Post by Admin on Jan 2, 2021 21:22:48 GMT
Author: lotrfn
Ranking: 2nd place
“Let me see,” said Pippin. “What is today?”
“The fifth of March, in the Shire reckoning,” answered Aragorn.
The two hobbits, and the Three Hunters had finished their meal and were now seated on the piled rocks near the gateway of Isengard.
Legolas questioned Aragorn in Sindarin, receiving a short reply and to the astonishment of the hobbits and Gimli, Legolas began to laugh.
It was a clear, glorious laugh. Pippin remembered first hearing it in Rivendell. Merry recalled Legolas laughing like that the first night after their departure from Rivendell, when he had managed to severely irritate Gimli. Gimli remembered that joyous, ringing laugh at Caradhras, when the Elf had darted over the snow in search of the Sun, as he put it. He thought how that laugh had grated on him at the time, how infuriating he had found this Elf, who could laugh with such abandon in the midst of their misery and danger.
What Gimli had not realized was how much he had missed that laugh, now that he heard it again. It made him think of rippling streams, sunlight and clear skies, as if a cool breeze had just swept by him. He shook himself. Bother the Elf! What nonsense was this, thinking of streams and skies? He narrowed his eyes and scowled at Legolas, who was still laughing. Aragorn swatted the Elf on the arm with an indulgent expression on his face.
“What is so amusing, you flighty creature?” Gimli grumbled.
“Yes, Legolas, what is so funny?” Pippin asked.
Legolas took a few deep breaths, his hands resting on his knees. He closed his eyes, breathed in slowly for a moment then opened his eyes to survey his companions, his eyes still bright with suppressed mirth.
“I am sorry,” he said. “It wasn’t until you said the date, Aragorn. I had to check to be sure I was right. Your Shire reckoning doesn’t make much sense to me.”
“What about the date?” asked Merry, perplexed now, as he saw that Aragorn was looking amused as well.
“It just occurred to me, that by my calendar, today is my begetting day,” Legolas answered.
“Your what?” growled Gimil, as the hobbits stared blankly at Legolas. Aragorn snorted as he muffled a laugh of his own.
“Begetting day?” Pippin asked tentatively. “As in . . .”
“Hush, you hobbit!” Gimli roared. “What are you nattering on about, Legolas?”
“Like I said, Gimli, today is my begetting day,” Legolas replied.
“You mean birthday I think, Legolas,” Merry suggested.
“No, Merry,” Aragorn interposed. “He means begetting day.”
“What nonsense!” Gimli burst in. “As if the world needs to know what his parents were doing on this day all those centuries ago!” Gimli muttered, red-faced.
He was looking everywhere but at Legolas, who at Gimli’s words, had burst into another peal of merry laughter. “Blast you, Elf!” Gimli continued, smacking Legolas on the leg as the Elf collapsed back on the rocks, helplessly surrendering to his merriment. “I’ve a hard enough time dealing with who your father is without having you conjure up such unwanted revelations, you ridiculous wretch.” Gimli swatted Legolas again, his face now an alarming hue.
“Peace, Gimli,” Aragorn said, patting the Dwarf consolingly on the arm and looking down at the still-giggling Elf fondly. “Elves do not take bearing children lightly. They are able to choose when they conceive. It is a gift they have from their Maker, to protect the women and children and to avoid having children born in times of strife or war. The act of choosing to have a child is sacred to them. That is why they celebrate the begetting day,” he explained patiently.
“So you don’t celebrate your birthday at all, Legolas?” asked Pippin.
Legolas sat up, again taking a few breaths before speaking. “It’s the same day, actually, just a year later,” he confided. “So I was born a year to the day from my begetting day.”
“Then why can’t you just call it your birthday and leave all this begetting nonsense out of it?” complained Gimli.
Legolas looked at him with a puzzled expression. “But we don’t celebrate the birth day, Gimli. That’s what Aragorn just explained to you. We celebrate the begetting day.”
Gimli spluttered incoherently so Merry broke in to the conversation. “So how do you celebrate your begetting day, Legolas?”
That succeeded in eliciting another roar from Gimli. “I do not want to know how you commemorate that!”
Legolas looked at the Dwarf curiously. “Gimli, I am sure begetting is no different for Dwarves than it is for Men or Hobbits,” Legolas said patiently, rendering the Dwarf now completely speechless. “Aragorn, did you not say it is the same process for Men and Elves? Save you cannot choose the time and the birth date is variable?” Legolas asked.
“I cannot believe we are having this conversation,” Merry whispered to Pippin.
“I think Gimli looks seriously ill,” Pippin whispered back.
“Yes, Legolas, I did say that.” Aragorn agreed, his eyes crinkling with suppressed laughter at the relaxed and detached manner in which Legolas was discussing reproductive activities that had rendered the intensely private Dwarf incoherent and had even the usually irrepressible Hobbits blushing.
“So it must be the same for Hobbits and Dwarves then,” Legolas continued, not deterred by the expressions on the faces of the Dwarf and Hobbits. “I don’t know what you are fussing about, Gimli, it’s not like your parents never . . .”
He was abruptly cut off by another roar from Gimli. “Do not dare to speak of my parents! Have you no sense of privacy, you pointy-eared pest?”
Legolas frowned and looked at Aragorn for clarification.
“Mellon, mortals tend to have a more discreet attitude towards these processes than Elves,” Aragorn said diplomatically.
Legolas shrugged. “We all start the same way and come into this world the same way. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Gimli, but I will say birthday if that makes you feel better.” Legolas patted Gimli on the shoulder, as he glowered at the Elf.
Merry asked his question again. “So how do you celebrate . . . your special day,” he asked, faltering on the word ‘begetting’ at Gimli’s glare.
Legolas bent his knees up and wrapped his hands around his legs as he looked at his friends. “Usually with a feast, with family and friends. It is a more formal occasion when we come of age, of course, with gifts appropriate to our chosen path.” He smiled at Merry and Pippin. “It amused me that I should be here, on the edge of ruin, on my . . . birthday.” He paused before saying the word, with a quick glance at the scowling Gimli. “But you two have given me a feast today and I am sharing it with friends, as I should be,” he finished.
Merry and Pippin brightened considerably at this praise. Gimli was slowly returning to his regular shade of complexion, while Aragorn continued to look amused.
“How do you celebrate birthdays in the Shire, Merry?” Legolas asked, shooting another sidelong glance at Gimli as he carefully enunciated the word ‘birthday’.
“Oh, it’s usually a big to-do in the Shire. Everyone loves birthdays. All the gifts, you know,” Merry replied.
“We only give gifts at the coming of age ceremony,” Legolas said.
“No, the birthday person doesn’t get the gifts, Legolas. They give the gifts,” Pippin explained. “Someone has a birthday almost every other week, so there’s always loads of presents.”
“I must say the best ones were always the ones Bilbo would give out,” Merry added. “Gimli, I hadn’t really thought about it but Bilbo used to get many of them from Erebor and Dale.”
“Aye,” Gimli smiled now. “Always a big order from Bilbo before his birthday. Bifur, Bofur and Bombur are the toymakers. Their workshop usually supplied Bilbo’s order,” Gimli said.
“I wish we’d known sooner, Legolas. We might have found something more celebratory in these storerooms,” Merry said. “The only surprise gift we have is the pipeweed we shared with Gimli and Strider, but I think you would not consider that a good thing at all.”
Legolas wrinkled his nose at the mention of pipeweed. “Bar the pipeweed, I think you’ve done remarkably well. We’ve had quite the feast.”
“Nothing like what you’d get at home, I’m sure,” Pippin interrupted.
Legolas looked thoughtful for a moment before replying. “We’ve had a feast today far better than we have had for awhile,” he smiled brightly at Pippin. “I think finding the two of you, alive and well, is the best gift I could have received today.”
“I won’t argue with that!” Gimli agreed.
“Nor will I,” said Aragorn.
“So we have celebrated with a feast, as we do in my land. And I have received a gift--finding you two safe--as is tradition among Men.” Legolas said. “Now, I must think of a gift for my friends, as you do in the Shire.” Legolas frowned as he thought, then smiled. “I will endure your partaking of that noxious weed and not complain,” he said finally, making Aragorn laugh.
“Will you promise not to hide it as well?” asked Gimli gruffly, his eyes twinkling merrily as he teased the Elf. Legolas had developed a habit of hiding Gimli’s pipeweed.
“Just this once,” Legolas said, as Merry and Pippin joined Aragorn in laughter.
A cloud of smoke soon surrounded Legolas, as his four companions settled in for a leisurely smoke. His eyes watered, his throat burned, he desperately wanted to get up and move away from them, but he endured it. After all, that is what friends do, he told himself.
Gimli noted Legolas’ growing discomfort and his intermittent throat clearing. He knew how sensitive the Elf was to the pipeweed smoke and despite his annoyance with Legolas earlier, he took pity on him now. It was his special day, after all, a moment of joy amidst all the fear and death they had endured for days on end. Gimli sighed. It was time to let the Elf escape.
Reluctantly Gimli put out his pipe and stood up. “Come, Legolas. I need to stretch my stiff legs. Too many days on horseback. Walk with me.”
Legolas sprang up lightly and beamed at Gimli. “Am I forgiven for my indecent conversation earlier?” he asked innocently.
Gimli frowned, his eyebrows lowered threateningly. “Don’t even start that again, Legolas. I’m warning you. Birthday or not, you shall face the flat of my axe if you continue.”
Legolas nimbly leaped out of reach to perch on a nearby pile of rocks, smiling impudently at the Dwarf. “What were you saying about a walk, Gimli?”
“Come down from there if you want to walk with me, you misbegotten sprite!” Gimli answered.
“Now you are the one bringing up begetting!” Legolas grinned from his rocky elevation. Gimli moved rapidly in his direction and Legolas leapt down and moved swiftly towards the gateway, Gimli in pursuit, roaring at the Elf.
Aragorn leaned back and blew smoke rings in the air, as Merry and Pippin followed the path the Dwarf and Elf took with concern in their eyes. “Do not mind them,” Aragorn said. “They still spar with words but the friendship that started in Lorien has grown stronger than you can imagine. They will not fight as they used to.”
As they watched the pair in the distance they saw Legolas stop and wait for Gimli, putting a hand on his shoulder as the Dwarf drew near him.
“Are you ready to be sensible now, Legolas,” Gimli asked, as he reached the Elf. “If that’s even possible for you,” he added, with a sidelong look at his friend. Legolas put his hand on Gimli’s shoulder and smiled down at him.
“Have you recovered yourself, Gimli?” he asked in return.
“Aye, as long as we keep to calling it your birthday and none of that other ridiculousness,” Gimli laughed. “You did not ask if we Dwarves had any traditions for birthdays.”
Legolas made a face. “I assumed it was another of those matters that you consider private. I dared not ask, as you were already an alarming shade of red.”
Gimli gave another shout of laughter. “True, we do not share easily with outsiders, but I should tell you we are surprisingly similar to Elves in this.” He grunted and gave Legolas another sidelong look. “Mind you now, that’s likely the only similarity between us, I’ll warrant.” His eyes twinkled and Legolas raised his eyebrow questioningly. “We feast on birthdays, much as you do, and gifts are given at the coming of age as well. Nothing like those ridiculous hobbits. Why it would be presents constantly if we were as foolish as they are about it!”
Legolas tilted his head in thought for a moment and then frowned. “They have not your lifespan, Gimli, which is many times their own. I think the passing of years means more to them, as they only have so few.” His eyebrows drew down and his eyes darkened. “I had not thought on how quickly their years pass,” he continued, the frown staying on his face.
“Don’t get all gloomy now!” Gimli ordered. “It doesn’t suit you.” He bumped Legolas with his shoulder. “As it is not our custom to give gifts, I will simply wish you many years of joy in your forest.”
“I thank you for that, Gimli,” Legolas said, a faint smile ghosting its way across his face as he absently touched Gimli’s shoulder again, then the frown returned. “But I do not think I shall be so lucky, if Galadriel’s words prove true.”
“Blast it!” Gimli exclaimed. “Now I’ve gone and set you brooding on her words again.” He frowned up at Legolas, his expression mirroring his friend’s now. “There is nothing to worry about. We are nowhere near the Sea and I’ll be hanged if I let you anywhere near it!” Gimli said fiercely. “She’s warned us off it and so it shall be. No seashore for you and no listening for gulls, laddie.”
“As you say, Gimli,” Legolas responded mildly, a small smile on his face but Gimli noticed it did not reach his eyes. “I thank you for your wishes, they were well meant.”
“Now I’ve spoiled your day,” Gimli grumbled. “I should have remembered her words before I spoke, lad. I’d no wish for you to dwell on it again. Today should be a happy one—we’re reunited with our friends and have survived great peril. And you’ve decided to grace us with your presence for another year, despite much foolishness on your part at Helm’s Deep.”
“I think you shall be burdened with me for longer than that, Gimli. You have promised to travel with me, when all of this is done. Fangorn Forest awaits us.”
“Aye, and you have agreed to visit the Caves with me,” Gimli said.
Legolas winced. “How can you be so twitchy about caves?” Gimli was perplexed. “Were you not raised in them? My father said Thranduil’s Halls are carved into the stone by the Forest River.”
“They are carved into the stone, Gimli, but they don’t look like caves. They are worked in the likeness of wood and tree, graceful open spaces, columns, light shafts. They scarce resemble caves. You shall see—when I bring you to Eryn Galen to visit, when we return to our homes.”
“When we return home,” Gimli repeated. “It’s been close to ‘if we return’ too many times.”
“You lose hope?” Legolas asked, anxiously looking into Gimli’s face.
“No, I have not lost hope. Hope in Frodo and Sam must sustain us.” Gimli answered. “If Helm’s Deep proved anything to me, it was that the darkness before the dawn truly is the blackest and longest, but the sun still rises and so we must hold onto that and persevere, no matter how dark the road seems.”
Legolas laughed. “You are turning into a philosopher, friend Gimli! Comes from too much time spent among the Elves, I think,” He smiled down at the Dwarf and Gimli was gratified to see that it reached his eyes this time. The smile did not last long though, as Legolas grew serious again. “Gimli, I like the Hobbits’ custom of giving a gift on their birthdays. I have received much this day to be grateful for and I wish to make a gift of my own.” He rested his hand on Gimli’s shoulder again. “There is not much out here in the wilds to fashion into gifts.”
He sat down abruptly on the rocks and motioned to Gimli to do the same. “You already did, letting us smoke without your usual sighing and complaining.” Gimli pointed out.
Legolas made a dismissive gesture. “I barely tolerated it. I suppose I could just sing something for the Hobbits. It always soothed them when we were on our travels.” He gave Gimli a mischievous look. “But I know my singing does little for you other than set your teeth on edge.”
“Bother you, Legolas! You know I just say that to annoy you,” Gimli protested. “I hate to admit it but your singing soothes me also,” Gimli confessed, his face reddening again. “Confound it! Who would have ever thought your warbling would grow on me so.”
“I think you are truly meant to be Elvellon, my friend,” Legolas observed.
“Elvellon? What is Elvellon?” Gimli questioned.
“It is my gift to you on this birthday of mine, Gimli, if you will accept it,” Legolas replied. “I name you Elf-friend. Elvellon is a title bestowed to very few, Gimli. Once given, all Elves must heed it. I would name you Elvellon for as long as you walk the lands of Arda,” Legolas said, his eyes locked on Gimli’s now.
“Elf-friend?” Gimli asked. “I am not sure I understand, Legolas. I do count myself as one of your friends already.”
“I count you as one of my friends also, Gimli. This is more than just friendship. Elvellon grants you the status of friend to all Elves, not just me. It assures you safe passage and aid in all Elven realms.” He grinned at Gimli. “You will not need to wear a blindfold in Lothlorien ever again, Gimli.”
“You can grant such a thing, Legolas? To me?” Gimli asked.
“Any Elf may grant it, if it is warranted. No one can gainsay my bestowing it.”
“I thank you, Legolas. It is quite an unexpected honor for me.” Gimli replied, humbled by his friend’s generosity.
“There is no token for me to give you, Gimli. I must speak the words to name you Elvellon. It requires a light mind-touch, if you allow. All Elves will then recognize the status when they encounter you.” Legolas explained.
“Mind touch? You mean that thing you do with Aragorn, when you two look at each other and seem to know what the other is thinking?” Gimli questioned.
Legolas looked amused. “Aragorn is Elvellon. That was bestowed upon him in Rivendell long ago. We do not speak in each other’s minds, it is more that we can sense emotions, feelings, rather than spoken words. It comes not so much from his being Elvellon, as from our long friendship,” Legolas grimaced. “It’s why he makes such a fuss when I am injured.”
“The Lady spoke to me in my mind, when we were in Lothlorien,” Gimli added thoughtfully.
“Galadriel possesses a gift to reach the minds of others far more powerful than any other of the Eldar, save perhaps Elrond himself. That is not what I intend—I am not skilled in mind-speak, as they are.” Legolas explained. “It is simply a touch of my mind to yours that confers the status of Elvellon, so that all Elves can sense it when they meet you or interact with you.”
“Will it work with me? With a Dwarf?” asked Gimli.
“It has worked with Men, so I do not see that it would be any different for you. I can’t recall any Dwarf being named Elvellon before,” Legolas frowned again. “Perhaps it will not work, but I would try, if you are willing.”
“I’m not too keen on someone in my mind, even if it’s just you. You are distracting enough as it is!” Gimli said.
Legolas laughed. “I will not be in your mind, Gimli! It is simply a mind link to name you Elvellon,” He looked more serious then and added “It should be no more than what I have with Aragorn, if that. A vague awareness of you and a sensation when you are in danger or distress. Not more than that.”
“As long as you promise I will not be subject to your flights of fancy about birds and trees and streams cluttering up my thoughts!” Gimli said.
The frown smoothed away from Legolas’ face. “Nay, Gimli. It is just the touch to bestow Elvellon and the sensation of the other. No more than that.”
“But what you have with Aragorn?” Gimli persisted.
“I sense his spirit, I suppose you could say. In a vague manner. Enough to know he is alive and well. Were he injured or in distress I feel a mild discomfort from him. He senses much the same from me. But remember Aragorn has been Elvellon for many years and has spent much time among Elves. “ Legolas paused then continued. “I have known him for years, so perhaps it is more noticeable to us, after all this time.”
“True, you do seem to often perplex and irritate him still, so it is obvious he doesn’t have that much insight into your thoughts, nor you into his,” Gimli mused.
“Do you accept?” Legolas asked. “The title of Elvellon—one who has been chosen and trusted enough to walk freely in our realms, to learn our language, to be part of our culture?”
“I most certainly do! You grant me a great privilege, my friend,” Gimli agreed. “What must I do now?”
“Just give me your hand. It needs physical contact. I will speak the words in Sindarin and when I touch my forehead to yours remain calm and try to open your thoughts to me,” Legolas said, moving to kneel in front of Gimli and motioning Gimli to stand, so their heads were nearly even.
He reached for Gimli’s right hand and held his gaze steadily. He began to speak and Gimli caught the few words he knew already—mellon and Elvellon. Gimli kept his breathing even and his eyes on Legolas.
When he finished speaking Legolas leaned forward to gently rest his forehead on Gimli’s. Gimli had seen him do this exact thing with Aragorn, especially after they had been arguing.
Legolas’ forehead felt smooth and cool. Legolas closed his eyes, so Gimli did the same, breathing evenly and clearing his mind of all except the quiet around him.
“I name you Elvellon, Gimli son of Gloin, from now until eternity, freely granting you safe passage, solace and aid from all the Elven realms you encounter to the ends of Arda and beyond,” Legolas whispered, in Westron now.
“I accept this gift and pledge to safeguard the one who bestows it and all who honor it, to the ends of Arda and beyond,” Gimli replied. He had no idea if these were the correct words or if he should be speaking at all, but he said them anyway and felt a light squeeze on the hand Legolas was holding.
His forehead grew warm as he spoke and he noticed a brightness, not one he could see with his eyes, but that he sensed inside. He opened his eyes and met Legolas’ intense gaze in front of him. Legolas leaned back and let go of Gimli’s hand.
“It seems to have worked,” Legolas said, standing up now. “I can sense you.”
“It seems it did,” Gimli agreed, noting that the brightness he had noted when speaking the words had remained, dimmer than before but still able to be sensed. He looked up at Legolas. “You’ll never be able to hide an injury again, I’ll have you know, if Aragorn and I both can sense it.”
Legolas snorted and pushed Gimli’s shoulder roughly. “Perhaps this wasn’t one of my best ideas, after all.”
Gimli grinned up at him. “Don’t doubt that I recognize the significance of this, Legolas.”
“It will certainly make bringing you to Eryn Galen for a visit interesting!” Legolas said, grinning back at Gimli.
“Not half as interesting as when I bring you to Erebor,” Gimli countered.
“We’ll see. I’ve met Dain. You haven’t met my father,” Legolas retorted, bumping Gimli on the shoulder. Gimli bumped him back and then they walked to return to their friends, who were still smoking and watching them curiously.
“Are you all sorted out then?” Merry asked. “No more fussing at each other?”
“Oh, I don’t think we’ll ever stop fussing at each other,” Legolas said. “How would I know Gimli was well unless he fussed at me?” The Elf laughed.
“The Elf is too flighty to avoid being fussed at,” Gimli added. “Someone needs to keep him focused.”
“You seem to be better at getting each other into trouble than out of it,” Aragorn observed.
“No worse than you, Aragorn,” Legolas said to him. “You’ve gotten me into more trouble at home than I get to on my own.”
Merry sat back, resting on his elbows and looking satisfied. “It’s just like old times with you all pestering each other.”
“All we need is Sam, grumbling about the food, Gandalf scolding someone and Legolas singing,” Pippin added.
“I am sure Gandalf will find something to scold us about on his return,” Legolas said. “But I can certainly sing for you Pippin, if it doesn’t grate on Gimli too terribly much,” Legolas said, smirking in Gimli’s direction.
“As it’s your birthday I must endure it, I suppose,” Gimli rumbled. He leaned back, mimicking Merry’s position.
“I can’t remember the last time I heard you sing, Legolas!” said Merry. “Lothlorien, I think.”
“Worry for you two spared us his chirping for a time at least,” Gimli said, glancing at Legolas as he spoke, the indulgent expression on his face contradicting his words.
Legolas ignored him, settled cross-legged on the rocks near Pippin and softly began to sing.
Ranking: 2nd place
“Let me see,” said Pippin. “What is today?”
“The fifth of March, in the Shire reckoning,” answered Aragorn.
The two hobbits, and the Three Hunters had finished their meal and were now seated on the piled rocks near the gateway of Isengard.
Legolas questioned Aragorn in Sindarin, receiving a short reply and to the astonishment of the hobbits and Gimli, Legolas began to laugh.
It was a clear, glorious laugh. Pippin remembered first hearing it in Rivendell. Merry recalled Legolas laughing like that the first night after their departure from Rivendell, when he had managed to severely irritate Gimli. Gimli remembered that joyous, ringing laugh at Caradhras, when the Elf had darted over the snow in search of the Sun, as he put it. He thought how that laugh had grated on him at the time, how infuriating he had found this Elf, who could laugh with such abandon in the midst of their misery and danger.
What Gimli had not realized was how much he had missed that laugh, now that he heard it again. It made him think of rippling streams, sunlight and clear skies, as if a cool breeze had just swept by him. He shook himself. Bother the Elf! What nonsense was this, thinking of streams and skies? He narrowed his eyes and scowled at Legolas, who was still laughing. Aragorn swatted the Elf on the arm with an indulgent expression on his face.
“What is so amusing, you flighty creature?” Gimli grumbled.
“Yes, Legolas, what is so funny?” Pippin asked.
Legolas took a few deep breaths, his hands resting on his knees. He closed his eyes, breathed in slowly for a moment then opened his eyes to survey his companions, his eyes still bright with suppressed mirth.
“I am sorry,” he said. “It wasn’t until you said the date, Aragorn. I had to check to be sure I was right. Your Shire reckoning doesn’t make much sense to me.”
“What about the date?” asked Merry, perplexed now, as he saw that Aragorn was looking amused as well.
“It just occurred to me, that by my calendar, today is my begetting day,” Legolas answered.
“Your what?” growled Gimil, as the hobbits stared blankly at Legolas. Aragorn snorted as he muffled a laugh of his own.
“Begetting day?” Pippin asked tentatively. “As in . . .”
“Hush, you hobbit!” Gimli roared. “What are you nattering on about, Legolas?”
“Like I said, Gimli, today is my begetting day,” Legolas replied.
“You mean birthday I think, Legolas,” Merry suggested.
“No, Merry,” Aragorn interposed. “He means begetting day.”
“What nonsense!” Gimli burst in. “As if the world needs to know what his parents were doing on this day all those centuries ago!” Gimli muttered, red-faced.
He was looking everywhere but at Legolas, who at Gimli’s words, had burst into another peal of merry laughter. “Blast you, Elf!” Gimli continued, smacking Legolas on the leg as the Elf collapsed back on the rocks, helplessly surrendering to his merriment. “I’ve a hard enough time dealing with who your father is without having you conjure up such unwanted revelations, you ridiculous wretch.” Gimli swatted Legolas again, his face now an alarming hue.
“Peace, Gimli,” Aragorn said, patting the Dwarf consolingly on the arm and looking down at the still-giggling Elf fondly. “Elves do not take bearing children lightly. They are able to choose when they conceive. It is a gift they have from their Maker, to protect the women and children and to avoid having children born in times of strife or war. The act of choosing to have a child is sacred to them. That is why they celebrate the begetting day,” he explained patiently.
“So you don’t celebrate your birthday at all, Legolas?” asked Pippin.
Legolas sat up, again taking a few breaths before speaking. “It’s the same day, actually, just a year later,” he confided. “So I was born a year to the day from my begetting day.”
“Then why can’t you just call it your birthday and leave all this begetting nonsense out of it?” complained Gimli.
Legolas looked at him with a puzzled expression. “But we don’t celebrate the birth day, Gimli. That’s what Aragorn just explained to you. We celebrate the begetting day.”
Gimli spluttered incoherently so Merry broke in to the conversation. “So how do you celebrate your begetting day, Legolas?”
That succeeded in eliciting another roar from Gimli. “I do not want to know how you commemorate that!”
Legolas looked at the Dwarf curiously. “Gimli, I am sure begetting is no different for Dwarves than it is for Men or Hobbits,” Legolas said patiently, rendering the Dwarf now completely speechless. “Aragorn, did you not say it is the same process for Men and Elves? Save you cannot choose the time and the birth date is variable?” Legolas asked.
“I cannot believe we are having this conversation,” Merry whispered to Pippin.
“I think Gimli looks seriously ill,” Pippin whispered back.
“Yes, Legolas, I did say that.” Aragorn agreed, his eyes crinkling with suppressed laughter at the relaxed and detached manner in which Legolas was discussing reproductive activities that had rendered the intensely private Dwarf incoherent and had even the usually irrepressible Hobbits blushing.
“So it must be the same for Hobbits and Dwarves then,” Legolas continued, not deterred by the expressions on the faces of the Dwarf and Hobbits. “I don’t know what you are fussing about, Gimli, it’s not like your parents never . . .”
He was abruptly cut off by another roar from Gimli. “Do not dare to speak of my parents! Have you no sense of privacy, you pointy-eared pest?”
Legolas frowned and looked at Aragorn for clarification.
“Mellon, mortals tend to have a more discreet attitude towards these processes than Elves,” Aragorn said diplomatically.
Legolas shrugged. “We all start the same way and come into this world the same way. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, Gimli, but I will say birthday if that makes you feel better.” Legolas patted Gimli on the shoulder, as he glowered at the Elf.
Merry asked his question again. “So how do you celebrate . . . your special day,” he asked, faltering on the word ‘begetting’ at Gimli’s glare.
Legolas bent his knees up and wrapped his hands around his legs as he looked at his friends. “Usually with a feast, with family and friends. It is a more formal occasion when we come of age, of course, with gifts appropriate to our chosen path.” He smiled at Merry and Pippin. “It amused me that I should be here, on the edge of ruin, on my . . . birthday.” He paused before saying the word, with a quick glance at the scowling Gimli. “But you two have given me a feast today and I am sharing it with friends, as I should be,” he finished.
Merry and Pippin brightened considerably at this praise. Gimli was slowly returning to his regular shade of complexion, while Aragorn continued to look amused.
“How do you celebrate birthdays in the Shire, Merry?” Legolas asked, shooting another sidelong glance at Gimli as he carefully enunciated the word ‘birthday’.
“Oh, it’s usually a big to-do in the Shire. Everyone loves birthdays. All the gifts, you know,” Merry replied.
“We only give gifts at the coming of age ceremony,” Legolas said.
“No, the birthday person doesn’t get the gifts, Legolas. They give the gifts,” Pippin explained. “Someone has a birthday almost every other week, so there’s always loads of presents.”
“I must say the best ones were always the ones Bilbo would give out,” Merry added. “Gimli, I hadn’t really thought about it but Bilbo used to get many of them from Erebor and Dale.”
“Aye,” Gimli smiled now. “Always a big order from Bilbo before his birthday. Bifur, Bofur and Bombur are the toymakers. Their workshop usually supplied Bilbo’s order,” Gimli said.
“I wish we’d known sooner, Legolas. We might have found something more celebratory in these storerooms,” Merry said. “The only surprise gift we have is the pipeweed we shared with Gimli and Strider, but I think you would not consider that a good thing at all.”
Legolas wrinkled his nose at the mention of pipeweed. “Bar the pipeweed, I think you’ve done remarkably well. We’ve had quite the feast.”
“Nothing like what you’d get at home, I’m sure,” Pippin interrupted.
Legolas looked thoughtful for a moment before replying. “We’ve had a feast today far better than we have had for awhile,” he smiled brightly at Pippin. “I think finding the two of you, alive and well, is the best gift I could have received today.”
“I won’t argue with that!” Gimli agreed.
“Nor will I,” said Aragorn.
“So we have celebrated with a feast, as we do in my land. And I have received a gift--finding you two safe--as is tradition among Men.” Legolas said. “Now, I must think of a gift for my friends, as you do in the Shire.” Legolas frowned as he thought, then smiled. “I will endure your partaking of that noxious weed and not complain,” he said finally, making Aragorn laugh.
“Will you promise not to hide it as well?” asked Gimli gruffly, his eyes twinkling merrily as he teased the Elf. Legolas had developed a habit of hiding Gimli’s pipeweed.
“Just this once,” Legolas said, as Merry and Pippin joined Aragorn in laughter.
A cloud of smoke soon surrounded Legolas, as his four companions settled in for a leisurely smoke. His eyes watered, his throat burned, he desperately wanted to get up and move away from them, but he endured it. After all, that is what friends do, he told himself.
Gimli noted Legolas’ growing discomfort and his intermittent throat clearing. He knew how sensitive the Elf was to the pipeweed smoke and despite his annoyance with Legolas earlier, he took pity on him now. It was his special day, after all, a moment of joy amidst all the fear and death they had endured for days on end. Gimli sighed. It was time to let the Elf escape.
Reluctantly Gimli put out his pipe and stood up. “Come, Legolas. I need to stretch my stiff legs. Too many days on horseback. Walk with me.”
Legolas sprang up lightly and beamed at Gimli. “Am I forgiven for my indecent conversation earlier?” he asked innocently.
Gimli frowned, his eyebrows lowered threateningly. “Don’t even start that again, Legolas. I’m warning you. Birthday or not, you shall face the flat of my axe if you continue.”
Legolas nimbly leaped out of reach to perch on a nearby pile of rocks, smiling impudently at the Dwarf. “What were you saying about a walk, Gimli?”
“Come down from there if you want to walk with me, you misbegotten sprite!” Gimli answered.
“Now you are the one bringing up begetting!” Legolas grinned from his rocky elevation. Gimli moved rapidly in his direction and Legolas leapt down and moved swiftly towards the gateway, Gimli in pursuit, roaring at the Elf.
Aragorn leaned back and blew smoke rings in the air, as Merry and Pippin followed the path the Dwarf and Elf took with concern in their eyes. “Do not mind them,” Aragorn said. “They still spar with words but the friendship that started in Lorien has grown stronger than you can imagine. They will not fight as they used to.”
As they watched the pair in the distance they saw Legolas stop and wait for Gimli, putting a hand on his shoulder as the Dwarf drew near him.
“Are you ready to be sensible now, Legolas,” Gimli asked, as he reached the Elf. “If that’s even possible for you,” he added, with a sidelong look at his friend. Legolas put his hand on Gimli’s shoulder and smiled down at him.
“Have you recovered yourself, Gimli?” he asked in return.
“Aye, as long as we keep to calling it your birthday and none of that other ridiculousness,” Gimli laughed. “You did not ask if we Dwarves had any traditions for birthdays.”
Legolas made a face. “I assumed it was another of those matters that you consider private. I dared not ask, as you were already an alarming shade of red.”
Gimli gave another shout of laughter. “True, we do not share easily with outsiders, but I should tell you we are surprisingly similar to Elves in this.” He grunted and gave Legolas another sidelong look. “Mind you now, that’s likely the only similarity between us, I’ll warrant.” His eyes twinkled and Legolas raised his eyebrow questioningly. “We feast on birthdays, much as you do, and gifts are given at the coming of age as well. Nothing like those ridiculous hobbits. Why it would be presents constantly if we were as foolish as they are about it!”
Legolas tilted his head in thought for a moment and then frowned. “They have not your lifespan, Gimli, which is many times their own. I think the passing of years means more to them, as they only have so few.” His eyebrows drew down and his eyes darkened. “I had not thought on how quickly their years pass,” he continued, the frown staying on his face.
“Don’t get all gloomy now!” Gimli ordered. “It doesn’t suit you.” He bumped Legolas with his shoulder. “As it is not our custom to give gifts, I will simply wish you many years of joy in your forest.”
“I thank you for that, Gimli,” Legolas said, a faint smile ghosting its way across his face as he absently touched Gimli’s shoulder again, then the frown returned. “But I do not think I shall be so lucky, if Galadriel’s words prove true.”
“Blast it!” Gimli exclaimed. “Now I’ve gone and set you brooding on her words again.” He frowned up at Legolas, his expression mirroring his friend’s now. “There is nothing to worry about. We are nowhere near the Sea and I’ll be hanged if I let you anywhere near it!” Gimli said fiercely. “She’s warned us off it and so it shall be. No seashore for you and no listening for gulls, laddie.”
“As you say, Gimli,” Legolas responded mildly, a small smile on his face but Gimli noticed it did not reach his eyes. “I thank you for your wishes, they were well meant.”
“Now I’ve spoiled your day,” Gimli grumbled. “I should have remembered her words before I spoke, lad. I’d no wish for you to dwell on it again. Today should be a happy one—we’re reunited with our friends and have survived great peril. And you’ve decided to grace us with your presence for another year, despite much foolishness on your part at Helm’s Deep.”
“I think you shall be burdened with me for longer than that, Gimli. You have promised to travel with me, when all of this is done. Fangorn Forest awaits us.”
“Aye, and you have agreed to visit the Caves with me,” Gimli said.
Legolas winced. “How can you be so twitchy about caves?” Gimli was perplexed. “Were you not raised in them? My father said Thranduil’s Halls are carved into the stone by the Forest River.”
“They are carved into the stone, Gimli, but they don’t look like caves. They are worked in the likeness of wood and tree, graceful open spaces, columns, light shafts. They scarce resemble caves. You shall see—when I bring you to Eryn Galen to visit, when we return to our homes.”
“When we return home,” Gimli repeated. “It’s been close to ‘if we return’ too many times.”
“You lose hope?” Legolas asked, anxiously looking into Gimli’s face.
“No, I have not lost hope. Hope in Frodo and Sam must sustain us.” Gimli answered. “If Helm’s Deep proved anything to me, it was that the darkness before the dawn truly is the blackest and longest, but the sun still rises and so we must hold onto that and persevere, no matter how dark the road seems.”
Legolas laughed. “You are turning into a philosopher, friend Gimli! Comes from too much time spent among the Elves, I think,” He smiled down at the Dwarf and Gimli was gratified to see that it reached his eyes this time. The smile did not last long though, as Legolas grew serious again. “Gimli, I like the Hobbits’ custom of giving a gift on their birthdays. I have received much this day to be grateful for and I wish to make a gift of my own.” He rested his hand on Gimli’s shoulder again. “There is not much out here in the wilds to fashion into gifts.”
He sat down abruptly on the rocks and motioned to Gimli to do the same. “You already did, letting us smoke without your usual sighing and complaining.” Gimli pointed out.
Legolas made a dismissive gesture. “I barely tolerated it. I suppose I could just sing something for the Hobbits. It always soothed them when we were on our travels.” He gave Gimli a mischievous look. “But I know my singing does little for you other than set your teeth on edge.”
“Bother you, Legolas! You know I just say that to annoy you,” Gimli protested. “I hate to admit it but your singing soothes me also,” Gimli confessed, his face reddening again. “Confound it! Who would have ever thought your warbling would grow on me so.”
“I think you are truly meant to be Elvellon, my friend,” Legolas observed.
“Elvellon? What is Elvellon?” Gimli questioned.
“It is my gift to you on this birthday of mine, Gimli, if you will accept it,” Legolas replied. “I name you Elf-friend. Elvellon is a title bestowed to very few, Gimli. Once given, all Elves must heed it. I would name you Elvellon for as long as you walk the lands of Arda,” Legolas said, his eyes locked on Gimli’s now.
“Elf-friend?” Gimli asked. “I am not sure I understand, Legolas. I do count myself as one of your friends already.”
“I count you as one of my friends also, Gimli. This is more than just friendship. Elvellon grants you the status of friend to all Elves, not just me. It assures you safe passage and aid in all Elven realms.” He grinned at Gimli. “You will not need to wear a blindfold in Lothlorien ever again, Gimli.”
“You can grant such a thing, Legolas? To me?” Gimli asked.
“Any Elf may grant it, if it is warranted. No one can gainsay my bestowing it.”
“I thank you, Legolas. It is quite an unexpected honor for me.” Gimli replied, humbled by his friend’s generosity.
“There is no token for me to give you, Gimli. I must speak the words to name you Elvellon. It requires a light mind-touch, if you allow. All Elves will then recognize the status when they encounter you.” Legolas explained.
“Mind touch? You mean that thing you do with Aragorn, when you two look at each other and seem to know what the other is thinking?” Gimli questioned.
Legolas looked amused. “Aragorn is Elvellon. That was bestowed upon him in Rivendell long ago. We do not speak in each other’s minds, it is more that we can sense emotions, feelings, rather than spoken words. It comes not so much from his being Elvellon, as from our long friendship,” Legolas grimaced. “It’s why he makes such a fuss when I am injured.”
“The Lady spoke to me in my mind, when we were in Lothlorien,” Gimli added thoughtfully.
“Galadriel possesses a gift to reach the minds of others far more powerful than any other of the Eldar, save perhaps Elrond himself. That is not what I intend—I am not skilled in mind-speak, as they are.” Legolas explained. “It is simply a touch of my mind to yours that confers the status of Elvellon, so that all Elves can sense it when they meet you or interact with you.”
“Will it work with me? With a Dwarf?” asked Gimli.
“It has worked with Men, so I do not see that it would be any different for you. I can’t recall any Dwarf being named Elvellon before,” Legolas frowned again. “Perhaps it will not work, but I would try, if you are willing.”
“I’m not too keen on someone in my mind, even if it’s just you. You are distracting enough as it is!” Gimli said.
Legolas laughed. “I will not be in your mind, Gimli! It is simply a mind link to name you Elvellon,” He looked more serious then and added “It should be no more than what I have with Aragorn, if that. A vague awareness of you and a sensation when you are in danger or distress. Not more than that.”
“As long as you promise I will not be subject to your flights of fancy about birds and trees and streams cluttering up my thoughts!” Gimli said.
The frown smoothed away from Legolas’ face. “Nay, Gimli. It is just the touch to bestow Elvellon and the sensation of the other. No more than that.”
“But what you have with Aragorn?” Gimli persisted.
“I sense his spirit, I suppose you could say. In a vague manner. Enough to know he is alive and well. Were he injured or in distress I feel a mild discomfort from him. He senses much the same from me. But remember Aragorn has been Elvellon for many years and has spent much time among Elves. “ Legolas paused then continued. “I have known him for years, so perhaps it is more noticeable to us, after all this time.”
“True, you do seem to often perplex and irritate him still, so it is obvious he doesn’t have that much insight into your thoughts, nor you into his,” Gimli mused.
“Do you accept?” Legolas asked. “The title of Elvellon—one who has been chosen and trusted enough to walk freely in our realms, to learn our language, to be part of our culture?”
“I most certainly do! You grant me a great privilege, my friend,” Gimli agreed. “What must I do now?”
“Just give me your hand. It needs physical contact. I will speak the words in Sindarin and when I touch my forehead to yours remain calm and try to open your thoughts to me,” Legolas said, moving to kneel in front of Gimli and motioning Gimli to stand, so their heads were nearly even.
He reached for Gimli’s right hand and held his gaze steadily. He began to speak and Gimli caught the few words he knew already—mellon and Elvellon. Gimli kept his breathing even and his eyes on Legolas.
When he finished speaking Legolas leaned forward to gently rest his forehead on Gimli’s. Gimli had seen him do this exact thing with Aragorn, especially after they had been arguing.
Legolas’ forehead felt smooth and cool. Legolas closed his eyes, so Gimli did the same, breathing evenly and clearing his mind of all except the quiet around him.
“I name you Elvellon, Gimli son of Gloin, from now until eternity, freely granting you safe passage, solace and aid from all the Elven realms you encounter to the ends of Arda and beyond,” Legolas whispered, in Westron now.
“I accept this gift and pledge to safeguard the one who bestows it and all who honor it, to the ends of Arda and beyond,” Gimli replied. He had no idea if these were the correct words or if he should be speaking at all, but he said them anyway and felt a light squeeze on the hand Legolas was holding.
His forehead grew warm as he spoke and he noticed a brightness, not one he could see with his eyes, but that he sensed inside. He opened his eyes and met Legolas’ intense gaze in front of him. Legolas leaned back and let go of Gimli’s hand.
“It seems to have worked,” Legolas said, standing up now. “I can sense you.”
“It seems it did,” Gimli agreed, noting that the brightness he had noted when speaking the words had remained, dimmer than before but still able to be sensed. He looked up at Legolas. “You’ll never be able to hide an injury again, I’ll have you know, if Aragorn and I both can sense it.”
Legolas snorted and pushed Gimli’s shoulder roughly. “Perhaps this wasn’t one of my best ideas, after all.”
Gimli grinned up at him. “Don’t doubt that I recognize the significance of this, Legolas.”
“It will certainly make bringing you to Eryn Galen for a visit interesting!” Legolas said, grinning back at Gimli.
“Not half as interesting as when I bring you to Erebor,” Gimli countered.
“We’ll see. I’ve met Dain. You haven’t met my father,” Legolas retorted, bumping Gimli on the shoulder. Gimli bumped him back and then they walked to return to their friends, who were still smoking and watching them curiously.
“Are you all sorted out then?” Merry asked. “No more fussing at each other?”
“Oh, I don’t think we’ll ever stop fussing at each other,” Legolas said. “How would I know Gimli was well unless he fussed at me?” The Elf laughed.
“The Elf is too flighty to avoid being fussed at,” Gimli added. “Someone needs to keep him focused.”
“You seem to be better at getting each other into trouble than out of it,” Aragorn observed.
“No worse than you, Aragorn,” Legolas said to him. “You’ve gotten me into more trouble at home than I get to on my own.”
Merry sat back, resting on his elbows and looking satisfied. “It’s just like old times with you all pestering each other.”
“All we need is Sam, grumbling about the food, Gandalf scolding someone and Legolas singing,” Pippin added.
“I am sure Gandalf will find something to scold us about on his return,” Legolas said. “But I can certainly sing for you Pippin, if it doesn’t grate on Gimli too terribly much,” Legolas said, smirking in Gimli’s direction.
“As it’s your birthday I must endure it, I suppose,” Gimli rumbled. He leaned back, mimicking Merry’s position.
“I can’t remember the last time I heard you sing, Legolas!” said Merry. “Lothlorien, I think.”
“Worry for you two spared us his chirping for a time at least,” Gimli said, glancing at Legolas as he spoke, the indulgent expression on his face contradicting his words.
Legolas ignored him, settled cross-legged on the rocks near Pippin and softly began to sing.