Chapter Text
They did not wait for the dawn and rode immediately as Gandalf had urged them. Legolas did not speak much, only some words in between when they all did their best to distract Merry from his abrupt parting with Pippin, his closest friend and cousin and faithful companion in merry-making and many jaunty pranks. As they rode, the air of the night seemed to coil around them, thick and sticky, heavy with the gravity of what was to come. Gimli noted how Legolas kept Arod close, flank to flank with Aragorn's horse. And he saw how the man glanced sidewards at the elf, nodding at him slightly in respect. But in the hitching long breath he then sucked in, Gimli could read the unease. And when his friends' gazes met, Gimli observed their backs almost imperceptibly straighten, as if a boost of energy shot through their bodies. In the corners of their eyes, a light gleamed that did not need words to speak of the trust between them. Even Merry glanced back and upwards at the ranger and the elf in mild awe from where he was sitting in front of Aragorn, as if he felt the strong soothing flow running between them.
Not long after passing the Fords of Isen and the mounds ringed with stones where the fallen men of Rohan rested, a sudden commotion arose. From the rear line, a rider galloped up to warn the King. "There are horsemen behind us. They are overtaking us, riding hard."* Legolas did not move from Aragorn's side as they halted and turned around, seizing their weapons. Flank to flank were their horses, the riders' legs touching, and their trust still brimming within them, lending them strength.
The sounds of beating hooves were nearer, and then dark shapes appeared, riding up swiftly towards them. They were at least as many as their own company in number. Gimli felt a jolt, and the muscles at Legolas' waist harden as in a swift, fluid motion his great bow was in his hands, arrow nocked, string drawn tight, his body perfectly still in precision and coiled force. His breath was thoroughly controlled, barely audible within the tension.
"Halt! Halt! Who rides in Rohan?"* Éomer cried.
The pursuers brought their steeds to a sudden stand. A horseman dismounted at a distance and strode towards them.
Gimli then felt Legolas' muscles uncoil. Slowly the elf lowered his bow, watching silently, as if in wonder. His breathing deepened. But Gimli held his axe firm and ready in his hands and the King's men gripped their swords and spears tighter.
The man stopped and stood tall, a dark shadow before them, undaunted. Then his clear voice rang out, and Gimli saw Legolas turn his head towards Aragorn, observing the man with bright expectation as the dark, tall shadow revealed himself; Halbarad of the Dúnedain, he was, Ranger of the North, kinsman and close friend to Aragorn. He had taken thirty men with him, as many as could be gathered in haste.* They had ridden hard to reach the South, to support Aragorn, their chieftain, companion and future king.
Aragorn could barely restrain his joyful relief as he quickly dismounted, embraced Halbarad and greeted the rangers. Something had changed in his face, and for a short time, Gimli saw hope there again; the grimness chased away by an open, genuine smile and by a renewed, confident gleam in his eyes.
Gimli observed the rangers from behind Legolas; all clad in grey cloaks, with a grim air about them. A controlled half-smile played on their lips at the greeting, but their hoods were cast low, obscuring their faces. Gimli could not deny how much Aragorn was one of them as he walked in their midst; the same proud and stern posture, the strength and calm in their movements, and the sombre silence. But still, he stood out from them. Gimli could not exactly name what it was. There was a light about him, a power, an elvenness, if he dared say that. It set him above them all; even if he was among them, at eye level, with humility and respect - or maybe more so even because of that.
"Watch out, Gimli!" Legolas suddenly startled him out of his musings. "Hold on to your mount!" And already he leapt off the horse. Gimli tried to keep his balance swaying precariously, while Arod stuck down his head to tear up some tufts of grass, munching delightedly and then searching for more.
Legolas strode purposefully towards two men who stood out from the company with their bright mail beneath silver-grey cloaks gleaming faintly in the darkness. Their faces were fair and noble, strong features finely chiselled. Their skin smooth, shoulders broad, elegant their bearing, they looked neither young nor old*, they were elves; the sons of Elrond of Rivendell. They were so much alike, that Gimli wondered how in all of Arda Legolas greeted them each by their name at first sight. It must be some elven skill, he thought, while he scrutinized the brightening of their features as they clasped shoulders and he listened to their clear but deep voices.
Legolas turned back to Gimli and Arod, saying something to the sons of Elrond. Arod lifted his head, chewing and twitching his ears, with tufts of grass sticking out of his mouth. The twin elves followed Legolas' gaze with flickers of mirth dancing in their bright silver eyes, their lips curving to a smile. Gimli suspected a joke at his cost by the wood-elf and narrowed his eyes in annoyance. - Or had they truly laughed about the horse? - Gimli grunted sulkily, diverting his attention upon Arod, whose head was high and alert. Legolas strode back to them, glancing at Gimli with brilliant blue eyes and an innocence that contrasted with the darkness.
"Naughty boy," he reproached the horse, "green dripping saliva," he grinned. "Now, is this the way to show respect to your rider?" he reprimanded good-naturedly, smirking up at Gimli.
"He does not obey you," Gimli grumbled, "I have nothing against him taking a snack in between," he said airily.
Legolas laughed, radiant and beaming. His tall body lithe and seemingly brimming with energy, he effortlessly swung himself up before the dwarf on the broad back of the horse. Arod nickered contently as Legolas affectionately patted his neck.
"You are lucky I have a good hold on the beast to allow you to show off such fancy mounting-acrobatics," Gimli muttered, still offended. But Legolas deliberately ignored the defensive challenge as he quickly spurred the horse on.
They were all excellent riders around him, and they sped, according to their skills, making good time to reach the cover of the hills and the rocks of Helm's Deep. Gimli held on stiffly to the mad display of agility before him. His anger slowly dissipated in the drift of their speed, and his head slightly spun as the landscape blurred past. The message Gandalf had brought from the Lady of the Golden Wood turned and swirled under his skull, incessantly and unbidden...
… Aragorn's kinsfolk had ridden from far in the north to reach him. And darkness still was foreseen on his path. The Lady Galadriel's words suddenly made sense. Gimli shuddered. He feared the message the Lady had sent Legolas. - If part of her prediction had already come to pass, there was no doubt that all she had foreseen would take its course. Queen Galadriel was surely not one to speak idle words. So wise and ancient she was… and oh, so beautiful…, Gimli sighed, but quickly refocused. He had to talk to Legolas seriously, and also to Aragorn - to Aragorn most of all, because he doubted that the elf would heed. He would most probably proceed with stubborn determination, dismissing all signs of warning. Gimli unconsciously doubled his grip at Legolas' waist as if afraid the elf may get snatched from him on that very ride. He strained to listen to the elf's breathing between his own rushed pants, and with dismay, he noted again those signs that suggested fatigue - they were there, perceptibly, were they not? It was surely not his imagination. One could not recover completely so quickly from such an ordeal as the lad had suffered, not even an elf. Gimli searched scrupulously and noted clearly the slightly slumped shoulders and tired sighs, that were not at all ordinary for this irrepressible sprite. Legolas seemed unable to hide it from the dwarf's watchfulness, and that in itself was alarming.
Finally, Helm's Deep appeared and as they rode over the Deeping Coomb, Gimli gazed at the mountain before him; high, steadfast and thrumming with the deep beat of wisdom of all that had come and gone. It bore treasures within, that tugged at the dwarven heart, with intense longing to feel, to be immersed and to dwell in its powerful, soothing peace. His sore bottom shortly forgotten, Gimli pressed his eyes shut and hoped to, one day, ride here with Legolas in joyful anticipation, as his friend had promised. But the fear that the elf would not make it to hold his word crept into him and took a strangling grip on his heart.
The morning enveloped the Burg in grey mist. Gimli was with Merry and Legolas. They missed Pippin dearly. Legolas tried hard to cheer Merry up, chatting with him as he had done with the hobbits when Pippin had still been with them. But as much as he tried for Merry's sake, Pippin's absence was heavily felt and quenched every attempt at lightness. At last, silence won out and Legolas leapt onto the wall. They peered down at the coomb and their talk turned to serious matters. Gimli noted Legolas lifting his hand and rubbing it over his chest carefully.
They spoke of the rangers. Gimli grumbled at how grim and silent the lads were, but he could not conceal his awe as he compared them to weathered rocks. Legolas' eyes were wide and bright as he spoke of how they were noble and courteous - like Aragorn! - and as he spoke their friend's name, his eyes truly sparkled. "I am so glad his kin has come at such a time, and Aragorn can be among them once more," he announced sincerely. And as he spoke of the sons of Elrond, deep esteem lay in his words.
Merry listened and looked out on the plain, and then back to his friends as he still seemed to work his mind through all that had happened. He nodded approvingly at what his friends said. "I am also glad that Aragorn has his kin here to support him."
Gimli shifted uncomfortably. His heart truly did not begrudge Aragorn his new company, of course. It was good that the rangers and the two elven warriors, which the man called his brothers, had reached him. They must be such a support to him… and they could use more reinforcements, especially such valiant ones as the Dúnedain.
"Why have they come?" Merry asked in wonder.*
"They answered the summons," said Gimli, "Word came to Rivendell they say."* Gimli felt a strange sadness while speaking it, and it sounded in his voice.
Aragorn had been surrounded by the rangers from the moment they arrived. He was their like and their leader. And the sons of Elrond were ever by his side. Gimli felt slightly abandoned, left aside; he, Legolas and Merry. Their fellowship had broken apart. They had lost Boromir first, and then Sam and Frodo went off onto their perilous path, and now Gandalf and Pippin were far. He felt alone with his worry for Legolas. - Did Aragorn not see? - Gimli would not have left Legolas behind either, but Gimli was the one watching over the elf, and Merry was oblivious and should not know too much… and Aragorn seemed to notice nothing at all. His mind was on other things entirely; trusting too easily - or for necessity - on the elven abilities and healing. He was absorbed in more important matters, it seemed, thought Gimli sadly. A darkness clouded around him; he looked stressed and grim and overladen with responsibility. But how could Gimli blame him? The hope of Middle-Earth lay upon him, an unmeasurable weight.
But still, the dwarf found himself thinking of the way it had been, and he wished Aragorn back to the small remains of their fellowship; close to them and attentive. He felt they were losing him, and he feared losing Legolas in this war. It had not happened by a miracle before.
He heard Legolas say to Merry; "Galadriel, did she not speak through Gandalf of the ride of the grey company from the North?"*
"Yes, you have it," said Gimli*, and despite his great worries, his heart beat faster at the thought of her beauty and his hand wandered to close around the pouch where he kept the golden strand of her hair. "She read many hearts and desires."* He sighed dreamily, and then said what later he wished he had not voiced; "Now why did we not wish for our own kinsfolk, Legolas?"* he said it aloud and thought of it with longing. He might have felt less lonely had a company of dwarves joined them… They could even help him watch his elf's back.
Legolas turned his bright eyes away north and east,* he was very quiet and seemed to strain to listen to something carried by the slight wind, his fair face was troubled.*
"I do not think that any would come,"* he answered, his voice was low and thin – almost broken, thought Gimli. "They have no need to ride to war; war already marches on their own lands."*
Gimli said nothing at that. He regretted his question immediately.
"And we are here, Gimli… we are not with them to defend our homes. We let them fight their war alone." The elf's voice was choked, toneless, with suppressed despair.
There was silence then, and Legolas blinked rapidly and pursed his lips as his gaze was fixed north-east, and when he glanced at Gimli, his eyes were not bright with the colour of a sunlit sky, but with tears.
"Take heart, lad," Gimli rumbled encouragingly, "They know how to fight, even without us."
And Gimli saw how Legolas stroked his palm over his heart where the wound was, his breath hitched slightly.
For a while, the three companions walked together in the strange quiet of a weary valley after a great storm.* After some time, as if he could no more bear the sorrow, Legolas abruptly changed the subject.
"Come Merry, let us not miss our midday meal," he urged on excitedly, his face suddenly bright again and grinning, "I know you would mind; we missed already first and second breakfast." And then he took Merry and Gimli by the hand. Gimli let himself be dragged only for a few strides, then snatched his hand free, but Merry hurried easily beside the elf, suddenly gleeful, "You know Legolas, it means much that you noticed, you are becoming more and more like a hobbit."
The king was already there, and as soon as they entered the hall he called for Merry and had a seat set for him at his side.*
Gimli watched the hobbit smile shyly but proudly as King Théoden talked with him. Gimli would be alone once more to plunge into his worry for Legolas, but he was glad Merry was carried high in the King's care and friendship. He truly deserved it.
The dwarf looked around, searching. Aragorn was nowhere to be seen. Gimli grew increasingly concerned and impatient. He absolutely needed to speak to the man about Legolas' state and the looming predicament, because the worry was pressing on him. They had almost lost this elf. He did not want to remember the mad struggle for the lad's life. They could not risk getting even just close to anything like it again. But Aragorn was not there - did the rocks know where he was! - For an insane moment he wished stones could speak and whisper to dwarves as trees did to elves. But they spoke not of fleeting things; they thrummed low with unspoken wisdom, and the deep vibrance entered Gimli's limbs, calming his nerves a bit, inducing more patience into him. He dared not voice his thoughts to Legolas without reinforcement from the man. He knew for certain that the elf could easily divert the subject, and he would miss his chance.
The horses nickered and danced rather restless, and Rohan's banner with the white horse snapped in the wind above the riders. Gimli stood still beside Legolas. King Théoden and Éomer would depart with their people to the weapontake at Edoras. And Merry was going with them. He was so eager to ride with the King, proud and honoured to lend him his service. Legolas smiled at him, so genuine, so deceivingly calm. The elf was patting Stybba, the hill-pony who had been readied to carry their little friend, speaking lilting elvish words to the beast with an earnest, fatherly mien. He lent Merry his strong hand so he could place his foot in it to mount up into the saddle with dignity.
The riders assembled down at the base of the Burg on the green. The glint of steel shone off their armour and sparkled off the sharp points of their spears. Théoden King rode on Snowmane and beside him was Merry on his pony.* Finally, Aragorn appeared at the gate, with him was Éomer. There was a darkness about the ranger as he stood there side by side with Halbarad and the sons of Elrond. He looked weary and grim, as if years upon years of Middle-earth's history weighed down upon him.
The great staff that Halbarad bore was close-furled in black. Gimli studied it and guessed its weight just as he heard Aragorn say: "We must ride our own road… I will take the Paths of the Dead."* At first, Gimli stared at Aragorn, not trusting his ears. But as he was about to shake his head to clear his mind from what he had surely misheard, Théoden exclaimed, "The Paths of the Dead! Why do you speak of them?"* The King's voice trembled.
Gimli glanced around him, sticking the index fingers of both hands into his ears, rubbing vigorously to clear out the dust or whatever must have entered them to hamper proper hearing. But then he saw the faces of the riders turn pale. Even Éomer did not hide his dread. The first marshal's words of parting were full of concern. He spoke of his regret, should they never meet again. Even if his voice sounded respectful and firm, Gimli guessed from his expression that the man thought the Dúnadan reckless, bordering on mad. Gimli could not blame Éomer, for no other sensible thought crossed his own mind at the moment. His ears were clearly bereft of any hindrance; he had definitely not misheard.
The King and Éomer said their farewells as if they would never meet them again, but Aragorn stood strong, determined and calm, stubborn and ready to face whatever may come - or what he was plunging himself and all of them into, thought Gimli, nervously tugging the end of his beard.
"In battle we may yet meet again, though all the hosts of Mordor should stand between."* Aragorn declared.
If we survive the dead, ... what a great prospect, thought Gimli sarcastically, biting on his lip not to speak, but the sigh that followed he could not, by all the effort, suppress.
Halbarad had not moved from Aragorn's side the least - in fact he had not moved at all and had shown no sway in his bearing and mien. The sons of Elrond stood tall beside him, grey eyes hard and determined. The lads must all be mad, and from what showed in their expressions, probably hopelessly stubborn, Gimli decided, squinting at Legolas who stood very still wearing a mien that easily matched those of the two raven-haired elves. But the wind teased his pale hair and the light of day caught in it, making it gleam. In the gloom of the air around them, he looked strikingly fair. Gimli then felt a stab at the vulnerability he feared in the image before him.
"Good-bye!" said Merry.* Looking puzzled and depressed by all the gloomy words. He said nothing more.
Legolas stood tall, lithe and strong, nodding at Merry reassuringly as the hobbit glanced at him. But then they rode, and the elf's breath caught slightly as he watched them go.
Gimli closed his eyes briefly in concern. Now was the time, he thought, to speak to Aragorn.
They went back into the Burg. Aragorn finally would eat his long due meal, and Gimli thought it a sensible thing. They sat at the table but Aragorn was very silent, and only when Legolas hedged him to speak of his burden, Aragorn revealed that he had looked into the Palantir.
Gimli gaped at him in fear and astonishment. He could not hold back his dismay. "You have looked in that accursed stone of wizardry!"* This foolhardy man he considered his friend had done it! What even Gandalf feared. Gimli could not believe it.
"You forget to whom you speak," said Aragorn sternly and his eyes glinted.* But then the grimness left his face and he looked weary as one who has laboured in sleepless pain for many nights.* He had revealed himself to the enemy, had wrenched the stone to his own will. And even if he was its lawful Master, Gimli thought with a shudder how it had worn him down, how much it had changed him, how pale he was. He did not doubt Aragorn's strength, but he dreaded the new, strange distance between them, and the possible treachery of the magic globe.
After eating, they walked out the hall and strode along the wall. The very air weighed more and more heavy. Gimli could hardly bear it. Finally, he burst out, revealing his trouble.
"You will lead us through the mountain path, the road no living has used since the coming of the Rohirrim.* They all trembled with fear like leaves exposed to the wind's chill – the King, Éomer and his warriors – at hearing your intention. All colour withdrew from their faces. – They think you mad Aragorn! Completely insane… desperately reckless at the least! – I am still stunned in unbelief. – But if we survive, and those dead spirits will allow us passage, then it will lead us close to the sea… Have you forgotten Galadriel's message to Legolas?" said Gimli accusingly.
Both Legolas and Aragorn were suddenly very still. Aragorn briefly closed his eyes and took a very long and unsteady breath. Legolas had turned away from them, poised slightly, eyes narrowed and listening to something that was coming from the north as if carried to him on silent whispers.
"Stop doing this, Legolas! I know you are listening." Gimli groaned. "Am I the only one taking the Lady's warning serious? Am I the only one troubled by it? You both seem to deliberately ignore her message."
Aragorn was biting hard on his teeth, Gimli could see the muscles in his jaw tense and shift.
"There will be gulls, Aragorn," he insisted. "They circle over the lands so close to the sea. You know it! – Tell him to stay at Edoras! He can ride with the Rohirrim. If needed, I may stay with him. Is the fear of almost losing him not still stuck in your bones as it is in mine?"
When Legolas turned towards them, he looked directly at Gimli, almost defiantly. "I decide myself with whom I ride. I do not fear the dead. - I will go with you, Aragorn. I promised you this before, and I say it again; I will go with you to the end!" His eyes flickered silver-blue, sharp and bright in the early afternoon light.
Gimli sighed and his eyes rested expectantly on Aragorn. But the man's face was troubled, tormented, torn. His gaze held Legolas' and there was moisture and love in his eyes.
"I would tell him to stay, Gimli," he said tiredly, "If he did heed me. – I have tried. But it makes no sense to speak to deaf ears." And while he said so, his gaze was soft and still held Legolas'.
"You have not been vehement enough!" Gimli shot.
"The sense of Galadriel's words is unclear," Aragorn sighed and dropped his eyes to the ground, "It must not be death. We do not know what she meant," he said hopefully, now looking at Gimli.
"Of course," Gimli groaned, "Has he convinced you of this?" he spoke as if Legolas were not there. "Elves never speak clearly. A bothering habit, that is. The more ancient they are, the worse it becomes… but let us be honest; if Legolas lives, where should his heart be if not in the forest…"
"It could be that she meant he falls in love…" Aragorn offered.
Gimli let out a mirthless snort, "I think that has already happened, and the gulls are still far," he countered, stealing a sidelong glance at the elf who said nothing and had turned again into the now upcoming breeze, slightly leaning into it, his head tilted as if listening intently to something carried along from the distance.
"And besides," he said, gesturing meaningfully towards Legolas, "where should she drag him if not into a forest; she is a tree-sprite! – Nay Aragorn, it is something else… something worse…"
At that moment, Legolas turned towards them. As if some sudden realization had struck him, he said seriously to Aragorn, "Although, if Gimli fears the mountain path and the spirits of the forgotten people, tell him to stay at Edoras, Aragorn! He can ride with the Rohirrim. One of them will surely suffer him to guard his back." He gave Gimli a challenging smirk.
Gimli knew he had lost this one. He resigned, retreating to their usual, soothing and familiar game of competence.
"Of course not," he groaned, puffing out his breast, "I will go with you even on the Paths of the Dead, and to whatever end they may lead. I hope that the forgotten people will not have forgotten how to fight,"* he grunted, "for otherwise I see not why we should trouble them."*
This mad-elf would never heed. Unless they put him in chains to drive him away, he would stick to this path tenaciously. All Gimli could do was to be by his side. At least there would be a dwarf always close to watch his back.
Aragorn's silver eyes shone with gratitude and pride as he took in his friends, standing before him. Gimli could see the strong jaw tremble as the man clearly reined his emotions. But his eyes were unblinking and there was a fierce resolution in them. He clasped Legolas' shoulder and then Gimli's and squeezed with affection and strength.
"Come!" he cried, and drew his sword, and it flashed and cut through heavy air, making it prickle and crack where he passed. "To the stone of Erech! I seek the Paths of the Dead. Come with me who will!"*