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roselightfairy...but I finally, minorly broke through my latest bout of creative block to write a little about them - inspired, of course, by DeHeerKonijn drawing them. Fluff is often within my reach even when nothing else is (the poor four word docs open at the moment that I haven't touched in days...), so my piece follows the picture and is meant to take place on the same day.
The basic premise of the Agladogs is that dwarf societies have trained rescue dogs who assist at construction sites and cave-ins . . . and that Legolas absolutely adores them, so much so that he interferes with their training and is not allowed to be around them until they have already been well-trained on their jobs.
The door to his chambers was propped open when Gimli returned home at midday, as often when Legolas visited. It had ceased to alarm him, after the first few times – Legolas disliked shutting himself inside any stone chambers, even if they were his own – and now Gimli only smiled as he shucked off his protective leather gear and hung his helmet on its hook. It meant nothing more than that his husband had not wandered off somewhere, and that he was waiting for Gimli to come home.
Perhaps someday Gimli would win the freedom to live in his own settlement for the fortnight of his husband’s visit without spending his mornings at work, without being constantly at the summons of anyone in the caves. But in these early days, he could ill afford lassitude, and must spend at least the mornings at work sites and meetings. Smelted metal, after all, must be watched carefully to ensure it would cool into the proper shape – and an error in the forging of a blade could prove disastrous on the battlefield.
Gimli had no mind to let any such thing happen here.
“Legolas?” he called into the rooms, tugging at the laces of his boots with one hand braced on the doorway. “I am home!”
Gimli had never minded the delicate forging of metal, after all. And at least these days, he had his husband to greet him when he returned home.
But even in all the time it took Gimli to wrestle off his snug-fitting work boots, Legolas had not come out into the entry chambers. Gimli frowned to himself and ventured deeper into their rooms to seek him. Whatever the etiquette in Ithilien, Legolas knew better than to leave his doors unlocked when leaving for the day, let alone ajar. He would not have –
Ah, there he was. Gimli paused in the doorway to the bedchamber, one hand braced on his hip and one eyebrow raised in an effort to conceal a smile. “You are not supposed to do that.”
Legolas made no response to his sentence. He had twisted sharply from his seated position on the side of the bed, torso contorted, to pin Gimli with accusing eyes. “You were with the puppies.”
Gimli’s lips strained against his tight clamp, fighting to quirk into a smile. “I was,” he said. “They must be introduced to construction and excavation sites in slow stages, as part of their training. The trainer asked me if he might bring them to the work I was supervising today.”
“So you are permitted to see them.” Legolas’s lips extended into what might almost be called a pout.
“I do not interfere with the impressionable youth during their training.” Gimli nodded towards the bed. “And here we see what a poor influence you are – even on the elders who ought to know better!”
For here indeed was the reason Legolas had not risen to greet him at the door – and his defiance of one of Gimli’s (demanded, negotiated, pleaded) standards for their bedroom – Legolas sat perched on the edge of the bed and beside him, stretched full-length over their blankets, was Opal, one of the fully-trained dogs not currently working, with her head resting on his lap. She had looked up at Gimli’s approach, with no hint of remorse in her large brown eyes, before deeming him uninteresting and letting her head sink back onto Legolas’s thighs.
Legolas shrugged, as remorseless as the dog. “If I am to be forbidden the youth, I will take my company where I can find it.” His hands were buried in the thick fur of her head; he scratched at her ears, making her whuff in pleasure.
Gimli grimaced. He had insisted (reasoned, cajoled, begged) that the dogs, if Legolas would not budge on allowing them into their chambers, should at least be forbidden the bed. An elf who had lived in a forest all his life might not notice, but Gimli had no particular fondness for the scent of dog at night when all the other distractions of the world fell away and the scent prevented him from falling asleep. And Opal was – her feet were on the pillow, doubtless caked in mud and stone dust, and Gimli would have to change the linens again, and – “And how did you know I was with the puppies?” he demanded, jerking his head back to face Legolas so sharply that his neck almost wrenched. “Can you smell them on me or” –
“No.” Legolas smiled serenely and nodded down at Opal. “But she can.”
“Wonderful,” Gimli grumbled. He had heard complaints from other dwarves about spouses attuned to the gossip networks of the mountain; he had not expected his own would learn his tales from dogs.
“Oh, come,” Legolas wheedled. “Let us not waste our midday in recriminations. Will you not come and kiss me?”
The almost-pout extended further, those large brown eyes widened until any dog could have taken lessons from them – and Gimli’s heart was molten metal, hopeless to hold its shape. “I am overthrown,” he complained, but he released the doorframe nonetheless and crossed the room as Legolas tilted his head back to follow the motion. “But she cannot stay here overnight. And you are changing the linens before we go to bed.”
“Shall I also change them in the morning?” Legolas murmured impishly, but Gimli silenced him with a kiss and Legolas surrendered to it, sighing into Gimli’s mouth and wrapping his arms around his neck. The dog whined as Legolas ceased his attentions to her ears, but he did not release Gimli to return to her.
It was all the concession Gimli would receive – but at the moment, he found he could not complain.
The basic premise of the Agladogs is that dwarf societies have trained rescue dogs who assist at construction sites and cave-ins . . . and that Legolas absolutely adores them, so much so that he interferes with their training and is not allowed to be around them until they have already been well-trained on their jobs.
The door to his chambers was propped open when Gimli returned home at midday, as often when Legolas visited. It had ceased to alarm him, after the first few times – Legolas disliked shutting himself inside any stone chambers, even if they were his own – and now Gimli only smiled as he shucked off his protective leather gear and hung his helmet on its hook. It meant nothing more than that his husband had not wandered off somewhere, and that he was waiting for Gimli to come home.
Perhaps someday Gimli would win the freedom to live in his own settlement for the fortnight of his husband’s visit without spending his mornings at work, without being constantly at the summons of anyone in the caves. But in these early days, he could ill afford lassitude, and must spend at least the mornings at work sites and meetings. Smelted metal, after all, must be watched carefully to ensure it would cool into the proper shape – and an error in the forging of a blade could prove disastrous on the battlefield.
Gimli had no mind to let any such thing happen here.
“Legolas?” he called into the rooms, tugging at the laces of his boots with one hand braced on the doorway. “I am home!”
Gimli had never minded the delicate forging of metal, after all. And at least these days, he had his husband to greet him when he returned home.
But even in all the time it took Gimli to wrestle off his snug-fitting work boots, Legolas had not come out into the entry chambers. Gimli frowned to himself and ventured deeper into their rooms to seek him. Whatever the etiquette in Ithilien, Legolas knew better than to leave his doors unlocked when leaving for the day, let alone ajar. He would not have –
Ah, there he was. Gimli paused in the doorway to the bedchamber, one hand braced on his hip and one eyebrow raised in an effort to conceal a smile. “You are not supposed to do that.”
Legolas made no response to his sentence. He had twisted sharply from his seated position on the side of the bed, torso contorted, to pin Gimli with accusing eyes. “You were with the puppies.”
Gimli’s lips strained against his tight clamp, fighting to quirk into a smile. “I was,” he said. “They must be introduced to construction and excavation sites in slow stages, as part of their training. The trainer asked me if he might bring them to the work I was supervising today.”
“So you are permitted to see them.” Legolas’s lips extended into what might almost be called a pout.
“I do not interfere with the impressionable youth during their training.” Gimli nodded towards the bed. “And here we see what a poor influence you are – even on the elders who ought to know better!”
For here indeed was the reason Legolas had not risen to greet him at the door – and his defiance of one of Gimli’s (demanded, negotiated, pleaded) standards for their bedroom – Legolas sat perched on the edge of the bed and beside him, stretched full-length over their blankets, was Opal, one of the fully-trained dogs not currently working, with her head resting on his lap. She had looked up at Gimli’s approach, with no hint of remorse in her large brown eyes, before deeming him uninteresting and letting her head sink back onto Legolas’s thighs.
Legolas shrugged, as remorseless as the dog. “If I am to be forbidden the youth, I will take my company where I can find it.” His hands were buried in the thick fur of her head; he scratched at her ears, making her whuff in pleasure.
Gimli grimaced. He had insisted (reasoned, cajoled, begged) that the dogs, if Legolas would not budge on allowing them into their chambers, should at least be forbidden the bed. An elf who had lived in a forest all his life might not notice, but Gimli had no particular fondness for the scent of dog at night when all the other distractions of the world fell away and the scent prevented him from falling asleep. And Opal was – her feet were on the pillow, doubtless caked in mud and stone dust, and Gimli would have to change the linens again, and – “And how did you know I was with the puppies?” he demanded, jerking his head back to face Legolas so sharply that his neck almost wrenched. “Can you smell them on me or” –
“No.” Legolas smiled serenely and nodded down at Opal. “But she can.”
“Wonderful,” Gimli grumbled. He had heard complaints from other dwarves about spouses attuned to the gossip networks of the mountain; he had not expected his own would learn his tales from dogs.
“Oh, come,” Legolas wheedled. “Let us not waste our midday in recriminations. Will you not come and kiss me?”
The almost-pout extended further, those large brown eyes widened until any dog could have taken lessons from them – and Gimli’s heart was molten metal, hopeless to hold its shape. “I am overthrown,” he complained, but he released the doorframe nonetheless and crossed the room as Legolas tilted his head back to follow the motion. “But she cannot stay here overnight. And you are changing the linens before we go to bed.”
“Shall I also change them in the morning?” Legolas murmured impishly, but Gimli silenced him with a kiss and Legolas surrendered to it, sighing into Gimli’s mouth and wrapping his arms around his neck. The dog whined as Legolas ceased his attentions to her ears, but he did not release Gimli to return to her.
It was all the concession Gimli would receive – but at the moment, he found he could not complain.
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Date: 2021-08-12 11:59 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-08-13 05:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2021-08-13 09:32 am (UTC)