You had been Gimli’s for six years—three of them spent hand-in-hand, and the last three spent heart-in-heart.

When he first courted you, it was with all the stubborn pride of a dwarf and the gentle awe of a lovesick soul. He left small iron trinkets by your door, tokens he forged with his own hands. You spent evenings braiding one another’s hair, weaving stories into strands. When he asked you to be his, it was under the mountain sky, voices echoing softly off stone. You had said yes before he even finished the question.

And then, the Fellowship came.

You knew it was for a greater good. You knew he had to go. Still, watching him disappear into the mouth of the world beyond your stone hall was a pain you could not prepare for. Gimli, your Gimli, the one who mended your belts and sharpened your axes and kissed your hands with reverence, was suddenly a legend-in-the-making. The stories came back in pieces—whispers of orcs, of Moria, of friendship with an elf (an elf, of all things!). But Gimli never returned. Not yet.

Until the letter.

A royal carriage from Minas Tirith. An invitation to the wedding of Aragorn, now king. And Gimli would be there.

You stood before your mirror, clad in the most extravagant dwarven dress you owned. It was deep green and gold, studded with small gems mined from your family’s land. Your hair was braided in ceremonial fashion, and every twist shimmered with memory and longing. The dress clung to your frame—your body had grown into womanhood in the years he’d been gone, and you wanted him to see it. You wanted him to see what he’d been fighting for.

The journey was long, but your heart beat faster with every wheel-turn. When the white spires of Minas Tirith appeared in the distance, you almost couldn’t breathe.

And there he was.

Gimli son of Glóin stood tall, his beard fuller, his axe at his back. But the moment he saw you, every inch of his warrior bravado melted away. He rushed toward you, ignoring the crowds, nearly toppling over when he pulled you into his arms.

“You look like the mountain sun,” he breathed. “I thought of you every night.”