A/N: Before I get a parade of reviews stating that Gimli is out of character, let me state that this Gimli is strictly based upon the BOOK, where he is far less silly than in Peter Jackson's films. Tolkien's Gimli, while often humorous, still displays a great deal of eloquence and intelligence that the films almost entirely ignore. He is a great warrior, who's shortcomings are often exaggerated when measured against the physical prowess of people like Aragorn and Legolas. (Legolas has unfair advantage in EVERYTHING...damn elf 'sleep runs' so he doesn't even need to friggin stop when the three of them are chasing down the orcs for several days straight. Under normal standards of measure, Gimli performed miraculously.)
"Closer"
I watch you now, as your breaths become shorter. Your small form is shuddering as your final moments approach. You smile at me. You are trying to comfort me. Foolish dwarf. As if anything could grant me comfort now. I do not chastise your attempt. I simply draw you nearer and press my face into your thick gray hair. I hold you tightly, as though to embrace you would stop the end from coming. If I told you I was afraid, Gimli, what would you say? I can't bring myself to say it aloud, so I will never know your answer. I feel your hand rest upon my encircling arm. You are pulling me closer, like you always do. We've been pulling each other closer and closer for so many years now...
In Lothlorien, it began. Our hostility hitherto our arrival is but a queer memory now, but then it had seemed important. Both our prides and familial loyalties played their part in our mutual misgivings. It was in that haven of silver and gold that our resolve was broken, and our hearts turned to friendship. It still bothers me, my feelings before that moment we stood before the Lady of Galadhrim. Indeed, deep down I shared Lord Celeborn's anger to the Dwarves—nay, even to you, my friend—and I was just as quick in my heart as he to blame you for Mithrandir's fall in Moria. When she chastised Celeborn for his harsh words to you, Lady Galadriel could just as well have been speaking to me. And you, Gimli, proceeded to defy all preconceived notions and displayed a humility and eloquence that rivaled any Elf. I have never felt so ashamed as in that moment. My kind is paramount in our wisdom—yet there you were, a dwarf, reminding us the meaning of courtesy.
It was guilt that led me to invite you to explore the Golden Wood with me. I remember your face, so full of skepticism, as you accepted my offer. I could not blame you. There had been no friendly words between us. Your acceptance further pricked my conscience, for you did so without accusation, and henceforth treated me as a brother.
That first day we traveled to the eastern ends of Lorien, traversing between wooded glade and flowing waters. I was awash with excitement, pointing out each wonder as we found them. A particular flower, a specific pool of crystal waters, an ancient trail—all were worthy of praise. At one point you began to chuckle. A light and deep rumbling escaped your throat, first in spurts, then flowed like the babbling of the surrounding waterfalls. I asked you what was so funny, worrying you might be making sport of me.
"I just realized," you told me, "the way you are gushing over every blasted leaf. I must have looked just as silly to you, going on and on the way I did in Moria."
There was an awkward silence. I don't know how long it lasted. Your face had taken on a dark shade. You turned away, and I scrambled so say something.
"Gimli!"
You turned back to me.
"I never said...back in Moria..." For some reason I felt foolish and words were slow to come. "I'm sorry, about your kinsmen. I should have said something earlier...I was—"
You silenced me with a wave of your hand and a smile. You told me to forget it. Then: "I think, Master Elf, that is the first time you've ever called me by my name. I was beginning to think you'd forgotten it."
I searched my memory. Was that true? I laughed and replied, "Tell me, Master Dwarf, do you remember my name?"
"Legolas."
The sound of my name upon your lips gladdened my heart. We continued our exploration of Lorien, and our conversation turned into friendly banter. In the days that followed, we discovered much about each other. I fully realized how very Dwarfish you could truly be: loud, brazen, and filled with a love for drink. But more than that, I came to understand the other side of Dwarves: your keen eye for beauty and fine craftsmanship. Your criticisms of Elven architecture and art were insightful (though often brashly stated) and even stirred pleasant conversation from some of the Elves who could speak in common tongue. You truly surprised everyone.
Soon I began to feel more at ease with you than any of my kin. I admitted this to you one night. "Well, Master Elf, it makes sense when you think about it. You Elves are too concerned with appearances."
"Ha! And you Dwarves do not care enough!" I exclaimed.
"Not true, Master Legolas. We simply place emphasis on different things. You Elves spend so much time pruning yourselves inside and out, you have forgotten how to relax. I think you like my company because you needn't concern yourself about what a Dwarf thinks."
"Nay, Gimli! I value your opinion, greatly!"
"Aye, I think now you do. But not so, before. And because of that, we can walk as equals, and now I will not judge you even if you do look like a drowned squirrel!"
"What? I don't look like a drowned—Ai!" You launched me into one of the cascading pools.
"Now you do!" You laughed mischievously, and I glared at you and rose up to snatch your arm and force you to join me into the cold pond with a great splash. I laughed as you resurfaced, sputtering. "And now, Master Dwarf, we are truly equals!"
You regained your footing and laughed wickedly. The water fight that ensued was an immature and uncouth display—and I did not care. For that moment, nothing else existed; no war, no Sauron, no ring. All that mattered was besting you in that merry battle.
