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Gandalf’s Heart.

By Azira Aziz.

:bouncy: Yay!! I finished the challenge concerning Gandalf’s lovelife! As usual, I don’t own
kaput  being not well off and all, but I like to make free with Tolkien’s canon charaters! Heck,
nobody minds!

A million thanks to both Elandriel and SpaceWeevil for betaing this fic for me!

So, on with the story…


It was a blessed union, one the Valar designed.

Or so it is said, in many ways, by the bards and minstrels of Middle Earth now, merrymaking
for all they're worth.

I wonder what Pippin and Merry are up to.

As for now, it is a celebration that none has seen before, nor will see ever after. The pipeweed
supplied for me is quite excellent, definitely top notch! Now, where were we?

Not always does a King marry an elf… my mistake… peredhel.

Not Elrond, of course. What were you thinking?

Rarer still does a King from the supposedly broken line of Isildur, King Elessar return after
generations of absence; is crowned and married a certain Lady Arwen Undomiel, deemed the
fairest of her kind since her ancestor, Lady Luthien Tinuviel.

Or so matters lie.

Well, well. I daresay that ranger from the North is a lucky dog, though Lord Elrond's feelings
are quite the opposite.

He has lost his wife, and now his daughter. He will be apt to join the former soon, I presume.

Not mistaking the ruler of Imladris’s expression when he gave his daughter's hand over to her
future husband, both Gimli and Legolas, showing an unusual mutual agreement over matters
had conspired together to distract the bereaved father of the bride.

A traditional drinking game. Not that I'm supposed to know anything about it, of course.

Poor ellon will have much to answer to with his Lady Celebrian afterwards.

Come to think of it, considering how long it took to finish off my work here, I have a lot to
answer to with my own fair lady.

--long moment of silent contemplation--

I do believe I would like to join the game with them.


A rather impressive mound of ale mugs were accumulating in front of a rather cross-eyed
Gimli. His beard, formerly and tidily braided in the custom of dwarves, was wet from where
the ale had dribbled down his chin as he was drinking. Legolas's claim was the number of
wine bottles he had emptied; preferring the use of only one wine mug, as was the case with
Lord Elrond. The Lord of Rivendell's expression retained a calm, stoic cast, while Legolas
sported a stoned look on his face.

The trio looked nigh on their way to oblivion.

"Gambalf," greeted Gimli, holding up an ale mug in salutation, "Naich fah yah ter joiush!" and
then he downed the ale greedily.

"Suiliad, Mithrandir, please be seated," said Elrond cordially. He was calm for one holding
such grief - too calm. The wine didn’t seem to have affected him much, despite the many
bottles standing on the table where he sat. Too many for one so calm. "You are going to scold
me, aren’t you?" he said sheepishly to me.

"The wine is good. You should try some," said Legolas, grossly overlooking the comical
remark by a usually proper elven lord.

"No, Elrond, not today, but I daresay I will join you!" nodding to Legolas, I replied cheerfully,
startling a serving maid as I poured wine into my own mug and drank it with gusto.

It wasn't long until someone broke out with the notion of singing songs, not unlike a normal
bar. The Prancing Pony, now there's a nice place to listen to hobbits...My mind drifted to a
certain visage of loveliness that awaits me still in Aman...

"Once there was a lady,

darned good for a toss in the hay,
turned out her father was a preacher,
and he threw me out in the bay,
lucky I lived to woo her,
and later stole her away!"

I gave a silent applause to Gimli for being astute enough to not resort to the lesser and
more...revealing versions of those songs.

"You call that a song, mellonin?" asked Legolas, a little tipsy in the eyes despite the perfect
elven motor coordination.

Obviously, he began to belt out in a lamentuous song; he is his Ada's son after all. Fortunately
it is only the grief has he inherited, not the bitterness.

“Light were her feet, where flowers sprung,

Long was her hair, wrought of mithril and gold,
Fair was her face, her kindness shone,
Yet dark was her glorious eyes, blue as the sky.
Galadhelen…Ai, maiden fair!
She awaits me in the Blessed Realm!” for all he's worth, tears shimmering in his eyes and all.

Would you believe that Elrond wept at that point? Elves! I swayed slightly, slopping some wine
out of the wine mug as I filled it again, I recalled.

In the same heartbeat a loud snort wafted over to me, "Yuu dun haffa lady. Yer too purdy fer
one! Yer haffa elfy boy inschtead!" exclaimed Gimli. After a mug of ale went down his throat
yet again he burped loudly, and fell off his chair onto his back on the floor with a thud.

To say that it thundered nasally for a while was an understatement.

"It's affecting me." First he studied his fingers solemnly, counting up to ten in Sindarin, and
then a highly stoned Legolas stayed upright on his chair, eyes wide open. Apparently Gimli's
insult on his sexual orientation went right past him. Something about the young ellon tells me
his mind is asleep.
Shy of being ridiculously drunk, I decided to show them a thing or two about songs. Hah! Now
a White Wizard can really give a song.

“My bones are old, my life is spent,

correcting wrongdoings of elves and men,
In task in haste, my back is bent
on following the Valar's intent,
yet in my heart Ea formerly sent
my beloved wind-sprite
who reserves my love as her right

Her eyes are grey, as translucent as the wind,

her crown ere white, is cold as winter,
yet her heart, oh, my heart does sing,
and I, poor soul, could do no better,
than to adore her, ah, my beloved, her laughter
it is music Aule himself crafted, gift
to his poor servant, lest my loyalty shift

Now where did Elrond go to? He was sitting on that chair, wasn't he? Oh, well.

I saw her one day, young and alone,

that did more than startle my mind,
then delved I into her thoughts and burned
with desire to seek her kind
yet I found no other, no jewel like her,
in my own arms to me, no place the better

Olorin, named I, in the blessed realm,

Mithrandir, many named me in many tongues,
hurts hinder me, and my steadfast balm,
was the love for me my wind-sprite sung,
she said to me to be true to my tasks
and for that her love I will hold on fast

I saw her last on blessed shore,

bidding me a tearful farewell,
when Durin's bane sent me to death's door
twas' her persuasion that begged me return
If there is a thank to credit me with
'twas for my wind-sprite for being swift

Oh, one day, someday, all said and done,

I will return to your side to remain,
let hell let loose, fugitives on the run,
let Osse pelt me with hail or rain,
nothing shall stand between me and my bride,
to whose fond affection I will abide

Hear ye, hear ye, of my lady belle

hers was greater than the Undomiel...”

...and I remembered no more.


"You plied them too much with wine," said a serving maid accusingly to her friend.
"It was not my intent," the other serving maid protested. "They are guests, and the King's
decree was that none, them especially, is to be refused!"

"Then is it not wise to remove it from their reach when they have too much?" the first serving
maid replied sarcastically.

"The old man grabbed the flask from my hand!" she hissed back.

"Too late anyway," commented the first maid dryly, as she studied the 'guests' closely.
"They're all on their way to heaven, or already there by the looks of it!"

"Their eyes are open," the other maid pointed out, whispering.

"They're elves, and that old one's a wizard, head of the Wise. Look at the dwarf! This is as
close we're going to get of drunken multi-racial company!"

"The golden-haired elf looks wonderfully pretty," sighed the dark-haired maid. "Think he won't
mind some companionship?" she grinned cheekily at the sandy-haired maid.

"I'll not hear of such talk, especially not around them!" replied the scandalized maid.

"They're as deep as stone under water, Lily, naught will come of this," giggled the second
maid again.

“It still ain't proper, Ela, and furthermore, they're out of our league, if my ears served me right,
so get! Clean up this mess, and let them sleep off the drink!"

"Oh, all right. He won't be a sport all drunk like this anyway," grinned Ela cheekily at the face
of her disgusted friend, and skittered off to her tasks.


It felt warm and cosy, like hobbit holes or sitting in front of fireplaces during winter. I was
surprised; does not this habit of excessive drinking come with 'hangovers' that I have
discussed with Elrond, or are Maias excluded from this rule?

"Olorin!" A pleasant feeling overwhelmed me.

"Erulisse, my beloved!" How I had yearned to see her like this, to feel her touch, to listen to
her laughter, and most of all, to see the curve of her smile.

A small frown marred her features, which is beautiful to me, "You have never let your fea
loose like this before, and you know the risks well." Caught red-handed, I must say.

"I, uh, wished only to see you again." Honestly, to say I am 'seeing' her is incorrect, as the
meeting of feas in dreams are, best said, only emotions and at times when I exercised less
control, such as tonight, I'd be taking conversations where my heart lay.

Erulisse, of course.

"No such thing has happened before. Pray tell what is wrong. Has your hroa failed you
again?" Ever tried explaining the concept of getting drunk to a maia of Aman? It’s

"I am gone far too long," I glossed over the facts.

"Olórin." It wasn't a scream, a screech, anything. It was statement enquiring politely with
hidden steel. I winced slightly.

"Well, you see..."


And the mists cleared away to dawn with two noble elves, a powerful maia, and one odd
dwarf still in the common room, where they slept off the effects of the night's excessive

The servants have thoughtfully 'tucked' the guests with warm blankets, a certain golden-
haired elf's being the warmest and of fine quality. Gimli's head was placed atop a small
cushion as he snored on the floor while Gandalf had a small pillow slid cunningly under his
head as he slept, head sideways on the table as well.

Lord Elrond, apparently, defied even the kindest servant's efforts as he lay, without any
coverage or soft padding, sprawled on his back---under the table.


Erulisse : Grace (Sindharin)

Gandalf’s song was written in abcbdd format.

The one sang by Legolas is from my other fic, Legolas’s Song. The rest is originally mine as

Whaddayathink? Please read, rate & review! ^_^ (borrowing a certain lady’s 3R concept).