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"Legolas was away much among the Galadrim, and after the first night he did not sleep with the other companions, though he returned to eat and talk with them. Often he took Gimli with him when he went abroad in the land, and the others wondered at this change."
-J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers
Despite the courteous words spoken by Haldir and Celeborn both, Gimli's stubborn dwarf heart had stubbornly resisted this strange elvish land; he still remembered the initial and automatic rejection given him at the border and the tit-for-tat blindfolding dispute. Of course, he had bowed low to Celeborn. Such courtesy was not to be spurned after all, but he had entered into the presence of the Lady Galadriel with deep-rooted resentment in his heart nonetheless.
Then amidst the ethereal beauty of elves and elvish lands, he had heard the rough tones of his native language, the solid, comforting names that his people had given the works of their hands. Nay, not from a dwarf! Rather, from none but the White Lady herself. She had smiled and suddenly, Gimli found that he was not wholly misunderstood. Yet more fair is the living land of Lórien, and the Lady Galadriel is above all the jewels that lie beneath the earth! So he had said, in his own halting, clumsy way, but it had not been enough. The beauty that had seemed unnatural and eerie suddenly became the reflection of the Lady, this Lady who understood the heart of a dwarf.
The day after that night dawned as the first day dawned upon the seven dwarf fathers, or so Gimli imagined. Winter though it was, the elanor bloomed thick upon the green grass, and the mallorn-trees rose tall, blocking any sight of the brooding darkness outside. Timeless it seemed, a feeling that Gimli had only ever gotten deep beneath the earth. The old dwarf wasn't given to walking, but he wandered away from the group after the initial meal (leaving the four hobbits still putting it away), finding himself near the hill of Cerin Amroth. Had he known it, he was in precisely in the same spot where Frodo and Aragon had spoken but a night before.
"Gimli," a voice called. Gimli turned to face the woodland elf with a start, which he suppressed quickly—he couldn't have the elf sneaking up on him, even if he was almost quieter than the furry-footed hobbits. Silence fell abruptly as the wood elf caught up to the dwarf with one graceful stride, and if Gimli didn't know better, he'd have sworn that the silence was distinctly awkward. After last night, Gimli had avoided the tall elf even more than he normally did. What was he supposed to say to someone he had previously just thought of as one shade short of an enemy? But the Lady had shown him that not all was as it seemed. Perhaps…
"I never thought'd I'd apologize to an elf," he muttered gruffly, just as Legolas said,
"My speech has been unjust." They trailed off and stared at one another for one long moment, before Gimli broke out in loud laughter that rang out against the singing of the elves. Gimli grinned, extending a thick, callous hand. Legolas's reserved expression changed into a brilliant smile that illuminated his whole demeanor, just for an instant, and he met Gimli's hand with his own long, graceful fingers and a deceptively strong handshake.
"The Lady is gracious, is she not?" asked Legolas. "I was as startled as you when she spoke in your tongue. Coarse it seemed, yet," he added, seeing Gimli's face darken, "yet not unfitting. It is merely that I am unused to thinking of the glory of dwarven lands, having spent so much time in elven lands." He paused, and they both fell silent, listening to the keening songs for Gandalf that rose around them.
"My manner has been…less than it could've," admitted Gimli. The elf didn't hold all of the blame for their strained relationship, after all. "I was influenced by my kin as well, but no excuse holds for myself." The conversation stopped yet again, and Gimli was thankful when Legolas spoke up again, his tone light.
"Tell me of these mountains," he said. "Can you name them again in your native tongue?" Gimli raised a bushy eyebrow.
"An elf asks for dwarvish speech? And I had thought the end of the world had not yet come." Legolas merely smiled again, and Gimli gave in promptly. He blamed elvish magic; he, Gimli son of Gloin, would never have given in for a mere smile before, elvish sympathy or no.
"Kheled-zâram, Kibil-nâkka, Khazad-dûm," he chanted, relishing the ancient, solemn tones. He fell silent abruptly as the echo of the last name died away. Khazad-dûm. The sun seemed to fade as he thought of the dark caverns, now infested with foul creatures and unspeakable terrors. There Balin had met his end; there so many dwarves had met their end in ruin and despair.
"Do you think of your kindred?" Gimli looked up at Legolas, surprised, and the sun grew bright again. Gimli looked up at the hill, where the golden-headed elanor nodded softly in the warmth.
"Aye, that I do," he answered. "We had feared the worst, of course; the evil has been growing everywhere and we were not so unwise as to think it would simply ignore the ancient caves of Khazad-dûm...but I cherished a small hope, nonetheless. Foolish, perhaps."
"Perhaps," answered Legolas mildly. "But were any kindred calm and rational in the face of danger that threatened their brethren? I think not." He hesitated a moment, and Gimli glanced at him with some small degree of consternation. He had not known the elf to hesitate before, particularly when it came to voicing his thoughts to Gimli.
"The elves sing for Gandalf, and I mourn among them; but of all the company, surely you now must carry double the weight of grief," he said softly. His tone rose at the end of the sentence, as though he wasn't quite sure how his sentence would be received. Gimli coughed, trying to dispel the tightness that had suddenly gripped him by the throat. He must be getting old if he could be affected this much.
"The Lady is gracious to grant us respite," he merely commented in return, not quite affirming Legolas's statement. The elf seemed to receive his unspoken thanks nonetheless and he smiled again. Gimli coughed—the pointy-eared elf should just stick to brooding—and changed the subject.
"What about you then?" he asked. "The only tales I hear of your lands are the unhappy descriptions of prison cells that I hear from my father." He had not meant to phrase it that way, and he regretted it as soon as the last syllable left his mouth. Revisiting one of their old quarrels was no way to make peace. Indeed, Legolas frowned and for a moment, the old anger flashed into his eyes. The tall elf turned away for a moment, but then he sighed and faced the dwarf again.
"The forest of Mirkwood is not wholly tainted," he said after a pause. "As evil grows, I'm afraid the forest is no longer as beautiful as the lands past the Nimrodel. The spiders grow ever in number; perhaps they feed on the evil will of Sauron's beasts. I know nothing for certain. But outside Thranduil's halls…" he said, and a reminiscent look stole across his face.
"When I was but a young elf, Thranduil let me roam freely in the woods—albeit reluctantly," he amended. "He quickly learned that I would have my way, regardless of his orders." Gimli laughed again.
"Sounds like the stiff-necked will of a dwarf!" he exclaimed, chuckling through his words. Legolas looked half-affronted and half-amused.
"Perhaps my father would agree with you. In any case, most of my fondest memories from childhood are from the very tops of the trees. I would speak to them all afternoon and they—fondly, I think—let me climb among them and view the world as green and beautiful, and shielded me from the bitter world's winters for many years."
"If that's the case, I can see why you hold the leafy creatures in such respect," said Gimli. "I only hope you do not meet any truly living trees. We will have to leave you behind in a dark forest, never to be seen again by living dwarf or elf!" Legolas added his clear laughter to Gimli's, startling the passing elves into silence.
"That would be good fortune indeed," the elf concluded after a good full minute of mirth. Gimli regained his breath, wiping his eyes with the end of his beard. "Since you are now surrounded by a company of elves…" continued Legolas. He hesitated again, and Gimli raised his eyebrows.
"Hmm?" he queried. Legolas hesitated a second yet, before extending one arm towards the larger part of Caras Galdon.
"…perhaps you would be interested in spending the day with me," finished Legolas. "I will tell you as much about my lands and my people as you wish, and I too, wish to hear more of the dwarves. You are mysterious people in my elvish eyes." Gimli didn't hesitate, but stepped forward in the direction Legolas indicated.
"Aye, I could talk your pointy ear off," he countered. As the two walked away, side by side, Gimli couldn't help but to smile yet again. Perhaps the Lady was not the only elf worth knowing. Legolas was a young lad yet—no matter what he said about centuries—but he was far more akin to Gimli than the dwarf had ever imagined. If he had to be among elves, he had may as well enjoy his time in the company of a good elf—nay, in the company of a friend.