DISCLAIMER: all characters and things associated with Middle Earth belong to the estate of J.R.R. Tolkien. I am merely borrowing them.
SUMMARY: A mix of movie-verse and book-verse. The greatest friendships never start off smoothly.
Forged In Fire by Jessie Syring
Chapter One: Hostile Feelings
Gimli, son of Gloin, shifted uneasily and opened his eyes. The unnatural stillness disturbed him deeply when he had thought the Dwarven mines would bring him peace. The sound of the forges should have echoed through the massive halls of Moria, no matter the time of day. His people were industrious and the lure of silvery mithril pulled strongly at any Dwarf's heart.
He looked around at his fellow travelers, gathered as close as possible to the fire the ranger Aragorn had coaxed to life. The small blaze, little more than a torch, offered no real comfort except light that drove back the unknown terrors of the darkness beyond its warm glow. Gimli felt no fears here as he ran a gloved hand over the smooth stone of the floor. He could imagine the great halls before they had fallen to such disrepair---high arched ceilings braced by massive columns, statues of great heroes sternly staring at any intruders, the smell of roasting meats. The sound of hammer and strong voices raised in work chants would rise from the mines and forges in the deepest levels.
A faint song reached his ears, a very melancholy tune in a strangely lilting language whose words were strange to him. Gimli stifled a groan and rolled over, trying to ignore the sound. The damned Elf was on watch again. He always seemed to be awake when the others slept, even when others watched. Gimli had been keeping a wary eye on Legolas since they had left Rivendell and so had noticed several changes since they had entered Moria two days ago. The tall Elf rarely strayed far from the magical light Gandalf supplied and his eyes darted about uneasily. Tiny sounds---the drip of water, a shifting of loose rock---caused him to start, gripping his bow tightly. Gimli wondered what other noises came to the sharp ears of the archer. When the Fellowship rested, he seemed unable to sit still.
Still, he could have the courtesy not to disturb the rest of the others.
"Sleep, Master Dwarf," a voice said quietly from nearby. "There is nothing to worry about."
Gimli looked over his shoulder and saw Legolas standing nearby. His angular face looked unnaturally pale in the flickering firelight. Gimli could not hide his annoyed frown. "'t would be easier if I didn't have to listen to you caterwauling and generally disturbing those of us trying to get rest!" he growled, sitting up.
Legolas straightened, his expression hard. "Caterwauling?" he repeated angrily. "The realms of the Valar ring with the songs and music of Elves.
"Then I hope I never find myself there!"
"Enough!" Gandalf's voice had a hard tone to it that could not be ignored. Elf and Dwarf turned to find the white-bearded Istari sitting up as well, his brow furrowed in anger. "We face enough difficuties without the two of you arguing like children."
"See here, now---" began Gimli, puffing out his chest indignantly.
Gandalf lowered his voice. "We have a long journey ahead of us. I suggest you get some sleep."
Gimli felt heat rising in his cheeks as he looked at his companions. The Hobbits were blinking in confusion at being awakened abruptly. The Dwarf murmured an apology and, with one last glare at the Elf, began gathering his blankets again. Legolas still stood where he was, the flush of embarrassment quickly being replaced by a look of despair.
"I'll not disturb your rest again," Legolas said quietly.
The Elf swiftly walked away, making no more noise than a passing breeze might. He took a new position far from Gimli and the camp, his natural luminescence a faint glow near the dark opening of a cavernous side passage. Gimli paused, then let out an annoyed "harrumph" before rolling back into his blankets and closing his eyes. Flighty creature, he thought. He's got no business on this venture if he can't stand a little hardship.
To Be Continued