The Last Will and Testament of Gimli

Due to several requests for a Last Will and Testament for some of our other favorite characters, I have decided, after several years, to acquiesce. Thank you all for the lovely reviews! :D Without further ado, the Last Will and Testament of Gimli.

A grizzled dwarf slipped away from his taller comrades, glancing furtively about to make certain none of them had noticed his absence. He was Gimli, son of Gloin, and had survived countless long nights and days of traipsing halfway across Middle-earth, only to come face to face with what he knew could well be his demise. All other situations he had theretofore encountered had seemed, by comparison, easily escapable, but not this insane defense against an army of ten thousand Uruk-hai. He would never have voiced his apprehensions to the others, of course. He'd surely be branded a coward. No. He'd take care of pre-battle business quietly.

Clanking away from the others, using his axe haft as a staff, he cast about for some time. At length, he espied a large clay tablet and stylus leaning against the side of a notch in a roof-less turret. Ensuring that no one saw, he stood on tiptoe and retrieved it. Scanning it quickly, he noted detailed battle plans, a love note to Legolas from Legolas, and a thorough inventory of Éowyn's prized rock collection. Ah, so it contained only one thing of great import. Grinning, he smoothed the marks from the clay, leaving only Eowyn's rock collection inventory intact in the far right margin. Then, taking the stylus in his thick, stubby fingers, he plopped down against the moldering stone wall and began to compose.

I, Gimli Gloinson, being of hairy mind and iron-clad body, do hereby make and publish this, my last will and testament, and do hereby revoke any and all other wills and codicils heretofore made by me.

To Gloin, A.K.A. "Pops," I hereby bequeath… my axe. Since I stole your axe and broke it on the Ring back at the Council. I hope you're not still upset about that. It was an "ax-ident." Really, it was. Whodathunk some silly elf metal from a gazillion years ago could shatter Dwarvish steel? Your axe was probably defective, anyway. Yeah.

To Gyosi, A.K.A. "Mom," I hereby bequeath my favorite beard crimper. It's the one you were always borrowing when I'd come home on holidays. Okay, okay, I'll admit it. I was always secretly jealous of your beautiful beard. Mine kept shedding all over the place and was all ratty and dry and rough and fried-looking. Yours was always pretty and sleek and soft and cuddly. I just wanted to disappear into it. I still do. Uh, don't pay any attention to that last bit.

To Aragorn, son of Arathorn, I hereby bequeath my trademark cologne. I know you've got the "rugged and manly" thing going on, but trust me, we Dwarves invented manliness—er, Dwarfliness—and nothing screams "I've taken two showers in my entire life" like this cologne. You wanna impress ol' Elrond? He'll wanna know what kind of BEAST he's marrying his daughter to, know what I mean? Oh, and you can have those three hairs I got from the elf witch. Yuck. I was totally joking when I asked for them. I just wanted to see if I could get her to do it, and next thing I know, she's ripping out her hairs and throwing 'em at me. I'm all, "Okay, thanks. I'll just… stare at them, I guess."

To Gandalf, I hereby bequeath my ACME beard-washer. I know, I know, it looks like a toilet, but have you seen this baby flush? It'll suck the dirt off the dirt in two seconds flat! Since you and I know a thing or two about the inexorable power of beards, I thought you should be the one to get it. It's also great for that "I just almost drowned" hairstyle, if you're into that.

To Merry and Pippin, I hereby bequeath all my remaining food. I trust you'll put it to good use. But at least be decent and raise a toast to me when you're running through my hidden stash of liquor like it's warm milk. And you can have the pipe-weed, too. Just don't smoke it all at once and lurch through Rivendell in pursuit of fleeing mushrooms again. Elrond'll probably make good on his threat to pluck your toe hairs out one by one and use 'em to stuff a pillow.

To Frodo, I hereby bequeath my full body armor, imbued with ancient Dwarf protection spells. Wouldn't do you any harm, seeing as how every time you turn around, something's trying to run you through (and succeeding most of the time, I might add). Although, the ancient Dwarf protection spells' warranties probably don't completely cover a person of your particular luck. Worth a shot, I guess. We Dwarves have hides of steel, practically, so I never really needed the armor anyway. I just thought it looked cool.

To Sam, I hereby bequeath my hawk-eyes and fox ears. Metaphorically speaking, of course. They really came in handy in that elf witch's forest. I knew 0.01 second before her sarcastic pet march-warden and his friends showed up that something was sneaking up on us—really, I did! Anyway, you can have my finely honed senses so you're on the alert a fraction of a second before something jumps out of nowhere and tries to stab Frodo. Good luck on that quest to Mount Doom, laddie. You're gonna need it.

And lastly, to Legolas, A.K.A. "the elf" (if he manages to survive me, which I highly doubt), I hereby bequeath a bottle of my secret, patented dwarf hair-growth potion. No one's ever going to take you seriously unless you grow some facial hair—heck, I'd even settle for a chest hair! This stuff'll put hair on a frog, and that's saying something. Notice how many girls I have drooling over me on Internet forums? Don't answer that. Notice how, in the movies, I am definitely NOT only there for comic relief? Don't answer that, either. Anyway, you use the hair-growth potion and you're guaranteed to sprout hair follicles everywhere in around ten minutes, tops. I only care because you're pathetic and, well, I like to help those in need. Even prissy, annoying, prancing, preening Elf-boys whose dad kidnapped my dad at one point. I am not bitter. Nope. Definitely not in the least bit bitter about that.

Anyway, that's all I have to say about that. We dwarves are known for our succinctness! We never just go on and on and on like some races do. No, siree. I am definitely not stopping just because I am running out of room on this tablet. Not by any—

"You're bequeathing me dwarf hair-growth potion?!"

"Gahhh!" Gimli shot up about a mile in the air. When he had landed once more and recovered his wits somewhat, he snarled at Legolas—for, of course, the intruder was Legolas—and gave him a murderous glare.

"No!" said the dwarf tersely. "No, I'm not, you spying, pointy-eared creampuff. Because now I'm going to make sure I outlive you."

THE END