milliways_bar | (no subject)

A man at the bar watches with a pleased expression as he sips at his beer. He says nothing, but he watches the construction of the mail rings with a certain sort of satisfaction.

Somewhere in the process of the work, Gimli glances up and raises one shaggy eyebrow. "Familiar with mail, are you?" he inquires curiously.

His shoulders shake once with a snort before he nods. He smiles, and while the smile is certainly not mocking, it could be said to be very close to a smirk. 'One could say that' it says.

Gimli nods. "My apologies, then," he says. "Precious few of the folk I've met since coming to this place seem to know much about armour, or weaponry- there was one man who asked after 'a piece of armour', but couldn't have told you the difference between a breastplate and a mail shirt if his life depended on it."

He sets the work aside, slides out of his seat a little awkwardly (it's the height difference) and bows. "Gimli at your service, sir."

He nods and gives something of a smile to the dwarf before standing a bit awkwardly to return the bow.

"Hephaestos...and I certainly know a breastplate from a mail shirt."

"Ah!" Gimli nods, glancing to the man's hands. "Worked in a forge, I take it?"

All Dwarves of Middle-earth were hardy sorts, built to endure the kinds of things that would break Men or Elves, but occasionally even dwarven hardiness was put to the test. Only so much could be done for someone pinned in a mining accident, after all. A leg rendered halt by such an incurable accident meant an end to mining, but not necessarily to smith-work. It seemed a reasonable assumption of Men, as well.

"You could say that."

He smiles warmly enough before settling back down. Another glance at Gimli, and those rings, and he lets out a single chuckle before nodding.

"I practically live there."

Gimli eases himself back up onto his seat, gaining a few inches of height in the process. "Is that so, now?" he murmurs, clearly delighted. "I'd been hoping to find the Barman here and ask his permission to build one- for all that the Bar can give, it can't get a shoe onto a horse, nor produce real craftsmanship, I'll wager- but I've yet to see hide nor hair of him."

He nods. He doesn't know the Barman, as this is his first night in, and he doesn't know the bar all that well, but he can understand. Producing an item was one thing, but crafting one was quite another. If anyone understood that, it was him.

"What do you need?"

"Something to do," Gimli says frankly. "Seems I've been sent here instead of the regular Hall of my folk after death, and I don't intend to waste my time in idleness. I'd sooner earn my keep learning more of craft and forge-work than the alternatives; it's not as if I'd not done enough of it before."

He peers carefully at Gimli for a moment before speaking.

"You'd care to learn?"

He doesn't exactly offer, yet.

Gimli nods. "It's what we're supposed to do, we Dwarves," he says. "We're meant to wait not in idleness but in the practice of crafts and the learning of deeper lore. Aye, I'd care to learn, if the chance arose."

"Or a master presented himself?"

He's peering at Gimli openly now, making no secret of his speculation.

Sturdy, strong, dedicated...and it might be interesting.

Gimli's eyes narrow; he knows when he's being Looked At, and he has a sense of how these things go. "That, too," he acknowledges. "It'd make the learning easier by far, and doubtless all the better, to have it come from a master who truly knows."

"Have any presented themselves?"

He's not looking so much as now attempting to appear as if he's not looking, but there's a small smile on his face, tiny but there.

"None so far," Gimli says, and someone who was used to faces with a great deal of hair to them might well notice that there's a smile beginning on his as well. "Though I think, perhaps, that might change. Quite soon, in fact."

"Very likely."

He nods. And yes, he notices the smile. He'd learned well to notice Zeus' moods long before they became readily apparent, if only to save himself trouble, and if there were a greater beard through which one might have to look, he didn't know it.

Gimli's smile becomes a bit more evident at that.

"I suppose it'd be only fair for me to offer to buy you a drink, in the meantime," he says.

He raises an eyebrow and finishes up the beer he'd been drinking.

"If you'd care to. I was going to get to the point."

"Ah. Well, in that case, the beer can wait- but I'd take it as a personal favour if you didn't tell any hobbits you met that I'd said that."

He nods...not that he knows what hobbits are. He'd just learned about Ewoks, though, so he figures he'll find out eventually.

"Certainly."

He takes the last bite of his stew before looking to Gimli.

"We're not going to have to be formal, are we?"

Gimli shakes his head. "Wastes time," he says. "Leads to all kinds of trouble in an emergency."

He nods.

"Good. Never much liked formal. Gets in the way."

He looks over to Gimli.

"Agreed, then?"

Gimli hops down from his seat and comes over to where Hephaestos is sitting before sticking out a hand.

"Agreed," he says. "This should be interesting."

He nods and lets out a small chuckle.

"Oh, yes indeed."

And he takes the hand, shaking it firmly.

Then he looks around.

"I don't suppose you can leave this place?"

Because he has a perfectly servicible forge and workshop under Mt. Etna that he wouldn't mind sharing.

"Haven't tried," Gimli says. "I heard the door lock behind me."

It was one of those sounds that speaks more volumes than any mere words could ever manage.

"I suspect, though, that it might not be such a problem were someone else to open the door for me."

He nods.

"We can check that. I'm...assuming you won't have a problem with a workshop inside a mountain? Well...a volcano?"

He's pretty sure...but he wants to check.

"I was born and raised in Erebor, under the Lonely Mountain, as we called it on my world," Gimli says. "It was no fire-mountain, though. Are the walls solid, and the floor?"

He gives Gimli a look, somewhat insulted that the other would think a master smith would live and work with anything less than solid walls and flooring. He's had a long time to make his place in Mt. Etna a home and not only is it sturdy, but it's also comfortable. God or not, after work, he enjoys his comforts as any would.

Gimli just looks back. "The last forge I heard of in a fire-mountain was in one of the chambers where the molten rock was still flowing," he points out. "Sauron had peculiar ideas about what constituted proper engineering."

"He was an idiot."

He doesn't know who Sauron might be, or what kind of a smith he might have been, but the idea of molten rock flowing freely inside of a forge was positively idiotic. How could you set the metal correctly? That sort of thing produced inconsistant heat in the workshop itself and that just wouldn't do. And the sort of heat that would produce for the worker was just...

He actually rolls his eyes.

"No. The lava is well controlled, thank you."

"Thank you," says Gimli, in an aggrieved tone. "Black shadow and enemy of all the free folk of Middle-earth he might've been, but I still don't know how he could've forged that blasted Ring of Power directly over the lava flow of Mount Doom. Honestly, it'd almost be worth it to bring the wretch back from the dead just to find out what he did!"

He then remembers the discussion he's supposed to be having.

"My apologies. It was a subject of some importance to a quest I was once part of. I meant no insult by it."

He nods.

Certainly understandable, that.

But then he starts thinking about it.

"Water, perhaps?"

But that much heat..and the water...it should have warped things...

"Possibly. From what I understand, he made nothing else in that forge but one Ring, and that of such a metal that it could be melted by no lesser fire. Took some years to accomplish, apparently."

"Silly thing to do."

One ring from an entire forge?

"Aye, well-" Gimli wrinkles his nose. "I've learned better than to expect sense from those who think they can conquer all the world."

Sauron was clearly mad anyway. Didn't even try to improve the Orcs.

He nods.

"Idiocy."

Who needs the world? He's happy with the comforts of his forge and as long as no one bothers him or tries to give him trouble, he couldn't want anything less.

"Indeed. We're well quit of him. Would you believe the melting of that Ring of his put an end to him? Sorceror or no, who builds a device like that?" Gimli shakes his head grimly.

"An idiot."

He feels justified in his ascertion.

Gimli nods firmly, agreeing whole-heartedly with the sentiment now that he's got a good century or so between him and Sauron's day. "At any rate- mountain is fine, volcano is fine, massive and complicated cave system is perfectly acceptable, yes."

He nods.

"Somewhat flighty wife?"

He'll not exactly apologize for Aphrodite, but he figures he should mention her. He'll not go into some of his moajor issues with her, since that's best kept between her and himself...

"She usually keeps to her rooms, but..."

He's trying to mention everything.

Gimli's eyebrows go up at that. "So long as she doesn't get in the way when we're working, I doubt there'll be a problem."

Since when do women of any other race show even the slightest trace of interest in the Dwarves?

He snorts.

His wife was the goddess of love and lust. Goodness knew she slept with just about anything but him...the idea of her going after Gimli wasn't quite so far fetched.

But that was bitterness, pure and simple and uncharitable, and he supposed it wasn't even fair at the moment. She'd said she was trying...

"She doesn't."

Since when was she interested in his work?

"Well, then," says Gimli. "If she stays out of my way, I'll stay out of hers; if she bothers me, I'll let her know, and you."

He nods.

"Shall we check the door then?"

Gimli smiles. "Aye, let's," he agrees.

He stands, leaning heavily on his cane before he starts moving. Quick but uneven, his steps bring him to the door, which he opens a moment later. He turns back to Gimli and quirks an eyebrow.

Gimli follows suit; in all likelihood he's no faster than Hephaestos, for all that his legs work as normally as any. His kind were never built for speed, after all.

Since Hephaestos' forge is nowhere in Middle-earth (and, perhaps as importantly, the intent of this journey is in harmony with what his folk are meant to do with their afterlives in the first place), nothing prevents Gimli from passing through that now-opened door.

And Hephaestos closes the door after them.