THE THREE HUNTERS

PART 2: LEGOLAS

The green grass of the plain, the open sky overhead--it was as good as a rest, Legolas thought.

How clever of Pippin, to grasp an opportunity to dart away, and leave a sign of his presence. It heartened Legolas to know that the young hobbit had been sufficiently hale and in possession of enough wits to do such a thing. It was just the sort of thing that the small Took would dare, and it reassured Legolas as to Merry’s state as well. If aught dire had befallen Merry, then he did not think Pippin would have cared enough to make the effort--the younger cousin would instead have sought to share his cousin‘s fate. But there had been no signs of such. He was sure that Merry lived as well.

He smiled to himself, remembering his first private conversation with Pippin, only a few days after the Council in Rivendell. The youngest hobbit had vanished, and Merry, irritated, had badgered Aragorn, Legolas and the other hobbits into looking for him. Frodo had been amused, and told Merry that Pippin was probably just escaping the tedium of poring over old maps--nevertheless, he had joined in the search.

Legolas had found the young one in a tree, and rather than betray his quarry’s hiding place, they had held a long and rather revealing conversation. The Elf discovered that not only did he have more in common with the young hobbit than he had ever thought he would, but that Pippin’s rambling and often flighty conversation concealed a clever, indeed a devious, mind. 

“You are young indeed, master hobbit, but you are not a fool. Perhaps Lord Elrond would do well to take that into account.”

“Age isn’t everything,” Pippin agreed. “I think we might surprise them in the end.”*

The two of them had slipped from the tree without letting the searchers know of their whereabouts, and had allowed themselves to be found in the kitchen, where Pippin had proved his charm by cadging treats from the cooks.

It was a few days later that he had a chance to speak again with Pippin, and with Merry as well. He had gone down to the archery butts one morning, to get in some practice. He had emptied his quiver, all the arrows placed well within the clout, and then turned to see them watching him with admiration. He had known they were there of course.

“That’s amazing,” said Pippin. “I’ve never seen anyone shoot so fast.”

Merry nodded. “Or so far,” he added.

“Do you shoot?” Legolas asked them curiously.

Merry shrugged. “I *can* shoot. I’m not particularly good.” His eyes flicked to Pippin, “Pip’s very good indeed. But then, he’s a Took.”

“I’m not bad,” Pippin admitted artlessly. “But I’m not as good as Cousin Ferdibrand.”

“But Cousin Ferdibrand is not so good on the pipes, is he?” said Merry wryly. Apparently this was hilarious, because Pippin burst out into delighted peals of laughter.

Finally he subsided, wiping tears from his eyes, and still chuckling a bit breathlessly. “It depends on whether or not you like the sound of cats being tortured,” Pippin finally said. He looked up at Legolas. “Family joke, of course, I’m sorry. But consider yourself lucky you’ve never heard Cousin Ferdibrand play the pipes!”

Legolas chuckled as well, amused more by the hobbits’ cheerful good humour than any understanding of the joke. “Do you have a bow?” he asked.

Pippin sighed. “I had wanted to bring my bow--I thought it would come in handy. But my father would have thought it very odd if I took it along when I was just going to visit Frodo and help him move. So I thought it best that I not give him reason to ask questions.”

“Well,” said Merry, “hobbits don’t often need bows.” He stooped, picked up a small stone, and flicked a look at Pippin.

Pippin must have known what Merry meant, for he stooped as well, and picked up a slightly larger stone and threw it into the air.

Merry’s arm flashed, and the larger stone shattered as it was hit by the smaller one he had cast.

Legolas’ brows rose in surprise. “That was well done!”

Merry shrugged. “We don’t usually use bows when we hunt--stones are fine for bringing down squirrels or rabbits or pigeons.”

“What about larger game?” Legolas asked curiously.

“We use bows when hunting wild pigs or foxes, if they become a nuisance and a danger.” said Pippin. “Deer are not common in the Shire--so we usually prefer to look at them instead of hunt them--if we are so fortunate as to see one. Cousin Everard took a deer about two years ago. The venison was very good.”

“And of course it took archers to hunt the wolves during the Fell Winter many years ago,” put in Merry. “Bilbo could probably tell a bit about that--he would have been a few years younger than Pippin when it happened.”

As he listened to them talk, Legolas suddenly realized what sheltered lives they had led. He found himself thinking of his own home, so beset with dangers--Orcs, spiders, wolves, the growing Shadow. These little ones had left their homeland, so safe and quiet, and had deliberately set forth to meet a danger that had to be unfathomable to them. And something Pippin had said earlier…

“You came away from your homes without your families’ leave, did you not?”

Both of them sobered at once. “Yes,” said Merry. “Of course, I am of age, and technically I shouldn’t need my father’s leave. But normally I would have at least told him, asked his blessing…” His voice trailed off. Deceiving his parents had been very hard for Merry.

“And my parents would simply have forbidden it. I couldn’t take that chance.” Pippin bit his lip. He had sometimes had problems with his father since he entered his tweens, and he was not quite sure whether this particular transgression would ever be forgiven. If he ever got home. The thought was as plain on his face as if he had spoken aloud.

Merry placed a comforting hand on Pippin’s shoulder. “But it’s Frodo. We couldn’t let him go without us. He’s…” Merry stopped for a moment, trying to think of some way to explain to the Elf how they felt about their older cousin. “He’s like our older brother, I suppose. But more than that, he’s special. There’s not another hobbit like him in the Shire.”

“We couldn’t do without him, really,” said Pippin. “And he can’t do without us.”

Legolas had nodded. He had noticed that Frodo Baggins had an incredibly bright spirit, brighter than he would ever have expected to encounter in a mortal. And it was clear those who loved him could perceive that, even if they knew not what it was they were perceiving.

“Well,” said Pippin, . “Are you going to shoot some more?” he asked cheerily, clearly ready to slough off the serious conversation, and return to more pleasant topics.

So Legolas had done some more shooting, showing them some of the trick shots he knew, and enjoying their amazed delight. And he watched in fascination, as they cast more stones. How quickly and nimbly they moved!

They had spent an enjoyable morning in one another’s company, and he had walked back with them when their rumbling stomachs informed them it was time for elevenses. He had cast an eye at the sky at their announcement, and certainly enough, Anor was just an hour short of her noontide zenith.

He thought of some of the other occasions he had spent with the two younger hobbits, realizing that somehow, they had already crept into his heart before they ever left Rivendell. And as they journeyed, he had delighted in their buoyant spirits and their determination, along with Sam, not to allow Frodo to falter under the heavy weight of his burden.

He had held conversations with Merry, who was insatiable about learning all he could of the lands they passed through, and he had found in Pippin a kindred spirit--their shared love of music and, he had to confess it, sense of mischief, had drawn him especially to the younger hobbit. But he knew that underneath it all, for both of them, was a grim, iron determination to protect Frodo in any way they could.

Now, Frodo had left them behind, in an effort to protect *them*. And the best thing that Legolas could do now would be to find Frodo’s beloved cousins, and return them safely to him if--no, when--it all was over…

They *had* to be all right. The alternative was unthinkable.
 
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*From Bodkin’s delightful story “On Being the Youngest”, here on Stories of Arda, and used with her permission. Thank you very much, Bodkin!
http://www.storiesofarda.com/chapterview.asp?sid=4207&cid=16438