Gigolas (Legolas/Gimli) One Shots Book

On the Cold Hill Side (Pt. 2)

Author: marycrawford

At Isengard, the Fellowship of the Ring was disbanded at last; and Legolas and Gimli were left standing side by side, under the eaves of Fangorn Forest.

Legolas spoke softly to Arod, entreating him to wait for their return, and rubbing behind his ears in a comforting manner. "There is good grass here, and no harm will come to you while the Ents watch over Isengard," Legolas said coaxingly. "The tangled depths of the forest are no place for you, my friend."

Arod whickered and shook his head, stamping his foot, and Gimli smiled. Despite his great size, Arod looked for all the world like a small child throwing a tantrum.

So many miles had they travelled together, and ere they set off, Gimli would never have believed he could come to grow fond of such a beast.

Gimli sighed. Too many farewells, too many partings. Did Arod know that they were coming back? "He might follow us, if we cannot ride him."

"There is no path wide enough for him, and there will be no grass under these broad trees," Legolas said. "I wish to make him understand that he must stay."

Gimli looked at the baleful eye of the horse and shrugged. "I daresay he understands well enough," he said, and reached up to stroke Arod's velvet nose. "He simply does not wish us to go."

Arod snorted as if in agreement. Then he began to nibble upon Gimli's hair, until Gimli shoved him away with an oath.

Legolas looked from Gimli to Arod, and a slow smile curved his lips. "There is a saying among the Elves," he said, "that the longer they ride together, the more horse and rider will grow alike. I am beginning to believe it."

Gimli stroked his beard, pretending to consider this preposterous idea. "He's certainly as capricious as any elf," he said at last, and gave Arod a last handful of oats from his pocket before resolutely turning his back.

~*~

Soon after they entered Fangorn, Gimli lost all trace of time.

It might be twilight; it might be dawn; it might be midday. Filtered by a carpet of leaves far overhead, the light that reached the forest floor was pale and diffuse, more greenish shadow than light, and there was no wind to stir the trees.

Gimli stumped forward, trying to follow a straight path, even though there was none. The trees grew too close together, and he had to keep skirting around huge roots and gnarled old shrubs, many of them covered in thorns.

"This is not a friendly forest, for all that we were bid welcome," he muttered to himself. "It does not want us here."

There was not the same palpable sense of anger from the ancient trees looming overhead, but what Gimli felt from them now was wariness and distrust, and he had to admit that the feeling was mutual.

Legolas was ahead of him, a glimpse of green and tan, flitting among the trees like a strange low-flying bird. Half the time he was in the air, flinging himself from one tree-branch to another, sometimes turning head over heels for no apparent reason but the sheer joy of flying.

Gimli found the elf's antics much less disturbing to watch, now that they were away from the hard rock and sharp crystal spears of Aglarond. Here, the leaf mold was so thick that at times he sank into it up to his knees, and all the trees were covered with moss and lichen, great shrouds and festoons of it. Even the most reckless elf would have to work at it to crack his head open.

It was a little lonely, though. Gimli could not speak to the trees, or at least not so that they would answer; and Legolas was too full of delight and high spirits to travel at Gimli's steady pace for long.