Work Text:
“I do not want it!”
Legolas sat up in bed, arms crossed peevishly, eyes shooting daggers. Not ordinary daggers, but freshly sharpened double-edged daggers, dipped in orc poison. By the look on his face, one might easily believe that the “it” he did not want was laced with said poison, even though it was really only a perfectly innocent bowl of porridge sitting peacefully upon a lap tray. Gimli took a deep breath and reached deep inside himself for yet another store of patience. It took another one before he was able to answer mildly.
“I know you do not want it, Lamb. I understand that you have not felt hungry in a long while, but you are unwell, and far too thin and you simply cannot afford to skip any meals. You must eat.”
“Make me!”
“Excuse me?”
The dwarf’s voice lost just a little of its usual mildness, for even though he had been patience itself with his very ill charge for the last few years, there were limits in all things.
“I said make me dwarf!”
“Are we seriously doing this?” Gimli could hardly believe his ears, for this was a new low, even for his flighty elfling. “Are you really going to behave like a petulant toddler?”
Legolas’ only answer was to clamp his lips shut and turn his head away. Gimli sighed again, only this time it registered more like a growl.
“I had hoped it would not come to this.”
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he lifted a spoonful of the sweetened porridge and brought it to the elf’s lips, only for Legolas to turn his head the other way like a bratty child of very indulgent parents. The dwarf was beginning to feel far less indulgent than usual, but still he tried to remain calm. The lad seemed to be having an especially difficult time over the last few days, and he hadn’t been himself in months. Years really, but the last six months had been the worst. He took another deep breath.
“Come, Laddie, just a few bites,” he coaxed, “I had the cooks add extra brown sugar just as you like it…”
Once again he tried to lift the spoon to the elf’s lips, only this time the lad did not turn his head. Rather he looked directly at his guardian and slapped the spoon out of his hand, causing it to glance off the dwarf’s cheek and causing wet, well-sugared porridge to slide onto his beard.
Before he could react, Legolas was shouting, a truly incandescent looks his fair face.
“I said I do not want the bloody porridge, Dwarf! And I do not want you here either! Can you just leave me alone!”
“Legolas!”
To emphasize his point, the furious elf picked up the porridge bowl and threw it with all his might against the wall. Admittedly his strength was meager by that stage in his life, but still the bowl shattered dramatically and sticky porridge dripped down the wall pooling onto the floor. For good measure he also tossed the lap tray, which skittered across the room. Gimli ducked out of the way just in time.
“I said GET OUT!”
“Enough!” Gimli was truly angry now in spite of himself. “What in Mahal’s name has gotten into you boy?”
“What has gotten into me is that I am sick and tired of looking at your face,” Legolas hissed. “Go back to your precious caves where I won’t have to see you anymore!”
“You do not mean that!”
“I never asked you to come in the first place, Legolas insisted, “In fact I asked you NOT to come, but you were too pig headed to believe me at the time!”
Gimli gasped at the words, for they were truly hurtful to hear, but he soon rallied. He wasn’t about to argue over a conversation from ten years ago.
“I am sorry you feel that way, but it does not matter,” he said between gritted teeth, “I am here now, and I’m not likely to leave. And I warn you now that you have seriously crossed the line. Now you may amend your attitude, clean up this mess, and then apologize to master Maes for wasting good food. After that you WILL do as you are told and eat or else.”
“Or else what?” Legolas spat, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You’ll beat me? I have no doubt you would like to, but even that will not change the truth.”
The dwarf clenched his fists, for it was true that he had a sudden itch in his palm that could only be relieved by applying it firmly to an impertinent elven backside. He knew that despite the desire, he would not lay a hand on his elf, for the lad was rail thin and weak as a kitten at this point. He hadn’t been in danger of a real walloping in a very long time. It was a shame, Gimli thought, for he would have dearly loved to clear the air, and he thought his lad would probably be better for it as well, for he was clearly begging for a reaction of some sort. Gimli did not believe for a moment that Legolas meant what he said, but that did not take the sting out of the words, nor did it relieve his fury. So instead of grasping his charge by the arm and flipping him over his lap for a firm discussion with the palm of his hand, he merely clenched his fists tighter, turned on his heel and stomped out of the room, roaring for someone to take his place as elfling minder as he did so.
“Saelind!”
The poor second in command guard captain must have heard the commotion for he winced at the sound of the dwarf lord’s voice. He had almost made it to the end of the corridor and out of sight, but he stopped in his tracks.
“I was just about to…”
“Whatever it is, it can wait. You are needed to sit with your Lord.”
Sighing, Saelind turned and came back to stand next to the dwarf lord. Taking in the mess dripping into Gimli’s beard and the broken crockery and desecrated wall he grumbled uncharacteristically under his breath.
“Why do I have to be the one to…”
“Because I am about to throttle him, and Galathil would likely toss him off the balcony if he were to to do it. You will be saving the lad’s life.”
For that worthy reason, Saelind agreed, or perhaps it was because he sensed the itch in the dwarf Lord’s hand that badly needed to connect with elven flesh for relief. Whatever the case he agreed, and with the attitude of one about to be martyred, Saelind bravely went to face his doom, while Gimli went to the forge to smoke and try to figure out what had happened to his once sweet elfling to make him about as pleasant as a cave troll with a toothache.
While Legolas was sometimes irritable when he was not feeling his best just like anyone would be, in the last two weeks he had been nearly unbearable, and the truth was, it was beginning to get to the rest of the household, at least the select few who were sometimes charged with the lad’s care. It was certainly beginning to get to Gimli.
It was not that the dwarf had expected it to be easy when he had moved to Ithilien all those years ago to take on the care of his elfling full time. He knew that challenges came with caring for the chronically ill, and yet he had done so, and gladly, for he would not have been happy with anyone else taking the task on. And mostly things had gone well, with a few hiccups of course, but that was expected. It was only in the last two weeks that he had wondered if he could continue on as they were. Well of course he could, as there was no choice, but something had to be done else he might lose his own sanity, which would do the lad little good.
For the better part of an hour, Gimli took his frustration out on a some iron blanks, hammering them into rough shapes that almost resembled horseshoes. He was too irritated to bother to concentrate on gauge or exact form, but the iron could be melted down and reformed so the metal wouldn’t be wasted, and the relief he gained from the exercise was worth the waste of his time. It somewhat relieved the itch in his palm as well.
Afterwards he packed his pipe and sat outside the forge on a long wooden bench he had built there for just such an activity years ago, and tried to think back to when things had begun to change for his lad. Of course the elf had been changing slowly since Pelargir during the war, and his stubborn refusal to sail meant that he had weakened little by little. At first it had hardly been more noticeable than a mosquito bite, but eventually he become very ill and weak, and yet through all that his core personality had never changed. He had always had a penchant for mischief and there were occasional bouts of moodiness over the years as is associated with all adolescents, but through it all, even at his worst moment, Legolas had always been sweet natured and kind
But in the last two weeks all that seemed to have changed. It was not just the childish refusal to do anything he knew he should be doing, nor the fighting tooth and nail on every single aspect of his care that Gimli was involved in. That was annoying and silly, but the dwarf could fairly easily use brute force if needed to change the elfling’s clothes or bathe him or brush his hair or clean his teeth or whatever it was Legolas was being difficult about. He could even force feed him if he had to. Those things were trying and exhausting to deal with, but Gimli could just convince himself he was dealing with a fractious infant who did not know what was best for him. What he had more trouble dealing with was the sudden mean streak that the lad seemed to have developed. The cutting, cruel words were far more disconcerting than flying crockery or a beard full of porridge. It wast not the first time in the last two weeks that he had been told that his presence was unwanted and that he should return to his former home. Being told he was unwanted after all the two of them had been through together, and after all the efforts he had made to do his best for his lad…well it was simply heartbreaking. Especially when there was no logical explanation for it.
What was stranger still was that it began so suddenly, just a day after he and Legolas had had a wonderful few days together. Greirr had managed to get away for a while for a visit and had brought both of his sons with him. Galinn was nearly an adult now, bright and lively like his father. Gimli had enjoyed having a chance to spar with the lad and teach him a move or two with the battle axe, and Legolas had seemed to enjoy watching and cheering Gallinn on. They had both marveled later at how like his Da he was and how fine a third lord of Aglarond he would make someday.
Little Kildin was walking now and speaking in full sentences and had adored his great uncle, following him everywhere and even insisting on sleeping with him some nights. Legolas had seemed perfectly charmed by the toddler, just as Gimli had been and of course they had a fine time with Greirr as well talking about the goings on at the Glittering Caves and reminiscing about times past. Gimli had grown to love his home in Ithilien en Edhil and he had come to love his elven family there, but it had been good to spend time with his own kind. Legolas had smiled a real smile and kissed him on the cheek when he told him so, and all had seemed well until the next morning.
Legolas began the day by snarling at his guardian when he offered to help braid his hair, and since then he had been a new person entirely. Things went down hill after that until nothing pleased the lad, and a kind word had not passed his lips since. It all seemed very strange to the dwarf, and at times he had a strong feeling that Legolas was putting on some kind of act, but he could not imagine the reason why, for it made no sense at all. What possible gain could he make from tormenting everyone around him, including himself? For it was plain as day that Legolas was not enjoying this little charade of his anymore than the rest of the household did, and yet he kept at it as if his very life depended on it….
And then Gimli suddenly realized, and wondered why it had taken him so long to figure it out!
Tamping out his pipe on his boot, the dwarf marched himself straight back to the house, not stopping to greet those he passed on the way. The stern look on his face made everyone walk a wide path around him as he made his way back to Legolas quarters, stopping only long enough to fetch another bowl of porridge. Saelind met him at the bedchamber door.
“Lord Legolas has asked me to inform you that he does not wish to see you at the moment,” he said, giving the dwarf a look that clearly meant he did not care for the message he was being forced to relay. Gimli dismissed Saelind with the wave of a hand.
“I care very little for what he wants right now, Captain. You may go back to whatever you were doing before. Your services are no longer needed here for now, thank you.”
Saelind didn’t have to think much about which Lord he wished to obey, for his hour with his young elven Lord had been trying to say the least, and Lord Gimli didn’t appear to be in a mood to argue. Without looking back, Saelind bolted for the exit, leaving Gimli alone with his scowling charge. The scowl deepened when Legolas’ eyes moved to what Gimli held in his hand.
“I do not want to eat, and I do not want to see you,” the elf hissed, “It is a simple enough concept to understand!”
“As I told Saelind I am not interested in what you want,” Gimli answered, his voice calm but firm. “You may not wish to see me, but you will listen to me whether you want to or not.”
An expression of fear or maybe even panic crossed the elf’s fair face, reminding Gimli of a cornered rabbit, and proving that the dwarf was right about the fact that Legolas’ recent outrageous behavior was all a bluff. When the elfling attempted to divert his attention by lunging for the bowl of porridge, as if he intended to repeat his earlier performance, Gimli gave the pale hand a sharp slap and then moved the bowl to a bedside table.
“Oh no you don’t. You are trying to distract me by making me angry, but it will not work this time.”
This time Legolas’ eyes went wide with shock, for Gimli hadn’t laid a finger on him in any way that was not completely gentle in more than two years. He even managed to look a little hurt, but the dwarf was not buying it.
“You may take that look off your face, elfling, for you have been asking for far more than that little slap on the back of the hand for two weeks know, and you may also give up the notion that I do not know the reason why.”
Rather than attempt to fight with stinging words this time, Legolas leapt up and tried to bolt for the balcony, no doubt in an attempt to take flight via the trees, but in his weakened state he was not nearly quick enough. Gimli caught him by the back of the shirt, drug him over to the settee in front of the fire, and forced the elf to sit down next to him. He ended up half in Gimli’s lap since the dwarf had to forcibly hold him in place while he struggled and fought with all his strength, which in his condition only lasted a few minutes. He did manage to give Gimli’s shin a good kick, but the dwarf never even reacted, as if he never even felt a thing. Soon Legolas was too exhausted to continue the struggle and just stopped fighting, though rather than look at the dwarf, he pulled his knees up to his chest, bent forward and covered his head with both arms as he gasped for breath. Gimli simply rubbed circles on his heaving back, noticing the too prominent bones of the elf’s spine as he did so.
“Are you ready to listen now?” he asked.
“I obviously have no choice!” Legolas bitterly said, still quite out of breath.
“And that is the most sensible thing you’ve said in weeks,” Gimli agreed, shifting the stiff elf so that he was now fully sitting in his lap, though the lad would not relax against him nor uncover his head. Gimli sighed, for he would have preferred a cooperative listener, but he knew Legolas would have to hear him, even if he stubbornly pretended not to.
“Listen to me well, my lad, for this is important for you to hear and take to heart,” Gimli began, speaking very clearly and deliberately. “No matter what you do, no matter what you say and no matter how poorly you behave I will still be getting on that ship in the spring and sailing with you to the West.”
A shudder let Gimli know that his words were being received.
“You may double, triple or quadruple your efforts to make me angry enough to leave you, but still I will be there. You may shout and swear at me, say you hate me, call me names, insult my mother or refuse to speak to me ever again in life and still I will be there. You may refuse to bathe, refuse to eat and disobey every single rule or command I give you for the rest of my life and still I will board that ship in the spring.”
The dwarf let his hand stroke golden hair as he heard what sounded like choked sobs coming from his charge, and he continued to speak.
“You may break dishes, make messes, spit in my face, throw my pipeweed in the Anduin, melt down my heirloom axe in the forge, set my beard on fire and still I will be with you until we step ashore together in the West. You cannot make me stay! It is impossible, so you need to stop trying.”
At that, Legolas turned his face into the dwarf’s broad shoulder and began weeping in earnest, and Gimli simply held him tight, letting him sob out his unhappiness and waiting for an explanation. It didn’t take long.
“I was trying to make you angry with me, so angry that you would stay here in Middle Earth,” Legolas explained between gasping breaths.
“Aye, lamb, I figured that much out. What I do not know is why and why now? We have had our plans for months now.”
Sitting up straighter, Legolas wiped his face on his sleeve until Gimli nudged him with a handkerchief, which he took and mopped his face before trying to speak.
“You should not have to,” Legolas explained. “It is not fair to you! I…I saw you with your family, with Greirr and your grand nephews and I knew it then. It is too much for you to give up! They love you. You love them. They are your blood family. You should not have to leave them for a…”
“For a what?” Gimli growled, a dangerous scowl on his face as if daring his elf to finish that thought, for the dwarf never allowed his charge to engage in self deprecating speech. .No doubt recognizing that look, Legolas merely shrugged and looked down at his hands that were now wringing the damp handkerchief.
Gimli sighed, for he had expected as much. It was like his lad to suffer guilt even though there was no reason to, and even though they had discussed their plans many times before. Gimli took the elfling’s chin in his hand and lifted it so he could look into the despairing face.
“I ask you once again, to listen to me carefully, and take what I have to say to heart,” he said, “It is true that I love my nephew, very much, and the rest of my family as well. As you say, we have a blood bond, which is very powerful thing among Durin’s folk. But do you know what is even stronger and more powerful?”
“I do not know, but…” Legolas began, but the dwarf put a finger to his lips to stop him speaking.
“What is more powerful, my dear heart son, is what you and I have between the two of us; a covenant of blood or a sworn bond. As much as I love my dwarven family, I did not choose them. They are mine by happenstance because we share common ancestors. That is important, but not the most important. You I chose to be mine, and I made you my kin by an oath I wanted to take. The blood of the covenant is the deepest bond there can be. So get it out of that flighty head of yours that you can get rid of me, for it is an impossible task. A dwarf does not go back on his vows, and neither does an elf. If I remember right, you have made a vow to me as well. You have a a duty towards me that we must be together for you to fulfill.”
“I could stay here with you,” Legolas attempted halfheartedly, but of course Gimli shut that idea down immediately.
“That you cannot, laddie, for I am still in the prime of health and could live a good long time, and it is far time that you sailed. I need you to be strong enough to sweep my grave when the time comes, else I shall haunt your every moment!”
Legolas wiped his streaming eyes again, but chuckled a little at that lighthearted take on Gimli’s death.
“I suppose you are right.”
“You may always count on it!”
“I am sorry, Elvellon,” There was a slight hitch in Legolas’ breathing, as it no doubt dawned on him just how awful he had been in his fruitless attempt to make Gimli change his mind about sailing. “I have treated you very badly.”
“I know you are, and yes you did, but your motives were pure and I forgive you.” Gimli crooned, rocking the too slender elf and whispering assurances in his pointed ear. After a long while, Gimli kissed his elf firmly on top of the head and then easily moved him over to sit next to him rather than on him. Getting up he rescued the still toppled lap tray and the new bowl of porridge that had admittedly cooled off considerably.
“Now that that is finally settled, you still have to eat.” he said, lightly enough, but the steel in his eyes let Legolas know that there would be no arguing the point this time. Still it did not stop him from complaining a little, as Gimli advised him to eat it before it got cold.
“It is already cold,” Legolas complained letting a spoonful of the thickened substance plop back into the bowl.
“You should have thought of that before…”
“Very well,” Legolas said before Gimli could complete his sentence, not particularly wanting to discuss his earlier appallingly juvenile behavior. He flushed red just at the thought. Even so he could not help one more grumble after the first bite. Porridge was never one of his favorites but it was one of the bland things that was considered less likely to upset his now overly sensitive stomach, but to expect him to eat it completely unadorned was too much.
“I cannot abide it plain, Gimli. I thought you said you added brown sugar.”
Legolas knew it was a mistake to ask when he saw the dwarf’s eyes twinkle mischievously.
“I certainly did,” Gimli said, “in fact I believe you can still make out a brown stain on the wall. I thought the plain would match your drapes better.”
“Never mind,” Legolas tried, realizing a little late that the plain porridge was Gimli’s small way of getting his own revenge for the last few weeks, and the teasing was his way of saying that the elf should be grateful that plain porridge was the only penalty he would have to put up with. But it was too late; the dwarf was on a roll.
“Of course, honey would make a good contrast with the rug. Or what about fruit? Blackberries would make a lovely purple stain that would offset your pillows and counterpane…
“Gimli!”
“… or what about blueberries to match your eyes?”
“Ugh” Legolas groaned as he took a few bites to prove he had gotten the point, but the dwarf went cheerfully on naming all the different ways the elf’s bedchamber decor could be improved by applications of porridge being hurled against his wall. Soon tiring of this teasing, the elf loaded his spoon one more time, but this time he took aim, right at Gimli’s face.
“Here, Elvellon, you try it,” Legolas said sweetly, “we will see if plain goes better with your beard than the sugared one did.”
“Don’t you dare, Elfling!” Gimli roared and made a lunge for the spoon…
A/N: And I shall let the reader decide what happened next!