“Are you listening, Frodo?” Gandalf’s tone was sharp.
Frodo turned his head to look at him. “What? Yes.”
“Then what was I saying?”
“Umm… oom… uhh… something about pooo… purple smmmoke?”
“Purple smoke. Purple smoke?!” He threw his arms up in the air. “Purple smoke! Real cute, Frodo.” He cleared his throat. The rest of the Fellowship stopped laughing and looked up. “I was SAYING… that we are going to take the mountain pass, then go through Lothlorien, and down through the lands of Men.”
Pippin couldn’t hold himself back. “I’ve been thinking…”
Merry spoke up, unable to stop himself. “Oooh… dangerous…”
Pippin glared at him, then turned back to the Wizard. “I’ve been THINKING… why don’t we just fly on the Eagles?”
Gandalf snapped his attention to Pippin instantly. “Fool of a Took! Do you honestly think –?!” he stopped. “Wait… that’s not a bad idea!” He nodded decisively. “I’ve got it! We’ll fly the Eagles into Mordor!”
Pippin leaned over, whispering to Merry. “Did i not just say that?”
“Shh, quiet Pip! Gandalf’s talking!”
Gandalf nodded again. “I’ll go call Gwaihir. Rest. We’ll be leaving soon.” He walked off.
Frodo sat down, and Sam copied him. So did Merry and Pippin. They sat, backs to a tree trunk, and smoked from their pipes. Aragorn mumbled something about needing to see a smith. Gimli stalked off toward the house of Elrond, muttering somthing under his breath about “stupid Elven Pincelings,” and Legolas went off into the woods to shoot pinecones out of trees, leaving the four hobbits quite alone.