The Fellowship of the Truly Annoyed (Chapters 1-3) by Kidrynn
If the days were thought to be long, then the nights must have been immeasurable! Though the Fellowship got along for the most part, there were those times where the tension of the situation (not to mention the oddity of the group) tended to get on everyone’s nerves. It is a normal occurrence and should not be held against any of them. They were all good souls, and they were traveling to make our world better. But to skip this tale entirely would be a sad thing!
The tension was always there, especially noticed between Gimli son of Glóin and Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood. There would be sniveling comments between the two, but they did their best to remain distanced from each other. While camped one night, Aragorn suggested that someone should scout the area to make sure all was well.
“Legolas!” he called to the elf. “You have the sharpest eyes. Head back up the ridge and see if you can spot any black riders! I am hoping that we are rid of them at last!”
The elf-prince nodded his head, and then hefted his bow in his hands. He turned and made his way towards the ridge, but stopped short when Aragorn called back to him a second time. He turned and looked to the Man, a curious furrow creasing his brow.
“Legolas!” he shouted. He watched the elf turn to him and pointed to Gimli. “Take Gimli with you.”
Legolas’ shoulders fell and he groaned a complaint. “Oh, god,” he grumbled, stomping a foot upon the hard-packed earth. “Not the dwarf!”
“If you think I am pleased about being sent off on this quest with an elf,” Gimli growled, “you have another thought coming. And it will be from the sharp edge of my axe, wretched elf!”
Legolas reached out with his bow and nudged the dwarf with the end of it. He shoved him backwards a bit, a look of disgust in his fair eyes.
Aragorn sternly looked at the elf-prince. He wagged a warning finger at him. “Behave, Legolas,” he reprimanded. “Gimli may become your best friend one day!”
He looked absolutely horrified. “May you never speak of such evil again, Aragorn son of Arathorn!” He motioned to the dwarf, sighing loudly. “Be quick, Gimli! I do not wish even the eyes of the enemy to see me walking near you.” It is a well-known fact that elves and dwarves do not get along. If one were to retrace the validity of the statement, they would find a hundred tales to support my point! But, alas! we are getting off subject.
It was not only Legolas and Gimli that were antagonistic towards each other. Boromir was more than a little bitter concerning Aragorn. He wondered why, after all this time, did the heir to Isildur have to surface? It seemed as though he was doomed to remain in the Prince’s shadow forever. And now, he was on this wretched little quest concerning a tiny smidgen of a gold ring that he thought could help more than it could hinder. But time and again, his opinions had been out-voiced by the Council of Elrond.
Eventually, as Sauron and Saruman had planned, the Fellowship began to break. In the wake of Gandalf’s death, the anxiety and stress of the quest seemed to proliferate tenfold. While the others fully comprehended Gandalf’s passing, Legolas was seeing the effects for the first time. Since elves are immortal, Death was something new to him, and he did not like how it was tearing the company apart. It was this first night after the end of the wizard that the group had their first official fight.
Boromir was assisting the hobbit Sam in preparing a meal for the broken Fellowship. Though they were all sure that they could not eat a bite, the smell of the roasting food was enough to convince them otherwise. The remainder of the group sat around the fire. Gimli, Frodo, Merry, and Pippin sat gazing into the blaze, quietly chatting amongst themselves. O, how they missed Gandalf! And Frodo was convinced that this was the end–without Gandalf, he was sure he would never be able to return home; he would die out in the cold, so far from home.
Just a few steps away sat Aragorn and Legolas. They were chatting about something, but no one was sure of exactly what. They spoke in the elf-tongue. Boromir was sure that they were arranging something, and he didn’t like being left out of the plans. He knew only a little Sindarin, and it annoyed him that they probably knew that and were speaking it on purpose. He glanced to them now and then, so sure that they were much too friendly.
Doing his best to keep one eye on the fire, and another on the chatting friends, Boromir rested next to the hobbits and Gimli. Now and again, the breeze blew the smoke into his face, making him cough and sneeze. Sam sat nearby, gathering a small feast for them all. As he worked, he reached over to his mug for a sip of water. When he did, he managed to bump Boromir’s own drink, spilling it into the fire. The coals hissed like a cornered asp, spattering billowing clouds of white smoke into the air.
“Blast, Samwise Gamgee!” Boromir shouted. He picked up the mug, glancing inside. “You should be keeping your hobbit hands from the fire as it is!”
Sam crouched down by the hearth, an apologetic look in his eyes. “Beggin’ your pardon, Master Boromir!” he cried. “I meant no harm, sir. Here now, I’ll fetch you something right quick!” He took the mug from the man and proceeded to step away from the fire.
Boromir sighed, shaking his head and rubbing at his eyes. The smoke continued to snake into his face, stinging his eyes and filling his lungs. “And who the bloody hell made this wretched fire?” he asked.
Their conversation interrupted, Aragorn looked to him, an annoyed look upon his face. “It was I, Boromir,” he said. “What is wrong with it?”
“Well, did you have to make it with such rank wood?” he snapped. “The smoke is enough to kill an old dragon himself!”
“And, you are certainly growling complaint enough to be one,” Legolas quipped quietly. Though obviously it was not quiet enough, for Boromir stood to face him.
“Just what is that supposed to mean, little elf?” he snarled.
Legolas shrugged his shoulders. “It means you whine like a child,” he said matter-of-factly. “You are rumored to be quite the warrior, though I do not see how that could be possible as you sit before me sniveling about a poorly made fire.”
He was taken aback by the reprimand, even if it wasn’t very harsh. “You certainly are wonderful and witty, aren’t you, Legolas?” he smiled, anger brewing in his eyes behind the laugh lines. “It is very interesting to hear such a scolding come from the condescending son of a royal. You’ve probably never even made a fire yourself in all your near-three-thousand years!”
Legolas was the angered one this time. He stood to face the man, stepping closer to him. He gritted his teeth, determined to prove that he was anything but a ‘little elf.’ “I was making bonfires when your ancestors were mere babes!”
Aragorn jumped up and stood between the two. He held his hands up to both of them, hushing their words immediately. “Can we leave the blaze-bickering for later?” he asked. He pointed to Legolas. “You return to your seat, we have much to discuss.” He turned to Boromir. “And you return to your brooding over the fire.”
Elf and Man backed away, still a challenging look in both their eyes. Legolas quietly returned to his spot, hands clenched into fists. He took a deep breath and picked up his mug of water. He did his best to calm his anger, though the Steward of Gondor’s son annoyed him to no end. He was sure the man had good intentions, but he had yet to witness them.
Boromir nodded, understanding where Aragorn’s loyalty lay. Isildur’s heir did not have a strong will when it came to the elves. He wagged a finger at the Man, a sarcastic smile again forming across his face. “They have made you weak, Aragorn,” he noted as he moved back to his spot. “You’ve let the foul little creatures creep into your mind and into your heart.”
That was the last straw, according to Legolas. He threw down his drink and rushed over to the whining man. “Mîbo orch!” he shouted as he stomped towards him. Go kiss an orc!
Boromir was quick to draw his sword, though Legolas had no weapon to defend himself. He set the tip of the blade against the elf’s breast, warding him off. But Aragorn was not going to let the argument escalate any further. He jumped in between them again, pushing them apart. He hefted Boromir’s sword to the side, an angry look in his eyes. “Enough!” he bellowed. “You are both acting like children!”
Boromir grinned happily, enjoying his momentary advantage. “Not much of a warrior,” he almost chuckled to Legolas. “Not even ready to defend himself. Simply runs into a battle with no weapons in sight!”
Legolas returned the smirk, more than a hint of sarcasm there. He opened his arms, daring Boromir to use his weapon. “I was not aware that I needed to defend myself against friends,” he snarled.
He raised his eyebrows, surprised. He bowed to the Prince of Mirkwood, not meaning it politely at all. “Oh!” he cried. “We are friends, I see! If we are friends then, perhaps you can tell me what you and the Great Aragorn have been plotting behind my back?”
“We were planning no harm to you or the others,” Aragorn told him. “We were merely speaking of what is yet to come. That is all.”
Boromir looked over at him, searching his face for some hint of a lie. “What do you know of what has yet to come?” he asked.
“I know very little,” he replied. “But elves are very wise creatures. They know more than you can imagine.”
He looked over at Legolas, glancing him up and down. He watched him put his arms down, knowing the confrontation would not happen. There seemed to be almost a look of disgust upon Boromir’s face. “So, this little elf knows the outcome of our quest?”
Aragorn shook his head. “No,” he corrected. “But he does have an insight to certain things that I do not.”
Boromir would not let his guard down enough to speak to Legolas and learn from him. Not right now. He was far too angry and wanted nothing more to do with the creature. He was still bitter towards the elf for embarrassing him before the Council of Elrond. He shook his head and backed away again. “He is nothing more than a messenger,” he snapped quietly.
Legolas leaned closer and smiled. “Lasto al lalaith nîn,” he replied, seeming rather pleased with himself. He knew that Boromir did not understand him. This time it was he who enjoyed the advantage over the Man.
He raised an eyebrow at him. Without even a moment of thought, Boromir lunged towards the elf. “What did you say?” he asked. “Say it in my tongue if you dare, little elf!”
Once again, Aragorn separated the feuding two. He pulled them apart and shoved Boromir backwards. “I said enough!” he yelled. He turned to Legolas and pointed past him, back to where they had been sitting. “Leave him be, Legolas!” he commanded. “Go sit down!”
He did as he was told, returning to his place. He picked up the empty mug of water, setting it down upon the stone on which he had been sitting. He did his best to ignore the conversing Men.
Boromir tried to push past Aragorn. “What did he say? What did the little bugger say?” he asked, furiously. “It was an insult, wasn’t it?”
Aragorn nodded his head, holding a hand up to silence him. “Yes, it was,” he agreed. “But he will not be saying it again in any tongue. Go rest by the fire, Boromir. Soon we will eat, and then we will sleep. Tomorrow is a new day, aye?”
He looked away from the elf, turning to the man. He finally nodded his head, agreeing with what was said. “Aye,” he mumbled. “Tomorrow is a new day.”
WARNING: SOME MILD SWEARING.
And right Aragorn was–Tomorrow shined brightly down upon them. The morning dawned fresh and new, contrary to some of the dispositions around the campfire. While Legolas and Boromir were no longer antagonistic towards each other, the hobbits seemed to be annoyed this time. Aragorn was sure it was because the poor things were not able to enjoy their homes and meals as usual. He smiled at each of them as they arose, hoping that his gentle grin would ease the discomfort of the adventure.
Sam was quick to gather his things. After packing everything onto his back, he quickly jumped closer to Frodo. He immediately began helping his friend, making Frodo smile.
“Sam,” he said, patting his shoulder. “You are so quick to please others! Even last night! You were so swift in setting Boromir on a happier path. You certainly are a wonderful friend!”
Sam shrugged his shoulders. “It’s nothin’ that others wouldn’t do, Mister Frodo,” he blushed. He continued packing the blankets and other things back into the Frodo’s pack.
“It’s a bit more than I would do,” Merry admitted quietly.
Pippin nodded his head. “Me, too!”
Frodo smiled a bit more, turning from Merry and Pippin. “Well, what about you, Sam?” he asked.
“What about’n me, sir?” he returned, glancing over at him.
“What would make you happy?”
Merry and Pippin stood next to Frodo, looking to the fourth hobbit. “Yes, Sam!” they agreed. “Come on now, tell us!”
Sam thought for a moment, and then smiled sheepishly. He shook his head and tied the pack closed. “Oh, no, sir!” he chuckled. “Mister Merry and Mister Pippin don’t want to be listenin’ to no nonsense like that.”
“Come on, now!” they encouraged.
Sam scratched at his head, his golden curls shining in the morning sun. “Well, sir,” he said thoughtfully. “Honestly what would make me pretty darn happy right about now is to kick you in your round little hobbit arse!”
Shocked, the rest of the Fellowship looked at Sam, their jaws nearly hitting the floor. Sam looked to each of them, his gaze landing lastly upon Frodo.
“What?!” Frodo questioned, his eyes hurt and betrayed.
Sam shrugged his shoulders. “You were askin’, Mister Frodo,” he said quite simply. “It’s all because of you and Old Bilbo that we’re on this blasted quest. If it weren’t for you and that little gold ring, we’d all be home enjoying our nice feather mattresses and maybe a spot of morning tea!”
Pippin looked at his cousin as if he had been struck by an epiphany. “You know, he’s quite right!” he agreed.
Merry nodded his head. “Yeah!” he replied. “I think I’d like to kick you as well, Frodo!”
“Ooh! Me three,” Pippin smiled, clapping his hands together like a giddy child.
Sam held up a finger to them. “Not before me, you don’t!” he almost interrupted. “I get first dibs. After all, it’s me that’s carryin’ half of Frodo’s things.”
“Sam!” Frodo yelled, shocked at their sudden behavior.
Sam looked at him. “Well, I am, sir!” he replied. “After all, you’re swearin’ that that ring is gettin’ heavier and heavier, which I highly doubt!”
“Yeah!” Pippin said. “What exactly is the deal with that, cousin?”
Frodo shoved him. “Don’t you ‘cousin’ me!” he yelled. “You’re lobbying for a kicking position! It’s not my fault that the ring came to me!”
Merry rolled his eyes at him. “Oh, come now!” he complained. “You’re the one that had to succumb to its powers, Frodo!”
“What?!”
“I mean, really!” Merry continued. “You don’t see the rest of us doing that, do you?”
Frodo immediately pointed to Boromir. “Look!” he snarled. “He’s the chap that wanted to use it to doom us all!”
“Oh, forget trying to pin you’re problems on Master Boromir!” Sam fought, pointing a finger at him. “He’d probably like to boot you one, too, you know!”
Boromir looked at Aragorn and the rest. They all shrugged their shoulders. Aragorn decided to stop the fight. He’d let them argue for a while just to get it out of their systems, but it seemed now that the fight was going to continue for some time.
“Come on,” Pippin said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s have it now! Turn around so we can all get a good crack at you. Here! Brace yourself on this rock!”
Aragorn stepped into the middle of the fight, still playing the peacemaker. “All right, little hobbits!” he yelled. “I imagine Frodo feels bad enough, we do not need to injure his pride any further!”
But Pippin was already excited and wouldn’t be put down so easily. “Perhaps you’d like to take his place then!” he almost shouted to the Man. “And, we can boot you in the arse!”
Aragorn leaned down to the hobbit, setting his hands upon his knees and looking him squarely in the eye. “Peregrine Took,” he said quietly. “If you were to boot me in the arse or otherwise, you would have more than a mere apple to the head as before.”
Pippin quickly remembered his place. He swallowed nervously, trying his best to rid his throat of the lump that suddenly appeared there. “Right you are,” he smiled. “Cheers.” He quickly moved aside, ducking behind Frodo and Sam.
The days seemed to blur together. There were a couple more arguments between the Fellowship, and each time Aragorn was the mediator. He reminded them of the journey ahead, and of the work yet to come. Each of them would grumble and move back to their separate corners. But by the dawning of the new day, all ill words and feelings were forgotten, and friendship grew. Even Legolas and Gimli seemed to put their differences aside, trying to show the others that they needed to band together more than ever now. And before long, the two became fast friends.
But as sure as the moon hung in the sky each night, the bickering returned. One particular night, the hobbits and Gimli clashed. Aragorn wasn’t sure how it started, but suddenly his conversation with Boromir and Legolas was interrupted by a shout of surprise.
“Master Samwise!” Gimli yelled. “Leave be the axe! It is not yours to handle, little hobbit, lest ye wish to get hurt!”
Sam raised his hands into the air. “I was tryin’ to tidy up, Master Gimli, sir!” he apologized, setting the bow and quiver back down at the elf’s side. “I meant no harm!”
“It’s a encampment, Sam!” he reminded him. “Not one of your cozy hobbit holes.”
Pippin stood up next to Samwise, setting his hands upon his hips. “Now listen here, you burly dwarf! You don’t scare me!” he shouted back. “Sam Gamgee is one of the best hobbits in all The Shire! And I won’t have anyone – be it dwarf, elf or man – say anything bad about him!”
“Nor will I!” Frodo said, standing beside Pippin.
Merry didn’t say a word, but he stood with his fellow hobbits just the same.
Gimli clamped his jaw shut and growled, his eyes burning with anger. He was usually able to keep his anger under control. But recently, he’d been a bit worse for the wear. He blamed it solely on having to travel with a company as strange as this. He was sure Black Magic was afoot! He looked down at Pippin, who still stood with his hands upon his hips. He leaned down to him, growling deep in his chest. “You have much courage, little hobbits!” he snarled.
Pippin swallowed nervously. Perhaps standing up to the dwarf wasn’t as wise as it had seemed at the time. He backed up a step or two, pushing his counterparts backwards, and putting some distance between them and the enraged dwarf.
“Where are you going, little hobbit?” he asked. He took a step towards them.
“Gimli!” someone called out.
He turned to see Aragorn nearing them. Boromir was right on his tail, and Legolas brought up the rear. He sighed and pursed his lips together.
“Leave the hobbits alone!” he said. “You are far too angry to be speaking with them! Show them that you are the better person.” He turned and knelt down to the hobbits. “Put your differences aside, young hobbits.”
“I cannot say as I would lay blame upon Gimli,” Legolas interrupted. He and Gimli nodded to each other.
Aragorn turned to face him. “This is no time to pick favorites. I did not say there was blame to be laid,” he returned. “You should think before you speak, Legolas.”
The hobbits took their leave. Still bunched into a group, they moved away from the big people, knowing that another fight was about to break out. The huddled together at a good distance away from them, whispering quietly about whom they thought would win.
He stared at him for a moment, surprised. “I’m sorry,” he said sarcastically as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Did you, a simple man, just insult an elf that is much older and wiser than you?”
Aragorn scoffed, chuckling a little as he met Boromir’s eyes. “I insulted an old elf, yes,” he replied. “Whether or not he is wiser has yet to be proven.”
Legolas grabbed Aragorn’s shoulder, and roughly shoved him aside, glaring at him. “You know, I am quite sick of you pretending that you’re better than all of us! You aren’t the wonderful peacemaker that you’d have us all believe! You’re a warrior, and not a particularly good one at that!”
Aragorn shook his head. “Legolas, I am merely trying to keep what is left of the Fellowship together,” he said.
“Are you?” he asked.
He wanted to roll his eyes at him. “Alright, fine,” he snarled. “Shut your royal elf-prince mouth. Is that more to your liking? If you wish to fight, I shall gladly oblige you, you twit!”
“Twit-and-a-half!” he snapped back.
The argument suddenly came to a screeching halt. There was a long pause as Aragorn turned to stare at the elf. He sighed and shook his head. “You have been alive for nearly three-thousand years, Legolas,” he noted, a pitiful look in his eyes. “And the only comeback you had was ‘twit-and-a-half’?”
Legolas was furious! He clenched his jaw and gritted his teeth. “Alright then!” he nearly yelled. “‘Filthy human’, how about that?”
“Prissy elf,” he shot back without missing a beat.
He raised an eyebrow at him, his mouth gaping open. “Prissy!” he growled. “Oh, that’s it! No more Mister Nice-Elf. Prepare for an arrow in the backside, you wise-cracking Man!”
Before either of them could react much more, Boromir stepped in. He thought it rather amusing that it would be him to interrupt the fight. He drew his sword and generously whacked both man and elf over the head with the flat of the blade. It did nothing more than bruise their scalps, and injure their prides. Both Legolas and Aragorn held a hand to their heads, groaning in pain. They turned to look at Boromir, who stood with a bright grin upon his face.
“Come now, brothers!” he grinned at them. “Simple bickering amongst the Fellowship will find no positive outcome. We are bound together, and we must stop acting like children. I, for one, am tired of all the fights and arguments. Are you not, Gimli?”
The dwarf was the smart one. When Boromir turned to get his allegiance, Gimli had moved away and now stood with the group of hobbits. He said nothing, keeping a respectful distance from the fight. Boromir shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the elf and man.
“I am sure he is,” he said for him. “But you seem to have scared him away with all of your foolish name-calling.”
Though Gimli was far from scared, he decided that now was not the time to say anything about Boromir’s misguided sentence.
Man and Elf met one another’s eyes. They held within those gazes a silent conversation. They looked back to a smiling Boromir, who still stood beaming proudly at his own actions and wise words. Aragorn and Legolas suddenly let out whoops of attack, and proceeded to charge at the Man. All three went crashing to the ground, growls of defeat and assault turning into raucous laughter.
The rest of the Fellowship watched them, Frodo clapping his hands together and giggling at their antics. Boromir was trying desperately to best the elf and man, but he was losing quite poorly. Even Aragorn had taken up forces against Legolas. The brawl was every man for himself–and it seemed that the elf-side was winning.
Somehow, the method unbeknownst to Aragorn and Boromir, Legolas ended up atop both of them. The two men lay side by side, the elf-prince standing upon them, one foot resting upon Boromir’s shoulder, the other upon Aragorn’s. He raised his arms in triumph.
“Let it be known!” he yelled. “I am the champion of this battle! The race of Elves remains the victor! I claim this success in the name of Thranduil, King of Mirkwood!”
Boromir laughed loudly at him. “How did we end up in this position, Aragorn?” he asked his counterpart. “The little elf has bested both of us!”
Aragorn shook his head. “I do not know!” he chuckled. “It seems there is more to Legolas Greenleaf than meets the eye!”
He couldn’t help but laugh again. He grabbed hold of the elf’s leg. “It seems there is not!” he argued. “Only a woman should be so light, little elf!” With all the force he could muster, he yanked the leg out from underneath him.
Legolas went crashing to the ground, coming to rest between the two men, his victory crumbling before him. He landed upon his back, knocking the wind from his lungs. As he groaned in pain, Aragorn and Boromir hovered over him, laughing breathlessly.
“Let it be known!” Boromir chuckled. “We are the champions of this battle. The race of Man takes the victory, and claim it in the name of Gondor!” He smacked the elf’s chest with the palm of his hand, trying to rouse him.
Legolas groaned again, coughing a little, then took hold of both men’s arms. They pulled him to his feet and helped him to stand. The hobbits and Gimli stood back from the three, still laughing at the whole scene. Boromir, Aragorn, and Legolas slowly turned to look at them, eyebrows raised. The three then looked to each other. With a sudden yell of attack, they sprinted after the hobbits and Gimli.
Frodo, Sam, Merry and Pippin’s eyes all flew open wide as they screamed and ran away. Even Gimli turned and bolted away from the crazed three. The hobbits hopped across the land, followed by the dwarf, and prayed that their little legs could carry them fast enough.
They may have been a motley group, and one hard-pressed for patience at times, but they were The Fellowship. And, broken or not, they were all bound as brothers to each other. Times would become tougher, but each of them knew that without a doubt they could count of the other.
No matter what.
3 Comments
Hey where’s the rest of it?
the great what? it was getting realy good! i wanna read the end >.< brillent storie! keep it up. cant wait to see what happens next 😀
Ah, man, this is hilarious. Obviously you’re not writing on it anymore, but I’d very much like to know what the end of that sentence was. Ah, well. . . Good luck in writing and life. Cheers!