Disclaimer: I don’t own them, and I’ll put them away safely when I’m done.

Author’s Note: The football referred to in this story is a derivative of American soccer. It is of my own invention and is hardly something a lady would play. All I can say is, it fit.

The Football Match

By Elendiari

Merry and Pippin, during the course of their stay in Rivendell, had learned that the elves were extremely accommodating when it came to nearly anything. It was not wise to be too bold, as they would receive upraised eyebrows and almost certainly reprimands from Gandalf and Elrond. It definitely not wise to mention anything gloomy, as the elves would generally begin singing songs to Elbereth, and while their voices were beautiful, endless singing could become quite tedious. So, as a result, the young hobbits had learned to be sweet and cheerful to everyone in Rivendell. 

    It always worked to their advantage. Always. At least, it seemed that way to Merry and Pippin. So, when they decided that a nice rowdy football match was in store three weeks into their stay, it was really very easy to acquire a ball and permission to use an empty, muddy garden (which had no statues or anything in it to break, Pippin enthusiastically told his cousins later). When it came to finding players, however, both Merry and Pippin were at a loss. There was no way that they could play football with only two players. Frodo and Sam flat out refused, Cousin Bilbo was too old, and they didn’t know anyone else well enough to ask them to play. Therefore, it was two very gloomy hobbits who sat listening to the songs in the Hall of Fire that night.

   “I don’t understand it, Merry,” Pippin said dejectedly. “You would think that Frodo and Sam would at least play in order to build up stamina for the journey. I think they’re out to ruin our fun.”

     Merry sighed. “Pip, you know Frodo. He’ll pour over Lord Elrond’s maps until his eyeballs fall out.”

    Pippin nodded. There was nothing to it. They would not be able to have their football match, and would have to be content to sit and listen to the tales and songs of the Elves. At that moment, however, a shadow fell over the two hobbits. They looked up curiously, and gasped in unison.

   Arwen Undomiel, the Evenstar of her people and the Lady of Imladris, stood above them, radiant in her beauty, resplendent in robes of blue velvet. A small smile graced her lips.

   “You look depressed, little masters,” she said. “Is all well with you?”

   Merry and Pippin rose hastily and bowed, trying to remember their manners in the face of such grace and beauty.

    “We’re alright, my lady,” Merry said. “We just can’t find anyone else to play a game with us.”

    Arwen frowned. “What sort of game?”

    “Football,” Pippin said eagerly. “It’s really fun, Lady Arwen, but Merry and I can’t play it alone. We need at least two more players, and we can’t convince anyone to play with us. I don’t think they want to get dirty.”

    “Oh? Is this a dirty game, then?” Arwen asked, casually.

   Merry decided that he had better take over the conversation, before it got out of hand. “Yes, it is, my lady,” he said.  “It’s football, but it also involves lots of mud slinging. You can get quite dirty playing it, but it’s really very fun.”

    Arwen nodded, looking thoughtful. After a moment, she spoke. “Meet me in the rose garden tomorrow morning, my friends. I will bring you players for your game.”

    “Oh, thank you, my lady!” Merry said, bowing again. Pippin followed suite, speechless in amazement. Arwen bowed back and swept away.

   “Wow,” said Pippin. “I can see why Strider likes her. She’s very nice. And beautiful. And graceful. And-”

     “And she’s taken, Pip,” Merry replied. “Remember that.”

     Pippin sighed and subsided, only to speak again after a few moments. “I wonder who she’ll get to play with us.”

*****

   The rose garden was not a place to play mud-slinging football, Merry thought as he and Pippin waited for Arwen the next morning. It was really much too nice. Still, Arwen was probably going to meet them here to show them the people who would play with them, and then take her leave. She likely had many pressing matters to tend to, seeing that she was the lady of the household, after all.

   “Ah, here they are, Elladan,” came Arwen’s voice. “Good morning, Merry and Pippin! How are you?”

    The hobbits turned and bowed as Arwen and her brother, Elladan, came out onto the porch.

    “We’re very well, my-” Merry broke off, staring at Arwen, aghast. The elf maiden grinned back at him.

    Arwen was wearing trousers and a tunic that looked very much like something they had seen the warriors of Rivendell wear: short, close fitting, and functional, perfect for a game of hobbit football. Pippin just stared, agog, and Merry gulped.

   “Were you planning on playing with us, Lady Arwen?” he croaked.

   Arwen seemed amused by their reactions. “Why, yes! Is there any reason for me not to?”

    “It’s just, well, ahh, see…it’s a rather dangerous sport, my lady,” Merry said. Mentally, he listed the ways that the Elves and Aragorn would kill him if anything happened to Arwen. All of the bloody noses and black eyes of his past football games were coming back to haunt him.

    “You don’t need to worry about Arwen, Master Merry,” Elladan said. “She has played dangerous sports before.”

    “Indeed?” Merry croaked. “All right, I suppose. Lady Arwen, would you like to choose your team first, then?”

    Arwen cocked her head, considering them. “I will be with Master Pippin,” she decided, after a moment.

    Pippin blushed scarlet and went to stand by her side. That left Merry paired with Elladan. Accepting his fate with a stoic face, Merry led the way to the field Lord Elrond had told him they could play their game in.

     “The rules of the game are simple,” he explained, once they were there. “There are two goal keepers, who try not to let the ball get past them. If it does, the team that kicked the ball gets the point. The players who kick the ball also throw mud at the members of the opposite team, to try and stop them from getting the ball. You can’t touch the others with your hands or feet.”

    “Alright,” Arwen and Elladan said.

    Merry hesitated. “Who wants to be the goalkeepers?”

    “I will,” Pippin said.

    “As will I,” added Elladan. “That leaves you and Arwen combating for the ball, Master Merry.”

    Merry gulped visibly. “Aye, it does. Alright, then let’s begin.”

    Pippin and Elladan went to opposite ends of the field, marking the their territory with several rocks they found in the area. Merry set the ball in the center of the field, and he and Arwen faced off over it. Once again, the black eyes and bloody noses of countless hobbit lads rose in Merry’s mind, but he forced them down and tried to concentrate.

    “How do we begin?” Arwen queried.

    “We, um, we…One player has to knock down the other with mud. The faster of the two gets the ball first,” Merry croaked.

    Arwen smiled. “Like this?”

    Faster than lightening, she scooped up a handful of soft, squishy mud and flung it at Merry. It hit him squarely in the forehead, and he stumbled back with a squawk. Arwen smiled serenely at him.

    “Yes, like that,” Merry said, and was promptly rewarded with another face full of mud. With a whoop, Arwen kicked the ball past him.

   In that moment, Merry forgot that he was dealing with an Elven princess and the lady of the household. With a loud battle cry, he scooped up two handfuls of mud and tore after Arwen Undomiel as fast as he could.

*****

    It was an unlikely group that stopped playing football when the chimes rang for luncheon. Despite their years of experience at the game, the longer legged Elves had soundly beaten the hobbits, although Merry and Pippin had put up a very good fight. Arwen was covered in mud, her hair straggling out of its twist, a small, black, hobbit handprint on her fair face. She had blood on her face from a slight bloody nose incurred by a well-aimed mud ball. The colors of Merry’s hair and face, and of his clothes, were undistinguishable. Pippin and Elladan were not much better off; they had demanded that they be allowed a go at kicking the ball, and so Merry and Arwen had reluctantly taken over the goals.

    Now, they were all headed towards the bathhouses, to clean up before entering the dining hall. Unbeknownst to them, however, was the fact that several persons of high esteem were waiting in a gazebo near the rose garden-which gazebo the muddy, hungry players would be passing. Lord Elrond had called Aragorn, Gandalf, and Glorfindel together, to discuss the training and preparation of the hobbits on the Quest. They had not expected to see the players, walking happily together past them.

    “I won, Arwen! Elladan and me! You did not beat us!” Merry scolded cheerfully.

    “My dear Master Brandybuck, I fear you are mistaken,” Arwen countered, unsuccessfully wiping her muddy hands on her equally muddy tunic. “Pippin and I had twenty points, but you and Elladan only had nineteen.”

    Pippin giggled. “She’s right, Merry! We won!” the tweenager crowed.

   “That can’t be right! Is that right, Elladan?”

   “I’m afraid it is. We must have a rematch.”

    Arwen cuffed her brother playfully. “In which Pippin and I will beat you soundly again. Will we not, Pippin? Pippin? Oh, dear.”

   Pippin had stopped dead in the path, staring ahead of him with a look of utter horror on his face. Merry’s eyes followed his gaze, and he groaned. Elladan smiled weakly, but Arwen gave her father and the others a serene smile.

    “Hello, my lords,” she said. “How goes your day?”

    Aragorn recovered himself first. “Very well, my lady,” he said, trying hard not to laugh out loud. “How goes yours?”

   “Excellently, my love. We will see you all in the dining hall. Farewell, for now, Father, Aragorn. Glorfindel. Mithrandir.”

    The stunned lords and the amused wizard watched the four pass them in silence. As soon as they were gone, Gandalf broke into hearty laughter, both from what he had just seen, and the look on Elrond’s face. Aragorn and Glorfindel were chuckling.

   “I doubt that you have ever seen your daughter so, Elrond?” he teased. “Ah, well. Hobbits bring out the best in all of us.”

   Elrond grimaced, a weak smile playing on his lips. “Those two have turned my household upside down, but I will admit to suspecting that Arwen would befriend them, sooner or later.”

   “I fear for your people if she becomes queen, Estel,” Glorfindel said. “They will be rudely awakened one day, when they discover that Arwen is not as serene and innocent as she looks.”

    Aragorn choked, Elrond frowned, and Gandalf rolled his eyes.

    “Hobbits,” he muttered. “Only hobbits.”

The End.