Chapter 2

Despite the warm feeling brought about by good food and ale, Gimli felt a change in the atmosphere of the room, as though a small but icy draft had made its way through the sturdy window frame. He shivered a little and shuffled his chair closer to the fire.

"It makes a strange tale," he said slowly, stroking his beard in a reflective way as memories of those early days ran through his head. "I didn't take to the lad at first, to tell the truth, nor him to me. Too much enmity between our folk for us to be more than civil to each other, and even that was enough of a struggle at times."

He glanced at the elf, but could see nothing of his expression through the sheet of pale hair, although there was a certain rigidity about his shoulders. It was difficult to explain to this stranger how a healthy dislike had turned first to an uneasy alliance, then to grudging acceptance and finally to the warmth of friendship, but fortunately Gimli's folk had a strong tradition of tale telling and as he spoke the dwarf gained confidence. A stammered explanation became an eloquent and detailed narration of the events since the fellowship was formed in Rivendell, and the dwarf's gruff tones mellowed with the warmth of his affection. In time the elf raised his head, saying nothing but watching Gimli with intensity, as though he hung on his every word.

"So you see," Gimli concluded at last. "It may be unusual, but 'tis a true friendship and I'll let none say otherwise."

"It seems you have been through much together."

"Aye," agreed the dwarf, wondering at the reason for the pain on the ellon's face. "And I would gladly do so again if he needed me at his side."

"You care for...your friend?"

"As though he were my own blood." Gimli gave the elf a fierce look. "I, Gimli, son of Gloin, would die for him, if it were necessary."

"That is a great friendship indeed." The elf seemed tired and upset, as though the pictures of peril and hardship painted by Gimli's words had caused him deep distress. "It is well that you were there, in times of such great need, when his own kin were far away."

"I would have it no other way. I only hope his father does not take exception to our comradeship. I hear he has a very nasty temper."

"Does the son speak so ill of his father then?"

"What? No. Far from it. Loyal to a fault is Legolas. Although sometimes I get the impression things weren't always easy between them. The lad has found no end of excuses to delay our journey, so it may be he's more than a little troubled about his reception."

The elf sighed, the spill of light from the lamp painting his face with golden light and casting shadows beneath the elegant bones of cheek and jaw, making him appear both fair beyond belief and haunted with sorrow.

Gimli frowned at him in concern. "Are you alright, laddie? You're not looking so well."

"I am well enough. Although I might not be if a dwarf had not pulled me from the river's clutches." The ellon's hands tightened on the arms of his chair, preparatory to rising. "I must take my leave. Your friend will be here soon and I would not wish to spoil his homecoming." He stood slowly and inclined his head with grace. "I owe you my gratitude, Master Gimli. If there is ever anything I can do to assist you, you need only ask."

"What?" Gimli rose, putting out a restraining hand. "You're in no state to go out!" He gestured in disbelief at the rapidly fading light and the sleet rattling against the window pane. "Legolas will most likely stay in Lake Town this night, and even if he does not, he would hardly wish a fellow elf to go abroad in such foul weather and so close to dark on his account. He will welcome news of Mirkwood before he enters his father's Halls. "

"For all that, I must depart."

The elf's tall figure was silhouetted briefly against the firelight as he bent to pick up his boots that lay against the hearth. It was as well Gimli was nearby, for the orange glow of the flames made visible the clench of the ellon's features as he straightened. He staggered and may even have fallen if the dwarf had not caught him by the elbow and steered him back into the chair. There he sat, hunched forwards with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

"I must go," he insisted weakly, seeming to have made up his mind no matter the consequences.

"You must rest, " replied Gimli in a firm tone. "That was a hard knock to the head you took there, not to mention freezing half to death in ice water."

As he spoke, he took advantage of the opportunity to push aside the silky hair and inspect the lump on the elf's temple. It was a nasty thing, having darkened and swelled during the course of the afternoon, and the softest brush of Gimli's thumb caused the ellon to sway on his seat and swallow hard, his throat flexing with the effort of containing his nausea.

"Why did you not say you were so hurt? And there's me prattling away with my tales..." Gimli harrumphed into his beard with self-recrimination.

"I assure you, I would not wish to have missed a word." The elf made a visible effort to pull himself together and rose again to his feet. This time his legs held him upright, although he looked as shaky as a young colt and any remaining colour leached from his face.

"Sit down, laddie!" Gimli caught hold of his arm and steered him firmly to the bed, backing him up like a recalcitrant horse until the straw mattress caught him behind the knees. The ellon went down onto his backside with a thump and Gimli took a firm grip of his shoulders, waiting until the blue eyes regained their focus.

"You're going nowhere," insisted the dwarf. "Although I think perhaps you should not sleep; many a warrior has fallen into too deep a sleep after a knock to the head like that."

The ellon seemed completely taken aback by the fact he had been ordered to bed and simply looked at Gimli with astonished eyes that made the dwarf feel horribly guilty, as though the whole mess was all his fault.

"It's no good looking at me like that. You'll stay until you're recovered."

"You seek to detain me?" The shock and anger that seeped into the elf's expression must surely be another unfortunate symptom of elvish pride; Gimli rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Of course not, laddie. You're an adult and can make your own decisions. But why you feel you must go, I don't know. I'll gladly give you my bed and sleep in the chair; it's a better place than I've had to sleep for many a long night."

As the elf gave no immediate sign of rising, and feeling sure he should be doing something useful, Gimli fussed around, muttering to himself, not really sure what was required. After all, of late, he'd been more in the business of causing injury than caring for the injured. The ellon was quiet, and appeared to be caught in the teeth of some internal conflict, but at least he did not move from his position on the edge of the bed. Perhaps he had seen sense at last.

Eventually Gimli noted that the elf's clothes were still too damp for someone not in the best of health, and that led to a recollection of a fearsome aunt explaining the dire outcome of wet clothing upon the body...or perhaps it was of sitting on cold stone in wet clothing, although why a dwarf should fear sitting on stone, wet or otherwise, was beyond him. In a burst of inspiration he recalled that Legolas had left his pack, and therefore his spare tunic and leggings, in the dwarf's care. Gimli pulled them out with alacrity and held them up before the elf.

"Not quite the quality you're used to, but they'll be a better fit than anything of mine."

The elf reached out, his fingers caressing the worn fabric of the green tunic as though it was something infinitely precious and not simply a stained bit of cloth.

"I am somewhat taller than Legolas," he said in a strained voice. "His clothes will not fit me." And with that he swung his legs up onto the bed and lay down, turning his back to Gimli.

The dwarf's brow furrowed in utter confusion, the ellon's unpredictable behaviour made him feel constantly wrong-footed. "You do know the lad then?"

"I do."

"Then he will no doubt be pleased to see you!"

"I fear that may not be the case."

It rankled that this stranger thought ill of his friend. He surely could not know Legolas well at all for he was the finest of elves.

"Now look, Master Elf, Legolas is a great warrior but he is also an honourable and kindly soul. You should not fear him."

"You do not understand," replied the ellon quietly. "But there is no reason why you should."

Gimli patted his shoulder in a reassuring manner, noting that the elf looked greatly startled, as though he was as little used to uninvited physical contact as he was to gestures of simple kindness. Coming rapidly to the conclusion that the ellon must lead a lonely life, and feeling rather sorry for him, Gimli took extra care with the plumping of pillows and the arrangement of the simple blanket. It was a small thing, he told himself, to give a lonely elf a little comfort.

"So," he said, not wishing either himself or the ellon to sleep, and struggling in his weariness to find a topic of conversation. "Do you work in the Elven King's Halls?" This seemed to be a likely possibility, given the ellon's fancy clothing.

The elf gave a rueful smile. "That is one way of putting it."

"You live in Mirkwood then?"

After a lengthy pause, the ellon said firmly, "I am Mirkwood."

It seemed the blow to his head had affected him more than anticipated; Gimli found himself suddenly wide awake. Great care was required to avoid the elf slipping into a slumber from which he would never arise. With that in mind, the dwarf kept up a constant stream of banal comments as he stoked up the fire and turned down the lamps. The elf gingerly propped himself up on the pillows, folding and positioning one beneath his neck in such a way that Gimli felt sure his head pained him greatly. He rested there, his eyes following the dwarf as he moved around the room, pulling across heavy woollen drapes and placing their boots a little further from the fireplace, not wishing an excess of heat to cause the leather to crack.

Finally, unable to think of anything else to do, Gimli settled in the chair. It was comfortable enough, being padded with cushions of horsehair, and was certainly more hospitable than a bed roll in a dry ditch or damp hedgerow. He grunted his satisfaction, took out his pipe and settled down to the relaxing task of scraping the bowl clean with his pocket knife. The bitter smell of stale, burnt tobacco filled the air, bringing with it his usual keen sense of anticipation, coming as it did immediately before a fresh pipe full of fragrant leaf.

It appeared that the ellon did not share his pleasure, and when Gimli caught sight of the green tinge to his skin, he made haste to tip the scrapings into the fire and stowed his pipe away again with a sense of regret and some shame; after all Legolas had made no secret of the fact that he detested the odour of burning tobacco and pipes in general.

"My apologies," he said gruffly. "I forgot elves do not savour a fine leaf as we do."

"I find it more palatable to take leaves steeped in boiling water." The ellon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and swallowed a few times, clearly trying to take his mind off the sour smell of charred tobacco. "A bowl of apple mint is most refreshing."

"Now make that a good scrumpy apple cider and I'd agree with you!" Gimli's eyes twinkled in the lamplight. "Legolas has become partial to scrumpy. Is it to your taste, Master Elf?"

"I prefer a fine wine. Dorwinion is particularly agreeable."

"Aye, I've heard that it is, not that I've ever tried any myself. It's a sup of Kings more than dwarves, and some of them are a bit too fond of it, or so I hear!"

"Indeed?" A very stately eyebrow ascended the elf's forehead.

Gimli chuckled. "Young Legolas..." It was a strange thing but he still couldn't find it in himself to describe his friend as old, even though he was bordering on ancient in mortal terms. "He told me a few choice tales about his father! Why once he was so tipsy he..."

The temperature in the room dropped sharply, with no apparent cause. Gimli stammered to a halt, a plume of his breath hanging white in the air in front of him. Belatedly he realised it was not diplomatic to talk about a king to one of his subjects, but tact had never been one of the dwarf's strong points and he wished again that Legolas had returned earlier for there was no knowing what magic an elf carried in his person, for they were all different. He stole a glance at the ellon, it was possible, he decided, that the being was more mature than he'd thought, for although he gave no obvious outward indication of his displeasure it seemed to emanate from him in waves, and his stare was truly formidable.

After that the dwarf was careful to keep the topic away from anything personal, and they moved on to a rambling conversation about such things as the state of the roads since the war, the merits of Lembas for travelling and the sight of spring flowers so soon after the snows. The ellon seemed surprisingly knowledgeable, even of matters far beyond the borders of Mirkwood, and Gimli concluded that he must work in some capacity that allowed him access to information from outside the Woodland Realm.

At last, when they were both truly exhausted and as dawn began to lighten the sky, the elf caught at Gimli's wrist.

"Have no fear, Master Dwarf, for my mind is not addled, although I am somewhat weary."

The focus of the ice-blue eyes was sharp enough, indeed it was surprising how the elf could give off so intimidating an air when he was propped on pillows with shadows of fatigue deepening the hollows of his cheeks. In truth, Gimli was feeling rather tired himself and could see no reason why they should not sleep awhile now the elf seemed more himself. He nodded his assent and settled back in his chair, telling himself that forty winks would do no harm.

He startled awake quite some time later, rising to his feet in alarm when he saw that the elf's eyes were closed. It seemed, however, that the ellon merely slept deeply, his chest rising and falling steadily before Gimli's concerned gaze. The clatter of hooves in the yard drew the dwarf's attention and he realised it must have been this that awoke him. On peering through the window he saw a familiar blond head, leaning close to that of an unnervingly tall, brown horse.

"Legolas," he breathed, relieved to see his friend, who would surely have more influence over the ellon's unexplained desire to rush away than a dwarf. He slipped quickly out of the room, closing the door gently behind him.

"Gimli!" Legolas turned to him immediately, his face lighting up with the warmth of his regard.

"You made good time, Master Elf."

"I did, mellon-nin." Keen blue eyes appraised Gimli's dishevelled appearance. "It appears you made good use of the local ale."

"The ale is fair, although it is not beer that has kept me from my rest, but an elf."

"An elf!" Legolas's eyes grew huge with astonishment. "You have made the acquaintance of an...elleth?"

"What? No! No, of course not! I didn't mean that, laddie." Gimli flushed to match his beard and snorted loudly in embarrassment. "I had the good fortune to pull an elf from the river yesterday. He's asleep in my room, although I've been hard put to make him stay."

"Perhaps he is uneasy that he owes his rescue to a dwarf?"

"No doubt that's a part of it, although it seemed to be you he did not wish to meet."

Legolas's eyebrows raised. "Does he have a name, this ellon?"

"Aye..." Gimli frowned. "I did not ask."

"Is he from Mirkwood? I would know who this elf is, who has such a dislike of me. Describe him." As he spoke, Legolas moved towards the door on swift feet.

"Well, he's tall, very tall." Gimli trotted after him, ignoring the quirk of amusement in his friend's eyebrow; banter about height was a common theme in their relationship. "He's quite young I think, as elves go, but with an air of someone who's used to getting his own way." He glanced at Legolas but the elf had paused before the door, still looking expectant, so Gimli sought inspiration and embellished his description as well as he could. "He seems quite untamed, if you know what I mean, but rather splendid in his ways. In truth, and it's an odd thing to say, he reminds me of Shadowfax."

"Shadowfax," repeated Legolas, his features moving from puzzlement and initial amusement to a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. "What colour is this elf's hair?"

"Well, now he's picked out the river dirt, it's as fair as your own, but very long, though he doesn't have all those fancy braids you wear."

"Oh Valar!" The elf seemed to steel himself and opened the door, his eyes going immediately to the bed and the livid bruise on the face of the sleeping ellon.

"Did you fight?" Legolas turned to him in horror.

"What? No! What's got into you, laddie?"

His friend was wide-eyed, his voice more timorous than Gimli had imagined possible. "He is hurt?"

"A bump to the head. He will recover well enough..."

Gimli's words faltered, astonishment on his face as Legolas seemed to blur across the room, where he laid a hand on the ellon's arm and breathed an anxious word that the dwarf did not catch. Immediately the elf opened his eyes and rose gracefully to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Legolas!"

"You are hurt!"

With no visible sign of awkwardness, Gimli's companion reached out and traced the contours of the injury with his fingertips. The ellon caught his wrist, speaking soothingly in an undertone, as though to a child. Then to Gimli's surprise he released the wrist in favour of cupping Legolas's cheek with care. After a moment Legolas drew back a little.

"You did not wish to see me."

There was a wealth of hurt in his question, and again the plaintive note. The warrior Gimli knew seemed suddenly young and unsure as the ellon dropped his hand to hold the back of Legolas's neck in a reassuring and affectionate way, the timbre of his voice deep with feeling.

"Why would I not wish to see you, ion-nin. I heard you lingered, unsure of your return. I thought it easier if you saw me when you wished to."

"Why else would I return, but to see you!"

It was the ellon's turn to seem unsure. "There are many here who have mourned your absence, as you must have missed them."

"And I will be most joyful to see them, but that is not the main reason for my return...although in truth I did wonder if the manner of my departure caused you anger?"

The elf rose from the bed, proving that he was indeed taller than Legolas by some inches. His mouth curled and the skin around his eyes crinkled, the effect altogether charming and transforming his severe features completely.

"A great deal of anger; I fear many counsellors feared for their heads."

Legolas stared at him, eyes wide. The ellon's expression softened as he continued. "And then a great deal of anguish and fear. But now..." His head tilted, hawk-like, as he appraised the smaller elf. "Now you are home."

Quite who moved first, Gimli could not have said, but suddenly the two were enfolded in each other's arms, Legolas's face buried in the fall of hair at the juncture of the ellon's neck and shoulder. The taller elf pulled him close and pressed a kiss on top of the blond head beneath his chin, a look of love and anguish upon his face. Gimli found himself gaping, a sick feeling settling in his stomach. The ellon was clearly no stranger and if the way Legolas clung onto him without restraint was anything to go by, he must surely be none other than the Elven King himself, King Thranduil Oropherion of Mirkwood.

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I am so hopeless at sticking to two chapters…I apologise! It's the characters' fault; they just don't like their tales to be wrapped up.

There will be another chapter soon, to finish off this little story. Hope you've enjoyed it so far.

As ever, thank you for reading, following and favouriting, and most especially thank you for the kind reviews. They do truly keep me writing and I love to hear from you.