This story was written with my co author Minnie, who writes Legolas' point of view, while I write Gimli's point of view. That is true in all of our stories and there are close to fifty of them, many of them quite long. If anyone is interested in seeing the rest of them here, we'd love to know about it!

For this story to make sense, you have to accept our alternate universe idea that elves come of age at around 1,000 years of age. We know what the great professor says about this, but we have decided to respectfully ignore his view for the purpose of our story. In this story Legolas is approximately 800 years old, which we think is equivalent of somewhere around 15 to 17 in human terms, making him one of the youngest relatively on the quest. Gimli has been assigned to act as his guardian, which is explained in 'Legendary Friendship" This story takes place in Lothlorien just after the fall of Gandalf and within days of Legolas having been put in Gimli's charge. This fic will make more sense if you've read that first. We hope you enjoy!

This story contains non sexual spanking. If this offends, please do not read!

Gimli's pov:

This strange journey I am on has set my mind and heart astir with new thoughts and new experiences. Long have I lived under the mountain in the echoing halls and storied chambers of my forefathers. No sun shines there and no golden moon lights those caverns. Lamps carved of marble, onyx, lapis and amethyst are the only light we need to drive away the darkness, until we seek our rest and put out those lights and the warm comforting darkness covers us. And yet I find myself here in this oddly beautiful place of light, in the realm of the Elven Queen of the Golden Wood. I have heard the gentle words of the fair Lady of the Galadhrim, the wise Galadriel, reader of hearts, and it has changed me forever. Though I will leave this place and travel on as I vowed I would-for I shall follow Frodo to whatever end- I believe my heart will stay here, where no dwarf has set foot since the days of Durin, for I have looked upon a Queen more glorious than all the treasure that can be found under the earth, and it has awakened something in me and opened my eyes to a whole new world.

I never expected to find myself in this place or with these traveling companions. I think of the hobbits and their open guileless faces. They are not trained as warriors, yet they have stout hearts and courage that cannot be measured by physical strength alone. It is a resoluteness of spirit they possess rather than a hardiness of body. Their devotion to the ring bearer is unwavering and their loyalty to our cause as strong as any fortress.

I think also of the men of our company. Here Strider is kin, welcomed as a son by the Lord and Lady of this realm. He is a mighty warrior; a man with a purpose, and a guide to those of us who were left guideless when the wizard fell to the fiery chasm.

Boromir also is a mighty warrior. He is bold and brave and yet he is restless, his eyes darkened by deep shadow, and his nails bitten to the quick. He is bold and brave, indeed, and yet seems almost heart sick- over what I do not know.

Mostly I think of Legolas, who like myself is the lone one of his kind among the fellowship. I have tried to ignore his existence for the most part in the past, perhaps because of a sort of misguided loyalty to my people, or maybe it was just prideful stubbornness. Either way that now must change. I must never close my eyes to him again, for our lives have become intertwined in a way that I could never have predicted or even dreamed up in my wildest imaginings. We were bound together in an unexpected way after the wizard fell, and now we must find a way to get along after putting so much effort into showing contempt for one another. This is something I want, not just because of a strong sense of duty, but because it is the right thing to do and what I should have been doing all along. Our small band of mismatched companions have come together for a purpose, and allowing old prejudices to seep in among us only weakens our chances of success. Besides, having heard from Aragorn the truth about the elf's circumstances, I must admit my heart has been softened.

As it turns out he is still considered young enough to need a guardian, in spite of the fact that he is an unparalleled warrior. It is something that is easy to see if a person takes the time to notice, which is something I hadn't done until recently. He hasn't quite developed the perpetually stoic expression of more mature elves and his disposition can change from one minute to the next as seems to be common of youngsters of all races. From what I have gathered from the little bit he has told me of his life, I believe he must have been trained to arms from a much earlier age than would be considered proper were we living in peaceful times. Perhaps this is a necessary evil, but it is also a sad commentary on the desperate plight of Middle Earth.

Some might think I would be elated at finding myself in a position of authority over a former rival, but that is not the case, though after thinking it over I am happy to do it, and not so I can make him follow my every whim. It would be dishonorable to take that sort of advantage of my new position. Truthfully I want to find a way to make this arrangement work with as little friction as possible. I know that will not always be feasible for us to see eye to eye but I hope he will be able to come to think of me as a friend and ally instead of just an obstacle he must get around or someone assigned to make his life more difficult. I feel I must be the one to initiate this truce and have been trying to institute a change between us.

I am cautiously optimistic now that our first week here has passed. After the initial rocky start we had, things have been mostly smooth sailing. I believe Legolas was thoroughly surprised by my support after Aragorn tried to call him to account on his less than polite treatment of me during our first days here. The way I see it, we must work things out for ourselves and having a third party stepping in every time things get rough will not help us achieve anything helpful and I do not need a champion to protect me from childish fits of pique. If I have something to say to the Lad, I will say it myself and I will be the one to decide if something is worth making an issue over. One thing I have learned over the years is that a dwarf must pick his battles carefully- and then never lose the ones he chooses to fight! Going to war over what was really little more than a lot of bluster and foul language seemed like a waste of time. Had he done as I had expected and ignored my instructions it would have been a different story with a different outcome, but as it happened there was no need for any sort of action on my part. His obedience was enough even if it did come with a poor attitude. In fact it would have been foolish in the extreme to expect anything different considering my former treatment of him.

So things have improved in small ways. I have tried to make certain we spend some part of each day together and have learned a little about his life at home. He always answers my questions openly, but never really offers any additional information. I do not wish to seem meddlesome so often I just talk of my own life. He listens politely to my tales, showing genuine interest but never asking for more details. Occasionally, I notice that he is no longer listening to me, but is staring off in another direction as if thinking of something worrisome. Granted, before now I have not spent a lot of time studying the Lad, but I had never noticed him to be especially contemplative. Before we arrived here, he could often be heard cheerfully chatting with the others or even singing or humming softly to himself. There is no doubt he has changed, though I cannot quite put my finger on what that change is. It is almost as if something is weighing heavily on his spirit.

Now as I walk this City of Trees I see him in the distance sitting on a bench waiting for me in the place we agreed to meet today, I wish I knew how to talk of such things. I can hardly ask him to spill his heart to me, when so recently I was treating him with open contempt. Such an offer might not be appreciated, and yet I find I have the desire to be of some kind of assistance. After all I have agreed to look out for him and surely that includes being concerned over his emotional well-being. Yet I am not skilled at consoling speech and I fear I could muck up the fragile friendship we have started to develop, so I choose not to say anything that might make either of us uncomfortable. Instead I call our heartily.

"Now then, Laddie, it's a lovely day is it not?"

The haunted look he was wearing when I came upon him quickly softens to warm recognition. He smiles and stands to greet me. "It is Master Gimli. What is on the agenda for today?"

"Perhaps we should search out some eatables before we make a decision. I'm feeling a bit peckish," I offer. Sharing meals give us something to do and a subject to talk about, so that often seems to be a good way to spend some time together, though he hasn't seemed too interested in actually eating since we arrived here. I do not know if that is a result of distress or if it is just the normal way of elves. Whatever the case may be, it is an easy way to open up conversation between us, so I turn in the direction of the dining hall and Legolas falls in step with me.

Our conversation is pleasant as we wend our way through the pathways of the city, but as has been the case since our arrival, I notice that not all share Lady Galadriel's welcoming attitude. There are still plenty of folks here who are suspicious of me, and do not bother to hide their feelings on the matter. I notice many disapproving looks being thrown my direction and a few that are openly hostile. I hear whispered remarks, and some bolder comments spoken right out loud for me to hear. My first instinct is to bristle in anger at such treatment, but then I rein myself in and consider how things would be if the situation were reversed.

Were a lone elf to find his way to the Lonely Mountain would I behave any differently from the elves of this realm? I would like to think I would, but honesty makes me admit it is likely I would be just as they are. It is an unsettling and uncomfortable revelation.

Legolas' pov:

I sit looking out at the clear waters of the Silverlode; the music of the Ainur seems very close here. The voice of the music is compelling and I find myself called to it, listening to its laughter as it runs across the stones is very soothing. All around me the trees move gently in the breeze as if they are dancing. Here within the golden realm of Lothlorien there are no outward signs of the creeping evil that has dogged our steps since we left the safety of Imladris.

Each step we took away from Eastern Eriador brought us closer to peril and now to great loss. I bite my lip and endeavor to prevent more tears from falling. Of what good are tears?

Tears will not change that which has happened.

The loss of Mithrandir hangs heavily on my heart. When the Hobbits asked what the lament was that the Galadhrim sang I told them I had not the heart to tell them for my grief was too near. My guilt was too near as well but I have told no one of that and my hope is that I was able to hide my feelings of shame for my failure in Moria from the Lady and my companions.

I know they wonder why it is I spend so much time alone wandering the pathways of Lothlorien although they have not asked me as of yet. How much longer that situation will pertain I do not know, so I avoid their company as much as I may. Until I can come to terms with what I failed to do I do not want to have to face my companions.

The beauty of Lothlorien, the peace of this astonishing place is all currently wasted upon me. I find I do not particularly like some of the March Wardens' snide remarks about our party. They treat Aragorn with some respect of course, and as the son of a king of another elven realm I am generally greeted with politeness if not warmth. Though why they should believe my antecedents are any lesser than their own I do not know. I believe they think we are somewhat rustic. I would be very happy to show them they are wrong and would welcome the opportunity to do so. Some here also seem to think the Hobbits are to be treated as children. They soon learn otherwise when Frodo speaks to them in their own tongue. But Boromir who is a great leader of men in his own land is regarded with caution and avoided; he is a brave warrior and deserves their respect for that at least. It is scarcely his fault that he feels ill at ease in this foreign land. If I am uneasy why should he not be so? But it is my recently acquired guardian who has had the worst of this- I have to call it what it is- prejudice.

I admit to being at something of a loss to describe my own feelings towards Gimli son of Gloin, for so long have my people and his been at odds that for us to try and form some sort of meaningful relationship- which has been required of us and which we have both promised to attempt to adhere to- is hard. Perhaps harder for me than him if truth be told for I am placed in his care and I have recently come to fully comprehend just what that means. I am not sure I approve. In fact I know I do not. I would have to be an idiot to enjoy such 'care'. I do not pretend that I may not occasionally need such care, for the long years of elven youth are difficult ones. Our emotions do not often keep pace with our physical growth and we are prone to rash actions and occasional bouts of what my Adar describes as 'remarkably infantile conduct'. I wish he was here now to tell me I was behaving in just such a fashion and then somehow put all to rights. But he is not and Master Gimli is. Dare I hope he will prove a faithful substitute? Can I trust him that far?

He has been more than fair with me so far. I can see that he is trying very hard not to overwhelm me, giving me time to myself, not hovering at my side nor demanding to know where I am going or what I intend to do with my time. He even saved me from Aragorn's anger, supported me against him and told Aragorn that his interference was not welcome. It was almost amusing to see the stunned expression on his face when Master Gimli told him that.

I consider myself very fortunate indeed not to have been called to account for that particular piece of poor behavior. How much longer this state will continue I do not dare
think.

I am due to meet with Master Gimli here this morning I am not certain how he intends for us to spend our time together. We have been attempting to try to come to know one another a little better. I have had an excellent education and know the history of the Naugrim … I mean the dwarves, but of their daily life I know nothing. This short time on the quest has been the only time I have been in contact with a member of Gimli's race. We did not start out well, but I hope we can come to some semblance of understanding eventually.
I have begun to watch Master Gimli, trying to come to a better understanding of him. Despite my early dislike, I already knew he could be kind, for he spent many hours on our journey answering Pippin's incessant questions, keeping the youngest Hobbit out of mischief or trouble with Mithrandir … He will not have that particular duty again, I fear. I only wish that was not the case. I also saw Gimli giving up part of his rations to the Hobbits, saying he was not hungry, all of it done when he thought no one was watching. In Moria he proved himself to be both a fierce fighter and someone who held the history of his people close to his heart. He was distraught when he saw the devastation of Khazad-Dûm although it did not stop him from taking his duties seriously as we crossed through the mines. I saw another facet of his character when we came across the tomb of his ancestor Balin. Such expression of sorrow and loss were worthy of an elf.

Since he has become my caregiver, I have paid much more attention to him. He has a wicked sense of humor, and while I initially admit I found him a trifle coarse in his habits, I have now seen beyond that outer shell which he assumes to hide his true self.

So, here I sit waiting to see what he would wish us to do today, I hear him approaching long before he comes into sight, and I do my best to put a welcoming expression on my face

"Now then, Laddie, it's a lovely day is it not?"

I smile as I stand and offer him a proper obeisance. "It is Master Gimli. What is on the agenda for today?"

"Perhaps we should search out some eatables before we make a decision. I'm feeling a bit peckish," he offers.

He often suggests we take meals together. I think it gives us something to talk about when we can think of nothing else. I do my best to eat what is proffered but in truth I have little appetite.

Still I join him as he heads towards the dining hall and we manage to find enough to converse about to fill the journey.

Our entry into the hall brings most of the conversations to a halt, and I draw myself up into the closest resemblance I can of my ferocious sire and stare down the warriors at the table nearest to where we are planning to sit.

I hear their asides, however, and my blood boils. How dare they make such remarks about a guest of the Lady! I trust that Gimli does not overhear their rudeness but I can see from the way his features freeze for a bare moment that he has. His dark eyes flash and I expect him to explode but instead he says calmly enough. "Sit down lad, there is some very nice fruit on offer here, that I am sure will tempt even your bird like appetite."

"But Gimli"

"There is little point in answering such petty spite. It would only encourage them."

"But Gimli!"

"Let it go." I can hear the warning in his voice, but I have no intention of letting it go. I note the faces of those involved. I will be calling them to account later whatever Gimli says to the contrary.

Gimli's pov:

As we enter the dining hall, most of the conversations cease for a moment. No dwarf has set foot in Lothlorien since the days of Durin, so I must make a curious sight to those in attendance here. Most are just curious, but they mean no harm, while a few are clearly dismayed that I have come in here at all. Perhaps they are surprised that dwarves eat in the same fashion they do, thinking that we instead survive on rocks and dirt and things we can grub from the earth. Maybe they expect I will find their eating utensils an unfamiliar concept and am likely to eat off the ground like a beast. Whatever it is, most return to their conversations when it becomes clear that I am not going to provide any sort of entertainment with my strange foreign customs.

One table of warriors, though, continues to make hateful comments without bothering to keep their voices down. I push my anger down at this, realizing it would do no good to get involved in their games. Besides I have a thick skin, and it will take more than a little taunting to get me to react. Their Queen has welcomed me, so that is good enough for me.

Legolas seems to be having more trouble controlling his temper than I am. He glares openly at the warriors next to us, and I fear he will say something that will start trouble, which is something I do not want and something that will only lead to problems. I try to distract him by drawing attention to something else.

"Sit down, Lad," I say, "there is some very nice fruit on offer here that I am sure will even tempt your birdlike appetite."

"But Gimli" he protests and turns his eyes toward the warriors.

"There is little point in answering such petty spite. It would only encourage them," I tell him firmly and begin to sit down.

"But Gimli!"

"Let it go," I warn as I point to the chair across from me indicating he should sit down.

He does so, but by the scowl he continues to wear I don't think he is planning to let the issue drop. I appreciate the sentiment and am actually rather touched that he is willing to confront these warriors on my behalf, but I do not need protection from their malicious words and I do not wish us to make a spectacle of ourselves. Again I try to change the subject while handing him a thick chunk of bread to go with the fruit that is in front of him.
He takes it from me and absently tears a bit from it.

I try several avenues of beginning a conversation, but none of them last long. Legolas' pleasant disposition of earlier seems to have fled entirely with the rude behavior of the warriors sitting near us. He must be taking his frustration out on the bread, which he continues to tear into smaller and smaller pieces, though I haven't seen him actually partake of any of it. Again I wonder if this means something is wrong or if it is usual for elves to eat so sparingly. I take the time to observe some of the others around me and see that none of them seem to have any problem ingesting what appears to be normal portions of food.

Again I wish for the words to inquire about what is troubling him, but I am uncertain if it is something I should do. After all I have given him no reason to want to confide in me, and besides I might be wrong. Perhaps my uneasiness at having him in my charge has me imagining problems where none exist. I have already spent a great deal of time worrying over just this one issue: is Legolas troubled over something and if he is, is it my place to ask about it? Should I step in or should I mind my own business? I groan inwardly as I ponder over these questions for what seems like the thousandth time. There is so much opportunity for me to make grave errors in judgment and I fear my newly acquired charge will be the one to suffer for them. I can only hope good intentions are enough to make up for my lack of experience in such matters. These concerns continue to plague me and finally I end up commenting on the least important of them.

"Destroying the bread does not count as breakfast, Lad," I remind him. "Eat before a stiff wind carries you off."

He sends me an odd look, but makes an attempt to swallow a bite or two until the warriors beside us rise to leave their places and one of them offers a final snide remark just before exiting the hall. He watches them leave and for a moment it appears that he is going to go after them, so I reach out and place a hand on his wrist.

"I said let it go," I remind him, " it isn't important."

"It is important, Master Gimli. You are a guest of the Lady!"

"And her kindness is welcome enough to suit me," I insist, "Do not let their bad manners ruin your day, for I am not worried about it at all. We must not let them drag us down to their level by trying to repay in kind. Let it go."

He watches my face for a long moment and I try to keep my expression steady. Finally he nods and looks down distastefully at his plate piled with miniscule bits of bread.

"Thank you," I say, patting his hand and then try again to search for a pleasant topic. I end up asking him about Strider for I know that they were already acquainted before our coming together in Rivendell. As it turns out they have been friends most of Aragorn's life, and have had quite a few adventures together. By the time we leave Legolas seems cheered up a bit retelling those tales.

For the first time it dawns on me that an elf befriending a mortal could be an odd experience. This boy he knew as a very young child has caught up with and surpassed him in terms of maturity, so that he has been both as an older brother and then a younger brother, until now they could be almost father and son and if Aragorn makes it through this quest to live out his life span, he will look more like a grandfather in time. The same will be true of the two of us, should things work out and we remain friends after the quest. When I have lived out my life, he will be considered a very young adult at most. If that is so and I remain true to my promise beyond the quest, he could possibly be in my charge the rest of my life, at least at intervals. Hopefully by then I will have some inkling of what I am doing.

After we leave the dining hall, we spend a little more time in light conversation but when it turns to talk of the quest he again takes on that faraway look as if his mind is elsewhere. Almost I question him, but lose the nerve. We soon part ways after making arrangements to meet again later in the evening. I am almost relieved at our parting for I need more time to think through what I have devoted myself to here. Truthfully it is the first time I have felt so completely inadequate for a task. What exactly does my new role require of me, and am I already remiss in my responsibility? He seems to be in some kind of need, but dare I offer my assistance? My heart tells me to throw caution to the wind and take a risk, but my mind warns me to be careful.

I find myself walking along the banks of the Silverload, watching the swiftly flowing water as if it might be able to provide an answer to my quandary. I startle a bit when it seems to speak.

"You must follow your heart, Master Dwarf." The voice is melodic and feminine- fitting for a river's voice-and yet I know it is not so. That voice I could never mistake for another's for it is permanently burnt into my memory. It is the Golden Lady of the Galadhrim who is fairer and more enchanting than any other. I turn to gaze upon her fair face and her ethereal beauty is almost too much to bear. Her silver-gold tresses are like an ever-running stream in the moonlight, and yet her inner beauty is more glorious still. I am so taken by her presence that I cannot find the words to respond, but apparently my words are not needed, for she continues with a gentle smile.

"You have a kind heart and your intentions are pure. It will not lead you astray. You must do as your heart tells you and trust it."

Trust my heart? It is not something I am accustomed to doing, for I am a creature of logic and planning, and yet I know the Lady would never lead me astray, and so I know now what I must do. I will find the lad and let my heart lead me as to what to say. By the time I have formed something coherent to say, she has already taken herself away with delicately silent steps.

"Thank you," I call out to the empty air where she stood moments ago.