GIVING

"What are you doing, Aragorn?" Pippin, as usual, was the first hobbit to rouse from their day-sleep. Now he was crouched next to the ranger, squinting.

Aragorn had rammed a stick into the earth and appeared to be plaiting air. Then the straggly tree above them shifted in the light breeze and sunlight glinted on a fine golden strand in his hands.

"Oh! What is it?" Pippin reached out carefully to run a finger along the long filament.

Aragorn glanced up to check on Legolas' whereabouts. Their elven guard was sitting in the topmost branches of a storm blasted chestnut tree at the other side of the camp, his keen eyes calmly scanning the horizon. The ranger smiled, aware that even at this distance their conversation would easily be picked up by his friend's delicate ears. It was difficult to keep secrets from elves.

"It is Legolas' begetting day tomorrow so I am making him a new bowstring." He reached into his pocket and drew out a long golden strand as fine as spider silk.

"But what are you making it from? And does that mean elves have two celebrations each year? One for their birthday and one for their begetting day? That sounds a bit much, even for a hobbit." Pippin considered all the presents that would entail. He was as fond of presents as the next hobbit but with a family the size of his, the making of so many gifts, even if they were mathoms, would take up all of his time.

Aragorn chuckled. "For elves the begetting day is the same as the birthing day. They rest in their mother's womb for twelve months."

Yet a youngster, still Pippin was quite old enough to understand the process of conception and birth. He had also been raised in the close confines of Great Smials with three older sisters and a host of aunts. He knew that hobbits carried their babies for nine months, he'd also gleaned the same information about mortals during his travels with this Fellowship. Of Rivendell he remembered songs and food and trees but little about the actual lives of elves. He blinked suddenly realising that even thinking about that blessed place had dropped him into a dream-state.

His companion, meanwhile was splicing in the new thread and continuing to plait. Pippin frowned anew for there was something familiar about the colour. "What are you using to make it?"

Aragorn licked his fingers before selecting another thread from his pocket. "Hair. Elven hair is very strong."

Now Pippin glanced up in time to find Legolas smiling over his shoulder at him, long golden hair gleaming in the sunlight. The elven warrior nodded once before turning back to his task of scanning sky and horizon.

"Aragorn, I think you've lost the element of surprise with your present."

Now Aragorn chuckled. "One never has an element of surprise with an elf. I've been gathering strands from his clothing for days now and he has known from the first."

Pippin thought for a moment. It was considered the height of bad taste for a hobbit to try to discover what his gift was before it was given. But he supposed with their keen sight and hearing it would be difficult for elves not to find out things. He wasn't sure he would like that. Surprises were so much fun . . . nice ones were, anyway. That gave him an idea. "So, it's tomorrow?" he asked.

Aragorn paused to wrap a length of his finished work about the stick. "Tomorrow," he confirmed as he glanced aside at Pippin, pulling the string taut once more and continuing his work. "And we have neither the time nor facilities to bake a cake so do not even consider it."

Pippin graced Aragorn with one of his most innocent expressions. "Of course not."

0o0

Gandalf had taken little persuading. Although haste was necessary it was not so great a sacrifice to stop a couple of hours earlier than usual on one dawn. Hollin was an empty and cheerless land, even when the sun deigned to show her face and theirs had been a dreary slog. Soon they would bear east to the mountains so a little fun now would lift their spirits for the climb.

The most exquisite smells had been rising from their campfire for several hours and all four hobbits were huddled over pans and bowls. Now they stood as one, turning to Legolas to bow before Frodo announced, "The Begetting Day feast is ready! Happy Begetting Day, Legolas."

Having been quietly primed by Gandalf earlier Legolas had the grace to look a little surprised. "How wonderful. Thank you so much. I wondered what you were contriving all day." In truth, whilst not surprised, he was most certainly touched. Elves did not celebrate the anniversary with the enthusiasm of mortals but it was usual to acknowledge it in some way.

"Come on then. Hold out your plates everyone. We don't have a cake but Sam has spent a good deal of effort on this coney casserole and there's baked apples for dessert." Pippin was first in line but Merry pulled him back so that Frodo could usher the "birthday boy" to the front.

An hour later all were sitting comfortably before the embers of their cooking fire and the sweet smell of pipeweed was beginning to drift about their little dell. Still very much aware that they could not let down their guard, Gimli was standing second watch while Boromir, who had taken his turn whilst they cooked, was licking the last of the sticky apple juice from his fingers.

Having packed his pipe, Aragorn now set it aside and fished in his pack. The hobbits all gasped as Aragorn handed over a fine golden coil. "Happy Begetting Day, my friend. I'm sorry you had to provide the materials yourself," he added with a grin.

Legolas inspected the work and then reached across to hug his friend. "It is well made and well considered." His smile grew rueful. "I have only one spare string for my bow and I fear I may need this before our journey is done."

Gandalf chuckled. "And I fear you have just scandalise our hobbit friends. The giving of presents is usually a private thing. But perhaps it is time to broaden their knowledge."

"Sometimes it is a private thing amongst my people too. But I am coming to think of you all as family so I hope you are not too offended," Aragorn offered.

"Indeed we are not," Frodo hastened to assure him. "We had little warning or we would have made proper gifts for you, Legolas. I hope you will accept the little supper as our gift to you and, as such, it was given no less publicly."

"Then let us not talk further of offence. I also have little with me, master elf, but I hope you will accept this in token, perhaps, of something grander one day." Gimli opened his fingers to display a small embossed gold clasp such as adorned his beard.

Legolas smiled, lifting it to hold in the pale rose light of the dawn. "It is exquisite, Gimli. And I hope you will allow me to keep, rather than exchange it, for I require nothing grander."

The dwarf coughed a little embarrassedly. "Of course you may keep it." He climbed a rise to continue his guard duties.

Boromir reached into his pack and held out to Legolas the finely tooled hilt of a tiny throwing dagger. "I have not the skills of Aragorn or of our hobbit friends so I have not crafted anything. But I hope you will accept this. I am certain it is not the equal of an elven blade but it is well balanced."

Legolas accepted the hilt, holding it too to the sunlight, although Frodo suspected he was well able to see the most minute detail even by starlight. "It is a fine blade and the carving of tree and stars is very well executed. But will you not need it yourself?"

Boromir produced its twin from his boot top with a flourish. "It is one of a pair. And, in truth, I have always thought a throwing knife a slightly cowardly weapon. I tend to use mine more for eating or whittling. Perhaps you can do the same."

Legolas chuckled before slipping the knife into his archer's arm guard. "Thank you, Boromir."

All four hobbits now turned to Gandalf in expectation. The old wizard only shook his head. "I have no gift other than this, I will stand watch for the rest of the day. Wizards, even ones as ancient and decrepit as myself, require little sleep."

"Of course, if this was the Shire you would be expected to give us presents too," Pippin pointed out guilelessly and earned himself a bruised rib from Frodo's elbow.

Legolas only chuckled. "Like you, I travel with little spare gear but perhaps you will accept this." With that he drew breath and, to everyone's delight, began to sing in a clear strong voice.

Though perhaps only Gandalf and Aragorn fully understood the words all were caught up in the melody and soon words were unnecessary, for in their minds eye they saw the deep green woods of Legolas' home. But this was not the dark and dangerous Mirkwood that Bilbo had described so often. This was the great Greenwood, as she once was. Here the white bellies of red squirrels flashed among the branches and birdsong laced the air. Great creamy shelves of fungus sprouted high from ancient oaks and deep leaf mould softly supported travel weary feet. The sweet smell of growing things filled their noses and they turned their faces to accept the golden benison of sunlight filtered through a thousand glowing leaves.

The last note spread thin upon the air and with it the vision. Everyone sighed and peace rolled into their souls. Aragorn was the first to find his voice. "Thank you, my friend. I never tire of hearing you sing."

"It was a beautiful gift, Legolas. Thank you for allowing us to see your true home." Frodo felt a peace in his heart that he had not known since he started on this awful quest.

Gandalf's gruff voice drew them all firmly back to their task. "And now I think it is time that we all got some sleep. There is little shelter in this land and I see rain clouds on the horizon. Best sleep while you can for it will be a cheerless walk tonight." He stood and stretched. When they made to protest Gandalf would have none of it, ushering them all off to their blankets, even the elf. "You may not sleep as we, master elf, but even your body and mind need to rest and be replenished."

Legolas stretched out on his blanket, feet toward the still glowing embers of their fire, and closed his eyes upon the rising sun. His stomach was filled with good food, (who knew that Sam could produce such a miracle from their limited supplies?) the little knife blade was warming against his wrist, the small gold clasp secured his braid and a new bowstring was tucked into a pouch at the bottom of his quiver. He recalled again every moment of the morning. Perfect elven memory forgot nothing but this was a time he wished to engrave deeply upon his soul. Friendships came rarely, even in a life as long as his, and today he had to acknowledge that these mortals were now his friends and he theirs. It was a strangely comforting feeling.

END

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