(A/N: Cíweth is pretty young here, maybe the equivalent in human terms of about four or five years old)

Gimli had spent the entire morning among the forges of Erebor with her daughter trailing her and was now utterly exhausted. Although her own calling in life had been to that of the Warrior's path, she'd had plenty of training with a hammer and anvil during her youth in Ered Luin and was more than competent as a blacksmith. She had aided the smith-masters and their apprentices for hours, chatting (well, shouting) above the clamor, trying to befriend a few more of them, while simultaneously attempting to keep her daughter from causing too much mischief (the child seemed to have an endless supply of energy these days and Gimli could not fathom where the lass could be keeping it all in that tiny body of hers).

The Glittering Caves would need such skilled dwarves – everything from horseshoes and nails to gratings and gates to plow blades and axe blades. It couldn't hurt to be in the good favor of a few of them, even at this early stage of planning.

This was no mere blacksmith's forge as is found among men, or even the small but elegant ateliers of the Elves - there was a vast vaulted hall under the Mountain dedicated to every kind of metalcraft known in Arda, with massive chimneys tunneling up miles to exhaust the fumes of the forge-fires to the open skies, belching smoke and steam as though Smaug himself still lay under the mountain.

The people of Dale did not cower at this sight, though – the industry of the mountain enriched their marketplaces and freed up labor for their own primary source of income – the fruit of the fertile fields and orchards of the countryside surrounding the town and the Lonely Mountain. Having been left untilled and untended for many years under the malevolent gaze of a dragon, they now yielded nearly double what old records had indicated. And though it had been only a few decades since Erebor had been retaken by the dwarves, Dale's toy markets were once again becoming known throughout the region and beyond.

Now that the threat of Mordor was past, and a proper king upon the throne of Gondor, it seemed an era of peace and prosperity had finally arrived for those who still dwelled in Middle Earth – the perfect time, Gimli thought, for new things, such as the delightful(ly irritating) little imp currently perched on her belly and playing with her beard.

Gimli had unceremoniously chucked off her heavy boots next to the door of her home and was currently stretched out on her back on an overstuffed, Elf-sized couch, trying valiantly to get in an afternoon nap before her husband returned. He'd been away at Ithilien with the colony he had recently begun there with some of his father's people for the past month.

Gimli had slept poorly the night before, as she often seemed to sleep poorly these days when her husband was away. It always seemed so odd to her, that she had spent nearly her whole life sleeping each night like a log with no trouble on her own, even in ditches and caves, and then after only a scant few years of marriage, she no longer cared to parted from her husband for any length of time. Life was full of surprises these days, it seemed.

But Legolas would be home soon enough, and she would be compelled to rise and do something about getting supper together for her family (Legolas was a competent enough cook, but there was only so much "rabbit food" she could stand and so she rarely let him have their little kitchen to himself, though they often prepared meals together, with much grumbling and sniping as elbows clashed in the small space).

Cíweth had other ideas for their afternoon, apparently.

"Darling, let your poor mother sleep a bit, please."

The young girl draped herself over her mother, burying her round face and tangling her little fingers even further into her favorite soft, warm blanket, that was Gimli's thick red beard. Cíweth giggled as she breathed in deeply to catch the familiar scent of forge-smoke and iron that still lingered around her mother.

Gimli cracked open one eye and strained to look down at what her daughter had been doing while she'd dozed. Oh, dear, what a mess….

Cíweth had managed to undo her braids entirely and, apparently, was re-doing them in her own imaginative fashion, including taking the ribbons out of her own hair and tangling them in with the rest of Gimli's various beads and adornments

"Ach! Look what you've done, lass-"

"I'm makin' you pretty, Mama!"

Gimli sighed and tried not to look too put-out. Cíweth's small fingers had stilled for a moment, but now went back to her attempts at winding handfuls of hair into tangles scarcely resembling braids.

"No, no! Stop, stop"

Gimli placed her hands gently over the small ones in her beard to still them, giving them a light squeeze and waiting until she (finally) had Cíweth's full attention.

Gimli chewed at her lip and thought a minute. Maybe Cíweth was old enough now; her clever fingers certainly had no problem getting into trouble and breaking into all manner of things.

"Come now, do you want to learn how to braid properly or not?"

Cíweth answered by way of giggling and pursing her lips, jamming an end of one of the "braids" she'd made in Gimli's beard between her nose and her mouth as a mock-moustache.

Gimli yanked the tangled hair back began undoing the knots, trying not curse in front of her daughter when they were difficult (the child had the infuriating habit of repeating everything she heard sooner or later). Gimli pressed ribbons and beads into Cíweth's hands as she got them untangled.

That Cíweth's beard had never come in was still something of a private grievance to Gimli, although she would never put voice to such feelings, not wanting to hurt her husband's or daughter's feelings over something that was nobody's fault and not really all that important in the grand scheme of things. Nonetheless, Gimli's family had been known for generations for their fine, thick beards and her daughter had apparently inherited none of it. Well, such is life.

Cíweth had put all the beads and ribbons into the pocket on the front of her smock and, in her impatience, had gone back to daydreaming and threading her fingers through the ends of Gimli's beard.

"Oh do pay attention!"

Cíweth sniffled and looked up with a startled expression. Gimli was generally quite patient with her daughter (at least more so than she was patient with any other animate or inanimate thing on Arda, which was certainly testament to her love for her child), but the girl's mind constantly flitted from one thing to another and wandered about without direction. She was certainly her father's daughter as well, in that regard. Gimli chuckled to herself at the thought. Tch, elves.

"I know I can do it, Mama, I can."

"Of course ye can, darling, but only if you pay attention."

Gimli groped around for another cushion, wedging it behind her head to see her work and her daughter both a bit better and began to re-do the first braid trailing down from beside her chin.

A thorough combing would not be amiss (it was about time for a wash, too, but that could wait another day), but she didn't have a comb on her at the moment, alas. It would have to wait until the evening. She could do up her customary braids in a matter of minutes in the morning, and undo them again before bed in even less time, but she worked slowly now, trying to let Cíweth's eyes follow each strand over and under one another.

The braids in Cíweth's hair were most often the work of her father (unless he was away on some errand or another) as she sat on his knees every morning after their breakfast, though done a bit thicker than customary for elvish braids, due to the sheer volume of Cíweth's copper-blonde hair.

Gimli fixed the bead at the end of the first braid and separated the locks on the other side to begin the second.

"Okay, now it is your turn."

Cíweth was hesitant at first and Gimli had to guide her movements for several minutes, but it wasn't long before she got the hang of it. She had trouble with the bead at the end but beads were always a bit fiddly anyway and Gimli was sure more practice would fix the problem.

ooooo

Legolas wound his way through the town of Dale as the shadows grew long with the coming of the evening, barely noticing the activity of the human residents and dwarven traders who milled about the town, moving swiftly and lightly over the dusty narrow cobbled, graveled or muddy packed-dirt streets despite his exhaustion, making his way home to his family in the mountain ahead.

Even the customary distrust on the faces of the guards at the gates of the Lonely Mountain could not slow him down. Like every dwarf in Erebor now, they knew the only elf in residence on sight, and let him pass without comment. It had taken some time to gain even a tentative trust of the dwarves of Erebor, at least those outside of his wife's own kin, but he'd slowly befriended… well, some of them.

Gimli's honor and good standing counted for quite a lot, and kept him from being harassed, but respect isn't quite the same thing as acceptance. There were still some of those who had been in his father's dungeon, of course, although over half of them had long passed to their Maker's halls. Gloin had forgiven Legolas entirely and accepted him as a son (though probably only for the sake of Gimli's happiness and no other reason; Legolas had no illusions about that).

While Dwalin's goodwill had also at first seemed mostly a spiteful usurpation of Thranduil's son after that first unhappy reunion, the dwarf seemed almost maybe genuinely fond of him now (even though Legolas had mostly patched things up with his father and they were again on speaking terms), although Dwalin would probably never admit it in mixed company.

Legolas rarely ran across Dori, who oversaw the provisions and supplies of the King's court these days, but Legolas had come to expect cool politeness, and nothing more – the old dwarf's mood had been rather subdued since learning of his youngest brother's death in Moria, and Legolas could not bring himself to feel sore over the apparent hostility. His demeanor toward Gimli was only a little better and Legolas suspected that Dori somehow connected them to his brother's misfortune, despite the fact that Ori had been long dead by the time the fellowship had discovered his bones and his book at Balin's tomb.

Dori's wayward brother, Nori, was rarely present at Erebor, and Legolas knew not whither the thief went when he was not present, nor did he care to find out, but more than one small item had disappeared from his person after their rare run-ins.

Legolas would occasionally run across Bombur, Bombur's wife, one of his prodigious offspring, or Bofur, while in Dale, and they generally ignored him unless he made a point of speaking to them or had Gimli or Cíweth with him. The larger dwarf had a popular restaurant at an inn in town, and other cousin had a stall in the toy market.

The eldest cousin, Bifur, spent most of his days at his cousin's market stall carving his clever little animal toys as shoppers stopped to watch or walked by, happy enough with his craft but more or less indifferent to the world around him. Of the three cousins, however, he was the most responsive to Legolas, occasionally smiling up at the elf and saying something that, despite Gloin and Dwalin's Khuzdul lessons, remained largely incomprehensible to him. Still, it was nice to be acknowledged, and Legolas occasionally brought him pieces of fine wood from his father's realm for his work.

The sun was setting behind the Misty Mountains as Legolas entered, at last, the kingdom of Erebor. The cool air inside the mountain felt refreshing against his heated face and he breathed deeply as he made his way to his family's home. He began to sing to himself in Sindarin, garnering a few suspicious looks from dwarves passing by.

The sight that greeted him upon entering his home was enough to dispel any lingering exhaustion from the road, however.

His daughter was seated on his wife's lap, high-pitched laughing filling the room. Gimli's hair and beard had more braids than he'd ever seen on a single dwarf, some more crooked than others, and at least four different colors of ribbons and dozens of beads in a riot over her head.

Legolas fell back against the doorframe, jamming his knuckles into his mouth and trying not to descend into hysterics as Gimli shot him a threatening glance.

"Papa, look! I made Mama pretty!"

Legolas choked on barely withheld laughter, his face turning red in the effort.

"Yes, very pretty!"

Gimli lifted Cíweth and set her on the floor and rose from the couch, shooting her husband a glance that could curdle fresh cream. Suddenly her expression changed, turning into something rather more wolfish.

"Well, my little badger, perhaps after supper, you can make your Papa pretty too!"

Cíweth grinned broadly as she skipped over to her father, reaching up to take hold of a strand of his long blond hair. Legolas' grin took on a rather more forced look.

"But don't you want me to tell you all about what I've been doing in Ithilien?"

Cíweth smiled innocently.

"I can do listening an' braiding a'the same time, don' worry, I can make you pretty too!"

Now it was Gimli's turn to laugh, and she made no attempt at holding it in. Legolas felt just a little betrayed.

Gimli walked over and grabbed Legolas by the elbow and dragged him toward the kitchen.

"Take off those boots and come wash up, it's time to start supper. Cíweth, you too, I don't want you making a mess again while we're busy."

(Cíweth had managed to "decorate" their home with ink and charcoal the previous week when left unattended for a few minutes, and Gimli was not in a mood to scrub the walls again).

ooooo

Later that evening Legolas found himself draped over Gimli's lap and outstretched legs, his head propped on the arm of the sofa and his poor, abused hair in the slightly sticky hands of an overly enthusiastic child.

It would probably take hours for him and his wife to undo the damage to their hair after they put Cíweth to bed… all that unbraiding, and combing, and brushing, maybe even a wash… hm, well, he could think of a worse way to begin their first evening together again after over a month's separation.

Legolas smiled softly at Gimli and ran his fingers over his wife's chaotic braids. He wrapped a warm hand around the soft skin of her nape and pulled her down for a kiss.

Legolas ignored the embarrassed giggles and outburst of "ewwwww, stop tha' mushy stuff!" behind him and deepened the kiss. As their daughter squealed and ran out of the room, Gimli chuckled into her husband's mouth and wrapped her arms tightly around him.