"I too once passed the Dimrill Gate," said Aragorn quietly; "but though I also came out again, the memory is very evil. I do not wish to enter Moria a second time."

(J.R.R Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring, p. 390)

Prologue

The Year 3019 of the Third Age

Borders of Lothlórien

Legolas and Aragorn talked with Haldir, the march warden that the Fellowship had come across upon entering the woods of Lothlórien, as the rest of the group waited anxiously to see what the outcome of this conversation would be. They hardly understood what the two Elves and the Man were saying, but all of them hoped things would turn out for the best; they had already been through enough hardships.

There was one, however, who started growing quite impatient as time passed. Worse, he was no longer bothering to hide it. Though Gimli had been assured that Orcs wouldn't dare enter the well-guarded realm, he couldn't help thinking that too much precious time was wasted in seemingly idle talk. The fact that he also had to hear the Elven tongue constantly didn't help matters at all, and he decided that he couldn't put up with that kind of situation any longer.

"Enough with the fabled courtesy of the Elves!" he snapped, looking crossly at Haldir. "And speak a language we can all understand!"

Haldir regarded Gimli with quite the disdain on his handsome features. It was clear that the Elf wasn't pleased to see a Dwarf among the members of the Fellowship. Even so, he kept his tone civil as he answered him, "We have not had dealings with the Dwarves since the Dark Days."

Unfortunately, that answer wasn't enough to appease Gimli.

"And you know what the Dwarf says to that? Ishkhaqwi ai durugnul!"

The march warden glared at Gimli, his eyes wide. He didn't understand the words, but it didn't take a great mind to guess that it wasn't a Dwarven pleasantry. Aragorn, however, understood what Gimli said quite perfectly and he faced the Dwarf quite dismayed.

"That was not so courteous!" he scolded.

Taken aback by Aragorn's just anger, Gimli finally fell silent and waited patiently for the Man to talk Haldir into accepting them to Caras Galadhon. Perhaps Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel would want to speak with them and help them continue on their journey after some proper rest.

Caras Galadhon

Aragorn rested his back against the trunk of the great tree that would shelter the Fellowship for as long as they would stay within the borders of Lothlórien. The Hobbits were already sleeping, and the Man couldn't help but look at their intelligent round faces relaxed in heavy sleep. These four needed as much sleep as they could get, for they were the least accustomed to long hardships and dangerous journeys. And there was Gandalf's death to be considered as well. The loss of their guide and leader seemed to be the worst thing that could happen to the Fellowship, leaving all of them emotionally drained. Aragorn tried to be strong, carrying the burden of responsibility that had passed down to him after Gandalf's fall, but now he only wanted to have a few moments of peace and forget. He shut his eyes, but he opened them again when he heard heavy footsteps near him. Gimli was pacing, seeming lost in thought as he held the pipe in his mouth.

"You have trouble sleeping?" Aragorn asked.

"I fear so," Gimli answered with a sigh, the smoke he had inhaled escaping his lips. "I figured some pipe-weed would help."

Aragorn nodded his understanding. Silence reigned for some time, but Gimli broke the spell.

"Did you know or did you just guess?"

The Man faced Gimli, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I am talking about when I snapped at that Elf. Did you understand what I said or did you guess it?"

Aragorn's lips tugged into a small, amused smile. "You said 'I spit on your grave.'"

Gimli raised an eyebrow. "And you know that… how?"

"A friend told me what it meant. A very long time ago," Aragorn answered. "I hope you are not angry," he added, cocking his head to the side.

"Angry? No," Gimli replied, smiling. "If a Dwarf trusted you enough to teach you even that small sample of our Tongue, then you are a worthy man indeed."

Aragorn understood, and he bowed his head. "Thank you, Master Dwarf. I appreciate it."

Gimli nodded, blowing a small smoke ring, and then rubbed the back of his neck in a tired manner. "Well, I don't know about you, but I think I will go have that rest," he declared.

"A wise choice," Aragorn noted kindly. "And do not worry; we are in one of the safest realms in Middle-earth."

"Yes, it is a fine place… for one filled with Elves, I mean," Gimli admitted. "Well, have a good night."

"Goodnight, Master Dwarf," Aragorn said.

With that, Gimli turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the Man alone with his thoughts. Aragorn watched him go, wondering if he should ask Gimli whether he had heard of his friend or not. Dwarves shared close bonds between themselves and there was a chance that the two had met. Then again,Aragorn still remembered his friend's words: he hadn't been openly accepted except by his family, and he hadn't made all that many friendships in his life. He simply preferred the shelter that his home provided.

Aragorn sighed slightly and dug his own pipe out of his pack. A few moments later, he was smoking in thought, memories of his old acquaintance invading his mind, and he couldn't help but wonder how Ceranos was faring. It had been such a long time since their meeting, almost sixty years ago…

TBC...