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It was not the first time Gimli stood ready for battle, and it was his sincerest wish it would not be his last. However, as he stood under the threat of thunder and rain, it was hard to cling onto such hopes with any real clarity.
The walls were built for men, and thus had little vantage for one of his stature. However, when the choice was between seeing over the mass of the stone and staying by his friend's side, well, there was no true choice at all. It wasn't like his ax would reach the orcs before they made it over the walls in any case, and he would rather not lose sight of Legolas just yet.
If they were to meet their end, they would do it together.
Then there was rain and thunder and blood, and he had little time for such musings anymore.
Legolas was beautiful even in battle, the glow of his hair muted in the shadows and rain. For all that the walls were lined with elven archers, none of the others was quite as graceful, as elegant in their movements. None of their features were as fine, their eyes flaring with such fire as they took down the black blood of Isengard. For a moment, Gimli was transfixed at the sight of his beauty, at the strength of his arms as his bow dealt death.
Then the orcs came over the wall, and he had no time for such trivial thoughts.
It really wasn't fair, he thought grimly at Legolas's climbing numbers. Not to say he could not win their competition, that would never be an issue, but clearly it was much easier for Legolas to raise his numbers. After all, he could have his pick of the orcs spread all over the field, whereas Gimli had to wait for them to come within the reach of his blade.
No matter. It became much easier when the ladders became more numerous, new orcs coming up for him to slay at a steady rate. He would leave none alive that came to him.
He heard Aragorn call for Legolas, and while the actual words might have been hard for him to decipher, he understood the sentiment well enough. There was something out there that Legolas was desperate to kill, something that he could not see from where he stood among the orcs that soon got chopped down like so much firewood.
Then the wall was blown, and all of a sudden he had much more of a sight of the orcish army than he might have cared for.
The stones and dust rained upon both armies with equal fury, orcs falling victim to it as much as those men or elves unfortunate enough to be standing upon the lost part of the wall. However, it only took moments more for them to regroup, flooding the opening like so much water there to meet the stream. There were still some coming up to the walls, no doubt eager to take down its defenders before they could slay any more of the accursed beasts from above. However, Gimli could no more waste his time on such matters. Not when they were striking the gate.
He had little time to think, not much of a plan to him. However, there was no occasion for plans when he saw his friend lying upon the ground, easy prey for the attacking orcs if nobody roused him from his stupor.
Good thing that dwarrows had a tendency for loud voices and foolishly rushing in the fray.
He got even more wet than the rain had made him as he fell into the stream, but it was worth it to see Aragorn at his feet again.
It was typical, really, that the elf would drag him back bodily. Dwarves were not known for their retreats; if they had a fort to keep, they kept it to the last. Retreating to inner walls would only postpone the inevitable.
Being dragged away against his will, however, meant that he saw Haldir fall.
Gimli heard Aragorn's voice as though from far away, saw mere shadows where the elven lord fell to his knees. The realization of what had happened froze his heart. There was an elf, an ancient, immortal creature, falling prey to the crude black blades of Isengard.
It was far too easy, easier than it ever should have been, for his eyes to see another proud heart and head of gold meet an end that never should have come.
Gimli pried himself free, then, not that they held him much longer once they got deeper into the fortress. The fight was elsewhere, now, and he would get to it if it killed him.
He would not allow Legolas to fall to the same fate, not if he had to slay every last uruk-hai with his own hands.
Of course, that didn't mean Legolas had to know about all the indignities that he had to suffer to get to the battle.
There was a grim satisfaction to it, sending the orcs falling from the walkway just as they had felled the elven archers before. Even so, it could not be enough, not for all the swings of his ax. They bought time to brace the gates, yet it still didn't stop the black tide for more than a moment.
Legolas came to their rescue again, as he had so often before. However, even as they made their way over the walls there was no time for reunions, nothing more than a moment to see for himself that his elf was still in one piece.
Not that there was his elf, here or elsewhere. He had no claim to Legolas, he never would. Nevertheless, it eased his heart to see him in as hale and hearty a condition as one could expect at this time, even if it was only to dive right back into battle.
And yet somehow, they made it long enough to see the sunrise.
They could not know if Gandalf would come, could not know if any of them would still be breathing as the sun set. Even so, they would do all they could to see to it that at least the women and children would have time to escape.
He could not be there to see Legolas ride out, could not stand beside him for one last mad rush. It was just was well, Gimli supposed. Dwarves were not made for riding, and his being there would have made it all the harder for Legolas to fight as he would. However, he still had something to do. While all the rest took to horses, he climbed up to the horn, sounding it for the attack.
In such battles, courage for his own could fell more enemies than any number of swings his ax could have made in the sea of enemies.
Even as he rushed back into the battle, he could scarcely hope to see himself reunited with his friends. As such, Gandalf and his reinforcements certainly came as a pleasant surprise. Even so, it wasn't until the uruk-hai had fled like so many dirty black rats, a wound at his brow covered with a bandage, that he finally found himself greeting his friend again.
He won. Of course he won, if only by the smallest of margins. The smile on Legolas's face as they fell back to old jokes was every bit as welcome as the hints of sunrise over the hill.
However, his greater victory came as Legolas drew him to a small side room, away from the gazes of others.
To his surprise and shock, Legolas then fell to his knees in front of him, hands clutching at Gimli's clothes. "I was afraid," he murmured. "I was so afraid I would lose you…"
"Aye, 'tis a natural thing, is it not? To fear for your friend." Just as he had feared, even if not for all the same reasons.
"That is not it, though." Legolas hang his head lower, golden hair falling around his face, concealing it from sight. "It is not the fear for a friend, master Gimli."
"Oh? Yet I thought you called me a friend." He might have felt hurt, betrayal, even, if not for the fact that Legolas's hands were still holding onto him.
"Not because you are not," Legolas said, and his words were barely loud enough to be heard. "For I did not fear for the loss of a friend." Finally, he raised his eyes, and Gimli was shocked to find tears in their depths. "What I found myself fearing was the loss of my very heart."
Gimli blinked, once, twice. As Legolas's head hang again, he set a hand upon it, his fingers caressing the beautiful locks. "Oh, my elf," he murmured. "I had the same fear, of fighting my way through the orcs only to find the only one that mattered slain before me."
Legolas froze. "Do you mean…"
"Aye." He ducked his head, murmuring directly into that delicate, pointed ear. "You are my heart, elf. You are my one. If I had lost you this past night I might have as well been slain myself, for as little would there have been in life left for me to enjoy, if you had been taken from me."
They had time for little else, nothing but Legolas's arms reaching around his shoulders to hold him tight before they parted, alerted by footsteps in the corridor outside to the fact that the work was far from done. However, as Legolas stood again, the smile was back on his face, and for that Gimli would have suffered a hundred wounds more.
There would be time for more words later.
For now, they had survived to see the dawn.