Hello, everybody; ModernDayBard here! I didn't really know where this chapter was going until about halfway through writing it, but once I did, it fell together pretty easily. Hopefully, you think it turned out!
DISCLAIMER: Neither of us owns any of the characters, settings, lore, or cannon events.
To Glóin went the honor of being the first in Thorin's company to become a father, and his son, Gimli, had the honor of being the first dwarf-child born in the Lonely Mountain after the dwarves reclaimed it from Smaug.
Some may have been tempted to think that said dual honors lay pressure on Glóin to see that his son was reared in all the traditions and lore of their people; those who had known him long, though, would counter with it would have been strange indeed for Glóin to have done otherwise, as steeped in their history as he was (and a part of it, too). To either party, Glóin would have made the same answer: in the end, he wasn't given much of a choice by his son's burning curiosity and passion for the tales and kingdoms of the dwarves.
Glóin had resolved early on to tell his son the truth of the stories: the good with the bad, the tragedy with the triumph, the fall as well as the rise. Some, like the tales of the Lonely Mountain, came back to a good end—reclamation, homecoming. But others, like Moria, hung unfinished, unresolved, for the dwarves would never willingly let go anything that had been theirs, though they could not take it back at that time.
Glóin frowned. It was unlike Gimli to be late keeping any promise he had made, even in the somewhat flighty period of a dwarf's life as they entered their thirties, transitioning away form childhood, but not yet fully grown into maturity.
Gimli would've been home by now, as he had said he would be if he knew the time, so he must've lost track of the hour. He was not yet dedicated enough to his craft for that to be what stole his attention away; in fact, the only thing that could so consume him, even still, was—
Glóin smiled. He knew where his son was.
There lies his crown in waters deep,
'Till Durin wakes again from sleep…
Glóin stood, waiting, at the entrance to the chamber as the song reached its end, unable to deny the stirring in his soul as the assembled voices rang out the old song of Moria, or the twinge of something deep and nameless at the sight of his son among Balin's colonists.
The preparations for Moria's colonization were finished and Balin and his followers would depart in a few days' time; in the meantime, their evenings were spent recounting the glories of the kingdom they would soon set out to reclaim. Where else would a young dwarf so steeped in the history of his people spend his free moments?
Gimli caught his father's eye from the door and quietly excused himself from the honored company.
"My apologies, father," he said quietly once the chamber was a ways behind them, only the echoes of the next song audible. "I did not mean to get so distracted."
"I know, my son, I know."
Silence lasted until they turned another corner and the younger dwarf could not contain his question any longer. "Do you think I shall ever see Khazad-dûm?"
Glóin could not hep a smile at his son's preference for the old name over the grim reminder of 'Moria,' but the smile fell as he wondered, not for the first time, if he was being selfish for not allowing his son to go with Blain, as he so clearly desired. But, no—Gimli was young yet, and still early in his training as both warrior and craftsman, while Balin needed skilled hands and fierce fighters in the early days of the colony. Once they were more fully established, in several decade's time, then they would need other settlers to round out their numbers. By then, surely Gimli would be ready to go—and Glóin would be ready to let him.
"I don't think there is a power under mountain or above it that could stop you, when the day comes," he answered at last, and it seemed to content Gimli, if the smile that came at the words was any indication.
That night, Glóin stayed up later than his son, staring into the fire, still hearing the old song in a young voice:
…In Moria, in Khazad-dûm…
Someday, my son, but not yet.
So, yeah. I've spent a lot of time this year listening to Peter Hollens' album where he covers a lot of LOR songs, and some of my favorites are the dwarves' songs, particularly 'Song of Durin,' which is the one Gimli sings when the fellowship in Moria, in the books. There's just something about the sound of it that evokes this ancient people steeped in their traditions, lore, and history, so connecting Gimli to the 'tradition' prompt was a no-brainer for me, and I was eager to try it out!
Hopefully, you enjoyed it, and look for Endurance's next chapter tomorrow!
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While these aren't song-fics, we did want to keep up the tradition of song recommendations at the end of each chapter, so:
Song: O Come, O Come Emmanuel
Artist: Peter Hollens
