Though the ways of men were strange to him, Gimli understood the pain that drove Aragorn through heat and darkness, seeking the halflings whom Boromir had trained and adopted as his charges. The dwarf had known the same suffering in Moria, surrounded by his dead kin -- slain not only by the filth of orcs and trolls, but an evil older than the world they knew.
Gimli had been the last to arrive at Boromir's side after the Horn of Gondor cried out during the battle with the orcs and the Uruk-Hai. The warrior was already near death when he reached the men, so the dwarf learned only later of the confession that explained why the Fellowship had ended. Gimli and Legolas agreed vehemently with Aragorn that Boromir had kept his honor -- the Ring, and none of them, had broken the Fellowship. But Aragorn still marched like a man possessed, and as he hacked away brush, flinging himself over the rocky ground, there were tears on his cheeks.
Legolas followed Aragorn closely, letting the man lead but insisting on using his own senses to scout. From his initial deep distrust, Gimli had come to see the elf as an invaluable member of their band. The sprite had heard the coming of crebain and the curses of Saruman before even Gandalf; he had known something more terrible than Orcs awaited them in Amon Hen. Now he walked barely two steps behind Aragorn, close enough to sense every shift in the man's breathing, to catch him if he stumbled or to fling himself in his path should danger arise.
It was Legolas who had told Gimli in hushed tones of Boromir's final moments, for the elf had heard the voices of the men even before he reached the pierced form of the warrior of Gondor and the prince who clung to him. As darkness clouded the fallen man's eyes, Boromir prophesied the fall of his city, and the world of men, and all of the kingdoms of Middle Earth. But Aragorn had held fast to him and sworn that he would not let the White City fall, nor their people fail.
Gimli wondered whether "our people" referred to the Fellowship or the men of Minas Tirith. When Aragorn declined to follow Frodo, letting the Ring pass beyond their reach, the dwarf expected him to turn toward Ecthelion. Sorrowfully he had mourned their failed quest, for with Frodo past their reach, the Fellowship would seem to have been in vain. Yet Aragorn insisted that they must remain together to rescue Merry and Pippin, heeding the words of the glorious Elf-Queen, who had told them that hope remained while the company held true. Though perhaps his reasons were more selfish; perhaps Aragorn needed to kill more orcs in vengeance for Boromir before he could turn toward his home.
"I would have followed you, my brother...my captain...my king." Gimli weighed Boromir's last words. The man wanted to be remembered as Aragorn's first devoted subject, his next of kin. Strange that there had been no word of love in his farewell, though perhaps for Aragorn this vow meant more. The dwarf knew the warriors had shared a bed when circumstances permitted, but he was unsure how much significance that might hold among men. He had heard other men brag of their conquests with women and murmur in hushed tones of pleasurable battlefield encounters that meant nothing. Dwarves and elves bound themselves throughout the years unless great evil intervened, but it was said of men that their affairs were whimsies, free of responsibility and true passion.
Gimli did not think that it had been so between Aragorn and Boromir, whose commitment to one another grew even as the Ring gnawed at their alliance. They spent much of their time together during the days the Fellowship rested in Lothlórien. Perhaps Aragorn had sensed the need to limit Boromir's proximity to Frodo and the Ring, but the others knew full well that was not the only reason for their closeness. Yet Gimli also knew that Aragorn was promised to the elf who had given him the enchanted necklace he wore, and that if Boromir had become
Steward, he would have been expected to take a wife. Did men call such a bond as they shared by the name of love? The dwarf hoped for both their sakes that they had allowed themselves that happiness, even if men were very different indeed.
Aragorn had changed since they passed through Lothlórien, even before he lost his dearest companion and buckled on the bracers bearing the white tree of Gondor. Isildur's descendant had gazed with awe upon the giant statues of his kin, and had taken command at Amon Hen with an assurance that had none of the coarseness of his orders when they collapsed on the rocks outside the mines. When Gimli had warned the others of the dangers that awaited them in Mordor, Aragorn had goaded him, suggesting that he rest and recover his strength, yet the dwarf knew that the teasing was not meant as a challenge. The Ranger seemed to be growing into the idea that he was no longer a wandering hero but the rightful king of Gondor.
It was an issue that could no longer create strife between the onetime Ranger and the presumptive Steward. Though they had not truly become close, Gimli had felt more at ease with the latter, for he understood Boromir's quick temper and the formality of his training. Boromir would have made a fine dwarf. The other man, the son of a king, raised among elves, remained more mysterious, his goals more elusive. Though none could doubt his survival skills, his relish for the wild set him apart from the others. He had lived most of his life disconnected from his own society. How ironic that he should now suffer so from the loss of a companion.
Aragorn stopped, fist on a tree, closing his eyes and tilting his head as if he were scenting something in the air. Gimli started to reach for his axe, but Legolas' attention was focused only on the man. "You could not have stopped him," the elf said. "The call of the Ring was too strong."
"Stronger than love, it would seem." Aragorn's reply was almost a whisper, not really directed at Legolas. Then he turned to the others. "I felt it too, you know -- the call of the Ring. It was why I had to let Frodo go."
Gimli had felt the power in the Ring, but he did not think it overwhelmed his judgment the way it did for men. He had wanted to slaughter the orcs of the mines, to commit bloody mayhem, yet the hundreds of bodies of his kin might have driven him to such fervor -- even now, in the absence of the Ring, he felt the same killing fury. It had not stopped him from holding fast to the Fellowship. Perhaps because dwarves were quicker to anger, they also had more strategies for containing their rage.
"You were right to let him go," he told Aragorn, though as usual no one had asked for his opinion.
"Thank you, sir dwarf." A ghost of a smile played across the Ranger's features.
It had been Gimli's suggestion that they send Boromir down the Anduin, despite his own aversion to water. He half-feared that Aragorn would insist on carrying his companion's body to Minas Tirith for burial otherwise. Legolas had chanted funeral songs in elvish to keep Aragorn distracted while they cleaned up Boromir's body as best they could. Gimli had thought the man might want to keep the other's cloak, beneath which they had lain together those cold nights in the mountains, but Aragorn had sent Boromir to the river clad as a noble warrior with all but his bracers. As the boat disappeared from view, he wept again, and said something in elvish that Gimli did not understand but caused Legolas' head to turn sharply.
"He has reached his peace," the elf murmured. An immortal, Legolas must have become used to losing the men he called friends, for he closed his eyes briefly yet did not weep. Then he pushed the last boat into the water, but Aragorn had made up his mind not to follow Frodo, and led them into the trees to pursue Merry and Pippin. Gimli remembered the young hobbits wrestling Boromir to the ground after a fencing lesson, the group falling into laughter that had made even the weary Ranger smile. He was right to lead them after the small ones, no matter what might be happening elsewhere in their kingdoms.
Gimli knew what lay ahead for them: if they took the road to Mordor, they faced rocks sharp as blades and marshlands full of fire, and if they turned toward Minas Tirith, the crumbling empire might summon them all to war. If he went home now, Aragorn would bind himself to Gondor -- in the name of his father and of Boromir, who had forfeited his life for their land. The heir of Isildur was ever more ready to become a king, now he knew what it meant to lose men under his command.
And if they survived, if the Fellowship succeeded, if the Ring was destroyed and the war won, Moria would have to be retaken and restored. There would be urgent need for the mines, for mithril and weapons, and the hall would need a dwarf lord. Gimli had trained as a warrior, using his heightened senses to defend his people rather than laboring as a craftsman or an overseer in the mines. But perhaps it would fall to him to rebuild Balin's great chambers, to close off the demolished holes in the earth and open new channels through the rock, to carve new chimneys, create new feasts, brew fresh beer.
Though he came from one of the noble houses of Erebor, it had been long since Gimli imagined himself marrying, settling down and working within the Lonely Mountain, though were he to meet a woman like Galadriel...a outrageous thought, yet perhaps that destiny yet awaited him. His father had been one of the companions of Thorin Oakenshield, and was now an important and rich dwarf well-loved by the King under the Mountain. As the son of Glóin, he had represented his family on many journeys within the mountains, and his wanderlust had grown far beyond that of most dwarves, who were content to live for years at a time in the great caverns.
It would be strange to return to the halls of the dwarves now, after spending so much time among elves and men. Glóin and his son had been chosen for the delegation in Rivendell because they were considered among the strongest advocates for their people, but now Gimli knew that elves and men had their own gifts. Elrond had told them that this great age of elves and dwarves might soon approach its end. How could any hold fast to old injustices now that darkness covered the land and all the peoples of Middle Earth might share the same fate?
Gimli's ties to his kin had not lessened. The loss of Balin and his family burned like a fresh wound. He blinked, shook his head to clear it, and found himself face to face with Aragorn, who had stopped and retraced his steps to check on his companion's progress.
"Are you well, sir?" the Ranger inquired.
Gimli harrumphed to signify the preposterousness of the question. But he saw understanding flash across the man's face, and realized that although Aragorn faced much the same uncertain future as himself, the other would have to move forward mourning not only long-lost family, but the beloved friend who had until so recently marched at their sides. He reached out to this unlikely brother.
"I have heard it sung in an old ballad that the dead we love never really leave us," Gimli said. He felt awkward in the role of comforter but felt keenly the man's need. "Our companions go to the Halls of Mandos, the Undying Lands, yet their spirits remain with us still. I know my cousin was with us in the mines. And Boromir still aids our quest. He would defend Merry and Pippin, and he would stand at your side, Aragorn."
"I will never stop regretting that I cannot see him there."
The rightful king of Gondor closed his eyes and bowed his head. Legolas stepped close to his right hand, Gimli to his left, and their hands linked together in a chain of fellowship. Aragorn swallowed before continuing. "But I am glad to have you both as my companions on this quest. The Ring is the enemy of all trust, all friendship, all truth. Would that Boromir could have understood before it was too late. If we hold to each other, we cannot fail."
"We will not fail," Legolas agreed quietly.
"We shall not fail," Gimli declared.
The three bowed heads over their clasped hands. Then they raised them and turned back to their trail.
"May it be," said Aragorn, and their little number strode forth into the future.
First posted at the LoM on 2002
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