To Call Nothing Fair

Rating: R
Category:
Pairing(s):
Warnings: Angst, Rape (implied)
Summary: Gimli thinks back on the past.
Notes: Meadbunny Rating; 4

“Grand-Da?”

“Hmph?” The old Dwarf stirred himself from his nap and looked down at the very small Dwarf-girl before him. She was holding something in her wee hand, showing it to him.

“What is this?”

“That? Where did you find that, Glinna?”

The child looked at the object she held. “In the box beside your bed.”

“Oh Glinna, you’re nae supposed to be in Great Grand-Da’s things, you know that.” The old Dwarf picked up the little girl and sat her on his lap, looking at the object she held. It was a stylized knot, made of some sort of shimmering strands, and small glass beads. It was plainly old, and a bit frayed around the edges, a few of the pale gold strands coming loose. Carefully, Gimli picked it up in his aged fingers, and looked at it. He had to clear his throat before he could speak.

“This is a friendship knot. Elves give it to their friends.”

“Did an Elf give you that, Grand-Da?”

“Yes.”

“So he was your friend? But I never seen an Elf, Grand-Da, where is he?”

Gimli slowly turned the knot in his fingers, noting the hair still felt warm after all these years. It even still held the scent of a long time ago: of horses, and dust, and fear, and war. And of one so beautiful as to break the heart of any who dared look upon him.

“He died. A long time ago. During the great war that happened before you were born.”

“I thought Elves did not die.”

Gimli removed the gold chain from around his neck and hung the knot on it before replacing it about his neck. “Sometimes they do, child,” he said softly.

“Glinna!” called Gimli’s eldest granddaughter, Mica. “Come along, I have much to do today.”

The little girl looked at Gimli. “Bye Grand-Da!”

“Bye Glinna,” he said quietly. He watched the little girl go along with her mother, then looked down at the knot once more. Quietly he filled his pipe and lit it, then settled back in his chair, a faint smile on his aged face, his eyes far away, thinking upon other times.

He had been so beautiful.

Gimli did not remember when he knew he was in love with the slender Elf, but did remember thinking that the Elf was most certainly not going to fall for a hairy wart of a Dwarf like himself. Even by his own people’s standards, he was not handsome. So he left Legolas be, not daring to admit he loved an Elf, let alone a male Elf. He heard Elves did not concern themselves with trifles like gender. But Dwarfs certainly did, and he did not wish to look like a fool. So he watched Legolas, and loved him secretly.

Certainly Gimli thought he concealed his desire well, but Dwarfs were not known for their subtlety. It was likely all in the party knew, but they did not let him know they were aware of this. There was no time for love anyway; their mission was dangerous, and they had to keep their minds on their business.

It was not until after the great battle at Helm’s Deep, during those cold and deep nights when Rohan waited in fear and silence, assembling her men to answer Gondor’s plea for help that Aragorn took matters into his own hands. Perhaps he was concerned that, should one of them fall in battle, the other would never forgive himself for not having made use of this brief time of rest to speak to the other of this matter. Perhaps he was simply weary of seeing Gimli make a fool of himself pining for the fair creature. Aragorn was a good soul, but was not without his mischievous side. And so he sought out the Dwarf, finding him having a bite to eat near the main fire.

“King Theoden has been good enough to give me my own pavilion,” said Aragorn. “I would be honoured to have you share it with me.”

“Bless you, laddie,” said Gimli. “For once in my life, I don’t mind admitting I could use the sleep.”

“Sleep well my friend. I have business with Theoden, and do not know when I shall join you.”

Gimli watched him walk away, then finished up his dinner. After a pipeful of good Shire tobacco, he was ready for bed. He rose to his feet and made his way to the pavilion at a leisurely rate, greeting those he knew, finally reaching the ornate canvas structure. He pushed inside, then stopped, his jaw hanging.

Legolas was already there. He was seated on one of the two low, wide beds, his pale hair loose around his shoulders, clad only in the thin white shirt he wore beneath his tunic. Gimli tried to regain his composure, but could only stare. Then he drew a deep breath, and heard himself speak without meaning to, the words seeming to come of their own volition.

“I vowed to call nothing fair, lest it be the gift of Galadriel. And to that I hold true, for you are beyond fair. You are a shining jewel, the Silmaril of your people, and a treasure worthy only of a Vala.”

Now it was Legolas’ turn to look surprised, for he never expected to hear such words from Gimli. He laughed, then said, “And how do you know of the Silmarils?”

Gimli smiled. “I may be a Dwarf, but I’m nae an idiot. I read. I know many Elven tales, and I tell you, many the thrashing I got from my Da’ for learning them. He’s not fond of Elves.”

“Considering he spent time in my father’s dungeon, I am not surprised.” Legolas smiled at him, then moved back on the bed, making room. “Come sit beside me, I want to show you something.”

Gimli put down his axe, removing his helm as he walked over to the Elf. He seated himself on the bed, wanting only to stare at him. Legolas gave him a mischievous smile. “Traditionally, these are made of woven thread, but since you seem fond of Elf-hair, I chose something different.”

He passed Gimli a small object, woven of long golden hair, decorated with small beads of silver glass that had held Legolas’ braids in place. It was an ornate three-cornered knot, and obviously of some significance. Gimli looked to the Elf for an explanation. Legolas smiled, and the Dwarf wondered if he would hear a word he said, so taken was he with his beauty.

“It is a friendship knot,” said Legolas, blue eyes glinting playfully. “Elves give them to their friends.”

Gimli smiled. “They do?”

Legolas took the gold chain from around Gimli’s neck, stringing it through one corner of the knot, then hung the chain back around his neck once more. Gimli closed his eyes, relishing the feel of the slender hands on his skin. He drew a soft gasp as he felt the Elf move close. “Yes.”

The Elven arms rest on his shoulders, and Gimli could feel how near he was. He opened his eyes, and found himself looking into blue pools of eternity. He sighed quietly, and decided just to speak his mind.

“My people would shun me should they learn of this, and though I love them, I do not care. You haunt my dreams at night, and fill my thoughts. I know that to Elves it is nothing for one male to love another, but to feel this way for you both delights and frightens me. I desire your love above all else in this life. I pray you can love me as well, though I know I am not worthy of a creature of such grace and beauty.”

Legolas smiled. He lowered his hand to place it upon Gimli’s broad, powerful chest. “You are a being of grace and beauty as well, my friend. Should your appearance match your heart, you would be more fair than the fairest of any race.”

The old Dwarf smiled at the memory, putting his feet up on the padded stool before his chair. He drew on his pipe, closing his eyes, remembering the feel of the slender body in his arms. Legolas had leaned close, and Gimli had not dared to hope for what was coming. But then he felt the soft press of lips against his own, and he was so overwhelmed with joy he thought his heart would stop beating.

They lay down on the bed, and somehow they were naked under the sheets. After all these years Gimli could not recall how or when they undressed. He did remember Legolas dimming the lamp so they would not throw shadows. Then they were together under the covers again, and they were making love. After all these centuries, the details had faded from his memory, but not the scent of the Elf’s skin, the feel of his warm slim body beneath his, and how he thought he would die of sheer happiness. Gimli did recall wondering if Aragorn was going to blithely stroll in at some inopportune moment, but he never returned to the pavilion. For some reason the Ranger decided to sleep under the stars that night.

The fire snapped, and Gimli stirred, having been nearly asleep. He looked at the clock, noticing it was time to go check Arod. But then he remembered the grey horse was gone now, dead years ago. Arod would not suffer himself to be parted from Gimli after Legolas passed, and had come to live with him and his clan.

“What you be wanting that thing for?” asked Glóin when he saw his son astride the horse of Rohan.

“He’s my friend,” Gimli muttered, and said nothing more of the matter.

He treated Arod well all his long life, though occasionally the horse was obligated to work. For the most part the large animal simply followed Gimli like a dog when the Dwarf went on one of his daily strolls to a nearby clump of trees. Once Glóin followed him out as well, and was astonished at what he saw. The horse grazed peacefully, while Gimli just sat beneath the silvered trees, staring, thinking back on something his father knew nothing about. Glóin did not follow his son to the grove after that. War tended to affect folk in strange ways. He simply assumed Gimli was thinking back on fallen comrades. In a way, he was right.

Legolas’ death had been the most pointless of all the many pointless deaths in that time. To that very day, the Dwarf did not truly know what had happened. He did not want to know. All he knew was it happened in the days that were supposed to be a time of peace and beauty.

They had lain together that night, making love with gentle passion. Afterwards, while Gimli slept, Legolas rose and dressed, then went outside to wander the courtyard and watch the stars. He had been unarmed and without caution, for who needed to be wary in the Citadel of a friend?

Aragorn could have told Gimli what had happened, how the two men had easily approached the Elf. They were the sons of wealthy Gondorian lords, friends of Denethor, and accustomed to taking what they wished. Too late had Legolas suspected their true intentions, and once captured the Elf was not strong enough to escape them, and his attackers showed him no kindness. It was Aragorn himself, accompanied by Gandalf, who happened upon the scene, and they were not merciful. The men were slain, their bodies cut up and thrown to the wolves and carrion birds, while Legolas was taken to Aragorn’s private chambers. The new King, his finest healers, and Lord Elrond worked long into the night, but there was no saving the young Elf. Shortly before sunrise he breathed his last, leaving his friends to give the news to his Dwarven lover.

Gimli stirred in his chair, sitting up to refill his pipe. He did not know what had been done to his lover; he did not wish to know. He had been taken from him, and those responsible had been punished. All that was left to do was try and go on with his life. Both he and Legolas had vowed that if one did not survive the war, the other would go on. It had been easy enough to say, but it had proved harder than Gimli could have possibly imagined.

He could not speak of his loss to his own people, so he went to the Elves. He wandered as one who is in a daze, unsmiling, unseeing, astride Arod until he came one day to the Golden Wood. The Elves must have thought him ill, for they did not stop him from entering, and watched him as he made his way deep into the forest. There was no comfort in Lothlórien for him, every flash of a golden leaf reminded him of long tresses of pale gold hair, and every pond and stream made him think of depthless blue eyes, now closed in endless sleep on a slab beside one that would eventually hold Aragorn. Gimli rode into a clearing where long ago Legolas had laughed at how smitten Gimli was with the Lady Galadriel, only to be met by the Lady herself.

Her eyes were warm and full of sadness for her dear lock-bearer, and she watched him as he sat on the large grey horse, his own eyes reflecting the death of his soul.

“I need to know,” he said softly. “If you can Lady, I would have you tell me where Elves go when they die.”

She smiled and reached her hand out to him. “Come with me,” she said softly. “You shall stay with my Lord and I tonight, we will tell you what we can.”

Gimli spent two years among the Elves, first with Galadriel, then Thranduil, finally with Lord Elrond in Imladris. Thranduil especially had been anxious to befriend the one whom his son had loved so passionately, though it was doubtful the King of Mirkwood would have been as pleased to meet him were his son still living. Elrond had done his best to comfort the Dwarf, and for many weeks Gimli had been an unlikely visitor to the libraries of Imladris. Elrond’s sons, Elladan and Elrohir, patiently aided the Dwarf in his quest to understand the ways and weaknesses of Elves, and how there were some things that they rarely survived. Then they helped him to learn of the fea, and where Elves went after they passed. It brought Gimli some comfort, but it did not mend his heart.

Gimli returned home in the late fall, quiet and without mirth, riding a grey horse much too large for one of his kind. He remained quiet and distant, and did not explain the woven knot of hair that hung from the chain around his neck. When it began to show signs of wear years later he placed it in a small, carved wooden box, which he kept by his bed.

He eventually married, more to please his father and sense of Clan obligation than out of love. His wife seemed to have done much the same thing, and while they were never close, they did get along well, neither demanding much of the other. Over time he had three sons and five daughters, who in turn grew up and married. He had many grandchildren, and now he had Glinna, his first great grand child. His life was full and complete, but was lacking that which he most desired, and even after all this time, the break in Gimli’s heart had never truly healed.

He set the pipe down and looked at the knot of hair, blinking sleepily. His eyes slid closed, and he sighed, a very old Dwarf whose hair and beard had long ago turned white. He sighed and settled into the chair, the knot in his now wrinkled and shaking hand. Once he had slain Orcs in battle and traveled to distant lands. Now he was content to sleep in his great padded leather chair before the fire, and dream on other times.

Gimli sighed again, settling further into his chair, his mind drifting. He fancied he could hear the rush of water, and the sound of the wind in the trees. There was the scent of the golden Mallorn trees, and of the ancient forest. Somewhere in the distance he could hear Aragorn quietly singing the Lay of Lúthien, and Boromir was laughing at something Pippin was doing. Gimli stirred and opened one eye, and looked at where he found himself.

He was in a great wood, with tall silver trees, their tips crowned in leaves of gold. The air was clean and sweet, and he smelled good beer. Sam was by the fire, frying sausages. He looked up and smiled at Gimli, and as the Dwarf rose to his feet, he found he was clad in his walking boots, a light shirt of unbleached cotton, and breeches.

“He awakes!” said Boromir. “You took your time getting here.” The tall Man tossed him a pouch of good pipe weed, straight from the Shire.

Gimli caught it and looked around at the beautiful forest. He then looked down at his hands, which were broad and strong again, and his beard was once more reddish brown, and no longer white. The knot hung about his neck as it had for so long, no longer frayed and worn.

“I’m dreaming,” he said quietly.

Aragorn stood up from where he had been seated beneath a tree, stepping out from behind it to where Gimli could see him. He was clad in his Ranger garb, but it was no longer worn and stained, but new. Beside him was Arwen, and she was smiling at him.

“Then it is a good dream,” she said softly, and glanced at something behind him.

Gimli turned, and drew a quiet breath at the sight of the slender form standing behind him, his long pale gold hair hanging loose over his shoulders, his blue eyes soft and welcoming. Arod was beside him, young and strong, and the beautiful Elf stroked his grey mane as he smiled at the Dwarf. He was wearing a robe of silver-grey and blue, looking every inch the young Elf-Prince.

Gimli said nothing, stepping over to the beautiful young Elf, reaching out to take his hand. Legolas drew him close, and as their friends looked on, smiling, the Elf knelt to kiss him, his free hand moving into Gimli’s thick hair.

“Well all is as it should be,” said Boromir. “Aragorn gets an Elf, Gimli gets an Elf, and I get sausage.”

“Could be worse,” said Merry. “Could be more Orc arrows.”

“No thank you, Master Merry, I’ve had enough of those! Of the two I prefer sausage.”

Gimli stroked Legolas’ hair, touching his face, not finding it surprising in the least that he was not concerned with who saw them together. He kissed the Elf, touching his face, smelling the warm scent of his body. Then he threw his arms around him and held him hard.

“I missed you,” he said, and felt the tears come to his eyes.

Legolas put his arms around the Dwarf and kissed him. “I waited for you, my friend. In time all of the Fellowship, and those they love most, came to wait with me. Now we are complete again, and no darkness shall touch us here.” His eyes glinted, and he leaned forward and whispered into Gimli’s ear, “Now come make love to me, for I can wait no longer.”

Gimli took his hand, and together they walked into the woods, seeking a quiet and private place, finding one beside a clear pool. As they removed their garments and lay down together on the soft moss, far away an old Dwarf fell into a deep sleep in his chair by the fire, a knot clutched in one old hand, and did not awaken.