The Two Hunters
*Sits on this for forever and a day.* Let's go, people. Beta by (Horseyyah AKA) Morgoth
Legolas had said it would be a whole day (or more), before they reached the shepherds and their sheep. He hadn't seemed thrilled, as though he was certain he could've reached them much sooner if he didn't have a certain half-hobbit tagging along. Paladin huffed. At least it was a nice, sunny day to trek through the hills and dales out of Ithil Eden.
It could have been raining. The fact that it wasn't should have been a relief. It wasn't. The sun beat down, making him sweat. It was humid, making his hair stick to his neck and forehead. And his company had remained solemn and silent as the few ancient trees that dotted the hinterlands. All things considered, it had been an awful day with awful company, but at least the sun was starting to set and they would soon have to sleep.
In the fields. He should've ran when old Mithrandir gave him that coin. Sleeping outdoors was for dogs, sheep, and unlucky shepherds, not for civilized peoples. The more he thought of it, the more his stomach filled with dread, he hated camping. He hated this. What in heavens…
What is…that is most odd.
Paladin stared at the elf's feet.
Wearing soft, leather boots, they looked like the feet of a man, but long and narrow. Yet, something was odd about them, different. He frowned.
They're hardly bending the grass, he thought, with a frown.
Despite his slender built, the elf was still tall, taller than any man Paladin had ever seen at least by a few inches. Even as skinny as he was, Legolas barely left a mark on the fields, he was more graceful than a ranger practiced in stealth.
Paladin stood there for a few moments with his eyes closed, listening for the sound of elven footfall. Nothing. They were impossibly silent.
"If you cannot…," as his voice trailed off, Legolas looked back over his shoulder at Paladin, "please, don't tell me you need to catch your breath so soon, I will take you back to town and find someone whom is actually useful if you can't manage such a slow pace."
Slow? This was supposed to be slow? Bloody elf, Paladin felt like his thighs might burn off from their 'leisurely' stroll through the hills and dales. Slow, indeed!
Still, warmth rushed to Paladin's cheeks. Damn, he wished he didn't have to blush at every insult thrown his way.
"It isn't that," he said. Paladin jogged up to the elf, definitely not panting or catching his breath. "Sir…, ah…Master Legolas, I am sorry, I…"
The elf cocked an eyebrow. "Ask." The elf waved a slender hand at him, still annoyed, if his posture was any indicated. "One question."
They continued to walk as Paladin gathered his thoughts, placing his hands in his pocket. The sun began to delve below the horizon, turning the fields and mountains which bordered them to shades of orange and gold. It was beautiful out here, the hills and dales dappled with poppies and honeysuckle, the song of birds whistling from the sky above. He sighed, still perplexed by what to ask.
"How is it," Paladin said at long last, "that your feet land so softly on the grass?"
At the sound of the elf's bell-like laughter, Paladin wrinkled his nose.
"What?"
"It is the nature of my kind to be light of foot," he answered. He stood still, then raised a slender hand to his brow. Legolas gazed at the setting sun, with a sigh, he added, "Soon, Master Hobbit, we must set up camp."
When the first stars began to appear in the eastern sky, and the west turned a deep orange, verging on red, they came to a small wood of tall trees, their crowns topped with small green leafs and white flowers. Those were dogwoods, blooming late. Some oaks and other trees grew here too, for a moment, Paladin stood there frozen, gazing at the Fae Wood.
He had heard tales about this place at The Red Peony.Some of its guests said it was haunted by faeries.No, no, he did not believe the tales that faeries lived in the wood, those were just old wives tales and stories told by farmers and shepherds who had too much ale to drink. After all, Legolas was a perfectly solid elf, even if he didn't leave much of a trail in the grass. Upon said elf's cold glare, Paladin hurried into the woods after him, forgetting his silly fear of childish tales.
In the wood, the scent of wild roses mixed with that of fresh water, and the bright sound of birdsong intertwined with rumbling water falling into an unseen pool. Following a small stream, they came to a sudden drop and Paladin nearly fell over a hidden ledge.
Legolas grabbed his cloak and dragged him back from the edge.
"This place…," he began, letting the half-hobbit go, voice saddened, "has changed much since I was last here."
Paladin glanced up at him, noting the distant look in the elf's grey eyes. For a moment, they seemed old, perhaps ancient, but he dismissed it as a trick of the mottled sunlight.
He would not believe in fairytales, though one walked beside him.
And just saved my life, he thought, perhaps…no. How could I even consider it?
Light feet and sad looks weren't enough evidence to buy into the elf's puerile story.
"Were you here last in winter?" Paladin asked, hiding his doubt behind a pile of sarcasm, "it was unusually cold, even the fountain froze over."
Legolas sighed, shaking his head. "Come Master Sluggard," he said. Paladin folded his arms across his thick chest, making his sack of herbs and bottles jingle a little on his back. He wasn't that slow, his packs were just heavy! That was a horrible excuse. "If we start now, we might make it down there before the moon has risen high enough for us to see his face."
Paladin rolled his eyes, but followed the elf down the steep slope. It took longer than he had expected, and the glove was larger than he had first thought. On unseen paths they walked, led by elven memory. The trees here were closer together, the underbrush thick, sometimes coming up to Paladin's chest. Every once in a while, Legolas cut it back with his long, steel knife, a few words in whispered elvish flowing from his tongue.
He sounded like he was apologizing to the weeds. Paladin shook his head. Elves were strange, why apologize to shrubs and briers?
After some time had passed, they came to a small ravine, the sound of rushing water reaching his ears. It seemed swollen and high; run-off from last night's storm. To Paladin's surprise, a beautiful stone bridge had been built over the stream. Covered with moss and weathered, it seemed ancient and forgotten, long unused by Men. Why build a bridge like that in a nameless wood like this?
And how had the elf known where to find it?
"Is it safe?" Paladin asked instead, deciding he didn't want to know the answer to his other questions.
"A dwarf built it, long ago," answered the elf, a smile touching the corners of his lips, "their handiwork is sturdier than any man's, and he...was one of their finest."
In silence, they passed over it, not a speck of stone falling off into the river. It was just the river-spray that sent a chill up his spine. Certainly. Despite that the river whittled through the rocky gorge some twenty feet below.
Why did that damn elf have to sound so sincere?
Either Legolas is insane or… He smoldered that thought. He would not let the elf win.
At last, they came to the pool. It was almost a lake, really, or perhaps a large pond. In its still waters, it reflected the heavens, a sliver of moon and the stars shimmering in velvet; the silver-streak(1) crossing the sky.
Paladin grumbled, the elf had been right. He was a sluggard after all. Dumping his pack on to the ground with a heavy groan, he sat on the bank, placing his hairy feet in the pleasingly cold, fresh waters. Spreading his arms out on either side, he crumbled the moist, rich dirt beneath his fingers, a solid sigh escaping his mouth as he closed his eyes.
That was his final mistake.
Water splashed onto him, a whole lot of water. Chilled to the bone and wet as a fish, his eyes popped open, and he glared at the elf standing in the pond, whom was dripping wet himself. He wasn't immune to water at least.
"Aren't the Eldar supposed to be beyond childish pranks?" he asked, not quite comprehending what he spoke as shock worked his tongue. "Thousands of years old, what is the matter with you!?"
An amused grin spread across the elf's fair face. "That's the proof which you needed?"
"No!" Paladin said, staring at him with still-wide eyes. Water trickled from his hair to his chin and shoulders. "That…that's utter nonsense!"
He would not let the elf win.
He waved his hand, splattering water at the elf.
Legolas shook his head, eyes flashing with amusement. He then strutted past him with long, graceful steps, heading back into the trees.
"Take this," said the elf somewhere behind him in the thick woods.
A few seconds later, something hit him in the back of the head with an audible thump. He rubbed his head, turning around. It was a stick. Knowing that baffling elf, he'd done so on purpose. Heading back towards him with a bundle of sticks and branches in his arm, Legolas dropped them on the ground a little up the bank, where the soil wasn't quite as wet.
"Do you know how to start a fire, Master Took?"
Paladin winced at the implied insult. "Yes," he opened one of the outer pockets of his bag, taking out a piece of flint and a hatchet. "Of course. How foolish do you think I am?"
The only response he got to that was a raised eyebrow.
"Right."
"Do so before I return," the elf said, arranging the tinder, "That should give you an hour at least."
Paladin tilted his head. "And what will you be doing?"
"Hunting."
Legolas disappeared into the woods. Puffing out his cheeks in annoyance, Paladin swiped flint against steel, trying to kindle a flame. The air was too wet, but he'd be damned if he let that elf win.
It did not take Legolas long to find a hare taking a drink from the stream up river. Shooting two arrows in quick succession from a branch hanging above the swift river, Legolas downed the hare, its body falling on the bank. He leaped down, landing beside its fallen form. Blood had already begun to seep from the wound in its leg, the other, at near its chest, had been a cleaner shot.
Neither arrow had killed her. That was a pity.
She looked up at him with dark, pain-filled eyes, fear edged into her features. "I am sorry," he said, placing a hand gently on her neck, "Allow me to end your suffering."
Quickly, he ended her life by breaking her neck, then picked up her corpse. Hopefully, she did not have any young. Legolas looked up at the moon. He still had the better part of an hour to go, and by the smell and sound of things in the woodland, Paladin still hadn't managed to spark a flame. That didn't surprise him, even a ranger would have difficulty starting a fire when the air was still so damp.
Instead of rejoining that bothersome hobbit, Legolas waded through the shallow stream, then headed deeper into the woods. As he walked, a few of the trees whispered. They were surprised, as though they had not met an elf in centuries. Some, even, seemed scared.
Many of these trees, no doubt, had never felt the presence of an elf in their mists.
They were so young, yet for their kind they were old. Dogwood trees were neither native to Ithilien nor did they live all that long compared to other trees. The first dogwoods his folk had planted were gifts from Cirdan when Legolas had established a colony of Silvan in the eastern boughs of Southern Ithilien. For most of the trees in this wood, that would've been eons ago.
This wood had been home to the northern-most outpost of that colony. Although the Shadow had fallen years before it was established, at Faramir's request, his people had set up in this wood. Close enough to the Minas Morgul to keep an eye on it and anything that might creep out of through its gate, but far enough to escape any remnant of Mordor's influence.
Silvan, despite being elves, were more prone to superstition, and they had more fear and hatred of the Shadow than their 'wiser' kin. He couldn't blame them for that, they had held against the Shadows forces for centuries. Perhaps the real reason he had come back was that his heart longed to see his brave kin once more, not just that Mithrandir had requested his presence on this quest.
That was, Legolas realized, why he had gone so deep into the woodland. Here, its most ancient of trees grew: oaks, ferns, and pine. They were here before his kin had planted the dogwood trees, before mankind had given it that inane moniker: the Fae Wood. Some of these trees, perhaps, had been here before he had left these shores.
This is foolishness, a part of him chastised, oaks rarely live so long, where do you think you are, Legolas, Fangorn?
The rest of him wanted that small voice to shut up, as the dwarf would say. He listened to the dwarf.
Having hope was better than naught, he sought out the oldest tree in the woods. Soon, he found himself face to face with a sprawling oak, its boughs touching the ground. Some of its leaves had already turned, signaling that it was nearing its end.
"I hope you are not already asleep, old friend." He pressed a hand against the ancient oak.
Do you remember me? Legolas asked, letting his mind touch the soul of the tree.
For a few moments, he received no response, as though the spirit of the great oak was dead. Then, he felt a wave of astonishment. Although, it was more like a series of pictures than a feeling, and perhaps, more of a sense than a picture, but his mind translated what the tree felt into images. First, surprise: young plants sprouting in summer; cold rain falling on dry leaves after a long drought; a new spring coming earlier than the tree had expected.
Suddenly, the images changed. Cold, winter. An early frost. Loneliness, despite that other trees lived in the wood. A series of countless seasons passing in quick succession, seeming to mark the passage of time.
At the end, he saw the woods dying, old friends falling into the ever-winter. Then, darkness, a winter night sky filled with neither moon nor star.
In dreadful surprise, he drew his hand away and took a step back, staring at the ancient oak.
Old, his mind translated each image, sad, my friends are gone. I have lived many a season, yet I do not recall one such as you.
His heart sank, even the oldest tree in this wood had forgotten him. Worse, they did not remember the elves that had once dwelled here. They were only remembered as fae in the tales of men.
With a wearied heart, he headed back towards camp and that foolish hobbit.
Where was that grumpy elf?
The moon stood at its zenith, washing the pond and its banks in an eerie grey light with dark, heavy shadows, making the woods around him even more dark and frightening. Not that Paladin the Brave was ever afraid. Once or twice, though he had heard something move in the underbrush. A wolf, a doe, a bunny, he wasn't sure; it was probably the first of those three, knowing his luck. At each little noise, he buried himself in his cloak, but bless his hatchet and flint, he'd finally started a small fire before said 'wolf' could leap out of the woodwork.
That damned elf had taken so very long that Paladin had finally started a fire despite the damp. But worse than being without solemn companionship, he had been reduced to eating the dry, rye bread he had stashed away for emergencies. Though first he had to stab a hole in each piece, then placed it on a stick, and finally, hold it over the fire, waiting for the heat to soften bread each brick of bread. Or so he hoped. He'd toasted a few pieces, making them even harder to eat. When all was said and done, it was a downright hallowing process, and all for a bit of bread that tasted like dust, too!
Gods curse that grumpy, old elf, says it's going to be an hour, and he takes a dozen! He's probably so ancient he doesn't have a proper concept of time anymore. Too many thousands of years, et cetera, he probably sees an hour as a minute, Paladin thought, bitterly; his stomach growling, I know, I want to eat too, and sleep.
He rubbed his eyes, then released a yawn. Damn elves.
"Do you think it wise to curse your companions when they have brought you dinner?" Paladin jumped at the elf's words, nearly singeing his toes in the flames. Still, Paladin fell on his back, staring up into the face of that very grumpy Legolas, mentally cursing himself for saying all that shit aloud. Hopefully, he hadn't said the part about 'old elf' and 'thousands of years' aloud.
Shot himself in the foot, he would not let the elf win. If he had said it and the elf acknowledge it, he would just deny it again.
He would win. He was not being petty. He stuck his tongue out subconsciously.
The elf sighed, then took a seat on a stomp on the opposite side of the fire. He leaned his white bow against its side. "Paladin, could you hand me my pack?"
"Please?" Paladin smile, furling his brow.
His scowl, however, was frightening enough that Paladin did as asked. Then he sat mutely on the other side of the fire. The elf took a short knife from the bag and started to skin the creature he had caught; skinning the…bunny's fur. Paladin felt a bit of vile raise in his throat and quickly turned away, deciding that the yellow and orange flames were much more interesting than the elf's vile task.
"Didn't you say that your family healed animals?" Legolas asked. "Paladin?"
"Cleaning a bunny's quite different than sewing up a gash or checking a horse for colic," he said, flinching, "or even sitting a broken leg! And…and…it's a bunny. Couldn't you have caught something less cute?"
"A hobbit complaining about food?"
"Aren't elves supposed to be more humane?" He tossed both his hands into the air. "If it was a doe, or buck, I wouldn't feel so bad, but…but…it's a bunny."
The only response he got was an 'hmmm'. This conversation was bizarre. Perhaps he was just sleep deprived because the grumpy elf had taken so long to return from his little hunting trip in the woods.
"May I ask…something?" he began, the elf glanced up from his work and nodded for him to continue, "What took so long?"
"Just because your stomach growls, does not mean much time has passed," the elf replied, frowning, Paladin frowned back. Cleaning the knife with a rag from his pack, he considered the half-hobbit with a scrutinizing gaze, making Paladin flinch and shiver in discomfort. He placed the carcass over the fire, and waiting for it to cook before he added: "I was…lost in thought."
"In which direction?"
The elf rolled his eyes then handed him a leg of roasted bunny meat. It made his stomach turn.
He grimaced, at least it was better than dried rye bread. It wasn't speckled with dark, green mold, either.
"Eat quickly," Legolas said, then took a bite. How was he not bothered by this?
Paladin took a bite of the poor bunny, swallowing it and most of his disgust. Chewing it, he found it tough and stringy, just as he thought it would be. Its meat could use some salt and pepper, and perhaps a bit of rosemary as well. Paladin reached for his pack, but found he had left his salt and spices at home.
What a shame, he thought, troubled.
"Need I provide a definition of haste for you?" asked the elf, he was even more pleasant than usual tonight. Probably doesn't help that I insulted him, though.
Paladin peered at him over the tall flames, the elf was already done, bones rested on his lap. His eyebrows nearly leaped up to his thick, curly bangs; Legolas had eaten more than his fair share, devouring most of the hare himself. Weren't elves supposed to be dainty about their food? Then again, it was the first time he had seen Legolas actually eat anything since he had met him.
"Yes, m'lord," he said as he chewed, "please do!"
That made the elf glare at him for some reason. He didn't think it was that bad of a jab, but that ice-cold gaze made him panic. Paladin backed away from the flames, ramming into his pack. His jars and things inside the bag jingled in the gloom.
"And sleep, hobbit," the elf added, his voice hushed as he spoke. It was the closest to an apology he expected from the elf. Then, Legolas climbed to his feet and grabbed his white bow from where it leaned the old stump. "I'll be on watch."
Legolas headed out into the night, perhaps climbing one of the nearby trees to get a better view of their surroundings. With that, Paladin sighed and stirred the fire with his stick. With silence descending on the campsite once more, Paladin wished, for the umpteenth time that Legolas made for better company, even the farmers and shepherds at The Red Peony and Ms. Rosy were better companions than him.
The truth was this grand adventure was already making him feel dreadfully alone. He missed them. Legolas was right, he wasn't fit for this kind of thing. He didn't know why Mithrandir wanted him to be here, or what use he really was out in these wild places. With a frustrated sigh, Paladin took out his bedroll from his bag, slide into it and used part of his cloak as a makeshift pillow.
Perhaps, he thought as he drifted off to sleep at last, adventures aren't as great as I thought they'd be…
000
As night wore on, Legolas sat, nestled high in a tree's thick branches, his cloak wrapped tightly around him. He was only half-aware of the world as he walked the path of elven dreams.
Legolas Greenleaf, he heard Lady Galadriel say as he slept, recalling the words she had spoken to him the day that Mithrandir and he had decided to depart. He hadn't even known she had returned to Avallonë, but one of her maidservants had fetched him that morning, informing him that Galadriel wished to speak to him.
A request from Lady Galadriel, of course, was always a demand. One did not simply ignore the Lady, at least if they did not wish to take an unexpected trip to the Halls of Mandos.
The maiden had smiled, taken his arm, and dragged him on paths he rarely chose to tread to that dreadful place where the four his mortals had been buried centuries ago. It was the real reason that he rarely came to Avallonë. At last, they reached a small mound covered in elanor and alfirin, overlooking the sea. Four small graves stood on that hill, each marked with a name of the mortals whom had died in the Undying Lands. Here Galadriel stood, back towards him, her eyes ever on the sea.
Bringing him here was a most pointed gesture. She said a thousand words without speaking one.
"Do you know why I have asked to speak with you?" she said, her voice cold and stiff as the breeze which blew off the ocean that morning. He gathered his cloak around him as though to fend off the chill, despite that elves were barely affected by such dismal weather.
"No," he answered. It was a lie. She had doubtlessly come to warn him. Others had done the same thing. Those of the Noldor who had forsaken these shores long ago did not look on his departure with favor. Some feared he was forsaking these lands, despite that Mithrandir had requested his presence. He sometimes wondered what Samwise would say if he knew elves could be irrational. "I do not know."
She turned her head sideways, finally looking back at him, her grey-blue gaze blustery as a tempest. Anger. Grief. Sadness. "Once, I foresaw that you, little Greenleaf, would not linger in those lands…why is it now that you seek to return there?"
"As I recall, it was that my 'heart shall then rest in the forest no more'," he had answered, voice falling into a deadpan, "Middle Earth is not the only land with forests, remember? Perhaps you were simply wrong, my lady."
A part him could not believe he had dare to use sarcasm with Galadriel. Worse, he had dared to suggest that she might be wrong about anything. Thranduil would have been proud of his actions, but that knowledge wasn't exactly the most comforting thing. His father loathed Galadriel, but Legolas wasn't the king of Greenwood, he did not have to hold to their ancient grudges. He missed his ada, but that did not mean he had to be like him.
To his relief, she cocked an eyebrow in amusement.
"Would you suggest, then," she asked, her dark tone tainting the bright dawn, "that you cannot find peace on either shore?"
Did he have peace here? He wasn't sure. It wasn't supposed to be possible, but...
"It is not that I dislike it here…" he said, glancing aside, "but it…"
"For you the peace these lands should have offered was tainted by their mortality." She had approached their graves, she passed those which belonged to the hobbits, coming to a stop by Gimli's headstone. "His death especially."
They meant each other's eyes, then. She understood, at least, in part. Of all the elves, she had been nearly as close to Gimli as he had. It was a strange relationship, not romantic, nor parental, but some kind of kinship that neither could explain.
"I will not advise you to stay, little Greenleaf, others were fools if they thought they could change the mind of one of the House of the Beech Tree," Galadriel said. She reached behind her neck, undoing the clip of a necklace that hung there. On its golden chain, hung a locket made of interwoven gold and silver; the graven image of a mallorn on its front. "When Gimli fell, he returned to me the three hairs which I had given to him."
Legolas nodded. He was there, he remembered. Though, this was not the same locket which Gimli had kept them in. He had a feeling she would not depart with that memento of their old friend.
"I had Celebrimbor forge a new locket"(2), she said, "long ere this day arrived, I foresaw your leavetaking."
Those words sent a chill up his spine. Astoril had been right.
"And so I give this to you, in your long sojourn. It shall give you strength to withstand and power to endure the tasks which the Valar have assigned to you."
He took it, placing it in the pocket of his cloak. "Do you know what those might be?"
Her face darkened. "Some," she answered, cryptic as ever, "yet, the future is oft a terrible thing to foresee. It will not be easy, Legolas Greenleaf, but do not forget the value which your mortal companions can provide..."
It was often wise to heed the Lady's advice, though he wished that did not include Paladin.
He stashed that locket, hiding it under his shirt. Dawn had come, dreams and disquieting memories could wait for another night.
Elves were indeed ageless, but their muscles still cramped up when they sat in one position for too long.
After stretching his limbs, Legolas stood on his branch high above the campsite by the pond. Today, the sun had yet to show her face. Instead, dawn was melancholy, a cool drizzle marking the grey morn. Nothing had come in the night, but he hadn't expected them to.
The truth was, he had fled up here to get away from that silly hobbit. Birds and trees made for better company.
"Legolas?" said hobbit shouted, looking up from the base of the tree. For a hobbit who could barely pull his own weight, he had a remarkably tenacity for exasperation. Really, he rivaled Peregrin's massive talent for it when that hobbit had been young. "Did you fall asleep on watch?"
Typical Paladin. He doubted he could explain that it didn't matter, elves rarely slept like mortals except if they were gravely injured or fading. He was doing neither. He could keep watch and get plenty of rest at the same time, but the hobbit would probably call that illogical, even if he was beginning to see reason.
Doubtful, he thought, those were flukes. He'll see reason when sheep grow wings.
"No," he answered.
"Ah, well, I found some berries," Paladin lifted his head again as he shouted up into the tree, "and fruit. Do elves like toad legs?"
Legolas inwardly groaned. Maybe he should have faked sleeping, however, then he wouldn't have to think about eating toads again. Elrohir and Elladan had done that to him a few weeks before he had left Middle Earth the first time to 'cheer him up'. If the twin sons of Elrond were still around… "I will be down in a moment."
"Don't break anything! We won't get to speak with the shepherds that way!"
He scurried down to the lower branches, then leaped out of the tree. The hobbit hobbled backward, strawberries, cherries, and pieces of rhubarb (of all things) springing from his arms as he did so. He'd actually managed to collect quite a plentiful harvest.
"Speaking of which," Legolas began, picking up a small, wild berry that had fallen from the hobbit's arms. He dusted it off against the inside of his cloak. "We need a plan."
"Wonderful!" the hobbit said with too much cheer. He was not grumpy, but Paladin's enthusiasm did not exactly match his current mood, either. "Wait, didn't you have a plan?"
"I'm sure Mithrandir wishes I could make them pop out of the ground as easily as gold," he said, still beguiled by the wizard's decision making. They started to head back towards the campsite. "Perhaps…"
"You could be the rich bastard," said the hobbit, smiling at his own joke. He seemed to recall Paladin's proprietress using that label for him. Legolas still didn't like it anymore now than he had when Rosy had called him that in her bakery.
"And I, your spokesperson, will talk to them. Some of them know me." Which might not be a good thing, Master Took, Legolas thought as the hobbit prattled on like a little chick. "We simply get the shepherd's to 'sell' us the sheep that once to belong to Master Dorr."
"They may be owned by another swindler. What? Do you expect that he sold them back to the small landowners?"
"There must still be some we can buy, I bet."
He sighed. The hobbit did, admittedly, know more about this business than he did himself. Mithrandir and he had sensed that there was something darker than wolves behind the disappearances. Whatever it was, however, neither had fathomed.
"First we must demand to look at the sheep that have been killed. Or you must, because it is you who has heard of these rumors," Legolas said.
The hobbit hummed in agreement, quickly stuffing berries into his mouth.
"Not I, the foolish rich buyer," Legolas said, frowning as the hobbit's mouth overflowed with berry juice. "Paladin…"
"Oh…of…course…," he said, speaking with his mouth full, "oh, c'mon, don't give me that look, 'our not my pa."
And thank the Valar that was true.
"Before we are willing to buy them," he said, "we will have them sheer those dead sheep."
"So I can check their death wounds?" he asked, despite his earlier words, he had stopped talking with his mouth full of fruit. Sheering sheep did not seem to bother him nearly as much as skinning hares did, probably because it was less gruesome. Still checking wounds didn't bother him either. "Then we can figure out what kind of wolves or men have been killing the sheep?"
The elf nodded, doubtful that it was either man or wolf, but he kept his suspicions of the possible culprit to himself. There was no need to frighten the hobbit until he was certain. "I would like to either bring a carcass back to Ithil Eden or, if you could…"
"I can make a quick sketch! My father made me draw herbs and things until I had been able to differentiate between each bloody plant. Made my fingers bleed," Paladin said, bouncing on his feet. "It all sounds simple enough to me."
"We shall see."
Their task, Legolas was certain, would not be as easy as the cheerful hobbit believed.
000
(1) That is, the Milky Way.
(2) Sometimes, elves come back from Mandos after a while (actually, all elves do except if you happen to be Feanor and most of his sons [one of which is perhaps not dead, depending on which version of that story you prefer]). It's been long enough in this story's timeline, I think, for Celebrimbor to have been reborn, and he has a thing for forging strange magical jewelry, some of which do cooler things than others. It really doesn't do much, but what it does is essential, though Galadriel is being rather vague (and lampshading it, because she can). Sigh, old Noldor do love being cryptic.
