This story takes place during that two-week period
between the time the Fellowship of the Ring left Rivendell and the time
they came down off Caradhras. Tolkien doesn’t say much about this time,
so I thought I’d fill in my version of the details. We start on the night
of December 30, 3018. (They left December 25, for those of you who like
to follow timelines.) Enjoy!
"While the Ring went south..."
by Thundera Tiger
Chapter One
December 30, 3018
Only
five days out from Imladris, and already I tire of their quarreling.
Gandalf
shook his head and sighed. He’d known this would happen. Even a fool could
have foreseen this. Not only had his heart spoken in warning, but simple
common sense had made it painfully clear that this could not be avoided.
The first two weeks of their journey, quite possibly the least perilous,
might well prove to be the most irritating.
There
was one bright spot in this, however. Aragorn now owed him two bags of
Southfarthing pipe-weed. Before leaving Rivendell, the Ranger had bet that
two particular members of the company could keep their tongues and tempers
in check for at least a week while Gandalf predicted a breakdown of relationships
within the first four days. Elrond, when informed of the bet, had said
nothing other than to reiterate his feelings that the objects of the bet
were meant to be part of the Fellowship. Gandalf had enjoyed similar feelings
at the time, but he now wondered if he hadn’t been gravely mistaken.
"How
can you seek to place the blame on me? With those supposedly keen elven
eyes, I thought you would have seen me halt. I saw no reason to warn you,
and it is your fault for running into me. I believe you owe me an apology."
"Keen
my eyes may be, but you live so close to the ground that I mistook you
for another rock in the path, Master Dwarf. And how can one apologize to
something that can barely be seen, much less acknowledged?"
Gandalf
wondered if Aragorn would be willing to place another wager as to when
Legolas and Gimli would come to physical blows. The verbal barbs, blunt
and subtle at first, had been gaining in strength and intensity, and the
wizard was almost willing to bet both hat and staff that someone would
have to pull the elf and dwarf apart by the end of this first week, if
not sooner.
Gimli
was now grumbling under his breath, a familiar sign that indicated Legolas
was getting the better of the argument. "Better to pass unseen than to
walk through hostile lands with ill-placed faith in weak and cowardly fighting
skills," the dwarf growled.
"And
for that, you should thank your short stature," Legolas replied easily.
"My heart fails me when I think that a passing Orc might see through your
arrogance and hew you lower than you already stand. May you be forever
grateful that you are short and hard to see."
Gandalf
noisily cleared his throat, a tactic that usually managed to silence both
of them, though of late he’d been forced to add a backward glance complete
with bristling eyebrows. To their credit, neither continued the debate
this time. Gandalf heard Frodo sigh gratefully, and then came the hushed
whispers of Merry and Pippin, who were apparently keeping a running tally
of the verbal sparring matches. Legolas enjoyed a commanding lead and Merry
was predicting a complete and total victimization of the dwarf by the end
of the journey, but Pippin maintained that Gimli’s insults were improving
and that the dwarf might take them all by surprise with a sudden rally.
"What
say you to a halt, Gandalf?" Aragorn asked from behind the wizard. "There
is a glade on the other side of this rise that would serve us well."
Gandalf
nodded thoughtfully. Halts had become the launching point for many insults,
but having just been silenced, the wizard doubted if either elf or dwarf
would dare pick up their arguments again so soon. There might never be
a better time.
"I
could use a rest, too," Sam piped up from his position just in front of
Gimli. "And it wouldn’t be a bad thing to let old Bill do a bit of grazing,"
he added, stroking the pony’s neck. If Bill had any thoughts on the matter,
he kept them to himself and plodded forward silently, though his ears did
flip backwards occasionally as though wondering when the elf and dwarf
would start up again.
"We
will stop briefly," Gandalf decided. "There are still a few hours before
dawn during which we must journey. This halt will be our last one before
sunrise."
At
that announcement, even Boromir seemed to sigh with relief. There would
be fewer chances for Legolas and Gimli to start the virtually endless quarrels.
There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between the two that they would
refrain from arguing during daylight and minimize their arguing while walking.
Gandalf
wondered what Boromir made of Legolas and Gimli. A warrior from Gondor,
he’d had little chance to interact with elves and dwarves before journeying
to Rivendell, and he was now getting a full course of the animosity that
ran between the two Races. So far, the man had said nothing concerning
the two who, more often than not, were either directly behind him, directly
before him, or on either side of him. To completely ignore them, Boromir
would have to be rendered both blind and deaf. Even in the darkness of
night, it was impossible to miss the looks that Legolas and Gimli would
occasionally lever upon one another, looks with enough force to give even
a dragon pause for thought. But so far, Boromir had kept his peace and
said nothing. Gandalf wondered how long his silence would last.
On
the other side of the hill, the Company found Aragorn’s glade and stopped
for a brief rest. The hobbits quickly dropped their packs and themselves
to the ground, grateful for a respite from the long marches. Under Sam’s
watchful eye, Bill the pony was allowed to wander in search of green shoots.
Aragorn stood apart from the group, eyeing the surrounding territory with
the wary scrutiny of a Ranger. Boromir also drifted away from the company,
seemingly still uneasy around his comrades. As well he might be,
Gandalf sighed. Two of those comrades seem more willing to fight each
other than the Dark Lord.
As
if on cue, a thud, an outcry, and the peculiar sound of an elf trying to
hold back laughter broke the silence of the night. And I thought they
were finished until tomorrow. With the air of one resigned to a difficult
and unwanted task, Gandalf turned around and took in a scene that threatened
to quirk even his reluctant lips.
Gimli
stood drenched to the bone in the cold night air, his water skin on the
ground before him and a very confused Took sprawled on the ground behind
him. Merry, Frodo, and Sam were all on their feet with expressions that
suggested they wished to see the last few seconds played again in the hopes
that they could figure out what had just happened.
"My
dear hobbit and dwarf," Legolas cried. The prince of Mirkwood knelt swiftly
by Pippin’s side and helped him back to his feet, considerately dusting
him off as he did so. "I thought I spied a bush and movement beyond. Alas,
it was Gimli’s beard that I saw and his short stature behind it. Your pardon,
please, Master Peregrin."
"No
harm done," Pippin stammered with a nervous glance at the wet, shivering
dwarf.
"You…you…"
Not for the first time since the beginning of the journey, Gimli was at
a complete loss for words. But this time, the dwarf remedied his speechlessness
with action, and the son of Gloin leaped forward in a murderous rage with
fists clenched tight.
Initially
startled, Legolas’s elven reflexes enabled him to dance away and out of
reach. Gimli’s lunge took the dwarf sailing past a surprised Aragorn and
into the brush beyond the dell while the elf’s dodge bore him straight
into a Boromir’s broad chest, nearly knocking both of them to the ground.
"Enough!"
Gandalf said sternly while Aragorn moved to assist Gimli to his feet and
Boromir and Legolas regained their balance. "We may not be far from Rivendell,
but the spies of the Enemy are still about. Peace, both of you. This behavior
is foolishness."
"My
apologies," Legolas said smoothly with a graceful bow. "You speak wisely
and I heed your words."
"Just
watch your back, elf," Gimli grumbled as he started to wring out his soaking
beard. "You may not be so lucky in our next encounter."
"There
will be no next encounter," Aragorn declared, eyeing both of them. "Now
is not the time for petty quarrels. Your two Races may be at odds, but
that should hold no weight for either of you." Gimli glowered angrily and
Legolas smiled innocently.
Should
have asked Aragorn about that second wager, Gandalf reflected with
a twinge of regret. I would have won.