THE UNKNOWN ELF

"Why did I agree to this madness?" Gimli stroked his beard absently, casting a suspicious glance over the outskirts of the forest that lay across the valley like a wintry cloak. "I don't like the look of this place."

"You don't like the look of my home?" A dangerous glint appeared in the blue eyes of the elf at his side. "It seems to me that it is more inviting than halls of cold stone."

Gimli snorted. "To you, maybe. There's nothing wrong with a little substance over your head."

"Then all is well." Legolas said mildly. "No doubt you will appreciate your stay in the Halls of my father. They are quite substantial."

"I think, Master Elf, the question is more whether your father will appreciate a dwarf staying in his Halls."

The corner of Legolas's mouth lifted in amusement. "He has accommodated dwarves before."

"Aye. In his dungeons."

The elf laughed, delighted. "I assure you, Master Gimli, I have no intention of allowing my father to put you in a dungeon."

Gimli tugged at his belt and straightened his tunic, not yet quite prepared to take that first step into Mirkwood. "I have not heard it said that anyone tells the Elven King what to do, even his son."

Legolas sent him a mischievous glance. "You have faced the might of Mordor. Surely you cannot be unnerved at the thought of meeting my father? Besides, we are several days hence. I have business in Lake Town first."

Gimli drew himself up to his full height, his voice laden with scorn as he stepped out with determination. "I have nothing to fear from an elderly elf."

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So it was that Gimli found himself at a loose end for a couple of days in a small inn, recently constructed at the point where the Forest River ran into Long Lake. There he was left to kick his heels while Legolas took himself off by boat to collect several packages and procure a replacement for their lamed horse. It was not customary, the elf told him, for him to arrive on foot at his father's Halls with a guest.

In truth, Gimli was glad of the respite from travel, and the ale was more than good enough to wash down a hearty home-cooked breakfast. A couple of hours later, bored and wishing to work up an appetite for lunch, he took a lengthy stroll along the deserted banks of the river, wondering just where it was that his father and Thorin Oakenshield's company had alighted from their barrels back in the days of Smaug.

It was hard to hear anything over the roar of the river. Full of spring melt water, it was nearly bursting its banks, roaring and smashing its way across half-submerged boulders on its way to the lake. Even so, some sixth sense, honed in the recent battles against Sauron, brought the dwarf's head up and caused his hand to move uneasily to his axe handle. He waited a while, sure for a moment he had heard a distant shout and the strike of metal against stone.

There was no further indication of violence and eventually Gimli turned back towards the lake, casting regular and suspicious glances behind him. It was on one of those occasions that he saw something out of the corner of his eye, something in the river that looked out of place.

A dark bundle swept towards him at speed, tugged under the surface at one moment, bobbing up the next, until a random undercurrent sucked it into a calmer area of water behind some rocks close to the dwarf. The bundle collided with the boulders with force and began to sink, rolling over as it did so to reveal a face, pale against the green waters.

With a startled curse, Gimli jumped cautiously onto the water-slick rock and reached down to grasp at sodden clothing, with little hope that anyone could have survived such a trip downriver, especially as the water was bitterly cold, numbing his fingers almost immediately. With a heady rush of adrenaline in the dwarf's favour, the figure came out of the deep water easily enough, proving to be both longer and lighter than expected.

Gimli hauled it unceremoniously onto the shingle, catching a glimpse of a pointed ear through a tangled mess of wet hair. It would be a poor homecoming for his friend, he mused, to discover one of the elves of Mirkwood had drowned in the river.

It seemed he must have spoken out loud, because to his shock the bedraggled figure swatted at his hand in a most ungrateful manner and snarled something about being likely to live longer than any miserable dwarf.

Resisting an overwhelming urge to throw the elf back into the torrent, Gimli tightened his grip and hauled him onto the sparse grass of the bank, where the ellon promptly turned over and proceeded to vomit up large quantities of river water.

The dwarf's friendship with Legolas had brought him face to face with the stubborn pride of elves on more than one occasion, and so he begrudgingly allowed that such pride would suffer greatly at being swept away by the river, and then being rescued by none other than a dwarf. Besides, despite his irritation, Gimli found it difficult not to feel sorry for the being, as he was trembling visibly with cold and shock, and trying with shaking hands to pull aside the long hair plastered to his face and clothing.

"Did you fall in, laddie?" He asked in a kindly tone.

The elf gave a final retch and looked up, anger burning in eyes as blue as glacier ice.

"I do not make a habit of bathing in my clothes."

He struggled to his feet, somewhat hampered by the weight and cling of sodden cloth, and let loose a few choice curses with a general theme of self-recrimination.

Gimli hovered warily, half expecting the elf to fall face-first back upon the grass, but long legs buckled and then recovered, conveying the ellon to the nearest boulder where he flopped down with a singular lack of grace.

Once seated, he seemed to gather himself and raised his head to stare at the dwarf with a stern expression, his pale face wearing a slight tint of embarrassment and a thin and watery streak of blood from a darkening bruise on his temple. He really was very tall, Gimli thought. Even folded in half as he was, their eyes were more or less on the same level.

"I believe I owe you my gratitude."

The voice was unexpectedly deep and calm, although a little husky after the unpleasant expulsion of river water.

"I'd have done the same for anyone."

It came out more gruff than Gimli intended, still rankling at the dwarf comment as he was.

A penetrating gaze swept over him, seeming to find and linger on all his faults. It was unnerving, even though Gimli was accustomed to the way Legolas, on occasion, seemed to look right inside his head. He cleared his throat, annoyed that this river flotsam made him nervous, and gestured with his thumb at the river.

"How did you...?" A fair question he thought, as elves were known for their surety of balance.

"An unexpected encounter with a dark creature."

The elf's hand fell to his hip as he spoke, a flicker of relief crossing his features as his fingers encountered something beneath the wet cloak. His sharp eyes did not miss Gimli's instinctive sweep of hand towards axe handle and the way the dwarf scanned the river banks.

"He is quite dead." The comment was almost disdainful, as though there could have been no other possible outcome.

"Aye, and you will be too, if you don't get out of those wet clothes. You're freezing."

Despite elves' renowned resilience when it came to extremes of temperature, the ellon was shuddering, although he was trying to hide it, keeping his shoulders tense beneath wet cloth and his jaw tight as though forcefully preventing his teeth from chattering. He looked quite affronted at the suggestion and stood up abruptly, casting his torn cloak to the ground with a haughty air.

"It will take more than a little river water to finish me."

He glanced about him, seeming to get his bearings, and then set off in the direction of the inn, leaving Gimli to stay or follow as he pleased.

The dwarf poked the expensive material of the embroidered cloak with the toe of his boot and shook his head. This really was the most arrogant of elves, and he had no choice but to follow, as he was heading in that direction anyway.

After a few minutes of walking, the ellon looked back over his shoulder.

"What cause have you to linger on the river bank?"

"Not that it's any of your business, elf, but I'm lodging at the inn, waiting for a friend."

The elf stopped and half-turned in his tracks. "You are not from these parts," he stated, seeming almost relieved. "You do not know the elves who dwell here?"

Gimli declined to mention he knew one of them very well indeed. "I do not."

"The mortals who dwell in the inn, I believe they are also new to these parts?"

"So they said."

The relief this time was unmistakeable, causing a visible alteration in posture. It appeared that the elf did not wish to be recognised; he must be watched with care, especially in view of the wicked appearance of the silver swords hanging one each side of his waist. For all that, he didn't look too likely to cause any trouble at the present time, the relaxation in posture having set free a fresh wave of shivers that made his ridiculously long legs shake and his matted hair dance upon his back.

Much to his own surprise, and despite the snowflakes scattered in the bitter wind, Gimli found himself unfastening his cloak and holding it out.

"Here."

For a moment it seemed the elf would refuse, but this was not the time for pride, not with ice stiffening the wet clothing.

"Put it on, laddie. I can't stand to see you shivering like that. Keep your strength for walking; you're too lanky to carry."

The elf's eyes widened, becoming impossibly blue and innocent as he absorbed the kind gesture. For the briefest of moments he reminded Gimli of Legolas, on those rare occasions when his friend dropped his guard of humour and defiance.

"Here," the dwarf repeated, gruff and slightly embarrassed by the inquisitive tilt of the elf's head as he reached out and snared the cloak with a long and slender hand. "It'll stop the wind well enough, though it'll be a mite short."

"Indeed." A small curve appeared on the ellon's lips, softening his features subtly and making it obvious, despite the river grime, that he had the fine bones of his race. "For all that, I am most grateful."

He was a wild but regal creature, thought Gimli, finding himself caught off-guard by the unexpected courtesy. He thought that perhaps a muddied and wet Shadowfax would look much the same.

It was as well that the frugal dwelling was not a great distance from the place of Gimli's efficient rescue. Even so, it took them the best part of an hour, the elf's pace slowing noticeably as the minutes ticked by. Gimli strongly suspected that if it hadn't been for his presence, and a strong dose of stubbornness, the ellon would have faltered long before the inn was in sight. The resilience of elven kind was truly remarkable; any mortal would have succumbed to cold and shock soon after emerging from the icy river.

Even so, his companion's features were becoming increasingly drawn, and Gimli sought to divert his attention from his discomfort with conversation. At the same time he could perhaps learn whether or not a horde of irritated elves were likely to descend upon him without warning.

"Well elf, I don't suppose you were planning to visit the Inn. Will your kin know where to find you?"

The elf gave the question wary consideration and must have decided that if Gimli meant him harm, he'd already had ample opportunity.

"I don't believe I shall be missed for some time."

"You say you killed a dark creature?"

"An yrch!" The ellon almost spat the words, so great was his distaste. "There are still some stragglers in dark corners. Soon we shall eradicate them all."

It seemed unlikely someone with such weapons would be easy prey to a single orc, but the elf had fallen in the river after all. Perhaps he was even younger than Gimli thought and had been kept away from the major battles for that part of Middle Earth?

"Do you have much experience facing orcs, Master Elf?"

The ellon's head turned to him. "I have faced a few, here and there," he said in a dismissive tone. "Not so my mount. He was somewhat startled and has run to the safety of his herd. He will no doubt return when he feels ready, and will be the braver for it next time."

Gimli snorted a laugh. "He dumped you and ran? You don't seem bothered by it."

"Of course not." The elf was genuinely surprised. "The service of the creatures of the forest is a gift, not an expectation."

The words brought them within sight of the inn, and in short order they were standing in Gimli's room before a roaring fire. With only rudimentary washing facilities available, the ellon had declined to remove his inner garments and instead stood close to the heat, steam rising in small clouds from his leggings and tunic while he picked miserably at the debris in his hair, seeking to bring it to some sort of order by dragging his fingers through the matted knots.

Gimli watched him with sympathy, being the possessor of a considerable amount of hair on his own person. He thought the elf looked more upset at the tangled mess than anything else that had befallen him. Being kinder than his gruff nature suggested, and not liking to see his companion so melancholy, Gimli took the comb from his pack, carefully discarded an accumulation of red hair and placed the small tool in the elf's hand. He received a surprised nod of thanks, once again the elf's face softening from its haughty expression, eyes almost luminous with gratitude. A damnation on all elves, thought Gimli irritably. It must be a part of their nature that they could so easily swing from being proud and wise to the gentle innocence of young child. It puzzled him greatly that the ellon, despite the obvious quality of his fine clothes and weapons, was so surprised at small kindnesses. Almost as though the possession of monetary wealth had been accompanied by a poverty of simple affection.

A savoury waft announced the arrival of hot soup and rustic bread. Gimli set to with gusto, slurping and belching at appropriate times and occasionally noticing, but ignoring, a restrained wince from the elf, who ate a small amount of his own portion with a marked lack of enthusiasm. It was a shame, thought Gimli, for the ellon could have done with a hot meal inside him, although it was hardly surprising he could not stomach one after his extended bout of vomiting.

As soon as the dishes were collected, the elf retired to a chair next to the hearth where he continued to comb through his hair as it dried, regularly casting bits of debris into the fire and gradually turning the wet mass into silky, pale strands that reached almost to his waist, longer even than that of Legolas.

It put Gimli in mind of a conversation with his friend, when they had been discussing the nature of elves. "You are Sindar, Master Elf?"

The ellon shot him a keen glance. "You know something of elves then?"

"A little. Enough to know that's uncommon colouring for a Silvan."

"I am Sindar," he agreed." But how does a dwarf come to know of such elven matters?"

"I have the great good fortune to call one a friend."

A dark eyebrow raised in surprise.

"That is unusual."

"It was not expected," admitted the dwarf. "But it seems dark times bring unusual allies."

"That is so." The ellon paused, considering. "Does this friend hail from Mirkwood perhaps?

"Aye." Gimli poured them both a draught of the dark, nutty beer. "He's got his heart set on me meeting his father, although I can't say I'm fond of the idea myself."

"It is not customary to find a dwarf in Mirkwood. Although it has been known."

Gimli quaffed his ale and snorted, inadvertently spraying some foam over the hearth rug. "I heard the Elven King's custom is to throw dwarves into his dungeons. I've no wish to spend the night in a damp hole in the ground to satisfy his bad humour, although," he added generously, "it's understandable he's a little crotchety, given his advanced years."

The ellon placed his tankard down on the table. It did not appear that he'd taken even a sip. "I dare say he had his reasons for such an incarceration," he said carefully.

"Do you not want that ale, Master Elf?" Letting good beer go stale was a tragedy in Gimli's opinion.

The tankard was pushed in his direction, a strange look on the elf's face. "Might I enquire as to the name of your friend?"

"Legolas," boomed Gimli, taking a gulp of the fine brew. "And a finer friend no dwarf could ask for!"

The response was somewhat terse, any expression hidden by the fall of his hair as the elf bent forwards to knead his brow. "I would know more of this friendship between a dwarf and an elf."

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If you're following Two Kings, the final chapter will be posted soon, but I just had to get this one out of my head as well!

Chapter 2 to follow soon of The unknown elf.

Thank you so much for reading. If you have time to leave a review, I would really appreciate it.