And Once More Into The Abyss

Yes, I know after YEARS of flicking through many Tolkien books and searching the web, I gave in and I cheated and used bastardised Elvish from a random elfish vocabulary list, and also, am aware how vague Gimli's character is. I haven't a face to his name yet. I don't really like Gimli. What can I say? He's just not my type.

I saw Gimli. He saw me. There was no avoiding one another.

"I. Um." I began, quickly cut of by the awkward silence. They were quickly becoming my best friends. Ah, yes, and Uncomfortable Conversation was the cousin I was forced to talk with when Aunty Polite Conversation came for a chat with my 'ma.

"Hallo." Oh, yes, Gimli, bless him, had the awareness of a brick. Never one to notice the subtleties, like the fact he had just see Legolas run past, darting up trees and then disappearing into the forest and then me shortly after falling out of the tree, playing the LothLorien version of 'Hide And Seek' called 'Delio A Rado' which is roughly translated as 'Come Out Of That Tree, You Sly Bugger'.

He looked at me through his beard. "Didn't that hurt?"

I looked at him and then looked at the ground I had hit. "It didn't, actually. I landed on a squirrel."

"Oh."

Minutes later we ended up doing what Gimli and I always ended up doing when we alone together - finding a suitable liqueur and drinking it. Gimli had chugging down to a fine art. There was much to be learnt from a man who could glug down the equivalent of a trough of mead, while still retaining his common sense.

He was currently rummaging in his pack, looking for what he labelled as a 'Vintage Brew, to combat that Elf Filth', but this could of meant anything. We had been travelling the wilderness for Elberteth-Knows-How-Long, and thus might have been fermented potatoes for all I knew.

"...Gimli."

"Yeeeep?" His voice muffled in the material of the bag.

"What would you do if you made a mistake, and the outcome was about as far from where you drew the line as it is possible to be?"

"Is it really far over the line?"

"The line is not even a dot to me."

"Hmmm." His head emerged from the canvas bag. "Weeeeell.. I mean, what are the circumstances? You're going to have to tell me more then that."

I sighed. "I wish I could. Say you were angry, and you took it out on a dog. It got in your way, and you kicked it. But the, the dog died. There's nothing you can do to make the dog alive again, to turn back time, so what can you do to remedy the situation?"

He looked at me, eyebrows raised. "I would probably except what I had done and, over time, make up for it."

"You're not helping, Gimli." I took the bottle he had passed me and pressed it to my lips. I was wrong - not fermented potatoes, fermented chestnuts. He was obviously getting desperate. "You're not telling me what I want to hear."

"And what's that?"

"That everything is going to be fine."

"Everything is going to be fine. On a global level, of course." He thought for a moment. "I wouldn't guarantee that things'll be fine on a personal level."

"What you're saying sounds too much like sobriety. If you have a gallon of this scummy alcohol you wouldn't be saying that."

He nodded. "But I'd also be dancing around in front of The Lady with no clothes on."

I tipped the rest of the brew into my willing mouth. "Doesn't sound like such a bad idea."

"Listen, boy"

"I'm 87 years old."

"Don't care. Listen. Whatever it is has your running around flushed and uncomfortable and wearing your trousers back to front - whatever your beef with That Elf is, sort it out. Soon. We'll be heading of as soon as the Hobbits have woken up, and it'll be harder to talk to him when we're busy trying not to die"

Whatever blood I had left in me drained from my face. I didn't say anything, just got up and left.

This day had turned out to be a tad bit different to what I intended it to be.