Bearded

Chapter 25

Gimli was galvanized by the thought of Legolas in danger, here in Erebor. Gimli's mind was not as sharp as it normally was, but he felt a fire burning within him. They had both known it could be dangerous for Legolas to visit Erebor, as an Elf alone. They had both known the risk and had borne it. Indeed, Gimli had been a Dwarf alone in Eryn Lasgalen. After the primal terror Fanghorn had instilled in him, he had felt prepared to deal with Mirkwood as described by the Company. Instead, he had found Eryn Lasgalen, both the trees and the Elves, tolerant of him, if not exactly welcoming. Both had seemed to exude an air of bemused curiosity at a Dwarf in their midst. No longer under shadow, everything in the woods was stirring again, not in menace but almost in playfulness.

The night before entering the forest he and Legolas had set up camp on its borders. Though Legolas had wept in relief at the changed atmosphere of his homeland, he could not guarantee all the spiders were dead, so would not risk setting-up camp under the canopy of trees. They had laid their sleeping rolls beside each other and simply embraced one another. Gimli shared in Legolas' joy while trying to master his own fear and they fell asleep entwined.

Gimli had been afraid the Elves would kill him, or at least imprison him for daring to presume to be joined to such an ethereal creature as Legolas, their own Prince. No one had called him 'a Naug' to his face, and there had been no violence or open hostility, however Legolas had not left his side. On occasion, by silent agreement, Legolas' brother seemed to have been assigned as a guard, but overall, he had been fêted together with Legolas as one of the Nine Walkers. He had seen Legolas' favourite trees, favourite haunts, and even slept in a tree once. Legolas' limbs had wrapped around him as he was nested in the hollow between thick branches, wedging him in. Until he fell asleep, Legolas' fingers had been playing with his hair and beard, singing songs in rolling Silvan and planting little kisses on his head, his shoulders, his neck. Gimli had still been relieved to ride away from Eryn Lasgalen, but he had not been harmed there. Now in Erebor, Gimli's husband's life hung in the balance.

Gimli knew that a part of him felt ashamed that Legolas had not received a fabled dwarven welcome; oh, there had been a feast of welcome, but it was clear it was a welcome for Gimli. Legolas had been barely tolerated and the veiled hostility that evening had been a welcome change from the open hostility he faced at other times. Another part of him felt guilty for the orc attack. He knew that Legolas had been upset when they had ridden out. Gimli should have kept watch, remained alert, not just thinking of his trews and getting them off under the open sky, which always increased Legolas' enthusiasm and volume, which in turn inflamed him.

Now his husband's life hung in the balance. A roiling terror was building up within Gimli and he could barely keep it under control. In the hospital, his mother had brushed and braided his hair and beard. She had not done so for many years and to feel anyone other than Legolas' hands grooming him was strange. Gimli had not wanted to waste time, but his mother had pointed out that if he came to the king looking unkempt and dishevelled it would devalue the words he spoke.

They now made their way to the audience chamber.

"Let me pass! I must come to the King Under the Mountain. Whatever betide, let me pass!"

Dwarves fell back before the command in his voice and made no further attempt to question him, though they gazed in wonder at Gimli as he was carried in a litter, supported by healers, up the long paved pathways and winding roads towards the throne room, his mother beside him.

Already it seemed that word of their coming had gone before them: and at once they were admitted, silently, without question, but the litter had to be left outside the chamber. And then, Gimli found himself half-carried through the doors of the great hall and past the silent door wardens.