Chapter XXIII

As the Elf Runs

Legolas ran. The world was an unpainted canvas, white and unrelenting, featureless and yet treacherous. Soft his feet fell and they made no mark upon the heaped snow, as if he were but a dream of the drowsing January morning. Still, the slight sound of his breathing, the beating of his heart, even the sleepless movement of his thoughts; these things were magnified and multiplied, causing the fragile bridges of ice and wind-sculpted snow to shiver and thrum like the taunt strings of a lyre answering the tentative questioning caress of the musician.

The sky was grey as stone, eager to send down more wind and sleet, but Legolas ran on undaunted. Eastward beyond the Redhorn Pass and its wintry veil, the Sun climbed, and though he could not see Her face strains of immortal music touched the Elf's ears; the singing of Arien's handmaidens filled his heart with warmth.

He passed by where Boromir and Aragorn toiled, startling them with a merry wave. He laughed after their coarse but good-natured remarks. What use is an Elf for shoveling snow? They would reach their goal no sooner if he stopped to assist them, yet with the virtues of his race Legolas could go forward swiftly and bring back to them a more truly valuable thing; hope.

Gimli sat close to the hobbits, feeling the chilly disposition of Caradhras beginning to creep into his own bones. The Men were gone, having burrowed through the snow past a turn of rock, so far away that the sounds of their efforts were lost to his ears. Gimli knew that Aragorn would not abandon them; nor would Boromir, for all that he was against the attempting of this route. A rousing chorus of recriminations that Man could have sung, but instead he threw his shoulder into the labour to save them all. Gimli knew no men of Gondor, but if Boromir were an example of the strength and nobility of that race, then even a dwarf might come to regard them with trust.

Under layers of blankets the hobbits lay shivering. Gimli knew himself to be as hearty as the mightiest of dwarves, and as he felt the bite of the cold rather keenly, he knew the suffering of these smaller, softer folk must be great indeed. They did not complain, but merely huddled closer together, and Gimli and Gandalf both stayed close to lend what warmth they could with their breath and bodies.

Legolas had long disappeared, and it rankled Gimli so that he fancied that the glow of his anger might melt the mountainside. Was he too good, that Elf princeling, to huddle in the slush and give comfort to a halfling? Why had he walked so far with the Company-- even attempted to gull Gimli himself with overtures of feigned friendship-- only to abandon them here?

But if this was so, Gimli could not stay the argument from his mind, why did not Legolas go eastward, toward his home beyond the mountain pass covered in snow that hindered him not?

So Gimli held his tongue and brushed ice from his beard and said nothing more aloud concerning the Elf.

The wind had died when the morning had come, so when Gandalf spoke his clouded breath hung as thick and white as his frost-covered beard. "When I was traveling with Bilbo he would often complain that Adventures were bothersome, annoying things, and he would frequently list all the comforts of Bag End that he missed the most. At the time I am afraid I laughed a little, for these discomforts he suffered by were not unbearable to an old wanderer like me. But now I find myself wishing heartily for a seat by the old boy's fire, to be sitting in that too-small chair and puffing on a pipe-full of Old Toby… and I find that the thought of it is indeed comforting to me."

Pippin raised his head, and Merry also. "Old Toby!" they sighed in the same breath, and then they chuckled together even as they shivered. "I'd like some of that, with a s-s-steaming m-mug of tea with a brace of b-brandy poured into it!" Merry said, tugging the edge of his cloak more snuggly around his neck.

"A cup of mulled wine and a loaf of bread fresh from my mother's hearth!" Pippin said wistfully. His lips were tinted with white, and Gandalf took of his silvery scarf and wrapped it warmly around the littlest hobbit's head. "Th-thank you, G-gandalf!" Pippin said, before retreating again beneath the blankets.

The lump that was Sam did not surface, but a muffled voice drifted upward, "Daisy's teacakes, Marigold's stewed mutton, and mum's fried fish and taters..." Frodo chuckled fondly at his words, but said nothing himself.

"What do you miss most, cousin F-frodo?" said Merry.

"E-everyth-thing," Frodo answered. He began then to shake violently.

Gandalf settled closer and drew the blankets back over Frodo's head, then draped his heavy grey cloak over them all.

Gimli reflected on what he missed most. Thoughts of warm food, soft beds, and crackling fireplaces gave way to memories of the glowing, groaning forges of Lonely Mountain, the fall of hammers like the tinkling of the first rain of spring, the hiss of cooling metal, the soft susurrus of the polishing cloth, the whine of the plane, the bark of the chiseler's awl. He heard all those pleasant memories in his head, channeled from his heart. Those sounds once filled this mountain, the thought came suddenly to him; Once these peaks echoed with the songs and the lives of many dwarves.

It seemed to Gimli as he entertained these thoughts, that there came a touch of warmth creeping up his legs, as if the stone beneath his boots remembered him, as if the forges that once lived in the heart of Khazad-dum still burned. He strained his ears to hear the hammers ringing, to catch one strain of deep voices singing below the vastness of the Redhorn's stone skin.

A noise did come to him then, but it was not deep dwarvish singing. A light voice, sending a merry ripple of sound sliding across the frozen landscape; the singing of the Elf was carried up to his ears on the still wind and slippery stones. And where once he would have cursed to hear such a sound, now he smiled a little beneath his beard. Something about the sound of it was too joyful to be brooded upon.

Legolas sighted the end of the snow-cover, well above the line of trees that blanketed the mountains like a furry green garment. Already the air was warmer here, even though the great clouds over Caradhras umbrellaed the sun, he could see her gracing light touching the remote world that stretched beyond the foothills, fading into a golden haze before the hint of grey that suggested the Sea; far, far to the west that body lay, and not even the eyes of Legolas could see that far.

He did not look for it. The voices of the trees called to him with greater temptation than some distant, chilly vast water. He would have liked to feel the Sun touch his face, and for a moment thought he might run forth and seek Her, but he remembered those who he left behind and he turned at once to rejoin to them. The sky above the mountain was almost blue, but not with clear skies. The frowning clouds were bruised and burdened. He could see the threat of more snow becoming a promise.

The journey back up the mountain took longer than the trek downward, for though light and swift as the feet of Elves, the stones were slick and the path steep. Rocks loosened by the freezing air tumbled past him, and many seemed to have been rolled in his path deliberately. Legolas dodged them easily, watching always for a sign of the mischief-maker.

A large boulder grumbled as it tumbled down toward him, and in its wake Legolas spotted him; a large figure, slate-grey as the mountain itself, leaned down to see if his last effort would be rewarded. Legolas reached back for his bow and strung it even as he ran. The wild face disappeared as the Elf halted suddenly and notched an arrow to his string. He drew until the feathers tickled his ear, waiting.

The creature must have seen him, because it did not reappear. Also, the boulders and stones ceased rolling down past Legolas. It seemed that the beast-- whatever it had been-- had given up its sport for the moment. Legolas relaxed his bow and returned the arrow to his quiver, unwilling to waste even one shaft. His bow he left strung and he held it in his hand as he resumed his upward flight.

Legolas approached the great drift that he had slid down with such delight on his descent. Here the snow became much deeper, and Legolas grew concerned, thinking that some sign of Boromir and Aragorn should be seen by now. Agile as a squirrel in the thick boughs of an oak, the Elf climbed nimbly up the mound of snow and walked the knife-sharp crest as easily as if it were a broad path.

On the other side of the drift he saw what he had hoped for; Boromir and Aragorn stood there, at the end of their long path of beaten snow. Both were nearly as white as the piles around them, for all the snow clinging to their clothes and hair. They stood breathing heavily, the clouds of their breath rising slowly and melting. They had taken their path right up to the great drift, but had halted there. Piles of snow had rained down on them as they tried to battle through, nearly burying them both. Their voices carried clearly up to Legolas's hearing.

"Another mountain has appeared behind us!" Boromir exclaimed. "I was sure that this is the way we came, but now I wonder if I was turned about by the darkness and wind. Have we gone amiss?"

"Nay," said Aragorn, shaking his cloak to dislodge the clinging snow, "this way is how we came. But this does seem to be a solid wall through which we have no gate to pass. We might go round, and find a longer but shallower way, or we might try to burrow through. I fear that the weight of this will bury us whole, and I fear also wandering too far from the path and finding an abyss beneath our feet."

Legolas crouched on the lip of the drift and called down to them, saying, "Stray not from your path, Lords of Snow and Ice! Your memory is true, and the barrier before you no match for the strength of two such warriors, for all it is tall enough to make you both feel like halflings."

Aragorn looked up at him, squinting his eyes against the blade of cold air that cut down the mountain. "Look, Boromir! Legolas has returned. Have you brought the Sun to melt our way, or will you this time assist us in digging the path. Extra hands at this time would be welcome!"

"I cannot bring the hope of the Sun to you, Estel. She is far away and quite untroubled by our plight. But this much I can give: this mountain of snow before you is but the width of a rampart, and with a little more vigor and persistence you will win through. Just beyond this drifting wall, you will find the snow much lessened and the path easier."

"Good news, Legolas! That is indeed a welcome message," Boromir said, "but I wonder why you carry your bow strung. Have you seen enemies other than snow and cold stone?"

"It may be that what I saw was no more than stone and ice," Legolas said, and his eyes roved the rising cliffs above them, "and it may be that arrows would do little against them. Still, they have hid their faces and cease their throwing of stones, for now. Mayhap it was but the tenacious light of day that drove them away."

"I would welcome the sight of it, should day come this far up this wretched mountain," grumbled Boromir, flexing his great arms. "Well, get you to another perch, snow-bird. I will bring down this mountain and find the hope you have brought." Together with Aragorn, he fought a way through the towering snow, which tumbled down upon them and caused Legolas to leap clear to the safety of a sturdier mound. The men surfaced quickly, laughing though they were chilled to the bone, and they trod down the snow until it formed a bridge through the drift, a gate through which they could see the promise of Legolas fulfilled. They promptly turned and battled their way back up the mountain, Legolas running swiftly ahead, his feet lightened by the good news he could bear.

Gimli was dozing lightly, frost coating his beard and helm. He roused suddenly as he heard again the sound of music, light and merry, drifting up the mountain to his ears. He looked up and, before he could stop himself, he gave a bellow of delight, causing the heads of the four hobbits to pop up from beneath their blankets and cloaks to see Legolas running toward them. His feet were sure on the icy drifts as if it were but scooped and piled sand, his cloak billowed out behind him and his face was smiling.

As he appeared clearly on the horizon, a ghost of the wind touched Gimli's face and shook a few flakes of snow loose from the heavy sky. From around the bend along the trail of disturbed snow, Boromir and Aragorn reappeared, labouring back up the path.

Gandalf looked at Gimli over the heads of the halflings, smiling despite the burn of the wind on his face. "A glad sight that is indeed, master Dwarf. Did you truly doubt that he would return?"

Gimli grumbled a little, then he returned the wizard's sharp glance. "It is very fine for one of the Wise, who know instantly the hearts of his companions! Those of us lesser souls must be given proofs before being free in the bestowing of trust."

"Would that I did indeed know instantly who is true of heart and who not," said Gandalf. "There are those among the Wise who can do this, but they are greater in skill than I." Gandalf greeted the Elf as he approached. Legolas's face glowed with good news yet-unspoken.

In a quick aside to the Dwarf, Gandalf said, so that no one else could hear, "Trust earned is not trust freely given, my dear Gimli. Unlock your heart and you will find that it is you who will be rewarded, in the end."