Work Text:
Gimli had tried his utmost to ignore the elf. He was pompous and rude and not worth his time. Unless Gimli happened to come up with a clever remark, then of course he couldn’t resist to loudly comment on the less than savoury nature of elves.
One thing however he couldn’t help but observe about Legolas, albeit begrudgingly, was that he was indeed quite graceful. It seemed as if every move he made was perfectly planned and thought-through. So when the elf-prince had taken a seat a small ways outside of the circle around their campfire where he glared at his twitching hands, Gimli noticed.
For a moment he contemplated leaving him be and joining the others, but the look of utter frustration on his face made something in his heart twinge.
Not that he cared for the elf, not at all. But he couldn’t have their archer distracted when he was supposed to take the second watch tonight.
Gimli set down his axe and walked over to Legolas. Without a warning, he dropped himself onto the log next to him. He startled, looking at him like a deer in torch light. Gimli frowned. The elf didn’t usually startle easily, not with his oh-so-superior senses. And he hadn’t missed how he’d immediately tucked his hands behind his back to hide them from Gimli’s view.
"What’s on your mind, lad?" he asked casually. Legolas’ wide eyes turned to a frown and he looked away.
"Nothing. This forest is good-natured. These trees have not felt foulness for an age. We will be safe here tonight."
"So you’ve said when we decided to set up camp," Gimli said, "and yet you seem restless."
"I am not restless."
"Lad," he said, sighing, "I can see you hiding your hands. You’re not as skilled a liar as you think to be."
The reaction was immediate. The elf’s posture became rigid, the slight movement of his hands behind his back ceasing, his shoulders curling inward and remaining taut. Then he met Gimli’s gaze, raising his chin defiantly.
"I am not hiding them," he stated, putting his hands in a folded position in his lap. Even in the dim lighting from the fire, he could tell they were trembling. A dark thought suddenly came to Gimli.
"If you’re hiding an injury from that small scouting pack we disposed of three nights ago, you will get an earful from more than just me."
"I was not injured. Elves do not injure easily."
Despite the all too common reference to his superiority, Gimli did not retort with a comment of his own. He believed the elf for he sounded sincere when he said it.
"Then what’s the matter?"
"Nothing is. I am alright," said Legolas, his sincerity gone as fast as it had come. "Go enjoy dinner with the company."
"If nothing’s wrong, why won’t you join as well?"
"I would like to listen to the trees. They whisper of beautiful things. Of happy times."
At least his lies were a bit more believable this time.
"Alright, I’ve given you the chance to mention it yourself," he said. "Your hands twitch and when you attempt to stop, they tremble. If it’s not an injury, what’s wrong?"
A little of the mask Legolas had donned slipped away and Gimli caught a glimpse of hurt flash across the elf’s face. His left hand twitched again, quite noticeably this time.
"I wish not to speak of it."
"If you cannot shoot your arrows-"
"I can. Please, leave me."
Legolas was rocking back and forth a bit now, his hands both shaking in his lap. Looking at him, Gimli would say he even sounded a bit desperate when he said that.
"Lad, you-"
"Gwanno ereb nin, gin iallon," he whispered, presumably more to himself than to Gimli as he’d switched to his mother tongue. He had his eyes squeezed shut, his hands were bouncing up and down in his lap and his rocking still hadn’t ceased. All in all he was behaving very un-elf-like.
Something clicked into place in Gimli’s mind.
"It’s alright to be fidgety, Legolas," he said softly. He realised that this may very well have been the first time he’d openly addressed the elf by his name. At a time like this, it only seemed appropriate.
Legolas froze, glancing up at him. The words had taken him by surprise. Then he averted his gaze and slowly let his hands bounce again.
"You… do not mind?" he asked quietly. Gimli patted his arm. Legolas didn’t flinch.
"Of course not. As long as you can shoot orcs between their eyes, I have no quarrel with how your hands busy themselves."
Legolas smiled, however it was a short lived moment.
"Most of my kin do not share your opinion."
Gimli nodded, patiently waiting for him to continue.
"It is improper to be so disorderly. They never spoke out against me for fear of my father’s wrath, but I could see the disdain in their eyes. It is…difficult for me, to keep still at all times. However I must in order to retain the respect of my people."
Gimli couldn’t refrain from muttering: "Îsh kakhfê ai’d dur-rugnul!"
"Have care, dwarf," Legolas said coldly, "they are my kin."
"They would force you into distress for waving your hands about. I can curse them however I wish."
Legolas looked ready to throw back another retort, but instead he looked down at his bouncing hands and kept quiet. After a prolonged moment of silence between the two, he softly spoke.
"Thank you for understanding."
Gimli nodded. He may give the elf a hard time for, well, being an elf, but this was something else. It would feel wrong to pester him about this personal issue, especially since it undermined their racial disaccords. Speaking honestly, Gimli had not considered the fact that elves would suffer by the hand of other elves purely due to societal values. He was hesitant to call it a refreshing angle, but it was arguably an eyeopening one.
Next to him, Legolas made a nigh imperceptible humming sound that pulled Gimli out of his pondering. It was not one of distress as far as he could tell; perhaps discomfort. The elf’s eyes were focused intently on a nearby moss-covered boulder, his hands’ motion more interrupted than before. He seemed a bit out of sorts in the wake of their rather touchy conversation. Feeling that Legolas should not be left to his own devices, Gimli opted instead for distracting him.
"What do trees even sound like?" he asked. At a different time, Legolas might have taken this as a barb, but since the usually tense air between them had been significantly cleared in this moment, he took the bait just like Gimli intended and began to vehemently speak about the voices of the trees.
The more he spoke, the smoother the motions of his hands became. Gimli noticed it to be an interesting mixture of his usual elvish grace and the newly uncovered natural motion of his hands. It was still odd to see an elf be anything but completely composed, but it somehow suited Legolas.
As he continued to speak with unwavering passion and fluttering hands, Gimli couldn’t help but smile. Some of the walls between them had crumbled, and he found himself quietly appreciating the elf’s presence.
Elves in general were still pompous and rude and not worth his time, but Legolas might end up becoming the exception to that rule.