Rumil sighed. “I am getting a little tired of this,” he suddenly announced.

“Of what? Evenings being spoiled?” Orophin asked, lazily swinging a leg as it dangled from the branch.

“No . . .well, yes, that too. It is them,” his brother retorted. “They make me feel so old.”

“You are right, Rumil,” Orophin rejoined. “All this constant adversarial posing is wearing me down. Gimli pines for Legolas, Legolas pines for Gimli, and the only people not to realise that is them.”

“Too true,” Rumil said. “All they do is complain, grumble and insult each other when they are together. Something has to be done to put a stop to it. I am too young to start feeling my age.”

Haldir lifted his eyes to his brothers. “I agree. So, what do you propose?”

“What we need to do is . . .something,” Orophin replied indecisively.

Haldir thought about it, and it took many long seconds before his brothers noticed the hugely wicked grin on his face.

“Now, that is positively frightening, Haldir. What do you have in mind that makes you take on the look of an orc?”

Haldir uncurled himself from the floor of the flet. “I suggest a little game, a little intervention on our part.” With that he outlined his idea.

At the pavilion, Ârâgorn watched Gimli stirring the contents of the cooking pot with all the gentleness of a nazgul. The spoon was scraping the inside with the keening screech of metal on metal. He wondered when the insulted pewter would give up the fight and cleave its base into the fire below. Obviously, something was troubling the dwarf.

The heir of Elendil weighed up his options . . .a ruined meal, or a dead uncrowned king? A glance at the huddle of hungry hobbits and he opted to take his chances. Taking the pipe from his lips, he began to speak. “What ails you, friend-Gimli?”

Gimli wrapped the spoon against the rim of the pot with ferocity and rose. The hobbits scuttled backward as he passed to step towards Ârâgorn. “As if you don’t know!” he growled. “For all I know, you put him up to it!”

Ârâgorn lifted his eyes to the angry dwarf, a frown flitting across his brow. “Put who up to what?” he asked.

“Och, Lad! You’re as bad as he is.”

“Who?” Ârâgorn repeated as the dwarf stomped back to the meal.

Gimli picked up the spoon and hunkered down to continue stirring. “Whenever I speak, he contradicts. Whatever I suggest, he gainsays. I have never met a more arrogant, insulting creature in all my born days. If I had not forsworn the rest of my life to you and the hobbit, I would be gone across the river and on the road north by now.”

Ârâgorn swallowed. “Legolas.”

“Got. It. In. One.” Gimli smacked a clot of stew onto a plate and added a second and a third before holding it out for Frodo, the nearest, and volunteered by the others to be the bravest, to take.

Ârâgorn waited until all four hobbits had food before shifting closer to retrieve his own. “Would you wish for me to wear it now, or would you feel better throwing it at me yourself?”

Gimli lifted an eye in his direction. “I am in no mood for your wry wit, Ârâgorn. He has tried my patience for the last time. One more grain of his arrogance, and I shall not be held responsible for what I do to him.”

Ârâgorn took the proffered plate of stew and thanked him. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked. “Perhaps if you tell me what has happened I can speak to him for you, mediate between the two of you. It cannot go well for the quest if there are divisions between us.”

“Until now, I was certain you were the one to put him up to it,” Gimli admitted.

“What did Legolas do?”

Gimli sighed. “He says one thing and moment’s later retracts them, he does something and then swears blind he did not. I had thought . . .nay hoped, that the mistakes of the past were behind us, but the more I long for a brighter future the more adversarial he becomes. He fights peace, he fights me. He wants me gone, I know it, and yet I stay because he wants me gone, just to spite him.” Gimli shoved some food into his mouth and had barely chewed it before swallowing and beginning the vitriol again. “I will not leave. I made an oath, and I’ll stick it out to the end. See if I care what his thinks. He can shout and scream all he likes. I’ll just dig in my heels and remain. Oh yes. I can be as stubborn as he is.”

The elf paced. Back and forth, back and forth, until the man of Gondor was sure he would become hypnotised by it. The pointy-eared fume seemed unconcerned.

“What is his difficulty anyway?” Legolas demanded. “The more I smile and try and make him more welcome, the more he fights me. He is rude, possessive, obnoxious . . .”

“Arrogant,” Boromir blurted out before he realised he had opened his mouth.

“Aye,” Legolas agreed, turning toward him. “Arrogant. He is the most arrogant dwarf I have ever met.”

Boromir sighed softly. “Have you tried sitting down with him and talking about how you feel?”

“Of course not!” Legolas retorted. “That is the most ridiculous idea since Sauron forged the rings of power. Whoever heard of a dwarf caring what an elf thinks or feels?”

“You have to admit, Gimli is not just any dwarf, Legolas. He is certainly different from . . .any other dwarf I have met,” he said slowly.

Legolas gazed at him. “Gimli is the only dwarf you have ever met.”

“My point is, you need to sit down and talk about your differences, brother. This fighting amongst ourselves will only make Sauron believe all the more that he has this world by the short hairs. The quest will fail and he will win, and if you continue to fight, he will have won before we have begun to strike out for Mordor.”

Legolas lowered his gaze. “I know you are right, but I do not know how. Everything I have tried, he rejects. I might as well be talking to a block of granite. He is as yielding as the rock he was forged from. I cannot work with such a creature who cannot even listen to reason before deciding what to say. His insults, his ridicule, his temper burn at my soul. It is not given to elves to endure such torment.”

Boromir rose to his feet and patted his shoulder with a gloved hand. “Think about what I’ve said, think about what you can tell Gimli. Look at it from another viewpoint. You are both strangers, distrustful and stuck in your own ways. But even a deep wide river has two opposing banks, and they see eye to eye. So can you and Gimli.” He clasped his shoulder again and parted. “Think about it, and then come and eat.”

Legolas remained standing for some time. He sighed, lifting his eyes skyward. He had tried everything to become friends. What more could he do?

Some distance behind him, Boromir and Ârâgorn passed upon the path between the clearing and the pavilion.

“Walk with care,” Ârâgorn told him. “There is a storm ahead.”

“Likewise,” Boromir warned, taking his to mean Gimli was in an equally good mood, and continued walking.

Boromir had reached the white-cloth tents to witness a fight, but not one that he had expected to see. “What the . . .?”

It was pure pandemonium. Four elves had descended on the unarmed dwarf, while two more held the hobbits at bay, tucked beneath their arms. Bedrolls and blankets lay scattered across the space in total upheaval. Dwarvish curses rose from the mass of arms and legs, and for a moment Boromir wondered if he should intervene, but there was no time.

Gimli was suddenly launched into the air, held by the arms between two elves and carried off yelling. The hobbits were suddenly dropped and the elves that had held them were gone in a moment.

“Gimli!” Boromir cried.

“What is happening?” the hobbits cried, tears rolling down at least three cheeks.

“Ârâgorn told me to expect a storm . . .Ârâgorn!” Suddenly the man turned back the way he had come, angry and aiming straight for the man he believed responsible. The hobbits, instantly realising this and desperate not to be left alone, shot off after him.

Boromir reached the clearing just a second before they did, to find crumbled grass, trampled flowers and a slumped figure lying across the roots of a tree. Boromir went straight to him, lifting him by the collar ready to pummel some sense into him. He dropped the fist at once as he realised Ârâgorn was unconscious, a bright red gash across one temple.

He lifted his eyes, letting out a shocked breath. “Sam, boil some water. Get the tents tidied!”

“What is happening?” Frodo asked again.

“I do not know,” Boromir replied. “Unless Legolas has something to do with this, and I somehow doubt it, I’d say all Lórien has gone mad.”

“How do you know Legolas did not do this?” Pippin asked. “He and Gimli are not exactly the best of friends.”

Boromir pointed to a broken stick lying on the floor among the destroyed flowers. They looked and slowly realised what it was. “There is only one way to break a bow in that fashion,” the man said. “And that is to wrench it from the hand that is holding it. There are scratch marks where delicate nails have tried to hold on to it.” He lifted his eyes to the forest around him. “Legolas has been kidnapped, as has Gimli . . .I’d bet my life on it.”

Gimli flinched as two elves stepped inside the doorway and literally threw an unconscious Legolas into the talan floor before him. They then left without a word. Gimli again went back to trying to bite his way through the bonds around his wrists. He cursed the elvish rope that denied him success, ignoring the prone form not three feet away.

Finally he sighed with resignation. On his knees, he worked himself towards a large bowl of water. There was a small towel beside it. He eyed the elf lying there and dipped the cloth into the water and without ceremony, he slapped it across Legolas’ face.

Suddenly Legolas sat up with a cry, coughing and spluttering, wiping his face with his hands. With a gasp he turned and glared at Gimli. “What is the meaning of this outrage? I shall have you hung for this, dwarf!”

“Oh, and you think this is my fault?” he demanded, waving his rope-bound hands at him.

“Most likely,” the elf shot back. “Along with capturing me for some evil design that you, alone, know.”

“Consider yourself captured, elf. Oh, I know I have an axe here somewhere!”

Legolas sneered at his irony. “I do not find this at all amusing. Why did you bring me here against my will?”

“Me!” Gimli growled. “You had me dragged away by six elves. Six, mind! Any less and you would have failed.”

“Me!” Legolas repeated. “Get it into your thick head, dwarf. I would not drag you anywhere tied to the other end of a barge pole soaked in athelas to staunch any risk of naug stench getting on my hands!”

Outside, several elves paused to gain their breaths. “Well, stage one went well,” one said. He paused to listen to the screaming coming from within. “Stage two, on the other hand, may end quickly. Plan B?”

The others nodded. It had proven harder than they had expected thus far, but no one seemed willing to step back now. “Plan B,” Rumil agreed.

It was quite dark, and even darker inside the talan. The mood was ominous, the tension wound so tight it could have ignited the wooden structure all on its own. They had sat in silence for over an hour, on opposite sides of the otherwise empty room. There were no furnishings, save for the bowl of water from which Legolas had cupped his hands to drink from. Gimli, hands tied, had no such relief from the burning thirst that assaulted him. He would have to untie himself, or drink like a dog, which, with a beard, was not easy.

Ignoring the dwarf, Legolas walked around the abandoned talan, the floor of which was sound enough. The balcony was many feet from the nearest branch, and even further from the ground. There was no way to jump to freedom without risking serious injury in the process. At each end of the room was a door, both were locked, and even Legolas could not open them. He tried wrenching one door from its hinges but had succeeded in little more than making his fingers bleed anew. Wincing at the discomfort in his fingers, he shook them and sucked on the tips where they were scuffed and sore. In anger and frustration he pounded on the door with his fists.

The elf returned to where he had been rudely awoken, his braids still wet from the insult, and lowered himself to the floor with as much grace as he could muster in his livid state. He sighed. This was not one of his better days, worse for the fact that he could not get out, or away from the dwarf, whom he had tried to befriend. Eru knows he had tried. Without realising it, his eyes moved of their own accord to where the dwarf sat busily trying to best the strongest rope to be found in Middle Earth.

Gimli sat on the trunk side of the rectangular space, stretching out his legs to ease the pins and needles. He ignored the elf, sat with his knees tucked beneath his chin. He ignored the half-interested gaze from those grey-green eyes as he fiddled endlessly with the bonds that held him securely.

Gimli twisted this way and that, chewed and wriggled, pulled and twisted back again, but it was no use. The knots had not loosened one bit, and his wrists were becoming increasingly red as time went on. His anger had turned to desperation at some point. He sighed thickly and looked up, meeting the gaze of the elf, where he sat hugging his knees.

“What are you looking at, elf?” Gimli grumbled.

Legolas almost sighed and turned away. “Nothing,” he replied quietly. Secretly, he wanted to help. He could undo the knot . . .that is, if Gimli had not tightened it too far, which was entirely possible. Secretly, he wished Gimli would ask him, but he knew that would not happen. The dwarf would never accept him, there would be no peace between them.

The hours wore on, and Gimli’s eyes turned more and more to the bowl of water that stood like a trophy out of reach. He licked his lips, dry as they were his tongue felt dryer. Again he began to pull at the rope that held him fast, moaning with frustration. It had not budged at all, and his wrists were now raw. Gimli thumped at his thighs with a growl and looked up.

The elf’s eyes rose to his and quickly turned away, as if embarrassed to be caught staring for the second time.

“Curse you, lad! Quit staring at me! I have taken about as much from you as I can conceivably contain without having to endure your gloating as well.”

“I am not gloating,” Legolas said quietly. “As if it should have escaped your notice, I am also a prisoner here.”

Gimli huffed a growl. “That serves me right for trusting elves!” he grumbled.

Legolas’ head shot up and his gaze rounded on him. “Did you not hear what I just said?” he demanded. “You are not alone in here.”

“Do you think it possible for me to forget that little detail?” Gimli shot back. “This little gimmick of yours had better be working out, because the quicker you release me, the better it will go for you!”

“My gimmick!” Legolas shouted back, suddenly on his feet. “You stupid, arrogant dwarf! This has nothing to do with me!”

“Your are an elf, it was elves who snatched me from my dinner. What more evidence do I need?”

Legolas huffed an angry sigh. “Is your head on securely, Gimli? Has your memory slipped? This is not my country. These are not my people. These are Noldor. In years not so distant they killed elves like me, sometimes just for fun. So believe yourself lucky you have me to speak to, and not a corpse rotting at your feet!”

“Why, in the sight of Mahal, should I be lucky?” Gimli threw back. “Right now, I wish you were dead!”

Legolas stared at him, eyes wide. He took a step back and swallowed. In silence, he sank to the floor and drew his knees beneath his chin again. After a moment, he set his cheek against his circling arms once more.

It was a mannerism Gimli was becoming familiar with, having first seen it after Gandalf had fallen. He had seen it during every night in Moria, had seen it that night after Caradhras, though never as much as at the East Gate. Gimli set his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry. I did not mean that.”

There was no answer.

Gimli rolled backward onto his back and shot upright, having woken himself up from a doze. He looked around him. The talan was almost inky black, the only light came from the open doors that led to the balcony, and that was only the grey light of midnight.

Legolas had not moved since he had last spoken, at least it seemed as if he had not. Gimli struggled to his feet, just for something to do and to get the circulation going in his legs, and wandered over to the balcony and looked down. He gasped and stepped back inside. He was higher up than he had imagined. Everything was black, even the abyss into which he might have fallen had he been stupid enough to jump.

He turned to walk back inside, and hesitated. Legolas’ eyes were wide open, but blank. In the dimness, Gimli’s eyes worked perfectly well at short distances, he owed that ability to his being a dwarf. He could see dark streaks on Legolas’ alabaster cheeks, and as he watched a glistening pearl of liquid rolled unnoticed from the corner of his eye down the side of his nose. He owed that to his cruel comment to the elf earlier. The glittering eyes never moved as he stood there, and Gimli slowly realised that the elf had cried himself to asleep.

Gimli stepped passed him to return to his place, not noticing the head rise to watch his progress. Gimli sank as carefully as he could to the floor and lay down. He sighed. “Mahal, what have I done?” he whispered. “Not since the days of Durin the first, has dwarf shown himself to be of such little worth as to draw tears from an elf. If I had but a knife I would strike my own heart with it, if it would save him more pain. No elf deserves this. Whatever cruel design this was, let them feel compassion and release Legolas. He cares little for me. I know that, and I accept that it will never change, but this is too much. I don’t care for my own life, just let him have his freedom.” Gimli’s prayer drifted off as sleep claimed him, sinking the talan into silence once more.

In the stillness, Legolas did not move, except to lower his cheek to his arms as he listened to the deepening breaths of the dwarf. A breath shuddered from his lips as he rose silently. With sore and blooded fingers he untied the knot that secured the rope. It was as difficult as he had expected, but the fault lay not with it being too tight, but with the state of his hands. He hissed softly and finally pulled the knot loose. The rope fell to the floor, but Gimli did not shift even in sleep.

“As Aule is my witness also, Gimli, I will never reveal what it is that moves my heart. It is plain to me that you would not accept the truth any more than you accept me. You do not accept me, though our oaths might wish it otherwise. I stopped praying for that a long time ago. You should also. It is pointless to ask for that which your own heart does not and cannot want. My heart, on the other hand, will go on without the hope it once had. Sleep, Gimli. In the morning, perhaps they shall release you, and leave me in your stead to do with as they have always done.”

Legolas shifted back a little, turning his back on him to return to his former position. The dawn was still a long way off, much further than the pain that tore through his heart. The dwarf would only admit his true feelings while the elf slept. What good were feelings in a closet, when friendship should be shared always? What good was a heart, when at every breath it was ripped open with every word spat at him during his waking hours?

“Curse this heart of mine,” he whispered. Burying his face in his arms, he wept.

Gimli started from sleep and opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was the lack of restraints on his wrists. The rope that had secured him now lay on the floor where it had fallen. He sat up and rubbed his wrists, and flexed his hands and fingers. Silently crowing his good fortune, he eyed the bowl of water with renewed vigour. He looked up to find the elf watching him, as if waiting for something. Gimli gave him the benefit of his best scowl and rose enough to cup some water in his hands to drink.

He swallowed slowly, savouring the water as only a thirsty man could. He then straightened as Legolas rose and tensed, facing one of the doors, in fact the one he had entered through the previous evening. Almost a minute went by before anything happened. Gimli had almost given the elf up for mad when he heard a heavy bolt draw back and the door swung inwards.

An elf filled the opening and carefully drew back his hood to reveal an elf they both knew, one who had extended the hand of friendship. Hope suddenly filled them.

“Haldir!” Legolas cried. “You found us. How did you know we were here?”

“I knew you were here,” Haldir replied evenly. “I had my warriors lock you in here.”

Legolas looked at once devastated and angry. Gimli growled and rose to his feet as Legolas tensed ready to strike at the March Warden. Haldir effortlessly dodged the blow, even with both arms laden with a tray, on which was set two plates of food. He set it down and stepped back in time to miss the second arching fist.

“Why have you brought me here?” Gimli demanded.

“Us!” Legolas hissed to remind the infuriating dwarf. He turned his angry eyes to Haldir. “That is also what I would like to know,” he added in agreement.

“You are both here because we tire of your arguments, your fighting. Here you will set the record straight, once and for all. Until that is done, here you will remain. Now eat. You must be hungry,” Haldir reached out to remove the ties he had left on Gimli’s wrists. He was surprised to find them already loosened and gone.

“I wriggled out of them in my sleep,” Gimli told him gruffly. “No thanks to you shameless, useless, unfeeling elves!” Legolas opened his mouth, but expelled the unused breath and stormed off to stare out over the balcony. Gimli ignored him. “I could have died of thirst, and you pointy-eared tree-rats would not have cared less. And, now that I am free of the rope, you will let me go this minute.”

“I will not,” Haldir replied, knowing full well that no one could undo elf knots except another elf, unless the rope had been gifted to a friend.

“Confounded elf! You will let me out . . .”

“Or what?” Haldir said smugly, unconcerned by any threat the dwarf might like to make. “You will go whimpering to the Lady Galadriel?”

“And more besides . . .”

“No need,” Haldir cut in. “Both she and Lord Celeborn know where you are and why, and as of sunset last night, so did your companions.”

Gimli gaped at him in horror and growing anger. “And what do you expect to gain from this false imprisonment? War? Because, believe you me, you shall have it!”

“It is not a false imprisonment, Gimli elf-friend,” Haldir replied. “I have told you. Resolve the issues between you and Prince Legolas, and the sooner you do so the sooner you will leave.”

“Resolve . . .! Aaauuch! Lad, I aught to ream you a new . . .just how do you expect us to do that . . .?”

“And reveal your true feelings for each other,” Haldir added.

Legolas stiffened but did not turn to face them. “How dare you insinuate . . .”

Gimli exploded with fury. His voice was and always had been much louder. “Why, you puffed up, self-absorbed, over-grown fairy!” he roared. Haldir almost looked afraid, almost. “I’ll not give you any satisfaction of hearing a confession forced out of me, especially one that is false! I would rather die!”

Without warning, a fist met solid window frame. The sound made Gimli jump.

Despite the start, the dwarf remained resolute and determined. “This is entrapment! Blackmail!” the dwarf roared. “You’ll get nothing out of me that doesn’t exist. Now set me free!”

“Suit your self.” Haldir turned for the door and closed it behind him. The bolt slid across and the footsteps, he presumed there were some since he could not hear them, retreated into the distance. He watched Legolas’ reaction, head lowering to the hard surface of the window frame, and guessed that Haldir had indeed left.

They were alone.

“What are you staring at, pointy-ear?” Gimli demanded.

“Why should I not stare?” Legolas demanded gently. “It is because of you that we are in here.”

“Because of me?” Gimli spoke, voice rising yet again. “You are so arrogant that you cannot even see past your own self-importance! What makes you think I am going to lower myself to elf level just so I can be free of your infernal company!”

This whole situation was beginning to wear on Legolas’ fragile heart. “Gimli, please . . .”

The dwarf had already risen and took a step or two towards him. “Give me one good reason why I should feign feeling anything but indifference for you . . .or any elf. Just one reason, because right now, if it were within me, I would throttle you here and now.” He watched with extreme satisfaction as the elf’s eyes widened. “But no,” he added. “I shall watch with greater satisfaction as my father executes you for kidnapping, false imprisonment and treason.”

“Gimli, did you not hear what has been said? I had nothing to do with this. This is Haldir’s doing, not mine. And, believe it or not, I have no more wish to hear lies from your mouth any more than you wish to utter them.” Legolas swallowed the rise of something unbidden that tore at his insides at saying it. He turned away, hoping he could best it.

Gimli snorted through his nose. “Good, I’m glad we are in agreement over one thing,” he retorted. He lifted his head, thinking about what Legolas had said and looked up at him. Lies from his mouth? What about the elf’s? Gimli thrummed in his throat. Damned elf was playing games with him now, which only added to his belief that Legolas really was the mind behind the entire parody. “Eat,” he snapped.

Legolas folded his arms and remained resolutely turned away. “I am not hungry,” he said softly.

“You’ll eat, lad, or I shall force feed you.”

“I said, I am not hungry.”

Gimli snatched at a square of bread and got to his feet. Stepping up beside the elf, he swung out a leg. With no opportunity to prepare, Legolas fell heavily onto his back, the air knocked from his lungs. Before he could rise a dwarf landed across his chest. A gloved hand pulled open his lower jaw and bread was stuffed into his opened mouth.

“I said, eat, and don’t make me do that again!”

Legolas glared at his back as the dwarf walked away. He sat up and spat the food out. “I would rather starve than eat food touched by you!”

“Starve then,” the dwarf retorted. “Don’t expect me to care.”

Legolas rose to his feet. His stomach growled plaintively, but he ignored it. Looking out across the forest, he longed to be gone . . .anywhere but here, it did not matter where. He began to pace, walking from one end of the talan to the other and back again. He had completed twenty lengths before the dwarf had grown tired of it, many more than the elf, but that was not so apparent.

Gimli growled with ill-concealed annoyance. “Will you quit pacing? You are getting on my wick!”

“There is little else to do to pass the time,” Legolas retorted.

“You’re an elf and, as you have pointed out so often, you’re immortal. You don’t feel the passing of time.”

“Locked up with you makes me wonder at the truth of that,” Legolas muttered under his breath.

Gimli huffed in the quiet of the canopy. “Even the damned birds never quit chattering. How can you elves take the racket . . .squirrels, birds, the trees? There is so much infernal noise up here! And stop muttering under your breath!”

“I was not aware that dwarves had such sensitive hearing.”

Gimli glared at him. “I am used to the silence beneath the ground. And we are far above the ground.” Legolas looked down over the balcony, prompting Gimli to blurt out, “Do you have to do that? You’re making me feel queasy.”

That seemed to amuse Legolas no small amount. Without warning he pressed his feet to the floor of the talan and began to bounce. The dwarf instantly wobbled and fell on his rump as the treetop began to sway.

“Stop that!” Gimli roared. For a moment he sucked air, calming the roiling of his stomach as the swaying eased. “Have I ever mentioned that you are the most annoying elvish princeling I have ever met?”

“I would not remind you of that which you know so well,” he retorted with sarcasm, while inside he secretly grinned. “Although . . .I am the only elvish princeling you have ever met.”

Gimli sat up carefully. “And wipe that silly grin off your face, lad. I am nowhere near as impressed with that stunt as you might think. I detest this situation, I detest being here, I detest you, but most of all I detest being here with you.”

The smile slowly left the elf’s face, and he looked away. Legolas sighed, leaning against the frame of the door, looking out longingly towards the north. How he wished he had never left home, but his fate by then had already been sealed. How he wished the orc attack had never occurred, and thus the loss of his captive, but that would not have changed matters. His meeting with Gollum had already changed him, had already shaped his course into what he was doing now. And here he was stuck in a locked room with a dwarf who felt no different towards him than Gollum had. And yet, this time, he was stuck atop the same tree as his enemy.

He sighed again, thinking of the lines of a song, half-remembered, in a language he barely understood. Without thinking he began to hum the tune and before he realised it he was singing. Within seconds, an object struck the back of his head and the tray flew out over the balcony and down through the branches below.

“Stop your racket,” Gimli grumbled.

Legolas stared at him in stupefied silence. With a sigh, he lowered himself to the floor and tucked his knees beneath his chin. Gimli noted the move in stubborn silence, and huffed to himself.

“Stupid elf!” he muttered under his breath. “And to think they pride themselves with being silent. Bah!”

Legolas sat in silence, gazing out through the green of the mallyrn. Every now and then a leaf floated down from higher up, reminding him of how old he was. The mallorn trees would soon fade. He sighed. If he had to endure much more of this, he would prefer to fade with them.

Without noticing the tears that had filled most of the previous night slipped anew from his eyes to dampen his cheeks. The instant he realised what was happening, he curled his head further into his arms for fear of Gimli noticing. In the silence, Gimli moved about behind him, pacing, huffing to himself now and then, but that had not lasted long. Legolas did not care. Gimli felt nothing but contempt for him, his likes and dislikes, even his love. Elven ways meant nothing to a dwarf, absolutely nothing.

A sudden sob of despair tore itself free from his throat, and Legolas cringed. He sat very still, fearful of what Gimli’s response would be. For a long time there was not a sound. Carefully, Legolas lifted and turned his head. To his surprise, he found Gimli lying at the far end of the floor, curled up.

Wiping his eyes, he rose to see if the dwarf was alright. Being this far from the ground could have made him more ill than he had realised. He bent low over the figure and found him sleeping. To his horror, the eyes suddenly opened and turned to glare up at him.

“What in Durin’s name do you think you’re doing, elf?” Gimli roared.

Legolas stumbled backwards for a moment and stared at him. The fury rose before he could stop it. “I was concerned that you might be ill. How stupid of me to think such a thing. How stupid of me to care!” With that he returned to the balcony. Once again, he took his knees to his chest and lay his head in his arms.

Behind him unseen, Gimli cursed himself again. With the outer edge of his fist he struck at the back wall of the talan and in anger. He sighed, his gaze wandering offer to the elf huddled on the balcony. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid, stupid . . .”

Legolas heard the dwarf muttering to himself, and attempted to smother every retort, however softly spoken they seemed to the dwarf. To him, they might as well have been screamed at him. Little was he to know that the vitriol was not aimed at him. He did not want to turn around and add hope to his failing spirits, only to have them dashed upon finding the curses were his after all.

Legolas sighed again. Even the warm sunlight that kissed his face from above did nothing to sooth the ache from within. “Elbereth,” he whispered. “I would rather not wake.”

As the evening drew near, Legolas did not even look up at the sound of approaching footsteps. As a consequence, Gimli gasped at the unexpected sound of the bolt drawing back. Haldir regarded the pair sat at opposing ends of the talan in stony silence. “I can see that this is going well,” he noted sarcastically.

“I want nothing more than to go home,” Legolas spoke emptily, to no one in particular. “I would break my oath to the fellowship, if it meant never having to look at another dwarf, any dwarf, ever.”

Haldir’s eyes shifted from the elf to the dwarf. “You tire all those around you with your emotional sabotage. I hope, for your sake, you do not become responsible for the death of another through your neglect.”

“What in the name of all that’s holy are you talking about?” Gimli demanded.

“Your hatred is enough to kill, is what I am talking about,” Haldir replied stonily.

“I tire of your games. I demand to be released. I have work to do.”

Haldir remained unmoved. “You need to express yourself, Gimli, in something other than anger and hatred.” Haldir turned for the door. “I shall return in the morning.”

He left a tray of food, which remained untouched.

The evening turned into night and Legolas still had not eaten. Gimli had fallen asleep early, simply for want of anything better to do. He awoke to the sound of shivering, at least he thought it was shivering at first. He opened his eyes and blinked before opening his eyes as wide as they could go. He clearly made out the outline of Legolas on the balcony, but for some reason his legs seemed to be a lot shorter than usual.

Gimli lifted his head a little, in an attempt to make sense of what he was seeing, and then it came to him. Legolas was not standing on the balcony, he was sitting on the railing. The dwarf swallowed a cry of fright, that, if uttered, would surely spell death for Legolas. He held his breath as he watched the contemplative elf lift one leg back over the railing and then the other. Legolas stood still for a moment before turning and finding Gimli watching him, wide-eyed.

“I would have done it . . .what do you care anyway?”

“Go on then,” Gimli shot back, all dwarf. “I won’t stop you.”

“Of course not,” Legolas replied. “You are a dwarf. You have no feelings. Your kind are as unmoved as the rock from which you sprang.”

“So you’re staying because of me, how touching.”

“Why would I waist my time on an ungrateful dwarf!” Legolas retorted. “The only reason I remain is that . . .”

“You’re a coward,” Gimli finished.

“Honourable,” Legolas corrected. “If I am found at the foot of this tree, they will come for you. I would not do that, not even to you. I have more honour than you could ever dream of.”

The dawn had barely broken, and the dwarf had begun. Legolas was absently combing his fingers through his hair as the dwarf shifted from sleep to awake and sat up. The dwarf scowled.

“What are you doing that for, elf?” he demanded gruffly. “No one is going to notice.”

“I know,” Legolas replied resignedly. “But if I don’t do it, it will tangle up and then it will take hours to release.”

Gimli growled under his breath. “Prissy elf,” he grumbled. “You elves take far too much time over your appearance. Me, I just bundle my hair up and forget about it. And in here, there’s no point in making your self all pretty. There’s only me, and trust me, I am not interested.”

Legolas stiffened, but made an attempt to ignore him. Seconds later, Gimli growled again.

“Call that hair?” he groused. “I’ve seen more hair on a rock. Your hair is so thin and straight, anyone would think is was spider silk, but then, you coming from Mirkwood, perhaps it is.”

“At least I can comb my hair,” Legolas retorted. “You would need a pitch fork to untangle your mane. It is as if the very beasts of Morgoth have danced thought it, backwards,” he told him. “Not only that, you lack the skill to braid it correctly. Perhaps you should wear it loose, like a woman.”

“And you are a woman. Always complaining, complaining, complaining. A dwarf could get earache just hearing about it.”

“And you are a typical male,” Legolas retorted. “You never stop talking. You go on and on as if I was given ears simply to hear your puffed up gloating. I am not interested in your opinions, dwarf. Stow them away.”

Gimli hummed under his breath. “And you make a very poor liar, elf!”

Legolas turned to glare at him. “And what is meant by that?”

“Exactly what I said. You are a liar. You hang on my every word, like a leach out for blood. In fact, if I didn’t know better I would say you were hung up on me.”

Legolas’ jaw dropped. “There you go again, thinking you are the centre of Eru’s work. Well, surprise, you are not. I could not care less.”

“And if that is true, then I am Yavanna,” Gimli muttered. He paused for a moment. “What sex are you anyway?” he suddenly said, before he could stop himself.

Legolas turned on him so fast, his hair flew out of his fingers, the braid promptly unravelling. “That is none of your business, dwarf!” His hair was now even more of a mess and he growled with annoyance. He would have to start all over again. He stepped outside onto the balcony, as far away as he could get in the confined space, and began combing his hair once more.

When Haldir arrived moments later, he walked into an icy wall of silence. Neither of them spoke to him, and neither of them seemed to be speaking to each other. He left the food and closed the door, only to hear the sound of a tray striking the door and falling into pieces on the floor. He sighed. This was not going well at all.

Inside, Gimli eyed the ruined breakfast and sighed. Taking the opportunity to get some exercise, he wandered over to the balcony to stretch his legs. He counted fifteen steps. He calculated that there was twice that from door to door. He sighed. At least the view was good, inside as well as out. He glanced over his shoulder, but did not reveal his musings to the elf. He huffed to himself. Why should he? Damned elf was the reason he was stuck here. No dwarf worth his salt trusts an elf. He had been right.

The day drew on, and the silence continued. The sun rose higher and became too hot for the dwarf to endure. He retreated into the shade. His eyes wandered to the broken tray with breakfast spread around it in an arc. He sighed, wondering how long it was until evening. He was getting hungry.

“Stupid elf,” he muttered quietly, and closed his eyes to dose.

Legolas turned his head to face the room, watching the dwarf who sat in the shade not far away. He watched him for some time before dark eyes rose to meet his gaze. The ominous threat they held forced Legolas to turn the other way again.

After some time, though, Legolas turned again, this time to find Gimli staring at him. He looked away amid a growl of disapproval, though whether it was aimed at his being caught staring or the fact that Legolas looked at him, he could not tell. He wagered that it was more likely the latter.

Not long after, Legolas could not resist another look. How could he when the object of his affections was close by, despite the dwarf hating him as much as if not more than the Dark Lord himself? Gimli took a long while to notice this time, fiddling with fluff on his trousers as he was.

“What are you looking at?” the dwarf demanded finally.

Legolas lifted his eyes to the dwarf’s and sighed. Turning once again to the canopy outside, he decided to close his eyes, not a common thing to do among elves. He summoned up from his deep memory an image of his mother. The pain of the day she had left was still keenly felt, but it was more tolerable than a dwarf’s sneer.

“Why do you look at me so much?” Gimli asked, his voice for once full of interest rather than scathing anger.

“As difficult as it is for you to believe, I happen to find you beautiful. You are after all, created from the same mould as all the peoples of Arda,” Legolas told him, offhandedly.

“Really?” Gimli answered, his voice growing harder again. “And you are in danger of appearing a little stupid.”

Legolas lifted his head in surprise. “What did you call me?”

“You really think I haven’t noticed the game you’re playing?”

“I am playing no game,” Legolas responded tightly.

“You are watching me. For your information, it will not work. You elves are so predictable, it is beyond even your own wisdom to realise that we have seen it for centuries for what it truly is.”

Finally, Legolas decided, he has seen it. I will not need to hide it from him after all. Perhaps this ruse of Haldir’s has paid off after all. But his musings were soon dashed upon the rocks of despair.

“You are watching for hidden weaknesses, no doubt,” Gimli accused him. “You’re hoping that I will give in to your elvish tricks, so your father and my cousin will sign some treaty that means handing Erebor over to you permanently.”

Legolas straightened where he sat. “What are you talking about? My father has no interest in Erebor!”

“Ha! Then, why were you so intent on rushing to the dwarven city as quick as your skinny legs could carry you?”

Legolas had no answer for that, and closed his mouth and looked away. “We do not have skinny legs,” he groused.

Gimli jabbed a finger at him. “See? I knew it. Your weakness is your lust for gems.”

“I do not lust after gems!” Legolas snorted.

“I have it in mind that you lust after the heir of Erebor, as well,” the dwarf added.

Legolas blinked, and inclined his head a little, wondering if he had heard correctly. “I do not . . .”

“Struck a chord, have I?” Gimli interrupted tightly. “Can’t find a woman of your own kind so you go after a dwarf.”

“That is a lie!” Legolas cried.

“Which part?” Gimli returned. “That you can’t get a woman? Or you consider me as nothing more than a sexual conquest?”

Legolas shot to his feet. “How dare you!” he shouted. “How little you think of me, that you would dare to even think such a thing! How you disgust me!” He turned away, gazing out at the forest with tortured eyes. He breathed deeply, trying to quell the desire to give in to tears. “I have never met anyone so selfish that he ignores the feelings of all those around him that he would bring them down into the dirt without a thought. You make me regret the day I saved your life in Moria.”

“And I wish I had never laid eyes on you,” Gimli shot back.

“No more than I,” Legolas spat back, without turning. “You are a pitiful, spiteful creature, who deserves none of the kindness I have shown you. You make me wish I had never been born, to have my life ruined by knowing you.”

Gimli was silent for a moment. “It seems you love to tear yourself apart as much as you enjoy doing the same to me. What a wasted life!”

“What do you know of love?" Legolas demanded, his voice thick with emotion. “The only thing dwarves feel anything for is raping the earth, and bringing to naught the beauty others try to fill it with.”

“No more than your own father, Princeling. Your father is the greediest, spineless elf that ever lived. You included!”

“This has nothing to do with my father. This is about you.”

“Why are you always putting the blame on me?” Gimli demanded loudly. “All this elvish pride and nonsense. Express yourself, Gimli, reveal your true feelings, Gimli. If anything, this last two days in your company has revealed to me more of your inner feelings than I wanted to know for a whole lifetime!”

“As I have already said, what would you know?” Legolas glared back. “Always pussy-footing around the truth, always changing the subject, always nosing where your attentions are not wanted.”

“I wouldn’t put my attentions on you if you and I were the last breathing creatures present at the Last Light!” Gimli roared. “Unlike you, I know where I’m not wanted!”

“It certainly does not seem that way to me,” Legolas threw back at him. “I do not want you here, but here you remain.”

“Why is that, I wonder,” Gimli returned smarmily. “Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that THE DOOR IS LOCKED!!”

Legolas stepped back and glared at him. The anger at Gimli’s constant antagonism faltered. “Do you not think I have noticed that?” he said softly. With effort he held his voice together. “Every hour I am in here with you is torture, and you do not listen to it. You cannot even recognise the sound of shattering glass. Every word you speak is like a knife to my heart and all you can concern yourself with is how uncomfortable it all is for you. Detestable creature. My only true regret is that I did not lock your father up seventy-two years earlier.”

Gimli watched him turn away, dumbfounded by the admission.

Haldir, again, brought food at the waning of the day, setting it, as before, on a tray in the centre of the room, and removing what was left of his carefully prepared previous meal.

Gimli sighed and rose. “Why do you continue with this?” he asked. “What sort of joy can you possibly gain from watching us? I know you must be nearby, the food is hot. We are suffering in here with this intolerable cruelty you have imposed on us. I do not intend to take any more of your foolishness, and I know Legolas has had about as much as he can take. Let us out before you destroy what respect we had gained for each other on the journey here. He does not wish to be in my company, and I do not wish to impose on him any more than I have foresworn to do so. We are not and never have been friends, and will be less so now for your meddling.”

“I do not believe you,” Haldir replied evenly. “I have seen more, as has every other person who knows you, who has seen you together.”

Gimli frowned. “There is nothing more between us, Haldir. He no more wants me as a friend than I trust an elf, least of all you.”

As Haldir stepped onto the balcony, he shot a dark look over his shoulder. “I would have expected more intelligence from one of Erebor, dwarf. Elven rope does not ‘come loose’. Only by the hands of an elf or a friend it is entrusted to, can an elven knot be freed. You are neither at this point in time.”

The dwarf considered this carefully. Legolas was the only elf locked in this prison, but the elf had not done or said anything that even remotely hinted at him having untied his wrists. “You’re a good liar,” Gimli retorted. “Save for the fact that I am a dwarf and not so susceptible to your mind-meddling as men and hobbits.” He kicked the tray across the room. “And I’ll not touch your food. It’s most likely poisoned.”

Haldir’s eyes darkened with anger. “It is the same food Legolas has eaten, and I have not heard him complain.

“Not eaten, in case it has escaped your notice. Besides, his ears point in the same direction as yours!” Gimli shot back. “He’s an elf! He’s enjoying this charade of yours as much as you are. Mark me well, when word reaches my father, Lórien will pay for this insult!”

“I am not enjoying this,” Legolas burst out. “Still you cling to the belief that it is I who is keeping you here.”

“You’re a prince. You outrank this warrior. What other conclusion do you expect me to reach?”

“I already told you. This is not my country. They are Noldor, I am Sindar. I am nothing in their eyes. What more do you want?”

Haldir opened his mouth at that, but was superseded by the increasingly loud voice of the dwarf.

“I want to get out of here,” Gimli replied, his own voice rising. “And quite frankly, I have had quite enough of your double-talk, staring and complaining. And before you say it, yes. I do wish you had jumped last night. Perhaps I would be on my way to Mordor by now, as I promised to Frodo!”

Legolas cringed, and did not meet the dark gaze of Haldir, the pained look in his eyes was too much to bear.

“I suggest you two start talking to each other,” the March Warden said. “And do not try leaving except when I let you out. At the very least, you must accept the friendship that is within in you. I hope to find you in more amenable moods in the morning.”

Silently the door swung shut and the bolt was drawn.

Legolas stepped quickly to the door and thumped it with both fists. “Let me out!” But there was only silence from beyond the door. “We have a quest to fulfil. We cannot do that from in here. You cannot force friendship . . .Haldir!”

Legolas sighed and sank to his knees, dejectedly. He had resigned himself to remain thus captive for the rest of his life. Gimli would admit nothing. He, himself, would not admit what he felt. Never. It would remain within his heart until Gil-rushim. He would rather that than receive ridicule from the dwarf. It had been bad enough without him knowing, worse it would be if he knew.

He was hungry. He had not eaten in three days, and the evening meal lay scattered where it had landed. He sighed. It hardly mattered, nothing mattered.

“I love you.”

Legolas lifted his head from the doorframe and slowly looked about, but it was obvious that the words had come from Gimli. He turned his head to look in the direction of the dwarf. Gimli was asleep, wrapped in dreams with a gentle smile on his face. Legolas stared at the expression for some time. He had never seen Gimli smile, and soaked himself in it for fear of never seeing it again.

He wondered who it was that Gimli loved, trying to picture a burly dwarf maid, hirsute and leather-clad. As rough hewn and arrogant as Gimli, no doubt, he thought. Without thinking he crawled over to sit by him, and watch him sleeping. What Gimli had said, that he lusted after gems, was partially true. There only one gem that his heart desired, and he lay sleeping.

“Legolas.”

The elf stiffened. If he had not been staring at the dwarf’s mouth when the name had drifted out, he would not have believed it. He still could not believe that he had chosen to be so bold by sitting near him. Barely two feet lay between them. Legolas sucked in a breath, and closed his eyes tightly. The words, spoken softly in sleep, were not enough to remove the pain of the last two days, not even to heal the weeks and months prior to them.

As Gimli slept, Legolas watched him. Silent as the night, he leaned over, closing the gap between them. Gently he pressed his lips to Gimli’s forehead and lift up. “I do not expect this to change anything, Gimli. For when you wake, the wall of hate and anger will have smothered the love you speak of in sleep. It is not something that can be changed, even by elvish trickery, if such exists. I do not expect it will change.”

Legolas sighed. “You are a dwarf, I am an elf. We were never meant to be friends, let alone what my heart would wish. I am sorry. Perhaps with the morning, Haldir will feel differently and let you go.” He traced a fingertip, still sore, blooded and untended, down his cheek. “I love you, Gimli. I will always love you, no matter how hard it is for you to understand or accept. I am sorry you have not seen it. I am sorry also, that I cannot bear any more of this.” With that, Legolas smoothly rose unaware of dark eyes that followed his purposeful steps towards the balcony.

Gimli suddenly gasped realising the silhouette’s intent. “LEGOLAS!”

Without slowing, the elf put the flat of his palm onto the rail and pushed up and over . . .

As his feet cleared the rail, the talan swayed sharply. Suddenly, Legolas found himself hanging by one arm, his wrist firmly in the dwarf’s grip. He looked up and swallowed. “Gimli . . .let me go,” he begged between tears. He expected to be dropped, or at least released, but neither happened.

There was more strength in the dwarf, even after the long fast, than the elf could have imagined. “No,” he said gruffly.

Slowly, Gimli drew him back onto the balcony, his dark eyes brimming with disappointment. Legolas did not move from where he had landed, resigned as he was to living just a little longer. And if Gimli had not had the strength to pull him back, would he have dangled there like that for hours until Haldir came back?

“You would end your chance of Valinor?”

Legolas shook his head, almost overcome with sadness.

“Then, what? Why?”

The elf sighed, his kiss had awoken Gimli. If only he had resisted, the dwarf would not have stopped him. “I . . .” he began. Slowly he pushed up on his hands to sit up. “I can bear it no longer. You torment me . . .wish that I were dead . . .” He paused. “Yet, you save me.”

Gimli frowned gently. “And you love me,” he countered flatly.

Legolas glanced at the balcony, a longing in his eyes. “And you do not,” he replied. Gimli swiftly drew him back into the darkness of the room. Legolas barely struggled as the dwarf stood him against the wall, and held him there. The elf gulped back his despair. His resolve slowly whittled to aching thinness. “You, more than once, have wished me dead.”

The last word was spat in agony and rage. Gimli blinked. Had he really? He shook his head, a low growl in his throat. “I do not trust elves. I have never trusted elves, nor count them as friends, but only my enemies do I truly desire dead, and they . . .well, I do not waste breath telling them about it, I merely make them so.”

“I am not an enemy,” the elf voiced carefully, his voice empty.

“Nay. For all your father’s meddling, the dwarves of Erebor owe much to Elrond and that alone holds my axe from your hide.”

“Then it is not enough,” Legolas decided.

“What?” Gimli replied.

Legolas regarded him sadly. “That only Elrond keeps your axe from taking my life is not enough. You do not love me.” He roughly pushed Gimli away and began walking back towards the balcony. “You should not have caught my hand.”

Without warning the dwarf grabbed a slender ankle and the elf went down. He rolled over to stare up at the face of the dwarf, once again full of anger.

“Which part of this do you not understand?” Gimli demanded.

“I understand perfectly,” the elf replied. “I am not an enemy, yet not a friend. What am I?”

“An ally,” Gimli said gently.

Legolas met his eye. “But beyond that I am middle ground, nothing.” He rose to his feet again, gazing at the rail, but did not move. “Once this quest is over . . .and it may yet go on without us, I will have faded from your memory, or remain, if the tales of dwarven recall are true . . .only as an ‘also walker’.” His eyes dropped. “It is said of dwarves, only mithril makes their eyes sparkle and gold to bring a smile. They have gems for hearts and souls as hard and spare as their frames.”

Gimli tilted his head, listening to what the elf was saying, and hearing what was not said, hearing in his voice the desire to see those things. “You know little of Mahal’s children, Legolas,” he said simply.

The elf’s head snapped up. So rare was the name of Legolas upon the dwarf’s lips, he scarcely believed he had heard correctly.

“Yes, those things make us happy, but dwarves are private, oft times too private, for what you do not know . . .or see of us, would fill Elrond’s library. Things we speak of only among our own, others not even among friends.”

“Friendship . . .love . . .” Legolas murmured. “Mean little to you.”

“No!” came Gimli’s reply without hesitation. “You are wrong, but . . .” He took a deep breath. “It matters not, my Princeling, for dwarves only desire what they can have, or know they can get, by axe, trade or stealth.”

The elf’s eyes grew wide. Had he heard right? “You cannot, or will not, consider me more than an ally?” he questioned as the dwarf turned away from him.

Gimli looked back over his shoulder. “It matters not. Leave it be.”

Legolas tempered his hope. Perhaps Gimli thought he did not want him, or was out of his reach. He swallowed, choosing his next words carefully. “Do you fear what will happen if you befriend me?”

Gimli stiffened.

Legolas did not need to face the dwarf to know that Gimli struggled to keep his pain from showing. “What our fathers would say? Oh, I know what mine would say.” He laid a hand on Gimli’s shoulder. “And I would tell him . . .be cursed of Mandos, for no one chooses my friends, or loves, but me.”

Gimli spun, a sad smile on his face. “A dwarf’s heart belongs to Mahal. As much as he would want, he cannot love any but the one Mahal deems fit . . .or worthy.” He sighed.

“And you are matched?” Legolas asked.

“No, I am not, but I am also years beyond normal for such needs. There are dwarves among us whom Mahal decides are to remain . . .unmatched.” He swallowed.

“And you know for certain that Aule would have you unmatched? Or simply that the one for you has not yet come to you?”

“I told you, I am beyond my time!” His voice softened as eyes as dark as the mines they had recently traversed met his. “Mahal,” he choked. “I know not if it is his will . . .but one so delicate, so different . . .” The dwarf slowly shook his head. “He will not come to me,” Gimli replied. “He would rather die than come to me. He finds me distasteful, unworthy . . .cruel. Perhaps I am those things, and more. No, Mahal would not bring to me the one who would rather throw himself from a balcony than come to me.”

Legolas felt his knees grow weak, he struggled to remain standing.

Gimli stared at the floorboards, his voice so still it was almost a thought. “How could one so perfect, one of the first people, desire one of Mahal’s? Why would one so fair and lordly desire one so rough-hewn, so hard and ill-kempt? Why would one of the people of the air and stars seek out a tunnel-dweller for a friend, for an . . .elvelon . . .melethron?”

As if a puppet whose strings had been cut, Legolas slumped onto the floor, staring up at the stalwart dwarf who had finally poured out his heart. He reached out a hand. “Sit, Gimli . . .please . . .we have much to discuss.”

Gimli settled himself onto the floor gathering his legs in, crossing them and waited. Their eyes met, judging the distance between them should this conversation go as well as all the ones before it, judging a lot of other things as well. Legolas had had only rare glimpses of Gimli sans helmet and took the opportunity to gather as much memory of his wildly erratic mane as he could before it was gone from view again. Gimli did the same, finding very little time to observe the elf without the tools of battle strapped to his back. The elf was every bit the archer, well muscled, lean. Gimli’s leanness was always obscured with layers of leather, cloth and hair.

“Do you know something?” Legolas finally spoke.

“What?”

“We are the people our parents warned us about.”

Gimli smiled. “A terribly frightening thought. I am my own worst nightmare.”

“I am my children’s worst nightmare.”

Gimli looked up, wide-eyed. “You have children?”

“No,” Legolas replied. “But if I had them, I would be. I know I am what my mother warned me about.”

“Same here,” Gimli replied. “My parents and kin warned me about elves. I figured, if elves were that bad, you deserved a good look.”

Legolas smiled, amused. “Thank you . . .I think.”

“I dreamt last night that I was snuggled in the arms of a beautiful, golden-haired elf.”

Legolas blushed prettily, and looked away.

“Best dream I have had in a long time.”

“You were dreaming of me.”

“How do you know that?”

“You spoke my name in your sleep.”

“Hmm . . .” There was a long silence. “That makes sense now . . .why you felt you needed to jump.”

Legolas swallowed. “What were we doing?” he asked slowly.

“We did not make love, if that is your fear. We just held each other, an embrace of comfort, gratitude. That is all I want, that kind of love.”

"You need to be hugged, rather than have sex."

"I need someone with whom I can love, trust and hold. Not just one of those, all of it . . .I have wondered lately whether or not I could trust Mahal. I have prayed often enough, but he does not answer. My life has been filled with prayer for that special someone, and all my heart did was yearn after that which is forbidden . . .and I wondered if I had found it."

"Found what?" Legolas barely voiced.

"The someone with whom I can spend the rest of my life. Holding, trusting, loving . . .the sex I am still wondering about, since so little is known about other kinds. I don’t even know if they do . . .that sort of thing."

Legolas listened, content to listen to the gentle timbre of his voice. Never before had he heard a dwarf speak thusly, or about such intimate things. If truth be told, no elf had ever spoken like this, not to him anyway.

“In that dream I felt a peace that I have never known before. I didn’t have to get up and leave. I woke in his arms and we made breakfast together in a forest of very old trees, and we were happy."

“That is what I want.”

“I want that every morning, every day, every night.”

“Me too. I do not know what it is to want someone simply to enjoy their body and yet not love their heart and soul as well. For elves it is not so . . .for the most part . . .there have been one or two notable exceptions, but that is irrelevant.”

Gimli eyed him curiously. “Anyone I know?”

“Both of them, but as I said, it is irrelevant,” Legolas replied.

“You?”

“No,” Legolas said. “I could never love like that, to be just an interlude in someone’s life, or for them to be that for me. It is, for me, all or nothing.” He regarded the dwarf for a moment. “Have you ever . . .?”

Gimli shook his head. “No, not even an offer. We dwarves love whom we will, but there is always jealously, always confrontation to test your willingness to stick to the choices you have made or that which is given by Mahal.” Gimli sighed. “To be alone, year after year, and I have been alone, to the point where the smile of an orc would be welcomed. It cuts you up, to know the next year will be the same, but you go on anyway, just to see the same faces doing the same daily drudge out of habit, and knowing they will not marry. We grow old, as a race, and fewer and fewer children are born. Fewer and fewer of our women wish it, and even fewer are chosen by Mahal.”

“You believe as I do, that happiness with another person takes all three elements,” the elf said. “The heart, the soul and the body.”

“Yes,” Gimli responded. “Harder to find that returned to you, even when Mahal wishes it. Impossible when he does not.” Gimli’s eyes settled on Legolas. “Or perhaps it’s not . . .” he added wistfully. “You say you have no children, ever been in love?”

“Twice,” Legolas replied truthfully.

“Did you marry either of them?”

“The first one, no.”

“Was she not for you?”

Legolas regarded him for a moment. “Elves are neither male nor female, Gimli. We switch, whenever the mood takes us. He had chosen to be male. My father did not approve of us and sent him across the sea.”

“What was his name?” Gimli asked. “Sorry, I am just nosey.”

“No, you are not, Gimli,” Legolas assured him. “His name was Erebambor. He was a common elf, and he and I began as good friends, but his attraction grew more physical and frighteningly possessive.”

“But you did not consummate.”

“We did not get that far, or rather I did not give in.”

“You never got the chance?”

“We did,” Legolas replied. “But my father found out and sent him away.”

“I’m sorry, that’s not what I meant. Rather, the opportunity came too late . . .I’m sorry. This is none of my business. I shouldn’t be meddling with things that don’t concern me.”

“It is alright,” Legolas said. “It happened three thousand years ago.” After a moment’s hesitation he added, “I am grateful to my father for his interference. I did not see or understand what Erebambor really felt about me until after he had left. He wanted me for comfort, nothing more. For a long time, I could not face going through that again. I had avoided even the possibility.”

“Which brings us to your second,” Gimli noted. “He? She?”

“He,” Legolas replied.

“You prefer males . . .despite the fact that you . . .look like one.”

Legolas’ eyebrows twitched and he glanced down at himself. “You mean, I appear to lack something usually attributed to women?”

“Two things actually.” Gimli coughed. “You have told me about your first love, who was the second?”

“He is very special to me, but he does not accept me. He does not love me. I am unsure if he will ever see me as anything more than an ally.”

Gimli realised almost instantly who he was talking about, and could not find a suitable answer.

“I must not show him how I feel,” Legolas continued. “I do not wish for him to see it and not return it.”

“You already did,” Gimli put in. “And to hide it is no better than a lie.”

Legolas swallowed. “Then I shall be honest with you, even though it pains me to the halls of Mandos itself that you will never return it . . .you move me.”

“I know,” Gimli spoke gently.

“And I know you feel it too.”

“I . . .I dare not.”

“I cannot live like this, Gimli. This will surely kill me in the end. Do you not see that? If not by my own hand, then my heart of its own will shall cease to beat. The hurt would crush it, by you not feeling the same in return.”

“Being good together means something . . .does it not?” Gimli wondered.

“Aye.”

“You and I work well together?”

“Aye.”

“Which is sad in a way, because I cannot be for you what you want me to be.”

“What do you think I want you to be?”

“I am not sure exactly,” Gimli replied.

“I want you exactly the way you are, nothing less . . .except perhaps the angry part of you.”

Gimli smiled. “We are both crippled by this. Not a good combination, eh?”

“Two sticks are stronger together than apart.”

“That is a good way of looking at it,” Gimli agreed. He turned quiet for a moment. “Please . . .don’t jump . . .”

“I will live forever, Gimli,” Legolas spoke softly. “I can wait . . .but you are mortal. One day you will die . . .and I must continue on never having touched or loved you the way you deserve . . .the way I want to.”

“It is a small gesture in the grand scheme of Eru’s Song,” Gimli suggested. “I doubt the Valar even care that much, but I shall pray for it nonetheless. Being elf-friend to the Lady Galadriel should help,” he grinned.

Legolas laughed softly. “It is a small gesture. We are being truthful, although I have not explained myself very well.”

“Aye, we are,” Gimli agreed. “And I understand you perfectly.”

“You doubt we could hold each other up and still be what the quest requires of us,” Legolas noted.

“I think we could do that, but I can’t be what you want, what you are. Does that make sense?”

Legolas nodded slowly. “It makes sense, and also does not.” He remained silent for a while, their eyes fixed upon the other. “Are you crying?” Very little of Gimli’s face was visible, making it difficult to be sure.

“Aye.”

“I thought so.”

“So are you,” Gimli noticed.

Legolas blinked, releasing a tear, silver in the half-light. “I wish I could hold you,” he suddenly admitted, his voice less than steady.

“I did not mean to make you cry. All those hours locked in here, and for what? I cannot give Haldir his prize. I cannot give you what you seek. The choice is not mine.”

“It is simply the way life goes, and I must accept it,” Legolas told him, resignedly.

“I’m sorry,” Gimli said. “You are dear to me, and I need you.”

“And you are important to me, more than anyone else, but I do not expect more from you than you already give the fellowship. As I have said, I like you exactly the way you are.”

Without meaning to, Gimli abruptly yawned. Legolas was smiling at him when he opened his eyes again. “I have not slept as much as you might think,” the dwarf declared.

“Lie down and rest. The day wanes and Haldir will come soon. We have talked enough for now.”

Haldir entered the talan at dusk. Silence again, he sighed . . .until his eyes adjusted to the shadows and he gasped. Curled up on the floor, close together, the elf and the dwarf lay facing each other. He set the tray down as Gimli woke.

“Legolas.” Gimli whispered. “The food’s here.”

Legolas turned and smiled. “Good eve, Haldir,” he greeted the shocked march warden almost cheerfully. Legolas rose to sit, regarding the elf without emotion.

Gimli rose and took the tray. Gone was the tension, but neither was there affection, but the one thing Haldir noticed . . .was hope. He smiled gently and left them alone. The door remained open, but neither the dwarf nor the elf moved. Slowly they faced each other and smiled shyly.

“I know I haven’t exactly been the pinnacle of manners and kindness, Legolas, but . . .I hope being with me thus far has been more satisfying than that one night with Erebambor.”

Legolas lowered his eyes. “Being with you will always be an adventure, though I do not think getting aroused while fighting orcs has ever occurred to me. I have no desire now . . .if I cannot have love in all its forms I shall deny my body its want. No one desires me.”

“I desire you,” Gimli replied evenly.

“You . . .you are beyond anything else . . .you make me feel like no one else has ever done . . .but I will drown it, smother it in duty.”

“I regard you in the platonic sense, simply because I must, not because I want to,” Gimli told him regretfully. “I feel in my soul for you, I desire you, and I could keep you on the boil all night,” he added grinning. Legolas blushed deeply. Gimli reached out to touch his cheek, but drew his hand back reluctantly. “But I won’t. I can’t love you, not in the way you deserve to be loved.”

“You do not love me,” Legolas replied. “This I know well. And yet, since the Council of Elrond… and perhaps all the way back to the Battle of Five Armies, you have encouraged me to improve without demanding change. You make me consider what I am doing without criticising. You make me want to please you without ever trying. From afar with no words you do this, right here,” he said, a hand pressed to his heart. “If that is the love I deserve then you already do.”

“Oh . . .I think you might be right about that, but still, in truth, you deserve more. I cannot give it.” Gimli swallowed and gave him a quiet smile. “I suppose, in a way, we shall be grateful to that rascal of Lórien. If it were not for Haldir, we would not be having this conversation at all.”

Legolas laughed softly, and shook his head. “That is a fair comment. I have told you things my father would cringe to hear.”

Gimli smiled. “You know, you make me feel loved.”

“You are loved,” Legolas replied. “I love you mind, body and soul.”

“After all that I put you through?”

“It is unshakable.”

“I’m not sure I deserve the pedestal you’ve put me on.”

“It is not a pedestal. It is the empty space near my heart that you filled. In loving you, I have learned to love myself.”

Gimli sighed and swallowed, attempting what he hoped was a steady response. “Please . . .Legolas. Please, don’t speak that way.”

Legolas stared at his hands, taking a moment to push down the awful pain that swept through him. After a while he spoke softly. “I do love you. If you can just acknowledge that, and that there is a chance Mahal may yet find you a love . . .then we can be friends. I am not asking that you love me, but please do not shut me out. I could not bear it.”

Gimli drew a stuttered breath. “You put yourself in a painful position, elf.”

Legolas nodded quickly. “I know, but it is better than the . . .” He gulped. “Than the near death despair I feel when you shut me out.”

“And if I cannot love you?” he asked.

Legolas looked at him, although the thought brought him a great pain. “I would risk it, just to be . . .mellyn.” He dared a cheeky smile. “And if by chance, Aule should smile upon us . . .it was worth it. You can still pray?”

The dwarf smiled. “Aye, my Princeling . . .I can do that.”

Legolas released a slow breath, not daring to stifle the thrill at hearing those words on his lips, in case it never be uttered again. “The door is open, Gimli,” he offered, on the heart-wrenching change that the dwarf did not wish to go further.

Gimli lifted the platter of salted pork and held it out to the elf. “You may leave if you wish.”

Without shifting his gaze from the deep brown eyes, Legolas took a slice of meat. “I do not wish it.”

Gimli hummed gently and set the plate down. “So your heart has changed on the matter of your remaining in this dwarf’s company,” he noted.

“And this elf notes a certain dwarf not minding,” Legolas replied in kind. Dark eyes lifted to his that seemed to sparkle, snatching the breath from his throat. Without thinking, Legolas lifted the platter of roasted vegetables to the dwarf. “Would you care for tomatoes or beans?”

“Both, thank you,” Gimli replied and shovelled a few onto his plate beside the meat. “Wine?” the dwarf asked.

Legolas hesitated. “I do not think it prudent at this time, Gimli,” he said. “Wine has affects on me that . . .perhaps you are not ready for.”

Gimli eyed him most curiously for almost a minute. “I take it no one knows this or Haldir would not have served it? I hope,” he added under his breath.

“No one knows,” Legolas replied, hiding the sudden urge to smile at Gimli’s discomfiture. “I discovered the result of wine quite by accident when I went wandering some months before my coming of age.”

“You got a little tipsy,” Gimli said. “It happens.”

Legolas thrust a tomato into his mouth and lifted his eyes to the dwarf for a moment before lowering them again. “Not tipsy, dear Gimli,” he corrected. “Excited.”

Gimli suddenly choked, thumping his chest.

Legolas watched in horror, face bright red with embarrassment abruptly lost all colour. “Eru! Gimli, forgive me! Forgive me,” he cried. “Are you alright?”

Eyes streaming with tears, Gimli nodded. “I’ll live,” he managed, coughing and spluttering. He surreptitiously moved the wine out of Legolas’ reach. “For another time, perhaps.”

Legolas swallowed. “I . . .will . . .welcome whichever road the Valar place at our feet,” he tried.

Gimli regarded him gently as he wiped his eyes. “You mentioned that you had not prayed for a while. I think perhaps we should both resume that pastime.”

Legolas’ eyes widened. “I thought you were asleep.”

Gimli smiled gently. “I have not slept in three days,” he admitted. “Not as much as I appeared to, it seems.”

Legolas looked away. “Not as much . . .?” he wondered softly.

“I dozed off a time or two, but no. It is a little difficult to sleep when there is an elf crying through the long hours of the night. I was awake to hear every hurt I tore at you, which returned to me ten-fold.”

There was silence between them for a long time. Gimli watched him attempt to overcome a deep pain, most if not all of which was of the dwarf’s making. “Did you mean it?” he asked finally.

“Mean what?”

“That my heart is a gem,” Gimli replied quietly.

Legolas actually blushed, he had almost forgotten he had uttered it. “To me it is . . .one I would treasure if it be granted to my care.”

“I pray Mahal grant it,” Gimli whispered, as if afraid to jinx it by speaking it aloud.

“I pray to all of the Valar to grant it,” Legolas whispered back. “Just in case Aule is busy listening to you and my prayer miss his ear.”

“Maybe we should just go over Mahal’s head and speak to the head man himself?” Gimli decided, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

Legolas suddenly grinned. “That is an irreverent description, Gimli, but I do not think he would begrudge that. I shall pray to One.”

“You and I are of agreement, then, my Legolas?”

Legolas’ heart shot up into his throat, forcing his breath to take on a strangled quality for a moment. “Yes,” he replied breathlessly.

Gimli lifted his right hand, Legolas lifted his left, brushing it against Gimli’s palm and pushed his fingers between Gimli’s. There was fear of the unknown, fear of denial by the Valar, fear of second thoughts and cold feet. But there was also hope. Hope in acceptance, hope in answered prayers. In silent communion, they clasped their hands together and smiled.

Haldir stood on the branch across the way and just above the roof of the talan, surprised that neither of them were coming out. He had listened in, hearing every word spoken, and often what was not, and for the first time in many days, he smiled.

It had worked, but not entirely as he had planned. His heart had lurched in agony many times during the past three days, none more so as it had at the moment he had seen Legolas jump . . . only to be caught by the hand of a desperate dwarf. He had lost the ability to breath for several seconds, even for an elf that was an eternity.

Even as the sun set in the west and the moon lifted her crescent face above the treetops, Haldir smiled. He lifted his face to the westward horizon and set his own prayer upon the winds bound for Valinor. “Let it be so.”

Author’s note : This story has caused a stir, got me banned from FFN for life, and all because of a conversation about friendship and love. Thank you for all readers willing to sit it out and find out why this is NOT slash. I suggest to everyone to read the books. Tolkien states that there was a ‘great love’ between Legolas and Gimli, it is the reason they sailed to Valinor together. Appendix A, last page.

Tolkien also stated that elves were androgynous, NOT male. Only in the movies were most elves male, out of necessity. Believe it or not there are very few androgynous actors out there.

If there’s any problem with so-called ‘unTolkien-like’ ideas, I suggest ranting at Peter Jackson for killing the elves at Helm’s Deep. Or perhaps the sixty thousand other authors for writing hard core slash between Legolas and Thranduil, Eowyn and a tree (which wasn’t banned, by the way) and other such pairings.

For CapriceAnn, your patience, I thank you.

Gimli woke with a start. Legolas was leaning over him, a frown on his face. “Are you alright, Gimli?” he asked softly.

Gimli blinked for a moment, seeing Legolas looking down at him much as he had been in the vision. The images slowly faded and his heart slowed to normal speed. “You startled me, that’s all. What is it?”

“I feel something approaching that gives me joy, but thus far I have denied it existence and yet it continues to surmount my senses.”

Gimli smiled a little and sat up. He patted the elf’s shoulder. “That, Princeling, is the approach of victory.”

Legolas pushed to his feet and Gimli rose. “Victory does not wear the white tree of Gondor.”

Gimli looked up sharply. “You had better stow that thought, Legolas,” he spoke sharply. “You start talking like that, and you’ll not be here when the orcs arrive!”

Legolas opened and then shut his mouth.

Gimli sighed thickly. “Alright, that was uncalled for, I’m sorry. What does your heart tell you?”

Legolas swallowed, hardly daring to speak lest he break the wish that sang within him. “I believe something . . .or someone approaches.”

Gimli hummed a little. “Well, you were right the last time you had this feeling, and the time before that. I am inclined to believe you. Which way is it coming?”

“From the river.”

“My lord?” a Rohirrim called. “King Théoden asks for you.”

Legolas nodded. “I am on my way. Keep a watch Gimli, I know it draws near.”

With that they parted.

Not many minutes passed, as Gimli still approached the walls to find a low enough gap to see over, when the cry rose up. "Where is he!" he shouted. "I'll kill him!" Finally he broke through and stared up at him. He hugged that man and did not care if Mahal struck him with lightening. He loved his friends, and did not care of the consequences. He held him to his chest with a grip that bespoke of his relief and love, and his fear that he had seen the last of Ârâgorn, son of Arathorn.

His relief did not last for long. The battle was intense and bitter, and though they had begun side by side, Gimli soon lost sight of Legolas. The arrival of Éomer was both timely and welcomed. The victory was theirs, but Legolas was nowhere to be seen.

Gimli had turned over practically every blond-haired corpse in the fortress, and searched every face around every fire and table.

“Anything?” Éomer asked him.

“Nothing,” Gimli replied.

“I, too, have searched,” the man said. “I could not find him.”

A shadow fell across the table and both heads turned to find Ârâgorn in the doorway. By the look on his face, Gimli knew what he was going to say before the words were out of his mouth. He started to run.

“Gimli? It . . .Gimli! It is too late!”

“No,” he cried. “Where is he?”

Ârâgorn started to run, Éomer followed them. “By the inner wall. I tried, but he . . .”

Gimli pushed through the crowded hall and down the flight of steps, risking a fall at the speed he was doing. He reached the foot of the stairs and rolled to slow himself before turning down the narrow corridor and out into the courtyard where dark shadows still permeated many corners. It was one such corner that he had overlooked.

Gimli slowed to a halt, warily stepping closer to the hunched figure, wondering . . .was he too late? What could Ârâgorn mean? Legolas could not die.

“Legolas?” he called out, his voice a whisper, but it was enough to turn the golden head a little. “Athelas,” Gimli said.

“It is too deep and too bad for . . .”

“Athelas!” Gimli roared.

Ârâgorn stepped back at the tone of his voice.

Gimli stepped closer, and knelt, a hand to the elf’s shoulder. There was a slight moan of pain from behind clenched teeth. “Legolas?”

Grey-green eyes opened a little, pain clouded inward and blotted out his vision. Legolas winced, not daring to open his mouth lest he scream. His arm was held across his body, beneath it a blooded hand was pressing against his side.

“Let me see,” Gimli said.

Legolas breathed thickly and shook his head. “It is time to let go,” he said. His body shook and beads of perspiration flecked his brow.

“I promised you that I would not do that,” Gimli replied. “We promised each other that friendship endures. You are an elf . . .”

“A mortally wounded elf, Gimli,” Legolas replied.

“I’ll be the judge of that,” the dwarf replied. “Now let me take a look.”

“No,” Legolas replied.

Gimli watched him attempt to move away, but Legolas could not get far. Within seconds of getting to his feet, consciousness began to flee. Éomer caught the elf as he began to fall.

“Ârâgorn?”

The man sighed. “I will take a look, but there is so much blood . . .I do not hold much hope. Take him inside.”

Éomer nodded and carried the elf inside. “There is a small room off from the king’s chamber. I do not believe my uncle will mind.”

“Your uncle will mind what?” Théoden wondered as he blocked the doorway to his chambers. A second later, upon seeing what Éomer carried, he moved aside, waving him towards the bed. The king of Rohan arranged the furs himself, waving to his niece for water and bandages.”

“I’ll do it,” Gimli cut in, silencing them all.

“This is woman’s work,” Théoden retorted.

“Legolas is my friend, and I’ll not let another soul touch him that does not answer to me.”

Théoden stared at the stalwart dwarf grimly. Finally, he nodded. “If there is anything you need, just ask.”

“Good,” Éowyn replied tightly. “I have pressing work elsewhere.” She left the bandages with Ârâgorn, and hurriedly left the chamber. The man sighed gently, making a mental note to speak to her later when there was more time.

Ârâgorn stepped up to the bed and gazed down at the elf laying there. “He is very pale, and his clothes are drenched in blood.”

Éomer gazed down at his own clothing, which dripped elven blood onto his boots. “I do not have a hope, my friend.”

“We shall have less of this talk!” Gimli growled. “Help me get this jerkin off him.”

The quiver buckle was the easy part. Pulling the hooks and eyes apart the two sides of his shirt fell open. As one they gasped. The cream embroidered shirt had turned red from a huge gash in Legolas’ side, from below his left shoulder blade right under his arm and almost reaching his navel.

“We need this shirt off if we are to do something . . .”

“No,” Legolas moaned weakly. “Do not take my shirt . . .”

“Don’t be a fool, Legolas,” Gimli retorted. “You cannot leave this wound untended.”

“Leave it . . .” Legolas struggled.

“No,” Gimli replied. “Do you not understand? If I left you like this, I would be allowing you to die.”

“Let me die,” Legolas whispered, imploring him. Reaching out a blooded hand he caught Gimli’s wrist. “Dying is better than losing honour and respect. Please . . .”

“The athelas, Gimli,” Ârâgorn spoke, more to get a little closer to hear what was being whispered. He stepped back, silently chastising himself for eavesdropping.

Gimli nodded to Ârâgorn and turned back. “I will take this shirt off with or without your co-operation, elf, and we’ll hear no more about it. It’s ruined anyway.” He took out a small utility knife and lifted what was left of the garment and swiftly cut up from the hem to the collar.

Legolas cringed. Unable to move, he simply closed his eyes. The sharply indrawn breaths he had expected, the footsteps leaving the chamber, he had expected. In fury he lay quite still as gentle hands washed and bound the wound, which looked worse than it was. It had been a glancing blow, the blade having struck something the elf had been standing against. That alone had saved his life, time alone would tell if it was enough to let him live.

Legolas winced, stemming a cry as even the gentlest of touches brought a fresh wave of agony. His cries, now that the room was emptied of all except Gimli, had ceased to be stifled quite so much. Gimli pursed his lips.

“Try to hold still.”

“Leave me alone!”

The dwarf said nothing. It was the pain talking, he could understand it. The wound was deep and needed to be cleaned. It was no easy task. “If you were so intent on dying, why are you fighting so strongly? That is not the act of one who wishes to die.”

Legolas fell silent. He stiffened and cried out. “If . . .there is any . . .consolation,” the elf struggled. “I did not let him live,” he finished, and passed out.

Gimli sighed, chewed athelas and spat it into a bowl. For a long time he cleaned, drew together and sewed as best he could the wound in Legolas’ side. Finally he poured the chewed altheas over the wound and began to bind it.

It was easier to do with the elf unconscious, but he missed the cries. At least with the cries, he could tell the elf was alive. He missed the cries.

During the night, Legolas moaned and leaned over the side of the bed, and coughed up blood. He moaned thickly as Gimli helped back onto the pillows.

“It’s alright,” the dwarf reassured him.

Legolas called out wordlessly, his eyes wild and unfocussed.

“He is leaving us,” a gentle voice spoke from the foot of the bed.

Gimli turned to face the owner, startled.

“Or . . .should I say she?” Éomer wondered.

Gimli sighed with relief. “I don’t think she wants it known.”

“I cannot understand why a woman would want to dress up in men’s clothing and pass themselves off as a warrior. It does not make sense.”

“For elves it is different,” Gimli explained. “According to Legolas, elves are androgynous, neither one nor the other.”

“Not to gainsay what Legolas spoke of to you, but I cannot deny what my eyes have seen.”

“I do not ask you to,” Gimli replied. “Just don’t mention it.”

“Gimli . . .” a far away voice called from the bed. A hand curled around his, but there was little strength in the grip.

“What are you in here for anyway?” Gimli asked quietly.

“I brought you food. And do not worry . . .I cooked this stew,” he added ruefully.

Gimli suddenly chuckled. “There are some tasks that should not be left to a woman, I think.”

Éomer allowed a half grin. “Not to my sister, anyway.”

Gimli grinned. “I would not say it.”

“She knows that, and she is grateful for your patience and understanding. She was not raised to cook and clean. She was not raised to fight, either, but she practices whenever she thinks no one is looking. I fear for her . . .as much as I fear for Legolas now. Will she live?”

“I do not know,” Gimli replied. He gazed down at the elf lying on the bed, eyes half shut, dazed and weak. There was little life in her, lying pinched and drawn as she was. A sudden snatch of a breath now and then was the only clue to life within the grey shell. “How long will she linger?” he wondered aimlessly.

“You love her, am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Although you seemed to be as surprised by this discovery as the rest of us.”

“Yes.”

Éomer regarded him gently. “Elves are very private about these things, Ârâgorn told us that they are, every one of them, equal. Warriors when needed, singers and musicians when not. I . . .” He suddenly frowned. “Yours is a forbidden love, if my knowledge of dwarves is correct.”

Éomer wondered if he should leave the room, seeing Gimli standing there holding Legolas’ hand, but then, he thought, no. He was going to stay. The dwarf looked bereft of companionship at that moment. Legolas was his friend too, and he considered how many hands of dying men he had held in comfort? And messages of love he had borne to their wives and children, and some whom he had grown up with and loved as dearly as he loved his sister.

As a mark of manners, he said, “Do you wish for me to leave, my sister said it was more prudent that she bring you food, since . . .”

Gimli looked up. “How did she find out?”

Éomer shrugged. “How does a woman know when another in with child? How does a woman know things about a man when he does not speak it aloud? A woman knows many things. It is instinct.”

Gimli nodded, accepting the point.

“I did not think it possible for an elf and a dwarf to bond in brotherhood as you and Legolas have done. And yet, you speak of promises. Are you betrothed?”

Gimli gazed at the sleeping elf for a moment before looking up. “No, we are not betrothed, married or anything similar. I shall tell you the tale, if you would care to hear it. It is a protracted tale and not pretty. I decline to dress it up even to save my own pride or honour.” He sighed. “Not all wars are fought with blades, but my sharp tongue became as dangerously cruel as one.”

Éomer considered the offer, and knew Gimli would feel better for offloading the burden he carried on his shoulders. A shared burden was a burden halved, he had heard Hama once say. “I should like to hear it, if it is within you to trust me with such a tale.”

Gimli replied without hesitation. “Both Legolas and I regard you as a friend.”

Éomer agreed and sat down in the chair not far from the other side of the bed. He was not usually one for sitting down, unless it was on the back of a horse, but he decided that this was a sitting down story. Later he was to thank his forward thinking.

Gimli began with their first meeting, weaving every nuance and insult into the tale, that sixty years later they had travelled to Rivendell, stopping at the elven king’s palace and discovering that they were on their way there also, but for differing reasons. They had travelled together, much to the annoyance of several elves of Imladris. Elves and dwarves did not associate, it was not done. The dwarves and the elves of Mirkwood had not cared, their antagonism had long been healed and faded into memory.

Gimli told him of the oath they had forged, the fellowship of the ring as Lord Elrond had intriguingly called it, which had lost one in Moria, only to regain him later, and then had lost another in Parth Galen.

“Who did you lose in Moria and regained?” Éomer asked, almost unwilling to interrupt, but his mouth ran away with him.

“Gandalf,” Gimli replied. “He fell to the Balrog.”

Éomer almost smiled. “The Balrog could not have survived long after. Greyhame is not one to give up lightly.”

Gimli grinned. “Gandalf bested him and returned to us a White, but we were not to know that he lived for several weeks.” Gimli sighed. “It is Boromir’s loss that chafes us more.”

Éomer jerked upright in the chair. “Boromir?”

“Aye, Boromir . . .you know of him?”

“Know of him? I know the man himself. We met upon the mark not long ago. I was not aware that you and I knew the same.”

“You knew him?” Gimli was surprised.

Éomer nodded. “The heir of the Steward. He was lost upon the road after his horse had bolted. We gave him a fresh mount, which returned to us rider less. He heard of his demise before your arrival here . . .but that is for another hour. Please, go on with your tale.”

“Well,” Gimli began again. “It was in Lórien that things started to take a turn for . . .I dare not say worst. I had seen visions. It first, I thought it was a dream, but it came to me several times when I was awake. Me and Legolas . . .seemed fanciful at the time. The strife of losing Gandalf had weighed heavily on the elf. They feel things deeply. We were not exactly friends, you see, so when he invited me to walk with him in Lórien, other people took it to mean something else. They had us locked up together high in a mallorn tree, in the uppermost canopy, until we admitted to each other that we were in love. We fought, said some terrible things . . .and Legolas could take no more and jumped out of the window . . .”

Gimli shuddered, remembering his own scream, remembering the look of utter despair on the elf’s face as he dangled there hundreds feet above the forest floor. “I . . .I grabbed him by the wrist, and he hung there, begging me to let him go. But I refused and pulled him back. We opened up to each other, but not in the way they elves had expected. I cannot take to me a mate. It is forbidden me, I am too old, and a friendship between elf and dwarf is fraught with obstacles.”

“You are not in love with each other?” Éomer asked in surprise, his face still revealed the shock at hearing about an elf trying to kill himself. His legs would not have held him up had been standing.

“Not in that way,” Gimli replied. “A deep love, one borne of war, of allegiance. Perhaps, if things had been different, that I had been younger, we might have been . . .” His voice faded off as he gazed again at the sleeping elf. “He and I spoke much along the way down the Anduin as well, things that Ârâgorn might not know about, but with his heightened hearing it is possible he heard us.”

“Did you not heal the rift between you in Lórien?” the man asked. “Why leave it until you had left?” Gimli smiled grimly. “We talked all night, and half the next day before we finally left to return to the others. We came to an understanding. Yes, we love, but no, it is not the love that binds two hearts in marriage. It is forbidden, and we are content with friendship. I could not love a male. That is not our way, not as it is with elves.”

“But . . .Legolas is female.”

Gimli nodded in contemplation. “Aye . . .he is now.”

Éomer frowned. “I do not understand. Elves can change what they are . . .on a whim?”

Gimli looked up. “Evidently. Though it is as much a surprise to me as it is to you.”

“I had noticed that,” the man replied. “Does this not change the promise you made, somewhat?”

Gimli regarded him for a long time. “No,” he replied. “I am still forbidden to take a mate. In a few short years, I will sail to rejoin the Lady Galadriel, if it is given me to survive this war. Until then, my oath is to Ârâgorn and to a hobbit named Frodo Baggins.”

“Galadriel . . .the Lady of the Woods. I have heard much of your dealings with the White Witch, as well,” Éomer admitted.

“What have you heard?” Gimli asked.

“That you were enamoured with her, that you . . .slept in her bed . . .”

“What?” Gimli was suddenly incensed. “Where did you hear such lies?”

“Rumours tend to travel faster than news,” Éomer replied. “I did not think much of it, until you mentioned her.”

“The Lady Galadriel is the fairest thing in all the earth . . .but she is married. No . . .I have neither lusted after nor even touched her. She is so far above me, and I would never dream of such things with her. She warned me of the continuing strife between Legolas and I, gave me peace concerning it. The only thing that troubles me is the persistent vision . . .and the fact that Legolas is not the same as he was before.”

Éomer watched the elf’s chest rise and fall, eyes closed. “Is he not supposed to have his eyes open?” he asked suddenly. “I have heard it said that when elves sleep, their eyes are continually open upon the world of men.”

“Aye, it is true, but Legolas is badly wounded. I do not know if she will survive.”

“He . . she . . .this is most confusing,” Éomer noted. He sniffed a little, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. “It is a thing unheard of among men. I am meeting a male one day and nursing a woman back to health the next.” He shook his head.

“I think I am feeling it, as well, Éomer,” Gimli stated wryly. “You forget, I have known him for over seventy years . . .and to think he did this for me, hoping perhaps that becoming female would appeal to Mahal and change his mind.”

Éomer frowned as he rose, pacing a little to the foot of the bed. “You have not described to me these visions of yours, but you speak much of being forbidden . . .have you not considered the possibility that the visions are your answer?” he asked carefully.

Gimli’s head snapped up.

“I shall leave you to eat, though now I think it cold,” Éomer decided. He turned for the door, leaving Gimli to his suddenly riotous thoughts. Éomer stepped outside, pressing his back against the closing door for a second, eyes closed as he swallowed. How could they live like that? he wondered. Greater men would be in tears . . .and Éomer found himself among them.

Gimli sat on the edge of the bed, forgoing the comfort of the chair since the tray of food rested there. Éomer was more astute than Ârâgorn at times, he mused, and Ârâgorn had the advantage of knowing them both for more than sixty years, and knowing in detail what had transpired in Lórien. Boromir had also had words of wisdom in Lórien, but the Prince of Rohan was astute without knowing what it was he was talking about.

Not long after Gimli had eaten, Legolas was sick again. From that time on her breath rattled with fluid settling, collecting in her lung. Her breathing worsened through the night, and Gimli feared she might die. He called for Éomer, who sent for Ârâgorn and the King. All three men had seen the outcome of this too many times to dare trust a hope for the fallen elf.

Legolas struggled to breathe, and on occasion Ârâgorn rolled Legolas onto her left side in an effort to let the fluid drain out. It only made her sicker than before, as she choked on the clots of rancid blood. The taste caused her to gag, her body struggling to cough the soured blood from fragile lungs, while bile rose to scorch her throat, helpless as it dripped from mouth and nose as the pressure backed the vile fluids into her nasal passages. In such moments, Legolas’ eyes opened wide, her arms flailed in an effort to gain breath.

Ârâgorn almost smiled. “This is a good sign.”

Éomer looked up sharply. “It is?”

“She is fighting,” Ârâgorn replied. “That means she wants to live. If she did not fight, it would mean she had given up and resigned herself to the Halls of Mandos.”

Gently he rolled her onto her back, where Gimli gently cleaned her face. Legolas drew deep breaths for a long moment, eyes closed. She moaned gently as sheets were changed.

“We should not need to do it again,” Ârâgorn told them.

“I hope not,” Gimli said. “It weakens her further each time.”

Legolas opened her eyes and looked up, focusing on the face that looked down at her, upside down. She gazed at it, unable to summon the energy to frown.

Ârâgorn smiled. “I think she is awake.”

Legolas’ eyes shrank in size, his face loosing its colour. Suddenly she rolled over the threw up on Gimli. The look in her eyes spoke apology as her eyes lifted to his as she swiftly sank into unconsciousness again.

“At least it wasn’t blood,” Ârâgorn noted to which the dwarf gave him a tight smile.

“A good sign,” Éomer added ruefully, which did not help.

The night brought a fresh moon and a cool breeze. Gimli found her shivering and placed another blanket over her, and inadvertently touched her cheek. He drew back his hand in horror.

Running to the door he threw it open. “Ârâgorn!”

The man of Arnor came running at once at his cry. “What is it?”

“She’s burning up. She’s too hot to touch.”

Ârâgorn entered the chamber and checked for himself. “She has an infection.”

“She’s an elf, it cannot kill her . . .can it?” Éomer asked.

“This on top of the injury, the blood loss and the changing . . .it could. It is too much all at once.” He stepped back, eyes wide. “There is no time to call for Lord Elrond. I must do what I can here . . .Gimli, get a bath tub and fill it with clean, tepid water . . .”

“She is not strong enough to bathe . . .”

“Do it!” Ârâgorn cried. “Unless you wish to bury her in the morning!”

Gimli’s breath caught in his throat. He could not let Legolas die, no matter their differences, no matter their unresolved issues. He turned and fled.

“Perhaps I should do this?” Éomer offered.

“I should be the one,” Gandalf put in.

“I’ll do it,” Gimli said. “I promised her.”

“No,” Ârâgorn interrupted. “Considering the circumstances, you should be the last choice, Gimli. I’ll do it.”

“Considering the circumstances? You’re a married man . . .”

“Oh, be quiet all of you.”

The men turned to find Éowyn in the doorway.

“You are acting like a bunch of hormonal boys. She is sick and in need of help and you are all talking about it like it’s a stag night. Out with you, out all of you,” she added as one or two began to protest. “And close the door behind you.”

She waited until they had all gone, somewhat reluctantly, before testing the water in the tub, and removing her dress, leaving only a shapeless undergarment. As she lifted her dress over her head, she noticed Gimli, who stood watching helplessly. “Lord Gimli…” She said softly as she set the dress aside. “If you wish to help . . .you cannot be shy about what you see.”

Gimli nodded. “If there’s anything you need, tell me.”

Éowyn cast him a comforting smile and moved to the bed. She began to remove everything except Legolas’ bandaging. With ease she lifted the light body into her arms and carried her to the bath. She was hot and that alone made things difficult for the shield-maiden of Rohan.

Stepping over the side, she gently she lowered the elf into the bath, and cradled her head on her shoulder. A soft cloth drew water over the parts she could not submerge. Éowyn began to hum a tune, a sweet melody of spring flowers, as she poured cool water over white skin. She pressed the cloth to Legolas’ cheeks and head, thoroughly drenching her hair.

“I am unsure if you can hear me or not,” she whispered. “But when I was a little girl, my mother became ill. A nurse maid would come in and do this for her, in the hope of reviving her. My father was killed in battle, and my mother faded, much like you are doing now. The men . . .they think me too ignorant to know, but I know. Legolas, if you die, who will keep Gimli from blaming himself? Who will keep him from fading once you are gone?”

Éowyn looked at the open eyes, wondering if they were unfocussed because of sleep or simply dulled with pain. She was certain they had been closed a moment before. After a moment, they blinked. Éowyn slowly smiled. “You are awake.”

Legolas gazed up at her and opened her mouth to say something, but was too weak.

“Do not try to speak, unless you must. You have been burning with a fever. I am bathing you in athelas water to cool you. As long as you do not try to struggle, neither of us will drown,” she added airily.

Legolas gave her a smile. She closed her eyes, welcoming the feel of cool water on her flushed skin. The wound in her side was painful, but dull in comparison to the raging fire in her blood. “Water,” she whispered.

“You are thirsty?” Éowyn saw her attempt a nod and looked around for some water. She lifted her eyes in silent request to the dwarf.

Gimli, who had been watching from the shadows stepped forward. Quickly, he found the pitcher and filled a goblet with cool water. The dwarf handed it to Éowyn.

“Thank you, Gimli…” she mouthed.

Legolas did not seem to notice that he was in the room. The dwarf silently nodded, trying not to see too much as he stepped back, desperate to help, but having to trust the woman with the elf’s very life.

She cupped Legolas’ head and pressed the cup to her lips. Legolas sipped a little, feeling the cold water hit hot insides. She gasped.

“Better?”

Legolas nodded, breathing deeply for a moment as the feeling subsided. “Thank you for taking care of me,” she whispered. “I could not bear anyone else . . .”

Eowyn leaned in and whispered, “Gimli is here.” With her cheek, she felt the elleth’s cheek. It was cooler, she allowed a gentle sigh of relief. “Come, Gimli. Help me get her out.”

Legolas frowned slightly, but resigned herself to being lifted out and carried to the bed. Gimli threw a clean sheet over her to keep off the cold as Éowyn changed into dry clothes while his back was turned.

“Please . . .tell me Gimli is not here,” a whisper rose from the bed. Gimli sucked in a breath and gazed down at the now closed eyes.

Legolas slipped into slumber before either Éowyn or Gimli could answer.

Legolas lay sleeping, eyes closed, for almost three days. Gimli was deeply concerned, holding her hand, thumb brushing the back of her hand. Legolas’ eyes slowly opened, feeling a cool breeze against her bare shoulder, and turned to focus on him where he sat dozing in the chair beside the bed. After a moment the dwarf became aware of eyes on him and opened his own. Blinking, he sat up straight.

“Legolas?”

Legolas smiled, but the smile quickly turned to tears. “You took my shirt off.”

Gimli rose without letting go of the hand. “I’m afraid I had to. You were very badly wounded and have been close to death since we found you.”

Legolas sobbed quietly, tears slipping down the sides of her face, to disappear into her hair. “Then you know . . .”

Gimli hesitated before nodding. “Yes, I know you’re female. My only question is . . .why did you do it? I’m not worthy of such a gift.”

Legolas frowned. “Do what?”

“In Lórien . . .” Gimli gazed at her. “You became female for me . . .did you not? As much I am honoured by this gift, it causes some difficulties that . . .”

“I have been female longer than that.”

Gimli stared at him, stupefied as he spoke.

“While all elves can choose to remain neither, I chose long ago to be female, I . . .just did not seen to show it . . .very much.”

“I thought it was for me,” Gimli replied, sounding heartbroken.

“It was for you, but it was not in Lórien. I saw your coming in a dream when I was young, not long after Erebambor was sent away. I begged for a star to guide my soul, to ease my loneliness. I had not expected a dwarf, with an elven name, to turn up on my doorstep and for my heart to fall . . .”

“At the Battle of the Five Armies . . .”

“For a dwarf I barely knew.” Legolas lifted her eyes slantwise at him. “So, now you know. I am nothing short of a brazen hussy . . .is that not what men would call me?”

“Men are not the most intelligent of creatures when it comes to noticing the small details,” Gimli noted.

“I heard that,” came Ârâgorn’s voice by the fire.

“Pay him no mind,” Gimli said, not taking his eyes from the elf on the bed. “Besides, he’s only part human, he does not count.”

“Hannaid,” the man retorted evenly, the humour in his voice plainly evident.

Gimli did not move. He smiled again. “Nonetheless, this gift . . .why, Legolas?”

“Naugrim law forbids it any other way,” Legolas replied. “But I cannot change back. I had begun to do just that after our days in Lórien, knowing that such a thing was meaningless. Until then, I had not accounted for the possibility that you were too old, that you have been since the days of the . . .”

“Five Armies,” Gimli realised, finishing Legolas’ sentence. “Life has passed us both by.”

Fresh tears came then, and Legolas turned away. Pulling her hand free, Gimli stood bereft of her touch for a long moment.

“Something went wrong, didn’t it . . .Legolas?”

“I could not change back,” Legolas replied quietly. “It was refused, on a count of a dwarf who was too stubborn to listen to an answer he had been given three years ago.”

Slowly dark eyes lifted to gaze at the golden head. “No,” he replied harshly. “Mahal would never have allowed it, Legolas. You are sick and don’t know of what you speak.”

Legolas turned back, wincing at the pain in her side. “I am quite well, actually dwarf!” she spat back. “It is you who is sick. Sick of being told that you are making a fool of yourself, sick of hearing the truth, sick of any path but the one you have set for yourself. So, perhaps, yes I am sick . . .sick of you berating yourself for something you could have dealt with seventy years ago, sick of you giving and then taking away as soon as hope fills my heart, sick of you complaining about how hard your lot is compared to mine, and sick of you pretending to be what you are not. You are my not friend, Gimli, not and treat me the way you do. You use me, and that makes me sicker than anything else.”

“Listen to reason, Legolas.”

“No!” Legolas cried. “I tire of your reasons. We have a war to fight. Bring me my clothes. No doubt Ârâgorn is late for his appointment with destiny.”

A snort came from the chair by the fire. “You are not going anywhere, mellon nin. And destiny or not, I am not leaving you two alone to kill each other when we have all fought to keep you alive. Gimli, wipe the smug look off your face. I am not alone in reaching the limit of patience in this matter.”

Gimli’s face took on the same glowering look as the elf. There was silence for a long time. Nothing moved.

“What answer?” Gimli suddenly demanded.

“A vision,” Legolas replied, huffily. “According to Galadriel, you had been given a vision. She told me that it would plague your every waking moment until you could bear it no longer and kissed me.”

Ârâgorn grinned, only the pipe between his teeth stopped the laugh from escaping.

Gimli hummed to himself. “Sounds like the lady’s humour, true enough.”

“So you do not deny having the vision, then,” Legolas noted.

“And my admission to having had such would do what?” Gimli asked.

“It would heal my heart, Gimli,” she said, beseechingly.

Gimli inclined his head to regard her gently. How could he not answer that? How she pricked his conscience. “You conniving, devious female,” he told her. “You pull that stunt on me again and you and I will have words . . .”

Legolas held his gaze. “When do you leave, Aragorn?” she said.

“We leave for Dunharrow in two days.”

“I will be with you.”

“I ride to war, Legolas. I will not take a woman into battle.”

“You did not object before,” Legolas retorted.

“Well, that was . . .you are injured,” Aragorn floundered.

“I will be healed in time.”

“You are still a woman.”

“For elves, all three genders fight in battle and do all manner of things. I made this choice out of faith, a hope for a future that is not to be. I made an oath to you out of love for my brother. That comes first. Who are you to tell me to break my oath and forgo my honour?”

Aragorn made to answer, but closed his mouth.

Gimli looked up at Aragorn. “She’s got you there.”

“So I see,” Aragorn replied.

“See that Arod is prepared, please,” Legolas asked.

Aragorn nodded. “I will go and see if your clothes have been repaired.” With that he reluctantly left them alone.

The moment he was out of sight, Gimli turned fully to the elf. He sighed. “When do we stop this fighting? We have war on our hands enough. Yes, I am clumsy old dwarf, yes I have a temper, but for Mahal’s sake stop provoking it!” He sank into the chair and sighed again, looking down at his hands where they lay in his lap. “Legolas . . .we have to come to a decision, together, what we do and when. We know the why, the why is not important any more. We established all that.”

“I know,” Legolas replied. “I will follow your lead, as always, Gimli.”

“That’s just the point,” the dwarf replied. “You have followed me all this time. You have lived in my shadow. You are an elf, there is only so much my shadow will cover before the sun moves across the sky and disappears behind the horizon. I accept your gift, Legolas, but I will not accept you as a puppet, a servant. You are a warrior in your own right.”

Wincing, Legolas shifted slightly beneath the covers to look at him more squarely. “You will not act on this, it is plain to me.”

“And my reasons are not at all what you are thinking,” Gimli assured her. “You are my dearest friend, my soul, my heart, and I would marry you, but for one thing. We are at war, Legolas. Either one of us could be lost, or even both. There is no time to do this properly. In Lórien there was no time. It cannot be done, not without returning to Lady Galadriel and gaining proper due for us with full honours given to it. I won’t do it, Legolas. I won’t marry you on the run, a slip behind a tree and taking virtue, as many elves have had to do in the past. I want our bond to be accepted by all, not done hurriedly just in case something happens to us tomorrow. You are worth more than that. You deserve more than that.”

“That is something we cannot have in Arda, Gimli,” Legolas replied quietly.

Gimli took a deep breath. “Stay with me and regain your strength.”

“I am not as near to the halls of waiting as I was,” Legolas assured him.

“Near enough for me to hear them still,” Gimli replied, darkening the haunted look in the elf’s eyes. “Get well. I want you by my side when we fight for Ârâgorn against Mordor. I would not go into battle without my right hand, nor would I deem it possible to face the rest of my life without the sun that shines on it.”

“Friends,” Legolas said.

Gimli nodded. “Friends.”

Legolas smiled up at him and said, “Lift me up. I must see the moon.”

Gimli carefully lifted her up in the bed so that she could see out of the window. Despite the pain, she remained there, leaning heavily on the dwarf, gazing up at the moon, the thing of most beauty in her life, next to Gimli. Then, she turned her head to look up at him.

Unnoticed, Ârâgorn stepped into the room, a shirt and jerkin draped over one arm. He was about to speak . . .when, within the slanted column of moonlight, he saw them. He had not been far, having heard their conversation and their pledge to be friends. It had almost broken him, but he understood their decision, but had wondered why they had fallen silent so suddenly. Now he could see why.

Framed in moonbeams, Legolas’ back was against Gimli’s chest, her head turned up to his. He watched them share that most basic touch of love that could exist between man and woman, whatever their race. The sweetness almost brought him to his knees, a kiss so gentle their lips barely met. Setting the garments down on the bed, Ârâgorn slipped back out the door without a word.