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
- 5
- 6
- 7
Legolas brooded through the long night and woke the next morning at dawn, unfolding himself from his couch and padding down to the dungeon level just as the guard shift changed. He stopped by the kitchens and ordered the cooks to prepare food for the dwarf: fresh, hot bread with butter, fruit preserves, a pot of honey, and rashers of bacon ordered especially from Laketown for the creature’s feeding. He looked at the tray, thoughtful, then added a wedge of cheese. When the food was steaming on its tray, he took a pitcher of water and trotted down the last stair to the dungeon level, where a guard nodded greeting and unlocked the door to let him inside.

The dwarf lay sleeping on his bed. He had tended his wild tangle of wet hair, and it now lay on the pillow in a tidy braid. Legolas frowned at the comb lying on the table, half its teeth broken out in a neat pattern, every other one remaining. The broken teeth lay in a careful pile. The flagon of wine Legolas had provided was quite empty, and all of last night’s food had been eaten.

The room was quite warm from the morning cook-fires, but the dwarf lay huddled under its blankets, still wearing all its clothing as though it were cold. Legolas made a mental note to get it-- him-- a warm cloak.

“It is morning. The sun is on the plain and birds are singing.” He had no idea of the proper way to rouse a dwarf from sleep. “I have brought food,” he tried again.

Gimli opened one bleary eye. “Is there coffee?”

“I do not know what that is.” Legolas gestured to the table. “Eat while the food is hot. Our day will be a busy one.”

The dwarf rose to obey, tearing open a loaf, smearing honey and butter over the bread, and shoveling food in with a display of ill-manners so dreadful they made Legolas swallow against his gorge. He watched in dismay as crumbs sprayed everywhere. Water trickled down the dwarf’s beard on both sides as it drank. It-- he-- would soon have to be washed all over again!

When a fragment of greasy bacon flew in his direction, threatening to stain his tunic, Legolas fled. He retreated into the corridor to wait until Gimli had finished. Nardan, the guard, shook his head in dismay.

“What will you do with it?”

“I will teach him to serve in some capacity.” Legolas shrugged, feeling helpless.

“Perhaps you can teach it better manners.”

“You ask the impossible, I fear.” Legolas glanced toward the cell, from which offensive sounds of smacking, chewing, and crunching emerged. “Not unlike the king. The dwarf will only be in your charge for a few weeks. Then he will go with me to patrol the southern marches.”

“You will not have enough time to instruct it in elvish manners,” Nardan shook his head. “Perhaps the spiders will be swifter teachers.”

“That is what I fear.” Legolas lifted his voice, switching to Westron. “Dwarf, do not tarry. There is much to do.”

“Keep your shirt on, elf.” Nevertheless, the dwarf appeared soon after, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Legolas winced but did not speak of it.

“The food was good. I would thank those who prepared it, since they could not see my enjoyment.”

“I will deliver your thanks.” Enjoyment? That was one word for it, Legolas supposed.

“What are your skills, dwarf?” He asked, steering their course toward the tailor, where a cloak might be altered to fit the dwarf’s height. Or perhaps one must be made to fit his broad shoulders. It remained to be seen.

Gimli shot him a suspicious glance from beneath lowered brows. “I have been trained as a fighter. My weapon of choice is the axe, and I know how to swing or throw many kinds. I can also wield a hammer, pike, shortbow, and short sword.”

“But what is your trade? What are your activities at leisure? I seek some task to which you may be set, one at which you will not be unskilled.”

“As a metalsmith in the armory I have some small skill. I cannot yet craft blades of folded steel, but I have learned to pour the metal in molds to craft plate and jointed plate, and to draw wire, then wind it and cut links. I have been taught to weave mail from them.” Gimli’s jaw set and he stared straight ahead. “Wood elves do not wear metal armor, but I can work leather. I know the ways of dyeing and embossing, of cutting and fastening the pieces together with rivets. I can press coins at the stamp.”

Legolas pictured Gimli the dwarf loose in a forge with dangerous tools uncountable near at hand. Not least troublesome would be the molten metal itself, fresh from the crucible. A leather-works would be little better, for the dwarf would be able to arm himself with clippers, cutters, pointed tools for fashioning and embossing, sharp awls and hammers for fixing rivets. There was no point in considering it, for the elves of Greenwood did not practice such crafts. Even their food was gathered or bought from outside the wood, including that they had sent to Gimli’s people.

“I fear we have no need of an armorer.” Legolas shook his head.

The dwarf scoffed as if he could read Legolas’s mind. “I can play the crumhorn and the drum. I sing the songs of my people. I doubt these skills are of value to elves.”

“Can you read and write?”

“I know the Cirth,” Gimli answered shortly. “But I am not a scribe like Ori, and I do not know the elvish characters.” He shook his head, glancing about as they walked. “That,” he said suddenly, pointing. “When I was yet too young to go to the forges, I learned fiber crafts from Dori, my father’s friend. Not all dwarves work metal. We must have clothes, too, and food.” They looked into a room where several elves sat working with their hands. Two carded wool in a slow-spinning drum while others spun and others dipped the fiber in pots of steaming pots of vegetable dye, then doused it in water and set it out to dry. Still others worked the spun threads, some upon looms, others knitting thin strands together in intricate patterns.

Legolas lifted his eyebrows, startled. “Well. Perhaps you may do little enough harm with sticks and string.”

Gimli gave him an unfriendly glare.

“I will summon Nardan to watch while you labor here.” Legolas led the dwarf into the room. “This is Gimli of Erebor, pledged to serve our king in return for aid to his kin. He says he has skill in this craft. When I have had him fitted for a cloak, he will return here. Suffer him to work the wool with you.”

The elves fell still, looking warily upon the newcomer in their midst.

“As you say, Legolas.” A lovely elf with long, dark hair bowed her head. “But be sure to send a guard. We would not have the dwarf disrupt our working.”

“Have a care you do not cause trouble to the weavers, or try to flee,” Legolas cautioned Gimli as they continued down the hall. “For if you do, your next task will not be so pleasant. We have fires to stoke and chimneys that require sweeping.”

“I have hewed wood and shoveled coal as a lad. The jobs are dull, but pose little hardship,” Gimli told him, voice sharp. “Yet I resent your words, elf. I have come here of my own choosing, and I mean to honor the bargain struck for my people.”

“Coal is too dirty to burn. We do not fell trees here, but use that which the wind lets fall. You would not be trusted with an axe in any case,” Legolas snapped, goaded by the dwarf’s arrogant tone. “Everyone knows dwarves cannot be trusted to keep their word.”

“And everyone knows elves are arrogant pricks who offer friendship only to those who bow down before them. All the while they hold ready a knife in a hidden hand, looking for a place to sink it!”

Legolas realized they were shouting, faced off and bristling as they stood in the main corridor, with dozens of curious ears listening. He reined in his temper.

“Be silent and let us continue to the tailors.” He took the dwarf’s arm and urged him on, meeting sullen resistance. At least Gimli moved, though he went at his own pace.

The frosty silence between them continued as Gimli was measured for a cloak, the elven tailors making no secret of their distaste as they were forced to touch him to measure the breadth of his shoulders and the depth of his chest.

“He will need other clothing, too,” Legolas remembered the way the dwarf had spilled his drink, then wiped his lips on his sleeve. He would soon spoil his clothing if he continued thus. “Take his full measure and keep the numbers.”

Gimli huffed annoyance as he was turned and prodded, especially when the tailor reached between his thighs to measure the length of his legs for breeches. He made no complaint, however, other than submitting with ill-grace. When it was finished he followed Legolas out, dismissing the tailors with a sidelong glance just as haughtily as if they were underlings.

“You made no friends there,” Legolas pointed out, tart.

“I had no desire to.”

“Then hold your tongue when your seams are crooked, or if they pinch.”

“I am no elf so dainty I must wipe my arse with thistle-down and flax!”

“At least elves clean our hair and our bodies instead of leaving them matted and mired in filth like an orc!”

“You know nothing of dwarves!”

“And you know nothing of manners. Yours were so foul at breakfast, I could not look at you while you ate and keep my own food in my stomach.”

“I eat with full enjoyment to honor the preparer. It is you who knows nothing of manners. Elves sip and pick at food as if it is beneath them to eat. How then should the cook know he is valued?”

“If you weave in the same way you eat, the cloth you make will not be fit to serve a goblin.” They were shouting again already. Legolas drew a deep breath and tried to find peace within himself.

“Hold your tongue until you have seen what a dwarf can do.” Gimli’s fists were clenched so tightly his arms trembled.

“I very much doubt any dwarf can rival the works of elven hands.” Legolas laughed, cold. “But I will be glad to leave you so you may try.”

“And I will be glad to be rid of the sight of your sneering face!”

“Truly, dwarves are ungrateful.” Legolas stopped at the door where the weavers worked, glad to see Nardan was waiting as he had commanded. “But for me, you would be showing a shaved chin and cropped head to the world this day. You would have not eaten meat, and no new clothes would be provided for you. My father would have had you thrown in a cold stone cell away from the kitchens and left to rot, or better yet, he would have you taken out and fed to spiders, with your kin told escape and death were your own choosing!”

Legolas watched as Gimli bared his teeth in a snarl and let Nardan lead him away. He had not meant to say so much. After growing up son to Thranduil of the woodland realm, he had thought himself capable of showing a passionless response to any insult. Yet the dwarf had a knack for goading him to fury like no other being he had met in nearly 3,000 years of life.

Perhaps Gimli of Erebor had valuable lessons to teach him after all.

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/ !
- 5
- 6
- 7
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