I am Gimli son of Gloin, songs are sung of my deeds in the fair halls of my city. I have traveled to the ends of Middle Earth and have fought monsters beyond my ken. My ancestry can be traced back thousands of years as I carved great kingdoms out of stone for my people.

Yet, fear from what mortals quake at has never been my undoing. I followed willingly to care for the ringbearer in the fellowship. And yet as I followed that small hobbit, I felt fear for the first time.

Fear? You ask. Not for myself, but for what I had become. Somehow between Rivendell and the mines of Moria, I had found beauty that no other dwarf has treasured. My people do not attribute beauty lightly, and yet in the darkest pits of the world one can find beauty beyond description. Shimmering caves that can dazzle the eye and mind for hours afterwards, carvings of such magnificence that they seem to come alive at night.

This beauty that I found came to me in Lothlorien, a light that burns so hotly that I know I will be spent in its flame. And the fear in knowing, hoping, and contemplating whether it will happen consumes me.

Among my kind I am not known as fair, most women find me unpleasing to their gentle eyes and I was never one to force myself upon a lover.

It was in those hallowed trees, walking under the eaves of greenery with Legolas at his invitation, that I paused to look at the beauty I craved so fully beside me. Galadrial may have the face of starlight, but the elf beside me had one of sunlight. Together we tarried as he pointed out marvel after marvel, ignoring the curious and often hostile stares of his brethren as we walked freely.

Up until that point I had no idea how Legolas viewed me, since the hostility we both shared at the start of the journey was so far away that it seemed like another age. Legolas seemed much concerned with me after the insults I endured when entering these woods, and as such he wanted to show me honor where his kin had not.

We stepped up to an expansive tree, its circumference encompassing a space so wide that it would have taken more than a hundred paces to circle it. Legolas ran his hand along the bark, touching it reverently. "This has been here since the dawning of the first age, before both of our peoples came to these lands. Even the lives of elves must be like flashes of day and night among the millennia. Our lives are entwined with its very branches and roots, so that even as the elves leave for the Havens, one part of us will remain in Middle Earth."

"It seems as if we are not so different. Dwarves are bound to the earth, the richness of the soil, the gritty texture on the skin, the sweet smell of loam, the wonder found where so few go. Our lives may be mortal, but even when we die the earth embraces us just as she gave birth to our race so long ago." I placed my hand on the massive trunk, the power under my fingers beyond measure. I could not help but compare us to the wide oak and the dirt beneath our feet. So different, and yet dependent on each other for survival.

The irony of it was not lost on the elf beside me as well. "Two such different beings living in such different worlds." He paused, looking at me thoughtfully. "And yet it seems that there is an interdependence that neither had anticipated."

Sweet Gods, I wanted him in this quiet haven of tranquillity. Alas, the fear that had made an appearance since Rivendell returned with full force. Dwarves do not give their love lightly, and those that find it usually remain with their chosen ones for a lifetime. If death claims a mate, there are a few who find love again, but most are not that lucky. Most choose not to be that lucky, for our love is like our fabled mithrial. Strong enough to endure through the ages and yet more treasured than all of the gold found in the earth.

In that healing quiet and unguarded moment, I could hear the whispers of the long lost dead which gnawed at my soul. The sweetness of this place could hold off grief for so long, and it had run its course. A flash of pain from unspoken sorrow made me angry, and I turned away. "I have no mind to play your games elf. Leave me be."

Ignoring the sudden look of hurt on his face, I stormed off eager to find solitude so that I could express my grief. The seconds of pain in the mines were not enough to ease my soul, and it was once that I was alone did I allow my tears to fall, my voice to howl the names of fallen to the wind.

Dear Balin, daring to go where most despaired only to find death. Our own Gandalf was lost in the flames of the monsters that my people had let loose. Crouching down in the hollow at the base of a tree, I dug my hands into the soil rubbing the dirt between my fingers. If Balin had died within the mines of my home, he would have been mourned with the honor that he was due. Great meeting halls filled with mourners would have echoed with ballads of his bravery and life. Candles lighting the mine as they lined the walls from the floor to ceiling, one candle representing his being among the thousands gone before him.

I clutched the damp soil in my hand, the dark scent flooding me with the memories of my childhood. Balin was the ever serious one, speaking of his life in adulthood as if he had it planned out. Somehow I don't think this was among one of the many adventures he wanted to have. I looked around, bitter. "Balin, know that you are mourned and will be remembered even in this place. May you find your peace."

Leaves crunched under a well-placed foot, not of clumsiness but of a subtle warning to the of the elf's presence.

Blast the elves and their damned quiet feet. "Legolas, I have neither the heart nor the inclination for any encounter. You claim to have an in with the mistress sun, pray, tell me where she lies because I cannot find her here."

Legolas looked up at the sun streaming down, dappling the clearing with light and shadow. "Perhaps the Lady has dimmed your vision with her beauty, has the great Gimli become nothing more than a love forsaken youth moaning and groaning among the shadows?"

"Begone elf! I lost more than the wizard Gandalf in Moria or have you forgotten my dead cousins in their desecrated graves?" I growled, surprised that the elf showed so little regard for my pain.

Legolas leaned down to touch my shoulder, his eyes sad. "My apologies friend dwarf, my attempt to ease your heart fell far from its mark. I did not forget that your cousin lies alone in Moria. I do not know the customs of your people, how should he be mourned?"

My hands clenched around the dirt. "It is but a simple thing, his name is carved onto the wall of his mine where he was born, so that his deeds were permanent for generations to see. But, we are too far and our fate is uncertain although I would not have his deeds forgotten, even in this time of war."

"Then I will leave you to honor him as you can." He squeezed my shoulder and then left me to commune with my ghosts.

We had been there for four days when Legolas pulled me aside after our meal. Merry had just finished discussing the merits of the elvish wine to Sam who was adamantly refusing to taste the proffered cup.

"A word, Master Dwarf?" Once outside, he motioned me to follow him. For several minutes we walked in silence, weaving in and out of trees until we reached a clearing. It had been obviously made for gatherings, with seats surrounding a smoothed area of ground. Off to the side was a huge oak tree, its circumference eclipsed only by the tree we saw the day before.

As we stood before the tree, Legolas pulled out a small leather satchel that fit easily in the palm of his hand and gave it to me. Untying the leather bands, it unrolled to reveal small, sharp carving tools. They were much like the stone tools used for carving great statues in the mines, but smaller and much more delicate. "Am I to carve you a doll with these toys?"

"Nay, good dwarf. They are the wood carving tools of the artisans here, made for this task alone. This tree is sister to the one I showed you yesterday, and while we have no stone to immortalize your cousin's name, he shall live to the end of ages within its care."

"Galadrial has permitted such an act upon her trees?"

"It seems as if you have charmed the lady of the wood, and she has given her blessings as such. There may not be much love lost between the dwarves and the elves, but we understand the obligation that mortals must have with their dead. By carving Balin's name in the tree, you will have fulfilled your duty no matter what the outcome of this journey."

I looked at him in wonder. "You have seen my mind and answered my very wish. Thank you, friend elf."

I could tell that the term was not lost on the elf, as he handed me the tools almost shyly. They felt foreign in my hands, but they were sharp and it did not take long to enter the few symbols of Balin's name and family. I took care not to damage the tree overmuch, it would not do to abuse such a gift. Taking a handful of dirt from the ground, I rubbed it into the fresh cuts, feeling finally at rest. "So that as the ages pass, you will live on in this place of beauty."

Not long after we left the woods of Lothlorien, each of us gifted with trinkets from the Lady's house. Next to my breast lay the three strands of hair that I was given, but the most precious was in the form of the Balin's presence protected within this sheltered forest. I spared a glance at Legolas as we rowed out onto the river, and found his eyes meeting mine as he smiled softly.

Up ahead I could see Frodo rubbing the small of Sam's back, a small gesture lost to anyone without sharp eyes as the elder hobbit soothed the nervous Sam. Mayhap Sam can give me tutelage on the merits of tree care, as it seems his own tending to rare blooms has gone well. My fear has died with the dawn, and I will accept what comes with a stout heart. Perhaps, just perhaps the sun will shine in the dark times to come, because come what may I will keep it close no matter where I roam in this journey.