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On their first night on the road, they learned that Legolas did not wish to consume the flesh of the rabbit Aragorn had so valiantly caught as their dinner.
It gave Frodo wonder, as he had never met one who did not partake. For Hobbits in the Shire, meat was one of the most sought-after meals, and even the Elves in Rivendell had served it at the various feasts he had attended.
The other Hobbits, too, were curious, and Pippin, ever one to put his foot in his mouth, just came out and asked him about it. “Master Elf, how come you would rather eat those dubious berries rather than a piece of this well-seasoned and crispily grilled rabbit our dear Sam has so graciously prepared for us?”
Legolas, who sat a bit away from the fire on a slightly elevated rock, looked up from said dubious berries he was picking at and gave a startled laugh. “Oh, dear Hobbit, I can assure you these berries are perfectly safe. Also”—he pulled something from his pocket and held it up—“I’m only supplementing my piece of Lembas bread, as it can be a bit dull on its own.” He unwrapped the bread, broke off a piece, and, still laughing, popped it in his mouth.
Pippin, for his part, was not satisfied with that answer, and Frodo too felt as if the Elf was dodging the… well, the meat of the question. “But say, why no meat? I heard your kind were great hunters. Do you not eat what you slay?” he pressed.
“Oh, you curious little creature, would it not be a great waste to kill for no purpose? Of course my kin use every part of our prey. It is solely my choice to abstain.”
Frodo realised they would not get anything more out of Legolas and put his hand on Pippin’s shoulder when he opened his mouth again. “Let it rest,” he whispered, and the younger Hobbit actually listened for once, and the topic was dropped for the rest of the night.
***
A few days of walking later, they stumbled upon a dire sight indeed. A man, gutted and yet still breathing. Aragorn knelt beside him, inspecting the wounds and talking softly to the gagging man. “It will be fine, my friend. I can quell the bleeding.”
Frodo had little knowledge of treating wounds, for he had little experience of injury himself, but even he was aware that Aragorn was just talking pretty to the man to calm him down and ease his passing. The wound was gruesome, blood still pouring, now covering Aragorn’s hands as he pressed down on the man’s stomach.
The man tried to speak, but his lung must have been punctured, for he only gurgled blood.
Frodo looked away as the man began to choke and cough. He walked farther away to where the other Hobbits and Bill were standing, where he would be out of earshot as Aragorn—and now Boromir too—pressed the dying man for information. The last thing he heard was Aragorn fiercely asking him what happened, who or what had done this.
Sam gave him a grave look. Frodo averted his eyes and busied himself with petting Bill’s sweat-slick flank.
“What do you think did this?” asked Merry softly. “It does not look to have been a beast. This wound looks like it was inflicted by a sword,” Sam observed.
Aragorn stepped back to them. “He has passed,” he said grimly. “In the end he could not tell me what happened. An enemy is close by, and I will look for tracks. Maybe the forest can tell us what happened here.”
“My friends, let us walk a while back the way we came, for we know this path to be safe,” Gandalf said to the gathering of Hobbits. “Let them scout ahead.”
The Hobbits turned to leave, but Frodo took a glance back at the carnage.
Boromir, Gimli, and Aragorn fanned out, but Legolas had stepped up to the body and was kneeling beside it, gently closing the man’s eyes and taking his hand in his, stroking it. Then he lifted it to his lips, and with horror Frodo watched as Legolas bit off the dead man’s finger, chewed on it, and swallowed it.
Frodo stopped, mouth agape. He could not believe his eyes, but no—his eyes had not deceived him, for the graceful Elf was going in for another bite.
He turned away sharply and hurried after the gaggle of Hobbits.
Oh, how Frodo wished he could forget the trickle of blood from the stump on the dead man’s hand, the way it had left red droplets on the Elf’s lips. He thought of chewing on a chicken bone, as Legolas had on that finger, and felt his stomach tremble in disagreement.
Why would someone who did not wish to eat the meat of honourably hunted beasts snack on some dead man in the forest?
His thoughts tumbled from one side of his head to the other, repeating themselves, showing him the same picture of the Elf going in for the bite over and over.
The scouts returned not too long after and told tale of a quarrel of lovers that had ended in terrible bloodshed, but they did not find the one responsible, as they seemed no threat to their party.
Quietly, Frodo wondered what tracks they must have found to put all that together.
He made a point of keeping far away from Legolas, but as their party was quite big, no one took notice.
When they made camp and shared the duck Boromir had brought back from his hunt for them, Legolas once again politely refused. Frodo let out a bitter laugh, which earned him a questioning glance from Sam next to him.
***
He kept wary of the Elf, made sure not to fall too far back, as Legolas was the rear guard as usual. After their failed climb up the mountain and the dredge through the waters, they finally reached the great wall of Moria, the howling of wolves carried to them by the wind.
With few words, Gandalf explained to the Hobbits the way Dwarven doors were constructed, to open only under certain conditions, and as the moon rose in the firmament, it proved the wizard’s words true. Runes began to appear on the wall as the cold light kissed the stone, and the Hobbits looked on in wonder, as did Legolas and Boromir, for they both beheld a Dwarven door for the very first time.
But then the old man showed his age, as he had forgotten the password to open their way under the mountain.
The party spread out, leaving the wizard to think.
Frodo sat down on a rock near the water’s edge, gazing out over the dark puddle. Boromir sat down next to him, burying his face in his hands and muttering something about stupid old men, but Frodo did not lift his eyes, for he saw something white in the dark water, not far from the shore. Curiously he reached in, startled by the freezing temperature but determined, and he grasped the object.
Boromir next to him had sat up in alarm when he heard Frodo break the surface tension. He grabbed Frodo by the arm, forcing it out of the water. “What do you think you’re doing, little master?” he began to chide, but he interrupted himself when he saw what Frodo had pulled out of the water.
It was a white foot, slimy and ripped off shortly above the ankle.
With a start Frodo yelped and threw the foot aside. He ripped free of Boromir, stumbled back into the man’s broad chest. Boromir’s hands came to support him, but Frodo only had eyes for his disgusting discovery.
His shriek had alarmed the others to the situation, and Aragorn, Gimli, and Legolas hurried over. Boromir took Frodo into his arms, rose from the ground, and made his way toward the other Hobbits, who were watching curiously from where they had gathered around Gandalf.
“This water is dangerous; see what the little master fished out. I shall keep the Hobbits away from this sight,” Boromir said to the others before making his way over to Gandalf and the pantheon of Hobbits.
Over his shoulder Frodo saw Aragorn picking up the foot and handing it to Legolas, then Boromir sat him down and blocked his view.
“What happened, Master Frodo?” Sam asked, alarmed. “Are you alright?”
Frodo nodded. He felt cold and knew he must look like he had been stabbed by the Witch-king all over again. “I just… saw something unbecoming.”
“Oh come on, don’t leave us hanging in suspense! Out with it!” demanded Merry, Pippin nodding along energetically.
Frodo buried his face in his hands. “Dear friends, if I told you, you would wish I had not,” he mumbled through his fingers.
“All right, if you’re gonna be like that!” cried Merry, before jumping up and making his way over to where the three were gathered, deftly evading Boromir’s hands as he tried to catch him.
Pippin followed him, and together they raced over to where Aragorn, Legolas, and Gimli had gathered.
“Nay, my little friends, you really would not wish to see this,” insisted Gimli, who rarely got to call others little and therefore took great joy in traveling with the Hobbits.
“Well, if it will sate their curiosity, I am sure they shall see much worse before our quest is over,” chimed in Gandalf, whom Frodo had assumed had fallen asleep, so still had he been sitting.
Frodo turned to look at his kinsmen, despite it all curious to see their reaction.
“Oh, by Bombadil’s beard!” cried Pippin. “Is that a foot?” He reached out his hand to Legolas, who was holding the dreaded thing. “May I see?” he asked.
Legolas threw a questioning gaze to Gandalf, who gave a slight nod, and Legolas handed the foot to the curious Hobbit, who let out a small noise of disgust as the cold, slimy skin touched his own, but he did not drop it.
“Let me see!” exclaimed Merry, and he tried to rip the foot out of Pippin’s hands, but Pippin held on tight. “Wait your turn! I want to take a closer look!”
He turned the foot this way and that, seeming more amazed than disgusted.
“Oh, see, Merry—the whole heel is missing! Looks like something took a bite out of it!”
Frodo shot a sharp gaze to Legolas, who looked calm and innocent as he tended to look, watching the young Hobbits with grace.
Frodo was sure the foot had had a heel when he had pulled it out of the water.
Thankfully, after Legolas had helped Gandalf realise that the password was written on the door itself, they could enter Moria. Not so thankfully, the thing that had presumably ripped off the foot of its rightful owner made itself known.
Black tentacles emerged from the dark waters, flailing and trying to reach for the small prey—the Hobbits. Thankfully, the Men, the Elf, and the Dwarf could fight it off, but the gate crumbled behind them, blocking the way out and leaving them no choice but to face the darkness of the mine.
This was the last straw for Frodo. The Ring weighed him down heavily, humming happily as if feeding off his despair, and he was tempted to put it on and just make a run for it.
Instead, he dropped to his knees and let out a long scream. Immediately Sam was by his side, cradling his master and whispering calming nothings to him. Frodo concentrated on his best friend’s words, and the world seemed to shrink until there was just enough space in it for Frodo and Sam.
They embraced tightly, sharing warmth, and Frodo’s heartbeat calmed, now pounding in the same rhythm as Sam’s.
“Sam… I can’t do this anymore.”
“Yes, you can, master. You have come so far, and see how our company has grown! So many of us to support you, to protect you. I know you can do this, Master Frodo.”
They pressed their foreheads together. Frodo’s tears stopped, drying on his cheeks.
“Thank you, Sam,” he whispered, before letting his world expand again and looking at the rest of the Fellowship.
Merry and Pippin stood awkwardly behind Sam, clearly wanting to embrace Frodo too but holding back. Behind them, the Big Folk were involved in a hushed discussion, regularly glancing back at Frodo.
“We should find someplace soon to make camp. The Ring-bearer desperately needs to catch his breath,” announced Gandalf, and the others nodded in agreement.
“Come,” said Sam as he righted himself, and he held out his hand to help his master to his feet. Slowly Frodo took it and let himself be pulled up.
Gandalf held his lit-up staff high so they all might see at least a bit of the path ahead, and he led them deeper into the mines.
At last he halted. “We shall spend the night here,” he decided.
And so they set up camp. The Hobbits rolled out their bedrolls, and Gimli and Legolas scouted the perimeter. Gandalf told them not to light a fire, and so they all huddled around him and his illuminated staff. Frodo was squeezed between Merry and Sam, and he felt… safe.
But then the first watch was decided, and the choice fell on Legolas. In his heart Frodo knew that Legolas was a good choice—he had keen eyes and even keener ears—but Frodo could not shake the fear that the Elf might take a bite out of him in the dark.
He couldn’t stop the sob that crawled out of his throat, and all eyes went to him. Immediately Sam shuffled over and fell to his knees in front of him, taking Frodo’s hands.
“What’s wrong, Mister Frodo?” he asked, concerned.
“The Elf…” Frodo whispered. “Something is wrong with him.” Sam glanced over his shoulder at Legolas, who still dutifully checked their surroundings for danger.
“What do you mean?” he asked quietly.
“Dear Sam, don’t think me off my rocker, but I swear I saw him eat a corpse twice already.”
Sam tilted his head. “You mean he does eat meat after all?”
“Yeah, but… not animals.”
Sam’s eyes lit up in alarm. “What do you mean, Mister Frodo?” he asked urgently, his voice rising slightly, alerting the Big Folk, who gathered around them.
“What’s the matter, my Hobbit friends?” asked Aragorn.
“Sam and Frodo are whispering again!” said Pippin. And Merry chimed in, “Always keeping secrets, these two!”
Sam gave Frodo one last look before getting up and shouting: “Master Elf! You have some explaining to do!”
Gandalf sighed. “I thought your folk were famed for stealth, Legolas,” he chided, and the Elf looked down, abashed. “Now you will have to explain yourself.”
“What possible explanation could there be for… for eating the dead?” cried Frodo from behind Sam.
“The dead?” asked Pippin. “My, I thought our Master Elf here did not partake?” Then realisation crossed his face. “The dead?” he repeated, looking desperately at Merry, who stared back in horror, both thinking of the foot with the big bite taken out of the heel.
“Is that the way of the Elves of Mirkwood? To dishonour the dead so?” shouted Sam, straightening himself to his full height which, though not very tall, was still imposing on the normally sweet Hobbit.
Legolas sighed, stepping closer, but Sam raised his hand to bid him halt, and Legolas obeyed, sitting down gracefully on the floor.
“My friends,” he started. “I truly wish I could have told you on my own terms, but it was decided that my… ability might be too much for Hobbit sensibilities.” He shot a glance at Gandalf. “And I guess the Council was right. Now, I shall explain myself, and I hope I may regain your trust, for I have grown to care about you very much, and I would like to continue on this journey with you.”
He folded his hands and looked down at his lap. Gimli stepped next to him and put his hand on the Elf’s shoulder. Legolas put his own atop it and sent Gimli a thankful smile.
“As you have probably gathered, while I do not eat animal flesh, I do at times eat human, Elven, and once even Dwarven flesh. But I only eat of the dead, and only when I believe I might gain an advantage from the insight this process gives me. For you see, I was born with the rare gift of clairvoyance. I am sure you have heard of it—prophetic dreams, reading the clouds, or flashes of knowledge one should not yet possess. But I receive insight in a… different way. When I eat the flesh of a once-living being, I may receive some insight into their last moments in life. It is, of course, not pretty, but it has proven useful, even on this journey.”
The Hobbits gaped at him. Legolas sent them a wry smile.
“I am happy to explain further if you have any questions.”
The floodgates opened.
“How did you find out you can do that?” cried Sam immediately.
“Have you ever tried what happens when you do it with living things?” asked Pippin.
“Are there others like you?” wondered Merry.
Only Frodo sat quietly, unsure how to feel about this explanation. While it made sense, was it truly an excuse to defile a once-living being like that? He felt that was a question for someone wiser than himself.
He looked over at Gandalf next to them, who was smiling softly at the inquiring Hobbits. He didn’t seem to have a problem with it, and Gandalf was probably one of the wisest people currently alive. If Gandalf could trust Legolas, so could Frodo.
The Elf was currently struggling to answer the Hobbits’ questions, looking far less graceful than usual. Gimli had sat down next to him, and Aragorn and Boromir too had joined the circle.
“Yes, Legolas, how did you ever find out about your talent?” prompted Aragorn.
The Elf sighed. “Well, it started when I was quite young—barely thirty. I would get visions of pain and fear whenever I ate the meat that had been hunted for me, so I refused to eat it. When I explained it to my father, he thought I was just soft and had empathy for the poor animals. But it is more than that. When I eat flesh of any kind, it is like I am dying with it. It can be useful for tracking and solving mysterious deaths, but I do not enjoy it.”
That let Frodo breathe a little easier. It seemed less and less likely that the Elf would take a bite out of him while he was sleeping.
“I have never met another with the same talent as I, but there must be others like me, for there have been documented cases. Still, it is so rare a gift that it was never given a name.” The Elf sighed and made to get up. “I hope my honesty could lighten the blow of such a revelation, but you all should rest now, and I shall be on watch.”
“Wait! Master Elf!” Pippin cried. “You have not answered if you have ever tried it on a living person!”
Legolas sighed. He seemed to have hoped he would not need to answer that particular question.
“I have never taken a true bite of a living thing, but if I were to… say… lick you, I might get some vague insight into you as a person.”
“Lick me?” asked Merry with laughter on his lips. “However did you learn that? Have you licked a lot of people in your time?”
Pippin joined in his laughter, and Aragorn too choked back a laugh. “He sure licks a lot of people,” he mumbled into his shaggy beard and went back to chewing on his pipe.
Legolas’ fair face went beet-red and he sprang up in one fluid motion. “Enough questions now! You really should take this opportunity to rest!” he said and turned his back to them.
“He is right, my lads!” Gandalf said. “To bed with you! We still have a long way to go before this is over.”
The Hobbits muttered in agreement and settled down, becoming once again a huddle of Hobbits.
Frodo felt safe and warm with his closest friends next to him and snuggled back into Sam’s chest. Just as he was about to fall asleep, he realised what Strider had meant.