Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Nothing Gold Can Stay	By : TAFKAB Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 5311 -:- 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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“The healers will leave us now.” Thranduil arrived at his son’s bedside soon after Legolas had found his wits again. As he stood before his son, his fingertips touched the rich brocade of his robe, tracing the outline of a single figure. “Report now to me.” His face was smooth, impassive.

Legolas did so, taking pains to give Gimli the dwarf fair credit for his part in the tale. Thranduil listened, his pale eyes set on his son’s face, his fingers unceasing as they moved restlessly over the design in the soft fabric. Legolas did not know if his father’s fidgeting revealed anger or impatience-- or merely a restless desire to be elsewhere.

“You revealed the secret of our woodland paths to the dwarf.”

“That is not important.” Legolas ran his palm over his face. “We must give battle to the wraith who took my company. Give me leave to muster our troops, and I will ride south to drive it out again. If any of our people are still alive--”

“The keep is accursed, and it is not worth fighting for.” Thranduil’s voice never altered. “You should not have traveled so close. Patrols are to stop upon reaching the East Bight.”

“The spiders do not stop there. If we would finish them for once and all, we must confront them at their source.” Legolas sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the couch. The healer said he must remain abed for a day yet, but he could not lie idle while a wraith yet lurked in the Greenwood.

“My command was to drive the spiders from our lands, not to pursue them so far you endangered your companions.” Thranduil set his hand in the center of Legolas’s chest and pressed him to lie back among the pillows. “That choice is your folly to bear, not mine. Spiders are little threat, and we can drive them off at will. I will not spend the blood of more elves in battle with a wraith. I will keep them safe.”

“For now. But when the wraith gathers strength, when the shadow rises again in the east, what then will we do? How will we prevail when none remain to answer our call for aid?”

“When that time comes I will lead our people west. We will sail across the sea and let this world sink into damnation and destruction, as it is so clearly meant to do!” Thranduil met his son’s gaze at last, his expression terrible. “Why should elves suffer and die, when we stand apart, superior to mortal concerns?”

“Apart, you say.” Legolas lifted his chin, stubborn, remembering the wisdom of Tauriel. “Yet I would say we are a part, and my conscience will not let me act otherwise. Those with the strength to fight the shadow must use it.”

I wonder if I have done the right thing in giving you the right to lead others,” Thranduil mused. “If you cannot obey your king, then why should you command? If you cannot even be trusted to shepherd the dwarf--”

“He is valiant!” Legolas sat upright once more. “And he has shown his honor and his worth. Why will you not see it? He could have left me to die a dozen times over and gone off to his kin, but he did not.”

“It seeks to win your confidence, so you will reveal more secrets of our ways.” Thranduil looked away. “It will use them against us later. Its kind does not forget.”

“Does ours?” Legolas lay back in despair, but Thranduil gave no response. “Will you listen to nothing that I say?” Legolas wondered at his father’s folly. He had never expected to hear Thranduil say he would be willing to sail, to return to the company of the Noldor-- even the Valar, both of whom he disliked, preferring his Silvan subjects.

Or perhaps he merely preferred... to rule. To stand apart from all, even from his subjects, superior and untouchable until the end.

Even to his son.

“If you had not been hampered by your intent to protect the dwarf, you would never have been wounded. You should have left him to divert the shadow-spawn and come away.”

It was the same argument Thranduil made for refusing to aid the surrounding lands, only on a lesser scale. Legolas thought of leaving Gimli to the mercy of the troll and the goblins, unarmed and helpless, his grudging trust forsaken. He pictured himself climbing up into the treetops instead of fighting at the dwarf's side, running free while Gimli died, returning home to his father to report the loss of everyone he had led forth. Would Thranduil have been more forgiving even then? He thought not. But it did not matter.

“Had I done that, I would have taken more harm than if the orcs or the wraith had slain me,” Legolas said slowly.

His father looked down at him, stern and aloof, with no understanding in his eyes.

Legolas closed his own, suddenly weary beyond measure. How many times over the long years had he failed to earn Thranduil's respect when they disagreed? How many times had he despaired of receiving understanding from his adar and succumbed instead to the cold orders of his king?

“Rest now. When you arise, come before me. I will give you some new assignment, one more befitting your temperament.” Thranduil turned away.

Legolas let silence speak for him, knowing his father would mistake it for acquiescence.

*****

Some days after his return to the halls of Thranduil, just after Nardan brought him bread and cold water to break his fast, Gimli felt eyes on him and looked up to find the prince standing at the cell door, gazing in through the bars, seeming fully recovered.

Gimli had never imagined to feel relief when looking at the elf, but his heart lightened to see the prince standing firm on his feet. He hid his pleasure behind a scowl.

Neither spoke, but Gimli set down the loaf and continued chewing, then washed his mouthful down with a swig of water. He glared at the elf, refusing to speak first.

Legolas reached and flung the door wide, then stood in it, high color on his cheeks. He looked out of sorts, still a bit weak, Gimli judged. He took another bite of bread. If the elf would not speak, then he would finish his meal, such as it was.

“Is this how my father thanks you for my life?” Legolas’s voice was thick with wrath.

Gimli shrugged. Lifting his cup, he tilted it to drink, but Legolas dashed it from his hand in a sudden show of anger.

“Come with me.”

They went through the caverns together, the prince choosing little-traveled ways. Gimli trotted along, not questioning his guide, though curiosity burned hot in him. At last they emerged into an ornate hall and passed into a side-chamber cut near the surface of the hill, one with many windows looking out into the wood. The walls were carved in the shapes of trees and fashioned with lacquered green leaves and flowers embossed in gold and truesilver. A fine rug lay upon the smooth floor and small sleeping couch stood by one window, where the sleeper might look out and see the sky. The prince’s own sleeping chamber, perhaps.

Legolas went to one of the windows, staring out, his jaw set so hard Gimli could have used it to cut and facet diamond.

"Why did you save me in the wood?" The words were simple enough, but the elf's voice burned with the same intensity he had shown since he appeared at Gimli's cell.

Gimli stared at him. "Because I would not leave even an--" he hesitated, then continued roughly. "Even an elf to the mercy of orcs."

"And why is that?"

"Because it would not be right. Orcs are foul creatures, evil things. They delight in destroying all that is good." Gimli scowled.

"And elves?"

"Must I say it? Elves are not so." Gimli growled. "Maddening, fey, two-faced, cold, vain, untrustworthy? Indeed. But evil? No. And some...." he flushed. "Some, I suppose, are not so bad as others." He paused, but the elf still gazed on him, waiting. Gimli folded his arms and met him glare for glare. "Whether I liked him or not, I would not willingly leave a companion behind me to die."

"Nor would I." Legolas smiled without humor. A large canvas sack lay upon the rug, and he gestured Gimli forward to open it.

There, washed and neatly mended, he found his dwarven clothing and his mail, and his new fur-lined cloak, carefully brushed and cleaned. He ran his hand over the brocade of his surcoat, wondering at this turn of fortune.

Legolas went to a little table and poured wine in a jeweled goblet, handing it to Gimli. “I would have prepared food and had it waiting, had I known the extent of your privation.” He forced speech between clenched teeth.

“I thank you.” Gimli said mildly. The elf seemed a volcano, bubbling near eruption. “But I do not know the meaning of this.” He lifted one of his gauntlets to illustrate.

“There are more ways than one in which to fulfill your vow.” Legolas said. “As you were given to me, and that gift has not yet been revoked, I may choose the place and type of your service. Dress now in your own clothing, son of Glóin. We are leaving these halls.” His voice seethed, and Gimli realized the elf’s wrath must be directed at his father, the king. For Thranduil's ingratitude to Gimli? Surely that could not be it.

Gimli did not have time to consider the nuances of the prince’s action, but he would be glad to leave the halls of Thranduil, and to be shed of as many elves as could be managed. “Aye.” Gimli took a swig of wine and set the cup aside, throwing off his elf-rags. What did it matter? This elf had seen his skin already. He dressed with care, feeling his own clothing settling onto him and sighing with relief. It had been sorely missed. “But what of your kin? Will you not journey with them to raid the ruin?”

Legolas’s face pinched even tighter. “My father says he will not venture such a raid. He will not go southward beyond our bounds, and chastened me for straying past them. The loss of my company is on my head, he says. I alone am left to bear the guilt of their passing.”

Gimli clicked his tongue. It seemed Thranduil did not reserve his harsh treatment only for dwarves. This knowledge explained Legolas’s actions far better than simple ire at Gimli’s treatment. No elf would ever forsake hall and kin for the sake of a dwarf’s dishonor. And yet… Legolas had not chosen to leave alone, abandoning Gimli in his cell, and had even returned his traveling clothes.

Wonders would never cease, it seemed.

“Where do we journey?” Gimli stamped his feet, settling them in his comfortable iron-shod boots.

“We will seek Mithrandir. The White Council must be told their cleansing of the keep has already failed. It may be the wizard is still in Dale or Erebor. If he is not, then we will make another plan.” Legolas tucked a pouch of coin into his belt and tossed a smaller one to Gimli. Gimli blinked at it, shocked, then tied it securely to his belt.

“Is there anything else you need?” Two packs leaned against the wall and Legolas shouldered one. Gimli took the other, glancing inside.

“If there is food and ale, I am content.”

Legolas nodded, curt, and took up another sack. He drew out his bow and slung it over his shoulder. Holding the mouth of the sack closed, he led Gimli out into the corridor.

“We will leave through the back gate.”

He led Gimli swiftly down a spiraling stair, across narrow pathways in the deep, then down again. Gimli could hear running water, and he guessed they neared the lowest level of the cavern palace, from whence Thorin’s company had made their escape. He hustled to keep up, trying to make as little noise as he might, but his heavy boots rang on the stone.

Legolas darted aside, and Gimli followed, finding the elf standing on the threshold of an open portal. Together they looked out into night. The path descended and led to a bridge over a swift river that descended from stone to stone in a froth of white water.

Legolas took a deep breath, gazing down at Gimli for a moment. He seemed about to speak, but did not. He glanced back the way they had come, his face taut with pain, and for a moment Gimli wondered if he would repent his course and change his mind.

“Let us go,” Legolas said at last. They stepped out, closing the door behind them and locking the warm light of candle and lantern inside the hill.

It took a moment for Gimli’s eyes to adjust. There was light in the air, cool and white, as the dawn drew near and the night stars faded. It glowed in the foaming water below them and on the smooth-carved path before their feet.

“Come,” Legolas led him forward. The bridge wardens did not challenge their prince, though they shifted their feet and exchanged glances as he and Gimli passed.

They followed the river’s descending course for some time. When the rim of the sun broke over the horizon, Legolas stopped and turned to Gimli. “Now we are beyond the edge of my father’s realm, and there are no more sentries to see or to guard as we go forth. You may need this.” He opened his sack.

The orc-axe lay inside, and Gimli blinked at it, amazed.

“I could find no better one to offer. We will get another in Dale, more suited for you to carry.” Legolas handed the axe to Gimli, who took it slowly.

“My thanks, elf.” He turned the weapon in his hands, wondering at his companion.

“And my thanks to you, Gimli.” Legolas uttered his sky-name to him for the first time, and Gimli felt his spine straighten with surprise and pride. “If not for you I would have perished in the forest. The orc arrow was dipped in a fell poison. Run as I might, it would have caught me short of home.” His face twisted with pain again, just for a moment.

Home, which now lay behind Legolas, perhaps forever. Gimli cleared his throat, uncomfortable.

“There is this, as well.” Legolas smiled, putting the moment of dismay behind him and reached into the sack once more, drawing out a smaller bag, finely made. Gimli’s eyes went wide as he opened it.

“Wool and your chosen instruments for working it,” Legolas said softly. “Dineth the weaver wished you to have them.”

“She knew of our leaving?”

“While I was in the care of the healers, she attempted to take your part and argued with my father. To his considerable displeasure.” Legolas waited while Gimli stowed his new belongings in his pack. “It was she who made me aware of your plight after I recovered enough to rise, and she who saw to the laundering and care of your clothing.”

Gimli cleared his throat and glanced away. “Aye. Well. I am learning not all elves are so awful as I have been taught.”

Legolas did not laugh. “Perhaps not all dwarves are so terrible, either.” He looked away also, both of them embarrassed. “If we can find passage on a boat, we may be in Esgaroth in time to find lodging for the night.”

“Aye.“ Gimli said again. “Let’s move.”

They were in luck, and rapidly found an accommodating bargeman who poled them across the lake with his cargo of foodstuffs. Construction seemed everywhere, the pale gold of new wood shining among old, weather-dulled pilings and piers that rose out of the lake to end in char.

They were much earlier than they had hoped, and the sun was just beginning to sink in the west when they landed. Legolas paid their fare while Gimli looked about. An enterprising young lad was selling meat pasties upon the docks. They bought two, pleased to find the filling inside still hot. Legolas ate eagerly enough, though Gimli was surprised to see him consume the flesh of an animal.

“Elves eat meat when it is served to us, though it is not our first choice, and we do not often slaughter beasts for our tables.” Legolas noticed Gimli’s surprise and answered it. He had a most unseemly trickle of juice at one side of his lips, and he made a face as he finished.

“I have nothing to clean myself,” he commented, rueful.

“Your sleeve will do. It is what they are for!”

Legolas licked the juice away instead, his long pink tongue darting forth. He wiped away the rest of the stain with his finger, then popped the finger into his mouth and sucked it clean.

It was a strange gesture for an elf, sensual and almost earthy, one that conjured unseemly thoughts. Gimli blinked wide-eyed at the elven prince, then flung his head back and laughed so loudly half the dockworkers turned to stare.

“Am I so amusing, then?” Legolas arched an eyebrow at him in surprise.

“Yes. You are.” Gimli left it at that, and the elf did not press.

*****

Inquiries among the townsfolk placed the wizard in Erebor. Legolas bowed. “Then we will seek him there. I thank you.”

Gimli sucked his teeth, considering. Legolas shot him a glance. “You would say something?”

“It will be interesting to see the prince of the wood, Thranduil’s son, petition to enter Dale.” Dale? Perhaps the elf might be given leave to enter Dale. The mountain? Never.

“You believe my request will be refused.”

“You will do better to ask the wizard to come out and meet with us.”

“If I must. Yet I confess, I had hoped your presence would ease my path.”

Gimli nodded, though a pang of regret shot through him. Legolas was wrong, but Gimli had no desire to explain. He felt his spirits fading. This was the practical and selfish reason, then, why the elf had not left him to rot in his cell. It was to be expected: Elves valued dwarves only for use, not for respect or honor.

Legolas frowned, his smooth forehead creasing as he perceived Gimli’s sinking mood. “And there is more. I had hoped we would not have to go to such an extent. But my father… he will not be pleased to learn I have left his kingdom without leave, or that I have taken you with me, though you were left in my charge. Gimli….” Legolas sighed. “It must be clear while we deal with your people that you are yet chattel to the house of Thranduil, or my father may choose to withdraw his aid on the grounds I have freed you.”

Gimli scowled. “You mean to order me about.” He had expected that anyway, but no point in letting the elf know. Still, the elf’s commands were usually not too unpleasant. Even when they were strict, Gimli had observed they at least had the virtue of being necessary.

“Yes, I will. I may not direct you in ways you enjoy. I must require, first, that you wear the livery of my house, so there will be no question of your status in the minds of those who see you.”

Gimli set his jaw, forcing down anger. Every time the elf began to seem a tolerable companion, something worse occurred! “I live to serve the House of Thranduil,” he bit out through clenched teeth, and indeed he did. For seventy-seven years. But his memory was long. if Legolas treated him amiss, there would be vengeance to consider when his term ended!

He gave the elf a sour look, dumping his weapon back in its burlap bag.

“Let us find a lodging and leave this place when dawn comes," Legolas told him. "Delay is to no good purpose.”

NOTES:

adar: Father

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Nothing Gold Can Stay