Stepping in only long enough to put an end to my meeting, I hurry to follow after my nephew, who quickly attempts to fill me in on what has been going on. His story speeds my steps even more, for I know the two dwarves he is speaking of: brothers who came here as youngsters with their parents when we first settled here in Aglarond twenty years ago. Decent miners like Master Jóarr, their da, but a pair of drunks in their free time.

"I promised not to tell, but I thought I still had time to talk him out of it," Greirr defends himself, "But when I followed Legolas to Dorin's quarters, I listened through the door and heard them offer him spirits to 'knock the edge off' and I realized they meant to go on with it right away. I…I didn't have time to think what to do, but they had been drinking an awful lot and even from the corridor I could tell the place reeked of filth and alcohol…"

"Ye did right," I tell him, though it is clear he is not so sure.

"I've never broken a promise before in my entire life," he says mournfully, though he does not slow his steps, "he is going to despise me."

"Probably not for long," I reassure him," and in this case there was naught else ye could do. Though next time ye'll be more careful about giving your word. Ye are at an age where ye should be getting beyond giving childish vows of secrecy when ye have no idea what ye are promising to keep secret."

Even though it is a very mild rebuke, for I can hardly blame him for my elf's mad ideas, Greirr looks thoroughly ashamed and upset. But there is no time to discuss things any further. We need to make haste.

It is a long way back into the cave system before we make it to Dorin and Floin's shared chambers. I order Greirr to stay behind before I pound on the outer door and demand entry. I barely wait for them to answer my insistent knock before I burst inside. As Greirr said, the cramped place smells of spoiled food and unwashed bodies, and as I pass by Floin I notice he reeks of ale and stronger spirits.

I also notice that Legolas' tunic is unfastened, a sure sign that it was off moments ago and Dorin carries a less than pristine tattoo needle in his hand. This does not paint a very pleasant picture, but I hope against hope that the procedure has not been started yet.

I demand to know what is going on even as I take in the extent of the filth around me. The floor is littered with dirty dishes, some with remains of old meals in them, while the table contains some uncovered ink bottles and a few more questionable needles, besides the parchment with my tattoo design sketched on it. I shudder to think that my lad might have already begun getting marked in such unsanitary conditions, which is about as far as East is from West when compared to Master Magen''s immaculate studio.

To his credit, Legolas is quick to answer my demand to know what is going on and to point out that he deceived Floin and Dorin into believing he was not only of age to consent to receiving their services, but also that he had my approval to do so. That I would consent to anyone regardless of his age getting marked under such conditions is completely outrageous, but both of them look contrite enough, so evidently they believed the tale when it was told to them.

Doing my best to keep a firm hold on my temper, I turn Legolas toward the door and order him to go home immediately, promising to return there myself very soon. He hardly bothers to argue before giving in to my demands, leaving me glaring at the sons of Jóarr.

"Lord Gimli," Dorin begins, "we did not realize the elf was underage else we never would have consented to marking him."

"It is hard to tell with that kind," Floin adds in defense of himself and his brother. "Elves all look alike, whatever their age, so how were we to know?"

"Very well," I growl, " I absolve ye of that at least. I suppose it is possible ye might not have heard that the lad is in my charge. And I canna prevent ye marking each other if ye've a mind to and if ye want to live in squalor that is none of my concern. However, I better never catch ye charging anyone else for your filthy services again, else ye will regret it. This place is a disgrace and a danger to anyone foolish enough to ask for an inking. Now I'll thank ye to return whatever fee the lad paid ye, for whatever ye charged him was too much!"

They hurry to return the coins they had collected, and I stalk off back toward home, very concerned over what I will find when I do so. What I do find, is Mam looking worried as Greirr quietly explains what is going on. She is just about to start for the bedchamber where Legolas has no doubt retreated to when I speak up to stop her.

"I will handle this, Mam," I tell her, "send for Thorûr if ye please."

I do not wait to see what she will say, but rather just enter without warning into Legolas' chamber. He hurriedly rolls down his sleeve, but I catch him by the other arm and force him to sit on the edge of the bed and sit down next to him.

"They never even started it, Elvellon," he explains, "so there is no need to…" his words die off as I simply scowl at him and shove the sleeve up to see for myself.

To my relief it appears that he is telling the truth. There is no sign of the beginnings of a design, not even the preliminary drawing, but there is a large blue stain covering his arm.

"What is this?" I demand to know as I continue to inspect the area.

"Dorin was startled and spilled the ink," he explains and then reiterates, "but nothing else was done."

As I look more closely I see that everywhere the ink has touched his skin is forming tiny blisters, again causing me shudder in fear for what might have happened and making me angry all over again.

"Look at this!" I order, shaking the ink stained arm. "Either the ink was foul or ye are allergic to it. Can ye imagine what this would have done to ye if it had been injected under your skin, ye foolish elfling?"

"But I only wanted to…" he begins, but I find I am too furious to listen to excuses.

"I am not interested in what ye wanted," I roar, feeling the slightest bit of regret when he cringes at my reaction. Still I am too angry to take much heed of my own emotions. The crazy child might have died for want of a little care and right in my own home! And so I proceed to remind him.

"That place was worse than a pigsty, and smelled twice as bad. Did Dorin even wash his filthy hands before picking up that needle he was planning to use on ye? And that ink! It looked a hundred years old and could have been full of mold or fungi, or even mouse droppings for all we know! Get enough of that poison into your system and ye might have lost an arm or worse! Not to mention the fact that those two are always drunk by this time of night. I could smell the ale and whiskey on their breath from the corridor. In fact ye look half lit yourself, my lad, and ye should know better than to make a decision with such permanent consequences in such a state! How could ye do something so foolishly dangerous?"

"Elves have a very high tolerance of alcohol, Elvellon, and I never felt in any danger."

Unfortunately his words, meant to appease have the opposite effect for I have heard such things before. Having a high tolerance for something does not mean he is entirely unaffected by such things as too much alcohol or not enough sustenance or rest. And not feeling in danger is not that same as not being in danger. He never feels in danger. It seems to me we have had this same conversation a million times over the years and right now I don't feel like having it again. Instead I tighten my grip on his arm and yank him face down over my lap.

"Ye never felt in danger did ye?" I say, bringing a heavy hand down hard on the seat of his leggings. "Well if nothing else ye were always in danger of this outcome and ye'll be in danger of so much worse if ye ever do anything so foolish again!"

I have repeated this process no more than half a dozen times when I hear Thorûr's voice from the next room. I release my elfling and haul him to his feet, giving him just enough time to drag a sleeve across his eyes before pulling him out into the main room. Thorûr has already been briefed on what has happened it seems for he immediately reaches for the ink stained arm.

"Here now, Lad, let me have a look," he says, guiding my elfling to a seat near an oil lamp where he can see it in better light. He spends a few minutes examining the area before he makes his diagnosis.

"I have seen this before," he tells us. "On many occasions folks who had gone to less reputable sources for their inking have had to come to my father for help on what to do with the botch jobs. Sometimes they wanted a removal, which is a painful process and usually leaves a scar, but often all Da could do was send them to a healer."

Here he looks up at Legolas and speaks not unkindly.

"It is pretty obvious that the ink was contaminated and we should thank Mahal that you didn't get it injected under your skin, for you can see what it is doing just from making contact with the top dermal layer. Your skin is so soft, Legolas, that it would have taken five times more ink to get the same effect as Gimli's marking, so you would have been pumped full of toxins before the design was completed. At the very least it would have been quite painful and it could have made you deathly ill. I am not sure what changed your mind, but it was a good choice not to go through with it."

Here Legolas briefly offers Greirr a cutting look, though he is not so foolish as to offer a comment. Thorûr seems to notice this as well, for he looks a question at his son, but Greirr only stares firmly down at his hands, which he wrings in his lap.

I change the topic by asking if I should call a healer to look over the blistered skin of my lad's arm, but Thorûr thinks that is unnecessary.

"It is only superficial since the procedure was ended before the skin was pierced. A good soak should get rid of any residual ink and then everything should return to normal."

I nod in agreement with this advice and then send Legolas off to do what needs doing.

"Ye heard him, laddie. Now off with ye," I order. "Ye go and draw a bath and soak that arm. After that ye may wait for me in your chambers. I will be with you shortly."

Only now do I notice that my lad looks decidedly unsettled and unhappy, rather than disgruntled or angry at having had his plans foiled. As always I feel my hard stance begin to soften a little, something that is increased when Greirr speaks up after Legolas has left the main room to do as he has been bidden.

"Uncle, you mustn't be too hard on him," he says, "he only wished to please you and he did mean well after all."

I look at the others and see both Mam and Thorûr appear to agree.

"That is so," Mam says, "it may have been poorly thought out and foolish, but it was a very sweet gesture in spite of everything."

Suddenly all the anger and frustration from moments ago falls away, for I know they are right. As ever, my elfling had pure motives, if not such a pure method in achieving his goal. His wish was not to drive me batty with his antics, but to honor me in a very special way, even going so far as to put himself through considerable discomfort and possible unpleasant repercussions to do so. I even knew the thought had crossed his mind the day I showed him and explained about sons receiving corresponding marks to their fathers. I thought I had made it clear the reason why that was not possible in our case, but perhaps I should have explained it better. Fortunately it is not too late to do so now since Greirr came to his senses quicker than is his usual habit.

Thinking of Greirr reminds me that he is still watching me and looking worried over what I intend to do or say. Mam is sitting next to Greirr stroking his hair as if to comfort him. She also looks concerned, but a bit disapproving as well as if she will have something to say if I am foolish enough to disagree with her. But of course, I know she is right.

"None of ye need to look so worried," I tell them. "I have no intention of putting him on the rack. I know very well that his heart was in the right place. It always is."

Mam and Greirr exchange looks, and she winks at him, letting me know that she has already reassured him earlier than I would deal fairly with his friend. No doubt Greirr is suffering, especially after what has taken place between him and Legolas, for giving a vow is a very serious matter to our folk, and breaking one is not to be taken lightly, which is why youngsters are not allowed to make formal or public vows before they come of age. The individual and the family would be disgraced before the whole community if the vow could not be fulfilled and the very young have a tendency to say and do things without thinking them through or considering the consequences.

This thought soothes my unsettled emotions even more. This was a close call, but not a terrible tragedy. Other than a few hurt feelings, no real harm was done. Certainly nothing that cannot be set straight with a few judicious words and a little explanation. In fact the whole sorry ordeal can really be put down to another episode in a long series of 'growing pains', and how I handle it can go a long way in mending the situation. I prepare to go speak to my lad, but I take the time to reassure Greirr that he made the right choice in deciding to clue me in on what was happening.

"Legolas may not appreciate it now, lad, but ye prevented him making a serious mistake that could have had dire consequences," I tell him. "He will understand that in time."

Greirr looks as if he doubts that, but he offers me a wan smile anyway, making me reach out to squeeze his shoulder encouragingly.

"It may seem so now but it's not the end of the world, nephew," I say, "That I promise ye. A few bumps in the road are expected in any family and a little time will mend things between the two of ye, likely sooner than ye think. I'll go talk with him now."

I find Legolas pacing in his chambers like a caged animal making me realize he needs to get out for a while. There isn't even a window here for him to look through. He halts when he sees me, eyeing me a little warily. And no wonder. I was hardly an example of perfect patience earlier today.

"Come lamb," I say, and then add when he hesitates. "I only want to get a look at your arm."

He pushes up his sleeve to show me, and I am pleased to see that most of the blisters have already subsided. Only a very small line of them remain and no doubt those will fade in a short while.

"I did not mean to upset you," he begins, rather stormily. "I meant it to show my depth of devotion to you and to show you how much I wish to honor your traditions. I couldn't wait until I come of age by elven standards, else…"

He cuts that off, clearly not wanting to discuss the reasons why he felt the need to act now rather than at the proper time. Of course I understand why that is, so I merely pull him close and embrace him for a long moment.

"I understand that, child, and I truly and honestly appreciate the sentiment," I assure him. "I know your heart is pure and ye only wished to please me. I am touched by the gesture, truly I am, but we still need to talk about why ye just canna reciprocate in this case. But let us go up to the keep first. What say you?"

He nods and follows me through the corridors of Aglarond and all the way up to the keep, where we find a place to settle on the Deeping wall. The night is sultry, and the stars are out full force. Crickets and an occasional bull frog call out, and I can see my lad visibly relax at the sounds of the night creatures and the sight of the clear night sky. Coming outside was a good choice.

We sit in silence for a time as I gather my thoughts about how best to express to him why he must not follow his desire to take part in the dwarven tradition of inking even if he were to do so in a safe environment, for he must believe my main objection was to the circumstances he attempted it the first time. This is proven when he breaks the silence.

"I understand why you were angry with me, Gimli, and I admit I did not fully understand the implications of what I was doing. I went to them because I did not believe Master Magen would agree to marking me, but perhaps if you were to talk to him…"

I hold up a hand to put an end to that line of thought.

"Nay, lad, Master Magen would never agree to it. I am lord here and I had to talk fancy to get him to do mine considering it was not a traditional design. With you being an elf and a minor, he'd never consent. And even if he did, ye could not gain my permission for it. Don't look like that lamb. I mean no insult to ye and I appreciate your willingness to go through with it. I know you would do so if you could. But we have the feelings of your own folk to consider. What would your Adar think?"

"He might agree to it if I were to explain why I wished it," He suggests, though I can see he is uncertain of that.

"Perhaps," I agree, though I also seriously doubt that would be the case, "and if ye gain his permission ye may do so. But ye will have to find a human tattooist that he approves of to do it, for any dwarf who knows you are a minor would refuse to do it and certainly it will not be done in Aglarond." I look him in the eye to make my seriousness on this issue known. "I would not allow anyone here to mark ye, even if your ada by some off chance gave his consent. Inking is not a custom of your people and no one knows how it would effect you. I will not be responsible for your being disfigured because you were used as an experiment!"

"But Gimli!"

"It's no good Lad, I mean what I say," I tell him, very firmly. "Furthermore it is not a dwarven custom for minors to be allowed to make such a statement. The inking you propose to get is really a public vow that is a promise to see to care of elderly parents. I do not wish ye to make such a promise at your age."

"But I want to do so," he says vehemently, almost as if he's been deeply insulted. "Do you not think I would want to see you were cared for in your old age? Is my vow not as good as someone else's just because I am not of age yet?"

I reach out to pat his knee.

"Of course it is, lamb," I soothe, "It doesn't mean I don't trust your word. Ye can make any vow ye wish in your own heart and that is just as good and true as any marking would be. But ye will not be making it as a public statement."

The real reason for my objection is that we do not yet know where he will be or what sort of state he will be in when I do reach old age. He has been already fighting the sea longing for over twenty years, and it is clearly getting worse. Another hundred or more years will make a big difference in his condition, so much so that he may not be able to endure that long And even if I am able to sail with him, as is my aim, that does not mean I will be allowed to set foot in the undying lands. I will not have him feeling guilty over having made a vow that he was unable to carry out, and a mark on the arm would be a lifelong reminder of it. Of course I do not say that, but only repeat what he already knows.

"It is not the custom for minors."

I can see he is not convinced so I simply remind him that when we agreed all those years ago that I would act as his guardian part of that meant that he promised to heed me even if we could not come to an accord after discussing an issue. He lets out a long suffering sigh, but finally admits that I have this right and promises to let the idea go.

"Good lad," I say, pressing a kiss to his forehead and then standing to go back inside. "And while ye are letting things go, ye might consider forgiving Greirr. He should never have made a promise that would put ye in danger and he realizes that now."

"I will consider it," is all he is willing to agree to.

"Ye'd do well to do so for his interference has prevented a lot of pain and possibly saved your arm. In this case it would have been a serious disservice to ye for him not to break his word. Ye should be grateful for that at least."

He looks thoughtful at this, but still does not comment other than to nod, whether in agreement to my suggestion or to acknowledge that he has heard me I do not know. Whatever the case, I know that I should end this discussion on a positive note, so just before we re enter the caves I stop him one more time.

"I know ye are disappointed lamb, but ye shouldn't be. I can see your commitment to me just as clearly as if it were marked permanently into your skin. I dinna need more than that. And I swear I'll do what I can to make up for this."

And suddenly I know just how I can do so!