**Dedicated to MysteriousWays as Sam, Gimli and a chicken

was her idea.**

Why did the chicken cross . . .

. . . into Hollin?

Sam heard it first, hobbits having better hearing than Dwarves and Men, but he had said nothing. The problem was that he doubted his ears. One could hardly blame him, out in the middle of nowhere as they were. Truly, whatever would a chicken be doing, clucking in the dim moon light of the predawn, in Hollin?

"Does anyone else hear that?" Gimli had stopped nearly in mid step, posture suddenly alert.

"Yes."

"Of course You would hear it. How could I forget how well pointy eared Elves can hear."

An audible sigh came from the rest of the Fellowship as they all thought, "Here we go again!". But a Hobbit’s voice, not an Elf’s nor a Dwarf’s, was the next to be heard.

"I heard it a bit ago, ‘tisn’t just Elf ears."

Everyone turned to look at Sam, who blushed at suddenly being the center of attention.

"Must be something about having pointy ears," Gimli muttered under his breath.

"I heard a chicken," Sam said. "But can’t be a chicken, now can it, as we’re nowhere near ta any farms nor houses."

"That is the same thing I heard." Legolas didn’t seem to be able to keep from sounding smug.

"It would be most unlikely to hear . . ." Aragorn was interrupted by the nearby sound of clucking. "Then again," he finished, a bit lamely.

"Well," Gimli set down his larger axe in order to have both hands free, "clucking means there’s a chicken, and a chicken means a welcome change to our menu." He started to stomp off in the direction of the clucking.

"You’ll not catch it makin’ all that racket, Mr. Gimli. Here, hold these for me, Strider." Sam handed Bill’s reins to the Ranger then trotted off after the Dwarf.

"Mr. Gimli, do you know aught about catchin’ chickens? I mean, with Dwarves livin’ in caves ‘n such, I sort of was thinkin’, if you even have chickens, your chickens live in cages all the time." They had gone a fair way and Sam feared the heavy tread of Dwarf boots was keeping their prey warned of their approach.

Gimli didn’t bother to look at Sam, he just grunted, "We have chickens, laddie," and continued his Dwarven form of chicken stalking. The clucking noises grew louder, Gimli finally started to walk more softly, and soon the two could see a surprisingly plump reddish-brown hen pecking at the ground. The Dwarf moved quickly but not quickly enough and the hen easily avoided his grasping hand. Gimli made several more attempts, resulting in the hen leading them on a merry chase, deftly evading capture. Finally, a bit winded, Gimli plopped down onto a rock.

" ‘Tisn’t worth all of this! Just as well to eat what we brought with us and have done with it," he growled.

In the mean time, Sam had quietly, slowly edged his way toward the hen. He didn’t even look at her as he moved first closer, then farther away, then closer to her. Finally, with a swift silent move, Sam had the hen hanging by her legs from his hand. Gimli stared. Then he nodded. Then he got up off the rock and headed back to where they had left the others.

The low wisps of clouds in the east were colored like the roses in Bag End’s garden and soon the Sun’s face would crest the mountain peaks. The Fellowship had made the decision to halt where they had stopped due to the chicken hunt. Merry, Pippin and Boromir went off after what firewood could be found. Frodo and Aragorn chose to nap. Gandalf and Legolas were keeping on eye on the camp.

"Roast it."

"Cluck!"

"Stew it."

"Roastin’ would make it suculant."

"Squawk!"

"Stewing would make it go further

Gimli, Sam and hen entered the camp in full disagreement.

"We needs kill it first no matter what as I don’t want to eat any chicken what hasn’t been dressed out proper." Sam shook the befuddled bird in Gimli’s face. It was the Dwarf’s turn to be quick.

"There it’s dead," Gimli said, having snapped the fowl’s neck. "So get it plucked and gutted and into your stew pot."

Sam turned to the pot of water that had been set over the small fire to boil. He plunged the bird into the hot water to loosen the feathers for plucking. "Onto a spit." he mumbled.

And so it continued, back and forth, stew or roast. Gimli wanted volume, oddly enough for a Hobbit, Sam wanted better flavor. Sam felt he could fill everyone more than well with the batter-bread he was making from his starter along with their still good supply of potatoes and dried mushrooms. Gimli wanted a marching soldier’s stick to the ribs, full lasts more than an hour, thick stew. To the surprise of everyone, neither Dwarf nor Hobbit won out in the end.

Well, not a hobbit named Sam.

"Gimli," Pippin called as he approached the glowering Dwarf. "My sword seems to have become rather dull and I’m not nearly as good as you at sharpening things. Could you come and show me once more how you do it?" Gimli barely seemed to notice that he was being led away from the cooking, such being Pippin’s gift. "I mean, I do know how to sharpen things, but swords . . ." Pippin’s patter faded as they moved a short distance, up wind from camp, behind a couple of scrubby shrubs.

"Hello, Sam." Merry wandered up to the muttering hobbit who had just finished the nasty tasks of plucking and gutting the chicken.

"Hello, Mr. Merry," Sam replied in a normal tone without looking up. "Ruin a good chance for a right good roasted chicken by stewin’ it." Merry heard Sam say as he continued his mumbled complaints.

"Roasted chicken sounds wonderful, Sam. You know, I noticed some sage growing a bit back, in a nice sheltered spot. I’m sure it hasn’t any frost damage. Sage would do a great deal for a roasted chicken."

Sam did not seem overly impressed.

"Go on, Sam." Strider squatted down beside the cleaned poultry and the small fire. "I can be getting this started while you and Merry get some herbs. Gandalf offered to go with you."

"I’ve heard some cooks like fennel with chicken," Gandalf said as he took Sam by the arm. Merry walked to Sam’s other side. "Have you an opinion on that, Sam." They sauntered off together.

"Now," Frodo said to Strider, "we’ll settle this matter. Get that poor bird halved, would you? I’ve got the spiting stick all sharpened."

Aragorn neatly halved the chicken then rubbed it well with herbs from Sam’s pack. Soon the halves were skewered and being turned not very far from the bed of coals.

"Good idea, Frodo, to cut it in two. It will definitely speed the cooking."

"Yes and we’ll need every moment we can muster."

Strider was busy at a second fire over which Sam’s stewing pot, well cleaned after being used to loosen chicken feathers, once again held boiling water. It also held six cut up potatoes, one quartered and sliced onion, one sliced carrot, two handfuls of dried mushroom slices, salt and herbs.

It was a near thing, getting the meal done in time, but some how it was managed with everything ready to eat when Pippin and Gimli; Sam, Merry and Gandalf returned.

"Ha!" Gimli exclaimed while rubbing his hands together. "You had to stew it, you, wee know-it-all hobbit." He saw the stew pot hanging over the now cooling coals.

"Roasted it!" Sam happily cried out at the same time as he spied the obviously greasy spitting skewer over its now ashen bed of coals.

Over the remains of the two cooking fires Dwarf and Hobbit gapped at each other.

"We did both, actually."

Gimli and Sam both turned to look at Frodo.

"It was something Aunt Esme used to do sometimes while I lived at Brandy Hall."

"It’s a Tookish recipe," Pippin chimed in.

"Yes, Pip. So she told me." Frodo looked back to Sam. "You roast the bird first. Not until it is cooked through, mind, but about half done. That way the skin and some of the meat has that wonderful flavor from the fire. Then," he turned to Gimli, "you carve off the cooked portion of the breast meat, setting it aside, and finish the cooking by stewing the chicken. That way it readily feeds a hungry family but it has the luscious flavor of roasted chicken."

With a slight bow, Pippin presented a bowl of stew, topped with a delicate slice of white meat, to Gimli. Merry bowed and handed a bowl of the same to Sam, then everyone waited for the two former culinary combatants to taste their meal.

Gimli’s eyes sparkled as his grin grew within his beard. "And there is enough for a second helping?"

"There is indeed," replied Aragorn.

Sam’s only comment was a sigh of contentment as stew disappeared, spoonful by spoonful, into his mouth.