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Nothing Gold Can Stay	By : TAFKAB Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 5309 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, The Silmarillion, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Mithrandir departed at dawn, leaving Thranduil in a foul temper. Legolas avoided his father as much as he could, busying himself with organizing his patrol. His troops required little, and could be relied on to bring such food and bedding as they desired, but for Gimli he must take extra thought. The dwarf’s new cloak was finished, a rich, warm thing, lined with fur from wolf pelts harvested by the Lake-men. It would not frost or freeze from his breath even in the most bitter weather.

Legolas decided to travel overnight to Laketown, where he sought a pipe and weed for the dwarf, as well as coffee. It was a rare commodity, he learned, a thing from far south that would cost him much gold. He minded Gandalf’s words, though, and laid in a supply, along with the small and complicated engine the man insisted he must have to brew it. He bought warm bedding, too, a pack to stow the dwarf’s belongings in, flint and tinder, and such small sewing things as the dwarf might need to mend clothing on the road—or even flesh, at need. After great deliberation, he provided a small folding knife. It would do for paring fingernails or gutting rabbits. The dwarf would need it, and he could not use it for much harm.

The final provisions were readied just in time. When morning dawned on the day his patrol was scheduled to begin, Legolas returned to his father's hall and made arrangements to leave. He directed his company to assemble, then went to check what had happened to the dwarf while he was gone. He learned Gimli had passed the time of Legolas’s brief absence quietly pursuing his needlework, making warm clothing for himself.

“He is strange but skilled,” Dineth the weaver told him. “He has fashioned himself a hat and scarf of green and gold, and gloves to match, with caps on the end rather than fingers so they will leave him dexterous at need. He has showed me the way of his weaving, though I have yet to master it.” Her eyes kindled, and she would have gone on to describe at length the way Gimli held his thread, working it with both hands at once, had Legolas the patience or time to listen.

“He has caused no trouble. Yet,” Nardan confirmed, grudging.

Legolas nodded and went into the cell, carrying the dwarf’s breakfast. He found Gimli alert and waiting, sitting on the edge of his bed with his new-made woolen things on his lap.

“I have come for your answer.” Legolas set the food on the table and stood back as the dwarf settled himself to eat.

“I will go. I pledge to follow your commands.” The dwarf sounded offhand, speaking through a mouthful of bread and honey. Legolas set aside a flicker of irritation with his casual manner.

“Regardless how strange they may seem,” Legolas insisted, and the dwarf gave him an annoyed glare.

“My word is all I have. If you will not take it, then leave me to Andrath.”

Had Gandalf told the dwarf something to make him more tractable? Perhaps that Legolas would not dare leave him to Andrath, lest he be ill-treated? Legolas eyed Gimli with suspicion, but the dwarf merely continued to eat.

“I have brought you a pack with the items and provisions you will need.” Legolas did not speak of the pipeweed or the coffee. Let the dwarf discover them when he would and thank Legolas or not, as he chose. “Are you ready?”

“I am.” The dwarf’s eyes went wide when he saw the rich cloak. “That is well-made. I am glad to have it.” He shouldered it on and passed the straps of his pack through their vents, arranging the load. “It is light. Dwarves would laugh to call this a burden. Is there no water to carry?”

“We will find our water in the wood.” Legolas led him through the winding halls to the gate. “You will be blindfold as we leave the hall and as we return, though I will give you leave to pass through the wood unbound when our path joins the road.”

The dwarf huffed annoyance, but let his eyes be bound. Legolas led him forth, taking care he did not stumble.

When he unbound the dwarf’s eyes, Gimli blinked in the darkness, but quickly settled in, able to follow the light-footed elves well on the ground. Things did not go as smoothly when they would have taken to the trees.

“I cannot climb like a squirrel,” Gimli protested. “Not even in these thin boots. I will stay on the ground. You must give me some signal so I can follow.”

“You cannot remain alone upon the ground.” Legolas singled out several of his company to take to the treetops, and others to stay below with him and Gimli. “We have miles to travel yet today. The spiders do not come so close to our halls.”

They pressed on, making slow time because of the dwarf. Legolas might have chafed against the delay but for Gandalf’s words: no matter how many spiders they killed, more always replaced them so swiftly it seemed none had been slain. Their patrol would make little difference in the long run.

Perhaps he should put the dwarf’s pledge to a test, to temper him for perils to come. The wood was darkening, and they were no longer upon safe ground.

As he thought it, he glanced aside to seek the dwarf, who stumped along stubbornly, wearing his hat and gloves. They went oddly well with his fur-lined cloak. A flicker of motion in the woods beyond caught Legolas’s eye, and what had been merely an idea became all too real.

“Stand, dwarf!” Legolas barked. “Do not move.” His hands clasped his bow. He strung it and an arrow flew before the last word left his mouth. The dwarf froze, blinking at him, his eyes wide.

The dwarf had flinched a little when Legolas shot, but the arrow was already past him before it might have mattered. It struck its target with a wet thunk. The spider squealed, rolling up to shield its glittering eyes. Then the others behind it broke over the party like a wave, and Legolas continued to shoot, darting about as he needed to find his targets. Arrow after arrow found its mark while the dwarf stood his ground. If Legolas was any judge, he never breathed after the first shot.

Then the vermin were down, chittering and dying on the mossy ground. Legolas scanned the treetops. It had happened so fast half his squad were still descending to help, some rappelling down the very spider silk, their oiled gloves protecting their hands from the sticky fiber.

“You may move now. You did well.” Legolas released the dwarf from his command, then stepped past to inspect his kills and retrieve his arrows.

“If I had my axe, I could kill them myself!” Gimli snarled, kicking a dead spider, then wincing as its carapace resisted his unaccustomed soft boot.

“Your kinsmen did not fare well against these.” Legolas tugged free an arrow and inspected the fletching. He wiped it clean and replaced it in his quiver.

“They were bewitched by the confusion of the wood and worn with starvation and long travel.” He hesitated. “At first I thought you meant to shoot me right between the eyes.” Gimli’s voice was gruff. “Then I thought you might without meaning to. You shoot well enough I will not think so again.”

“Is that how dwarves give their thanks?” Legolas kept his voice light.

“Aye.” Gimli squared himself, no true malice under his grumbling tone. “And it is how we give compliments, as well.” He went and seized one of Legolas’s arrows, then extracted it from the spider, holding it quite professionally to protect the fletching and the head. He tossed it at the elf’s feet and went to retrieve another. Legolas took it and followed.

They found several nests of spiders that day, but the first was the largest. In each contest, the dwarf did as Legolas bade, though he grumbled afterward because he was not allowed to fight. Inevitably he went about the bodies of the slain, ensuring none lived as though it were his business to double-check the elves' accuracy.

The dwarf kindled their fire that night and dug into his pack to find his rations. “That is coffee I smell!” he announced suddenly. He drew out the wrapped bundle, pressing it to his face and inhaling deeply before weighing it in his hands. “How much did it cost you, elf?”

Legolas flipped his fingertips lightly at the dwarf, dismissing the question as unimportant.

“The sellers will swindle you if they can,” Gimli muttered. “So have a care next time. You need to know what it should cost, and I can teach you how to tell if it is fresh. But I cannot brew it properly over a fire!”

“In your pack you will find an engine that goes with it. The man said you need only add boiling water.”

Gimli’s eyes brightened. “Then I will brew some in the morning, and you can drink it with me, elf.”

“If it tastes as it smells, I would prefer water,” Legolas told him honestly. The ground beans were pungent enough to make his eyes run.

“Aye, I can see that. No doubt elves would only take theirs well-weakened, with more cream and sugar than coffee.” The dwarf packed the coffee away tenderly and drew out his ration of cram. “It will make living off this stuff easier, at any rate.” He bit off a corner and chewed. “My thanks, elf.”

“You are welcome to it.” Legolas bit into an apple. Perhaps the dwarf had some manners after all.

The elves settled in to rest, setting sentries to guard through the night. After Legolas took his turn, he returned to camp and checked on the dwarf, who lay sleeping, curled close to the fire and huddled inside his fur-lined cloak. He lay so close to the embers Legolas feared his clothing would kindle.

Legolas laid several thick branches on the edge of the fire farthest from Gimli, building the flames up again so they might warm his charge. Then he sat down next to the dwarf with his bow and his knives close at hand.

The dwarf fidgeted in his sleep, making the elves titter as he rolled up on his side against Legolas. Unable to go farther, he threw one thick arm over Legolas’s thighs and settled there. Legolas lifted his eyes to the stars as if imploring their aid, and a ripple of laughter ran through the group.

“Perhaps we should give the two of you privacy,” Giledhel teased Legolas in a low voice.

“Winter comes. He is a mortal, and he is cold,” Legolas answered. “Anyway, he does no harm. Let him be.” He could not have said why he defended the dwarf, or why he did not push Gimli away. Perhaps for the sake of Mithrandir.

Giledhel raised one perfect brow at his prince, but he subsided, leaning against the broad bole of a tree and settling himself to rest. “He slows us, and it is a hardship to defend him on the ground when the spiders come.”

“Do you suggest I should arm him, or perhaps leave him undefended?” Legolas saw Gimli’s hood had fallen, so he lifted it again, tucking it snug at the dwarf’s shoulder.

“You grow fond of the creature, like a pet.”

“No,” Legolas denied. “I was charged to care well for him by none less than Mithrandir. I would not be found faithless.”

“Andrath says your father would not care if the dwarf fell.”

“Then he should not have given Gimli into my keeping,” Legolas flared. “Do not lecture me on my father’s whims. I have not lived long years without learning when to follow my own mind.”

“As you will.” Giledhel tilted his head back, serene.

The spiders left them alone that night, but as they moved farther south, the nests grew larger and the attacks became more frequent and dangerous as the numbers of the vermin increased. The dwarf kept up with the party well as long as they stayed on the ground. He learned to bait the spiders, drawing them out so Legolas might shoot more easily. If he could have armed the dwarf, Legolas would have left him on the ground as a lure while the party took to the treetops to pick the filthy things off from above, but he dared not.

The forest grew less wholesome, too, as they journeyed past the East Bight: trees grew twisted and gnarled, with deadfall branches clustered about their roots. Charnel scents rose from slimy mud, and oily-looking mushrooms poked their pale and bulbous fingers from the mould. The sky could be glimpsed between dying trees, but it roiled with clouds. No sun or star could be seen.

Finally they came to the southernmost end of their route, no more than twenty miles from Dol Guldur, where a long rocky hill pushed up through the forest loam and jutted into the sky with nothing more than twisted scrub and lichen growing on it. Legolas looked aside to the dwarf. He had learned the others would not go out of their way to protect Gimli. He recognized his father’s orders in that, so he kept Gimli always by his side and saw to the dwarf’s defense and care himself.

“I would climb to the top of the ridge and scout the tower of Dol Guldur from afar,” Legolas told the dwarf. “It is no sight for the faint of heart.”

“I will come too,” Gimli said stubbornly. His leather boots had worn thin at the soles though they were but halfway through the march. Legolas feared the dwarf's feet would be bare by the time they returned to the palace. Climbing would do the boots no good, but he could not risk leaving Gimli below.

“Come, then.” Legolas led the way, choosing a path the dwarf might follow.

They climbed, Gimli scrambling for purchase when the path grew steep, ducking beneath noisome webs and half-rotted branches. The sky was gray, covered with low, scudding clouds, and cold rain peppered down in gusts. Legolas missed the canopy at once when they passed from below it, blinking against the bitter rain. The dwarf hunched under both hood and hat, scowling, but did not lag behind.

At last they stood upon the summit, gazing across the valley to the ruined tower. A tall, angular bridge still spanned the gorge next to the ruin, and Gimli squinted at it with interest. “That was built by dwarves more than an age ago, or I am no judge.”

“Both our races assisted in its building,” Legolas agreed, studying the towers intently. He could see no sign of motion, but there were tracks all over the ground. “The ground about the tower is covered in orc-prints and the marks of trolls, and someone has cleared the many stairs since the White Council set siege to the Necromancer there.”

Gimli cleared his throat and spat. “There are so many webs strung across the vale that no rain may fall upon the forest floor beneath.”

“Perhaps my father will send troops to rout the orcs and drive them back to the mountains.” Legolas frowned, a shadow falling over his heart, making the fine hair stand up on his neck. A shiver sang along his veins that had little to do with the raw rain. “Let us go back down at once, before we are spotted.”

They went down much faster than they had climbed, but when they reached the ground again there was no sign of their group, only a scuffling of tracks. "The ground is soaked with blood," Legolas whispered, drawing his knives. "The marks in the mould show a body has been dragged from each stain. Look at the ruffled leaves, where the heels have disturbed stick and stone."

The wood had fallen silent, and the very trees and stones seemed to shiver, as if they had seen horrors they would not tell.

“They were caught unawares,” Legolas whispered, his fists clenching on the hilts of his knives. “Taken without sound, before they could resist!”

“Some power greater than orcs is in that tower, then.” Gimli shuffled his feet, turning up a black orc arrow that had driven into the mould. “I miss my armor as never before, elf.” He shivered. “Some fell thing has been here. I can feel it.”

The dwarf was right. Legolas had sensed such fear in the woods near the ruined keep before, but never so strongly. It could be only one thing.

"I think you are right." Legolas looked at the dwarf long and hard. He drew one of his long, slender knives, flipping it in his hand so its hilt extended toward Gimli.

“Take this.”

The dwarf considered the offer and shook his head. “No, thank you. I will do better with a club.” He reached to the ground, where a splintered beech had fallen as though cleaved by lightning, its pale wood glimmering in the gloom. He set his foot on a shattered branch and wrenched away a thick length with a solid knot at its tip, hefting it in his palm. “When we stop to rest, you can lend me the knife and I will smooth myself a handle.”

Legolas nodded, torn. If he were alone, he would go directly to the tower to see if any of his company lived. Such a choice would likely be suicide. He could not indulge his wish, for he had a duty to protect the dwarf, and he must also warn his father of the raid.

No. He could not risk the keep. They were sure to be dreadfully outnumbered, and the dwarf had no true weapon and no armor. Legolas scowled. He might run home through the treetops in no more than ten days, but with Gimli at his side, he could not leave the ground. Walking the paths of the wood, the count would become fifteen days or even twenty. Even if he were alone, ten days hence were ten too many. By the time he might return with elves, there would be little chance any of his companions survived.

“Which way will you go?” Gimli watched him with apparent calm.

“I do not think we two can hope to seek my kin and live to tell the tale.” The words tasted bitter in Legolas’s mouth. “The longer we stay here, the greater the chance our enemies will return and we, too, will be taken. I must warn my father, or more elves will die.”

“Then let us go. I will walk or run as long as you, if not longer!”

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Nothing Gold Can Stay