VI РD̫r Vedui

The sound of an early bird woke Gimli the dwarf. It was not the seagull’s cry, a sound he had grown accustomed to during their fortnight’s stay in Alqualondë. This was a different song, softer, more melodious. The joyful tune was soon joined by another, and a third, in an exuberant greeting of the dawn.

A dim, grey-green light shimmered through the leaves above Gimli’s head as he swung his stout legs over the edge of the moss-covered bedstead with some difficulty. It was the second day of their journey to Dôr Vedui, and Gimli was not entirely sure whether he should be glad he was one of the few travellers on horseback; riding had ever been a dubious pleasure for him, and he felt rather stiff. However, he realized that otherwise he would not be able to keep up with the pace set by the long legs of the Elves.

For a moment, the old dwarf just sat there, gathering the strength he would need to get up from his low bed. Little did he like to admit it to himself, let alone to anybody else, but his body was growing frail. Even in the reckoning of his long-lived race, he was old, and the Undying Lands could not prolong his allotted time. He knew that, he felt it in his bones, though he wished for his friendÂ’s sake that this was not so.

A change had come over Legolas since their arrival in Aman, a change both joyful and grievous to behold for those who could see behind his merry exterior. It gladdened Gimli’s heart to watch his Elf friend move about his people, marvelling at the wonders of Alqualondë, and playing with the children on the beach, clambering among the rocks, swimming in the sea like the young Silwing that came close to the shore. It was as if simply being here had brought forth in Legolas again all the youthful cheer that his brother Fingalas possessed in such abundance, as if the very air of the Undying Lands could diminish the memory of death and loss that had oftentimes put a shadow on his naturally sunny spirit.

And yet, every time the Elf turned his eyes towards Gimli, they could not hide the sorrow that was in the knowledge that for the dwarf, the sojourn on these shores was but an interlude, so very brief in comparison with the immortal existence of the Elves. Legolas had spoken little about his private encounter with Lord Elrond, and although it was with joy that he had told Gimli about Frodo, the dwarf had detected grief also in his friendÂ’s voice.

With a sigh, the old dwarf pushed himself up, shaking off these sombre thoughts. He stepped outside the little bower the Elves had made for him the previous evening. Although it was still very early, quite a number of Elves were already up and about, breaking their fast and getting ready to continue the journey. Gimli walked to the edge of the little wood where they had made their camp, and found a lone figure leaning against one of the rowan trees, motionless, his fair face turned westward.

Legolas did not move but acknowledged his friend’s presence with a smile. “Can you feel the sun, Gimli?” he asked in way of a greeting. His gaze travelled up toward the looming shadow of high mountains in the distance, dark against the pale turquoise of the dawn. “Soon he will be here, and you will see the full splendour of the Pelóri.”

That very instant, the first rays of sunlight touched the highest ridges of the mountain range, and the snow-capped peaks exploded in sudden, dazzling white. The light travelled downward swiftly, exposing the majestic Pelóri in all their breathtaking grandeur. Immeasurably high they seemed, a massive, insurmountable wall of rough rock and snow, with glaciers rolling down the mountainside in wide rivers of huge boulders and everlasting ice. It was a sight to inspire awe even in the most hardened spectator.

“By Dúrin’s beard! Now I understand what Master Turlond meant.” Gimli could not tear his eyes away from this spectacle. “I did not realize when we made camp yester eve that we had come so close.”

Legolas turned to look down at his old friend’s bent frame. There was a fond chuckle in his voice when he spoke. “Well, Master Dwarf? Do you think you will find a home here?”

“Aye, my friend,” Gimli grumbled in reply. “Aye, for these are mountains the like of which I have never seen before, and the sight moves the very heart of me.”

“And well that may be, friend Gimli, for in your memory you will carry this moment for the rest of your life, and know that your eyes and heart are the eyes and heart of all of your race.”

Gimli looked up. He had not heard Gandalf approach, but now the white-robed Istari stood next to him, leaning on his tall staff with a broad smile on his lined face. Neither dwarf nor Elf replied as they watched the spectacular sunrise.

Finally Gandalf stirred. “Come, my friends, it is time. We still have quite a long way ahead of us today. The Dale of Lhuvannon is a good six leagues from here, and the Lady Galadriel expects us still today, as does Frodo, I am sure.”

Less than an hour later, they had cleared camp and set out on their way again. It was a sunny, warm day, and the smell of spring and budding life was in the air. Staying in the lowlands, the company travelled southwest alongside the mountains. The Dale of Lhuvannon, which Gandalf had mentioned to Gimli, was halfway between Alqualondë and the city of Tirion upon Túna in the Calacyria, the Cleft of Light, and it was in this valley that the forest city of Teldamar, or Dôr Vedui, nestled against the foothills of the Pelóri.

Gimli surveyed the little group from his vantage point high up on his horse. Not all of the Elves who had come from South Ithilien were still with them; quite a number of them had made fast friends in Alqualondë and decided to stay there, or in one of the smaller settlements scattered along the coast nearby the harbour city. Thus there were only about thirty Elves who now walked or rode through the lush green glades, laughing and singing merrily as they went along. Gandalf, who rode next to Gimli, had decided to accompany them to Dôr Vedui; for although he usually resided in Lord Olwë’s house, he often travelled to the forest city to see Frodo, and to spend time with Galadriel and Celeborn. The Lord and Lady of Lothlórien had returned to their realm a few days after the welcoming feast, as had Thranduil and the other Elves who had come to Alqualondë to meet the newcomers.

Legolas and Fingalas were walking ahead with Elladan and Elrohir. The twins never stayed long in one place, dividing their time between their father’s palace in Alqualondë and Dôr Vedui, roaming the country far and wide as they had done in Middle-earth together with their adopted brother Aragorn. Judging from the animated conversation the two sets of brothers were having, Gimli guessed that Elladan and Elrohir would have good company on their further excursions.

The day passed uneventfully. Around noon, they rested briefly, and although Gimli greatly welcomed the respite from his horseback journey, the Elves seemed to find all the rest they needed in the very air they breathed, and were eager to move on. A little while later, they crossed into the lush valley of Lhuvannon, and even the dwarf could make out the dark green silhouette of the forest that was their destination, all the way at the end of the dale.

The slanting rays of a late afternoon sun cast long shadows when the company finally reached the edge of the forest. As if needing permission before entering their new realm, the Elves halted and looked towards the leaders of their little group. Elladan and Elrohir glanced at each other, and then nodded at Legolas, smiling.

Legolas stepped forward, anticipation clearly showing in his fine features. Two huge trees, ancient but hale, stood across a path leading into the wood, like sentries guarding the entrance to the forest. Grey and white their bark shimmered, and their leaves of deep, golden green rustled in the slight breeze that had come up with the early evening, whispering a welcome to the travellers. Slowly, almost like a caress, Legolas touched one of the majestic trees, putting first one hand against its silky skin, then the other. He seemed to become one with the tree, leaning into it, listening intently for a long moment. Then he turned back to his companions, and a light shone in his eyes.

“If only you could hear this, Gimli. If only you could hear them talk. It is a whole new language for me to learn.” His fingertips gently traced the knots and fissures in the tree’s bark, and there was a look of awe on his face. “It is pure and healthy, unspoiled, unlike anything I ever heard in Middle-earth. This is what the trees must have sounded like in the early days, before evil ever touched Endor.”

Gimli regarded his friend, a tall, lithe figure in the shadow of the huge tree, embodying all the strength and beauty of a young tree himself. The dwarf sensed that Legolas was completely taken by an ancient magic running deep in his veins, the connection of the Firstborn with all living things, a profound bond with nature that none of the other races in their world ever had. Although his love was for stone and rock rather than for all things green, Gimli was moved by the emotion he saw in the ElfÂ’s winsome face.

“I hope you will teach me, Legolas,” he replied gruffly. “I have put my axe aside for good and am willing to make my peace with living among the trees. As long as I don’t have to climb them.”

There was a low laughter from Gandalf. “Don’t worry, Gimli. You will find your needs aptly provided for. Go on, Legolas, lead the way.”

Following Legolas and Gandalf, the company entered the forest. Although the sun had all but disappeared, the light was still more than sufficient. The trees seemed to emanate a kind of glow, as if during the day they had breathed in the sunlight and were now exhaling it again, emitting a faint golden shimmer that lit the path. Small animals scurried alongside the travellers, tame and completely unafraid, and birds were singing their evening song.

After a short while, they came across a small brook, merrily babbling away as it skipped along its winding path. They crossed the narrow waterway, and stepped into a part of the forest where the season seemed to have changed. Gimli looked with wonder back to the trees they had just left behind, lush in their blossoms and the light green of spring, and then towards the trees ahead which displayed the many-coloured foliage of autumn. And yet again, still a little further ahead, among the dark green leaves of high summer, there were trees with no leaves at all, bare but beautiful in their nakedness. The dwarf cast a questioning glance at Legolas who had come to walk beside his horse.

“This is an enchanted forest, my friend, or my weary old eyes are playing a trick on me.”

Legolas smiled in reply. “No, Gimli, it is neither. It is said that in the Deathless Lands, there is never a period when all life goes to sleep, like we know it from Middle-earth. Here in the realm of Oromë, you will find all four seasons in one day.” Gimli shook his head. “Wonder over wonders,” he grumbled into his white beard. “One thing is for certain, that is that I shall never cease to be amazed at all things Elvish.”

“Praise be to Aulë for this dwarf’s good humour, even if he cannot yet tell the work of the Valar from that of the Elves,” a merry voice retorted. Fingalas had joined them and now pointed ahead. “But look, friend Gimli. I think we have reached our destination.”

A few more paces, and the trees opened up ahead of them, permitting a view of a wide clearing. Night had fallen, and the first stars had come out, bathing the grass in silvery light. Across on the other side of the dell rose a group of very tall, broad trees. Countless lights danced among these trees, twinkling like stars that had fallen from the skies and been caught in the boughs and branches.

“A Elbereth, such beauty…” Legolas whispered softly. “Not even in Lothlórien were there mallorns like these.”

Indeed, the majestic trees surpassed everything Gimli had ever seen. Huge they were, and yet delicate, their silver bark and golden leaves shimmering in the half-light. Staircases of differing width wound their way around and up the great trunks, leading to platforms among the leaves upon which the Elves had erected their dwellings, bowers and also bigger buildings with walls of intertwining branches, covered with leaf and vine. The travellers stood gazing, enchanted. For a long time, there was silence.

Finally, Gandalf spoke. “Behold the forest city of Teldamar, the new realm of the Lady Galadriel.”

His words broke the spell that had been cast upon the company by the magical sight. They stepped out into the clearing, and saw a group of Elves waiting for them at the foot of the mightiest mallorn tree. Galadriel and Celeborn were there, and Thranduil, and a few others, bearing gifts of welcome.

When the travellers reached the mallorns, the Lady Galadriel lifted her hand in greeting, a smile upon her radiant features. “Welcome to Dôr Vedui, my friends.” Her quiet, melodious voice carried effortlessly across the night. “May this be a home for you from now on.”

One by one, she acknowledged the newcomers, awarding a special smile to the dwarf who bowed deeply, albeit stiffly. Thranduil welcomed his sons, and when he stepped aside, there was Merilinwen, standing next to a very tall, dark-haired Elf. His handsome face lit up when he caught LegolasÂ’s eyes, and he let go of MerilinwenÂ’s hand and extended both of his towards Legolas.

“Mae govannen, gwador. I had almost given up all hope of seeing you here.“ The deep voice carried great affection. Legolas clasped the arms extended in greeting.

“Mae govannen, Thendir. It is good to see you again, both of you.” He smiled at Merilinwen who blushed and reached for Thendir’s hand again, as if she needed to hold on to him to contain the happiness that was mirrored in her gentle face.

It was a joyous occasion, for many of the Elves from South Ithilien were now reunited with family and old friends whom they hadnÂ’t seen for more than a hundred years. Amongst the happy chatter and laughter, Galadriel turned to Legolas.

“There is one who eagerly awaits your arrival, but he is too frail to walk. Will you come and see him?” Legolas inclined his head graciously. “The thought of meeting Master Frodo again has guided my steps ever since we set out from Alqualondë.”

The Lady turned to lead the way, and Legolas, Gimli and Gandalf followed, leaving the others to their merry mingling. They walked along the edge of the clearing for a little while until the ground rose slightly, forming a low hill in the green grass, hardly six feet high. A round door was set in the middle of this hill, and round windows were scattered along its front side. On either side of the door, a brightly burning torch cast its flickering light.

Legolas took in the cosy hobbit-hole the Elves had made for Master Frodo Ringbearer, and a glad smile played across his face. He knelt down in front of the tiny figure huddled in blankets in a wicker armchair next to the door, and, taking one of the wrinkled hands in both his, looked up into the ancient face.

“This is the greatest joy of all, dear Frodo. To see you alive, and hale.”

A slow smile creased FrodoÂ’s already crumpled features even more. He returned the gentle pressure of the ElfÂ’s long fingers wrapped around his, and looked from Legolas to Gimli who stealthily wiped a tear from the corner of his eye.

“A joyous meeting indeed, mellyn nîn,” the old hobbit said, his voice hardly more than whisper. “Much as I appreciate Gandalf putting up with the whims of a hobbit who has overspent his time, I’ve been longing for a change in company.” The sparkle of mischief in his eyes was unmistakeable. Gandalf replied with a short laugh. “Indeed, my old friend. I should think these two have news to keep you entertained for a while.”

Gimli had joined Legolas next to Frodo’s chair and taken the hobbit’s other hand. The gruffness in the old dwarf’s voice could barely conceal his emotions. “Dearest Master Hobbit, it is wonderful to see you again,” he grumbled, patting Frodo’s hand. Frodo smiled again and pointed at a basket on the ground next to his chair, which held a bottle and goblets, fruit and cheese. “As you see, I have been expecting you. Let me get another chair or two, and then we can all get comfortable,” he said, making as if to get up. But Legolas swiftly rose to his feet and put a hand on the old hobbit’s shoulder. “Stay, Frodo. I will find it.” Looking rather relieved, Frodo sank back into his chair.

Legolas had to bend his long frame almost double in order to duck inside through the low door. A moment later, he reappeared with another wicker chair. With an audible sigh of relief, Gimli lowered himself into the chair, which, although made to hobbit-size, was big enough to accommodate a dwarf quite comfortably. The Elf sat down in the soft grass, as did Gandalf.

Frodo reached for the bottle and poured wine for everyone. Then he settled back in his blankets with a look of curiosity on his ancient face.

“So, my friends. I am eager for news from Middle-earth, if you are not too tired after your long journey to indulge an old hobbit who cannot find much sleep anymore.”

Many tales were told that night, tales of joy and laughter, and tales of tears. At some time in the dark hours of the night, Gandalf left Frodo and Legolas still talking quietly; Gimli had long since fallen asleep in his chair.

As the first birds stirred with sleepy song, Legolas got to his feet. Turning his face eastward to greet the dawn, he saw two small mounds of green grass, covered in the white blossoms of niphredil, a little distance away. The Elf cast a quick glance at Frodo, who was staring in the very same direction. “Yes, Legolas. That is where dear old Bilbo and my beloved Samwise are buried,” he nodded. “And although I am so very glad that I have lived long enough to see you and Gimli again, I hope that I shall join them soon. I am tired of this old body.”

Frodo looked up at Legolas, and although the ancient hobbit seemed to be so much older than the tall, youthful Elf, his age paled beside the weariness of millennia that at this moment was mirrored in LegolasÂ’s clear eyes. A wistful smile flickered across the ElfÂ’s face.

“I know what you speak of.” His gaze came to rest on the slumped form of Gimli in his comfortable chair. “I know,” he repeated in a barely audible whisper.