Authors Note: None of my stories thus far have been succesful- it seems I'm
struggling to keep them in character, so I'm making another attempt at
writing by writing the Quest through the eyes of my favourite character,
Gimli. Please review and let me know how I'm doing!
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm even borrowing my body from God. I'll have to give it back to him at some point :(
I've changed Legolas's hair colour to the one used in my other chapters, and corrected a few atrocious mini-Balrogs I'm ashamed to have created.
*............* indicates italics. I can't use html. I'm stupid.
~Through the Eyes of a Stranger~
Gimli gazed deep into the flames of the 'Hall of Fire'. They flickered and danced an eternal dance, occasional flecks of gold and red leaping above the rest, capering with the grey smoke rising from the flames. If he looked hard enough he could almost envision a phoenix rising with wings of fire from the blaze. He had heard of those ancient creatures in old stories. He'd always been one for stories, which was why he had taken a liking to this Hall.
There were Elves. Elves here and Elves there. He had been brought up to hate the Elves, and he tried hard. Sometimes it was easy- they were spiteful, prideful know-it-alls who looked down their straight noses at other *lesser* beings who did not share their eternal perfection and beauty. But a small part of him just couldn't *hate* the Elves, especially at times like this; they're ethereal voices floated around the Hall in a mixture of beautiful song and wondrous stories, most of which were spoken in a language strange to him, but he'd discovered in the week that he had stayed here, that if he closed his eyes and listened to the words, they mingled together and formed a vision, clear as though he was truly there, watching it from afar. It is a marvellous feeling indeed.
His father did not approve, indeed, he had to say that it disgusted Glóin, that his son had been spending much of his time in here. Indeed, often he had fallen asleep, lulled by the gentle songs.
He started awake. He had been on the edge of a dream again! He cursed himself miserably and threw his hood back for a moment, shaking his long copper-red hair loose. He suddenly become aware of something looking at him, looking *through* him; it felt like cold ice piercing his soul, yet it seemed as though the ice were originally water, and had frozen just for his benefit. He paused for a moment, looking for the one whom that gaze belonged to; it did not take him long. The Elf was sitting near the back of a small huddle of Elves around a stool on which another Elf whom Gimli had learnt was called Lindir was singing softly. The Elf watching him was dressed differently to the other Elves, who were clad in blues, purples and silvers. This Elf was wearing green and brown, his hair spilling like woven shadow down his shoulders and was caught in delicate braids about his tapered ears. He seemed to be made of porcelain, or maybe ice itself. His grey eyes were cold like steel, yet there was a hidden warmth behind them. Gimli regarded him with as much similar coolness as he could muster until he could no longer endure that sharp piercing look and turned away.
He left the Hall as swiftly as he could without drawing too much attention to himself. The last thing he need was more Elf eyes fixed on him. As he left, he passed two of the Hobbit's- a young one that arrived only a few days ago, and yet he had not seen before, and the old Hobbit Bilbo, who was the one who had accompanied his father and the rest of Thorin's company on the Quest for Erebor.
He left the Hobbits without disturbing them, and neither showed any sign of seeing him pass; they were deeply absorbed in conversation. He cursed inwardly as he wandered aimlessly along the wide, airy corridors of Imladris; there were trees growing even inside the passages, that were never fully closed- the roof indeed seemed made up entirely of intertwining branches, that gave the place a full, wholesome feeling. *Drat the Elves and their architecture!* he though irritably. He wished dearly that he was able to dislike the Elves as his kind were accustomed. It would be so much easier for him in the long-run, he considered. The corridors and rooms of Rivendell were actually very pleasant indeed, the thing was that they all looked exactly the same and there were so many of them that he was constantly getting lost!
After much aimless wandering he ran smack into someone he didn't quite expect. He looked up and found himself nose to belt with a grey-cloaked old man leaning on a staff, glaring at him down his long nose with a twinkle in his deep eyes: "Tharkun!" Gimli cried joyously, "What a joy to meet you here!"
"Well met, Gimli son of Glóin!" laughed the old wizard, reaching out a hand to steady the Dwarf; he had staggered backwards from the force of colliding with the Istari. "It is a many a while since I have heard the name 'Tharkun'. I am generally known as Mithrandir here, or Gandalf to a few."
"Gandalf it is then."
He frowned at the short creature. "And what brings you to Imladris, Gimli?"
"Dáin sent Father and I here with tidings," was the reply, "I think Elrond wants us to join the great Council tomorrow. At least, that is what Father told me."
"And where is Glóin?"
"I can honestly tell you that I have no idea."
"You are not the most organised of Dwarves are you, Gimli?" Gandalf chuckled, his eyes twinkling beneath his deep brows. Gimli made a show of looking hurt but soon his facial muscles got the better of him, and his face broke into a lopsided grin. Soon he and the Wizard were both laughing heartily, something Gimli had not done for a while.
~There! That's jut a prologue if you like, a little taster. Hopefully I will succeed in being in-character for this. Please review, but don't judge me too harshly. Constructive criticism is devoured eagerly, flames will go to my beautiful Fell-Beast, Checkers, who has no heating in her mini-dark tower :D Thankyou! ~DtT~
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm even borrowing my body from God. I'll have to give it back to him at some point :(
I've changed Legolas's hair colour to the one used in my other chapters, and corrected a few atrocious mini-Balrogs I'm ashamed to have created.
*............* indicates italics. I can't use html. I'm stupid.
~Through the Eyes of a Stranger~
Gimli gazed deep into the flames of the 'Hall of Fire'. They flickered and danced an eternal dance, occasional flecks of gold and red leaping above the rest, capering with the grey smoke rising from the flames. If he looked hard enough he could almost envision a phoenix rising with wings of fire from the blaze. He had heard of those ancient creatures in old stories. He'd always been one for stories, which was why he had taken a liking to this Hall.
There were Elves. Elves here and Elves there. He had been brought up to hate the Elves, and he tried hard. Sometimes it was easy- they were spiteful, prideful know-it-alls who looked down their straight noses at other *lesser* beings who did not share their eternal perfection and beauty. But a small part of him just couldn't *hate* the Elves, especially at times like this; they're ethereal voices floated around the Hall in a mixture of beautiful song and wondrous stories, most of which were spoken in a language strange to him, but he'd discovered in the week that he had stayed here, that if he closed his eyes and listened to the words, they mingled together and formed a vision, clear as though he was truly there, watching it from afar. It is a marvellous feeling indeed.
His father did not approve, indeed, he had to say that it disgusted Glóin, that his son had been spending much of his time in here. Indeed, often he had fallen asleep, lulled by the gentle songs.
He started awake. He had been on the edge of a dream again! He cursed himself miserably and threw his hood back for a moment, shaking his long copper-red hair loose. He suddenly become aware of something looking at him, looking *through* him; it felt like cold ice piercing his soul, yet it seemed as though the ice were originally water, and had frozen just for his benefit. He paused for a moment, looking for the one whom that gaze belonged to; it did not take him long. The Elf was sitting near the back of a small huddle of Elves around a stool on which another Elf whom Gimli had learnt was called Lindir was singing softly. The Elf watching him was dressed differently to the other Elves, who were clad in blues, purples and silvers. This Elf was wearing green and brown, his hair spilling like woven shadow down his shoulders and was caught in delicate braids about his tapered ears. He seemed to be made of porcelain, or maybe ice itself. His grey eyes were cold like steel, yet there was a hidden warmth behind them. Gimli regarded him with as much similar coolness as he could muster until he could no longer endure that sharp piercing look and turned away.
He left the Hall as swiftly as he could without drawing too much attention to himself. The last thing he need was more Elf eyes fixed on him. As he left, he passed two of the Hobbit's- a young one that arrived only a few days ago, and yet he had not seen before, and the old Hobbit Bilbo, who was the one who had accompanied his father and the rest of Thorin's company on the Quest for Erebor.
He left the Hobbits without disturbing them, and neither showed any sign of seeing him pass; they were deeply absorbed in conversation. He cursed inwardly as he wandered aimlessly along the wide, airy corridors of Imladris; there were trees growing even inside the passages, that were never fully closed- the roof indeed seemed made up entirely of intertwining branches, that gave the place a full, wholesome feeling. *Drat the Elves and their architecture!* he though irritably. He wished dearly that he was able to dislike the Elves as his kind were accustomed. It would be so much easier for him in the long-run, he considered. The corridors and rooms of Rivendell were actually very pleasant indeed, the thing was that they all looked exactly the same and there were so many of them that he was constantly getting lost!
After much aimless wandering he ran smack into someone he didn't quite expect. He looked up and found himself nose to belt with a grey-cloaked old man leaning on a staff, glaring at him down his long nose with a twinkle in his deep eyes: "Tharkun!" Gimli cried joyously, "What a joy to meet you here!"
"Well met, Gimli son of Glóin!" laughed the old wizard, reaching out a hand to steady the Dwarf; he had staggered backwards from the force of colliding with the Istari. "It is a many a while since I have heard the name 'Tharkun'. I am generally known as Mithrandir here, or Gandalf to a few."
"Gandalf it is then."
He frowned at the short creature. "And what brings you to Imladris, Gimli?"
"Dáin sent Father and I here with tidings," was the reply, "I think Elrond wants us to join the great Council tomorrow. At least, that is what Father told me."
"And where is Glóin?"
"I can honestly tell you that I have no idea."
"You are not the most organised of Dwarves are you, Gimli?" Gandalf chuckled, his eyes twinkling beneath his deep brows. Gimli made a show of looking hurt but soon his facial muscles got the better of him, and his face broke into a lopsided grin. Soon he and the Wizard were both laughing heartily, something Gimli had not done for a while.
~There! That's jut a prologue if you like, a little taster. Hopefully I will succeed in being in-character for this. Please review, but don't judge me too harshly. Constructive criticism is devoured eagerly, flames will go to my beautiful Fell-Beast, Checkers, who has no heating in her mini-dark tower :D Thankyou! ~DtT~