CHAPTER 5: SURRENDER

Gimli started at the realization that the Elf was no longer there with him. He sprang clumsily to his feet, leather straps creaking, his mail shirt clinking loudly in the dark. His eyes rapidly adjusted to the dimness of the small room; he looked around and then let forth a hoarse sigh of relief.

Legolas was standing by the door, pressed against it, listening intently. His knife was in his hand and he was poised to strike. He had moved the storage chest to one side.

"What -?" Gimli began, but the Elf put a finger to his lips and tipped his head. Gimli fell silent and listened as well.

There was a shuffling racket from outside, as if many pairs of booted feet were scrabbling among the stones and debris. Gimli eased toward his axe leaning against the wall in the corner and he hefted the weapon onto his shoulder.

The noise stopped, and an ugly voice muttered a command.

Orcs.

Gimli moved to Legolas's side. He tapped his arm and the Elf shifted slightly, carefully sliding behind him.

With a sudden movement, Gimli threw himself at the door, tearing the hinges outward, catching the first Orc in the face. The thing stumbled back, stunned by the blow. Another Orc rose up at the side and Gimli leapt out of the doorway to meet it. He swung his axe with a force born of all his frustration and rage. He cleaved it through the midsection, slicing it nearly in twain. Blood drenched the ground and dripped from his axe. Gimli's face was a mask of fury and he had to swallow the cry of satisfaction that welled up within him at the kill. He whirled back to face the Orc with the broken nose and with a wide stroke of his blade, he beheaded it before it could squeak.

Panting from his exertions, the Dwarf turned to face more attackers, only to find that Legolas had neatly dispatched the remaining two Orc-lurkers and was carefully drawing his long white knife from the steaming gut of the last enemy. The Elf cast a look at him and nodded. They had slain them all with hardly a sound.

Gimli wiped the gore from his axe upon one of the bodies and grinned. "Still ahead in our game, my friend." He looked cautiously out upon the Deep in the dark. It seemed deserted now, and nothing moved but the wind and the odd fluttering scrap of cloth among the corpses of men and Orcs that lay scattered across the battleground. He glanced upward. It was indeed past midnight. The sky was now utterly dark. Even the moon had fled, and the heaviness of the air foreboded storm. Gimli was wary, heeding the noises in the distance of swords clashing and men shouting and small skirmishes still raging on.

"It might be possible, Legolas, to make it to the caves or the Citadel under moonlight," said Gimli, "but in this darkness I am unsure of the layout of the Keep and we might well meet foes along the way. Not all, apparently, are following commands and staying with Saruman's main force at the gates." The notion of making for the caves was very appealing to the Dwarf and he recollected Éomer's description of the Aglarond with longing. He tugged his beard and studied the Elf. "What say you? Do we move on?"

Legolas's voice carried softly upon the night air. "I fear these Orcs will not be the last deserters to pass this way seeking easier plunder, and I doubt this place is safer than any that lie ahead. If we do not go, we may be facing worse odds at dawn." The Elf sheathed his weapon and stepped over the Orc that lay at his feet.

Lightning touched the sky overhead and thunder chased it close behind. A light rain began to fall. Gimli narrowed his eyes and watched his companion uneasily, wondering at Legolas's seemingly swift recovery from the malady that had gripped him.

Gimli's skepticism proved well founded. Though Legolas struggled mightily to maintain it, it was only a moment or two ere the Elf's semblance of strength left him. Thunder crashed once more above their heads and Legolas wavered even as he stood over the bodies of his vanquished foes.

Gimli bounded over the dead Orcs, sliding through the blood and rain now mingling upon the ground, and he caught the Elf before he fell. He helped Legolas to stand and regarded him gravely. "Safe here or no, you cannot go on tonight."

Legolas protested, but the Dwarf shook his head and refused to listen. The Elf whispered a bitter oath and finally allowed Gimli to lead him back to the guard house. "I hate this, Gimli. I hate this weakness." He bit off each word angrily. "I feel as helpless as a child. We should not be here. We should be at Aragorn's side!"

"You should not even have been out harrying Orcs like this. We will face whatever the morning brings when the Sun rises, but we are staying here until then," Gimli told him.

Gimli sealed the door behind them again and Legolas slid shakily to the floor. It had grown chill in the small room. Normally resistant to such things, the cold from which Legolas suffered was profound and beyond his defenses; now he was damp from the rain and he shivered more in the darkness.

The Dwarf felt numbness seeping into his bones as well and his back twinged from sleeping in a sitting position for so long. Even the fray with the Orcs had not worked out the kinks. He stretched and yawned, wincing. He looked around at the small, lightless room. It was a poor refuge compared to what they might have found at the caves, he thought. He would have liked to have seen them. He sighed with resignation, then removed his cloak and crouched back down next to Legolas, wrapping it about the Elf's shoulders. He was disturbed by the chill of Legolas's skin; he took the Elf's hands in his and chafed them until he felt them begin to warm a little.

Legolas looked at him and his eyes widened. "You are wounded!" he said, seeing the trickle of red showing bright against the traces of dark Orc blood.

Gimli lifted a hand to his forehead and grimaced. "Aye. 'Tis shallow. A bit of steel splintered from the armor of that last filthy Orc. He was wearing an iron collar, I think. I would say that I came away from the fight better off than he did." The Dwarf bared his teeth with vicious glee.

"Gimli," said Legolas, "if I am no better able to continue at first light, you will have to leave and make your way to Aragorn and the others. It may, in truth, be wiser if you left now and took advantage of the cover of night."

"And leave you here alone?" Gimli sniffed. "A ridiculous suggestion that is, my dear Elf, and no."

Legolas gave him an irritable look. "A plague on dwarves and their stiff necks!" He clenched his teeth and stifled an aching groan. When he could speak again, his voice was resigned and bitter. "A fine hindrance I am upon you. Forgive me."

"A plague now upon Elves and their simple wits!" countered Gimli. "You are apologizing to me because you are hurt? A hundred thousand apologies you owe me for all the times you have offended me, and you offer me one for this?" The Dwarf shook his head and rose to fetch water from the barrel in the corner. He tore off a bit of cloth from his shirt, dabbed at the cut above his eye and hastily bound it. "Legolas, my friend, I will not leave your side. Do you believe I am that faithless?" he asked. The Dwarf softened his tone as he heard the Elf choke back a weary cry. "This will pass," said Gimli. He took a long draught from the cup in his hands and then refilled it. "The dawn will be here soon and you will feel stronger."

There came no reply. Gimli turned and frowned; he paced back to kneel at the Elf's side. Legolas had gone still beneath his cloak. The Dwarf reached out to shake him. The Elf did not respond. Gimli set the water in his hand aside and lifted him. The Elf was all over cold to the touch. Gimli looked into Legolas's open eyes and saw that they were dark and empty.

He was losing him.

Gimli cursed his own helplessness. Fear rose within him and he gripped the Elf's hand tightly in his own. "I will not leave you," said the Dwarf, his deep voice breaking. "Just do not leave me!"

He was not sure the Elf could hear him, or if he did, he was not sure he understood. Gimli suddenly needed very much to be close to Legolas, to assure him that he was still there, or if this truly was their time to part, to share the last of his life with him. He caressed the Elf's face and with a warrior's expedience, he bent his head and kissed the cool lips.

Legolas did not respond. Gimli gritted his teeth, hissing his name, and then kissed him again, harder. "Fight this!" he growled fervently. "You do not give up this easily, Elf!" The Dwarf swallowed his fear and he pressed his lips desperately to Legolas's, willing the Elf to come back to him.

His heart leapt as Legolas stirred in his arms and seemed to rouse a little. The Elf's eyes focused. Gimli gripped him severely and kissed him again. After a moment, the Elf returned the rough embrace, matching the Dwarf kiss for kiss, feeling the rasping beard against his face, the leathery hand upon his cheek. He gasped a little, and Gimli met his lips lovingly twice more with brief touches of his strong mouth.

Gimli tasted the Elf, savoured him, and tears came to his eyes. His love for this remarkable being, his comrade-in-arms and dearest friend, blazed within him and he let it burn without shame. He felt the suffering in Legolas and wanted so much to rid him of it. He trailed his hand from the Elf's cheek, down his neck to his throat, feeling his life pulse beneath his fingertips as he touched the hollow there.

Legolas lay still, awareness returning, the aching chill subsiding. He hardly dared to breathe, so dizzy was he with pain and emotion. He let the sensual pleasure drive away the dull agony that was in him; the coldness that was inexorably stripping him of warmth and life now slowed, now faded. Legolas concentrated upon Gimli's hands and the Dwarf's steady presence at his side. He shuddered as the hands moved lower, running across the skin beneath his shirt.

Flawless, Gimli marveled as he stroked the Elf's slender body, thrilling at the slight response to his touch, feeling life return for his companion. He watched colour return to Legolas's face, felt his breathing deepen. Gimli hesitated. He did not wish to overstep the lines drawn between them, yet the slow heightening of Legolas's heartbeat felt so good to him, so hopeful. He traced Legolas's molded chest, moving downwards, steadily lower.

Legolas remained quiet until the Dwarf laid a warm hand across his abdomen. He tensed and whispered, "Ahh, Gimli... Gimli, I do not know if I can -" A wavering, sorrowful smile flickered over his lips. He swallowed hard and said haltingly, "I am… Gimli, please... ne marioneth.. nial..." He lapsed into his own tongue.

Gimli lifted himself and bent his head to kiss the Elf reassuringly, silencing him. "Shhh..." the Dwarf murmured. "I will be gentle. Lie still and let me do this. I cannot bear to see you fading. I do not know how else to draw you away from it. I promise I will be so very gentle with you."

Legolas looked up into the Dwarf's dark, earnest eyes, and tears of longing filled his own. He closed them and wept. "Gimli... do not let go."

"Be still, Legolas," the Dwarf murmured, a little taken aback by the open emotion in his own voice but too far gone to even toy with the idea of retreating. There was no turning back and no more of the doubt, the confusion. The world was reduced to this small, dark room and the two bright souls huddled there together; pretense had no place anymore between them.

Gimli caressed the Elf's body ever so carefully, loosened the clothing that was stained black with Orc blood and cast it aside. He drew his cloak about Legolas, tucking it warmly around his shoulders. With a tenderness Legolas could not have imagined from those rough, calloused hands, accustomed to chiseling stone and forging steel and wielding death, Gimli soothed his tired flesh and awakened him to delicate sensations. The hurt and chill were there, persistent, but they were reduced to nothing more than distant discomforts by the Dwarf's patient touch. When the deadly cold surged to the surface, Gimli refused to let it take hold.

Gimli was pleased to feel the Elf cease to shiver. He planted loving kisses upon Legolas's fingertips, his breast, along the nape of his neck... lingering as he went. He removed his armor in between caresses, laying it aside with his boots and belt until he was clad merely in his trousers and shirt, giving himself freedom to move without metal and leather edges digging into the Elf's flesh. He felt a tentative hand upon his shoulder and light as a tickling feather, Legolas's fingers wandered across his back. The Elf tried to lift himself a little to return the love-making.

"Nay," Gimli admonished. He pressed his lips to the Elf's throat, then to a finely-tipped ear. "Do not tax yourself. Let me give you pleasure and do not mind mine. This is beyond anything I could desire, Legolas," he breathed. "Be at ease and just rest."