Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Nothing Gold Can Stay	By : TAFKAB Category: +Third Age > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 5309 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, The Silmarillion, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 39
- 40
- 41
Legolas and Gimi returned to their lodging by the quickest way, dodging between buildings and crossing a narrow parkland of trees. Gimli slowed there, feeling the bustle of voices recede behind them. He was glad to be away from the bustle of the visitors in the quiet city. Seeing their building not far across the way, he mounted a footbridge, preparing to cross a small stream whose rippling waters lay overshadowed by the thick boughs of a tall elm. Legolas was silent, frowning, and did not go on when Gimli had stopped. Instead he moved beside the bridge to face him. For once, their eyes were level.
“Are you ashamed of your courtesy to Galadriel?” Legolas asked. Gimli could see unrest on the elf’s handsome face. “Because one of your kinsmen witnessed it?”
“Don’t be foolish.” Gimli scowled. “Only Kíli’s ignorance and grief excuse his lack of reverence for the Lady of Lothlórien. My regard for her is unchanged.”
“Are you then more ashamed of our friendship than of yours with her?” Legolas's voice was soft. "And you have not yet told me of the wraith's offer, as you promised."
“Elf, what proof of friendship do you require?” Gimli snapped. “I have named you buhel in defiance of all custom.”
Legolas drew himself upright. “Yes. Only days past, our trust in one another was so strong we drove aside the attack of the wraith Khamûl, second among the nine! But you will not speak to me of your secret, and now you say you are shamed by your kinsman witnessing you with me and the lady. You do not lay your shame to Galadriel’s charge, so what else am I to think? Do you shrink from our friendship now in the light of day? Do you shy from me? Would you name me enemy before your kin?”
Gimli blinked at him, startled by the quicksilver change; Legolas’s face was tight with pain, and his eyes snapped with anger. He was transformed, the very shade of Thranduil, his silver eyes flashing in the pale light of the rising moon, his head held stiffly on his proud neck. Gimli did not understand why he was so distressed.
“In case you have forgotten, that is exactly what I must do. I am still bound as your servant, and that is what my kinsmen must see!” Gimli felt his own tension swell to anger in him. “Not that it is hard to play the part, with you imitating your father so very well!”
Legolas flinched as though he had been slapped, drawing himself up even tighter.
Unbidden, Gimli remembered his bitter envy of Haldir, and felt some of his anger drop away from him. “Legolas.” The wraith had tormented Gimli with fear that his friend would mock him and turn away if he knew the truth of Gimli’s heart. How had it taunted Legolas? With what dark fears was he now burdened? He might know, if only he would tell his own secret. But he could not bring himself to speak it.
Gimli tried again. “You avoid your father yourself. Do not begrudge me my misgiving at finding myself so suddenly changed in the eyes of friends and kin. I revere the lady, it is true. But it is you who have become... you who are…” he took a deep breath, afraid to speak so much-- so little!-- even now. “My brother in arms, my true friend of friends: unlooked for, and therefore twice welcome.” Gimli faltered, his voice catching in his throat. Unable to speak further, he reached to touch the jeweled truesilver cuff in Legolas’s ear, letting one fingertip brush the pendant at the lobe and set it swinging.
Legolas blinked, his whole face changing, his head tilting to one side as he regarded Gimli. Coldness melted away from him, replaced with something like shy wonder. "Your brother," he repeated.
Gimli went still, unable to move, transfixed by the melting sweetness in Legolas’s eyes. The wood seemed to hold its breath, waiting, as Legolas laid his hand on the railing of the bridge, his fingers covering Gimli’s. “You are close as kin to me as well, mellon nîn,” he said.
Gimli felt his heart race, but he could not stir. He drew a slow breath, and his tongue flickered out to wet his dry lips. Legolas’s gaze fell to regard them. The elf leaned forward, lifting his chin, drawing breath as if to speak--
A clatter arose from the nearby road, raised voices intruding between them. Dwarves. Guilty, Gimli jerked his head aside to look.
He felt rather than heard a stirring of air at his side. When he looked back the elf was gone, silent and swift as thinking. He might never have stood there. Yet as the voices of the dwarves approached and sharpened when they saw Gimli, he knew Legolas was near; he would not leave Gimli alone to face his kin unaided.
Kíli appeared at the foot of the bridge-path, and Ori, and his father Glóin.
“There you are, traitor.” Kíli spoke, his voice thick with wrath. “You are a fool to wander alone.”
Gimli did not answer; none of his kin were supposed to speak to him directly, but it seemed Kíli’s wrath was too great to respect tradition. All his cousin’s light-hearted, happy manner seemed to have gone out of him as if it had never been. His face was harder now, set in lines of bitter and joyless resentment, his ready smile gone. Gimli wondered with pity how long it had been since he laughed.
“How come you to pay such tender court to the witch of the wood?” Kíli stepped before him upon the bridge, blocking his path. “You who did not understand when my amrâlimê died at the hand of Azog!” He spat at Gimli’s feet, bitter. “The leaf-eaters would cast their bewitchment on us all.” He dragged breath into him as though he had run a race. “I think you mistook the witch for your master, as faithless a princess as ever picked a blossom! His hand you surely kiss in thanks for the crusts he tosses you to eat.” He stopped, his words choked in his throat.
“You may speak as you will of this lost one, and my master may answer you as he will, but you would do well to speak with respect of the lady of Lothlórien in my presence.” Gimli felt his temper fray. “For she spoke in kindness to you and gave you no insult.” To defend Legolas he might not yet speak, but one day he would, when he was free.
“She holds your magân in her palm, then. It is true!” Kíli bared his teeth.
“After I am freed I shall seek you and you will take back these words, or I will make you answer for your insult to the lady,” Gimli said, his teeth gritted so hard they nearly cracked. “For you speak in ignorance of that is good and fair, and only little wit can excuse you.”
“You forget you are a dwarf.”
“You dishonor the memory of your amrâlimê when you speak ill of her people.”
Kíli bellowed with rage, his hand flashing to his belt, and swung at Gimli, meaning to crush his head with a blow of his thick-hafted mattock. Gimli stepped back in haste, his heart in his throat, more than half expecting to see the neat fletchings of an arrow sprout in his cousin’s chest, but the haft crashed against the stout handle of an axe instead. His father, corded muscle straining in his arms, stood by.
“That is enough.” Glóin shifted, pushing back, forcing Kíli’s weapon away.
“The king will hear of this!”
“Let him.” Glóin spoke, voice cold. “Go toadying to him, and I will say he should thank me for your freedom, for if your stroke had fallen, you would swiftly find yourself in an elf’s prison, just as the man warned us all. If you had done murder in this land, you would not have escaped swiftly, if at all!” He stood and watched as Kíli backed away, snarling, then turned to hurry up the road.
“I go,” he said, and stamped away without speaking to Gimli further or looking back. After a last wide-eyed glance at Gimli, Ori scuttled along behind them.
Gimli sighed, his shoulders drooping. That would more than serve; enough reunions for one day. A rustle in the leaves above told of Legolas's whereabouts, but Gimli did not look up, ashamed of his cousin.
Night had fallen over the valley, and torches lit the way to halls where food would be served and songs sung. Gimli ignored the beckon, slipping into alcoves to dodge groups who walked upon the street, moving slowly and avoiding others until he reached his goal.
He went into their hall and found his room lying between the elf’s and Aragorn’s, his belongings laid waiting next to a warm bed. Gimli went in, shedding his helm and setting aside his axe. Legolas had somehow arrived before him. The door between their rooms stood open and lamplight flickered in the elf’s chamber. Gimli could smell savory food and wine waiting.
Gimli hesitated, then shed his cloak and boots. He peeled off his clothing, stretching his muscles. It seemed strange to feel the freedom of air on his limbs, the chance to remove all his clothes came so rarely these days he nearly forgot what it was like between times.
Reluctant to put on a travel-stained tunic, Gimli picked up the thick cotton nightshirt Elrond’s folk had provided and thrust his arms and head into it. It was far too long, made for an elf, and the chest was too tight. He put it on anyway, rolled the sleeves up, and held the hem so he would not stumble, then stole toward the open door, feeling strangely shy.
The elf too had removed his surcoat and sat on his couch wearing only a light tunic and breeches, both legs drawn up, his arms wrapped around them. He rested his forehead on his knees. The screens he might have left open to let the starlight in had been drawn down to the floor.
Gimli blinked with alarm. Was Legolas weeping? He all but forgot his own worries in his concern.
“Legolas.” Gimli went to him, helplessly setting his hand on one slim shoulder. “I am sorry. I should not have compared you to your father.”
“That is forgotten.” Legolas whispered, never lifting his head. “I was with you, Gimli. I waited in the tree.”
“I know.” Gimli said simply. “You would not leave me in danger, but I am glad you did not shoot Kíli.”
“Had your father not stopped his stroke, I would have done.” Legolas lifted his face, and his eyes blazed. “Gimli, Kíli is changed, maddened by grief and the dragon-sickness.”
“Do not blame Kíli, elf.” Gimli wondered if Legolas could begin to understand. “His rage comes from his pain. Seeing me with the lady was hard for him. Best to have the confrontation over.”
“He envies you what he has lost.”
I do not have what the orc took from him,” Gimli answered heavily. “Not with Galadriel or any other.”
Legolas was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “At least you can hope this matter is settled,” he ventured at length.
“It is not over. Thorin will likely want to have his turn at me as well, if he can get it, and my father too,” Gimli sighed. “And perhaps others. You did well to hide. They could not speak openly with you at my side, and delay would only worsen their wrath. I will go armed, at the suggestion of my master and with the leave of Lord Elrond, so I may defend myself next time there is need.” He gave Legolas a wry look. “You had best make your wishes known where many ears can hear them.”
“I will do so.” Legolas nodded. “Yet I mourn the folly of our kin.” Legolas looked on Gimli with grief, his eyes dimmed. “We are both homeless, my friend. Should the world change and the dark lord fall, where then will we go?” He rose and crossed the room, pacing restless between the walls like a caged beast. Seeing his discarded coat and weapons lying at hand, he pulled off his tunic and dropped it, then took down his hair, combing the braided strands loose with his long fingers.
Gimli tried to breathe, watching the glide and flex of long, taut muscles in the elf’s arms, savoring the revelation of his milk-white skin, the unmarred perfection of his tapered back. His breath left him at the beauty of the elf’s narrow waist, at every muscle delicate but distinctly sculpted in his narrow, hairless chest. The elf’s leggings rode low on his hips. What sculptor could ever render such perfection in white marble as was captured here in flesh? Swallowing hard, Gimli forced his gaze to return to Legolas’s face.
“I am sure the Lady would have you in Lórien.” Gimli took a deep breath and forced himself to speak his thought, little pleasure though it gave him. “Haldir would be glad of your company among the mallorn trees.”
Legolas frowned a little at his words, but sat on the couch once more. “I would go with you to live in that land, if it is your wish, but I think it would grieve you to see the lady with her husband there.”
Gimli cleared his throat, an embarrassed huff. “Not so much as Aragorn would have it,” he confessed. He nudged the elf over. “Let me sit by you. For though we are both homeless, we are not alone.” His heart ached inside his chest as he sat, leaning his back against the arm of the chair.
“We have one another,” Legolas agreed, his voice very soft, and moved as Gimli asked. “That must be home enough for now.”
“Aye.” Greatly daring, Gimli put his arm about his friend, pulling him close. For the first time he thought of the look upon the elf’s face before the dwarves came and sent him fleeing. What would he have said, or done, had the wood remained silent? Gimli’s heart quivered in his chest. For the first time he dared to wonder: how much had the wraith misled him, how much had his own heart erred in thinking an elf could never desire a dwarf? His heart quivered with the boldness of the thought; he scarcely dared breathe.
Legolas exhaled, a great gusty sigh that left him drooping, his head tilting to lean against Gimli’s. Gimli held his breath and sat perfectly still as all the tension flowed out of the elf. Legolas’s eyes closed, the fans of his lashes perfect curves on his pale cheeks. He moved, arranging them both so he could settle against Gimli, embracing him and laying his head upon Gimli’s chest, nestling them snugly together. Gimli’s heart swelled with a great, fierce tenderness.
“We do not need to be strong here, or guarded, with the two of us together?” The elf asked, so low Gimli barely heard him. There was no trace of haughtiness, no hint of Thranduil’s pride, left in Legolas now.
“No. We may be who we are in this place, with no others to judge.” Gimli let his fingers stroke the elf’s back, making small, soothing circles on living silk. Some remote part of his mind yammered at him, mingling terror and desperate caution with disbelieving joy.
“I am glad to hear it.” Legolas whispered. “I am weary from our long days and nights on the road. Rest a while with me before we eat?” His long golden hair fell forward to cover his face, the fair silky strands settling against Gimli’s beard. Then a puff of air stirred the screens, lifting his hair and weaving the filaments together with Gimli’s hair: blond tangled with auburn, fine twining with coarse. “We have spent so long in peril I would sleep better with you near.”
“Aye,” Gimli answered, though he was very hungry. He reached to the table and pinched out the candle, feeling the elf’s slender hand move, and hesitate, then slowly venture beneath the fringe of his beard, creeping upward until it lay upon skin at the opening of his shirt.
http://i.imgur.com/3H4h63F.jpg Go to this URL to see an illustration by Sakurita94 (http://sakurita94.tumblr.com/tagged/drawing)
Legolas lay still.
I would protect you from all hurts, Gimli thought fiercely to himself, knowing he could not keep such a vow, but wishing it was within his power to prevent Legolas from feeling sorrow ever again.
He could hardly breathe, and dared not move. How could it be such a beautiful, otherworldly creature would wish to lie twined with Gimli thus and trust him to guard his sleep? It shivered him to his soul. Gimli might almost believe he could lean down to taste the elf’s lips, and his affection would not be unwelcome. But he did not… quite… dare. Perhaps resting together this way was common among elves.
An hour passed, the moon rising to shine silver beams past the edge of the shades. Gimli thought the elf slept deeply, though his eyes were open. He had taken no rest while the nazgûl pursued their party, so Gimli meant to let him sleep as long as he would. He occupied himself with his senses, absorbing Legolas’s every heartbeat through his palm and marking the progress of one thin shaft of moonlight across the elf’s pale skin. In other circumstances he might have closed his eyes, but he did not want to miss even an instant of his friend nestled against him. Legolas lay quiet, abandoned to sleep with perfect trust, his slow breath rising and falling under Gimli’s palm, his hand warm on Gimli’s chest.
Such a rare and precious moment might never come to Gimli again.
At last Gimli’s treacherous stomach rumbled, and Legolas stirred, laughing. He rose in one smooth motion and went to re-light the candle. “I am much recovered. Hunger is more urgent now than weariness, I think.” He poured wine for each of them and divided the loaf.
Gimli roused himself, regretting the lost embrace, but the food was good and the wine was better, and there were plenty of both.
Tomorrow would have to take care of itself.

Notes:
Buhel: Friend of friends
Magân: Balls

A comment response thread for this story can be found at http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/62310-review-replies-for-nothing-gold-can-stay-by-tafkab/ !
- 39
- 40
- 41
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Nothing Gold Can Stay