Author's Note - No profit is made by this piece, as usual. I've been trying to do about a million things at once lately, but I've been steadily working my way through this chapter, so I hope it fits in decently with the rest of the story. It's a little disjointed, but that's the point, so bear with me if you can. Enjoy!

Frodo tore into camp as if the Uruks were hot on his heels. When he arrived, Merry and Pippin were sparring with severed branches, and Sam was speaking quietly with Gimli. All four looked up and froze, startled, as he made his hasty return.

"It's Legolas!" Frodo gasped breathlessly, his wild blue eyes locking on Gimli, who was immediately on his feet. "Orcs approach! They're..." He sank to his knees in exhaustion from his flight, trying to suck as much air as possible into his aching lungs before attempting to speak again. "They're coming for us! Six of them! Legolas needs your help! Hurry, Gimli! They may already be upon him!"

Needing no further encouragement, the Dwarf hastened out of the camp. Frodo scrambled to his feet and lurched forward just in time to catch Pippin about the waist as the Took attempted to follow. "No, Pippin, we must stay here," he insisted as his friend struggled, looking confused.

Pippin shook his head. "We can't just hide while they're battling Orcs! They need our help!"

Merry spoke up. "Pip, they need to focus. We'd be a distraction. Gimli and Legolas would be too worried about our safety to concentrate fully on the fight."

Pippin relaxed slightly, realizing that Merry was right. They'd be more of a liability than anything.

And so the Halflings settled back into a small circle around the long-dead fire, their ears and eyes seeking any sound or sight that would alert them to the appearance of their friends or foes.

Meanwhile, Gimli reached Legolas in record time, but the Orcs had beaten him there. They had encircled the Elf like a pack of hungry Wargs, and were rapidly closing in. He watched, horrified, as the distance between the ring of enemies and his friend lessened to five feet. Then four. They were almost upon him now. Their long blades gleamed in the moonlight, but the predatory looks on their faces did not frighten the Dwarf nearly as much as the resigned, hopeless look on the Elf's.

Legolas held his strung bow at his side, and was making no attempt to reach for an arrow. What are you doing, fool? Gimli thought desperately, wanting to scream but afraid to give his presence away. Use your bow! Shoot them! Don't just stand there!

Finally, he could take it no longer. He had to act. Legolas still wasn't moving, and the Orcs were not likewise attempting to be statues. So, howling a Dwarven war-cry, Gimli rushed headlong into the fray, neatly severing the head of one Orc without so much as a flicker of hesitation.

Suddenly, Legolas broke free from his stupor. It was as if the appearance of his friend brought him back to life, and he was a blur of motion as he dropped into a fighting stance, long knives drawn and ready.

They fought with the parallel, separate teamwork of two warriors who'd fought against all odds for months and months. The Orcs were not prepared for this, and soon found themselves huddled together and without the certainty that their outnumbering advantage would work unflinchingly in their favor. They had underestimated the prowess of the Elf, and the Dwarf was not helping matters.

After a particularly intense exchange of blows and blocks, Gimli chanced a look at Legolas. For all his hesitation before, he certainly displayed none now, his twin blades slicing through muscle and bone so gracefully they might as well have been ribbons trailed through rushing water.

Less than ten minutes later, the Orcs lay in a heap, all either dead or dying. Legolas and Gimli surveyed their success with the detached interest that held no arrogance or joy. It was just another fight they had miraculously won; another obstacle they had overcome to be rewarded with the chance to live another day. Nothing special to them anymore. Battles, large or small, did not seem glorious or valiant to them after having lived so long and survived through so many.

Gimli swept the blood-darkened blade of his ax through a patch of dry grass before he checked up on his friend, who doubtlessly was drained by this point. So much had happened, and truth be told, Gimli worried a little for Legolas's mental stamina and capacity. Even the spirit of a Firstborn could break —would break— eventually. What the Dwarf saw did not hearten him.

The Elf stood so stiffly, it was as if he held himself up by force of will alone. His strength was obviously not in his voice when he murmured, "We should get back. The Hobbits will be expecting us."

Gimli recognized this as an intended distraction, and would have none of it. There were important matters to address first, and he was not about to be deterred. "The Hobbits can wait."

"Master Dwarf, if you intend to scold me, you mi—"

Gimli cut him off abruptly. "What was that?" he demanded, hands settling firmly on his hips as his dark eyes flashed.

Legolas seemed to have predicted such a reaction, and so was maddeningly unfazed by it. His voice was quiet and dismissive as he replied, "I was distracted. I could not put all my attention into the fight."

"You were just standing there, you idiot Elf!" Gimli reminded him, a little too harshly. "What could be more important than defending yourself?"

"I hesistated," Legolas answered flatly.

"You've never hesitated before!" The Dwarf looked as if he might explode at any second.

"Gimli, let it go. I appreciate your timely assistance, and am relieved that, with your help, we bested the Orc party. That is all there is to say. Let it go."

"Is it that you don't have Aragorn to monitor, so you allow your mind to wander?" The moment the words left his mouth, Gimli hated himself for uttering them, especially when he saw something break in Legolas' eyes.

There was a long silence as the Elf regarded the Dwarf. "That," Legolas said at last, "I did not deserve."

Gimli was too caught up to stop himself now. He kept right on scolding his friend in this vein. "What other excuse will suffice, Legolas? You never hesitate! One is led only to assume you have lost interest in preserving yourself because your friend has vanished! I know that Aragorn was —is critical to this mission, but there are others here that need you!"

"You know better!" Legolas exploded, displaying true, consuming frustration for the first time since Boromir had disappeared with their friend. "You know better, Gimli! How dare you insinuate that I would allow others to fall if only to spare Aragorn?"

"Legolas, you just stood there and—"

The Elf cut him off by raising one hand, his eyes downcast. Gimli surprised him by heeding the gesture, but Legolas did not, would not, look up. His eyes were stinging, and he did not wish to reveal his weakness. His fiery temper had simmered, but the tears were more than hot enough to make up for it. A few minutes of silence dragged by before the Elf saw fit to speak again, and this time his tone was considerably softer; almost a whisper, actually, but the hushed words managed to make Gimli's heart scream in misery. "I monitor theFellowship, Master Dwarf. The entire Fellowship. I do not focus on Aragorn or Frodo alone, despite their former importance as leader and Ring-bearer. Each one of you is significant in my heart. There are no priorities among equals." His voice caught, and he swallowed down his emotions before he went on. "I may have known Aragorn longest, but he means no more to me than you do, and you know how brief our friendship has been to date. I would tirelessly pursue your abductor should you, Valar forbid, be taken from my side. If you were slain, my efforts to avenge would be fueled by my overwhelming grief. I would do everything in my power to keep you safe, Gimli, and you know it. Aragorn, as much as I care for him, means no more to me than anyone who embarked on this journey."

Gimli said nothing. His soul was aching. He'd known all this, known it better than Legolas might ever believe at this point, but one moment of pure, unadulterated stupidity had made his beloved friend think Gimli questioned his unflinching loyalty. Mahal, put the proper response in my mouth. The god was not forthcoming, and the Dwarf's chagrin mounted.

Legolas closed his eyes. The lull was killing him, and if Gimli would not reply, he felt obligated to continue. His voice now was bordering on defeated. "In my panic, I had forgotten that I am needed, that I have a purpose...that others care about me. I suppose on some level, I just gave up a little. While the Orcs were approaching, I could not stop thinking about Amon Hen and how Aragorn was taken away by these vile creatures. I was missing him so much at that moment, it was hard to breathe or think, let alone wield a weapon." When Gimli remained silent, his dark eyes studying the Elf's face, Legolas shifted uneasily and continued. "Then you came along, and I remembered what I still had to fight for."

Finally, the Dwarf spoke again. "Do not hesitate again," he said flatly, giving the other a no-nonsense scowl to punctuate his point. "I mean it, Legolas. Never again."

Legolas heard the tender undertones in the gruff response, and fought to keep a straight face as he answered solemnly, "Upon my word, never again will I hesitate."

Gimli gave a cursory glance around the clearing. "We should get back," he posited, "before more Uruks appear." Legolas nodded, his eyes tracing the same path the Dwarf's had, then led the way back to the campsite. Both pretended to be completely casual, but they were shaken to the core by what had happened, and even if they'd never admit it to each other, they'd have to square it within their own hearts eventually. They were dreading this inevitable reality.

The Hobbits got quickly to their feet when the duo reappeared.

Gimli immediately sat down on the ground, huffing out a breath that sounded rather frustrated before announcing loudly to no one in particular, "The Orcs have been dispatched. It was a small party, and I suspect there will be more, so my advice is to keep a wary eye out."

Legolas decided to distance himself a few feet away, not in the mood for an onslaught of questions and evidently of the opinion that acting aloof would be the best way to avoid this. He leaned against a tree, crossing his arms and his ankles, and lifted his gaze into the branches that hung above his head. The expression of calm stoicism that had manifested itself over the Elf's fine features was the truest testament to his willpower.

Sam was next to pipe up. "I speak for the four of us when I say that I'm relieved those Orcs didn't kill you, Mr. Legolas."

The Elf turned soft eyes to the gardener, a ghost of a smile flitting across his lips as he replied, "I appreciate that, Master Samwise. All the same, I don't think those Orcs were sent to kill me."

Gimli stared hard at his friend. "They weren't sent to make polite conversation with you, Legolas."

"If they had wanted to kill me, they would have."

"I was there," the Dwarf said, his tone bordering on insulted as he stood again, frowning up at the Elf.

Legolas sensed that he was treading on his friend's dignity and quickly put a hand on his shoulder, seeking to remedy the slight. "I know, dear friend, and for that, I am grateful. You were, as always, an invaluable spirit to have beside me in battle. However, if they had truly wanted to do away with me, they would have brought long-distance weapons and felled me from afar. You would not have been able to get there fast enough. But they brought swords. They engaged me in hand-to-hand combat. They wanted me to fight back. They were looking for a confrontation."

"Orcs are always looking for a confrontation," Gimli grumbled.

"They wanted to slow me, not slay me."

"I thought they just wanted to get to Gondor as fast as possible," the Dwarf mused out loud, tugging at his auburn beard irritably. "They have to know we're at least a day and a half behind their precious leader Boromir, so why bother? Why backtrack?"

"Maybe they still thought Frodo had the Ring?" Pippin ventured.

"No, because Boromir sent them," Gimli pointed out. "They knew he had the Ring. Frodo is of no value to them."

Frodo winced and refrained from telling the group that it seemed he was of no value to anyone these days.

Merry spoke up for the first time during this discussion. "I think Boromir is overreacting because he's afraid."

Legolas sighed. "He has nothing to fear. His possession of the Ring makes him the most powerful creature in these lands, Master Meriadoc."

Merry worried his lower lip for a moment. "Surely someone could stop him. Frodo was not invincible when he had the Ring."

"Definitely not against those Ringwraiths," Sam agreed.

When the Hobbits all began shifting nervously, recalling that harrowing experience, Legolas wasted no time in changing the subject, although he later would regret his new choice more. "Only an Istar—" He paused when the others' eyes glazed over with confusion, then amended, "A wizard, that is, would have a chance at stopping him. And with Mithrandir de—" Miserably, he cleared his throat and doggedly continued, altering his terminology for the second time, but this time for his benefit. "With Mithrandir gone, he knows none are strong enough to oppose him. Even Saruman —even Sauron— can only send Orcs after him, and as long as Boromir has the Ring, the Orcs will stand no chance against him. He knows this. He knows that all he must do is reach Gondor. He need only convince his father to step down, and the people to denounce Aragorn and accept Boromir as king. Then he will have the support of his city, and an army of awed, loyal followers worthy of defeating any who dare stand in his path."

Sam piped up. "Then I don't see why he even cares about stopping you, Mr. Legolas. Seems to me you are of no threat to him."

The Elf sighed. "He knows I will come after him. Perhaps no one else may be bold enough to oppose him, but he knows I will do all that is in my power to help Aragorn."

To be continued...