This is for Glory Underhill, who suggested a chapter about the ‘art’ of smoking pipe-weed. And speaking of art, whatever happened to those art books that Pippin found? ;)

Thanks to Dreamflower for her beta of this chapter.

“There is another thing about the Hobbits of old that must be mentioned, an astonishing habit: they imbibed or inhaled, through pipes of clay or wood, the smoke of the burning leaves of a herb, which they called pipe-weed or leaf, a variety probably of Nicotiana. A great deal of mystery surrounds the origin of this peculiar custom, or ‘art’ as the Hobbits preferred to call it.” ~ FOTR, The Prologue
 

Chapter 10: Smoke Gets in Their Eyes

Legolas stood outside his bedroom door in the darkening night and listened intently.

After his council with Elrond, Legolas had retreated to his room, located in the upper levels of the house to afford him the best view of the forest, and there he had remained until now. In this way, he had managed to pass the remainder of the day without crossing paths with the hobbits, for which he was much more delighted than he cared to admit. The hobbits were pleasant enough and often brought a smile to the elf’s lips with their simple yet quirky nature. Their forthrightness and openness were greatly appealing most of the time but when they became obsessed with something, such as golf, they were quite exhausting.

The dinner hour was passed and the house would be gathering in the Hall of Fire. If he did not want people to think he was avoiding the hobbits – which he mostly certainly was not – he would have to make an appearance before the night wore too long. Staying to the shadows and keeping his senses heightened, so as not to be caught unaware twice in one day, he navigated his way through the corridors to the nearest staircase that would lead him to the first level.

Before he could reach the staircase, he became aware of the faintest scent of smoke on the night breeze. He sniffed at it curiously, for it was not the scent of wood fire as he would have suspected. Instead, this smoke smelled of crisp grass and summer blossoms, steaming cider and fresh-cut apples, quite an odd mixture but not unpleasant. The smoke wafted up all the corridors on the eastern side of the house, but by great skill Legolas was able to track the trail to its source.

As the smoke scent grew stronger, he began to hear, at first faint but growing clearer as he drew nearer, the voices of the hobbits. He halted when he realized where his hunt was leading him, and he debated with himself briefly the wisdom of continuing his pursuit. Then curiosity overwhelmed him. He wanted to know the nature of this smoke – if it was a danger it would have be put out swiftly – and it may well have nothing to do with the hobbits, in which case, he could extinguish the fire and continue to the Hall of Fire with the security of knowing the hobbits were behind him.

He continued forward, albeit cautiously, and at last came to the end of a grand passageway to a balcony and a spiraling staircase that led down many flights to a courtyard below. There he could see all five of the hobbits sitting against the trees or lying upon the grass. He noticed immediately that the hobbits had everything to do with the smoke and he watched in fascination as he tried to determine what they were doing. Each hobbit held a long wooden stem, at the end of which was a small glowing bowl. Smoke was coming from the bowls and, remarkably, every now and again the hobbits would draw smoke into their mouths from the small end of the stem and then blow the smoke out again. Bilbo even made circles with his smoke.

Legolas stood openly at the rail of the sixth-floor balcony, unconcerned that the hobbits would be able to spy him from such a distance in the dark, even with the assistance of the quarter moon. He could hear enough of their talk to determine they were still speaking of golf, although they were now speaking of games played in the Shire by competitors in something they called an ‘open’. Despite his weariness of the hobbits’ current topic, Legolas found himself rooted to his secluded vantage point. He watched the hobbits closely, particularly Frodo and Sam, trying to determine in which way if any they were prepared for such a quest as they were about to undertake in just a few short weeks.

It was here that Erestor found him a few minutes later. Legolas had missed dinner, a fact the hobbits had noted with much concern, and Erestor had promised that he would find their “best golfing partner ever” and bring him to the Hall of Fire if he did not come himself. Erestor had come to bid Legolas’s presence but had found the younger elf’s room empty. He had not had to search long before finding him. As with the other soon-to-be members of the Quest, Legolas was hopelessly drawn to the hobbits.

Legolas heard the other elf’s approach long before he was joined on the balcony. He gave a small nod of acknowledgement when Erestor came to stand beside him and join him in observing the hobbits. Erestor leaned forward with his elbows on the rail and waved down at the hobbits. To Legolas’s great surprise, Frodo waved back. Before Legolas could recover from this stunning revelation, Erestor spoke.

“I see you have come out of hiding,” he began, a hint of humor in his voice.

“I have not been hiding,” Legolas replied stiffly in an attempt to save face. “I was in council with Elrond, as you know.”

“Indeed I do, as I was there also, along with Gandalf and Glorfindel. That meeting has been over for hours now,” Erestor pointed out, keeping a straight face with great difficulty as he remembered the hunted look on the young elf’s face when he had entered the council chamber earlier that day. Elrond had let the matter pass without comment but they had all learned the meaning behind that look as the day progressed.

“I have been resting from my journey,” Legolas continued now, his voice still tight. If he had been so inclined, he would no doubt be blushing now. “Mirkwood is a fair distance and I had been traveling swiftly.”

“My mistake then,” Erestor replied smoothly. He allowed the younger elf a few moments of dignity before adding, “Journeys can be wearisome. I imagine the last few miles of your journey were quite tiring indeed.” Legolas spared him a pained look and Erestor laughed heartily. “Merry has been reenacting his triumph over Frodo to anyone who will listen. I am afraid that everyone in the house knows the tale by now. I had the misfortune of hearing it twice.”

“Everyone knows?” Legolas asked, his eyes pleading for the older elf to be merely jesting.

“Everyone knows,” Erestor assured. Legolas suppressed a heavy sigh but Erestor only laughed again and shook his head. “You misunderstand me, my friend,” he said, seeking to put Legolas’s worries to ease. “From what the hobbits have said, you withstood Merry’s rampage quite admirably. I must admit I was not so unflappable the first time I encountered a hobbit at the peak of his rage. You do not expect it from one so easy-going and jolly, and so it is doubly off-putting when it occurs. There is not an elf here who has not been dumbstruck the first time they came face to face with such behavior. So do not worry, my friend. You passed the test and your name is held in high esteem this day.”

This had the desired effect. Legolas relaxed considerably and even echoed Erestor in leaning against the rail. “Can they hear us?” Legolas asked.

“I do not believe so,” Erestor guessed and now he looked at the hobbits thoughtfully, his eyes lingering over Frodo, who was laughing at something Pippin was saying. “I had only waved to determine if they could see us up here. I was not expecting any of them to wave back. Interesting that it should be Frodo who did so.”

“Why is that?” Legolas asked, sensing the seriousness that overtook the other elf’s mood as easily as he could read it in Erestor’s voice. Erestor was greatly concerned about something involving Frodo, but Legolas had no guess as to what that might be.

“Gandalf suspects that Frodo is not wholly healed from his wounding by the Witch King, and I wonder now if his guess is right,” Erestor explained. “Frodo can see us quite clearly, even in the dark, but the other hobbits cannot. I will have to report this to Gandalf when next I see him.”

“He seemed well on the golf course this morning,” Legolas put in, almost defensively. He was alarmed to learn such grave news, but even more than that, he was alarmed by how greatly distressed he was to hear it. He might not know Frodo or the other hobbits very well, but the thought that one of them was already so tarnished by the Dark Lord was beyond upsetting.

“And he is well, as well as he has ever been, according to Sam. I think in this we can trust Sam’s judgment,” Erestor assured. This did little to reassure Legolas, who was frowning once again though for an altogether different reason. He was heartened to see Legolas so protective of the hobbits’ well-being, but he would not have him worry overly much either. Attempting one last jest to distract the young elf, Erestor teased, “I am glad to see you have not sprouted roots from your own encounter with unnatural forces, though when you disappeared for so long I began to wonder if you had not found a nice little spot in the forest and made yourself comfortable.”

“I would not have been surprised if Merry had demanded I turn myself into a tree,” Legolas admitted and chuckled ruefully. “I was tempted to just put the ball down and walk away, but then I thought better of it. I have a feeling any sudden movement at that point would have been ill-advised.”

“You have good instincts,” Erestor laughed, glad to see that his ploy had worked. “You would do well to continue to listen to them.”

Legolas laughed now also and for a time they did nothing more than watch the hobbits and listen to the musical lilts of their voices. They were speaking now of a Shire festival, and Frodo and Merry were gently teasing Pippin about a lass he had met there. Looking at them now, Legolas found it difficult to believe that just that morning he had feared bodily harm from one of them. He shook his head and asked, “Are they always so… impassioned?”

“Only when they are awake,” Erestor answered and laughed again when Legolas winced. He patted Legolas on the shoulder. “Do not fear, my young friend. Their positives far outweigh their negatives, though they of course hardly consider their negatives to be so. They rather think they are the most perfect creatures in all of Middle-earth, yet they would deny it emphatically if you asked them. They’re really rather humble and self-effacing for all their limitless perfections.”

“They are nice enough,” Legolas allowed, “but the younger two are rather overwhelming. I do not see how you and the others have been able to withstand them for so long. Is there some trick to dealing with them?”

Erestor nodded. After seventeen years, he knew as much about hobbits as everyone else here, save Gandalf. Legolas however knew almost nothing about hobbits, and while he would learn quickly enough, Erestor didn’t see the harm in giving him a tip or two.

“There are several methods for dealing with the hobbits,” he began. “Many of them are simple enough and you will learn them within a day or two on your own. The most important thing to remember is to not confuse their naiveté for childishness. Though they may often act child-like, they are wise in their own manner and just as intelligent as anyone else here. Even Pippin, who is still a child according their way of counting such things, understands much of what is said and even more of what is not said. So don’t speak down to them.”

“Should I kneel whenever I speak to them then?” Legolas teased now.

“That will not be necessary,” Erestor answered, smiling warmly. “But you would be wise to keep this in mind also, for I find it to be most effective for distracting an impassioned hobbit: food. All you need to do is mention food. They will realize that they are hungry, or are about to be, and will go in search of some. Though I will warn you this is not fool-proof, for if they are not hungry then they will simply prattle on about food until they are. I fear, also, that this would not have helped you this morning, for if there is one thing that can make even a hobbit forget about food it is golf.”

“So then how do you distract them from golf?” Legolas asked earnestly, for this was what he most wanted to know. He waited eagerly, expecting to hear some marvelous and brilliant edict on hobbit-golf distraction strategies.

Erestor sighed heavily. “As far as I can tell, you can’t, not the ones who are impassioned about it at any rate. Poor Sam would happily discuss any other subject, even the Dark Lord, to get away from speaking about golf.”

Legolas’s hope deflated at this announcement and when Erestor did not attempt to make light of the matter, he felt a most unsettling sense of doom settle over Rivendell. He knew he was exaggerating the situation but that fact was not helped by what Erestor said next.

“It is a most involved and complicated sport,” he went on. “We were never more happy than when Bilbo gave it up. He claimed to be too old for it, saying he couldn’t stay awake long enough to play a full round. We actually forgot the course was even there until yesterday. Had we guessed the trouble that Boromir would stir up by taking the hobbits on their hike, we would have found some way to deter him.”

He was shaking his head in such a manner that he did not seem capable of stopping, like a nervous tick that would not go away. He was remembering the earlier years of Bilbo’s retirement, when Elrond had unwittingly agreed to let Bilbo turn the valley into a golf course. The elf lord had even assigned some gardeners to help Bilbo with his project. They should have been able to sense the trouble they were leading themselves towards, but they had walked blindly into the fire and realized too late they were being cooked.

“But surely they can only keep this going for so long,” Legolas prompted when it became clear that Erestor was lost in his thoughts.

Erestor pulled himself back to the present and he almost laughed for the hope in Legolas’s voice. And he thought the hobbits were naïve. “If even Bilbo alone could keep his hobby going for as long as he did, then I do not doubt that the four of them together could keep their matches and rematches going on indefinitely, if they were allowed the time. Now Bilbo’s passion has been renewed by that of his younger cousins and he seems intent on making up for lost time.”

He paused then and considered Legolas closely before continuing. It was only fair, after all, to warn him. “You did not dine with us, so you do not know this,” he said and paused again, giving Legolas time to steal himself against the upcoming news. “They were making plans for a rematch tomorrow morning. Merry has become quite smug and Frodo is insisting that his win was nothing more than a fluke.” Legolas managed to suppress his groan, but only just. “Bilbo will be going with them to act as grounds committee in case any more returning scouts happen to wander into the flight paths of any more balls. You might be interested to hear that he did agree with their assessment that you were an immovable obstruction, though he argued against you being a tree.”

This did little to console Legolas. He had hoped for some magical cure to the hobbits’ golf obsession and he was most displeased to discover that there was not one. If that weren’t bad enough, he now he had another troubling obsession to worry about – food. There would be very little of that during the quest. “Do they have any other passions that I should know about?” he asked. “What are they doing now? What strange manner of smoke are they breathing, and why?”

Erestor regretted having to follow bad news with more bad news but he knew it was best to get this over and done with. He looked upon the hobbits with fierce significance. “This you do need to know about, for soon you will be traveling with at least two hobbits, and quite possibly a dwarf and a ranger, not to mention a wizard who is grumpy enough as it is.”

“Do they all share this strange custom?” Legolas asked. He could not recall ever seeing Gandalf breathe smoke, but he had not spent much time in company with the wizard before now.

Erestor nodded again, sympathy in his eyes, and continued with his lesson. “They are smoking pipe-weed, a leaf they grow in the Shire, and while the hobbits have it to enjoy at their leisure, they are ever pleasant and chipper. However, their supply will run dry one day, very possibly during the early days of your quest, for they are already long on their road from home. You will need to know the warning signs for when that day arrives.”

Legolas felt the gloom deepening. As if golf were not bad enough, this new revelation sounded to be even more harrowing in nature. He waited patiently, though with no small amount of trepidation, for Erestor to continue.

Erestor studied the hobbits below and half-listened to their high voices drifting up towards him like music from the earth itself. They were reminiscing now of their family and friends at home in the Shire and they were laughing jovially as they related tales of pranks and misunderstandings.

“If you ask the hobbits about their leaf,” Erestor began, “they will tell you that hobbits have been smoking leaf since time out of memory but that the first true pipe-weed was grown by Tobold Hornblower of Longbottom in the Southfarthing in the Shire year 1070 in the days of Isengrim the Second. They’ll tell you that pipe-weed is now grown in many different varieties, but only the three descended from Tobold’s fields are considered the very best, and that each variety can be cured with various different herbs for different flavors and scents. They’ll tell you which ones go best with which types of ale or drink, and who grows the best leaf of each variety. Those that know will even tell you how it’s grown, cultivated, and cured, and all the various problems that come with growing the temperamental leaf.

“When they are finished with that, they will tell you about the receiving of their first pipes, a very momentous occasion in a young hobbit’s life, nearly as momentous as their first breath of smoke, about which they will also go into excruciating detail. They’ll tell you about the different types of pipes, clay and wood, big and small, and how to light them, smoke them, clean them and keep them in good order. They’ll tell you about the various containers in which pipe-weed can be stored, and how long each container will keep the leaf fresh. They will tell you many things, indeed they will tell you everything they know, which is enough to fill a volume in Elrond’s library.”

“I do not doubt that,” Legolas stated dryly. After his encounter this morning, he knew full well the long-windedness of hobbits. Yet he had a feeling that Erestor was speaking of something more than just an ardent lecture on the wily nature of pipe-weed and those who smoke it.

Erestor grunted in understanding. Being barraged by hobbits was an unforgettable experience, no matter how long one should live. “Nor should you. However, for all that they know and for all that they can tell you, they will not tell you this, for this they do not know.”

Legolas raised his eyebrows at this and felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. As intimidating as the hobbits’ knowledge on a topic might be, Legolas had a feeling that their lack of knowledge would be equally so.

Erestor licked his lips and looked up, out over the treetops of the forest that spread out before them beyond the last wing of the house. He was soon looking far off, in a past not too distant and not too dark, but full of misadventures all the same. “When Bilbo first came to live with us sixteen years ago, after returning from the Lonely Mountain, he was as you see him now: happy and laughing and as carefree as could be hoped for. Gandalf visited often in those days, going back and forth between here and the Shire in between all his other errands. He would bring back much news from the Shire of Frodo and his friends, for whom Bilbo was always eager to hear.

“And he would also bring back pipe-weed. Pouches of it. On a couple of occasions he even brought a barrel. Bilbo would sniff the leaf deeply and try to guess from whose field it was grown and what variety it was. More often than not he was correct, for which he was greatly proud. Then they would sit on the terrace outside Bilbo’s room and smoke and talk for hours on end. We never thought much of it, for to us it was only some odd habit of theirs and so of little consequence to us. Oh, how little we guessed the truth of that leaf’s insidious nature.”

Legolas quirked his eyebrows again. Insidious? That was quite a strong word for describing a leaf, even a smoking leaf. He would not even describe the hobbits’ golf as insidious, though it came close to the mark. He did not interrupt though, for he could see that Erestor had much left to say.

“You see, there soon came a time that Gandalf again grew greatly troubled with events of the world and the rumors of the darkness rising in the South. He ceased his visits to the Shire and was here less often than he was wont to be. Bilbo missed him naturally, but he got along as easily as he always had and so we did not think to worry. Until the day his pipe-weed ran out. Or, more accurately, until the day after his pipe-weed ran out.”

Now Erestor closed his eyes as he envisioned again that long-ago day, when all their assumptions about the sweetness of hobbits had been obliterated.

“The day began quite normally,” he began. “Bilbo was a bit fidgety, but not alarmingly so, and while he had trouble concentrating he was still cheerful enough. The next day, he complained of a headache and cough and said he’d had trouble sleeping. Elrond examined him and said he had developed a cold. He gave Bilbo teas to drink and ordered special food made for him, but nothing helped with the symptoms. That night, Bilbo accused Lindir of stealing a poem he had been working on and threw Lindir’s ink-and-pen set into the fire pit in the Hall of Fire as payback.”

“He what?” Legolas said before he could catch himself. He stared at Erestor in aghast, not able to believe his ears. Either Erestor was jesting with him again, and doing a very convincing job of it, or Legolas was hearing the tallest tall-tale ever told in the history of Middle-earth.

Erestor did not respond to Legolas’s surprised exclamation. After all, there would be plenty more of those to come before he finished his tale, abridged though it may be.

Erestor continued. “The following day he was even more fatigued and his cold was not abating, so Elrond ordered him to bed rest. Bilbo snapped at him and told him to ‘shove off’ and advised him what exactly he could do with his medicaments and medical instruments.” Here he paused and looked at Legolas significantly, making his meaning plain. Legolas’s jaw all but dropped to the balcony floor and his eyes widened even further. He almost commented again but caught himself from doing so, but the expression on his face was easy to read. None of them had believed the kindly hobbit capable of such wicked thoughts either. Yet that was not the end of the tale and with each recounting of events, Legolas’s expression grew more accosted and disbelieving.

“That night, he barely ate a bite of his meal and sat glaring at anyone who dared to make eye contact with him. When Elrond again attempted treatment, Bilbo picked up his bowl of beef stew – thankfully it was cold by this time – and threw it in Elrond’s general direction, hitting several elves who had the misfortune of sitting too close to his table.

“The following day was no better and everyone began to give Bilbo a wide berth, steering away from him when they saw him approaching in the corridors or exiting the room when he walked in. His irritability reached unforeseen heights. He snapped at anyone who came too near, he complained constantly about everything, he even made one of the cooks cry by claiming that she could not have been a cook for the last thousand years if she thought sirloin should taste like tar dipped in horse dung.”

“He said that?”

“He did. This continued for about a week or so, until one morning Bilbo walked into the dining hall beaming happily and singing under his breath. Things went back to normal after that, though every now and again over the next several months Bilbo would wake feeling uncommonly irritated and that mood would persist for the entirety of the day. During one of his last fits, Glorfindel made the mistake of teasing him about his swimming skills, of which he had none, so he pushing Glorfindel into the pond. Finally, the mood swings stopped altogether and Bilbo was back to his chipper and carefree self at all times as we were used to seeing him.”

“That is a relief to hear,” Legolas said, thinking the tale over. He was about to ask what any of that had to do with breathing smoke when Erestor continued, more grimly than before.

“It was, until Gandalf returned after an absence of many years, and he brought with him a type of pipe-weed,” the older elf went on. “It was not of the Shire but of Dale, for which Bilbo was very much disappointed, but he deemed it good enough to smoke at nights after dinner. Gandalf did not bring very much leaf with him and it only lasted a few weeks, but we noticed that when this leaf ran out, Bilbo again developed cold-like symptoms and became irritable to the point of being nearly lethal.”

Dawning overcame Legolas’s confused features and Erestor nodded in acquiescence.

“You see the connection now, as did we. The ‘cold’ and grumpiness did not last very long that time around, only a few days or so, but it was then that Elrond was able to make the connection between the weed and Bilbo’s odd behavior that came after the weed was exhausted. Bilbo denied that any such connection existed, but we have seen it a couple more times since, though none were nearly as bad as that first time.”

Legolas stood stupefied for a time as he tried to process this information but all he could think about was the fact that he would soon be traveling with hobbits, not to mention a dwarf, ranger and a wizard who was grumpy enough as it was. “Do you think that dwarves, men and wizards react in a similar manner to running out of pipe-weed?” Legolas asked with dread.

“I would imagine so, but I could not say for certain,” Erestor stated. “I do not think they would be as bad as hobbits though.”

“I am beginning to think that my father agreed to my joining this Quest as a form of punishment, though what I ever did to offend him so, I cannot say,” Legolas said.

“Elrond has found that exercise helps with the cravings, and you will be walking quite a bit each day,” Erestor pointed out. “Perhaps it might not be so bad.”

“Or the hobbits will shove one of us off the edge of a mountain,” Legolas stated dryly.

“You will be traveling through Hollin for a time. It’s quite flat and free of sharp or steep drops,” Erestor reassured. “With hope, the smoking sickness will have passed by the time you have to cross over the mountains.”

“I envy those of you who will be remaining behind,” Legolas said.

“We will not be entirely free of torment. Bilbo and the two younger hobbits will be remaining here,” Erestor pointed out. “We will be equal in our misery.”

“No we won’t. You will be able to avoid your hobbits. I will not,” Legolas said and sighed. “And while Frodo and Sam alone would not be so horrible to endure as Merry and Pippin, there is still a dwarf, a ranger and an incredibly grumpy wizard to take into account.”

“They are gone,” Erestor said suddenly and pointed below to the courtyard which was now empty. The hobbits were nowhere to be seen or heard. “They will have gone inside to the Hall of Fire. Shall we go down and join the others? That is, after all, why I came to get you in the first place.”

“I suppose that would be wise,” Legolas admitted regrettably, for he could not continue to hide from the hobbits, especially not if everyone knew that he was doing so. He supposed that for the time being, he would have to consider himself lucky that the hobbits were so naturally cheerful and charming, which made traveling with them less daunting to contemplate.

They left their perch and took the stairs to the first floor. The scent of the smoke grew stronger as they descended the stairs and as they passed through the courtyard, Legolas’s eyes began to sting and he coughed as the smoke snuck into his lungs. He covered his mouth and nose until they were well past the courtyard and noticed that Erestor too was breathing shallow.

“How can they breathe such an atrocious thing as this?” Legolas asked, wiping the water from his eyes and coughing out the last of the smoke.

“I do not know,” Erestor said. “They claim that you become accustomed to it, but I do not see how.”

At length, they reached the Hall of Fire and were about to enter when they noticed Boromir leaning against the wall near the doorway. The man looked up as they approached and came over to meet them. He nodded towards Erestor but it was clear he wished to speak with Legolas in private. Erestor took his leave and Legolas waited for Boromir to speak.

“Have you heard?” Boromir asked in a conspiratorial whisper. “The hobbits have planned another golf competition for tomorrow morning.”

“I have heard,” Legolas said, though he had quite forgotten about it given everything else he had heard. He pushed aside his future worries to focus on the present and the worries that surrounded him now. “It is troublesome.”

“Did you also hear that they wish for us to join them?”

“They do?” Legolas asked and now the veil of doom was dropped. He would have to endure another day of golf, and a full day at that. Unless…

“We must put a stop to this,” Boromir continued. It was the only hopeful thing Legolas had heard all evening.

“Aren’t you their instructor?” Legolas asked, trying to think of ways to stall the hobbits’ return to the golf course. “I seem to recall hearing that you have been instructing the hobbits in swordplay. Can you not simply command them to train rather than play about?”

“I could, but such tactics will only delay the inevitable. No, we must do something swift and permanent to stop them. We must destroy the golf clubs,” Boromir stated. “We must cast them back into the woodpiles from whence they came.”

“Destroy them? Don’t you think that is a bit drastic?” Legolas said, though admittedly he did find the idea of destroying the golf clubs quite appealing. Still, he did not wish to offend the hobbits should they be caught in the act. If he and Boromir only hid the clubs, then they could excuse it as a prank or even a tracking exercise. “Could we not attempt to hide them first?”

“I suppose you are right,” Boromir admitted. “If we are caught trying to destroy them, we would have much explaining to do. We can store the clubs someplace the hobbits would not think to look, or could not reach if they found them.” He pondered the matter for a moment as he went through the house in his mind and tried to think of a likely location. Legolas was about to suggest a location when Boromir snapped his fingers and said, “We could hide them with the art books.”

“Art books?”

Boromir waved his hand distractedly. “I’ll explain later. It would be a good location and though Frodo knows of the hiding place, he himself would not go there. He made sure that it would be a location that Merry and Pippin would not find.”

“Very well. Where are the art books hidden?” Legolas asked.

“I don’t know, but I know who does.”  

Sam was refilling his master’s goblet with wine when he heard someone hissing at him from the entryway. He looked up and cast his eyes about until he spotted Boromir peeking around the entryway and waving frantically at him. When Sam’s eyes landed on him, the man put a finger to his lips, then beckoned to Sam again and disappeared around the door.

With a quick look behind him to make sure no one was watching, Sam put the goblet aside and snuck out the door. When he reached the corridor outside the Hall of Fire, Boromir pulled him aside into the shadows where Legolas was waiting. Sam looked between the two with confusion.

“Can I help you, sirs?” he asked.

“You can,” Boromir said. “Where did Frodo hide the art books?”

“The art books?” Sam repeated in surprise. Of all the things he expected for Boromir to say, that was not one of them. Indeed, he had all but forgotten about the art books until Boromir mentioned them. He shuffled his feet and said, “Well, sir, the art books are in my room.”

“You have your own room?” Boromir asked, his turn to be surprised.

“Aye sir,” Sam said, beginning to turn crimson. He fidgeted with the buttons of his waistcoat and tried to ignore the heat that was rising in his face. “I’ve been staying there the last couple of weeks, now that Mr. Frodo’s all better. He figured as Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin would never think to go looking in my room for them books and they haven’t.” He waited to see what else Boromir would ask, but the man and elf only stood there in troubled thought. Sam cleared his throat and, feeling his face grow even redder, he asked, “Did you… that is… were you wanting to look at them?”

“No. … Well… No,” Boromir said and ignored Legolas’s questioning regard. “In truth, I was hoping to hide the golf clubs in the same location as the art books.”

“Oh!” Sam said, brightening considerably now that he understood. He sighed with relief, then turned troubled himself. “Begging your pardon, sirs, but I don’t think it’s a good idea to be hiding them golf clubs. It’s not wise to be messing with a fellow’s woods.”

“Why not?”

“Now Master Boromir, weren’t you listening when I explained about Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Longo? Besides, how would you feel if someone went and hid your sword, or your horn? They’ll be angry with you,” Sam said, hands on hips. Legolas couldn’t help but smirk to see the captain general of Gondor being scolded by a halfling.

“They’ll be angry but not at me, for they won’t know that I hid them and I know that you won’t be telling, will you Sam?” Boromir said. “Now, I know for a fact that you are a spy and that you know how to keep a secret. I also know that you know a good deal more about what is going on around here than you let on. Nothing gets past you, nothing at all. I also know that you are not looking forward to returning to the golf course tomorrow. You did me a great service by warning me not to join the game this morning. I wish to reciprocate.”

“And I am not a tree,” Legolas said.

Sam looked back and forth between the man and elf, his uncertainty clear on his small, brown face. Boromir was on the verge of trying another form of persuasion when Sam suddenly smirked and said, “I did notice as Mr. Frodo was wincing quite a bit during his strokes on those last couple of holes. I reckon another game wouldn’t be too good on his shoulder. I suppose hiding those clubs would be in his best interest.”

“Absolutely,” Boromir heartily agreed, silently kicking himself for not thinking of a Frodo-defense earlier.

“Very well then,” Sam agreed. “They’re in Mr. Bilbo’s room, second wardrobe near the far wall, behind the coats. As for where to hide them…”

“I know a place,” Legolas said, smirking impishly.

“Good, a’cause you’ll have to put the art books there too,” Sam said.

“Why?” asked Boromir.

“Mr. Merry and Mr. Pippin might not think to look in my room for them books, but they will look there for the golf clubs,” Sam explained, reddening again at the mere mention of the books. “If they find the books in the meanwhile, well… that’s more explaining than I care to do. Besides, if they know I’ve hid the books there, they’ll think I know something about the clubs being missing, and the ruse will be up before it’s started.”

“Good point,” Boromir agreed. “Where are the books then? And where is your room?”

“It’s just a door down from Mr. Frodo’s going towards the atrium that leads to the kitchens,” Sam said. “The books are under my bed.”

“A handy place to keep them,” Boromir teased.

“What do you mean?”

“Er… never mind,” Boromir stammered, his turn to redden now.

“Are these art books what I think they are?” Legolas finally asked.

"No, it's art, it's just a little more art than the hobbits are accustomed to," Boromir explained.

“I best be getting back to my master afore he misses me,” Sam pointed out. He was also desperate to find a way out of this conversation, for he had an inkling now of what Boromir had meant before and he didn’t care to test that theory. He felt his face turn crimson again and he averted his eyes as he continued. “The elves just started with their singing, so you’ve got plenty of time, but I’ll keep everyone inside the Hall if I need to, until the two of you get back.”

“We will work swiftly then,” Boromir promised. “Thank you Sam.”

When Sam was gone, Boromir and Legolas stepped quickly back up the passage, heading first for Bilbo’s and Sam’s rooms. They quickly decided that Legolas, with his keener senses, would act as the lookout while Boromir retrieved the clubs and books. Once Boromir had his loot, he met Legolas in the corridor and followed him outside.

“Where are we going?” Boromir asked.

“We need a sack and rope,” Legolas said.

“We’re going to get more things?”

“Do you want those items hid or not?” Legolas returned.

“I want the clubs hid.”

“Then follow me to the stables. We will retrieve the necessary items and then I will hide the clubs. It’s quite a fitting location, I think, considering the part I played in their game this morning.”

A half-hour later, the two sets of clubs were securely wrapped in a pine green sack and tied to the highest bough in the tallest tree that would support their weight. The books they decided, being property of Elrond’s and encasing such fine and exquisite art as they did, were better stowed under the beds in Boromir’s and Legolas’s rooms. Their mission complete, the duo returned to the Hall of Fire. They made sure that Sam saw their return as they poured themselves wine and joined the others around the fire pit.

Neither of them knew what tomorrow would bring, but of one thing they were certain: neither of them wanted to be near the hobbits’ quarters when dawn arrived.
 
 
 

To be continued…
 
 

GF 2/17/07