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The first time he saw Gimli, he didn't pay much attention to him. Just another dwarf in the company from Erebor. One of the youngest here, with reddish hair and heavy muscles and a loud voice that proclaimed everything here was so ‘incredibly delicate’ and ‘elvish’ and ‘green’. Legolas rolled his eyes. Just another grumpy, stonehearted, proud dwarf.
Then the council of Elrond, when that grumpy, stonehearted, proud dwarf stood up and decided to go with them on the quest. Not even 5 minutes after saying elves were not to be trusted. Like dwarves were. They cared nothing about others, only about gold and treasures. No, that dwarf was the one who could not be trusted. He should keep an eye on him.
He did keep an eye on Gimli when the quest started. The dwarf ignored him most of the time, not aware of Legolas's gaze on his back as he walked and ate and talked. He talked quite a lot actually, for a dwarf. Mostly to the hobbits, who seemed very fascinated with his stories. And even if he didn't admit it to himself, Legolas was, too, and he listened, surprised at how Gimli was not incredibly secretive and grumpy. He must’ve been wrong about that.
The first time they fought together was in Moria. Orcs were spilling into the room, a lot of orcs, and Legolas was fighting side by side with Gimli. The dwarf's axe kept the orcs away from them when Legolas was too busy shooting arrows to reach for his knives. Then Boromir yelled they had a cave troll, and the creature stormed in, quickly spotting the hobbits and going after them. Legolas went after it, climbing up higher to have a better aim at the beast's head, loosening more arrows as he went. The Hobbits hid behind the pillars, Aragorn tried to keep the smaller orcs at distance, and Boromir and Gimli tried to hold the troll back with their sword and axe. A dangerous task, for the troll was a lot taller and heavier than them, and it pushed Boromir out of the way without trouble. When Gimli's axe met the flesh of its heavy foot, it roared, and tried to grasp the dwarf. Gimli's eyes widened as he saw he couldn't get away quickly enough. Then an elven arrow embedded itself in the troll's hand, and it turned its attention to the elf that had shot it. Legolas moved far too swiftly for the beast, and when Gimli and Boromir recovered, the 3 of them could kill it without much trouble. Gandalf screamed at all of them to follow him, and they fled the room, Legolas pulling at Gimli's shoulder as the dwarf stopped to look back at the tomb. Apparently he had been wrong about dwarves being heartless.
Gandalf had fallen, they had left the mines. They were heading for the golden wood of the lady Galadriel now. The hobbits were softly sobbing, dragging themselves forward. Boromir had a constant frown on his face. Aragorn looked pained but determined. Legolas felt empty, and confused. He could not grasp the idea of Mithrandir, dead. The wizard seemed to him as immortal as the mountains. How could he have died now? He glanced at the dwarf walking next to him. Gimli's eyes were dry but red. He mourns for both his kin and the wizard, Legolas knew. And he wanted to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. But he didn't know how the dwarf would react, so he lifted his eyes again and looked at the wood they were slowly approaching.
The first time he spoke to Gimli in a civil way was in Lothlorien. It was early in the morning, the first sunrays throwing a soft light through the golden leaves. The Hobbits and the men still slept as Legolas arrived. He had spent the night with his kin, glad to be around elves again, trying to forget the loss of Mithrandir. Gimli was sitting with his back to the others, looking over the trees, the light, perhaps listening to the faint singing of the elves. As Legolas approached, he saw the dwarf was looking troubled, and he realized how out of place Gimli must feel in these woods, even if the lady had welcomed him.
“Would you care to go for a walk, master dwarf?” he asked softly. Gimli looked up, surprised and perhaps slightly suspicious. But he nodded and got up.
“Lead the way, master elf”, he said.
They walked in silence for a while, listening to the songs of the Lorien elves.
“What do they sing about?” Gimli asked. His voice was soft, so unlike what Legolas expected a dwarf’s voice to sound like. It almost seemed to fit in this lovely elven forest.
“They sing about Mithrandir. His great deeds, from so long ago even I do not remember”, Legolas replied.
“Why don’t you join them?”
“I did. But the comfort it gave me was little. I am younger than most of these elves. I do not know what they sing of, or their ways of mourning. It seems they know how to handle it. And I, I do not. I have no experience with death, master Gimli. I do not know how to mourn, or how to go on, or how to get used to this emptiness inside.”
“No matter how much experience with death, master Legolas, I do not think you ever get used to it.”
Later, when they returned and parted ways, and Legolas went to spend the evening with his kin again, he noticed he missed the presence of the dwarf, and his loud footsteps next to him, and the way his words had comforted him. And the next morning, when he went looking for him, he saw him sitting on the exact same place as the morning before. When he saw Legolas, he got up with a nod of his head, and Legolas nodded back, and together they walked again. And if that walk was the first time he laughed again after Mithrandir’s fall, then perhaps that meant dwarves weren’t as bad as he’d originally thought.
And if they walked together every day after that, and if they left Lothlorien as friends, then perhaps that meant he’d been wrong about dwarves all along.
The first time he realized how much he cared about Gimli was in Helm’s Deep. It was dark, rain was streaming in his face, and he had not seen Gimli for hours. Aragorn was fighting beside him, and the orcs were closing them in.
“Pull back!”, the king Theoden shouted. Men and elves fought their way back to the safety behind the doors.
“Legolas,” Aragorn pressed, “Come! Pull back!”
The elf whipped his head around, frantically searching for a familiar sturdy form in the sea of Uruk-Hai.
“He will be fine. He is a dwarf and a great warrior. Now come!” Aragorn slashed a way towards the door, and as more orcs threatened to close it again, Legolas could do nothing but follow him. As the doors fell closed and he could not see Gimli inside, either, he leaned back against the wall and took a shaky breath. He will be fine, he told himself. Gimli will be fine.
And indeed, he was. Gandalf had arrived with Eomer, and Aragorn and Theadon had rode out, and the Uruk-Hai had been defeated. And most importantly, a loud voice called out to him;
“Forty-three, master Legolas!”
He turned around to see Gimli walk up to him, with a notched axe and a bandage around his head, but looking perfectly fine. Relief flooded through him, and his face broke into a smile, and he clasped a hand on the dwarf’s strong shoulder.
“You have passed my score by one,” he said, “but I do not grudge you the game, so glad am I to see you on your legs!”
And Gimli smiled back broadly, and put his large hand over Legolas’s, and they stood together until Gandalf called them to announce the departure to Isengard, and Legolas was surprised to realize he might feel more for his dwarf than mere friendship.
The first time they kissed was after Pelennor. He heard Gimli call his name and turned around, his eyes shining as the dwarf quickly approached him. He didn't really expect the hug, and he stumbled backwards a bit as Gimli knocked into him and wrapped his strong arms around his waist. He let out of breath of relief and tightly hugged him back.
“What were you even thinking, Legolas?” Gimli murmured, his face pressed against Legolas’s chest. “Climbing up an oliphaunt? All alone? Have you gone out of your mind?”
“Is that a hint of worry I detect, master dwarf?” Legolas teased, not able to force the smile of his lips. Gimli softly punched his shoulder in return, then pulled back a bit and looked up at him.
“Anyone would be worried to see a loved one run up to an oliphaunt, master elf”, he said, his tone teasing, but his eyes serious.
Legolas lifted his hand from Gimli’s shoulder to his face, carefully letting his fingertips trail his cheeck, barely touching. Gimli stayed still under his touch, then sighed and muttered something about elves being slow minded, but before he could take offense, the dwarf had reached up and pressed his lips on Legolas’s. He didn’t move for a second, and then kissed him back. Gimli’s lips were surprisingly soft, and his beard tickling his chin was a surprisingly nice feeling, and this kiss felt surprisingly perfect.
But then again, he shouldn’t be surprised. He’d been wrong about a lot of things concerning dwarves.
“Are you sure about this?” He didn’t know why he asked. He wouldn’t be able to handle a ‘no’.
“Of course I am, you silly elf. Didn’t I tell you so long ago? Where you go, I will go. We went to the gates of Mordor together, I went to the Greenwood with you, I went with you through Middle-Earth and to Ithilien, and now, I will go with you over the sea, Legolas. For I will not see you stay here and wither, nor will I see you leave alone. If you go, I will go with you.”
And he firmly stepped onto the small ship Legolas had built, nodding, and holding onto the railings a bit too tightly. Legolas smiled. He was barely surprised anymore.