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They had been riding for hours under the merciless sun, and the toll was beginning to show on both horse and rider. Arod's usually steady gait had grown choppy, his breathing labored as he carried his double burden across the endless plains. Gimli shifted uncomfortably behind Legolas, his arms wrapped securely around the elf's slim waist, partly for balance on the bareback horse, and partly because he had discovered he rather enjoyed the excuse to hold Legolas close. Now and then, when a particularly rough patch of ground jostled them, Legolas would lean back against him, and Gimli would tighten his hold protectively.
"This poor beastie's gonna buck us off soon," Gimli murmured against Legolas's back, his accent roughened by dust and fatigue. "He needs water somethin' fierce."
Legolas nodded, his keen eyes noting what Gimli's less-practiced gaze had missed. His hand found Gimli's where it rested against his ribs, fingers intertwining naturally as if they had done this a thousand times before. He brought their joined hands up briefly, pressing a lingering kiss to Gimli's knuckles before settling their hands back against his waist. "He is managing, but you are right, he is slowing. His head dips with each stride now." There was concern in his musical voice, the kind that spoke of someone who understood horses as more than mere transportation.
Gimli turned awkwardly in his seat, calling out to Aragorn, who rode nearby on Brego. "We need ta rest the horses! They need water!"
"I know," Aragorn called back, his own mount's flanks dark with sweat, "but Théoden keeps a wild pace. We dare not fall behind the main company."
"Well, I'm not farin' well either!" Gimli barked, his discomfort finally overriding his stubborn pride. "My arse feels like it's been beaten with hammers, and that's sayin' somethin' for a dwarf who's spent half his life sittin' on stone!"
"Meleth nîn, easy," Legolas said softly, squeezing Gimli's hand in gentle reproach. The endearment rolled off his tongue like honey, sweet and natural. He lifted their joined hands again, this time brushing his lips across Gimli's weathered fingers in a gesture so tender it made the dwarf's heart skip several beats. "We will see to it you get properly watered as well."
Aragorn gave them a long, measured look that somehow managed to be both knowing and warmly approving, saying nothing in response to the casual intimacy he had just witnessed. "I will speak with Théoden about calling a halt," he said instead, urging Brego forward toward where the king rode at the head of their column.
As Aragorn disappeared into the dust kicked up by the Rohirrim, Gimli cocked his head thoughtfully. "What about a melon?" he asked suddenly. "I like melon. Sweet, juicy, good for a thirsty dwarf."
Legolas's shoulders shook with silent laughter. "Noted for future reference." He turned his head slightly, voice dropping to an intimate murmur that sent warmth cascading through Gimli's chest. "But I said 'meleth nîn.' It means 'my love.'"
There was a long pause, during which Arod's hoofbeats seemed uncommonly loud against the hard-packed earth. When Gimli finally spoke, his voice carried a note of wonder mixed with uncertainty. "We haven't used such a word before. I feel it, but ain't yet felt the need to give voice ta it, not that I wouldn't mind, you understand." Another pause, more thoughtful this time. "That's... that's a new one, laddie." His dark eyes were wide when Legolas glanced back at him. "It's only been a few days since the flower and the bismuth."
"I have always been one to jump in headfirst," Legolas admitted as Arod slowed to match the pace of the riders ahead, who were finally beginning to rein in their mounts. He rolled his shoulders to ease the tension there, and Gimli's hands moved with him, thumbs stroking soothingly along his ribs in unconscious comfort. "When I commit to something or someone, I do not do so by halves." His voice grew softer, almost vulnerable, and he tilted his head back slightly so Gimli could hear him better. "If the same holds for you, that is."
"Aye," Gimli said without hesitation, though his voice was rough with emotion. The squeeze of his hand was returned in equal measure, a silent promise that needed no translation. "But right now, I need rest before I fall off this beast and make a fool of myself in front of half the Rohirrim."
"As do I, I am afraid. I have been awake far too long." Legolas looked around at the endless grassland stretching in all directions, calculating distances and terrain with the practiced eye of a scout.
"How long, laddie?" Gimli asked with growing concern, his free hand finding the elf's hip while the first squeezed reassuringly in their handhold.
Legolas tilted his head back to meet his gaze, and Gimli leaned forward slightly, close enough that his breath stirred the golden hair at Legolas's nape. "Thirty-six hours, perhaps more. Time blurs when one is trying not to think about how much one's back aches from carrying a dwarf." Despite the teasing words, he pressed back against Gimli's solid warmth, seeking comfort.
"Oi!" Gimli protested, but there was laughter in his voice. "How long can ye go without proper rest?"
Legolas shook his head, golden hair catching the afternoon light like spun sunlight. "Perhaps three days at most, but I am no longer in my first millennium. It is not as easy to manage as it once was, age creeps up on even the elves, though we pretend otherwise."
Gimli said nothing to that sobering reminder of the vast gulf in their lifespans, choosing instead to focus on more immediate concerns. "We'll find a quiet place and rest proper-like once we make camp."
Legolas's laugh was like silver bells in the wind. "Quiet? With your snoring?" The gentle jab was delivered with such fond affection that it took any sting out of the words. "I fear the entire camp will know exactly where the dwarf sleeps."
Gimli wanted to act put out by the teasing, to muster some indignation about elven sensitivity to noise, but found himself laughing instead. "Och, and here I thought ye found me charmin' in all ways. My poor, delicate elf, shall I stuff moss in yer ears ta spare yer tender sensibilities?"
"Your charm, meleth nîn, lies in many things," Legolas replied with a grin that Gimli could hear in his voice, "but your nocturnal serenades are not among them." They chuckled together, warmth growing between them in their shared humor.
As the column finally began to slow for a much-needed rest, Gimli tightened his arms around Legolas's waist, allowing himself a moment of contentment despite the aches and dust and uncertainty of what lay ahead. He pressed his forehead briefly against the back of Legolas's neck, breathing in the scent of forest that clung to his hair and cloak, pine and starlight and something uniquely, wonderfully elvish. Whatever trials awaited them in Gondor, whatever darkness they rode toward, at least they rode toward it together.
"Meleth nîn," he murmured against Legolas's skin, testing the elvish words on his tongue. They felt strange but right, like a key finally finding its lock. "I think I could get used ta sayin' that."
Legolas leaned back against him slightly, and Gimli caught the soft smile that curved his lips. "I rather hoped you would."
Théoden's voice carried across the plains like a war-horn, commanding and clear despite the weariness that lined his weathered face. "We make camp here! Ten hours' rest for both horse and rider, we will need our strength for what lies ahead in Gondor!"
The words sent a ripple of relief through the entire column. Men slumped in their saddles, horses' heads drooped lower, and even the most disciplined of the Rohirrim couldn't hide their gratitude for the reprieve. Within moments, the organized chaos of making camp began: hobbling horses, unpacking bedrolls, and the most crucial task of all, getting the animals to water.
"There," Legolas pointed toward a line of trees that marked a watercourse perhaps half a mile distant. "I can hear running water. A good stream by the sound of it."
"Yer ears are better than mine," Gimli admitted as they guided Arod toward the blessed sound of water. "All I hear is my belly complainin' and the creak of leather that isn't there." He gestured ruefully at their lack of tack; they had been riding bareback for hours, trusting entirely to Arod's good nature and Legolas's bond with the horse.
The stream proved to be everything Legolas had promised: clear, cold water running swiftly over smooth stones, wide enough for dozens of horses to drink without crowding. Arod needed no encouragement; he waded directly into the shallows and began drinking deeply, his great sides heaving with relief.
"Easy, lad," Gimli murmured to the horse, sliding awkwardly from his back into the knee-deep water. His legs nearly buckled after so many hours astride, but Legolas was there immediately, steadying him with gentle hands that lingered longer than strictly necessary. "Och, I'm like a newborn colt on dry land."
"You rode well for someone unused to bareback," Legolas said diplomatically, though his eyes danced with amusement as Gimli wobbled slightly. His hands remained at Gimli's waist, thumbs tracing small, soothing circles. "Many would have fallen hours ago."
Around them, the Rohirrim were doing much the same: leading their mounts into the water, refilling waterskins, some even dunking their heads completely under the surface. Aragorn appeared with Brego, who immediately pushed past Arod to claim his drinking spot.
"How are you both faring?" Aragorn asked, though his knowing smile suggested he had already observed their growing comfort with each other during the long ride.
"Like I've been trampled by a herd of mûmakil," Gimli said honestly, stretching his back with a series of concerning pops. "But alive, which is more than I expected after ridin' bareback across half of Middle-earth."
"The horses needed this rest," Legolas said, running his hands along Arod's neck and withers, checking for sore spots with practiced expertise. "For those with tack, the metal bits and leather saddles would have made their burden far worse in this heat."
"The rest is well earned." Aragorn nodded, looking out at the men with satisfaction.
As the sun sank toward the western horizon, painting the grasslands in shades of gold and amber, the three companions made their way back toward the main camp. Cook-fires were already beginning to bloom like orange flowers across the darkening plain, and the comforting sounds of men settling in for the night filled the air: low conversation, the clink of gear being set aside, horses nickering softly to each other.
"I think," Gimli said quietly as they approached the edge of the encampment, "I'd like a bit of space tonight. If ye don't mind." He glanced meaningfully between Legolas and the crowded camp, where privacy was nonexistent and curious eyes were everywhere.
Legolas followed his gaze and nodded immediately, understanding flickering in his storm-grey eyes. "There is a small rise about a hundred yards north of here. Still within sight of the sentries, but far enough for..." He paused delicately.
"For what?" Aragorn asked innocently, though his grin suggested he understood perfectly.
"For conversation without the entire Rohirrim listening in," Legolas finished with as much dignity as he could muster, though his cheeks held the faintest hint of color.
"Ah, yes, conversation." Aragorn's tone was so dry it could have started fires. "By all means, go converse. I will make sure no one disturbs your... discussion."
Gimli shot him a look that promised retribution later, but there was gratitude in it too. Privacy had been a rare commodity since they had begun this journey, and rarer still since the night of the star flower.
An hour later, they found themselves settled on the small hill Legolas had spotted, their modest fire crackling cheerfully between them and a clear view of the main camp spread out below. The night sky had unfurled above them like a vast tapestry, stars beginning to prick through the deepening blue, and for the first time in days, they had something approaching solitude.
"Better?" Legolas asked, settling cross-legged beside the fire with effortless grace.
"Much." Gimli lowered himself more carefully, his battered body protesting every movement. As he settled, Legolas moved closer without hesitation, their knees touching, and the simple contact sent warmth through Gimli that had nothing to do with the flames. "Though I may never sit properly again after today."
"I could help with that," Legolas offered quietly, his hand finding Gimli's where it rested on the ground between them. His fingers traced gentle patterns across the dwarf's calloused palm. "Elvish techniques for easing travel soreness. My hands are quite skilled."
Gimli felt heat rise in his cheeks that had nothing to do with the fire. "Are they now?" he managed, his voice rougher than usual.
"Quite skilled," Legolas confirmed with a smile that was both innocent and decidedly not. "But perhaps we should eat first. You mentioned your belly is complaining."
They shared travel rations and water from their skins, speaking softly of small things: the quality of Rohirrim horsemanship, speculation about what they would find in Minas Tirith, Gimli's growing respect for riding without stirrups. But as the night deepened and the sounds from the main camp grew quieter, their conversation turned to more personal matters.
"Can I ask ye somethin'?" Gimli said suddenly, breaking a comfortable silence as he stared up at the star-scattered sky. Without thinking, his thumb traced small circles over Legolas's knuckles.
"Anything."
"I've always been..." He paused, searching for the right words, his free hand gesturing vaguely. "Fascinated by elves, I suppose. Even before I met you, before any of this." He lifted their joined hands slightly, indicating the intimacy between them. "My people, we're taught to distrust yer kind, to see elves as arrogant and cold. But I've always wondered..." Another pause. "What is it like? Livin' for thousands of years, seein' the world change around ye like seasons passin'?"
Legolas was quiet for so long that Gimli began to worry he had overstepped somehow. When the elf finally spoke, his voice was thoughtful, distant.
"It is both gift and burden," he said softly. "You see wonders beyond counting: forests grow from saplings to ancient groves, mountains are carved by wind and water into new shapes, peoples rise and flourish and pass into legend. But you also watch everything you love fade away. Friends grow old and die, cities crumble, even the very languages change until the words of your youth sound strange in your mouth."
"Does it make it hard to..." Gimli struggled with the words. "To care about things that ye know will pass?"
Legolas turned to look at him directly, firelight dancing in his storm-grey eyes. He brought their joined hands up and pressed a lingering kiss to Gimli's knuckles before speaking. "Sometimes. But I have learned that the briefness of beautiful things does not diminish their worth, it makes them more precious, not less." His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "A flower that blooms for a single day can be more meaningful than a mountain that stands for an age."
Gimli felt his throat tighten with emotion he was not entirely prepared for. "Even if the flower fades?"
"Especially then." Legolas's grip tightened, his thumb stroking across Gimli's weathered knuckles. "For then you carry its memory always, and no amount of time can tarnish something held that carefully in the heart."
The silence that fell between them was warm, comfortable, full of understanding that went deeper than words. Gimli found himself studying Legolas's profile in the firelight: the sharp line of his jaw, the way his golden hair caught and held the flickering glow, the star flower that still gleamed above his left ear like a captured star made manifest by his own hands. Almost without thinking, he reached up with his free hand to touch the delicate metal petals gently.
"I asked Lady Galadriel for a strand of her hair once," Gimli said suddenly, his fingers still tracing the delicate metalwork, the confession tumbling out before he could think better of it.
Legolas's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Did you? That was... bold of you."
"Aye, bold and probably stupid. She could have struck me down for the presumption." Gimli's cheeks reddened, but he didn't pull his hand away from where it rested against Legolas's hair. "But I couldn't help myself. She was so... ethereal. Like somethin' from a dream or a song. I wanted somethin' to remember that such beauty existed in the world."
"And did she grant your request?"
"She gave me three strands." The wonder in Gimli's voice was still fresh, even weeks later. "Three, when she had refused even the great lords of her people. I still don't understand why."
Legolas smiled, and something knowing flickered in his expression. He shifted closer, their shoulders now touching as well as their hands and knees. "Perhaps she saw something in you that you did not see in yourself. Something worthy of such a gift."
"Or maybe she just found it amusin' that a dwarf would have the audacity to ask." Gimli shook his head, but he leaned into the contact, savoring the warmth of Legolas beside him. "Either way, I've been fascinated by yer people ever since I was old enough to hear the stories. The grace, the beauty, the magic..." He looked at Legolas directly. "I never thought I'd know an elf, much less..."
"Much less what?" Legolas prompted gently, turning so they were facing each other more fully.
"Much less fall in love with one," Gimli finished quietly, the words carrying the weight of absolute truth.
The smile that spread across Legolas's face was radiant, transforming his entire countenance like sunrise breaking over mountains. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned forward and brushed his lips against Gimli's in a kiss that was soft, sweet, and full of promise. When they parted, both were breathing a little unsteadily.
"Your fascination with my people is fortunate, then, since you appear to be rather thoroughly caught by one of us," Legolas murmured against Gimli's lips, his breath warm and inviting.
"Thoroughly caught," Gimli agreed, unable to keep the grin from his face. He cupped Legolas's face in both hands, thumbs stroking over the elegant cheekbones. "And happy to be so, if truth be told." He leaned in for another kiss, this one deeper, more certain, tasting of starlight and new beginnings.
Legolas shifted closer, closing the remaining distance between them until they sat pressed together from shoulder to knee beside the dying fire. He rested his forehead against Gimli's, their noses nearly touching, breath mingling in the small space between them. "Then we are well matched, meleth nîn. For you have caught me just as thoroughly."
He pressed another gentle kiss to Gimli's lips before settling more comfortably against him, one hand finding Gimli's where it rested on his thigh while his other fingers began tracing idle patterns on the dwarf's palm, circles and spirals that seemed to follow some elvish design only he could see.
As the night deepened around them and the stars brightened overhead, they sat together in comfortable intimacy, sometimes murmuring of everything and nothing, sometimes sharing gentle kisses that tasted of wonder and new love, sometimes simply holding each other in peaceful silence. Gimli's free hand remained tangled in the golden silk of Legolas's hair, marveling at its softness, occasionally brushing against the star flower that gleamed there like a promise made manifest.
"Sleep," Gimli murmured eventually, noting the way Legolas's eyelids had begun to flutter closed despite his best efforts to stay awake.
Legolas nodded gently, letting his head fall to rest against Gimli's shoulder as sleep claimed him. He looked utterly peaceful, so thoroughly relaxed that for a moment Gimli's heart clenched with protective tenderness.
It was, Gimli thought drowsily, precisely the kind of quiet wonder he had always imagined when he dreamed of knowing an elf. He shifted carefully, settling more comfortably without disturbing his sleeping companion, and rolled his body toward Legolas protectively. Closing his eyes and letting sleep take him where it would, he kept his hands entwined with the elf's in the quiet darkness, and didn't remember sleep taking its hold, but it had, gentle and complete, wrapping around them both like a blessing.