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The winding road that led up the slope toward Aglarond was wide enough for two loaded carts to easily pass side by side, but at this late hour, only a lone horse with two riders walked between the rows of lanterns. The light they cast upon the road was a rainbow of shades, as each lantern’s panes had been fashioned of marvelously thin sheets of fine colored glass that protected the flames from the constant gusts that blew across the exposed face of the mountain. The white horse lifted his head, smelling the familiar air; the winds came from across the plains of Rohan, where Arod had been born and raised, although by now he might be the most well-traveled horse on Arda next to Gandalf’s Shadowfax. They were not far from Edoras, and Gimli supposed that King Eomer would be most annoyed if he heard they had travelled through his kingdom without bothering to visit him.
“What are you thinking?” Legolas asked.
Gimli chuckled. “About whether the fine mead in Eomer’s halls is worth tolerating his sister’s sharp tongue.”
“It is a shame Ithilien didn’t suit her,” Legolas said, but Gimli knew him well enough to hear his smile in the darkness.
“I think Ithilien would have suited her nicely if it didn’t happen to come with a husband. And I’ve heard that Eomer is so wary of the ways of women that he is still making excuses to put off his marriage to Imrahil’s daughter.”
Legolas shrugged. “Perhaps it’s best we stay on the move, then. Wouldn’t want such a fate to befall us. Unless, of course, you plan to stay here and seek a wife among your people.”
“Is that what’s had you in such a sour mood, elf?” Gimli demanded.
“Of course not. It would be perfectly understandable for you to take up your title of Lord of the Glittering Caves and a wife to go with it. You’ve spoken often of its beauty… I know you must often long for it.”
“I have longed to see it again,” Gimli admitted, “but that doesn’t…”
A shout rang out from one of the watchtowers along the road. Gimli answered with a shout of his own, and raised his hand in greeting. There was some commotion in the tower, and then one of the guards ran toward the main gates, no doubt going to spread the news that the Lord of the Glittering Caves has arrived unexpectedly and unannounced in the middle of the night. The other guard, dressed in very fine armor and wearing rings of silver in his heavy beard, bowed to the two riders.
“My Lord Gimli, son of Gloin… and you must be Prince Legolas.”
“Must I?” Legolas asked, amused.
“We’ve all heard many tales about the War of the Ring, Master Elf, and that you and our Lord Gimli fought side by side throughout every fight.”
“That much is true, I suppose,” Legolas said.
Gimli prodded him in the ribs as he whispered, “You know that dwarves earn their honor by craftsmanship or in battle. You are a war hero. Behave properly.”
“Yes, Master Dwarf,” Legolas said contritely.
The guard frowned. “I’m afraid that very few of the staff will be awake at this hour, my Lord. It will be…”
Gimli waved his hand dismissively. “The only welcome I desire tonight is to have my rooms freshened up a bit… and a proper bath and something plain and simple to eat before sleep.”
“Yessir. What arrangements for your guest?” he asked, glancing at the elf curiously. “Is it true that elves never sleep?”
“That doesn’t mean they don’t appreciate a proper bed,” Gimli said sharply. “Find a few of the housekeepers and have them tidy up one of the guest rooms in my chambers for him.”
“I’m sure we could arrange for finer accommodations than a small guest room for…”
Gimli gave him a stern look. “We’ll meddle with such things tomorrow. Tonight, my friend and I would like to eat a quiet meal, get decently clean, and get some rest, and that’s all.”
The guard nodded briskly and hurried off toward the gates, which were already sliding open.
“I didn’t know that bathing was a common habit among dwarves,” Legolas said.
“You know perfectly well we like to be clean just as much as anyone else, when we’re at home and can do it properly. Just because I don’t take every opportunity to take off all my clothes and jump into any freezing creek we pass…”
“No, but you certainly don’t complain when I do it,” Legolas said.
Gimli smiled and let his hand fall from the elf’s waist to the curve of a hip and buttock. “You didn’t think it was for my benefit alone that I asked for a bath, did you?”
Legolas shifted against the dwarf’s hand. “If you’re going to start making suggestions now, you’d better be prepared to make good on them later.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“A bath, a meal, and a bed? You’ll be snoring before you can do anything to entertain me.”
Gimli growled. “I ought to leave you to wank. You deserve it, smug creature.”
“I wouldn’t do anything of the sort,” Legolas said. “Unlike dwarves, elves don’t feel the need to relieve themselves at every opportunity.”
“Perhaps I would feel the need to relieve myself at every opportunity if you weren’t naked at every opportunity.”
Legolas shrugged again. “It’s not my fault. You could always just not look.”
Gimli had to watch the elf’s face as he stepped into the first chamber of the Glittering Caves and finally understood the true meaning of the name. Even at night, lamps glowed, illuminating the polished stone walls and reflecting off the facets of the uncountable gemstones still residing in their natural places in the rock, intertwined with thin lines of silver and mithril ore that shone like streaks of flame in the lamplight. Although there seemed to be no end to the lamps that brightly illuminated the great hall and the many paths that led down through it, the height of the cave was so great that the light could not reach it, except for hints of shimmer from the gems set high above their heads. The floor was sandy, smooth, and the paths and hallways lined with shimmering stone and the luminous veins of precious metals twining through the rock on all sides. Legolas stood and turned around, eyes wide. Gimli smiled.
“I told you it was beautiful.”
“Those stones… they look as if you could pick them, like fruit from a tree.”
“Aye. But they stay there so they can show the caves in their full glory. There are many, many deeper chambers where the stones and ores are mined.”
“They’re almost like stars,” the elf murmured.
“They say that one can hardly speak of being underground when in these caves,” Gimli said. “It’s more like being in another world, with a sky made of mithril and jewels.”
They stood together, both very small in the massive space of the great cave, and Gimli could not help but study the elf’s face in the lamplight; the look of wonder and amazement was not something one saw often on the face of an immortal. After a moment, though, the blue eyes darkened, and he lowered his gaze.
“What is it?”
“You were right. I’ve never seen anything like place.”
Gimli scowled. “You don’t think I know your face well enough to know when you’re not telling me something?”
“Presumptuous as always.”
“That doesn’t…”
A young dwarf hurried toward them, interrupting Gimli’s muttered words. He considered scolding him for barging in on a conversation between his elders, but the youngster was so fresh-faced, with only a short fuzz of a beard, that he couldn’t manage rough words for him.
“What is it?”
“My Lord… the housekeepers have put fresh linens on the beds in your chambers and filled a bath for you, and the kitchen is sending some bread and cheese and ale.”
“Very good,” Gimli said, as the youngster bowed and hurried away. “Come, Legolas… I’ll show you where a Lord of Dwarves lives when he’s at home.”
“At home?” Legolas repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“Damnit, elf, what are you dancing around? Do you not wish to be here? Are you angry that we got here in the middle of the night and didn’t get our grand welcome? What does that look mean?”
“It means nothing,” Legolas said, dismissive and cool. “Lead on. Some food and some rest will suit me well.”
“I thought you had things in mind besides rest,” Gimli muttered.
“Perhaps I did.”
Gimli stalked down the hall toward his rooms, barely hearing the elf’s near-silent tread behind him.
“You know nothing puts me in a worse mood than you playing your bloody elf games,” he growled.
“Shall I go play them somewhere else, so as not to disturb you?”
Gimli gritted his teeth, knowing that this cold formality would be all he’d get until he at least understood what had turned his companion’s mood so sharply. Legolas could play this game for minutes or weeks, depending on what had gotten into that blond head of his.
“I’m sure they can find another room for me,” Legolas said.
Gimli turned around and glared at him, wishing he didn’t have to look up to do it. “Bloody elf. You know I don’t want them to find another room for you. You know perfectly well that I…”
“What? That you would hate to be deprived of your evening entertainment and be forced to resort to the further abuse of your over-used right hand?”
The raised eyebrows above eyes gone very blue and cold as deep-water ice told Gimli to answer carefully.
“That even if all you intend to do is sit and glare at me while I smoke my pipe and eat my supper, I would still prefer your company to any other,” he said quietly.
“You have many companions here.”
“I have many kin here,” Gimli corrected him. “It isn’t their company I seek. I have little enough to discuss with them anymore… they talk of mining and metals and jewels, and I think of the great cities of Men, and the Lady Galadriel in Lorien, and wizards who ride eagles, and great beasts of war fighting armies of dead men… none of them would understand those things. And none of them have stood beside me while I saw all of these things.”
“I don’t think I’ve heard you speak that many words at once since we left Fangorn,” Legolas said, his voice softening, “and then you were complaining. You can be rather poetic, for a race who makes their existence banging stones together.”
“Someone must do it, since your race is too busy making up lovely songs to sing to the trees and flowers,” Gimli retorted.
“If you tried singing to them, they would lose their leaves and die.”
“It’s a shame I lack your melodious voice,” Gimli said, chuckling. “But I’ve heard you hit notes that probably made the trees in Fangorn cover their… whatever passes for ears.”
“Perhaps, in… moments of distraction.”
“Mmm. Distraction, eh? You seemed more than just distracted at the time, if I may say. In fact…”
“Gimli?”
“Yes?”
“Stop talking. Where are your rooms?”
A small group of dwarves led the way to Gimli’s rooms, carrying trays of bread and cheese and apples and pitchers of ale. Though used by dwarves, all of the halls they passed through were more than high enough for the elf to walk upright, and in fact most of the arched ceilings were higher than he could reach up and touch.
“Why make your halls so high?” he asked.
“Just because we live under mountains doesn’t mean we like to feel cramped,” Gimli said. “Besides, this place has been in use by men as well as dwarves during various times, and men seem to dislike banging their heads on things.”
The walls of every hall were as densely set with glittering stones and smooth-polished rock as the great rooms, and Gimli reached out occasionally to run his fingers over a particularly bright gemstone flashing in the light from the lanterns, or to trace a line of silver among the jewels.
“It’s even finer than I remembered,” he said quietly.
“Yes, my Lord,” one of the other dwarves replied. “It had fallen into some disrepair, and much time has been spent polishing and cleaning these walls to make them glitter again as they once did.”
“It is fine work,” Gimli said. “It remains one of the great wonders of our land… or any other.”
The dwarves shuffled into the room, set down their trays on the table, and quickly departed. Gimli stepped in, looking around and surveying what were, as the Lord of the Glittering Caves, his rooms, even though he had stayed only a handful of nights here. Lamps glowed, their flames steady within glass shields where they hung from finely crafted metal hooks along the walls. Some seemed placed to highlight a particularly fine jewel or the luminous gleam of a thread of mithril. The stone floors were covered with woven rugs in dark, plain colors, and heavy wooden doors led off into guest rooms and wash rooms. The center of the main room was occupied by a low but very sturdy table of dark wood, polished to silky smoothness not by sanding, but by long years of use, and equally heavy, well-used chairs. A wooden rack against the far wall held an assortment of axes and shields and other items of battle, but no adornments hung on the walls to block the natural beauty that already illuminated them. A fire burned in a small hearth, and when Legolas stepped close to it, wondering at the burning of a fire in a closed space like this, he could feel the faintest hint of a draft pulling air over the fire and up the chimney.
“Not all the rooms have a hearth,” Gimli said. “It takes quite some time to drill the holes up to the surface, and the drawing of the air only words in places where there’s a steady wind across the side of the mountain. There are quite a few of these vents, though… they keep the air moving and the heat rises, which helps pull smoke away from our fires. If one gets plugged up, the fire has to be put out immediately until we can repair it.”
“It seems one must lose quite a bit of heat that way,” Legolas mused.
“True. Our fires are more for light and cooking than for warmth. Dwarves are accustomed to cold… and we keep our beds well-supplied with very warm quilts and blankets.”
“Do you,” Legolas said, smiling slightly. “Are you inviting me to come see one of these beds? I believe a guest room was prepared for me.”
Gimli rolled his eyes. “Come with me.”
The main bedroom was fairly small, but this was an advantage when there were no windows and only a few lamps could burn to light the space. The walls were smooth and the floor draped in rugs, and the bed seemed quite large for a dwarf, an immense, heavy thing with a plain but tall wooden headboard and layers of wool blankets and down quilts and sheets and pillows.
“I would not have thought dwarves slept in such luxury,” Legolas said.
“Not all of us do. This is the sort of thing considered appropriate for the Lord of the Glittering Caves, I suppose, not for an ordinary dwarf. But we’ve traveled far the last few days, and any bed looks just fine to me tonight.”
“There was mention of some food first. And a bath.”
“You bloody elves and your baths!” Gimli exclaimed, although he had not forgotten the promise of hot water and soap and feeling clean again. “Come along, then.”
They stepped into a small bathroom full of steam, with a large wooden tub in the center. Gimli watched with amusement, always surprised at how the elf’s clothes, complete with belts and straps and wrist bracers, could almost melt off his body when he was in a hurry to be undressed.
“You strip faster than any other creature I’ve ever met,” he said, chuckling.
Legolas raised an eyebrow as he stepped into the water. “Mmm-hmm. And that’s why your eyes are stuck on something significantly lower than my face while you’re talking to me, right?”
Gimli grinned. “I can look at your face any time. I only get to stare at other parts of you when you’re naked.”
“Which, according to you, is practically all the time.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Are you getting in the bath or not?”
Gimli couldn’t strip quite as quickly as the elf, but he managed to shed his clothes quite swiftly and climbed into the bath. The housekeepers who had filled the tub had clearly not expected there to be two bodies in it, because the water sloshed over the edges and onto the stone floor. They would certainly not have expected such a thing, considering that the only way for both of them to be in the tub together was for Gimli to settle himself between the elf’s long legs. Those legs being so close on either side of him, of course, required that he run his hands over the smooth skin and the wiry muscles beneath, drawing a chuckle from Legolas.
“I knew you wouldn’t be able to keep your hands to yourself.”
“Why would I do that?”
Legolas shrugged. “Some trace of modesty?”
“Says the elf with his cock sticking me in the ass,” Gimli retorted.
“Can’t be helped,” Legolas said lightly, reaching for the soap and working up a lather with his hands. “We must wash your hair and your beard. They’re full of dust.”
“Hmph. Why wash my beard when it’ll just be getting something else in it later?”
“Presumptuous dwarf,” Legolas said, drawing his hands back sharply.
“Quarrelsome, capricious elf,” Gimli shot back. “If you would tell me what troubled you so much about this place…”
“There is nothing wrong with this place,” Legolas said, resuming his soaping of the dwarf’s thick hair. “And you know, this isn’t the only hair that needs washed.”
“Are you going to wash that hair for me too?”
“That depends on whether you apologize for calling me capricious.”
“Not for calling you quarrelsome?”
Legolas shrugged again. “No. That part’s true.”
“Elves…” Gimli sighed.
A hand slid down from his hair to his chest, a strong archer’s grip pulling him closer, and there was a soft chuckle in his ear.
“We do have some redeeming qualities.”
Gimli certainly could not deny that elves, particular this elf, had many redeeming qualities. However, he couldn’t help but think that regardless of his protest, “capricious” was a word that suited Legolas well, at least when it came to trying to figure out what was going on in the bloody creature’s head.
Clean and half-dry, they returned to the bedroom. Gimli’s hair was nearly dry and rather fluffy, badly needing a proper brushing, but the elf’s, as always, was still damp but as smooth as polished metal and shining golden in the lamplight.
Legolas stood, looking up at the gemstones and flickers of precious metals shimmering over their heads. “They’re rather like stars.”
Gimli grasped his hand and drew him toward the bed. “Stargazing later, elf.”
Legolas allowed himself to be led, but his eyes were still on the sparkles that danced off the stones. He allowed himself to be pulled into bed, and was still staring quietly at the domed ceiling when Gimli climbed into the bed next to him and laid a hand on his chest.
As if suddenly awakened, quicker than thought the elf’s eyes were sharply focused and he had effortlessly flipped them so that Gimli was on his back, Legolas straddling him.
All the dwarf could manage was a startled grunt as he was rolled, and when he found himself looking up at Legolas, with those eyes with their changeable color gone very dark and intent, he had nothing to say at all.
“Like this,” the elf said, quiet but commanding.
Gimli frowned. “At least let me take some time to…”
“No.”
Not that Gimli had any intention of complaining; when they were on the trail and had little time for lingering engagements, Legolas was usually the one doing the taking, and purely for practical reasons. Dwarves were heavy and sturdy and broad in build, and this applied just as much to intimate parts as it did to their overall physique. When they had the luxury, Gimli took great pleasure in spending considerable time preparing Legolas to manage it, lovely time spent with fingers that, despite their callouses, could work the finest metals or facets of gems, slowly stretching and easing and taking ample time to torment the elf while doing it. It was what Gimli had been hoping to be doing tonight, drawing out the night in readying Legolas, then in long, thorough fucking until unknown hours of the morning. Apparently, though, Legolas had other ideas, and his eyes told Gimli there would be no debate.
He had already reached for the oil by the bed and was pouring it into his hand when Gimli managed a protest.
“Legolas… you’ll harm yourself if you’re not…”
“I don’t care,” he said, and silenced Gimli with a slick hand around his cock, generously pouring on the oil before setting the bottle aside.
The dwarf could only stare, hypnotized in watching the movements of the pale, lean figure highlighted in the soft glow. He felt Legolas begin to lower himself, watched the elf’s face as he ignored the resistance of his own body.
“Legolas, don’t…”
“Stop,” he said sharply, as his hands reached back and found Gimli’s sturdy thighs. Gimli braced his heels and pressed his knees against the elf’s back as strong fingers tightened their grip. Legolas leaned back against the dwarf’s legs and lowered himself a bit further, eyes closed, intently focused. Gimli knew there was no point in protesting; the elf was clearly causing himself pain, but he clearly intended to, and when Legolas decided he wanted to do something his way, it was generally not negotiable. Instead of wasting his time in futile argument, he ran his hands over the elf’s smooth, tense thighs, over the tight skin of his abdomen, down over the lean hips. Legolas sighed, and the bruising grip on Gimli’s legs eased slightly. Gimli bit his lip and tried to keep silent; it had been some time since he had felt the elf’s heat gripping his cock, and he swore, not for the first time, that elves must have a body temperature far exceeding that of ordinary creatures, because his body was not just warm but burned with a heat that spread through the elf’s body even as Legolas slowly took in more and more of him.
“Legolas,” he murmured.
A long moment later, and the elf’s body was pressed against his, fully joined. Gimli moaned at the pleasure of it as Legolas leaned back, riding the dwarf’s thick length against exactly the spot to feel it the most, the pain on his face shifting to breathless need. When he began to rock his hips slowly, Gimli gripped his legs, trying to still him.
“Legolas… I can’t… if you do that…”
Legolas opened his eyes, still very dark, but now with a hint of familiar blue, and smiled slightly. “Don’t. Come with me.”
“I…”
“Yes, Gimli… now…”
He moved more quickly, sharp jerks of his hips, and Gimli groaned and gripped him tightly. He wanted to watch the elf’s face as he came, but his eyes drifted closed as he surrendered, feeling the elf’s body tighten around him as his release streaked Gimli’s stomach.
Both of them were very still for a long minute, breathing hard. Then Legolas gingerly rolled off to the side and stretched out on the rumpled blankets, his skin pale and smooth against the dark wool. Gimli watched him with some concern and a flash of protectiveness; knowing Legolas was three or four times his age didn’t change how young the elf looked in undefended moments, and it didn’t silence the part of Gimli’s mind that always thought of him as younger than he was, even though Legolas became tremendously annoyed when the dwarf slipped and made some remark about his apparent youth.
Legolas glanced over at him and shook his head. “Are you worrying, old mother hen?”
“Perhaps,” Gimli said, frowning. “You…”
“I’m fine,” Legolas said, chuckling. “Are all dwarves as predictable as you?”
“Are all elves as stubborn and reckless as you?”
“No,” Legolas said, his smile fading. “They are not. Perhaps that’s why I’m so often out of favor with my own people.”
“Is that what you’ve been in such a foul mood about?”
Legolas raised an eyebrow. “No. I’m quite accustomed to…”
“I meant about being out of favor with my people. Did you think they wouldn’t welcome you? You’re a hero of the Fellowship and you’re a friend of dwarves…”
“I didn’t doubt their hospitality,” Legolas said. “They think most highly of you, and I wouldn’t expect them to be rude to any guest of yours.”
Gimli scowled and rolled onto his back, looking up at the domed ceiling and the jewels sparkling above them.
“They’re like eyes,” Legolas said.
“Hmph,” Gimli muttered. “You never minded an audience before.”
Legolas gave him sharp look. “Stripping for a bath is a bit different than…”
“I know, I know,” he said, rolling his eyes and still watching for any sign that the elf had hurt himself. “I’ll stop talking, if that will make you less ill-tempered.”
They lay in silence for a while, all sound muffled by the smallness of the room and its huge bed covered with blankets. Legolas stretched and turned away from Gimli, a seemingly casual gesture that Gimli knew was anything but. Most times, he would either ignore the elf’s sulking or mercilessly harass him for being moody. It was much harder, even as well as they knew each other, to reach out and lay a hand on the pale shoulder beside him.
Legolas shifted against his hand. “Yes?”
“What do you want from me?”
Legolas sighed. “Nothing, Gimli. Nothing I would ask.”
Aha, he thought. “Tell me. I’ve done nothing to deserve your silence.”
“Other than being your usual disagreeable self?” Legolas said, but he rolled back over to face him.
“Other than that.”
Legolas took a deep breath. “I can’t stay here with you.”
Gimli blinked. “What?”
“You heard me. I can’t stay here with you. I know this is where you belong. You’ve talked for so long about seeing it again. This is your home and your kingdom. It’s where you should be… but I can’t stay here. I… I don’t know that I can stay anywhere, not for very long.”
Gimli grinned. “Is that what you’ve been mulling over in your pretty blond head, elf? Don’t be daft. I never thought you would stay here with me.”
“Oh,” Legolas said quietly, and the hurt in his eyes as they withdrew into icy blue stillness took all the humor out of Gimli’s tone.
“Elf… I knew you wouldn’t stay here. I never intended to stay here either.”
“What? Why not? You’ve talked of this place…”
“Yes, and I can come back and marvel at it any time I wish,” Gimli said. “It will be here a thousand years and probably a thousand more, if the dwarves here keep it well.”
“You’re the Lord of the Glittering Caves,” Legolas protested.
“And you’re a Prince of Mirkwood,” Gimli countered. “Does this place look like it needs a lord to watch over its daily business? All the restoration that’s been done has been done in my name, supervised by my advisors, but without a word from me.”
Legolas sat up, bare-skinned, arms resting on his knees. “You don’t plan to stay here?”
“Oh, I plan to say a few days and enjoy the luxury of feasts and soft beds, and long enough to have our travelling supplies replenished and some new clothes fashioned for us… our travel wear is worn nearly to rags and it won’t do in cold weather.”
Legolas stared at him. “I thought…”
“Then perhaps you should have asked, elf.”
He looked up at the jeweled ceiling. “You would leave all this behind? I’ve heard that dwarves are never truly happy unless they are close to their gems and gold.”
Gimli was surprised to hear the fear in the elf’s voice; a creature who faced down giant spiders and legions of orcs and the armies of the dead should not sound so young and frightened now.
“Legolas…”
“Yes?” he asked, still looking up at the ceiling.
“It is true that dwarves are never truly happy unless their precious things are close to them.”
Legolas finally looked down at him, his eyes that odd sapphire blue that Gimli was never sure quite how to interpret.
“And where are your precious things, Gimli?”
He reached up slowly and ran a strand of the elf’s hair through his fingers. “I have my gold, right here. And your skin by moonlight is my silver. And two fine gems that are never the same color from moment to moment, and that look at me with…”
He shivered. Legolas uncurled and stretched out next to him, listening intently.
“I have…” Gimli said, managing to speak again, “a treasure of which there is only one in the world, and which is mine only as long as it wishes to be. So I count myself a dwarf rich in precious things, and I would not trade the whole of the Glittering Caves for them.”
Legolas smiled. “If you stay around elves much longer, you may become a poet.”
“I doubt that,” Gimli murmured. “I wish my words…”
“Your words are all they need to be,” Legolas said, grasping his beard and pulling him closer to kiss him, long and slow and so thoroughly that Gimli’s head was spinning by the time he was released.
“Winter will be upon us soon,” Legolas said. “Perhaps we shall spent the worst of it in Lorien, where they never see its bitterness.”
“We could go south, to Dol Amroth, where it’s always…”
He froze as the elf’s eyes became distant and strange.
“Legolas?”
Legolas shook his head sharply to clear it.
“I have no liking of the sea anyway,” Gimli said. “Noisy and smells like fish. Lorien would have us, and if we tire of it, there’s always Rivendell.”
“Ah, but then we must put up with Elrond,” Legolas said. “You know how intolerable he is. Especially since Aragorn stole his daughter.”
“It matters very little where we are,” Gimli said, laying his hand over the elf’s. “I have never spent a night in a bedroll with you, no matter how bitter the weather, that I even for a moment felt cold.”
“Is that all I am? A portable bed-warmer?” Legolas protested, but he was grinning.
“Quarrelsome elf. Can we not sleep now?”
“No,” Legolas said, rolling to rest his slender weight over the dwarf’s body. “Not yet. I want to take you. I want to hear how your voice echoes in this room when I bring you to your peak.”
Gimli swallowed hard. “That’s an offer I would find difficult to resist…”
“Then don’t,” Legolas said, and he reached for the bottle of oil by the bed.