"You are like your ornamental stonework, all whorls and ripples," Legolas remarked as they rested by a stream just off the path. They were on their way back to Ithilien from a visit to Imladris, where they had spent time with Celeborn and the twins. Just now, Legolas was lying on a soft cushion of moss near the stream, boneless in the sun.

Gimli, not knowing how to respond to this comment, snorted with a certain combination of confusion and curiosity. "And just what do you mean by that, laddie?"

Lifting a languid hand from where it had rested in the cool water, the elf gave the dwarf a steady look. "Your face, my friend," he said and gestured with the now dripping hand. "I did not know you when you were young, and I certainly have had little to do with your people until the Journey we took together. But it seems to my eyes that as time passes, I see much of what you love in your work reflected in yourself."

Gimli leaned over the stream from the boulder on which he sat and peered at his reflection in the water. "An interesting revelation. And here I had thought that I looked rather hale for an old dwarf."

With a chuckle, Legolas sat up in one fluid motion. "You are most definitely not ancient, if not young, gwador nín. It is only that any rock, having met wind, rain, and cold, becomes weathered and worn, as you well know."

"I am not sure if being compared to a rock is a compliment, Legolas." Gimli muttered. He stole a glance at the blue eyes still looking in his direction and just managed to maintain his usual demeanor.

"It is, Gimli. It is. And you persist in calling me ‘laddie’ despite the ages between us." Legolas said quietly, and something in his tone made Gimli take a second look at his elven friend.

"What brought that look to your face, then? You look sadder than a hobbit at the end of a feast." Gimli inquired gruffly.

"It is only…" Legolas began, and then he paused to carefully craft his words. "It is only that it is hard to watch you, and Aragorn, and the others as time passes. I see myself in this stream and my face seems unchanged. Only my eyes grow older, as is true of all elves who have seen my years. I am young for one of my people, but…"

"But you see our bodies grow older." Gimli finished for him. "You chose a hard road, my friend."

"Others have done so before. Many indeed have counseled me over the years to avoid entanglements with mortals." Legolas answered. Then reaching up his hand from where he sat, he grasped Gimli's tightly. "But I would not give up my friendships with you. "

The dwarf couldn’t hide the smile behind his beard. "Well, laddie," and he put a teasing emphasis on the nickname this time. "Since it is undoubtedly my highly unlikely friendship with you which has put some of these marks upon my face, you may consider yourself a stonemason."

Clearly shaking off his temporary melancholy, Legolas threw back his head and laughed. "And a poor stonemason I am, to be sure. Shall we continue or do your aged bones need continued rest before we get back to the road?"

With an over-dramatic growl and a well-practiced glare, Gimli pushed himself to his feet. "My aged b…oh, that is good, coming from one who has seen so many winters. And a poor stonemason, is it? What are you implying about my face? Hmph!"

He managed to stomp more than necessary (but not loudly enough to drown out the clear and welcome laughter that rang out behind him) to where their horse waited patiently, grazing by the edge of the clearing. Gimli smiled inside with joy to hear it.