"I understand that your love for the mountains and mines and things that are made of rock is similar to the elven love of all that is good and beautiful," Legolas said slowly. "But how does a mountain arouse you?"
"I did not use the word 'arouse' elf, stop putting your foul comments into my mouth!"
They walked slowly through the fields of corn and long grass, Arod trotting happily and easily without the weight of the dwarf. Of course he did not recognise the dwarf as a dwarf, he at first hadn't trusted him. He'd met an elf once and he knew humans. But the short one was neither a human nor an elf or even a small human like thing that both the elf and the short one associated with. Arod had been wary and rightly so for the short one swore at him and cursed him frequently, but slowly he became found of him and decided that equality should be shared no matter species or height.
But the short one was still really heavy.
They'd changed their planned route. But that didn't matter. Instead of passing through friendly kingdoms of those they knew they headed North at a sharp angle. Towards the Iron Hills. The temptation had been far too much for Gimli to cope with. When Legolas had told him to choose their next destination, when he'd told him that there would be time to visit the first born child of Eowyn and Farimir, there would be time to return to Aragorn and Arwen, to see the halflings, there would be time for all that in the future.
But where now Gimli? Where now?
I would like...to go home.
He did not know what reception they would receive, when he returned with an elf. More than four years since he'd left to go to the council of Elrond. Before it all truly began. Before he joined a fellowship that was predicted to fail before it even began. Even when the ring had been destroyed, he hadn't gone home. There had still been battles to fight. Even now, there were still battles being fought.
He should like to go home, if home was of course, still there.
"The mountain provided refuge for the people of Dale when the invaders came," protested Gimli.
Legolas chuckled. "I did not disagree that the mountain is beautiful and useful and a place of safety. I simply do not think that all dwarves are aroused by them!"
Increase in the hearbeat, fluttering of butterflies with sword edge wings in the stomach, dilating of pupils. Of course Legolas only jested, he knew it was the thought of returning home that changed Gimli's behaviour. Nothing could dampen his spirits not even the rain clouds that brewed like an angry cauldron in the sky.
They'd come to an agreement. They would reach the mountain by walking around the lake and take the route that was usually used by horses through the Misty Mountains. Then on their return they would go East to Moria. After that they might go further South to explore Fangorn and pass through Rohan. But who knew.
"Should you be attracted to other males I would not find it odd," Legolas explained. "But mountains? Elves certainly do not feel such lustful attraction to trees."
Gimli huffed and puffed, cheeks turning beetroot red. "I am not attracted in such a way to mountains!"
Legolas's eyes twinkled. "A few of the Riders are inclined towards other males, many elves are, I expect even a few of the halflings are, but really, mountains?"
The axe embedded itself in the ground. The banter grew louder and crueller as they began the trek as the air grew colder and the ground higher. Though both Gimli and Legolas were scowling and laughing and scowling some more and the insults became more and more outrageous Gimli couldn't help but rejoice inside.
Legolas was happier than he'd seen him in months.
Gimli had to grin. It was as if the elf had never seen a tree before. For he scampered towards them arms outstretche, face towards the sky. Large snowflakes spiraled lazily towards the ground.
"Gimli! They sing!"
Gimli sighed. "Yes elf, that they do. That they do. And we like to appreciate them and their winter coats from our halls, which will be warm and dry and filled with food. So if you may we'll continue onwards? Not far now."
Actually he was a little worried the further they walked along the carved path. Legolas carefully trodded though there was no need to. Even if the ice of the river which had become the path broke, it would not break under his weight.
Gimli had reassured him that the river froze for more than three quarters of the year. It was frozen solid and would be for several more months. Arod did not like the ice either. But Gimli was sure that was mainly because Legolas didn't.
Gimli was worried, for no one had come to meet them yet. The lookouts should have spotted them by now. Even at that distance they should have been spotted and it wasn't as if they were trying to be stealthy. But the mountain sang and so did the trees, not all could be bad.
Stories carried in the wind, whispers and legends alike. Even if they did not know who approached they surely should have known someone approached. A brother and a stranger. That should mean at least a guard or two. Yet no one had met them yet.
They finally approached the great halls and Gimli continued to point out things he remembered. Places he played as a child. They reached the doors and only there did two guards step forward, axes raised. Then they nodded relaxing and stepping back.
"Gimli, we've been expecting you and the...your companion," said the taller. He spat the world as if it left a nasty taste in his mouth.
Gimli beckoned that Legolas dismount and help him do so too for they'd rode Arod the last hundred metres. With trepidation Legolas allowed the other dwarf to lead Arod away promising to take good care of him.
"Stay close," murmured Gimli. "There are a few who are still set in their ways who will hardly look kindly upon your presence."
Legolas nodded his agreement. Sculptures of ice and precious stones adorned the dwarven halls, even the construction, the pure architecture was magnificent.
"This is not the same," whispered Gimli. "It has been rebuilt...damage during the war probably?"
Legolas nodded again. Burning architecture and broken bodies were among the many effects of the war. The war no one wished to speak of yet that still reached out its long manicured talons like death to catch an unwitting victim. Many spoke of plans for the future, rebuilding and refounding and the ongoing war though. That was at least something.
"It is best perhaps we go to the throne room first, announce ourselves, then seek food and shelter," Gimli told him.
Robed attendants opened the doors to a great throne room and seated upon a just as magnificent throne was a dwarf bearly half Gimli's age. Not D
áin Iornfoot but a dwarf who looked as alike him as...a son.
Four years...explanation? Dead. No mourning banners, meaning a while back or during battle. The dwarf didn't have his Father's axe meaning battle. Buried with his axe.
"That's Thorin," he hissed. His lips barely moved but he knew that Legolas would hear. Thorin just like his grandfather. "I am Gimli son of
Glóin at your service," he said loudly as he bowed low to the young king.
Legolas bowed too. "Legolas..." he remembered custom. "Son of Thrandruil."
They were brought chairs to be seated upon and soon the throne room filled with dwarves of all sizes, some sitting on chairs others kneeling on cushions, chilren sitting on laps. Then the story telling began.
Thorin welcomed them as heroes, fierce warriors, encouraging them to spin a tale or two for those who had gathered. Legolas marvalled in fascination at how casually these people sat in their king's throne room. Some chewed roasted chestnuts rather loudly and as Gimli was recounting how the fellowship was formed Thorin called for a stop.
It looked as if he might explode with anger but instead he thrust his hand out and told them to share.
Then laughed again and yelled for beer to be brought forth and given to all those who wanted it, bar the youngest of children meaning those without a beard. Which would have included Legolas. Several female dwarves (who Legolas decided were female due to the painted lips and beaded beards) volunteered to find out whether he was an innocent or not but were told to behave followed by a chorus of whoops.
Gimli told him it was always like this and not to worry.
Of all drinks, beer, he could endure ale, liked wine, but beer? Gimli downed his. Legolas sipped. Several dwarves who were certainly female (fine figures with chestplates shaped specially and high heeled boots matching the colour of their beards offered to show him how to enjoy beer which caused him to redden even more.
"We've heard of your skill in battle Master Elf, and how you fought alongside Gimli son of
Glóin," called Thorin. "Tell us more!"
Both Legolas and Gimli launched into an exagaratted version of Helm's Deep. Pipes were lit and passed around, smoke filled the room. Legolas politely declined to a few mutters of distaste as Gimli eagerly accepted inhaling greedily. They launched into tale after tale of adventure after adventure. They could both cope with this. They'd recounted the tales so many times since Aragorn's coronation it came naturally.
Legolas spoke in great detail of the mines of Moria and their journey through, paying all due respect to the dwarven kind causing nods and mutters of agreements from all around the room. They left out some bits. When they spoke of Gandalf's first sacrifice tears came to the eyes of many, a lump formed in Gimli's throat. They danced over Borimir's death, not speaking of the slaughter they'd seen.
They spoke of the siege at Minas Tirith. Then Legolas dutifully recounted Elvish tales of the West which were listened to in fascination.
Finally when songs had been sung and the beer had been drunk a merry crowd retreated off to the dining halls to feast. But a sturdy hand clasped around Legolas's wrist.
"Prince Legolas of Mirkwood, if you are not too hungry, would you care to walk with me before eating?"
Legolas turned to see the dwarven king standing behind him. "I would be honoured, your m-"
"Please, call me Thorin."
"And I Legolas," he said with a small smile. "Of course."
Gimli nodded but Thorin shook his head. "Enjoy yourself a little Gimli, there are many who wish to speak to you, and certain young lady who wants a few strong words with you," he winked like a fellow conspiritor. "I'd keep your axe with you if you know what I mean."
Feeling as if he'd been dismissed Gimli followed the moving mob towards the dining halls as another cheer rose up and someone began to sing about gold and beer.
When Legolas and Thorin emerged almost three hours later Gimli finally stopped thinking the King had decided to have the stupid elf locked in dungeons somewhere for rudeness or another such petty sin. But the two looked quite alright if not a little somber. Gimli saved some food for the stubborn creature had refused to break for a meal as they journeyed from Laketown and only agreed to walk while Gimli ate.
Thorin called Gimli aside. "He is troubled," he warned.
Gimli supressed the urge to snap back. Though formalities were kept low there were still more boundries than should he be speaking to Aragorn or even Eomer. He didn't like it. He wanted to be hunting orcs, to have reason and missions again. To be with Aragorn and Legolas and to run and to ride and to be. He didn't like the new king. Too young. Not exactly his fault.
"I know."
Thorin nodded. "He is a good friend. Good companion. Good strong spirit."
"How often?"
"Too often," Legolas replied.
Gimli nodded. His heart ached. He'd gone looking for Lucy, a young dwarf. He thought perhaps it was she who'd been wanting to speak to him but it had been Mona a girl he'd known for barely a month before the war. He'd asked around but discovered that she was amongst the many dead. He and her Father sobbed into their tankards together before another song started about mountains and dragons and gold.
Dead. So many. All dead.
"We'll survive elf, understand?" he raised a bushy eyebrow. "Struggle all you like but I am not letting you go. Never did never will."
"And I you Gimli," Legolas clutched the dwarf's shirt. Chainmail discarded on the floor as they lay together on a soft matress. The first bed they'd slept on in days. Strange feeling. Almost uncomfortable.
Later on had any servant or guard looked into the shared room they would have found the bed unoccupied. Instead curled up together on the floor were two figures. The slim elf curled protectively around the dwarf's body, both undressed, both intimately close. Fingers entwined in each other's hair, chests touching, noses inches apart.
Breath mingling and interwining and forming something magical and new and magnificent.
When Legolas woke screaming Gimli was glad he'd given the guards warning. Under no circumstances were they to be disturbed. They were to be left alone. Dwarves with weapons would hardly help.
"I'm here," murmured Gimli. "I'm here."
"You won't leave?"
Gimli doubted he could without breaking several of Legolas's fingers. "Never."
Their bodies interlocked and sleep came at last again. Sweet reluctant sleep that washed over them in waves. Gimli dreamt of forests. Legolas dreamt of caves.
Their embrace lasted until morning, long after they'd awoken they lay in the comfort of the other's arms.
"I love you."