Chapter Text
In all the hubbub of celebration, Gimli had quite lost sight of Legolas. Only a moment ago, the elf had been by his side, his silver circlet cocked slightly on his head, his cheeks flushed in stark contrast to his pale robes, and a laugh in his voice as he swayed and begged Gimli to dance with him. The hobbits dominated the floor in spite of their small stature, teaching the larger folk the steps to a wedding dance of the Shire, and Gimli had laughed with Legolas and said, “I think you’ve had a bit too much to drink, my friend.” Dwarves danced, but Gimli knew his heart well and to step out on the floor with Legolas would only break it further.
Tipsy on elvish wine from Rivendell, Legolas had pouted, “Please, Gimli?”
“No, silly elf. Why don’t you go bother one of your kin? I’m sure they would love to make merry with the prince of Mirkwood.” He had turned away for a moment after that, and when he turned back Legolas was nowhere to be found.
As the night wore on, the happy couple disappeared, teasing calls of the elves in attendance echoing after them. Most were in Sindarin, and so Gimli did not understand, but a few were in the common tongue, and those were all subtle comments about what one did on a marriage bed. Gimli stifled a chuckle and continued to search for Legolas. His friend had not returned to the dance floor, nor could Gimli find him anywhere else, and worry began to sink low in his stomach.
When he found him, it was outside, far from the joyous music and chatter of the wedding guests. Around him clustered a group of elves, those Gimli recognized from a Mirkwood congregation, who had traveled out to witness the wedding of Ara...King Elessar and Arwen Undomiel. As he approached, Gimli was startled to see Legolas’s face drawn tightly in a mask of neutrality. Gimli knew his friend well enough to tell that the lanky, blond princeling, so at home with the elves of Rivendell and Lothlorien during their journey, was hiding a great deal of discomfort. It made no sense. These should have been the elves with whom Legolas shared the closest kinship. And indeed, they seemed very comfortable with him. A dark-haired elf clad in gleaming robes the color of the sea had their slender hand curled around Legolas’s shoulder, and all were laughing at something a tawny-haired elf had said. Legolas, in contrast, merely smiled politely.
Gimli steeled himself and drew level with the group. He cleared his throat loudly, and five pairs of unfriendly narrowed eyes and one pair of relieved blue ones turned to look at him. “Pardon me,” he said, “but King Elessar has requested the presence of Legolas Thranduilion. It sounded rather urgent.” He hoped that they had been outside long enough to be unaware that the king and his queen had both retired for the night.
He was in luck. Legolas merely frowned and followed Gimli away from the other elves, around the side of the palace. “What does Aragorn want with me?”
“Nothing that I know of,” Gimli responded. He glanced behind them and steered the elf around a corner and out of line of sight before stopping.
Legolas halted with him, “Then why…?”
“You looked uncomfortable and I thought I might rescue you.”
Legolas beamed broadly at him, not the false smile of earlier but a true, honest grin. “Truly, you have my thanks,” he said. “You are a noble friend.”
Gimli waved it off. They had paused by the open door to the courtyard, a balcony overlooking the gardens with stairs leading down into them. He walked to the railing, and then turned back to face his friend, “Why were you unhappy? Did it not please you to see your people again?”
Legolas stepped next to him, leaning against the white stone and tilting his head back to look at the stars. Gimli’s heart clenched tightly to see the elf bathed in moonlight, his pale face shining and lit further with the golden glow of his hair. His sapphire eyes reflected back the night sky, more precious than any stone Gimli had ever beheld. “It is...nothing,” Legolas said finally.
Gimli snorted, “Trust an elf to withhold his thoughts when it matters, when he can wax poetic about nonsense for hours. If it was nothing, it would not trouble you so.”
Legolas’s lips quirked and he said wryly, “I believe you are right, as always, mellon-nin. But it is not something you would understand.”
Gimli stiffened, drawing up to his full height, “Oh?”
“Peace,” Legolas said quickly. “I meant you no disrespect. But it is an elvish matter, and you are not well-versed in those, as I am not knowledgeable of dwarven ways.”
“That does not mean I cannot understand, if only you would explain it.”
Legolas’s smile turned sad, and he gazed down at Gimli, “Leave it be, mellon-nin, I beg you.”
Gimli huffed, but did as requested. Instead, he said, “And what of your companions? They seemed very familiar with you, so I do not understand why you seemed so uncomfortable with them.”
Legolas blushed, “Ecthelon and Norien are...old friends, of a sort. The others I did not know so well.”
“And which ones were Ecthelon and Norien?”
“Ecthelon is the one with dark hair and blue robes, and Norien is the one with hair like a sunset.”
Ecthelon was the one pawing at Legolas, then. Gimli suppressed that thought. It was hardly pawing, and Gimli had no say in who touched Legolas. “When you say old friends...?”
“Both Ecthelon and Norien attempted to court me when we were younger. Elves tend to marry young, and Norien is now wed, but Ecthelon is not, which is odd indeed.” Legolas flushed, “I believe he may still wish to court me.”
“Oh.” Gimli remained silent for several seconds, taking that in. “You are not wed, then?”
“No,” Legolas said simply. He did not offer any more information than that.
“And you have no interest in this Ecthelon?” Gimli prodded.
Legolas shook his head, “I have had many suitors in the past, but most gave up pursuing me long ago. I have not yet met an elf who caught my eye, and I doubt I shall ever be wed.”
Gimli sorely wanted to ask if a dwarf had ever caught his eye, but he bit his tongue and kept it in. “Shame,” he said quietly. “If you truly are such a catch among the elves, you will break a great many hearts with that thinking.”
Legolas narrowed his eyes in confusion, and then broke into a soft laugh, “Elvish love is steadfast, mellon-nin, and we do not force ourselves upon unwilling partners. If I do not encourage another’s affection, it will quickly shift to one who is more willing to receive such affection. Ecthelon is unusual in his prolonged interest in me, but I do not think it will break his heart if I never return his feelings.”
“Dwarves love only once,” Gimli felt compelled to share. “A dwarf who loses their One, or whose One does not return their feelings, often die of grief, or else they bury themselves in their craft. A great many of the beautiful things of my people have been made by heartbroken hands.”
“Have you ever found your One?” Legolas asked.
How to answer that… “I’m not sure,” Gimli admitted. It was both the truth and a lie: dwarves knew when they had found their One, knew it as sure as they knew their true name. The only uncertainty Gimli had was whether it was possible for a dwarf’s One to be an elf. He supposed it had to be possible, or else he would not be so convinced that Legolas was his.
“How can you be unsure?”
“I have not been looking.” There was truth: Gimli had not gone looking for his One. His One had found him.
Legolas seemed to accept that answer. His head turned the other way, towards the sea, and that wistful look crossed his face again. An uneasy churning rose in Gimli’s stomach. “Do not think I have forgotten your promise,” he said abruptly. “We leave soon, and I will bring you to the Glittering Caves and show you the wonders within.”
Legolas turned his back on the call of the sea, and Gimli could breathe easy again. The elf smiled, “And in turn you will see that Fangorn Forest offers many wonders as great as those set in stone.”
“Aye,” Gimli agreed, although privately he thought that no natural wonder would ever take hold of his heart so long as it belonged to his elf.