Title: Matching Again
Author: Del Rion (delrion.mail (at) gmail.com)
Fandom: The Lord of the Rings
Era: Fourth Age of the Sun
Genre: Humour, General
Rating: T / FRT
Characters: Aragorn, Arwen, Éomer, Éowyn, Faramir, Gimli, Legolas.
Summary: How to entice a reluctant Elf into another contest? And to what kind of contest? Gimli had many ideas, but which of them would finally bring him victory?
Sequel to “Re-match”. Complete.
Beta: Kitt of Lindon
Disclaimer: This story is based on J.R.R. Tolkien’s stories about Middle-earth (mostly on the Lord of the Rings). The characters are not mine - except for those whom I have created.
Have a good time and enjoy the ride (at least I hope you do!)
Feedback: Yes, please, be so kind! Please review, I would love to know your opinion.
Author’s Notes: English is not my mother tongue, so it isn’t perfect. Please inform me of spelling and grammar errors, so I can correct them!
About Matching Again: Oh yes, they are on it again… I guess this is a subject which never stops inquiring people: after all, the ever-raging banter between Legolas and Gimli is highly amusing. But I must confess that writing such stories as this are extremely difficult: I have read such scenes from other authors that I find it difficult to reach the same. Well, I can only try and hope it warms you up. And I am still young and able to learn new tricks, mwahah!
This story takes place quite soon after “Re-match” ended. Maybe a week or few, or a month. Doesn’t really matter. There are some references to “Re-match”, so I would suggest you to read that story first, if you haven’t done that already. Otherwise, good luck, and try to survive (I guess there are many people in Middle-earth trying to do the same at the time of this story… *wink *)
Story and status: Here below you see the writing process of the story. If there is no text after the title name, then it is finished and checked.
Author’s Notes: As some people wished me to continue Re-match, I decided to do just that. So here it is, for you my dear reviewers: thy wish has been heard! It was kind of a hard task to create something like my previous story, Re-match, and naturally I wished this new piece of art become something much better. You decide!
Have fun, and remember that laughing makes you live longer! (Though if you die in laughter, it won’t really work, right...?)
Gimli sat on a bench in the great stable of Edoras, deep in thought. The frown upon his face spoke of an hour-long battle against some trouble in his mind. From a nearby stall came a soft humming voice of an Elf, snorts and soft neighs of the horses joining into the tune at times. Grumbling to himself, Gimli shifted, trying to ease his stiff muscles.
Legolas stepped into the hallway, carrying a basin of dirty water, glancing at the Dwarf amused. “If you keep frowning so, Master Dwarf, you will have a new set of wrinkles before the evening’s celebration begins.” Gimli snorted, refusing to enter into the Elf’s game. Legolas sighed dramatically, setting the basin down and taking a rag to his hands, drying them absently. “Well, they say that old men with wrinkles have a charm of their own.”
“And are you quite certain that your royal hands won’t be ruined by such a task as washing a horse?” Gimli inquired softly.
“Surely I can go through such a hardship, for I have learned of tasks like it. And overall, I am quite certain that my royal ears could not stand your rebukes about a dusty, muddy horse.”
Gimli frowned, trying to come up with a suitable answer to that. But his mind seemed to be a bit slow today, and with a smile of victory, Legolas left the stable to empty the basin. When he was certain the Elf was gone, Gimli let out a tired sigh, shaking his head. He had wracked his brains out while trying to come up with an idea of a new contest between himself and the Elf. I already know he would refuse to enter into another drinking game, so there is no point to pursue that matter further. After the previous game, he has been almost suspiciously reluctant to drink anything. Strange Elves. Poor drinkers, if you ask me. It was mere luck that he won me the last time. And the time before that.
Sighing again, Gimli leaned his head into his hands, his mind working along familiar routes again. What other possibilities would there be? More fierce liquor is out of the options, so what else… Perhaps an eating contest. But then again, Elves do not eat. Sometimes I wonder how Legolas has stayed alive, all his years. Not eating: wouldn’t suit me at all. Completely unnatural… And Elves don’t eat, so here we are again. What about not sleeping? Sounds good, but wouldn’t work: Elves do not sleep. Hmph, is there actually something the Elves do by necessity? As he came up with nothing he gave up, deciding that he would continue his planning later.
Tramping out of the stable, he walked up the path to the Golden Hall of Meduseld, deciding to go and prepare for the evening’s celebration: King Elessar and Queen Arwen would arrive in Edoras later on, and there would be a banquet for their honour.
Blue eyes watched the Dwarf go, their previously merry light suddenly fading into seriousness. Legolas set the basin to lean against the wall, his eyes following the Dwarf. He is up to something. I know that look.
“It seems that you two haven’t still settled your score?”
Legolas closed his eyes, counting slowly to two before turning to meet Éomer, King of Rohan. “On my behalf, we are settled.” He shouldn’t be able to sneak on me like that, Legolas cursed inwardly, though his face revealed nothing of his inner debate.
Éomer smiled, raising one eyebrow at the Elf’s answer. “Should I believe that? That this wrestling of years has finally come to an end?”
Legolas thought about this, laughing lightly as he reached the answer himself. “Perhaps you are right. Dwarves are, after all –”
“Why always mock the other race? Is it so difficult for you two to see that you have more in common than you think? And that your differences complete each other?” Éomer asked almost desperately.
Legolas dropped his faked mask, smiling at the Man. “Trust me, Lord Éomer: we know where the line goes. Our banter merely keeps us awake.”
The Man sighed, shaking his head. “So you will keep going?”
“And there is no way I could persuade you to do otherwise? Even for this once?”
“I am afraid not, my Lord.”
There was another deep sigh. “Very well. No-one can say I haven’t tried.” Then Éomer walked away, his shoulders hunched in defeat. “Curse them both, for they will get each other killed one day,” he muttered. Legolas couldn’t help but laugh in his place, and then he returned to the stable to finish his task.
Éomer pressed his forefingers against his temples, trying to pretend that it was not a coming headache he was feeling. The day had been very promising – until he had figured out that two of his friends were about to have some overly ridiculous contest again. It made him worry, though he knew it would – possibly – not involve him. But he remembered the last time the two had competed, and Legolas hadn’t been the most charming person after it. It had actually taken weeks before the Elf had drunk anything when Gimli was nearby.
And now they were arguing about the decoration of different races. The entire discussion had begun when Legolas had said something about the colour of the curtains in his room. Gimli had commented that Elven style of decoration was poor, in its fullest. This had awoken a brand new course in their discussion – or argument, if someone would have bothered to ask Éomer. As it was, the King of the Mark was forced to endure the colourful statements beside him. No other seemingly dared to approach the two, either, appreciating their own life too much to do that.
Finally Éomer got his share of the bantering, and with furious eyes he turned at the couple next to him.
“Hobbit-holes are round because they are practical for the folk using them,” Gimli was just saying.
“Which means Dwarves could easily inhabit them, round as they are,” Legolas retorted merrily.
“Please, a moment of silence, if I may ask!” Éomer bellowed, making both the Elf and the Dwarf fall silent. Other Men also halted all around them, but continued their tasks as soon as they noticed nothing was threatening their Lord.
“Éomer, forgive us,” Gimli began with a smile of pure innocence. “We shall –”
“No other word!” Éomer snapped. “From neither of you!” he barked as Legolas was about to open his mouth. “Now please, please, could I have a moment of peace? You may compete about which of you will be able to keep his silence longest, I do not care. But do not bother my poor ears again,” he finally breathed out.
A dangerous look passed between the two. Éomer almost bit his nails, feeling cold sweat surface. He didn’t even dare to guess what the others were up to. But then the couple turned to him with suspiciously glad smiles. Then they left, entirely silent.
“What did just happen?” Éomer asked, puzzled.
Aragorn’s bells of alarm had begun to ring as soon as he had set foot in Meduseld. Longer he sat on his place at the table, more he wondered. Both Legolas and Gimli had been entirely silent through the evening. Neither of them had even welcomed him with words. And as the feast went on, there was not yet a single sound from either of them. Arwen had also noticed this, and the smile that kept creeping upon her face told that she knew something that her husband didn’t. That bugged Aragorn even further, and finally he couldn’t resist the temptation anymore. “What is going on between those two?” he whispered, leaning closer to Arwen’s ear.
“They have began a new game, it seems, my dear,” she answered, her smile widening.
Aragorn practically groaned, rolling his eyes. “And what is the nature of this game?”
“Silence, as far as I can tell.”
“Pardon?” Aragorn asked, completely lost.
“They seem to compete which of them can keep his silence longer,” Arwen answered.
The entire game seemed to amuse her greatly, which in turn annoyed Aragorn: he has seen too many such games before. And he had been one of those to suffer to consequence. And the losing side’s never-ending explanations. As if he would have been interested… But then again, it also woke his interest to watch those two banter – as long as it did not include him, of course. “I say Gimli shall win this one. Dwarves are known to be a silent folk, anyway.”
“My bet goes to Legolas,” Arwen announced, turning to meet her husband’s gaze. “Elves are known of patience, and time has little meaning to us. We could easily be silent for years, and not even notice it ourselves.”
“Truly?” Aragorn doubted. “As far as I have witnessed, Elves love speaking, and singing even more so. After all, you were the first race gifted with talent to speak.”
“True,” Arwen confessed. “But Legolas has always been a silent one. He will win.”
“A bet, then,” Aragorn announced. “But what shall be the stakes?”
“What are you planning, my Lord?” joined another voice, Éowyn glancing at them across the table.
“We are making a bet,” Arwen told the other lady with a smile.
“What kind of?” Faramir enquired.
Aragorn threw a glance at the couple their bet was concerning, his eyes meeting Legolas’. There was something akin to hurt in the blue depths, but a surety about victory shone in them as well. Gimli, on the other hand, beamed at the King of Gondor, his smile speaking of same kind of confidence that Legolas was suffering about. “We are betting about the victory in Master Dwarf’s and Master Elf’s current game.”
There was an audible groan from Éomer’s direction as the Man pressed his hand against his forehead. “What kind of game?” he asked roughly, not actually certain if he wanted to know.
“A kind of game that you will enjoy, I am sure, Lord Éomer,” Arwen smiled. “They compete about enduring silence. The one who speaks first will lose.”
Éomer’s head practically shot up, surprise on his face. “So they actually…” His eyes shifted to the silent couple, disbelief shining in them. “You know I did not mean my request this literally?”
Legolas smiled, nodding.
“Well, I must say that I stand for Master Gimli in this,” Éowyn spoke up. “I know his endurance.”
Gimli smiled at the Lady of Rohan, getting up and bowing. Legolas shook his head, as if believing it was a waste of time to have faith in a Dwarf.
“I shall bet for Legolas,” Faramir said suddenly. He did not have to defend his choice, for an Elf could have been considered as a winner anyway.
“What of you, brother?” Éowyn turned to Éomer. “Whom shall you choose?”
“Do I really have to…” the King of Rohan muttered unhappily. As all the others at the table nodded, he glanced between the two friends. “I am sorry, Master Dwarf. As great as our friendship is, I believe that you are going to lose.”
Gimli snorted – if such a thing could have been done without a sound. He merely nodded at Éomer, understanding the Man’s point. They think Elves as a superior race. That is a wrong assumption, of course. I will show them.
“So, what are the stakes?” Éowyn asked, glancing around the table.
“Nothing too high I hope,” Faramir laughed.
“Lets say that the lost team shall make a ‘day of luxury’ for the winners,” Arwen suggested. “With all spices, of course,” she smiled at Aragorn.
“Deal,” Aragorn answered. “A Man like me is always looking forward to a day of spoiling,” he grinned.
“But there is two against three. Isn’t that a bit unfair?” Faramir asked.
“We are not going to lose, so don’t worry,” Éowyn laughed.
“We shall see about that,” Éomer muttered.
“Now, shall we eat?” Aragorn asked, noticing that Gimli was already emptying the table with an alarming speed. “It seems that Dwarves and Hobbits have something in common: if you cannot keep them speaking, they will clean your table for you.”
After two days of full silence, Gimli was getting bored. The celebration-evening had turned out pretty nicely, as he had concentrated more at the drinking than in the conversation – as he was not able to join into one himself. Legolas had disappeared at some time of the night, but as Aragorn had been with the Elf, Gimli had no fear that the Elf would have cheated: Aragorn was, after all, on his side.
But as thrilling as this new game had been, it was losing its shine far too quickly. Gimli actually missed his endless chats with the Elf. Dwarves were easy to fall silent, yes, but Gimli had grown accustomed to the company of his tall friend, and the sparring they went through daily. The Elf had better to lose quickly, he thought, walking down the main-road of Edoras. Then we can get back to the daily routine. Not that Legolas would agree with him. That arrogant creature would rather see the world crumble down to its end than Gimli beat him. Suppressing a chuckle, Gimli thought about the moment of his coming victory: after it, Legolas could never say that he talked too much.
Noticing the very same Elf some distance away from him, Gimli suddenly came up with an idea. Why not to try and make the Elf break his silence? Such a thing was not forbidden, after all. With a sinister smile, Gimli searched for a tool to deliver his idea. Then his smile turned wide, and he glanced at the Elf, rubbing his hands. Lets see how your calmness will hold after this, Master Legolas.
On his side, Legolas had no actual trouble with this sudden silence. If he needed something to be “said”, he could always use marks Elves used between each other on a hunt. Lady Arwen had grown up among Elven warriors, and knew most of those signs anyway. Not that I would need something pressing to be said. It seems that world falls into silence when things turn dark and evil. And now as such things are gone, the sounds and voices are back. Small moment of silence feels quite good after all the commotion. Smiling to himself, he walked along a side-alley, his eyes taking in the structure of Rohan houses. It seemed so new to him still, the way the Men built their cities and homes. And these buildings are different to those in Gondor. There is so much for me to see in this world. Maybe enjoying the sense of sight is a good thing, for a change. I don’t have much use for that while travelling with a Dwarf. Speaking of which, Gimli appeared before him around a corner – and splashed a basin of water at his clothes.
The Dwarf’s smile spoke of faked apology, his eyes dancing with mischief. Come on, Elf, the expression upon your face is telling me that you are ready to scream. Just open your mouth and –
Legolas’ frozen expression turned into a sweet, almost grateful smile. Then he strode past the astonished Dwarf. As he passed the corner of the building, he “accidentally” pulled at a rope, making a barrel full of rain-water open on the other side of the house. Water – usually gathered for the plants when it rained – fell over the Dwarf. Hearing a sharp intake of breathe, Legolas smiled, knowing that he had hit the target. Next time, Master Dwarf, don’t. Messing with an Elf might be dangerous.
“Do you think this was a good idea, after all?” Arwen asked while combing her hair in the room she and Aragorn shared.
“They have behaved quite normally at late,” Aragorn stated, fastening his clothing.
“Leaving out the fact that they are ready to harm each other to claim the victory?” Arwen demanded.
“They would not do such a thing,” Aragorn informed his wife, pulling a cape around his neck and fighting with the clasp for a while.
“Our bet only motivates them to win…” Arwen murmured. “So you haven’t noticed anything yet? Or is it just that you try to ignore the attempts of victory taking place around you?”
“Let them play the game. I am merely preparing for that ‘day of luxury’ under your loving care,” the King smiled, walking to his wife and giving a kiss to her cheek.
“So you think it isn’t dangerous that Gimli put some extra pepper into Legolas’ food?”
“It is their game. They make the rules. And Legolas didn’t speak, did he not?”
“But it was unfair as Gimli had put mice into Legolas’ bed the night after,” Arwen said forcefully.
“Which Legolas kept as a pet,” Aragorn stated. “And it was completely fair as Legolas put a spider into Gimli’s bed the night before that.”
Arwen smiled despite herself. “But it wasn’t a poisonous one.”
“Were the mice, then?”
“No, of course not,” Arwen pouted. “But what I am trying to say –”
“Is that their game is completely innocent,” Aragorn ended for her. “They are playing a children’s game, that’s all.”
“Despite the fact that Lord Legolas’ foot was stamped by a certain Dwarf’s iron boot?” Faramir asked as he entered the room.
“Good morning, Faramir, and yes, even despite that,” Aragorn sighed.
“I just came to tell you that we have been invited onto a hunt later today. The riders will leave after the breakfast,” Faramir informed the royal couple.
“I assume Legolas is still in the game?” Arwen asked, returning to the previous topic as she rose from her place.
“Of course, my Lady,” the Steward smiled. “Though Master Gimli is still wondering how an entire shelf of books was able to fall upon him as he visited the library later on.”
“It is only fair, love,” Arwen laughed, seeing Aragorn’s shocked face. “It is merely a children’s game, as you said.”
“May I take back that sentence?” Aragorn asked as he followed the others to the hallway. “Perhaps someone should tell those two that this game is not worth casualties…”
Without a word – as was expected – Legolas and Gimli had agreed upon riding on different horses. Gimli was riding with Aragorn, who was keeping a safe distance from Arod and his rider. One can never be too careful, right? I am sure that many of us are valuing this silence, though the other deeds of these two are getting increasingly serious. It seems as if they are in a hurry to end their game.
“What are we hunting?” Arwen inquired from her place, glancing at Éomer some distance away.
“We might find a boar or few from a nearby forest. Further than that, I do not know,” the King answered.
“Well, the fresh air and some sunshine will do good for all of us.” Éowyn smiled.
Legolas added to the latest comment full-heartedly, even if he didn’t say it aloud. He spurred Arod forward, letting the horse have some exercise. Some riders of Rohan were spreading out, trying to catch a sight of a possible prey. Letting his own senses divide further, Legolas allowed Arod to pick a trail on his own.
After a few hours Legolas returned to the main-group, taking his place in the back. Arod snorted, flipping his tail from side to another, trying to bend his head to munch some of the green grass as they travelled forward. Legolas tapped the white neck, encouraging the horse onward: Arod could eat later when they would stop for a small break. For break there would be if they would not find anything suitable for a hunt, soon. It seemed as if all animals were hiding today, but Legolas didn’t feel a great loss about it: hunting for mere sport had never been his favourite.
Suddenly Legolas’ senses flared, something alarming him. Arod halted under him, flicking his ears nervously. The others continued forward before them, noticing nothing unusual. But the sensation was unmistakable: something was wrong. Encouraging Arod forward, Legolas came up with the rest of the company, halting before them. He raised his hand, all the horses stopping immediately without further command. The Men looked at him surprised, one Dwarf trying to see what was going on.
“Legolas, what is it?” Aragorn asked, pushing Gimli back to his place before they both fell to the ground.
Legolas shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment to clear his thoughts. Some of the Men tried to get their horses back on the move again, but the animals stood their ground, refusing to move. Then Legolas finally confirmed his sensation, and turned Arod quickly to face Aragorn. He opened his mouth reflexively, but then shot it again, seeing Gimli’s expectant look. Instead of giving up the victory, he made some swift signals with his hand, trying to make Aragorn understand his message.
Aragorn frowned. “I don’t think I understand…” Legolas repeated the marks, slower this time, and finally the Man remembered. “Oh, I see. Elven hunting signals…” One harsh look from Legolas made him halt, and as the Elf repeated his marks again, Aragorn’s eyes widened.
“I think these are used among Legolas’ own people because my brothers do not use them,” Arwen guessed.
“True. I used them when hunting with Legolas’ people,” Aragorn said stiffly. Gimli poked him on back, and with a cough, Aragorn glanced at the Men around him. “A pack of Wargs is a mile away from us, and they are coming our way.”
“What!?” exclaimed Éomer, throwing an angry look at Legolas. “For the sake of Valar, you could have just said that! Collect the riders and call back the scouts: the Wargs may be on a hunt as well,” the King continued to his Men, knowing that it would do nothing to rebuke Legolas.
“This might be bad,” Éowyn whispered. Faramir reached out to grasp her hand, giving her a reassuring smile.
Behind Aragorn, Gimli slid his axe free, balancing it in his hand. Well, I didn’t beat the Elf yet. But he is near. Though I would much more prefer fighting behind him than Aragorn. Oh well, if we get into a fight, I will choose the ground, anyway. Let’s hunt some Wargs, then!
Aragorn glanced back at the excited Dwarf, shaking his head. “Do nothing stupid, Gimli son of Glóin. This is a fight and not a game.” Gimli nodded with a smile, leaving Aragorn to doubt if the other understood his point at all.
The scouts returned with a maddening gallop, their horses lathering after the run. “My Lord, there are Wargs just before us!” one of the Men informed Éomer. “They must have caught our scent because they are coming right towards us!”
“Prepare for battle,” Éomer commanded. “Defend the women,” he added, gaining two deadly glares from the ladies.
“We have seen battles before,” Éowyn snorted. “Just take care of yourself, brother.”
Éomer smiled, nodding. “Of course, dear sister. Forgive me my doubt.”
Horses froze suddenly, their nostrils flaring and ears turning while they tried to hear the approaching threat. Legolas drew his bow free, pulling one arrow to the string, his eyes narrowing as he focused. Arod shivered, snorting fearfully, but did not move: he knew that his rider needed no hasty movements from him. All horses kept their places obediently, waiting with raising anticipation. The Men were not much better, their ears trying to hear any sound of the enemy.
“How close are they?” Faramir whispered, sliding his sword free.
“Only Legolas knows for sure – and he has no time to tell us,” Aragorn frowned, for once cursing the game his friend was playing. It might cost them more than they had originally planned.
Then Legolas moved, drawing his bow and setting the arrow loose. It whirled through the air, and met a furry beast that emerged from behind a mound. The Warg fell immediately, but others rushed over it, howls filling the air. Horses pawed the ground nervously, but their riders held them in place. More arrows were shot towards the beasts, some spears flying through the air, but few met their target.
As the beasts drew nearer, the cries of Men mingled together as they also charged. Some of the riders stayed with the Ladies, the rest of the warriors blocking the way of enemies and forcing them into a fight. The Wargs had no qualms about that, and with a sounds of heavy bodies clashing into armour and weapons, the battle began.
Gimli waited for an opportunity, observing the fight for around him. He hefted his axe experimentally, soon realising that he indeed could not fight behind Aragorn. Sorry lad, but you are far too novice into my liking: the Elf could match my movements better on horseback. But this Dwarf knows his place, however, and it is upon the solid ground! With that thought Gimli dropped himself, coming up to his feet swiftly after his heavy landing. Raising his axe he prepared to meet a Warg that rushed towards him. It actually took more effort from him to keep silent and swallow his battle-cry than to kill the beast, but he was still determined to win. Fighting silently could not be too difficult…
Aragorn slowed his horse as he felt Gimli’s weight shift, and as he realised the Dwarf was no longer behind him, he turned his mount, alarm upon his face. Curse that sturdy creature! He could have warned me about his choice of battling, Aragorn thought angrily as he watched Gimli rush towards another Warg, bringing down the creature with two strong swings of his axe. “You had better to watch your back, Master Dwarf, because I have other things to attend,” the King muttered, turning just in time to block an advancing enemy.
Legolas was faring quite nicely on his side, shooting down Warg after another. It took more carefulness from him to avoid the beasts while he prepared for a shot, but Arod was used to this way of fighting, alarming him if a Warg got too near. Again he raised his bow, taking careful aim between two riders of Rohan and let the shaft loose, watching with pleasure as the arrow sank deep into brown fur. Arod snorted, waking Legolas from his pleased thoughts. It was a reflex that saved Legolas from losing his hand, making him move to the side as another Warg jumped in attempt to dislocate the Elf.
White knife was in Legolas’ hand before he knew it, the shining blade sinking easily to the head that was again trying to catch him. With a look of utter annoyance, Legolas pushed the stinking creature back, shaking his blade to clear it of the foul blood.
Shouldering his bow, Legolas decided that time of arrows was over and he could move into a more personal mode of fighting. Moving Arod around, Legolas glanced around the battlefield to find his companions, checking if any of them needed his help. He froze completely as his sharp eyes found Aragorn – alone. Where was the Dwarf..? Ah, there, safely on the ground. Or perhaps the word “safe” was not the best one to describe Gimli’s situation: as the Dwarf made another enemy fall, his attention solely in a task to free his axe, another Warg crept upon him from behind. Legolas knew he had no time to draw his bow, and the distance was too great for a thrown knife to do enough harm. The only option possible reached him mind, and without a second thought, Legolas shouted. “Gimli! Behind you!”
Gimli turned just in time to avoid the collision with the furry creature. Surprise faded into anger, one of his smaller axes flashing in the air as it came down to a killing blow. Drawing back from the pile of corpses, Gimli searched for the next enemy, but found none. Men were riding in circles, noticing as well that all the Wargs had been killed.
“Good job,” Éomer smiled, cleaning his sword before sheathing it. “Our hunt seems to have turned out as a successful one.”
Aragorn nodded, guiding his horse next to Gimli. “I hope you are well, Master Dwarf. Fight upon the ground – alone – could have been fatal.”
Gimli nodded absently, retrieving his fallen axe. Then he suddenly halted, as if realising something. Slowly he turned around, strange fire filling his eyes. A huge smile spread over his features, and then he roared like a mighty winner, making Aragorn’s horse cower back in fear. Pointing at the Elf with his axe, Gimli laughed out lout, almost bouncing on his feet. “You lost, Master Elf! You spoke! I won!”
Legolas face got awfully still, his eyes losing all their warmth. “It does not count. Without my warning, you would now lie in that pile of corpses yourself.”
“But you shouted, and that means the end of our game,” the Dwarf said adamantly. “Accept your loss.”
“But it is not fair!” Legolas cried out. “I saved your life, Gimli! Surely that does not count…”
“Don’t be such a baby,” Gimli retorted with a maniac look in his eyes. “I won!” he roared again, dancing around.
“I think this means…” Arwen sighed at the Faramir next to her.
“Indeed,” Faramir replied. “Though this seems unfair to me as well.”
“Give up all ready,” Aragorn said cheerfully, riding in with a victorious smile. “Gimli won, and that’s it. Now we are free to move to the dealing of the spoils of victory,” he grinned.
“I readily agree,” Éowyn joined into him, the two sharing a wink.
“I think this will become a long ride back…” Éomer muttered, not even daring to glance at the direction of the arguing Dwarf and Elf.
Author’s Note: Well, what do you think!? I am not sure if this was as funny as Re-match, but tell me. After all, you are able to see such things more easily than the signed one herself (means me…). Well, we shall continue in the third (and the final) part of this little series, so seeing you there. Though I should never say “never”, even as “Final Competition” should be the final story of this “trilogy”. We shall see about that. If you people want more, then we may discuss about it. But, until I get to that story, be well! I am so outta here… – Ciao!, Bang! and the author escapes through the back-door with her notes for the next story –