Disclaimer: I don’t own them and I’ll put them back when I’m done!

Author’s Note: Because so many people suggested that I mess with the pipeweed…

Chapter Twelve: The Pipeweed Debacle

The knock on their door later that evening nearly sent Merry and Pippin running for their lives. Frodo and Sam, however, merely shared an amused glance that the lads’ discomfiture, and Sam went to open the door.

“Well, hello, Prince Legolas,” the gardener said, looking surprised. “Come right in.”

Legolas smiled at Sam and entered. Having spent the day in the baths, he looked himself again. Merry and Pippin looked at him apprehensively, anxiety written all over their faces.

“Hello,” the Prince said politely, giving them both a disarmingly friendly smile. “I just wanted to ask you if the exploding privy was meant for myself or for Aragorn.”

Merry and Pippin traded a panicked glance; Legolas could see them weighing the answer in their minds. “Er,” Merry said at last. “Well, you see, um, we were simply told to strike a spark to light a fuse when Lady Arwen gave us the signal. We didn’t know that the privy would be exploding.”

Frodo snorted and Sam shook his head, but Legolas just smiled serenely at them. “Very good, then. Thank you. Good night.”

He left them, and Merry slumped bonelessly back onto the bed. “We have to make it up to him. Poor old Legolas didn’t mean to get caught in the cross-fire.”

Frodo nodded. “Put your head to it, Merry-lad, I’m sure you’ll think of something. Let me know how it turns out, for I am going to bed. Good night, lads.” And Frodo left, accompanied by Sam. The gardener gave them a commiserating look as he left.

Pippin sighed. The evening had not improved following Gandalf’s visit, although it had grown decidedly calmer. He was beginning to think that constantly following Merry’s advice might just get him into more trouble than it was worth. It was his dear cousin’s fault that they were in this mess, after all.

Pippin pulled his pipe out of his pocket and lit it. After all, there was nothing else to do while wracking their brains to come up with ways to grovel before Legolas. As he lit a flame in the bowl, however, Pippin was struck by an idea of such sheer brilliance that he could not believe himself.

“Merry,” he breathed, a grin dawning on his sharp face. “I have the perfect idea!”

*****

Legolas had barely returned from the Hall of Fire (where he had been calming his shattered nerves) when there was a knock on his door. Curious as to who could possibly be knocking at this time of night, Legolas went to the door and opened it.

Merry and Pippin stood there, gazing at him with unfeigned contriteness. Pippin held a wrapped package in his hands.

“Hello, Legolas,” the lad said politely. “We brought you something, to make up for us blowing you up today. Here.”

He held out the package; Legolas took it, curious. He knew whose idea the privy debacle had been, and was somewhat touched by the hobbits’ concern for him. Unwrapping it, he saw a smooth clay pipe and a bundle of herbs.

“Pipeweed. Longbottom Leaf, that, it’s the best in the Shire,” Merry explained, seeing Legolas’ perplexed look.

“Ah, I see. Thank you, friends, but I am afraid I do not know how to smoke,” Legolas replied. He wrongfully assumed that this would be the end of the conversation.

The hobbits looked horrified, and Legolas instantly regretted his words. Of course, he should have known just to thank them and shut the door.

“Oh, but we must teach you then!” cried Pippin. “We’ve been learning so much about Elves that it would be awful for us not to return the favor.”

Merry and Pippin pushed their way into his room, and Legolas stifled a sigh. So much for getting to sleep; it looked like he was going to receive a lesson on hobbit culture. Hoping that he did not look too long suffering, Legolas let the hobbits in.

They settled on the bed. First things first, you must fill the pipe. Then you must light it, with a flaming stick lit in some sort of fire-they used the candle on his table. They made him try it, and Legolas frowned at the intricacy of lighting herbs in a small clay bowl on fire. They then showed him how to inhale the smoke and blow it out into a smoke ring.

“Now you try,” Merry instructed after producing several large rings with expert ease.

Legolas looked nervously at the pipe. While he did not mind the smell, which rather reminded him of Gandalf and Aragorn, he did not relish the idea of inhaling smoke. Still, it was best to be courteous, and he could always put the pipe away for good once the hobbits were gone. Legolas put the stem of the pipe to his lips and inhaled.

Acrid smoke filled his lungs and choked him. Coughing and hacking, Legolas groped blindly for a glass of water, or anything to get this taste from his mouth. One of the hobbits slipped a cup into his hand, and the Elf downed its contents in one long gulp.

“Don’t worry, everyone does that their first time,” Pippin assured him. “I certainly did.”

Legolas nodded weakly, dashing away the tears that had sprung to his eyes. Merry handed him the pipe, which he had dropped, and said encouragingly, “Try it again, and this time make sure that you blow the smoke directly out again, and don’t inhale it. Go on, don’t be frightened.”

If I can handle orcs and Dol Gulder, I can handle hobbits and their infernal habits, Legolas thought grimly as he took another puff. He braced himself, expecting the worst.

Except that it was not so bad this time. He actually managed to do as Merry had said to, inhaling and exhaling the smoke continuously. The hobbits were certainly applauding him, looking delighted at having taught an immortal something. Maybe this wasn’t so bad, after all.

*****

It was Merry who first noticed that something was wrong with Legolas. They had been teaching him to blow smoke rings, and though they had only succeeded in getting the Elven Prince to produce two, Legolas proved to be an apt pupil. However, something was strange to Merry. Legolas’ eyes had gone from blue to black, and he was listing slightly to one side, looking rather dazed. It was not stopping his sudden enthusiasm for the pipe, though.

“Look! I did it, Merry! Pippin! Look!” Legolas cried, pointing gleefully at the wobbly smoke ring he had set floating in the air. He giggled, covering his red face with a hand that trembled slightly. This only seemed to make him giggle more.

“Very good!” Pippin said, bouncing slightly on the bed with excitement. “Do it again!”

Legolas did, inhaling smoke and producing another ring. This one was slightly more skewed than the last, and Legolas giggled again when he saw it. Giggles were perhaps not the best descriptions, Merry thought worriedly. Maniacal laughter was more like it.

“I love you, Merry and Pippin,” Legolas announced, jumping up and fixing them with a huge smile. “My dear, darling friends. I love everybody. I love Aragorn, too. I think I must show him my newfound talent. Don’t you think so? Let’s go to him, right now!”

And Legolas yanked open the door and bounced into the hallway.

Merry experienced a sinking feeling then. He somehow felt that this was not working at all how it should have been. Things had definitely, inadvertently gone from bad to worse.

*****

“ARAGORN!”

Aragorn sat bolt upright, heart pounding as his door crashed open and a dark shape hurled itself onto his bed. He recognized Legolas in the dim light, and stared at his friend, utterly perplexed.

“Did I wake you? I am sorry! I just had to show you the new trick I’ve learned, although I’m certain you already know how to do it, but now I know how to do it and I will soon be better than you, and watch!” Legolas then raised a pipe to his lips, inhaled smoke, and blew out a wobbly ring that collapsed within moment of hitting the open air. The prince cursed and tried again. “I really can do it, you know, just ask Merry and Pippin, they saw me, and they taught me because they are my dear, darling friends!” he said.

Aragorn stared at Legolas, open-mouthed. The prince was giddy, speaking fast and with an unusual amount of energy. He was bouncing lightly on the bed, attempting to relight his pipe. He smelled very strongly of pipeweed.

“Legolas, where did you get that pipe?” Aragorn asked, though he had the sneaking suspicion that he knew. He just hoped that he was wrong.

“From Merry and Pippin! They gave it to me to apologize for helping Arwen blow the privy up on me, and they taught me how to use it when I didn’t know how!” Legolas cried, and giggled again. He jumped up and did a little jig. “And now I know something that know other Elf knows how to do, not even Lord Elrond! Did you know that he is one of the Noldor, one of the High Elves, Aragorn? Did you know that? Elrond’s a High Elf and Gandalf is a wizard, and you are a smelly little mortal!” This last was delivered in the lilting tone of a children’s song.

“I think you are a high elf,” Aragorn muttered, and climbed out of bed. “Legolas, my friend, will you please come with me?”

He put an arm around the Elf’s shoulders; Legolas leaned on him, grinning like a fool. “Where are we going, vanimelda?” he asked, his voice low and full of would-be seduction.

Aragorn fought the urge to smack some sense back into him. “To see Lord Elrond, Legolas, so that you can show him your new, er, trick.”

“Talent, Aragorn, talent! This is the most noble and illustrious of talents!”

“Yes, Legolas, I understand. Now come on.”

Aragorn hauled Legolas down the hallway, towards the infirmary. It was not every day that an elf breathed in pipeweed, and Aragorn had to wonder how Legolas had never heard of, or indeed chosen to ignore, its extremely potent narcotic effect upon immortals. He wondered how the hobbits had known to give it to him.

Legolas danced down the hallway, singing snatches of songs to himself and occasionally running into tapestries. Aragorn rolled his eyes. This was madness.

TBC