Ahh.
Gimli surprising elves.
I love it :D

12. Fragments of tales and half-remembered stories

The Lord Of The Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring – Chapter 2: The Shadow of the Past

"Do not think I will not kill you, dwarf," Legolas threatens, eyes twinkling for no one but Gimli to see. "It would be my pleasure." The time traveller thinks about we could have shot him in the dark, very well aware of how unpleasant it is to have an elven arrow pointing right at your face. Still, for him this situation is decidedly amusing.

Fighting the grin threatening to break free he pricks up his ears when he sees Legolas' twitching, catching a panicked voice calling "Throw me a dagger, quick!"

Easily he recognizes it as Kíli's.

A tiny smile around Legolas' lips makes him relax, the tension melting out of his body that has already prepared to fight again within a moment's notice. There is no one in this world he trusts more than this elf, not even Aragorn or his own mother. Calmer than any of his companions he listens to "If you think I am giving you a weapon, dwarf, you are mistaken!"; a clearly female elf saving his princeling friend with the ease of centuries spent fighting.

Legolas darts his friend an amused glance, before ordering his guards to search the dwarves.

Mirth is dancing in his blue eyes as he watches one of the elves relief Fíli of more and more of his weapons, and he himself chooses to dig into Glóin's pockets. Easily he finds the locket dangling from a heavy chain around his neck and takes it despite his friend's father's obvious love for it. He opens it and in the same breath insults Gimli's mother, just like the last time, before staring at the portrait of Gimli himself. "And what is that horrid creature, goblin-mutant?" To the time-traveller's well experienced eyes he looks like he is about to fall to the floor, rolling with laughter. To everyone else his features are nothing but sceptical, brow raised in that very picturesque way of his.

Glóin gasps for air and barely manages to keep himself from launching into an angry rant; however, he cannot keep himself from darting his son a short glance. Hoping that no one but his elf has seen it – the wizard being off and away – Gimli does his best to look as if he is trying not to let his outrage show. He is not sure whether he is convincing, and soon is distracted anyway: The moment Legolas lays his eyes upon Orcrist, fingers carefully touching the old sword filled with history, his face lightens up and Gimli's breath catches. Despite having been in this situation before, many years ago, the elf is filled with awe for his people's skills. The dwarvish time-traveller watches him, fondly remembering the moments he had gotten to see Legolas' love and fascination for the elves of times long gone by.

He barely registers as his friend happily accuses Thorin of being a liar and a thief – the dwarvish leader bristling along with his oldest companions – before ordering for the intruders to be bound and led away.

Easily he manages to have Gimli positioned at the end of the procession, where he himself will be walking, and then motions for the guards in the front to get going.

As they begin to move Bofur asks Thorin in passing: "Where's Bilbo?"

Gimli can almost watch his King's face fall, and fear settle in his eyes.

He does not have the chance to observe him any further, though, for the company is being led away and the time-traveller feels the bright presence of his elf draw closer with every step until the other is walking only inches behind him; the red-haired elf who saved Kíli next to him, bow still ready to shoot.

"So this is the naug who came with you," he hears her mutter, and grins.

"You must be Tauriel, then, captain of the guard," he murmurs, making sure not to be heard by his fellow dwarves, but well aware that the fine elvish ears behind him will catch it without any problems. Since four of his companions are walking between him and the closest elvish guard, and more between the others, he is quite sure that they will not be able to overhear this conversation, not with the other dwarves making such a ruckus.

He hears the surprised sound coming from the red-haired woodelf – whether because of having been identified or because of the easiness the heavily accented Sindarin has dropped from his lips he does not know – and snickers.

"She is," Legolas confirms, the bell-like voice betraying his amusement.

"I did not expect you to speak my tongue, naug. However, my prince has mentioned that you are called Elvellon. I should not have been surprised."

"I generally tend to surprise your kind. You should have seen the way Lord Elrond looked at me when I greeted him in Sindarin, or how quick Erestor was to help me with a research project after I addressed him with your words."

This time it is Legolas who snickers.

"I am beginning to see why you received that name," Tauriel mutters.

Gimli marches on happily, not daring to turn around but not about to let that keep him from teasing the captain of Thranduil's guard. "I am being told that alarmingly often recently. Should I be worried about acting too nicely?"

Legolas snorts quietly. "It only proves what I have known all along."

The dwarf squints his eyes. "Which would be?"

"That you are quite a lovely person, mellon nín, and nothing like the beastly pain in the neck you like to portray – quite convincingly as I have to admit."

Gimli gasps for air, but manages to retort: "All along? I quite vividly remember the way you used to look at me, after we met in Imladris. How you always had a snide remark up your sleeve; many an insult for my people and my kin. Had I not been that convinced that the opinion of a weed-eater and tree-shagger mattered nothing to me, I would have been quite hurt. You even made Estel doubt your common sense."

"Well, you were the one who shouted that no one was to trust an elf in a council made up mostly of elves," is the immediate answer. "And you were always quick to trade insults with me."

The dwarf remembers that very scene and smiles fondly when he thinks of other moments as well. "I would never dare deny that," he grins, and adds: "However, I do also recall the way you always made sure that I was still with you when we were tracking Merry and Pippin, how you tried to encourage me. I remember You would die before your stroke fell and side by side with a friend and You shall never be alone, Gimli Glóin's son. You have always been good with your words, elf, and I have often appreciated them greatly, just like I have detested them at times."

Legolas' laughter is like sunrise after a night of darkness. "None of those words you mentioned I have said in jest, mellon nín."

"I know." Gimli's answer, as easy as it is, means a lot.

"Elvellon," Tauriel remarks, her melodic voice caught somewhere between amused and touched.

The dwarf laughs quietly. "Indeed," he agrees. "I do have earned that name. After all, I went through the struggle of taming this wild princeling. It took quite an effort, really. However, it was clearly worth it." Probably he is giving more away than he should once again. It has never been easy to keep his guard up in Legolas' presence, though, and – frankly – he does not even want to.

"I am looking forward to my king's reaction," Tauriel snickers.

Gimli snorts. "He will come to like me, whether he wants to or not. He did the last time."

"Oh, you think he liked you? He barely tolerated your presence!" Legolas corrects him.

Rolling his eyes the dwarf turns his head around for a moment. "Details. Besides, who would not like me?" he asks, grinning cheekily. "By the way – how many?"

"Spiders?" the blonde responds immediately, eyes glistening, as eager to compare scores as his younger friend.

"Aye, spiders."

"Eleven when coming to your aid," Legolas answers, a confident smile on his lips. "How about you, Master Dwarf?"

Gimli feels the sweet thrill of victory run through his veins. " I counted five before and twelve after the spiders turned me into a bundle, and it would have been one more had you given me the chance. Still, I have beaten you, like I promised."

The elf snorts. "That was nothing but luck. Had I not released you from the spell, you would have fallen prey to those very beasts."

"Wrong, my dear. You did not help my companions, and still they were able to fight after Bilbo freed us. You will have to accept it, I fought better than you. I could have taken those spiders alone had need been. However, I have to admit that fighting with you feels better than alone. I like having someone around I can show how things are done." Enough with the heartfelt conversations, this is as much of a compliment as Legolas will receive now.

Again Gimli turns his head just in time to see his friend's raised eyebrow make way for a soft smile. Then his gaze falls upon-

"That, elf, is not the bow you used to wield in this time! We have taken clothing with us when we were sent here, but not weapons!"

Legolas' fingers automatically reach up to touch the wood of the beautifully crafted bow, strong and proud against his back. "You are not the only one the Lady Galadriel has returned her gift to. She must have seen them in your memories, and then arranged for mine to be brought to my father's halls. I was given it just today, when I returned after meeting you at the skinchanger's place, and most of the spiders found their ends by arrows shot from it."

"A bow of the Galadhrim," Gimli mutters. "Had he any appreciation for elvish skills, Kíli would die of envy."

"Kíli?" Tauriel asks. "Is that the one-"

"-you saved, aye," the dwarf finishes the sentence, and then raises his eyes only to look upon beautiful green doors. They have actually managed to chat away the marching.

The dwarves are led into the underground halls then, and Gimli fondly observes as Legolas lingers in the doorway, giving a certain invisible hobbit the chance to make it into the woodland realm undetected. Well, almost.

In the meantime the companions are being unbound, and led towards where the cells must be. Tauriel – grinning – marches off to take care of Kíli, while Legolas himself puts one of his delicate hands onto Gimli's broad shoulder. "I shall take care of this one," he announces and together they watch, hidden in the shadows, as the other dwarves are being relieved of their armour and locked away, all but Thorin who is already brought before the King by two of the elvish guards.

Gimli snickers as he watches another knife being taken from Fíli, and the jealously in the blond dwarf's eyes when Kíli flirts with Tauriel. The fair red-haired captain plays his game, and grinning Legolas asks her the words he remembers having spoken the last time:

"Why is that naug staring at you, Tauriel?"

"He is quite tall, for a naug, don't you think?"

"Taller than some… but not less ugly." His voice could not be any more amused, and there is something the red-haired dwarf cannot read in his blue orbs when the younger one raises his gaze to meet his friend's eyes which are all but drilling into his.

Kíli watches after Tauriel like a love-sick puppy, unaware of the observing elves' amusement, and Gimli thinks that maybe he is the only one able to see through this act. Fíli certainly is not, anger and disappointment written deeply into his features. The time traveller feels with his friend, for he knows what it is like not to be able to tell your One who they are to you. He has only realized it at some point during their quest; that those two brothers are meant for each other – and that both of them know, but neither dares to tell the other.

Sibling love is not as much of a taboo in dwarvish culture as it is for men, for when Mahal's children have finally set their heart upon that one person they choose to love (and yes, it is partly a conscious decision, letting your soul bind itself to the other's; however, sometimes you cannot quite help it) they will never turn to anyone else for the rest of their lives. It can lead to a lot of heartbreak, dwarves choosing someone who will never be able to reciprocate – and still, not once has Gimli regretted setting his heart and soul upon Legolas.

A melancholic smile on his lips, the elf's warmth seeping through his clothing and into his shoulder, he watches as Fíli turns away from the sight and the way Kíli's face falls at that.

He will not help them, he decides, they have to go through this alone.

Also, maybe it is better this way. If they die – should the Lady Galadriel decide that not changing the course of history is what has to be done – one will have to fall before the other, and letting go will be easier that way. (He hopes. Maybe it will just hurt more. Maybe losing Fíli was the reason Kíli fought like he did, unable to live without the other.)

The slight pressure on his shoulder tears him from his thoughts and he raises his head, only to meet the elf's worried eyes. "We should go," he announces, hesitating. "My father will be talking to Oakenshield right now, and I would love to overhear that conversation."

Gimli huffs. "Like Tauriel would like to overhear the conversation that is still before us?"

"Just like that." Legolas' lips are twitching and the worry has fled from his eyes. "Now come, mellon nín, or we will miss the best parts."

Shaking his head fondly the dwarf lets himself be dragged along, admiring the architecture of the twisted halls and bewildering paths. They may be dwelling underground, but the bridges are grown from wood not hewn from stone, and Gimli feels lost, his natural senses failing him in the woodelven King's realm. Were it not for his elvish guide, he would go hopelessly astray.

Legolas leads them to a small platform hidden in the shadow of a much bigger one a level higher, and they take a seat on a wooden bench that allows them to overhear every word spoken only a few metres above them.

"This place was made solely for that purpose," the elf explains, winking. "My father realized that sometimes he would have to deal with conversations he wanted to be overheard without his interlocutor knowing. It works rather well, as you can see, mellon nín." His whisper is barely audible, and his lips almost touch the shell of the other time-traveller's ear. Gimli shivers. "He, of course, knows that we are here. However, the dwarf's hearing is not as fine as his, and neither is that of the present guards."

"Quite convenient," Gimli agrees readily, voice no more than a breath. He leans back, making himself comfortable, and listens to the first sentences of Thranduil's clearly practiced speech. Well, he had decades to prepare it.

"… A quest to reclaim a homeland; and slay a dragon…"

Gimli idly listens as the elven king expresses his suspicions of a much less noble motive (and, really how could he have known? The bastard does have a brain in his skull, the dwarf has to give him that), very much distracted when suddenly Legolas' long fingers find his own.

He thinks his heart stops when the elvish hand closes around his calloused one, hesitatingly but with determination. "I did really miss you dearly," is whispered into his ear. "I would not have known what to do without you." Gimli, knowing very well how different the elvish and dwarvish cultures are, and that his own people consider their personal space far larger than the Firstborn, tries very hard not to let that obnoxious hope rear its head, having come to terms with the fact that Legolas will never reciprocate his feelings long ago. He has the best friend he could ever wish for, and he is fine with that. However, in moments like this – or whenever the elf braids his beard, a sweet tradition between them – the ache in his heart that he has buried deep down surfaces, so powerful and destructive and carrying him away-

A sudden squeeze of his fingers tears him from that train of thoughts he has not lost himself in for a long time now. Legolas stares at him, piercing gaze filled with worry.

"Did I… say or do-"

"Do not think anything of it, laddie," Gimli grumbles uneasily. "I simply got carried away. That happens sometimes."

"I realized that."

"It happens to you as well!"

"That it does," the elf agrees, still staring at him but his grip has loosened.

From above they can hear Thranduil offering Thorin a deal, and Thorin denying; having the gall to insult the elven king in his own halls, shouting loud enough for every pointed ear to hear. Shaking his head disbelievingly Gimli closes his eyes. "And here I thought Balin taught him his manners and rhetoric."

Legolas chuckles softly. "I can easily see you reacting the same way, mellon nín. Before you got to know me you would have."

"Before you brainwashed me you mean," the dwarf retorts, perking up his ears when he hears his friend's father hiss: "Do not talk to me of dragonfire! I have faced its wrath and ruin! I have faced the great serpents of the north!"

It is the elf's turn to close his eyes. "Not good," he murmurs. "Father talking about dragons never ends well, for those are memories he prefers to forget. Come, mellon nín, we should go to join him. This conversation is over."

Gimli rises together with his friend, frowning. "Why does he react like that?"

For a long moment Legolas just stares at him without moving, before averting his gaze, eyes glazed with the distant shadow of a past long gone by. "He lived in Doriath when Beleriand still stood. Hence he fought in the War of Wrath alongside my grandfather Oropher; marching against every foul creature Morgoth threw at them in his struggle for victory. Melkor's balrogs, defeated by the Valar and elves, were not the most terrible beasts he sent into battle: Winged dragons, which had never been seen before, were meant to be his ultimate weapon. They even drove back the Valar. Had it not been for Eärendil and the eagles…" His voice dies away, then he visibly collects himself. "Many of those creatures were killed in that war, but some fled to the Northern Waste where they bred and eventually went to war against your forefathers," the elf explains, whispering, and Gimli listens in awe. Of course he knows about the history his own kin has with those foul fire-breathing beasts; however, Beleriand he knows not much about, not even after so many years of their friendship. "Ada does not even mention it, ever. Just once he told me everything he remembers, which leaves not many details out… and never have I forgotten the look in his eyes, that distant pain, or the way his skin crumbled and gave way for injuries long healed."

Legolas' voice is unfamiliarly coarse, and after that last sentence he straightens himself and leads his friend away with a determination and stiffness in his step that Gimli has not seen often.

They take a few entwined paths before reaching the level on which the two kings are still exchanging a verbal war, just in time to hear Thranduil's last words: "Stay here, if you will, and rot. A hundred years is just a blink of an eye in the life of an elf. I am patient. I can wait." And with nothing more than one single gesture the guards step forward and drag Thorin Oakenshield away despite his struggling, towards the cells of his companions.

Sliding into the shadows in his back so that his leader will not notice him Gimli tries to ignore that strange sadness that has befallen his heart upon the elven king's words, and the undercurrent that had rippled through the regal voice.

Stay here, if you will, and rot. A hundred years is a mere blink in the life of an elf. I am patient. I can wait.

Is that what their friendship is to Legolas? Nothing but the blink of an eye?

TBC