The area where they set up to camp that night is fairly out in the open, the land mostly consisting of rolling plains of tall grass that sways and rustles in the soft spring breeze. Gimli is not entirely comfortable with the arrangement, feeling exposed and vulnerable due to the lack of cover. But there are a few clusters of trees here and there, enough, Legolas assures him, that they will warn him if danger approaches. Gimli doesn't think he places any particular faith random trees, but he trusts his dear friend, so he closes his eyes and tries to rest despite his unease.
He must sleep, because the next thing he knows, Legolas' lilting voice is urging him to "Please awake, please, mellon nîn." There is a faint, unfamiliar note in his voice that Gimli, in his half-aware state, cannot place, but when his gaze focuses, he sees that Legolas' pale eyes look enormous and worried.
"What is it?" Gimli demands, springing to his feet, battle axes at the ready. "What danger approaches us?"
He looks about wildly, then when no menace presents itself, he turns at Legolas for an explanation.
Legolas simply remains as he is, sitting on the ground, his demeanor characterized by a serene confidence that never seems to be absent from his demeanor. "No danger, my friend. I was simply concerned for you."
Gimli sits as well. "Whatever do you mean?" He asks his friend quizzically.
Legolas absently plucks a long strand of grass, shredding it between thin fingers. His gaze only meets Gimli's briefly, before flicking back to concentrate on his task. "I thought that you had died in your sleep."
The blunt response catches Gimli off-guard, and he stares at Legolas in bewilderment. "Why in Durin's name would you ever think that? I am not ill, injured, or enchanted. I am not frail or old. I am, in fact," he adds proudly, "enjoying the prime of my youth."
A fond smile curves on Legolas' lips, and he lightly touches Gimli's face, brushing his fingers under his chin in what could be a caress. But his arm lowers to the ground, and as he speaks, voice solemn, the smile fades.
"Many have died in the war now past." His eyes cloud as the words leave his lips. "Boromir died with honor during our journey, killed by Orcs while defending our Fellowship to the very last. Countless others, slain in battle, my kinsmen amongst them. Including Haldir, a friend of mine for decades. Now he is gone." His eyes look at Gimli once more, tinged with sadness. "To me, Mortals seem to fade so quickly. Their physical forms decay before even a millennium has gone by."
Legolas' next words are so low that they are nearly carried away by the breeze.
"Mortals close their eyes to sleep; this I know. But Elves do not close their eyes unless they close to death or already dead."
Gimli knows this information about the Elves already, and, privately, finds it a somewhat eerie and disconcerting sight. But he listens to his friend attentively.
"When I see your eyes close, I cannot help but worry that you as well will be leaving me. I watch you during your sleep to assure myself that it is not so." Legolas meets Gimli's gaze readily, emotion that is usually indiscernible now brimming and apparent in his eyes. "Tonight, when I thought that your breathing had ceased while you slept . . . I was so frightened for you, and frightened for myself. I could not bear losing you, Gimli. You are so much to me."
Legolas closes his eyes briefly, as though warding off physical pain, and the moonlight cascades across his face. Gimli stares, entranced by how the dim luster shifts over his features
Legolas' eyes flicker open, and he speaks again.
"I feel that if your life were to end, my grief would be so great that my spirit would convince my body to crumble to dust just so my soul could be free to join yours."
At first, Gimli is too startled at Legolas' admission to respond. His mind races, set into motion by Legolas' words. Is it possible that Legolas is implying he thinks of Gimli in another sense than a friend, or is that just wishful thinking on Gimli's part?
Gimli regains his composure and decides it is safer to simply act as though his feelings for Legolas are completely platonic.
Touched by his friend's worry, Gimli rests a hand on Legolas' shoulder, noting the slenderness of his frame despite the lean muscle. "Healthy Dwarves do not simply go and die in their sleep, you daft Elf," he says gruffly, but he knows Legolas can hear the affection behind his brusque tone. "Rest now," he says, his voice gentler. "Your father already is predisposed to disdain the friendship between you and I, and it will do nothing to endear me to him if you return in a state of exhaustion."
At Gimli's urging, Legolas settles into slumber, but Gimli stays awake a few minutes longer to contemplate his friend.
As Legolas sleeps, Gimli gazes upon him. Legolas appears nearly ethereal in the light of the full moon. His alabaster skin glows, white-blond hair shines the palest silver, and his peculiar eyes, a shade somewhere between light blue and lavender, though unfocused, seem to be alight by some sort of inner luminescence.
Legolas, the quintessential Elf, is quite far off from all Dwarven standards of beauty: his skin is much too white, his physique much too thin, his face smooth and hairless. His elegant features would be seen as delicate, and his eyes muted and faded in color. He would likely appear as pallid and frail, sickly, to any other Dwarf, as he first did to Gimli.
But while Gimli is aware of the differences, he has grown to appreciate them and now cannot help but treasure them; Legolas is something unique to him, an exquisite gem he might unearth, at first disregard but then later prize, and set at the front of an elaborate craft made of precious metal that he wrought with his own hands.
Besides, he has often thought that while Legolas is a good head taller than him and far (maybe too far for his own good) thinner, Gimli's brawny arms would fit nicely around Legolas' svelte waist when they walk together, or across his slim shoulders when they sit.
As Gimli settles himself for sleep, his mind nags him, and he remembers the odd note in Legolas' voice when the other had awakened him.
It had been pleading. Legolas had been practically begging Gimli to open his eyes and show him he was not dead.
The revelation of his friend's devotion to him tugs at Gimli's heartstrings, and as he drifts into unconsciousness, he cannot help but again wonder if his feelings for Legolas are reciprocated.
Gimli awakens at the sun's rays dancing on his face as the fiery orb climbs higher in the sky. Immediately, Gimli becomes aware of a warm body pressed flush against his back, and an arm tucked across his chest. It is not an unpleasant feeling, and for a few minutes, Gimli is content to savor his companion's appreciation for him.
But there is no guarantee that Legolas holds romantic feelings for him; there is no solid evidence in that regard. And then Gimli realizes that if he revels in Legolas' attention now, it might be more difficult for him if- or, he thinks with dread, when- Legolas indicates disinterest.
It would be simple to give up something he does not know, but a trying task to sacrifice something he knows and loves. And however much he enjoys being so close to Legolas, Gimli feels obligated to keep up a semblance of his usual gruffness, if only to begin preparing himself for weeks, maybe even months, of repressing his true feelings for his friend.
Gently, but firmly, he nudges Legolas awake with his elbow. "Elf, what on earth are you doing?" He demands.
Legolas does not so much awaken as fluidly phase out of sleep in an instant. He blinks at Gimli with those wide eyes, looking for all the world like a startled fawn. "You did not seem to approve of my vigil, so I took it upon myself to assure myself of your life while we both slept."
He leans forward, placing a hand on Gimli's chest. "I could feel your heart beating beneath my fingertips the entire night," he says quietly. "I was only able to sleep as I knew you were breathing."
Gimli is taken aback to find himself being mesmerized by Legolas' odd eyes as they stare into his. "You harebrained creature," he replies roughly, and on an impulse, he forgoes any plan of ignoring his emotions and quickly pulls Legolas forward, pressing their lips together.
The kiss lasts only a moment, but when Legolas pulls back, he is breathing heavily. His eyes look more huge than ever in his ivory face.
Legolas is silent and staring, long enough that Gimli begins to regret what he has just done and steel himself for rejection, but then Legolas asks, voice a bit shy, "Would you kiss me again?"
Gimli is quite happy to do so.
When they are finished their embraces for the moment, Legolas leans against Gimli's strong shoulder, the two of them basking in the sunlight. Gimli cannot help but think that they fit together well; it is as though they were designed to be together.
"I tried to tell you about my underlying sentiments for you earlier," Legolas admits. "I awoke you due to sincere concern for your life, but then I saw an opportunity to reveal my feelings. However, when you responded as though what I had said was not unusual, I believed I was not clear in expressing my emotions." He grins. "It's not exactly a strong point of mine."
"Perhaps," Gimli says affectionately, laying a gentle kiss on Legolas' forehead, "you're not the only daft one between the two of us."