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Nieriel
Rivendell
Jan 28 2016, 5:11am
Post #1 of 190
(12492 views)
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Thranduil's Very Secret Diary Part One
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Written in the spirit of fun  and based on film events.
Thranduil's Very Secret Diary
August 27th
Hair: Gorgeous
Mood: Sanguine
Kingdom: Awesome
Well, it's about time. I ordered that necklace an age ago, and today a crow from Erebor arrives with a message to say that it's ready to be collected. Collected?
I am sure I checked the Home Delivery box on the scroll the night I ordered it, but it was a Feast Night, and I may have been making a bit of a dent in my wine cellar at the
time, so who knows? To be honest, it's a bit of a blur. Feast Nights are like that. It's an Elf thing. I am glad I limited myself to just a necklace. It's so tempting with this On Crow shopping to keep adding to your
order and so convenient, one does not have to leave the comfort of one's realm to buy anything these days. You just flick through the Catalogue Scroll, fill in the Order Scroll and tie it, with a PayCrow Scroll, to the Order Crow
(sometimes the crows bite you if you tie the string too tight, but that's crows for you) and then you throw it out of the window and a few days later the Delivery Crow swoops by with your goodies. I wish I'd invented it. Elrond is notorious for getting carried away when it comes to On Crow shopping. Don't let anyone tell you that Rivendell is the centre of Elvish Culture, that's just what he puts around so no one accuses him of being a hoarder. I can't tell you the amount of times he's been approached by the producers of 'How Clean Is Your Kingdom?' He just denies the whole hoarding "problem" and tells them to "ego, mibo orch". Harsh. Anyway, as soon as I have decided what to wear (decisions, decisions) I'll trot over to Erebor and pick it up. Yes, it means a night or two under canvas, depending on how the journey goes, but to get my hands on some hardcore bling, it's so worth it.
Note to self: Check Elk Master has given Elk a wash. Maybe throw the idea of giving it a pedicure 'out there', and see what happens. Must dazzle dwarves with splendid entrance.
It's such a drag to visit Thror and the rest of his hirsute ensemble because he generally insists on exposing me to what he calls 'legendary dwarvish hospitality' which consists of
undignified back slapping, axe tossing, rude jokes about Orcs, burping contents and the roasting of some blameless creature for our consumption, which I generally spend several days after
picking out of my pearly whites. Thror is a stranger to salad or healthy food of any kind and stranger yet to wine so it's roast meat and beer or nothing with dwarves and let's face it, I challenge
anyone to face a dwarvish sing song when sober, especially when all they sing about is Misty Mountains whilst crying into their beer. Naturally after a few tankards of beer it is my habit to astonish them with
my rendition of 'Don't You Wish Your Girlfriend Was Hot Like Me?'. I was a sensation during the last age's 'Middle Earth's Got Talent', but no! Seemingly my singing wasn't good enough for dwarves!
Their petty jealousy caused them to make remarks about their ears bleeding and cry out "don't you know any songs about Misty Mountains?" Peasants.
In other news, my son Legolas is getting a bit too friendly with Tauriel, a new soldier of my Guard. I'll admit she's a nice girl but she's not potential Elven Queen material - first off she's
not blonde and secondly she is a bit too handy with those knives of hers; Legolas can be a bit of a Drama Queen at times (no idea who he inherited that from) and I cannot
see, should they marry, (over my dead body, by the way) any 'domestic spat' ending well when she's so good at throwing sharp things. I may have to drop hints to her about some of Lego's
more unsavory habits in case she starts thinking she's scored with my son and heir; and don't get me started on Lego's habits, suffice to say there is a reason I insist he wears pantyhose. However, I am not sure that Lego's affections are returned by Tauriel, because during a recent room inspection several copies of a publication called 'Play Dwarf' were found concealed in her closet. Curious. When asked why she had
this 'material' she muttered something about 'getting to know other races better', although the dwarves I know wear considerably more clothes than the ones in her publications, it's obvious that Tauriel takes her job so
seriously that marriage is the last thing on her mind.
Note to self: Consider promoting Tauriel. Donate clothing to 'Play Dwarf' dwarves. Check Lego's pantyhose *again*.
August 30th
Hair: Don't ask
Mood: Dazed and Confused
Kingdom: How should I know? I'm in a tent!
You are not going to believe this! I, yes, I, King of the Woodland Realm, travelled to Erebor to collect MY necklace and I was refused it! Me! Refused!
I arrived in all my unsurpassed glory (you try trotting across country on an Elk for a day and a half and not have the berries drop off your crown, it's not easy) and entered the building. I floated elegantly towards Thror who was seated on his ridiculous throne which is crowned by the MOST tacky jewel I have EVER seen (think OrcMart snow globe but more sparkly) and he motions for some lackey to come towards me with a box. I am so excited! The lackey opens the box and there is my necklace! I am entranced, enamored and besotted by what I see lying there. It's perfect! The sketch of it in the On Crow shopping catalogue does NOT do it justice! I was beginning to regret not ordering the matching toe ring when I reach out my hand to take the necklace and BANG! The lackey slams the box shut and the look on Thror's face is 'gotcha, pretty boy!' No words are needed for the affront which has been committed here. I didn't say a WORD. I gave him my 'sevig thû úan' look and I flounced off. As my dear father always said to me, "if in doubt, son, flounce" and I've lived by that motto all my life.
Later, at our encampment (don't ask me where, some hideous place between Erebor and home that reeks of fish) I heard some very malicious gossip about the reason for Thror's odd behaviour in refusing me the necklace, and the rumour going around is that I didn't pay for it! This is rubbish! The night I ordered the necklace I tied a PayCrow scroll to the crow myself! I am sure I did! The man is clearly mad. I am beyond annoyed. Here I am sitting in a tent, I've come all this way for nothing, my hair is in grave danger of frizzing because it's pouring with rain, and being in a tent there is no way to recharge the Hair Straightening Imp and to make matters worse some idiot forgot to pack the wine. Great. I'll never forgive the dwarves for this.
EVER.
Note to self: NO more On Crow shopping, no matter HOW rat-faced I am and no matter HOW tempting the jewels are. Leave negative feedback for On Crow shopping to the effect of 'SCAMMED! Would not buy again!'
Several Hundred Years Later, if not longer.....
Hair: Fabulous
Mood: Outdoorsy
Kingdom: Awesome
Oh! I had forgotten I'd started this diary - I found it today down the back of my throne. It's amazing what gets lost down there. The diary wasn't the only thing I found. I found a PayCrow scroll too.
Yes, you've guessed it, THE PayCrow scroll I thought I'd strapped to the On Crow shopping crow the night I ordered my necklace from the dwarves. Opps! I've no idea now what I actually sent with the order, but it wasn't
payment for my necklace. Looks like I'll have to take a trip over to Erebor and come clean about my mistake. I don't like admitting mistakes to anyone, especially dwarves, but I really want that necklace and it's a nice
day for a trip to Erebor. The army could do with some exercise, so I'll take them along too. A little show of force never did anyone any harm. Oh yes, My astrologer has got his panties in a bunch
about me travelling today. The portents are not good, he says. He keeps looking up at the sky and muttering 'He is coming, my Lord! He flies on the wings of disaster! All shall tremble and be lost! Beware his breath of doom!' I suspect he is referring to Mithrandir, who likes to drop by on an eagle sometimes and blow smoke rings at me. He is SUCH a showoff. But I have decided, I'm not staying home just in case he calls in, I've got bling to claim. Thror will be so surprised to see me! Road trip!
Note to self: If Thror wants to know why I misplaced the PayCrow scroll blame Radagast because he thinks tying things to crows is "cruel". I think being made to LOOK at Radagast is "cruel". Have you seen his hair?
There is something very peculiar about a person whose best friend is a hedgehog, that's all I'm saying.
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
(This post was edited by Nieriel on Jan 28 2016, 5:16am)
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Otaku-sempai
Immortal
Jan 28 2016, 3:39pm
Post #2 of 190
(12214 views)
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Where Thranduil went wrong was forgetting to include the shipping and handling charges.
"Things need not to have happened to be true.
Tales and dreams are the shadow-truths that will endure
when mere facts are dust and ashes, and forgot."
- Dream of the Endless
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Avandel
Half-elven
Jan 28 2016, 4:45pm
Post #3 of 190
(12210 views)
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I floated elegantly towards Thror who was seated on his ridiculous throne which is crowned by the MOST tacky jewel I have EVER seen (think OrcMart snow globe but more sparkly) *Snigger *
(The AUJ EE footage was carefully edited, but there's a bit where the old Bilbo is shaking his head over the loss of friendships re the white gems:
"and for what? Huh. If only folks would pay their bills. OK, there's that ring I found, but finders, keepers. It's not the same thing AT ALL. Besides, I was just being environmentally conscious and picking up recyclable material. No need for that creepy little guy to get so bent out of shape, just because I was doing some dumpster diving. AND he hasn't even been polite enough to return my buttons, so guess he got the better end of the deal."
"Now I gotta finish this letter to Thorin, because it's all well and good he wants to bring the lads to visit for Valentine's Day and it's all real impressive that's he's the big laddie-dah king and all, but he's gonna have to do some actual ruling and corral those Partei-girls. He can SAY they are the royal honor guard, but the royal guard I should think wear more clothes and not giggle all the time. And a song with lines like "It's raining men, hallelujah" doesn't sound like an Elvish folk song to ME..."
Fans can look forward to this and other new footage in PJ's uber-super-ultra-mega edition of the Hobbit films.....  )
http://peckishowl.deviantart.com/...ur-Pay-Pal-560677517
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Jan 29 2016, 12:06am
Post #6 of 190
(12177 views)
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Oh, that was delightful. Please, please send more (by crow if necessary). Longing to hear Thranny's reaction to Smaug the Stupendous (hair: none; mood: aggressive; kingdom: anywhere he wants;)
Great fun 
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Jan 29 2016, 1:34am
Post #7 of 190
(12172 views)
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Elarie and Nieriel need to get together. After all, when we last saw Thorin and Minty, they were getting booted out of Lothlorien by an enraged Galadriel, although happily for the Fang-gir-iells the contents of Galadriel's flask only seemed to serve as an extra gloss treatment for Thorin's hair.
Still, looking at a map, it would seem reasonable that the next loop of the River would land the party at Thranduil's palace, after terrorizing the river communities throughout Middle Earth.
Just sayin'. The possibilities are endless....
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Jan 29 2016, 2:08am
Post #8 of 190
(12165 views)
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Dueling Diaries!
And what a great map - although I think the occupants of the Par-tei Boat might be a little dizzy after following that pink river trail but if they are still drinking Burgler Bombs they probably won't notice.
Love the cartoon, too - Shades of Yul Brynner! Expecting Thorin and Thranny to break out into a song at any moment!
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Jan 29 2016, 3:30am
Post #9 of 190
(12162 views)
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and thank you! I am of course an ardent admirer of your Diary work and was left, as the elves say, 'gagging for more' after part two!
Part Deux of Thranduil's Diary is in the pipeline
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
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Avandel
Half-elven
Jan 29 2016, 4:34am
Post #11 of 190
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Besides, I need to know what Fili has been up to, he seemed so tense...
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Avandel
Half-elven
Jan 29 2016, 4:38am
Post #12 of 190
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Especially if a hungry Minty should notice Thranduil's prize orchid collection. Never mind the mix of Mirkwood spores with the Burglar Bombs...
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Sarahbor
Lorien
Jan 29 2016, 5:47am
Post #14 of 190
(12150 views)
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This has been annoying me for awhile now...
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Thorin's pony is NOT Minty!
When Bilbo remarks that the troll has Myrtle and Minty, the troll is carrying a white pony and a chestnut pony. In an earlier scene we see Bilbo feeding an apple to his chestnut horse whom he addresses as Myrtle. Therefore the chestnut pony the troll has is Myrtle, not Minty. Minty is the white pony. Also, Thorin's pony had a black mane but Myrtle (and the chestnut pony the troll was carrying) had a gold mane.
Hobbit/LOTR cartoons & humor: http://www.sarahbor.com/
(This post was edited by Sarahbor on Jan 29 2016, 5:52am)
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Sarahbor
Lorien
Jan 29 2016, 12:35pm
Post #15 of 190
(12118 views)
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Balin rode the white pony, so HIS pony's name is Minty!
Hobbit/LOTR cartoons & humor: http://www.sarahbor.com/
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Jan 29 2016, 1:20pm
Post #16 of 190
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As far as I know, the Minty name comes from the Oakentoons and has stuck like the spider webs in Thorin's hair. Truthfully, I'm not sure WHICH pony in the movie is Minty, or even if that is the correct name (I think I saw it spelled Mindy somewhere). But no matter - on the River of Denial all things are possible and the Queen of All Ponies travels in true royal style, standing at the bow of the Par-tei Boat with her well-combed tresses flowing gracefully in the breeze and softly mingling with the dark, silken cinnamon-scented waves of her #Majestic Master as they glide along the shining waters to their next adventure (while waiting breathlessly for Part II of the diary of that girlie-king up there in the Hoodlum Realm so they can read it out loud on deck while making rude dwarf jokes about people who wear shiny Oscar-night dresses while riding a moose). Meanwhile, the Burgler has discovered Irish Coffee and is wondering if he should try it out on the crew or just save it for himself as his own personal well-deserved pick-me-up after long mornings of coffee-brewing for bleary-eyed traveling companions. Poor Burgler.
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Sarahbor
Lorien
Jan 29 2016, 5:14pm
Post #18 of 190
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The Oakentoons are wrong. It's easy to tell simply by watching the film closely. I think Minty is the correct spelling as opposed to Mindy. They took the names from names of hobbits in Bilbo's family tree (Daisy, Bungo, and Myrtle), and there is one named "Minto" which I'm guessing they just changed to Minty. I don't think there's anyone named Mindy.
And, honestly, I'm not a fan of the Oakentoons. Some of them are funny, but overall they either fall flat or are just kinda dumb. Too many involve either bad fan fiction-y romances or yet another reference to the tired and trite "majestic Thorin" meme. OK already. We get it. Can we see something else for a change?
Hobbit/LOTR cartoons & humor: http://www.sarahbor.com/
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Avandel
Half-elven
Jan 29 2016, 5:31pm
Post #19 of 190
(12107 views)
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As far as I know, the Minty name comes from the Oakentoons and has stuck like the spider webs in Thorin's hair. Truthfully, I'm not sure WHICH pony in the movie is Minty, or even if that is the correct name (I think I saw it spelled Mindy somewhere).
One of the kindest and most supportive fandoms of any artistic work in over a century, the enthusiastic albeit eagle-eyed fan community has time and again, after wiping the drool from their faces over the *unexpected bounty* of male pulchritude, has thoughtfully glossed over and corrected any petty inconsistencies and inconveniences overlooked by the exhausted PJ.
The Internet has spoken. And so shall it be, until time beyond time...
In the meantime, a frantic Bilbo has already downed a half gallon of Irish coffee this day, as somehow the Partei Barge managed to make one of its inexplicable loops in the night and dock at some huge creepy cave that Thorin vaguely recognized. (Seriously, if it weren't for the power of alcohol the barge wouldn't be able to serenely cruise up river against a current.) The hobbit is worried about the repercussions of Fili dispatching a large octopus thing that popped out of the lake. The Fang-gir-iells say that since they are going to make calamari out of the critter, any evidence is going to be eaten anyway.
Meanwhile, the Partei-girls are arguing with some wild-haired man holding a cup of tea, who looks like he hasn't had a new shirt for a while. The man is insisting that they "can't build a still in the mines, as there is too much of a fire hazard and that they are going to derail one of the most pivotal scenes in the sequel". The Partei-girls are unimpressed, saying that they'd rather have more scenes of the wind blowing through Thorin's hair anyway. The man screams that there is a demon of the ancient world here, SHADOW and FLAME. The Partei-girls enthusiastically embrace the new name for the drink they are distilling...Bilbo is having a very difficult morning.
And lo! After the departure of the seafood-laden Partei-barge, with his Majesty and Minty guild'd with the crimson and gold of the setting sun, (Minty's mane mingling with Thorin's in a perfect flowing symphony of Majesticnessnessness) - a cry of despair echo'd from the depths of a dark room. There, in the night, was a fatigued man curled barefoot on a leather couch with a cup of tea.
For the news feed lovingly showed an endless stream of live-feed pictures of the spectacular explosion that was occurring in an abandoned mine. Zoologists from around the world were commenting on the the strange fleshy remnants of a horned creature that were still raining from the skies, while the Internet tittered with memes about "proof of aliens among us" and "flaming cows". "I can't do it..." the man sobbed while his tea grew cold. "I did my best for those picky canonistas. Now those *&^%$*& hair freaks have just destroyed an iconic scene, and who is Gandalf supposed to have a pivotal battle with in the reboot?!"
"There, there," soothed a dark-haired woman wearing an Armitage Army T-shirt. "Our fans are pretty forgiving. Gandalf can just battle a giant bat...didn't you say you like to tweak the fans?"
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Loresilme
Valinor
Jan 29 2016, 5:47pm
Post #20 of 190
(12089 views)
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Please post more! This had me laughing so loud .
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Sarahbor
Lorien
Jan 29 2016, 6:22pm
Post #22 of 190
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Well, I don't like Starbucks either ;)
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I do like Thorin. But I also like my sanity
Hobbit/LOTR cartoons & humor: http://www.sarahbor.com/
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Jan 29 2016, 6:42pm
Post #23 of 190
(12088 views)
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To All and Sundry
You Are Hereby Invited To
The First Annual Balrog Barbecue
Third Age, This Year, When the first robin of spring greets the last full moon of winter as the sun sets for the first time under the second double rainbow to appear on a Monday after the Battle of Five Armies in a month with no 'R'. Please be prompt.
The Par-Tei Boat will be docked in the Mirrormere near the East Gate of Khazad-dum and there will be guided visitor tours at 6, 8 & 10 PM with special private tours at midnight by Fili and Kili on a first-come, first-serve basis. (Line forms along the shore to the south of the boat. Volunteers will distribute water to guests who wish to get in line 5 or 6 weeks early.)
Open Bar from 4 PM till sunrise
Potato salad, cole slaw and fire pits will be provided, however it will be the responsibility of each guest to provide their own basket to catch falling Balrog Bits and carry them to the cooking area.
As an added attraction the Dimrill Stair will be decorated with little colored lights and open to visitors and sightseers until 2 AM
Also, there will be a door prize of Special Magnificence #Majesticness for anyone who can open the West Gate, so if you think you have a shot please bring your riding boots.
Come one, come all! All are welcome!
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Jan 29 2016, 6:49pm
Post #24 of 190
(12081 views)
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Thorin + Starbucks + Warm fuzzy blankets on the couch + purring kitty cats + all the Extended Editions =
Perfection 
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Sarahbor
Lorien
Jan 29 2016, 10:09pm
Post #25 of 190
(12053 views)
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More like goggle-eyed. If they were eagle-eyed they wouldn't have misidentified Minty
Hobbit/LOTR cartoons & humor: http://www.sarahbor.com/
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Avandel
Half-elven
Jan 30 2016, 12:35am
Post #26 of 190
(9314 views)
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IMO sanity is SO overrated....
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Jan 30 2016, 12:43am
Post #27 of 190
(9306 views)
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I love that picture!
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
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Avandel
Half-elven
Jan 30 2016, 1:05am
Post #30 of 190
(9303 views)
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The purring of myself and the kitties in a contented chorus, the favorite binkie, Starbucks with caramel and extra whipped cream, accompanied by the gentle click of the blu-ray player as the disk slot into place, that simple sentence "He is here...."
Moments worth all the gold in Erebor.,,(and the Partei-girls even sent Sir Peter some flip-flops
by way of thanks, 'coz they were worried about PJ stepping some Balrog goo in those bare feet.
New Zealand farmers are ecstatic about all the free fertilizer, tho.)
This whole thread has got me planning for an ME night. Tonight. I need a fix....
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Jan 30 2016, 1:21am
Post #31 of 190
(9305 views)
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Thranduil's Very Secret Diary Part Two
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Hair: Blonder than ever!
Mood: Benevolent
Kingdom: Amazing
Well that was disappointing. This is the second time I've trotted over to Erebor and come home empty handed. What does an Elf have to do to get his hands on some bling around here?
Despite my astrologer's misgivings about travel I set off happily to Erebor and I didn't even whine about the camping on the way (which is a first for me) and we arrived at the hill thingy which overlooks
Ererbor and I see something is afoot in the dwarven kingdom. Plumes of smoke are rising from the mountain, people were running around screaming and there was Thror's grandson Thorin, son of Thrain
standing around waving his arms at me, trying to catch my attention. It also appears that the town of Dale is looking a bit worse for wear. Yes, I know, dearest Diary, Elves are renowned for our
insight, our perception of the imperceptible and our preternatural foresight and it didn't take a hoard of Istari to work out what had happened. Those dwarves brought it on themselves of course. Their greed
for wealth, fame and fortune will be their downfall. I saw it all in an instant. This is what happens when you invite a certain 'celebrity chef' into your kingdom to critique your restaurants. The chef complains
about the state of his steak, has a hissy fit, takes over the kitchen, starts getting all 'chefy' with his frying pan and a touch too much olive oil over a high heat and 'woomph' you've got an inferno on your
hands. There is a reason this 'chef' has a show called 'Kitchen Nightmares'. My Elvish intuition told me, and I pride myself on my sensitivity and gracious manners, that this wasn't a good time to make a social call about my necklace, so
the army and I turned around and left. I gave one last glance towards Thorin before I left, I considered giving him a kingly 'wave' but I could see he was crying with joy! Obviously my tact touched him deeply. It appears he may have more about him than the rest of the Durins put together.
Note to self: Tell Tauriel to enforce a ban on 'celebrity chefs' in MY kingdom. The one I suspect of the Erebor/Dale damage (you know who you are, Gordon) screams like a girl when he sees a spider (oddly, Lego
can be a bit like that too) so throw around the idea of importing some nice BIG ones to guard our borders. Sent a note to Thorin to inquire about his hair care products because despite all the carnage that
surrounded him at Erebor that day, he did not have a hair out of place, and his brows were immaculate. Impressive. He has not yet replied. But I'm patient, I can wait.
A few months later ....
Hair: Too sexy for my head
Mood: Intrigued
Kingdom: Fantastic
Just received a note from Thorin, son of Thrain, son of .. well you know the rest. Well, I say 'note', it was a charred piece of paper wrapped around half a brick which was hurled through my
bedchamber window. It would appear that the dwarves have momentarily forsaken CrowPost and have taken to delivering their notes by hand - Radagast will be delighted. However, the note did not contain the hair care tips and brow
grooming advice I was hoping for. According to the note, my assessment of the situation in Eerbor was off just a tad. It appears those Durin Dudes and the denizens of Dale have been dispossessed by a dragon. Awkward. Most of the note I could read but there were some sections scrawled in Khuzdul (underlined in what looks like blood?) I could not. Strangely the note was peppered with an unusual amount of profanity, even for a dwarvish note, 'perfumed, hanky-waving sissy' and 'cowardly, anvil-dropping pixie' and things of that ilk. Had I not recalled a certain conversation I had with Galadriel in the last Age, that one isn't supposed to take seriously notes that are written in green crayon, I could have been deeply offended. Therefore I suspect Thorin was exercising 'legendary dwarven humour'. Bless him. No mention of my necklace, though. Disappointing.
Note to self: Ask Tauriel what 'shkh khakfe andu null!' and 'ishkhaqwi ai durugnul!' means. Terms of friendship, I have no doubt.
Many, many, many, MANY years later .............
Hair: Phew! Tangle Free since the Second Age!
Mood: Relieved
Kingdom: Do you even have to ask?
Lego has no taste. I mean I encourage him to make friends and bring them home, but you should have seen what he brought home yesterday. This was WORSE than the whole pet baby Balrog thing we had a few hundred years ago; the stains still haven't come off the marble flooring, but that's Lego all over, he's gets so over excitable when he doesn't get his own way.
Anyway, I was looking FABULOUS on my throne, as per usual, and in comes Lego. "Meet my friend Sargulg, Ada! Isn't she sweet!' he said, skipping towards me, hand in hand with this CREATURE. Suddenly I could feel one of my headaches coming on and was in dire need of a lie down in a darkened room with a damp silken cloth draped elegantly over my noble forehead, because last night I'd been test driving a bottle or three of that cheeky Chardonnay I'd imported from Gondor, so I wasn't in the best mood to begin with.
Sargulg was grey, with a face only a mother could love. What teeth she had were green, she had no hair, some very dubious facial piercings and looked like she'd got dressed in the dark. Even worse than that, she smelled distinctly of Orc. I hate disappointing Lego and not taking to his new friends when he brings them home, and I certainly wasn't in the right frame of mind to deal with one of his 'tantrums' so I graciously made an effort and offered Sargulg a glass of wine and handful of Pringles, both of which she grabbed without so much as a thank you. This I ignored with regal grace. Unfortunately, as it transpires, I had momentarily forgotten that Orcs cannot tolerate potato based snacks, such things affect Orcs the way too much beer affects dwarves, so whilst spitting globs of half chewed Pringle at me Sargulg began to rant on about the 'flames of war' and the 'King under the Mountain' and other complete nonsense. The last straw came when a glob of Pringle flew from her mouth and lodged in MY HAIR - I lashed out, I admit it. I mean I could have got a TANGLE for Eru's sake! Aftermath? One decapitated Orc, more stains on the marble and Lego is sulking in his room. He is SO grounded.
Note to self: Consider offering guests a selection of nuts in future as Pringles cannot be trusted.
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Jan 30 2016, 1:40am
Post #32 of 190
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that 'Are you lost, peasant?' is my most favorite 'cartoon' of Thranduil
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
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Sarahbor
Lorien
Jan 30 2016, 3:10am
Post #33 of 190
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"Sanity is so overrated"
Well, so is Thranduil's hair, if you ask me 
*ducks*
Hobbit/LOTR cartoons & humor: http://www.sarahbor.com/
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Sarahbor
Lorien
Jan 30 2016, 4:00am
Post #35 of 190
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Well, I do like Thorin as a character, certainly more than Thranduil but I will not be called a fangirl. To be honest, I really really hate the bastardization of PJ's wonderful and iconic adaptation of a tough, rugged, bold, heroic character into a metrosexual ladies' man serving as a wish-fulfillment fanfic figure for teenage girls. Thorin is anything but that, and deserves better. Tolkien actually hated this sort of thing too; when LOTR was first published Legolas started being thought of as a "pretty boy," which angered Tolkien so much he wrote a rebuttal in which he affirmed Legolas as the "most tireless of the Fellowship." Call me crazy, but I agree with Tolkien. About Legolas, Thorin, and any of his characters and PJ's portrayals of them.
But yeah, I am more partial to dwarves than elves
Hobbit/LOTR cartoons & humor: http://www.sarahbor.com/
(This post was edited by Sarahbor on Jan 30 2016, 4:02am)
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Ilmatar
Rohan
Jan 30 2016, 9:21am
Post #36 of 190
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Oh Thranduil, you bling-brained being of ancient wisdom (on hair care products) - mistaking dragon fire for a cooking incident... If only those imported spiders had taken their new job more seriously and stayed on the borders of the realm, you would have one thing less to worry about. At least, being an immortal, there's no fear of those fair locks going gray no matter the stresses of ruling or *gasp* Pringles-spittle in your hair!
Looking forward to Part 3.
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Ilmatar
Rohan
Jan 30 2016, 9:32am
Post #37 of 190
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...for a clarification, if I may:
To be honest, I really really hate the bastardization of PJ's wonderful and iconic adaptation of a tough, rugged, bold, heroic character into a metrosexual ladies' man serving as a wish-fulfillment fanfic figure for teenage girls.
You say "PJ's wonderful and iconic adaptation" so you are not criticizing the film Thorin, as compared to "Tolkien's Thorin." How and where is the character being bastardized? And what's with the "metrosexual ladies' man"? I don't see Thorin as being overly interested in grooming and appearances (and seems too busy for ladies). Maybe he is that in some "modern AU" fan-fiction - although I have not read that variety - but then again ANYTHING is possible in the world of fan-fic, so that hardly counts. And finally, I would be surprised if many *teenage girls* actually stared fangirling over a character closer to their fathers' age in appearances, with threads of silver in his impressive mane... But I don't really know the age distribution of any fandom.
Is it just that if a character is thought of as being attractive by many, it somehow lessens the character?
I hope Nieriel does not mind off-topics in her thread...
(This post was edited by Ilmatar on Jan 30 2016, 9:42am)
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Jan 30 2016, 12:19pm
Post #38 of 190
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LOL - At last we know the true story of why the elves turned away on that memorable day. Such a silly misunderstanding! Although not to be compared, of course, with a yucky, pasty TANGLE in Thranny's hair. Ick! or as Thranduil would say: Quelle horreur! Hopefully Hairdresser in Chief, Peter Swords King was standing by, comb and blowdryer at the ready.
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Jan 30 2016, 12:30pm
Post #39 of 190
(9233 views)
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Note: All guests are responsible for bringing their own maple syrup, as the Par-tei Boat is down to it's last bottle because SOMEONE has been eating it with a spoon  
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Sarahbor
Lorien
Jan 30 2016, 5:24pm
Post #40 of 190
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I'm NOT criticizing PJ's Thorin as all this--I loved PJ's Thorin (actually better than book Thorin.) I'm criticizing the fangirls' portrayal of him. Hence the L'Oreal pictures and the "flowing mane" of hair and blah blah blah. I'm not saying that finding him attractive lessens him (there's nothing wrong with this--I find him attractive myself!), I'm saying that certain fans with the emotional maturity of teenagers use this attractiveness to write fanfiction that would make Tolkien turn in his grave, and to portray his (and PJ's) dwarf king as some kind of fancy man (the same is true of Thranduil and Legolas). And yes, teenage girls do obsess over him. Ages don't matter. I know, it's weird. And many people, though older than teenagers, certainly ACT like teenagers around an attractive fictional character.
Hobbit/LOTR cartoons & humor: http://www.sarahbor.com/
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Ilmatar
Rohan
Jan 30 2016, 6:28pm
Post #41 of 190
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Thanks for clearing that up (although I would not have asked if I had realized it would lead to commenting others' posts, but I really had no idea about what you meant by "bastardization" - apologies on my behalf for that to any it may concern). Of course there are different ways of expressing appreciation, different senses of humor and different ways of having fun (and the same posters who may "admire hair" in some thread may write deep insights about the same characters' psyche in some other thread, etc.). Lots of fun has been had on TORn but it may not always be according to your tastes. Personally I would draw the line to 1) following TORn policy of family-friendly posts and 2) not writing anything that can be seen as insulting to the actors, or others involved - and I think nothing like that has been posted in a long time, from what I have seen. Otherwise, anything goes!
As for fan-fics, there are very good ones and very bad ones, and nothing anyone can do about that. I agree that some are just terrible - not that I have read all that many - but then it's easy just walk away from them (as well as some rather questionable "art" I have accidentally stumbled upon).
A friendly suggestion: You may want to avoid certain threads - old and new - with any of these words in the subject line: "Thorin (and/or Durin) appreciation," "hair thread," and some others as well. For your own peace of mind.
(This post was edited by Ilmatar on Jan 30 2016, 6:42pm)
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Sarahbor
Lorien
Jan 30 2016, 6:42pm
Post #42 of 190
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I probably came off harsher than I intended. Sorry for that  And I'm not commenting on anyone here (you're all wonderful, even if we have different opinions!) this is just my own personal two cents about a certain issue. And you're all free to make fun of me any time too
Hobbit/LOTR cartoons & humor: http://www.sarahbor.com/
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Ilmatar
Rohan
Jan 30 2016, 10:24pm
Post #43 of 190
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As far as I'm concerned and not to hijack the thread completely, here is (brooding but regal) Thranduil wearing his autumn crown.
Looks like an oil painting, but apparently it's digital art.
*tiptoes away to sketch some vambraces...*
http://yuuza.deviantart.com/...%2F63060097&qo=9
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Jan 30 2016, 11:39pm
Post #44 of 190
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I believe he lives in (im)mortal fear of a tangle and has probably banned things like chewing gum from his realm. But you've got to love his style I'm also loving that picture, and yes, it does look like an oil painting! I suspect any vambraces Thranduil would own would definitely be mirrored
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
(This post was edited by Nieriel on Jan 30 2016, 11:41pm)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Jan 30 2016, 11:48pm
Post #45 of 190
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And yes, a silly misunderstanding about the whole 'dragon' thing, but hey, c'est la vie, right? And exactly, I think he considers the whole 'Pringles goo in the hair thing' or anything in the hair for that matter, to be a far worse calamity than anything else Middle Earth could contrive.
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Jan 31 2016, 12:22am
Post #46 of 190
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*My* particular guest has been searching Pinterest for sophisticated ways to transport his wasabi, soy and pickled ginger and the *right* wine to to accompany Balrog sushi which he intends to create on site - it's a full time job, but I think he's settled on a nice 'chewy' red from the plains of Rohan. Furthermore, the Elvish contingent wish to be advised of the dress code for this event (why this important detail was left out of the invitation is a matter of consternation in the extreme) and finally is there valet parking for let's say an Elk, for example? Or is HE, King of the Woodland Realm, expected to park it himself?
Thank you
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
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Avandel
Half-elven
Jan 31 2016, 12:24am
Post #47 of 190
(9159 views)
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*Snicker* the QUEST for CONDIMENTS,,,,
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Note: All guests are responsible for bringing their own maple syrup, as the Par-tei Boat is down to it's last bottle because SOMEONE has been eating it with a spoon
The dark-haired elf walked slowly along the banks of the mighty Bruinen, that which men so crudely had named the Loudwater. As their kind was wont to be, the elf was fair in face, silken-haired, and moved with easy grace. The river chuckled in its banks, and the dark-haired elf smiled faintly as an outraged turtle slipped into the sparkling waters. He gave a great sigh, and slowly his furrowed brow smoothed. For Lindir, the elegant house steward of the great Lord Elrond, had had a most difficult night. But, he thought meditatively, since that thrice-cursed wizard and his hairy companions had arrived, for him all peace had fled, for many months now. Lindir had painfully begun to wonder if it was already fated for him to seek the Havens.
For Lindir lived in fear. Fear that the great Lord Elrond would look with his ageless wisdom into Lindir’s eyes, and see Lindir’s shameful secret. That it was not the previous intrusions of the rowdy, hairy group of uncouth dwarves and the subsequent destruction of the furnishings that caused so much anguish in Lindir’s breast. That it was not the decimation of the wine cellars, when the wild females (that shamelessly sported so much flesh) made off with all the barrels of Piano Noyer. Nor was it the appearance of the crudely drawn beard on the statue which held the Shards of Narsil, which even the magic of the elves could not dissolve.
(After the dwarves had gone, to the horror of all, the magical tool which apparently had been used to create the markings had been found. Lord Elrond had ordered his sons to take the innocuous-appearing “Sharpee” into the mountains, to bury it where it would never come to light. Unfortunately Elladan and Elrohir had argued en route as to who would carry the thing, and it slipped from Elladan’s grasp. Later the magical tool was found by a goat herd, who amused himself by defacing all the signage throughout the regions of Eriador. It was said that it was the Curse of Aulë, that no-one should ever be able to find their way in the region again. This Curse was punishment for many sniggerings over the plight of his most favored Heir in Hobbiton, after he was lost twice.)
No, it was not these things that drove Lindir, time and again, to stare with longing into the flowing waters of the Bruinen. He had fought the shame, deep within himself. It was unthinkable, unimaginable. But one still night, when Lindir had come to inspect the newly refurbished rooms that the dwarven contingent had so heavily damaged, he had sunk to a fat silk pouf. He had torn the buttons at his neck, so desperate was Lindir for air. Because as he looked around at the elegant furnishings, the flowing draperies, even the shimmering brocade fabric covering his knees – and Lindir understood. He HATED it. All of it.
Lindir was sick of it, all the centuries of having to walk as though he had a permanent case of those ills that befell the race of men (generally because of not eating enough green food), of constantly tripping over long robes and having to pretend he did not, of never being able to shout in glee, of keeping his face locked in a permanently frozen state. And too, he was sick of the sheer BOREDOM of it all. His only conversations for years had been with fellow beings whose eyes always seemed to be thinking of something else.
Yes, Lindir had thought, taking deep breaths after he had ripped most of the numerous buttons from his robe and sat there, gasping. The dwarves may be unfortunately as odiferous as bad cheese. But when Thorin Oakenshield looked up at you with utter contempt, as though you were not even worthy to be trod on, he TRULY LOOKED AT YOU. Lindir had painfully admitted to himself, he had never felt so alive. He wanted to wear leather. He wanted to rip off the stupid circlet that held his silky hair so perfectly in place and let the winds have their way with his tresses. Most of all, he wanted to kick off the fussy shoes and stomp around in boots. So just once, in all his long years, he would know what it was like to walk without having to move as though he were walking on butter. Or maybe no shoes at all, like that cute little Halfling. Or the bouncing Partei-girls, who had inexplicably called him FIGWIT and offered him smoking fruit drinks that they said would put hair on his chest.
Lindir stared miserably at the glittering waters. By the Valar, at times, he thought, I should cast myself in, and end this torment.
Suddenly the surrounding trees were filled with such noise that it overrode the bubbling of the River. Lindir raised his head in confusion as a myriad of panicked birds burst into the skies. A fox nearly pushed Lindir off his feet, charged into the river, ears flat, tail low, swimming desperately. A herd of deer tore from the opposite bank towards the elf, made the shore, and bounded towards the woods. All about Lindir, the denizens of the woods hopped, leapt, and ran about him in mindless fear, both prey and predator heedless of each other. And then the rhythmic booming chant reached Lindir, vibrating through the rocks and trees.
…You know you make me wanna SHOUT!
Kick my heels up and SHOUT!
Throw my hands up and SHOUT!
Throw my head back and SHOUT!
Come on now SHOUT!
Don't forget to say you will
Don't forget to say yeah
YEAH, YEAH, YEAH, YEAH…
Tears glistened in Lindir’s eyes. For only one vessel would approach the great elven stronghold of Rivendell with such noise. His forbidden prayers had been answered. By the Valar, he thought, a thousand thanks to Nienna, for this mercy, as the Partei-Barge came into view. No work of the Noldor has moved me such as these beings.
And that truculent dwarf king stood #Majestically at the bow, one arm slung about a furry pony, glass in his other hand, darkling hair twining with that of the pony’s mane. Beside him, the little Halfling swayed, desperately drinking from an upended jug. The golden and the dark dwarf princes casually shot arrows into the trees from the deck rail, to the cheers of the Fang-gir-iells. Lindir’s breath caught as he noticed the open necklines of the dwarf tunics.
Mindlessly Lindir charged into the river, all thought except reaching the Partei-Barge gone. The mysterious loud chanting spurred him on. Oh, how he wanted more of those fruit drinks.
Thorin Oakenshield looked up from snuggling his beloved Minty and drew his great brows together in his trademark glare. He gracefully turned his battle-hardened frame towards his nephews. The wind caught up Thorin’s darkling locks and swirled them into a shadow cloud that framed the cerulean blue eyes, the eyes that were featured in so many close-ups. Fang-gir-iells began fainting to the deck as a gust of wind blew the neckline of Thorin’s tunic open and they caught glimpses of chest hair.
“Shoot that.” Thorin’s decadent chocolate tones easily cut through the wails of the singers (“I said I want you to know right now, yeah! You been good to me baby, Better than I been to myself, hey! hey!”) More Fang-gir-iells hit the boards of the deck at Thorin’s head tilt and lightly widened eyes. “Have mercy” whispered one Fang-gir-iell, desperately reaching for her healthful fruit drink. "His eyes are so blue, like that cashmere scarf I saw at Macys..."
The golden Prince Fili smiled at the surrounding Partei-girls who promptly whipped out a choice selection of throwing knives, still warm from keeping the weapons close to their bodies. “I’ve taught them well,” the blonde prince thought. “Dain is in for a surprise…” Other admiring women respectfully stepped back from the silky-haired Kili, giving him room to draw on the splashing creature in the water.
“Wait, my prince,” one of them cooed. Kili smiled at her as she daintily patted the sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief she had swiped from Bilbo. “Now,” she breathed, heart pounding.
But then, Bilbo flinched as a cry arose from the women. Oh, his aching head. He needed more Irish coffee. For their voices rose as one, over the loud foreign “Partei music”:
“Now wai-a-ait a minute!
I feel aaaaaaallllllright!
Yeah-Yeah, Yeah-Yeah! OOOOOOOOW…
Now that I got my woman…I feel aaaaaaaalllllright!” the music boomed.
“My Lords! Please wait! It’s our FIGWIT! FIGWIT!!! FIGWIT has come!” the women entreated, those that weren’t hugging themselves over being glared at by Thorin Oakenshield. (To receive a Glare was considered a high badge of honor within the fan community, as it meant that the King had actually looked directly at you with those spectacular azure eyes. Besides, it was so SMOULDERY.) “Verily, may we not hear his words, before you have him dispatched? You can always toss an elf later! We beg you!”
Thorin gazed broodingly into the eyes of his nephews. They shrugged, Fili casually twirling a knife. “It’s just FIGWIT, uncle,” Fili said. “Besides, we can always use him for target practice if we do not like what he has to say.” Bilbo’s empty jug crashed to the deck as he leaned over the railing.
Thorin finally nodded #Majestically in agreement as he hauled the Hobbit upright by his collar. Although he carefully held his furry-footed friend at arm’s length. “I don’t care what the script says, I’m not hugging THAT mess”, Thorin thought. “It’s a mystery to me how these Halflings can consume so much and still be so delicate at times…”
The Partei-girls gave Bilbo looks of sympathy. “Hair of the dog, Bilbo”, smiled one of them, offering him a glass filled with a red liquid decorated with a stalk of celery. Bilbo desperately snatched the glass and tossed it back, trying to stay on his feet and wondering why dog hair was considered good for headaches. Helpful hands reached down to bring the sodden Lindir aboard, who collapsed shaking to the deck. The Fang-gir-iells wrapped the shaking elf in a pink beach towel emblazoned with yellow sandals and the word “Margaritaville”. The music wailed on “Hey-A-Hey-A! Hey-A-Hey-A!”
Linder shakily bowed to the glaring Mountain King. His circlet had been lost to the River, and his hair was messily plastered to the side of his face. “Your Majesty, I beg you,” he said loudly over the musical chants, “Lord Elrond was troubled after your last visit, and fears the strange magics your companions may carry. He has said that while females of all races are a mystery, he has yet to discern how the sacred figure holding the Shards of Narsil came to sport utterly permanent facial hair (a few of the Partei-girls shifted uneasily at this) or restock the supplies of Piano Noyer. But accept my service to your company, and I swear by the Valar, I will negotiate for any supplies left from your last arrival.”
Thorin Oakenshield scowled at the preposterous idea of having an elf aboard the barge, but his beloved nephew ventured, that having a translator could well be useful. Kili pointed out, as well, that an elf would be more likely to be able to source various fruits and vegetables, which were so critical to the stills. The dwarf king brooded, gazing into the distance, while the strange song of the Partei-girls continued in the background “Jump up and shout now - wooo!”.
“Do you have any maple syrup? We used all of ours up at the Balrog Barbecue!” ventured a Fang-gir-iell. Lindir shook his head. “I know not of this “maple syrup” you speak of,” Lindir said cautiously, “But the pantries, yes, still have many types of syrups – honey and berry, and flower nectars and rosewater and mint…”
Thorin Oakenshield noted that the eyes of the Fang-gir-iells and Partei-girls had brightened at the mention of the syrups, and some were chattering excitedly amongst themselves. He heard the words “layered cocktails” and “triple distill”. He thought of his reputation put forth in countless fan-fics, that of the gorgeous overwhelmingly masculine badass-with-a-heart who was so often saved by the love of a good woman/half-elf/hobbit-woman (never mind all those that paired him up with that snooty woodland elf – AS IF. Although, at least Thranduil was royalty with pretty good hair). Point being, all knew that Thorin Oakenshield was good to his females (well, mostly females). There was honor here to be upheld.
Finally, he gazed into the pleading eyes of the elf before him. “Very well,” rumbled the deep woodsmoke voice of the King Under the Mountain. Thorin carefully made sure his Hobbit was braced against the deck rail behind him before #Majestically stepping forward. “But know this, elf…” he glared. The women sucked their breath in and fanned themselves. “OMG, he’s got the uber-smoulder going on…”
“You have yet to prove yourself. Loyalty, honor, and a willing heart. And except for the ladies, I’ll not have a male – you ARE a male, are you not? There’s been some CONFUSION about that…” Kili irritably muttered that he was never going to live that one down, while Fili grinned. Partei-girls snuggled in to soothe Kili. “I’ll not have any male working for me wearing a dress. You’ll wear leather and proper boots, working for me. Ladies?”
Lindir grinned in delight, as he was swarmed with Fangir-iells and Partei-girls eager to outfit the slim elf in proper gear. The music wailed on as Thorin returned to the bow, and once again slung his arm over Minty. He punched the Hobbit companionably in the arm. Bilbo was holding his head in his hands. “Say, this foreign Partei-music has a certain catchiness to it, does it not? Reminds me of that song of Bofur’s."
“Hey-A-Hey-A”, Thorin hummed to himself, as the wind perfectly streamed his hair back from his nobly sculpted strongly masculine face. “Hey-A-Hey-A…” Minty nickered her approval.
Late that day, Lord Elrond smiled as he moved a chess piece into position. The breeze carried snatches of a foreign musical chant to his ears.
Jump up and shout now – wooo!
Jump up and shout now – wooo!
Everybody shout now
Everybody shout now
Everybody, shout, shout
Shout, shout, shout
Shout, shout, shout, shout -oh-whoa-yeah!
A tall fair man seated opposite Lord Elrond carefully considered his next move, and gently placed a pawn on a new square. “Are you not concerned for Lindir, My Lord?” inquired the man in a cultured voice.
Lord Elrond smiled. “Nay, Mr. Pennyworth, I am not. Lindir will return after he had sown some oats, as the race of men say. Grown some hair on his chest, possibly. After all, elves are immortal. It is for you I am concerned. Is this not too onerous, to hold two positions?
The man smiled warmly at his new employer. “Not at all. My other position primarily consists of telling a fantasy character in a rubber suit that he is being stupid and being elegantly British. As well, a new female character is being introduced to the franchise that will gain much interest. And please, call me Alfred. Alfred, mind you. Not Alfrid like that one with the bad complexion.
Lord Elrond smiled in return. “Would you care for a glass of Piano Noyer, Alfred?”
Hey-A-Hey-A
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Jan 31 2016, 1:20am
Post #49 of 190
(9145 views)
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Figwit is on the Par-tei Barge! That is brilliant brilliant brilliant I love it. The snarky butler elf has had a smoldering volcano of freedom loving eccentricity hidden beneath that tightly buttoned suit all this time. Let it all out, Lindir lad. You've picked the right companions for getting in touch with your inner dwarf and you'll be throwing axes and winning burping contests in no time.
GO LINDIR! GO LINDIR! GO LINDIR!
Burglar Bombs all around
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Jan 31 2016, 1:22am
Post #50 of 190
(9142 views)
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Another sweetheart of the Thorin variety? We are overrun with them! *Smiles* I think there are elf and dwarf fans in equal measure - and I, for that matter, consider myself a fan of the Thranduil character. Mind you, much like the River of Denial, my thoughts of the character as presented in the films are a kind of mash-up between the book and film, as for one thing, long before the films existed, I saw the character as complex as the film Thorin, mysterious, wise and beautiful "Long will I tarry, 'ere I begin this war for gold."
To me that spoke much to who Thranduil is, and I regret that none of Thranduil's history, not so dissimilar to Thorin's, was not shown re his father Oropher and bringing only a third of his people left back to the forest, after the War of the Last Alliance.
And IMO Thranduil IS, in the film, hauntingly, fiercely beautiful. Like the film Thorin, he could well have stepped from the pages of literature and some of my books, the Forest King made real, and 3-dimensional. There's more "serious" threads on the main board about Thranduil - for me, I'm keeping this post light as it's the Fan-fic board - but I've sat staring at Thranduil and thought, on screen, he's impossibly beautiful - beautiful, but strong in the face - well, just perfect casting IMO, Thorin and Thranduil both. (And his hair IS beautiful as well - there's the tiniest scene of Thranduil in Dale where his hair is just flowing across his face as he moves forward with deadly intent, and I get so frustrated that PJ at times will cut the camera away when I, personally, would have held it on Thranduil a lot longer, for the sheer beauty of it. I mean, watching Bard hack away wasn't that interesting, probably because I have seen swordsmen hacking away so often.)
So I won't get all serious here and leave it at that, but all of this might be good to revisit on the main board, possibly, at some point. And too, I tend to visit the Fan Fic board a bit more irregularly than the Main Board, but lately, LOL it's been fun here.
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Avandel
Half-elven
Jan 31 2016, 1:45am
Post #52 of 190
(9470 views)
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*Bows* but I am evil you know....
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Being inspired you and Elarie - and the vague imaginings of how Thranduil might react to an elf who has gone to the Dark Side. Of course there WAS that Tauriel thing, but somehow I imagine a male elf doing so would just be so more more offensive to Thranduil.
I knew there was a reason I liked her....
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Avandel
Half-elven
Jan 31 2016, 1:50am
Post #53 of 190
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Thank you *bows deeply* for the inspiration. And we shall hope that Lindir does not become the unfortunate victim of Fang-gir-ielle jealousy in his new position.
Possibly not, tho, as at the moment His #Majesty assigned Lindir the job of tending to Bilbo, who has had way too much Irish coffee on top of crispy maple-coated Balrog.
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Jan 31 2016, 2:11am
Post #54 of 190
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Additional Addendum to the Invitation
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Dress Code
For those guests whose sartorial standards demand the perfect ensemble for every occassion the organizers of the First Annual Balrog Barbecue make the following suggestions:
1) The Barbecue will be comprised of Afternoon, Evening and next morning Breakfast social situations, therefore at least three changes of costume are recommended.
A) Afternoon Wear will be Elegantly Casual with simple jewelry suitable for day functions, perfectly cut robes of linen, cotton, wool or raw silk and plain but perfectly fitted Day Boots without embellishment. Hats, hoods and knitted mittens are optional, and weapons should be standard issue and functional but clean and polished. Corsages for the ladies and boutonnieres for the gentlemen will be available for a nominal fee from the Lady Beekeepers Association, North Beorning, Wilderland.
B) Evening Wear is Formal or Semi-Formal (after all, it IS a barbecue) and tiaras and/or gem encrusted Elven circlets may be worn. Robes should be of velvet, silk satin or hand-woven brocade, with or without embroidery, sequins, and/or jeweled buttons. Boots may be embellished with gems and/or precious metals, or alternatively, silken slippers with little hand embroidered roses set with diamond chips may be worn. Weapons should be Dress Formal with gem encrusted handles and all runes/Elvish script/magic spells should be outlined in silver, gold or mithril.
C) Breakfast Wear is decidedly casual as breakfast will be a Picnic Buffet, served from 9:30 AM -12 noon on the lawn near the lake. Guests may serve themselves whenever they wake up and a special Dress Code exception will be made for confused revelers who show up in bathrobes and mis-matched slippers. Irish coffee and Par-tei Pick-me-ups will be mixed and served by world-famous coffee-maker and food expert, The Burglar of Bag End.
Note: A Lost-and-Found stand will be at the foot of the Dimrill Stairs. Tiaras, jeweled weapons and bags of gold will require identification before being returned to the owner.
Parking
It has come to our notice that guests will be arriving by various means of transportation, therefore the North Lawn next to the lake has been set aside for Elks, ponies, horses, goat-drawn chariots and eagles. Anyone arriving by Great Beast must park on the far side of the lake to avoid frightening the ponies. There is no valet parking at this function, however there will be guards on duty to prevent orc raids on the livestock. Please do not serve alcoholic beverages to either the guards or the livestock, especially the Great Beasts.
Thank you for your cooperation and we look forward to your presence at this Very Special Occassion,
Sincerely,
The Balrog Barbecue Organizing Committee and Assistant Volunteers
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
(This post was edited by Elarie on Jan 31 2016, 2:14am)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Jan 31 2016, 2:42am
Post #55 of 190
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"at least three changes of costume are recommended ..... gem encrusted Elven circlets may be worn. Robes should be of velvet, silk satin or hand-woven brocade, with or without embroidery, sequins, and/or jeweled buttons. Boots may be embellished with gems and/or precious metals, or alternatively, silken slippers with little hand embroidered roses set with diamond chips may be worn. Weapons should be Dress Formal with gem encrusted handles and all runes/Elvish script/magic spells should be outlined in silver, gold or mithril." 
His face when he reads
"Hats, hoods and knitted mittens and a special Dress Code exception will be made for confused revelers who show up in bathrobes and mis-matched slippers" 
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
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Sarahbor
Lorien
Jan 31 2016, 3:40am
Post #57 of 190
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No hard feelings, to one and all...
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Again, I apologize for sounding like a jerk It's just that, as someone who does fan art and humor myself, I get frustrated at seeing the same hackneyed themes rehashed over and over again in the field, especially when they're themes that, as a Catholic (like Tolkien!), I find distasteful. I don't like seeing his characters portrayed in these ways, especially not my favorite film character, Thorin. PJ's Thorin is anything but what he is all-too-often depicted as in fan art/fiction, and yeah I get that it's only meant for fun, but I just don't see what's funny about it. That's all.
Hobbit/LOTR cartoons & humor: http://www.sarahbor.com/
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Jan 31 2016, 6:54am
Post #58 of 190
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the vague imaginings of how Thranduil might react to an elf who has gone to the Dark Side. Note to Gandalf The Grey - the note is alarmingly wine stained and was tied to the PostCrow by hairy twine and not the usual black silk ribbon - an indication of extreme distress or mourning in Elvish culture.
Tell me, Mithrandir, for a shadow grows upon my mind, that you can aid me, for I do not know where else to turn in this my hour of need.
It has come to my notice, via a carefully chosen 'spy' who currently resides upon the conveyance named the Partei-Barge (tales of which you have doubtless heard. Wild tales regarding the Dead Dwarves
walking and legions of Mortal women named the Fang-gir-iells willingly attending them) that one of my own race has committed a crime so inconceivable I can only assume the perpetrator is labouring under a
powerful spell or something of that ilk. I barely have the heart to commit to paper the nature of the crime as it is so completely insidious and unheard of that the crime does not have a name in my native tongue. I am aware that Mortals have a name for it, (and frankly it doesn't surprise me what Mortals get up to behind closed doors). I believe they refer to the practice of wearing the clothing of another race as 'fancee Dress'.
I have been informed that Lindir (formally of Imladris, and I say formally because Orcs will wear Chanel 5 and sequinned slingbacks before Elrond takes him back again when he finds out about this) has been seen
in public with his hair WET (my blood runs cold) wearing Dwarven leathers and, how my hand trembles to write this! Boots! Huge, ugly, stampy Dwarven boots out of CHOICE! Of course I am aware of the Dwarven torture
that existed before the Middle Earth Convention was enforced in all lands, which involved the forcing of captive Elves to wear chunky knitwear and Eru preserve us, polyester undergarments, this torture was
deemed a War Crime and rightly so, as it is a well known fact that unflattering woollens and man-made fabric of any type brings all of Elfkind out in such a nasty rash that even a Kingsfoil
(yes I know it's a weed) poultice is almost powerless to cure.
My spy informs me that Lindir spends considerable time in front of a mirror tossing his hair about and uttering 'now THIS is more like it!' and he now treads so heavily that he can be heard moving. The worst
part is what appears to be his utter delight in leather, chain maille and iron helmets which are adorned (if indeed adorned is the right word for anything Dwarvish) with horns. So complete is Lindir's seduction
by Dwarvish apparel that he was witnessed by my now traumatized spy, stamping up to one of the Durin brutes, slapping him on the back and grunting 'nice jerkin!' I have NO words. Since when did Elves grunt?
Since when did an Elf even know the word 'jerkin?'
The Dwarven hunger for corruption does not stop at Elves. My spy also imparted the information that beasts are also similarly abused. There is aboard the boat a pony who goes by the name of Minty - Every being
of taste and refinement knows that names such as Thinelroch or Tálagor are the correct sort of names for horses and ponies. What does Minty mean? Quite honestly I shudder to think. I have searched my books on
Dwarven names and the closest to a definition for Minty I have come to says "Makes your tongue tingle." I am appalled. Dwarven depravity, it seems, knows no bounds.
I also have one piece of information for you, and I know this may grieve your heart, Mithrandir, for it concerns your halfling friend known as The Burglar. My spy told me that he too is aboard the Partei-Barge.
It is my sad duty to inform you that he is being kept in conditions of virtual slavery. The Fang-gir-iells or possibly the Dwarves (my spy was not clear) have the Halfling virtually chained to a device called a
'Coffee Machine'. I know not whether this is good or ill. Furthermore, when he is not being forced to operate this machine which I believe is called 'Nespresso' he is being supplied with dubious beverages of
Mortal design called 'Cocktails'. I would weep at the knowledge of such an Elf-friend being used in such a way if it didn't make my eyes all puffy.
Write soon, I am in need of your clarity.
I remain
Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
(This post was edited by Nieriel on Jan 31 2016, 6:58am)
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Jan 31 2016, 1:17pm
Post #59 of 190
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PS to the Additional Addendum to the Invitation
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PS
We neglected to mention that all funds raised by the Lady Beekeepers Association will go towards much needed repairs to their Retirement Hive for Elderly and Infirm Giant Bees. Please be generous to this worthy cause.
PPS
As a last minute addition to the festivities, the Lost and Found Booth at the foot of the Dimrill Stairs will double as a Charity Kissing Booth between 8 and 11 PM with a Surprise Volunteer Second Heir-to-the-throne Kisser to raise money for the preservation and maintenance of The Last Dark And Nameless Thing At The Root Of The Mountain, whose name, as it turns out, is Kevin. Kevin, having eaten all the other Dark And Nameless Things, is the last of his kind and “his like will not be seen again on this earth” thus making it desirable that we preserve this last valuable member of his species. Unfortunately, Kevin lost three tentacles and several of his eyes during his recent battle to the death with the Second-To-Last Dark And Nameless Thing At The Root Of The Mountain and then, equally unfortunately, ate the veterinarian who was brought in to treat his injuries, making it darn near impossible to find another vet willing to make cavern calls. Kevin lives at the bottom of the Bottomless Pit and in happier days could be seen climbing the walls of the Pit to snag unwary orcs off of the Narrow Bridge. Alas, these days Kevin spends most of his time cuddled up in his Slime Room, sadly humming to himself and counting his remaining tentacles over and over with his Good Eye. Thus, the plan is to try and raise enough money to supply Kevin with left over Balrog Bits, partially decomposed orc bodies, Greenway roadkill and creepy slimy things from Gollum’s cave until his injuries heal themselves and he can once again fend for himself. After that all feeding volunteers, tourists and Quest members are advised to stay at least 100 yards away from the edge of the Bottomless Pit for their own safety. Moria orcs who live in the vicinity aren’t advised to do anything in particular, since they never listen anyway. Please pucker up and donate generously to this important cause to preserve our native species and their natural habitat.
PPPS
It has come to the attention of the Committee that the elves of the Hoodlum Realm are planning an unauthorized Best Dressed contest with prizes for Afternoon, Evening and Breakfast Wear and that the winner of said contest has already been chosen. The Committee does not sanction this contest or give it any official standing and is not involved in any way.
Thank you, and enjoy the Par-tei.
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Ilmatar
Rohan
Jan 31 2016, 3:22pm
Post #60 of 190
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Thank you for posting, that was hilarious!
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Good for Lindir, seeing his chance and taking it without a second thought!
*imagines an ELF with a delighted grin, some hair (visible  ) on his chest, a wild messy hair and a dwarvish attire* Oh dear. The good denizens of Rivendell will faint like Fang-gir-iells when they see him again, but for a different reason...
(Looking forward to the PM. Re: the age distribution of any fandom - I guess Thorin's popularity even among teenagers may not be that surprising after all, since as we have seen in some threads here recently, his appeal can even cross species lines - thinking about that cat, etc. )
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Ilmatar
Rohan
Jan 31 2016, 3:27pm
Post #61 of 190
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I just love reading the results of the delicious three-party fic collaboration going on here! But poor Elven King, again, in such severe distress. I hope Mithrandir comes through for him!
If Mithrandir sent word or even came to his aid, who knows - he might pay a visit on the Par-tei Barge to witness the abysmal goings-on himself. See how he likes a fruit drink instead of wine. Fireworks over Rivendell by a wizard under the influence might be dangerous, though... )
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Ilmatar
Rohan
Jan 31 2016, 3:37pm
Post #62 of 190
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How fascinating - The Last Dark And Nameless Thing At The Root Of The Mountain has a name after all! But how can a monster be both, so disgusting and so adorable at the same time. Poor Kevin, suffering from PTSS all alone in his throne Slime Room... I'm all for the preservation of endangered species so must do what I can to help him.
*tries to see if the Second Heir-to-the-throne has already arrived, takes a sip of fresh fruit drink spiced with mint syrup and gets in the LONG line for the Kissing Booth*
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Jan 31 2016, 5:22pm
Post #63 of 190
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The dwarves, hearing of Thranduil's shock and horreur and his somewhat excessive imbibing of reviving "cordials" at the news of Lindir's escape from the shackles of Elfdom (from their own carefully placed spy in the Hoodlum Realm, known only by her code name "Red") immediately send the Pixie King a suitable gift, namely an elegant, authentic, Second Age, antique Ladies' Fainting Couch, to be placed quickly and thoughtfully behind the Forest King any time he hears bad news. (Loud hoots of dwarven laughter as they pin these instructions to the couch.)
Two day Eagle delivery guaranteed.
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
(This post was edited by Elarie on Jan 31 2016, 5:24pm)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Jan 31 2016, 7:57pm
Post #64 of 190
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Deep in the bowels of the Partei-Barge, the Fang-gir-iell swore as the barge rocked suddenly, throwing her against the rose pink walls of the powder room. A cascade of colorful bottles and hair beads fell from shelves. The Fang-gir-iell hoped Fili and Kili weren’t battling over control of the wheel again. Last time they had taken out three piers belonging to those cute little river hobbits, and the barge had sat anchored the rest of the day while Bilbo and the river folk wrote up compensation. An entire parchment scroll had been produced.
They’d still be at it, except the dwarf king found the movement of the Barge soothing and had gotten impatient. He had picked up the most vocal of the River folk (Bilbo had winced in sympathy at this point) and the Fang-gir-iells quietly got some of those floaty round tubes ready, expecting an ensuing splash. But Thorin had merely purred something into face of the wide-eyed river hobbit and gently set him down.
That hadn’t made the river hobbit feel any better though. He had looked around at the circle of surrounding Partei-girls, and noted all the pairs of gleaming eyes narrowed with jealousy. It put him in mind of being surrounded by wolves. The river hobbit had snatched the scroll from Bilbo, scrawled something, and grabbed his two companions. They had dove over the side of the barge and made for shore. A peculiarly tall and thin dwarf in a horned helmet had tossed a leather bag after them, which promptly sank.
(But the river hobbits were able to find it after the barge moved on, thanks to the strange floating box attached to it. The box held jugs of Burglar Bombs. Happily the Burglar Bombs and the amount of silver in the bag (Thorin still had a wee problem in certain areas) was more than enough to have the river folk hoping for a return visit.)
The Fang-gir-iell steadied herself and stared in the mirror unhappily. Overhead the folk music of the Partei-girls pounded on:
Keep on with the force, don't stop
Don't stop 'til you get enough
Keep on with the force, don't stop
Don't stop 'til you get enough!
It could drive you mad. Except bits and pieces of it stuck in your mind for days, so you may as well give in. Thorin had taken to happily belting out “no time for losers, we are the champions, we are the champions” at odd moments, and the whole Barge would happily join in. Thorin said he couldn’t wait to sing the song to that “prancing forest fop who had the nerve to think his hair could even compete.”
She was in a lot of trouble, she thought. It was one thing to be just another Fang-gir-iell. They came in all shapes and sizes. But with another elf here – an elf, yet, that unlike herself wasn’t merely occasionally interested about dwarven culture, or at least at times polite about it.
No, Lindir had embraced dwarven culture with a ferocity that was – was so DWARVISH. The Fang-gir-iell shuddered, thinking of the celebration planned for tonight. Fili and the Partei-girls had offered to give Lindir his very first tattoo, and Lindir had accepted the offer with alacrity. Although, she had to admit, knowing that a certain dwarf sported artwork apparently as a tribute had touched her deeply. Except for the fact that the dwarf seemed to be surrounded by an awful lot of females bent on ensuring the young prince was not lost to despair. She supposed that it was a positive thing, in a way, the loyalty showed to the Heirs of Durin.
She sang along with another maddeningly catchy folk tune that was shaking the walls as she opened the pink and white box (the brand of choice on the Partei Barge):
We must have been stone crazy when we thought we were just friends
'Cause I miss you, baby, and I've got those feelings again.
I guess I'm all confused about you.
I feel so in love, oh, baby, what can I do?
I've been thinking about you, I've been thinking about you.
I've been thinking about you, I've been thinking about you.
Shi-pow-pow!
Yes, time to hide those peeks of light blonde hair with more Medium Ash Brown Root Rescue™. Get some more braids and beads in too. Add some more stuffing to key areas of her black leather bodice. She just hoped that Thranduil would recognize her at the barbecue. He was going to be upset enough when he saw Lindir. She couldn’t imagine the reaction to his own son being dressed like this.
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 1 2016, 12:08am
Post #66 of 190
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It's not possible! How? When? Where did this devious woodland son-of-a-sprite sneak onto the sacred deck of the immortal Par-tei Barge? This is an evil plot of historic proportions and just wait until Thorin finds out - boy, is somebody going to get it. 
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 1 2016, 4:08am
Post #67 of 190
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A reply to the Additional Addendum
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To The Balrog Barbecue Organizing Committee and Assistant Volunteers
We refer to the latest addendum to the invitation for the Balrog Barbecue and thank you for your answers to our previous note. Although We are not overly taken with the idea of parking one's own Elk, We shall abide by the status quo on this occasion. We do ask, however, that our allotted Elk parking space is not anywhere near any dwarven goat chariots as one does not wish ones Elk to smell of goat, as one is sure you appreciate.
Moving on.
PS
We neglected to mention that all funds raised by the Lady Beekeepers Association will go towards much needed repairs to their Retirement Hive for Elderly and Infirm Giant Bees. Please be generous to this worthy cause
In a word, no. Other bees are not our concern.
PPS
As a last minute addition to the festivities, the Lost and Found Booth at the foot of the Dimrill Stairs will double as a Charity Kissing Booth between 8 and 11 PM with a Surprise Volunteer Second Heir-to-the-throne Kisser to raise money for the preservation and maintenance of The Last Dark And Nameless Thing At The Root Of The Mountain, whose name, as it turns out, is Kevin. Kevin, having eaten all the other Dark And Nameless Things, is the last of his kind and “his like will not be seen again on this earth” thus making it desirable that we preserve this last valuable member of his species. Unfortunately, Kevin lost three tentacles and several of his eyes during his recent battle to the death with the Second-To-Last Dark And Nameless Thing At The Root Of The Mountain and then, equally unfortunately, ate the veterinarian who was brought in to treat his injuries, making it darn near impossible to find another vet willing to make cavern calls. Kevin lives at the bottom of the Bottomless Pit and in happier days could be seen climbing the walls of the Pit to snag unwary orcs off of the Narrow Bridge. Alas, these days Kevin spends most of his time cuddled up in his Slime Room, sadly humming to himself and counting his remaining tentacles over and over with his Good Eye. Thus, the plan is to try and raise enough money to supply Kevin with left over Balrog Bits, partially decomposed orc bodies, Greenway roadkill and creepy slimy things from Gollum’s cave until his injuries heal themselves and he can once again fend for himself. After that all feeding volunteers, tourists and Quest members are advised to stay at least 100 yards away from the edge of the Bottomless Pit for their own safety. Moria orcs who live in the vicinity aren’t advised to do anything in particular, since they never listen anyway. Please pucker up and donate generously to this important cause to preserve our native species and their natural habitat.
We have decided that We will pay generously to NOT kiss ANY Dwarf. In a gesture of magnificence, We offer our son and heir, Legolas's services to the Kissing Booth to any person/dwarf/elf/orc/halfling who may wish to donate to your cause without having to kiss a Dwarf. It is a well known fact that Elves are the best kissers in Middle Earth - We have documentation to uphold this statement and We feel Legolas will offer your cause the class it so obviously and desperately needs. Please, do not thank one, one is already aware of how moved you will be by the gesture. Think nothing of it.
Regarding Kevin, We feel that anything named 'Kevin' has only himself to blame ; however, anything that snacks on Orcs is looked upon favorably. Therefore in a gesture of gracious benevolence We suggest that Kevin undergoes a re-naming ceremony to fit him with a name more suitable to his habit of lingering aimlessly under ground waiting for the charity of Elves and scraps. We suggest Kevin be renamed Durin.
PPPS
It has come to the attention of the Committee that the elves of the Hoodlum Realm are planning an unauthorized Best Dressed contest with prizes for Afternoon, Evening and Breakfast Wear and that the winner of said contest has already been chosen. The Committee does not sanction this contest or give it any official standing and is not involved in any way.
We believe there is a word in Westron which describes the committee's attitude to this noble contest. We believe that word is 'spoilsport'.
Thranduil, King of The Woodland Realm
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 2 2016, 3:38am
Post #71 of 190
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Hair: Like spun gold on a sunlit morning
Mood: Clever
Kingdom: It loves me
Sometimes my cunning surprises even myself.
For an ancient being of truth and beauty I can be remarkably devious. Yes, I have offered the Balrog Barbecue committee Lego for an afternoon of sponsored snogging but, guess what? I'm not sending Lego at all, I am sending a stand in. I mean really, did anyone really think I'd allow MY son to do such a thing? Alright, Diary, I'll tell you a teeny weeny secret, Lego is doing a little job for his daddy outside the Realm and could not appear at the Booth even if he wanted to. But, and here is the clever bit, if Legolas is 'seen' to be at the Kissing Booth, he could not possibly be implicated in 'missions' in other parts of the Middle Earth! Therefore a Legolas substitute for the Kissing Booth will have to be carefully chosen. Of course; he must have a certain likeness to Legolas, radiate a noble bearing, to all intents and purposes he must 'be' Legolas and possess all the qualities Lego is famed for throughout Middle Earth, once I've figured out quite what they are.
Several hours and some bottles of wine later ....
No, I still haven't figured out what Lego's qualities are, so I have decided, after a nice afternoon in my Jacuzzi with some of that nice 'chewy' red from Rohan, we're going to wing it.
I have chosen Elros, my Master of the Keys, to impersonate my son mainly because he was annoying me. I have equipped him with boxes of Moonlight Blonde by L'Oreal for his rather nasty brown hair, and some sage green pantyhose I found in Lego's laundry hamper. Well, I say 'hamper', it's more like a wicker dumpster really. To complete the transformation into my son and heir, I have tied Elros up and left him to hang upside down from the kitchen ceiling for a few hours so he 'gets' the whole defying gravity thing or stops crying. From where I'm currently standing (or to be more correct, lounging) on the prettiest pink and silver couch (none of your OrcKea rubbish) which was sent to me by an anonymous but understandably besotted admirer (one would suspect that minx Galadriel, if I didn't know for a fact her current extracurricular squeeze wears a pointy hat. She has a husband you know, but his name escapes me) I would defy anyone to guess it isn't Legolas in the booth at the Barbecue. Actually speaking of the Pointy Hat, he has not yet replied to my letter. Curious.
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 2 2016, 7:26pm
Post #72 of 190
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Thorin's Diary Part III - Preparations for the Balrog Barbecue
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Thorin’s Diary, Part III
The Preparations for the Balrog Barbecue
Mirrormere, East Gate of Moria, after escaping from the Witch of the Golden Woods
A lot has happened since my last entry, so some catching up to do. We are currently docked in the legendary Mirrormere, the sacred lake of Durin whose deep waters every dwarf longs to gaze upon at least once in a lifetime. After escaping from the poorly named Golden Wood, which is nothing but stupid yellow leaves and flowers, my heart longed to visit a true dwarvish land where my thoughts could stray in the memory of my noble ancestors and my heart could rest in the same sights and sounds as my forefathers. Thus I spoke my secret thoughts to the River, and as always it bent itself to my will and brought us to the door of what was once a dwarvish paradise, the great kingdom of Khazad-Dum, and for several days all was peace and beauty. Then the Par-tei Girls got busy.
I can only blame myself. As I wandered the green shores of the Lake and gazed into it’s deep waters, meditating on the Crown of Durin, I failed to keep on eye on my troops, thinking there wasn’t anything they could possibly do to cause trouble in such a remote location. I was wrong. At some point the Par-tei girls sneaked into Moria, a dangerous practice that I specifically forbade but they did it anyway, and tried to turn the fabled Forges of Durin into the ‘Still to end all Stills’. The predictable explosion soon followed, a real whopper, and apparently in the process destroyed a Demon of the Ancient World who had ventured into the forges to see what that unusual smell was. Luckily none of the illegal bootleggers was there at the time, having gone back to the boat for more supplies and so the only casualties were the Still, the Forges and the Demon.
Now comes the interesting bit - since pieces of the Demon are still raining down from the skies and are expected to keep doing so for some time, the crew has organized a Balrog Barbecue and issued an Invitation to All and Sundry to attend, a nice idea that seemed guaranteed to spread peace and goodwill, until, of course, the elves got involved and immediately started making trouble, leaving us with three problems to solve.
1. The Lady Beekeepers Association of North Beorning, Wilderland, is setting up a flower booth to raise funds for elderly and infirm giant bees. What could be more harmless and sweet, you ask? Nothing, except that the pasty pale king of wood sprites immediately sent a snarky message saying that “Other bees are not our concern”. What a heartless old curmudgeon, picking on elderly bees. However, Fili, bless his heart, immediately sent a Raven letter to Beorn in which he casually and innocently repeated this cold-hearted statement along with other news and THAT should put an immediate and permanent end to all of the Beorning’s Honey Cake shipments to the Woodland Realm. Ha.
2. Dueling Kissing Booths - Well, what can I say? I had absolutely nothing to do with this. It started out as a simple charity fund-raiser for a lonely, injured Last Dark Nameless Thing at the Root of the Mountain, and the Second Heir-to-the-throne was simply going to volunteer three hours of his time to raise a few gold coins for a helpless monster and then, as usual, the Elves got involved and tried to ruin everything. A snarky message from King Fancypants informed us that he was volunteering his pretty-boy heir to do the Kissing Booth, after making several rude, and seriously uninformed remarks about the kissing abilities of dwarves. Seriously, what does he think young dwarves DO in those tunnels? I was simply going to ignore such shallow ignorance of dwarf culture, but once again the Par-tei girls got busy and now there are to be TWO Kissing Booths and a Dwarf/Elf Kiss-off.
Naturally we assumed that all crew members would rally round and donate strictly to the dwarf contestant, and of course all the Fang-gir-iells are doing just that (although the tall, slim, shy one with the boyish figure who joined the boat at some hazy point that no one can quite remember looked very unhappy and nervous as plans were being made. I’m guessing that with her somewhat lanky form and mousy brown dyed hair she has never been kissed and it would be cruel to force her to participate, so I will have to find a way to excuse her from the festivities if she wants. Perhaps she can stay on the boat and brush Minty - a great honor reserved for very special occasions.) Alas, the Par-tei girls, the little minxes, have gone rogue on us (again) and instead of loyally donating their coins solely to their princely crew mate, they will be rotating back and forth in BOTH lines for the entire evening, awarding points and giving a prize to the winner. Past experience made me slightly nervous at the mention of a Par-tei Girl prize, but thankfully it turns out that it is only a boxed gift-set of Beorn’s Bees Lip Balm (8 flavors) and Beorn’s Bees Armor Chafe-free lotion with matching scented talcum powder, so it sounds perfectly harmless.
3. Which brings us to the most serious matter of all, and one that nearly brought about the cancellation of the Barbecue and almost started a war to end all wars between dwarf and elf. I’m referring of course, to the unimaginable insult contained in the letter from the sissy-girl prince of the forest in which he DARED to impugn and dishonor the sacred memory of Durin. Even now just thinking about it makes me growl and grind my teeth with rage and when first I read this shameful missive my anger was so white hot, my rage so uncontrolled and my bellows of fury so frightening that the land about us became totally silent, the birds fled to faraway forests, the creatures of woodland and meadow cowered in fear and my crew withdrew hastily below decks and waited breathlessly for the outcome. In a word, (as the kids would say) “I went all Thorin”. It was while I was giving orders to load up the Par-tei Barge for immediate departure and calling a council of war with my heirs to plan the final destruction of all elf-kind that the Burglar, bless him, came up with an alternate plan.
With his usual good sense and creative problem solving he reminded me that A) it’s rude to cancel a party after the invitations have gone out B) you can’t disinvite someone after you’ve already invited them, and C) Thranduil’s elves had planned an unofficial Best Dressed Contest and this was my chance to hit him where it would really hurt, to wit - Fashion.
At first this suggestion was met with some doubts by the crew who couldn’t quite grasp how we could pull this off. Thranny has all the sartorial resources of his kingdom to bring to the game, while we have only the supplies on our boat. But, as Fili’s eyes meant mine, we knew that once again our Burglar had unwittingly saved the day, for deep in the farthest recesses of Moria lies a secret known only to the direct heirs of Durin, passed from Father to Son in long unbroken line, and now known only to Fili and me - the Secret Mithril Royal Bling Room of Khazad-Dum, so well hidden, so well protected by invisible doors and spells of power that even Balrogs can’t find it.
And I know the way in.
To be continued
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Kilidoescartwheels
Valinor
Feb 2 2016, 9:02pm
Post #73 of 190
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Much as I act like one, I promise you ... I am NO teenage girl! *Stabs Witch King in the FACE, haha!*
Proud member of the BOFA Denial Association
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Kilidoescartwheels
Valinor
Feb 2 2016, 9:06pm
Post #74 of 190
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Darn, I almost missed the (Par-tei) boat! Been enjoying reading this historical record of important ME events (i.e., goofing off at work) for the past hour - gotta keep up with current events, ya' know!
Proud member of the BOFA Denial Association
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 3 2016, 2:44am
Post #75 of 190
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In the dark of the night, a lone Fang-gir-iell keeps watch
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The Fang-gir-iell shifted uncomfortably in her metal-studded leather. Na vedui, she thought. I am alone. She tried again to maneuver her shoulders in the white wooden deck chair so that the studs weren’t grinding into her back. Finally, she reluctantly rose, shuffled to the deck rail in her heavy dwarven boots, and retrieved a still-damp towel. It was brightly colored, decorated with an image of a large, thick, square of rotting bright yellow cheese. The cheese had huge eyes and a maniacal grin. And arms and legs. It appeared to be dancing next to a happy pink blob. She stuffed the offensive towel behind her shoulders and used both hands to painfully lift one heavy booted leg to the chair’s leg rest. Then the other thudded into place. She sighed in relief. Nae, but her feet hurt. No wonder dwarves were so hostile. They must all suffer from chronic foot pain from the overweight boots.
Her head hurt too. Most of the time she was able to discreetly dispose of the endless mugs of eye-watering healthful fruit drinks over the side of the barge, but tonight no opportunity had presented itself. Not without it looking peculiar. So she had forced a smile and tossed back the huge jar of “Shadow and Flame” that had been pushed into her hands. She could face most of the darkest mysteries of Middle Earth without fear. After all, she was immortal. But drinking down the jar of multi-colored fermented fruit juice and syrups – layers of bilious green and yellow and reddish orange, set alight and roiling with black smoke – had been one of the greatest tests of courage she had ever faced. Far, far worse than that army of transparent green ectoplasm.
But she was elvish ROYALTY. She wasn’t going to be outdone by Elrond’s former concierge, even she was travelling as a humble Fang-gir-iell. Lindir had happily quaffed three of the drinks, in celebration of his first tattoo. Now he was off with some of the women, who had offered a “hair weave” and “extensions” that they said would be “more dwarfy”. They would thicken his hair up, so his double-horned dwarf helmet wouldn’t spin around on his head all the time.
Above, a moon soared in a starry sky. The Partei-barge rocked gently at anchor. The Fang-gir-iell had volunteered for the night watch, which had earned her a mix of gratitude and friendly ribbing from her leather-clad, booted, companions. For Thorin Oakenshield had been in such an expansive mood after the combination of the chewy calamari seafood feast, and the rather uneven dwarf tattoo successfully applied to Lindir, that he had offered to play the harp for his loyal followers. Provided, of course, that Minty had received her nightly brushing and her bedtime apple. The happiness of Minty was paramount on the Partei Barge.
Her companions had even been suspicious that any of their number would willingly CHOOSE to miss such a monumental event. Thinking quickly, the Fang-gir-iell had opinioned that no sacrifice was too great, to protect the Heirs of Durin. Her companions were just inebriated enough to well up over this, nodding in teary agreement. More than one Fang-gir-iell muttered angry remarks about the “no-show Gandalf” and that “stoner wizard with the bird poo who flew right over”. Finally someone had said “but thank the Valar for Galadriel” which triggered another fiery toast to the Lady of the Light, and so the Fang-gir-iell had managed to claim the night watch for herself. She had been slapped on the back and told that Thorin might even let her feed Minty her nightly apple, an honor usually only performed by the hobbit.
And, the Fang-gir-iell thought, she NEEDED the time to compose her thoughts into Sindarin serenity. When had it all spiraled so out of control? She remembered a time, when the Greenwood’s Prince had been the toast of Middle Earth. Oh, there had been the grubby lank companion, for those that went for the gritty type. But even though the prince was ostensibly the faithful friend, that relationship had only added to the allure.
And she had to admit, a large contingent of the faithful still cheered the appearance of the golden Prince of Mirkwood, and admired his spectacular athleticism and warrior prowess. But, the HUMILIATION of it all was wearing at her.
It was a few years ago when the first hints had come, that something was terribly wrong. Human women collecting berries and mushrooms from the edge of the forest giggling over “hawt dwarves” and “Thorin Smoken’shield”. A voice like flame under your skin and dark hair you just wanted to grab and breathe, they gushed. OMG! The elves guarding Mirkwood had overheard, and decided that the women had stumbled into a patch of puffballs and gotten faces full of ‘shroom spores. It wouldn’t be the first time, the elves laughed. That’s what happened when the race of men messed around in the mysterious realm of the Elven King. The humans besotted with a race of smelly, hairy beings (who could barely move for the weight of their boots) were simply suffering from the effects of fey elven forest magic. So at the time, nothing had been thought of it. Elves were ALWAYS the prettiest.
If only she had known. That was the beginning. It got worse. Because the next year, on patrol, the Mirkwood elves began to find parchments left on trees. Appallingly, they weren’t addressed to the Prince of Mirkwood, as was typical. They were addressed to the prince’s FATHER. Some were long treatises praising the “pale silver silken fall” of Thranduil’s hair, or his “sapphire eyes and sculpted cheekbones”. Others talked about how the Elven King’s “Bourbon French vanilla voice” haunted their dreams. It was embarrassing, and there seemed to be no end to the imagination of the writers. The worst of the notes apologized, but said things like “sorry, the prince needed to move over, as his Daddy was in town…”
Thranduil of course had simply taken it all as his due. Naturally, he said. Because I’m FABULOUS. He didn’t see much point in discussing the obvious.
Finally, after running a gauntlet of jokes about bats and air-walking, the prince of Mirkwood had made his way north after the great battle. When he had finally found the grim-faced Dúnedain, they had been suspicious of a lone woodland elf asking after a young boy. That was pretty creepy, they had said, and the Rangers of the North had their own way of meting out justice here in the wilderness. The woodland prince had to shoot quite a number of weapons out of their hands, to prove he could be trusted.
Only to be informed that the son of Arathorn was being fostered at Rivendell. Defeated and completely out of trail mix, the woodland prince had made his way back to Mirkwood forest. There he had found the Captain of the Woodland Guard sporting what looked like black pajamas and practicing something Tauriel said was “Muay Thai”. She was never going to lose to some ORC again, she said. When the prince tried to say how glad he was that Thranduil had lifted her banishment, she had distractedly answered “Wise man never play leapfrog with a unicorn” and kicked through a wall.
And so here he/she was, a Fang-gir-iell on the Partei-Barge. Ostensibly a spy for the fabulous Thranduil. But it wasn’t easy, being in the camp of the enemy. You’d think, after saving their beloved Thorin’s life at Ravenhill, that the Prince of the Woodland would be feted as much as the Lady Galadriel (for her engineering of the preservation of the Durins, in the face of all canon). But oh-no. She’d had to sit and grin when a particularly snarky Fang-gir-iell had compared the Woodland Prince’s use of Orcrist to Thorin Oakenshield’s.
Thorin Oakenshield had the grace of the Mearas, the Fang-gir-iell enthused, he was like a black stallion running free on the plains of Rohan! Whereas Legolas, who had STOLEN Orcrist, looked like he was “waving around one of those electronic bug zappers, you know, the ones that look like a tennis racket.”
The Prince of Mirkwood, long known for his spectacular athletic grace, had overheard that his sword technique “looked like that woman beating the quilt out in Dale.” Were these Fang-gir-iells just stupid? Of course you didn’t leave an enemy with a weapon, and besides, Orcrist was an ELVISH sword! Never mind the thing was so heavy, every time he made an effortless orc-slide the thing banged against his legs, leaving bruises on his fair elven skin. The prince had been so happy to get back to his badass twirly knives, and even that was getting upstaged by Tauriel!
The Fang-gir-iell stared moodily over the rail at the lapping dark River waters. She didn’t even have a proper bow by her side. Instead, it was one of those heavy dwarvish ones. At least the relentless pounding of the Partei-girl folk songs had been replaced by the gentle, distant tones of Thorin’s harp and the muffled thumps of Fili hammering out another knife. Maybe by tomorrow she’d get that last Partei-girl song out of her head:
And I'm too sexy for your party!
Too sexy for your party!
No way I'm disco dancing!
I'm a model, you know what I mean…
And I do my little turn on the catwalk
Yeah, on the catwalk, on the catwalk, yeah
I do my little turn on the catwalk…
She shuddered at the idea of Thranduil ever hearing THAT one. Because, it would mean, an eternity of the Halls of the Woodland King echoing with lines like “And I'm too sexy for my hat…” Every day. Forever. (Not that Thranduil had EVER worn a hat on his perfect shimmering silken swath of hair. It was a crown or a mithril circlet, tastefully adorned with a superbly cut gemstone.)
But then, in the midst of her gloomy thoughts, the flash of something against the dark waters caught her elvish eyes. Was it simply a fish, trying to snatch a meal? The Fang-gir-iell sat up and carefully, silently, maneuvered one aching leg to the deck. Then the other. She nocked an arrow to the bow with swift hands, as a sibilant hissing came to her ears. The Fang-girl-iell moved soundlessly to crouch against Bilbo’s portable coffee bar, which had been parked next to the deck rail for the night.
“Stole it, he did, my PRECIOUSSS…tricksy hobbit...thief…yes, my Preciousss, we kills him, coming my Precioussss…”
The Fang-gir-iell waited, a shadow in the dark. She heard wet slaps and saw two fleshy, but gnarled hands with long fingers reach and cling to the railing. A large pale head with a pair of round glowing eyes popped up. “Pppppppreeeeciossssss” the jagged-toothed mouth of the thing softly hissed.
“Eeuw,” thought the Fang-gir-iell. (Although this was small fry compared to the typical residents of the Mirkwood forest, which included gigantic spiders and centipedes that could take off a limb). She calmly loosed her arrow.
At that distance, the arrow hit the thing right between the eyes and passed through the bulbous head. After all, it was a dwarf bow, designed for power. The thing grabbed convulsively at the coffee bar with its pale hands and pulled it over as it fell to the water. The Fang-girl-iell nocked another arrow and aimed down from the rail. The next arrow hit the middle of the thing’s scrawny chest. No harm in making sure.
The deck immediately lit with light as the Fang-gir-iell was surrounded by her well-armed companions, who had responded instantly to the sound of the overturned coffee bar. The Heirs of Durin, their female companions, and Bilbo stared at the pale ungainly creature bobbing in the current. “What is that?” asked Kili, handsome face grimacing in disgust. Thorin Oakenshield looked carefully at the creature, which was definitely no longer any kind of threat. The slow current was already moving the thing away from the boat. He shrugged #Majestically and smiled at his nephew. “Some sort of runt goblin. An outcast. Perhaps driven by the smell of the calamari, and so sought an easy meal.”
The dwarf king gazed steadily at the Fang-gir-iell still holding a bow, who cast her eyes down shyly. “Nice work,” he smiled, causing a rush of blood to the brains of the surrounding Fang-gir-iells. When the Fang-gir-iell appeared to be too overcome to respond, he added by way of reward, “I am sure Bilbo won’t mind if you give Minty her apple tomorrow. In the meantime, let us continue the singing of “Misty Mountains Cold” here on the deck, so that Minty will not be disturbed the rest of the night.” But he looked hard at the downcast head of the Fang-girl-iell, while the women cheered at the thought of the night breeze gently swirling Thorin’s chocolate waterfall of hair. Those of a more artistic bent ran to grab their sketch pads.
Bilbo, eyes fixed, continued to watch the pale thing as it floated out of sight. “Mine,” he muttered, clutching at his coat. “Mine”. Fili overheard and placed a friendly hand around the hobbit. “Now, Bilbo, we’ve talked about this. Of course the movies are yours! You’re still not upset about people saying the movies are about Thorin and elves and all that rot, are you? There’s charts showing the number of lines for each character and screen time and everything. Think how I feel.”
“We love you, Fili!” gushed the Partei-girls. “And we love Bilbo!” Bilbo gasped for air as he was swarmed by enthusiastic females hugging him. At least it was softer than the rib-cracking embrace of the dwarf king.
“There, see?” Fili squeezed the Hobbit’s shoulders as Bilbo wheezed. The hobbit finally smiled, and his pupils weren’t as dilated, although he was still clutching his jacket. “Now c’mon, let’s go sit near Thorin, you know how male bonding makes the Fang-gir-iells happy! Besides, Lindir wants to show off his new tattoo again…”
The next day, industrious river hobbits, fishing from their little coracles, told stories to tourists of an unpleasant looking dead creature that had floated by. Grainy pictures went viral on the Internet. The grey men were real, it was said.
At a hastily arranged press conference a kindly-face man in a scarf was courteously, but firmly, fending off inquisitive reporters. “No, the workshop most certainly did not place unused props around New Zealand as a prank. We don’t waste resources that way. No, as far as I know, no real aliens are living on the offshore islands. No, I am sure that New Zealand is not the “new Roswell”! Of course we have bright lights in the sky, we have towns and cities just like everyone else…AND an airport, thank you very much.”
It was finally over. The man mopped his face and padded down the hall of the quiet grey building, and slipped inside to a darkened room. He exchanged worried looks with the dark haired woman dressed in the Thorin Oakenshield T-shirt. She was sitting on a leather couch next to a man in a rumpled white shirt, who had his head in his hands. “Those &*^%$ Hair Freaks,” he groaned. “Don’t tell me it wasn’t them. First the Balrog, now Gollum. I can see the web posts now. “The Betrayal of Trust” and like that. And the re-boot was all for them. It was going to be my big surprise for the fans!”
“Now what am I supposed to do? That’s a pivotal moment! It’s not as though I can have Frodo actually fall into the Fires of Mount Doom…”
“There, there,” soothed the dark-haired woman, who was in a terrific mood in spite of the latest crisis. After all, she had a special barbecue to look forward to. “You’ve forgotten our secret weapons. First, we’ve got amazing CGI. And second, Legolas. And third, we’ve got Tauriel. We can make it a sort of bridge film...it’ll be AMAZING.”
(This post was edited by Avandel on Feb 3 2016, 2:46am)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 3 2016, 3:08am
Post #76 of 190
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'Coz, you know, the Partei-Barge sort of travels in a loop and even against a current, on the River of Denial. Anyway, there's plenty of fuel aboard to get past the sandbars and such.
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 3 2016, 3:27am
Post #77 of 190
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Ever, to read the thoughts of Thorin scrib'd in his own hand, brings joy. The impossible black chocolate of his voice can actually be felt, in the transcribed writings...
However, Fili, bless his heart, immediately sent a Raven letter to Beorn in which he casually and innocently repeated this cold-hearted statement along with other news and THAT should put an immediate and permanent end to all of the Beorning’s Honey Cake shipments to the Woodland Realm.
*Snigger*. You go, Fili!
Secret Mithril Royal Bling Room of Khazad-Dum
OMG. An epic CLASH. Even as I read, a fire kindled in my heart. The calm before the storm. Until the time when all Fang-gir-iells shall strap on their iron-toed over-the-knee boots and don their Hobbit T-shirts, and shall raise their voices as one:
"For the best hair in Middle Earth! Du Bekar!"
Thank you for leaking these pages from Thorin's diary. All Fang-gir-iells are in your debt.
(Now I have to go find some Epsom salts, as Lego's feet really are hurting from the dwarf boots...)
(This post was edited by Avandel on Feb 3 2016, 3:28am)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 3 2016, 7:18am
Post #78 of 190
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Hair: Sassy
Mood: Probably just need another latte
Kingdom: Couldn't live without me
I was planning a pleasant morning, which was to consist of a huge soy latte with frosted sprinkles whilst contemplating my blondness and practicing my 'icy stare' in a really cool mirror Galadriel gave me during the last Age after she'd given me a tour of her gardens. I noticed at the time she had quite a stash of them and the 'mirror' thing is her favorite party trick and her preferred way of scaring the pants off ' Lothlórien Noobs', as she calls them, when I realised there was more to this mirror than initially met the eyes; even sapphire blue orbs of dazzling beauty, like mine. I was so pleased to get a mirror because it was so 'me' and I had heard of 'others' getting useless stuff like rope, itchy woolly capes, novelty nightlights in bottles and bags of Lembas bread - One bite may well fill the stomach of a grown man, but one bite of her Lembas may also result in losing a tooth. She's the worst baker in Middle Earth and is constantly offloading her dodgy Lembas onto unsuspecting travelers. I can't help but wonder sometimes if Galadriel doesn't have a very warped sense of humour.
I poured the water onto the surface of the Mirror pool and was gazing at my unspeakably lovely reflection when I saw an image of Mithrandir who appeared to be using a Mirror of Galadriel at the same time. I knew Glad's was flighty but I had no idea she gave these mirrors to everyone who has skipped through her azaleas, and it's a well known fact around here that Gandalf has been sighted in Lothlórien his weed whacker.
"My lord, Thranduil! I didn't know you had one of these too! I .. I was just ... Just about to reply to your message!" cried Mithrandir nervously, tapping the bowl of his pipe against the side of the mirror and taking a slug of something from a distinctly Elvish looking silver mug. I could tell he was lying through his teeth and he looked very shifty.
"Indeed." I said regally. "I was not aware that the Mirrors of Galadriel were so freely given, Mithrandir."
"Oh, we've all got one." Old Pointy Hat responded in a confidential tone. "Me, you, Elrond, some of the blonder and more muscly Horse Lords and I have heard tell of blacksmith in Bree, but that could be a vicious rumour. You and I, and possibly Elrond, have the upgraded Mirrors 10 version with Surround Sound, as we have just discovered, but I think the others are still running Mirrors 7. No one touched Mirrors 8 except Saruman and Radagast is still struggling to come to terms with his Mirrors Vista but... His best friend is a hedgehog, so what can you expect?" And as suddenly as he had appeared, Mithrandir vanished. I tried in vain to reconnect but he was gone, I kept getting a message that said Gandalf_123 Is Offline written across the pool in twinkly lights no matter how much water I poured on it. Disappointing.
In other news I had a strange missive from Beorn written in what appears to be, well ... Honey. It is short and to the point. It reads "NO MOAR HUNNEY KAKEZ FOR YOUS!" Curious.
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 3 2016, 7:06pm
Post #81 of 190
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I was so pleased to get a mirror because it was so 'me' and I had heard of 'others' getting useless stuff like rope, itchy woolly capes, novelty nightlights in bottles and bags of Lembas bread - One bite may well fill the stomach of a grown man, but one bite of her Lembas may also result in losing a tooth. She's the worst baker in Middle Earth and is constantly offloading her dodgy Lembas onto unsuspecting travelers. I can't help but wonder sometimes if Galadriel doesn't have a very warped sense of humour. Probably because U.S. tourist areas happily sell 'wee bottles of sand and air and water and hot sauce and everything imaginable, IMO this is all hilarious - made my morning
I kept getting a message that said Gandalf_123 Is Offline written across the pool in twinkly lights no matter how much water I poured on it.
Well, you know, Gandalf has a busy social calender at the moment. A rolling stone gathers no moss, as it were. And, too, he's managed to diplomatically endure much of Galadriel's baking by claiming that it is "the most delicious biscotti in Middle Earth" and making sure it gets a good soak in Bilbo's Special Morning Dark Roast before carefully using his staff to blast the confections into manageable bits.
Otherwise Galadriel may start "feeling poorly" as she puts it, when her head starts spinning around.
Now I gotta go join the other Fang-gir-iells in staring with jealousy at that mousy one with the flat chest who somehow, inexplicably, seems to have at least momentarily been of interest to the dwarf king. Although the lanky chic seems to be spending most of the morning rubbing her forehead - can't even deal with the single cocktail from the night before! Lindir, however, is in fine spirits hur, hur, and has asked Fili to make him his own double-headed war hammer. We are all in favor of this, as we just love it when Durin hair is all damp and fluffy from working the forges.
PS:
Hair: Sassy
Mood: Probably just need another latte
Kingdom: Couldn't live without me You go, Thranduil!
An Elvish folk song wafts from the Partei Barge. The mousy Fang-gir-iell groans at the thought of Thranduil overhearing THIS ONE and wonders how fast she can make the shore "I'm bringing sexy back! Those other boys just don't know how to act..."
Take it to the chorus!
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 3 2016, 7:16pm
Post #82 of 190
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Inquring minds want to know...
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The Elves are using Mirror 10, seriously???
Ha ha ha ha ha
Loud guffaws and snorts of contemptuous dwarven laughter as they seamlessly sync their silver MithrilBook Air Ravens to their iThrush 6S's while simultaneously playing "Knock the Snail" and "Find the Arkenstone" on their ultra light iHobbit Mini 4's.
Snort, chuckle, gasp... Elves, huh? Golly, what can you say? They really do linger in a realm of memory and sorrow...
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 4 2016, 7:59pm
Post #83 of 190
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Thorin's Diary, Part IV, The Bling Raid
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Thorin’s Diary, Part IV
The Bling Raid
Next Day, Late Afternoon
Whew - what a day of grim preparation for the most dangerous dwarf raid since… well, since my last raid when I kicked the dragon out of Erebor, and also since the time before that when I led my company as we hacked our way out of the goblin tunnels, and also since the time before that when I led the charge that defeated Azog’s army right here at Moria… and, well, anyway the most dangerous raid in a long time.
As I was saying, we spent the day in grim, dwarven preparation, with all the crew restricted to light beverages only and lots of protein. Fill and his elite Fang-gir-iells were hard at it all day down in his smithy, sharpening swords and knives and those little pointy nail files that are so popular with the ladies, while Kili and his personal guard checked and repaired all the armor and the Par-tei girls got together and composed some very impressive war chants. The lyrics are somewhat strange to the dwarvish ear, but the rhythms, with much stamping of feet and clashing of sword against shield, are music to gladden the heart of any dwarf and already the hammers in the smithy are keeping time and Minty is swishing her tail right along with the music. As for the Burglar, he is keeping the coffee flowing.
Now we plan the raid.
Next Day, Evening
Much to tell, but first - wonderful news. Received a Raven letter from Erebor and to everyone’s delight, Balin, Oin and Ori are coming to the Barbecue. It’s a long journey, but according to the letter they have already started and should be here any day. If only they had come sooner, what a help they would have been on the Bling Raid; well, maybe Ori wouldn’t have been that much help, but willing hearts are always welcome and he did finally pick up a real weapon at Erebor.
As for the raid, we spent yesterday evening in the traditional grim dwarven war council, planning our strategy, making sure everyone was familiar with the route, and impressing upon the Par-tei girls that they mustn’t get distracted by any shiny objects that we encounter along the way. In addition, Fili, Kili and I held a separate council, in which Kili was inducted into the Secrets of the Royal Bling, just in case things went ill and it was up to him to finish the mission. Afterward we slept lightly and were up before dawn, donning helm and armor, hefting shield and weapon and chanting one of the new war chants as the sun rose. I left the Lindir elf to guard Minty, telling him that this was a great honor, but in sooth, I don’t trust an elf to know the secret ways of Moria, and, just so he wouldn’t be lonely, I left the tall, shy, lanky Fang-gir-iell there with him. (The Lindir elf is the only one in the crew who is as tall as her, so I’m hoping they will hit it off if I keep throwing them together.) Then I led the way (grimly) into the dark maw of Moria. The tunnels, rooms and passageways were as familiar to me as though I had lived there, for my father had impressed the sacred knowledge, passed down through the generations, onto me every day of my youth, and down, down, down we went, deep under the first level, with no sign of orcs or goblins, and finally we reached the First Invisible Door. After ordering everyone except Fili and Kili to cover their ears, I raised my sword and spoke the secret password in my most royal commanding voice:
APARECIUM ALOHOMORA!
The door shimmered into visibility and then swung silently open. A silent dark tunnel loomed ahead and we continued, twisting and turning, counting and choosing passageways to left or right, always going down, and then the Second Invisible Door blocked our way. The girls covered their ears again and I took a deep breath, raised my sword and boldly commanded:
BOMBARDA MAXIMA!
The door appeared for one brief instant, then exploded inward and we picked our way cautiously over the rubble and continued downward. (Alas, closing this one behind us on our way out was somewhat problematic, and we finally had to just leave it. Not really a good door opening system.)
More dark turnings and twistings, always down and down and down, and finally we came to the Third Invisible Door, and I took a deep breath, tossed my hair back #majestically, focused all my royal will on the task ahead, and then pounded three times on the door with the hilt of my sword and shouted in a deep, booming voice:
OPEN UP IN THERE!
A brief pause and then the door swung silently inward and there stood (somewhat crookedly) The Last Nameless Dark Thing at the Root of the Mountain - Kevin. Truth to tell, it was a bit of a letdown. Kevin looked at us for a moment with his Good Eye and then shuffled to one side and bid us enter, and there before us, under quite a few layers of slime, was the vast mithril treasure store of Khazad-Dum. Even under its layers of nameless goop it was breathtaking, pile upon pile of priceless mithril treasures - swords, spears, knives, armor, shields, helmets, boots, vambraces, necklaces, belts and rings, all studded with priceless jewels and embellished with magnificent inlays of gold. At this point my memory gets a little fuzzy but Fili and Kili say that I started hissing slightly and mumbling things like, “I will not part with a single coin” and “Mithril beyond measure” but apparently they had come prepared for this and immediately poured a 24-oz. cup of Death by Coffee down my throat while waving an acorn in front of my face and surprisingly, that did the trick.
So everyone started picking up mithril items and stuffing them into the sacks we had brought along until we could carry no more. There was a brief awkward moment when Kevin demanded some identification from me, saying that he could only release the treasure to a verified direct descendent of Durin, and we argued for awhile, with me pointing out that only a direct descendent of Durin would know the passwords and Kevin saying that I could be an imposter who had tortured the secret out of the real Thorin. Eventually Fili, Kili and I drew our swords and ran at him shouting “Du Bekar” and he admitted that we certainly acted like Durins and gave in and resigned himself to just moping around and grumbling about dwarves inviting themselves into other people’s houses and helping themselves to whatever takes their fancy. Well, I’ve heard the same thing over and over from the Burglar, so I ignored it and eventually we had all we could carry and left, making sure to shut the door behind us, although I noticed that before we left some of the Par-tei girls were whispering with Kevin and pointing upward toward the surface. I should probably be worried about that but I have enough on my mind right now.
The return trip up to the entrance was uneventful, without a single goblin attack, no cave-ins and no injuries of any sort to the troops. Another disappointing letdown, actually, but we grimly succeeded in our fell purpose and that’s the important thing.
So now we are back at the lake and I’m allowing the Par-tei girls to organize the appropriate celebration where songs will be sung, tales will be told and the Bling Raid will pass into legend. Then tomorrow we have to start cleaning this icky goo off of the treasure.
Next Day
Whew, thank the seven rings of the Dwarf Lords for the the Burglar’s new coffee machine. Note to self - never tell the Par-tei girls they can celebrate any way they want. What was I thinking? As best I can remember the war chants were carried on long into the night and the Shadow and Flame drinks were supplemented by something new called a Mithril Monster, poured from a bottle that had something that looked like an actual miniature tentacle in the bottom and supplemented with lime and salt. I avoided them as inconspicuously as possible, but the Lindir elf downed three in a row and then started dancing something the elves call the Mirkwood Mambo with Kevin, who had crawled out of his hole to join the festivities. It started out well, but ended badly when the elf stepped on Kevin’s tentacles with his new dwarf boots and Kevin went back to his slime room in a sulk.
Afternoon
The crew is full of coffee and pretty well recovered so the mithril cleaning has begun. It’s quite a job, cleaning that much mithril. Little know fact - mithril is actually as common as quartz in Moria, but obviously the dwarves had to hoard it secretly and only release it a few pieces at a time in order to keep the price point where it should be. Nonetheless, this raid and the revelation of so much glory is necessary to teach the prince of Smirkwood a much needed fashion lesson and so the cleaning and sorting continues.
Late Afternoon
The spectacle of such vast quantities of glorious, gleaming bejeweled mithril is beyond description. The boys and I carefully sorted through the treasure and chose the finest pieces to array ourselves like Dwarf Lords of Old and the sight was so overwhelmingly brilliant that the Par-tei girls had to share their sunglasses with the Fang-gir-iells so all could gaze on our glory. (Oddly, the Lindir elf and the tall, lanky one had no problem looking straight at us without even shading their eyes. Strange.)
As a final cap to the day, I climbed the Dimrill Stairs, all the way to the top, and as the setting sun glanced brightly shimmering and glittering off of my mithril and diamond outerwear, I faced north, raised my sword on high, and called out a royal challenge to the pasty faced King of the Hoodlum Realm in my deepest, most #majestic voice:
“NOBODY OUTBLINGS A ROYAL DWARF.
NOBODY!”
_______________
Translator’s note:
Unknown to Thorin, at this exact moment a slightly near-sighted watchman of Rohan looked to the north and saw the brightly shimmering flare of sunlight on mithril on top of a far-off mountain and ran shouting into the Golden Hall, “My lord, my lord, the beacons are lit, the beacons are lit! Gondor calls for aid!” Trumpets blared, horses were saddled, messengers were sent, and the King said, “Gather the Rohirrim. In three days we ride!”
Less than a week later, a Gondorian watchman with much better vision saw the hosts of Rohan galloping over the border towards Minas Tirith and lit his beacon, crying out, “My lord, my lord, Rohan is attacking Gondor!” Trumpets blared, horses were saddled, messengers were sent, and the Steward said, “Prepare to defend the White City!”.
Thus the two armies galloped unwittingly towards each other and to a battle that would have ended the long friendship between Gondor and Rohan, but fortunately, just when they were only a furlong apart, a grumpy old Gondorian farmer hobbled out between the armies, forcing them to stop rather than run over him, and the farmer said, “Say there, horseboys, where’s the fire? And who told you to ride those nags across my turnip field?” Thus a pause was taken, explanations were exchanged, and scouts were sent from both armies to investigate the mysterious glittering flare upon the far off mountain top.
________________
To be continued
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Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 4 2016, 11:28pm
Post #84 of 190
(9876 views)
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They're Old School, what can I say?
“NOBODY OUTBLINGS A ROYAL DWARF.
NOBODY!” Yeah, yeah Keep talking, Thorin, keep telling yourself that 
Ha! Typical Dwarves, causing trouble, but this time with the Gondorians and the Rohirrim Thank goodness for the turnips! <<< Never thought I'd ever say that, however ...
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
(This post was edited by Nieriel on Feb 4 2016, 11:39pm)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 4 2016, 11:33pm
Post #85 of 190
(9873 views)
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Lindir, however, is in fine spirits hur, hur, and has asked Fili to make him his own double-headed war hammer. We are all in favor of this, as we just love it when Durin hair is all damp and fluffy from working the forges Lindir is going to be in soooo much trouble! You do know that Thranduil's punishment for none-Elvishness among Elves is the forced removal of two inches of the 'criminals' hair, don't you?
And, too, he's managed to diplomatically endure much of Galadriel's baking by claiming that it is "the most delicious biscotti in Middle Earth" Ooooh! Mayhap Gandalf invented biscotti?! That Gandalf is such a charmer!
Now I gotta go join the other Fang-gir-iells in staring with jealousy at that mousy one with the flat chest who somehow, inexplicably, seems to have at least momentarily been of interest to the dwarf king. I don't know who I feel more sorry for, the 'spy' or Thorin
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
(This post was edited by Nieriel on Feb 4 2016, 11:41pm)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 5 2016, 1:59am
Post #86 of 190
(9867 views)
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PS. The morning after....(a bit of fluff)
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Well, reading some newer posts, it seems that the Mountain King's ire was raised. Still, it's nice to know that Thorin believes in HARMONY and DIPLOMACY. Except when he doesn't feel like it.
****************************
The morning after the runt orc incident, Bilbo was finally able to get the last of the coffee supplies re-organized after the ruckus of the night. He jauntily re-knotted his silk neck scarf, which admittedly was little more than a few tattered threads hanging together. But it was a point of honor with him to continue repairing it as best as he could, with the help of the sympathetic Fang-gir-iells.
The women HAD presented Bilbo with something they called an “infinity tube scarf” that bore the most vague resemblance to Gandalf’s silvery wrap. It was magic, they said, you can create hundreds of styles! Not wanting to hurt their feelings, Bilbo had allowed the Fang-gir-iells to stretch the loose rat-fur, sparkling, lightweight knit over his shoulders and head. See, in case he was ever in the mountains again, he’d have protection!
But the previous night, Bilbo had eventually passed out in exhaustion after the evening of harp music (which had resulted in the Fang-gir-iells sobbing quietly into all the silky draperies they had borrowed from Rivendell). It actually had turned out to be quite a lovely night, the Fang-gir-iells and Partei-Girls all settled at Thorin’s feet, swathed in yards of fine cloths, gazing adoringly at the Heirs of Durin.
The Mountain King had been comfortably seated on a container of marinating fruit, the soft breeze dancing through the dark mane of hair, strong fingers coaxing sweet tones from the instrument. Lindir had stood behind Thorin, proudly lighting up Thorin’s jar of “Shadow and Flame”, the twin horns of his helmet burnished with the reflection of the fire. Bilbo was squashed between the handsome princes, snuggled in his itchy scarf, smoking pipes of fragrant Old Toby. Thorin’s haunting voice had wound a spell over all, and even the face of the mousy sullen Fang-gir-iell had relaxed, except for the occasional tic of her eyelid.
But perhaps predictably, Bilbo had not slept well. Strange dreams had assaulted him, visions of being stuffed into a white leather gown with a metal plate chest piece, standing hand in hand with Thorin in a field of Old Toby. Azog had been wiping his eyes with the tail of his savagely toothed warg, who was busy finishing off a large white cake. The Elven King, shimmering in a silver robe, was using an amber-headed staff to stay upright, because he was laughing so hard. Fili was nestled between two Fang-gir-iells with the crown of Erebor on his head, grinning and giving Bilbo a thumbs-up sign. An ethereal-looking blonde elvish woman was floating on a cloud next to Gandalf, and they both were raining down pink sparkles from their hands.
Bilbo woke up in his cabin screaming, fumbling for Sting. The innocent tube scarf had been turned into so many dust balls, because Bilbo had been convinced he was once again wrapped up in Mirkwood spider silk and had completely freaked out in the darkness. He tore the fragile knitwear from his body and hacked it apart. The noise had roused the whole boat, and any number of Fang-girl-iells were now sporting various cuts and bruises from crowding into the hobbit’s dark cabin. Thorin, Fili, and Kili had burst in, weapons drawn, the mountain king driven to battle fury from Minty’s anxious whinny.
Of course dwarf eyes were more than comfortable in the darkness, and had instantly ascertained that their brave little hobbit, was in fact, dispatching a tangled mound of nylon and polyester yarn. Had the fey Elven King been present, the lanky, mousy-haired Fang-gir-iell thought, he would have understood completely. Woe betide the tailor who entered Thranduil’s halls with any kind of cloth that might be termed “economical”. Those unfortunates were invited to speedily leave the kingdom by means of the swift-flowing river, with no barrel to speak of.
To Thorin’s credit, he had his nephews shoo out the Fang-gir-iells and #Majestically let the trembling hobbit collect himself while he lit a lamp. Bilbo retrieved a jar of Burglar Bomb from under the bed. #Majestic dwarf and hobbit had sat side by side on Bilbo’s bed, passing the jar back and forth. They stared at the sad mound of shredded yarn on the floor.
Thorin had smiled a gentle smile as Bilbo, still twitching, told Thorin of his terrifying dream. It was beyond horrible, he said tearfully. His kind were a gentle folk and slow to rile. But the fury of hobbits discovering that all the cake was gone, at any social event, would result in the kind of unbridled rage that caused entire villages to be burnt to the ground. Besides, Bilbo hated himself in white, it made his skin look tired. He needed russet and jewel tones.
“Bilbo,” the mountain king had rumbled in his chocolate-wine voice (that cause so many to throw themselves to the floors, thanking the Valar), “With all the surprising wisdom you have shown on our journey, you still have much to learn. What will you see when you step from your door today?”
Bilbo’s eyes brightened. His curly-haired race loved riddles. “A brilliant sunrise? A day possibly full of mildly interesting experiences such as blueberry pancakes? Women who look like they are all too poor to afford enough clothes except for thigh-high boots?”
The mountain king’s stunningly clear blue, thickly lashed eyes gazed at the Hobbit warmly. “Why, yes, my good burglar, there is the distinct possibility of all that. Indeed, the boots are to be most hoped for. But what you DEFINITELY will see is something as wondrous as the flickering lights that stream over the mountains like colored ribbons, during the coldest winter nights.”
“And that, my friend, is HARMONY.”
Bilbo wrinkled his nose in confusion as he sipped from the jar, and passed it back to Thorin. Thorin tossed back a healthy swig and shook out his chiaroscuro of tumbling darkling hair, squaring his powerful shoulders like a contented tiger. “But Thorin,” Bilbo said questioningly, brow furrowed. “I don’t recall actually seeing ANY harmony for weeks. There’s still showers of meat and gristle every day!”
Thorin’s laugh would have sent the Fang-gir-iells into comas. “As long as you have been in my company, hur, hur, you yet sweat the small stuff? I know that prancing fop in his tick-infested swamp proclaims that I do little actual kinging except slaughter innocent creatures and brood #Majestically as the wind swirls my hair into a becoming tangled mane. And verily, for Durins’ sons - that, in fact, IS a great responsibility. I can’t tell you how pleased I am about Fili’s growing #Majestic skills, and Kili has a fascinating appeal of his own.”
“But Middle Earth forgets I spent many, many, years at the side of my grandfather and father. Many years enduring having my feet trod on by dwarrodams eagerly seeking to become the next Queen of Erebor. Perhaps you thought the destruction wrought by Smaug, or the burning of Laketown, was terrible? I can barely speak of the damage done to Erebor’s second ballroom, which was utterly destroyed by a dwarrodam riot. Simply because I inquired if one dwarrodam had a nice trip to Erebor, and another accused her of being “forward”. Mind you, dwarrowdams don’t mess about in a fight. There are still axe heads in the walls. And so, I learned a critical lesson that will stay with me through my #Majestic life.”
“And that is, when dealing with females, NEVER SHOW FAVORITISM.
My innocent halfling, I feel ‘tis this potential for awful danger which grows with each additional Fang-girl-iell, that weighs upon you, and so your troubled heart caused this nightmare. But do not forget, after all, that I AM the Heir of Durin, and have been trained since birth in the NUANCES of DIPLOMACY. Why, Middle Earth still speaks in wonder of my astute (and sensitive) interactions with the ruler of Smirkwood and even that boring disrespectful peasant in Laketown.”
“And so, and please take this to heart, naught will be done to disturb the HARMONY of the Partei-Barge. Even Fili takes care to equally distribute all those knives he forges!”
“Now come,” Thorin said, giving Bilbo’s shoulder a squeeze so firm that Bilbo’s collarbone creaked in protest. Thorin opened the cabin door, and there was hint of a rosy sunrise. “Let us give Minty her morning feed, and see of these “blueberry pancakes”. We should be just in time for the next shower of crispy bacon.”
Later, Bilbo looked over at Kili while giving the coffee bar a final wipe-down. Kili was seated in a deck chair frowning in concentration over a bit of parchment. He was attempting to construct a response to a small package that had arrived after the blueberry pancake and bacon breakfast. The package apparently had contained a cloth band with a heavily stylized red sun embroidered on it. Every now and again, Kili would pull the cloth from his tunic, and passionately press his lips to it.
“Bilbo, how does this sound to you? Do you think it’s too much?” Kili asked, with those earnest deep amber chocolate eyes that had the Fang-gir-iells fighting for the honor of scraping the mud off his boots.
Roses are red,
Just like your hair,
The way you knife orcs,
Has my heart in the air
Bilbo thought long and hard about what Thorin had said about dwarf DIPLOMACY and HARMONY.
“It’s a real tribute, Kili,” Bilbo said finally. “Very much on point.” Kili smiled happily and went back to marking the parchment with his pink and red crayons. Privately, Bilbo thought that Thorin needed to spend some more time with his younger nephew. And soon. Hopefully before the Balrog Barbecue. And across the deck, a Fang-gir-iell with mousy brown hair narrowed her eyes and stared hard at Kili.
(This post was edited by Avandel on Feb 5 2016, 2:03am)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 5 2016, 5:54am
Post #87 of 190
(9841 views)
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I'm very close to the King, I am. It's my actual job, right, to be NO more than two feet away from him at any given time. Not everyone could do my job and survive, 'cos, the secret of it is what them wizards call "spacial 'wareness". Too far away and when His Royal Fabulousness reaches out for his dinner, he might actually have to 'stretch' and stretching, as His Royal Fabulousness says (or as we call him, HRF) is for mortals, innit? Too close to him, and if someone or somefing were to attract HRF's attention and were he to turn his head too fast, that crown of his would have yer eye out. So yeah. "Spacial 'wareness". Not everyone has it.
I've given meself to this job man and boy. In fact it's not a job, it's what you might call a 'vocation'. I'm a single man 'cos no she-elf would put up wiv me running round after HRF all day and night. I sleep when he sleeps, wake when he wakes and I am always right there, when he needs me, mornin', noon and night, wiv me tray at the ready.
So today, right, I was following in HRF's wake as usual,and he comes across Elros and instead of ignoring him, as he's been doing for the past couple of days, he decides to have a bit of a word.
"Again I find you concealed in the recesses of my Halls snivelling, Elros. Your hair is fabulous, so why do you weep?" I could tell HRF was giving Elros what we footmen call 'The Look', and woe betide you if you get The Look. HRF was right of course, and ain't he always? Elros's hair is fab'lous. His scalp is a bit on the pink and scabby side after four applications of Moonlight Blonde in two days and his eyebrows now have to be drawn on wiv a pencil, but his hair is fab'lous.
"I am hungry, my Lord" Elros said wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
"Hungry? For what do you hunger, Elros? Fame? Fortune? Don't tell me! Your King's love?" HRF said as sweetly as you please, wiv a smile as would break yer heart, his regal head turned slightly to one side in anticipation of an answer he likes. Now, Elros is in a tricky position here, 'cos the right answer would have been agreeing to the last thing on HRF's list, but not Elros. I reckon, he's a bit thick.
"It's the diet, my Lord ..." Elros said looking at the floor.
"Ah! The diet." HRF said very quietly. Cue That Smile. That Smile he smiles wiv with mouth but his eyes don't join in. Know what I mean? He's a like a cat playing wiv a mouse.
"Yes, my Lord. Leek and Cabbage Curry three times a day. It isn't agreeing with me ..." At this HRF raised a finger to Elros. This is King code, for those who ain't in the know, for 'Shut Up. Now.'
"Did I, or did I not, give you the pantyhose?" HRF said imperiously. He's good at Imperious is the King.
"Yes, my Lord and ..."
"And, NOTHING!" HRF said still more or less in the imperious vein. "If the pantyhose can contain certain issues when it comes to my son, a PRINCE of this realm, they will do the same for YOU, peasant! You are eating what MY son eats every day! He's a picky eater and it's his favorite! Who are YOU to decide?" HRF was getting into his stride now, so to speak. "You do know this diet was necessary don't you?" HRF leaned towards Elros so close that Elros had no choice but to stand there and whimper as HRF's voice dropped to a whisper. "ALL the men in my family since the BEGINNING of us, ALL have had cheekbones so sharp, so sculpted, so fabulous that you could grate cheese on them! Legolas is NO different, and his DIET is the reason why! And you? What have you got?" HRF pushed this point home by poking Elros in the chest.
"Nothing, my Lord .." Elros's strangulated voice pushed out.
"A little louder, if you please .." HRF said so quiet, so cold.
"Nothing!" Elros squeaked.
"Good. We understand one another. You will persist with the diet until you possess the cheekbones of a Prince, otherwise no one will be fooled into believing that you are MY son and not some moon faced impostor at the Barbecue!"
"But my Lord, surely a slice of bread ..." At this HRF closed his eyes and held up that 'shut up' finger again.
"Elros, no bread has passed my lips for 5000 years. Do you know what I eat to maintain this face?" HRF pushed the face in question aggressively towards Elros. "And this?" HRF gestured towards what was called in SheElf's Weekly 'The Elvenking's tall, broad shouldered and yet strangely willowy frame'. "Do you know what it takes to be voted Hottest Elf in Middle Earth for 5000 CONSECUTIVE years?"
"Leek and Cabbage Curry, my Lord?" Elros said hopefully.
"NO!" HRF thundered. "Galion, tell Elros what I subsist on! Tell him the only thing that passes my lips!" HRF cried turning swiftly to me.
"Just grapes, my Lord" I said proudly.
"Just grapes?" Elros questioned, his face was a vision of confusion, if you pardon me being all poetical there, but being wiv HRF 24/7 does rub off a bit.
"Just grapes." HRF said firmly. "For 5000 years, nothing but grapes, and look at me! Fabulous."
"Fermented grapes." I added helpfully.
"But that's w..." Elros whispered under his breath before bursting into tears again as HRF prowled off down the passageway with me, as usual, two feet behind wiv some fermented grapes, in a glass, on me tray.
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
(This post was edited by Nieriel on Feb 5 2016, 6:08am)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 5 2016, 6:01am
Post #88 of 190
(9842 views)
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“Bilbo, how does this sound to you? Do you think it’s too much?” Kili asked, with those earnest deep amber chocolate eyes that had the Fang-gir-iells fighting for the honor of scraping the mud off his boots. "Roses are red, Just like your hair, The way you knife orcs, Has my heart in the air" Cute!
And across the deck, a Fang-gir-iell with mousy brown hair narrowed her eyes and stared hard at Kili. Ah ... Trouble afoot, perhaps?
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 5 2016, 5:28pm
Post #89 of 190
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Although, alas, not on Mithril Monsters. But it's early yet...still, I may need a lunch pick-me-up, Such TENSION. OMG, one only has to read the translat'd prose to feel the HEAVINESS of the the GATHERING STORM. It's like watching binge watching GOT (right up to where Tywin Lannister finds he will, in fact, be spending eternity in a small cozy room, where someone thoughtfully left a large stack of parchment and a bottle of wine.)
Yes, I am a fan of Thorin. A Fang-gir-iell. But lo! My heart doth shatter at this latest evidence of the heart-singing courage of the Mountain King. THE FIRE:
As a final cap to the day, I climbed the Dimrill Stairs, all the way to the top, and as the setting sun glanced brightly shimmering and glittering off of my mithril and diamond outerwear, I faced north, raised my sword on high, and called out a royal challenge to the pasty faced King of the Hoodlum Realm in my deepest, most #majestic voice:
“NOBODY OUTBLINGS A ROYAL DWARF.
NOBODY!”
Oh, the Sil and other such tomes are whispered of. Star Wars, where entire planets are obliterated. But. I slide on the entire set of multi-color sparkle bangles that I got at 50% off from a home shopping channel. Let the War of Bling begin. Some things are worth wobbling around in 4-inch stiletto heels for. Ravenhill, Helm's Deep, Pelennor Fields - all have lead to this moment of SUPREME epicness.
Or, as Thorin told his nephews later - "I could see the forest fop's house from there..." And the Fang-gir-iells stand ready, with the special mink oil shampoo and conditioner, and contracted for a wind machine (just in case Saruman starts tinkering again...)
LOL:
More dark turnings and twistings, always down and down and down, and finally we came to the Third Invisible Door, and I took a deep breath, tossed my hair back #majestically, focused all my royal will on the task ahead, and then pounded three times on the door with the hilt of my sword and shouted in a deep, booming voice:
OPEN UP IN THERE!
*Snigger*. And I wonder, in the squishiest recesses of Kevin's mind, does not the now-ever present wafting smell of bacon trouble his slow thoughts?
OMG:
I left the Lindir elf to guard Minty, telling him that this was a great honor, but in sooth, I don’t trust an elf to know the secret ways of Moria, and, just so he wouldn’t be lonely, I left the tall, shy, lanky Fang-gir-iell there with him. (The Lindir elf is the only one in the crew who is as tall as her, so I’m hoping they will hit it off if I keep throwing them together.)
OMG, OMG. How can Thorin so casually record his thoughts? Or does some secret, dwarf motivation, some dark suspicion wrap itself (with difficulty through the mane of hair) though Thorin's mind? Or is it merely Thorin's inherent great heart, that he is clumsily being kind to the shy, mousy Fang-gir-iell who developed an eyelid tic after hearing Misty Moutains Cold sung 132 times? (I just chewed off my last nail and tossed down another Mithril Monster o'er the tension of it all - oh, well, guess no work is getting done today...)
ROFLMAO the Translator's Note *wipes eyes*. I laughed so hard the cat ran for it...OMG.
Verily, while the Mountain King may not wot of it, nor the Forest King, it would seem that all of Middle Earth is slowly, inexorably, being swirled into a conflict of epic proportions, that will alter the universe. Meanwhile, a man in a rumpled white shirt has locked himself in his leather sofa room and is refusing to come out, even though a dark-haired woman is trying to tempt him with an entire assortment of teabags she picked up from a hotel convention.
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 5 2016, 5:48pm
Post #90 of 190
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And across the deck, a Fang-gir-iell with mousy brown hair narrowed her eyes and stared hard at Kili.
But who can say, when said Fang-gir-iell now suspects that she and Bilbo (and she is none too sure about Bilbo) are the only sane beings in all of Middle Earth?
War is coming! The die has been cast, the gauntlet slapped, a wobbly (because everyone had Irish coffee this morning) line drawn! And yet, in the midst of such CHAOS, when the perfectly wind-blown silken tresses of light and dark will join in a CONFLICT of mythic proportions, will the frail, but unstoppable flowers of love yet bloom? Will the Fang-gir-iell be recognized as an IMPOSTER by the now-happy Lindir, or will Lindir still be too enraptured with his new 'do and war hammer to even notice the remarkably sharp cheekbones and those dratted blonde roots (as it's hard to keep one's hair up in the midst of battle preparations. Of course, if you are a Durin, the more disheveled you are, the hawter you look).
Then again, the Fang-gir-iell has unexpectedly received the perfect cover in the form of her twitching eyelid. That would never happen to an ELF. Because elves are perfect.
(This post was edited by Avandel on Feb 5 2016, 5:50pm)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 5 2016, 6:22pm
Post #91 of 190
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"I am hungry, my Lord" Elros said wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
"Hungry? For what do you hunger, Elros? Fame? Fortune? Don't tell me! Your King's love?" HRF said as sweetly as you please, wiv a smile as would break yer heart, his regal head turned slightly to one side in anticipation of an answer he likes. Now, Elros is in a tricky position here, 'cos the right answer would have been agreeing to the last thing on HRF's list, but not Elros. I reckon, he's a bit thick.
"It's the diet, my Lord ..." Elros said looking at the floor.
"Ah! The diet." HRF said very quietly. Cue That Smile. That Smile he smiles wiv with mouth but his eyes don't join in. Know what I mean? He's a like a cat playing wiv a mouse.
OMG....poor Elros. Still, reading this heart-wrenching tome, methinks we shall all more fully appreciate why Lindir, himself, broke under centuries of consuming lettuce and the occasional pea.
And finally understand (as IMO the films didn't make it exactly clear to me, although maybe that was the Burglar Bombs) why Legolas was insisted he could no longer stay. He was a desperate for the meals of the Northmen - who, in typical square-jawed MANLY fashion, roast entire slabs of meat on a fire spit and eat with the tips of their knives. (Shocking, Lindir's midsection is already getting a tad soft, to the approval of the Durins.)
http://imgur.com/gallery/oWcunuX
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 5 2016, 10:54pm
Post #93 of 190
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I have NO pity for someone who gets to look at HRF every day
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 5 2016, 11:21pm
Post #95 of 190
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Indignant foot stamping in dwarf boots is majestic and impressive.
Indignant foot stamping in little silver elf slippers is just really, really cute and adorable...
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 6 2016, 12:34am
Post #96 of 190
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OMG, laughing, laughing, laughing
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Well! Who would have guessed? Galion CLEARLY has a less than aristocratic back story that he's been keeping dark - a story that needs to told! And so, always happy to oblige, I did a little bit of internet snooping and what do you know! Turns out he wasn't always the dignified, unflappable royal footman that we know today. Oh no, he started out in a VERY different line of work - in the entertainment industry, no less - and there are videos
Sorry Galion...but you really should have disguised your voice if you didn't want your past to catch up with you...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B_rVzBt20N0
Tsk tsk, the things those elves get up to when they think no one is watching.
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 6 2016, 2:04am
Post #97 of 190
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 6 2016, 2:20am
Post #98 of 190
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It warmed my heart that Thorin could make time for his faithful Hobbit *sobs into a gauzy drapery borrowed from Rivendell*.
And TGIF!
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 6 2016, 2:44am
Post #99 of 190
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Miss-Merriweather
Bree
Feb 6 2016, 2:59am
Post #100 of 190
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OMG - just keep them coming, everybody!
I am down with a big bad cold right now, and this is considerably improving my prognosis...
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 6 2016, 5:03am
Post #102 of 190
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One word is never enough for an Elf :)
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I don't often allow myself some 'swoon' time but today, I will!
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
(This post was edited by Nieriel on Feb 6 2016, 5:05am)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 6 2016, 11:40am
Post #103 of 190
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Letters Home - Legolas & Thranduil
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The Secret Correspondence between father and son
Dear Ada
I wish you hadn't sent me here. I don't like it. I don't like boats or girls or dwarves. I want to come home. Can I?
Luv n stuff
Lego xox
..........
Legolas, my dearest son
There are times when we all have to face things we dislike, the best we can do is to decide how we live through such times.
You can never become a great King if you allow your feelings to overrun you. The first rule of Kingship is to have NO feelings.
Stay where you are until I recall you. Now, be a good boy and get on with it.
Ada is very proud of you, Lego dear.
Kind regards
Your father
..........
Dear Ada
But Dad!!! You have NO idea what it's like!!! My only friend is the pony 'Minty', I was allowed to brush her the other day. She's got a lovely tail. She let me whisper to her about how miserable I am here, and I am sure she understands. I was given an apple to give to 'Minty', but so desperate am I for something approaching the diet of Home, I ate it myself. Does that count as having no feelings, Dad?
I could murder a Leek and Cabbage Curry.
Luv n stuff
Lego xox
...........
My son
I did NOT send you there to make friends, let alone have you confide in a dwarven pony. Tell the pony NOTHING, do I make myself clear?
I need to know more about the treatment of Lindir, is he a willing participant or is he forced?
Does the Halfling suffer?
What news about the approaching Barbecue? What is Oakenshield planning to wear?
Glad to hear about the apple.
Regards
Your father
........
Dear Ada
You should SEE the state of Lindir, Dad. He's got his own double headed battle axe now and last night he joined in with nightly singings of 'Misty Mountains Cold', as he now knows all the words. THAT is how far his corruption has gone. Don't worry, Dad, I don't know the words (but could hum the tune if pressed) and when no one is looking I stuff pieces of bread crust in my ears so I can't hear it, but it's hard work as they sing it ALL the time, the girls on the boat encourage it.
There is talk aboard that Lindir has had a tattoo done, but it isn't as exciting to the girls as Kili's tattoo. I know not why. I do not understand what women find so interesting about the short, hairy mutant.
The girls have done 'stuff' to Lindir's hair so it is hardly recognizable as Elvish hair at all. You would weep to see it, father. My own hair is causing me problems as I have to keep touching up the roots to stop the blonde showing. I am almost out of Root Rescue, I may have to resort to the Coffee the Halfling makes - I spilled some today on the deck when the boat gave a nasty lee lurch, and it stripped the varnish where it fell, so I can only assume it will strip the blonde out of my hair too. It is a sacrifice I am prepared to make.
The Halfling seems to be operating under free will but he does look worried much of the time.
The girls are trying to make friends by offering me something called a Wonder Bra to help my 'little problem up top' as they call it. It is the strangest catapult I've ever seen and I have no idea why they would offer me such a thing. Curses upon these fiendish dwarven weapons!
In other news I have now had to eat so many pancakes (do not ask me to describe the horror of them, Ada) and 'nice crispy bacon' that my cheekbones are suffering and I may have gained weight.
Please can I come home now?
Luv n stuff
Lego xox
........
Son
Stop whining.
Worry not about the 'bra of wonder', Elrond assures me that Arwen has one and to quote him 'and precious little good does it do her, for she is still to catch a husband', so I can only assume it is a man trap or something of that ilk and therefore best avoided.
I have heard tell of these 'pancakes' and I would urge you to eat no more of them for no good can come of it. Bacon? Dwarven depravity sickens me.
Halflings are a resourceful breed and it would not surprise me if he isn't simply feigning compliance to avoid the ill will of the Durins and ensure his survival - trust me on this one, people act like that around me all the time.
I care little for the fate of Lindir now, as I fear he may actually be enjoying himself. Anyway, he's Elrond's problem, not mine. Elrond is too laid back I feel. He told me that there were worse things that could happen than one of his Elves 'going Dwarf'. In fact he said "It could be worse, Thranduil, my old friend, my daughter could be in love with a mortal!" How we laughed!
You haven't answered my question about what Oakenshield plans to wear to the Barbecue, Legolas. Ada is waiting.
Dad
.......
Dear Ada
I know NOT what Oakenshield plans to wear to the Barbecue and neither do I have the heart to discover it because today I was made to wash 'nameless goop' from bits of old armour. My nails got dirty, I could have cried.
The bits of old armour were brought from underground from I know not where, as I was not allowed to go on the trip to recover it but made to stay behind with Lindir who was looking after 'Minty'. Once washed, the armour was really shiny. My eyes must have been cheated by some spell because I found the armour so fair to look upon that it could have *almost* been made by my own kin. If this observation is NOT a good reason for my returning home, father, I don't know what is. I am obviously falling foul of Dwarven ways.
Were it not for previous care you have shown me I would begin to suspect that you can naught for my sufferings! I have been forced to resort to dire methods to hide my Elfhood as using the Halfling's Coffee to dye my hair only resulted in disaster when it rained. I am now so sorely in need of a hot bath that even 'Minty' will no longer tolerate my company as she once did. My ruse to drown out 87 verses of Misty Mountains Cold each evening with the bread crusts has now attracted the attention of sparrows.
Luv n stuff
Lego xox
........
Legolas, son of Thranduil
Please find enclosed two bottles of Root Rescue (shade: Durin Brown) a travel size bottle of 'WhiffBlaster For Elves' Roll on Deodorant and a triple pack of Beorn's Bees Wax Earplugs.
Yours sincerely
Arramir Hollybush
Personal Shopper to Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
(This post was edited by Nieriel on Feb 6 2016, 11:50am)
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 6 2016, 12:29pm
Post #104 of 190
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No one should have to laugh this much first thing in the morning. I doff my hood to you Nieriel, but am somewhat in shock - Lego ate Minty's apple? boy oh boy oh boy oh boy, if Thorin gets wind of this there is going to TROUBLE....
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 6 2016, 12:57pm
Post #105 of 190
(10086 views)
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No commentary necessary. Silent adoration will be accepted with #majestic grace.
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 6 2016, 1:30pm
Post #106 of 190
(10081 views)
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do the Par-tei girls know about this peppery honeyed drink? Or is this some new concoction that the Lady Beekeepers came up with after the Mountain King strolled casually past their beehives one day? I'm guessing they needed a strong pick-me-up after watching the warm afternoon breeze waft gently through his hair as he paused and gently plucked a flower, standing lost in memory in the golden sunshine, thinking of days gone by and the glory of Erebor....
Sniff...
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 7 2016, 1:10am
Post #108 of 190
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The secret life of Thorin's beloved...
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Minty’s nostrils distended in outrage. She shook her silky, beribboned mane in annoyance. Anyone observing might have commented on an interesting resemblance to a characteristic gesture of a certain dwarf king.
In any case, according to numerous fan-fics and artwork, Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews inherently possessed many enviable qualities completely appropriate to the leaders of an equine herd. Certainly the body language of the herd of females that Minty dominated over radiated happiness, and the women would often break into rhythmic chants indicating their joy. Minty had initially found the chants to be odd, compared to the nickers and whinnies of her four-legged companions.
Still, horses ARE intelligent, ponies being known to be particularly clever. Plus, this was Middle Earth, and any of its denizens could be expected to possess additional talents not wot of in other worlds. (Like those trees that had bad tempers). So the fluffy pony completely understood the body language of the odd, two-legged fillies. It was a contented herd, and she, Minty, was most definitely the dominant mare. It wasn’t these strange fillies’ fault that they were of a breed who did not sport a long tail like herself, and had to resort to wiggling about all the time.
Who would have thought of it? A lowly pack pony like herself. It had been an ordinary day, all those months ago, when she and the other ponies had been prodded through the tiny village. Minty had stood in the cool darkness before dawn, sleepily gorging on the unexpected bounty of tender flowers neatly laid out before her. And then Minty and the others had smelled HIM. Their new herd leader, so much testosterone wafting through the early dawn air that the nasturtiums had simply dropped from her mouth, and she had chewed hard on the bit in her teeth.
And then, HE had come. Her eyes had rolled a bit and Minty had tossed her mane, taking in the scents of woodsmoke and spices, the magnificent mane. He had stroked her cheek and she had licked salt from the leather-strap’d palm. Cerulean blue eyes had gazed with both fierceness and kindness into her own large liquid rich brown orbs. And with that, Minty’s life had changed forever. He had chosen her. She had found her ONE.
Not that her heart had not been terribly bruised, for a time, after the ponies had fled, that awful day. A group of frightened horses can be an unstoppable force. And she had to admit (for Minty had a good heart) that some of her companions had been unfairly treated. Mountain ponies ARE strong, but it was a bit much for any but a draft horse to be expected to carry that fat dwarf, mile after mile. It wasn’t so much the weight as the shifting center of gravity, at the many curves in the mountain paths. Plus, Bombur’s pony had complained, sometimes he drools when he looks at me, and clutches at that big black pot of his. When he gives me a treat, I worry he’s fattening me up. He’s tried to feed me sugar but I kick at him, every time.
The ponies had been loosely tied together when they all bolted in fear. Minty had been forced to run along with the rest at the fearsome scent of the wargs. She hadn’t wanted to leave her ONE. The only real comfort during that dark time had been when the small, curly-headed being had found her, in Bree, later. He had buried his face against her neck and cried. Minty had smelled her ONE on him. I’ll look after you, the hobbit had said. For HIM.
And so he had, and Bilbo brought Minty an apple every day. But Minty could have told him, if the halfling had been able to understand horse language. HE was coming. He WOULD come, for them both. She would chew at the hobbit’s hair comfortingly. Love could shift mountains, and the Heirs of Durin were BELOVED. Not even death itself would keep HIM from them.
For Minty had large ears, and the blood of her free-roaming wild ancestors. And every day she could hear the earth and the skies, the talk of the birds. Warrior, says the wind. King, says the rain.
Oh, PLZ, says the Elven King. I’m still trying to get the cells sanitized, and whose idea was it to feed the prisoners stewed beans?
ELROS!!!
(Elros had protested that he HAD kept to protocol, after all, it WAS vegetarian. The only PROTEIN they had, plus the nuts. And inexpensive, too. Besides, the dwarves had refused to eat anyway. Thranduil said that was just a cheap ploy to gain sympathy with the audience. Didn’t his ELVISH EYES see the EMPTY plates?
Behind Thranduil, a nameless guard had stood rigidly at attention, with every lithe muscle tightly contracted, silently thanking the Valar for the eerie mask over his face. The stiff elf had fought down a burp. When meals in Thranduil’s kingdom regularly consisted of three peas and a carrot artfully arranged on a plate, you had to grab an opportunity when you could. Besides, the guard had thought, with all the dampness the place smells like mildewed boot socks, so what difference did it make?)
And so, Minty had waited in Bree, occasionally stamping impatiently, every day HIS scent of spices and FIRE and brandy wrapping more closely about her, ruffling her mane. During this time, visitors to the stable would often comment on the bright eyes and spirit of the pony. Some tried to ride her. That was a mistake that left the would-be riders face down in the mud of the stables, to the amusement of onlookers. Minty would only tolerate the occasional pack job, for those times allowed her to see the road where HE would come, he with the most lush of manes and that deep musical voice. The hobbit’s pony had told her she should try to be nicer. But, Minty swished her tail and tossed her head. There could be only one, her ONE.
Then came the night in Bree when Minty’s nostrils flared to the full wave-blast of HIM, all of HIM, the smell of salty sweat and argan oil hair conditioner and spices and ale and smoke, the heavy uneven tread of iron-toed dwarf boots, the cries of human females splitting the air, accompanied by one of those loud rhythmic chants that Minty would come to know so well (“Got me looking so crazy right now!, Your love's got me looking so crazy right now!, Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, oh no no!”)
What a reunion that had been! Minty had been so proud, to be able to support her ONE, once more. (Thorin had been having trouble staying upright, thanks to the copious amount of healthful fruit drinks that had been passed around in celebration). Rightfully, the fillies of Thorin’s strange two-legged herd had surrounded her in joy, petting her and the other ponies. There seemed to be no end to the apples and carrots the two-legged fillies could produce. The only slight flaw in the reunion had been when the hobbit fainted, but her ONE’s two handsome colts had simply folded the hobbit facedown on Myrtle for a while, to keep him from being stepped on. So happy Minty had been, she hadn’t even looked back when she and Thorin eventually left the Prancing Pony by that open window. Minty hadn’t really understood that, and it had been a near thing with her sturdy pony frame, but the strength of her ONE had helped worry her through the tight opening.
And since their reunion, Minty’s life had been filled with joy and wonder. Every day was bliss, and filled with interesting things. Like the time she had spent with her ONE in that sweet-smelling yellow forest. There had been so many of those tasty yellow flowers in the grass, and how Thorin had radiated his approval, the more she ate!
Well, naturally. His own darkling locks were so magnificent, and with the consumption of the flowers Minty, too, had both mane and tale that shimmered softly in the moonlight. (The more horse-crazy of the Fang-gir-iells would brush them in awe, saying she was as beautiful “as those ponies of Beorn’s”, whatever that meant).
Minty had been careful to search out every last golden flower there, for life on the road had taught her to take advantage of forage when available. Those strange bony beings with the syrupy voices hadn’t seemed to be too happy about it, but since they all seemed to move in slow motion and unable to focus their eyes, Minty hadn’t paid them much attention. Besides, Thorin had a great big sword.
And so, Minty was well aware of the status she had, on the Partei-Barge. She was the undisputed LEAD MARE. While all the ponies were treated kindly, it was to her the very BEST apples went, every night. Minty usually wasn’t too fussy about who gave her the nightly apple, as by then Thorin would have sung her a bedtime song and made sure her silk pony blanket was snug.
And she knew the next morning she would be at her rightful place at the front of the barge, HIS arm comfortingly around her neck, the morning breeze ruffling her forelock. Anyway, it was usually HIS hobbit, the one who carried the scent of HIM and smelled like honey cake, that most often gave her the night apple. But lately, off and on, a new two-legged filly had been sent to tend to her gleaming mane and tale, to remove the free fertilizer that Minty so thoughtfully provided on a regular basis. (For Minty’s stall must be always pristine and full of the best straw.)
Minty’s frequent gifts were temporarily held in wooden barrels, as was much of the other supplies. Farming communities would cheer as Minty’s barrels were freely distributed whenever the Partei Barge docked in an agricultural community. Although, there HAD been that distressing incident when the Partei-Girls mixed some of the barrels up. The farmers had been happy that day, as they received barrels of fruit marinating in brandy instead of the expected compost.
They said the Partei Barge was welcome any time, and encouraged the Company to return for the Spring Festival that involved “many songs and a great tall pole decorated with ribbons”. (There was lot of Fang-gir-iell snickering at that and mentions of tattoos, and all three Durins had flushed and looked #Majestically at the horizon. Minty, however, had been content with the special crispy oat cakes the farmers gifted the ponies with.)
But Thorin had been none too happy when the Partei-Girls (not possessing the dwarven eyes that were so comfortable in the dark), had accidently mixed barrels of Minty’s thoughtful daily gifts with rum and cherries. After all, wooden barrels look pretty much alike, and the Partei-Girls were not celebrated for their reading skills. As was so often the habit of the Partei-Girls, they set the mixture alight in honor of the Durins. They called the concoction “Cherries Jubilee”.
Once again, the dwarf king would call upon his honed warrior training and royal diplomatic skills. The Mountain King said that, as always, he appreciated the honor shown to Himself and the princes, but perhaps it would be best to offload the barrels to the River, RIGHT NOW. Fortunately the Barge had made it around a bend before the resulting conflagration had truly flared to the night skies, and the Fang-gir-iells had spent the rest of the evening madly laughing and re-writing the lyrics of a “movie theme song.”
So Minty was usually a very contented, friendly, pony. And lately she had not had any reason for unease. But natural wild instincts within her had begun to stir. There was a WRONGNESS here. It’s often said that animals can sense fear, and with this lanky Fang-gir-iell, it wasn’t that, exactly. Minty didn’t have a word for it, but the way this Fang-gir-iell moved was beginning to make her nervous. It was a strange combination of that weird, wafting movement she had seen in those beings from the yellow forest (the one with all the delicious flowers), and the kind of movement she herself had when a stone lodged in her hoof.
As well, there was something not right about this filly’s face. The cheekbones reminded her of something her kind was wary of, a large creature that silently might stalk her on clawed, soft paws. As did the eyes of this Fang-gir-iell, at times, when she looked up. But that was strange too, why did she not look more at Minty? Even the Mountain King would gaze deeply into her eyes, before pulling her head close and rumbling endearments into her large velvety ears every morning. “My little pony”, he would whisper musically in his rough secret language. “Amrâlimê.”
And most of all, this Fang-gir-iell had begun to smell like the man that had stumbled into the stable in Bree that one time, and had slept an entire day on the floor. It had been most annoying for all of the ponies to have to step over. Then man eventually woke up when the goat had wandered in and ate all the man’s clothes. The cold had roused the man and he had fled with peculiar crouched gait, and the ponies had all had a good laugh. But Minty didn’t appreciate anyone smelling like that bringing her the special night apple. Where was the hobbit? HE smelled like brown sugar and Thorin.
And so, Minty tossed her head at the approach of this Fang-gir-iell. She laid back her ears as the Fang-gir-iell reached for her silky mane to steady herself. Minty was used to the often-wobbly gait of her two-legged companions – even Thorin was unsteady on some nights – but this was TOO strange. Not only did this creature smell like the Bree stable-man, her sensitive nostrils caught the whiff of something else. Something in the Fang-gir-iell’s oddly colored hair. That light striping at the base of the filly’s hair reminded Minty of an aggressive, smelly animal she had unfortunately met as a curious foal. AND the hair smelled like those little jars that Thorin’s golden colt would light up and toss into the air!
Minty was having none of THIS. She was used to the coats of HER herd smelling like fruit and herbs and leaves and all manner of good things. Even her own mane and tail smelled of the special rosewater rinse the Fang-gir-iells used. Minty gathered the powerful muscles in her hindquarters, strengthened over so many mountain miles. She kicked.
The Fang-gir-iell moved with impressive speed, Minty had to admit. For Minty rarely missed, when she aimed a hoof. The creature was muttering in some strange breathy language, and seemed to be going to leap to her back. Outrageous! Only Thorin, or at need, the princes or the halfling would ever sully HER in such a way. Minty had no use for this “horse whisperer” nonsense. She kicked again.
This was beginning to be fun, like being able to prance and kick about a field on a bright spring day. Minty would kick, enjoying the stretch to her legs. And the Fang-gir-iell would hop swiftly, but awkwardly, looking like some of the movements of the Partei-girls. Only much, much higher and faster.
Minty thought, now one of the two-legged fillies knows what it is like to have to jump wearing iron shoes.
The Fang-gir-iell finally dodged a hoof that took a large chunk of wood out of the stall, and soared gracefully over Minty to land outside the stall. She landed heavily and winced at the pain in her feet. Bilbo’s pony watched inquisitively. The Fang-gir-iell was slumped on the boards, and said something to Minty in that breathy language that Minty didn’t understand. The tone wasn’t very nice, and then the odiferous Fang-gir-iell actually tossed an apple at Minty! It banged against a board.
But then the Fang-gir-iell’s eyes began to glow like those strange blue lights that Minty had seen the wafting yellow forest creatures use, and the Fang-gir-iell swiftly leapt back into the stall. She dodged a snap from Minty’s teeth and thudded out of the stall again, desperately clutching the apple.
Minty bared her huge gleaming pony teeth at the Fang-gir-iell in a horsey laugh. The hobbit came every night to check on the ponies, and ALWAYS had an extra bit of apple. And carrots, too. It’s not as though Minty would lose sleep over the loss of one apple.
The Fang-gir-iell hobbled quickly away as the very gentle patter of the hobbit’s feet was heard on the wooden floorboards. Bilbo was coming to do his last nightly check on the ponies. When Bilbo arrived, she nuzzled the hobbit affectionately. That had been amusing, Minty thought. And in the morning, HE would come, and she would take her place by his side. Because, as all knew, she was Thorin’s girl.
(This post was edited by Avandel on Feb 7 2016, 1:24am)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 7 2016, 1:52am
Post #109 of 190
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I LOVED that! I find Minty's love for Thorin strangely touching - I don't understand it but I find it touching She is Lead Mare indeed!
I particularly loved this bit and admit to a bit of a 'squee'
She would chew at the hobbit’s hair comfortingly. Love could shift mountains, and the Heirs of Durin were BELOVED. Not even death itself would keep HIM from them. This made me laugh
Behind Thranduil, a nameless guard had stood rigidly at attention, with every lithe muscle tightly contracted, silently thanking the Valar for the eerie mask over his face. The stiff elf had fought down a burp....
When meals in Thranduil’s kingdom regularly consisted of three peas and a carrot artfully arranged on a plate, you had to grab an opportunity when you could.
And this bit!
Plus, Bombur’s pony had complained, sometimes he drools when he looks at me, and clutches at that big black pot of his. When he gives me a treat, I worry he’s fattening me up. He’s tried to feed me sugar but I kick at him, every time. And, forgive me, I had to gratuitously post this picture because, Gorgeous.
http://favim.com/image/2545271/
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
(This post was edited by Nieriel on Feb 7 2016, 1:53am)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 7 2016, 2:42am
Post #110 of 190
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*Bows deeply in thanks* - and o'er this love of the ages...
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Between Minty and Thorin...I think the it's just one of those INEFFABLE magical things, the bonding that went on there. Of course, where Thorin is concerned, it only took staring into the "birthday photo" that's been posted and re-done by artists so often I won't even bother to post it - oh, then again, why not.....
that *stoked the flames* of so many Fang-gir-iells, so perhaps that is what happened to Minty. The interesting thing is that Bilbo is also bonded to Thorin, and the Fang-gir-iells seem to be content with the whole situation. I guess there's that innate knowledge of your place in the herd, and for some things Thorin's relationships are SACRED. Minty, of course, is a great support to Thorin on the barge, because while hobbits may be sturdy sometimes the "Shadow and Flame" and "Mithril Monsters" cause even Thorin to be unsteady on his feet.
Oh, I LOVE that picture of Thranduil. I think it's tender and beautiful. Remarkably IMO Thranduil still has a fierceness the artist manages to keep. It's gorgeous!
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 7 2016, 11:44pm
Post #112 of 190
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Absolutely priceless!!!! What tender love, two hearts as one, bound together beyond the circles of this world (sniff)
And this
Even the Mountain King would gaze deeply into her eyes, before pulling her head close and rumbling endearments into her large velvety ears every morning. “My little pony”, he would whisper musically in his rough secret language. “Amrâlimê.”
Laughing out loud so much I had to stop reading
Oh Thorin, you old softie.
So great to finally hear Minty's side of this beautiful love story, and to know that it was love at first sight for both of them. And that Minty's instincts never fail her:
For Minty had large ears, and the blood of her free-roaming wild ancestors. And every day she could hear the earth and the skies, the talk of the birds. Warrior, says the wind. King, says the rain.
Sigh - Absolutely mythic in it's grandeur.
And as for that lovely silky mane and tail - (hold onto your hoods, ladies)... I have Minty's permission to share her secret recipe with all the Fang-gir-iells and Par-tei-Girls, just this once...!!!
(Shhhhhh....)
Oh yeah! Thank you, Minty!
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 8 2016, 12:13am
Post #113 of 190
(9947 views)
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"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
(This post was edited by Nieriel on Feb 8 2016, 12:19am)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 8 2016, 5:03pm
Post #114 of 190
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I know, I know, ne'er thought SUCH could BE
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What tender love, two hearts as one, bound together beyond the circles of this world (sniff) Oh, you can talk to me about Romeo and Juliet, Antony and Cleopatra - even my own relationship with salted caramel (especially when covered with DARK CHOCOLATE - reminds of a certain dwarf king, hur, hur) but I knew NOT what LOVE was, until the magnificent aesthetic and cinematography of Peter Jackson showed us all this ETERNAL FLAME. Two souls, two hearts, and lots and lots of hair, twin'd as ONE.
It is BREATHTAKING to bear witness to this kind of LUV *sob*.
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 8 2016, 5:10pm
Post #115 of 190
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Nothing will keep Thorin and Minty apart.
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 8 2016, 9:19pm
Post #116 of 190
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Thorin’s Diary, Part V
The Barbecue - Morning
Early
Well, diary, ever since I started these pages there's been something I thought I'd like to try one day - “blogging” (a word I learned from Ori) throughout the day in real time. Try to give any future biographers all a feeling for what I deal with on an average day.
Today is not exactly “average”, given that it’s the First Annual Balrog Barbecue, but if I don’t do it today, I never will, so here goes…
Yesterday evening Balin, Oin and Ori finally arrived, and what a joyous dwarf reunion it was. The burglar and the boys hugged them warmly and the Fang-gir-iells gave them a royal welcome, replete with the fabled hospitality of the dwarves, a great bonfire and ripe meat from the bone, while the Par-tei Girls looked them over and seemed slightly less enthusiastic but politely handed out drinks all around before returning to their drums and chanting and flaming beverages. The look on Balin’s face when he met the Par-tei Girls was hard to interpret, and for a few moments Ori looked like he was ready to bolt, but Oin seemed pleased and volunteered to give everyone medical check-ups at the first opportunity so now I am doubly glad that he is here. As for Ori, he has volunteered to do sketches to accompany my “blog” and will be following me around all day, but I suspect that the Par-tei Girls are making him nervous and that after watching them test a new, slightly unpredictable, combustable drink call the Balrog Boom he really just wants to stick close by to the greatest warrior in the vicinity.
I had intended to make an early night of it, and recruit my strength for the day ahead, but we stayed up late talking and since then I’ve been lying here in pitch darkness going over my planned wardrobe for the day over and over again, and now it’s time to get up.
Dawn Over Mirrormere - Just after 7.00 am. Have to chuck some mithril armor on and think about going to work.
8.20am. Leaving the Par-tei Boat. Minty is waiting on the ramp to say good morning to me. She does it every day. Good pony.
9.15 The place is waking up and getting busy. The Burglar’s coffee machine is humming, the Fang-gir-iells are down by the lake washing their faces and sticking their little beards back on, the Par-tei girls are stretched out on the deck calling for “espressos” and “lattes” and the boys are helping Balin, Oin and Ori to choose the finest mithril armor and outerwear from the Bling raid. Balin’s face when he saw all that mithril was quite a sight, and he keeps asking me how much more is down in the secret royal bling room. I told him to help himself. He looked at me strangely and told me that I had really changed, but I know not of what he speaks. I have always been the most generous of dwarf lords. Perhaps he has me confused with some other king - the dear old fellow IS getting on in years after all and I often have to smile at him kindly and remind him that “there are still some warriors among us” which makes him feel better.
10.30am The Lady Beekeepers of North Beorning have arrived and have apparently brought their bees with them. Odd. However, they are setting up their charity flower stand, but there has been a slight hitch in their supplies. The journey south was so long that their beautiful flowers from the fields of Beorn have all wilted, so they stopped at the Golden Wood along the way and replenished their stock with those little yellow flowers that grow there. They last for ages after being picked and make lovely corsages and boutonnieres but alas, the ladies had a slight misunderstanding with the crazy blond elf witch who lives there when she caught them picking the flowers and they had to make a fast getaway with only half of a cart load of flowers while the she-witch screamed after them, “That’s IT! No more visitors! I don’t care about your elderly Giant Bees. This Golden Wood is SEALED!” and so on and so forth. I truly don’t understand what elves have against Giant Bees, but overall the ladies’ description of the elf queen’s temper tantrum closely matches my own memories of the time I jokingly drank the contents of her little crystal vial and the poor old dears have all my sympathy. That shrieking, booming voice, that flying hair, that horrible green-black face - it still haunts my nightmares, and as for the way the evil she-elf ventriloquist kept pretending to throw her voice right inside my head…brrrr. I know that I’ve been told she saved my life at Erebor, but really, enough is enough, and after all, the stupid flowers will grow back. Interesting fact, though. I’ve recently found out that the White Witch is actually Elrond’s mother-in-law. Now I understand why he lives in a Hidden Valley. Also, I’ve told the Burglar to fix the bee ladies some nice tea to calm their shattered nerves and I’m hoping against hope that the Lady (as she calls herself) doesn’t come to the Barbecue. There’s not enough tea in the world for that.
Midday - A lot of things happening at once and I’m having to shift from place to place to keep up. It’s time for Fili, Kili and I to change into our Royal Afternoon Dress and prepare to receive guests and I think we’ve managed it pretty well: perfectly cut mithril armor with discreet pearls and diamonds, suitable for day wear; a single mithril weapon in an elegantly simple sheath; plain mithril circlets for the boys and a standard mithril Day Crown with a single priceless diamond the exact size of a raven’s egg in the center for myself; and of course perfectly fitted white dragon skin boots with mithril heels and seed pearl tassels. Jewelry, according to royal garden-party protocol, is restricted to one ring apiece and one simple irreplaceable, priceless brooch each to fasten our cloth-of-mithril, ermine-trimmed, velvet-lined day cloaks. The final result: plain, but elegant, and no one can accuse us of showing off or being over-dressed.
A Few Minutes Later - I was just checking on the progress of the Flower Booth, the Kissing Booths, the Open Bar, the Cooking Area, the Lost & Found Stand and the Burglar’s Coffee Stand, when the Lindir Elf, who was helping the Par-tei Girls to test the marinating fruit at the bar, used his elven eyes to spot riders approaching from the south. I hope it’s not early arrivals, coming early to snag all the best snacks and get a head start on the bar.
Several Minutes Later - Very strange. Two riders just galloped up, strangers in dress and manner the like of which I have never seen, and so we drew our swords and waited expectantly. One rider, a tall, dark-haired man with sea-gray eyes and noble brow, pulled up his horse and stopped, but the other, a handsome fellow with blue eyes and long blond braids and riding a magnificent horse, began galloping in circles around us, starting about 20 yards away and gradually getting closer and closer with each circle. It was interesting at first, but as time went on and he continued to gallop around and around and around and around people started tapping their feet and exchanging looks while the dark haired fellow merely waited patiently, only occasionally sighing and rolling his eyes, until at last the blond horseman pulled up in front of me and called out, “Hail strangers! What do you here?” before sliding off his horse and falling to the ground in a dizzy spell. The poor horse looked a little green around nostrils, too, and no wonder. At this point the dark fellow strolled up, pulled his comrade upright by the collar and leaned him against his horse, which seemed to be trained for this, and then introduced himself as a Man of Gondor, and his friend as a Rider of Rohan. They were come, he said, to investigate a strange, flashing light at the top of the Dimrill Stair, but I have to admit, this fellow was quick, and after gazing at the brilliance of our outfits he realized at once what had happened. In fact, the sun peeked out from behind a white fluffy cloud just then and our dazzling brilliance was so great that they both had to borrow sun glasses from the Par-tei Girls who had edged up close to the visitors and were very politely handing them drinks, asking if they could pet the horsies, and offering to show them around. The strangers seemed a little stunned by the sight of so many ladies dressed in what they call their “Par-tei Armor”, but they didn’t object and so, after promising that I wouldn’t stand on the mountain top again and inadvertently set off a beacon-lighting chain reaction, I left them to it and got on with my tasks.
2.00pm Found the perfect tiara for Minty in the bling pile. As soon as the lanky Fang-gir-iell finishes brushing her and polishing her hooves I will put it on her myself. The lanky girl has seemed a little nervous around Minty lately for some reason and so I made it a point to make her responsible for all of Minty’s upkeep, since there’s no better way to get over a fear of horses than to be around them and learn their ways. Minty, of course, is such a darling that a toddler could take care of her, so I’m not worried about it - it will do the girl good to gain some confidence and maybe help her to overcome her shyness. Alas, Lindir seems to have no interest in her, so I don’t think my plan of throwing them together will come to anything. The Lindir elf spends all his time with the other girls, getting tattoos, learning to dance in dwarf boots and trying his best to eat and drink like a dwarf while the poor tall, skinny Fang-gir-iell slinks round shyly and looks unhappy. I even caught her trying to see what I was writing in my diary one day, but I wasn’t angry; it’s so obvious she has a crush on me and only wanted to see if I had written anything about her. She’s very graceful and has a lovely complexion and if she would just do something with her hair, and perhaps wear a corset to give herself a figure she might have better luck finding a boyfriend. However, I’m afraid there’s nothing she can do about those man-hands - even by dwarf standards those things are a little spooky.
3.00pm - Everything is ready and guests are expected momentarily. Bar opens in one hour.
4.00pm - Amazing how everyone shows up exactly when the Open Bar is open for business. At 3:30 we could see off in the distance a large party approaching, led by a rider on a large antlered animal and of course no one was surprised when Lindir used his elven eyes to confirm that it was, indeed, the King of Smirkwood himself and his big hairy transportation. He’s brought quite a party along with him - footmen, guards, pack-elks carrying chests (presumably with changes of clothing in them), a private tent, his personal traveling wine cellar, and so on and so forth - typical elf nouveau riche extravagance. Really, it looked like the circus was coming to town. Of course, the heirs, the Burglar and I met him with dignified politeness and a formal greeting but I could tell at once that he was astonished by the brilliance and glory of our raiment. Even the Burglar was arrayed like a young prince of the elder days in his mithril shirt from Erebor, which he swears I gave to him although I don’t remember it at all and, considering that his name is “Burglar” I can’t help having doubts, but it matters not, because he has earned it many times over and deserves it. As for Fili, Kili and I - well, the look of stunned amazement on the woodland sprite’s face was payment enough for all the wrongs he has done us. He was speechless, which was certainly a nice change for once, and he even had the decency to park his elk in the designated area and joined the party without showing by so much as a blink of the eye that he felt himself to be sadly underdressed in his floaty, silken robes compared to the full glory of Durins in Royal Dwarf Day Wear.
After that guests started arriving from all directions, the bar opened, the Par-tei Girls started the music, and the Balrog bits rained down from the sky right on schedule.
Also, I think Ori is doing a wonderful job with his sketches. They look so real
To be continued…
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 9 2016, 2:55am
Post #117 of 190
(9893 views)
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SQUEEE!!!!!!!
And here I thought it would be an ordinary Monday, but OMG to greet the day with more *precious* pages transcib'd in the very hand...those STRONG warrior hands (even if they are silicon nobody does it better) - OMG!!!
Let's get this party started.....
(Hey, GUESS what's in the piñata!!!)
OMG, some of the Company have arrived! *Snicker* Poor Ori....
As for Ori, he has volunteered to do sketches to accompany my “blog” and will be following me around all day, but I suspect that the Par-tei Girls are making him nervous and that after watching them test a new, slightly unpredictable, combustable drink call the Balrog Boom he really just wants to stick close by to the greatest warrior in the vicinity.
LOL, Thorin, call it like it is....
Minty is waiting on the ramp to say good morning to me. She does it every day. Good pony.
Cuz it's a five o'clock world when the whistle blows
No one owns a piece of my time
There's a long-haired girl who waits, I know
To ease my troubled mind, yeah
*Sigh* that *precious and timeless love*. The space folks are already planning to announce a new named constellation, called "Thorin's Heart"...
I know that I’ve been told she saved my life at Erebor, but really, enough is enough, and after all, the stupid flowers will grow back.
Well, they would have. In theory. Except, you know, Thranduil has been spending too much time shopping to pay attention to the ecological balance, and you know those butterflies are migratory, and they needed a place to lay their 'wee eggs...oh, well, I suppose the Lady of the Wood can grow daisies or something next year....and not to worry, as Bilbo has been growing them for years in one of those round clay pots of his.
Oooooooh.......
It’s time for Fili, Kili and I to change into our Royal Afternoon Dress and prepare to receive guests and I think we’ve managed it pretty well: perfectly cut mithril armor with discreet pearls and diamonds, suitable for day wear; a single mithril weapon in an elegantly simple sheath; plain mithril circlets for the boys and a standard mithril Day Crown with a single priceless diamond the exact size of a raven’s egg in the center for myself; and of course perfectly fitted white dragon skin boots with mithril heels and seed pearl tassels. Jewelry, according to royal garden-party protocol, is restricted to one ring apiece and one simple irreplaceable, priceless brooch each to fasten our cloth-of-mithril, ermine-trimmed, velvet-lined day cloaks. The final result: plain, but elegant, and no one can accuse us of showing off or being over-dressed.
Of course, even burlap sacks and that those ratty Laketown bathrobe things did not dim the GLORY of the Durins, but the thought of that smokey Chiaroscuro against CREAMY rainment sparked with silver *THUD*.
a handsome fellow with blue eyes and long blond braids and riding a magnificent horse, began galloping in circles around us, starting about 20 yards away and gradually getting closer and closer with each circle. It was interesting at first, but as time went on and he continued to gallop around and around
ROFLMAO!!! Better get some of the ladies' pick-me-ups into the proud rider, that will set him right. Possibly right back to the ground, but as we know the ladies use lots of fruit, so at least he'll get his daily vitamin C quota (as well as a good rest after that long ride.)
She’s very graceful and has a lovely complexion and if she would just do something with her hair, and perhaps wear a corset to give herself a figure she might have better luck finding a boyfriend. However, I’m afraid there’s nothing she can do about those man-hands - even by dwarf standards those things are a little spooky.
Guess the Wonder Bra didn't do much good - geez, that's gotta STING. It's not even that Thorin is being indifferent, it's worse, he's being KIND. *Ouch*. (But ALL knew that Minty is Thorin's ONE). Even more humiliatingly, Lindir is more interested in embracing his inner DWARF. I'm really beginning to understand why the shy Fang-gir-iell sent all those letters by pigeon carrier. Thranduil might have paid more attention, except his ever-hungry guards once again made the most of opportunity.
He was speechless, which was certainly a nice change for once, and he even had the decency to park his elk in the designated area and joined the party without showing by so much as a blink of the eye that he felt himself to be sadly underdressed in his floaty, silken robes compared to the full glory of Durins in Royal Dwarf Day Wear.
OMG. OMG. Now, I bet Thranduil wishes he had been NICER to the dwarves. OMG. Oh, well, at least there is plenty of water around, and the locals will appreciate the large crater that is likely to be the result of this VOLATILE situation. (Later, they can fill it with water and have curling competitions and skating in the winter!)
I can only express my deepest gratitude for these transrib'd pages, and bow in wonder at the generousness in the sharing. Gandalf would be proud of the thoughtfulness (well, he would be, if he weren't getting his teeth worked on after the latest bout of Galadriel's baking).
I salute you!
(This post was edited by Avandel on Feb 9 2016, 2:58am)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 9 2016, 3:16am
Post #118 of 190
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PS - OMG, is Thrandy going to do the BB evening music?
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Well, that will give Thorin a break, anyway. And now we know how Thranduil can afford all the bling....
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=82CKv0RHef8
It could be Thorin and Minty's new song!
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 9 2016, 4:37am
Post #119 of 190
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Gandalf's Diary - Barbecue Day
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Well there I was sitting on a tree stump at dusk waiting for the first stars to appear with a huge plate of Balrog Bits and a wizard sized tankard of Malt Beer, all with my name on it, when I suddenly became aware of a tugging at my sleeve."Yes?" I said, turning to look hard into the face of an Elf who was clothed in the livery of a Footman.
"Oh Mr Gandalf, come quick! It's the king, it is, he's in a right old tizz!" The Footman said with a face full of alarm. "We don't know what to do!" The Footman continued as he tugged further on my sleeve to emphasize the point.
"Who are you talking about?" I said, my voice laden with wizard mystery. "There are at least two kings here that I am aware of. Granted, Thorin Oakenshield is not technically king anymore but still .. And the
other king is..."
"It's the other king, Mr Gandalf, the Elvenking, innit? Please come quick, Mr Gandalf, it's urgent!" The Footman cried, literally hopping from one foot to another, such was his haste to be away.
"What exactly is the problem? ... Erm ... I'm afraid I don't know your name." I said irritatingly slowly.
"Galion, Mr Gandalf, my name is Galion, please come! We don't know 'oo else to trust, nuffink round 'ere 'cept dwarves and mortals. Gives yer the creeps, it does." Galion said with a shudder.
"Oh very well, Galion, but if this isn't urgent I swear by ..." I began crossly putting down my plate and grabbing my staff and hat.
"Ooh it's very urgent, Mr Gandalf, I ain't never seen the likes in all my days..." Galion interrupted, literally dragging me towards the Elvenking's lavish encampment of silken tents laden with tapestries and ablaze with the light of hundreds of tiny lamps. I was pulled along a line of 2000 Guard Elves clad in gold and red who stamped and clashed to attention as we passed. My senses whirled at the sound of a distant Elvish harp on the scented breeze, I could hear laughter and song from the various tents. Finally I was dragged into a huge saffron hued, silk draped tent that was scented with the oil of countless jasmine flowers. As my eyes adjusted to the golden lamplight I saw a large ornate carved day bed dressed in vermilion silks upon which an elegant, male and doubtless Elvish figure lay prone, his silken hair splayed on the blood red silk pillows that supported his pale blonde head. Beside the bed lay three empty bottles of what had once contained wine, a plate of half eaten Balrog Bits and an empty glass. The prone Elf's face was covered with a silk cloth that resembled an oversized hankie which was kept in place by the back of the Elf's ring adorned hand in a graceful, if not rather melodramatic manner. He was dressed in golden silk embroidered with tiny diamonds and upon his feet where soft knee length boots which were decorated with stylized images of stags etched in silver. His sword lay cast aside like an unwanted toy, as did a silver circlet adorned with a diamond. Several anxious looking Elven footmen and servants gazed upon him, their faces riven with concern.
"My Lord, Thranduil, is that you?" I ventured cautiously taking a step towards him across the seeming acres of rugs which adorned the floor of the tent.
"Nnughghhh!" A voice from under the hankie muttered.
"How long has he been like this!" I cried turning roundly on Galion who was standing by my side wringing his hands in despair.
"Since we got 'ere. Sumfink upset him as soon as we arrived and ..." Galion's voice faltered and filled with anguish. "In fact, my Lord was so affected he ..." Galion strangled down his tears. "He parked his own Elk, called for wine and after two bottles he started demandin' Balrog Bits and then he sang a rude song wot he heard them dwarf girls singing and collapsed onto the day bed and hid under that there hankersniff." And with this Galion dissolved into convulsive tears.
"What manner of sorcery is this!" I bellowed dramatically, banging my staff and darkening my features, and before I could get an answer I discerned what sounded like a scuffle at the door to the tent.
"I demand to see my father!" A disembodied voice cried with the sort of entitlement only Elf royalty possess.
"Nnnnuughhhh!" The supine king responded with a surprising amount of spirit, if not downright objection. Further thoughts of mine where momentarily lost when the owner of the entitled voice burst in and threw himself onto his knees by the king's bed-side.
"Father! Why have you not sent for me?" The intruder implored with some desperation before three of the Footmen grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him bodily away from the king. "Father, it is I, Legolas!" He continued as he struggled against the Footmen who were about to call the Guards. "Why will you not receive me, Ada?"
"Who ARE you?" I thundered, pointing the tip of my staff in the intruder's direction "You are no more Legolas of the Woodland Realm than I am!"
"Mithrandir, it is I, Legolas. These many days past I have been working for my father ..." This statement was interrupted by the 'king under the hankie'. "Pffffft!" He sounded indignant and somewhat peeved. Legolas, if indeed that's who he was, continued. "I have been working for my father in the capacity of spy on the Par Tei Barge, for this purpose it was necessary for me to disguise myself as dwarf..."
"Is this true, my Lord?" I whispered hastening to the king's bedside.
"Meh .... 'warves .. Mithrilly, withrilly 'warves!" The king replied vaguely waving his free hand in the air. I turned to Galion and instructed him to seek out the Halfling and procure a large pot of Coffee, for I heard it many times that day that the Halfling's Coffee could cure much, and I was all out of ideas against such witchcraft.
"If what you say is true, stranger and now that I look at you, it could be so. I see a remarkable overuse of Root Rescue, I see your father's eyes in yours, the iron boots and the leather corset have thrown me somewhat .. Upon my oath! Is THAT a wonder bra, Legolas Greenleaf? For shame! But I will trust my instincts at this time. I must inform you that your father is gravely ill, and ..." My eyes wandered to the remains of the Balrog Bits. "Something has upset him deeply. I have never known your father to eat anything other than grapes..."
"Fermented grapes, Mr Gandalf." Galion added helpfully.
"Quite. Fermented grapes in over 5000 years. What possessed him to .... Why are you still here, Galion? Seek out the Halfling at once!"
"Pssssst! Gadalf! Gondolf!" The king whispered urgently lifting up the hankie just a fraction and interupted my diatribe.
"Yes, my Lord, I am here" I bent my benevolent head closer to the king.
"I thing *hic* that I might have hadded some Bagrog Bits" The king said softly before, and may Eru perserve us, breaking into a giggle.
"Fear not, help is on it's way. Rest for a moment." The king dropped the hankie back onto his face again and began to hum tunelessly to himself one of the Par Tei girls tunes I'd heard earlier which was interrupted only when Galion half fell into the tent in his haste to deliver the Coffee. There are only so many choruses of "If you liked it then you should've put a ring on it" one can tolerate, even if it is hummed by a king.
"We may already be too late, Galion. He's in a bad way. I thought every fool knew that Balrog and fermented grapes don't mix. In Elves it causes a toxic reaction that acts as too much wine does in mortal man! Make haste and pour a goodly amount of this Coffee into a cup, Galion and hold it to his lips, he must drink it all if there is to be any benefit." I ordered firmly as Galion approached the king and made several attempts to remove the hankie entirely from the king's face to no avail.
"Now, now, my Lord, you 'ave to do it, 'cos Mr Gandalf 'ere ordered this special, like. Now, now no bitin' if you please, my Lord, that's very naughty! ... Just lift the hankie a little bit .. Ha, ha, ha! Boo to you too my Lord! There .. Not so bad, is it? Drink it all up now .. There .." And at last the cup was drained. Tense moments passed as the king's lightning speed Elven metabolism processed the Coffee. Suddenly the king's hand shot out in the direction of Galion in a 'more!' gesture and Galion once again lovingly held the full cup for his king to drink. Silence hung in the air for moments as all eyes were on the king as he slowly peeled the hankie off his face, turned his eyes on Legolas and gestured to a tear-stained Galion to help him to his feet.
"YOU! YOU, Legolas had ONE job!" The king hissed, his eyes full of fury. The diamonds on his robes glinting in the lamplight.
"You have no idea what it was like, father! Day in, day out, all those girls making fun of me. They made me wear this!" Legolas cried pulling savagely at the pink bra strap.
"And YOU have no idea what it was like to be greeted by a hoard of Durins dressed in more Mithril than you could shake a mucky stick at!" Thranduil whispered with malice as the tension built up between his brows turning his fair face into a vision of barely contained menace.
"What?" Legolas cried in confusion.
"YOU were put on that boat to SPY on the Durin scum and you did NOTHING!"
"Nothing?" Legolas visibly slumped under the weight of his father's scorn.
"No! No! I am wrong, I forgot! You DID do something!" The king spat in a voice dripping with irony. "YOU cleaned the Mithril THEY shamed me with! Even the Halfling was wearing Mithril! Oakenshield's precious Minty was wearing a king's ransom of a tiara on her head which was probably held together, by guess what? Oh yes! More Mithril! Tell me, Legolas HOW did you NOT notice all that MITHRIL?"
"How was I to know what it was?" Legolas piped up sulkily. "You only let me wear washable fabrics!"
"And we KNOW why that is, do we not?" Thranduil said mysteriously, reaching for a glass from a smiling Galion's tray, as I slipped quietly away into the night in the full knowledge that normality, or whatever passes for it in Mirkwood, for now, had returned.
"Our loves are not given, but only lent." Rudyard Kipling
(This post was edited by Nieriel on Feb 9 2016, 4:46am)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 9 2016, 5:37am
Post #120 of 190
(9874 views)
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That was a hard act to follow!
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 9 2016, 5:38am
Post #121 of 190
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going through his Beyonce phase at the moment That other guy could possibly be a long lost relative .. as in banished from the Kingdom 'lost'
(This post was edited by Nieriel on Feb 9 2016, 5:41am)
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 9 2016, 2:52pm
Post #123 of 190
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This is so much fun.
And double thanks for bringing the piñata - the one thing those Par-tei Girls forgot! However, rumor has it that someone has special plans for it...
So glad Thorin could brighten up your Monday, but then Thorin pretty much brightens up EVERY day, doesn't he?
Yeah, I do, I really do
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 9 2016, 3:22pm
Post #124 of 190
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Laughing out loud and can barely drink my tea.
OMG - I LOVE Galion! "hankersniff" had me laughing so hard I had to wipe my eyes with a tissue hankersniff of my own. Poor Thranny, thank goodness Gandalf heard about the barbecue (by moth mail, no doubt) and decided to attend. And now what will Leggie do? Too many people now know about his disguise. If this was an episode of "Spooks" they would all have to be "eliminated" but fortunately both elf and dwarf protocol forbids the slaying of party guests or the drawing of ornamental dress weapons after drinks have been served. Whew!
Hopefully, Gandalf can now get back to his Balrog Bits and Malt Beer, but if he's looking forward to a peaceful evening of music and fascinating conversation, well...he's forgotten his last dinner with the dwarves.
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 9 2016, 5:51pm
Post #125 of 190
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You know, that freaked me out. But now I know how Thrandy looks in BLACK *thud*
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Kilidoescartwheels
Valinor
Feb 9 2016, 6:00pm
Post #126 of 190
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That middle pic of Thranduil is HAWT!!!
But my still belongs to his #Majesty!
Proud member of the BOFA Denial Association
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 9 2016, 6:01pm
Post #127 of 190
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Even Shelob is heading for cover over this...
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Not sure if any of Middle Earth will be left, after the DISPUTE breaks when the piñata bursts. Then again, considering all the fermented fruit drinks being passed around...
You know, Thorin IS a great king. #Majestic. Certainly intelligent, and was trained for many years in the ART of DIPLOMACY. But it's a pity Balin wasn't there when Thorin decided to slip an extra little prize into the piñata (but Thorin was rushing to get to Minty, so perhaps his thoughts were OCCUPIED and he just didn't think it through).
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 9 2016, 6:35pm
Post #128 of 190
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I'm still laughing over the DELICIOUS DETAILS
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Re:
Found the perfect tiara for Minty in the bling pile. As soon as the lanky Fang-gir-iell finishes brushing her and polishing her hooves I will put it on her myself. The lanky girl has seemed a little nervous around Minty lately for some reason and so I made it a point to make her responsible for all of Minty’s upkeep, since there’s no better way to get over a fear of horses than to be around them and learn their ways. Minty, of course, is such a darling that a toddler could take care of her, so I’m not worried about it - it will do the girl good to gain some confidence and maybe help her to overcome her shyness.
OMG.
Minty of course has a *rosy glow* hitherto only previously observed haloing about a certain lowly Sylvan elf, from the additional exercise. Thorin, however, has noted that the walls of her stall seem to have acquired a lot of cracks and splinters, and he has ascertained that Minty is somewhat unhappy with the plain pine boards. His #Majesty has sent a note to Beorn, requesting new carved panels (of course crafted from reclaimed wood or environmentally sustainable sources.)
In return, Thorin has offered Ravenhill to Beorn as a summer home. Balin suggested that Thorin should at least notify Dain about Ravenhill being used as a timeshare, but Thorin tossed his hair back and stepped over a few prostrate Fang-gir-iells. He was humming to himself "I wanna live with a cinnamon girl...I could be happy, the rest of my life, with a CINNAMON GIRL"....
His #Majesty pointed out that 1)His cousin loves him; 2)Beorn is a WAR HERO and is anyone in ME seriously going to argue with him?; and 3)Who's the king around here anyway?
Right on, agreed Fili, irritated that he couldn't find a place to tuck in his 114th knife.
Balin is currently still attempting to come to terms with the Partei-Girls, so he couldn't rally the strength to argue.
And now, for the DAILY MEDITATION:
Of course, fight it as he will, there's a reason Thranduil so oft looks to the Mountain:
Just more proof that there IS, in fact, a benevolent being of some sort who
every once in while, gives us a peek of HEAVEN.
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 9 2016, 6:52pm
Post #129 of 190
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*wipes eyes* you have outdone yourself!
My heart BROKE for Thranduil, it really did. Thousands of years of SERENITY, and within months he's had to re-furbish his dungeon (tho it WAS an opportunity to add LED lighting and a new sound system), completely re-order his orchid collection, ban any importation or growing of legumes throughout his realm, been sworn at by a *hairy square*, had some uncomfortable emotional moments, pay a horrendous vet bill to Radagast for his elk (*sniff*), had to actually SPEND TIME around HUMANS OMG, and now his son has let him down!
Yes, it is most fortunate that Thranduil has discovered coffee.
Oops.
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 9 2016, 6:56pm
Post #130 of 190
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Well, you know, it's like a BOX of CHOCOLATES...
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I eat the tiramisu. And the white chocolate raspberry, the peanut cup. But I save the dark chocolate sea salt caramel for last.
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 10 2016, 3:45am
Post #131 of 190
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Thank you! Galion is taking on a life of his own!
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He's fun I'd have given a lot to see a Balrog Bits drunk Thranduil trying to bite Galion and then trying to play 'peek a boo' with the hankie .. LOL! But Galion is faithful and loves his king which is his greatest quality
NO idea what Lego is going to do at the moment, I think he needs to do some serious grovelling to his father Or get out of town. Or maybe Thranduil has other plans *HEAVY HINT*
(This post was edited by Nieriel on Feb 10 2016, 3:53am)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 10 2016, 3:48am
Post #132 of 190
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Poor Thranduil, he needs some luck, he's not had a very good time of it lately - I am foreseeing some manner of addiction to Coffee - but not Coffee with Thorin's face in it .. can you imagine the fuss he'd make?
The vet consultation with Radagast could make interesting reading
(This post was edited by Nieriel on Feb 10 2016, 3:54am)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 10 2016, 3:55am
Post #133 of 190
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It's late afternoon and it's FLUFF time
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In the afternoon on the Partei-Barge, several Fang-gir-iells were fluttering around Kili in the forge area. The modest Partei-Barge forges had become a kind of gathering place for the Company, and along with the ever-present warm fires, there was always the possibility of the bonus of one of the Durins working metals there (faces gleaming with damp sweat, and all that fluffy royal dwarf hair). The Fang-gir-iells were gently removing the clasps to Kili’s ermine trimmed velvet cloak, unstrapping the shimmering armor, brushing dirt from the fine dragon-skin boots.
The handsome prince smiled winsomely at the helpful women. These Fang-gir-iells were SO accomplished; they spoke multiple languages and knew more about the line of Durin than he did himself! Kili pulled a bit of parchment from his tunic, as the women patted perspiration from him with soft cloths scented with sandalwood. “How does this sound?” he asked anxiously "Sevig thû úan! I want to impress her – after all, Valentine’s Day comes soon!”
Oh, yes, your Sindarin is PERFECT assured the helpful Fang-gir-iells. You must immediately greet her with those words, the Elvish language is SO romantic. And our research in the Appendices indicates that in Sylvan elf culture, keep in mind that regular belching is a sign of respect (I can do that! beamed Kili) and to indicate your admiration of warrior skills, you must pat her behind when you meet. Just like you would pat your pony. She will particularly appreciate this knowledge of her own elf culture.
And of course, you MUST tell her that she reminds you of the most graceful plump deer, tho she could use a great rack up on top. So a Wonder Bra is JUST the thing. And look, you can use this *little card* - being a prince and all, you got the MITHRIL version and can collect *eagle miles* - and send a present via this On Crow Shopping that’s guaranteed to arrive on time!
“Do you think she would like 99 pink, red, and white roses and this mithril bracelet set with *flawless* diamonds and emeralds, that would go so well with her eyes?” asked Kili breathlessly, pointing at a picture in the On Crow catalog. “Or, maybe this recurve bow, carved of reclaimed exotic woods, inlaid with mithril and the finest black opals set in a pattern of stars? Only five will ever be made, they can’t get the stones to do more!”
“Oh, no,” exclaimed the Fang-gir-iells. “That is so BORING! Everyone does that kind of thing! You want something memorable! Look, here, you can get a six-pack of delectable preserved MEAT that not only travels well, but she can use the cans later for her jewelry and arrowheads and stuff! It shows you are SENSITIVE to her lifestyle and it’s the gift she can keep forever! So it’s a double gift! And perhaps this completely painted art sculpture of a frog, that will *magically croak* when she walks by?
“And ladies love it when you pay attention to THEIR needs, and kindly point out where they could do just a bit better! Here’s a soft auburn pencil she can use for that embarrassing lack of facial hair (the tip is self-sharpening!), and a Wonder Bra – you know how shy our Fan-sister is about her little problem. You know, the one that keeps to herself all the time.”
“Well,” Kili said kindly, his rich dark eyes full of compassion. (The Fang-gir-iells around him, overcome, pressed their clasped hands to the chests of their cork-festooned summer barbecue outfits.) “Her hands ARE something to see, for a woman, but I think I see a hint of nice fuzziness around her jawline. Hur, hur, I suppose I should talk…”
The prince was instantly assured that to have a heavy beard, for HIM, would compete with the SPARKLE in his GORGEOUS deep amber eyes. Besides, with age, Kili had an entire blanket of facial hair like Oin’s and Balin’s to look forward to. In the meantime, they could show him a better way to spend his time, than struggling with a lot of beard beads. And isn’t it time for the daily revealing of the tattoo?
As has been observed, the Fang-gir-iells weren’t stupid. A lot of them owned pieces of parchment with fancy borders that had writing with lots of elaborate letters and periods. And competition was a constant among the Fang-gir-iells. It was a dwarf thing. So far, HARMONY was preserved on the Partei-barge, thanks to an uneasy peace kept in place by Thorin and Minty’s infatuation with each other. It didn’t pay to try to distract Thorin, either. Because Minty had quite a long reach, and few meaningful pawings at the deck boards with a hoof, a few tossed head movements, a few episodes of flattened ears, and the Fang-gir-iells got the message.
You only had to look at the height that lanky Fang-girl-iell achieved when she tried to clean Minty’s stall. Minty had inexplicably mischievously targeted the poor thing, and would wait to deposit her copious “gifts” until the very last second, when her stall was ALMOST clean. Minty kicked. She bit. She’d trap the girl against the wall of her stall and just RUB. Minty would show her big horsy teeth and snort into the Fang-gir-iell’s hair. (Bilbo said that reminded him of “that disgusting troll, with all the slobber”).
The Fang-gir-iells would make bets on how long their fellow bargemate would stay in the stall, before doing one of her signature leaps over the side, and then come crashing down in her poorly-fitted heavy boots. The Fang-gir-iells didn’t feel sorry for her. They figured that since this was Middle Earth, and with talking birds and livestock that could serve you lunch, that Minty probably knew something they didn’t. And the competitive Fang-gir-iells also figured it was one less of their number that they would have to dump over the side, eventually. All is fair in love and war.
One of the Fang-gir-iells was spending a lot of time studying the nuances of tattoo removal, and considering writing a letter to Elrond, as he was considered the greatest healer in Middle Earth. She also needed advice on how to promote the growth of her own facial hair. Because, she thought, as the future Mrs. Kili, any artwork on HER man was going to be about HER. The Fang-gir-iell thoroughly appreciated the mountain king’s attitude toward SHARING.
Oh, Thorin might be feeling generous at the moment. All knew that the Mountain King was GOOD to his bevy of besotted admirers (what’s wrong with being obsessed, Thorin would #Majestically purr in his most deep midnight velvet tones.) But try absconding with a bottle of that collector edition “Erebor Nights Special Dark” that was kept in Thorin’s cabin under lock and key (as the Partei-girls were always up for anything). You’d find yourself being invited to spend the winter keeping company with Dain’s battle boars and the war-goats.
And you’d be spending winter in the barns, too. A long, COLD mountain winter. Dain was a big believer in his soldiers bonding with their war animals. Of course, Dain’s personal ride had her own little carved teak bed with silk cushions in his chambers. Most often, due to the trauma of the battle injury she had suffered, the war-pig simply slept with Dain in his bed for comfort. (Radagast had taken one look at Dain’s fiery hair, tusked beard jewelry, and war hammer, and hastened to heal the battle-wounded pig, free of charge. Especially after Dain’s pointed comments along the lines of “Eejit! Did ye not ken me cousin as ye flew over yon craw-tower, and not think t’offer aid? Ye claim to be magic, but that Galadriel is a fair lass, and knows wot she’s aboot! Yir aff yir heid...")
HARMONY was also preserved on the Partei-Barge, so far, by Fili’s more or less single-minded interest in both metalworking, cartography, and the ART of WAR. On days when Thorin, who was generally fearless (after all, not much could disturb one who had not panicked (much) when standing on a dragon-snout) had not sampled the latest flaming concoction of the Partei-Girls, Thorin wondered if he should be concerned about Fili.
But then again, there was something WARMING about watching his golden nephew work a forge with such concentration. (As for the episodes of belligerence, and wearing so many knives and axes that Fili would occasionally cause the barge to lisp under a light load, well, that was properly DWARFY, too. As the future ruler of Erebor, Fili would command respect).
But the sight of Fili, partly clad in the afternoon Barbecue outfit of white and cream and silver, with his lush waves of rich hair coiling about his face, framing those lovely cornflower blue eyes – the Fang-gir-iells had never seen the Durins in cream and white before today. So the ladies were finding the sight of the golden prince at the forge to be WARMING, too.
It was the white dragonskin boots that did it. Combined with seeing Fili in a blue slubbed silk under-tunic, arms casually rolled up, that flash of SKIN at his neck. They could see the play of muscles under the shirt. It was glorious. Fili was at first oblivious as the room slowly became more quiet (Fili could be much like his uncle at times). The golden prince was too busy honing an edge on a gleaming knife (with a hilt richly set with jewels) for the evening festivities. Fili was holding the knife to the light, frowning in concentration. But Fili and Kili had long traveled the wilds with their uncle, and faced many dangers. Silence could be its own warning. And Fili was a flash point.
Fili looked at the cork-clad Partei-Girl near him, who was offering him a clean polishing cloth, but staring at a Fang-gir-iell across an anvil from her, whose eyes were wide with innocence. When Fili looked over to Kili in that brotherly non-verbal communication of theirs, baffled, the Fang-girl-iell mouthed something VERY impolite to the Partei-Girl. This Fang-gir-iell was proud of her training in languages. And presumably, the Partei-Girl would not have been expected to speak Spanish. Or say anything that didn’t use one-syllable words. Except that this Partei-Girl’s ancestors were from a country where Spanish was the native tongue.
The Partei-Girl went over the anvil so fast at the Fang-gir-iell, even Thranduil’s battle-elves would have been impressed. Expletives in multiple languages scorched the air, as battle between instantly chosen factions was joined. Long-suppressed tensions rejoiced in their sudden freedom.
The Fang-gir-iells surrounding Kili were particularly annoyed, as Kili had just about finalized his list of presents under their guidance, and now all their careful suggestions might go to waste! For Fili and Kili, (who had seen any number of herd animals struggle for dominance at certain seasons), knew well enough to simply step back, and push a few barrels between themselves and the bodies rolling about on the floor. Besides, they both had seen the destroyed second ballroom at Erebor. It had been a surprise to them that apparently dwarrowdams could toss an axe that high.
As Thorin had explained, never show favoritism when dealing with females. Kili was particularly guilty at this point, but comforted himself with the thought that, like Minty, Tauriel was DIFFERENT. So that made it OK. Kili couldn’t wait to get a raven and put in his On Crow order. He’d decided to go for the can of Spray-On Hair instead of the soft pencil.
It was probably for the best that Thorin was out #Majestically greeting arriving guests. Thorin was careful to step over those who lay limp in the grass at the vision of dark espresso hair and azure eyes, against the fine creamy fabrics of His Royal Afternoon Dress. He looks like a hot fudge sundae, and I just LOVE ice cream, exclaimed one Fang-Gir-iell. Balin, resplendent in his own tasteful layers of summer whites, looked askance at the Fang-Gir-iell as she shoved her whole head into a barrel of piled mountain snow. The snow had been drizzled with coffee liquor. Balin was grimly thinking it was a good thing Thorin’s sister wasn’t here. As well as Dori.
Fili and Kili ducked as a pair of fire tongs flew overhead, and Kili continued showing Fili all the wonders that could be had from On Crow shopping. “What do you think, there’s this table fountain that has this soothing trickle of water, and it lights up with all these pretty colors? It would help uncle to RELAX.”
Fili shook his head “I dunno, he IS the Lord of Silver Fountains,” he shouted as a rack of tools crashed over. A Partei-Girl and a Fang-gir-iell staggered by, clutching each others’ hair and screaming about each other’s mothers. “But that’s the thing, Thorin’s used to fountains on a grand scale. And there’s plenty aboard who’d love to help Thorin relax, hur hur. I can hear them whimper as we walk by. Is there a way to set up credit with this On Crow shopping?”
So engrossed were the handsome brothers in their conversation that they paid little attention to the rivulets of flame that occasionally shot up from the floorboards. In any case, there were so many women rolling around that tiny fires were constantly being lit from flying sparks, but then put out as the ladies rolled over them. Clouds of soot filled the air. The dwarves were unfazed, as this was pretty typical when INTENSE forge work was being carried out. Dwarf lungs are specially adapted, and creative disputes weren’t uncommon, either.
But Oin had come to the Partei-Barge in order to have a lie-down in a deck chair after consuming too much Balrog Bacon. The stuff seemed to be everywhere, and it was SO addictive. It was the honey-roasted flavor that did it. Oin had eaten an entire bucket along with a “Burglar Bomb” chased with a “Mithril Monster”. So Oin didn’t appreciate being awakened by the rocking barge – he needed to be fully recovered for the evening festivities!
And if dwarves know how to START fires, and work in fire, they also know how to put them out. If Oin squinted, he could see the royal lads through the smoke and the howling banshees, rocking easily with the sloshing barge and carrying on as though naught was amiss. Mahal, thought Oin. Typical. Just like in Ered Luin, when the dwarrowdams started fighting in that bakery over who got to give Fili and Kili free donuts.
But all dwarf forges have water. Lots of water. A certain dragon had learned that the hard way. Oin calmly moved to the small room next to the forges area and selected a lever. He pulled it down.
The cascade of icy, extremely stagnant, foul orange-ish water effectively put an end to the enflam’d emotions in the forges room. There was never much point in flushing the Barge’s “emergency fire fountain system” as for this purpose, water was water. So it didn’t matter if the water, held in closed tanks for so long, had evolved its own interesting life forms over the months of river travel. Fili and Kili had avoided a drenching by carefully positioning themselves when the battle had been enjoined. A good thing, too. Dragon-skin boots were hard to come by, especially white ones.
“All right, ladies.” Oin was holding his sleeve over his nose. “Everyone into the river, saving your Royal Highnesses, of course. Immediately.” The women hung their heads. Many had had corks jauntily glued to their afternoon barbecue outfits. The corks bobbed forlornly in the pools of fetid liquid on the floor. A blackened “I LUV HOT DWARVES” button was bent beyond recognition. The women slightly resembled Galadriel in her seaweed outfit. But not much.
Oin sighed. It was going to be a LONG afternoon. Normally seeing a line of women outside his examining room would have caused him to break into song (at least later – one had to keep one’s dignity as a healer). But these women smelled like the dribblings left behind by that fire drake. Years of corrosion and the Valar knew what else.
Fili and Kili were the last to make their way out of the forges room, their white dragon-skin boots squishing the sad corks flat as they walked. “What about a bottle of beard wash?” asked Kili.
Fili smiled at his handsome brother as he waved a hand in front of his face, and coughed lightly. His golden wavy hair shone in the afternoon light. Ori would have cried, to capture that image. “Tell you what – tomorrow we'll get together and make a list, and do a joint order. We’d better get something for Minty, too, and Ori and Balin and Oin. Right now, let’s check out our Evening Barbecue armor. I just hope there’s enough places for my weapons. Remember our GLORIOUS BATTLE CHARGE? I never told you, but I just felt SO underdressed. I’m never going anywhere again, without a FULL complement of throwing knives.”
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 10 2016, 2:19pm
Post #136 of 190
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Once again, laughing out loud in my morning tea
We all knew it was coming - that simmering, sub-surface tension between Fang-("We're the REAL fans")-gir-iells and the Par-tei ("Where are the men?") Girls has finally exploded. And just in time for the Barbecue. After all, it was the Fang-gir-iells who were plying Thorin with healthful vegetables and fruit juice until the Par-tei Girls showed up with their little umbrella "special' fruit juice drinks, all those long months ago. Obviously the resentment never completely died out.
And who knew those jealous Fang-gir-iells could be so naughty to poor Kili? He needs his big brother to start paying less attention to knife sharpening and more attention to the bitter court rivalries hidden behind honeyed words and false smiles - a future king needs to know this stuff!
So great - thank you for making me laugh first thing in the morning!
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 10 2016, 5:10pm
Post #137 of 190
(10340 views)
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http://www.deviantart.com/...Noble-King-589529053
Now I gotta get to the store and get some SPAM, so I can make some evening barbecue decorations....
A celebration of such magnificence deserves the BEST, but the Partei-Girls ran off with the the ice sculptures....
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 10 2016, 5:30pm
Post #138 of 190
(10340 views)
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We all knew it was coming - that simmering, sub-surface tension between Fang-("We're the REAL fans")-gir-iells and the Par-tei ("Where are the men?") Girls has finally exploded. And just in time for the Barbecue. After all, it was the Fang-gir-iells who were plying Thorin with healthful vegetables and fruit juice until the Par-tei Girls showed up with their little umbrella "special' fruit juice drinks, all those long months ago. Obviously the resentment never completely died out.
LOL. Too much heat. Too much confinement. TOO MUCH HAIR.
But it's the DWARF WAY to blow off some tension, and the AURA of the DURINS will soon permeate the fevered brains
of even the most rabid of the Partei-Girls. Peace again will descend on the barge.
Coincidence? I think not.
Meanwhile, as the royal princes look over their evening barbecue outfits, Fili is trying to convince
Kili that Tauriel really would have no use for:
All those spiky forest thorns would make short work of this. Although the Partei-Girls
are examining the possibilities of filling it with FRUIT DRINKS. So convenient when one
is on the go, and leaving your hands free means you can grab more Balrog Bacon!
Fili did concede, tho, that the lipstick flask might be a winner.
I want one.
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Ilmatar
Rohan
Feb 11 2016, 9:53pm
Post #140 of 190
(10289 views)
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Memories from the River of Denial and Thorin's diary entries - entertaining further reading to one and all
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It has been suggested that links to the first parts of Thorin's diary, as well as some previous River of Denial sailings, be collected in one post to the enjoyment of old and new River travelers and occasional tourists
alike, so here is a list of recommended reading. Many of these threads also offer cartoons, art, news, photos, and other kinds of excellent proof for the survival of the Durins with just a handful reposted here.
1) Thorin's diary of his trip to Erebor (at least, the bits that he remembers)
2) At the source of the River, testing the waters and preparing to set sail... (River posts in between posts on the actual topic of the thread ).
(photo credit: swordwhale)
 
3) Sail on!
(photo credit: swordwhale)
 
4) The River of Denial discussions part deux - UUTs, alternative endings, and speculating on those LOGIC GAPS
(photo credit: swordwhale)
5) Epilogue (for those familar with the River of Denial) to "The truth is out there ... somewhere"
(photo credit: Avandel)
6) Thorin's Diary of His Trip Down the River of Denial: Part 1
7) Thorin's Diary of His Trip Down the River of Denial: Part 2
(photo credit: Avandel)
Now I'm off to re-read the Epilogue and the first parts of Thorin's diary... Any drifters, sailors, kayakers, swimmers, divers and partiers, join in!
(This post was edited by Ilmatar on Feb 11 2016, 10:05pm)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 11 2016, 10:22pm
Post #141 of 190
(10278 views)
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Thank you for posting, Ilmatar!!
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 11 2016, 11:03pm
Post #142 of 190
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OMG - I forgot all this - LOL!
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THANK YOU! Lovely summary - Hey, I am going to re-read some of this too!
Terrific job
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 12 2016, 8:28pm
Post #145 of 190
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Thorin's Diary, Part VI The Barbecue
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Thorin’s Diary, Part VI
The Barbecue
4:30 pm Barbecue off to a good start but the poorly dressed Elf King seems to have disappeared back to his tent, sulking no doubt.
4:45 Don’t see the boys anywhere, but the Par-tei boat is rocking wildly and there’s smoke coming out. Sent the Burglar to investigate
5:00 All is well. Burglar reports it’s just a brawl between the Fang-gir-iells and the Par-tei girls down in the forge. Balin sorted it out and I had a word with Fili and Kili about ignoring guests. I’m afraid I had to scowl at them, which is always tough on Kili. And they’ve gotten their boots dirty already. Boys.
5:20 The elves are starting to drift over from their little tent city, and they’ve brought plate after plate of lightly steamed peas and carrots and a cart load of wine. I thought it was a nice diplomatic gesture until I realized they brought it all for themselves. Typical.
5:25 Minty ate the peas and carrots. Trying not to laugh.
5:30 The Lady Beekeepers are doing a wonderful business, with everyone (except the elves) contributing to the cause and wearing their yellow flower corsages and boutonnieres. The Elderly Giant Bees will have a nice retirement home.
5:45 Just now noticed that Gandalf is here, eating everything in sight and calling for “just a little red wine” every few minutes. Well, well, maybe he’ll do some fireworks for us. As long as they don’t set off those beacon lighting people it should be fine.
6:00 Place is getting crowded - really, I don’t know half of these people.
6:10 Odd. A short rumpled man in bare feet has shown up with something called a “camera crew”. Perhaps Cam-e-ra is the name of his boat? I mistook him for a hobbit at first but I was wrong - not quite enough foot hair.
6:15 Shades of Slaughtered Orcs - I was hoping she wouldn’t come, but here she is, the Elf Witch has shown up to spoil the party. And the Burglar ran up to greet her and presented her with a corsage made from her own flowers. She doesn’t look happy.
So far, so good. Gandalf came up to say hello and the crazy elf queen was so pleased to see him that she took the corsage with only the slightest flicker of green and black across her face. The Burglar is beaming and going through his “I’m an Elf Friend, can I sit with you?” routine, so the coffee machine is currently unattended.
6:30 The odd little barefoot man has started setting up strange metal poles and boxes and is giving orders to everyone, including my own people. This will not do.
6:31 Confronted the barefooted one, asked him what he was doing. He said, “Hang on, Thorin we’re not ready for you yet”. I scowled deeply and asked him who he thought he was. He said, “I’m the director”. Well, I know not of what he directs, but I take orders from no shoeless peasant and I let him know it with the standard Durin expression of contempt - I folded my arms across my chest, glared at him down my perfect nose, strolled slowly around him (all Durins learn to do this as soon as they can walk) and said, “So! This is the Director. He looks more like a production assistant” and walked haughtily away as my crew dutifully laughed. I thought I heard some muttering behind me about “actors” whatever they be, but I paid it no mind.
7:00 The little colored lights on the Dimrill Stair are starting to glow and people are strolling up to the top and enjoying the view. Must remind the boys not to go up there in their mithril until well after sunset. Lots of drinking going on but so far so good. The Par-tei girls seem to have had some trouble with their strange Par-tei armor which appears to be missing some bits, but they are keeping the Gondor fellow and the Rider of Rohan entertained like good hostesses and seem to have persuaded some of the elves to try their Flame and Shadow drinks. The Burglar is looking worried and has returned to warming up the coffee machine.
7:10 Just spotted a couple of Fang-gir-iells sneaking into the Moria gate. Tried to head them off but was too late. They’re up to something.
7:15 Time to track down the boys and change into our evening armor
7:45 Very successful, if I do say so myself. Naturally we’re all in the finest mithril armor ever made, elegantly engraved and inlaid with 24K gold and the finest gems ever mined in Middle Earth. Kili’s armor is embellished with rubies, of course, which suits his dark coloring, while Fili chose a suit with emeralds and a generous amount of gold the same shade as his hair, and I, naturally, am wearing the world famous Armor of Durin the Deathless, with it’s 700 perfect sapphires (100 for each of the dwarf kingdoms), all of which are the exact same color as my eyes. Our mithril boots are fairly simple, with just a smattering of tiny diamonds as a highlight, and our dress evening weapons (swords for Kili and me, knives for Fili) are of the finest triple forged, hand folded mithril with jeweled handles and matching sheaths. Our evening cloaks are once again of cloth-of-mithril, but this time interwoven with rainbow silk from the Eastern Lands and embroidered with thousands of tiny, almost invisible but perfectly faceted diamonds sewn into patterns on the cloaks - ravens, axes, hammers, wild boars and above them all, the Crown of Durin, with each diamond reflecting the colors of the silk next to it, making a really lovely overall effect of a curtain of shimmering rainbows all glowing with an inner light as the embroidered patterns flicker in and out of sight.
As a final touch, we are all three wearing mithril crowns this evening: Kili is wearing The Prince’s Blood crown, with it’s great cabochon ruby and intricate gold tracery of runes and stars; Fili chose the famous Emerald Wings, with its seven huge, matchless emeralds each supported by a golden raven in flight; and I will be wearing the incomparable Light of Durin, made of mithril forged and polished by secret arts in the elder days to such a degree of perfection that it absorbs all light and then sends it out again independently of any other light source. Only the Arkenstone itself can outshine it, which makes it particularly suitable for evening wear.
As for Balin, Oin and Ori, they all threw on some mithril outerwear, and we’ve gathered up some trinkets for the girls - hair clips, brooches, bracelets, etc. and a nice mithril pony blanket for Minty so I guess we’re ready.
Time to go see what Thranduil is wearing.
7:47 Loud thuds from the Fang-gir-iells as the Durins emerge from their dressing room. I wish they would get over that. Someone could get stepped on in this crowd. All except one - the lanky girl took one look at us and started to cry. Poor thing. Note to self - make sure she gets plenty of extra time with Minty as a special treat.
7:50 Thranduil arrived in his evening wear. Really, Thranny - Gold Lame’? And that old necklace you made such a fuss about back at Erebor? Embarrassing.
7:55 Loud explosion, almost scared the whinny out of poor Minty. Turned out to be something called a ‘piñata’ - a sort of hollow toy filled with sweets which you hang up and hit with a stick until it bursts. It sounds harmless, and the Par-tei Girls gave the first whack to the elf who is going to be in the Elf Kissing Booth (probably with some ulterior motive on their part) but not knowing that the Fang-gir-iells had hidden a jar of Balrog Boom inside it. One good thump and the thing blew itself to smithereens and now the elf and the Par-tei girls are covered in a sort of sweet, alcohol-soaked goo. The Fang-gir-iells are rolling on the ground laughing, but the Par-tei Girls are thankfully taking it all in good part, licking the goo off their fingers and planning a new drink recipe called “The Candy Boom”. The elf, however, doesn’t look happy and he doesn’t have time to change before his booth opens at 8.
Well, well, what’s a party without a few laughs?
8:00pm One of the highlights of the evening, so I’ve been told, is the Elf/Dwarf Kiss-off which starts now. The second heir-to-throne, who is looking very princely in his royal evening armor, is doing the honors for Dwarfdom while the gooey, sticky elf is representing Elfdom.
8:10 Fang-gir-iells are in the dwarf booth line, upholding the honor of Dwarfdom, and the Par-tei Girls are in both lines with their scorecards, all as planned. Quite an audience has gathered and the Elf’s stickiness doesn’t seem to be hurting his business at all, in fact some of the Par-tei Girls are giving him extra points for it. Not looking good for dwarfdom at the moment.
8:20 The Fang-gir-iells are giving steady business to the Second-heir-to-the-throne, but the general consensus is that the elf is pulling ahead.
8:25 Something is up - the Fang-gir-iells keep whispering and looking toward the Moria gate. My finely honed battle instincts are telling me that a plot is afoot.
8:45 Shades of Durin’s Perfect Teeth - Now that I’ve stopped laughing long enough to write, I have say the Fang-gir-iells, bless their little fake beards, have outdone themselves with a battle strategy to make any Dwarf Lord proud. While all eyes were on the two contestants and their eager customers (lots of casual judging and betting going on, by the way, and many impromptu discussions about technique, enthusiasm and stamina) a couple of Fang-gir-iells coaxed Kevin, The-Last-Dark-And-Nameless-Thing-At-The-Root-Of-The-Mountain, out of his cave, placed a gold coin in each of his tentacles, and put him in line at the Elf Booth. I never thought anything could make me feel sorry for an elf but I was wrong. The look on the gooey elf’s face when Kevin shuffled up to the counter and threw his gold coins in the dish was a sight I will take with me to the Halls of Waiting. The Kevin-Thing puckered up, wrapped his slimy tentacles around the elf, and really got his money’s worth, then apparently realizing that there was more to this elf than just elfishness, he started licking off the piñata goo, leaving a nice layer of slime in its place. This went on to much cheering from the crowd until the poor elf’s colleagues finally forced their way through and, after wrapping their hands in dainty lace handkerchiefs, pulled the now catatonic Kissing Elf away from the lonely monster and propped him up against the cliff to recover. The Fang-gir-iells are rolling on the ground laughing, the crowd is drinking toasts to the sticky hero, and the Par-tei Girls have already started composing a song about it.
The Dwarf Booth wins by default, but due to popular demand will stay open until 11 as planned.
9:00 Spent a few minutes chatting with the Gondor fellow and Rohan Rider - Golden Halls and Silver Towers. Interesting.
9:20 Loud explosions, but this time it’s Gandalf and the Elf Witch, sitting on the dock with their feet in the water, laughing and drinking Burglar Bombs. Gandalf is sending up fireworks shaped like big red eyeballs and the Elf Witch is blasting them with her magic. Much cheering from party guests.
9:30 Little barefoot guy came over and started tugging at my sleeve and going on and on about “lighting checks” and “schedules”. I shook him off and was about to help myself to a Mithril Monster at the bar when he changed his tactics and started coaxing me and saying that he had devised a lighting system especially for mithril and if I stood in exactly the right spot he could make me shine ‘like a dwarf lord clothed in the sun’ or some such thing. Sounds intriguing.
9:40 A new twist suddenly - the Elf Queen is in line at the dwarf kissing booth with a tankard in one hand and a bag of gold coins in the other. Did not see that coming.
9:45 Shades of Durin’s Bones - Dis is here and she’s dragging Kili away from the Kissing Booth by his ear.
9:46 Now the Elf Queen is protesting - says she didn’t stand in line for nothing and she wants her kiss. Just called Dis a hairy little spoilsport. My finely honed battle instincts are telling me to run away.
9:47 Hard words are being exchanged between the two royal females. This is not going to end well.
9:48 The Elf Witch just looked down her nose at Dis and said, “Do you know who I am? I am GALADRIEL, THE LADY OF THE GOLDEN WOOD!” Dis merely snorted contemptuously in fine Durin style. I’m pretty sure I know what’s coming next.
9:49 I was right. Dis, like any good Durin, crossed her arms over her chest (quite an achievement, actually), tilted her head back and glared down her perfect nose, then strolled slowly around the Elf Witch and said, “So. This is the Elf Queen. She looks more like a Christmas Tree Topper” setting off much loyal laughter from the dwarf contingent, but now the elves are glaring and the Elf Witch is starting to glow and turn green and black. Here we go again.
9:50 Mayhem. I knew we never should have invited elves.
The Elf Witch is throwing a first class tantrum, the Burglar is pulling his hair and banging his head against the coffee machine, Minty came running up to me with a mouthful of yellow flowers and hid behind me, Kevin is chasing the sticky elf around the Kissing Booths, Gandalf is shooting fireworks from his staff and yelling, “A little more red wine!” and Dis is twisting Kili’s ear and demanding to see this tattoo of which rumor has reached her. Fili is trying to calm her down, but now, out of nowhere, the Redhead has appeared and is telling Dis to let go of her Wittle Kili Wili, which unfortunately Dis mistook for something naughty rather than the normal elf penchant for nonsense rhymes (who could ever forget ‘O! Tra-la-la-lally Here down in the valley’?)
Now the elves are running to their tents for their bows, Balin, Oin, Ori and the Fang-gir-iells are about to draw their swords and the Par-tei Girls are leading the guests in foot stomping, chanting and much clashing of tankards while the Rider of Rohan has leaped on his horse and is galloping around and around the crowd waving his spear with one hand, still holding a tankard in the other and singing about death and glory. Nice - he hasn’t spilled a drop. I’m pretty sure these people are worth a visit.
Off in the distance I can see Thranduil approaching on the big moose critter, and for some reason the little barefoot guy is running back and forth yelling, “Keep rolling, keep rolling” to his minions. I see nothing rolling anywhere, so I ignore him.
10:10 The situation was deteriorating but suddenly help arrived from an unexpected quarter - the Lindir elf, all but forgotten during his busy bartending duties, suddenly leaped onto the bar screaming, “I’m a dwarf!” and lobbed a honey cake soaked in Balrog Boom straight at the Elf Witch. It landed on her head with a bright flash and a brief odor of singed elf hair, and then dripped slowly down her face and hair in a viscous, slightly charred mass. The shock seems to have ended the tantrum but that’s all it took to get the whole crowd involved, and instantly the air was filled with balrog bits, bread roles, cole slaw, honey cakes, potato salad, peas and carrots and the occasional handful of little yellow flowers which Minty began gobbling up wherever she could. Even the elves have joined in, shooting arrows through bread rolls in mid-air while Thranny slices and dices flying peas with his two swords in a truly impressive manner. I hate to say it but my respect for him just when up a notch.
Tsk, it didn’t take the Par-tei girls long to figure out that anything they threw at the gooey elf would stick like glue and now he’s the center of a high spirited target contest, with various points awarded for head, body, arms and legs, while the Kevin-Thing hums softly and happily munches on the various food items clinging to the poor wobbly, dazed elf.
Thranduil’s hairy antlered transportation also became a brief target of various foodstuffs, but I put a quick stop to that, knowing how I would feel if it was Minty, and the Prince of Smirks had to force himself to say “Thank you” which made it more than worthwhile.
Eventually the little barefoot guy reappeared at my side and said, “Thorin, we’re ready for your shot”, and so I held out my hand and waited for the shot glass, but apparently this word has another meaning in some far off land of shoeless people who are not Hobbits, and he led me away to the top of the Dimrill Stair where many special, magical lamps of great brightness had been set up. I tried to tell him this was not a good idea, but he merely told me to stand in a certain place and look #Majestic as a strange mechanical beast blew my hair back from my face and the magical lamps glinted off my mithril armor and crown to such a degree that the birds woke up and started singing, while his peasant minions muttered and fiddled around with little boxes and strange metal contrivances. Off in the far southern distance I could see beacons flaring to life on many mountain peaks and I felt bad about that, but perhaps the Gondor fellow and the Rohan Rider can go back and tell them it’s nothing to worry about.
Almost dawn. Spent many long hours on the mountain top while the barefoot fellow got his “shot” as he calls it. I know not what it was all about, but he promised me that the full glory of Durin’s Armor has been recorded for all time and will never be forgotten, along with my profile and for some reason, my hair, so that must be explanation enough, I suppose. When we finally came down the Stairs the land was quiet and all were sleeping peacefully - the elves in their tents, the crew mostly on the boat, Minty in her stall, and the rest scattered about on the soft green grass in the open air. A few balrog bits drifted down from the sky and landed on the Lindir elf’s right arm but he never stirred as the Kevin-Thing delicately picked them off and gulped them down. Looking around I could see no sign of the food fight or any leftovers scattered around, but watching Kevin waddle slowly back into Moria and disappear into the darkness with a loud burp I understood that there would be no need for a clean-up crew.
9:30am Breakfast - More casual than expected. The boys and I changed into some cloth-of-mithril shirts, but otherwise returned to our normal clothing, and the others made no effort whatsoever, with the exception of Thranduil, who arrived in silver brocaid of all things, looking completely overdressed for a picnic breakfast, but we pretended not to notice. Really, the breakfast was a bit of a bust and hardly anyone touched their food, but the Burglar’s coffee was a big hit, and the Lindir elf handed out special pick-me-up drinks from one of Elrond’s secret medicinal recipes that were a real wonder. There is definitely a place for the Lindir elf on the Par-tei barge.
9:45 Can’t help noticing - the elf Lady is still wearing that same white dress she’s had on every time I’ve seen her. Sad. I guess that’s what happens when all your gold is just stupid leaves and flowers.
11:00 Guests are saying farewell and starting to leave and thanks to the general widespread headaches no one wants to talk loud enough to be rude. But what to do about Dis?
11:15 Interesting - Dis and and the Elf Witch are sipping coffee and discussing “men” and “kids” and seem to be getting along just fine. Don’t want to appear like I’m eavesdropping but I can just catch phrases like, “of course I love him but he never wants to go anywhere” and “I’m sure she’s nice but she’s immortal and where would they live?” and “well my son-in-law is only half elf and he NEVER visits” and “you’re lucky you had a daughter, raising boys is turning my hair gray” and “thanks to that son-in-law of mine who REFUSES to leave his valley my daughter had an awful experience while traveling and had to leave the country for health reasons” and “what can one do when the King Under the Mountain spends all his time brushing his pony and refuses to look for a wife?” and much, much more to that tune. I’m far too experienced to think that they would want to hear my side of the story so I’m keeping out of it, but at least they’re getting along.
12:15 Best possible news - instead of dragging Fili and Kili back to the Blue Mountains Dis is going to the Golden Wood to visit the Elf Queen. Apparently, after their first little misunderstanding, they found they had a lot of royal mom stuff in common and with any luck the the Elf Lady won’t tell Dis about my visit there until we are separated by many, many, many leagues of fast flowing river.
12:25 Another problem - It seems that at some point last night the Partei Girls hid the Smirkwood King’s moose critter and substituted one of the horses dressed up in an elk costume. Trying not to laugh. Everyone is looking for the moose.
1:30 Whew - found him, calmly grazing on the other side of the lake with wind chimes made out of tankards tied to his antlers. No harm done and no need for all those dirty looks from the elves. After all, they knew what they were getting into when they came to a dwarf barbecue.
1:45 Another problem solved - the Redhead is returning to Mirkwood and I was just in time to overhear her say to Kili, “They are my people” as she gently kissed him farewell while one perfect tear trickled down her flawless cheek, then she sighed a long mournful sigh of elvish grief and sadness and turned slowly away, drifting gracefully back across the green grass to the elven encampment as the morning sun glinted and shimmered on her perfect hair. I must say, the elves do that sort of thing remarkably well. Meanwhile, Fili is comforting his little brother and suggesting another tattoo (as soon as Dis leaves) which should cheer everyone up.
2:00 Well, the Elf Queen’s swan boat is leaving, with Gandalf laying in the front with an ice pack on his head and the two ladies with their take-away coffee cups still chattering away and saying grossly unfair things about the men in their families. And they wonder why we go on on quests. Nevertheless, we all said our affectionate farewells to Dis, and Galadriel has promised to see that she gets home safely so that’s one less thing to worry about. The Burglar tried to jump in their boat at the last minute, in that joking way he has, but I grabbed him playfully by the collar and hauled him back and, after giving him a friendly dwarf slap on the back, tossed him onto the Par-tei Boat before he could get his breath back. He does this all the time. It’s a little game we play.
2:30 And now the elf contingent is finally on their way, the last to go since it takes them forever to pack up all those tents and draperies and whatever is in all those trunks and boxes. We’ve said our formal farewells with great relief on both sides, and Balin made a little diplomatic speech about friendship between peoples, blah blah blah, and I said nothing about Minty’s missing tiara, although I have a pretty good idea where it is, and we even gave them some parting gifts of mithril lace handkerchiefs to replace the ones that were ruined by the slime on the gooey elf. At last it’s just us here at the Mirrormere.
3:00 Well, the last decision has been made. The boat is packed and ready to go and I asked Balin, Oin and Ori if they wanted to come with us but Balin said he would stay and inventory the rest of the mithril in the Secret Bling Room if that was alright with me. I told to make himself at home and pick out something nice for himself and Dwalin and the others and he gave me another one of those strange looks and asked me if I was sure I was well. Not sure why he keeps asking me that. It’s just treasure, after all, and of little worth compared to food and cheer and song and ponies. I hope poor old Balin learns that for himself someday.
As for Ori and Oin, well Ori turns pale at the mere sight of a Par-tei Girl and Oin looked regretful but said he had promised Kevin some medicine for his missing tentacles and eyes and his duty is with the wounded etc. etc., so that’s settled.
3:30 At long last pulling away from the dock. The Burglar is polishing his coffee machine; Fili and his elite company of Fang-gir-iells are already busy in the forge with their new supply of mithril; Kili and the Par-tei Girls and the Lindir elf are drawing up design ideas for a new tattoo; the lanky girl, who we found awhile ago gagged and tied to the rail with silky elven ropes, is cleaning Minty’s stall; and Minty and I are at our usual place at the front of the boat, my arm across her neck and her head nuzzling me affectionately. Since none of us really want to revisit the Golden Wood we are taking the River in the opposite direction, through Moria and out the West Gate and then South to that land of horses where they have a Golden Hall. I would like to see this place for myself, so before the Rohan Rider left this morning I told him we might stop by. He said he would warn tell the King so we won’t be unexpected.
3:45 Just noticed that no one ever bothered to give out any of the various prizes at the barbecue so I gave them all to Minty. She looks so sweet. My little pony. Together forever.
The End
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 12 2016, 8:51pm
Post #146 of 190
(10218 views)
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Thanks so much for posting all this. What a trip down memory lane!
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 12 2016, 10:37pm
Post #148 of 190
(10194 views)
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So much great stuff to read!
also as a ps, in my last photo post I attributed the photo to Miss-Merriweather when it should have been attributed to PeckishOwl. My apologies. Gremlins or perhaps Orcs in the works - therefore, here is the correct link
http://peckishowl.deviantart.com/...-loved-you-513942605
(This post was edited by Nieriel on Feb 12 2016, 10:46pm)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 13 2016, 10:28am
Post #149 of 190
(10173 views)
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As I said to HRF as he was, as he puts it, 'slipping into something FABULOUS' before dinner, "No good comes from mixin' wiv dwarves, my Lord. We should never 'ave come, that's wot I fink."
"Quite." My Lord said as he buttoned his robe and checked 'is reflection in 'is seventeen foot high travellin' mirror. He always had the right word does HRF, but that's kings for you. They're trained to 'ave the right word from birth, ain't they? That's wot Kingin' is all about, innit?
"You don't think this robe makes my hakka look big do you, Galion? And what of these gems, not too much do you think?" My lord said, as he stood there, looking at his self critical like from all angles. Now, I ain't had this job for four thousand years by not knowin' what to say to such questions, and the answer to such questions is "Never in life, my Lord! You looks as gorgeous as the day is long, my Lord!" I suppose 'footman-ing' is a bit like Kingin' in the regard.
I've said it once and I'll say it again, we should never 'ave come. Well, it was a bleedin' disaster, weren't it? First off we had HRF taking 'poorly' before dinner on account of them nasty Balrog Bits, and I don't hold wiv Foreign Food at the best of times and then he has 'words' wiv Legolas about him not doin' his job proper or summink. As usual when they has 'words' Legolas' mother Filauria (the Queen of Mirkwood, as wos) comes into it and HRF has to remind Legolas *again* that Filauria isn't dead, and never has been dead (no matter what sob-story he tells Tauriel to make 'er feel sorry for 'im) but is alive and well and is runnin' a dress shop in Gondor wiv a former hairdresser called Nigel and if he don't like working for him, THE KING, he can "@*#*#@ off to Gondor and sell frocks instead!" That don't go down well of course, and I don't know where Legolas went off to in the end, to get changed 'praps, 'cos that dwarven armor is well known to chafe, but he'll be back in the morning I 'spect wanting to go back to Mirkwood wiv us and the soft life in the Halls of his Ada, pining over Tauriel, who would rather stick a hot spoon in her eye than 'ave anything to do wiv Legolas. I'm not sayin' that Tauriel isn't a nice girl, but unless you've got a beard she ain't interested, know wot I mean?
Next fing you know it's dinner time and you guessed it, the Durins are wearing more Mefrill than before and just as HRF is about to well 'an truly throw his dolly out of the play-pen, as it were, Galadriel turns up. HRF has a bit of a fancy for Galadriel, and he's single these days which is more than you can say for the Lady Galadriel, and blow me down if I can remember 'er 'usband's name, so he sidles up to her as smooth as yer like, and invites her over to his tent for 'a bit of a nibble, later on. You know, for old times' sake?' Let me tell you, there's not many women, Elf nor otherwise, wot could resist THAT invitation. HRF's runny Brie is legendary.
During the meanwhile, Elros was getting into a tizz because it was time for the Kissing Booth to open and Elros had been practicing what HRF calls 'the Sindarin Smackeroo' on the back of his hand for hours and accordin' to him nuffink had gone numb, none of 'is toes had started glowing white or felt like they wos about to drop off, which HRF said is the effect 'the Sindarin Smackeroo' s'posed to 'ave if it's done proper and woe betide Elros if it weren't done proper, and did Elros fink he wos going to shame the Elves wiv inferior skills? Anyhow, as it turned out, Elros must have got the hang of 'the Sindarin Smackeroo' in the end because afterwards HRF told Elros that accordin' to Elvish courtship laws, wot are most particular in these matters, Elros wos now technically betrothed to Kevin or at the very least had to buy him sumfink 'nice', call him 'melamin' and hold at least one of 'is tentacles in public. At this Elros did begin to wonder, quite vigorously, if Elvish courtship laws should even come into it wiv' Dark And Nameless Fings, and why those same laws hadn't come into play wiv any of the girls he'd kissed? 'Cos some of 'em were very pretty, he argued and it wasn't his fault that he got covered in a goo wot drives Dark And Nameless Fings mad wiv love .. But HRF smiled that dangerous smile and uttered those kingly words of wisdom, "Just shut it, Elros. You're betrothed. End of." and opened another bottle of 'fermented grapes'.
Now you may be finking that HRF wasn't in the best mood and you'd be right, but blow me down if sumfink didn't 'appen to cheer him right up! We was in the middle of wot appeared to be a food fight, the dwarves started it, they always start it, and HRF was gallopin' around on Tarquin the Elk ordering his archers to cut down low flyin' bread rolls and Balrog Bits shoutin' "Tangado haid! Leithio i philinn!" as he slashed away at wot ever came his way wiv his two swords. Then suddenly wot I can only describe as a dwarven half breed, wearin' sumfink wot needed a good ironin', ran out in front of Tarquin and yelled 'Cut!' stoppin' Tarquin in his tracks. Then a young woman come rushin' towards HRF and Tarquin wiv a ladder and a small bag. "Hold still! I just need to pretty you up a bit!" The young woman said as she put her ladder next to Tarquin and climbed up towards HRF. After gettin' some things out of her bag, she reached out, she dusted his nose and forehead wiv wot looked like a brush on a stick that held a magical dust, smoothed his lips wiv shiny wax and flicked his hair around wiv her comb, all the while telling him how 'realistic' his 'look' was and 'I'm loving your hair!' I stepped forward, along with several Guards, to fight off the impudent female when HRF held up his hand, which is king code for 'not so fast, sunshine' and looked at the young woman like he'd just seen a bleedin' vision or sumfink. Then as quick as she'd arrived she climbed down her ladder and disappeared into the crowd as the dwarf half breed yelled 'Annnnnnnnnnd action!' HRF turned to me before the fighting began again in earnest and commanded that I seek the woman out, 'ave her scrubbed and bring 'er (and 'er Magic Brush onna Stick) to his tent. I told HRF that I did not know who she was or where she'd come from. HRF smiled in his kingly wisdom and told me that he had seen 'er name written on the soft jerkin of pink cloth she wore, thus indicatin' she was of high status among her people, and that she was doubtless a princess from some far off land. The princess's name, HRF said, wos Adidas.
Well, after all the excitement it was pretty much time to bed down for the night. I did as HRF told me and had a bit of a poke round for the Princess Adidas, but I couldn't find 'er. I s'pect her people had carried her off home, and as well they might, the brazen little hussy, throwin' herself at kings she don't know, which led me to wonder if she was related to Galadriel. Speakin' of which, Galadriel was a no show in the end, but I don't fink HRF cared at this point, he was too busy finkin' about Princess Adidas and her Magical Brush onna Stick. Bless 'im.
The next morning HRF was still in a good mood and didn't even seem to be bovvered when he 'eard that someone 'ad Elk-Knapped Tarquin and hung beer cans on 'is antlers, took all that in 'is stride, he did. He even asked Oakenshield if he'd seen Princess Adidas and whether or not he knew of her. Oakenshield just said sumfing about some 'very strange people hanging around' and left it at that, and as we was about to set off Oakenshield give HRF some Mefrill hankersniffs and HRF gave Oakenshield one of 'is prized orchids inna pot and a year's supply of peas and carrots, which was very nice of HRF I fink, all fings considered. HRF even stayed long enough to see the peas and carrots were loaded onto the barge proper and not chucked on any old how like the dwarves were doin' because some of it was being thrown in the river, accidental like. No sign of Legolas, so we left for home wiv out 'im. P'raps he's gone to Gondor?
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 13 2016, 1:59pm
Post #150 of 190
(10158 views)
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Nieriel, you're a genius. Read it twice and still laughing out loud and the cats are starting at me wondering what's going on. Galion is the best story teller ever He has a gift.
And I always knew Legolas' mom was around SOMEWHERE - never believed that sob story for a minute. Will Leggie go searching for his mom? Will Thranny go searching for the Princess Adidas? Will Kevin go searching for his one true love? Will Galadriel and Dis go dress shopping in Gondor? Oh my - questions questions questions.
My mithril helmet is off to you.
PS - Minty says thanks for the peas and carrots.
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 13 2016, 8:32pm
Post #151 of 190
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*Gasp* The sheer magnificence - *bows and bows again* to Elarie and Nieriel...
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Yesterday had been TRYING. A day moving furniture and STUFF. Of course, I consoled myself with images of:
(After all, no TRUE Fang-gir-iell would WHINE when the her *beloved* fiesty hairballs had slapped up a wall overnight....)
And then it was done. I settled back in my comfy lounge chair and contemplated my au naturel *dwarf* legs in satisfaction, tucked into the *creative* Hobbit feet slippers (still warm from the oven, and so convenient if I need a quick snack!)
That gentle click of a disk, and:
Well, it took quite a while to get through AUJ...
So today, bleery-eyed, desperately swilling triple caffeine (gotta be ready to re-view DOS of course, after all, it IS Valentine's Day weekend...) I had little expectation of anything save a plumbing problem and/or Thorin Oakenshield delivering the supreme pizza (with extra mushrooms) of much garnering my interest. Besides, I had to bake some more Hobbit feet slippers and check on that hair growth - wouldn't want to be confused with an elf, hur, hur (by summer I should be all set!)
OMG. OMG. I salute the both Elarie and Nieriel - I laughed. I clapped. I scared the cat. I actually woke up. OMG.
Sometimes it has been said that sequels suffer, than a *finale* can be *anticlimatic* but I have no words for the sheer ARTISTRY and IMAGINATION. It's beyond "mere mithril" in words, it's platinum-plated mithril with little 18K charms set with grade E three carat flawless diamonds.
I cannot thank you both enough. I won't even feel *guilty* about the complete lack of subltety in my hints LOL. A classic THREAD, a classic WORK, an amazing COLLABORATION that just shows elves and dwarves CAN be as ONE (along with assorted livestock, creatures from the netherworld, *hair freaks*, a hobbit, wizards, and that frazzled barefoot guy who has started adding a 'wee something from a flask to his frequent cups of tea).
Thank you both for the second best Valentine's Day present I ever got (the first would be Thorin Oakenshield, but there's no helping some folks...).
PS. BTW, in spite of it all, Kili DID send Tauriel a Valentine's Day present:
**************
Epilogue:
(This post was edited by Avandel on Feb 13 2016, 8:37pm)
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 13 2016, 9:35pm
Post #152 of 190
(10971 views)
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Always nice to catch up with Thorin, Thranduil and the rest of the gang. One never knows what they will be getting up to next.
And it's 14 deg F here and going down, so really, what else is there to do except wrap up in fuzzy blankets, grab a cat or two, and escape to Middle-Earth?
After all, the important thing is to keep warm...
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(Old Icelandic Fe rune poem)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 13 2016, 10:01pm
Post #153 of 190
(10968 views)
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I'm so glad you liked it - yeah, the truth about Lego's mum, eh? Shocking. I had been wanting to add that piece of gossip for a while
The love story between Kevin and Elros is a thing of beauty .. LOL!
I'd love to read about Galadriel and Dis dress shopping in Gondor! I am imagining Dis trying to get Galadriel to branch out 'colorwise' ..
Well Thranduil is so smitten so I think it's only right that he begins his search
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 14 2016, 3:01am
Post #154 of 190
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The details - and just SO funny. OMG.
What's scary is this feels as real to me as anything else LOL - they need to film the Partei Barge and the whole crew.
Re:
And it's 14 deg F here and going down, so really, what else is there to do except wrap up in fuzzy blankets, grab a cat or two, and escape to Middle-Earth?
After all, the important thing is to keep warm...
Oh, yes. Me too. OMG. So I definitely need something WARMING. I was trying to do something for V-day, but throwing in the towel to feed kitties and watch DOS. Although I DID do a lot of *gratuitous hair worship*.
Never enough Thorin in profile....
Badass action hair...
His eyes match the sky. His teeth are *pearls*. I can't stand it....
Best Valentine's Day present (well, OK, every day really.....)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 14 2016, 3:08am
Post #155 of 190
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And NOW we know some of what is on that as yet unseen footage.....
OMG, all of it was GENIUS. Can't thank you guys enough for sharing your talent. Of course, now I have to fire up the BR player, and replay that T & T scene about 11 times or so. Just in case I don't get every millisecond of the nuances etched into my brain.
How does your journey end?
Well, apparently with a flaming fruit drink in hand, decorated with a tiny dwarf axe and a paper umbrella.
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 14 2016, 3:38pm
Post #157 of 190
(10920 views)
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What's scary is this feels as real to me as anything else LOL - they need to film the Partei Barge and the whole crew.
I know what you mean, I'm starting to see it all in my head the same way I remember the movies. But I was thinking the other day that for anyone who hasn't watched the movies, all the appendices, read the books, followed the TORN posts and read the Oakentoon Thorin/Minty toons, it probably sounds like complete lunacy.
Oh well, here's to a little lunacy
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
(This post was edited by Elarie on Feb 14 2016, 3:46pm)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 14 2016, 6:08pm
Post #158 of 190
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But it feels so RIGHT, somehow
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Happily re-reading last night (I don't know why but Thorin referring to the Golden Wood as "stupid leaves and flowers cracks me up LOL - never mind the exploding pinata and the picture of Galadriel and Gandalf side by side, dabbling their toes in the water and shooting off fireworks - and then Lindir being the hero of the hour and that "little game" Thorin and Bilbo play ROFLMAO *wipes eyes*) - ANYWAY it's all so exquisitely perfect!
And BTW, your talent is FORMIDABLE. Like Thorin himself...
and I promise (with fingers crossed behind my back) that I won't whine about Thorin's possible adventures in the Golden Hall...which seems already overwhelming with POSSIBILITIES. Will Thorin have to make a *desperate, nail-biting stand*, his back against the wall, against *greedy* Rohaners who COVET his hair for their helmets OMG (say it isn't so!). Will Thorin *bond* with Theoden because he can perfectly empathsize with possessing badassery, charisma, a big sword, insanity, and the ability to give a *killer* speech? Will the two stand as one, because both are real tired of folks telling them what to do (and who is the king, anyway??!!)
Will Thorin's heart be shattered, when Minty gets an *eyeful* of Shadowfax, or will Minty's heart remain with the evening? Will Eowyn gaze into the cornflower blue eyes of Fili, and forever derail canon?
Inquiring minds want to know!
Of course you and Nieriel DESERVE a great rest in Rivendell
- I wish you a Happy Valentine's Day, with much chocolate and wine and all good things!
(This post was edited by Avandel on Feb 14 2016, 6:09pm)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 14 2016, 6:16pm
Post #159 of 190
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OMG - that white on white.....
And of course, there was never enough of Thranduil in the films...
But there should have been.
Because he's the perfectiest elf evah...
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 14 2016, 8:01pm
Post #160 of 190
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Just wait till he gets to the Golden Hall and finds out that the gold roof is just 'stupid thatched straw'. It'll be the Golden Wood all over again, LOL.
Oh well, lots of fresh bedding for Minty's stall.
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 14 2016, 11:26pm
Post #161 of 190
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The Elves may trail Thorin and Co to Edoras on their quest to find Princess Adidas, as Thranduil is wondering if she came with the Horse Lord he saw at the barbecue - if she's not there he may continue then to Gondor to find her or maybe Lego and a spot of shopping .. Either way; Road Trip!
sorry about that
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 14 2016, 11:28pm
Post #162 of 190
(10891 views)
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Most definitely!
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 15 2016, 1:28am
Post #163 of 190
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With that Partei-Girl fondness for *flaming fruit drinks*...
Oh, well, I'm sure Theoden won't mind redecorating. From the ground up...
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 15 2016, 1:34am
Post #164 of 190
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Thranduil's elk. Minty. The *finest steeds* in the realm of Middle Earth. And on top of all that, the Quest for the Princess Adidas and a dwarven King not known for his patience (well, at least when he hasn't had too many fruit drinks...).
It's the calm before the storm.
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 15 2016, 7:52am
Post #165 of 190
(10871 views)
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Galion's Jottings - Home at last
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Oh Adidas, sweet Adidas
Did you run to Edoras?
Your magic brush so soft and fat
It made my heart go pitter pat
If I could feel it just once more
I'd sweep the halls of Erebor**
Are you mortal? Are you Elf?
I need to find out for myself
Queenship yours, for you to keep
I dream about you in my sleep
Oh Adidas with ladder fair
Where to find you? Where, oh where!
And this is the work of HRF in love. Bloomin' work of art, innit? Brings a lump to yer throat. As HRF said himself, not a lot rhymes wiv Adidas, not wot you can recite out loud in public at any rate.
Anyway, the upshot is, HRF is all for hunting Adidas down and bringing her home to be his Queen. I don't fink it matters if she wants that or not, he's got his heart set on it, and as he says "Why wouldn't she want to be my Queen?" He's got a point really, ain't he? So blow me down if we ain't all off to Edoras because HRF has got it into his head that she might be from there cos he vaguely remembers some Horse Lord at the barbecue, because he knows for a fact she ain't from Lothlórien or Rivendell (cos he's already asked Lord Elrond and the Lady Galadriel all about her) and she ain't no dwarf neither cos she ain't got a beard.
Between you and me, right, I'm not entirely sure that HRF isn't still sufferin' the after effects of dem Balrog Bits because prior to Adidas, right, he wouldn't look twice at a mortal woman and there's been some bootiful mortal women wot have crawled out of the woodwork over the years (well, got lost after trying to send HRF a 'love letter' and found by the Guards covered in blackberry juice on the front doorstep cryin' about 'ow many acrylic nails they've broke is a more accurate, 'praps.) Real stunners some of 'em, but no it was Elf or nuffink for HRF, and lets face it, lately it's been nuffink, apart from that little fling wot he had wiv the Lady G, after Filauria flounced off to bloomin' Gondor, and that was a good while ago. So yeah, I'm a bit flummoxed to tell yer da troof about wot this Adidas has got that's got HRF in such a tizz. He's proper bewitched. As I said to Elros, who turned up 'ere unexpected last night beggin' HRF reconsider his betrothal to Kevin citing 'cruel and unusual treatment' as the cause - sumfink to do wiv Kevin not liking all the salads wot Elros made him or sumfink. Anyhow, HRF said he'd fink about it. It ain't natural. Lord Elrond tried to talk sense into HRF sayin' that marriage to a mortal ain't all it's cracked up to be, but no, HRF weren't havin' a word of it. So yeah, we're off to bloomin' Horse Boy Country. Fan-bloomin'-tastic.
I ain't looking forward to going at all cos I'm 'lergic to 'orses, and HRF knows this and of course he ain't bovvered, is he? All he cares about is writin' more poems about Adidas and her bloomin' brush. He's even 'ad a bit of a poke round in his jewellery collection and has picked out a nice ring for 'er which is more than he ever did for Filauria, which, if you asks me, wos one of the reasons she cleared off wiv Nigel. The bloomin' rows HRF and Filauria would have. You could hear the screams all over the Realm and that wos just 'im! Rows over the Big Mirror in the mornin', rows over the Hair Straightenin' Imp, rows over who got to wear the nicest jewellery, rows over who got to sit on the throne longest. He'd be yellin' "I am the KING, you will obey MY wishes, you insolent creature!" And she'd be yellin' "I don't give a fiddler's flip for your wishes, I'm the QUEEN! So you can shut yer cake 'ole!" She was a bit common wos Filauria, very bootiful but she could curse like a sailor. She is from Bree, so wot can you expect? Trouble is, in many ways, they was too much alike, troof be told. Don't ask me how they ever managed stopped fightin' long enough to 'ave Legolas. Then one morning we discovered she'd upped and gone takin' wiv her a white gold ring wiv a diamond in it the size of a pigeon's egg. HRF, as you can imagine was devastated. Heartbroken he wos. He loved that ring.
So since we've got back home from Mirrormere, I've been 'up to pussy's pink bow' (as Mr Gandalf sez) wiv packing everyfink HRF wants to take. Twenty seven outfits he's decided on so far, all wiv matchin' boots. I keeps tellin 'im that he don't need 'em all, and what a pain it's going to be for ME to keep 'em all nice for 'im when he's messin' about wiv all dem Horse Lords, more Foreign Food and goodness knows wot else, and he just sez "Beauty IS pain, Galion" and starts on anuvver poem. Sometimes my job, it'd break yer heart and no mistake.
**Not meant literally you understand my love, but I could not find another word to rhyme, and if you'd ever been to Erebor you would understand and if you cared for me you wouldn't want me to get my hands dirty, would you? I mean I am simply not designed for manual labour of any kind; not one bead of sweat has broken on my brow in over 6000 years.
(This post was edited by Nieriel on Feb 15 2016, 8:00am)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 15 2016, 7:23pm
Post #166 of 190
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OMG!!! *Happiness* as I recover from a *chocolate haze*
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And maybe it's time for a spot of *silky vanilla*...
I assume that our Forest Lord will be bringing along at least ONE outfit such as this, perhaps in diamond-dew'd cream beige - although it WOULD behoove (no pun intended) Galion to warn his King that perhaps, visiting a culture with many, many horses is a culture where the ground can have many *squishy* pitfalls for the unwary, and that in this instance Thranduil might wish to lower his standards and ask Bard to borrow some Laketown gear.
Still, one must suffer to be beautiful...
OMG. ROFLMAO. Galion, and all of this is GENIUS *snigger*.
As I said to Elros, who turned up 'ere unexpected last night beggin' HRF reconsider his betrothal to Kevin citing 'cruel and unusual treatment' as the cause - sumfink to do wiv Kevin not liking all the salads wot Elros made him or sumfink. Anyhow, HRF said he'd fink about it. It ain't natural. Lord Elrond tried to talk sense into HRF sayin' that marriage to a mortal ain't all it's cracked up to be, but no, HRF weren't havin' a word of it. So yeah, we're off to bloomin' Horse Boy Country. Fan-bloomin'-tastic.
OMG. *Does the Fang-gir-iell double hand wave + SQUEEEE!!!* OMG. You know, I can't stand the suspense *mindlessly gobbles another Valentine M&M*.
OMG. As I mentioned to Elarie, all of this is getting realer than real. I WORRY about Elros and whether Thorin will have too many cocktails and the Partei-Barge will end up in Harad by accident. How did Legolas get tied to the rail? And now, a QUEST for PINKNESS and why can't I have my own personal Galion?
Oh Adidas, sweet Adidas
Did you run to Edoras?
Your magic brush so soft and fat
It made my heart go pitter pat
If I could feel it just once more
I'd sweep the halls of Erebor**
Are you mortal? Are you Elf?
I need to find out for myself
Queenship yours, for you to keep
I dream about you in my sleep
Oh Adidas with ladder fair
Where to find you? Where, oh where!
Ah, my heart SOARS at the poignant LONGING of these verses. You can talk to me about Shakespeare, but this heartfelt sweetness should be emblazon'd on the skies.
*Gobbles another M&M* SQUEEE!!!!!!
Antici...............PATION....
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 16 2016, 7:15pm
Post #168 of 190
(10780 views)
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Thanks Nieriel! A very blah day just got 100% better thanks to Galion's hilarious observation's on Life With The Boss. And what a boss, LOL! Perhaps with a little sugar-loaded, high calorie encouragement Kevin can help track down the Princess Adidas; after all, stalking prey is what monsters DO, right? I'll bet Elros could talk him into it, if Elros was properly motivated by HRF.
Such great stuff, love it!
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 17 2016, 4:07am
Post #169 of 190
(10750 views)
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Sometimes I envy Galion, sometimes I wouldn't do his job for all the gold in Erebor I'm glad Galion made your day brighter!
The idea of Kevin on a sugar fueled rampage across Rohan .. Interesting, scary, but interesting!
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 17 2016, 5:46pm
Post #170 of 190
(10726 views)
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But of course they would be....
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 17 2016, 8:02pm
Post #171 of 190
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Yes!! That's it! Of course! Legolas must aid in the Quest for Adidas!
You're a genius, Avandel! It's perfect!
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 17 2016, 9:38pm
Post #172 of 190
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Find her. Make Ada proud.
I can 'hear' him saying it!
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 18 2016, 1:55am
Post #173 of 190
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What's fascinating with you and Elarie is that I CAN hear the characters' voices and even see their expressions - it's hysterical, like having a movie running in my head. I can't thank you guys enough *snigger*.
And who would have thought that the only SANE person in Middle Earth is Legolas? And will he continue to be the *dutiful son* or will he finally give in, and embrace his inner dwarf? Inquiring minds want to know!
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 18 2016, 2:55am
Post #174 of 190
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Woke up tied to the ship's rail with Elven rope. I was also gagged. This can only be the work of my father. It appears someone has also removed the Bra of Wonder. I managed to spit out my gag and have tried chewing my way through the rope with my beautiful pearly teeth, but it is obviously bewitched by some magic of my father's making for not warning him about the Durins and all that Mithril. I assume I am banished. Dark days. Dark days indeed.
Was finally untied by Lindir, perhaps he had pity in him, and put to work in the stall of 'Minty' the pony. Is there no end to my degradation? I managed to get one bite of an apple before the savage beast snatched it away from me. I fear the pony is far more corrupted than I had at first imagined.
Quite alone, I flung myself on deck in a fit of tears. The others were conducting one of their hideous parties after the daily revealing of the mutant Kili's tattoo. Must have cried myself to sleep as I was awoken in the dead of night by the call of a pallid moon. I could feel the song of the land close by, it's lush greenness whispered to me. Alas, and with all hope of reconciliation with my kin now lost I flung myself over the side into the cool, deep waters caring for naught - not even my hair.
Using all of my remaining strength I swam towards land and crawled onto the rocky foreshore, weak and spent. I again must have collapsed into a sleep beyond sleeping for I was again awoken by the sound of snuffling and if my ears do not deceive me, weeping. My Elvish eyes perceived the creature Kevin lurking in the undergrowth. He is absolutely enormous, has many tentacles and appears to be wearing the Bra of Wonder on a jaunty angle as an eye patch; this comes as some relief for I feared my father had taken it as some terrible trinket. Doubtless the creature has been following the boat waiting to pick us all off in our sleep one by one! Perhaps if I remain very still Kevin may not approach. @*@**! He approaches!
Kevin it seems is not the creature of dread and nameless fear I had first imagined, and once I had stopped screaming he appeared to be very cultivated but deeply upset. He had decided to follow the boat as it was a source of mild joy to him to hear the laughter from the Par-tei Boat as all else to him was lost. I promised to hear his tale of woe if he did not eat me, a proposal he accepted with good grace. Kevin it appears was betrothed, at my father's behest, to a member of our Royal household called Elros - I now realise he was the interloper who took my place in the Kissing Booth, utinu en lokirim! Kevin it appears was happy with this betrothal arrangement because he has spent many long years on his own (he admits that the 'alone' thing was probably his fault) and his experiences with On Crow Dating had been, by and large, a disaster, despite what I'd call a very well written dating profile which Kevin was very keen to show me.
Name: Kevin
Species/Race: Dark and Nameless Thing
Body shape: Lots to love
Heads: One
Eyes: One Good One
Arms/Tentacles: 12
Legs: Depends
Personality: I'm a bubbly intellectual romantic
Hobbies: Counting my tentacles and sitting in puddles. I also have a very impressive collection of heart shaped pebbles.
Favorite Food: Not fussy
Ideal Date: Sitting in a puddle and with my Love holding my tentacle and counting my pebbles.
After I complimenting Kevin warmly on his profile, he continued his tale. Sadly it appears that Elros is as faithless as my father with those he purports to love and has returned home to Mirkers alone for reasons Kevin is understandably at a loss to comprehend (I believe he said it was something to do with salad that caused the rift) and until now Kevin was in 'the depths of the deepest melancholia and excessive despair', as Elros has not written to him or bought him anything 'nice' as he'd promised to. Now, however Kevin feels that all hope is now not lost as he has found me and calls our meeting 'serendipitous in the extreme'. He says I remind him greatly of Elros, and that an Elf was the last thing he expected to fall off a dwarf boat, and wasn't luck a wonderful thing! He has even offered, much to my delight, to braid my hair in Elvish fashion so that my disguise as a dwarf can upset me no more. He asked me if I knew anything about the 'Sindarin Smackaroo' but I had to admit that my study of marsupials was sorely incomplete, to which Kevin responded with promises to assist my study, as well as offering to show me his pebbles once we were, as he put it, 'back at my place.'
Kevin is such a sporting type and feigned to indulge in some wrestling with me after we sat for a while in a damp cave looking at his travelling pebble collection, quite distinct, Kevin said from his stationary pebble collection. I explained to Kevin that my mind was quite adrift after being tied to a rail for days beyond counting (well possibly a couple) and very probably half drowned, and that if he could forgive me I would be happy to learn about the 'Sindarin Smackaroo' after I had rested further. This Kevin took in good part as he packed away his pebbles and urged me to rest. I am forming a plan which involves my returning to Mirkers to speak with my father about Elros and his shabby treatment of Kevin. I shall propose my plan to Kevin in the morning. For all I know Kevin may wish to come with me (if he is able) as we are now such firm friends that he even gave me one of his heart shaped pebbles as a gift after he braided my hair. I can see my father's delight in my diplomacy skills already.
(This post was edited by Nieriel on Feb 18 2016, 3:01am)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 18 2016, 3:00am
Post #175 of 190
(10681 views)
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Bilbo looks so 'where am I? What have I done to deserve this?!'
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 19 2016, 2:55am
Post #176 of 190
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It's those Shadow and Flame cocktails. Anyway, it wasn't like Minty wasn't going to notice her favorite stall-cleaner was gone...
*******************************
It was whispered of Thorin II, son of Thrain, son of Thror, that the Mountain King wasn’t MERELY a great warrior and leader, who happened to have particularly good teeth and jaw-dropping hair. After all, as the Fang-gir-iells and Partei-girls quietly gossiped around a late night barge barbecue fire, the ladies had seen pretty good hair in Middle Earth before. Middle Earth was a pretty hairy place – even those cute little hobbits had those curls you just wanted to reach out and fluff!
Granted, Thorin Oakenshield’s chiaroscuro mane WAS like something that MAY have been seen in the Second Age, when living legends strode the land with swords of flame. Unlikely, but possible. Never mind those ocean fire eyes that seemed to have been a gift of Ulmo himself, another sign, some Fang-gir-iells insisted, that marked Thorin as SPECIAL. For why would the Lord of the Waves favor a dwarf, out of all the races, with sea-jewel eyes? And just HAPPENING to find a sword out of legend, and no-one can say how Orcrist came to be in that cave.
Utter silliness, others argued, the flickering light of their cocktails playing over their faces. It was just coincidence that the Lady of the Wood had inexplicably taken a hand in the fate of those of Durin’s line. No, it’s not, the other late-night fire sitters said. The Lady Galadriel is associated with water too. Water is the source of all life. Thorin is Durin the Deathless, Durin reborn.
What? The other Fang-gir-iells laughed. How many Mithril Monsters have you all had? Look, we DO read when we are not mixing Partei-tracks and making Balrog-and-sage burgers (with sweet onions and Swiss cheese). It doesn’t happen that way in the books.
Who cares? Shrugged their companions. We read too. There’s a hundred versions of every classic story, heroes that visit the Land of the Dead, beautiful women that attract the interest of the gods, and such. Things get muddled. Especially when HUMANS are involved. We don’t have memories like dwarves and elves.
OK, so why, pray tell, is Durin the Deathless travelling on a BARGE with assorted livestock…oh.
All the ladies fell silent and stared into the coals, suddenly thoughtful. Because there was, they knew from their books, PRECEDENT for this sort of thing. For instance, gods that got bored with their sparkly white walls and fluffy cloud furniture and came to Earth for a night out on the town, as it were. Disguised as lowly mortals. Something really bad happened to you, if you happened to run into one of them and didn’t have good manners. But if you had good manners, nice things would happen. So the stories said.
Like, for instance, that guy who carved a statue and fell in love with it and prayed really hard and a goddess brought the statue to life. All of them owned ‘wee Thorin figures of one sort or another. (Some of them, as well, secretly owned little Thranduil and Legolas and Bilbo figures too). The idea of praying real hard and having all those Funko POP vinyls and Legos becoming real was pretty appealing. More Thorins could only be a GOOD thing.
And then, of course, there was that god who was featured on so many wine bottles, a god with tumbling lush hair who was accompanied by a horde of maddened women. A god of ECSTASY.
“I have to admit…” one Fang-gir-iell shifted uneasily. “There ARE a lot of stories about reborn gods. It’s that “circle of life” stuff. Another Fang-gir-iell stared at a bottle she had just emptied and frowned. “What, that Thorin is the God of Wine? That’s a bit much, I mean Dionysus or Bacchus or whoever seemed rather more JOLLY in the stories that I read and he certainly didn’t travel around on a barge – tho I suppose he IS pretty well worshipped these days on cruise ships and on Spring break…”
“I dunno,” interjected a Partei-Girl. “Jolly doesn’t mean ANYTHING. Clowns are supposed to be jolly. One of those jolly hamburger mascot clowns popped up waving a coupon when I was surfin’ the ‘Net, and I couldn’t sleep for a week. I was too afraid of seeing this clown at my window at night and just grinning and grinning. Creepiest thing evah…I don’t dare go near a burger place!” A number of the surrounding women shuddered in empathy and took big swigs of their drinks.
“No, ‘course Thorin isn’t the JOLLY God of Wine!” her companion scowled. She was getting a headache from the combination of “Shadow and Flame” cocktails mixed with Burglar Bombs. Plus, bits of singed hair were still falling from her head. She’d been too careless quaffing the drinks down. She hoped that later there was something in those pink-and-white boxes that could help.
“It’s just…you gotta admit. There’s this kind of MAGIC about Thorin. It’s like this huge storm that you can see in the sky, and you can’t stop looking. You just stand there, and want to be part of it, the wind and the rain.”
A Partei-Girl scrunched up her nose in confusion. “What, you mean like the Force? Obi-wan, and all that?”
“Xactly!” the cranky Fang-gir-iell exclaimed.
The Partei-Girls exchanged confused looks. “Well, he can’t be Obi-wan, Thorin doesn’t go around saying stuff like “you are young, grasshopper, but you will learn,” protested one of them. “That’s Yoda, not Obi-wan,” argued another Partei-Girl. “And yes he does say stuff like that, we all heard what Thorin said to Fili. One day he’d be king and he’d understand…”
“Thorin can’t be Yoda, he’s too tall and he’s not green…”
The cranky Fang-gir-iell sighed and reached for another bottle. An image with long dark hair looked back at her from the label…
Meanwhile, the reborn gawd currently under discussion was standing with his stunning dark and gold nephews at the rail of the barge, his darkling tumble of hair wind-danced to a shimmering perfect cloak by the night breezes and blending with the starr’d skies. Thorin Oakenshield brooded. The wooden railing creaked in protest at the powerful hands gripping it.
The three royal dwarves overheard the chattering speculations of the ladies, of course. Elite warriors that they were, familiar with the wild, all three would know to pay attention to noise at night. At the moment, Thorin viewed the chatter like the movement of the barge – soothing and comfortable background noise. It helped him to focus, especially after too many Burglar Bombs.
And there was a tacit truce ongoing between uncle and nephews. Because early on, Fili and Kili had seized on the adoration their uncle inspired, and for a brief period of time had started referring to him as Thorin-oh-my-gawd or Thorin OMG. It just rolls off the tongue, snickered the brothers.
Thorin Oakenshield had, surprisingly, borne up under the ribbing from his nephews with good grace. It had gone on for an entire afternoon, and Thorin merely smiled faintly and shrugged, actually looking sheepish. The brothers howled at their cleverness.
But over a late night pipe, Thorin informed Fili and Kili, that he, the KING, very much appreciated that they had brought the passionate feelings of his subjects to his attention. It was a PRINCELY and NOBLE act. And while of course, he, Thorin, would do nothing that would break Minty’s heart, he could at least assuage the despair of some of the ladies.
Therefore, Thorin said, actually beaming at Fili and Kili, in the morning he would announce that the princes would be married to whichever of their ladies could drink Fili and Kili under the table first. He, the King Under the Mountain, would decree that this would be so. He, the Lord of Silver Fountains, would even perform the nuptial ceremonies.
Fili and Kili were hard driving, hard charging, ale-quaffing dwarves. But they had seen the vigor and seemingly bottomless capacity of their female (well, mostly) followers. As well, and this is true of all females, there was that spine of iron in all of them. And a kind of intense look usually associated with the eyes of stalking cats. The royal princes knew they didn’t stand a chance.
They had argued with their uncle, that it wasn’t fair, pulling the I-am-king-and-what-I-say-goes stuff. They were FAMILY, after all. It’s not that they had an objection to any of their ladies, but what about, y’know, all the angst and courtship and romance? What about the ensuing riots and damages to the countryside for miles around? What about HARMONY aboard the Partei-barge? (Kili didn’t think it was a good time to bring up Tauriel, either, or point out what dealing with an irritated ninja-elf might be like.)
Kings don’t have to worry about being FAIR, responded Thorin wickedly. You know, like gods.
It took Fili and Kili a while to relax around their uncle again. But since, there was an unspoken understanding between the three of them. So while Fili and Kili, like Thorin, also overheard the speculations of the ladies, their faces were kept very carefully blank. Besides, while their uncle may or may not be a sort of god, he was most definitely a KING, and the thing with kings is, when they are unhappy, they tend to SHARE that unhappiness.
And Thorin was unhappy. Because that mousy, lanky Fang-gir-iell had gone missing. Thorin Oakenshield had ALWAYS looked after those following him. And although he was too skilled of a leader to have favorites within the Fang-gir-iells and Partei-girls (considering the recent ruckus the minute his back was turned – although that WAS proper dwarrrowdam behavior), Thorin had bent his own rules for this sad Fang-gir-iell. Had he not gifted the drab girl with extra time, caring for his beloved Minty?
Nor had he, or the princes, ever publicly commented on the strange shuffling, semi-hopping gait of the Fang-gir-iell in her awkwardly fitting boots. Thorin was quite certain that she had never seen himself, or the princes, carefully duck around a corner and stuff leather vambraces in their mouths, to stifle their helpless laughter at the sight. True, the girl seemed to engender a fit of sneezing in Bilbo whenever she was around, but dwarves are used to the powerful eye-watering fumes of forges and metalwork. It wasn’t the Fang-gir-iell’s fault that she could only afford cheap hair products.
And had not his own ladies embraced the scrawny Fang-gir-iell into the sisterhood, presenting her with the “Bra of Wonder” – an ingenious padded design that could slingshot two projectiles simultaneously, or be utilized to carry DOUBLE flasks in the thickly-walled pouches? (Thorin was determined to have the design re-created in oiled leather, so that he could carry his own flasks slung from his belt without fear of denting or breakage. Thorin shuddered, remembering those times he had had to scrounge through Oin’s medicine bag. That certainly wasn’t #Majestic.)
Thorin Oakenshield stared across the silky dark River waters. Someone had bullied one of HIS Fang-gir-iells. She’d been tied to the barge railing with silky ropes. She must have been hurt over that. There was no sign of any intruder, so she must have left the barge because she felt badly, but had been keeping it to herself (like a proper stoic dwarf).
Thorin didn’t LIKE bullies. They made him sad. Sometimes men had tried to bully Thorin in his blacksmithing days. There had been so much sadness in Thorin over that, that he had felt utterly compelled to take his smithing hammer and SHARE his feelings with those men. Thorin had felt so much better, although the men ended up being very sad for many months. Years, in some cases. Thorin had thoughtfully crafted some braces for them, so they could hobble about, at least.
And like all dwarves, Thorin was covetous. What’s mine is mine and STAYS mine. It was a charm of his race. So Thorin was determined to get his Fang-gir-iell back. And when I do, thought the King Under the Mountain, I’m going to ACT like a king and change my own rules. I’ll spend some extra time with this sad Fang-gir-iell. Maybe take her on a picnic with Minty (after my girl’s stall is sparkling clean, of course). Get the ladies to craft some nice gloves to cover up the man-hands, and order a wig or some yak hair from On-Crow shopping.
The Mountain King squared his powerful shoulders. “Right. Fili, Kili, we’re getting our own back. She’s ours. We’ll EXPLAIN dwarf customs to whoever bullied her. Very soon. And I know we’ll miss the laughs, but call a raven. I’m getting that poor girl some proper boots.”
(This post was edited by Avandel on Feb 19 2016, 3:06am)
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 19 2016, 3:35am
Post #177 of 190
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Thank you, thank you for such delicious Fluff <3
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The idea of praying real hard and having all those Funko POP vinyls and Legos becoming real was pretty appealing
I am SO glad I am not the only one who thinks this!
Middle Earth was a pretty hairy place
You said a mouthful there, sister!
Thorin had bent his own rules for this sad Fang-gir-iell. Had he not gifted the drab girl with extra time, caring for his beloved Minty? True!
Nor had he, or the princes, ever publicly commented on the strange shuffling, semi-hopping gait of the Fang-gir-iell in her awkwardly fitting boots. Thorin was quite certain that she had never seen himself, or the princes, carefully duck around a corner and stuff leather vambraces in their mouths, to stifle their helpless laughter at the sight. True!
It wasn’t the Fang-gir-iell’s fault that she could only afford cheap hair products.
True! *sob*
So Thorin was determined to get his Fang-gir-iell back. And when I do, thought the King Under the Mountain, I’m going to ACT like a king and change my own rules. I’ll spend some extra time with this sad Fang-gir-iell. Maybe take her on a picnic with Minty (after my girl’s stall is sparkling clean, of course). Get the ladies to craft some nice gloves to cover up the man-hands, and order a wig or some yak hair from On-Crow shopping.
Awwwww!
“Right. Fili, Kili, we’re getting our own back. She’s ours. We’ll EXPLAIN dwarf customs to whoever bullied her. Very soon. And I know we’ll miss the laughs, but call a raven. I’m getting that poor girl some proper boots.”
OMG!
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 19 2016, 6:12pm
Post #178 of 190
(9200 views)
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OMG, Kevin is unfurling new petals with each passing day - a broken-hearted romantic, a collector of fine art, and a hair dresser, all in one wide, lovable package. Tell me quick, where can I sign up for On Crow Dating? LOL I'm sure the Bra of Wonder eye-patch is the final touch to mystify and fascinate potential dates.
And I see a possible family business the future - mom the dressmaker, adding this new Bra of Wonder invention to all of her designs, while Nigel runs the hair salon, and Leggie uses his experience of polishing Minty's hooves every day to offer mani-pedis to the ladies getting their hair braided by Kevin (who can do 3-4 customers at once thanks to his 12 tentacles, as long as they all sit in front of his One Good Eye).
LOL - Ladies of Gondor, you have no idea of the good fortune coming your way!
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 19 2016, 6:37pm
Post #179 of 190
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Thorin never lets us down. Leader. King. Uncle. Protector. Mediator. Pin-up. Perhaps he really IS Durin the Deathless reborn, which means Minty is the living reincarnation of the First Pony, sent by the gods to bring a final dollop of perfection to Middle-earth, long ago in the morning of the world when there was no stain upon the land. Oh my, it's like Valentine's Day every single day!
As for a flask-carrying, oiled leather Bra of Wonder - OMG, how am I EVER going to get that image out of my brain! Hopefully he'll get it finished before they get to the Golden Hall, so he can share the genius with those fun-loving, hard-drinking Riders of Rohan. In fact, I'm pretty sure I saw that design in carved leather last summer at the Renaissance Faire...not to mention the one made from chain mail...
And how I wish I could have seen Thorin sharing his sadness with those unworthy men, LOL.
As for the burger clown - Eeeeek! I agree, truly the stuff of nightmares!
Loving the Fluff
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 20 2016, 12:16am
Post #180 of 190
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Perhaps he really IS Durin the Deathless reborn, which means Minty is the living reincarnation of the First Pony, sent by the gods to bring a final dollop of perfection to Middle-earth, long ago in the morning of the world when there was no stain upon the land.
True, the sheer EPICNESS of Thorin Oakenshield, and the BOND between pony and this evening-sky-maned deity, IS a manifestation of something larger than ourselves, a fleeting moment gifted to us by a benevolent cosmos bringing LIGHT and HOPE...like seeing the flash of an aurora borealis...
The Wind and the Flame, a song of Middle Earth...
But then again, these were the free-flowing speculations of the Durin maenads who had had an awful lot of fruit drinks.
In the meantime, since both Legolas and the Durins have considerable skill, I fret over the fate of Kevin, who has suffered so much. Especially since the Fang-gir-iells are so fond of seafood.
And worry that the Durins may do something drastic to retrieve one of their own. Especially since Minty must miss her stall-cleaner so much.
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 20 2016, 12:51am
Post #181 of 190
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I don't know where you find these great pictures but they are always so perfect - especially that first one!
And shame on Minty for laughing at poor Leggie
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 20 2016, 2:50am
Post #182 of 190
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Glad you liked the first one - well, OK, that was me doing a bit of P'shopping - not that Thorin isn't a *spiritual* experience anyway.
But most of the time, the Internet provides. Hopefully NOT clowns tho. I just read where that first clown I posted had been pulled as a mascot for the 'burger company, a while ago. Can't imagine why...it's not like that wasn't one of the freakiest things I'd ever seen. Like a stalker clown. This one reminds me of that giant evil marshmallow man...no wonder the Partei-Girl needed lots of fruit drinks!
Where is Kili when you need him? Probably composing poetry to "Red"....
(This post was edited by Avandel on Feb 20 2016, 2:50am)
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 20 2016, 7:31pm
Post #183 of 190
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PS. to my own post...GRATUITOUS Saturday art...
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Because who wants to do chores, anyway?
http://www.deviantart.com/...fe-in-pink-591626178
Thranduil *dreams* of the Princess Adidas, and because he has a symbiotic relationship with the forest, all the dark trees explode into bloom. Such is the POWER of the fey Elven King....
Meanwhile...
Yeah, this is a PAINTING, not a photo OMG. The amazing AYURI-327 (http://www.deviantart.com/...e-painting-590306757)
Here we see a moment of *vulnerability* in Thorin, as he hides in the storage section of the Partei-Barge. Determined to cheer Thorin up over the missing Fang-gir-iell, the Partei-girls had whipped up a new honey-based energy drink called the "Bee-sting". Thorin is despairingly wondering if he actually might be Durin reborn, and if so, will the new concoction send him back to a fluffy white netherworld, or will the sturdy constitution of his race see him through, one last time.
Later Fili and Kili will get another lecture on loyalty to king and family, while Bilbo administers cold towels and headache powders. The royal princes, being experienced scouts, had discovered Thorin hiding meditating and dragged him into the light, insisting that the KING couldn't hurt the feelings of the ladies.
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Miss-Merriweather
Bree
Feb 21 2016, 5:18pm
Post #184 of 190
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... that Dwarves (not all of them, but oh so many) are fated to dwell under large rocky structures because the sheer power of their, um, axe appeal tends to blow the roof off the more conventional types of residential architecture. The pictures in this thread seem to support said theory, so I wonder how the barge manages to stay afloat and intact...?
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 22 2016, 4:47pm
Post #185 of 190
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... that Dwarves (not all of them, but oh so many) are fated to dwell under large rocky structures because the sheer power of their, um, axe appeal tends to blow the roof off the more conventional types of residential architecture. The pictures in this thread seem to support said theory, so I wonder how the barge manages to stay afloat and intact...?
Of course all are aware of the *shocking* incidences of spontaneous combustion that occurred within the global community over the early PR image releases for the Hobbit films. Indeed, the release of the NZ Hobbit stamps caused a crisis.
Currently, between the Durins "forging fire" so often on the barge, and the eager experimenting of the Partei-Girls, it is truly a puzzle as to why the barge has not been reduced to so many cocktail sticks months ago.
However, it would seem that elite climate scientists actually have studied the weather of Middle Earth:
http://www.pbs.org/newshour/rundown/modeling-middle-earths-climate-isnt-magic-its-science/
Computer models show that the Partei-Barge maintains a wholly pleasant "microclimate", as a result of the combination of the stabilizing influences of the vast River waters (as they evaporate around the Barge), and the often-present moderate winds that are localized around the King and his nephews. The overall effect is much like that which can be seen on many tropical islands, which have very nice weather in spite of having intense heat levels.
Scientists are most curious, of course, regarding the so-called "perfect wind" or what has been officially named the brise majestueuse. However, detailed studies have not been able to be carried on the Durins (who seem to be the focal point for the mysterious brise majestueuse) as the Mountain King becomes impatient with the twittering climatologists and glares at them.
This *smoulder* either results in the geeky scientists apologizing profusely in multiple languages, grabbing their pricey equipment, and throwing themselves overboard, or conversely, any number of the scientists (especially females) opt to permanently abandon the "Halls of Academia" and join the Partei Barge. These converts generally conclude that "pushing numbers around with a computer is for sissies" and that "science should be done the old way, up close and personal, you know?" (Lindir has become sort of an ad hoc Barge den mother for new converts, helping the newest Fang-gir-iells with their choices of braids, leather, and studs. Fili continues to tutor in weaponry and tactics.)
Ergo, the Partei Barge seems to actually be PROTECTED by a combination of the River itself and the fascinating phenomenon of the
brise majestueuse. The unfortunate incident with a rare Middle Earth species lends credence to this theory, as the Partei-Girls had not constructed their "mega-still" within the confines of the Barge, but rather within the Mines of Moria. Anyway, it's the Balrog's own fault it ended up as bacon bits, for being nosy.
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Kim
Valinor
Feb 25 2016, 2:11am
Post #186 of 190
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OK, I finally made it through this thread after my vacation
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And all I can say is "Brava!" to all of the contributors. This was quite a feat of collaboration to deliver an epic, sprawling story on a very important topic. I can't even begin to comment on all of the hilarious specifics, so I'll just say kudos to you all!
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Nieriel
Rivendell
Feb 25 2016, 2:25am
Post #187 of 190
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Just felt the need to post this
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because I'm in a VERY bad mood and .. this just makes me feel a bit better until I can get my paws on some chocolate!
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Avandel
Half-elven
Feb 27 2016, 6:22am
Post #188 of 190
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I hope, anyway....
******************************
Oh, he was GLORIOUS. The cream-rose skin, the thick waterfall of sable hair that so many – so VERY many – simply wanted to push their faces in and SNIFF. Entire booklets had been carefully craft’d about the clear sea-fire eyes, his so-called rainbow eyes, those eyes you could fall into, eyes that could be velvet-dark or like blue as a dawn sky. Eyes full of intelligence and heart. And his powerful, graceful, movement, and skill with both blade and axe. The smile that was like stab to the heart, and you’d willingly make a fool of yourself just to see that smile again. The voice that BURNED your skin, that made you think of dark amber honey and glowing coals and smoked your very soul.
Thorin Oakenshield knew all these things about himself. Not that Thorin would have called HIMSELF glorious. Most beings don’t pay much attention to things they inherently are, and Thorin had had an awful lot on his mind, most of his life. So much so, that his current domicile aboard the Partei-Barge was probably the first “time out” he had ever had. In spite of the frequent explosions, damage protests from riverside communities, and irritated Tolkien canonistas, Thorin found himself, for the most part, enjoying his SABBATICAL. The Mountain King had never heard that word before, but the Fang-gir-iells had explained the concept to him. Thorin was LONG overdue for a SABBATICAL, simply because he was GLORIOUS for all the afore-mentioned reasons.
It wasn’t a VACATION (a concept that Thorin also appreciated and was unknown in dwarf culture) as Thorin also, by default, was the King of their little floating community (as well as forever King Under the Mountain) and was still WORKING, in a sense. The Fang-gir-iells promised that when the Mountain King was weary of his “sabbatical” they would take him on a PROPER vacation. Some place nice, they said. Sort of like Erebor with mountains and snow, but there were “hot tubs” that would relax him, make his hair all nice and fluffy, and people brought you steaming mugs piled high with cream to keep the chill off. The Durins could slide down the mountain on these waxed boards. Lots of humans liked doing it. It was FUN, the Partei-girls said.
The Durins lifted their eyebrows at this, and opinioned that having to hike all the way back up a mountain to get to these “hot tubs” didn’t sound like fun to them, it sounded like same old, same old. No, no, said the ladies. There are these little, little stools – you know like the stools on ropes the miners use? Only much nicer and strung along the mountain sides, and you sit and they take you back up the mountain so you can slide down again on the boards.
And, and, the Partei-girls said glassily, the tubs are so warm you don’t need to wear – much, anyway. Thorin said it sounded as though Minty would enjoy it, as long as there was a mug big enough for her drink-with-cream. Oh, there is, there is, hurriedly assured the ladies, who promptly headed to On-Crow shopping to find a special thermal bucket for Minty.
The Durin followers aboard the Partei-Barge weren’t concerned about a hot tub for the pony. With the amount of wealth on the barge, the Fang-gir-iells could BUY a ski lodge if they had to. One of them had already Googled up the names of some carpenters to build a ramp for the pony. Heated, of course.
And if they were very, very careful, they could make sure the ski lodge was in horse country. Plenty of entertainment for Thorin’s pet. And while Minty was making some new friends and playing in the snow, the ladies would introduce the concept of the sauna to the Durins.
So Thorin, in spite of his concern over the newly-missing dowdy Fang-gir-iell, was feeling relatively content, now that the pounding of the headache from the Partei-Girl’s energy drink had subsided. Thorin attributed his recovery to his Hobbit finally pulling Sting out and threatening the Partei-Girls after they arrived at Thorin’s cabin door with something they were holding in blanket-wrapped hands. They said it was an “herbal tonic”. Bilbo had demanded why a healing tonic was shooting sparks and smoking purple.
Bilbo had defended Thorin long enough for Fili and Kili to arrive and gently persuade the Partei-girls that, perhaps, Bilbo needed to spend some quality time with his royal friend and that they should very carefully put the tonic down on the deck. This proved to be an excellent idea as the tonic began to bubble alarmingly, and the few spilled drops ate holes through the boards. Some of the Fang-gir-iells were muttering about an “Alien Predator”. Fili used an axe to push the tonic overboard before it could do any more damage, but the head of the axe was ruined.
Thorin was carefully using a small leather bladder to mist water over the potted “orchid” presented to him by the Elven King at the barbecue. His #Majesty had carefully positioned the plant by an open window, and was humming to the plant. Bilbo watched and didn’t say a word about the Mountain King’s new hobby.
Normally, of course, the plant was likely to have wound up in Minty’s stall as a sort of after-dinner mint. Bilbo had thankfully been caught by Thorin before he hit the floor – as Bilbo had fainted at seeing Thranduil’s gift, that first time, when the little plant winked and smiled at him. Bilbo had to later admit, the plant WAS cute. The Hobbit of course had heard of Ents from his books, but he had never given thought to what a BABY Ent might look like. Thorin had named the little plant Sinî. Sinî smiled adorably at Bilbo and reached tiny arms branches up in bliss at the shower.
Bilbo and Thorin watched as Sinî shook off water drops and began to slowly rock in the pot to the motion of the barge. The Mountain King carefully took a length of heavy pink silk and draped it around the small seedling. The little eyes of the plant sleepily closed. “How do you KNOW the Ent is a female? There are sad songs about the Ents, searching for their lost wives…” asked Bilbo, watching the drowsy face of the plant.
Thorin smiled the kind of gentle “honey, please,” smile that was the center of a hundred memes. “Well, my dear Hobbit, the first reason would be is that it’s unlikely a MALE (for the most part, *cough*) would want to put their ‘wee hands in my hair, the way this one did, the first night I was holding the pot. THAT seemed to make her so happy, all these tiny, tiny golden stars appeared and floated around the cabin.
“Of course, I see quite a lot of stars these days thanks to the Partei-girls”, Thorin grinned as Bilbo stiffened and turned red, fearful of what was going to come next, “Thanks to, as you well know, the ladies’ endless experimenting with healthful fruit recipes.” Bilbo sagged in relief as the flush left his face.
“The second reason,” the Mountain King’s luscious dark brown sugar voice rumbled, “Is that I KNOW those that are MINE, like my own heartbeat.” Thorin wrapped the pink silk a bit more snugly around Sinî’s roots. A few pinpoint golden sparkles drifted lazily to the ceiling.
Bilbo diplomatically didn’t point out that the Mountain King hadn’t bothered to KNOW him very well, for a good long while. That KNOWING alone had taken a rather unpleasant, life-threatening experience, before Thorin saw Bilbo as something besides a stone lodged in his furry boot.
Never mind that feeling warm and fuzzy and accepted and like a man dwarf badass hobbit is all well and good, until you look around and realize you are hundreds of feet in the air on a bare rock tower, that it’s a rather chilly morning, and you desperately need a restroom BEFORE the terrifying climb down. It had taken Bilbo a good long while to stop shaking, although he had to admit he warmed up pretty fast at the end of it. Mainly because Thorin and then Fili and Kili had all piled around him, when they saw him trembling at the end of the long climb off the carrock. Bilbo had drawn the line when Bombur approached though.
(And neither dwarf nor hobbit as yet had picked up the very real oddities about their missing Fang-gir-iell, although Thorin said her new boots were on the way and the Fang-gir-iells were fussing over materials for the new gloves to cover the unfortunate man-hands. Minty, though, absolutely KNEW the lanky Fang-gir-iell’s secret. And Minty missed the lively encounters she had had with her stall cleaner).
Bilbo cleared his throat as Thorin shook out his plant-misting bladder. He nervously twisted his hands together. “Uh, Thorin. Um. Er, I need to speak to you about something…”
Thorin turned to look at his Hobbit. The breeze blew through the cabin porthole and swirled through the dwarf king’s espresso mane, gently resting s few perfect curls against the skin at his neck. The soft light caressed the flushed creamy skin and lit the azure blue eyes like sunlit waves. Sinî’s tiny snores hung in the air. He waited patiently. Thorin figured it was too early for the Partei-girls to have set anything on fire, and besides they like to sleep late, so he didn’t have to start glaring. Yet.
Bilbo took a deep breath. “Uh, this is about loyalty and honor and like that. And, and, FRIENDSHIP, you know, those magical bonds…” Then again, the King of Erebor wasn’t exactly celebrated for his PATIENCE. Dwarves aren’t a race known for mucking about, either. Thorin’s heavy dark brows began to draw together.
“Er, the Fang-gir-iells.” Bilbo shuffled his feet. “They asked me to speak to you. They thought, you know, maybe you wouldn’t get so mad upset. If I EXPLAINED.”
Thorin folded his arms across his chest and was now in full glare mode. The Fang-gir-iells would have been in ecstasy, had they been present. Thorin waited.
“Look, he DID come to the Barbecue…”
“Bilbo,” Thorn said gently, although the glare was still present. “You’re not about to tell me again that hur, hur, Thranduil isn’t such a bad sort and we should have coffee and share hair care tips?”
Bilbo took a DEEP breath. “Well, Thranduil’s NOT such a bad sort. And he does have nice hair, it’s kind of like soft winter wheat or the creamy sands along the seashore or maybe, you know, the finest snow when the sun sparks through the clouds…” Thorin’s glare flared up a few notches. “Look, he DID help in the battle and he DID come to the barbecue and he DID give you Sinî and one-of-the-Fang-gir-iells-has-got-it-bad-for-him-so-can-he-come-for-dinner-or-can-we-go-to-Mirkwood-or-can-she-see-him-and-like-that.” This last came out in a rush.
To Bilbo’s surprise, instead of the expected explosion and broken furniture, Thorin simply seemed utterly baffled. The glare faded into a look of complete bewilderment.
Being a dwarf meant you were well-grounded in your heavy iron boots. There’s a REASON dwarves don’t trust elves. Being around elves meant the world doesn’t make sense. How could it, with these beings who pick at any food put in front of them and that sing-song language of theirs, and yet, had (Thorin grudgingly admitted) those fighting skills? The Fang-gir-iells had told him of another strange country where everyone was like that, too, called “France”, but Thorin didn’t really believe them. He thought the ladies had had too many fruit drinks, even when they called him magnifique roi lion de sable.
Besides, the royal princes were on the barge. The ridiculously appealing golden and dark princes. Thorin felt himself turn pale. “Is she ill? Bespelled?”
Bilbo, feeling less nervous now that the worst was behind him (high above, the all-seeing gods laying around on their soft fluffy cloud furniture laughed themselves sick over THAT idea – oh, Bilbo, they thought, you are SO innocent), firmly shook his head.
“She’s just, just – well, she thinks the Forest King is BEAUTIFUL. Er.”
Thorin tossed his head, trying to clear the confusion. The shimmering waves of darkling silk hair coiled becomingly around his strong noble features, like an ebony sky streaked with falling stars. He hadn’t been so dazed since downing the contents of Galadriel’s flask.
“Then what’s she doing on the Partei-Barge? I mean, there are all those berry pickers that hang around Smirkwood, I mean Mirkwood. Thranduil told me that they’ve built luxury treehouses complete with hammocks and outfitted with these metal and glass tubes they use to watch the stars and for elf-spotting. It’s become something of a game. Thranduil told me when he’s feeling the tiniest bit low, he puts on his most form-fitting robe and takes a walk, making sure the berry-pickers can get a glimpse.”
“But he said he doesn’t dare put his hand up to push his hair back, or make any sudden gestures, because the shrieks are so loud that wildlife is driven off for miles around.”
I wonder if there’s a Khuzdul phrase that speaks to pots calling the kettles black, Bilbo thought grimly. “Are you saying you’re going to exile her? You can’t. Because all the Fang-gir-iells and Partei-girls are FRIENDS. They’re female (well, mostly, probably). THEY TRAVEL IN PACKS. You know, like they all do On-Crow shopping together and cook together and *SQUEE* together. You know how bad everyone felt when some of the Company was left at Laketown.
“Thorin, I know you can’t understand. But know this, if nothing else. IT’S A FEMALE THING. A force majeure. And it has to be handled with the care a dwarf would craft the finest piece of jewelry with.”
The jaw-droppingly handsome Mountain King stared at the Hobbit, reeling at the Sindarin that flowed so easily from the lips of his Hobbit. But Thorin was not called the Darer, the Brave without reason. Even when confronted with something well beyond the ability of even Durin’s Heir to understand. Besides, this WAS Middle Earth. He had a small baby Ent in a pot that smiled and danced. He couldn’t braid his hair without having to step over any number of prostrate bodies afterwards. His pony seemed far too intelligent for a horse, never mind those talking birds. Sanity these days was so far around the bend it was coming back from the other direction.
And Bilbo had summed up the situation with one of the most terrifying phrases known to man. And to dwarves as well. All races, pretty much. “A FEMALE THING.” Faced with a “FEMALE THING”, even for the #Majestic High King of the Dwarves, it would be best to deal with the situation as expeditiously as possible. Like Thorin and his nephews looking very carefully solemn, and a tad regretful, when Dis and Galadriel had sailed away together. Later they had tossed back half a barrel of Shadow and Flame cocktails and cheered when Kili blew up the rest with some flash flame. Because once you dealt with the FEMALE THING you could rest easy, and go back to your peaceful life. You didn’t need to understand it. You just needed to FIX it.
Thorin’s mind raced over the possibilities. Bilbo stared up at his #Majestic friend anxiously. Thorin noticed the angst of the Hobbit and put his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Bilbo, this, this, is BAD”, Thorin began softly. “Very bad”.
Bilbo’s brow furrowed. “What, are you telling me you are so GREEDY you can’t spare one or two Fang-gir-iells who has gotten tired of competing with a PONY? Granted, Minty has those completely lovely eyes that look like dark maple syrup and all that hair – I know dwarves are into that kind of thing – and how smart she is…but by the Valar, with all the bathrooms on this barge, I still have to keep using yours or Fili’s or Kili’s! When the ladies aren’t messing with their hair and jewelry, they are mixing up fruit drinks!”
Thorin waved a strong hand #Majestically, cutting through the hobbit’s tirade. “Hush, you’ll wake Sinî. And we can build more bathrooms. With marble and a coffeepot and whatever you like. But you must know, at the Barbecue it seems that a human maiden caught the eye of that arrogant prancing...” Bilbo looked hard at Thorin. “I mean our royal guest,” Thorin amended. “He was asking after some human girl, if we knew her, or where she was from. Things like that.”
“Oh, that’s all,” sighed Bilbo in relief.
Thorin raised a quizzical eyebrow at the Hobbit. “Bilbo, did you not see the condition of the second ballroom in Erebor? That wasn’t dragon damage, you know. That was the end result of a fight between FEMALES. I just wish we had had more of them for the Battle of the Five Armies…”
Bilbo shook his head. “Different circumstances, different strategy. If Thranduil was asking after this woman, then he doesn’t KNOW her. Which means there’s time for this Fang-gir-iell to, to, well, give her best try at things. I mean, Thranduil’s USED TO adulation, so it’s not like there’s any chance of her being humiliated, or anything.”
Bilbo looked up at Thorin, too innocently. “So, can I tell the ladies, that not only are you not angry, but you’ll even try to make sure this Fang-gir-iell is able to be in the presence of the Elven King? Like maybe serve drinks, or something, if there’s an opportunity? Provide a gift card to On Crow shopping? You know, it’s only going to make the rest of them more crazy for you than ever…being so NOBLE to a FRIEND of theirs…”
Thorin glared at the Hobbit, but the corner of his mouth was twitching. “As long as it’s this ONE time. And one time only. We’ve already got a missing lady, and Minty needs her stall-cleaner. This isn’t the kind of NOBILITY dwarves are known for. And I while I never sought songs and grand titles, I will not shame my ancestors by being nam’d Thorin the Wimp. What’s mine is mine and all that. Agreed, Master Baggins?
Bilbo grinned at his friend impudently and went off to VERY carefully construct an explanation for the magnanimity of the Mountain King. Even if it was a lie. Because, even the bachelor Bilbo knew better than to relay the information that Thorin wasn’t the TEENIEST bit put out at not being someone’s utter favorite. It was a FEMALE THING.
In his cabin, Thorin rubbed his forehead distractedly. The truth was, unusually, Thorin was too stunned to be angry. At least for now. Perhaps it was time to have brunch with the Partei-Girls. Their fruit drinks were so refreshing, and made the world seem so much more clear.
It might be a tribute to the great strength of the dwarves, that their Mountain King had so magnificently risen to the occasion, but while Thorin was not vain, this whole experience had left him dazed. It was all so ODD, he couldn’t begin to fathom how he would explain a Fang-gir-iell who, in fact, had a “THING” for Thranduil to his nephews, and not for any of them. It was unheard of. Even ELVES smiled at the Durins and Mahal knew about all that dwarf-elf Fan Fiction.
Perhaps Lindir could shed some light on this ANOMALY. Thorin rubbed his forehead again. Normally, of course, even the most average dwarf would simply dispatch any undesirable competition (this tradition was what had resulted in the destruction of the second ballroom at Erebor), but at the moment, this all just felt…strange.
And then Thorin felt the tiniest tug on his hair.
Sinî had reached out and twined a tender green tendril into one of Thorin’s curls. Her adorable eyes blinked at him and she smiled. And all around Thorin were tiny floating golden stars.
(Oh, my, Thranduil DOES have his own magic, doesn't he? )
(This post was edited by Avandel on Feb 27 2016, 6:26am)
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Elarie
Grey Havens
Feb 29 2016, 12:15pm
Post #189 of 190
(8914 views)
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thank you thank you...another great read to accompany my morning tea.
The Fang-gir-iells had told him of another strange country where everyone was like that, too, called “France”, but Thorin didn’t really believe them. He thought the ladies had had too many fruit drinks, even when they called him magnifique roi lion de sable.
Laughing out loud - of course, it's obvious now that what the Partei Boat really needs is a tempermental French chef whose premier duty each day is to prepare Minty's gourmet golden flowers pony salad
Thranduil told me that they’ve built luxury treehouses complete with hammocks and outfitted with these metal and glass tubes they use to watch the stars and for elf-spotting. It’s become something of a game.
And it's a relief to know that poor Thranny has a few Fang-gir-iells of his own lurking in Smirkwood (disparagingly known as sad little Smirker-lurkers in certain dwarvish quarters)
And, and, the Partei-girls said glassily, the tubs are so warm you don’t need to wear – much, anyway. Thorin said it sounded as though Minty would enjoy it, as long as there was a mug big enough for her drink-with-cream.
And, OF COURSE, every royal pony needs a carefully calibrated hot tub!
 
So great - loved it all!
- now if only poor Kevin can find his lost love...perhaps he can borrow one of those glass and metal tubes...
__________________
Gold is the strife of kinsmen,
and fire of the flood-tide,
and the path of the serpent.
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Avandel
Half-elven
Mar 1 2016, 12:36am
Post #190 of 190
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Happy you like it...the urge to FLUFF is COMPULSIVE LOL
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There's no end to what Thorin & co. might be getting up to! Re:
Laughing out loud - of course, it's obvious now that what the Partei Boat really needs is a tempermental French chef whose premier duty each day is to prepare Minty's gourmet golden flowers pony salad
Ooooooh - I can see Lindir discovering French cuisine via the Fang-gir-iells, and becoming THE chef. Of course, seeing as he has so thoroughly embraced his *inner dwarf*, when Lindir throws a tantrum, you really do have to duck. Because Fili gave him all those weapon-throwing lessons.
Lindir wisely, however, opted not to throw a tantrum after presenting the Durins with his first culinary masterpiece.
(It was left to Bilbo to explain to the outraged Durins that Lindir, had not, in fact, had some strange *elvish regression* (after the disturbing events of the morning, Thorin's always-shaky store of patience was running on fumes. The Mountain King didn't appreciate having a "tray of GREEN slime that looked like eyeballs put in front of himself and his Heirs". The Partei-girls, in a move of surprising genius, offered the Durins the slabs of barbecued ribs they had traded a farmer for, in exchange for a barrel of Mithril Monsters. They then used the escargot as fish bait the next day.)
The thing is, tho, possibly it is wise for the Elven King to play hide-and-seek with his berry and mushroom pickers. Because there is no end to to the CONNIVING of the Fang-gir-iells as they plan the vacation. No doubt, of course, that Thorin will enjoy the skiing.
And the hot tub at the *luxury resort*
will be far and away more PLUSH than any the King Under the Mountain has experienced before...
But the *scheming minxes* are using everything they can think of to book Minty's time.
Still, as has been observed, Minty's human has a comparable mane, and so far, her love and loyalty have been unwavering.
PS. Loved your pictures! Of course, Minty's hot tub will be larger, with its own troughs and a masseuse.
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