A/N: Warm thanks to all who reviewed my last offering. I, as a rule, did
*not* like Boromir one little bit when reading the book... but seriously,
that bit in the film really makes me chuckle and I wanted to do something
like that in my story. It's strange, I really like him now... and
completely agree with Mirkwoodmaiden in her review... I like him when he's
like that as well!
Incidently, everyone should read Mirkwoodmaiden's current story (forgotten the title, but just click on her name in my reviews and you'll get it), it's really rather good and if you like this, you'll *love* that.
One last thing, Sirith - don't forget that I have pitchforks and eagerly await *your* next chapter.
Anyway, enjoy... ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Merry: Of the Stunted Bladder ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Gandalf, please! I truly believe that it is truly right and fair that we stop *now*!"
The wizard answered wearily without turning around, "For the last time, hobbit! We cannot pause in our travels yet; if we fall behind now, at the most crucial stage, we may never make the time up." Gandalf tried to reason with the young halfling, but he knew from experience that hobbits usually do not take the same approach to things as other races, not seeing the whole picture very often. The company had to move on now, and keep going for an hour or so before they could stop, and Gandalf was even willing to endure the whinings of one Meriadoc Brandybuck to keep his fellowship punctual.
Legolas caught up with him from the middle of the group, placing a slender hand on his elbow. "Mithrandir, could we not pause for just a minute?" he implored gently. "I am sure he will not take long, and we can resume our journey immediatedly after." The Elven warrior was pained to see his half- sized companion in so much discomfort. He understood why they needed to press onwards, but he also knew that Merry wouldn't complain quite as much as he was doing now unless he was in a considerable amount of pain - for the young Brandybuck was not a certain young Took.
Gandalf's deep-blue eyes softened, "I am sorry, Dian Yir [Young One], but I simply cannot allow it; we spent all together too much time dilly-dallying this evening, getting ready to go, and we must make up for it one way or another."
"Aye," Legolas was not about to give up so easily, "but that was not *Merry's* fault. If you remember, 'twas our dearest Pip who decided that he needed desperately to cut his hair a mere few minutes before we were due to depart." He looked straight into Gandalf's eyes, widening his own greeny- silver orbs in hope, "*Please*, Mithrandir."
The wizard chuckled deeply, "That look may work it's spell upon the Crown Prince, Legolas, and mayhap upon Aragorn - Tusinduil and the ranger are far too soft for their own good, I think - but it shall not cloud my eyes with it's magic. For I have seen many a millenia, and know now, through the trails of all your siblings and those of Imladris, when a cheeky young elfling is trying their luck, and the best ways to punish them."
"Cheeky young elfling?!" Legolas demanded, rather outraged. His hand dropped from Gandalf's arm as if burnt and he threw his chin up defiantly, squaring his shoulders. "I have also seen many a millenia, and have been wearing earned warrior-braids for the most part of them. Now, if you insist upon being so stubborn and seeing as you seem to enjoy insulting me, I will leave you - and not give you the chance." And with that, he turned and strode back to his former place beside Aragorn and Frodo, muttering, "Cheeky young elfling, my ears." He cuffed the snickering Aragorn and Frodo both upside the head, and they fell silent almost at once, though each avoided the other's eye.
They trudged on in silence for a long time, all thinking of their own woes and problems. The wind whistled unmercifully through them, chilling them to their cores, and the air was so sharp and cold it fair near hurt to breathe. The company had been light of heart the night before, laughing jovially as they watched Legolas chasing Merry with Sam's frying pan after the halfling had tugged on the unsuspecting Legolas' golden warrior-braids after the elf had remarked absently upon the state of Merry's feet (a very important issue for a hobbit), they had cheered and applauded when Boromir had sung to them a song from his homeland, and betted merrily upon the amount of smoke rings Gimli could puff up into the air in the space of a minute, against the quality of the shapes eminating from Gandalf's pipe, much to Legolas' disdain. But that evening, with the weather being at it's coldest and most harsh, and the terrain seeming to not have changed from the day before, their faces had fallen, and no one felt much like laughing so easily any more, for it was suddenly dawning upon some of them the danger they had put themselves in willingly.
Sometimes, however, laughter was simply called for.
"What would happen if I did this?" asked Pippin to Merry, pressing his cousin's flat stomach with a fair bit of force, brushing away Merry's feeble attempts to stop him with his other hand. The two halflings and Gimli were bringing up the rear of the company.
Merry yelped and doubled up, "Don't, Pip!" he moaned. "I am not in the mood nor the condition." He looked up to see his best friend's jewel-green eyes glinting wickedly, and he added grimly, "I am serious, Peregrin."
Pippin's face fell immediately, "Is it truly that bad, Merry?" he asked, worry creasing his auburn brows together. Jokes had already been made when the company first found out about the young halfling's discomfort, with Boromir deciding Merry had a stunted bladder, as he was always needing to go before any others in the fellowship (Boromir had then decided, much to the elf's indignance, that Legolas was a carmel as *he* was always the last, which had then lead to a lengthy discussion about what a carmel was exactly - it turned out that it was some strange creature of the South- eastern lands of Harad that could go for extraordinarily long spans of time without needing either to drink water nor to relieve itself. Pippin was still unsure whether such an animal actually existed, but he let it lie for fear of provoking another discussion), and so Pip had thought it was okay to tease his cousin about it. It seemed, apparently, he was now wrong.
Merry nodded glumly, trying not to think about how desperate he was, and began to shift his weight from side to side even as he walked to ease the desire. It was getting harder and harder to keep his mind averted, however, what with the pressure steadily building as time trickled on.
Gimli chuckled as he hefted his great axe from one broad and leather-clad shoulder to the other. "Aye," he sighed, "he'll explode soon, right enough." He threw a glance at them and roared with laughter at the faces of his two companions when he'd said that; they truly believed him for just a second. "I am jesting, Masters," he assured them, for not everyone understood the curious yet superior humour of Dwarves, "but I do think we should stop soon, if Master Brandybuck, here, is feeling that badly. It may drive him mad before the end."
Pippin sniggered when Merry nodded at once, agreeing whole-heartedly. "But Legolas has already tried to make Gandalf stop, and he wouldn't," the Took protested, then bit his tongue. ~Too late~
He expected the dwarf to snidely remark upon how good Greenleaf's persuasion techniques were or how useless the elf was or something - he expected trouble - but Gimli merely nodded and answered thoughtfully, "Aye, and he didn't manage it."
~Well, that's one for the books~ Pip thought silently, glancing at Merry who had also taken note of Gimli's apparent easing off of Legolas. ~Maybe it has something to do with the other day?~ mused Pippin ~After all, Gimli did feel terrible after finding out about Legolas' mother in such an awful way~ The dwarf had even taken care not to cross the Elven prince's path for at least a day after that incident, which was unusual as they both seemed to do everything in their power to annoy and end up in each other's line of fire all the time. Perhaps this was because an air of melancholy still seemed to hang over Legolas, even when he was laughing or bantering wits with Aragorn, and that a spasm of guilt still seemed to capture the features of Gimli whenever he caught sight of the silent elf.
Shaking his head at the bemusing actions of the two strange races, deciding he would not trouble about it now, but would talk to Merry later when they were alone and his cousin had been relieved, Pippin switched back to the problem in hand. "Well, I think this calls for action," he said to his friends, and they leaned in close to listen to the vaguely-ingenius Tooklander.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Gandalf?"
The wizard looked down at his side, and was surprised to see Peregrin Took walking beside him. "Yes, Pippin?" he asked, aimiably enough - though if the Took asked him any sort of ridiculous question in any form again, he would hang him by his newly-cut, auburn curls from the very top of his staff for the rest of their journey.
"We need to stop, *now*," Pippin stated.
"I am sorry, Peregrin, but that is simply not possible... Now keep walking," Gandalf added when he noticed the hobbit had halted, a scowl beginning to appear on his small, freckled face.
But Pippin shook his head defiantly, now flanked on either side with Gimli, who's coal-black eyes held a rather amused twinkle, and a slightly hunched- over Merry. "Merry needs to go, and I say we should let him," Pippin continued, extremely daring for one so intimidated by the wizard. A wild thrill ran through him, his heart swelled; he was challenging Gandalf!.
Gandalf raised a large bushy eyebrow, "Oh?" he asked pleasently, though no one present could mistake the sinister steel-edge to that one, simple word. He took a menacing stride towards the protesters, and was rewarded with a faltering, half-a-step backwards from all three of them. "And what made you think that I wouldn't simply soldier onwards with the remaining company, and leave you behind?" he asked, as though genuinely intrigued.
That got the spokesman, "W-well... we, um..."
"Because you would not leave us all behind and simply soldier on with yourself, Mithrandir," Legolas answered smoothly, stepping forward to aide his fellows, and dragging a somewhat-reluctant Aragorn by the tunic with him. His eyes flashed silver as Gandalf glowered at him, not affected at all by the wrath that burned there - he had faced the wizard many a time in his childhood and the glare had lost it's effect some time ago, as it had with Aragorn. "After all," he continued, "what is a leader without his company? Right, Estel?" He elbowed his best friend hard in the ribs when the ranger did not answer immediately, making the air rush audibly from the northerner's lungs.
"Arrgh! Er... right," Aragorn agreed, slightly winded, rubbing his chest and shooting a glare at Greenleaf, "Legolas, your elbows are really sharp, you know that...?"
"And Boromir, you agree with us, don't you?" Legolas called back, glancing over his shoulder at the Gondorimm who was stood behind them, next to Sam, who had also not yet vouched his support.
"Aye, right you are, elf," Boromir answered with a mock salute. He himself was not particularly bothered whether they stopped or no, he just wished not to be a victim to Legolas' elbow, as he was already well aquainted with Greenleaf's knees. ~And if his elbows are even half as dangerous as his knees...~
"Well," Gandalf looked as though he were considering, "I don't know whether you realise this, my Prince and my lords." He bowed his proud head mockingly and Aragorn rolled his eyes, wishing Legolas had never even mentioned anything about his title the Lord of Impeccable Timing; it was getting increasingly tiresome. "But I *can* continue and leave you all behind just as long as I have the Ringbearer in *my* company."
With this, all eyes swivelled as one to Frodo, who looked suddenly like a coney caught in a lantern's candlelight. Sightly panicked, he looked to his right, but even Sam was staring at him with his large, doleful brown eyes. ~No help to be found there, then~ They were all expecting him to say something, to take a side, as was always the way when the fellowhsip got into such discussions... how he always ended up being the deciding vote thoroughly escaped him. As always, he appreciated both points of views and yet flatly refused to sell out any one friend for another. So he thought for a time before answering and chose his words carefully, "You do realise, don't you," he began slowly, "that in all the time you've wasted just now, Merry could have just gone and been back already?"
There was silence as the company all looked at one another. The question was: who was going to give way first?
"All right!" Gandalf gave up, throwing his arms up with a flury of silvery- blue robes - if such a contest was going to be ended, it was to be on his terms. No victory had been won by either hobbit nor elf. "We've made up the time for this evening, with room to spare. So I *suppose* we can take a long break if you all wish." The cheering of the fellowship in triumph broke into laughter as Merry dashed into the trees, too hurried to say thankyou.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
As the Sun began to rise and dawn approached gradually, the ragged and weary company came to an official halt and began to unpack and settle down for the day. Sam and Gimli got supper started - it having already been decided beforehand, in one of the less entertaining moments of the walk, that today was the day for broth. Sam had been saving some ingredients so that the fellowship could have a warm and cheery meal when the time came, and all believed that then was it. The hobbit and the dwarf were in the middle of a conversation about food and ale, and different types of meat, and both were extremely content with the other's company; what with both being interested in pretty much the same things.
Frodo was in a deep talk with Boromir, each reminicing about their homelands... and each being thoroughly enthralled with the telling of the other's. Boromir went into great detail about the White City, and injected it's passion and pride into the words he spoke of it, and Frodo's love and fondness for the Shire emanated from him as he remembered. It seemed to the others of the fellowship that both were beginning to get a little homesick.
Pippin and Merry (with Merry now a lot more comfortable), however, were in no such position; they were chattering loudly away at Aragorn and Gandalf as all four smoked their pipes. The conversation held nothing of importance in it at all, but it warmed the hearts of the man and wizard as they listened and rolled their eyes to it aimiably, so easy to listen to was it.
Legolas sat on his own, well away from the outpouring of smoke, simply sitting quietly and gazing upwards at the fading stars. He, like Frodo and Boromir, was beginning to pine for his homeland - his brothers and sisters, the wise words of the trees, the familiar pathways, the thrill of the hunt, the songs of his people... he didn't really understand but being able to look to the heavens and know, without a doubt, that the same sky with it's ebbing stars and rising Sun was enveloping and stretching out over his home... it comforted him some how. And so he was lost to the starlight, and took no part in the other's conversations.
Though being a part of the company of nine had made the Mirkwood prince become a little bit more outgoing - for one had to be in such a seemingly haphazard situation - he was still a quiet elf. Elves, as a rule, were less inclined to chatter than Hobbits or even Men, but being brought up in the Royal enviroment of a tense Mirkwood had moulded Legolas into a placid, reseved child... Aragorn, when he had first begun to know Legolas - the real prince of Eryn Lasgalen - had been amazed by the hold silence had over his friend... of course, he had helped to lessen that hold somewhat. But even as he had grown, becoming a young warrior even, Legolas was more solitary than most, and at times he wished just for peace and the light of the stars. It was not a problem at all - merely a character trait.
The wrist of his left arm had begun to itch - Legolas rubbed the protective, leather forearm-guard absently, and began humming a tune he had almost forgotten, but that reminded him of happy times in Mirkwood, eyes still fixed upon the coloured sky.
Aragorn looked up sharply as the strains of the tune floated across to him, beautiful and yet a little eerie, "Elf! I told you, you are never to even *whisper* that song near me again!"
Legolas' fair head whipped round to face him, strands of golden hair flying, "Excuse me?"
Aragorn stood in haste, and Pippin dropped rather ungracefully from his lap - yet Aragorn barely looked down. "Do you not remember, we were scouting the edges of your home woods all those years ago. And we were caught out, and having to spend the night outside - we built a flet." At Legolas' withering look, the ranger amended quickly, "All right, *you* built a flet - I was hopeless at that - but anyway, we slept there, and you thought up that ditty, and *all night* you persisted in singing *that* song! It almost drove me to do away with you in the dead of night with your own knife!" Aragorn was becoming most agitated, much to the confusion of the rest fo the fellowship, barr Legolas, who just grinned wickedly.
"Well, let's have this song then... it sounds like a dainty tune," Frodo called up from beside Boromir, who began to smirk at the ranger's jerky movements and obvious discomfort. ~This is going to be good~ he thought.
Legolas shook his head almost bashfully, "Nay, it is just a simple song I made up a while ago that seemed to annoy my good friend Estel, here, to no end... though why it should is beyond me, I happen to like it and think it most soothing." He went back to trying to work his fingers under the leather band around his forearm... this itch wasn't leaving any time soon.
Pippin and Merry made a noise of distress, wanting to hear this song now, intrigued and involved as they were, Gimli stayed silent and yet observed without complaint, Gandalf chuckled and Boromir shouted out, "Come on, elf! You know we love to do anything that adds to our ruffian's annoyance... he seemes to have a very low threshold for it now, and yet we still work at it!"
Legolas grinned widely at that, his amusement heightened by Aragorn's groan of resignation - both to the name Boromir continued to call him, and the fact that they were going to get the song out of his best friend at one point or another. "Very well, then." The elf picked up a stick, and was finally able to reach the point of his irritation under his arm-guard by poking it under the annoying piece of leather.
He began, the tune rather haunting and yet distinctly beautiful as Legolas' ethereal voice cultivated the words into an almost visible tale for the fellowship, the sadness and longing he felt for his home seeping through unconsciously, and yet giving the song more passion and purity... it seemed to flow right from Legolas' heart.
"A high flying bird flies above; you cannot see him from the earth.
He sees as he flies, and knows as he sees, The masses below, there trouble below...
"This high flying bird has no sense of time; for a thousand years he's climbed the skies.
His brothers have burned - flown too close to the Sun, But higher and higher, this white bird flies...
"There's no turning back as blue becomes black; the air becomes thin - his flight begins.
But the bird can still breathe, right over the fog, All the masses are waiting, and this bird can now sing..."
The company stayed in a stunned silence for more than a minute after he was finished, just holding their breath. Then Sam, always stunned by Elves' beauty in general and always the most appreciative, stuttered, "H-how could you find that annoying, ever, Mr. Strider?"
Aragorn, who had always been around Elves all his life - and sometimes took their beauty a little for granted unintenionally - shrugged, "After a night long full of it, you'd be sick too, I believe."
Merry and Pippin shook their heads violently, and both at the same time protested in earnest, "No I wouldn't." Legolas chuckled, and went back to scratching his wrist with the twig and thinking, unaware of the looks of awe being shot his way by more than just the hobbits.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Okay!" Legolas threw his stick down just a little while later, thoughts of home long banished from his mind as irritation won over, "This is getting beyond ridiculous, now!"
Aragorn looked across vaguely from his pipe, and frowned as he saw his best friend ripping off the arm-guard of his left forearm in complete frustration and throwing it down to the ground with annoyance. "What's your problem, there, Legolas?"
Legolas sat back in relief, clawing away at his wrist with blunt fingernails, "I couldn't get to a rather abominable itch to scratch it." He gazed down, the pale skin of his wrist now flushing a raw red ~Completely worth it~ he thought. The elf shrugged, "Now I can," he stated simply.
Pippin, who had inexplicably decided to sit closer to the elf after hearing his song, glanced across, then double-took and gasped, "Legolas! What are all those marks on your wrist?" This drew the attention of the rest of the company, and each at one time or another, looked to the Elven body part.
Legolas stopped scratching, and noticed the marks for the first time in months - after having them for so long, he had forgotten they were there. They were scars, thin scars that were white, shiny, and rose up slightly from the rest of his skin. With the skin surrounding them now being bright red, and them being starking-white, they were particularly eye-catching. "Oh, I've had them for years... they're also on my other wrist and ankles, too." He unwound his green-suede boot from his right leg, and exposed one pale ankle, which was also surrounded with the marks.
"What are they?" Frodo asked quietly, winter-blue eyes searching his friend's fair face for any sign of discomfort - for he would call off his cousins if he ever detected even a hint of past pain. He had a pretty good idea of what they were, and would not wish to call up any other bad memories for the prince.
"They're handcuff marks," Legolas said simply, his expression and demeanour open - it seemed as though there were no bad memories to be found within eighteen leagues of him. He even willingly continued without being called upon by Pippin to do so, "Orcs captured many a year ago. Of course, I was too wily for them." He glanced at Aragorn in a silent thankyou - both for the gallant rescue at the time, and not saying anything now - the ranger just winked and nodded.
"But, I was not aware Elves scarred," Boromir mused out loud, perplexed. He had learnt many a thing about races other than his own during the relatively short time he had spent in the company, and it looked as though that wasn't going to stop at any time soon. And the strange thing was, he wasn't complaining.
"Well, we don't scar permenantly - they eventually fade after many years." Legolas gave a wry grin and shot a look to Aragorn as though it were his fault, "If we did, I'd be riddled with them and no one would be able to recognize me." Ignored was Gimli's half-hearted, muttered remark of 'Who would want to'. ~If he imagines I can't hear that~ the elf thought ~Well, he's a dwarf~
Aragorn, meanwhile, was mildly outraged at the insinuation that he had scarred Greenleaf, "Look, a large portion of those injuries were your own fault- " he started, determined to be right in this at least.
"If I remember correctly," Gandalf spoke up for the first time slowly, his deep voice rumbling with amusement, "That's exactly what Legolas said about that unfortunate scar *yours*, Estel, and many of your other scars." He did not look up from his pipe, merely smiled, knowing an explosion was imminent and he would be able to listen without concerning himself.
Both man and elf shot up immediately and started shouting: "Yes! Let's talk about that, *shaaalll* we!" and "You know as well as I that it *was* his own fault!"
All four hobbits were looking at the two standing figures, delight painted across all their faces in the guise of huge, ear-to-ear grins. "What is this 'unfortunate scar', Legolas?" Frodo asked, tone obviously baiting.
"Yes," agreed Merry, twinkling chestnut-brown eyes never leaving the ranger, "And *where* is it, Strider?" He was rewarded with Aragorn flushing scarlet and looking down at his boots, dark unruly hair falling over to cover his face, and Legolas, realising the line had been drawn and his side had been taken - that he had the upper hand - dropping his arms at once and beaming as he anticipated the fellowship's reaction - he had trained his hobbits well.
"It'zs ohnma beyhide," mumbled Aragorn, eyes still glued to his permenantly mud-stained boots.
"What was that, ruffian?" Boromir asked, eyebrows raised and golden eyes eager. He cupped a hand behind his ear and leaned in mockingly, as if suddenly hard of hearing.
Aragorn sighed and shifted his grey gaze to a nearby tree, "It'zs ohnma beyhide," he muttered, just a little louder in volume than the last time.
"A-beg pardon?" requested Gimli, not too proud to take part in such a humorous game - much to Legolas' amusement, not to proud to let him. Gandalf chuckled from where he sat, still not looking up.
"IT'S ON MY BEHIND!" yelled the stressed northerner, eyes swivelling up to the heavens as his arms shot out to the sides wildly. The company collapsed in helpless laughter at that, having acheived exactly what they intended to do. Aragorn could only stand there patiently, still bright red in the face, waiting for them to take control of themselves once more. "Are you done?" he grunted gruffly, completely unamused. ~Damned elf~
Pippin picked himself up from beside Legolas, who still had not quite gathered his wits together, and asked, genuinely intrigued, "How did you get such a unique scar?" Though his green eyes were merry, it was obvious he really wished to know and was not trapping the unfortunate ranger.
"I..." Aragorn shifted his weight from one side to the other, "I had managed to make a little bit of a mess in the Mirkwood kitchens one afternoon- "
"'A little bit of a mess'?!" cried Legolas, incredulous, now fully standing. "The place was trashed... we had to replace all those supp dishes and crockery you somehow put your clumsy feet through, you broke the main fountain just outside the kitchens and there was water flooding the lower levels of the palace, a fire from one of the upturned agas had begun to blaze at the *other* end.... not to mention the Head Cook wanted *my* hide."
Boromir muttered audibly from his place by Frodo's elbow, "The Lord of Impeccable Timing strikes again, then?" Frodo turned to him and grinned widely, and the rest of the group snickered.
"As I was saying," Aragorn continued pointedly, pretending he hadn't hear the remark, "There was a mess that I had made... but through some mysterious way or other, Legolas incurred the blame- "
"He means that when my father asked, 'Which one of you two idiots is responsible for my having to evacuate the west wing of the palace this afternoon?' The Lord, here, answered immediately and, might I add, without hesitation, 'I believe you are talking about Legolas, there, sir,'" the prince explained, arms folded.
"Yes, indeed." Aragorn was not about to dwell on *that* argument again; he swiftly carried on, "Anyway, after some minor punishments- "
"Having to clear the whole mess up myself, pay for everything to be replaced out of my own allowance, apologise to *everyone* involved, executing the wrath of my father, the list goes on..." Legolas assured the fellowship, arms still crossed firmly in front of his chest.
" -Legolas came to find me, and was, obviously, very upset."
Legolas nodded - he didn't think anything else needed to be added there.
"I-I told him... that he should stop behaving like the pansy little elf he was... and that he should take his punishments like a Man..." Aragorn looked downwards once more, smiling a little sheepishly, "...A-and then ran away." The company fell about once more, but quieted quickly; they wanted to hear the rest of the story. "It turned out," Aragorn continued, "That Legolas did not appreciate that comment so much, and he... shot me with an arrow in the nether-regions as a lesson."
The company fell about *yet* again.
"Shot you in the what?" Sam gasped breathlessly.
"He means Legolas shot him in the arse!" cried Merry as he was getting back up from off the ground.
Legolas merely stood and smiled as the rest of the fellowship straightened up, "He should not have exposed it," he stated simply. "He goes waving that thing at me - he deserved to be shot." He chuckled at Aragorn's good- natured embarassment - well aware that Aragorn did not like the fact that he had run from the elf to be banded about too much.
Frodo, ever-perceptive, picked up on this at once, and hoping to ease his mild humiliation, showed the northerner his small, lean right hand. Near to where the thumb joins the palm there was a large, white puncture mark, "I reached for a quill, but it was end up," he said quietly, eyes fixed to see the ranger's reaction. Aragorn smiled, glanced at Frodo and held his eye, showing the hobbit that he was aware of what was being done, and was thankful. Frodo's big, blue eyes then flickered to Legolas, who raised a golden eyebrow dryly and tried not to smile. He failed miserably and a wide grin spread across his face, indicating that he also knew what was happening.
It worked, and Boromir, catching on quickly also, lifted the side of his heavy tunic, and showed them all his hip. A large, puckered patch of skin could be seen, it was rather shocking in it's seriousness, really. "My brother Faramir and I were practising fighting with swords when we were young, he was too quick for me and never lets me live it down, though he almost killed me," he explained. They all laughed and Boromir chuckled as he pulled his top back down again, shooting a glance at Aragorn, who grinned and nodded.
Pippin thrust his calf into everyone's view - not really aware of the misdirection ploy, but wishing to be involved anyway - there was a noticable dint in it. He pressed it and the dint gave way slightly. Frodo grimaced - he hated seeing the thing. "Merry and me were up a tree, and I fell down it," he said excitably. "And landed on a branch," the brightness his tone held made them all wonder whether he had actually been troubled by the injury at all.
Not to be outdone, Merry let all see his elbows, which, aside from being rough and red, were decorated with raised and shiny skin, "I fell off my pony, but my foot was caught in the stirrup and he dragged me all the way to Hobbiton!" He stated as though it were something to be proud of - though it affirmed in everyone's mind that hobbits were definately made of sterner stuff than they appeared, though it had been proved already many a time.
Gimli showed them his forearm, which a rather recent slice in it that was healing, all scabbed over, "I slipped when sharpening my axe a few weeks ago," he grunted, avoiding catching anyones eyes, afraid they would laugh at him, until Boromir put a hand on his shoulder in thanks. The dwarf looked up, and his dark eyes crinkled suddenly with mirth.
Sam opened the palm of his large, brown and work-roughened hand, revealing a slight discolouration of the skin right in the centre, "When I was a babe, I tried to catch the flame of my lantern," he said sheepishly, then chuckled as if seeing the funny side to it all for the first time.
"So you see," Legolas slung an arm around his best friend, letting the man know that he had not meant any harm - though the action was unnecessary; Aragorn already knew. "Everyone has scars they'd rather not talk about," and the words held double meaning for the two beings - things that only they really knew about, for both held scars of the past, and both were thankfull to the other for never breathing a word about them. Yet the elf couldn't quite let the serious moment last, "And yet I am afraid that your's still beats them all!" he cried, clapping his best friend on the back a little too heartily... and then dashing away as Aragorn predictably tried to grab him. "You are forever doing what is expected, my Lord! You must try to stop that, you know!" Legolas was well aware he was already at the other end of the small camp as he shouted this.
"When I catch you, elf, I'm not only gonna wring your scrawny little neck, but every bone in your bloody body!!!" Aragorn growled good-naturedly, beginning to climb the tree Legolas had just shot up - a lot less gracefully, Legolas would have added - Valar bent on fufilling his threat. The laughter of the company as they watched the two best friends fight in the branches of the tree - neither really gaining anything over the other, but both with large grins spread over their faces - rose up in the suddenly-warmer air to meet the morning Sun. It was obvious that no one would be sleeping for quite some time - what with Aragorn's injuries that would need to be tended to, and Legolas' gloatings to be shut up, and the hobbit's questions to be answered, and Merry was already beginning to feel a little discomfort once again, but no one really minded as the spirits of the company were high once more. It was completely worth it.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ A/N: Song lyrics are from Toploader's song 'High Flying Bird' - I suggest you get the album called 'Onka's Big Mocca'... it's really rather good!
Incidently, everyone should read Mirkwoodmaiden's current story (forgotten the title, but just click on her name in my reviews and you'll get it), it's really rather good and if you like this, you'll *love* that.
One last thing, Sirith - don't forget that I have pitchforks and eagerly await *your* next chapter.
Anyway, enjoy... ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Merry: Of the Stunted Bladder ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Gandalf, please! I truly believe that it is truly right and fair that we stop *now*!"
The wizard answered wearily without turning around, "For the last time, hobbit! We cannot pause in our travels yet; if we fall behind now, at the most crucial stage, we may never make the time up." Gandalf tried to reason with the young halfling, but he knew from experience that hobbits usually do not take the same approach to things as other races, not seeing the whole picture very often. The company had to move on now, and keep going for an hour or so before they could stop, and Gandalf was even willing to endure the whinings of one Meriadoc Brandybuck to keep his fellowship punctual.
Legolas caught up with him from the middle of the group, placing a slender hand on his elbow. "Mithrandir, could we not pause for just a minute?" he implored gently. "I am sure he will not take long, and we can resume our journey immediatedly after." The Elven warrior was pained to see his half- sized companion in so much discomfort. He understood why they needed to press onwards, but he also knew that Merry wouldn't complain quite as much as he was doing now unless he was in a considerable amount of pain - for the young Brandybuck was not a certain young Took.
Gandalf's deep-blue eyes softened, "I am sorry, Dian Yir [Young One], but I simply cannot allow it; we spent all together too much time dilly-dallying this evening, getting ready to go, and we must make up for it one way or another."
"Aye," Legolas was not about to give up so easily, "but that was not *Merry's* fault. If you remember, 'twas our dearest Pip who decided that he needed desperately to cut his hair a mere few minutes before we were due to depart." He looked straight into Gandalf's eyes, widening his own greeny- silver orbs in hope, "*Please*, Mithrandir."
The wizard chuckled deeply, "That look may work it's spell upon the Crown Prince, Legolas, and mayhap upon Aragorn - Tusinduil and the ranger are far too soft for their own good, I think - but it shall not cloud my eyes with it's magic. For I have seen many a millenia, and know now, through the trails of all your siblings and those of Imladris, when a cheeky young elfling is trying their luck, and the best ways to punish them."
"Cheeky young elfling?!" Legolas demanded, rather outraged. His hand dropped from Gandalf's arm as if burnt and he threw his chin up defiantly, squaring his shoulders. "I have also seen many a millenia, and have been wearing earned warrior-braids for the most part of them. Now, if you insist upon being so stubborn and seeing as you seem to enjoy insulting me, I will leave you - and not give you the chance." And with that, he turned and strode back to his former place beside Aragorn and Frodo, muttering, "Cheeky young elfling, my ears." He cuffed the snickering Aragorn and Frodo both upside the head, and they fell silent almost at once, though each avoided the other's eye.
They trudged on in silence for a long time, all thinking of their own woes and problems. The wind whistled unmercifully through them, chilling them to their cores, and the air was so sharp and cold it fair near hurt to breathe. The company had been light of heart the night before, laughing jovially as they watched Legolas chasing Merry with Sam's frying pan after the halfling had tugged on the unsuspecting Legolas' golden warrior-braids after the elf had remarked absently upon the state of Merry's feet (a very important issue for a hobbit), they had cheered and applauded when Boromir had sung to them a song from his homeland, and betted merrily upon the amount of smoke rings Gimli could puff up into the air in the space of a minute, against the quality of the shapes eminating from Gandalf's pipe, much to Legolas' disdain. But that evening, with the weather being at it's coldest and most harsh, and the terrain seeming to not have changed from the day before, their faces had fallen, and no one felt much like laughing so easily any more, for it was suddenly dawning upon some of them the danger they had put themselves in willingly.
Sometimes, however, laughter was simply called for.
"What would happen if I did this?" asked Pippin to Merry, pressing his cousin's flat stomach with a fair bit of force, brushing away Merry's feeble attempts to stop him with his other hand. The two halflings and Gimli were bringing up the rear of the company.
Merry yelped and doubled up, "Don't, Pip!" he moaned. "I am not in the mood nor the condition." He looked up to see his best friend's jewel-green eyes glinting wickedly, and he added grimly, "I am serious, Peregrin."
Pippin's face fell immediately, "Is it truly that bad, Merry?" he asked, worry creasing his auburn brows together. Jokes had already been made when the company first found out about the young halfling's discomfort, with Boromir deciding Merry had a stunted bladder, as he was always needing to go before any others in the fellowship (Boromir had then decided, much to the elf's indignance, that Legolas was a carmel as *he* was always the last, which had then lead to a lengthy discussion about what a carmel was exactly - it turned out that it was some strange creature of the South- eastern lands of Harad that could go for extraordinarily long spans of time without needing either to drink water nor to relieve itself. Pippin was still unsure whether such an animal actually existed, but he let it lie for fear of provoking another discussion), and so Pip had thought it was okay to tease his cousin about it. It seemed, apparently, he was now wrong.
Merry nodded glumly, trying not to think about how desperate he was, and began to shift his weight from side to side even as he walked to ease the desire. It was getting harder and harder to keep his mind averted, however, what with the pressure steadily building as time trickled on.
Gimli chuckled as he hefted his great axe from one broad and leather-clad shoulder to the other. "Aye," he sighed, "he'll explode soon, right enough." He threw a glance at them and roared with laughter at the faces of his two companions when he'd said that; they truly believed him for just a second. "I am jesting, Masters," he assured them, for not everyone understood the curious yet superior humour of Dwarves, "but I do think we should stop soon, if Master Brandybuck, here, is feeling that badly. It may drive him mad before the end."
Pippin sniggered when Merry nodded at once, agreeing whole-heartedly. "But Legolas has already tried to make Gandalf stop, and he wouldn't," the Took protested, then bit his tongue. ~Too late~
He expected the dwarf to snidely remark upon how good Greenleaf's persuasion techniques were or how useless the elf was or something - he expected trouble - but Gimli merely nodded and answered thoughtfully, "Aye, and he didn't manage it."
~Well, that's one for the books~ Pip thought silently, glancing at Merry who had also taken note of Gimli's apparent easing off of Legolas. ~Maybe it has something to do with the other day?~ mused Pippin ~After all, Gimli did feel terrible after finding out about Legolas' mother in such an awful way~ The dwarf had even taken care not to cross the Elven prince's path for at least a day after that incident, which was unusual as they both seemed to do everything in their power to annoy and end up in each other's line of fire all the time. Perhaps this was because an air of melancholy still seemed to hang over Legolas, even when he was laughing or bantering wits with Aragorn, and that a spasm of guilt still seemed to capture the features of Gimli whenever he caught sight of the silent elf.
Shaking his head at the bemusing actions of the two strange races, deciding he would not trouble about it now, but would talk to Merry later when they were alone and his cousin had been relieved, Pippin switched back to the problem in hand. "Well, I think this calls for action," he said to his friends, and they leaned in close to listen to the vaguely-ingenius Tooklander.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Gandalf?"
The wizard looked down at his side, and was surprised to see Peregrin Took walking beside him. "Yes, Pippin?" he asked, aimiably enough - though if the Took asked him any sort of ridiculous question in any form again, he would hang him by his newly-cut, auburn curls from the very top of his staff for the rest of their journey.
"We need to stop, *now*," Pippin stated.
"I am sorry, Peregrin, but that is simply not possible... Now keep walking," Gandalf added when he noticed the hobbit had halted, a scowl beginning to appear on his small, freckled face.
But Pippin shook his head defiantly, now flanked on either side with Gimli, who's coal-black eyes held a rather amused twinkle, and a slightly hunched- over Merry. "Merry needs to go, and I say we should let him," Pippin continued, extremely daring for one so intimidated by the wizard. A wild thrill ran through him, his heart swelled; he was challenging Gandalf!.
Gandalf raised a large bushy eyebrow, "Oh?" he asked pleasently, though no one present could mistake the sinister steel-edge to that one, simple word. He took a menacing stride towards the protesters, and was rewarded with a faltering, half-a-step backwards from all three of them. "And what made you think that I wouldn't simply soldier onwards with the remaining company, and leave you behind?" he asked, as though genuinely intrigued.
That got the spokesman, "W-well... we, um..."
"Because you would not leave us all behind and simply soldier on with yourself, Mithrandir," Legolas answered smoothly, stepping forward to aide his fellows, and dragging a somewhat-reluctant Aragorn by the tunic with him. His eyes flashed silver as Gandalf glowered at him, not affected at all by the wrath that burned there - he had faced the wizard many a time in his childhood and the glare had lost it's effect some time ago, as it had with Aragorn. "After all," he continued, "what is a leader without his company? Right, Estel?" He elbowed his best friend hard in the ribs when the ranger did not answer immediately, making the air rush audibly from the northerner's lungs.
"Arrgh! Er... right," Aragorn agreed, slightly winded, rubbing his chest and shooting a glare at Greenleaf, "Legolas, your elbows are really sharp, you know that...?"
"And Boromir, you agree with us, don't you?" Legolas called back, glancing over his shoulder at the Gondorimm who was stood behind them, next to Sam, who had also not yet vouched his support.
"Aye, right you are, elf," Boromir answered with a mock salute. He himself was not particularly bothered whether they stopped or no, he just wished not to be a victim to Legolas' elbow, as he was already well aquainted with Greenleaf's knees. ~And if his elbows are even half as dangerous as his knees...~
"Well," Gandalf looked as though he were considering, "I don't know whether you realise this, my Prince and my lords." He bowed his proud head mockingly and Aragorn rolled his eyes, wishing Legolas had never even mentioned anything about his title the Lord of Impeccable Timing; it was getting increasingly tiresome. "But I *can* continue and leave you all behind just as long as I have the Ringbearer in *my* company."
With this, all eyes swivelled as one to Frodo, who looked suddenly like a coney caught in a lantern's candlelight. Sightly panicked, he looked to his right, but even Sam was staring at him with his large, doleful brown eyes. ~No help to be found there, then~ They were all expecting him to say something, to take a side, as was always the way when the fellowhsip got into such discussions... how he always ended up being the deciding vote thoroughly escaped him. As always, he appreciated both points of views and yet flatly refused to sell out any one friend for another. So he thought for a time before answering and chose his words carefully, "You do realise, don't you," he began slowly, "that in all the time you've wasted just now, Merry could have just gone and been back already?"
There was silence as the company all looked at one another. The question was: who was going to give way first?
"All right!" Gandalf gave up, throwing his arms up with a flury of silvery- blue robes - if such a contest was going to be ended, it was to be on his terms. No victory had been won by either hobbit nor elf. "We've made up the time for this evening, with room to spare. So I *suppose* we can take a long break if you all wish." The cheering of the fellowship in triumph broke into laughter as Merry dashed into the trees, too hurried to say thankyou.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
As the Sun began to rise and dawn approached gradually, the ragged and weary company came to an official halt and began to unpack and settle down for the day. Sam and Gimli got supper started - it having already been decided beforehand, in one of the less entertaining moments of the walk, that today was the day for broth. Sam had been saving some ingredients so that the fellowship could have a warm and cheery meal when the time came, and all believed that then was it. The hobbit and the dwarf were in the middle of a conversation about food and ale, and different types of meat, and both were extremely content with the other's company; what with both being interested in pretty much the same things.
Frodo was in a deep talk with Boromir, each reminicing about their homelands... and each being thoroughly enthralled with the telling of the other's. Boromir went into great detail about the White City, and injected it's passion and pride into the words he spoke of it, and Frodo's love and fondness for the Shire emanated from him as he remembered. It seemed to the others of the fellowship that both were beginning to get a little homesick.
Pippin and Merry (with Merry now a lot more comfortable), however, were in no such position; they were chattering loudly away at Aragorn and Gandalf as all four smoked their pipes. The conversation held nothing of importance in it at all, but it warmed the hearts of the man and wizard as they listened and rolled their eyes to it aimiably, so easy to listen to was it.
Legolas sat on his own, well away from the outpouring of smoke, simply sitting quietly and gazing upwards at the fading stars. He, like Frodo and Boromir, was beginning to pine for his homeland - his brothers and sisters, the wise words of the trees, the familiar pathways, the thrill of the hunt, the songs of his people... he didn't really understand but being able to look to the heavens and know, without a doubt, that the same sky with it's ebbing stars and rising Sun was enveloping and stretching out over his home... it comforted him some how. And so he was lost to the starlight, and took no part in the other's conversations.
Though being a part of the company of nine had made the Mirkwood prince become a little bit more outgoing - for one had to be in such a seemingly haphazard situation - he was still a quiet elf. Elves, as a rule, were less inclined to chatter than Hobbits or even Men, but being brought up in the Royal enviroment of a tense Mirkwood had moulded Legolas into a placid, reseved child... Aragorn, when he had first begun to know Legolas - the real prince of Eryn Lasgalen - had been amazed by the hold silence had over his friend... of course, he had helped to lessen that hold somewhat. But even as he had grown, becoming a young warrior even, Legolas was more solitary than most, and at times he wished just for peace and the light of the stars. It was not a problem at all - merely a character trait.
The wrist of his left arm had begun to itch - Legolas rubbed the protective, leather forearm-guard absently, and began humming a tune he had almost forgotten, but that reminded him of happy times in Mirkwood, eyes still fixed upon the coloured sky.
Aragorn looked up sharply as the strains of the tune floated across to him, beautiful and yet a little eerie, "Elf! I told you, you are never to even *whisper* that song near me again!"
Legolas' fair head whipped round to face him, strands of golden hair flying, "Excuse me?"
Aragorn stood in haste, and Pippin dropped rather ungracefully from his lap - yet Aragorn barely looked down. "Do you not remember, we were scouting the edges of your home woods all those years ago. And we were caught out, and having to spend the night outside - we built a flet." At Legolas' withering look, the ranger amended quickly, "All right, *you* built a flet - I was hopeless at that - but anyway, we slept there, and you thought up that ditty, and *all night* you persisted in singing *that* song! It almost drove me to do away with you in the dead of night with your own knife!" Aragorn was becoming most agitated, much to the confusion of the rest fo the fellowship, barr Legolas, who just grinned wickedly.
"Well, let's have this song then... it sounds like a dainty tune," Frodo called up from beside Boromir, who began to smirk at the ranger's jerky movements and obvious discomfort. ~This is going to be good~ he thought.
Legolas shook his head almost bashfully, "Nay, it is just a simple song I made up a while ago that seemed to annoy my good friend Estel, here, to no end... though why it should is beyond me, I happen to like it and think it most soothing." He went back to trying to work his fingers under the leather band around his forearm... this itch wasn't leaving any time soon.
Pippin and Merry made a noise of distress, wanting to hear this song now, intrigued and involved as they were, Gimli stayed silent and yet observed without complaint, Gandalf chuckled and Boromir shouted out, "Come on, elf! You know we love to do anything that adds to our ruffian's annoyance... he seemes to have a very low threshold for it now, and yet we still work at it!"
Legolas grinned widely at that, his amusement heightened by Aragorn's groan of resignation - both to the name Boromir continued to call him, and the fact that they were going to get the song out of his best friend at one point or another. "Very well, then." The elf picked up a stick, and was finally able to reach the point of his irritation under his arm-guard by poking it under the annoying piece of leather.
He began, the tune rather haunting and yet distinctly beautiful as Legolas' ethereal voice cultivated the words into an almost visible tale for the fellowship, the sadness and longing he felt for his home seeping through unconsciously, and yet giving the song more passion and purity... it seemed to flow right from Legolas' heart.
"A high flying bird flies above; you cannot see him from the earth.
He sees as he flies, and knows as he sees, The masses below, there trouble below...
"This high flying bird has no sense of time; for a thousand years he's climbed the skies.
His brothers have burned - flown too close to the Sun, But higher and higher, this white bird flies...
"There's no turning back as blue becomes black; the air becomes thin - his flight begins.
But the bird can still breathe, right over the fog, All the masses are waiting, and this bird can now sing..."
The company stayed in a stunned silence for more than a minute after he was finished, just holding their breath. Then Sam, always stunned by Elves' beauty in general and always the most appreciative, stuttered, "H-how could you find that annoying, ever, Mr. Strider?"
Aragorn, who had always been around Elves all his life - and sometimes took their beauty a little for granted unintenionally - shrugged, "After a night long full of it, you'd be sick too, I believe."
Merry and Pippin shook their heads violently, and both at the same time protested in earnest, "No I wouldn't." Legolas chuckled, and went back to scratching his wrist with the twig and thinking, unaware of the looks of awe being shot his way by more than just the hobbits.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Okay!" Legolas threw his stick down just a little while later, thoughts of home long banished from his mind as irritation won over, "This is getting beyond ridiculous, now!"
Aragorn looked across vaguely from his pipe, and frowned as he saw his best friend ripping off the arm-guard of his left forearm in complete frustration and throwing it down to the ground with annoyance. "What's your problem, there, Legolas?"
Legolas sat back in relief, clawing away at his wrist with blunt fingernails, "I couldn't get to a rather abominable itch to scratch it." He gazed down, the pale skin of his wrist now flushing a raw red ~Completely worth it~ he thought. The elf shrugged, "Now I can," he stated simply.
Pippin, who had inexplicably decided to sit closer to the elf after hearing his song, glanced across, then double-took and gasped, "Legolas! What are all those marks on your wrist?" This drew the attention of the rest of the company, and each at one time or another, looked to the Elven body part.
Legolas stopped scratching, and noticed the marks for the first time in months - after having them for so long, he had forgotten they were there. They were scars, thin scars that were white, shiny, and rose up slightly from the rest of his skin. With the skin surrounding them now being bright red, and them being starking-white, they were particularly eye-catching. "Oh, I've had them for years... they're also on my other wrist and ankles, too." He unwound his green-suede boot from his right leg, and exposed one pale ankle, which was also surrounded with the marks.
"What are they?" Frodo asked quietly, winter-blue eyes searching his friend's fair face for any sign of discomfort - for he would call off his cousins if he ever detected even a hint of past pain. He had a pretty good idea of what they were, and would not wish to call up any other bad memories for the prince.
"They're handcuff marks," Legolas said simply, his expression and demeanour open - it seemed as though there were no bad memories to be found within eighteen leagues of him. He even willingly continued without being called upon by Pippin to do so, "Orcs captured many a year ago. Of course, I was too wily for them." He glanced at Aragorn in a silent thankyou - both for the gallant rescue at the time, and not saying anything now - the ranger just winked and nodded.
"But, I was not aware Elves scarred," Boromir mused out loud, perplexed. He had learnt many a thing about races other than his own during the relatively short time he had spent in the company, and it looked as though that wasn't going to stop at any time soon. And the strange thing was, he wasn't complaining.
"Well, we don't scar permenantly - they eventually fade after many years." Legolas gave a wry grin and shot a look to Aragorn as though it were his fault, "If we did, I'd be riddled with them and no one would be able to recognize me." Ignored was Gimli's half-hearted, muttered remark of 'Who would want to'. ~If he imagines I can't hear that~ the elf thought ~Well, he's a dwarf~
Aragorn, meanwhile, was mildly outraged at the insinuation that he had scarred Greenleaf, "Look, a large portion of those injuries were your own fault- " he started, determined to be right in this at least.
"If I remember correctly," Gandalf spoke up for the first time slowly, his deep voice rumbling with amusement, "That's exactly what Legolas said about that unfortunate scar *yours*, Estel, and many of your other scars." He did not look up from his pipe, merely smiled, knowing an explosion was imminent and he would be able to listen without concerning himself.
Both man and elf shot up immediately and started shouting: "Yes! Let's talk about that, *shaaalll* we!" and "You know as well as I that it *was* his own fault!"
All four hobbits were looking at the two standing figures, delight painted across all their faces in the guise of huge, ear-to-ear grins. "What is this 'unfortunate scar', Legolas?" Frodo asked, tone obviously baiting.
"Yes," agreed Merry, twinkling chestnut-brown eyes never leaving the ranger, "And *where* is it, Strider?" He was rewarded with Aragorn flushing scarlet and looking down at his boots, dark unruly hair falling over to cover his face, and Legolas, realising the line had been drawn and his side had been taken - that he had the upper hand - dropping his arms at once and beaming as he anticipated the fellowship's reaction - he had trained his hobbits well.
"It'zs ohnma beyhide," mumbled Aragorn, eyes still glued to his permenantly mud-stained boots.
"What was that, ruffian?" Boromir asked, eyebrows raised and golden eyes eager. He cupped a hand behind his ear and leaned in mockingly, as if suddenly hard of hearing.
Aragorn sighed and shifted his grey gaze to a nearby tree, "It'zs ohnma beyhide," he muttered, just a little louder in volume than the last time.
"A-beg pardon?" requested Gimli, not too proud to take part in such a humorous game - much to Legolas' amusement, not to proud to let him. Gandalf chuckled from where he sat, still not looking up.
"IT'S ON MY BEHIND!" yelled the stressed northerner, eyes swivelling up to the heavens as his arms shot out to the sides wildly. The company collapsed in helpless laughter at that, having acheived exactly what they intended to do. Aragorn could only stand there patiently, still bright red in the face, waiting for them to take control of themselves once more. "Are you done?" he grunted gruffly, completely unamused. ~Damned elf~
Pippin picked himself up from beside Legolas, who still had not quite gathered his wits together, and asked, genuinely intrigued, "How did you get such a unique scar?" Though his green eyes were merry, it was obvious he really wished to know and was not trapping the unfortunate ranger.
"I..." Aragorn shifted his weight from one side to the other, "I had managed to make a little bit of a mess in the Mirkwood kitchens one afternoon- "
"'A little bit of a mess'?!" cried Legolas, incredulous, now fully standing. "The place was trashed... we had to replace all those supp dishes and crockery you somehow put your clumsy feet through, you broke the main fountain just outside the kitchens and there was water flooding the lower levels of the palace, a fire from one of the upturned agas had begun to blaze at the *other* end.... not to mention the Head Cook wanted *my* hide."
Boromir muttered audibly from his place by Frodo's elbow, "The Lord of Impeccable Timing strikes again, then?" Frodo turned to him and grinned widely, and the rest of the group snickered.
"As I was saying," Aragorn continued pointedly, pretending he hadn't hear the remark, "There was a mess that I had made... but through some mysterious way or other, Legolas incurred the blame- "
"He means that when my father asked, 'Which one of you two idiots is responsible for my having to evacuate the west wing of the palace this afternoon?' The Lord, here, answered immediately and, might I add, without hesitation, 'I believe you are talking about Legolas, there, sir,'" the prince explained, arms folded.
"Yes, indeed." Aragorn was not about to dwell on *that* argument again; he swiftly carried on, "Anyway, after some minor punishments- "
"Having to clear the whole mess up myself, pay for everything to be replaced out of my own allowance, apologise to *everyone* involved, executing the wrath of my father, the list goes on..." Legolas assured the fellowship, arms still crossed firmly in front of his chest.
" -Legolas came to find me, and was, obviously, very upset."
Legolas nodded - he didn't think anything else needed to be added there.
"I-I told him... that he should stop behaving like the pansy little elf he was... and that he should take his punishments like a Man..." Aragorn looked downwards once more, smiling a little sheepishly, "...A-and then ran away." The company fell about once more, but quieted quickly; they wanted to hear the rest of the story. "It turned out," Aragorn continued, "That Legolas did not appreciate that comment so much, and he... shot me with an arrow in the nether-regions as a lesson."
The company fell about *yet* again.
"Shot you in the what?" Sam gasped breathlessly.
"He means Legolas shot him in the arse!" cried Merry as he was getting back up from off the ground.
Legolas merely stood and smiled as the rest of the fellowship straightened up, "He should not have exposed it," he stated simply. "He goes waving that thing at me - he deserved to be shot." He chuckled at Aragorn's good- natured embarassment - well aware that Aragorn did not like the fact that he had run from the elf to be banded about too much.
Frodo, ever-perceptive, picked up on this at once, and hoping to ease his mild humiliation, showed the northerner his small, lean right hand. Near to where the thumb joins the palm there was a large, white puncture mark, "I reached for a quill, but it was end up," he said quietly, eyes fixed to see the ranger's reaction. Aragorn smiled, glanced at Frodo and held his eye, showing the hobbit that he was aware of what was being done, and was thankful. Frodo's big, blue eyes then flickered to Legolas, who raised a golden eyebrow dryly and tried not to smile. He failed miserably and a wide grin spread across his face, indicating that he also knew what was happening.
It worked, and Boromir, catching on quickly also, lifted the side of his heavy tunic, and showed them all his hip. A large, puckered patch of skin could be seen, it was rather shocking in it's seriousness, really. "My brother Faramir and I were practising fighting with swords when we were young, he was too quick for me and never lets me live it down, though he almost killed me," he explained. They all laughed and Boromir chuckled as he pulled his top back down again, shooting a glance at Aragorn, who grinned and nodded.
Pippin thrust his calf into everyone's view - not really aware of the misdirection ploy, but wishing to be involved anyway - there was a noticable dint in it. He pressed it and the dint gave way slightly. Frodo grimaced - he hated seeing the thing. "Merry and me were up a tree, and I fell down it," he said excitably. "And landed on a branch," the brightness his tone held made them all wonder whether he had actually been troubled by the injury at all.
Not to be outdone, Merry let all see his elbows, which, aside from being rough and red, were decorated with raised and shiny skin, "I fell off my pony, but my foot was caught in the stirrup and he dragged me all the way to Hobbiton!" He stated as though it were something to be proud of - though it affirmed in everyone's mind that hobbits were definately made of sterner stuff than they appeared, though it had been proved already many a time.
Gimli showed them his forearm, which a rather recent slice in it that was healing, all scabbed over, "I slipped when sharpening my axe a few weeks ago," he grunted, avoiding catching anyones eyes, afraid they would laugh at him, until Boromir put a hand on his shoulder in thanks. The dwarf looked up, and his dark eyes crinkled suddenly with mirth.
Sam opened the palm of his large, brown and work-roughened hand, revealing a slight discolouration of the skin right in the centre, "When I was a babe, I tried to catch the flame of my lantern," he said sheepishly, then chuckled as if seeing the funny side to it all for the first time.
"So you see," Legolas slung an arm around his best friend, letting the man know that he had not meant any harm - though the action was unnecessary; Aragorn already knew. "Everyone has scars they'd rather not talk about," and the words held double meaning for the two beings - things that only they really knew about, for both held scars of the past, and both were thankfull to the other for never breathing a word about them. Yet the elf couldn't quite let the serious moment last, "And yet I am afraid that your's still beats them all!" he cried, clapping his best friend on the back a little too heartily... and then dashing away as Aragorn predictably tried to grab him. "You are forever doing what is expected, my Lord! You must try to stop that, you know!" Legolas was well aware he was already at the other end of the small camp as he shouted this.
"When I catch you, elf, I'm not only gonna wring your scrawny little neck, but every bone in your bloody body!!!" Aragorn growled good-naturedly, beginning to climb the tree Legolas had just shot up - a lot less gracefully, Legolas would have added - Valar bent on fufilling his threat. The laughter of the company as they watched the two best friends fight in the branches of the tree - neither really gaining anything over the other, but both with large grins spread over their faces - rose up in the suddenly-warmer air to meet the morning Sun. It was obvious that no one would be sleeping for quite some time - what with Aragorn's injuries that would need to be tended to, and Legolas' gloatings to be shut up, and the hobbit's questions to be answered, and Merry was already beginning to feel a little discomfort once again, but no one really minded as the spirits of the company were high once more. It was completely worth it.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ A/N: Song lyrics are from Toploader's song 'High Flying Bird' - I suggest you get the album called 'Onka's Big Mocca'... it's really rather good!