside! Let another take this quest. Your people and your king need you."

"And I need to see this through. This is my fate, Fin. Father shall not hold you responsible for me. Indeed, it is likely that you shall stand in my stead, captain of the guard that was once my pride, and upon you will his gaze fall should the kingdom need an heir. I would trust none more than you, my friend.

"You must let me go. All the errors of my life have built this stony road, and I must tread it. At the ending will I make reparation for my folly, and maybe find salvation. When I return to Mirkwood, I shall no longer be the Elf you see before you." He gripped Finoglos's shoulder, and his friend returned the gesture, tears of silver filling his almond eyes.

"I shall bear tidings to thy father, Thranduilion. Nai hirivalye Valimar, heru nin."

Legolas smiled. "You always were a good student of the old tongue. May you find Elfhome, also, my friend."