This is a Hobbit Kink Meme Prompt Fill
The Beauty Of Family
At first, when Gimli does not come home straight away after the war is won, Glóin does not give it any second thought.
His son even writes a letter, to excuse himself – Aragorn, son of Arathorn, and a dear friend of his son's is going to be crowned King of Arnor and Gondor in the White City. Since Gimli is already there, and since he cares deeply for this great warrior, he will stay for the ceremony and the following feast.
Glóin understands.
Gimli has fought side by side with the ranger, they won this war together.
It is no surprise that he wants to spend this very special moment with him.
So Glóin smiles, and sends an understanding letter, and even a gift for the King-to-be. Not in one word does he betray how much he and his wife are missing their dear son, how much they would like to see him after months of war and sorrow.
How desperately they need to make sure that he really made it out of this alive.
When the next letter arrives, Glóin does not worry, either.
Gimli has been assigned to accompany King Éomer of Rohan back to Edoras, and then to make sure that the Lady Éowyn, who would come with her brother, would make it back to her fiancé Faramir, Steward of Gondor, safely.
Again, Glóin understands.
While being friends with a great King of men may not bring him duties, Gimli's loyalty would allow nothing but to help in any way he can.
Also, Glóin is quite proud.
From his son's letters he reads that the guard for Éomer and Éowyn is rather small. King Elessar's trust in his abilities must be very deep.
So Glóin waits, and hopes to see the boy – man – he has raised when he returns from Rohan.
The third letter makes Glóin's heart ache a little.
Surviving packs of orcs and uruk-hai are hiding in the plains, regrouping and preventing the rebuilding of smaller villages and farms.
Together with Gondor's best warriors, Gimli is sent out to hunt them down.
Even before Glóin reads the explanation he knows what this means.
Gimli would never deny a friend a request like that, and least of all Elessar.
The aged dwarf carefully wraps his arms around his wife and holds her as she clings to him, once more worrying for the son she had already thought safe.
He cannot come home soon enough.
The fourth letter sparks hope as well as distrust in Glóin's heart.
Gimli is finally on his way north, after long weeks of helping King Elessar with anything he might need.
However, the dwarf will not make straight for Erebor, but stop in Lothlorien for the Lady Galadriel has requested his presence. Glóin is hurt and disappointed and furious that answering to yet another's call takes priority to answering to his parents', and that it is an elf of all races, and that, in his letter, Gimli calls her Lady.
He just wants to see his son, wants to make sure that he is well – is that too much to ask for?
And even as he yells that question into the empty room, not expecting an answer from the bare stone walls, he knows that his son is a grown-up warrior, and that his priorities are his and his alone to choose.
He just wishes that Gimli would choose differently.
Yet another letter arrives, and Glóin knows what it will say before he has even unsealed it.
The good news is that Gimli is – finally – approaching Erebor, slowly but steadily.
The bad news is that he is taking another detour, and for an elf yet again.
That said detour will lead him deep into Mirkwood, and that said elf is Thranduil, makes it even worse.
Gimli warns him that he might stay there for some weeks, before making for Dale and the Lonely Mountain.
Why he will go to see the woodelven king voluntarily, Glóin cannot tell.
Maybe he does not even want to know.
The thought alone makes him incredibly angry, and that Gimli is choosing to see Thranduil over seeing him only serves to incite the flames. The more he thinks about it, the hotter the fury burns in his veins and at the end of the day he is mad enough to wish for his son to stay away entirely, if he prefers the presence of those damn tree-shaggers.
He goes to bed with anger in his mind and disappointment in his heart, suspecting nothing of what comes next.
Morning dawns, and Erebor is already bustling with activity, when a commotion at the Gates tears Glóin from his duties.
The guards have reported that a group from Mirkwood is approaching – which is not all that unusual, they do have trade agreements, after all – unannounced, and should they be calling for the King?
Glóin could not care any less about the elves, however, and instead instructs them to call for his wife, for there is no mistaking one of the two figures sitting atop the single white horse which come galloping up the pathway towards the Gates.
The aged dwarf easily makes his way through those who have gathered to watch in curiosity, and rushes out of the Kingdom he calls home. As fast as his short feet can carry him (which is not all that slow) he runs towards the riders, and when he arrives the taller one has slowed down their mount.
Glóin has no eyes for him even as he helps the smaller one dismount.
Dark eyes lighten up in surprise and joy when they take him in while strong hands tear the helmet from a head of red fire. Gimli rushes forward to meet his father in a head-butt that has the blonde behind him wince with the force of it, before drawing his father into an embrace the way men (and hobbits) do.
"'Adad!" the warrior exclaims, then pushes him an arm length away in order to be able to look at him. "I'm terribly sorry for my delay! Are you well? And 'amad?"
"It doesn't matter now," Glóin grumbles good-naturedly, "all that matters is that you're here – and whole. We're both alright, except for our wish to see you."
"I'm grand, 'adad. And relieved to be home." He turns then, motions for his companion to step forward. "We should go inside. There's too many people staring at us for my comfort."
For the first time since their arrival Glóin tears his eyes from his son for them to fall upon the other, and he freezes when he takes in the lithe body and the fine, ageless features. Oh, he does remember this creature only too well! The savage who insulted not only him, but also his wife and son within minutes upon their first encounter-
"I'd rather wait for 'amad before I make introductions," his son claims, moving to make for the Gates.
"You don't need to introduce him," the aged dwarf growls, furious.
The grin he receives in return is rather toothy and dangerous. "Oh, but I do! And you better behave, 'adad, for he is very dear to me."
With that he marches off, the elf following him, and Glóin has no choice but to trail after them.
His wife is awaiting them in their chambers, and upon the emotional reunion – which includes quite a lot of scolding, and the use of one rolling pin – he blissfully forgets about Thranduil's offspring (who has accompanied them) for a short time.
Gimli, however, shows his poor father no mercy.
Instead he turns to reach for the elf's hand, pulling him forward to stand next to the redhead.
"I know, I stayed away for a very long time, and I'm sorry. I had to help some friends, save the world, ask a few favours. But most of all I – we – had to decide what to do. The reason that we came already, although we wanted to stay at Mirkwood for some time, is that Thranduil chose to come here and talk things through, and I wanted you to hear from me, not him."
There is little left of the hatred Gimli used to feel for the Woodland King, the word being accompanied by no more than a limited amount of dislike now.
It still has the blond elf give himself airs, and Gimli huff as he rolls his eyes in an affectionate gesture.
"I- … what in Mahal's name are you talking about?" Glóin asks weakly.
He fears he already knows where this is going.
Gimli takes a deep breath, drawing himself to his full height (which is that of a dwarven warrior in the prime of his life, and as such quite impressive) and grasping the long fingers still held in his a little more tightly.
"You have to tell them, just like you made me tell Adar," the elf sing-songs, voice teasing.
The redhead grumbles. "I'm getting at it, you impatient longleg. Just shut it, will you?" He takes another deep breath, then, and Glóin finds himself reaching for his wife's hand. For mental support. "Alright, here we go. 'Adad, 'amad, let me introduce the one I chose to give my heart to. Legolas Greenleaf his name, he has proven himself to be a fine warrior and a loyal friend. There is nothing I would not do for him, and no situation in which I would not trust him to stand by my side, and keep me safe if necessary. I ask you to allow me to court him beneath the eyes of our forefathers, and to be courted by him beneath the eyes of Mahal himself. Although there's not really anything you can do to keep us from it should you say no," he adds to the traditional plea, dark eyes sparkling.
Glóin is feeling faint.
It is exactly as he had feared.
"We support this courtship before our forefathers and Mahal," his wife, in the meantime, answers cheerfully (like he knew she would) before he has the chance to let the two of them suffer at least a little for doing this to him.
The elf's – Legolas' – eyes are wide with surprise. "You do?"
"Never before has my son called any of your kind even able of fighting, let alone a fine warrior – or a loyal friend. You really must've wrapped him 'round your finger," she happily explains, before letting go of her husband's hand and drawing the frozen blonde in for a hug.
"Now, what did your father say?"
"Scarily enough, he accepted it," Gimli answers instead of his still shocked intended, shuddering. "I was looking forward to spending weeks trying to sway him – and annoy the shit out of him while I was at it. It was quite disappointing, really, when he stood before us telling us that his son's happiness was all he cared for. Disappointing, and terribly cheesy."
Glóin is surprised when he hears himself laugh at that, and even more so when he realizes that it means he, too, has accepted- … this.
But, well, the elf King as given his approval, and he will not be outdone by that- … that- … idiot.
"He's coming here, too," Gimli adds, and Glóin freezes. "To discuss the details."
"And to rile up your parents, no doubt," Legolas chimes in, smiling innocently.
"They can rile up each other, then, and leave us to a tour around Erebor."
Gimli, too, grins, and looks at the elf in a way which convinces Glóin completely. Even if his own reaction is similar to Thranduil's, there is nothing he cares for more than his son's happiness, and he certainly seems to have found it in the gangly archer he is currently pulling out of the room, and into the tunnels.
Rough, work-worn fingers find his.
"I'm quite proud that you're so accepting," his wife whispers as she touches her forehead to his, untamed happiness in her eyes.
Happiness for her son's.
"I could never disappoint him thusly. Also, now that he's finally home… I don't really care for anything else."
He is rewarded with a passionate kiss, and as the two of them make for the Gates again – ready to greet Thranduil and his lot – the aged dwarf finds himself actually looking forward to it.
After all, Gimli all but asked him to jar on the tree-shagger's nerves.
And he is going to enjoy that to the fullest.