Chapter Two
(My thanks to Shirebound for permission to reference "Borgin OneHand" from her "The Master of Bag End")

The following night, the hobbit pile was pointedly constructed on the opposite end of camp from the Elf. Legolas had left no clues and Gimli did not speak, but the hobbits were suspicious. Pippin had apologized to Merry so many times that Merry had forbidden him to say it again, putting an arm around the slender shoulders and telling the mortified tweenager, "It wasn’t your fault, Pippin-lad. I’m not holding you responsible." The last was said loudly and with a piercing glare towards Legolas.

"Merry," Frodo said nervously, "let it go. Somehow I cannot see the Prince of Mirkwood enticing Pip to bite your arm in the middle of the night. It must have been a dream. Wasn’t it a dream, Pippin my lad?"

Pippin looked between his glowering elder cousin and his upset eldest cousin anxiously. "I don’t know," he stammered. "I was so hungry, Frodo, and I thought I smelled roasted pheasant. With sage. I was holding this big, juicy drumstick -"

"Why don’t we have a tale?" interjected a familiar voice hurriedly. The hobbits looked up from their huddle to see Aragorn regarding them worriedly. Seeing their eyes upon him, the Ranger offered them a strained smile.

Frodo looked at him gratefully. Merry eyed him distrustfully but Pippin was immediately enthusiastic. "A tale?" the young hobbit asked, his eyes shining with eagerness. He considered for a moment. "Do you know any ghost stories?"

"That is perhaps not the wisest choice of stories, Pippin," Gandalf remarked. From his position on watch, Boromir snorted his agreement, but would not meet the hobbits’ eyes when they looked at him. "Would you not rather hear a tale of great deeds and mighty heroes?" Gandalf continued, shifting uncomfortably on the log he was using for a seat. "Or perhaps a tale from Bilbo’s journey with me? I am certain there are many things our dear Bilbo did not tell you about our Adventure."

Pippin wavered, visibly torn between hearing a story his ancient cousin would omit, and his favourite type of story. "How about both?" he asked hopefully.

Aragorn glanced up at the stars and judged the lateness of the hour. "No, that would take too long. We must be ready to march at first light tomorrow. You must choose one or the other."

The tweenager chewed his lip and looked to his cousins. Frodo and Merry shrugged, leaving the decision up to him, though Frodo’s eyes gleamed with amusement. "Sam?" Pippin appealed.

"Up ‘ta you, Master Pippin," Sam said equitably.

"The ghost story," Pippin decided.

Aragorn gestured grandly for the hobbits to take their places around the campfire. Sam hurried to finish packing up his pans, pointed ears pricked. One by one, the larger members of the Company joined the smaller, the promise of entertainment distracting them from Merry’s suspicions.

* * * * *
"The hand - no one ever found it. It just disappeared. Maybe it fell through a crack in the wall, or in the floor, or just got overlooked somehow. Soon after that, the Dwarves started avoiding this room, and it was eventually filled in, but never forgotten. Folks reported hearing strange sounds in the earth, and feeling a cold chill come over them."

Aragorn paused and exhaled dramatically. The hobbits, he was pleased to note, seemed entranced. Frodo was leaning forward, his chin cupped in his hands and elbows balanced on knees, obviously thinking about the tale. Sitting beside his master on the log, Sam’s grey eyes sparkled with delight in the firelight. Merry sat next to Sam, frowning. Pippin was sprawled on the ground before Merry, and had pushed himself back against his cousin with his hands on Merry’s knees, wide-eyed and apprehensive. The Ranger smiled wryly at them to let them know the tale was done.

Gimli chucked. "Good story, that. Best you watch where you lay down to sleep, my friends. Who knows what crawls around in the dark, out here in the Wild?" The dwarf did not look at the Elf as he said this, but both of them smiled at nothing. Gandalf stared at them, bushy brows raised.

Sam and Frodo exchanged an amused glance at Pippin’s concentration. Frodo met the Ranger’s eyes and grimaced, letting him know without words that the blatant attempt at distraction had succeeded. Then he yawned, belatedly raising a hand to cover his mouth. "It’s late, lads. Time for bed, I think."

With many yawns, the Fellowship rolled out their bedrolls and prepared for sleep. "Pippin," asked Frodo quietly when they had settled, "will you be all right?"

Pippin flushed. "I’m not a baby, Cousin," he whispered back huffily. "I’m not going to have nightmares just because I heard a ghost story before bed."

"All right, all right," Frodo responded in conciliatory tones. "But if you come awake in the night, Pip, I don’t mind if you wake me. I like to watch the stars wheel across the sky." Pippin smiled then, no longer insulted.

Legolas waited until he was quite certain his intended victims slept deeply before rising as soundlessly as wind in the grass and drifting over to Sam. Last night’s work had been partial repayment, but there was still a balance owing. It had taken him a half-hour’s immersion in a freezing stream to get that sap out of his hair. This eve, Samwise had taken the spot on the end closest to Legolas, forcing Merry to accept the far position or allow Pip to be on the outside of their protective line. Merry was well aware of Sam’s manoeuvrings but had no option but to accept them. Legolas laughed to himself; the little gardener’s efforts at keeping the peace would be for naught.

Peregrin, the Elf noted, slept restlessly, his sharp face mobile in slumber. He was sorry to frighten the young one, as he felt Merry was both the originator and the implementer of the prank played upon him. Frodo curled next to Pippin, facing him, his head cradled on his hands as he lay quietly on his side. None of the halflings showed any evidence of waking.

It had been difficult to secrete the polished leg bone from the small deer he had shot for their dinner, as Merry had kept a close eye on him all evening. Nevertheless, he had managed it. Now the Elf stepped past the other halflings to kneel at Merry’s head. He reached back over his shoulder and slid his hand under the cloth of his jerkin, rolling his shoulders to position the slender bone to where his fingers could close upon it. He withdrew the gleaming white bone from its hiding place and spared a quick glance for the guard. Boromir stared out into the night, watchful and alert, veteran of a thousand watches. But his mortal ears were not sharp enough to track the Elf’s movements. Legolas’ starry eyes crinkled in amusement. If Aragorn or Gandalf held the watch, he would not have dared this. Or another of the hobbits, for their ears too were keen. It had only been by luck that Gimli had discovered him last night. The Elf did not fear discovery by Boromir unless by accident. With a smile, Legolas returned his attention to the task at hand.

The halflings slept more closely together this night. Legolas wondered if it was the result of the cold or Aragorn’s silly tale? Pippin slept half-draped over Merry, his arm thrown across his cousin and his chin tucked into Merry’s chest. Both of the little ones would need to move if Legolas’ plan was to succeed. Using a feather saved from last night’s dinner, Legolas carefully tickled the palm of Merry’s outstretched hand. Merry grumbled, his eyebrows contracting. His hand twitched. Legolas repeated the action, a little harder this time. Merry dragged his arm back and draped it over his chest. Pippin snuffled in his sleep then inched his head up slightly, resting his cheek on Merry’s hand, taking advantage of the extra pillow.

The wafting of a piece of broiled deer before Pippin’s nose brought the curly head up again. The stars favoured his efforts, Legolas thought. He had been uncertain whether the same trick would work twice, but it seemed a hobbit’s attraction to food could be counted upon. Quickly the Elf pulled a fold of blanket over Merry’s hand, concealing it completely. Pippin’s head settled back. "Deer," he muttered in sleep-talk, snuggling closer. Or perhaps it was, "dear."

Legolas judged his angle carefully then slid the end of the white bone underneath Merry’s blanket, careful not to let the bone touch either hobbit. He stood and regarded his handiwork. At first glance or even second, a sleep-mazed mind would see shining bone extending from the hobbit’s sleeve. A corner of Legolas’ mouth curled up as he remembered the tale Aragorn had given them that night. The Elf returned to his bedroll and slid himself into his blankets soundlessly, then picked up a small pebble and arced it cleanly into Merry’s side.

* * * * *
The resulting screams and alarms had been most satisfying, Legolas reflected. Regrettably, there had been one minor side-incident. Pippin had woken in a panic, shrieking and thrashing wildly about, and had inadvertently torn off and swallowed a button from Merry’s bright yellow waistcoat. Aragorn had assured everyone that ingesting a small button would not harm the tweenager, but Merry’s reaction had surprised them all.

"This wouldn’t be the first button, or other non-edible thing Pip has eaten," Merry declared. "I don’t have any replacements and I want it back."

"Merry," Aragorn said with a startled look, "you cannot have the button back. Pippin ate it."

Merry’s features had turned mulish. Pippin grinning at him had probably not helped. "It’s my button and I want it. Give Pippin a herb or something to make him bring it back up."

Pippin’s grin had abruptly disappeared. "Now hold on a moment -" Frodo had began, but Aragorn was already shaking his head.

"I will not make Pippin drink anything to make him sick, Merry. If you want your button, you can have it in … three or four days, I would guess."

"Of course it might be earlier, Merry," Pippin had added, all big eyes and innocent expression. "Shall I let you know? It’s mornings, usually, but sometimes evenings. Good thing it was a small button, wasn’t it? It should pass through quickly enough. You should be able to find it fairly easily -"

"Peregrin, stop teasing Merry," Frodo commanded. Merry flushed and mumbled two words under his breath. "And you, sir," their elder cousin continued, "will not use that sort of language. Nor call your cousin that … no matter how factually correct the term is in this circumstance." He paused and looked narrowly at the two younger hobbits. "Are we clear on this?"

"Yes, Cousin Frodo," Pippin agreed airily, to be echoed a moment later less willingly by Merry.

When they settled that night, Aragorn discreetly pulled Legolas aside after they had eaten. "Would you please leave the hobbits alone?" the Ranger requested.

The Elf was perfectly still for a moment, then his elegant head tilted. "I assume you read the earth this morning?"

Aragorn nodded. "As soon as it was light. Elves are difficult to track, but you did leave some trail." The Ranger sighed and slid a long-suffering hand over his eyes. "Do you consider your honour satisfied?"

Legolas nodded graciously. "I consider the young ones’ debt repaid. I will not seek further amends. Unless they start it."

Aragorn’s gaze narrowed. "Legolas, you are over two thousand years old. The hobbits haven’t seen a century yet. Surely you can rise above a little prank-playing?"

"As I recall," Legolas replied, "a certain Ranger was complaining to me of … let me think…" (he paused, irritating his friend as both knew an Elf’s perfect memory never failed him) "…sticky dough in your pockets from the kitchens in Rivendell, liquor-laden taffy sweets that made you ill, frogs in your boots, chilli pepper sprinkled in your pipe-weed, a half-score of rabbit eyeballs in your soup, minnows in your water-skin, a live crayfish slipped into the cooked ones on your plate – does your tongue still pain you? Then the -"

Aragorn was glowering by now. "You have made your point." He inhaled deeply and shut his eyes for a moment. "All right, I acknowledge that a little payback would be sweet. But no more pranks in the middle of the night."

Legolas nodded serenely. "Unless they start it."

* TBC *