This story is written with my co writer Minnie. For our stories to make sense you have to accept our alternate universe idea that elves come of age around 1,000 years old. We do know what Professor Tolkien says about this, but we've decided to respectfully ignore his view. In our stories Legolas is around 800 years old and Gimli is acting as a guardian when he is away from home. How that came about is explained in the first story in this series called Legendary Friendship. This will make more sense if you've read that and our other stories first, but it is not strictly necessary. This story contains non sexual spanking. If this or our other au idea offends please don't read.

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I force myself to smile as a neighbour of Dorbryn's spots me crossing the main public hallway, and then I let out the breath I had not known I was holding as she nods and walks on by without asking me where I am going.

I feel as if everyone I pass is looking at me askance. Some are of course, for while I am less of an interest now than I was on my first visit, still it is a rare occurrence for an elf to be found within the mountain home of the dwarves of Erebor and as the heir to Eryn Lasgalen I have not always been accorded a warm welcome.

I let out a sigh for I know that my present course is not going to improve my standing within the confines of Erebor, not least with my guardian and his family. Hurting those who have befriended me is not something I do lightly, yet I am determined to do what I have set out upon and that is … Well I have made the decision to leave here, without taking leave of Gimli, Lord Gloin and Lady Vonild. I have left a note for Gimli, explaining where I am going, but I know he will be displeased with me, and rightly so. It is a poor guest who leaves without thanking his host and I can already hear my tutor's disapproving voice in my head for my poor conduct will probably reflect badly upon his efforts to teach me proper manners.

Despite this and my own feelings of guilt I am not going to be deflected from my path. My conscience tells me I should have spoken of my real reasons for wishing to leave to Gimli. He would have done his best to understand, but I could not bring myself to do so. It would make me seem so 'needy'. I am a warrior, one of the nine walkers, soon to be named a prince of Ithilien and what does this prince find himself doing on this winter morning? Sneaking off like a thief in the night, and why?

I hardly like to admit it even to myeslf. I want… no I wish… that is I desire… no the truth is I need to be with my Ada, for in a very few days it will be my begetting day and we try always to be together to celebrate it.

Eru but I sound like the veriest of spoilt elflings who is crying out for his Ada! But it is more than that, I swear, for since my naneth's death my father has always ensured that we do something special together on my begetting day. It is the day we also remember my naneth and Ada tells me stories of my earliest years when nana was still with us both, stories that I love and which I know Adar enjoys telling for it allows him to remember his queen and the happiness they shared together as well.

I have only been away from him once in all the long years of my life so far, when I went on the quest last year, and that forced separation makes it all the more vital for me to be with him this year. That I am not already safely ensconced within the stronghold is of course my fault. I should not have come home with Gimli but gone straight to Eryn Lasgalen for I could see the weather was turning but I also knew it would not be so bad that I could not travel through it. What I had not taken into account was Gimli's protectiveness of me. He would not listen to my reasoned arguments about the fact that elves do not feel the cold as mortal kind do, or that I can walk on snow rather than through it, even though he saw me do exactly that last year when we attempted to climb Caradhras the Cruel. He says that the frozen rain storms Erebor has been experiencing are more dangerous than snow and strong winds I am more accustomed to dealing with. He is just trying to look out for my welfare, I realize that, but I know my own capabilities better than anyone and I know I can get home without difficulty, Gimli, however, was adamant. I was not to attempt a journey home until the weather improved.

This is why I am now sneaking off, my pack, knives, and quiver hidden beneath my folded cloak and while I know that Gimli and his family are busy elsewhere.

Hopefully by the time I see Gimli again in the spring he will have gotten over his anger over my disobedience and will have forgiven me; if not well I can still run faster than he can.

I reach the great doors without incidence and step outside, narrowing my eyes to adjust them to the light, what there is of it, for the sky above me is dark, the clouds grey and heavy with a mixture of rain, sleet, snow and ice.

The door guards do not attempt to stop me although one growls out that it is a foul day even for the likes of me to be out.

The other guard does warn me to take care on the steps that wind down from the high door into the valley below. The stairway is steep. It is one of the reasons that Erebor remains secure, for there is no other way into the mountain, at least no way that is known beyond the folk of the mountain themselves. Any who attempt to attack must climb the stone steps and while they do so they can easily be picked off by the guards above them.

The steps are covered in ice and the storm that is blowing in will bring more of it, but my feet are light, and I should experience little difficulty, yet I take the time to thank him. Then still holding my gear hidden in my cloak I set off down the stairway.

I am soon over half way down, and I admit the stairs are more difficult to traverse than I had anticipated. What is more I will be happy to reach the valley and to don my cloak for even I can feel the bitter cold of the ice storm biting into my bones.

Even as I think this a shout goes up from the top of the steps, and I automatically turn to look back fearing my escape has been noticed. My desire to see who is calling out is my undoing, as I swivel round on my heel I feel myself losing my footing. I attempt to restore my equilibrium but by doing so I over compensate. I throw my pack to one side, for if I fall on my bow and break it I will never forgive myself. Yet even jettisoning my bundle I cannot prevent myself from stumbling backwards catching my head on the stone stairs above me and I know it is now too late to prevent a serious fall. I close my eyes and attempt to relax for I know that should I stiffen up I am more likely to suffer broken bones alongside the numerous bruises I have already collected.

Then I am toppling, tumbling, unable to stop myself plummeting downwards and with every step my descent is quickening …

xxxxx

I stand with my heart in my throat as I read the note left for me by my friend, not knowing whether to be angry or terrified. It is a feeling I should be used to by now, but somehow I never seem to grow accustomed to the mixed emotions engendered in me by my unpredictable, flighty charge. Of course I am furious that he has decided to defy my direct instructions not to attempt a journey home in the treacherous weather we have been having. I spent a good amount of time earlier this morning trying to reason with him about it. After all in a few days, the weather will likely clear up, but he would not see sense no matter how I explained it. Finally I resorted to ordering him to remain until I thought it was safe for him to leave, because I could see we weren't going to come to an accord about it. I could tell he was irritated with me, but didn't worry over it too much, for that is not an unusual occurrence. Often what he feels is perfectly safe and acceptable, is really outrageously dangerous and foolhardy.

I do not have to think about what I will do. Though his note assures me he will be fine and will have no problems and that I should not come after him, there is no question about it. I will at least have to go to the bottom of the mountain and make sure he safely passed the steps. If he managed that, the warmer weather below might mean that the ice isn't so hazardous. If that is the case I will wait a day or two and set out to make certain he at least made it to Lake Town to retrieve his horse. I am certain he will send word when he arrives home and when I see him in the spring…well lets just say it won't be pretty. But for now I must prepare for the worst and that means getting ready to try to take on the mountain myself.

I wish to hurry, but I know to be successful it will take some time. I start by gathering what I will need: a bag of sand, a pick and shovel, and a basic field bag containing water, a few medical supplies, and some flint for lighting a fire. Next I look around and find two pie tins that I flatten and punch holes in with an awl. This I will tie to the soles of my boots so that the metal will grab the ice and hopefully prevent me sliding about too much.

Mam comes in just as I am donning a heavy, fur-lined cloak.

One of the door guards meets me on my way to the entrance, having decided that perhaps I hadn't known that Legolas had gone. Folks here are just beginning the catch on to the true nature of our friendship and it has evidently just dawned on the guards that I might not have approved of this venture. Fortunately he lets me know that the lad isn't too far ahead of me. I hope to be able to catch up with him on the steps and haul him back inside before making clear my thoughts on his half baked plan to travel home in this treacherous weather. Either that or pitch him over the edge of the mountain and save myself a lot of headaches in the future!

Nearly halfway down I see a dark object and on closer inspection see that it is a cloak that has caught on a tree root that is jutting up through the ground. I do not have to examine it to know who it belongs too. It is just as I feared! Beyond that I find a few arrows that have been trapped on an outcropping of stone, the only thing preventing them from skidding all the way to the bottom of the mountain like the rest of them likely have done. One of them is broken into several pieces, which makes my stomach twist into a knot. The spilled quiver and broken arrow paint a vivid picture that I do not wish to think about.

Any residual anger in me turns to sheer terror now. Taking a tumble on these steep stairs as slick as they are means that is almost impossible that Legolas will not have been injured or worse. I squint my eyes and try to spot him farther below when I see where a large tree that has fallen across the steps, probably brought down by the heavy ice. A little farther down and I can see him! He looks to be attempting to stand up and while I am thankful he is moving I am afraid he will cause himself an injury or slip and fall further down the mountain. I shout for him to be still, but I am uncertain if he can hear me or not through the wind. Whatever the case he does not try to stand again.

I hurry my steps as much as I can which isn't much since I have to break the ice and spread sand with each step. It will do no good to reach the lad only to have to leave him again while I clear a path. If we attempt to climb back up the icy steps without clearing them we will risk both of us plummeting to our deaths.

I finally make it to him, and am grateful for the tree that lost its life in this ice story and probably prevented his death by stopping his descent. In spite of the fact that elves do not feel the cold as we mortals do, this one is shivering uncontrollably. He is soaked to the skin with frigid rain. His clothing is driven full of ice and his hair is coated in it. His right leg is bent at an odd angle and he has his arms wrapped protectively around himself. I cannot tell if this is due to the cold or to cracked ribs, but I am not in a position to assess his injuries very thoroughly just now. I throw the extra cloak around him to protect him from the downpour as much as possible and then as gently as I can wrap the twisted knee enough to immobilize it somewhat. I quickly toss the spilled contents of his pack and his knives back into his pack and throw it over my back and then tie my pick to my belt. I leave the remaining sand and Legolas' bow behind for I will not be able to carry them and my friend at the same time. When the weather clears we can send someone to retrieve them.

Though I try not to jar him too much, he cries out when I lift him into my arms. He is not heavey, but he does fight me a bit claiming he can walk on his own, which causes me to have to put him down again before I drop him. Even injured and half frozen, his pride is unbelievable and I am sure he does not relish being carried through the gates of Erebor. Still he should have thought of that before deciding to defy me in the first place.

I do not say any of this, but I'm certain he understands the meaning of the low growl that issues from me, and the light swat to the side of his thigh before I lift him again. This time he does not struggle, but just wraps an arm around me and hangs on.

My relief is great as I step into the warmth of the entrance.

Evidently news has travelled fast about what has happened for folks do not stop me or stand in my way. One of he door guards goes ahead of me opening doors for me, dispersing curious crowds and leading me all the way to Mam's door. She opens it and gasps at the sight we make, but I brush my way past her to the fire where she has blankets heating in anticipation of our return. I drop the cloak that is wrapped around my friend and ice clatters across the floor as I place him on the couch in front of the fire and begin removing his boots and stripping off his frozen clothing. The fact that he isn't objecting to this treatment worries me more than the rapidly swelling knee and the dark bruises that cover his torso.

XXXX

I have heard Aragorn speaking of 'your life flashing before your eyes' when you are in dangerous or dire situations and now I find that his words are true. Even as I fall I can see in my mind's eye many scenes from my past. I know that if there is no way of stopping my descent I am unlikely to survive. There is a loud crack nearby and a tree that has no doubt clung for years to the steep side of the mountain falls across the steps. I crash into it with some force and its bulk is enough to slow my fall and I sprawl just below its spread branches, more grateful than I can say for its sacrifice. I am at least still alive.

How long that situation will pertain I cannot tell. I had not sufficiently realized how cold this frozen rain could make one. My clothing is soaked but also stiff, ice is forming on my face, hands and hair. I have to start moving else I will freeze to death. I attempt to stand but my knee gives way beneath me and the slick steps make my clumsy efforts even more dangerous. My ribs ache and I suspect that at least two of them are cracked yet I have to try …

From above me I think I hear a call but I cannot be sure. Perhaps someone has seen my plight and is attempting a rescue. I hope they do not put themselves at risk to save me, yet I can only be grateful if they do.

It seems an eternity before the familiar bulk of Gimli Gloinson arrives and he immediately swathes me inside a fur lined cloak and wraps my knee before lifting me in his arms. I make a small protest at this but the swat I receive for my efforts and the growl that is the only sound he has so far made are sufficient warning to me to acquiesce. Indeed I even put an arm around his neck to help and snuggle into his cloak for the extreme cold seems to be leeching my life out of me. I have never known anything like this before.

Our journey up the steps is tortuous and I am of little help to my friend, who I can feel is almost at the end of even his prodigious strength. Then above us more dwarves appear to help us up the final ascent and into the blessed warmth of the hall.

My memories of the next few moments are blessedly hazy; I do not want to recall the sight I must have made, nor my ignominious return through the public hall in the arms of my guardian. I remember Mam's shocked face, though, as Gimli pushed passed her and laid me on the couch. Her fear was palpable and my guilty conscience made me look away rather than try to reassure her that I would be well.

I was so relieved to be out of my iced up clothing that I did not complain as Gimli ruthlessly stripped me and wrapped my shivering body in the warm blankets. I assumed I would soon recover but the cold seemed to have got deep inside me and I continue to shiver and shake, even as Mam wraps my hair in a towel and begins to rub it vigorously to remove the ice shards from it.

Gimli holds out a mug of steaming tea but my hands shake so much I cannot hold it and he has to lift it to my lips. He still has not spoken beyond terse commands to do as he bids me as he got me out of my clothing, I can feel fear and anger warring inside him and very much regret that my stupidity has brought him to this. Yet when he utters the one word 'why' I cannot bring myself to answer him. I merely stare at him mutely and shrug my shoulders.

I think he may have laid into me right there, save that Mam urged him to remember my injuries and a thunderous knocking sounded on the outer door announcing the arrival of a dwarven healer to tend to my injuries.

xxxx

It takes all of my concentration to hold the cup of tea to Legolas' lips without my hands shaking as much as his are. He is still quaking with cold, but that is not what makes me tremble. Though I was out in the storm myself, I am not cold. Exercise kept my blood flowing and I am actually quite warm in spite of the fact that a film of ice covered my own cloak by the time we reached the entrance. No what makes me quaver is fear over what might have happened today. Had I not returned home for a forgotten tool, I would not have seen the note that he left on my dresser until hours from now when it would have been too late. The thought makes me quite sick and I find that I have to bite my lip to keep from either weeping or shouting out my frustration. Neither reaction will help the situation I find myself in at the moment. Tears will change nothing and yelling at my poor damaged elfling will only relieve my feelings temporarily. Beyond that I would only feel guilty, for he is suffering for his foolishness already and as angry as I feel right now, I do not wish to add to it.

Still as Mam towels his hair and shards of ice fall from it and shatter on the floor, I cannot hold back from asking one question. Why?

He stares sheepishly at me for a long moment and it seems like he might answer, but instead he just shrugs and looks away, which is not an acceptable response at all. Anger flashes up in me. My face must betray my feelings for Mam seems to think it necessary to remind me that Legolas is injured. It is a purely unnecessary warning. I know he is injured. Were he not injured he would have been across my knee as soon as we crossed the threshold and would now be writing a letter home explaining his actions to his father. As it is, I will not lay a hand on him at least for the moment. It remains to be seen what will happen later.

It is a relief when a loud knock at the door distracts my thoughts. I hurry to open it and invite in the healer, Mistress Lilja. Evidently Mam sent someone to fetch her as soon as word got to her that her darling was injured.

For many decades Mistress Valdred was the resident healer under the mountain and Mistress Lilja is her protégé, trained to take Valdred's place. She is nearly as eccentric as her predecessor was, though perhaps not quite so otherworldly. At least it is possible to hold a conversation with her. She has a great scientific mind and a keen interest in learning new things though you would not be able to tell this from her appearance alone. Her long brown hair is sprinkled with grey and hangs in unkempt dreadlocks almost to her waist and her clothing looks as if she slept in it most of the time, though she doesn't seem to care in the least. She claims that she is far too busy with her personal study and treating patients, to have time for primping.

Soon Mistress Lilja is asking questions that get increasingly personal and don't seem to have much to do with anything regarding his fall. She also rubs a strand of his hair between her fingers and looks inside his mouth.

"Look at that!" she says as if she has just made an amazing discovery. I look as she shines her lamp inside his mouth, wondering if she really has gone over the edge for I see nothing but undamaged teeth.

"His last adult teeth are just now immerging," she explains excitedly, "This one is still a child. I had been lead to believe that there were no elfling's left in Middle Earth." She frowns accusingly at Legolas as if it is his fault she was unaware of his existance. Legolas flushes miserably. I expect he feels childish enough without having the healer remind him.

"Lilja. Please!" Mam says in exasperation, "he is a person, not school supplies for your own personal study. Surely you have done enough to know what his injuries are."

"Indeed I have," she replies unabashedly. "Two cracked ribs and a broken one, a severely twisted knee and more bruises and scrapes than can be counted. Oh and a little frostbite on his fingertips. That might be painful, but will cause no permanent harm. I'll take care of everything else now."

With that she deftly wraps his ribs and knee, giving instructions the whole time. "You should not put weight on that knee until I see you again and keep it elevated if you can and the ribs must be rested. Keeping still will insure that you do not cause yourself further injury, and it is important to remember to breathe deeply every hour or so. It will hurt to do so, but you will be doing your lungs a big favor. I will leave you with some pain relieving powders and I will apply some hyssop salve to your bruises and leave some that you can use each day until the bruises fade."

Legolas' eyes widen in alarm as she all but attacks him with the salve. No doubt he is remembering that he has bruises on nearly every inch of his body and doesn't savour the thought of the exuberant lady touching every one of them. I hide a smile, for the look on his face is comical though I realize I am going to have to save him even before Mam elbows me in the ribs and jerks her head toward Mistress Lilja, indicating that I should step in.

"We've taken enough of your time already, Madame. I can carry on from here," I say, taking the salve from her hand. She nods in agreements and leaves, her adventure having made her day.

Feeling slightly lighter of heart, I finally feel able to speak civilly to my wilful charge. ,

"Come, Lamb let's get you settled in bed and then I will tend to your bruises. No do not try to get up, you heard Mistress Lilja. I will carry you." With that I lift him, blankets and all and carry him to the bedchamber. Mam, who has already dissolved the pain killing powders in hot water, opens the door for me and then sits on the side of the bed to watch to make sure he swallows it all before stroking his cheek and leaving us alone. Legolas gives me fleeting glances as if he is gauging my mood. Perhaps he is expecting me to explode and give him a thorough tongue lashing at the very least, but I find I do not have the heart for even that. He is far too beat up to withstand even a mild scolding, and I am too exhausted to deliver one right now. I would, however like to know what on earth was going through his mind this day. I cannot imagine why he was in such an all fire hurry to get home, when waiting a day or two would have made it much easier. I do not ask right away, but just begin applying the salve to all of his many bruises and cuts. He is quite covered in them and winces from time to time when I have to touch an especially painful one, though I am trying to be as gentle as possible. When I have finished with the front he carefully rolls over to his stomach so I can attend to the other side. Perhaps facing away from me is what finally gives him the courage to speak.

"Gimli?"

"Yes Lad?"

"Are you…angry with me?" It comes out almost as a whisper. I sigh for I do not wish to lie, but I also do not want to upset him. Finally I settle on a truthful answer.

"I am trying very hard not to be right now because I know you are suffering. However I am not pleased that you chose to disobey me and risk your life for no good reason. That was very dangerous and indeed. What in heavens name were you trying to do? What was so important that you couldn't wait a few days? You could have been killed, foolish elfling."

"I know, Elvellon. I'm sorry…"

"I am sure you are very sorry now, but that is not an answer to my question. Why did you do it?"

"I…I… would rather not say. You will think it's silly and childish."

"Perhaps so," I admit, "but I will try to understand and I won't laugh at you, I promise."

He groans so miserably that I decide to let it go for now. He isn't going anywhere after all so I am sure to get it out of him eventually. Besides he doesn't know about my secret weapon for making tight-lipped elflings talk. I'll just send Mam in to talk to him and she's not likely to take his silence as a proper answer. He won't stand a chance.