notanightlight:

Legolas had known that he would face some opposition when he travelled with Gimli to the mountain. He had known that there would be dwarves who hated his very presence there, much less his upcoming wedding. That not even his status as one of the Nine Walkers would shield him from some. He thought he was prepared.

Now he just hoped that no one would notice the quickness of his breathing or the heat he could feel at the tips of his ears and recognize them for the tells they were.

He had thought that he would face any dissenters with Gimli at his side, but Gimli was in meetings with his king discussing the colony he wanted to set up in Aglarond. So Legolas was alone amongst a host of unfamiliar faces, trying to weather the scathing vitriol being thrown his way by the dwarrow he had approached about purchasing fabric for a new tunic from.

He tried to maintain a stoic expression as he had no hope of presenting the placid one he had worked so hard to learn from his father. He must not make a scene. He would not give any dwarf reason to say that Gimli had chosen some volatile wild elf to wed.

Legolas kept his fingers from twitching as the dwarrow cursed his family, his race, and his beardless face. He tried to imagine the words rolling off him like rain off a leaf as the dwarf called him a craftless, soulless, stretched­out, bat­eared bastard.

The mounting insults were almost too much to take, and Legolas was about ready to just throw the bolt of fabric in his hands at the dwarf and make a quick retreat when a gruff voice rose above the uneasy murmuring of the crowd.

“Firin son of Firus, what nonsense are you shouting about now!”

A familiar old dwarrow with a massive white beard and a sturdy walking stick planted himself between the two.

“It’s nothing to concern yourself about, Gloin,” the dwarf replied, straightening out his shoulders. “I’m just dealing with this t​hing​trying to purchase my wares.”

“Well I find myself concerned about it,” the old dwarrow said with a huff. He turned to Legolas.

“What possessed you to come to a stall like this?” Gloin asked, shaking his head. The younger dwarf spluttered from behind him.

Legolas clutched the fabric reflexively, feeling younger than he had in centuries. “The color caught my eye,” he tried not to mumble.

Gloin took the fabric, holding it up and looking back and forth between the bolt and Legolas with critical scrutiny.

“Well I cannot fault your eye for color, and you are going to need more blue in your wardrobe,” he conceded with a nod, “but you will find better quality fabrics sold by dwarves with much more business sense in that direction.”

“What are you saying, Gloin!” the dwarf bristled.

“I’m saying I have seen your finances, Son of Firus, and you could not hold onto a coin if someone nailed it to the palm of your hand!” Gloin said, shoving the bolt of fabric into the furious dwarf’s chest. “And no member of my family will do business with you as long as I still draw breath!”

Legolas saw where Gimli inherited his sharp tongue from. He let Gloin usher him away from the fuming merchant and towards the stalls he indicated earlier.

“Thank you,” Legolas said once they were away from the crowd.

Gloin snorted.

“I’m not going to let anyone talk about a member of my family that way.”

Legolas stopped.

“Master Gloin?” Legolas asked, confused.

Gloin paused, running a contemplative eye over the elf.

“Your the odd ore in the family vein, and no mistake about that,” he said, “but you should understand that we’ll be your new family.”

He started walking and Legolas followed, slightly dumbstruck.

“Now we really should find some fabric, you will be expected to wear our family’s blue on formal occasions, and we should look into some new beads and a few more adornments until Gimli has a chance to make you some himself,” Gloin said mostly to himself as he started perusing the goods on the nearest stall. “I don’t suppose you lot pierce those ears?”

Legolas couldn’t help but laugh.

“No we don’t, Master Gloin,” he confirmed.

Gloin gave him a flat look.

“Now what did I just say? We’re family, so drop the ‘Master’ business.”

“Alright, Gloin Adar,” Legolas replied with a smile, “can we look for carving tools as well. I left mine in Greenwood before the quest.”

Gloin nodded absentmindedly and began instructing Legolas on the fine art of haggling in a Dwarvish market.

On the next gift giving occasion, Legolas presented Gloin with an elaborately carved walking stick, that he carried with pride.

End. (Thanks for the prompt! And lots of hugs for you anon!)