The Price of Pride

Chapter 70


When we left the chamber a few hours later to begin our first full “day” in Moria, I deliberately chose to walk near Gandalf. I had given in to weakness the night before and had allowed, even luxuriated in Aragorn’s embrace. I could not afford for that to become a habit. Aragorn obviously thought that Arwen would not be waiting for him at the end of our quest, but she had assured me otherwise. If I was wrong, if she left for Valinor as Aragorn had asked, I would decide then what to say to Aragorn of my feelings. But if he was wrong, I did not want to in any way stand between them. Relying on him to strengthen me was dangerous. I risked blurting out my feelings in a moment of weakness.

We came to a great cavern, with narrow ledges that bordered it. I noticed Gimli examining the walls more carefully. I was about to ask him what he was searching for when Gandalf spoke. “The wealth of Moria was not in gold or jewels, but mithril,” he told us. Looking more carefully, I saw the silvery veins that ran through the rock. Gandalf pointed his staff downward, illuminating the great cavern below us. It continued down for as far as I could see, giving bet better idea of the immensity of the task that had been undertaken here.

When we walked on, Gandalf continued. “Bilbo had a shirt of mithril rings that Thorin gave him,” he told us.

“Oh, that was a kingly gift,” Gimli exclaimed.

“Yes, I never told him, but its worth was greater than the value of the Shire,” Gandalf said with a chuckle.

We walked for hours that day, through narrow passages and great rooms. Every once in a while, I would see the glitter of mithril in the walls. There was indeed wealth here to be had still if one had the courage to come and claim it. Gimli’s cousin had tri I w I wondered what his fate had been and if we would ever know. I hoped he had seen the folly of it and had moved somewhere else to mine, but I knew enough of Dwarves already to know that giving up, especially on something they considered theirs, was not their way.

I forced my eyes and my mind to focus on Gimli and on the Hobbits. Gandalf did not need my attention. He could take care of himself. Boromir was walking with Aragorn, and I dared not focus on them. I watched the Hobbits to see how they were bearing the strain of our journey, and I watched Gimli as I tried to learn how to survive in the underground world. He seemed to know unerringly where to step and where to avoid, as if he could sense the fissures in the rock. The Hobbits slipped and slid as we climbed, loose rocks tripping up their feet. Even Gandalf had a few missteps, but Gimli moved agilely through the maze that was Moria with a grace here in these caverns that rivaled Elvish grace among the trees. My respect for him grew as I saw him in a comfortable setting for him. I even caught a piece of a song he was humming under his breath. It reassured me in some small way to know that here, where I was so ill at ease, someone, at least, could feel at home.

As we reached the end of our day’s march, we began looking for another snug chamber in which to spend the night. We had no such luck, unfortunately, and had to settle for spreading our bedrolls against the wall so that one side was protected. Aragorn immediately organized the watches so that he and I shared the first watch while Boromir and Gimli took the second. We sat in silence until our companions were all asleep. Then, Aragorn put a gentle hand on my shoulder. “How are you, Legolas?” he asked.

“Atle tle better today,” I replied. “Perhaps I am growing used to the darkness.”

“If that is so, then I am glad, but do not be foolishly brave, mellon nín. If you are weakening, you must say so. We cannot afford to lose you,” he said.

“I will be careful,” I promised. I did not tell him that I had spent almost seventy years having to be aware of my state of mind. He accepted my promise and leaned back against a rock, pipe between his teeth. I watched him surreptitiously, catching a glimpse of a sparkle around his neck. The Evenstar. So, he had not given it back to her. I had wondered about that since my conversation with Arwen. She had told me that Aragorn had tried to set her free, but that she had refused. She seemed to think that Aragorn had given up on their love. He might have convinced himself that their love was impossible, but he had not stopped loving her. That much was clear.

As my eyes landed on the proof of Arwen’s love, the Ring began its whispering again, taunting me with all that I had lost. I tried to ignore the voice in my head, to focus instead on the feelings of love that had saved me the previous night. But the Ring was subtler than that. It played on my feelings, on the kiss, twisting that gesture of caring and friendship into an attempt to use me. My mind shouted that it lied, that Aragorn might not love me, but he would never use me that way. The Ring retaliated with all the feelings of betrayal that had so consumed me after Aragorn had met Arwen. I rejected its logic even as the pain of those days washed over me again. I made myself think of the first heady days of our courtship, when all was still innocent between us, with only our hearts involved. Aragorn’s face, as it had been in those days, floated before me in my mind, sweet, giving, yet already filled with the determination that so marked the man who now sat but a few feet away from me. For a short time, I was able to draw comfort from that face, to reject the machinations of the Ring. Then, the look on Aragorn’s face twisted, losing the innocence and becoming calculating. “He was just using you,” the Ring whispered insidiously. “If he had really loved you, he would have understood what you could not say. Your actions spoke loudly enough. When have you ever given over control to another the way you did your last night with him? If he had loved you, he would have understood. He was just using you, for release, for his amusement. He is trying again now. He cannot have the one he desires so he chooses you as a poor substitute. That is all you ever were to him: a substitute for the one he loves.”

I shook my head frantically, trying to rid myself of the nagging voice and the doubts it raised.

“Give in,” it continued. “He is only using you. What can it hurt to use him in return? Take your ease in his body. He is willing enough. He kissed you last night, did he not? Where is the harm?”

“Nay,” I muttered, not realizing I had spoken aloud. Instantly, Aragorn was at my side.

“Legolas?” he said, pulling me against him as he had the night before. The first time, his touch had strengthened my heart, had helped me reject the lure of the Ring. This time, it only intensified the struggle, giving me what I needed and also what the Ring wanted me to take.

“Do not,” I whispered, trying to move away.

“Legolas, let me help you,” Aragorn insisted.

“You cannot,” I answered, “the Ring twists even your comfort to hurt me.”

“What do we do, then?” he asked.

Just having him so close was almost more of a temptation than I could stand. If he remained that close, I would not be able to resist much longer. Yet, if he moved away and I convinced myself that I could not have him, could not take him, the urge to go for my knives would increase as well. “You must bind my hands,” I told him.

“What?” he exclaimed.

“If I cannot use my hands, I cannot give the Ring what it wants. Do it!” I ordered.

“And if we are attacked during the night and I alone am standing guard? You will be killed for sure,” he protested.

“Wake Gimli, if you must, but say nothing to the others of this,” I pleaded.

“Why Gimli?” he asked.

“Dwarves know when and how to keep secrets,” I replied simply.

Aragorn moved to Gimli’s side, shaking him gently until he roused. He gestured for Gimli to join me and went to his own pack for rope.

“What is going on, Master Elf?” Gimli asked as he watched Aragorn.

“The Ring, Gimli, has decided that I am the easiest to corrupt, here in the darkness, away from the wind and the trees. When we are marching, I can keep it at bay, but in the stillness, it threatens to overwhelm me. Aragorn is going to restrain me so I cannot give in to the temptation it puts before me, but that means you must help him keep watch,” I explained.

“And you must free Legolas if it comes to battle this night,” Aragorn added.

Gimli huffed a little as he settled down beside me, muttering about the foolishness of Elves, but he did not refuse our request. Aragorn bound my hands behind my back and returned to his seat on the opposite side of the camp.

The Ring’s torment descended back on me as soon as all was still. I must have made a distressed sound, for Gimli’s hand shook me. “Would it help to talk, Master Elf?” he asked softly.

“It is private,” I replied, not willing to tell him how the Ring was torturing me.

“Not about that,” he answered. “About anything.” He was silent for a moment, as if searching for a safe topic of conversation. I almost laughed. What could be safe for the son of Thranduil and the son of Glóin to discuss? We could not discuss our homes or our families; that would undoubtedly lead to an argument.

“What do you know of stone?” he asked me finally.

“Very little,” I admitted. And so, for the rest of the pause between marches, Gimli explained to me about the different kinds of stone, the qualities of each, and the different ways to work it. I succeeded in forcing my mind to stay on our conversation, asking questions when I did not understand and then repeating what Gimli had already said to make sure I remembered it. It was neither the most personal nor the most interesting conversation I ever had with Gimli, but it was quite possibly the most vital. When we stopped to rest for the third time, I overrode Aragorn’s suggestion and shared a watch with Gimli. That night, I tortured him with a discussion of trees. Years later, we laughed at ourselves, saying that the Ring left us alone those two nights because the torments we had each inflicted on the other were greater than anything the Ring could devise.