Chapter 3

Legolas ignored the raised brows of the guards when he and Gimli passed them, leaving two trails of wet footprints, even though the worst water had already dripped off further back. He also ignored the pounding in his heart and the lump that was forming in his throat the closer they got to the throne room. If not for Gimli at his side and the knowledge that hesitation would only make matters worse he might have sought to delay the whole confrontation once again.

The scene in front of the throne room turned out almost a repetition of the one earlier – almost.

"The Dwarf will have to stay here."

"His name is Gimli. He will come with me."

"The King's orders are…"

"...my concern, thank you."

With that Legolas passed the guards, who did not feel ready to stop the prince with more than their words.

Of course Thranduil had heard the commotion, and wondered about it, and so had quickly (without seeming to rush) taken his place on the highest dais, his gilded and graceful Throne. If the Dwarf was to enter, he would feel even shorter than those stocky legs in fact made him.

Thranduil stiffened his posture into what could most accurately be called "hostile" and simply, silently waited for his son to speak. The Dwarf he only looked at with his outermost peripheral vision. Yet, inwardly, he wondered what this meeting would bring. He was loath to alienate his son, but unwilling to accept this...Dwarf...in his kingdom.

Legolas stopped in exactly the same spot where he had stood before and spoke without waiting to be acknowledged - which he knew would not come anyway. He knew his father, and his body language, especially his various postures when sitting on the throne glaring down at someone.

"Father, Gimli agreed to leave," he began, but continued too fast to give anyone time to react to this statement. "However, I told him not to, for it would not change anything. The choice you gave me might sound like one, but it is no more than the difference between death by knife or death by sword, both driven through the heart. I refuse to answer." This was a bold and very straightforward approach, and into it was poured all the desperation, love, friendship, but also resolve that he felt. It did not fail to have effect.

Legolas' statement about choices between methods of death shocked Thranduil so much that for a moment he stilled, stiffened, and his brows drew together while seemingly for an instant to have climbed higher than his hairline. "Legolas--" he said, and paused. There was more to this friendship than he had suspected, and for the first time, he actually gave Gimli a long look before turning back to Legolas. He rose gracefully and descended to stand by his son's side. He even reached out a hand and rested it on Legolas' shoulder. "Son." He was struggling in his mind, and felt a shifting taking place, or...an uncomfortable changing, or perhaps it was that he realized he had to bend here a little, and did not like it. Yet, if he refused, he might indeed lose his son.

"Legolas," he said, and his voice was not that of a King, but a Father.

"Tell me why you are friends with this Dwarf. I will listen this time."

"His name is Gimli," Legolas said almost out of reflex, but then there was a moment of silence, during which he looked first at Thranduil and then at Gimli. At length he spoke again, although his voice was soft, and his words came slow, as if his thoughts were still busy elsewhere.

"Nay, I will not tell you. This cannot be explained with words, and it should not have to be. He is simply one of the finest persons I have met, and if you would but make the effort to look you would see for yourself. I will show you, though, if given the time."

Thranduil's mouth stiffened, and he was not pleased by the answer, although he did digest it and it gave him stomach pains. "You have shown me, but I did not like what I saw. I did not want to look at it, and so I refused." He sighed, an unusual sound for him to make. "Gimli." He said the name as if testing it. "I would speak with Gimli," he said to Legolas. "You need not leave. Indeed, I would have you stay, for otherwise I might forget that I am trying to be a father and not a King who does not tolerate Dwarves."

Legolas smiled, feeling thankful and relieved beyond words, and finally it showed. His shoulders slumped for a moment until he straightened and bright eyes looked at Thranduil with the love that was hidden all too often, when royal duties and proper conduct got in the way. "Thank you, Father. I will stay, and watch - but in silence so you see and hear only what is there, not what I tell you is there." With that he for a moment put a hand on Thranduil's arm, and squeezed Gimli's shoulder, before he stepped back, just out of the immediate field of vision.

Thranduil took in a deep breath and gave his son the most subtle 'wish me luck' look, and then turned to the Dwarf. And looked down, but not at his eyes. "Um," he said. "You wish some food? Or wine?" Why did the King of Mirkwood feel so awkward, he asked himself, and then he answered his own question. Because I am offering hospitality to a Dwarf! "Um," he repeated. "How do you find the...accommodations? I hope you are..." Valar this was difficult! "Comfortable?"

Gimli did not smile particularly much, and in fact came right out with himself, for he felt that to hide from this Elf would do Legolas an injustice. "Aye, the stonework is of adequate quality, and the motifs are interesting, and pleasing to the eye. But as for my comfort, if ye mean the bed, tis huge and yet the right hardness and softness at the same time, and the food has been well enough tolerated by my digestion, with the exception of the mushrooms which are a mystery to me why they are eaten, and I be not fond of pheasant." He looked Thranduil in the eyes now. "But if ye mean my mental comfort, that has taken a solid

thrashing, for you have been an ass and your people closed in their mind, or perhaps just obedient. But at least now you are getting around to being a father, and not the stubborn King of Mirkwood." He smiled. "Your hospitality has been lacking, but I will forgive the oversight if ye now consider your son's happiness and let him have his friends, and maybe help your people get over what should be gotten over, for your example I wager will lead the way."

Thranduil coughed a little, and glowered, and felt taken aback all at once. "I...I apologize. But I have...had my reasons for disliking your kind at one time. Yet, you are right," he added slowly, for his mind was trying to expand enough to take in the new thoughts and feelings he was not used to at all, and yet knew were part of him now. "Elves have long memories. Mine may be abetted too much by temper and...stubbornness. I will judge you on yourself and not my prejudice."

"Tis a start, and a good one."

"You still have atrocious table manners."

"And you be so delicate you'd think food was to dance with and not eat," shot back Gimli with a smile, his tone friendly. "You need a good ale here! And more plain cooking."

Thranduil swallowed hard, trying to suppress a smile. "We like to dance with our food," he said, and mock-glowered.

Gimli grinned. "Well, tis fine for fancy occasions, but do you not ever want to just tear in and stuff yourself till you can barely waddle to bed?"

Thranduil almost paled, but he also laughed. "A Dwarf waddles. Elves never waddle. Waddling is not possible. And you are a barbarian."

Gimli bowed and said, "Finally! A compliment!"

By that time, Legolas had both buried his head in his hands in horror and was fighting not to laugh. Gimli and Thranduil - two worlds clashing, and with a vengeance, and each trying to not to make it clash too hard! Part of him was sure that Gimli would be thrown out or into a dungeon, while the other part of him who had become accustomed to Gimli's way of speech was already chuckling.

The interesting thing was that he had never seen his father this way… but perhaps that was because he had never been in this situation.

Thranduil expertly fought his opponents with their own weapons in speech, and he naturally seemed to adapt Gimli's style of blunt words and exaggeration. But, how long could that last? "Uhm... I remember a very courteous dwarf back in Lothlorien," he said, in an attempt to possibly defuse a bit of the tension.

At this Gimli sighed in sudden reverie, and a smile of deep affection crinkled the edges of his eyes. Thranduil was shocked for he had not thought Dwarves capable of such deep emotions. "What happened in Lothlorien?" he asked, not wanting to, yet too curious to keep the question from being asked.

Gimli sighed again, and took out a little purse he kept tucked away close to his heart. "The Lady of Light, Galadriel, Fairest of the Fair, and the first Elf I ever liked." His voice had taken on a faraway tone, and it was easy to see that the memory was clear and cherished by him. "She was lofty, by right, and yet she did not speak down to me. And she gave me these precious treasures." With utmost care, he opened the folded sections of leather, and Thranduil had no choice but to bend over to see what the folds contained, for he could only see some odd faint golden glint, finer then silk strands.

"Three hairs?"

Gimli nodded, and did not touch them, but carefully folded them again into their leather protector and slipped the carrier back into his tunic. "I will set them in crystal one day, and it will be my prized tribute to She Who Has No Peer."

Thranduil was beyond startled at the reverence in the Dwarf's voice.

"Do you…like Elves now?"

Gimli pondered. "I like two, and that is more than I ever thought I would," he admitted. "Because of that, I thought I might try to judge the person, and not the height, pointed ears, prancey ways, and superior tone of Elves. If you treat your son right, I might even come to like you, though that may be asking a bit much. But for the Lad's sake, I will give it a try."

Thranduil managed to cover a grin that wanted to become another glower.

He was better at the glowers, and so it was a struggle. "I do not like Dwarves," he said, and smiled at Legolas.

"Tis so? I'd never guess, so good you are at keeping your feeling secret."

Thranduil gave up and did grin. "You are insolent."

Gimli grinned back after sparing a wink for Legolas. "Nay, I be honest and sarcastic at the same time. YOU were being a thoughtless father, and I would have stopped just shy of calling you a fool. But you are seeking to rectify that now, and I give credit where credit is due."

Thranduil's grin shifted back to glower, and this time he meant it. A fool? His hands balled into fists, and he was about to order the arrest and detention of this Dwarf. "You take liberties!" He would have said more, but stopped short when Gimli began to chuckle merrily.

Gimli sat down on the floor and had to wipe his eyes. "Aye, this brings back the memories of how it was between Legolas and myself when we were first thrown into company. D'ya think we got along better than cats and dogs? Nay, we would've been at each other's throats with drawn weapons, had it not been for the Fellowship and its purpose. So we fought verbally for months. He called me, in every devilish, sly manner, much worse than a fool."

Thranduil held an inhale awhile longer than was comfortable, trying not to ask the question that begged asking. Finally he had to know. "What stopped the fighting?"

Gimli got back to his feet, but kept his handkerchief close, and then gave up and blew his nose loudly. "Twasn't a lack of insults, ye can be sure on that! Nay, we grew into a respect-—and I admit, twas grudging on my part. An Elf! Imagine the son of Gloin liking the son of the King who tossed his father into a cell! But tis effort to keep up a hard hatred of one who keeps saving your life, even if he's not happy about it. And I saved his. And neither of us said Thank you!"

Thranduil's answer came slow. It was the first time he thought about it, how it must have been with two so different individuals forced to work together on one quest. He realized that something must have happened on the way, something that had changed it all. All at once he felt honestly curious, and he did not like the feeling. "How did you become friends?"

Gimli answered readily. "One day we said Thank you, and did not meet eyes for awhile. But I'd too much to do to keep up the feud, and Legolas was a fine individual, even I had to admit that. And after not meeting eyes, we started to be easier in each other's presence, and when we were forced into a small group to save the lives of others, we discovered the main differences between us were superficial. We had the same hearts, or I flatter myself into hoping mine is as generous as his. We both lost friends, we both saved lives, we both went through the fires of battles. We became an alloy: stronger together than separate. And when we actually began to talk, we stopped insulting each other, for the most part."

"An alloy…"

Thranduil seemed genuinely interested now, and Gimli was more than ready to offer the information. He felt more at ease now, and almost in control of this conversation. "Aye. Once we came upon a villain bent on our deaths, and Legolas struck high while I struck low. We brought him down thus, and saved each other's necks again. Twas our first kill together. And that time, we said thank you with smiles, and used the same tactic whenever we encountered a like situation. Your son has a fine smile, and I wonder if he got it from you or his mother."

Although Thranduil did not smile, his anger had long dissipated, and at this point a softness that only a few minutes earlier had seemed impossible entered his eyes. "His mother."

"Tis as I thought."

Silence settled into the hall again for a little while, and with it Legolas felt some of the tension return which had so slowly and carefully been eased before. It seemed that both Gimli and Thrnaduil were feeling the same, but to Legolas' surprise it was not Gimli who broke the silence first.

Thranduil's voice was soft, as if he was still in thought. Legolas knew that he was only stumped for the moment, and that even friendly words now would not mean a change of mind. "I still do not like Dwarves."

"Feuds die hard, Elf King. I most dislike you for your treatment of your son, not that you are an Elf."

"You are…comfortable around Elves now?"

Gimli made a vague movement with his hand, like trying to chase away unwanted shadows, and shook his head, but he was smiling as he did it.

"Nay, I can say that readily enough. But I know ye aren't all bad, your noses stuck permanently higher in the air than they are by virtue of height. Just some of you."

"It is hard to keep the nose up when talking to one of such low stature."

Usually Gimli would have taken a comment like that as an insult or, coming from Legolas, as a welcome excuse for some friendly bantering. But now he did none of that. He smiled, and shot a meaningful glance at his friend. "And that is the first time you've even looked in my eyes, King, or even tried to."

There was a moment of startled silence. "You are right," Thranduil said at length, and obviously felt uncomfortable meeting those eyes.

"Congratulations, King; Legolas need almost several months to give me one."