Legolas was angry, and in grief, but for two very different reasons. Gandalf had died yes, but why did Gimli have to be so dismissive of his aid. ‘You would have done the same for any of us’ Gimli had said. Legolas huffed through his nose with contempt. A head rose and he unintentionally met the heir’s gaze. He quickly looked away.

“It is nothing. I am fine,” Legolas spoke stiffly, before Aragorn could say a word. “It is not as if I feel any different toward one and not the rest. Why should I?” he pressed ahead.

Aragorn frowned and opened his mouth to speak.

“No one asked him to feel the same,” Legolas interrupted. “So I have lost nothing in the waiting for it, because it will never be there,” he forced out, his voice rising a little, almost shouting now.

“What are you talking about, my friend?”

“Even you have not noticed. This is a fine to-do. No one knows, and yet it is in plain sight. But it does not matter now. It will never happen!”

“Legolas, calm down,” Aragorn coaxed.

“I do not want to calm down. I want to vent,” he replied. He was pacing now. “I want to shout. Nay, I want to scream . . .and all for one small speck of recognition. One glimmer of hope, but hope has forsaken me.” Finally he sank to his knees and hugged himself.

Aragorn watched the shoulders shake, heard the sobbing. He sighed softly and walked up to him resting a hand on his shoulder. From his vantage point Aragorn could see the tears drip from his chin to dampen his leggings. “Let go of it, Legolas. Gandalf would not want you to mourn so.”

Legolas jumped up so hard and fast that Aragorn’s elbow jarred against the joint. He winced and rubbed it even before the shrieking even registered.

“Gandalf? Gandalf! Gandalf!” Legolas turned on him. “What kind of a being do you equate me with? I am not some dirty old man! And he is, or was, so far above me that mine eyes barely reached the soles of his boots!”

Aragorn narrowed his eyes in confusion.

Legolas suddenly became aware of other eyes watching him besides the pair that he was glaring at. He was standing nose tip to nose tip with Aragorn . . .when he had closed the distance between them? “I seek solitude. Do not disturb me!”

Aragorn watching him walk away. “Legolas, do not wander too far. We must make for Lothlórien.”

“Then leave me alone while I work through this,” Legolas threw back tightly, not looking back.

Gimli came up beside Aragorn, his eyes regarding the retreating form of the elf. “His grief for Gandalf is consuming him.”

“I do not believe that is his only trouble, Gimli. A love has slighted his heart, and only another elf can help Legolas heal.”

Gimli pursed his lips together. “I didn’t know Legolas has a wife? Is she in Valinor?”

Aragorn lifted a brow as he turned his head to gaze at the dwarf. “Though Legolas wears the braids of bond, he is not bonded. He wears them so that he does not look the odd one out. I did not think a dwarf so short-sighted as to not notice the workings of our closest elf.”

In silence, they crossed the borders of Lothlórien. Gimli eyed the trees with less than warm feelings. He had heard a lot about this place, and none of it was good. He watched the back of a certain elf, who had been silent since his blow out. Too calm, in actual fact and it worried him.

Gimli had avoided all contact with Legolas, thinking it best to do so. He had tried to make a big deal of saving his life in Khazad Dhum. So, what? He was grateful, yes, but the elf’s ego did not need any extra inflating, it was big enough with all this ‘I am immortal’ stuff. What was his problem anyway? You were supposed to look out for each other when you had sworn an oath to it.

He uttered a warning to the hobbits, for something to say more than anything. His voice felt ill-used, or neglected more accurately. And suddenly he had an arrow trained right at his face. An elf appeared, sneering at him most disconcertedly, but it was not the welcoming face of Legolas.

“The dwarf breathes so loud we could have shot him in the dark!”

Gimli growled up at him. Smarmy little . . .who did he think he was? Gil-galad?

“Gimli?” Legolas approached.

Gimli scowled at him. “What is it this time?”

“I wanted to say . . .about Moria.”

“For the thousandth time, Legolas, so what! Bringing me here to Lorien was punishment enough for leading the fellowship in to Moria, we’re even. Now let it rest, and move on.”

Legolas sighed sadly. “That was not what I was planning to say, but . . .”

Gimli grumbled, “Not again.” He straightened from the task of rolling out his bedding. “For the love of Durin, lad, I know you saved my life. It is no big deal. We’re a Fellowship, it’s what we do. Now will you quit with the hero-worship, which usually falls to the rescued not the rescuer.” Gimli stopped his growled words and sighed. “You are enough to give someone a complex, you know that? Now go to sleep, or at least allow me to go to sleep!”

Legolas fell silent watching the dwarf kick off his boots and slide between his blankets. “That is not what I was wanting to say, either,” he murmured resignedly, and walked away, not noticing the eyes open and follow his retreating form.

Legolas approached him boldly, head proud and determined. “Haldir,” he addressed. “I am in need of assistance.”

Haldir looked up with a sneer on his face and looked down his nose at him. “The son of Thranduil needs help?”

“I am the son of a King, and you will give me the respect that is my due, Captain” Legolas retorted.

Haldir bowed his head and hand to heart apologised. “It was not meant as disrespect,” he added. “It is the dwarf who travels with you that I do not respect.”

“It is concerning the dwarf that I have come seeking your help,” Legolas revealed.

Haldir caressed the white blade he had been sharpening and regarded him evenly. “Just tell me when.”

Legolas’ face twisted with anger as he stepped up to Haldir and grabbed by the tunic in both hands and brought his face to his own. “Touch one hair on Gimli’s head and I will personally see to it that you be set in charge of the lhaes for a year, dressed in a bunny suit!”

A white blade dropped to the ground from shocked fingers and the elf turned pale. “Yes, your Highness,” Haldir responded and swallowed.

Legolas released him none to gently and stepped away from him.

Haldir watched him turn away from him, and realised that this was no light matter he had come to him with. “There is a darkness in your heart. What is it that troubles you?”

“I am . . .in love,” Legolas replied, forcing the words between his teeth.

“I see.” Haldir’s eyes widened slightly. “With the dwarf?”

Legolas turned his worry-creased brow to the captain and sucked in a heavy breath. “It is true what they say, Haldir is as astute as the Lady Galadriel is beautiful.”

Haldir bowed his head in acceptance of the compliment. “Why have you come to me?”

“To break a love undesired requires an intimate bond between another born in the same cycle, but not of kin. You are the only one who fits that requirement.”

“I am already bonded, Legolas,” Haldir replied.

“I am aware of that,” Legolas said. “This bond need only last for a set length of time. I will not ask for more.”

“You wish to use me for one night,” Haldir realised.

Said like that made it so cheep. Legolas suddenly felt sick.

Haldir considered this. “To give this matter due consideration, I must know more of these feelings that you share with this dwarf.”

“Share?” Legolas demanded. “There is no ‘share’. He does not return my feelings, nor even trust me. Every kindness I have extended to him has been rebuffed, even smile he considers a sneer, and every word to him is an insult. He is unapproachable, rude, and offensive. I saved his life and he turned the action into an occurrence to scoff at, as if my very being there was to naught. At every opportunity he has insulted every action, and every slight has cut me to my soul.”

“Then, why did you save his life?”

Legolas turned his enlarged eyes to Haldir. “Because I love him,” he said quietly. “And I do not want to.” He turned fully to the captain and sighed. “I ask for the healing touch.”

“Elf customs would tell you that you should not pursue a dwarf, him or any other, that it is unseemly,” Haldir told him, his voice devoid of any emotion. “It would tell you that you should mate with one of your own kind, that it is your duty as the king’s son to provide an heir. But . . .” Haldir, paused, lowered his gaze for a moment before making his decision. “If I accept to do this, I would offer you one night, and the end of it you must be gone before I wake. Once the healing touch is complete you will be cured of the infatuation.”

Legolas was about to accept, when a dwarf blade appeared and tipped Haldir’s chin upward. “No one lays a hand on my elf,” the growl that followed the axe said. “And no point-ear, however charming and beautiful to behold will come between him and me who does not feel the kiss of my axe first.”

Haldir gently curled his body back and round the axe and gazed down at Gimli, still showing no emotions at all. “I do not need convincing. It is Legolas you must convince. I wish you both well.” With that he stood and stared at Legolas. “I refuse your request, Legolas, son of Thranduil.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke as Haldir walked away, as good as his word he left them alone. After a long while heads turned to meet each other’s gaze.

"Well?" Gimli asked.

"Well, what?" Legolas countered.

"Aren't you going to thank me?"

"For what?"

"For saving you from Haldir's bed."

"I saved your life. We are even."

"Even? No contest . . ."

"You have already made your feelings on the matter abundantly clear," Legolas snapped, cutting him off.

"Accept it, lad. Admit it; you love me."

“I will admit no such thing. You're a dwarf, and . . ."

"In love with you," Gimli finished the thought.

Legolas suddenly sneered. "I ought to kill you for the insinuation."

Rushing towards the dwarf he drew a blade. With one swipe he lunged. The butt of an axe handle struck the inside of his wrist, knocking blade and all sense from the limb. Legolas clutched his hand in the other and cried out. Gimli dropped the axe and stepped towards him

Legolas lifted his gaze at the dwarf in astonishment. "I have two blades," he voiced in husky triumph and drew it with his other hand.

This time, the blade flew through the air and Gimli ducked out of its path and continued to step closer. Legolas stepped back, his breath dusting the air, notably surprised. Gimli drew his other axe and for the first time in his life Legolas feared for his safety.

The axe was thrust aside a second later, but Gimli continued to advance on him. The dwarf suddenly pushed him backwards. "If you will not give yourself willingly, elfling." Gimli watched him stumble, but regain his footing. "I will have to take you." He pushed him again, but Legolas still remained resolutely on his feet. "By force!" Gimli added and swung out a leg, hooking his foot behind the elf's ankle.

Suddenly, Legolas was sitting on the ground, staring up at him with instant realisation. Gimli meant it. Without warning, the dwarf barrelled into him, knocking him on his back. Enraged, Legolas fought back, a blow struck Gimli's solid jaw and Gimli looked down at him, at once shocked and livid.

Gimli growled, his features twisting into a snarl. Legolas had a moment to wonder at his mistake before teeth descended on his shoulder. He cried out in pain and felt the teeth on an earlobe. The second cry was muffled beneath a rough kiss.

Legolas struggled, lashing out as his blood filled his mouth, teeth having torn into the soft flesh of his lip. He was spitting blood long before he realised that his flailing arms were now pinned beneath stronger hands and a weight was pressing his body into the forest floor. He swung his legs out in an effort to dislodge him, but he slowly realised that it was futile.

He continued to struggle, regardless, calling out into the growing darkness. "Help me! Help me! He is trying to rape me! Get him off me! Help! Somebody help me!"

Gimli sat impassively watching him. His blood spattered face and neck would heal, but his inner pain might take longer. Legolas had begun to tire and grew quiet again when he realised that no one was coming to his aid. Then came the tears

"Stop fighting it, Legolas," Gimli said gently.

Legolas sobbed softly and shook his head. "Never!"

It was more a scream of pain than a cry of defiance. Gimli had more than half expected to have felt an arrow's bite by now. Instead, to his relief and Legolas’ horror, nothing happened. Where is everyone? His eyes beseeched, but no sound came out of the elf mouth. "I love you," Gimli professed gently. "I know you love me. Why are you fighting it?"

"You are a dwarf!" Legolas retorted. "Love between an elf and a dwarf! Whoever heard such a thing? It is disgusting."

Gimli suddenly growled. He was getting on his wick now. Stubborn elf! “Disgusting?" he demanded. "I'll show you disgusting."

Legolas gasped, catching the fire in his eyes glaring down at him and suddenly he was no longer angry. Now, he was terrified.

Kissing him roughly, Gimli knew he was leaving Legolas breathless. As he slid a leg down the elf’s body he pushed it between his thighs. The other leg moved down and Gimli nestled against him, hip to hip. Still kissing him, he invaded his mouth with his tongue hearing Legolas gasp in shock.

Legolas struggled, a suddenly free hand tried to push the dwarf away. Hips ground against hips as the dwarf continued undeterred. Then with both hands, he began striking the sturdy back, but got no reaction at all, not even a wince of pain.

Gimli continued to kiss him slowly and deeply, thrusting provocatively against his groin. Legolas huffed a moan of frustration. Worse, he could feel cloth sliding up his back. This was not good, not good at all.

Gimli lifted his head just long enough to allow the puckered cloth to pass his mouth and his lips descended again. Legolas’ eyes were momentarily covered and the tunic and shirt slipped over his head in one go.

It was several seconds before he noticed that he was doing it. The elven cloth had slipped from both wrists before he realised he was kissing Gimli with equal vigour. As the grinding against his groin increased he parted his thighs a little, though more to stop the painful ache on his legs than to offer the dwarf more room.

His arms fell to either side of him, the fight kissed out of him. Rough kisses continued and the grinding against his centre increased, forcing a moan from his throat. Of their own volition his hips arched upward, increasing the pressure, and driving another loud gasp from his lips. Legolas kissed the dwarf, desperate hunger-driven kisses, feeling the heat rising and unable to fight it. Suddenly he threw his head back and screamed, his body shuddering beneath Gimli’s.

It was a long while before Legolas opened his eyes to find Gimli half naked. He had already removed his shirt and was topless. Dwarf hands were opening the buttons of his leggings and pulling the material off him. Still breathless, Legolas offered no resistance.

Gimli pulled the cloth free from his feet and gazed at Legolas where he now lay totally naked. Even to Legolas passion-dazed eyes he looked astonished.

"I thought you were a . . ."

"Elves are both male and female, we can choose, Gimli . . . please . . ."

Gimli smiled, a gleam in his eye. “Please, what?”

“Please, my lord Gimli,” he panted.

Gimli’s smiles widened. That was not been what he had been expecting to hear, but loved it all the same. “What do you want? Tell me?” he asked huskily.

“You. I want you . . .in me.”

“You want me to make a woman of you?”

Legolas nodded. “Yes . . .please.” A finger traced the delicate folds of flesh between his thighs. They were almost closed, as assuredly a sign of never having been touched, as a dew-covered bud was a sign that the flower had yet to open. Sliding upward, the finger traced the to hardness of the small but perfectly formed manhood. Legolas gasped softly.

Gimli wrapped his fingers around it and smoothed from tip to base, and smiled as the resultant sighed groan drifted up. He did it again, mesmerised by Legolas’ reaction. His own pants were getting painfully tight, but for now we was happy simply to watch the elf arch into his touch. Legolas’ hips rose with frantic want, his own hand curving over his in and effort to quicken the pace, squeezing him harder. Gimli let go, much to Legolas’ frustration.

Legolas lifted his head and opened his eyes. “Gimli . . .” Suddenly he felt himself being swallowed by a hot, wet mouth. He gasped loudly as he watched. The pace was slow as he slid up and down, swirling his tongue in the groove at the tip and then sinking down again. Legolas snaked his fingers through the thick richly red hair, pulling him roughly closer, his hips thrust upward, filling Gimli’s mouth again and again.

Gimli was beginning to get the idea. Elves liked it rough, at least this elf did. It was also his first time. Or were they always so passionate? He opened his pants and slid them off just as his other hand reached for the folds. Knees parted further as he slid a finger gently into his opening and withdrew.

Legolas gasped louder still. “More . . .more!”

Sliding two fingers in and out, Gimli remained unmoved by the whimpered pleas for him to go harder. Three fingers were sliding in and out and Gimli decided he’d waited long enough. He was achingly hard and weeping. He slipped off the end of his member and slid a tongue through his wetness. Legolas bucked against him. Kissing his way upwards Gimli gave his shaft a quick rub before settling over the elf’s body.

Slowly he slid inside. Legolas sighed with relief and Gimli smiled.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked innocently.

“Oh yes,” he breathed, eyes closed. “Harder.”

Gimli began to thrust and felt the elf’s legs curl around his thighs. Legolas matched his moves, urging him deeper. Legolas grazed his nails down the dwarf’s spine and he watched his eyes pop wide as the sensations shuddered through him. Elf hands gripped his buttocks pressing him deeper.

“Harder . . .”

Gimli thrust and arched into him, feeling the elf writhe beneath him. He lowered his lips to the elf’s quivering mouth and claimed it as his own.

“Legolas,” he huffed breathily. “I love you.”

“I love you, Gimli . . .harder.”

As their tongues cavorted Gimli thrust almost painfully into him, ramming his claim home with blow after crushing blow. Gimli was certain he would be bruised after this, but they were both enjoying it. Grunts rose to replace the passionate huffs and moans, and the noise was increasing ever louder. Gimli shuddered, feeling quivering waves of excitement rolled through the elf. His body was tingling and almost before he realised it, his back was wash with a cold heat. He roared into the elf’s face, as Legolas shuddered violently and sank beneath him in one fluid scream of ecstasy.

Gimli lifted his head and gazed down at the elf lying beneath him. "Has anyone ever told you that you're beautiful?" he asked softly.

Legolas thought about it. "No," he replied.

"You are the fairest elf I have seen yet, and nothing save the Lady of the Woods is above you." Gimli's fingertips brushed the sides of his face where tears had fallen not long before. "No more tears, no more fighting, no more loneliness, mellon nîn."

"Friends and more, melethron."

Gimli lowered his head and kissed him gently. After kissing deeply and thrusting gently, Legolas moaned against his mouth.

"We should keep this quiet, between ourselves," Legolas suggested, his eyes drifting shut as he moaned sweetly.

"I think it's probably a little too late to keep this quiet," Gimli replied.

Legolas moaned louder, feeling the gentle moves within him. "Why?"

"Because," Gimli began, listening to the sounds of growing passion coming from the elf beneath him. "You're not exactly discrete with your declarations of enjoyment."

Legolas moaned in reply and arched upward. Sweeping his hands down Gimli's back he lifted his knees and pulled his buttocks closer. "Harder."

Gimli continued the same gentle pace, regardless. "Your first time, our first time, should have been gentle."

"I like it hard," Legolas groaned loudly, continuing his urgings.

Gimli gave in and moved faster and the reaction was immediate. Legolas trembled with excitement and arched against him. Gimli's control snapped and stars went nova behind his closed eyelids. Huffing loudly, his voice was drowned out by a writhing mass of sound erupting from the quivering elf. Suddenly the cry rose and echoed around them getting louder and louder. It was several seconds before it stopped ringing in Gimli's ears.

Gimli growled long and hard, reaching release a second time, and sank down, utterly spent. Breathless, Legolas sank into the soft bed of leaves and they both lay unmoving.

“We should get dressed,” Legolas whispered, shuddering softly as he felt the dwarf slip from his body. The night was dark and even the evening chorus had ended.

Gimli gasped at an aching shoulder as he got to his feet. “I think I wrenched something.”

Legolas looked at it, his elf eyes unhindered by the night and placed a gentle kiss on the angered flesh. “I am sorry. Your shoulder is covered in scratches . . .from my nails.”

“Oh,” Gimli said. “Tis nothing. Can you see my britches?”

Legolas stood up and winced, smothering a gasp of discomfort. His private places were sore. On looking round in the dark he located several discarded items, including Gimli’s pants. “Here,” Legolas replied, pressing the garment into his hand. He was gazing around him at the mallorn trees. The city was silent, which was unusual. “I wonder where everyone is?” he whispered softly. He hand smoothed down Gimli’s side to his groin, cupped it and gently squeezed.

“Don’t do that, or we’ll never get dressed,” Gimli warned.

Legolas’ eyes gleamed in the dark and he smiled. “I am too sore for more,” he said regretfully and bent to kiss the upturned lips. “Besides, this silence worries me,” he added, gazing around them at the darkness.

Gimli eyed the dark trees and nodded. “Aye. By rights, I should be dead.”

The screams echoed through the City of Trees, even through and beyond the rooms of Galadriel’s palace. Its answer was the thrum of feet as they dropped from flet to forest floor, tens, hundreds, thousands ready to answer their brother’s cry for help. White blades sang from rest ready to draw blood in defence of an elven son.

As the fellowship rose from their beds, eyes wide and fearful for their friend they rushed forward to lend a hand. As the first of the elves entered the glade, Rumil at their head, Haldir stepped from the shadow and drew the long curved sword from its scabbard, the blade glowing in the moonlight. Raising one hand, palm out to the approaching crowd of warriors his unspoken command of stop was answered out of habit. They froze and he spoke.

“You will go no further, unless you wish to traverse the distance to Mandos.”

Above them Galadriel’s clear face gazed down at him from the walkway, wondering what had set his mind again all elvenden. Another cry of pain rose from behind Haldir’s back and the solders pressed forward. Haldir stood his ground, resolute. “You shall not pass!”

Aragorn cringed, remembering the last time he had heard those words. “Haldir?” he questioned, eyes narrowing. “Who is with Legolas?”

“Gimli, son of Gloin,” Haldir responded. “My sworn enemy.”

“Then your oath is void,” Orophin, the brother of Haldir, spoke.

Haldir’s cheeks rippled with anger. “You question my honour?” His hand clenched around his sword, “Brother or not, you never question my loyalty.”

“Even an oath to an enemy must be upheld,” a small voice rose. Eyes turned to Frodo in shock. “If not,” he continued. “You are no better than they.”

Suddenly, another cry, but not one of pain rose from the grove. The joyous ring of ecstasy was unmistakable.

“They are too much in love, and as much as it irks me to do so, I will not allow any interference.” Haldir alone stood between his men and the path into the grove.

“He cries for help,” his other brother, Rumil, argued, his words in Quenya dripped with an anger very rarely seen, even in the dark days.

“I swore an oath. I cannot go back on my word . . .but . . .this could end in war,” Haldir voiced his disquiet. “No, my brothers, return to your talans. No one will cross into the grove lest they desire to die at my hand.”

The elven eyes of the soldiers moved between him and the screaming coming from the grove and back again. Finally they relented and left.

“War is entirely possible,” Aragorn conceded the point, sharpening his dagger, one foot resting against a mallorn root. “This has never happened before.”

“It will not sit well with his father,” Haldir commented.

Aragorn looked up as a movement at the corner of his eye caught his attention. He straightened. Gimli, jaw bruised, and Legolas beside him, with a torn lip and an angry bite to his neck, entered the camp. Aragorn noticed their faces first, second that they are wearing the wrong tunics. Haldir stepped forward, but an axe blade to his throat warned him off.

“Stay back, Captain Elf. No one comes between a dwarf and his things, his gold, his food or his mate. So do not awake my jealousy, lad, or Mistress Axe with cleave you in two. We are a jealous race,” Gimli warned.

Haldir raised both hands and stepped back. "Fear not, Master Dwarf. I am in no mood to fight for that which is not mine, even if I had been inclined to take Legolas from you. I have done my duty and kept all away. My duties complete for the night, I will retire to my talan." He bowed gracefully, eyeing their numerous wounds. He shook his head and walked away, only then did he chuckle with amusement.

Aragorn pursed his lips as he regarded them. If he didn’t he would have been grinning from ear to ear. “É abdöl aës (You are late),” he said to Legolas. Eying his wounds he added. “You look terrible.”

Legolas tried to laugh but discovered it was too painful. They were both terrible sight, but Aragorn’s peredhil senses could easily tell what they had been doing, and, in spire of their numerous injuries, it had been a frenzy of mutual lovemaking. “I think your wounds need tending, friend-Gimli, and you both need to get dressed . . .properly.”

Legolas looked down at himself and rolled his eyes. “I thought this shirt did not fit, Gimli. It is yours.”

“And these boot are yours,” Gimli replied. “They are too tight.”

Legolas gazed down at Gimli’s feet and the offending footwear. “No, they are yours . . .” He bit his already sore lip, the pain was not quite enough to stave off an un-elflike giggle. “You have them on the wrong feet.”

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