Chapter One

"Boromir!" Aragorn called, catching the man off guard. "There's some of this excellent stew left. Would you like some?"

Boromir turned to face the Ranger, hoping that Aragorn had not noticed that he was looking for the elf again. He'd caught himself doing it at odd intervals over the day. There was something that fascinated him about their tall companion, and he was trying to figure it out.

"Thank you, I think I will," Boromir replied. He held out his bowl to Aragorn who scooped the remains of the meaty broth into it. The rest of the Fellowship had finished and were doing various chores around the camp, getting ready for the night.

"It's good, isn't it?" Aragorn asked. "I'm always surprised at what Sam can create with dried meat and a few herbs."

"Yes," Boromir mumbled through his stew. "He's resourceful." He looked around. "Did anyone else want any?"

"No, they're fine, although Gimli could eat as much as our young Hobbit friends if he put his mind to it."

Boromir laughed at that. Aragorn looked at him thoughtfully for a moment. "How are you feeling about our companions, Boromir? "

Boromir stopped chewing and stared at Aragorn. "What do you mean?" he asked, carefully.

"Only that you are not used to Dwarves and Elves, I think." Aragorn told him.

Boromir sighed. "Dwarves, or at least Master Gimli, seem to be like the older warriors in my company back home. Bluff, brusque and as sentimental as grandmothers underneath. Were it not for his stature, I would easily consider Gimli as a man of my acquaintance."

Aragorn laughed. "I wouldn't let him hear you say that," he cautioned. "I don't think he would take it as the compliment you mean." His eyes darkened slightly. "And the elf?"

Boromir looked confused. "He doesn't say much, does he? And there's something quite different about him. I admit that it puzzles me."

"Different? In what way?" Aragorn asked, truly interested. "He is an elf, after all."

"I'm not sure. I've been trying to figure it out all day. You've known him for quite a while, I gather?"

Aragorn pulled out his pipe and began to pack it. "Yes, most of my life. I assure you that he's always been a quiet sort, but he's a good and dependable warrior." He lit his pipe and regarded the other man through the smoke. "A word of advice on dealing with elves," he continued. "They tend to think of us as somewhat barbaric. Nothing personal. Take your time in getting to know Legolas. First impressions can sometimes be misleading."

"Thank you." Boromir said, still puzzled. Gimli came out of the trees, alone. He sat down beside Aragorn and lit his own pipe.

"Where's Legolas?" Aragorn asked him, knowing that Gimli had followed the elf from the clearing earlier.

"Hiding. I think he went up a tree somewhere. You know elves. They're like squirrels. Go crazy at the sight of a big tree." He exhaled slowly. "Maybe they all like nuts?" he joked. A rain of acorns fell on his head from the tree behind them. He looked back, unconcerned, as they bounced off his bushy hair.

"It'll take more than that to annoy me, Elf!" Gimli called up into the tree. He turned back to the men. "Would you like a smoke, Boromir? It'll put hair on your chest."

"Er, I don't know," Boromir stammered, watching the acorns, one by one, bounce off Gimli's head and shoulders.

"It's a filthy habit!" Legolas called out from his perch. "You won't like it."

"Let the lad make up his own mind!" Gimli yelled back.

Boromir stared in fascination as an old bird's nest flew out of the tree and onto Gimli's head. Then the rain of acorns continued. The hobbits, attracted by the commotion, gathered around the group. They quickly made themselves comfortable.

"Legolas, why are you throwing acorns at Gimli?" Pippin asked, lighting his own pipe.

"Because there aren't any rocks up here!" Legolas called down.

"That does make sense," Merry conceded. "Would you like some?"

"Stop it, all of you!" Gandalf commanded, stepping out from behind the trees where he had been considering their route. "Is this any way to act?"

"It's that foolish elf," Gimli began. The rest of his explanation was cut off by Legolas swinging down through the branches and hanging upside down by his knees.

"Be very careful in finishing that statement, friend Dwarf. I've found a beehive up here, and I'm not afraid to use it."

For a moment there was silence as Boromir and Aragorn looked at each other, and then Gandalf began to laugh. The others joined in, even Legolas, his hair hanging across his face. He swung himself out of the tree and sat beside Boromir.

Gandalf wiped tears out of his eyes and sat with the others. He pulled out his pipe and set the brand Pippin passed him to it. They smoked in silence for a moment, Frodo blowing smoke rings that Gandalf pierced with smoke arrows. Legolas sat back a bit from the group and frowned when Merry offered a spare pipe to Boromir. The man from Gondor looked at the elf for a moment and then inhaled briefly. It set him to coughing.

"You are all corrupting the one person who doesn't smell like the South Farthing." Legolas complained, as Gandalf whacked Boromir on the back and Sam got him a cup of water.

Boromir's second try went a little better.

"Why don't elves like pipeweed, Legolas?" Sam asked quietly.

"They like to drink enough," Gimli interrupted.

"Elves have to be careful with pipeweed, Sam." Aragorn answered, forestalling another argument. "It can meddle with their senses, cause them to become excitable or morose."

"Or downright violent, don't leave that part out, Aragorn." Legolas continued, glaring at the dwarf. "Very violent."

Boromir, startled by that last comment, began to cough again, eliciting giggles from the hobbits.

"That's that, then." Legolas told him, taking the pipe from his hands and giving it to Merry. "Come on, Boromir, we're going to get you out of this smoke before you get any more lightheaded" He pulled him up and began to walk him towards the stream.

Dizzy from the smoke, Boromir did not argue. Legolas held him by the elbow and steered him away from the others, ignoring their laughter. He settled Boromir on a large rock. Boromir began to cough again. Legolas pulled a large leaf from a tree and folded it quickly into a cup. Bending down, he filled it up and passed it to the man. Boromir drank it gratefully.

"You don't need to go along with everything they do, you know." Legolas said quietly. "You don't need to prove yourself every moment."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Boromir replied, looking down. Legolas crouched down beside him so their faces were level.

"I think you do." He was silent then, but did not move. His eyes gazed into Boromir's with a steadiness the man found disquieting. Boromir forced himself to look away. Then he realized something.

"It's the way you move!" he said. "That's what it is!"

"I beg your pardon?" Legolas asked, confused.

Boromir felt a faint heat on his cheek and was glad they were away from the fire. "I told Aragorn that there was something about you that I couldn't put my finger on. It's the way you move! You're like a dancer. No matter what you do, it's graceful."

"Graceful?" Legolas asked with a touch of sarcasm.

"Yes! I'm glad I figured it out! Now I can stop worrying about it."

"I'm about to start worrying about it!" Legolas snapped. "I'm not a dancer, I'm a warrior! How much of that pipeweed did you smoke?"

Boromir realized that Legolas was getting angry. "You don't understand. I don't mean it in an effeminate way or anything like that. It's like a cat or a horse. All that elegance with such power behind it." Even as he said it, Boromir realized how stupid he sounded.

Legolas sighed. "You think I'm a dancing horse. Wonderful." He pulled Boromir to his feet. "Let's get you to bed. And then I'm going to kill Gimli."

"For what?" Boromir asked.

"Just on principle. Do me a favour, Boromir, and don't mention this conversation to anyone. I think you're a bit mixed up right now."