I Got.... Gimli!!!

[thrihyrne]

I saw a friend Sunday afternoon, and as part of our gift exchange, she gave me a wonderful Gimli action figure. I played around with him (innocently, for the most part) but my stepson and I both decided that he looked best moving his axe from his hand and sticking it jauntily in his back braided-leather braces. He towers over the Burger King Boromir also on my dresser, though Boromir can say "You carry the fate of us all, little one" and Gimli doesn't say anything unless I'm holding him.

Hee. Finished my Christmas gift thank you notes, too, complete with festive confetti and hand-painted fun words ("giggle" for the Gimli gift; "sing" for my choir friend and the fabulous chartreuse scarf; "dance" for my friend Amy and the signed Glass Hammer CD from 'The Gathering'... I can write the best thank you notes.)Ed. note- I once volunteered to my college best friend to write her wedding gift thank you notes. In all seriousness, she suggested that I go into business writing wedding gift thank you notes for people.

I just adore reading musesfool's thoughtful and prolific posts. And her fanfiction is wonderful.

I have begun a HP Ron/Hermione fic (posted twice below, only dear friend palarran has tried looking at it, lol) which I have grand hopes for, which will probably be dashed, and the beginnings of a R/S story, now unveiled below. [Ed. Note- whoops. Forgot to de-cloak until this morning.] The grand unveiling of about 5 paragraphs. Sheesh.

On the plus side, I finished what is a pretty funny Gimli/Legolas story,

Late April, 3019*

Merry sat on the deck of the boat, feet propped up on the railing, puffing on his pipe. The rather large smoke rings he emitted were quickly snatched away by the brisk breeze. As he lowered his eyelids, the city of Osgiliath diminished from his view, the rowers working against the strong current of Anduin bearing the ship toward Cair Andros.

Succumbing to the pleasant inevitable, he closed his eyes, basking in the sun.

"Do all of your kind take to smoking at such a young age?"

The hobbit started, and one golden-haired foot dropped to the deck with a loud thud.

"Legolas!" he spluttered, wrenching his head to the side, glancing at the Elf. "Haven't you learned that it isn't polite to sneak up on people?"

A knowing smile crossed the Elf's face. "On this journey from Minas Tirith, stealth is not my intention."

Merry muttered something under his breath about moving like a shadow, then repositioned himself to his former comfortable position as Legolas stepped to the railing. For a few moments his long, pale fingers grasped the wood, bright eyes focused on the tree-filled island ahead of them.

"I can't answer for all hobbits, of course," Merry began, "but the Brandybuck fathers offer both pipeweed and ale to their sons when they feel they will not overindulge. Or if they do," here the tousle-haired hobbit grinned, "they shan't soon forget it."

He happily clenched his teeth on his pipe, wriggling his toes in the sun, evidently ensconced in some fond memory.

"And what of the daughters?" Legolas asked, turning his head from the vanishing towers to his green-eyed companion.

"Daughters?" Merry coughed, removing his pipe and focusing on the swift-moving waters on which they sailed. After a thoughtful pause, he raised his eyes to meet those of Legolas. "Well, some hobbit women do smoke, it's true." The wind off the river caught his shirt sleeves, which billowed as he ran a hand through his hair, his expression one of contemplation. "Yes, some do," he repeated. "And most are as fond of ale as any hobbit worth his soles."

The tall Elf arched an eyebrow as a sailor of Dol Amroth with a bushy auburn beard strode past the two passengers, nodding his head. Legolas nodded in return, then refocused on Merry.

"Worth his souls?" Legolas' blue eyes sparkled with curiosity.

Merry tilted his head to look back at Legolas, whose reaction surprised him. Suddenly the hobbit realized he had been misunderstood.

"Soles!" he exclaimed, lifting a foot from the railing and waving it in the Elf's direction. "Without our sturdy feet, well, I suppose we wouldn't be hobbits, now would we?"

Both he and Legolas looked at his unshod foot for a moment. Legolas then turned his gaze to the front of the boat, not answering. An idle thought crossed Merry's mind as he crossed his leg, placing his foot on his knee, puffing on his pipe again to ensure that it didn't go out.

"Why don't the Elves smoke? You all are ancient folk."

Legolas returned his steady gaze to the hobbit, turning to lean his back against the side of the boat. There was a cracking sound as one of the sails snapped in the wind.

Embarrassed, Merry continued, stammering, "I mean, we hobbits have perfected the fine art of growing and drying pipeweed, but wouldn't the Elves have done the same for ages past?"

Legolas stared at Merry, clad in a leather vest of Rohan, confidence returning to his youthful face. The Elf pursed his lips, then shrugged.

"I have no answer." He glanced out from the boat again. "Perhaps it was a habit of my ancestors, but none do so now." With a slight cunning smile, he leaned in toward the hobbit. "For those in Mirkwood, we nurture the trees and plants, we do not set their leaves alight for pleasure."

Merry chuckled, a faint blush returning to his cheeks. "Ah well, 'tis a loss for the Elves." He studied Legolas for a moment, sensing something different about him. Abruptly he sat up straight, placing both feet on the wooden deck, motioning toward the Elf with his pipe. "Where is Gimli?"

Since their time in Lothlórien, the two were rarely seen apart. They still bickered and suffered many challenges of misunderstanding, but for the most part, they seemed truly to enjoy each other's company.

Legolas emitted a soft sigh. "He does not have a fondness for boat travel."

Merry looked back at him quizzically. "But he did not make one complaint during those days on the river, not like Sam."

Legolas shifted his stance against the boat side. "No, he did not. Perhaps you do not know him as well as I."

The hobbit nodded in acquiescence. "I was separated from you for a while."

An expression that Merry couldn't understand crossed the Elf's face.

"It is not that he dislikes water, it is that it reminds him of his separation from Galadriel."

Merry's eyes widened. "He's still thinking about her?" He shook his head disbelievingly. "You're right; I don't know him like you do. I would never have guessed that was the reason."

"Truth be told," Legolas confided, "I think he also wished to spend some more time with Pippin. Since only you were summoned to deliver the goods we are taking to the island, he decided to remain with your companion. Though he may not say so in words, he has become very fond of your young cousin."

Merry laughed. "Pip has caused him much grief, but he's almost impossible to dislike." More reservedly, he said, "I'm glad we'll only be away a few days. After all we've been through, I don't want to be gone for long."

Legolas stood away from the railing and placed a hand on the hobbit's shoulder. "Neither do I," he replied. Then he walked away to the front of the ship.

"Legolas!" Merry called, and the Elf turned. "Why did you come? You weren't summoned."

"To see the trees," he replied. "Though not as old as Fangorn, they too are of old stock."

Merry nodded his head, looking again across the waters to the shores of Gondor.

"And to keep an eye on you!"

Merry whipped his head in the direction of Legolas' voice, but the lone Elf was no longer to be seen. The hobbit shrugged. "Galadriel!" he muttered to himself as another smoke ring drifted into the wind.

***

Several days later Merry and Legolas returned to Minas Tirith in mid-afternoon. They walked up the many levels to the Houses of Healing, but found none of their companions. Ioreth, as busy and as talkative as ever, waylaid the two for quite some time as she explained in restrained tones that the Halfling Prince and Bergil were giving the two new periannath an extended tour of the city. The Dwarf, who kept running his hands along the walls and stomping down the corridors, disturbing her patients, was off with two more of his kind. The Lady Éowyn, though her arm was healing well, had become very quiet and would not heed the call from King Éomer to join him, and -

"There are more Dwarves in the city?" "Éowyn is not with her brother?"

Both exclamations came out at once, silencing the Healer. Elf and hobbit looked at each other.

"I must go find Gimli!" "I must see to Éowyn!"

The words of their expressions of enthusiasm and worry tumbled into each other in the still air. As they again opened their mouths in tandem to speak, Merry hurriedly said, "You first."

Ioreth glanced from one to the other, her expression a mixture of annoyance and amusement. She placed her finger to her lips, then turned back around to attend to her many charges.

The Elf's melodious voice was hushed as they left the room. "I have an idea of where I can find Gimli. Now that the war is over, I suspect he is making great plans of repair and construction. I shall go to Fen Hollen, past which fell the Steward Denethor."

Merry shuddered. "Elves and Dwarves have strong stomachs. I have enjoyed getting to know Steward Faramir, and I do not ever wish to go into that place." He gazed concernedly at Legolas. "This news about Éowyn worries me. Surely she will not mind my company."

Legolas shrugged his shoulders, his long hair waving across his back. "You know her well, not I."

They both turned and went in opposite directions.

***

After investigating the Rath Dínen and breathing in the haunted air of the House of the Stewards, both of which were empty of persons of any kind, Legolas continued his search for Gimli. He paused for a few moments in the doorway of the sturdily built sepulcher, held briefly in the invisible smoke of mortal reverent tragedy. His far-seeing gaze carried him beyond the cold stone, however, and he murmured a brief utterance for the passing of Denethor, whose fiery presence still scarred the blackened floor.

It was out in the courtyard of the seventh level where Legolas found Gimli. Ioreth's words had been correct. Gimli stood - or rather, crouched - at the wall, pointing at some intricate carvings and speaking to two other Dwarves next to him, also squatting on their heels. As the Elf approached, he heard more of what Gimli said, but could not recognize even a syllable. He stood for a moment, transfixed by the rising and falling phrases of the two unknown Dwarves and Gimli, who, after many months, was at last able to speak in his own language. Their punctuated guttural exchanges sounded to him like rocks tumbling in a stream but also as the sparkling clarity of hidden gems whispering in ancient hills. If Elvish is the language of the stars, Legolas mused, then the Dwarf-language truly echoes it as the song of the earth.

He stood patiently until the Dwarves stood and Gimli noticed him standing there.

"Legolas!" he exclaimed. "You have returned! Were the trees all that you had hoped for?"

The Elf smiled. "Though fair enough to look upon, I most anticipate our return visit to Fangorn Forest. You have not changed your mind about those particular travels, have you?"

Gimli made an affronted harumph!-ing sound, then said, "Ah! I have not introduced you to my comrades. Khali, Frain, this is Legolas of Mirkwood."

A Dwarf with a silver beard and wearing two thickly-roped golden chains standing to Gimli's right bowed, then the one to Gimli's left did the same. The second Dwarf had a full russet beard with several plaits, each tied with a thin leather thong. He appeared to be from a well-situated line, as he wore a cloak of rich brown velvet the color of owl's eyes. As this Dwarf held Legolas' attention from under such a deep set gaze, the Elf felt disconcertedly as though he were being stared straight through by such a night-fowl.

Legolas bowed deeply to the trio, then righted himself. Placing his long-fingered hands atop his heart, he spoke clearly. "Prince Legolas, son of King Thranduil of Mirkwood, at the service of you and your family."

The Dwarves flanking Gimli nodded in appreciation. Gimli gawked for a moment, then recomposed his face so that his mouth was again shut.

Frain turned to Gimli. "I would not have expected an Elf of Mirkwood to have such manners." He raised a bushy eyebrow, then winked. "You must have made an impression on him during your travels to this place."

The Dwarf with the mithril-colored beard clapped Gimli fondly on the back. "Frain and I must be off to other levels of this city. It is of good stone, as you said. I am sure that many of our folk from the Lonely Mountain will be glad to make the journey and keep our hands and tools busy here for some time."

Frain bowed slightly to Gimli, then Legolas. "I trust we shall see you at the Coronation, Elf of Mirkwood."

With a graceful sweeping gesture, Legolas leaned forward as willow branches do to water, then straightened as the two Dwarves made their way down the cobbled path. The background cacophony of horses' hooves on stone and quotidian conversations drifted like autumn leaves around Legolas and Gimli, the latter fixating his intense attentions on his friend.

"My apologies, Legolas," Gimli began. "I did not fully explain my companions. Khali is a master craftsman of stonework from west of the Iron Hills, and a distant relative to my father Glóin, I believe." He paused briefly to take in a lungfull of air, since he had spoken several phrases without breathing, contrary to his nature. "Frain is his wife, and an excellent lapidarist."

At this, Legolas stood silent for several moments, his face like carved marble.

"Wife," he finally muttered.

Gimli nodded enthusiastically. "Quite a woman, too. Many keep to themselves, but she has always broken the mold, as our saying goes. She reckons that she should have gone to ruin Smaug instead of her son Bombur, though he did bring honor to his family in the end."

Legolas rubbed his hands together idly. With pale eyes, his gaze meandered over the still-scorched lands outside of Minas Tirith, as though with his staring he could remove himself and circle above the ground like a hawk carried on the wind.

"Where did you learn such Dwarvish manners?" Gimli finally asked, his hand resting as it often did, on the tip of his axe, his toughened fingers caressing the battle-worn iron.

"Perhaps there are stone wallworks that you would care to show me!" Legolas replied, ignoring the question.

Gimli stepped closer to Legolas, confusion in his expression. "Well, yes, of course there are. But it is not like you not to answer a question without reason. Surely you will share with me how you came by such protocol! It was from Bilbo himself, I wager!"

Legolas pressed the tips of his fingers together with such steady force that his fingertips turned white under the nails.

"I knew of other Dwarves before the Council of Elrond, Gimli. Thirteen Dwarves, to be exact. You had not realized?" His voice trailed off as he turned his head, looking at his companion.

Comprehension like pale dawn slowly lit Gimli's face. He reached into a pack tied at his waist, producing his pipe and an exquisitely carved tinderbox. "Yes," he grumbled. He struck a match against the stone wall, lit his pipe and began puffing at it as Legolas loosed his hands and motioned down the causeway. "We should walk."

The two unlikely friends walked unhurriedly, occasionally passed by citizens of Minas Tirith going about their own business. A shaggy-haired, freckle-faced youth with a bandaged knee stopped, his mouth gaping at Elf and Dwarf, until his guardian knocked at his shoulder to regain his attention.

"Why do the Dwarves smoke?" Legolas asked abruptly.

Gimli did not immediately reply, still deep in thought, staring at the carved stone on which they walked.

They continued on a few more paces, then Legolas repeated, "Gimli, why must the Dwarves smoke? Do you grow your own pipeweed as well?" The Dwarf puffed thoughtfully as his companion continued, perplexed. "Merry seems able to go on eloquently, for one of the Little Folk, and at great length, about the heritage of hobbits and leaf-burning. Is there some long-lost ancestry between the Dwarves and the halflings?"

Gimli coughed explosively, choked, and was forced to stop his forward walking. He hunched over, his hands on his knees, until he regained his breath. After standing up and glaring at Legolas with a shocked expression, he exclaimed, "Certainly not!" This was soon followed by a hastily growled Dwarvish phrase which sounded quite obscene.

"My apologies, Gimli," Legolas said earnestly, "I did not mean to insult you."

The gaze of the Dwarf's deep brown eyes raked over the Elf, and the two stood staring for a few moments until Gimli shrugged his shoulders in resignation. "I am sure that you did not," he said, finally. "But you shall put off my question no longer."

Legolas looked down the stoneway and motioned to a mostly unbroken bench several paces down the road. Gimli nodded, and they both walked to it and sat down. The Elf leaned back against the marble and in one fluid motion raised one foot and rested it on his knee.

"You will no doubt remember your father's outburst during Elrond's council," he said, brooding.

Gimli turned toward him and removed the pipe from his mouth. "No doubt." The Dwarf's insightful gaze searched for clues in the face of his friend as his right hand fondled his pipe, tracing well-loved paths in the wood. "Well. I might have been a bit on the defensive that day, you do realize," Gimli continued, unshirking in his attentions, fingers still caressing the familiar contours of the talisman he had carried from land to land. "I am not as old as you are, despite your sometimes childish inclinations." Suddenly his chin jutted out, his recently re-braided plaits shining in the benevolent glowing light of early dusk.

"I was only grateful that somehow your father had not recognized my voice."

Gimli stared.

"'You were less tender to me,'" Legolas continued, quoting the elder Dwarf. "And it was true- we were. At least we let Gollum see the light of the sun, the green of trees. No matter our unrefined, and yes," he turned his fair-featured face to Gimli, shreds of melancholy crossing his solemn visage, "our haughty prejudice against the Naugrim had closed most of our eyes to the jewels that could be found there." He looked carefully at Gimli, unblinking. "But not all."

The Elf trembled slightly as he raised his other foot, then reset his gaze back to the unfeeling wall of stone across the path, a large chunk of which lay in a heap of rubble. Thousands of years those blanched rocks had stood, yet the recent assault of Sauron had shown just how fallible was the handiwork of all races of Men. The light-haired immortal, who began to fold in on himself while sitting across the way, could not help but feel the heaviness of earth and rock unturned underneath him, and his fingers clenched on his ankles.

The two breathed in the heady, scent-filled air of growing dusk, a dark lavender air of ages to come.

"Glóin said that a rogue Elf of Thranduil's house had shown him kindness, though he knew not why," Gimli finally said, his left hand burrowing through several pockets in his breeches for another tinderbox.

After he found what he was searching for, Gimli re-lit his pipe, then spat on the match and ground it under his boot. His copper eyebrows caught the ambling light of the setting sun while he performed this intimate personal choreography. "Why him?" he asked sharply.

Legolas breathed out, his tunic expanding above his crossed legs. "Pity."

Gimli's deep voice bristled with more Dwarf profanity. "Pity?" he snarled.

"Yes, my friend," the Elf continued. "I pitied him. I pitied them all. It was wrong for my father to have held them hostage, but for all of his knowledge, he knew no better." He leaned his head toward Gimli's. "We are no Elves of Lothlórien, as you now know."

Gimli held his gaze, his shadowed eyes blazing lightly above his pipe.

Moments passed with only the foot- and hoof-steps of the citizens of the White City heading to their still-ruined homes, until Legolas' focus was suddenly captured by the sky. A lone bright light glistened on the horizon, and his eyes were drawn to it by instinct.

Gimli released a healthy smoke ring. "Like a Dwarf to mithril!" he chuckled.

"What?" the Elf queried, his expression slightly insulted.

"You cannot help your attraction to the night sky. Our affections to those things which shine with lights beyond those which we can create ourselves seem to make us, well..." Gimli looked rather uncomfortable, "... perhaps as distantly kin as those could possibly be."

A phantom of a smile crossed Legolas' face. "Possibly."

*******

*From "The Steward and the King:" The days that followed were golden,... And tidings now came by swift riders from Cair Andros of all that was done, and the City made ready for the coming of the King. Merry was summoned and rode away with the wains that took store of goods to Osgiliath and thence by ship to Cair Andros.

The rest is purely author's [hopefully thoughtful and humorous!] conjecture.
and I'm not shipping them- I think they are best (and most accurately written) as the dear friends/deeply conflicted-from different backgrounds friends that JRRT portrays them. I just have so much fun making them squirm as only good friends can, when they don't always "get" what the other is going on about. Legolas as articulate, poignant, and hopelessly clueless Elf in regards to Dwarves... so fun. Gimli as so-often neglected in fanfiction, but intelligent, chip-on-shoulder bearing, huge-hearted Dwarf still trying to figure out "Where've the Orcs gone?"... banter between the two= pure joy for this writer.

I still have a huge fondness for Eowyn/Merry (again, not shipping, but friendship) stories. More of the unexpected/"how the hell did we get to this place together?" writing which so appeals to me.

I may be at the end of my Tolkien writing; not sure. My big swan song story is great. But I still need to go back to my extended pre-"The Hobbit" 3-year Dwarf story. Urg. But HP is so fun, with its magic, and relatively low angst-factor...

Enough. I love to write. I should be writing now, finishing up one of said stories. But I'd rather read. Hubby is off seeing RotK for the first time- can't wait to hear what he has to say about it, since he hasn't read the books and hasn't read my fanfiction. Hmmmm.

Comments

[palarran.livejournal.com]

the Burger King Boromir also on my dresser, though Boromir can say "You carry the fate of us all, little one"

lmao. That little figure has the honor of being the first LOTRs toy that I owned, and ended up being the first quote I ever learned from the movie.

Oooh Gimli Legolas story. Will add that to my must read list. I have all sorts of goodies to read tonight. *yay!*

[thrihyrne.livejournal.com]

"Burger King Boromir!" LMAO!! Yeah, I got him last year at the last Tolkien class. We had a guy there who collects things, and since he couldn't get all of the figures, he decided to give them away. Since there wasn't a Gimli one, I took Boromir. Hee hee.

Thanks so much for the beta!! I'll look at it when I get home. You really are tremendous, and I owe you a long email. Hope you enjoy the L/G fic. :)