The young dwarf jerks his arm out of Legolas's grip the moment he and the other prisoners are brought before the throne. He then juts out his scruffy chin, apparently satisfied to have been the first to break the contact. Legolas raises an eyebrow at this show of impudence, and then turns to face his father, the king.
"Unbind them," King Thranduil says. "They need no ropes in here. There is no escape from my magic doors for those who are once brought inside."
Hearing this, the prisoners sigh and hang their heads in resignation as the guards set about releasing them from their bonds. Legolas grabs the same dwarf again and cuts roughly through the rope binding his wrists together. When he steps away, he can feel the dwarf's eyes burning into his back. He wonders what he has done to deserve such focused attention. He is neither single-handedly responsible for having captured them, nor does he have a final say in how the matter is resolved.
"Now, who are you and what were you doing in the forest?" Thranduil asks.
The dwarves offer no response, so he sits silently for a moment and watches them exchange glances and mutter into their beards. When he speaks again, his voice is quieter and more demanding. "What were you doing in the forest? Why did you rouse the spiders and disturb my people in their merrymaking?"
"We were starving and looking for food," says the fattest of them, and some of the others roll their eyes.
"But why were you in the forest at all? Where were you coming from, and where were you intending on going?"
"Our comings and goings are no business of yours," says one of the younger dwarves.
Legolas is reluctant to admit it, even to himself, but the younger ones are a little easier on the eyes. More than a little, in one particular case, he thinks, turning his gaze again to the auburn-haired dwarf, who smirks at his companion's rudeness.
"You will answer my questions or be returned to your cells to rot."
"What have we done, O king?" asks one of the elder dwarves. "Is it a crime to be lost in the forest, to be hungry and thirsty, to be trapped by spiders? Are the spiders your tame beasts or your pets, if killing them makes you angry?"
"It is a crime to wander in my realm without leave." Thranduil leans forward, gripping his staff tightly in anger. "After all the disturbance you have made I have the right to know what brings you here, and if you will not tell me now, I will keep you all in prison until you have learned sense and manners!"
Thranduil waves his hand and the guards move to escort the dwarves back to their cells.
"Legolas," the king says softly, and Legolas knows it means he is to stay behind. He shares one last heated look with the auburn-haired dwarf before returning to his father.
"Keep an eye on the guards," Thranduil says once they are alone. "The hatred between elves and dwarves runs deep. I will not see my…guests mistreated. But do not converse with any of the dwarves. If they should decide that they have something to say, bring them to me."
"Yes, Adar."
In the cold refuge of his cell Gimli slumps against the wall and slowly drops to the ground. A sigh escapes his lips as he feels some of the tension dissipate from his body. The knowledge that their quest is doomed to fail is, at least for the moment, a strange respite.
He only hopes that Thorin and the Burglar are safe, but in his heart he feels they are.
Later, an elf-guard, whose footsteps he hadn't heard, appears and slides a plate of food into his cell. The meal consists of stale bread and dry meat, but he is so hungry it tastes like something straight from the king's table.
Sated, Gimli leans back against the wall with a sigh. His eyelids begin to droop, and his thoughts turn to a certain elf-prince with hair the color of spun gold. As he drifts off to sleep he can still feel those keen grey eyes on him, curious and predatory, singling him out of the entire company as if he were some strange aberration.
When he wakes up some time later, it is to that same feeling of being watched. He looks out through the bars of his cell. At first he can't see anyone, but eventually he spots an elf watching him from above. He can't make out his face, but he can tell from the blond hair and regal stature that it is the elf-prince. Then Gimli blinks, and when he looks up again the elf is gone.
'Legolas' the Elvenking had called his son. Gimli tries the name out on his tongue without saying it out loud. It feels strange and sends a shiver up his spine.
The food Gimli gets in the coming days seems fresher. At first he thinks that maybe it is a coincidence or his imagination, until one time he wakes up to find a folded blanket in his cell – a soft, warm blanket that smells like spring.
Legolas returns often. After a while, Gimli realizes he doesn't need to look for him to know when he is there. Even if his eyes are closed, especially if his eyes are closed, he can feel the elf's presence like some kind of magnetic pull; it both terrifies and delights him.
One night he dreams that he is clenching shiny, golden strands of hair in between his fingers. Legolas has come into his cell and is ravishing him against the wall, a lingering taste of wine on his tongue. The heat of the elf's body against his own and the fullness of his length inside him feel so real he comes, and wakes to the sensation of warmth and wetness filling the front of his trousers in a rhythmic pulse.
He groans again before realizing he is not alone. Suddenly he is thankful he covered himself with the blanket before he fell asleep—he usually prefers to use it as a pillow. He adjusts it before turning towards the bars of his cell.
There is something akin to concern in the grey eyes that meet his own.
"Were you having a nightmare?" Legolas says 'nightmare' as if the concept is unfamiliar to him.
Gimli struggles not to laugh. "Aye, a nightmare—of sorts."
"You must have dreamed you looked in the mirror," Legolas says, grinning. But then his expression turns serious. "Fear not. No harm will come to you as long as you remain my father's guest."
This time Gimli does laugh. "'Guest?' You wood-elves have a peculiar sense of humor."
Legolas's eyes narrow, and he turns to leave.
"Are you a virgin?" Gimli blurts out before he can stop himself. He has heard rumors that all unmarried elves are virgins, because amongst their kind it is the physical union that creates such a bond. Now he is more curious than ever.
Legolas spins back around glares at him, but Gimli doesn't miss the soft pink flush that graces his cheeks and the pointy tips of his ears. The thought that this ancient being was still untouched roused something inside him – a desire unmatched even by the thought of all the treasure under the Lonely Mountain.
"That is no concern of yours, dwarf."
Gimli shrugs, attempting to appear nonchalant even though the mess in his trousers is getting cold and unpleasant. "There's not much else to wonder about, locked up in this cell."
Legolas considers him for a moment, and his previously unguarded expression turns into a sneer. "It is a wonder your kind can bear to be intimate with each other at all," he says. Then he turns on his heel and disappears from sight.
A few hours later the Burglar shows up along with the rest the company—except Thorin, whom they rescue last. It is with an inexplicably heavy heart that Gimli climbs into the wine barrel that is to become a vehicle for his freedom.
When tidings of Thorin Oakenshield's quest and the death of Smaug reach Mirkwood, Legolas is filled with a sense of dread. He suspects now that the dwarf he was so drawn to was Gimli, son of Glóin, who had also been among their prisoners. As far as he is aware, all fourteen dwarves and the hobbit are alive and together in Erebor – but a great danger is upon them.
"That will be the last we shall hear of Thorin Oakenshield," his father said when the news first arrived, and Legolas fears he is right. The goblins are probably already at council in their caves, and it'll only be a matter of time before they descend on the Mountain.
He rides out with his father and the rest of the elven host towards the Mountain, but when Bard the Bowman requests their aid they turn instead toward the Long Lake. More than a fortnight goes by before they reach Erebor—accompanied now by Bard and the able men of Esgeroth—and he sees his dwarf again.
One night the hobbit sneaks into their camp and offers Thorin's most prized and desired treasure, the Arkenstone, to Thranduil and Bard, thus giving them a means to bargain with him for their share of the treasure. The next day they ride out to the Gate of the Mountain. Legolas's heart flutters when he sees Gimli there. Gimli meets his gaze for only a moment before looking away.
Thorin agrees to share some of the gold in return for the Arkenstone, but in the end he doesn't follow through and attacks the messengers that come to the Gate. As they consider their options—Thranduil isn't keen on starting a war for gold—the goblin army attacks from the North and battle breaks out. Dáin of the Iron Hills, who had originally come to Thorin's aid, joins forces with them. Thorin hides in the Mountain.
It isn't until darkness begins to fall that there comes a great shout and the call of a trumpet from the Gate, signaling that the King under the Mountain and his friends have decided to enter the fight. But beyond this Legolas knows nothing of Gimli's fate until after the battle, when he finds him back at the camp. They're both cut, bruised, and covered in filth.
"The greed and stubbornness of dwarves knows no bounds," he says after pulling Gimli aside, but before the dwarf can respond, Legolas drops to his knees and starts kissing him. His pulse is racing because he has no idea what he's doing – their teeth keep clashing together and Gimli's beard is scratching his face – but he's never experienced anything more wonderful.
"Oi," Gimli says teasingly when they pull apart. He takes Legolas's face in his hands. "The battle is over." He leans in slowly until their lips barely brush. Legolas can feel a stirring low in his belly with every light swipe of the Gimli's tongue against his own. He wonders how much time the dwarf has devoted to perfecting this particular craft, and feels a surge of jealousy rise up inside him.
"Legolas?"
They jump apart the sound of Thranduil's voice.
"Ada!" Legolas wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
Gimli sees this and turns to leave with a humph.
"Gimli, wait!" Legolas calls after him, but the dwarf doesn't look back.
Thranduil doesn't speak of the matter until after they've returned to Mirkwood.
"I cannot say I am pleased with this turn of events," he tells Legolas after dinner one day, when it's just the two of them and a flask of Dorwinion wine.
Legolas knows his father is referring to the kiss. "I am sorry to have disappointed you, A – "
Thranduil holds up his hand to stop him. "There is no need to apologize. It is our fae that decides whom we love. We can only choose to follow its promptings…or not."
Legolas takes a rather large sip of his wine, for his mind has travelled down this line of thought many times since he first realized the reason for his immediate and unwavering interest in the dwarf.
"I desire nothing more than your happiness, Legolas," his father continues. "You must, however, think in the long-term. I trust you will make the right decision."
But Legolas doesn't make any decision regarding Gimli at all. He spends many years honing his skills as a warrior and puts his heart into every task his father sets before him. Staying busy makes it easier not to think about his clumsy kiss after the battle, or Gimli's much more practiced one, or to wonder if he has taken any lovers since then. Sometimes he wonders if he has tarried too long and the dwarf has married and started a family. That's when the pain and anger become too difficult to bear, and he channels theses feelings to fight the ever-spreading darkness in the realm.
After the battle, Gimli settles in Erebor with his father and Dáin and those of Thorin's company who have survived. There he helps to rebuild the great halls of Durin's Folk and spends almost all of his free time at the forge—for crafting a fine weapon is the one thing that helps him keep his mind off Legolas.
Years later, he still scoffs at his own stupidity in surrendering to a fleeting moment of hope that he might have won the elf's heart—a hope that was shattered by a single look between Legolas and the Elvenking. And all this time he has remained alone, because though he has tried more than once to find comfort with other dwarves, all he could think of whenever he got close to another was that silky blond hair and smooth, pale skin, and most of all that strange magnetic pull he had always felt in Legolas's presence.
One day a messenger arrives from Mordor – a servant of Lord Sauron. He tells them that Sauron desires their friendship and will reward them greatly if they but provide him with news of a certain hobbit who had accompanied them on their quest, or the ring he had stolen. Dáin bides his time in giving an answer, so the messenger returns twice more. He warns them that the next time he visits will be the last.
When Glóin decides seek the council of Elrond in Rivendell on this matter, it is with great reluctance that Gimli agrees to accompany him, for he had hoped to never have to lay eyes on any elf, ever again.
Upon their arrival, Gimli learns that many others have come to Rivendell, seeking answers, and among them is none other than Legolas, the very elf he'd spent almost eighty years trying to forget. His stomach twists into knots; he claims weariness and remains in his guest room until the Council is called together.
There is a familiar charge in the air as Gimli steps out onto the porch where the others are already gathered. Gimli doesn't meet Legolas's gaze, but despite his best efforts observes him out of the corner of his eyes. It is only now that he has met Elrond and his kin that he realizes how strange the wood-elves are in comparison – not radiant and calm but watchful and unpredictable.
Once they are joined by Gandalf, Bilbo, and the latter's nephew, Frodo, the Council begins. Elrond introduces all those who are present and what follows is a long meeting in which each of them shares their news and concerns.
Gimli can't hold back a snort when Legolas announces that his people have lost another prisoner, the creature Gollum, whom many have trusted them to keep out of reach of the Enemy. Legolas pauses briefly at his reaction, and it feels like the air has momentarily gone still and cold; somehow he knows Legolas feels hurt. Looking around he sees that none of the others seem to have noticed anything amiss.
Gimli and Legolas do not speak to each other until the following evening, when Gimli is out on a balcony, taking in the sight of the mountains and elvish architecture.
"It's an eerie thing," Gimli says when he feels, rather than hears, Legolas approach from behind. "I can always feel your presence when you're near. I've never experienced something like it with anyone else – no matter the race."
Legolas is silent for a moment as he steps up beside him. And when he speaks, his voice is full of wonder. "You can feel it?"
"I'm…not sure what it is I'm feeling, but aye, I do."
Legolas meets his gaze and smiles wistfully. "It is my fae reacting to you. I did not think a mortal would be able to feel it." He looks down at his hands on the railing, and his cheeks turn pink. "It means I want to bond with you."
It takes a moment for Legolas's words to sink in, and Gimli isn't sure he understands. "But it was there from the beginning."
"We are very different, Gimli," Legolas says, "in more ways than are obvious. The way we experience love is different. Mortals are rarely aware of their fae—not by any fault of their own, but merely because their souls aren't as well integrated with their bodies. When it comes to love, they depend more upon physical attraction and emotional and intellectual affinity. That is why they often tire of one another or grow apart. Soul love does not need time to develop because it is there from the moment two fae meet."
"Is it always reciprocated?" Gimli asked.
"It is – but a mortal is not likely to recognize what is beyond the immediate desires of the physical. " He looks at Gimli and swallows. "That is why I did not seek you out. I was afraid you might tire of me. And...even if you did not, we would still eventually be parted."
Gimli grins. "I haven't tired of you in seventy-seven years—and all I've had was a memory. The other thing I cannot help you with."
Legolas covers Gimli's hand with his own; the warmth of it gives him butterflies. They stand in silence for a moment, watching the sunset paint the sky orange and red.
"I leave in the morning," Legolas says with a tone of regret, and Gimli nods because he already knows this. Elrond wants to dispatch scouts before the quest to destroy the ring is begun.
"But I imagine it is easy for a dwarf to get lost in this place," he says, grinning, "so, you are welcome to retire to my room with me tonight. I am not ready to let you have my virginity, in which you take such keen interest, however—"
Gimli remembers the dream he had in the dungeon in Mirkwood, and the conversation that followed, and his face begins to burn.
"There's a lot I can teach you without taking your virginity, elf," he says as they turn to leave together. "You can be sure of that."