Gimli pulled on his heavy woolen stockings and sat on his bed, waiting for his cousin, Balin. The pair were traveling to Rivendell because the One Ring had been found, and Elrond wished to speak with them about destroying it.
When Balin finally emerged from the wash room, he sat on the edge of Gimli’s cot, while sharpening his war-axe on a whetstone.
“Why’re you bringin your axe, Ball?” he asked with a puzzled expression.
“Where do you think we’re going!? A picnic? Stupid little thing! You might need to destroy the Ring yourself! Besides” he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “There’s going to be an elf there.”
“What’s so bad about that?”
“Are your brains addled?! There’s no creature more cunning, decietful, or two-faced then an elf. They’ll feed you with one hand, and stab you in the back with the other! Never cross paths with an elf, sister-son. They’ll kill you as soon as look at you!”
“Why are we even going to Rivendell then? Elrond’s an elf, isn’t he?”
“Yes, but, you see oh Thick-skulled One, there must be a dwarf there to control the elves!”
“Stop your blabbering, foolish little dwarf. You make my head ache.” Balin said exasperatedly. “And you’re also putting your boot on the wrong foot.”
“Well…You were distracting me.”
“You asked me a question!”
“…..What difference does that make?”
“Shut up Gimli.”
The pair rode into the council on a stout little pony called Peg-leg, for reasons unknown.
Already seated around the stone table were six elves, a hobbit, two men, and a wizard.
Balin stalked past the elves with a superior air, seating himself at a safe distance where he could watch their every move. Gimli plopped down in the chair next to him.
Elrond rose when all were seated, and proceeded to discuss the reason of the gathering, and possible solutions. The main point of the discussion, though, was who will take the Ring to Mordor?
The foolish Steward’s son, of Gondor, rose, telling them not to destroy it, but use it!
The Ranger stood and deflected his comment. “The Ring must be destroyed! It has no other master!”
Boromir, the foolish one, became quite angry, and Elrond had to stop him from lunging at the other man.
“Dd you not hear what Lord Aragorn just said?” the Elf prince had gotten up to speak.
“Who’s he talking about?” thought Gimli.
“The Ring must be destroyed!”
His impudence angered Gimli. Why, the Princeling wanted to take the Ring himself!
“And I expect you think you’re the one to do it!” he thundered.
The other elves stood to confront him.
“I’d rather the Ring go to Mordor then see it in the hands of an Elf!”
All of the Council Members stood, shouting at each other.
In the midst of the turmoil, a small voice piped up, “I will take the Ring to Mordor!” it was the Halfling.
All stopped shouting as they realized the light behind his words.
“Yes…” Elrond said slowly, nodding. “Yes.”
The Ranger (Aragorn?) stood. “You have my sword, little Hobbit.”
The elf also stood, pledging his bow.
Gimli would not be outdone by an elf, so he also stood. “And my axe!”
Then Boromir, Gandalf, and three other little hobbits joined the Fellowship, the latter appearing almost out of nowhere.
As they left the Council to begin their journey, Balin waved goobye in a gruff manner.
Gimli, promising to look after the hobbit, and look out for the elf, clasped his shoulder and grinned.