- Lobelia Sackville-Baggins
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Elves, Gimli thought as he lay in bed and scowled up at the ceiling, could move more quietly than any other race, with the possible exception of halflings. Dwarves could keep silence when they had to; but elves could slip through fields and trees like flickering shadows, making no sound that even Elvish ears could hear, leaving no more trace behind them than starlight on glass.
They could also trail clamor, uproar, and general bother in their wake as if every dwarf from Durin's day to Gimli's sons had set hammer to anvil all at once, and it was the second variety of Elvish movement that appeared to be heading down the hall toward his room. Gimli sat up and arranged himself comfortably against the headboard with his blankets around his waist, waiting with mild interest to see if the guards' protestations that he could not possibly be disturbed at this hour would shatter against the granite determination underlying Legolas' mild reassurances. Surely enough, the door opened and Legolas slipped inside, ducking his head under the frame. With one last yes of course but it's quite all right I assure you he shut the door in the faces of the guards and turned to regard Gimli with what looked for all the world like exasperation, though what might be the cause of such an emotion, Gimli had no idea. "Why are you still in bed?" Legolas demanded, quite irrationally. Gimli scowled. "I believe it is customary for those of us who sleep to do so during the night. If I'm not mistaken, there are yet several hours until dawn." "And you've not even packed!" Legolas continued, not listening. Ignoring Gimli's splutters of confused protest, Legolas rummaged in the wardrobe until he found a pack and began pulling clothes off from the shelves. By now thoroughly befuddled, Gimli watched as the Elf began to arrange clothes fastidiously in the pack. "I knew this would happen someday, you know," he told Legolas. "It's your height. Blood can't possibly travel that great a distance to your brain without losing something vital along the way." Legolas shot him a reproving look and shook out a tunic that was apparently not folded to his satisfaction. "Out of bed, master Dwarf." "And are you planning at some point to tell me why I must get out of bed, or is it to be a surprise?" Legolas looked at Gimli over the tunic, his face a mask of blank dismay. "But I sent you word. Did the message miscarry?" "Word," Gimli said with iron patience, "of what?" "Word that a ship leaves the Grey Havens in six weeks." Gimli folded his hands carefully on the counterpane before him. So it had come, then, and much sooner than he had thought. For a moment he felt bitter, empty, and he had never been so convinced that he had long outlived his usefulness. Then he sighed and set the feeling aside. Couldn't you have waited until I died, you irksome Elf? he thought; but he meant it fondly, and didn't really mean it in any case. "I see," he said quietly. "And you would have me come with you to say goodbye." Legolas set the shirt onto the chair next to the wardrobe, centering it meticulously on the cushion. Then he came and crawled onto the bed beside Gimli, settled onto the counterpane with his legs folded tailor-fashion beneath him, and with great focus and concentration began to pick at a loose thread in the fabric. Gimli's hand itched to slap those fussing fingers, but he held his peace. "No," Legolas said finally, very quietly. "I would have you come with me and not say goodbye." "Speak plainly, my friend. I am old, and not as quick with puzzles as once I was." Every time Gimli spoke of his age a flash of temper came into Legolas' face, and today it was more pronounced than usual. "Come with me, Gimli," he said crossly. "Come into the West, and leave Middle-Earth to Men. Our day has passed, Elves and Dwarves alike. Our companions are gone. Come with me over the Sea." Gimli looked dubiously at Legolas' flushed face and apprehensive eyes. He should, he knew, have been thinking of the difficulties of the journey for one of his age, of the logistical problems of handing over the governance of the colony to his sons, of the fact that to his knowledge no Dwarf had ever passed into the Undying Lands. Instead he thought of the wind in his face, the road before him, and something stirred in his blood that had lain dormant for far too long. Still, he felt obliged to argue, merely because this was Legolas and he could not allow that mulish expression on the elf's face to pass unchallenged. "And suppose that they who dwell in the West do not care for Dwarvish visitors, eh? Elves and Ringbearers, those are the folk who pass over the Sea. Not the rest of us." Legolas waved his hands in exasperation. "Would I have made arrangements for the journey if I believed them fruitless? You will go with me, or I will not go." Though he knew he should not have been, Gimli was surprised; and touched as well, and for a moment he did not care to speak. In that silence, Legolas cut his eyes sideways at the Dwarf with a sudden flash of humor. "The Lady of the Wood sends word," he said in a laughter-rich voice, making Gimli's heart leap up his esophagus and crash painfully against the back of his teeth. "Sends word? To me?" "To whomever else? Who else remains in Middle-Earth who so captured her fancy, not to say her heart?" A pillow was a poor substitute for an ax, but it would do in a pinch to thump hollow Elf-skulls with. "Don't mock," Gimli growled. "What did she say?" "She said this. 'Lock-bearer, Elf-friend, first of thy kind since Durin's day, wouldst thou stay behind to walk the green forests and remember us who are gone? A new land awaits thee, and old friends. Come.'" Before the echo of the last word had died, Gimli had thrown back the covers and pulled on his pants. Legolas laughed. "Will you come, then?" Gimli fought his way out of his suddenly entangling nightshirt and hrmphed and snorted a bit, making a show of reluctance not meant to fool his friend. "Well... I suppose so. But only as a favor to you, mind." "Good." Legolas' voice was unexpectedly serious. "When I heard no word back from you I thought perhaps you did not want to leave your sons, or Glimm's tomb." Gimli paused in the act of shaking out the tunic that Legolas had so carefully folded, eyes fixed not on this darkened room but on a time twenty years and more past. "Aye, she was dear to me," he said quietly. "Had the Valar wished to give me a gift, I could not have asked a better wife from them." "She was well worthy of love," Legolas said softly. "And gave me fine strong sons. She doted ridiculously on you, you know, once the shock wore off." He pulled on the tunic and reached into the wardrobe for his cloak and sword belt. "But she has been gone these many years, and every year the winters grow colder without her. To tell the truth, I would as soon be far away before another winter comes." "Then we should be upon the road, my friend." Gimli's smile began small and grew until his whole face felt creased with it. He buckled on belt and cloak, shrugged on his pack, and turned back to Legolas. "We should indeed, master Elf. Ho for the Undying Lands! Khazâd ai-menu!" He led the way out the door, shouting for his sons, and for the first time in years the road opened before him like dawn over a new world.
 
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