Comes Around Again (Gigolas & Bagginshield)

Ravenhill

It was so good to feel like himself again. Gimli couldn't help grinning as he swung his axe, and more than one orc paused at seeing that grin—with fatal results.

Still, it was an even greater joy when his next target fell before he could bring his axe to bear, a familiar arrow sticking from its throat.

"Twenty-six," called Legolas from somewhere.

Gimli laughed.

"Legolas!" he called out. "Ibin abnâmul!" He looked about, but could not see his elf. "Where are you?"

"Here," called a voice from behind and approaching quickly. Gimli spun, and had just enough time to raise his hand before Legolas, still on horseback, gripped his forearm tightly and pulled him up onto his mount. "It is good to see you again, Meleth," Legolas said. "I hope it lasts long enough for me to greet you properly."

Gimli hummed so low it was nearly a purr and Legolas laughed. "Aye," Gimli agreed. "Let us hope I remain thus long enough for me to win my prize, for my count is now sixty-seven."

Legolas humphed, and fired his bow once more. How his love could steer their mount without reins, Gimli would never understand. "Twenty-seven," Legolas said. "And you've been in battle for longer than I."

Gimli grinned and swung his axe, taking out three orcs at once as they passed. "Where are we going?"

It was clear that Legolas was leading them away from the thick of battle. They were aiming for the Mountain—no, next to the Mountain.

"Thorin has taken your cousins to Ravenhill to end Azog and this battle once and for all," Legolas said. "It is a trap, for Bolg rides from the North and it nearly upon us."

Gimli felt his blood turn to ice colder than the river itself. "Ravenhill," he said. "This is the end of it, the moment." He gripped Legolas tightly around the waist with one arm, keeping his axe arm free. "Swiftly now!" he cried.

It was hard going on a horse, as the terrain was not kind. They had to keep to solid ground, for it was treacherous for even a shod horse to gallop over ice. They were halfway there when they saw the war cart, the dead wargs, and Balin. The white-haired dwarf waved at them from where he sat in the wreckage, idly patting the pelt of a large ram. Legolas pulled up short, letting Gimli slip from the saddle and make his way across the ice.

"Cousin Balin!" Gimli called. "Are you all right?"

"I'm old!" Balin called back. "But not so old as to be imminently fatal."

Gimli laughed as he caught up to the splintered war cart. "Seems like you have an interesting fight."

Balin grinned, showing his teeth. "It's been a long time since I drove a war cart. I've missed it." The Ram bayed, and Balin grinned. "Aye, me too." He looked back to Gimli, his expression sharp. "Thorin has taken to Ravenhill. My brother and the lads went with him."

"Aye," Gimli said. "That is why I cannot dally. They walk into a trap."

The humor fell from Balin's face. He looked up at where Legolas waited with the horse. "You'll never make it up on that beast," he said, and handed Gimli the reins of the Ram. "Take her. Be swift." He looked back up at Legolas. "You may have to leave him behind."

"Never," Gimli said, but he took no offense. "I've learned the weight of an elf is negligible on the back of a beast of burden. You stay safe, cousin."

"Mahal bless your path," Balin answered.

Gimli climbed aboard the Ram, and made their way quickly back up the side of the ravine, where Legolas eyed the ram with some trepidation. "My love," he said. "I'm not sure we will both fit."