Gimli does indeed live at home. He’s got a couple of rooms to himself, but they are within the family apartments. I feel that in a society where you have to carve rooms out of a mountain, it would make more sense for families to stick together a lot! Gimris and Bofur have their own rooms, though.
Moving out at adulthood is a pretty recent Western conceit, and I like to think that Dwarves like to stick close to family. 😀
Gimizh’s pictures are pretty indecipherable at times! His imagination goes at the kind of throttle that his hand can’t quite match!
all three brothers do, in their own ways, come around. Each way is very different. Each is a valid way of self-examining and overcoming internalised prejudice. I am! SO! Happy that you liked that!!! SO HAPPY!
NOPE GIMIZH DOESN’T KNOW – but then, most of the Mirkwood Elves don’t sail at all 😉
Look, we’re all on tenterhooks wondering what will happen with @determamfidd and Sansukh, but it’s fairly safe to say it’s going to end with a wedding feast?
And so, Legolas and Gimli are understandably terrified at the shenanigans that will ensue at said wedding feast, considering their respective relatives but!
They did not count upon the Master Cookie Thief.
Now, really, Gimli should’ve expected shenanigans from his beloved and mischief-loving sister-son but he wasn’t prepared for this level, the kind of shenanigans that would also cause Thranduil Elven-king to have kittens.
And cookie-crumbs on his elegant robes.
Because, really, Thranduil Elven-king was said to be delighted with precious jewels but nobody expected that his true weakness would be discovered and exploited by one clever little dwarven badger of the line of Durin. (Read: Chocolate and Caramel Chip cookies)
Also, Thranduil Elven-king was rendered helpless considering his own son was aiding and abetting the Master Cookie Thief of Erebor in raiding cookie jars under the mountain.
Legolas discovered this for himself when he found cookie-crumbs in Laerophen’s hair!
And thus, Erebor, the Greenwood and Dale were suitably distracted from the “billing and cooing” of newlyweds Legolas and Gimli because they were too busy howling for justice over their depleted cookie jars!
Gimizh plans to raid the Shire next, with his faithful and loyal Elven apprentice. He may have allies in the persons of the young Gamgee children.
EEEP STITCH OMFG
YES YES YES YES AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA – Thranduil shall be seduced to the Cookie side of the Force! JUSTICE FOR OUR DENUDED CAKE TINS, NO JAR LEFT UNFILLED *fistpump*
(LAEROPHEN IS LONG FALLEN LMAO)
oh whoa Gimizh and the Gamgee kids, can you imagine… it’d be like the Pied Piper, except cakes and cookies and pies. The Pie Piper. *snrk*
I love you, dearest, you’ve made me laugh aloud in a tough time. *hugs and hugs* Thank you, your crack is always exactly the medicine the doctor ordered :)))
Hey Nonnie! Yes, it is always okay to ask a question 🙂 I am so sorry I am a slacker when it comes to answering promptly. Nggh. Sorry.
Oooh, okay – that’s a new one! Yes, Thranduil finds relating to Laindawar and Legolas much easier than he does to Laerophen. Laindawar is similar to him in spirit, if not quite so wounded in soul. Legolas is open and giving and merry, and is content in the company of others.
Thranduil absolutely loves Laerophen, absolutely is proud of him and respects him, but they’re very different creatures at heart.
Thranduil is reserved by nature and habit, but he is not an introvert like Laerophen. It would have seemed to him that there was two sides to the child: the one that was at ease, the one that was engrossed and excited when he was living in his books and in his own head, and then the one that was stilted and awkward and clumsy around others, the gawky prince in the public eye, the one that blurted things or stood like a scarecrow when he didn’t quite know how to react.
He would have tried to make Laerophen more at ease, bringing him out of the outward business of royalty as much as possible, giving him small opportunities to practice… but children always and forevermore learn best by example. And so Laerophen took on as many of his father’s mannerisms as he could, as a defence mechanism. We see that best when we first meet Laerophen: how stilted and stiff he is, how poor he is at dealing with so many people. He is unnaturally cool at first, and – every so often – he blurts something a little ridiculous. He gets into stupid arguments with Bomfris, he allows Dain to take the lead, to act as though he is older that Laerophen is. He is NOT COMFORTABLE. But he’s trying desperately to put on a veneer of ease and calm and elegance. (it doesn’t work)
Even so, Laerophen is still better at relating to others than Laindawar is. Laindawar retreated to his forest trails and his swordscraft, where Laerophen loved his books and following the path of his inner thoughts. Laerophen has learned to relax a little and be himself more naturally with others, possibly through the unquestioning approval of a scamp of a Dwarf child. He even gathers the courage to speak out against his family on one memorable issue :)))
yes, Laerophen is more confident now! He’s taken his own measure, both as a friend and a defender, and discovered that there is more in him than he realised. It is a good feeling!
Thranduil isn’t grateful to the Dwarves of Erebor yet – not even for standing between his forests and the Orcs of Gundabad and the Northern Wastes. He’s a little preoccupied by the whole ‘LEGOLAS AND WHATTHEWHATTHEWHAT’ situation at this point.
But he is most definitely noticing that his awkward giraffe of a second son is more comfortable in his skin amongst the Dwarves of Erebor than anywhere in his own kingdom. (the scene in the recent sneak-peek confirmed and drove this point home!)
Thranduil was apparently lounging indolently in his chair,
his hands long and graceful where they fell over the carved stone arms.
“Very little, Adar,” Laindawar said with a scowl. “They will
not answer my questions. The sister, Gimris, has nothing positive to say of her
brother at all. And if she who is his sister has naught but scorn to share,
what more can we expect of others? What has our Legolas tied himself to?”
Thranduil’s eyes did not flicker, but his jaw rippled. “I
see.”
“The King has mentioned this Gimli’s skill at arms,”
Thranduil continued, his voice smooth. “That is not small praise in a kingdom
of warriors.”
“His sister tells me he is nothing but muscle-bound idiocy,”
Laindawar said. His fists bunched at his side. “She will not answer any of my very
reasonable questions, and I fear their answers may be terrible. A Dwarf that
will not comb his hair! And a Dwarf of the Line of Durin besides: you know
their curse as well as I. I dread to think what has become of our brother, what
this Gimli will do to him. You know how they are about their treasures…”
Beside him, Laerophen let out a soft snort.
Thranduil tipped his head. “Something to add, ionneg?”
Laerophen started under the sudden attention, and drew
himself up to his full towering, gawky height, shifting between his feet. “Well,
yes… may I speak frankly?”
“I will have nothing less from you, my son,” said Thranduil,
but his gaze softened as he looked upon his secondborn.
“Are you senseless?”
Thranduil’s face, once again, did not change. Laindawar’s
head snapped to his brother, and he glared like a thunderstorm.
“Perhaps you have been manipulated by your long captivity,”
Laindawar began, stiffly.
“I am not captive,
and never was!” Laerophen pinched his nose, and took a deep breath. “I have
lived amongst them. I know them! By
the stars, honeg nin, you attack Gimris with question after question while she works? As though
it is her role in life to answer you? And you wonder why she snaps and growls
and stalks away!”
“Then by all means, enlighten us as to their ways,”
Thranduil said, before Laindwar could explode into furious debate.
“The Lady Gimris is the worst one to ask about her brother,”
Laerophen said, and he launched into motion, stalking across the room and
moving his hands in agitation. “These folk, they mock and tease easily: you
must learn to find the laughter and care under the words. And do not talk of the curse
of the line of Durin in their very halls! You know as well as I do that it has
faded to naught with the stench of dragon and the loss of the Dwarf-ring. Yet
still you would name a Dwarf greedy without ever having met him? I despair that
I thought as you did, once.”
“Who would you suggest we speak to?” Thranduil said, cutting
over the spluttering coming from Laindawar’s direction.
“You would do better to speak to her son, or to Gloin.”
Laerophen then winced. “Well, when you can bear to be in the same room as him,
and he you. Dwalin son of Fundin was his teacher, and the singer Baris
Crystaltongue was his sister’s dearest friend. He has called the Princess Dis ‘aunt’
since his young childhood, I understand. He is dear to her. And most importantly, Mizim, his
mother – she is a calmer soul than her husband, and a wise one. She has spoken
to me of her son, and I deem that Gimli is a fit match for our brother.”
“A mother’s love may distort many a vice into a virtue,” Laindawar
retorted.
“You in your wisdom just told me that his own sister thought him a covetous thug: I would not trust my insight,
if I were you,” Laerophen snapped.
“Peace, my sons,” Thranduil said, and he leaned forward.
“Tell me what his mother said.”
Laerophen gave Laindawar a last cross glare, before he
turned back to his father. “He is honest to a fault – often honest beyond the
bounds of politeness,” he said. “He is brave, foolhardily so. He has a poet’s tongue,
and loves to sing. He is gracious in both victory and defeat, though he is not
overfond of losing – I understand he is fiercely competitive. His sense of
humour tends to wordplay and jesting. And lastly, he is loyal beyond all sense.”
“Is he a fair warrior?” Laindawar demanded. His face was
still mottled, his eyes flashing with resentment.
“He’s only the best warrior
since Dwalin, dumbface,” came a small mutter from the door. It would have been
inaudible to any but Elven ears.
Laerophen froze, his mouth hanging ajar.
“Who spies upon us?” Laindawar said, and he reached for his
sword hanging at his side.
“Oh, Elbereth.” Laerophen closed his eyes for a moment. “Gimizh?”
There was a tiny squeak, and some shuffling from beyond the
heavy door.
Thranduil stood in a flowing movement, crossing to the door
with his robes sweeping behind him. He flung it open, and stared down with icy
eyes. “Who is this?”
“Gimizh, what are you doing here?” Laerophen said wearily.
“Cleaning the doorknob,” Gimizh said, his small face
defiant.
“An untruth,” Thranduil said, his voice low and silky.
“Your small shadow reappears,” Laindawar remarked to
Laerophen, who shook his head.
“Were you looking for me?”
“I was cleaning the doorknob, and if a fellow overhears
fings when he’s cleaning doorknobs, that’s not his fault,” Gimizh said to
Thranduil, crossing his chubby little arms and tipping up his head. “You were
takin’ too long,” he added to Laerophen. “There’s cake tonight: Barur’s started
the pastry ovens again at last!”
“That sounds like a fine adventure, but you should not
eavesdrop on private conversations,” Laerophen said, crossing to Gimizh and
dropping to his haunches to put a gentle hand upon the Dwarfling’s shoulder. “Your
mother shall be cross.”
“When is his mother not cross,” muttered Laindawar.
“You shouldn’t say nasty stuff about people either, but he does it lots,” Gimizh snapped back,
jerking his head towards Laindawar. “First my uncle Gimli, and then my mum!”
“That is true,” Thranduil said. His eyebrow was ever so
slightly lifted, giving him a faintly quizzical air. “Then you should apologise
for eavesdropping, and my son shall apologise for his rudeness.”
“Fine,” Gimizh grumbled. “Sorry for accident’ly listening to
things.”
Laindawar opened and shut his mouth, and then he inclined
his head. “I am sorry for speaking ill of your family.”
“Pfft, you don’t know anything anyway,” Gimizh said, tossing
his head. His curved braids bounced. “S’not your fault you’re so ignant.”
Laerophen frowned, and hazarded a guess. “Ignorant?”
“Means that he doesn’t know anything,” said Gimizh. Innocent
helpfulness oozed from every pore.
“I…” Laindawar began, and then subsided with a sniff.
“Gimli is your uncle,” Thranduil said, the words slow and
measured. “Child, are you close to him?”
Gimizh glanced at Laerophen, who squeezed his arm. “We seek
to learn more of him,” he said. “My brother has become attached to him, you
see, and we would know what manner of person he is.”
Gimizh looked horrified. “Your brother!?”
“No, my other brother,”
Laerophen rushed to say, and Gimizh blew out a massive breath, his shoulders
slumping dramatically.
Laindawar growled. Wordlessly, Thranduil passed him a goblet
of wine.
“Din’t know you had another brother,” Gimizh said. “Can I
come in? The doorknob’s really clean now.”
“I am sure it is,” Thranduil murmured. “In you come, child.”
Gimizh scurried in and clung to Laerophen’s side. As the
Elvenking turned and re-took his seat, the Dwarfling poked a small pink tongue
out at Laindawar.
“Now that is rude,”
Laerophen said, and prodded him gently.
“Then we’re even,” said Gimizh, with lofty dismissal.
Laindawar gripped his wine tightly, and tipped back half the
glass.
Thranduil arranged his robe around his feet, and then
studied Gimizh for a silent second. Then he said once more, “are you close to
your uncle?”
“Yep,” said Gimizh. “Oooh, you’ve got grapes! Can I have
some?”
“Would you please,” Laindawar said, stressing the ‘please’
with biting sarcasm, “tell us of him?”
“He’s big an’ strong and has a fluffy red beard,” Gimizh
said, his eyes darting over to the bowl of grapes upon the table. “I got a doll
of him.”
“Then you love him,” Thranduil said, his head tipping
forward to eye the child intently.
Gimizh only rolled his eyes. His mouth was full as he spoke
next. “He’s my uncle Gimli. He’s the best fighter in the whole mountain, and I’m
not allowed to touch his things while he’s away. He tells good stories.
Sometimes he chases me an’ Wee Thorin an’ Balinith through the Mountain, or
plays hidey with us. I cut my shin on his axe that I accident’ly borrowed one
time, an’ he was a bit mad, but he really wasn’t because Uncle Gimli dun get
mad at me ever. He was only
pretending because he was afraid. Mum does that too. I like his axes, an’ they
were Grandpa’s. Uncle Gimli told me he would give them to me one day. But he also said that I shouldn’t take things
that weren’t mine, an’ that I shouldn’t do everything that pops into my head
without telling anyone. But since he went on a big important Quest without
telling anyone, I think that’s a bit unfair. Adults are like that though.”
“I see,” Thranduil said, and his mouth twitched.
“He still calls me ‘pebble’ sometimes, which isn’t fair
either since I’m a big dwarrow now,” Gimizh said, and shrugged a little. Another grape disappeared with the swipe of a
small slightly-grubby hand. “If he catches you when you’re playing hidey, he blows
raspberries on your tummy to make you laugh. He knows lots of songs, and
sometimes he makes them up on the spot! I’m gonna make up songs too. But Mum
barks at us when I sing any of Uncle Gimli’s mining songs, because they have naughty
things in them sometimes. Da only laughs until he chokes, but then, Da’s a
miner too.”
“You… do? I mean, he is?”
Gimizh nodded importantly – and snatched up a grape. “S’what
Uncle Gimli said to me once. He was a miner back in Ered Luin. I never been to
Ered Luin, and Grandpa says it was hard there. Uncle Gimli doesn’t say much
about it. I reckon it’s good we’re not there anymore, an’ Da can be a
shopkeeper and Uncle Gimli can be a warrior now. I bet he’s killed a billionty
orcs. Is your brother on the quest too??”
“Yes, that is where they met,” Laindawar said.
“Oh.” Gimizh screwed up his face as he chewed, and then
swallowed. “Is he rude?”
“Ah…when it is warranted,” said Thranduil. His eyes were
glassy.
“Mum’s rude to Uncle Gimli all the time, and he’s rude right
back at her,” Gimizh said with a wicked little grin. His hand darted from the
bowl to his pocket. “She calls Uncle Gimli a fathead and a troll, and he calls
her a goblin and a prissy Elf! She’d blister my ears if I ever said that! They’re
brother an’ sister, but I don’t got a brother or sister or sibling. I got Wee
Thorin, but he can knock me on my backside so I don’t call him a fathead. But I
seen Uncle Gimli punch another fellow right in the teeth – wham! Just like
that! – for calling my Mum names. So I don’t think they’re really meaning those
words at all: I think they mean something else. Something nicer.”
“You asked for this,” Laerophen murmured to Thranduil, who
was starting to look a little fixed.
Sliiiightly intentional, let me assure you! :))) i may have Plans *cough*Thranduil
However, Legolas was not a small mischievous mayhem machine with inclinations towards petty theft and tall tales. Gimizh is very proud of his reputation! The Terror of Erebor comes by his name honestly (it’s the only thing he comes by honestly, lmao)
They do have their imaginations, their energy, and their endless curiosity in common!
My kid!Legolas was, though, totally and completely and WORRYINGLY FEARLESS. He has, quite frankly, no sense of personal danger. To him, the world is wonderful and glorious and benevolent, and he cannot be harmed by it. Leap into river without knowing the depth? sure! Launch self through the air from tree to tree, trying to emulate a squirrel? Hells yes! Throw self backwards off a moving platform without knowing what is behind you? Did it yesterday. Twice. Stick arm in that hollow tree without knowing what is nesting in it? YOLO.
tbh, if kid!Legolas had ever (by some miracle of time travel) met Gimizh… a teeny criminal mastermind with endless ENDLESS ideas for mischief meets a teeny daredevil with no brakes and a competitive streak… can you imagine. No. No.
also: AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA WHOOPS, bad move Thranduil! He would completely regret that mistake! AHH HOW DO I MAKE HIM STOP TALKING ABOUT HIS UNCLE GIMLI, OH ELBERETH HELP ME IT NEVER ENDS…
lmao Gimris adds it to the (ever-lengthening) list of things to smack Gimli for, when he finally gets his arse home.
Aw Yiss 