A/N: Hello to you all again, hope you're all well (always considerate of my
reviewers, I am). I just realised a minute or so ago that the chapter after
this is to be the final one of this little escapade and am in the process
of coming to terms with that fact!
Artemisa: I *know* I want to keep writing this long, long time, and have no idea what I'm going to do when I don't have this collection of works to keep coming back to and adding little bits to when I have no work to be getting on with (or when I'm *avoiding* said work, rather succesfully, might I add)... I love this story: it was the first I really did... I'm going to miss it. And all of you, as well - you have to come with me when I do other stories! I'm not brave enough to go it alone! I'm all upset now...
This shall cheer me up though, I am going to scold one of you... Starlit Hope! Nice to know I'm so memorable to you! - did you not even click that you'd heard my name before when you read those other things? LOL, it's okay, you are forgiven... but only because it made me chuckle ;D
And Sirith: Divn't be frettin' aboot yesell, pet (Translation of the uninteligable Geordie dialect: 'Don't worry, my friend') - writer's block eventually leaves, and I, for one, will wait for your next chapter for as long as it takes! I'll just store my pitchforks away in a corner somewhere... *shifts offending pieces of metal and wood oblidgingly* As for the time issue, I know exactly what you mean, you'll see why after I've said this one thing -
- Right, until now, I believe I've been a bit of a dark horse regarding facts about myself... not really giving anything away in my bio and the such, but seeing as I am so appreciative to ya'll for sticking with me through this musical I call a fic, you'll be the first to own this knowledge... the time issue: I have it also... all this coursework has suddenly been dumped on me by *all* my teachers at once, and not only do I believe I'm losing my mind with stress, I have almost NO time to myself at all... also, I have a chest infection, which is just dandy. But just so long as you deliver eventually, Sirith, I won't be holding it against you, 'cause I'm in the same boat, hinney!
So, you may have picked up upon my age and location from that little tidbit - yes, I live in the extreme, windy North of England, as close to Scotland as is physically possible to be without actually *being* in it, and yes, I am reletively a very young person, all plukes and insecurities (but it must be said that I am NOT a sophomore, or whatever you call it: here it's Year 9, I can assure you I am definately older than Starlit Hope!) I don't really see how you all hadn't seemed to twig until now that I'm a young 'un - or maybe some of you have and just didn't say - and I hope I haven't misled you, or that you'll suddenly stop reading my stories because I'm not an adult... or that I've just made a complete fool of myself right then and you all already knew I was only a teenager by my wording and childlike writing skills etc... hmmm....
I'm worried now, but also madly intrigued... All right, hands up who knew I'm not even legal to drink yet? (And if you think I'm joking, I'm not - when you review, I want to know whether you had an inkling!)
Erm, yes well, enough of my insecure tangent... Here's the next chapter of this saga, it might be a little long, and is really two vignettes for the price of one, 'cause I have a very precise idea for my last chapter, but couldn't bear *not* to have the second half of this, so I cheated a tad...
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Gandalf: Nanny to Fools ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Gandalf the Grey sniffed slightly as he glanced up at the Sun, disappearing steadily as she did behind the tops of the trees surrounding them - and he realised with a groan that he'd have to get his fellowship up and ready soon enough, and knew that it would be fun, to be sure. As if trying to delay the inevitable for as long as physically possible, the wizard brushed back his long, silver hair into a loose ponytail with his gnarled hands and bound it tight with a strip of leather, he then stood, smoothed down his shimmery-blue robes for the riddance of invisible creases, and made his way reluctantly over to the fellowship-pile.
To say that the company of nine had bonded during the beginnings of their quest seemed to Gandalf to be a huge understatement - and this was reflected in how they all slept now, collected together and overlapping comfortably. The wizard shook his grey head with amusement and allowed himself a small smile; never in any millenia had he expected such a tight brotherhood to have been formed between the group, especially when he had looked over them all in turn at Elrond's council, near-despairing, believing them all to be too much like chalk and cheese for them to get on. But he was gladdened that they all had proven him wrong most brilliantly, and these bonds had appeared - whether it be eternally blood-strong with some members, or the cautious, wary beginnings between others - for he sensed that this feeling of close family and the caring for each other would be tested to their limits in the coming times, and it was imperitive to all of Middle-earth that the bonds be strong to start of with.
But whether they be comrades or not, they could all be very beastly when one wanted them awake.
Gandalf sighed as he tried to figure out who he should wake first, who's limbs belonged to who and the such. ~They're like a set of standing dominoes~ he mused vaguely as he stroked his long beard absently, and it became clear to him that to wake all others successfully, he should have to find the ringleader first and set off a chain reaction of some sort. He took a step back, so as to see the situation better.
Now, the being closest to him was the auburn-topped hobbit Peregrin Took, lying on his side buried, face-first, into the warm chest of his cousin, Meriadoc, who was all stretched out, legs sprawled out at odd angles. The elder halfling had one arm draped across Pip's narrow back, and the other behind his head. And Merry's chestnut head was being pillowed by something else as well - the small of Gimli's back... that was it. The dwarf was lying on his front, rusty hair fanned out like flames upon his back and across the ground around him, snoring loudly and even grumbling quietly in his slumber. Gimli in turn had his head pressed comfortably against Boromir's left side. The Steward's son himself was lying flat out, head thrown back and throat open, though he did not snore, one arm slung over his own face to shield him from the formerly-bright daylight. Strewn haphazardly across his legs were another pair of appendages, and they belonged to... Gandalf squinted into the young evening... Frodo!
The wizard paused momentarily as he realised what he had been doing and sighed, rolling his dark-blue eyes at the absurdity of it all before going back to his task. He couldn't believe he was having to mentally go through each fellowship member to discern who was who. It was like he was the nanny to fools or something.
The young Baggins of course slept alongside Samwise, who was curled up happily at the booted-feet of Boromir and Legolas, turned, as always, towards his master even in sleep. Frodo himself seemed to be in some sort of obscure cradle, both ends tipped up so he sank down in the middle, arms folded, chin on chest - his legs were elevated by Boromir's own and his dark head was resting lightly upon the crossed, green legging-clad legs of Legolas Greenleaf.
The elf was also sleeping on his back, comfortably close to the Gondorimm, mouth closed and sliver-green eyes open but half-lidded in his fatigue, pupils as small as pin-heads, one hand pressed typically to the ground beneath him and the other placed lightly - not upon his heart as usual, but upon his best friend's forehead. Aragorn was using Legolas dismissively as a pillow as he often did on such occaisions, head resting heavily upon the fair elf's flat stomach, and slept at a right angle to the prince, slightly curled up on his side with his hands under each armpit as if cold and knees drawn up protectively to his chest. ~That'll do his back no good~ noted the wizard, but disregarded the worry of the hard ground and the seemingly- uncomfortable angle the ranger's head was placed at with a shake of his silver head. Blankets were partially-covering all of them, but had all gotten dislodged during the day and were now mostly wedged in between the still bodies of the sleeping fellowship.
Gandalf frowned as he thought, and decided that the best chain reaction would be set off if he got Legolas up first. For that would then get Aragorn up immediately, because if his cushion was taken away he'd awaken... and the northerner was possibly the hardest person to get up in the evening despite his maturity, intellect and unquestionable-skills as a ranger - if he saw no danger or need for a rush, he bloody well took his time about such things, savouring the rarity that was him waking up of his own accord. Also to be wakened immediately would be Frodo, who would be jolted when the elf used his lower limbs - Samwise, then, would also be wide awake at once at the slightest stir of his master, and the young Baggins would then predictably set about getting his younger cousins up, so that Gandalf would not have to do it with less sympathetic ways and means.
Legolas, the wizard knew for a fact, wouldn't be able to resist prodding Boromir as he slept, so that awakening was taken care of as well because Boromir would seek retribution pretty swiftly - it may lead to a small skirmish, but Gandalf was surprisingly willing to make that sacrifice, for the good of the fellowship, of course. And Gimli was pretty fair about waking up anyway - the dwarf only grumbled, he did not flatly refuse to get up as the rest of his companions did.
Now, Gandalf was no monster, and he decided he was feeling generous enough to give his fellowship ample time to wake by themselves up satisfactorily. So he called softly, almost under his breath, a mere whisper on the wind, "Wake up, lads - it's time to go." He stood silent for a second, listening and then, sensing no response, went and crouched down beside Legolas' golden head. The wizard paused momentarily and then tapped the prince lightly on the shoulder, and watched as Legolas frowned shallowly but then seemed to make the choice to ignore him. Gandalf scowled and tapped again, more forcefully this time, and the elf groaned and frowned even deeper, green eyes coming vaguely into focus as he squinted at the sky, annoyed at being awakened at all.
"Up, Dian Las, quickly now - time's wasting," Gandalf encouraged the young elf brightly to get up as he had done when Legolas was an elfling, in two minds as to whether he hoped the prince would obey him or not, for he had something planned if his friend did not.
Legolas looked up at him as though he were mad. "Are you mad?" he asked hoarsely, usually-smooth voice as rough as a ranger's for some reason, a sleep-deprived sharpness colouring the normally soft-spoken and pleasant tones.
Gandalf rolled his eyes ~Should have guessed~ he thought. "No, I am perfectly sane, I am no dottard yet, I'm afraid - but we have to press onwards this night... we *need* to have a quick start."
The elf looked up at him wearily, as if he couldn't believe what Gandalf was saying to him, and he indicated the sky weakly with his elbow, "Evening hasn't even fallen yet, Mithrandir - and I'm going to go back to sleep until it does." And with that, he turned his fair face away, and shifted slightly so he was facing more to Aragorn and less to Gandalf, and promptly fell back away from reality into his elvish world of dreams.
~Right you are, elf~ Gandalf thought ~This calls for measures I would not usually wish to take on someone I have known all their life - but you drove me to do it, just remember that~ He got out his pipe from his leather belt, and lit up. He waited until he had fostered a great smoke, inhaled, and then blew it with purpose into the sleeping face of the fair prince.
It took a moment for Legolas to react, but when he did - well, it was worth waiting for. He breathed in deeply at exactly the right moment, inhaling a huge amount of the thick, blue-coloured, putrid-tasting smoke. His green eyes widened comically, eyelids flying open at once and flashing silver, and he was up in less than a second, coughing and spluttering, tendrils of the smoke slowly exiting his lungs from his flared nostrils and the corners of his mouth. Gandalf noted - with maybe a little more pleasure and satisfaction than he should have done - that Aragorn's dark head hit the floor with audible *THUMP* when his pillow leapt to it's feet, and that the ranger seemed more than a tad put out by this. The wizard was slightly less pleased that poor Frodo had been thrown to the ground during the action, a rude wake-up call for him on all fronts. ~Still, it could not be helped~ reasoned Gandalf.
Legolas was now choking on his own breath, doubled up and struggling to inhale clean air, one hand pressed to his chest, and the other waving frantically in the air at nothing. By now the rest of the company was awake, Legolas' hawking (and most unprincely) gags being far too noisy a disturbance to sleep through. Frodo, of course, was already beside the prince, trying the help him, though he had no idea what was wrong nor how to aid his friend, so he ended up just rubbing Legolas' narrow back helplessly as the elf fell weakly to his hands and knees. The other hobbits were collecting themselves together, pretty much ignoring the archer's plight, though Boromir was mildly interested, gazing at the proceedings through bleary, half-mast golden-brown eyes that were still unfocused and full of sleep-dust. Gimli was grumbling predictably, but chuckling at Legolas as well as Merry and Pippin, who had begun arguing as soon as their eyes and mouths had opened, continuing some disagreement from the night before, about the quality of some of the young lady-hobbits from their homeland, and which were up to scratch.
The elf seemed now to be slightly recovered from his fit of coughing, now gagging only occaisionally, holding his sore ribs with both hands and getting up unsteadily from his knees, enough to wave the dark-haired halfling who had helped him up away kindly with a smile of gratitude, and throw a quite startlingly-intimidating silver glare at his former wizard friend. Gandalf raised his bushy eyebrows innocently, and shrugged his broad shoulder, helping Merry pull on his jerkin and smoothing down the hobbit's chestnut curls, "I did tell you to get up, Dian Yir, it's your own fault that you paid no heed to the words of a wise old wizard who knows more than you do."
Legolas could only glare at him darkly in answer - Mithrandir being one of the few beings he respected enough to admit that they knew a whole lot more than him, and that was something to admit for a proud elf such as he. Ignoring the wizard who was collecting the company together and aiding them to get themselves ready for a fresh night, he went to sit back down heavily beside the sleepy Boromir who was sat cross-legged, still swathed in blankets, and the unmoving Aragorn, who had not shifted a muscle in all of these proceedings, grumbling such things as: "Well, I am up now, surprisingly," and coughing occaisionally.
"You could at least bother to ask me of my hale, Estel," Legolas groused after a moment of silence, and prodded his best friend, who seemed to have slept the whole way through the incident. "I get more sympathy off of those blasted twin brothers of mine than off of you, sometimes," he shifted himself, crossing his arms as if cold and leaning into Boromir's right side, clearing his throat once again, still tickilish, as it was, from the unfamiliar irritation of the smoke.
Aragorn's answer was short and clipped for some reason, and he still didn't move, "I shall ask it of you later, Legolas, if it so troubles you that much."
"Well, it'll be of no use to me then, will it? At least Arianduil and Andariun would ask me how I was *after* they had finished teasing me," Legolas wasn't really all that bothered, just bored and tired and irritable. It suddenly processed in his mind how unusual Aragorn was acting - the ranger was normally most sympathetic when it came to his elven friend. As something seemed to click in his mind, he immediately uncrossed his arms and bent over his prone friend, "Oh! Estel, I'm so sorry - I didn't even think... is it bad this time?"
"Quite," the northerner answered between gritted teeth.
Boromir looked across at this, intrigued, and Frodo had overheard this and came over as well. "What's wrong, Strider?" Frodo asked, concern colouring his quiet tone and making his huge blue eyes all the more earnest. The ranger was still lying on his side with his knees tucked up to his chest - there seemed to be no moving him, either.
Legolas looked up, and guilt shot a silver streak through his green eyes, "Quite some time ago, Estel and I were up this tree in Imladris' garden and, well... to cut a long story short, Estel fell out of the tree and landed on his back... It must have displaced a couple of things, because..."
"The damned elf pushed me," stated Aragorn, keeping his head resolutely pressed against the ground and his spine as still as possible. "He just never mentions *that* part." He grinned upwards, showing he meant no harm, at the prince who grimaced and blushed, having the grace, at least, to look guilty. It had been an area of great shame for Legolas, who had not meant for such a thing to happen on that day so long ago, and something he still apologised for to this very day. "My back gives me jip from time to time, especially when I sleep awkwardly," the ranger explained, trying to set both Frodo and Legolas at ease.
"Awkwardly, my ears," smiled Legolas, though his silvery eyes were still anxious, "you had a cushion of the very finest calibre, I'll have you know." Aragorn chuckled, and could hear Gandalf laughing at what he heard in the distance, out of his rather-limited eyeline. His best friend crossed to his other side and began, without question ot furthur discussion, rubbing at the tight muscles of the small of the ranger's back with his skilled, slender hands, as if he had gone through these motions many times before.
Frodo watched this, greatly interested, as it seemed the elf had the hands of a healer - Aragorn's face became less strained and he sighed with relief quietly. "What are you doing there, Legolas?" he asked, as Sam came and stood close beside him, happy to be escaping Merry and Pippin's teasings over his Rose Cotten and Gandalf's fussing with his pack.
Legolas glanced up at them, eyes amused and hands still working and kneading his soul-brother's back as if of their own accord. "Why, I am simply doing my duty, Frodo," he stated simply with a raised eyebrow. "'Twas, after all, the fault of mine that Estel landed on his back in the first place - it is only courteous that I do all I can to ease his suffering." He looked down at Aragorn's face a moment, the northerner had his eyes closed and looked to have gone back to sleep. "You *are* suffering, aren't you, Estel?" he asked with a wry smile and a mock-serious tone.
"Excrutiating," replied Aragorn sleepily. His back still did hurt him a fair bit, but Legolas seemed to have mastered a technique over the years of massaging the muscles of his back unlike any other - even his foster- father, Lord Elrond - and the prince's agile hands always soothed the pain and tightness in Aragorn's stiff back away almost in an instant.
"If you *dare* let that lad go back to sleep, Dian Las, I shall have your pretty golden head!" cried Gandalf, having looked across from where he crouched beside Gimli and the two younger hobbits and realised what was happening. "It takes me long enough to get him up and ready without you sending him into a slumber straight afterwards!"
Legolas quickly withdrew his hands at Gandalf's tone and folded them obediently in his lap, sitting back on his heels at once and looking to the floor as if scolded. If he still had his long, fair locks, their bangs would have fallen forwards in front of his shoulders to hide his his pink- tinged face and tapered ears - as it was, Frodo and Sam could see the muscles in his long neck flex as he angled his head downwards. Boromir chuckled at the antics of his friends and the elf's endearingly-childlike behaviour and, having banished all thoughts of continued-sleep from his mind once and for all, disgarded his warm blanket and stood, intending to help up the prone ranger, who now looked a lot better than he had before. Aragorn however, proud as he was, waved away this helping hand with gracious smile, and began to gingerly pull himself up on his own. He moved his long legs first, and ignored the twinges and creakings of his spine as much as he could. After much pain and the annoying spasms of his muscles, he finally stood - perhaps not as straight-backed as usual, but he still stood.
His best friend stood himself up too, and began - as a small token of an apology - to gather both his and Aragorn's packs and belongings together. When he held both full bags in his hands, he looked to Aragorn for a moment, silvery-green eyes wide and sincere. The ranger shook his head quickly, and then grimaced and cursed his own forgetfulness when it came to injuries... he was not only the Lord of Impeccable Timing, but the Master of the Diversionary Tactic - many a time had he managed to make everyone about him forget that he had an injury and convinced them to tend to Legolas or Elrohir, usually (who he generally believed were in a worse shape when they came back from a situation than he was), and then forgotten himself, only to be reminded hours later when he blacked-out unexpectedly at his father's dinner-table or something. It was just the selfless person he was.
And he would not let Legolas blame himself again for this unfortunate affliction. He reached for the pack, only to have Legolas pull it away from his grasp and swing it at once over his narrow shoulders along with his own. Aragorn looked questioningly at him, but the prince merely raised a single golden brow as if daring the ranger to say something or laugh at him, before turning and heading off in the direction of Gandalf, who looked as though he were about to spit on a handkerchief and rub a but of smut from Peregrin Took's nose, much to the halfling's gall.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Legolas was, once again, up a tree.
It was Meriadoc's whim, this time, that had him again up in the leafy branches he loved so - the halfling, surprisingly observant when it came to items of food, had spotted some bright, shining apples high up in a tree the fellowship had been passing, and had commented on them repeatedly and increasing in sound until Gandalf had deigned to stop, but *only* because they were due for a break anyways. And Legolas had been elected to fetch said apples. The dawn had broken about an hour's half ago, and the sky was streaked with the Sun's pale light - the fellowship had been walking pretty much all night. Merry could be forgiven for craving apples, surely?
The nine were now at various stages of exhaustion, and yet Gandalf was convinced he could press them just a little bit furthur before he was forced to carry Pip - they had to get on, even in the daytime. But for the moment, he let them all rest, for even Legolas and Aragorn were showing sings of increasing sluggishness. Not that, looking at either of them, anyone other than he, their fathers or each other, would see.
Boromir of Gondor was sat wearily with a drowsy Frodo and a quiet and yawning Sam upon a large log, talking lightly of things that concerned none, Gimli was leaning his tired back against a stone with his heavy axe set down on the ground beside him. Aragorn was washing his face and neck in the fairly wide and deep stream they had stopped next to, as if to try and wash some of the listnessness away and make him fully alert once more, and Merry and Pip were stood, necks twisted upwards, directing the elf who was up the huge apple tree.
"Just a little to the left... No! Legolas, *my* left - that's it... no the big one, *big* one!" Merry had both hands cupped around his mouth as he shouted up his preferences to the prince, who then obediently plucked the apples from their places and chucked them down to land acurately in a small, neat pile beside the two hobbits. Gandalf could't believe how accomodating the prince was for the hobbits he adored so - any other making the Greenleaf fetch things and practically serve upon them would be stone- dead as soon as he looked at them.
"Perhaps, Meriadoc," Legolas' fair - but annoyed - voice floated down to the pair tersely, "*you* would like to come up here and get the apples you desire - and are good enough for you to eat, of course - yourself, if you think you can do a better job."
That shut the young Brandybuck up rather quickly, and he lowered his hands, but not before he muttered to his best friend who stood beside him, holding the elf's heavy bow, "I probably *could* do a better job, and all."
Not in a million years did he dream that Legolas would hear him - he had not yet worked out the full extent and range of the elf's skills, especially in the practice of seeing and hearing all - and so was fully unprepared when an apple came hurtling down from the canopy above, and smacked him squarely on the head. He glared upwards, rubbing the sore spot on top of his head, but could not see the prince, and so perhaps Greenleaf was spared having a chestnut-hole bored into him. "*Whoops!*" came the fair voice from high-atop, perhaps a bit too innocent to be wholly believable. "Sorry, Merry, missed the pile, there - what were you saying?"
Of course, it was just plain impossible for the elven archer of such renowned skill to his name and battles to his young years, to miss his mark - ergo, Merry surmised that the apple had probably not been that much of an accident.
Pippin, who had chortled heartily at the elf's actions, was Legolas' next victim - he got an offending piece of fruit right in the back of his curly- auburn head. The force behind it fair nearly floored him, and he let out a squealing yelp of pain. Boromir, hearing this, looked across and rolled his golden-brown eyes as he worked out what was happening, just wishing for some peace at some point that day. "Cease that, elf, before I make you," he called up wearily.
An apple shooted across to him, almost - and impossibly - horizontal, miraculously missing both Frodo and Samwise sitting next to the Gondorimm, and caught the Steward's son right in the belly. It seemed Legolas was on the move silently through the branches, for Boromir was a good few feet away from Merry and Pippin. The winded Boromir picked himself up from behind the log, and threw a 'Help!' sort of look in the direction of Gandalf who had, until that point, been chuckling.
"Come now, Dian Las, enough of this childishness," he called up, deep voice amused but stern.
Now, Legolas was not an elf who liked being called childish - though, having said that, not many did, and especially those of the Mirkwood Royal clan - and he was still bitter about the prank that had been pulled on him the evening before, it having rather bruised his dignified pride. And so he answered his friend of years innumerable simply by bowling an apple at full force towards the wizard. But by some elvish grace and mischief or some wizarding magic of sorts, the piece of fruit curled in mid-air, traveling smoothly around Gandalf, avoiding him, before taking up it's original line of fire once more, as if nothing had altered it.
The apple hit Aragorn in the back of his dark head, almost toppling him into the stream. "Hey!" he shouted with umbridge.
A burst of joyous laughter was heard from above in the apple tree, the glee and mirth communicated making smiles in the other fellowship members' faces irrepressible, sending most of them beaming at the mere sound of hilarity the sprightly Wood elf had discovered. Another apple was launched almost immediately, clipping the ranger's cheek sharply just as he stood and turned round. Aragorn's reaction to this was so amusing - and to Legolas in particular - that the others just laughed loudly when another apple hit him on the shoulder, and then another in the chest, and again on the head and on his nose. He seemed to dance as each missile hit him, jumping from foot to foot in an effort to doge the apples and avoid the pain with which each piece of fruit hit him - Legolas was putting some force behind them, and was enjoying himself too much to stop or go easy on the poor ranger, even moving through the branches to get Aragorn at all angles.
Only when a veritable pile of apples had been built up around the harassed northerner, and when enough bruises had been sent well on their way to appearing, Gandalf called a halt to the proceedings in a very interesting manner, believing it the fair thing to do between the two beings who were acting like foolish school-children.
Legolas, through no fault of his own, fell suddenly from the high apple tree, having been pushed hard by some sort of invisible force.
It was as though the world had suddenly become slower as the elf fell with his back to the ground, his arms flailed slightly and his long neck stretched out and backwards to it's fullest extent, turning his body in mid- air. Legolas whirled a full, skillful somersault with amazing grace, and managed, incredibly, to land like a cat on both his feet between Aragorn and the large stream. Frodo thought he might have become simply a bag of nerves in the few seconds that had just passed - he was shaking and couldn't believe that the prince had come to no harm, for the tree had been high, and Legolas had been completely unsuspecting. Boromir could only breathe out sharply in reaction.
Legolas looked just as shocked as everyone else - very rarely did Wood Elves such as he fall from their trees - and he just turned his fair head in disbelief towards the wizard, seemingly astounded that Gandalf had even done such a thing. Aragorn, however, used this stunned pause and the helpful postion of the elf to his advantage.
Aragorn hurled himself at his motionless best friend.
*SPLASH!* Both brothers were propelled into the stream behind them. This broke the silence from before, and the company either fell about, or leapt to their feet.
Legolas had immediately stood up, and was flinging water from his large eyes with his fingers, mouth wide and gasping like a fish, soaked to the very skin. Aragorn was emerging from the water beside him, also wet by triumphant and gleeful - he had exacted his revenge for the apple incident, and was more than a bit pleased with himself. Legolas could only sputter apoplectically in fury, trying to communicate just a fraction of his ire through recognisable words, but failing... however the fellowship, and Aragorn in particular, understood perfectly. Aragorn began, very quickly and wisely, to try and extract himself from the water that may or may not have started bubbling and boiling as Legolas' silver-shot eyes hit the ranger and took on a look unlike either the hobbits or Boromir had ever witnessed before in them before.
All the fellowship saw of Aragorn as he tried to escape his best friend's unbelievable wrath, was his hand gripping on desperately to the grass at the bank-side, before he was engulfed by water as he was dragged down by the irate elf. They heard "*Lego-wggurlw!*" and then a tremendous splashing sound.
Gandalf chuckled, and turned to his company, feeling his work there was done. He saw the incredible looks on Frodo and Sam's faces in particular, and remarked casually, "You know, when Legolas is not near Aragorn, he is one of the most graceful, calm and mature beings gracing this earth, not that you'd say that to see him when he and his best friend come together."
Sam shook his dirty-blonde curls in disbelief, "I'd say he'd have to be the most elegant in the worlds when not with Strider, then, if how he is now is considered clumsy and graceless." Frodo's shocked expression changed as he smiled softly at his garderner's simple words, and clasped Sam's rough hand fondly, feeling cheer so much more easily whenever he was with his best friend.
Gimli and Boromir were stood side by side, watching the churning action going on in the stream with complete numbness, as if they were trying to work out in their minds all of what had just happened. They gave up, and went to sit down beside Merry and Pippin, who were helpless with laughter, and mildly pleased with themselves for starting the whole escapade off in the first place.
After a time, Legolas pulled himself, sopping, from the stream, and walked slowly to the fire that had been prepared by Samwise, with his shorn, golden head held high and the last shreds of his elven dignity held hoplessly intact. The air about him zinged like lightening; nobody dared speak. Following him came a slighltly worse for the wear Aragorn, who just shook himself off like a dog after a bath, and made to sit by the fire also.
Not a word was spoken, and the remaining company seemed to be holding their breath as all eyes were upon the pair, who were not looking up. Something was going to happen, they all could feel it, how could something not when Legolas was so tense? So they all just waited patiently for something to happen. It took some time, but finally it did. Aragorn, ignoring completely the alarmed warning looks shot his way by seven members of the fellowship, set about getting out his long pipe, he then filled it, lit it, inhaled and blew the smoke innocently and without heed into the clenched face of his best friend.
There was silence for one fleeting moment where no one moved, and then Legolas launched himself at Aragorn's throat.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Aha! I love the last half of this chapter and wrote it completely for my own enjoyment - review and tell me I should never write stuff for my own amusement ever again!
Artemisa: I *know* I want to keep writing this long, long time, and have no idea what I'm going to do when I don't have this collection of works to keep coming back to and adding little bits to when I have no work to be getting on with (or when I'm *avoiding* said work, rather succesfully, might I add)... I love this story: it was the first I really did... I'm going to miss it. And all of you, as well - you have to come with me when I do other stories! I'm not brave enough to go it alone! I'm all upset now...
This shall cheer me up though, I am going to scold one of you... Starlit Hope! Nice to know I'm so memorable to you! - did you not even click that you'd heard my name before when you read those other things? LOL, it's okay, you are forgiven... but only because it made me chuckle ;D
And Sirith: Divn't be frettin' aboot yesell, pet (Translation of the uninteligable Geordie dialect: 'Don't worry, my friend') - writer's block eventually leaves, and I, for one, will wait for your next chapter for as long as it takes! I'll just store my pitchforks away in a corner somewhere... *shifts offending pieces of metal and wood oblidgingly* As for the time issue, I know exactly what you mean, you'll see why after I've said this one thing -
- Right, until now, I believe I've been a bit of a dark horse regarding facts about myself... not really giving anything away in my bio and the such, but seeing as I am so appreciative to ya'll for sticking with me through this musical I call a fic, you'll be the first to own this knowledge... the time issue: I have it also... all this coursework has suddenly been dumped on me by *all* my teachers at once, and not only do I believe I'm losing my mind with stress, I have almost NO time to myself at all... also, I have a chest infection, which is just dandy. But just so long as you deliver eventually, Sirith, I won't be holding it against you, 'cause I'm in the same boat, hinney!
So, you may have picked up upon my age and location from that little tidbit - yes, I live in the extreme, windy North of England, as close to Scotland as is physically possible to be without actually *being* in it, and yes, I am reletively a very young person, all plukes and insecurities (but it must be said that I am NOT a sophomore, or whatever you call it: here it's Year 9, I can assure you I am definately older than Starlit Hope!) I don't really see how you all hadn't seemed to twig until now that I'm a young 'un - or maybe some of you have and just didn't say - and I hope I haven't misled you, or that you'll suddenly stop reading my stories because I'm not an adult... or that I've just made a complete fool of myself right then and you all already knew I was only a teenager by my wording and childlike writing skills etc... hmmm....
I'm worried now, but also madly intrigued... All right, hands up who knew I'm not even legal to drink yet? (And if you think I'm joking, I'm not - when you review, I want to know whether you had an inkling!)
Erm, yes well, enough of my insecure tangent... Here's the next chapter of this saga, it might be a little long, and is really two vignettes for the price of one, 'cause I have a very precise idea for my last chapter, but couldn't bear *not* to have the second half of this, so I cheated a tad...
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Gandalf: Nanny to Fools ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Gandalf the Grey sniffed slightly as he glanced up at the Sun, disappearing steadily as she did behind the tops of the trees surrounding them - and he realised with a groan that he'd have to get his fellowship up and ready soon enough, and knew that it would be fun, to be sure. As if trying to delay the inevitable for as long as physically possible, the wizard brushed back his long, silver hair into a loose ponytail with his gnarled hands and bound it tight with a strip of leather, he then stood, smoothed down his shimmery-blue robes for the riddance of invisible creases, and made his way reluctantly over to the fellowship-pile.
To say that the company of nine had bonded during the beginnings of their quest seemed to Gandalf to be a huge understatement - and this was reflected in how they all slept now, collected together and overlapping comfortably. The wizard shook his grey head with amusement and allowed himself a small smile; never in any millenia had he expected such a tight brotherhood to have been formed between the group, especially when he had looked over them all in turn at Elrond's council, near-despairing, believing them all to be too much like chalk and cheese for them to get on. But he was gladdened that they all had proven him wrong most brilliantly, and these bonds had appeared - whether it be eternally blood-strong with some members, or the cautious, wary beginnings between others - for he sensed that this feeling of close family and the caring for each other would be tested to their limits in the coming times, and it was imperitive to all of Middle-earth that the bonds be strong to start of with.
But whether they be comrades or not, they could all be very beastly when one wanted them awake.
Gandalf sighed as he tried to figure out who he should wake first, who's limbs belonged to who and the such. ~They're like a set of standing dominoes~ he mused vaguely as he stroked his long beard absently, and it became clear to him that to wake all others successfully, he should have to find the ringleader first and set off a chain reaction of some sort. He took a step back, so as to see the situation better.
Now, the being closest to him was the auburn-topped hobbit Peregrin Took, lying on his side buried, face-first, into the warm chest of his cousin, Meriadoc, who was all stretched out, legs sprawled out at odd angles. The elder halfling had one arm draped across Pip's narrow back, and the other behind his head. And Merry's chestnut head was being pillowed by something else as well - the small of Gimli's back... that was it. The dwarf was lying on his front, rusty hair fanned out like flames upon his back and across the ground around him, snoring loudly and even grumbling quietly in his slumber. Gimli in turn had his head pressed comfortably against Boromir's left side. The Steward's son himself was lying flat out, head thrown back and throat open, though he did not snore, one arm slung over his own face to shield him from the formerly-bright daylight. Strewn haphazardly across his legs were another pair of appendages, and they belonged to... Gandalf squinted into the young evening... Frodo!
The wizard paused momentarily as he realised what he had been doing and sighed, rolling his dark-blue eyes at the absurdity of it all before going back to his task. He couldn't believe he was having to mentally go through each fellowship member to discern who was who. It was like he was the nanny to fools or something.
The young Baggins of course slept alongside Samwise, who was curled up happily at the booted-feet of Boromir and Legolas, turned, as always, towards his master even in sleep. Frodo himself seemed to be in some sort of obscure cradle, both ends tipped up so he sank down in the middle, arms folded, chin on chest - his legs were elevated by Boromir's own and his dark head was resting lightly upon the crossed, green legging-clad legs of Legolas Greenleaf.
The elf was also sleeping on his back, comfortably close to the Gondorimm, mouth closed and sliver-green eyes open but half-lidded in his fatigue, pupils as small as pin-heads, one hand pressed typically to the ground beneath him and the other placed lightly - not upon his heart as usual, but upon his best friend's forehead. Aragorn was using Legolas dismissively as a pillow as he often did on such occaisions, head resting heavily upon the fair elf's flat stomach, and slept at a right angle to the prince, slightly curled up on his side with his hands under each armpit as if cold and knees drawn up protectively to his chest. ~That'll do his back no good~ noted the wizard, but disregarded the worry of the hard ground and the seemingly- uncomfortable angle the ranger's head was placed at with a shake of his silver head. Blankets were partially-covering all of them, but had all gotten dislodged during the day and were now mostly wedged in between the still bodies of the sleeping fellowship.
Gandalf frowned as he thought, and decided that the best chain reaction would be set off if he got Legolas up first. For that would then get Aragorn up immediately, because if his cushion was taken away he'd awaken... and the northerner was possibly the hardest person to get up in the evening despite his maturity, intellect and unquestionable-skills as a ranger - if he saw no danger or need for a rush, he bloody well took his time about such things, savouring the rarity that was him waking up of his own accord. Also to be wakened immediately would be Frodo, who would be jolted when the elf used his lower limbs - Samwise, then, would also be wide awake at once at the slightest stir of his master, and the young Baggins would then predictably set about getting his younger cousins up, so that Gandalf would not have to do it with less sympathetic ways and means.
Legolas, the wizard knew for a fact, wouldn't be able to resist prodding Boromir as he slept, so that awakening was taken care of as well because Boromir would seek retribution pretty swiftly - it may lead to a small skirmish, but Gandalf was surprisingly willing to make that sacrifice, for the good of the fellowship, of course. And Gimli was pretty fair about waking up anyway - the dwarf only grumbled, he did not flatly refuse to get up as the rest of his companions did.
Now, Gandalf was no monster, and he decided he was feeling generous enough to give his fellowship ample time to wake by themselves up satisfactorily. So he called softly, almost under his breath, a mere whisper on the wind, "Wake up, lads - it's time to go." He stood silent for a second, listening and then, sensing no response, went and crouched down beside Legolas' golden head. The wizard paused momentarily and then tapped the prince lightly on the shoulder, and watched as Legolas frowned shallowly but then seemed to make the choice to ignore him. Gandalf scowled and tapped again, more forcefully this time, and the elf groaned and frowned even deeper, green eyes coming vaguely into focus as he squinted at the sky, annoyed at being awakened at all.
"Up, Dian Las, quickly now - time's wasting," Gandalf encouraged the young elf brightly to get up as he had done when Legolas was an elfling, in two minds as to whether he hoped the prince would obey him or not, for he had something planned if his friend did not.
Legolas looked up at him as though he were mad. "Are you mad?" he asked hoarsely, usually-smooth voice as rough as a ranger's for some reason, a sleep-deprived sharpness colouring the normally soft-spoken and pleasant tones.
Gandalf rolled his eyes ~Should have guessed~ he thought. "No, I am perfectly sane, I am no dottard yet, I'm afraid - but we have to press onwards this night... we *need* to have a quick start."
The elf looked up at him wearily, as if he couldn't believe what Gandalf was saying to him, and he indicated the sky weakly with his elbow, "Evening hasn't even fallen yet, Mithrandir - and I'm going to go back to sleep until it does." And with that, he turned his fair face away, and shifted slightly so he was facing more to Aragorn and less to Gandalf, and promptly fell back away from reality into his elvish world of dreams.
~Right you are, elf~ Gandalf thought ~This calls for measures I would not usually wish to take on someone I have known all their life - but you drove me to do it, just remember that~ He got out his pipe from his leather belt, and lit up. He waited until he had fostered a great smoke, inhaled, and then blew it with purpose into the sleeping face of the fair prince.
It took a moment for Legolas to react, but when he did - well, it was worth waiting for. He breathed in deeply at exactly the right moment, inhaling a huge amount of the thick, blue-coloured, putrid-tasting smoke. His green eyes widened comically, eyelids flying open at once and flashing silver, and he was up in less than a second, coughing and spluttering, tendrils of the smoke slowly exiting his lungs from his flared nostrils and the corners of his mouth. Gandalf noted - with maybe a little more pleasure and satisfaction than he should have done - that Aragorn's dark head hit the floor with audible *THUMP* when his pillow leapt to it's feet, and that the ranger seemed more than a tad put out by this. The wizard was slightly less pleased that poor Frodo had been thrown to the ground during the action, a rude wake-up call for him on all fronts. ~Still, it could not be helped~ reasoned Gandalf.
Legolas was now choking on his own breath, doubled up and struggling to inhale clean air, one hand pressed to his chest, and the other waving frantically in the air at nothing. By now the rest of the company was awake, Legolas' hawking (and most unprincely) gags being far too noisy a disturbance to sleep through. Frodo, of course, was already beside the prince, trying the help him, though he had no idea what was wrong nor how to aid his friend, so he ended up just rubbing Legolas' narrow back helplessly as the elf fell weakly to his hands and knees. The other hobbits were collecting themselves together, pretty much ignoring the archer's plight, though Boromir was mildly interested, gazing at the proceedings through bleary, half-mast golden-brown eyes that were still unfocused and full of sleep-dust. Gimli was grumbling predictably, but chuckling at Legolas as well as Merry and Pippin, who had begun arguing as soon as their eyes and mouths had opened, continuing some disagreement from the night before, about the quality of some of the young lady-hobbits from their homeland, and which were up to scratch.
The elf seemed now to be slightly recovered from his fit of coughing, now gagging only occaisionally, holding his sore ribs with both hands and getting up unsteadily from his knees, enough to wave the dark-haired halfling who had helped him up away kindly with a smile of gratitude, and throw a quite startlingly-intimidating silver glare at his former wizard friend. Gandalf raised his bushy eyebrows innocently, and shrugged his broad shoulder, helping Merry pull on his jerkin and smoothing down the hobbit's chestnut curls, "I did tell you to get up, Dian Yir, it's your own fault that you paid no heed to the words of a wise old wizard who knows more than you do."
Legolas could only glare at him darkly in answer - Mithrandir being one of the few beings he respected enough to admit that they knew a whole lot more than him, and that was something to admit for a proud elf such as he. Ignoring the wizard who was collecting the company together and aiding them to get themselves ready for a fresh night, he went to sit back down heavily beside the sleepy Boromir who was sat cross-legged, still swathed in blankets, and the unmoving Aragorn, who had not shifted a muscle in all of these proceedings, grumbling such things as: "Well, I am up now, surprisingly," and coughing occaisionally.
"You could at least bother to ask me of my hale, Estel," Legolas groused after a moment of silence, and prodded his best friend, who seemed to have slept the whole way through the incident. "I get more sympathy off of those blasted twin brothers of mine than off of you, sometimes," he shifted himself, crossing his arms as if cold and leaning into Boromir's right side, clearing his throat once again, still tickilish, as it was, from the unfamiliar irritation of the smoke.
Aragorn's answer was short and clipped for some reason, and he still didn't move, "I shall ask it of you later, Legolas, if it so troubles you that much."
"Well, it'll be of no use to me then, will it? At least Arianduil and Andariun would ask me how I was *after* they had finished teasing me," Legolas wasn't really all that bothered, just bored and tired and irritable. It suddenly processed in his mind how unusual Aragorn was acting - the ranger was normally most sympathetic when it came to his elven friend. As something seemed to click in his mind, he immediately uncrossed his arms and bent over his prone friend, "Oh! Estel, I'm so sorry - I didn't even think... is it bad this time?"
"Quite," the northerner answered between gritted teeth.
Boromir looked across at this, intrigued, and Frodo had overheard this and came over as well. "What's wrong, Strider?" Frodo asked, concern colouring his quiet tone and making his huge blue eyes all the more earnest. The ranger was still lying on his side with his knees tucked up to his chest - there seemed to be no moving him, either.
Legolas looked up, and guilt shot a silver streak through his green eyes, "Quite some time ago, Estel and I were up this tree in Imladris' garden and, well... to cut a long story short, Estel fell out of the tree and landed on his back... It must have displaced a couple of things, because..."
"The damned elf pushed me," stated Aragorn, keeping his head resolutely pressed against the ground and his spine as still as possible. "He just never mentions *that* part." He grinned upwards, showing he meant no harm, at the prince who grimaced and blushed, having the grace, at least, to look guilty. It had been an area of great shame for Legolas, who had not meant for such a thing to happen on that day so long ago, and something he still apologised for to this very day. "My back gives me jip from time to time, especially when I sleep awkwardly," the ranger explained, trying to set both Frodo and Legolas at ease.
"Awkwardly, my ears," smiled Legolas, though his silvery eyes were still anxious, "you had a cushion of the very finest calibre, I'll have you know." Aragorn chuckled, and could hear Gandalf laughing at what he heard in the distance, out of his rather-limited eyeline. His best friend crossed to his other side and began, without question ot furthur discussion, rubbing at the tight muscles of the small of the ranger's back with his skilled, slender hands, as if he had gone through these motions many times before.
Frodo watched this, greatly interested, as it seemed the elf had the hands of a healer - Aragorn's face became less strained and he sighed with relief quietly. "What are you doing there, Legolas?" he asked, as Sam came and stood close beside him, happy to be escaping Merry and Pippin's teasings over his Rose Cotten and Gandalf's fussing with his pack.
Legolas glanced up at them, eyes amused and hands still working and kneading his soul-brother's back as if of their own accord. "Why, I am simply doing my duty, Frodo," he stated simply with a raised eyebrow. "'Twas, after all, the fault of mine that Estel landed on his back in the first place - it is only courteous that I do all I can to ease his suffering." He looked down at Aragorn's face a moment, the northerner had his eyes closed and looked to have gone back to sleep. "You *are* suffering, aren't you, Estel?" he asked with a wry smile and a mock-serious tone.
"Excrutiating," replied Aragorn sleepily. His back still did hurt him a fair bit, but Legolas seemed to have mastered a technique over the years of massaging the muscles of his back unlike any other - even his foster- father, Lord Elrond - and the prince's agile hands always soothed the pain and tightness in Aragorn's stiff back away almost in an instant.
"If you *dare* let that lad go back to sleep, Dian Las, I shall have your pretty golden head!" cried Gandalf, having looked across from where he crouched beside Gimli and the two younger hobbits and realised what was happening. "It takes me long enough to get him up and ready without you sending him into a slumber straight afterwards!"
Legolas quickly withdrew his hands at Gandalf's tone and folded them obediently in his lap, sitting back on his heels at once and looking to the floor as if scolded. If he still had his long, fair locks, their bangs would have fallen forwards in front of his shoulders to hide his his pink- tinged face and tapered ears - as it was, Frodo and Sam could see the muscles in his long neck flex as he angled his head downwards. Boromir chuckled at the antics of his friends and the elf's endearingly-childlike behaviour and, having banished all thoughts of continued-sleep from his mind once and for all, disgarded his warm blanket and stood, intending to help up the prone ranger, who now looked a lot better than he had before. Aragorn however, proud as he was, waved away this helping hand with gracious smile, and began to gingerly pull himself up on his own. He moved his long legs first, and ignored the twinges and creakings of his spine as much as he could. After much pain and the annoying spasms of his muscles, he finally stood - perhaps not as straight-backed as usual, but he still stood.
His best friend stood himself up too, and began - as a small token of an apology - to gather both his and Aragorn's packs and belongings together. When he held both full bags in his hands, he looked to Aragorn for a moment, silvery-green eyes wide and sincere. The ranger shook his head quickly, and then grimaced and cursed his own forgetfulness when it came to injuries... he was not only the Lord of Impeccable Timing, but the Master of the Diversionary Tactic - many a time had he managed to make everyone about him forget that he had an injury and convinced them to tend to Legolas or Elrohir, usually (who he generally believed were in a worse shape when they came back from a situation than he was), and then forgotten himself, only to be reminded hours later when he blacked-out unexpectedly at his father's dinner-table or something. It was just the selfless person he was.
And he would not let Legolas blame himself again for this unfortunate affliction. He reached for the pack, only to have Legolas pull it away from his grasp and swing it at once over his narrow shoulders along with his own. Aragorn looked questioningly at him, but the prince merely raised a single golden brow as if daring the ranger to say something or laugh at him, before turning and heading off in the direction of Gandalf, who looked as though he were about to spit on a handkerchief and rub a but of smut from Peregrin Took's nose, much to the halfling's gall.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Legolas was, once again, up a tree.
It was Meriadoc's whim, this time, that had him again up in the leafy branches he loved so - the halfling, surprisingly observant when it came to items of food, had spotted some bright, shining apples high up in a tree the fellowship had been passing, and had commented on them repeatedly and increasing in sound until Gandalf had deigned to stop, but *only* because they were due for a break anyways. And Legolas had been elected to fetch said apples. The dawn had broken about an hour's half ago, and the sky was streaked with the Sun's pale light - the fellowship had been walking pretty much all night. Merry could be forgiven for craving apples, surely?
The nine were now at various stages of exhaustion, and yet Gandalf was convinced he could press them just a little bit furthur before he was forced to carry Pip - they had to get on, even in the daytime. But for the moment, he let them all rest, for even Legolas and Aragorn were showing sings of increasing sluggishness. Not that, looking at either of them, anyone other than he, their fathers or each other, would see.
Boromir of Gondor was sat wearily with a drowsy Frodo and a quiet and yawning Sam upon a large log, talking lightly of things that concerned none, Gimli was leaning his tired back against a stone with his heavy axe set down on the ground beside him. Aragorn was washing his face and neck in the fairly wide and deep stream they had stopped next to, as if to try and wash some of the listnessness away and make him fully alert once more, and Merry and Pip were stood, necks twisted upwards, directing the elf who was up the huge apple tree.
"Just a little to the left... No! Legolas, *my* left - that's it... no the big one, *big* one!" Merry had both hands cupped around his mouth as he shouted up his preferences to the prince, who then obediently plucked the apples from their places and chucked them down to land acurately in a small, neat pile beside the two hobbits. Gandalf could't believe how accomodating the prince was for the hobbits he adored so - any other making the Greenleaf fetch things and practically serve upon them would be stone- dead as soon as he looked at them.
"Perhaps, Meriadoc," Legolas' fair - but annoyed - voice floated down to the pair tersely, "*you* would like to come up here and get the apples you desire - and are good enough for you to eat, of course - yourself, if you think you can do a better job."
That shut the young Brandybuck up rather quickly, and he lowered his hands, but not before he muttered to his best friend who stood beside him, holding the elf's heavy bow, "I probably *could* do a better job, and all."
Not in a million years did he dream that Legolas would hear him - he had not yet worked out the full extent and range of the elf's skills, especially in the practice of seeing and hearing all - and so was fully unprepared when an apple came hurtling down from the canopy above, and smacked him squarely on the head. He glared upwards, rubbing the sore spot on top of his head, but could not see the prince, and so perhaps Greenleaf was spared having a chestnut-hole bored into him. "*Whoops!*" came the fair voice from high-atop, perhaps a bit too innocent to be wholly believable. "Sorry, Merry, missed the pile, there - what were you saying?"
Of course, it was just plain impossible for the elven archer of such renowned skill to his name and battles to his young years, to miss his mark - ergo, Merry surmised that the apple had probably not been that much of an accident.
Pippin, who had chortled heartily at the elf's actions, was Legolas' next victim - he got an offending piece of fruit right in the back of his curly- auburn head. The force behind it fair nearly floored him, and he let out a squealing yelp of pain. Boromir, hearing this, looked across and rolled his golden-brown eyes as he worked out what was happening, just wishing for some peace at some point that day. "Cease that, elf, before I make you," he called up wearily.
An apple shooted across to him, almost - and impossibly - horizontal, miraculously missing both Frodo and Samwise sitting next to the Gondorimm, and caught the Steward's son right in the belly. It seemed Legolas was on the move silently through the branches, for Boromir was a good few feet away from Merry and Pippin. The winded Boromir picked himself up from behind the log, and threw a 'Help!' sort of look in the direction of Gandalf who had, until that point, been chuckling.
"Come now, Dian Las, enough of this childishness," he called up, deep voice amused but stern.
Now, Legolas was not an elf who liked being called childish - though, having said that, not many did, and especially those of the Mirkwood Royal clan - and he was still bitter about the prank that had been pulled on him the evening before, it having rather bruised his dignified pride. And so he answered his friend of years innumerable simply by bowling an apple at full force towards the wizard. But by some elvish grace and mischief or some wizarding magic of sorts, the piece of fruit curled in mid-air, traveling smoothly around Gandalf, avoiding him, before taking up it's original line of fire once more, as if nothing had altered it.
The apple hit Aragorn in the back of his dark head, almost toppling him into the stream. "Hey!" he shouted with umbridge.
A burst of joyous laughter was heard from above in the apple tree, the glee and mirth communicated making smiles in the other fellowship members' faces irrepressible, sending most of them beaming at the mere sound of hilarity the sprightly Wood elf had discovered. Another apple was launched almost immediately, clipping the ranger's cheek sharply just as he stood and turned round. Aragorn's reaction to this was so amusing - and to Legolas in particular - that the others just laughed loudly when another apple hit him on the shoulder, and then another in the chest, and again on the head and on his nose. He seemed to dance as each missile hit him, jumping from foot to foot in an effort to doge the apples and avoid the pain with which each piece of fruit hit him - Legolas was putting some force behind them, and was enjoying himself too much to stop or go easy on the poor ranger, even moving through the branches to get Aragorn at all angles.
Only when a veritable pile of apples had been built up around the harassed northerner, and when enough bruises had been sent well on their way to appearing, Gandalf called a halt to the proceedings in a very interesting manner, believing it the fair thing to do between the two beings who were acting like foolish school-children.
Legolas, through no fault of his own, fell suddenly from the high apple tree, having been pushed hard by some sort of invisible force.
It was as though the world had suddenly become slower as the elf fell with his back to the ground, his arms flailed slightly and his long neck stretched out and backwards to it's fullest extent, turning his body in mid- air. Legolas whirled a full, skillful somersault with amazing grace, and managed, incredibly, to land like a cat on both his feet between Aragorn and the large stream. Frodo thought he might have become simply a bag of nerves in the few seconds that had just passed - he was shaking and couldn't believe that the prince had come to no harm, for the tree had been high, and Legolas had been completely unsuspecting. Boromir could only breathe out sharply in reaction.
Legolas looked just as shocked as everyone else - very rarely did Wood Elves such as he fall from their trees - and he just turned his fair head in disbelief towards the wizard, seemingly astounded that Gandalf had even done such a thing. Aragorn, however, used this stunned pause and the helpful postion of the elf to his advantage.
Aragorn hurled himself at his motionless best friend.
*SPLASH!* Both brothers were propelled into the stream behind them. This broke the silence from before, and the company either fell about, or leapt to their feet.
Legolas had immediately stood up, and was flinging water from his large eyes with his fingers, mouth wide and gasping like a fish, soaked to the very skin. Aragorn was emerging from the water beside him, also wet by triumphant and gleeful - he had exacted his revenge for the apple incident, and was more than a bit pleased with himself. Legolas could only sputter apoplectically in fury, trying to communicate just a fraction of his ire through recognisable words, but failing... however the fellowship, and Aragorn in particular, understood perfectly. Aragorn began, very quickly and wisely, to try and extract himself from the water that may or may not have started bubbling and boiling as Legolas' silver-shot eyes hit the ranger and took on a look unlike either the hobbits or Boromir had ever witnessed before in them before.
All the fellowship saw of Aragorn as he tried to escape his best friend's unbelievable wrath, was his hand gripping on desperately to the grass at the bank-side, before he was engulfed by water as he was dragged down by the irate elf. They heard "*Lego-wggurlw!*" and then a tremendous splashing sound.
Gandalf chuckled, and turned to his company, feeling his work there was done. He saw the incredible looks on Frodo and Sam's faces in particular, and remarked casually, "You know, when Legolas is not near Aragorn, he is one of the most graceful, calm and mature beings gracing this earth, not that you'd say that to see him when he and his best friend come together."
Sam shook his dirty-blonde curls in disbelief, "I'd say he'd have to be the most elegant in the worlds when not with Strider, then, if how he is now is considered clumsy and graceless." Frodo's shocked expression changed as he smiled softly at his garderner's simple words, and clasped Sam's rough hand fondly, feeling cheer so much more easily whenever he was with his best friend.
Gimli and Boromir were stood side by side, watching the churning action going on in the stream with complete numbness, as if they were trying to work out in their minds all of what had just happened. They gave up, and went to sit down beside Merry and Pippin, who were helpless with laughter, and mildly pleased with themselves for starting the whole escapade off in the first place.
After a time, Legolas pulled himself, sopping, from the stream, and walked slowly to the fire that had been prepared by Samwise, with his shorn, golden head held high and the last shreds of his elven dignity held hoplessly intact. The air about him zinged like lightening; nobody dared speak. Following him came a slighltly worse for the wear Aragorn, who just shook himself off like a dog after a bath, and made to sit by the fire also.
Not a word was spoken, and the remaining company seemed to be holding their breath as all eyes were upon the pair, who were not looking up. Something was going to happen, they all could feel it, how could something not when Legolas was so tense? So they all just waited patiently for something to happen. It took some time, but finally it did. Aragorn, ignoring completely the alarmed warning looks shot his way by seven members of the fellowship, set about getting out his long pipe, he then filled it, lit it, inhaled and blew the smoke innocently and without heed into the clenched face of his best friend.
There was silence for one fleeting moment where no one moved, and then Legolas launched himself at Aragorn's throat.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Aha! I love the last half of this chapter and wrote it completely for my own enjoyment - review and tell me I should never write stuff for my own amusement ever again!