They had never touched beyond the warrior’s clasp of shoulders, had never even so much as held hands beyond giving aide. Why now? If Gimli had been asked that question, he could not answer it. In the hours after the battle of Helm’s Deep, there was a winding down. The quiet hung heavy and comforting after the noise of war.

Legolas felt the fingers tease the silver threads that fell across his shoulder. He suppressed a gasp as the scalp they were attached to began to tingle delightedly. His body trembled with excitement and he silently cursed his one weakness. The being beside him, thankfully, did not seem to notice.

“Why do elves have such long hair?” the gruff voice asked.

Ârâgorn’s head snapped up, and the first thing he noticed was the horrifyingly enlarged eyes of Legolas. Without a word, he shot to his feet and rushed from the room.

Legolas cringed. Perfect, he thought silently. The one person I rely on to get me out of tight spots, and he leaves. And this is one tight spot.

The fingers continued.

“Um . . .” An elf lost for words, that had to be a first, at least for him. There were no curse words in any of the four elvish tongues, so he shifted his mental focus to Westron. No hope there either. He knew a few words of Khazad . . . “Damn!”

Legolas wondered if that was strong enough. He didn’t dare meet Gimli’s face as it shot upward at his exclamation, but judging by what he could see out of the corner of his eye, it had surprised the dwarf.

“What did you say?” Gimli asked, not trusting his ears.

“I . . .um . . .let us see where Ârâgorn went in such a hurry.” He half rose.

“Oh, no, you don’t,” Gimli growled, grabbing his arm.

Legolas sat back down, though not by choice. No escape. Finally, his large eyes met Gimli’s.

“I ask a simple question, and you act like a cornered pig on market day.”

Legolas swallowed. An apt description of how he felt.

“So, you have to agree,” Gimli continued. “I am justified in being intrigued.”

“The question was simple, but the answer is not simple, and that you asked me is not fair.”

“Why isn’t it fair?” Gimli wondered.

“Because . . .” Legolas hesitated. “That you wish for an answer to such an intimate question has me wondering why you would want to know,” he countered.

“Intimate?” Gimli returned. “I was asking about your hair, not for . . .”

“For elves there is no distinction,” Legolas burst out before he could stop himself. “Each facet is a part of the whole. To ask a part is to ask of the whole.”

Gimli was silent for all of three seconds. “Confounded elf! What has hair got to do with sex?” he demanded loudly.

Seven Rohirrim warriors froze. Legolas turned red. The men made their exits as swiftly as the narrow doorways would allow.

“You are one annoying dwarf!” Legolas hissed into Gimli’s face and rose. Storming to the far side of the room, presumably where he considered himself safer, he surreptitiously eyed the two arched doorways that faced each other, and the corridors beyond, as if looking out for further eavesdroppers, before turning back to Gimli. “Hair is a symbol of virility, not just something that grows on your head.”

Gimli was confused. “Virility?”

Legolas nodded stiffly.

Gimli pursed his lips together whilst rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “You know, dwarves gather riches; men collect notches on the pommels of their swords and hobbits have gardens, all to impressed their women. Am I to understand that elves grow their hair for the same reason?”

“Yes.”

“The longer the better, I don’t doubt,” Gimli muttered to himself, sarcastically, forgetting that the elf could still hear.

“Yes, Legolas replied and dared to meet his gaze.

“And running your fingers through it, or even touching it, has interesting effects,” Gimli worded carefully.

Legolas chewed his lips for a moment, as if considering whether or not he should answer. “Yes.”

“Must make braiding a fun past time,” Gimli noted, fiddling with his beard, until he realised what he was doing and stopped.

“Actually, it only works when someone else is touching my hair,” Legolas voiced quietly.

Gimli stared at him, as a thought suddenly occurred to him. Slowly he stepped closer to the elf, who was standing in the middle of the room with an increasingly worried look on his face as he suddenly realised Gimli had manoeuvred himself between Legolas and the way out. “You mean to tell me, that you got aroused when I was fingering your hair?”

Legolas stepped back as Gimli seemed to be edging him against the wall. “Um, Gimli? I do not think this is the time or the place to be holding this discussion . . .”

“Oh really? Are you implying that there will a time and place?” Gimli wondered, but Legolas did not answer. “And exactly when would you say would be the time and place?”

“I . . .” Legolas stepped back.

“Would that be after you reached the heights of passion in front of a dozen Rohirrim, not to mention Ârâgorn?”

“Well . . I . . .” Legolas faltered, as his back abruptly met solid wall.

“Would the right time be after I’d offered to braid it for you?” Gimli continued.

Legolas was now more cornered than ever, and in more ways than one. And a cornered animal comes back fighting. “I would not have told you, at all,” he forced out with more venom than perhaps was necessary. “Dwarves! You think you have the right to know every fact and nuance of an elf. Hard luck! You will not hear another word out of me!”

Gimli sent him an unreadable look and swung out a leg, catching the unsuspecting elf behind a dainty ankle. Legolas let out a cry as he fell face down on the wolf skin rugs, winded. Before he could get up, a solid weight set itself on his back.

Legolas almost shouted at him, but reigned it in. He knew what was happening. Gimli was trying to provoke him into speaking. Elves were wise to such tricks.

Gimli sat there, feeling pleased with himself. It had worked rather better than he had hoped. Beneath him the elf glared at him out of the corner of his eye.

Legolas froze. Fingers were twiddling with the very ends of his silver-blond hair. He shuddered softly, but nothing passed his lips. Those same fingers began to gently comb through the strands, lifting them high only to gradually release them, letting them float back to the elf's shoulder. Legolas shuddered and shook him head but dared not speak. This was unfair, so unfair.

Legolas struggled, but was held fast. The weight was not uncomfortable, more annoying than anything. Why could he not have said that it was just a fashion statement and be done with it? Why give him all the details? But no, Legolas just had to tell Gimli the truth. Damn, why was he always so honest? Legolas shuddered visibly. A moan worked its way towards his lips, but he clamped down just in time.

Gimli was as relentless as he was slow and methodical. In time, he watched the elf relax, feeling him go boneless beneath him. The elf’s mouth opened as his breathing deepened. Well, he thought to himself. Legolas wasn’t kidding.

Legolas jerked, and struggled, intent this time to find a more comfortable position, but the dwarf held him fast, probably thinking he was still trying to escape. That alone forced the first word from his lips, “Please . . .”

Gimli grinned and said, “I thought you weren’t going to say a word?” He unfastened a tie and loosened a braid with exaggerated care, and then began to comb his fingers through it before braiding it again. By now he could hear the elf panting softly.

Gimli added further strands above his ear, and then more.

“Gimli, please,” came the whispered plea.

Gimli continued regardless, adding further strands as he made his way along the side of his head. Once the leaf-shaped ear was revealed by the hair being gently pulled back, the panting was noticeably more pronounced.

“Gimli . . .please. Do not . . .”

“Hush, elf, I’m busy,” he growled, only the tone had softened from his usual gruffness. He leaned down, intent on the braiding, and his own thick beard brushed across a delicate ear.

Legolas shuddered, and swallowed a moan. The warm breath combined with the rich voice and the gentle manipulation of his tresses were almost too much. Gimli was being so unfair. Again, he tried to roll over, but Gimli stayed firmly in place.

Gimli smiled to himself. The braid was almost done, and yet there was so much more of the fine gossamer to play with. “The braid at the back of your head also needs attention,” he noted offhandedly.

Legolas felt the braid flop to his shoulder as the fingers moved to his main braid. Another quiet, but unsuppressed, moan shuddered to the surface. Legolas closed his eyes, feeling the delicious sensations wash through him. Finally he had come undone, his one weakness exposed.

His eyes flew open. “For the love of the Valar, Gimli . . .!”

Gimli smiled gently. “What, Legolas?” he voiced softly.

“For the love of the Valar, do not stop . . .” The braid fell lightly before flingers plunged into the silver hair and slowly drew towards the tips. Panting heavily, Legolas lay still, and surrendered. Eyes wide in ecstasy, he shuddered harder, and moaned louder still.

In the silence of the room, deep within the fortress of Rohan, only elven breathing was heard.

Ârâgorn paced before the door, silence had ruled the hallway outside the great doors... he was deep in thought, and perplexed. That was a big word at this moment. He had left the scene too early and now a million scenarios danced in his head.

Certainly, he knew of the elvish hair fetish, but would the stalwart warrior tell the dwarf? And, what if he did . . .or if he did not? And if Gimli acted on it - he rubbed his fingers across his ever scruffy beard - and how he acted on the news . . .if Legolas told him.

What if Gimli continued the innocent hair-play? He rolled his eyes, may as well say foreplay . . . What if Legolas did not wish him to?? He froze... or if he wished him to????

“Oh Valar,” he moaned. His thoughts were going around in circles.

There is only so far hair fiddling an elf can take before he cannot say no. If only he had only come to his friend’s aide, but no, the future King of the West had to ran like a boy from his first kiss. He felt the mortified flush rise in his cheeks.

He stifled the sound creeping up his throat as a moan sneaked through the cracks of the door and whispered to him, but alas not enough to say whether they be of pain. Ârâgorn shuddered at the thought of the two walkers in mortal combat... or of lust. The image of them locked in mortal embrace turned his knees to water and he sank to the floor

“Either way, King Thranduil will blame this on me,” he whispered.

A Rohirrim warrior walked towards the door, intent on entry. Ârâgorn looked up and shook his head. "You cannot enter, they are meditating . . ." Hair, he almost added, but stopped himself. A moan drifted up from behind him and he wondered if the man could hear it. From his expression, he guessed not.

The man of Rohan nodded, "I will return later. My errand was not an urgent one," he said and walked away.

Ârâgorn sank inside his boots. That last sound was not of pain. The image in his head changed to one of two walkers locking in a lustful embrace. He shook his head. That image was not one he wanted in his head any more than the first.

“Thranduil is going to kill me,” he repeated softly. He lifted his head and inclined it a little, and not hearing anything wondered if they had - um - finished. Ârâgorn winced. “Then, he is going to kill Gimli.”

Legolas lay still, melted into the floor and not willing to get up just yet, even if he could. The weight was off him, he was unsure when that had happened. Perhaps Gimli had not been sitting on him for long at all, having, in a sense, ground tied him like a horse.

A pair of brown eyes peered down at him, warm and gentle. "Is that what all the fuss was about?" the dwarf asked. He gently kissed his cheek and smiled.

Legolas pushed up on his hands, not taking his eyes from the dwarf’s. He swallowed and took the next step, willingly, and pressed his lips to Gimli’s. “This means we are bonded,” he told him.

Gimli looked surprised. “For playing with your hair?”

“Elves mate for life.”

“But, we haven’t mated yet,” Gimli argued.

Legolas lifted a single brow. “Yet?” he repeated. “Are you implying that there will be a time?

Gimli gazed at him steadily for a moment longer. “Just name it,” he dared softly.