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kylobith · 5 months

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LotR Week - Day 4 (14th Dec)

friendship | family | loyalty

Word count: 3,668

Flutes, fiddles and harps enlivened the streets of Minas Tirith on the day that the silver crown graced King Elessar’s head. Chants, clamours and cheers resounded from the gate to the citadel in celebration of the rebirth of Gondor. Fairy lights and colourful banners hung between the houses and the royal colours were hoisted high from the roofs, if not from the facades and the ramparts. As the people raised their pints and cried out their elation from windows and doors alike, giddy of heart and red of face, it seemed that the promise of a bright future had reached them at last. All looked up to the White Tree, now certain that it shall flourish and blossom anew. Hope had returned.

At the citadel, a banquet was thrown in honour of the new monarch and his company. In the Hall of the Kings and onto the terrace where the coronation had occurred, distinguished guests walked out and about, goblet in hand and lavishly clad. They mingled and met, talked and shared, bowed and laughed. In the crowd stood Men and Hobbits alike, Elves and Dwarves equal. Hearts were lighter, as were their shoulders now rid of armour, with the exception of military leaders. Common soldiers had been permitted to shed them for the festivities, facilitating movement and dancing.

Aragorn moved from group to group with his beloved Arwen at his arm, in order to thank them warmly for their presence and for their loyal service to Gondor and the greater good. By the end of the feast, he would have met about everyone, now that he had paraded the streets of his new seat, meeting with the people he swore to serve and protect until he last drew breath. His arrival and ascension were met with unanimous enthusiasm by the population, who had long suffered the decline of their realm and the tarnishing of the glory their land had once known. He intended to restore all of it and more. This time, Gondor would never falter again; it would stand tall and proud, strong and loud until any evil-wisher would be vanquished. All the while, he could not help but think to himself how much he wished that Boromir were there to see his cherished city come to life again.

Farther away on the terrace, the remaining members of the Fellowship gathered organically, clinking their glasses and exchanging smiles. Towering over them, Gandalf looked ahead to watch the king, his chin raised and his eyes wrinkling at the corners.

‘It is a new era begun,’ he announced in peaceful solemnity. ‘It should not be long until the White Tree burgeons again.’

‘It is indeed,’ Legolas acquiesced, sipping at wine. ‘I, for one, am honoured to witness this change.’

‘Change will be an onerous task still, whether in Gondor or in Rohan,’ the wizard continued with a nod of his head towards the Elf. ‘Nothing will ever be the same again. And I can only imagine that it also rings true to any of you. Tell me, my friends, what will you endeavour to do next?’

There was a momentary pause as his companions thought about what their future entailed. Their perilous journey, only just completed had left no room for contemplation about what they would do once peace was restored and the enemy defeated. Starved and strained, sore and struggling, the mere idea of home was nothing but a fantasy, a faraway illusion whose existence they so often doubted. At times, it had felt as though their fight had occupied their whole lives. As though they had been born right in the middle of combat and left to fend for themselves, or grown up climbing mountainsides and venturing through cursed marshes. When they were finally given the luxury to ponder about it, ideas and inspiration eluded them.

To nobody’s surprise, it was Legolas who answered first, running his fingertip along the rim of his cup.

‘I will return to Taur-nu-Fuin and report to my father. Then, I suppose we can finally clear our beloved woods of its evils and see it reborn.’

‘I remember the days when Mirkwood was a most inviting forest,’ Gandalf responded, rubbing his bearded chin pensively. ‘When birds and butterflies flew by each other’s side and deer and boars feasted on the plentiful grass. It was nearly as green as the meadows in the Shire!’

The Elf nodded knowingly, his thin lips curving into a joyful grin at the recollection. Yes, there used to be a time when Mirkwood was not so… mirky. His kin had witnessed it, but none of the living Men, Hobbits and Dwarves had been graced with its fulfilling sight.

Gandalf eyed his other companions, wondering whether they had plans once they returned home. The Hobbits shrugged and shook their heads, exchanging innocent glances.

‘We will return to the Shire, yes, but what we are going to do there, we don’t know,’ Merry said.

‘There is this book that Uncle Bilbo started to write,’ Frodo spoke up, his gaze lost ahead of him, as though seeing something that none other could behold. ‘He left blank pages for me to write my own adventure. Perhaps I should do just that.’

‘Yes, that is a wonderful idea, Frodo,’ the wizard chimed. ‘If you do, none of the fallen will have truly disappeared. They will live in your tale.’

Frodo bit the inside of his cheek, the tips of his eyebrows pointing upwards and creasing his forehead as he considered Gandalf for a second. Whether the old man was right or not, he could not tell. Maybe it depended on one’s belief. Or, perhaps, it was another way for the wizard to protect the young Hobbit’s feelings. It was something that had irritated him as of late, although he never showed his annoyance at it. Everyone walked on eggshells around him, weighing their words and smiling more than usual. Why would they do it to him, and not to the others?

As he distracted himself from his frustration by tasting the bitter pale ale of Gondor, it was Sam’s turn to express his enthusiasm.

‘I believe I will return to gardening and add flowers from the various lands we crossed on our adventure to my beds,’ he beamed. ‘But I will also make time to tend to Mr Frodo as he heals.’

‘And we just don’t know,’ Merry and Pippin said in unison, before the latter added: ‘Perhaps I will pester Sam from time to time to keep things fun.’

‘You do that, and I’ll make sure that Farmer Maggot gets his hands on you for stealing his crops!’

All of it was in good fun, of course. As soon as the words had left Sam’s mouth, they were followed by a hearty laugh as he wrapped an arm around the younger Hobbit’s shoulders, squeezing him against his side and clinking their pints together.

‘Well, it seems that there will be much merriness in the Shire after all, and I should worry about neither of you,’ Gandalf chuckled, before bringing his attention to the Dwarf smoking his pipe with a foaming mug of ale in his other hand. ‘What about you, Gimli?’

‘Aye, I would set out to recapture Moria if I weren’t on my own,’ he announced in his husky voice. ‘I’d much like to see my cousin’s hall restored to its former glory. If Minas Tirith can, Khazad-Dûm should know the same fate!’

‘I see. Perhaps you should seek the help of Ironfoot. Now that the Balrog is gone, I am certain that he would be willing to send troops to rid the Misty Mountains of its goblins.’

Gimli blew out the smoke from his lungs and swigged the ale, leaving foam bubbling on the copper hairs of his moustache and the tip of his large nose.

‘Dáin will never agree to it. He lost too many men in the mines already.’

‘He would be foolish to refuse. Besides, the fallen Dwarves deserve a proper resting place, not a forsaken mass grave.’

‘Aye, they do.’

Before he could take another sip of his beverage, a group of children emerged from behind him and jumped on his back. Taken by surprise, Gimli let go of the mug — narrowly saved by Legolas’ sharp reflexes — and his pipe, eyes wide and arms waving around to try and rid him of his assailants. The children held on, roaring with laughter as they laid their hands on the Dwarf’s head. Swinging from side to side, trying not to tumble down, Gimli shouted and protested, cursing his mates for watching the scene in amusement and laughing along with the little ones. Once their cheeky deed was done, the four boys fled, and the little girl accompanying them pecked his cheek before hitching her skirts up and following them.

‘Ah, children,’ Gandalf exclaimed, his shoulders still shaking from his laughter. ‘I believe that two of them are the offsprings of the Lady of Lossarnach.’

‘Noble or not, they are little rascals all the same,’ Gimli grumbled, patting off his sleeves and his tunic. His motion was interrupted, however, when the stifled chuckles of the Hobbits reached his ears. ‘What?’

‘Don’t you think that Gimli smells better all of a sudden?’ Pippin asked Merry, eyes watering as he restrained himself to keep his composure.

‘He sure does, Pip! Like the loveliest lady!’

‘What are ye two blabbering abo—’

As the Dwarf’s eyes lowered to his tunic, he caught sight of daisies adorning his beard. He patted the top of his head and felt flowers in his hair as well, dropping his hand by his side as the pair of Hobbit finally allowed themselves to give in to a fit of hilarity. Gimli snatched his pipe from the ground and proceeded to wipe the mouthpiece from dust and gravel, before retrieving his mug from Legolas.

‘Oh yes, make fun of the Dwarf! I was attacked, I’m telling you! Attacked!’

Gimli’s remark did not quieten his peers’ amusement. Rather the opposite. Merry and Pippin scampered off as he grumbled in their direction, and Gandalf seized the opportunity to talk to Frodo and Sam alone. Left with Legolas, the Dwarf sighed and thanked him for saving his pint. They stood in silence for a few seconds, before Gimli shook his head again.

‘Bairns…’

‘Well, they certainly made you look rather elegant,’ Legolas teased with an eyebrow raised. ‘They managed what I could not.’

‘Nobody can change this Dwarf,’ Gimli scoffed and puffed his pipe.

‘Certainly not.’

The Dwarf peeled one of the daisies from his beard and instantly heard the gasps from the children a few feet away. He met their gazes and took notice of the flowers they had gathered in the palms of their hands. They loomed over him as a threat, ominous and menacing.

‘Ah, well,’ he said loud enough for the children to hear, sliding the daisy back in the coarse red hairs of his beard, ‘I might as well leave them in.’

‘Good choice,’ the Elf acquiesced. ‘Children are not too bad, are they? They have seen their share of suffering here. They should embrace their childhood now.’

‘Aye, aye, they should. Perhaps they should even make me a flower crown. And one for you too, Elf.’

Legolas laughed and finished his wine, watching the little humans tiptoeing through the crowd of nobles in search of their next victim to embellish. There had been a time when he had wished for children of his own. He had longed to hold his flesh and blood in his arms, to look after and coddle until the bairn would have been old enough to train in archery with him. Often, he pictured himself braiding his child’s hair to keep it out of their youthful face until they were able to do it themselves. And such a day he would have fervently dreaded, for it would have meant that his help and love in such simple gestures would no longer be needed.

But after all that he had seen and lived, the idea of producing offspring sounded much less attractive to him than it used to. For once, he found himself yearning to care for the living more than for the unborn. He felt no sorrow at such thoughts; if anything, there was peace in his decision. He would gladly tend to the children of his dearest friends, but having his own would be out of the question.

Lost in thought, it was the unexpected pressure against the side of his neck that dragged him out of his reverie. Blinking in confusion, he caught a glimpse of Gimli folding his arm back against him and looked down at his pale blond locks, among which one daisy was nestled. Legolas chuckled and took it out, tucking it above his ear instead with a smirk.

‘Much better,’ he commented, flipping his hair over his shoulder. ‘See? You are not that much of a grouch after all. You do have a heart underneath that tough shell of yours.’

‘Of course, I do, pointy-eared lad!’

‘You do indeed. You have a lot of it, I must say. It is one of the reasons why I like you.’

Gimli flinched and furrowed his bushy brows as he stared up at the Elf. His heart seemed to have stopped as all colours drained from his face. His mouth opened and closed, yet no sound escaped it. Not a peep. Out of panic, he snapped his head around and called out.

‘What is it, lad? I’m comin’, I’m comin’! Sorry, Pippin is calling me.’

With this said Gimli hurried away, cursing under his breath, leaving a dumbfounded Legolas behind. The latter shrugged it off and approached one of the tables to find something to nibble on.

The celebration continued until late in the night. Dancing was now the main preoccupation, and many were the pairs twirling and pressing their hands together in the lofty hall. Aragorn and Arwen engaged in the most elegant choreography, once taught to them in Rivendell. Sam danced with one of the few children still awake, complimenting her on her steps and spinning her around to trigger a laugh from her. Merry and Pippin leapt around the place, inebriated and their mouths full of food — it was a wonder that they had not yet choked on any of it. Farther towards the thrones, one could see the tall, dark-haired beauty from the coastal lands of Gondor bowing and circling around the unusually bashful, yet pleased king of Rohan in a traditional dance of the realm. Under the arches, resting their weary feet on a bench, Faramir placed his head on Éowyn’s shoulder as she weaved her fingers through his hair, spying on her flustered brother with a bemused stare.

Gimli did not partake in any of that. He leant against one of the columns, drinking more ale and stealing fleeting glances at Legolas. The Elf seemed deep in conversation with Prince Imrahil, unaware of the Dwarf’s scrutiny and scowl.

What did Legolas mean by what he said? Gimli could not wrap his head around it. Was there something on the Elf’s mind that eluded him or that he was too blind to see? Had he done anything to warrant such words?

When Legolas bowed to Imrahil and excused himself, Gimli instantly looked away, focusing instead on Sam and Frodo sharing a pastry while sitting on a bench on the opposite side of the hall. The Elf approached Aragorn and Arwen and whispered something in their ears, which he could not discern with the music and the clamour of the guests cluttering his hearing. The king pulled Legolas into a warm embrace and patted his back, smiling and speaking words that did not reach the Dwarf either. Arwen did the same, and smiled sweetly at the Wood Elf, squeezing his arm before waving at him as he left the festivities.

Yes, he might as well go, Gimli thought while grumbling, lighting up the weed he had shoved into his pipe while observing the scene. If Legolas was in the mood to pronounce such silly words, then he could not be helped.

Blowing out a cloud of smoke, the Dwarf pressed the back of his head to the pillar behind him. Despite everything that was happening around him, he could not get the damned Elf’s words out of his head. He had tried to follow conversations, but it took less than two sentences for him to find his mind wandering back to his embarrassment earlier. Gimli scrunched up his face and grunted. He needed to know.

Once in his quarters, Legolas stretched his back and sighed in relief, his head buzzing after leaving the constant hubbub of the coronation feast. He delicately removed his belt and unbuttoned his silken tunic, lifting the intricate circlet from his brow and placing it back on its velvet cushion on the nightstand. Disrobing and carefully folding or hanging the pieces of his garment, he entered the bathroom and picked up the satin robe he had left there in the morning, covering his bare body with it.

Before he was even done tying it around his waist, there was a soft knock upon the door.

‘Ent—’

A loud bang thundered across the room as a furious Gimli kicked the door in and entered without letting him finish his invitation. The Elf shrieked and nearly tore the robe off himself in a start. Not giving him a chance to protest this violent entrance, the Dwarf pointed his finger at him and stomped over to him.

‘What did you mean earlier? I’ve thought about it over and over again and it makes no sense to me!’ he roared.

‘What are you talking about?!’

‘You said that you liked me! Now, what was that about?!’

Legolas stared at Gimli for a few seconds, before erupting in a fit of laughter. He squeezed the Dwarf’s shoulder as he passed him by to close the door, relieved to see that it was not damaged despite the forceful kick it received. His friend watched him in confusion, an eyebrow raised as the Elf went to sit on the edge of the bed and patted the space next to him.

As Gimli joined him, maintaining some distance between the two of them, Legolas grinned and tilted his head.

‘What I meant by that,’ he started, his voice quiet, ‘is that I like you. Nothing more, nothing less.’

‘I don’t understand, lad.’

The Elf snorted and rubbed his bare heel against the wooden floor.

‘Is it so difficult to conceive that I might consider you as my friend?’

‘Well, it’s odd comin’ from an Elf.’

‘Ah, that is what worries you.’

‘Mh. Not really.’

Gimli sighed and relaxed his shoulders, dropping his hands onto his lap. Now that he knew for sure that there had been no hidden meaning behind any of it, he felt rather foolish. The heat rising to his cheeks reddened them into a similar hue to that of his hair and beard.

‘You know,’ Legolas intoned, tucking his hair behind his pointed ear, ‘now that the Fellowship is dissolved, I fear that I will lose most of what I hold dear. And you are part of it. I sincerely hope that the end of our journey does not mean that we must sever our ties.’

‘Nah, laddie, don’t worry ‘bout that,’ Gimli guffawed, patting him sharply in the back and sliding a little closer to his mate. ‘We’ve been brothers in arms through the worst our world has seen. There’s no way that I’ll let this happen.’

Silence settled in as Legolas gave him a nod of gratitude. He noticed that Gimli’s hair was still full of drying flowers, and he could not help the grin from forming on his lips. Indeed, the Dwarf had much more heart than he had originally given him credit for when they met in Rivendell at the start of their saga. And even after the horrors they had encountered, he would not trade it for anything in the whole world. Neither would Gimli, although he did not express it openly.

What Gimli did express, however, was his desire to see Legolas again once the celebrations ended.

‘Will ya visit me in Erebor?’ he asked bashfully.

‘I would love nothing more. And you are welcome anytime in Mirkwood. After all, we do not live so far from each other, do we?’

‘No, I suppose not.’

Another moment of contemplation lingered as they gazed at each other. An idea bubbled in the Elf’s head, but he hesitated to voice it at first. When the Dwarf raised his eyebrows, taking notice of his conflicted expression, Legolas yielded.

‘You spoke of retaking Moria,’ he intoned. ‘I can try to speak to my father about it so he can send some of his men to accompany you. It will take some convincing, but I am sure that we can find a compromise with him. And even if he refuses, I will gladly help you reconquer your cousin’s hall if you accept me.’

Gimli grinned and bowed his head.

‘Aye. There’ll always be a place for you in my company. It’s about time that Elves and Dwarves bury the hatchet. It’s caused more harm than good to our kin, and your deeds likely earned the sympathy of my kind.’

Legolas placed his hand over his friend’s and squeezed it gently, smiling from ear to ear. The twinkle in his eye pushed the Dwarf to say something else.

‘Besides, counting dead Orcs is only fun when it’s you I’m competing against, lad.’

‘You stand no chance against me, Gimli.’

‘We’ll see about that!’

They shared a hearty laugh and Legolas cupped the back of Gimli’s head, tilting it closer to his until their foreheads touched. Understanding it as a gesture of affection and acceptance from the Elf, the Dwarf held Legolas’ head in turn and grinned.

‘I’m glad that I know you, brother.’

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