(Written for the great_tales Challenge 209: drabbles about fame; tied for third place.)
Character(s): Gimli; unnamed OCs
Summary: In post-Quest Minas Tirith, Gimli runs interference for the hobbits against a new kind of danger.
Author's Notes: This was really hard to keep to 100 words! This is about a little incident briefly mentioned in my story "Chance Encounter", but you don't need to read that to get this.
Gimli heard the giggles: four of them at the Citadel's side entrance. He blew out a puff of smoke from his pipe, and glanced at the Guardsman beside the door. He'd not moved from his position of attention, but bore a pinched look upon his face.
"I'll see this lot off, then," Gimli said.
The oldest might have been sixteen; "W-we have messages for the pheriannath!"
"Do you, then?"
He glanced at their slipper-clad feet. "You've no chance with them, lassies, not without furry feet. Can you grow beards? No? You might try the Elf, then."