Title: Missed
Written by: Vana E
Pairing: Aragorn/Legolas, maybe some slight semi-unrequited 
Gimli/Legolas too.
Rating: R for violence.
Warnings: AU and not all to the movie, some bookverse: Angst, pain, 
battle, gore and an ending normal folk will hurt me for.
Summery: Gimli 2nd person pov. Gimli makes a sacrifice to absolve his 
own life regrets in the deciding battle of Middle Earth.
A/N: I wrote this for the January challenge for LoM. Considering I cannot 
write anything but angst, this seemed appropriate for my twisted mind. I 
usually read and worship such fics as this, but for once I decided to write 
one and this is a first attempt at anything like this. It took me a whole 
month to write this, and even then it was already rushed by January 18th as 
I realized “Fug! Deadline!”…Then came January 29th and I was feeling 
doomed. May Minka and YT be satisfied that I am now fully corrupt. 
Sincerely: Vana E the Sadist.


------------------------------------* ~ * ~ * ~ *------------------------------------

<Part 1>

“That still counts as one!” cried the dwarf, bristling in indignation at the 
uppercut class of the haughty elf before him that seemed unruffled by his 
exertions except for a stray strand of hair waving lazily in the breeze. 
After battling a giant beast, capable of crushing a score of men (and 
dwarves) in one step, leaping from level to level along the flanks of the 
same beast and defeating all that resided upon it as well as the monster 
itself, he could have at least have had the courtesy of being inflicted with 
more than just one strand of flawless hair escaping his intricate elven 
braid.

“Ah…but I still am ahead by at least fourteen, oh stunted one.” He 
laughed and placed his hands on his hips, a declaration for a good 
comeback if the shorter one could think of one at that moment.
 
But he didn’t get the chance, instead yelling in alarm and ducking as a hail 
of arrows skimmed over them both, face meeting dirt while cursing his 
ineptness for carrying a shield that would have saved him the trouble of 
grovelling in front of his companion. When the arrows ceased in their 
barrelling droves, the dwarf finally raised his head and looked around, 
muttering about ‘the things I do to stay alive’ before he spotted the elf, 
standing, infuriatingly calm and placid as usual with a rather annoying 
smirk on his face as he lowered his bow.

“Make that twenty four.”

Blast the damned elves to the bottomless pits of the mires for their cool 
confidence and insufferable perfection! It simply was not fair and he made 
this known with an irritated grunt and vow that he would best the 
immortal one before this war was out, or he would…he would…cut off his 
beard. Yes…his beard…if that were not an incentive to do better then he 
didn’t know what was.

“Tell me…have you ever missed?”

The elf looked down at him suspiciously, raising an eyebrow as if to sense 
a hidden reason for this unexpected question.

“Why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “No reason. I simply am curious as to whether you have 
ever missed and if there would ever be a chance to miss again.” His scowl 
grew deeper as the elf started to laugh while they walked back to Aragorn, 
the battle seemingly over except for a few straggling groups of Orcs and 
men of Harad being round up and either killed, or taken prisoner. No Orc 
was spared even a choice.

“Is that what this is all about? You feel sore about losing the count yet 
again and wish to see my flaws in order to derive an internal feeling of 
satisfaction that you better me in something? My dear Gimli, I have my 
flaws as do you…but we have yet to see them in each other for I have seen 
none in your technique as of yet and I guess I would be much privileged to 
witness them, if they ever occurred.” He smiled at his dumbstruck 
companion before spotting Aragorn and walking swiftly to meet him, 
leaving the dwarf behind to ponder his words.

The elf had complemented him. The prince of Mirkwood, son of King 
Thranduil and the very elven king that had imprisoned his own father 
years before and therefore caused an almost impenetrable rift between 
them, had just about said he was flawless in his own dwarvish way and his 
pride fluttered nicely within his chest. He could call Legolas a friend if he 
kept such compliments up…but…

He blinked. Damn that elf! He had avoided answering the question and he 
was no wiser now then he was before. Instead he buttered up the so-called 
answer with a rounded endearment of skill and sidestepped the real 
issue…had.he.ever.missed?

Gimli muttered some more as he caught up with the elf and human, the 
latter conversing with the so-called Captain of the Dead Army he had to 
suffer a journey over water with. Really…letting them go was a very bad 
idea and he voiced his opinion immediately, regretting it when the ghost 
seemed to broil with anger before the man finally said the magic words 
and the broiling turned into a sigh of relief as the entire army drifted away 
with the breeze…never to be seen again.

Gimli was glad to be rid of them.

On their walk towards the gates of the White City, the dwarf deigned to 
approach the tall golden elf once more but ceased coming any closer when 
he saw a strange sight.

The human was walking ahead of them both, striding forward as his 
ranger namesake suggested to meet Mithrandir as he emerged from the 
battered gates with arms outspread in greeting, white robes slightly stained 
at the hems but otherwise unscathed. Blast the perfection of wizards too.
What made the sight strange is that Legolas, who was directly in front of 
himself, did not even make any acknowlegement of his blindingly white 
presence. Instead he was staring up at the sky, finding his steps without 
even looking as they picked their way through corpses and ravaged battle 
equipment and seemingly straining to hear something.

Suddenly a screech and caw cut through the mists that had descended 
upon them all and he had to stop sharp in order to not tumble into the elf, 
who now stood stock still and silent.

Aragorn seemed to sense something amiss behind him and turned to see 
the trouble. Both dwarf and man frowned as words flowed from the elven 
lips and he continued to stare at the sky as though in a trance.

“Legolas Greenleaf long under tree, in joy thou hast lived. Beware of the 
sea!” his voice sounded strained and both companions had to lean close to 
hear it. “If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore,” his voice faltered 
as the screech called out again and a single bird swooped down over their 
heads, mocking them with it’s obvious siren call to elves before circling 
around Legolas’ head and disappearing into the mist once more. “Thy 
heart…shall then rest in the forest…no more.”

His voice had been so quiet at the last line that both had barely caught it. 
But when they did and they both mulled over it for mere seconds before 
coming to a startled realization at the same moment and met each other’s 
eyes…they remembered.

‘Vision of the Lady.’ Mouthed Gimli to Aragorn, but it was the wizard 
next to him who nodded sadly. Then the elf seemed to snap out of it and 
he looked at them all curiously.

“Why are we standing here open-mouthed enough to catch a bee’s nest 
apiece? Are we not going to discuss the events that have occurred today 
and filled us in on hidden news?” It was as though the bird had never 
arrived and Galadriel’s prophecy had never been brought to light. A 
strange thing to be sure and Legolas was definitely unaware of their 
confused and concerned looks as he himself looked around at the battle-
scarred Pelennor Fields with a fixed and determined gaze. “We are 
missing someone.” He merely said and all heads turned to where he 
nodded, a grey blob of movement seeming to bounce and stagger towards 
them before it finally came within their vision and the sight all but drove 
the strange event from the dwarf’s mind as he shouted with joy.
“The little rascals! They have grown beneath our very noses and proved 
their worth in battle and here we stand and gape? Come…let us meet then 
and help them within the walls. For though they are now warriors, they are 
still little.”

“Little, Master Dwarf?” said one as he came close and shifted his weight 
against the other who was supporting him. “I would not call us 
little…vertically challenged maybe, but never little. We are now taller 
than Frodo.” Merry smiled painfully up at them as Pippin finally drew 
them both to a halt, wheezing and gasping from exertion.

“Say what you will, Merry. But I still say you grew sideways and not up, 
if this monstrous weight says anything.”

“Who ate all the cake within the Guard room back in Isengard? I would 
not call myself fat if I showed more round the middle. I sometimes swear 
all Took’s legs are hollow.”

“A known fact to be sure.”

“Pippin!”

“Well it’s the truth…is it not, Gandalf?”

The wizard sighed and shook his head. “I cannot deny that statement to be 
truthful…but come, this dallying has gone on for long enough. There is 
work to be done and much to speak of.”

“Of Frodo, sir?”

“Yes, Pippin,” Gandalf smiled sadly. “Of Frodo and Sam and the trials 
they are now facing. We have much to discuss and plan.”

Frodo…it brought them all back to the true seriousness of the situation. 
They were still a Fellowship, the Ring still existed and was still playing 
them all like a game. Their own personal problems seemed minuscule in 
comparison to the fate of the very world they lived in and the dwarf stored 
the day’s events to the corner of his mind, making sure his head was clear 
for thinking about whatever they may talk about soon. But one thing just 
wouldn’t leave him alone, even as they were all walking.

“Legolas…did you ever miss?”

The elf seemed to regard him for a moment before breaking into a smile 
and leaning down.

“Who says I ever missed?” He laughed and made his way quickly to walk 
next to Aragorn, admirably making a good show of ignoring the splutters 
of indignation from Gimli as he invented enough curses about the sadistic 
humour of elves to last well into the next two ages at least.

* * * *

<Part 2>

His eyes were soiled…no…burned to a crisp, or they would be as soon as 
he found a hot iron poker short enough so he could aim for his own eyes 
efficiently.

What he had seen was not necessarily a surprise, he had been suspecting it 
for an awful long time now and one cannot really ignore the distinct sound 
of kissing when you are trying to sleep without a warm fire. But it was the 
whole concept of WHAT he had seen. Too much detail, too much…he 
shivered…skin. Really, certain things that are usually hidden behind 
closed doors and only shared with two people should stay behind closed 
doors. Others should never be privy to their private pleasures. It was too 
disturbing.

Of course, these two HAD been behind closed doors, in the storeroom, 
surrounded by food, and by some miracle it was not the hobbits who found 
them but a certain, now blushing madly, dwarf.

He needed a very hot poker, this was going to scar his mind and pain may 
erase it.

As he made his way back to the room he shared with the man and elf 
within the great castle, palace…halls to be more politically correct, his 
mind wandered back to what he witnessed without even being conscious 
of it.

Two bodies, one pale in the dim light, smooth and lithe and totally 
melding with the roughness of the other, the coarse skin and almost 
natural scruffiness seemingly working well in complementing the total 
opposite of the elf. The sighs and endearments, sweet and soft as their 
souls seemed to merge without even trying. The movement of sensuous 
rocking as they embraced their love and the glow, it was the glow that 
kept him watching as he stood there entranced, oblivious to any real 
physical events to be recalled. The glow of their entwining spirits, the 
glow all those show when deeply in love and beyond the reach of the mere 
mortal mind as they relished in the moment. 

He wanted the glow, he now hungered for it and it hurt to know he would 
probably never experience it in his life as there were sparse available 
females (or males) willing to be with him to share that love. That and the 
fact they were marching to certain death in less than a full day to give the 
rest of Middle Earth the chance of survival.

He wanted the glow, and mourned the knowledge he would never receive 
it.

Gimli’s urge to scrub his eyes raw was finally replaced by a deep sense of 
melancholy by the time he reached their room. He was in no mood for 
bantering and was very glad that Pippin was keeping Merry company in 
the House of Healing, he felt like he wanted to use his axe if anyone dared 
disturb his depression.

And so he waited, and waiting again until dusk came and the sky grew 
darker. His sadness and regret having finally seeped so far into his pores 
that when Legolas came in with nary a knock or warning, his emotions 
were open and clear for even a child to see, never mind the elf.
Legolas stopped and stared, the smile ready for the usual bantering 
dropped from his face immediately as he saw the distress on his friend’s 
face.

“Gimli, what in the world is the matter?” He came and stood before him, 
his silhouette against the rising moon seeming to shine and glimmer and 
his hair becoming golden translucence surrounding dark features. But it 
did not hide the intense expression of concern marring his face and Gimli 
sighed.

“Nothing that would concern you,” he chose his next words carefully, 
“unless you would happen to know where I could find some companion to 
keep me company this night before I go to death and honour in the 
morning.” Such noble words, the elf was rubbing off on him.

Legolas smiled a bit. “Ah. You seek companionship I see…and I cannot 
see where the problem lies. There are many fair maidens, and not quite 
maidens, to be found in the lower circles of the city. I am sure they would 
be glad to offer their serv…”

“Damn you, elf!” Gimli retorted, “You are assuming too much and are 
thinking of only yourself in such matters.” He hopped off the bed and 
started pacing. His bare feet were muffled by the light rug laid down over 
the stonework to keep the drought out and he was stroking his beard into a 
frizzed mess…in other words, he was uncannily anxious. Anxiousness 
was not an emotion he liked showing.

 Legolas watched him carefully. “Gimli…tell me what the problem is so 
we may be able to solve it.”

The dwarf halted for a mere moment at that remark before turning on his 
heel and continuing to pace.

“Problem? The problem with all of this is that you simply cannot see what 
my problem is. You assume to know exactly what I mean when I state that 
I would like ‘Company’…as if I was speaking of kitchen wenches and the 
woman of the street when in fact I couldn’t be further from that point. As 
if dwarves have no honour with whom they choose and would prefer to 
romp in abandonment for all eternity like some elves I know.” He missed 
the warning glare that flashed over Legolas’ face at that and continued. 
“For someone who has skills and beauty so fair as to make even other 
elves deep seated in envy, you can safely say that all maidens are ripe for 
the picking…so called. But I am a dwarf, a creation not of your Eru and 
not even by his wishes, but of the lesser Aulë and a mistake by all rights. 
For a maiden or otherwise to consider me remotely attractive to their 
needs it would make them surely desperate…never to mind the simple fact 
that we prefer our own kind, we chose only once, our women are scarce 
and…and I’m just too short.” He stopped pacing for a moment and calmed 
his breath that had sped up as his rant continued.

Legolas stayed eyeing him passively by the window.

“So what is it that you are trying to say by all this?” He asked, maybe a 
flicker of amusement crossing his face but Gimli couldn’t be sure in the 
dim light.

“I am saying that maybe I would just like you-”

“Me?”

“-to be my companion for tonight before we ride to war and kill many 
Orcs before a blade finds my flesh.” Gimli continued without missing a 
beat, even after Legolas’ exclamation of surprise and growing amusement.
The elf stared at him steadily with a smile tweaking the corners of his 
mouth.

“You want me to be your companion for tonight? Is this why you 
steadfastly refuse to accept any maidens? Because you wish for me to-”

“Must you damned elves twist EVERYTHING I say??” The dwarf huffed 
his displeasure at being mistaken and planted his feet apart and crossed his 
arms, firmly refusing himself the urge to start pacing once more. 

“Everything seems to have a double meaning for you! Why can I not say 
‘companion’ and just leave it at that? You have a one track mind, elf, and 
don’t you deny it.”

“Oh…I didn’t…I mean, I thought that…”

“You thought I would bed with you simply because I ask for your 
company?” Gimli raised an eyebrow and Legolas held his tongue, nodding 
sheepishly with a faint blush spreading over his cheeks. Or was that 
Gimli’s imagination again…the light was far too dim and that golden 
moonlit halo was quite the distraction.

“I did. And I am sorry if I offended you for it…my assumptions were 
clearly not founded.”

“Lad,” the dwarf shook his head and smiled slightly, “after what I have 
witnessed and discovered over the course of one night about you that 
would make any innocent fall into a deep confusion for a month…nothing 
can offend. I will go for a walk now…my head needs clearing.” He 
walked quickly to the door and paused, before patting his pockets and 
feeling the welcome curve of his pipe under the fabric. “Need smoke too.” 
He gave the elf a small smile before opening the door and walking out.
His smile grew just that much larger as the sound of a realizing gasp 
sounded behind him before he closed the door and walked down the 
hall…after what he had witnessed between him and the man, it was no 
wonder the elf was slightly slow this eve. His own secret of being a 
voyeur was also out and his smile dropped.

For some reason, he wasn’t too happy with his decision of walking out. 
And for the first time in a very long time…the promise of a pipe didn’t 
overwhelm the increasing regret that he should have made a different 
choice. He should have taken up Legolas’ offer, he thought silently. The 
elf almost looked disappointed.

It made his depression come back in full force. Sleep never looked further 
away than it did now.

* * * *

<Part 3>

They were doomed.

And that was the one thought that circled in his head as the circle grew 
tighter and the air around him grew thicker with the sweat of almost blind 
terror and mustered courage. His seat on the horse had been abandoned 
only a few moments prior so he may find a good place to position himself 
for the upcoming fight…his last great battle. He wondered why his hands 
were sweating so badly and this made the handle of his favourite weapon 
slippery in his grasp. This was not a good thing and he also thought about 
how to remedy this problem.

Another problem was the elf.

Always the elf. He was always just there in his line of vision, there in his 
thoughts no matter how hard he tries to focus on inane things of interest, 
there in his mind’s eye as the haloed creature of the night that haunted his 
steps ceaselessly since he had turned him down. He regretted that decision 
ever more as time wore on. Maybe it was the novelty of him being an elf, 
considering the fact he was ever loyal to the memory of the fair Lady 
Galadriel and was still completely enamoured with her. Even now he kept 
those three golden hairs in a felt pouch around his neck he had 
painstakingly sewn with only the finest of materials. Only the best for 
such a priceless treasure. But even so, the novelty of elves, especially this 
particular prince of elves, was overshadowed by the gloom and taste of 
known defeat hanging heavily over the company of less than six thousand 
against more than ten times that amount.

But he stoop steadfast and became resolute in his fate. Let them come, as 
they had come long ago in the mines of his cousin, let them come and taste 
the bite of his axe that would fall with vengeance worthy of song.

If he would die today, let him die and take as many with him as possible.
“I never thought I’d die side by side with an elf.” He sighed, running his 
finger gently over a groove in his weapon. He could almost feel the warm 
smile bestowed upon him from the golden being above and he looked up, 
becoming entranced all over again.

Legolas, the name rolled around in his mind in lyrical waves in ways he 
had never really understood until now. They said dwarves only chose 
once, well…he had never chosen. His fate had been laid for him and all he 
had to do now was walk it.

“How about a friend?” Legolas answered, laying a hand on his shoulder in 
comfort.

Though a simple question it drove his mind through a confusing whirl of 
shock, realisation and resignation in the matter of moments. ‘Friend’, he 
merely wanted to be a friend. But a friend he had already been…but they 
had never admitted it before now. Friend…he was Legolas’ friend and 
Legolas was Aragorn’s lover. It was how it would be, how it would ever 
be until they died, which seemed sooner than later.

That last night before the march had been a show of comfort, that was all. 
The elf had merely wished to bestow upon him something that was 
precious indeed and that not many had ever been subjected too…and he 
had turned him down.

He would die with regret, but at least they knew they would be friends.

“Aye, I can do that.” Gimli smiled and placed his hand over the elf’s, both 
smiling more with their mouths than eyes as the tension in the air 
increased till it was almost suffocating.

And then the last battle began.

The first Orc came upon Gimli quite a long time after they had started 
attacking. He had been almost shoved to the centre of the company by 
unrelenting forces of fighting bodies and panicking horses before they had 
broken through and he was able to make his first kill.

The Orc’s face twisted into a sneer which stayed frozen as he dropped to 
the ground, an elven arrow in the back of his head. Legolas called out a 
number, seventeen already and Gimli was still on zero. This was quite 
annoying and he swung around, catching another dark creature in it’s side 
and tugging hard on his axe, tearing the flesh and letting black blood spew 
forth in torrents while it lay writhing on the ground. Gimli didn’t spare it a 
merciful death, it didn’t deserve it and he swung again, this time slicing a 
leg clean of another Orc and ending it’s life with a smaller throwing axe 
imbedded in it’s skull.

This was his battle, this was how it was to be. Black blood and the 
screams of the dying. Men were falling around him like flies and the 
beasts were doing all they could to make sure they would be 
unrecognisable even before the death throws had ceased. He cursed them 
violently, shouting out ancient and sacred words of pure fury at the horror 
of what he was witnessing before lashing out and killing many with a few 
mere swings of his powerful axe. The poor lads of only few years, 
sometimes less than 15 it seemed, were given quick deaths by his knife as 
he mercifully slit their throats in one go and tried to watch them calmly to 
give some form of comfort before their eyes dimmed and their thrashing 
bodies ceased movement.

The Orcs and other monsters coming out through the dust of war were 
non-caring about how much pain they caused. They relished in it, 
sometimes never actually killing anyone and merely giving them injuries 
to make the death imminent, but long and agonising. One such monster 
was a good 7 hand-spans taller and thrice as wide as a man and had a skin 
tougher than any chain mail as Gimli found out when one throwing axe 
simply shattered on impact with it’s scaly hide. He decided retreat would 
be in order with this one if he cared to live longer than a few moments at 
most and he ran through the carnage to find another battle, finding it 
anyway as more and more Orcs came before him and were sometimes 
disembowelled and one limb less before they even realised he was there.
Screams, shouting and war cries were becoming dimmer as the triumphant 
roars of the beasts started chanting in their dark tongue. If they did not 
succeed to hold them at bay for long enough, then this language would be 
the only one heard on all the lands and he involuntarily shuddered when a 
head of a man fell before him and he quickly sidestepped it, only to trip 
and fall over the man’s following body as it dropped in front of his path.
Landing hard he felt the wind whoosh from his lungs and a stinging pain 
shoot through his right arm. He hadn’t even landed on that arm and he 
twisted around to look up at the sky, to come face to face with a leering 
Orc. For the second time since the battle begun, the face froze and not by 
his own doing. The Orc toppled to the side and Legolas came up behind it, 
shoving it away with his foot in disgust while leaning down to give Gimli 
some help.

When he took the hand though, a fiery agony seared through his body and 
his gasped out loud, letting go of the proffered hand and gripping his right 
shoulder with his left hand hard. Looking at it now, he saw that the Orc 
who had beheaded the man he had fallen over had successfully torn a large 
gaping gash running from his shoulder clear halfway down his 
forearm…the blade had been strong enough to slice through the links of 
his mail. He could barely flex his fingers and the pain was great.
Legolas seemed to go even paler than normal at this sight and quickly 
began to tear strips of material from his tunic, binding the wound at the 
top and bottom tight before wrapping longer pieces around the exposed 
flesh. Gimli simply watched him and wondered at the back of his mind 
why they hadn’t been killed yet.

“Legolas, I am fine…go find Aragorn.” He said softly, but knew the elf 
could hear.

His friend looked up as he tied off the last knot and grasped his good 
shoulder. “I cannot leave you like this.”

“Legolas,” he growled in warning, struggling to a standing position and 
picking up his axe again with his left hand, “if you start mollycoddling me 
over something as small as this, I may have to lay my own wrath upon you 
to give you something truly to worry about. Your hair *does* seem a little 
too long for my liking.”

The look of shock on the elf’s face was enough to send him chortling.

“You wouldn’t dare!”

“I would! Now…don’t we have a battle to fight? And where is Aragorn?” 

Gimli smiled and thanked the higher powers for giving the fight a little bit 
of respite…he and Legolas had been left alone for a time but now they 
were coming back in full force.

“Aragorn? Aragorn is…” The elf frowned and started looking a little 
frantic almost immediately. The dwarf quickly sobered.

“Go find him, it would do us no good if he were…” He didn’t have to 
finish the sentence before the elf was sprinting back into the depths of 
battle, leaving him to force himself to grit against the growing pain in his 
arm and get used to the feeling of holding his axe in one hand only. It 
would be a disability; he would tire quickly at this rate.
He took a deep breath and charged back into the fray and was accosted 
almost immediately by another Orc. He heaved his axe to and cut deep 
into it’s flesh, but was already panting from the exertion and his shoulder 
was throbbing angrily.

“Aragorn!” The panicked cry of a voice he knew almost too well carried 
over the din and he saw a flash of gold, before it seemed to vanish under a 
mass of goblin bodies before emerging again. “Aragorn!!”

Gimli stared pushing his way through the mass of bodies; he was using 
only his throwing axe now as the larger was next to useless with such an 
injury. But it was still effective and he gouged into many of the enemy 
before something he saw made icicles freeze in his veins and his heart 
stop.

Legolas was running hard, pushing at the enemy instead of killing them to 
get to someone who held his heart. He looked desperate and panicked, his 
hair for once in disarray in a way that would have made for a nice quip 
about elven vanity from the dwarf if he weren’t so horrified by the sight. 
Coming up behind the oblivious elf was the beast from earlier, that he 
simply could not kill and had a hide of stone. Legolas was not aware of it, 
so intent was he in getting to the future king who was currently under 
attack from another such beast. The club was raised, it would come down 
and rid the earth of a fair and immortal being such as he had never known. 
It would crush him with its blow and Legolas would die without even 
knowing it.

Gimli could not let that happen.

He let out an almighty shout then. Gathering all his strength and putting 
his boasts of dwarven sprints to its full potential, he charges through the 
battling men and Orcs, dodging blows and ducking under slicing swords 
that skimmed over the top of his helm he ran full pelt at his friend…his 
lost chosen one.

“Legolas, get down!!” He yelled before pummelling into the lithe and 
seemingly fragile body and shoving him down and out of harms way.
About then the world turned red, a rumble shook the earth beneath them 
and deep inside his heart, Gimli knew they had succeeded…too late.
His own world turned white barely a moment later and his body laying 
over Legolas was cruelly swiped to one side with the blow that had been 
meant for the elf. He dimly felt himself weightless for a short time, the air 
and ground spinning before his blurred vision before he landed, he felt 
many things within him give way and the pain assaulted him with a 
brutality that made him gasp for the air that would not come.

He could feel naught but pain, his whole world was now fire and the 
sensation of being crushed without pause and increasing weight. He could 
not move, nor speak, not blink his eyes or even breathe. His world was 
white with flashes of red, the ground trembled, he could feel the changes 
around him but it was all enveloped in everlasting pain.

Then his world turned golden and a halo appeared in his vision. Fair 
features creased in grief and horror surrounded by wisps of that golden 
halo that he so wished he could have taken the offer to touch and caress. 
No more would he ever be given that chance, and even now he could not 
move except open his lips to say something, anything…would he even be 
given the chance to say something? Last words? Things…he had so many 
things to say, and he couldn’t even draw breath to say them.

The elf took his hands then, both of them he held clasped between his own 
and held them to his chest, over his heart and Gimli let a pained smile 
cross his face as he was at last granted his request. And he breathed.

“I promised to better you…elf…before this…was over…or I would 
cut…beard. Beard stays…now…” And the breath was gone, but Legolas 
received the hidden message as though it had been written on plain paper 
in front of him and he leaned forward.

“Yes, you have bettered me. You saved my life, Elvellon…you have 
bettered me in all things. I know…I do know…and I regret not seeing it 
before…but I do now know.” Tears were building up in his eyes but the 
elf did not let them fall, he never did and it was something else the dwarf 
always admired about the elves. They could reign their emotions in so 
well…and he was being gifted with the sight of rare elven tears even if 
they did not fall. A treasure…he now had a strong treasure to hold for all 
eternity wherever he would go.

He lifted his left hand then, pulling it gently away from the elf’s hold and 
ignored the screaming agony the movement cost him, but this needed to be 
done. He then placed the hand loosely over his own heart, over the pouch 
that contained his other treasure and over his heart and mouthed two 
simple words…

‘For you.’

His heart and his treasure, he thought quietly as the world started blurring 
around him and the rumbles became more pronounced. He vaguely felt the 
string around his neck being untied and the hand reclaimed, but the pain 
was receding and the world was growing whiter with a golden blur above 
him.

Just before the whiteness became complete though, a silvery voice floated 
out from the haze, choked with grief but still musical as always.

“I lied to you, my friend. I have missed, lost chances…I have missed 
you…”

And the world went black. 

THE END