Stone's Song
One of the interesting things that happened while I was working on the Back to Middle-earth Month prompts was that a trio of stories emerged concerning Gimli in Aman, after he and Legolas sailed. "Gift", a previous entry here, was the first to emerge. A few days later, this piece popped up as a sequel.
Enjoy.
For Day #12 - Falls of Sirion...
Elves are one with Nature. What about Men? Hobbits? Dwarves? Write a story or poem or create artwork where the way different races relate to Nature is shown.
"What are you doing?"
Gimli glanced up and into the wide and curious eyes of the one he had secretly come to call Mazâr, since he didn't know her real name. The little Elf - child of one of the housekeeping staff - must have been feeling quite brave that day, for she had come out from behind the flowering dogwood shrub, yet still had to crane her neck to try to get a glimpse at what he was doing. "If you wish, I will show you."
Then he returned to his task, hoping that curiosity would finish the job of bringing the child closer. For weeks, ever since he had given her that emerald frog, he had sensed that the little one's interest in the very strange creature that had come to live with her had grown, but she had continued to keep her distance. Legolas, drat him, refused to tell him the child's name, insisting that the giving of names was a gift that needed to pass from the one with the name to the one to be informed directly. His only consolation was that Legolas had confirmed that his Khuzdul nickname was a very close match.
"Nana said…" she started, having taken a few more steps.
"I told you before, you are no bother. But if you wish to see what I do, you will have to come closer, for this is fine work and I must keep the piece well supported." He disciplined himself to keep his focus on the piece of amethyst he'd chosen for his next project. The petals of the iris were already coming clear, and the rasp he was using this day was one of the finer ones he owned. Soon, this part would be ready to fit into the jade stem and leaves that he'd already finished for the piece. Then it would be time to inquire if Eryn Dithen had a forge, and if he could barter for a bit of gold to hold it all together as well as hold it to a gown or cloak.
"What is it going to be?"
He started, for the child stood right at his elbow, grey eyes staring at the tiny bloom; but he mastered his surprise so that it wouldn't in turn startle or frighten his little friend. "What do you think I am making?"
"It is a flower," the little Elf breathed, her face blooming with a smile. "Like the ones that grow in the garden."
"And look." Gimli reached to where the suede pouch that held his workings lay and drew out the finished stem and leaves. "What do you think?" he asked, laying the jade piece on the pale suede and then looking up at her.
A little hand reached out, but then quickly was withdrawn. But the child's gaze, filled with delight and joy, warmed him from the bottom of his soles. "How did you make it look so real, and yet be so small?"
He chuckled. "That, my dear, takes patience and a great deal of practice. Do you think the Lady Laeriel would like this if I made it into a brooch?"
"Oh, yes!" Her smile was wide and free. "Is that what it will be when it is done?"
"Mmm-hmmm…" he nodded, and then positioned the rasp for one of the last pulls. The final bits flaked away, leaving the amethyst petal nearly translucent, just the way he'd intended. "There. Now, I shall begin to polish it." He handed her the slender steel tool and pointed. "Put that back in that bigger pouch there, and bring me the folded cloth, please."
The little one beamed and immediately bent to do as she was told, and soon was handing him the cloth that was imbued with diamond dust. "This one?"
"Thank you." He took the cloth and inverted it so that the fine abrasive side was showing, then set to carefully polishing the outside of the first petal, chanting to himself under his breath.
"What are you singing?"
He looked up in surprise. "Hmm?"
"You were singing," she pointed out. "What was it?"
"I was singing to the stone," he told her simply. "I was telling it all about what it had been made to resemble, so that it could be proud and shine properly. I will also tell it who will be its new owner, and that she deserves all the brilliance and color it can possibly muster. I will remind it of this many times now, just as I sang to your frog as I finished it for you."
The grey eyes were very wide this time. "But…" She shook her head in confusion. "The stones do not understand…"
"Ah. You think not?" Gimli put the cloth down and smiled as he gazed up at her. "Do you not sing to the stars?"
"Of course."
"Do you think the stars understand?"
She thought for a long moment. "I do not know. Nana tells me they do…"
He leaned closer to her. "I think they do too. And I know that the stone understands the song of my people, for I have seen stone respond far too many times to our song."
"Truly?"
"Truly."
New thoughts were obviously churning in her head, for she bit her lower lip and worried it for another long moment before finally looking up at him shyly. "Can I learn how?"
"Learn how to carve, you mean?" he asked, picking the cloth up again.
"That, and to sing to the stone like you do."
He smiled gently. "I can teach you to carve, little one, but unless you can hear the stone sing back in the first place, I do not know that I can teach you to sing to it." He saw her face drop in disappointment. "I would teach you if I could, child; were you Khazâd, it would be my honor to teach you. But your kind sings to the flowers themselves where mine do not; and my kind sings to the stones where yours does not. This is the way the world was made."
"But nobody here sings to the stones like you do. They must be very lonely!" she whimpered.
Gimli found himself thinking very fast to try to comfort the girl. "I think," he said slowly, "that the stones here in your Undying Lands are much less lonely than those of my home are, because Mahal - the one you call Ôl - walks here. Mahal is the master of stone and metal, you know, so how could the stones here be lonely when their Master is so close at hand?" He could see she wasn't entirely convinced yet, and added, "Just like the flowers and trees here are happier than any I have ever seen, because their Mistress is close at hand too."
"Címir, you mean?"
"Mmm-hmmm."
Again she thought for a long time. "Can I listen to you singing to the stone, though?" she asked at long last.
"Of course, you can. Here." Gimli shifted his pouches and tools to make room for a small child to sit on the bench next to him.
"Thank you, Master Dwarf."
"My name is Gimli," he corrected her with a conspiratorial grin. "I know your Nana probably has told me to call me 'Master', but I really prefer just plain Gimli." When she smiled back at him, he decided the time had come to take a chance. "And what do they call you?"
"Mírwen."
Gimli's grin, as he picked up the cloth and began the soft chanting again, was wide. He'd have to exact a price from Legolas for leaving him guessing the child's name after giving her a nickname that was almost a direct translation.
Mírwen. Mazâr. Treasure.
A quiet joy filled him as the dangling feet next to him began to sway back and forth in rhythm with his chant and his polishing. In his hand, the little flower began to sing back to him, and he wondered if his new friend could hear it.
He'd have to ask her.
Elven Vocabulary
Ôl - Aulë
Címir - Yavanna
Enjoy.
For Day #12 - Falls of Sirion...
Elves are one with Nature. What about Men? Hobbits? Dwarves? Write a story or poem or create artwork where the way different races relate to Nature is shown.
"What are you doing?"
Gimli glanced up and into the wide and curious eyes of the one he had secretly come to call Mazâr, since he didn't know her real name. The little Elf - child of one of the housekeeping staff - must have been feeling quite brave that day, for she had come out from behind the flowering dogwood shrub, yet still had to crane her neck to try to get a glimpse at what he was doing. "If you wish, I will show you."
Then he returned to his task, hoping that curiosity would finish the job of bringing the child closer. For weeks, ever since he had given her that emerald frog, he had sensed that the little one's interest in the very strange creature that had come to live with her had grown, but she had continued to keep her distance. Legolas, drat him, refused to tell him the child's name, insisting that the giving of names was a gift that needed to pass from the one with the name to the one to be informed directly. His only consolation was that Legolas had confirmed that his Khuzdul nickname was a very close match.
"Nana said…" she started, having taken a few more steps.
"I told you before, you are no bother. But if you wish to see what I do, you will have to come closer, for this is fine work and I must keep the piece well supported." He disciplined himself to keep his focus on the piece of amethyst he'd chosen for his next project. The petals of the iris were already coming clear, and the rasp he was using this day was one of the finer ones he owned. Soon, this part would be ready to fit into the jade stem and leaves that he'd already finished for the piece. Then it would be time to inquire if Eryn Dithen had a forge, and if he could barter for a bit of gold to hold it all together as well as hold it to a gown or cloak.
"What is it going to be?"
He started, for the child stood right at his elbow, grey eyes staring at the tiny bloom; but he mastered his surprise so that it wouldn't in turn startle or frighten his little friend. "What do you think I am making?"
"It is a flower," the little Elf breathed, her face blooming with a smile. "Like the ones that grow in the garden."
"And look." Gimli reached to where the suede pouch that held his workings lay and drew out the finished stem and leaves. "What do you think?" he asked, laying the jade piece on the pale suede and then looking up at her.
A little hand reached out, but then quickly was withdrawn. But the child's gaze, filled with delight and joy, warmed him from the bottom of his soles. "How did you make it look so real, and yet be so small?"
He chuckled. "That, my dear, takes patience and a great deal of practice. Do you think the Lady Laeriel would like this if I made it into a brooch?"
"Oh, yes!" Her smile was wide and free. "Is that what it will be when it is done?"
"Mmm-hmmm…" he nodded, and then positioned the rasp for one of the last pulls. The final bits flaked away, leaving the amethyst petal nearly translucent, just the way he'd intended. "There. Now, I shall begin to polish it." He handed her the slender steel tool and pointed. "Put that back in that bigger pouch there, and bring me the folded cloth, please."
The little one beamed and immediately bent to do as she was told, and soon was handing him the cloth that was imbued with diamond dust. "This one?"
"Thank you." He took the cloth and inverted it so that the fine abrasive side was showing, then set to carefully polishing the outside of the first petal, chanting to himself under his breath.
"What are you singing?"
He looked up in surprise. "Hmm?"
"You were singing," she pointed out. "What was it?"
"I was singing to the stone," he told her simply. "I was telling it all about what it had been made to resemble, so that it could be proud and shine properly. I will also tell it who will be its new owner, and that she deserves all the brilliance and color it can possibly muster. I will remind it of this many times now, just as I sang to your frog as I finished it for you."
The grey eyes were very wide this time. "But…" She shook her head in confusion. "The stones do not understand…"
"Ah. You think not?" Gimli put the cloth down and smiled as he gazed up at her. "Do you not sing to the stars?"
"Of course."
"Do you think the stars understand?"
She thought for a long moment. "I do not know. Nana tells me they do…"
He leaned closer to her. "I think they do too. And I know that the stone understands the song of my people, for I have seen stone respond far too many times to our song."
"Truly?"
"Truly."
New thoughts were obviously churning in her head, for she bit her lower lip and worried it for another long moment before finally looking up at him shyly. "Can I learn how?"
"Learn how to carve, you mean?" he asked, picking the cloth up again.
"That, and to sing to the stone like you do."
He smiled gently. "I can teach you to carve, little one, but unless you can hear the stone sing back in the first place, I do not know that I can teach you to sing to it." He saw her face drop in disappointment. "I would teach you if I could, child; were you Khazâd, it would be my honor to teach you. But your kind sings to the flowers themselves where mine do not; and my kind sings to the stones where yours does not. This is the way the world was made."
"But nobody here sings to the stones like you do. They must be very lonely!" she whimpered.
Gimli found himself thinking very fast to try to comfort the girl. "I think," he said slowly, "that the stones here in your Undying Lands are much less lonely than those of my home are, because Mahal - the one you call Ôl - walks here. Mahal is the master of stone and metal, you know, so how could the stones here be lonely when their Master is so close at hand?" He could see she wasn't entirely convinced yet, and added, "Just like the flowers and trees here are happier than any I have ever seen, because their Mistress is close at hand too."
"Címir, you mean?"
"Mmm-hmmm."
Again she thought for a long time. "Can I listen to you singing to the stone, though?" she asked at long last.
"Of course, you can. Here." Gimli shifted his pouches and tools to make room for a small child to sit on the bench next to him.
"Thank you, Master Dwarf."
"My name is Gimli," he corrected her with a conspiratorial grin. "I know your Nana probably has told me to call me 'Master', but I really prefer just plain Gimli." When she smiled back at him, he decided the time had come to take a chance. "And what do they call you?"
"Mírwen."
Gimli's grin, as he picked up the cloth and began the soft chanting again, was wide. He'd have to exact a price from Legolas for leaving him guessing the child's name after giving her a nickname that was almost a direct translation.
Mírwen. Mazâr. Treasure.
A quiet joy filled him as the dangling feet next to him began to sway back and forth in rhythm with his chant and his polishing. In his hand, the little flower began to sing back to him, and he wondered if his new friend could hear it.
He'd have to ask her.
Elven Vocabulary
Ôl - Aulë
Címir - Yavanna