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"What say you?" Aragorn shouted, holding his sword up, ready to lead the army of the dead to war.
"The dead do not suffer the living to pass," the King of the Dead simply repeated, before he disappeared in the crowd of ghosts.
"Let us go, they are just wasting our time! I say we slay the filth in Gondor on our own, and I will slay more than the pointy-eared elf!" Gimli nudged Legolas who looked at him in playful surprise.
"Half as much, you wanted to say! There are very tall orcs and usually, an axe to the leg does not kill them!" Legolas joked, a smile tugging on his lips.
"You will see how many blows to the head with my axe the enemies will take in battle!"
"Oh, you mean how many blows it will take you to kill one?"
Gimli grunted, searching for words. "Most of all I will count how many of your arrows miss their targets!"
"Yes, of course, while you walk on the path I shot free before you even reached the battlefield." Legolas grinned from ear to ear.
"Mellons!" Aragorn turned around, looking both distressed and frightened. "We have little time to argue! Let us go for Gondor and then continue this conversation on the battlefield!"
"Aye! I could do that!" Gimli agreed, polishing his axe with his sleeve.
"Forgive me, Aragorn, it was not my purpose to delay further support for your kingdom."
Gimli rolled his eyes and quickly followed Aragorn and Legolas to the entrance. There, a huge stone blocked the path. Where had it come from? When had it fallen?
"The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead and the dead keep it."
"Oh, come on, shut it, ghost-king, can't you come up with better poetry? I know even one or two elves who could make better poems than you, not to speak of us dwarves," Gimli replied.
"Thank you," Legolas said with a smile, taking for granted that of one-or-two-elves he was surely one.
"You're welcome, pointy-ear. And now let's get out!" Gimli hit the boulder with his axe which immediately splintered just as it had done on the One Ring in Rivendell. Why did that always happen in the company of elves? Had he not embarrassed himself enough already?
"You look terrible," said Legolas, helping Gimli up again after he had been thrown through the air by the force of the blow.
Quite unhappy to be helped by an elf, Gimli freed himself of the soft fingers tightly interlaced with his own. If he had held them just a second longer, he would have heartily embraced Legolas to thank him - the last thing he wanted to do at the moment. "You look... You look..." he started to retort the insult, unable to finish it.
"How do I look?" Legolas asked, quite curious. His eyes sparkled in the soft green light of the ghosts around.
"You look awesome," Gimli whispered, his breath taken by the sudden beauty he beheld. How could he not have noticed this before? To him, Galadriel was no longer the fairest being of all, as he must have lied to himself had he not internally declared these green sparkles in Legolas bright eyes and the slight curve of his mouth the most beautiful sight of all.
"I know! Thank you!" Legolas answered, brushing his hair out of his face and taking on the most majestical pose he could fathom.
"Would you please help me to push this pebble aside?" Aragorn asked, panting as he tried to move the ten-feet-high-boulder on his own.
"The way is shut. It was made by those who are dead and the dead keep it," the ghost-king repeated wearily.
"I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir of Isildur, you owe me your allegiance!" the man shouted. "I am the rightful king of Gondor!"
"I don't care. The way is... You already know my text. The dead do not suffer the living to pass."
"Fulfil your oath and you are free!" Aragorn tried to persuade him.
"Give up, Isildur's heir, whatever your name is. I did not go to war with Isildur, I shall not go to battle with you." He looked quite bored, as if trying to convince a toddler not to swallow his toy.
"I am Aragorn." He lifted his sword again and lunged at the ghost who then simply disappeared.
"Do you want me to explain that to him?" Legolas asked kindly, ready to hold his Rivendell-speech once again. "I drove Boromir mad with my explanation, perhaps it also works with this awful-looking creature. He looks worse than Gollum, I wonder whether he has already been told that."
"He needs reason not madness!" Aragorn sighed. "And your sole argument cannot be whether a person is ugly or not."
"Why not? You also look quite terrible." He grinned. "I look awesome, even in the eyes of a dwarf."
"Arghhh!" Aragorn shouted as he kicked the boulder with his healthy foot, falling to his knees in despair.
"Have you broken yet another toe, my lad?" Gimli asked, watching as the foot slowly swelled in the dark boot. "Your foot looks terrible."
Aragorn simply started to cry. "I will not see Gondor again."
"I thought you wanted to say Arwen. Or Éowyn," Gimli said, wondering whether he would ever be invited to a wedding, whoever the host. Perhaps he would even catch the bouquet.
"Or Rivendell." At the bewildered look of Gimli, Legolas added, "He lived there for quite some decades. Where else do you think he met Arwen?"
"I don't know. I just didn't think he could live with civilized people. His table manners are worse than a dwarf's. He doesn't even eat second breakfast." Now, Gimli's stomach growled.
"You eat second breakfast?" Legolas asked, surprised.
"I don't stop eating at all when I'm not actively hunting orcs at the moment."
"Fair enough, you very much look like that." At the sight of tears welling up in Gimli's eyes, he put a hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "You still look better than Aragorn."
At this, Aragorn cried even harder, hitting the boulder with his sword like an angry toddler trying to get out of his baby bed.
"Don't worry, my lad. You could look worse. Like this filthy ghost-king, he makes my stomach turn when I have to look at him. Worse than an orc."
"I am the rightful king of Gondor! Fulfil your oaths!" Aragorn screamed.
"Is he going mad?" Gimli whispered into the elf's ear, his voice worry-ladden.
"He has not been mad before?" Legolas asked, surprised.
"Aye, might be. Then it's good that he doesn't go to Gondor. The land already has a mad steward, it doesn't need a mad king."
"You're right."
Thus, the elf and the dwarf stood for the next few days, occasionally talking but always watching the desperate king-to-may-be beating the boulder and trying to argue with the ghost-king, both of them using the same arguments over and over again.
After one week, Aragorn finally fell asleep, babbling about Minas Tirith in his sleep and how it was to fall now. Knowing that there was no other living witness around at the moment, Legolas took Gimli's hand, grinning sheepishly.
"I didn't think I'd end up trapped in a cave side by side with an elf."
"How about side by side with a lover?" Legolas asked, looking down while playfully raising his eyebrows.
Gimli blushed and mumbled something under his beard as he gathered his courage for an answer. "Aye, I could do that."
At that, they kissed, and kissed, and kissed, until someone tapped Gimli's shoulder.
"You better have a reason to disturb this very important meeting or I'll cut your head off, ghost-scum!" the dwarf shouted, already missing the softness of Legolas's lips.
The king of the dead stared at him in disbelief. "It was my plan to have you wake your little friend for a talk, however, I now believe it is the wrong moment."
"Aye, very wrong moment, my lad." Then, he turned to the fair-haired elf who looked down with a dreamlike expression.
"You remind me of starlight falling through the canopy of trees", Legolas said.
"How do I remind you of starlight?" Gimli asked, quite bewildered.
"I don't know", Legolas answered, pressing a soft kiss to Gimli's lips, "Starlight is my second favourite thing in the world."
"And what's the most-favourite, pointy-eared starlight-prince?"
A kiss.
"A certain red-haired dwarf."
Another kiss.
"Should I be jealous?" Gimli teasingly asked.
Yet another kiss.
"You should. He even bears the same name as you."
Now, Gimli put a finger between his and Legolas's lips and whispered, "I've never been so glad that there's no other dwarf currently alive who bears the same name."
"What a surprise!" Legolas leaned back a little and threw his hair over his shoulder, the King of the Dead banging his head against stone behind his back.
"You look like the Arkenstone", Gimli whispered, pulling Legolas closer for another kiss.
"Didn't a dragon sit on it for three-hundred years?"
"Yes."
"Didn't its absence drive Oakenshield mad?"
"Exactly. You're my Arkenstone and I'll go insane if I don't get another kiss now, my lad."
"Oh, if it is so..." Legolas leaned down again and smashed his lips on Gimli's.
Disturbed by the sound and some strange drops that were running down his forehead, Aragorn woke up. His eyes fluttered and it took him a moment to realise that he wasn't in Minas Tirith as he had dreamed, a dark-haired man on fire madly running around, a bright-haired man feverishly mumbling nonsense, and a white-haired wizard hitting others with his walking stick. Not to forget the hungry baby dragons flying overhead. And the guards of the citadel calmly eating second breakfast in the throne hall, ignoring the world end before the doors of their very city.
To put it in a nutshell, which he certainly didn't have in his pocketses, the dream had been utterly confusing. Especially the part about second breakfast. He still didn't get the necessity of it.
He shook his head to get rid of the last shrouds of sleep in his head and stayed, startled, when he felt yet another drop on his face. He turned his head in the direction it came from and found his two best friends loudly kissing, mouths wide agape. Another drop of spit was flung at his face.
"Am I dreaming?" Aragorn wearily asked.
Legolas and Gimli looked at each other and answered in unison. "You are."
"Oh. Good night," Aragorn replied, too confused to understand anything. He grabbed Gimli's axe, which had magically repaired itself once again, as a pillow and laid to sleep again, this time dreaming of a very disappointed Elrond. Which was just ordinary Elrond, as he was always disappointed since Aragorn didn't want to make Arwen a queen. Or at least break up with her.
"Let us find a more secret spot for kissing," Legolas said and dragged Gimli along by his beard like a huge bearded teddy bear.
Once they found a nice little corner, they started again, Legolas's eyes shining like he had gotten a really great birthday gift. Of all the things his ada had done for him, why had he not gifted him a dwarf? He had asked if he could have one when the company of Thorin Oakenshield had been over for their prison break, yet adar had simply replied he could not keep them as toys. Well, so it goes! Now Legolas had his very own dwarf.
Days went by, the two always kissing (neither of them needed much sleep so there was no problem with that) and Aragorn occiasionaly waking in utter darkness, shrugging it off and going back to sleep after a silent moment. He dreamt a lot. The best dream was one in which he was finally made king. Mostly because it was the only dream in which no very disappointed Elrond was standing in a corner to belittle him once more.
After a month, the King of the Dead had his fill of this trio behaving unhinged, so that he woke Aragorn from his slumber. He would have not agreed so fast if it had not been for dead soldiers regularly complaining about the awful sound that kept them awake. Not that ghosts needed sleep, however, since they were quite bored, it was their favourite hobby.
"Wake up, heir of Isildur!" the ghost-king commanded, nudging the man with the blade of his sword.
"Arwen? Is this a dream?" he asked, reaching out to kiss the one before him.
"Eek!" Quite disgusted, the King of the Dead fled from the arms of the still dizzy man who tried to process what had happened.
That voice had not sounded very much like Arwen. But well, perhaps she was also going mad a little. No wonder when the love of her life was currently trapped underground, he thought. Now Elrond was going to be even more disappointed.
Aragorn sighed and went back to sleep, this time having a very pleasant dream: He killed hundred orcs with Arwen watching, clapping happily as he ran back and forth between her lips and the orcs he had to slay. Only as he woke, he realised he had been kissing his own knee the whole time.
A month later, everything was arranged for the marriage of a half-starved dwarf who had to live on crumbs of lembas bread and a very happy elf who felt like he had won the lottery. Not that there was a lottery in middle-earth yet. But they'd open one as soon as they could get out to earn money for their honeymoon.
For this huge event they woke Aragorn, since the King of the Dead didn't agree on the plan of the elf to leave to quickly catch Frodo as a ring-bearer (since he already knew so well how to do his job).
They had to go with Aragorn instead, who was less than willing to carry a ring, even if it was hewn out of ordinary stone. Perhaps he did not even get it was not the One Ring, even after he jumped on it with both his feet. After all, even the provosorical ring was more steadfast than Aragorn's toes. At least, he had seven of them left.
The ceremony itself was somewhat strange, given that they were surrounded by ghosts and a man who desperately tried to destroy their only wedding ring (which they had decided on to wear each for a day).
Still, they gave their lengthy wedding vows and afterwards kissed for a very long time.
For the next three weeks, having failed to destroy yet another ring, Aragorn lay apathetically on his back, staring up into the darkness, his stomach grumbling since he had not gotten a single crumb of lembas bread since heir arrival in the mountains (which was probably the main reason he behaved like mad, and the other was the fact that Elrond was disappointed).
One day, evening or morn could not be told since it was always dark down here, the King of Dead decided at last to attempt once again the only plan he had for getting rid of the kissing couple that was bothering him all the time with their noise.
"Heir of Elendil! Heir of Isildur! Rise and speak shall your plan still be the same!"
"Which plan?" Aragorn asked, unsure what had been dream and what reality.
"To have the army of the dead fight for Gondor in order to restore our honour."
"That plan!" Quickly, and suddenly alright in his head, he rose to his feet and smiled.
"Fight for me and I shall see your oaths fulfilled! What say you?" he shouted once more.
"We fight!" the army of the dead answered.
Thus, the boulder burst into a thousand little pieces and Aragorn led the ghosts outside with a blood-curdling shout.
They ran for quite some time, the dwarf and the elf following as they noticed that their friend was leaving. (And as they noticed they were on their last crumbs of lembas bread which meant that Legolas would soon have nothing to hug left on Gimli.)
They crossed a river (the nasty black ships hadn't waited, of course) and finally arrived in Gondor on the third day, the king-to-may-be staring awestruck up to the city he loved so much.
Strangely, the fields before the city were calm and no sound except for the singing of birds was heard around. There were no soldiers and no battles. And, still, the city stood.
"How can it be?" Aragorn asked, glancing to the east where nothing darkened the horizon. The tower of Sauron was gone.
"We have come to fight! We have fulfilled our oath!" the King of the Dead declared.
"Not yet," Aragorn simply said and started running once more, his sword drawn although there was no enemy in sight.
"No battle, no freedom, seems fair to me," Gimli rumbled under his beard and followed, the elf just behind him.
"Not again," the King of the Dead complained and gave up. "We go back to our mountain."
Aragorn did not even notice the army's absence as he continued his way to Minas Tirith, meeting Gandalf just as he was about to leave.
"You are still alive, mellon! We had given you up already! Time does not seem to matter very much to you, my fellow," Gandalf said and left, humming a melody. "I must be in Bag End by the week's end! Frodo's going to throw a party and they need my fireworks so no time for leisure!"
"Frodo's alive?" Aragorn asked, quite confused.
"Have you heard that, my lad? Our little Frodo is alive! Maybe we also go to that party in Bag End. It would be fun!" Gimli dreamily said to Legolas, tears blinking in his eyes.
Before they could agree on whether they would join the party or not, Aragorn ran up all seven levels to the throne room. His throne room, mind you, by right of blood. Only that another was sitting on his seat.
"Who are you?" he asked, bewildered.
"I could ask the same," the strange man on the throne responded.
"Aragorn!" shouted a little figure he had formerly overlooked on the huge chair of stewards. It was Pippin.
"So you are Aragorn, son of Arathorn, also called Strider by your former company." The strange man sounded sceptical. "You are presumed dead."
"I am not dead, presumed or otherwise," Aragorn said, "And you're sitting on my chair."
"I was crowned like last month, alongside Queen Éowyn."
"Queen Éowyn?" Aragorn asked, flabbergasted.
"Yes, my wife. We already have a son."
"A son?"
"Is he hard of hearing?" The strange man whispered to Pippin, who had just returned from embracing a nearly unresponsive Aragorn.
"I don't know. It's been a long time since I had last seen him."
"Peregrin Took, my lad!" Gimli shouted, out of breath, hugging the hobbit as he ran across the throne room, giving the strange man no time to ask further questions.
Legolas approached and Gimli made way for him to also embrace the hobbit. "How are the others? How are Merry and Sam?"
"Oh, you're not asking me of Frodo, so you've heard something of him already. All right, Merry is steward of Rohan, not that Rohan ever had stewards, but I didn't want my best friend to be in a lesser position than me so I asked King Faramir to arrange for it."
King Faramir, Aragorn noted. So this was Denthor's son. He should have probably gotten rid of both when it had still been time.
"And Sam's doing great, had married, getting children. I can't wait to see them! But being a steward is a position asking for responsibility, so I only visit the Shire twice a month, which takes a total of three weeks."
"We're also married!" Gimli blurted out.
"That's great! My congratulations! Why wasn't I invited?"
"When did you marry?" Aragorn chimed in, confused (again).
"Don't you remember, my lad? You were our ringbearer."
"Right." So, the thing with the ring of stone had been no dream. He should have known.
"Oh! Merry was ringbearer at Sam's wedding. Sam wanted to have Frodo for that, but Frodo fainted so Merry had to do it. I caught the bouquet. I'm getting married next month." Pippin sounded proud.
"I would love to be ringbearer at your wedding if you don't mind, my lad!" Gimli declared, firmly holding Legolas's hand to make sure it was no dream.
"Of course not! But you must promise me to bring as many dwarfs as possible, I don't want such a small wedding Sam had, that was quite boring, I believe."
"I will bring all of Erebor to your wedding, I promise!"
"And I all of Mirkwood!"
"What of Arwen?" Aragorn (quite impolitely) interrupted.
"Oh, she left. With her father, and Galadriel and old Bilbo. Gandalf and Frodo missed the ship because they were still at Sam's wedding. They made quite a fuss about that, but I'm glad because now I can annoy Gandalf forever."
"No!" Aragorn screamed and fell to his knees.
"Elrond was very disappointed when he left. Said that you did not deserve his daughter if you couldn't properly read a clock. But there's still plenty of other elf maidens out there. I bet Legolas has a nice female cousin for you. We also make wigs in Gondor, so no problem if she is blonde, I'll pay for her wig. And I'll be your ringbearer if you wish."