Timestamp meme. For Shirebound, who requested a follow up to “Foot Notes”.

What did Gandalf, Elrond and Erestor think of the hobbits tricking them out of their boots?

The Feet Have It

6 Blotmath, 1418 SR
Rivendell

Erestor entered the Lord’s private study at Elrond’s beckoning. “Good morning, my l—” he started to greet Elrond but was stopped short at the sight before him.

Elrond Half-Elven, Lord of the Last Homely House, renowned healer of the West, keeper of Vilya, the Ring of Air, sat on his balcony, crown on brow, robes flowing – and feet bare. Elrond looked at his toes and wriggled them, an expression of perfect seriousness on his ageless face.

“Good morning, my lord,” Erestor finished, recovering swiftly. “Is there danger afoot?” he couldn’t help asking.

“In all my years of living, I have never once given my feet any consideration,” Elrond replied, his stern expression softening with a smirk at Erestor’s joke. “Yet where would we be without our feet? They take us as little or as far as we wish to go, as slowly or as quickly as we wish, whether we carry nothing but ourselves or bear some great burden. Feet are rather remarkable things.”

Erestor nodded, the only response he could think of to this impassioned speech.

“It seems a shame that they do so much and yet are eternally hidden away,” Elrond continued. He looked up to find Erestor still standing at the edge of the balcony. “Sit. Take off your shoes and let the wind sweep over them. It is a marvel.”

Erestor opened his mouth to reply but then thought better of it. One joke at his lord’s expense was dismissible. Anymore than that, and he would be putting his foot in it. He took a seat on the bench and slipped off his shoes. He sat back and watched the forest, the morning sun warming his feet in a most delightful way. The wind tickled the fine hairs on his feet, a soothing feeling indeed.

“We should be angry with Bilbo for never telling us about this,” Erestor said blissfully. He found the concept of anger quite foreign at the moment. He wriggled his toes and closed his eyes.

“I don’t think Bilbo gives much thought to his feet either,” Elrond said. “It was the youngest one who started yesterday’s proceedings.”

“That isn’t what I heard,” Erestor said. “Pippin was the one to broach the subject, but I was given to understand that it was Frodo who ran with it.”

“Frodo?” Elrond said. “Are you certain?”

“I am.”

“As am I,” Gandalf said from behind them. He had let himself in after his knocks had gone unanswered. “Bilbo had many reasons for naming Frodo his heir. Their shared wiliness was but one of them.”

Gandalf sat between Elrond and Erestor on the bench. He leaned back and stretched out his legs, his grey robes hitching up to expose his booted feet.

“Don’t you want to take off your boots, Gandalf?” Erestor asked. “This is delightful.”

Gandalf frowned. He was still sore about the outcome of the foot judging contest. “My knurled and mangled toes won’t offend your flawless digits?” he asked, a twinkle in his eyes despite his gruffness.

“I am fairly certain no one said anything about mangled toes,” Elrond said. “At least yours aren’t fragrant, as are Gimli’s. Our toes will happily sit alongside yours, so long as we aren’t obliged to smell them.”

At this generous invitation, Gandalf took off his boots. He then took matters one step further. He propped his feet on the railing, slouched back into the bench and sighed, his hands joined behind his head. Elrond and Erestor watched him for a moment before mimicking his posture. The result was so relaxing that several minutes passed in serene silence.

“I see now how hobbits have come to have such a laidback society,” Erestor said. “It is difficult to imagine getting up to do anything, except perhaps to eat, unless the food can be brought to us.”

Gandalf laughed, a deep, contented rumble in his chest. “You are beginning to sound like true hobbits. If you are not careful, you will start to sprout fur on your feet.”

“I rather hope not,” Erestor said. He sighed happily and lifted his face to the sun. “Are hobbits always so… infectious?” he asked, for lack of a better word.

They hadn’t noticed such a tendency with Bilbo. The old hobbit had immersed himself in Elven culture as soon as he came to retire in Rivendell. Except for that blasted golf course at the bottom of the ravine, which he has thankfully forgotten about over the years, he hadn’t introduced anything hobbit-like in the years he’s lived here. Not so with the younger ones. They have been here less than a month, and already they had the House looking for mushrooms, singing bawdy tavern songs and removing their footwear. ‘What would come next?’ he wondered.

“Hobbits are most inspiring creatures,” Gandalf said. It was from them, after all, that he picked up his habit of smoking pipeweed. “Their smiles and laughter inspire joy in all situations. Their persistence inspires you to do whatever you can to keep them from pursuing you to the ends of the earth. It was wise of you both to oblige them with their contest yesterday, or you’d be walking on eggshells for the remainder of their stay, never knowing when they might jump out at you with some assault upon your boots.”

“Erm, yes. Precisely,” Elrond and Erestor said. If that was why Gandalf thought they had succumbed to the contest, then they would continue to let him think so.

“Now, to business,” Elrond said. He put down his feet and slipped on his boots with reluctance. Erestor and Gandalf followed his example, their feet equally as hesitant to be hidden away again. “There has been no word from any of the scouting parties. It is my intention to send Erestor to the—”

BANGBANGBANGBANG!!

A loud and persistent pounding battered against the study door, causing them all to jump to their feet. The pounding continued, pausing only long enough for them to hear a desperate whisper. “Lord Elrond? Are you there? Let me in! PLEASE let me in!”

“Pippin,” Gandalf said unnecessarily. He opened the door and Pippin darted into the room. Seeing the door still open behind him, he yanked it from Gandalf’s grasp, closed it, and leaned against it, huffing and panting, a wild look in his eyes.

“Has something gone amiss?” Gandalf asked.

“Huh? What? No, nothing’s missing,” Pippin said, still whispering. “Just, don’t tell the others you’ve seen me!” His eyes darted about the room until they landed on the wardrobe. He dashed across the room and allowed himself inside the wardrobe before Elrond could offer permission for him to do so.

“So there is danger afoot,” Erestor said, grinning.

“Yes, but of what kind?” Elrond asked.

They found out soon enough. Outside in the hall, the near-silent patter of hobbit feet sounded upon the stone floors, and Merry’s voice called down the passageways.

“You come out, Pip! Don’t think that hiding will save your sorry arse!”

“Are you certain he came down this way?” Frodo’s voice could be heard asking.

“I’m certain,” Merry answered grimly.

The feet stopped every now and then, to allow their owners to peer behind curtains, around statues or in rooms, no doubt. The feet nearly bypassed the study when they stopped again and pattered back.

“Surely, you don’t think?”

“This is Pippin we’re talking about,” Merry said.

“Oh all right, but don’t make a spectacle,” Frodo said.

“That will be rather hard to do, Frodo. The little imp doused us, or have you forgotten already?”

There was no audible answer to this statement. A moment later, a soft knock sounded on the door. Exchanging glances with his companions, Elrond opened the door and they all gaped at the sight that greeted them. Frodo and Merry stood on the other side of the door, covered head to furry toes with honey and crushed pine needles. The hobbits smiled gamely and bowed.

“Hullo, Elrond, Erestor, Gandalf,” Frodo said, with all the gallantry he could summon. “Have you seen Pippin this morning by any chance?”

“I cannot say,” Elrond replied. He did not wish to lie, but Pippin was clearly depending upon his protection.

“Oh really?” Merry said, catching the elf lord’s meaning immediately. “I’ll tell you what you can say then.”

“Merry!” Frodo hissed. He pushed Merry back into the hallway, pushing a pitcher with some sort of liquid into his hands as he did so. Merry grabbed at the pitcher, nearly dropping his bag of whatever in the process. Frodo turned back around and, bowing to Elrond again, spoke rather louder than was necessary. “If you should happen to see Pippin before we do, please tell him that we are looking for him. There is a matter of some miscommunication we need to clear up with him. And you may also want to mention that coming to a swift conclusion to this miscommunication would be in his best interest.”

He turned, took back his pitcher and pushed Merry down the hall. Merry went with much reluctance. Elrond watched them as they went down the hall and rounded the corner that led to the dining hall. Their feet pattered on for a few yards more and then promptly stopped. The trap was set.

Elrond closed the door as Erestor went to the wardrobe and opened it. Pippin slipped out, breathing more normally but still looking about as one hunted by wolves. Gandalf towered over him, hands on hips.

“Well?” he asked.

“It was an accident!” Pippin exclaimed, his high-pitched tones ringing through the air with sharp clarity. Elrond and Erestor flinched but made no move to cover their ears. Pippin flapped his hands in agitation and looked up at his companions as though he were on trial and they were his judges. “I didn’t mean to get them! I was setting up a honey bomb for, um, someone, and they came along and I hadn’t had time to tether the string yet, and Merry stepped on it and pulled the bucket down on both of them, and then they looked up before I could get away, and they saw me and they started chasing me and now they think I did it on purpose and they’re going to get me!”

“You can’t avoid them forever,” Gandalf said.

“No, but I can avoid them until they’ve had a chance to wash up and not be so angry anymore and not want to get me,” Pippin said, a pleading tone in his hopeful voice.

“You plan to starve yourself until then?” Erestor asked.

“No,” Pippin said frowning. “Is that where they’re hiding?”

Elrond nodded. “They lay in wait for you on the passage to the dining hall.”

Pippin bit on a nail as he considered his dilemma. “Well, there is more than one passage to the dining hall. It is possible to get there before they’ve realized I’ve gone another way, and they won’t try to get me with so many witnesses. … But Sam’s still out there. He could be anywhere, and he’s a spy you know!”

Gandalf, Erestor and Elrond stood in silence as Pippin retreated to an inner debate. The hobbit rocked back and forth on his feet, eyes darting this way and that, lips moving silently as he worked out his many options, all of which seemed to lead him to the same conclusion. Finally, he gave a great sigh, shoulders slumping.

“They’ll get me anyway, won’t they?” Pippin said. “Best get it over with.”

“Are you certain?” Erestor asked.

“I am,” Pippin said. He took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and went to the door, where he stopped. He turned back around and with immense graveness said, “If I don’t make it to the dining hall, tell my parents I love them. And tell Pearl and Pimpernel that I’ll miss them terribly, and tell Vinca that I’ll miss her too, even if she is a shrew.” He turned the doorknob, opened the door and slipped into the hall.

They listened as his feet trudged slowly down the hall and turned the corner. There was a moment of heavy silence, then a loud squawk, a chorus of roars, followed by more screeches and yelps and pleas for mercy. The attack ended with triumphant laughter and a pitiful moan.

“We shouldn’t have let him go out there alone,” Erestor said, brow drawn tight in concern.

Gandalf laughed though. “And now you are being pulled into the hobbits’ dramatics. He’ll be fine. He just got back a bit of his own.”

“In what way exactly?” Erestor asked.

“Let us find out,” Elrond said. They headed out for the dining hall, but found the passage leading towards the hall empty except for milk and flour puddling on the floor and coating the tiles and walls. Honey and paste shaped footprints led the way to the dining hall. Elrond sighed inwardly at the mess that would need to be cleaned and wondered if it would be uncouth to demand the hobbits bathe outside before taking another footstep within the house.

They entered the dining hall to a buzz of excited chatter. The elves and other houseguests present were all craning their necks towards the hobbits’ table. There sat Frodo and Merry, covered in honey and pine needles but looking quite satisfied all the same. Across from them sat Pippin, covered in milk and flour, his brown curls looking white under the resulting paste. He looked satisfied too. Apparently, he had been fearing a worse sentence and was delighted to have come away from his punishment relatively unscathed.

“Excuse me, sirs,” came Sam’s voice from behind them.

They turned around and permitted Sam to pass them. Sam was spotless and carried three dry towels, which he handed to his friends. He then crossed his arms and glared at Pippin. “I’ve talked to the maids. They’ve agreed to help you clean up your mess.”

Pippin nodded. “Thank you,” he said, accepting his towel and wrapping it around himself.

Gandalf chuckled, and Elrond smiled. Erestor frowned. “It must be something other than the bare feet then,” he concluded and went to his own table to await the food, his stomach grumbling for the first time in decades.

GF 2/8/09