Disclaimer: I own none of the following characters or the world in which they live. Tolkien owns such.
A/N: The following tale sort of came out on its own, a manifestation of many things we deal with today. I realize that some of the story may be hard to follow or not make sense at some parts. You needn't comment on this (or you may if you like) but I wanted to point out that life is like that. Many things that happen make the least bit of sense and have nothing to offer us later, they just are.
A tale of friendship and dark paths.
Being the First Part of….
To Tread the Path of Darkness
Durin's Bane
Peregrin Took peered over the Dwarf's broad shoulders. "That wouldn't be ale, would it?" The halfling's eyes shimmered brilliantly. Gimli raised a thick brow but otherwise made no indication that he had heard the Hobbit. Pippin's eyes remained fixated upon the bulging wineskin grasped in the Dwarf's gloved hand. He sidled around to better see it. "You know Gandalf doesn't want us carrying such?" he commented lightly.
Gimli made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat. He shifted his weight, hunching his shoulders and growling softly. Several feet away, the Elf Legolas watched this display in quiet amusement.
"It makes no matter to me, mind," Pippin continued, ignoring the fact that the Dwarf was ignoring him. "It's just . . ." His hand itched abominably and he scratched at it irritably. "What I mean is . . . well . . ." He pulled his gaze from the wineskin and looked up at the Dwarf. "Might I have just a small taste?"
Gimli peered at the Hobbit in surprise and Pippin flushed slightly. "It's been such a terribly long time . . ." he said, as a way of explaining. He shrugged helplessly and gave the Dwarf a pleading look. Gimli seemed to think on this, then peered around the halfling's slight frame to Frodo and Merry, who were too preoccupied with their own thoughts to pay much mind to their busy cousin. The Dwarf's gaze returned to the hopeful Hobbit.
"And what would your three friends say about this?" Gimli asked, for he suspected the youngest halfling wasn't telling him something by the way in which he kept peering nervously at Meriadoc and then Frodo.
Immediately, Peregrin got on the defensive. "What should they say?" he demanded, straightening indignantly. "I'm old enough. Nearly twenty-nine, I am. Younger Hobbits than I crowd the inns of the Shire."
Gimli chuckled, mildy impressed with the young halfling's bold words, foolish though they may be. "Your size deceives the mind, Master Hobbit," the Dwarf said lightly, removing the cap from the wineskin. "I did not think and for that I beg your pardon. The ways of your people are strange to me, as are mine to you.
"Here," he passed the skin to Pippin's eagerly clutching fingers, noting absently the curious gaze of the Elf. "Take it with care," the Dwarf cautioned. "I dare say it is unlike anything you have had." To his surprise, Pippin nodded in understanding and took several testing sips. Pleased, the Hobbit took one long gulp and, with eyes watering, his smooth boyish face screwed up in a testimony of his distaste. With great difficulty, Pippin finally managed to swallow the burning liquid. The halfling gasped and choked.
Gimli laughed. "What did I tell you."
"That's . . . good," Pippin finally managed. He shivered and a great grin spread across his features. "Very good." He handed the wineskin over and the Dwarf accepted it with a nod. "What is it?" he asked. "Certainly not ale. Malt beer? I've never had anything like it!" Pippin's eyes were positively glistening in pleasure.
Gimli shook his head. "Nay, 'tis my own concoction," he said. "Durin's Bane, I name it, for it has the strength to knock a grown Dwarf off his feet, even the great Durin himself mayhaps. You took to it well, young Hobbit," the Dwarf commented and Pippin beamed with pride.
"It's very good," he said again.
"Yes, well," the Dwarf muttered into his beard, embarrassingly pleased with the Hobbit's praise. "It took me many years to perfect it to my liking."
Young Peregrin opened his mouth to inquire upon exactly how many years but was cut short by his cousin, whom he had completely forgotten.
"Pippin," Merry called suddenly and Pippin jumped. He looked guiltily at the Dwarf and sidled back several steps, as though he suspected the Dwarf would cry out his mischief to the whole of Middle-earth. Gimli had no such compunctions, however, and merely watched the Hobbit silently.
"Yes, Merry?" Pippin called, in forced cheer and innocence.
"Come help me gather some firewood," he said and Pippin raced off to join his cousin.
The Dwarf watched the small halfling in quiet amusement then took a fair swig of the golden liquid and sighed in content. He did not hear the Elf's approach.
"Your own make?" Legolas inquired curiously.
Gimli jumped and peered up at the lean Elf suspiciously, not knowing whether to answer him in fair tones or ignore him altogether. Recalling that it was the Elf who had approached him, which therefore placed Legolas at a disadvantage, Gimli came to the conclusion that he ought be gracious.
"Aye."
Legolas nodded slowly, studying the slightly less-bulging wineskin with sharp Elvish eyes. "That's quite a feat, Master Dwarf," he said and Gimli's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "May I?" He quirked a delicate brow.
Gimli frowned darkly, not trusting the quick mind of the Elf--any Elf--to keep him free of pains, but without sufficient reasoning he couldn't rightly deny him the request. Besides, the Dwarf was curious. . . .
Gimli's thick hand dropped the skin in the Elf's delicate one. "It's nothing like Elvish wine," Gimli warned and the Elf waved it aside. Brushing a strand of hair from tickling his nose, Legolas tipped the skin and swallowed deeply--
And immediately chocked. He spat the liquid from his offended mouth. "Horse piss!" the Elf cursed. He coughed, gagged and tossed the jostling wineskin down. Legolas grimaced.
Quite pleased with a job well done, the Dwarf roared with laughter.
~*~