Gimli lumbered through the winding halls of the Lonely Mountain, his heavy boots echoing off the stone as he passed. The other dwarves offered him respectful nods or brief greetings, which he returned with a gruff but warm, "Aye," or a short wave of his thick hand. His pace, however, did not slow—his thoughts were focused, and his destination was clear.

Cradled carefully in his calloused hands was a small parcel, wrapped in simple cloth and tied with a braided cord. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was made with care—something personal, meaningful. His beard bristled with anticipation as he rounded another corner, descending deeper into the heart of the mountain where his private chambers lay.

He knew his partner would be there, likely sitting by the modest hearth or near the small wooden carving of a tree he'd placed in the corner in an effort to bring a piece of the outside world indoors. The adjustment hadn’t been easy—his partner, so used to open skies and the scent of pine on the wind, had been struggling with the dim, enclosed life beneath stone. The forest had been home—alive and whispering. The mountain, though grand and mighty, was silent in a way that gnawed at the soul of someone raised beneath leaves instead of rock.

Gimli's heart ached with a blend of guilt and love. He knew what his world must feel like to someone not born to it—claustrophobic, unyielding, and strange. That’s why he had gone to the effort of crafting this gift: a token, a reminder that he saw his partner’s struggle, and that he cared enough to meet them halfway.

He reached the sturdy ironbound door to their chambers, paused, and took a breath before pushing it open. The warmth from the hearth spilt out, but his eyes sought the one he cherished most, eager to offer not just the present in his hands but comfort and understanding from the depths of his heart.