Part the Eighth: Three Of A Kind
"Remind me again why we have to suffer for your stupidity," Boromir complained as the Fellowship dragged their weary selves towards Moria. The area around them was already darkening, even though it was just after lunch, as the mountain gradually imposed itself between their route, and the sun.
"You three decided to muck about, and so the rest of us have to get up earlier than expected. Fine punishment, I say," he continued.
"Shut up," said Legolas.
"You know, he does have a point," Gimli was saying to Gandalf. "Couldn't you have made them do push-ups, or something?"
Gandalf peered out from under the brim of his hat. "I would have thought you would be glad to reach Moria as soon as possible, Master Dwarf."
Gimli frowned moodily, and said nothing more.
* * * * * * *
"Would you like some, Master Elf?" Pippin asked politely, offering a handful of pipe-weed to Legolas.
Legolas wrinkled his nose at the strong tobacco-like smell emanating from the leaves. "No, thank you. That substance is evil and it damages your lungs."
"Really?" Pippin said, unperturbed. "How do you know that?"
"Well, I--"
"Have you ever tried any?"
"No, but--"
"So how do you know it's bad for you?"
"I--"
"There! You don't! So have some!" flushed by his logical victory, Pippin produced a spare pipe from his jacket pocket and shoved it into Legolas' hand. Legolas took a hesitant puff.
"Like it?"
His only answer was a violent coughing from Legolas.
Aragorn glanced over his shoulder. "Who's been giving the elf pipe weed?" he demanded.
"Not me," replied Pippin casually, the butter in his mouth freezing solid.
"What about the rest of us?" Boromir growled.
And so Pippin was divested of most of his stash. They strolled along, Legolas sneezing occasionally.
"Elves," observed Aragorn snootily. "Can't hold their liquor or their smoke. Arwen's the same."
"Shut up," said Legolas.
* * * * * * *
"So we stand at the gates of Moria," Gandalf announced dramatically, spreading his arms wide for emphasis. As it was pitch-black, no-one really paid any attention to his showmanship.
"I'm hungry," moaned Pippin.
"Do not fear, little one," said Gimli sympathetically. "As soon as Gandalf figures out how to get inside the mountain, we shall have a feast that even you will declare too much for your stomach!"
"No such thing," said Pippin stoutly.
Gandalf found the door, revealed it with special effects and other hocus-pocus, then sat down on a stone and tried to remember the password. Just like in the movie. The other eight characters wondered why the pace of the story had changed, and for how much longer the author was going to get away with such out-of-character drivel. Having nothing better to do, they made small talk (literally!)
"You look ill," Frodo commented to Legolas.
"Nonsense," came the reply, "Elves don't get ill."
"Yes they do," interjected Aragorn, "Why, once, I went on a camping trip with Arwen, and we… er… got wet… and she caught a cold. I mean, I told her trying to do it in cold lake water wasn't a good idea, but she said…"
"Shut up," grumbled Gimli.
"No, that's not what she said," Aragorn continued patiently. "And how dare you, Gimli, command me, the future king, to 'shut up'?" He unsheathed Anduril and advanced on Gimli. "I shall trim that overgrown facial hair of yours."
"Pick on someone your own size," muttered Boromir. "Bully. Coward."
"What was that?!" Aragorn demanded, whirling around and accidentally stomping on Boromir's foot.
"Nothing," said he, limping backwards.
"I would have said it if he hadn't," Legolas ventured, gesturing towards Gimli. "None of us are remotely interested in your love life, Elessar. You and Arwen are so lovestruck it's enough to make a squirrel sick."
"I could eat a squirrel right about now," Merry said. He was both hungry and a little hurt at being ignored by the author for so long.
"If you declare so, that is true." Aragorn put Anduril away and picked up on his earlier thread of conversation. "As I was saying, elves do get sick. But whether Legolas is sick or not is a different matter."
"I think you do look sick," Frodo insisted. "Don't you think he looks sick, Sam?"
"That he do, Mr. Frodo," Sam said loyally.
"Ah, you always agree with Frodo," Pippin said, coming to the elf's rescue. "I think he's fine."
"You only say that because if he is sick, it's your fault," argued Merry.
"How so, Master Meriadoc?"
"You gave him the pipe-weed, did you not?"
"Yes, well, he didn't have to take it…"
"You forced me to!" Legolas protested. "I said it was bad. I'm not going to say I told you so."
Pippin regarded him slyly. "I thought you said elves don't get sick."
"We don't. That's why I'm not saying I told you so." And, as an afterthought, "Fool of a Took."
"Now, now," Frodo said. "No need to go with the name calling."
"Be quiet, shorty." Legolas said sourly and turned away.
"Elves may not get sick, but do they have temper tantrums, mood swings, and times where they go off to sulk?" Pippin called after him.
There was no reply.
-fin part eight-
Thanks to: Mirëwen, QueenSusantheGentle, AJ Matthews, Kuri, Markers, Arwenhippy, Eve, and Meagan.
Next chapter: Is Legolas sulking? What's the deal with Boromir's intellect, or lack of it? Is talking in another language which people can't understand really rude, or is it their problem that they can't understand you?
And, it wasn't Gandalf, Pippin, or Frodo who really caused the gates to Moria to open.