There was a Dwarf in Mirkwood. Not three months ago this wouldn't have been unusual, yet since Prince Kili had been captured by Orcs from between these trees, the sons of Erebor had not set foot in the forest. Legolas didn't like to admit it, but he missed the children of Mahal traipsing along the paths singing their funny songs and laughing at their frankly dirty jokes, which was why he had decided to follow this particular one as it travelled south.
He seemed rather tall for a Dwarf, with a long red beard and shock of red hair which was separated into thick sections secured by rings of gold. A large axe, taller than the Dwarf himself, was held in one hand whilst the other was tugging on one of the braids in his beard. It was clear that despite his head which was raised high and the determined look upon his surprisingly fair face, this particular Dwarf was anxious whether about the journey ahead or what he was leaving behind Legolas was not sure. Either way he found that he could not bear to see the stout creature so disturbed, brown eyes darting both around the forest surrounding him, as well as back towards the mountain he seemed to be fleeing from.
His legs seemed to move without any conscious thought, and before Legolas really knew what was happening he had leapt from tree to tree until he was in front of the Dwarf, dropping gracefully to the road before him. The little ones reflexes much have been remarkably swift for Legolas had an axe blade against his throat before he could respond in kind.
"Just what do ye think you're doin'?" The Dwarves voice was thickly accented, more so than a lot of his kin which meant that he had been brought up in the Blue Mountains rather than in Erebor.
"I was going to ask the same of you Master Dwarf," answered Legolas, taking a weary step back and away from the axe which still hadn't been lowered. "It has been quite some time since I've seen one of your people in these woods."
"I be heading South," answered the Dwarf, throwing his axe over his shoulder. "To Mordor."
Legolas started at that.
"You go to save your Prince then?" he asked. "I would have thought the King Under the Mountain would have sent more than one Dwarf, no matter how brave he may be."
"King Thorin is my kinsman," answered the Dwarf, glancing back in the direction of Erebor. "And he doesn't know where I'm going."
Well that certainly explained the nervous fidgeting and the way he kept glancing behind him as if he expected something to attack him from the trees, he was waiting for his kinsman to realize that he had left and send someone out to collect him.
"So you travel to the realm of the Dark Lord with neither your King's knowledge nor blessing?" mused Legolas. "You will surely not survive this quest, it is foolish."
"What is foolish you tree-shagging pointy ear, is sitting in that mountain waitin' for Prince Kili to die."
Legolas knew that the Dwarf had been trying to insult him, but said in that accent it did nothing but make him grin in amusement. "And what is your name little one?"
"Little!" exclaimed the Dwarf. "I'll give you little you …"
"Name Master Dwarf if you will." Legolas interrupted the oncoming tirade.
"Gimli," came the answer. "Gimli son of Gloin."
"Very well Gimli son of Gloin," he said, letting his hand rest on one nicely broad shoulder. "I am Legolas Greenleaf, and if you are planning to enter Mordor in search of your kinsman you are going to need a guide."