It was the day of the second anniversary since Legolas's passing, and Gimli had decided, much as Aragorn allegedly had, to immerse himself in work.
He locked himself in his study, committing himself to catching up on the menial and mundane tasks he had neglected lately.
He missed Legolas, yes, but he was far too stubborn to allow his grief to consume him. Life must go on; the Elf would have wanted that. And work must go on.
He was attempting to distract himself by diligently poring over past daily logs of work done in the Glittering Caves. They were no longer even necessary, but the Dwarf had discovered that he was becoming quite the packrat these days.
He had just dipped his quill in the jar of ink when there came a timid knock upon the heavy door of the study.
Gimli looked up, clearly annoyed at the interruption.
He sighed, then bade whoever insisted upon distracting him from his distraction to speak.
"My lord Gimli, you have a visitor. He awaits you in the Grand Hall." The gruff voice turned glacial. "An Elf."
Gimli sighed again. Typical. He had moved past that tendency long ago, but it seemed no one else ever would, and he knew he had no power to remedy that alone.
He needed allies in Aglarond, but the Dwarves were all too mulish and too readily willing to hold an age-long grudge. Gimli was but one Dwarf, after all. How could he dare to hope to change the minds of so many? And besides, quite frankly, he was too exhausted with it to bother trying anymore.
He walked to the door, opening it with feigned regality and offering a scathing glance at the smug Dwarf who stood before him. "I ask that you refrain from allowing your ignorant distaste of the Elvish kind to be so lavishly displayed in the tone of your voice, Balhar."
"With all due respect, my lord, why? He is not here."
"Still," Gimli's voice was firm, "I am."
Balhar obviously was thinking, "And your point is...?"
Gimli glowered at him. "You know I am considered an Elf-friend."
"My apologies, Lord Gimli. I was bidden to inform you that this visitor made mention of your deceased friend Legolas."
The Dwarf winced at the term "deceased." How he hated that word!
His mind reeled with the possibilities.
It couldn't be Galadriel, Celeborn, Glorfindel, Erestor, or Elrond. They had sailed to the West shortly after the War.
Haldir, then? ...No, impossible. That Elf had made his hatred of Dwarves, and Gimli in particular, abundantly clear after their spat in Lorien during the Quest. He would more than likely never come within a hundred leagues of the Glittering Caves.
So that left...Arwen...
No, that wasn't reasonable either. The Queen of Gondor was probably far too busy to ride to Aglarond to pay a Dwarf she had met but twice a visit.
Deciding against the wisdom of engaging in the unending mental list, Gimli tried to think who would have reason to make certain he knew that they knew Legolas. None on that list would need to say that; he knew they had been acquainted with the Elf.
It would have to be someone unwelcome that was simply using their familiarity with Legolas as an excuse to be allowed admittance into Gimli's home.
But who...?
Thranduil.
The name hit him like a boulder.
"Is is the father of Legolas?" Gimli veritably snapped at Balhar. "I will not tolerate his flashy entrances and vicious insults! If my visitor is Thranduil, you may graciously tell him to leave! Why, if he has the nerve..." He trailed off lamely.
"No, Lord Gimli, it is not King Thranduil."
"A messenger of his, then. It must be, for there are no others that would come here and make a point of their acquaintance with Legolas. It would not be necessary, for all others would be welcome here."
Gimli chuckled with derision, then added sardonically, "Unless, of course, it's Legolas himself, dropping by for a visit and sending me salutations from Mandos."
There was a pause. Balhar seemed to be measuring his words carefully in his mind before he ever allowed them permission to roll off his tongue.
"No, m'lord. It is his son."
Gimli's jaw dropped.
"His what?!"