We Must Hold Together

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“My heart bids me go on,” said Legolas. “But we must hold together. I will follow your counsel.”
~TT, The Riders of Rohan


Gimli shifted, seeking a more comfortable purchase on his lumpy bed. Until now, he had not noticed the press of hard ground into his back. He’d been sleeping fitfully, had fallen asleep almost as soon as his weary body had touched the grass, but now the aching of his limbs and the fretting in his mind wouldn’t allow him back to rest.

The three hunters had stopped as daylight dissolved into clouded night. Aragorn and Legolas had argued gently, speaking in the tense manner of comrades fatigued by the rigors of a long trial. Tireless and concerned for the young hobbits, the elf had counseled to stay on the trail, following the Uruk-hai in the same relentless manner in which they had for the last two days.

“Unless our enemies rest also,” he warned, “they will leave us far behind, if we stay to sleep.”

The man, beset by a fatigue he could no longer ignore, had suggested rest, pleading his case with careful deduction.

“Maybe I could lead you at a guess in the darkness and hold to the line,” he admitted, “but if we strayed, or they turned aside, then when light came, there might be long delay before the trail was found again.”

And though Gimli had agreed with the elf’s concerns, understanding that the Uruk’s lead would only increase should the three of them stop, his body too had cried out for rest.

“My heart burns me too,” Gimli counseled, “and I would have started sooner; but now I must rest a little to run the better. And if we rest, then the blind night is the time to do so.”

In the end, they’d left the decision to Aragorn, their appointed leader, and for good or ill, he had chosen rest.

So now, the ranger sprawled in exhaustion at his side, long limbs wrapped in his cloak against the cool night. He snored softly, immersed for a time in the oblivion of slumber.

Grumbling, the dwarf shifted to his side, pillowing his head on an armored forearm. ‘Sleep,’ he ordered his racing mind. ‘Sleep…’

From this vantage, Gimli could see the elf sitting on watch some distance away silhouetted in the pale and shrouded starlight.

‘Legolas.’

The name trickled through his mind, sparkling against his weariness like the memory of precious gems slipping through his craftsman’s hands. Glowing softly in the darkness, the elf’s fair skin was radiant – his golden tresses silvered in the crisp night air.

Gimli groaned, feeling a heat come unbidden to his belly. What was he thinking? He was a dwarf, a rough child of caverns and dark places – and Legolas…Legolas was a vision of golden perfection, a wisp of sunlight and waterfalls and trees. He grimaced, digging the fingers of his hand into the hard earth. There was no point to it. The thought was as impossible to his mind right now as the thought of them catching the Uruks. Pressing his eyes closed, he tried to force the unbidden image from his head. Another groan breathed from his lips and he shifted restlessly on the unforgiving ground.

“Mellon-nin?”

It was only the whisper of a breath, the sound so soft that Gimli wasn’t sure he hadn’t imagined it. Slowly he opened his eyes, glancing to where the figure sat, unmoving on his perch – dangerous and beautiful, like some elegant bird of prey. He stared for a moment, unsure if his ears had deceived him, but then he noticed that although the body had not moved the face now gazed in his direction. Sharp eyes pierced him to the soul and Gimli started to full awareness. His breath caught in his throat and he pushed himself to sitting.

The cautious touch of blue eyes caressed the dwarf, stroking him from head to foot with a strange and almost hungry look – a look no longer veiled by the elf’s cool aloofness.

Certain of his companion’s attention, Legolas stood languidly, stretching his slender limbs with the slow movements of a drowsy cat. He looked away, staring out for a moment into the darkness as if seeking something. He nodded, slowly, a smile touching at the corners of his mouth. Satisfied, he turned his head slightly to glance over his shoulder as a light breeze blew strands of hair across his pale cheek. The look was insistent, coaxing; it drew the dwarf to his feet as surely as the clasp of a familiar hand, urging him forward.

Turning, Legolas walked away and in the pale light of the cloud-shrouded sky, Gimli followed.

All the land was silent and still. No creature stirred in the heavy hush, as if a sound or movement would destroy the spell of magic that permeated the place. Gimli followed at a short distance, unsure…anxious. Was he dreaming? Had the rigors of the last few days addled his brain, pulling fantasies from the misty confines of his mind to play them out in wearied sleep?

Leading away from where their companion still fitfully slept, Legolas didn’t look back. He could hear the heavy steps that followed him and smiled gently. He led steadily onward, easing down the small rise from where they’d made their hasty camp and crossing a small expanse of waving grass, to where a rock stood lonely sentinel.

‘Gimli,’ Legolas thought, rolling the sound over in his mouth, without speaking it aloud. How he loved to whisper it, to feel it touch his tongue and lips with a hint of hasty breath.

The name was soft and smooth, the caress of water on earth, slowly wearing away at his mind’s stony resolve. The dwarf’s nature was craggy, all angles and rough edges, but the texture of his character touched Legolas, somehow deeply inside. It flowed like molten metal, slipping into every nook and cranny like a living thing, filling his body with a heat he’d not known before. Apprehension clutched at him in the darkness, but it could not touch the determination of his mind.

Glancing around, Legolas stepped past the rock, slipping briefly from Gimli’s sight as he moved behind the stone barrier. The dwarf followed, quickening his steps to close the distance between them. He suspected this place was their destination, understanding that they’d not venture far from their sleeping companion.

The dwarf cleared the stone’s edge to find Legolas sitting on the ground, his long legs stretched out in front of him. The position minimized the difference in their heights, for which Gimli was deeply grateful. Hesitant, he stood a few steps away.

“Ah…ur…” Clearing his throat, Gimli shuffled like a boy, unsure of where to begin.

With a warm smile, Legolas held out his hand. “Please, Master Dwarf. There is no need for indecision; I think we are both of like mind – if my searching eyes do not deceive me.”

“Like mind?”

“We both know a new and strange hunger, not appeased by food or drink,” Legolas whispered, leaning forward to take the hand that lay limply at the dwarf’s side. “I see it in your eyes, Gimli; they are a mirror of my own.”

Nervously, Gimli licked his lips, allowing himself to be drawn closer by an insistent tug from the elf’s slender hand.

‘Dreaming,’ he thought, ‘yes, I must be dreaming.’

For a moment, confusion clouded the elf’s fair features and he scrutinized his companion’s face with searching eyes. ‘Certainly I cannot be mistaken.’

“Gimli?” his voice broke on the name and he released the hard warmth of the dwarf’s hand. “I…”

“Are you saying what I think you’re saying, lad?” Gimli finally asked his voice a gruff but tender rasp. “What *are* you saying?”

Sliding legs under him with a single fluid move, Legolas knelt before Gimli raising his hands to press the dwarf’s bearded cheeks between them.

“I am in need,” he admitted in a whisper. He leaned so closely that the dwarf could feel the brush of sweet breath against his lips. “I need…you.”

Almost unbidden, the dwarf closed the distance between them, capturing the lips that had haunted his dreams almost since they’d first argued with him in Rivendell. Slender fingers slipped into the locks of chestnut hair that framed his face, holding him in a desperate grasp.

Lips, soft and inviting, parted under the dwarf’s insistent press, granting him access to the honeyed heat of Legolas’s mouth. Sparring with the elf’s eager tongue, he slid arms around the slender body that knelt before him, crushing it tightly against his armored chest. Feeling the shocked gasp of breath into his mouth, he loosened the arms slightly, pressing a palm into the elf’s back to hold him there without clenching the life out of him.

As air expired for both of them, they reluctantly parted lips. Legolas pressed his forehead to Gimli’s clinging to him unable, for the space of a hundred fast heartbeats or more, to force words from his panting throat. One hand gripped tightly to the dwarf’s armored shoulder, while the other gently stroked dark hair and weathered skin.

“I have watched you for some time without speaking,” Legolas whispered when he could find breath to speak at all. He traced the line of Gimli’s brow with his fingertips. “The nagging of doubt in my heart has kept me silent for too long.”

“Doubt?” Gimli grumbled deep in his throat, closing his eyes against the soft caress. “What doubt?”

“We are from two very different worlds. It cannot, by all rights, end well.”

“Bah!” the dwarf answered. “It will end as it ends – well or ill – if it ends at all. But we will never know if it does not begin.”

Legolas’s eyes smiled though his mouth remained a serious line in his pale face. “You bear an optimism I cannot seem to find.”

“And yet you do not draw away,” Gimli pointed out, leaning into the hand that now caressed his cheek.

“Our journey is wrought with peril. Two of our company are already gone, passed beyond this world…” Legolas paused, his pale eyes distant and filled with sorrow.

“Legolas, don’t.” Gimli could see the pain of loss etched across the archer’s face. He touched a pale cheek with tender fingers, stroking it cautiously.

“Two more have left of their own accord and two against their will. Three now remain, one dear to me as a brother, the other…” he smiled softly, a strange light glowing in his eyes, “…the other I cannot yet say, but all our fates are uncertain. I can no longer deny what I know to be true. I cannot hope for a better time to speak of what I feel. I cannot wait until it is perhaps too late and you are gone.”

A single tear trickled down a flawless cheek to fall upon Gimli’s hand. The dwarf stared in stunned awe at the glistening droplet mesmerized by the weight of grief it represented. He gazed as it shimmered in the faint light of hazy stars, a fragile bead upon his skin. He could find no words to speak. Touching it to his mouth, he allowed the tear to wet his lips as if the gesture could somehow consume the pain that created it.

“Although I am filled with dread,” Legolas continued with a sigh, “I am as a moth to the candle flame. Though it may mean my destruction, I must needs be taste the fire or go mad with desiring it.”

“Your destruction?” Gimli asked, eyes narrowed in thought. “What…”

“Shhhh,” the elf silenced, laying soft fingers against Gimli’s parted lips. “The night is waning and I have already spoken too much, let us not waste the time remaining with meaningless words.”

Legolas moved forward to capture Gimli’s mouth, preventing any further talk with a deep and insistent pressing of lips and tongue. Hands trembling, he fumbled with the dwarf’s belt, fighting at the buckle – trying to slip the leather through the clasp. He groaned in frustration, pulling from the kiss to glance down.

“Let me…” Gimli growled softly, taking the struggling hands and moving them away. He deftly slipped the tongue through the clasp, releasing the broad strip of leather, and cast it aside.

Belt removed, the elf’s hands reached to the fastenings of the leather vest, pulling at the laces – untying each one in turn. Together they pulled the stiff garment from broad shoulders baring the plate and ring mail that it covered.

“Dwarves wear too much,” Legolas complained, sitting back on his heels and shaking his head. He scrutinized the armor, seeking the fastenings. “No wonder you do not often undress…even while in safety.”

Snorting in amusement, Gimli chuckled at the elf’s exasperation. “Untie the plate mail here, *Elf*.”

Legolas complied, resisting the urge to help the matter along with his knife, and soon the plate armor joined the leather vest and belt.

“Now the bracers,” Gimli directed, holding out one arm for the elf to unbuckle. Secretly, he enjoyed guiding the archer, the thought causing a fire to burn hotly in his belly and groin. He still couldn’t believe this was happening and figured any moment he would awaken upon the cold ground, aching and alone.

“You’re enjoying this,” Legolas laughed, slipping the hardened leather from one forearm. He allowed his fingers to caress the inside of Gimli’s bare wrist, slipping under the chain mail and cotton tunic.

“And why shouldn’t I,” Gimli breathed, feeling the touch burn like a flame up his arm and into his chest. His eyes glowed with a fiery passion. “Don’t worry, you’ll have your turn soon enough I think.”

The elf only smiled, reaching for the second vambrace and removing it as well. This one he tossed aside hastily, eager to reach bare skin.

“This,” the dwarf spoke, indicating the mail shirt, “is best done by me.”

Legolas nodded, sitting back once more on his heels. He watched with rapt attention as Gimli shimmied to loosen the garment, bunching up the bottom edges and slipping them up to near his waist before bending over. With a shrugging of his muscled shoulders and back, the chain shirt slithered from his torso like a snake shedding its skin; cleared his neck and head; and dropped with a metallic whisper to the ground.

Breath catching in his throat, the slender elf leaned forward, running his hands over the strong shoulders, chest and arms now covered only in a thickly padded cotton tunic.

“I still cannot feel you…” Legolas groaned in frustration, throwing up his hands in defeat.

Gimli chuckled softly, shaking his head. He grabbed the tunic and slipped it slowly over his head, baring his torso at last. “I thought elves were renown for their patience.”

“I’m tired of being patient,” Legolas admitted, throwing himself against the dwarf’s hard body as soon as the tunic hit the ground.

His momentum pitched them both to the thick grass in a tumble of limbs. He landed lithely on top of his prey, smoothing his hands across the dark hair that covered Gimli’s chest, and leaned down to demand a heated kiss. Frenzied, he bit at the dwarf’s full lips and when they parted, he thrust inside to explore the slick darkness. Passion flamed through him, making his every move impatient and wanton with desire.

Strong fingers stroked the elf’s back, sliding down to cup his rounded cheeks. Squeezing the tightly muscled orbs, Gimli pull their aching bodies together. A firm heat strained against his breeches, throbbing in time with the beating of his heart, and Gimli could feel an answering hardness in the young elf’s taut body.

“Meleth-nin…” Legolas groaned quietly, his back arching as he pressed into the body below him. Golden hair fell in a waterfall of silk across his shoulders. “Gimli.”

“Yes.”

Whether the word was an answer or consent, Gimli couldn’t say, but he knew now that this was no exhaustion induced dream but a dream come true. He was indeed laying there, a vision of golden perfection straddling his thighs, running slender fingers across his chest and brushing string-hardened fingertips over the tightness of his nipples. He trembled with wanting, no longer content to be hesitant, and slid his hands down muscled sides to Legolas’s belt, removing it with a deft ease. Rough fingertips slipped under the elf’s two layers of tunic to caress a bare belly, and circle his slender waist with their strength.

Understanding Gimli’s desire, the elf’s hands grasped the hem of both tunic layers and with a single, swift movement pulled the clinging cloth over his head. Pale, flawless flesh lay glistening underneath and Gimli inhaled sharply at the sight. Sleek and beautiful, Legolas sat over him now, struggling. Half bare but suddenly trapped by fabric, he fought to free his forgotten wrist braces from the hastily removed garment his fair face a mask of youthful frustration. Gimli’s throaty chuckle earned him a reproachful stare.

“You find this funny?”

Eyes twinkling, Gimli wisely lied. “No…*ahem*…not at all. However, if I might suggest…it is customary – amongst dwarves that is– to remove the wrist guards *before* the shirt. Allow me…”

With a deceptive gentleness, the dwarf helped dislodge the fabric from under the leather bracers and slip it over bare fingers. He caressed each shapely hand in turn, attempting to soothe the irritation that threatened the young elf prince. Patiently, he unbuckled each guard in order, setting them to the side, atop the pile of clothes.

“There, better?” Gimli asked, adoration making the question a passionate rumble.

“Yes,” Legolas breathed, gazing at the dwarf his expression suddenly unreadable.

For a moment, Gimli thought he saw uncertainty in the blue depths. “Are ya sure laddy, that this is what you want?”

“This and more.” The young archer leaned down, his silky hair falling to brush Gimli’s face. “So much more. And you?”

“Oh, aye.”

They came together again, lips meeting with a slow passion while hands stroked at bare flesh, exploring with eager touches.

Head reeling from the sweet taste of honey, Gimli groaned. Skilled fingers circled his nipples through the course hair of his chest, pinching and teasing them until they hardened. Pulling away from the kiss, Legolas let his lips follow the fingers, covering the erect nubs with the heat of his mouth and laving them until the dwarf moaned his name, twining fingers in golden strands of hair.

“Ahhh….Legolas…”

Legolas trembled, fire coursing though his veins at the sound of his name on Gimli’s lips. He moaned, wiggling his hips, and pressed against the hardness that lay below him. Gimli arched, straining up to meet him. He stroked narrow hips while slipping fingers inside the waist of Legolas’s breeches, seeking to free the last of his body to the night air.

Understanding his intent, Legolas shifted from his straddled perch to sit beside the dwarf, kicking off his soft boots and sliding the breeches from his legs and feet. Now naked, he reached for Gimli’s trouser buttons, and hastily unfastened them, seeking to complete their undressing. Together they divested him of both boots and pants.

“You are beautiful,” Gimli whispered in awe, eyeing the form that he’d long imagined. “More so than the finest jewels of all the mountain kingdoms.”

“No Gimli,” Legolas countered, drinking in the sight of the firm flesh that lay before him. “Truly, it is you who are the treasure.”

The dwarf hrummffed, yet smiled at Legolas’s tender sincerity. He reached out to take his hand and draw him close once more.

“Then together,” he breathed, circling the slender body with his arm, “we are indeed a work of art; you are the jewel, sweet Legolas, and I the setting.”

Golden laughter trickled from the elf, as he tumbled forward and burrowed into a soft furred chest, stroking it with eager palms. “So, you are a poet too, hmmm, Master Dwarf?”

“Only when properly inspired.”

“And do I inspire you?”

“Aye. You do.”

Sighing, Legolas closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the touch of Gimli’s body as it trembled beneath him. He could feel the tightness of muscles, well honed from battle and the caressing tease of course hair. His smell was thick and pungent, the odor of earth and dark places, the very scent of life and it caused a dull aching in the pit of the elf’s stomach. Fear and desire warred within him for the span of a heartbeat before desire prevailed.

“I want you,” he whispered, pressing a well-muscled thigh into the dwarf’s body, brushing at his hardness. The feather light touch sent a shocking bolt of pleasure through Gimli, lighting all his nerves with an unearthly fire.

“You have me,” Gimli admitted, stroking the smooth skin along his ribs and the gentle curve of his hip. “You’ve had me since Rivendell…”

“I know. Or, at least I had hoped so.” Legolas gazed into the dwarf’s eyes. “And whether you know it or not, you have had me as well.”

Sighing, Gimli drew him close and pressed his lips lightly against each eyelid. “I only know that I have dreamt it to be so. I’m afraid I am dreaming still and will awaken cold and alone.”

“Though you do not sleep, perhaps, in a way you are dreaming,” Legolas admitted, tracing the light ridge of an old scar with his fingertip. The body beneath him trembled, shuddering at the silky kiss of unblemished flesh, as it slid to fully cover him. “This reality will not likely bear the light of day, as is often true of mortal dreams. In accepting this, do we doom ourselves to a shadow life, hiding in the darkness of bitter night what the daytime cannot accept.”

“I have no fear of the shadows or the night. In my arms, you have no reason to fear them either.”

“It is not the night, but the morning that I fear. And the morning comes,” Legolas lamented against his forehead, lips brushing lightly. “There isn’t much time.”

“What would you have of me?” Gimli asked, looping steely arms around the supine form. “Whatever is mine to give, you may have…freely. There is nothing I would hold back from you.”

“I would feel the solid press of your body on mine, the touch of your hands, your lips…” He hesitated, for a moment almost shy. “There is nothing for us to ease the passage or I would ask for that as well.”

Legolas gasped, as Gimli deftly rolled them in the fragrant prairie grass. The dwarf’s body pinned him gently, settling between thighs that spread instinctively in welcome. Hardness pressed into hardness, flesh against flesh, and Legolas wrapped his long limbs around his new lover with a quiet moan.

“Ai…meleth.”

“Shhh.”

Gimli stroked him with nimble hands, seeking out secret places of desire, coaxing gasps of pleasure from his parted lips. Eagerly his mouth explored a pale white throat, leaving a fiery line of kisses and bites in its wake, as he trailed to a delicately tapered ear and ventured a hesitant lick.

Legolas arched, crying out softly, twining his fingers in chestnut locks of hair. He wriggled, raising his hips from the ground to press into the body that lay against him. As the tongue continued its exploration around the shell of his ear, Legolas laughed joyfully, feeling the dwarf’s answering rumble vibrate through him. Blood surged hotly through his veins and pinked his cheeks with passion.

His own need rising, Gimli couldn’t stop from rocking into the body that quivered below him. He pressed eagerly and rhythmically against the fire that burned between his own legs and felt the answering fire in the silken length that pulsed against him. As flesh slid against flesh, they both panted, breath puffing white clouds into the chill air.

They moved together, two forms joined as one – locked in a dance as old as time it self. Hands soothed and riled, drawing burning trails across sensitive skin only to pass again and offer blessed relief. Tongues teased and teeth tormented, bring the sharpness of sweet pain followed by the burning touch of agonizing desire. Opposites collided and melded in their coupling, just as dwarf and elf ceased to be two disparate beings and commingled as one flesh and one body.

Copper and gold; fire and ice; shadow and starlight they were together. They were bonded on a plain between mortal flesh and immortal spirit; between waking and sleeping; between life and death. As free will gave in to need and desire, they lost themselves, each in the other, until neither could say where his body stopped and his lover’s started.

Gimli could feel the body below him reach a fevered pitch, and he encouraged the panting elf with quiet words and tender touches. Legolas thrashed in the throes of a passion he’d never dreamed of, arching against the thick solidness that pinned him to the earth. He pressed the heel of his hand to his mouth, stifling an impassioned cry as his body burst in release, pulsing in a heated wetness against the form that lay above him.

A shivering wave passed over him, coursing up his backbone and burning through his limbs. He gripped the dwarf’s body with strong legs, looping an arm around his neck. Clutching Gimli in a tight embrace, he held on as if in letting go he would fall away into the stars. Tremors took him with an intensity he’d never known before, and Legolas struggled against the wail of pure joy that threatened their secrecy.

When he could once more trust his control over the tenor and volume of his voice, Legolas added a second arm to the embrace, drawing fingernails down the contours of the dwarf’s back and over his rear. Murmuring elven endearments, he stroked his lover coaxing him toward completion. The words and caresses filled Gimli with an unearthly fire.

When the peak came at last, it was strong, shaking Gimli as an earthquake shakes the mountain. He groaned, loud and long…heedless of their location or who may be listening, and pressed the elf to the ground in his fervor. Thrusting hard, hands twined in golden hair, he came – spilling against the heated skin of his companion, their two seeds mingling between them. Spent, he collapsed, his bare chest heaving with ragged breath. Rolling to his side, he gathered Legolas into his arms, cradling him as tenderly as a child. They both shook, panting with their effort, the sweat of their passion chilling swiftly in the predawn air.

“We…we cannot tarry,” Legolas breathed, nuzzling a bearded cheek. “The morning is cold, dawn approaches and *he* is awake.”

Gimli started with alarm. “Awake? He knows then.”

“Yes.”

“This does not disturb you?”

“He has eyes to see. He knows love. He understands.”

Sighing, Legolas disentangled himself from Gimli’s arms and sat up. Already the fire in his blood was dying, replaced by the nagging press of their quest to save the small Halflings.

Silently he reached for the quiver that lay propped, unnoticed, against the rock. Reaching inside, he pulled loose a length of cloth, which he tore in two. Dampening the pieces with water from the flagon that hung from his discarded belt, he handed one to Gimli. He used the other to cleanse himself and the dwarf did the same.

They dressed in silence, each one immersed in his own private thoughts. Nearby, Gimli could hear the sounds of their companion’s stirring – heard the telltale striking of rock and steel as he lit his pipe – and he knew that time was short. In moments, they’d be off again, chasing the Uruks across the plains of Rohan.

“Legolas…” Gimli faltered. Suddenly he could find no words to say that would express what was churning in his heart.

“I know. You need speak no more of it.”

“But there’s so much I want you to understand, so much I want you to know.”

“You have told me. Not with words but with your spirit and your heart.” Legolas stroked his cheek once more, then lay his hand over his heart, before standing and girding on his quiver and taking up his bow.

“Then we part now, like this, perhaps forever?”

“No, we must hold together. For our own sakes and the sake of those we love,” Legolas assured, taking the dwarf’s shoulders in hand. “Perhaps tonight was but a single moment in time. Or it may be the first moment in forever. We cannot know, but only trust that what is between will endure. I have committed myself to you, Gimli son of Gloin. There is no turning back…for either of us. I will remain with you or diminish. It is my blessing…and my curse.”

“Your curse?” Realization was beginning to dawn on Gimli, as Legolas helped him to tie on the last of his armor. “Then it is true, what they say of the elves.”

“Aye, meleth,” Legolas teased with a twinkle in his eye. “For good or ill, you are stuck with me.”

Laughing wryly, Gimli shook his shaggy head, taking up his ax. “Ai…what will our fathers say.”

“I don’t even wish to think of it.”

As they smiled at one another for a final time, they could see the first rays of light touch the horizon and hear the restless tread of Aragorn’s boots upon the rock.

“Legolas, Gimli…it is time.”

With barely a glance at the two companions, Aragorn set off at a fast trot, knowing without a doubt that the two would follow. In spite of his heavy heart, he smiled.

In the ranger’s wake, Gimli and Legolas fell into easy strides knowing now that, no matter what else happened, they would have each other.

~Fini