Title: Of Fire and Stars (Part 7)

Author: Ro

Rating: R (for strong language, violence, sexuality and disturbing imagery)

Warnings: Oh! The Angst! Deals also with racial bigotry, violence.

Disclaimer: I'm not making any profit off this. With the exception of a few original characters, Gimli, Gandalf, and other characters belong to J.R.R. Tolkien (who's probably spinning in his grave as we speak).

Summary: Gandalf finds out what happened to Gimli while he and Thorin's company were away on their quest. Takes place during "The Hobbit", don't like Dwarves or Gimli? Then don't read this fic!

Notes: This is a Book-version, Not movie-version.

More notes: Another massive "Thank you" to Miss Little My! I seriously love this Woman *hug*. And a big thank you to everyone that emailed and left reviews ~_^ !

Even more notes: Someone asked if I'm the chick on Elfwood by the name of Sabra R. Hart? Yep! That's me ^_^! And if anyone is interested in 'seeing' what Lady Nei and the rest of Gimli's family looked like, go check out my gallery at

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Dark Shadows

~~~

During the night the young Dwarf had slowly wandered back to Ocendade, looking lost and exhausted as he walked through the rain, the heavy, stained sack of gold still clutched in his right hand. His axes clinked every now and then as he walked, their weight giving him a small measure of comfort.

As he made his way through the dark streets, he tried to figure out what he should do now, where he should go. The main street was nearly deserted; only those forced to be out by job or necessity walked the street. Gimli could see that all the many vendor's stalls were packed up, the nice shops dark and closed-- it looked like a completely different place without all the busy shoppers and loud vendors buying and haggling over various things. Now only the pattering sound of the falling rain and his heavy footsteps rang through the eerily quiet air.

He had just turned down the alley that would lead back to the south side of town and the brothel, when he stopped, realizing that he was still at a loss as to what he should do. Should he go back there?

Feeling terribly drained and with his thoughts in a jumble, he decided to rest for a moment and clear his mind. He looked around the dark and narrow alley; soaked as he was he still did not relish the idea of sitting on the cold and wet ground. He gave a tired sigh-- this would not be his first time finding rest in such a place, but at least before he could curl up next to his father or uncle for warmth. Now he was alone.

It was in an alley, not that much different from the one he found himself in now, that his Mother had died. Her beautiful face, pale and contorted in pain as she fought against the plague eating away at her body, Gloin clutching her to himself, desperately whispering his denials of her fate even as she sadly told him otherwise. Their foreheads touching as they whispered their love for one another in Khuzdul, their broad and callused hands tightly intertwined, as even through her agony Nei would reach up with her free hand to caress her love's cheek and beard, trying to comfort her agonized mate even as she slipped further and further away. Until her body had gone limp and her dark almond shaped eyes had closed for the final time as his father's howls of grief rang through the night air.

Gimli gave his head a hard shake, clearing his mind of the painful memory that still hurt as freshly now as it did that cold night all those years ago. He had to stop looking to the past; he must look forward. It was then he spotted the step of a doorway.

Walking over, he flopped down, dropping the sack of gold on the step next to him. He bowed his head to glare down at the stained sack next to him, still not understanding why he had brought it along and had not buried it along with the others. He had no intentions of using any of the blood-soaked gold, but for some reason something inside him had insisted he take it.

He turned away from it to now glare at the stone and cracked plaster wall in front of him, the practical side of his Dwarven nature automatically noting in a distant part of his mind the poor quality of the masonry. Gimli rubbed a broad hand over his face with another tired sigh-- he felt so wrung out. The feeling of a gapping hole in his chest seem to grow with every breath he took, the wounds on his forearms and shoulders ached with a dull throb, and his eyelids felt as if they were made of lead. After fighting for several moments, Gimli finally gave up and let his eyes close, leaning back against the wooden door behind him.

He had intended to take only a short rest, but he must have fallen asleep for when he next opened his eyes it was morning, and the once deserted main street was now swarming again with people on their everyday errands and jobs. The sky above was gray and overcast, the dark clouds promising more rain and a chill was in the air.

The doorway in which he huddled was near the mouth of the alley, giving him a clear view of the busy main street of the town. None that passed the alley seemed to notice him as they went about their errands.

He knew he should get up and stop feeling sorry for himself, but was unable to find the will to do so at the moment, deciding instead to watch the passerby as he pondered what he should do next.

Where to now? he thought to himself. Should he go back to the "Red Blossom" where Ursla waited? But how could he sully her or that place with his presence? If they knew what he had done… they'd probably toss him out, which he wouldn't blame them in the least for doing. He still had his money purse tucked safely away in his belt along with most of his saved wages. Should he get some supplies and just leave? But where to go, should he go back, back there? No, it must be forward. Beside, there was simply nothing back there for him, not any more. Only the smoldering and empty remains of a small mining town.

Where to, then? Ered Luin, no, couldn't go there… another coal mining town, then? No, he'd had his complete and utter fill of coal. Then perhaps in the next town he could find some work, maybe the local blacksmith there would be more friendly, and maybe he could ask… Great, begging for more work, he was utterly sick of doing that too! Well then, there was only one option left: the Iron Hills.

Maybe when he got there he could get some real work for once, like forging or working with actual stone! He was so very tired of shoveling coal or hauling materials like a beast of burden, and it would also be nice to be around his own kind again. But that would mean he would be traveling a similar path as his father and uncle, along with rest of Thorin's company. He'd also be passing close to the Lonely Mountain on his way to King Dain's kingdom.

Thinking of the Lonely Mountain made him think about Thorin's quest, and how much he truly missed his father and uncle, hoping that they were all right and wondering where they were now. Had they made it to the mountain, and what of the dragon?

"If they're not all dead, that is," a small voice in the back of his mind suddenly hissed.

No! he thought, vehemently opposing the voice in his head. They are alive! They have to be!

But he couldn't deny the grain of doubt in his heart. The Quest, even with Tharkun as their guide and Thorin Oakenshield himself leading them, was a long shot to begin with, most thinking it pure suicide. Not to mention, the motley group that had gone with Thorin and Gandalf.

Gimli gave a mental snort, remembering back to the night in the old barn in Black Hollow after a long days work down in the mines, sitting on the hay covered floor in one of the empty stalls listening to his father, with Oin already laying down next to where they sat, fast asleep. When Gloin had told him who else besides himself, Oin, Gandalf, and Thorin were to go, Gimli had burst out laughing (1.). Which in turn had earned him a smack upside the head from his not amused Father.

Even though he had complete faith in his father's and uncle's abilities, they were not true fighters, both preferring a simple knife to an axe or a sword. He remembered how his mother had told him, shaking her head in disbelief, that she was truly amazed that Gloin had survived the battles he had, for his true skill lay in his masterful ability to craft jewelry and build things, and not in his fighting ability.

His mother Nei, being the head of the family, had always been their main defender and when his mother died that role was passed to Gimli, even though Gloin was now head of the family and made all the decisions. Thanks to his mother's thorough (and harsh) teachings, Gimli was quite skilled at hand-to-hand, as well as weapons combat, and while his chosen weapons were his beloved axes, he was also skilled with a Dwarven knife and could effectively use a sword (both long and short) as well as a broadsword in a pinch(2.). Also, like his mother before him, he specialized in melee fighting, which was quite useful when one found oneself traveling alone in the wilds with orcs and robbers about, not to mention on a crowded battlefield.

In fact, with the exception of Thorin, none of the company were truly skilled warriors by Dwarven standards, though (like all Dwarves) they could hold their own quite well, and very well by the standards of outside races. Dori, for example, was incredibly strong and an unbeatable wrestler, Gimli having had personal experience of this from being thoroughly trounced by the good-natured, black haired Dwarf in a few impromptu matches he and Ulfr had attempted with him. But for all the large Dwarf's astonishing strength and grappling skill, he was an unskilled warrior when it came to full out fighting and weapons. Not for the first time Gimli found himself thanking Mahal that cranky old Gandalf was there to lead them true and help keep the company safe.

He continued to think of all of this as he idly watched the various people going to and fro down the busy street, some individuals catching his eye.

A particularly fat and heavy Man, who reminded Gimli a bit of old fat Bombur, came into view. Dressed in rich clothes, with a fancy hat sporting a big puffy white feather, the Man strutted through the crowd with self-importance, some kind of half-eaten pastry clutched in his hand. The Man's sausage-like fingers were covered in various rings, many gold chains glittered about his almost nonexistent neck, and his massive gut hung over his silver and gem incrusted belt, from which dangle brazenly a rather large money purse.

The Man gave a loud and angry grunt when a small figure suddenly bumped into him, and looking down he saw a young Woman who at the moment was giving hurried apologies. It was clear that she was but a common peasant by her simple frayed work dress and the layer of grim on her hands and face. The fat merchant only glared at her, making a point of knocking imaginary dust from his clothes, clearly indicating what he thought of her and her apologies, before angrily shoving past her to continue down the street in his arrogant strut.

As the young Woman watched him go, a small smirk stole over her rather plain face before she hurriedly disappeared back into the crowd of shoppers.

Gimli idly wondered how long it would be before the fat merchant realized that he was now missing his rather large money purse.

Coming the opposite way an old couple, dressed simply but well, strolled down the street arm in arm, probably on their daily morning walk. Their backs were bent, their limbs withered with age, their heavily wrinkled faces and spindly hands pale, covered in age-spots and ropey veins. The old Man had hardly a hair left on his shiny wrinkled head while his equally ancient mate had a head full of snow white and wispy hair, a lovely white embroidered shawl draped around her bony stooped shoulders.

But for all of this, they walked with utter confidence, the expression in their eyes telling any who looked just how still truly and madly in love they were with one another. The look in that old Man's face when he would occasionally glance at the equally old Woman on his arm, told all that she was still the most beautiful creature in all the lands, and he was the luckiest Man in Middle-earth because she was on 'his' arm walking beside him. The look in her eyes when she looked at him spoke the same message, one of utter love and complete devotion.

Not far away, sitting dejectedly on the ground a few feet from a vendor selling pottery, was a middle-aged Man begging for change, a small bowl held out in his dirty and scarred hands. Three of his fingers were missing, his left leg was gone from the knee down, and he looked riddled with old wounds. Resting on the ground behind him was a walking stick and a large broadsword. The thick calluses on the Man's hands told of many years of swinging a sword, most likely the very one that lay dirty and rusted on the ground behind him.

Most likely he was a crippled soldier, his years of glory long past, his weapon now lying impotent. Once proud, he begged, his scarred face a mask of shame and desperation. Gimli felt a stab of pity; it was a horribly sad end for a warrior. The loss of a limb would have driven most Dwarves to suicide, especially that of an arm, but Gimli supposed that it was different for Men. Either way, the sight of the crippled soldier tugged at the remains of the Dwarf's shattered heart.

Coming down the street, two elegant Elves glided through the crowd that automatically parted for them. Their golden, near silver hair was delicately braided with small beads of white coral, and they wore soft gray cloaks and flowing gossamer clothes of light blues and white. Their beautiful pale faces were mellow, their jewel-like eyes sparkling with amusement at the simple mortals around them. Many a shopper paused to give them an awed or admiring glance before going about their business.

Even though Elves were not an uncommon sight in Ocendade, there was still just something truly magical in even the plainest of Elves. The two continued on their way, standing out like a pair of graceful swans in a flock of meandering ducks.

Gimli watched them pass with dark and wary eyes, his hand unconsciously straying to one of his axes. He hated the fact that even now his gaze was undeniably drawn to their radiant beauty, even though he knew it to be nothing but a false veneer for the cold and cruel hearts that beat within (3.).

He felt a deep bitterness twist his stomach as he watched them glide away. They would never have people sneer and look down their noses at them, thinking them inferior, thinking them as nothing more then simple, dirty and greedy beasts that should be laughed at or scorned. They would never see signs tacked up on doors telling them and all others that their 'kind' were not welcome. No, not them, not the fair and wise Elves. They'd always be thought of as good and pure, perfect and beautiful, looked at in adoration and love…

Not like him…not like his kind, he thought bitterly as he looked down at his broad, dirt and blood-covered hands, before eventually turning to look once more at the 'humanity' beyond the alley he sat in.

A little further down the street, a family of street performers awed a crowd of onlookers with their tumbles, flips, and juggling. They all wore faded red hose that had holes and runs in them, along with fitted and faded green sleeveless tunics, tied at the waist by once bright yellow sashes that were frayed from use. The tall dark-haired Man, no doubt the father of the group, was in the process of doing a series of back flips, along with a thin adult female (no doubt the Man's mate) and two of the older boys. The two younger children, a boy and a girl, juggled colored wooden balls as an older Woman, most likely their Grandmother, sat on a box nearby playing a lute and singing, a large hat with a few copper shillings in it at her feet.

The complicated stunt went off without a hitch, and the crowd gasped before applause and laughter broke out followed by a few more coins tossed into their collection hat. The patriarch of the troop hid his grimace of pain with a big grin as he gave a deep bow to the crowd. No one noticed how slow and jerkily he straightened up again, even though his wife and two sons watched with concerned eyes as they gave the crowd their own fake smiles. His joints and muscles were surely screaming in pain from constant over use and strain, but his family must be fed, so the show must go on.

Not far away, a child skipped between her doting parents as they leisurely shopped, their high quality clothes and expensive cloaks showing them to be most likely rather wealthy merchants. The child, clad in equally an expensive dress and slippers, happily ate a candied pear before suddenly coming to a halt, spotting a vendor selling toffees and various spun sugar treats.

Seeing this, the child looked back at her half-eaten candied pear, and with a huff and a contemptuous glare she tossed the treat down before turning to her parents, tugging at her mother's heavy skirts and loudly demanding they buy her a new snack. She stamped her small foot as she whined loudly, pointing to the toffee vendor and sure enough within a matter of moments the parents of the spoiled child had let their daughter drag them over to the booth, the half-eaten candied pear laying forgotten on the dirty cobblestone street.

No one except Gimli seemed to notice a small street urchin dart out from a hiding spot to snatch up the forgotten treat before slipping back the way he'd come. The painfully thin boy, who could only be around five years old and clad in filthy rags, squatted behind some empty crates as he ravenously ate what was left of the pear.

Even with his own pain and turbulent emotions, the sight of the small starved child crouched in the shadows, desperately licking his small dirty fingers, and the disappointment in those big sunken eyes that there was nothing left of the small meal, was too painful.

Gimli turned his dark eyes away; he of all beings knew of the harshness and cruelties of Middle-earth, but that did not stop him from wishing it was not so, as what little remained of his heart broke a little further for the child.

While people laughed and talked, others struggled to make but a few bits of spare change. While people ate and wasted food, others starved but a few yards away. While bright-eyed children ran and laughed with their families, others begged and searched for mere scraps with hollow and hopeless eyes. Amid such finery there was such utter despair…

Gimli could see it all from where he sat. He turned away to look down at the ground between his booted feet, his emotions a whirl inside him. Was he now like one of these…unwanted and lost people? No, he was something different…something worse, he thought to himself.

He felt bitter bile suddenly rise in the back of his throat and as a wave of vertigo took him, his stomach gave a sharp lurch before he fell forward onto his hands and knees and began to vomit.

A few passersby upon hearing the noise glanced into the alleyway as they walked by, but most quickly looked away, wincing with disgust at seeing a filthy Dwarf on all fours emptying its stomach contents onto the dirty cobblestones of the alleyway.

Drunkard, some thought. Others didn't even care, thinking him just another filthy vagabond.

Finally the spasms of his stomach subsided. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Gimli sat back down in the doorway, leaning against the door as he panted, his stomach sore and his throat hurting. It was then the dark clouds above decided it was time for another shower, starting with a light sprinkle that promised to become a downpour at any moment. Leaning his head against the rough wood of the door behind him, Gimli glared up at the sky, wasn't he already soaked enough? He quickly decided that he had had just about his fill of rain, no matter how well it matched his mood.

"Gimli!"

He was startled out of his dark thoughts by the sound of someone calling his name, followed by the echo of running feet and a light tinkling sound coming from the other direction of the alley. He turned his head and saw both Ursla and Merry hurrying down the narrow alleyway towards him, Ursla's ever present hoop earrings ringing merrily as she ran, her loose raven locks whipping behind her.

Both were holding their long skirts up so as not to trip and to avoid letting them drag and get dirty. Merry held her red shawl over head to avoid the light sprinkle while Ursla went without, ignoring the drizzle. Her pale feet slapped against the wet cobblestones as she ran barefoot, her simple slippers held in her free hand so they wouldn't get wet and dirty (they were her only pair).

"Gimli! By the Valar! Are ya all right!?" she said breathlessly when she finally reached him, with Merry right behind. "Someone came in, tellin' that he seen ya near dead in an alley! Ya 'ad me so bloody worried!" she panted, taking in his dirty and soaked form with concerned eyes. Gimli remained quiet, simply unable to say anything as he looked up at the two panting Women.

Ursla sat down next to him on the step, putting her slippers in her lap as her gray-blue eyes searched the Dwarf for major injuries, immediately spotting the whip-cuts on his forearms, shoulders and chest.

"Oh, Gimli. Ya hurt," she said, giving a hiss as she carefully picked up his thick arm for closer inspection, biting her painted lip as she glared at the angry cuts. Merry, who had remained standing in front of them (careful to avoid the pool of vomit), bent down for a closer look as well, her tightly curled hair spilling about her rich brown-skinned face and shoulders as she still held her shawl over her head.

"Those are lash marks if I ever saw 'em," Merry said with complete conviction, a frown marring her lovely face.

"Ouch, they look shallow but we need ta get 'em cleaned and dressed as soon as we can," Ursla said, more to herself than to Gimli or Merry. She then turned her flashing eyes to glare at the Dwarf beside her, still holding his arm. Gimli could only give a wince, knowing what was coming.

"What are ya doin' 'ere!? Why did ya not come back!?" she demanded angrily, though it was clear it was from deep worry. "Well? What ya got ta say for ya self!? Worryin' me half ta death!"

She watched as shame and something else she couldn't place flashed behind those almond-shaped eyes before he turned away as if he couldn't bear to face her. But she would have none of it, for no sooner had he averted his gaze than she firmly reached out and turned his face towards her again, looking him straight in the eye.

The expression in her coal-lined eyes demanded an answer, and he gave a swallow, his mouth suddenly dry.

"I got lost," he finally managed to say, looking at her miserably, knowing how lame it sounded.

It was obvious she didn't believe it for a second, but her eyes immediately softened, and she let the subject drop with a sigh. She then reached over and tucked a bit of hair that had escaped from his ponytail behind his ear, giving a small gasp when her fingers came back stained with a dark rust color, immediately identifying it as blood. She realized, his hair (which she had assumed was dark because it was wet) was covered in it, as well as the rest of him and his clothes. Merry noticed too, but said nothing.

For long moments no one moved or said anything, and the many shoppers and those about on their own business continued to stream by the alleyway's entrance, taking no notice of the three figures.

Finally Ursla picked up her slippers and got up from the doorway, giving Gimli's arm a gentle tug--.

"Come on, luv, let's get out o' here," she said, releasing him when he got up as well.

The Dwarf made sure to take the stained sack with him, neither Woman seeming to have taken notice of it. With that the three silently walked away, making their way down the narrow and wet alley, back the way Merry and Ursla had come.

~~~

When the three had returned to the large old inn, Gimli noted that the ever lit red lamps in the windows, which signaled that the brothel was open for business, were unlit. They stood in front of the large door painted with its creeping vines and red flowers, but before Merry had even touched the handle the door opened for them. The cloying scent of incense, the foul stink of Men and the musky scent of sex immediately assaulted his sensitive nose.

Standing in the doorway was none other then the statuesque Lady D herself, which surprised them all for in all the time they had been there they had never seen Lady D get the door for anyone or anything. The elegant older Woman only looked at them with impassive eyes that betrayed nothing before moving aside and motioning them in, closing and latching the door after Gimli.

The Dwarf hadn't gone more then a few steps, following Ursla and Merry who had continued through the red draped main room and into the back where the kitchen was hidden, when Lady D called out to him, causing him to stop.

"Tell me, Dwarf. Did you find what you were looking for?" she asked, gliding up behind him, watching him with knowing and sharp eyes.

For long moments the Dwarf said nothing as she patiently waited, taking in the tired droop of his broad shoulders, the clear exhaustion that showed in his body language, his dirty and blood-soaked clothes.

"No…only something in myself that I truly wish I had not seen," he said finally, in a quiet and haunted voice.

Then without a further word, he trudged wearily after Merry and Ursla. Lady D silently watched him disappear through one of the doorways that were carefully camouflaged by some gauzy red drapes, her regal face as always devoid of emotion even as her storm-gray eyes reflected in pity and strangely, a deep understanding. She gave a tired sigh before gliding after him, her black fan in hand, the heavy swish of skirts the only sound in the silent empty room.

~~~

A short time later Gimli found himself sitting in a chair at the large table in the kitchen, his back to the warm cooking hearth, feeling strangely numb as Mavis applied some foul smelling ointment of her own making to the wounds on his shoulders as well as the one on his chest. At the same time, Draco was calmly stitching up one of the gashes on his right forearm, the many silver bracelets on his's slim wrists chiming merrily with the elegant Man's movements.

Lady D sat at the head of the large table filling him in about the big happenings that had taken place while he had been gone, the beautiful Merry sitting in her ever present place next to her older flame-haired lover with a steaming cup of coffee in her hand. Ursla was making some tea over by the hearth as Gimli quietly listened to the Headmistress's smooth yet resonant voice, being careful not to fidget as Draco and Mavis worked.

He learned two bits of information: the night before while he had been gone the brothel owner had finally died, leaving Lady D the rights to the brothel. He watched how Lady D unconsciously rubbed the beautiful silver ring on her finger as she told him, with a barely perceived undercurrent of relish, of Master Clots's final pained moments.

Apparently at the news of his death nearly half of the ladies and one of the three Men who worked here, had come to the Headmistress and immediately bought back their contracts, something they had not been able to do while the money hoarding brothel owner was alive. Most stayed only long enough to pack, before walking out the door without a backward glance. This explained why the brothel seemed so strangely quiet.

"Here ya go, luv. I think ya be needin' this," Urlsa said, finally coming back over to the table and putting a half full mug of steaming mint tea in front of him before filling the rest of the mug up with a clear alcoholic liquid, made only by the Elves living on the coast of Lindon.

She then raised the jug to her lips and took a big swig from it before firmly recorking it and putting the jug back in one of the overhead cabinets.

"My thanks," he told her gratefully, before picking it up with his left hand and taking a long gulp, careful not to move the arm the dark-haired Man was working on. Both the hot tea and the bite of the strong alcohol burned down his throat, and warmed his belly. Ursla soon come back to the table with her own mug of alcohol-laced tea and took an empty seat next to him with a tired sigh.

As Gimli silently watched Draco's elegant long-fingered hands expertly wield the needle and thread with practiced ease, he noticed for the first time the occasional glimpse of the thick scars that ran across the underside of each pale wrist, partially obscured by the many bracelets worn by the Man.

"Draco, ya got the hands of a healer! Where ya learn how ta do this?" said Ursla, interrupting Gimli from his thoughts.

"I used ta be in the Gondorian army, I got very good at stitching people up," the Man said, not looking up from his delicate work.

"You? In the army, I never would have thought it!" Merry said in astonishment, looking at the slender long-haired Man as if seeing him for the first time.

"Life be just full of surprises, isn't it?" he said simply, but there was a note of bitterness in his tone. He finally glanced up and gave the brown-skinned Woman a strange look, before gracefully getting up.

"Don't move Gimli," he ordered the Dwarf. "I just need ta get some more thread, so I can finish stitching the rest of those gashes." He glided out of the room, his dove gray robe flowing artfully behind him.

"Who would 'ave thought? Our Draco-- a soldier!" Merry finally said, looking in the direction that Draco's tall and slim form had disappeared.

"Aye! I still can't be believing it!" Ursla agreed, shaking her head in disbelief. "But if that's the case and he is from Gondor, then what in green Arda is he doin' here, as a whore of all things?"

Merry gave an agreeing nod and Gimli said nothing, but was thinking the same thing as he took another long swallow of his alcohol-laced tea. Perhaps those scars across Draco's wrists were connected to the Man's Gondorian past, he thought to himself.

"I'm sure he has his reasons. Either way, 'tis not our place ta judge," said a cool voice.

Everyone turned to look at the quiet figure at the head of the large table.

"We all have our own dark pasts," said Lady D, glancing pointedly around the table at everyone there, including Gimli, before going back to gracefully sipping her tea, a large thick ledger book in front of her.

The silence stretched for a bit after Lady D's words, as all who were present quietly thought of their own pasts and what had led them here.

"That's right!" said Mavis suddenly with a nod of her head, breaking the silence as well as speaking up for the first time since Gimli had stepped into the kitchen. "I've been working the 'Red Blossom' since before any of ya, before Miss D came or even before Master Clots won this place in a card game.

"Seen lots of people come and go, good people and bad. But there be one thing that stays the same, even when this place moves--which it's done once or twice.

"I don't be knowin' why…but this place… it collects people. Interestin' people, the outsiders, the unwanted… the hurt. They all seem ta make their way here… some way or another. Some leave…some don't. Don't be knowin' exactly why…

"Who knows? I reckon this place is a bit enchanted," Lady Mavis finished with a shake of her head, before going back to clucking to herself as she applied some more stinging and foul smelling ointment to a wound on Gimli's shoulders.

The others at the table said nothing, thinking about the plump Woman's words. Perhaps Mavis was right; maybe 'The House of The Red Blossoms' was enchanted by some strange unforeseen magic.

The dark and gloomy day continued on. Draco came back and finished stitching up the worst of Gimli's wounds before going back to his room, wanting to be alone with his thoughts and a past that he was apparently still running from. Merry left soon after to take care of one of her 'regulars', giving Lady D a quick kiss before sauntering out of the room. As for Gimli, Mavis wouldn't let him leave the kitchen until all his cuts had been taken care of and the quiet and hollow-eyed Dwarf had eaten a bowl of her vegetable soup, which he managed to eat mechanically without tasting.

When he was done, both he and Ursla went up the narrow stairs to the second floor, leaving only Lady D and Mavis alone in the kitchen. The flame-haired Woman still sat with her cup of tea at the table in her forest green dress, her black knit shawl draped about her thin shoulders. She wrote quietly in her large ledger book with a long quill, illuminated by a single large candle on the table, while Mavis worked noisily around the kitchen in preparation for that night's dinner.

After following Ursla silently upstairs and down the hall, Gimli now found himself alone in the brothel's only washroom. Ursla had drawn him a hot bath, then.

Ursla had bustled about the small room for a bit, muttering to herself as she made sure he had plenty of soap and extra linens for when he got out of the tub. She also gave him a pair of black tights that one of her clients had left behind, having demanded his filthy shirt and trousers for a 'proper washin'. He'd have to roll up the legs a little, but they'd be comfortable and the stretchy material would fit him.

The deep wooden tub was big enough for three people to bathe in comfortably; since this was the only communal washroom in the brothel, many of the residents ended up bathing together, which; explained the tub's rather large size. By the door on a small stool was a single lit candle, providing the only light in the otherwise dark and windowless room, and in turn illuminating the dark figure in the steaming water.

He sat quietly in the tub, lost in thought. The water came up to just below his chest, his tan skin once again clean and free of blood and filth, as droplets and rivulets of water clung to his smooth skin. His long thick hair lay slicked back-- clean and heavy with water, as it clung to his scarred and muscular back before disappearing into the water, where it looked like spilled blood under its surface.

How could he ever go back to the way he was?

His tired almond-shaped eyes stared blankly at the reflection of the candle's small flame in the rippling surface of the bath water, his true vision turned inward as images from the past and what he had done danced through his mind.

Who was he? He didn't seem to know any more. Was he Gimli, son of Nei and Gloin, still? Or was he someone else?

He felt so horribly lost, the painful gaping hole where his heart used to be seemed to grow with every breath, feeding on his horrible guilt. It felt as if he were drowning in dark pool of sorrow, with no way to the surface.

The horrible laughter that had bubbled up from some dark and frightening place inside him.

The terrible image he had seen in the reflection in the puddle-- the blood and gore-covered face twisted into a wide malicious grin, the frightening eyes devoid of any-feeling except that of gleeful vengeance. Realizing it was his own reflection.

He lifted his wet shaking hands to rub over his face with a pained groan. Then taking a deep breath he leaned forward, his head and shoulders submerging into the warm water as he curled up, his muscular arms holding his knees to his chest. There he stayed submerged, only part of his scarred and bowed back visible above the surface of the bath. But even in the strange and muffled quiet of the water, the images would not leave him.

The begging and pleading, the horrible high-pitched screams of the Men mixed with the shrieks and cackles of the goblins.

The roaring fire, knowing their fellows were still down in the mine, Nidi's once bright honey-brown eyes now dull, as he stood brokenly next to a hollow-eyed Svior.

Killing the Men in the wagon driver's camp, enjoying the feel of splintering bone under his axe, the screams of agony that followed. Making them pay for what they had helped do at Black Hollow.

The remains of Shala's body, the way there was nothing left of her from the chest down, both of her arms partially missing. But her face… her lovely and kind face, left strangely unblemished by the orcs. Her empty gray eyes staring off into nothing, her small mouth partly open as if she were about to say something, her raven-black hair still in its two plaits, covered in blood and dirt. The feeling of that cold skin as he gently closed her staring eyes. Her baby and two little boys missing, no doubt completely devoured like the rest of the children, like Nidi's little brother and Lady Hildr's three children, by the ravenous orcs and goblins.

The way the one Man had run, how the Man continued to scream and howl in agony as his axe descended again and again. Hacking at the twitching and convulsing lump of flesh that was no longer recognizable as human.

Hanar's broken body still clutching his equally broken axe. Hearing Ulfr's yell of pain, watching his axe slam into his chest, the light dying out in his best friend's amber eyes. Knowing that it was his axe, his throw that had ended his dearest friend's life.

The teenager's desperate and foolish attempt to save his defeated father. The way the boy's body had gone into terrible jerks and kicks, spraying blood and brain matter everywhere. The howls of grief from the boy's father, before he had simply ended his life too.

One moment it was a screeching orc, the next a pleading Man, who begged for his life. The metallic smell of blood filled the air, to join the sickly and overpowering stench of rotting flesh, mixed with the sharp sent of fear.

And maggots…writhing maggots everywhere…

The images continued to flash behind Gimli's tightly clamped eyes, and there was nothing he could do to escape them. His face was a mask of agonized sorrow as he gave a small whimper, the pain in his heart continuing to rip through him along with the terrible images, the echoing screams ringing in his ears. Until it was finally too much to contain any longer and he finally gave into the primal urge that had been building ever since he had lost his twin at the age of six, watching helplessly as Nin fell beneath the merciless, pounding hooves of that terrible horse on that cold rainy day by that muddy road all those years ago.

A sudden rush of bubbles raced to the surface to pop and froth, joining the dancing wisps of steam in the small dark room as he screamed the agonies and grief of his heart into the water. The horrible and anguished sound would have rocked the entire brothel and the surrounding area, sending icy fingers up the spines of any who heard it, if it had not been muffled by the warm water.

And there was only the single flickering candle to pay witness to the young Dwarf's pain.

Ok, next chapter I promise will be lighter. And I mean it this time!

(1.) The Dwarves of the Erebor quest always struck me as a particularly strange group to go on such an important mission. None of them, with the exception of Thorin, seemed to be particularly skilled fighters. And with the exception of their long knives, no one brought any other weapons. I mean, Fili and Kili carry a bag of tools and a spade, most of the others (with the notable exception of Gloin and Oin) carried instruments, and Bombur was immensely fat and out of shape. Not exactly my first choice on things and people to take on such a Quest. Clearly these guys were not up to the standards of the Dwarven 'warrior class' and clearly some were doing much better than others. They come across as quite bumbling, clumsy, and not to mention whiny. All of them were a very far cry from the skilled, brave, and capable Dwarven Warrior that Tolkien writes Gimli as later in LOTR. So clearly not all Dwarves are skilled warriors. I think these where the only Dwarves that Thorin and Gandalf could find that were willing to go on this long-shot quest to take back the Lonely Mountain, some probably going for the chance of gold and fame, but others probably going for the slim chance of having a better life and regaining their lost home. But this is just my opinion.

(2.) No, Dwarves are not limited to fighting with axes. The Dwarves of "The Hobbit" all carry long knives, which they are apparently skilled with. Thorin also wields Orcrist, the twin of Gandalf's own sword Glamdring, with apparent skill when he and Gandalf battle the goblins chasing them as they and the rest of the company try and escape through the Goblin tunnels. Interestingly enough, Thorin also shows us that Dwarves are capable of using a bow, and being accurate in shooting their target, when he hits the leaping white deer with a swift and sure shot, even though all the other Dwarves miss horribly and waste their arrows a few moments later (pg 145-146. chapter 8. Flies and Spiders, "The Hobbit"). Gimli also in one of Tolkien's earlier drafts of LOTR, picks up Legolas's fallen bow, after the Elf had dropped it at the sight of the Balrog, and shoots it (the arrow falls short). But this proves that Dwarves are not strictly limited to axes.

(3.) This is Gimli's hurt and prejudice talking, and not views held by the author. I just want to make sure everyone understands that, since some people have emailed me, thinking that I don't like Elves. I assure you, I love Elves as much as I do Dwarves. I love both equally! Down with hate and prejudice! Equal rights for all Middle-earth species!

Ok, one final thing and I'll shut up.

In answer to an interesting email I received from Star-flicker (I think I spelled that right). Sorry but for some reason your email wouldn't work, so I'll answer you here.

You asked why I have Gimli's childhood and younger years spent wandering around in exile, rather than have him living in Thorin's Halls of Ered Luin, in the Blue Mountains.

My answer is: Because I can, since Tolkien tells us next to nothing about Gimli's younger years ~_^. Seriously though, I don't think Gimli did grow up in Ered Luin, I think he grew up with the harder wandering life. One reason (this one can be found at Axe-Bow website) is the fact Gloin and Oin are extremely skilled at lighting fires. And while the average Dwarf would be used to lighting fires for their hearth or forge, Gloin and Oin seemed to have been picked for the Quest specifically for their skill in lighting fires. So they are used to lighting fires in various places as well as in all types of weather, giving the impression that they were outdoors and traveling a lot

But the main reason I believe Gimli had such a harsh young life, is this. In "The Hobbit", Thorin Oakensheild tells how the Dwarves were driven into exile and forced to wander after the dragon Smaug took up residence in the Lonely Mountain. Falling on hard times, they were forced into doing simple blacksmithing or mining coal to survive. He tells how eventually his father went to the Blue Mountains and created Halls there, where many Dwarves joined him, and they began to flourish again. And by this time (during the quest for the Lonely Mountain) Thorin's Halls of Ered Luin are doing very well, with trade and the working of iron, tools and such, and no longer having to do menial labor or mine coal for their bread.

Yet when Gloin says his snide remark about Bilbo being "more of a grocer then a burglar", Gandalf tells him off, saying. "--you can stop at thirteen and have all the bad luck you like, or go back to digging coal." (pg.19, chapter 1. An Unexpected Party, "The Hobbit"). Clearly, if Gloin is still digging coal, then he and his family don't live in the flourishing Halls of Ered Luin, which Thorin has been pridefully boasting about. Which means Gloin is probably one of the poorer Dwarves still forced to wander about and mine coal.