They rested and slept long into the following day, after their arrival in Lorien. The sun was already high and the very trees seemed to glow with life. Legolas rose and began to walk away from the pavilion.

“Legolas? where are you going?”

At the sound of of Aragorn’s softly spoken inquiry, Legolas stopped. He turned and said, “I am returning to the northern border to gain news of the orcs. It is possible that they have attacked and we have not yet heard word of it.”

“You are hoping Gandalf survived and somehow followed us here. Are you not?” Aragorn noted insightfully.

Legolas let his gaze drift away. “I dare not hope for such a thing, but it aches in me to do so. It aches in my heart still that he is dead. I am restless and need to be doing something to fill my time here.”

Aragorn nodded. “I understand, mellon nîn, but do not be gone too long.”

Legolas lifted his eyes and nodded once. “By sundown on the third day.”

In silence he left, and retuned in a like manner. Aragorn said nothing until evening meal had been eaten. The elf’s eyes were too full for words to pass his lips. Aragorn clasped his shoulder. “I will not ask, but you should not be alone. I am concerned for your well-being.”

Legolas looked up and smiled a little. “Do not be troubled. I am not about to die. Sleep, Estel. The borders are well protected and the orcs are repelled.”

The following morning, Aragorn awoke to find the elf already risen and eyes facing north a second time. “What is it that draws you away again?” he inquired.

“I with my kin this day,” Legolas replied. “Do not be alarmed. I shall return as before.”

Boromir watched him leave and could not keep his peace. “We should not let him wander alone. It is not safe.”

Aragorn looked at him for a moment, gauging his intent. “We are in Lorien, Boromir. Who will he be in danger from? Besides, the northern borders would welcome another bow, even if it is only for a short time.”

“That is not the only reason we should fear,” Frodo said as he joined them. “Elves are very sensitive to pain of the heart. If Legolas were to . . .” He could not finish the thought.

Aragorn smiled grimly. “I have voiced this concern to Legolas before, my friend. He assured me that all is well with him.”

“But can you be sure?” Frodo urged him, eyes filling with tears. “Legolas is dear to me, as are you all. We have lost one . . .I know I do not speak for all of you, but I could not bare it if we were to lose another.”

Boromir dropped to one knee and rested a hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. “Rest easy, little one. None of us would leave you alone if it be in our power to grant. Legolas is in pain and whilst the rest of us can only wish to help, he must deal with it in his own way. He will be fine. I am certain of it. Am I right, Aragorn?” he asked, nay begged, of the uncrowned king.

Aragorn met his gaze and swallowed. “I have known Legolas for more than sixty years. Therefore I can say this, that if he were troubled, his first resort would be to turn to me.” He lifted his eyes to where the elf had last been seen disappearing into the trees before adding quietly, “He has not.”

A silence stretched between them before Pippin spoke up. “I never knew Legolas had family in Lorien.”

“Neither did I,” Aragorn confessed.

“And you have known him for sixty years?” Boromir noted. “That fills me with confidence.”

The third evening came and was already getting dark. The sun had long set behind the mountains. Finally, Boromir could contain his impatience no longer. He rose huffily to his feet.

“I was right,” he addressed Aragorn. “You should not have allowed Legolas to go alone. Something has happened to him. He is probably lying cold somewhere in the forest, right now. And now the fellowship has lost another.”

“You should not rebuke your oath-brother for a slight that has not occurred.”

Boromir, almost coming out of his skin, whirled about at the unexpected voice, and there stood Legolas leaning against a mallorn tree, gently smoking on a pipe. Legolas regarded the startled mortal with some amusement.

“Where did you spring from? How long have you been back?” Boromir asked.

Legolas smiled, stifling a chuckle. “I told you I would return before nightfall. I have done so.”

Boromir replied, stuttering, “But . . .but nightfall was two hours ago, and you . . .!” Suddenly his anger evaporated and he laughed heartily. He patted the elf's shoulder and said, “I am relieved, I shall not deny it.”

Aragorn gave Legolas a small smile. “You had me worried, mellon nîn, for I, too, missed your return.”

“Forgive me, if I worried you,” Legolas replied.

“I’m impressed,” Gimli said quietly, as the others gathered around the meagre fire for some food.

Legolas smiled widely. “With what?”

“You. You brought that puffed-up daddy’s boy down a peg or two.”

“That was not my intention,” Legolas said gently, aghast at the implication.

“Oh yes it was,” Gimli put in. “And in my opinion, he deserved it.” He chuckled softly. “Come, eat, and tell us how you faired with your kin.”

“Kin?” Legolas wondered what he was talking about and then blushed. “I have been caught in a lie.”

“That’s what I thought,” Gimli responded. He winked and tugged him closer to the huddle beneath the pavilion.

It was late when the meal had been eaten and tools put away, and most went to their beds, which lay amongst the boles of the mallorns. Gimli observed in silence as the elf curled himself upon the ground. At his own request, he had not been given a mattress and bedding like the others.

For a moment, their eyes met before Legolas lowered his gaze. When he lifted his eyes again, the dwarf was asleep.

Dawn broke and the elf was again looking north.

Boromir jumped to his feet. “Oh, no you don't,” he said. “You have stood watch on the borders, and visited kin. What excuse could you have to wander off this time?

Legolas gazed at him evenly, eyes flitting to the hand on his arm. “I visit with the March Warden, Haldir, and his brothers this day.”

“And return, alone, on the third nightfall?” Boromir inquired.

Legolas nodded once, and amended, “But I shall not go alone, if it pleases you, for I shall take Gimli with me.”

Gimli choked on his breakfast and looked up, astonished. He wiped his mouth on his beard and jumped up, grinning broadly. “I would be honoured to accompany you, Legolas,” he said.

Together, the two of them left, leaving a very surprised fellowship behind.

Aragorn made to go after them, but was stopped by a hand to his stomach. His surprised eyes found Frodo’s and he saw the hobbit shake his head.

“Fear not, Aragorn. Legolas has found another friend to help heal his loss.”

“Gimli? But Gimli is a . . .”

Frodo smiled with some amusement. “I am sure Legolas has noticed.”

To the astonishment of all both, Legolas and Gimli returned, alive, that evening, talking merrily of many things. And after sharing conversation and food they settled down to a night of sleep, side by side as before. In the darkness, Gimli reached out to tap the elf lightly on the shoulder.

“Are you awake? I cannot tell.”

“Yes, Gimli. I am awake,” Legolas replied.

“Well . . .scoot over. You cannot sleep on the ground,” he groused in mock anger. “Infuriating elf! You’ll catch a cold!”

Legolas grinned in the darkness and slid onto the bedroll beside Gimli, and felt the dwarf cover him with his blankets. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Gimli grumbled under his breath. “Just don’t get comfortable with this arrangement, mind?” he said, gruffly, well aware that the others were still be awake. He certainly did not have any inclination to answer stupid questions, or even intelligent ones, that late at night. Sleep fell upon him, and the last thing he saw as he closed his eyes was a gentle smile aimed at him in the darkness.

When he awoke, the smile was still there, and he returned it. Silent eyes watched them rise and leave, without touching breakfast.

“These are strange times, indeed,” Aragorn noted.

“I thought they would have killed each other by now,” Boromir admitted.

“There is more than meets the eye, make no mistake,” Sam replied. “And none of it can do no harm, so why should we all worry ourselves about it?”

“Quite right, Sam,” Frodo agreed.

After a moment of contemplation, Pippin put in his own silver penny worth. “They shared a blanket last night.”

“And Gimli’s bedroll,” Merry added, before he could stop himself.

Pippin turned to his cousin. “That was kind of him,” he decided. Merry gave him an unreadable look.

Several times they went walking together under the mallorn trees, and talked of lands, history and culture. They came back as friends. While out on one of these numerous excursions, they were still strolling among the trees long after night had fallen. The air was cool and the ground wet with fresh rain. Legolas looked up at a patch of sky he could see above them, framed in mallorn boughs. He stopped.

“We have a black rainbow,” he said.

Gimli looked up. “A black rainbow?”

“Ies, around the moon. It is beautiful.”

“A black rainbow is beautiful?”

“Yes, Gimli. It is hard to explain,” Legolas decided. Thinking that he had found another barrier between him and his new friend. He took delight in learning about dwarf beliefs. Some things were very familiar, some were just plain bizarre.

They stood together, watching the circles of colour wash around the moon like a halo.

“I am trying to picture a black rainbow as beautiful, Legolas,” Gimli said at last. “I’m afraid I cannot.”

“Imagine a black velvet board, a silver moon and someone paints a faint rainbow all around the moon.”

Gimli shifted his gaze to regard the elf quizzically. “Oh , I can see it, Legolas, but to my kind, this is not what we would refer to as a thing of beauty.”

Legolas smiled, amused. “A rainbow at night, lit only by the moon’s light, is always a thing of beauty, Gimli.”

“Awesome, perhaps.”

“Very.”

“And rare.”

“Yes.”

“Thankfully.”

Legolas turned his head to look down at him. “Why would you say that?”

“Well, for one thing,” Gimli began. “For dwarves, at least, a black rainbow means death. It is an omen. Someone will lose their life.”

“We have already lost a life. It must mean Gandalf,” Legolas voiced softly. He had images in the back of his mind that now vied for his attention. Fire, torture, cries in the dark. He pushed them down again. “I could not bear to think of what it would mean to lose another of our friends.”

Gimli reached for the hand resting on his shoulder, his eyes still on the rainbow that was now beginning to fade, and gave it a gentle squeeze. “The full moon is certainly a thing of beauty,” he noted.

Legolas gasped softly in the dark, his heart racing. Gazing up at the silver face in the heavens with delight and excitement, he said, “Echado meleth enni.” Legolas turned to Gimli, eyes large in the darkness. “Echado meleth enni,” he whispered again.

Gimli blinked and stared up at him, agog. At first, he thought he was hearing things, then he thought Legolas was pulling his leg, and then that he had gone mad. Having regained the power of speech, he asked, “Why?”

Legolas knelt down in front of him and replied, “Because the moon moves me. Because my heart stirs for you, and while I have fought it, you are the only one for which my heart stirs. Nonetheless, you may decline. I am your enemy, after all, and we shall say naught of this again.”

Brown eyes gazed at into grey-green eyes for a long time. “What enemies do you think I have here in Lorien?” Gimli asked. “For that matter, all the lies I was taught as a child at my father‘s knee, and he, whom, through no fault of his own, believed them even though he is counted among the friends of Elrond. Nay, lad, I am not your enemy and you are not mine, but this come as a surprise to this wee heart of mine.”

Legolas smiled at him and said, “I do not see a small heart, but a big heart, with a tender streak for one such as I?”

“Aye, it has a tender streak for you,” Gimli agreed. “You are my dearest friend, one whom I would die for, protect and lie with, if it be upon us to do, but . . .”

Legolas’ eyes clouded over for a moment, wondering what he was going to say. “But what?”

“We have confused many with our wanderings,” Gimli said. “They are probably of a mind that we have mated already, and more to the point, if we do - when we do - you'll fall with child, and we cannot allow that to happen.”

Legolas’ eyebrows twitched. “You know of elvish secrets.”

“They are not as secret as you might think,” Gimli revealed.

Legolas regarded him with a steady gaze. “Elves are not like the maidens of men, who lie and become ripe at every turn. Elves must perform rituals before Elbereth for conception to occur, and . . .I do not wish that, only to share my heart with you . . .for now . . .if you would wish it also.”

Gimli continued to search deeply into those huge grey-green eyes, as they glittered in the moonlight. “A dwarf shares his heart not just for one night, but for always, ‘til the end of his days.”

“That and more, Gimli, meleth nîn.”

“Are you asking me to marry you?” Gimli wondered, a note of unintentional amusement in his voice. Legolas smiled gently. “Are you refusing?”

“When I lie with you, we will be one, bonded. What will elvenden think?”

“Lord Celeborn has granted it, Gimli,” Legolas reminded him softly. “Therefore, when I give my troth, it will be binding.”

Gimli shifted his feet slightly in the grass, staring at a creature he had to admit had not been on his list of favourites. Now, all that had changed. Here he was, nose to nose, exchanging mushiness with an elf. He smiled.

“Could you find it within you to love an elf?”

“A dwarf loves whom he will,” Gimli replied. “Do you love me?”

“Yes,” Legolas breathed, his excitement renewed. “Echado meleth enni.”

Gimli’s smile widened as he felt an object being pressed into his hand. He did not need to look to see that the object was metal, nor did he need to remove his glove to know that it was crafted in the shape of a beech leaf. He leaned closer and kissed the soft elven cheek.

Legolas was surprised by the seemingly chaste touch of lips on his face, but then the lips moved to his own, and were gone before he had expected them to be. The tender kisses moved down his throat. He closed his eyes and sighed.

The smell of cooking food wafted them back to the pavilion to share in happy company and conversation. Aragorn along noticed the shine of mithril just peeking out from beneath Gimli’s shirt at his throat, and the extra braids the dwarf wore in his hair. Legolas wore a cloak of tranquillity about him, one that had been absent for far too long. Aragorn smiled to himself. He knew.