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
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Now that the wraiths were gone, held off by the force of elves, Elrond’s land drew steadily nearer, the days passing without incident. On the morning of their arrival, without being asked Gimli dressed anew in his elven finery, making a face as he packed up his armor and his weapons and strapped them to his Shire-pony. They rode on a short distance and hesitated at the lip of the valley, looking down to find horses and people milling about the lanes and courtyards of Rivendell.
“We will go back and seek after the wraiths,” Glorfindel told them. “You should have no trouble in your descent.” He heeled his white horse and galloped away with his people, their bright hair flying in the wind.
Aragorn turned to Legolas as he gazed down into the valley. “What do you see?”
“There are tall men clad in black and silver; their livery boasts a white tree.” He exchanged a meaning glance with Aragorn. “And dwarves as well. I can see their ponies and--” he stopped. “There are at least a dozen of them, three of whom I know. One is Thorin Oakenshield. The other is Kíli. And the third--” his gaze flew to Gimli, who closed his eyes in despair. “It is Glóin,” Legolas spoke quietly. “And there are elves, many elves. Some are from my father’s realm. I do not yet see him among them.” He hesitated. “Gimli, perhaps you should leave your pony now and ride behind me.”
“We could still turn back,” Gimli grunted. “Surely the wraiths would be less unpleasant than this gathering.” He scrambled down, then lifted his arms and let Legolas haul him up, clambering gracelessly astride the tall horse and clinging to the elf’s cloak as he settled himself. He bared his teeth in frustration: returning to his perch behind Legolas should not feel so much like coming home. Yet Legolas wore his new riding braid as he had done every day since Haldir left them, even when he did not expect Gimli to ride behind him.
“We must do what lies before us.” Aragorn heeled his horse, and Legolas followed, with Gimli turning his attention forward-- until he realized the halfling’s pony had not moved, and he looked back to Bilbo, questioning.
“Thorin Oakenshield? Gimli is right. I vote we go back and ask the wraiths to tea,” Bilbo said, his voice shaken.
This from a halfling who had faced Smaug, one who had fought the nine blade to blade and lived! Gimli could not blame him; he had no desire to meet the king himself. “Come along, laddie.” He kept his voice gentle. “None of us will enjoy this.”
Bilbo fell in line, but he threw his hood over his head and would not speak.
Gimli looked back as they crossed over an arched stone bridge into the main part of the settlement, surprised to find Bilbo’s saddle empty. “Aragorn!” He called. “The halfling has gone.”
Aragorn frowned back at the pony, suspicious. “Bilbo? Are you there?”
“Of course I am.” The snappish little voice could not be mistaken. “By all means, keep staring at me and shouting my name as loudly as you can, so everyone we meet will know.”
Gimli began to wish for magical golden ring of his own as they followed the winding road upward toward Elrond’s dwelling. Strange elves stopped in their tracks to stare at him, and he could hear them whispering at the Prince of Mirkwood’s odd companion.
“They are from Mithlond and Lothlórien,” Legolas told him softly. “And some are from the Greenwood, but those elves speak not.”
They rode on, and Gimli tensed, glimpsing dwarf-ponies in a square directly ahead. Legolas’s hand covered his where it locked in the elf’s belt and squeezed lightly. “Courage, my friend.”
Gimli growled. It was all very easy for the elf to say, when that very friendship was one of the things Gimli’s kin would least approve!
A loud grumble of discontent arose as Legolas rode into the square and the dwarves noticed him-- and Gimli seated close behind him. It was too late to withdraw his hands and place them properly upon his thighs. At least the elf had loosed his clasp on Gimli’s hand before they were spotted, re-taking the reins.
Gimli’s father stood among the others, standing as if thunderstruck. Their eyes met for a long moment before Glóin looked rapidly away, the knuckles of his large fists gone white.
Someone spoke a hasty word to Thorin, who turned slowly, regal, to survey them as they passed. His eyes did not linger long on Gimli, dismissing him with contempt. They moved on and noted the laden ponies, then fixed on the last one and its empty saddle.
“I see you, Shire-rat.” The king’s low voice rolled from his deep chest, thick and dangerous with wrath. “You can no longer hide from me so easily.” He extended his arm, one thick, beringed finger stabbing straight toward the empty saddle. “You are wearing a blue coat and a burgundy vest over the very mithril coat I gave to you in a moment of foolish trust.” His voice fell to a sneer. “I see the gleam of gold upon your finger, coward.”
The halfling's ring. Gimli sighed, distressed that Thorin had already learned Bilbo's secret. Gimli himself could not help but ponder it, when he had nothing else to occupy his mind. It was no wonder the wizard was so concerned. It could not be one of the nine. A dwarf-ring, then? One of the seven? He did not have the lore to know if it might be something else.
Everyone turned to gape at the empty saddle. Bilbo appeared in it between one blink and the next, his face haggard with stress, his fist clenched tight about his ring.
Dwarven hands went to axes and bows, and Aragorn spoke, his voice carrying though he did not shout. “Come, Bilbo, let us go on. None will draw weapons in the lands of Lord Elrond, for this is neutral ground and we are met for parley. Unless the dwarves of Erebor have grown over-fond of elvish prison cells?” Hands came off axes swiftly, teeth bared in snarls. “I thought not.”
They rode on through the square, and as they left, Gimli heard a mutter of Khuzdul directed at him: “A'lâju Mahal!”, followed by his father’s bitter snarl and a clang of metal.
“That went less than well,” Bilbo muttered, his face white.
“It might have been worse.” Gimli took his hands from the elf’s belt and set them on his thighs so Legolas would not feel them shaking. They could not hope to avoid the dwarves during their stay, and he knew things might grow much worse, especially if he came on one alone.
When they arrived at their lodging Elrond was waiting, and he whisked Bilbo away with a few comforting words. Aragorn too departed swiftly, leaving Legolas and Gimli alone.
“Let us go and pay our respects to the lady Galadriel,” Legolas suggested softly. “I must find out if my father has come.”
“Carry your weapons, elf.” Gimli sighed. “I would not trust our lives to the self-restraint of Thorin and his companions.”
They found the lady walking through the city, wearing a shining white dress with tiny crystals caught in the mesh, her hair down and flowing. Gimli bowed deeply before her.
“Welcome back, Legolas of the Greenwood. The jewels you wear become you. A special welcome for you as well, son of Durin.” She smiled on Gimli and laid her hand in his for him to kiss her slender fingers.
A gasp interrupted them, and Gimli glanced aside, then gently released her hand and drew himself upright. Kíli stood stunned in the street, staring at him and at the lady, a large stone jar of wine cradled in his arms.
“Lady Galadriel, this is the dwarf Kíli of Erebor,” Legolas said, politely giving Kíli full honors. “Descended from Durin, sister-son to the King under the Mountain, and beloved of Tauriel of the Woodland Realm, who perished saving him and his brother Fíli from the white uruk Azog during the Battle of Five Armies.”
“I am at your service, Kíli.” The lady gazed on him with grave courtesy. “My heart weeps for your grief.”
Kíli did not speak at once, staring at Galadriel for a long moment with his mouth open, stunned. Then he shut it with a snap. “At yours and your family’s,” he responded harshly, as if the courtesy was jerked from him against his will. He turned on his heel and fled, somehow without dropping the wine.
“I am on my way to join Elrond for an urgent errand,” the lady said calmly, returning her attention to Legolas and Gimli as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. “Will you walk with me?”
“Of course, my lady.” Legolas offered his arm. “What news of the Greenwood?”
“Your father has come with fourteen of his house.” Galadriel remained serene, and Legolas’s face did not change other than to freeze in its expression of pleasant solicitude. Gimli admired his strength of will.
She glided through the streets on Legolas’s arm until they reached Elrond’s grand house, then made her farewells and went in.
As soon as she had gone, Gimli groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Now when Thorin and his advisers call me an elf-kissing shame to Mahal, they will know their words at least half-true.”
Legolas looked at him with surprise. “If any will pardon your regard for the lady, it should be Kíli.”
“Kíli is Thorin’s sister-son. He will pardon me nothing.” His childhood friendship with his cousin was no more; like much else, Kíli was now lost to Gimli. He felt ill, as if he had eaten something foul. “Legolas, if you have no purpose in me remaining at your side, I would go back to our lodging. This day has been long enough. I wish for no more chance encounters with my kin.”
“Nor I with my father,” Legolas said. “Let us make haste.”

NOTES:
A'lâju Mahal: Shame of Mahal
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Nothing Gold Can Stay