They had been walking for hours, and Pippin for one was in a less than forgiving mood. He looked up and looked again as he spied a familiar flower in the half-rotted grass along the path they were taking. He lit up at once.

“Merry,” he called. He scrambled down into the gully before his friend had answered.

Merry’s face appeared above him. “What are you doing?”

“Pipe weed,” Pippin called up. He followed his voice up onto the path again, carrying a large handful of plant material.

Merry gasped in awe. “It’s a variety I have not seen before and it smells . . .” He brought it to his nose and sniffed deeply. “Smells like old Toby.”

“Good,” Pippin said quickly. “I’ve run out.”

Merry frowned. “You smoke too much.”

“Let’s try it. Will make this journey far more fun if we have a full pipe at the same time.”

As soon as opportunity came along, which wasn’t for another three hours, they did so.

Sitting down gratefully by the fire Gandalf lit for them, Legolas squatted down beside Sam to help with the meal. They generally took turns with the task, although Pippin, on this occasion, had thought up an exceedingly fine excuse, which lifted him in the eyes of the more masterful dodger, Merry.

“I don’t know if I could skin a rabbit without throwing up on it,” he said, wincing convincingly, and turning a glorious shade of green for good measure.

“That will not be necessary,” Legolas deadpanned. “I shall do it.” And while the two lazier hobbits, one grinning the other congratulating, rummaged for pipes and new weed amongst themselves, Legolas cut a small hole in the rabbit’s skin and plucked a thick grass stem. Thrusting it into the hole, he blew into the stem and watched as the rabbit expanded. “There,” he told Sam.

“Thank you, Mr. Legolas,” Sam said. “It’s certainly different than going down to Old Bolger’s for a brace all ready for cooking, right enough.”

Legolas smiled. “You’re welcome, Sam.”

Suddenly Merry choked. “Suck an elf!” he shouted, rudely, eyes popping wide.

Legolas shot from squatting to standing, with as much grace as he could muster. “I beg your pardon?”

“That’s good stuff you have there, Pip,” Merry enthused and drew in another long drag. He looked round him, eyes unfocused. “Oh look, fairies.”

Gandalf frowned. “What is that fowl smell about you?” he asked.

Merry did not answer. “Sa wa ca piwe isiz?” He frowned, suddenly less than steady above the shoulders. He had meant to say, ‘so, what kind of pipe weed is this?’, but for the life of him his voice wasn’t working as he thought it should. He opened his mouth again, but all that came out was a mumble. Without warning he sank backward onto the ground unconscious.

“Fool of a Took!” Gandalf forced out.

Pippin seemed oblivious. “I don’t care what you call me, az loong az is not br-hic-de wide!” he slurred.

Aragorn looked at the remaining hobbit in horror. “What are you smoking?”

“Bibe wee!” Pippin slurred, a drunken grin on his face.

Legolas was still silent as Gimli blinked up at him, straight faced. “Suck an elf?”

Legolas turned red at the thought. “They are obviously drunk on some herb they mistook for weed.”

Boromir, where he sat close by shook his head to clear his senses. “Whatever it is, it is strong.”

Aragorn lifted the leaves in Pippin’s hand as the hobbit giggled stupidly. “Weed indeed. It is hænep!”

Frodo gasped. Gimli frowned. “What is it?” he asked.

Legolas sucked in a breath. “Hampr,” he hissed in elfish.

Gimli’s eyes went wide. “Cannabis!” He growled under his breath as Legolas pulled Boromir up and into fresher air. He was woozy enough just being on the same side of the fire. Boromir hung onto Legolas and looking blearily into his eye.

“I always liked you. . .”

His crooked grin showed his intent, but the startled elf had not time to respond before Gimli grabbed a leg and threw the hapless warrior of Gondor into a small stream. A moment later a head shot up from the icy water and the owner gasped.

Aragorn took both pipes and the un-smoked weed and threw them as far as he could. “Did anyone else pick any of that plant.” Everyone shook their heads.

Pippin finally succumbed to the weed’s effects and sank onto his back in oblivion.

“Will they be alright?” Frodo asked.

“In an hour or two,” Aragorn replied. “In the mean time, let us all be mindful of why it is called weed.”

El fin