Written
Lothlorien's golden leaves were shining on the moonlight. The remaining members of the Fellowship were sleeping deeply under the eaves of evening sunshine and waxing moonlight. Elves passed to and fro above the Fellowship, eyes alert for danger or anomalies. Two of the Fellowship were still awake however: Gimli and Legolas. They were strolling along one of the smaller paths that led to Galadriel's fountain.
"What are they singing?" Gimli strained his ears to listen to the eerie songs filtering through the leaves from above. "It's a lament for Gandalf." Legolas said softly, breathing in the heady scent of nature. "They are singing of his exploits."
Gimli took off his helmet in respect. Legolas smiled sadly and returned his gaze to the trees.
"Say, laddie, you ever write?" Gimli asked curiously.
Legolas started and looked at him. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, from what I see, every Elf has written at least SOMETHING in their lives. You Elves love music. Laments, love poems, rage writings, you know. And since you're a prince and all that, I just supposed that you must have written some sort of epistle before."
Legolas had his eyebrows raised at the "rage writing" bit, but then he smiled. "I have written a bit of each, Gimli."
Gimli choked and looked up. "You write love poems? Rage writing? Laments?"
Legolas nodded. "A bit of each." The Dwarf almost broke his jaw; he was gaping so hard.
"Tell me how you came to write them." He then demanded. He sat down on the bench by the path and fixed his gaze on Legolas.
Legolas sat down on a nearby tree stump and thought hard. His eyes took on a sad look. "The lament was my first encounter with grief." He fiddled with the long sleeves of his tunic. "My mother had just perished in the attack against the fortress of Angmar." Gimli nodded; he had heard the story before.
"I was young back then, barely of age. I adored my mother, for she was the sweetest, gentlest mother an elfling could ask for. She played with me as often as she could, and even taught me how to use the knife." Legolas smiled, his eyes bright with memory.
"When she died, I felt like my world had collapsed. I wrote the lament then, my words feeble and faulty. I tried to describe her laugh, her smile, even her anger. That was my first written composition." Legolas sighed and seemed to be lost in thought. Gimli rudely cleared his throat.
"I wrote the rage writing shortly after." Legolas continued. "I was furious with my father. He was acting as if my mother had never existed, and will avoid all talk of her. I wanted to remember her with him, but he would not hear of it. I wrote a series of angry words that night in my bedroom."
"Did you use curse words?" Gimli piped. Legolas gave him a withering look. "I was a CHILD. I was never taught such language." Gimli just shrugged. "When I was a child, I could curse as well as the other Dwarf. Anyways, I want to hear about the love poem."
"What is there to know? It was years ago. I wrote it for a friend, to tease her. She and I were best friends, but far from lovers, and we always laughed scornfully at the over sweet songs bards will sing of beautiful ladies. So I worded the love poem as gushingly and sweet as possible, and we both laughed heartily at it." Legolas sighed. "She sailed to the Gray Havens a couple of years ago."
"Love poems are always too sweet for my ears." Gimli agreed. "But after seeing the loveliness of Lady Galadriel, I might rethink my previous thoughts." He sighed dreamily.
Legolas laughed. "Come, my friend. I can help you with that if you are truly sincere."
Gimli grinned widely. "Let's not tell the others. They might all want to help, and the poem will be too wordy." The two laughed and set off to find ink and paper for Gimli.
And that is how Legolas and Gimli became fast friends, and why they wandered all around Lothlorien, for they were in search of new vocabulary, analogies, and other grammatical aids for Gimli's poem to Galadriel.