"So…you and the Captain seem to be good friends," Gimli muttered, attempting to break the uncomfortable silence as Ree led the newcomers down to what she had told them were the crew's quarters, where they would be sleeping and spending any of the time that they were not keeping the ship in full working condition, eating sparse meals in the galley, or taking shifts at night. Ree let her gaze slip from the blank stare she was giving the nothingness in front of her to the Dwarf at her side.

"Aye," she replied stiffly. Silence caught the end of her speech and enveloped them once more. "It is just that…being the only woman on board makes one the victim of some cruel joke of humanity. Most of the gentlemanly mates treat me as one of their own, simply another sailor, another set of eyes, another pair of strong arms. However, there are those that think that my position as a woman means that I must be a siren at night."

"Pardon?" Legolas had not heard of the term.

"Sirens are women of the sea that lure sailors to their deaths by the power of seduction. In the Elder Days they were much afeard by any crew that sailed out to open waters. Crowfoot would very much like to expose my supposed affair with our Captain. He's a dirty man if there ever was one, but unfortunately, the rumor has spread around due to his position as the First Mate. And he also sees my wanting his job as a way to get closer to the Captain, not to dethrone the slimy git."

"Slimy git?"

"It is a good insult, Master Elf."

"A quick question, and I do not mean to intrude, but what are the other sailors like? I simply hope that they are the agreeable sort."

Leading them down a set of stairs that descended steeply from the center body of the ship into the dim greyness that swallowed everything it touched, a room filled with empty barrels of ale and dried food, Ree answered him, her voice lilting upwards with each step she took. The stairs were dangerous things for two land-lubbers who had not yet even mastered walking flat-footed on the deck of the Mist Star.

"They are all pleasant folk, although a bit strange. Everyone on board here is strange, Master Elf, as I truly hope you have noticed. The crew may be a bit hesitant to accept either one of you, but trust is something that must be earned amongst us, not something that is just handed off and given away."

Beneath the deck of the ship was an entirely different world. Everything was shaded in a fuzzy brown light as though the place had been completely covered in walnut stain. Small lanterns let off a small glow into darkened space like they would in a cave completely carved and shaped of wood. That is what the below decks area of the ship reminded Legolas of. Gimli was fondly brought back to the cramped mining tunnels of the dwarves, filled with the deep rumbling tones of fellow miners working in harmony among rivers of underground gold and cavern pools that were disturbed only by the occasional drip of water falling from the razor point of a stalactite as thick around as a stout man.

There was that same chatter here, and the wood gave way to the sound of water coming in contact with the thick pitch-slathered and barnacle-encrusted bottom of the ship. The voices were high and low, thin and reedy and deep like the bass of the great sounding of a war horn. Laughter of all varying kinds followed thick and open without shame. A few more feet into the darkness was a roughly hewn wooden door with a heavy bolt and knocker that looked like some godly hand had taken an iron bar and bent it into the rough shape of a circle.

Without even bothering to knock, Ree shouldered the unlocked door open with a muted grunt to a large musty room full of an abundance of men. They came in all shapes and sizes, from tall and broad to short and thin-limbed, palest of pale skin to that which blended in with the dimness of the room, only lit by a few sparse oil lamps. One thing was common amongst them, though: the steely glint of adventure's fire kindling in their curious gazes as they took in their visitors.

"I will leave you two to get acquainted," Ree muttered, and exited the crew's quarters. She was careful to shut the door behind herself. Silence met the fading sound of her retreating footsteps. Both Dwarf and Elf were under the strong impression that they were being judged. The way that they were scrutinized from head to toe was disconcerting, and both could only hope that they would pass inspection. An old dark-skinned man stepped forwards before all of the rest, rising from an overturned bucket that he had used as a stool. It was the best sort of furniture one could find on board the ship, other than roughly carved chairs that were more inclined to stick splinters into the seated person's behind than provide any sort of comfort. The skin was not loose on his limbs, but crinkled at the corners of his eyes. Wrinkles transformed the topography of his face. The old man pursed his wide lips.

"Yer names." A command. This was the crew leader, not Crowfoot, if personal incentive and physical presence defined that role. Despite his age, the man was tall, and his eyes were wise.

"Legolas," relayed said Elf.

"Gimli," the Dwarf ground out. The old man inspected them with interest.

"An Elf an' a Dwarf. It's been many a year since I've seen one o' yer kind. Name's Jasher." He stuck out a hand for the newcomers to shake. The corner of his mouth twitched when he felt the roughness of Legolas' hand, not at all expecting the skin to have formed its own armor on one so young, especially one of the Fair Folk. It was natural for a Dwarf to have roughened hands, but not an Elf. Jasher raised an eyebrow at this discovery but said nothing of it. "If Ree trusts ye, then yer good enough fer me ter trust."

There were about a dozen men in the room that all stepped forwards at once to greet the new crew members.

"What be yer purpose fer sailing out here with us?" Jasher inquired. "It's plenty obvious tha' neither o' ye have sea legs." As if on cue, Legolas stumbled over his own feet. It was like the waves below were holding a personal grudge against him. Growling slightly at his plight, he fought to right himself once more. Gimli was a bit more fortunate because of his compact weight, but when toppled, he not only stumbled, but was at the risk of rolling around like a boulder. He was certainly heavy and disagreeable enough.

There were all sorts of names, some foreign and others common to the lands whence the Elf and Dwarf came, but all of the voices were different. They were merrier and stronger in some strange way, Legolas preferred their open nature and guarded hearts to his own people. He always had been an oddity. Gimli felt right at home as he greeted these men in the dimly lit belly of the ship, as their brotherhood was a strong reminiscent of the brotherhood of the fellowship. With a twinge of sadness, he recalled his true Dwarven brothers. With what he had already seen in these men, though, he was certain that he would feel right at home. He could only hope that Legolas felt the same way. What was truly odd was their friendship. Stone and greenery, fire and water, black and white, thick and thin, they were opposites in nearly every single connotation of the word. And they couldn't have cared less.

The match was perfect, as had been the old phrase that 'opposites attract'. The tall and nimble Elf was paired wonderfully with the stout and thickly built Dwarf. Gimli's father had not been very compliant when he heard the news of the friendship from reliable gossipers—the scullery Dwarf maids when he ordered a pint of strong mead one afternoon—and the news had elicited the same result from Legolas' father, the Woodland King Thranduil. Now the misfits were fitting in for once among their own kind. The ship was crewed by a small army of misfits.

They shook their own hands with those of many others so that they soon lost track of all the names that jumbled together. All of the handshakes were firm, though, which was a good trustworthy sign in a crewmate.

"So Ree trusts you then?" chimed a shorter wiry fellow with curly red-brown hair and a bit of a brogue to his charming voice as Legolas shook his hand.

"I—I suppose she does, yes," he replied with a startled air. "She let me on board and hasn't yet attempted shoving me over the rail, so I suppose that we have some basic foundation of mutual trust." The eyes of the curly-haired youth glittered with mirth.

"She pushed Crowfoot over once, actually," the youth snickered. "Right hellish mad he was, a bit of a fiery demonic madman for a week towards all of us after that. By the stars, it was worth it though. It was when we were docked at another port to do some trading with the locals, and he had said something that finally caused her to crack. Mind you, he provoked her, and many a time before, although she always turned the other cheek like a proper gentleman would. Eventually, everyone has their breaking point, though, and Crowfoot was the unlucky recipient of that spitfire's full-blown rage. It was quite a sight, too, watching a woman throw such a mighty punch and then haul the idiot overboard. He fell right into the harbor like an unpleasant stone. It was rather glorious. 'Twas probably his first bath in a little over a decade."

Legolas wrinkled his nose at the mere thought of the man's stench. "Probably. What's your name?"

The youth grinned, flashing his teeth. "Roderick. My best mate's the fellow that calls himself Thistle over there—" He waved at the tall ginger man who was currently shaking Gimli's hand fervently. "—whose previous name no one knows. He's the one that I am closest with on this ship, but the longer you stay on, the more like brothers you all become."

"Except for Crowfoot." Legolas noted the bitter look that came to Roderick's eyes.

"He's not our brother, not after we got to know him. Especially, that is, after he began slandering the Captain behind his back. Benedict is a fine man, but the one thing that a captain must not have on his ship is a traitorous soul in a high position. He does not have to worry about mutiny though in the slightest, because everyone hates Crowfoot. That much is a given. In my opinion, he does not favor waking up in the middle of the night with his throat slit by the only bloke that has the keys." Roderick's cheerful expression soured a couple of degrees. "But enough about us; tell me about where you come from, being an Elf and all. Must be fascinating. Me? All I've really ever seen is my mother's womb, and this here ocean." He gestured to the ship's wall. Legolas let out a short laugh. His legs were a fraction steadier below decks than above.

"Nothing exciting, to tell you the truth," he relayed with a sigh.

"You're an Elf, for heaven's sake!" Roderick shot back. His emerald eyes glinted with a yearning for knowledge. "There has to be something."

"Yes," Legolas sighed again. "There is something, there is nothing, there is everything. An Elf has everything and nothing all at once, I suppose. We live forever, yet we can die of a wound to the heart."

"In what way do you mean?" The observation was an intelligent one. The youth was obviously good at gauging emotions and digging up the hidden meanings behind words.

"Wounds gained in battle against Men and the blade, and wounds from the grieving of a broken heart. Elven hearts are like precious glass surrounded by steel and stone. They are seldom broken, but the smallest fracture is guaranteed to cause the entire vessel to shatter."

Roderick contemplated that last statement. His brow furrowed, and he pursed his lips. "You are very different from the people you describe, Legolas," he said at last. "I have heard tell that the Elves are a cold and distant people, and at least now I know why. It is rather funny how we often end up hurting others in order to protect ourselves, is it not? But you're far more open than the others. You have a big heart, Master Elf, and I would warrant that something so weathered from much wear is not made of glass."

A smile crept onto Legolas' features. "I think that you have a point there, Roderick. No, the stronger hearts are made of hardier things than fragile crystal." He took in the emerald of his newfound friend's eyes, and decided that the gem was no longer so breakable. The emeralds were as hard as diamonds.