Bearded

Chapter 12

"Legolas, I know more than you imagine about how you might be feeling." Mili stood beside him and gestured for him to sit back down in the low chair. Her voice was low and her gentle hand was on his shoulder. Gimli's hand was on his other shoulder.

Legolas was trembling slightly and his breath was like a bull's, rushing from his nostrils as if control of his breath was the last restraint keeping him from raging.

"I saw your face when all those Dwarrow were flinging themselves at Gimli at the feast. I saw your face just now."

Legolas flinched and he held himself as if some great weight bore down on him.

Mili continued in a compassionate, but no-nonsense tone. "Legolas, I am wed to a 'Hero of Erebor'. How many Dwarrow do you think I have had asking me formally if I would 'share Gloin with them', or even just have him sire Dwarrowlings on them? And then there were those who did not bother with any formal requests, and would just turn up, freshly braided, wherever Gloin would be? Legolas, Gimli loves you and he will not hurt you."

Gloin caught Mili's eye from where he stood, having closed the door behind Gudrun.

"The kind of love I have for Gloin does not allow me to share him in that way. It is a jealous love. Not all Dwarrow are thus. I understand how you feel more than you may think. And know that if Gimli had wanted a bearded-one, his heart would not have led him to you."

Tears welled up in Legolas' eyes.

Gloin looked away.

Legolas was still trembling, both with suppressed rage and something more raw, more fragile.

Gimli had cast an appraising glance briefly over Gudrun's gift to Legolas; the habit of one who also worked with delicate jewellery. He could not fault the craftmanship. Each link of the chains looked even and uniform and there were skilful highlights of silver and copper. But looking at it, he felt something sad and powerful moving through him. A fierce and protective love. Something Elvish must have woken up inside him. He wished for his One to be smooth. He wished to see the blush rise up on his cheeks and down his neck. To see his freckles, aye freckles, which rose after days under a baking sun. He wanted that smooth chin. He looked at Gudrun's creation.

A beard.

Chains were in place to loop over and behind his ears and link at the back of his head. At the back of his mind Gimli noted the ingenuity of the clasp she had used.

He thought of how, in the first days of their acquaintance he had initially been repulsed by the hairlessness of the Elves, but then, with a suddenness which had surprised him, in his heart had leapt up a flame of desire for that smooth face. Probably, it had been smouldering since Lorien, since Helm's Deep. He did not know. Then one day the flame had leapt up and blazed until all he could think of was that smooth chest. The thought of his own thick hands, plundering hands sliding across that smooth expanse and those elongated fingers exploring him all over in return had consumed him. Gimli looked again at the false beard and shuddered at the sight of it.

When Gudrun had laid her gift on the table, Gimli had reacted with speed to intercept Legolas and Gloin had acted quickly to send Gudrun away. As she was not fully trained as a warrior, Gimli did not think Gudrun had even realised how close she had come to danger, but he knew Gloin had seen. Legolas' battle stance had revealed him to be a coiled spring. At the tiniest gust of wind, he could have sprung at her and ripped her to shreds. With that fey look in his eyes he would have used his teeth in the absence of a blade.

Now he seemed suddenly exhausted and when Legolas had sat down, still trembling, Gimli saw in him the strain of being under the mountain as well as from his treatment over the past few days. He had half a mind to throw the metal mesh work into the fire. Suddenly he found the anger had died down, replaced with a fierce protectiveness as Legolas looked at him with eyes shining in the firelight.

"Do you wish me to wear it?"

Gloin looked as if he was about to speak. Gimli scowled so angrily at Gloin that the dwarf shrunk back; and when he looked as if he were about to open his mouth again, Mili turned and frowned at him until Gloin looked down, subdued.

"Never." Gimli rasped back, something strangely caught in his throat. No, he signed with his hands.

Even Gloin remained silent and half turned away.

Legolas knew that tales of the enchantments of his homeland had reached Erebor; there was the enchanted stream that caused forgetfulness and there were enchanted doors. Gimli had shared that every young child under the mountain begged for the tale of 'the fall of Smaug' as a bedtime story, and 'the wicked Elvenking' had featured prominently in this.

Despite this, Legolas had not thought that Dwarrow would think Elves would or could force another in this way. To touch another intimately without their permission, to force one to be with another without both being willing, these were grievous crimes and unheard of in Elfendom. He knew that Dwarrow punished such crimes with the sentence of death. Why was the evidence of their own eyes not enough to convince them that he and Gimli were together without the aid of any enchantments?

Legolas looked at Gloin. "Do you really believe I have enchanted Gimli?" He asked in a small voice.

Gloin gave no answer.

Gimli couldn't bear it any longer: the sight of his Elf, his One looking so angry, and hurt, and dispirited all at once. He felt a call to action, and it burst forth. He needed to get Legolas out under the sky.

"Come with me, love," said Gimli.

"Where are you going?" asked Mili, in a gentle tone that seemed to show she had guessed at least some of the thoughts running through Gimli's mind.

Gimli slung his axe over his back and gestured in Inglishmek. Out.