A/N: Beta'ed by Amlia B.

An odd tale of an odd pair

By NaTak

Chapter 3: Starlit confessions

The night is clear and the stars shine bright upon the sky.

The air is cool, but not unpleasantly so. The great city of Minas Tirith bursts with unusual activity for it's the day of King Aragorn and Queen Arwen's wedding. Soon it will no longer be, but the celebrations shall continue into dawn nonetheless, for the people rejoice not only over their monarchs' union. They rejoice over the arrival of a new age, their age.

Mistiel knows it not, but prosperous and happy days are to come. Or maybe she does suspect.

That night she dances with her mother and her uncle to some foreign but beautiful tune, she plays with her still but swiftly recovering brother – the girl magnanimously lets him win their games–, she tastes different, delicious food, she sees noble men and women, she catches a glimpse of tiny men, barely taller then her – hobbits, she is told –, she spots Master Gimli and Master Legolas near the king at some point. Gimli is the only dwarf attending the celebrations, but Legolas is not alone.

Elves! There are so many of them, dressed splendidly, moving with grace and elegance, singing with soft, melodious voices…

Yet, Queen Arwen outshines them all. Her smile is the kindest, her laughter the most sincere, her words the gentlest… Mistiel is certain that, for a moment, the queen's gaze locks onto the girl's face and the fond nod she gives is meant for her and no one else.

And the king! King Aragorn is strong and fit, he is handsomely dressed, and the impressive sword on his hip shines as bright as the invaluable jewels on his crow. His expression is open and gentle, hopeful.

Still, it is not the clothes, nor the jewels, nor their appearance that makes them the two most beautiful figures present. It is the way they look into each other's eyes and seem to forget the world around them, it is the way they communicate without speaking, it is the way they smile at every turn like they can barely believe how fortunate they are.

Their joy is contagious. It is indeed a happy night.

Mistiel covers her mouth to muffle her laughter as she runs up a staircase; the lights diminishing and the songs lowering with each step she takes. She has challenged Mithion again in hide-and-seek and the ginger plans to win this time.

As the girl reaches the top of an ancient and no longer in use watchtower, she is greeted with whispered voices. She carries no torch, but the Moon is full and she has no trouble seeing. She turns a corner and her eyes fall upon an odd scene. But then again, Mistiel feels she shouldn't be surprised.

Above forgotten floors and walls, a blanket of wild green grass, moss and weed grows, nursed by rain and protected by stone. Sitting against the barricade, there is a familiar pair. There are close, not quite touching.

The elf is the first to spot her, with his sharp eyes and uncanny ears, and the dwarf soon follows his friend's gaze. If they are surprised to see her there, they do not show it, merely smiling and beckoning her closer.

"Suil!" Mistiel says confidently as she sits down in front of them, back resting on the opposite wall, a few feet away.

Legolas raises an eyebrow at that. "Greetings to you too," he replies.

Gimli shakes his head and mumbles about annoying gibberish, but he does it with a small on his lips.

The young girl beams proudly. "A lady elf taught me that at the wedding," she explains. "She said I am a quick learner."

"That you are," Legolas praises, and Mistiel grins in response. "How fares Master Faeldor?" The elf asks. "He seemed a bit…unwell when you introduced us."

Gimli snorts. "Try constipate," he mutters.

Mistiel catches that and giggles. "He is well. I think he was simply surprised that my tales about you two were true."

They grin at her, before the elf grows somber.

"And how fares your brother?" He enquires.

The girl smiles. "He is much better!" She declares. "He even came to the festivities tonight." She then lowers her tone. "We are playing hide-and-seek," she whispers, "I'm hiding."

The elf nods at her understandingly.

"And how did you like the celebrations, lassie?" Gimli asks, as he retrieves a smocking pipe from a pocket and lights it up.

The elf grimaces and turns up his nose. He does not move away, though.

"It was amazing!" She replies with enthusiasm. "Queen Arwen was beautiful in her gown, even if she did not wear braids…"

The dwarf laughs at that. "Indeed she was," he agrees. "But not as beautiful as her grandmother, the Lady Galadriel," he says, a look of wonder in his eyes, hand clutching at his chest.

Mistiel cocks her head at that. "I did not see any old elves at the festivities," she admits.

Gimli laughs loudly at that. Legolas looks affectionately amused at her.

"She was not present, unfortunately," the dwarf says, "but even if she was, you would not find her if you had been looking for a wrinkled old lady." He pauses, blowing white circles of smoke. "Elves are immortal, it's impossible to tell their age by merely looking at them," he says categorically. "Even the youngest dwarflings know this, how come you, men, don't?" He enquires, frowning.

Mistiel looks affronted at that. "I know elves are immortal," she replies, crossing her arms.

After a moment, she deflates, looking down. "I know that," she continues, mumbling. And she did know. It's just she had never stopped to think about what it actually meant, and as she finally did, cold dread grew in her heart. "It's a bit strange, isn't it?" The girl mutters at last, arms no longer crossed, but hugging her torso, as she drew he knees up. "To think one can be thousands of years old and still look as fresh and young as…"

As Mistiel trails off, her eyes widen and her hand shoots out to point at Legolas.

"How old are you?" She asks, suspicion in her voice.

The elf laughs freely at that, closing his eyes in mirth. He says nothing. Mistiel thinks she prefers not to know, anyhow.

Gimli also seems amused by the girl's astonishment. "You are from a race for whom time passes much too quickly," he comments.

The girl frowns at him. "Are dwarves immortal too?" She asks. She had never heard anything concerning that.

The dwarf chuckles. "No, nothing like that," he reassures. "But we are longer lived than the other mortals. I myself am 139 years of age, and will not be considered elderly until I'm past 200."

Mistiel lets her jaw fall at that. "The oldest person I know is Mrs. Pelilasseth," she says quietly, "and she is 'only' 90."

Before elf or dwarf can reply, the girl lets a wordless exclamation through her lips. They stare at her in worry as grey, young eyes fill with tears.

"But then what of Queen Arwen?" She asks in a fearful whisper. "She will be left behind when the king passes." The girl rubs her eyes. "I think I begin to understand why there shouldn't be marriages between different races," she mumbles almost to herself.

They are silent after that.

Gimli's expression is thoughtful, if a bit resigned; he seems determined about something.

As for Legolas, he looks both very young and so very old at the same time, as a deep sadness contorts his features. He soon shakes it off.

"It's her decision," the elf says quietly, eyes lost to the stars that hang above them. "She is half-elven. She can have the men's gift if she so chooses," he makes a dismissive gesture with his hand.

Then Legolas lowers his gaze, staring directly into Mistiel's soul. "But even if she was fully elven," he continues, "even if she had no means to escape his loss, don't you think her choice would remain the same?"

Mistiel thinks about the light in the queen's eyes as she beheld her king.

Gimli doesn't let her respond. He too has his eyes locked on her.

"And what of Aragorn?" He asks sharply. "Shouldn't he have a say in this too? Or is he expected to remain silent and simply permit the one he loves most in the world waste away to grief?" His voice shakes with emotion.

Mistiel thinks about the tenderness in the king's eyes as he held his queen.

Neither dwarf nor elf is looking at the girl anymore. Their vicious glare is spent on one another.

"It is her choice," Legolas says tersely, body as tense as a charged bow.

"It is his choice as well," Gimli replies, words falling as heavy as a hammer.

They are at a standstill; neither side relenting.

If Mistiel finds it odd that they are arguing about whether or not Aragorn and Arwen are meant to be together hours after the wedding ceremony of the couple in question, she does not mention it. They are an odd pair, after all.

"You are right," The girl suddenly says, as the answer comes to her. "Both of them had a choice," she continues, as they turn to look at her. "And both of them chose to love the other for ever, for as long as forever might be." The girl grins at them. "I think they made the right choice."

Legolas smiles softly at her. "I think they made the right choice too," he whispers, as if sharing a secret. He turns slightly to the dwarf at his side, a hint of apprehension in his expression.

When Gimli does nothing more than grunt half-heartedly, hope sparks in clear blue eyes.

The elf laughs merrily and starts singing a merry tune. The dwarf complains about half-witted elves always bursting into song, but sways in rhythm with the music.

Mistiel closes her eyes, content, resting her head on stone softened by grass. It's peaceful there. She feels like falling asleep would be the most natural thing to do. Yawing, the young girl tries to pay attention to Legolas' singing. Eventually she fails.

In her dreams, she hears a deep voice speaking.

"The lassie has fallen asleep," it says. She realizes it is Master Gimli.

He is not alone.

"So it seems," another voice replies. It is Master Legolas.

Mistiel is almost falling deeper into slumber when she hears soft movement that brings her back. She imagines an elf rearranging his body to face a dwarf's.

"Gimli, mellon nîn…" Legolas voice is wavering and hesitant.

"Careful, lad," comes the curt reply, "or we will wake the girl."

The other is undeterred.

"Gimli," he continues quietly. "Please, my friend, let us speak of it once and for all."

The girl can almost see the dwarf nodding in resignation. "Speak then," is the mumbled acquiescence.

"My feelings run deeply for you," the elf says without preamble. "And I believe–" He hesitates, before braving on. "I believe you feel for me too."

There is a pause.

"Aye," Gimli softly states. "And it is because I feel so much," he continues, "that I refrained from approaching you, even as I realized…I might not be alone in my foolishness."

Legolas' laugh is like a hurried whistle. Mistiel imagines his eyes glinting.

"An elf and a dwarf? Foolishness indeed," he concurs, even as he leans down a bit, grinning. In a blink of an eye he turns serious. "I think I understand now your hesitance," he admits, "and I…appreciate it."

Gimli is surprised at that admission.

"Maybe it is possible to put some sense into an elf's head after all," the dwarf huffs teasingly, before becoming somber as well. "And I understand you have a choice," he says, looking away. "But, still, I can't bear the thought of causing you such pain."

Legolas catches Gimli's hands in his.

"No future is certain," he says, "no life guaranteed. Pain shall await us, but so shall joy," he halts, as if uncertain. "It may displease you to hear me say so, but the truth in my heart is that I'll spend eternity missing you, regardless of your choice," he reveals with certainty. "If I could, I would have good and happy memories to cherish and keep me from my loneliness."

"My heart grows heavy with such dark thoughts," Gimli says after a long moment. He signs, but it is accompanied by a true smile. "I choose to be by your side; for as long as you'll have me."

"Forever, then," Legolas replies.

And as Mistiel slowly awakens from her short rest, she opens her eyes to find a dwarf and an elf lost in an earnest kiss.

o.O.o

"After that, Gimli the dwarf and Legolas the elf left to travel through all of middle-earth. Mistiel saw them occasionally, when they came to visit the great King Elessar, from the house of Strider. In their absence, she heard many tales. Tales which spoke of the oddest pair of friends, facing many difficult challenges and quests, but always prevailing, for even in their darkest hours they had each other to rely on." The old lady, paused, and turned to her granddaughter.

"That is the tale of how your great-great-grandmother, after whom you were named, became friends with a dwarf and an elf."

Young Mistiel was still far, far away. Lost in an age full of magic, and incredible battles, and mystical beings. Slowly she came back. The girl smiled with wonder.

"Where are Gimli and Legolas now, grandma?" She asked curiously.

"Oh, that is unknown," the woman replied. "But it is said they took one last adventure together, and sailed into the ocean, in search of the Undying Lands of the elves."

As Mistiel sleepily closed her eyes, she muttered:

"I hope they are still there, together, as they are meant to be."

The old woman smiled and reached out to pull the covers on top of the sleeping girl.

"I like to think they are," she murmured into the night.