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Spoils of War	By : narcolinde Category: +Third Age > Slash - Male/Male Views: 3379 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any of its characters, settings, or scenes and no money is earned from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Spoils of War
- 1
Spoils of War

Gimli was resting amid the lush grass of Edoras, back against his pack, boots discarded but neatly set aside, helm and shield close, belts and axes closer. He sighed in luxurious delight, rubbing a soothing salve into the aching sole and over the heel of one broad foot. Dwarves could walk forever, but he was glad of the cool, slippery gel the Elf had graciously offered. He glanced at the long, lean form sprawled out on the ground near by; Legolas was unusually quiet, gazing off into the azure sky. Gimli looked more carefully; no, he wasn't sleeping. The Dwarf wondered what was occupying the archer's mind so fully.

"My thanks for the foot cream," he said and received only a noncommittal, listless grunt in return. Gimli's concern began shifting toward worry.

Normally, Legolas chattered like a magpie about the most diverse topics. He would expound at length upon the proper method for making arrows, the best tactics to employ when fighting orcs while outnumbered and trapped on the ground, how to rig a collapsing bridge above a raging river or a deep gorge and lure orcs over it, how to harvest spider webs and reinvent them as traps for orcs. Legolas talked a lot about the many ways he knew to kill orcs. He also disgorged tons and tons of gossip about his life within the mighty forest realm of Thranduil. He complained and moaned about his overprotective father and his jealous elder brothers, relating numerous examples of how exasperating the combined smothering and random pummelling were to his adventurous spirit.

When the Elf wasn't talking he was singing. He could go on for hours, smoothly transitioning from a artfully rendered love ballad to a bawdy tavern ditty, from a heroic lay retelling an ancient legend to a soulful hymn extolling the glory of Tawar. The Hobbits loved it and encouraged him, making him teach them some of the easier ones, and Gimli could not deny the sound was pleasing, but he had noticed that the Elf was ever at his side and sometimes the proximity of so much exuberance was daunting.

It hadn't started out this way, as Gimli recalled it. While in Imladris, he barely saw the Elf at all. Perhaps he was just not distinguishable from all the other Elves singing and chattering about the place, but Gimli had a suspicion Legolas was purposefully making himself scarce after the Council. Retelling his peoples' failings could not have been pleasant, not that Gimli had given any thought to Legolas' state of mind, or even to his presence at all. Well, that was not exactly true. He'd been ready enough to complain to Gandalf about letting such an unreliable person join the crucial mission. If Legolas couldn't be trusted to hold onto Gollum, how could anyone depend upon him in battle? Gandalf had said something about nobody being forced to come along and Gimli could go home if he didn't think he could hold his own beside one of the First-born. That was the end of that.

Once out the gates he could not avoid the Elf and was more or less forced to notice him, what with all the singing and inane confabulating. Almost at once Legolas attached himself to Gimli, walking beside or behind him unless Gandalf or Aragorn called on him to go scouting. What made him think Gimli wanted or needed the company was beyond any speculation and neither the wizard nor the future king of Gondor had any clues about the cause. Boromir summed up what was in Gimli's own thoughts: there was no comprehending the twists and turns of Elvish logic. Thus Gimli endured the banal banter with stoic fortitude, refusing to respond beyond a grunt or a scowl. Nothing daunted the Elf; he kept right on explicating as though his audience was rapt in fascination. It was perplexing.

It was also at times infuriating, for in the midst of one of his long discourses on battle tactics or a harangue against his brothers' latest malicious attempt to put him in their Adar's bad graces, Legolas would suddenly construct a perfectly plausible segue into questioning Gimli about his personal life.

If that wasn't bad enough, the others found it funny and often shared amused leers and snickered at the Elf's unquenchable curiosity and obvious preference for Gimli's company. Aragorn particularly was given to rubbing at his jaw to keep himself from laughing aloud while Pippin made no effort to hide his glee, once openly referring to Legolas as 'Gimli's bunion' for which unkind remark he received a wrap on the head from Gandalf's staff and a twinkling grin from the Elf, who didn't seem to be offended. Gimli was not entirely comfortable with the situation and unsure of how to handle it.

Not that the queries were indecent or overtly prying, not at first, but Gimli was a Dwarf and among his people privacy was elevated nearly to the status of religion, the rites and rubrics through which one might enquire about a non-clan member rigorously described and rigidly practised. Thus, when Legolas abruptly asked how old Gimli was, the question preceded by another tale bemoaning the great age difference between the Elf and his siblings which seemed to underpin their belief that he was incapable of doing anything for himself, the Dwarf was utterly shocked. He stood glowering up at the lanky golden, haired warrior for a full minute before it dawned on him that Legolas was not intimidated in the least, had no idea his question was improper, and was patiently and pleasantly awaiting an answer. That was such a shock in itself that Gimli gave him one.

This pleased Legolas highly and he smiled brighter than he ever had before, setting off again on a long soliloquy about the various customs pertaining to age and the pertinent intervals which marked an Elf's growth from infancy to adulthood. He gave a thorough explanation of Begetting Day celebrations and how many years passed before they stopped, the age when schooling and training formally began, the year an Elf was deemed a full member of the community and was permitted to move out of his parents' talan, and so on. Gimli found himself joining the discussion, on the rare occasion when the Elf paused to sip a drink from his canteen, getting a sentence or two out which would intrigue Legolas and start him up in a new direction entirely.

As time progressed, the Elf learned more and more about his reluctant friend. By the time they camped at Hollin, he knew Gimli had two brothers and a sister, which is a great blessing among the clans, and was the eldest among his siblings. While trudging down the snow bound flanks of Caradras, he discovered that Gimli was a Lord of high standing and held vast portions of subterranean lands beneath the Iron Mountains, all of it rich in veins of precious ores, jewels, and workable metals. Deep in the gloom of Kazad Dum, he unearthed the facts that Gimli was not attached to anyone and had no progeny of his own yet. In the healing peace of Lorien, he found out that the Dwarf loved to read, played an accordion (which he then had to explain in painful detail and promise to make one), was a master storyteller, made the sturdiest chain mail anywhere, and preferred the colour blue.

Gimli, amazed to realise he could be so forthcoming, rather enjoyed the talking game and often uttered bizarre facts completely at random just to see where Legolas' mind would go. The results were always interesting but on one occasion yielded insight into Legolas' history that was troubling. On the day after the attack of the wolves, their first skirmish against the Dark forces of Sauron, the Dwarf interrupted his friend's lecture on eye colour and what it indicated about heredity among the Sindarin people, casually informing the Elf that his eyes worked better in the dark than the sun, as did most Dwarves'.

Barely pausing for breath, Legolas transitioned into a hair-raising story of an expedition into the mountains of Mirkwood that had gone bad, Legolas and two others in his troop winding up trapped in a pit as orcs pitched spears and then rocks at them. During the course of the narrative Legolas matter-of-factly revealed he could see in the dark, too, but not as clearly as he could beneath the trees. After this, the Elf broke into a sombre song during which he wept, and finished by saying he was the only one that survived the ordeal, though he didn't remember the rescue, being mad with grief and terror and nearly dead himself when it happened. Sometimes, he'd said, he wished he did not have eyes. At that point Gandalf called him to the front of the file and kept him by his side a time.
Not all the revelations they shared were as harrowing as this one but the story marked a change in their friendship. Gimli, at first annoyed by the Elf's insistence on sticking to him closer than lichen clings to granite, would instead become concerned if he was anywhere else. Where the incessant chatter had been aggravating, now it was viewed as a necessary coping mechanism the Elf employed to distract his mind from the less pleasant realities facing their little band of travellers. It was, when considered baldly, a rather hopeless mission and the likelihood of getting through it alive was minimal at best. Legolas talked to release the stress and Gimli found himself encouraging it and asking a few questions of his own.

Strangely, Legolas was adept in evasive replies that went all around the query and back without really giving any useful information. That surprised Gimli, but he reverted to his former means of eliciting stories and discovered that the Elf employed a quid pro quo method of conversation. If he revealed something about his brothers, he was actually hoping Gimli would tell him about his own family. When he lectured about battles, he was inviting his chosen companion to expound upon the methods and means of Dwarven warfare. Yet a direct question yielded a typically 'elvish' reply, as when Gimli abruptly demanded to know how old Legolas was. He was answered with a long lecture about the life cycle of oak trees during the conclusion of which Legolas informed him he was 'still considered new growth' by his peoples' standards.

Gimli found himself smiling over the memory and glanced again at the silent figure reposed upon the plain. Legolas had removed his weapons but left them within reach should need arise, but even this was a huge concession. He rarely set the bow aside, doing so only to bathe and then keeping a dagger strapped to his naked thigh. He had also removed his cloak and tunic, both folded neatly next to the harness and quiver. A huge sigh worked his slender chest up and down and his hand brushed through the grass. Abruptly he sat up and pulled off his boots, tossing them away with a bit more energy than required. They landed in a clump of weeds and he scowled, peered briefly at the dwarf, and reclined again, casting an arm over his face. Another great breath heaved into the air above him.

What could be ailing him? The Dwarf pondered the situation carefully, knowing that a direct question would get him no where. They had just concluded a wrenching battle after enduring a daunting siege. The fields about Helm's Deep had been littered with the dead and the maimed, orcs and men. They had learned of the might of the wild huorns and watched as a wizard was debased and broken. All of this might easily make the hardiest, hoariest soldier grim and silent, but Legolas was a veteran fighter who had endured many battles and tortures the dwarf did not like to imagine. Gimli thought again about the story of the capture in the mountains, feeling the horror of being trapped and watching his friends die beside him. Nothing at Helm's Deep had been so terrible as that.

Yet the battle had shaken the Elf. For long hours he'd vanished and Gimli had not thought about it at first, being busy helping the people of Rohan prepare, assuming Legolas was somewhere doing the same. When he didn't show for meals, Mithrandir started searching, but the Elf was good at disappearing, even in a place of stone devoid of any green thing. Eventually the wizard gave up, accepting Aragorn's insistence that Legolas just needed time alone to ready himself for combat. Gimli pressed the man to reveal what these preparations might be, but Aragorn just smiled and said he would find out soon enough.

At dawn he was there, standing beside Gimli's bedroll as the Dwarf slept, watching him with such intensity that Gimli felt the gaze and awakened with a start. So grave was the Elf, he thought something terrible had happened. "What is it?" he asked, rolling to his feet and reaching for an axe.

"Not that," Legolas said, crouching down suddenly and stopping the hand. "There is a little time yet." He fell silent and again stared closely at the Dwarf.

"Well, what is wrong? You're turning my veins to ice," demanded Gimli.

"I have something I would like to give you," said Legolas, a faint smile in his blue eyes, "a remembrance, in case I fall here."

"What nonsense!" blustered Gimli, both surprised and disturbed. A strange look crossed the Elf's face and he rose to full height.

"It it? Perhaps so," he said and his voice was hard. "Then, consider it a gift between friends. Here, replace that dilapidated bit of leather you use to mark your place in your journal." He held forth a long braid of gold, obviously his own hair, a small brass disk attached the the end to give it weight.

"Oh! That is most considerate," Gimli said, taking the braid gingerly. He offered a weak smile but the Elf's pensive face and the tension in the air made him nervous. He examined the metal decoration to have something else to look at. There was some kind of elvish script on it, indecipherable but fair to see.

"Won that for archery when I was seven," said Legolas and Gimli raised his eyes to find him smiling. "My Ada was so proud and my brothers positively livid; made my life miserable for a full week. You will keep it?"

"Of course I will keep it," Gimli growled. Gifts between friends? He felt disgruntled that he hadn't anticipated this so to make something to offer in return. Aragorn was due a scathing chastisement; why couldn't he simply say the Elf was making him a remembrance? "I am hungry, Elf; will you join me in a search for food?"

"Yes, Dwarf, I will."

The tone was decidedly smug and the Elf had a pleased smirk on his features when Gimli looked up. It made him distinctly uncomfortable. "So this is a custom of your people, to exchange tokens when going into dangerous places? I would have thought Elves did not need signs to recall a friend to mind."

"We don't," replied Legolas, "but you are not an Elf. Can you not go faster? I haven't eaten a morsel in over a day."

"This is my fault that I should hurry?" barked Gimli. "If you didn't have to exert so much energy to move those long legs, you would not be so famished. Why don't you go slower?"

"I am going slower. Shall I drop down to my knees and crawl?"

"Nay, for then you'll hold me to blame for the hole you'd wear in your leggings."

Legolas laughed a little then and things returned to normal. He treated Gimli to a full account of the archery contests held in Greenwood, the classification system used to ensure fair competition, the kinds of targets each class of competitors had to shoot, the culminating three-day spider hunt to see who would be judged the best warrior over all. He had won that, too, just a year ago and would have again this year, save for the war. He supposed there would be no contest beneath the trees for a time.

So it went, and Legolas never left Gimli's side after that until the heat of battle drove them apart. In the dark, drenching rain, standing ready on the battlements, he began to sing and the music held a desperate power in it even Gimli could hear while the men were spellbound. When he finished, Legolas crouched down again and gazed long at the Dwarf, eyes scanning him from head to toe, peering back and forth between his eyes, so intense and concentrated that Gimli thought he might be counting the very strands of his beard. Then the blue eyes focused on his anew and Gimli drew a sharp breath; such raw terror and determination he'd never seen before and he reached a hand to steady the Elf.

"I will keep my eyes open, Gimli," Legolas said quietly and rose again to glare through the streaming torrent at the ranks of orcish soldiers massing before the walls, and hate was in that stare.

His fey mood was unsettling; Gimli felt he should understand what the Elf meant and he was certain he did, somewhere deeper in his soul than he was wont to search. This was not the time for it. He grunted with faint contempt. "I guess you'd better. This is no archery contest, Elf. Time to put all those orc-killing theories to the test."

"They are not theories; I have killed hundred of orcs using those techniques," countered Legolas, never removing his eyes from the enemy. He reached back and selected an arrow and fit it to his bow.

"Oh, hundreds? My, that is impressive." Gimli's sarcasm was extra thick as he wasn't sure elves understood the concept.

"You doubt me?" Legolas' hand tensed on the bow string and he raised the weapon, sighting down the shaft as he chose who to kill first.

"Not you ability to fight, just your ability to count."

"Do you know how many men are standing in this section of the wall?"

"Aye, do you?"

"Aye, 75." It was the correct number.

"Fine, you know your numbers. Here's a thought: a small competition between friends, since you've had to forgo the pleasure of beating your brothers again this year. We'll see how many orcs your arrows claim against the numbers felled by the blade of my axe."

"Done," said Legolas and then he did a thing that shocked not only Gimli but the entire assembly, orcs, uruks, men, and all.

With a spry leap he took himself to the broad flat edge of the crenellated wall and stood tall, bow in one hand, arrow in the other. Everything fell silent. The rain beat upon him. He raised the arrow and pointed down at the gathered host and unleashed a stream of curses and taunts in a form of elvish so ancient even Aragorn was hard pressed to understand him. The meaning was lost to none, however, and there was such deep hatred in his voice and such power in the words that none could move or think and scarcely could they breath. He completed his tirade and then quick as a blink fired off three arrows, dropping three of the uruk captains to the dirt, one at the front, one in the bulk of the mass, and one almost beyond sight who was attending the gate-breaker. Seeing this, the men of Rohan erupted in a great roaring cheer and jeered at their enemies while the orcs had to wonder how many elves were behind the walls.

He jumped back to his place beside Gimli, chest heaving, eyes glittering, jaw set, limbs rigid, and for a moment Gimli felt a little pity for the orcs who would encounter Legolas.

Then battle was upon them all and the business of killing demanded their attention and eventually the two were divided. When it was over Gimli lay wounded, unconscious from exhaustion and concussion, and when he awoke again the Elf was there, crouched beside the cot, filthy but unhurt, watching him with that unwavering, unblinking stare. The Dwarf was sure he'd been willed awake. The Elf drew breath and spoke.

"41."

"42," said Gimli in the same grave tone. Expecting to hear protests and arguments, he was surprised when Legolas smiled and filled his lungs, releasing the air as though it carried away unbearable strain and anguish.

"Today I am glad that I have eyes," said Legolas and settled down cross-legged beside the bed.

With that he resumed his normal manner, describing in exacting detail every move he'd made during the fighting, praising the courage of the people of Rohan, criticising the brutish stupidity of the orcs, and sneering at the cowardice which had at last driven them from the fortress. He was less curious about what happened to them all than about the great forest of trees now visible covering the plain below. When the horse lords passed victorious through the shattered gates of their impenetrable hold, he was at Gimli's side and ever had he been, as he was now.

Gimli watched him shift in restless discontent and his thoughts turned to delve those deeper places where he knew the answers he wanted lay waiting. It was not hard to realise Legolas had really told him about seeing in the dark so he'd understand he'd had to watch his friends die. Knowing this, it was easy to see that the fear revealed at Helm's Deep was that very fear of repeating the experience, greatly intensified. He had fully expected to die that day and for Gimli to die that day and had spoken his heart in that peculiar elvish way that was so convoluted and incomprehensible that the Dwarf had missed it. Or maybe he didn't want to understand it. Gimli was just starting to worry about how to handle this when at last Legolas spoke.

"I could not accept the truth about grass, when I was a child," he said. "Or flowers either. The trees remained but the grasses and the flowers shrivelled up and vanished, only to spring forth anew when the earth warmed again. Some lesser plants do not actually die, merely hibernating like many trees do, but grass and meadow flowers just dry out and disintegrate or freeze and rot."

"Aye," said Gimli. "What's difficult to understand? It was made to be so and it is so; there's nothing to figure out." So it was the mortality issue bothering him. "I guess it might be hard for an immortal to perceive," he added.

Legolas sat up suddenly, glaring, and fussed with the closures of his silk shirt. "The First-born are not deathless," he snapped, shrugging the garment off with exaggerated motion expressive of strong feeling. He balled it up and sent it sailing after the boots, flopping back down with a muttered curse.

Gimli's brows rose; he'd never heard the Elf utter profanity before. "I know Elves can be killed," he retorted, "but just like this grass and those flowers, they come back again. Quick sojourn in Mandos and then presto! a new body and a soft life in the Blessed Realm forever more."

"Why?" said Legolas.

Gimli grunted and shrugged. "May as well ask why summer flowers shrivel up." For this he received a withering look before the fair face returned to studying the sky. Another gargantuan exhale prefaced Legolas' next remarks.

"How can a rock endure, a thing without heart or soul or life, while a Dwarf with a mighty heart and a majestic soul does not?" His voice was choked with anger and he glowered fiercely at the high white clouds.

"For such questions there are no answers, Legolas," Gimli said gently, deeply moved by the Elf's distress.

"Aye," the Elf sighed dejectedly. Another brief silence passed, then: "Do you suppose Dwarves can have new bodies in Mandos?"

"I don't know, Legolas. Never been there. Maybe so."

"But you can't be sure? There are no revelations made to your people by Aulë about the after-life?" Legolas pushed up on his elbows to see Gimli's face as he spoke.

"Nay, there's nothing like that. We believe the spirit lives on for so we were promised, but for what purpose none can guess." Gimli had never thought very much about existence beyond the world of stone and battle in which he was so at home and the topic was not the easiest on which to converse. He had no idea what to say to reassure Legolas.

"Will we know each other there and be friends still?"

"Of course! Nothing could prevent that. I will not forget you, Legolas, even being but a Dwarf, for have you not given me a remembrance to ensure it?" This at last eased the lines of frowning strain from the fair visage and Legolas smiled as he laid down again.

"Aye," he murmured and lazily slid his hand over his hairless torso to rest atop his belly.

Gimli watched him breathe for a time, struck by the incongruity presented in the sturdy, sinewy frame wherein resided such a sensitive and fragile heart. The pale skin of the half-naked body was suffused with a rosy flush and tiny nipples perched atop the pectorals, peaked and as rich a red as the finest rubies. Dwarves were not blind to exquisite beauty and Gimli was no exception, but he was surprised to find his appreciation settling a bit deeper, and lower, in his body. The unexpected sensation shocked him and he hastily tore his sight away. As if on cue, Legolas started up again.

"Do you think it is possible to experience pleasure as a spirit?"

"What?"

"When you are in Mandos, will you be able to feel pleasure like that produced by sexual union?"

"Mahal! How should I know, Legolas?" Gimli gaped at the Elf in consternation, turning his gaze to meet the clouded blue eyes.

"Is this a rude topic?" asked Legolas. "Is it impolite within your culture to speak openly of such matters?"

"Yes it is," averred Gimli, grateful the Elf understood and was just relaxing again when the incorrigible chatterbox went right on talking.

"So it is for my people and I do not understand why. It is a good thing, an experience that produces only joy and closer ties between couples. Why should sex be such a taboo? My Ada explained the basics about males and females but got positively tongue tied when I asked him how to have sex with another male. He eventually admitted he had never experienced that and directed me to the library. Scrolls! He expected me to learn about it from reading a bunch of clinical essays!" Legolas was propped on his elbows again, looking at Gimli with expectant indignation. The Dwarf had to respond.

"Indeed? Well, if he didn't know, I guess he wanted to help as best he could, you know…"

"Right, I realise that now, but it made me feel like there was something wrong with what I asked, at the time. Why didn't he just find me a tutor as he did when I wanted to learn a new language? Surely there was a male warrior somewhere in all of Great Greenwood who preferred sex with another male. Nobody else would talk about it either. Friends became very upset and abruptly got up and left when I would bring it up. Some refused to come near me afterwards, perhaps imagining I was extending an invitation they were unwilling to accept.

"Which is another thing. How am I to know if someone is interested if I do not ask? All this foolish posturing and courting and flirting is pointless if in the end one is rejected with something akin to embarrassed horror. I refuse to do it. If a lady starts all the hair swishing and eyelash batting and sweet smiling, I tell her right away that I feel no desire for females. Saves her the trouble and the pain of being rejected. Isn't that better? Why can't one person just tell another person they find the other person desirable? Attraction is natural, isn't it?" Again he paused, expecting a reply.

Gimli's mind was reeling from all this unexpected information even as his desire continued to increase and his pulse began pounding. If Legolas propositioned him, what should he do? "I do not dispute you, but picking a mate is a serious concern. That's why all the customs have developed. Pleasure is quick and easy; love is for the long road."

"Quick and easy?" Legolas snorted in disappointment, evaluating Gimli's stout body of pure muscle. "I would not have thought so."

Gimli's face turned almost purple, caught between racial pride and embarrassed discomfort. "It is a matter of perspective," he explained. "A tryst with a lover is short-lived compared to a life time with a beloved spouse. I did not mean to imply the act of joining is short-lived. Dwarves are legendary for their stamina and potency."

"Indeed, so some tales recount," said Legolas, "claiming the Naugrim to be almost equal to Elves in virile endurance."

"Almost? Those scrolls were obviously written by Elves who could not have had any first hand knowledge of the subject," scoffed Gimli.

"I don't know, it was written by one of Celebrimbor's smiths. The Noldorin folk lived side by side with the Dwarves of Kazad Dum. Is there no like record among your people?"

"No!" Gimli's denial was overly emphatic and his eyes showed he knew it. Legolas smirked as if he'd just won an important point and Gimli was not so sure he hadn't. His next question was even more jarring.

"Do you believe in abstaining from pleasure until you find this life mate?"

"Well, in principle, yes," hedged Gimli, eye roving over the recumbent form again.

"I don't say I agree," sighed Legolas, "though none have been willing to engage in anything beyond mutual stimulation without penetration. Not very satisfying." He cast himself back upon the meadow and his legs twitched, parting wider. Hands that had been worrying the grass travelled to his waist and began loosening the ties of the tight leggings. "What I want," he said with unhidden frustration, "is to have sex. Deep, long, hard sex. Then gentle and soft sex. Oral sex and anal sex. I want to be fucked with a cock that stays rigid and full and powerful. I want a male as strong as I am, nay stronger, a warrior who could best me."

By now the pants were loose and he made no show of lifting his rear in order to slide them off, doing so as if it was the most natural thing for him to do in a field barely a stone's throw from literally hundreds of men, then sitting up to peel them from his legs and toss them into the heap with the shirt and boots. He stretched out on his side facing Gimli, head propped on his hand, casually fondling himself. Gimli's eyes were glued to the agile fingers and the organ with which they toyed, the rigid shaft slender and graceful and erotic.

"That is what I want," Legolas repeated. "What do you want, Gimli? How do Dwarves like it? Would you prefer to take you lover from behind or do you derive greater pleasure from watching as you drive your partner to frenzied orgasm? Mayhap you would rather be submissive," he speculated, then laughed at the insulted expression that crossed the Dwarf's face. "So you are listening! Will you not speak?"

Really, there was nothing to say, no clever remark or adroitly turned phrase came to mind. He let his body speak for him, snatching up the little pot of foot cream and moving to Legolas' side. He unbuckled his pants, hiked up his shirts, and revealed a massive erection protruding from his hairy crotch. Legolas reached for it but he batted the hand away, scooping up a bit of the salve, using it to liberally lubricate the rigid cock. With his free hand he took hold of Legolas' thigh, turned him over, draped the lengthy limb over his shoulder, and drove into the tight hot anus. His groan of satisfaction overwhelmed the Elf's short, sharp cry of protest as his defences were breeched and his body invaded.

Gimli fucked him with relish, pumping into the constricting pressure with all the force he could muster, bellowing over his mastery as was the custom of his kind. Legolas, in contrast, could do little more than brace himself and give in to the powerful thrusts of pleasure slowly pushing him higher and higher. It was enough to be able to breath and utter a garbled exclamation between gasps, eyes locked on the doughty warrior's triumphant delight, shivering as the thick red mane caressed his skin and strong hands held him still. Gimli occasionally tweaked a nipple or caressed his belly, but did not touch his penis.

It took a while, as promised, and long before the culmination of the act the entire assembly realised what was going on, including the sons of Elrond who sauntered over close enough to see what all the fuss was about. Highly amused and surprised by the Dwarf's chosen partner, they stayed to kibitz the action and witness the outcome. They wagered on who would come first and as time went on shared amazement over Gimli's impressive prowess and Legolas' ability to take it. Aragorn, curious himself, joined them, realised what was happening, scolded them soundly, and escorted them off, casting a last bemused look over his shoulder at the bizarre configuration of Elf and Dwarf locked in carnal congress.

At last the Dwarf felt his peak near and grabbed Legolas' cock, pumping it rapidly so that he finally squeezed a loud cry from the Elf along with a fine stream of richly scented semen. The sight of it pushed Gimli into roaring ecstasy.

When he was sufficiently recovered to focus his eyes, he sought Legolas' and found the Elf smiling, a soft glow clinging to his skin, a warm light filling the clear azure depths. Gimli smiled back and took out a cloth to clean up the Elf, wondering if Legolas knew they were mates now and instantly knowing without question that he did and was pleased by it. The thought stirred his passion anew and he was about to take his first taste of the pale flesh of a nearby thigh when Legolas spoke.

"An excellent start, I knew you would be perfect. Take off those clothes and come lie beside me."

"It is unseemly for one spouse to order the other about," Gimli chastised, licking the leg and finding the flavour not unpleasant. There was a lot of leg to lick and he set to it with gusto. A hand reached for his hair and gave it a tug.

"Take off those clothes and come lie beside me, please."

Gimli grinned and readily obeyed. He was immediately pounced on and nearly smothered as Legolas fell to exploring his body, rubbing himself shamelessly over the hairy chest, pinching dark nipples, tentatively licking them, boldly claiming lips rimmed in thick auburn moustaches. He kissed Gimli with wild abandon, a demanding, challenging intrusion of his tongue that could not go unanswered. As he hoped, the Dwarf responded by pushing him off and forcing him back.

They wrestled for dominance but Legolas didn't really want it and gave himself to Gimli, enjoying the tingling sensation wrought by the beard as his nipples were sucked and lapped, his neck licked and marked, his mouth plumbed to the full. When Gimli rolled him over and propped him on his knees he submitted willingly and another lengthy coupling ensued. Legolas had more to say this time, encouraging his mate and pleading for more, and while not as prolonged as the first experience it was richer as the bond between them was forged. So it went throughout the day, short rests punctuating bouts of erotic exuberance, and by dusk both were worn out.

Legolas lay limp and content, drifting in exhausted reverie, oblivious to everything save Gimli beside him. The Dwarf reclined with his head pillowed on his new mate's stomach, worrying a little bit now that the pact was set in stone, as Dwarves say. He could not deny that he loved Legolas; what other explanation could there be? In the same way, he knew Legolas had loved him first and could not but wonder at the courage required to make so bold a play for his heart's desire. Gimli's virility was mighty and he was proud of it, but he wasn't sure he'd have had the balls to make the first move or even admit to himself what he felt. That would be one of the strongest points in the Elf's favour when the time came for Gimli to explain it all to his father and the clan.

A darker shadow covered his face in the hazy half light and he lifted his head to spy the Twin Lords of Imladris poised before him, gazing with identically bemused smirks. He frowned and sat up, reaching for a shirt to cover himself. "What do you want?" he demanded, wondering if they were about to accuse him of breaking some law among the First-born about mixing with other people.

"Just came to offer congratulations to the happy couple," drawled one.

"You do realise you're stuck with that Wood Elf until the day you die?" queried the other.

"That was the general idea," informed Gimli, eyeing them with bewilderment and annoyance. His private life was not to be a subject for their amusement and he felt around for an axe. "Is it a problem for you?"

"Nay!" they chorused, taking an exaggerated step back and chuckling. "He's yours, none would think to challenge so true a claim of hearts and souls."

"Good." Gimli laid back down with a satisfied grunt.

"Indeed, we have come to honour the courage required to secure a bond with Thranduilion. He's quite young and reckless and bound to be a handful," one said.

"Gets into all kinds of trouble," the second elaborated.

"A veritable magnate of ill-fate," the first continued.

"Has driven King Thranduil to drink, it is said, from constant worry over Legolas' welfare," informed the first.

"I can manage," snarled Gimli, almost ready to maim them for defaming his beloved Elf, "now be so kind as to go somewhere else." He casually tossed the axe away in their general direction and was pleased to see them retreat, though their snickering giggles were unsettling. He decided not to permit them to rile him on so grand a night as this would surely be, bedded down beside his new spouse. Gimli closed his eyes and sighed in pure contentment, allowing himself to fall asleep with visions of his future life with Legolas populating his inner heart.

The moon was setting and the stars were brilliant in the clear midnight sky when the implications of their mocking remarks made their way through his natural love and honest indignation. Gimli sat bolt upright, alert and wide-eyed, heart beating in unseemly jigs and starts, shocked to his marrow, and stared at the Elf curled up beside him. Legolas had talked at length about his father and brothers yet never named them. Being a Dwarf, Gimli never found this odd, for that sort of protective privacy was a common practise among his people. It had never occurred to him to be so rude as to ask their names.

With a shrug of resignation he realised it mattered little now, as he would not have turned Legolas away just because of this wrinkle. It was easy to see how Legolas' thoughts had run: fate had spared them at Helm's Deep. They were to face Sauron himself and might not live beyond that battle. The Elf would have his mate to the full for whatever amount of time granted them. That made Gimli smile and his heart stopped hammering. He bent to press a tender kiss upon the golden head, wondering, if they survived the ordeal and Frodo succeeded, whether perhaps Galadriel would be willing to hide them from Thranduil and Gloin.

Finished.
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Spoils of War