But truly, he had more than one reason for wishing to escape Frodo’s cottage, and Ciendriel’s volunteering to accompany him, no matter the reason, only made it sweeter. He saw the way Frodo looked at him, and those looks came more and more often lately, especially when Gimli was drinking.

He liked Frodo, and he liked Gimli, though not in the way that Gimli desired he would, and he could see no obvious solution to the problem. And then there was Ciendriel. Ah, when he looked at her, confusion flooded him even more deeply. Already he felt close to her, though she had revealed very little of herself to him. Was it simply lust, like he had experienced with Aragorn?

He led her to the spring, watching her from the corner of his eye as she scanned the area for danger. She was wise to do so, but he could see the very youth in her motions. When they arrived, he stripped off his tunic and knelt down to rinse it in the waters. The water wasn't doing much good, unfortunately. He could still smell the ale, even with it submerged. He took a rock and pounded at the offensive garment, but too quickly he was taking other frustrations out on the tunic.

"You'll tear it," Ciendriel said, putting a hand on his shoulder. All of his muscles tensed at her touch. He wanted to take her into his arms, throw her up against a tree, and claim her. But he only nodded, not looking up. "Here," she said, holding out a spring of a minty smelling herb. "Put this inside the tunic, under the stain, then hold it under the water until the smell fades."

Legolas did as she asked and was pleased when it worked, just as she'd said it would. He looked up at her, smiling, to thank her, but his smile faded at the odd expression on her face. She was staring at him, her dark eyes hooded, and the look only served to further his tree-throwing desire.

"What is it?" he asked, sounding calmer than he felt.

"I…" she said, looking startled, as if she'd been caught at something embarrassing. "Ah… I…"

"Yes?" he asked in that same calm voice which had to be coming from someone other than himself, for he certainly didn't feel calm. But when she spoke, she didn't quite say what he was hoping for (something like 'I want you, Legolas Greenleaf, to throw me up against a tree and have me.)

"I kissed a Hobbit today."

Legolas lost his balance and nearly fell into the stream. Ciendriel reached out to steady him, but he leapt forward onto the bank, away from her fingers, landing nimbly, but completely losing hold of his now minty-fresh tunic.

"Ah," he said. "Well. Did you…like it?" Who was it? Was it Frodo, when they were cooking? Or Merry? Pippin? Surely not Sam… Suddenly Legolas found himself possessed of a large dislike of anything Hobbit-like, which he fought off as best he could. These were his friends, and had been for a long time, and this strange Elf girl he had met only last night. He had no cause for such livid jealousy.

"Yes. I suppose I did like it." She held her long, slender fingers to her lips, as if remembering. "Have you ever kissed a Hobbit, Legolas?"

"Dozens of times," he said, sounding more boastful than he ever meant to sound when telling an outright lie.

"Oh. Oh, oh no! Your tunic! It's floating away!"

Legolas turned, cursing roundly in Elvish. He made to jump into the spring, but she cried out to stop him.

"Wait! You'll ruin your leggings! Take them off."

Legolas felt his ears turn pink. "Take them off?"

"Yes, and hurry! You'll lose it completely. Oh wait, there it is. It's caught on a stick. But take them off before you go in or you'll surely ruin them."

He sighed, wondering if he should tell her he had at least five other pairs of leggings with him. But there wasn't time to argue. "Very well. Turn around."

"Why?"

He didn't want her to see his arousal… which quickened even with her simple question. "It's not proper for you to see me naked."

Looking amused, she slowly turned to present him with her back. "I didn't realize that Elves from Mirkwood were so modest."

Legolas scowled, hoping the water would be cold when he plunged into it.

***

Merry and Pippin and Angelica raced each other back from Frodo's house without a care between the three of them. Angelica had had just enough ale to feel mischievous, and she was the fastest of the three, so she was already hiding inside their doorway when Merry and Pippin followed, panting. She leapt out at them, screeching like a banshee, causing Pippin to drop all the leftovers and Merry to fall over on the floor laughing. When at last he righted himself, he grabbed her by the waist, swung her around, and planted a kiss on her eager lips.

"Tell me, do you prefer my kisses to that of your Elf girl?" he asked.

"What a question!" Angelica said, laughing.

"I think Ciendriel is seeking other kisses tonight," Pippin said. He and Merry exchanged a sly glance and laughed uproariously.

"Your friend Legolas certainly is handsome," Angelica said.

"But not as handsome as me!"

"Or me."

"The two of you are certainly more to my taste."

"Then let us have a taste of you."

"Yes, Merry, let's. But Legolas won't be kissing the Elf girl, I don't guess."

"Why not?" Angelica frowned.

Pippin grinned. "Not his taste."

"What Pippin means to say is, Legolas seems to prefer Men to Elves."

"And not Women! Men!"

Angelica laughed. "You two know very little about Elves, don't you."

"And even less about women," said Pippin, but then he frowned.

"We must know more than you do, lass with no memory," Merry said.

"Memory and knowledge are only distant cousins," Angelica said. Then she laughed and ran up the stairs to the bedroom.

Merry and Pippin followed. When they reached the top of the stairs, the door to the bedroom was closed. Lying in front of the door was Angelica's dress. Merry and Pippin exchanged a look of delight they generally reserved for large feasts as they both reached for the handle.

***

Frodo Baggins had just finished cleaning both his kitchen and most of his dining room, taking care of his chores to the rhythmic sound of Gimli’s snoring. On occasion he would stop to check on the unconscious Dwarf, stroking his beard or his hair with trembling fingers. He had cleared everything off of the dining room table except the loaf of bread which still propped up Gimli’s head, and wiped up all the crumbs and spilled ale.

Finally Frodo sat down next to Gimli and took one of the Dwarf’s gnarled hands in his own. There was such strength in those fingers, he thought. What would it be like to feel those fingers touching him, stroking him? Heat flushed through Frodo’s cheeks at the thought...but it was chased away by the sadness of the knowledge that he didn’t think it would ever happen. He didn’t even know how to get Gimli’s attention. Besides, how could he compete with Legolas...even if Legolas wasn’t interested.

Finally Frodo came to a decision. He reached over and shook Gimli’s shoulder gently, after moving his battle axe well out of range. The Dwarf’s empty hand opened and closed as if searching for it and he mumbled in his sleep.

“Legolas! I’ve taken down twenty-five already! Twenty-six! Surely you can’t have beaten me, even with that pretty blond hair and those...lips...those lips...”

This was not heartening for Frodo. He was tempted to leave Gimli on the table with that, but instead he continued to shake him.

“Gimli, wake up. Come to bed.”

“I thought you’d never ask, Legolas,” he mumbled, his mouth pursing though his eyes didn’t open. Frodo made a noise of disgust, dropped Gimli’s hand, and pushed back from the table. Tears stung in his eyes. He swiped at them with the back of his hands, and when he spoke again, there was a hitch in his voice.

“Gimli, wake up! Legolas isn’t here. It’s me. Frodo...”

At the sound of the Elf’s name, it seemed, Gimli’s eyes opened. Groggily he looked at Frodo, the bread stuck to the side of his face.

“Quick, Frodo, get down! They’re scaling the walls!” He flung himself at Frodo, leaping from the table and pinning Frodo to the floor, then dragging him under the table. The bread went flying. “Where’s my axe? Where’s my axe?”

“Gimli! GIMLI!” Frodo gasped, then hollered. “Wake UP! You are not at Helm’s Deep!”

Gimli squinted at him. “Frodo? What on earth are you doing under the table?”

“You...dragged...me...here,” Frodo panted with wide eyes.

“Is that your brother?” The Dwarf squinted, pointing with a swaying finger at the air to the left of Frodo’s shoulder.

“I think the ale is still affecting you.”

“Ale? I’d love some. Where is it?” Gimli stood up, knocked his head on the underside of the table, then stumbled forward. Frodo jumped out, trying to catch him, and wound up pinned underneath the Dwarf when he fell to the floor. Although he had entertained hopes of ending up in this position, the foul breath of his idol reminded him that this situation did not quite realize his fantasy.

“You need to go to bed, Gimli.” Frodo tried to roll them over but he wasn’t strong enough.

“Delightful idea. Lead the way.”

“You’ll have to get off of me. Can...can you manage that?” Frodo was about to pass out from Gimli’s ale-sceneted breath.

Gimli rolled over onto his back, off of Frodo, with a grunt. “HERE’s my axe!”

“No!” Frodo leapt to his feet, grabbing the axe, skittering out of reach. “Not my furniture!”

“Frodo, dear boy, whatever are you talking about?”

“You can have the axe back when you’re sober,” Frodo said more bravely than he felt. He could barely lift the thing. He dragged it across the floor.

“You can’t rob a warrior of his weapon, boy! Now give it here.”

Frodo backed up towards the door, shaking his head. “Not until the morning. Go to bed, Gimli! You can sleep in mine.”

“I cannot sleep without my axe in hand!”

Frodo was blinded by a vision of Gimli chopping up his bed in a drunken rage, perhaps with him in it. He tried to remember why exactly he had developed these tender feelings for Gimli in the first place. Tears streaked his cheeks suddenly.

“Would you not rather take me to bed?” he said plaintively.

“Frodo...” Gimli stared at him, his mouth open. He stuck one finger in his ear and twisted it, as if to clean it. “What are you saying?”

Frodo dropped the axe on the floor and flung himself at Gimli, throwing his arms around the Dwarf. “Nothing. Just come lie in my bed tonight. You need to rest. We have a long journey ahead.”

“All right.” Gimli put his arms around Frodo, causing the young Hobbit to shudder against him. “All right, lad. Come on then.”

Frodo guided Gimli down the hallway. Gimli dropped like a stone onto Frodo’s bed, his eyes closing at once.

“Good night, Gimli,” Frodo whispered.

“Good night, Frodo,” Gimli said, yawning. “By the way... where is Legolas?”

***

The air was thick with feathers. Not one full pillow remained in Merry and Pippin’s bedroom. Pippin had a mouth full of feathers that he couldn’t seem to get rid of. Angelica’s curly red hair was nearly white with them.

“They’re stuck in my teeth, Merry.”

“Angelica’s a bloody good pillow fighter, Pip.”

“How can I kiss you with a mouth full of feathers, lass?”

“You can’t. Merry shall have to kiss me instead.”

“Merry’s already kissed you more than I have.”

“Not here...”

“Did you like that, then? Shall I do it again?”

“I think you should... and leave the feathers in.”

“Pin her down, Pip. That’s what we ought do.”

“I’ve got her legs.”

“I’ve got her arms!”

“Those aren’t my arms, Merry!”

“I suppose not. But I’ve still got you pinned down. Try and escape!”

“Now why would I ever want to escape?”

“She’s a wise lass, Pippin. Pippin?”

“Shhh, Pippin. Don’t talk with your mouth full. Ahh, that’s lovely.”

“Merry? I have a thought.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Pippin. It must be someone else’s.”

“Angelica... supposing I were to move just so...”

“I think that’s a brilliant idea, Pippin. Merry, perhaps you could slip just around the other side...”

“Now that, is a brilliant idea.”

“Thank you. Oh...thank...you...”