Chapter 3

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Perhaps Gimli should have made his escape immediately, but he found himself frozen in place, feeling like an intruder but unable to tear his gaze away from the surprisingly touching reunion in front of him. A soft glow surrounded the two elves, no doubt an outward expression of their happiness.

Wishing to give them some privacy and himself time to straighten his thoughts, he made a quiet retreat, although not quiet enough it seemed to avoid detection by keen elven ears. Two pairs of penetrating eyes turned in his direction and the dwarf berated himself silently for not having noticed before the uncanny resemblance in their direct stares.

"Excuse me," he muttered, deeply embarrassed. "I'll be off...get myself a bite of breakfast."

"There is no need for haste, Master Gimli."

It was not an order, but even so Gimli found himself coming to an abrupt halt, his body instinctively obeying the air of authority that seem to exude from the Elven King.

"Yes, Gimli. Stay. We must all break our fast." Legolas gave him a tense smile. "Besides, I don't believe you two have been properly introduced." He stepped back a pace. "King Thranduil Oropherion, my father. I am pleased to introduce you to my friend, Gimli son of Gloin."

The Elven King drew himself up to his full height and inclined his head slightly in a regal manner.

Gimli bowed deeply in response, his face hot with mortification and his tongue tying itself in knots. "I did not expect to meet you in such circumstances, Lord King. I did not realise..."

"Indeed." The deep voice was smooth as oiled silk. "I believe you may have been expecting someone who looked more advanced in years."

Gimli found himself stammering an embarrassed apology, cut short by a haughty gesture.

"I jest, Master Gimli. Without your able assistance, I would not be greeting my son today."

"Adar!"

"Nay, Legolas. There is no call for your concern. I am quite recovered now I have rested."

"No call! I cannot imagine how the King would end up in the river, unless the circumstances were dire indeed!"

"Legolas, all is well. Your short friend is a very able fisherman. I am thankful for his assistance and may even forgive him his somewhat disparaging remarks about kings and their over-indulgence in wine. I cannot imagine where he would have heard such insinuations? "

A dark eyebrow raised in a languid manner, bringing the lightest dusting of pink to Legolas's cheekbones.

"Still, no matter. It is of little consequence compared to the tales of peril and daring I have been hearing."

Thranduil regarded his son with keen eyes, his voice softening. "I am sorry you have seen such dark times."

"It was fortunate that I was in the finest company."

"Indeed. For all that, I wish you had been spared."

"My regret is that I could not help you in the defence of the Woodland Realm."

The Elven King waved that aside. "You had a part to play elsewhere, and although it pained me greatly, I was glad to hear the whole truth of it, for I feel the version intended for a father's ears would have been somewhat lacking in detail."

"There was not too much unnecessary detail, I hope." A stern line appeared between the younger elf's brows and Gimli looked away in haste.

"Breakfast," he blustered, quite forgetting who he was addressing as he turned to the Elven King. "You need to eat. You didn't have enough yesterday to keep a sparrow alive; it's no wonder you're still looking pale about the gills." He shook his head in displeasure. "I'll go on and make sure they have something suitable for an elf's delicate tastes. Honey and milk perhaps?"

Legolas gaped at his retreating back and turned to his father, caught between plea for clemency and apology for his friend. To his surprise, Thranduil's expression was bemused rather than affronted, his eyes momentarily losing their icy glint as he moved gracefully in the dwarf's busy wake.

"I do favour honey and milk," he murmured quietly.

Legolas blinked a few times, sure he must be dreaming, and gave himself a good pinch, which achieved nothing but the blossoming of a small bruise. Perhaps his father was ill, he worried. After all somehow he'd ended up in the river, and now he seemed to be taking orders from a dwarf. He rushed after them in confusion, sure an explosion would occur at any moment.

It wasn't until they were seated at the table, Gimli fussing around, getting a quantity of bread and honey in his beard, and speaking directly to the Elven King in a way that was quite unheard of, that it occurred to the younger elf that his father looked more grateful than annoyed.

It was a strange meal and afterwards Legolas could not have said what he'd eaten, so entranced was he with the curious rapport between his friend and his father.

Gimli seem to be, well Gimli. A Gimli at his gruff and somewhat bombastic best, occasionally letting loose a bray of dwarven laughter at one of his own comments which seemed to be centered around the foods forced upon ailing dwarflings, chopped raw liver being a favourite.

In comparison, the Elven King was a picture of elegant restraint, draped casually over a wooden chair, his very presence elevating it from simple furniture to a throne. And yet his attention remained fixed upon the dwarf and his occasional comments made it clear that he was both listening and entertained. He accepted the honey-drenched warm bread and bowl of hot milk with evident pleasure, the expression on his face more that of someone receiving a precious gift than a simple breakfast. Perhaps, thought Legolas, there lay the answer. No amount of fine breakfasts served to a king by servants equalled the simple pleasure of being handed something plain but satisfying in an unbidden act of companionship.

After they had eaten their fill, they took their leave of the guest house and headed towards the Elven King's halls on foot, the horse following along behind, nibbling at the tops of the frozen grasses as he went.

The grey gloom of the early morning had lifted while they were eating, and a pale, wintry sun brought the sparkle of a million tiny crystals to the ice coated rocks and picked out brilliant white splashes of snow trapped in crevices and amongst long stalks. Gimli breathed in deeply of the clear, crisp air and felt, as he often did since the war, simply glad to be alive. He blew out again slowly, his breath a white plume against the backdrop of blue sky as he considered, and rejected, a pipe of tobacco. A few paces in front of him the elves stepped lightly across the slippery stones, the head of the taller inclined towards the shorter and the soft murmur of their conversation unheard over the sound of the rushing river. The dwarf kept his distance, wanting to give father and son some privacy. It was the least he could do, he thought, especially as he'd inadvertently given Thranduil such a vivid description of their perils.

When they reached the site where Gimli had pulled the Elven King from the water, Legolas lifted the soaked and dirty cloak from the floor. He passed the material from hand to hand in a distracted manner, eyeing the raging torrent before him with some dismay.

"I owe you my gratitude," he said at last in a grim tone, his cheeks white as he turned to face Gimli.

The dwarf waved it away, pointing instead to the cloak, which Legolas had folded neatly and placed upon a boulder. "You're leaving that here?"

The Elven King looked at it with a small smile. "I shall no doubt see it again...a fine waistcoat or a gown perhaps, at a feast day in Dale."

It pleased him, thought Gimli with surprise, that the exquisite material would adorn some man of Dale, or his wife, or maybe several of their children.

Further speculation about the future of Thranduil's clothing was interrupted by a thud of hooves as a small party of elves, clad in armour and well armed, emerged from the trees ahead of them. They reined in, forming a loose semi-circle around the Elven King and his companions. Their leader dismounted immediately, removing his helmet to reveal fair features and an expression of overwhelming relief as he bowed deeply.

"We feared for your safety, Lord King. You did not return this dawn as planned."

"As you see, I am well enough, and in good company."

"Hir-nin." The elf turned next to Legolas, his formal bow completely failing to hide his joy. Legolas stepped forwards and clasped his forearm in greeting, his face lighting up with his pleasure.

"Well met, mellon-nin."

Moments later, after a flurry of greetings and laughter and a few puzzled glances in Gimli's direction, the party headed out, the Elven King now mounted and Gimli and Legolas sharing their own steed in their customary manner.

"Perhaps you could let me down here?" Gimli hissed as they reached the edge of the thick blanket of trees, finding his earlier fears increased tenfold under the shadow of their dark branches. He dug his fingers into Legolas's hip, adding pressure to demonstrate the urgency of the matter.

"You wish to walk?"

"No, Master Elf. I wish to avoid being thrown into your father's dungeons, or worse! "

Legolas chuckled. "He seems to find you agreeable. Besides, it is not likely that my father will imprison someone to whom he owes his life. Nor someone who is a friend to his son. Although..." He twisted around to look down at the dwarf, humour sparkling in his eyes. "That may change when he hears you likened him to a horse."

Gimli's eyes were still adjusting to the gloom, and as Thranduil's mount could move as stealthily as any elf, he appeared soundlessly beside them, startling the dwarf considerably.

"You need not be concerned, Master Gimli. It would be ill-mannered to incarcerate someone who pulled me from the river." The Elven King leaned forwards, sliding his hand down his horse's long neck, causing its skin to ripple with pleasure as his sharp gaze momentarily fixed upon the dwarf. "I shall, however, enjoy hearing more about this horse."

Although Gimli could not see his face, Legolas's amusement was evident in the quake of his shoulders.

"You should close your mouth," the elf said lightly. "No matter you are very hairy around the face, there is still a likelihood of a bug getting in if you leave it open like that!"

Gimli snorted. "There are few insects at this time of year, elf! I may not be a fey woodland sprite, but even I know that!"

Legolas laughed aloud, the sound of his merriment causing his kin to smile in turn. A dark-haired elf began to sing a merry song of a returning hero. Soon the others joined in, and in what seemed no time at all they rounded a bend in the track and found before them the magnificent entrance to Thranduil's Halls. There they dismounted, Legolas gesturing with delight at the doorway.

"Gimli, mellon-nin, elvellon, welcome to my home!"

The dwarf cleared his throat and grinned up at him, finding himself intrigued by the promise of fine carvings within the doors. "Not bad, laddie," he said gruffly. "Not bad at all."

The end.

Many thanks for reading! I do hope you enjoyed this little tale. Apologies for the length of time to update... domestic emergencies took over.

Special thanks to reviewers... You make it all worthwhile :-)