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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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Gimli woke to the distant clamor of horses and the ashes of a cold campfire. He rose, stretching out muscles stiffened with chill, and went to the riverside. Legolas stood waiting as a wide, shallow barge poled its way across the torrent. Its prow was carved to resemble a swan. On it rode several horses, a tall white charger foremost among them. An elf-woman stood at the horse’s side, her face hidden beneath a helm of hardened leather. She wore a sword belted about her slender hips and carried an unstrung bow. Her hair was braided down the back and the thick plait hung well past her knees. Another elf stood at her side, helping with the beasts, and several others handled the barge poles. The whole affair was tethered to the ferry-rope, which seemed impossibly slender to bear such a burden, but barely sagged and did not snap.

The she-elf was certainly the master of her horse, which stood meekly and with patience despite the rolling of the bow over wavelets in the current. The others danced and stamped, but quieted when she spoke.

The barge landed and the poleman opened a gate in the railing so the horses could step through onto the sandy landing. Legolas went aboard to help, and the new elves spied Gimli standing at the verge of the woods. The she-elf led her horse forward toward him while Legolas and the other tended the baggage.

Something about her froze him in place, his breath catching in his chest. He fumbled to remove his helm and held it before his chest, her regal bearing moving him to courtesy. She moved with absolute assurance, a quiet grace that was more striking than ostentatious, her ease so unlike Thranduil’s taut posturing it hardly seemed the king of Mirkwood might be of a kind with her.

Gimli realized he was waiting with great eagerness for her to remove her helm so he might look upon her face.

“Mae govannen, Son of Durin,” she said, her voice a rich, melodious alto. “Or perhaps I should say well met. You must be Gimli.” She inclined herself at the waist and spoke politely in archaic but perfectly accentless Khuzdul: “I am at your service.”

“Well met, indeed. You must forgive me, my lady. I am not at liberty to offer my service in return. But when I am again my own to command, I will serve you however you wish.” Gimli bowed so low he might have toppled over. “Yet I do not know your name so I may find you to offer it.”

“I am called Galadriel,” she said. “My companion is Haldir, warden of the western march, now ambassador to Erebor.”

When he rose again she removed her helm and smiled on him, her glory of golden hair ever so slightly mussed, her eyes alight as though they reflected many glimmering stars. Gimli shifted his feet, feeling abashed before her clear gaze, his fingers tight on the rim of his helm. She was so lovely he had no words to compass her beauty, and she had spoken to him in his own tongue, smiling, offering no insult in either word or manner.

“I would apologize to you and all your kin for our failure to help in your time of need.” The lady spread her delicate hands before him. “As our land lies so far to the south, it is difficult to know of such needs in time. Sending supplies over Anduin may be done, but we in the Golden Wood have few horses or wagons in which to carry food so far. My companion Haldir is to carry the wood’s embassy to Erebor. We are too late to help with the first pressing need, but he carries seeds and cuttings of plants that will thrive on your mountain, and he will help your people and the men of Dale learn to cultivate them. Then they may rely on themselves to raise the food they require, and will not have to ask charity or buy from those who do not wish to sell. The dwarves of Erebor need not fear starvation again.”

Overcome by her kind words, Gimli bowed his head. “Your kindness is unlooked for, and all the more welcome for it. If only Thranduil and the elves of the Woodland Realm had half the grace and kindness of the folk of Lothlórien!” His voice choked in his throat, and he could not speak further.

Legolas and the elf Haldir finished unloading the graceful barge, leading the horses up the hill as the boat turned back to retrieve Gandalf and Strider from the far shore.

There were five horses in all. Gimli tore his eyes away from the lady to meet the other newcomer, whose gaze was not so welcoming. His lip curled and he hung back, tipping his chin up so far Gimli thought he might be in danger of drowning, should it rain.

“Haldir.” The lady spoke. “Help Gimli break camp. We will ride when the others arrive.”

Haldir did as she bade, though there was little to be managed. They were ready, with their baggage loaded on the horses, by the time Gandalf and Strider joined them and bowed to the lady. Gimli frowned. There were six of them, but only five horses. Gimli sighed. There was little hope they meant to let him walk.

“Gandalf said you would not be willing to ride alone. Will you ride with me, Gimli?” Legolas asked, hesitant. “If you would rather not, Strider’s horse can bear you both.”

Gimli felt all eyes on him, and flushed, startled to be given the choice. “I prefer my own legs, but I will ride with you. The lad is too reckless.” He put on a bluff front, blustering a little at Legolas in his discomfort. Haldir frowned, a distasteful expression that made him look vaguely like a stuffed trout, but Galadriel and Gandalf both smiled.

Strider gave a token bow of concession, but did not speak, and something about his manner interested Gimli. He would have made an inquiry of the lad, but Legolas dismounted from his horse and offered his hands as a stirrup. He boosted Gimli onto the horse’s bare back, then straightened.

“There’s no saddle!” Gimli complained.

“That will make your ride easier.” Legolas vaulted up lightly, swinging one leg over Gimli’s head, and was seated before him so quickly Gimli had no time to protest or flinch. Better to ride behind the elf than before him, he supposed. He still shuddered at the memory of the vision, and would not be comfortable feeling Legolas pressed against his back. He was not comfortable with this, either!

“Hang on to my belt,” Legolas advised, but Gimli set his hands upon his own thighs instead, meaning to be stubborn. When Legolas whispered to the horse, it started forward so swiftly Gimli lurched and was nearly thrown. He threw his arms around the elf’s waist and clung tightly keep from falling.

“Are you all right?” Legolas glanced over his shoulder.

Gimli realized his face was buried in the elf’s sweet-scented golden hair, his arms flung in desperation around Legolas's narrow waist. He snapped his neck back so swiftly he very nearly fell backward over the horse’s tail, his ears burning with mortification.

“I might be, if you would let me settle before starting!” He tried to keep his tone calm out of deference to the lady.

“I am sorry.” The elf sounded sincere, and again his consideration made Gimli blink.

“Apology accepted.” Half-hypnotized, Gimli stared at the fine-spun living gold before him. The wind lifted the gossamer strands and they danced lightly, as if reaching to ensnare him. He felt a lock tickle against his cheek. The elf’s waist felt limber and warm beneath his thin clothing. Gimli swallowed hard, trembling as heat flushed through him, trying to ensure as little of his body touched the elf's as possible. Mahal be merciful. Was this still the wraith’s spell?

“Legolas.” The lady reined her horse next to them, reaching to put something in Legolas’s hand.

“Yes, my lady? Oh!” Legolas swiftly reached to pull his trailing hair forward, tying it into a long tail with the leather thong she had provided.

Galadriel gave Gimli a quick, secret smile and drew her horse away.

NOTES:

Mae govannen: Well met

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Nothing Gold Can Stay