Chapter Text
When he awoke it was with an uneasiness he had not felt in years.
Something ill had happened in the night; of that he was certain. His mind turned to his loved ones, far away, even as his body went through the motions of bathing and dressing.
“My Lord,” Autherias said, at the doorway to his room. “A rider has come. From Minas Tirith.”
He nodded, pushing aside despair. He was not surprised. It only now remained to hear what had happened.
“I will come,” he said, before Autherias could offer to bring the messenger before him. It was not so very far from Ithilien to Minas Tirith, after all.
“Prince Legolas.” The messenger was a Man he did not know, dirty and travel-stained from hard riding. Even as he bowed low Legolas forestalled his courtesies.
“Tell me what has happened.”
The Man looked up. “King Aragorn bade me come, my Lord. It is Lord Gimli.”
Legolas felt his breath catch.
“He lives,” the messenger said, nervously, seeing the expression on the Elf-Lord’s face. “He was injured. In a fall--”
“Forgive me; I dare not tarry,” Legolas replied. Already his horse had been brought before him, and he spared Autherias only a look of gratitude before mounting.
The beloved woods of Ithilien were soon behind him, and he was set upon the road to Minas Tirith. Hours to reach it, even at swift Elvish paces, and he did not know if he could bear it. Of Gimli, the extent of his injury, he could not allow himself to think. Yet he saw Gimli before him, in his mind, as he had been at their last meeting.
“I wish you would take care,” Legolas had said to him. “You are tired, mellonamin. You take on too much.”
They sat together in one of the beautiful walled terraces of Ithilien that Legolas and his people had built. Gimli held his pipe delicately in one hand, and his eyes were starry and far away, already dreaming of the next project to be completed, Legolas supposed. From time to time his arm grazed Legolas, if he moved or reached for his glass.
He took the pipe carefully from between his teeth to speak. “All the evil that was done in a day’s work we take a year to undo. And there were many dark days, Legolas. There is much beauty in the world, and much still to be rebuilt.”
“But does it all need to be rebuilt by you?” Legolas asked. He sounded petulant, even to his own ears.
Gimli smiled and reached for him. There was a precise cough at the entryway behind them; Burin, Legolas thought, and sighed inwardly.
“We await you, Lord Gimli. All are ready.”
“Thank you, Burin,” Gimli said. He tipped out his pipe and rose. Burin bowed and withdrew gracefully, leaving them alone once more.
Legolas looked at him sadly.
“Do not despair, my friend,” Gimli said with gentleness, laying his hands upon Legolas’s shoulders. They were much of a height while Legolas remained seated. Close enough to kiss, if such a thing were permitted.
“We will be together again soon.”
“Your face is tired,” Legolas replied, daring to touch that much loved face. There were lines there he had not seen before.
“And yours is ever fair,” Gimli quipped. “Farewell, my friend. It will not be so long, until you are with me in Minas Tirith again.”
No, not so long. Not two months since Gimli had left Ithilien with a company of Dwarves, to join others that were hard at work rebuilding Aragorn’s white city. But Gimli had been whole and healthy then. In what condition would Legolas find him when he reached the gates of Minas Tirith?
The sun was high when a lone Elf rider approached the city on horseback. He was well known to the guards, and they would not have stopped him except for the orders of the King.
But by the time the Captain Ergen of the city Guard had come down from the wall the Elf was gone, and the Man cursed to himself, hoping he would not catch grief from the King for failing to carry out his orders.
He did not catch up with the Elf Prince until Legolas had reached the Houses of Healing. He stood by his horse, quivering as one in the depths of madness or fever, and the Captain hesitated to approach him so strange did he look.
“My Lord Legolas,” he said respectfully. “King Aragorn bade me greet you.”
Legolas brushed his hair back with one smooth hand. “Where is Gimli? He is not here.”
If Ergen was surprised by the Elf’s brusque tone he did not show it. “He is in the rooms of the palace, my lord. His own healers judged it best if he be moved not far. Forgive me, that is all I know. Please, allow me to escort you to the palace.”
Legolas nodded woodenly, and remounted his horse. They rode together in silence, and the Captain was glad when they reached the palace doors and the King was there to take charge of his guest. He had never known the Elf to act so strange, and it unnerved him. He returned to his post quickly, and when his second asked funningly for gossip he answered so crossly that none of the others dared speak to him the rest of that day.
“Legolas,” Aragorn said, coming forward as hostlers came to take the Elf’s horse away.
“Bring me to him, Aragorn,” Legolas said in Elvish.
Aragorn looked at him in grave surprise. He had never heard his friend speak that way before--certainly not to him.
“He is well, Legolas,” he said, wondering if the message had been misunderstood. “He will recover--”
“I wish only to see him with my own eyes; please, take me to him.”
Aragorn clearly wished to say more, but he nodded his acquiescence and led the way through the palace. Legolas would not look at him, or speak to him, and Aragorn was deeply troubled. He would not speak again now, after being so rebuffed; he could only hope that Legolas would be relieved by Gimli’s condition and have kinder words for him then.
“Through here--his kin are with him. Legolas--” and he reached out to take the Elf’s hand, when his friend would have turned away from him. “If I have done aught to offend or hurt you, only tell me and I will make amends. We need not speak now; I see that you are troubled. But I love you, and I will be grieved indeed if you are offended with me.”
Legolas inhaled a long breath. “So, too, does Gimli love you,” he said. “And there is nothing he would not do for his friends. But I wish--for my sake--that you would remember that he is mortal.”
On those words the Elf left him, and the King could only gaze after him and wonder.
Elessar had spoken truly it seemed; three of Gimli’s kin sat near him but it was no deathbed they attended, and hardly even a sickbed if their jokes and laughter were any indication. For a moment his heart rose, but looking upon Gimli, with his head and arm bound, lying still in the bed he could not be comforted.
The Dwarves rose when they noticed him, and they greeted him with respect, as all of Gimli’s Dwarves did. Gimli would tolerate no insult to his dearest friend and more than one Dwarf had suffered his wrath before learning that lesson.
The two younger Dwarves left right away, after a glance from their elder, and Legolas was left alone with the white-haired Dwarf, Azagh, whom he knew only vaguely.
“It is good that you have come,” Azagh said by way of greeting. “He has been asking for you.”
“He has?” Legolas said, looking at once to the bed. “Is he well then? He can speak?”
“Aye, aye. It will take time but he will recover. You will see.”
Legolas let out a long, long breath and sank to his knees, his head bowing forward. If Azagh found this behavior strange he did not show it by word or deed. He only fetched the Elf-Lord a glass of water, humming quietly to himself.
After Legolas had drunk it he asked softly, “What happened?”
“We were working upon the western wall. Gimli was at the top of the scaffolding when it collapsed; some of the rubble fell upon him. He has the head-wound: so you see. He will be strange for a few days, disoriented like, but he will recover.”
“You are certain?” Legolas demanded eagerly, “He has taken no lasting harm?”
Azagh shook his head, quietly confident and Legolas was comforted.
“Dwarves have hard heads.”
“Often have I had occasion to note it! But never had so much reason to rejoice in it.”
Azagh grinned, as if acknowledging the compliment, and continued, “We were made to dwell in caves, Prince Legolas. If a cave-in was all it took to kill a Dwarf, there’d be perishing few of us around!” More seriously he added, “It takes many such injuries to do a lasting harm. And Gimli has been fortunate; this may be his first such as close as I can judge.”
“You comfort me, Azagh. You comfort me. I thank you.”
“Nay, it is I who should thank you, my Lord! Now that you have come, you may have the care of this prickly burden, who cries out for you, even cursing those who would bind his wounds and bid him lie still.” Azagh’s eyes were dancing, and Legolas did not know whether to laugh or flush. What was the old Dwarf implying?
“It will be my honor to care for him,” he said.
Azagh chuckled again. “Your honor, yes, and your burden because he will have no other now that you are here! I wish you joy of him.”
“What must I do?”
“Only keep him quiet and calm. The bandages need not be changed until tomorrow, and I will return before then to see how he does. He should not be feverish, and do not worry if he asks you the same question over again, and does not understand your answers. That is the head-wound; it will be better in a few days.”
Legolas looked upon Gimli with concern, but he nodded.
“Oh, and one more thing, my Lord.”
“Yes?”
“No vigorous activity--you know--for a few weeks at least!” Azagh spoke too slyly for Legolas to mistake his meaning, and the Elf blushed furiously. Was that what they--Gimli’s Dwarves--thought? How had they come by such a notion!
He was too discomfited to answer, and Azagh was nearly out of ear’s reach when Legolas called out to him.
“Azagh!”
“Yes?”
“There is one thing that troubles me. How came the scaffolding to collapse? From what Gimli has told me, I would think such a thing all but impossible for Dwarvish construction.”
Azagh smiled, but it was a cold, pleasureless smile. “That is a riddle indeed, my Lord. If you find the answer please tell me, because I can assure you that all our people would like to know.”
He left then, and Legolas felt a chill of evil upon his heart. The two Dwarves Azagh had dismissed had not been companions, but bodyguards.