Disclaimer: Lord of the Rings is owned by J.R.R. Tolkien, his family, New Line cinema, etc. I have written this for my own enjoyment.

Credit: www dot Tuckborough dot net

Summary: Gimli spends some time with one of Bag End's most precious commodities.

The Jewel of the Shire

“Uncle Gimli?”

Gimli, on an impromptu visit to Bag End with Legolas, paused in the act of filling his pipe and lifted his bushy head to find ten-year-old Elanor approaching the garden bench where he sat. He had forgone the visit to market with Legolas, Sam and four of the Gamgee offspring to enjoy some Old Toby instead (free of the elf’s disapproving glare). Mistress Rose’s soothing voice drifted from one of the Smial's open windows as she lulled baby Goldilocks into her late-morning nap.

Elanor came to a halt a few feet away from him, her wide blue eyes rounded in curiosity, her delicate fingers plucking at the hem of the pretty yellow dress she wore.

“Aye, lass?” he said, a smile playing on his lips as she abandoned the dress to twirl her golden ringlets instead.

“Uncle Legolas said there aren’t many dwarf-lasses left. Is that true?”

“Aye, ‘tis true, lass,” affirmed the dwarf matter-of-factly.

Elanor frowned, her rosebud lips rounding into a silent ‘oh‘. Gimli stuffed another few pinches of Old Toby into his pipe, allowing her the time she needed to form her next question. He did not have to wait too long.

“Does that mean,” she began, studying him from beneath her lashes, “that lots of dwarf-lads must do without a wife then?”

“Aye, lass.”

A soft breeze stirred, tugging playfully at the oldest Gamgee child’s curls. She paid it no heed, instead regarding her honorary uncle with a touch of anxiety on her pretty face.

“Did you have to do without one?”

Gimli, who had just reached for his tinder box, paused once more.

“Not exactly,” he said after a moment‘s thought. Truth be told, it had never occurred to him to woo himself a wife - he had been far too busy fighting a war, then submerging himself in the wonders of his new realm, to dally with the fairer sex.

“Oh. So do you have a dwarf-lass back in the Glittering Caves, then?” enquired Elanor with a hopeful smile.

He shook his head. “Ah, lass. There is no lady among my own kind to whom I could ever lose my heart, even were I fortunate enough to find one who was free,” he said simply, thinking of she who had been lost to him before he ever stepped foot inside the Golden Wood.

“Did all the other dwarf-lads find the lasses before you did?” probed Elanor gently. Gimli fought hard to suppress a chuckle at her woeful expression.

“That is a reasonable assumption,” he replied, unwilling to admit he had not even bothered to search for one himself. It would only disappoint the lass.

His little companion sighed heavily at this great misfortune. “But who will cook for you when you go back to your dwarf-hole?” she demanded, staggered by his lack of a sweetheart. “Who will wash your clothes? Who will scrub your floors? Or kiss you goodbye when you go a-wandering in them Glittering Caves of yours? Who will wait up for you with a warm mug of milk and give you a telling-off for coming back late?”

Elanor stood with her arms planted firmly on her hips, impatiently awaiting his answer. Her sweet face was scrunched into an expression of outrage so reminiscent of her mother’s that Gimli found it difficult to stifle a snort of laughter. Reluctant to offend the lass by chuckling openly, he managed to turn it into a strangled cough. After a few convincing gasps, during which the lass clambered on the bench and dutifully patted his back to aid in his recovery, he turned to face her, brown eyes twinkling furiously.

“’Tis a dilemma indeed, little maid. Perhaps, if Mahal favours me, I may yet find such a jewel before I succumb to infirmity.” He winked at her conspiratorially. “But until that fortunate hour is upon me, mayhap I can convince a certain elf to take up the position as servant in my home? I find that the idea of Legolas scrubbing my floors and cooking my meals holds a certain appeal.”

Gimli chortled in amusement at the thought, then added, “I may forgo the peck on the cheek, though, if that is all the same to you?”

To his surprise, she did not chuckle at his wit. Instead, she shook her head gravely, curls bouncing wildly from side to side.

“No, Uncle Gimli. Uncle Legolas is a prince - any hobbit of sense knows that princes can’t cook! You’ll fade to skin and bones, and then you‘ll be too weak to come and visit me again!”

Wide blue eyes searched his face imploringly. “And princes don’t do much scrubbing or washing either! Your dwarf-hole will fall to ruin, and your clothes will follow straight behind it!”

So passionate was her protestation for his welfare that Gimli had not the heart to point out that he had managed to get along very nicely without such wondrous aid, thank you very much. Cave floors required no scrubbing, and even he was able to roast his own rabbits! Despite these (for him, at least) glaring facts, the dwarf was touched by her childish concern for him.

“There’s only one thing for it, Uncle Gimli,” Elanor announced, her face brightening in a sudden smile.

“One thing for what, lass?” he enquired, wondering if she was referring to his imminent starvation, or the hovel she believed he lived in.

“If you can’t find a dwarf-lass to look after you, you’ll just have to wed me instead. I can cook. And clean. And I washed all my brothers breeches yesterday afternoon. Rose-mum said I did a very good job of it, too! I‘ll take proper care of you, better than any prince!”

A burst of warmth that had little to do with the Sun flooded his heart, and he beamed at the lass.

“Ah, little maid, I doubt that any dwarf has ever received such an enchanting offer! And were I several decades younger, and you several decades older, I would be honoured to accept it. Alas, but I fear it is not meant to be.”

For a second, Elanor looked very despondent. “But who will look after you, Uncle Gimli?” she asked softly.

“Do not fear, lass. If ever I reach the point where I despair for my next meal, or a clean tunic for my back, I shall do what you would do in the same situation.”

Her face perked in curiosity. “Yes? What will you do?”

“I shall plead to my own sweet mother for aid,“ replied Gimli, tickling her cheek with a meaty finger.

“Uncle Gimli, if I want a meal or a clean dress, I can see to that for myself!” she said with a despairing roll of her eyes.

“Then you are more adept with homely matters at ten years of age than I ever was!” he chuckled, busying himself with the lighting of his pipe. Once lit, the dwarf inhaled deeply of his Old Toby and blew the smoke over the garden path, well away from his sombre companion.

“Still, perhaps you’re right after all, Uncle Gimli,” said Elanor with a sigh, taking his free hand between her own smaller ones and patting it fondly. “Perhaps it’s not a very bad idea for you to ask your mum for help, instead of being wed to me.”

“Ah. I see you have finally resigned yourself to the difference in our ages. Good. I would be loathe to deprive some strapping young hobbit of a lass as fair as you. ‘Twould not seem right to steal the Shire’s brightest jewel and hide her in the deep caverns of a crusty old dwarf‘s mountain.”

Again, Elanor surprised him.

“No, that’s not it, Uncle Gimli,” she said, throwing him a cheeky smile. “It’s just that, begging your pardon, I wouldn’t be able to kiss you goodbye when you went a-wandering. I don’t think I’d be able to find a cheek to plant one on under all that hair.”

Gimli threw back his head and roared with laughter and, this time, Elanor did join in.

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