When I found my son had taken up with an elf I was disconcerted but not surprised. Elves are tall and graceful and bright, candles to our moths, and when we touch the flame we burn.

Legolas is honorable--according to my son--and he seems truly to care for Gimli. When he hurts Gimli--he will, he's an elf--it will not be intentional. Will that comfort Gimli? Legolas may regret hurting him, may even grieve as he rips my son's heart out and walks away, but he'll still rip, he'll still walk.

The elf came to my cell eighty years ago. He didn't know my name then and I pray he still doesn't. It was a long time ago and I've grown older--even if he hasn't--and all dwarves look the same, don't they? Short and stunted, hairy and unlovely. He told me that, after all.

Thorin had sent word through Bilbo that we were to tell the elves nothing, not even our names. At the time I thought that stupid, but now I bless it. 'Son of Gloin' will mean nothing to him when he hears of Gimli. I was never more than a nameless, stubborn dwarf to him, not even when he had my cock in his hand, not even when I had his in my mouth.

He came and he asked questions and he kept coming even though I never answered. He gave up on the others after one or two visits, Bilbo told me, but he kept coming to me, probably thinking me weak. I was weak, but I never answered his questions. My silence finally got to him on the fifth visit: instead of calling me thief and liar he slapped my face.

I endured his taunts without reaction, but no dwarf can accept a blow without striking back. He had dismissed his guards when he entered my cell, a foolish bravado with an unchained prisoner, so none could stop my attack.

None save he. Elves are stronger than their elongated limbs suggest. He caught me with contemptuous ease and we stood there glaring at each other. Then he kissed me. The kiss was long and sweet and ended when he thrust me to the floor, wiped his wet mouth on the back of his hand, and stalked out.

He stayed away for three days. The guards came and brought food, Bilbo came and brought news, but my ears were attuned to the sound of one set of footsteps. I was standing when he entered my cell again. He pushed me against the wall and kissed me with a brutal mouth. He was stronger than I, but I wasn't resisting either. I never resisted. Can the moth resist the candle?

A week later Bilbo managed our escape. The elves came to the Lonely Mountain and we met again after the battle. He didn't recognize me. Or maybe he did.

Legolas. Legolas, son of Thranduil. The gods must laugh. Like father, like son.