Walking down the cobbled street together, the smell of briny water rose up to meet them. The gulls called joyously above and all around them, urging them onward towards home. Below them the ship bobbed gently on the swell, nudging the dock as if impatient to be gone. Crafted lovingly by Legolas’ own hands, he felt no joy for it now, no expectancy, no longing. Only an emptiness pervaded his being, smothering his desires, his will, his hopes.

Legolas’ feet slowed and stopped. The wind gusted in from the sea, lifting his hair behind him like the tassels of a banner, but the joy ended there. He could not go on, not with the cloud of doubt, or the fear and guilt that hung over his head like a stifling blanket. He did not deserve this, Gimli did not deserve this. Worse, that Gimli did not deserve this, of all things, to come upon him now, after all these years of waiting. Legolas’ eyes lowered, following the downward slide of his heart to the boards and beyond.

Gimli turned on the dock, looking back at Legolas in surprise. “We’re almost there. Why have you stopped?”

Legolas stood, eyes closed, upon the boards. He had to say it, now, before it was too late, but for long seconds he could not will his voice to co-operate. His courage quailed and fled, his strength dissolved, leaving him as putty before the eyes of his bond. “Gimli . . .I must tell you something and once you hear you may not desire to sail with me . . .”

“What, Princeling . . .? Out with it. The tide will not wait.”

Legolas slowly opened his eyes. To Gimli, they were as they had been that day by the eastern door of Khazad-dûm; enlarged, confused and frightened. Legolas stepped forward to kneel before gimli, not on one knee, but both, head bowed, palms up on his thighs in supplication. He wanted to reach for those strong hands, to hold them in his own, to feel their solid strength, but he dared not. He did not deserve to find solace nor comfort there, not now. “Beloved Gimli. I have done something against you that I must tell for soon it would tell on its own.”

Gimli looked down at him, his heart sinking as images of what could he have done danced his mind. “What have you done, Legolas?” he managed. Had he changed his mind about sailing? Killed the king? Worse?

“Elessar had not been dead a month, and his wake was long and filled with revelry, both sombre and joyous,” he began. With difficulty, he continued. “And in the deepest night . . .” He swallowed, feeling the nausea of his actions rise within him. “You had gone to speak with your kin living in the city. I found my self partaking of miruvor with Eldarion, now king of Gondor.”

Gimli was surprised, not only that Legolas was admitting that he had been drinking, but also that he had dared to drink something that even a hardened dwarf would balk at. He watched the elf’s shoulders droop more, if it were possible. A crystal tear splashed and was absorbed by the dry wood of the wharf. There was more, he could tell.

“In the morning, I awoke in the King’s bed.”

Gimli gasped, a hand itching for his axe. The dishonour flared, burning bright in his soul. “You slept with the king!!!” he bellowed.

A mute nod was all the reply that came as Legolas’ head dropped to the wooden dockside, and waited, shivering with both self-loathing and fear, for the axe to fall. It was Gimli’s right, by dwarf law, to claim recompense, and the only recompense to Legolas’ crime against him was death.

Legolas shuddered, closing his eyes for a moment, picturing the smile he loved so much, the dark eyes that danced in the firelight. He wagered they were dark with rage now. Gimli . . .dear Gimli, his soul mate, he had hurt him beyond all ken, beyond life and love. He knew the pain, could feel it tear at his own soul. Elves had died of less, and for less, but Legolas did not believe he deserved to die by his own will. If judgement should fall, it was Gimli’s right to wield it, to take his life with his blade.

Legolas knelt at his feet, so trusting as he waited for justice to be meted upon him. His acceptance of his fate tore more through Gimli than anything else, including what he had done. That alone stayed his hand. How could he go through with justice? Miruvor and its effects were well known, except strong drink affected elves quite differently. In a drunken stupor anything could happen unbeknown to both parties, but there was more to his hesitation than that.

Be it the long connection to his mate or the call from across the sea from the silver voiced gulls that sounded so much like a reproach from the Lady Galadriel herself, the only one who could stay his hand, the only one among both elves and dwarves who would understand his reticence. Before him, quivering and sobbing, lay Legolas, torn apart by guilt and waiting to die, wanting to die. How could Gimli grant him his want? When all else was said and done, he loved Legolas.

Gimli knelt before the prone form of his love. “Is there more to this, melethron? For a night’s indiscretion would not bring you to tears.”

Gimli lifted the delicate chin to gaze into eyes greyed with sorrow. He saw the fear in those orbs, a fear too great for words, but it was not a fear of death that dwelt there.

Legolas’ breath shuddered for a moment. “Long have we discussed a child, Gimli . . . but my first child will not be yours, but the heir of Gondor.”

Gimli winced, dark eyes slowly closed to shut out the world that was suddenly being pulled from under his feet. “Are you sure?”

The reply was barely more than a puff of air, a brief breeze. “Yes, meleth,” Legolas gulped, a small sound, but audible nonetheless. “But it can be set aside . . .”

Gimli’s eyes flew open. “Abort it?!?!”

Legolas flinched. Never had he heard Gimli use such a tone before.

“NO!!!!!!!!!” Gimli roared, his teeth grinding together. He forced himself to calm down as Legolas cringed. Never had he seen an elf look at him like that, in terror, like a small child expecting to be flogged by his own father . . .that was not good. “No,” he said softly. A deep breath caught in his throat. His hand upon Legolas’ chin caressed the fine cheek. “No,” he said again. “It is true that we must talk of this, and the next tide will be in two weeks, in that time we will decide what is... and will not be done, yes? I will call it a question of honour.”

Legolas shifted his gaze to the gulls for one brief moment. “I do not think they would wait for us to leave. Why do you not put me aside now, Gimli?” he begged. “I have wronged you. I deserve to die.”

Gimli thumbed away a tear from his cheek. “Meleth, you dishonoured me, with my own brother’s son. That events followed it, is punishment enough for you. That you, an elf of royal birth, cower before me, a naugrim, is punishment enough. I could no more kill you than I could tell you that I no longer loved you, that I have never loved you.”

Legolas sobbed softly, his eyes held captive by Gimli’s.

“Sweet Legolas, you have tortured yourself with this, and still do so. I should tell you, that Eldarion has already told me what happened, but from his account I take it that you did not tell him what has occurred from it?”

Legolas’s jaw dropped in horror.

“You did not know that Eldarion confessed already?” Gimli asked, and felt Legolas’ head shake negatively within his fingers. “And Eldarion does not remember any more of that night than that which you chose to tell him upon waking,” Gimli revealed.

Legolas swallowed. “He asked for his kingly rights. We were both drunk . . .but that is not an excuse for wantonly . . .”

“Is it not true that an elf can discern conception from the very grain of its beginning? Why then did you not say something, tell the king immediately?”

Legolas tried to speak, but nothing came beyond a strangled cry of anguish.

“Hush, meleth,” Gimli sighed gently. “It was an accident, and I accept that. But that you should then destroy the life conceived of a mistake would be a double blow to the Valar. Would it not?”

“When did Eldarion tell you?” Legolas asked, barely able to breathe.

“Eldarion has confessed his error to me upon breaking fast and was forgiven. I am disappointed that you did not come to me sooner. I must ask, Legolas . . .are you sure?”

Legolas hesitated, searching the dark eyes that bore into him. “I am sure . . .”

“Tell me, how are you sure?”

“I-I feel the life of the Eldar . . .”

“Describe it to me. Tell me how you can be sure it is this and not something else. Your own guilt could mislead you, Legolas. I must be satisfied against any doubt, even a small one, that what I do is for the honour, and not to worsen a false belief.”

“I am neither mistaken nor mislead, Gimli. Within me lies a flame of the Eldar that is not my own. Its voice is in my mind, dim with newness and yet growing. Do not doubt my word.”

“I do not doubt you, Legolas,” Gimli whispered softly. “I do not doubt that the Valar’s kiss has touched you, but are you sure that it is not mine?”

Legoals frowned. “I would wish it. Please, Gimli, do not torture me.”

“I seek not to torture you, I see k only the truth. You must be sure. Who sired the child?”

Legolas’ breath closed in on itself and his heart shrank in his chest. “Eldarion.”

Gimli stilled, feeling the cold seep through his veins. His fingers fell away from Legolas’ face, his hope dying. “Now, I must turn my mind to the future . . .what must I do with you? Should I kill you now, or take the ship into the west with you. Could we raise the heir of the king in Valinor? Or must I leave you here, alone?”

Legolas looked up at him, suddenly terrified. “Please, Gimli. I would rather die here and now than be anywhere but by your side. Kill me, if it be your heart’s desire, for appeasement of honour I accept death and I will not hold it against you, but do not leave me here to die slowly. Please, Gimli, I beg you!”

Gimli’s heart leapt with compassion. “I could not bear a day without you, Legolas, even when the laws of my people deem it my right to put you aside, but I have doubts. I do not think it in me to do it. Either way, I do not think Eldarion should be told the full truth.”

Legolas gasped and frowned. “I do not understand.”

“How would this affect both realms?”

Legolas considered this. “I do not know. I will, most likely, be forced to give up my place as heir of my House, and as your consort . . .if you permit me to live at all.”

Gimli nodded in agreement, somewhat stiffly. “And Eldarion and his future children? What of them? Any child born of the queen would want revenge, leading to war and a repeat of the loss of Arnor will ensue. This child will show a weak king to the foes of Gondor. All our work will be for nothing . . .”

Legolas sank further into the decking. “Elbereth, what have I done?” he breathed.

“I think you were right to tell me now, as we are leaving the harbour. To give this child life, would be to complicate matters here for Eldarion.”

“But . . .would the Valar not want Eldarion’s heir to take the throne?”

Gimli considered it. “What heir? To give this child birth and to give it up . . .? You have already made the choice not to keep it, Legolas, whether it be by my hand in killing you, or by your own. You must put it aside now, or send it back across the sea later, or remain here alone. Either way, the choice is before you.”

Legolas panted, unable to make a choice. “I cannot be alone. I need you. You are my strength, my constant. Everything I am I am because of you. I would gladly give up my life, my immortality if it would change this . . .I cannot be parted from you. I could abort, without a second thought, but to give up a child I have carried and birthed, and seen with my eyes . . .”

Gimli was horrified that elves could be so cruel, but said nothing. “I will support you, whichever road you take. But, we board the ship now, in any event, for this is the last ship. There will be no other, and my heart will not bide the call home longer.”

Legolas gazed at him and nodded. “Nor will mine.” He stayed perfectly still for a long moment, the wind lifting his golden hair. A slight wince, a miniscule shudder of pain, both physical and emotional, rolled through him. “It is done, Gimli.” He swallowed, and clenched, trying to stop a tide of fresh tears, but did not succeed. “Forgive me,” he whispered.

Gimli held Legolas to his chest as he wept. The dwarf’s eyes closed, knowing what it took to make that unselfish act to safeguard the honour of kings, to save the honour of their eternal union. He knew how much Legolas wanted a child, and the pain it bequeathed him to end one now. Perhaps there would be a time for them, perhaps there would not be. The Valar could choose to punish them both for this act. It would be their right, and Gimli would accept it.

Legolas sobbed against his jerkin, unable to think beyond what he had done, unable to believe that anything could continue beyond that moment.

“I forgive you, meleth,” Gimli told him. “It is time now to forgive yourself. Do not fill yourself with sorrow for that which you have chosen. It is over. It is time now to move on. We can sail into the West and find peace.”