Post by Admin on Jan 4, 2021 2:45:20 GMT
Author: Nieriel Raina
Summary: Legolas and Gimli both muse to themselves of feeling out of place upon returning home after the Ring War. Years later, that feeling surfaces again, but they find exactly where they do belong. A friendship ficlet.
Author's Note: A story should have a beginning, a middle and an end. This has none of those, falling into what I would classify as character study, and yet I feel it tells a story in its own way. I hope you enjoy it despite its disjointed nature.
Legolas paused on the bridge spanning the river before his father's halls. He stared hard at the gates, then turned to face the water, putting off joining his family and friends within the well known caverns.
This was home. It was what he knew best. He had lived here his entire life, unlike many of their people, who remembered Oropher's first abode in the south of the wood, which had become Dol Guldur, or even their home in the Mountains of Greenwood. He knew only this place as home.
But something had changed. He could not explain what it was, though he had spent much time thinking upon it in the past days.
When he had first returned from Gondor, he had felt joyous, elated to have come home. Everything felt as it should returning home after such an absence. Or so he had thought amid the celebrations of his homecoming.
He knew now that it had not been so. He had just not seen it. In the feasting and dancing, and the novelty of his having brought a dwarf home with him, he had not felt the changes. But they had been there.
The question before him: What had changed?
Well, a lot of things had changed in his absence. He had lost friends in the last battle fought here. The darkness had touched their home as well, the fires burning much of the wood. But months later, the fire had brought new life, and with the final defeat of Sauron, the wood-elves rejoiced and celebrated the new beginnings of life sprouting from the ashes. His family was no different. They were, for the most part, as they had been. His brothers just as superior in their thinking. Anoriel just as mothering. Their father—
He paused in his musings. Thranduil was different. But not changed. No, the difference in the king was a sense of relief, a heaviness lifted from the shoulders that had borne too much for too long. There was now a lightness in Thranduil's eyes that Legolas had not seen in many long years — a joy and confidence that burned away the suspicious and paranoid king. But those traits had been in his father all along, buried deep.
No, the change he felt was something other than those around him and what they had experienced. He could see it in the way others looked at him. Feel it in the way the trees' voices no longer affected him as once they had. He could hear it in the hushed whispers when he left a room.
He had changed. That was it. He felt out of place, different — vastly so.
His trip to Imladris as messenger had become a quest to destroy the Ring and to protect Frodo. And in so doing, in agreeing to accompany the Ringbearer, he had changed to his very core. Beliefs long held were discarded on the path to Mordor in the company of mortals.
Gimli, in particular, had forced him to face his prejudice against dwarves and acknowledge it as falsely justified. Dwarves were much like elves in many ways. What grievances his father's people had against the dwarves who contributed to the fall of Doriath could not be held against Gimli or his people. He had learned that, thanks to Gandalf's insistence that they work together, to try to be friends. It had taken Gandalf's death in Moria for them to truly accomplish such a feat, but they had done so!
And it had changed him. Irrevocably.
As had the cry of the gulls in Pelargir.
Legolas swallowed as he came to the disconcerting conclusion that he no longer belonged here. And he found no comfort in knowing that he had not planned to stay anyway. His father had given leave for him to go to Ithilien with those of their people who wished to help heal the hurts of that land.
The truth that had plagued him, lingered in the back of his mind, was that he felt out of place in his own home.
It was time to go.
—
Gimli stared at the mountain entrance, chewing absentmindedly on the mustache of his beard as he contemplated. He was returning from a trip to Dale, and should be exultant to return to the mighty halls of his fathers. Once such a sight would have made him feel ready to burst with pride, seeing this mighty kingdom restored to his kin and knowing his father had played a big part in the reclaiming of the Lonely Mountain.
But this time he looked at the doors and felt an unpleasant churning in his gut. There was no eagerness to join his kin within those halls. No desire to get back to work at his forge or design table. He felt no excitement to meet with his friends and drink to his great deeds.
Something was wrong. Something was different. He felt…out of place here. Like a key that no longer fit in a lock.
What had changed?
Much, if were honest with himself. Dain was dead and Thorin Stonehelm now ruled the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain. Gimli had lost friends in the battle upon the slopes of his home. And while his friends had been changed by the losses in that battle, as had his family, yet, they were still the same in most ways. They fit here, belonged here.
And that was when Gimli realized he did not. He was different in ways that the battles and new leadership had not changed his people. That trip to Imladris had altered him once and for all, as had the quest with the Nine Walkers. Much of what he knew had been challenged on the trip from Imladris to Lothlorien, and been left discarded along the paths as new revelations were made.
It was not just his friendship with the elf, either, although that was a big part of it. It had been the Halflings, and the Men, and the elves of Lothlorien, Eomer in Rohan, standing before the Black Gates—
He was different. It was not the lock that had been altered. No, he was as a key that had warped and no longer fit the lock. He was changed. He no longer belonged here, despite that he planned to begin his own colony in the Glittering Caves.
The thought troubled him.
It was time to leave.
—
Legolas stood on the beach and looked out across the Sea, eastwards to what had once been his home. He felt conflicted, lost, adrift…
His only anchor in the sea of emotion stood a few feet away, also looking East.
"I have never felt so out of place," Legolas said with a hint of disbelief. "I was so sure coming here was the right thing to do, and yet…"
"It was lad," Gimli told him. "For both of us."
"You are content here then?" Legolas asked him.
Gimli turned at looked at him with a disbelieving expression. "Content? Content! Ah, no, lad. Look at me, a single dwarf living amongst flighty elves on an island…" His voice trailed off. "I have never felt so out of place. Ever."
"Then why do you say this was the right decision, elvellon?"
"Because you were consumed with grief, overwhelmed with the Sea's call, you needed to come. And I? Well, I was not going to send you alone, now was I?"
"Ah, Gimli, you could have stayed with your people."
"I did not fit there either. Not truly."
Legolas sighed. He also had not felt he belonged in Ennor when the time had come for them to depart. But he had expected to feel differently here, to feel… well, part of something.
"You know what I think?" Gimli asked him.
"Who can say what thoughts dwell in the minds of dwarves!" Legolas said with a smile. "Not I!"
Gimli half-heartedly swatted at him for the flippant remark. "I think we have not made an effort to find our place here. We have just…existed."
"And in what manner shall we make a place for ourselves, Gimli?"
The dwarf cocked his head and looked up at a cliff face. "Good stone here. We could build us a real house for starters. Then we would not need to depend on the hospitality of Lord Elrond any longer."
Legolas sighed at that. He had hated to feel like a burden. "A place of our own sounds nice."
"Then for at least part of the day, we will not feel out of place, eh?" Gimli walked to the cliff that overlooked the wide beach and tapped at the stone. Then he looked up. "Up there, I think, on top of the cliff. Good view, and I can put in a trail leading down to the beach."
Legolas's eyes lit up with a hint of excitement. "The trees to the east make good timber as well. No need to worry about purchasing furniture to fill it."
Gimli grinned at him, and Legolas smiled back. And that was when the truth dawned on them both.
There was one place they always belonged: Together.
Summary: Legolas and Gimli both muse to themselves of feeling out of place upon returning home after the Ring War. Years later, that feeling surfaces again, but they find exactly where they do belong. A friendship ficlet.
Author's Note: A story should have a beginning, a middle and an end. This has none of those, falling into what I would classify as character study, and yet I feel it tells a story in its own way. I hope you enjoy it despite its disjointed nature.
Legolas paused on the bridge spanning the river before his father's halls. He stared hard at the gates, then turned to face the water, putting off joining his family and friends within the well known caverns.
This was home. It was what he knew best. He had lived here his entire life, unlike many of their people, who remembered Oropher's first abode in the south of the wood, which had become Dol Guldur, or even their home in the Mountains of Greenwood. He knew only this place as home.
But something had changed. He could not explain what it was, though he had spent much time thinking upon it in the past days.
When he had first returned from Gondor, he had felt joyous, elated to have come home. Everything felt as it should returning home after such an absence. Or so he had thought amid the celebrations of his homecoming.
He knew now that it had not been so. He had just not seen it. In the feasting and dancing, and the novelty of his having brought a dwarf home with him, he had not felt the changes. But they had been there.
The question before him: What had changed?
Well, a lot of things had changed in his absence. He had lost friends in the last battle fought here. The darkness had touched their home as well, the fires burning much of the wood. But months later, the fire had brought new life, and with the final defeat of Sauron, the wood-elves rejoiced and celebrated the new beginnings of life sprouting from the ashes. His family was no different. They were, for the most part, as they had been. His brothers just as superior in their thinking. Anoriel just as mothering. Their father—
He paused in his musings. Thranduil was different. But not changed. No, the difference in the king was a sense of relief, a heaviness lifted from the shoulders that had borne too much for too long. There was now a lightness in Thranduil's eyes that Legolas had not seen in many long years — a joy and confidence that burned away the suspicious and paranoid king. But those traits had been in his father all along, buried deep.
No, the change he felt was something other than those around him and what they had experienced. He could see it in the way others looked at him. Feel it in the way the trees' voices no longer affected him as once they had. He could hear it in the hushed whispers when he left a room.
He had changed. That was it. He felt out of place, different — vastly so.
His trip to Imladris as messenger had become a quest to destroy the Ring and to protect Frodo. And in so doing, in agreeing to accompany the Ringbearer, he had changed to his very core. Beliefs long held were discarded on the path to Mordor in the company of mortals.
Gimli, in particular, had forced him to face his prejudice against dwarves and acknowledge it as falsely justified. Dwarves were much like elves in many ways. What grievances his father's people had against the dwarves who contributed to the fall of Doriath could not be held against Gimli or his people. He had learned that, thanks to Gandalf's insistence that they work together, to try to be friends. It had taken Gandalf's death in Moria for them to truly accomplish such a feat, but they had done so!
And it had changed him. Irrevocably.
As had the cry of the gulls in Pelargir.
Legolas swallowed as he came to the disconcerting conclusion that he no longer belonged here. And he found no comfort in knowing that he had not planned to stay anyway. His father had given leave for him to go to Ithilien with those of their people who wished to help heal the hurts of that land.
The truth that had plagued him, lingered in the back of his mind, was that he felt out of place in his own home.
It was time to go.
—
Gimli stared at the mountain entrance, chewing absentmindedly on the mustache of his beard as he contemplated. He was returning from a trip to Dale, and should be exultant to return to the mighty halls of his fathers. Once such a sight would have made him feel ready to burst with pride, seeing this mighty kingdom restored to his kin and knowing his father had played a big part in the reclaiming of the Lonely Mountain.
But this time he looked at the doors and felt an unpleasant churning in his gut. There was no eagerness to join his kin within those halls. No desire to get back to work at his forge or design table. He felt no excitement to meet with his friends and drink to his great deeds.
Something was wrong. Something was different. He felt…out of place here. Like a key that no longer fit in a lock.
What had changed?
Much, if were honest with himself. Dain was dead and Thorin Stonehelm now ruled the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain. Gimli had lost friends in the battle upon the slopes of his home. And while his friends had been changed by the losses in that battle, as had his family, yet, they were still the same in most ways. They fit here, belonged here.
And that was when Gimli realized he did not. He was different in ways that the battles and new leadership had not changed his people. That trip to Imladris had altered him once and for all, as had the quest with the Nine Walkers. Much of what he knew had been challenged on the trip from Imladris to Lothlorien, and been left discarded along the paths as new revelations were made.
It was not just his friendship with the elf, either, although that was a big part of it. It had been the Halflings, and the Men, and the elves of Lothlorien, Eomer in Rohan, standing before the Black Gates—
He was different. It was not the lock that had been altered. No, he was as a key that had warped and no longer fit the lock. He was changed. He no longer belonged here, despite that he planned to begin his own colony in the Glittering Caves.
The thought troubled him.
It was time to leave.
—
Legolas stood on the beach and looked out across the Sea, eastwards to what had once been his home. He felt conflicted, lost, adrift…
His only anchor in the sea of emotion stood a few feet away, also looking East.
"I have never felt so out of place," Legolas said with a hint of disbelief. "I was so sure coming here was the right thing to do, and yet…"
"It was lad," Gimli told him. "For both of us."
"You are content here then?" Legolas asked him.
Gimli turned at looked at him with a disbelieving expression. "Content? Content! Ah, no, lad. Look at me, a single dwarf living amongst flighty elves on an island…" His voice trailed off. "I have never felt so out of place. Ever."
"Then why do you say this was the right decision, elvellon?"
"Because you were consumed with grief, overwhelmed with the Sea's call, you needed to come. And I? Well, I was not going to send you alone, now was I?"
"Ah, Gimli, you could have stayed with your people."
"I did not fit there either. Not truly."
Legolas sighed. He also had not felt he belonged in Ennor when the time had come for them to depart. But he had expected to feel differently here, to feel… well, part of something.
"You know what I think?" Gimli asked him.
"Who can say what thoughts dwell in the minds of dwarves!" Legolas said with a smile. "Not I!"
Gimli half-heartedly swatted at him for the flippant remark. "I think we have not made an effort to find our place here. We have just…existed."
"And in what manner shall we make a place for ourselves, Gimli?"
The dwarf cocked his head and looked up at a cliff face. "Good stone here. We could build us a real house for starters. Then we would not need to depend on the hospitality of Lord Elrond any longer."
Legolas sighed at that. He had hated to feel like a burden. "A place of our own sounds nice."
"Then for at least part of the day, we will not feel out of place, eh?" Gimli walked to the cliff that overlooked the wide beach and tapped at the stone. Then he looked up. "Up there, I think, on top of the cliff. Good view, and I can put in a trail leading down to the beach."
Legolas's eyes lit up with a hint of excitement. "The trees to the east make good timber as well. No need to worry about purchasing furniture to fill it."
Gimli grinned at him, and Legolas smiled back. And that was when the truth dawned on them both.
There was one place they always belonged: Together.