Cooking with Legolas

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It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Aragorn certainly wasn't letting Gimli cook - he'd /heard/ about what dwarves considered edible, and though Pippin and Merry could manage a fairly decent meal, they also tended to eat about half of what was cooked well before it ever reached the table.

The entire day had been somewhat fortuitous, finding enough game for the party, and strolling through a pleasant, tiny village for the various herbs and spice Legolas assured them he needed. It hadn't even taken much money - mostly they just tripped Frodo in front of vendors and worked out a pity discount while dusting him off. Hobbits were good like that, roughly as heart wrenching as puppies with broken legs. They'd even tripped Sam a few, when it seemed that Frodo was catching on.

So yes, Aragorn felt no shame at all for what had happened later. In fact, at the moment he really couldn't feel anything except the results of Legolas' cooking tying his intestines into slip knots. One day, far from now, Arwen would ask him what the most torturous part of this quest had been. He certainly had his answer now.

"I thought you said elves could cook. I thought you said it was a skill you /all/ possessed."

He glared about halfway up the tree. Legolas was sitting even higher, stretched out on a branch - there was some visual metaphor there Aragorn couldn't quite piece together - no doubt it was something about how elves were better. It was /always/ something about how elves were better.

"I can cook. That bisque recipe is a coveted part of a traditional winter festival, and older than your family line." He didn't even have the grace to sound irritated, much less apologetic. "It's not my fault our food is too rich for... you."

Replace 'rich' with 'good' and 'you' with 'lesser creatures,' Aragorn thought, and he'd be getting somewhat nearer Legolas' point. He wondered if Legolas and Arwen were at all related or more importantly, if she'd miss him if he was tragically, accidentally flung over the side of Mount Doom.

//Like a poncy shot-put.// Aragorn had to shove his hand halfway down his throat to stifle the giggles. If she could get over it, and there was no circumstantial evidence... it still might be worth considering.

Next to him, Gimli groaned, and the clearing was filled with a lovely rumble and the smell of several thousand rotting dragons. On fire.

"Thanks, Gimli." He gasped, trying frantically to change into something that didn't need oxygen to survive. By merit of owning the largest axe, Gimli had taken possession of the horse blanket, doing his best to stifle the stench by wrapping his head in wool. Aragorn heard a vague, muffled grunt, something like "sod off."

"Besides, Boromir isn't complaining."

Aragorn went back to glaring at the tree. "Boromir would eat an orc if you put enough gravy on it."

The other human was slumbering happily, a few feet away - and Aragorn was well aware of every inch of space between them. At least Gimli had the decency to make a little noise before each round of biological warfare. Boromir was giving new and potent truth to 'silent but deadly.'

//It's not like we really need him anyway. We've already got a human in this party. All he's good for is dying tragically in the third act.//

Maybe Aragorn could swap him to the Ringwraiths for some Tums.

He rolled over, as Gimli let loose with another volley. As bad as they were doing, it appeared to be even worse for the hobbits. Merry and Pippin had staggered off into the woods, taking turns at reintroducing dinner back into the wild. Frodo looked as if the Ring was no longer the greatest of his burdens. Sam...

Aragorn blinked, staring at the hobbit who only looked back curiously. He'd been eating with the rest of them, he /had/ to - but he looked fine, a mild, patient sort of expression on his face. He might have even been asleep, but Frodo was miserable and so he'd stayed up to keep him company.

//Bloody bionic hobbit.// Everyone had their own guesses as to his composition, especially after today, when one of the chains had gone a bit loose, and the ring had fallen off of Frodo's neck. A dangerous moment, or it should have been - until Sam quickly wiped off the mud and handed it back with a "here you go, Frodo."

"You just give it back?! Just like that?!" Boromir had been a bit annoyed, being shown up by a hobbit. Sam only shrugged.

"Well it isn't mine, now is it?"

Aragorn sorely wished that guns had been invented - he just knew Sam was bulletproof.

"You should get closer to the fire." He wasn't so surprised when Sam and Frodo both quickly shook their heads.

"What about Gollum?" Aragorn had used it as a tease before, and usually it would unnerve the hobbits enough to get them to move quicker, stay in formation... but Frodo only shook his head.

"He said he didn't even want 'his precious' this badly. He'll come back tomorrow." Frodo held up the item in question, briefly staring at it in front of the fire. "I accidentally dunked it in the bisque. I think it's dulling the patina."

"Hear that, Legolas?" Aragorn hollered back up at the tree. "Make a bigger batch next time, and we can skip Mount Doom entirely."

Legolas didn't answer him. He couldn't possibly be asleep, even if he had somehow managed to get above the stench. Bloody elves. Bloody bisque. Bloody dwarves. Bloody lack of toilet paper. And Arwen wondered why they tried to discourage women from going on these long jaunts through the country.

//We'd never marry. They wouldn't date us. They would see us and - god forbid - smell us like this and it would be the end of all our species.//

He had to remind himself, the next battle he got into, to offer up that damned bisque as an offensive weapon. The /most/ offensive weapon ever.

//Oh sweet, blistering// - Aragorn inhaled, and immediately regretted it, listening to the crackle as his nose hairs singed right off.

"Oh bloody hell, Boromir."

He lashed out, but couldn't quite manage to kick the other human before his guts twisted the other way, rumbling loudly, to make absolutely sure he knew better than to try anything like that again.

"... that wasn't Boromir." Pippin and Merry had returned, and were propped up against each other, sitting an equal distance from the tree and the other hobbits. It was difficult to tell which one was paler, and Merry shrugged listlessly. "Sorry."

"Some of it goes out one way, some of it goes the other..." Pippin muttered by way of explanation.

"A bit like the bog of eternal stench." Sam murmured.

"Wrong movie, Sam." Frodo replied.

Aragorn thought very hard about just shoving some mud up his nostrils, though even that might not help him figure out what was going on.

//Bloody elves. Bloody bionic hobbits.//

Gimli pulled the horse blanket down a bit, staring at Aragorn.

"Can I kill one of them, at least? It'd cut the smell in half."

-------------------

"Ugh."

"You okay, Frodo?" Sam's smile was a little chagrined. "I mean, all things considered."

"I think... I'll be right back." Frodo got to his feet, stumbling a little ways into the woods. He made sure he was out of sight before he pulled the chain over his neck, quickly fumbling with the ring. All right, so maybe it wasn't a great plan but he /had/ to get away - for only being about twice as big, he swore the humans smelled five times as bad.

Besides, if they yelled at him he could always blame it on the Ring.

He slipped the ring on, immediately glad for the frozen gale that buffeted him - fresh air! Frodo took a deep breath, barely noticing the giant eyeball that was hovering just a few feet away.

"THE RING! I MUST-WOAH!" It was unusual for the eye to move /back/ a few steps. "What on Middle Earth have you been bathing - were you eating elf bisque, by any chance?"

"Well, yes. A little." Frodo shrugged gamely. "Merry did make a lovely salad with some roots and-"

The giant eye looked a lot redder than usual - and started to water.

"All right, that's it. You've got to leave. Come back tomorrow."

"... but can't I stay here, just a bit with you? I could hide behind a rock or-"

"NO!"

It wasn't every day the Ring went unpossessing people, Frodo thought, as he was knocked back into reality. Maybe elves really /were/ as impressive as they acted.

-------------------

Aragorn searched frantically for a way to distract himself. It wasn't as if he could sleep, and thinking too hard about which way to get the godforsaken dinner out of his system might actually lead to having to make a decision on it.

"Frodo?"

The bionic hobbit was watching him instead. Creepy little thing.

"Where'd Frodo go?"

"He wasn't feeling well." Understatement of the century, especially with Sam's impossibly mild tone. "I think I'll go make sure he's all right."

"... don't get lost, or captured. I'm not moving until morning." Aragorn winced. //Or until I explode.//

It was a little less painful for the moment, to lay flat out on his back and try to pretend he didn't have a stomach at all. He could see the end of Legolas's foot dangling from its perch. Elves had freaky /small/ feet. Were Arwen's so tiny? Had he just not noticed? Good lord, what were their children going to look like, if they ended up with feet like that?

"If your damned bisque kills the Ringbearer, you're taking it the rest of the way up the mountain, elf. You'll hate it too, it's evil... it'll make your hair all /stringy/."

He muttered the last part, knowing all along that Legolas would be able to hear it perfectly. Aragorn was rather surprised the elf didn't answer - there had to be a limit to even his aggravating, arrogant patience... but there was a sound, up in the branches. Maybe just the leaves rustling - but leaves didn't snore.

"No... /way/." He might have thought it amusing, the great elven warrior buzzing away like a landslide above them, but damn it, if /he/ wasn't sleeping...

He turned slightly, as he heard Gimli move, and watched the dwarf reach out, pulling a fairly good-sized stone off the ground. "I just invented a new game. It's called, "knock the elf out of the tree". Simple rules. Anyone can play."

"Hell, and everybody wins too."

It wasn't quite so easy, as they took turns tossing the rocks nearly vertical, and trying to roll out of the way as they missed, and came back down in the dark. Mostly, Aragorn's strategy consisted of keeping his hands over his head and swearing when he was struck painfully in the arms or chest. A rather poorly thrown toss hit Gimli somewhere even less fortunate, and Aragorn was given a wonderfully detailed list of all the maneuvers his mother had repeatedly performed with Sauron in some dwarven brothel.

"I don't think humans can actually /do/ that, Gimli-" He trailed off as a pain-fueled shot by the dwarf sailed up into the darkness - and he was treated to a wonderful list of what Gimli's mother had also done with Sauron - in elvish, no less.

"Really, I had no idea dwarves were that flexi- AAAAARGH!"

Legolas did look a lot lighter than he felt, toppling from his perch and landing on Aragorn's chest.

Pippen and Merry never noticed, having long since disappeared into the bushes for a second round with fine elvish cuisine. By the sound of things, the cuisine was winning.

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/The Ring. The Ring is near./

The Ringwraiths moved as one, thought as one, moving with a dreadful grace over the land. The campfire was quickly within sight - no one could escape them for long.

/We shall destroy them and return the Ring to it's rightful-/

The lead Wraith paused. A sniffing sound could be heard somewhere within the tattered cloak. Beneath it, the dark black beast it rode whickered in protest, shying away. A memory drifted between them, as thick as the stench in the air - something called... elf bisque?

/We shall destroy them and return the Ring - tomorrow!/

As one, swift as lightning, the Ringwraiths silently moved downwind.