Disclaimer: The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of J. R. R. Tolkien's estate, and New Line Cinema, Warner Brothers, Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, and WingNut Films.

Author's Note: Fill for a prompt on the hobbit-kink meme.

Here with Me

"I'm not in the way?" Gimli murmured as he felt Legolas readjusting his position behind him on the horse. "I can ride behind you as usual," he offered, stifling a big yawn and shifting forward.

The elf broke off singing. "Nay, my friend," Legolas instantly denied. "Having you behind me, I would fear for you falling."

At the dwarf's protesting snort, he hastily went on, "You keep your seat well. But you are exhausted, having not followed Aragorn's instructions to rest and take care of yourself before we left Helm's Deep." Legolas' look was stern when Gimli peeked up at him. We almost lost you. "I would rather you sleep without worrying about holding on," his expression and voice softened.

Gimli huffed but did not resist when Legolas' hand gently pressed him back to his former position against the elf's chest. "Very well."

He felt Legolas relax at his acceptance, and soon the elf resumed his singing in a soothing tone in his native tongue. As the song wrapped around him, Gimli relaxed more against his friend and felt sleep beckon invitingly to him.

"Have you sung this before?" he asked, interrupting again. "I seem to remember hearing it before…"

"You have," Legolas confirmed quietly.

The evening meal, held in one of the smaller banquet halls in Erebor, could have passed calmly, peacefully, and enjoyably even, if not for the two kings who seemed united in making the day a disaster (as they successfully had done the previous two days).

"I was simply stating your hair is like silver," Thorin claimed, stabbing his knife into his meat with more force than was strictly necessary.

"Ha! You make it sound like my hair purposely insulted you by failing to turn out like gold!" Thranduil retorted quietly and reached for his goblet.

Awkward silence reigned over the long table. There were quiet sighs (most of the elves and Oin). Deep inhales of breath (that would be Dis and Balin). Suspiciously sounding coughs (Dwalin and Gloin's wife). And eye rolling (Gloin and Tauriel, after sharing a long-suffering glance across the table). It was becoming quite tiresome for everyone to listen to their kings argue like spoiled young children. It had gone downhill from their first bickering over the handling of trespassers through Mirkwood to who looked better in their blue robes to whose nose was bigger to now trading insults about their hair.

So it was with relief for nearly all present that a moment later the dwarf children made their entrance for a short visit with their families before being put to bed. Among them were Thorin's young nephews, Fili and Kili. But it was the sight of a dwarf woman carrying a red-haired child not yet two years old that had Prince Legolas' sulking expression transform into a huge beam.

Swiftly Thranduil pressed a detaining hand on his son's shoulder before the elf did more than spring from his seat. Ignoring Legolas' pleading look, the elven king firmly guided him back down into his chair. Pouting, the prince crossed his arms over his chest. Thranduil closed his eyes and sighed deeply. His son could at times act so much younger than his over two thousand years. He would have to have another discussion with him regarding responsibility and dignity.

And about the rudeness of blatantly staring, he thought. Thranduil resisted the temptation to bury his face in his hands and instead surreptitiously followed his son's gaze down and across the table to where Gloin's wife was rocking the babe...Gimli, was his name? The little fellow looked a bit sulky himself.

At least compared to this afternoon when he laughed with delight and chattered excitedly as he had been tossed into the air and caught by Legolas. The elven and dwarf kings and their entourage had stumbled over the two during yet another heated argument. Thranduil had almost fainted at the sight. Had none of his numerous warnings about dwarves gotten through to his son?! It had taken the joint efforts of himself, Thorin, Balin, and Gloin to successfully disentangle Gimli from Legolas' clothes and hair. The elf prince had done nothing to help, instead protesting at being separated from his little dwarf, to his father's vast dismay; Gimli had stubbornly grabbed for the elf, wailing loudly and speaking a mixture of distressed baby talk and broken Khuzdul, refusing to be placated as Gloin swept off with him.

A sudden, loud cry jerked Thranduil back to the present. He discovered the babe looking right at them – no, Legolas – and flailing his short arms towards him, tears filling his eyes. Twisting his head back, Gimli babbled something to his mother before looking back at Legolas and leaning his whole body in his direction, whining. Thranduil tightened his hold as he felt his son squirm in his seat. His expression remained blank in response to Legolas' displeased frown. Gloin scowled, but quickly looked sheepish at something his wife said in his ear. Smiling kindly at both the elven king and prince, she returned her son to the dwarf woman with a brief order neither caught. The woman looked doubtful, yet bowed and carried the crying child around the table towards the elves.

"Really! I do not—" Thorin broke off at the twin silencing looks he received from Dis and Gloin's wife.

Unhappily, Thranduil let Legolas go, who jumped up yet stayed by his chair, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet. Placing his hand over his breast, he bowed respectfully to the dwarf woman and offered a reassuring smile. Her uncertain frown did not lessen, but she did carefully transfer her charge over to the prince.

As soon as he was in the elf's arms – one under his bottom and the other across his back, bracing him against the large chest – Gimli stopped crying. Tears still falling down his cheeks, the babe looked up with wide blue eyes, and hiccupped. For a long silent moment (all eyes watched the two with interest) the elf and dwarfling simply stared at each other. Then with a sigh, Gimli rested his head on Legolas' chest and wrapped his small arms and legs around him as best he could in an unmistakable hug. Gently, the prince rubbed his face against the baby's cheek (a little prickly with the first hints of the beard that would eventually come) and red curls.

Legolas lifted his head at the shifting of the little body in his arms and carefully brushed away the tears on the chubby cheeks with his thumb.

"There you are," Legolas said softly, smiling as one of Gimli's hands explored his face. "That's better, dear one."

Thranduil half choked on his wine, and Thorin frowned darkly. Legolas seemed oblivious to their reactions, though, as he sat down in his chair and cradled the dwarfling in his arms. Content, Gimli gazed up at him, his fingers curling around one of the long blond braids. The look he gave the elf was full of adoration. And Legolas returned it wholeheartedly.

"Adorable…" the word drifted almost soundlessly over the table.

Both kings glowered while the rest of the company admired the picture the two made.

Smiling widely, Gimli proclaimed something in Khuzdul, and then proceeded to stick his thumb in his mouth.

His words caused a series of gasps among the dwarves, his young cousins to laugh and clap their hands, his older cousins to shake their heads, his father to start to speak in a very displeased tone only to be jabbed hard in the side by his wife, and Thorin to blanch, looking horror-stricken. The elves had no clue what the child had said, and dared not ask for an explanation. (It was not until the morning the elves left to return to Mirkwood, while Legolas took leave of his tiny new friend, that Prince Fili shared that his cousin had called the prince "pretty elf," and wanted him to stay in Erebor. Thranduil was overwhelmingly relieved he had not known that at the time.)

But once again, Legolas and Gimli seemed to be in their own world.

"Is that so?" the elf asked with a light laugh and smile.

At the excited nod Legolas received in response, his smile widened. Rocking the child gently, he softly began to sing an elven lullaby. Gimli listened curiously, head tilting to the side, eyes roving over the elf's pale face. Gradually, his eyes grew heavy, and his grasp on Legolas' braid loosened. Snuggling closer to the prince, Gimli shut his eyes and soon was fast asleep. He did not wake up when the singing faded away. Nor as a light kiss was pressed to the top of his head before he was returned to his relieved nurse.

It was some minutes later, after he had reached the end of his song, Legolas looked down at Gimli. The dwarf's chin rested on his chest, his body relaxed against the elf's breast, swaying slightly with the horse's movement. His snores filled the air. Legolas tightened his arms around Gimli.

His friend was now a proud, stubborn, fierce warrior, no longer the small, innocent baby (though still adorable, the elf secretly admitted) from all those many years ago. Yet he had been lulled to sleep once again by that old lullaby. Some things do not change, no matter how much time has passed. The thought was comforting.

Smiling fondly on his slumbering friend, Legolas shook his head and returned his gaze forward.

THE END