Disclaimer: The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J. R. R. Tolkien's estate, and Warner Brothers, New Line Cinema, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, and WingNut Films.

Author's Note: Fill for a prompt on the hobbit-kink meme.

The Reason

It was first bits and pieces of conversation Gloin sometimes caught from the guards passing on patrol. About how odd it was that their prince seemed to spend unusual amounts of time in the dungeons. But who were they to judge? And if the king had not had any words with his son, well, then…

Bilbo was able to provide clarification and answers when he finally found his friend. How the prince ordered Bombur to be given larger food portions. Reprimanded the guards for how roughly they treated Bifur and Nori. That he passed messages between Balin and Dwalin. Of trading archery tips with Kili. Seeing Ori had parchment and quills. He and Fili discussing about the burden and expectations that came with being the crown prince. Of having Dori be given back his yarn and knitting needles. He was asking Bofur about his occupation. Listening to Nori tell about his travels and exploits. Provided Oin with a new hearing horn.

Gloin had listened carefully as Bilbo related what Oin had told him, a frown settling on his face. He was still frowning over it all three days later. Why? What is the elfling up to? he wondered. Is he trying to bribe, trick us? "Never trust an elf," his father had often warned him. And a supposedly kind elf...it gave Gloin a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Nearly a week later he was still thinking about it, scowling darkly, mumbling under his breath, briskly pacing around his cell at times. Presently he was seated against the wall near the door, arms crossed, gaze boring into the ground. He had not moved for over an hour.

"I know you're there," he said gruffly, turning his head and gazing out between the bars.

After a moment cloaked figure stepped out of the shadows: the elf prince. While his face was a blank mask, the hunch of his shoulders gave away his embarrassment. Gracefully he moved to stand before the door. For a long time he and Gloin watched each other warily.

Looking away, the elf fiddled with his belt, and the dwarf instinctively reached for the weapon that was no longer at his side. Gloin's irritation changed to surprise when extended towards him through the bars was a locket. His locket - made off with by one of the guards when the company had been captured.

Quickly the dwarf reached out and snatched away the necklace. Almost fearfully he opened the locket, to be met with the faces of his wife and son gazing at him. Carefully Gloin studied the portraits; not a tear or scratch to be found. Sighing in relief, he closed his eyes and pressed the locket to his chest for a long minute, a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth.

Remembering he was not alone, he glanced up. The archer was gazing at him, expression serious, something like satisfaction flashing in his blue eyes. Gloin pressed his lips into a firm line, clenching his locket tighter. Jerkily he nodded once. Understanding, the blond-haired elf nodded in return. His eyes flickered between the dwarf's face and fist before he walked away.

"Why?" the word seemed extra loud to Gloin's ears, spilling out just before the prince disappeared into the shadows. He silently cursed his wayward tongue as the tall creature looked back at him. Gloin lifted his fist. "This – everything?"

The elf paused. "Is Gimli well?" he asked, a strange, soft note in his voice.

Instantly the red-haired creature stiffened, his eyes narrowing. He had not expected that response. "What business is that of yours?" he growled suspiciously. He thought of how the elves had mocked and laughed at Gimli's portrait. Except him, the thought brushed his mind. Gloin glowered.

A look he could not interpret crossed the archer's face. "He has grown into a fine dwarf."

The dwarf bristled at the elf's familiarity and flattery. He opened his mouth to make a sharp retort.

"His hair is as curly as when he was a baby."

Gloin's mouth snapped shut. Memories, foggy and from very long ago, stirred. …Gimli's pretty elf.

A minute of silence passed. A second, and then a third minute.

"Forgive me," the prince whispered. He stepped back.

"Gimli is well."

Blue eyes flew to Gloin's dark ones, startled. The dwarf stared back intently. The archer's gaze brightened and there were hints of a smile on his face. "I am glad to hear it." Then he was gone.

Gloin never shared with anyone about his unexpected encounter with the elf prince during his imprisonment in the dungeons of Mirkwood. Nor did he often think about it.

Over fifty years later he found himself as part of a council in Rivendell that included the young elf prince (as tall and as ugly as he recalled). As arguments grew louder and tempers flared, Gloin placed a hand on Gimli's shoulder when he leapt to his feet, cutting short his heated words. The older dwarf reasoned he acted so due to the headache that was bothering him, not because of the sad look Legolas had cast towards his son.

THE END