Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

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.

Chapter List
- 14
- 15
- 16
Gimli was forced to swallow his distress and show a calm face as they went to the marketplace, where weapons were on sale for those with enough coin-- though after one look at the elf, the merchants quadrupled the price of any item Gimli examined. He had to content himself with buying only the most basic supplies; more substantial purchases were out of the question. Many dwarves would not acknowledge him at all.

Gimli could not blame them; the elf's words to Dori would doubtless go down in legend. Perhaps his consideration for Gimli was only that of a curator after all.

Bitter thoughts matched bitter bargains, as dwarf after dwarf offered little courtesy to the lost one. Fortunately, Gimli finally wandered past an aging dwarf sitting before a stall of armor, Niði, whom he had known during his childhood in the Ered Luin. The dwarf wore a frame that held thick glass lenses before his eyes; he adjusted them and gave Gimli a narrow look, then reached to his own back and pulled out the weapon he wore.

“I have watched you shop your way around the market, and I see what you need. Take my father’s axe for your own, lost one,” Niði told Gimli, breaking entirely with protocol. He ignored the elf completely, his voice gruff, handing Gimli his own weapon. The axe had a single heavy head with a wicked, well-honed curve. It was well-balanced and strong, formed so it might be used either for cutting or for grappling away an opponent’s weapon. “I will accept no payment. I am grateful to the lost one for the bread in my grandson’s belly.”

“Your kindness is as welcome as it is unlooked for. The lost one will remember you and your family on the day he is found.” Gimli vowed as he accepted the gift. To refuse would be to insult a generous heart and shame it in its pride. “On that day, you will be repaid seven times over.”

The old dwarf flicked his fingers in silent dismissal, but Gimli knew he was pleased. Likely he would not live to see the day of Gimli’s manumission, but Gimli took silent oath to find his family and give them all the wealth it was in his power to bestow.

The elf made no comment upon this interchange, but his fair face looked troubled, a frown lingering between his brows. He let Gimli carry the axe over his shoulder and spoke no word of hiding it.

That proved to be the best moment of the day. By the time they had bought tobacco, cram, and coffee, Gimli winced at the lightness in his purse. He had been warned there were those who resented being helped, but he had not expected to experience such cold treatment from his own kin. Yet when he spoke for the elf he was treated as one, even by dwarves who had no personal quarrel with him.

One group of young dwarves stayed near them as they shopped, just far enough back that Gimli could not hear them well. They wore the distinctive sigils of the Iron Hills embossed on their armor. Gimli kept a wary eye on them. Many among the younger generation had strongly favored complete rejection of both Bard's claim and Thranduil’s terms, desiring instead to return to their old home with all the treasure they could carry-- Gimli had, in their eyes, prevented them from claiming a significant sum in gold. These had the look of that sort. They spoke loudly and in Westron, for they wished to be understood by all, and the expressions on their faces as they gazed at Gimli held no mercy.

The elf was aware of them as well. Waiting to be attacked by spiders, weaponless and dependent on Legolas for protection, Gimli had swiftly learned to read the signs of battle-readiness in his companion. Legolas was ready to draw knives and fight, should his hand be forced. From the tightness in the elf’s face when the dwarves’ voices fell below Gimli's hearing, he could hear the words Gimli could not.

Their purchases complete, they found Dori's prediction true: it proved difficult to find a place to sleep. At last Legolas gave up entering establishments on his own behalf and sent Gimli in alone to barter for lodging. He eventually secured a room for them in an inn with a human proprietor.

Gimli could tell Legolas was not in a good temper when they went to their floor, his jaw set with frustration. Gimli knew he must be annoyed with his failure to obtain entry to the mountain, his impatience over his lost kin, and the delay in reaching the wizard.

Gimli was in no cheerful mood himself. He had heard himself named the elf’s pet no fewer than twenty times as they sought lodging, his livery and bearing mocked both by men who did not understand and dwarves who should have known better. Though he had heard some speak of him with awe and gratitude, they were few. He had heard other words as well, less kind even than ‘pet.’

“Will Dori send word to the wizard promptly?” Legolas fumed. “We must return to his house soon to see if messages are waiting.”

“I cannot say.” Dori had been angry enough to delay delivery of the message, Gimli judged, but the news they bore was such that surely no dwarf would ignore it as unimportant.

Legolas scowled and flung himself onto the room’s single, narrow bed. He glared up at the low ceiling. “Will you go out and bring back food for us?”

This was rather different than giving an order, which Legolas had done only before dwarves, and the request had the virtue of necessity. Gimli stalked to the common room, where he ordered stew, bread, and ale for his master. The barkeep was human, originally from Laketown to judge by his accent. The man looked at him, curious.

“You seem more like an elf than a dwarf, wearing silks on your back and perfume in your beard! Does the elf use you as his catamite?”

Gimli bared his teeth, snarling, and gave no answer. Such words were an inevitable product of gossip and malice, but it made them no easier to hear, especially when flung directly in his face. He snatched the tray of food and stamped away with it, throwing it down on the rickety table inside their room.

“I will go out,” he growled.

“Will you stay close at hand? You will be wanted when the wizard comes.” Legolas rose and examined the tray. “I hope you do not mean to drink yourself into a stupor.” He frowned. “You have spilled the stew.”

“Then fetch your own food next time!” Gimli’s fists clenched. He needed a fight-- no, a brawl, and he clung to his temper by only the thinnest of margins. It did not help that the elf was right.

Legolas considered him, his lips thinning to a narrow line. “You mean to do battle to avenge yourself against the insults I heard as we walked through the city. We need no trouble of this kind. If you cannot promise me you will not fight, I would prefer you remain here.” He sat down to mop up the spilled stew with bits of bread.

A suggestion, not a command-- yet Gimli was too far gone to grow calm. “Will you fight me?” Adrenaline flooded his system. He had to purge it somehow.

“I will not.”

"Then if I may not go out, I must calm myself the best way I can!" Gimli snarled, wrenching his gaze from the elf and finding the bed lying unrumpled. He kicked over the frame, then grasped the mattress and bolster, wrapping them into a rough roll and flinging it against the rockwork wall. He struck out with all the force and fury within him, battering the bedding as if it were the faces of those who had mocked him in the street. As if it were Thranduil, who had taken his life and replaced it with slavery.

As if it were those who called him the elf’s whore.

The elf sat silent, watchful, but did not intervene for long minutes, not until Gimli had spent his rage.

“That is enough,” Legolas said at length, when the room was thick with feathers from the ripped ticking and Gimli’s blows began to shiver the wall, making dust and mortar fall. He came and caught Gimli’s arm, pulling him back from his violence.

Gimli struck at him, a sob caught in his throat, but all the strength flowed out of his limbs and he slumped to the floor, his eyes wet, humiliated that he could show such weakness before this elf, this son of Thranduil the Heartless.

Legolas examined his hands, frowning at the bruised and bloody knuckles, but made no condemnation, merely pulling a salve from his pack and tending the hurts. When Gimli had calmed, the elf rang for a chambermaid. “Bring new bedding and brooms to sweep away these feathers. Then have another meal sent up. Enough for two, with a pitcher of the best ale you have.” Little haughtiness remained in him, only quiet command.

“You need food and rest.” Legolas said when she departed, making no judgment on Gimli's outburst. “Sit and eat with me?” He brushed feathers from the seats of the chairs and directed Gimli to one.

Maids entered with brooms and bedding, tidying the room swiftly. They made the bed anew and laid out a meal for Gimli and the elf to replace the one the feathers had spoiled. Then Legolas dismissed them and sat across from him, serving the stew for them both and dividing the loaf. He poured ale and pushed a mug across the table, leaving it within reach of Gimli’s hand.

“What are you, that you speak with such contempt to Dori, yet you will serve me food with your own hands?” Gimli’s voice felt rough and hot, as if he had gargled gravel. He wondered how loudly he had roared during his anguished frenzy. It was a wonder they had not been cast out into the street.

“I am yet my father’s son, it seems. It is hard to change so much overnight. But I have my own mind.” Legolas’s eyes dimmed. He looked at his stew, lifting the spoon and regarding it as if marvels lay within its bowl. “I might ask what are these people who speak of you so cruelly when you have sacrificed your freedom and family to feed them?”

“I was the king’s dwarf. Or so I thought, until my king gave himself over to gold and forgot to value his people.” Gimli took a mouthful of ale. It stung going down, but he felt better afterward.

Legolas looked at him quietly. “When the year is done and the aid given so my father may not withhold it, I will let you leave me. Then you can return to your people.”

“That I will not do.” The rest of his anger abandoned Gimli, leaving him hollow and weary. “I have given my oath, and I will honor it. If I do not, what am I? The words my people mutter may as well be true. If I broke my oath, I would not be able to return to my home; I would not be accepted by any of my kin. Not even my sire would see my face.” He struck the table with his fist. “We are stuck with one another, elf, for good or ill.” He glowered at Legolas.

“Then let us make the best of it.” Legolas met his gaze firmly. “I warned you I must be every inch Thranduil’s son when we are in company with others, lest the bargain struck at such cost to you be ended before my father’s part is fulfilled.” Legolas spread his hands, helpless. “But as we journeyed in the wood, Gimli, I thought we two began to understand one another. Even before our comrades were taken, you would do as I asked, and you began to put yourself before the company and draw the spiders to yourself, trusting I would not let you fall.”

Legolas leaned forward across the table, his eyes brilliant. “I spoke in anger to Dori, as I would of old. I am sorry. But I have not forgotten how I fell stunned, wounded, and roused to find you standing over me, battling orcs-- this after I told you the way to find your own path to safety! I know when I was witless in my fever, you wrapped your own cloak around me, and you dragged me behind you on a sled for many days, returning to the king who holds you chattel. A false heart in a being of faithless nature would not treat the son of his captor so. Only a soul of honor would.

“Thus I brought you forth with me rather than leave you to my father, who made it well-known he would gladly see you dead and off his hands. For while I have much yet to learn of dwarves, I am not my father, and though I may struggle to find my way, I am no more faithless or false at heart than you have shown yourself to be.”

Gimli could not breathe for a moment, transfixed by those intense blue eyes with their flecks of gold. Some great thing shivered within his heart: wonder, that an elf would speak so to a dwarf. Pleasure, that his worth was known and esteemed. Amazement, that in his jailor he found kindness and honor where he had looked for none. ....Sorrow, that the elf showed this better side of himself only to Gimli and not to his kin.

“Aye,” he muttered at last, and looked aside, finding the fine axe he had been given and lifting it to occupy his nervous hands, fingering the runes etched on its blade: spells of strength and returning. There were those with the wit to value his choices. At least the elf was trying.

Yes, he was; at times Gimli found him very trying.

Gimli huffed a humorless chuckle. “You seem much as you say, and in one thing you are surely right: the rift between our people is so great I think it cannot be wholly bridged in a moon’s time.” He shrugged, embarrassed. “It is hard for me that many of my kin do not value my sacrifice, and to hear they think--” Gimli flushed hot red all the way to his ears. But the elf already knew; he had heard the words himself. "It is the way I am dressed and perfumed. Among my people and men alike, servants and slaves wear rough homespun. But silks and scents mark a favored courtesan."

“I regret you are made to bear such a burden.” Legolas said sadly. "Gimli, elves may be guilty of many sins, but we would never mistreat a servant so, nor would we wish it."

"I know that is true of you, at least." Gimli felt himself drooping, fatigue and sadness threatening to overwhelm him. He was far too weary to continue their talk.

Legolas saw it and was kind. “Eat, Gimli. Then we will rest.”

Note: A comment response thread for this story can be found at http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/62310-review-replies-for-nothing-gold-can-stay-by-tafkab/ !
- 14
- 15
- 16
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Nothing Gold Can Stay