Aragorn looked at the sleeping pair and swallowed. This was not good. They had all slept in a mess of bodies during the night, and it was from the resultant tangle of limbs that he had managed to extricate himself, and amazingly without waking anyone else up.

It was the two bodies, relatively separate from the pile, that he was looking down at now. One was elf and one was dwarf. And there lay the problem. Legolas’s was lying on his right side, he left leg curled over Gimli’s right hip, and his arm over his back, putting Gimli’s face close against a patch of bared flesh where the elf’s shirt had fallen open.

Dwarf breath dusted the exposed creamy skin resulting in the tiniest of shudders rolling through the elf as he slept. Aragorn stepped around them, wondering if he could possibly disengage Legolas’ limbs before he woke up, but to his horror, he found Gimli’s arm also encircled the elf. They were pressed so close together, they might as well have been one being.

“They are not going to pleased,” Aragorn whispered, stepping around the other side of them to see Legolas’ open eyes, still blank with sleep. He wanted to act, but was afraid to.

They hated each other, the fellowship knew this with blinding clarity. Elf and dwarf, chalk and cheese; you might as well have found Gimli asleep with an orc, or Legolas for that matter. They were constantly fighting a war of words, bickering, insulting, and barely accepting each other’s presence simply because Elrond had wished it . . .but Elrond wasn’t here. Was he?

Aragorn sighed softly, he had to do something. But what? Legolas was dreaming of something good, that much was obvious. His gentle breaths were catching in his throat, and suddenly Aragorn could see why. At every breath, Gimli’s hips flexed slightly where they lay tightly snug against Legolas’ centre.

“Legolas?” Aragorn hissed, more a warning to himself than the sleeping elf, since he would not hear him.

He had to stop this. He was well aware of how - cough - loud elves were when at the heights of passion. His wife was an elf, after all. His face warmed as the memory of their one and only time together came to mind . . .unintentional as it had been. Elrond would kill him if he had known, and so will Legolas if he did not do something to preserve his dignity. Like now . . .

Gimli’s hips flexed a little harder, a sure sign that Gimli was having interesting dreams of his own.

Aragorn gulped. “Elbereth!” he whispered. He pressed a hand to his forehead, desperate for some way to break them apart without the risk of them losing face.

Then he noticed Legolas’ eyes. He was a wake! Aragorn threw his hands up in the air, out of ideas and looking apologetic.

In his sleep Gimli kissed the sweet flesh before him, swirling the tip of his tongue against a knot of desire that had pebbled on Legolas’ chest. He moaned softly in his sleep, his desire rubbing against the elf’s centre. Legolas shuddered, his hand against Gimli’s back swept down to pull him harder against him. His breath hissed sharply in rapid gasps as he jerked.

Aragorn tensed, hands across his mouth, expecting a scream to erupt . . .nothing happened.

Legolas closed his eyes for a brief moment and worked to calm his breathing. Taking back his lower limbs and arm, he gently returned Gimli’s to his side and regarded the furred face with an unreadable gaze. He lightly kissed Gimli’s hair tenderly and carefully rose to his knees. His wide eyes lifted to Aragorn, horrified at what he had just done.

“It is not your fault,” Aragorn whispered, sorry that he had been unable to stop it.

Legolas, still calming his breathing, nodded wordlessly. “Do not wake him. It is better that he not . . .he would kill me if he . . .” His words failed him. In silence, he shakily got to his feet and walked away to find solitude to collect his thoughts.

Aragorn watched him walk away and frowned at the half-spoken admission. Was Legolas not saying what he thought he was not saying?

Legolas turned his face to gaze longingly over his shoulder. "It is but a dream and a thought, it can never be more. He is a dwarf . . he would not wish it."

Over the breakfast fire, Gimli the dwarf was in a particularly chipper mood, content with his place among friends and his part in a noble quest. Legolas gazed at him in confusion, and the look he had in return confused him more.

“A beautiful morning, wouldn’t you agree, princeling?” He sniffed in a deep breath. “You can almost feel it.”

Legolas was nonplussed. Did Gimli just wink at him? Was he smiling at him? He quickly looked away.

“Ah yes,” Gimli enthused. “Sleeping on the ground has its benefits, does it not, elf?”

Legolas froze, half-chewed morsel in his mouth. His eyes lifted to the dwarf’s face, wondering what he was talking about, and had a sinking feeling that he was about to find out.

“It’s a lot safer than sleeping in a tree,” Gimli added. “One wiggle in the wrong direction and you fall out.” After a momentary thought he added, wistfully, “Aye, it’s better having it on the ground than in a tree.”

Legolas said nothing. Gimli had never seen a flet let alone slept on one, he was certain of that, but somehow he knew it had nothing to do with sleep. He could feel his ears burning and for once wished he did not have braids in his hair, wished for once that his hair was hiding the telltale blush. Worse, he was beginning to realise something even more terrible. Was it possible that Gimli had not been asleep? Suddenly he could not swallow the food in his mouth.

Gimli stood up and walked over to Legolas, whose shy face could not look at the bemused faces of the Fellowship. He was stunned, still stunned at what he was caught doing, and now . . .

Legolas jumped at a tender touch to his shoulder. Even with Aragorn there, watching his shame unfold, Gimli leaned in close to whisper in his ear.

“Elf . . .dwarves are good at faking sleep,” he said quietly. “Min melthe, if only in heart, you owe me a night.”

Legolas rose swiftly from his place and walked quickly into the trees, embarrassed as no elf, of any age or tribe, had ever been. Gimli rocked on the balls of his feet for a moment, considering the swiftly retreating figure. Then, without a word, he purposefully went after him. He smiled to himself, he had a wild heart to tame and he was going to enjoy this time they had, it may not come again for a long while.

The camp was quiet, and belongings had been packed away for a while before the wizard returned from his scouting ahead. He hesitated. “Where is Gimli . . .and Legolas?” he demanded.

“They went that way, and they’ve been gone quite a while” Pippin spoke up quickly, and Aragorn winced.

“Well,” Gandalf spoke again. “Someone has to make sure they are not killing each other.”

Aragorn swiftly stood from the log he had been sitting on, so swiftly that it shifted from the changing weight, throwing Boromir unceremoniously to the leafy forest floor with a grunt. “I will go,” he announced before anyone else could volunteer. He tapped Boromir on the shoulder by way of apology as he passed.

Aragorn found clothing first, lots of it, mostly strewn about haphazardly. Then he found them, or, more accurately, he found Gimli’s bare ass. Over the top of the richly red head he saw Legolas’ impassioned face, eyes wide, mouth slack and breath huffing. It was more of a view than he needed. Without a word he turned around and walked back to camp.

The others noted his return a moment later, alone, and silent. Boromir braced himself on the log, just in case the Ranger chose to sit down. He didn’t.

The first to speak was Pippin. “Are they alright? Maybe we should all go and look . . .”

Aragorn turned to him, his voice dangerous, “In your dreams, Peregrin Took.”

Suddenly, with the words barely out of his mouth, a full-bodied scream filled the grove of trees. Eyes popped wide, but food was wisely put into mouths.

El fin

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