Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be and no profit is being made.

A/N: Another damn plot bunny. You will note in this that my take on Legolas is that he's rather young for an elf. Tolkien never gave an age for him, and many have expressed theories at length as to what his age might be but in the end we are all free to speculate and write what we will.

Despite the peaceful surroundings and the Lady’s welcome, Gimli could not relax and he was not alone. The remaining members of the Fellowship were all bone weary and grieving, but none of them were quite ready to rest. Legolas and Aragorn, being the ones most fluent in Elvish, had busied themselves translating for their companions and seeing that all their needs were met.

They had all taken advantage of the springs and had washed the grime of their travels and Moria from their bodies and clothing. The hobbits had been fairly easy to clothe, being small, and Aragorn was close enough to the size of some of the brawnier wardens to fit, albeit snugly, into a borrowed tunic. Boromir had a spare set of clothing of his own, as did Gimli, and Legolas merely disappeared for awhile, returning with damp hair and wearing clean clothing.

The elf had been very quiet since Gandalf’s fall. Gimli noted, with no small amount of surprise, that he missed the soothing sound of the elf’s voice singing softly to raise his fellow’s spirits as they slept. Legolas had not sung a single note since they had lost the wizard.

The elf was currently seeing that the hobbits all had sufficient food and drink, and admonishing Aragorn to rest. He kept clear of Boromir, noting as Gimli had, that the man wished to be left alone. The dwarf, he was still wary of even though neither of them had uttered a single insult to each other since they had left Balin’s tomb. It seemed to Gimli that Legolas was as reluctant to continue their feud as he was. The elf moved away from the hobbits finally, having been assured that they had all they needed. He glanced at Gimli before approaching him, pitcher in hand.

“Gimli, do you wish to have something to eat and drink? I noticed that you have not yet done so,” the elf spoke softly, his tone that of concern.

“Nay, I think I’m too tired to eat right now,” Gimli replied with a grimace. Legolas merely nodded, and began to turn away. “Legolas,” the dwarf called in a quiet voice, causing the elf to turn back, “do you never relax? You are at least as weary as the rest of us, perhaps more since you took most of the watches. You should rest, too.” It was the first time since they had left Rivendell that Gimli had expressed any concern for Legolas at all, and the elf gave him a puzzled look, opening his mouth to reply. Some sound that Gimli was unable to hear caught his attention then, however, and whatever it was that he had been about to say was forgotten at the approach of a pair of elves.

The lady was tall and as fair as Legolas, her eyes troubled and restlessly searching the archer for signs of injury as she approached him. The male was dark haired and a half a head taller than the lady and he looked Legolas over as carefully as the lady did. As soon as she got with arm’s reach of the Mirkwood elf, she pulled him into a fierce embrace. The male wrapped his arms around both of them, one hand wrapping around the lady’s shoulder, the other lightly smoothing Legolas’ hair.

Legolas, to Gimli’s surprise, not only allowed himself to be drawn into the embrace but seemed to welcome it and rested his forehead on the lady’s shoulder. Her hand rubbed gently across his back in soothing circles. After a moment, he raised his head and kissed her cheek. She smoothed his hair back and laid her hand along his cheek, speaking urgently to him. Legolas shook his head and replied softly. The lady appeared to relax a bit then, and Legolas turned to the male elf, giving him a brief smile. The stranger smiled back and pulled Legolas close in a quick hug, which Legolas returned.

The lady spoke again; her tone one of command this time and Gimli could see Legolas tense even from where he sat. The prince shook his head, and said something in reply in a firm tone that left Gimli with no doubt that he had refused some type of order from the lady. The dwarf turned his face forward again, not wishing to be caught watching a dispute, but continued to observe out of the corner of his eye.

The lady’s mouth firmed into a determined line and she spoke again, clearly demanding that her wishes be obeyed. Legolas shook his head again, stepping back a pace and repeating the same words he had said the moment before. The lady moved to speak again, and Gimli could tell that Legolas was scowling, even though he could not see the archer’s face. The dark male intervened then, placing a hand on a shoulder of each of the antagonists and spoke in a soothing tone. Legolas nodded, looking away from the female and clearly still distressed. The lady scowled at her companion and spoke angrily to him for a moment. He replied in the same soft and reasonable tone and she threw her hands into the air and stalked off without a second look. The dark male stayed for a moment, speaking to Legolas and clearly trying to soothe him before following his volatile companion in the direction from which they had arrived.

Legolas looked in Gimli’s direction then and the dwarf was glad that he had had the presence of mind to make his observation less blatant. The elf sighed and walked back over, sitting down next to the surprised dwarf. Aragorn wandered over then, a slight smile on his face.

“She never changes, does she?” he asked the elf. Legolas sighed again.

“No, she does not and between her and my Adar, I know not who is the worse worrier,” the elf replied in an aggrieved tone. “They both still think that I am in swaddling clothes. It is very tiresome.”

“Your father most certainly does not think that you are still an infant,” Aragorn disagreed with a grin. “Or he would not have sent you to patrol the Southern edges of his kingdom, nor would he have sent you to the Council. Nimendis, on the other hand, does still see you as a mere babe in arms.” Legolas snorted and muttered something in his own tongue that made Aragorn’s eyebrow shoot up into his hairline.

“She is insisting that I come immediately to her talan and remain there until the fighting is done,” Legolas said with a scowl.

“She loves you and she fears that she will lose you as she did her sister,” Aragorn said, dropping down to sit in front of Legolas.

“Estel, you know as well as I do that if we fail even this sanctuary will no longer be safe. I cannot afford to humor her,” the prince stated firmly, his eyes troubled. “I wish it were not so, for her sake, for I love her as much as she loves me.” He met Aragorn’s eyes with an ironic expression, “And if you recall, my father can be every bit as much a mother bird as my mother’s sister can. Remember what he was like at Greenglade Keep?”

“I do indeed,” the ranger replied with a tired chuckle. He looked at Gimli, who had been following the exchange with interest. “Legolas took two poisoned arrows during an orc attack the last time he and his father visited Rivendell. They had to take refuge at Greenglade Keep while Legolas healed.”

“Ah, and your father insisted that you follow the healer’s instruction to the letter, did he?” the dwarf asked with a grin, for he had already discovered that the elf was a difficult patient.

“Oh yes, until he was injured and then the tables turned quite effectively,” the elf replied with a grin. “Someone was trying to eliminate either him or me or both of us,” Legolas stated, answering the unasked question. “We have never found out who, but they were well connected enough to send an Ulaire after us.”

“A Nazgul,” Aragorn supplied, correctly reading Gimli’s puzzled look. The dwarf’s eyebrows rose at that and he gave a low whistle.

“I’d say they wanted you gone pretty badly,” he commented. “Of course, if Mirkwood fell to the Shadow and the Misty Mountains overrun by orcs, it would be an effective way to isolate Rivendell from Lothlórien, don’t you think?”

“Exactly,” Legolas replied his respect for Gimli clearly rising several notches. He seemed to see the dwarf in a whole new light at that moment and Gimli winked at him.

“Just because we live in the bowels of the mountain doesn’t mean that we don’t keep up with the doings of our neighbors,” he commented wryly.

“No, I would guess not,” Legolas agreed, a faint smile beginning to play about his lips. Gimli cleared his throat.

“To get back to our original subject of discussion, Legolas,” Gimli intoned, fixing the elf with a piercing look. “You are paler than I have ever seen you, and you have lost at least as much weight as the rest of us on this journey. Do you intend to eat something and rest now? The hobbits are filled to the eyes with food and drink and are laying down to rest even as we speak; Aragorn and I have food and drink and will rest as soon as we consume them.” He fixed Aragorn with a look identical to the one he had given Legolas and the ranger chuckled, shaking his head ruefully. “Boromir I leave to you, Aragorn and I wish you luck. You’ll need it. “The dwarf and the ranger exchanged a grimace, which the elf shared. “So I ask you again, Legolas, will you rest?”

“Aye, Gimli, I will,” the elf replied, no hint of sarcasm or enmity in his tone or expression. “Would you mind keeping me company while I eat? I think I would like to hear about Erebor from one who lives there.”

“Aye, I’d be glad to,” the dwarf replied. “Providing that you tell me some tales of Mirkwood.”

Aragorn drifted over to speak with Boromir, and the elf and the dwarf began swapping tales as they both ate. Soon, they spread Gimli’s bedroll out and sat upon it, still conversing amiably.

Gimli concluded a humorous tale about one of his cousins and was surprised not to hear the elf’s merry laughter. He looked over at Legolas and began to grin. The elf had drifted into his dreams sitting propped up against the mallorn tree that they had spread Gimli’s bedroll under. His eyes were almost closed, which Gimli had discovered from observation meant that the elf was truly exhausted. Chuckling under his breath, the dwarf eased the elf down until he lay comfortably on the bedroll. He then went and grabbed a couple of spare blankets from a pile near the hobbits’ sleeping place and spread one out next to the sleeping archer.

As her settled down for his own rest, Gimli looked over at Legolas again. The elf had turned on his side and curled up, resting his cheek in his hand and looking for all of Arda like a sleeping child. ‘Really,’ Gimli thought as he drifted off to sleep, ‘for all that he’s about the fiercest fighter I’ve ever seen, he‘s hopeless when it comes to his own welfare. His aunt’s not too far off the mark; that lad needs a keeper.‘

                                                              ~

Legolas blinked and stirred, his eyes refocusing slowly. Next to him, he could hear Gimli snoring and to his left, one of the hobbits shifted and muttered in his sleep. To the right, a couple of horse lengths beyond Gimli, Boromir’s soft snores sounded. Sitting up, his eyes cast about landing finally upon Aragorn who rested in his bedroll next to the hobbits’ sleeping place. Everyone accounted for and safe, the elf lay back down gazing up through a break in the tree tops at the stars. He could tell from the stars’ position that he had dreamed for several hours. The sky would soon lighten with the first hint of dawn. Chewing his lip thoughtfully, he glanced back over at the dwarf.

He had obviously misjudged Gimli. No hidebound, narrow-minded, insular being would have grasped quickly the importance of the elves’ continued fight against the Shadow in Mirkwood. The dwarf was very stubborn, but he certainly was not ignorant. He was also, evidently, quite observant as well. Suddenly, Legolas was very intrigued by his bearded companion. Rolling onto his side, he propped himself up on one elbow and studied the dwarf.

Gimli lay on his back, hands clasped across his chest. His face was relaxed, and he looked far younger than he actually was without the crinkled brow wrought by worries and cares that normally topped the dark eyes brimming with intelligence and twinkling with humor. Idly, Legolas wondered how elves and men could consider dwarves to be ill-favored in their looks. Appearances were of far less importance to an elf than intelligence and courage, but Legolas was not blind and to his eyes, Gimli had a very pleasant face to look at. So did the other dwarves that had come to the Council, if the truth be told.

Gimli had also been very kind to the hobbits during their journey, answering Pippin’s endless questions with a patience that no elf would have ascribed to a dwarf. He told humorous stories to lighten Frodo’s mood and helped Sam with foraging for food and cooking. He joked with Boromir and offered his stalwart support to Aragorn and Mithrandir, who he had clearly respected a great deal. If Legolas were to be completely honest with himself, none of the things he had been told of dwarves seemed to ring true in Gimli.

Mithrandir…   Legolas’ thoughts moved back to the wizard and he rolled onto his belly, burying his face in his arms. For as long as the elf could remember, Mithrandir had passed through his father’s realm on his journeys across Arda. He was always welcomed with open arms, even though Legolas knew that his father did not always agree with the Istari. Legolas himself had always looked forward to Mithrandir’s visits. When he was an elfling, a visit from Mithrandir had meant fireworks and presents. As he grew older, the visits became windows to a world beyond the forests, beyond the elven realms. The wizard always had time to sit and talk with Legolas, regardless of the urgency of his mission and Legolas had never forgotten that.

Suddenly, the memory of the wizard’s passing threatened to overwhelm the young elf and he scrambled to his feet, preparing to leap into the trees and flee to a place where he would not disturb his companions with his grief. Gimli snorted and woke, eyes immediately focusing on the stricken elf.

“Legolas? What is it, lad?” the dwarf asked softly, concern written clearly on his face. Legolas flushed, looking away quickly.

“Nothing, Gimli. Return to your rest. I merely rested too long,” the elf replied, not once meeting the dwarf’s eyes.

“Orc dung. Legolas, you’re likely the worst liar I’ve ever met. Come on, let’s go down to the spring and get a drink.” He rose stiffly and rolled his shoulders to loosen the muscles before taking hold of Legolas’ arm and drawing him away from the rest of the Fellowship. “Maybe then you’ll feel more like talking.”

                                                             ~

The two managed not to wake any of the others as they left on the path towards the spring. After they had both taken a long drink of the pure, cool water, Gimli sat back against a tree and regarded his tall companion closely. Legolas fidgeted a bit, but did not meet his gaze.

“Would you mind satisfying my curiosity about something, Legolas?” he asked after a few moments. The elf glanced at him apprehensively, but gave a slight nod. “How old are you?” The archer gave him a startled look; it was not the question he had evidently expected.

“A bit over five hundred years,” he replied, a puzzled look on his fair face. The dwarf nodded, frowning speculatively.

“That’s fairly young for an elf, am I right?” Gimli gazed expectantly at him. In truth, he was a bit shocked that Legolas was far younger than he had speculated, but he hid his shock carefully, mindful of the elf’s pride.

“Yes, it is. We reach our majority at fifty, but anything under a couple of thousand years is considered quite young. It is a matter of perspective, I suppose,” he said, shrugging in typical elaborate elven fashion. “Why did you want to know?”

“Just curious, but it explains a lot,” the dwarf replied, holding a hand up quickly to forestall an angry rebuttal. “No, I don’t mean it like that, lad. Don’t ruffle your feathers at me.” He gave Legolas such an impish look that the elf laughed his offense at Gimli’s words forgotten. “No, I meant, that’s why you’re so open to new things and places. You’re not weary of the world yet, like a lot of your folk are.”

“True,’ the elf admitted, nodding. “I have seen no small number of my people leave because they could no longer bear to stay. There is much I wish to do and see still, however, and besides, I doubt that my father will leave and I would not leave him all alone. And I would not leave Estel in any case,“ he said firmly.

“No, I can see that. You’ve known him a long time then?” Gimli queried, figuring that if he could get Legolas comfortable talking to him about other things that the elf might eventually unburden himself.

“Since he was a child. He was all of perhaps six or seven.” Legolas wore a reminiscent grin.

“I’ll bet he was a real rounder,’ Gimli commented, grinning.

“With Elladan and Elrohir around, how could he not be? They did, however, forget one small detail,” the elf said with a devilish grin. “They taught me all their tricks when I was a child and so I thought it only right to pass the knowledge on to Estel.” Gimli gave a great belly laugh at that and Legolas joined him, laughing his musical laugh. “And I shall pass it on again to Estel’s children, Iluvatar willing.”

“Well, then I’ll look forward to watching and being amused by the whole thing,” Gimli chuckled. “What about Bilbo? Did you meet him before the Council?”

“I met him right after the Battle of Five Armies. He was kind enough to keep me company for a time while I was recovering enough to travel home. He is a very good storyteller, do you not think so?” Legolas shifted, leaning back and casting his eyes toward the fading stars.

“Indeed he is. My father always spoke of him with great affection. I’m glad that I got to meet him.” Gimli studied the elf surreptitiously; he seemed to be relaxing a bit.

“Gimli, may I ask a question now?”

“Of course, lad. Fair’s fair, after all,” the dwarf replied, settling back against a tree. He wished he could smoke his pipe, but was afraid that it might offend the elf and he did not want to risk that when Legolas was finally relaxing enough to open up a bit.

“What is your father like?” He looked out of the corner of his eye at the dwarf. It was so childlike an action that Gimli nearly laughed.

“Well now, that’s a tough question to answer. Da’s the best weapons-maker I know, and I learned what I know at his knee. He also makes fine jewelry. Mam’s a gem cutter, so they work well together. He never put up with any guff from me, that’s for sure, but I never went without anything if he could help it, even if that meant he went without himself. He’s a shrewd trader, too. He’s well respected in the mountain, and is often asked for his advice, even by the king.” Gimli shrugged, unsure of what else to say.

“What about your mother? What is she like?” Legolas leaned forward, his interest plain.

“Mam’s a gem cutter, like I said. She’s not so serious a sort as Da is. She likes to laugh. She’s not one to suffer a fool, though, and I never got away with anything more with her than I did with Da. She’s got some healing skills, too and she helps the healers a lot. Knows her herbs and medicines well, she does. Neither Da nor I have had so much as a sniffle in years because of Mam’s teas.” Gimli shifted into a more comfortable position against the tree and shot Legolas a grin. “Your turn, Master Elf. What is your father like?”

“I can tell you what he is not. He is not a tyrant, nor is he a hoarder of treasure. He is a good and just king who is much beloved by the elves of his realm. Ada is not perfect by any means, he has his faults. He is stubborn, and he does have a temper, but he does not allow that to rule his actions. He learned that lesson well at Dagorlad when his father and his brother died as a result of my grandfather’s pride and temper. He has told me of it many times, so that I might not make the same mistake.” Legolas’ face bore a look of fierce pride.

“He raised me alone; my mother was killed by orcs before my third Begetting Day. I had nursemaids, but it was always Ada who put me to bed at night and greeted me in the morning when I woke. He always made time at least for that, and whenever else he could. He made my first bow and arrows with his own hands and was the first to guide me in using them.” He looked over at Gimli again with a slight smile. “You see why I will not suffer ill talk of him?”

“Aye, lad, I do. You will not hear any more from me, you have my word on it.” Gimli met the elf’s eyes solemnly.

“Thank you,” Legolas said simply and with that the hostility that had existed between them vanished completely as if it had never been. Gimli decided that perhaps the time had come for him to broach the subject he had been waiting for Legolas to speak about.

“What was troubling you earlier?” He watched the elf carefully for signs that he was closing up again, but saw none. Legolas chewed his lip for a moment, and then spoke.

“I was thinking of Mithrandir,” he said in a soft voice.

“Ah,” was all Gimli said. He reached out and laid a hand on the elf’s forearm, squeezing slightly. Legolas laid his hand over Gimli’s and they sat there in silence until the sun peeked over the horizon.