DISCLAIMER: I still don't own them. I only borrow them to torment either them or fanfiction readers.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: none of these snippets will be overly serious. Or long.
Battle Mask by Jessie Syring
A very tired Gimli sat the corpse of the last orc he had slain in the battle for Helm's Deep. He had not even pulled his axe from its thick skull yet, for such an action would take more energy than he had. He ignored the stench of blood and death all around him as his fingers dug in a pouch for his pipe and pipeweed. He puffed it with a contented sigh, not caring he had no fire to light the weed, and enjoyed the time to relax.
"So, Master Dwarf, I see you came through unharmed," said a musical voice.
Gimli looked up, scowling, though in truth he was glad to see the tall Elf standing before him. Legolas had somehow come through the battle without a single blond hair out of place that the Dwarf could see. The black blood of orcs stained his green clothing, but the Elf seemed unharmed. Only a dirty smudge marred his features.
Gimli grunted noncommittally. "We Dwarves are hardier than the stone of this mountain," he said, "and not so easily felled by the likes of orcs."
Legolas smiled slightly and turned to leave. He stopped suddenly and turned back. Gimli shifted uncomfortably under the intensity of his gaze.
"Where do you carry it, Master Dwarf?"
"Eh?"
"Your battle mask. We carried so little equipment with us from the Falls of Rauros." Legolas stepped closer. "I have heard legends of such things. Fierce masks to strike fear in the heart of your enemy."
Gimli rose, wondering if the Elf had taken a head injury. "You're daft. I own no such mask. We have not worn them since the battle called Nirnaeth Arnoediad."
Legolas shook his head. "Not true. I saw it, as you fought upon the walls! It was hideous!"
Gimli's expression went from confusion to anger. His balled fist crashed into Legolas' jaw and left him sprawled on the ground. Gimli towered over him, clutching his axe.
"That was my FACE!"
THE END