I did not intend to spy on him. I do not spy on anyone. But somehow my eye followed him more often than it should, more often than I could account for. It disturbed me, I could not find a reason for my pre-occupation since what interest could an elf possibly have in a dwarf? Dwarves are strange, unlovely things, without poetry or beauty in their flinty souls, stubborn and prideful and vengeful. Yet also I found him loyal and honest and true. It troubled me, the way I watched him, yet I could not do otherwise.
It was early morning and this was the best place to wash: a stream, fast running and clean, with deep pools beneath the trees, shaded and quiet and peaceful. He was there before me, silent and surly as always, waist deep in the water, rubbing at his arms and chest, shaking his long wet hair back. Head first then he plunged under the water, disappearing with remarkable grace, for one so clumsy and gauche. He emerged, breathing a little heavier than usual and walked out of the water. I have never seen a naked dwarf before.
His body was sturdy, well muscled and compact, without grace but a certain fitness and purpose about it. His chest, belly, arms and legs were all hairy, soft dense hair much darker than the red-brown of his beard. His arms were brawny, his chest broad, he seemed top heavy and ill-proportioned, although his legs were stocky, with firm thighs and a rounded rump. His sex was thick, a sturdy club of flesh, the skin dark, then a deep pink at the tip. His hair, I noted, loose from its bonds, reached down to his hips.
He stopped in the shallows to gather up his hair, gripping and twisting it to squeeze out the excess water, then shaking his head to release the tangled wet mass. His face was clean, expressionless, almost stern and almost noble in the early morning light. No one could call him fair yet he seemed not unlovely. Dwarves are made of stone, we say, mostly in jest but with a core of truth. Stone hard, enduring, unyielding, cold. He did not seem cold to me, but hard yes, and the endurance hinted at in his strong arms and muscular legs brought a bloom of heat to my cheeks.
I felt ashamed and walked forward to meet him, determined to make this a common place, determined not to act or feel like a spy upon my comrade's privacy. "Master Dwarf," I greeted him calmly. "A fresh morning for bathing."
"Yet the water is bitter chill, have a care, you will take cold if you linger," he said, his face was guarded but not closed.
"And you will not?" I tried to laugh at him.
"I am sturdier than you," and sturdy he seemed, wet and naked and bold before me in the early light.
"Indeed you are," and the tell-tale heat warmed my cheeks again, against my will. "You carry your own furry pelt."
He looked at me strangely then, as if he weighed my words for possible offence. He gave a shrug and his lips twitched with something close to a smile. "Dwarves are very furry," he growled it but I could tell there was no anger there. "And I am all dwarf."
"Indeed you are," I said again and would have moved past him except his hand stayed me, full in the centre of my breast. I am taller than he, older and wiser, I am a prince and a warrior - yet I trembled.
"Have a care, little elf, lest this furry dwarf wrap you up in his pelt and carry you off." The words were light but there was meaning in his tone and glance.
I looked down at his hand, so brown and strong as it rested above my heart, the skin glowing and clean against the cloth of my jerkin. "I am not afraid of furry dwarves," I was haughty, "and at least I would be warm."
"They say elves do not feel the cold," his words were accusing, "for are you not all song and starlight?"
"Perhaps," and feeling enough had been said, or left unsaid, I walked down to the water. I could feel his eyes watch every move I made. I shed my clothes and slipped into the water, gasping at the shock of it, cold and clean against my skin. He was right: elves do not feel or fear the cold, as poor mortals do, yet I was glad to get out of the water, feeling refreshed and restored by the icy touch of the swift running stream.
He had dressed but was still there, watching me, his shirt unlaced, his hair loose and wild around his shoulders.
I stooped to retrieve my clothing, my fingers not as nimble as I would have liked as I fumbled with laces and bindings. "Fool," he grunted and stomped to my side, brushing aside my fingers. He was not gentle but clever and firm, his hands deft upon me, making sure I was dressed and wrapped from the morning air. "It seems they lie, for you have taken cold, my little elf."
"Ah, no, master dwarf, but you may warm me if you wish," and I looked into his eyes, and trembled again before the deep banked burning heat that glittered there. My gaze fell to his chest, broad and strong, the soft curls of his hair and the warmth that radiated from his skin. I almost laughed at this absurdity, an elf struck dumb-witted by a dwarf.
But he did not share my laughter, his face darkened with sudden anger and he shook me, then pushed me away. "You mock me." His words were bitter, full of some hidden pain.
"Never," I said it gently and dared to reach out, to touch the long damp hair, twisting it round my hand, bringing him closer to me and me closer to him. "Dwarves are very different to elves," and I brought our faces closer and closer still. He was wary, ready to strike but I struck first, brushing my lips against his, feeling the odd tingle of his beard against my face. It was such a small thing to make me gasp, to fill me with that shameful heat again yet I shook with the power of it, and hid my face in his shoulder.
"What's this, what's this?" he was startled, perhaps uneasy but his arms were comforting in their strength and readiness. "An elf, put to the blush by a furry dwarf?" it was part tease, part question. "This can not be."
I shook my head, agreed and disagreed. "I do not know," and I sighed as his arms tightened around me. In my endless years, I had never felt so vulnerable nor yet so certain. He seemed timeless and ageless then, as eternal as stone while I was weightless, insubstantial. "I do not wish to be only song and starlight, Gimli," I confessed it from my heart and knew it to be true.
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