A/N: I want more Gimli fics! Here is mine. This one is  rated G, but will become bloodier and heavier rated. It will also contain that rarest of beasts, a dwarven maiden…

DOWN, IN THE DEEP PLACES

Dimmer.

His breath always caught when he came to this place of stone and earth, and the scents of root and rock and ancient places invaded him. He glimmered in the dark places, carrying in himself the last sunlight he saw before he entered. Then rock closed over his head, and the upper world of trees and light and air were forgot. Darker.

He footsteps brought him closer, deeper in until he felt himself almost lost to light. Then, the orange flicker of torchlight on the stone walls ahead, and he exhaled without remembering ever having held his breath. His step silent even here, he continued toward the lights.

"Who approaches?" was the challenge uttered from two gutteral throats.

"Legolas of Mirkwood and Ithilien. I seek Gimli Elf Friend, Lord of these Glittering Caves."

He stepped into view of his questioners, two young but doughty and capable looking dwarven sentries, one dark, one fair, who stood facing him, each with an axe that shone wickedly sharp in the torchlight. The darker of the two squinted at him in the gloom.

"Eh. Reckon you are. We were told to expect you, elf."

"Yes", he replied, "I was invited by Gimli himself to visit your realm."

"Aye," the fair one, looking him up and down,  "although I don't know how much help you'd be."

The darker dwarf hissed at his comrade. "Keep your peace, Bóin. He is a friend while among our kind." He looked up at the elf. "I am called Wode, son of Kúndi. I welcome you to the Glittering Caves, and declare you friend that you may pass." He stepped aside and his companion, grinning, did likewise. Legolas carefully stepped between them, grateful for his lithe shape, and with a grin and a word of thanks, he proceeded down the now well lit corridor into the Glittering Caves.

Deeper.

It was the continual rhythm of pounding – chinking, chipping, beating and slapping – that affected him the most once he had become accustomed to the gloom and closeness of his surrounds. It was constant in his ears, all thoughout the city, although he supposed that to those who dwelt in this place, it was what wind in treetops was for him. The Glittering Caves lay beneath Helmsdeep, legendary retreat and fortress of Rohan. Although contact between dwarfkind and mankind was common in this area, and trade was rich for both sides, the presence of man or elf within the confines of the Caves was a rare and much occasioned sight. Legolas inhaled deeply the slightly dusty air around him as he entered the main thoroughfare that led to the Dúarán, called Meetingplace in the tongues of Men. He had been in this place before, twice, although on both occasions had neither stayed any length of time, or ventured much beyond the common areas of the established space. The dwarven hold was still being constructed the last time he had been here, and he was interested to see what his friend had accomplished in that time. As he walked, head slightly bowed to accommodate a still lowered ceiling, more and more dwarves gazed curiously at him as they walked behind of before him on business of their own. All around him was obviously still in a state of unfinished construction. Carvers and masons constructed columns and pillars in halls and tunnels ringing with the sounds of chisels and picks. Here and there hurried bearded shapes with rolls and scrolls clutched under arms and behind backs, plans for expansions and improvments. It was well known that Gimli, Lord of these Caves, intended his realm to be as grand as Moria. It was Legolas' opinion that the less of Moria emulated anywhere the better, but he carried little doubt that his friend could accomplish it given time. It was also said that the deposit of mithril which lent the Caves their name was the largest and richest ever known, although Legolas had by now realised that dwarves often became excited and abundantly loquacious about such things, regardless of the truth of the matter. He stopped and sighed in ill concealed wonder. He had reached the Dúarán.

Gimli had concentrated much of his recent building here, and it was not wasted. The room was massive, part natural cavern, part constructed hall. Pillars reminiscent of Moria stretched away toward a pair of huge oak doors in the far wall. The ceiling arched and soared above the elf's head as he looked up, and – yes – glittered merrily in the accumulated torchlight with constellations of mithril and deposits of other minerals. The sight made Legolas catch his breath, and recall the night sky over Ithilien. Around him as he entered, work paused and workers looked up at the unacustomed sight. Then a voice he knew well boomed over the ongoing background din.

"Legolas Greenleaf! Over here, lad!"

He looked, sharpeyed, in the direction of the summons, and spied his friend standing by heap of what appeared to be rubble that was being loaded onto a small handcart by another dwarf. Gimli waved, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and his brow grimy where he wiped away dust and sweat. Legolas picked his way through the crowd of interested and watchful dwarves and approached. Gimli held out a hand in greeting.

"Ahhhh!" he growled, and, grasping the elf's hand, pulled him down into a hug.

"My friend," Legolas said, though Gimli's embrace had forced most of the air from his lungs, "it is good to see you again." Gimli released him and stepped back, gesturing expansively.

"Well? What have you to say about this place?"

Legolas followed the dwarf's hands as they pointed out features he may have missed, carvings and murals in construction, the wrought iron binding of the oaken doors, the piles of what Legolas had taken to be rubble about the place.

"Rubble!" Gimli exclaimed merrily, "Rubble! Nay, this…" he leant down and picked up a chunk of the stuff and handed it to the elf. "This is mithril, lad. Hold it to the light."

Legolas complied, and drew breath as a vein of almost white shone from the stone in his hand. Gimli chuckled. "Did you think it was pulled from the earth already refined and worked into cunning shapes?"

Legolas shot him a rueful grin. "Indeed, I have not given much thought to the matter at all. With your obvious expertise, what could I add?"

Gimli clapped his friend on the arm. "What indeed! Now come! I have a feast of welcome waiting in my chamber. Malt beer, fresh meat…"

Legolas hid a small grimace, and followed the dwarf down another tunnel toward the Lord's Chamber.

"Beer!" Gimli said expansively, and filled his friend's goblet to the brim. Legolas gave him a small smile, and forced a little more of the liquid down his throat. It was bitter and distasteful, but he drank it nonetheless, because Gimli had offered it. He replaced the goblet on the small table. It was of a fine grained oak, inlaid with gold in the geometric design of the dwarves.  Gimli's chambers were well appointed, but not lush by any token. He had directed his efforts into his domain rather than his rooms. Legolas looked affectionately at the dwarf whose ruddy cheeks had acquired a somewhat exaggerated glow under the dual influences of ale and fireside reminiscing.

"It is not often than I am invited to survey your domain, Gimli," Legolas said finally, "although I treasure the hospitality I find here, and the companionship."

Gimli became solemn and grim, and stared hard into the flames in the hearth. Slowly he drained his cup and placed it by the other on the low table. He placed his head in his hands as if in some kind of despair, and Legolas' heart was moved by the sight of his friend's distress.

"Troubles?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral. Gimli nodded.

"Troubles," he affirmed. "It is not merely for the pleasure of your company that I have invited you here, heartfriend."

Legolas frowned. For the bluff dwarf to use elven terms, the need must be pressing on him sorely. After a minute, Gimli continued.

"There were a lot of natural formations down here. Tunnels leading hither and yon, around and about. Mithril and other riches in abundance. At first we took minerals only from the walls that already existed. But soon we began to mine, to structure and support, to create tunnels and shafts of our own. Then it began."

Legolas anticipated the need, and refilled Gimli's goblet. The dwarf drank deeply.

"At first, it was one at a time, rare, accidents, or foolishness. Or so we thought. But we cannot access the deep places any longer, Legolas." Gimli's voice dropped to a whisper. "Something stalks in my mines. Something that snatches and mauls." He drank again. Legolas stayed quiet.

"The far tunnels are worked only by the hardiest – or foolhardiest – of dwarves in this place. Many do not return, and those that do speak of shadows and fangs and sweet singing in the deepest places of the earth. I have been to these tunnels, but whatever is preying upon us has not revealed itself to me… I am at a loss."

The dwarf turned to face his companion. "And so, my friend, I have decided to go on a hunt. I thought you might like to come." Gimli's voice was harsh, as though his throat was tight. Legolas cocked his head to one side.

"But, of course. I am glad that you consider me worthy to accompany you."

Gimli smiled. Legolas returned it, and forced a little more ale down his throat. They were silent for a moment, the only noise the continual din of the mines and the building. Suddenly Gimli tilted his head, as if he had heard a disturbance in the rhythm.

"Something is wrong…" he uttered. He sprang from his seat, and opened the door as footsteps hurried up the corridor towards him. Another dwarf, this one fair with two heavy plaits, almost collided with Gimli as he and Legolas left the room.

"Again," the newcomer said, "it has happened again. Kúndi has returned from the west tunnels with news."

The three turned and sped towards the Dúarán.