After the Wedding of Aragorn and Arwen, Gimli and …omer settle an old grudge.
I turned and saw the newly crowned king crossing the hall.
"…omer King," I said, bowing so low my beard brushed the floor. "At your service."
"Aye, as you always have been." But the king's expression was deadly serious. I straightened myself and looked at him questioningly.
"I must beg your service once more. Have you your axe?"
"Nay. Should I send for it?"
…omer sighed, but I caught the glint in his eye. "Perhaps. Harsh words still separate us." He spoke of the lady Galadriel: first of my lady's perilous beauty, then the wisdom of her eyes and her resplendent hair, more precious to me than mithril.
"And if I had but met her in different company, I would feel as you do, I am sure."
His eyes trailed to the queen Arwen, and my blood boiled. Aye, the queen was lovely, but she was no match for my lady.
"Should I send for my sword?"
Would these fair ladies bring us to blows, then? I mastered the legendary temper of my kind, and saw beyond his words: the love we bestowed was not so different.
"Nay. You chose the Evening; my love belongs to the Morning."