Hello to all readers and reviewers! Thank you to those of you who did me the honour of reviewing - glad you liked it, and here's the next chapter for you.

Before we continue, there is one review in particular that I would like to address: the one concerning Legolas' age (if you do not wish to hear me have a rather lengthy rant, skip the bold - there's rather a lot of it ;)). Firstly, I would like to say that I read in a book - a guide to Tolkien of some description - about the way in which Elves are aged in comparison to humans. Just as there are seven dog years to every human year, there are (according to my source) one-hundred and forty-four human years to an Elven year. If you do the maths, by dividing the age of film Legolas (that is two-thousand, nine-hundred and thirty-one) by one-hundred and forty-four, you work out that his age is the same as being twenty in human years. My Legolas has been aged by a hundred years for my own purposes. As I have followed the rule carefully, there is nothing wrong with my Legolas being young.

As for what Tolkien said about Elves coming of age at fifty, I have never heard that one prior to now. I am not a Tolkienite, hence I have read LotR and The Hobbit, and I have seen the films. On occassion, I will dip into an encyclopaedia on the subject, but this is rare.

And please note that Tolkien scholars said they thought his age to be between five-hundred to nine-hundred. Not Tolkien himself, which I consider as being a major flaw in your argument. If you wish for things the author himself said about the character, consider this: Legolas was only created to make up numbers. No more, no less. He has little history, and we are offered minimal information on the character, which leaves it open for people like me to create him a history.

Right. I have argued my case. Please do not tell me that I have a 'misunderstanding' about him being young. Truth be told, you yourself have no idea about how old he is - I don't give a flying monkey's arse about scholars and what they think they know. It is a matter open to interpretation. That is what a fanficion is, an intperpretation. Just as a film is an interpretation. Hence I can interpret as I please, and I will, with little regard for the odd reviewer that does not leave me with anything remotely useful criticism-wise.

Chapter Three: Of Elves and Dwarves

He opened his eyes and instantly frowned. All about him was white. He could feel beneath him something coarse and springy, yet warm. He heard the wind, but its biting cold did not touch his skin. What he could feel, however, was the constant throbbing in his head. He winced slightly as he sat up to take in the surroundings. A solid wall of snow had been constructed before him, acting as a windbreak. Standing on top of the frozen barrier was the Elf. He had his weight on his left leg, the toe of his right resting lightly on the snow. Strands of gold whipped about his face, though he seemed not to care, remaining silent and vigil.

Without his tunic.

Gimli's fingers closed about the suede covering his own body, keeping him surprisingly warm. He glanced to the figure above him with a curious eye, intrigue kindled. The Elf had naught but a shirt to his back made of a light silvery material. That, in Gimli's opinion, was quite a sacrifice in this weather. And that wall couldn't have been too easy, either...

The Dwarf shifted slightly, causing the bed of fir branches to rustle gently. He saw the Elf's ear twitch at the sound before he turned. Legolas' face was no longer red but back to its usual pallor, the expression once more unreadable and guarded.

'I am glad to see that you have awoken,' he said with resounding formality in his tone. 'You slept well, I trust?'

Gimli graced the question with a brief nod as an answer.

'Did you shoot anything in your hunt?'

A soft indent came into the others' cheek at the mention of the storming off of the Elf – Gimli was quickly learning what these few keys to the Elf's thoughts meant. The chewing of the left cheek indicated either anger or agitation – either way, he knew that he had prodded a still open wound.

'No,' Legolas finally answered, though not sharply. 'No, all game seems to have gone to ground...' He shifted his position on his foot a little, placing his right down to take his weight. However it did not stay there: the Elf faltered as soon as he placed the foot to the snow, his body giving a small jolt and the left was instantly employed, lifting the right limb clear of the snow. Gimli made a mental note of this odd behaviour and to keep a close eye on it. After all, the Elf had given up his jerkin to him in the cold...

'How fares your head?'

'It is-' Gimli paused, pondering over this question for a time '-mending.'

Legolas cocked his head at this, considering the Dwarf with his penetration blue gaze.

'I need to check your wound,' he eventually declared.

'It is not necessary...'

'Oh, but it is,' Legolas corrected.

Gimli became suddenly guarded, and he crossed his arms over his chest, head held high. He was less than willing to permit the Elf to prod at his head without a fight before hand – he still distrusted the creature. Aragorn may be willing to lay his life into the hands of an Elf, but Gimli far from was.

'No. You have no need to touch it – I've said it will do, so that is the end of it!'

Legolas chuckled, but it was a cold sort of sound, and it made the hair stand on the back of Gimli's neck.

'You make it sound almost as if you believe you have a choice in the matter. Understand, Master Gimli, you have a head wound. That places you at risk and in need of my assistance-'

'-Assistance? From you? I am perfectly fine, and I certainly need no "assistance" from any Elf!'

'Ah. I see.' Legolas narrowed his eyes. 'So you think that falling asleep in the middle of a blizzard in the snow before dark is a natural thing, do you?'

Gimli's mouth gaped soundlessly, unable to think of an appropriate response.

'Whether you – or indeed I – like it, Dwarf, we are stuck here together. You are wounded, and Aragorn is not here to treat you. Just you and I. If that is not good enough for you, out of the Fellowship, rank-wise, I come aft of Aragorn. Above you if you have not yet worked that out.'

Gimli eyed the Elf as he hopped down the slope of the wall. He had never seen an Elf hop before...

'Please,' said the Elf softly, blue eyes looking imploringly into Gimli's. 'I just want to help. Please.'

The Dwarf analysed the Elf's face, scrutinising it for any insincerity. Upon finding none, he huffed and gyrated to allow Legolas to see his head.

Legolas sighed quietly to himself. His own people held a rather poignant reputation for being distrusting – he knew that he himself was a prime example pf his over-suspicious kind. But this Dwarf rivalled the Mirkwood Elves in that area. He remembered well the Council of Elrond and the Dwarf's words: 'Never trust an Elf!' The Dwarf had looked straight at him after he had shouted those words into the midst of the Council. The fact that he had blurted this right in the centre of an Elven stronghold was something Legolas perceived as being most unwise, and hence typically Dwarven...

He moved the masses of red hair carefully over to permit him full access to the injury. Now that he could see it properly, Legolas was relieved to find that – for all of the blood – the wound was quite small: a superficial cut with no real depth to it. Harmless.

If only it were...

Legolas – though he was loath to admit it – was concerned. The cut was of no worry to him, and he knew that it was bound to heal quickly. What did worry him was the way it caused the Dwarf to sleep at odd times and the obvious headache that he had. Legolas sensed the pain of his stout companion and could think of its intensity. Being of Elven kind, Legolas was not prone to bouts of sickness like mortals were. However, that did not mean that his body was insusceptible to toxins. He had once been bitten by one of the giant Spiders back in his homeland. The poison had not been enough to kill him, but it had made him considerably ill for a lengthy duration, and one of the symptoms had been the worst headache he was sure anyone – Elven or otherwise – had ever endured. Noise hurt, light hurt, even the soft rush of his own blood past his ears was a menace. He had lasted out the poison's wrath in the healing wing with his arms wrapped about his head, hiding from the light beneath the covers of the bed.

There was no way for me or any other to relieve that pain, he thought. But I can lift yours – for a time, at least...

Legolas spread out his fingers and placed his hands over the Dwarf's head, pressing gently...

Gimli felt the tension in his head melt away like butter in the sun. His blood no longer pounded in his ears, the agony leaving him in piece for the first time in what felt like an age.

'How do you do that?'

Legolas smiled softly. 'The touch of an Elf's hands to troubled mortal flesh has the power to offer relief.'

The Dwarf sat there for a time, thinking. Odd, that the Elf should draw the pain from his head like that. Having control of pain like that must be some kind of magic being used upon him. To control him.

'This is what I don't trust,' Gimli spoke out loud.

'I'm sorry?'

'You Elves with this taking the pain away thing – how do I know that you're not trying to seek some kind of control over me? How can I trust this magic of yours, this thing that is so unnatural? For all I know, you could be trying to alter my mind-'

Gimli felt the hands remove themselves from his head, and without their cool touch the pain was back after a couple of seconds at its old strength. He turned to see the Elf walking away towards the wall.

'Where are you off to?' he called, a frown on his brow.

'All I wanted to do was help and give you a rest from the pain for a time. No more, no less. But you think that I an trying to ensnare you with a craft I do not even possess.' There was no anger in the Elf's voice. But there was hurt, and plenty of it. The Elf did not turn about, but alighted the wall in a laboured fashion, his leg clearly hindering his movements.

He did not know what to say. A cutting remark was more what Gimli had expected, but this? It was completely unpredicted, and the Dwarven warrior had no means of countering it.

'Why don't you use it on your leg, hmm? You go on about me being injured and in need of treatment, but at least I can walk!'

The Elf's handsome face glanced over his shoulder briefly. Those blue eyes regarded Gimli for a short time expressionlessly, then went back to the blizzard. Not a word parted the Elven prince's lips. The silence said enough.