Gigolas (Legolas/Gimli) One Shots Book

The Confession

Author: greenkangaroo
Summary: When all is said and done -- the Ring destroyed, the orcs killed, the King of Men given back his rightful throne -- there is still one more thing to admit to.

"Gimli?"

"Aye?"

The dwarf, who had been leaning against one of the walls of Minas Tirith and looking out over the land, turned to glance up at his companion. Legolas approached slowly and pensively, in an odd mirror of his approach in Lorien when first the two began to demand less of one another and listen more.

Gimli didn't like that at all.

"Get over here, my elf." He spoke. "It's chilly and I'm in need of a buffer from the wind."

That surprised a laugh out of Legolas who crossed the remaining feet between them with ease. "As you demand, my dwarf." He said with a smile. He leaned beside Gimli, one hand on the other warrior's shoulder. "Soon, we will depart." He spoke.

"Aye but travel together for a while yet." Gimli reminded him. "Erebor and Mirkwood are not so far apart."

No, they were not, and in truth it was the plan of the lovers to go first to Mirkwood, where Thranduil would accept or condemn his son, and then on to the Lonely Mountain where Gimli would deliver the news of Moria and await the decisions of his own kin.

"Yes, about that..."

"Laddie if you try to talk me out of following you one more time," Gimli said with an edge of threat and Legolas immediately shook his head.

"No, no! No, Gimli, I will not try to dissuade the stubbornness of dwarves! In truth it will be a tonic to have you with me. Gandalf's words of how my home fared..." he trailed off.

Gimli grunted but found Legolas's hand with his own. In their absence their kin had fought hard and long. Dain Ironfoot was dead; parts of the Mirkwood had burned. They were both feeling the pinch of guilt, at not being there for those they loved regardless of the importance of the quest they had been on.

"Then what troubles you so, Legolas?" Gimli asked. "Speak to me, and without all your pretty nonsense."

"My pretty nonsense served me well for years before I met you, Master Gimli." Legolas replied, but he smiled. "Oh, alright. It is an... admittance, of a sort. A juvenile mistake and a very embarrassing one but if I do not speak now and your father takes offense later --"

"My father does not yet know you are coming." Gimli pointed out.

"Your father might not remember who I am." Legolas said. "I do not know how long the memories of dwarves are, but all the tales say they hold grudges as tightly as gold."

This alarmed Gimli. "You've reason to believe my father holds a grudge against you?" he asked, incredulous.

"Ai, my fierce little love, I do." Legolas said sadly. "And all for the blindness of a moment many years ago."

Gimli turned to his lover. "Speak to me." He pleaded.

"Only this, Gimli." Legolas forced his eyes away from the rolling green before him back to his dwarf. "You know of your father's time in my father's dungeon. Of this we haven't spoken, for fear of touching old wounds perhaps and after this should you desire it, I will never bring it up again."

Gimli squeezed Legolas's hand. We are not our fathers." He reminded his friend. "Speak."

"I was -- a part of the group that found the Oakenshield Company." Legolas said, finding it hard to keep his eyes on Gimli's face. They drifted down to his beard. "Very sick, they were, from the spider's venom. As my Lord commanded, they were searched and upon one dwarf with a most marvelous red beard I found a locket."

Gimli's mind conjured the image of the locket. His father wore it every day.

"Aye?" he said, prompting Legolas to continue.

"I -- please understand, Gimli," Legolas said, soundingly suddenly urgent, "I had not left the Greenwood for a thousand years. I was young and ignorant. I knew so much less then."

"Legolas." Gimli said patiently, "I am not your judge or jury. Please, explain."

"Well, out of curiosity I opened the locket and there were two pictures within. One I could recognize as a young dwarfling --" Gimli recalled the picture of himself, done when he was but ten years of age. He was forever trying to talk his father into getting a new one, but Gloin would have none of it. "--but the other, I -- well I--"

"Legolas." Gimli said. "Spit it out."

"I asked, 'who is this ugly creature' and the dwarf, he -- he was so angry -- he said, at the top of his lungs, 'that's my wife'."

Legolas couldn't take it anymore. He crumpled to his knees which brought him closer to Gimli and covered his face with his hands. "I didn't mean to be so callous, Gimli! I didn't understand. He was so angry, and his face was so sad -- I didn't realize until later how much he must have missed her. And to see him again, at Elrond's Council, beside you -- to realize that you were the dwarfling in the locket, and if your mother yet lives I must face her now and how can I do that knowing what I said years ago?"

Gimli was staring.

"It was you?" he asked.

Legolas nodded, looking miserable. "Ai, Gimli, it was me."

Gimli did a most unexpected thing then.

He started to laugh.

"Oh, Mahal," he wheezed, "Mahal my maker --" he broke off into another series of guffaws and Legolas clapped him on the back, startled.

"Gimli?!"

Hearing the panic and the strain of hurt pride in Legolas's tone Gimli managed to contain himself, though he was still grinning like a loon. "Don't fret so, my elf." He spoke. "I laugh at a memory, not at your confession! It was brave of you to tell me such a thing, though compared to our miles together it is so small."

"It is not small to me, Gimli." Legolas said. "I offended, deeply, and now I do not know how to make up for it."

"Oh, my elf." Gimli said with a small smile. "There's no need."

Legolas furrowed a brow. "How do you mean?"

"Aye my father long remembered that an elf of Mirkwood once slighted my mother," Gimli said, "and he talked often about it and at length whenever he was in his cups. My dear Ma tolerated it only so long before she told him it only made sense."

Legolas watched Gimli, already worried. "Made sense?"

"Aye," Gimli said. "She said that of course an elf wouldn't know beauty from dirt because can elf didn't have the beard for it."

Legolas wasn't sure if he had just been insulted or not. Gimli's hand twined with his made him look down and the dwarf's eyes were shining so brightly in good humor and adoration that Legolas decided if he HAD been insulted, it mattered little.

"My father might recall your face, and perhaps he will be angry," Gimli said. "But here you stand with me, and while we have traded many harsh words, you have yet to call me ugly."

"I would never!" Legolas protested. "Gimli you are to me as the finest oak, the tallest mountain, the brightest jewel in the earth! You are --"

"Aye, and you're prettier than all the mithril in Moria, but that is not the point." Gimli said gruffly, embarrassed by his lover's praise. "My point, Legolas, is that you are mine, and I am yours, and we chose one another despite all odds. My mother will see that. She will respect it. And I know she will love you."

Legolas's eyes filled with wonder. "Do you truly believe so?"

"I know so." Gimli said. "But to be on the safe side, best compliment her beard!"