Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.
A/N: Okay, I did the math. In this story, one dwarf year will equal four years. Gimli is 63 in the story, which as of now I'm saying is set late in T.A. 2942, but it will change because it's going to be about all of Gimli's life. At the time of the Council of Elrond, he would be the dwarfish equivalent of 34 going on 35. Also, I'm going to say that dwarves come to age at their equivalent of 16. BTW, for those who have forgotten, Dain II Ironfoot became King Under the Mountain after the death of Thorin II Oakenshield. Dain's son was Thorin III Stonehelm. Although he was 13 years older than Gimli, I'm making him eight years younger. Don't kill me for doing this! It makes the story a lot easier, and you probably wouldn't have even realized that if I hadn't have told you anyway.
Thanks to:
The Balrog of Altena - The first chapter was really me testing the water really. I didn't really know where I was going, but I do now, and I must say it's shaping up really well.
The Eighteenth Letter - I know. That's why I wanted to write this. I realize the first chapter was super short, but I'm trying to make the chapters as long as I can.
The Life of a Dwarf
Chapter 2
Gimli was sitting in quiet solitude under the shade of the mountain. He had come out here to gather his thoughts and try to imagine what the rest of his life would be like. He had been doing this a lot, the reason being his coming of age in the January of the coming year. It was a momentous occasion in the life of a young dwarf, but he had no idea what it would mean for him.
"Gimli!"
Gimli turned to see his young cousin running towards him. Thorin III was the son of King Dain II and about eight years, two dwarf years, younger than him, but Gimli didn't see him in that light. He saw him as the one person who could possibly relate to him. His mother had died in childbirth and left Thorin in very much the same situation as Gimli, except Dain attempted to keep Thorin locked away from the rest of the world.
Gimli stood to greet the young heir. "Thorin! What have you been up to?" he asked in greeting.
"Nothing much, cousin, thanks to my father," Thorin said grudgingly. "He promised that he'd give me more of a free reign as long as I agreed to take an appointed guard wherever I went. Trouble is that, although I agreed, he hasn't appointed one yet! Says he doesn't know who he can trust with me! I just hope he gets before my coming of age, and I hope whoever he gets isn't old and senile!"
Gimli chuckled. "With your luck, he's going to wait until you come of age and then give you one even when you are technically supposed to be on your own! And he'll most definitely be old and senile!"
Thorin smacked him upside the head. "That's not funny!"
Gimli chuckled again. "No, but it's most likely true."
"Ha ha," he replied sarcastically.
Gimli suddenly held up a hand to shush him. He had heard something. The seclusion of the spot that had seemed so welcoming before now felt ominous. He barely had time to register the orc arrow aimed at Thorin before instinct took over and he had pushed his friend out of harm's way. Unfortunately, he didn't have the time to remove himself from the path of the arrow. Sharp pain lanced from his right side and he screamed out in pain. His scream attracted the attention of some guards that were patrolling and they came running. The orcs, seeing that they were outnumbered, retreated quickly.
Gimli's vision started to get fuzzy, and he began to feel lightheaded. He knew he was losing a lot of blood and knew that the arrow was probably poisoned, but all that mattered to him at the moment was his friend's safety.
"Th-Thorin," he rasped out.
"I'm here, Gimli," he replied, grasping his friend's hand.
"Are you al-alright?" he asked faintly.
Thorin's grip on his hand tightened. "I'm fine, Gimli, thanks to you."
"No-no problem," Gimli manager to choke out before losing consciousness.