Of Dwarves and Men {Boromir/LOTR}

Chapter 18: Gimli and the dwarf-stalk

Chapter 18:

Gimli and the dwarf-stalk

If you had told me two months ago that I'd be spending my days wrapped in the arms of my lover, listening complacently to Gimli's chattering, and laughing at my brother's stunts, I'd accuse you of eating Radagast's mushrooms. Indeed, the perfect scene is something I'd never have expected, none the less desired, but there's something about feeling Boromir's vibrating chest upon my back as Frerin does another handstand on his white horse that I can't help in describing as "perfect." It's soul-encompassing and warming to my every whim.

"It's true you don't see many true Dwarf women--," Gimli admits from up ahead, speaking to Eowyn who leads his horse in Legolas's absence. The elf prince is currently using his superior hearing as a scout ahead of these people. If I was any less content, I'd join him, but alas, I'm enjoying my life and have little desire to speak with the Shrub.

"Hey!" Ruelin exclaims, taking offense at the dwarf's words. I laugh at this, unlike my former self, as I find little insult in his words. Certainly, Ruelin and I are not true dwarf woman, seeing as our genes are mixed with elf and Phoenician origin as well.

"...And in fact, they are so alike in voice and appearance," Gimli remarks, sending Ruelin a pointed glare before breaking into sudden and heartfelt laughter, "that they're often mistaken for Dwarf men."

"But not all of them! Bren is a stunner, to be sure," Frerin quips, protecting his fiancee with his often hidden protectiveness...he is the son of Thorin Oakenshield after all.

Eowyn peeks back at Aragorn in that moment, smile, yet curiosity, painting her face with her admiring thoughts of the intended King of Gondor. She looks at Aragorn like the brown haired, brown-eyed Bren looks at my brother. But unlike Frerin, Aragorn doesn't fully reciprocate the gesture, at least mentally.

"It's the beards..." Aragorn whispers although everyone hears it. Gimli furrows his eyebrows at this, though he has little reason to misunderstand. Obviously, this dwarf knows the difference between a full dwarf and a partial dwarf, seeing as his wife is hairless while his own mother wears a beard. Strange family, that one.

"And that's why I'm grateful to be part Phoenician. No hair, for me," I address Eowyn, sending her a wink in a way so much unlike myself. She giggles happily at that as I pinch my smooth chin between my fingers. But I am fully serious in my words: I could not deal with chin hair, especially any that looks like my father's.

"Thank the Valar for that," Boromir mumbles into my ear though I doubt he meant for me to hear. By his position, his breath sends chills across my neck and ears, prompting my eyes to whip around to face him in surprise. Boromir simply smiles at me, rubbing his thumb across my bare hip bone as I struggle to keep a blush from my cheeks. What is this man doing to me?

"And this, in turn, has given rise to the belief that there are no dwarf women. And that dwarves just spring out of holes in the ground!" Gimli finishes, sending Eowyn into bright laughter no matter the truth, or lack thereof, in the dwarf's words.

"I have never heard of that belief!" Frerin exclaims, shaking his head as small chuckles evade his lungs. But no matter the honesty, the notion is hilarious as I can imagine a young Gimli springing from the dewy ground of Ered Luin, muddy and whiney. Oh, the humor.

"Which is of course ridiculous... Whoa!" Gimli exclaims, his horse overcoming the laughter of the situation and bolting from the scene. And just like that, Gimli is on the ground, face to the sky, with a large thumping sound. This sends the entirety of us Phoenicians into hysterical laughter, startling our horses as well, yet they stay in our company.