A/N: A response to a prompt on the kink meme.

Hardly had Balin knocked upon the door, than Glóin was wrenching it open. "Cousin!" he exclaimed, and Balin was hauled into a rough hug. Upon release, Balin was tugged inside. "Come in, come in, he's through here."

Glóin's tone and step were brisk, and Balin frowned. "I am not late, am I?"

"No, no, quite on time," Glóin assured him. "But everything's a bit chaotic round here." He waved airily around the cottage, which was more disorganised than expected even from a dwarven family with their first child wreaking havoc. Toys and wood shavings, dirty bowls, old scrolls... The house was littered with them.

Running his fingers over a mantelpiece as he walked, Balin found he left a trail in the dust, and he frowned. "When does your lovely lady-wife return?"

"Not for another month." Glóin sighed, and glanced about, taking in the chaos. "I did not realise how much she did, until I attempted to do it myself. I am not a match for her." He shook his head, banished the thoughts. "I will be glad to have her back. Come, Gimli has been looking forward to seeing you." He opened the door to the nursery, and showed Balin over to where the large, ornate crib stood, and where a dwarfling in his first year of life lay kicking happily within. "Here he is." Glóin's chest swelled slightly with the pride only a parent could feel. iLook what I did./i

"He has your looks," Balin observed, leaning over to lift the child, who gurgled contentedly. "Poor thing."

"Hey!" Glóin protested at the familial teasing, but he quickly turned sombre once more. "I do appreciate this, Balin. With an extra mouth to feed, and the wait for Fimli's pay, I can't afford to turn work down at the moment."

"You do not need to explain yourself to me," Balin assured his cousin, wiggling his fingers before Gimli to amuse him. "It is quite alright. You can can just feed me at some point. When you can."

Glóin nodded, and turned to leave, bidding farewell, but hesitated as he reached the door. His eyes lingered on his son, and he swooped back to plant a bristly kiss atop Gimli's thin ginger hair. "Later," he gruffly said – failing entirely to tell Balin where Gimli's food was, when he should be put down for a nap, or when Glóin would return.

"Well just have to manage, won't we?" Balin said. When the child looked around himself and found himself bereft of his father, he let out a squall of protest, hands reaching out to a parent that was not there. "Now now, little one," Balin murmured, "None of that. You and I have to tidy this place for your poor hard-working father." He found a stuffed oliphaunt toy discarded on the floor, and presented it to the child. It rattled. "How about you start with that one, and I deal with the rest?"

000

"Magic bag! Magic bag! Magic bag!" chanted Gimli, doing dances around the adults' feet.

"-and then Óin realised he'd only gone and sat on his own ear trumpet!" Glóin said, speaking over his son.

"Magic bag! Magic bag! Magic!"

"Of course he did," Balin chuckled. "I remember when-"

"Magic bag! Magic bag! Magic bag!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Glóin interrupted, "But what have you done to my son, and how do I make him stop?"

Balin chuckled. "I may perhaps have promised him that he could take a look in my magic bag. But I did not wish to interrupt our wonderful conversation."

"Magic bag!" Gimli all but shouted, jumping in the air.

"Fimli is normally the one in when I get here, so perhaps you do not know about my magic bag," Balin said. "Gimmers, why don't you explain to your father what's in my magic bag, whilst I go and get it from the hall?"

As he wandered into the hallway, he heard Gimli eagerly explaining, "He brings it, and it's blue, and it has paints in it, and it has sweets in it, and sometimes cakes in it, and sometimes toys and there's always a secret present just for me!"

"Ah I see. So Balin has been buying your love, all this time," Glóin said, chuckling.

"And this is the magic bag," Balin announced with a grin, presenting it.

"That's it!" Gimli looked as if he was about to burst with excitement, and the moment it was placed on the floor, he eagerly delved through.

"As you're such a big dwarf now, there's a very special present in there for you," Balin told him – but Gimli had already found it.

Eyes wide as saucers, Gimli emerged from the cloth bag with a carved wooden axe in hand.

"Now you aren't to use it on people-" Balin attempted to explain, but Gimli had already launched himself at his father, and was attempting to hack off his leg.

000

Family gatherings could be a little overwhelming for young dwarflings, and at other times they could be in their element. At Glóin and Fimli's wedding anniversary celebrations, their young son demonstrated both with exuberance.

Having eaten half a ton of cake, and chased Fimli's sister's dog around the garden for twenty minutes straight, he was now being implored by the company to entertain them.

"Come now, son. You've been practising on the violin Dwalin got you. You ought to show him," Glóin pressed. "It would only be polite."

"But... No." Gimli hid behind his mother's legs, sheltering from the gazes of the adults in a sudden fit of shyness.

"Gimli..." Glóin began, frustrated, but Balin leaned forward and interrupted his cousin.

In a stage-whisper, he asked, "Gimli, do you think you could play the violin just for me? If the others promise they'll block their ears?"

"No!"

Sat back in his fold out chair as if it a were a throne, Dwalin asked, "What if we close our eyes as well?" He looked around himself for laughter from his family, which came, but Gimli gave a hesitant nod at the suggestion.

"Maybe then."

Smiling, Balin reached out to ruffle Gimli's thick hair, and said, "There we are then."

The tune Gimli played was halting and simple, but he was a child, and the adults applauded – even those who were not supposed to be listening. When he was finished, he climbed into Balin's lap, and hid himself there, embarrassment still upon him.

"Do you think they really liked it?" he whispered.

"Yes, you were brilliant. You must have worked really hard," Balin assured him.

"I did!"

It was there, in Balin's arms, that the contented Gimli fell asleep as the adults talked for hours.

Glóin leaned over to Balin, and quietly observed, "You are good with him. He loves the time he spends with you."

"Mmm..." Balin did little more than acknowledge the compliment, and hid the melancholy wistfulness he felt with a smile. He could cover the little one with love during his visits and babysitting sessions, give him gifts and praise, but the burden of the dwarves' lack of women lay heavily upon his shoulders at times. He was well past his prime, and all he could do was try his best for the few their race was blessed with. And none brought him more joy, than the little bundle of tired dwarf in his lap.

000

"Balin! Balin!" It was the kind of urgent cry that every babysitter dreads, and Balin turned from his washing up to a frantic Kíli rushing into the kitchen. "Gimli's hurt his foot. Help!"

Kíli tore away. Balin shook his hands over the sink, and hurried after the foot-high dwarfling. He entered the living room that Kíli had disappeared into. Huffing, he asked, "What's going on in-" He paused, confused, as the room he found himself in was empty, but a moment later -

Yells, and three tiny dwarves launched themselves at him from their hiding places, shooting rubber arrows.

He toppled under the onslaught, though he could well have withstood it, and the scene quickly turned into a chaos of tickling and screaming.

Eventually, Balin had the two brothers pinned beneath his knees, and Gimli's hands in one hand, feet in the other. "Ha!" He announced triumphantly. "Now, you have brought this old dwarf down in his knees, and that is quite far enough for one game. When I let you up, I would like you to cease attacking, or I'll tell your parents you've been playing archers inside the house."

"Don't tell Mama!" Fíli cried. "It would bring shame on the house of Durin."

Balin raised an eyebrow, making a mental note to scold Thorin for exposing dwarflings to guilt and responsibility far too early.

"The house of Durin?" Gimli twisted in Balin's hands to look down at Fíli. Upside down, his hair fell over his eyes. "But you live in the flat above the smithy. And Durin doesn't live there. Durin lives... I don't know where Durin lives. I don't know who Durin is."

"Durin is... Durin is... Kíli will tell you who Durin is," Fíli stumbled for.

"A dwarf that is our great-great-great-great-great-great-many grandfather," Kíli tried, squirming.

"And he lives in your house?" exclaimed Gimli. "He must be iold/i."

Kíli exclaimed, "No. He's dead."

"But he's Durin the Deathless!" Fíli argued.

Balin retracted the mental note, as Thorin clearly had not explained it very well. "I think you should talk to your parents about this. I'm going to let you go now. Will you behave?"

The three children made sulky agreements, and Balin released them, wishing that all his foes were as easy to persuade into cease-fires as these three. Almost immediately, Fíli and Kíli tore off to rough-house, Fíli spouting about how they could play the same trick on their parents, but Gimli lingered a moment.

"You wouldn't really tell our parents, would you?" he asked, shrewd eyes fixed on his minder.

"If I had to, if you were really bad. But this time, I'll let you off. Now help an elder up, my lad." The assistance was a show – little Gimli could no more lift Balin than a house, but it made the young one giggle as Balin grumbled about his knackered knees. When he was back on his feet, Balin tossed a discarded miniature bow from hand to hand. Thoughtfully, he asked Gimli, "I wonder... I know I can trust you. Will you help me get my revenge?"

Gimli grinned, and nodded his agreement.