"The Eldar said that the light of the Two Trees, Laurelin and Telperion, had been snared in her tresses. Many thought that this saying first gave to Fëanor the thought of imprisoning and blending the light of the Trees that later took shape in his hands as the Silmarils. For Fëanor beheld the hair of Galadriel with wonder and delight. He begged three times for a tress, but Galadriel would not give him even one hair."
-- From the History of Galadriel and Celeeborn in 'The Unfinished Tales' by Tolkien.
The Company paddled their boats in silence. Only an hour before, the high banks on either side of the Great River had hidden the light of Lórien from their eyes, and cold, bare woods stalked drearily on either side of the high banks.
There was nothing to be seen beyond the woods. Legolas cast his far-seeing elven gaze over them, but his eyes were drawn back to his own boat and the slumped figure of the dwarf sitting in front of him.
Cold condensation dripped off Gimli's armour. He paddled, but his mind was obviously elsewhere. Back in Lórien, Legolas surmised. An hour ago, when they passed out of Lórien, Gimli had wept and tried to distract himself with paddling. He was still paddling but mechanically and his head hung low, beard beaded with misty droplets. For a moment he paused and his hand went to his breast, where the Lady Galadriel's gift to him was stowed. Three of her golden hairs. He caught himself, and with a shake of his head, took up the paddle again.
Legolas watched Gimli's back and marvelled to himself at the change that had come over both of them in Lórien and during the journey that had taken them there. It is only a few years, he thought, since I believed Dwarves only fit for the dungeons, dirty, gold-grubbing little monsters, and Gimli thought Elves far beneath his attention, the cruel captors of his father. Yet here we are, an elf and a dwarf, sharing a boat, and so very much more. And none of the Elves will deny Gimli's worth now. He has asked for, and received, what the greatest of all the Noldor Elves was refused. I was wrong about Dwarves, so very wrong. We all were.
Legolas glanced ahead. He and Gimli were in the last boat. Up ahead, the rest of the company paddled onward, chatting or lost in their thoughts like Gimli. Legolas could hear Pippin's voice, the only bright thing in the misty air. He was talking with Boromir.
Legolas took advantage of their relative seclusion by laying a gentle hand on Gimli's shoulder. Gimli turned slowly, his large, dark eyes full of grief. At the sight of those eyes, Legolas turned the touch into a caress. A slight smile creased Gimli's mouth, "Perhaps I have not looked last on that which was fairest," Gimli murmured. "When you smile like that, even the beauty of Lórien pales by comparison."
Legolas leaned forward and kissed him. "Even Valinor has not produced one so gallant as Gimli the dwarf," he replied. "One whose speech rivals that of the Valar themselves. No one has ever received a lock of Lady Galadriel's hair before. Do you recall how the Galadhrim gasped in astonishment at your request?"
"I recall how a certain charming wood elf did exactly the same thing," said Gimli, "And froze inside, thinking that my audacity had greatly insulted our noble hosts. Surely no one has ever dared to ask the Lady Galadriel for a lock of her hair. Yet the Lady asked me to name what I desired of her..."
"Indeed she did," said Legolas, "And indeed the Lady could not refuse such a bold and courteous request. But you are wrong Gimli, Galadriel has been asked for a lock of her hair before." He nodded as Gimli's eyes widened in surprise. "Have you not heard the tale?"
"The Dwarves do not tell the tales of the Elves," said Gimli. "Though we have been known to listen to them when the Elves tell them."
Legolas smiled, "Then I will have much to tell you over the coming weeks," he said. "And much to tell you now." His expression became solemn "I would wish for a more cheerful tale. The tale of the Lady's hair is a tale of the sundering of the friendship between two of the elf kin in Valinor, the Noldor Elves skilled in crafts, and the Teleri, to whom wood Elves like myself belong. Were it not for Galadriel's hair, the Silmaril jewels would never have been created and the Elven Kin Slayings, and many other battles, would never have taken place."
Gimli's eyes widened in astonishment. "Elven kin slayings I know nothing of, but the Silmarils I know. Those three jewels were the cause of the ancient war between the Nogrod Dwarves and the Elves of Doriath. Tell me more of them and of their history with the Lady Galadriel."
Legolas paddled, and as he paddle he told his tale.
"Lady Galadriel is Noldor. She was born many thousands of years ago, in Valinor, the home of the Valar, gods of the world. She had kin, an elf named Fëanor. Have you heard of him?"
Gimli frowned slightly, "He was the greatest of all the Elves, was he not? The greatest craftsman, the creator of the Silmarils."
Legolas nodded, "The most powerful Noldor of all. He asked Lady Galadriel for a lock of her hair. Not once but three times."
"And she refused?" said Gimli.
"Each time," said Legolas. "Charm he had in plenty, but not enough for the Lady Galadriel." Legolas's eyes brightened, "Only you, Gimli son of Glöin, have been courteous enough."
"You flatter me, elf. But how did Lady Galadriel's refusal persuade Fëanor to create the Silmarils?"
"Fëanor was denied the glowing lock of hair he desired," Legolas answered. "So he set out to create jewels that mimicked its brilliance, and woe on the world that he succeeded. For Morgoth, of whom even Sauron is but a lowly slave, stole the three Silmarils and took them out of Valinor to Middle Earth. Fëanor and many of the other Noldor set off after Morgoth, in ships that they stole from Teleri. They killed the Teleri who owned those ships. The Kin Slayings, my people called it. We have been estranged from the Noldor since that time. I am the first of my people to venture into Lórien."
Gimli bit his lip. "The Silmarils caused such misery and they were made due to the Lady Galadriel's refusal to give Fëanor her hair? No wonder all the Elves gasped when I made my request. I am surprised they did not knock me down the moment I said it." A look of distant horror came over his face. "Have I, Gimli son of Glöin, brought yet more misery on the world with my request? Will more wars be fought over the Lady Galadriel's hair? What I have I done?" His hands went to his breast as he spoke, as if the gift burned him.
Legolas lifted Gimli's hands away from his breast and stroked them. "No Gimli, you have not brought misery on the world. Far from it. Do you recall what you told the Lady Galadriel? You wanted the hair as a pledge of good will between the Dwarves and the Elves. Your request will bring the two races together, not drive them apart."
Gimli nodded passionately, "That is my wish, Legolas." His fingers entangled with Legolas's and he gave them a squeeze.
"And mine," Legolas whispered. He leaned forward once again and captured Gimli's lips in a long kiss. Gimli's hands went around the elf's shoulders.
After some minutes, Legolas pulled back from the kiss and the hands that ran over his body. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes as he said, "It is said that the skill of the Dwarves is in their hands rather than in their tongues. I, Legolas Greenleaf, say it is in both."
Gimli was about to reply when out of the mist up ahead came Aragorn's cry, "Gimli? Legolas? Where are you? What are you doing?"
Hastily, the elf and dwarf pulled away from each other and took up their paddles again, speeding the boat downstream towards Aragorn's voice. "We're coming, Aragorn," Gimli called, turning momentarily to wink at Legolas and whisper, "That's a promise for later," before he turned around again and started paddling.
Behind him, Legolas stifled a giggle.
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