A/N Thanks to guest reviewer Earthdragon and the ever-faithful Shirebound for your reviews, you have both made me very happy, it's always lovely to hear what you think! So the messenger from Erebor has finally made it to Minas Tirith, I was going to go for less emotional high drama in Gimli's news, but then, well...this happened. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter Four: Together, then

One Week Later

When Gimli was summoned urgently by the King late one afternoon, he tried to reason with himself that any number of things could have Aragorn wanting his immediate attention. But his thoughts kept turning to the one explanation which he both desired and dreaded.

Readied in a flurry of activity, he was midway through pushing the door open when he paused. Legolas was out consulting with Minas Tirith's gardeners on plans for replanting the city, and Gimli suddenly realised that he wanted the Elf to know where he was and what news he might be hearing. He was tempted to ignore this feeling and just go without letting anyone know, but he imagined what he would say to Legolas if the situation were reversed and chuckled at his own hypocrisy. So, he turned back, grabbed Pippin and asked him to inform Legolas of the circumstances. Pippin was concerned by this, and Gimli was hard-pressed to conceal his suspicions about why he had been summoned faced with the Hobbit's relentless questioning. He did not wish to voice them, not yet, since he did not want to get his hopes up for news only for them to be dashed again. Legolas, though, would infer how he had interpreted these events, and would hopefully be ready for his return, whether he came back with tidings or not. That prospect brought him more comfort than he would ever admit. With difficulty, he extricated himself from Pippin, left the house and strode towards the palace, ready to face whatever tidings might await him in the knowledge that he would not be doing it alone.

He returned late that evening to find Legolas waiting for him in the hallway. The Elf said nothing, questioning him far more effectively with a simple inquiring glance as he took Gimli's cloak and hung it up. Gimli answered the unspoken question.

'Tidings from Erebor.'

'And?'

'Victory…with grievous losses.'

'Ah. Which tells you everything even as it tells you nothing.'

Gimli met Legolas' eyes, and understanding wordlessly passed between them.

'Quite.'

Legolas' expression softened. 'Drink and discuss it? Or do you need some time to think it over?'

Gimli smiled in response to Legolas' gentle concern and respect for his wishes. 'Aye, lad, I'll have a drink with you, though you'll forgive me if I'm not the easiest of company tonight.'

Legolas laughed softly as they made their way towards the sitting room. 'I believe I set the bar for 'difficult company' rather high last week. You'll have to work hard to beat me on that score.'

With the hobbits already sleeping and Gandalf out on one of his mysterious errands, the sitting room was deserted and the two of them were soon settled comfortably in armchairs by the fire, Gimli with a mug of ale and Legolas with a glass of wine. Legolas simply waited for Gimli to begin.

'The most grievous of our losses is our king. Dáin has fallen.'

'Ai! That is grievous news indeed and I am sorry to hear it. Even before the War he earned my grudging respect for how he ruled the mountain, and indeed my father's, though that often went unvoiced.'

'Aye. A great king. And a greater friend.'

Legolas' expression of woe softened into one of pained sympathy.

'You were close, then,' he said quietly.

'Aye. He was good friends with my father. It was political, at first. He set out to prove that Erebor could reunite the Exiles, that he could be the King Under the Mountain and not just of the Iron Hills. So he made a point of taking all of the Dwarves from the Quest into his councils. But politics gave way to friendship, somewhere along the line, so I have fond memories of sitting with him, his son Thorin and my father of an evening, listening to them exchange tales. He always seemed certain of who he was, something deeper than his role as king, that's what impressed me most about him. His duties tempered his steel rather than pressed him into a different mould.'

'Then the loss is all the greater, and I mourn it with you.'

A few short months ago Gimli would have thought this comment could be nothing but sarcasm if it came from the mouth of an Elf. A few short months, however, had changed much. He looked now into Legolas' sincere and steady gaze, and smiled faintly, though his own eyes were troubled.

'My thanks. He died with the utmost honour; Dáin could do no less, of course, being who he was. He died as he lived: ready to give everything for the homeland he dreamt for us. I am told that he fought like a Dwarf possessed against the Orcs as they descended on the army fleeing Dale; his actions saved many lives during the retreat. I think, if he'd had the choice, he'd have wanted to go like that.'

'Then we celebrate his great deeds even as we mourn his passing.' On impulse, Legolas raised his glass. 'To Dáin, the King Under the Mountain indeed, the Dwarf who was forged by his destiny as the strongest tempered steel. To all those whom he defended and to those who fell beside him in that battle. May Aulë bless these his children.'

Gimli raised his mug of ale, his eyes misting over slightly. 'To Dáin. To a King, a father and a friend. May the songs remember his mighty deeds, but may they also remember him. May they remember his kindness, his love for the mountain and his people, his resilience against the shadow, his strength like the iron bones of the hills whence he hails. May Mahal take back into his arms this great Dwarf among his children.'

Solemnly, the vessels clinked together and they both drank. A slow smile crept over Gimli's face, as if at some private joke.

'What is it?' Legolas queried.

'Oh, just thinking what Dáin would say if he could see Thranduil's son proposing a toast to him.'

'And what would he say, do you think?'

Gimli chuckled, deep in his chest. 'Probably that if he knew you liked him this much, he would have instructed his delegates to haggle harder during our trade negotiations.'

Legolas picked up the lighter tone and mock-shuddered. 'Elbereth forbid! I barely survived those negotiations as it was! And narrowly escaped death a second time when my father found out how much I'd conceded!'

'The Elf who can't be fazed by the shades of the dead, cowed by a Dwarf who won't leave the council chamber until he's secured that fifteen percent reduction. Ha! Always knew there must be something you were secretly afraid of!'

Legolas held up his hands good-humouredly, keeping the banter lighter than usual as he could see that though Gimli was endeavouring to be mirthful, his smile did not quite reach his eyes.

'Alas! You have found me out, then, and I trust you will be honourable enough not to use it against me. Dáin's son Thorin takes up the mantle of kingship, I presume?'

'Aye. He has been a good friend to me also. He will rule well and do his father proud, I have no doubts about that.'

Legolas nodded and smiled a little absently, his mind drifting years back to tense exchanges with the Prince of Erebor in a small stone chamber, his limbs aching from attempting to remain in a dignified pose on a diminutive chair, learning the hard way that even the patience of an immortal can be sorely tried by that of Dwarves when it comes to trade negotiations. Out loud, he said,

'Aye. That tenacity will serve him well indeed.'

Gimli, guessing what Legolas was remembering, gave a soft chuckle, before quieting and becoming serious again.

'The King Under the Mountain is dead,' he announced with solemnity, his voice a little throaty.

Legolas caught his intention immediately, and together they raised their glasses again in salute to the occupant of the throne under the Lonely Mountain.

'Long live the King,' two voices chimed, the light Elvish tenor the perfect counterpart to the deep Dwarvish baritone. They drank again in silence, and Gimli's countenance seemed to darken a little over the following minutes of quiet as he stared into the hearth fire. Legolas would have been content to wait for Gimli to tell him whatever needed to be told, but observing his friend, he realised that the Dwarf seemed not to be meditating on something but rather, brooding on it. He was also painfully aware of one subject which Gimli had not mentioned at all: his family. Eventually he decided that perhaps a little nudge might help rather than hinder matters.

'Gimli,' he began softly with unusual hesitancy, for him. 'Was there more?'

'As I said before,' Gimli replied a little gruffly. 'Grievous losses, whatever in Mahal's name that's supposed to mean. They invaded Dale and the Dwarves came to its aid, but they were overwhelmed and the survivors, Dwarves and Men, retreated to Erebor where they were besieged. King Brand fell alongside King Dáin in that assault.'

Gimli paused and bowed his head while Legolas hissed a soft Ai! and murmured a prayer in Sindarin.

'It may have gone ill had the Ring not been destroyed when it was. It was the fall of Sauron which dismayed the enemy forces and rallied ours to finally rout them. King Thorin's first great battle and a resounding success, so I hear.'

Gimli's voice was tinged with an almost wistful pride as he spoke of Thorin's achievements, but it darkened again almost immediately.

'But though all ended well, the whole affair was close. Too close.'

Legolas could not contest this. One Orc slipping through the guards and into Dale would have qualified as too close; what had actually come to pass was much, much worse. Legolas simply dipped his head in acknowledgement and said, 'I know, mellon nín.'

They lapsed into silence again and Legolas reflected on the fact that Gimli had deflected the unspoken question about his family, although he had almost certainly 'heard' it. Gimli was fidgeting now, twisting one of his rings up and over his knuckle and back down again, and that strange, brooding expression was back on his face. Legolas decided to try again.

'Did the messenger bring any personal correspondence?' he asked, alarmed by the way Gimli seemed to flinch at the question. 'Like I had?' he added more quietly.

Gimli exhaled sharply. 'Aye,' he said shortly and averted his eyes from Legolas, who tried not to sigh. He would not press Gimli to share the details of his family grief, knowing how sensitive Dwarves could be in these matters, however much he thought that his friend needed to do so. He waited, hoping that Gimli would be forthcoming, and frowned when the Dwarf actually seemed to colour slightly. Perhaps it was the firelight…but no, that was definitely a blush on Gimli's cheeks! Silent tears, angry oaths, an explosion of the grief he had clearly been hiding would not have surprised Legolas- but what reason would Gimli have to be embarrassed?

Sensing Legolas' scrutiny, and flicking his eyes up to see his puzzled frown, Gimli huffed again in irritation, and then finally seemed to resign himself to something.

'I, ah…' he began, the blush deepening, 'I haven't opened it yet.'

Legolas' eyes widened for only a fraction of a second in surprise, but his expression settled as things clicked into place and he suddenly realised that he understood Gimli very, very well indeed.

'It's ridiculous, I know that,' Gimli continued hurriedly, as though eager to explain himself, 'when I've been waiting weeks for precisely this message, but I wanted to bring it home to open. The messenger earlier, it was one of ours, rather than a returning Gondorian. Lad named Snórri, don't know him too well, but when he gave me the letter, he- well, there was an apology in his eyes, plain as ink on parchment. And Dwarves, when we don't have immediate kin around us, we tend to mourn alone. If it was bad, I didn't want it to be public, and I don't know Snórri well enough to want him there when I find out.'

'Understood, of course. Do you wish for some privacy so that you might open it now?' Legolas asked, suspecting that this was not really the problem but wanting to give Gimli the choice. Gimli hesitated, not wanting to explain himself further but feeling he would have to if he rejected the offered solitude.

'Nay, lad, you have my thanks, but it's not that, it's…' Gimli's voice trailed off and he stared down at his feet, clearly unsure of what to say next or feeling himself unable to say it.

Come on, Gimli, Legolas silently willed him on, you should know after last week that I cannot judge you for this. You should know by now that I will never judge you for anything, mellon nín. Break through this misplaced shame and say it, it's never as bad as you think it will be. Part of him yearned to say all this out loud, but he understood implicitly that this was Gimli's private battle to fight, and that his presumption to know what was wrong might irritate him, so he shouted out his encouragements in his heart and waited.

At last, Gimli whispered, 'I don't know if I can bring myself…'

Legolas took pity on him. He had begun to confess and thus won the all-important inner battle, so Legolas helped him gladly now. 'To open it, you mean?'

'Aye.' The word itself was a mighty sigh, sad yet tinged with relief. Legolas would have smiled had the moment not been so bittersweet.

'I do know this makes no sense,' Gimli went on, trying to rationalise what he felt to be an irrational behaviour. 'But I dread finding out what Snórri was apologising for. Because until I open it, they're all still alive, as I remember them. They're still alive until I know, and to open it would be to kill them, whoever it is…' his voice trailed off into a whisper.

Legolas' heart ached to hear this terrible dread voiced but forced himself to hide his distress for the sake of his companion. 'I see,' he said, his voice low and understanding.

'And what do you see?' Gimli replied, bitterness thickly lacing his voice. 'That Dwarves are cowards as you were always told we were? That despite fighting three of the greatest battles of the age, your pathetic comrade is overcome by a scroll of parchment?'

'No,' Legolas shot back. 'I see that you, my brave and stalwart friend, stand now in the same position I was in two weeks ago, when I was pacing in the library, reading one sentence over and over again, trying to convince myself it could not possibly mean the devastating thing I thought it said. Then you walked in and I had the chance to tell you all, to unburden my soul of the sudden trauma it had experienced. You remember what I did?'

This elicited the faintest of smiles from Gimli. 'You…were not at your politest.'

'Indeed I was not. Because saying it would have made it real, it would have meant that this scroll wasn't a mirage, or a lie, or a mistake, and as soon as those words left my mouth my friends would categorically have died. In truth, it felt that by saying it, I would be the one to kill them. So I didn't say it, and I didn't tell you we won either, because acknowledging that would mean knowing that I trusted this missive, and that everything it said was true. So I refused to face up to it and sent you packing. And how did that turn out?'

'You faced it in the end and told me.'

'Not quite how it happened. You refused to let me carry it on my own, remember you told me that? You let me do it in my own time, but you were there. You were by my side and we faced it together. And that,'

He locked his gaze with Gimli's, crossed the room and crouched in front of him so their eyes were level.

'That is what I would like us to do with this, if you would like it too, mellon nín. Face it together.'

When Gimli did not respond, simply looking stricken, Legolas hurried to specify what he meant by this.

'It doesn't have to be now, if you don't want. When you're ready. And I know your practice of only mourning alone or with immediate kin. Perhaps I could be by your side as you open it and then leave before you start reading, stand guard and make sure no-one disturbs you? Just tell me what you need from me, and it is done.'

'Nay,' Gimli said in a quiet, almost broken voice and Legolas frowned with confusion and a little hurt. 'Nay, you wouldn't have to leave, I mean,' Gimli clarified quickly, and then swallowed hard before making his next statement. 'There is no nearer kin than brother of the heart.'

Legolas had to fight back his own overwhelming emotions at hearing these words, and under different circumstances he would have been beaming. He settled with smiling softly and saying,

'You honour me greatly by naming me such, my brother of the heart, and in offering to share your grief with me. If you wish me beside you, then I am there.'

Gimli inclined his head briefly in acknowledgement. 'My thanks.' He reached into his belt pouch and pulled out a sealed, cylindrical roll of parchment. He held it in both hands, which were trembling, almost imperceptibly to someone who wasn't looking. Legolas, however, noticed it.

'When do you intend on opening it?' he asked gently, not wanting to push Gimli too much but neither wanting him to have this dread hanging over him for too long.

'I…tomorrow morning, perhaps. I might deal with it better, whatever it is, after I'm rested.'

Legolas nodded. 'As you wish. But will you sleep, with it unopened?'

Gimli sighed heavily. 'Nay, I will not. I'm procrastinating, am I not?'

Legolas gave him a sad smile. 'Just a little, brother mine. And believe me, I understand why.'

Gimli straightened a little, looking down at the parchment with a new resolve. 'Well, this won't do, then. Best get it over with.' He brought his thumb near to the seal but stopped abruptly, his hand frozen in place.

'Whatever is communicated within this message has already happened. It is already real, and you do not make it so by knowing of it. Dismiss thoughts of that nature if they are plaguing you,' Legolas advised softly but urgently.

'Aye,' Gimli agreed, but his hand stayed locked in place where it was. He caught Legolas' eye and suggested hesitantly, 'If you don't mind…how about together?'

Legolas brought his hand to the parchment on the opposite side of the seal, looking back at Gimli with a questioning eyebrow raised, inquiring whether this was what he meant. At Gimli's nod, he said,

'Together, then. Shall we?'

'Aye.'

So together Dwarvish and Elvish thumbs worked at the seal until it broke, and a Dwarvish hand an Elvish one unrolled it until it was stretched out open in Gimli's lap. Legolas stepped back to allow him to read the runes within. His heart was racing as he scanned Gimli's face in anticipation, waiting for him to reach whatever had caused that apology in Snórri's eyes. He had no doubts that it would be there. There is a peculiar expression worn by those imparting news of a bereavement, sorrow and pity and compassion all too evident in their gaze. For those who have fought, it is unmistakeable- they have worn it themselves too many times. So Legolas waited, convinced that Gimli had read Snórri's expression aright, though dearly hoping for his sake that he had been wrong.

Legolas knew the instant Gimli had seen it. He saw his eyes widen as they scanned the page, his body slump in despair and his breaths quicken. And the sound that issued next from Gimli's mouth was one that would haunt him for the rest of his long immortal life.

It was a cry similar to that he gave at Balin's tomb, yet this time even more heartrending, if that were possible. It was a wordless yell of grief and rage and desolation, a challenge to the world that would so brutally tear loved ones apart, a response to news so terrible there was nothing to do but roar. It was the sound you would hear if you listened to a heart as it broke.

Legolas was back by his side in an instant, catching that awful letter as it fell from shaking hands and setting it aside, intercepting those hands where they were tugging painfully at Gimli's hair and guiding them to twist themselves in his own tunic instead. Gimli was weeping in earnest now, releasing not only the sadness and shock at his news but also the dread which had built up before he found out. Kneeling in front of his chair, Legolas embraced him and simply allowed him to cry. Gimli drew back a little for a moment, clearly feeling the need to explain, and before Legolas could reassure him this was unnecessary, he had rasped out the two terrible words.

'My nephew.'

Nodding in understanding to avoid speaking around the lump in his throat, Legolas drew him closer again and the Dwarf sobbed fiercely into his shoulder. Soon his own tears had joined Gimli's, tears of compassion for his friend's grief, tears of anger that so many young mortals had been claimed by this war, and also tears of sorrow for his own losses, which were still very much open wounds. A clattering on the stairs told him they had woken the hobbits, and soon enough Pippin was in the doorway with a candle, his eyes wide and his face pale as he regarded the scene, Sam hovering anxiously behind him. Still unsure of his ability to speak, Legolas simply shook his head at them, imploring them with his eyes to let them be. Still they hesitated, and Legolas realised that he didn't exactly appear to be at the peak of emotional stability either at this point. Gimli felt the movement and looked up at the hobbits, trying and failing to muster a smile for them.

'Bad news from home, lads. Tell you in the morning?'

Hearing Gimli's quavering voice, Legolas was instantly ashamed that he had not tried harder to deal with this so Gimli didn't have to. He cleared his throat.

'We will be fine, we just need some time. Thanks for coming down.' His traitorous voice still shook a little, and he saw the hobbits look at each other dubiously. They seemed to come a decision, though, and Pippin said,

'All right then. Are you sure we can't do anything to help? Bring you a hot drink or something?' They both shook their heads, and Pippin began to draw back, 'I'm so sorry about your news, Gimli.'

'Aye, we're sorry for your loss. The both of yous,' Sam chimed in, with a keen glance at Legolas.

Legolas thanked them and guided Gimli back into his embrace, and the hobbits took it as the sign of dismissal it was, heading back upstairs presumably to report their findings to Merry and Frodo. The pair in the sitting room continued to hold each other and weep for a while, until at last they had both cried themselves out and broke apart. Legolas turned to build up the fire again, both to compose himself a little and to give Gimli some privacy to do the same. He glanced behind him once and saw that Gimli had taken up the letter again and was reading it with furrowed brow. Legolas' heart was in his mouth as he wondered whether there would be another harsh blow to endure in the remainder of it, but he forced himself not to stare. He heard a couple of hitched breaths, but when he finally turned around, Gimli had set the letter down and was holding himself with impressive control, though he still looked a little pale and shaken. Gimli met Legolas' gaze, gave a weak smile, and remarked,

'Well, that's four curious hobbits who'll be wanting explanations tomorrow.'

'Curious and sympathetic hobbits, aye. Prepare to be fed within an inch of your life over the next few days.'

Gimli made a sound which started as a chuckle but ended in a sort of strangled sob. Legolas continued.

'You don't owe them any explanations though, however curious they are. You don't owe me any explanations. Talk about it when you feel you need to, when you're ready. I'll listen when you need it. Just say the word.'

'My thanks, again. But I think, now I've worked up to reading it, I need to say it out loud; release it, almost, so I can accept it's real.'

'Of course. Tell me what happened.'

'Losing my nephew was the worst of it. My parents live but my father took a leg injury and will need a cane for the rest of his life. My mother writes that those attempting to coddle him risk being whacked with the cane he's supposed to be walking with, and that is a comforting thing to hear, strange as it sounds; I know things are well when Da is being cantankerous. Our old weapons master fell, name of Hrór, and he was a much beloved teacher. One of my frequent work partners from the forges died too, dependable fellow named Brerin. And of course, my…my nephew. Orin, his name is. No, no, his name was Orin.'

'Don't trouble yourself about that right now,' Legolas reminded him gently. 'I know what you mean.'

'He was my cousin, actually, but he was so much younger, grew up calling me Uncle Gimli so I've always seen him as my nephew. He's Oín's son- oh Mahal…'

Gimli had suddenly gone chalk-white.

'Gimli, what is it? Tell me, what's wrong?'

When he spoke again, his voice faltered a little but he got his explanation out.

'Oín's wife, Tóra. She has just lost her only son. And Oín fell in Moria- I have the Book of Mazarbul- when I get back- I'm going to have to tell her…how she was widowed.' (1)

Legolas sucked in his breath and reached out to grasp his friend's forearm in an anchoring hold.

'Ai, Gimli! I am sorry.'

Gimli shook his head. 'Nay. Thinking of that…my sorrow is nothing compared to hers. To lose a son and then have her husband's death confirmed soon after.'

'It is a terrible loss, aye. But that does not make yours any less valid. You cared for him, I can see that.'

'Aye. I used to mind him when he was just a wee lad. Then later on, he was my apprentice: great lad, willing to learn, had a way with the iron. I was going to ask him to work on the Minas Tirith gates, I'd thought about how excited he'd be, how proud- his first big commission…'

Gimli's voice trailed off again, and Legolas stayed silent this time, allowing him time to get himself under control.

'He was only 62,' Gimli whispered. 'That's how old I was when they went to reclaim Erebor and they didn't let me go because I was too young to go out into danger. And he was too young as well, too young for any of this, but he had no choice because the danger came right to his home. There's no justice in it, none at all.'

His voice had risen as he spoke, until he was almost shouting, needing to vent his anger at a world that would cruelly end the life of a promising young ironsmith who wanted nothing but to defend his home. Legolas just nodded, not attempting to calm him, knowing he needed this release.

'And he did so well, my father writes,' he continued, pride swelling in his voice. 'He fought to defend Dale even though Tóra begged him not to go out. He made it back, bruised but alive, survived the siege, only to fall to a desperate Easterling in the final charge against the attackers. How in Middle Earth can that be fair?'

Gimli had curled his hands into fists and was breathing heavily with the pent-up rage.

'It's not,' Legolas said quietly. 'It's not fair at all.'

With another strangled yell, Gimli surged to his feet, grabbed his now-empty tankard and hurled it so that it collided with the wall in an almighty crash. He blinked a few times, breathing hard, as if processing what he had just done. A few more angry tears escaped him and he swatted them away furiously with the heels of his hands.

'If I had Sauron before me to kill…' he growled, his hands flexing as if itching to resurrect the fallen Enemy so that he could inflict a suitably slow and painful death.

'You'd have to fight me first for the pleasure,' Legolas said in a chillingly soft voice, his eyes glinting dangerously. The two formidable warriors regarded each other in understanding, both of them aware that their grief was allowing their oft-suppressed darker impulses of vengeance and bloodlust to rear their ugly heads. Then the moment passed, and Gimli unfurled his fingers slowly, and sank heavily back into his chair.

'But even that still couldn't bring them back,' he said wearily, and at the same moment the fey gleam in Legolas' eyes vanished as if it never was.

'Aye,' he agreed. 'Our unrestrained anger honours them not, however tempting it is to let it consume us.'

'I hate how helpless this makes me feel,' Gimli grumbled, his anger drained out of him leaving only weary resignation in its place. 'That the Enemy can do something so terrible to my family, and I'm leagues away, and all I can do is know it happened. I couldn't defend him, I couldn't avenge him, I couldn't grieve with them, they'll already have buried him so I couldn't even go to the funeral. What am I supposed to do now?'

'Whatever feels right,' Legolas advised. 'You need to find a way to let go of it. Believe me, I know how this feels and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy, let alone my brother of the heart. I felt a little lost too, when I first heard. You know that our people often voice our grief in song; the day I found out, eventually I went up to the balcony and sang the laments for them. It made me feel connected to them and to my grieving kin, even though we were far apart. What would your family have done to mourn him?'

'A vigil,' Gimli replied. 'The Dwarf who has died is laid out in a chamber and his loved ones gather around him. They spend a night there, by the light of a single candle, and they sit in silence with their memories of him. Each is alone with their own thoughts, yet they are together in their grief. It is very profound.'

'I do not doubt it,' Legolas replied. 'Do you wish to do something similar tonight? We could light a candle and you could sit your vigil and remember; or perhaps it would be better for you to sleep now and do that another night, if you wish.'

'I will not sleep tonight,' Gimli replied, shaking his head, and Legolas knew better than to try to force the issue. 'And I think…I would like that. I will go to fetch a candle.' Filled with a new purpose, Gimli headed off to complete his task while Legolas set about extinguishing the fire. Soon after, Gimli was settled in his chair again, eyes fixed on the single candle flame as it flickered. Legolas suddenly felt a little awkward, unsure of whether or not he was intruding.

'Gimli, do you wish me to leave? I will stay if you want but if you need to be alone…'

'The thing about these vigils,' Gimli interrupted suddenly in a musing tone, making Legolas wonder if he'd actually heard the question at all, 'is that everyone has their own grief, their own memories, so it is something highly personal.'

Legolas rose to leave, interpreting this as his dismissal. But Gimli carried on.

'But no creature escapes the clutches of grief, and everyone there is in the throes of the same pain, so it is also something shared, a deep connection between us all.'

Gimli finally turned his eyes from the candle to look at his friend. 'So it would feel strange to sit a vigil like this alone, even if it is by nature silent. I was wondering…I know it is a Dwarvish custom, but perhaps if you wished to remember those you have lost? I would welcome your company.'

'Different memories, but the same pain of loss. Aye, my brother, I will sit vigil with you, and remember them. I can think of no greater honour to bestow on my loved ones who have gone to Mandos.'

Legolas settled himself in the chair again, and Gimli's lip quirked in the nearest thing he could manage to a smile at a time like this.

'Together, then. Shall we?' he asked gruffly, not quite managing to conceal the unsteadiness in his voice.

'Aye,' Legolas replied, smiling gently back.

Silence descended, and they lost themselves in their individual memories, of Dwarven forges and Elven archery ranges, even as they shared a pain that went deeper than any divisions of race.

And thus they sat through the night, as the candle steadily burnt down, alone in their grief and yet not so, until finally the flame sputtered out just as the first light of dawn began to trickle through the window.

(1) The Book of Mazarbul reports that Oín was taken by the Watcher in the Water outside Moria.