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Axe and Bow

A Legolas and Gimli fan archive

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by Azarad

Rating: PG
Warnings: None
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JRR Tolkien. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.
Feedback: Yes
Summary: Pending. A/N: A thank you to Cinzia from Italy for recommending your list.

Upon the high and windy ramparts of Helm's Deep, at the dark gathering of Saruman's orc armies, men spoke of how they bid their loved ones farewell. Few had hope of seeing the dawn. To pass the bleak time before the first advance of the enemy, Gimli asked Legolas what his father the King of Mirkwood thought about his son joining the Fellowship.

Legolas replied in a soft voice. "My father and I said our parting words at Imladris. In the closing days of the Council, Thranduil made the journey and he was not pleased with what he discovered. We were ready to depart and I spoke with my father at the last bridge."

"Farewell, My Father," I said.

"It goes against my will, Legolas, to see you in the company of men and dwarves."

"I know, Father. Yet, some things must be done."

"By others then."

"I was chosen by Mithrandir to attend the Council of Elrond in your stead, and your hand rested upon my head on our day of parting. Do you regret sending me?"

"I regret many things."

My father paused then. I watched him closely. Old as the oldest forest of Middle Earth, he is. And hard as iron wood. Yet, there is a yielding suppleness beneath the bark. Like the bow he taught me to bend and shoot.

"I thank you," I said. "For your protection and for your love, Father."

"May starlight brighten your path that you may never lose your way."

"They await, Father. A last embrace?"

"Not the last, Child. Do not presage a bleak future to one of my years."

"Then I promise to return, and Mirkwood will be Greenwood again."

Then my father and I embraced. His iron spine yielded and his lips were warm on my forehead. I kissed his cheek and spring flowers bloomed under the pale skin. His heart thawed like winter's thick ice. His eyes ran like steams of snowmelt mixing with my own tears.

Then I broke away, and he returned to his kingly stature that men and dwarves might not see the bending of Thranduil.


So, my friend Gimli, how was it with your father, the dour dwarf, Master Gloin?

"Hah! Are you seeking to feel my axe at your throat, Friend? You speak carelessly about my kin."

"I've met him, Gimli."

"He's a serious listener and has little need to speak. That does not make him morose."

"Your defense of him is commendable. Did you and he bid farewell or not? I sense you may not have parted on good terms."

"Hardly the case, Master Elf. He bid me kill many orcs. He gifted me with a whetstone weighing nearly a pound. He said, 'Use it all up, Gimli. More where that one came from.' Then he slapped my back and sent me on my way, waving with one hand, a tankard of ale in the other."

"His parting gift to you was a rock?"

"A whetstone is no mere rock. More precious than gems it is, before a battle."

The Elf smiled. He ran a small piece of stone along the edge of his long white knife. The sound whispered of slicing and swift death. The eyes of the Elf glittered in the dim starlight. The distant approach of numberless hordes met the subtle curve of Legolas's ear. He heard the tramp of feet and the bellow of orcs stirring up their fierce hatred of men, Dwarves and Elves. A long sigh escaped his mouth. Then he looked at Gimli.

"Hone your axe well, my friend. We'll have work soon."

"No farewells between us then?"

"No," Legolas said. "You and I will travel together, wherever this dark road may lead."


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Issue No.: 2.6
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