#young!gimli

[dwarventales]

Lessons

I'm not a native speaker, so I would be very grateful when you point out any mistakes (punctuation, grammar, spelling etc.) to me. Thanks :D

Adadel = father of fathers

“What about these?” Glóin thrust two dark blue gems into Gimli's hands.

His little son sat on his lap and examined them thoroughly, frowning slightly while he turned them around, but after a few moments he smiled in victory. “This is azurite and this is lapis lazuli.”

“And why?” The older dwarf smiled, when the dwarfling frowned again.

“I simply feel it. Why do I have to explain it anyway? Every dwarf with a little stone sense can tell lapis lazuli apart from azurite.” Gimli pouted, clearly confused because of his father's question.

But Glóin just shook his head sorrowfully. “Dwarves do, but men don't. They only see two blue stones and often enough you have to convince them that you don't deceive them. Back in the days when Thror was King under the Mountain the word of a dwarf meant something, but today we have to give proof of our integrity. Smaug took not only our wealth, but our home and dignity.”

Suddenly he felt small fingers in his beard and Gimli snuggled into his chest. “Don't be sad, Adadel. When I'm grown up I will fight against Smaug and kill him and then all the dwarves can return to Erebor. You will see.”

“I know, my lad. You will do great things,” the older dwarf chuckled. “Even the elves will know your name, but until then you have a lot to learn yet.”

[injureddreams]

Sketch 002 This was supposed to be a portrait study and it turned in to a young!Gimli. This is how I picture him younger ahhhhh *rolls*

[gimlilockbearer]

Keep watching over Durin's sons...

The notes were nearly a whisper as Gimli sang, his voice trembling and his eyes gleaming with tears. Forlorn and bitter as he was, he hadn't left his rooms for days, his mother near giving up on her troubled boy.

It had been months since his father, uncle and dear cousins had left the Blue Mountains for Erebor, and Gimli regretted every day that he could not have gone too. If only he'd been just a little older, if only he'd shown his father that he was stronger. But he wasn't, he couldn't. He was left, a mere boy, knowing in his heart that in the shadow of death he would have stood strong for his family - for his people, fear pushed aside for something greater.

But now the fear in his heart grew, every day more certain that news would arrive of the company's failure, their horrible death at the fiery claws of Smaug the Terrible. And Gimli was helpless to it.

What could he do, then?

Pray. That was what his mother told him. Pray to Mahal to keep his father safe. To keep his companions and cousins, Fili and Kili out of harms way. To let the company reign victorious and reclaim a home that Gimli never knew.

And as useless as it seemed, what more could he do?

So he did. He sang. He sang his prayers to Mahal to keep watch over the line of Durin and those who would protect them. He sang until he wept, and until his voice was hoarse. He sang in whispers before he finally lost himself to sleep, his mind filled with the worst of nightmares. And he would keep singing until the day word came outlining the fate of Durin's sons.

-

Oh misty eye of the mountain below, keep careful watch of my brothers' souls, and should the sky be filled with fire and smoke, keep watching over Durin's sons.