Lord of the Rings, Legolas/Gimli, spouse
It was the first time in recent memory that Gimli became aroused by putting clothes on his lover, instead of taking them off. The garments they were to wear were elaborate formal pieces, almost more laces and fasteners than Gimli’s stubby fingers could manage. But the effort was well worth it when he had his handsome elf standing before him in their guest chambers, looking resplendent in silvery light blue. He could not help stepping back to take in the scene so as to be able to etch it into his memories indefinitely.
When Legolas noticed him inspecting, however, Legolas smiled his small smile that meant emotions ten times bigger. “Silly clothes. I shall be glad when the ceremony is over and I can be rid of them.” He flapped his forearms, and the extra sashes of material swayed and flowed gracefully, showing nothing of Legolas’ annoyance with them. “Terribly impractical. It took hours to get them on just right and their function and fit leave much to be desired.”
Gimli’s words escaped him. “I think you look stunning. I would want you in nothing less for ours.”
Legolas cocked his head ever so slightly, looking down at the dwarf with a curious expression. “You mean to say you would wish us married in some formal display such as this?”
Gimli felt his face go quite hot. “Well, if it’s good enough for Aragorn and Arwen, why not for us?”
“I hardly think it a matter of it being good enough for us, and rather a matter of its necessity. Do you not consider us bonded already, melon nîn?”
Gimli, whose grasp of normal elvish extended merely as far as words for food, understood such affectionate terms as well simply because of the elf’s frequent use of them in private, tender times. The heat upon his face crept to his ears and neck, even if his beard and hair obscured his emotion. “I was raised to embrace tradition,” Gimli told him. “Even if that tradition has, at times, no place for me.”
Taking another male as a mate was only barely tolerable in his father’s kingdom. But choosing an elf was virtually unthinkable. Yet, no one in their lands or in the families doubted to commitment Legolas and Gimli showed to each other. And when it came time for Aragorn to choose the most trusted member of his wedding party, the one who would stand beside him during his ceremony, he did not call on Faramir or Éomer. He had not requested it of Legolas or Gimli either. He had, in fact, asked them both to serve the function, together. The two were no longer separate in his mind, and the honor was quickly accepted by the couple.
“You would require my public promise, my vows to you?” Legolas asked again, still perplexed.
But Gimli shook his head to that. “I require nothing from you that you do not already give.” He reached up and fingered the useless flaps of fabric, so soft and fine against his thick skin. “But if you are asking if I would wish for everyone else to see us marry, to show our people our love, to share our happiness with those we care about, then I cannot deny the thought appeals to me. To be able to call you my spouse would be a joy beyond all others.”
Legolas took a moment, then lowered himself onto one knee, so he could gaze directly into Gimli’s eyes. “Help me take this off,” he said at last.
It was Gimli’s turn to look confused.
Legolas cupped Gimli’s cheek. “How am I to celebrate a marriage proposal properly with clothes on?” He moved in, head tilted to the side just enough for a strong kiss. And as he kissed, one of his hands played at the bow and laces on Gimli’s shoulder. “Besides,” the elf said quietly, “Ever since I helped you put these garments on, you have looked so good that I have been dying to touch you in all sorts of inappropriate ways. I fear that, if I do not have you now, I will never make it through the ceremony.”