Chapter 8

Crazy elf on the warpath and food fight

Disclaimer: I don't own LOTR or Harry Potter, or Tamora Pierce's characters. But, I do own Itarilde and Emily, my little inventions.

A/N: PLEASE!!!!! REVIEW!!!! I need to know whether my story is any good!

They stopped at another bank to rest. A short distance away from them was the Great Watchtower of Amon Hen. It was freezing, being right by the river and being there at the beginning of the year. Boromir started to light a fire. Everyone sat around the soon-to-be fire. Nothing happened. Boromir was rubbing flintstone on a rock, as hard as he could, but not a spark was produced. Perhaps it was because his hands were shaking so much from the cold, or that the rock was a little damp.

Eventually, Harry grew impatient. His teeth were chattering and he was numb and shivering all over. He decided to light the fire using a spell of Hermione's. Unfortunately, though, he had never quite mastered it. He lit the fire, as well as a lock of Legolas' hair, which had been dangling just above the rock.

Legolas stared at the flame in horror, before his mind actually registered what was going on. Itarilde took a bucket of ice-cold water from the nearby river, and dumped its contents all over the now hysterical Legolas. He stood there, dripping wet, glaring at Itarilde and Harry. He began to chase them, still soaked to the bone.

"Crazy elf on the warpath!" Itarilde shouted as she and Harry ran for their lives. The others watched in amusement as Legolas finally caught them and knocked them to the ground. He glared at them one last time, before walking off to the fire to dry off, leaving the 2 teenagers laughing on the ground.

"Crazy elf on the warpath indeed." Aragorn muttered good-naturedly.

He wandered over to Itarilde. "I want to . . . apologize for what happened last night. I didn't mean to lose my temper like that."

Itarilde looked surprised. "You had every right to. I was poking into affairs that were not my own. Sorry."

Aragorn argued. "I should be sorry. As a grown man I should not have such a short temper."

Now Itarilde looked upset. "No! It was my fault!"

Legolas suddenly popped up. "Let's just say both of you share the blame so you can STOP arguing!"

"Food!" cried Sam, from the fire, and everyone hurried over. He piled their plates high with a brown glop.

Emily wasn't too sure what she was eating, but it was making her gag. She had a feeling the meat was only partially cooked. Frodo sighed. Everyone looked at him. When he appeared to have nothing to say, Aragorn spoke for him.

"It has now come the time when we will have to make the decision. Either to follow Frodo to Mordor or to go to Minas Tirith with Boromir."

"Come with me!" said Boromir. "It is not much further to Mordor than from here."

"The Ringbearer should choose." Legolas said quietly. He was still dripping. Looking at his grave face, and his sopping clothes, Emily had to stifle a giggle.

Frodo sighed heavily. At times it seemed as if the weight of the world was pushing him down. Actually, now that he thought about it, it really was. If he didn't destroy the Ring Middle-Earth would fall, and Sauron would conquer all.

"I need to go and think." He mumbled, then walked off into the woods. Boromir never took his gaze off until Frodo disappeared behind the trees.

Neal put down his plate of food. "We are in serious need of some comic relief here."

He grabbed his spoon and flung some of the unidentifiable meat (if it was even meat) in Kel's direction. Kel screamed as the food hit her face. Then, taking her spoon, she catapulted the gross stuff right back at him, landing it in his hair. Emily jumped right in, happily dumping her entire plate on Gimli. The stuff was completely inedible anyway.

In all the confusion, Boromir slipped away after Frodo, unnoticed by anyone else.

Legolas, Sam and Itarilde hid among the bushes, not wanting to be assaulted with the flying projectiles. Sam, not used to watching his food become weapons of warfare, was almost in tears. Legolas patted him sympathetically.

Eventually, when pretty much everyone was covered in meat, the food fight ceased, and people had to change out of their soiled clothes and wash the stuff off. Legolas, Sam, and Itarilde came out to help them clean up. The Itarilde, Emily, and Kel washed the dirty clothes in the river while everyone else erased all traces of their presence.

When they were done Itarilde and Emily unsheathed their elven swords and asked Aragorn to coach them while they practiced. The ranger leaned back lazily against a tree trunk, chewing a blade of grass, giving tips now and then.

"Emily, you have to get more power into your swing." He stood up and demonstrated with his sword. "Otherwise you give the enemy too much time to attack you. Itarilde, your swing, on the other hand, could use a bit less force and more control. A lot more control."

At the moment Itarilde was thrusting all of her strength into her sword, and the follow through of the movement was throwing her completely off balance and sent her stumbling, usually into something. Emily snickered as her friend hit a tree for the third time. Itarilde shot her a well-practiced death glare, and then practiced laboriously for the next half hour, until she finally executed the swing well enough for her own standards.

Eventually, the Fellowship gathered around the dying fire. It was then that Sam noticed something.

"Where's Boromir? And oughtn't mister Frodo be back by now?"

A/N: PLEASE! I beg you again, review! I need motivation or else I won't be motivated to write this story! And I need to know if this story is any good. And. . . this is getting pathetic. I'm kinda desperate. But, please review!