Gimli, had been traveling along the dusty path with his downhearted companions for just under two days, and as the Sun finally began its dragging descent to hide behind the mountains to the west, the Son of Gloin had undoubtedly convinced himself that he had never had of this kind a more uneventful journey.
        The dwarf shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. He had never really become accustomed to horses. In all his travels, he had walked or even ran when the occasion called for it. But riding another animal, who was seemingly so unintelligent in his conception, seemed unnatural to the stout, bearded man.
        And so, of course when the dark little horse, as if in great opposition to these thoughts nickered and shuddered beneath him, the stocky man directed a look of barely withheld contempt to his mount, and muttered something so unintelligible that it was ironic that he thought the horse so dense.
        As he recollected, the only time he had ever really ridden was with Legolas, and even then, when he thought back to it, he had only been a mere passenger, hence riding was so obviously against the dwarven fashion. However walking was not. Dwarves had come to opinine so far as to deem riding slack. So evidently it was the dwarfishness in him that failed to see the intelligence of the elves in using steeds, so as not to tire one on a long journey. As, forever it seemed, he was commenting on elves laziness, and lack of resourcefulness. Thereof which there is no lack, Gimli chided himself. Over the little time, any societal division had dissipated between the dwarf and elves. And it was this that was well known, as Gimli was welcomed into Elven society as an equal.
        Gimli, now thereabouts satisfied with his position in the saddle, looked back out upon the road, which stretched to trek forever into the distance. But no matter the distance to go we are making good reach, Gimli noted, and all the better for me and distance too, as another day on this endless and tormenting trail is one too many for me.
        And it was much under his breath and with a dispirited tone that Gimli aloud said, "Alas, the day I miss an elf is a sad one indeed, but true to my soul, I wish that elf were here."
        And Gimli sighed, and closed his eyes for a long time, though he was not sleeping. For he sorely missed his elven companion. Together they had been for a great while, and had Legolas of Mirkwood accompanied them on this terribly saddening and boring journey, Gimli was sure his heart would be full, and not heavy as it now lay in his chest.

        The band of three had stopped atop the crest of a hill as the sun descended behind the hills to their backs. And as the golden rays turned softly red, and darkness fell upon the Earth, Sam and Gimli busied themselves with such monotonous things as collecting wood, and preparing dinner with the utmost fuss. But Frodo, still depressed and stricken with woe, sat hunched over, with his arms around his knees by the fire. His tear-streaked eyes were for the most part downcast, but occasionally he would set his eyes up and into the canvas wagon, where the peaceful body of his Uncle now lay.
        Gimli looked upon the hobbit from the wagon across the fire with a look of sympathy, for he had never lost anyone truly dear to him, and to do so would strike at the heart of his very being. Out of the corner of his eye, he observed Sam's watchful and concerned gaze over his master. It appeared, Gloin's son surmised, that the two hobbits shared a bond almost like that of the elf and himself.
        Next to him, Samwise Gamgee looked all the more worried. He cast a troubled glance up at the dwarf, who was standing quite still with a kindly expression under his coarse red beard, which was odd for the usually spiteful dwarf. Sensing the movement out of the corner of his eye, Gimli turned quietly to face the hobbit.
        "Oh, woe me, my Gimli, what am I to do about my master? For I cannot seem to distract him from this great sadness, and I fear I may lose him to this sorrow. What, Master dwarf, am I to do?"
        The gruff dwarf looked pensive for a long moment, and then a troubled expression came to his face. Sam forthwith feared the worst, and when Gimli continued to be silent, Sam pursued further. "What worries you so friend? Do you think that mayhap Frodo will not recover from this grief?"
        "Nay Samwise, had I thought that would I look sadder still," Gimli drew in a sharp breath. "I was only imagining that if something akin to this were to happen to Legolas, what would I do?"
        "Oh," said Sam, and with uncomfortable uncertainty on whether the topic were closed, or whether it were not, he stayed silent, waiting for the other to speak.
        The other spoke again, after a long while. And when he did so, it was with a tightly constrained voice, as if the thought of such a thing were too much to bear, and as if the answer to the problem, was the most frightening thing in all of the great earth.
        "I would sing to him," said he, and that was that.
        And then Gimli moved and sat by the fire, pulling his cloak closer around him, as if some great chill had passed through him, and Sam guessed that, one probably had. Emotion was not common for Gimli, Son of Gloin, and such a surrender was rare.
        So it was then, out of complete absurdity and a sudden understanding, that the young hobbit let out a harsh bark of a laugh, and moved to sit by the dwarf once again. The short man was sitting with his eyes closed and head against his knees. His great beard glowing a vibrant red in front of the fire.
        As the young Gamgee sat, both hobbiton companion, and dwarf looked up at him with question, and carelessly, with a gestured wave of his hand, they both looked back down.
        "Gimli," whispered Sam, leaning over so that Frodo would not overhear.
With a sigh it was, that the stout man looked up into the now warm eyes of the younger man.
        "Showing regard for a comrade is not a weakness, dear friend, but having little compassion is." And when he was met with a startled and unguarded look, the hobbit knew he had hit dead on the mark.
        And so, it was with an almost silent little giggle, and a light hearted wink toward the portly dwarf that he spread out his cloak and lay down to sleep, where warms dreams came, and consciousness fled him almost immediately.