"You were a bit hard on the lad, were you not?" Gimli asked quietly. He stared out over the rock and stone of Helm's Deep, silently approving of the skill and craft that had wrought it into such a formidable fortress. Without questioning *why* he should, he had known that one born to open sky such as Legolas would choose to spend his last hours before battle as close to that sky as he could climb. And so he had made his way up the winding stair to the parapet that housed the great horn of the Deep to find the Elf there, standing balanced on the very rim of the outermost rampart.

Looking into some distance that was perhaps even beyond the sharp eyes of his kind, Legolas said, "The lives of men are so short; less than the blooming of a field of wildflowers in the deep of summer. And Aragorn is the brightest of those, almost a star captured and cradled by earth." He swung down from his perch, landing lightly in the way that never ceased to astonish Gimli. "I would not have him waste that life in a battle made necessary only by an old man's pride!'

Gimli planted his long ax in front of him, fearing that he would not be able to tread as lightly as his Elven companion in this matter of the heart. "He is the last of his bloodline. It is his fate to war against Sauron, even as it is our fate, apparently, to do so beside him."

"He *is* the last of the Men of Numenor, and has the strength of that noble race in full!" Legolas said fiercely. "Though rough-hewn and carrying himself as do common folk, he brings nothing but honor and grace to his ancestors, and is fit to sit beside them as true heir!"

"And of all our company, it is only Aragorn himself who doubts that," Gimli said.

Legolas looked at him sharply, and Gimli braced himself to bear the brunt of his anger. For Aragorn's sake, he told himself stoutly; for Aragorn's sake. But Legolas' eyes gentled, and he nodded. "It is ever a mystery to me why that should be," he said. "The life of a Ranger is hard and thankless, with more than enough opportunity to test one's mettle."

Privately Gimli thought that the lad had heard, "The strength of men has failed," spoken in an Elven voice one too many times. Not willing to express such a harsh thought so close to those already uttered, he merely said mildly, "It is also a solitary life, where none may see or judge - and there are none to be led. I think perhaps it is there that Aragorn fears to find his doom."

Thinking on that, Legolas said, "You are full of unexpected truths today, Master Dwarf."

"Then allow me to impart one more that may serve both you and Aragorn well. An Elf may live endless years if luck is with him, but he is as vulnerable to a well-placed weapon as any Man. It may well be that you will be the one to fall in this battle, and it will be Aragorn standing over a bier, mourning a grievous loss. Would you have the last words he heard from you be of despair and anger?"

"As inevitable as that day may be, no matter which of us remains behind, I would not have us part that way." Legolas slowly sat on his heels, head bowed, as if feeling the weight of years, both spent and unspent. Very softly, he said, "He must be very dear to you for you to trouble yourself to find me, when there is so much more that needs attending to."

Caught off-guard by the implication, Gimli harrumphed, trying to disguise his consternation. His small subterfuge had been seen through - and Legolas was both close to the mark and far off at the same time. Roughly, he said, "All in the company are dear to me. How could they not be after so many hardships shared?"

Because he couldn't bear for Legolas to think that he had yet another rival for Aragorn's attentions, Gimli fought down a flush of red and added, "He is not of my people, yet I would gladly call him King and follow wherever he may lead. There are naught but honest deeds in the lad."

Head coming up slowly, expression showing him deep in thought, Legolas said carefully, "It was only loyalty that brought you here?" He took a deep breath, and let it out in a long, silent sigh, as one might before leaping from a great height. "Deep indeed the allegiance of Dwarves must be, to do so much for those who command them."

That, at least, Gimli could answer without the attempt at guile that suited him so poorly. "Never doubt it, Master Elf. Never."

Hesitantly, more hesitantly than Gimli would have believed him capable of, Legolas laid a hand over Gimli's heart. "If you tell me, I will believe. So I must ask you one more thing: Is there no more in here for our uncrowned king than devotion and friendship?"

"Perhaps brotherhood - the sort that thrives under the worst of circumstances," Gimli admitted uneasily, though why he could not have said.

"And that is all I harbor as well, though that is no small thing given how far back our friendship runs, as mortals measure such things. The same I could say for the others of our company, much as that surprises me. I had thought Bilbo to be an extraordinary and rare hobbit until I met Frodo and the others; the reasons for Mithrandir's fondness for their people have become very clear to me. Still, there is one in our Fellowship for whom I know far more than loyalty and friendship."

As Legolas spoke, his hand crept timidly toward Gimli's face; that gentle touch as much as the content of Legolas' words held him as captive as any blade at his throat could have done. When at last his cheek was cupped in one fair palm, Gimli gasped, and hoarsely asked, "Am I to know the name of your heart's desire, then?"

"I think perhaps you know it already, and have hesitated to speak because you would not add another burden to one you believed already burdened enough."

Closing his eyes in shame at his own foolishness, Gimli confessed, "And perhaps from pride. I did not wish to be scorned because I am of earth and stone, not air and light."

With fingertips as soft as any summer breeze, Legolas brushed a loving touch over Gimli's eyelids, coaxing him to lift them. "Pride has bound my tongue as well; what could I give to one who can wring beauty and wonder from the most base of materials by bare strength and wit alone?"

"Why, yourself," Gimli said in surprise, for in truth it had never occurred to him that Legolas would be anything less than completely self-confident. "What more could any lover ask?"

Chuckling quietly, Legolas leaned up until their foreheads touched. "I had not even presumed to think that far ahead."

"And I could scarce think of anything else." Gimli laughed. Daringly he rested one hand on the slight shoulder, marveling at the power he felt within it. "What courtship, then, do I need conduct to bring your mind 'round to the same path as mine?" A moment later, he added worriedly, "If that is your wish, of course."

"Do you know where we might find a private corner, preferably with a bed?" Legolas nuzzled at Gimli's cheek, his breath stirring warmly over beard and bare skin. "Though I am willing to make do with bare ground, if need be."

Gimli drew back enough to see into Legolas' eyes, and found them filled with humor as he had expected, but burning brightly with desire for all that. "Does your father know what a hasty and impatient child he has sired?"

Legolas drew him close again until their lips were only a whisper away. "Why do you think I was sent to Elrond's Council instead of one of my many - and much more proper - siblings?"

"I *had* wondered what you had done to merit such extreme measures," Gimli muttered, mind not at all on their banter. There was nothing he wanted more than to close the small distance between them, and it was Legolas, after all, who had crossed the far greater chasm of the misunderstanding. It just seemed too forward somehow, and yet Legolas waited, patiently it seemed, for Gimli to come to him.

"Be bold," he told himself silently. "This is no fragile maiden in her bower, but a warrior who has fought by your side. He expects boldness from you." Gimli touched his mouth to Legolas' and all he could think was, "So sweet, so fine - a petal from the most beautiful rose." For the first time in his life he felt coarse and unfinished, like silver still in the ore.

With a quiet cry of need, Legolas broke away, his hands restlessly wandering over Gimli's shoulders and upper arms. "Solid, powerful - as if you could bear the very weight of Middle Earth itself," he murmured. "I've longed for a strength like that to anchor myself against the madness we face."

"Good! For I have no desire to ever release you again." Gimli would have kissed him, but a gust of wind bearing the promise of rain and the faint shouts of men reminded him of where they were. "Unless you wish to make this stony floor our first bed, we would do better to go back down."

"It may be difficult to find a better one," Legolas said, standing nevertheless. "We will hardly be the only ones trying to capture a last moment of living before risking all in battle." He frowned thoughtfully. "And I really must speak to Aragorn before it begins."

"Duty first, then," Gimli said stoutly in the face of his own disappointment.

"Duty can wait for a small march of minutes. The orc horde is far off as yet." Legolas led the way to the stairs. "I thought I saw - yes, here. A watchman's shelter, or perhaps a resting place for the men who built these ramparts."

It was a small chamber, with a pallet of grasses, old and brittle, but still fragrant for all that, neatly tucked to one side. There was a brazier for warmth, too, but Gimli thought that they wouldn't have much need of it. His blood burned like a youth's, and he eagerly swept off his cloak to cover the pallet.

Setting aside his helmet and axes, though keeping them close at hand, Gimli lay down on their makeshift bed, and drew Legolas down atop him, his cloak draping over them both, creating for the moment, at least, the illusion of privacy. For all the difference in their heights, they fit together remarkably well, Legolas comfortably resting his head on Gimli's breast.

"Heated, too," Legolas murmured. "Like the fires your people use to forge your metals. I wonder what we will make together this day?"

"Not the best we might create," Gimli said. "If I had my way, this would not be as hasty and fumbling as it must be."

"It will be more than we had. If you wish, count it as a token for better, if fortune is kind to us."

"Aye, that I can do." Gimli put a knuckle under Legolas' chin to lift his face for a kiss, and lost himself in it as quickly as he had the first. As if giving pleasure to Legolas was a craft he had always known, Gimli burrowed under clothing, finding sensitive places to touch, wringing small sounds of pleasure from him. Always he marveled at how fair and delicate Legolas' flesh felt to his calloused fingers and that he could take such obvious joy from his caresses.

Legolas was not idle; he seemed enthralled by the abundance of hair on Gimli's chest, scraping with his nails and tunneling through it with his fingertips. By either design or chance, he found a hidden nipple, skimming over it lightly at first. At Gimli's long, low groan, Legolas came back to explore it more thoroughly, raising it to a small, hard nub that ached hotly from the unaccustomed attention. Gimli could not hold back the moans that came from each pass of Legolas' fingers; his maleness grew in length and hardness until need began to steal away all awareness save that of the long, lithe body pressed into him.

He locked his hands into the scant bedding under them, afraid of what they might do to fragile flesh and bone if he gave himself over wholly to his lover. That last bit of self-control was sorely tried when Legolas replaced fingers with lips, nipping and suckling while his too-clever hands found their way to the front of Gimli's breeches. In the moments it took for him to find his way past that barrier, Gimli braced himself, and was able to hold his response down to a single harsh cry when Legolas took his shaft in hand.

In that same instant there was a startled stillness in Legolas that drew Gimli away from his own lust. He opened eyes that he had no memory of closing to see Legolas kneeling between his legs, half-crouched over, studying the column of flesh he held with what could only be called avarice. "Would that I had time enough to sheathe this properly," he breathed, fingers spread wide and greedily over Gimli's maleness.

Before he could stop himself, Gimli arched into the loose hold on him. "This is more than enough," he muttered, then added hastily, "for now. I will have that sheath you offer, but it is hours of use I am wanting."

With a shudder that visibly traveled through him, Legolas whimpered, lips parting as if he couldn't find enough air. Alarmed, passion immediately set aside, Gimli half-sat, leaning up on one elbow, and reached for his lover. "What is wrong?"

Legolas shook his head once, and smiled wryly. "Nothing." At Gimli's disbelieving frown, he looked down, eyes shuttered by half-lowered lids. 'This is the way of my kind, Gimli. Our pleasure comes on us as waves upon a lake shore, rising higher and higher until our senses are swamped entirely." He hesitated, then met Gimli's startled gaze. "It may be that, when my seed is released, I will be insensible for a time from the ecstasy in it."

A pang of pure lust ripped through Gimli, and his member leaped against the palm cradling it. The very thought of bringing so much pleasure to Legolas nearly undid him. When Legolas murmured something he didn't understand and swooped to take him in his mouth, the wet heat was too much. All the air in his lungs rushed out in a roar of completion; his body bucked and heaved in an ecstatic release that robbed him of his wits.

When his mind finally cleared, Legolas was carefully pulling his clothes back together, undoing what he had done, despite the long ridge Gimli could see lifting the front of his breeches. "My heart," he said to himself, and captured Legolas' face between his palms to pull him close for another kiss. He came eagerly, mouth flavored with the bitterness of Gimli's fluid, hands digging into Gimli's long hair.

Another hard shudder passed over Legolas, and he breathed a bare whisper that was Gimli's name into their kiss. Until that moment, Gimli had not known that tenderness could rend and tear. Gasping, he broke away to watch the beauty of Legolas' desire, then carefully turned him to his side, suddenly determined to outdo any lover he had ever had in his long years. He sent his lips to all the sensitive places he had already explored, doing his best with gentle licks and nips to rouse trembling pleas from Legolas.

Each shiver, each cry renewed his own needs until Gimli could not honestly say which of them quaked more under the blessed burden of pleasure. When he could no longer bear the wait, he let his kisses roam down, quickly and surely solving the mystery of the fastenings of elvish breeches. His reward for his skill was a long, slender rod of flesh that could have been carved from the purest ivory. It was almost a shock to feel the pulse of blood through it and have its heat scald his hand. Intrigued, he slid a thumb tip over the crown of it, moving easily through the slick moisture there.

Legolas moaned, long legs wrapped around Gimli as if to keep him from pulling away, hips lifting in the ancient bid for relief. Gimli could not and would not refuse him; he drew the slim tool into his mouth, amazed at the indescribable taste and texture of it. Even as he accepted it into his throat, Legolas began rolling, gentle thrusts that rocked them both, almost as if they were lying in the arms of a great tree, swaying in the breeze. It was not the hard, heavy rhythm that Gimli would have chosen, but somehow it was enough.

Though it was too soon for him to produce seed again, his body throbbed in echo to the service he gave - an exquisite sensation that was almost as satisfying as climax. It allowed him to savor every moment it took to bring Legolas to his finish. When he convulsed, a wild shout spilling from his lips, Gimli swallowed the liquid gifted him. He rested his head on Legolas' stomach, sated and relaxed.

For a long time they lay there, all tension slowly flowing from Legolas until he was limply curled around Gimli, barely breathing. It was no effort for Gimli to wait for him to rouse, and it occurred to him what an extraordinary show of trust making love with him had been. Legolas was completely helpless while he recovered, not only putting him at Gimli's mercy, but depending on him for protection. It was a humbling realization, and he swore to himself that he would never fail to guard this remarkable being.

Eventually the approaching tide of Orcs could be heard even by human ears. Shouts of warning and preparation, agitation and fear, began to rise. Reluctantly, Gimli bestirred himself. Returning the favor given him earlier, he drew Legolas' garments together as best he could, smoothing the long jerkin down in a last caress. Reason flooded Legolas' eyes; for the space of a heartbeat fear, even terror was there, but Gimli didn't flinch or lower his gaze. Instead he let all he felt show, coming almost to tears when Legolas smiled at him, doing the same.

Yet all Legolas said was, "Come, we have much to do." He rose from their bed, standing with his usual easy grace, and offered his hand.

Gimli took it, holding more tightly than needed, and stood as well, bringing up their cloaks and weapons with him. They stood there for a moment, hands linked, eyes mating. With a last squeeze, Legolas turned and ran down the stairs. Sighing, a rueful smile on his lips because he was running behind that dear, blasted Elf *again,* Gimli did the same.

finis