Fangorn lay like a blanket below them as they approached, green and lush, and somewhat eerie. Gimli was tense with nervousness. Legolas dismounted and smiled reassuringly up at him. “You will be fine. I will not allow anything to harm you.”

Gimli joined him on the ground and eyed the trees warily. “How can you guarantee that?” he asked. “Did not Treebeard say they had grown wild?”

Legolas smiled. “You lack faith in my ability over the forests, my friend,” Legolas scolded him gently, and marched straight into the knot of trees.

Gimli cried out and had no choice but to run to catch up. His hand was on his axe, but he dared not draw it, remembering the anger from his last encounter. He could hear the trees, and see the elf’s cloak not far ahead, but at every turn it seemed to get further and further away. After a while he stopped, quite out of breath and with Legolas now out of sight. “Legolas?” he called out, but nothing stirred. At least, nothing elvish stirred. A tree behind him shifted and his eyes popped wide. “Legolas!”

Suddenly, as he turned to flinch, the elf appeared, gazing up at the wild oak. He said something to the tree, which froze, his softly spoken words of Qenya, gentle and yet brooked no refusal to his command. And before Gimli could say anything, Legolas sat down, crossed legged, and began to sing.

Gimli sat in awe at Legolas’ soft but strong voice drifting up through the trees, which seemed to lean closer as if to listen. The song went on and on and yet time seemed to have come to a standstill. He could understand only a few words, but that did not matter. He was moved to tears as the last lilt died away on the breeze.

A shuddering sigh came to Legolas’ ears and he turned to look a the dwarf. “Gimli? What is wrong?”

“Nothing,” Gimli replied, drying his eyes. “Nothing more than a dwarf who is lost in such a voice that a nightingale could only dream of, singing of a tale so beautiful even the glittering caves could not fathom its depths. And yet, here we sit in amongst something that before I met you, I would have seen for naught but firewood and axe handles. Aye, I am speechless, lad . . .speechless.”

Legolas watched him gazing about them in silence for a moment more before he turned and pulled him close, and kissed his neck. “Speechless,” he repeated, nodding a little, his dark eyes looking about him.

Legolas smiled a little and gripped his shoulder. He was not accustomed to being kissed, but knew that for dwarfs it was used on certain occasions. This was one such occasion and he was glad not to have missed it.

It was bitter cold with the wind howling around them. The rain drove into his face like shards of ice and he quickly turned his back to it. Making a fire had been useless, every attempt was either blown to a wisp of smoke or washed away with the rain.

“Gimli,” Legolas called.

The dwarf shivered and looked up to see Legolas beckoning him into the folds of his cloak. Gimli crawled over and snuggled in closer to him, both cloaks curled about them. Legolas’ body was hotter than the dwarf’s, warm with the life of the Eldar and Gimli welcomed it.

An act of innocence, it might have been, and it certainly saved Gimli’s life, but in the depths of his heart, Legolas harboured a secret. Could he dare reveal it?

Legolas awoke to the feeling of being content and loved. He lifted his head a little to gaze right into the sleeping countenance of a hirsute face. His eyes widened. The said face was on his chest and he was flat on his back, having slid sideways at some point in the night and fallen from the tree trunk he had been sitting against.

Gimli slept on, his arms wrapped around the elf in the fashion of a small child with a soothing cloth toy, but he retracted that idea almost the moment it popped into his mind. Gimli was not holding him with the innocence of a child. The first clue was that one of the dwarf’s legs was between his. The second clue was the twitching fingers teasing a nipple through his tunic. Oh, yes, Gimli was asleep, but he was dreaming. And it wasn’t a maiden’s name he was muttering in sleep. The third and most obvious clue was the hard rod digging into the soft flesh of his upper thigh and the reotic tense of the dwarf‘s hips every so often.

Legolas froze and breathed carefully. It would not do for him to react how he knew his body was reacting. Gimli was unaware of his physical state. Legolas closed his eyes for a moment and concentrated, detaching himself from his physical need. He opened his eyes, and with the pale light of dawn still surrounding them, drifted back into slumber.

Two days had passed and Legolas had said nothing of what had transpired early that morning. He kept the conversation light and the smiles as noncommittal as possible, but the strain was telling. He was certain the dwarf had to have noticed.

They sat in the late evening of the second day watching the stars march across the sky in silence. Gimli absently fiddled with a lock of Legolas’ fine hair, enjoying the feel of it. Gimli was tired, very tired; the previous night had been spent in restless contemplation over Legolas’ strange distance during the past two days. Unwittingly, his eyes drifted shut and his head sank onto Legolas’ shoulder. Suddenly the elf was one his feet and Gimli was wide awake. The dwarf watched him step away.

“What are you running away for?” Gimli asked, getting to his feet. “Frightened another elf with see you with me?”

Legolas shook his head. “Never,” he breathed. “I was momentarily frightened . . .of myself . . .of this.”

“This? What ‘this’?”

Legolas turned to gaze at him, a love he had never felt before nor imagined coursed in his veins. He dropped to his knees in front of Gimli, the dwarf looked surprised. Legolas leaned a little closer until their lips met. A tender, brief brush of soft skin against bristly mass was over. “This . . .scares me,” he replied, his voice but a whisper. Eyes searched eyes, waiting. What was he waiting for? Anger? Revulsion? Disgust?

Instead, he got lips, pressed to his own, a gentle urging of heart to heart. That day they walked through the meadows of Rovanion together, hand in hand. That night, Gimli lay in his arms, surrounded by him, surrounding him, together.

“Is that what these last two days have been about?” Gimli wondered softly.

Legolas gazed at him, finding his eyes almost at the end of his nose and looking directly at him. “No, yes.”

Gimli continues to impale his with his glinting eyes. “Which one?”

“Yes,” Legolas replied. “Two days ago, I awoke to find you lying on top of me, very aroused and doing your best to get me aroused.” He paused. “It was working,” he admitted almost to quickly for ears to discern the words. “But you were asleep, and dreams are not reality and probably never will be, despite prayers,” he added before he could stop himself.

Legolas cringed and averted his gaze and missed the mischievous grin that spread across Gimli’s face.

“Depends if you’re praying for it to end or to begin,” Gimli noted quietly.

Legolas was too shocked to answer.

It was only mid afternoon on the following day when Legolas pulled the horse to a stop. Gimli looked at the sky. “Why have we stopped?” he asked. “There are plenty more hours before sunset.”

“Are we in any hurry?” Legolas replied questioningly.

“Well, er, no,” Gimli agreed. “But why are we stopping now? There must be a reason.”

“There is.” Legolas revealed as he dropped to the ground and reached for him. “I need you,” the elf told him.

“Need me?” Gimli frowned. “You always need me . . .oh . . .I see.” Gimli hesitated and dismounted. “Are you sure about this?”

“Never surer about anything,” Legolas replied. He knelt down in front of him. “I have never made love before, but I want now, with you.”

“Well . . .I’m not exactly an expert on it myself,” Gimli admitted, amused that an elf several thousand years old had yet to experience sex. “But, there is a size difference to consider.”

Legolas kneeled at his feet. “It has never come between us as friends, why should it matter to us as lovers?” he asked. “I love you, Gimli.”

Gimli breathed a shallow breath. “And I love you, Legolas.”

“Make love to me,” Legolas whispered.

Legolas’ elven cloak was spread out like a blanket. Kneeling, he had folded his feet behind him and fallen as much laid back, his creamy body exposed to the afternoon sun. He gasped as Gimli’s lips covered him with kisses, licking and nipping his skin, grazing him with his teeth. His hot wet mouth had taken him in, driving him to a distraction he had never imagined. Then fingers gently probed him. His body bucked in ecstasy.

A moment later, Gimli was kneeling beneath his thighs, nudging his entrance, entering and withdrawing a little at a time. Legolas gasped, eyes wide, and mouth open, sucking in each breath. When finally in all the way, Gimli moaned deeply. He waited for Legolas to relax a little more and began to move. Thrusting deep and slow he held his hips to him, pressing his buttocks closer in time with him moves.

Legolas sighed heavily, a hand reaching for his stiff member to grasp it. Gimli smiled and took his hand from the prize and took it in his own hand, smoothing it from tip to base. Legolas’ hips arched into him, lost in the feel of his ministrations.

Gimli stepped up the pace and gasped, twisting and thrusting. Legolas was huffing, his eyes searched him out, making a connection. Legolas lifted up onto his elbow to watch him work, it was too much. Suddenly he exploded, his seed coating Gimli’s hand. A second later Gimli released his seed into him with a growl.

They had finally reached the Anduin between the Misty Mountains and the forests of Mirkwood. They had seen no other living soul on their journey, save for the animals and plants that lived there. After taking a dip in the rive as they planned the next leg of their journey, they relaxed in a sun-warmed pool almost totally cut off from the river by silt deposites left behind by a storm earlier that year. Or perhaps it had once been a spit of bank that had encroached on the river, and was now barely above the surface. Either way, it was chest deep to Legolas, and luckily sloped on one side.

Legolas reached over and squeezed Gimli’s buttocks, and was rewarded by a low moan. They had just bathed in the pool and now lay half submerged at its edge, soaking up the sun before heading on towards the Elf Road through Mirkwood, which was still another four days journey northeast. He did it again, enjoying the feel of his flesh against his hand, squeezing and parting his buttocks as he released the almost cruelly puckered flesh.

Legolas turned enough to pull him against his body, need against need, he was still kneeling at the water’s edge, Gimli was standing, leaning against the only tree with leaves still on it. He felt his shaft slide between Gimli thighs and closed his eyes. A surprised moan escaped, as he took delight in the feel of him.

He opened his eyes and kissed him, lips parted slightly, the tip of his tongue inadvertently touching his lips. He found he liked it, and another tongue came out to play with his. They kissed deeply, tongues moulding and cavorting together as one of Legolas’ hands smoothed up and down his half hard shaft, and the fingers of the other probed him from behind. He could feel his head nudging his hand as he worked. Gimli shuddered and moaned against his mouth. He responded with his own. The moans increased.

Legolas withdrew his fingers and lifted up and pressed him against his entrance. Little by little he entered, feeling the dwarf relax as he slid further inside. Gentle sighs and grunts of somewhere between pain and desire rose from him. Legolas stilled, watching him wince.

“Shall I stop?” he whispered.

“No,” Gimli replied. “I want this . . .”

Gimli relaxed and felt him slide slowly in. He leaned his head back against the bank and groaned. Legolas closed his eyes and did it again, feeling the slow glide. He shuddered, and gasped with surprise.

Buried deeply in his body, he squeezed both buttocks and began to thrust. Holding him against his hips, Legolas turned and carried him up out of the water and laid him on a low flat rock, dry and warm from the sun. He thrust in slow strong strokes and gasped at the joy of it.

With the next thrust he moaned low in his chest, with the next his breath caught in a short sigh. The next moan came out like a growl. Gimli, caught somewhere between alternating growls and gasps, moaned as each thrust pushed into him harder, forcing his body upward a little. The friction of the limestone beneath his back increased the sensations.

Legolas leaned over him a little more, the dwarf’s obvious need lying between their bellies. He looked up at the expression of ecstasy on the elf’s face, knowing his own was mirrored there. Gimli moaned with delight, squeezing creamy buttocks closer in time with the elf’s moves. His breath rushed out with each thrust, growl meeting huffed roar.

Legolas shuddered, trembling, as he stepped up the pace whilst trying to stay in control. His eyes were locked on Gimli’s unable to tear them away even if it had occurred to him. His fingers dug into dwarf flesh, holding his hips to him, the other hand rested on the rock to steady him self.

Gimli could feel the muscles beneath his touch clench and relax, his loud cries of passion filled the air. Undulating against him, he could feel Gimli’s own need pulsate, squeezed as it was between their bellies. He could feel it building. Legolas shuddered again, the desire and effort played out in his face, his mouth slack and his voice lusty.

Sudden Legolas gasped, his breath caught. “Gimli!” he screamed and filled him. He sank down for a moment before his trembling arm held him up. Panting heavily he leaned down to kiss the upturned lips. He grunted softly, as he continued to release his precious fluid and when it was finally spent he slowly withdrew.

Gimli moaned softly, missing the feel of his body already. He had yet to reach climax. Legolas released his hip and placed his other hand on the rock. Taking a moment to gaze at the dwarf’s need that stood sentinel below him he lowered his lips to it, at first in nothing more than sweet, chaste kisses. Then without warning, plunged his mouth over it and sank down.

Gimli gasped, eyes wide. He lifted his hips, meeting his hot, wet mouth half way. He groaned loudly as he felt a tongue tip nudge against the slit, before the mouth plunged down again. Gimli laced his fingers through the fine, golden hair and closed his eyes, driven ever faster towards the zenith. Gimli groaned louder until something exploded, showering his mind with stars. He tried to call out his name, but it got lost somewhere between brain and lips.

He lay still, feeling lips and mouth suck him dry. The sensation was enough to get him hard again, but he doubted he had the strength. Breathless he smiled as lips travelled up his body and claimed his own. He could taste himself on those lips. “And you say you’re a virgin?” Gimli moaned softly and opened his eyes to find himself drowning in grey-green pupils.

Legolas gazed down at him. “Did I do it right?”

Gimli could only nod, eyes closed.

“I love you, melthe nîn,” Legolas whispered.

“I love you, mîn hjarta,” Gimli replied.

For some time they lay there, unmoving, drinking each other in, until Gimli broke the silence. “If we continue like this, it will take us weeks to cross the river.”

Legolas’ face stretched into a huge mischievous smile. “And months to reach my home,” he agreed.

“And I doubt it will go well for me if I deliver you to your father smelling of love.”

The smile froze. “No, probably not,” Legolas agreed.

And so they bathed again and dressed.

Legolas dropped lightly off the horse and eyed the elves, noting their immediate tensing, and going for swords. Many were wounded and battle weary, and seeing a dwarf ride into their midst was probably the last straw for them.

Legolas was standing between Gimli and their glares, knowing they would not dare to strike the king’s son. Reaching up, he lifted Gimli down. Gimli looked about him nervously, but did not go for his axe. He had been dreading this moment for hours, if not days, but he would do as Legolas bade him. No axes were to be drawn.

Gimli looked up as he heard the sound of a white blade sing as it was drawn. Between him and a certain death stood one lone elf. Gimli swallowed, eyes flitting between Legolas and the host of Wood elves. He stuck close to his side as Legolas walked calmly in through the palace doors, eyeing his fellows with an unspoken warning in his narrowed gaze; ‘harm him and you die’.

Together Gimli and Legolas walked unashamedly holding hands, through the halls towards his father’s audience chambers. Elves before them parted as they approached, and behind them many followed, probably with designs on the dwarf’s head. Or perhaps to listen in on the king’s wrath once he realised there was a dwarf in his city. They all recalled what had happened when the last dwarf turned up here.

Legolas reached the door first. Releasing Gimli’s hand for a moment he turned the iron ring handle hanging against the oaken door. It swung open and Legolas stepped inside, ushering Gimli to join him. Legolas considered shutting the door behind him, in the faces of his peers, but then decided against it. It would be much more fun to watch their expressions when they heard what he had to say.

Resting a hand on Gimli’s shoulder he approached the table, set with papers and a half finished meal. The dark-haired elf looked up and immediately broke into a huge smile. Rising swiftly, chair clattering to the floor unnoticed, King Thranduil rushed to greet his son, enveloping him in a huge hug, knocking the air from his lungs.

“My son!” he cried, to which a strangled ‘adar’ was all he got in reply. He held Legolas before him and looked at him carefully, from head to toe. “And not a scratch on you. Tell me, how did you accomplish such a feat. I am afraid our forces here were not so lucky.”

“I saw, adar. I wish they had had the good fortune that I was blessed with,” Legolas smiled and indicated to the fellow beside him, who was nervously eyeing the elves who were entering by the door, all of them armed and waiting to hear what the king ordered. “Adar, this is melethron Gimli.” There was a sudden gasp from the door and Gimli bowed in respect. “He has saved my life more times than I dare count and owns my heart.”

Thranduil looked at the dwarf for a moment. “Melethron?”

“Yes, adar. With everything I am I love him.”

“And do you, Master Gimli, love my son in return?” Thranduil asked.

“Yes, equally, your Majesty,” Gimli replied. “I would die for Legolas.”

Thranduil slowly frowned. “Have I not set eyes upon you before?” he asked.

“Well . . .er . . .my father was here once,” Gimli said reluctantly. They had not planned for this. Legolas had overlooked this fact, and neither of them wanted to dug up the details or open old wounds. The past was the past. “His name is Gloin.”

“Gloin . . Gloin,” Thranduil thought hard. “Oh! Oh.” Thranduil swallowed. “No hard feelings, I hope?”

“None, for our part,” Gimli replied. “I have come to realise that the incident was a misunderstanding. We have not thought of it since.” Gimli regarded the two, father and son together. “I can understand you thinking I am my father’s mirror image,” he said. “We do look very much alike . . .as do you and you’re son, your Majesty.”

Thranduil smiled suddenly and laughed. “Are you sure?” he asked, fingering his dark hair and lifting a lock of his son’s gold locks, a mark of the Sindar heritage that he himself lacked. “I always believed Legolas has more of his mother in him than me.” Thranduil gazed at his son and smiled, noting his son’s embarrassed amusement. “Have you parted with your token for this love that owns your heart?” he asked.

Legolas lifted his chin and stared at his father. “Token?” He was not sure he had heard correctly.

Thranduil snapped his fingers. “I did not commission one for you. How lax of me.”

“Adar?” Legolas almost squeaked, his eyes wide with astonishment. “But he is a . . .and I am a . . .you do not mind?”

“Mind?” Thranduil repeated. “Mind what? That my son has fallen in love? The son who once professed ‘love is only for the eternally bored and for those who wish for children. Why have children if we live forever anyway?’ ” he quoted.

Legolas rolled his lips between his teeth. “Yes, I believe I did say that,” he admitted. “But that was before I met Gimli,” he put in quickly. “His smile is all I wake for, and his smile is the last thing I yearn for at the setting of the day. In my dreams he walks, and my heart beats only for him.”

Thranduil smiled gently and clasped his shoulder. “Welcome to married life,” he announced softly with a nod. “And my people will put away their swords now,” he said, his eyes never leaving his son’s.

Legolas’ eye never wavered either as he heard blades returning to scabbards as inconspicuously as the bearers could manage it.

“Come, you must be hungry and thirsty. It is a long road from Gondor and we have much news to exchange.” Thranduil called for his servants. “Bring water and oils. Set two more places at my table. Bring food, wine and ale, only the best for my sons.”

The plural was no lost on any ear, elven or dwarf. The shocked onlookers filed out as quickly as their dropped jaws would allow.

Thranduil smiled at the wide-eyed elf before him. “Welcome home, ion.” He hugged him again. He extended a hug to Gimli, who accepted with astonishment. Servants set platters, flagons and eating utensils on the table and brought two chairs.

Legolas sat down and Gimli followed suit. Much to Gimli’s surprise a maid arrived with a bowl of water, a jar of oil and a towel. Without a word, she removed his boots and stockings and began to bathe his feet. He was speechless, but noted that his feet felt a lot better for her tender massage, and say nothing of smelling a lot better.

Feet pampered, their food arrived and bottles of wine and ale were brought. Gimli had not seen so much food in quite a while. Tomatoes, grapes, chicken, fish, sprigs of broccoli, winter greens, mushrooms and something akin to parsnips. There were boiled eggs and sauces and sweet meats, dried fruits, nuts and berries. Gimli, not to be outdone by elven manners, to which he was only partially acquainted, he allowed Legolas to pour him an ale and raised his flagon to the king.

“To peace, fine company and a father-in-law like mine,” he toasted with much aplomb.

After dinner and news had been shared, Gimli was lead to one of four bedrooms directly behind the audience chamber. A fire was roaring in the grate and the bed warmed and turned down. Legolas stretched, yawned and removed his tunic. Sitting down on the end of the bed he absently rubbed a tired eye.

Gimli smiled tenderly and reached for his shoulders, having climbed up onto the soft bed. Massaging the taut muscles he leaned in to kiss a silky throat. “Beautiful room,” Gimli murmured, although he had not really taken much notice.

Legolas lifted a shoulder and laughed softly, his whiskers having tickled him. “It has been my room since I was four years old,” Legolas replied. “It shall be ours for the duration of our stay.” He closed his eyes as lips and tongue played delightfully across his skin.

He moaned softly as buttons came undone and fingers traced his name across his hairless chest. Palms pulled him backward onto the bed and lips and tongue found his. Legolas lifted a hand to Gimli’s shirt and began to flick the buttons through their loops with practiced ease. Eyes closed, he ran his fingertips down the dwarf’s chest and up under his shirt.

Gimli replied by moaning against his mouth. Sliding his hand between leggings and skin he pushed the material off of Legolas’ hips, squeezing his buttocks as he went. His hips flexed against the ridge of Legolas’ hip. He groaned louder and broke the kiss breathlessly.

“Up,” was all he could manage.

Legolas scooted up the bed to lay back against the pillows piled at the head of the bed, leggings left behind forgotten in a knot at the far end of the bed. Gimli followed him, covering his prone form with his own. As he reclaimed his lips, Legolas lifted his knees to surround him. Gimli thrust against him, a hand smoothing down his side to his hip. Curved into the pillows as Legolas was, Gimli could reach all of him and wasted no time in taking advantage of it.

Gimli ravaged his lips, and all the while, he moved closer, nudging his entrance and sliding in. Sighing with delicious shudders, Legolas moaned, feeling his body filled. He arched upward, skin against skin, urging him on.

Gimli thrust gently and slowly, feeling the hard need between them. Tongues duelled as he increased the speed. Before very long, their bodies were undulating together. Legolas moaned loudly against his mouth, both hands to his buttocks, holding him within, his legs lifting into the air, increasing the penetration as the raging desire rose. Gimli huffed against him face, watching his passion play in his darkened eyes, hearing his moans increase in volume.

Suddenly Gimli groaned. “I love you,” he growled and groaned again, and reached his zenith. Legolas abruptly threw back his head and screamed. His voice filled the room, echoing through the halls of his father’s palace with his undulating cry of release.

Sinking into the softness of the bed, drenched in sweat and fluid, they lay there, still connected and breathless. After what seemed like forever, fingertips lightly traced down Gimli’s back in a sensuous dance of after-play. Gimli smiled against his shoulder, not wanting to move. Finally he pulled back his hips and gently slipped out. They lay that way until sleep claimed them.

Thranduil silently opened the door and tiptoed inside. In his hand he held a mithril pendant in the shape of a leaf surrounded with beech nuts, a symbol of his home. Between his fingers the still warm metal, fresh from the forge, glinted in the candle light. It was a troth symbol, and almost identical to the one his wife had given him so many thousands of years before.

Thranduil had waited at least three hours after they had gone silent before bringing it. He had no interest in interrupting their love. He laid the token tenderly upon the night stand. An took a moment to gaze at the two sleepers in the bed and smiled. They were naked. Gimli was draped over Legolas, one leg between the elf’s. He reached for a blanket and covered them carefully, and watched them stir in sleep.

Then, as silent as night, he tiptoed towards the door, to be stopped by an almost mirror image of his sleeping son.

“Adar?” he whispered.

Thranduil started. “Inglor, you startled me.”

“I followed you here. I wanted to let you know that I am home. All the women and children reached the Grey Havens and are now safe across the sea. I met up with my son, Gildor, at Sarn Ford. We travelled together for a time. He sent his greetings to you. Although I wished to return as quickly as possible to fight along side you, Lord Elrond bade me wait until now to cross the mountains. He needed my help with the forging of Andruil.”

Thranduil nodded and smiled. “Your brother will be overjoyed to know you are safe, but . . .” He glanced briefly at the bed. “It should wait until morning.”

Inglor looked and was caught by surprise. He pointed, but the words did not come out. His father pulled him backwards towards the door. Then he decided to begin his own tale, before he asked about his brother’s, which was looking for more interesting then his own. “And, adar,” Inglor, whispered with enthusiasm, as they left the room. “There is much more to tell. Gildor met the ring bearer. And you will never guess who his uncle was . . .”

Legolas returned to wakefulness and lifted his head, and suddenly wished his hadn’t. The room was spinning most sickeningly and he closed his eyes. There were only two things that could make an elf dizzy . . .his eyes popped open.

He lay still considering the previous night. A hand came up to his forehead and realisation. It would not have been the previous night, not even with the amount of wine he had drunk. He turned his head to his right and gazed lovingly at the sleeping face of his love. His eyes shifted to see a small mithril token lying on the bedside table. He stared at it for several minutes before he realised what it was and who must have been in the room to put it there.

He smiled gently and reached out over Gimli’s naked back peeking from beneath the coverings to lift it from its perch. Warming it a little within his palm he carefully threaded it around his husband’s throat and pressed the clasp together. “My husband,” he whispered close to his ear and kissed him. He lay his head down again and closed his eyes, waiting for the second wave of dizziness to subside.

Beside him, Gimli grunted in his sleep, and Legolas smiled. He opened his eyes and smiled wider still as small hands reached for him.

“Gimli, melethron, how do you like the name Galad for our first child?”

“Awha. . .? Yes . . .mmm . . .that would be mmmm . . .” A second later, a dwarf bolted upright. “What!”

El fin

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~