Summary: Gimli speaks about the development of his and Legolas' relationship. In truth, this is a short, fluffy PWP ;D.

Author's notes: There is a change in POV in the middle of the story. It works for me, but I'm not sure it will for others. Please let me know what you think. Feedback is, as always, gratefully received; as are choc-covered Elves and Dwarves, preferably rich, dark chocolate ;D.

~ NO MORE MASQUERADE ~
© Triskell, May 2003/June 2004

I love beautiful things. I love you.

The first word I learned in your language was mellon, friend, there at the doors to Moria. I could not pronounce it properly, of course, but it was in my head all the same. We were everything but friends in those first weeks of our travels with the Fellowship. I did not loathe the sight of you as much as I would have had you believe, I was merely very uncomfortable in your presence. Considering the situation our fathers had found themselves in that should not make you wonder. I had been taught, from earliest infancy, to mistrust elves. And now my life depended on one – I would not have said so, but I knew it to be true. We fought together, as companions, and it came hard to me to swallow my pride, feeling indebted to you, awed by your skill as a warrior.

~ ** ~

The Lady of Lórien was wise and kind, yet I learned more about Elves in sharing your grief for Gandalf than I did from her words. I loved her with the fervour of the Dwarves, but it was a love born of distance, not closeness. She was a safe ideal to aspire to, the epitome of Elvish beauty and grace, stunning and deadly all in one – so much like you and yet different enough to safeguard my heart.

I think I did not even realise then that that mellon held a warmer tinge when I thought of you. We walked the woods and meadows of Lórien together many times, often escaping the embrace of dreams to fill our senses with the peace of a life neither of us truly knew anymore or could aspire to. True warriors are of the same mould, no matter what race they belong to. You called me friend for the first time at the stream of Nimrodel – we had walked far and the stars were bright that night, but brighter were your eyes as you wove a crown of elanor flowers and set it on my head with a smile.

You did not know you stole my heart in those moonlit moments, and I will never tell you that I cut a lock of your ebony hair the night before we left Lórien, guarding it next to my heart, hidden beneath the Lady's golden silk, hidden from those who could not understand.

~ ** ~*~ ** ~

Gimli frowned as he looked about himself, unable to make out the tall figure of his Elven friend. Though he knew his companion to be in good health he was uneasy, for he could not deny that Legolas' voice had been tired as he had admitted defeat in their competition. Forty-one slain by his hand, forty-two by Gimli's – warriors' deeds, grim and dark; there was pride in this but also sadness – a thin line to walk between bloodlust and duty's call.

Gimli was uncertain if his presence would be welcome should he find his friend, yet he would not leave the Elf alone if he was in need of companionship. After a battle like this, every creature was in need of calm, of something soothing and beautiful. When the lust of fighting had ebbed and the fire in one's blood had calmed, the pain of wounds sustained and the eyes of dying foes would surface in one's mind and threaten sleep.

He found Legolas at the deeping wall, staring out over the country before him, red-hued in the setting sun, gloomy and hot, heated from battle and the bodies of the dead which were scattered across it. It was a picture of decay and despair, far from cheery, and the storm clouds did not bear much thought of brightness in them either. The Elf was slumped against the cool stone, his head resting against it, still graceful, but with an edge of vulnerability Gimli had never seen before. Though his walk was heavy enough to alert even a man to his presence, he schooled his voice to softness – as much as was possible for him – and addressed his companion in his own tongue, strange as it sounded from his lips, "Mellon nîn(1)?"

Clear eyes looked up at him then, a small smile playing on Legolas' lips as he patted the floor beside him. He turned away from his companion again, sighing deeply once, before speaking very quietly, "The sky is heavy with clouds tonight and the earth steeped with blood. We face a dreary dawn, my friend."

"Aye. 'Tis true many have died in this battle, but all of them valiantly," he chuckled a little, though there was no humour in it, "and we should be grateful so many have come out alive, so many more than we thought would see this dawn."

"Your words are wise, Gimli. You comfort me."

"Yet it is not enough, is it?"

"You know me well."

Gimli was greatly disturbed by his friend's easy admission of sorrow, for it meant that Legolas no longer fought it.

"Do not give into your grief, mellon nîn, let me share it and we may help each other."

The Elf turned around then, regarding his stout companion with unfathomable blue eyes, darkened in the evening shadows, yet more intense than Gimli remembered having ever seen them. Having Legolas' full attention, he pressed forward, "If you were with your own, what would you do for comfort?"

"I know not, for I cannot think of any such time. I have fought often and killed many, but never with so much at stake. I feel a weight upon my shoulders unlike any I have known. And I fear for my companions' safety more keenly than I ever did," he broke off, his eyes blazing though he did not turn his gaze away from Gimli's, "I have not known such deep friendships in so little time before, nor have I bonded so closely with those who are not…immortal. It is a change I have not yet adjusted to."

Gimli could not find anything to say in answer, so he offered the first thing that came to his mind, "When I was but a young lad my mother would sit with me and tell me stories in the dwarven tongue. Let me share one of them with you."

It seemed a strange wish to Legolas, for all he sensed it was a great honour offered him. His thoughts were in turmoil and he was tired and strained. His heart was sore from the death and darkness he had been surrounded by for what seemed like many moons. He nodded, raising his eyebrow in surprise when a strong hand on his shoulder urged him to settle down between Gimli's thighs, leaning against his solid frame. Their height difference forced the Elf to bend and curl up like a small child against his companion, though that seemed exactly what the latter had had in mind, for his arms came up and encircled Legolas loosely.

Gimli's rough voice rose, his native tongue sounding like a prayer from his lips, though it was harsh and rugged, jagged like a rock; but it also held a solidity inherent in the earth and the foundations beneath it and it was this which soothed the Elf, as if the sound were a primal heartbeat, older even than he was, familiar and welcoming. Legolas' hand rose, gently twining in the red beard, untangling the twisted strands as it wandered upwards, brushing Gimli's cheek. They looked at each other and the Dwarf fell silent. There was but the howl of the wind around them as they leaned forward, mouths clashing in a fierce kiss.

They were not gentle with each other, discovering their passion in battling tongues and bruised lips and when the Elf pulled back, it was only to turn in his companion's embrace, kneeling between his legs to unfasten his armour, tugging swiftly at metal and cloth, rough against his skin. Gimli did not lose any time either, bracing one hand against Legolas' chest, holding him at arm's length to better disrobe him, or at least push some of his clothing out of the way. They kissed again – wet, open-mouthed, hungrily, stroking each other, gasping.

Gimli drew his legs apart as well as he could with his breeches around his ankles, baring himself, hissing as he drew his hand down the Legolas' erection, rubbing without finesse, jerking roughly and gathering the drops of pre-come. He coated his own hardness with it quickly as their kisses became more frantic, their breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

Legolas straddled him with difficulty, constrained by his leggings and the angle was not perfect as he began to lower himself onto Gimli, his hands tightly gripping his companion's shoulders. The Dwarf rocked his hips upward a little, unable to wait, pushing inside the Elf's heated embrace. Legolas moaned, eyes clenched shut, mumbling words in his tongue Gimli could not understand. He answered with a dwarfish curse as his lover pulled him forward a little and he fell onto the cold stones even as the Elf's body took him fully inside.

He thrust up again, but Legolas soon took over, grasping Gimli's wrists and dragging his hands away from the slim waist, crossing them above his head, holding him in place as he rose and fell onto his lover's hard cock, the burning friction making him groan as he shook his head, dark hair spilling across his shoulders.

Smooth, slightly damp fingers traced Gimli's lips as he bucked up once more, the tight clench of Legolas' body too much for him. He cursed once more, head falling back and the Elf leaned forward, biting his neck and making him gasp, even as he felt his lover's warm seed against his sweaty skin.

Gimli wriggled his hands free from Legolas' one-handed grip and leaned up as well as he could, grasping the dark locks to pull the Elf down far enough to leave an angry red mark where neck met shoulder. Dwarves were just as possessive as Elves. "Mine," they both growled in unison as their sated bodies bucked up in one last rough slap of flesh against flesh, their clothes stained with seed.

The sound of men laughing below them rang out suddenly, louder than the wind, then ebbed away. They pulled apart moments later, breathing raggedly, stumbling as they fumbled with their tunics and breeches, brushing themselves off as best they could.

Finally, Legolas gave up, shrugging as he wiped the last remnants semen in his shirt, "We are so dirty it does not really matter."

"True." They looked at each other, just as Gimli's stomach rumbled.

"Shall we go and find the others then? You seem eager for dinner."

"Aye, that I am, are you not?"

Legolas smiled then, towering above his companion. He bent down swiftly, gently kissing Gimli's swollen lips, "I am, mellon nîn, more than I had thought possible."

"You feel better then?" The Dwarf did not wait for an answer, walking past Legolas, smacking his butt with the flat of his hand, grinning when the favour was returned.

"You put your race to shame with your rough handling of me, Master Elf."

A slow, wicked smile spread across the Legolas' face at this and he said, with a proud toss of his head that sent his hair flying about his shoulders dramatically, "Norothan le min dû, hadhod nîn. Mathothan le na rhaw nîn, garothan le an garn nîn (2)." He laid his hand on Gimli's shoulder gently, bending down to whisper the words into his friend's ear once more, in the common tongue.

"I like the way your mind works, Legolas," was the response the Dwarf gave him, his voice husky and deep and full of promise, before he strode purposefully towards the Keep, not looking back. The Elf followed moments later, his heart lighter than it had been, as if the strong breeze clearing the sky of clouds had swept through and liberated him.

~ ** ~*~ ** ~

You kept your promise even as we continued our trek. There were few private moments, but those we had were breathtaking. To this day, I remember the feel of your skin against mine, the silk of it caressing me, the glorious darkness of your hair hiding our flushed faces from the moon.

I never spoke of feelings and neither did you – warriors do not promise what they cannot keep. Our devotion was that of one otorno (3) to the other. Sworn brothers, fighting side by side and sharing a bed some nights, when the strain became too much to bear alone. And even when there was peace again, we still travelled together to the Glittering Caves and the hidden forests you so delight in. We rode on one horse, me behind you, my senses filled with the smell of your hair, the tempting caress of your body against mine.

It was many years later, when I was grey and old, my time among the living almost done that you spoke of love. You never said the word, yet you would not part for the Grey Havens without me, not go West to find your peace without a withered Dwarf by your side. I grasped your arm as you helped me to stand at the bow of our ship and looked into your eyes as you gave me the first smile not tinged by sorrow and suffering since the day you first heard the seagulls call for you.

And when I gave you back the lock of hair I had taken in Lórien, you understood, even as you let it fly away on the wind, blown across the seas like us.

I love beautiful things. I love you.

~ *Finis* ~

(1) mellon nîn = my friend
(2) Norothan le min dû, hadhod nîn. Mathothan le na rhaw nîn, garothan le an garn nîn – I will ride you one night, my Dwarf. I will stroke you with my body, I will have you for my own.
(3) otorno = sworn brother

I used the Sindarin dictionary and various other online sources to help me with this. If I messed up, do tell me.