King Elessar weds. Legolas and Gimli reach an understanding
No ownership claimed. No money made. No harm intended.
This belongs in more or less the same world as I Will Follow except that IWF can be read as Gen and this story starts with an accepted L/G relationship. R rated for slash and sexual situations.
This is not a new story. I find that, after all, I occasionally want them to be happy...
** Promises By arachne
'And Aragorn, The King Elessar wedded Arwen Undomiel in the City of the Kings upon the day of Midsummer, and the tale of their long waiting and labours was come to fulfilment.' The Return of the King
A great feast had been prepared, and platters piled high with delicacies laid out in the Great Halls where the King's guests gathered, and also on long tables in the gardens outside so that the common folk might share in the joy of this great day. The wedding had taken place at noon but the celebrations would go on for through the afternoon and evening, culminating in a great firework display at midnight. Singers and musicians had been commissioned to entertain the guests inside while in the streets mummers delighted the crowds, performing tricks and throwing sweets to children.
"Eat," said Legolas, eyes sparkling, as he passed Gimli an absurdly overloaded platter on which was heaped bread and cooked meats enough to feed a dozen dwarves - or perhaps one hobbit.
"Oh, you think that is enough?" asked Gimli, raising one eyebrow. He had already eaten plenty and in truth preferred to feast his eyes on the sights around him. Nevertheless, he took the platter and placed it between himself and Legolas so that they might share its contents.
Legolas laughed and broke off a small piece of bread for himself. "More than enough! Tell me, what else could you desire?"
The question ended on a sharp intake of breath. At that moment Aragorn stood up and took Arwen's hand, raising her to her feet. The King and his new Queen stood in the centre of the crowded hall with eyes that obviously focused only on each other. Gimli looked away. Such a moment was not meant for public gaze.
The guests rose as the pair made their way through the hall to their private chambers. There was a hush after their passing, followed by a sudden rush of sound as music and conversation flowed once more. From outside there came the peal of bells being struck again and again so that their individual notes merged into each other on one long sliding arpeggio.
Gimli turned to Legolas and followed the line of the elf's gaze up to the high windows with their triple arches. The windows of the Great Hall looked out on the slim towers of the city. Pennants bearing the King's arms flew from the highest points. Two birds circled the central tower, wings stretched to catch the breeze. They flew seemingly without effort. Legolas followed them with haunted eyes. The elf did not need to speak for Gimli to read his mind.
"I am not a bird or an elf, my friend," he said at last as Legolas continued to stare upwards. "If I climb to the highest tower in the White City and jump I shall only fall to the earth and perish." He toyed with the food on his plate. "To ask more were to be greedy."
Now Legolas looked downwards. He cradled his goblet but did not drink. "Perhaps."
They sat for a while without speaking, listening to the ebb and flow of conversations in many different tongues. The musicians exchanged their soft instruments for drums and horns and some dozen of the men of Rohan linked arms to form a ring and began a complicated dance of steps and leaps. Claps and encouragement were called as the music and the dancers steadily picked up speed. Gimli emptied his cup and Legolas refilled it with more of the dark sweet wine of Gondor. "If you jump I shall surely be there to catch you."
"Then we should both fall," answered Gimli.
***
Outside there were calls and laughter. There were cries here, too. And Legolas poised above him, in that closed circle of two where awareness consists only of the hard press of skin, of hammering hearts and the frantic beat of pulses, of kisses and mingled breath. Each movement became a slow promise, Legolas loved in the same way he fought with a deliberate, graceful intensity and a total commitment to the moment. They joined hands and the elf's fingers pushed deep into Gimli's skin breaking the flesh in a series of blood-filled half moons. Legolas looked at the marks and drew back his lips in a feral smile, the control suddenly gone. And that was good too.
It was cool in this room despite the hotness of the air outside. Later they would bathe and dress once more in fine clothes and go down and rejoin the celebrations. By his side Legolas lay with closed eyes, the better to pick out the individual sounds, or perhaps the whole cacophony was just too intense, for the expression on the elf's face was inward and drawn. Gimli, too, felt a return of the melancholy that so often followed loving when the stronger, the more needful, the joining the more painful became the return to separateness.
Bells were still ringing, the sound echoing back and forth against the stone walls. Gimli laid one palm flat against the polished wall of their chamber and felt the vibrations through his skin. The city had been well built, he thought, and dwarven help would but serve to increase its fairness. He closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.
It was late evening before they once again ventured out. They stood at the edge of one of the lower walls and looked down over the city. Legolas stood tall by Gimli's side, his pale hair unbound, cloak thrown back to reveal the hilt of his long white knife, sheathed casually through the belt at his waist. Hundreds of torches had been lit and were burning with bright flames of red and blue and green. At their feet great piles of flowers lay where they had been strewn, white petals curling and yellowing at the tips. Impulsively Gimli bent and gathered a handful, breathing in their rich perfume, fuller now in the final hours before decay took hold. He dropped his hand intending to let the blooms scatter on to the streets below.
The elf stretched out slim fingers and caught his hand before it could fully open. Their eyes met.
"Would you have me jump when I cannot fly and would surely fall?" asked Gimli, as if no time had passed since they had last had this conversation. He tipped their joined hands so that the blooms dropped at their feet. His voice dared the elf to say more, to deny the undeniable truth of his words.
Legolas' eyes glittered and darkened. He said nothing but raised their joined hands to his lips, kissing each small wound that he himself had made, before freeing the dwarf. At once Gimli was filled with contrition that he had marked this time of joy with his own fears. He made to take Legolas in his arms, to provide comfort with his body, but before he could do so Legolas had reached for his knife drawing it in a fluid movement and raising it defiantly over his head. The blade shone in the flickering light.
"Then we shall fall together."
It was a battle cry - strong and sure. Gimli instinctively felt for his axe and held it aloft. "Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd aimênu!" he cried.
For a moment the words hung in the air before being lost in the sounds of the night. There was a bang and then a shower of golden sparks as the first of the fireworks lit up the sky.
Ends.
This belongs in more or less the same world as I Will Follow except that IWF can be read as Gen and this story starts with an accepted L/G relationship. R rated for slash and sexual situations.
This is not a new story. I find that, after all, I occasionally want them to be happy...
** Promises By arachne
'And Aragorn, The King Elessar wedded Arwen Undomiel in the City of the Kings upon the day of Midsummer, and the tale of their long waiting and labours was come to fulfilment.' The Return of the King
A great feast had been prepared, and platters piled high with delicacies laid out in the Great Halls where the King's guests gathered, and also on long tables in the gardens outside so that the common folk might share in the joy of this great day. The wedding had taken place at noon but the celebrations would go on for through the afternoon and evening, culminating in a great firework display at midnight. Singers and musicians had been commissioned to entertain the guests inside while in the streets mummers delighted the crowds, performing tricks and throwing sweets to children.
"Eat," said Legolas, eyes sparkling, as he passed Gimli an absurdly overloaded platter on which was heaped bread and cooked meats enough to feed a dozen dwarves - or perhaps one hobbit.
"Oh, you think that is enough?" asked Gimli, raising one eyebrow. He had already eaten plenty and in truth preferred to feast his eyes on the sights around him. Nevertheless, he took the platter and placed it between himself and Legolas so that they might share its contents.
Legolas laughed and broke off a small piece of bread for himself. "More than enough! Tell me, what else could you desire?"
The question ended on a sharp intake of breath. At that moment Aragorn stood up and took Arwen's hand, raising her to her feet. The King and his new Queen stood in the centre of the crowded hall with eyes that obviously focused only on each other. Gimli looked away. Such a moment was not meant for public gaze.
The guests rose as the pair made their way through the hall to their private chambers. There was a hush after their passing, followed by a sudden rush of sound as music and conversation flowed once more. From outside there came the peal of bells being struck again and again so that their individual notes merged into each other on one long sliding arpeggio.
Gimli turned to Legolas and followed the line of the elf's gaze up to the high windows with their triple arches. The windows of the Great Hall looked out on the slim towers of the city. Pennants bearing the King's arms flew from the highest points. Two birds circled the central tower, wings stretched to catch the breeze. They flew seemingly without effort. Legolas followed them with haunted eyes. The elf did not need to speak for Gimli to read his mind.
"I am not a bird or an elf, my friend," he said at last as Legolas continued to stare upwards. "If I climb to the highest tower in the White City and jump I shall only fall to the earth and perish." He toyed with the food on his plate. "To ask more were to be greedy."
Now Legolas looked downwards. He cradled his goblet but did not drink. "Perhaps."
They sat for a while without speaking, listening to the ebb and flow of conversations in many different tongues. The musicians exchanged their soft instruments for drums and horns and some dozen of the men of Rohan linked arms to form a ring and began a complicated dance of steps and leaps. Claps and encouragement were called as the music and the dancers steadily picked up speed. Gimli emptied his cup and Legolas refilled it with more of the dark sweet wine of Gondor. "If you jump I shall surely be there to catch you."
"Then we should both fall," answered Gimli.
***
Outside there were calls and laughter. There were cries here, too. And Legolas poised above him, in that closed circle of two where awareness consists only of the hard press of skin, of hammering hearts and the frantic beat of pulses, of kisses and mingled breath. Each movement became a slow promise, Legolas loved in the same way he fought with a deliberate, graceful intensity and a total commitment to the moment. They joined hands and the elf's fingers pushed deep into Gimli's skin breaking the flesh in a series of blood-filled half moons. Legolas looked at the marks and drew back his lips in a feral smile, the control suddenly gone. And that was good too.
It was cool in this room despite the hotness of the air outside. Later they would bathe and dress once more in fine clothes and go down and rejoin the celebrations. By his side Legolas lay with closed eyes, the better to pick out the individual sounds, or perhaps the whole cacophony was just too intense, for the expression on the elf's face was inward and drawn. Gimli, too, felt a return of the melancholy that so often followed loving when the stronger, the more needful, the joining the more painful became the return to separateness.
Bells were still ringing, the sound echoing back and forth against the stone walls. Gimli laid one palm flat against the polished wall of their chamber and felt the vibrations through his skin. The city had been well built, he thought, and dwarven help would but serve to increase its fairness. He closed his eyes and let sleep claim him.
It was late evening before they once again ventured out. They stood at the edge of one of the lower walls and looked down over the city. Legolas stood tall by Gimli's side, his pale hair unbound, cloak thrown back to reveal the hilt of his long white knife, sheathed casually through the belt at his waist. Hundreds of torches had been lit and were burning with bright flames of red and blue and green. At their feet great piles of flowers lay where they had been strewn, white petals curling and yellowing at the tips. Impulsively Gimli bent and gathered a handful, breathing in their rich perfume, fuller now in the final hours before decay took hold. He dropped his hand intending to let the blooms scatter on to the streets below.
The elf stretched out slim fingers and caught his hand before it could fully open. Their eyes met.
"Would you have me jump when I cannot fly and would surely fall?" asked Gimli, as if no time had passed since they had last had this conversation. He tipped their joined hands so that the blooms dropped at their feet. His voice dared the elf to say more, to deny the undeniable truth of his words.
Legolas' eyes glittered and darkened. He said nothing but raised their joined hands to his lips, kissing each small wound that he himself had made, before freeing the dwarf. At once Gimli was filled with contrition that he had marked this time of joy with his own fears. He made to take Legolas in his arms, to provide comfort with his body, but before he could do so Legolas had reached for his knife drawing it in a fluid movement and raising it defiantly over his head. The blade shone in the flickering light.
"Then we shall fall together."
It was a battle cry - strong and sure. Gimli instinctively felt for his axe and held it aloft. "Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd aimênu!" he cried.
For a moment the words hung in the air before being lost in the sounds of the night. There was a bang and then a shower of golden sparks as the first of the fireworks lit up the sky.
Ends.