Author's Notes: Firstly, many thanks to Nieriel Raina, who provided some wonderful beta editing despite a very busy schedule. She is amazing! Secondly, Happy Birthday (belated), Docmon! This story is for her. She also deserves credit for a very early beta edit almost a year ago when I first wondered about doing a story like this. Docmon looked through a rough draft of the first chapter and gave me some great ideas. And with that, I leave you to read and hopefully enjoy!

Gimli: "It still sounds absurd, even now that all has turned out more than well. I knew Thorin, of course; and I wish I had been there, but I was away at the time of your first visit to us. And I was not allowed to go on the quest; too young, they said, though at sixty-two I thought myself fit for anything. Well, I am glad to have heard the full tale. If it is full. I do not really suppose that even now you are telling us all you know."

Gandalf: "Of course not."

—Unfinished Tales: "The Quest of Erebor"

The moment his pony set foot in the entry cavern, Gimli knew that something was different. There was an expectant feeling in the air. This feeling did not lend itself to excitement or celebration, but neither did it evoke fear or unease. Rather, it was as though the dwarves of the Blue Mountains waited for something, and they did not yet know if this something boded good or ill.

Frowning, Gimli swung down from his pony and led the beast to one side as the trade wains filed in behind him. From the passage leading to the First Hall, a steady stream of dwarves pushed their way into the spacious entry cavern to greet the returning wains. Many were merchants, eager to see the wares for which they had traded. Others were tasked with caring for the ponies or unloading the wains. Casting his eyes over all who had come forth to greet them, Gimli searched for someone who might be able to tell him what was causing this expectant hum, and at length, his gaze rested on Kili. Gimli looked no further. Neither Fili nor Kili had ever been able to mask their emotions, and Kili's current expression indicated that he was bursting with news.

As one of the trading party's guards, Gimli's duties dictated that he remain with the wains until all the goods had been delivered, the animals seen to, and the trading party itself disbanded. But at sixty-two, Gimli's responsibilities were minor, and the strange mood buzzing through those assembled was so unsettling that Gimli decided he could spare a few minutes to talk to Kili. Handing his pony off to a convenient stable hand, Gimli made straight for Kili, who turned toward him as though drawn by Gimli's intent stare.

"Gimli!" Kili cried out. "You arrived sooner than we had expected. By my reckoning, you should still be a week away at the least!"

"The snow melted quickly this year and the roads were open," Gimli answered. "Nír felt that we should make an early start for home."

"I am glad you did, for it is good to see you again! I know that your father will also be pleased to see you."

"And I him," Gimli said, his eyes narrow. Kili was fairly dancing with excitement, which puzzled Gimli greatly. It did not match the uncertainty of the dwarves that milled around them.

"Glóin would be here to greet you if he could, but Thorin is holding a council with the elders and gave orders that he was not to be disturbed. Thorin is having a…" Kili paused and looked about before lowering his voice. "Thorin is having a bit of a dragon day," he confessed. "Though it would be more accurate to say a dragon month. I doubt the sentries will risk his wrath to inform the council of your return."

The puzzle grew. Thorin was well known for both his pride and his temper, a combination that held dire consequences for any who ran afoul of him on what Fili and Kili had dubbed his dragon days. Dragon days were the days in which the demands of his lineage and the pressure of his father's vows to retake the Lonely Mountain weighed heavily upon Thorin. Among dwarves, a father's vow left unfulfilled became a son's vow, and Thorin was nothing if not an obedient son. When reminded of the vengeance oath that both Thráin and Thor had sworn against Smaug, Thorin would become fey and brash. He would speak at length of the dishonor to Durin's line and the need to confront the dragon in battle, and any who countered with arguments for prudence did so at their own peril. When Thorin had dragon days, it was best to be somewhere other than the Blue Mountains. And if Thorin had been having a month of dragon days, Gimli was at a loss as to why Kili seemed so happy.

"Is Thorin well?" Gimli asked. "My father and I exchanged letters while I was away, but naught was said of Thorin."

"Possibly he did not feel it was his place to say anything," Kili said with a shrug.

"Then Thorin's mood has been evident to everyone? It was not just you as a close kinsman who noticed his—" and as Kili had earlier, Gimli now also paused and looked around, "—his dragon days?" he finished with a whisper. The term dragon days did not always go over well with the older dwarves who remembered Smaug's descent upon the Lonely Mountain.

"All within the mountains have felt it," Kili murmured, also keeping his voice low.

"What is the cause, do you think?"

Kili shrugged again. "Unrest? Memories?"

Gimli chewed on his beard as he debated his next words. He could continue the conversation and look for subtle ways to ask about whatever was making Kili so happy, or could he strike right at the heart of the matter and appease his growing impatience. Gimli looked at Kili, who continued to radiate suppressed excitement, and decided that a subtle approach would be wasted here. Kili was not in the habit of keeping tidings to himself, and Gimli was mildly surprised that he had not already shared his good news. "Well, whatever is troubling Thorin, it does not seem to trouble you," Gimli observed. "You look as though you have just found your first vein of ore. Mayhap whatever makes you so cheerful will cheer Thorin also."

"Ah. Yes, well…" Kili stopped, apparently considering what to say next. Gimli wondered if it was a first for him. "I doubt that the source for my own excitement would have much effect. Thorin does not put as much trust in Tharkûn as I do, but—"

"Tharkûn? You mean Gandalf? The wizard?" interrupted Gimli, who had heard more about the gray pilgrim from men and hobbits than he ever had from his fellow dwarves. "What has he to do with Thorin?"

Kili hesitated. "I think Glóin wanted to be the first to speak with you about this, but…" He trailed off, his lips pressed into a firm line, and then the strain of keeping a secret simply became too much. "Well, it is likely you will hear of it from another ere you see your father. My dear Gimli," he said, his eyes sparkling, "we have made plans to reclaim the Lonely Mountain."

Gimli blinked. "The noise in here must be too loud, for it sounded as though you said something about reclaiming the Lonely Mountain."

Kili scowled. "And what is wrong with that?"

Several obvious answers sprang to mind, but this was not the place to voice them. And voicing these answers would require more than just a few minutes away from the wains. Turning around, Gimli caught the eye of Nír, the wain-master, and nodded toward Kili. Nír rolled his eyes with the look of a weary elder confronted by the whims of an impatient stripling. Gimli felt his hackles rise in response, but when Nír nodded his consent, Gimli opted to keep his objections to himself. Having obtained permission to leave, he took Kili firmly by the arm and hauled him out of the crowded entry cavern and into the First Hall. Once there, he continued to pull his protesting kinsman along until he found a shadowed corner shielded from prying eyes, at which point he allowed Kili to wrest his arm free. "You want to know what is wrong with attempting to reclaim the Lonely Mountain?" Gimli demanded, struggling to keep his voice even.

"Yes!"

"Kili, no dwarf in the Blue Mountains has courage enough to defy Thorin on his dragon days. Do you think they would fare better against an actual dragon? And bear in mind that our people are fewer now than they were when the dragon first descended! Thorin himself has lamented this, knowing we are not sufficiently numbered to confront Smaug. Nor have we sufficient arms! Even were we to convince everyone to embark on a journey of more than three hundred leagues, the task of forging enough weapons and shields capable of withstanding dragon fire is—"

"Unnecessary," Kili answered, breaking into Gimli's tirade. "Thorin is not leading an army to confront Smaug. He is leading only a small party. Thirteen, to be exact."

Gimli nearly choked on his beard.

"And I," Kili finished with a proud flourish, "have been selected as a member of that esteemed company."

Speechless, Gimli could only stare.

Kili stared back.

"It is my fervent hope," Gimli said at length, "that Gandalf's involvement was an attempt to prevent this."

"Quite the opposite!" Kili countered, his pride turning to sharp indignation. "He encouraged Thorin to take a small group. And he is coming with us for at least a portion of the journey."

With all his others thoughts awhirl, Gimli welded himself to this nugget of information and struggled to make sense of it. Among men, Gandalf was known as a wizard of great power and no small renown, but among hobbits, he was known as the trouble-maker responsible for sending members of the Took family off on strange journeys. Having never met the wizard himself, Gimli had not been sure which of the competing views to believe, but considering all that he had heard in the last few minutes, he began to lean in the hobbits' direction.

"Your father is also coming, and—"

"My father?" Gimli stammered, his mind skidding to a halt.

"Yes. We're to leave next week and— Gimli? Gimli!"

But Gimli heard no more. Quick strides carried him out of the First Hall and into the deeper passages where he swiftly made his way toward the residences and his family's chambers. He would have sought his father directly, but even Gimli knew better than to interrupt Thorin on a dragon day. So instead, he sought his mother. She would know the truth of this madness.

But when he swung open the door to his family's spacious caverns, he was met with silence.

A quick glance around the first room told Gimli that his mother was not here. Nor had she been here for some time. The chamber was ordered, clean, and free from the half-formed creations that were the products of his mother's eccentric smithing. She often brought an experiment home with the intention of working on it only to set it aside and forget about it the moment another idea caught her fancy. Her apprentices sometimes complained that the bulk of their time was spent clearing her forge of unfinished projects rather than learning her trade. But as Gimli took in his family's chambers, he saw none of the inexplicable designs that were his mother's trademark. Perhaps he would have to interrupt Thorin after all.

"Gimli!"

Or perhaps not. Startled, Gimli whipped about to find Glóin standing in the doorway, his father's beard bristling as his lips curved up in a smile. "Father," Gimli said simply, suddenly uncertain of how to begin this confrontation. He decided to let Glóin make the first move.

The first move turned out to be a tight hug that endured longer than most of his father's greetings and ended with Glóin stepping back and clapping his hands on Gimli's shoulders. "Strike the anvil, but it is good to see you! When Thorin dismissed us, we heard that the wains had returned, and I am overjoyed to find you here already. Your mother is away north in the iron foundries, and she will be sorry she missed your arrival. We shall have to send word that…" Glóin slowly trailed off, and his smile faded as he studied Gimli. "Is something wrong? Did you encounter misfortune on the journey?"

"None to speak of, and the trading went well enough," Gimli answered, searching his father's face. "Rather, it was what I found upon my return that concerns me."

Glóin's expression sobered quickly, and he stepped back, his arms falling to his sides. "You have spoken with Fili."

"Kili," Gimli corrected.

Glóin grunted. "Nearly the same."

"It is true then?" Gimli pressed, unable to keep the anger from his voice.

His father sighed. "I wanted to tell you myself."

"Indeed? Had my trading party started home when we originally planned to do so and had we met with any setbacks upon the road, we would have arrived too late. Kili informs me that you are leaving next week."

"You were scheduled to return before I was scheduled to leave. I had hoped that fate would be kind, and now my hopes are fulfilled: you are here!"

"But what if I had been delayed?" Gimli demanded.

"I had little say over the time set for our departure," Glóin answered, his voice growing stern. "Moreover, you are fully capable of tending your own forge, as you so frequently remind me. I did not think you would take offense at the thought that I trusted you to see to matters in my absence."

Gimli's eyes flashed, and he felt his temper rearing. "I am not offended. Rather, I am greatly alarmed by the apparent madness of my father who has elected to join twelve others in pitting their combined folly against the wiles and wits of a dragon!"

This was the cue for Glóin to become angry. To lash back. To refute Gimli's accusation with tales of heroism and valiant deeds, thus providing Gimli the opportunity to note that heroism and valiant deeds frequently led to exile and death. His father's temper could run as hot and deep as a smelter's furnace, and Gimli had spent decades learning how to turn that temper to his advantage. When Glóin was emotional, Glóin made mistakes, and those mistakes were what Gimli would use to show him the error of his ways.

But much to Gimli's surprise, there was no outburst. No flare of rage. No protest born of wounded pride. Rather, Glóin seemed to shrink, dropping his head while his shoulders became stooped as though from fatigue. For the first time in Gimli's life, his father appeared old, and Gimli shuddered at the sight. "Your mother said something very similar when I told her of our plans," Glóin murmured. "She is upset with me, and that is why she is away now." He sighed, and if possible, he seemed to grow even older. "She does not understand why I must go. She is too consumed in her metal-working to feel the demands of our heritage." Glóin lifted his eyes to meet Gimli's, and in them was a weary sadness that Gimli had never seen before. "And you are too young."

Having said this, Glóin turned away and moved toward a dark doorway that opened off the main entry hall. Gimli watched in confusion, uncertain if he should follow or not. This doorway was the entrance to the Fire Chamber, the place where tales were told and where secrets of the forge were handed down from generation to generation. It was not a room to be used casually, and when the fire was not lit, none but the head of the family could enter. But as Gimli stood there debating the matter, a golden light suddenly flared from within the Fire Chamber, and Glóin appeared in the doorway, watching Gimli expectantly. Taking a deep breath, Gimli moved forward into the chamber, standing in silence while his father drew up a stool next to the large hearth. Once his father was seated, Gimli took a second stool and joined him beside the fire.

"When you are older, you will understand better," Glóin said softly, reaching into his tunic and pulling forth his pipe. "At the present, you hear only the call of new lands and new journeys. Of glory and honor and the strength of iron bending beneath your hammer. But over time, these things will fade and the fires of our House will eat at your heart. They will burden your dreams until every night you walk halls you have never seen and touch stone you have never shaped. It is my curse as one descended directly from Durin, and barring some greater love, it will eventually be your curse, too." Glóin sighed, and lighting his pipe, he blew a puff of smoke in the direction of the hearth. "I can only imagine how this curse weighs upon Thorin. It was what drove Thrór to ruin, and Thráin after him. Now it grips Thorin, and he can wait no longer. In truth, I am surprised he waited as long as he has. Óin and I feared he would march to the Lonely Mountain alone, much as Thrór marched alone into Khazad-dûm."

"But why must he march anywhere?" Gimli asked, his voice as quiet as his father's. "Our halls here can be made strong. There is trade, the veins run deep, and we have room to build and expand. Does this not satisfy the demands of our heritage?"

"As I said before, this is not something easily explained to one who has not felt the fires of our House, and here your youth shows," Glóin said. "But perhaps you will understand this: Thrór bequeathed the responsibility of slaying the dragon to his descendants. You know what such an obligation entails, and of late, Thorin has felt the weight of that responsibility growing upon him."

Gimli frowned. He appreciated the seriousness of an oath taken either by a father or on behalf of a father. Entire clans of dwarves had initiated wars to satisfy such vows. But even that did not justify this foolish quest to free the Lonely Mountain. "It is my understanding, father, that such vows are to be fulfilled only when the dwarves have strength enough to do so," he said. "If Thorin were to concentrate his efforts here, would that not satisfy his obligation? For we could grow strong over time and build an army capable of ousting Smaug!"

"The Blue Mountains are not our home, Gimli," Glóin said shortly. "Not for the House of Durin. They are merely a refuge."

"By that reasoning, the Lonely Mountain is not our home, either!" Gimli pointed out, growing frustrated. "It is a refuge from Khazad-dûm. Yet over time, it became home to our people, and Khazad-dûm became memory. Why can we not do likewise again?"

Glóin's eyes turned to the flickering flames in the hearth. "The world was younger when we founded the Lonely Mountain, and we were not so few. But now we fade. Thorin does not believe we can build and sustain yet another stronghold. So many of our kin are scattered throughout the Grey Mountains, and Dáin's following is far away in the Iron Hills. As for our people here, most dwarves in the Blue Mountains do not even know to which lineage they belong. We have in our midst descendants of the Firebeards and the Broadbeams, proud Houses both stout-hearted and brave. Their fathers stood with men and elves against the terror that was Morgoth! But the scions of those Houses have forgotten their heritage. They have forgotten almost everything of their past." Glóin rubbed his brow, sinking low on his stool. "Thorin fears that this is now happening to Durin's line. And in this, I share his fears."

"But you have always told me that Durin's line cannot fade! That our House is the eldest and will also be the last! That we are protected in this!"

"We were so certain of that once," Glóin murmured. "Now it is difficult to be certain of anything."

"Then why risk a venture to reclaim the Lonely Mountain?" Gimli demanded. "Why not build our strength and conserve our efforts? Why not wait until we are certain?"

"Because that time may never come!" Glóin answered, his eyes flashing. "Have you heard nothing, Gimli? We are scattered! Exiled! Broken! The House of Durin is fading into obscurity. Soon it will mean nothing. As scions of that House, we have a responsibility to see that the eldest of the dwarf clans does not suffer the fate of the others!" He shook his head, and the fire faded from his eyes. "You will understand better when you are older. The burning of our lineage will come upon you then. Until such time, you hear only your youth."

Gimli's jaw tightened as he struggled to contain his growing displeasure. He did not take kindly to criticisms based on age. Young he might be, but he had traveled more extensively in the past twenty years than almost any other dwarf in the Blue Mountains. He had experience to temper his youth, and contrary to his father's beliefs, he did know something of the call of heritage. He had felt stirrings for both the Lonely Mountain and Khazad-dûm, though these stirrings were faint and fleeting at best. Still, Gimli felt they provided him with enough insight to understand some of what possessed Thorin. But convincing his father of that was another matter, so Gimli tried a different approach. "Then why so small a party?" he asked. "Why not rally all those who still claim to be a part of Durin's line? At the least, you could send messages to Dáin Ironfoot and ask him to join you!"

"That was Thorin's plan in the beginning," Glóin said, taking a long pull from his pipe. "But on a chance visit to Bree, he encountered Tharkûn and asked the wizard's counsel. I know not what compelled him to do so, but the wizard has been a part of his plans ever since. And the wizard advised a small party."

"Then the wizard knows little of dragons," Gimli declared.

"You speak too boldly," Glóin said, a measure of his sternness returning. "And without wit. Tharkûn is no simple conjurer. I would venture to say that he knows more of dragons than even the dwarves who still recall the fires that seared the Lonely Mountain! And yet…" Glóin trailed off, his eyes clouding and his brow furrowing. "I sometimes have the impression that we are pawns to him. Or if not pawns, pieces in a greater game. And while none of us are pieces that he would surrender willingly, there is still the greater game to be considered. I do not know what he would choose to do if our sacrifice furthered his ends."

"Surely Thorin recognizes this!"

"He does," Glóin said, "but he has still yielded to the wizard's counsel. Tharkûn advises a small force, so a small force it will be. But if it eases your mind, the wizard has provided…tokens that may work to our advantage. It is possible that a small force will prove better than a great army."

"And what manner of tokens are they?"

Glóin frowned. "It is not my place to reveal. I will say only that they are heirlooms from the Kingdom Under the Mountain and that Thorin is their rightful keeper."

Which Gimli interpreted to mean that these tokens were not weapons or great machinations that might thwart a dragon. What they were, he could not guess, but one thing was becoming clear: Glóin did not expect to return. It was a suspicion that had been niggling at Gimli the moment his father had failed to anger, and that suspicion was now confirmed by his father's words about Gandalf. Fear washed over Gimli, but as it did so, it was accompanied by another feeling. A desire of sorts, one that burned deep within his heart. It was not the fire of heritage that Glóin described, but in some ways, it was stronger. More immediate. It was the burning fire of kin. Of the dwarven bond between father and son. It was a bond that had seared Gimli's heart before, and he knew he could not ignore it now. He still felt the quest to be a fool's errand, but it was an errand that Gimli could not allow his father to undertake alone.

"So be it," he said, frightened by the weight of his decision but firm and unwavering regardless. "If you will not turn aside and if Thorin is intent upon a small party, then I will say nothing more against it. Rather, I will join you."

Glóin inhaled sharply. Unfortunately, he did so while in the midst of drawing on his pipe, and a coughing fit immediately ensued. The pipe clattered to the ground, and an alarmed Gimli thumped his father hard between the shoulders as Glóin curled over his knees, his eyes weeping and his breath coming in rasping gasps. "Absolutely not," he wheezed. "Under no circumstances will I permit you to join us."

"It is not your place to refuse," Gimli countered evenly, giving his father's back another hit. "You do not lead this party. Only Thorin can deny me, and should he accept me as a companion, you have no right to gainsay him."

"Gimli—"

"And it is my right to claim a place in this endeavor!" Gimli interrupted, raising his voice above his father's. "You go to restore the glory of Durin's House, and as a member of that House, I choose to join you!"

"And as your elder in that House—as well as your father—I forbid it!" Glóin said, his tone sharp and cutting even as his efforts to speak prompted yet another bout of coughing.

Gimli waited for the coughs to subside before softly asking, "If you do not forbid yourself, then why forbid me?"

Glóin's eyes blazed, but he said nothing.

"Because my earlier words hold true," Gimli continued. "The prudent course of action would be to bide our time and gather our strength, marching on the Lonely Mountain only when we are ready. But for reasons that my youth cannot fathom, Thorin chooses to go now. And since you have pledged to go with him, thus am I also bound!"

"If you would hold yourself bound to me, then bind yourself to my words!" Glóin roared, still coughing. "I will not allow this!"

"Your words hold no bearing in this case. Such a matter is for Thorin to decide," Gimli said curtly as he rose to his feet. He gave his father's back one more perfunctory slap and then moved away, leaving the Fire Room and making for the outer door.

"Thorin will not decide in your favor!" Glóin called after him amidst his coughs, his voice trembling with anger.

"We shall see," Gimli answered, and he left before his father could follow.

Gimli's mind was feverish. The call of family was as a furnace in his blood. Perhaps this was what the elders meant when they spoke of how their yearning for home burned within their hearts. Little wonder, then, that Thorin could not refuse the desire to return to the Lonely Mountain. And little wonder that Glóin had agreed to go with him. There was a comfort of sorts in surrendering to the flames, and those flames fueled the heart against the colder voices of prudence and fear.

But despite his newfound purpose, Gimli's resolve faded a bit as he approached the council hall. Thorin was wont to remain in the hall after a council's conclusion and speak quietly with his closest associates, and the thought of interrupting these private discussions made Gimli reconsider his approach. Thorin Oakenshield was an intimidating dwarf at best, even to those who knew him well. His eyes were steel, his words were flint, and his voice could be heard above all the bellows and hammers of the forges. But perhaps most daunting of all was his pride. Thorin was well aware of his own worth as Durin's Heir, and he was also well aware of the honor and deference once accorded Durin's House. He demanded respect, and he ensured that none granted him anything less. It would not do for Gimli to march in boldly and claim a right to the quest. No, this called for a more unassuming approach. To that end, Gimli slowed his steps and took a moment to school both his thoughts and his expression before starting forward once more.

He caught the sound of muted voices, and he paused again, listening carefully. It took only a moment to identify the voices as belonging to Thorin and Balin, and Gimli tugged at his beard. He could wait for the voices to cease, but he did not want to be caught eavesdropping in the passages like an unruly child. He could also wait and approach the matter in the morning, but he did not want to return to his family's chambers without speaking to Thorin. When next he confronted Glóin, it would be with Thorin's permission to join the quest.

Movement caught his eye, and Gimli hastily straightened as a dwarf pushed open the wide door that led to the council hall. His long, full beard was tucked neatly into his golden belt, and Gimli fought back a smile. Very few dwarves were old-fashioned enough to tuck their beards into their belts. "Dwalin," he called out in greeting.

Dwalin's head turned and his face broke into a smile. "Gimli! Word reached us that the wains had returned, and by Durin's hammer, you arrive in good time! You will want to speak with your father. He left to—"

"I have had words with my father," Gimli said quickly. "I now seek words with Thorin, if he is available."

Something unreadable flashed across Dwalin's face. "Thorin and Balin are yet within the council hall. If Balin's presence will not hinder your speech, I think they would both be pleased to hear you."

"I have no wish to disturb them…"

"You will not," Dwalin said, watching Gimli closely. "And if they ask, say that I directed you to enter. Go on."

Steeling his will, Gimli swallowed and walked past Dwalin. He could still feel Dwalin's piercing gaze upon him after he entered the hall.

Much of the dwarven stronghold in the Blue Mountains had been delved in haste, linking together old caverns that had survived the destruction of the First Age and carving out space enough to make room for all who had followed Thráin into exile. But there were several chambers that had been constructed with the time and care they were due, and the council hall was one such chamber. A vaulted dome soared high overhead, buttressed by wide pillars along the walls that met one another in leaping arches across the ceiling. The names of Durin's scions and the history of their House were etched on the plinths at the base of each pillar, and wall sconces bathed the hall in the sharp glow of firelight. In the room's center, hewn from the very stone they had cleared to make the chamber, was a broad table where the leaders of Durin's House held council. At the far end of this table, two dwarves huddled together before a small stack of maps. They had yet to notice Gimli's entrance, and Gimli found himself wishing that Dwalin had taken the time to announce him. Deciding he had little choice in the matter, he clasped his hands beneath his beard and loudly cleared his throat.

"Back already, Dwalin?" Thorin said, looking up. "That was—" He stopped when his eyes came to rest upon Gimli, and he blinked. "Gimli?"

"Lord Thorin," Gimli said, bowing deeply. "And Balin. It is good to see you both."

"And it is good to see you," Balin said. "We just received word of your arrival. I trust the trading went well?

"As well as we had hoped," Gimli answered. "Nír will have details for you by morning."

"And we are anxious to review those details," Thorin said, "but now is not the time for such things. You are recently returned and doubtless weary from your travels. Your father is looking for you."

"I have just come from my father," Gimli said, his fists clenching and unclenching beneath his beard. "And that is why I now seek you out."

"Indeed?"

Thorin's tone could not be described as friendly, and Gimli found himself unable to meet Thorin's eyes. He focused instead on the silver embroidery of the Heir's tunic, following the thread that outlined the emblems of Durin's House: a crown set amongst seven stars, and below them, the hammer and anvil. It was upon these that Gimli focused, calling to mind the integrity and strength of his mother's iron. "My father told me of your decision to reclaim the Lonely Mountain," Gimli said, keeping his tone low and respectful. "He also spoke of your decision to take but a small party with you on this journey."

"Glóin was not the first to speak of this to you," Thorin said coolly and with a hint of warning. "He would not have broached such a subject upon the evening of your return."

"That is true," Gimli said. "I spoke first with Kili."

Thorin gave a quiet huff. "I should have expected as much."

"You did not forbid Kili to speak of our plans," Balin said quietly.

"No, but I wished him to employ at least a hint of discretion," Thorin answered, his voice weary. "What of it, then? And be quick about it. Balin and I have much to discuss."

"I come to beg a boon of you," Gimli said. "I seek to join your quest."

Whatever Thorin had been expecting Gimli to say, this was not it. His brow furrowing, Thorin stared at Gimli for several awkward moments while an uncomfortable silence filled the council hall. Balin also seemed frozen, his mouth turned down in a deep frown. At length, Thorin echoed, "You seek to join us?"

"Yes."

And as Thorin continued to stare, it seemed to Gimli as though Thorin was not actually seeing him but rather seeing something else. Something that filled him with dread. What that something was, Gimli could not say. Nor did he have time to wonder about it, for Thorin's face became suddenly blank as he gave Gimli his answer: "No."

Gimli blinked. "No?"

"No."

Nonplussed, Gimli could only gape at Thorin. "May I ask why?"

"You are too young."

There it was again: the curse of youth. But at sixty-two, Gimli was of the firm belief that youth was no longer a valid excuse. "With respect, Lord Thorin, Kili is accompanying you, and he is but fifteen years my senior."

"Fifteen years can make a significant difference," Thorin said, and he turned his attention back to his maps.

But Gimli was far from finished. "Again with respect, Lord Thorin, fifteen years are only significant if those years have been spent gaining the experience necessary for such a quest. Kili has spent the last fifteen years here in the Blue Mountains, overseeing the cutting of the western passages. I do not dismiss such work, but I have spent the last fifteen years guarding trade wains on their routes to the Grey Mountains and the Iron Hills. I have had the opportunity to meet merchants of all races on my journeys, I know the lands well between here and the Lonely Mountain, and I have faced the goblins and giants that waylay travelers in the Misty Mountains. If you must consider my youth, then I ask that you also consider my experience."

"So noted," Thorin said, his eyes hooded. "The answer is still no."

"Fili and Kili are the next Heirs should aught happen to Thorin," Balin said, apparently feeling that Gimli deserved more of an explanation. "Their lineage obligates them to participate in this quest, for they share the charge that Thrór laid on his scions."

"Then I also claim an obligation to lineage," Gimli said, struggling to keep his tone respectful. "I may not be a descendant of Thrór, but I am a descendant of his cousin Farin. Through Farin, I am of the line of the Heirs, and as this seems to be a matter of honor for Durin's House, I am obligated to uphold that honor!"

"You make your argument well," Thorin said, "but my answer remains unchanged."

Gimli frowned and opened his mouth to press his point, but then a new thought occurred to him. "Who else is going on this quest?" he asked.

"As you shall not be accompanying us, I do not see that it is any of your concern," Thorin said.

"Thorin, myself, your father, Dwalin …" Balin trailed off in order to return Thorin's dark glare. "He could learn this in the next hour by simply asking either Fili or Kili! I do not see that it does any harm to tell him here," Balin said sharply. Thorin growled something beneath his breath, but much to Gimli's relief, Balin continued as though he had heard nothing. "As I was saying, the company will consist of Thorin, myself, Dwalin, your father, Óin, Fili, Kili, Ori, Nori, Dori, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur."

Once again, Gimli was reduced to gaping. "You speak of obligation," he finally managed, "yet six of the thirteen are not even of the line of the Heirs. Ori, Nori, Dori, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur have no claim to the obligation that binds you! They have no claim to the obligation that binds me! Moreover, they are all older than Fili by at least fifty years, if not more. That is a significant number. My fifteen years in relationship to Kili holds little weight by comparison!"

Thorin ceased glaring at Balin and shifted his glare to Gimli. "I grow weary of this debate. I can only imagine its effects on one who is already weary from long travels."

"My father is going!" Gimli snapped, throwing all deference to the ovens "And he does not expect to return! I am his son, and as such, I claim a familial right to accompany him! You know better than most what such a right means. If I understand all you have said and all I have heard, it is part of why you are going on this quest in the first place!"

Rage flashed hot in Thorin's eyes, but it was tempered by another emotion. A deeper emotion. If Gimli had not known better, he would have called it fear. Then it vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating look. "So you claim a place in my company by virtue of your father's presence?" Thorin asked slowly.

Gimli had a sinking feeling that he knew where this was going. "I do."

"And what has your father to say in this matter?"

Gimli gritted his teeth. He had hoped to avoid that little detail. "My father does not lead this party, Lord Thorin. It is your permission I seek."

Thorin's face grew stern. "That was not my question. And since you claim a right to this quest as Glóin's son, I believe you should obtain Glóin's permission."

"I also claim a right to this quest as a direct descendant of Durin."

"And still you have failed to answer my question. Bring Glóin before me, and let him plead your case." Thorin's eyes suddenly focused on something to Gimli's right. "You have the other maps, Dwalin?"

"I do," came the answer, and suddenly Dwalin was beside Gimli, his hand grasping Gimli's elbow briefly before he strode forward to hand Balin several sheets of parchment. "But I would beg your leave for tonight. I know you meant to go over these with me, but the evening wanes and I tire."

Thorin grunted his agreement to this. "Go. I will want you all the earlier tomorrow."

"I would expect nothing less. Come, Gimli," Dwalin said, catching Gimli by the shoulder and turning him around before he could even think to protest. "Let us leave these ancient creatures to their strange, nightly ways."

Gimli heard an indignant huff from Balin just before he was propelled out of the room, Dwalin's hand firm on his upper arm. Then they were in the corridors, leaving the council hall behind and moving rapidly toward the upper levels. Gimli tried to shrug off Dwalin's hold, but Dwalin only tightened his grip and quickened his pace, pushing forcefully as Gimli resisted.

"How long did you listen?" Gimli demanded, incensed at Dwalin's interference.

"Long enough," Dwalin answered curtly. "But we will not speak of it here. Come. There are things I would tell you ere you judge either Thorin or your father too harshly."

Gimli again made an attempt to free himself, more for principle than for anything else, but Dwalin's hold was an iron band. With a resigned sigh, Gimli ducked his head and tried to make it appear as though he was accompanying Dwalin of his own volition. He was grateful that Dwalin had chosen not to lead him about by his beard. At least someone acknowledged that he had reached his maturity.

Under Dwalin's guidance, they wound their way through hallway after hallway, moving steadily upward. Eventually, Gimli felt fresh mountain air brush against his face, and then the pair emerged onto a watch cleft, cut high in the side of the mountains. A cold breeze blew down from the north, carrying with it the smell of spring snow, and Gimli shivered.

"If you wish to go in and warm yourself, we will keep watch for a moment," Dwalin said to the dwarves standing guard on the ledge. They eyed Dwalin curiously, but a sudden gust of frigid wind lent appeal to Dwalin's offer. With hurried thanks, they accepted and quickly disappeared back into the mountain.

"I assume we may speak now?" Gimli asked curtly as he finally wrested his arm from Dwalin's grasp.

"Yes," Dwalin answered, and if he was offended by Gimli's insolence, he gave no sign. "I do not think we will be disturbed."

"Only by those who have no objection to frozen beards."

A smile ghosted across Dwalin's face. "A cold spring night distresses you, yet you wish to confront a dragon?"

"I wish to accompany my father!" Gimli snapped. "Thorin has no right—"

"Thorin has every right," Dwalin interrupted, his voice sharp. "He is Durin's Heir. This quest is a fulfillment of Thráin's vow. It is for him to choose the members of his company, and if he chooses to deny you, it is not your place to question him."

"Nor is it his place to question my duty to my father! Even Thorin has not that authority!"

"But he raised a good point, did he not? Glóin does not want you to join this quest, and as such, you are not obligated to accompany him. The only obligation that binds you is one of your own making. And while I do not doubt that your love for your father is great, it is not reason enough to seek death by dragon."

"Then you admit it as well!" Gimli pounced. "There is no hope in this quest!"

"Hope?" Dwalin pursed his lips, and a distant look crept into his eyes. "I suppose that would depend upon why you hope. If you hope that we will slay the dragon and establish again the Kingdom under the Mountain…" Dwalin grimaced and shook his head. "There are some on this quest who cling to that hope, and they are welcome to whatever comfort it gives them. But you are probably right: there is little hope for that. But that is not my hope for this quest. My hope is that I will fill a part of the hole created by the loss of Khazad-dûm and the Lonely Mountain. It is that even a glimpse of the Lonely Mountain will grant me peace from the dreams that haunt my nights. It is that I will find something of myself in our journey and fulfill the obligations set down by my fathers. And perhaps my sacrifice will rouse others so that our heritage will not be entirely forgotten." Dwalin sighed, turning away from Gimli and looking out into the night. "For better or for worse, that is my hope. And I believe this hope to be possible."

Gimli frowned, angered by Dwalin's words. "I understand the desire to fulfill these obligations—"

"No, Gimli. You do not. You are too young to properly understand."

With effort, Gimli pushed down a surge of frustration. "Very well, then," he said tightly. "Perhaps I do not understand. But I do know how to fulfill an obligation. And I know also that an obligation remains unfulfilled if we die before we can meet it!"

Still staring at the shadowed peaks of the surrounding mountains, Dwalin smoothed down his beard and asked, "Then what would you have us do? For an obligation also remains unfulfilled if we avoid it."

"Bide our time! Strengthen our numbers! We could secure our halls, fill our armories, build our resources—"

"Do you know why Thorin never led us to join the rest of our kindred in the Grey Mountains or the Iron Hills?" Dwalin interrupted.

Gimli frowned, wondering what that had to do with anything. "I assume because Thrór and Thráin never did so. They chose to live in Exile."

"Yes, but do you know why? Beyond following in their boot prints, do you know why Thorin chose such a life?" Not waiting for an answer, Dwalin turned to Gimli, his eyes intent. "Thorin choose to live in Exile because he wished to remember that it was what it was: Exile. And he took with him as many as he could, hoping that the House of Durin would never grow content. Hoping that our separation from the Lonely Mountain would weigh as heavily upon us as it weighed upon him. Hoping that from this band he would cull an army fierce enough to defeat Smaug!" Dwalin paused now, and his shoulders slumped as though beneath a great weight. "Yet what do the youth wish to do? What is it you wish to do, Gimli? You wish to stay! To build here! To let the Kingdom Under the Mountain fade until it is a dream! A legend, much like Khazad-dûm! Our kindred in the Iron Hills have already done as much, and now many of us wish to do likewise! Do you see why Thorin can wait no longer? If we do not act now, then the next generation will be satisfied with what it has. And what it has is less than what it deserves! Thus it is my duty—as well as the duty of every dwarf in Durin's House—to ensure that we do not fade. That we do not dwindle. And while Khazad-dûm might lie beyond the reach of our hammer, the Lonely Mountain does not!"

"Then why not allow more of the younger generation to come with you?" Gimli demanded. "By your own words, it seems that this quest is for my generation as much as for yours, yet how can you hope to remind us of what we once had if you deny our coming? And since Fili and Kili are already going—"

"If Thorin felt he could gainsay Dis," Dwalin interrupted, "then Fili and Kili would not be going."

Gimli blinked. "What?"

"I speak as I probably should not, but if an explanation will bring you peace—and also peace for the rest of us—then I deem it worthwhile. Dis is the reason that Fili and Kili are going. She feels it is the duty of her sons to fulfill the oath made by her father. Thus she has prevailed upon Thorin to let them go." Dwalin smiled grimly. "Thorin never could refuse his sister anything. Sometimes I fear that he loves his remaining family too dearly. And that is much of why he will not even consider letting you come with us. You remind him of his brother Frerin. There is a great resemblance."

"But….Frerin died over a century ago. He died fighting before the East-gate of Khazad-dûm."

"Yes," Dwalin said, "and Thorin remembers it well. Frerin was only forty-eight at the time. Thorin was against his coming, but to his sorrow, Thráin allowed it. I remember mourning with Thorin afterwards, for I lost my own father in that battle. Grievous was that loss for me, but Thorin… Never have I seen a dwarf so bereaved! He was inconsolable. There is no certainty in war, even for the mightiest, yet Thorin assumed the responsibility for Frerin's death. And he has never forgiven himself." Dwalin sighed wearily. "If Fili and Kili fall while on this errand, it will be Thorin's breaking. He is letting Dis send them partly because he cannot refuse his sister and partly because he believes that he will die first. If Fili and Kili perish, then they will all do so together. He is willing to allow that sacrifice." Dwalin's eyes sharpened, and he looked hard at Gimli. "But he is not willing to condone the sacrifice of another dwarf's son. And that is his right, both as your liege lord and as your kinsman."

Gimli bowed his head. If Dwalin could not be moved to side with him, then none could. And now knowing that he was to remain, his heart was torn. He was angrier than ever at his father for leaving on such a foolish quest, but he did not wish to harbor such anger when it was unlikely that he would ever see Glóin again after this week.

"You should speak to your father," Dwalin said, seeming to read Gimli's thoughts. "He can explain his own reasons to you, and now that the shock of the news is behind you, you may be more willing to listen."

"We parted in anger when I went to seek out Thorin," Gimli murmured.

"I thought as much," Dwalin said. "Glóin looked as though he had been wringing his beard when I saw him outside the council chambers."

Gimli stiffened. "You saw him outside the council chambers? When?" he demanded.

"When you were speaking to Thorin."

"Then he heard? He heard it all?"

Dwalin nodded silently.

Furious, Gimli uttered a sharp oath and turned away. "I know not why I expected any differently," he growled.

"He is your father, Gimli," Dwalin said, and his voice was stern. "What else should you have expected?"

Gimli did not answer. He did not know why the news upset him so. He only knew that the thought of Glóin listening to his conversation with Thorin made him feel ashamed. Embarrassed. In fact, the entire ordeal was beginning to feel like a fool's errand. Like the upcoming quest itself. Like a vain endeavor doomed before it even began.

Beside him, Dwalin sighed and tucked his hands beneath his beard. "I am going inside," he announced. "It is too cold a night to remain out here. And if you will hear my counsel, I suggest you seek out your father. He will want the pleasure of your company ere he departs."

"What if my company is less than pleasurable?" Gimli asked quietly.

"That is entirely your own choice," Dwalin told him, and the older dwarf departed.

Abandoned on the watch cleft, Gimli cast his eyes over the wide lands the spread themselves east of the Blue Mountains. Within his heart, there still flickered a longing to join the quest. To journey at his father's side. "And if I wish to journey at his side, why do I hesitate to join him now?" Gimli asked himself, struggling with his thoughts. But he could not calm the conflict that raged in his heart, and he stood for many minutes under the cold stars, wishing for peace. Eventually, those dwarves assigned to the watches began to shuffle back out, and Gimli knew it was time to return. He could not avoid this any longer.

On faltering feet, he retraced his steps to his family's chambers. The lighting in the colony had been dimmed out of respect for the coming night, and only every third wall sconce burned. It made for long shadows on the walls that mirrored the shadows in Gimli's heart, and at the root of every shadow lay the same cause: fear. Fear for what his father would face. Fear that he would face it alone. Fear that Gimli would never see him again. Fear that when Thorin, Fili, and Kili departed, there would be none left to lead the Exiles. Fear for Dwalin, Balin, Óin, Ori, Dori, Nori, Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur. And it was this fear that paled his face when at last his feet crossed the threshold of his family's home.

His father met him in the first chamber. Gimli had no words for him, and it seemed that Glóin suffered a similar problem. For what felt like an Age, they stared at one another, and then the whistling of a kettle broke the heavy silence. Glóin glanced toward the kitchen and mumbled something about having prepared Gimli a bite to eat after his long travels. Gimli managed a strained word of thanks, but neither moved and silence descended yet again.

Eventually, Glóin cleared his throat. "We will speak in the morning," he said gruffly, and he left Gimli alone in the first chamber.

It was an awkward week.

To Gimli, it seemed that a compromise of sorts was arranged. He and Glóin spent many hours speaking of small things, such as the family accounts or the disposition of Glóin's forges. But they were unable—or perhaps unwilling, Gimli did not know which—to speak of the coming quest. It loomed as the unspoken ghost of every conversation, lurking in the shadows and weighing upon Gimli's mind. It also haunted their evenings, for Gimli and Glóin now spent long hours together in the Fire Chamber, saying nothing but rather watching the flames of the massive hearth. This silence was an unusual breach of custom, for the Fire Chamber was a room reserved for counsel and lessons. Possibly Glóin meant for the silence to be instructive, but Gimli had no desire to dwell on what he was to learn from such a lesson. He only knew that the days were passing swiftly, that he had little time left with his father, and that he seemed unable to speak of that which was most important.

The evening before Glóin's departure, Gimli's mother returned home. She arrived shortly after Gimli and Glóin had retired to the Fire Chamber, and they were informed of her entrance by means of a thunderous crash. Startled out of their silent reverie, father and son hastened into the first chamber to find Aés loudly scolding an apprentice who had dropped a confused and twisted forging of iron. Gimli could not even begin to guess at the iron's purpose or how the apprentice had found the strength to carry it, nor was he given time to ask. Aés swung toward them and immediately pinned Glóin beneath a fiery glare. Experience taught that such a look heralded either explosive rage or unbridled passion—sometimes both—so Gimli and the apprentice quickly vacated the chambers. And realizing that discretion was often the better part of valor, Gimli spent the night with Fili and Kili.

He returned to his family's chamber the next morning. There were no signs of blood in the hallway outside, so Gimli assumed that both Glóin and Aés had survived the night. Upon entering, he nearly tripped over the iron machination that had been dropped the previous evening, and a pang of familiarity wracked Gimli's heart.

"Your father is not here."

The call came from the workshop, which stood just off the first chamber. Following the voice, Gimli found his mother hunched over large slab of stone with chisel and hammer in hand. "You are…carving?" he ventured, unable to keep the confusion from his voice. His mother was an ironsmith, first and foremost. She had little interest for the shaping of rock.

"I thought to remind your father of a craft in which mistakes cannot be erased," she said briskly.

Gimli grimaced. "Did he understand your message?"

"Of course not," she growled, striking the chisel hard and scoring a mark across the stone. The grating sound made Gimli's ears ring, and he flinched back. "His head is as hard as bedrock," Aés continued, oblivious to her son's discomfort. "There is no turning him from this selfish quest."

"Dwalin says they go not only for themselves," Gimli murmured. "He says they also go to set an example for all the Heirs."

"If Dwalin were here, I would tell him what I think of his example," Aés huffed, setting aside her hammer and chisel. She turned to look at Gimli, her deep set eyes studying him for long moments. She absently flicked stone filings from her thick black beard until she finally relaxed her scrutiny. "You look well," she said, and a smile tugged the corners of her lips.

"It is good to see you," Gimli answered, stepping forward and wrapping his mother in a tight embrace. Aés returned the hug just as fiercely, and for a moment, there was no looming quest and no absent father. There was only the warmth and peace and comfort of family. With reluctance, Gimli broke the hug and stepped back. "I am glad you are home," he said.

"I should have been here for the wains' return," Aés said, taking Gimli by the arm and leading him out of the workroom. "For my absence, I apologize. My anger was not directed at you."

"You may yet have cause to be angry with me," Gimli admitted. "When I learned what was happening, I sought to join Thorin's quest."

"I know. Your father told me."

Gimli stopped, causing his mother to stop also. "He did? But you said your anger was not for me."

"It is not. You are Glóin's son. You are duty bound to stand at his side. I would have been angry had you not attempted to join the quest."

His brow furrowing, Gimli attempted to follow his mother's reasoning. "So you are angry at father for following Thorin, but you are not angry at me for…" He trailed off and shook his head.

"Thorin is not Glóin's father," Aés said shortly.

Gimli considered reminding her that they were all kinsmen since they were all descended from Náin II, the sixth King Under the Mountain, but he decided that further discussion would only result in a headache. With Aés, there was little room for middle ground. She neatly divided everything into good or ill, and Gimli had given up trying to fathom the how and why of her conclusions. That he had somehow fallen into her good graces was enough for him.

"Glóin will be leaving in an hour," Aés said, drawing Gimli from his thoughts. "You should speak with him before he goes, and it would be good for you to see him off. I believe he has gone down to the stables."

Gimli nodded slowly, struggling to ignore the dread that darkened his mind. He had very little hope of seeing his father again after this day, and the thought of bidding him farewell with so much left unsaid was as a canker in his heart. "I will go to him," he said quietly. "Will you come with me?"

Anger flashed in his mother's eyes. "I said my farewells in our chambers. As his wife, I could do no less. But as a dwarf, I will do no more! I refuse to support this foolish quest, and I will not sanction his actions by bidding him farewell before the rest of the mountain!"

Gimli highly doubted that the rest of the mountain would note his mother's presence or absence, for those who saw the party off would have their eyes upon Thorin, not Aés. But for Aés, it was a matter of principle, and principles were not open for discussion. It seemed that Gimli would have to do this alone. He knew not why he expected any differently. He had felt alone for most of the previous week. "Then I will return to you when the company departs," Gimli said. His mother said nothing but gave him a curt nod and retreated back to the workroom. As Gimli left, he heard the sound of a chisel scraping against stone.

The stables were empty of all save Nír, the wain-master, who informed Gimli that he had just missed Thorin's company. "They took some of the best ponies," Nír growled, looking over the spacious cavern. "Naught but dragon-fodder now, assuming they get that far."

Nír's words stirred a week's worth of grief and anger, but at the same time, Gimli was grateful for the old dwarf's frankness. Not since his conversation with Dwalin had he heard such things spoken openly. It was almost akin to lancing a festering wound—painful but needed. "Do you know where they went?" Gimli asked.

"Just beyond the front gate. They left not long ago. You should be able to catch them. But one moment, before you go," Nír said, moving over to the wall where the tack hung. "You left this with the wains. I meant to give it to you after we finished unloading, but I set it aside and thought no more of it until now."

Turning, he handed Gimli a dark-green hood and cloak. "Thank you," Gimli said, fingering the weathered fabric. He had forgotten that he had stored his spare cloak amidst the traded goods, and he now remembered that he had never returned to the wains after leaving them that evening. "I should apologize, also," he said. "I had a responsibility to help with the wains, but…" He trailed off, unsure of what to say. It seemed so long ago now.

"I gave you leave to go then," Nír said, waving off Gimli's apology. "And I give you leave to go now. See to your father. Maybe you can carve sense into him."

Gimli doubted it. He was loath to admit it, but Glóin and Dwalin were right: he did not understand what compelled this quest. Not entirely. And it was difficult to argue against what he did not understand. The only thing he could do at this point was what he had set out to do: bid his father farewell. And to that end, he draped his cloak over one arm and hurried to the First Hall. He had felt the chill of the outside world in the stables, where high windows allowed fresh air to circulate, and he hoped that the brisk morning would slow the company's preparations so that he would not miss them again.

He need not have worried. The First Hall was cramped and crowded with dwarves anxious for Thorin's departure but not anxious to venture into the cold. Listening to conversations around him, Gimli learned that Thorin, Fili, and Kili had yet to descend from the upper caverns but that many of his company were already outside. Despite the situation, Gimli found himself smiling. Doubtless Thorin was dispensing final instructions, but Fili and Kili had never liked the cold. They would appear only when it was time to leave, which gave Gimli a bit of time to speak with his father.

Glóin was not in the First Hall, but that was expected. Glóin could be reclusive when facing situations of great import or great emotion, and there seemed to be plenty of both to go around. No, his father would be found in a quiet place among quiet friends, which meant that he was outside. After pausing a moment to gather his resolve, Gimli pushed his way through the First Hall, eventually escaping the pressing crowd and reaching the entry cavern. Only a few lingered here, and Gimli passed them in silence as he made his way to the main gates. Once outside, he paused again and leaned back against the mountain, sweeping his eyes over the company that waited in the cold. They were scattered about mountain's base, minding the saddled ponies and keeping their distance from a magnificent white horse that stood regally off to one side. The horse was surely Gandalf's, for rumors said that he had arrived that morning. Gimli looked around, hoping for a glimpse of the wizard, but all he saw were the dwarves of Thorin's company.

"A fair morning," someone called, and Gimli turned as Dwalin wandered over.

"A brisk morning," Gimli corrected, stepping back so that the entrance provided more shelter from the morning breeze. "It was spring on the trade routes, but winter seems loath to leave the mountains."

"That it does," Dwalin agreed as he joined him, "but I will draw comfort from this and take it as a good omen. Should we reach our destination and find ourselves opposite a blast of dragon fire, we will wish for cold."

"Cold comfort," Gimli muttered, rubbing his arms. "I prefer my omens less chilled and more certain."

"If you are that cold, put on your cloak."

Gimli hesitated. He was indeed cold, but he was not too proud to admit that he was using the cold as an excuse. The longer he lurked in the entrance, the longer he put off talking to Glóin. He could see his father further out, watching a few of the ponies with Óin and Balin, but the drive that had propelled Gimli through the First Hall had vanished the moment he stepped outside. He simply did not know what to say to Glóin. And if he took the time to struggle into his cloak and hood, he would probably delay long enough for Thorin to come out and bid them all farewell.

"Here," he said curtly, thrusting the cloak and hood at Dwalin. "Would you hold these for me?"

"Warmer already?" Dwalin asked as he took the garments.

"No," Gimli said, "but I will not be slowed by them." Ducking his head against the wind, he left Dwalin behind and headed for his father.

Glóin saw him coming and raised a hand in greeting. He did not move, though, instead waiting for Gimli to reach him. Under other circumstances, Gimli might have been angered by this, but he suspected that Glóin did not know what to say to him, either. What was the proper farewell when heading out on such a hopeless journey? Well wishes seemed vain and small in the shadow of what Glóin faced. When Gimli reached his father, he still had no words, and he found himself greeting his uncle and Balin instead.

"You come in good time," Óin said, clapping Gimli on the back. The sudden movement startled his pony, but Óin seemed not to notice. "Thorin should be here soon, and then we will be on our way."

"Your first few days of travel should go quickly," Gimli said as he ran a soothing hand down the pony's neck. "The roads west are in good condition, and these ponies know them well."

"I welcome such a start, for the journey will be long," Óin said. "We do not look to reach the Lonely Mountain until the last days of summer, and that is only if we meet with no delays."

Glóin cleared his throat, and Óin and Balin exchanged glances. "Perhaps we should walk the ponies so that they their legs do not stiffen," Balin said.

"A good idea. My legs are already stiff," Óin said. "Here, Glóin, give me your lead rope. I will take your pony."

With a bit of coaxing, the reluctant ponies moved away, leaving Gimli alone with his father. For a moment, neither of them spoke, and then Glóin rested a hand on Gimli's shoulder. "The forge is yours. Keep it well, and look after your mother."

"Mother thinks I should accompany you," Gimli said.

"No, she thinks you should try to accompany me," Glóin said. "She would me throw me to the smelters if I allowed it, and she would be right to do so."

Gimli rubbed his brow, desperate to make one last attempt. "Then if she is right about that, why is she wrong when she objects to your going?"

"Oh, she is right about that, too," Glóin said softly. "But this is something that must be done. I do not ask either of you for understanding. She will not and you can not. Not yet, at least. But in time, you might. And if we are successful, you may even follow after me and join us in the Lonely Mountain."

"Then whether the quest runs good or ill, you do not plan to come home again," Gimli said.

"This is not home, Gimli," Glóin said, and his eyes were weary. "This is Exile."

"It could be home," Gimli said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Not for me." Glóin squeezed his shoulder. "Take up the hammer for the family. You have more than earned the right." Then Glóin's hand dropped away and he stepped back, his eyes focusing on something behind Gimli. Gimli turned and saw a stream of dwarves exiting the caverns. In their midst walked Thorin, Fili, Kili, and a tall bearded man that Gimli assumed to be Gandalf. He did not look like much of a wizard. His appearance reminded Gimli of some of his mother's less successful alloy experiments: blue hat, silver scarf, gray cloak, black boots, and a beard long enough to make a dwarf proud. Gimli had expected something a bit more wondrous based on all he had heard. Certainly he had expected something imposing enough to convince Thorin to embark with such a small force. But as Gimli watched, he received the distinct impression that appearances were deceiving. This Gandalf walked with a tall staff, but his movements suggested he did not need it. And there was a peculiar glimmer in his eyes…

Thorin stopped just outside the entrance and turned to the assembled dwarves. Gimli heard him speaking, but the wind carried his words away from the ponies. Gimli did not think he would have listened anyway, for Gandalf had not stopped with Thorin. He continued on, and his steps took him unerringly toward Gimli. Gimli tried to muster the anger he had felt earlier in the week but found that he could not. Something in Gandalf's face warned against it.

"Tharkûn," Glóin greeted when the wizard reached them. "Though I suppose I should start calling you Gandalf. We have many miles to travel, and some of those miles will be through mannish towns." He turned toward Gimli. "This is my son. He was away when you were last here, and I do not believe you have met."

"No, I would have remembered such a meeting," Gandalf said, and he also turned toward Gimli. "Gandalf the Grey, at your service, though among your people, I am called Tharkûn."

"Gimli Glóin's son, at the service of you and your family," Gimli answered properly with a bow. "And Tharkûn you may be to the dwarves, but I have heard more of Gandalf from hobbits and men than I have of Tharkûn."

"All good, I trust?" Gandalf asked.

There was just enough challenge in the wizard's voice for Gimli to respond in kind. "Some of the hobbits might dispute that. I have come to better understand their perspective over this past week."

"Gimli!" Glóin said sharply, but Gandalf seemed more amused than anything.

"He has your fire, Glóin," the wizard said, the corners of his lips twitching. "And for one so young, he is already a dwarf of many journeys. Does this mean that we have added one more to our company?"

"No," Glóin said firmly. Gimli flushed.

"Ah," Gandalf said, and his eyes twinkled. "Not for want of trying, I warrant. Yes, I see it now: a loyal and courageous heart that looks beyond itself. We will have need of such things."

"We will have to do without Gimli's," Glóin said.

"Perhaps we will find a different source," Gandalf said, turning his gaze westward. "There are many we might meet along our path." He was silent for a moment, and then he shook his head, looking back to the two dwarves. "Well, Gimli, it has been a pleasure. I trust we will have words again."

"I hope so," Gimli answered coolly, wishing he had Gandalf's confidence.

"Keep your courage and your loyalty. You may not walk this trail with us, but there will be other paths just as dark if not darker. You will have need of that strength, and so will others."

Gimli nodded hesitantly. He still did not know what to make of this wizard, nor did he know what to make of the wizard's words. But further conversation was not allowed, for Thorin finished speaking to the assembled dwarves and ordered all to ready themselves for the journey. Óin reappeared, now mounted on his pony and leading Glóin's. Glóin took the reins and started to swing himself up, but then he paused and looked hard at Gimli. Tossing the reins back to Óin, he abandoned the pony and caught Gimli up in a fierce embrace. "I love you, boy," he whispered. "You may not understand it now, but know that I do this for you."

Gimli locked his arms around his father, unable to speak, and he only released him when his father pulled back. "Safe journey," Gimli said, blinking rapidly.

Glóin's own eyes were suspiciously bright. "You have made me proud," he said. They stood there for a moment, and though silence hung between them, it was no longer an awkward silence. Then Glóin nodded sharply and turned away. He took the reins from Óin and swung up, clicking to his pony and urging him over to the others. Now astride his horse, Gandalf towered over all, and beside him was Thorin, mounted on the tallest pony the dwarves had.

"You will probably hear tidings by winter," said a voice from behind Gimli, and Gimli hastily stepped aside as Dwalin rode up. "One way or another, this should be decided by then." He extended his arm, over which was draped Gimli's hood and cloak. "I expect you want these back."

Gimli started to reach for them, but then he paused. "If you are willing, would you take them with you? So that something of mine goes with my father's company?"

Dwalin inclined his head. "I would be honored." He pulled one of his packs forward and folded the garments before stowing them away. "Shall I give them to your father later?"

"No," Gimli said. "No, he would keep them packed. You will ensure that they are used. I care not if I see that hood and cloak again so long as I know they served your company well."

"Then serve they will. I will find a use for them," Dwalin promised. Thorin's voice came to them, clear and commanding, and Dwalin raised his head to look. "That is our signal," he said. "Keep yourself well, Gimli, and wish us fortune!"

"You will need more than fortune," Gimli said darkly, stepping back. "But good fortune to you anyway."

Dwalin smiled grimly and then he was gone. At the head of the party, Thorin raised his hand and the ponies were urged forward into a swift trot. Those who had spilled forth from the First Hall shouted and waved, and children ran after the ponies, cheering loudly. But Gimli stood torn in the shadow of the mountain. Someday, according to his father, he would know what compelled these dwarves to seek the realms of their fathers. But until that day came, he had naught but his father's words and the grim foreboding of a hopeless quest. He could not imagine himself setting out on anything akin to this, and he wondered what it would take to fan the flames of heritage in his own heart. Fan them to the point that he would abandon family and seek out something as terrible as a dragon.

"It would take a darker destiny than Exile, that is certain," he murmured as the company disappeared over the crest of an outlying hill. The crowd around him shuffled back into the mountain, rubbing hands and arms together, but Gimli tarried outside, his thoughts lingering over the last glimpse of his father. The mountains at his back no longer had the feeling of home, and for the first time in his life, Gimli had a sense of what Exile meant. For home had always been with Glóin. And with Aés, to an extent, but it was his father who provided the family's foundation. Now he was gone, and the mountains felt empty.

At length, Gimli straightened his shoulders and turned his back to the east. If Glóin could carve a living in Exile, then Gimli could follow his example. He had a forge to mind and a mother to comfort. For now, that would be his quest. It was a quest of a different sort, but in honor of his father, Gimli intended to see it done.