(Disclaimer: Tolkien's, not mine.)
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Dwarves keep secrets like jewels, beautiful and bright and hidden from those who would not appreciate them. They did not sleep in the days after they were made; they lay awake in the darkness beneath stone, and they grew to love the gems, the ores, the seams of quartz, the very rock itself. The other peoples of Middle-earth do not know this.
Gimli learnt early in his life how to twist copper into thin filaments of fire, and how the brittle surface of slate could become smooth curves of ornament under his touch. His father stood beside him and laughed when frustration overcame his patience. "See with your hands, as you would in the dark," he said, and when Gimli allowed the liquid enamel to fall as it wished, the stars in Kheled-zaram shone just as he imagined on the curved face of a shield.
Naugrim , the elves called them, the stunted people. Once it was gonnhirrim , masters of stone. Once they came with gifts to trade for knowledge, the High-elves of old; once Eol brought his son to kneel in the sweating heat of forges and learn the secrets of metal. If the elves have forgotten this, the dwarves have not. Things of beauty should be loved, and those who can only see this as greed know too little to keep such things for themselves.
Gimli travelled the lands above ground, finding new things to carve and sculpt and mould. Middle-earth gives up its secrets generously to those who look - the sag of boughs under their own weight, the flicker of sunlight on fast-running water, the sharp, cold blue of shadows in snowdrifts. When his father left to recover the treasures of the King under the Mountain, Gimli begged to follow. He could fight. He would be no hindrance. And there were so many things yet to see: the halls of the dwarf-lords, the glittering caverns hewn from rock, and would it be best to use copper or bronze to mimic a dragon's scales? His father told him to stay. Next time, he said, you can follow me.
In Khuzdul, each word tells one of the secrets of the thing it names. The word for 'elves', which they do not speak to outsiders, might contain the sound for 'starlight', which they love even above the burning sun; it might slur into the sharp constonants of 'traitor', for what else describes those who turn against their teachers? Often it echoes the sound for 'second', since second-born they were and are and will remain. And spoken quietly, with the first sound stressed, it says only 'strangers'. The secrets of strangers are not known.
When his father returned from the Mountain, cursing the arrogance of wood-elves who throw good people into dungeons, Gimli forgot to care about their secrets for a time. It was not until many years later that Gloin prepared to leave for distant lands once again, and now Gimli followed.
"What are you taking me to see?" he asked, as fallen leaves crunched on the path beneath their boots. "What things could elves have to show us?"
"Secrets," said Gimli. "The ones our own eyes would hide from us."
On a road that curves like a river beneath the stars, they turned towards the place that elves call Imladris, and men call Rivendell. But the Dwarvish name for it is not known.