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I had to bite my tongue to prevent myself from replying to that last insult offered by the Galadhrim warriors. I am grateful that Gimli did not catch the actual words, for had he done so he would probably not have allowed me to go off on my own for the rest of the day.

As it is as soon as he dismissed me I found a quiet spot well away from the main settlement so I could brood in peace. My thoughts were troubled before the meal, now they are in turmoil. While some might occasionally question it, I have been taught right from wrong and to allow someone to insult a member of a company chosen by Elrond Eärendilion to go with the ring bearer on this most desperate quest, whoever or whatever they may be is not something that I should ignore. To do so would make me little better than those who just defamed my companion. You should show loyalty to those you have fought alongside, to those whose aims are akin to yours no matter their race.
I admit it may have taken me a little time to remember this lesson, but I have recalled it now and I am thoroughly ashamed of my early dealings with Master Gimli. Was I truly as prejudiced and unpleasant as the Galadrhim have just been? I wish I could say not, but I fear the answer is yes, so I am doubly obligated to make sure they are made to answer for their insulting words for if I do not, their shame will fall on me.

Such open disdain to a warrior is not to be supported and I will not support it.
Of course I could speak of what has happened to someone else and let them deal with it, but such dereliction of duty sits ill with me, and I am sure at least one of the warriors was with the March Warden Haldir when we were all blindfolded and led to Caras Galadhon and if I am right I have another good reason for ‘dealing’ with him for he had the temerity to laugh when Boromir stumbled.

I will have to be very careful of course and pick my time and place with some care for Gimli’s sharp eyes seem to see everything that pertains to me and my conduct. He has said to let it go, and I should obey him, but in this at least I cannot.

So I make my way to the training fields to watch the training and to hopefully catch a glimpse of my quarry. I am disappointed to find on discrete questioning of one of the archery trainers that the elves I seek have just gone out to patrol the border and will not be back until tomorrow.

Well I can wait. My anger will be better channeled on their return and I will be waiting for them.

Still that leaves me with much of the day with nothing more to do than think and thinking is painful. Anger is a better emotion for me to deal with than my guilt at what happened in Moria. I close my eyes as I recall racing through the Great Hall of Khazad-Dûm chased by hundreds goblins and orc, who streamed out of every crack and crevice, crawling down the beautiful colonnades, chattering and screaming as they swarmed from holes in the stone flooring. Their numbers were overwhelming and we were soon brought to bay and turned outward each of us determined to do our best to take as many of those spawn of evil with us as we could. Then there was a moment of respite as they stopped as if listening and then turned to flee only for our relief to give way to new fear as we saw why they had scattered so abruptly.
The smell was what struck me first, brimstone and sulphur, the orc and goblins stink, but this was older and fouler even than them. Then there was a distant roar that echoed through the vaulted roof and light, but not the pure light of stars, no this was the red of fire and flame. Something from the deepest bowels of the earth was coming in our direction. I saw Gandalf close his eyes momentarily before straightening. I think it was Boromir who asked the question we all wanted answering, ‘what new devilry were we facing’ The answer made me shudder ‘A Balrog, a demon from the underworld’.

A Balrog … one of the Maiar who had followed Melkor, they were spirits of fire but having been corrupted they appeared to us as demonic beings of great size. Fire enshrouded their principle weapon was a many thonged whip. No ordinary weapon could touch the most dreadful of Morgoth’s servants. It had been believed that they had all been slain at the fall of Angband but one at least had survived and was coming in our direction.

I knew of them from my lessons, but never thought to see one; I also knew that only the mightiest of the Eldar could hope to withstand them. Echthelion had done so, slaying Gothmog in Gondolin. He had died doing so. Glorfindel had died killing another while allowing Tuor, Idril and their son Eärendil to escape from the doomed elven realm of Gondolin.
In that moment of sheer terror I did something the shame of which will live with me forever; I allowed an arrow to fall from my nocked bow. I scarcely had time to retrieve it before Gandalf was telling us to run and to make for the Bridge of Khazad-Dûm. We needed no second urging and we fled before the demon, only to find the way barred by a broken spur having successfully negotiating this obstacle I hoped we would make good our escape and once we had crossed the bridge I thought we would be free.

I was the last to cross the bridge save Gandalf and when I turned I saw that the Balrog was right behind us rearing up above us, fire and flame reaching out to scorch us. Rather than run for the door which was close by Gandalf stopped and challenged the creature.

When the bridge collapsed beneath it and it fell into the abyss I was sure we would escape but then its whip caught Gandalf and dragged him after it. He bade us fly called us fools, and to my eternal shame I did. I left Gandalf to die.

I bow my head and tears come again to my eyes. Twice in a short space of time, I had allowed my fear to dictate my actions, instead of doing as I ought. I failed in my oath to protect the others in the Fellowship, and ran like a coward.
I will never be free of the shame.

As we fled through the East Gate and stepped out into blessed daylight I saw the shock and grief I felt mirrored on my companions’ faces. We had escaped but at what price for our leader had fallen. Even as Aragorn called for us to move on away from the danger that still threatened us, I looked back at the East Gate and part of me wished to go back to regain a little of my honor, but it was too late and all I could do is follow on after Aragorn and the others.
And now many days later I am still following, still pretending that I have the right to be considered part of the Fellowship, still living with the nightmarish knowledge that when I was most needed my nerve failed me and I fled like a frightened elfling. My Adar would be ashamed of me. I am ashamed of me. I desperately want to talk to someone about my situation.
The obvious person would be Aragorn, but he has enough troubles on his shoulders for he is the one who must take on the leadership of our Fellowship. Boromir, I do not know well enough, Frodo already carries the burden of the ring, and the other Hobbits are too unworldly to understand. So who does that leave? Only Master Gimli. Dare I trust him with this? Am I expecting too much of him, asking too much? After all how well do I know him?

My instincts tell me I can, but can I overcome my own prejudices and embarrassment and admit what it is that concerns me presently to a dwarf?

My gaze goes back out to the beautiful Mallorn trees that grow here in such abundance. They are not like the trees at home that I can communicate with so easily. They are happy to have me in their midst but they cannot offer me the comfort of the beech and oak in Greenwood. Nothing here can unless I place my trust in Master Gimli and how can I do that when I am about to go against his wishes as far as the Galadhrim are concerned? No I will have to go on as I am until I have done what must be done.

xxxx
I am determined to follow the Lady’s wise counsel before my courage fails me, so I immediately set out in search of my new charge. We are due to meet again later this evening, but I must not give myself time to talk myself out of speaking. I must find him now, before the sound of the Queen’s lovely voice fades and my own trepidations take over again. The phrase ‘strike while the iron is hot’ comes to mind for following my heart’s leanings is not something I am accustomed to. In this I shall try, however, because I know the Lady would never lead me astray and she has advised it.
He is not in his quarters, nor with any of the others of our company. None of them have seen him since last night, so I am the last one to know his whereabouts. Finally I make my way over to the training fields where I speak to an archery trainer who spoke to him not long ago. It seems he was looking for a certain group of warriors who had gone out on a border patrol. I can only assume it was the warriors from this morning and decide I must not forget to remind him not to try to seek retribution for their insults. The trainer points me in the general direction that Legolas took upon leaving and so I follow that direction.
I walk a good ways from the settlement and am about to give up and go back when I finally see him from a ways off. He is sitting alone under one of the great Mallorn trees of the Golden Wood, his back against the smooth silver bark of its massive trunk. He seems to be unaware of my presence for the moment so I take the time to watch him. He makes a very melancholy picture silently sitting there with his arms crossed over his bent knees gazing off at I know not what. After a while he buries his face in his arms and something about that pose strikes my heart. He looks agonizingly lost as if he is weighed down by something he should not be dealing with at such an early age. He should have a parent here to help guide him through whatever it is that is weighing on his heart.
Finally it occurs to me that, that is why I have been asked to fulfill this role in his life while his real father is not available. Aragorn would not have asked it of me if he did not believe it to be needful; it is just that I feel completely insufficient for the task. But Strider believes I can do it and so does Lady Galadriel, so perhaps I am more equipped than I think. One thing is clear; I must not wait any longer to act.
As soon as I make a move he hears me and looks up. He quickly runs a sleeve over his eyes, schools his features into a smile and then stands up to greet me.
“Master Gimli! I thought we were to meet this evening. Did I misunderstand the time?”
“Nay, Lad, ye did not,” I assure him, “I only wanted to speak to you before then is all.”
He gives me a concerned questioning look as if he is afraid of what it is I wish to talk about. I gesture at the ground to indicate he should sit back down, and then I sit next to him. I clear my throat a time or two, but then mentally shake myself. I have to say something and just hope it will come out right.
“Something seems to be troubling you, Lad,” I blurt out.
He only stares at me through wide eyes, his expression unreadable for a long moment.. Finally his eyes close and he sighs deeply, lowering his face once again into his folded arms. Tentatively I reach out to touch his shoulder, but then withdraw my hand. What if the gesture is not welcome? This is nonsense, I tell myself firmly. The Lady said I must follow my heart. Gathering my nerve I put my arm around his shoulders and pull him closer to my side.
“Ye know, sometimes worries lessen when we speak of them,” I encourage. “Anything ye tell me will be kept between us, I promise.”
He takes so long to answer that I believe he is not going to confide in me, but I notice he does not draw away from me either and I take that as an encouraging sign. Finally after a long while of us sitting silently together he speaks in a choked whisper, “I should not be here.”
I have to say I agree with that statement. He should be at home under his father’s care, taking lessons and doing whatever it is young elves do for pleasure. He should not be on this perilous and likely hopeless quest when it is obvious he is still little more than a bright and gifted child. His outstanding skills at arms no doubt far outpace his emotional preparedness for the ugliness of war, so I agree; he should not be here. But I do not think that is what he means, so I encourage him to continue.
“How so?” I ask.
“I am unworthy,” he tells me gravely.
What an astounding revelation! Not prepared, possibly. Too young, likely. But unworthy? It is a ludicrous statement! Where he came up with such a ridiculously fantastic notion I do not know. I am tempted to tell him to stop being daft and to quit thinking such things, but I must not make light of his concerns however farfetched they seem to me. Besides I can see by his demeanor that this is something he truly believes to be a fact, so instead of saying what first comes to mind I just ask him to explain why he feels this is so.
The barrage of self-condemning remarks that follow is enough to make my head spin. Evidently he has become a worthless craven dog who is no longer worthy to walk among good and noble folk. He is single handedly responsible for Gandalf’s fall, and has managed to bring disgrace to his father and his people-within the space of an hour. He has done this by dropping an arrow, and then following an order to flee from an undefeatable demon of flame.
It would be almost comical if he did not believe it so seriously. As it is, I am unable to find it in me to even smile for there is nothing funny about his distress. I let him pour our the entire woeful tale until he ends up with his face buried in my shoulder to hide the fact that he is close to weeping. Only after he has talked himself out do I try to form a response. I want to make certain I say this right, so I tread carefully.
“I am glad ye shared this with me,” I begin, “but I believe your thinking might be muddled on a few things. It is not a shameful thing to be afraid when facing certain disaster. We were all terrified Child. That is to be expected. Even Gandalf was fearful so why should you be any different?” He does not answer my question, but is very still as if waiting for me to convince him so I go on. “And running when ye were told to do so by one far more experienced than you was not a sign of cowardice, but of sensibleness. Had ye stayed to fight, no doubt we would have lost you too, along with all your valuable skills and abilities. What makes you believe you could have defeated that demon when even the wizard could not?”
“I hadn’t thought of it,” he admits, a trifle hopefully I think.
“And as for bringing shame on your family, I can only say this: I do not know your father but perhaps you serve him an ill turn by saying he would hold you in disgust for behaving normally in a terrifying situation. I have no child of my own, but were you my son I would be anything but ashamed. You are bold and brave, besides being matchless in battle. More than that you are kind and noble and loyal. All traits any father would be proud of in a son.”
I pull him away from me and search his uncertain eyes. “I am proud of you myself,” I say, “There is no other I would feel safer with fighting at my back. Gandalf would not have wanted you to berate yourself so on his account.”
The blue of his eyes is magnified as tears form in them and then one after another begin to roll down his face. I pull him back against my shoulder and wrap both arms around his shaking frame.
“I am sorry…” he begins, but I cut him off before he can finish apologizing for expressing perfectly normal grief.
“There is no need for that. The old devil was worth a tear or two at least,” I tell him, as a lump forms in my own throat, “We shall all miss him terribly.”
I say nothing more, but just let him take as much time as he needs to gain control of his emotions. I have nowhere I must be so there is no hurry at all. After a while I feel him relax against me and he becomes very quiet. Still we do not move, but just sit together lost in our own thoughts his hand twined in the hair of my beard, which is something I cannot help finding endearing. Perhaps later he will regret having opened up to me in such a fashion, but right now we are at peace. My relief is great that he has accepted my offer of comfort, for I now feel like I may have a chance at making a successful go at this new assignment.
After some time he breaks the silence with a question.
“Gimli?”
“Yes, Lad?”
“How did you know where to find me?” he straightens up to look at me. He must be concerned that I know what he was about earlier today.
The question reminds me of an earlier thought. “I spoke to the archery trainer, who said ye came to him looking for someone and he pointed me in the right direction. I assume I do not need to remind you that you are not to seek any sort of retribution on my behalf.”
“No you do not. I remember well enough.”
“Very good then, because I meant what I said.”
“They would deserve it!”
“And yet ye will not take this into your own hands.”
“But Gimli, I…”
“Will do as ye’re told and forget about it!” I give him my sternest look. “I mean it, Elfling.”
He huffs in frustration, but then places his head back on my shoulder, which makes me smile. I believe we have made remarkable progress.
XXXX
I put my head back on Master Gimli’s shoulder, and allow myself to take the comfort he is offering me.
I am so thankful I took the chance and spoke to him of my fears. I followed my heart and it did not lead me astray. Whoever would have thought that I would find solace in the comforting embrace of a dwarf? Certainly not me and certainly not this particular dwarf!
But many things have changed in my life since Lord Elrond named me as the elven representative on the quest. My people consider me young and I have long felt that such an epithet was unfair. I am beginning to see that I was wrong. While I am more than capable of holding my own in tracking, hunting and battle, of leading patrols back in my own land, there is much I have yet to learn. Not only about those whose company I am now part of, who I have to my shame not given proper attention to, but I have also learned a great deal about myself, my strengths, my weaknesses and my prejudices.
I have sometimes failed to take into account the needs of others forgetting that they are mortal kind and I have occasionally not given them the proper respect that is their due. We each bring to the Fellowship our own strengths and I am beginning to realize that we are none of us better than another whether we be prince, gardener or dwarven warrior.
Had any asked me at the outset whether I would ever be able to count a dwarf as someone I would turn to when I was in need of comfort I would have laughed in his face, but today I have been offered more than comfort. I have been offered wisdom and consolation.
I fought against the idea of having Gimli appointed as my guardian, but now I see the sense in it, and more than that I know I have need of it. Not that I will be admitting that anytime soon, although I believe Master Gimli already senses the change in my attitude towards him. After all I would hardly have allowed him to see me weep and take consolation in the shelter of his arms if I had not become reconciled to the fact that I am in need of his support.
For now I revel in the security my dwarven minder is offering me. I know that this hiatus is unlikely to last much longer. Although we are off the main pathways someone may come along at anytime, and my pride would be wounded indeed should someone other than Gimli see me in so fragile a state. Gimli seems to sense that I am ready to sit up for he releases my arm and I pull myself upright wiping the remains of my tears away.
“Better lad?”
I nod, no longer finding it irritating to be thus addressed. “Yes, I thank you. I am very grateful both for your presence and your advice. I see now my guilt over Gandalf’s fall was not only foolish but also erroneously prideful.”
I see he is looking surprised and explain further. “I am only one; I must learn to take my share of responsibility for our triumphs and tragedy but not more than that. I am neither better nor worse than anyone else in our Fellowship.”
“That’s right, we are all part of the whole we all have our part to play, I’m glad you can see that. You can’t take everything onto your shoulders alone broad as they may be.”
I smile at this jest, for he is almost as broad as I am tall and his strength is prodigious. I am not just thinking of his physical strength. Presently I am thinking more of his great heart and wonderfully forgiving nature for I have been a thorn in his side since we set out from Imladris and yet he has offered me his support and guidance and not held my previous failings against me.
So as we sit here together I make a silent vow that I will do my best to honor our agreement as best I can and not seek to cause him trouble.
And the best way I can think of doing that at the moment is seeing to it that Master Gimli is given the respect he deserves while we remain in Lothlorien.
I realize even as I think this that he may well think that I am flying in the face of his direct order to let things go with those Galadhrim warriors. . I know that in purely chronological terms I am older than Gimli but in reality I am by far his junior when it comes to maturity especially of the emotional kind so he is my elder and in my culture it is my duty as someone who is under the protection of an elder to protect his honor if the occasion arises.
And I see it as the least I can do after all his kindness and consideration for me. He has been insulted by elves it seems to me that it should be an elf who calls them to account and I intend to be that elf.
Even though his words telling me not to seek retribution of any kind on his behalf are plain enough
My answer has to be carefully worded so I say, “I remember well enough.”
He reminds me that he means what he says and I feel the need to mutter, “They would deserve it!”
His response tells me more than anything of his view on this issue “ye will not take this into your own hands.”
My attempted protest is brushed aside “Ye will do as ye are told and forget about it. I mean it, Elfling.”
I do not wish to lie so I briefly put my head back on his shoulder, an action he will probably see as being assent, and tell myself I have a few more hours before I will be able to take my revenge on the warriors. Until then I will allow myself to bask in the sunshine of Gimli’s approval and worry about the consequences afterwards.
We walk back to the glade where the Fellowship has set up our camp and at Gimli’s suggestions I agree to stay and share the evening meal with everyone. My heart is considerably lighter after my talk with him so I am happy to do so.
It turns out to be an excellent idea, everyone is pleased to see me again and welcome me kindly, and they also seem to approve of my improved relations with Gimli. I am happy also to see that Aragorn and Boromir seem more at ease with each other, while Pippin is almost back to his irrepressible self and he has us all laughing at his chatter and antics. As we all bid each other good night and seek our beds I tell Gimli that I will be going out early to the training fields in the morning but will meet him to break our fast together as has become our custom in the last few days. He seems pleased that I have taken the time to tell him where I will be going rather than just disappearing into the trees like ‘a pesky squirrel’ as he terms it.
Of course my motives are not perhaps of the best, for it seems to me that if he knows where I am likely to be he will not come seeking me and I can deal with the warriors unhindered by his presence.

I sleep well and slip away from the camp with the stentorian snores of most of my companions still ringing in my ears. It does not take me very long to reach the training area and to spot my returning quarry. It is my intention to challenge them before they reach the more public area for I do not wish this to become common knowledge which fighting on the main field would make it.
So I have come a little way up the forest path, far enough away from the training area for our meeting not to be overheard.
They look as if they would sooner avoid me but I make that impossible by standing in their path so that they have little choice but to stop.
I give them a short bow, “mae govannen, Galadhrim.”
They return the compliment with nods and then try and step around me. I put out my hand to stay them “I crave a few moments of your time; you insulted one of my friends yesterday.”
It is not until I hear myself say the word that I realize that Gimli is indeed a friend. I see them roll their eyes and sneer at my choice of word.
“Are you so lacking in friends Thranduilion that you must associate with a Naugrim?”
The elf who spoke last yesterday snickers as one of his companions adds, “I always heard that King Thranduil had a hatred of the stunted ones. I wonder what he would say should he know his son now considers one a friend.”
“He would likely have him locked up in those dungeons of his.”
I admit to having wondered how my revered father will react when he hears the news that I have befriended a dwarf and not just any dwarf but the son of Gloin, but that does not mean I am about to allow such insults to go unchallenged. “He would say as I do,” I answer as coldly as I can, “that an insult to a friend must needs be answered. I am here to do that, I do not care if you choose to go one at a time or all at once but I will see my friend’s honor restored.”
“As you will,” their leader responds
“Do not be foolish” one of the others speaks up now, and I note that he is beginning to look worried. “We cannot fight the son of the King of the Wood; Lord Thranduil is Celeborn’s cousin.”
“And all the companions are guests of our lady” the fourth says.
It is my turn to sneer, “You did not let that fact stop you from insulting Gimli son of Gloin yesterday and I will not let it stop me making you answer for it. Who wishes to go first?”
I spent a long time in the night wondering how I could do this without resorting to too great violence for not only would Gimli be wrathful with me should I hurt someone too much, there is a possibility that I may take an injury that would prevent me from continuing with the Quest which I very much wish to avoid. So the weapon I chose in the end was a staff. It will bruise and sting but not do too much damage to an opponent and all elven warriors are trained in its use. I heft one of the staffs I had left at the side of the path into my hands and grin at them. “I repeat who will go first? You either fight me or apologize to Gimli. I do not care which.”
“I will not fight”
“Nor I”
“We will apologize to the dwarf.”
That is three then but their leader seems to be made of sterner stuff. “I will never grovel in front of a member of the Naugrim race, nor take orders from a lesser son of a lesser king. Give me a staff I will meet you, aye and beat you Legolas Thranduilion.”
“Tathor, you must not”
“I have been challenged it is my right to respond.”
I grin and throw him a staff and take up my position. He is heavier built than I am but I have been very well trained and I know a few moves that may surprise this Tathor and help wipe that supercilious smirk off his face.
Battle is soon joined and we go at each other with a real will, each of us looking to strike a blow or upend the other, which would normally end the bout. I hear one of Tathor’s friends saying he will go and seek help to put a stop to this, but I take little note of his departure being too caught up in relishing this opportunity to vent my considerable frustration on Tathor.
We dip and swerve, striking and blocking each other. We leap into the air, twirl and dive, each time attempting to land a blow on our opponent. I slip, but manage to roll and am up again before Tathor can strike and then I finally see the opening I have been looking for. He moves left, I feint and then catch him a sharp whack on the shin, turn my staff and use it to sweep his feet from under him. He falls. I lift my staff but find it wrested out of my hands.
I turn and find our little bout has attracted quite an audience. Most seem suitably impressed and some are even clapping or making approving noises. Some however are not; among them Aragorn, Lord Celeborn and the person who has snatched my staff. I swallow hard as I find myself staring into the coal black and at the moment very furious eyes of Gimli Gloinson.

Title: Fallen Leaf, Part 3
Author: Minnie and Beth
Warning: Some AU elements. Other that just everyday stuff for this group!
A/N: Thanks to all of you who have followed this story and taken the time to comment. We truly appreciate your support and hope you enjoy the final chapter!

I hurry to the training field hoping against hope that the brawl that is reportedly going on there does not involve who I think it involves and that it isn’t about what I think it’s about. I know it is just wishful thinking, though, because otherwise Aragorn would not have snagged my arm and pulled me along with him to witness whatever is going on.
I began to be slightly suspicious when a few minutes ago, I received a hurried apology from three of the four warriors who were only yesterday spewing their hatred toward me. Such a sudden change of heart did not make sense, but before I could form a thought about what that might mean, Aragorn came along and insisted that I follow him to the training fields, having been given information that there was some kind of altercation taking place that we needed to know about.
My hopes that the situation won’t be as bad as I fear it is dies as soon as we get close to the training fields for there already enmeshed in contest is my wayward charge. And as I expected the person he is fighting I recognize as one of the Galadhrim warriors from the dining hall. How much clearer could I have been about my feelings on how this issue should be settled? Legolas could not have misunderstood me, so the only answer must be that I have been saddled with the most hardheaded elf anywhere in Middle Earth. My fury propels me quickly forward and soon we are at the edge of the field, though the contenders are so involved that they seem to notice nothing.
The sport they are involved in looks dangerous and brutal, a blow with one of those heavy staffs, while likely not deadly, could cause serious injury to the receiving party. My heart nearly stops when the larger warrior manages to knock my elfling to the ground and raises his staff to strike. He is not fast enough, however, for Legolas deftly rolls out of the way, gets to his feet and cuts his opponent off at the knees sweeping his feet from under him. He lifts his staff to make the blow that would end the bout, but I have now entered the fray. Before he can execute the move, I have confiscated his weapon. He rounds on me angrily, furious that someone would dare do such a thing, but then his expression changes to one of surprise and then apprehension.
“Gimli!” he squeaks in surprise, “I didn’t expect you.”
“Aye, I can see that,” I agree, “and ye do not seem pleased to see me either though I can hardly blame you considering the circumstances.”
He flushes deeply and begins to stammer, “Gimli…I…I can explain…”
“Save your breath, Elfling,” I advise him and nod toward Lord Celeborn, who has dispersed the crowd and drawn himself up to his full height. The severe expression on the intimidating Elf Lord’s face is enough to stifle any further speech by anyone involved. His hard eyes shift back and forth between the two miscreants until they both drop their gazes to the ground and even I am beginning to cringe, wondering what he will say. When he does speak his voice is surprisingly melodious and calm.
“Explain yourselves please,” he orders, his eyes resting first on the Galadhrim warrior. “Tathor?”
“I was challenged to a fight, My Lord,” Tathor says looking up at his King, “It was my right to accept.”
Celeborn lifts one elegant brow and turns to Legolas, “You began this, Cousin?” he asks.
Legolas straightens his shoulders and raises his eyes to look directly into the King’s face. “I began it, My Lord,” He says. I am pleased when he does not try to shift the blame, though the temptation to do so must be hard to ignore.
Celeborn’s face remains unreadable, at least to me, and he continues speaking in an even voice. “I am surprised at you, Prince. I would have expected better of you than to behave no better than a common ruffian while a visitor in a realm not your own.”
Legolas flushes an even darker red. “Forgive me,” he says bowing his head.
“Forgive you, I shall,” Celeborn assures him, “but such behavior must not go unanswered for. I do not approve of using such barbaric methods to settle a dispute and such will not be tolerated here. Did it not occur to either of you that such violence might be construed as a crime? By rights I could have you both detained if I were so inclined.” He pauses to look from one worried face to another before continuing, “I do not wish to do so at this time, but make no mistake: there will be consequences.”
I cannot see Tathor’s expression, for he is looking at the ground and his hair hides his face, but Legolas has become quite pale. I expect he is only just now thinking of the possible repercussions this little incident could bring. Almost I start to reach out to pat his arm reassuringly, but I suspect that would bring more embarrassment to an already difficult situation. I find that while I am still fuming over the lad’s total lack of regard for my orders, I do not wish him to have to face any sort of public penalty. What he did was, after all, done out of loyalty to me, misguided though it may have been. I feel the whole story should be told at least, and it is up to me to make certain of it since Legolas is not speaking up.
“Excuse me, My Lord,” I call out causing several pairs of eyes to turn my direction. “I have something to say.”
“By all means, Master Dwarf,” Lord Celeborn inclines his head to me.
“I feel you should know that the Lad had reason for making such a challenge to your warrior. He only wanted to clear my name against some who have offered me insults over the last few days. Three of the four warriors have apologized for their words. I expect your Tathor here refused and was paying the price for that refusal.”
“You asked this of him?” he asks me.
“Nay I did not,” I reply, “in fact I asked him not to seek vengeance, but I thought you should know the whole tale.” My grip tightens on the staff in my hand and I continue with a request, “I would ask that ye turn him over to me.”
“And why would I do that?”
“I do not know your laws here, but it is my understanding that this one is still underage He has been placed in my charge, and I am fully capable of caring for his needs.” Lord Celeborn nods agreeing with me, no doubt understanding our arrangement. Tathor looks up in surprise and then blushes. I do not know if he is embarrassed that he accepted a challenge offered by an elfling or if it the fact that he came within a hair’s breadth of being bested by one. Either way I find his discomfiture somewhat amusing, though I am careful not to show it.
“I trust you will make clear to your charge that it is poor manners for a prince to behave like a thug, especially when residing as a guest in someone’s home?”
“Ye can count on it, My Lord,” I promise, sure now that he will grant my request.
“Then I leave this one in your hands, Master Dwarf,” Celeborn says, “And you shall be receiving the fourth apology forthwith.” He frowns toward the now humiliated Tathor. I consider his words a dismissal and do not wait to see what will happen with the other party since that is not my concern at the moment. Instead I take Legolas by the elbow and lead him off the training fields and all the way back to the clearing we stayed in last night.
Aragorn walks with us, but no one speaks until we arrive to the site. None of the others are there at the moment and likely will not return until late this afternoon so we are afforded privacy for a time. For a moment I believe Aragorn will begin to berate the elfling, but he says nothing of what has taken place. Perhaps he is remembering that his input was not appreciated before and has decided I can manage without his intervention. When he does finally speak up it is not to scold, but to enquire of the Lad’s injuries.
“Are you hurt?” he asks reaching a hand out as if to check for himself. Legolas steps back and opens his mouth to object until I speak up.
“Let him look at you, child” I order. With that, he stands still and tolerates the quick but thorough examination, though it is clear he would rather not.
“You are only bruised,” Aragorn declares with a wry smile, “I am sure Tathor looks far worse.”
He briefly embraces his friend and turns to go. While he cannot openly support Legolas’ actions, I have the feeling he is rather pleased, for the elfling offering to defend my name shows that we are no longer at odds. I watch him until he is out of sight and then turn to face my rather nervous charge. As has often been the case when it comes to my new role, my own emotions are in conflict with one another. On one hand, I am touched that the Lad was willing to take on four warriors in my behalf, though that alone was foolish in the extreme. Thank goodness only one accepted the challenge, or who knows how things might have turned out.
On the other hand I am outraged that he so deliberately disobeyed my direct orders to leave the situation alone and not get involved in seeking retribution. I made my wishes on this perfectly clear, so he has forced my hand really because I cannot leave the message that he can ignore my orders when he disagrees with them or feels he knows better. Besides I made promises to Lord Celeborn that I would care for the child’s needs and it is painfully obvious what he needs.
He is finally the one who breaks the silence between us. “Thank you for speaking up for me, Master Gimli,” he says softly.
“Do not thank me too soon, Elfling,” I say between clenched teeth, “ye may soon wish I had left your handling to Lord Celeborn.”
He winces at that and I notice his eyes keep flitting anxiously to my left. I turn my head to see what he is looking at and realize I am still carrying the staff that I seized from him earlier. No wonder he looks worried if he fears I plan to use this heavy rod on him. He does not really know me well yet after all so he has no way of knowing how severe I might be with him. Immediately I let go and the staff clatters to the ground.
“Ye need never fear that I would seek to cause ye real harm, Laddie,” I assure him, “though I expect you might be rather uncomfortable by the finish.” With that I grasp his wrist and drag him behind me to one of the tents that has been set up as ground shelter for the comfort of those us of who are ill at ease residing in trees. Boromir, the hobbits and myself are very grateful for this bit of thoughtfulness. Strider seems nearly as comfortable as any elf in the housing that is built in the trees here and Legolas would be just as happy sleeping on a narrow branch in the very top of the highest tree no doubt, being part squirrel as it seems to me. He looks anything but happy now, though, as I guide him to sit in the chair that is in the main room of the tent. I stand before him and cross my arms waiting to hear what he has to say.
“I am sorry, Gimli,” he offers right away, “I only wished to restore your honor.”
“I do not doubt that your intentions were pure,” I assent, “but if ye wish to show me honor, you will obey me even when you do not agree with me. I’m happy to talk about whatever you disagree about, but I expect ye to abide by my decisions if we come to an accord or not. Ye should be happy this did not turn out worse for ye than it did, for I suspect had ye landed that final blow, Lord Celeborn would not have left you to my care, no matter how much I wished it.”
To his credit he looks suitably abashed, as if it is only now dawning on him how serious his thoughtless actions could have been had everything gone as planned.
“I see now that I was wrong,” he admits, “I should have listened to you.”
Perhaps he hopes that admitting this will be enough to stay my hand, but I quickly squash any such false hope.
“I am happy ye now realize that, but that hardly excuses your actions,” I point out. “I have been asked to act as a guardian in place of your absent father, so I ask you how likely is it he would let such blatant defiance of his orders would go without penalty?”
He does not have to answer me, for the expression on his face is all the answer I need. He knows he would never get away with such disobedience at home and is learning that he won’t be able to with me either.
“That is as I thought then,” I say. “There is no need for further delay. Stand up, Child.”
He obeys me immediately and I take the seat he has just vacated. With a quick yank to his arm I have him face down over my lap. I take a firm grip on his waist to keep him in place and bring my hand down hard on the seat of his trousers. He yelps in surprise as the first swat lands, but gathers his stamina and doesn’t make a sound for a long time after that. I continue my mission with a heavy hand until it occurs to me that were he really my biological son there would be nothing between his skin and the palm of my hand. I place my hand at his waistband, but his own hand comes back to try to prevent my intentions. A light slap to the offending hand is all it takes for him to place it back on the ground where it belongs, and I can tell by the way he lifts his hips to assist me in my task, this is not an unfamiliar concept to him in spite of his protests.
After that it does not take long for him to lose his composure and begin to struggle and plead. I vow not to be swayed by this, but find I cannot carry on much longer in spite of my resolve. I focus attention on his still rather pale thighs until they are just as crimson as his glowing backside and then it is all I can take. I rest my hand on his scorched skin. And let him catch his breath for a moment before helping him reorder his clothing and allowing him to slide from my lap.
I admit that I feel somewhat relieved when he throws himself into my arms instead of turning away from me, when I open my arms to him. I had been fairly concerned that this would ruin whatever progress had been made between us over the last several days, but that does not seem to be the case. I smooth down his wildly disarrayed hair and whisper soft reassurances to him. I have to smile when he worms his way into my lap, reminding me of my young nephew; only this one’s long limbs hang a good deal farther off. I cannot help wondering what the others would think were they to discover us right at this moment or what my own family would say if they could see me now. Somehow this unusual situation does not feel strange to me at all, however. I guess perhaps I am more capable at playing surrogate parent to an elf than I believed before.
There is still something else that needs to be said, though, for I do not wish him to think I don’t appreciate his coming to my defense even if it was against my clear orders to not get involved. It is only his disobedience that I had a problem with; the sentiment itself was rather sweet and touching.
“Thank you, Lad,” I whisper to the top of the golden head that is tucked up beneath my chin, “ye’re actions may have been ill-advised, but ye’re a loyal friend indeed.”
The only answer is a long quavering breath and an arm tightening around my neck.
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I cannot help wondering what the other members of the Fellowship would think were they to discover me at this moment. My reputation as a warrior would be completely destroyed for presently I must look like nothing more than the merest of elflings clinging to Gimli just as a naughty child would to his elders in the aftermath of a justly deserved punishment, desperately wanting to know that his behavior will not lead to him losing the love of his parents. And thinking of parents what would my father have to say should he ever get to hear of what has just occurred? Would he be displeased or accepting, angry or happy that someone had taken me to account for my recent misconduct? I rather suspect it would be the latter even if the one who carried out the punishment turned out to be a dwarf.
I for my own sake have just learned to my considerable cost that having agreed to the services of a dwarven guardian I am going to have to step very carefully if I am to avoid a repeat performance of what has just happened and believe me I fully wish to avoid a repetition.
However while my physical self continues to smart, my emotions are now calmed, and I find to my surprise that the arms of a dwarf can offer as much comfort as they can inflict pain. Gimli has left me in no doubt as to his opinions on my ignoring his instructions, and I have been taught a very important lesson in knowing which battles to fight. Yet he now offers me consolation and forgiveness and I am relieved to have both. I find I do not like being at odds with my new found friend and not only because of my presently very sore backside.
I am both extremely sorry and also extremely sore, and my skin is blistered and no doubt as red as the setting sun. I doubt I will sit in comfort again for many days, so memorable has his lesson on obedience been. I have found out today that Gimli has no need to use a paddle to make an impression upon my poor beleaguered rear end, his hand is as hard as the rock he mines beneath the mountains.
Yet he is also fair, and he spoke up for me when many others would have remained silent in the face of Lord Celeborn’s displeasure. My guardian does not lack courage, nor does he back down when it comes to seeing to my needs. It seems that once he has made a commitment to something, in this case my care, he will not allow himself to be sidelined by even the most powerful of opponents.
I was surprised when Lord Celeborn rebuked me for offering physical violence in face of the insults that Gimli had been subjected to. My own father would normally have acknowledged my challenge to Tathor as being an acceptable if not an entirely ‘approved’ way used to solve disputes between warriors, but things are different here and I should have been prepared for that but my anger and thirst for vengeance overtook what little sense I have I am afraid.
I am thankful for Gimli’s interception for I would not wish to add to my embarrassment at the thought of my father hearing I had failed to take note of the laws of his cousin’s realm.
I trust Lord Celeborn will be content with the punishment meted out by my dwarven guardian. No doubt he and the lady knew what Gimli had in mind for me and approved of my dwarf’s way of modifying my behavior. It is mortifying to think that they may have ‘seen’ Gimli carry out my chastisement even though I know that such punishment is accepted as appropriate for one of my age. If they wished to see if he could carry out his resolve they have been rewarded well enough for I have answered for my disobedience and very thoroughly too, yet I am not really sorry that I challenged Tathor even now. My honor has been satisfied and that of my fiercesome guardian also even if he is not fully aware of the importance of what I did. I am glad that I managed to land a considerable number of blows before our bout was brought to an early end. I suspect Gimli will have no more problems while we remain in Lothlorien. I certainly hope not, for my rear can only take so much punishment, and yet I will not stand by and see him insulted no matter how many thrashings I have to endure.
I know Aragorn secretly approved of my action even if he did not say so in front of Gimli for it shows him that I have finally accepted Gimli as my friend and that our past grievances with each other are just that; past. I hide a smile at Gimli’s last words to me; he has made it clear he was pleased with my support even if he could not approve of my actions. He called me a loyal friend and I am immensely proud of that epithet no matter the cost to my backside

I hear a noise outside the tent and lift my head from where it has been resting on Gimli’s shoulder and shift slightly. Gimli immediately allows me to stand, not holding onto me or attempting to keep me on his lap.
He looks at me in some concern for my sudden wish to leave the shelter of his arms and I attempt a rather watery smile. I suspect he is still a little unsure of how our relationship will move forward from here and whether I will resent the care he has just seen fit to give me. It seems a strange thing to admit to but I do not resent it. In fact I welcome it, well most of it, for I now know I have someone to answer to; someone who will attempt to keep me focused on the important tasks ahead and will ensure I take proper care. Someone I can turn to when I am unsure or lonely and missing my home and family; a friend.
I find I am anxious to prove to Gimli that I am thankful for his care and the consideration he has shown me. It is the least I can do. It is just that I do not want anyone else to see me like this, with wet eyes and mussed hair so I hurry to explain that I thought I heard the others returning.
I can see in his eyes that he is relieved by my words. Having first ensured that I was in fact mistaken and that it was only Aragorn moving about the camp- he obviously stayed close at hand to ensure we had some privacy for our discussion- I proceed to try and put into words just what I want to say.
“Master Gimli,” I begin
“Just Gimli will do lad”
I dip my head in acknowledgement “Gimli then. I just wished to say … to make plain … that is I wanted …” I stop frustrated with myself that I cannot find the right words to say and then blurt out, “thank you.”
I flush up to my ear tips and stiffen as he grins and wish I had kept quiet. But once again he surprises me with how well he seems to be able to read and construe my true feelings
“Eh, lad, don’t poker up so. I am not laughing at you. I am just happy to know that ye are not going to hold my actions against me. It wouldn’a make a difference to the way I deal with ye of course,” he adds with a wink, “but I would sooner not have to fight ye every time I have to take you to task. That might get a mite tiresome for both of us don’t ye think?”
This time it is me who grins, “I am hoping that there will not need to be a repeat of what has just happened.” I tell him making him laugh and clap his hands together.
“Well we can both hope for that, laddie, but I tell ye now I dinna hold out too much hope. For a more frisky, flighty irresponsible elfling than you it has never been my misfortune to come across!”
“But Gimli,” I reply widening my eyes in a guileless fashion, “I am the only elfling you have met.”
“Young rascal,” He laughs and then pats my arm, “we are well then lad?”
“We are well my friend,” I answer and his broad smile at my words takes away any need for us to talk further on what has happened today.
I would never have believed it but I now know it for a fact: I have found a friend in the shape of Gimli Gloinson and I am very grateful for that, for we are all going to need the support of our friends in the difficult days ahead of us when we leave the shelter and protection of Lothlorien.
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