Lefnui Peth: Mellyn Gwîn, Cyth Vrûn
(Part Five:
New Friends, Old Foes)
Really, he had wanted only to be clean again; free of the grime of the
bloody battle, cleansed of the muck of the road, scrubbed of the
contamination of death and doom. It clung to him as close as his own
skin, overwhelming his scent and tainting his thoughts, this vile film
of evil, decay, and putrid detritus. He washed with relentless ardency,
determined to lave every molecule of filth from his person. His hair
gave him resistance, tangling in knots where clumps of stuff, the
composition of which he feared to learn, had dried hard and cemented
the strands together. He had already lathered his tresses thrice and
was beginning the fourth attempt to rectify his mane's appearance.
No doubt that is why he was overlong in the bath. That, and the
hot-tempered water that never cooled, caused him to neglect the advance
of the day, and thus he was just dunking his head below the water in a
final rinse when two new bathers entered the spa. Cuthenin heard their
startled gasps and fought to clear his vision of sopping hair and
streaming fluid, blinking to be sure he was not imagining the people
upon the pathway.
They were short of stature like Dwarves yet not as rugged in feature or
as solid in form. They were similar to humans in face and structure yet
had ears reminiscent of elf-kind and feet the like of which he had
never imagined. Broad, those were, unshod and covered in a fine, long
mantle of hair. One was taller yet rounder and stared through shrewd
green eyes alight with awe and delight. His hair, both on his head and
his feet, was coloured like ripened wheat. His clothing was provincial
and rather quaint, and he carried a wicker basket filled with bathing
necessities.
The other was far thinner and seemed the younger. His tresses were dark
and all askew in a wild mass of curls and ringlets. In contrast to the
first, he was bundled up in robes and covers as if convelscent. His
serious face had the look of wisdom, newly bought before its time with
the harsh coin of pain, bound within the depths of his fair blue eyes.
Legolas was both comforted and saddened to sense recognition of this
shared estate of shattered innocence in the steady if somewhat
astonished gaze regarding him. He imagined his own countenance must
bear a similar expression and attempted a smile.
"Mae govannen," he said and then wondered if they could understand him.
"Apologies, I mean to say good day to you," he amended in accented
Westron that earned a huge smile from the taller, rounder one.
"And a good day to you, Master Elf," he said and made a quick bob of a
bow, difficult with the basket still in hand. "I am sorry for
disturbing you; Lord Elrond's orders, you see."
Legolas tried to follow this but was bewildered on two counts: first,
how would Lord Elrond know he was still at the baths and second, why
would he send these two strangers to retrieve him? He looked up at the
sky and decided it was later than mid-morn but not yet noon. He
considered himself quite fluent in Westron but this made no sense. He
was about to ask for clarification when the slender one elbowed his
comrade sharply while giggling.
"Sam, he does not know what you are talking about! And it is rude not
to give your name first; what would the Gaffer say about that?"
This made Legolas blush in embarrassment for he thought the small
person was chiding him for failing to introduce himself. He hastened to
correct the oversight and found the round one had the exact same idea.
Their words got all mixed together and neither understood what the
other had said. For some reason, the thin one found this immensely
amusing and started giggling again as he shook his head, hands on his
hips as he looked from the one to the other.
"Better let me start this time," he warned with a wide smile. "I am
Frodo Baggins of the Shire and this worthy Hobbit by my side is Samwise
Gamgee."
"Mae govannen," the archer said again. "Legolas Cuthenin from the
Woodland Realm across the Misty Mountains. I am pleased to meet
Hobbits, for I knew not what Glorfindel meant when he tried to explain."
"By the Old Took! Did you hear that, Mr. Frodo? A real Wood Elf from
Mirkwood! I wonder if he knows old Bilbo?" Sam gushed, gawking with
renewed interest at the head and shoulders of the wild Elf crouched in
the pool.
"Yes, Sam, I heard. But you know Bilbo did not get to meet any of the
Mirkwood elves when he was there," said Frodo.
"Greenwood," Legolas spoke the word in affronted aggravation. Ever had
he been told the mortals called his homeland this epithet and now he
had to learn the stories were true.
"Oh! I beg your pardon!" exclaimed Frodo and bowed quickly. "I am sure
it is not murky where the elves live."
Legolas gave a small dip of his chin in acknowledgement and smiled to
show he would not hold a grudge over the slight. "Tell me, why did Lord
Elrond send you two to get me out of the baths?"
"What?" Sam had such a quizzically befuddled look upon his honest
open face that Legolas snorted out a laugh through his nose and
followed it up with a high bright bubble of mirthful giggling. It was
an infectious sort of sound and soon the Hobbits were joining in.
"You said," Legolas tried to compose himself, "You said Lord Elrond
ordered you to disturb me."
The Hobbits gaped at him, then each other, and then set to laughing
once more, Sam shaking his head and Frodo waving the air with his hand,
trying to indicate the words had been misunderstood. They were pleased
to see the Elf did not become offended by their glee and instead
followed suit, snickering right along with them.
"Oh, this is a right muckled-up meeting and that's for certs," gasped
out Sam as his mirth ebbed. "And as usual it's my own fault for
speakin' first and thinkin' later. I meant to say that Lord Elrond
ordered me to see to it Frodo soaks in the healing springs and I hoped
we would not be disturbing you at yours!"
"Ah! That is clearer. Nay, I am finished. All that is left is to comb
through my hair and I shall get on with the day. Please, do not wait on
my account," the archer said. He made his way, on his knees for
modesty's sake, to the step where his basket was still perched and
reached in to find the simple tortoiseshell comb the Balrog Slayer had
loaned him. Then, guessing the Hobbits would choose the pool furthest
from the path, he angled his back in that direction and sat upon his
heels. Bending his head low, he drew all the dripping locks to the
front and began the careful work of disentangling the fine strands of
gold, humming softly as he did.
The sound of the Hobbits footsteps indicated his assessment was
correct; they were as shy of bathing in front of strangers as he was,
and this made him smile. Soon the rustle of discarded garments followed
and after that came two loud splashes and equally voluble hoots of
surprise over the temperature of the water. Then another quickly
in-drawn breath made him freeze and cease his gentle melody, for he had
forgot about the image spanning his shoulder-blades, now displayed for
the mortals' inspection.
The symbols and runes, spells and prayers, signs of his House and
station; these he did not believe the Hobbits could decipher. Yet he
found his heart inexplicably longed for these two not to make light of
his illustrated body, and he held his breath awaiting their reaction.
"I never saw anything like that," whispered Sam. "Have you Mr. Frodo?"
"No, I saw some dark makings on a Man's arms in Bree, but no paintings.
However, I think it is impolite to be so blunt about it."
"Begging your pardon, Mr. Cuthenin, I was just so surprised is all. It
is truly beautiful! It does not wash off even in this hot steam?"
"Nay, it is permanent. I do not mind you looking or admiring; it is
those who would scorn such that garner my ire."
"What foolish sort of lout would find anything to scoff at in so a
fine picture of Gwaihir, the King of Eagles?" wondered Sam aloud and
Frodo nodded his agreement. "Mind you, I'm not sayin' I'd be up for it
myself. I couldn't sit still long enough for anyone to finish it!"
Legolas laughed at that and looked back over his shoulder to find both
Hobbits neck deep in the soothing mineral water. He smiled. If the
image was not truly Gwaihir, what did it matter? He sensed only
earnestness in Sam's voice and guileless curiosity in both Hobbits'
eyes. He felt more gratitude than he had ever imagined such acceptance
from folk he had barely met would engender and wondered at this.
"Le hantëan (I thank you), Sam. However, my name is not composed
of a first and second
part as is the way of mortal kind. Both names are equal and can be
said together or singly, but neither need be prefaced by a title."
"Oh," Sam nodded but his eyes shifted to his friend's for edification.
"Legolas or Cuthenin, nothing more," Legolas added, a little red-faced
for making something simple so difficult. He resumed his grooming and
his tune.
Finally he was done and with a brisk move threw back his head
and sent all the long hair spilling back behind him again. With nimble
fingers he gathered up the silken strands and quickly braided them back
from his face. He approached the stone shelf and gave a short sigh,
eyeing his foul clothing neatly folded on the rock. He glanced over to
find the Hobbits watching him.
"I would like to ask, if it is not wrong to do so," he began
unsteadily, not wishing to insult the Hobbits, for they were guests of
Elrond Peredhel not servants in his household. "I only arrived here
this morning and I do not know where things are, that is the trouble."
"Of course, if we can help we will and gladly," encouraged Frodo,
uncertain what the Elf's discomfort was about.
"Do either of you know where the laundering is done? I need to rinse
out my clothes, for I do not have any others, yet I am wondering
whether this place affords any privacy or not. Indeed, I have no idea
how people here tend to such necessities, but I do not like wearing the
grimy garments after such an invigorating bath." And only in so saying
did he realise that he did feel renewed.
"Aye, goes right against the grain, it does," agreed Sam with a
sympathetic nod. "I'm afraid I don't know any more than you, for I've
been at Mr. Frodo's side and he's been sick these last four days. This
is the first we've left the Healing Ward."
"Ah, then you are the one Glorfindel mentioned! I am glad to see you so
near to recovery," Legolas said to Frodo. His features twisted in
severe distaste as he held up his blood and mud smeared leggings to
demonstrate his problem.
"I see what you mean," said Frodo, sharing a shocked look with Sam.
They were not unacquainted with the sort of troubles Legolas must have
encountered given the evidence on the fabric. "Perhaps if you asked at
the kitchens someone there could direct you. We passed that on the way
here. Follow the path and stay to the right; it will lead you into the
vegetable garden and the cookhouse is right there, behind the main
building. Are you not staying there?"
"Nay, I have separate lodging in the grounds of Glorfindel's home.
Thank you for the suggestion; I will try it." Upon saying this he
placed both palms upon the rock rim and immediately the Hobbits turned
about to offer privacy as he hoisted himself from the pool.
Legolas grinned, thinking he approved of manners in the Shire, and
hurriedly towelled off and dressed. The leggings were a must and the
torn and dirty shirt he had no substitute for either, but the soiled
tunic and cloak he refused to don. Likewise, the boots were so coated
with gory crud that he disliked picking them up much less putting his
feet in them. He decided to follow the Hobbits' example and go
barefoot. He gathered everything save the boots into the basket and
lifted it as
he stood.
"Good day to you, Sam and Frodo," he called as he left, for he knew his
footfalls were too faint for them to hear and their backs were still
turned. "I hope we shall meet again; I would like to learn more about
your lands and people."
"Yes, we feel the same. Good-bye!" said Frodo.
"Good-bye!" called out Sam. "We should have tea together this afternoon
if you are not busy? Our countrymen will not believe we have made
friends with a genuine Wood Elf!"
"Very well, I shall find you this afternoon, then." Legolas lifted his
arm in a vague salute, unable to wave for he was carrying the boots in
one hand and held
the basket against his hip with the other. He smiled back at them,
amazed to find his soul greatly lightened by his short encounter with
the open-hearted Hobbits; a pleasant contrast to his tense introduction
to the Noldor of Imladris.
The winding path was coolly shaded for much of the way and dappled
light played upon the loam as Anor glanced between the leaves to watch
the Wood Elf strolling by. Upon either side the trees sang wordless
greetings in the soft rustling of breeze-plucked branches all aflame
with vivid orange, red, and yellow leaves, for it was Iavas (Autumn) in
the Valley of the Bruinen. Legolas inhaled to his lungs' capacity,
relishing the crisp fresh air delicately scented with Hyssop, Lavender,
and Buddleia flowering in some unseen garden on the estate's grounds.
He was once more overwhelmed by the distinctly peaceful sense
enveloping his thoughts, uncertain if this was the result of the
relaxing soak or the new friends he had met. He decided it was both in
equal parts and resumed humming the melody he had started in the spa.
Indeed, his heart's joy was too bounteous to find expression in
anything less than full voice and with delight Legolas burst into song.
Indeed, the combination of the picturesque scenery and the amiable
meeting quite prevented any of the grisly images of the long journey
from intruding.
Cuthenin ambled thus for many minutes, making his tenor a fair
counterpoint to the Bruinen's rushing tumble ever-present in the
background. It was a fair, capering song lauding the glory of the
Greenwood but despite its being one of his favourites, suddenly he
ceased in mid-sentence. Just ahead no more than three-hundred paces,
the trail would intersect with another from the left. This he knew
because it was not empty and he could hear the walkers long before they
came into sight. Their tread was heavy and they stepped in measured
unison, tramping along in single file. No elves were these, he knew,
and prepared himself to face the company of Dwarves soon to cross his
path.
In chagrin he gazed down at his tattered clothes and general
deshabille, unshod and half-dressed, for he never went about in public
without a proper tunic and foot-gear. No one could even tell he had
bothered to wash, save for his well-scrubbed face and hair. It was
beyond humiliating to present himself this way in front of Naugrim.
In
a moment of panic he toyed with the notion of casting aside the boots
and basket and leaping into the welcoming bows of the trees. He
discarded that thought and resigned himself to the inevitable, for
there could be no doubt that the Dwarves would have heard his singing
quite clearly.
It would be far worse to be caught out hiding from
them in the branches. What mockery they would make of me then!
Due to the cover of the foliage, he could not see them before the
trails met, even with his sharp vision. They spied him at almost the
same instant and stopped as one, all four of them, and stared warily as
he approached.
Legolas continued walking, albeit extremely slowly, down the path. He
could not deny being inquisitive for he had not met Dwarves before,
though he certainly had seen them passing through the Greenwood on the
Forest Road. For nearly seventy years he had been assigned the task of
patrolling this cleared strip of land, killing any spiders seeking to
set up nets to ensnare unsuspecting travellers and dispatch the rare
Orc or warg that ventured to do the same. In fact, this had been his
first official duty as an adult member of the Greenwood's community.
He had often shadowed the Dwarven caravans along the road's entire
length attempting to learn the Naugrim's speech and thus understand
their thoughts. He had never succeeded in deciphering the language
beyond simple orders like 'halt' and 'hail', having no reference point
from which to start. Never did he reveal himself, however, for such was
forbidden and the journeying Dwarves remained unaware that their lives
were protected by so skilled and stealthy a guardian.
Observing them closely now, he recognised their style of dress and the
embroidered insignias on their doublets; these were folk from the Iron
Mountains. They were Lords of their people, judging by the rich
textures and heavy robes they wore, yet each one was armed as if for
battle and probably sported chain mail concealed beneath the velvet and
satin. Such was the way for Durin's people, to be ever ready no matter
the situation, as it was among the Wood Elves and this he approved,
though how they could move, much less fight, with so much cumbersome
weight always puzzled him.
The one at the head of the line was obviously the senior Lord, evident
by his foremost position in the file as much as the snowy white beard
and hair plated in elaborate manner, bejewelled with finely cut gems
and golden ornaments of elegant design. Behind him was a Dwarf of only
slightly lesser stature and their likeness was so close that they must
be father and son. The younger Lord's hair was almost the hue of the
rust coloured leaves above his head and bound in identical manner to
the elder Lord's. Behind him were two more Dwarves, neither as richly
attired and though they were surely all of the same House, or clan as
the Naugrim called it, they were probably more distantly related and
served as bodyguards or advisors.
Perhaps there is no
distinction between the two duties in their culture, thought the
silvan.
Cuthenin was now even more chagrined to meet Durin's race in such low
estate. These Lords would surely know of the troubles between Thorin's
folk and Thranduil. He had absolutely no desire to get dragged into a
dispute over the Barrel Incident. He had heard all about it from his
elder brothers who remained bitter over the lack of spoils carried back
from Erebor after the Battle of the Five Armies. Of course, they always
blamed the Dwarves and cursed the negligent workers who had not
bothered to check inside the mysteriously weighty barrels dumped into
the river that night. Legolas had not been there for all the
excitement, having been posted to a long tour in the central regions,
working to dispatch a particularly tenacious colony of spiders.
He had drawn abreast of the group by then and halted on the path,
facing them. Legolas set down the basket and his boots and made as deep
and formal a bow as he knew how to do, hoping the Dwarves would take
him for a servant. If he was fortunate and they were less than
interested in court gossip, they would never know he was the visiting
Wood Elf.
Yet he was only fooling himself with wishful thinking, for the stains
and tears on his shirt and the unmistakable taint of dried blood
everywhere were sure indicators that he was not a resident of the
peaceful valley.
"Greetings, Lords from the Iron Hills," he said while still bent low at
the waist, as that was the respectful thing to do in his country when
greeting a noble and an elder. While the aged Dwarf was not his elder
in years, Legolas had long ago been taught to show the same respect
to mortals deemed young in comparison to elven standards but long in
wisdom according to their particular culture.
"Humph!" The eldest Dwarf grunted, whether in surprise or displeasure
or both was indeterminate. "Good day to you, Elf." He let his eye rove
over the unkempt, soiled clothing. "Are you hurt, elfling? Shall I send
my cousin to fetch the healers?" His words were courteous but his tone
was demeaning and he had made a point not to introduce himself, an
overt insult among the Naugrim.
Legolas righted himself quickly and glared in barely contained anger,
growing redder with every passing instant as his fury mounted.
He had not met with Dwarves before but his elder brothers had; he
understood what the Dwarf Lord's refusal to give a name meant.
"I am well, sir, yet thank you for the courtesy to ask," he managed to
say in moderate volume if perhaps a bit strained in pitch and timbre.
It seemed to him that the more polite he tried to be, the more rude was
the response returned. He smiled with chilly grace before
gathering his things again, intending to go on his way. Before he had
taken two steps, the second Dwarf called to him abruptly.
"Wait! Are you not a Wood Elf from the realm of Thranduil?" he demanded
in tones clearly indicative of certainty over this fact, thus rendering
the question into a challenge.
"I am. Legolas is my name, Master Dwarf, and Thranduil is my King."
Legolas turned about and replied proudly, curious as to how the Naugrim
had figured this out.
"Hah! I thought I recognised the detail of those braids," the Dwarf
Lord gloated. "You, then, owe a debt to me and mine!"
"You are wrong for we have never met before this day. I have not
committed any offence that would burden me with a debt to you or to
your family," answered Legolas stiffly, silently cursing the cleverness
of the Naugrim for studying the custom of his folk so closely that he
even knew the design of their braids. He had little time to ponder it,
however, for the Dwarf became incensed.
Face crimson and dark eyes flashing, the younger Naugrim bellowed in
outrage, shouting something in his native tongue as he sought to charge
the archer. He was halted by the elder of the group, who grasped his
arm and gave a curt command, following it with several more words. None
of it was intelligible to Legolas, beyond the word for 'halt', yet he
was glad the attack was forestalled. He had no weapons with him and the
Dwarf already held a small throwing axe in his fist, raised as if to
let it fly. He would have been forced to combat the Dwarf hand-to-hand
and disarm him. While he was sure he could succeed, he was not so sure
he could do so unscathed.
The red-haired one gave him a long look up and down that made Legolas
very uncomfortable, for his expression was filled with disdain and even
dismissal, as if the Wood Elf was beneath him to trouble over. The
Dwarf gave a harsh laugh then and shared another statement with his
mates along with a swift and elaborate set of hand gestures that set
all of them to laughing heartily.
Now it was the silvan whose blood grew hot in rage, for he was not one
to accept insult easily, especially when he could not understand the
nature of it and had done nothing to earn it. His eyes narrowed to
slits of glittering sapphire and his jaw clenched taut in his effort to
master the urge to retort with some demeaning remark. For he could not
do so, must not do so; he was here for a different purpose altogether,
and once more his personal sensibilities would have to be set aside in
the interest of sparing his family and homeland any further
embarrassment or troubles.
Then the elder Lord made a long speech,
adding more rapid hand-signs aimed toward Cuthenin, and all of the
Dwarves burst out in loud, belly-shaking guffaws. Legolas found that he
could not let it go unanswered.
"I am sorry to learn that the tales are true after all; the people of
Durin possess little grace and their store of courtesy is in even
shorter supply." Legolas took care to stress the references to the
Naugrim's stunted stature. "Still I would never have imagined timidity
was among your race's qualities; however, only someone fearful of a
fitting rebuke would give low remarks in a tongue foreign to their
intended target!"
"Ruhksul!" (Orc spawn!) spat the rust-haired one and once more closed
his meaty first around the haft of his axe.
"Stop!" shouted the aged Dwarf Lord, throwing his hand back against the
zealous one's chest to force compliance. "He is right; we see how the,
what is the term in Westron? Ah yes, faeries. Or is it brownies? Which
ever, see how the faeries are uneducated in the ways of their
neighbours and yet remain so quick to take offence? My apologies to
you, Legolas, Faerie of Mirkwood. We shall make all our insul…comments
in Westron henceforth."
The other three Dwarves were doing their best to restrain their desire
to burst into laughter anew, for Legolas was starring with mouth agape
at this unflattering slur. No one had ever called him such a thing
before and he was simply too nonplussed to put together the
fore-mentioned fitting rebuke.
The red-bearded one pointed and chuckled
with evident amusement and the silvan shut his jaw, drawing his mouth
into a scowl and his frame up to its full height. He glared down at
them icily but made no retort, determined to get through the day
without engaging in another battle, either of wits or weapons, thus
proving the superiority of his strength of will.
Besides, they were four and he was one; they were armed and he was not.
Legolas turned away without another word and, if an Elf was capable of
it, stomped off down the pathway, his mood of contented happiness
utterly destroyed.
The Dwarves followed a few paces back, still whispering and talking
among themselves in their strange and secret speech. Then they switched
to Westron, and true to the elder's promise, pronounced all their
derogatory sentences plainly.
"He must be the one we heard about."
"Aye, claimed to have single-handedly killed a whole troop of Orcs."
"It is impossible; he could not even lift my smallest axe."
"Well clearly he has seen battle for why else would he be so foully
dressed. Never have I beheld so ragged and dirty an Elf!"
"Oh it is possible; they hide in the leaves and shoot down their prey
with arrows from a great distance above. They have little taste for
real fighting."
"Aye, always cringing and skulking through their dark and twisted
woods, more like beasts than people. Wonder what this one is doing away
from his mother, out in the civilised world."
Legolas halted on the path and all the Dwarves fell silent and stopped
as well. He turned to them slowly and stared each one boldly in the eye.
"Be thankful for the silvans of the Greenwood, Lords of the Iron Hills.
But for our 'skulking and cringing through the dark and twisted woods'
many scores of your folk would have met their ends upon the Great Road.
I personally guarded forty-seven caravans that traversed my homeland."
"Hah! No report of such an escort has ever been mentioned by merchants
using the Great Road. Your words are false!" shouted the rust-bearded
Naugrim.
"I will not be accused thusly! Think what you may but do not call me
false in range of my hearing or you shall regret it!"
"I shall think as I please and say what I think. You live up to the
scoffing disregard with which the other elves speak of you: boastful,
self-promoting, and untruthful."
"Retract that at once or I shall be forced to demand either your
obeisance or a duel of combat!" Legolas dropped all his burdens on the
ground and took a step forward.
"Oh, then I choose combat." No sooner were the words out than the Dwarf
charged. This time his father did not try to stop him and the other
three fell back a pace.
"So be it." murmured Legolas calmly, watching intently as the small,
compact form barrelled toward him. The ginger-bearded Naugrim had a
small axe in hand but did not seem prepared to throw it. The silvan
waited until the last possible moment before being run down by the
Dwarf and then lightly sprang up, neatly leaping right over the
Naugrim's head to land behind him. He waited for the raging figure to
register the move, preparing for another attack.
With a startled exclamation the Dwarf careened through the discarded
baggage, stumbling over the boots and shoving the basket over to keep
from falling, caught his balance and hastily wheeled around. He fully
expected a counter attack from the rear and was surprised to find the
Elf just standing there awaiting the next assault.
He decided not to
disappoint the immortal and with a shift of his feet to stabilise his
stance threw the axe with skill and precision, aiming not to kill but
to strike archer on the arm with the heavy handle. His eyes grew wide
when again the Wood Elf remained frozen until the second before impact
and then merely dipped his torso to the left a few centimetres, dodging
the weapon entirely.
Now the Dwarves behind them saw their danger and with rapid shouts that
were likely curses dived to the ground, subjecting their elegant
apparel to the dust and grime of the walkway. Fortunately, that is the
only harm they came to as the axe sailed over them and landed with a
loud thump in the dirt several feet away.
This time Legolas did not wait, for in his mind it was the height of
cowardice to attack an unarmed opponent with a weapon, whether the
intent was to kill or not. He closed the distance between them more
rapidly than the Dwarf's mind could accommodate rationally and in
seconds had landed a solid hit to the jaw and another to the sternum
using the heels of his hands instead of his fists.
The Dwarf swayed and
belatedly brought his fists forward to present a defence but by this
time Legolas had already stepped back beyond the reach of the shorter
armed Naugrim.
The whole thing was tiresome, the silvan decided, and he was giving in
to his temper, letting his emotions lead him again; a fault for which
he had received frequent admonishment from his tutors over the years.
He must end this quickly for he had already showed the Dwarves he was
not to be trifled with and he had better things to do with his time.
With a swiftness only slightly greater than his strength, Legolas once
more leaped lightly into the air, spun once fully and on the returning
revolution struck out and down with his leg, delivering a fearsome blow
to the side of the Dwarf's head that sent him reeling into the dirt
where he
lay, stunned and motionless.
Legolas waited not one second more, gathering up his belongings yet
again and resuming his pace along the path.
The Dwarves rushed to their kinsman's aid, exclaiming with loud alarm
in their own tongue what surely must be the fallen one's name. Their
words quickly lost the overprint of terrified dread as the unconscious
Dwarf gave a low groan and regained his senses. By the time they had
satisfied themselves that he was injured more in pride than bodily, the
Elf was several metres along the path. They helped their countryman
rise and hastened to catch up.
Now the silvan had kept his hearing trained upon them and remained
alert, wary should they seek to retaliate and attack him as a group.
That would be most dangerous, for while one Dwarf was easy to defeat,
four axe bearing angry Naugrim were a definite threat. Should that
happen, he would have no choice but to disable some of them with broken
bones and severe concussions in order to spare his life and theirs. He
was suddenly glad he was wearing such ragged and ruined clothes, for it
would seem he must stain the cloth with blood again. Thus, Legolas was
stunned to hear not battle cries and curses in Dwarvish but hearty
laughter and accolades.
"Slow your pace, Master Elf! Did I hear the Noldor call you True-bow?
That may be fitting in the elvish tongue but does not lend itself well
to Dwarvish translation; we would say 'Hammer-Hands' and 'Axe-Foot'
instead!" bellowed out the ancient elder Lord.
"Aye! Well fought, Legolas Axe-Foot!" one of the counsellor/guards
cried amid deep and jovial laughter.
"Will you not stop, Hammer-Hands, and let us introduce ourselves? Are
you not curious to know whom you have bested this day?" that from the
ginger-haired one.
And so Legolas did halt, for he was beyond intrigued and gathered that
he had achieved some measure of respect among them, though how this
could be so he did not quite understand. Thus, he held himself ready as
they approached should it be a ruse and a trap.
The elder one noted his tension and issued out another of his
gut-jarring guffaws, shaking his head in amusement to see it. "Aye, you
have been trained well, warrior, and that is no less than should be
expected from the Wood Elves." Then he gathered his composure and stood
straight, meeting the Elf's eyes with all seriousness. "Glóin,
son of Gróin, at your service," he said and gave a short bow.
"Legolas Cuthenin, at yours and your family's." Legolas' response was
automatic, and it was well his tutors in diplomacy had drilled him so
thoroughly for he was too amazed to think straight. This was not just a
Lord of Dain's people but one of the very Dwarves imprisoned in his
father's stronghold during the Barrel Incident. He set his basket and
boots down to give a corresponding bow.
Several low grunts of approval followed this and each of the Dwarves
introduced themselves thus; they were Fralin son of Dwalin, Brór
son of Nori, and Gimli son of Glóin. This last was the
ginger-bearded one Legolas had defeated and he bore the evidence in a
great purpling knot upon his temple that looked likely to spread and
blacken his eye also. Yet he was grinning hugely and laughed loud, head
thrown back and arms akimbo, to see the confusion in the
immortal's eyes over the change of circumstances.
"Well, lad, do not look so flummoxed. We Dwarves have our own methods
of determining who is being truthful and who is being spiteful, who is
worthy of esteem and who should be shunned. You have proven yourself
more than a match for the dregs that pass for soldiers in Sauron's
army," he said. "Never have I been bested by an opponent, be that Man
or Dwarf, Orc or Goblin. You are the first of the First-born I have
challenged, and I thank you for the opportunity. Further, I retract my
doubts concerning your guarding of our caravans."
"Aye and it is also an eye-opener to know the elves of the Valley are
so short-sighted as to discount the skill and daring of their kin over
the mountains," added Glóin, nodding sagely as he plucked a
stray leaf from his somewhat dishevelled beard.
"And so lacking in hospitable conduct, for were you our guest we would
at least have provided you with clean clothing until your own could be
repaired," said Fralin but then amended this slightly. "That is, once
we had decided you were not an enemy."
Now Legolas had to laugh, for they all knew it was more likely he would
be detained in some dark hole in their stony caverns should he ever
wander uninvited into their lands. That was to his mind no affront,
however, for long had there been enmity between the two races and
neither would expect anything less were any to intrude unannounced upon
the other's
borders.
"I am sure of it, and at the least we would all understand one another
honestly. I thank you all for your commiseration on my behalf, yet I
must defend the Lord of this realm, for he is unaware of my condition.
I am certain, once he knows of it, that some means will be afforded to
have my garments repaired and to ensure I do not go naked in the mean
time."
"Well if not then allow me to provide you with a robe to at least
prevent the latter!" exclaimed Brór, scandalised to think of the
Elf running around unclothed for all to see.
"My thanks, Lord Brór. I am on my way to remedy the situation
even now. The Hobbits directed me to the kitchens and thus I must leave
you good people. I hope we will meet again before I return to my home,"
he said politely and found that he meant it.
Legolas was rather proud that he had managed to earn the regard of the
Naugrim considering the bad feeling between his father and
Glóin. He wondered if Thranduil would be pleased and hoped it
would be so.
Of course, Glóin does not know I am the
Elven King's son. Yet Legolas did not believe that fact would
change the Dwarf's opinion of him, for the noble elder did not strike
him as the sort to hold a grudge except toward the individual who had
sparked it.
"The kitchens? I suppose the path does eventually end up there, but the
Hobbits have sent you the long way round. This path leads out to the
training grounds and barracks for Lord Elrond's troops. We are going
thence in order to practice sparring for a time," Gimli informed him.
"Ah, I did not know that," Legolas frowned slightly and unconsciously
tugged at the hem of his tattered shirt. He had no wish to subject
himself to further scorn from the Imladrian warriors. "Is there a more
direct route back to the main house that you know?"
"Nay, not now that you have gone so far afield," said Glóin. "It
will take you as long to go back as to continue in this direction. But
come, we will accompany you for part of the way." So saying the Dwarf
Lord set out and Gimli indicated that Legolas was to take the second
position behind his snow-bearded sire, a great honour for it was by
rights his own place.
Cuthenin could hardly refuse without offending the Naugrim and so he
fell in line, settling his basket on his hip again and marching in step
with the Dwarves, though his feet made no sound upon the walkway.
A strange procession that was winding through the Peredhil Lord's
stately grounds: four doughty Dwarf Lords and a fair silvan Wood Elf.
All the way along Legolas prayed silently to Varda to let him pass
unnoticed through the sparring fields and barracks, but in his heart he
knew his supplications would not be favourably answered. The Naugrim
had started a marching song in Westron, deep and rumbling like thunder
before a storm. Even if the elves would have given no notice before
they surely could not ignore so unusual a sound and that would direct
them to this highly irregular sight.
Legolas, resigned to his ill-fate, joined the Dwarves in the chorus for
it
relieved his soul to sing. That pleased Gimli, who slapped him hard on
the back and nodded when he glanced behind him to make sure he would
not need to repeat his earlier demonstration in hand-to-hand combat.
Belatedly he thought perhaps he should have directed his fervent pleas
to Vairë, but by then the broad open meadows of the training
grounds had come into view.
TBC
NOTE: I am so pleased that
this story has generated this much interest!
Thank you to everyone who is reading and an extra special thank you to
those who are also reviewing. Here is a rather light chapter in advance
of a more serious one, and I hope everyone has fun with it. It has
Hobbits and Dwarves. Please do not be too upset by my treatment of the
Dwarves. I am a huge fan of the books and liked the movies also, but I
have gone a little to the left in showing the early interaction between
the Dwarves and the Wood Elf.
All the animosity folks take for granted
in fanfiction is not as heavily emphasised in the books. Indeed, I can
think of only two examples in all three books where Legolas and Gimli
are openly cross with each other. So, while the two start off on the
wrong foot, I end up making them less
argumentative than you may read in other stories. Finally, I have been
informed that my elvish is full of errors, and so I apologise. I am
trying and hopefully will improve, so if you notice changes, such as
spelling of Ithil'wath's name or the words used to mean 'thank you',
that is why.
Cheers,
Fred
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