Rising to his feet and grabbing his axe from where he’d propped it against a tree, Gimli pushed his way through the men and hobbits lazily gathered in the path, enjoying a smoke and each other’s company.

“What’s the matter with him?” asked Pippin, thumbing in the direction of the disgruntled dwarf.

“Maybe he doesn’t like the singing, Pip,” reasoned Merry, watching the dwarf stalk off. “These elves have been lamenting for days, and though I’m content to listen, it might not be soothing to Gimli.”

“That could be. He did take to snoring through my own small ballad,” Sam remembered, still a bit hurt over the matter. Merry and Pippin both patted him on the back to cheer him up, and a mug of some brew was offered to him, which he gladly accepted.

Aragorn was propped against one of the sturdy poles that held up the pavilion. “We may have disrupted his slumber with our conversation.”

“Disturbed a dwarf’s rest? Ha! He’s been most difficult to awake in the mornings.” Boromir shook his head with the slightest bit of contempt as he continued to sharpen his blades.

“Perhaps he just feels out of sorts here. Legolas is off somewhere among his kin, you and Aragorn have each other for company, and we hobbits have stuck together since the beginning of this journey.” Frodo looked over his shoulder as the dwarf passed out of sight. “He may just feel...alone.”

The others reflected upon this before once again sharing their thoughts on recent events and the days they had spent under the mellyrn in Lothlorien.

“Nothing to do in these stinking woods,” grumbled Gimli, kicking stones in his path and swinging at branches that came in his way. He abruptly stopped as he sighted a pair of elves ahead and turned to leave.

“Gimli! Come here, my friend!” shouted the voice of Legolas from ahead. Sighing, Gimli turned back, in time to see the elf next to him attempt to silence Legolas before the dwarf could respond. He had failed, and was now trying to look quite unconcerned about the situation. If he’d thought to be courteous, Gimli would have turned back and headed right ‘round to the pavilion again, but when he saw who the other elf was, he decided it would be more fun to stay and upset the other elf.

“Master Legolas.” Gimli bowed his head when he had come to a stop where the two elves sat. “Elf,” he merely mumbled, giving a shrug in the direction of the figure cloaked in grey and burgundy.

“Dwarf,” snorted Haldir under his breath, obviously not pleased to see him again.

“Come now, sit, Gimli!” encouraged Legolas, thumping the ground beside him with his open hand. The other held a brass goblet, a wine bottle at his feet. Legolas appeared to have not noticed the exchange between the two, though it was blatantly obvious someone may have lost a head had he not been there.

Gimli frowned, unsure of whether it was such a good idea or not, but Haldir’s scowl convinced him to sit.

“There we are.” Legolas rummaged in the small pack in front of him and pulled out a third goblet, for both he and Haldir had glasses of their own. “This is a most excellent opportunity,” began Legolas, pouring a third glass of the wine, then leveling off both his and Haldir’s, “for now, just before we depart upon our journey once more, I have the chance to share a drink with my two greatest friends – my oldest and dearest elf companion, and my fellow fighter and adventurer in the fellowship.”

“You call him a friend?!” came the response from both dwarf and elf, each of them recoiling in distaste. Legolas’ brow furrowed.

“Though, I suppose a group hug would be out of the question.” He smiled ruefully, passing the newly filled goblet from Gimli, only to pull it back. “How foolish of me – I can not let you drink this. I shall see if I can find something more suitable.”

“Why can’t I drink it? I’m quite the drinker, I’ll have you know! Why, at my cousin Balin’s wedding, I downed five pints in under a minute, and went on to have at least another eighteen rounds!” exclaimed the dwarf.

“This is no mere Dwarven ale you see,” warned Legolas. “It is a fey wine, a rare brew of the elves, and this you will find to be a very potent type found only here in Lorien.”

“Ah! I’ve heard of such a thing before, Master Legolas! I have been most interested in trying the drink!” Gimli reached for the goblet. Legolas still kept the glass out of reach, but Haldir stayed the other archer’s arm so that Gimli could reach the cup.

“Let him try it, Legolas. Just a sip should not affect him – he’s quite a sturdy fellow, at that,” advised Haldir.

Legolas bit his lip, but gave in. “Who am I to argue among friends.” He raised his own goblet. “To friends.”

“To friends,” they both chanted, then all three drank the entirety of their cups.

“I thought you said you did not think he would pass out!” Legolas paced a few steps and then dropped back down to the level of the dwarf. “Gimli! Gimli!” His attempts to wake the dwarf were fruitless. Standing back up to face the Galadhrim, he pointed a finger at Haldir’s nose. “This is all your fault!”

“Not I,” laughed Haldir. “I warned him not to take more than a sip of it.”

Legolas went back to the ground to prop Gimli against the tree better. “He will sleep it off, will he not?”

“Aye. Though a long sleep it shall be, my friend.” Haldir noted the sun in the sky and added, “I must be off to patrol the inner city. If you leave the dwarf here, no harm should come to him, I assure you. It would be a shame to spend your last day in Lorien tending to a drunken dwarf.”

Legolas nodded. “Not that I would mind tending to him, but he hardly needs tending to.”

The two elves walked away after Legolas was satisfied that Gimli would not awake with a sore neck or back. For some time, the dwarf rested against the tree, undisturbed by man or nature, until a pair of rather gorgeous male elves happened to walk by.

At first they continued right past, deep in contemplation of those things which plaque the minds of those living eternally. Then, without a word, they looped back around, stopping in front of the dwarf.

“You’re right, Rumil – they’re even uglier in the light of day,” whispered the taller one, peering closer at Gimli.

“And up close. He still continues to reek, even after a bath.” The prettier one scrunched up his nose, and then slowly smiled. “Do you remember what Haldir used to tell us about dwarves, Orophin?”

“That they smelled funny, they were ugly, and they sometimes ate small elflings,” nodded Orophin with disgust.

“That, and the other thing. You remember,” Rumil said with a sly and twisted smirk.

Orophin thought for a moment, then realized. “Oh!” He hushed himself, then continued to whisper. “That they don’t wear any undergarments! I do remember those tales he told us!”

“Do you think them to be true?” wondered Rumil.

Orophin’s eyes lit up. “We’ve got one right here, we could find out the answer to the, forgive the expression, age old question.” Orophin frowned then. “Oh, but one of us would have to do the checking.” His gaze slid to Rumil.

“No, no, dear brother. I will not let you trick me into performing such a task simply because I am the youngest! I have been down that path before!” Rumil stepped back from the dwarf.

“Well, I shall not do such a thing! Just brushing against him, I’m sure I would smell the stench for many months to come!” Orophin crossed his arms.

“Then we shall never know, perhaps.” Rumil sighed, and began to stroll away. “For we shall leave for the coast soon, and everyone knows there are no dwarves in Valinor.”

Orophin grimaced. “Dwarves in Valinor – what a dreadful thought.” Looking down at the dwarf again, he placed his hands on his hips. “If we both pulled down a leg of his breeches, and did it quite quickly, we may avoid disaster.”

Rumil came back around and dropped to the forest floor. “You have a deal, then, brother.”

Orophin nodded, and crouched next to the dwarf’s other side. Together, they swiftly debreeched the unknowing dwarf, and were squatted on either side, gawking at the sight.

“Well, certainly no, uhm, undergarments to be found here,” Orophin finally managed.

“It’s…it’s…it’s so…” Rumil stuttered.

“I know, I can see that,” Orophin assured him. A few minutes more passed before either said anything. “Well, right then. Let’s get these back up on the fellow before he wakes or before someone finds us here.” Orophin began to grip the side of the dwarf’s breeches closest to him, but he was stopped by Rumil.

“Let’s leave him a souvenir of his time here in Lothlorien,” grinned Rumil, untying the blue silk sash from his quiver.

“You are…definitely beyond words, brother,” Orophin said, shaking his head as Rumil tied a large bow before they hoisted the dwarf’s pants back up and quickly ran to the nearest bathhouse.

- - -

It was nightfall before Gimli awoke, and only for his need to relieve himself of all of the wine he’d imbibed the night before. Staggering to the nearest clump of bushes, Gimli drew up his tunic and dropped his pants – and stared down in disbelief. In a shaky voice, the dwarf murmured, “Lad, I don’t know where you’ve been, but I see you’ve won first prize…”