Author's note ~ This story is dedicated to Jackson, I'm sorry I made you run the agility course, but I picked up your poo, and you're not even my dog, so we're even.
Summary ~ There was a tenth member of the fellowship, Draug the mutt, and his only goal was to bite the hand, even if it was the one that fed him. The war of the Ring told from someone else's eyes.
Disclaimer ~ I own nothing that Tolkien created. They are his and his alone and I am merely borrowing. Although Draug is mine. Actually, he's Jackie's, but we partly own him.
Rating ~ PG
Warnings ~ None, save the smell of wet dog.
Parings ~ Did I not tell you this is not a slash fic?
It was raining. Not that it really mattered much, rain was only a bother to the two legged ones. Besides, when you're lower to the ground, the rain hits you much later than it does when you're tall. But it doesn't really matter, you got wet, nonetheless.
But the worse thing about rain was, it was wet. Even the stupidest creature on Arda knew that (Well maybe the men didn't…) Rain was water, and water was wet. When it hit you, it made everything wet, water always spread, like a plague that no one could stop, except time and the Valar.
Draug was wet. Wet and cold. Being wet was bad, but being wet and cold was worse. He tipped his head up, trying to find a scent that would mean food. He was hungry. Cold, wet and hungry. He turned his head west, trying to find even the slightest smell other than the musty aroma that rose from the damp ground, and there, slightly northeast, he found the small scent of bacon and tomatoes.
Humans are the only creatures controlled by time. If they take too long, you waste time, and if you hurry, you save time and if you plan everything right, you're on time. It was a very confusing concept for Draug, so he didn't try to understand it. He ambled along on the soppy ground; headed straight towards what he hoped was food.
~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~
"I do not like our… dining quarters," Legolas said softly. Gandalf had chosen a large rock crevice to rest for the night in. It was the only dry place safe to kindle a small fire.
"Well I think it's the best place the old man could have picked," Gimli snorted. Shooting a somewhat unfriendly glance towards the elf.
"I am not old," Gandalf said, overhearing their conversation.
"Well you're the only person here that can call me young," Legolas countered impishly.
"Does that mean you're an old man too?" Pippin asked innocently. That innocence was quickly lost as he began laughing.
"Well I am not a man, I am an elf-" Legolas began.
"A pointy eared stick is more like it," Gimli muttered.
"-and elves do not age, so I am not old," the elf finished. Gimli opened his mouth to shoot a snide remark, but was cut off as the elf suddenly grabbed his bow. "Something approaches." He whispered.
"Mani naa ta? What is it?" Aragorn asked.
"I don't know, the footsteps are too soft to be an Orc or human, and it sounds like it has four feet."
"Warg?"
Legolas shook his head, "A Warg weighs more than both a human and an Orc combined." Suddenly, a silhouette appeared at the opening of the crevice. Legolas readied his bow, and Aragorn unsheathed his sword. Abruptly, Legolas un-notched his arrow and laughed. He turned around a took a piece of bacon from his plate and dangled it at the opening of their 'dining quarters.'
"Hey," Sam complained, "that's good meat. No sense in feeding it to a dirty mutt!"
"I'm a vegetarian," Legolas explained shortly, and then his eyes narrowed in mock suspicion, "Don't you dare touch my tomatoes."
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Food.
It was right in front of his face, but yet he hesitated.
In some parts of Middle-Earth, stray dogs were considered pests and shot when they were seen. This could be a trap! Draug's rational mind screamed. Yet as he inched closer, he could smell the wonderful scent of meat, and his stomach chased all rationality from his mind. Just as he was mere inches away from his prize, it danced a few more inches away from his snout. He grunted in annoyance. Bacon was not supposed to move.
He took his eyes off his prey for a moment and looked up at the smiling face above him. An Elf. Most of his caution vanished. But what was an elf doing with a Dwarf, Humans and midgets? Four midgets, but perhaps there was only three, something did not seem right about the fourth one, there was some inhuman evil radiating around him. It didn't really matter to him, he did not like midgets.
"Hello little one," the elf said in Elvish. It was the only tongue Draug understood besides his native one. However, do to men's reasoning, barking and howling was not considered a language, so Elvish was the only language he understood.
"Hello elf," he barked, literally, "What is one of the Eldar doing with a Dwarf, two men and four midgets?"
"What did he say?" Gimli grunted.
"That you smell funny," Legolas snorted back. The dwarf fingered his axe. "The 'midgets' are called Hobbits, Halflings or peredhils," Legolas explained patiently, "My name is Legolas of the Woodland Realm Mirkwood, the human is Aragorn, son of Arathorn, the Istari is Gandalf the Grey, this dwarf," he said the word with a hint of distain that made Aragorn snicker, "is Gimli, son of Glóin. Then there is Boromir of Gondor and Masters Meriadoc, Peregrin, Frodo and Samwise of the Shire."
"And I am Draug, son of…" the dog paused for a moment, "My mother was a shepherd's dog, my father, an Elven hunting dog, he was killed by a wild boar. For some strange reason, you remind me of him."
"In what way?" Legolas asked.
"Smell."
"Are you saying I smell like a dog?" The elf asked. Aragorn burst out laughing. "Shut up Estel."
"The human knows our tongue?"
"He knows mine, but he does not know yours too well," Legolas replied. "Excuse me for a moment." He turned to the snickering human beside him. "His name is Draug."
"The Elvish word for Wolf, how suiting," Aragorn said, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. The dog's withers cam just below his knee. His ebony hair was plastered to his body from the rain and his wet nose explored the bacon across Legolas' plate, however, he left the tomatoes in peace. His appearance was nothing compared to a wolf's.
Draug rested his head on the elf's lap. Legolas did smell slightly of his father. He didn't know if it was just the way elves smelt, or the fact that this elf had been through the wilderness for a few days without a shower. It was a comforting scent, and he fell asleep soon after. With a full stomach and a fire crackling next to his wet body, it was not a hard feat to accomplish.
The elf reached for his plate of food, then wrinkled his brow. One of his tomato slices was missing. He eyed Aragorn's plate that has magically produced another slice.
"Thieving humans." He muttered, but left the tomato where it was.
To Be Continued…
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