milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

A wizard is never late. Nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to.

Which is why the front door opens at this precise moment, letting in Gandalf the Grey.

He goes to the bar and has a seat, and begins to fill his pipe.

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"As well as any forge can be that isn't atop a vein of ores," Gimli says. "I had help in near every aspect of building the place, from digging the foundation-pit to raising the stones of the walls. Seems there's a need for such work despite the Bar's powers of bestowal- which, more oft than not, is where the metal comes from." He wrinkles his nose. "When I can, I ask the metal of those who come looking for a piece to be made. I've no quarrel with the Bar, but it seems cheating somehow to simply ask for a thing and ahve it done."

"To ask for a thing and have it done -- what do you mean?"

"Metal," Gimli says grimly, "ought not to be had simply through magic, like so-" He touches the bar. "An ingot of iron, if you would be so kind?"

And there it is.

Gimli picks up the ingot and shakes it at Gandalf. "Real as it might be, solid as it might be, it still goes against the grain to admit that stuff spun out of nowhere at all is as fit for the making of swords and armour as iron won from the rocks by pick and toil and smelting."

"If I may?" Gandalf holds out his hand, and examines it closely...and hands it back.

"I would be inclined to agree. At the very least it is more satisfying to see an entire product won through entirely by one's own sweat and craftsmanship -- though certainly you would be more qualified to speak as to the quality of the work." He bows his head, a deferential gesture.

Gimli accepts the ingot back. "I've no objection to using it, if I must. It's not as if I've got other dwarves hereabouts to mine the hills out back- and I rather doubt there's much worth mining there based on what I saw when we cut the foundation stones out. I would still rather begin with the work of my hands, or the hands of someone I knew."

With a sigh he tucks the ingot into a bag at his belt. "It matters little. There's more to be done than I have time to complain about-" He pauses, glancing up at the wizard thoughtfully.

"Were you aware that at the moment, to my knowledge, this place is playing host to at least two of the Valar?"

His eyebrows rise.

A lot.

"I was not."

Gimli nods. "I fear it's so," he says, "and it makes matters... interesting, I think, is the safest way to put it. Given that one of them is Námo, and the other, Morgoth..." He shakes his head. "What next? What use do the Powers have for a bar?"

Gandalf's face is set.

More so than usual.

"I could not tell you. But I fear it is nothing good."

"Indeed," Gimli mutters darkly. "I have small patience for such games as the Enemy might choose to play, should he for some reason be bound by the rules. As for the other, I have taken a commission to work a thing in gold and mithril for him, but beyond that I've not seen him since. Which is, I think, as it should be. There are others here, from worlds beyond our own- worlds that have Dwarves as well as Men. Seems we've the same reputation for craft and skill wheresoever we arise."

A smile touches his eyes; the rest of the expression is hard to make out through that mass of beard and mustache. "As there's small use for treasure here beyond payment for my drink and board, I've taken to asking for the lore of these other Dwarves in payment. It might, I think, come in useful one day."

"It might indeed." With approval, and appreciation. "And even if it does not...a good tale is a thing much to be appreciated."

"That it is," says Gimli, "that it is. Should you have the chance to meet him, there's a fellow named Zedd- wizard in his own world- with a talent for tales, and a greater for music. Reminds me of you a bit, if you don't mind my saying so."

"Music is not one of my talents." Pause. "As you might remember."

Pause.

"...or as you likely do remember." He shakes his head. "This place."

"As I do remember," Gimli confirms. "It's other things about him that have that effect, I assure you..."

He thinks for a moment, glancing towards the rear door.

"Ill-mannered though it might be, I fear I've got to ask your leave for the evening. I'd meant to stop in here for a smoke and a proper drink before setting the forge in order for the morning's work."

"Certainly, Gimli."

And Gandalf smiles.

"Go well. And no doubt we will meet again."

Gimli bows. "My thanks, Gandalf," he says. "Well met, and fare well until the next time!"

And he's gone.

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