Urrrrgh. I have a few? Soooo, here we go! In no particular order:
“Too many elves.”
“I am hilarious.”
“If you are about to think in any way that what happened to you was your fault, any more than what happened to this Man was his fault, I will strike you so hard you will think you’re swimming in Gimlîn-zâram for eternity,” he growled. “You didn’t ask to be sick, Thorin. He didn’t ask to be sick either. Nobody asks to be sick.”
“This is no time to wait around an’ watch Thorin have feelings.”
“But I made you a pen.”
“Thank you for the conversation.”
“I am too tired for revenge. Know that it will be swift and merciless.”
“No curse on your family that I should know about, is there?” Gimli said, forcing a wan smile.
“Nay,” Legolas said. “Upon yours?”
“Several,” Gimli said with wry humour. “I am of Durin’s line, after all.”
Gimli chuckled. “My father once told me that there were seven meals a day for Hobbits. Is it true?”
Pippin’s eyes lit up and he sat down opposite Gimli, sticking his thumbs into his weskit in an important manner. “Now, there are two schools of thought on that,” he said, nodding solemnly. “Some, the more enlightened, believe that there should be upwards of seven meals. Why, what if you get peckish between Second Breakfast and Elevensies? What if you wake up in the middle of the night with turkey sandwiches on your mind? What if supper is not really satisfying the first time around, so you want to give it another chance?”
“We are an ancient race, made by Mahal in the days before the Elves awoke,” said Gimli stiffly. “He longed for companionship, and so he made creatures other than himself and taught them to speak. The One who made all else discovered us, and told Mahal that his creatures were not wanted. And so we are not wanted, not understood, forever apart from the other races of the world.”
Sam’s mouth dropped open. “Now, that’s cruel, plain cruel,” he muttered.
“T’is the way of things,” Gimli said, and tapped the embers from his pipe on his heavy boot. “We will be granted a place in the music at the end of all things, for so we were promised. But until then, we are not wanted and we know it.” He looked up at the Elf defiantly. “There are some who delight in reminding us. Still, what are we to do about it? Cease to exist? No. All things yearn to become. Even the meanest of stones strives, and Dwarves know it better than any.”
“Does it ever make you angry?” asked Frodo quietly.
Gimli nodded his bright head. “Aye, sometimes. But what use is anger? We were made strong to endure. And so we do.”
He lifted his other hand and allowed it to drift through the wispy white spiderweb of Bilbo’s hair. “I am glad you grew old,” he said in a low voice. “Whatever the reason, I am glad one of us did. Still, I find I hate that you grew old without me. Would you laugh at my grey beard, I wonder? Would we barricade ourselves against each winter, wrapping ourselves in your quilts and complaining about our bones? Would we grow more alike as time passed; my mannerisms becoming yours, your words becoming mine?”
Bilbo’s lips moved, and Thorin sighed soundlessly. “Fruitless to wonder. Still. How I wish, Master Burglar. How I wish.”
“I will see her again,” Kíli said, and he beamed once more, his heart as light as air. “Who cares about the years in between? With a hope like that, I could move Taniquetil pebble by pebble! I could swim the sundering seas! I could eat a whole bowl of salad! I will see Tauriel again!”
“Stop being weird.”
Dáin smiled again, and the smile was very wistful and soft. “Thirty-two, I was. D’you know that?” he said, more quietly than he had ever spoken before. “Only thirty-two, just a wee little lad. The doors of Durin closed on my knee, and that was that – shattered, lost for good. There wasn’t medicine enough, and the sawbones was no gentle Gimrís, let me tell you. And then lords that are yet living, they stride through the blood and that sweet-sickly smell of burning bodies to bow down to that half-delirious little lad of thirty-two, and demand orders. They tell me that my father and my mother are dead. Well done, Dáin-lad, you’re a hero – lost a foot, but a hero. Oh, and you’re an orphan, incidentally. And we can’t call you ‘lad’ anymore, though you’re still half a child – you’re the Lord now that your whole family is butchered and burned. Sorry about your foot, by the way, but we’re sure you’ll get used to it in no time. The tally? Nobody knows. The wounded are beyond counting, and winter is coming on. Food? There is none. So, what do we do now, m’Lord?”
She kissed his forehead, and then pushed it back down upon his pillow with one finger. “Sleep,” she said firmly. “Or I shall sit here and reminisce about your babyhood until you do.”
He shut his eyes hurriedly, and then he scowled as he heard her soft laughter. “You are a tremendously cruel Dwarrowdam, grandmother,” he grated.
She blew out the candles and stood. Her hand rested on his brow comfortingly for a moment. “Yes, dear. I know,” she said gently.
Bifur beamed at them, pushing away from Thorin and exclaiming, “Lads! Fíli, Kíli, shamukh ra ghelekhur aimâ, how wonderful it is to see you!”
“Good to see you too,” Kíli told him, pulling him to his feet.
“Be even better if we hadn’t seen so much of you,” Fíli mumbled. Bifur simply laughed and tugged the boys into a hug, throwing his arms around their necks and holding on tightly.
Thrór glanced between the fuming, tense Elf and the old King, alone in the room but for the silent shape of Orla at the doors. “Well,” said Dáin cheerfully. “Now that all the emotional young people have gone, what would you say to a cup o’ wine?”
Laerophen frowned down at Dáin for a moment, before he sat abruptly. “Please. Please.”
“I am reliably informed that no one is perfect,” Thorin said, “though if you tell anyone I shall be forced to kill you.”
Frerin chuckled. “Oh, Thorin. D’you think there’s actually anyone who didn’t already know?”
“We’re goin’ to regret this, you mark my words,” he said under his breath. “As sure as eggs is eggs!”
“Samwise Gamgee, I name you an honorary Dwarf for extreme practicality and foresight,” Fíli muttered, and he resigned himself to more climbing as the moon slowly slipped through the sky, disappearing behind them as they made their halting way east.
“No!” Bilbo said hotly. “That’s a dreadful thing to say! Just imagine, throwing yourself away for a silly thing like love – piffle and tommyrot! Aragorn might be quite a remarkable fellow, but he’s hardly the only one around. Why, the world is full of remarkable fellows, if they’re to your taste. For goodness’ sake! You’re too remarkable yourself to go about pining to death!”
“Ghivasha. No wonder of this world, not even the Crown of Durin, was worth your life,” he said quietly. The taller Dwarrow glanced down at Frár, let out a bitter gust of breath and then turned back to where Gimli stood with Frodo.
Thorin opened his new, useless eyes and glared into the darkness. “Then why, may I ask, did you make me so flawed?”
“You have become a far better rider, Gimli,” Thorin said, trying to break the uncomfortable silence.
“Aye, well, it was that or fall off,” Gimli grunted.
aaaaaand, i am sort of quietly proud of all the songs – in particular The Song of Beginnings ( muchymozzarella‘s version here, notanightlight‘s version here)
and
The Iron Hills Soldiers’ Song ( notanightlight‘s version here and on lap harp here, MY version – gulp – here, renioferebor‘s version here, flamesburnonthemountainside‘s version here, and nukkelapsi‘s Finnish version here!)
So yeah, there’s some moments I actually thought I did pretty well.
I’d love to know which bits of the fic have stayed with other people!
EDIT: so, some honourable mentions that people have put forward!
“Am I so ugly to your eyes?/Then you find me fair?”
Ori’s death
Dain’s death
“I Sit Beside the Fire and Think.”
Gimizh, Laerophen and the stolen cookie/the dance of the forge
Aw Yiss 